Goa Dancing with the Speakers: From Goa Trance to Christ

By Mischa Henry Kerber

Find in this book, not only a true life story, but a firsthand record, of what life was like in Goa/ India’s Hippy Paradise, in those crazy days in the mid 80ies with open-air parties, shaped by the finest, cutting-edge dance tracks available in that time.... See how God led the author on a turbulent path to re-discover Jesus as his savior.…and get answers to Goa’s many questions! Discover God’s subtle working in the special moments of our day to day lives…. an undeniable proof to the supernatural character of God.
And lastly enjoy an unusual collection of Bible Quotes on intriguing topics, like:
“Star moments of people in Scriptures”, or “Greatest mistakes made by men/ women in
Scripture”, or “When God appeared to mankind in tangible, real means” …. be inspired and
revive your faith by the priceless treasures of Scripture in an easy to read, entertaining way,
never boring, certainly satisfying, surely enlightening!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Apr 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781543765205

Book preview

Copyright © 2022 by Mischa Henry Kerber.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

www.partridgepublishing.com/singapore

Dear Reader, I’d like to express my thankfulness to a couple of people who helped me whilst writing this book… Shanaz, my dear wife, who again looked after me so faithfully, while I was writing especially the second part of my story, recovering still from my latest tummy operation. Wills, who despite of the delay of almost 2 years wrote back to me excitedly about reading the first part, which gave me such a boost, when I was struggling with the sleepless nights in the Covid ward… and also, and especially a big thank you to Babs S., Berty’s wife, as without her the book would never have been published. She was the one, who gave me wise council after reading my manuscript as the first person, but not only that, it was her, who gave me the idea to publish it as a kindle book and without her encouraging words I never would have fought through on that… and last I’d like to thank Gerry Young from Partridge Publisher who never gave up in re-connecting and phoned again, just in the right time, when I was lying in this Covid ward, to get through to my stubborn ego, to not only inspire me to write the second part, but also to go ahead and finally get the book published in paperback.

Thanks to you all, you were God sent….

Please accept my apologies, you won’t find Oxford English on these pages, since I’m German from birth, but am writing in English, as it was and still is the language everybody in Goa uses, no matter what nation they come from...

Warning

Passages about drug taking or indulding in rave/dance music, as mentioned in my testimony, do not reflect my present stand on these things or endorse my approval of this deceiving lifestyle!

Since I became a Christian almost 34 years ago, I have not taken any drugs anymore, knowing how destructive and deadly they are ... the enemy of our souls laughs, when he sees people engaging in these dangerous habits...

These passages are simply demonstrating my wrong attitude in the past, how blind I was and careless, in endangering my eternal welfare like many others, who were not so lucky and paid the ultimate price for it, their soul possibly being lost in eternity...

In Christ, I didn’t need drugs anymore and it was & is possible to stay away from smoking, alcohol, or any of these things, all together...

I did also quit most of this music, I described, but admit, it was harder than anything else and still to this day is challenging... this explains why a biblical understanding of music, as described in this book, is so vital to stand our ground…

the author

CONTENTS

1     Dancing with The Speakers/My Story (The wild ’80s in Goa)

2     Goa in A Nutshell (Conclusion)

3     Some Facts About Music/ Lucifer The first Musician/Godly Music - Worldly Music

4     I Never Knew This was in The Bible...

A)   When God appeared to Man

B)   Angels, Miracles, Wonders ....

C)   Star moments of People in the Bible

D)   Big Tragedies & Mistakes made by People

E)   Wisdom of Heroes of the Scriptures

5     Dancing with The Speakers/ My Story, Part 2 (Life in Christ/ Amazing Stories & God Moments)

6     The Biggest Question of All Times...

7     But Which is The Right Way? Why The Bible & Not Another Religion?

8     Fife Steps of Biblical Salvation

9     Last Words of Famous People on Their Death Bed

10     What is Going On in These Last Days

11     Useful Books/ Documentaries

12     Final Words to Those I Met in Goa in 1985/86/87

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Possibly the road along the Chapora Bay

Some of the names of the people in this story might

have been changed to ensure privacy; the rest of

the story is true according to my memories

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1

Dancing with The Speakers/ My Story

(The wild ’80s in Goa)

In starting my story of searching for the best sound, as well as some truth in this world I’d like to underline that some of the extraordinary features of this true story are not due to any skills or achievements on my behalf, but solely due to a divine guidance of a blind seeker. The masterful composing of a rich and infinite colourful journey to the marvellous truth in Christ belongs to God and His loving saviour Jesus Christ, alone - glory, praise and honour solely belong to Him.

