As the year 2005 was about to end with the advent of the new year 2006, I fell in love… though ‘strangely’ this time with a place, not any person… while living amongst strangers… a place I had never been to before… GOA. It was a totally unplanned trip. I had it in my mind all the time but I couldn’t just figure out how. And then, the next thing I know, I was in Goa, instead of being at my home, for my Christmas and New Year’s vacation. The first time I was on my own, far away from the comfort-zone of my loving friends, folks, relatives and my not-so-long-lost lover, on Christmas eve. Confusing? But then, that’s just me. I preferred to travel alone this time as I had broken off with my boyfriend of four-years, for good.
I have a duffel bag into which I threw my essentials in a jiffy, my photo-identity proof and papers, bought myself a ticket to Goa and I was in a ‘to go’ mode. Clutching my very heavy bag (being a cancerian, I have a tendency to want to carry everthing while traveling), I got into the train. I instantly made friends with two Indian girls from Delhi (both first-timers like myself) and two Austrians (the been-there-done-that duo), all of us been thrown in the same ladies’ coupe. And then, it was all non-stop girlie talks-discussing everything from books, bikinis to naval-piercings. I handed out yoga and reiki tips to the foreign travellers, in exchange of which they offered me suggestions on which beaches were the most ‘happening’ ones, the cost-effective ones and THE best ones to be on. I got out of the train at Thivim while the others had to get down at Margaon, and I headed straight towards North-goa, where there was enough action for a life-altering experience and more, as suggested by my ‘Firang’ friends from the train.
The first thing I noticed there in Goa, was that no one noticed me or paid any heed. Now, I know I am no head-stopper drop-dead-gorgeous-looking Babe, especially after travelling in the train for about 30hrs. But having lived in Delhi for the past seven years, I was so used to the discomforting stares and the up-and-down surveys of most men (regardless of their age, stature or educational background), especially when you’re alone, unescorted. But there, suddenly in a strange city, amongst strangers, I was free of the age-old habit of constant vigilance, and everywhere there I got away without a local even batting an eyelid. In Goa, no one just bothers who you are, where you are from or what you are doing. And I was swept off my feet at once. The colours, the sound, the energy, the delicious Goan sea-food (and I have no food allergies, thanks be), the hottest swanky night clubs, the endless beach shacks, from rave parties to genteel live entertainment, acid-trips, street shops, tattoo-artists, North-Goa throbs with activity that could make your head spin, depending on how many feni-shots you’ve gulped down by the end of the night.
I fell in love with the freedom that came here with sheer anonymity. The varied cultures and the simplicity of the locals, took my breath away. While the Goans are traditionally ‘susegad’ (laid-back) in their attitude, and mind you, you won’t get breakfast there at 7am and dinner after 11pm and almost all shops close sharp at 1pm for lunch and the afternoon siesta, but then again, who wakes up at 7am in Goa, especially for breakfast?
I spent my Christmas evening with jazz and retro rock blues at the ‘Souza-Lobo’, an open-air restaurant at the Calangute Beach which had authentic goan food and ‘live’ music by a handsome goan-born internationally renowned singer, while my New Year’s eve was spent swaying the night away to the psychedelic and techno trance and house music (by DJs from India and Israel) at ‘Club Paradiso’ and ‘Hill Top’ at the Anjuna Beach. Here, the party doesn’t end even as the sun comes up. ‘Club Paradiso’ has amazing fireworks at mid-night as the clock strikes 00:00 hrs to a brand New Year and ‘Hill Top’ is an open-air new-age hippie’s answer to alternative clubbing. Getting to and back from the clubs were relatively easy, as taxis were available at all hours of the night, though horrendously expensive. Women partying without escorts are seldom harassed there, almost never heard of… but then, in Goa you are never unescorted. ‘Club Tito’s’ at the Baga Beach and ‘Club Cabana’ at the Arpora Beach, were the other hot clubs I covered in my nocturnal hunts on the other nights. They had funky music and in-house as well as guest DJs spinning great tracks.
In Goa, you feel hungry almost after very half-an-hour. It must be something in the hash-induced sea-air and sunshine. In the daytime, besides hogging on the mouth-watering local cuisines of prawns-curry rice, mackerels, king-fish, tiger-prawns and crab-dishes washed down with port-wine or feni, I took time out to go street-shopping for beach-wear and junk-jewellery at the Wednesday Anjuna flea-market, bought port-wine, giant cashews, feni, goan-sausages and home-made prawn-balchau from the Friday market at Mapusa and souvenirs from the Saturday night market at Arpora.
