Journey through the interior of India
It never stopped. Walter realized that this was what he needed to see and to be OK with it. He let go of the wish to experience the holy man on a bed of nails or the miracles he had read about in Yogananda’s book. This journey through the interior of India, grueling because of the heat, dust, mosquitoes, food, and road conditions, fulfilled his desire for phenomena.
He could have continued driving, but eventually the yellow camp-mobile team made it all the way to the city at the sea, Bombay.
They parked curbside on a residential street in the neighborhood of the Gateway of India, which appeared to be very peaceful, but they knew it would not be so forever. The location provided a certain security from streetlights at night and, after a little time, familiarity with a few residents.
Being in a fairly wealthy city and in the state of Maharashtra gave them a lot to see and do. Since the Arabian Sea essentially surrounded the city, restaurants prepared plenty of seafood in their local cuisine, which covered a range from mild to very spicy. Hilde and Walter used the opportunity to drive on roads with multiple lanes to see Nariman Point, Girgaum Chowpatti, Juhu Beach, and Marine Drive.
December approached. The companions still faced four hundred miles of travel straight south, through elevated plains, to reach the legendary state of Goa. On the second morning after they began this section of the trip, the Volkswagen’s starter did not stir. Walter tried a few tricks, but nothing helped get it going. Fortunately, the vehicle was parked close to a little mound, to which Walter pushed the bus. The decline made it roll by itself, and when Hilde engaged a gear, the engine started. In their owner’s manual, Walter found an address of an authorized repair shop in Panaji, the capital city of Goa.
On an afternoon they arrived, quite relieved, at the deserted industrial complex where the auto shop was. One of the technicians removed the starter and diagnosed that it could be repaired easily if a certain part were replaced. The shop owner contacted a distributor in Bombay and found out that the spare part would be available within three days.
The three travelers discovered themselves trapped in a safe but somewhat odd locality for tourists, who preferred the white beaches of Goa; they had to live between wrecked vehicles and dreary factory buildings. Only Fritzi loved to roam around rusted car parts and crevices between collapsed building parts, and constantly discovered something to chase. At night, a guard watched over the premises, but in the daytime, because it was the weekend, Walter and Hilde essentially owned it.
The couple discovered Panaji by walking. They found a cluster of concrete buildings with capricious balconies and red-tiled roofs, bleached-clean churches, and a riverside promenade with red-roofed houses built in Latin style. Restaurant menus listed many seafood delicacies, with rice, coconut milk, and paste as the main ingredients. Rice with fish curry—the staple diet in Goa—could be obtained everywhere. The state had been influenced by Hindu origins, but the Portuguese colonization that lasted 450 years left its mark in architecture, culture, language, and religion. It was one reason to be in Goa for the Christmas holidays: the large Christian population. A third holiday, which followed the weekend, granted additional time off from the everyday life of a transient tourist.
The tiny spare part for the starter arrived the next day with a courier, and after inserting it, the technician installed the starter back in the bus. It kicked off without stuttering, and the three drove out of the former factory complex in a southern direction. The Volkswagen interior was clean. Provisions of rice, canned foods, candles, mosquito coils, as well as the gas bottle, had been replenished, and the travelers looked forward to the last stretch and to finding a long-term accommodation close to the beach.
They crossed the Mandovi River via the old bridge and followed their lead on a road close to the coast, getting occasional glimpses of the Arabian Sea through the jungle, some rice patties surrounded by high coconut-palm trees. A Portuguese church would appear through overgrown vegetation on a crossroad as they stopped for a moment to admire the sight. Hilde and Walter smelled and listened to the tranquil environment and felt its relaxing effect on body and soul. They kept on driving for thirty minutes without any traffic, except for an occasional oxcart or cowherd on the streets. People they passed looked at the bus and waved with smiling faces.
In Margao, they turned west again, to reach the ocean, and arrived in Colva Beach, where the roads turned into alleys from which tracks diverted toward the beach. A small building that seemed to be a grocery store appeared in the bush, as did a chapel farther on.
Walter stopped the car and said, “Let’s turn in here,” as he slowly advanced on a barely visible path between primarily coconut palms and other dense jungle growth.
The Volkswagen slowly passed houses with open yard areas in front and on the sides. Children played in the dirt. Pigs and dogs chased each other, and in between was an adult woman or teenager.
“What do you think about this one?” Hilde asked and Walter stopped the bus before a colonial-style house and turned off the engine.
All three left the vehicle and carefully approached the building with rain-washed ochre-yellow walls and grey window and door panels. Fritzi immediately began chasing a pig. Since they did not notice anybody, Walter walked up three steps to the entrance and knocked on the door. A middle-aged woman with black hair combed straight back into a ponytail opened the door and looked at the two foreigners smiling at her. A girl about twelve years old also appeared from inside the house. Suddenly dogs howled loudly in the background. A black-brown ball rolled across the dirt floor next to water supply’s rock walls. Fritzi could be seen running away from a much smaller black dog chasing her.