It was in the eighties, probably 1983 or so when I once again climbed the stairs of the noble discotheque SugarShack in downtown Munich. One of the girls, Connie I had met in Cafe Münchner Freiheit or was it the Roundup in Schwabing, where the hard rock scene used to hang out, helped me to get into the SugarShack, which was still quite exclusive, not for everybody. Although I often would hitch-hike into town and barely could afford more than one or 2 drinks in this posh night club, I somehow was accepted by the door crew, one of the girls there seemed to like me. It must have been something like that, as my outfit rather placed me as an outsider in there. Not many men had long curly hair like me, army boots, biker leggings and the craziest but coolest leather jacket in town. There it was all about being it, having your personal Jack Daniels bottle, hanging out with the hottest girls and spending lots of cash. I didn’t really like the Sugar scene, but the girls were beautiful and the sound was quite ok at times. Usually I would go there at 1 am, most of the time quite stoned.

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It was funny, during these days I worked as a Church Organ Builder in a little company at the outskirts of Munich. I loved the work shop at first sight as it had character plus, an old horse stable with ancient beams and wood burning stoves, a huge, high open plan bench and constructing room right under the roof and a machine crammed production room below. At the back we had an overgrown garden with bee hives, wood sheds and a huge old pendulum saw, still used by those who had the guts to do it. The wages were tight but we worked with the most beautiful timbers, you can imagine, virtually exclusive solid oak, pine, larch, mahogany, ebony, plum wood, sycamore and more...my favourite was fresh yellow cedar though, as it smelled beautifully, almost like dope. When we had finished building an organ, a big consecration service took place and afterwards everybody involved got drunk…..! Though I was not religious at all, I didn’t like it, these churchy people were somehow hypocritical, but they paid our wages....

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I was always looking for the best sound you could get in town, in certain record shops I turned up so regularly that they would treat me like a DJ and I could listen into as many records I wanted. Often I was lucky, if I found one good song amidst all the commercial garbage. Keith Emerson from the Nice had left a deep impression on me, but as ELP they were struggling to come up with something better than Aquatarkus... loved John McLaughlin, Jazz Rock, Terry Ryphdal, the spaced out Norwegian, Gentle Giant, Zappa, Yes, Herbie Hancock and all that...then there was this ethno label with guys like Keith Jarret, Jack Dejonet, John Abercrombie and so on, but at some point there was a new sound available, Franky’s Welcome to the Pleasure Dome, Propaganda and such bands started to emerge on the scene...

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Anyway back to that night at the SugarShack, which would change my life for good... now the names I am using in this true story might not be real, to protect these people’s privacy, some of them I left as they were. I was dancing away, they had huge speakers there, which was pretty cool and loud as well, when I suddenly saw this blonde crazy girl which stood out from all the rest, she looked like Brigitte Bardot, but better, wilder, not too tall but a class on her own. Somehow our eyes met and we exchanged a few words, all I remember is, that she said something like, will I see you again before she left, following a wild looking Jamaican guy.... I was in turmoil and knew I had to see her again. She was the hottest chic in town and best was, she seemed to like me.... I saw here again, her name was Stephanie but things were not that easy, her guy was crazy about her and she wanted out of that relationship, as though he was extremely good looking, he had a habit of getting drunk and then violent. She had enough of that, but was scared to leave him, he would be the guy who would stop at nothing if anybody came too close to his girl.... We stayed in contact, but Stephanie didn’t seem to have the strength to finish the relationship. Winter of 83 approached and Stephanie told me that she and a friend of hers would go to Goa, friends had told her, that the scene would be much cooler there and she had enough of the Munich hip scene anyway. As we knew each other reasonably well, she asked me if I would like to pick her up when she would be back from Goa...

Sitting in the Riemer Airport on a sunny January day of 1984, I couldn’t wait to see her, but she never came out of that arrival lounge. Upon asking the staff about her and her friend’s whereabouts I found myself interviewed by two cops, who wanted all my personal details, as well as information about my relationship with her. Couple of days later she called me and we met. The cops had found drugs on her or her friend upon arrival at the Airport, but somehow they got away with it due to small amounts or so... what followed then, was Stephanie’s 2 hrs rave-on about the coolest place on earth, Goa – acid parties, freaks, best sound on the planet, parties under the open sky all night till 10 am in the morning, sometimes raving on for a whole weekend....drugs as much as you wanted, the best DJ’s of their time, sunshine only, beaches as far as the eye can see....I knew where I would go next...

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While I was saving some cash during summer 1984, I also started to get established in my new home, the crazy old work shop which I was able to rent after my boss had decided to move the organ work shop to a bigger premise. I had installed a swing in the upper room where Gerald and I used to compete in swinging as high as 5 meters to the ceiling, inspired by the latest music, we had discovered in the stores, blasting out the speakers whilst getting totally stoned. Then off into the Munich’s night scene. I drove a totally wrecked 2 CV Citroen but the stereo was good and Gerald would turn the next joint. The Thief from Tangerine Dream was a classic for our rides and we were so lucky to never have caused a mayor accident. At that time, I used to read stuff like Charles Bukovsky The man with the leather bag, or Bummi Baumann’s Wie alles anfing / background stories of the German left - wing scenes. I also had started to use one of the rooms downstairs to build up my own sound studio. Manfred, my old pal from school helped me putting the thing together. He was keen as well, as we used to play together trying to get a rock band started, he played the guitar and I would swap from drums to keyboards. Often when I would come home on the weekends from the clubs at about 4.30 am, I would go into the studio, roll a joint and get into a session with a drum machine as a basic background and then layering over it heavy Hammond sounds, completed with a dirty Moog Synthy rage. Boy, that was loud, but the sound insulation did its job.... at times Gerald, one of my best pals, would come, stoned out of his face, to enjoy a session. Still don’t know how good or horrible it was for a normal person’s ear, but we both agreed, some of the sessions were better sound than any one record could produce... By that time maxi singles had started to dominate the music shop scenes and the sound quality of these maxis was incredible! Re-mixes, Dub versions were the only thing accepted anymore....

