January 28th - 2010 Aronbul, Goa
We arrived late in the afternoon on the 28th, from a long 12 hours overnight train. The public bus from the station was jammed to capacity as usual, making the 1 hour trip feel like 3. Hot and Hungry we stop into the first local restaurant we find.

We begin to observe this lost hippy haven. Shirtless travellers with leathered skin cruising up and down on motorbikes and scooters. Shops line the road selling items from a long ago generation. Tye-dye t-shirts and jewelry.

A long walk through the town makes me grateful for packing so light, even if I'm out of clean clothes as I write. The sweat is pouring in the southern heat, making Mumbai seem comfortable. We reach the strip to ask and haggle for accommodations. A great deal is found and I'm set up in a private bamboo hut with an attached bathroom and shower. A bug net hangs over the bed, and a ceiling fan completes the package. I have learned that one very nice thing in life, is being able to pee at the same time as having a shower, no, not peeing in the shower. But being close enough to the toilet to pee while being under the water. The close quarters of these accommodations make this dream a reality gentlemen.

This simple place will be my home for the next few days, already I feel that I could spend some time in this place. I start my birthday celebrations early, treating myself to a massive grilled fish dinner. The fresh catch of the day chosen by me from the ice tray display, and enjoyed with a large cold kingfisher beer. I sleep like a baby, lost in the haze of good food and beer.

January 29th - 2010
A yoga session starts this day. A 2 two hour birthday gift to myself. This teacher is fairly slow at this time, so the class turns into a private lesson and lots of guidance. This morning meditation sets the mood for the day, a day to remember. my 25th. The day continued with a slow breakfast and a large chai tea. The hot, sweet and rich drink is wonderful.

Further observation reveals a place very different from the India I have grown accustomed to over the last two weeks. The Indian people have a certain Hawaiian flare, a southern California vibe, a certain sense of an island life. A slower, calmer tone.

The sales people of the markets are languid and slow. Quietly and only once asking you to have a look at their wares. Gone is the aggressive, pressured sales of the bustling Mumbai markets. The largely Russian clientele are a mix of ex-patriated hippies from another era and sun worshiping travellers, looking for a break from the road. Signs flood the walls of the cafes, announcing services and selling skills of massage, yoga and every alternative therapy you can think of. Its a place of rest, a place of healing for some, and a place to regain something lost, or simply recharge.

With a great morning setting up a great day, we head for the beach. Beach shacks line the white sand beaches and clear blue waters. The heat is fierce, saved only by the constant sea breeze. The searing sun is best avoided in the noonday heat, so refuge is sought under a beach umbrella.

As I observe my surroundings and think how different this place is, I am reminded that yes, I am still in India. Stray cows wander the beach, 5 to six at a time. These wild sacred bulls plod the beach seeking scraps and chasing dogs. The packs of stray dogs will nip and tease the lumbering animals until a stampede erupts. Cows trample down the beach at top speed escaping the threat of the dogs. But as the pack thins out, the cows suddenly realize the size advantage they have, and a whole new chase begins.

I sit back in my shaddy seat and watch the water gently roll up the beach. I watch my kingfisher sweat on the table. I see the people frolic and play. Amid this paradise I am found thinking of home. I think of birthdays past and wonder what I would be doing . It makes me miss my girl, my family and my friends. No cake this year. No family dinners, no special dates. These are the things that make a birthday special, not getting older, or the day of the year, but the people you have with you on that day. Home sickness comes in waves, and phone calls have a way of grounding you. The realization that life is going on back home, flying by without you.

But this feeling is fleeting. I reframe my thinking and reflect on how truly lucky I am. I am watching cows chase dogs on and Indian beach paradise, sipping cold beer and floating through a perfect day with no worries or care. This day is about me this year. I eat when i'm hungry, sleep when i'm tired. I read, I write and practice guitar. When its hot I dip in the ocean, and dry in the sun.

This perfect day is made better in knowing tht I do have the loved ones at home, thinking of me, reading my blog, sending me birthday wishes. I am fortunate for this. I think about the lost bohemian travellers, dredlocked and lost. Lost in the moment, caught up in this world. A place where no roots must be laid. Temporary friendships and made, and relationships come and go. I think about this quest for the ultimate freedom, this Neverland, where you never grow up. This seems to me a falacy, an escape from a lost and lonely world. Escape, from something.

I realize on the beach this day that my roots, my life, these so called burdens; these are what I vlaue most in my life. The relationships that I have built and maintain, the love of my life, my family, even my job, my career, my future, this is my substance. Being away from these elements of life that we often take for granted, provides a great perspective of what is truly important in life.

The day drains away and the sun bleeds into the ocean. The full moon peeks out from behind tree tops and replaces our shaddows with the familiar tin light. The slow pace of the day continues as we wander slowly back to wash away the salt and sand. I change into my cleanest dirty shirt, blending in perfectly with the crowd. Its back to the beach where the scene has transformed. Morphing from a sun soaked play ground into a serene candle lit patio. Hundreds of candle lit lanterns sit atop the rows of dinner tables, facing the sea, the breeze. Another of the days catch is chosen and cooked while I wait with a beer. The greatest fish dinner i've had, for less than 4 dollars.

Chanti, chanti : Slowly, slowly. This is the way here, and a second large beer drags out another hour. This day is strange and I drift again back to home. This place, the candle light lanterns and great food, I want so badly to be sharing this with my girl. I become quiet and lost in my thoughts. I grow envious of the couple ahead of me while I dream of the future when I can share nights like these with my beautiful girl. I picture the soft light play off her eyes, an see how her skin glows in the bright, soft moon light. I envision long walks, and late nights out on the beach. I really miss Jessica today.

But this strange and different birthday is marked with stark highs and slows. The day continues well into the night. When in spain you see the bulls run, in france you drink wine and eat cheeze. When you are in Goa, you go to the all night fullmoon beach rave. Its tough to describe a rave party if you have never been to one, but the dark images of strung out dancers is not far from the reality. A welcoming and happy environment where anything goes. At first I felt like a tourist at this party, an observer of this spectacle. Revellers are all around me, lost in the music, dancing in a trance. The multitudes of dreadlocks and tattoed locals have congregated at this high powered beach venue for a 30 hour party. The music pumps loud and vibrates through your chest. Many of the party goers seek chemical assistance to become lost in the music, but this trend is far from a must. With only a few beers in my system, and the confidence that I am alone on this side of the world, I soon loose my sense of being a visitor and loose myself. The constant rhythm pulls you along and soon your arms, legs and hips are moving independent of another, each concentrating on a separate layer of this complex sound.

Without the assistance of the chemical aids, we grow tired and lazy. We head out of this all night party well before sun rise and make the long beach walk home in the bright moon light. The hour walk was quickened by intervals of running along the sand, trying to make the long walk faster. We arrive to the huts just after 4am and sleep comes easy, dreaming of another day of beach paradise. Not sure how many more, chanti chanti.