On my last trip to India, I told a few people I was travelling in addition to working, and they all asked if I was going to Goa! It seems to be every Indian's favorite part of India. Clearly, that's quite an endorsement! But also causes a bit of trepidation, as there are over a billion people in the country.
Historically, Goa was a Portuguese colony, which has left a very interesting mixture of architecture and culture merged with the Indian way of life. You see a lot more churches here (note the one in the middle of the picture above), and there are still some older people in the capital of Panjim who speak Portuguese as their primary language.
Goa is split into a north region and a south region. In general, the north is full of party spots, highlighted with big rave parties on the beach. The south, on the other hand, is a bit more laid back, with a few big family resorts and a couple of really quiet spots. One of them is the southernmost town of Palolem that I decided to make my base. It's known to be a very relaxed part of Goa that draws a lot of backpackers looking for a break from the chaos. The local people (most of whom were actually from other parts of India) were friendly and occasionally someone would come along and put in a bit of extra effort to get the tourist tips. Here's one young lady walking a tightrope that they put up in about 30 seconds. Note the three bowls on her head, one added on each return trip across the rope.
I'd arranged over email to stay at a wonderful place called Ciaran's that was highly recommended by a friend of mine. A bit more expensive than the $10 a night huts that most people stay in, but I thought the safety and security of a house on my first trip would be worth it. I asked them for the address, and was told there was no address -- just ask someone in Palolem how to get to Ciaran's and anyone can point the way. I realized there's basically one road in the town, and most of the places are on the beach - only accessible by foot. Cool.
So after a night of some terrific fresh fish (the local specialty), a few beers, and some poker with two British guys I met during dinner, I was ready to spend my first day alternating between exploring and reading Shantaram on the beach. I walked all the way down to the very last little town called Patnem, and enjoyed an even more remote feeling beach. Even the cows know how to relax properly there.
Unfortunately, something I ate along the way caught up with me, and that night my fun came to an abrupt halt. Was it that lovely fish? Or the vegetable sandwich I had for lunch at another little place on the beach? Or even the little bit I had on the plane the day before (hmm...Spice Jet)? I have no idea. I'd pretty much followed all the rules -- only eat at busy places, avoid dodgy meat, try to find things that will be washed properly because the water isn't safe either -- and it could have simply been that I wasn't used to the climate after all this time in rainy, cold London. But at some point you have to dive in to feel like you are actually eating some local cuisine, especially in India where at times it can be very hard to find anything but local cuisine. I imagine a diet of Snickers bars would be just as bad.
So after two days in my room (thankfully with en suite bathroom, unlike many of the huts) and a few dehydration powder cocktails (highly recommended for travelling to a place like this), I was starting to feel better and made it out for one last day on the beach. The weather was absolutely perfect, so I went out for a boat ride to see the dolphins near Butterfly Beach, and pretty much just did my best to get that last stab at the relaxing holiday I wanted so desperately.
That night, I looked through the little shops along the road that were selling everything from scarves to Tibetan masks to boxes with secret locks. I bought one of the boxes, because I couldn't figure out the secret even with my fancy Ivy League engineering education. He told me once I agreed to buy it, but made me promise not to tell anyone. Hmm, I'm sure it's one of a kind...
I started chatting with the young shopkeeper about his hometown of Bombay. He was thrilled to hear I had stayed in the posh area of Juhu where a lot of Bollywood stars live. The conversation progressed to politics, as I often find it does when people discover I'm American. There wasn't any accusation in his tone; instead he wanted to offer some advice. He said that many Indians didn't like when the Americans pulled all tourists from Goa after extremists made bomb threats, suggesting that we were running away from the threat. He asked me why we do this?
I didn't really have a great answer, and simply offered my opinion that Americans view every single life as extremely valuable. So if we know of a way to help save that life, every measure possible is taken. He understood, but said that if we continue the approach of running away from threats like that, then they would continue using the threats and occasional bombings. "Show the face" was the way he said it (repeatedly), with a strong hand gesture implying that there should be no backing down. Maybe he is right, but I can't help feeling that if it was my family somewhere on holiday and there were threats, I'd want them to leave as soon as possible. Another dilemma in the never ending debate.
I hope February is finding you all safe and well. I'm feeling better now, and am really looking forward to a ski trip in a few of weeks to Engelberg Titlis, Switzerland!
Cheers,
Dan