Walter ran behind the dogs and yelled, “Fritzi, Fritzi, come back.”
At some point, the dog from the house realized that the intruder had been driven out far enough, and Walter found Fritzi panting under a palm tree with her tongue hanging out and her tail between her legs.
When he arrived back at the house, Hilde smiled and said, “We could rent their living room with a bed in it. There is an opening toward the rest of the house, but no door in it. They would conceal it with a blanket or bed sheet. What do you think?”
Walter thought for a moment and replied, “I do not know how Fritzi will get along with the black dog and also how this door issue will work out, but we could try it.”
He maneuvered the bus carefully between palm trees, the well, the outhouse, and the home into a perfect spot that did not disturb the view for the inhabitants in the house, but was in sight from the veranda. Next day, the couple made one more trip to Margao where they purchased a kerosene stove.
In the house lived mother Maria; the grandfather; Maria’s husband, who was a fisherman; and two kids, teenager Benedita, who could speak English very well, and the son with big eyes.
The dwelling and its surroundings contained remarkable features that the visitors had never experienced before. The well, which provided clean groundwater, was encircled by a waist-high wall of stones. Water could be lifted by rope and bucket, and it served as a shower and laundry as well. The outhouse, however, not only served as a restroom, but also functioned as sewage-treatment facility. To utilize it, a person climbed on top of a concrete rectangle and then squatted. When Walter used it the first time, to his bewilderment a long, round snout with two little holes in it reached awfully close to his behind. The pig it belonged to squealed loudly as if saying, “Come on, let go, I do not want to wait all day long.” Sometimes two squealing pigs shared the feast. It took a while to get accustomed to this feature.
The Arabian Sea, with its dark-green, obscured waters, looked inviting after months of touring inland. There was no traffic, no noise except from the dogs and pigs, no tourists that could create any issues. A handful of backpack travelers rented rooms or whole houses in the neighborhood, and sometimes one would stop at the house with the yellow camper in front of it and chat with Walter or Hilde. Occasionally a spontaneous jam session occurred. Walter enjoyed playing guitar on the front porch, which extended from their room.
One day, beautiful Elizabeth from France walked by. She said hello and then, “Why don’t you play for me sometime?”
“OK, I’ll keep it in mind,” Walter replied. Elizabeth’s very black, curly, long hair and her energetic, fresh attitude attracted Walter. In addition, her physique appeared to be immaculate. Somewhat smaller than Walter, she showed white teeth between red lips when she laughed.
After breakfast, Walter liked to put some pieces of hash in the large front pocket of his white cotton shirt, and then stroll down the path to the beach, where he asked visitors if they wanted to buy some. He did this not for money, but to meet and talk to people and out of curiosity about what had happened in the rest of the world. During the conversations on the beach, he always learned something or gathered information for things to do and visit in India or other countries. Walter loved the mornings, when the air felt cleanest and the light of the sun had not yet reached its strongest brightness. A breeze cooled his body, and he felt as if he were in paradise.
Most afternoons, an enormous exhibition of the local fishing industry took place. It started when large boats driven by rowing men slowly approached the beach area in front of the village. Starting far out in the water, two strings from two different boats were hauled to the beach. Swimmers pulled them out of the water. The strings were attached to thick ropes, which in turn were connected to the net floating in the ocean. The whole village helped, standing in a long line, to pull in the net from two sides. When the net slowly slipped onto the beach, the catch inside became evident. Sometimes a ton of mackerels glittered and jumped on the sand.
Women, children, and everybody else put them in containers or just a towel. Besides the mackerels, the fishermen caught some large tuna, small sharks, lobsters, and shrimps. Many times Hilde and Walter observed the show or helped with the ropes. At the end, they purchased some fresh fish or shrimp and walked back to the house to prepare it on the kerosene stove—usually with a lot of garlic, tomatoes, and rice. Occasionally Maria or one of the kids surprised the tenants with a delicious bowl of their local curry.
December 24 appeared to be an ordinary day. Hilde and Walter looked forward to accompanying family members to their local church the next day. A traveler returning from the beach walked by and asked, “Did you see it? It is unbelievable!”
“See what?” Walter asked.
“There is this thing in the sky; you have to go down to the beach to believe it.”
The couple from Frankfurt stopped their meal preparations and walked to the beach. When Walter and Hilde stepped out of the palm trees and looked up at the blue afternoon sky without a single cloud, they noticed a trapezoidal shape lingering high over Colva Beach. It glistened brightly, as if illuminated by the sun, but the setting sun could not cause a reflection because of its angle. People stood around the beach, gawking in the air, mystified.
Walter could not help himself and asked a local resident, “Is Jesus returning, or perhaps the virgin mother?”
