Law, Partially

As is apparent from some prior entries, I’ve become a wanderer. St. Louis, Columbia, Paris, New York, Michigan, Iowa, St. Louis, Pittsburgh, Bombay, who knows where else will be next. I don’t like to let the grass grow under my feet. Running around the world is exciting, but part of me longs to stand still and settle in the Midwest. On the one hand, I’ve become real good at making friends – I mean, you always have to make new friends when you move to a new place. On the other hand, I have so many friends spread so far around, any of whom I may never see again. And in a few years I’ll leave these Pittsburgh friends behind too. I bought a book in Delhi written by the famous British explorer Sir Richard Burton – not the actor, but a man with a fascinating biography nonetheless ( link here - the first entry is not the same guy, but the rest are). Sir Richard was a wanderer in the first degree, exploring the entirety of India and Africa for the Queen. He also posed as a Muslim and snuck in...

I write this in my dark hotel room. The only light is my laptop screen running on battery power. There have been power cuts on and off all evening. I thought the power cuts on Friday may have been because of the violent storm that had blown through earlier in the day, but there were no violent storms blowing through today – even though the BBC World said Goa was in for more rain dumping. I don’t get BBC World in Mumbai, so I’m nearly overjoyed to have it here. It’s quality journalism. I dined solo on my hotel’s balcony. I had prawns in a red curry. It was o.k. Goan food doesn’t really do it for me. I think it may not also be the season for seafood – maybe because boats can’t go out into these rough monsoon seas. I did see lots of young men fishing in the river in Panjim today. They weren’t using poles. They were just holding lines, which were more like strings – i.e. not fishing line. I didn’t need dessert, but a dessert on the menu called “cheese on toast” intrigued me. I ordered it, ...

I wandered the old streets of Panjim last night. I was trying to decide what the city felt like, and I thought about all the old cities I’ve been to. It wasn’t grand enough to be Budapest. It felt similar to Savannah, but Panjim is more run down. Lisbon is grander and cleaner. St. Petersburg, Russia, has a similar feel with the formerly grand buildings now in disrepair. But Panjim feels more like a village than a city. There are far more bars and liquor stores in Goa than in Mumbai. These Catholics, I guess, take a looser attitude toward drinking than do the Hindus. I saw so many dark holes in the wall populated by men, only men. The streets were mostly deserted on a Friday night, and my part of town was darkened by power cuts. Panjim has less than 100,000 people and is one of India’s smallest and sleepiest capitals (the state capitals in the tribal northeast are probably small and sleepy too). I went to a restaurant called Viva Panjim recommended by Lonely Planet. A sign near the rest...

I’m feeling rather tired from my huge journeys today and my two evening Kingfisher beers. (Kinfisher bottles by the way are almost twice as big as 12oz beers. Kingfishers are .65 liters. Wine is .75 liters.) My hotel, the Panjim Inn, is almost too charming, and it’s definitely too charming for a single man. It’s a restored mansion, and each room has four poster beds. The desk and armoire are either antiques or made to look like antiques. There is trellised wood decoration on them and wood shapes inlaid on the surfaces. There’s a restaurant on the second story terrace overlooking a front courtyard. This could be a bed and breakfast in Savannah, Georgia. And these owners must be doing well because they’ve already opened two more restored buildings as hotels on this same block, and with the restoration in progress next door, the Panjim Inn looks like it’s about ready to double in size. It is the low season here, and my hotel is under $23 a night, and I think I’ll get the price knocked dow...

People always say, “From where?” or “From which country?” and like a badge of pride I say, “U.S.” People usually smile when I say it. They usually say, “Ah, U.S.” Indians are always wanting to go there to work and so often have family or relatives working there. Even the Goan guy trying to sell me a taxi ride earlier today said his son was working in Georgia, although he didn’t know in which town or for which company.

I’d been taking these small, rickety busses all day. I thought my bus would terminate in Calangute, which is where I wanted to go. Calangute is where the hippies first landed in the 60s, and it is also where the modern Goa package beach resorts started business in the 90s. The ticket wallah told me I’d missed my stop. He used his whistle, and the bus stopped and dropped me off somewhere north of Calangute. I was dropped off right in front of a wholesale cashew store, so I went directly into there upon exiting the bus. Then I walked by myself down the narrow road back toward Calangute. I walked into and through Calangute. In Calangute I saw numerous Kashmiri shops, selling carpets, clothes, and jewelry. One was a government emporium. Supposedly these government emporiums can be trusted – meaning the stuff really is Kashmiri and the price is nearly reasonable. I’d like to buy a rug, but I don’t have a house, and everything I keep in a home has to be moved at least once a year, so I won’t...

The medicine from Dr. Schimpi has made me feel much better. I’m happy again, and I am enjoying Indian food once more. Still, I would prefer less oil. And although I lost my strong black coffee craving during my week of Delhi Belly, now I want European cheese and El Maguey (Mexican food). It rained all night and all morning. I’m going to the Indian state of Goa today. Goa was Portugal’s home base for its huge spice trade business back in the day ( click here ). There are still a lot of Catholics down there and Portuguese architectural ruins. It's a one hour plane ride south of Mumbai. (My landlord family is staunchly Catholic, and they’re from Goa. This is why the glow in the dark Jesus stares down at me in my bedroom. Last weekend he got blown off the wall during the storms. He lost his head and broke his arm. I hung the headless Jesus back on the wall.) Goa is famous for the hippies that have been coming there since the 60s. Ravers came in the '90s, and a style of electronic G...

I may start writing less. Things have become more mundane in Mumbai, but at the same time, things are picking up. Things are picking up meaning I’ve gone out three nights in a row. I’m not spending as much time sitting alone. But at the same time, I’m getting used to life in Mumbai. I’m used to people staring at me. I’m used to the madness of the streets and running across highway traffic. I’m kind of used to the awful and intermittent smells on the streets. I’m used to shooing away beggars. I rode the train again tonight. I can order my lunch at work, and I can order tea. I’m busy at work, doing lots of legal research. I went to a grocery wallah tonight and asked for “brown bread,” which is Indian for whole wheat. I went to a Goan restaurant tonight with the Singaporeans. For those who don’t habla español, Goa was a Portuguese colony on the West Coast of India south of Mumbai until the 1960s. It’s famous for its beaches and has been famous with Western backpackers for its relaxed life...