After a long and full of “experiences” train journey to GOA (learn the story here) I finally arrived in what I believe to be one of the best regions in India.
In contrast, there seems to be a place prepared to deal with tourists, being relatively safe, with emphasis on relatively, with more freedom and even beer being sold openly! There are bars on the beach, parties in hostels, and even world-famous Raves around there.
I remember walking the streets of GOA and having a strange feeling, a scratching in the back of my brain that that city on the other side of the world, in a country completely different from mine in architecture and social structure, had something that gave me a feeling of familiarity. And that’s what I said to a friend on the phone sitting in front of a random grocery store that I stopped to take the call.
For some reason, GOA had a Brazilian look. No. Not Brazilian. Portuguese. Like those old cities on the beach, you know?!
As soon as I got off the phone, a local gentleman who was sitting next to me answered me in the clearest Portuguese: “It’s because GOA was also colonized by Portugal.”
After getting over the shock that I was hearing a local person speak Portuguese, in a country on the other side of the world, in the last place on the face of the earth that I expected to find someone who spoke the same language as me, I started to remember frantically the conversation. Dude, people here understand what I say, did I say some shit?
Because man, only those who have traveled to countries where no one speaks their language knows the freedom of making the most depraved comments out loud without having any problem. No one understands you, you can literally get on a bus and tell everyone to… it doesn’t matter, and no one will understand you. At most, they’ll think you’re crazy.
But I was there, replaying the conversation in my head because apparently that city a million km from Brazil speaks Portuguese. Look Portugal fucking us again! 😂
Well, according to my terrible memory and the friendliness of the local man, I believe that I didn’t say any nonsense, so my journey through GOA continued, which happened spectacularly floating, I went to stay for 3 days, I stayed for almost two weeks. What did I do? I don’t remember, I think nothing more than going to the beach, working, and watching the sunset while drinking at my favorite beach restaurant.
Speaking about my favorite restaurant, I ate this over there and it was literally the most wonderful thing I’ve ever eaten! But I don’t know the name, does anyone know? Please send me the recipe!
I know the bread is cheese garlic naam and the other is?????
So I spent my days, walking, working in the afternoon, bar at the end of the day, days at the beach, all dressed as a “gringa”, like when you go to the Brazilians beach and see those foreigners wearing those huge bikinis that look more like gym clothes. Anyway, the bikinis on India’s beach are… burkas, small burkas where the feet are insinuatingly on display! 🌝
I hope you know I’m not disrespecting, ever, if there’s one thing in this world that I’ve learned is to respect other people’s culture! But there are some very big cultural differences here right?! So I’m just pointing out. Could you imagine, I’m in a conservative country, on the beach, wearing a Brazilian bikini, with those tits that my mother gave me?
Bro! I think I’d kill people there! Imagine in the morgue: cause of death: breast scandal! haha
I didn’t risk it, I went to the beach in “gringa” style! ☺️
Jokes aside, it’s a very big conflict, you know?! Where does our belief in freedom with respect for cultures fit in? India is a very violent country in relation to women, and although here I only tell good stories, there are many quiet ones that bring fear, sadness, and pain. How far should I respect a culture that makes not just me, but local women feel it?
I really don’t know and I believe that there is no correct answer, much less a quick solution, there is no such thing as pleasing everyone, but I know that violence against women cannot be ideal.
I repeat the words of a local friend when I asked if foreign women were safe in India:
Neither are the local women.
But back to the stories.
I remember that I loved the city, I wanted to stay longer. But we have to keep traveling right?! Even more because I received a reminder from the universe, very aggressively, telling me to get on with life!
I was walking along the beach shops, admiring the small forms of everyday art when it all happened.
It came out of nowhere, unexpectedly. I remember taking a step back to let someone pass when I felt the hit. First was the shock, something very strange had hit me. It wasn’t a slap, it wasn’t a soccer ball. It was as if someone with a giant hand had punched, that’s right a punch, in my ass.
I looked around, scared, to see if I could find the source of the petulance, nothing! There was no one!
It took me a while to understand that the source of aggression was at my side, calmly facing me. In the form of a cow!
A saleswoman laughed hysterically.
I was shocked by the insolence of that animal!
What a cow!! And now?
The salesgirl pulled me into the shop and the cow went on her way, and I stood there, shocked at the infamy that had just happened. The seller said this was a sign of good luck. Usually, cows don’t come close to people like that out of nowhere, and when they do, it’s aggressively. As apparently the headbutt she gave me in the ass was in the friendly category, that meant good luck!
oook right?! I have a different theory.
According to the belief in India, the cow is sacred because it is considered the reincarnation of ancestors. I think my great-grandmother found out that it was me who broke that thing!
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