The roads in Goa are very narrow. I'm not sure I ever saw a place where they were truly wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other without using the shoulder. Now, you'd think this might be cause for vehicles to slow down when passing each other - but you'd be wrong. Mass wins in Goa, and he with the heavier vehicle simply powers through, expecting anyone else to get the heck out of the way, and that includes passing vehicles going the same direction around blind turns - with a drop into the ocean on one side if you're really lucky. We were in some kind of sport utility vehicle. The only time my driver evergave up the right of way was when confronting an oncoming bus. In any other circumstance, he'd simply tap the horn, move out until most of the vehicle was in the clear, and put his foot to the floor until the other vehicle got out of the way. To make matters more entertaining, he didn't seem to be aware of the art of downshifting in order to aid acceleration. I will say that his ability to pass vehicles with only centimeters to spare was unsurpassed by anything I've experienced before, including lane splitting on motorcycles in LA. I was sitting on the left hand side of the car, and lost count of the number of times I was absolutely convinced we were going to rub the car we were passing. It was a white-knockle ride, to be sure, but we somehow managed to arrive in one piece.
And it was quite a place to arrive to, as well. The house is situated a few hundred feet above sea level, on a hillside in a small enclave of custom built homes. In keeping with the outdoor lifestyle of Goa, every floor has a large balcony, an the rooftop has a large open air space as well as a glass-enclosed, air conditioned room where the family eats breakfast and often has an early evening drink, as well.
Needless to say, the views are superb, although this is only the view from the first floor (2nd floor, to americans) balcony.
The pool was another integral part of the Goa lifestyle. We were in the pool before lunch every day, and often again in the early evening. There's also a steam room.
In a nice piece of foresight, Brandon's parents even had a small elevator built into the house, since they've retired there and intend to live out there days in it. In fact, Brandon's mom is already suffering macular degeneration in both eyes, so being able to give the many stairs a miss is going to become increasingly important. She's an avid reader so I enjoyed showing her my Amazon Kindle, which is a nifty e-book device that should allow her to read for far longer than she'd be able to with printed books, as it is capable of displaying text in a number of font sizes. I imagine that charities like the Braille institute have even more appropriate devices, but if I spend more time in India, I bet I can help them out with accessibility technologies around the house.
It was impossible not to talk about the cost of living in Goa, and while I won't reveal the build cost of the house I was staying in, I will say it was remarkably affordable for what it was, though there has even been a housing price boom in Goa. And even at current prices, a 2 bedroom place close to the water comes in at something like 20% of the price of the equivalent in LA. That's right, you can own the whole thing for the cost of a reasonable downpayment in LA. A driver will set you back another $100/month, as will a chef. It's hard not to fantasize about the lifestyle one could lead there. In fact, a weekend place in Goa might be the only thing to make living in Hyderabad tolerable, if such a thing should become a requirement of the job.
Brandon actually had to leave for Hong Kong and points east the day after I arrived, so I spent quite a bit more time with his folks than I did with him. But before he left, he attempted to expose me to a little of the corona-advert lifestyle of the place. We set out for an aperitif at the local Taj hotel, where single malt scotch and a cuban cigar on the veranda while listening to live jazz (and it wasn't half bad, either) kicked off the evening. From there, we went to a Thai restaurant for some excellent food, and then made a half hearted attempt to track down some nightlife, but the last charter flight of the season had left that afternoon and the town was basically deserted.
Brandon took off the next day and his parents took over as hosts.
We had lunch at this bar/restaurant, where the staff would periodically show up to move chairs and tables around in order to ensure that the customers remain in the shade. One constant in india is the level of customer service that is lavished upon wealthy westerners (where 'wealthy' is a relative term that applies to anyone who makes more than minimum wage in the US). I actually found it increasingly annoying over the course of my sojourn there, but I suppose it is something you get used to. Should you dare to attempt to serve yourself seconds while at a restaurant or pour yourself some more water, a waiter will rush over and attempt to take over the job. I think I managed to carry my own bicycle up to my hotel room exactly once in 3 weeks. And this is all done for what would be considered fairly small tips in the US - usually less than 10% of an already small bill.
