Badami.

Badami, same day. Badami is quite a nice little city with cave temples just outside town, full with stone sculptures - needless to say these scupltures are depictions of the endless array of Hindu gods - and ancient temples set in a breath taking landscape, sandstone hills and farmlands all around. Not many western tourists around but an english bloke I met at the cave temples turned out to stay at the same hotel as me and invited me to come over to his room tonight for a joint of good indian grass.

The "Beer and Wine Shop".

Badami, 03-02-1995. Being back in the "real India" means no more bars and all night extacy parties, no more chai shops with a "Big B. Juice" on the menu, just over-sweetened indian chai. So in order to get myself a beer at night in my room, I need to go to the infamous "Beer and Wine Shop". They are not all that difficult to find though you need to have a bit of experience knowing what to look for...the biggest problem with these places is that you always get ripped off. They know you want your beer and that you never know thew price, therefore you are fair game. Very irritating. Still these places can be fun. Even though there are hardly any bars in the real India - everybody is in bed by 21.00 h. and people hardly have the dough to be able to affort to pay for a beer! - the locals tend to hang around these places probably hoping for a few free swigs from a customer who can affort it. Also the incredible amount of different beer names can be amuzing, I keep a beer list and it seems that every "Beer and Wine Shop" has its own brews. The beer also comes with different alcohol contends sub-divided in fancy names like MEGA STRONG and SUPER MEGA STRONG or MEGA MEGA STRONG, well I`m sure you get the idea.

The shoe shine wallah.

Hubli, 02-02-1995. After all the partying, drugs, sex and King Fishers in Goa, I`m finally moving again and experiencing the real India one more time. Not that I was in a particular good mood today. Not an easy task having to face the chaoticness of India when you are in a foul mood. Persistent street sellers and rickshah wallahs that, with a cronic lack of customers, have nothing better to do than try to persuade you need their rickshaw. They don`t mind following you around either, not else to do for them after all...Hubli is basically a place to change busses and I`ll only stay here overnight. Hotel Ajanta is a huge building where I pay 60 Rp. for a dirty single. Like always in these indian hotels they gave me - the western tourist - a room on the highest floor. "other rooms not available, sir", they tell me waggling their heads like only an indian can do. You know they lie but there is nada to do about it. Luckily this hotel has an elevator and naturally the elevator has an elevator attentant and for sure I`ll wake up early to the noice of the shoe shine wallah "polish, POOOOOOLISH'!!!!! Like I said; the real India.

My last visit to Anjuna.

Panjim, 01-02-1995. My last visit to the Anjuna flea market where every race in India seems to have its own place. The war in Kashmir has driven most kashmiri business men down to the indian plains where they compete heavily with the local sellers. Their distinct features single them out in the crowd. Like last week when I was here, I had a chai with Kristoff and his charming sister, a bit of a goodbye chai really because tomorrow I`ll be on the bus to.....havèn`t really decided on that one. Kristoff starts to smell as much as his crazy Bumbu monkey and I have no idea how his sister can stand the stink and, off course like always, his darned monkey is all over the chai shop looking for foot to steal from other customers. We all ignore it.

A depressed austrian freak.

Panjim, 31-01-1995. Panjim is a nice and tranquil small city with a strong portuguese feel to it. Small surprise considering the amount of time the portuguese colonisators spent here. Hotel Republica is very centrally located and the hotel were I lodged 5 years ago when I was last in Goa. I had no complains then so it seemed a good idea to lodge there again now. A 100 Rp. for a big room with attached bathroom, the cockroaches come free of charge I believe. An austrian freak and his spaced out lady occupy the room next to mine and invited me over for a chilam party in their room. However, when the hotel boys knocked on his door demanding payment for the rent, he panicked believing it was the police and dropped his beautiful chilam on the floor and the bloody thing broke in three pieces. The result; a very depressed austrian freak....The Holy Chilam is the most prised possession in the life of a charas smoker and they all have the quiet hope that theirs has been blessed by Lord Shiva himself. They will carry their Holy Chilam everywere they go, always have it near them, within eye distance so to speak. So you might understand why the poor chap was so depressed.

Pondering and remembering.

Vagator Beach, 30-01-1995. After I got half a tola of charas - no money asked - from Nico yesterday, I had to stay on and smoke it. One whole day in the chai shop on the beach took care of that problem!!! Well, that gives me some time to ponder on my time here in Goa, the nightly acid- and extacy parties i went to, meeting Electra and Kristoff and his sister again after Kutly Beach. Ha, it will be difficult to forget Kristoff, his sexy sister and that darned crazy Bumbu Monkey, that is for sure. The beautiful sunsets of Goa will also be hard to forget, whiling away in the beach chai shop late afternoon with a spliff and a "Big B. Juice", - a cold Kingfisher beer, remember? - in my hand waiting for the sun to set over a beautifully blue indian ocean. Just have to hope there won`t be any fat bellied rowdy german tourists around to spoil it. Someone told me that a girl I met in Chapora a few days ago and who appeared quite strange, flipped out on acid and is still trying to come down. Like I hadnot figured that out for myself already.

