It’s my third day in Goa. The first day was a blur, but there was that river cruise. That was crazy. I’ll start with today. What is the word? Probably more than one, but harrowing is a good place to begin.
India, unlike Greece or Europe in general, has very few places that one can rent a scooter for the day. Goa, however, is one of these places. So this morning I went out to find one. There were no shortage of places, but not possessing an international drivers license apparently put me at a disadvantage, so what I needed to find was a place reputable enough to rent me a good scoot and not rip me off, but no so reputable that they were going to let proper identification get in the way of making a buck.
My knight on shining scooter rode up to me while I was walking down the sidewalk after being denied at two places and thinking that maybe this was a sign that this wasn’t the best idea after all. We were probably a block from the last place that I’d checked and as it turned out, about a block and a half from this guy’s home base. I don’t know how he picked me out, but he must have seen me at the second place I checked and saw me get turned away. So I talked to him a bit, asked him about helmets. Got a good one. (He brought me a second one after running off for a second, so I was pretty sure he wasn’t renting me a scooter he just ripped off or anything [though the thought crossed my mind, shame on me, or something]).
So was it a GOOD idea to rent a scooter? No, definitely not. But it was an AWESOME idea! Was it a GOOD idea for that guy to rent me one? I don’t think so. I like to think that we were sort of in it together. Like If I’d been picked up by the police for my own safety after wrecking into a cow and being chased by villagers or something, that we might have been unwillingly in it together to some degree. But I digress.
I knew the traffic the traffic was crazy. I’ve been on busses and in auto rickshaws. I’ve seen it. It looks crazy. But being under your own power and having the traffic react to your decisions or lack thereof is harrowing. There are no pictures of this. When I was on the scooter in traffic, I was using parts of my brain previously unused. There was no room for error or division of attention. When I stopped for a break to buy fruit at that stand by the highway, I lifted my bottle of water to my lips and my arm was shaking.
Did I mention that they drive on the left here? Yeah, I’m not used to that. It’s fine on a road, but intersections aren’t intuitive, so I just had to keep looking back and forth, not quite sure from which direction the danger might be coming. And traffic circles, lots of them. Ah Brits. (I don’t blame you personally Fiona) There were such amazing happy things too.
I got to be the stupid tourist. I had to ask someone to start the scooter for me. This happened twice.
I accidentally took a different way back at the end of the day. It worked out. Oops.
Oh those two guys! Holy crap! I can’t believe I almost forgot. I stopped to ask directions and talked to these two guys who seemed kind of western (read rich [they were Indian though]) in the parking lot of this, I kid you not, Mexican place in the middle of nowhere called Amigos. They were super helpful and gave me good directions, but I drove past the spice farm I was looking for. I wouldn’t have figured it out for a while but this red Hundai (read, super expensive nice car in India) passes me after honking at me for a full 30 seconds and STOPS in the MIDDLE of the [expletive deleted] road! It’s the two guys and they’ve followed me to see that I get where I’m going! It’s like they know me or something. And for anyone coming after me who’s American stereotype I’ve skewed. You’re welcome. So they tell me to just follow them. We turn around and head back down the road a kilometer or so and there it is on the side of the road. Not amazingly high profile, but well labeled. So the guys ask if this is the place and I assure them that yes, this is the place I’m looking for and they further let me know that there’s another farm down the way if this isn’t it. I say thank you very very much and they take off down the road looking very pleased with themselves. I find that a lot of times behaving like an idiot tourist totally pays off if you’re super nice about it.
Mortal remains. Catholics can’t get enough.
So in the morning I went to old Goa, which is a small area that is dominated by Catholic Churches from when the Portuguese ruled Goa. The number of huge churches in a very small area (at least 4) is astonishing. It’s like they didn’t have anything else to do. And I wonder how it worked. Did everyone choose a church, or were you assigned? Seems like you’d have some pretty great competition if it was free market. They all seemed to have incredible Gold leafed altarpieces that covered the whole front wall so maybe it came down to the best Sunday School or the best Coffee time. I don’t know. What do Catholics go for. I must say though. The Basilica of Bon Jesus did have a whole saint (minus right arm that was divvied up for relics in other SE Asian churches) on display in a glass box. You couldn’t get very close, but that’s what it seemed like was going on from where I was standing. So how do you compete with that really, am I right?
Cinnamon tree and ants. I wonder if the ants are spicy.
Black Pepper. (Or white or green or red depending how you process it)
Cardamom flower.
