Christmas in Goa; an alternate story of Baby Jesus

    I have spent holidays abroad before. One Christmas in Honduras, another on Vancouver Island. Most holidays have not been spent with my family for the past five years or so. 2012 was to be no exception. Leading up to Christmas I was worried that this year would be difficult to be so far away from home for a variety of reasons. For starters I had already experienced being home sick on this trip, last year I spent Christmas in the mountains and despite having a great day I really missed my family, and I am so much further from my family than the Canadian Rockies. But being in India and not being constantly cued that Christmas is coming helped a great deal in that it didn’t really feel like Christmas. There was no snow, no pine trees, no shopping, no Christmas carols (I think I have heard 3 in total), no Christmas specials, or movies, and no Christianity or Catholicism. Well not much. Goa is a former Portuguese colony and as such there are many Catholics here, but being at the beach, surrounded by other tourists, enjoying the sun and sand, you don’t really see that side to Goa. All in all I wasn’t too phased by the holiday. Much to my surprise.

Christmas Eve.
    In the story The Night Before Christmas “no one was stirring not even a mouse“. This would have to be the exact opposite of Christmas Eve in Arambol, Goa. The beaches are packed, every beachside restaurant is pumping out incredibly loud music, most of it trance. Goa is known for its trance scene. The entire coastline is lit up with barbeques, candles lighting up the plastic tables where you will be having your meal, fireworks high in the night sky, fire spinners, and any other bright, neon things you can envision.
    I was staying at a guesthouse with my good friend Rachy, sister to one of my best friends’ Tabitha. Rachy and I chose this particular guest house on recommendation from some of her friends from India., who were also with us at the beach. All in all there is quite a large group of us.
    Christmas Day was delightful however most atypical for this Canadian. Rachy and I went to get our famous breakfast of Buffalo mozzarella, tomato, basil omelettes two doors down from our guest house. This was followed by a walk to the next beach, over beautiful rocks jutting up out of the ocean. Rachy purchased some Christmas jewellery while I went for a swim in the ocean. I spoiled myself with fruit salad and ice cream after an incredibly intensive ocean swim, not really, it was more like a refreshing dip.
    Our group then rented motorbikes and decided to bike down to a nearby beach to play in the sand and take in the evening sunset. The coastline looked absolutely amazing as Rachy and I whizzed down the coastal ‘highway’ on our motorbike. The orange sun shining on the water, the breeze passing over our exposed legs. Rachy’s metal feather earrings chiming away. Everything looking slightly tinted from our sun glasses; an incredibly good idea from Rachy as so many things can get blown into your eyes while riding motorbikes. The boys played soccer on the beach while us girls sat in the sand and chatted. Our pack drove back each bike trying to get ahead of the next one. So much fun!
    Again a feast on the beach was had, in the same fashion as the night before; fireworks going off everywhere, bbq’d seafood being cooked along the entire length of the beach, and much laughter and merriment being had by all.
       
    I was trying to think of the ways in which this Christmas mirrored that of  the story of baby Jesus. When I arrived in Goa, to the capital city Panjim I went door to door looking for a place to stay but everywhere was booked. I walked and walked and asked and asked but no one had rooms available. Everyone goes to Goa at Christmas so everything books up and everything is far more expensive. I was finally able to find a place to stay for the night. No it was not a stable, nor was it at the courtesy or generosity of local Goan. I did not give birth at the overpriced guest house in the middle of Panjim. Although I did survive ‘the end of the world’ according to the Mayan calendar. Perhaps that was a sort of rebirth for the life of Stephanie.
    Mary and  Joseph; baby Jesus’ mother and father were definitely not present at this Christmas party, but I did have my father there. One of the guys in our group is a man from France named Thomas, which is my father’s name. The day that I met Thomas I told him that was my fathers’ name and he immediately told me that Stephanie was his mothers’ name. I didn’t believe him, but it turned out to be true. For the remainder of our time in Goa I would call Thomas ‘Papa’ and he would call me ‘Mama. We both enjoyed the joke.
    The three wise men. I cannot say that I have met many people here in Goa who are “wise“. I have met many Indian men. What I mean to say is many Indian men try to meet Rachy and I and we do our best to dose ourselves in Indian-man repellent. It usually doesn’t work. In our group there are several guys from Afghanistan and they often wear scarves wrapped around their head much like a turban. I like these three guys; Rishad, Ruffus, and Rammeen. All very sweet, actually Rishad and Rammeen are very sweet and thoughtful. Ruffus is a little crass, but he strives for that. Every morning I will be sitting on the stoop of our room doing something; cutting my toe nails (which is an achievement in and of itself), journaling, or just hanging out. I will suddenly have the impulse to look up and there Ruffus and Rammeen will be leaning on the balcony above quietly watching me go about my business. We all say “good morning” and smile at each other. I find it endearing.
    Gifts. The wise men brought gifts. I have to say that my life in general is a gift. I am one of the richest people I know in love and spirit, usually not in wealth, but here in India relatively speaking, wealth too. I did receive gifts this Christmas; a very warm, fleece lined, wool sweater, in my favorite color orange. This was from another traveler who deals in textiles. I am constantly gifted  by Rachy’s presence as her beautiful smiling face reminds me to be happy and make the most of life! Rachy knows how to live life to its fullest, to smile, to play, to be happy for everything that we have and is available to us. I cannot be around her without this reminder of gratitude. It is quite the gift! If I had to name a third gift this Christmas I guess it would be recognition of self. This trip has brought me much closer to myself and all of the things that make up me; my family, friends, the country I am from, my feelings, desires, creativity, my body, my mind and its, many, thoughts, my language, my upbringing, my schooling, etc etc etc. The list goes on and on and on. Very often I will think to myself that moving out to Western Canada has to be one of the best decisions I have ever made. I am beginning to feel that coming to India and giving myself four full months to just ‘be’; be creative, to listen to myself, to feel what I need to feel and not control it, to sleep when I want and eat when I want. To just be me in a totally different place where I actually have made the time for it. That is an incredible gift and it feels pretty fantastic!
Thank you baby Jesus and Merry Christmas!