A clever monkey.

Vagator Beach, 29-01-1995. Another big and nice party on the beach. Set among the coconut palms and under an opale moon I dance the night away on this heavy stuff TECHNO music and when dawn appaers I can, sweaty and exhausted, recognise faces. A french freak I met in Vashisht last year, I too regocnise, as flipped out he might have appaered then, he has become a lot weirder since. Now that I`ve been here a good while and have made a fair number of amigos I spend more time sitting down on these reed mats provided by the impromptu chai shop people, smoking the Holy Chilam and spliffs and drinking expensive foul tasting coffee instead of dancing even longer on this steady TECHNO rithm. I can see the sun`s slow rise up in the orange sky while Kristoff is making the next mix and is sister is busy chatting me up, wispering in my ears what she is gonna do to me back at the house. Wonder if I still will have the energy to give her what she wants. The Bumbu monkey is already well asleep at Kristoff`s side, clever animal....

The Primrose.

Vagator Beach, nighttime. Managed to contact the norwegians and told them the story of the spaced out lady I met this morning in Chapora. Nice blokes who invited me in for a cup of chai and told me some horor stories about other braincell-burned-away cases. Seems to happen more often than I would have guessed. Apperently the israeli authorities airlift them out by the planefull - only there own people off course. Ever since my arrival in Goa I`ve heart good stories about the Primrose, a hang-out place for foreign freaks and other alternative characters from the rich west. Heavy Techno music and Tsiang Tiao beer from China. I have not drunk that beer since ny relationship with Patricia in Paris many years ago. Drinking this chinese beer made it seem only yesterday despite Kristoff blattering away all night about his plans for the chinese in Tibet and his Bumbu monkey constantly raiding the tables of other customers for food.

A spaced out lady.

Chapora, 28-01-1995. Nice little village Chapora. Sitting here under this huge tree with a hot and sweet chai I really can feel how much I enjoy this trip, already well over a year on the road. Now, I`ve heart stories about people who completely lost it all up their in the head because of O.Ding on the acid extacy. Basically speaking: all braincells have burned away, nada left, probably what happened to Kristoff with his Alien stories and his ragtag gang of pot smokers he wants to take up to Tibet to throw out the occupying chinese army. I`ve a pretty strong suspicion it`s what has happened to this pretty lady sitting opposite me pulking away at a massive hole in the sole of her foot. She doesn`t seem to feel any pain but she does have a pretty spaced out expression, a bit like she is far away, on a life time mental trip. Too bad about her foot, blood and green puss mixed with dirt from the always dusty indian streets flowing out of it. I heart a rumour that some blokes from Norway have a shelter for these people and try to contact embassies and all. Maybe I should give them a hint.

Locals and tooth brushes.

Vagator Beach, 27-01-1995. It took me two days to recover from my latest acid beach party two nights ago. GREAT, really with dancing on TECHNO music well into the first rays of the indian sun. When we left at 10 o`clock people were still dancing. When the first rays of the early dawn broke through the locals who inhabit the area of the party, watched the absolute madness with tooth brush in mouth. Kristoff dragged me off to the house of a finnish lady for a joint. Leaving her house several hours later and well under the "ïnfluence" he took me back to his sister`s place in Anjuna for yet more joints. His sister finally brought me home on the back of her Rajdoot - indian motor cycle - and when a bumb in the road pushed my pelvis area into her lower back area, she laughed about it. When late at night I walk down the road to Primrose together with Nico and Babsi a local says "hello" to Nico and wants to shake hands with him. "Do I know you?" asks Nico, "no" he replies. "Then fuck off, man!" says Nico and we walk on. Not really polite behaviour to a local in whose country we are mere guests but I decide not to interfere

The Bumbu monkey.

Vagator Beach, 25-01-1995. Visiting the Anjuna market this morning I ran into Kristoff and his sister. I was hanging out with Kristoff and his sister back at Kutly Beach a few short weeks ago. Having A King Fisher beer - even in Anjuna it`s named on the menu as a "Big B. Juice" - with them at a nearby chai shop Kristoff told me he had found back his Bumbu monkey. I seem to recall him telling me back at Kutly Beach, he lost that monkey about 8 months ago. As always the flea market at Anjuna was a spectacular affair full with european holiday makers and kashmiri carpet sellers. I watch with admiration how these shrewd kashmiri business people manage to talk all these office pricks from Europe into buying carpets the size of a soccer field - I might exaggerate a bit here but still....quite an accomplishment!!! Late at night when I try to sleep and ignore the mad barking of stray dogs i can hera a voice sceaming "shut the fuck up, you fucking dogs" I silently agree.

