Arambol diaries - The Visitors

There are many reasons as to why people want to travel to India. The main one normally revolves around yoga and spirituality. This I expected to be especially true for a Bohemian destination like Arambol. However, while I did come across a few who fit this cliche image of practising yoga, spirituality and organic veganism, for the majority of the visitors, the reason for their visit was far more earthly.

First of all, Arambol is cheap, compared to their own countries. Cheap beer and easy access to drugs is a big draw to this quaint seaside destination. Though a major driver, that's not all.

Arambol diaries - Vani

Arambol diaries - La Sambusa Latina

Arambol diaries - The hippie life

Arambol diaries - The gigs

Of course what's common to every visitor to Arambol is their travelling soul, else they would not be visiting this distant land, thousands of miles away from home. Here they have found comfort in familiarity. Arambol, despite its basic living standards, has evolved to cater to western tourists and does not have the stark contrast in culture presented by other rural parts of India. No one here takes a second glance at drunken behaviour or skimpy clothing in public. Unofficially, it even has a nudist beach. With its established community of travellers, for a newbie, it takes away the nervousness of setting foot in a foreign land. 

I am not sure how much the love of the land brought the visitors to Arambol though. There is of course the expansive sea, the golden beaches and the sun. But a land is made not just by its geography, but by its people. Some did mention how they loved the happy, smiling faces of Indians. But in the few days I was in Arambol, I realised that most interactions of the visitors happened within their own community. The locals are mere service providers in shops and restaurants who stayed in the background, almost invisible. Actually, some, of the so called locals are not even from Goa, but have travelled from different parts of the country for business. They are there to make money. To an Indian, the prices in Arambol appear jacked up and I could easily bargain a price down to fifty percent just by asking for the Indian price. Unfortunately, I noticed a certain disdain among the locals for the foreigners. Business has been hit hard for last two years, the fall of Thomas Cook considered to be the culprit. In much need of an economic boost, the local shop owners are tired of the backpacking travellers. One such owner selling bracelets by the beach complained that for the people who survive on bananas, how do you expect them to purchase anything at all. Unfortunately, that's not completely true. The foreigners still make purchases, but from within their own community. The business of beads and bracelets has been taken over by these travelling gypsies. They make their own, and sell these goods within their own community, but probably that is what Bohemian art was meant to be.

Arambol is a seasonal town. The visitor season starts just after monsoon in September and ends before the heat of summer hits in April. For the rest of the year, only the permanent residents and a few adventurous souls live in its empty lanes. The vibrant hippie life takes a break, as does the industry that has grown around it. 

What definitely stood out to me was the high percentage of Russians among the visitors to Arambol. I asked the locals and even the Russians for the reason. I did not get a concrete answer, but what it appeared to me was because of the Russian community that has built up through the years, which attracted new blood. Also in the current times, with a weakening Rouble that weighed almost equal to the Rupee, and a short flight, was what made it economically viable. The strong Russian influence is evident everywhere. They are in the shop signs, and the menu cards. But when I saw a local woman fluently conversing in Russian, I realised the true magnitude of the Russian influence. The woman was probably in her fifties, with greying hair, wrapped in saree and decked in traditional jewellery. She looked formidable, who could easily be the matriarch of a family, but speaking fluent Russian is the last thing my stereotype inclined brain would have expected from her. 

Of course, along with the Russians, Arambol draws the vagabond soul from all around the world. 

The Bakery

I had spotted the Bakery when I walked past it on the day of my arrival in Arambol. The cafe is a popular joint. I had never seen it empty at any hour during the days I was there. I figured the popularity of the cafe is for two very interdependent reasons. 

First of all, it's the food. 

The bakery is experienced in serving a very non-Indian clientele and their distinct palettes. The menu lists items that use freshly made hummus and pesto. The bakery, of course makes its own wide range of breads, and along with the fresh dips, serve popular sandwiches. Fresh juices are available and I loved their filter coffee. 

