Out of India…
Quite an eventful week out here on the open road. I covered a fair bit of ground, all the way from Goa to Mumbai to London to Madrid. Reminded me of my days at Monitor…except that the stress level was minimal and I didn’t turn on my laptop for days at a time.
In Goa I made my ‘final rounds.’ Had an exceptional lunch of tiger prawns and Kingfisher beer at the Shore Bar on Friday. And while stuffing my face I continued to marvel at the oddly comforting vision of cows – uniquely Asian cows, many with humps – wandering around the beach. Who owns these beasts? Do they know where their charges roam? It all seems very lax and perfectly ‘susegado,’ the Goan/Konkani term for letting it all hang out.
That night had dinner with Prem Leela, the Spanish woman who’s into tantric sex – aren’t we all, when it comes down to it – then hopped on my motorbike for a ride. Going for bike rides after dinner in Goa has a certain post-coital feeling – like a cigarette. Really clears the head and cools the body. The early December night air was quite cool…the stars were out in full force…the fragrances were everywhere…I felt right out there in the middle of life itself.
Leela is an interesting character. A very strong Spanish woman who says what’s on her mind. She’s the one, recall, who told me she loves sex, but not normal sex, just tantric sex. Her name, Leela, means ‘love games’ or something similar in Hindi. Not sure if that’s her real name or not…forgot to ask. But she did tell me that I’m a bon vivant…and I think she’s mostly right about that, although I’m a peculiar angst-ridden Jewish version of the classic bon vivant.
The next morning I drove to Panjim, the capital, for lunch at Hotel Venite, where Benji the Aussie and I had gone a few weeks before. I first ate at Venite years ago with Jan and Hasmeeth, and just continue to love the atmospheric little dining room – it has a real old-world European feeling. Consumed a huge spread of roasted papads, crumbed mussels (better than it sounds), Goan sausages (you’ve gotta try these sometime), and a daiquiri. Waddled out of there incredibly satisfied. I think Venite is one of my favorite restaurants on the planet, many attributes come together superbly there.
Rode around Panjim a bit more. Got a final look at the awesome Church of the Immaculate Conception, the symbol of Panjim. Then rode up to Candolim and had some memories of the times I’d stayed there at the Taj Holiday Village with various assortments of scoundrels. I had meant to have dinner at some point at the very cool little Santa Lucia, run by a Swiss couple who spend their winters in Goa (good fucking idea), but just didn’t get around to it this visit. Really must next time round.
Drove down a side road to the beach, and lo and behold there was the River Princess, the huge barge trapped just off Candolim Beach. I had read the previous day that the government finally chose a company to get the boat the hell out of there…only took 6 years to make that decision. Now we’ll see what happens. The thing’s gotta be full of water, sand, and decaying parts – but I suppose eventually it’ll be out of there and the beach will be back to normal. I did see a small boat next to the River Princess, but couldn’t tell what it was up to.
Headed back north to Vagator. A fair bit of traffic en route…lots of stops and starts. A little boy in a white van in front of me kept sticking his head out the window and waving. Kind of funny. Eventually we got separated and I rode on.
Goa’s Portuguese past and sights made me think about the whole slew of places I’ve visited. And I realized how much I’ve been following around the ghosts of explorers like da Gama. Years ago I wandered around the Cape of Good Hope (South Africa) Park Reserve and was impressed by the austere white monuments to da Gama and Dias. I sat down and wrote a poem that day about spending ‘Yuletide with Dias’ (poem available upon request – seriously). Years later, I spent some time in Macau, another area opened up as a consequence of da Gama’s adventures. Now I was roaming around Goa, the first Portuguese territory claimed in Asia. Are there still earthbound puzzles yet to be discovered in our age? I sincerely hope so, that possibility sometimes drives me on…
It was still pretty early, so I drove past Vagator up to Morjim Beach, on the other side of the Chapora River. I’ve always loved this drive, the bay is on the left and there’s never much traffic. The bridge over the Chapora is fantastic, soaring views and a feeling of total freedom in space. And when you finally hit Morjim, you’re reading for a dip. Morjim has quite a few Russians – Lisa calls it ‘Morjimski’ – but really it’s wide open and feels empty. Not as cramped as the beaches south. Had a nice long swim and then drove back to Vagator.
