Got up around 9.30 to try and find a laundrette and to get some money from the bank.
Changing travellers cheques really was a fiasco. We went to one bank, but it had a poor exchange rate advertised, so we tried the Government Bank of India. Incredibly enough, they were not willing to buy our travellers cheques because they had not yet received today's exchange rate. It then turned out that the rates advertised at the first bank were wrong.
We did not have much luck with the laundrette either. As in Nairobi, a system of paying for each item individually was in operation. We eventually left our washing at the hotel for their laundry. We couldn't be bothered to fart around all day.
At the bank, Olly had been asked to fill out a form for each travellers cheque encashed. It was no surprise to discover that sending our diaries back to John was to involve another bureaucratic fiasco:
After eventually making it out of the Post Office, we got a ricksha to Dona Paula. We knew nothing about the place due to our rather substandard guide book, but we saw that there was a beach there.
As it turned out, the beach was very poor, but a very pleasant one was in sight further down the coast. We decided to wander around the little harbour for a while before we went to the beach. I noticed some vest T-shirts on a stall and went for a closer look. The woman there said they were Rs.25 each. I was quite pleased at this, but nevertheless she lapsed straight into barter mode: "How much do you want to pay?" she demanded, rather harshly, I thought. "Er, twenty?" I said, taken aback. "Take it," she commanded, the deal done. I'm sure I could have paid considerably less, but buying a T-shirt for under 40p seemed too ridiculous to consider.
We asked about getting a boat to the beach, and the attendant said he would call us back when the boat was full enough to justify the journey. Nearly an hour later we were still the only passengers so we decided to walk it. It would have been a fair distance if an English guy hadn't given us a lift on his hired motorbike. Quite a stroke of luck.
The beach was owned by a hotel, but no matter: This sort of thing is our speciality.
After an hour on the beach, we checked out the hotel's prices for food and drink. They were extortionate so we took a bus back to our hotel in Panaji. The journey took twenty minutes and cost one rupee.
We were too early for a proper meal, so we had snacks and fruit juices. As an experiment, we asked the waiter to give us a mixture of pineapple and mango juice. He agreed, and returned with an absolutely delicious concoction. Rather than tasting of mangos and pineapple, it had its own distinct flavour.
Changing travellers cheques really was a fiasco. We went to one bank, but it had a poor exchange rate advertised, so we tried the Government Bank of India. Incredibly enough, they were not willing to buy our travellers cheques because they had not yet received today's exchange rate. It then turned out that the rates advertised at the first bank were wrong.
We did not have much luck with the laundrette either. As in Nairobi, a system of paying for each item individually was in operation. We eventually left our washing at the hotel for their laundry. We couldn't be bothered to fart around all day.
At the bank, Olly had been asked to fill out a form for each travellers cheque encashed. It was no surprise to discover that sending our diaries back to John was to involve another bureaucratic fiasco:
| Queue 1: | "We'd like to send this parcel." |
| "Go to queue 2." | |
| Queue 2: | "We'd like to send this parcel." |
| "That's Rs.207. Go to queue 1." | |
| Queue 1: | "We'd like to send this parcel." |
| "Go to queue 2 and get this franked card glued on." | |
| Queue 2: | "Do you have any glue? We'd like to post this parcel." |
| "Try queue 1." |
After eventually making it out of the Post Office, we got a ricksha to Dona Paula. We knew nothing about the place due to our rather substandard guide book, but we saw that there was a beach there.
As it turned out, the beach was very poor, but a very pleasant one was in sight further down the coast. We decided to wander around the little harbour for a while before we went to the beach. I noticed some vest T-shirts on a stall and went for a closer look. The woman there said they were Rs.25 each. I was quite pleased at this, but nevertheless she lapsed straight into barter mode: "How much do you want to pay?" she demanded, rather harshly, I thought. "Er, twenty?" I said, taken aback. "Take it," she commanded, the deal done. I'm sure I could have paid considerably less, but buying a T-shirt for under 40p seemed too ridiculous to consider.
We asked about getting a boat to the beach, and the attendant said he would call us back when the boat was full enough to justify the journey. Nearly an hour later we were still the only passengers so we decided to walk it. It would have been a fair distance if an English guy hadn't given us a lift on his hired motorbike. Quite a stroke of luck.
The beach was owned by a hotel, but no matter: This sort of thing is our speciality.
After an hour on the beach, we checked out the hotel's prices for food and drink. They were extortionate so we took a bus back to our hotel in Panaji. The journey took twenty minutes and cost one rupee.
We were too early for a proper meal, so we had snacks and fruit juices. As an experiment, we asked the waiter to give us a mixture of pineapple and mango juice. He agreed, and returned with an absolutely delicious concoction. Rather than tasting of mangos and pineapple, it had its own distinct flavour.
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