Venk's Indian Adventure Venk Chandran

Stay tuned to MyBindi as Venk will be sharing his experiences with us while travelling through India.

Week 4: Fear and Loathing in Goa

I got into Dabolim airport in the mid afternoon. Walking down the tarmac
from the plane into the airport is the one experience I really have enjoyed.
It's the little things I keep telling myself.

"You'll like Goa", informs Aliza, the Indian Government's tourist rep in
Dabolim, "But you're paying too much for your hotel - I can get you one at a
lot better rate."

I agree with her, but at 60 bucks (US) a night - and a chance to leave the
shackles of relatives behind (oh there are still a few Aunties and uncles in
the emerald coasts.), it doesn't register. I picked the Holiday Inn under
some duress from my Uncle who still believes that:
a.) I am still 5 years old.
b.) Goa is still a wasteland child of the 60's.
c.) Kerala is much better - why go to a Portuguese ex-colony when you
have the auspicious southern religious fervor of the south?

I am 23 years old, The government has cleaned up Goa in the 80's, and Kerala has no hotels, but a lot of temples. I'm not planning to be especially pious anytime soon. I might walk around the bar three times in Goa.

The Holiday Inn was a compromise between my idea of a cottage on the beach, and a nice safe hotel. Besides Holiday Inn is a nice midway kind of hotel chain right? I can fit in.

It takes us more than an hour to reach the hotel, I'm told, so I sit in the
van and watch the cashew nut trees and forests go by. Goa is actually a
recent addition to India), added to the mainland in 1961. The Portuguese didn't want to let the place go - and the Indian army rolled in.

As the van slides up to a long driveway, I'm feeling apprehensive. The
driveway is too nice. As the doorman gets my bag, I realize that I have just
bought myself a vacation in a 5 star resort. There are no Michelin rating
guides to hotels in India, a five-star hotel may also be the house in a
Jalundar grotto.

There's one sure rating sign: German tourists. "Da?" "Wilkommen aust." Yep, French, Spanish, and other European folk too. In fact most people seem to be over 30 here. The only Indians here are the help - uh oh. Damn, it's like being asked "Is the curry spicy" at an Indian Restaurant in Toronto. Of
course you're wearing a suit and thus people expect you to hook you up with
the naan.

I hate these places, they are so nice here and if you take a sip of water,
they fill up your glass. You drop something they pick it up. You take a
...you get my drift. It makes me feel really useless and outside of my
league.

But the view and sunset are breathtaking. There are emerald specks in
the sea and a contrasting warm, off white beach. There's a beautifully
shaped pool, and coconut groves. I'm in heaven.

The evening in heaven starts off by going off the hotel property and into
the beach. There's a little place called "Mike's Beach Shack" that
advertises Tandoori food, and drinks. It seems like I've found a little spot
for the next couple of days. There's a crudely drawn poster-board of
Sebastian, that Caribbean accented crab from the Little Mermaid.

Mike's Beach Shack is an institution. Mike is a dark Goan dude just a year
older than I am. He's had the place for at least 8 years and he also works
near the hotel at his parent's restaurant. Mike wears Adidas tear-aways,
speaks fluent Konkani, Hindi, and some form of English. He's a crafty
entrepreneur in this area. He's a friendly guy who can sit for hours and
watch the women. In fact that's what he enjoys most. "Those girls..yes? There from Britain, always come here for 4 years. But they have boyfriends at home." He's what you'd call high powered for this laid back place. He's got
a top of the line celly and people are always checkin' it out. His staff are
all experts in Hospitality management and a colorful bunch of guys. Khalid,
the fisherman keeps calling me Maharaja, it was a ploy to get me on his
dolphin boat tour - and it worked. Of course I had no idea at the time how
hard it would be to get photos of those damn things.

They work the tourist trade in the winter times and then go fishing during
Goa's hellish summer. The summer rains hit Goa extremely hard, and a lot of
them don't catch much fish anyway. Everyone here works off of tips. So, as
I'm drunk off of Fenny (a disasterous alcohol made from cashew nuts and
coconut) I decide to try my hand at the Tandoori in Mike's beach shack. It's
not a bad experience but I end up overcooking my Tandoori shark.

