I have reached Manipal, Karnataka, the place where I will spend the next six weeks working, maybe fall in love, and definitely need some kind of medical treatment at some stage ( I was trying to spot the hospital on the way in, but no luck ).
My first impressions weren’t great: I was left standing alone in the dark by the ‘welcome’ committee for twenty minutes, and the place looked a little quiet and westernised. I was introduced to my new flat mates and a few others, and was disappointed to realise they were all Western. They are all really nice guys, but I guess I was hoping to see some more of Indian culture in my six weeks here. However, seeing it in the daylight, it is a lot different- the full hubbub of Indian life is a strange comfort to me now. Once you see your first family on a motorbike, you’re hooked.
I left Goa on Saturday afternoon after two great days. Goa is a lot like the Caribbean ( Having never been to the Caribbean, I can say that this is true. I know that the climates are similar because of science ) with the colonial buildings and Christian iconography. On my way from Anjuna beach to Colva beach on Friday afternoon, I stopped in Old Goa, and saw three of the most magnificent churches I have ever seen, all facing each other across a square. The Portuguese were here until the fifties, and left a legacy of gold alters, saints and high roofs. It was wonderful to see Indian tourists in Hindu and Muslem traditional dress wandering around the churches, possibly as unsure of what they were looking at as I have been ( in Pennyburn chapel ). The most beautiful church, the Church of Saint Francis Xavier, is dedicated to the eponymous missionary who died in China in the 1500s, and was canonised after his body refused to disintegrate after hundreds of years. I have to admit, from where I was standing, he was looking pretty ropey.
On my first night in Goa I met a couple of English blokes, and we went for a few beers in a nearby town. It was a good night- at one point I was watching cricket, listening to techno, and smoking a pipe. Before this trip, I had never been on a scooter. Most of what has occured since I’ve been in India has occured through planning, but of course serendipity will always throw something in your way when travelling that you could not have planned. At no stage did I think any ammount of bad planning or bad luck would have me on the back of a scooter at 3am careering through the Goan jungle. I am not a wreckless person- I do not believe fortune favours the brave; I believe that shit happens, and one day I will die, possibly in avoidable circumstances. Which is why I was shocked to find myself clinging on to Dan ( a decent bloke ) avoiding potholes and rabid dogs, which I’m sure is more difficult in the dark and after a few pints. Although it was a dangerous way to travel the 7km from Baga Beach to Anjuna, it was truly exhilerating, with the smell of the jungle, and moonlight reflecting off the backwaters really special. However, as soon as I got home I promised myself never again to court doom and his sisters with flirtaceous glances form a motorbike.
I also met a bloke called Anti- a man who can only be described as the Finnish Simo. By day, a cultured blonde wit, by night, he is trying to burn his hair off and asking you to dare him to do something. Anything. As long as its a dare.
I didn’t want to leave Anjuna. The staff were great ( one young guy, in a Torres shirt {lots of them here}, asked me if I was Irish when I was buying a pint. I said ‘yes, how could you tell? Is it because I am whiter even than the English men?‘ He said ‘no, you’re eyes are very small’. I looked at him, and we laughed aloud. We shared a hearty handshake, an affectionate glance, and I left, confused) and the English guys were cool. Added to that, on the Friday morning, four English girls checked in, and one of them was pretty. But, I wanted to see as much of Goa as I could, so I decided not to put all my eggs in an unlikely sex-basket, and hit the road. When I got to Colva, I realised I should have stayed ( That English girl was Gorgeous). It was a family resort, and there was no one around. ( She was really lovely). However, I got to see another beautiful beach, and have the best hair cut/violent massage of my life. If he wasn’t a Goan barber, I would have married him ( My God, that English woman was beautiful).
The train journey to here was amazing, as I’m starting to believe all train journeys in India are. They leave the doors open, and you can dangle your legs out and just watch India pass by. You always meet people, as the trains are packed, but are open plan so people sit facing each other, and always want to talk to a westerner ( good looking ones get tortured ). People just look at me, and laugh. I’m used to people laughing at me in shorts, but not to this extent. I’m sure they’ve seen white people before, but maybe not my particular brand of palenificence.
I met one really cool guy who talked to me about eastern and western philosophy and religeon. He said that the West had more freedom, and this was a good thing. But sometimes too much freedom is maybe negative. Animals are also free, I said. He said ‘yes, consider a river ( he really said this): It is free, and it is beautiful and powerful. However, it also has boundaries. If it floods, it causes great damage’. I have never had a conversation like this on the slievemore bus. On the second part of the journey, I met a man who bought a Papaya, cut it up with a knife he had, and shared it around the carriage, and I thought this was great. He also asked me to dinner with hs family, but thats not going to happen.
India has an untidy feel to it in some places. I feel this is because they live so much out of doors. In Ireland, outside is something we look at, but here, they sleep, work, and live their lives in front of you. It means that the outdoors has a kind of work in progress feel to it, that seems organic and healthy to me. The place looks lived in, and as a consequnece, alive.
My first day in Manipal was great. We went to a beautiful beach ( where a massive ammount of the near-the-equator-sun has left me severely burnt and nautious), and saw a most beautiful and sacred temple with a 5000 year old statue of Krisha, said to have been carved in the presence of Krishna himself. It had the works- cows ( I touched it), chants ( I hummed along), bells ( I rang a bell), barefeet ( I took my shoes and socks off) and pilgrims who come from all over the world. They feed 15,000 people a day there. Even in my dizzy and sunburnt state, it was impossible not to be moved as the guide told us the story of the statue and showed us the devotees filing past and bowing to it.
I’m still eating everything with my hands, and still not sick. I’m being careful not to drink the tap water, and am showering with my mouth, eyes and butt firmly closed. Ok, I’ve had a few watery bowel movements, but thats no big deal, right? I did feel an ominous rumbling at the beach, like the oncoming horses of the Huns. I looked around in panic for a toilet, but it was just a pang of pain across my gut, a little cold sweat, and a small wet fart. Nothing some Immodium and dioralyte wont sort out ( with thanks to Marty and Niamh).
Ok, so its cricket time over here, so I’ll go and pretend to know the rules, and try explain to the locals why I’m whiter than world peace.
Work starts tomorrow, and I’m looking forward to it.
Previous entry - Yacht Club
Next entry - On Rain, and Affectionate Men