Agonda: same same, but different

 

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Each year we return to Agonda there’s more change – more tourism, less fishing. And this year is no exception. But one constant is Fatima’s birthday party.  We’ve known Fatima since we first arrived many years ago and stayed at her guesthouse, before moving to Dominic and Rita’s.

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Her party is an open event with a full buffet, musicians, dancing girls, and a fire dancer.

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New shops have sprung up like mushrooms after a spring rain. Almost every square foot has been filled with restaurants, cafes, and stalls. But it appears the merchants are appealing to a different clientele – the new shops are glass fronted with halogen lights, selling expensive Kashmiri jewelry and shawls. And the people coming here seemed to have changed. Most notably, the Indian tourists have arrived, and they have money to burn. But down at our far end of the beach it is not that different.

Many of the regulars are still here, but some friends have not come due to old age or bad economy. We were so pleased that our friends, Frederic from FranceP1000596

and Michael Golding from London, were here for at least the first week. Tatiana, who has been staying in our guesthouse almost as long as we have, was telling us the plight of the ruble. Five or six years ago it was 30 to the $1 then it dropped to 60, this year it’s around 80/90. No wonder we haven’t seen many Russians around.

 

We share our balcony with a young couple from Lithuania and Gerard inquired about how the economy was there. They smiled at each other, and said, “We’re hoping we don’t have to go back.” Gerard’s interest was piqued when Victorija (named after the Queen) said that the average salary was around 280/300 E a month. Out of that, 100 E goes for rent, and almost another 100 for utilities. It sounded quite grim. Then she said, “Unemployment is high and there’s little motivation to get a job because welfare is almost the same as an average salary.”

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We were both reminded of England in the late 60s/early 70s, when Gerard was working in London. His take home pay was £10 per week; rent was £4½, which didn’t leave much for food, heat, or the little extras in life. Gerard suggested as a cost saving scheme that I should move in immediately. Americans are an impulsive bunch. I hoped I knew what I was getting into! Meanwhile a lot of our friends in England were collecting £9 a week on welfare.

Working as a graphic designer, Victorija was gone from the house twelve hours a day and was frequently required to work overtime for no pay. “If you don’t like it, you can leave,” she was told. Ron (named after President Reagan) worked in a hospital. He said, “Lithuanians are a sad and depressed people. Crime and suicide rates are high, and alcoholism is a major problem. We don’t want to go back.”

“So where are you going?” we asked. “We’ll try our luck in Spain. We know the economy is not good but it’s better than Lithuania and housing is cheap.” They think they can support themselves with an Internet based business. Ron is already selling on eBay and talked about online gaming. They tell us there are more Lithuanians living in Europe than in Lithuania.

Asked why they came to India in the first place, Victorija replied, “I wanted to learn yoga.” They’d read a popular Lithuanian book about India that also mentioned Agonda. So Victorija enrolled here in a month long yoga teacher training course. They are vegans, like an increasing number of young western travelers, and when we took them to dinner, they consumed together no less than seven servings of rice! Even the waiter was amazed!

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Ron said that since a young boy he has eaten an inordinate amount of rice! In this respect India suits them well. Both 24 years old, we liked the self-confidence in leaving their homeland with little money in their pocket and setting out to find a new life.

Back in the guesthouse loggia, Tatiana talks more about the Russian economy. To live in Moscow, she says, “You must find a way to be flexible. The government wants to take all your money.’ Gerard says all governments have that in mind. Tania says, “Yes, but the difference in Russia, the government not only has it mind, but does it!”

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Worse still there is no sun in Moscow. It may be shining 400 kms away, but in Moscow, she says,” it’s rain, rain, rain…then snow. The government has controlled even the weather!” If the weather is so bad, you just go to work, come home and go to work again. No inclination to think about anything else, and that’s just what the government wants. But when there’s a national holiday, like May Day, the sun always shines. She believes the government then artificially forces the rain clouds away from the city and instead rain falls in sheets in the suburbs. We don’t want rain falling on the May Day parade now do we? If the government really can control the weather, they should sell the technology to Britain. Since the ruble is near worthless, the government has devised a scheme to encourage the few Russians, who can afford to take a vacation, to holiday within the motherland by giving them a $600 credit.

We’ve no way of knowing if Tatiana is typically Russian or not, but in the few years we’ve known her, we’ve grown very fond of her. She’s also an inspiration regarding her photography.

 

 

Friends in Benaulim

Instead of going directly to Agonda this year, friends persuaded us to spend a few days first in Benaulim, 35kms north. We met Helene and Remy, who are from France, in Varanasi three or four years ago. They were also the ones who recommended going to Bundi and that was such a success that we felt inclined to follow up and meet them in Benaulim. Because of the train delay we arrived in the village late in the evening. Fortunately Remy had booked us into a guesthouse so we didn’t have to hustle around finding something ourselves. The next morning they showed us around and then we headed down to their favorite beach shack.

