… goa: good on a motobike
Used to be that GOA stood for Good On Acid. Now it seems like it’s back to simply “good on a humid sunny day by the beach”. Not quite the party zone that it once was. Government regulations, a few very dried up conservatives, and a music and alcohol curfew. There is still a bit of a scene here, but I think it is a bit harder to find. Many more commercial events, more of a club scene, and a lot more driven by the domestic indian tourists and beautiful people. Even still, this is a state that is insulated from the grubby realism, beggars and polution of ‘real india’.
Stewart and I pull into Panaji quite wrecked. The bus journey is seriously ugly, but we have survived it, and a train journey would have been another two days away from the beach. He also opts for Anjuna, after a bit of dithering …. Stewart is good to travel with, but we are on different trips, I’m missing the solitary decision making … and we bus from Panaji to Mapusa and Mapusa to Anjuna. He takes a slightly more expensive hotel. We catch up a couple of times before he leaves.
First day is the legendary Arjuna flea market … and this is the granddaddy of every hippy market I’ve ever scene. So this is where all the hippy shit comes from! Row after row of every imaginable stall … tshirts, .Some musical instruments … moderately ok clarinets, and shennai … still not convinced by the local clarinets, and it’s very difficult to get much joy with one … I think it will take a bit of getting used to. The shennai gave me no joy either … though I had better luck in the music shop in Chennai, I think it may prove harder to find good shennai reeds than the instrument itself.. Sarongs, t-shirts, tapestries, statues … row upon row … probably as large as all the hippy markets in Northern New South Wales put together, but filled only with handcrafts from India. And wandering musicians playing shennai, nagaswaram, and a few things in between. I think mainly north indian folk music … not much of an opportunity here to get information from the musicians, and I think their English may not have been the best … but great stuff, mad tones and melodies. Lots of the saleswoman are in full regalia, big jewellry pieces in ears and nose, mirrored skirts and tops, bright colors.There is a bit of a party scene in one of the bars, and this picks up as the afternoon progresses … into a hippy metal band till sunset. I leave early, and catch up sleep from the bus journey into Panjim.
Real India it may not be, with beggars are at a minimum, but a lot of the poorer kids will still try to look cute and hit you up for a few rupes. But the real annoyance are (of course) auto drivers (‘you want taxi’ ‘you going where’ ‘i take you 50 rupees’) and the small shop owners (‘you come look my shop’ ‘you buy something make me happy’ ‘you my first customer in days’ ‘give you good price you make good luck’). Lots of the shop owners are in semi temporary bamboo market style shacks, and will return back to their home states, Maharastra, Karnataka, when the season winds up, in a week or so. Lots of young girls ply the beaches with bags of cheap jewellry and sarongs on their heads.
Next few days are on the beach, observing the mix of middle class, euro, japanese, and english tourists ranging from backpackers to middle class families. A few chance encounters with party crew point me to the Nine bar in vagator as the place for Psy Trance. There are hints of free parties happening occaisionally, maybe one since November, but this could be about as authoritative as the inevitable rumours of a Zakir Hussein gig in Chennai. But I walk to Vagator that evening, and the Nine bar is definitely hot. Too hot to do much but drink beer and eat pizza. But the psy is good … psychedelic rather than the thundering metallic death trance of my Big Night Out in Bangalore … a whole different Paradise. Decor is a cave concept onto an open dance floor under the stars, overlooking the sea over Vagator beach. A lot of flouro, and rope lights wrapped around palm trees. Don’t find a particularly psychedelic crew here, in spite of the music … and it cuts out at 10pm. Probably to continue to a house somewhere up in the hills. Nothing obvious, though. Walk home is longer than the walk there, even when I allow for getting lost half way and walking up from the beach.
Strange here with the trance scene in Goa. If Vagator is the most peaking spot, and certainly goes off over December/January, it seems to be no longer such an originating zone. The scene seems mainly young brits and euros on holdiays, imported djs, commercial raves … good times to be had, but not much to truly surprise. Melbourne definitely has a more creative scene. Perhaps that is where trance is at, and always has been. I’ve enjoyed the few nights of trance I’ve had here immensely, but I think the Hippy Metal band has been the most surprising musical event so far.
For me, Goa stands for ‘good on a motorbike’. Local buses might take you to vagator and mapusa, but only a bike will take you around narrow winding streets and dirt paths that entwine the small coastal towns and inland villages here.
Arjuna is winding down now from peak season, and in late season, accomodation is easy and cheap, and soare bikes. I’m staying at the Omkar lodge, and get a hold of a Honda Splendour, the absolute winner in the Indian bike economy stakes, 150Rs per day. It’s also light, reasonably fast, and this particular one has a couple of scratches and dings. I’ve been offered nicer looking bikes here, but being slightly messy is a bonus after the debacle in Madikeri. But I’ve been offered Pulsars, other Splendours, scooters (boring!), and an Enticer, all at rock bottom prices. The Enfield of my dreams is nowhere to be found, but this splendour seems to fit a western frame OK. Probably best to get used to a small machine on the single (bike) lane tracks around here.