The woman pulled up her shoulders and did not say anything.
The event lasted hours. When the sky slowly turned dark, they returned home to finish cooking. The next day the phenomenon did not appear again.
Walter visited a couple of vacationers who rented rooms in the small side street down the path. He dropped in on them with his guitar in his hand and Nepalese hash in his front pocket. When they had all settled in, made fresh tea, and smoked a joint, they started playing spontaneously.
It gave Walter a lot of pleasure to communicate with strangers by playing music continuously for a long time. At some point, he felt a hand on his shoulder and noticed Elizabeth sit down on a pillow. She smiled at him again. After another hour, the session slowly wound down. They both left the room and walked to a house. Elizabeth said, “This is where I live,” and went into an entrance that led right to her room, where, other than some pillows on the floor, a large bed took most of the space.
“Play for me,” she said. Walter sat down on a little stool next to her bed.
She disappeared, and he tuned the twelve-string guitar. It took a while but also stimulated him to shift into a meditative state. When he started to play, Elizabeth returned in a red, silky nightgown with thin straps. She stretched out on the bed and closed her eyes. He played the guitar while sometimes looking at the shape of her beautiful body, which shimmered through the thin silk gown in the dim light. Her curly black hair was nestled around her exotic, classical-shaped facial features, which reflected excitement, while her black eyelashes appeared to tremble. Shadows created by the candlelight played with her naked shoulders and dark nipples that stuck out through the red material. It was a sight he never forgot, because he stopped playing after a while and left — something, he later wished he had not done.
After an abundance of rest and tranquility, sunny, healthy beach days with wholesome food, and smiling people, Walter and Hilde took a little trip alongside the coastal area of Goa. The plan included returning to Maria’s house and spending more time in Colva Beach. By driving north, they passed Calangute Beach, the most-developed tourist location, and then made their way to Arambol via Anjuna and Vagator. All three places included small fishing villages where the locals rented rooms to visitors and provided food in small shacks at the beach or between the coconut trees in the jungle. Besides the beautiful beach in Arambol, a freshwater lake and a banyan tree in the midst of the jungle were attractive spots to visit.
This trip stirred their travel energy again, and they decided to continue their comprehensive expedition. After exchanging addresses and hugs with people, one splendid morning the Germans left Colva Beach on a tour that would temporarily run farther south along the coast and then turn east for a visit to the Bhadra Wildlife Sanctuary in the state of Karnataka. Then they would head toward the city of Mysore.
Back on the road, the excitement and awareness of absorbing India returned. By frequently witnessing transforming environments and people, their flexibility enhanced naturally because it connected to survival mechanisms and delivered life in the moment without time for thought. Driving down what appeared to be an endless road to an unknown destination generated a unique pleasure.
The explorers headed for the part of the park where the Bhadra Reservoir formed a large lake. They located a spot near the lake with a pier for a small tourist cruise boat and view of the lake. Some foreigners camped out in tents or merely with a blanket under the stars.
A tall, blond young man approached the camper and said hello. His hair reached all the way to his waist, and he used a lunghi to cover the lower part of his body. Around his neck, he wore an image of the god Shiva. His blue eyes looked clear and friendly, and he spoke English with a Scandinavian accent. Hilde invited him for a homemade dinner sometime later, which the stranger, named Lars, gratefully accepted. From time to time during the journey, a friendly single traveler would be attracted by something the couple had or displayed and would join them for a while, with their approval. These single people always happened to be men, which caused Walter to stay attentive while they were around. Repeatedly the guest appeared to be like an Indian sadhu, a wandering monk without funds but with a brass bowl. It was easy and enjoyable to have someone like Lars—dressed in a piece of cloth, looking clean and healthy, and with a kind, inconspicuous manner—around the mobile home.
Given the appealing environment in the wildlife sanctuary, they lingered a few more days at the lake. Hilde wanted to take the opportunity to hike through an area not far from where the bus was parked; it was a good chance to see some elephants roaming the forest. Lars decided to join her for the trek, which made it easy for Walter to stay behind.
He walked to the pier to find out when the next trip on the little boat departed. A group of Indian tourists had already gathered at the site and assured him the vessel would leave soon. Consequently, Walter found himself sitting between some native families who enjoyed a boating trip on the lake with him. As the ship was about to cross the middle of the water, a herd of approximately twenty large and small elephants stepped out of the brush and strolled toward the shore on the opposite side. Everybody on board, including Walter, became very excited. He had never seen wild elephants before. As the whole group animatedly observed the rare sight, a movement in his peripheral vision attracted Walter’s attention. Through the thicket on the side where the boat departed from and where the yellow bus was parked, he noticed two shapes moving about. Meanwhile the boat slowly retreated under reduced power from its viewing location while at the same time passing by the shoreline where two people walked through the brush. To his surprise, Walter recognized the outback pedestrians as Hilde and Lars.