Palolem, India

Having mastered the air-conditioning and muzzled the local dogs, we slept like babies, waking to the dawn light peeking through the curtains. To undo the red wine indulgence of the night before another jog along the seaside was in order.

We met Rikki on the beach and the three of us made our graceful way along the sand, Olympic athletes in training. When, a couple of minutes later, Rikki and Coman decided walking was more their style I carried on ahead, huffing and puffing in the humid morning air.

Passing a sleeping dog it suddenly sprang to life, all snarling teeth and slavering jaws. In my usual understated way I immediately assumed this rabid killing machine was about to attack. So I did the only thing I could think of, kick sand in its eye and run into the sea. This didn't seem to work and the vicious wild man-eater ran after me, obviously intent on revenge.

As it advanced a woman casually ran between us confusing the ferocious beast and it tripped over its legs and fell on its back. She laughed uproariously and watched it slink away, tail firmly between its legs. With a pityingly look in my direction the woman continued on her way as I, a bit wet and bedraggled, bravely carried on with my run, all need for an emergency course of rabies injections successfully avoided. Result!

Rikki and Coman eventually made it to the end of the beach and we headed up over the rocks, past the yoga sanctuary and down the other side to a beautiful rocky cove. The cafe there, named somewhat bizarrely Bridge and Tunnel as though it was a Brooklyn eaterie, was starting to cook breakfast which seemed like a fine idea so, stomachs growling, we headed back to our guesthouse.

Down in the garden was Sarah, a solitary Australian, who worked at Sydney Opera House in security. She told us she had started her stay in India with a ten day monastic retreat in a commune of 800, where silence was mandatory and every day consisted of meditation, led by Buddhist teachers, in great halls separated between men and women. It was the second time she'd gone in an attempt to deal with her anger issues.

Under her seemingly serene exterior lurked a flash of steel. We decided to follow the Buddhist example and eat the rest of our meal in silence so as not to annoy her, just in case...

Goran then emerged with a pot of strawberry jam and regaled us with a dubious tale involving the British Raj covering young Indian boys head-to-toe in jam and forcing them to stand a short distance away from their colonial overlord's tables to attract all the flies, allowing the Victorian monsters to eat their food untroubled.

While such dark age practices were of course horrific, we could have done with some distraction for the buzzing bluebottles that seemed to take great delight in our breakfast, whilst mosquitos drank from our legs, despite liberal application of repellant.

Suitably fortified we spent the day at Patnem beach, a short and very cramped taxi-ride away. After a tough few hours of swimming, sunbathing, eating, drinking, sunbathing and swimming, the sky started to darken and the waves crash with sudden power. A crack of thunder rolled in from the horizon and the warm air became sticky with threatened downpours.

Gathering belongings in handfuls we hailed a couple of tuktuks to return us to the safety of the guesthouse. The wisdom of this move was called into question when the door on our vehicle fell off. The driver just picked it up, plonked it on the side of the road and drove on as though nothing had happened.

Dinner that night was marked by the beachfront restaurant plunging regularly into darkness as the power cut out. Around us the wind whipped up and a storm seemed to be lingering just beyond the horizon. The early-morning boatride to view dolphins we had booked was starting to look like a foolhardy idea.