By Robert Downes
Copyright 'Planet Backpacker'
Three Days in Heaven
Nov. 28, 2007
Palolem Beach, India
Palolem is said to be the most beautiful beach in Goa, and that’s saying a lot. The Times of London lauds it as one off the 10 most beautiful beaches on earth, and who can argue? I made the 70-mile trip this morning to the southernmost tip of the state and find a mile-long crescent of the sweetest paradise imaginable. A surrealistic curtain of druggy palms slouch in a green gauze down the beach, like they’ve been watered with mescaline and are making their rubbery way to Nirvana.
It sinks in -- I’ve reached Nirvana on the far side of the Earth... a Hindu god stares at me with faraway eyes, etched in a boulder just off the beach: “How’s it goin’, man?”
And rather than the hassle and hustle of Calangute (the package tourist destination in the heart of Goa), the first two creatures I meet are a friendly pig and a cow walking down the dirt road leading to the village.
Rather than staying at a hut right on the beach (which would be far too romantic for single me), I opt for a genteel aging mansion back a ways, where my room has a marble balcony overlooking a jungle courtyard. It seems to be occupied by old farts in my demographic, only from Europe of course.
This is a necessity because on the beach I see a lithe Israeli girl in a black bikini who is as dark as Kali the Destroyer, and surely the most beautiful young woman in India. I tear my eyes away with a ripping sound, and would rather have my thoughts focused on things like banana pancakes and fractured conversations with cranky Germans. Places like this are why Ulysees made his men cover their eyes and stuff their ears when they sailed past the Sirens.
It took three bus rides and half a day to get here, with the longest stretch being a screamer. In India, no bus leaves the stop until it is crammed full with passengers, and our conductor on the trip from Margao to Palolem was a master of cramology, packing our mini bus to the rafters. Although the bus was only a few yards long, I swear there were 50 people onboard.
One consequence of this is that you get to know the body parts of the Indian people much more than is desired. One woman rubbed her crotch against my upper arm in such a languid up-and-down motion that I thought she was trying to get off. Then another woman did much the same. Maybe it’s good luck to grind on a foreigner... Oh well, better that than a dick in your face, I always say -- which is a distinct possibility on these slam-packed rides.
But it was anything but ‘sex on the bus’ for me, because we were packed in so tight while whipping around the winding roads that it was like being in a rolling coffin, with no way out if the bus rolled. The only sensation I felt during my shoulder massage was one of terror.
I’d like to feel proud of myself for ‘winging it’ in India, but the truth is I feel more like a frightened little crustacean most of the time, fearful of peeking out of my shell. Fortunately, necessity gives me a poke each day to make me scuttle out.
On the other hand, even the toughest, young backpackers tend to travel in twos and threes, so I feel entitled to a wee bit of bragging rights for going it alone in places that would give most Midwesterners the heebie-jeebies, although Palolem certainly isn’t one of them.
The Cow in the Cafè
You know you’ve finally reached the Land of the Strange when a friendly cow wanders into the restaurant and no one on the staff gives it a second look.
After weeks of eating spicey curries and greenish glop made with veggies and lentils, I decide to get a little crazy and order a pizza at an Italian restaurant just off the beach to celebrate my birthday.
Looking up from the menu, I was startled to find that one of the sacred cows from the village had wandered through the open-air doorway and was watching the chefs working at the grill. It had a friendly piebald face along with black, 10-inch-long horns, and a bemused look in its eyes that bordered on being a smile.
No one shooed it away -- apparently, this smiling cow drops by each evening to stand inside the door and welcome guests to the Little Italy Restaurant. It stood in the doorway for nearly an hour watching the chefs prepare dinner (all seafood, no beef, by the way) before one of the cooks waved it out the door. Like, getouttahere...
And then -- wouldn’t you know it -- another cow walked in, like it was her turn in the kitchen. An even bigger cow, with longer horns...
Over the Moon
Nov. 30, 2007
Palolem, India
O, my friends, read no further unless you wish to hear of a lost soul, living the Jimmy Buffet dream of “wasting away in Southern India.”
For the second night in a row, I have a dinner of prawns nearly the size of lobsters, this time cooked in a delicate white wine sauce and served by candlelight on the beach at one of the dozens of outdoor restaurants lining the bay. Groovy people from all over the world are my tablemates -- all in swimsuits with long hair, tattoos, and heavily draped with Indian beach beads.
The sound system is superb -- they’re playing electronic Goa trance music, and then a reggae-dub version of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon.” Perfect. I have two glasses of sugary port wine -- a crude, but effective potion that’s similar to the homemade ‘Thunderfoot’ vintage I made from Concord jelly grapes several years ago -- it kicks my ass over the moon.
By day I kayak on the Indian Ocean and wade a quarter mile through the shallow sea along a sandbar to a secluded cove, bathing in my underwear and doing yoga... broiling under the 90 degree sun. The scenery is beyond spectacular -- swaying palm trees (is there any other kind?) skirt the beach, beyond which stretch distant misty mountains. An armada of arrow-prowed fishing boats rigged with wooden outriggers are perched on the sands, waiting to be sent to catch my dinner. Hawaii would blush with envy.
It’s not hard to imagine moving here. I could easily perform on guitar at a beachside cafè -- a cinch with some Bob Marley tunes and that old Eagles’ hit, “Hotel Goa, India.” Accompanied by a guy on a “boooiinnng” Indian tabla drum, it would be easy to be a hit on the beach. Days baking in the sun... nights plucking strings... Writing the Great Indian Expat Novel...
In short, I’m lonely and bored out of my gourd with paradise and can’t wait to get out of this place. And I’m dying to see my blond angel Jeannette again. Counting the days... counting the hours... this place is way too mellow for a AA-type like me. Counting the minutes...
GETTING THERE: Palolem Beach is located at the southern end of the State of Goa on the Indian Ocean in southern India. Take the local bus from the regional bus station just north of the Margoa city limits. One of the many attendants will direct you to the right bus.
ACCOMMODATIONS: There are numerous beach shacks on stilts just back from the water for rent at budget rates, starting around $10 U.S. It's hard to imagine even needing a reservation here, given the many guest houses and budget resorts. But you never know, given the hundreds of backpackers who flock to Palolem from all over the world.
DINING/RECREATION: The beach is lined with numerous bars and restaurants, all offering lunch and dinner in the $5 and up range. Typically, you can park yourself in a beach chair at a bar and sit there all day, providing you order an occasional beverage or snack. There are also a number of yoga options, including a morning class at the mouth of the river (note: the instructor was a no-show the day I attended) and individual instruction in the village. Also, kayak rentals, boogie boards, tours and all the souvenir shopping your heart could desire. Plus, although Palolem looks like the rustic getaway of your dreams, it also has the latest in Internet options and cash transfer services. Crime, cautions, warnings, dangers, etc: As mentioned in the section on Goa, you are likely to be approached in Palolem to purchase drugs. It's your karma, dude, just don't make an Indian prison your dharma... Otherwise, not much to worry about except sunburn, getting falling down drunk, crashing your moped, tainted seafood and bug bites -- the usual stuff.
For more adventures in India, check out 'Planet Backpacker: The Good Life Bumming Around the World, now available as an ebook with 75 illustrations from Amazon Kindle and Apple iBooks.
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