Tuesday, February 11th – leaving Panaji for Mumbai (bus), 17,389 km
It's a sunny day, pleasant and warm again. I am packed and dressed for my trip to Mumbai. From now until I leave it is a time of limbo, a waiting time, a time of anticipation. I have breakfast in the hotel restaurant for the last time. I chat with a couple in a neighbouring table, two British guys. They are cute and friendly but I am not much interested in making new friends at this point, just before I leave. I feel like being on my own, because I suppose I am in a different space than others I talk to.
The rest of the town is in a state of anticipation too, but for a different reason. They are waiting for President Soares's visit, but I will be gone before he arrives. I am waiting for another horrendous bus trip, my last here fortunately. I enjoy the day as best I can. I leave my bags at the hotel and ride to the beach three kilometres away where I relax for a couple hours. I don't want to do anything strenuous since I won't be sleeping tonight. I return to Panaji for lunch and stroll along the promenade by the river before collecting my bags and going to the bus depot.
The bus I am on is a modern one with comfortable seats - by Indian standards - but grit my teeth for the long ride and try to play stoic. The bus is packed and stale with the smells of warm crowds. It may be an ordeal, but it is better than the train ride from Quetta to Rawalpindi in Pakistan last December. I will survive it. It is dark three hours after we leave Panaji and the bus still hits the speed bumps at full speed.
Somewhere around 10 pm (I don't know for sure because I have lost my watch) the bus stops across from a local attraction, for lack of a better word. Everyone seems excited to get off and visit the site. We are in front a gaudy, over-lit Hindu establishment that seems to be a cross between a temple, adorned with statues of Ganesh, Shiva and other Hindu gods, a dance hall and a casino. It looks and sounds like a nightmare come to life.
The fellow who has been sitting beside me cannot understand why I don't want to get off and experience the party. "There are dancing girls, you know," he tries to entice me. It seems especially important to him for a Westerner like me to join in to validate his idea of fun. But it's just a lot of noise and lights, an annoying and unnecessary stop that will delay our arrival in Mumbai by two hours. Indians think a public kiss is a scandal so I can't imagine finding anything inside to be erotic. This is my only chance to catch a bit a shut eye tonight, even if the blaring, screechy music prevents me from sleeping.
I almost fall asleep, even with the noise outside, but it is hard to get comfortable curled up on a bus seat. Eventually, the other passengers return and pile inside, still chattering excitedly over seeing the bare arms and navels of dancing women. Whatever. I sit up and try to pretend I am thinking about something important while the man seated beside me tries to describe how much fun it was. I am not feeling very well, I tell him. That is not totally a lie. The rolls on through the darkness and the passengers descend into silence again.
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