Goa has turned out to be everything I hoped it would be. Arambol was sleepy; a sort of bedroom community to nearby Anjuna where trance parties thump from midnight to 8 am followed by afterparties from 1 pm - someungodlyhour. Much more my speed after 6 weeks of social starvation. My schedule is shaping up to be something like this:

7:00 pm - 8:00 pm Dinner (or breakfast, as it were)
8:00 pm - 2 am Talking with friends and listening to music at Sonic Guesthouse overlooking the sea
2 am - 8 am Dancing, talking, bouncing, listening, spinning, connecting
8 am - noon Talking with friends at Sonic and watching the tidepools fill up from underneath (the sound it makes as it fills the holes: bloob bloob bloob bloob!, had us in hysterics until about the fifth time we heard it)
noon - 6 pm Sleep

Chris and I have been spending our time with four people we've met; Dave and Lucy, a brilliantly funny veterinarian couple from Darby; Matt, a lone traveler and Doctor of Physics from Manchester; and Alex, a somewhat naive but eager to learn dreadlocked 18-year old Scot spending his gap year before university in India. Chris, Matt and Dave are all bald with goatees and have wicked senses of humor, so time together has been anything but dull.

Our first party was on Friday at "The Bamboo Forest," which was really just some guy's big backyard with a somewhat sparse shroud of bamboo trees and a large dirt clearing in the middle. The dark, black-lit neon dancefloor was pounding and I immediately dashed onto it, whooping and throwing myself about with abandon and a big smile on my face and my pink skirt glowing.

An Indian man with two jars of UV glow paint smiled at me and gestured that he wanted to paint on my shoulder. I held still while he glided on a yellow Om symbol, then a second on my other shoulder. I squeezed his shoulder and thanked him. He smiled back, then stuck his open palm in my face and said "Money!!" I stared at him blankly. "30 rupees! Hello, money!" he repeated. I was horrified and disgusted. I told him that when someone comes up to me in what appears to be a selfless gesture of kindess, well dammit, that's what gives these parties energy and a feeling of community. He said he understood and sauntered off, insufficiently shamed, to his next victim (who turned out to be Alex and a 50 rupee profit).

Straw mats scattered around dozens of vendors working by lantern-light lay around the perimeter of the dancefloor at the edge of the trees. We claimed some mats beside the dancefloor in front of a Chai-lady where we sat when we weren't dancing. A constant stream of roaming vendors (pastries, gum, water, lollypops) and begging mothers and children would draw around us, interrupting conversation and refusing to move. After several hours we started to notice less and exude the all important "I can see you but I am NOT going to acknowledge your request for my attention" vibe and they came 'round less, or at least lingered only briefly.

The atmosphere was palpable, especially at sunrise when the air had grown still and heavy from body heat and stirred-up dust. People continued dancing as the sun and the music rose, others stopped to inspect the sunlit, sweat, paint and dust-covered faces of their fellow partiers and friends from India, England, France, Germany, Switzerland, Sweden, Australia, New Zealand, Peru, Brazil, Morocco, South Africa, Japan, Russia, America, Canadia, Israel, Iran, Turkey.

The second party was held at the ambitiously named "Temple" venue, which was lovely because of its proximity to the beach and our guesthouse, but unimpressive because the "Temple" was hidden under construction and was less a pious centerpiece and more an eyesore blocking the view to the sea.

Chris and I have finally met some people we really connect and have fun with. The parties themselves are fun, loud, strange, wonderful, better then I expected but not as good as I hoped. Can I help it? San Francisco and Burning Man have set the bar impossibly high. Still, I am having the time of my life and am not sure when I will be ready to move north. I, uh, hear it's still cold up there.

And now, a quick word on baksheesh.

There are several kinds of baksheesh (money paid to an individual for some service or even just as charity). In this case, the baksheesh I am talking about is a bribe paid to the police to allow certain illegal activities to occur. Police corruption is commonplace in India, but in Goa, it's an entire industry that keeps the Goan economy going. Restaurants and clubs pay baksheesh in order to be able to sell drugs to their customers and allow them to be consumed on the premises. Party organizers pay baksheesh to allow parties to go on despite the fact that outdoor music after 10 pm is illegal in Goa. Westerners transporting drugs into Goa pay baksheesh to be able to sell their wares for inflated prices inside the parties. Anyone randomly searched and found with drugs on them can pay baksheesh on the spot to get out of jail free. The Goan police force 'closes down' illegal parties, but not until 8 am when the party's about over anyway. This prevents Goa from losing its reputation as a party destination while still demonstrating a (somewhat atrophied) arm of the law. Everyone gets a share and has a good time, and the Goan police force is such a desired employer that one must pay a hefty sum to join the force.

Gotta love this country.