This was my final night in Goa. I wasn’t feeling anything in particular – I suppose I had gotten my nostalgia addressed earlier in the day – so didn’t make any ambitious plans. And Prem Joshua had just returned from some gigs up north, I wanted to spend some time with him and the other ‘regulars’ around Bean Me Up. Had a very nice dinner with 7-8 folks at BMU, traded stories and jokes for almost 3 hours, took a calming bike ride, and said my goodbyes. I’ve become pretty accustomed to saying goodbye to people, yet still haven’t ‘mastered’ the art – whatever that might be. I prefer to keep it low-key. Lisa gave me a very nice stash of things, Prem gave me one of his two latest CDs, and that was that.
Next day I packed up my stuff – which, for the only time on this 7-month journey, was entirely out of the backpack and around my room. Had breakfast with the Prems – Joshua and Leela – in the quiet of BMU, which is basically closed on Saturdays, except for breakfast for us hotel guests. Here’s what the Prems look like:
Took a final ride around on my bike, and sat there gazing at the beach for a few minutes. Here’s my final look at Vagator Beach:
Then got in a taxi and went to the airport. Was now feeling a bit sad – would really miss Goa and its unsurpassed combination of susegado, incredible beaches and scenery, hippie mentality, and fusion culture. Got to the airport, did my thing, and got a newspaper. And randomly enough, there was a full-page spread on Prem Joshua and his music on page 10. Called Josh and told him to get today’s Hindustan Times. I’m sure he was gratified to read the piece – which, like almost all such Indian features, was a real puff piece. Joshua sounded like the next coming of Ravi Shankar or the Gypsy Kings. And that’s perfectly fine. Check out his music sometime, you can get most of it on iTunes…
Seeing the Josh article felt like a sign, reminding me of Goa’s allure and of the friends I’d made there over the previous 7-8 weeks. I felt pretty damn good as I got on the plane and headed north to Mumbai. I’d be back to Goa before long.
It had only been a week since my previous trip to Mumbai, to see Prem’s show in Bandra. As we landed, I was again amazed at how the slums come right up to the fence separating the runways from the ‘non-secure’ areas. Even here, a full hour’s drive out of Mumbai, every bit of land is packed. And I later read an article about land developers in Mumbai building basic residential towers to house slum dwellers, in order to get them off valuable inner-city land and move them into more efficient ‘vertical living.’ Interesting idea…give the slum dwellers their own flat, in a building thrown up on a modest portion of the slum’s land, and use the rest for more lucrative ventures. Should work pretty well…rich Mumbaikers are used to living near their poorer countrymen – as all the land in Mumbai is inhabited by someone or another, and there doesn’t seem to be much of the ‘gated community’ trend you see in the U.S. As for the lifestyles of the slum dwellers, that’s interesting to consider. Some were quoted as missing the camaraderie of their past set-up, others praised the peace and quiet for studying and other activities enabled by privacy. I think it’s probably a good trend and let’s see how far it goes. Mumbai has some real hellhole slums and it would be nice sometime to see it become more of a normal place.
Had that night to myself, wandered out of my hotel – the Harbor View Hotel, on the Strand – and around Colaba. Saw a McD’s on the Causeway, felt a pang and went it. Had a ‘McMaharaj Mac’ which was a not-so-special chicken sandwich. The chicken didn’t offer much resistance to the incisors, and the spices weren’t that tasty. Vowed not to bother with McD’s in India again…
Unsatisfied, I walked over to Bade Miya, the godlike kebab stand, which as always was surrounded by people stuffing their faces on the street. Had a lamb kebab, which hit the spot. Now I was ready for a few drinks. Leopold’s and Mondegar were packed, wasn’t really in the mood to fight for space, so went into a place I hadn’t visited before, the SportsBar Express next to the Regal Cinema. One of the few ‘normal’ bars in Mumbai, nothing special, but it was clean and didn’t have the depressing feel of many watering holes in Mumbai, where men sit around in a dark-ish room getting absolutely hammered. This bar had loads of young professionals and I chatted with a few guys about the soccer match on the tube (Liverpool vs. somebody) over a Kingfisher, before wandering out.
Colaba is as crazy as ever. You see some folks at the end of their rope, strung out, eyes bulging, searching for something they’re not too likely to find. Or the price they’re likely to pay will by no means reflect what they’re about to get. I suppose seeing people like this reminds me of what I’ve got, and should in theory buoy my spirits…but I find it kind of sad that there are so many lost souls out there, some on full parade in the streets of Colaba.
