Three in a boat, poverty and dogs. Part 4
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On the way to get some milk, I remembered that we don't have bread either. What would you understand, buying food in Goa is a big problem. You can easily find only all sorts of different garbage, such as chips, cookies. And milk, eggs and bread are sold in certain few places and, as a rule, only in the morning. And you can only dream about sausage. But every morning the village resounded with the chime of the bicycle signal as the baker rode back and forth until someone stopped him. I was lucky to meet him when he stopped. The set consisted of eight rolls and cost 32 rupees. I didn't have two rupees and he said tumoro. How talkative! In the dairy shop they asked me something, apparently, what kind of milk should I pour? There were two cans. The second, probably with buffalo or goat milk, or someone else. I would have chosen him, but I only knew the word "kou". That's why they poured it for me. I paid 42 rupees per liter. Moreover, the seller found change in change. Now I could return 2 rupees to the baker, but I didn't meet him.
At home, Vadik and I had breakfast with milk and a bun, which turned out to be quite unsweetened. Verka abstained from milk, limiting herself to sausage. The day before, we had already decided to exchange another hundred, but Agnelo, who had inquired every day about our desire to exchange, had no money. And today his son came up to us and held out rupees. I counted - there were 6500. And where is another hundred? He pretended to be a fool, like he thought that for 65. When I said that I wanted for 66, he assured that he would give a hundred tomorrow. Well, well!
Let's go along the road to the left. Here the street with shops quickly ended and private houses went. Many rented guesthouses, with contact numbers on the gate. I took a few of them just in case. Might be useful to someone. Popetlyav, went to the dirt red road. When the houses were over, I heard some kind of rumble in the tree. Monkey! Big! I have never seen monkeys in the wild before. Well, only on the SHL on the way to Nuwara Eliya in a glimpse from afar. I grabbed the camera, but she galloped along the branches somewhere in the thicket. We reached a fork and turned towards the sea. The jungle was all around us. Some unfamiliar sounds - hooting, whistling, rustling. They scared away some large chicken birds, such as bustards. Nature! And bamboo grows there in a completely different way than in the Nikitsky Botanical Garden. Not in separate trunks that form a grove, but in bunches. And the trunks here are as thick as the arm of a healthy man. Ten meters high with panicles at the end.
And then the milk worked! Eh, it's good that we were in the jungle, and not on a long-distance regular bus! Imagine what would happen if we drank it yesterday!
The path led us to the rusty carcass of a truck. And somewhere behind the trees, children's voices were heard. There must be people living here! We didn't go there and went back. On the outskirts of the village, the loud rustle of trees was heard again. There was a whole herd of monkeys jumping around. Now I managed to photograph them, albeit from a distance.
Let's go to your favorite place on the beach. Vadik was engaged in butchering a coconut that fell off a neighboring palm tree at night, rolling down our roof. I did not hear, but among Verka he caused a stir.
First, it was necessary to peel off the copra, get the kernel of the nut, then punch a hole in one of the three recesses and drink the juice. After that, you need to break and peel the shell, and voila! Here it is, heavenly pleasure!
I decided to sunbathe. During all this time, I did not lie on the beach for a total of half an hour. Everyone run, run. And, despite the fact that I was dressed very conditionally, the tan categorically did not want to pester me. I sunbathe more in Crimea! We dug up some kind of sunscreen at home. True, he has already survived three demobilizations, we took him to the Caucasus in the winter. God, how long ago was that! Vadka and Verka smeared their shoulders, but I didn't. Well, they were slightly burnt (my shoulders, in a sense), but all the other parts of the body were disgustingly snow-white (by my standards, of course), the Crimean tan had already washed off. According to my observations, frankly chocolate people, as we have in Melekino, were not here (not counting the Indians, of course). Some individuals were translucent blue. Probably everyone, just like we came here, did not lie on the beach at all, but dangle from place to place.
I didn't lie down even five minutes when I heard excited exclamations. Indian boys, standing knee-deep in the river, were chasing someone. A white man with a camera came up and started filming. I went too. The boys caught a hefty crab.
Another group of our comrades came up, men and aunts. We rented a crab and had a photo shoot. In the process of catching and photographing, the poor crab lost both claws.
Taking both him and the claws, the boys went towards the stones. One can only guess about the further fate of the crab.
Today we decided to change the place of lunch and went to Fatima's cafe. Another female name! But no women were observed in any of the cafes we visited. We wanted to order something "tandoori" but were told that these dishes are only prepared after 6pm. Oops! We were offered to see seafood. There were tiger prawns in the window, or maybe not tiger prawns. Some of them were not very striped, but large.
We asked how much it costs? The waiter said, "One fifty. " We thought one cost fifty rupees and ordered two each. Plus fries and more. There were quite a lot of people in the cafe, mostly foreigners. Among them was a couple of young, as I thought, Indians. The girl was short-haired, with a tattoo, and smoked! Well, never mind, Indian woman! True, they spoke English with the waiter. Advanced Indian majors? Or American Indians? A German couple at the next table paid with a card. Maybe that's why this cafe is so popular? Opposite was the only ATM in the village. But at that time it was closed. They didn't deliver, you see, the cache.
Brought our order.
The shrimps were generously stuffed with spices. Well, nothing, of course, but I think just boiled they would be much tastier. But the boiler is dead. And I didn’t see tiger prawns on the market at that time. When they brought the bill, it turned out that the thing cost not 50, but 150. When the waiter said “van fifty”, he meant one hundred and fifty, skipping the word melancholy. Walked! The bill was one and a half pieces. At that time, as usual, we dined at an average of 700.
At night came the need to visit the bathroom. There I found a hefty cockroach (not to be confused with a Prussian). I grabbed the ablution hose and tried to flush it down the drain. But he didn't get through. Okay, live!
In the morning, after drinking some water instead of breakfast (not from a tap, bottled), we went again along the same road as yesterday. Just don't turn around. I read that one girl somehow managed to get from Palolem to Agonda in 2.5 hours. There were no details. Let's go find out how she did it. They wandered along the road, turning somewhere at random. There was a bang in the distance. Shot, right? After going some more distance, we saw a motorbike on the side of the road and a Hindu of a very unpresentable appearance leaning against it. He was smoking, holding a cigarette between thumb and forefinger. My heart sank.
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