Agonda, Goa.
This small village is a beautiful cliche of paradise, an Ad-man's idyll. White sandy beach and Photoshop palm trees breeze to the roll of a menacingly blue ocean. The beach-front is littered with cobbled together huts. Yes, the place is touristy (touristic if you're an English speaking foreigner) but it's not kitsch (Not every thing is kitsch Lonely Planet! Just like not all parks are shady! What do you even mean shady? Shady like a viola dealing class A rosin to underage violins? Or shady like the perpetual eclipse produced by Johnny Borell's massive ego?)
The village is in the south of the tiny state, away from much of the hubub(/fun?) of the (it pains my skinny indie fingers even to type this word) mainstream {*shudders} north. The beach, (that's essentially all there is here) is smattered with white, rapidly-browning bodies belonging to various genres of owner.
There are: The 20-30 something romantic couples, stuck like flies in the sickly honey of each other's company;
Solitary hippie pensioners grinding thier joints to the beat from beach drummers - one drunk Scottish man wiggles his wife-beater-ed torso as if to free himself from a long repressed sense of self respect;
The ocassional middle class Indian couple, stroling unsure like childrem finding themselves in a forbidden sweet shop after hours;
And, of course, the 'alternative' crowd, the Travelers with a capital T, (which they reject due to it being a pseudo-eponymous product of the capitalist system). They're clad in the standard issue uniform - dredlocks, baggy pants and 'meaningful' tatoos (like the guy with the monkey from Gorillaz on his leg - he probably got it as a Dare. Or maybe it made him Feelgood inc... I don't even like gorillaz why am I advertising their songs in pun form?? Spending all day in the sun on the Plastic Beach must be getting to me. ahhh! Beach. Beach. {*shakes head to clear it of all the plastic sand})
Seperate from but closely related to this later group are the 'Yogis' - those learning yoga. We spoke to one such lady persuing her new spiritual calling as a yoga instructor. She enthusiastically prescribed Emily some alternative remedies for her cold. Frogspawn and unicorn hair procured at midnight blended into a pepsi I think it was...
I was dubious at first, but suffice to say emily was bounding around, happy as a poodle in a puddle the following morning. A lesson well learned from the guru; it looks like Yogi bear's not just a ruggedly handsome face.
Cheery bomb.
x
This small village is a beautiful cliche of paradise, an Ad-man's idyll. White sandy beach and Photoshop palm trees breeze to the roll of a menacingly blue ocean. The beach-front is littered with cobbled together huts. Yes, the place is touristy (touristic if you're an English speaking foreigner) but it's not kitsch (Not every thing is kitsch Lonely Planet! Just like not all parks are shady! What do you even mean shady? Shady like a viola dealing class A rosin to underage violins? Or shady like the perpetual eclipse produced by Johnny Borell's massive ego?)
The village is in the south of the tiny state, away from much of the hubub(/fun?) of the (it pains my skinny indie fingers even to type this word) mainstream {*shudders} north. The beach, (that's essentially all there is here) is smattered with white, rapidly-browning bodies belonging to various genres of owner.
There are: The 20-30 something romantic couples, stuck like flies in the sickly honey of each other's company;
Solitary hippie pensioners grinding thier joints to the beat from beach drummers - one drunk Scottish man wiggles his wife-beater-ed torso as if to free himself from a long repressed sense of self respect;
The ocassional middle class Indian couple, stroling unsure like childrem finding themselves in a forbidden sweet shop after hours;
And, of course, the 'alternative' crowd, the Travelers with a capital T, (which they reject due to it being a pseudo-eponymous product of the capitalist system). They're clad in the standard issue uniform - dredlocks, baggy pants and 'meaningful' tatoos (like the guy with the monkey from Gorillaz on his leg - he probably got it as a Dare. Or maybe it made him Feelgood inc... I don't even like gorillaz why am I advertising their songs in pun form?? Spending all day in the sun on the Plastic Beach must be getting to me. ahhh! Beach. Beach. {*shakes head to clear it of all the plastic sand})
Seperate from but closely related to this later group are the 'Yogis' - those learning yoga. We spoke to one such lady persuing her new spiritual calling as a yoga instructor. She enthusiastically prescribed Emily some alternative remedies for her cold. Frogspawn and unicorn hair procured at midnight blended into a pepsi I think it was...
I was dubious at first, but suffice to say emily was bounding around, happy as a poodle in a puddle the following morning. A lesson well learned from the guru; it looks like Yogi bear's not just a ruggedly handsome face.
Cheery bomb.
x
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHEHEHEHEHEHEHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOIHOHOHOHO. LIKELIKELIKELIEKE.
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