Hopped in a cab and went up to my old ‘hood of Breach Candy. I had lived there in ’92, and always found the area relatively cosmopolitan and walkable. I’d heard about a pub called The Ghetto, which apparently opened up soon after I left Mumbai years ago. Got there, went in, and had a few gin and tonics. The young Indian fellow next to me sang along to every single tune on the sound system – Pink Floyd’s Shine on You Crazy Diamond, U2’s One, you name it. Very exuberant, and right in line with India’s current energy and optimism. I found myself singing along too. India is an ancient land, but somehow you don’t feel the cynicism and jaded mindset that generally accompanies experience. At least in the circles I was moving in here, it felt refreshing and new.
Left there around midnight and caught a cab back to Colaba. No bargaining, when I asked how much he said he’d use the meter – you don’t hear that sort of honesty and cooperation from Mumbai cabbies too often. Came to 100 Rupees and that was more than fair.
En route had a few thoughts. One was that India just well might turn out OK. I was far less sure of this back in ’92, when the reforms had just begun…and continued to harbor doubts during this trip, when I went by slums and was reminded of how raw India can be. Talk about extremes…there are beautiful restaurants and clubs like Indigo and Athena, and right down the street there’s an ancient and intractable slum of fishermen. You wonder when the pockets of affluence will reach critical mass and have a multiplier effect of sorts on the wider community…but at the same time you feel a rising tide of enthusiasm and wonder at what could be.
I also thought about the local women, and their general reticence compared with other countries I’d visited on this trip. Indian women are usually ‘untouchable’ – you know what I mean – and it’s not a country you visit to pick up chicks. Goa’s a bit different because of its culture and its tourist influx – but even there you generally learn not to expect to be inundated with women. That said, back in ’92 I had good fortune in this regard…I had a great girlfriend from Nagaland, the easternmost state of India and the point of farthest advance of the Japanese Army in India in WW2. I had actually been trying to track her down and see her. She had spent some time after Mumbai in NYC, and we ran into each other and hung out a bit here. But we had lost touch after I left NYC. I finally got around to Googling her, and it appears that she moved home to Kohima, the capital of Nagaland, a couple years back, and has opened a Chinese restaurant and nightclub there. I’ll try to give her a call, and perhaps visit her up there, next visit to India. Nagaland’s a tribal state and I wouldn’t mind checking out the scene there…
Got back to my hotel. The managers at this place are real masters of upselling. The rooms are decent value (for Mumbai), but these guys are always trying to get you to change money, or buy water, or go on tours of the city. I’m sure they make most of their money on these deals, whereas the owner of the hotel gets the margin from the rooms. I changed some $ and bought some water, and that was that.
Spent the next day walking around Mumbai. Johann had been telling me to spend some time wandering between Regal Cinema and Victoria Terminus, in the old and classic Fort area. I spent a couple hours on this Sunday morning, preternaturally calm, doing just that. And it brought back loads of memories of my time there in ’92, when I think I developed a decent feel for the city and its layout. This time I covered quite a bit of ground, and was again amazed at the tropical grandeur of the Prince of Wales Museum (now called something nearly unpronounceable to Westerners). Here’s a shot of this stunning edifice:
Wandered around for a while longer. The old colonial buildings were still impressive and real classics…cricket games were being held on the grassy maidans…it was just a relaxing, chilled day. See for yourself…
Went up to Breach Candy again, to spend an hour or so wandering around. Very nostalgic hour…walked by my old building, where I spent 3 months. The second or third day I lived there, I came back from work and was confronted by the manager of the antiques shop on the ground floor. My flat was directly over his shop. I had left the A/C on, apparently, and some water was dripping down into his shop. He was pretty pissed…and was trying to get some ‘damages’ from me. I just played the dumb foreigner, went upstairs, and turned off the A/C. And began to sweat, I’m sure. Anyway, here’s a look at my building, the Meherabad, and the ground-floor shop that’s still there, selling weird and wonderful statues and whatever else:
Walked down Warden Road (now called Bhulebai Desai Road), saw the US Consulate on the left. I had gone there in ’92 for a July 4th dinner, and taken my girlfriend from Nagaland. Decent dinner, with real beef flown in. I remember asking my girlfriend if she liked the beef…and she, sitting their in her black dress, told me she preferred dog meat. Hopefully that exchange wasn’t overheard…
Also saw the Breach Candy Hospital, where a doc had pulled a tiny piece of glass from my foot about a week before I was going on a Himalayan trek. Wouldn’t want to have that procedure done in the hinterlands…
Finally, strolled by the Breach Candy Club, which has a pool shaped like India, I believe, and full of salt water. I had been a member there in ’92 and had really enjoyed hanging out there with friends…was an oasis in my crazy life back then. I felt myself, now, missing those days and the innocent fun I’d had.
