FAREWELL GOA

Yesterday morning, as I was running along the beach, the sun came up on my way out toward the Calangute steps (the ones with the sign, warning against staying away from your wife and family) I saw that the beach was full of Indians, mulling around. The previous day was Republic Day, so this is a long holiday weekend in the country, where many come down to Goa. As I turned around and began my run back toward Candolim, I passed a man in running clothes, bent over, breathing quite hard. Suddenly, he saw me and began running RIGHT next to me, literally with our shoulders touching. I thought this was a bit odd, but then, I think everything is a bit odd here.  He asked me how far I was going. I told him, and while he didn't seem to understand my answer, he seemed satisfied with my hand gestures. I wasn't running all that fast, but I assumed maybe he needed the motivation of running with someone. He was breathing very hard, though. I asked him if he was ok.

Am I going too fast?

I'm a Jain

Excuse me?

Jain. J-A-I-N

Yes, I know how to spell J...

We are all vegetarians.

Ah, alright.

Soon after, he pointed at some people standing on the beach, where the surf met the sand, and said, "That is my wife and son and daughter."

He waved.

They waved.

Then he said, "Wave to my wife."

I waved and then he said goodbye, and stopped running. The show was over. He just wanted his family to see him running with the funny looking foreigner with no shirt, nipple rings, and the Mangol Pandey mustaches.

Later, as I was fixing breakfast, with the ants crawling by in every direction, I thought, "At least there are no rats in the apartment." That would really not be nice, since one always goes barefoot indoors here. It's funny where we set our threshold for what's too gross and what's not. Yesterday evening, I was having dinner with my friend, Lina, and a rat the size of her grandson ran by. Speaking of thresholds, many people here have either a one-rat policy or a two-rat policy for restaurants. Some think that one could be a fluke, but two means it is really dirty. Personally I like to see how clean the rat is.

One of the nice things about starting my trip here in north Goa, has been reconnecting with some old acquaintances. Catherine and Lina are two French ladies I met here when I was last in Goa. They are friends of my other French friends. Catherine is a truly intrepid traveler, not afraid to fight over a taxi fare or the price of a room at the YMCA. She is off now on a trip across the country, by bus, to meet another French friend. She and I have talked ad maybe traveling together in two years. Her friend Lina, short for Evelina, is left behind, because Catherine now finds Lina too slow to keep up with her. Lina was here six years ago with her daughter and grandson, and she says her daughter still talks about me. Lina owns a farm in Alsace, where she raises ponies (or maybe bunnies... I don't always understand everything she says). She is really lovely. I'm taking her with me this evening, when I go off to the train station, and will send her south to Patnem with my heavy suitcase, where David can take care of both finding her a hut to stay in, and also take care of my suitcase.

Before I leave, I should say a word about begging. There is a lot of begging here. Perhaps a bit different than in other parts of India, as Goa is full of tourists. So here, much of the begging takes the form of trying to sell you something. When you're on the beach, hundreds of people try to sell you something all day long. Pretending to sleep is useless, as they will shake you awake. Whether it is sarongs or bags or mirrored bedspreads, or name bracelets, or coconuts, or head massage or just plain begging by cripples or mothers with babies or mother's with crippled babies. It all gets a bit overwhelming. The worst, of course, is when you're new and pale, because then they all swarm to you. I'm quite tan now, so they sometimes leave me alone. Since most of us spend the day at a "shack" the employees (more like indentured servants, as I'm quite sure they are not paid, but survive on tips) protect you a bit from the worst of these hawkers. Of course, the downside of this is that they expect you to buy from them. The woman worker at my shack, Gunga, is always trying to get me to take a massage from here. I made the mistake of agreeing on my first week. It was terrible and the cheap oil clogged my pores for a week. But every day since...

You take massage today?

No.

Yes. You take massage today.

No. I don't want a massage.

You no like my massage

No. I don't like your massage.

Ok, you take massage later. You promise.

I promise nothing.

One wants to be polite, but one quickly learns to be rude.

Gunga and her sister (who works the next shack) now gang up on me. They are always trying to sell me a lunghi just like the one I have.

Buy lunghi. Only 500 rupis.

I only paid 100 rupis for this in Mapusa.

How much you give me? 400?

Number one, why would I give you more than 100, and number two, I already have this lunghi, so why do I need another just like it?

The other day, as I was heading into the ocean for my morning swim, they called me over to where they were sitting on the sand.

You no buy lunghi from us, so now you have to listen.

Uh oh.

Sit down and listen.

I don't want to listen.

You no make business for us, so now you have to buy us a coca cola.

I was so shocked that I agreed.

Talk about extortion.

I'm really glad I started my trip here, but I'm ready to move on to new adventures.

नमस्ते