india: Goa revisited

We spent the next day and a half in Panjim, Goa’s old, Portuguese capital city, and the better part of the day was devoted to figuring out how we were going to get to Kerala. After hunting down about a dozen bus companies, a train ticket scalper and spending an hour in an internet café, searching flights and then trying to sort out two dysfunctional credit cards when we were unable to book online OR on the phone, we finally discovered that the Kingfisher Airline office was mere blocks from where we were. And THEN—after another good hour on the phone with Sam’s incompetent credit card company, we actually ended up getting several thousand rupees sliced off the ticket price for buying them in person. After all of that. Have I mentioned how nothing makes logical sense in this country? Anyway. Ça-va.

We spent the next couple days on the beaches of Arambol with Hakon and his two Norwegian friends, Andi and her friend Hanna from the States, and two other Tagore International students named Jaime and Kayla—swimming, lounging, eating seafood—pretty much exactly what we did last time I was in Goa. One night’s dining was particularly spectacular though; Jaime and I found a restaurant where you order your seafood in the afternoon before the chef heads to the market, and you tell them how you want everything grilled and seasoned for your reservation that night. Our restaurant manager was particularily helpful (perks of sweating out the off-season lull, I think!) and helped Jaime and I decide on the preparations for a spread of red snapper, kingfish, shark, king prawns and a couple other fishes I’ve forgotten the names of. We even had a private balcony set up for us, jutting out of the cliff side and overlooking the beach.

Our sleeping arrangement was pretty sweet as well. Hakon and the Norwegians had met quite possibly the most accommodating Goan, who rented out to us a two bedroom house with TV(!) and a kitchen, which he kept fully stocked with water and beer. Cold beer is such a luxury—even if it’s Indian beer. And when we decided to cram nine people into that tiny house, he happily brought us some extra mattresses for the floor.

I made sure that Sam got to experience the Saturday Nite Baazar in Anjuna as well—and after a fenny toast (his first and last fenny experience) we found the bit of arrogance necessary to haggle down the vendors from their ridiculously high (tourist) prices…and I’d say we made a killing. Being successful at not getting ripped off here is the best feeling.

On the way out of Goa, we stopped for a morning tour of Old Goa, the city where the Portuguese first built their cathedrals.