Is it just me or does Goa love solo women travelers?
I went to Goa and felt a kind of magic blowing into my mind along with the musty sea wind.
The hotel on Candolim beach was lovely and they were having a Christmas celebration when I arrived. Children sang carols and a bright and bedecked Christmas tree was already up in the courtyard. I had been missing this time of the year in Austin sorely. The sight of the merriment immediately cheered me up.
There were treats galore. Lots of tourists, groups, couples eating and drinking all around. I was the only one sitting alone, sipping warm mulled wine. The cinnamon was taking hold of my senses. I didn’t feel alone. I felt a warm delicious welcome coming to me from Goa. I sat next to a young couple from Ludhiana. I said “Hi,” and the young man asked, “Traveling alone?” He was the first amongst many to ask me that question. I guess, traveling alone as a woman is still funky to some people. Then I started telling people I’m a travel writer and that did the trick. No questions about a woman writer traveling alone.
Goa at no time made me feel alone. Goa made me feel like an explorer and a visitor to a land where everyone smiled broadly, had self-love, and treated others with respect and joy.
On my first evening, after doing a long walking tour with a lovely young woman as my guide, I ended up on the beach. The beach wasn’t pleasant, overrun by vendors and food stalls, and young couples hogging all the space in their perfection to shoot reels. I retreated and walked by a beach shack/restaurant from where came lovely strains of Cat Stevens and Oh Baby Baby it’s a wild world. I was drawn in. He was a local singer with a velvet voice. A large crowd of people sat around, mostly Europeans. I listened to Steely Dan and Mick Jagger and ordered a beer. No one stared at me, no one made me feel like a woman sitting alone in a bar, no one even remotely scared me. That was a refreshing and beautiful feeling. As Indian women we were hammered since our childhood to look for danger in unknown places. Even as a not young woman, my training of the reptilian brain kicks in all the time. But sitting at this bar, with the salty sea wind touching my face and listening to John Denver’s Country Road, I felt no fear. Goa is beautiful.
After some more walking tours of the Latin Quarters, I set off to see the forts on my last day in Goa. I walked up the Chopora Fort of Dil Chahta Hai fame and gazed out onto the foamy waves of the Chopora river from above. The laterite rich red brick boundary wall of the fort was in deep contrast with the azure sky above. The heat was also high and I felt a special kind of exhilaration gazing down the fragments of the walls of a fort that was built perhaps in the 15th century and was an outpost for the Bijapur Sultanate and then for the Portuguese. I was alone and felt at the top of the world. A young man offered to take my photo and I posed. Looking at the photo later, I saw a huge flying insect flying over my head. Well, nothing bit me, no one made me uneasy and no one threw me down the height. I was safe and steady.
Next, my wonderful cabbie, a young man named Deepak, decided to show me around Vagator beach. We went through beautiful narrow roads with groves of coconut trees, white churches and yellow temples. Small ochre and turquoise blue houses interspersed by tiny roadside diners selling crab curries. Huge Cassia trees and palms with spiky leaves made up a lush countryside.
My enchantment shattered when our cab hit a motorbike rider who shot out of a blind alley. He fell down on impact. He didn’t look badly hurt, since he had rolled into the soft shrubbery on the side of the road. He took out his cell phone and within minutes a group of tough looking guys surrounded my driver who had disembarked to help the man. I sat inside the cab, worried and quite terrified. I’d heard horror stories about extortion in such situations. Soon, Deepak informed me that they were going to take him to the hospital close by for a check up. We waited patiently while the group whisked him off. Deepak assured me that all was well. After someime one of the burly men came back to say all was well, he was unharmed and we could leave. He thanked me for my patience. We left the spot, I couldn’t believe how civil and easy that was. I couldn’t believe that people could be so good and honest. Is Something wrong with me?
I wrote in my journal the morning I left Goa. I had a fabulous trip. Goa is unique, and a curious fusion of culture, people, architecture and idyllic island life. People are uncomplicated and happy and seem to have faith in humanity. I interacted with the locals and felt the universe is kind. I tasted the local food and understood the magic of spices that brought the Romans, Arabs and the west Europeans for centuries to this coast. The cinnamon, the black pepper, the grated coconut smeared over fresh fish open a door to pure ecstasy.
I made joyful connections with people; Priyanaka the tour guide, Susan the docent at the art exhibition, Rasmita the reception girl, Saikat the waiter. They do what they do with joy. It’s infectious.
Goa made me feel this world is a safe place and a kind place. I felt validated about my existence, about my joie de vivre.
The Exposition of the Sacred Relics of St. Francis Xavier is going on now. More about him in my next post. But the air in Old Goa smells of faith and pouring devotion.
That morning I said goodbye to Goa and a little prayer to the patron saint of Goa for letting me have this slice of the universe; beatific and fragrant in so many ways.
Learn more about the gems of Goa
https://www.museumofchristianart.com
2 comments
Goa is a unique place
Nice..