GOA! (Pics to come)

I figured it’d smart to write down my memories of our long weekend in Goa before I leave on my second visit there, so the memories don’t bleed together in the haze of Goa’s infamous, all-night beachside raves. J Just kidding. It’s actually off-season for Goa, meaning the most risqué action I’ll be seeing are the old Russian women spread out on the sand with their tops off.

Now that you’ve got that nice visual burned into your brain, let me tell you about Goa.

Flying with Kingfisher to and from Goa was definitely the most lavish part of the trip. Candy and pens and juiceboxes and newspapers and a full meal at 2pm…?? I heard somewhere that their overwhelming hospitality has something to do with an intense competition between them and another Indian airline. Whatever the reason—it was excellent.

We stepped out of the airport and into the HUMID sea air, found a taxi with delightful pink tiger-striped, floor-to-ceiling carpeting, and bumped our way through crowded and colorful villages to a seaside town called Little Vagator. After bargain-shopping for a hostel, (which involved a classic “it’s because I’m white, isn’t it!?” display by Banks) J we dumped our stuff and headed for a rooftop restaurant and our first taste of fenny, a local liquor made form cashews and coconuts. Terrible. Later that night, after dinner and a swim, we met another restaurant owner who had us try some of his homemade fenny. Better.

After the fenny foray and a night with the bed bugs, (not a joke—they keep you up all night, furiously scratching your palms and feet and then disappear as the sun rises) we took off for Baga—another seaside town a bit bigger and more tourist-y. As you can see from the photos, the beaches in Goa really are spectacular. Blazing hot though. The best thing about Baga beach, in my opinion, is the line of restaurant shacks, all with fresh seafood, so you can sit next to the ocean as you have your dinner by candlelight. There were even fireworks one night! We spent all day Friday on the beach, and then tried to tour the (off-season, remember) nightlife. I’m sure we would have had a much crazier night if we spoke Russian; as it was, we had a nice walk around the city.

Saturday we rented scooters and made our way to Aguada Fort, a massive stone structure with a lighthouse, which was built by the Portuguese as a lookout post and a place to store ships. On the way back, we found some local food and Candolin Beach—smaller, more local, and filled with jetskis offering 10 minute rides for hundreds of rupees.

Holi was still being celebrated in Goa, so people would still chuck colors at you as you scooted by.

Later that night, Banks and I found the “Saturday Nite Baazar” which was perhaps the most surreal [“Am I really in India?”] experience I’ve had thus far. It was an enormous bazaar selling every antique, kurta and art piece you can imagine, but the crowds of (estimated 200 000) people were almost entirely European, Russian and British. They had a long line of food stalls of every ethnicity, beer gardens, and evening entertainment featuring a trio of fire dancers. The shopping, my dinner and the atmosphere were so much fun. And Banks even managed to locate our scooter among the thousands when it was time to leave.

Arambol had by far the best beach in Northern Goa; we scooted there after breakfast on Sunday. (Check out the pictures).

We climbed the cliffs to a lookout point (check the pictures!) and later, I even ended up pitching for a cricket game between some local little boys while on a walk on the beach.

Goa was colonized by the Portuguese and the houses are so distinctly by them. I didn’t get many house pictures, but they all have that stucco look with that curvy/funhouse Portuguese architecture. And I’m pretty sure they come in absolutely every color! Beautiful. I’ll try to get more house pictures on my second trip. We stopped briefly at a Portuguese (Catholic) church as well.

I also had some of the most pleasant conversations of my semester with an older Dutch man over some highly sugared coffee in a shop near our guesthouse. This man had been a school principal in Holland for the past 30-odd years, but before that had adopted two Indian children with his wife. After the adoption, he was inspired to start an organization to develop adequate schools in the really rural areas. So he elicited the help of a nuns’ outreach organization, which set him up with a number of communities needing assistance. Since then, he’s made it his second job and devoted all of his spare time to traveling around the Netherlands, giving presentations and raising money to build and support these schools. Every year, he visits them all, and he had albums of photos to share with me, of him and all of his “children”. I forget the amount, but his organization has managed to raise millions of euros, and he was even award the highest Medal of Honor by the Dutch royalty. They also support a battered women’s community, where women can live peacefully and learn practical skills while they rebuild themselves. The man’s energy and drive to work as hard as he could for these children was mind-blowing. I considered our first meeting to be extremely fortunate happenstance; but when I ran into him again, in the early morning hours, again over coffee, before any of my friends were up and I had time to sit and listen—I decided it was a gift. It’s easy to convince oneself that as single person, one is only capable of making small contributions. But when I meet people like the Dutchman, I reaffirm my suspicion that all it takes to do something extraordinary for others is a little bit more energy.