We fly south from Delhi, exhausted and excited about what the adventures in
the south will bring. We spend the next week and a half exploring the south- a
place that proves to be very different from anything north. The climate heats
up exponentially, the people disperse and it feels as if a slow motion button
has been hit. We move through scorching hot beaches, laze in hammocks, pick tea
in plantations and spend days floating along on the backwaters of Kerala.
We arrive at our first stop, Goa, at about 11pm. We exit the airport
realizing that the taxi trip to Anjuna beach takes an hour, and we have failed
to pre-plan our accommodation. Apprehensively, we make a call to the ‘prison
hostel’ – unsure of what to expect but figuring we will sort out the rest in
the morning. A pissed off, awoken man tells us that there is a four person dorm
room available. We ask him to hold it and tell him we will be there in an hour
or so. Taxi fares in these parts are fixed so finding a driver at the airport
proves easy. We swerve through tiny side streets with nothing but headlights
leading the way through the pitch black. We hug tight corners and hope that
India will spare us from becoming another driving casualty. We arrive at a fence
topped with barbed wire and a sign – ‘Prison Hostel’. We find the gate in the
fence and imprison ourselves for the night.
Surprisingly, in the time between the phone call and our arrival, the man
on the front desk of the hostel has not cheered up. He shows us to our room and
tells us we will be the only ones in the room for the night. We celebrate this;
lock the door and fall into the bottom bunks utterly exhausted.
At 3am, we are violently awoken by people smashing on the door.
“What the hell is that!? Its 3am, is this some sort of joke? Keeping in
theme with the prison thing by waking us up!?”
“I don’t know, open the door and find out”
“I’m not opening that door! We have no idea who’s out there!!”
Drunken laughter, however, confirms that it probably isn’t the prison
wardens.
“Sorry guys, but we also have to get in the room”. The two guys are
obviously not impressed that the 3am welcome party wasn’t available for the
night.
“Yeh, sorry. We were told we were the only two in here tonight”
“Well, you’re not. Anyway, when did you guys get here?”
“About 3 hours ago. Just trying to get some sleep. We’re exhausted”
“Right right. So where are you from? Sounds like Australia. My mate here is
from Sydney”. He points to a giggling boy in nothing but underwear and a hat
clumsily clambering up a ladder to his bunk. I nod, not inviting any further
conversation.
“OK, well we will see you in the morning”
In the morning it’s decided dorm living is not our style, and we make a
jail break to find the Evershine Guesthouse closer to the beach. A sleepy
guesthouse with hammocks and palm trees, and an owner who straddles between
friendly and paranoid. She tells us all about Trip Advisor, and how people
complain about things she cannot change.
“People damage the mattresses, and then other people come and complain
about dirty mattresses. I cant afford to change them all the time!”. We agree
with her and promise we will review her well. This seems to makes her momentarily
happy.
Seeing cows on a beach for the first time is a strange thing. I’m not sure
if it could be considered that much stranger than seeing them through the
entire country though. The Anjuna beach boasts long coastlines, dirty water and
enough trance music to satisfy all the ravers that flock there. The beach proves
for highly entertaining people watching, and we sit and observe a woman in a
trance dance getting intimate and groovy with a palm tree - at 3 in the
afternoon. And she is not the only one – people all through Anjuna are selling
and taking drugs.
Dealers whisper into our ears as we walk through the market place, clutching
onto our arms and taking us through their stock. “MDMA, weed, coke. What do you
need?”. When we explain that we don’t do drugs they assure us that it’s safe
and they are not the police. “Don’t hesitate”. Oh, well in that case…
A torrential rainy night soaks our clothes drying on the balcony, and
leaves Jakob without a shirt for an evening in which we plan to set out and
find dinner. I sit on the bed and try to suppress my laughter as he models my
black singlet top, clutching to him in all the wrong places. This is abandoned
for a hoodie with a broken zip, and he shivers the entire walk home along the main
road. Should’ve worn the sexy singlet!
We spend the rest of the time in Goa walking around the town, exploring
neighboring beaches and eating fresh seafood overlooking the ocean. The first
southern adventure proves slow-paced and lazy, and as the sun sets over the beachfront
bar on our final night we begin to plan out where the south will take us next.
