Why wearing a brown leather hat on Palolem beach in early morning can get you killed
This is going to be a long long story, so be prepared. It started seven years ago. 2003 was as good a year as any I suppose. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I was about to end my tryst with college and having got that speed-bump out of my way I drifted into a period of restlessness. I wanted merrymaking and lawlessness and in that spirit I boarded a train to Goa. Two days later I was sitting on the balcony of a crudely-made shack on Palolem beach sipping port wine, kissing the breeze, and watching the sun die. The adventures that followed form the substance of another story which I will tell in the due course of time, but suffice to say that the memory of that beautiful evening lingered in some dark crevice of my mind until very recently.
A couple of months ago, wife and I decided to do Goa one more time this year. And yes, it is possible to do Goa – if you have been there recently and seen plastic bottles on the beach you will know what I mean. So anyway, wanting to rekindle old times I booked flight tickets and a self-driven car ahead of time and one sunny morning headed off to Shamshabad airport with wife, luggage and childish glee.
The beginnings were ominous. I have never flown Jet Connect before and chances are I will not fly it again. The scheduled time of departure was 2 pm. The actual time of departure was 5 pm. This effectively ruled out our driving down to Palolem the same day as I had hoped. Palolem is about two hours from Dabolim airport and in the dark when you only have a map and sub-par navigation skills, those two hours are likely to overstay their welcome.
So on the advice of my uncle (who has been living in Goa for so long his sweat smells like feni), we turned our rented silver WagonR towards some obscure place called Bogmalo beach. The guy who dropped off the car was helpful and offered to point us in the general direction. He did this by taking us to the nearest bus stop where he hopped on to a bus headed towards Vasco, and just before doing so, smiled sweetly and told us to ask anyone at the bus stop how to get to Bogmalo beach. To cut a long story somewhat shorter, after a half-hour of being hopelessly lost we decided that enough was enough. We pulled out our map of Goa (bought at Landmark for Rs 75 only), and headed towards Colva beach.
For anyone planning to go to Colva anytime in the off-season, try Dominick’s beach shack and restaurant. The food is heavenly (as it is in most places in Goa) and although they don’t have beach shacks in the off-season, they stand by everything else they advertise. In addition they have these little tables with candle-lamps a few feet away from where the tide ends in the night. After a sumptuous dinner on mussels, feni and some unmentionable vegetarian stuff that wife had, we retired to our room in a Goa Tourism cottage (costs Rs 1785 including taxes for a non-sea-facing room; sea-facing rooms are Rs 1885).
The next morning we headed out to Palolem, but just as we were getting out of the beach lane, we met with an unfortunate but entirely unavoidable accident. Out of the corner of her eye my wife spotted a few shops. Men have beer, sports and taxes. Women have shopping. I stopped the car and after about 30 minutes of waiting in the sun, I decided to find out what was taking her so long. While we are at this, as a general rule, finding out what is taking her so long is always (and always) an exercise in futility.
Anyway, the end result of my going in to see what was taking her so long was that I bought a brown leather hat. Why? I don’t know why. Temporary insanity maybe. Anyway, we finally got back on the car and started our journey to Palolem. After a beautiful drive through Cuncolim and some winding ghat-like roads, we reached around noon and started hunting for beach shacks that opened into the sea. I wanted to relive those days and come what may I had to have a beach shack right on the sea so I could watch the sun set on the balcony with a glass of wine in my hand.
We finally settled on Brendon guest house that had the perfect location, sea-facing with sturdy balcony and chairs and all. It also happened to have a large collection of dogs, the jewel in their crown being a Rottweiler that the shack manager informed us was ‘imported straight from London’. Whatever that means.
We spent a long time in the water – the current was mild and the waves still wonderfully high. After a meal of fish curry rice and port wine and long island ice tea and I can’t remember what else, we decided to head back to our shack for the memory-reliving. Even as we settled into our chairs, I started to realize that something was wrong. This was exactly as I had pictured it, but there was a pea hidden under a mattress somewhere. It took me a while to figure it out – age finally caught up with me. The rigors of driving, haggling with shopkeepers, and riding waves had tired me out and all I wanted to do was sleep. We headed back into the room and soon realized the impact of not having air-conditioning on a warm humid evening in Goa.
