My dear friends, it is with a heavy heart I think of you at home in England, freezing your bollocks off for the sake of a white Christmas. Ben and I are also planning a White Christmas, but in our case it will be white sand. Our snowmen will be sand castles, our christmas tree a coconut tree (which, whilst awesome, engender a certain creeping paranoia that a coconut will fall and brain you at any given moment).
Alright, I know it’s not nice to gloat, but as you know from my last post, getting here was a bit of an ordeal, and paradise needed to be pretty damn paradisical (is that even a word?) to be Worth It.
And it totally is.
Aside from dudes wandering up and proffering free champagne, our past week has largely consisted of the following schedule:
- Get up around 11am
- Stroll to German Bakery for Banana Nutella Pancake breakfast
- Stroll back to the beach hut, change into bikini/shorts, and walk the 20 metres to the beach
- Play frisbee or catchy-bally in the sea for a bit (if you are Siri, this activity can be freely enriched with catching the ball with your face and cursing Ben for buying a cricket ball)
- Order onion bhajis from the resort restaurant, and spend a couple of hours in a hammock reading the latest Tom Robbins novel you have acquired
- Take a break from the beach to play with the week-old puppies that live under your hut and like to nuzzle your feet
- Shower before mozzer o’clock arrives and the shower block becomes an open buffet for the mosquito population
- Spend mozzer o’clock (around 4pm) cowering under your mosquito net and cursing mozzers of blocking any sunset action you may have planned. Substitute sunset with cards or chess, both of which can be enjoyed within the safe environs of the netted bed.
- Walk, bike or get a moped lift to a cheap and tasty local restaurant for dinner with friends
- Retire to friends’ beach hut to share a bottle of rum and the occasional complimentary champagne (if you are Ben, this activity can be enlivened by deciding to take a drunken bike ride later that night, and waking up the next morning with no bike lock key, no headphones, no mobile and no memory of the night before. Offer thanks to the Gods you don’t believe in for the neighbours who find and return said phone and headphones).
- Repeat ad nauseum
Actually we’re far from sick of the above formula. The day before yesterday we decided to mix things up by trying out Neil Island instead of Havelock, but after a fairly hairy search for a place to stay on the island, an hour-long march along the beach with all our stuff weighing us down just as mozzer o’clock was upon us, and then two nights sleeping in a glorified chicken coop with a duvet for a mattress on a floor of uneven bamboo, we decided Neil just wasn’t for us. Our Dutch drinking buddies have apparently found Little Andaman less appealing than Havelock, and as they put it “why change a winning team?”
So right now we’re back in Port Blair, enjoying a dose of relative cosmopolitan bustle and its comforts: Real walls, proper beds, a bit of TV and a decent internet connection. Tomorrow we book our tickets back to Chennai in early January, and then it’s back to Havelock for a very easy Christmas!