I fell in love with the spirit of life there… the largeness of the vast, vast Arabian Sea, with beaches where I could get lost… where I wanted to be alone, but could never be lonely… where I could smile at strangers, accept a dinner date from the cute Italian who occupied the beach-cottage-room opposite mine at Anjuna or go club-hopping with the Lebanese group from Dubai, without wondering if I would be raped or robbed or plainly taken wrong. It was cool to do drugs but equally as cool to say NO to it. Nobody would insist, persist or trap you into anything. It was a constant discovery all the time, be it taking a walk on an unknown beach early in the morning to see the sun come up, or learning to climb into a local bus with 50 people, in 30 seconds flat, striking up conversations making tentative new friends who would exchange life-stories till I reached my next destination. Or better still, I could just drink myself silly on all the cheap booze, lazying on the beach, ignoring the sun-tan, really working on absolutely doing nothing.
Then a few of my friends joined in for the last couple of days, when I had already had enough of the frenzy of the north. So, we then seeked respite to the more calm and romantic beaches of the legendary Donna-Paula and Miramar Beaches, a day before we were to return back to Delhi from Vasco.
There was something about Goa that left me refreshed even after the mere eight days that I spent there. I fell in love with it… head over heels… so much that I had to return again… by February end again, to attend the Carnivals (or Carnaval, as the locals call it there). This is the most vibrant and colourful of all Goan festivals, which offers four days of non-stop fun and feasting, from the 25th to the 28th of February every year. This time, I had one of my girl friends with me and it was all about the fun of travelling together, rooming together, enjoying new water-sports, trying out the delicious pork-sorpotel and mussels-fry, talking in low-voiced ‘assamese’ lingo so that no one understood our less-than-demure comments about the four hunks from Chandigarh in the train sharing the same coupe with us, or laughing together at the strange 'firang' who was jogging on the beach right under the bright afternoon sun at 2pm with a really drained-out-looking pup who he had 'adopted' after his wife left him. And it doubled our fun to watch Goa break out into a riot of colour, music, dance and lots of fun with massive and glittering ‘floats’ parade in Panjim, Margaon, Vasco and Mapusa (in that order), filling each town and village with street plays, traditional carnival dances, costume parties and fireworks at night.
Refreshed, I happily came back to my routine to the city where I live, to my friends, my colleagues, my workplace, to do my share of daily call-targets on the week-days and the fun-jobs on the weekends… everything I am familiar with, firmly placed back in their own places. It was like coming back home. But there was a difference. Now I’ve got a song on my lips, a smile in my eyes, a spring in my steps and a renewed zest to overcome every obstacle that comes by. I have now got a memory of the adventures I had, of the fun, the non-stop partying, the freedom I experienced, the discoveries I made, the people I met and all the delightful things I did. It made me realize the actual person I am (free-spirited) and the kind of person I’d like to be (a hippie)… and it makes me smile… it makes me feel like I’ve fallen in love all over again… with Goa. And mind you, once you get there, you’ll fall in love with it too. And then you will feel compelled to return to your beloved again and again and again… just like me!
I have a duffel bag into which I threw my essentials in a jiffy, my photo-identity proof and papers, bought myself a ticket to Goa and I was in a ‘to go’ mode. Clutching my very heavy bag (being a cancerian, I have a tendency to want to carry everthing while traveling), I got into the train. I instantly made friends with two Indian girls from Delhi (both first-timers like myself) and two Austrians (the been-there-done-that duo), all of us been thrown in the same ladies’ coupe. And then, it was all non-stop girlie talks-discussing everything from books, bikinis to naval-piercings. I handed out yoga and reiki tips to the foreign travellers, in exchange of which they offered me suggestions on which beaches were the most ‘happening’ ones, the cost-effective ones and THE best ones to be on. I got out of the train at Thivim while the others had to get down at Margaon, and I headed straight towards North-goa, where there was enough action for a life-altering experience and more, as suggested by my ‘Firang’ friends from the train.