A "Big B. Juice" on the menu.

Vagator Beach, 24-01-1995. A lazy day on the beach reading and playing volley-ball. A local lady - a beauty really, who lived in the States and nowadays works as a waitress in one of the chai shops on the beach - wanted to go for a swim and asked me to chaperone. When she took off her dress to reveal a magnificent body clad in a undersized bikini, 20 heads belonging to well dressed indian holiday makers, turned all at once. I can now understand why she wanted me to chaperone her...The police raided the chai shops on the beach this morning because they sell beer without a license - that probably means they don`t pay baksheesh to the cops - so a beer on the bill was referred to as "Big B. Juice". While I chaperone the chai shop lady, I`ve a distinct feeling someone is keeping an eye on me...turning around I see a big and ugly black crom sitting one of the horns of a stray cow - they consider these cows holy here - and has its eyes fixed on me. Not a nice feeling.

A Lord Shiva quest.

Vagator Beach, 23-01-1995. Still trying to get my head together from last night`s acid party ans smack Boom Chankar I`m back at the next one. Yeah, have not even gotten over my unexpected run-in and consequent night-together with Electra, and there I am....back at the next acid party and trying hard to chat up this vasque lady called Beatrice. Let`s hope I wore out miss Electra well and good when we arrived at her hotel, let`s hope she is still asleep and not on here way to this all night party and finding me here busy with miss Vasque. I seem to remember she does have a jealous streak, was that not the reason I dumped her then. All of a sudden I can hear a voice "Hello Hans, how are you? How is Elektra?". Shit and shit again I have never seen this chap before in my life, who is he? One of Elektra`s amigos? Quite possible...Totally confused I ask him to join us but he politely refuses. While desperately trying to search my mind for a recolection still working hard on this vasque lady Beatrice, he disappaers as though he was never there. My drug induced mind is getting more paranoid by the day, I have even started to question my own sanity. What happened to all that control that I had before I started on this Lord Shiva quest?????

Electra.

Vagator Beach, 22-01-1995. Electra was her name and we used to date together but that was many years ago. I look across the crowd in amazement but, YES, it really is her....Now I`m not on some far out trip despite my presence on this acid beach party. It might be 4.30 o`clock in the morning and I might have been dancing on this crap for nothing TECHNO music but I`ve been sober all night. Not like the rest of this crowd, mostly israeli people who have recently finished their three year stint in the Israeli army shooting unarmed palastinians, the english all drunk and stoned out of their collective minds, are also heavily present here. I move through this crowd of weirdos charas smoke invading my nostrils - what is the point of smoking when the air is so pregnant with marijuana fumes, just a waste of money. She sees my face way before I reach her and the look of recognition in her eyes is obvious. When first light chases away the dark of the night I find myself on the back of her motorbike, around us hunderts of exhausted people are trying to make it home on their motorbikes. Rumour has it the indian police will only stop israelies for grass checks so we`ll be safe from that little bit of inconvenience.

English titties....

Vagator Beach, 21-01-1995. Took a bus today to Calagute with the intention to return by foot along the beach. Upon arrival at Calagute i decided to first have breakie before setting out on this not so massive beach walk. The chai shop where i took my X-fast was full with english people having just returned from an allnight acid party, it showed....they were rowdy and rough looking but hospitable inviting me over to there table. Within no time I had an english blond on my lap while I was busy trying to wolf down my breakfast. The darned woman placed her not-too-bad-an-ass on my lap and asked/demanded I gave her back a rub with the sun lotion she had conveniently in her bag. Naturally I obliged and - much to her satisfaction - gave her tits a rub as well. The beach of Baga was full with semi-nude, milky white european skin so I didn`t hang around for too long.

A holy cow on the beach.

Vagator Beach, 20-01-1995. Fucked out of my head on cheap booze and pot I said goodbye to the spanish amigos I made last night at the acid party and took back to my house - it is not like I lack the space there to put up with some overnight guests. I left them the house and the old woman to clear the whole rent thing with and with my head full with espanyol, my pack on back I wandered off to Vagator Beach running into a holy cow on the beach in semi-darkness - Shit, for how long have I been wandering around on this beach, must have been hours and I`m still not in Vagator Beach. Feel like I `m getting crazier by the day, it was only late morning when I left my spanish amigos behind on the "trek" to Vagator Beach and now it`s already nightfall, can`t remember the "trek" but whatever.....I made it to Vagator Beach eventually and found myself a room with a local family for only 60 Rp. a day. They made me promise to stay at least 5 days though. They must have noticed the state I was in considering they brought me a free meal 30 min. after I checked in.

