Awake and looking for more adventures around Panaji (pronounced, inexplicably as "Panjim"), we rode 5-6km to a ferry crossing and took a boat over to Chorgao island. there, our tourist office map informed us, was bird sanctuary. it turned out to be, in eliot's estimation, "a mosquito sanctuary" but the fresh air, bizarre mangrove formations and a few herons actually made it almost worth the 50Rs they asked for entrance.
we took the ferry back and covered the remaining 10km or so to Old Goa, site of some Big Catholic Church and some Other Big Catholic Church. we opted for one, snapped some photos, looked at paintings of old Portuguese dictators and decided to skip the Other in favor of some food which was less-than-fresh. stomachs full (of what, i cannot say) we biked back to Panaji, read, packed and had two last beers - turborg and a kingfisher i believe - before hitting the sack. tomorrow would be a long one.
we awoke early, and i felt like crap. more accurately i felt like i couldn't crap, but i'll spare you the details. suffice it to say the short 15km or so to the train station was grueling for me - it was early, i was tired, i felt bad and i had nothing but a 14 hour train ride in "sleeper class" to look forward to. the picture painted of sleeper class by the guide books is bleak to say the least. the term "cattle car" leaps to mind. the words "grim", "noxious" and "unbearable" are close behind.
we jumped a train from Panaji to Margao with some confusion with the porters about the bicycles. a few bills and about a thousand pieces of paper saw the bikes safely onto the train. everything in india works on bureaucracy and none of it is in the least bit efficient. rampant, rank inefficiency is the name of the game here. you often have to speak with a man to get a form to requisition the paper work to get a meeting with the guy who can fill out the form to get you into the office of the guy who you end up paying 100Rs. to look the other way. it works, eventually.
anyway, we had 3 hours to kill at the Margao train station - Margao itself is nothing to see. we bought some american comic books (spiderman, batman animated series reworks, and (best of all!) old reprints of conan the barbarian from marvel). we read, snacked and had no less than 15 cups of tea. the train station restaurant was less poor than expected.
in time, we boarded the train to bangalore. little did we know what we were in for.
Showing posts with label maybe things aren't as bad as you thought. Show all posts
Showing posts with label maybe things aren't as bad as you thought. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Greetings from Goa
Eliot and I came to Goa on saturday the 6th and have stayed here ever since. for two nights with stayed Horrible Harold the landlord at the Comfort Inn. The place was amazing, and the manager wasn't sooo bad, just really gruff and weird. He looked just like Chuck Hughes, for those in the know. lots of cool pictures of frank frazetta-esque female araby around. pretty great, actually.
on monday morning, i awoke at 7:00 from the most recent in a strange series of dreams i've been having with the resolve to lay the past to rest, and ride my nards off biking and working hard to explore this wonderful country. we set (not sail. wheels?) for the north beaches which are an old hippy strong hold that apparently went the way of the club / dance scene and then collapsed leaving ... well, accounts vary. we went to investigate.
passing the festival of something-or-other in several small towns along the way, we came a beautiful beach in an area called (i kid you not) "Disco Valley." don't let the name fool you - the beaches were pristine, the fort on the cliff was impressive, and the accomdation prices were gringo-riffic but there was no boogie-oogie-oogie happin' here. in fact, all the little beach communities in the north were dominated by, as eliot put it, "a scene." i called them "no-good doped up smelly hippies." take your pick.
tarnation, but there were hippies everywhere. and not the cool, lord of rings reading, plastic-fantastic fightin', fun loving ex-hippies of yesteryear. ooooh no, these were the nappy-dreaded, "like whoah, man," euro-trashy hippies that haunt beaches and forested music venues like plauge rats on a galley. we were bit off-put, as you may be able to gleam from my description, especially since our previous experiences revolved around locals, cheap eats, good conversation and exploration. we just didn't feel like settling down into an established tourist scene and "passing the doobie on the left side" you know?
so we biked back to panaji only to find our room had been taken. shucks! we looked around and found an almost-equally as good room right around the corner. we rested up.
