A Christmas Paradise and the Indian Free Market

Everyone knows that a thing is worth what someone is prepared to pay for it. But knowing and experiencing are two things. If you want a to see the economics of supply and demand at full tilt, come to Goa at Christmas time.

Bamboo beach huts double in price at this time of year and double again if you want to enjoy a cool beer from your own veranda while you watch the sunset over the ocean. The tourist season here lasts 6 months at best, and these two weeks are the prime opportunity for local business owners to recoup their profits and repay their debts to the loan sharks.

At Palolem beach, we are staying in the same cozy little courtyard of beach huts that we stayed in 4 years ago. Kiran recognized us the moment we strolled in (me with standard-issue-shaven-nonce and motorcycle gear), and we are once more the best of friends. We are the privileged benefactors of his ‘special price’ only reserved for life long friends. There is no doubt that he is one of the most genuine people we have met in India, but we are under no illusions that the reason we pay a good price is because we are tucked away in a little courtyard away from the beach – and because we got in just before the festive crowds descended.

Kiran and his brothers, together with a lot of hired help have to dismantle all the huts every April just before the monsoon spills out, only to rebuild them all again after the skies let go their torrent. As his huts lay 50 meters back from the sea, the monsoon washes away all the sand, and every year he employs 50 people (women) to carry bags of sand from the beach until the 20 x 40 meter enclosure is replenished to a depth of 50 or 60 centimeters.

As we have become more familiar wit the price of things in India over the last few years, it’s all the more baffling to rediscover an encapsulated sub-economy in Goa’s beaches, with a whole new set of rules. Of course, one must not forget that pale pot bellied Englishman can still easily afford a quadruple-priced room. And so, confusion reigns - a thing is affordable, nay a bargain by home standards; but it brings with it a slight residue of that feeling you get when you return to the empty spot where you parked your car, before you ate out in Peckham.

On Boxing Day we have planned our escape from the Goa party scene. We will retreat further, to Agonda, which must be the quietest beach in Goa. There is very little development - just a couple of small guesthouses and a few small bamboo beach shacks. In 5 years it too will be overrun with the bamboo party brigade, but for now it remains a little piece of paradise.

And what price paradise? Well there are some cheap sand-floored shacks on the beach, but as middle age approaches we are more attracted to a new strata of lodgings. So we will pay 1500 Indian Rupees for a room with a view. I have never in my life paid Rs 1500 for a room. But hey, to you and me its twenty quid.

I try to convince myself that it’s a bargain, (the price includes 3 meals a day you know). I congratulate myself that my savvy business acumen has triumphed. But there is precious little to negotiate with - this is Goa at Christmas time. This, my friend, is the economics of supply and demand – expertly administered with a grin on its face.

And now for the bowels. As a youngster I could never understand older people’s obsession with their bodily functions, particularly the bowels. I have vivid memories of long hours spent squatting over an empty bowl at Nana Doyle’s, while the importance of regularity was hammered into me from the other side of the bathroom door.

“But Nana, I went last night, honestly”
“Ah, but my dear child, if you don’t go every morning, it means that you’re constipated! You can’t move until you go!”

When one was a whippersnapper, everything worked of its own accord, with out interference. But as the years progress and the girth increases, the need for intervention augments. It’s amazing how the generations repeat themselves, and with 35 years under my belt, the time has come for me to take my place in bowel forum. And so, for your exclusive pleasure, the details now flow.

Day 1 – operations continue as normal
Day 2 – dosa for breakfast, dal for dinner, but the sphincter is unyielding
Day 3 – a diet of Indian pure veg, no movements, and the stomach gains some girth
Day 4 – same diet, no movements, and the stomach gains mass and firmness
Day 5 – managed to squeeze out a few rock-solid pellets
Day 6 – mild relief
Day 7 – the sphincter tightens again…
Day 8 – still no movements. Meanwhile those near me squit the night away
Day 9 – squeezed out a few small pellets and nearly ripped something inside
Day 9 – discovered ‘SAT-ISABGOL’ (an industrial strength Indian high-fibre concoction) and administered the maximum recommended dosage. Still no movements
Day 10 - administered double the recommended dosage, Still no movements
Day 11 - administered quadruple the recommended dosage, Still no movements
Day 12 - administered 8 times the recommended dosage. Such sweet relief
Day 13 (Christmas Eve) –normal operations are resumed

And amid all of the above, somewhere around day 3, one Enfield Bullet 350 was purchased in Bombay. the same Bullet has been riden to Goa, and will continue to act as our carriage henceforth. Further reports will follow for those interested parties, but for for the time being, you are spared the bike porno.

Al that remains is to wish you all a most economical Christmas and firm (but not too firm) New Year. And most important of all - never stop giving each other plenty of that special loving :)

Your very own Mister Graham (with Mistress Caroline)