Tropical storm here: Torrential. It’s the very end of the monsoon season. You can’t hear any sound, not the keyboard, nothing, as the water, which falls as a wall, drowns out everything. It’s magnificent and unsettling at the same time.
Yesterday, however, it was calm enough for the boats to go out.
Talk about writing weather! Speaking of which, I’ve written 71 pages while here, which means I’ve got 146 pages in total. It’s a draft, but a good one, and I love the task of fine-tuning. What follows is working in the restaurant a few months and tying up loose ends. I’m aiming for 300-350 pages to distill down to about 225-250.
The sky just darkened even more. From where I sit on the open veranda, the beach, only about 100 yards away, is eclipsed.
Last night the owner of this property invited us for drinks and snacks at a table he had set up near the gate to the beach. That turned into a bottle of vodka, roasted and spiced cashews, grilled fish, and vegetable kati. All delicious. Enhanced by lively conversation. Seems, too, that the problems with the kitchen are related to the chef having worked for the previous owner. In what seems to have been a kind gesture, the new owner kept on the old chef. The chef is amiable, but old school.
Here tonight and then to Mumbai tomorrow until 1 AM Saturday–flight back to Boston, arrives 1 PM on Friday.