Travel Musings

INDIA: Why India?

"Why India?" they ask me. Not so much my family and friends anymore: they seem to have graduated to the point that they trust I know what I'm doing, or maybe they've just given up on trying to figure me out. But other people I meet think my destination choice is bizarre. Meanwhile, I can't fathom why they are so gung-ho to visit Cancun, or Cabo, or a cruise, or -- Dog forbid -- a Sandals Resort. I'd rather stick an icepick in my eye.

I know exactly why I chose India. For one, it's Rick Steve's favorite place to travel (he explains why in his September, 2007 podcast). Plus, I've discovered that the ribbon of the world between the equator and the Tropic of Cancer is the best to visit, especially this time of the year. And, the country seems to be popping up everywhere these days: movies (Slumdog Millionare), recent novels (The White Tiger, Sea of Poppies, and Sacred Games -- all excellent), and anytime I call Customer Support. But the primary reason for my choosing India boils down to the people. In my line of work I meet a lot of professionals of Indian descent -- some raised there and others first-generation Americans -- and the vast majority of them are friendly, engaging, and interesting. I don't mean to stereotype, but some cultures seem to be more sociable and outgoing (India, Australia, New Orleans) than others (Sicily, Croatia, Northern Minnesota).

INDIA: Seriously, Why India?

So many warnings, primarily from people who have been to India. Including:

• "Please take mace." (Plea from Mom, who has never been to India)
• "You are going to get diarrhea. You are SO going to get diarrhea!" (Somewhat gleeful -- and repeated -- predictions from a man (who travels to India on business) who I met at a charity party in Minneapolis)
• "Only eat at 5-star hotels." (Co-worker who traveled to India for work)
• "They will fill plastic bottles with contaminated water, reseal them, and sell them to you." (Native Indian cardiologist)
• "You will be ripped off before you leave the Mumbai airport. They rip ME off." (Customer of Indian descent)
• "Join a tour group." (Physician born and raised in India)
• "You will be covered in leeches." (Fellow in training, who recently visited family in India, referring to a specific wilderness trek)
• "You are going to stick out like a sore thumb." (Friend who, with his brother, traveled to India for fun)
• "Do NOT miss Goa" (former co-worker who visits family in India)
• "Skip Goa!" (culture vulture)

I better ease into India. I'm heading South, where life is bucolic, overcrowding is a non-issue, English ex-pats plant roots, and the people are the friendliest in the country. Sure, I'd like to visit the White City, the Blue City, the Pink City, the Taj Mahal, Varanasi, and all those other must-sees in the North but I'm taking the the easy route -- the South -- India Lite -- for my initial visit to the country.

GOA: Hello, Casa Covale

After a 50-minute drive my driver drops me off at Casa Colvale (in the middle of nowhere) and I tip him 200 Rupees. I have no idea if it's an amazing, mediocre, or paltry gratuity. I arranged the ride through CC for 1,500 Rupees.

My room (room 6) is insane. Insane! It's an oversized corner suite with a view of the river and outdoor dining room/bar. Some people have parking karma -- always scoring rock star spaces -- but I'm blessed with good room karma. As usual, I discovered it through i-escape. I'm paying only 23,100 INR for three nights, but the rate more than doubles beginning the night I check-out.

Circadian rhythm dazed and confused, I meander down to the dining room/deck at 6:00. James, the expat Brit manager, greets me warmly and addresses me by name (very impressive). He's charming: longish, curly blond hair secured by sunglasses; an untucked, floral beach shirt; flipflops; and shorts down to his knees. Reminds me a little of that Simon guy from The Mentalist. He sits with me awhile and shares His Story in-between incoming cellphone calls. James is excited about the the musicians he has booked for the evening, and invites me to join his table later for dinner.

