Our Lowest Point

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Possibly the most popular backpacker destination and hangout spot in all of India, Goa has probably been the lowest point on our trip so far.

A rat-infested hut, relentless nocturnal mosquitoes, getting sick in the middle of the night, being bed-ridden with a fever, dirty and crowded beaches, Indian men with no respect for women (especially on New Year's Eve), a crashed scooter, and to top it all off - head lice.

After Christmas further north in Diu, we made a mad dash to make it to Goa by New Year's - from one former Portuguese colony beach to another. A 20-hour sleeper bus (we waited 4 hours until an angry taxi driver put us inexplicably in the back of his car and drove us to meet the bus, on its way without us), brought us into Mumbai, where an autorickshaw and 2 local trains took us to the center of the city. We followed one very colorful woman (the first Indian I've heard say 'fuck'😉, one man who tried selling us pot and couldn't understand that we had the same name (I've adopted Vijay as my Indian name), and a portly man who preferred to walk in the very middle of the street, even though Mumbai actually has sidewalks, before we finally booked a night bus to Goa. While waiting for the bus, we walked around, checking out Mumbai's architecture and its hipster coffee-shop scene. The sleeper bus brought us into Mapusa, Goa, where we hopped a local bus to Arambol, the final destination for us, as well as a dozen or so other travelers we've met over the past 2 months in India.

We wondered around for a couple hours, rejected accommodation offers of absurd prices, before finding a nice beachside hut for Rs1,200 ($20). This was still more than we wanted to pay, but we knew how popular Goa is for New Year's, and we arrived on the 30th.

Our first few days in Goa were very nice - other than all the creepy Indian men roaming the beaches. I want to start by saying that by no means are all Indian men the creeps we've encountered in Goa. But most of the Indian men in Goa sure put a hamper on a foreign women's holiday in Goa. By day, they roam the beach, seeing through the screens of their cameras, continuously capturing photos. By night, they descend in hordes upon women on the dance floors, grasping, molesting and otherwise harassing those trying to have a good time.

I suspect it has to do with a culture of sexual repression. On holiday, these men come to Goa, a place full of scantily clad foreign women, whom they know to be easy from the Western films and pornography they've watched. But they go past mere assumptions: no does not mean no, and they don't take a hint, at least not until you judo chop them in the throat, as my French friend Raphaelle did to one persistent man on New Year's Eve.

Other than these gross men, Goa is actually quite nice. The sand is soft, the ocean warm, the beer cold (and cheap!), and the food delicious. A trend in many beachside tourist areas is that the food is expensive and not very good. Not so in Goa. After a week in just the town of Arambol, I've eaten many delicious plates, and at affordable prices, from nutella and strawberry on a buckwheat crepe ($3), to one of the best egg sandwiches I ever had (under $1), to a plethora of fresh seafood (starting at $10 for a full fish with sides).

But Goa's good ends here.

Our biggest problem was accomadation. The first place we stayed at was a very nice hut village, but at Rs1,200 ($20)/night, it was overpriced and we moved out after 4 nights.

That's when our problems really began.

Wondering around, we found a decent room for Rs600 ($10)/night, and the hosts seemed nice. We agreed, returning 2 hours later with our bags and gear. But a different lady was waiting for us, and she upped the price to Rs700. We stood our ground, saying we were told Rs600, and on that price we packed all our stuff and moved, but she wouldn't budge. Not only would she not budge unless we agreed to stay for a week, defined as 8 nights, and paid upfront. She was extremely unpleasant through this whole process. We soon left, partly out of principle for being misled but more so just to never have to deal with such a witch again.

And so, bags on our backs, we searched again for accommodation. The main difficulty in Goa is that everyone wants you stay for months. Each hotel proprietor brags about every long-term resident ("The couple in the next room is staying for 2 months!") and asks how many months you plan to stay. Many places won't even let you stay for a single night, instead making you commit to at least a week. But our patience with Goa was wearing thin, and we didn't want to be stuck in Arambol that long.

We ended up bargaining a beachside hut to Rs700/night for 4 nights - but we made the mistake of agreeing to pay upfront. And that left us in a bind later that night when we discovered that the hut was infested with rats. The hut did not just have rats, it was infested. Our sleep was light, as we listened to the rats scurry about above us, around us and below us. It especially became a problem on our 4th day, when I got sick and was bedridden for the day, spending the day in the hut with the family of rats for company.

The day before I was bedridden, we did as backpackers in Goa do and rented a scooter for the day, exploring Goa on bike. It was my first time ever on a motorcycle or scooter, and it took a bit getting used to. A bit like riding a bike, but much heavier and more unwieldy, and when you lose control and freeze, as you would on a bike, the scooter keeps going unless you consciously let go of the accelerator. This spooked me a couple times, but never resulted in any crashes - until Meg took control.

After scooting north to a river and taking a ferry crossing, we continued on until reaching an old abandoned pirate fort (that's right, pirates!), which we explored before hanging out on the adjacent beach. Exhausted from the scooter ride and my approaching illness, it was everything I could do to stay with it during these adventures. For the ride back, Meg practiced on the scooter, doing a test ride up the street and back. On her second run, she started to drive towards the side of the road. Panicking, she forgot to let go of the gas lever and promply drove right into a motorcycle. Luckily, she was completely fine, and the motorcycle too - but we had a broken headlight lens.

Meg's confidence was shaken, so I drove again on the return trip to Arambol. We were bummed at the accident potenetially turning a pretty cheap day into an expensive one. At Rs300 ($5) and Rs150 ($2.50) for gas, we hadn't splurged too much for a day on a scooter at all. Wary of exorbitant charges from our renter when returning our scooter with minor damage, we stopped by a garage to have it fixed.

Pro-tip: When looking for a garage in Asia, look for a stack of tires out front. This signifies a garage, and is often the only sign doing so.

We were relieved that the replacement lens was only Rs100 ($1.50). Off the hook!

I returned back to our hut, exhausted from the day and from being sick - only to spend the worst night with an extended family of rats.

And when we finally got up in the morning - Meg discovered lice in her hair.

Thus we reached our lowest point in over 2 months of travel in India.

And that was before we got into a street fight the following day (more on that in a later post).

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