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Goa Freaks: My Hippie Years in India

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Frederick Noronha takes us back to hippie days in Anjuna
GOA TODAY, November 1996

Goa Freaks: My Hippie Years in India
by Cleo Odzer
Blue Moon Books

DID you wonder how the hippies of the '70s managed to live seemingly luxurious lives in Goa without doing a day's work? Want to know how they spent months on a tiny stretch of Anjuna beach? Or what really attracted them to Goa?

If so, this is the book. It is a must-read for the student of sociology, the Goan from the coastal belt, and about anyone curious to understand the changes this society underwent in the last three decades.

Cleo Odzer is herself a former hippie, reincarnated as a respectable academic in the US. She tells the full story, with brutal and uncensored honesty. Even at the risk of portraying herself as a narcissistic, self-centered and a law-breaking guest of Goa.

This book's significance is that it is the first to decode the lives and times of the hippies of Goa, which was one of the hippie-capitals worldwide (besides Ibiza in Spain and Kathmandu).

Odzer grew up in the lap of Jewish affluence in New York, as a disaffected youth in the post-Vietnam War generation. She opted to restlessly comb Europe and the Middle East before taking the overland bus from Europe to Goa. Four years -- of drugs, depravity and a meaningless existence -- was, however, more than she could take of it.

Returning to the US, she valiantly worked her way to a doctorate in Anthropology. She now works with a drug rehabilitation group called Daytop.

Her story zooms in on that community of aliens which relocated to a tiny stretch of Goa. Though based in Anjuna, the Goa Freaks, as they called themselves, kept links across the globe. There were some in San Francisco. Many temporarily shifted to Bali (Indonesia). Bangkok was a oft-visited destination. They congregated around a few down-market hotels in Mumbai too.

But in the monsoon, the Goa Freaks fled the torrential rains and undertook 'scams' -- couriering drugs to distant locations. On this money, they lavishly lived it up in the ensuing season. Returns were high. Drugs bought for $2000 in Asia could retail for $21,843 in Canada. Just to carry somebody else's drugs to Canada, they were paid $8000 to $10,000.

On their drug earnings, they lived life to the hilt. En route, they stayed in the Sheratons, the Holiday Inns and the Hiltons, and met contacts at the Taj.

Cleo Odzer, returning to Anjuna from Canada one time, meets a friend coming in from Thailand. Take her word for it: "We exchanged knowing smiles. Now I knew how the Goa Freaks made the money to splurge on so much coke (cocaine). Now I knew, because I'd been initiated. I was really one of them."

Odzer narrates how she opened her "dope den," called the Anjuna Drugoona Saloona, after boldly tacking handwritten adverts throughout the beach! Her description of the outdoor and indoor parties clearly suggest these are fueled by persons linked to the drug trade which is far more organized than most of us could dream of.

Odzer suggests the Goa police failed to be vigilant in curbing the drug trade. Despite reading her letters and raiding her home, they simply let her off. In comparison, even Thailand was very strict on drugs, and Bali was firm even against nudism.

This is not a story of Goa. It is a story of the hippies' escapades, which has Anjuna as the backdrop only incidentally. Nonetheless, it is fascinating reading.

In brief references, we get a hint of the dramatic interface between West and East. Once, a "French junkie" fell into a well and died, resulting in a "major disaster" for the villagers dependent on its water.

Goans are shown as a people willing to put up with the "crazy foreigners" for what they get out of them. By 1979, nothing they do surprises the locals anymore, says Odzer.

Goans were also little more than a source of cheap labour. "A Westerner doing housework! What an unheard-of thing in that land of cheap labor," writes Odzer. "Living in Goa could be stupendously inexpensive. Food and rent cost little and I paid the Goan maid $22 a month for coming in seven days a week and doing everything. Drugs were the main rupee eaters... the low cost of Goan labor allowed me to hire an army of painters for pennies an hour," commented Odzer.

Based on first-hand experience, Cleo Odzer is able to smartly analyze the mechanics of drug smuggling. Maybe Customs officers could consider adopting this book as a text.

For instance, on the Bangkok-Mumbai run, drug-couriers realize that the Customs officials are obsessed with locating electronic goods, not drugs. Duplicate passports were used to hide traces of traveling in drug-prone Far East Asia.

The Goa Freaks took out drugs to destinations in the West. To avoid detection, they visited posh hairdressers and transited through drug-free destinations -- like Portugal, Switzerland, Bermuda, Canada, and even the former Soviet Union!

