Anjuna market is one hour north of Colva and supposed to be an excellent market full of bargains and weird Indian stuff. We had bought tickets for the local bus that was going there, so after breakfast we walked up the road to the bus stand just in time to claim the last seats. The seats were directly behind a big, fat, smelly, ignorant, smoking creature with more chins than teeth. The bus was old and knackered, and sounded like it had a cough, but it started first time and we were off shortly after we arrived. As the journey progressed the monster in front of us lit up yet another cigarette, ashed it and sent the cherry hurtling towards Kim. The cherry hit Kim in the face, she swore loudly, tapped him on the shoulder, and then swore lots more at him. He seemed apologetic and stopped smoking for a while, but it was his weight that started causing us problems next. When we got in the bus we sat down and as usual I had just enough room not to be able to move my legs, and Kim had ample. As the bus jerked around on the bumpy Indian roads the seat moved towards us. It had started approximately eight inches from Kim's knees, and by this point was touching them. Mr monster was of course oblivious to it all, and I felt embarrassed to say anything to him. I was planning to get to Anjuna market with both our legs intact, but what could we do?
After about ten seconds careful consideration we both leant forward, trying to look as natural as possible, and put all of the strength we had into holding the seat away from our legs. Some twenty minutes later I looked down and saw, to my horror, that the seat leg was on it's way out, bent out of shape and very nearly severed. There’s only ten minutes left to go, there’s only ten minutes left to go, I kept telling myself, not knowing if it was true or not, but not wanting to think about any other possibilities. Holding the seat away from our legs was taking its toll, the muscles in my arms were flailing rapidly, the pain was damn near excruciating, there’s only ten minutes left to go I kept on, we’ll be there shortly - and eventually that became the truth. We managed to avoid death by crushing, and arrived at Anjuna Market intact.
My first impression of Anjuna came from a beautifully spoken Indian seller. She asked me my name and all the usual stuff, "how long have you been here? Is this your first time in India?" and then delicately took my hand and dragged me to her stall in the market. Anjuna Market is London’s Camden Market in the sun, this wasn't what I expected, but I felt disappointed about the reality. I strolled dreamily through the market and straight out the other side, there, on the opposite side of the road was a little girl, no older than 12, walking on a tight rope wearing a burning hat. I was captivated until she came around asking for money when I immediately lost interest. At three o’clock I met with Kim and we walked back to the bus that was leaving at four, and as we waited for it to depart we got more and more attention from passing sellers. I had been using two methods to make the sellers go away, the first was to offer them an insultingly low price, gradually reducing my offer to nothing if they kept pestering me. The second, reserved for things I would never, ever buy, was to tell them I would be happy to take the item off their hands if they paid me to do so. Although I didn’t want to buy anything I was happy to have them entertain me as we waited for the bus. The kid sellers here have the gift of the gab here "all right geezer, Oh… suits you sir! Like a drink would ya? Wanna buy a hat, go on mate you look wicked in it".
We claimed two seats at the very front of the bus, which had all the trimmings, view out the front windscreen, extra legroom, and a crazy bus driver. Granted that everyone in the bus had the same driver, but now we had a full, non-restricted view of his mentality. Looking at it two months later, I don't think he is any more or less crazy then any of the other drivers in India, but this was my first real taste of Indian driving and a very scary experience. He had his hand on the horn the entire journey, overtaking everything and breaking for no one. We arrived back at the hotel shattered, and still had one more journey to make tonight; we were making our way to Hampi. Our first stop would be in Margao, which is the nearest big town with train connections. We ran down the road to the bus stop, and got straight on the bus. Five minutes and 20 rupees later we were told we had arrived.
TRAVELLERS JOURNAL - BORACAY - Music to travel to...
www.cdbaby.com/cd/travellersjournal
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