The story continues ...

Following the spectacular unveiling of Coco Shambhala, I was now desperate for knowledge, eager to find out as much as I could about the environment surrounding our property. As we had driven, at breakneck speed, through Nerul, I had seen enough to assure me that this was a beautiful, unspoilt part of Goa. Women sat by the roadside, woven platters of seafood glistening before them, sunlight glinting off scales that had only recently known the cool caresses of the Mondovi River. Men sat in local bars, droplets of moisture running down their glasses as they pondered the world and gossiped about local events. The pace of life was slower, dictated by the temperature of the day rather than schedules or targets.

Giles, harnessing our enthusiasm, decided to take us to the local beach – Coco Beach, Shambhala’s namesake. We followed a rough path through the field, sun beating down on our heads, brittle grass scratching at our legs as we stepped surely in the footsteps of local fishermen to arrive at the beach.

At first, I was slightly dismayed by the litter strewn entrance to the beach. As there is no defined refuse collection in Goa, people tend to dump, or burn, rubbish; I wasn’t surprised though, along the road, there is often evidence of our consumer driven lifestyle and the packaging it entails. However, having said that, when our feet hit the sand, it was a completely different story. Where Coco Beach differs from many of Goa’s more recognisable beaches is that of its size, erosion and environmental factors have decreased the beach, though they haven’t diminished its simple beauty.

Whispering palms surrounded the beach, providing a soothing song as the fishermen tended their nets. Rustic beach shacks offered cool drinks, snacks and a respite from the blistering midday sun.

As we paddled in the surf, I began to appreciate the harmony of life here – tourism complemented the working life of the fishermen – they used the local shacks and enjoyed the attention of tourists eager to see the day’s catch. I scanned the beach for the usual array of worthless souvenirs and trinkets that accompany beaches all over the world, but found none, this was a place to relax, not a place of commerce. Here, the invitation was to spend take some time out, enjoy family and friends, return to your home refreshed and invigorated by the sound of the surf and sunlight on your skin.

Our two weeks stay in Goa flew by; each day was filled with colour, experience and regular visits to Coco Shambhala. We explored, tasted and had our senses filled with the textures of Goa, but still it offered more. Every expectation we had was either met or disproved; every idea was supported or turned on its head. Nothing, we found, was simple or ordinary.

For example, a visit to a local shop was (and still is) never a two minute task. Supermarkets are a relatively new concept here and self service supermarkets were only brought into being about five years ago – so I guess we will be waiting a little while longer for self service checkouts!!! So, right, you get into the supermarket, first, you have to check your bag in with the friendly security guard who insists on speaking to each of our three children individually. Then, you have to greet the shop assistants, who, again, have to speak to the children. Then, you get your basket and begin to wander around the shop, shadowed by a shop assistant who treats you like Julia Roberts in ‘Pretty Woman’ after Richard Gere has told the assistant they are going to spend ‘obscene amounts of money’. Nothing is too much trouble, a request for something simple will have the poor girl scurrying into the bowels of the shop to return anywhere within ten minutes to an hour later, holding a aloft a dusty item, grinning and grimy, like some tiny Indiana Jones back from the Storeroom of Gloom. You almost have to take the item, whether you wanted it or not, because the disappointment would probably be too much for her to bear.

There is also the language barrier – a search for curry paste resorted in an assortment of plates being brought out for inspection, a request for Fanta resulted in pants and a clock – I still don’t want to think about it.

However, all too soon, we were scooped out of our adventures, ferried to the airport and confined to the soulless, air conditioned environment of the plane destined for England, for home.

Revelation

I lay in bed that evening, listening to the joyous screams of the tourists on Juhu Beach, I wondered at this path life had chosen for us. In many ways, life in Mumbai was not so different - rag pickers made sure recycling wasn't just a buzzword but an enterprising, flourishing business that sustained the environment but also provided for a family; fashion was unique - every sari adapted to size, shape and mood; businessmen rushed to work carrying coffee cups and calculations in their heads, yet, in spite of these things, India has an 'otherness' which is hard to define. Everybody seems purposeful, eager to carry out the tasks for which they feel they have been created but, there is a spirituality that weaves itself through even the most glossy, or mundane, of tasks. Temples grace every corner, blossoms wend their way sinuously around roadside shrines and incense permeates the atmosphere, reminding us all of mortality and the multitudinous layers of this life and beyond.