Drugs were smuggled in a variety of places: leather suitcases specially stitched in Mumbai. Condom-packed narcotics were stuffed in the intestines and vagina. "Smack" was brought in from Laos hidden in a toothpaste tube. To retain it in their intestines, "a bottle of diarrhea medicine" had to be consumed. To get it out called for "a box of Ex-Lax," a laxative!

Dr. Odzer makes it clear from the start: "This is a nonfiction story, but some names and characters and exact dates have been changed to protect identities." Still, many are clearly identifiable. One only has to refer to Goa Today's past issues to know who are the drug pushers being referred to. Some still make their appearances. Others, like "Biriyani" had purchased properties here not too long ago. Sadly, a few who featured in the book died in "mysterious ways."

Many Goan characters and institutions also figure in this book -- Joe Banana, landlord Lino, Paradise Pharmacy, Hanuman Ice Cream, the Birmingham Boys gang, and Inspector Navelcar. There's also "the private Catholic hospital in Mapusa" where the freaks go to recuperate. Not all that is revealed may be flattering information.

Strange names and unusual characters also people this book: Neal, Alehandro, an American named Narayan and another named Sadhu George, Norwegian Monica, Mental, Serge, Barbara, Junky Robert and Tish, David and Ashley, Canadian Jacques, Hollywood Peter, Marco and wife Gigi, Guiliano, Amsterdam Dean, Trumpet Steve, Paul, Jerry Schmaltz and Eight-Finger Eddie. Some still live in Goa. One of the hippies even named their son Anjuna. But he grew up into a "conservative young man with short hair who refused to be called Anjuna, and who just enlisted in the US police academy." One of the pharmacies she names allegedly even bought narcotic drugs from Odzer!

To maintain her drug habit she has to undergo amazing levels of depravity: join a gang stealing traveler's cheques in Mumbai and agree to sexual abuse by a police official in a Delhi jail.

Finally, Odzer takes a hard decision. Drugs slowly decimated the Anjuna freak community, and she is shocked to find the number of friends dead or in jail. Death stares at her too in the face and drugs make her lose touch with reality. She either has to lose India or her life.

This story is best narrated in her own words: "Oh, I hated the notion. This place was my dream. I would never find one I loved as much, or that I could belong to as wholeheartedly. Goa was home."

Odzer's story can move you to tears. Even if you're an irate Goan who believes the hippies ruined the place and brought in drugs. It can also make you feel terribly angry. Scenes where she has to leave behind her dog are touching. But, then, to learn that she fed her pet prawns-in-wine-sauce, or bought saris merely to hang from the ceiling, is nothing short of scandalous.

Despite her impeccable academic credentials, Dr. Cleo Odzer liberally sprinkles her book with the Bs, Ds, and quite a few F-words too. But this recreates a feeling of re-living the hippie years of Goa.

Goa Freaks has a fascinating style. A young Odzer herself poses seductively on the cover, tells you of her own sexual escapades, and uses a style that keeps the narrative gripping throughout. But do we find it interesting because, in Goa, we have long been puzzled and unable to understand the hippie reality?

Some may find the portrayal too superficial. It makes the flower-power generation seem simply obsessed with sex and drugs. But perhaps the hippies of the late '70s were a different cup of tea from those who preceded them. Incidentally, despite their distaste for the Western "capitalist" lifestyle, the late-70s hippies "loved gadgets, and at the start of each season they fussed over the latest inventions brought from the West."

Odzer, incidentally, was kind enough to send across complimentary copies of her costly book to public libraries in Goa -- including the Central Library's Rare Books Section and the Xavier Centre at Porvorim. Maybe she can further repay her host society by passing on some drug-rehab skills from Daytop.

I was in Goa during the period of time Cleo Odzer writes but did not run in her circles. I know she was not making up the scene, it was real. I don't think she ever recovered from "Goan Crazy", as we used to call it. I experienced a wrenching exit from this seductive spot on earth myself and fought a serious depression afterwards. I understand what happened to her. As for the book, it was a painful read. She does not make herself a sympathetic character and one wonders what else in her life she was working through to put herself through such hellish experiences with her relationships and drug abuse. It was, however, useful as an insight into a small window of that era in Goa. It would be nice to read more from others who spent time there in the 70's and before. Rest in peace, Cleo.

