A NEW GENERATION OF PILGRIMS HITS INDIA'S HIPPIE TRAIL

AS a crimson sun sets over the Arabian Sea behind her, the British
singer Helen Jones leaps onto the stage of the oceanside Cafe Looda,
grabs the microphone and unleashes a fiery anthem to the crowd amassed
under the thatched roof of the open-air bar.

"There ain't nothing like this in the real world!" she sing-shouts,
flinging her strawberry-blond hair as an Indian-British-Iranian
backing band called Sattva (Sanskrit for "righteousness") kicks out a
wailing funk jam. The beer-drinking throng, which appears to include
European rock chicks with nose rings, goateed Israeli beatniks,
Australian Green Party voters and a miscellaneous coterie of hipster
backpackers in every imaginable type of sandal, nods in rhythm as the
music resounds along Anjuna Beach.

"Come to Goa! Change your mind! Change your way!"

There ain't nothing like this in the real world. Come to Goa. Change
your mind. Change your way. It's hard to imagine a better jingle for
this sandy strip of India's western coast, a venerable Catholic-Hindu
enclave where American hippies came to turn on, tune in and drop out
in the late 1960's, and where globe-trotting spiritual seekers, party
kids, flag-wavers of the counterculture and refugees from the real
world have fled ever since.

It's a place where the palm trees bear a strange fruit --fliers for
crystal therapy, Ayurvedic healing and rave parties -- and every road
seems to lead to an organic restaurant or massage clinic. At the yoga
centers, postures are manipulated by top Indian and international
instructors. In clubs, where trance music is the favored genre, D.J.'s
carrying myriad passports provide the mix. Bodies receive needle-inked
adornments at skin-art parlors; minds seek enlightenment, or at least
expansion, at many meditation clinics.

Foreigners have flocked to tiny Goa -- whose statewide population of
1.4 million is about one-tenth that of Mumbai, 300 miles north -- ever
since the Portuguese established a Spice Route colony there in the
1500's. The port flourished into one of Asia's most splendid cities
before disease, vice and trade competition sank its fortunes. (Its
remains are still visible in Old Goa, a Unesco World Heritage Site
near the current state capital, Panjim.)

The Indian Army seized Goa from Portugal in 1961. But new colonists,
the Haight-Ashbury crowd, soon showed up. Seduced by the same
landscapes that appeared in Portuguese spyglasses centuries earlier --
untouristed beaches, green jungle, dramatic cliffs -- the former flower
children traveled overland on "magic buses" from Europe and created in
northern Goa a free-spirited, budget-friendly new world among the
laid-back native Goans. The village of Anjuna became its wildly
spinning center, with the quieter communities of Arambol and Vagator
emerging as hemp-clad satellites.

Since then, each generation of global nomads has carved its niche: New
Age devotees of the 1980's; global ravers and electromusic pioneers of
the 1990's (who initiated a tradition of all-night beach parties and
made Goa trance music a worldwide phenomenon); and the yogaphiles and
Burning Man groupies of today. The result is the globe's most enduring
and constantly adapting tropical getaway for alternative living. When
the summer monsoon blows past, the world's fringes unite.

"Goa is a paradise that is accessible to one and all, in true Indian
style: age, shape, color, size, planet," said Deepti Datt, a filmmaker
who splits her time between Goa, Bombay and Southern California. Her
restaurant and D.J. bar, Axirvaad (Sanskrit for "blessing"), was long
a legend for its "lounge groove space temple" nights. (The restaurant,
temporarily closed, will relocate in the Goan village of Tiracol next
year.) Goa, she goes on, "is a happy playground for grown-ups."

On a Wednesday in November, a chain of minivan taxis and autorickshaws
is disgorging bodies into Goa's most celebrated playground, the weekly
Anjuna flea market. Started decades ago by Anjuna's hippie community
(for whom it was a vital form of income), the humble local enterprise
has mushroomed into a sprawling international affair. Many of the
hundreds of closely packed stalls are now run by vociferous sari-clad
Indian women in jingling jewelry, but the carnivalesque atmosphere has
multiplied. "Look at my shop! Look at my shop!" they beckon, all
smiles. "Sir! Sir! Sir! Sir! Sir!"

Navigating the come-ons is the latest wave of Anjuna's
antiestablishment arrivals, from ponytailed Finnish rockers to
cornrowed Iranian girls. Mixed within the throng is another curious
species: middle-aged European package tourists. (The towns of Baga and
Calangute, just south of Anjuna, have exploded into an Indian Cancun
in recent years, troubling their northern neighbors.)

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.

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.

Snaking south into the lush Goan countryside, the cracked asphalt
roads out of Anjuna pass scenes of daily Indian life that seem a world
away from the Birkenstock-trod paths behind: fires burning amid
roadside shanties; little boys playing cricket in an overgrown field;
elderly Hindu women walking barefoot with baskets on their heads;
ancient peepul and banyan trees. The succession flickers quickly past
the half-lowered window like film images carried by the warm breeze.

The heads seem to bow especially low upon entering the Basilica of Bom
Jesus in Old Goa, the ghost town of Baroque edifices that was once the
splendid seat of Portugal's Indian trade colony. The reason for their
reverence lies in a deep alcove, where a fabulously wrought silver
casket holds the remains of the most famous Western spiritual seeker
ever to reach Goa's shores: St. Francis Xavier.

