My Very Worst Decade-Starting Date

In December 1999, I was living and working in Nepal and had to leave the country to renew my travel papers. I knew no one in all of Asia except a kind transvestite acquaintance, who I’d heard had moved from Israel to Goa to sell rave clothing. I didn’t have his contact information, and in spite of my better judgement, I booked a ticket and decided to see if I could find him there. Planes, trains and cars were packed as thousands of people from around the world flooded into the area for the much anticipated Y2K beach parties. There wasn’t one hotel, motel, hostel, house or shack available in the entire 200km beach area.

Upon arrival, I miraculously found my friend, and he proudly showed off what he described as the “best find on Goa” – a rented mud floor house with no running water, toilet or electricity. I tried to be enthusiastic, but in the next two days, the shack became home to about 20 traveling hippies. I decided I needed to escape the chaos even if it was New Year’s Eve and I had no plan of where to go…

I went to an Internet cafe and asked ‘the universe’ to give me some sort of a sign. No sooner had I finished the thought did someone tap me on the shoulder. I turned around to find a tall dark, handsome, strapping young man with an poetic Italian accent and a charming smile. We started chit-chatting, and I explained my dilemma regarding the mud commune. After having a good laugh about it all, he suggested we take a ride on a motorcycle to his beachfront villa to have an afternoon cocktail.

As the golden sun started to set and the sky turned pink and purple, I was feeling relaxed and my new friend began telling me about his long-held plans for Y2K. This trip to Goa and the eve of year 2000 held spiritual significance for him. Every detail of this journey had been carefully planned – the villa, his daily outfits, accompanying music, cocktails, the rave party. As I listened to him, I began to realize that our encounter meant more to him than a casual coincidence. I was the embodiment of a crucial last detail to his Y2K plan: a beautiful young woman. As the evening wore on, he began to introduce me to people as his “bella” and repeatedly showered me with romantic gestures. While it was bit overbearing, it was still better than the mud commune!

As night fell, he started to asking around for directions to the big beach “rave party,” the location of which remained unknown. We got onto his motorcycle and started to ride in search of our next destination. Once on the road in the dark of night, we were confronted with a enormous traffic jam of motorcycles with single file lights for as far as the eye could see. Everyone was asking: “Where is the party?” He got increasingly agitated, and developed a panicked road rage about not being able to find this party. While I was still sober, I knew he had bottle of whiskey with him, and I didn’t want to drive with him later that night. Although obsessed with Y2K and the party, he obliged when I explained that I felt nauseous and needed to get back to the villa.

At the villa, he asked for a romantic farewell kiss before he departed, and then burst into tears at my feet. Through his sobbing fit, he explained that Y2K was the most important night in his life, and that he felt eternally guilty for not crying at his mother’s funeral as a child. I wasn’t sure what the relationship between the two was – and at that point didn’t care either! He then puked a bit over the rails of the balcony. After some handholding and counselling, he finally left on his way. Alone in the villa, I stayed awake until sunrise, and left on the first train to the capital city. Just as I was leaving, he drove up and with sad puppy dog eyes, he looked at me and asked, “You’re leaving me?” All I could say in response was “Ciao!”