today we took a self-destructive 80+km roundtrip to margao to buy train tickets to go to bangalore on thursday. that will take us deep into the heart of the country to the "silicon valley of India." should be interesting! not only do we have a family to stay with for a few days (thanks so much Samuel, Danny and Soya!) but our buddy seth arrives in the wee hours of saturday to join us! soon we will be a trio, and we'll be ditching the bikes when he arrives so look for more adventures by foot, boat and (fingers crossed) jet-propelled rocket pack.
until then, we are resolved to day trip out of the city, seeing beaches and wildlife preserves while we soak up the sun and eat well in panaji. our accomadations are excellent, the tourist trade through the town drives food prices down and we can bike away from the city to some of the most untouched stretches of beach in asia. it's been a nice break and definetite change of pace from "MUST GO SOUTH" all the time. still, sedentiary is not our style, as today's massive bike journey proved, but day trips keep the exploration in while giving us "home base" or a place we know we can return to at night.
keep peddling, ghost-followers.
on monday morning, i awoke at 7:00 from the most recent in a strange series of dreams i've been having with the resolve to lay the past to rest, and ride my nards off biking and working hard to explore this wonderful country. we set (not sail. wheels?) for the north beaches which are an old hippy strong hold that apparently went the way of the club / dance scene and then collapsed leaving ... well, accounts vary. we went to investigate.
passing the festival of something-or-other in several small towns along the way, we came a beautiful beach in an area called (i kid you not) "Disco Valley." don't let the name fool you - the beaches were pristine, the fort on the cliff was impressive, and the accomdation prices were gringo-riffic but there was no boogie-oogie-oogie happin' here. in fact, all the little beach communities in the north were dominated by, as eliot put it, "a scene." i called them "no-good doped up smelly hippies." take your pick.
tarnation, but there were hippies everywhere. and not the cool, lord of rings reading, plastic-fantastic fightin', fun loving ex-hippies of yesteryear. ooooh no, these were the nappy-dreaded, "like whoah, man," euro-trashy hippies that haunt beaches and forested music venues like plauge rats on a galley. we were bit off-put, as you may be able to gleam from my description, especially since our previous experiences revolved around locals, cheap eats, good conversation and exploration. we just didn't feel like settling down into an established tourist scene and "passing the doobie on the left side" you know?
so we biked back to panaji only to find our room had been taken. shucks! we looked around and found an almost-equally as good room right around the corner. we rested up.
today we took a self-destructive 80+km roundtrip to margao to buy train tickets to go to bangalore on thursday. that will take us deep into the heart of the country to the "silicon valley of India." should be interesting! not only do we have a family to stay with for a few days (thanks so much Samuel, Danny and Soya!) but our buddy seth arrives in the wee hours of saturday to join us! soon we will be a trio, and we'll be ditching the bikes when he arrives so look for more adventures by foot, boat and (fingers crossed) jet-propelled rocket pack.
until then, we are resolved to day trip out of the city, seeing beaches and wildlife preserves while we soak up the sun and eat well in panaji. our accomadations are excellent, the tourist trade through the town drives food prices down and we can bike away from the city to some of the most untouched stretches of beach in asia. it's been a nice break and definetite change of pace from "MUST GO SOUTH" all the time. still, sedentiary is not our style, as today's massive bike journey proved, but day trips keep the exploration in while giving us "home base" or a place we know we can return to at night.
keep peddling, ghost-followers.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Hell and Heaven, all in one day
So much can happen in one day. After a rough, hot and dusty exit out of central Mumbai (thanks Anjali Inn), we turned south to head towards Murud, on the Konkan coast, and eventually to Goa.
Let me (Eliot Spencer Murray) tell you, folks, I will often dilute the severity of my bad experiences for the sake of saving face and sustaining pleasantries, but by God, not today. I have absolutely no druthers about saying how hot and blankety-blank miserable I was for most of our 2nd day ride. Cycling along H-17 (good road), I was so hot that I felt like my skin was going to crinkle up and fall off like a burning marshmallow over the fire. Every hill was a battle, every valley a small but futile victory. Rarely have I been this hot while simultaneously exercising for so many miles at a time. I am from Oregon, after all. It was like having no lung power, leg power, stamina, energy, nothing, and constantly on the verge of collapse or barfing. Even a delicious fresh cut pineapple (thanks, Drew) did little to stave off the pain. In short, it totally, totally sucked.
