Back in Goa: So, back in Goa. More banana milkshakes, fish suppers, ducking and diving with the stallholders, drifting on the beach and watching the days slip away. There are about five times as many tourists now - and I've been away less than one week. Many are day-tripping Indians, of whom the women bathe fully clothed in the sea. The majority, though, are the much anticipated (from a local point of view) package crews. Much anticipated because, unlike us, they are here for just a couple of weeks and are much easier to part from their money. The restaurants fill with drinkers, especially when there's footy on the telly.

On my fifth day back in Baga I take a stroll over the steep, rocky outcrop to Anjuna to pick up some mail from the post office. There's a letter from my folks and one from the Baron (who has already been here himself some years ago). I return and Gayle, Vanessa and I decide to head for Kerala that afternoon. Nemo decides to stay behind, immersing herself in the history of Buddhism and beginning to think about a trip north to Bodhgaya. She seems terminally laid-back, though, I bet myself that she's going nowhere.

Three bus journeys and two and a half hours later we are at the train station. It's mid-afternoon and we will have to wait till nine for our train. Begging kids are beaten away with sticks by the station guards. The train is three hours late, and we end up boarding around midnight. We were unable to get sleeper tickets as if, by some random ruling, no such reservations can be made between 3.41p.m. and midnight by groups of three on a November weekday. We search the carriages for either a seat or an attendant from whom we can by a bunk. Though we find neither, we are in luck - there are four spare bunks which we grab. No ticket collector comes, and we are not bothered throughout the twenty hour (delayed) journey.