I stormed out, looking for the shack manager. I had already paid Rs 800 for the non-AC shack but the heat and humidity was such that I was willing to shell out another 1000 or whatever for an AC room. The shack manager and I had the following conversation:
Shack manager: “1000 rupees.”
Me: “Thoda kam karo, sirf raat guzaarna hai. Subah nikal jaayenge.”
Shack manager: “900 final.”
Me: “Theek hai.”
Shack manager: “Aapko aur 100 dena padega.”
Me: “Kya? Kaise?”
Shack manager: “Subah aapne 800 diya tha, abhi balance de do.”
Me: “Oh, main socha aur 900 extra dena padega. Aisa hai to, aap 200 le lo. Koi baat nahin.”
This last sentence affected the shack manager deeply. I have never seen anyone so moved. It was as if a curtain had fallen and the answers to life, the universe and everything had been revealed to him. I handed him two hundred bucks and left him with his grief.
Early, next morning (around 7 am) we started for my uncle’s place in Porvorim. As we packed I realized that the brown hat would get crushed in our luggage, so I wore it hoping that it being early morning, chances were fewer of any innocent bystanders being injured at the sight of it. What I hadn’t accounted for were the dogs (who are generally less tolerant of such flippancy), and the import from London. Even as we walked a few paces into the beach I could hear guttural noises in the distance. Very soon those noises became louder and louder until it turned into a roar. I turned around to find a group of about eight dogs; teeth bared and blood and murder in their eyes. Even as I was debating whether to flee or to fight, I heard a distinct bellow that rose far above and beyond the roar. It was the Rottweiler come to claim his pound of flesh.
I looked around for help, but being early morning there was no one around. “The hat, the hat,” my wife whispered. I clutched at this thin ray of hope and pulled off the hat with a swish. The roaring immediately subsided into growls and barks, as they decided amongst themselves what to do with me. Having concluded that I was human after all, although perhaps not the best example of my kind, they let off a few warning, don’t-let-us-ever-catch-you-in-that-thing-again snarls and set off into the distance.
So there. Don’t ever wear a brown hat on Palolem beach early morning. And as a last word of advice – if you do, wear matching brown Bermudas too.
A couple of months ago, wife and I decided to do Goa one more time this year. And yes, it is possible to do Goa – if you have been there recently and seen plastic bottles on the beach you will know what I mean. So anyway, wanting to rekindle old times I booked flight tickets and a self-driven car ahead of time and one sunny morning headed off to Shamshabad airport with wife, luggage and childish glee.
The beginnings were ominous. I have never flown Jet Connect before and chances are I will not fly it again. The scheduled time of departure was 2 pm. The actual time of departure was 5 pm. This effectively ruled out our driving down to Palolem the same day as I had hoped. Palolem is about two hours from Dabolim airport and in the dark when you only have a map and sub-par navigation skills, those two hours are likely to overstay their welcome.
So on the advice of my uncle (who has been living in Goa for so long his sweat smells like feni), we turned our rented silver WagonR towards some obscure place called Bogmalo beach. The guy who dropped off the car was helpful and offered to point us in the general direction. He did this by taking us to the nearest bus stop where he hopped on to a bus headed towards Vasco, and just before doing so, smiled sweetly and told us to ask anyone at the bus stop how to get to Bogmalo beach. To cut a long story somewhat shorter, after a half-hour of being hopelessly lost we decided that enough was enough. We pulled out our map of Goa (bought at Landmark for Rs 75 only), and headed towards Colva beach.
For anyone planning to go to Colva anytime in the off-season, try Dominick’s beach shack and restaurant. The food is heavenly (as it is in most places in Goa) and although they don’t have beach shacks in the off-season, they stand by everything else they advertise. In addition they have these little tables with candle-lamps a few feet away from where the tide ends in the night. After a sumptuous dinner on mussels, feni and some unmentionable vegetarian stuff that wife had, we retired to our room in a Goa Tourism cottage (costs Rs 1785 including taxes for a non-sea-facing room; sea-facing rooms are Rs 1885).
