The Arabian Sea, Pomfret, and The Victoria's Secret Fashion Show

I landed in Goa and took a pre-paid taxi to my hotel, as recommended by my guidebook and a few people I talked to. It was 1200 rupees, or about $30 for a 45 minute ride. I was a little floored at the cost of the taxi ride, having expected it to be less like being in America.

The owner of the pre-paid taxi service rode along with me as he needed to go to a hotel along the route to my hotel, so I asked him about this and he pretty much confirmed what I had been slowly realizing throughout my time in India so far.

India, contrary to whatever uninformed sentiment made me think it would be, is not cheap.

Many things, like hotels, clothing, books, CDs, jewelry -- what one may consider to be luxury items -- cost nearly the same in India as they do in the US. Other things, such as food in non-hotel restaurants and movies -- are very inexpensive.

My hotel in Hyderabad was $200 a night. My saris cost $100 each. My salwar was $30. My wedding shoes cost $50 and the handbag was also $50. I was told that some condos sprouting up in Hi Tec City run for about $2000 a month. I am not listing these prices for any other reason than to illustrate this point. But, I also want to be clear that I would feel guilty if my gorgeous sari cost me $10 instead.

It is a beautiful thing to see an economy moving toward this kind of health, if that is the word for it. However, it is health from a very selective angle -- in that only a small percentage of the people of India are earning at a level that can participate as consumers of these goods in this economy, and this situation is always ground zero for great discontent that is difficult to resolve. The largest shopping center in Asia is being built in Hyderabad -- providing fabulous stomping grounds for international visitors and local big earners. But, it will also flaunt outrageously priced "haves" to the "have nots."

This situation reminds me of the summer I spent in Asuncion Paraguay staying with a friend whose Brazilian maids ran off with all of my clothes and jewelry the morning after I had spent the night with them on the patio singing and dancing to Marta Sanchez songs. I was distraught. I insisted that I go to the police, which at the time, I was too naive to realize was an exercise in futility.

That night, I sat under the bright, bright stars on the patio of my friend's mansion -- and had a revelation that would last to this day. I could not blame these young women for reacting to the inequities in the world in which we all lived -- inequities that working as maids in a mansion make all too evident and painful and easy to "fix." I don't mean this to sound patronizing at all -- but I had to consider my possessions as a way to give them a miniscule fraction of the comfort that the infrastructure of Brazil had thus far been unable to give them, and leave it at that. And this is how I have always looked at any kind of theft I've experienced since.

After dropping the taxi owner off at a gorgeous resort, we headed further north to my hotel. The driver, who had been silent, then proceeded to beg me to get him a Visa to the US. I told him that I had no idea how I could personally get him a Visa to the US. He was relentless. Frankly, I was a little annoyed at how he felt like I was responsible for getting him a Visa, and at the same time, I felt great guilt.

I have no idea of how the Visa system works -- so I gave him the next best advice I could. I told him to go to school. I told him that whatever path his life takes, education would make it even better. I truly believe this for anyone, including myself. He told me that he failed his courses. So, then...I had nothing to say.

So, are you screwed if you are poor and you fail in school in India? Are there no second chances? In the US, you can always take a few classes on the cheap at a community college and then make your way to better institutions, regardless of whether or not you had failed the 8th grade. Is this unheard of in India? I'll get back to you on this one.

The driver delivered me to Hotel Estrela Do Mar. This place was not what I had imagined based on the photo I saw on Travelocity. Actually, the first room they took me to had not been cleaned yet and as the bellboy opened the door we saw a bunch of used condoms on the floor and he and I looked at eachother like -- HOLY CRAP this is awkward, and not to mention, disgusting.

He ran off to get another room key and took me a clean room, which could never really be clean in my mind after seeing that first room. So, I called the front desk and asked about a refund, thinking that I would be willing to go into debt to be instantly transported to that resort where we dropped off the pre-paid taxi company owner!

Neema, the front desk manager, was very kind and gave me a free upgrade to a larger room, which oddly enough, had cleaner sheets, a healthier vibe overall, and was not located above the hotel garbage bins.

The next morning I headed down to Calangute Beach, on which this hotel was located. I took a wrong turn on the path to the beach and while I still ended up at the beach, the path was strewn with garbage and after hearing some rustling in the bushes, I saw a guy taking a crap just feet away from me.

So far, Goa had not presented me with the ease and relaxation I had been hoping for. By the time I reached the beach, I had the overwhelming sensation of being in my own private Death in Venice, but instead of harboring an obsession for a young boy, I had an obsession with bottled water.

I laid out on the beach for a little bit and then when to Swally's Beach Shack for some breakfast. I ordered some porridge and coconut pancakes. These are coconut pancakes in Goa:

Crepes! Delish!

After breakfast, I walked out into the Arabian Sea -- the water was so warm, and languid. It felt like gently heated honey around my legs!

I lay on a beach chair under an umbrella and attempted to read "The Discovery of India."

Everyone wants to shake hands and exchange names on the beach. The vendors constantly try to sell you things and I was unable to get past page 13.

The tourist season was winding down in Goa -- but there were still lots of people to watch on the beach. Many of the tourists in Goa are European -- namely from Finland and England. Around Calangute, many of them looked like Goldmember, both the men and the women!

For dinner, I asked my driver Vinesh to take me to the best place for pomfret, which Rohit recommended I have while in Goa. The driver consulted his boss and he took me to Kebabs and Curries, at which I had one of the most delicious meals I had had in India so far.

It was a whole tandoori pomfret, served with pineapple raita and plain naan. Incredible!

I went back to my hotel and walked into the open air restaurant/lobby to the sound of these lyrics being sung with a hyper-American English accent: "Tell me quando, quando, quando..."

This is when I met Ivor, the Elvis/Frank Sinatra/Tom Jones of Goa. Here he is in a red cap, next to Neema:
He is a one-man band who has been playing at different restaurants in Goa for at least the last 30 years. He can play any song -- from American lounge classics to classical Indian -- and pretty much did over the course of an hour. Before playing in Goa, he played keyboards for movie soundtracks in Bollywood.

At Ivor's recommendation, I went to Tito's for dinner the next night to have some fish curry rice, which is the official dish of Goa, apparently. Ivor's son, Haydn, was playing there that night. But in addition to playing his dad's more traditional lounge tunes, he also played "Yellow" by Coldplay, to which the crowd went nuts!

So, after the delicious pomfret and a good dose of Tom Jones' Delilah, I headed back to my room and watched one of the strangest shows ever -- The Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. This was to fashion, what Hooter's is to food!

I was warming up to Goa.