Do Not Pass Goa, Do Not Collect Good Times

Me:               So what should I do in Anjuna [the part of Goa where I am staying]

Cab driver:     Do you do drugs?

Me:               No.

Cab driver:     People go to Anjuna to do drugs.

Me:               ...Oh.

I'm definitely sick. Again. I'm just glad I'm in Goa because if you're going to be sick, it might as well be in a beach resort place, right?

I had to take a selfie because there was NO ONE ELSE HERE

Turns out, Goa isn't all it's cracked up to be. That little intro vignette on this post was a word-for-word conversation I had with my cab driver. I chose Anjuna after some minimal googling and by looking to see where there was the greatest density of hostels, which is generally a good sign of where there will be activity. Guess I didn't read thoroughly enough about what goes on in Anjuna. I certainly had some role to play in all of this by choosing to come here during monsoon season. Apparently, this is the place where people have crazy parties, except for right now when the place is totally dead.

I arrived at my hostel, which is down kind of a sketchy dirt road. Which is fine, it was daylight out. The proprietor of said hostel was a woman with a Christian name. She's the first Christian I've met in India, but it turns out there's a sizable Christian population in the south of India. She's been running this place for many, many years. She started out just renting out a room on a one-off basis just because she could, and from there it grew into her owning a full-fledged hostel. Entrepreneurship at it's finest.

Ok, ok, it's photogenic, but don't let it fool you

I checked into my room. There is, of course, construction going on right outside of my door, but at least I had my own room. It's not nice, but it's my own space. I decided to walk down to the beach and check out the scene. One of the reasons I picked this place is because it was only a 10-minute walk to the beach.

I've heard a lot about Goa from Indians all over India talking about how awesome Goa is. Oddly enough, I had heard the same thing from Bangladeshis about Cox's Bazar in Bangladesh. As it turns out, much like how the best beach in Bangladesh is still... in Bangladesh, the best beach in India is still... in India. I got down to the beach and it was basically empty. It turns out Anjuna beach isn't a sandy beach, it's a rocky one. Not what I had in mind. Against my better judgement, I climbed up a big, slippery rock, but it turned out fine. Then I walked around for a bit, bought myself some ice cream (obviously), and headed back to my hostel for a nap.

You're looking at the big rock I climbed.
"Big" being a relative term.

I was having flashbacks to the miserableness of Calcutta. I really didn't feel well but as my wise friend and former colleague KW once told me, "you have to feed your army" or you won't get better, so I decided to go in search of food. I left the hostel a little before sunset, headed toward the Dominos Pizza I saw on the way here. I couldn't remember exactly how far it was, but it was packed with foreigners when I passed it earlier, so I figured that would be a good place to meet some people. You can ALWAYS count of foreigners to gravitate back to the comforts of the western world.

It turns out, Dominos was farther than I thought and it took me about 30 minutes to get there. As I was walking, I realized I was going down a skinny, dirt road and the sun was quickly setting. Which meant that on the way back, I was probably going to get hit by some sort of speeding vehicle and/or animal. I was going to die... for some Dominos Pizza. Worth it? At this point, I clearly wasn't thinking straight anymore.

I got to Dominos and it was completely devoid of any other patrons. Of course. I refused to travel all the way to India and eat a meal alone at a Dominos Pizza, so I told myself I was just going to get a snack and find real food later. I ordered some cheesy breadsticks and 15 minutes later I was out the door.

It was basically pitch black on my way back. I ran into a white dude and said hi, and he said hi back in an American accent. What? So I asked him if he was, by chance, American, and he said yes! The very first American I've met on my entire trip! We chatted for a bit, he was coming back from being in the Peace Corps for a couple years in Africa and now was just taking some time to travel. He had met some rando the night before who invited him out for some authentic Goan food, so he invited me to tag along, which obviously I did.

A few minutes later, this dude, KR, shows up on his motorcycle and takes us both to this restaurant about a five-minute drive away. This guy was a character: he's done a lot of traveling in his life and visits Goa pretty often. I'm pretty sure he's some sort of Indian, but hard to say.

We get to the restaurant and there's a menagerie of stray animals, including but not limited to a pack of dogs, several cats, and a pair of ducks. DUCKS.

Goan food is pretty solid if you're into fish. We had a great meal, some great conversation, and KR even picked up the tab for us two strangers. What a nice guy! Afterward he dropped us off and I headed back to the hostel, glad that I hadn't just spent the entire day alone in my room.

