A dusting of sand

My name is Mary, I speak broken English mixed with Hindi and I use gestures and body language foreign to my life at home.

Yup, I’ve definitely slipped back into the swing of things here. Although now that I’m leaving Arambol I have decided to no longer go as “Mary”. That name doesn’t resonate with me at all but no one can seem to pronounce “Meredith”. I started to completely forego telling people my name is Meredith because if I do, it’s as if a fuse has been blown and all stops…

Then when I say: “but you can call me Mary” a flood of relief washes over the person I am speaking with. From here on out I will introduce myself as “Dwan” which is already a nickname of mine and is simple enough for people to pronounce and remember.

Upon arrival over two weeks ago my neck and head quickly assumed the head bobble stance that is characteristic of Indians. Neither a “yes” nor a “no”, the sideways bobble is an “I hear you” recognition. In addition (or as another option) I can hold my hand up and make a motion as if quickly turning a light bulb 3 or 4 times.

I feel like I have found some secret password because life seems simpler and more understood here with these gestures.

So…

Goa…

Hmmm.

It’s been an interesting start to my journey.

My guess of the ratio is 60% foreigners and 40% Indians. Thus my primary interaction has been with a smorgasbord of internationals who are on the same level as me as far as travel. The choice to be in Goa provides lazy days on end at the beach which is a niche within this wavelength. We all have an incredible amount of time on our hands and it is somehow slips by quickly. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by the numerous connections I am having with dynamic and beautiful people.

Well…I’ll be more specific:

Dynamic and beautiful men.

The men are tan, gorgeous, numerous and have sexy foreign accents.

While the Pacific Northwest is inundated with rain much of the year, as far as me and any potential relationships have been, home has been an arid desert. But now my past few years of a dry spell have been splashed and I am reveling in this beach life…and the bounty of attractive masculinity surrounding me.

One of my favorite little “crushes” is with the sweet crystal vendor. Every day I visit him and we share a chai together. He tells stories of his girlfriend and his family in faraway Gujarat. Days later he brings photos to show me. His family is large with a total of 8 children and his parents appear in the photos as weathered, unsmiling and about 20 years older than the aging of a typical western person. In each photo there are indications that he has come from a challenged and impoverished background. At 19 he already has 5 years of experience of leaving his family and going alone for half the year to sell crystals to tourists in Goa.

He mails money back to his family as soon as he makes enough. At 19 he is basically the financial support for a family of 10.

For what appears to be such a tough life I am so inspired by the light that shines from within him. His smile and sincerity is what drew me to him one week ago.

After showing the family photos, he told me he had something else to show me and this one is a secret. He pulled me away from any onlookers’ glances and revealed the contents of a small envelope. Inside was a pile of carefully cut out magazine images of Bollywood stars. I don’t see him shining so bright as when he shows me his favorite famous faces of India.

My beach life reached a plateau and today I begin my travels outside of this tourist safety zone called Goa. With only a taxi and two bus rides I am transported to a town that is not listed nor on the map of my Lonely Planet guide. I have not seen one foreigner besides myself since arriving.

One of my top 5 favorite activities when traveling anywhere (including at home at farmers markets) is to wander around marketplaces. Vasco da Gama comes alive one hour before sunset as the heat dips and cool breezes take over, ushering in the evening. The streets fill with locals shopping for fresh produce and sundry items for their evening meal. I spent my final Goan evening taking in the sights of fruits, vegetables, sarees, bindis, fresh fish and flies…hundreds of flies.

I have gratitude for the gift of my time in Goa…

getting back into the groove of being in India

and also for establishing some confidence in myself when it comes to interacting with men.

Onward, Dwan!

My photos of Goa