So now I know how this happens, you show up expecting to stay 4 or 5 days, that stretches to a week, the next thing you know, you have signed on for another week and have extended your whole india experience.
Motorcycles, what with it being the end of the season here in Arumbol are going cheaper and cheaper . There are numerous makes, a lot of 2 stroke 100s by yamaha and such, scooters, but the king of them all is the Royal Enfield, virtually unchanged in 50 years, two models, the 350 and 500, both one-lungers and sort of a mini-triumph, with a nice loud exhaust, classic styling, and enough power to negotiate long distances on Indian "highways."
It is such that I am seeking now, or at least toying with the idea. Wtih an Enfield, one can tour India for a fraction of the cost, and doing so on the ground and not on the rails, one can really get a feel for the country. Motorcycles are registered for lifetime here, so the reggy passes from owner to owner as well. For about 4 or 500 american, (15-20000 rupees) one can be on the road in style. The only drawback is that the enfields are moody and will break down suddenly. Fortunately for one such as myself they are made quite simply, all parts are accessible, and mechanically basic.
I have put a couple of feelers out in this direction to see if one comes back, but as with everything, this is also subject to change . . .

Being somewhat free from obligation, at least much freer than most people, I could conceivably extend my tour of this country for a month, two, or even three. It is cheap to live here, and gets cheaper as you head into the hinterlands. Just keeping the possibilities open, one needs to take advantage of freedom when one can, for freedom is rare and fleeting for the most part in life. . .

Leaving the Rice bowl the other night we were treated to another kind of fireworks--nature's own--lightning. . As I began my walk down the beach toward my own quiet village it began to sprinkle a little, very rare this early in the season. It had turned to a steady drizzle by the time I trotted up the path toward the Villa, and by the time I got into my hut, a full-blown downpour had commenced.
Well, I thought, my hut may not be watertight, but at least all the drips are towards the sides, and the center is safe. . A few more minutes and this turned out to be absolutely not the case . Drips and streams formed in all parts of the room, on the floors, the bed, the corners, and of course, just to add insult to injury, the biggest stream of all landed right on my pillow.
Thinking quickly, I went and got my "clothesline," a 25 foot length of 5mm climbing rope, and made an "X" webbing over the center of my bed, stringing up my extra large poncho/tarp to make a dry area. By this time, all was soaked, though I had stashed my precious guitar and packs under the bed, where they kept well dry.
Under my makeshit tent I huddled for most of the night thereafter, there being just enough room to sort of lie down, (but not full length, as nothing seems to be made for 6 footers), and between bailing out the puddles forming in my 'tarp' and the power flickering on and off, I waited for the storm to be over. Finally I drifted off to sleep on my newly created "waterbed" about 5 am.
The next day, of course, there were clothes and sheets and mattresses hanging all over town on every available branch or rail, so it would seem that none had been ready for the unseasonal rain, and indeed, some had fared far worse. So it is, no frustration, just having to deal with another situation. By the afternoon all was dry and well again. The bamboo huts are very good at stopping the heat in the day, but when it comes to rain, well, maybe a little lacking. To put it mildly.

I'm fast becoming a regular around here, I guess that it may be easy to spot a tall blonde guy with a guitar, and even easier when I'm moseying down the trail playing it. I have been playing informally in the local haunts, there are a few musicians who do such, and the restaurant staffers callme by name and often ask me to come and play.

All in all, life is good here in Arambol, and when the time comes, it will be hard to leave. But that time is not here yet. Sooner or later the road will call, and now that I have opened myself to the probability that I will not be keeping such a strict schedule now, I have relaxed into that as well.
Of course, an Enfield would make the road call a little louder, I suspect. . .