The Past: The steep by-lanes of Medellin is an universe away. Medellin’s most infamous son has died but not quite confined himself to the pages of history, resurrected through multiple television and web series and books. Even to this day, his story is embedded in mysticism and mist. But to most Columbians, Pablo Escobar, was their boy, who changed the lives of those in the town, gave them football fields and medicines, and to the jobless with no future, he gave them hope.
But there was something else that he brought to the table. A vibe. There was music wherever he went, great food, the easy familiarity of the folks of Medellin. In the bubble that Medellin was, and for a long time that it was, each day was a celebration on the streets of a city that no one could look away from.
Now take a great leap of time and distance to plant your-self in a little space on the road not far from a junction that connects Assagao, Anjuna, Siolim and Mapusa. It’s nothing more than a room on the street. But it’s a melting pot of a mini-universe. Inspired probably by the personality and eclecticism of Pablo Escobar but not by what he did for a living, and for power. Our local Escobar is all about familiarity, an extended personal living room, with a bar and music.
It was always meant that way for Ananth Shirodkar, a boy from the coastal belt, who felt that the best place to hang out was either home or a place like home. All he needed was a room and some space outside for people to sit and chat. And between the room where the bar and the music is and where food arrives, to the outside space is the balcao. The best spot is actually not the table but those comfortable ledges where you curl up your feet, sip your urak, feni or spirit, have simple home cooked goan food and engage in banter, part serious part aimless, but fully satiating.
Escobar was started as a local, for locals but has ended up being a microcosm of a universal meeting point. So the folks of Assagao, Anjuna, Siolim and around, move in and out, some sit for hours, others use it as a quick it stop (which at times becomes the only resting place for the night).
The café owner, the fashionista, the stand-up comedian, the public speaker, the man who came to do nothing, the woman who has had enough and needs a break, the melt-er of hearts and the energizer of minds, the foodie and the frolicker, the writer and the romantic, and so on and so on. They all converge here. As the sun goes down, revelry rides a crest, at times there is a slow period in the evening when it dips into a trough, and then rises as the crest takes shape again, with inspired playlists of Ananath as well as others who want to bluetooth or plug their phones into the system. After all, this is every one’s living room. So you can have a Jazz night, a blues, night, a retro night or a piano night all rolled into one each a brushstroke on the canvas of the evening.
And while there are the regulars, those who pass by, join the club or if they are travelling, keep this ensconced as a place which will never be on a bucket list but will go down as an experience that becomes a little milestone in ones journey of travels and meeting people.
Even as one writes about these places, there is a little tug telling you, let it just be, why do you want the world to know, these paces are secrets and that’s what they should be. And yet the feeling of recording these gems is so overwhelming that one piece or post for posterity does get written. Places like this or Paulos at Chapora are all about this- all of character, not defined or chiseled but a natural confluence of all Goa has to offer.
And they should just be this. After all, there must be some spots that are not about growth, but just comfort- like your worn out jeans, your torn slippers and your hole ridden tee. Named after the world’s most known drug lord, our Escobar is a very intoxicating drug, its cup brimmeth over with an ingredient that keeps melancholy at bay. For ever.
