My route from Matheran to Goa was undoubtedly arduous and slightly harrowing. After waking up early to go for a final ride out onto the cliffs I packed and set off. First, a shared taxi down the tiny mountain roads, then a Mumbai commuter train (think rush hour Victoria line but for two hours and the train doors don't close/exist) and then I was faced with the fact I couldn't get the train I'd booked (I'd be "waitlisted" and was too far down the list). I had to fork out to get an overnight bus. Comfortable, I was told, and it has AC, it will only be 14 hours. Lies. 18 hours later, after lying on a pleather mattress with a turmeric (or piss) stained sheet in the sub-zero AC (I was so cold I took my socks off and put them on my arms, like inelegant evening mittens) I finally arrived in Goa.
Goa has been interesting. It's certainly made me think a lot. After the frenetic introduction to India in Mumbai and then Matheran, it was a shock. Arambol, where I arrived, is basically a beach and road, the beach lined with shacks and restaurants serving spag bol and mild curries, the road lined with shops selling "hippy clothes", undoubtedly made in the slums of Mumbai along with the H&M handbags. The whole thing was covered in a cloud of hash smoke.
After my first day the relief of not travelling wore off and it started to seem that this was all somehow, "inauthentic". As if Arambol (and Arambol being one of the "best" beaches for backpackers), had sprung out of the ground to provide people with the India that was comfortable, sanitised and safe. As if it wasn't really India at all. It seemed incongruous with the rest of small part of India I've seen, almost culturally spayed. But the more I thought about it the more I realised how I wrong was.
As travellers we often talk about searching for the "authentic", trying to beat the rapid development of resorts from hippy paradises into package holiday destinations. This has fuelled the constant beach hopping in Goa as well as the move from Thailand, to Cambodia, to Laos and now Vietnam as the place to go to experience the "authentic". But certainly in India, that idea of authenticity is a lie. The idea that it's a land of spices, colour, elephants, women in saris, curries, chapatis and the exotic mysticism of the "east" is simply not true. It is (and forgive, but I'm still a humanities student at heart) a Western construct, an Orientalist view of the 'Other', of the exotic otherworldliness of anywhere non-Western.
That is not to say that parts of India aren't like that, of course they are but there so many facets to modern Indian culture, to modern India itself, that this universality no longer holds true. India includes the Mumbaikars in their chic coffee shops, drinking espressos and playing with their iPhones; the people in Dharavi who looked at me like an was an alien and wanted to try out their English; the Matheran horseboys who had travelled from all over the country to plod plump Indian bourgeoisies around on ponies. And it includes these beaches in Goa too, that shrugged off Portuguese rule and replaced it with swathes of tourists, just as England includes Blackpool and Dawlish.
After Arambol and Palolem, Patnem was a gift. Still tiny and undeveloped I walked from Palolem through Colom, a beautiful little fishing village sat on a rocky cove, down onto the long, empty white sand. While still decidedly quiet and unfrenetic and with many an English voice (although the TOWIE extras have been replaced with young yogic families from London) it's been a lovely little beach break and a lot more Goan as opposed to subcontinental Malia.
After this I'm off to a tiny place called Murdeshwar (so tiny it's not in my Rough Guides, not sure how I'll cope!) to do some diving and then onwards to see some more of the great, wide South. Besides everything, I've met some great people and had some good nights, including one where I met a Russian chiropractor who clicked my back so many ways I couldn't stand and nearly vomited. And of course, I think it's been nice to sit around and process the tiny slither of India I've seen so far (so small in fact, it's frankly daunting). Wish me luck! I'm sure at some point I will be sat, hot and bedraggled off of a 12 hour train, shovelling rice into my hungry mouth and will miss the glorious calm of here, but right now I can't wait to hit the road again.
Best,
Gx
 |
| Hut living in Arambol |
Goa has been interesting. It's certainly made me think a lot. After the frenetic introduction to India in Mumbai and then Matheran, it was a shock. Arambol, where I arrived, is basically a beach and road, the beach lined with shacks and restaurants serving spag bol and mild curries, the road lined with shops selling "hippy clothes", undoubtedly made in the slums of Mumbai along with the H&M handbags. The whole thing was covered in a cloud of hash smoke.
After my first day the relief of not travelling wore off and it started to seem that this was all somehow, "inauthentic". As if Arambol (and Arambol being one of the "best" beaches for backpackers), had sprung out of the ground to provide people with the India that was comfortable, sanitised and safe. As if it wasn't really India at all. It seemed incongruous with the rest of small part of India I've seen, almost culturally spayed. But the more I thought about it the more I realised how I wrong was.
As travellers we often talk about searching for the "authentic", trying to beat the rapid development of resorts from hippy paradises into package holiday destinations. This has fuelled the constant beach hopping in Goa as well as the move from Thailand, to Cambodia, to Laos and now Vietnam as the place to go to experience the "authentic". But certainly in India, that idea of authenticity is a lie. The idea that it's a land of spices, colour, elephants, women in saris, curries, chapatis and the exotic mysticism of the "east" is simply not true. It is (and forgive, but I'm still a humanities student at heart) a Western construct, an Orientalist view of the 'Other', of the exotic otherworldliness of anywhere non-Western.
That is not to say that parts of India aren't like that, of course they are but there so many facets to modern Indian culture, to modern India itself, that this universality no longer holds true. India includes the Mumbaikars in their chic coffee shops, drinking espressos and playing with their iPhones; the people in Dharavi who looked at me like an was an alien and wanted to try out their English; the Matheran horseboys who had travelled from all over the country to plod plump Indian bourgeoisies around on ponies. And it includes these beaches in Goa too, that shrugged off Portuguese rule and replaced it with swathes of tourists, just as England includes Blackpool and Dawlish.
After this I'm off to a tiny place called Murdeshwar (so tiny it's not in my Rough Guides, not sure how I'll cope!) to do some diving and then onwards to see some more of the great, wide South. Besides everything, I've met some great people and had some good nights, including one where I met a Russian chiropractor who clicked my back so many ways I couldn't stand and nearly vomited. And of course, I think it's been nice to sit around and process the tiny slither of India I've seen so far (so small in fact, it's frankly daunting). Wish me luck! I'm sure at some point I will be sat, hot and bedraggled off of a 12 hour train, shovelling rice into my hungry mouth and will miss the glorious calm of here, but right now I can't wait to hit the road again.
Best,
Gx
 |
| Patnem Beach this morning. |
