Vijay Parmar

With a bad neck and shoulder, Vijay Parmar heads to Spain to get certified as an instructor for BMW Motorrad India. What better way to unwind than to attend the IBW in Goa and enjoy some delectable cuisine? Or so he thought!

BMW Motorrad India put my name forward. The International Instructors Academy accepted, and I was informed that I should present myself to TWTMoto in Spain in November for the certification course. I sent my passport for a visa and one look at my photo, the embassy decided that there was no way that I posed a threat as a potential illegal immigrant, and granted me the visa. I have an honest face, but I doubt it has launched even a single dugout canoe, let alone a thousand ships!

Let’s roll back a little. In August, while training the GS Trophy finalists from India for their gruelling test by fire, I felt a soreness in my neck and shoulder that I attributed to age. I was right. Age had caught up. The 6th and 7th cervical vertebrae had developed a bulge and this joyous event was heralded by the start of what would be torture for the next three months.

Pain radiating into my right arm ― day and night, as the bulging vert played havoc with its host ― me. The MRI showed that this was not anything to be worried about but the continuous pain belied the diagnosis.

To cut a long story short, I continued to Spain, spent the regulation seven days in pain, and was unable to complete one part of the course. My performance was below par, well below par, and the fact that I couldn’t lift my right elbow at all during the turns meant I couldn’t turn any better than a broken winged avian! It was a disaster. Stuff I regularly taught hundreds of students effortlessly, had suddenly become a gargantuan task for the trainer.

There was learning. Never go into battle half prepared, and definitely do not try to hunt a lion with a toothpick! If you are not a 100 per cent, the result will never be a 100 per cent.

Wait. Repair. Regroup. And then go to war. Hopefully that last part will be tackled in Thailand in a few months. Once the repair is complete.

Coming back from Spain I spied two ‘Golden Tickets’ on my desk, for the IBW in Goa. I needed a break and although the last thing I wanted to see was another large bore motorcycle, I picked up the phone and called a friend. He needed no second invitation and the Go Air jet that carried us to Goa had a list throughout the flight that the Captain could not right.

Yes he is a large man, this friend of mine.

We went through the regulation exchanging of the Golden Tickets for wrist bands, signed indemnities, unaccompanied by our photographs, so completely useless for identification purposes, in case we keeled over from an overdose of burgers and beer! The bands need an RFID/ barcode identifier that connects to a database if scanned. So that the guy who fell flat on his face from sunstroke can be rolled over, his wrist band scanned, and the details of the relevant emergency contact would appear miraculously and immediately. The necklace is complete.

We need to connect the last mile. Not just have the dots but also to connect them.

Proceeding to Fat Fish, a seafood restaurant that opened in 2016, when it served up authentic tasting seafood. Sadly it has fallen victim to the endless barrage of North Indian tourists and their flavour dead palates. The squid rings or calamari were served up on a bed of tomato puree and boiled for so long that the only use for them would be as rubber bands, binding large wads of currency notes! Disappointing in the extreme. Bye bye, Fat Fish. ‘Gunpowder’ — the fiery South Indian restaurant that has moved from Hauz Khas village to North Goa. And it hit the spot. Appam, Kerala beef curry, with potato ishtew, was heavenly. Followed by payasam, it was a complete meal. That we had to pull a few strings, including telling the owner, in a Delhi voice, that we knew the owner and he had confirmed that we could ‘just go there and take his name’.

He was so taken aback at this blatant lie that he cocked his head at the maitre d’hotel and we were respectfully ushered to a ‘good table’. Once installed, with a menu in our hands, the said gent came and properly introduced himself as the owner.

Such wonderful manners.

Finally our homestay. A wonderfully restored Portuguese bungalow that will relax your soul and recharge your batteries in three days flat. The Capella Forest Retreat ― or simply paradise. Not by the sea or the beach but tucked away just enough inland. Home to Elsa the Dog and two lethargic cats. One of whom is a blood relative to Garfield. Noise free, save for two days when IBW wannabes roar past on straight pipes that are pandemonium — some with original Akras, an audible joy.

The world is spinning out of control.

Enjoy the carousel ride.

Enough said.