Goa-ing Strong
That is, the puns about Goa are still coming thick and fast. Ah, puns about Goa. You never get old.
Turns out I won't be going to Hampi after all, which sucks, frankly. Part of the reason we're spending so long here was so we could fit in a trip there in the middle, but the overnight bus is booked out for the next few days and that's really the only affordable way of getting there. Rats.
I'm not really complaining, of course, but I didn't come to India to spend a week lying on the beach, lovely as it is. Still, I have no doubt that I'll be back sometime in the near future - that is, as soon as finances allow - that is, retirement. I'll go to Hampi when I retire.
However, if one has to spend a week lying on the beach (...I'm so unfortunate), there's no arguing that Goa is a pretty good place to do it. This place really does have a split personality. There's the Eurotrash and Israeli trance crowd, the dropouts and the stoners on the one hand - all the whities that have made Goa famous for its party scene - and the locals on the other, who, away from the beaches are just mainly living traditional village lives. They come to bathe in the ocean in sarees, standing bright against the gemlike sea, while half-naked Western women haggle with male sarong vendors on the beach. Some of these women make me blush. Really.
The women wear sarees, but the men just get around in their jocks, which Shae is immensely taken with. She's got photos of men walking along in Mumbai holding hands, as well - this place is homosocial heaven. While coming out is still pretty much the worst thing a Good Indian Boy or Girl could do, society has no issue with the full gamet of homosocial behaviour - which means that boys walk along the beach in their wet singlets and jocks with their arms slung around each other's waists, totally platonically. It's hot.
The bathing-in-sarees thing seems really sensible, and I suppose the funny thing is is that India has made me quite conservative, not in thought, but in dress - I'm so used to the women being covered head to toe and so aware of being respectful to the culture that it's become second nature to cover myself completely (less chance of sunburn, too). I mean, it's not as though I get around half-naked in Melbourne, either, but Shae lent me a skirt that was above the knee the other night and I barely felt dressed at all. Getting out in my bikini was horrifying - although I think that had more to do with not having seen any sun (malaria pills make you really photosensitive) or having done any excercise in the last five weeks. Ugh.
There's not really much to do, though, except laze about, except get Ayurvedic massages (there are little massage huts everywhere) and shop for hippie-chic threads. Last night we went to see the advertised "Jam Session" at a local restaurant. The place was packed out, but open-air, so we went to the restaurent next door and ordered a beer. The band came on and it was, quite honestly, the worst thing I've ever heard, playing original songs like "Hey hey, little monkey" and butchering a medley of Bob Marley classics. The "jam" part of the session came when a random balding, bearded German guy came up on stage and played a selection of pseudo-folk songs on a borrowed guitar. We thought his head would fall off from all the emphatic shaking it was doing between lyrics.
There was also an Afro'd white guy who falsetto'd into the mic at ill-timed intervals, and a drummer tapping a tabla and grinning manaically at all the pretty patterns. Patterns everywhere, man. And so many colours. The crowd really dug it. Best Worst Gig Ever.
There was also a big Hindu bash on the beach, which was a bit like a school fete. The music was blaring, and then some guy started making speeches over the megaphone in Hindi. The speakers were aimed right at our tiny bamboo hut, so we got the full benefit. We're used to it by now, though... the other morning we were woken at dawn by a bunch of hippies having a drum circle on the beach. There are people here who walk up and down the beach strumming their guitars and singing. I kind of wish I'd brought my flute along so I could break out into some Mozart over the loudspeaker. That'd learn those hippies...
Helen says:
Helen is off lazing on the beach - again - and it might be time that we acknowledge the failure of this section. It was a noble experiment... Apparently, she has no desire to spend half an hour every couple of days in an internet cafe purging her own inane observations onto the interweb - unlike some of us writing on this blog... Whatever will become of an Arts student with no taste for literary self-indulgance?
Turns out I won't be going to Hampi after all, which sucks, frankly. Part of the reason we're spending so long here was so we could fit in a trip there in the middle, but the overnight bus is booked out for the next few days and that's really the only affordable way of getting there. Rats.