Mumbai had bewildered me, leaving a startling array of images to bombard me as I wandered into the adjoining room to check on the children, who were no doubt dreaming of all they had seen and heard that day. I remember lifting the curtain, pressing my fingers to the cool glass and hoping that I would be able to find a way to bridge these worlds I would move between from now on.

The following day we made the brief flight down to Goa, barely having time to sample the savoury snacks on board before coming in to land. Bright sunlight dazzled me as I stepped out of the plane, I shielded my eyes and smiled. The Goan spirit of 'sussegado' had slowed everything down, fellow travellers shouldered backpacks easily, gazing around them whilst we bathed in the warmth that had coated our skin like treacle. Security guards smiled lazily, patting stomachs gently rounded by their fish/curry/rice diet as we made our way to our driver, Baba, and the villa we were staying in as Coco Shambhala was not quite ready for its first guests ...yet.

Once established in our villa, we all started pestering Giles, eager to see how the build was progressing. His slightly reluctant acquiescence to our demands had me worried, but, as soon as the children were safely ensconced in the van, I tackled him - was there a problem ? He assured me that there wasn't, he was just worried about showing 'the unfinished product' so to speak. I had seen the pictures - and been round enough fixer-uppers to know that any viewing comes with an understanding that this isn't IT - imagination has to do some (ok, a lot) of the work for you. I think Giles had this vision of me standing at the gates with some beautiful silk ribbon and silver scissors, snipping through the barrier before gasping in wonder at a completed Coco Shambhala, but I was well aware of the delays and decisions that had taken place and so, I thought I was prepared ...

Baba hurtled through the roads of Goa like some demented Lewis Hamilton, seeming to ignore the alarming tilt of his van as he swung into bends (usually on the other side of the road so oncoming traffic proved a bit of a problem) and the shrieks of elderly pedestrians as they (foolishly) attempted to cross the road within metres of his vehicle. Cows, motorbikes, scooters were avoided through sheer luck and finally, we arrived in the charming village of Nerul.

As we drew up outside the gates of Coco Shambhala, I was surprised by the noise, or lack of it. Although the entrance was filled with vans and scooters, the workman's tools were strangely muted, almost seeming to respect the environment in which they were working. Chatter, light and unsubstantial, reached my ears; the musicality of the Konkani language drifting across the site accompanied by giggles from the worker's children. Giles led the way through a shady path and I closed my eyes thinking (in a very 'Gavin and Stacey' way) - 'Oh my Christ - what if I don't like it ? What if it is nothing like I imagined ?' Doubts were racing through my head at a million miles a second, at which point, Giles glanced over his shoulder and I pasted on my 'isn't this exciting ?I'm sure I will love it' smile on my face, nodding encouragement to the children as they clamoured to race ahead.

And then, it happened. Without warning, I turned a corner and the site opened up in front of me like a revelation. I actually had no words, I just stood, drinking in the site of what my wonderful, talented, determined husband had accomplished. My heart swelled in my chest as I realised the amazing effort that it had taken to bring this dream alive, the laborious, exhilarating journey from scribbled ideas on a beermat to reality. Four villas stood like proud sentinels around a sensuously curved swimming pool, their angled roofs sweeping towards the floor whilst white walls showcased their perfection. The children disappeared into the nearest villa, roaring their approval as they ran from room to room whilst I turned in a circle marvelling at the design, the sheer size of this creation.