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End of 84, I had bought my flight ticket to Bombay /India and hardly could wait to board the plane. Unfortunately, Stephanie’s guy had decided to come with her to Goa, too, although their relationship was really on the rocks...So we decided to meet just there. The weather had turned really cold in Germany and although my work shop /atelier/home was really cool, it was also freezing cold as there was no central heating, one more reason to turn my back on Germany for 3 full months….

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Already on the plane I saw where this was going, lots of alternative folk and hippie type people were excited to get away from cold Europe. I met Angie, who picked up I was going to Goa and she filled me in a bit about where to go, where to stay etc... Arriving in Bombay Airport in Jan 85, I was shocked about the stench, which hit me once out of the plane. Inside the airport it was bearable but as soon as we were out the doors I was overwhelmed by this incredible smell of sewer, fouling decay and disease. Angie had told me, one way to get the 500 miles down to Goa, was by ferry boat and I liked that idea, so I got the next bus to the harbour. The stench still following mercilessly, I knew that Bombay was not the place I ever wanted to get stuck. However, the crowded streets, the worn, but impressive buildings, the mad traffic were so intensive, so colourful I was just amazed. I got on the boat and about lunchtime we left Bombay harbour to set for the open sea...fresh air was such a treat; I’d never would have thought to appreciate it so much. I was told to be careful with my luggage, as theft was a daily routine. I settled down near a large family with lots of cute smiling kids and parents, I felt I could trust ok. Time flu as I was immersed into real Indian day to day life... the only dreaded moments were, when I had to use the on-board lavatory which strongly reminded me of the smell in the slums outside the airport. After a relaxing 20 hrs trip along the Indian West Coast, including a night sleeping on the floor planks I finally arrived in Panjim/ Goa. A shared taxi took us to where Angie had given me an address, where I might get a room straight away...it was Calangute near the bus station.

I stayed there for a couple of weeks, but soon realised that this was not the place to be for longer, as too many Indian tourists, especially Indian men crowed the beach on the search for sparely dressed white female tourists. Also the real hippy scene was further north in Anjuna and Vagator. Having rent a 350cc Royal Enfield bike, I started to get to know the place. There was only one petrol station in Calangute on the road to the beach, near where another road turned right to Baga which already then was the posh commercialised chickeria beach of Goa. It was probably at the flea market in Anjuna, held every Wednesday afternoon, where I met Angie again and got a bit more input about where to go in terms of beaches, food, drinks and above all.... parties. The scene in Vagator was much more to my liking, as that was the place where the real hippies stayed, lived, hung out on the beach and had the best parties. Here and there I got to know the first people.... no matter what time of the day or night, smoking dope was the one thing never missing... two guys I remember who had their lodging in Calangute, invited me for my first smack cigarette and we used to hang out on a huge sand dune just about hundred yards away from the end of Calangute beach road, right along the beach. A single palm tree crowned the dune and we spent hours lying there stoned out of our faces lapping up the warm nights, with the never ending waves crashing on the beach and the most spectacular sky with innumerable stars above us. One night I remember realising how the star sign Orion was moving in all its beauty, hanging just above the sea, from the left side of the palm tree branches to the right side thereof and thus I realised how our planet was rotating in majestic calmness through the universe....! I also realised that I had plunged rather quickly into a dodgy habit of desiring the artificial feel-good experience of smack, knowing fine well that something was quite wrong here...Every time I took it, I had to vomit soon after, but the drug had already it’s soothing affect and even the vomiting didn’t bother me anymore. Luckily I found new accommodation after a month or so, directly in Vagator, near the beach and those smack nights stopped without me even noticing it. One thing I missed from Calangute, was the buffalo milk bar somewhere near the road between Calangute and Baga...it was in the middle of nowhere, a wee shack and a few raw built wooden tables and seats on sandy ground, but the best milk shakes in the world!! Fresh creamy water-buffalo milk and fresh fruit whatever you desired... people came from far to enjoy this delicacy!

