Sunday, February 10, 2013
Sunday, February 10, 2013
The difference in culture is immediately apparent when we cross from Karnataka into Goa. This Portuguese occupied this rich region from 1510 until 1961 when it joined the republic of India and it still reflects its colonial roots. I had imagined mostly beautiful beaches and coast but Goa also encompasses considerable forest land on the edge of the Western Ghats, which we crossed over by car for the third time this trip. Each time has been a different experience with different cultures and people.
The architecture in Goa is distinctive: two tiered sloped tile roofs with lattice balcony on the bottom floor of one story homes and also along the verandah of the second floor of larger houses as well. French shuttered doors and curved top windows and doorways along with some stained glass appear as well. The houses are much larger than in other parts of India, with more land around them, but almost all are in a state of great disrepair if not disintegrating and barely habitable. Although many places in India have small poor huts this is very different: these are large once elegant homes now falling apart.
We drive from the very South of Goa north to the central capital town of Panjim. It is carnival time -- this very day. And the traffic and crowds are tremendous as we hit the city where the main parade is going on. Masks and wigs are everywhere and we are glad to finally wend out way to our absolutely lovely hotel room at the old Panjim Inn. An old home now converted to a hotel, there is a guest lobby filled with antiques and our room, secured by a very old bolt and heavy keyed padlock as found throughout India, enters through a parlor room with an extra bed and then into our very heritage bedroom with carved beds with mosquito net valances, elegant heavy wood furniture and an outside porch. A perfect ending place for our journey.
We take an evening walk to a local temple to see the nighttime aarti fire ceremony. This Hindu temple reflects the great difference in Goan culture. It could be in Fremont, California, as well as in Panjim, Goa. It is new, clean, large, with a good amplification system, marble floors and a bright orange and white ceiling. The many local people who come to pray look as if they could be working in Silicon Valley. All the younger women and girls wear tight jeans and stylish tops, the older women wear the longer selver kameez with a scarf and no saris are in sight, and the men look very prosperous and up to date in trendy tshirts and shirts. As for the ceremony, Beth remarks that it could be any Church in the United States as well. The attendees look like they are going through their set routines, without much religious conviction, talking with each other as they circumambulate the main shrine, and there are of course both young men and women on their cell phones texting their friends or stepping outside to answer their calls. It as if we have moved through this journey from an ancient place through time to end in our modern day, an interesting progression in a culture that moves both at a snails pace and at the speed of DSL.
We can now see the reason why foreign visitors, including the flood of hippies in the late 1960’s and 1970’s, chose Goa as a destination: in addition to the beautiful beaches and cheap drugs, the streets are the cleanest I have seen in India and the residents seem more open to change. Beth and I take a long walk around Panajim in the morning, studying the renovated Portuguese houses (Casa this and Casa that), with streets named in Portugeuse like Rua de Ourem and Gomez Pereira Road. Our walk takes us past some active cathedrals and some old closed chapels and then to the site commemorating where many died at the hands of the Inquisition which, unbelievably, continued here until 1812. This place does not have a happy history for the Hindus who refused to convert. But many here do still follow their Roman Catholic traditions. It is Sunday, the cathedral is filled to overflowing and the stores are all closed.
Panajim is along a river, inland from the beaches and we head a little further from the coast to visit the sites of Old Goa, which are found in a cluster of large, very impressive churches and cathedrals, including the Basilica de Bom Jesus which holds the remains of St. Francis Xavier whose body was returned here from the China coast in the late 1500’s. And the remains of a once thriving St. Augustin community which was abandoned by force under pressure from the Portuguese rulers. The churches are modeled after those of Europe but with local building materials so there are ornate carved pulpits and alter pieces but the ceilings are stuccoed gothic arches.
Our stop at the Museum of Christian Art showed us the transformation of European images into holy relics with an India aesthetic about them. There was a baby Jesus in a silver cradle with silver anklet bracelets and another image where a carved baby Jesus is dressed in draped cloth and jewels similar to those of Krishna.
For our last afternoon, we head to one of Goa’s famous beaches. The first one is so crowded and chaotic, like a cross between Coney Island and a circus, that we leave after walking quite a while trying to locate a specific restaurant. We never did find it but what we did find were hoards of Russians coming to Goa for a cheap respite from the frigid cold of . . Moscow, St. Peterberg, Siberia. Many advertising signs on shops and restaurants are now written in Russian. The beach is filled with rented beach lounges and umbrellas under which lie pale white Russians roasting in the sun.
We head to a quieter beach and dip in the Arabian sea. We are the only two women on the crowded shore with bathing suits on. The Indian women bathe in their clothes or at least long blouses and pants. This could be dangerous as it is apparent many of them do not know how to swim and the current is somewhat strong. The lifeguard patrols the outer border of the safe swim area in a jetski -- so there is the smell of gasoline which is also undoubtedly in the water. While we lounge on our chairs, we are constantly interrupted by peddlers asking if we want a manicure, pedicure, foot massage, some jewelry or some pineapple. We take nothing, head back a little sandy and are now ready to head out for our last meal together.
Tomorrow we are visiting some old Portugeuse homes so I might write an epiloque to this story, but for now, I send you all my best from this place of great contrasts and beauty.