On the hippy trail

Looking under the surface in Goa for Time Out

Think of Goa, think of palm fronds, tie dye and a distinctly unwestern pace of life. But be warned, the former alternative-lifestyle havens Baga and Calangute might not quite match your expectations. Once the province of the patchouli-doused teenagers of the ‘60’s, these towns are now bustling resorts and see a constant influx of sun-seeking tourists lured to the east by the promise of exoticism and cheap package deals. Take a stroll along the beach of any town south of Vagator and, try as you might, you cannot deny that the sweaty, pullulating vibe is more Costa del Sol than karmically sound. But travel to Goa’s northernmost tip, up to the villages which line the route to the border with Maharashtra and you’ll find pockets of a wholesome paradise which have not yet been lost.

To get to India’s smallest state, you can take the easy option and fly directly to the small airport in Vasco De Gama, hop into a taxi and drive straight to the tourist packed beaches of Calangute, or take the budget backpacker option, hit the rails and take the overnight train to Goa from the North. Arriving in Thimvim, Mapusa’s tiny outpost station which is little more than a scruffy-looking waiting room and a couple of sullen guards, is something of a refreshing experience after the relentless pounding of human traffic of Mumbai. After 13 hours on a sweaty, two-foot bunk the idea of further travel is unappealing, but Anjuna, the first of the more undeveloped beach towns after the heaving southern resorts, despite being a mere 12 kilometers distant takes a further 45 minutes in a sweltering taxi.

Anjuna was to the late ’90’s rave generation what Carnaby Street was to swinging London. The scene has significantly quietened since residents’ complaints put an end to the all night trance-fuelled revels which used to be held regularly on the beach. Nonetheless, Anjuna still has something of the party vibe about it. As you approach the cliffside walk which leads you down past a hotchpotch gaggle of stalls, bars and meditation centres, the distinctive sound of Goan trance fills the air. Day or night, hybridized thumping rhythms can be heard across the town, and if you visit the Wednesday flea market your ears will be ringing with the squelchy organic beats for days to come. Trance is not the only reason to hit Anjuna on a Wednesday. The flea market has been a meeting-point and trading spot for travellers, expats and canny locals since the late ’60s, when resident hippies set the market up to trade second hand goods with passing travellers. Since then it’s grown to encompass a much larger variety of trades, with multitudes of stalls selling tie-dyed cotton shirts, fisherman’s trousers and other items of trustafarian garb which are eagerly bought up in bulk by gap-year students. Despite the tat, it’s still retains much of its original flea market character and if you wander deep into the sun-baked maze you’ll be able find anything from a second-hand scooter to a haircut for no more than a handful of rupees. The atmosphere elevates Anjuna from a slightly seedy, somewhat forgotten backwater with a decent beach and a few bars, to a vibrant, colourful and electric hub. Once the stallholders have packed up, Anjuna quietens down again, although if you are looking for a party, head to Paradisos at the town-end of the beach strip where the market vibe continues late into the night.

Anjuna has a number of slightly shabby guesthouses, both along the shoreline and, for those who prefer to be closer to civilization, along the main drag of the roads leading towards Mapusa. We stayed at the basic but clean Poonam Guesthouse which is one of the closest spots to the beach and has rooms for 900 rupees, looking out onto a rambling garden and courtyard. There are a number of yoga retreats and basic guesthouses on the backstreets off the road to Vagator, but your best bet if you are after aesthetic and creature comforts is the beautiful Hotel Bougainvilla which combines the principles of a new-age resort with the rambling architecture of the region. Next door the Purple Emerald Yoga Centre offers courses for the actively inclined. Eating in Anjuna is a little limited, with many of the beachside restaurants offering curries and snacks of dubious quality. Oasis, on the Vagator road, has a very decent German bakery and offers a tranquil spot to start the day. Across the road there are a couple of friendly, family run curry houses which offer the ubiquitous Goan prawn curry as well as less piquant dishes for a handful of rupees.

Heading north through Mapusa, Goa’s sprawling commercial hub and an hour on one of the region’s colourful clapped-out buses takes you over a wide creek to the Morjim-Arambol strip. Access to these relatively remote villages has increased significantly since the opening of a bridge across the creek (previously you had to take a ferry) and tourism is gradually making its mark on this previously untouched corner of India.