Went to dinner that night with my ex-colleague Ashish from Monitor. He was making tie-die shirts for his kids when I got to his flat. Ashish is a real mile-a-minute guy and always has a dozen things going at once. He’s now on the ‘social change’ front at Monitor and devoting his attention to topics like affordable housing, better care for autistic kids, and the like. A real lovely guy…it was great to catch up with him. We went to a restaurant in Fort which specializes in black pepper crabs. And it was a hell of a feast. Earlier that day, for lunch, I’d gone to my old fave Mahesh Lunch Home, and chowed down a delicious plate of rawas tikka – basically, chunks of juicy spiced fish. That, with a plate of cheese naan bread and a cold Kingfisher, and I couldn’t have been more pleased.
Ashish dropped me at my hotel, and I did a few administrative things before hitting the sack. One was to toss my trusty Tevas, which had finally started to deteriorate and crack on the soles. It was hard to get ride of ‘em, and when I get home I plan to pick up another pair ASAP. Here’s the final look at the footwear that helped me stride across a dozen lands and countless miles…
Leaving Mumbai. Took a cab right down Marine Drive. Took it all in. The street beggars, some transvestites. I asked the cabbie if they were male or female, he said ‘neither’ and I thought that was a damn good answer. We drove by the Haji Ali mosquem and the juice center right by it. Whenever we stopped in the traffic, I sweat like a beast. The cabbie quoted me a high price for the trip – in my haze I had neglected to set it before starting off – and I drove it down to something decent. Reminded me that India’s always testing you, and you need to keep a semblance of mindfulness at all times.
I was feeling many things, and at the same time I didn’t want to be too self-melodramatic. I’d be back, and Mumbai would welcome me. The final ride down Marine Drive was memorable…I´d show you some shots but it seems I´ve reached my upload limit. Will address that problem next week…
Got to unlovely Sahar Airport and checked in. Read the paper and was reminded that the Chief Minister of Delhi is named Sheila Dikshit. I love it. Was laughing as I got on the plane to London. Goodbye India…you’re one of a kind!
Spent the flight reading and sleeping, two of my favorite activities. Uneventful flight…got to Heathrow after 9 or so hours. My buddy Ken was picking me up there. Waited forever for my bag…at one point, after waiting for 30 minutes, a voice came over the P.A. apologizing for the ‘lack of resources and manpower.’ Great…why were we paying airport taxes? Was this a first-world system? I hadn’t had a single issue with bags in India, but here in the U.K. I was being forced to wait. Traded some SMS with Ken, finally the bags came out and I met him in the arrivals hall.
Spent a fun few days in London. Stayed with Ken near Hyde Park. His wife Carmen and their two baby daughters were in Spain, with her parents down in Cordoba. Ken and I walked around London, catching each other up on our lives. We’re pretty good about staying in touch, so we were quickly able to get beyond the basics and dig deeper. Ken is doing absolutely great – his family is wonderful, he’s kicking ass at work (but feels occasional torture/stress, as I did back in the day), and has his plan in place. He intended to spend a few days with me in London, then go with me to Madrid, but work intruded and he had to fly to Turkey the day after I arrived. So we made the most of it, and promised to meet in Madrid a couple days hence. Ken’s high energy level and productivity contrasted with my general laziness and lack of output…I felt like a real slacker next to him. But we are what we are and I didn’t promise myself to ‘get with it’ – I was doing just fine in my own little world and vividly recalled the stress I’d known just a year before…
Went out that night with a random fun collection of old friends. Johann and Sarah from Monitor, Zoe from Tufts, and Yasmin, a friend of Ken’s. Of course, Ken couldn’t make it, but Yasmin was a real sport and fit right in. She teaches belly-dancing classes and I really should have insisted on a demo, but the wine was flowing and I forget to do and say many things that night. Had many laughs with this gang…nice chemistry. I imagine the wine didn’t hurt at all…
The next day, Wednesday, had lunch at Zoe’s in South London. She and her family have a nice house down there, and we had a bit more wine, some tuna and a salad that Zoe made. I’ve known Zoe since 1986, and we’ve more or less stayed in touch over the years, with a few multi-year gaps in there. Zoe was taking a few weeks between jobs, but was pretty busy with all the ‘other stuff’ that tends to arise when you’re not explicitly working. Enjoyed hanging out with her and trading old memories and stories. The night before, even though we sat side-by-side, it wasn’t easy to really get into a deep conversation as there were others all round and I wanted to spread myself out. I tend to arrange these dinners wherever I go…and they’re a lot of fun, but at the same time I wonder if I should keep things more modest. Would take more time, which is often scarce, but might be rewarding in a different way…
That night I hung out with Johann, drank a fair bit of assorted libations, went to dinner, and then waited for his wife Anu to return from a biztrip to Frankfurt. Johann and I worked together for years at Monitor and had a lot to discuss. He’s doing very well – working at Tate & Lyle, a American-British food products outfit, and generally enjoying life…he’s always been a bon vivant (like me, but with less anxiety) and I can appreciate that. Anu got home around 11 p.m., we hung out a bit, then I went back to Ken’s to crash and get up early the next day to fly to Madrid.
