Arambol., Goa, India. 1994.

“I believe it is anticipation.

Anticipation of the life ahead.

That is why I am shaking now.

Unable to relax – because I am so happy.

In western rhythm – too fast still for this old place.

Slowly, slowly changing down the gears.

The rattle caw of crows and murmur of voices carry through the dusky heat, and sweaty palmed, I wonder why Bapa is so cold this morning!?

Some business disaster?

These strange, two worlds, of leisure and survival, bed fellows in a kind of harmony. Arambol.

What a weird morning. Doing a little chai shop trail…just to see who is here.

So many faces that I kind of recognise, but none that I know. Really i should just make it like the first time all over again….and those that remember me, remember me.

Visiting Chapora early tomorrow morning – maybe visit Lucy’s – but will stay here a bit longer. (put passport etc. in bank.)

But today is beach and lake.

I remember him and him, but don’t think I ever spoke with them.

The French connection. I think I felt them and their energy at the parties.

The lakeside now is full of Indian guys – lured by the promise of a glimpse of a white, flabby thigh.

Odd world we inhabit.”

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