Go Go Goa!

After another epic journey—this time, an all night bus ride that was truly nauseating (barf)--we have arrived in Goa. Goa is an anomaly in India; the state, which is known for its beach towns and legendary parties during the peak season (which, with our luck, is of course December) has a heavy Portuguese influence from colonization in the 1500s, and a heavy hippie influence, from colonization in -1960s. Goa boasts dozens of churches, which like Indian temples, range from grandiose structures to tiny road-side stalls consisting of a string of fresh flowers, a place to light a fire, and a depiction of the god being worshiped. Really the only thing indicating that these praying stalls are Christian is that instead of Shiva or Ganesh there's a little shrine for Jesus. Goa is also the first place we've seen non-Indians in any significant numbers.

The first town we stopped in, called Panjim, felt a lot like many of the other cities we've been to with one striking difference: there were like, no people, anywhere. This is a rarity in India. As our friend from Mumbai put it (when asked why so many people showed up to the Bluefrog on a Sunday night to see a band as crappy as Split Unplugged): there are just a lot of people in India. But not in Panjim! Or at least, not in the off season! We head out towards the water (Arabian Sea!!!) for lunch and some ice cream coffees (a popular ice-free alternative to iced coffee) and found ourselves to be virtually the only people at an enormous waterfront restaurant that, with little stretch of the imagination, seemed like it would be a pretty hopping place during the peak season.

Even before we got to Goa, the mythical Goan “peak season” seemed to haunt us with any mention of the state. The group of wedding-goers we had met in Coorg ubiquitously responded to our plan to go to Goa by saying “It's the off season. But you'll still have a good time.” Now that we're here, I completely understand this reaction. The number of swanky bars, nice restaurants, aryuvedic spas, and shopping centers outnumber those of any other city we've been to. Though, in the off season, they also seem to vastly outnumber people.

While this is obviously a detriment in some ways (many things are closed, there aren't the infamous all-nighter trance parties, and, uh, there aren't as many folks around to meet) it's so far had it's advantages. For one, to get from Panjim to Calungate (which is where we are now) it can take up to three hours by bus during peak season. It took us about twenty minutes. It was also really easy to find a place to stay: we're at a really adorable little hotel that's all mosaic of mismatched ceramic bits and decorated with little windchimes and brightly colored tapestries. It has a cafe with tasty food, nice rooms, and a pool (!). It also rents us out a scooter for Rs. 200/ day (that's like, $4). And, thanks to the off-season, the roads are empty enough that we rode up and down the coast with very few other vehicles to deal with. Considering how insane Indian-style driving is, light traffic is practically a gift of the gods. Plus this made it a little safer for Yotam (who is driving) to get used to the whole left-side-of-the-road thing.

We've spent our first day here scootering (scooting?) from beach to beach. The landscape here is beautiful: tiny gulfs of water dotted with strange trees; mangoes, coconuts, jackfruit, and oft-unidentifiable other things growing all around. Little palm thatched shacks (that are actually, really palm thatched) line the beaches. Our first stop, Baga beach, was surprisingly pretty crowded, and bikini-clad Westerners were swimming alongside Indian ladies who-- I kid not-- go in the water fully clothed (in flowy Indian attire, even!). Yotam and I stopped to put our feet in the water when my favorite interaction of the day happened: A boy of about 13 approached us to try and sell me some junky jewelry. He quickly understood I wasn't interested but stuck around and looked at us. You could tell this kid had some attitude: he had kind of longish sticking-up hair and a muscle tee and kind of squinted up at us. After a moment he turned to Yotam and said “You're so white! You look like a chicken.” Perfect, haha.

Anyway, my chicken and I didn't stay long because we hadn't brought any sunscreen with us and preferred our scooting adventure anyway,enjoying the freedom to go long distances without having to worry about negotiating fares or whether or not we would like where we were to end up (though, most of Goa seems pretty reliably enjoyable). When we got back to the guesthouse we met some of the other residents: two Canadian girls, two Norwegian guys, and an Australian. We all swapped India stories of various sorts: about beautiful places we've been, trains that were missed, Indian toilet dramas, getting ripped off, times we've been met with disarming kindness. Eventually we all went out to dinner together and had a pretty good time. Even though it's the off-season.

Coorg

First-- let me apologize in advance for the poor typing that is about to ensue, we're in a really janky internet cafe in a tiny town called Madekeri on our way to Panaji, Goa, and the keyboard is in really bad condition.

We spent the past five days in a region of Karnataka called Coorg, on a coffee/tea/honey/pepper plantation called Honey Valley. When we last posted, we really didn't know anything about Coorg, or where we would be staying. In fact, three hours into our busride, we still had pretty much no idea what kind of place Honey valley would be. Every time we drove past a scenic spot, we'd cross our fingers in hopes that this was where we were headed. The bus ride itself was beautiful; we saw three elephants (two wild, one being used for labor) and the smell of tea came through the bus windows.
When we got off the bus, the sun was begining to set, and we had missed our connecting bus to Kabenakab. We had a taxi take us, which was a Rolls Royce-esque car that is actually unbelievably common hery, though rickety and old, and they often come decked out with colored headlights or other gaudy decor. Yotam called the owner of the plantation to find out where we should meet him in Kabenakab, who in response, told us, "Kabenakab is a very small place."

Once again, we had no idea how far of a journey we were on, and the sun was really going down. We drove farther and farther into the wilderness, again imagining at each lit area we passed that this must be it, this must be Honey Valley. After about an hour, we were let out of the cab at a three way stop with a single shop, the shopkeeper's house, one other structure, and a bustop with a sign reading "Kabenakab Junction." It was completely dark, except for a few candles on. After some confusion, a jeep came down the hill. Yotam looked at the driver and said "Honey Valley?" and the driver said yes and we got into the jeep.

Some people drive jeeps because they've seen Jurassic Park, and some people drive jeeps because there is no road, straight up hill, on uneven terrain in remote areas. This jeep ride was the latter sort. But also it was kind of like Jurassic Park.

Two separate jeep rides in, and we were finally in Honey Valley. We were shown our hut, which was a 10'x10' space with two beds and a table. we roomed with a mouse (or possible bat) which we named George Also (we had already named a cow George). It would be morning when we would finally see our surroundings, but from the smell of the air we could already tell that our journey was worthwhile.

When we woke up, we weren't disappointed. Foggy hills surrounded us, covered in coffee plants as well as other lush fauna, most of which was new to us. Cows and friendly dogs roamed around the premises (we even saw a puppy playing with two calfs and almost died of cute overload).
We spent most of our time there hiking, reading, playing cards, and relaxing. We also got the chance to make some friends with a group of young Indians on their way to a wedding, an Indian family on vacation, and an American couple living in Mumbai, who were very surprised to see us.

We've got to go to the bus station now for our overnight to Goa. For the record, we still plan to upload those videos we made (despite their untimeliness at this point) as soon as we find fast enough internet connection. Which at this rate, looks like it may be a while.