Mumbai is a modern, feverishly-paced metropolitan center with no dearth of wealth (the only place we have seen and are likely to see a Rolls-Royce in India) and poverty (half of the city’s population lives in its slums). We arrived at the famous Taj Hotel on our first afternoon, but with rooms starting at $300 a night, we certainly weren’t staying there. Instead, we marveled at the city’s absurdly busy marketplaces, evaded a khaki-clad stalker in the hanging gardens, ate Bhel-Puri on Chowpatty Beach…and shot my most favorite photograph in history (below).
I apologize if this is a little bit too macabre, but the expression on the penguin's face is just priceless!
From Mumbai, we traveled south to Goa, where the Christmas holidays felt more seasonal than they probably would have if we had spent them anywhere else in India. That’s because this tiny little state on the country’s western coast was a Portuguese settlement and colony until the 1960s. The people here are excitable about religion just as they are in most other places on the subcontinent, but Jesus is the object of their worship–an old world, Catholic Jesus–rather than Vishnu or Allah.
Goa is one of the country’s most popular tourist destinations because of its breathtaking beaches, which unfortunately aren’t nearly as remote, pristine or undeveloped as the Keralan coast. There’s still more elbow room than any major metropolitan center, but there sure are a lot of white people here (mostly Russian, French, British, and Israeli) and it’s not easy to get away from them–particularly because this is the busiest time of year for travelers. They make us feel less adventurous than we did on the Calcutta subways, but since it is the holidays, we are willing to trade in a little authenticity for the luxuries of sunshine, ocean, and salads.
We started our week in Arambol, which is one of the less developed beaches here. It’s heavily frequented by hippies, so Bob Marley tapestries, tattoo parlors, and fake dreadlock extensions abounded. On our first night, we watched the sun set over the ocean, while a group of Israelis sung Hebrew folk songs.
Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were spent with Omar and his family, who generously hosted us at their apartment in Colva and invited us to several parties. Through them, we were able to meet his extended family, and received a heaping dose of traditional Goan life in their village.
Omar's gregarious parents
After Christmas, we spent a couple of days in Panjim, the state capital, and Old Goa, which is the centuries-old former site of Portuguese rule. Panjim is a beautiful city situated along a rambling river, with brightly colored houses and colonial architecture that is very reminiscent of the Marigny in New Orleans. We were told Old Goa is not to be missed, but aside from the lofted corpse of Saint Francis Xavier (which, admittedly, I did not actually see, although it is on display) and a few staggering altars, there just isn’t much there.
Old Goa
Panjim
Now, we’re relaxing in Palolem, which is a little bit more shapely than Arambol was, since it’s right on the spine of a mountain chain called the Western Ghats. It’s also more commercialized and crowded than Arambol, but it’s hard to beat the ocean. We find our moments of seclusion, but they take a little bit of work to get there.
New Year’s is still up in the air, but it’s entirely possible that we’ll remain lounging around this area until then. Happy 2010!
(Brendan)
