The Allure of Goa, India

by Aviva Mayers

The secret is long out that Goa’s palm fringed beaches lapped by the warm Arabian Sea are a slice of paradise. Long a stop on the hippie trail, this feni (cashew liquor) drinking state, with many reminders of its Portuguese colonial past, offers an easy introduction to Indian life. Its status as India’s most westernized state is evidenced by its soccer-loving men and women who favor western dress over saris, a beach culture where even locals can strip down unabashedly, and food combining Portuguese and Indian influences.

We stayed near the south Goan town, Benaulim, one of a string of villages that line the coast. A 10 minute walk through rice paddies brought us to the beach and an array of shacks serving local specialties. Our favourite, “Hawaii”, run by a Nepalese family from the Himalayas, served up delicious food such as butter chicken paneer and shrimp dahlfrei. Women in colourful saris hawking beach apparel combed the beach, hoping to weaken the resolve of prospective customers, mesmerized by the array of colours. Cilla, wearing a brightly-coloured mirror-bedecked costume typical of those from her home in the neighbouring province, Karnataka, frequently sought shelter from the heat under our beach umbrella.  “There’s no work back home so I spend the winters here,” she said. “On a good day I can earn 150 rupees [$2.50] but that also depends on the cut my boss and the police take.”

For beach-weary visitors, there are many interesting side trips. Five minutes along the dusty main road by foot took us into Benaulim with all the amenities of a tourist town, including a collection of tailors offering fabrics and overnight tailoring. I stumbled upon Cristin, of Portuguese-Indian heritage, sitting outside her corrugated-iron shack sewing away on her old-fashioned Singer machine. With fabric purchased in Margao’s cloth market, samples from my meager travel wardrobe and a couple of simple sketches, she produced  8 fashionable, mostly raw-silk garments that fit like a glove, for which I paid a meagre $110, a month’s salary for Cristin.  Cristin’s story mirrors the vagaries of a local economy mostly reliant on tourism. She and her husband share a bedroom with her in-laws in their stone and mud hut. Her husband recently lost his job cooking in a local hotel because he was traveling to Bombay 3 days a week to secure a visa to Dubai, where he could earn $500 /month cooking on an oil rig. “Then we can build our own house, I could have a real shop that doesn’t have to come down during the monsoon season,” she said. Meanwhile, Cristin’s earnings of about 150 rupees a day from her dress-making business help carry the family for the entire year, and when business is brisk, her father-in-law and husband help out with the cutting and sewing.

From our hotel for $2.50, an auto rickshaw (tuk tuk), a 3-wheeled, slightly dilapidated vehicle, took us on a bumpy ride into nearby Margao, the bustling capital of south Goa. Crossing the traffic circle to the old covered market was a terrifying experience. Little attention was paid to pedestrians, as masses of motorbikes, rickshaws and cars came at us like a swarm of bees. The dimly lit warren of stalls in the market, crammed with goods and people, offered a glimpse into a bygone era. The bus journey back to Benaulim was a local experience, with people shoved into every corner, the “handicapped” seats obscured by able-bodied riders standing, sitting or leaning out windows. The conductor, a young unofficial-looking man, gave the driver a green light by banging on his window, or letting out a 2-fingered whistle.

The fascinating Menzes-Braganza 16th century colonial mansion, easily reached by taxi, is living history. The sole inhabitant, an elderly family member, conducts tours of this grand property. One particularly poignant tale was of the grand ballroom, untouched since her wedding there 50 years earlier. As she told her story, we felt the exotic mix of colonial Portugal and India that is both the hallmark and allure of Goa.