The baker boys with their bicycles and their horns hee-haawing letting you know they’ve bread rolls (poi) for sale.
Rain, it spitter spattered on and off all day till about 3pm.
Fishermen and their catches. Crows, instead of gulls, hanging around for scraps.
Boats dotted among sun loungers, defiantly so. This is still a fishing place after all.
People staring out to sea.
Porpoises or maybe dolphins. Lots of them just out not far from the shore.
A lot of people wearing hats seemingly made out of horse hay bags, ugly is the new f’ugly in the headgear realms.
Bob Marley, everywhere in Arambol. I mean, not literally, I know he is dead an’ all, but Arambol isn’t Arambol without a Rasta o’d. That means….
Dreadlocks worn by trustafarians called Trist, hemp waistcoats, mud brown harem troos, bare feet walking through cow shit and the practising of hula-hooping and fire-eating on the beach.
Lots of tattoos and bum cheeks peaking around swimwear.
A little boy drawing the sun in the sand. Then covering the sun’s eyes with a towel because the sun was asleep.
A Tibetan sound bowl that brought tears to my eyes when it was struck – the vibration touched my soul.
People streaming up and down the beach enjoying the cool.
A Western man with hennaed hair, his bright orange locks making it look like Ronald McDonald was on a hipppy break.
Hawkers trailing back and forth forlornly, the sunseekers weren’t out on the loungers today.
Dean in the shop looking well, passing me the phone to talk to darling Patrice. Keeping everything crossed for the green card and the Hawaii shops a reality.
Little herons patrolling the estuary shoreline, camouflaged against the sand.
Packs of dogs coalescing and dispersing as they ran along the beach, barking, yapping, fighting, racing. Flowing around tourists, teeth bared, wanting to wrestle, play, nip.
A Russian couple with matching right leg and hand bandages. A result of a moped accident.
A Russian couple with chest and leg scrapes doused in iodine. A result of a moped accident.
A sunset without the sun, the most beautiful yet.
A British couple talking about garden centres. FFS. To a Dutch couple.
A pregnant little cat begging for food, just as I got to the end of my fish curry. Sorry mate.
People driving like cunts on mopeds or motorbikes. Lights off in tbe dark because you can hear it coming, right?
My rock hard bed covered in my new purchases – sound bowls, a scarf and Dean Alan top.
A good day. A Goa day.