Although the time is only 6:00, I place my order: I've eaten only a Luna bar (Nuts Over Malt) today. By 7:30 my meal has not arrived (and I'm the sole diner on the deck) and I've consumed two Kingfisher beers. James reappears, now properly dressed for dinner, and beckons me over to the loungy-type area. Elena, another solo traveler, who hails from London, via Cyprus joins us for a cocktail. 

My dinner is promptly served at 8:00, forcing me to remove myself from the cool kids and return to my single table: I clearly don't understand the dinner ordering/serving protocol here. I'd rather be imbibing with the In Clique instead of eating alone, but it's probably for the best: it's only 8:30 and I'm beat. But my food (shrimp in coconut curry) and the atmosphere (love the sitar music) is perfect. 

I return to my fabulous digs, attempt Too Much Happiness on my Kindle, and promptly doze off in a drool by all of 9:00.

GOA: Good Morning

Pitch dark, wide awake. Not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse. I roll out of bed, throw on some clothes and pad around CC like a ghost, exploring its communal spaces, multiple decks, and swimming pools (two). CC was designed as a private residence, and then converted (by popular demand) into a boutique hotel comprised of eleven rooms. I definitely feel as though I'm a guest at someone's crazy-chic home here.

The kitchen crew down on the dock/deck/dining room serves me my breakfast of eggs, toast, coffee, and juice in 45 minutes. And the staff-to-guest ratio is 5 to 1 (I'm the sole diner). Billy Goat Tavern O'Hare it's not. But that's ok, I'm in no rush.

 

 

 

 

Two days of immobility and I crave a walk. I turn left out of CC and walk along an upscale (I think) residential road. I love the architecture. Unlike some places I've lived -- say, Palm Beach County, Florida (Mizner stucco) or Lincoln Park in Chicago (three-storey brick)-- no two houses are similar. Some are very ornate, with avatars, crosses, or swastikas (a symbol of Eastern religions long before being appropriated by the Third Reich) proclaiming the residents' religion. Others are painted roof to foundation in bright, tropical colors. My favorite houses, though, are the Grey Gardens type: dilapidated, drowning in flora, and rotting away, yet still retaining a hint of their original grandeur. Ancient, uncared for, and ignored, yet a little proud, they remind me of Brooke Astor.

But the houses are not the highlight of my walk: the best part is passing the Indian women. They eye me a tad suspiciously at first -- clearly I'm not from these parts -- but nearly all of them reciprocate ebulliently when I smile and offer a "hi!"

GOA: Doing a Whole Lot of Nothing and Enjoying It

Back at CC, I grab a seat outside the office and await the availability of the one communal computer. A man joins me, introduces himself as Nick, and we chat. Nick is leaving Goa tonight after spending two weeks at CC doing a whole lot of nothing (he's a friend of James). He's spent the past 18 months traveling the world and, after he spends Christmas with his family, is moving from London to South Africa to take-up a new job running a 1,000-person call center. I like his go-with-the flow attitude and worldly curiousity, admire his gumption, and wish he were staying longer.

Taking a seat a seat at the computer, I introduce myself to the woman sitting at the desk across from me. Her name is Maria and she has recently been hired by CC. We exchange small talk for a few minutes, then she asks me if I'm married. I tell her no. Wrong answer. Then she asks me my religion. I answer that I'm agnostic, but my reply doesn't seem to register with her, so I describe it further, explaining that my stance is, basically, "How the hell would I know?" Another wrong answer. Maria's demeanor has shifted subtly, as if she's partially disappointed in me, partially sorry for me, like I'm some sort of adolescent delinquent. She tells me that she is Protestant, and spends a good chunk of my precious internet time extoling the faith. She's attempting to convert me!

Lunch is a can of Diet Coke and a bag of sunflower seeds that I packed as part of my India-Survival-Dysentary-Prevention-Kit. I curl-up on a sofa on the upper deck, crack away, read, and enjoy the river view and fresh air. Elena eventually joins me. We trade impressions of India, she shares her Goa advice, and then we read in friendly silence.

2:55. Time for my canoe trip!