November 18, 2009 – Day 327 – Panaji, Goa, India

Today will go do in history as the most ridiculous search for a place to sleep. Hmm, where to begin? Maybe with the sleeper bus we took here last night that rocked violently all night on a curvy road and the “two person” bays were only long enough to accommodate 1.5 people in the fetal position. Or maybe the flat tire in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe with the hour and half fully loaded walk from the bus station, over the bridge into the city and then all around the city looking for a hotel that was (a) not full, and (b) not Rs. 1000 per night.

Lights on the interstate at night

After massive failure on that front, we took a much needed break for some lunch since we had not eaten since lunch yesterday (night bus left mid-afternoon from Mumbai) and had no access to a toilet in far too many hours. A disappointing meal and half an hour of more walking led us to a miniature local bus fully cram-packed like a rusty, dented can of sardines. Destination: Miramar beach where reportedly “many, many hotels” awaited us. I don’t know what that guy was smoking but when we got to Miramar beach, there were 2 hotels and neither place had a single other living being within 500 meters of the buildings.

Prawns fried rice, in case you need a snack in the middle of all this text.

With no other visible options, we started walking. And walking. And you know what? Some more walking. In fact, we walked another 7km to Dona Paula beach and by the time we got there, our feet were blistered and bleeding and we had both lost somewhere around 68 lbs. in sweat alone. You know, that’s a really BIG thing no one ever talks about when planning a long term trip. No one tells you about the really awful days like today. No, if you knew this sort of thing before you bought your flight, you would probably rather stay home. Because you have a nice home and why on earth would you want to sweat your brains out and walk until your feet bleed just to have a crappy, overpriced, ant-and-some-other-bug-infested room for the night that only has cold water even if they say it is hot. In fact, the hotel guy downstairs will tell you whatever he thinks you want to hear. Sure, there is cable TV in your room (when there isn’t even a TV). Sure, there’s a western toilet (that you have to flush with a bucket). Hell, there’s even a mini bar, room service, and 4 strippers there too. Actually, the real problem isn’t what they tell you—you can usually see most of those lies when you look at the room before you say “I’ll take it.” The real problem is that damn head wobble. What does that even mean!?! Is that OK, yes, no, maybe, I’m not sure, what do you mean?! Just say something, don’t wobble your head! I’m not even Indian and you’ve got me doing it too now! What am I saying?! What are you saying? We’re just two people wobbling our heads at each other trying to figure out what kind of room is available and how much it costs.

So because of the Indian head wobble, we never found a place to sleep and ended up sleeping on the side of the road with a few stray dogs and some giant angry ants who stole our backpacks but we didn’t know til the next morning when we found ourselves being carried away on the unbelievably strong backs of ants to a ritual fire where we were roasted alive.

Well, maybe not that last bit…..after that final 7km, one last hill, and a defunct round-about we found one hotel. We took it with little argument and collapsed into a sweaty puddle beneath the ceiling fan for a few minutes before hunting for the stupid beach that we had come so far to see. It was disappointing, a clothing-stall lined jetty where only 2 restaurants lived and another 3 hotels stood. Not a promising place to start our vacation in Goa. At least our packs are off our backs for now!