Got to Delhi after 14 hours in the airplane. Not bad. We had a great two days staying with a couple in a homestay. Very private and good neighborhood. Misty and I shopped a bit but are holding back until the end of the trip.
The flight from Delhi to Goa, not a long trip, turned into an all day affair. Sitting on the tarmac waiting for the premier of China to leave. Then we had to go to Bombay. It was 4PM by the time we arrived in Goa, 2 hours late. I’d gotten up at 5.30AM. We were tired and looking forward to comfort.
I did get to talk with two young Indians who were fascinating: a young indie filmmaker from Bombay and a beautiful privileged well traveled young Nigerian born woman who was educated in England. Her accent was Prince Charles uppercrust. Both were highly intelligent and deeply insightful about India.
Arrival in Goa was hot and sticky. Delhi was cold in the AM. Driver found us with his ancient beater mini mini “van”. The horn had laryingitis and the engine was coughing everytime we had to go uphill or pass. Saw my first cows on the roads here: big eyed and beautiful with huge curved horns. And the dogs. Oh my heart aches for them. More on that later.
After a long curvy ride the driver stops thump unceremoniously at a rudimentary ferry “dock”. Before long a small ratty ferry drops its ramp and we all crowd on, people cars motorcycles etc. It was glacially slow, but thankfully not far and it turned out we were going to be staying on an island with few amenities.
It is very much like Puerto Rico here except that signs are in Sanskrit and the women wear colorful saris. In fact, this area was settled by the Portuguese (famous for Vindaloos) around the 1500s around the same time as PR. Many Christian churches too. We visited a few yesterday.
Back to our arrival. Finally the driver stops at a small house and out walks Fabien, my French connection. He is under 30 and doesn’t smile. It turns out the electricity is out. And the bedding smells of mildew. No mosquito nets and lots of holes to the outside. And it is getting dark and we are tired and hungry. So we lie down in separate rooms. A tear falls from my eye, but just one. I am thinking, I cannot stay here, what to do. Fabien isn’t finished with the place but it is spare and has the beginnings of beauty. I don’t want a cold shower.
I hear Misty telling him she can’t stay there. She comes into my room and tells me this and I am so relieved I could kiss her. I wholeheartedly agree and she is relieved! So we ask Fabien to get us a hotel in town. Very expensive and booked high season, but he does. His Columbian girlfriend, Christina is compassionate: she felt the same way we do when she first arrived from Paris.
In desperation Fabien calls the French people with whom I was going to stay the last two days. He takes me over on his motorbike, whew, to see their place. They stay home from visiting friends to accommodate us. When I walked up to Mukti and Remy’s big Portuguese house I felt immediately at home. They are early fifties and Mukti was so warm. She is Indian but has lived in Paris for a decade, very educated. Their place is fully and beautifully renovated with spacious rooms and a huge kitchen, where I’ll have a class.
I want to stay with them. So Fabien brings Misty over. She is NOT smiling. The Marriott is $300 a night, which I don’t want to pay, it is 8PM and I’m exhausted and hungry. So we stay.
The next morning Misty is back to herself. She’s been looking at the book of Hampi where is wants to take the overnight bus. Mukti advises her to go a day early as the site is huge and tiring. So we eat a few chapattis and tea and head out to the nearest small town where Misty can get tickets. We spend time doing errands, eating lunch and at a small fabric shop that sells cotton from Pune, it’s the homespun Khadi fabric that Gandhi-ji encouraged everyone to wear. Mukti is from Pune. She buys fabric, designs women’s clothing Indian style from it and takes the clothes back to Paris and sells them as she said, “like a Tupperware party”.
I left Misty to her trip and returned to my lovely sanctuary and a great dinner prepared by the Gass’s cook. Spicy mackerel cakes, chapattis made with a local millet, a lightly spiced and cooked green papaya dish and a dish made with a vegetable that looked like tiny cucumbers. Plus a dal. Sigh, so good! And the conversation was enlightening. We talked about food, India and Indians, my driver Mr. Vishnu, Fabien and how he has no electricity because he didn’t want to pay the bribes and now has a bad reputation with the local electrical board (after his former girlfriend went in and threw a fit). Remy told me a lot about India and the class system and how it is living on the island amongst the people and the corrupt corrupt government.
(I packaged up Misty and my lunch leftovers and dropped them to one of the more forlorn looking dogs at the island ferry dock. She has long droopy teats and bits of hair missing, but very intelligent eyes. Lots of “island” dogs here. Few are owned or cared for much like PR and Bali. I cry inside every time I see one. They are worse than the beggars, of which I have seen few.)
My health is fine, I'm loving it here. Getting an ayurvedic massage today.
I'll post photos eventually. Too busy right now. Love to all.
Nancy
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