Palolem

Now this is where you want to be! The beach was quiet and peaceful and clean. The sand was white, the water was shallow, warm and had gentle waves that just folded over. The palm trees poked out above every roof. This beach was lined with little clusters of bungalows and open-air restaurants. While each restaurant had the same crazy menu of Indian, Mexican, Israeli, and Chinese food, they also had beach-facing chairs in the shade that caught the warm breeze. Not too shabby.

There was of course the hustle of bungalow selection. As our taxi turned into the road leading to Palolem a man on bike rode up next to us and handed us a business card for his bungalows. By the time the taxi stopped there was a swarm of touts trying to bring us to their bungalows.  We agreed to look at each person’s bungalows and then make a choice which worked surprisingly well.  In all, we viewed 8 different bungalows which allowed us to get a sense of what types of amenities you can get for $12 a night. We picked a bungalow that had a hammock out front and was set a little back from the beach in a quiet palm tree cove. Weirdly though they were BYOTP (and TP costs a whopping 12 cents a roll) and the owner tried to sell Noah drugs.  After the first night of mosquito attacks, we switched to a beach front bungalow with a thick mattress and a lovely mosquito net.

On the last day we finally hit our perfect stride. We woke up, went on a jog down the beach, stopped at a vendor for a samosa and chai snack, took showers, ate a potato bhaji breakfast, went for a dip before the sun got too intense, ate fish in a beach-facing restaurant, drank fresh squeezed lime juice in seltzer, read on our bungalow porch, went kayaking, strolled out to the far end for sunset, and then ate an Indian supper after the sun went down.

Anjuna

There are a lot of beaches in Goa, each with its own personality. Since we hadn’t really planned our trip, we went with the tried and true “do what everyone else is doing”. We didn’t add into the calculations that everyone else was 20 years old. This brought us to Anjuna beach, known for its rave scene. The beach was littered with beer bottles and was rocky and dirty.  It took us all of 12 hours to decide it was not where we wanted to be and then jumped in a taxi to head to the Southern beaches.

3AC

So the long distance trains come in a variety of classes. Apparently different lines operate a bit differently but on the train we were on there was 1AC, 2AC, 3AC, and 2^nd class. 1AC had just two berths in a private cabin with a door that locks. 2AC had four berths and curtains. 3AC had six births and was wide open. I didn’t venture into 2^nd class but the lack of the letters “AC” afterward makes me pretty sure it was a sweaty, smelly, hell hole.

Our first long train ride was in 3AC because that was the only ticket available. It was a Tourist Quota ticket so our area was filled with other foreigners, who happened to all be American. The awkward thing about 3AC is that it requires coordination with strangers. If everyone has their bed down, then everyone can lay down, but no one can sit up, eat, or really even turn over. So to sit up or eat, someone has to put their bed away and then share with whoever is below them. Awkwardly Noah and I were both on the top bunks so we couldn’t even see the people below us well.

There are traveling food vendors that run down the aisles advertising their wares. At some point I was desperate for a Samosa and went on a Samosa Stakeout. This was necessary because the Samosa man was like a jet. He got by so fast I could never flag him down. By the time I heard the word “Samosa” he was already two cars away. He also came at weird intervals. And being on the top bunk wasn’t an advantage. I eventually had to just lean my head off the bunk and stare at the corridor and wave down anyone who went by and then disappointingly dismiss the water guy, the dosa guy, the pakora guy, or the “weird vat of noodles” guy.

Commuter Friends

One thing that struck me about India was that in general, commuters were really helpful (this does not apply to anyone at the airport). Yes when it came to directions they were often wrong with the information they gave, but they were happy to give it. And importantly, people gave information for free. There wasn’t the constant “I’ll help you but then you need to pay me” attitude you find in some other countries. We even found some people being really concerned for us. On our stint in 2^nd class at rush hour a couple found a way to squeeze me through the crowd to a seat so I wouldn’t get trampled. At a station kiosk a man warned Noah to hide his metal water bottle because “the public will take it!” A man on the train warned me to put away my camera when we came to stops because someone could reach in the window and grab it and run off. Thanks commuter friends!

