Sacred Cows and Beach Hippies

Maybe because it took us so long to get to Goa, my sister and I had high expectations for our time there: white sand beaches, turquoise waters, fresh seafood, a plethora of sports and activities, and a great nightlife. We were expecting a meeting place for like-minded socially conscious backpackers, an Indian Zanzibar. Perhaps we were misguided by our guidebook, or perhaps we misunderstood what Goa was all about, but we found almost none of the above. Instead, we were confronted with the grim and grimy town of Anjuna.

The streets of Anjuna are lined with small tourist-trap road shacks selling identical cheap crafts and clothing. Small herds of humpbacked cows crowd around palm trees, seeking refuge from the hot midday sun. The paths leading down to the beach are crowded with street kids begging and young men simultaneously catcalling and selling drugs. Once you finally make it onto the beach, the assault continues. Hawkers selling fruit, massages, henna, bags, and cheap sunglasses stake their claims over sections of the beach. I can imagine them having territorial disputes, “these are my white people!” History sometimes reverses itself, bizarrely leaving power dynamics intact.
Children swarm around and literally pull you into their respective shops. But any resistance to their pestering is met with wide-eyed pleading and promises of low prices. They actually grab your arm or hand, a disconcerting violation of personal space that makes me want to both slap them and adopt them and take them all home with me. I can tell my sister is struggling with these same issues, as she sits next to me furiously scribbling in her notebook.

Most of the other tourists on the beach are of the crunchy hippie variety: leathery tan skin, a smattering of tattoos and piercings, the occasional dreadlock. They lay on the sand, baked and baking in the sun, no doubt recovering from their acid trip at previous evening’s rave.


I am so turned off by this disingenuous "drink til you drop dead" scene (see sign above) that I seek out other activities. I can't stand the beach and all of those kids, so I want to avoid it altogether. Instead, we take the time to actually visit Goa. We explore the old Portuguese cities, which include highlights such as a mini replica of the St. Peter's Basilica and lots of brightly painted houses reminiscent of the Bo-Kaap neighborhood in Cape Town. I also drag my sister along to a couple of amazing 8am yoga classes, which leave us both feeling centered and happy, but incredibly sore a few hours later.

Despite the daily annoyances and unfilled expectations, I'm glad we went to Goa. Not only to be able to plant the little flag and say "I have been there," but also because it stirred up a lot of challenging questions about the clashes between privilege and poverty, the potential for socially conscious and environmentally sustainable tourism, and ultimately the responsibility of us as travelers and global citizens.