Mandrem, a collection of huts and yoga centres which spread lackadaisically from a freshwater creek to the lapping shores of the sea, is a sleepy sort of place where tourism has yet to leave a dirty mark. Rising in an imposingly colonial fashion from the verdant shores of the river is the decidedly idyllic Villa Rivercat. This majestic edifice is the dream child of Rinoo Seghal who has invited like-minded guests into his home for the past 17 years. With a delicious garden which looks like a cross between a raver’s chill out zone and a haberdasher’s multicoloured fantasy, Rivercat is very much a place to rest, reflect and recuperate. Airy, comfortable rooms and a chilled out, sleepy air characterise the villa, which, fittingly is decorated with an eclectic range of cat paraphernalia as well as being home to several stray felines and much loved family dogs which have run of the house. A rapid clamber over a dune and you are on the wide shores of the Arabian Sea; no clamouring package tourists from the shires here, Mandrem’s lack of facilities and relative remoteness precludes holiday-makers looking for bright lights and a pumping club-scene. Most of the village’s guesthouses are tucked away beyond the dunes and aside from a few rickety bamboo huts perched picturesquely alongside a wooden bridge belonging to Merrylands, the beach is an untainted stretch of virgin sand home only to crabs and the odd beachcomber. If you are very lucky or time your trip carefully, you can even head out to the beach under the full moon to watch turtles hatch their young.

Even the most ardent peace seeker may wish for a little more action than Mandrem can offer, and for a mere 150 rupees you can hire a scooter for the day and head north to Arambol, the determinedly more lively enclave on the northernmost tip of Goa. Perched on a hill and surrounded by forest, Arambol is still home to a number of fishermen who reap the fruits of the sea whilst tapping the tourist dollar which bolsters the small town’s economy. Arambol’s a friendly sort of place and, if you stay for more than a couple of days, stallholders and restaurateurs smile and greet you as you pass by on your way to the beach to catch some rays, read a book or simply lie back and watch the gentle traffic of dread-locked Europeans meander along the sands.

The roadside market here, if smaller than the weekly market in Anjuna, is much less frenetic and you are free to browse hemp jumpers and flowery skirts at your leisure without too much attention from aggressive hawkers. Arambol is credited by many a well-wandered traveller as being home to some of the best budget food in Goa. If you’re hungry, head down to the beach for excellent Italian on the sand at Relax Inn, eye-wateringly hot spicy seafood at Blue Pearl or possibly the best nan and massala we’ve ever tasted at Om Shankar’s Beer Bar and Restaurant. Alternatively head back up the hill to Pane e Pomodoro, a Ligurian restaurant run by the charming and pally Franceso and Federica. But even Arambol, as basic as it is, feels at times as if it wears its hippy hangout status with a certain weariness, as if there hangs in the air the faintly perceptible ghost of a thousand parties, filling the casual passer-by with a certain nostalgia and longing for somewhere which is not, and has never been, part of a scene.

To really escape you need to forgo the beats, the parties, the beachside restaurants and the broadband and travel even further north, beyond Tiracol with its Portuguese fort cum heritage hotel and marvellous, tantilisingly fresh food, on to Shiroda and Vengurla where the pearly white sands and the clear blue skies are vast, uninterrupted expanses which lie, as yet, untouched.

State of mind
Venture away from the leafy mangroves and deserted beaches of the northernmost tip of Goa, and you ears will be assailed with the unmistakable thump of Goa trance. This organic, squelchy sounding music emerged in the late ’90’s and is closely related to psychedelic trance, its more metallic sounding cousin. With its roots in the early hippy history of Goa, there’s a slightly more spiritual element behind those heavy heady beats which boom from the terraces of every restaurant, hotel and bar in Anjuna. Regrettably for some, the parties which spawned the music have largely stopped due to more stringent laws being enforced in the area with regards to late night noise and drugs. Faster than mainstream trance, the beats you’ll hear pounding through the Goan night are designed to enhance an already enhanced frame of mind, making them somewhat unpalatable to those in an unaltered state of being. Goan trance has not lost any of its popularity, although strangely enough, the pseudonymous state is no longer the greatest exponent of the sound; Israel now takes that title, soldiers visiting Goa having taken the sound to their hearts and the rich organic sounds of west-Indian trance beats out the rhythm of many a rave in Tel Aviv.

By Michelle Madsen, July 2006