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Since it was a 2 km walk from the guesthouse to the beach, once you were there you stayed for the day. The shack Helen and Remy frequent was owned by a Belgian/Indian couple and more than half of the customers spoke French. For us, the unique feature of these beach shacks that are scattered along a 20 km stretch is that once you’ve settled in you can leave your possessions in complete confidence sitting on the table while you go for a swim or take a walk . This includes cameras, computers, cellphones etc. Or at least this was the case at the Hawaii beach shack. We were also VERY impressed by the level of hygiene, only surpassed by a five star hotel. (Of course, we’re so familiar with the standards of five star hotels.) The staff was completely professional, food expertly prepared, glasses shining from a dishwasher, a spotless toilet and outdoor shower — we had to ask ourselves if we were still in India. Clearly the Belgian wife’s sense of cleanliness had made its mark.

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When we learned that her husband was from Nagar and that they return there in April so their kids can go to school, we all got excited talking about Nicolai Roerich, the early 20C Russian artist/philosopher/explorer who lived there. His bungalow is now a small museum. We look forward to seeing them in April when we plan to visit Nagar again.

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One of the main differences between Agonda and Benaulim is the fact that Benaulim sits on a long straight stretch of beach, while Agonda is only 3 km long with headlands on either end, much more scenic. The downside is that Agonda has become over crowded.

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It was so nice to spend time with Helene and Remy in such a different environment than Varanasi and gave us the opportunity to get to know them better. They have been traveling SE Asia for over twenty years and every time we brought a place in India we’d visited, they’d already been there. Remy is an exceptional photographer and has an amazing ability to capture candid portraits of the many characters of Varanasi, and beyond. Gerard said, “After seeing your pictures, I feel like throwing my camera away.” We’re looking forward to seeing them again in Varanasi in March and they’ve promised to show us some of the Varanasi that they know.

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Living Among Animals

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by Michael Golding


I’ve talked about how much I enjoy living outside when we travel and especially in Goa. Our room opens on to a small balcony where we eat breakfast and lunch. At night we sleep under an open window – a cool breeze off the ocean blowing in.   And the sound of the animals – bulls snorting, pigs grunting. Night and day, we are surround by animals.

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by Michael Golding

Each morning pigs appear out of the bush to eat our breakfast scraps, competing with a squadron of militant crows with their annoying squawk that drowns out other delicate bird songs.

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Monkeys swing down from guava trees, startling us in our path. Rita’s given up trying to protect the fruit.

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The one-eyed cat wanders through the garden around noontime. A persistent cow blocks the entrance to the banana lady’s shop.

Brahma bulls with horns erect stand in contemplation on the beach.

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by Michael Golding

Dogs imitate tourists – splashing in the waves, sprawled on empty sunbeds…

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by Michael Golding

…watching the sunset.

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by Michael Golding

At night, they adjourn to the restaurants and sit beside us waiting for handouts Motionless geckos wait patiently for their prey next to the light bulb

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by Michael Golding

They are in our midst and we are in theirs.

india  2011 jpg (89)And then the bell tolls and it’s time to leave Agonda. On our last night as we go for dinner with Michael, it seems almost everyone we’ve befriended is out on the street to say goodbye. Hugs from fellow tourists – Jen and Tony from England, Peter the talented violinist and his wife from Switzerland, Krystyna and her 88-year-old mother from Poland. The Indian shopkeepers, Geeta and later up the road Lakshmi, step outside their cultural boundaries and also hug me. Last of all, the banana lady waves from behind her mountain of bananas, papaya and melons…the persistent cow stops for a moment to give us her final appraisal. Harder still is to say goodbye to our new friend Michael who kept us laughing for the full six weeks.

Why does it seem easier to make friends here? Over morning chai we spend hours talking, sharing experiences and stories. From different countries, cultures and political environments, learning what our Russian friends think of Putin and the fighting in the Ukraine, and to hear their perspective of the US role in world politics. More enlightening than what CNN serves up. And how much better the Russian version of Dr Zhivago is than the old British version we’re so familiar with in the west.

There is plenty of time to get to know each other, no one has to rush off to work, take care of their families and so on. At the same time there’s an element of urgency. A stay may be only a week or as much as four months, but no one is here forever. If you have something to say or do, best hurry up and do it.  But there’s always next season – God willing.

The Changing Face of Agonda

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Now after so many years visiting Agonda it’s hard to find a subject we haven’t already touched on. I dream about this beach when we’re back in Boston – and so far returning hasn’t let me down. The sea and long stretch of silky sand are just as alluring. At night I go to sleep to the sound of the crashing waves and in the early morning, the symphony of tropical birds is as enchanting as ever (until the raucous crowd of crows compete).

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And there’s our routine – my early morning walk down the beach to get curd and samosas, followed by tea at our seaside café, a friendly chat with other long termers, and then into the waves. Lunch is eaten outside our room to the selected sounds from Gerard’s collection of jazz and world music. In the afternoon we continue to work on the story begun here a year ago in this very room; and before sunset a final stroll down the beach. (Gerard has become so involved that he is now more co-writer than just editor of both this story and the blog)

But each year records more changes that threaten to disrupt the rhythm of our life here. Along the road bordering the beach there is still more commerce – ice cream parlors, beauty salons, a surf shop selling boards and lessons. Among the palm trees lining the beach the huts have multiplied like mushrooms overnight – some looking barely habitable, others elaborate with glass windows and chaise lounges on the porch. All will be torn down at the end of the season, material piled under tarpaulins and bamboo fronds to protect against the monsoon, and then reassembled for the next season.

