House drama

Goa has long been a popular tourist destination for Brits and Israelis, the place is full of them. No wonder it’s purported to be on Al Qaeda’s hit list, even if you don’t consider the fact that it dares to be largely Christian in a Muslim country, having been built up first by the Portuguese.

My destination in Goa was Anjuna Beach, a tourist town built up on the rocky shores of the Arabian sea. On arrival I stayed at a place called Couthino’s Nest. 400 rupes a night for a room with a ceiling fan, bathroom and hot water. Not a bad size or location, but way overpriced. Now, when you consider this is about nine dollars it may seem ridiculous to complain, but it’s possible to get a whole house with a kitchen for 7000 rupees a month, or 233 rupes a night. So of course I wanted to find something else. Besides, my India fantasy had me living in a house.

Lo and behold if a free one did not materialize. A friend I met here “through mutual friends” told me I could stay at his parent’s villa—my own Portuguese styled hideaway with a pool, a balcony and gardens. A kitchen, too. I moved in right away, and I think I got to enjoy it for about one day before I was told I’d have to leave because I’d left windows open. Mind you, the windows have iron grates over them, so I couldn’t take the security risk all that seriously, but I also felt it was OK since the offer was only good for one month and I was worried about finding a place in December when “the season” was in full swing.

But when and how in the hell was I going to find something? I am in class from 7am to 7pm, sure we get a lunch break, but my intense hunger drives me right to food and then to the grocery store to stock up for the next round and then-wham!-it’s back to class and I still don’t know my way around town any better. The rush is on because the prices are going up daily as the season…

Too weird. The guy who lives upstairs, Felix, the 50-year-old Tibetan retiree, just kinda barged into my room (uh, it’s 7am here now) to tell me he heard I was looking for a house and give me a number of a lady with one. Weird. But less weird that I was writing about it at the time than that he heard I was looking for a house. It’s so funny how gossip works in a small compound. And it’s SO quick.

Yesterday, one of the girls told me someone in the house practices Wicca. Is that even the right way to spell it? Anyway, Wicca!? I mean, what the fuck, that’s just WEIRD. And somehow totally predictable. Then I added my own bit of gossip and the whole pile just swirls around. Interestingly, the yogis don’t hang on to gossip like I have a defective tendency to. Something is said, and everyone looks kinda guilty, and it’s dropped. So, it’s a step in the right direction anyway.

So, back to the house. I landed in this idyllic Big Brother place, but would like my own kitchen. So I search.

[tagname]