Going from Goa

Had a little contemplative wander in the morning before heading to Goa airport. After a year of feeling I was wobbling along a tight rope, these few weeks in India have seen me totally grounded, relaxed and happy. Life isn't a holiday, and we do have to face the daily routine or battle that is work and general everyday life, but it's how we approach these that matter.

It dawned on me that possibly I'm going about things the wrong way. Possibly life in a built up developed busy city ISN'T the thing for me. Maybe I would be happier where things are simpler and less complicated and noisy. It occurred to me that maybe the idea I'd had of going and teaching English to monks in Laos was actually a pretty sensible idea that would enable me to try and figure out exactly what I needed to be doing.

Naturally, that kind of work pays jack shit so I figured (and Spain IS still in the picture for this year) that balancing two lives would be the best way: get a high paying job in the middle east for a year or two and save. Go to a less developed place for a year or two, enjoy the calmness. Repeat.

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Heading to Goa airport I soaked in the sights around me. Colour. India is about colour. One of my most vivid memories from my 2008/09 trip to India was Hampi and the heaps of brightly coloured spices and dyes and scarves in the main street and the brightly dressed women going into the river in the saris for the festival.

In Goa, it's the houses. Bright. Scarlett red. Fuschia. Bright bright blue. Bright yellows, greens, oranges... sticking out from lush greenery - long grass, palm trees - and between decrepid shacks and dirt peep out big bright houses with white trimmed balconies, windows and edges. Cheerful. Like a child colouring in a picture... A big contrast to everything around.