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Published: March 3rd 2020
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I got up early for my hotel’s awesome refined breakfast. Afterwards, I went back to my room for a decadent mid-morning nap. I wasn’t actually planning on going sightseeing until noon. I generally only have the energy and desire for about three or four hours of actual sightseeing per day. Therefore, it does not really matter what time I actually venture out.
Today’s plan was to wander down to an auto-rickshaw stand in the center of Panaji and catch a ride over to Velha Goa, or Old Goa to the English-speaking world. Old Goa is now pretty much deserted, but five centuries ago it had been the beating heart of Portuguese India. As I strolled along down the hill into town, I found myself stuck behind a western tour group about forty people deep.
It was easier for me to stay behind them, rather than hustle all the way to the front. The longer I lingered at the back of the pack, the more I felt like one of them. We were like hippos waddling down the street. Happy, cheerful, and oblivious. Group members constantly peeling off from the scrum to take pictures. There was a feeling of safety
in numbers. Expensive cameras freely swinging around their necks. At one point the tour guide brought them all to a halt and informed them all together, “Now we are going to cross the street.”
I quickly shed my happy hippo identity and hopped into an auto-rickshaw. Fifteen Minutes, three hundred rupees and one scenic drive later and I was deposited back in time. Old Goa had been the capital of Portuguese India from 1510 until it was abandoned in 1759 due to a history of epidemics inflicting the city. Now it was a virtual ghost town dominated by sweeping manicured lawns and two impressive Christian churches, Basilica of Bom Jesus and Se Cathedral.
The massive Basilica of Bom Jesus housed the relics of St. Xavier. Xavier had initiated the Goan Inquisition which brought Christianity to Portuguese India. I am not sure it stuck entirely however, as a Hindu hooligan had carved the word “Shiva” into the one of the church’s wooden pews. I said a prayer for all the souls involved. Inside I noticed signs leading the crowds to something called the crib. The crib turned out to be a nativity scene, which would be literally accurate.
I meandered across the expansive lawns to Se Cathedral. Outside the Cathedral was a mini Christ the Redeemer facing off toward the jungle underbrush. The Cathedral took around 150 years to get completed and consecrated. It took so long to build and then shortly afterwards everyone deserted the entire city because of a deadly malaria outbreak. It was a haunting reminder that no matter how grand something might be, nothing lasts forever. In human history the height of Old Goa was just a blip. All this majesty simply abandoned. I glanced upwards to observe pigeons flying around the Cathedral’s dusty old eaves.
The two main churches were filled with Indian tourists from other parts of the country. However, when I stuck my head into the smaller St. Cajetan’s Church there weren’t any Indian tourists, just two Western girls taking pictures. I guess the Indian tourists were only interested in the two main churches. I wandered down a path toward the river through the Viceroy’s Arch that was built in 1599 to mark the Portuguese conquest of the city. On the other side I continued along the humble path, the river on my right and a lush palm forest to
my left.
Earlier I had noticed a restaurant near the river. This was welcomed news to me. No one had mentioned that I could grab a bite to eat in Old Goa. I walked in and it turned out to be a busy happening place full of Indians. I sat right down, got the attention of a waiter, and placed my order: chicken xacuti, paneer masala, jeera rice, and a refreshing glass of Kingfisher beer to wash it all down. I was particularly intrigued by the chicken xacuti, which I had read was a Goan specialty involving chilies and coconuts. The waiter warned me about the spiciness, but I waved off his concerns. Bring it on, my good man.
After I had been seated for a while, other westerners began to trickle in. It illustrated perfectly the phenomenon of seeing a fellow tourist in an establishment and thinking to yourself that this place must be ok. So I guess you can say I did my part in trailblazing my way in. I was also realizing that I had only talked to one westerner, a Canadian couple at a bar in Mumbai, the entire time I had been in
India so far. Anyway, it turned out to be the most delicious meal I had in India up until that point. I wasn’t even planning to have lunch in Old Goa! It was an instance of unlooked for traveler fortune.
When my meal was over I went back and sat on the huge lawn between Bom Basilica and Se Cathedral. Besides an Indian family playing in the distance, I had the entire green space all to myself. I was originally going to listen to Bollywood tunes, but the only music that made sense here were the samba stylings of the Brazilian musician, Jorge Benn. I let my mind drift back to colonial times. I meditated on impermanence and the very nature of time. This place was once a thriving center of the world with a population of 200,000. Now it was a small community of left behinds. Just ghosts, sunshine, and breezes that told of a time long ago.
As I sat there gazing through the past, I thought about the experience of being a solo traveler. When traveling on your own you do exactly what you want to do when you want to do it. It is
solely up to you to create moments for yourself. Often you simply live in your own thoughts and let the pondering take you off into blissful uncharted spaces.
Having finally broken the spell, I wandered out toward the road intending to take the bus back to Panaji. However, just then an autorickshaw pulled over and let two Japanese girls out. Simultaneously the driver beckoned me over with a thumbs up. As we were driving along, he asked me if I wanted him to drive me to Baga Beach. I said no, but took it as a sign.
It was time to select my hotel for the beach portion of my stay in Goa. I decided upon a hotel at the edge of Baga Beach. That way I could dart into and out of the fray. Also, from my research I found out that Baga was the number one destination of domestic Indian tourists in Goa. My goal was still to discover more about India and its people. I did not want to spend my time hanging out with Westerners, either at some hostel or isolated out in some idyllic location. I figured that being amongst loads of domestic
tourists might be illuminating. Maybe see just what Indian people get up to when they let loose on vacation. Tomorrow it will all begin to be revealed.
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D MJ Binkley
Dave and Merry Jo Binkley
Old Goa
Thanks for the introduction to Old Goa- looks like a great place to wander. Glad your meal was good.