Balls Deep…

It’s Saturday night at Palolem Beach. If you define paradise as beautiful, long sandy beaches, 50 meters to bath-warm water with frequent tumbling waves, a plethora of restaurants at which to eat succulent fish, beach huts with beds and a shanti shanti attitude with few tourists as the season is about to close, perfect sun and a ridiculously fantastic adventure novel to read, then yes, this is absolute paradise. There’s a band playing on the stage of downtown area, we’ll see how long the party lasts. I’ve heard they have a special 24 hour permit. Or else, like every other night, the music will be cut at 11pm. All thanks to a crazy British lady potentially with a drug problem and a young 14 year old who hadn’t cultivated her street sense.

The tragic events that changed the social cycle of Goa happened early this year. Without going into too much detail, a British woman took her 14 year old daughter out of school to tour India. They settled in Goa, fun town, land of beautiful beaches, 24 hour parties, drugs, alcohol and plenty of other ways to get into trouble. For some reason, and again I don’t really know all the details, the mom left her daughter with some sketchy dudes in Goa while she went off to tour the rest of India and the girl ended up quite violated and dead. Because of this story and a few less horrific others, rules have descended on this part of town. Rules tend to have an adverse effect in areas known for extravagant amounts of fun. So now there’s a sound law and a quiet time and I haven’t been solicited even once. I even did a tour through the town on my own just to see who might approach. It didn’t happen.

But tonight, old Goa is showing off. The end of the season, the monsoons are coming, perhaps there is a bash or two left in this beach town. Tomorrow I’m going to kayak to the little island sheltered in the bay and climb to the top of the mountain. And if I wake up early enough, I’ll do some yoga on the beach while listening to the waves crash against the sand.

No Jellyfish Jello