Goa is a south-western area of India. It’s known for it’s tropical temperature and white sandy beaches, where lots of tourists go to party, lay in the sand, and ride motorbikes around the winding streets.
We wake up at 7:30 in order to pack our bags and get to the airport in time for our flight to Goa, which leaves at 11:30. Karam, our driver, has told us that the Jaipur airport is 2 hours away from our hotel so we decide it’s best to leave by 8:30 at the latest. We order two very exciting free breakfasts to our room, just because they’re free. The only reason I say they are exciting is because the butter for the toast comes very yellow, lumpy and half melted in it’s metal container. Delish.
We get in the car prepared for a 2 hour drive, but 20 minutes later we pass a sign that reads TO AIRPORT… and soon after that, another sign listing the gate numbers. We check with Karam who mentions he has never been to the Jaipur airport before, and doesn’t speak fluent English so I assume somewhere there was a misunderstanding about how far the airport was. We are 2 hours early for our domestic flight in a very small Indian airport so there isn’t much to do. We visit some shops and get a drink and just sit and wait. Finally it comes time to board the plane and we take a little shuttle bus 30 seconds from the airport to the plane. I have never been on a plane that you get to actually walk up too outside, only ever at big airports where the ramp thing is already connected to the building when you board. I like the quaint style of this airport much more. It’s a very small plane that we are taking, and it’s less than half full. Ilona and I sit down and get comfortable but are later asked to move seats so that there would be someone sitting by the emergency exit, just in case. We happily oblige and discover that there is much more leg room at the emergency exit too. Upgrade! (and not the kind that comes with strings attached like smelly bathrooms and icy air).
It’s listed as a 3 hour flight, but 45 minutes later they announce that we are landing and I am instantly concerned that I somehow managed to get on the wrong plane. No such luck, (that would have made for a VERY interesting blog post) there is just a stop over in another Indian city. Ilona and I are frustrated because we had booked this flight through a travel agency in Delhi, (first mistake) and not demanded to see all the details of our itinerary until the day we were leaving to go (second mistake). When we got the ticket there was next to no information, Ilona’s name was misspelled, and only my name was on the return ticket. It’s all very questionable and we try to call our travel agent but the phone number he provided does not exist. Slightly sketchy…
I am so ready to be done with this tour thing that we booked.
Anyway, we’re frustrated that we don’t know anything about the flight we’re on but the stop over isn’t long at all so we sit patiently inside the plane and wait. The second half of the trip from this stop-over Indian city (I totally forget the name and was never given an itinerary to reference) to Goa, is much more popular than the first half. The plane is probably 80% full. It’s about half way through boarding when a woman approaches us and tells us that we are in her seat. Of course, when they asked us to move they did not take into account the other portion of the trip, and neither did we…because we didn’t know it existed. We go back to our original seats and there is a very young boy casually sitting at the window. We tell him that these were our seats and he just responds with “nope it’s mine”. I am too exhausted and frustrated to care, and he’s like 10, so we let him stay and just sit in the seats next to him, forfeiting our window. What I discover 10 seconds after sitting down, is that the rest of his family is across the aisle from me. They start speaking over top of us and the kid is coughing his face off (without covering his mouth as children so often do) beside poor Ilona who is trying to recover from her previous illness. As the plane starts for take off, babies are wailing, people are coughing and hacking, and I am told I am not allowed to use Airplane mode…. On the airplane. It is such a ridiculously frustrating flight but we laugh it off. I mean literally, we laughed uncontrollably for most of the flight. Finally we do arrive in Goa and it’s gorgeous, not what I expected any part of India to ever look like. There’s palm trees and beaches and it’s a much more humid type of heat than what I have grown used to in Delhi.
We take a taxi to Baga Beach which is what The Lonely Planet describes as the young person’s beach area for tourists like ourselves. We have not chosen or booked a hostel/hotel yet so we get our taxi driver to take us to a near by place to stay. The first one he takes us to is 7000 rupees ($140) a night and has a children’s playground at the front entrance. Not what we’re looking for. We tell him we’d like something much cheaper and he takes us to another spot with private beach huts, a mere 4000 rupees ($80). We tell him we can’t pay more than 1000 or 1500 at the most and he calls his friend who owns a hotel near by. We go see these accommodations and they’re very decent, but still 2000 rupees a night. It’s getting dark and we are running low on time so we agree to stay at this place (after bargaining him down to 1500 rupees) for just one night and then leave the next morning. Once we bring our bags to the room, we decide to run out quickly and grab Ilona a bug net which she is desperately in need of, especially now in the more humid climate. On our way we stumble upon this really cute little hotel called The Indian Kitchen. Their rooms are much cheaper (880 rupees) and have a very unique, colourful charm so we decide that we will definitely be leaving our current location as soon as the sun rises.
We find Ilona a bug net and go back to our room.
As we are sitting watching Twilight on my iPad, this absolutely terrifying, very loud sound of gun shots on metal starts abruptly. I am literally petrified with fear and don’t want to move. Ilona and I are both sitting there motionless looking at each other in horror when it happens again. And again. And again. We manage to find the courage to move to our beds and lock the door behind us. We notice that it’s the same pattern of sound each time, and it isn’t exactly the sound of a gunshot, no one is screaming, so we rule out the fact that someone is running around shooting people.
The noise stop after about 15 minutes of consistent on and off intervals of the mystery sound, so we manage to fall asleep.
I have one of the worst sleeps of my life because I wake up to every little bump in the night, paranoid and no peace of mind due to the fact that we never actually figured out what the noise was. It is the only night on my travels so far where I have felt unsafe, and it is awful to feel that way when you are in a foreign country and don’t even know which way the beach is yet let alone where to find help. But hey! We survived.