Nightly beach parties.

Anjuna, 19-01-1995. A full moon is shining down on all the madness below. A 24 h. beach parties with acid, speed or coke - you name it - doped up people asking around for a chilam with a ready-to-smoke mix in their hands, their eyes have the desperate look like it is impossible to find a chilam in this crowd!!! Blond hardbodies scarcely dressed in thight fitting clothes soaked by their sweat from all the dancing they have done tonight. Techno music is loud in the air and must easily be audible in the village several km. further on, joints go around non-stop. The sfeer around here is probably not bad but the crowd seems to be mostly israeli. Difficult people to get to know unless you`re of the same nationality or at least jewish. I`m slowly kicking the Chilam/Charas habit and try to stick to myself in order to clear my haed of the notorious charas fog!!!

A spider big enough to eat.

Anjuna, night time. My house has no electricity either I found out when I return home well after darkness. Lighting a candle I discover a spider scrurrying around on my sleepingbag big enough to kill, cook and eat it, a decent meal for a hungry traveller like me. Thanks be to Lord Shiva for the chai shop just a mere 30 meters from my house. The place is just a wooden shack but they make food and have an electric lightbulb that even works - that can be consider a small miracle in India. I can eat, read my books and even write and draw in my scrapbooks. I meet a young couple at the chai shop that come from England that lodge here because they`re low on cash. I invite for a few hits from my chilam. When I return home the enormous spider is still around, no big surprise there. Now I even have a pet in this house.

The Anjuna market.

Anjuna, later the same day. The imfamous Arjuna flea market has obviously been taken over by the Kashmiris nowadays. I remember the days when only hippies and alternatives tried to sell their hand made ware at this markets. Now the beach is parked up and down with vans, Kashmiri people unloading carpet after carpet. Locals selling fruit and fish, It`s all pretty chaotic with tour busses in their hunderts, their drivers desperately trying to find a free parking space. Unloading thousands of western tourists, fat, ugly and rowdy, loaded with withexpensive camara- and video gear. Their favourite pasttime...gawking at all what is going on, pointing their camaras and videos at all and everything while drinking the not-so-cheap-anymore Goa beer. I watch it all wondering at what has happened to the old Shanty-Shanty Anjuna flea market with its easy does it hippies and chilam smokers from times past.

An old house.

Anjuna, 18-01-1995. I decided that Benaulim and my shitty room there, were decidedly uncool so together with my Cilam smoking partners from last night I took a bus to Anjuna. It`s only a mere 50 km. from Benaulim to Anjuna but it took us four bus changes before we got there, remember this is India, Magic Land and all that. Leaving whatever it is they call a bus terminal here in Anjuna, I got approaches by an old local woman, weather beaten face all wrinkled and not a single tooth left in her mounth, who offered me a whole house right on the beach for a mere 100 Rp. The place is huge but has no furniture, no toilet and no running water. It does have an old fashioned draw-well in the back and a garden that is empty of plant life. It does have GREAT views of the sea, though!!! Needless to say, I took it.

Fat bellied germans toasted a bloody red.

Benaulim, 17-01-1995. Golva has changed beyond my imagination since I was here last. So pack on back I walked the two km. to the nearby village of Benaulim watching the locals work the few rice paddies in Goa. I suppose the locals have mostly turned to the more provitable tourism industry. I have heard stories that you can nowadays board a plane back in Europe and fly straight to Goa, don`t even have to change planes anymore in Dehli or Mumbaz. Is probably why the beaches here in Goa are packed these days with fat bellied germans toasted a bloody red by the indian sun. A bloody 100 Rp. for a dirty room where even the hotel boys are unfriendly, will have to do something serious about that soon....I met a young couple from England I invited back to this shitty hotel for a decent smoke and the usual exchange of travel stories.

Heavily sedated.

Kutly Beach, 16-01-1995. I ended up at a GREAT party last night at the Shiva Restaurant - just a wooden shack on the beach really, don`t get carried away by a name here in India. The place got unsuccessfully raided by the police a few night ago - did they forget to pay their baksheesh or what? - , you wouldn`t tell from all the people who - paranoia free - smoked the Holy Chilam there last night. For me it was also a bit of a goodbye party since I`ll be on the 08.00 o`clock bus to Goa tommorow. So I kissed Susanna goodbye - as well as Kate`s very pretty sister who has turned up yesterday morning after having been missed mysteriously for the last couple of months. I ate the last of my grass and charras - I don`t like to travel with the stuff - and went to bed heavily sedated!!!

