We transcended into the realms of enlightenment as yogi alumni over a final flicker of remedial flame before levitating celestially over the hot afternoon sand to the sea for a farewell party and some well received cocktails. The following few days consisted of some fond and emotional farewells. Opening the lumbar spine and hip joints for a month leaves you feeling somewhat fragile. Wrenching myself from Rachel was as painful as tearing off a tenacious fabric plaster, however I entrusted her with some salient items as insurance that she would have to meet with me again in real life in the future...
On Christmas eve we ate at Space, the second best vegan jaunt in Agonda, which does however serve the most moist and delectable cakes perhaps in southern India. These arrive within a paltry hour of ordering, dragged to the table by the stoic Indian gentleman who skuffs his raggedy flip flops the 10-12ft to our table often bringing the wrong order. But they are nonetheless, most certainly worth the wait. Before Kaiser left bound for Sweden she had promised her landlord at Tutti Huts that she would crack some cardamons and learn how to make curry with her. So for the afternoon we hung out in the kitchen, really only assisting with the peeling of a few garlic cloves, but skillfully avoid the scorching midday heat and frantically taking recipe notes over a few cold Tuborgs. After sinking some goodbye mojitos and a final few rounds of incredible Nepalese momos, steamed parcels filled with your choice of spinach, cheese, seafood or vegetables, the final few of us headed to meet Deepak and the other 300 hour course yoga students for some Bollywood dancing. We rolled around the room raucously full of rum, and before I knew it I must have arrived in bed and sunk into a deep, fully-clothed slumber.
Christmas Day began laudably with the best fluffy tomato and three cheese omelette and cup of coffee in town, at our beloved Budan, run by an amiable young Indian from Kashmir who recently split from his English girlfriend but offers a cheerfully prophetic outlook on life, love and chance. We'd been hitting up Budan with habitual regularity at precisely 10:05 after a quick jog down the road on our breakfast hour for the only real Italian hit of liquid energy, in order to tackle the sonmiferous onset of two hours of Anatomy or Philosophy class before lunch. Imi, London based lawyer, left Goa for the Southern shores of Kerela at noon and I dropped her at the airport 2 hours North, before heading upto Mandrem and Arambol beaches to suss out a magical retreat for a celestially calm New Years. In danger of subscribing tragically to the irritating elitism often employed by travellers somehow subtly feuding over the validity of their personal experience of a place or people, I must report that i found the North to be an unpalatable mash of Russians in minuscule budgie-smugglers, lecherous holiday makers, and loud and pretentious white draped resorts blaring bland house into the long, and featureless busy beaches. But, as a qualified yogi bear I say this of course without judgement or prejudice, and simply turned quietly on my disgruntled heel and migrated South once again - submitting to stay nestled comfortably in the calmness of the cove of Agonda instead. My taxi driver for the 3 hour journey, who concluded the 7 hour round-trip that day, was a delight, and bought me an orange. So the day was not lost, and I had myself an obscure but juicy and delicious Christmas present at the last minute.
Boxing Day was far more successful as I rented a bike and resorted to a day of rinsing around South Goa soaking up the sights. I visited Sam, Mama Agonda, at H2o on the beach to deliver a Christmas present and seek a co-pilot. Unexpectedly, I was fortunate enough to find three. Trying to covertly evade Sam's two dogs Happy and Cookie in a back exit stealth mission turned out to be less than successful. We found them already waiting for us at the bike, and so with slightly more corpulent Cookie in the cockpit, and Happy gathered up like a baby in Sam's arms we proceeded perilously to bless ourselves in a local temple, and scale the fort ruins of Cabo de Rama. Despite all intents and purposes,a scaped leg and a minor exhaust scorch, we arrived back in one piece around dinner time. 
The rest of the week consisted of resplendent early morning yoga sessions directed by my beautiful Bulgarian course mate Irena, long strolls to our favourite restaurants up and down Agonda, and increasing excitement over Jack's impending arrival. It's a shame the week's drop-in classes were already divvied up between two other graduates, otherwise I would have liked to take a class, however I instead poured my creativity into a New Year hour long sunset practice that I was composing to unleash on a poor unsuspecting Jack. I will miss Agonda so much, and the local and Northern Indians who make a living from the tourist industry. The innumerable high fives and hellos that come with a walk through town, the silver smith Gollum who was unnervingly well-practiced in riddles, the happy family who mock our friendly greetings with an exaggerated 'heellloooo' of lofty falsetto tones every morning, the friendly internet man who lets me dunk rich teas into my grubby Nutella pot as I check my finances, and everyone else who makes me smile on the 3km walk. Especially our home stay restaurant owner Danesh (a.ka. Dennis, or Dirty D as we call him) with whom I may well be betrothed and set to marry on January 15th.
I will be sad to tear myself away.
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