Tag Archives: Agonda

Give Us This Day Our Daily Samosa

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I dream about them at night and then fret that I may oversleep and miss out on being the first one in line at the shop.

The object of my adoration is Frances’ wifes’ divine fish samosa.-best eaten hot before the frying oil has a chance to settle into the crispy dough. If I haven’t remembered to put in my order the night before, I’m SOL if I get there after 8:00 am.

Schoolchildren clutching 20 rupee notes in their small hands scurry to buy a few on their way to Catholic school in the morning.

I savor each bite lovingly as I make my way leisurely through the village to meet G at the beach for breakfast. I’ve bought four of them for us to share, but the chance of having any left by the time I reach my destination is slim.

I love being out in the early morning before the sleepy village starts to come to life. Young girls with long black hair neatly braided in loops like pretzels,walk briskly in their freshly starched white uniforms, not wanting to be late for school and risk the ire of the schoolmaster. Motor scooters zip by while cows roam lazily in the middle of the road secure in the knowledge that no one will disturb them no matter how pesky they may be. ( Even in Catholic Goa cows are sacred).Today there are two cows busily nursing their calves.

On the way back I pass barber shops, not yet open, advertising the latest Bollywood hairstyles for men. There will be lines later as hair seems to be an important fashion statement.)

Brightly painted homes double as rooms to rent and Beach Huts display sign boards with menus, (often with funny spelling errors).

In the center of the village is a Gazebo for local celebrations. The church plays a major role in all social activities.

I arrive at the beach just as the shimmering warmth of the day is beginning to make its presence felt. G is ecstatic that I haven’t eaten all the samosas and that I’ve saved some for him, knowing what incredible self control that took.

Even the dogs appreciate the pungent aroma and sniff around wildly, following us to our seats and not leaving until they are sure that all the food is gone.

Trouble in Paradise/The Turtles are Coming

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It’s chaos now in Agonda. What with the new Turtle Nesting Legislation and the 28% tax! Nobody knows what is going to happen. – Terry Fernandes, owner of our resort

Agonda beach in Goa has been our secret retreat since we first came here ten years ago. Most savvy travelers eschew Goa because of its reputation for overcrowded beaches,noisy bars and general mayhem. But Agonda is different. It is a small fishing village made up mostly of descendants of the masala mix of Portuguese and Indians. Its quiet calm and absence of discos and nightclubs is the major draw for Indian and European visitors looking for a peaceful escape. There is an easygoing balance between the locals and the tourists.

Last year it was discovered that some Olive Ridley turtles had nested on the beach. Each of them lays hundreds of eggs between November and April and the incubation period is forty to fifty days before the babies can swim out to sea. The government decided to set up “Turtle Nesting” zones for eventual development as tourist attractions and enacted legislation prohibiting any and all structures within two hundred twenty meters (about 700 ft.) of the shoreline. Marine turtles are considered “vulnerable species and have the highest protection status.”

Agonda’s economy is primarily based on tourism. Local merchants protested to the government and managed to get a temporary stay order. If the stay is overturned Agonda will effectively cease to exist, as almost all of the lodgings, stores and restaurants are within this arbitrary boundary, and will have to be razed.

I saw no signs of turtle nesting anywhere on the beach and the constant zipping around of the beach patrol truck certainly doesn’t do much to show that the government is serious. It is astonishing that they would imperil a flourishing community.

Living in California I have the utmost respect for environmental protection, but the priorities seem a bit lopsided in a developing country like India where human needs are overwhelming.

After our exhausting thirty six hour journey we experienced some initial disappointment at the changes in our beloved beach experience. We were saddened to hear that our favorite chef and friend,Frances,was in a motorcycle accident and was was forced to close his restaurant where we dined nightly. (Notice that I say “dined” not ate- he was a master chef and a true artist in the kitchen and I looked forward to his nightly creations.) The political demonstrations due to the new citizenship laws enacted by Prime Minister Modi, as well as the bankruptcy of the travel agency Thomas Cook have also had a major impact on tourism.

Our disappointment was short lived as the wonder that is India kicked in.

Last night was a “live music” performance featuring a father and his eight year old daughter, Meghan,visiting from Bangalore. While he calmly played the guitar, this diminutive energizer bunny belted out “Purple Rain” and “This Girl’s on Fire”. She was enthusiastically enjoying the attention of being in front of a crowd of appreciative listeners. She was cute and she knew it.

When her set was over she came over to the table where I was sitting with a young Belgian couple because she saw me mouthing the words to a song her Dad was singing. “How do you know the words?” she gushed. Satisfied that I knew a bit about music she then started jumping up and down, flicking back her long black hair like an MTV diva, and proclaimed “I want to be a singer!” Dressed in a pink flowered jumpsuit her attitude belied her eight young years, and she didn’t stop jumping for an instant. I asked her how long she thought she could keep on jumping up and down and her response came quickly with a mischievous smile- “Forever”.

The audience was made up of first time visitors to India, long time expats as well as young and old Indian families.Everyone was having such a good time that we didn’t care if sometimes her voice didn’t quite hit the right notes. This sense of family and community is the Agonda that I love.

Thankfully the old adage “The more things change, the more things stay the same” proved true.

Whose life is it anyway?

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While buying train tickets to our next destination in Kerala, I bump into Catherine, a long time British ex-pat we met last year. “If you want a good story, go down to the end of the beach to the “maharajah’s place”, she grins mischievously.

The face of Goa has changed dramatically since independence from Portugal in 1961. Goans were offered the possibility of a Portuguese passport, and many jumped at the chance.  Catholics now account for only 25% of the population, down from 60%, due to the diaspora of Catholics, and the increase of Hindus and Muslims with their large families.  Cruise ships,the Merchant Marine and the Emirates offer high paying jobs, which is reflected in the unusually small size of Goan families. (Men are away  for long periods of time.)

