Advertisement
Published: August 13th 2009
Edit Blog Post
A pigeon poos on my head whilst we wait for our bus to Mumbai...I feel very lucky, especially as for the next two and a half days we will spend over 30 hours on ‘sleeper’ buses. It’s a long way from Udaipur to Goa, but we are stopping in Mumbai, the half way point, to break the marathon journey. We catch a bus to Ritch’s Auntie Faye’s apartment where we’re staying. We had thought we’d spend a few days in the city but the just arrived monsoon is torrential so there seems little point. We’re rained in for most of the day, just popping out to buy overnight bus tickets to Goa for the following evening. But there’s still time for a night out with Ritch’s cousin Stephanie at her local club, where we meet a couple of her friends over cocktails and snacks.
The following night, we’re sheltering from the rain at a bus stop next to a huge flyover jammed with the Friday night rush hour. There is no bus station in Mumbai and this is where we’ve been instructed to wait for our coach. When it’s an hour late we start to get a bit edgy, but
this is India and chaos is part and parcel of the experience. Despite any comprehensible system, it somehow comes together, just as you’re convinced that all is lost. After a sleepless night due to arctic air con, we step off the bus in Mapusa, North Goa. It is so good to be back in southern India. The sun is out (for now!) and after the beige expanses of Rajasthan, Goa is so green it looks almost day-glo. We’re blessed with sunshine for the first few days, which we spend around Anjuna and Vagator.
Although we’ve been back to Goa more recently, it’s been 10 years since we were in these parts. Last time we were here along with 10,000 others to celebrate the new millennium…the palms had been painted fluro and we danced all night on Vagator beach. This time things are more sedate; we’re virtually the only Western tourists around, but there are more than a few bus loads of domestic tourists, who seem to be here to enjoy Goa’s lax alcohol laws. This season, they are mostly getting very, very drunk. The Goans roll their eyes good naturedly as we share the joke.
It feels liberating
to be here: any staring only comes from tourists from other Indian states…the Goans have seen it all, and a white girl in a vest top is hardly a newsworthy event. I feel free for the first time in weeks, and rescue my shorts from the bottom of my rucksack. We are made to feel at home everywhere we go; Ritch’s maternal Goan heritage affording us an extra warm welcome from this naturally friendly population.
We go further north, to Morjim and Arambol to find that they are completely shut down for monsoon. This makes the decision easy for us, and we jump on a bus to the far south and our beloved Palolem. It is absolutely pouring with rain, but we feel so happy to arrive back here. I love the less developed southern Canacona region: the proximity of the Western Ghats make for a lush and dramatic landscape.
I’d be surprised if anywhere in the world has more coconut palms than Goa. The local fenny (a firewater local brew made from fermented palm sap) production industry means there are millions of them, and many plantations of cashew and mango trees. The beaches are also wonderful, and
the jewel is undoubtedly Palolem…a perfect crescent backed by dense palm groves.
When we were last here, during the high season 3 years ago, I was upset by how much it had changed since our idyllic stay in the winter of ’99-’00, when barely 100 of us enjoyed it’s unspoiled beauty. By 2006, the palm groves were packed with temporary beach huts, topped with blue plastic tarpaulins, housing thousands. We ended up staying at neighbouring Patnem which, though less beautiful, offered more peace and privacy.
At this time of year though, there are no huts and it feels like we’ve stepped back in time. There are very few visitors at the moment, but the small ex-pat and lively village community, ensure there are a few decent restaurants and bars open year round. However, the monsoon has really kicked in now, and the torrential rain is ceaseless for a week. I’d expected the monsoon to bring short, heavy downpours between spells of bright sunshine, but this is relentless. Still, we’re in need of rest and reflection, and countless movies and books, the odd afternoon pub session and a few games of scrabble help pass the time nicely.
On
the first day that the rain stops, we go for a walk down memory lane; wandering through the sandy lanes under the palms, where villagers smile and wave from their verandas as we pass, and groups of pigs and cows forage in the undergrowth. We find a spot on the beach and sit there completely blissed out, the iPod on shuffle, talking about the adventures we’ve had, and how good it feels to be here.
That is when it happens: as the sun bursts through the heavy monsoon clouds, I wonder aloud what’ll be different when we get back home. Looking bewitched, Ritch asks me to repeat what I just said. When I do, he replies that hopefully we’ll be engaged, pauses a moment, then asks if I will marry him.
You know how reality seems to sharpen in the really important, life-changing moments? Well, now the colours brighten, edges become clearer and we enter the state we later name ‘hyper-reality’! The Jackson 5 sing ABC as, easy as 1-2-3, I say “yes”, and our hearts leap with excitement and our tummies fill with butterflies that stay with me for a week.
We decide that we need to celebrate in style and our very basic guesthouse room is not quite cutting the mustard. So we jump into a rickshaw and head to the nearest plush resort, the 5* Intercontinental at nearby Rajbag beach. I will never forget pulling up the grand driveway in our rickety rickshaw, door opened by a turbaned doorman more used to limos.
We live like Bollywood stars for the night in our sea facing suite, with room service prawns and Bombay Sapphire to calm the nerves before Ritch phones my Dad for approval. We can just about hear that his response is a happy one…his words almost drowned out by Fiona’s whoops of joy in the background!
The next few days are a blur…I know that it rains a lot, and that we find a prescription of two afternoon G&Ts work wonders on our nervous tummies! Worried that our excess nervous energy and the torrential rain may send us loco under the cocos, we make up our minds to go on an adventure. The weather forecasts less rain in the inland parts of the neighbouring state, Karnataka, so we book train tickets to Hampi, a ruined Hindu kingdom situated in dramatic scenery.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.162s; Tpl: 0.017s; cc: 8; qc: 51; dbt: 0.0734s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
D Bennett
non-member comment
Proposal
Congratulations. Good luck and long life.