The next day I ride up to Panjim, Goa's capital city. Along the way I toured
all the old churches and flavours of the place. Go to Goa for the cashew
nuts, that's the main product and it is a tasty indulgence. Goa holds more
Portuguese influence than it's neighbouring port Bon Bai (Bombay). In fact
75% of the people in Goa are Roman Catholics - which explains the torturous Christmas Muzak in the Holiday Inn. Panjim city is quaint, but with the same overcrowded nature of every Indian metropolis. I grabbed a jet ski and toured up the Northern beaches - where the hippies and foreigners have
supposedly moved off to.

It's a perfect vacation idea: Grab a cottage at Indian prices (get someone
Indian to do so or they jack you with the American dollar rate) and stay for
a month. Buy food at local market, and sit and do nothing on the beach.
Hell, go parasailing - it's dirt cheap. Every hotel and rickshaw stop in Goa
also advertises "Ayurvedic medicine", which probably means that your hotel
room also comes with spiritual healing designed to balance out your karma.
Not a bad deal - cosmic realignment costs a heck of a lot abroad - at least
forty bucks a hit.

Back at the Holiday Inn, the tourists were getting lathered up in coconut,
sesame seed, olive, and other oils for their massages - after which they
descend upon the beach to fry. Human budgies. Add some green chilies and now you're talking. I repositioned myself at Mike's and ended up talking to this recently married couple from Bombay (living in The U.S.) who were staying at the Leela. For those curious about a 6 star hotel - the Leela is it. It's a brutally expensive but pleasurable experience. Each room gets a hot tub/pool outside their room. They expounded on some recent Indian Movies and their association with gangsters.

I had begun drinking quite heavily in the afternoon, and so the evening and
night became a bit like "Fear and Loathing." First of all a combination of
Fenny and belo (Goan beer) will test your intestinal fortitude - and I mean
that in the most literal of ways. It also has an amusing hallucinogenic
effect on you. I ended up discussing the state of India with this girl from
Cleveland and her divorced on-the-prowl dad.

"God, the women in this country!, it's hot and humid, and dirty, but their
saris are beautiful! They are so beautiful!" he bellowed. "But letmetellya!
What I can't understand is the..." (I know what he's going to say. It's not
going to be a diatribe on cricket, or the gods and all but on...)
"Poverty! And the lack of drinking water."

I'm waay into my 6th beer and 4th glass of coconut Fenny in Limka at this
point. I offered that when I came to Canada, and when I stayed in New
Jersey(water sucks there too) - I couldn't fathom why there would be anybody poor in North America. That still astounds me as I walk down King street in the mornings. I wanted to say a lot of things - brilliant things! If only I could remember where I was at that point. You always meet Americans, and they're always glad to appreciate the finer creature comforts of home.

I mumbled something about Shashi Tharoor (a great Indian novelist - check
him out!) which was supposed to be about the concept of India being a very
rich country, and poverty that he defined as being too Eurocentric - but
like a lot of things in India, there are many truths. One of them being that
I had pretty much lost the plot and was in need of another dimension. So I
went to a nightclub. The blur continued until I got back to the hotel and
passed out watching Doordarshan. The next morning was hangover free for some reason. So I swam in the ocean, ate like a horse and promised to get 8 hours of sun.

I met Harish because he needed someone to toss a frisbee with. I had seen
him around the Holiday Inn. Harish was built like a truck, he only stands
five foot something and if he turns sideways he tends to disappear - but
he's been working out. He's my age and he's got his new family with him in
Goa. His kid is adorable, and he leans his big head forward to begin
walking.

Harish hails from the West end of London - which is just another Indian
colony. His accent is thick and he's a pure bleepin' Indo-Brit.

"Ay, Bloke. Jus' come round with my wee family yeh? Y'know before 'e grows
too old to remember it yeh? Oh, yeh I'm into it as well. All that EDI
sodding shite. Ay, be a bloke and toss the disc mate!"

"Yeah, We was largin' it in drum and bass. Talvin Singh - oh he's smashing.
That Elephant run track. You 'erd that yeh?"

"It's all done now people are all into garage (pronounced GAR-AAJ in the UK; Car-hole in Toronto). That's my wee one there - oy! Getaway from mum, she's trying to nap! Wot's with these girls today anyway, the look is all thin
thin thin. I like my girl with a bit of meat youknowwhatimean yeh?"

It's been emotional. As I left Goa for Bombay, I knew I would be back within
a year - I'll bring more people this time. Perhaps I'll leave the Fenny
alone.

Week 1: Arrival and Mumbai

Week 2: More Mumbai->Indore->New Delhi

Week 3: Delhi->Madras(Chennai)->Calcutta

Week 4: Fear and Loathing in Goa