Taking a breath, I stepped into Ashvini, the villa closest to us. It was everything I had imagined and so, so much more. The jacuzzi area was cool and inviting. Dappled light reflected off the surface of the water, allowing shade to harmonise with the different elements of the room. The master bedroom was sumptuous, airy and, if Baba hadn't been laying on the concrete slab of the bed, grinning - very romantic. I wandered upstairs to meet Loulou, the tour de force that is Coco Shambhala's interior designer. Having heard all about her, I was amazed by this diminutive woman with her golden skin and gorgeous clothes who barked orders like an army general. Seeing me, she skipped from her perch on the stepladder and embraced me, Belgian fashion of course, enveloping me in tingling silver bangles and mischievous attitude. She dragged me over to the balcony - 'Look' she commanded, her arm moving to encompass the site, 'Isn't it marvellous, darling ? Hasn't Giles done a wonderful job ?' I nodded, too blinded to see through the tears that had suddenly clouded my vision - yes it was, and yes, oh yes he had.

And so it began ... endless discussions over coffee (and later in the evening, a cheeky glass of wine or two!!!), poring over designs, scanning laptops and libraries for inspiration and understanding of the task that lay ahead. I lost count of the times I was asked to express an opinion over indoor v outdoor bathrooms, tiles and other features.

One of my favourite memories was Giles returning from a two week trip, opening his suitcase and handing me a carefully wrapped package. "Open it," he urged, "What do you think ?" I remember studying the package, as a woman does, weighing the possibility of the contents - too heavy for jewellery, too small for Choos. Finally, I gave in to temptation, relishing Giles' obvious anticipation to my reaction and was rewarded with ... taps. "Well ?" he cried, "Aren't they fantastic ! Won't they look brilliant in the bathrooms. We've had them specially finished ..." His voice faded into the background as I suddenly felt a moment of sympathy for Princess Diana and her 'three of us in this marriage' comment - all except there weren't three people - there was a team!!!

Within months, Giles had managed to assemble a team that would support, inspire and sustain the dream of Coco Shambhala. To name them all would take forever but special mention must go to Neil, Tom, Subash, Alok, Sue, Loulou, Linda, all at Lazydays, Ceri, Lee and so many others (please forgive me if I haven't mentioned you - you know who you are and thankyou xxx) Most of these people I didn't meet until some time later, but when I sat down to dinner with Giles, they were sat there with us as he brought them alive with gesture and tone, relaying thoughts and ideas which occurred at all times of the day and night. For those of you who know Giles, you will know that his Blackberry and mobiles are almost extensions of his personality - there were times over those few months/years where the sound of texts was as natural as birdsong and the ringtones provided the soundtrack to our lives. Yes, there were times I could have cheerfully chucked the bl**dy things out of the window, yet, I also knew that this incessant noise was part of the process. They provided a connection between people, countries and ideas - conversations, both spoken and written, would solve problems and build so much more than buildings and gardens - so let them ring ... but not after 10.30 pm please - the children are in bed !!! (Oh, I am still in therapy over the hours Giles spent on the the laptop replying to emails - it's just too soon to talk about it ... )

It was an exciting time, but also unreal, because I had never visited India, or Goa, before. I viewed the pictures of bamboo scaffolding with scepticism, cringed at the workers children picking their way like surefooted goats through the rubble and felt distance. I knew I had to get out there, to see for my own eyes what was being wrought from the fertile red earth in Nerul.

When we boarded the plane at Heathrow, I had no idea what to expect. My imaginings of India were, I'm afraid to say, formed from friends experiences, tv and books. As I sat, and suffered (who knew those travel sickness bags were sooo useful ??!!) through the flight, I saw myself disembarking into a Bollywood style documentary - but, nothing, nothing, had prepared me for the reality of Mumbai.

The world of my taxi window rushed by me faster than any action movie, and my emotions met and matched the pace. One moment I was crying at the ragged people washing their belongings in the gutter at the side of the road; the next, I was laughing at the impossibility of a Porsche garage next to a house constructed entirely of scrap metal and prayers; then I was gasping at the beauty of a hundred women crossing the street in a rainbow of saris, glittering with sequins like fallen stars.

