Today I mostly read Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut, the one I'd recommend anyone who wanted to read something by him to start on as it actually has a story. And pictures. Of beavers. We checked out of our room, had sandwiches by the pool, languished for the last time and had supper. At about 7pm a taxi came to pick us up and take us to the station.

Madgaon station is no worse than any other station in India, but it was very depressing after our six days of luxury. It smelled of urine, it was full of beggars, there was rubbish everywhere and despite the six feet of space around me, most men felt the need to brush past me. We eventually got on the train, made our beds and went to sleep. I think I've sprained my wrist (the only thing I can think of was climbing in through the hotel window because Mikey had the key and he was such a long way away, but that was four days ago...) and it was very, very painful. Mikey made me a sling for it, and the lady who taught us first aid before we left home would have been impressed: she believed that just about every ailment could be cured with a triangular bandage. It didn't help, but too much ibuprofen put me to sleep, which was good enough.