My last real memory of Ramgarh village, the place that for 6 weeks defined life in India for me, was Ricardo Situmeang. (Coincidentally, he is also the grad student who forced me to apply for a research position in India in the first place). He stood up in the middle of lunch, and clanged his fork against a metal cup. “Everybody, could I have your attention for one second? There is a rumor, that in the next village over, a vendor has a refrigerator, which means there MIGHT be beer. I propose that since Amanda, Claire Vicrant and Archy are leaving tomorrow, we should walk to there and everyone can have a drink”.
You did not need to ask us twice, a group of 20 something young interns and researchers, whom hadn’t seen alcohol in nearly two months. If there was a village in a 20 mile radius that MIGHT have a cold beverage, let alone a cold beverage WITH alcohol content, we were damned well gonna find it. And so we set off on a two hour walking white people pilgrimage to find a few fabled bottles of Kingfisher (which in the end DID exist and tasted like sweet sweet village victory).
That life seems years away now, as I close out yet another chapter, which I shall hence forth refer to as Mumb-oa. India, Chapter 2. Two weeks in Southern (ish) India split between Mumbai and Goa, never more than 12 feet from a beach and a beer.
Emma picked me up from the Mumbai airport after my epic trip there finally came to an end (re: three cancelled flights, one 12 hour bus, and a Delhi train break down). Having made so many friends in Ramgarh, I underestimated just how much I still needed to see a friendly face from a former life (pre-India life) and Emma was the perfect medicine. A wonderful friend and fellow tree hugger from my grad program at American, Emma is also doing her field work in India this summer studying the auto-rickshaw industry, Unfortunately she resides on the opposite side of the sub-continent but that didn’t stop me from hopping a sketchy domestic flight to get a glimpse of the place that has defined life for HER in India... Mumbai.
In what can only be defined as culture shock, round 17 for this year, Mumbai was just about as different as you can possibly get from Ramgarh. Paved streets and bright lights, Mumbai is a truly beautiful city that hugs the curves of the Arabian Coast. The Colaba district screams its history through old British buildings of gothic perfection and a type of ancient wealth that dances through hilltop bars and the taj hotel. Tucked in the North is Borivali National Park, a tree home away from home, yet the Juhu Bandra suburbs are crowded and bustling enough to remind you that you are still in fact in India.
I spent the week indulging. Hopping from cafe to cafe while working on my research, drinking chai at the taj, going for early morning runs on the beach (until the ass grabbers and morning poopers - literally, got too much for me to handle), sipping wine at the Dome ( a famous rooftop hotel bar that wreaked of wealth and royalty), sharing super human dosas for lunch, and giving my best shot at the Mumbai train systems (which I dominated thanks to Emma’s fabulous train lessons).
Before long it was Friday, and part two of South India unfolded with new friends and new hostels on the beaches of Goa. I immediately remembered how much I love being a backpacker. Carrying my life on my shoulders, meeting strangers, and sharing mopeds, getting to know people over King’s Cup, and frolicking around Old Goa in an attempt to be cultured. And at least once a day I thanked the universe for making it monsoon season because Goa, usually the Jersey Shore of India, was at 20 percent capacity, a beautiful wet tropical paradise, where the deserted streets made it seem like this city was meant to be my private playground.
My best friends were the five other people that occupied the city, all of which resided in Astrix hostel, the only available lodging. They hailed from Egypt, the UK, Australia and India, and sometimes the highlight of the day was watching Darshan solve the rubix cube...but that was OK... because in Goa you can cruise the coast via motorcycle or never leave your balcony beanbag chair. You can drink 1 dollar Kingfishers, or splurge on 2 dollar mojitos. You can stay true to your local and eat Vegetable masala or just as easily nom on a hickory burger and fries. But if at the end of the day if you are not relaxed, well rested, completely content and or buzzed, you’ve done something terribly terribly wrong.
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