I'm not really complaining, of course, but I didn't come to India to spend a week lying on the beach, lovely as it is. Still, I have no doubt that I'll be back sometime in the near future - that is, as soon as finances allow - that is, retirement. I'll go to Hampi when I retire.
However, if one has to spend a week lying on the beach (...I'm so unfortunate), there's no arguing that Goa is a pretty good place to do it. This place really does have a split personality. There's the Eurotrash and Israeli trance crowd, the dropouts and the stoners on the one hand - all the whities that have made Goa famous for its party scene - and the locals on the other, who, away from the beaches are just mainly living traditional village lives. They come to bathe in the ocean in sarees, standing bright against the gemlike sea, while half-naked Western women haggle with male sarong vendors on the beach. Some of these women make me blush. Really.
The women wear sarees, but the men just get around in their jocks, which Shae is immensely taken with. She's got photos of men walking along in Mumbai holding hands, as well - this place is homosocial heaven. While coming out is still pretty much the worst thing a Good Indian Boy or Girl could do, society has no issue with the full gamet of homosocial behaviour - which means that boys walk along the beach in their wet singlets and jocks with their arms slung around each other's waists, totally platonically. It's hot.
The bathing-in-sarees thing seems really sensible, and I suppose the funny thing is is that India has made me quite conservative, not in thought, but in dress - I'm so used to the women being covered head to toe and so aware of being respectful to the culture that it's become second nature to cover myself completely (less chance of sunburn, too). I mean, it's not as though I get around half-naked in Melbourne, either, but Shae lent me a skirt that was above the knee the other night and I barely felt dressed at all. Getting out in my bikini was horrifying - although I think that had more to do with not having seen any sun (malaria pills make you really photosensitive) or having done any excercise in the last five weeks. Ugh.
There's not really much to do, though, except laze about, except get Ayurvedic massages (there are little massage huts everywhere) and shop for hippie-chic threads. Last night we went to see the advertised "Jam Session" at a local restaurant. The place was packed out, but open-air, so we went to the restaurent next door and ordered a beer. The band came on and it was, quite honestly, the worst thing I've ever heard, playing original songs like "Hey hey, little monkey" and butchering a medley of Bob Marley classics. The "jam" part of the session came when a random balding, bearded German guy came up on stage and played a selection of pseudo-folk songs on a borrowed guitar. We thought his head would fall off from all the emphatic shaking it was doing between lyrics.
There was also an Afro'd white guy who falsetto'd into the mic at ill-timed intervals, and a drummer tapping a tabla and grinning manaically at all the pretty patterns. Patterns everywhere, man. And so many colours. The crowd really dug it. Best Worst Gig Ever.
There was also a big Hindu bash on the beach, which was a bit like a school fete. The music was blaring, and then some guy started making speeches over the megaphone in Hindi. The speakers were aimed right at our tiny bamboo hut, so we got the full benefit. We're used to it by now, though... the other morning we were woken at dawn by a bunch of hippies having a drum circle on the beach. There are people here who walk up and down the beach strumming their guitars and singing. I kind of wish I'd brought my flute along so I could break out into some Mozart over the loudspeaker. That'd learn those hippies...
Helen says:
Helen is off lazing on the beach - again - and it might be time that we acknowledge the failure of this section. It was a noble experiment... Apparently, she has no desire to spend half an hour every couple of days in an internet cafe purging her own inane observations onto the interweb - unlike some of us writing on this blog... Whatever will become of an Arts student with no taste for literary self-indulgance?
posted by Jess at 12:17 AM
1 Comments:
Ah, Jess, yes, I'm with you ... when in Rome do as the Romans do ... when in the East, wear a sari and forget the bikini!!!! Much more flattering anyway. But remember to bring your g-string to Byron cos that's the nuance here. Just goes to show, a girl needs a full wardrobe to cater to all occasions! Love your style.
Lots of love to you and work on that tan!!
xxx Judy
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