Anjuna Market

My time in Goa is winding down, tomorrow I catch a plane to Mumbai, another on to Ahmedabad and then finally a train up to Udaipur.

Two days ago I rented a bicycle and road down the beach to Benaulim, about 2km south of here, which turned out to be pretty much just like Colva Beach, but it was nice to get some exercise. And having been here now for a week, there are those indelible reminders that you are India and not just any beach town, whether it’s cows wandering the beach or the endless hustlers wanting you to have a look, just a look… it is always uniquely, somewhat insanely, India.

It was not without some regret that I went for a final swim in the Arabian Sea yesterday evening. My time in Goa has felt like nice vacation from my trip. I have stocked up vitamin D as well as increased my melatonin count to the point that some of the girls hawking wares on the beach approached me speaking Hindi and were surprised to learn that I was not Indian.

Earlier today I caught a bus up to the Anjuna Flea Market and can now tell you for certain that old hippies do not die, they simply move to Goa. The flea market was quite a spectacle; riots of color at every turn and more silver jewelry than you could shake a stick at. In the end though it was pretty much the same stuff at every stall and the touts were relentless, especially the ones that want to clean your ear.

The highlight of Anjuna to me was actually away from the market, out on the beach where many Tibetan refuges spend their time entertaining tourists, such as the little girl that walked a tightrope with various objects balanced on her head. Then there was a man with a Tibetan flute and a cow that was apparently mesmerized by the flute and could be made to go in various directions according the notes from the flute. He would walk down the beach with the cow covered in beads and silks and kind of maneuver him with a tune.

I’ve met several nice people here in Goa including a man roughly my age from Nepal who invited me to stay with his family when I get to Nepal. All in all I’ve enjoyed my time here, but I’m ready to be moving on. As a final note of weirdness, tonight at the Joema there are two Swedish girls one of whom is apparently an aspiring opera singer and has spent most of the evening working through her vocal scales. It’s an interesting contrast, operatic scales, the smell of burning leaves and garbage, the sound of roosters, and to cap it off occasional burst of fireworks from the beach.