Tourist Quota Tickets

Some people plan their vacations far in advance and know where they’re going when. We aren’t those people. I like the idea of being flexible and sticking around a place we fancy and ditching a place that rubs us wrong. Only problem is there are 1.2 BILLION people in India and a lot of them like to ride trains. So it quickly became clear that booking a last minute long haul train ride wasn’t going to be easy.

Thankfully there are tourist quota tickets. At some point, someone must have figured out that it is bad for tourism if tourists can never get anywhere because all the trains are booked 90 days in advance by local people in the know. Enter Tourist Quota Tickets. It is unclear to me how many of these exist, for which trains, and which compartments. All I know is that if you want in a special tourist quota line and give a request for where you’d like to go, when, and by what class, a guy behind the counter can usually find you something that meets only the first criterion but is better than nothing. We were hoping for 1^st class tickets on Thursday to Goa. We got third class tickets to Goa on Friday. Close enough.

Horn Ok Please

On our first Tuk Tuk ride I kept seeing this phrase on the back of vehicles.

What does this mean? This is not English as I know it. Are they saying “Use your horn, okay? Please??” or “Stop honking your horn please, okay?” Why are cars instructing other cars on horn usage?

By the end of the trip we determined that this was a request to use your horn (which is weird for us living in a city where there are signs posted everyone with fines for using your horn). We observed that it was mostly slow moving vehicles, Tuk Tuks and trucks, that had this message and we hypothesized that it is a request to faster vehicles to give a little honk if they were going to try to pass them. This actually came in very useful when we were in those faster vehicles, recklessly passing the slower guys. So I’m totally okay with horns, please.

Masters of the Mumbai Commuter Trains

We had many run-ins with the Mumbai Commuter Trains to the point where we actually rode every line and passed almost all of the stops, mostly on purpose. By the end we were experts and had learned some really important lessons:

•   Do not get on a train until you have separately confirmed from three different people on the platform that the train is going where you want to go. Some people may lie to get rid of you, some may not know but venture a guess, some might be crazy; but if there are three people in agreement, you can feel pretty good about it.
•  If you ask the same station manager how to get to the same place twice, with a ten minute interval, he may tell you totally different things.
• Take a picture of the station map because if you don’t follow stop by stop you may never know when to get off. Station announcements are sporadic, at some stations you don’t stop long enough to be able to find a read a sign, and some signs are only in Hindi.
•  Neral and Narul are both stops and pronounced by silly Americans sound the same. Also, Narul is a really common stop everyone thinks you want to go to, Neral- not so much. The trick is saying “Neral” and pronouncing it like “neerle” with the accent on the first syllable and then saying “not Nerul” and pronouncing it “Neerooool” with the accent on the second syllable. Then you have to say “not on the way to CST, on the way to Karjat” and eventually you can get someone to understand where you are trying go. Whether they know how to get you there is another story. Spelling out the destination is useless.  It took us a full hour of scrambling at a station to learn this lesson. May it come in handy to someone, someday.
• If it is rush hour spend the extra dollar and get a 1^st class ticket. While the only structural difference is padding on the bench, the fact that you won’t get trampled to death is a pretty good benefit.

Beginners of the Mumbai Commuter Trains

Our first India adventure was getting from our hotel near the airport to Mumbai proper. The front desk insisted that Tuk Tuk* to Commuter Train was the way to go.  The Tuk Tuk part was easy- just get in the three wheeled vehicle and pray that a larger vehicle doesn’t crush it. The commuter train part was a little more difficult.

Before leaving the hotel I did my due diligence- I asked if it was easy to get tickets, if we got them in advance or on board, how frequently the trains ran, if we should get 1^st or 2^nd class tickets, and where the platform was. To the last question, the guy responded “Platform 689”. Didn’t strike me as weird at the time.

