We decided to try out a bus adventure to Panjin (the capital of Goa), via Margao, via Ponda. An old rattly diesel-fueled antiquated bus picked us up locally and we pondered laboriously along the narrow country roads to Margao, a smallish-big town about 30mins away.
We passed old delipitated, dirty, rundown and derelict houses and lush overgrowth threatening to overtake everything in it’s path. Many people got on and off the bus at different intervals. Sometimes there was a bus stop, most times, not.
As we came into Margao, we passed a slum village underneath a bridge overpass. There was only rooftops to see with plastic sheeting and iron sheets lashed together with rope over bamboo or timber framework. What a way to live your whole life in that environment.
Darful, darful, darful, darful the ticket man continued calling out to people to lure them on the bus to Panji. I have no idea what the word meant, probably, hurry up.
Boy was it steamy on the second bus. Almost no windows open, so no cooling breezes and the sweat was running in rivulets down my face and body. Beats having a sauna, and much more entertaining….hahaha…The noisy buses are so loud with engine noise and blaring Hindi music that they only way the driver knows when to stop, is the ticket seller blows a whistle.
After 30mins of deafening roar of the engine, we stop and pick up a bus load of people, the bus was already full. A packed bus full of hot, steamy, sweaty, pungent, bodies assaults the sense of smell, so I breathe through my mouth instead. Then we stop for fuel, just enough to get us to Panjin. Maybe it’s cheaper that way, than getting the tank filled. Also, means we could run out of fuel along the way, then we’d be stuck.
At the next stop, most of the passengers get off. It’s a busy area here and no idea where we are. Prior to taking off, a new ticket seller joins the bus and calls Poongay, Poongay, Poongay, Poongay, over and over, to people milling about the buses. It reminds me of the mating calls of owls to each other first thing in the morning or at dusk.
We finally get to Panjin after 120mins travelling. My bum is completely sore from the hard seats. We find out the markets are another quick bus drive away. We exit the bus at the markets and the fish and seafood smells almost overwhelm us with their stench. People selling fresh fish and what it looks like is fish intestines is quite overwhelming to the senses.
We move into the food hall and sample some fresh fruit. We look around the rest of the markets and purchase the items we came for. I certainly don’t want to do this again. Once is enough to experience the sights, sounds, smells and decay of poverty around us.
We head back to the chaotic bus station and board a non-stop bus to Margao. This one has got to be better than the awful bum-numbing one we came on. It is and much faster too.
I’m glad of my purchases today. A cat bag and a Hello Kitty cover for my iPhone.
Dinner was at the resort and the best one we’d had so far. We realised too, that the night before when Kenneth was playing and singing in the restaurant, we were charged extra taxes (almost the same price as the meal itself) to cover the cost of the entertainment. What a ripoff!! But that’s how they get the tourist dollars. We are learning the Indian ways fast.