Given that Goa caters almost exclusively to foreign visitors (Russians, Brits, and very wealthy indians), it really could be a beach resort almost anywhere in the world. The jetskis and windsurfing equipment belongs to the luxury hotel on the water. The restaurants all tend to be some kind of fusion between asian and western flavours. There are no slums, bad smells, or overt signs of poverty. It was a far cry from Hyderabad, and while not unpleasant, left me feeling conflicted over the role and influence of westerns in India, not that I wasn't already.
In Goa, it has gotten to the point where the government has actually forbidden people who are not "People of Indian Origin" (PIOs) to own property in Goa, though it seems a little like closing the barn door after the animals have already gotten out. In any case, much like in Baja California, it is easy enough to find a bank or willing PIO to hold the deed to your property and rent it to you for a nominal fee. It feels like something of a moot point, as the vast majority of Goan businesses, homes, and roads are within about 10 feet of sea level and it seems increasingly unlikely that they won't be underwater inside of 50 years.
In fact, through much of my time in India, it was hard to get the image, from An Inconvenient Truth, of just what a significant rise in sea level would do to the populated areas of India and Bangladesh. Such events are going to make the refugee movements of east africa and post-partition india look like a cake walk. Imagine 300-500 million desperately poor and hungry people on the move. If we are unable to muster the willpower to do something about the impending environmental disaster, I hope that we're at least able to prepare for the catastrophe that is sure to result. Though, in reality, I expect that the cynical planners in western governments see such eventualities as just the kind of population reductions we need in order to reduce demand on shared resources.
Ok, on with less depressing material
There wasn't much by way of significant sights to be seen in the part of Goa where I was. The tourism indisutry there is all about laying on the beach by day and hitting the nightclubs by night (I arrived on the first day of the off-season, so there wasn't much to do at all, in my case). There was, however, an old Portuguese fort on the hill above the house, and, of course, I had brought my bicycle along for the trip. I nearly left it behind, but at the last moment, decided that if I had made the effort to bring a bike all the way to India from the states, I could at least muster the energy necessary to pack it up for my weekend trips. So on Saturday afternoon, I took off up the hill to see what I could see.
And quite a hill it was, too. Not too terribly long, but most definitely steep, not that this picture makes that apparent. I actually had to take a 5 minute rest before making the summit, which was pretty rare for me on this trip. My legs had been able to take anything I threw at them until that point. And, as usual, the crazy westerner on the funky bike was quite a point of attraction - more so than the actual tourist attractions I was usually.
And, of course, there are the inevitable cows to contend with on the road.
At the summit is a fort that consists of a wall and a lighthouse and little else. Here's the lighthouse. I didn't climb it. I'm both lazy and unwilling to leave the bike unattended in a place where it will take me several minutes to respond if someone decides to mess with it.
Here's a shot that shows the wall, too. It is thick enough that there is a path up on the wall. You can see folks walking along it. The ramp up was incredibly steep. My bicycling shoes had very little traction and I very nearly found myself descending it on my ass. I do not envy the soldiers who had to haul cannons up onto the rampart.
As usual, the bike was a tourist attraction. It's interesting that I really grew to detest the attention that was paid to me in restaurants and at the office just for being a westerner, but I never really mind the attention I attract on the bike, at least when it isn't holding up my schedule excessively.
This was a newlywed couple on their honeymoon who I couldn't say no to, so they became the first random strangers other than my hotel staff to ride the bike.
Some random guy.
The big house on the hill is also a tourist attraction. It was closed while I was up there, so I can't tell you what it is exactly. Maybe the portuguese governor's house? The house farther down the hill turned out to be a private residence. Some Russian oligarch, I'm sure.
Definitely a russian, though, as you could tell by the ridiculous opulence of the place. This is the top of the driveway. With 3 valets waiting, just in case someone should drop by.
Random scenery from the trip back down the hill. I actually wound up riding up and down the hill 4 times just to get some distance in. I tried to ride along the flatlands at the bottom of the hill, but the traffic was just too ugly, so I resorted to running laps up the hill, instead.
There are lots of random places to by tourist tchotchkes. I browsed around one such place, but it was basically the same stuff you can find in indian furniture stores in the US, at prices that were only marginally discounted.
And, to close, a not terribly flattering shot of Brandon and I.
No comments:
Post a Comment