Goa-Paradise Regained

On the 29 Th Dec 2003 we beat the clock to reach Cochin airport on time only to find that the flight was delayed by an hour. So we waited and waited…it was tough as the anticipation of reaching Goa was strong and any delay was brooked with irritation and boredom. Any way the time passed, the plane arrived and off we went to paradise. I am not exaggerating but Goa was an experience to be cherished. Most of the flight was over the sea, which was uneventful, and we landed an hour later. My brother in law was there to receive us. And an hour’s drive later we were home where all the gang was waiting for us. The gang consists of my wife’s three sisters, their husbands and their brood. So the weeklong party commenced.
Goa has some of the finest beaches ever but that isn’t all there is to it. It is the ambience of the place, the people, the lifestyle, and the tourists which contributes towards making it an unforgettable experience. The Portuguese influence in the architecture and cuisine is obvious but the locals have a history of their own. The place was under the influence of the Muslim rulers and later the Maratha chieftains. In the 15th century St Francis landed here with his message of Christianity and through a long drawn process of proselytism managed to win numerous converts starting a change in the sociological character of the people. Some years later the Portuguese occupied the territory defeating the local kings and thus commenced the longest episode of foreign rule in a part of India ending with the police action in 1960 which has been captured in the movie Saat Hindustani, Amitabh Bachhan’s first foray in to cinema. With that bit of trivia I shall stop my History lesson.

On the first night we went to a place called the Vaga beach, which is supposed to be a most happening place. The beach dhabas or the shacks as they are popularly known proliferate all over the coastline and we went to a place called St Anthony’s. Fish being the preferred food, we did in Goa as Goans do. An Englishman was on the mike with a guitar and belting out old numbers of Don McLean, Jim Morrison and Mark Knoffler. Listening to soulful music with the sounds of sea waves and some good wine under the belt is always an ethereal experience.

I woke up the next day to venture forth in my expedition to the paradise. The first task of the day was to prepare a massive breakfast for the full troupe of tourists, a task in which I acquitted myself reasonably well as was evident from the low level of grunts from an otherwise vocal and critical crowd. The first hurdle of the day over, we climbed into our vehicles and headed south of Goa to the Ottoda beach. What distinguishes this place from other beaches is that the tourists less frequent this place.

Swimming in the sea is something I love! Looking into the water while swimming gives you a feeling of anonymity as well as the realization of the puniness of the individual existence in the face of the might of the nature’s forces. A good swim always makes one hungry. So after a big lunch of fish curry and rice, a nice sleep on the beach was just what the Doctor ordered. After the siesta the sand was washed off the hair and trunks and we trudged back home, a cool hour’s drive away.

Another day and another beach and this time it was the most happening beach of Goa. It’s called the Baga beach. It’s between the otherwise better-known beaches of Anjuna and Calengute. Nowadays however the daytime action is always on the Baga. There are the omnipresent shacks with their variety of seafood on offer but what one goes looking for there are the water sport facilities. Para gliding, water scooters, skiing, powerboat rides and what have you. It started raining when we reached the beach so what could we poor souls do except wait under a shack mournfully ordering one feni after another. The rain stopped before our heads started swimming and bravely I stepped forward to pay for my ticket for Para Sailing. Twelve hundred bucks lighter I could have flown without any assistance anyway! Unfortunately or fortunately someone started fighting with the ticket chap and all of us ticket holders raved & ranted about the delay caused and how we were so short of time and what has the world come to, so every body decided to go in for a refund. The money back in my pocket I came back to the shack to join the others in enjoying the good things of life.

Well, on to the saga of the beaches. You must have heard of the Anjuna beach. It was famous for its cluster of hippies during the days of the flower power and most popular among the desi tourists as the chances of spotting the nude white woman were the brightest here. The nudies are no longer there so apart from the must do visit the tourists steer clear of this place. The neo hippies are however still found and often you can smell the whiff of dope smoke. We reached this place in the evening when the sun was about to set. The sky was clear so the interplay of colors on the water orchestrated by the setting of the sun mesmerized me. Bright shades of orange turned into golden hues as the sun embarked on its journey to the bottom of the sea. As a child I often wondered if it came out from the other side still intact and unaffected by the water. Happily as it turned out the sun still shines bright. There may be an eclipse every now and then but it goes on. Isn’t that how life is supposed to be? Life on the Anjuna, however, changes by the evening. There is this massive shack; I forget the name, which houses a monstrous music system. It was playing some continuous techno music, which was driving an estimated crowd of over a thousand foreigners crazy into a foot tapping throng of dancers. The ambience was irresistible and the feet start obeying autosuggestion of the music.

