Colva Travel Blog› entry 35 of 37 › view all entries
Today we spend at the swimming pool of our hotel. This is a lot more fun than we initially expected, since there are two frogs who every now and then come jumping out of a couple of bushes and take an extensive swim in the pool. You'd think they would stay away because of the chloride in the water, but they don't seem to mind it.
There are also four Indian men at the pool, they have long beards and swim with their turbans on. They are obviously sikh and when they throw a ball around they giggle like schoolboys. Their wives and children sit at the sun beds, most of them fully dressed. They seem a bit uncomfortable at first, but after about half an hour more and more T-shirts and long skirts come of until they're finally at the edge of the pool in their swimsuits.
I have no idea how they feel about swimsuits, but I do suspect that my presence in bikini (while not having the perfect figure for such clothing) may have encouraged them a bit.
Early in the evening we go to the train station and hop on the night train to Mumbai. Our travel companions and us are divided over one and a half dozen hard sleeper beds. While we all take seat on the bottom beds we chat around and watch what food is being brought by. There is an endless stream of men coming by and they all sell food. They have soup, curries, chicken wings and really nice balls of dough with vegetables in them. These balls of dough are my favorite and I was absolutely sure, that man was yelling 'Garam, garam!' while walking through the isle with those. I made a mental note to remember that name, so that as soon as that was announced again, I could get some more.
A few minutes later, a man comes walking by calling out 'Garam, garam!' so I lift my hand to indicate that I'd like some. As it turns out, the man has a chicken curry in his pot, no balls of dough with vegetables in them.
'That's not garam,' I tell the man.
'Yes, garam,' he answers.
'No, garam is balls of dough with vegetables,' I explain.
'Also garam,' the man says with utter conviction.
'No garam,' I insist.
This goes on for a while until an Indian passenger waiting to order some chicken curry understands the confusement.
'Garam means hot,' the man says. 'They all yell it while walking down the isle to make sure nobody steps in front of them and hurts themselves on the hot pans.'
For that night on, I'll never forget the word 'Garam' again. Next to 'Namaste', it's the only word I remember from the entire trip. :)