Hello, and happy Valentine's day. The occasion when greetings card company executives get their first bonuses of the year is upon us - enjoy the Bahamas chaps! Us single people are feeling like crap.
A tad cynical perhaps? Yes, right now I feel like a kid who got dragged from a toy store to go shopping for drills and workbenches with his dad. I really didn't want to leave Goa. Of all the places I've been in India it was the finest. I've had to come back to Delhi to catch my flight; tonight I leave for Singapore.
It's been two days since I last wrote my blog, and I've spent most of that time cooped up in a train carriage! Some interesting facts: 1) India is a bloody big country; 2) Delhi is a long way up the country from Goa; 3) trains in India don't go particularly fast; 4) to get to Delhi from Goa takes 39 hours by rail. Hooray!
If I was a rich man I would buy a ticket on a plane and get to Delhi in two hours. But if I was a rich man I could afford a lot of things, like oysters and champagne, my own private rail carriage, and a working robot clone of Nell McAndrew. Possibly I would sport a rakish moustache and tweed trousers, and a monocle.
But I'm not a rich man; I'm a budget traveller, used to doing things the cheap and difficult way. By combining travelling and sleeping I saved on airfare and two nights' accomodation. And Christ it was a boring journey! Not having anybody to talk to, the time really dragged.
I played my guitar till the lights went out, then I went to sleep dreaming of travelling across Australia, earning money from gigs - some bar or restaurant out there will have me surely! I awoke to another full day of rolling landscapes, bustling platforms, barely-edible train meals and air-conditioned tedium.
One of the things I love about India is chai - sweet spiced tea, served in short measures. It's sold everywhere. Indian trains swarm with chai wallahs (tea-men) who constantly beaver up and down the carriages selling lovely hot chai for 5 Rupees. By the end of the journey I had a towering stack of empty paper cups, rotting teeth and a hole in my wallet, but the chai somehow saved me from going insane!
But enough of that, let's resume the Goa story: After 40 minutes of speeding along dusty country lanes and over scenic hillsides, I arrived in Arambol. It has a beautiful beach, one of the best in Goa. The giant crescent of golden sand is lined with beachside huts and guarded at either end by rocky cliffs.
I parked my bike and set out in search of the Banyan Tree, walking north along the cliffs and rounding a corner. I saw Sweetwater Lake, a small inland lake where people take their children to swim, and knew I was on the right track. I headed inland, down a well-trodden path snaking through forested hills. Overhead a dense canopy of leaves and branches blocked out the sun.
I passed various travellers heading the other way down the trail, then I met a middle-aged lady in a bikini who I assumed must be suffering from some disgusting skin disease all over her body. Seconds later it dawned on me that she was just caked in mud from a mudbath! Good job I never went into practising medicine eh.
After a long series of twists and turns the path snaked up to a rocky clearing festooned with banners and colourful symbols, and petered out. Bongo drums and meditation chants rang out from the clearing. I had found the Banyan Tree!
Now I've never visited a hippie commune before so I didn't know what to expect. Peter really sold the place to me; he said it was a great place to hang out, you get chatting to new people straight away, everyone is welcome, musicians jam together all day long, and the people living there constantly cook food and share it out so nobody goes hungry. A beautiful utopian dream, maaaan!
The clearing was a bare rocky floor, about fifteen feet wide, set into the side of the hill. Hindu shrines were set out at each corner of the clearing, and the branches of the tree were fashioned into an archway to welcome new arrivals. Several people sat in a circle on mats, either meditating or relaxing, and in the middle lay the smoking remains of a camp-fire. I removed my shoes, said hello and joined them, waiting for a cue as to what to do. Staring vacantly seemed to be the done thing.
Immediately my attention was drawn to a strange old man called Thomas who was standing above us on a nearby rock, repeating the words, 'to find peace, you must stop worrying about the future and find forgiveness for the past'. He seemed to be in a world of his own, as if suffering from schizophrenic delusions.
With his grey hair, glasses and slightly creepy German accent he reminded me of the character Herr Lipp from the League of Gentlemen. He kept repeating his mantra as if he was practising lines for a play. For some reason he was also wearing a woolly hat which had three knitted rats attached to the front of it - but hey, I suspect there's a perfectly logical reason for that kind of thing when you're a delusional schizophrenic!
Seems like I caught the commune on a bit of an off day - there was trouble in the camp. Thomas has been staying out in the forest for some time, behaving erratically, causing problems for the other residents (some of whom have lived there peacefully for years) and stirring up discontent. Initially I wondered if headcases like Thomas were part and parcel in hippie communes (and maybe they are), but looking back, everyone else I met seemed sane and well-balanced; he was the only oddball.
The mood at the Banyan Tree was subdued, and after spending a couple of hours jamming on guitar with a bongo player and relaxing there in the shade I left the others and went to grab some dinner.
Personality conflicts are a frequent problem in hippie communes, Peter said later. It was great to see one but I found it's an experience I can only submerge myself in for so long. You start to feel trapped and need to get back to the world: hot showers, comfy beds, electricity and the like.
The next day I met Peter again in Arambol and had breakfast at a German bakery on the beach. We hooked up with a Swiss girl called Nadjia and rode out to explore a spectacular ruined fort near the Terekhol River, the northernmost point of Goa. Afterwards we took a look round an idyllic expanse of sand next to it, known as Paradise beach.
The area currently seems like an unspoilt paradise, but there are signs this will be the next 'hip' place in Goa to attract swarms of tourists. It moves in cycles; first Anjuna, now Arambol. Will Paradise Beach be next? The smattering of touts offering boat rides from the beach suggest the tourist juggernaut is already approaching.
My initiation into the Goa hippie/traveller circuit continued apace that evening; I spent a night at the Banyan Tree, jamming on guitar around the fire with several other travellers, including a Nepalese didgeridoo player. Thomas insisted on spending the whole evening talking to me, which was nice. I always attract the nutters. I understood little of the things he said, though I gathered from his rambling, garbled life history he was once a puppeteer. It worries me greatly that he might have worked with children!
Eventually he crawled off to his own space in the forest to crash. Rid temporarily of his presence, we all slept peacefully under the stars, surrounded by the noise of crickets and the howling of monkeys. It was a nice evening but in the morning I woke covered in mosquito bites. Why I didn't put the repellant on I'll never know. I gathered my things, and left for my comfy friendly bed in Anjuna.
In my remaining time I explored some more on moped round north Goa, enjoying the freedom and the sun. I returned to the Blue Tao restaurant in Anjuna on Monday evening and got invited up on stage to play a few songs. We got chatting to two girls from Wales who were from a family of triplets, and a Swedish guy called Otto who was celebrating his birthday. Suddenly I was meeting people, and I didn't want to leave!
As I travel I meet people and I leave people behind, but the bottom line is I'm out here on my own. It's a thrilling ride, but there are moments nearly every day where I get sick of being on my own and dream of the day I can come home and be around familiar people again. That day is a long way off but I dare say I'll meet many more friendly faces upon the way!
Today I'm meeting my travel buddy Laura for lunch in Delhi, then I have to find my way to the airport. I'll catch you when I get to Singapore!
So are you Itchy or Scratchy??
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