Chosing for a crazy life.....

Kutly Beach, 15-01-1995. I try to figure out where I was before going on this trip - I mean I was a pretty serious bloke working on the market back home in Amsterdam, working out at my Tae kwondo dojo every night, running in the park during the weekends, lady friends and no heavy booze and dope shit. But now I have come to the most unfortunate conclussion that I`m completely lost. I`ve got not the slightest idea of what is going on, I`ve definitely lost my usual grip on control of what goes on around me. This time the deities of man`s imagination are playing tricks on me, tricks I wouldn`t possibly considered real only a year ago!!! Not that this is my first trip to India, Magic Land as I like to call it. But before I always shied well clear of that long term population of pot addicted westerns, the people with funny hairdoes and that always carry a chilam in their underwear - the onlyt place where the indian police will not seach you. I quite open mindedly choose for this, i couldn`t possibly leave Asia/India without experiencing this life.......

Susanna alone on the beach.

Kutly Beach. 14-01-1995. Everybody will soon be off for the full moon party in Hampi, as for myself I been thinking to move up along the coast to Goa. However Shanty, Shanty Kutly Beach might be and however much I enjoy Susanna`s company. There were Pujas with fire crackers on the beach last night, countless chilams going around and Susanna walked home alone on the beach, late at night after I had informed her of my plans to to Goa.

Ganesh, the elefant God.

Kutly Beach, 13-01-1995. Kristoff is really getting off his racker. The fool is trying to mobilize everybody around Kutly Beach to come along to Tibet in a hired bus and kick the occupying chinese forces out...Yeah, free Tibet and all that...It will take more than him and his army of stoned, chilam smoking idiots!!! To be away from it all I walked back to Gokarna. A holy village dedicated to Lord Ganesh, Lord Shiva`s son also know as the elefant God because of his elefant head no doubt. Popular believe in India has it that when Lord Shiva came back home from one of his grave yard expeditions he found another man in bed with Parvati, his wive. Not realising his son might have grown up a bit during his absence, he cut his head off - Lord Shiva is known for his terrible temper!!! He could only bring his son back to life by beheading the first living being he would meet after leaving the house...Sure you can guess what living being that was!!! The alternative was living with Parvati`s wrath for ever. Parvati is also the godess of war so you can understand Lord Shiva did not fancy the alternative.

Hash oil from a 12 year old boy.

Kutly Beach, 12-01-1995. Walked to Gokarna this morning and had a chai at the chai shop where I spent the night together with that nutcase turkish sadhu 10 days ago when I arrived here. The chaishop is half way between Gokarna and Kutly Beach on top of a hill with great views over the ocean and inland. Sitting there outside in the sun and enjoying my chai, I get a joint from a 12 year old boy "fancy a spliff sir?". I took a few hits and was instantly transported to Lord Shiva`s Holy Mountain Kailash. "Excuse me boy, but what is in that joint?" I asked him bending over and almost falling of the bench becuase of the movement and the high feeling raging through my whole body. "Why, hash oil of course", he tells me grinning at me like I should know...His dad, a long haired out of time hippy sitting next to his son, seemed to find the whole situation quite amuzing. Somehow I lost a day in the mêlee my life has become nowadays. I roll into parties and strange situations with the people of the chai shop running after us on the beach late at night to offer us free bang lassie - A yogurth drink mixed with mariuana.

Boom Bolinath or Boom Shankar.

Kutly Beach, 11-01-1995. "Boom Bolinath" or "Boom Shankar" when you light the Holy Chilam and a half yell "Boom" when you pass it on, a very loud communal "Boom" when the crazy thing is lit. Greeting be to Lord Shiva who is supposed to spend quite a bit of his waking hours on top of his holy mountain smoking Chilam after Chilam, in brooding contemplation. Maybe mentally preparing himself for his nightly graveyard expeditions, he`s after all the God of Death and Resurrection. My hairdo is terrible, my mind a complete blank, Kristoff with all his bullshit stories about Karma and stoned aliens bores me shitless but he seems to have adopted me as his big number one amigo. At least the holy indian cows are real as well as their droppings I frequently step into. It`s all as "real" as everything else around me. A dream within a dream or maybe it`s just my mind unable to connect anymore, no doubt due to a fair amount of pot and charas.

Shanty, shanty, Baba.

