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Published: January 9th 2006
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We left the fishy fresh air and laid back life of Fort Cochin on Nov.2nd and Tara and Lindsay headed south, Goa bound. Paul stayed behind to explore the spice and tea plantations of South India, planning to head back through Mysore and then meet up with us in Goa.
Travel wasn't as simple as it sounds. Due to a combination of Diwali (the Hindu Festival of Lights that marks the victory of good over the evil) and school holidays, all trains were booked solid for days. After spending some time denying this fact and then a little more time trying to charm, bribe and lie our way onto any train heading south, we conceded to the reality that we were taking the bus. Because of the day we had lost trying to book a train we were taking Lindsay’s personal favorite mode of transport...the Indian Night bus.
This is one experience everyone should have, because it is said that if you can emerge still smiling in the morning, you have attained a higher state, possibly Nirvana. We obviously have a long way to go; there were no smiles as we lowered ourselves from the lurching, coughing and smoking vessel
Palolem Beach
This is the beach we stayed at in our little hut homes. some 15 hours later. Right then we swore that would be our last journey by bus in India.
Needless to say, we much prefer the trains. They are less than half the price, surprisingly smooth and have sleeper bunks. Compare this with the ‘sleeper’ edition of the bus where there are seldom even reclining seats and Lindsay needs to dehydrate herself up to 12 hours in advance since they rarely stop more than once every 6 hours for a washroom break (unless, of course, you are male….grrr). Generally the night bus means they simply turn off all the lights, drive a little faster, and maybe turn the music down.
Anyway, from the bus we transferred to a train in Mangalore that took us to the tiny state of Goa. It seems absurd to say but we were almost feeling ready for a vacation from our vacation and the beaches of India had been calling Lindsay’s name loudly since we landed in Asia. Tara was weary of Goa having heard some Indians express concern that new resorts and hotels are stretching the limits of environmental and social capacity along the coast. But the lure of open water and space
was strong and we headed for a beach called Palolem, an area known to cater more to Indian tourists, local Goans and the budget traveler.
What to say? Paradise was found. Days passed quickly, and on the third day Paul rejoined us, also very happy to be near the ocean again after a day of bus travel. We met some locals and hung out with our neighbors, a young Indian couple from Bangalore who had been together for 4 years (unbeknown to their families) and were secretly vacationing in Goa. Many Indian families are still quite traditional and it is often taboo have time alone before the wedding night.
Our time in Goa was coming to an end and despite most trains being booked we had managed to track down seats through a local travel agent and were quite relieved we wouldn’t be having to take the bus. But things are never as simple as they seem in India. We went to pick up our tickets on Nov.6th, needing to leave the next day to make our flight out of Mumbai on the 8th. The agent met us at the door. With a slightly apologetic look he began “Ladies, see there’s a problem with the tickets, see they’ve been given away to a lawyer…” We stared back confused and before we could recover he went on with his weak explanation “The same thing happens in Canada, right? If a lawyer or a doctor needs seats then too bad for you, but they get priority”. Hmm, I’m not so sure that this was really the way things would have been handled in Canada and we heatedly argued the case. Despite our attempts to get our tickets back, or any kind of ticket, we walked out of the office empty handed, annoyed, but not overly surprised. There is simply just a different way of doing most things in India. At this point there was no way we were finding train tickets anywhere and breaking our earlier pact of never riding the Indian night bus again, we broke down and bought three tickets. We left the next day at three pm, after one last swim in the ocean. The 12 hour bus ride turned into 20 hours, and we’ll spare the details. Paul’s bunker, meant for two, was already occupied by two young Indian men who insisted they couldn’t spend the night alone and we were unable to convince them otherwise. Paul (who is almost 6’4”) climbed in and tried to fit himself into the remaining space. Despite the inconvenience, they would later save his life when one of them suddenly leapt over and pulled a scorpion off Paul’s shirt and threw it out the window, laughing and cheering. From our bunk, we were thrilled Paul had escaped death, but not so thrilled to learn that there was the possibility of scorpions lurking in the dingy corners of the bus. Before the bus ride was over the lifesaver also proposed to Lindsay, who politely refused but agreed to a photo session.
Stinky and not even close to smiling (still a few bus rides to go before we attain that higher state mentioned earlier) we arrive in Mumbai.
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anonymous
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Thank you
Hi girls, I hope you`re having a blast! Thanks for the great blog. I will be in Goa for New Year`s. Never even been to India. I heard I`m in for quite the culture shock, being canadian myself. Thanks for the insights...