Go on to Goa Part 3: Calangute Beach and Yes, It's Still Fully Clothed

27 on the 27th and I've Reached a New Low Point In Life

So there I was, squatting over a hole in the ground, my stomach killing me, sweat pouring down my face (and every other part of my body), my backpack perched precariously on the one makeshift hook I could find in the bathroom stall (because there was absolutely no way I was going to set my bag down on THIS floor), watching the line of ants crawling on the wall inches from my face, trying desperately not to touch anything (made all the more difficult by the wet, slippery, uneven, unfinished floor) when I realized "I've reached a new low point in life."

Howra Train Station, Kolkata

I'm sick. It's cripplingly hot and humid. My body is aching from carrying a bag that's definitely too heavy. No one can understand me either because they don't speak English at all or because my American accent makes no sense to them. To the numerous people who told me that everyone would speak English here, you are either dirty liars or you've never been to Kolkata. The looks of confusion and disbelief when I tell people I don't speak Hindi have become commonplace. The universal head nod greeting apparently isn't so universal after all because any time I try to say hi to someone by smiling and nodding my head, I'm greeted with looks of suspicion and contempt. All but one cab driver has tried to cheat me. And I'm completely alone halfway across the world from home.

Did I mentioned today is my 27th birthday? Happy birthday to me.

This smile is fake

Leaving On a Slow Train

Howrah Bridge

I'm getting out of Kolkata. I've had more than enough of this city so I'm taking a 22-hour train to New Delhi. My dad suggested taking the train rather than flying so that I could see more of India. I treated myself to Arsalan again today; I had to go back because apparently they have the best biriana in Kolkata and I didn't get it last time. It was definitely really good.

I arrived at the train station 2.5 hours early because I couldn't wait to leave. After I got to the station, I went back outside and walked across Howrah Bridge, which has been recommended to me by my friend JM. I was wondering why she sent me to a bridge because it looked cool but not really tourist-worthy, but I realized she was actually sending me there to see the view FROM the bridge, not OF the bridge. There's my Golden Gate Bridge bias in action.

View from Howrah Bridge

The train station feels like a dirtier version of Grand Central Station in Manhattan. It's huge. There are way too many people. Everything is incredibly confusing. And it's hot. Really, really hot.

We Opposed Outsourcing of Jobs

I switched hotels today so that I could be in a more touristy area. My new hotel is overpriced and disgusting. They sent five different people to come look at my tv because it was broken. They finally moved me to a new room at 11pm. With ants. And a torn up carpet. At least the TV worked. Well, for some of the night.

I spent most of the day in my room because I'm not feeling well. I did go out to eat at a place called Arsalan and had some really good lamb korma. Korma is my favorite style of curry; it's really creamy, flavorful, and not spicy at all. I also discovered the Cheese Naan, which is everything it promises to be and it's life changing.

I forced myself to go out tonight because the thought of spending the entire day inside was more painful than actually going out while sick. This is definitely a touristy area. I only planned to go our for a few minutes but I ventured out longer than I originally anticipated. There were tons of street vendors selling all sorts of knockoff goods, but the most interesting thing I saw was this billboard:

If only they knew how ironic this is

I was making a zig-zag pattern through the streets away from the hotel and in my delirious state I thought ot myself "this is fine, when I'm ready to go back, I'll just turn around and keep turning right until I get back to the hotel." Which is definitely not how the world works because four rights later, I was back at the exact same spot where I started and not one step closer to home. I eventually found another hostel where the security guard put a man on the phone who spoke English and directed me back to my hotel.

I Drank The Water... Whoops!

Outside of Kaligad Temple

What. A. Day. First off, Kalighat, a Hindu temple that I'm pretty sure is a big deal in the Hindu religion. I say this because it's in all the guidebooks and was recommended to me by several people. Having done very minimal research and not having someone to show me the ropes, the significance of my experience was definitely lost on me. Shoes aren't allowed inside and I was warned that if I left my footwear out it would get stolen, so I tucked my flip flops under my shirt. Smooth move.

Mother Teresa's home

I saw a line of people waiting for something, wasn't sure what, but I figured hey, I'm here, I'll wait in line for that thing too. Eventually I made my way inside of a temple where there was some form of Hindu ceremony taking place. I'm sure my Hindu friends are cringing at my ignorance right now. I made my way to the front of the line and a saw people in front of me with money so I got out a Rs. 10 bill and handed it to the man standing in front of a huge statue of the goddess Kali. He started speaking to me in Hindi, like most people here have. When he found out I only speak English and that I had no idea what I was doing, he explained to me that this is the goddess Kali. Then he rubbed an orange paste on my forehead and strung a string of red flowers on my shoulder. He then put some red flower petals in my hand and poured some water into my hands and told me to drink. In the moment, I probably would have stood on my head and quacked like a duck if he told me to, so I drank the water and immediately regretted it. I just drank the water! Everyone, EVERYONE told me not to drink the water and here I was drinking the water. Oh well. He instructed me to give a dude standing next to him Rs. 100 (who was I to argue at this point so I did). I was then directed to donate even more money in a donation box on my way out. I had to force my way through a crowd of people to get out of the temple. Here I was, walking around barefoot inside of a Hindu temple with an orange paste on my forehead, a string of flowers on my shoulder, and flip flops not-so-subtly hidden under my shirt. Welcome to India.