Kutly Beach. 10-01-1995. I`m by now completely accepted by the semi-permanent population of western freaks around here but, don`t forget I buy my own dope nowadays. I meet women by the sackfull, wether blond or dark latina. I make their hearts melt with my charm. I run around and end up in terrible chilam parties where Lord Shiva is everybody`s favourite God, and many people participate, always somebody preparing the next mix. A merry good time with stray cows on the beach, crazy dutch men, sunny days and above all, SHANTY, SHANTY, BABA!!! Kristoff told me today about the 7 dimensions, karma, former lives and the like. Thanks to Lord Shiva I was stoned enough to keep grinning and saying "yeah, mon, tell me some more about it".

The crazy dutch "gay punk".

Kutly Beach, 09-01-1995. I decided to have another lazy day in the chai shop. Not that I had much say in the matter. I mean when I entered the chai shop this morning, a big chilam party was in full swing and by the time I had finished my breakfast I had also finished four or five hits from the Lord Shiva`s holy chilam. No way I was gonna excersize any activity after that!!! Not that the decision was bad, not at all!!! Susanna, the swiss lady that I charmed out of her pants some days ago, came in as well together with several other people I`ve befriended here on Kutly Beach. We chatted, swapped travel stories, played music, played chess and all that untill the crazy dutch "Gay Punk" showed up still keeping up his appaerance of a complete idiot and boring everybody shitless with stories that are, as usual complete BULLSHIT...

UNION OF INDIA TERRITORY.

Kutly Beach, 08-01-1995. About two km. out from the beach is a small and rocky island attacked from all sides by the sea. Since I still feel sportive despite all the charas smoking from the last couple of months, I decided to swam out there. Kristoff, a french bloke came along. The swim was tiresome due to the heavy waves but once there we rewarded ourselves with a spliff, Kristoff took some grass with him a plastic wrapper. After the spliff we had a look at the inscription on a man made rock. It read "UNION OF INDIA TERRITORY". Are these indians afraid some foreign power will invade that stupid little rock out there in the rough sea or what??? Luckily we had the wind and the waves in our backs on the way back, I mean after that spliff.....

The dutch on Kutly Beach.

Kutly Beach, later on the same day, One dutchman smokes a tola of charas a day and beats up english freaks when he gets drunk which is every night, the other dutchman goes around with a german lady friend and adopts one week old kittens - according to the locals abandoned by mother pussy-cat - , yet another dutchman goes around with a mohican hairdo - a punk,you know from the Amsterdam squater scene - and gets drunk all day on cheap local booze, starts screaming through the chai shop "I`m fucking gay" while his conversation partners quietly fill his glass with fenny, hoping, no doubt for some more free entertainment! I watch it all and being the eternal charmer, melt the heart of a swiss beauty.

A hand through the wall.

Kutly Beach, 07-01-1995. Sitting on the Drunken Dutchman`s - his real name is Paul - verandah I watched a tourist lady dancing in the surf, eventually she took off all her clothes and continued dancing untill well after sunset. I presume clothes can feel uncomfortable when you`re high on extacy and charas, pot, alcohol and what else she might have been using. It`s all available around here. I`m by now well established in the area`s Chilam Smokers` community. My prowess in chess and the fact I now make my own mix might well have something to do with it, as well as my long hair which I wear as a pony tail as many of these new world types do. Last night`s heavy rain woke me up and soon after lighting a candle, I saw a hand coming through the coconut leave mat that serves as a wall between me and my neighbor. I could hear the voice of the owner of the hand asking "fancy a splif?".

The Kingdom Of Lord Shiva.

Kutly Beach, 06-01-1995. No sun today so it was a good day to stay inside the chai shop, enjoy the tasty food, play chess, smoke the holy chilam and listen to the people who play their instruments and sing.Plenty of chilams going around and by the time I feel ready to return to my little stone hut I am well and truely completely stoned out of my head. I can see in total darkness as though it`s daylight, when I lay down on my sleeping bag i can place myself inside the heads of the spiders that crawl on the wall of my hut and when one of these spiders catches a moth i can sense inside my own head both the death fear of the moth as well as the juicy feeling inside the spdier``s mounth in anticipation of dinner!!! Yeah, I`m truely and well on the way to the Kingdom Of Lord Shiva.

More news from Kutly Beach.

Kutly Beach, 05-01-1995. Instead of sharing in the big chilam party that was going on in the chai shop this morning, I walked the short distance to nearby Aun Beach and - a bit further on - Half Moon Beach. The chai shops around here pay 900 Rp. a month to the coppers to be left alone. A bloke from New Dehli has got to pay 1500 Rp. Because he`s not a local from Karnataka, he seemed quite relaxed about it. Stray cows on the beach, a copper in his civvies collecting "his money". The beaches are deserted of locals so the western population go in the nude. A german goes around dressed in indian loincloth carrying his infant on his arm. His wife is japanese so ocassionally goes around in a japanese loincloth. Something japanese Sumo wrestlers wear but than without the ugly looking spikes, being very skinny he lacks the Sumo wrestler`s physic which makes it look even funnier!!!