We successfully got tickets, then it was just a matter of finding our train. Here’s what we were up against:

So having the info in English is only helpful if the categories are also in English. Which of those numbers was the track?

Once we figured out it was platform 6, we encountered the next problem—where is platform 6?

Now the way we found platform 6 involved lots of aimless wandering and asking people who lead us in many different directions, but the answer is that platform 6 is under construction and you can’t access it unless you walk a quarter mile down the tracks to the point where it starts. I’m not sure how long it’s been under construction but clearly long enough that they don’t bother to list it on the signs.

So it turns out (I realized hours later) that when the guy said “Platform 689” what he meant was “Platform 6, which is hidden and unlabeled but you can find it by going to platforms 8 or 9”.

*yes, they called them Tuk Tuk's even though that's the Thai word for them meaning "cheap cheap". Apparently this isn't an India-wide thing bc my friend who frequents Delhi thought it was hilarious.

International Dialing Dilemma

One problem I had contacting the hotel that was supposed to pick me up was the same problem I have everywhere—the international dialing dilemma. Everyone gives you phone numbers with the country code which is super annoying if you think you are trying to make a local call to that number.  Basically anytime you see a number that starts with + it means that you can never figure out how to call it locally. Some country codes are two digits, some are three. For some to dial locally you have to add a zero, for others you have to subtract the first digit. You can try every permutation (as I did) but really showing someone else the number and having them dial it is your only shot. And then they inevitably look at you like you’re stupid.

The Meet Up

So as mentioned, Noah and I took different flights.  Mine arrived at 2am, his at 6am. Not ideal. 

My biggest fear was that we were not going to be able to find each other- someone’s flight would get canceled, one of us would have to make a last minute hotel switch. Yikes!

We decided to meet at a hotel and chose one based on (price obvi) its proximity and free airport pick up (which were really the only things it had going for it) but the latter of the two didn’t work so well.

When we booked the hotel, we received a confirmation email with instructions for the airport pick up. They were quite explicit—do not go home with anyone who says they’re from the hotel if they don’t have your name written down, they will take you to another hotel and get a commission; if you arrive and can’t find the hotel pick-up guy, call this number but don’t let anyone else dial it because they will call someone else and pretend that our hotel is closed and take you to another hotel and get a commission. It went on…

I got off the plane, exhausted, cleared customs without incident, and then walked through this weird long hallway where one side is entirely floor to ceiling windows with lots of eager families awaiting their loved ones with their noses squished up against the glass. I felt like I was a fish in an aquarium. I successfully found the ATM and headed out to the mass of people holding up signs with people’s names on them. Alas, none of them was mine.

So I was ready for some trickery and of course, the guy wasn’t there to pick me up. Now locating a phone was quite a process but eventually I came across this:

Ah the payphone.

I know it sucks to compare countries but I’m going to. In Mali, getting off the airplane at 3am is also a trial (though I now never expect the airport pick up to come through) but mostly because everyone is busy trying to be so helpful. People want to help you buy a local SIM card, offer you their services as a guide, help you find a taxi, or just ask you about what life in your country is like.  Helpful is not how I would describe the folks hanging out outside the airport in Mumbai.  Especially not my friend running the phone booth. Getting him to pull off his earphones to listen to my question was a hassle—each of the three times it happened.  He was pretty uninterested in if I ever successfully made my phone call and paid him. It was a solid ten minutes of trying before he decided to get involved.

Pick-up dude showed up an hour late, but without a car. So he just kept me company for another half hour until the car came as well.  Not a great start.

I was a little concerned that the same scene was going to play out for Noah so I told the hotel that I’d accompany the guy to pick him up (after all, I know what he looks like so that should speed things along, also I could be sure that we went on time and to the right terminal).  So I took a power nap on the less then clean bed (see allersac) and the front desk called me at 5:30 to go pick him up. They handed me a smashed cell phone with two phone numbers programmed in- the driver and the front desk- and sent me on my way with a driver who spoke no English but thankfully (and randomly) spoke some Arabic so we got by.

 I found Noah no problem. First mission accomplished.

