india was immediately taken by a small, bright yellow building down the block from the large post office. bryn noticed the red sign that hung over the door. a pousada: a guest house. the pair rang the bell, forgetting briefly that it was so early in the morning. a middle aged man came to the door in a tank top and plaid boxers. yes, yes, i have room, he said. you go in, you sleep, we worry later. thank you, thank you, bryndia said, and then cozied up in their lucky room.
a few hours passed and the two emerged feeling clean and rested. they met their hosts, a homeopathic doctor and his housekeeper wife with a daughter who was living in hollywood. obviously, bryndia immediately took a liking to them. the couple made bryn & india's happiness their personal responsibility. they sketched out maps of the city, of the beaches, explained the locations of all their favorite restaurants and sights, and helped bryndia rent a scooter to get around. that first day in panjim was spent getting acquainted with the city. bryndia walked the length of the river, down trough the portuguese influenced architecture, inside of the largest christian cathedral in all of asia. it was a definite change from bryn & india's first days in the country. in goa, jesus was everyone. bumper stickers and murals and hand painted posters plastered onto the side of white concrete buildings. the smallest state in india wore their european heritage proudly.
the following morning, bryndia rounded the corner from their guest house to find their host's favorite breakfast spot. the two ate poached eggs and toast while perched on a tiny balcony overlooking the cobblestoned street. here, they thought, if they used their imagination, it could feel like they were back in spain. refueled and ready, bryn mounted the rickety rented scooter, india strapped on the helmet, and the two rode thirty minutes north through the dense tropical forests and small river side towns packed with donkeys, up to the famous beach of baga.
bryndia sat in the throngs of indian tourists, their feet buried in the damp sand. the ocean waves crashed loudly in front of them, their company jumping into the brown water, all the men in their tiny underwear, all the women fully covered in their bright colored saris. women carrying huge baskets on their heads approached, selling piles of chunky jewelry. teenage boys pressed dangerous looking paragliding packages. bryndia walked all the way down the beach and then turned up onto the road and walked back along the dusty path dotted with beach boutiques and outdoor bars. they bought forty cent ice cream cones from thirty one flavors and dresses and tee shirts for a few bucks each. the ride back to panjim felt like flying.
the next morning, the two returned to their breakfast balcony, drank mango juice as bright as turmeric, and took off on their rented scooter bound north for mapusa, a small town forty five minutes north of panjim, where the goan branch of international animal rescue was located. bryndia volunteered walking dogs for the afternoon. the scrawny animals lay panting in concrete cages, circling anxiously, and bryn would coo them out of their corners, loop the leash around their neck, and stroll around the jungle compound with them, sprinting down the road and collapsing on their heads, ruffling their ears. after each of the dozen dogs had been let out, bryndia went behind the building to where the puppies and kittens were kept, and ohhed and ahhed over the assortment. they missed their animals at home.
as they were leaving, a leader of IAR mentioned to them that the founder of the charity was now living in a secluded mansion housing a collection of different monkeys only twenty minutes from where they were. could it be true? it sounded magical. a phone call was made and an invite was extended, and bryndia rode along winding rocky roads to find the tree house, the home of john hicks and his twenty five young monkeys. bryndia was greeted with an air of routine friendliness. john shook their hands as he emerged from the swimming pool with a quickly moving ball of fur on each shoulder. bryndia was given a tour of the house, three stories overlooking green goa, and shown to the wooden chest filled with bathing suits for unprepared guests. put on one of those, john said, and come take a swim with the little buggers.
for thirty minutes, bryndia floated in the fresh water pool and watched two one year old monkeys dart through the water like they were michael phelps. they were so full of energy, so fearless. soaring from their perches on john's shoulders into a cannon ball that splashed all over bryn's face. john told them stories of the work IAR did in india and bryndia told him of their time in europe. the afternoon grew late, and bryndia rode back towards mapusa as the air began to cool.
the two decided to stop in mapusa for the famed friday market. here, hundreds of families gathered to sell their goods. thousands of shoppers surrounded them. bryndia walked through the produce wing of the market first. their breath grew hot as they walked through the aisle of huge piles of red chili peppers. they found a bakery stand and stood, staring bewildered at the piles of cakes and cookies. two teenage girls approached them giggling. bryn smiled at them. you look so different than everyone else, the girls said without shame. yes, said bryn, i don't look very indian. you look like barbie, the girls said to india. come to my shop, come buy nice silk from me. india picked out a scarf printed with elephants. pink, the girls said, is barbie's favorite color too.
