Goa\'s hippie-era hold-over is a shopping dream

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The tie-dyed billboard states in swirled paint: Welcome to theMother of All Indian Night Markets. Inside the market, attwilight, Neil Youngs bohemian mantra Rockin in the Free Worldfills the muggy air. And market-goers find themselves swaying tothe beat as they hop off their motorbikes or step down from theircabs. A graying, ponytailed disc jockey interrupts the tune andcalls out: All you lucky hippies, shop well. We are here to rockIndia, baby.
So right at 7pm on a steamy Saturday night, hundreds ofholiday-making Indian families joined hundredsofBirkenstock-wearing young tourists to wander the myriad stallsselling hemp-fabric hammocks, dreadlock extensions, sitars andsaris, along with classes for aromatherapy analysis, reiki andcolonic hydrotherapy.
Shiny glass bangles, miniature statues of Hindu deities, giantstuffed elephants bejeweled with mirrors and bright Rajasthanifabrics, T-shirts bearing images of Mahatma Gandhi with marijuanaplants sprouting from his head. To Sam Andersen, 29, the market wasone of the highlights of this palm-fringed beach destination. Thecompulsive shopper from England started sweating.
She could barely contain her desire to buy everything becauseits so much fun in Goa that you start to really believe you needthe Incredible Hulk sarong and matching towel. So brilliant, herfriend said, examining a pair of sandals, which had straps shapedlike giant red lips. The shoe designer wasnt bargaining  therewere plenty of customers looking for funky footwear. We makepeople too happy, said Arathi Menon, an apprentice for a Goan shoedesigner who was selling the aforementioned kissing feet stylealong with floppy yellow, green and orange boots that lookhobbit-like.
The Saturday night market is an outgrowth of a smaller flea marketstarted in the 1960s in Goa by broke hippies. Today there areseveral night markets and a Wednesday market in the hippie enclaveof Anjuna beach with thousands of stalls. The hippies wanted tostay in Goa, bum around India for as long as they could, saidAlfred Wolfgang, 60, speaking through a mouthful of brownies. Atthe markets food stands, he was holding forth about the history ofthe market to a younger crowd. So they sold their bluejeans, theymade lasagna, they played Beatles songs. They did what they couldat the flea market to be able to earn a little more and stay alittle more.
Gregarious, with thick, caterpillar-like eyebrows, Wolfgang is fromLong Island, N.Y. He came to party in Goa decades ago, got hookedon the place, and started making brownies and selling them at theflea market. The first Indian family to taste them back then  andthat was before globalization  well, they ordered just one andended up leaving with the entire tray, he said, himself orderinganother brownie from a young German couple who were selling themalongside milky coffee.
Wolfgang has long quit the sweets business and instead importsespresso machines to high-end customers in Mumbai and New Delhi.And these days the Saturday night bazaar has expanded from aforeigners market to include merchants from across Asia. Hippiepurists say the market should have stayed small. But merchants saythey saw an opportunity and wanted in on it, even if they did haveto print a tie-dyed sari or put pot fauna on Gandhis head.
On this night, a visitor could wander at 9pm through the marketslabyrinth of stalls and find Tibetans selling mini prayer wheelsand singing brass bowls, Kashmiris hawking carpets and shawls, andFrench women chain-smoking as they sell their designer nomadpurses, buttery leather handbags fused with tribal cloth, foraround $200  after bargaining.
Around 9:30, many Indians, who typically eat dinner late, line upat the food stalls, many of which are run by foreigners. TheresGoan rice and spongy bread, soggy pizza, greasy ravioli,overstuffed falafel and creamy but slightly sweaty tiramisu, alongwith ginger tea, fresh lime sodas and the seasons first mangojuice. At several stalls, Nepali teen-agers sell burned CDs of Goantrance music alongside Kurt Cobain and Bollywood soundtracks. At10:15 the disc jockey spins Knockin on Heavens Door.
At almost midnight the DJ, his voice lucid, cheery and most likelytinged with alcohol, sings out: This is only a test, laughing atthe punch line hes about to deliver. The next life is for real.