Subscribe to my mailing list here to be notified of future journal entries.

I was reluctant to travel alone in India, preparing now to drop out of the sky into a foreign city, not knowing a single soul at my destination. Up until this point, I had been slowly weaning myself into a solo trip to India. During the two weeks I traveled with Nathan, and the weekend spent visiting friends in Pune, I always had the luxury of close proximity to people that I trusted as I adjusted to my surroundings. But from here on out, I didn’t have that comfort, and it was intimidating. I had previously made three solo trips to Europe, but that seemed like an entirely different animal, as I was in an environment in which I felt comfortable, and more or less blended into the crowd; and even after two weeks, I still hadn’t fully adjusted to life in India. This reluctance was compounded by anxiety stemming from my lack of planning for this leg of the trip. As a “planner”, I was kicking myself for not forming a rough outline, or to-do list in advance of the next few weeks. I was now forced to live completely in the moment in this unfamiliar environment, and it was causing me a bit of self doubt.

All I knew was that I was going to the beach, which is something I never do. Growing up having rarely left Iowa, and not seeing mountains until the age of 24, I had been channeling my inner Muir (“The mountains are calling, and I must go”) for the past 3 years, visiting the Alps alone on three separate occasions (Switzerland, Italy, and Austria). I figured it was time for a change of pace, and while I was booking flights back in the fall, I thought that a visit to the beach might be the perfect way to decompress after two weeks among the most populous North Indian cities. There are dozens of beach settlements to choose from in Goa, and I had waited to select one until I had landed in India, and had a chance to gather local insights. By the time of my flight out, I had narrowed my search to Southern Goa, as it is known to be much more laid back than the congested, rave haven of Northern Goa. I chose Palolem beach, largely from recommendations by my friends in Pune, and booked a few nights at a hostel there before my flight.

First I had to worry about getting there. Palolem is almost 60 kilometers south of Vasco Da Gama airport, my port of entry. My logistical options were either a $100 cab ride, or a roughly $2 bus journey with a transfer. In India, you can easily spend a fortune on luxury services, but if you put in just a little effort, you can find ways to still live large on almost any budget. Having had my flight from Pune delayed by two hours, I finally exited Goa’s airport at 5 pm, after leaving my hostel at 10 AM that morning. With my Osprey pack strapped behind me, and my daypack clutched to my chest, I passed a host of cab drivers outside vying for my attention, in search of the nearest local bus stop. I needed to reach the town of Margao, a transportation hub where I could catch a transfer south. I was baking in the winter heat, awaiting a bus on this busy roadside on India’s western coast. I finally found a bus headed for Margao, and embarked upon the most interesting ride of my trip to date. The driver drove maniacally through a seemingly unending sprawl of civilization. For being in a coastal region, I saw no indication that we were anywhere near an ocean, largely seeing more of the pollution that I had become accustomed to in Delhi. I was the only Westerner on the bus, which felt as if it were traversing a lunar landscape as opposed to city streets - the speed at which the driver moved through these primitive roads caused for a difficult ride. Every couple minutes or so, we would hit a bump (or body?) so violently that all passengers were launched six or more inches upward in unison. I’d be silently watching the changing scenes through my window which would suddenly drop beneath my line of sight just before a meeting between my head and the metal ceiling. We eventually arrived at the Margao bus station - where throngs of people shuffled around a parking lot and covered platform among two dozen or so buses that were stopping through before departing. I had to ask an attendant at the ticket window to help me find the right bus to Palolem, and boarded just as it started to take off.

