last days in goa

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13th - 18th Panjim, Capo Da Rama, Our new friends - Deepu and Amrose,


Keeping up with the journal is becoming increasingly more difficult as we get more and more into the swing of life in India. With each new day we learn many new words, have many new experiences and meet so many more interesting people. Some of whom have become an integral part of our adventure to date, others like trees on a highway as we pass along this Indian expedition. So we thought it best to bring you all up to speed to date. We have now made our way by train down to Bangalore via Hampi and Hospet. Both of which have many ruins of archeological significance. Again I get ahead of myself, so let me tell you more about our last week in Goa.


Panjim - Palolem

So we leave the capital of Goa - Panjim early in the morning for what turns out to be a very bumpy two hour drive through twisting winding mountain roads to what we thought was the sleepy beach village of Paloloem. Oh no, nothing appears to be quiet down here. Although the whole place has this very chilled out vibe, it is still very much India and the law of chaos reigns supreme. It’s a small strip consisting of a main street and one intersection which leads you to a postcard palm fringed beach. For the most part Palolem is a fishing village and every morning round 6am the fishermen head out to fish for the ever elusive fish which in years gone by were in abundance along this coastline. Today however after speaking with many, it appears that the good catches are only made available to those with commercial fishing trawlers’, leaving the local’s to harvest what most of us would throw back. Everything in the food chain has its place and as this is India and these small silver fish end up on the plates of many a family dinner. Having said that, the seafood over here is some of the freshest we have tasted. What is caught in the morning is served by dinner that evening, lucky as we haven’t seen any refrigerated trucks in Goa and with the constant power cuts I wonder how anything is kept even remotely chilled. I know most of our bottled water during power cuts were at best room temperature, which in Goa, considering its been close to 38’ is round the mid 20’s.

It’s around midday by the time we get here, three small roadside villages, two major towns, countless potholes, very sore backsides and a police blockade, which we later found out was because a tanker had failed to make a bend, careered off the road, rolled down and embankment and burst into flames, unfortunately the driver was trapped in his truck and subsequently died. This is India, driving here is definitely not for the faint hearted and one must always keep their eyes on those around them. What is a two lane windy mountain road with no guard rails to stop you rolling down the 30m embankment into the rice paddies below, can quickly become a 5 lane rolling mass of chaotic traffic all trying to pass a weathered brightly painted truck, traveling at 1km/h because it has more goods loaded on its small tray than any 3 carriage semi trailer I have ever seen before. Luckily for us John is a very cautious driver and takes no risks, so we arrive, a little shaken, but well. It’s so hot out here, we have no accommodation and so the search begins. John was sure that we could just rock up and find a beach shack on stilts overlooking the beach, no problem, like it was going to be that simple. Firstly the beach is full of beach shacks, all on stilts, all totally unlivable because of the heat, as soon as you step in you’re instantly covered in perspiration and the ceiling fans do little more than circulate hot air and increase the humidity until eventually you may as well be in a greenhouse. To think this is the beginning of winter…. Picturesque, what a position, I know, but not for us. AC here we come. To give you a little insight into the enormity of this task - the search for accommodation, the beach is quite long a good 30m walk from one end to the other and there are little hotels and huts covering all the available sand the local govt will allow them. To compound this directly behind the accommodation there are loads of shops, each with persistent owners wanting madam and sir to be the first “good luck” customers of the day. So what was to be a simple look at available accommodation turns into a painstaking exercise in “eyes on the prize” and of how many times can the both of us say no in 30seconds. You can imagine our relief, when after some 40mins of this we were approached by Raj, I don’t know what he does or how he fits, but he offered to show me some accom with AC. Hooray how lucky are we, although I bet it happens to everyone. So I jump on the back of his scooter and off we go, Mel and john stop for a sprite and I begin the search. It wasn’t long before we found what was to become our home by the beach for the next week and a bit.

The only way to travel….

Everyone, I mean everyone has got a scooter or some sort of motorbike around here, so as to not be left out we too also decided to get on board the two wheel odyssey and get ourselves a bike. Typical to our experience someone always pops up at just the right moment with exactly what is required. Raj a different one to the Raj above, who along with his brother Yogi, owns two taxi’s and five bikes pulls up beside me on this amazing Royal Enfield. For those that don’t know, this is a classic British cruiser, think Triumph with deep rumbling gurgle of a Harley and you’re close to a Royal. Black, shiny, lots of chrome, electric start 4 gears, 350cc, hello I’m in heaven, sorry Mel, love the Vespa, but this is a bike. So for a little under $10 a day this was our transport for the rest of our stay. Mum I know that after what you’ve just read you’d be freaking out right about now, but seeing as you are reading this and we have left Goa I’m very much alive and we are both very well. There’s nothing like it, coast on left, mountains on your right, Mel on the back, holding on, wind through your hair, the rumble of this awesome bike underneath you and the freedom to explore one of the most picturesque and friendly parts of India. Travel we did. Firstly a relatively short and safe ride to one of the many deserted beaches Talpona, about a 20min ride, just to get a feel for the bike, the roads and Mel holding on. The next day we decided to do something a little more adventurous. Up the coast to Capo Da Rama, another Portuguese fortress which lies in ruins, yet still dominate another strategic vantage point on this rocky volcanic coast.

