My arrival in goa is met by sun, sea and sand. But there's one thing missing. My mate. I arrive on the back of a motorbike to Palolem. As I walk the palm tree studded streets, lost in my thoughts in search of some breakfast I hear beeping and hollering behind me. Charlie drives by on a moped with her French passenger Precille on the back and expertly parks right in front of me, jumps off and we embrace for about 20 minutes. Precille and I make introductions and we catch up on our 16 days of separation. After dumping my bags at the bungalows we head to turtle beach. Three white women on a bike meant that we got a few dubious looks as we weave in and out of traffic in the blistering heat.
Red flags line the beach and we are convinced it just means high tide. After losing sunglasses, earring, headband and a little dignity in the form of a very pale boob making an unwanted appearance out of my bikini, (luckily we were the only ones on the beach otherwise said boob would be featuring on a lot of Indian phones) we all agree the red flag actually represents 'no swimming'. That night we enjoy card games, cashew feni alcohol and a free screening of whiplash.

The following day after a Hatha yoga session, we cruise on the bike back to Palolem from Agonda, in an eagerly awaited reunion with Our favourite Aussie hippie, Ben. After an emotional greet Ben fills us in on the tragedy that was the Nepal earthquake. He was in the middle of Kathmandu and felt it first hand. We settle Ben in to the bungalow and plan a day at the beach. That night after drinks games we head to the beach again in search of some plankton. We strip and off and let the moonlight and the sound of the ocean guide us. The beach is empty and the ocean is warm. As we splash and frolic the resplendent green plankton lights beneath us.
The next day after another yoga session we peruse the shops and indulge in a little retail therapy. In the evening we settle in to a local woman's house as Ben gets his dreads fixed up and Charlie prepares for her first ones. 4 and a half hours later, a cup of chai, an Indian soap opera and a family of 8 ....we've got a new dreadlock rasta is our midst.
Our final day in India is spent enjoying the little things. The stares, the head bob, the also, the chai, the colours and of course the cheap no tax alcohol that Goa boasts. In a half cut haze we say our goodbyes to the Aussie boys with promises of future plans when we meet again in oz, ( Bens friend Jordan joined us earlier that day from Delhi) we jump into a taxi and rush to the train station. We arrive only to find that the train is cancelled. Brilliant. 8 sweaty hours of sleeping in the station, trying to barge our way into a/c without a ticket, getting off, back on, off again and then back on the train in the women's only section. We eventually depart for kochi, our final destination in India. Next stop. Malaysia.