The second reason I figured was the opportunity it provided to collaborate. People dropped in knowing they will meet other travellers, musicians or bloggers. There is always someone with a guitar, someone typing away on their laptop, or leaflets being handed out for a gig. One morning I was absorbing the vibe over a coffee when a young girl drops in, distraught. Her boyfriend had left her. She had cancelled her forward travel plans and only wanted to return to her home in the UK. She needed help to plan and finance her journey, and there were more than a few to support her. 

The bakery, I realised, is a community, symbolising Arambol.  

Just like Arambol, it was seasonal too. It is run by a Nepali family who arrive here only for the season. I managed to have only a brief conversation with their boy server before he had to disappear to take fresh orders.

To me, Arambol felt like a part of India that has stopped being Indian. The hippie vibe is everywhere. Most of the locals, impersonal, like in a tourist town. There is friendship and camaraderie within the travelling community, which has evolved into a world of its own. I accept, I was a visitor, that too only for a few days. Therefore it would be unjustified to pass such judgement. But when you keep yourself open to observations, the obvious unveils itself. 

Tucci

I met Tucci while having my breakfast at the bakery. He took the chair beside me and acknowledged everyone sitting around us. He ordered a coffee and soon we started to talk.

He was a doctor, a retired one. I wasn't sure whether he was a dentist or a plastic surgeon or both. He was Italian, and his English was not fluent and very accented. He was struggling with his vocabulary, but still managed to tell his fascinating story.

As a kid, he used to run away from home and the police had to be involved. Eventually he joined the army, because that gave him the freedom to travel legally. He trained as a doctor, had a family. Now that his kids were all settled in life, he left home and started travelling. He comes to Arambol every year, and when it closes, he heads out to the South East Asian countries. He was planning to visit Sri Lanka in March and then travel to Indonesia and Cambodia. He was living his wanderlust and his motto was to help out others, which he talked about in great length. 

I asked why he came to Arambol every year. It was indeed the familiarity with the place, but the main reason he said was because it was warm and cheap. He talked about his experience of travelling in Europe and was how he was convinced that the Euros from his retirement won't last long if he continued there. 

I requested for his photo and he was more than happy to comply. 

Lara

I met beautiful Lara at the house of La Sambusa Latina. She came up for a chat with Seba, over Yerba Mate. Yerba Mate is a popular drink in Argentina which is drunk from its special cup as a social activity. She was sipping the herbal tea from the metal straw of the specially designed wooden cup, traditionally made from calabash gourd. She offered me some, also showing me how to drink. The cup is filled with the dried leaves to which is added hot water. As the leaves soak, the pale liquid it releases is sipped through the straw slowly. Once finished, the cup is filled up and and passed onto the next person. The cup keeps getting emptied and refilled as it is passed around. It is a mildly flavoured drink with a smoky aftertaste.

Lara is an Argentinian too, and comes over to Arambol every year. She wasn't a musician like the members of the La Sambusa Latina, but lived the Bohemian life. She made money by making bracelets and beads, popular with the travellers and performing at dance shows. Walking the streets of Arambol and on its beaches, many of these travellers can be seen selling their own handmade artefacts. She said she did return to her home now and then, before leaving for travelling the world again. As to why she returns to  Arambol, she didn't have a clear answer, but it was more because of the familiarity and the community that was already there.

My previous posts from Arambol

Arambol diaries - Vani

Arambol diaries - La Sambusa Latina

Arambol diaries - The hippie life

Arambol diaries - The gigs

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Arambol diaries - The gigs

La Sambusa Latina was to perform in one of the beach shacks of Arambol that evening. Antonio, one of the brothers of 'the twins', had joined Tom, Vani and Seba on the balcony of the house. The Argentinian brothers sported similar moustache and hairstyle, confusing people by their similar looks. They took advantage of this and enjoyed pulling pranks on unsuspecting people. I met their other half, Leonardo at the bakery the next day  While I smiled at him thinking it was Antonio, the unsure smile on his face gave him away. On first meet, it was practically impossible to tell them apart.

My previous posts from Arambol

Arambol diaries - Vani

Arambol diaries - La Sambusa Latina

Arambol diaries - The hippie life

In preparation of the gig

The group geared up for the practice session. Between the strumming on the ukulele and the guitar, cigars were rolled and handed out. The distinct whiff of cannabis filled the air. 