The first thing I noticed there in Goa, was that no one noticed me or paid any heed. Now, I know I am no head-stopper drop-dead-gorgeous-looking Babe, especially after travelling in the train for about 30hrs. But having lived in Delhi for the past seven years, I was so used to the discomforting stares and the up-and-down surveys of most men (regardless of their age, stature or educational background), especially when you’re alone, unescorted. But there, suddenly in a strange city, amongst strangers, I was free of the age-old habit of constant vigilance, and everywhere there I got away without a local even batting an eyelid. In Goa, no one just bothers who you are, where you are from or what you are doing. And I was swept off my feet at once. The colours, the sound, the energy, the delicious Goan sea-food (and I have no food allergies, thanks be), the hottest swanky night clubs, the endless beach shacks, from rave parties to genteel live entertainment, acid-trips, street shops, tattoo-artists, North-Goa throbs with activity that could make your head spin, depending on how many feni-shots you’ve gulped down by the end of the night.
I fell in love with the freedom that came here with sheer anonymity. The varied cultures and the simplicity of the locals, took my breath away. While the Goans are traditionally ‘susegad’ (laid-back) in their attitude, and mind you, you won’t get breakfast there at 7am and dinner after 11pm and almost all shops close sharp at 1pm for lunch and the afternoon siesta, but then again, who wakes up at 7am in Goa, especially for breakfast?
I spent my Christmas evening with jazz and retro rock blues at the ‘Souza-Lobo’, an open-air restaurant at the Calangute Beach which had authentic goan food and ‘live’ music by a handsome goan-born internationally renowned singer, while my New Year’s eve was spent swaying the night away to the psychedelic and techno trance and house music (by DJs from India and Israel) at ‘Club Paradiso’ and ‘Hill Top’ at the Anjuna Beach. Here, the party doesn’t end even as the sun comes up. ‘Club Paradiso’ has amazing fireworks at mid-night as the clock strikes 00:00 hrs to a brand New Year and ‘Hill Top’ is an open-air new-age hippie’s answer to alternative clubbing. Getting to and back from the clubs were relatively easy, as taxis were available at all hours of the night, though horrendously expensive. Women partying without escorts are seldom harassed there, almost never heard of… but then, in Goa you are never unescorted. ‘Club Tito’s’ at the Baga Beach and ‘Club Cabana’ at the Arpora Beach, were the other hot clubs I covered in my nocturnal hunts on the other nights. They had funky music and in-house as well as guest DJs spinning great tracks.
I fell in love with the spirit of life there… the largeness of the vast, vast Arabian Sea, with beaches where I could get lost… where I wanted to be alone, but could never be lonely… where I could smile at strangers, accept a dinner date from the cute Italian who occupied the beach-cottage-room opposite mine at Anjuna or go club-hopping with the Lebanese group from Dubai, without wondering if I would be raped or robbed or plainly taken wrong. It was cool to do drugs but equally as cool to say NO to it. Nobody would insist, persist or trap you into anything. It was a constant discovery all the time, be it taking a walk on an unknown beach early in the morning to see the sun come up, or learning to climb into a local bus with 50 people, in 30 seconds flat, striking up conversations making tentative new friends who would exchange life-stories till I reached my next destination. Or better still, I could just drink myself silly on all the cheap booze, lazying on the beach, ignoring the sun-tan, really working on absolutely doing nothing.
Refreshed, I happily came back to my routine to the city where I live, to my friends, my colleagues, my workplace, to do my share of daily call-targets on the week-days and the fun-jobs on the weekends… everything I am familiar with, firmly placed back in their own places. It was like coming back home. But there was a difference. Now I’ve got a song on my lips, a smile in my eyes, a spring in my steps and a renewed zest to overcome every obstacle that comes by. I have now got a memory of the adventures I had, of the fun, the non-stop partying, the freedom I experienced, the discoveries I made, the people I met and all the delightful things I did. It made me realize the actual person I am (free-spirited) and the kind of person I’d like to be (a hippie)… and it makes me smile… it makes me feel like I’ve fallen in love all over again… with Goa. And mind you, once you get there, you’ll fall in love with it too. And then you will feel compelled to return to your beloved again and again and again… just like me!
3 comments:
everythin else is fine hon!... work work work! so pissed off with this workload... anyways love the way u write... read this again...& then wondered how come I haven't written anythin about goa! lets see... if I can scrrible something
take care!
hey there STEELBOY28. Thanx for coming by and thanx again for liking my blogpage & pics. C u around
Post a Comment