A Time For Change

Well, hello there! Nice to see you again! (In the voice of Mr. Burnt Biscuit, Ed Whealan, but I don't know if I spelled his name right- forgive me.)

SO, like I was saying... Change.

Today I was watching CNN in my hotel room while packing my things. It's my last day in Goa and one of the last three in India, hopefully not forever, but likely for a long time. I have met so many interesting people in so many interesting places on this everso interesting journey (What a loooooong strange trip it's been- thanks Jerry). What I find to be fascinating is the amount of people from everywhere that are hoping that "change" as promised by the Obama campaign isn't too good to be true, and that Americans aren't too misinformed, ignorant and bigotted to give this man a try in the white house.

It will be just like P-Funk brotha! Chocolate City. James Brown as president, Ms. Aretha Franklin as first lady, Ruben "Hurricane" Carter as Secretary of Defense. They won't get to call it the Whitehouse any more. It's about time!

(Sorry about my tangent- I love George Clinton and Parliament. Hell, I didn't really mind Bill Clinton, at least somebody was getting something done in the Oval office. Wink wink. And we had a strong economy and strong, healthy foreign policy.)

So, I get to watch this whole election business unfold from as far away as I can get from home. I get to hear what people who are indirectly but profoundly affected by the American decision have to say when it all comes to the end of a horrible era of policy and hopefully a new, grown-up, educated and employed America. One that can be respected again, one that can confront real issues with non-partison compromise by an administration that has in mind what is best for the people (and might actually listen to the citizens pleading that they don't want to go to war), and one that can say the word nuclear correctly.

Sound it out guys. It's phonetic.

"Nookyooler?"

NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

No child left behind? My ass! How's a child like that get to be the President of the United States? Your guess is as good as mine.

Please, I beg you, don't let me down over here. I want to come home to a new administration, with a new face, a new era of politics. I'm sorry I don't get to vote, really I am, it just doesn't work out that way... so I'm counting on you! I don't want to be the American on tv in Bombay being pelted by rotten eggs and bananas, coconuts and hot, freshly fried samosas, taking the blame just because I happen to be an ex-pat of a very powerful and influential country that decided to continue in the same horrible direction, digging a hole and filling it with it's with all of it's money and the blood of it's soldiers and the brains of it's children... in other words, it's future... then with it's own "nuk-yoo-ler?" waste and sewage and stolen oil and then doggie paddling around in it like it were an inevitably unpreventable blemish on its face.

I guess as far as history goes, the United States is a child and therefore is going through some growing pains. We're young. We're immature. We're impulsive and defensive and ignorant, arrogant and militant and agressive. We talk back, act like jackasses, instigate problems, knock down doors, take what we want and leave the leftovers for someone else to deal with. We somehow have managed to accumulate respect in all of this. Perhaps that's the teenage like resiliency and adaptability, and the quality of intention. It's like America is going through the end of puberty and finally starting to reallize that she needs to shave her legs and put on deodorant, use some manners, use some clearasil, stop popping it's zits all over everyone elses mirrors, put on some make up. It's like middle school for America is almost over and there are real decisions to be made about her future, her girlfriends, her boyfriends, and how she plans to govern her body and direct her actions in this new era of information, communication, education and diplomacy. She's reallizing that she can't go around stomping on other girls dresses any more. She can't go around and tease just to make girls jealous and boys horny. Maybe, just maybe she'll learn that she shouldn't be manipulative any more, she shouldn't take advantage of others for her own profit, she shouldn't start a fight which is unwinnable and maybe she should learn to mind more of her own business and start taking better care of herself. Maybe that cute boy from Canada will offer her some bacon and pancakes. If she's really nice and keeps her nose clean, maybe he'll let her run her fingers through his mullet at the hockey rink. Giggity-eh.

So like I was saying before my imagination took hold and wouldn't let go... Make me proud to be an American again. I'm happy to be American... I love that place! I just want to be proud of it again. I want to feel like we're doing good things for our own people and for the world again. I don't want to come overseas again having to hear that the best things coming from America these days are WWE Divas, the Pussycat Dolls, Nelly and Akon. Please... give me something to be proud of again. Give people around the world a reason to say good things about America. It seems like people in other countries look up to America, and feel like what we do matters to them. In a global community we are all affected by these decisions, and I want to trust that most of my fellow countrymen are smart enough to see what the last eight years have provided in terms of positive growth, positive relations and positive self-image, as well as image in the international community. I want to trust that my fellow countrymen would like to see a positive change.

Enough of that. I hate politics. And nookyouler.


Being that I don't have any pictures for the last two entries, I have to paint one with words. Let me tell you about my last week in Goa.

First of all, imagine bathwater warm waves glistening green-blue as they break and lap at the golden sandy shores beneath the blue of a sunblessed sky. Got that? Then imagine a sweet, warm breeze helping the sweat and sea water evaporate from your sundrenched skin. Then, imagine getting two beers for a buck all day from open to close and eating fresh shark fillet, garlic butter calamari and prawns while watching bikini clad expats from the world over basking in the Goan sun and playing in the waves of the warm Arabian sea. Yeah, this place kicks ass. Particularly, the warmth of the servers as they offer you a continuous series of icy beverages is something to be noted. I wonder if there is ever a shortage. I guess they did run out of gin when Vikram and I spent a few hours at Swally's Beach shack. Hmmm.

SO what's really cool about Goa is the diversity. When it comes to hunting down the perfect beach, all you have to do is figure out what kind of style you prefer to indulge in. There are something like 9 different flavors of beach within like 200 km of eachother. When you rent a motorbike for 150rs a day plus fuel, then the biggest expense ends up being the time and energy spent to get there and away, and the food and drink in between.