The flight was uneventful – although no gate was announced until minutes before the flight was set to depart. Anyway, got to the gate, got on the plane, and plowed through a back copy of The New Yorker (sent from Boston) by the time we landed. Ken’s flight from Istanbul landed at about the same time, so he met me and we got a cab into town.
Spain…a quick backstory. I first visited Spain in the early ‘90s. Not sure if the very first time was on a Darden (B-school) trip, or whether it was with Ken, who studied there in the late ‘80s, and later was based in Paris and thus fairly close to Madrid. Anyway, I found Madrid immensely appealing from day one, and have returned quite a few times over the past 15 years. I always stay, in Madrid, at the Hostal Matute, a cool little place off Calle Huertas, right in the thick of the mayhem, and right near the Prado Museum. My friend Don had told me about the Matute many years ago, and it’s honestly one of my favorite little hotels in the world. Everything is set up perfectly, and it’s very reasonably priced.
Years ago, right before joining Monitor, I had spent a few weeks in Granada learning Spanish (not well enough, of course). One of my memories of that time is sitting on a park bench, reading the International Herald Tribune after going for a run. Allen Ginsberg’s obituary was right there…I had seen him recite poetry and play his accordion only months before, in NYC. Weird to be sitting there reading about Ginsberg’s passing…but when you regularly read the paper these things aren’t uncommon.
My most recent Spain trip was in October 2004, when I came from Asia for Ken’s wedding in Cordoba. We had met at the Hostal Matute and stayed there for a day or two before going to Cordoba. The wedding was great fun and I was overjoyed for Ken, who was marrying a great girl. Really enjoyed myself the entire trip. And one night, in Seville, a bunch of us went looking for a bar to watch Game 7 of the Red Sox vs. Yankees American League Championship Series…the series in which Boston came back from an 0-3 deficit to tie things up. Someone had heard about a bar called Merchants which would show the game. But an hour before game time, when we asked around, no cabbies heard of Merchants, and we couldn’t find it listed in the phone book. Finally, I whipped out my Treo smartphone and surfed the Web. It wasn’t straightforward, but finally found a street listing for Merchants in Sevilla, we got into a cab and found the place (on rue de Castellanos, I believe). And there it was – scores of gringos outside and inside the bar. I think we had to climb in through the bathroom window, it was that crowded and they weren’t letting people in. There was no way I’d miss seeing that game…and we (Boston) won handily and it expiated years of doom and tragedy at the hands of the Yankees. Talk about catharsis…so when I think of Spain that’s always right in my mind.
This time, we got into Madrid about 2 p.m., checked into the Matute, and went out for an excellent lunch, with red wine, fino, pulpo (octopus), jamon iberico, etc. I had nearly all my favorite Spanish dishes immediately, and they were mighty good. We spent the rest of the day wandering around the city, and had a nice cup of hot chocolate with churros. That obviated any chance of my going for a run, but I didn’t mind. We walked back to the hostal to relax a bit – and Ken had to do some work – before going out to meet his sister-in-law for drinks and dinner. That was good fun…ate some more pulpo, tried some other tapas, and had a few laughs. There was an absolutely stunning Dutch girl at the table next door…she was with her man, but quite friendly and I had a few side conversations with them. I love these little experiences when traveling…reminds me of the generally decent level of humanity and friendliness out there.
Afterward, Ken and I hit a few bars and got into some deeper topics. He gave me some helpful advice on family matters, I probably internalized 10%, and we drank till 3 a.m. before stumbling home to the Matute. I was already ruing my laziness…I hadn’t written this blog entry on time, and would need to do so the next morning before having further adventures in the Spanish capital. Now it’s written and my head feels OK, so I’ll post this and then get out there into the crisp winter air to see what happens today, a random Friday morning in December of 2006. Over and out.
Tags: Travel
mbsloney
Good to hear that the Ol’ Matute still meets the needs. Where you gonna be for the holiday celebrations?