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The rent for the Enfield bike ran out, but now I was in the place where I wanted to be, Vagator, the place of all places! Jeffrey’s house was on a quiet dead end dirt road leading towards the beach, but stopping shortly after our houses. From then on a little walking path led directly down the hill to the beach between little and big Vagator. It was a perfect location, but I had to get used to the fact, that Jeffrey and his family lived just meters beside my room and there was no running water, only a typical Goan toilet of those days: a small stone cube, where you would enter from the one side and relieve yourself over a stone slope and the local pigs would have access from the other side anxiously waiting for fresh food... Shower was outside my room, a couple of Palm leaves giving shelter and a big bucket of water as reservoir and a wee (small) bucket to rinse yourself. It seemed primitive but even at night the temperatures were perfect and the showers underneath a dazzling star sky were the best ones I had in my life.... Although I didn’t feel entirely private, living so close to fisher man Jeffrey’s family... I was told, that his house was save from theft, as none of the local crooks would dare to touch a local’s house. In the morning I was able to walk down to the beach, enjoying the beauty and tranquillity of Vagator’s beach hills, no people, no cars, just palm trees, the beach and the odd grazing cow...There were several shacks on the beach which provided breakfast, lunch or dinner, but most importantly shade from the blazing sun and cold shakes or lassies which made the heat bearable. Not to forget the perfect supply of apple or banana pies, which the wee Indian chap made for the hippies whenever he found time in-between playing beach ball without end. Life was sunny, relaxed and yet exciting. Slowly I got to know the scene, places where to go, like Hilltop cafe or Primrose for a bite to eat and then to Chapora, where all life centred round the Bunyan Tree and the tiny juice/ milk shake shop which turned out endless shakes and lassies for a never ending flow of hippies arriving on bikes, having a quick drink, a chat and going off to either visit friends or go straight to a party. Here it was where you found out the next party, met people from the afternoon or from the beach. Small shops, bars, restaurants and ultra-cool boutiques set the back ground. At some point of the night the smell of freshly baked bread filled the air, as a bakery was just a stone throw away from the crazy hippie hang-out joint around the Bunyan tree.

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I can’t remember, which was my first party or where it was, but I remember the first party I experienced, being high on acid…Claudia, a German girl, whom I had got to know, warned me of getting Lsd-trips from unknown sources. She had White Berliners which were supposed to be save and powerful. And indeed they were. Goan Michael was DJ-ing and the sound was just awesome. Under the palm trees of Vagator beach, he had his little desk with a double tape deck and an old run-down amp, but the sound he played was unbelievable. During the night you could hardly see anything as there were only some strings of miniature lights spun over the sandy dance spot and a fluorescent UV light, which highlighted fluorescent paintings on the tree trunks and rocks. The speakers were primitive wooden boxes painted black, placed on tables to get the right height. A primitive generator, usually supervised by a couple of Goanese boys, who earned a few rupees, was rattling away a hundred yards from the party. The party had started around midnight, but towards the dawning of the morning, the best songs were yet to come. Pete Shelley’s Telephone Operator was blasting away, Laid Back’s Abu Dhabi was making you fly, but the ultimate song of the night/morning was Gun Smoke from the Dodgers... never heard music like that, never danced like that, never enjoyed life as intensive as then, never experienced nature around us that beautiful. Everybody was high, spaced out, dancing in the dust, lapping up the raging dance tracks... law, order or any type of normality had vanished and the place turned into a melting pot of drug-induced emotions/experiences and raving dance action... If Rock or Techno music was ever the symbol of freedom, rebellion against a stereotype commercial society it found its peak of expression here in Goa at such a party! The sun started to rise and this powerhouse was flooded into the most beautiful colors of the morning sky, the green of the palm trees, and the mighty noise of the nearby sea waves.... chai ladies offered last cups of tea to worn out freaks, people went down to the water to cool down in the waves. The speakers were finally silenced at 10 am but the sound was going on in my ears for virtually hours. Not even the best club DJs in Munich had a clue about this kind of dance music.... now I knew why Stephanie was raving on about the Goa parties. There was probably no other place in the world where you could party so wild, so powerful, so free with such extraordinary sound as this, imbedded into a mind-blowing scenery of Palm trees, beaches, old charming Portuguese houses, sweat smells of flowers and herbs surrounding you with a perfectly warm, sunny air.

You hardly saw any normal clothing, everybody wore individual stuff, colorful, suitable and cool...and the bikes, the hippies drove on, spotted/ ridiculed any explanation.., old powerful 350cc Royal Enfields with individual designs, stripped to the very basics, dust-covered but roaring like Harleys...this was it, I knew, I had found what I was looking for, Goa was like a Mickey Mouse paradise island with hippies setting the scene and the standards, colors, drugs, love, fun, sound, freedom, leisurely enjoying the days as they came, no pressure, no work, no rigid society with rules and reglementations, no stress, no weekly or daily routine or chores. As long as you had some cash and didn’t get busted by the cops, who rarely showed their faces, life was a dream.... I was instantly hooked to the Goa sound and from then on parties were the main events which shaped a week, usually 2-3 per week.... I was very keen to get to know Michael, the Goan DJ, as I had no clue as to where he had got this music from. The effects of the LSD trip had surely emphasized the sound, but still, this music was better than anything I knew from Europe.

