Vegas in Goa, and Learning How to Not Crash Weddings

I’m not really one for pictures. After four months in Germany—living, working, and traveling almost every other weekend, I had only finished off one roll of film, most of which were of co-workers. And across several road trips, one being cross country, my record was even worse. This time on my camera I took with me to Goa I found only 6 new photos, 5 of which are of rusty barges, and not much dissimilar than the two below.


So, as I said before, it was a wonderful time. Two nights in transit through Delhi, of which I saw very little because of flight schedules and five nights in Goa at 3 different spots. Not exactly what I was looking for, objective one being to just chill, but I did want to see some of the state too. Panaji, was quite fun. Stayed at the Panjim Inn. A quite charming hotel located in the old latin quarter of the city, wonderful management, beautifully restored buildings, and a quite good restaurant with a large patio.

Then we were off to Bogmalo beach. Disappointing in then end, but we went to the restaurant of a fairly nice beachfront hotel. We had a fairly good meal, overpriced of course, but a price worth paying. See, there was what would, or rather should be, the winner of the Desi Idol. We were serenaded to a vast array of pre-90s hits, everything from Elvis to UB40 (‘Red Red Wine being my request, and the song we exited too). See this guy loved Elvis, and country, but he sang anything from a list of at least 200 songs. Except almost every song was sung as an Elvis impersonator in Vegas would, including “No Woman, No Cry” and “Obladi Oblada” (which sufficed, but I wanted to hear “Yellow Submarine” which is a great beachside song, especially if sung in Elvis voice). The singer took more to the women I was with (VP and her friend), which was not surprising. This meant that, rather than more Beatles, we were subjected to three Robbie Williams songs.

The next night was in a weird Disneyland-esque (i.e. completely fabricated, think the International Food Court) hippy paradise. The place did have its appeal though, and luckily we weren’t there long enough to see it wear off. The final night was at a wonderful BnB along the 23km long beach, Casa Ligorio. Again, highly recommended. The beach was long, and thus quiet. The water was warm. And that night, we lucked upon a wedding at the restaurant we chose for dinner. Two Brit-Desis, one Punjabi the other Gujrati. A small wedding, and wonderfully welcoming and gracious families on both sides. I talked with the mother of the bride, the uncle of the groom and a few others. We closed out the wedding in true imposing guest form (only two tables, mens table w/ drinks and female table without, all just family and us). But my membership in the Punjabi brotherhood (the table of mainly grooms family) was sealed when the grooms younger brother called me out for drinking Bacardi neat (said in his brit accent to boot.) Quite a night, and in the end, couldn’t ask for a better ending to a wonderful trip.

Oh yeah, N-Mode, here is a photo off the web of the “motorcycle” I (not so legally) rented. At least it was a Bajaj, so I got a true taste of Indian transpo. The second photo me, in the middle, leading my thuggee crew while crooning and gyrating women in saris were lining the streets dancing in unison to an M. Rafi classic.