Tom meticulously prepared the program for the evening, listing down the songs. The group discussed the sequence of programmes for the evening and their every transition. Slots were planned for the circus acts to break into the music at intermittent intervals. I was astonished to see how much effort went into the planning of an evening. Every performance is a project in itself, to be planned in every detail for its successful execution. 

As the music picked up pace, Seba brought out the tea. It wasn't the most traditional cup of tea, rather a concoction of mushrooms. It is common knowledge that psychedelic drugs are highly prevalent in this society, more popular with the artists and performers as they seemingly boosts their creativity. Through the days of living with the group and attending their performances, drugs, from the humble weed to LSDs, were discussed and used freely. 

Disappointment strikes

The performance at the beach shack in Arambol was due to start in the evening. It was to be Tom, Vani and Antonio. Seba had prior commitments. 

The publicity of these events are carried out mainly by the hosts, while the performers spread the word within their community. The performance is agreed for a fixed cost with the shacks and anything that is collected in the hat at the end, adds to the kitty of the performers. Hence, more the merrier. Apart from the money, limited food and drinks for the evening is provided to the group as well. However, not everything always goes to plan. That's what happened on this particular evening.

When we reached the beach shack, we were met by a very apologetic manager. For some unknown reason, they had failed to carry out the publicity for the evening. The shack was right on the beach at a prime location. However a dearth of tourists to Arambol for the past two of years was resulting in empty seats in the shacks. Despite the discouraging news, the show had to go on. It was a tedious job to set up the stage with the light and sound equipment knowing not many people will turn up, but hoping some would. 

The music started to an empty gallery. Eventually two girls arrived, and that was all for the evening. The trio still kept up the tempo for the whole time. I had heard Tom perform before, but this was the first time I was seeing Vani on stage. She was a fabulous clarinet player, truly capturing the soul of Latino music. Antonio even put up a couple of circus acts much to the delight of the staff and the visitors. Later, as he came for the collections, I dropped in some money in the hat.  

We had a late dinner. The food provided by the shack was not on their menu. It was what the staff ate. I was not part of the group, but a friend, hence I had to pay and order from the menu. The food was gloriously overpriced, but I did not have a choice at that late hour. 

The collections from the evening wasn't much, but it still made them a happy bunch. High on spirits, on the way back they bought ice-creams from the local store just as it was closing for the night. In their limited means, indulging in food is the last thing on their list and a dessert, as they called the ice cream, is a treat to be reserved for nights when they earn. Normally they chose to have two meals a day, a late breakfast and an early dinner and that too at the cheapest local places. They looked forward to these performance nights, especially if the place is known for their food. 

The program a couple of nights later was booked at one of these places.

Finally a real gig, true to the spirits

Vani was very excited as she told me about their next performance. It was a new joint in Mandrem, the adjacent beach south of Arambol. Her first reaction was, they make fabulous pizzas! Her excitement for the food was showing. Suddenly I felt sad for her. She also told me to prepare for a completely different experience from the evening before. She expected it to be a busy night, full with guests and fun. It would be incredibly entertaining and lively. 

I reached a little late, delayed by a fabulous sunset on the beach. It was already dark, took me a while to find the place. It was indeed what Vani had told me. The open space under a thatched roof was bustling with people. The stage was already set, and full with performers. Quite a few travelling musicians had joined in for the evening. They were dressed all in their La Sambusa Latina gear of black and white stripes and were ready to rock.

 

As the music began, members of the guest came forward to show their skills. It was a largely hippie group, all friends or acquaintances. There was exotic fire dancing, of course without the fire for safety reasons, juggling, salsa, hula-hoops, all in the tune of the foot tapping Latino music. The night was reverberating. Needless to say the air was heavy with the smell of weed and am sure drugs was flowing as freely as the beer. 

It was in striking contrast to the previous show I had been to. This time, the hosts had done well with their publicity and the effect was showing. 