Back on a bike is joy. I’m nervous about damaging anything, particularly the bike. But Goa is best experienced by bike. A couple of hours and a morning check out of Aranbool. Afternoon skirt the tourist hell of Calangute. A nice place to stop for an icecream and head back out on the country roads, village to village … dodging the horde of bikes, scooters, israeli’s with their jam packed enfields, local buses, occaisional lorries plus autos and assorted 3 wheelers. Long bridge over backwater just south of aranbool, wind streaming across and out to sea … driving like an absolute grandmother on about 50kph, fast for an Indian road, back out past ‘The End of the world’, a cute resort in the middle of nowhere with tree huts and a lagoon, one restaurant and very dodgy slat bridges across the lagoon … would like to see a flock of overweight package tourists doing one of those all at once.
Much of the next 2 days is spent on the bike, darting backwards and forwards between Mapusa, Vagator, Aranbool, and Calangute. Bus stand in Mapusa confirms easy nightmare bus ride to Pune is possible. Aranbool is my pick for vibe, and definitely winner on the nicest beach, a few weeks biking around the backroads and I’m sure there’d be a 100 great spots for parties … if they weren’t basically banned.. A night out in Vagator … nine bar classic psy decent soundsystem and too hot to dance … and a very delicate ride back with dodgy electricals and a fading headlight. Well at least I’ve got one. I stay geared down, and moderately visible.
The wierd belly picked up from Bangalore takes a turn for the worse … there are worse places for it to happen. Local druggist reccomends one antibio when I think I might need something stronger. He gets shitty and points me to the doctor. Who makes me feel guilty for self prescribing an antibio in Hampi to fix the meandering gassy mulch in my gut. But she prescribes something that will cover all possibilities, and points me to the chemist in Vagator. A few days on and it seems to be clearing. … and it couldn’t happen in a nicer place.
Food is hard to find, but with my belly doing flips every few hours, this isn’t such an issue. North Indian standards are everywhere, as is the Israeli and Continental, but my beloved dosas idlli’s and vadas are not to be found, nor the 25Rs South Indian rice meal where the waiter comes around with buckets to fill you up with curry (but the rice is limited!). Paneer masala I can endure for a few days.
Sunday morning woken by church bells, chiming in time to the swirling of my gut. Time to pray in the ocean cathedral of the Arabian sea. Walk back past the local church, hymns in a blend of local language and portugese folk music. Guitars and a hearty congregation.
Night meal on the shore side, distant towns across the water receed into the distance. Smaller villages dot the water just in front of the resaurant. By day, tankers and container ships, headed for Mumbai and beyond. A row that extends back as far as Europe and the Middle East. Smaller fishing trawlers. Hmmm I think I can see where the black stains in the sand have come from.
Bike out for one last stint, an afternoon evening and morning. Afternoon run up to Aranbool for a swim, chat with a cute Swedish girl for a bit, and a race to catch the sunset at the Nine bar. Last light there is delicious, the view fantastic, the beer cold … but it’s a tuesday, and no scene happening maybe 10 people, but this is maybe my best hour of trancing out on a dancefloor in India.
Morning, and my last ride down south to fort aguera … just another Portugese ruin, but blessedly cool in the shade of the 400 year old stone work. Stopping by a few beach spots on the way with towel and bathers at ready, Baga Calangute Siquera, but these are atrociously touristy. Anjuna sits halfway between the packagte tourist spots and the backpacker scene of Aranbool.
Eight days, and I think I’ve exhausted all the options of beach and classic holiday making … it’s time to move. It helps that Anjuna attracts so many middle class Brit and Euro tourists, and that I haven’t connected with any social/party scene … I’ve been an observer here. The white red bodies lying in rows, battery lobsters soaking up sun and Kingfisher beer throws up a contrast with my musical agenda in India. Not quite paradise and not easy to leave, the climate here is cool for Indian summer, sea breeze takes the edge off the sun, and the deliciously warm Arabian fills the gaps … I know I’m gonna miss it, but time is running short if I’m going to check out Varanasi for long enough to penetrate the music scene there. I check out with promises of mailing some Australian trance to the son of the owner, and have a decadent day on the beach, polish off the last of the grass, down more Kingfishers than I’m used to, swim till I’ve had a slight touch more than enough.
Bus from Anjuna to Mapusa. I haven’t booked anything out of Goa, but I’m sure I’ll find something. Mapusa is almost like real India, I’m tempted to go looking for a proper Thalli. The market behind the bus stand is a real Indian market with ugly striped western shirts, plastic buckets, Indian sweets, rows of fish and watermelons.
The state bus booking agent reccomends a private bus as a better value alternative, and by 8pm I’m on the A/C Laxmi Empress bound for Poona in Maharastra. In flight movie is a take on Batman Begins … wunderkind hero Krishna, genius and martial artist, an actor whose most memorable skill is a truly idiotic grin. I sleep through quite a few plot twists, but wake up for the final battle in Singapore against Chinese nasties, and can spend the rest of the drive assured that he gets the girl from scene 14 in the end. Bollywood still doesn’t get action movies … someone here needs to watch some Hong Kong … guys! you choreograph it, shoot it slow, and then speed it up, not the other way around. But this helps take the edge off the unpleasant ride through crappy roads in the Western Ghats into Maharastra… not as bad as the run into Goa, probably not a patch on bus rides in India’s far north … still it won’t be a night of amazing blissful sleep.
