George put the G in Goa

You know how some resort or tourist destinations have catchy phrases either to get you to come visit or to sell merchandise - like Incredible India!, or Ilovermont, or Jamaican me Crazy! Well, we're not sure if Goa has any but I'm thinking we should run a few by the official tourist office. There is the obvious, "Go to Goa: it won't disappoint." Or "Gorgeous Goa." But I like the possibilities that lay with Goahead relax, or Goahead enjoy yourself, or Goahead fall in love with India, Goahead meet some Russians. It's endless really...what you could come up with. But that fussing about where to stay ended up paying off as we were in a lovely location, not too far from the airport, right on a beautiful beach and enough places to choose from to eat but not overly crowded with rowdy Indian (and International) ex-hippies.

Goa is a beach town. Actually Goa is the name of the state, the smallest in India, so feels more like a town.

The map on the right isn't very good but it's the tiny spot in between Bangalore and Mumbai. The map on the left is of the different sites within Goa. We were in between Bogmalo and Colva beach.

We drove about 20 minutes from the airport passing much of the same sights as we see in Bangalore - lots of 2 wheelers, cows, and poverty. We passed large areas just off the highway that looked like shanty towns. There were rows and rows of tin roofs surrounded by dirt and garbage littered all around. As we pulled off the main road, we went winding down a narrow road and could only see the tops of palm trees to the right of the road. The further we went down the shadier it got, like we were driving through a palm tree forest. But as we kept driving, the palm trees thinned out (a little) and you could feel that we were getting closer to the beach. I don't know if you can tell this by the people that you see or by the way the air looks or the houses that you pass but once we got out of the car and could smell the salt air, it was clear we'd arrived at the beach.

We stayed at a resort called the Kenilworth and were greeted by an overabundance of employees ready to make our stay comfortable. It was probably around 3:30 by the time we got settled and decided that there was still plenty of time to enjoy the day so we headed out to the pool. There were about five different sections to the pool including a swim up bar and jacuzzi that wasn't actually filled with hot water but did have jets to give it the same effect. We were not too surprised to find that most of the guests were foreigners because I had read that Goa is a popular tourist destination for the Brits and the Russians. But we were surprised when we took the two minute walk out to the beat and saw all the signs written in Russian and the plethora of Russian flags that dotted the skyline. Opposite the water, there are a few different "shacks" that sell food and drinks so the signs and the flags were attached to these shacks. We were sitting at one one day and a waiter walked by with a menu. We asked to see it and he said, "I'll have to get you another. This one is in Russian." I suppose the warm, sandy beaches of Goa are a welcome contrast to the cold and snowy Moscow.

We spent most of our weekend dividing our time between the pool and the beach, admiring the wide array of Speedos and thongs that the Russians are not afraid to sport. They looked good and apparently, they knew it. They spent a good deal of time doing some photo shoots of one another. One man, had his lady posing in the surf on the beach one afternoon. If you've ever seen, or remember, Madonna's video for "Cherish," it was somewhat reminiscent. Another day we were at the pool and one larger woman was sitting in the grass with her camera focused on another female friend (or relative) in a bikini, posing in all sorts of positions for the camera. In a moment of silliness, she took two coconuts and placed them strategically in front of her chest. Goin' nuts in Goa!

But the Russians weren't the only ones who provided free entertainment for us. There were plenty of Indians who approached us and personally introduced themselves with a proper handshake before trying to sell us various wares. One man asked if George likes "Lacoste" and when he got the slightest recognition of "yes, I know the Lacoste brand," he tried, and tried, and tried to sell him polo shirts in a variety of colors. We neglected to buy any tunics, sarongs, jewelry, or other authentic Indian goods and surprisingly were not annoyed by the attempts to get us to buy. This could be for a variety of reasons including: we were sitting under palm umbrellas; we were looking out at the rhythmic extension and retraction of the sea against the sand; there was a calm but constant breeze; all we had to decide was where to eat and when, whether to swim or not, and beach or pool. Or it could be that we weren't annoyed because the owner of the shack where we were sitting kept coming out to shoo away "vendors" who stayed too long. He asked where we were from and we responded with "from the U.S." "Oh, America," he says. His mother is working in Tampa, Florida. He asked how long we were staying and was a little surprise to hear we were just making this a weekend trip so we clued him in that we are living in Bangalore. He used to work in Bangalore, just near the mall where we can walk to. Bangalore to Goa, not a bad move.

We also saw a very young girl and a slightly older boy approach with six sticks, a rope and a bag filled with who knows what. They got busy putting three sticks in the sand in the shape of a tent on one end and three sticks, in the same tent shape across from the first. They then tied the rope from one end to the other. The boy got the people in the lounge chairs ready by banging on a drum while the girl made a small production out doing some contortionist moves. Like the street kids in Bangalore, she shimmied herself through a small silver ring (that was all rusted), she dislocated her shoulder and moved her body through a circle she made were her arms and then she started climbing. Up one of the tented sticks to the top where she was handed a pole by the boy. Then, as he continued to drum, she walked across the rope that sagged and swayed with her weight. She made it across then turned around, placed what looked like a heavy tin container on top of her head and walked back the other way. She went back and forth the shaky line, took her bow and then tried to get as much money as she could from the spectators. As quickly as they set up they tightrope, the dismantled it and made their way down to the next shack to set up again.

The first night we ate in our hotel's "shack" and ate some delicious Thai spring rolls and prawns, while listening to the waves crashing on the beach. We moved from there to the grounds of the hotel and were shown "the best seat in the house," in the grass, under the stars. I tried to order some fish that I was told was like sea bass but the waiter came over with a smaller, thinner fish called pomphret and assured me he was going to cook it in some traditional Goan spices and make it special for me. He might have also let me know that he was going to serve it in tact (with the head) but surprisingly, that (nor the bones that I had to maneuver around didn't bother me because it was so delicious.

There were two weddings at our hotel on Saturday night. One was a British couple and one was an Indian couple but we couldn't tell if the Indian couple was just having a reception (they usually last multiple days) or whether they actually had a ceremony. It looked like they were setting up for a ceremony but we didn't see it. The British couple and there guests (which looked like they were mostly family) were at our hotels "shack" as we were eating our appetizers. All of the women had small hats, that almost looked more like headbands adorned with flowers and mesh material making me wonder if this held some significance. Later a Russian contingency came in and must have enjoyed themselves as we saw them stumbling back to their rooms later while we were at dinner. One guy was still in what looked like his bathing suit and a t-shirt and was pulling his shirt up over his gut as he mumbled to his wife and friends. Perhaps they miss their vodkas like Sir misses his beers. (Though he could get Carlsburg which seemed to please him.)

You know how those long and strenuous weekends can leave you feeling like you need another vacation, especially when you lead such a stressful life, so I will stop here as it's almost 7:15 pm. There are some pictures posted (some comments courtesy of Sir). More tomorrow.