By the time I reached the hotel, I was exhausted from the flight and the journey which had assaulted my senses. My body and mind were in overload, I needed some time to regroup. Once we had settled, we ventured out on the street where we were met with curiosity (damn those three wheeler buggies !!!) and unfailing generosity. We sat in a small cafe, enjoying the selection of food brought for us to sample. As I caught the gaze of an elderly Indian couple sat across from us, I commented to Giles on the food they had ordered, it looked fabulous! The next thing I knew, the gentleman calmly handed me his plate, "try it," he said with a smile. I was astonished, where in the UK would you get someone, a stranger, willingly handing over a slice of his steak or lobster ? Wow. After a small taste and brief conversation about the children, our plans and the food, we bade the couple farewell, leaving them to enjoy the remainder of their meal in peace (if you have ever been unfortunate to sit next to us in a restaurant you will totally get that comment!!!) but I have never forgotten the gentle smile of a stranger in an unfamiliar land who offered friendship and sustenance without request, or a price tag attached.

Conception ...

As I sit here, I feel I should be writing 'Captain's Log, Stardate blah blah blah' ... been done though, I'm sure. Anyway, I really should start right at the beginning, which, strangely enough, does not even involve me. The story of Coco Shambhala starts with a young man and a rucksack full of dreams.

When Giles left Caistor 15 years ago to travel around India, he never imagined where the dusty path well trodden by many before him would lead. He shared laughs, booze and various other things with his friend Dan - I've seen the pictures - they ain't pretty!!! As a shaven headed, colour splashed freak, Giles embraced everything that India had to offer, but, unbeknownst to him, he fell in love. Not with a person, a country. India is magical, it sings a siren's song - when you are away from it, everything seems paler, duller by comparison - when you are there, it overwhelms and embraces, teases and torments, in equal measure. Giles had been captured but, wouldn't realise India's, and more specifically - Goa's - hold until much later.

When I met Giles, he was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar - sorry, couldn't resist that (if you weren't around in the 80's you so won't get that reference - Human League people - Sheffield's finest !!!). He was working for shop fitting company, long hours but lots of time to dream and Giles dreamt BIG. He talked to me about his property development plans but also his experiences in India and it was clear to me, even then, that, at some point, Giles would return to the place that had made such a lasting impression on him.

Ironically, it was a holiday in Lanzarote that put the wheels in motion. We met a great couple of Scousers - a Mum and her son - and started to talk about the FUTURE. Giles wanted more for us as a family and I was slightly taken aback by his enthusiasm and commitment to what was to become 'The Goa Project'. As he sat there, over several Tequila Sunrises describing his vision, I was entranced, Giles came alive when he talked about Goa, he believed passionately that he could make something special - and that was that - no choice - we had to follow the path, to ignore it would have been foolish. Why settle for second best? If there is a chance to shine, we should embrace it, follow our dreams with every fibre of our being - relish the challenges, the setbacks, the delight when corners are turned.
When Giles returned home with news of a plot and ideas spilling from his very being, I smiled, this WAS going to happen, I was thrilled, scared and excited that I ( and the children of course !!!) would be there to help it happen ...

In the beginning ...

As we sped away from my old hometown of Caistor, I remember being swamped by a multitude of feelings - some surprising, others - not so much. There was an inherent sense of freedom in the step we had decided to take, yet this was balanced with that leap of faith which is accompanied by an almost overwhelming sense of anxiety. So many people talk about moving abroad, usually after a particularly miserable summer or a fantastic holiday, but then, as the months pass by, the idea becomes a faded memory, much like the postcard tacked to a bulletin board, smiled at occassionally, but largely forgotten.
Life in the UK was good to us, we were (and still are) blessed with wonderful family close by and friends on the doorstep. Yet pressure of work and various other stressful factors led us to reassess what is (and should be) important. We were both working crazy hours, committed as we were to our respective jobs, yet struggling to find time for each other and those precious moments spent as a family. Something had to give. Unforeseen circumstances led us to make the decision we had been skirting around ever since Giles decided to build Coco Shambhala in partnership with his father - to move to Goa so that Giles could manage the business he believed so passionately in.
Before I knew it, we were packed into a car, surrounded by suitcases, leaving our old lives behind ... There is, as with all stories, much more to tell, but this the start, so get yourselves comfortable and tomorrow, I'll follow up with part two ...