Train to Goa
Riding the train through the fields and forests of Maharashtra was relaxing. The slow rocking of the train would bring anyone back to the days as a baby being rocked in their mothers arms. The train would make the occasional stop and I would step off and be welcomed by an overwhelming blast of hot air. The heat surrounding the train was oppressive, the temperature well over one-hundred. Opening the door of the air-conditioned car to the world was like opening an oven when baking bread, a sudden rush of hot, stale air quickly become stagnant and uncomfortable. As I went to Victoria Central Terminus (the busiest train station in the world) I watched the sun rise over the horizon. Again, traveling into Goa I watched the sun slowly fall out of sight. I had spent all the hours of day light slowing barreling toward the beaches of Goa. Off the train, I quickly found a motorcycle taxi to take me the 10 Km to Panaji, the capital of Goa. A town with an interesting blend of Portuguese architecture surrounded by the newer Indian buildings. Walking through the aged Latin quarter I longed to be in another country, one that spoke the Portuguese that was reflected in the balconies and churches surrounding me.
The town is noticeably calm and quiet. As I walk through the town at night, after dinner. To my amazement, there were very few homeless and they all seemed to be concentrated on one small block. There was little begging on the streets however that makes sense being that Goa is the most prosperous states of India.
Chicken Biryani on the train.
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