that night, bryndia ate pizza and drank gin and tonics in their guest house. they planned for a scooter ride to old goa in the morning. they slept soundly and set off on their adventure early. they didn't count on their scooter breaking down in the middle of the highway halfway there. their afternoon was spent hitchhiking back to panjim and obtaining a new ride. that evening, the two rode down the mandovi river, out to dona paula where it meets the ocean, and sat on the beach for hours, watching goats graze next to the water.
the next day, bryndia made it all the way to old goa, the old colonial capital, now an impressive collection of beautiful catholic churches. the two visited the se cathedral, st. francis of assisi, and the basilica of bom jesus. it was funny to be back in the grand gothic buildings of the catholics. after a break from western europe, a month filled with mosques and temples, returning to the cathedral felt comfortingly familiar. the two wandered through the flat park that connected the three churches and shared a coconut, the top hacked off and a straw stuck in by a preteen boy. the two explored old goa by scooter, found some beaches, and some shady corners, and relaxed for their last afternoon in goa. that night, they returned to their favorite restaurant, ate spicy indian food and sweet wine, and took off for the bus station late.
on their bus, bryndia reveled in how concerned every indian they had met had been. after awaking their guest house host at daybreak, he had insisted on getting them comfortable before returning to bed. stranded on the side of the road with a dead scooter, a young man who spoke no english at all had stopped to help before offering a ride. this kind of sweet affection, offered without any expectation or hesitation, flowed from the people of goa. bryndia drank it up.
the south had been sweet. the northwest awaited.
as they were leaving, a leader of IAR mentioned to them that the founder of the charity was now living in a secluded mansion housing a collection of different monkeys only twenty minutes from where they were. could it be true? it sounded magical. a phone call was made and an invite was extended, and bryndia rode along winding rocky roads to find the tree house, the home of john hicks and his twenty five young monkeys. bryndia was greeted with an air of routine friendliness. john shook their hands as he emerged from the swimming pool with a quickly moving ball of fur on each shoulder. bryndia was given a tour of the house, three stories overlooking green goa, and shown to the wooden chest filled with bathing suits for unprepared guests. put on one of those, john said, and come take a swim with the little buggers.
for thirty minutes, bryndia floated in the fresh water pool and watched two one year old monkeys dart through the water like they were michael phelps. they were so full of energy, so fearless. soaring from their perches on john's shoulders into a cannon ball that splashed all over bryn's face. john told them stories of the work IAR did in india and bryndia told him of their time in europe. the afternoon grew late, and bryndia rode back towards mapusa as the air began to cool.
the two decided to stop in mapusa for the famed friday market. here, hundreds of families gathered to sell their goods. thousands of shoppers surrounded them. bryndia walked through the produce wing of the market first. their breath grew hot as they walked through the aisle of huge piles of red chili peppers. they found a bakery stand and stood, staring bewildered at the piles of cakes and cookies. two teenage girls approached them giggling. bryn smiled at them. you look so different than everyone else, the girls said without shame. yes, said bryn, i don't look very indian. you look like barbie, the girls said to india. come to my shop, come buy nice silk from me. india picked out a scarf printed with elephants. pink, the girls said, is barbie's favorite color too.
that night, bryndia ate pizza and drank gin and tonics in their guest house. they planned for a scooter ride to old goa in the morning. they slept soundly and set off on their adventure early. they didn't count on their scooter breaking down in the middle of the highway halfway there. their afternoon was spent hitchhiking back to panjim and obtaining a new ride. that evening, the two rode down the mandovi river, out to dona paula where it meets the ocean, and sat on the beach for hours, watching goats graze next to the water.
the next day, bryndia made it all the way to old goa, the old colonial capital, now an impressive collection of beautiful catholic churches. the two visited the se cathedral, st. francis of assisi, and the basilica of bom jesus. it was funny to be back in the grand gothic buildings of the catholics. after a break from western europe, a month filled with mosques and temples, returning to the cathedral felt comfortingly familiar. the two wandered through the flat park that connected the three churches and shared a coconut, the top hacked off and a straw stuck in by a preteen boy. the two explored old goa by scooter, found some beaches, and some shady corners, and relaxed for their last afternoon in goa. that night, they returned to their favorite restaurant, ate spicy indian food and sweet wine, and took off for the bus station late.
on their bus, bryndia reveled in how concerned every indian they had met had been. after awaking their guest house host at daybreak, he had insisted on getting them comfortable before returning to bed. stranded on the side of the road with a dead scooter, a young man who spoke no english at all had stopped to help before offering a ride. this kind of sweet affection, offered without any expectation or hesitation, flowed from the people of goa. bryndia drank it up.
the south had been sweet. the northwest awaited.
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