Did I really spend 6 days at the beach

Did I really just spend 6 days at the beach? Where did the time go? When I arrived in Diu on the coast of Gujurat I wasn't sure whether I'd be able to keep myself occupied there for 6 days but, surprise, I did. Every day I walked up the coast to the quiet beach in the first picture. Some days I had it to myself, some days shared it with a few others. The water could be a bit rough (i.e fun) here so it was mostly the westerners who ventured in. Maybe not being as comfortable in the water, most of the locals kept to the main Nagoa beach where things were calmer and there was safety in numbers (and, unfortunately a lot of litter).

I rented a bicycle to toodle around. See the photo. My mistake, I think, was getting a lady's bike. First of all, the seat seemed to be only slightly higher than the pedals and incapable of being raised, possibly because women don't ride bikes and only girls do. Second, it really was in bad shape and I couldn't help but wonder if the men's bikes were kept slightly better. But for $1 a day, I'm not going to complain too much, even if my bum is bruised by the hard plastic seat. Most visitors rent scooters here but I have to admit I was too scared to do that at first even though the traffic is pretty mild. And before long I just got used to the having the pink rocket around whenever I wanted to hop on and go.

As it happened, the French Canadian and the five French French people that I met in Mnt. Abu all ended up at the same hotel as me (possibly because I name dropped about it) so I spent some time with them. Otherwise, poked around Diu Town and the fishing village at the other end of the island, went for walks and killed a John Grisham novel hiding from the afternoon sun. And what do you know? Six days are gone and it is time to leave.

So at 5am this morning, one of the hotel staff rode me to the Diu bus stand on the back of his motorcycle (flip flops and no helmut, of course. Don't tell my motorcycle instructor or Terrell or Lindsay).  After a two and a half hour bus ride to Veraval I just got on the train to Ahmedabad and, if all goes well, will board the night train from there and be back in Delhi tomorrow early afternoon, can you believe it.

Got chatted up a bit at the Veraval train station. Usual line of queationing:
1. Where are you from?
2. What is your name?
3. What is your age?
Just like that. Im okay with my age but all the same I wish I had a dollar for every time I've been asked within the first minute of meeting someone. And it is not just men, women ask too. But with men the questioning usually continues:
4. Family? (Meaning, children). No, no children.
5. Travelling lonely? (Meaning, I assume, "alone"). Yes, travelling alone.
6. (a) Husband? or (b) your husband let's you travel alone? If I answer truthfully, and I don't always, I generally get a shocked look and a question like this morning's: "in India, we believe that sex (ergo marriage) is important. In Canada you don't need sex?" And there, they've managed to turn the conversation with the white lady to sex in no time flat. This morning, I didn't even mention the bit about being a student, which is also typically met with incredulity. Boy, I must be some kind of weirdo.

For the time being I am trying to live in blissful ignorance about the fact that school starts again in a couple of short weeks and to pretend that my Indian summer will go on and on. Unfortunately, OCAD emails and bureaucracy have managed to intrude and my mind is starting to drift to Delhi and Toronto.