Bev has organised a yoga class for 9.30 am. Although she isn’t actually a yoga teacher, she’s been doing it for 11 years and has sat and done it with friends. I have got so stiff and inflexible since I stopped doing it that I decide to go.
When I get there I am the only one with a mat – all the other people are having to do it on towels which is really uncomfortable as the floor is a very hard, ceramic one. Even though we only do basic, easy movements, I can do so much less than I used to be able to do that it’s frightening. My ham strings are so tight you could use them as stays to keep the mast up!
When I get back to the boat, Mike greets me with the less than wonderful news (one of those delicious understatements) that our blessed generator now won’t even start. He calls the Volvo Penta engineers on the island that Westerbeke have recommended and they agree to come over when they have finished working on another boat.
I go over to chat with Rosemary on Crazy Horse, and as we sit there, the local TV news channel turn up to film the fleet and interview Paul about the rally. They then look around for someone else to interview and spot Rosemary and I lounging around just a few feet away and pick on us to be in the spotlight. Basically they couldn’t have picked a worse time. Both of us are still in our yoga gear, no make up and I don’t even know what my hair is doing. I try to give them sensible answers and look knowledgeable about all things nautical. I am sure I fail – they are going to give Paul a DVD of the interviews so I will be able to find out. I hope I was holding my stomach in!!!
In the afternoon I go shopping with Matt and Rosemary. I basically just want a good look around but Rosemary actually wants to get some nice clothes as she and Bill are staying in the lovely hotel opposite the marina and all she has is boat clothes. With pressure mainly from Matt but added to by me, she buys a lovely dress and some new sandals. I have to admit, shoe shopping here, in the marina anyway, is terrible. I have never seen such a sorry selection of shoes in my life. I’m glad I don’t need any.
The marina shops are really geared to tourists. Lots of sports stuff like Billabong and Rip Curl as well as the usual mass market, so-called “designer” stuff. There are also some Indian import shops with beautiful home furnishings like linens and ornaments, but more expensive than I remember them being in India (although it is about 10 years since I was last there).
I spot a shop that sells beautiful Anokhi dressing gowns like the one I bought in India about 13 years ago. That one has worn so thin that it ripped across the back a couple of months ago and has now been relegated to the rag bag. These new ones are three times the price I paid for the original one but I will be back tomorrow to get one, having deliberately come out with no money today so that I can’t be tempted by an impulse purchase.
In the evening, Mike and I go out for a meal at the Indian restaurant, Namaste, upstairs in the marina complex. The food is good but the white wine by the glass is the worst I have ever tasted. Mike’s red is OK but when he is half way down the second glass he finds a huge amount of sediment and sends it back. Indians have never been good on wine.
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