It's been a really long time, although I've been filling in my solid-state journal with some trip reminiscences. Three things though,
1) should Zamir ever become de facto ruler of Kashmir, or the dissolute son of said ruler, I will have known him.. way back when he was doing his M. Phil. on the Kashmiri film industry and its historical grounding (or whatever, Bollywood is involved somehow).
2) at some point in the last week, I experienced a kind of horrible epiphany and now feel like I have been mentally scarred. As though I've seen the slow starvation of a village, I guess would be an apt analog
3) I sure hope that I gain lasting friendships from this
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Goan 2 Goa
The title's a little misleading, since I already went. BUUTTTT it was pretty fantastic, with a turn for the weird at the end--thus the ending. Everyone else who was supposed to leave with me decided to stay an extra day, and not travel on Holi. What a strange idea!
Anyway, bus left Thursday at around 5:30 (Benny, Ali, Zamir ended up being on the same bus, though way at the front while I was in the middle-back) and arrived in Panjim at around 7? possibly also around 9. I don't really remember. The bus ride over was significantly less odd, probably due to a combination of factors (stewing in my own uterine discharge, fresh sunburn, being alone, no movies!!! (SEVERE Shahrukh Khan shortage.. also whichever Khan is in Veer), taking psychologically-weirdening malaria pills a few hours into it, eating nothing but hide-n-seek, possibly others), but overall both were enjoyable. For the first half hour or so I didn't know if I would be alone or not, found I didn't really care either way, and stared at the sunset and apartment buildings, wondering what Mary will/does think of that type of construction. I love the exterior stairways, cut-out balcony walls and skewed rectangles, and it looks way better than the normative cinderblock apartment buildings in the US and Germany. There's an element of childishness to it, though, with the bold colors and thick layers of concrete. Modern Scandinavian and most Bauhaus-derived buildings have similar features, but use them more delicately (or precisely), and hardly anything else correlates. But I was excited, thinking about my first foray as an Independent Woman (not really) because I just felt so goddamned self-reliant, going all that way alone. When Benny, Zamir, and Ali showed up I was disappointed. The ride over was unremarkable, although my neighbor, a middle-aged guy who was also going to Palolem, was nice enough. We saw him on the bus down the coast later on, which was one sign we were on the right track (others: the sign on the front of the bus, the sign hanging over the bus, the sign on the side of the bus).
Actually, the bus ride over was good. The food at the dhaba was pretty good, the tea in the morning was scalding but delicious, and watching the sun set in Hyderabad and rise in Goa was fairly spectacular. During both bus rides I couldn't stay asleep during the mountain passage, so it was a terrifying series of jerky turns into twilit nothingness. Slightly worse the second time around, when I was in the front and could actually see the bus veering away from the chasms. India definitely reinforces my fear of falling everywhere.
Goa itself was meant to be a kind of spring break, my first, and I guess it succeeded at that. I didn't hang out with everyone at the bar every night, just two, and I didn't get drunk every night, just one. (General consensus was that I was not drunk. I woke up at 9am the next day, still drunk and hallucinating. Never hungover. I just didn't feel like acting all that drunk, as is almost always the case.) But I met some non-creepy, suitably low-key people who decided to build the most pathetic bonfire on the beach (a single twig) far enough away from The Dude Who Was On Ketamine and The Overly Tan Middle-Aged British Guys. Then people started playing guitar and asking to take pictures with the American girl who isn't fat or stupid. Thank you, German Pole Who Isn't A Footballer, A Pope, A Nazi, Or Angela Merkel. I enjoyed talking to a lot of people, though, and it was a good chill-out weekend. Maybe the best, without any sight-seeing obligations. The beach was, as probably mentioned before, amazing and soft and silvery, and the water was clear and lukewarm, with waves just right for jumping. Basically an idyll.
Anyway, bus left Thursday at around 5:30 (Benny, Ali, Zamir ended up being on the same bus, though way at the front while I was in the middle-back) and arrived in Panjim at around 7? possibly also around 9. I don't really remember. The bus ride over was significantly less odd, probably due to a combination of factors (stewing in my own uterine discharge, fresh sunburn, being alone, no movies!!! (SEVERE Shahrukh Khan shortage.. also whichever Khan is in Veer), taking psychologically-weirdening malaria pills a few hours into it, eating nothing but hide-n-seek, possibly others), but overall both were enjoyable. For the first half hour or so I didn't know if I would be alone or not, found I didn't really care either way, and stared at the sunset and apartment buildings, wondering what Mary will/does think of that type of construction. I love the exterior stairways, cut-out balcony walls and skewed rectangles, and it looks way better than the normative cinderblock apartment buildings in the US and Germany. There's an element of childishness to it, though, with the bold colors and thick layers of concrete. Modern Scandinavian and most Bauhaus-derived buildings have similar features, but use them more delicately (or precisely), and hardly anything else correlates. But I was excited, thinking about my first foray as an Independent Woman (not really) because I just felt so goddamned self-reliant, going all that way alone. When Benny, Zamir, and Ali showed up I was disappointed. The ride over was unremarkable, although my neighbor, a middle-aged guy who was also going to Palolem, was nice enough. We saw him on the bus down the coast later on, which was one sign we were on the right track (others: the sign on the front of the bus, the sign hanging over the bus, the sign on the side of the bus).
Actually, the bus ride over was good. The food at the dhaba was pretty good, the tea in the morning was scalding but delicious, and watching the sun set in Hyderabad and rise in Goa was fairly spectacular. During both bus rides I couldn't stay asleep during the mountain passage, so it was a terrifying series of jerky turns into twilit nothingness. Slightly worse the second time around, when I was in the front and could actually see the bus veering away from the chasms. India definitely reinforces my fear of falling everywhere.
Goa itself was meant to be a kind of spring break, my first, and I guess it succeeded at that. I didn't hang out with everyone at the bar every night, just two, and I didn't get drunk every night, just one. (General consensus was that I was not drunk. I woke up at 9am the next day, still drunk and hallucinating. Never hungover. I just didn't feel like acting all that drunk, as is almost always the case.) But I met some non-creepy, suitably low-key people who decided to build the most pathetic bonfire on the beach (a single twig) far enough away from The Dude Who Was On Ketamine and The Overly Tan Middle-Aged British Guys. Then people started playing guitar and asking to take pictures with the American girl who isn't fat or stupid. Thank you, German Pole Who Isn't A Footballer, A Pope, A Nazi, Or Angela Merkel. I enjoyed talking to a lot of people, though, and it was a good chill-out weekend. Maybe the best, without any sight-seeing obligations. The beach was, as probably mentioned before, amazing and soft and silvery, and the water was clear and lukewarm, with waves just right for jumping. Basically an idyll.
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