Even La Sambusa as a much bigger group tonight had the energy flowing for hours. 'The twins' were fooling around with their circus acts and Seba had joined in too for the evening. The performance went on for hours, well into the midnight. Exhausted yet still drenched in music, everyone settled down. Over pizzas and beer, they chatted and laughed. Some practised their skills. People were meeting old friends and making new acquaintances. The more experienced in this life were looking out for the newcomers. The travelling community was growing. This is how it thrives. 

I sat there observing. I was definitely an outsider here. I was aware that I am unable to let go so many things in my life, which I needed to do to be able to truly embrace the hippie life. However, this did not bother me. I was just happy to be there. As I sat there, Seba came over asking how I was doing. He even tried to teach me a couple of juggling tricks, but I remained as clumsy as ever, 

The collections from the night was fairly decent as I followed a happy couple on the moonlit beach back to Arambol. 

At 2am, the beach was empty. The full moon had painted the sands, sea and the waves in silver. It was a beautiful night and after the excitement of the evening, a sudden loneliness gripped me. The evening was truly one for friends and community, a strong bond which holds the spirit of these travellers together. They thrive on company and friendship. It was a happy evening and I felt the energy of the community in my veins. In the huge empty space that I was walking back now, the feeling of melancholy had never been more reinforced.

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Arambol diaries - The hippie life

After leaving a stable job, the first thing that hits you hard is the sudden stalling of a regular income. It does not matter how prepared you think you are for the change, it still manages to catch you unawares. It takes a while for the discomfort to sink in, before you gradually start accepting the fact and tune your life according to it. 

Both Vani and I had very recently left our jobs, and both of us were in this initial phase of discomfort. We were trying to hold on to every penny we had. There was a slight difference in our situation though. While I had made up my mind to leave the corporate world, I was still expecting this to be a short break and then return to something I felt closer to my heart. Also I was staying at home when not travelling, and had a general idea where my next assignment would be. Vani on the other hand had embraced a life of total uncertainty. She did not know in which part of the world she would be in ten days time, when she was to leave Arambol.

Arambol diaries - Vani
Arambol diaries - La Sambusa Latina

Living the hippie life

Vani talked about her struggles after she arrived in Arambol two months ago. She was scared and uncertain about the life choices she was making. The security of a stable job was gone. She struggled to retain the accepted norms of privacy she grew up with and she didn't have any of her old friends or family for support nearby. She did not even know when she will see them next. Thoughts of escaping this life was frequent. But the old life suffocated her and her creative, gypsy soul.

She told me how thankful she was to have Tom for support. At one point in life probably Tom had been through the same dilemma as her, when he left his stable life behind for the life on the road. In all these years, he had managed to find balance and peace through his struggles. In complete contrast to the liberties provided by the hippie life, he was surprisingly organised and focused. Even though he was living in a different part of world every few days, he kept in regular touch with his friends and family in Argentina. At least every three years, he planned a trip back home, to renew the bonds. This was true for their whole Argentinian community of travellers, including Seba. They were more in touch with their roots back home than most wanderers I have known. To me, it definitely brought a different perspective and proved my presumptions incorrect.

Arriving in Arambol

From Panjim we took the bus to Mapusa from where we were to get the bus service to Arambol. I waited in the long queue for the bus while Vani went to grab some snacks for the journey. The bus arrived and we were lucky to get the last seats. The sun was blazing down and despite the open windows, it felt like being trapped in a packed-up hot metal can. The roads were empty but the young driver maintained a decent speed as the bus snaked its way to Arambol. 

Where we got off in Arambol, looked like a small town one can find anywhere in India. A couple of convenience stores stood by the road. There was an omnipresent branch of the State Bank of India and a few scattered shops selling food and tea as locals smoked and gossiped under the shade of a banyan tree.
There was a small yet significant difference though.
A major percentage of the people walking around or whizzing past on their bikes, were Caucasians. They were foreigners to the land, but looked as comfortable as any local would do in their hometown. The bus we just arrived in also had a significant number of foreigners travelling. I had even heard one girl trying to have a conversation in Hindi with the conductor. It was impressive.