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The main event to structure the week, was the Wednesday flea–market in Anjuna, just behind the beach. A couple of Indians were running drink and food shops, as well as Indian clothes, jewelry, etc, but the majority of shops was run by hippies, who sometimes had just put a blanket down, where they would offer either imported batik clothes from Bali, absolutely unique stuff or self-produced items or simply personal stuff which needed to be turned into cash to survive the next weeks. Chillums were smoked everywhere and for the hippies, it was more of a gathering chat/exchange point than buying or selling. When the sun started to go low on the seawater horizon it was time to pack up.... there it was, when I met Angie again whom I got to know already in the jumbo jet on the way to Bombay. She told me a few bits and pieces about the scene, as to who to watch out for and who was ok. It was also at the flea market where I saw Franco and his friend, whatever his name was, talking compassionately about a topic unknown to me. Franco was all cool, he was Italian, but had dreadlocks like the Rastafarian guys, brown sun-tan like the Indians, and the apparent composure like an Indian guru/ chief. It was him, whom Stephanie had got to know a year ago and fallen in love with... He was the cool dud who had lived in Senegal for several years, coming from Rome, but despising the high society lifestyle there. He was into yoga, eastern Philosophy, jungle life, dope, girls, and techno.... But the most charismatic personality amidst all the hippies was Macky, son of an Italian high official, dreadlocks, sometimes bandages of bike accidents around his head, always joking, always doped up, funny with a strong Italian accent in his English conversations and gesticulations. At times he wore this Captain’s hat which fitted perfectly his image of being the unspoken boss of the scene... always with him little Paulino and Ute, the utterly cool German big lady who has seen everything, taken everything, known everything.

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I couldn’t believe it, when Stephanie turned up in Goa, she had Mike, her long-term lover with her, indeed, although she was looking forward to meeting Franco again. Mike, the crazy, good looking Jamaican alky had lost lots of his appearance, I was used to in Munich... there he was the king of the night scene, a dangerous guy always ready for a fight if someone came too close to Stephanie or if he simply had too much beer in the system... - but here in Goa he seemed to not get the hang of it, couldn’t adapt, felt almost insecure. It was not his scene and he seemed to not like the psychedelic drugs so prevalent here.... One evening Stephanie got invitations for one of the poshest parties ever held in Goa, it was Tiki’s birthday if I remember the name... Surely it was in the chickeria area of Baga, but not only that, it was also absolutely private with a big palm leave fence around the venue...and sharply controlled entrance. Everybody important arrived styled up by midnight/one o’clock in the morning and the party took off. For sure they had the big set of speakers and the sound was blasting out as ever... around the dance floor were these beautifully arranged stalls with all sorts of food, whole banana trunks with maybe 100 banana’s hanging everywhere... and then there were these big Indian mums, who would take care of this huge clay pot, where all the guests could come and get a glass of acid punch, fairly diluted, mixed perfectly with fresh fruit juice, so you could come back and come back till you were totally out of your face. Never did I hear Tina Turner better than at this party, when her One for the Living song, Extended 12 Mix, was raging out of the speakers at maximum volume accompanied by the rising of the sun...Then at some point, the birthday cake was presented – it was the biggest and best cake ever eaten by man! It was at least a meter long by half a meter wide and about 3 inches thick, but of such moist, fine creamy, and fruity taste and complexion, words fail to describe the effect it had on our taste buds. Even at this crazy party nobody managed to get more than what was due to him, the pieces were counted and handed out with painstaking strictness...so everybody would get a piece.... Then somebody came along with a cardboard box full of dozens of tiny cute chickens, just a couple of days old, yellow and hyper, jumping out of the box and running around at the dance floor, trying to escape the madness...., people loved them! The sun had risen behind the palm trees for another fine hot day, the waves were crashing in on the beach, just meters away from the speakers, when I witnessed an interesting argument of thought – Stephanie still had a glass of acid punch left and was tempted to down it, but was also aware, that this could be the one glass which would, could break the camel’s back and drive her, us into insanity. Yet, she was tempted to top up the Lsd trip...but then in a sudden moment of reason, she poured the acid punch into the sand before I could stop her. Now I’m not tempted anymore and maybe it’s better so...", she just stated.... she possibly was right...

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Some Enfields, parked near the party....

