So I need to do a little backtracking...we're a week into India, but I'll begin from the start/start from the beginning.
Feb. 22 2009: 12am
Our first move in India was to get ripped off by the taxi from the airport. $25 to Bangalore city! Our flight over from Singapore only cost us 100 bucks, damn! But at least we're familiar with the exchange rate now, 35 rupees to the Australian dollar. And I'm pretty sure the driver just set the pace for the rest of our trip: doing 120 km/hr in an 80 zone. Ok, I get it, fasten my seat-belt and hold on; I'm in for the ride of my life and it's going fast.
The $25 taxi got us to the train station, from which our train north to Goa departs from in 4 hours, 4am! Fantastic...ish. Outside the station is a sea of dirty blankets, covering 100's of sleeping bodies. We're passing the time holed up in the 24 hr food plaza, enjoying our first meal, lentils, veggie curry, rice and roti: $2. Court's now conked out with her head on the table, pretty sure she's got strep throat, poor thing; thinking about joining her, and with the armed guard only 20 ft away, I feel pretty safe.
5am:
So we're not quite on the train yet, turns out the office opens at four, but the train leaves at 6! We qued up and payed 147 rupees for the 7 hour journey, not bad. Court and I look like two fashionless a-sexual blobs among the sea of rainbow colored silk saris; some sparkle, others have lovely floral prints, and these women know how to accessorize! Bangles adorn their arms, gold and silver; bells on ankles sing with each step; ringed toes on not too shabby feet. Little boys run around with pierced ears and girls, infants even have on dangley earrings; not too many shoes though.
We buy hot chai tea for 4 rupees and an older man shows us to our car and saves us good window seats.
9am:
The sun is shining and it's starting to warm up as we rock, lurch, stop and speed north. I'd nearly forgotten the liberating feeling brought on by peeing on a train in Asia; the breeze kissing your bottom as it hovers over a hole with the tracks below whizzing by.
The land is relatively flat, rows of palm trees bringing a dust covered bit of green to the sea of earth tones. The women's saris now shine like coins in the bottom of a wishing well; a tye-dyed purple and multi-colored floral batik moving down a dusty track.
12 pm:
We are passing fields of corn, sunflower, rice and cotton; most of the tenders are huddled in the bits of shade granted by crouching trees and shrubs. At the train stations the men squat beneath parked trains; I'm glad it's at least a dry heat. Many use the heat as an excuse to slumber; I don't blame them, I'm nodding off myself.
1:30:
We arrive in Hubli; it's a bustling transport city. We grab a local bus to the "New Bus Terminal;" well there's nothing new about either the buses or the building. But the bus to Goa is just pulling out and a short while later we are 4x-ing over some of the roughest terrain to ever see wheels, and this is just the beginning! I've no idea how I came out with both my teeth and tongue fully intact. Court and I high-5 midair, hooves over ears...
We wind up a lush green mountain and then back down. I'm pretty sure the Indian use their horns as a turn signal; it'd be rude to honk so much in the States, road rage even.
8:30 pm:
Finally, dust covered and sitting in three days of our own filth, we pull into Panajim, the capitol of Goa. Court and I are eager to spend all of the next day on the beach, and I think we're a bit strung out, so we figure why stop now, so close! There's a local bus pulling out for Mapusa, only 12 km north and the gateway to the northern beaches. The only space left is next to the driver, so I'm atop our bags and Court is getting scalded on the engine cover; 10 rupees, fine.
Arriving in Mapusa there are huge outdoor discos with dancers on stages; these people can party; later we're told that it's Carnival time. We arrange an auto rickshaw to take us to Anjuna, a chilled out beach community only 15 kms away.
9:30 pm:
Coutinho's Guesthouse, it's only 300 rupees/night and she's had a cancellation. Planes, trains and automobiles, we're finally here!
Tuesday Feb. 24rd:
After a beautiful sleep, apart from the local canine choir practice, I'm awake and ready! We request our included breakfast to be brought to our room, black coffee and roti please (you may remember me describing roti from Malaysia, basically like a thick wheat tortilla), then we head for the beach. It's a narrow road lined with clothing stalls, palm trees and garbage; literally of everyone who lives there. Every passing motorbike and minivan honks on approach, just to let us know they're overtaking. There are a bunch of small palm-frond roofed restaurants lining the cliff above the water. Thirty meters below waves are crashing on red rocks and Indians poise themselves on the furthest rocks from the shore to cast out nets and lines. We sit to grab a mango juice and take it all in. The ocean here feels so vast, more so than usual; perhaps it's my own feeling of "1 in a billion."