The world wanted us to go on vacation

The lead up wasn’t great- I got the flu a few days before we were going to leave, then Hurricane Sandy swung through and did her thing (which included flooding airports). I obsessively checked my flights status but miraculously it kept saying “on time”. The same was true for Noah. Convincing a car service to drive me to the airport was the next challenge. I couldn’t even get through to a dispatcher on first and second choice car services. I had to scrape the bottom of the barrel to find one and the first car they sent refused to take me to Newark bc he thought I was going to JFK. Of course I left millions of hours early anticipating all manner of disaster but when a car willing to drive me actually showed up, we made record time to Newark.  Then the line at check in and security was shorter than I’ve ever seen it in my life. I got to my gate with 5 HOURS to spare.

Here’s why:

Yup- my flight was basically the only one leaving the airport. What’s better, Noah was leaving on a different airline from a different airport. JFK cancelled all its flights on Tuesday but Noah’s flight left at 12:15 on Wednesday- he made the cut off by 15 minutes and his flight took off too.

The world wanted us to go on vacation.

Vacay!

India is one of the major places I want to visit in my lifetime so I bought the giant Lonely Planet, read it cover-to-cover, and then realized I needed to be there for 6 months to do the place any justice. I only had two weeks so instead of “doing India” I just did Mumbai and its environs. Sorry Delhi, Rajastan, Darjeeling, Chennai, Kolkota—I’ll come back for you someday.

So why Mumbai?  Well for starters the tickets were really cheap via frequent flyer miles (even if Noah and I had to take different flights and meet upon arrival). Also, given the time of year, the South of India seemed like a good bet weather-wise. And yes it’s sort of a cop out to go to a culturally rich place and then bum around on the beach but whatever—I wanted to hang out in Goa.

Now the planning of this trip suffered severely by the fact that I had to go to Uganda and Myanmar twice in the months before, and then had a month of weird little business trips that took me to Liverpool, Ann Arbor, Atlanta, DC and St. Paul.  It didn’t leave a lot of time for doing things like “making hotel and train reservations”.  So flying by the seat of our pants was our strategy.  The idea was vaguely “land in Mumbai, go South”.  I had dreams of making it as far as Kerala, but those were abandoned pretty quickly when I remembered how exhausting travel days are and didn’t want to spend 40 hours on a train both ways.

For future India travelers, if you want to go to specific places on a specific schedule, it behooves you to buy your tickets in advance. We did a version of travel called “we’ll go wherever there are available tickets”. It worked out pretty well for us and forced us to explore parts of the country we hadn’t considered, itinerary-by-chance ended up being a decent strategy.

Playlist of my life

The Bossanova version of the playlist of my life is playing in this coffee shop. Lady Gaga "Bad Romance" and "Poker Face", Madonna "Like a Virgin" and "Like a Prayer", Michael Jackson’s "Beat It", and then whoever sings “I wanna be a millionaire” “nothing on you” “suicidal” and “shorty got it burning on the dance floor”. Remember, bossa nova versions here- so soothing and soft.

I asked the waitress if it was the radio or a CD and she said the radio which meant she didn’t know what I was asking. Then I asked a waiter and told him I liked the music so he pulled out the CD and wrote down the name for me : Dance Bossa Chill. Unfortunately it does not seem to exist on the world wide web. I looked immediately.

The best part of this is that I went to this coffee shop every day of my trip and each time they put in this CD shortly after I walked in.  Sweet.

Power Struggle

I am in a literal power struggle with my hotel. Every time I leave the room I turn off the AC and turn off the lights. Every time I return, all the lights are on and the AC is set at 15 degrees. When I first checked in, the tv was on (as if to prove to me it works). This cannot be good for their profits. It does not make me like them more. I don’t feel more at home (at home I ration AC and only use lights in the room I’m in). What is going on here!

I'm disorganized

time to dump the file called "post to blog" that I have had sitting on my desktop for the last two trips...
sorry for the random out-of-orderness and time delay.