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Everything and especially food is more expensive. You can’t blame the restaurants for a reasonable increase – but doubling the price of steamed rice since last year is unacceptable. The weakening Euro means there are fewer Europeans… and the collapse of the ruble even fewer Russians. Only the merchants lament the absence of the rowdy drinkers; fortunately it seems to be the peaceful yoga-loving ones that have enough rubles to still come, including our good friend Tatiana. While tourism is down this year, more Indians are coming to the beach. In fact last year was the first we really noticed their presence in Agonda at all. Families with children, bringing elderly grandmothers who from their scowls look like they’d be much happier left at home; young honeymooners, single men playing cricket on the beach in the evening, partying into the night. They’re treading further into the water – and all taking selfies.

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PUJA, LAXMI’S BEAUITIFUL DAUGHTER

And there are those who’ve left for good – “Boom”, the Italian professional photographer who loved everyone and everything, including morning rum and coke, finally succumbed to liver cancer.

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The rich Punjabi, who lived in the large house on the hill overlooking the street with his coconut palm grove stretching down to the beach, is gone, cremated in front of his house. And then the banana lady’s father died – for two days the bananas remained locked inside her stall, until with sad face, she was back in business again.

Our ears are assaulted by the ever increasing noise mostly from motorbike horns. Throughout India there are more and more motorbikes – and Goa is no exception. Agonda may be quiet relative to the other Goan beach towns, but even here, naïve and reckless tourists on rented bikes speed up and down the narrow road already crowded with cows, dogs, pedestrians and other speeding vehicles. Yesterday we saw two accidents – not fatal but still injurious. Returning from nearby Chaudi on the bus, we noticed two young tourists limping out of the hospital their bodies adorned with large white plasters, one with ugly road burns spreading up his arm. And in the evening, two Indians on bikes collided with a dog and landed bruised on the verge of the road. An astute traveler in Ahmedabad commented that the new music of India is the piercing horns of motorbikes. Everyone is diligent in following the quest for HORN PLEASE.

But the biggest change we see is trash. Agonda has become a dirty place – except on the beach that is swept clean daily. There is trash everywhere – plastic containers, tin foil wrappers from crisps, chips, cookies, chocolate; the night air is polluted with the toxic smoke and fumes of fires attempting to burn what shouldn’t be burnt. At least more of the plastic bottles are collected and recycled but the endless stream of plastic in other forms continues to mount along the roadside.

P1010581For eons Indians have dumped their trash wherever they felt like it and it posed little problem – but in the past 50 years with the arrival of plastic it’s now become a serious issue. Trash thrown into the bushes only a couple of meters behind the guesthouse has grown into mounds of plastic and an off-shore breeze picks it up and blows it on to the street and, further, toward the beach. This year we notice construction debris – broken pieces of concrete and tile thrown carelessly along the roadside. It is true that local and state governments have no conception of how to deal with the increasing amount of trash the tourist industry is creating here.

Gerard had a brief conversation with our landlady. He told her, “As accommodation prices rise so will the expectations of tourists. Soon it will no longer be acceptable to continue disposing your trash in the same old way.” At first Rita replied, “Well, yes…that man across the street…” He interrupted her, “No, it’s not just the man across the street, it’s the whole village, and the State. Unlike the rest of India, Goa is highly dependent on the tourist industry, making the problem more urgent here.” Rita listened with a blank expression. She really had no idea what he was talking about.

Obviously this is an issue that concerns not just Goa, but the whole subcontinent. Dry and dusty, that’s always been India. But now it’s dry, dusty and with an added layer of fragmented plastic. A recent article in the Goan Times discussed that because local authorities are incapable of dealing with this crisis, they are considering bringing in private contractors. But what will be the consequence of this? While there’s a scarcity of land protection policies in Goa, there are a few enforcements – segments of beach cordoned off for the hatching of turtle; how close you can build to the beach and what has to be dismantled at the end of the season. Will these restrictions survive privatization or will it be a capitalistic free for all?

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But today, we’re still enjoying Agonda. Good friends from England are with us for the seventh time. The four of us take a two-hour hike through the jungle, a path they’ve discovered to Butterfly Beach – an isolated cove that suddenly appears out of the undergrowth as we descend toward the sea. The American couple we met in Varanasi last year and then saw again in Agonda, have turned up unexpectedly. We learned that they’d preceded us in Gujurat, in both Ahmedabad and Diu, by only a few days. And when we mentioned how wonderful Nawalgarth in Rajasthan was, they said, “Oh yes, we visited it only a few years ago” – even staying in the same guesthouse! They have encouraged us to try Thailand. We’re concerned about vegetarian diet there but they’ve assured us it can be done. But all of this is a story for another time.

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