The next morning we headed out to Palolem, but just as we were getting out of the beach lane, we met with an unfortunate but entirely unavoidable accident. Out of the corner of her eye my wife spotted a few shops. Men have beer, sports and taxes. Women have shopping. I stopped the car and after about 30 minutes of waiting in the sun, I decided to find out what was taking her so long. While we are at this, as a general rule, finding out what is taking her so long is always (and always) an exercise in futility.
Anyway, the end result of my going in to see what was taking her so long was that I bought a brown leather hat. Why? I don’t know why. Temporary insanity maybe. Anyway, we finally got back on the car and started our journey to Palolem. After a beautiful drive through Cuncolim and some winding ghat-like roads, we reached around noon and started hunting for beach shacks that opened into the sea. I wanted to relive those days and come what may I had to have a beach shack right on the sea so I could watch the sun set on the balcony with a glass of wine in my hand.
We finally settled on Brendon guest house that had the perfect location, sea-facing with sturdy balcony and chairs and all. It also happened to have a large collection of dogs, the jewel in their crown being a Rottweiler that the shack manager informed us was ‘imported straight from London’. Whatever that means.
We spent a long time in the water – the current was mild and the waves still wonderfully high. After a meal of fish curry rice and port wine and long island ice tea and I can’t remember what else, we decided to head back to our shack for the memory-reliving. Even as we settled into our chairs, I started to realize that something was wrong. This was exactly as I had pictured it, but there was a pea hidden under a mattress somewhere. It took me a while to figure it out – age finally caught up with me. The rigors of driving, haggling with shopkeepers, and riding waves had tired me out and all I wanted to do was sleep. We headed back into the room and soon realized the impact of not having air-conditioning on a warm humid evening in Goa.
I stormed out, looking for the shack manager. I had already paid Rs 800 for the non-AC shack but the heat and humidity was such that I was willing to shell out another 1000 or whatever for an AC room. The shack manager and I had the following conversation:
Shack manager: “1000 rupees.”
Me: “Thoda kam karo, sirf raat guzaarna hai. Subah nikal jaayenge.”
Shack manager: “900 final.”
Me: “Theek hai.”
Shack manager: “Aapko aur 100 dena padega.”
Me: “Kya? Kaise?”
Shack manager: “Subah aapne 800 diya tha, abhi balance de do.”
Me: “Oh, main socha aur 900 extra dena padega. Aisa hai to, aap 200 le lo. Koi baat nahin.”
This last sentence affected the shack manager deeply. I have never seen anyone so moved. It was as if a curtain had fallen and the answers to life, the universe and everything had been revealed to him. I handed him two hundred bucks and left him with his grief.
Early, next morning (around 7 am) we started for my uncle’s place in Porvorim. As we packed I realized that the brown hat would get crushed in our luggage, so I wore it hoping that it being early morning, chances were fewer of any innocent bystanders being injured at the sight of it. What I hadn’t accounted for were the dogs (who are generally less tolerant of such flippancy), and the import from London. Even as we walked a few paces into the beach I could hear guttural noises in the distance. Very soon those noises became louder and louder until it turned into a roar. I turned around to find a group of about eight dogs; teeth bared and blood and murder in their eyes. Even as I was debating whether to flee or to fight, I heard a distinct bellow that rose far above and beyond the roar. It was the Rottweiler come to claim his pound of flesh.
I looked around for help, but being early morning there was no one around. “The hat, the hat,” my wife whispered. I clutched at this thin ray of hope and pulled off the hat with a swish. The roaring immediately subsided into growls and barks, as they decided amongst themselves what to do with me. Having concluded that I was human after all, although perhaps not the best example of my kind, they let off a few warning, don’t-let-us-ever-catch-you-in-that-thing-again snarls and set off into the distance.
So there. Don’t ever wear a brown hat on Palolem beach early morning. And as a last word of advice – if you do, wear matching brown Bermudas too.
Interesting!! Will keep in mind during my trip to Goa. :-)
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