Seventh day in india
The train from Agra took us to some Delhi suburb, from where we took a taxi to the New Delhi metro station, so that we can start the metro at the airport tomorrow morning. Tickets did not look and did not notice that our IndiGo flight was departing from the domestic terminal of D1, to which it was necessary to go on a charter bus. Well, for now, settling into a hotel near the train station (there are a lot of them and throwing off the price twice, demonstrating on the iPhone an open booking page with a list of hotels near our Grand Plaza, we threw things into the room and crossing the road went to the restaurant with the promising title Allur.
They listened to Indian music in a live performance and watched how real Indian peasants walk, who continuously ordered songs, throwing hundreds of bills into the musicians (we would have had such quotations).
And in the morning a heavy rain hit Delhi.
Lilo so that the road instantly turned into a small river.
There were fears that because of such rain they would cancel our flight, but everything happened and flying across several states of India, after 2:20 after takeoff, we were already boarding at Goa airport. The weather was wonderful: warm, no rain. We took a taxi and drove to the southernmost point of Goa: Palolem Beach – Palolem Beach
According to the price list published at the airport, a taxi costs 1200 rupees. The road time is about an hour.
There were no thoughts about the hotel, so they entrusted the choice to the taxi driver. But he brought some ebony away from cafes and shops, so I opened Google map on my iPhone and found several guest houses on the seashore.
One of them, SeaGull, came up to us: 400 rupees per room with its terrace and a fan inside.
Palolen Beach – Colva Beach – Uttarda Beach: The Eighth Day in India.
Oh god At night, a mosquito net fell on me, it was hot and stuffy in the room, and I said to myself “what a … me! last day should be spent in a good hotel! ”, so after the morning meeting at breakfast we decided to go in the direction of Colva beach.
Palolem beach is sad: there are cows and, accordingly, cow shit on it.
The sand is gray, the fishermen pull nets in the mornings, but the fig is not caught – therefore, as in the song: the coconut does not grow, the women of theirs do not give, so everyone is somehow very sad. But they speak Russian cheerfully. Surprisingly, where does Russo come here so much that the local population mumbles:
Look silver! Good! And the owner of the hotel, in general, in the language of Minaev, cheerfully scratches:
In, he ran, – pointed to the elderly tourist doing a morning jog. Very much this reminded me of Turkey or Egypt. There, too, in the same way local men talk
Started to rain.
Therefore, having photographed the dude in fashionable thongs with the morning catch, squeezed in his hand, we took a taxi for 500 rupees and moved north.
Immediately that sets up a negative way: we stand at the reception desk, and the employee stands and chatting on the phone. Stand a minute, two, and already lose patience.
Finally deigned to give keys and show rooms. The rooms are not bad, overlooking the beach. We are trying to bargain. But the manager is relentless and done is taken again by the handset, thus showing that the conversation is over. Well – agree on its price. We are given the keys to completely different numbers. We first look at them – they are in the old building, where construction is underway, the rooms have stale air and old furniture. The view from the window in the trash.
What’s the matter? Showed one room, and vparivaete others?
But it is good that we are independent and free in making decisions and planning our holidays. We give the keys back, sit in a taxi and drive to the next hotel on the map – I almost remember its name: Boulwood Princesses is something there.