The men are eager to chat to us, we ask directions to the beach. Five minutes later the restaurants and stalls lining the cliff give way to a beautiful long crescent beach, dotted with restaurant and guesthouses. Young Indian couples flirt in the waves, wet jeans and saris clinging to their bodies. Children too play in the sea fully clothed. We walk down half-way and settle onto a couple of beach lounges.
The men at the restaurant had joked that only in India do you find dogs and cows on the beaches; I'd figured that maybe at some point I'd see this spectacle. Well, not even five minutes after settling down with my book and I hear a squeal out of Court. I look over to find that a cow's taken some interest in her paperback and is tonguing through the pages. She tries to hand the book to me, but by now the cow's fully wrapped his lips around a corner and what ensues is a slight game of tug-of-war; me vs. cow, Court stuck in the middle. The cow loosens it's grip and I jerk the book back, just as a young Indian girl swats the beast away; he's off to find a more edible author, sorry Khaled Hosseini, not you today.
It's now that I realize the many large mammals scattered on the beach are not obese tourists, but cows, a whole herd of them! They wander around uninhibited, basking in the sun or relaxing in the shade of a lounging tourist. These cows have it made.
Wednesday Feb. 25th:
Court still hasn't kicked her throat thing, and I'm still lugging around my chest congestion and phlegmy cough from Australia, so we pop into an Ayurverdic Medical Center. A girl gives me a steam facial with some oils, massages my nose and face, then make me inhale smoke from this stick through my nose. My eyes are watering and I'm snotting all over the place, a real gem. I blow my nose a lot but don't know if it'll really work, we'll see. I definitely had it worse than Court, she just had to drink some water with something in it that tasted like, well, water, and then take some little chewable pills before every meal; I got screwed.
Nothing a little retail therapy couldn't cure though. Wednesday is market day in Anjuna, so we head up the beach to check it out. There are hundreds of stalls; clothes, handmade leather sandals, quilts and bed covers, fresh produce, spices that tickle your nose (maybe it's still the smoke) and one guy offers me his baby, jokingly of course, right?! We wander completely overwhelmed. After an hour and a half the only thing I've bought is a coconut; I need to step it up.
A yogi hands us a brochure offering his services; I glance at it and see "Seattle, USA," I holler after him. He's Indian and has been living in the US for 10 years, two in Seattle. He hears my congestion, that, guess what, wasn't cured with this morning's smoke and steam session, and offers to help. He warms his hands, presses on my chest, back and head and then bends me backwards. My chest feels really strange, almost struggling to breath. A minute later he releases me and I blow my nose for what must've sounded like an eternity and went through several napkins, and I feel great! I almost feel stoned, but there's definitely no crap in my chest anymore. But again, we'll see if it lasts. He tells us to come check out his yoga classes on a beach just south of here, and don't worry about the money.
Several hours later we're completely shopped out, my prize being the hand-sewn quilt I bartered down from 3500 rupees to 1000, probably still got ripped off. As we head back up the beach lugging our spoils we see a heavily adorned cow "dancing" to a flute. He's head bopping and then puts his hoof on a kneeling man's head; Move over Beyonce, this cow's got mooooves.
Thursday Feb. 26th:
After another glorious day on the beach and bobbing in the water, the guys working at the cafe we've parked in front of invite us into their game of beach volleyball; we look "strong like men," um, thanks. They raise the net, one for badminton strung between two small logs, and we're playing with the guy who's been trying to sell massages on the beach, the girl who won't stop pestering us to check out her shop, and the boys who served us lunch; an all-star caste (oops, my bad). Well what do you know, we win! We hoist the "golden trophy," an old plastic chair, and pass it around, kissing it. They deem us the "A-team" and invite us back for tomorrow's sundown session. They then let me into the kitchen/bar to whip up a few cocktails, fresh OJ, mango juice, lemon and white and dark rum, delicious. We chill out on the beach, listen to some live music, and watch the darkness take the palm trees; the stars come out and we bid the guys farewell and we'll see them at game time tomorrow, this time for money.
Friday, today!
We rent a scooter from this kid in the general store, only 200 rupees a day, doesn't ask for a passport or deposit, nothing, and we're on the road to explore some of Goa. I'm piloting the thing and we head north, off to find another good beach. We're weaving past parked cars and cows, maneuvering the pretty shoddy back roads. There's no concept of litter collection here, garbage is like a ribbon on either side of us and cow paddies are our obstacle.
But so far, I love India.
