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Stalls burst with carved Hindu deities, richly colored textiles and bins of pungent saffron and coriander. Indian women with syringes provide swirly henna tattoos. Indian men armed with thin sticks remove ear wax. A white-bearded Australian man passes out fliers for Reiki healing. "It's your pathway to God," he says.
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Byzantium, William Butler Yeats famously said, was no place for old men. The market, with its hawkers proposing every conceivable good and service, is no place for weak men. He who balks at saying no risks emerging from the fray wearing pashmina scarves, sporting sequined slippers, smoking from a hookah and drinking from a coconut while trying to avoid being checkmated on a tiny sandlewood board held by a solicitous Indian salesman yelling, "Chess, Boss!? Chess, Boss!?"
"This guy's been following us for three hours," says a tattooed 20-something Briton named Gareth Harrison, a five-time visitor to Goa, as he haggles for 20 wooden bracelets with an assertive Indian boy. The wails of snake-charmers' horns mingle with the smells of cow manure and burning incense. Finally, Mr. Harrison gets his price: 50 rupees, about $1.10, at 22 cents to the rupee. "We started at 500," he says.
Sipping cold drinks at a makeshift cafe, a 30-ish couple from Slovenia, Polona Volf and her boyfriend, Bostjan Mohar, survey the pageant. "We wanted to go to Bali," says Mr. Mohar, a special-ed teacher in a tank top and shorts. "But we saw a documentary called 'Last Hippie Standing,' so we changed our plans."
As midnight approaches, the $5-a-night guesthouses empty and the sloping roads leading to the Paradiso nightclub fill with rented motorcycles and scooters. (Any innkeeper can arrange one with a phone call.) Their small headlamps appear from around curves, swerving through the blackness like fireflies as they pass low-lighted seafood shacks and Goan curry joints along the dark seaside roads.
A beacon in the sky explains the heavy traffic: a full moon. Decades ago, Goa's hippie settlers would hold beach parties on full moon nights. When the rave generation showed up, it appropriated and expanded the ritual, orchestrating D.J.-fueled blowouts in specially designated outdoor expanses like the famous Disco Valley. The tradition has waned, though full-on outdoor raves still occur, generally in December and January. Meanwhile, clubs like Paradiso and Nine Bar pick up the slack.
Constructed of mud and perched on a cliff overlooking the sea, Paradiso's vast three-tiered space has a grottolike prehistoric feel, complete with hobbit-worthy nooks. A large, blue-lighted statue of Shiva shines in a corner, his many arms extended as he dances his cosmic dance. Under the moon's and Shiva's glow, a Lollapalooza-looking crowd dances to the distinctive, deafening explosions of Goa trance music. Underpinned by a rapid-fire drumbeat and punishing basslines, the many layers of dark, minor-key synthesizers open cyclonic swells of sound. Strange snippets of speech, scarcely recognizable, float across the mix and fade.
Developed in the still-insular Goa of the 1980's, the scene's signature sound was intended as a digital-age descendant of tribal drumming, shamanistic ritual and druggy psychedelia. By the 90's, it began to catch the ear of some top international D.J.'s, notably the founder of Perfecto Records, Paul Oakenfold. Those impresarios' production skills and clout did much to transport Goa trance onto the international club circuit. Today, Goa trance parties and CD mixes abound worldwide.
For the far-flung disciples of Goa trance, a journey to Anjuna is a bit like a Christian pilgrim's trip to Bethlehem.
"I've been dreaming about coming here since I was 14," says Omri Lauter, a shaggy-haired unshaven Jerusalem native and trance music fan who looks to be around 25. The swirling crowds surround his cross-legged perch on the ground. "This is like an Eden."
"The only place I can compare it to is Ibiza," says the club's owner, Nandan Kudchadkar. He explains that many of the D.J.'s he invites, who come primarily from London, Scandinavia, Russia, Japan and Israel, try out their newest trance mixes here before recording them or bringing them to other sites worldwide. Anjuna's discriminating clubbers, he goes on, need constant novelty. "You can't repeat a track here for 15 days or people will shout and yell."
Come daylight, Goa's dedication to partying is matched by its dedication to the healing arts, the yang to the night's yin. At Purple Valley yoga center, rejuvenation might take the form of ashtanga poses or vinyasa flow exercises, two of the daily courses offered. The leading name on Goa's yoga circuit, the center has brought in pretzel-limbed luminaries from the globe's four corners, including the sometime teacher of Madonna and Sting, Danny Paradise.
But Goa's most authentic spiritual experiences require a taxi ride into the past.