The Drunk Dutchman.

Kutly Beach, 04-01-1995. I got back to my stone hut early last night, sleeping maybe 10 min. before I got woken by loud sceaming. I got over to the chai shop just in time to see the Drunk Dutchman beating the shit out of a new world type from England. No problem to me...I had met him earlier when he told me boastfully about being on the dole in Holland and how all the dutch are assholes!!! I thought about telling him my nationality but the Drunk Dutchman beat me to it and broke the bloke`s nose with a single punch.

A stone hut but no door.

Kutly Beach, 03-01-1995. There are no hotels on Kutly Beach, just man made huts and structures made by the people who live here sort of semi-permanently. All of them dope heads, new age people, alternatives, in short drop outs from around the globe who`ve come here because the place is relaxed and they`re in the company of their own kind. Apart from that, let`s not forget the good indian grass and charas. I was lucky in the accomodation department finding a stone hut instead of all these flimsy palm tree leave huts. The place has no door but I found an old cloth that will do just fine as a door. I do realise that my accomodation is going down in quality with each new stop. Their is a chai shop that seems to do the typical traveller`s favorite - pancakes - as well as some indian dishes like the infamous Masala dosa and chapaties.

A turkish sadhu.

Gokarna, 02-01-1995. From the light back into the darkness, that is what I felt this morning when I finally left Hampi. Busses that don`t show up - ünder repair today, sir" - bumby roads, locals either trying their limited english on you, trying to get you into useless conversations. A young turk dressed as a sahdu - he behaves as a sadhu as well - told me in Hubliwhere I had to change busses, that he was really angry with me because of my ???. So I told him not to worry, the feeling is mutual. After that the tension was out of the air and upon arrival in Gokarna took me to his arkadesh - turkish for friend - who had a chai shop on top of the hill that you have to cross from Gokarna to Kutly Beach. We could spentd the night there, got pancakes, space cake cookies and several chilam to smoke.

New year`s party.

Hampi, 01-01-1995. Bon annee to myself and a massive hang-over from last night`s party. A party with lots of booze, pot, chilams and techno music, sitting on reed mats and around a huge campfire made out of dried out banana leaves with an endless row of chilams going around. The moment I took a hit from a chilam and passed it on to the neighbor the next chilam was pushed into my hands from the neighbor on the other side.

No skeleton to be found.

Hampi, 31-12-1994. Once more I tried to find the cave with the skeleton an english archelogist showed me several weeks ago. However, once again my efforts were in vain. I found many caves and crevices between the boulders but not one contained a skeleton. In the village everybody is anxiously asking around where tonight`s new year`s eve party will be.

The coolest babas ofd Hampi.

Hampi,30-12-1994. At the end of Hampi bazaar and a little bit to the left and then up the slippery stairs and over huge boulders that end in deep abysses, finally the temple that houses the coolest babas of the whole of the Hampi area, always so eager to smoke the holy chilam with the foreign freaks. Together with a dutch couple I met a few weeks ago in Mahabalipuram, we went to pay "homage" to one of them. After smoking the holy chilam - our charas - we gave our newly found "Guru" the mandatory grass, some charas, a bit of food and some Rp.

Indian ants high on indian grass.

Hampi, 29-12-1994. The ants in my room have discovered the outrageously delicious feeling the get after eating my grass, so they`re now out en masse to carry my stash back to their nest, quite funny indeed....in a orderly row they go between the little hole - that I presume leads to their nest - and the place in my room where I keep my stash. I can clearly tell which ants have already been gnawing at my grass. They make disorder out of the organised ant row!!! There`s no furniture in my room, just an old smelly matrass on the floor, no place to hide my stash. These little rascals will find it any which way. And now that they had have a bite at it I`m sure they love the stuff just as much as I do.They`ll be back for more, no doubt about it. Something has got to be done about it. Thieving monkeys still irritate me and so do the french homos that`re the neighbors in my guest house. They seem to be into serious all night excersizes that, by the sound of it, seem to be of the intimate kind.

Munchy attacks.

Hampi, 28-12-1994. I caught a monkey today trying to steal my sweet cakes. While, in absolute panic, i tried to chase it away another monkey had a try. With the huge amounts of pot I consume in this village I most definitely need my daily sweet cakes to sustain me through the ever increasing munchy attacks.

Everybody is in Goa.

Hampi, 27-12-1994. I decided to do nothing today but enjoy delicious rest and tranquility, smoke pot from the holy chilam in the chai shop and drink a few local brews. The story in the village is that everybody is in Goa for the new year`s party or something. Whatever it is, the whole village is nearly devoid of foreigners but a few die-hards. You don`t hear me complaining...

