Goa
6-12 october
post by scott
Sitting in a beachside bar on the luxuriously cheap and easy island of Koh Tao in Thailand, I was eavesdropping on a hilariously honest American at the next table who joked: “Anyone who goes to India and says they enjoyed it, is lying.” With the memory of our last trip up north lingering in my memory like the intestinal parasite that reduced me to the stature of a Gandhi impersonator, a part of me is inclined to agree with him. But after hearing the southern states get a good rap from many friends and family we were determined to give India another crack. We initially had planned to see Karnataka, Kerala, Goa and Tamil Nadu at the least, but our reluctance to leave Turkey had cut out the bulk of our India time so we were left with a measly week to spend between the bookend flights of Mumbai and Chennai.
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With all the options of a country bursting with over a billion people at hand, we chose the softest way possible to spend the week. A comfy flight (with my favourite airline SpiceJet) in and out of Goa with accommodation at a plush yet remarkably cheap beachside resort on Candolim beach. This time there would be no polluted, overcrowded cities, no 20 hour bus trips, no being left behind in the roadside squats, no standing on excreta in train carriages, etc. I reflected on the words of the great Roger Murtaugh and convinced myself “I’m too old for this shit”. So after a little convincing Allana also agreed that we had earned ourselves a week of R&R.
We had tossed up getting the train from Mumbai to Goa but it turned out that flying was probably the better option as the Kolkan express derailed the day we arrived. http://articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2013-10-07/mumbai/42793949_1_train-derailment-konkan-railway-ltt |
Goa is pretty different to anywhere we had been in the north of India. For starters it is vibrantly green everywhere you look with a real tropical feeling thanks to the abundance of palm trees. The second thing I noticed in the taxi was that on occasion you could drive for periods of up to 30 seconds without seeing people. There was no throng of humanity bustling up and down the roadsides and pervading every possible centimetre of space across the land. There was still a faint whiff of that unmistakable sweaty, chaotic Indian-ness in everything, but despite the heat it was much less stifling down in tropical, tourist-friendly Goa.
After the old routine of day and a night and a day of travel with only airport restaurant naps on the sly we were buggered again. (Which makes me think I should get some of those glasses with the eyes painted on and a neck brace so that I can really enjoy a good sleep while sitting in restaurants) So we treated ourselves to a good amount of room service kingfisher and curries while watching English tv for the first time in a month. I probably would have done that all week but thankfully I have a more motivated fiancé to crack the whip and get us out to see the sights of Goa.
The beach itself is fairly uninspiring. Kindof dirty brown sand and equally dirty water thanks to the outflowing rivers nearby combine with dangerous currents to put you off swimming much. There were even lifeguards out enforcing the well used red flag. Being the low season the beach at Candolim was fairly quiet, with the exception of a few domestic tourists, wandering gangs of dogs and women trying to flog cheap necklaces. Walking along the beachfront it seemed like there were more buildings under construction than there were actually open, but the few restaurants that we found were lovely and served some of the greatest curry I have ever eaten. While enjoying a vegetable xacutti or paneer tandoor we could look out over the long beach and watch battling dog gangs or listen to the locals snigger at Europeans in budgie smugglers. My favourite though was the young guy on a scooter who thought he could ride it down onto the beach through oodles of soft sand. He couldn’t.
About 6km up the road is the more popular Calangute area. Walking along the beach it is deserted, deserted, still deserted, and then all of a sudden on a 50m stretch between the red and white flags there are hundreds of Indians frolicking about together in a knot of humanity. The beach culture here is definitely a bit different to what we are used to back home, and the domestic tourists crammed into Calangute gave us a good taste of how the beach is done Indian style. Firstly, there doesn’t seem to be any difference in dress – business and beachwear are largely synonymous. Groups of men on the sand shoot the breeze in long trousers, business shirts and dress shoes, while the women will take the kids and plunge into the waves with their saris on. Teenage boys run around madly like teenage boys everywhere, but in saggy, white undies and singlets which have been soaked and are now seethrough.
Along the long esplanade road you get the impression of being in an Indian version of Kuta in Bali or Khao San road, Bangkok. It is lined with stalls selling all manner of cheap goods but particularly prolific are backpacker style Ali Baba pants, thongs and drug paraphernalia. Walking nonchalantly past one such store we were surprised by the loud, clear and concise question/pitch by a salesman who remained hidden in his shop – “Bong?” I wonder how many people turn around and say, “Why yes, now that you mention it I do need a good bong, thankyou.” It seems like this is the place to go if you’re a fan of illicit substances but too shy to ask, because we were hounded by a pesky man on a motorbike who rode up beside us unsolicited and offered all manner of illegal things. So we went back to his friends place and shot speedballs into our eyes.
On the taxi ride back to the airport we realised that we had taken only about 15 photos in the whole week so Allana snapped away to create the following compilation - "Goa-out-the-window-of-a-taxi-on-the-way-to-the-airport".
Would I go back to Goa? Probably not. There are much nicer beach holidays to be had in Australia and SE Asia. Would I go back to India? I've definately got one more trip in me to see the south. After that I think my feelings may echo those of Sergeant Murtaugh (promoted to captain in Lethal Weapon 4).