Mike didn’t enjoy himself, so Stephanie went back with him to Germany, as she kind of felt responsible for him, having brought him to Goa in the first place. I knew she would see Franco again at a later moment when he came to Germany, but that didn’t go well either...he felt like an exotic cat amid all these straight Germans and even his hero status suffered somewhat in Stephanie’s eyes. Anyway, I stayed in Goa for another month or so, getting to know more and more people. I loved Dieter, he was so down-to-earth, trustworthy, and funny, Effi and Gerald, friends of Angie were cool. One night a party took place in an old Portuguese house ruin, painted all over with fluorescent colors in the middle of Vagator. It took me a while to find it at night, as there were no street lights and the dirt roads were hardly visible, only the sound showed where to go.... As far as I remember, they played SPK there which had this incredible reverb echo sound, shivers of emotion came over me, and this unique mixture of sound, nature, dust, fluro light, and partying hippies gave me nothing less than Welt-schmerz a combination of melancholy and euphoria...Talking about Euphoria, that was one of Laurant’s songs, which might have come during the night, giving the right kick to everybody...., we were flying... At a chai shop, I regained strength for more madness at the dance floor. Enjoying the tea under the starlit sky, sparkling between the shadows of the palm trees I got to talk to that nice lady, who was unusually polite for this kind of spaced-out rave scene...her name was Marita and she loved it here. I had no idea, that I would meet her several weeks later on board the jumbo jet, back home to Munich. She was not only enjoying the Goa raves, but was top class in her profession as a photographer in her hometown.... Munich...! Surely we would keep in contact and it was her, who indirectly catalyzed my guaranteed coming back to Goa the following year…. It was crazy, I always wanted to get to know Michael d’Souza the DJ, who did the best party in Vagator, but he happened to never be at the same place where I was...

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The time flew by with parties, often I would visit Claudia’s chai shop to support her. It was one way for her to get money in for her and Joshy, her little boy. Often Joshy would take over the shop and serve the people while his mum was dancing away. Joshy was maybe 8/9 years old, but managed to run the chai shop on his own, keeping the Kerosene stove burning, making tea, selling food, etc., etc. all night long and this, talking in 3 languages! English, Konkani, and German – he truly was amazing! After a long sleep-in, it usually was time for beach fun, lazing in the sun, beach ball, or some banana or apple pies from the wee old guy who had a tiny wee shop (1 square meter max) beside the last beach shack on Vagator beach. This wee guy would play beach ball better than anybody else and if customers wanted pies, he would just run back to his shop and quickly serve folks. Often people waited for his first lot of pies, which he dished out at about 3 pm... Then there was the flea market I mentioned, not only good for buying, selling madly cutting-edge Goa fashion, but also simply to meet folk/ friends as everybody was there at some point of the day. I also enjoyed the Mapsa market visits, half-hour ride from the beaches. I had fallen in love with this madly overcrowded district town market, where you had to even fight your way through the myriads of bikes that were crowding the huge round-about just beside the market entrance. There was also this oasis of a shake/lassie shop on the corner overseeing the tumult of thousands of locals, hippies, and beggars. Always before entering the market I would indulge in at least one big mango shake or chiku or papaya whatever the mood was. Then near the entrance were also the satin/ textile dealers, which had a good exchange rate and where on a good day you could get 120 rupees to the dollar.... having done the money change I strolled through the lanes breathing in the millions of flavours and smells, fruits, vegetables, fish, animals, curry shops, incense sticks and in a tiny wee shop in the middle of the maze of stalls I found these tiny little mouth-blown glass bottles with perfume like Flower of Paradise...., I bargained several bottles being almost lost with this beautiful, exotic and even mysterious smell of this miraculous perfume. At another stall, I smelt the beauty of Sandalwood and had to bargain hard to get a reasonable piece of fragrant sandalwood for my dad as a little gift from this world of colours and smells... Many years later I would come back again to this very much missed place in my life and while the girls would get tailor-made dresses and skirts, I would be intrigued by the smell of fresh cake from that ancient old bakery in the middle of all it. I checked what type of cake they would offer. There were precious combinations of date and resin cake, vanilla, and whatever ...I decided finally on one and tried to get a good deal. But not with them, 100 grams for 80 Rupees or so. So I agreed and asked for 100 g. I was anxious that the chap would get the right cake and not too much of it in case I didn’t like it and so on. He said in his laid-back way, No worries I know my business.... He took the desired cake out of the glass display and set the knife on it. One decisive quick cut and the cake was put on the scale. I was surprised to see a digital scale in such a rural environment, but then my jaws dropped as I happened to watch the digits move on the scale display and rising 80, 87, 93, 97...100 grams. That was it! -

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This guy had cut the piece with pure guessing and got it exactly at 100 grams to the dot!!! This was so unbelievable, but I then had to admit he truly was professional in what he casually did for a living 92233.png . It was also the Mapsa market, where I found a shop where you could get Fluorescent paint for clothes, which was perfect to design our own clothes... Only at the party, you would see the real effect, once the UV light hit the paintings, it was awesome!

Well, my first 3 months came to an end and I had to pack my gear for the long journey home. Back to Bombay, where I still remember the huge rats outside the cheap B&B, but nevertheless I slept well. Onboard the jumbo it didn’t take long and I realized that this girl from Munich was on the same flight, last we talked at the party and now we met on the flight home, cool.... sure enough we would keep in contact, it was hard enough to face boring Germany again....

