Last week the college was on holiday, which provided time for much needed rest, and the chance to escape the city and see Goa.
I will begin with the misfortunes of this trip, because they are funny, and at 1:30 a.m. on a school night I have decided that they are even funnier when numbered.
1. Not only is it a 15 hour bus ride to Goa, but we missed said bus because we were told it leaves at 7:30 p.m. when it leaves at 7 p.m. 7:15-8:15 p.m. is spent in a car chasing the bus around the city, which is seemingly backed up with traffic to the ends of the earth.
2. First night out. After leaving the beach bar, I realize my wallet is gone and while running back to the beach my sandals break. I find my wallet, then realize that sometime during the evening my phone was buried in the sand forever.
3. Next morning, as I am leaving the guest house, my bag breaks. No more buying pretty things on whims on the streets of Colaba.
4. While wandering on a little island I slip and fall into a ditch and roll my ankle. A kind man helps me up and in broken English calmly says, “No, don’t do that”. And I’m laughing already.
5. Wake up the next morning to find that I’ve been bit by a spider beside my left eye and it’s the size of a somosa. Sunglasses shopping before breakfast.
Despite all that, I had a good time. Spent quite a bit of time on the beach, and have had a bit of change of heart about it (I was a firm believer in beaches being overrated. Nothing about sandy, salty, and sweaty initially sounds enjoyable).
We learned upon arrival that the way to get around Goa is to rent scooters and motorcycles. All the prices were more than doubled (still as little as about $12 Cdn/day) because it was just days before New Years and we were in the midst of Sunburn- the biggest music festival in Asia.
We settled on hitchhiking everywhere, which suddenly sounds safe when you know that I can’t drive legally and how loosely driving laws are enforced around here. It also provided the opportunity to meet locals and foreigners alike, while looking at the land for more than just a couple of seconds to look up from the map.
In a fortuitous afternoon, O. and I were walking around Old Goa and came up to a dock. We began watching the water and a couple of locals fish, while the oldest looking ferry sat waiting to board. After chatting with a fisherman about his luck that afternoon, we asked about the ferry. He said it was free, and takes you to a small pretty island, and that was enough to get us to hop on. We got a ride with one of the drivers on the ferry to the other end of the island. It was a refreshing departure from the incredibly touristy beach we were staying on. Children were running out of their backyards to follow us and shout “Hi!” and “Bye” in rapid succession, and giggle endlessly.
The people were incredibly warm, told us about their lives. For some of them, life began in the houses they stood in front of, and others had left the island long ago, and came back every so often to get a taste of home. We asked the last man we spoke to how to get off the island to get back to Old Goa. The bus back to the ferry stopped in front of his house moments later.
I think the most memorable people we met in Goa were a couple of guys who picked us up from Aswen to drive us to Anjuna. Upon getting in to the van, the first thing we noticed was a shattered windshield, and I jokingly asked if we should be concerned about their driving. They told us they were from Kashmir and as they were leaving the state their car was pelted by stones. In the next breath, they told us how Kashmir is the most beautiful place and we must go. It’s of course not the first time that I heard this, but there is something incredible about how calmly they spoke of the violence and how sincerely they spoke of the love for their home in the same moment. The violence is a reality that does not take away any sentiment they have for their lives there.
I didn't take my camera out as much as I would have loved to, because I am terrified of getting sand in it, but I will leave you with a couple of shots I did take:
I will begin with the misfortunes of this trip, because they are funny, and at 1:30 a.m. on a school night I have decided that they are even funnier when numbered.
1. Not only is it a 15 hour bus ride to Goa, but we missed said bus because we were told it leaves at 7:30 p.m. when it leaves at 7 p.m. 7:15-8:15 p.m. is spent in a car chasing the bus around the city, which is seemingly backed up with traffic to the ends of the earth.
2. First night out. After leaving the beach bar, I realize my wallet is gone and while running back to the beach my sandals break. I find my wallet, then realize that sometime during the evening my phone was buried in the sand forever.
3. Next morning, as I am leaving the guest house, my bag breaks. No more buying pretty things on whims on the streets of Colaba.
4. While wandering on a little island I slip and fall into a ditch and roll my ankle. A kind man helps me up and in broken English calmly says, “No, don’t do that”. And I’m laughing already.
5. Wake up the next morning to find that I’ve been bit by a spider beside my left eye and it’s the size of a somosa. Sunglasses shopping before breakfast.
Despite all that, I had a good time. Spent quite a bit of time on the beach, and have had a bit of change of heart about it (I was a firm believer in beaches being overrated. Nothing about sandy, salty, and sweaty initially sounds enjoyable).
We learned upon arrival that the way to get around Goa is to rent scooters and motorcycles. All the prices were more than doubled (still as little as about $12 Cdn/day) because it was just days before New Years and we were in the midst of Sunburn- the biggest music festival in Asia.
We settled on hitchhiking everywhere, which suddenly sounds safe when you know that I can’t drive legally and how loosely driving laws are enforced around here. It also provided the opportunity to meet locals and foreigners alike, while looking at the land for more than just a couple of seconds to look up from the map.
In a fortuitous afternoon, O. and I were walking around Old Goa and came up to a dock. We began watching the water and a couple of locals fish, while the oldest looking ferry sat waiting to board. After chatting with a fisherman about his luck that afternoon, we asked about the ferry. He said it was free, and takes you to a small pretty island, and that was enough to get us to hop on. We got a ride with one of the drivers on the ferry to the other end of the island. It was a refreshing departure from the incredibly touristy beach we were staying on. Children were running out of their backyards to follow us and shout “Hi!” and “Bye” in rapid succession, and giggle endlessly.
The people were incredibly warm, told us about their lives. For some of them, life began in the houses they stood in front of, and others had left the island long ago, and came back every so often to get a taste of home. We asked the last man we spoke to how to get off the island to get back to Old Goa. The bus back to the ferry stopped in front of his house moments later.
I think the most memorable people we met in Goa were a couple of guys who picked us up from Aswen to drive us to Anjuna. Upon getting in to the van, the first thing we noticed was a shattered windshield, and I jokingly asked if we should be concerned about their driving. They told us they were from Kashmir and as they were leaving the state their car was pelted by stones. In the next breath, they told us how Kashmir is the most beautiful place and we must go. It’s of course not the first time that I heard this, but there is something incredible about how calmly they spoke of the violence and how sincerely they spoke of the love for their home in the same moment. The violence is a reality that does not take away any sentiment they have for their lives there.
I didn't take my camera out as much as I would have loved to, because I am terrified of getting sand in it, but I will leave you with a couple of shots I did take:
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