This second bus ride was much more pleasant. We soon left the incessant hum and haze of the cities, and were winding through jungle roads, with the sun beginning to set, and the ocean still hidden from view. It was well that I was seated in the back, as I could somehow tell that the driver was passing vehicles in our lane while missing collisions with oncoming traffic by mere inches. After an hour had passed, and a slight miscommunication with the bus attendant, I found myself standing on the shoulder, with a half hour walk remaining to Palolem, and the bus disappearing into a cloud of dust down the dirt road. Thankfully the road was well trafficked, as the light was fading fast. I flagged down a cab to take me the rest of the way to the hostel I had booked earlier in the day, called Palolem Roadhouse. After getting situated in the AC dorm I had booked, I got acquainted with the room’s only other inhabitant, a young man from Delhi named Naman. He had just arrived in Palolem as well, but had spent the last few nights vacationing in North Goa, at Arambol beach, where the Beatles had once meditated as per local legend. Naman is a couple of years younger than me; built like a tank, with hipster glasses and a heroically thick beard. After chatting for just five minutes, we had resolved to hit the beach. Together we exited the walled yard of Roadhouse, crossing the street to pick up a few Kingfishers at a small shop, and started on the wooded path into the evening as it gave way to night.

Underneath a canopy of coconut palms, the way to the beach was lined with bars, cafes, and villas, revealing no sight or sound of the ocean. After a couple of minutes, we left the path, cutting through a cluster of cabanas, and I soon caught my first glimpse of the Indian Ocean. Through a small gap in the trees, I saw a sliver of a fierce, magenta sky, and a tease of a horizon line like none I had seen before. I felt a rush of adrenaline, and Naman and I hurried the last fifty meters through the trees until we emerged, standing in full view of the ocean. In this moment, all of my doubt and uncertainty about journeying alone had vanished entirely. We stood on a crescent shaped beach, with the sun well below the horizon, its light turning the western sky into a watercolor painting. Each end of the beach was marked by large rock formations, with lights twinkling from one end to the other - lanterns and candles from the tables of a long line of beachside restaurants. Because of its crescent shape, we could see the entire length of Palolem beach from any point along it. Removing our sandals, we walked barefoot through the wet sand, sipping on Kingfisher Strong as we strolled in the gathering night. It truly felt like paradise. The night was hot, and the air humid, but fresh, for what felt like the first time since arriving in the country. We could smell the salt of the ocean, and hear the soothing, eternal chorus of waves lapping against the beach. We walked through a makeshift soccer field, dodging the children at play; on one side seeing couples seated at tables in the sand for dinner by candle light, and to the other could see silhouettes of swimmers wading with the tide against a darkening ocean.

We walked for what felt like hours, eventually stopping for a bite to eat, and to finish our Kingfishers before heading back to Roadhouse. We passed later through the gate of our hostel to find its inner yard full of life and sound. A ring of travelers sat on the ground around a low, circular, wooden table, situated under a canopy of straw illuminated by lanterns. Around this table under the lights, ten of us sat, half Indian, and half international: hailing from Canada, France, Romania, Spain. Two friends from Mumbai, both named Aniket, were the most generous guests I had met thus far, mixing cocktails for everyone, and leaving none out of the conversation. As music played through a bluetooth speaker, food, bottles, and blunts were passed around the table as we talked and enjoyed the night. Just as many animals shared this space as did humans. Two dogs slept peacefully on pillows within the ring of travelers, and a pair of ducks noisily waddled around the yard. Raja, from the Southern tip of India, had picked up a couple of stray kittens during his travels, and the two were curiously moving between the laps of different travelers in search of a comfortable napping spot. Occasionally, coconuts would fall heavily to the ground, or crash upon the roof behind us, from the commotion of monkeys in the trees above.

Just the previous night I was standing on a hostel rooftop in Pune with Mohit and Mohit, having the night of my life, and not wanting to leave that feeling behind. After this full day of wearisome travel, and not knowing who or what I would meet at my destination, I was now seated within a circle of strangers with whom I felt a strong sense of belonging. Very different paths had led us all to this place, but we shared the same space that night, together experiencing the wonder of this ocean paradise. The isolation I felt earlier had melted away, and I was starting to crave what I had been fearing just that morning: that feeling of confidently and willingly seeking out uncertainty, and I was trusting myself to make the most of whatever situation I find myself in.