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Back at work, spring time had just arrived, still building church organs, I longed for the days in Goa. The summer flew by, but having experienced Goa parties, all the nightlife in Munich seemed just commercial and pointless....at that time big industrial halls became the fashion for clubbing scenes and I could single out a few folks amidst hundreds, who had been to Goa, too – I just saw it in their faces, I got to talk to them and sure enough they had been to Goa.... I started to look for some of the names of the bands I had discovered in Goa and bit by bit I found a few. Autumn came and the old workshop, I had rented from my boss, could barely warm up with the little wooden stove I had upstairs, but would I go through all the hassle to escape the German winter again, fleeing to India? It was then, that I had been in contact with Marita and she came to visit me in my crazy house. Being a photographer, she took a few shots in my house and best of all she had some tapes with her, all sound from Goa. I hadn’t heard it for more than half a year and within seconds our minds traveled back to the parties under the palm trees and I knew only one thing – I have to go back, no matter what! This is what is missing! I knew there was something wrong with this life in a box here in Germany. Saving money, getting the ticket, the visa, etc was now the priority. In-between I spent nights in my so-called studio which I had built with Manfred, my old class and bandmate, on the base floor of my house, I’d come home after clubbing at about 4/5 am, then into the studio and playing on the Minimoog or the Hammond I had acquired... the sun would shine when I got out of my studio....

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So again I got 3 months’ unpaid holiday and flew off at the beginning of Jan 1986. This time I knew, where I was going and was keen to explore Bombay a bit more. 2 chaps, whom I got to know on the plane, said they would join me on a tour through Bombay. I had read about the Gaukler market at Cheduary Junction, where you could buy stolen goods and it was a bit more interesting than the usual tourist joints. So we got a room, stashed the luggage there, and got on the streets. Nobody knew where that junction was, then a taxi driver said he would not take us there, too dangerous... Even more determined, we asked till somebody finally told us. I have never seen a junction/place like that – 5 to 6 streets joined at this mad place with an endless stream of people, rickshaws, tuk-tuks, street food trolleys, beggars, wild kids, cows, etc passing through. We found this Cafe, right overseeing the place, slightly elevated, that was our place – we got in, ordered chai and lapped up the scenery at our feet. There was something surreal about this place, somehow lawless and exotic, the speed everything moved was amazing...Being absorbed in watching raw life of India unfolding before our eyes, we didn’t realize, that the cafe filled with rather dodgy looking folk, men only and the atmosphere was not good anymore...we were the focal point of some very dark looking guys and got to a point where we didn’t know what would happen next, not to talk about what would happen once we left the still reasonable save area of the cafe. What to do – it was clear they would follow us wherever we’d go and then a little argument, some fighting and we’d be in big trouble... below the cafe an Indian DJ sold tapes, most of it Indian music, but suddenly a cool track, almost Goa style, came on and I knew what to do, I jumped up, went down and started to bargain loudly with the guy for the price. Giving a good barter, I knew, the watching gang guys realized I was familiar with Indian customs – that was important, as the 2 blokes I had with me from Austria radiated the opposite and appeared to be easy prey for this gang. I insisted on a very low price for the tape, which also should demonstrate that there was not much cash to get from us, in case… – I shouted in German to the two, to get out at once and follow me no matter what.... before the Indian mob could react, we were running in the middle of Cheduary Junction, dodging all the cars coming towards us from all sides. We managed to stay on the middle lane of that big road leading back to where we had come from. Meanwhile, the Indians were in action and running, following us on the pavement, but could not get to us due to all the traffic. We continued to run till they got tired from following us. Somebody called us from a side street, but upon entering that street we immediately were threatened and told to leave. No more sightseeing here, we thought and ran till we reached a saver area. People changed and the atmosphere was back to normal, even an Indian pop/street concert could be enjoyed and make up for the most stressful chai, I ever had in India. Glad to not have been robbed, we arrived in Anjuna where the boys had booked a room and I could book another room in the same house. That’s when we met Alex and a few other crazy girls...Well, party life was back on and I couldn’t wait for the first Berliner to throw in....it was great to meet people I knew from the year before, and slowly I got a bit of an idea, of who were the real long term hippies/ freaks. Then there was Fernando from Brazil, he invited me to his hacienda in Candolim, so one morning after a party I walked down the beach from Calangute to Candolim ... leaving the busy Calangute shore behind me, I found myself alone, walking along the gentle waves rolling onto the beach. Nobody was there, no shops, no tourists, no Indian saleswomen, no begging kids, just peace and long high sand dunes right along the beach. I wondered what was behind them, so I climbed up the 5/6 meters and arriving at the top, I was speechless at the beauty I beheld: enclosed in further sand dunes ordered in a big square, there was a palm tree plantation with the palm leaves only as high as 1-2 meters, in the middle a little hut, an Indian guy who watered the plants and his little dog japing away – it was like paradise, the wind moved the palm leaves and they made this soothing sound, which combined with the perfect body temperature of the air, the blue sky, the blazing sun, and the happy laid-back business of the Indian boy and his dog, let me forget time....and everything else....