Cleo Odzer died in Goa 2001, as a sequel of the intense lifestyle she experienced in the early 1970s. I lived in Goa over 2001-2 conducting research on transnational countercultures, and I have met several people mentioned in her book, in India and elsewhere.

The book is, at once, very realistic yet controversial. Many Goa freaks were upset with Odzer for two reasons: first, she gave out names of those involved in the early 1970s drug sub-scene (- Odzer later got a PhD in Anthropology studying prostitution in Thailand, and she must have realized the ethical implications of exposing identities). Second, the majority of hippies in India were not involved with the heroine/cocaine sub-scene that Odzer describes, thus the book conveys the wrong impression that they were all reckless junkies.

Although some readers may find her writing style to be simplistic, the book actually is a rich first-hand account of the drug scene among nomadic hippies gathering in Goa in the early 1970s. It is based on real stories, anecdotes and memories about real people, places and events.

For those who may ask about the "Goa scene" nowadays, you must read Anthony D'Andrea's "Global Nomads" or Arun Saldanha's "Psychedelic White". These books reveal main generational differences. In a nutshell, contemporary freaks are more discreet but very unfriendly towards outsiders (backpackers and tourists). They also differ from former hippies who were more outgoing, sociable and flamboyant. As old Goans recall, "they had more personality"...

Odzer and her friends experienced the intense yet potentially destructive power of charisma. Several are now dead for reasons often related to the excesses that they impinged on their bodies and minds. Latter Odzer sought to compensate it, by promoting drug rehab projects in New York (where she was originally from). Yet, she also fell victim to the intense freedom they sought to seize...

"Make freedom your foundation, through the mastery of yourself." (Socrates). To Cleo Odzer, in memoriam...

I am fascinated by hippies and hippie culture, both now and then.
Although like most people, I find the hippies of the 60's and 70's to be the most interesting and captivating.

Cleo Odzer was a stunningly beautiful hippie adventurer from New York who started out as a model around Europe. Hearing of a community of Hippies called freaks who lived in Goa India in the mid 70s, she traveled there and made it her home, and became an important member of the tight knit community.

These Hippies were called Freaks because they were hardcore drug addicts and serious drug dealers.Unlike a lot of other hippies , they didn't use drugs in rituals to try to uncover truth or expand their mind. Drugs were the most important things in their lives and the entire community revolved around the use and smuggling of drugs.

Cleo and her friends certainly did live a life of excess and adventure, but all of them paid a heavy price.
5 of Cleo's friends , including a man named Neal she had been very much in love with , died at fairly young ages. Almost all the deaths were directly attributable to drugs.

On the surface these people seemed to live a glamorous life of rebellion and excitement, but underneath , they were all trapped in the hell of serious drug addiction.

This book left me with a heavy feeling. As I read tale after tale of Cleo and her friends spending weeks on end in cocaine educed binges, of hardly eating or sleeping. Of wasting away. Of enduring nerve wracking trips through customs to smuggle drugs. Of ending up in horrible foreign jails.Of overdosing and leaving children Motherless or Fatherless. It just made me so sad that such free spirited, inventive people allowed themselves to go through all that.

Cleo Odzer returned to the States in 1980, went through a drug rehabilitation program and got a Ph.D. She wrote two other books and spent several years working for a drug rehabilitation program in New York. Then she returned to Goa to live some years ago and sadly died there in 2002.Apparently she had fallen back into her old habits because her death was thought to have been linked to drugs.

If anyone is interested, this seems to have been her webpage:

http://www.echonyc.com/~cleo/


This is an intriguing book from a extraordinary woman and it will take you on a trip you won't forget for a long time to come.

I really want to read her other books now.

Cleo Odzer (born Sheila) was my older cousin. I am the one of few family members who believes all three of her books were masterpieces. She was a great inspiration in my life and i will always remember her fondly. A few of the minor details in Goa Freaks were exaggerated but otherwise everything she wrote was true and accurate. She has motivated me to write as well. A few years after she passed her mother Rena passed as well, nad my family and I tended to her things. I treasure every picture and memory, and I am happy to see how many others loved her work. If you haven't read all three of her books, I highly encourage you to do so. Rest in Peace Cleo, in the place your heart truly belonged.

In reading Goa Freaks, I found myself haunted with the world within the book. Images of the hippie commune at the beach, the simplistic lifestyle, the night-long drug use, the licentious accounts of romance and just the oblivious attitudes of the characters kept resurfacing in my mind, days after reading the book.

