The rains are always a blessing

We went to Anjuna Beach for the last flea market of the season. The place was a nude beach back when the hippies were here in full force and the market still has a selection of bowls and chillums.

There are huge coral sections of the beach with occasional holes leading down into the water that spout with each wave. The sand is soft and full of missing sandals. Perhaps people don’t realize that their shoes have come off.

I explored an empty old house left over from Portuguese rule off up on a dune whose roof had come off and whose red brick walls were worn rough. Further south down the beach a hang glider soared over a fat green mountain and the sun sunk lower towards the sea.

Then it began to rain. We walked to a covered restaurant and ordered a few drinks while we watched it fall. The merchants covered their wares or came with us to push goods as we waited for the taxis. Some people haggled for the gorgeous silk blankets they had but I watched the sea. It wasn’t any less stunning.

A Comparison

One of the other students has a friend visiting who just got done with his military service in Singapore. His name is Abeer and he was originally from India, which I find hilarious given the radical difference between the two places.

Singapore is extremely clean. He is totally sanitary and well policed and no one breaks his rules. India is dirty as a dustpan and he does not give a shit about any rules or safety precautions whatsoever. If you piss Singapore off, he will fine your fucking pants off. India will probably just honk at you a lot.

Singapore is incredibly punctual. His buses won’t wait four extra seconds for someone for fear of getting off schedule. India is at least half an hour late to everything until you get used to him being late, at which point he shows up ten minutes early.

Singapore is too small to show up on most to-scale maps and is encouraging immigration to increase population. India is his own subcontinent and second only to China in number of people. Singapore will fucking kill you for drug charges and wants ten dollars a beer in clubs. India has a separate class of people who smoke pot all the time and sell blessings, and beer costs a dollar for a deuce.

Speaking of which, it’s Abeer’s last night in Goa so I’m gonna head over to the bar.

The team names were India and Pakistan

We visited an orphanage of sorts today. Most of the kids had parents but some had been sexually abused and all were impoverished, though they seemed quite healthy and normal. They were all free to come and go as they pleased, despite some probably being less than 5 or 6. I asked them where their shoes were but they didn’t understand.

They were very excited to have us. We all crowded into the two cramped little playrooms and a young girl named Ashwini who looked to be around seven or eight decided to hang out with me. She actually pulled me by the hand most of the way to play cricket with some of the others, which was good because I didn’t know the way.

It took about half an hour to organize the game of cricket. Kids would periodically come up to me saying ‘cricket’ and then would get very excited when I said I would play. This would be followed by lots of roughhousing and chaos before everyone would forget and another would come up and say ‘cricket.’ Finally we got a game going and I struck out almost immediately, largely due to knowing nothing of the sport. Ashwini got me a flower anyway.

At the end when we were taking some goodbye pictures I tried to pick her up since she was so skinny and light. She didn’t like it and nearly got quite upset. I hate to imagine why.

First Rains

Goa is a state on the western coast of southern India. It was ruled by Muslim Shahs for hundreds of years before the Portuguese, who they managed to hold on to it for years even after India won its independence. The Indian Army had to seize the land in the early sixties and a nearby landmark, Fort Aguada, was besieged twice in the conflict.

According to the Indian tour guide, the first time the Portuguese hid in their underground bunker before fleeing by sea in cowardice. The second time the Indian army blocked off the escape route and was victorious. I wonder what a Portuguese tour guide would have said.

The two cultures have blended rather strangely with weathered white shrines to both Christ and Krishna tucked away on the sides of narrow dirt roads. Christians, the majority religion in the state, have kept the Hindu nationalist party out of power here but both were campaigning hard today. The local elections are nigh and dirty old vans blared slogans down the muddy streets of Anjuna.

There is too much to say so I will say only this

I met a Sikh on one of the five flights it took to get here. He said India has too many people and too many religions. I wonder if this has something to do with the Sikh independence movement. He was very friendly though and gave me his phone number so if I ever were in trouble or needed help I could call him.

A taxi driver had a sign with my name on it when I finally got out of the airport in Goa. He drove on the wrong side of the road so frequently it was almost difficult to tell which side was standard. This seems to be the norm on Indian roads. He listened to Bollywood music and liked the Rocky movies a lot.

There are emaciated stray dogs everywhere. Some get hit by cars and rot on the side of the road where they are eaten by vultures. I’m guessing this is because they probably do not spay or neuter. We met one at Sunburn Beach (I don’t remember the real name) which I named Durga. Sean Dalby tried to feed her but she refused to eat. Someone chimed in she would only accept blood sacrifice.

Lovely Layovers

I touched down in New York from BWI this morning at 8:30am. My flight to Mumbai doesn’t leave until tonight so, after setting up a Skype account (which my cell phone now forwards to), I paid far too much for a cab ride to Times Square.

Central Park was sunny and seventy and a street vendor’s Red Delicious apple was equally pleasant, though I was really in the mood for a Granny Smith. I dropped $10 on a dread locked rapper’s probably crappy CD, threw a penny in Bethesda Fountain for good luck, and headed to a nearby museum on the recommendation of a touristy NYC map I should not have paid for. My international student ID got its first use—though my W&M ID would’ve worked just as well—earning me a $5 audio tour and misleading a cute museum employee into thinking I’m foreign and exotic, yes!

I window-shopped some comically trendy clothing stores on Fifth Avenue, picked up a delightful turkey and Brie sandwich on Russian wheat, and caught the E train back to JFK and it's wonderful wi-fi. According to my Skype voicemail, the global cell phone I asked my parents to forward to Goa just arrived . . . from New York. Irony.

Hello World

Hey guys, this is my new travel blog. I'm gonna try to keep it updated so people can stay in touch with me while I'm studying in Goa and backpacking around South Asia. Hope you all like it!