I can hear the faint whispers of the lives of thousands lured
here and the many who were snared and never left. Come in, don’t worry, slip
off the sandals, have a drink, smoke a joint, breathe in the air. Slowly
becoming enshrouded by these emerald wisps of a maiden imprisoning me in
this forbidden fortress, where no desire goes unquenched.
 |
| King of Good Times |
Goa… as
almost all beach havens act as an opium den, the doors always open, but no one
ever wants to leave. Their fix is always ever present, just around the corner.
Whether it be something to keep you up until daybreak for the heart pumping
trance scene, or something to bring you down to level yourself out. The taste
of mind blurring nectar or the crisp sobering blood of a coconut. The bronzing
heat of the sun or the saltiness of the tepid water. The fragrant intensity of
the spices and chilies or the fresh fruits of the sea. Everything within reach.
I arrived
in Anjuna, the northern part of the state and was checking into prison. Tall
barbed wire fences towering above me, barred windows and a mug shot to not be
forgotten. Sharing a cell with another nine inmates, we were lucky security was
lax leaving us to our own devices. Beer cooler in the lounge and the charas
flowed in and out with ease. I lost track of time and days as they no longer
had meaning, they began to follow me and trail behind. Floating down a river of
cheap booze days blended into one another, when one ended and the next began
became unapparent. Was the sun coming up or going down? Motivation became
non-existent to the point where the simplest task would take days and finally
upon completion it felt like a great victory, as if Troy was breached. It traps
you without your own knowledge of it and when it is realized it’s too late…
you’re in.
 |
| Crab Xec Xec |
I knew
breaking out of prison wouldn’t be a simple task, but when the gates never
locked one would think it couldn’t be a herculean task either. I planned my
escape a few times, each time going to bed thinking tomorrow will be the day.
It was always tomorrow, then the day after that. Eventually the day came and
with the help of a friend met behind the bars we broke free with Queens, ‘I
want to break free’ playing behind us. We ran to the capital, Panjim to lay low
for a couple days.
Working
our way to the southern border, one last stop, Palolem. About two kilometers of
golden sand saturated with restaurants, sun beds, shops, beach shacks and
long stayers. Perfect place to blend in, but the dogs were on to us. By day
they were calm trying to beat the heat, but at night they picked up your scent.
They would gather in packs to intimidate and attempt a few lunges when they felt
lucky.
It was
time to make a final run for it before Goa consumed me, but it was an internal
struggle, being pulled in both directions. The water dragged me in every time
the increasing heat began to boil my blood, the cheap rum and Kingfisher still
flowing through my veins. Anything I need is within my grasp. Why should I
leave, life here is cheap and easy, no worries. Hakuna matata!
Not sure
what it was, definitely not the angel on my shoulder because he was taken out
years ago, but something broadsided me, knocking me back on my ass. Get out of
here or you’ll become one of them, a permanent bum of the beach. I thought what’s
so wrong with that, I could do this. Wait, I have too much left to do still,
too much to see, too much to eat. I can’t get snared and become a sun wrinkled
fixture on the beach….. yet!
