Two Candles, One Flame. PART ONE

I suppose I have kept you all in suspense for long enough, and since free time is a bit scarce lately, now is as good a time as any to try to recap my Goa, India experience. “Experience” was a word not chosen lightly… allow me to elaborate. Our ship came to anchor off the coast of Goa, known as the “Jewel of India” for a 4 day port visit, allowing for some much needed R & R time for the crew. We were not the only ship that felt safer anchoring out in the bay, versus tying up alongside at this particularly heavy industrial harbor. To give you a rough idea of just how many other vessels where bobbing around us; at night if you were to venture to the upper decks for some fresh air and star gazing, you’d think you were surrounded by the city lights of Goa. All travel from the ship to shore was via a shoddy looking water taxi, which I was informed moonlighted as a garbage barge, goat transport and grocery delivery boat. The water taxi ride was a comical and sometimes nerve-wracking shuttle of 45 minutes through the bays somewhat calm waters. We were whisked past such tourist-envious sites as the cargo embarkment jetties, fishing boat docks, and an offshore oil rig refurbishment project. Don’t worry, I got plenty of pictures. :) I decided to tag along with a number of my fellow Stokers to relax at their hotel and unwind from a long sail and its occasional rough seas. We caught the ship’s hired van into Panaji to hire a cab and make our way out to the hotel, which was about 20 minutes north of Panaji. The moment we got out of the van beggars and locals trying to sell us everything from knock-off Dolce & Gabbana handbags to peacock feather fans swarmed us. I was pretty much stunned and confused. I didn’t know how to react to all the arms and “Miss, Miss-es” that I was being bombarded with. Thankfully, one of the bigger sailors took this as a cue that I needed to be shoulder carried out of there and fast. I was asked by a number of the women hawkers which male one was my husband… apparently they figured they would have better results haggling with the “wallet.” I couldn’t resist the temptation of passing the buck and quickly nominated the stoker standing next to me. Whew, fresh air and room to move around and take in my surrounds a bit. Dirty, would only start to scratch the surface of the place. Lots of free roaming dogs and cows – which are believed to be sacred, thus are not required to follow street signs or proper defecating etiquette in their fenceless existence. The streets were lined with open fruit, fish & meat markets and peppered with wooden furniture and coconuts straight from the tree for sale by machete wielding sellers. This was going to be an experience to say the least. We shook off the open hands and merchandise-displaying bodies and managed to pile into a couple of taxis. The driving rules in India are deciphered with little less effort than trying to understand quantum physics. But I think I narrowed it down to these few key points: 1. Cows have the right of way, ALWAYS. 2. Try to spend the majority of your time on the left-hand side of the road. 3. The smaller and slower you are, the less rights you have. (Meaning: if you are in a truck everyone will move for you; if you are in a car, you win unless there is a truck; if you’re in a scooter, as long as you can squeeze past go for it; and if you are a pedestrian, God help you) Another interesting curve is the lack of legal enforcement for helmets on motorcycles and scooters. I watched a family of five zoom past us on a scooter, with only Dad wearing a helmet – yikes! My taxi excursions in New York paled in comparison to this bum-cheek squeezing adventure. I don’t think any of us breathed, or let our eyes wander too far from the windshield during that white knuckled ride. The key, I discovered, to truly experiencing India is to look at it through completely different eyes. Your North American eyes will deceive you into quickly judging and dismissing India and all her treasures. The eyes you use in Canada will only see dirt, disease, poverty and unbearable, crowded living conditions. But if you try to look through an Indian’s eyes you will discover that India simply moves to a rhythm all her own and the melody can be quite enticing. The people are friendly, the landscape is lush and filled with jungle vegetation and flowers, and rich colour is everywhere. Be it in the gorgeous worn silks, the exotic blossoms, or the reddish hued sunsets on the Arabian Sea. I booked a night’s stay at the Park Hyatt Goa Resort & Spa for the third night, which was located just south of Panaji. I was told by the High Commissionaire of Canada and the Military Defence Attaché, David and Garry, that I would love the hotel as that was where they were staying as well. It wasn’t until we were pulling up to the guarded gate though, that I truly allowed myself to believe this place would not be a faded version of the internet photos I had put so much stock into.