Holiday in Goa

The other day on the beach a group of Indian men who were obviously on vacation walked by, all of them wearing sun glasses and board shorts. One of them was wearing this white cut-off t-shirt that was a little too short - his round belly protruding out the bottom. The shirt had a palm tree and said, "Holiday in Goa." It was so classic.

I think today is day six in Goa? Maybe seven. I've lost track. We were supposed to leave today but decided to stay for Saturday night. I mean, who can blame us? Two 22-year old girls who haven't danced or had the sun touch our shoulders in three months.

I've had many moments of, "Where am I?"... as Goa has been one of those really stereotypical places for us. Still full of surprises, but I think maybe surprises I was expecting? Dose that make any sense?

Two examples.

A couple of days ago, around 4 in the afternoon Juliana and I get on the back of a motorcycle with our matching crochet backpacks, housing only our wallets and toothbrushes. We were going on an adventure. We rode from Arambol to Anjuna.. about 30 kilometers south down the coast.. to a world-famous flea market. We bargained hard for "closing-time prices" and filled our backpacks with goodies, and then decided to find a room for the night... mostly so we didn't have to go out dancing with all of our new purchases. We found the cheapest room that we could find (squat toilet outside..), took a quick power nap, put on dresses that in no way would be acceptable anywhere else in India... and set out. We spent the first half of the night dancing to Reggae Dub on the beach... and switched locations around 1 am to this club full of trance music and Russians. It was this white, cave-like temple with big white stairs leading to a dance floor and carved-out faces on the walls. So we danced until 4 am, which was about the time that our legs gave out.

And the next morning, we managed to check out by 10:30 and arrive back in Arambol before noon.

Example two.

Just for background purposes, this town we're in - Arambol - is quite a trip. It reminds us both of the crowd you may find at Burning Man, or the Bay Area... thirty years ago. It's the aging hippy scene of Goa. I think most people stay here for a while... if you know what I mean.

Two nights ago we decided to check out this "jam session" at one of the local cafes. I put that in quotations because it was in no way a "jam session." It was a talent show. An aging hippy talent show.

... and many of you probably know what kind of love I have for talent shows. And no, I did not get up and rap a Dr. Dre song.

Of course, Juliana and I plant ourselves in the hub of these aging hippies. We shared a table with this adorable older Swiss couple, but one of the stars of the night (for us...) was this guy sitting next to the couple. He had long hair and looked like he hadn't stopped tripping since Woodstock. His eyes were at least half-closed the whole night, and in one hand he was swinging around a glass of whiskey; in the other he was smoking a joint. The rest of his table was more or less on the same level, continually rolling spliff after spliff, swaying to the music.

As the night went on, the crowd kept getting rowdier and rowdier. It went from a really chill open-mic situation to a madhouse. Honestly there were points when Juliana and I would just kind of look at each other with our jaws dropped. There was this one women who, although was never on stage to sing, stole the show. I'm pretty sure that she used to be a stripper... thirty years ago. Of course I'm making an assumption here... but if you saw her dance, you'd probably think the same thing. She would not stay in her seat, and would just shimmy around in the aisles, or get up on stage and dance directly in front of whoever was singing, trying to simultaneously seduce the performers and the audience. At point she actually started taking off her dress. I have a feeling she's an Arambol long-timer.

Some other notable characters that night included:
This bigger Sri Lankan guy would not stop belting out in the middle of other people's performances... someone would be on stage and then he would just start singing, in this booming/cracking voice, and then get on stage and steal the mic.
This Asian guy with a long beard, who apparently has been singing sing-a-long songs all over the world for over fifty years. He got on stage with an accordion and sang something like, "This world is beautiful, I love it..." over and over and over. Kind of reminded me of Mr. Robbins.

Juliana and I weren't the only ones in shock by the night's turn of events. At one point we looked back at the kitchen staff, and saw a line-up of Indian guys with their arms crossed just watching the scene. I'm sure they were thinking, "White people are fucking crazy." It really was a madhouse. I can't blame them.

And in true Goan form, we found a chill dance party on the beach and danced under an almost-full moon until our legs could dance no more.