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Arriving at Fernando’s, I felt like being hosted by the rich, the whole beautiful, comfortable house was just for him and occasional guests of his. After a refreshing shower, luxury class compared to my bucket of water under the tree, I could experience Fernando’s cooking skills, superb! The next day we were the only ones on the beach, as far as the eye could see... friends would pop in and I got to know more people. I met Mickey and JP for the first time, she was this hot chick from Sweden and he had the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen. That helped to stay away from JP, who turned out to be one of the coolest girls of the season. There was nothing like having Mothdoom Ecstasy raging out from the speakers, blasting the place, and dancing with cool chicks like her on this dusty, crazy dance floor, bar-feet, wild, unlimited.....When I finally managed to get back in contact with her after probably 20 years, she wrote: Hahaha!!!!! (((((((MISHA)))))) ahhh, man, how many times you’ve crossed my mind OFFCOURSE I REMEMBER YOU!! am so happy that you connected, I could never 4get you my brother...an epic dancer always, and you know how much I looooove to dance....right hahaha, goood memories... On her birthday she gave a party, where all the main DJ’s were honored to play in turns, not many people managed this, as there appeared to be a bit of a rivalry as to who was number one...so far I knew Michael d’Souza, who was very good, but he hardly played parties this season, then there was Barnie, who got all the music from his Swizz pal, DJ Babu who was just the master of all DJ’s, he had the most amazing songs nobody ever knew. There was Dr. Bobby, who had some extraordinary songs but had no feeling for running a party and with his chaotic horrible rubbish, mixed with good songs, got on many people’s nerves. But to his benefit I must say, he had one of the most amazing songs ever, Don’t say that’s just for white boys, from Way of the West. Then there was Thilo from Berlin who was strong with New Order, was very cool and laid-back but didn’t have near as a tenth of what Babu or Laurant played. Laurant, the French champion was very close behind Babu, if not as good, still remember when he played Euphoria just at the best moments... Then there was Macky and Paulino, who were keen to get into the DJ-ing... if they were not too stoned, and finally Italian Stefano, the youngster who had virtually nothing to start with, but had a beautiful girlfriend, Abia and the gift of collecting the best tracks, nobody knew how he did it. Parties after parties came and Gun Smoke was still one of the cult songs of the season, and there was nothing hotter than having Swedish JP round, dancing to this far-out tune... I was madly turned on by this hot blond chick, but she had her guy, Mickey, who did not just have very dark eyes, but a dark character altogether. You would not want to mess with him...later on we met JP & Mickey in Kathmandu and even shared the same hotel... I got to know Denise, the black beauty from London the same time as I got to know Deny who hang around her as much as I, we both fancied the same girl...Denise was lovely, but there were always too many people around her, Valentine’s day came and she threw a party at her’s. I didn’t go, as she never invited me to come, I was gutted especially, as later on she told me, that she was waiting for me to come over all night.... tough luck, bad move.... I comforted myself with getting to know some other girls, Eve the German girl and soon after Suvicha from Thailand as far as I remember. Both nice girls, but it wasn’t love. I got to know Michele, the funny Italian who hung out with us at the parties. There were people, you had to be careful and others you could trust, Leela belonged to the second group and she told me of a free room in a dream location, so I moved there, it was somewhere at the back of Vagator, near Chapora and when I viewed the room I could not believe the view from the window: a sea of Palm trees below and behind them the Chapora bay with the single huge tree on the beach leading up to Arambol. Vincent Mendosa, the house owner was hopelessly into the drink and the family, which lived in the room next to me, was pretty poor as well. To generate some extra money, I thought, I could get into dope business, but gave up, after I did a bad deal with dope, which was supposed to be 1st class, but turned out to be cheap chunk....

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Also, I was much more interested in the Goa sound, which this time, I would be seriously determined to get a hold of. I had with me a double-tape machine for copying tapes, from Sony, the size of a Walkman, can you believe it?! It was the most amazing work of Japanese sound technique and could even record live sound via stereo microphone as well. It didn’t take long for my house neighbors to realize, I was in possession of such a priceless object, and one day after arriving back in the house, I noticed that my double-deck had gone missing. I searched the whole room, nothing – then I realized, that the neighbors would have access to my room if they could unlock the common door we had. I gave the owner an ultimatum of 24hrs before I would call the police and lo and behold, the next evening the tape deck was back in my room, very unusual for Goan thieves, but lucky for me.

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As I got to know more of the Goa freaks, I really felt most comfortable with Joshy’s mum, Claudia...I think she was from Berlin and being a mum she just had this caring/ responsible attitude, which was rather rare among most of the people around here. Though tripping as everybody else on the various parties, she had a sense for what was right and what was wrong. One day, as we all hung out in Primrose for dinner, she spoke about the next party, that she wanted to do some decoration, to make it special... As I knew where to get the fluorescent paint I offered to help...she would get the material, I’d get the paint and we met with a few others to get stuck into the artwork. We got a number of sheets painted and even started to paint rocks and trees around the supposed to be dance floor. Surely it was