Further exploration.

Hampi,26-12-1994. Further exploration of the rocky area up river from Hampi produced more people living up there. Some of them living in self made banana leaf huts using the boulders and rocks as walls and even as ceilings. Al of these people are fervent chilam smokers but that came as no surprise to me. All the western visitors to Hampi are totally addicted to Lord Shiva`s chilam and the charas that goes into the top of the holy chilam.

Far away from Mother Earth.

Hampi, 25-12-1994. Up the river from Hampi are some belgium, greek and italian people living in caves and in self made clearings. Wading through the river at times and jumping from boulder to boulder, following the river I went there today. I eventually found a belgium and german speaking italian who invited me to the usual chilam. They were quite chozy about the charas that had to go into the chilam mix. After checking out the tola of charas, even sniffing it, that I happily produced from out of my underwear - the only place were the indian police will, as a rule, not look!!! - they rejected it and made the mix with their own load. Completely stoned out my head I tried to find my way back to Hampi negotiating my way over and through an area with hit and tither "thrown" boulders of varying sizes and saw the ocassional local deeply immersed in his labour and probably totally unaware of the mental state I was in....In the coming twilight of the night I felt in a strange and mysterious world, on another world far away from Mother Earth!!!

Drinking beer again.

Hampi, 24-12-1994. Today was the first time I drank beer since my departure from Thirupathi, so I decided to drink 4 big beer as well as an unhealthy amount of pot either from the chilam or from spilfs. I did this all together with two blokes from England who are also staying in my hotel. Things being cozy and the pot relaxing we did all this unhealthy shit well into the darkness of the indian night.

Funny things in Hampi.

Hampi, 23-12-1994. With the festival definitely over, rest and tranquility have return to Hampi. No more local tourists who are desperate to get their picture taken with all these european alternatives so they can show these pics off to friends and neighbors back home in their native village or town. When I don`t go out of my hotel I play chess with french people, or I`ll be off to the chai shop and smoke chilam talking absolute bullshit. Funny things can happen in this primitive village like a cow walking into the garden of my hotel and a monkey with a bad limp repoeatedly trying to steal the sugar bowls on the tables of the chai shop. Running and jumping around with his prize in the tree tops and on the roofs, the stupid monkey spills it all and, in desperation, he throws the empty sugar bowl down on the chilam smokers drinking chai. An old local in lungi always around begging for free chilam and dancing like mad when he is stoned and drunk - which is freqeunt - refuses to pay for his chai, gets stripsearched by the owner for money and good humouredly thrown out.

European sadhus.

Hampi, 22-12-1994. I roll from one cilam party into the next and I`m slowly starting to understand I`m in the process of getting hooked to Lord Shiva`s chilam. Meanwhile I meet all sorts of people, and talk with european sadhus who`ve been in India much longer as I dare to imagine. They dress and look just like indian sadhus, they even smell like them, their white european skin has gone a leathery brown from years of exposure to the indian sun. Most of them seem to make the little money they need to survive here by selling tolas of charras to international backpack travellers like me. Most of their time is spent in the village chai shops where most of the backpackers hang out as well, making mix after mix for the next chilam.

Even more remote ruins and temples...

Hampi, 21-12-1994. Although I`m not always too sure about the situation I`m in or what is going on around me, I still enjoy myself going on long walks finding new ruins and temples. However remote these temples might be - I`ve started to wander further and further away from Hampi - I still find cool babas and Sadhus inside them inviting me for the inevitable chilam and often wander back to to Hampi with my feet not touching the ground stoned completely out of my head!!! Although I`m by now quite accepted by the semi-permanent western residents, I don`t really spend much time in their company but I do accept their chilams down in the chai shop where they seem to spend most of their time...

Thanks to Lord Shiva....

Hampi, 20-12-1994. Lately i`ve been hearing a lot of good stories about this beach place in Karnataka, down from Goa and near Jogg`s Falls. Sounds like a good stop before heading for Goa. The festival is practically over which means that the village should soon be quiet again, thanks to Lord Shiva for that.....

A small rocky island.

Hampi, 19-12-1994. The present festival in the village brings all sorts of gurus, sadhus and babas - maybe better put: "local freaks!" - to Hampi. Down the river from Vittala temple I found a small rocky island with a tiny one-room temple on top of it. I`ve to jump from boulder to boulder to reach it, but the place is worth the effort!!! Not a soul in sight apart from some local fishermen a respectable distance away. The island does seem to be the home to a small band of Langur monkeys but my presence does not worry them nor does thiers worry me.