The best split-second decision we made was to grab that bus to Baga Beach.
Circumstance tossed us a no-brainer, and on wheels no less. All we had to do was hop on. It was sunny out and everything since morning had felt lighter, easier. The balcony had arranged itself. We had managed to at least partially burn the week's garbage. The paddy fields swayed lazily in an impossible green, begging to be photographed. And then the bus showed up at the intersection just as we did.
When we first came to Goa, it took me about half an hour to decide Baga was not my idea of a good time. It had one dirty beach town vibe. Tito's Lane dragged you along a slow-moving conveyor belt of drunk tourists, bad trance and unsolicited party fliers to the abdomen; twenty-four hour neon lights over tattoo shops and Thai foot massage parlours whose doors were always shut; middle-aged men hawking sunglasses and young kids on motorbikes reeling you in with scooter rentals before offering everything but. Baga was about as pleasant as a mild headache; the reason we ended up moving inland.
But then Tito's Lane also brought you straight to the beach. And Baga had one broad beach with perfect white sand. Mild headaches became tolerable in such perfect sand. Once you removed your sandals and stepped into the turbulent Arabian Sea, everything else faded into the background. And with it every split-second decision you ever dared question.
Circumstance tossed us a no-brainer, and on wheels no less. All we had to do was hop on. It was sunny out and everything since morning had felt lighter, easier. The balcony had arranged itself. We had managed to at least partially burn the week's garbage. The paddy fields swayed lazily in an impossible green, begging to be photographed. And then the bus showed up at the intersection just as we did.
When we first came to Goa, it took me about half an hour to decide Baga was not my idea of a good time. It had one dirty beach town vibe. Tito's Lane dragged you along a slow-moving conveyor belt of drunk tourists, bad trance and unsolicited party fliers to the abdomen; twenty-four hour neon lights over tattoo shops and Thai foot massage parlours whose doors were always shut; middle-aged men hawking sunglasses and young kids on motorbikes reeling you in with scooter rentals before offering everything but. Baga was about as pleasant as a mild headache; the reason we ended up moving inland.
But then Tito's Lane also brought you straight to the beach. And Baga had one broad beach with perfect white sand. Mild headaches became tolerable in such perfect sand. Once you removed your sandals and stepped into the turbulent Arabian Sea, everything else faded into the background. And with it every split-second decision you ever dared question.
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