It was strangely lonely to wake up to a basement breakfast without the twin visages of Kevin and Jennifer Cato. As we loaded our plates with pretty poor quality breakfast foods we sent a collective wave of good wishes to the two magpies, wishing them every goodness and Godspeed as they sped eastward to Darjeeling.
Early signs, recieved in the form of several SMS's late the night before, were not entirely assuring. Apparently, the taxi had headed to the wrong Varanasi rail station. Frantic calls were placed to Javed who either called Nandu a son of a bitch or Jenny punctuated her SMS sloppily. In either case the sense of looming disaster came through clearly in the short text.
As for the Rabes, well, Javed was involved yet again. As they checked out a smiling time server insisted they pay the extra $280 for the Presidential Suite. Nate resisted this suggestion vigorously and at last Javed was roused from his breakfast in Delhi. He explained several times to the young chap that the account was settled in full and he should 'let his people go'.
And so he did. We bundled into the backseat of a small car (the front filled to the roof with luggage) driven by a talkative and tired driver named Patel who had just that morning returned from an 8 hour journey to the Nepal border. While the traffic cooperated and the Rabe's avoided any sort of jams, Yvonne was looking especially glum and drawn. Several days of tending to ill children had finally done her in. Her weakened stomach was bloated and her lips nearly as tight. Mose was tentatively improving, distracted, like his sister, by the prospect by another aeronautical adventure.
At Varanasi's brand spanking new airport (Lal Bahadur Shastri International) Mose excitedly pointed out each plane as it landed and wondering if they were any good at all. Esther tried to keep up.
At last we were airborne and on our way out of the city of dust and loud religion. Mixed feelings for sure; we had left before experiencing so much but our guts were feeling pretty tortured. The flight to Mumbai was boring and uneventful barring Nate assisting a traumatized elderly Tamilian man to the toilet by lifting his legs while his son carried him by the arms.
An hour or so wait in Mumbai was followed by a 50 minute flight to Goa and a 30 minute drive to the Royal Orchid Resort and Spa. Meltdowns were had by various members of the tired troupe of travellers but by 900pm the temperatures of both rooms had settled nicely and everyone shut their eyes and went to sleep.
A wonderfully quiet sleep was enjoyed by everyone but by 800 (before even a piece of breakfast toast) Mose and Esther were splashing about in the pool. They got out for lunch and a walk to the beach but by 300pm were back in. Several Indian children and adults tentatively dipped their toes into the water at several points in the day but for all practical purposes the pool was ruled by the Rabes all day. Yvonne sunbaked in the sun. Nate red his book on Banaras. The kids did their thing with goggles and rashies.
Ten hours of water and sun came to an end with an omelette on the porch and cartoons in the bed.
Early signs, recieved in the form of several SMS's late the night before, were not entirely assuring. Apparently, the taxi had headed to the wrong Varanasi rail station. Frantic calls were placed to Javed who either called Nandu a son of a bitch or Jenny punctuated her SMS sloppily. In either case the sense of looming disaster came through clearly in the short text.
As for the Rabes, well, Javed was involved yet again. As they checked out a smiling time server insisted they pay the extra $280 for the Presidential Suite. Nate resisted this suggestion vigorously and at last Javed was roused from his breakfast in Delhi. He explained several times to the young chap that the account was settled in full and he should 'let his people go'.
And so he did. We bundled into the backseat of a small car (the front filled to the roof with luggage) driven by a talkative and tired driver named Patel who had just that morning returned from an 8 hour journey to the Nepal border. While the traffic cooperated and the Rabe's avoided any sort of jams, Yvonne was looking especially glum and drawn. Several days of tending to ill children had finally done her in. Her weakened stomach was bloated and her lips nearly as tight. Mose was tentatively improving, distracted, like his sister, by the prospect by another aeronautical adventure.
At Varanasi's brand spanking new airport (Lal Bahadur Shastri International) Mose excitedly pointed out each plane as it landed and wondering if they were any good at all. Esther tried to keep up.
At last we were airborne and on our way out of the city of dust and loud religion. Mixed feelings for sure; we had left before experiencing so much but our guts were feeling pretty tortured. The flight to Mumbai was boring and uneventful barring Nate assisting a traumatized elderly Tamilian man to the toilet by lifting his legs while his son carried him by the arms.
An hour or so wait in Mumbai was followed by a 50 minute flight to Goa and a 30 minute drive to the Royal Orchid Resort and Spa. Meltdowns were had by various members of the tired troupe of travellers but by 900pm the temperatures of both rooms had settled nicely and everyone shut their eyes and went to sleep.
A wonderfully quiet sleep was enjoyed by everyone but by 800 (before even a piece of breakfast toast) Mose and Esther were splashing about in the pool. They got out for lunch and a walk to the beach but by 300pm were back in. Several Indian children and adults tentatively dipped their toes into the water at several points in the day but for all practical purposes the pool was ruled by the Rabes all day. Yvonne sunbaked in the sun. Nate red his book on Banaras. The kids did their thing with goggles and rashies.
Ten hours of water and sun came to an end with an omelette on the porch and cartoons in the bed.
No comments:
Post a Comment