We made it to Goa. This marks a fairly significant point in the trip for us. It’s one of the last places we will visit in the south of India before heading to Mumbai and then north India and Nepal. It is also the first place we’ve gone that I had heard of before coming to India.
Goa is the sort of place that sucks people in. We asked multiple travelers how long we should stay in Goa and the usual response was something along the lines of “Well, we were going to stay 3 days but ended up staying 2 weeks.”
PZ and I both love the beach and had a difficult time deciding how long we wanted to stay. In the end we decided we wanted to spend our chill out time in the mountains and gave ourselves three nights in Goa. Since our time here is short we stayed the entire time on the relaxing and low key Arambol beach.
Our first day there we met some people who were planning to climb a hill that overlooked the water to watch the sunset. I was told that there was a ski lift to the top of the hill. I was lied to.
From the top of the hill we saw wide views of the beach, water and setting sun. Had I known there would be rock climbing involved I might have worn more than my swim suit, sarong and flip flops, but the view was worth sliding down the side of the hill.
The next morning we were asked by multiple people if we were planning to go to the Wednesday market. The talk of the market made it sound pretty good and our friends with scooters were planning to check it out, so we decided to go as well.
Now might be a good time to mention that I am terrified of scooters. In the two years I lived in Thailand I saw multiple crash victims and a couple of corpses. I might also add that I was terrified to ride a bicycle until two years ago. Coordination is no friend of mine.
To alleviate my scooter fears I chose the driver who most looked like a biker. He did a fine job of keeping me alive and survived my death grip around his rib cage without giggling.
He also taught me a few Estonian swear words to make me feel like a real biker chick. While I was practicing my trash talk, PZ was learning about the wondrousness of pasta carbonara from our Italian friend, Guido.
The market was a hippie shopper’s paradise and punch in the face of colors, sparkles and jingle jangles. The market made me really grumpy but a slice of the most amazing chocolate cake I’ve had in two years made it all better. Our groans of delight invited a few strange looks, but were 100% justified.
Weirdly enough I enjoyed the scooter ride more than the market. Turns out scooters were a fun way to explore the nooks and crannies of Goa, even if half those nooks were a result of wrong turns. But as Guido said “All roads lead to Rome, so if we can’t get back to Arambol, we’ll end up in Italy.”
When I wasn’t scaling cliffs and becoming a biker chick, I enjoyed lime sodas and reads on the beach and doing nothing whatsoever of the productive nature- just the way God intended it. The hardest work I did was trying to avoid the sight of the old man with an ill fitting G-string in the chair next to me- not so much the way God intended it.