I got yelled at for trying to take a picture inside the temple, which apparently is a no-no I didn't understand until a woman started screaming at me. Outside of the temple no one was willing to take my photo, not because it's taboo, they just didn't want to help a brotha out. So I did was any self-respecting teenage girl would do and got my selfie on.

Victoria Memorial

After Kaligad, I walked around the shops and stumbled upon Mother Teresa's home where she did her work for the poor. Then I took a cab to Victoria Memorial, a huge building that kind of looks like the Capitol in D.C. and has a huge outdoor garden. No one warned me about this, but this is apparently where you go when you want to canoodle with your sweetie in a public-but-let's-pretend-it's-private place. Couples everywhere. So much canoodling. The inside of the building is a huge museum dedicated to Indian history. Did you know that... turns out I remember absolutely zero facts I may have learned inside of the museum. It was hot and I had to pee the whole time.  I finally found a bathroom outside. This was my first experience paying to use a toilet in India. Rs. 2 (or roughly $0.03).

As I left Victoria Memorial, it started pouring rain. Not your pansy San Francisco "fog so thick it feels like rain" rain but "yea, you'll FEEL this rain" rain. I was woefully unprepared, no umbrella, no jacket, and I loved it. I love walking in the rain. It's one of my favorite activities. Freshman year in college I went for a really long walk in the rain with my friend KJ and it's one of the most memorable experiences I have from Stanford.

I walked for a really long time while it was pouring, at least a few miles. I eventually happened upon this village. Or slum? It's really hard for me to tell. But I felt like I was finally for the first time seeing real poverty up close. I had spent all of Bangladesh inside of a car, or a hotel, or a destination, but never got to walk anywhere (don't get me wring, BD was great, but I missed out on that side of BD). This was my first time really being among the people.

Random village

This was definitely one of the most unique experiences of my trip so far. There were cows and other livestock just walking around the streets. Men were bathing in communal public showers. There were a ton of street vendors. Lots of people. Lots. It was really dirty. There was trash everywhere. There didn't seem to be a lot of planning when these streets were built.

I also finally figured out my shaving problem: Instead of doing it myself I went to a barbershop and had my first shave. Side note: It's interesting to me that it's totally okay to allow a complete stranger to rub a sharp blade across your throat all in the name of transforming your look into something society has deemed acceptable. Total cost: $0.50.

It was getting dark so I figured I should head back to my hotel. The problem was no cab driver knew where my hotel was or spoke English for that matter. I finally found a cab driver who would take me and he actually took me to the wrong place at first because he misunderstood me. He then demanded even more money from me on top of what he was already overcharging.

Welcome to India, Chump!

After one of the worst travel experiences I've had in a while, I have arrived at my hotel in Kolkata (aka Calcutta). The airport in Bangladesh was a nightmare. So many people, none of whom know what's going on. I waited in the wrong line twice before getting to the right place. My bag was thoroughly searched at least three times. And yet, no one at any point felt the need to confirm that the name on my passport matched the name on my ticket.

It's a roughly one-hour flight to Kolkata. My first order of business was to get money. The ATM I went to was out of cash, I couldn't find the second ATM the moneychanger guy sent me to (a 5 minute walk away) so I came back to him to change money. I was goaded into changing money with a street guy instead, with the promise of a better rate. I was so flustered and overwhelmed at this point that I just took what he gave me without counting. He definitely cheated me, though I still got a better rate than I would have from the airport.

The cab situation at the airport is also confusing and a total mess. Again, flustered and overwhelmed, against my better judgement I got into a gypsy cab instead of a real cab. Luckily I didn't get kidnapped, but he definitely cheated me to a degree anyone else has yet to be so bold as to attempt. I think I paid somewhere between 3-6x what I should have paid for the ride to my hotel, but at this point I just wanted to be done with the trip. I was tired and sweaty and carrying this super heavy backpack and just wanted to sleep. Also, even with him overcharging, in the grand scheme of things, it's a matter of a few dollars.

I'm staying at the hotel Trimoorti. I found it on TripAdvisor. Seems nice, if not a little more expensive than what I should be paying for a hotel in India. I at least feel relatively safe leaving my stuff in my room. I'm going to lock it up anyway.