I can see why the Portuguese were loathe to give this place up. It's beautiful, despite the package-tour hotels that crowd this stretch of coastline. Globalism is the new imperialism -- there's a Subway sandwich shop directly across from our hotel in Baga, and we passed a Domino's on the way here.
We departed Panaji two days ago for Anjuna, a former hippie colony. I only saw one bohemian close-up, a skinny guy with tattoos, sunglasses and a thousand-yard stare. He had a North American look, but he paid us no never mind as we walked past each other on the narrow path to the beach. Perhaps he was deep in meditation.
Then again, this is the off season. Most people don't just find themselves here during monsoons -- current visitors are purposefully avoiding the throngs in thongs and Speedos who toss Frisbees by day and rave by night. Maybe he saw us as interlopers, intruding on his scene. Ah, I project.
Feeling hemmed in by my surroundings more or less ended when we arrived in Goa. Since leaving Mumbai, my comfort level has dropped to the point where I've even been breaking my cardinal rule: always know where you're going next.
We checked out of out hotel in Panaji, the capital, and had a destination in mind: a resort house called The White Negro (yeah, really) in Anjuna. Our cab driver knew the town, but had no idea where our hotel was to be found. We pulled over repeatedly in narrow shoulders, traffic speeding past haphazardly while he asked directions. Once or twice, I was able to point out our landing point on the map, but the directions we received along the way got us where we needed to go.
Eventually.
I stayed in the cab with our stuff while Liz inspected the place -- just a seashell's throw from the beach, The White Negro offers clean rooms with overhead fans, but the heat rash I've acquired in the last several days really requires air conditioning for maximum relief.
(Feeling much better now, thanks to a mix of Aquaphor, Lanacane and Lotrimin. Thanks, Liz.)
As soon as Liz mentioned the need for A/C, one of the workers pointed down the road: "Laguna Anjuna. A/C, no problem."
We turned around on the dirt track, which was becoming increasing narrow and rutted the further we drove from the main road. The Lonely Planet map indicated our alternate hotel was adjacent to a St. Anthony's Church, so when we saw a sparkling white plaster edifice after rounding a bend, I had a good feeling. A large tile billboard directed us into the resort.
I quickly recalled the guidebook's description: high-end accommodations, detached and semi-detached bungalows, in-house restaurant, even a health spa called "Club Mud."
Budget was very much in my mind when I tipped my hat to the watchman and asked which way to the reception desk. This place looked like it would cost, and the LP had quoted something on the order of $75/night during high season.
The well-kept pool made my hand tighten involuntarily on my wallet as I walked past the gracious hacienda-style house and up the flagstone footpath to Reception. Inside, a young woman rested her head on the counter, daydreaming. A young man reclined on a bed, watching a cricket match.
I asked to see a room, and the young guy roused himself from the TV and led me through the winding paths between bungalows. Each building had a terra cotta roof, and walls hewn from the orange-brown sea cliffs a few hundred yards away. The guy from reception opened the door to unit O2, and I squeezed my wallet so hard, I could swear I heard it whimper.
I stepped through the narrow swinging doors into a great, circular room flanked by windows, light filtering through palms that cast dancing shadows. I looked up and was awestruck by the 25-foot domed brick ceiling. He flung open the door to the bathroom, which was relatively clean and well-appointed.
"What's the rate?" I asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.
"Eh... 2200 rupees, but I must check," he answered.
Walking back to reception with him, I almost pulled a muscle calculating the exchange rate. More than $50/night, twice the budget!
Back at reception, I took off my hat and took a seat at the desk where the bored woman seemed slightly more animated. I had a feeling she had more fun booking guests than watching televised cricket.
(Sorry, folks, I think the sport's dull as dishwater. "Polite baseball," my eye.)
"How many nights?" she sighed.
"What's the rate, please?"
"2200 Rs per night." She leaned over the desk, resting her head on folded arms, looking sullen.
"Thanks. Let me think it over -- I'll be right back." I wandered back down the stone path, stepping over puddles that hadn't evaporated after the previous night's downpour.
Liz looked at me expectantly. "Room okay?" she asked, eyebrows arched.
"Really nice," I said with a glint in my eye, "but a little on the pricey side. 2200 a night."
Her face brightened. "See if you can bargain them down. It's the low season, after all." Sometimes, when Liz smiles at me, I feel as if I have special powers. Go ahead and tell me I'm corny, but this woman imbues me with confidence.
Bargaining is not my bag, baby. Need it be said that Americans are not born retail negotiators? (The only time I've ever tried to bargain someone down was at Best Buy when I got a discount on a TV because it was the floor model.)
Maybe it's the fluoridated water, maybe it's our innate sense of fair play, but you just don't walk into Denny's and try to wheedle Darlene into knocking 2 bucks off your Grand Slam breakfast.
I arrived to reception, resolved to do some dealing. The young woman was still slouched over the counter as the TV announcer went apoplectic after a particularly sticky wicket.
"Excuse me -- what was the rate? 2200?"
"Yes, sir."
"For two people? Well, just one night, then. This is a very beautiful place, Laguna Anjuna. But it's very expensive. If it was lower, I might stay longer."
Her head didn't move from her paperwork, but her eyes met mine. "How much do you want to pay?"
"Well, you know, off season. Could you do 1500?"
She smiled glumly and shook her head. "No, no." She grabbed a calculator and entered some digits, then swiveled the LCD to eliminate confusion.
I used her Casio to divide by 42.5 to see how many dollars that was: $44.
"Could you do 1650?" I asked, showing off my most charming smile.
She showed me two rows of sparking whites. "1800?"
"Ok," I nodded.
I gave her my passport and began filling out registration forms. It was so hot that the perspiration from my arm caused the paper to tear as I signed.
Other than the occasional (okay, semi-frequent) power outage, our two nights at Laguna Anjuna were extremely pleasant. We never had to put in our request for hot water, since the cold tap was always lukewarm.
The staff was gracious without being obsequious, and we had the place mostly to ourselves until some German tourists arrived the night before we left. The food was outstanding. If you see thali on the menu in an Indian restaurant, do yourself a favor and get some.
After our first night, we woke up early so we could be first in the pool. The groundskeeper was still doing his thing with the net and filters, so we couldn't yet have our dip.
"Just ten minutes," said the manager, giving me a slow head bob.
After thirty minutes and a light breakfast, we lolled in the bathtub-warm water, all on our lonesome. Liz laughed as a scarlet dragonfly strafed her a few times, and I was struck by the lush yellow orchids around the pool in full bloom and the frangipani flowers that fell in the water after a light breeze.
And, I saved twenty bucks.
We walked down to the beach a few hundred yards away. The children in Goa have it better than those in Mumbai -- most of the kids we see wear clean clothes or school uniforms. They're more likely to greet you with a sprightly "hello!" than a plaintive "please, sir" and an open palm. I wonder if these kids know how lucky they are.
I'm starting to carry that awareness with me everywhere these days.
More on Baga in the next entry. We've opted to return to Panaji, where we're trying to hire a car to take us the 200 km or so to Hampi, the seat of a former kingdom that has left behind some remarkable archeological finds. Also, the elevation is 457 meters, so it could be a little cooler.
Posted by Walter at June 15, 2005 04:17 AM