Becca vs. India Rematch

Becca vs. India: Sleeper Car Endurance

The Darjeeling Limited gave me some romantic notions about train travel in India, but when I board the train to Goa, I balk at my sleeper car bunk. This tiny blue platform near the ceiling of the train car has it all: dirt, a faint urine smell, and cockroaches.

"Suck it up, Becca!" I tell myself as I make a bulky pillow out of my backpack. I settle in for what I assume will be another sleepless night. 15 minutes later, I am dead to the world, lulled into a restful sleep by the gentle rocking of the train car.

I wake to the smell of hot samosas. I dig out 12 rupees change for two, flag down the vendor and have breakfast in bed.

Challenge winner: Becca (or Wes Anderson)

Becca vs. India: Haggling

I am totally afraid of haggling, so I've avoided buying anything so far. I'm the kind of person who darts down supermarket aisles to avoid potentially helpful salesclerks, so I positively wilt under the high-pressure exchange of bargaining. Am I getting ripped off? Am I being too aggressive? How much does this brass Ganesh statue really cost? Isn't it sacrilegious to haggle over the price of a deity? I don't know what my best price is! I was just looking for bottled water! Aggghhhh! [Cue frantic sprint away from puzzled merchant.]

I would happily travel the entire six months without buying anything but food and train tickets, but it turns out my clothes are too hot for India. I've been sweating through my days in khakis and T-shirts that suddenly feel like thermals, swiping at my constantly dripping forehead with an endless array of wadded up tissues. At the very least, I need to purchase some handkerchiefs.

I decide to brave the weekly Wednesday flea market at Goa's Anjuna beach. I cautiously approach a sarong stand, hold up a black elephant-print number, and ask about the price. A stunning woman with beautiful gold jewelry in her ears and nose names the customary "way too high" starting price and then asks me to name mine.

I know I don't want to pay more than 100 rupees for the sarong, but my voice just sticks in my throat. "I don't know," I say. "I should go."

I turn to leave but she grabs my hand. "How much?" she asks.

She starts reducing the price and begging me to name my price. I'm not trying to pull any "pretending to leave" strategy here. I'm really just trying to leave, but she won't let go. I get more flustered and keep giggling like a schoolgirl. I don't know what to say, I can't name a price and I can't get away.

"Fine!" she says, "100 rupees!" The elephant-covered sarong is mine.

Somehow, my utter inability to function as a haggler or even speak at all has landed me a decent price. I have a strategy I don't even know I have: shrugging, giggling, and saying things like "I have no idea!" and "I'm not good at this!" and "That's OK, I really don't need it."

I move down the row and do the same thing (with a little more self-awareness this time) and score a dress and a skirt for cheap.

Haggling challenge winner: Becca

As you can see, Becca vs. India is going to be a tight race. A winner probably won't emerge until much later in the trip. Although, I have to say my favorite moments are when Becca and India cooperate--like when I swim into India's oceans and her waves carry me back to shore, or when I forget to bring my headlamp to dinner and India tosses up a full moon to light my way home on the beach, or when the stray dog that randomly adopted my guesthouse porch also functions as security. So far, my only visitors are gently mooing cattle, but it's still a lovely gesture.