dec 22, 1999

Full Moon Frenzy

North Goa, india

Review by Alexa

The Full Moon was hanging heavy in the sky, 14% bigger and brighter than usual, casting an eerie, almost twilight glow across the coast. It was the last Full Moon of the Millennium, and even more auspiciously it coincided with the Winter Solstice. There was no doubt this night was going to be something special, something to remember for a lifetime. The legendary Shore Bar was already in full swing down on Anjuna beach, already kicking it for a pre-party warm-up. The crowd was over-flowing onto the sand, chilling on mats around fires and exchanging many travelling stories, flickering candles strewn among them. Others were dancing to the tunes pumping from the soundsystem, with the rapidly advancing highest tide of the year crashing at their feet. The beach seemed to be sliding into the ocean, the forces of nature putting on a timely show... The atmosphere was buzzing with energy, and inspired non-stop entertainment from a variety of spontaneous performers. An English traveller stepped onto the shoreline, and began swinging his fire chains in time to the music while an audience gathered. At the same time, a bell-trimmed cow moved around the crowd, stopping to dance on the stomach of his master, an Indian man heroically playing harmonic Eastern melodies on his traditional pipe. An insane group of people was centred around this place. The inexorable forces of destiny had drawn them here for the night. A weighty Hindu religious freak claiming to be the incarnation of Ganesha was worshipping in the waves. European UV club kids were bopping around to the old-school trance, while hardcore hippies were smoking themselves silly. Indians staggered about having a night on the beers, mingling with White Witches and Buddhists talking about their spiritual quests. Despite the usual failings of the Indian National Grid, the party carried on with an electricity of it's own, ending at 2 am with the fantasy dancers still begging for more.
Questions flew quickly between the various groups of people, everyone more than a little confused and wondering where to head next. Slowly everyone began moving away in small groups or noisy crowds. Then, on reaching the road, they jumped into waiting rickshaws or taxis, whisking them to their destination. Meanwhile, a few brave souls followed the sounds of the bass kicks through the trees, across paddy fields and over ditches, being chased by gangs of identical-looking Indian dogs, as they sneaked through village gardens for an added bit of excitement.
Entering the club area, the forest glowed even more than before, with UV lights and drapes scattered around the bottom of the hill. This was where the real party started. Longhaired characters smoking chillums sat among the clearings, while the nonplussed Indian ladies brewed up chais non-stop on their gas stoves, the flames blinking like bright eyes in the moonlight. Here, bizarre rambling conversations were held with other travellers, and pidgin Hindi exchanged with the keen businesswomen plying their wares. Further up the slope was the DJ box, equipped with a huge Spirit mixing desk and minidisc players to pour out the sounds, and keep the party rocking. The Israelis were playing their latest offerings of banging trance from fellow nationals Infected Mushroom, and big summer tunes from producers like SUN Project, mixed with a few old classics like Astral Projectionís "Mahadeva" to keep the crowd happy. The huge Indian rig faced uphill into a massive clearing, with insane dancers spread as far as the eye could see, even into the trees beyond. During the night fire jugglers and spinners kept stepping up to entertain, incorporating tíai chíi and yoga honed moves to dazzle the spectators. Girls wearing flashing LEDs and Euro-fluoro gear moved through the crowd, chatting with flower-waving Nepali boys and Geiger-inspired hardcore cyber-hippies. The Israeli presence was overwhelming, varying from Goa-newbies at their first party through to swarthy goatherd types who had been there many times before. Somehow it was if a family had been reunited, whether meeting old acquaintances from other trance events like Solipse, or running into long lost friends not met during this life, all part of the stream flowing from the universal source. The sun rose out of the hill too soon, stealing the last whisper of the Solstice Full Moon from the sky, but the party carried on regardless. Red dust began to rise up from the dance floor, pounded from the ground by many dancing feet. Some took the chance to climb to the top of the hill, to drink in the amazing view. Sitting on rocks, absorbing the breathtaking splendour of the whole of the forested expanse of North Goa. The carpet of trees was punctuated with roads and paddy fields, laid out flat ahead, with small hills rising towards Vagator in the distance, the curved line of the long beach extending along to the West. Much haggling was done over ice-pops with the young boys, running around the hill-top with full boxes to provide much-needed sustenance. By this point the bright sun was rising higher in the semi-clouded sky, and many donned insect-eyed shades to protect themselves. People stumbled back down, wondering how they'd managed to climb so high up just an hour before. But the energy of the driving bass began to tug them back into the field of whirling dervishes, inviting them to join in the invocation of clouds of dust-devils from the bare earth below.
The day grew hotter, and as the party neared its end the dancers still showed no sign of giving up. But the energy didn't fade, and the DJs refused to relent as the music pounded on. Suddenly the clouds merged a little, and drops of rain began to fall from the sky, while the sun still shone through. Moisture provided yet another spur to the crazy kids, desperately hoping that the trance would continue on forever. Of course, it was just a dream. And at 10 am, the track suddenly ground to a halt, leaving everyone begging for more. The musicians gave up, concluding a fantastic marathon performance. The crowd carried on a little longer, shouting, clapping, and even still dancing.
Reluctantly, even the survivors had to admit it was over, and began to leave, jumping on motor bikes, or taking a long walk back past the fruit stalls along the roads to return home to finally rest their happy but weary bodies.

Alexa