We got off the main road and walked towards the beach. There were more foreigners lazing around and very few Indians. Everyone was dressed in a style so typical of the hippie culture. Loose trousers, elephant pants, shorts, vests and cropped tops, shaved or braided hair and almost everyone sporting exotic tattoos and piercings. To add to the ambience, the shops lining the roads were selling everything these people wore. The food menu on the restaurants were inspired by Western dishes, obviously catering to a select clientele. To top it all, there was an obvious air of chill. I immediately knew I had landed in a hippie town.

We left the main road through a gate, walking past a popular bakery on to a dirt track. The track wound past isolated buildings and undergrowth. We turned at a wayside cross. Structures like these once adorned the many neighbourhoods of Goa, but are fast disappearing. Tucked in a small courtyard beside the cross was a half painted three story building. It looked like an unfinished new build. Musical motifs were designed on the balcony rails, perhaps an indication of the spirit of its residents. 

Living arrangements in Arambol

La Sambusa Latina was renting the top floor of the building. The owner lived in one of the lower floors while the remaining flats were rented out to other travelling musicians. Vani was telling me all this as we climbed the uneven stairs to the spacious landing on the top floor. It counted as an open balcony. Tiny fairy lights hung casually around it.

There was a tiny lock hanging on the door when we arrived. This meant both Tom and Seba were out. I was wondering what our next course of action would be, when Vani reached up and fished out the key from their 'hidden place', within the gaps of a hanging bamboo log. It was right in sight and all their friends knew where it was kept. I gaped at her. This was something I would never consider doing in India. But I had more surprises in store.

It was a two bedroom flat with a decent sized living room and a kitchen. Both the rooms had their own bathrooms. One of the bedrooms had a tiny balcony, and of course there was this lovely space in the landing outside when we walked in. The flat was sparsely furnished. The bedrooms just had a bed and no other furniture. The bathrooms didn't have any hooks, shelves or storage. There wasn't much cooking arrangements. The fridge was broken and there was no hot water. Ceiling fans worked overtime to cool down the flat, but it was pleasant to just sit out on the airy balcony. The living room was the most furnished in the flat, with a sofa, a table and a desk.

The living standard was very basic, but travelling musicians do not own much, neither do they stay in a place long enough to even try to make it comfortable. The landlord though was very strict. He restricted how much water was to be used through the day, means even every toilet flush was controlled. Unfortunately, he also restricted the hours they could practice their music. The building being located around dirt ground, the dust crept into everything, even after relentless sweeping through the day. The rent for the month amounted to twenty five thousand, which I found exorbitant. But it was a short term let too. The local economy was supported by these seasonal travellers to Arambol, but more about that on another post.

While such a basic setup is very normal in India, I remembered that Vani wasn't an Indian. She had spent all her life in places were basic accommodation comes with certain basic amenities and these were glaringly missing here. I was really amazed at her capability to cope with her new life. She wasn't on a vacation, when backpacking is for fun. This was a life she was going to live for the foreseeable future. She had been comfortable taking public transport, travelling on rickety buses and in the non-ac coaches of the long distance trains, something I would always reconsider doing. I was full of respect for her and in awe at her courage.

The travelling community is very strongly knit where everyone is always there for everyone. This also means that everyone follows a more or less open door policy and people walk in at odd hours. Definitely privacy isn't something you can have.

I was offered the living room to sleep in, with a spare mattress and a bed sheet which Vani bought from the fair in Panjim. I had my own sleeping bag liner to wrap up in and an inflated pillow. For a little privacy, the flimsy, plastic table was moved away from the wall and my mattress placed in between the wall and the table. It was close to living in a hostel, but with a lower level of privacy. Vani was apologetic and told me I could always move to more private and comfortable paid accommodation if I so wished. She also warned me that the main door is kept open overnight and I should just ignore anyone dropping in at random hours at night. People here didn't own much. Their most precious possession were their musical instruments and even these were left out mostly in the open, without the fear of being stolen. I dumped my backpack and its contents behind the sofa and I was set, to explore Arambol with La Sambusa Latina.

