"Japanese scientist have presented the world's first square watermelon" says the science secsion of the local newspaper. It's a morning as any other in Arambol, Goa, India, a morning chai on my table, the Hindu girl of the family sitting next to me for the morning chat.
"What is the sucess of a good marriage? " I ask her.
"Not to fall in love she answers".
No news is good news so the saying goes. And truly enough, all has been wonderful here. Arrival in Goa in the beginning of October, here are a few words on the last month.
A week in Katmandu, my visa renewed in my pocket and I am back to India, direction Goa. On my way, I stop by Lumbini, the Birth place of the Buddha of the Sakya family, the Buddha of his time. Located 45 mns bus ride from Saunali, India-Nepal border town, the village sleeps in between rice fields and palm trees. "It's Buddha's garden" says Julian, a 40 yeah old something Tcheckoslovakian that I meet sitting at my guest house balcony. In between chillum hits, he tells me about his love for yoga. On the balcony, with a view on the Garden's gate, we pass the chillum, listening to Motorhead and Pearl Jam out of Julian's speackers. Waking up early the next morning, I leave Julian standing on his head and breathing heavely, and go walk in Buddha's garden. In a perfectly manicured setting, various nationalities have built buddhist temples around the place of the Buddha's birth 2 500 years ago. Coming back to pick up my bag, Julian is still standing on his head, figuring out a way to pass the border illegally, as his visa has run out.
Out of Lumbini, I meet 2 Japanese travellers on a 1 year travel tour through South Asia. Arrived in Gorakpur, the train being 10 hours late, we are left hanging out in the busy train station amongst the cows and the other sleepers. Playing Rumi to spend time, the card game makes me appreciate for the first time a reason to play such games, at least it passed some time in between falling half asleep on our back packs.
After 3 days in Dehli, time to get a train ticket and treat myself to some new music from one of the Japanese traveller, and I am on my way for the 42 hour train ride going to Goa. From the flat landscape around Dehli, the train wakes up passing rounded and soft hills. Painted of deep and lush green, the earth color getting reder by the miles, the view is spectacular. As we reach more South, the Catholic influence from the Portugese can be felt with the crosses and churches being passed on the way. "Our Lady of Sacred Heart" has her throne in ceramics tiles, sitting next to her Lord of Sacred Heart. I get reminded of my youth days in Spain, and laters in Mexico.
Arrived In Thivim station, a polish raver picks up the Shri Lankan American photographer I shared the train ride with. Wearing a pair of cotton shorts, Tshirt, and the usual raver's attire of beaded necklace and odd pieces of jewerly, driving a local rickshaw, he offers me a ride to Madgao, the next town. I greatly appreciate the offer.
"So, What are you doing around this part of the world?" I ask him in between 2 cracks in the road.
"I am a djeeny. I make people's whishes come true." he replies.
"Cool, I didn't know you guys actually existed. I guess I rubbed the right bottle somewhere along my ride."
"Once a djeeny, always a djeeny" he smiles looking back from his driving position.
Arrived in Mapusa, I thank again the jenny for his service and start looking for a place for the night. Busses not running at night, no cheap hotel being available, I choose to take a taxi to the next town, as a taxi driver approaches me offering his prices. I decide for Anjuna, the place of the famous Goan night market, 14 kms from my destination goal: Arambol.
"600 ruppees (about 12 euros) for Arambol" says the taxi driver as we drive through bended dirt roads.
"That's way expensive. Just take me to Anjuna, and I 'll take a bus tomorrow morning from there." The bus only being 15 rupees, there usually would be no option in my mind.
"You won't find a cheap room in Anjuna, they all cost around 500 rupees."
Crap, I think to myself.
Can I take a bus from Anjuna to Arambol?"
"Yeah" he replies.
"You know, I've heard so many wrong information about prices since I've been in India, that I can't trust any of what is being said to me. So, only way I could know is by checking for myself." I tell the chubby driver.
"Oh, we're not all liers!! Some of us say the truth. I swear, I am one of the honest ones."
"I am not saying you're all liers. I am just saying that I've heard many lies, and can not trust a lot of what I hear. Maybe you're one of the honest ones, but for now, I can not believe what you say." I reply.
"Oh, yeah I tell you the truth, you'll remember me, I promess" he says in a proud tone, kissing his fingers and then putting them on the Ganeish postcard sitting on his dashboard.
Being tired from the train ride, and in unknown territories, I start thinking of the option of the taxi ride all the way to Arambol, even with such a high price.
"Fine. Let's try something" I tell the taxi driver, "drop me off in Anjuna, in front of a hotel. If you're not telling a lie, and if the hotel is more than 500, I let you drive me to Arambol, and you make 400 more than if you drop me in Anjuna. If you're lying, i get off in Anjuna, and you loose 400."
"Deal." the taxi driver replies.
Tired, in great need for a shower, I sit there during the 20 mns ride, playing the usual "where are you from" chit-chat:
"I am a reliable man" the taxi driver rambles on. "Women call me at night for services."
I can guess what comes next.
"I am a prostitute you know"
"Ok" I say tired of having guessed correctly, as the driver goes on explaining me why western women "give him more pleasure than Indian women do". His words clearly hinting at the left over puritanism which the British left in Hindus.
Arrived in Anjuna, I ask him to stop in front of a random hotel. Price: 200 rupees per night.
I get reminded that Ganeish is amongst his other talents, the God of merchands and thieves, having a sweet thought for the elephant head son of the primordial Shiva-Parvati couple.
I get back in the taxi to get my bag, mention to the taxi driver prostitute that he just lost 400 rupees, smile and get in my room for a well deserved shower, a beer and a good night sleep.
Welcome to Goa. Only a couple lies for a 20 mns ride.
The morning after, a walk to the will be market when the season starts, and I am on my 15 rupees bus ride to Mapusa, and then the bus to Arambol, since contrary to what the taxi driver said, there is no bus straight from mapusa to Arambol. I find myself a roof hut, drop my bag and go explore my new surroundings for the next while.
A beach, a new job, a restaurant painting project, a bamboo hutt with a view on coconut trees tops and I am set in those green hills sitting on red dirt. Oranges from the few drops of rain, pinks and reds in the flowers, scented land of Goa. Where the beautifull people meet, where the girls smell of artificial candy, where the fishermen come back daily with fresh fish, where a part of trance music grew, the waves go on as if nothing ever was. The season not having started, I watch the town blossom along with it's land's colorful flowers. Shop after hutt, the town springs from the cut coconut trees.
In between chit chats and work, I walk the beach, read, get deeper in Tibetan Buddhism studies, and watch the sun sets and rises.
The noodles became rice, the mountains are hills, the hippies are still hippies.
More goan news laters, for now, I am going to a jam session with some of the wonderful people met along the way.
All love to all
