Snaking south into the lush Goan countryside, cracked black-top roads out a Anjuna pass scenes of every day Indian life that appears a world apart from the Birkenstock walked paths. Fires burning amid roadside shanties, elder Hindu women walking barefoot and baskets balanced on their heads, adelescent boys playing cricket in an dirt lot and ancient grand banyan trees. All of these Goan scenes can be found in any part of the city and within walking distance from any Goa Luxury hotel or resort.
I especially appreciate the splendor and beauty of all the Basilicas and church temples. My head bows especially low upon entering the Basilica of Bom Jesus in Old Goa, a ghostly town of Baroque edifices tha was once the seat of Portugbal’s Indian trade colony. The reason for my reverence lies in a deep alcove where a splendidly wrought silver casket holds the remains of the most famous Western spiritual seeker ever to touch upon Goa’s shores: St. Francis Xavier . He was dispatched on a missionary voyage to the East in 1541. St. Francis, a Spanish-born Jesuit, stepped off a ship the next year and found himself in a prosperous international metropolis larger than London.
As a French traveler observed, Goa’s boulevards were lined with goldsmiths and bankers, as well as the richest and best merchants and artisans. St. Francis journeyed all over the East, returning frequently to Goa before his death in China in 1552. His body was taken to Goa two years later. Today, Baroque churches, convents and cathedrals are a testement to the former beauty. Whitewashed relics stand out against the green luscious expanses and encroaching jungle; a Catholic version of the Angkor temple complex.
Farther south only a few miles outside the tiny village of Priol the religion changes from Christian to Hindu. Colorful saris and Madras shirts are worn by Indian travelers carrying wreaths of orange flowers as they enter into the 17th century Shri Manguesh temple and lay down their offerings. Smoke from aromic incense and hushed chanting floats through the air. Elder women sell bananas to the outside crowd. I sit on a public bench nearby and watch Goan life serenly pass by.
