Are there any hippies from the 60s left?

When I hear the word Goa, long-haired figures in brightly colored clothes immediately appear in my mind's eye, hippies, then as now the synonym for alternative ways of life, for dropouts, for drugs, psychedelic music.

I have met them on the Hippie Trail to India, most of them heading for Goa or, optionally, to Kabul or Kathmandu, always to the places with cheap drugs.

Young, long-haired people, full of joie de vivre, vaccinated by the Summer of Love, Woodstock, the promise of peace, joy, pancakes.

Until Altamont put an end to the illusions. At the end of the sixties until the mid-seventies, they were on their way to the promised land, to India, Afghanistan, Nepal. The majority returned, immersed themselves in middle-class life, became bankers, politicians, entrepreneurs, craftsmen. But some got stuck, couldn't find their way out. Their way back.

Eventually they just stagger through life as ghostly existences, the last of the hippies ...

Paradise lost

This morning, walking through town, I found one, one of the last surviving hippies.

Judging by his appearance, he is past his prime. His age is hard to estimate, but if I assume that he has been here since the seventies, so he must be at least between 60 and 70. His sunken wrinkled face, however, suggests more like 80. Even a dropout biography does not seem to ensure eternal youth. A few drugs may also have played a role.

While I drink my coffee at the roadside restaurant (excellent), he is sitting impassively on the sidewalk while begging the tourists strolling by. Some reach into their pockets, but their faces clearly indicate that there is pity behind their mild offering. Or is a portion of Schadenfreude also part of it?

The late revenge of the bourgeoisie? Who knows …

Calangute Town

Calangute is a small town in the north of Goa with about 14'000 inhabitants, plus a few thousand local and foreign tourists during the high season at Christmas and New Year and during the summer, primarily in May.

Calangute Town
Calangute Town

A few words to Goa

(Wikipedia) Goa - also called Konkani or Marathi - is the smallest Indian Federal State. It is located on the central west coast of India, covers an area of 3702 square kilometers and has just under 1,5 million inhabitants (census 2011). The capital of Goa is Panaji.

Goa is named after the city of the same name, today Velha Goa. The region was a Portuguese colony for some 450 years and therefore has a special cultural character. Hardly any Indian state has been so culturally influenced by a European colonial power as Goa. This is also shown by the high Catholic population.

On December 18, 1961, Indian troops invaded Goa with about 20 times the numbers.

The company was named "Operation Vijayand was completed after 26 hours. The Portuguese and Goanian troops fought a lost battle. India bombarded strategic and civilian targets in Goa, Damao and Diu, including the Damao marketplace. The following year, Goa, along with Daman and Diu, became an Indian Union territory.

I notice that since the last visit in 2007, the composition of the countries of origin of the tourists has changed.

In the past it was mainly the English who visited their old colony for historical reasons, but today it is Russians and other nationalities. And – especially over the weekend – lots of locals who, thanks to loose alcohol laws, party hard and get drunk.

At least some of the deaths at sea are due to alcohol rather than currents. The opinion of the locals, ie shopkeepers, innkeepers, stall vendors, etc., is clear: although there have been many English tourists of low standard, today's clearly represent a deterioration in quality. And this designation is even meant in a friendly way.

Southbound

So far, the journey to the south has defined exactly one goal: to reach the lowest point of the Indian subcontinent. And where the Arabian Sea and the Bay of Bengal meet, to keep your feet in the water. One in this sea, the second in the other. I think of it as somehow mythical.

I stand in two huge oceans at the same time.

I probably won't notice a difference.

Then, in the evening, goodbye to Goa. Back to Tivim, long waiting for the train, made easier by discussions with two young Indians and a Brazilian couple. The train is late, nobody cares. Eventually the blue locomotive appears in the distance, hardly recognizable in the twilight.

Siesta on the floor
No place too uncomfortable for a Nap
Stalls at the station
Stalls at the station

On the train to Trivandrum

Now I'm finally exactly where I want to be.

On the way to somewhere.

Opposite me sits an elderly Indian, he turns out to be a scientist, friendly, clever, but also an Indian couple, equipped with cell phones whose ringtones might bring dead people back to life.

With typical Indian curiosity, he explores where from and where to, agrees with the typical Indian shake of the head or twists his mouth in doubt. Not being in India for the first time, I know the meaning of the head shake and I know it means approval. Not easy for us westerners.

I remember the fruit seller's face somewhere near the border with Pakistan when I asked about bananas and got the head shake in response. I never forget his blank look as I said goodbye with a regretful look.

On the horizon, just visible through the terribly dirty window pane, a golden yellow sun hangs over brown, yellow, green landscapes scurrying by in front of the train.

India is gliding, I'm happy.

And while scorched landscapes are reminiscent of the surface of Mars, another memory pushes itself to the fore.

From Goa to Trivandrum
From Goa to Trivandrum

Lagaan - Once upon a Time in India

A film, an Indian film, a Bollywood film that has been deeply implanted in my cinematic memory. A true monster of four hours, of which not a single minute is superfluous or boring.

Lagaan is set in late 19th-century India. The regional officer at British headquarters oppresses the people of the region with high taxes (lagaan) while they are also suffering from an unusual drought.

Russell offers the farmers of the village of Champaner a wager: he will waive the entire province's taxes for a full three years if a village team can beat his men at cricket - a sport hitherto completely unknown to the residents. However, if they lose, the tax is tripled.

Lagaan - the Movie (Trailer)

A difficult starting point for the villagers. The problem is impossible to solve at first glance. Especially because the village lacks potential candidates for the required players.

Without betraying the punchline, only so much: a scene towards the end is a magic moment. Do not miss.

Slow drift into the night

I got a window seat and the lower bench, an advantage, because you're then not forced to climb onto the upper bunk. So I sit there, looking out the window, thinking nothing.

At some point, the sun has already set in its usual splendor, dinner is served. It takes a while for my initial mistrust turn into appreciative eating pleasure. These positive insights include a certain risk: a few days later I will have to learn painfully that not every meal on the train is unproblematic, but for that later.

And then, with a full stomach for a really good meal, the highlight of the day - the cozy cuddling in the sleeping bag, the monotonous rattling of the wheels in the ear, a soft lullaby ...

 

P.S. Matching Song: Ian Dury & the Blockheads - Sex & Drugs & Rock 'n' Roll

And here to follow the trip ...

 

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