When prompted about it, a DJ admitted he intentionally plays the very dark
trance at night to make “the Indians” leave. The hardest tracks are reserved for the
period just before dawn. Then, epic “morning trance” is played, after which DJs
will switch back to progressive and psychedelic trance till noon or later. By this
time, however, the dance floor is full of spirit, smiles, togetherness, sociability, and
mystical connections with sun, music, earth, hash, and acid. And thus the music, so
monotonous before, makes sense now. But all this smoothness is only achieved by a
subtly concerted form of excluding others from the primary moment of the party—
the morning session. During the night, the whole village of Anjuna is kept awake
just for the build-up of the party—and this, in high season, several times a week.
Noise pollutionIn Anjuna, there is an enormous difference between the sonic landscape during
winter and during summer and monsoon. Goan villages of comparable size serve as
a test case. There, life is rather slow, traffic consists of a few motorbikes an hour,
perhaps one can hear TVs and Bollywood music, and most of the noise is made by
crows and dogs. But from November to March Anjuna is completely transformed,
doubling or tripling its population, and harboring hundreds of rented motorbikes
and scooters, domestic tourism buses, taxi vans, auto-rickshaws, private cars, jeeps,
and Land Rovers. On Wednesdays, with Anjuna’s flea market, and during high
season in the end of December, there are veritable traffic jams, with all the four-
wheelers and their car stereos and horns—even at night.
The favorite bike amongst Goa freaks is the Enfield 350cc (some are 500cc), an
old-fashioned, heavy motorcycle whose exhaust pipes produce a distinct thud
discernible from up to a kilometer away. There is a hierarchy in the hipness to be
attained by riding specific bikes—from the rare TVS moped, through the popular
Honda Kinetic scooter and the Yamaha 100, to the Enfield (only diehard health
freaks cycle). The worst thing for one’s cool in Anjuna is walking—only
backpackers who stay for a few days do that. The warm sea breeze (the helmet law is
not yet implemented in Goa), the narrow roads through paddy fields, the palm-tree
shadows, the dodging of cows and buffaloes and potholes and schoolchildren,
perpetually stoned: all add to the smooth-space experience of riding. The Goa freaks
sit proudly saddled, shirtless (if they’re men), looking straight ahead through their
sunglasses as they ride through the coastal villages. Given the charming
stubbornness of its engine, many males who have bought an Enfield for the season
learn the art of motorcycle maintenance—spending days or weeks in the garage.
Amongst all the object-signs of India incorporated in Anjuna’s hippie and rave
scene, the Enfield must be the one most spiritualized.
Then there are the hazards. Every year in Goa there are at least a dozen road
deaths and many more minor injuries to riders (often due to LSD and/or Ecstasy),
pedestrians and cattle. The air pollution may be slight, but yet so are most distances
covered. I have mentioned the racket Enfields create. When a bar like Ninebar in
Vagator closes, there is a cacophony of exhaust pipes. Some Goa freaks enjoy the
280 ARUN SALDANHA