Capo Da Rama

The mind boggles to think how; some 400 years ago such enormous structures were constructed, how and by whom. This place, with out modern machinery would have taken years to build. Unfortunately not much of the history regarding its construction is available either around the fort nor in the nearby villages, so this part of the story is incomplete. The ride up there which took close to an hour was incredible, ascending higher and higher along windy pothole ridden mountain pathways, then descending into the tropical valley’s below, crossing small streams, passing through villages filled with waving children, ascending and descending many times more until you reach a plateau atop what appears to be a never ending coastline. A short ride through barren fields and dry grasses and the local school and you reach the imposing wooden gates of Capo Da Rama. This is another red stone walled fortress, with so much of the old fort walls swallowed by the surrounding vegetation that we could not even guess as to the size of the compound. Again perched high upon the cliff, Capo Da Rama has an un-spoilt 360’ view of the land and ocean around it. So hard to describe the feeling, standing along the forts walls, walking along the old guard rails and peering through the turrets, knowing that, in times gone by, this place was teeming with life and activity. Today, there is us, a handful of Indian tourist, a couple of Europeans, an old church(which is still in use), the dilapidated ruins of what appears to be a cell block and a sole ice cream vendor who has his cart parked in the shade of the old gates. There are a few rather large rusting cannons and many pathways to explore, but the heat of the midday sun gets the better of us and we are left drinking the last of our water and only exploring a very small part of what was visibly accessible to us.

We leave the fort and continue to travel further up the coast to Colva the northern most beach on the southern side of one of the two rivers, Zauri and Mandovi, which dive costal Goa in two. There are several more beaches along this coast, most of which are unimpressive and dotted with western style 5 star luxury hotels. Staying here would be like any other beach resort stay. Most visitors stay in isolation only to venture out for the obligatory shopping trip to pick “authentic” souvenirs from the local villages, what they do not realize is that Goa only produces rice and pineapples, most of which they buy comes from the many bazaars of cities like Mumbai and cotton tops from Thailand. Oh those authentic hand made rugs, there not form India either, most come from Afghanistan, where they are made cheaply, then transported across the border through Pakistan, marked up by 4000% and then on sold as tribal art from some exotic location created in the imagination of those that buy. The realities of life here and the insights on how it all really works are incredible, crafty and at times unbelievable. We love it.

Deepu and Amrose

Walking up and down the two streets which comprise this small little fishing village, its not too long before faces start become familiar on both sides. We start chatting to some of the locals and not before long I keep hearing my name being called out where ever I go. If its not Mr. Vijay Chaudry the local cigarette, sweet, any thing you like vendor, the son of a vendor himself, it’s the Tina the young girl whose family migrate here every tourist season to set up shop under palm leaf thatched huts along the road side peddling their wares of woven cloth and cotton everything. Or Damu, who we called Namu for the first few days, because I vaguely remember a Disney character of the same name and so it was familiar, who also sold cotton “Ohm” tops and tie died tee’s, we were quickly becoming known around town. It’s a small place and everyone knows everyone’s business. But there were two that we ultimately befriended, Deepu and then later his friend Amrose. Deepu was 25, rented out his scooter for income, because the restaurant owner who he worked for last year did not set up this year and so his usual job as a waiter had disappeared just like the tourist come monsoon. A big heart Deepu and in the short time we got to know him he was to show his heart on more than one occasion. There was tragedy in his life, not because of the helplessness of his financial position but because of love. His girlfriend of three years who happened to be Catholic, Deepu is Hindu, had just been told by her father (who didn’t know that his daughter was already in love to Deepu) that her marriage had been decided and that she was to be engaged in the months to come. All of which transpired in our short time with him deeply affected him, yet to us he expressed nothing but generosity and kindness. Admittedly after many a Kingfisher, some solid good laughs and conversations later we we’re invited to join Deepu and Amrose on a tour of their Palolem. What an experience this turned out to be.

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Comments

[Russell Bishop]

Keep Writing!
Hi Rez and Mel, Just wanted you to know there's one punter back home who's fascinated by every word you guys are commiting to your blog so please don't scrimp on the details. It's fabulous stuff. Can't wait for the next epic instalment. Russell and Deanne/Perth