For our morning walk we decide to check out the “maharajah”. At the end of the long sandy stretch of beach  there is a small cove, and we see a cluster of tent structures and a trailer. A man and a woman are busily washing and cooking inside a “work tent”.  They are obviously the servants. In front of the elaborate trailer with solar panels on the roof, sits a neatly bearded man with a gold earring in his left ear. He looks relaxed and carefree in his lounge chair.

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The servants working

As we hesitantly approach, he beckons us to come closer. ” I’m Nenni”, he says with a broad grin as he extends his arm for a handshake. Rather than being the “maharajah” himself , he is the driver. “It took us nine days to drive down here from the north. My boss arrives tonight. He is from a royal family, you know. He owns many agricultural farms and businesses. Every year he comes down with his wife and stays for three months”.  We get a tour of the complex.  The blue oblong tent is the outside shower for the servants.  Inside the trailer there is a bedroom with flat screen tv, fully equipped bathroom and shower, and room for lounging.  The outside is fitted with fold down shelving, and storage bins. The dining gazebo is covered in white canvas material, and an electric fan is is blowing the air around the neatly set table. There are two other tents which are for the servants.

Shower tent

Shower tent

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dining gazebo with ocean view

NENNI’S STORY

Nenni is a man in his early forties and was born as the only son into a Sikh family. At the age of 17 he decided he wanted to go abroad to work, so he cut off his hair, and removed his turban.  Sikhs have a religious obligation to be unshaven and let their hair grow, covered by a turban.  His fear was that he would be mistaken for a Muslim, and  he wanted to avoid being conspicuous.  Because of this act of rebellion he was disowned by his family. After some years living in Europe, he returned home and was accepted back, and  soon a marriage was arranged. ” We just didn’t get along, so I got a divorce.  Now I will get married next week to a Hindu lady.  I am happy and will open my own chicken restaurant in my village”.  When I asked if he had children, he replied that he has two but doesn’t see them often as they live with their mother far away.  We left with handshakes and hugs all around and our promise to visit him and eat at his restaurant when we pass through that area at the end of our journey.

The Sailor and the Saint

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December 7

We’re in Goa now, worlds away from the craziness that is India.  Days pass like molasses slowly dripping from a jar. Our activities are walking the beach,swimming and EATING. When a long time Goa traveler tells us about the “best place to eat in Agonda”, we are right on it.

Francis was a cook in the Merchant Marines for 17 years,and now has his own restaurant, TIGER CANISHA.

TIGER CANISHA Restaurant in Agonda

TIGER CANISHA Restaurant in Agonda

From the moment we bite into his Fish Ambotik (flavored with tamarind, dried mangosteen rinds and exotic spices) we are hooked.  We now have a purpose.  Each day Gerald and I mull over the choices of Goan specialties, and decide what we will eat the next day. Sometimes we just let Francis improvise, always with incredible results.

Francis at work

Francis at work

Agonda is a small, tightly knit village of fisherman, and families cater to the influx of tourists by opening up their homes as restaurants and guesthouses. Nothing much happens, so when I see Alan (the one who told us about TIGER) he says “The word is out that you two eat at Francis’ for lunch AND dinner ever day!” 

It is  our last day and Francis tells us, “Tonight I’m making you a surprise”.  Our stomachs are so full after eating ten of his meals, but we must soldier on.  Lunch was a wonderfully spicy chicken cafreal, and I watched as he prepared the paste. (taking notes, of course!)

The cafreal paste

The cafreal paste

The look of pride and joy on his face is touching as he comes out with first, fish head soup, then whole grilled fish with pumpkin from his garden (flavored with caper berries and chilies), and the piece de resistance, a whole lobster. Food is my religion and  Francis is certainly the saint of Agonda.

The last supper with Francis

The last supper with Francis

The official Patron Saint of Goa is St. Francis Xavier, a Spanish priest who traveled throughout India, China and Japan converting the “pagans, in 1543, when he died in China, Portuguese merchants gave him last rites and buried him in slaked lime.  According to legend, when a Jesuit brother later disinterred him, the body had not disintegrated, and when his finger was cut, blood oozed out. This was reported to the Vatican and the Pope made him a saint.

SE Cathedral where the glass case with St Francis is displayed

SE Cathedral where the glass case with St Francis is displayed

Pieces of his hand were distributed around the world for their healing power, and one fervent devotee bit off a toe.  He is now displayed in the church in Old Goa, and every ten years there is an”Exhibition”of him in his silver lined glass case with his exposed feet.  This year is just such a year and we are determined not to miss this event. Although it may be hard to believe, after a week of relaxing nothingness, we actually yearn for some action; and India knows how to put on a festival.

Entrance to the "exhibition"

Entrance to the “exhibition”

Line of pilgrims waiting to get into the cathedral

Line of pilgrims waiting to get into the cathedral

Pilgrims wait on line for hours to get into the church.  We sneak around the back and find an entrance, unguarded, onto the church grounds.  Although we can’t kiss the grave, we do get to see him from afar.  Meanwhile, outside there is a carnival going on, replete with Ferris Wheel.  An exhibition hall has been set up, and each religious group has their own information booth.  My favorites have  a cardboard figure of Jesus on a motorbike, with the inscription “I will carry you on eagle wings”: and a standing cardboard Jesus with “I Miss You”.

"I miss you"

“I miss you”

"I will carry you on eagle wings"

“I will carry you on eagle wings”

Goa is 75% Catholic, but there are Hindus and Muslims who also come to experience the spirit of St Francis, and stalls line the streets leading up to the church, selling everything from food to bras.

Off to Kerala tomorrow .