South Goa - India

After the hellish journey by train, I arrived near Goa at 2 a.m. exhausted and waiting for my next connection that would take me to Goa. I spent the 2 hour waiting time making phone calls to my cousin in Argentina, strolling through the train station that smelled of urine and excrement, and weaving my way through the dozens of homeless people lying on the ground. When I finally arrived in Goa, I had to kill another 4 hours because only then could I check into my hostel. Drum groggily strolled to the beach, lay down on the sand, and listened quietly to the crumbling waves while the cows went for a walk across the beach at a very moderate pace and the sun gradually rose. After a pleasant power nap on the beach, I had breakfast in overpriced Goa and showered for at least 15 minutes to get rid of all the dirt and sweat from the train ride.

Like a new person, I lounged in the common area until I was allowed to check in and then got a good night's sleep. But nothing there! When I briefly asked two backpackers where the cheapest place to rent a scooter was, they invited me to have breakfast with them and spend the day with them. My tiredness disappeared and I happily joined them. We drove to a river where we tried to swim against the current like little children or used it as a current to let ourselves drift along. It felt really good to let my inner child out again :) We spent the rest of the day at a waterfall and in a clothing store where I really uncluttered my choice of clothing for the trip and now look like a real hippy traveler. Since I had already heard horror stories about the shipping times for parcels to Europe, I decided to look for Christmas presents for my family and friends. With 32°C and tropical weather, for whatever reason I didn't get into the usual Christmas spirit and didn't feel the urge to listen to Frank Sinatra while I skillfully secretly ate the dough that my mother had planned for the whole of December.

Among my small group was a 29-year-old good-looking French woman, a stereotypical but super nice white tourist from Australia who always had everything with him and was still marble white even after three months in India thanks to meter-thick layers of sunscreen, and two Indians. One was called Aman and, to be honest, I found him a little tiring and childish at the beginning because when he was swimming in the water he behaved like a puppy that was getting to experience this adventure for the first time. As it turned out later, he couldn't swim at all and that was why he was so excited. As the day went on I began to admire him more and more. Despite his playful side, the Indian man, who I thought was in his late 20s but was actually 21, was a very respectful, intelligent and charming young law student. He simply had a way of dealing with people that I had never seen before, not causing offense anywhere and making everyone smile. We spent the evening watching the sunset on a cliff, going swimming and finally playing a few rounds of billiards in the hostel.

The next morning we went for brunch in a European coffee shop, although I still can't get used to the Western restaurants here and would prefer a run-down, small local shop with traditional Indian food at any time, even if that meant dahl curry at 9 a.m to eat. When Aman, the French woman and the Australian said goodbye, the other Indian, Kuschal, and I drove his motorbike to the second largest waterfall in India. Since I would like to rent a motorbike in the Kashmir region, in the very north of India, I asked Kuschal if I could ride his to get used to it. So we, he as a pillion passenger, raced through the jungle-like landscape of Goa and talked about the differences between German and Indian culture, which are almost endless. Unfortunately, due to my lack of sleep, I wasn't able to do much that day, but I was able to enjoy the sight of this monster. We then sat out a downpour with a Chai Massala and a portion of Maggi noodles (Maggi has become a real national dish here in India, which the Indians are very proud of. funny). In the evening we went out for something to eat and I started talking to him about politics and from then on the evening unfortunately became quite unpleasant. Even though I found him very nice and likeable, he was no longer that in our conversation/discussion. We talked about the Kashmir conflict between India and Pakistan, the BJP (India's ruling party) and the war in Gaza. He simply didn't let me have a say, he went into the conversation with the intention of not learning anything, but rather just expressing his opinion and using perfidious argumentation tactics. He announced his personal opinion on a topic, for example: "I think it's bad when Muslims in this country take to the streets when there is an attack and cheer for the terrorists." He didn't even let me reply that that was far too generalized. Instead, the same question always came: "So you tell me know...", e.g. "Don't you think it's bad when religions become so blind and radical?".

Yes, of course I think so too, but it has nothing to do with the previous statement. However, if I agree with him now, I also agree with his first statement; if I say no, then I am a religious fanatic. So he forces me to agree with him and of course doesn't give me time to respond with a differentiated argument. At some point I've had enough of this monologue, its Islamophobia and the belief that the BJP leads to social, economic and political progress and the Congress party embodies all the depths of the country. So I always just answer with a "mhm" or a "yeah, I understand" and don't look at him anymore, but he just doesn't want to read the mood in the room that I had no interest in talking to him anymore. At some point I lied to him that I had another phone call and had to leave now. In fact, I called my cousin, Malte and Eva again to make me feel good again. The next day was pure relaxation. I just strolled around every beach I could find, went swimming, rock climbing, and did sunset yoga on the beach. Then I turned up the techno in my headphones and rushed back to the hostel with a feeling of freedom that I rarely had.

On the last day I tried to send home the Christmas presents and one or two things of mine that I don't need. Since I haven't worn underpants and socks here for 1½ months because it's simply too hot, I sent some back and had to send Aman his forgotten shoes to Delhi. It took me three hours and a lot of nerves to pack these damn packages according to the post office's specifications so that they could be sent. Then I met three Indian businessmen who tried to drag me into what was probably a fraudulent deal. Why probably? Well, I just couldn't find any catch in the matter, but of course I was still more than skeptical. When I asked the voice of reason, in the form of my father, about it, he also advised against doing anything with these people, even if he couldn't immediately find the catch. I was annoyed by my own stupidity for not immediately saying "No thanks" and allowing this little greed in every person for easy money to briefly cloud my consciousness. This is a topic where I still have a lot to learn and don't yet have a realistic picture of the situation, but I'm continuing to work on it now.

Then I met another Indian who told me that the Bollywood studios in Mumbai were looking for white Europeans to walk around in the background as extras in the films. He knows a cameraman and might be able to organize something like that for me. I find the idea more than funny and great and I wonder what kind of crazy people you meet here. Finally, I bought an India patch for my backpack, which a tailor made himself. When he asked me how big it should be, I told him 6x4 and he nodded. When I came to pick it up two hours later, I looked at the patch and knew immediately that it was way too big. When I asked him about it, he held up a centimeter ruler and I realized that India doesn't use the metric system and the tailor had calculated in inches. Since I don't feel like looking for a patch again, the tailor had gone to so much trouble and I had already paid, I took it with me, cut off a third and sewed it onto my backpack. Except now the Indian flag is rotated 90° and all Indians ask me what kind of flag it is, thinking that it is my home country's flag and not their flag, which I creatively redesigned. So now I just always answer that in the region where I'm from, it's common for every family to have their own flag, that's just a tradition and that's how I always carry my family with me. When the Indians mention the similarity of the colors to their flag, I always agree with a slightly nervous laugh. "What a coincidence, He?".

South Goa was above all relaxation and I'm looking forward to my next stage: Hampi.

But more on that next time :)