Day 13 to 17: Goa, Cocktails and Dreams

So whats it like then?

Goa? Sea, surf, sand, beach front bars, fresh grilled fish, beautiful women, lazy days, rain, tanned men with bulging six packs…

Woah. Hang on, what’s last thing you said?

What? Tanned men with bulging-

Nonono, before that

Beautiful women, lazy days, rain-

RAIN??!!

Yeah, rain.

Bugger

I arrived at Margao station – the central serving point for the rest of Goa – on the morning of day 14, after milling around Mumbai the previous day waiting for the overnight sleeper south.

After posting my last blog at a nearby Internet café to my hotel, I had strolled the Bombay streets only to be confronted by a huge swathe of TV News vans on the streets, as more developments arise from the aftermath of the Mumbai terrorist attack.

We were 2 minutes walk away from the hotel that played such a dramatic role during those 3 days – the Taj Hotel. Its a place I passed a couple of times, a stones throw from my hotel.  Strangely it made me realise how much of what people know of Mumbai (other than the slums) rests within the relatively small areas of Fort and Coloba – the gateway to the rest of the world, where nations across the world have docked and left their mark.

The overnight sleeper left Chatraphati Shivaji Rail Terminus just after ten, a mighty Victorian giant of station, filled with people, who surprisingly, considering the international feel of Mumbai, still finds a little Brummie boy fascinating ogling material.

And onto Goa. The place where dreams are realized, and broken in equal measure.

From Margao I employed my now increasingly successful tactic of chipping up to a fellow foreigner to share a taxi – in this case the victim was Mai, a Dutch art student, who having no idea which beach she wanted to go to, was more than happy to accompany me to Palolem. To team up with Mai was to be the first of many great decisions.

Palolem – South Goa’s very-much-discovered ‘hidden gem’ – is a lovely place. Its clichéd beauty as satisfying as it is spiritually damaged – a warm sea laps a thick golden sand of stray dogs, cows, tourists and hawkers as a line of huge palm trees hide restaurants offering English Breakfasts, and cheap booze.

With 3 or 4 weeks before the season properly starts its very much a work in progress, preparing itself for an onslaught of Glastonbury proportions, with hundreds of temporary beach huts being built to accommodate the hordes…

…only to be taken down post season while the monsoon clears away its debris, but not its conscience.

But we’re not in season. And its peaceful. There’s a laziness in the air as if every sinew of Goa is chilling out and relaxing before the carnage it expects. And that suits me fine.

Yes there are westerners, yes there are drunken ozzie girls stumbling to the sand to puke, yes there’s harassment from those with something to sell…

…but just periphery enough to ignore.

Me and Mai found a lovely little cabin right on the beach, the back of Connie’s – a washer womans – house, for just 200 rupees a night – less than 3 quid. Through the gap in the palm trees the waves of the Arabian Sea serenades its neighbours, with the beach a mere hop skip and a jump.

You can see why Palolem was such a draw on the Goan landscape. Many of the states beaches are littered with high rise tourist hotels, sun loungers and Western sheen, so Palolems rawness was always going to attract the more spiritual traveler. But where people go, others follow. It may not be bosom buddies with North Goa’s more tainted resorts, but the wounds of this picture postcard paradise are getting bigger.

We met with Caroline – the Cricket loving Wolves fan from Delhi – and her Goa friend Aliss. We were all single travelers, so finding yourself in a group dynamic that immediately gels and sticks together is a wonderful respite to the loneliness of travel.

Since that Tuesday night, we’ve operated as a unit, and we all head to North Goa together for fun, frolics… and hopefully no more rain

Its not that its been constant. Wednesday and Thursday gave us incredible weather, and provided a stunning backdrop for me and Mai’s journey into the Goan countryside on scooters, unearthing hidden waterfalls and isolated beaches.

But its never been too far away, and as I write this on Friday, since I returned from swimming with dolphins before breakfast this morning (excuse me while I just slip that in) it has been incessant all day. Big booms of thunder flank pounding rain as Mother Nature flushes the last of the monsoon out of her cistern.

There’s plenty of shelter though, none more accommodating than Cocktails & Dreams, the 24 hour bar restaurant that dominates the Palolem social scene. Perched on the edge of the sprawling beach, looking out over the ocean, the fishing boats, rose tinted tourists, full sari’d Goan ladies selling jewellery, it’s been a late, LATE night sanctuary on a couple of occasions – its cheap booze drawing out umpteen ‘Just One mores’, leaving the worse for wear (me included) to stumble back in pitch black staring up at the stars, hoping the hangover fairy will be lenient in the morning.

Its wide open plan seating area hosts traveler after traveler. A cocktail of Europeans, Ozzies, Israelis – all with their own story to tell. And its amazing how many people share similar circumstances to me, their call to action mirroring mine. Weirdly I’m not sure if I find solace in that, or now see myself as a walking cliché (it makes me cringe when people say that they’re off ‘to find myself’. Fuck off! You’re right in front of me)

Over the varied drinks menu, there are stories of Indian escapades and adventures, the heady mix of the country’s personalities satisfying the most demanding of thirsts, where between the jokes and stories, people take their dream of travel very seriously.

People blend, make friends and travelling buddies, hatch plans with strangers to move on to squeeze more rich flavours out of this country – and I’ll be one of them. I’ll have enjoyed my beach stay when I head back to Mumbai on Monday night, but I need to move on eventually. Reacquaint myself with the vibrant pungent taste of the north and Varanasi, to wash down the western aftertaste of Goa.

Cocktails and dreams anyone?