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Published: March 24th 2009
March 10th
Right now, I’m sitting at the Margao railway station, slightly drunk on 8%!K(MISSING)ingfisher beer (for sale in Goa only). Everyone is staring at me, because I’m drinking and playing cards and wearing shorts, and I’m the only female here. I am afflicted with some weird cold - my nose is running like a tap and my eyes are watering, but I’m nigh on heaven here. Goa is full of colours, all royal greens and blues and purples, and there are no rules here on how to wear them. The coco huts were immaculate, and I’ll grant that we were only a mosquito buffet because we didn’t know how to pack the net. The sand on the beach is so fine that it squeaks under your feet, like fresh dry snow. Many women walk up and down the beach selling sarongs and offering henna. This bar, however, represents the darker side of Goa - Indian alcoholics come here in droves. They are all looking at me now. Some are seriously afflicted with polio. Get away from me! Thank Ganesh, George is coming back. .
We travelled in third class, and a
sweaty man leant heavily on George the whole way to Gokarna. We tuk-tukked to Om Beach on the advice of a fellow Canadian we met en route. We checked into Namaste, dropped our bags, changed and went straight to the beach. We climbed up the rocks to view the best sunset yet; it was so red.
Cows wander everywhere in India, we know this, but really? Everywhere? Okay, get this. As well as seeing cows wander the beach alone and in herds, we saw four cows chilling in a spot with no apparent exit or entry. It was totally surrounded by jagged rocks, and the sea was three sides of the square. The mountain/beach cows were chewing the cud and seemed as if they were in a green pasture somewhere afar but they weren’t; they were standing in a rubbish heap mouthing their way through the junk to gain the prize of a piece of paper. We would long to see actually how a cow of all animals has evolved into a rock climber. But we didn’t want to wait and/or quickly run and get night-vision goggles and hope they haven’t moved by the time we got back. So,
Walking along singing a song
Love being surprised by a holy cowwe wandered the beach exploring the possibilities.
We ended up at a place with hammocks at the entrance. We were sat at the end and were surrounded by wicker bars diagonally obstructing our view. Beer is not allowed in Gokarna, but we could get it but we had to stow it in the sand by our feet. Done.
March 11th
Getting hooked on masala chai. The tea (chai) here is made with boiled milk and sugar, then they add the tea and spices and boil it further (5 - 15 Rs). We’re worried that regular old water tea isn’t going to cut it anymore.
We took a tuk-tuk into town, and as we were being dangerously thrown about, we noticed the absolutely cracking views of all the various beaches. We had a list of required supplies, and there were some ancient pilgrimage centre we wanted to check out. First thing’s first, Katherine buys Twilight second hand at a bookstore. Second being next, we lined up at the pharmacy for some cortisone cream for the many bites plaguing our otherwise beautiful and tanned skin.
We checked out the bus station, but the bus to
We're in a zoo
Hiding our beers Udipi takes five hours and leaves at 5:45 am - no thanks! In one stall, we loaded up on sandalwood incense sticks, recommended by a deaf hippie that looked like Frankie Wild (in “Its All Gone Pete Tong”). It turns out that tourists aren’t allowed in the temples in Gokarna - the gossip is that some Israeli girls maybe had too much masala tea, and acted… let’s say… distastefully. We ambled around the perimeter and caught a glimpse of the temple considered so ornate that one view cleanses you of any sins, even the murder of a Brahmin. We tried to find some internet, but it won’t come to Gokarna for another ten years. Back to Namaste, on the beach, and people keep starring like they’ve never seen a bathing suit before.
A group of more than fifty women walked past, all dressed to the nines, differently but the same. They snickered as they saw us, and apparently George was the subject of many a girlish giggle with his white thighs and gently tanned, smiling visage.
Next to us was an aging hippie couple. The father was mostly bald, save for a single fat dreadlock from the
back of his head that reached his knees. The little girl ran around naked after a black calf, and created quite a crowd. The cow took a bite of her toys and she scorned it, half-crying and pushing it away.
Cow was not moving anywhere anytime soon. Hippie Dad was then faced with a dilemma - how to get rid of the cow? This was a holy calf, let’s not forget, people here don’t just go around whacking holy cows on the beach. Plus, it was a baby, and his daughter was keenly watching. Eventually, he mustered all his brute strength and gently pushed the mooing calf along the beach. Hahaha, everyone was laughing including us because this time we weren’t the subjects of mass intense scrutiny.
We ate dinner and watched the moon rise; George reckons it was the reddest moon he ever seen! I says I seen redder. But it was well red.
March 12th
The beach keeps calling us back, even though it doesn’t always treat us well. Om beach is so named due to its resemblance to the famous symbol referring to the origin of all things, and ultimate divine essence.
We haven’t really done the yoga thing yet, but it’s coming, I’m sure of it (haha, I’m writing this a week later using notes and still no yoga.) I devoured Twilight, which is even better than the movie and not at all ruined by the fact I read the second one first. George read his Einstein thriller and worked on his tan.
I went down to the beach in my tee and shorts and carried my trunks because I thought it a good idea at the time. After a bit of reading and the usual hassle of people coming up and asking, ‘which country?’ or people trying to sell us drums we cannot carry or tat we do not want, it was swim time. Where do I change? Kath was bathing and was enjoying not having huge waves or an undertow. Right here, in the middle of the beach, I dropped the lot with the white moon to all those watching. I heard the laughs, grinned and wandered in to get the daily dosage of vitamin-sea.
It was after we came back in and dried off that the next-door group of people introduced themselves. The main
guy was a small pot-bellied Indian wearing brown y-fronts and a collared shirt. He was an accountant. His number two was the owner of a mechanic yard or something, that’s all I really got. There were also about five others who, we were told, worked in this mechanic yard.
They were loud and chatty and explained that they felt like a day off (it being Thursday) and coming down to the beach for the day. They wanted to have a photo of them with us and we happily obliged. They were now drinking and chain smoking after a nuts game where they pelt little unripe limes as fast as they can at each other. It did look fun though.
They were drinking whiskey and offered us some. They had just used whiskey and limejuice and it had a kick. We sat around chatting and trying to explain in simple English cricketing terms but it all paid off when I mentioned ‘Sachin Tendulkar’ and like the drop of a hat we were offered lunch.
: err…how long ago was this made? what is it? it might give me the heebie-jeebies and these guys are definitely
not the cooking type… no, thanks.
We joined the tourists for lunch instead before tuk-tukking it back to Gokarna. We arrived at the train station nice and early so we wandered and stumbled into the railway tavern, which was, as you would imagine an Indian railway bar; dirty with old posters on the wall and everyone was huddled over their Kingfisher premium.
The train was late but not nearly as crowded as usual. It was a local train down the west coast from Gokarna to Udupi, even though it ran for five hours. As the train rambled, the red sun set into dry caked fields waiting eagerly for the impending monsoons. That’s all anyone can talk about here, but it’s so hot and dry we can hardly believe it’s true. After the inevitable tuk-tuk hassle, we’re checked into a posh hotel that’s seen better days and thankfully rates. We ate Manchurian chicken in the seafood restaurant downstairs. At last, we set our fan to “storm” and drifted off to sleep to the comforting hum of wasted electricity.
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