Monsoons and Tattoos in Goa

« Return to India

Seven months into Modern Gonzo, I decided it was time to get a permanent physical reminder of my one-year-adventure. I’m beyond the age of getting a tattoo for coolness sake, nor obsessed with temporary meaningful symbols like dolphins and dragons, or Japanese/Sanskrit scribbles that mean something or another. The tattoo would be there to remind me of the year I lived life to its fullest, followed my dreams, and inspired others to do the same. It would also be one more experience in a year dedicated to discovering new ones. I knew what I wanted, and where I wanted it. Andy’s Tattoo Studio in Anjuna has been around for nearly twenty years, and is apparently famous for its work. The studio is modern, hygienic, and one look at Andy and you know the guy is not going to scribble with a shaky hand. I psyched myself up, challenging myself to remember the Buddhist principle of living each moment consciously. My design was traced onto paper and then onto my calf. With my green light, Andy began to use the needle gun. Truthfully, I was petrified. Yaron from Israel told me he almost fainted twice when he got his tattoo, and nobody would give me a straight answer just how painful it would be. I enquired whether alcohol or painkillers would help, but Andy insisted it would only thin the blood. Blood? What blood? Fortunately I had a tattoo partner, a beautiful Israeli girl named Adi who came along to watch, and later, to get her own floral pattern on her lower back. So, as the needle got stuck in, Adi stroked my head and here I was, bashfully caught between pleasure and pain. I closed my eyes and remembered the day I left Vancouver for Lima, retracing each day of my journey in my head. By the time I climbed the volcano in Chile, Andy was finished. It had taken an hour, and I had barely flinched. I knew instantly that if I had got a tattoo when I was 18, I would be covered in them now. Apparently, this is common. My calf was taped in plastic, instruction on proper care was given, and that was it. No bleeding, no bruising. And what did I get, painted forever on my left calf, a few inches from the scar on my knee that paid for this trip? You’ll have to find out next week, but lets just say it is something completely, utterly, and unashamedly Gonzo.

FULL POWER! It’s a phrase that the trance freaks scream when they climax, the point of absolute bliss, the nirvana of partying. Full Power! Some Israeli guys are wearing black T-shirts with “Full Power!” stenciled in bright orange. “I can’t go Full Power, I have a wife at home,” says one of the guys at the tattoo studio, nonchalantly. I take the scooter south along the spectacular coastline, exploring beach resort towns of Calingute, Baga, and a few others. The only reason I came to Arambol was because most of the guys I had met on the train from Bombay were coming to Arambol. During the storms, I wondered if Anjuna would be more exciting, if Calingute would be busier. I had to remind myself of the Modern Gonzo Mantra: Where I Am, Is Where I Must Be. At this time of year, Arambol turned out to be best village, attracting interesting travellers in a spectacular setting. Goa may have been at the tail of the monsoon season, and in effect, operating only at Half Power. Nevertheless, it left a powerful, not to mention physically permanent, impression on Modern Gonzo.

Vivek Hotel
Delhi

Gonzo Gallery for Monsoons and Tattoos in Goa

view full gallery

Tweet