Want a peek into the real Goa? The one with solitude and without soulless shopping? Head to Chorao Island — in the middle of the Mandovi river — and rediscover yourself.
Image: Shutterstock/Nataliia Sokolovska.
6.52 am. Ribandar Ferry Point. Tommy was in haste. Dishevelled. Unkempt. He had probably waded through a puddle — his feet were dripping with slush. He was the first one on the ferry wedging his way through fishermen, three cars, a tubby truck, and a gaggle of regular commuters. Tommy, the dog, takes the ferry every morning. He never pays for the ride to Chorao Island. No one on two does, either. Bikes and humans travel free.
The sailor was counting minutes to the hoot of the horn and I — on my first-ever ride on a Goan ferry — was squinting to spy the silhouette of Adolfina Thamm, the ambassador of Soul Travelling and my guide for the island that over centuries has worn several name tags: Chudamani, Ilha dos Fidalgos (Island of Noblemen), Chorao, Chodan…
Winging it, literally
Thamm was late but during the 10-minute ferry ride over the Mandovi River and its Mapusa and Naroa tributaries that envelope the island, I lent a keen ear to the swarthy men talking of Krishna, the god, the pintail duck, the ornithologist named Salim Ali, a 16th century church, an 18th century seminary, and the poignant tale of a priest who left Chorao taking nothing along — he even dusted the soil off his shoe soles before stepping aboard a boat to oblivion.
Tommy was the first one to run off the ferry. His friends — all messy in their unbathed scruff — stood at the pier. I jumped over an indolent dog and waited for Thamm, a half-German environmental activist wearing the signature dark blue Soul Travelling tee. Dr Salim Ali Bird Sanctuary, Goa’s sole bird sanctuary, is a step away from the pier. Literally, a step.
Inside, sculpted birds, a fox and an otter that resembles a moustachioed old man, stand on pedestals amidst the mangrove pneumatophores. Thamm pointed to the holly and the ficus, but I wanted to hop into the pintail (the Forest Department boat, not the duck) for a ride to see the kites, the redshanks, the kingfishers, marsh sandpipers…
Chandru, the boatman, excitedly narrated his bird encounters but, unfortunately, one spots more plastic strewn in the riverbank and hanging frightfully from branches. Claude Monet wanted to paint the way the birds sing… In Chorao, all I wanted was to see the birds live in their rightful habitat without the rejects of human apathy.
Silence of the gods
Perhaps a god could teach a few lessons to the humans. A god and his mother, perhaps. The island is home to one of the two Devaki-Krishna temples in the state. The tangerine walls of the temple are attractive and a huge deep stambh (lamp pillar) is raised on the back of a gigantic turtle. Legend has it that the island emerged nearly 5,000 years ago from the diamonds that Krishna’s mother had thrown in the river (hence, the name Chudamani) but the temple is very new.
There’s a certain long-drawn note of silence on the island, pathless routes, lonely shores, and long stretches of green paddy fields dotted with turmeric yellow houses and white egrets. In almost forgotten times, Chorao was famed for its cheese and as a hub for trade of horses, camels, and textiles. It is no longer the island solely of the noblemen, some come here for salvation and wellness at The Yoga Institute where the bells clang gently, breakfast is served in clay sets, and any loud voice is frowned upon.
Thamm was zipping around on her two-wheeler and I followed her loyally in my lily-white car to the church of St Bartholomew (Igreja de São Bartolomeu) which was built in 1569 with an outdoor pulpit and slim windows through which guns were pointed at audacious enemies. That day in Chorao, the gods weren’t opening their doors for me. The temple doors were shut, so were the church doors.
I walked around the large compound caught in the imagined mornings of the 16th century when the church must have been redolent with prayers and piety. Tradition has it that when these Fidalgos went for Mass, a special place was set apart to protect their superfine umbrellas, chiefly made of red damask. I stopped by the graveyard staring at names of the dead etched benignly on tombstones. Five hundred years ago, they have must have stood where I did in white dungarees and a green silk blouse. Think about that.
History, preserved
One can mull over death, history, Chorao cheese, and horses, and the past over a pint of feni in Meenali Bar that has stood on the same ground for 60 years. There’s a comic wall art and a table laden with a short, tall, rotund, and slender bottles brimming with feni. But then, I, the one with nary a drop of alcohol down my gullet ever, plonked myself on the elderly chair and sipped a freshly made lemonade while Thamm animatedly talked of the 18th century seminary known as Real Colegio de Educacao de Chorao that lies derelict on a hilltop.
“It is a steep, short trek to the top,” Thamm warned and wondered whether my burgundy block Oxfords were trek-efficient. I jumped over logs, broken laterite steps, ant hill, leaf-mounds to the forlorn Chapel of St Jeronimus that once stood at the top of the seminary where spirituality and theology was taught. But the Chorao Epidemic of the late-19th century was apocalyptic — more than a thousand inhabitants died, the rest fled the island.
In the plague, the glory of the seminary perished. All that remained was abandoned rooms, burnt books and a lonely framed black/white sketch of the Seminary that quietly preserves the past grandeur within its dusty frames. And the story of the parish priest who walked away from Chorao having dusted off the last fleck of Chorao’s loam from his shoes.
That day at the pier, I did not dust off the Chorao sod off my burgundy block Oxfords. I waited for the ferry. And for Tommy. But he was not there. Maybe he was sitting on the shore of Chorao Island washing his morning puddle-run in the white-crested waves. Maybe Tommy has moved to the Island of the Noblemen.
At a glance
Nature Trail at Chorao Island
Website: Soul Travelling; Phone: +91 9529490245; Email: Info@soultravelling.in | Duration: 4 hours | Cost: Rs 1,499 +GST per person, includes breakfast. Private tours and customisation available | Note: This is not a walking trail, participants will have to bring their own vehicle. Wear comfortable shoes, the trek to St Jerome Chapel is pretty steep. Carry water/sunscreen.
Ferry from Ribandar to Chorao island
Cost: Two-wheelers (free), car (Rs 10 per trip). Timing: Every 15-20 minutes between 6.30 am and 2 am.
Lunch and/or farm/island tour at Tato Island Farm
Contact: Macchindra Kauthankar on +919822132192 a week in advance.
Boat tour of Dr Salim Ali Bird Sanctuary
Book: At the Chorao Ferry Point counter of the Forest Department | Cost: Rs 100 per person.
Read more.
South Goa on a platter: The SoGo that no one knows!
This forlorn fort in Goa has a connection with Hindu god Rama!
Let’s Taco about Isabella’s – Goa’s newest Spanish restaurant