And now another predictable little tale, best captured by the spirit of the "Never get off the boat" scene in apocalypse now, where the Chef decides to go for some fresh mangoes. (In case you haven't seen the extended version of this classic, leaving the relative safety of the boat brings the chef face to face with a tiger. This is followed by his running away and subsequent shrieks of "Never get off the boat". Somehow it is the repetition of these words which makes the scene comic). In my case the boat is in fact the slow moving life of Om Beach, the mangoes take on their role in British innuendo, and the tiger is trying not to stare at a big shaved cock during evening conversation. For those that don't know about the near paradise that is Om Beach, lets just say that by the time you have finished breakfast and got ready to do something with the day its 12, and before you know it you've finished lunch and have only a couple of hours of daylight left. In the blink of an eye its evening, and when you check the time at the fire its 3am. Leaving Om Beach 'tomorrow' can take up to a week, and 'the day after tomorrow' at least a fortnight.
At the fire its quiet to start, and I quickly make eye contact with a girl. This is unusual, as I'm not successful with women, and its on the back of some 3 years of failure in this regard. So lets not pretend the alarm bells didn't start ringing at this point, but then again, I am a man. I move myself beside her, with no shy feint or double movement, and we exchange a few words. Then without my objection and rather prematurely she rests her head on my shoulder... I quietly remember the old saying "If it seems too good to be true, it probably is". But it's not the first time I've dated a crazy so lets just see how it goes. As the evening goes on she makes herself ever more comfortable on me, while I quietly feel discomfort at the level of public affection we're forcing on the others. This should of course all be read in the voice of David Mitchel, but I really hate it when other people shove in your face what they are getting and you're not. It's just rude in a social situation like a fire. It turns out the girl is Russian. She is small and her affection is sweet, so I decide this is most likely some kind of Mafia honey trap. It's definitely to be followed by my waking and finding that all of my possessions are gone. (think Star Wars, "It's a trap")
To my pleasant surprise I awake to discover that I am still in possession of as much portable property and so on as when I went to sleep, which was nice. I am however presented with one of those challenging decisions, as the Russian girl invites me to leave the beach and head to Arambol where she is staying. Giving insufficient consideration to my friends, and generally being an idiot, I leave the beach the next day.
I find the first of my problems before arriving: she is childish, almost insufferably. And then on arrival I find that Arambol is like Palolem but worse. Its touristy and lacking any trace of being India, but with even more drinking and idiots on motorcycles. There is something about the very atmosphere which is stressful, and then there are the Russians. While this may seem rather racist, Russians have an earned reputation for being unfriendly, drinking heavily, speaking poor English and not generally socialising with non-Russians. While I have to admit that its not fair for me to judge the quality of English as a second language, its also stupid to deny it could equally be called "International". I think Russians also suffer a false judgment by the chance of their own language, missing out much of the 'can, may, could' dressing of English.
Now, you might be wondering what is so comic about this day to day experience. Well as she had warned me, she lives with a few interesting people. In fact in the house are a married couple, a French porn actor and his Russian wife. If you need a picture the French guy has a receding hairline and a moustache, which tickles me. They aren't big on clothes and they are big on sharing. When I meet them in the evening a second (naked) man has joined for a vigorous evening of... you already know. Everything is a bit on the open side in this house, to the extent that the bed I use is in a hallway between the house and the kitchen. Get to watch the little trips out for olive oil and other items whose uses can be imagined. Oh they are polite enough, they did invite me to join in.
So later on after being abandoned by the Russian I find myself in the kitchen discussing extreme meditation whilst trying my hardest not to stare at a shaved cock. To my credit I hadn't noticed (but should have guessed) he was fully shaved the first 2 or 3 times we met. Now here is where I have to point out I am a straight man, I don't mind being caught staring at his wife's boobs so much. But just how hard is it to not stare at a cock! Think you can do it, then imagine he rearranges it, or walks towards you with it swinging from side to side... On the other hand these seem like good people. His Russian wife (topless) offers me some tea and in fact the conversation is some dose of, cock, normality.
I gather the Russian girl is known to be mad, and realise that this hot-cold attitude of the day will quickly drive me to madness. I can hear (lord) Saruman shouting "You have chosen the way of pain". Satisfied that to various extents and interpretations the open-relationship French porn star will "Take care of her" its time now for the next sketch. It's Monty Python's the holy grail, and "run away" is the order of the day. Be it from flying cow, badger, rabbit...So only now do I finally remember the conclusion of the first 23 years of my life: friends before girlfriends. (Ok can you tell I'm dressing that, but I'm not really someone that calls women "Hos", or his friends "Bros")
I get up pretty early, and some 6 roasting hot packed daytime buses later I'm back on Om Beach. Thank god for that... (As many people have pointed out I am an atheist, I will specify god to be thanking random chance, as a man may thank an inanimate object which has prevented his falling to his death)
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