Dispatched on a missionary voyage to the East in 1541, St. Francis, a
Spanish-born Jesuit, stepped off a ship the next year and found
himself in a prosperous international metropolis larger than London.
As one French traveler observed, Goa's boulevards were lined with
"goldsmiths and bankers, as well as the richest and best merchants and
artisans."

St. Francis journeyed all over the East, returning frequently to Goa
before his death in China in 1552. His body was taken to Goa two years
later. Today, Baroque churches, convents and cathedrals testify to the
former splendor. Whitewashed, the spectral relics stand out against
the green grassy expanses and encroaching jungle like a Catholic
version of the Angkor temple complex.

A few miles farther south, outside the tiny village of Priol, the
faith changes from Christian to Hindu. Wearing colorful saris and
Madras shirts, Indian travelers carrying wreaths of orange flowers
stream into the 17th-century Shri Manguesh temple and lay down their
offerings. The air hangs with incense and quiet muttering. Old women
selling bananas work the crowds outside.

According to legend, Shiva --Hinduism's supreme creator and destroyer --
once played a game of dice against his wife, Parvati, and lost
everything. Dejected and unburdened of his worldly things, he did what
many have done since: he took refuge in Goa, on the spot of this very
temple. Parvati eventually followed and beseeched him to return. He
agreed, and they were reunited.

Shiva, you might say, came to Goa, changed his mind, then changed his
ways.

When to Go

The season surrounding the summer monsoon, basically November to May,
is the best time to visit Goa. The week between Christmas and New
Year's is very popular -- especially for the Anjuna rave scene -- and
hotel rates typically double or even triple. A visa, obtained in
advance, is required for United States citizens.

Getting There

There are no direct flights from the United States to Goa. The best
option is to fly to Mumbai and get a connecting flight to Dabolim
Airport in Goa. Air India was offering round-trip fares from Kennedy
Airport in New York to Mumbai for $1,041, including taxes and fees,
for this month. Several discount Indian airlines operate between
Mumbai and Goa, including Air Deccan (www.airdeccan.net), Spicejet
(www.spicejet.com) and Jet Airways (www.jetairways.com).

Getting Around

Hiring a prepaid taxi at Dabolim Airport (located in the city of Vasco
da Gama) is the easiest way to reach Calangute, Baga and Anjuna, which
are about 45 minutes north. The taxi counter (0832-254-1235) is just
outside the baggage claim area and a bit to the left, on a traffic
island. Expect to pay 640 rupees ($14.35, at 50 rupees to the dollar)
to these destinations.

As for addresses, most hotels, restaurants and shops don't have
numbered street addresses as such, so always carry the most detailed
map you can find. Taxi drivers can often (but not always) find places
with only a name and a village.

Where to Stay

Palacete Rodrigues, Mazal Vaddo, Anjuna, 91-832-227-3358. A
centuries-old Portuguese mansion transformed into a guesthouse. A
little dilapidated, but the staff is friendly. Doubles from 850
rupees. The lone air-conditioned room, a twin, is 950 rupees a night.

Guru Guesthouse, Anjuna Beach, 91-832-227-3319. Backpackers, bohemians
and barflies will like this no-frills dirt-cheap hotel, which has a
meditation area and an adjacent bar with sublime views of the Arabian
Sea. Rooms from 250 rupees.

Pousada Tauma, Porba Vaddo, Calangute, 91-832-227-9061,
www.pousada-tauma.com. This cluster of red templelike stone buildings
is the fanciest boutique hotel in the Baga-Calangute strip. Guests can
dip in the sprawling pool, undergo ancient ayurvedic treatments in the
spa and dine on tasty local Goan cuisine in the highly regarded Copper
Pot restaurant. Standard rooms cost 130 euros ($159 at $1.23 to the
euro) to 370 euros a night ($453) depending on the season.

Where to Eat

Martha's Breakfast, 907, Monteiro Vaddo, Anjuna, 91-832-227-3365, is a
shady patio serving robust and cheap meals that almost make taking
your morning antimalaria drugs a pleasure. Offerings include American
pancakes (65 rupees), banana porridge (45 rupees) and fruit lassis
(from 35 rupees).

Hanuman Bar and Restaurant, North Anjuna Beach, 91-832-309-0442. The
eclectic menu at this laid-back beach restaurant includes Indian,
Chinese and even Israeli dishes. A meal for two, with drinks, will
rarely run more than 400 rupees.

Britto's, Baga Beach, Bardez, Goa, 91-832-227-7331. A very mellow
oceanside restaurant with a lovely view of the sea serves everything
from full English breakfasts (180 rupees) to Indian curries and tikkas
(80 to 140 rupees) to fresh seafood (300 to 700 rupees), notably
pomfret, kingfish and tiger prawns (from 300 to 700 rupees).

Sublime Bistro, Baga River, 91-982-248-4051, showcases the skills of
its chef and co-owner, Chris Agha Bee, who trained at the Culinary
Institute of America. A daily shopper for produce at the markets in
Mapusa and Calangute, he serves up dishes like crab-prawn cakes and
grilled marlin on lentils in mustard sauce. A three-course meal for
two costs around 1,200 rupees.

Where to Party

Paradiso, North Anjuna Beach. Cover charge is 200 rupees.

Tito's, Tito's Lane, Baga, 91-832-227-9895. Cover charge, 300
rupees.

Mambo's, Tito's Lane, Baga, 91-832-227-9895. Cover charge, 200 to 300
rupees.