Drew, native of south Texas (long live the mighty state), was having little difficulty, and was rather enjoying the furnace as we rode along. I now realize it was heat stroke, plain and simple. Suck-y. Also, having cotton pants on over my bike shorts, shoes and socks and a cotton shirt in 100 degree inland desert weather was, in fact stupid. My aim to not cause offense to the rural folks we rode past was in vain. We stood out so much, a little bike short action probably wouldn't make much difference to any conservative farmers (later I learned to not care, since the lack of cotton pants makes a MEGA difference).
Anyhow, we (read: I) limped like an injured duck to the town of Pen and agreed (read: I said I am going to die unless...) we should go to the coast by bus, as cycling more of the heat was a sure death race. Saints be praised, we did. Popping our bikes atop a dilapidated bus, we chunked down the road a piece to Alibad, where the coastal breeze met us once again and life resumed for my body. I could feel the heat dissipating and the panic level simmering down to normal operating levels. It was bad, man; I had that dreadful thought inside myself for just a moment - "Jesus, what have I done? I'm nearly dead on the 2nd day of cycling? Am I just a total wuss, or have I damned myself? Am I going to have to give up NOW?? And why the hell isn't Drew suffering like a rotisserie pig, like me??!"
I learned that, despite how bad things seem at the moment, if you persevere and aim for what you need, you'll probably get it. In addition, we both learned that Indian hospitality really does know no bounds, as evidenced by our most excellent and gracious experience with Mr Kunal and his family in Alibad. But that's for another post.
Let me (Eliot Spencer Murray) tell you, folks, I will often dilute the severity of my bad experiences for the sake of saving face and sustaining pleasantries, but by God, not today. I have absolutely no druthers about saying how hot and blankety-blank miserable I was for most of our 2nd day ride. Cycling along H-17 (good road), I was so hot that I felt like my skin was going to crinkle up and fall off like a burning marshmallow over the fire. Every hill was a battle, every valley a small but futile victory. Rarely have I been this hot while simultaneously exercising for so many miles at a time. I am from Oregon, after all. It was like having no lung power, leg power, stamina, energy, nothing, and constantly on the verge of collapse or barfing. Even a delicious fresh cut pineapple (thanks, Drew) did little to stave off the pain. In short, it totally, totally sucked.
Drew, native of south Texas (long live the mighty state), was having little difficulty, and was rather enjoying the furnace as we rode along. I now realize it was heat stroke, plain and simple. Suck-y. Also, having cotton pants on over my bike shorts, shoes and socks and a cotton shirt in 100 degree inland desert weather was, in fact stupid. My aim to not cause offense to the rural folks we rode past was in vain. We stood out so much, a little bike short action probably wouldn't make much difference to any conservative farmers (later I learned to not care, since the lack of cotton pants makes a MEGA difference).
Anyhow, we (read: I) limped like an injured duck to the town of Pen and agreed (read: I said I am going to die unless...) we should go to the coast by bus, as cycling more of the heat was a sure death race. Saints be praised, we did. Popping our bikes atop a dilapidated bus, we chunked down the road a piece to Alibad, where the coastal breeze met us once again and life resumed for my body. I could feel the heat dissipating and the panic level simmering down to normal operating levels. It was bad, man; I had that dreadful thought inside myself for just a moment - "Jesus, what have I done? I'm nearly dead on the 2nd day of cycling? Am I just a total wuss, or have I damned myself? Am I going to have to give up NOW?? And why the hell isn't Drew suffering like a rotisserie pig, like me??!"
I learned that, despite how bad things seem at the moment, if you persevere and aim for what you need, you'll probably get it. In addition, we both learned that Indian hospitality really does know no bounds, as evidenced by our most excellent and gracious experience with Mr Kunal and his family in Alibad. But that's for another post.
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