I didn’t get much sleep last night, the thought of sharing my bed with the bugs kept me awake much of the night. Today, I decided to raise my budget and go in search of better accommodation, with air-conditioning at least. My guidebook paints the next Goan town, Calangute, as the package tourist hotspot and I was expecting to see some ugly, but hopefully clean, large beachside hotels — I needn’t have bothered; there aren’t any. I’ve since been told that there are some nicer ones further inland and along the coast, but they’re way more money. Actually, where I’m staying in Baga appears to be much nicer than anything here (and half the price too). Plus, I’ve really warmed to the staff — for the first time in my life, I’ve got a “room boy” and there’s nothing that’s too much trouble for him. In preparation for night number two with the bugs, he’s burning lemongrass and mosquito coils. My concern is now: will I survive a night in this smoke-filled room?

Before coming to India everyone, but everyone, warned me that getting “Delhi Belly” (i.e. diarrhoea) was a nasty certainty and that Imodium would become my best friend. As such, I’ve developed a deep mistrust of anything going into my mouth and have almost totally lost my appetite. Instead of rushing in as much foodstuffs into my gob as possible, I’ve temporarily turned into a ‘picker’ and prod things around on my plate, forcing myself to nibble a little to get some nutrients. It’s a real shame because Indian food, in the UK, is amongst my favourite and I’m not known to leave anything on my plate. Ever. I really hope that I get over this psychological barrier soon, else by the time Claire joins me I’ll look like a garden rake. Mind you, I might have discovered a way to make my million: the “Xenophobe’s Diet”. Bring a bunch of overweight, xenophobic British tourists to India and let them choose whatever they like off the menu, just so long as it’s not translated. Brilliant, no?

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