René Seifert – Entrepreneur & Global Citizen

Saturday morning in Bangalore and I am still full of best memories from last weekend in Goa, a place that constantly calls for coming back. After my friend Dirk and I with a heavy heart had decided to cancel our trip over Christmas last year due to specific terror threats, it was time to make up for it. And Goa never disappoints, Goa always delivers in its own kind.

Hence, we were a colourful gang of four MännerMItÄhre (sic!) which would translate into something like “MenOfHonour” from the three German-speaking countries. Tim and myself from Germany, Ingo from Austria and Frank from Switzerland who as the Swiss Consul to Bangalore brought diplomatic immunity into the equation. Here we were on the famous Saturday Night Market which has just re-opened after months of security-concerns. (The whole set of pictures, by the way, is here on Flickr).

The Night Market is Goa in a nutshell, with all the different streaks that India’s smallest state has to offer. The prevailing feeling is that of an alternative lifestyle even with some old hippies from around the world who have been there for years, selling silver jewellery or baking original yummy Italian pizza. Then you have some of the package tourists who made their way from mostly Baga, quite a few Russians were around this year as well. But the best is that everybody is totally relaxed and liberal where nobody cares for impressions and expressions which are rather unusual e.g. in the corporate world (which is by no means a benchmark for happy and fulfilled living …;-):

The best, surely, in Goa are the beaches. Meandering along the coast, occasionally interrupted by huge rocks, they continue to touch passionately the Arabian Sea. Candolim is quite widespread, Baga rather densely populated, Vagator hides almost still like a little secret whereas Anjuna hails as the hotspot for the backpacker- and yoga-crowd. Everyone will find his or her little paradise here. Who is willing to go for the search, doing it on a motorbike is by far the best experience.

(Note that there is no helmet. Nobody is wearing it in Goa. And it goes like this: As everybody is doing it, the outcome from the democratic decision is that in case of an accident the laws of physics have been lifted. So injuries are technically impossible …)

Most importantly in Goa, you have to let go. Let go from all measures of efficiency which usually dominate our busy lives. More often than not the service in one of the beach shackles is slow. It takes ages to place an order in spite of few guests whilst the waiters seem to have a good time standing around. And it’s exactly that dimension of time which seems to stretch to eternal relativistic proportions by melting seamlessly into a joint continuum with space. As we were joking: “In Goa no one dies from a heart attack.”

Sitting down in one of these shackles with a cold drink in your hand for a sun-downer drink, being surrounded by lush-green palm-trees, looking out on the glittering water, having your male “MännerMitÄhre”-friends by your side, does not raise any further questions about the equilibrium of existence. A full plate of fresh seafood for 150 Rupees (~EUR 2.50) will do the rest.

From the 30 million Indian Gods, the one responsible for chilling must be living in Goa.