Goa Day 1

Right.

On the morning of the 25th, things were really going a little low. We had to submit what was probably the toughest Management project BMM has seen in awhile. The fact that the submission was five days after our last exam paper ended ticked us all off even further. We were resilient though, and managed to complete it properly and submit it. We were still a cheery enough bunch, knowing that in just around 7 hours we'd be on a long bus journey to Fenny land.

Our bus was supposed to start from outside Xavier's college at around 7 pm. It pulled into the lane at 7 30. By that time, all 14 of us were an impatient eager bunch of monkeys. We all piled into the back seats which were reserved for us, and began what was to be an unforgettable 16 hour ride. True to our nature, the PJ jokes rolled into action before we even got to Dadar. By the time we hit New Bombay, we had moved onto Dead Baby jokes.

Q: Incidentally, what do you all a dead baby hung on a nail on a wall?
A: Art.

Yeah.

Our entire trip was punctuated with excitable chatter on various topics including BMM, exams, projects, classmates, the Indian cricket team talents in recent times, (or lack thereof).
It was all we could think of to drown out the Vogonesque poetry and compositions of Himesh Reshamiya and Emraan Hashmi going on at the front of the bus.

It was one of the most memorable nights of travel in my life. I stayed awake through most of it, for fear of missing out on any beautiful scenery. The first sunrise was incredible, and we were almost at the top of the Ghats while it rose. I dozed off sometime after that, just as we hit the border of Goa. I’m not really sure how long I was out, but I will always remember how I woke up after that sleep. With horrid, excruciating pain!

Our esteemed colleague, the bus driver took it upon himself to wake everybody on the bus up with Himesh Reshamiya and Emraan Hashmi, playing the SAME song as the previous night, and this time on full volume. Me and a larger friend of mine, Hakkim darted towards the front of the bus and warned the asshole that there would be dire consequences if something like that was repeated again. I didn’t want to be mean and act like a bully or anything, but those two cunts are fucking annoying at any point of time.

We decided after MUCH deliberation not to get down at Mapusa but instead at Panjim, since it was kind of closer towards the place we were headed, i.e. Candolem.

We got to Panjim at around 10 30 am, that morning. My first impression of Goa was a very memorable one. As our bus was pulling to a halt, well actually, while it was still doing a decent 40 or 50 km/h, Lyandra clutched at my hand and asked me to look out the window. I saw what she was pointing at and I almost cracked two ribs from trying not to laugh at that sight. There was this guy who couldn’t be more than 5 feet 6 inches, portly stomach, dark skinned, in VERY tight blue Denim jeans and a white T-shirt tucked in at the waist, thumping the back of the bus and RUNNING alongside it for God knows how long! And all this while the guy is chanting, out of breath, “Hotel! Hotel!” It was at this point that I murmured to myself, quite a pertinent question. What the fuck?

We got to the house about an hour later, where we crashed our entire luggage into one room and went about the first order of business. Bikes. And there began what was probably the worst part of the entire trip. Half of us didn’t know how to ride. LESS than half of that had brought their licences along, and around 10 percent of those meekly said that they were willing to try and ride and learn in the next 6 days. Roughly 4 to 5 hours later we were still a bike or two short. All this confusion could easily have been avoided if we had all piled in a little more money and taken a gypsy instead. But never mind that. The bikes certainly had their plus points. Goa traffic is not something to write home about though.

Something has to be said about the excellent riding skills of Sahirr Setthi, known by the Railway Department of Goa as Samira Setthi. Within a span of five seconds, on a pitch black road, he managed to skid onto a packet of milk, (I’m not kidding) keep control, and then almost hit a kitten who darted in and out of the street, and still maintain control.

We headed towards Anjuna that night. Word around the campfire was that there was a party happening at Hilltop, but when we got there, all fueled out, we found it to be false. However, Nine Bar, a trance club next door to it was pretty happening, so we went inside. As I entered, I caught the glimpse of a tall white guy wearing a cowboy hat and blue shorts, and I thought the better of entering at that time. I waited outside for about half an hour for it to get crowded enough, then went in. Good move as it turned out. The beats were good, the crowd was good, and the DJ was excellent.

We spent at least a couple of hours in the huge open enclosure dancing (or trying to). Somewhere in the middle of all of this I opened my account with three shots of vodka. Things were going very well so far.

We left the place at around 10 30 or so and headed towards Baga Beach for a shack dinner. And WHAT a shack dinner it was too! Crabs, prawns, chikkan, even Veg noodles! Literally the works! Over that kind of spread, and cocktails, mocktails and draught beer, we watched and listened to the waves less than 200 yards away from us.

After awhile, after the meal I got up from the table and had a little walk by the sand as the waves rolled in. This was so different from the beaches in Bombay, I couldn’t believe it. Pure white sand, firstly, and even the sounds of the waves crashing in were so different. You couldn’t really see too much out there, except the glimmering and dancing lights of the fishermen’s boats.

A few bumpy roads and a dislocated bladder and kidney later, we went back home and passed out for the first time in Goa. I think the time was around 4 am. A sign of things to come in the following week. Yes, we had arrived. This was Goa.

To Be Continued…

-Darius