about the same - hot and muggy - and they both are kinda marshy.
Although, things quickly increased on the trashy scale as I entered
the town. Since the area was taken over by tourists, the local economy
has adjusted accordingly and caters to them exclusively, even at the
most northern of the Goan beaches where I was staying.
Interestingly enough, a great percentage of the tourists were Russian
and Israeli. You also had your standard fare of Brits, with a strong
contingent from the German squad, not to mention a few French thrown
in there for good measure. I didn't come across too many Americans
however. This was the most heterogeneous mix of people I had been
around since arriving in India. In fact, I found the whole of the
country to be quite homogeneous, so much so that I would rarely see
another foreigner for long stretches of time. In terms of homogeny,
India is kind of like Bethesda (except the opposite color).
The hovel I stayed in was just a one minute walk from the beach. I was
close enough that I could hear the waves crashing against the beach in
the morning. I pretended that they were calling my name to come play
in them, which I happily obliged both mornings I was there.
After my first morning swim, I decided to hike up the hills that run
north along the coast. Devon, my neighbor from Jersey (not the 'New'
one, but the one in the English Channel), told me that there was a
hippie colony in the woods not too far away. I figured I might come
upon it during my hike, which might prove interesting, if nothing less.
It was about 92 or 93 degrees out, and very humid. I stuck my water in
my pack, applied some sunscreen (not enough, as it turned out) and set
out to earn myself a hearty meal and Kingfisher beer for dinner.
The beginning was pretty open, which provided panoramic views of the
entire Adaman coast. After the first big hill, the path began to head
inland as there was a small stream and valley flowing into the ocean.
I figured I could hike around the valley and drop down onto the beach
from the other side. This plan would have worked out beautifully if
the path didn't disappear. Actually, "disappear" is inaccurate; it's
more like "split into a dozen different off shoots, none of which were
well trodden." I decided that getting lost in the urban nexus of Delhi
wasn't enough for me, so I started to bushwhack my way through the
overgrown path. It wouldn't have been so bad if every other plant
didn't have large and extremely sharp thorns on it. I began to regret
my decision to hike in shorts.
Finally, after many u-turns, I found a path that looked as if someone
had actually walked on it in the past six months. Following it down
into the jungle, I eventually came across a dude just chillin' on his
mat under the canopy of trees reading a magazine - Rolling Stone I
believe - in the middle if the woods. He pointed me in the direction
of a large banyon tree where "some people live". I set out directly
for it. I had found the magical hippie comune! (Actually, before I ran
into this guy, I had seen another place where rocks had been stacked
up and dirt filled in to make a flat area, plus a few things scattered
about giving me a sneaking suspicion that I was close)
Before too long I ran into this huge banyon tree in the middle of the
woods. I could hear voices, so I walked around the tree to find four
hippies sitting around a smoldering fire on another rock and mud built
up area. I said hello. When I casually asked which direction the beach
was, I received a five minute orienteering diatribe from the hippiest
looking one (think Tom Hanks from Castaway) about how water flows
downhill, not up. "Weren't you, like, a scout, man?" When he finished
I thanked him for the lesson and was about to take off when another
guy offered me a cup of chai from a pot he had just made for everyone,
over an open fire, mind you. How could I refuse chai? "Twist my arm,"
I said as I slipped off my shoes and joined them.
The guy who proffered the tea was a younger looking Indian, probably
about 20 or so, with long hair and a Bob Marley cut off t-shirt. I've
already mentioned "agro-hippie", as I secretly named him because after
my lecture he went on to discuss his unhappiness with a recent
purchase and how he wants to fight the guy who may or may not have
overcharged him. The third guy was a bit older than the rest, late
40's to 50's, and looked British or American. He was relatively clean
cut and spoke not a word the entire time I was there. The fourth dude
also appeared to be native, with an almost shaved head, white paint
streaking his arms, and only a sarong on. There was also a dog hanging
out, who, appropriately, had a red paint mark between his eyes just
like the hippies'.
I didn't stay long, just long enough to finish my tea and listen to
the monkeys howling in the trees above us. Right as I set off a
Russian couple came up the path and stopped by, she in a bikini, and
he in tight trunks; it couldn't have been better timing. I hiked out
to the beach and had a couple nice swims before exploring further up
the rocky coastline.
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