Parasailing Into the Sunset

I have arrived in Goa. The village at which I am staying is a beautiful little place called Benaulim and is full of an eclectic mix of locals, backpackers, hippies, and tourists. Normally, a large number of tourists bothers me, but this place is so damn relaxing and peaceful that I'm not upset. I feel like I'm taking a small vacation from India, away from the hordes of people and away from the pollution of the cities. I plan to stay a few days.

To get to Goa, I rode 2-tier sleeper air-conditioned, and it was significantly nicer than typical sleeper for a few reasons. First, there are fewer people crammed into the cars. Second, the people are wealthier. This makes me sound elitest, but riding regular sleeper class one ends up with real, salt-of-the-earth working class Indians. Consequently, they're somewhat less hygenic and they barely speak any English. One ends up crammed into a tiny space for 12 hours listening to Hindi pop music and screaming babies. It is an interesting experience to have, and I imagine I'll do it again. Still, riding AC sleeper in more comfort and finding Indians fluent in English to converse with is probably worth the 8 extra dollars.

I arrived in Goa around 10 in the morning. As I was leaving the train station a local offered to give me a ride to Benaulim on his motorcycle. My other options were to either pay 180 rupees to have a taxi take me straight to Benaulim, or pay 50 rupees for a taxi to take me to a bus stand where I would wait for 30 minutes on a bus, pay 10 rupees for the bus, and then have to walk from the center of Benaulim to the coast. So, I opted for the motorcycle.

Now, imagine me on a motorcycle, a small Goan man with a Tom Selleck 'stache driving, and my massively large backpack balanced in front. If this weren't India it would have been a comical sight. As it is, Indians regularly carry absurdly precarious loads by motorcycle. It's common to see families of four (I've even seen a family of five) riding through town on motorbikes.

My hotel is decent. It is muggy and not terribly clean, but it's right on the beach. I spent the afternoon reading in the sand and swimming in the ocean. In the evening I was looking for a place to eat along the beach when a couple young guys approached me and asked if I wanted to parasail. After very brief bargaining we agreed on a price of 500 rupees, and they immediately strapped me into a harnass. I expected some sort of discussion about safety, or landing, but when I turned to ask them I was suddenly jerked forward and into the sky.

There are few experiences in my life that can compare with parasailing at sunset above the Arabian Sea. It was not at all frightening. It was liberating, even strangely tranquil. Hanging suspended above the waves of sea made me feel like I was in a different plane... as if I were seeing the world from an entirely different realm, and what I saw was beautiful - local fishermen bringing in their nets for the evening, happy couples strolling along the beach, children playing with coconuts beneath countless palm trees. Methinks I heard Vishnu chuckling delightedly in the clouds.

After landing, I grabbed some fresh prawn curry at one of the restaurants on the beach. I washed this down with some Kingfisher beer and followed it with bebinca - a delicious Goan dessert made primarily with flour, butter, and coconuts... somewhat akin to bread pudding. After eating I decided to take an evening stroll along the beach. The sun had set, and I rolled up my pants and walked in the surf. The strangest thing happened. I sometimes get lost in my thoughts and fail to notice my surroundings, but last night when I finally left my musings I realized I was very far from the village. In what had felt to me like a brief moment I had apparently walked for hours, nearly to the next village. I must have been over 10 km from my hotel. It was rather bizarre, and I began to wonder about my mental state. Anyway, after a tiring walk back I arrived at my hotel shack and went to sleep.