The X Factor

Our return to England was heralded with drizzly rain and misty skies, although this may sound depressing, it wasn’t; it was a welcome respite from the heat wave that had accompanied our first visit to Goa. As we sped towards Caistor, cruising the motorway, I watched the landscape, marvelling at the world of contrasts we live in. Previous experience of travelling and living away from home had always provoked a longing in me, a desire to touch base whenever possible to surround myself with the people and place I loved most. One of my most treasured memories is returning home from Cambridge for the holidays - as soon as the train rounded the bend and Lincoln Cathedral rose majestically into view, my heart would brim with joy – I was home (well, a thirty minute drive away!) However, our return this time was different, the happiness was there, obviously, but there was a clarity to my perception, almost as if India had lifted some veil from my eyes.
I was astonished at the lack of colour in a place I had always found fantastically vibrant, I relished the changing hues of each season. Stepping back into England from India made me realise how subtle we English are, we prefer restraint in our palette, choosing to bend in with the environment around us rather than announce our presence with fluorescent paint! In Goa there is no escape from colour; the fertile deep red of the earth, the myriad greens on every plant, the splashes of blue on the birdlife – it is as if the Maker himself, and us mortals, have had access to a heavenly paint box and run riot! Houses are daubed in every colour of the rainbow, saris drape forms in a jewelled array of colour, there is just no room for understated neutrals in Goa. I felt like Dorothy in ‘The Wizard of Oz’ – I was back in Kansas after the Technicolor dream of Oz! (I do really wish that I had a pair of those ruby slippers!)
Another difference I noticed was the noise. India is a symphony of sound, nature competes with calls to prayer, car horns and the early morning (5 am!) shouts of the bread boy. Everyone talks at a mile a minute, conversations weave through and over people, all are encompassed by opinion, discussion is invited whether you had a part in the original dialogue or not. Bhangra beats, Euro pop anthems and Bollywood songs provide an intoxicating melody that has you unconsciously shimmying around the streets. Even rest is accompanied by the cheerful chirp of crickets as they fill the velvety darkness until dawn.
In spite of these differences, I acknowledged that although my heart belonged to England, a small section had now been grabbed by Goa. The spell that had captured Giles so many moons before had now turned its charm on me. Although entranced by all I had seen and heard on my visit, I was also aware of the less positive sides to Goa – the rubbish, the dust, the arrogance of some of the tourists, the tacky/superficial erasing the original spirit of a country which absorbed culture, nationality and spirituality like nectar, the commercial industries overtaking the cottage crafts and the desire of some people to change, to develop, what merely needed improving.
After a few months, I was eager to return, to see if my recollections were as accurate as I believed them to be. This time would be different of course, for we would be staying at the completed Coco Shambhala. We had seen Shambhala’s infancy, now we would experience the completed transition from dream to experience. Coco Shambhala had already welcomed its first guests to great reviews and acclaim. What I couldn’t wait to sample was the special atmosphere that so many people commented on. I had already sensed the magic on our visit to the site – but this aspect of Shambhala was as important as the architecture, gardens and furnishings – it was Coco Shambhala’s ‘X –Factor’ if you will, that would make our place successful, a place where memories would be made and cherished for years to come.