The last of the famous beaches is the Calengute. The name is derived from a village, which has now grown into a small township. Essentially a fisherman’s village it used to be the hub of the social activity even in the days gone by. However the evenings used to be relatively quiet except for the loud groans of the perennially inebriated or the hushed gasps of frantic lovers lurking amongst the harbored boats and fishing nets. Tourism and the inevitable developmental growth has now robbed the village of its laid back demeanor and replaced it with the omnipresent commercialism.

Out to make a quick buck the place is sprawled with shops of sundry items costing a dime but sold for a small fortune to the unsuspecting foreigners. Of course there is no dearth of gullible Indians falling in the same trap. However the place still wears a colorful look and ironically the people who make it so are the pale faces of the west. What they lack in skin color they make up with their zest for life. Everybody hires two wheelers, Kinetic Honda being the preferred vehicle, and zips around everywhere, soaking in the sun and caressing the ocean breeze. The apparel they support is a tribute to comfort unlike the bashful & coy natives who spend half the time meant for enjoying in smoothing the creases of sarees & trousers. It’s the combination of all such people which keeps Calungute pulsating at all times.

The beaches of Goa acquire a new dimension on the New Year's Eve. In fact the whole Goa does. My celebration of the day started early. No sooner had I settled into a comfortable reclining chair than the owner of the shack inquiring about my plans for the evening accosted me. As it turned out every shack owner in the vicinity had something lined up for the New Year's Eve and was actively soliciting prospective customers. We had already planned to go to a casino in the evening followed by dinner. The day passed quickly and all of us set out to paint the town red. The casino owned by an NRI dentist is in Panjim and aptly named 'Chances'. Well, we took ours and came out none
the worse. No fortune was won or lost. From there we trudged on to a discotheque, which for everyone turned out to be a bit of a disappointment. It was a totally stag affair. I couldn't care less and merrily danced my heart out. After sweating for about an hour we settled for a leisurely meal. By then my old bones were protesting against the daylong torture I had subjected them to and prodding me to call it a day. I yielded to their demand and went off to sleep and woke up to the first day of the millenium.

Goa and no mention of churches!! One third of the Goan population is Catholic, so over the years egged on by the Portuguese resources and the natural Christian enthusiasm scores of churches dot the landscape of Goa. The older ones are more majestic and graceful to behold. The Basilica Bom De Jesus literally meaning the place of the infant Christ occupies the place of pride amongst all the churches. It is here that the mortal and embalmed remains of St Francis are still preserved in a silver casket, which is perched atop a tall pedestal. The casket is brought down every ten years and a multitude of humanity converges for a glimpse of the revered Saint. Since our visit was a few years early we were denied the privilege.

Right opposite is the Se Cathedral, which built in the 1st quarter of the 17th century houses the statute of St Catherine among beautifully crafted golden panels. It’s from the main gate here that Sir Francis Albuquerque; the conqueror of Goa is reputed to have made his triumphant entry. Goa incidentally is short for Gomantak, which was the ancient name of the place.
Another beautiful church is the St Andrews, which is situated in the main market of Panjim. It’s a familiar sight because of its depiction in a number of Bollywood movies. From there on Donna Paula was the next place on the itinerary. Donna Paula is to Goa what Romeo and Juliet are to rest of the world. And these two also met the same fate reserved for all legendary lovers. The point from where the two jumped into the sea now has a memorial overlooking what is perhaps the most unclean part of Goa. On another side of this place is where water scooters are available for the interested. We had our lovely rides while my vertigo prone wife waved to us from the safe confines of the pier.

A few kilometers from Panjim is the Aguada fort perched on the top of a hill, to reach where one has to drive through meandering hilly roads. In the days yonder this place made fresh water available to the passing ships. An old lighthouse, which is still functional, warned the approaching vessels of the land ahead. Today a part of the fort has been converted into a prison, where as the local grapevine says, the favorite pastime of the inmates is to periodically and successfully escape eluding the sleeping guards.
There are many places of Goa, which I missed but that shall not remain so for long. The people I met and the places I saw have left an indelible impression on me, which has only whetted my appetite. My short visit has simply left me craving for more and ever indulgent to my whims and desires that I am I shall return to the place I have come to love, Amen.