The Great Escape: On Mapping the ‘Firangi’ Trail in Goa

Coming to Goa is often viewed as a form of escapism. People travel here to get away from the rat race, the concrete jungle and the monotony of a routine-based existence.

Stuck in a seemingly eternal pandemic, switching from listlessly staring at a Zoom window to wistfully staring out of a glass window, even the most resilient would need a break. A trip to Goa was just what the doctor ordered (along with a pack of masks, sanitisers and a Covid test).

We were staying in Arambol, a fishing village known for its quirky denizens – drummers in search of offbeat rhythms, travellers looking for new adventures, chefs eager to discover fresh flavours. Walking down to the beach for my surf lesson, I pass the quaint Llama Bakery. Customers feast on croissants and sandwiches, while a couple of Russians cluster round a table to whet a different kind of appetite. As they, the last of the stragglers, enjoy a morning smoke, I am reminded of other firangs who came to Goa in search of meaning.

Garcia de Orta was one of the earliest refugees to escape to Goa. He had fled the Portuguese Inquisition back home, crossing the border to Tagus (Spain) in 1534 and sailing, with Martim De Sousa’s fleet as a physician, to what was then a Portuguese colony. There, motivated by his deep interest in tropical medicine, he eventually set up a garden of botanical plants. His family had been forcibly converted to Christianity in the late 15th century and new Christians had come under the scanner, with the King of Portugal rooting out all suspected of practicing Judaism in secret.

Orta wrote his colloquies, his exploration of the herbs of Asia (from Asafoetida to Opium), from the perspective of a physician. In his book The First Firangis, historian Jonathan Gil Harris writes that Orta “displayed an unusual adventurousness in experimenting with Indian plants, fruits, spices and herbs”. Orta expressed mild disapproval for the use of cannabis, which was traditionally employed, since ancient times, as a medicine in Indian treatments. But where he saw moral decline, the Portuguese saw opportunity, as they used their ports to export opium to China in the early 17th century. The Garcia de Orta Garden in Panjim ensures he will be remembered, as the Portuguese Inquisition caught up to him after his death, with his remains being exhumed and subsequently burnt.

In his eighth colloquy, Orta writes about the cannabis plant, which would eventually become a part of the hippie lifestyle in Goa.

Fast forward to World War II, when a man named Yertward Mazamanian convinced an army psychiatrist that he was unfit for military service. Born to Armenian immigrants in Massachusetts, he was christened ‘Eight-Finger Eddie’ due to the absence of two fingers on his right hand. He was convinced that a life in the daily grind wasn’t for him (going so far as to say, “I abhor work, begrudging every moment I’ve wasted as a wage-earner”) and during a trip to Asia, he decided to settle in Goa.

After three years of exploring the state, with a suitcase in one hand and a joint in the other, he established a soup kitchen in Anjuna. Little did he know that it would become an essential stop on the hippie trail there. Despite this, Eddie refused to accept the label “hippie”, instead choosing to call himself “one of the first freaks” that came to Goa. He became a beacon for hippies far and wide, offering those who came in search of respite and nourishment – for both body and soul – a welcoming place at his hearth. Credited with cementing the hippie lifestyle as a permanent cultural facet of Goa, Eddie’s name lives on in a Goan brew named after him.

Also read: ‘Magical Mollem’: A Film on Goa’s Dying Green Heart

I reach Surf Wala, the surf school, ready for my lesson. It’s amazing how an eight-foot long piece of foam and wood can transform into a magic carpet when you’re on the waves. Sure, the tide can be choppy, but a stinging faceful of saltwater can be more effective than the strongest cup of coffee when you want to chase away the last dregs of sleep. “The ocean is my guru. It has taught me about patience, acceptance and looking at the outcome of an experience positively,” says Jay, my surf instructor.

Jay on his surfboard. Photo: Surf Wala/Arambol

Jay comes from a fishing village in South Africa and has surfed at Skeleton Coast in Namibia (a surf spot notorious for its dangerous currents). “As surfers, it is important to combat climate change,” he explains. Jay believes that instead of looking at leaders, we must look towards artists, writers and musicians; those who can inspire us. Interestingly, Jay’s native town, Melkbosstrand, is just 109 km north of the Cape of Good Hope around which Vasco Da Gama sailed in his quest for a new route to a haven of spices that Europe was after.

Kites circle the beach, gliding under the morning sun. Their story, like many other Goan avians, is documented in, Heinz Lainer and Rahul Alvares’ coffee table book Birds of Goa: A reference book, a book as interesting as its author. In a conversation with Delhibird talks, Pronoy Baidya, the vice president of the Goa Bird Conservation Network, discusses the late birder’s life and legacy. Tired of a ten-year long stint as a chemist in 1967, Lainer decided to pursue his love of birding. It started off with a journey hitchhiking across the African continent, until he got caught up in the Nigerian civil war, which prompted him to leave for Goa. He would spend the rest of his life there, and the landscape of the state’s ornithology scene was forever changed.

Baidya comments on Lainer’s determination and commitment to birdwatching for 40 years, saying, “He went ahead, walking in knee-deep slush just because he wanted to see the Red Avadavat,” reminiscing about one of their exploits in a wetland. The future of the birds that once afforded pleasure to people like Lainer now hangs in the balance with the prospect of a four-lane expansion of National Highway 4A. It is sad to think that birds like the flame-throated bulbul (Goa’s state bird), who are native to a place that has offered refuge to so many, may now have to find a way to escape the destruction of their home.

One can only hope that the efforts of environmentalists and activists, who strongly oppose this decision, will win out in the face of habitat destruction.

I walk back home, to return to the next chapter of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea that sits on the desk in my room, to enjoy the last few days of my own escape.

Ishaan Rajabali is a Class 12 student in Mumbai with an interest in politics, literature and biology. 

Featured image credit: Free-Photos/Pixabay