Goa isn't generally a place one considers a monsoon location, but I can safely say it made for the perfect creative cocoon. Thunder and heavy grey clouds rolled above us, as we occupied all corners of the house drawing, reading and writing. Actually, we adapted well to the Goan way of life, ‘susegad’, and most days went by like this: wake up, read, eat, write, draw, read, eat, play with Dot, eat, watch a movie, sleep. And repeat. It was peaceful, relaxing and glorious.

This place also managed to soothe another ache after so many months on the road - a home cooked meal. I never thought I would feel such excitement to have a fully equipped kitchen and to be able to visit a grocery store. Daniel was more interested in the fast internet and Foxtel.

And as if life couldn't get any better, I was lucky enough to make a little friend, who goes by the name of Dotcom - Dot, for short. This little street dog was found in the garbage, not far from the D’Gamas. He was malnourished, starving and riddled with fleas. Being the incredible people they are, Dean and Jessica took him in and nursed him back to health in 2 short weeks. It's a slow process - he is still skinny enough to jump through the ornate wrought iron gates of the property - but he is very much on the mend. Every morning I would wait for the tiny nudging on the lower pane of the French doors. Little Dot would wait patiently for me to unlock the door before scrambling inside, legs faster than his tiny body, both of us squealing and squeaking in excitement. We are good friends Dot and I and I miss him everyday.

The rain poured most days, the trees giving a happy little shake before it swept through. But when all was still, we would jump on the scooter and fly across the coast, visiting Sinquerium beach, Aguada fort, fishing boats along the river and countless whitewashed churches, some apparently ‘prayerconditioned’. Goa was under portuguese rule for more than 500 years, a large Christian population lays testament to this. There is also an infinite amount of beautifully ancient portuguese mansions, left and hidden in the depths of forest, undergrowth, moss and tangled vines - slowly crumbling away under the weight of it all. Making it the perfect location for any sort of haunted house or horror film.

We were also able to catch up on all the latest releases the local cinema had managed to buy the licences for Spiderman Homecoming, The War For the Planet of the Apes and Dunkirk. We went with Dean a couple of times, arriving at the modern looking shopping centre via the carpark, where a stern looking security officer dressed in camel did his routine intimidation boot check of every entering vehicle. Other than this slightly amusing formality, the cinema experience was great - reclining chairs and popcorn/coke/samosa deals, as well as an abrupt interval, usually at a key moment in the movie when the lights flick on and everyone stretches lazily or ducks out for more samosas.

One particular day, the sky was looking very ominous, but we decided to take a chance and ride into town on the scooter, racing a sky that grew darker by the second. We managed to make it without a drop on the way in, I can't say the same for the way home. It was either ride, or remain stranded in the donut shop. With no helmet, I had to keep my face tucked behind Daniels shoulders to avoid the lashing. Monsoon rain isn't just any old drizzle - It's the type of rain that makes you want to stay inside under a blanket. Or, if you're my grandparents, the type of rain that's going to give the lawn a real good drenching. It's the rain that brings out the giant rainbow umbrellas and everyone's best collection of gortex. Us included. We arrived home absolutely soaked.

The days and nights blended and blurred, the memories now feeling more like one big happy cloud. Tears welled as I said goodbye to Dot when the time came to be dropped at the bus station. We said farewell to our new friends and boarded the state sleeper bus - a pleather bed with courtesy curtains for a 10 hour overnight journey to the ancient city of Hampi.