Panjim Old Quarters - A Photo Journal

Goa is synonymous with beaches and beach parties. Not many people venture into the towns and cities away from the seaside, but if they do, they will be rewarded by some fascinating sight,  bustling with culture and life.

I had spent a couple of days in Panjim while visiting Goa last February. It wasn't a long enough stay, but it was an invitation for me to visit again in future. Here are a few glimpses from the Old Quarter I had captured on my camera as I wandered through the neighbourhood.

Maruti temple

The Maruti temple was my first stop just because it was close to the guesthouse I was staying in. The overnight celebrations at the temple had kept me up all night, which made me even more aware of its proximity. I was visiting during the biggest festival of Lord Hanuman in the area. The festival draws devotees from far and out. To celebrate the festivities, the neighbourhood had dressed up in fairy lights and colourful paper flags. As with any festival in India, a fair had come up for the week, selling a variety of local merchandise and lip smacking food.

The temple is on the Altinho hill and can be accessed by a short flight of stairs.

Lord Hanuman's procession the evening before. I was out for food and was not carrying my camera to capture the moments. Hence a short clip on my mobile phone camera instead.

Near the Maruti temple is the Fontainhas of Phoenix springs (I did not see these, but heard about them later). The spring water from the rocks is collected in tanks for use by the general population. The old quarter derives its name from here.

Fontainhas 

Fontainhas is named as such due to its location beside the hill "with little springs". It was built in the late 18th century on reclaimed land, between the AltinhO hill and Ourem Creek, during the Portuguese occupation of Goa. The Creek still exists, but as a stream of black water with an ominous smell unfortunately.
Walking through the narrow winding lanes between colourful villas with their hanging balconies, sloping red roofs, beautiful porches, past the simple whitewashed facade of the Portuguese baroque style churches, one is easily transported back to the colonial era. It was very similar to how I felt walking through the streets of old Macau for the first time. While I was soaking in the colonial charm, the unfamiliar sound of a foreign language startled me. I looked around and realised they were no visitors, but just the locals passing by, chatting in Portuguese.

I am sure there would be many secrets hiding within this old neighbourhood, but for now, I could only appreciate its ambience during my very short stay. The only surprise I got to sample was the food at Viva Panjim, probably the most famous Goanese restaurant in Panjim. It is tucked away in a small by lane in the old quarters.

The Peacock steps
Beautiful artwork amidst the Latin Quarters of Panjim. Was lucky to find this on my very first day in Panjim. The next morning, a big dump of construction material had landed right in front of it.

Altinho hill, the picturesque hilltop locality of Goa. 

Once considered a posh residential area, it houses the Portuguese consulate, the High court, the radio station (which I couldn't find) and then up the Archbishop stairs which lead, obviously, to the Archbishop house. Surrounded by greenery, this is the highest point on the hill. The Archbishop house is now an administrative building and has a quaint chapel within which can be visited.

Walking back from Altinho hill, encountered this beautiful piece of street art

Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception Church

The pristine exteriors of Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception Church, Panjim was gleaming in the bright sun and had been beckoning me since I stepped into Altinho. It was time to visit this beautiful church.

What started as a chapel in 1541 is now an example of the Portuguese baroque style architecture, plain and simple in its design. Photography is not allowed inside, and as a first time experience, had to take off my shoes while entering a church. Different countries, different cultures, different rules.

The Old quarters at night

Finally, to end the day, here's some night photographs. I was with Vani who had arrived from Arambol in the afternoon and we had gone out for dinner.

Here's more about Vani - Arambol Diaries - Vani

We were pretty depressed after eating an overpriced, sub-par meal at the Ritz Classic and were trying to cheer ourselves up at the local fair. Vani bought a couple of dresses and I got a lovely peach coloured hand embroidered scarf. There was a fair amount of haggling involved.

On returning to the guesthouse, the owner laughed at us and said "No one goes for dinner to Ritz. It's only for lunch". Should have gone to Viva Panjim instead where I had a delicious meal the night before, while soaking in its beautiful ambience.

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