The first day here, before we even got off the bus, Vikram and I were confronted with the excited Goan hospitality. Groggy and unrested after 12 hours on the bus, we began to pack our blankets and put on our shoes while the bus cleared out... enter a very excited rickshaw driver... this guy didn't even wait to let us off the bus with a yawn, he popped his head into our compartment looks at me with hope in his eyes and a monstrous grin and shouts "Taxi BABA?!?!?!" with both of his thumbs sticking up like Arthur Fonzarelli and inflecting his voice upward at the end of his jubilant inquiry. We couldn't help it as we both just started cracking up, and it remained and will continue to remain an incredibly comedic memory for the both of us.

We found a great hotel that rented bikes and paid for the week. From there we would spend each day on a different beach in search of a nicer place to drink beer and eat fries. Candolim beach and Calangute are more of the older crowd kind of place, pretty laid back and friendly. Baga beach was simply full of Indian folks on vacation... I would go swimming and body surfing and Vikram would smoke his cigarettes and relax in the shade of a thatch roof or coconut straw umbrella. Then I would come back and join him. We did some beach shack hopping and lots of "bird watching" with the best picks being north of us at Anjuna.

We had wanted to make the trip to Palolem beach, a place that Vik had been with his family years before, but it is about 100km from Candolim where we were staying. Welp, lets go.

Three hours of bumpy, dusty, noon day sun and a 400Rs stop from the highway law enforcement officers later we were hiking the beach at Palolem (That's why men don't stop and ask for directions ladies, it always ends up costing you money and some dignity). This (Palolem) is where the best beer deal on the planet exists in all it's chilled, fizzy glory. That's right. Two for one beers. Happy hour from open to close. One beer=40rs. That's just under $1 USD friends. I think I was in heaven. Of course we had to eat too and be sober enough to make the 100km back without another police interference, oh gas too.

Lemme make a long story short. At this righteous watering hole we met some super cool, dread headed British cats, Abby and Paul. A florist (ginger) and a insurance guy. We had some wonderful conversations and several more beers... well, Vikram had to drive, so I drank for him. When we finally left it was 11:00pm, ETA 2:00am in Candolim. Luckily for us, that's like three hours of singing Incubus songs at the top of our lungs while riding through the middle of nowhere jungle hoping not to get accosted from the side of the road by a tiger or a cobra or a pack of wild dogs or missionaries. Oh yeah, we were low on gas and had only 30Rs. between the both of us. That, fortunately, is exactly enough for .37 litres of petrol Jeeves. Thank you very much. We made it back in one piece, sore and tired and cold from the ride home... but lived to laugh about it the next day.

The next day Vikram went back to Bangalore to continue his college. So I've been alone here for three days. I miss that guy. We had more fun than any human should really be allowed. And now, I've been decompressing and detoxing for the last couple days. It's not nearly as fun to party by yourself. Although, I walked a couple miles up the beach to Baga on Saturday night... How lucky was I to stumble upon karaoke night at a popular restaurant?! I love karaoke. I had a great meal, several beers and some new friends. I met an Aussie/Indian by the name of Trevor. This guys personality is larger than life, and he's delightfully contrasted by his quiet extremely nice girlfriend. It was their friend's birthday, and several of the group had been drinking all day, which made it even more fun to laugh at Trevor's drunken karaoke antics... this guy was a tone deaf riot. Somehow he got me up there to sing Bon Jovi's "Bed of Roses" with him (which I may have heard twice in my life, surely not enough to successfully sing it) and consequently had me laughing until I nearly shot beer foam from my nostrils. Let me tell you, I have now proudly sang karaoke in three countries, and have always had a blast. After the Bon Jovi incident, I felt I should redeem myself with some songs I know well enough to sing, well enough. That called for some Stevie Wonder, some DMB, some Hotel California and of course... a tropical favorite... Margaritaville. I felt better after doing those.

Maybe you're wondering why this is so long. You're saying... damn this guy has a whole lot of nothing to say. Well, I am bored today and I've been reading Steinbeck. There's only so long you can sit around on a beach by yourself drinking beer before you run out of money, sobriety and sunscreen. I traded my sunscreen today for the computer screen, a/c and a good book. Ok... there's a beer here too... some things in life are worth having around.

I want to describe the sunset I saw last night as I looked to the west and thought about camping with my boys back in April. Back in April from the shores of the Pacific on the Oregon coast, I looked west at sunset with my friends, and in the momentary lapse of freezing rain and hail, being battered by the wind and seeing the sun shine through the dark clouds, casting rays and shadows onto the shimmering blackness of that stormy spring sea, I fully appreciated it's beauty knowing that it would be some time before I set my eyes on home again. I thought that just weeks from then I would be so far west I was east, and I didn't know what to expect. Last night I watched the sun set from beneath a palm umbrella. The sun was bright red and the sky above was the brightest blue. The haze around the sun took the color of purple haze, like the color you get when you mix all the colors of your watercolor set together. As the sun sank further, as I looked to the west and felt cooled by the breeze, I felt happy. I feel ready to come home, so far west that I'll be on the east coast of the US. I'm excited. I've learned so much here about what life is really about. I've met so many beautiful and wonderful people. I've enjoyed so much good food. I've had such a good time, and I've come to reallize more now than ever how lucky I am to have been able to do this. I truly am blessed. I can only hope to be able to travel again some day... anywhere.

I hope it wasn't too long. I'll get some pics up when I get back. My computer is not working right now.

Much love to you all. Thanks for reading. I'll see you when I get home.

PEACE.