Spice Farm! Awesome! Usually people show up by the busload. Suckers! I got a private tour from a really nice guy by showing up late all by myself. The Farm isn’t what you would think of being from America. It seems more like a palm forest. Spices are grown in the shade of the trees. Garam Masala, Nutmeg, Cardamom, Vanilla, which is a parasitic orchid that grows on a palm tree and is fertilized by hand here in India, sour fruit, starfruit, betelnut, which is itself a palm, bananas, cloves, turmeric, cinnamon, coffee; all kinds of cool stuff, black pepper, chili peppers, awesome! And for the $8 is costs to get in, you also get a meal of yummy food from the farm. Oh and Feni! Goa’s own cashew fruit liquor, which I tried the other night, and was unimpressed by, was, from the farm’s still, pretty excellent and clearly homebrewed. So I got me some of that. So if you’re nice to me when I get home and you read my blog you may get invited to a Feni party.So by the time I got back to Panjin (Panaji) I was feeling pretty good about the scooter, which is good because it was full on rush hour and I was right in front of the bus station. Busses, there’s another story. Lanes are never more than a suggestion in India, but at rush hour it’s is strictly who can fit where, so being on a scooter you have an advantage, and by this time I was feeling pretty confident, so I think I actually showed a few people that a white guy can get down with the India traffic. That being said, for all the fun, and I’d do it again, it was a bit of a relief to drop that thing off, and the guy who rented it to me was very nice, very professional. I think he was glad to see I made it back.
On Sunday I took a tour offered by my guest house. It was not the best $10 I ever spent. Our guide wore a purple D&G shirt with the collar turned up. It said “DOLCE” under the collar.
Though I was told the tour would be in english, it was rarely spoken except to tell me when to be back at the bus. Granted I was probably the only English monolingual on the bus but, well, sucks to be me.
Also I was told that at the first beach we’d be taking a dolphin watching tour which would be another 200 rupee (the tour was 250). So ok, but wow was it dismal. The poor dolphins just wanted to get away from the 50 or so boats full of people that were chasing them around. Every time one would surface, all the boats would rush over in that direction, filling the air with exhaust and generally creating a traffic jam on the water. Rough.
It looks like some sort of wartime storming of a beach doesn’t it?
Most of the rest of the day was spent going to beaches that were complete mob scenes. When we got to the worst one, all I could think was, “Why does anyone come here?” But tens of thousands seemed to. It was a Sunday in high season, but whatever. I don’t get it.
Lunch was good. Probably a bit overpriced but really good, so that’s fine. I got crabs in a pepper sauce. They were tiny, so a bit more work for a bit less payoff crabwise than I’m used to, but the sauce was great and a nice big beer put me in a better mood.
There were a couple fun parts to the day. A rocky outcrop labeled “DANGER” in spraypaint that I climbed out onto to escape the crowds was nice. I couldn’t see any particular danger except maybe spraining an ankle or something equally mundane.
And there were markets at a couple of the places that were fun to explore. I bargained a bit for a couple things, but there was one shop where I asked them to give me around half off and they FREAKED out, FOR REAL. Not just making a show of it. They basically told me to pay the price they said or get out. It took me a little to figure out that they were serious, and then I left. They even jeered at me when I walked by a couple minutes later. It was farcical. The other place I ended up paying about 15% of the original price they were quoting.
I met a great guy on the bus on the way down to Goa. He was a news reporter for top India newspapers and TV, and now runs his own web based news business. We talked a lot about India and USA politics and philosophy in general. Very nice guy and he helped me find a room to rent in Panjin.
He suggested I take the river boat tour, which although very enjoyable from a mouth open culture shock standpoint, was not exactly my cup of tea. It is INCREDIBLY popular. There are at least 3 companies running a couple large boats (think small Washington State Ferry boats and you’ll be in the ballpark) each, all from the same pier. There may have been some difference between them, entertainment wise but I think it was minor.
On my boat, everyone went to the top deck where there was seating and the MC gave everyone an overview of what to expect. Which was, some traditional folk dances on stage on the top deck. Middle deck, beverages including alcohol for purchase and also snacks, mostly deep fried. Bottom deck, DISCO! Ladies free, guys 50 rupee.
So the folk dancing kicks it off on the top deck and it’s pretty high school performed and directed type quality. The dance is narrated by a very bored sounding MC in several languages. After the folk dances people are invited to come onto the stage and dance. We again get mostly high school age group responding to this. Dance music is played; Lady Gaga, what have you. There is some obvious awkwardness between the sexes. Again kind of like high school dance. Kick everyone off the stage, more folk dancing.
guys.
girls.
I took the chance to order the traditional Goan cashew fruit liquor called feni from the bar. It was OK at best (since then I’ve had much better versions). I walked down to the bottom deck and although curious, couldn’t bring myself to go into the DISCO. Back up on the top deck I was just in time for the MC to announce that it was time for guest dancing again, but this time just for the boys. Hmm. I don’t know if this would be a big hit in the States, but here, I have never seen such outpouring of excitement. The stage was mobbed. There was crowd surfing. It was awesome. There was (after more folk dancing) also a time for all girls dance which was also well attended, but could not live up the the guys dance.There were so many details that struck me as odd. There was a bouncer for the stage when people were dancing (also 18ish) who seemed completely drunk with power, telling people to sit down and wandering around looking important to himself.
There was the crowd. Totally multigenerational. Three year olds up to eighty year olds, many many families watching as their high schoolers danced on stage.
Oh and it was sort of a cruise. We could see the lights of the town as we went by on the very wide river. On the opposite bank from the town there were large neon billboards advertising India’s most successful brands.
Getting off the ship I decided to push into the throng of people shoving to get down the gangway, A decision I would regret as sweaty people pushed and pressed up against me from all sides. Once off the ship I marveled at the pier whose only function seemed to be launching these river cruise ships every evening.