The book was a treat to read, more so in its poignant contents than in its literary qualities. The reading of the book gave off a strong setting of imagery, characters and the hard-to-capture atmosphere of the Goa Freaks. To say the book was somewhat atmospheric would be an understatement because the introspective characterizations in the book gave the reader a distinct bridge to empathize with Cleo. As I read the book (I hungrily digested it in three days), I was fascinated by the prevalence of recklessness within the Goa Freaks. How could Cleo be 78 pounds, hospitalized and laughing when some people came to pray for her fight with life? How could the Freaks just risk their lives trafficking drugs in such a wanton manner? I was amazed that Cleo survived doing so much for so long. The fact that she has managed to reflect on those times by capturing it in a book and the fact that she has the courage to present an untainted picture of how reckless and naive the young Cleo was is a hallmark of fine writing. Keep up the good work Cleo!

Most of us (hopefully) will never run away to a remote beach area and become hippies addicted to heroin (and other drugs). This book will give you a great glimpse into what such a life is like, though, and is highly entertaining. Best considered an escape/travel book, it presents an enveloping (true!) story that will make you feel as if you'd spent a season at Anjuna Beach among the druggie hippies.

I also saw DVD called THE LAST HIPPIE STANDING which showed some of the Cleo's old movies.

You can order iot from the Amazon.de (German Amazon) site:http://www.amazon.de/exec/obidos/ASIN/B0000A0KIG/qid%3D1110467215/028-6329773-2130920

Dr. Cleo Odzer - In Memoriam !

I am Eve, one of the characters in Cleo's book Goa Freaks. After reading it, I was filled with anger, shock and pain. This is a fictitious and shallow depiction of events, which is degrading to the amazing people, place and times.

In our very first meeting she describes me - Eve - as peculiar, cold, bizarre and spaced out. Ironically in all the time I knew Cleo, I loved her. I never realized she was "in love" with Neal and that I was considered the hated other woman. During all the craziness, I've had some less than honest moments, but to call me a kleptomaniac is just mean spirited. She used this label throughout the book as her tool for slander.

Now I'm going to correct some of the more blatant lies written. I was never dragged along the ground for stealing. The chaotic scene on the beach was not about a stolen lighter. I had given someone too large a snoot of smack, then they went into the ocean for a swim and almost drowned. Their friend ran to me angry and shouting, and pushed me down; being stoned I wouldn't be quiet or stay down.

Next, I was never thrown out or asked to leave anyone's home - for stealing, or any other reasons. I was treated well by all and invited back. I made some good friends and I still love and think about them.

When we stayed at Cleo's house, I did wear and use her property, which she never let me know she had any issues with. She speaks about my little play objects that she recognized as belonging to others. I had a growing collection of brass buddhas and gods that I bought in Thailand, which I enjoyed and displayed.

Neal is also superficially portrayed as a crazed dealer, a one dimensional simpleton carrying a tray, razor and straw. How far off the mark can she get? Cleo wrote that he was the most loved character on the beach, but she failed to mention why. Neal was a charismatic person, great teller of tales, writer, adventurer, creative spirit, a wise and gentle soul. He cared deeply, was kind, helped both travelers and Indians, gave money, time, advice, humor and friendship to everyone. He loved and doted on his little girl, and he was so good to me. He is forever loved and missed by those who knew him.

Each time she writes "I hate you" to Neal, I feel she was expressing her feelings for me. Every reference made about our child, she calls her by the wrong name. Her name is not Mahara, it's Chatara (a.k.a. Ta), and she was not a "nasty beast." She was a happy, well-loved child that was not neglected or left with strangers.

When Neal and I went to Poona to visit Rajneesh's Ashram, we did not spend our time drugged out in a hotel room. We were at the ashram daily and we received acupuncture treatments there because we were trying to quit the drugs.

I was in Bombay three days before Neal died of pneumonia in the hospital. Bylar of Diptis did make all the arrangements for the cremation and I was there for the service. But, no money was ever collected for a memorial/ funeral service, or given to me for any reason by anyone.

When I returned to Goa with my daughter I never stayed or got kicked out of anyone's place. I had a hut built and we lived there a long time. Then for 2-3 months we stayed with the Children of God (who never wore white robes). She didn't ever come to see us there; but I did see her a few times before we moved back to the states. I was not a bong smoker, nor did I ever blow hash smoke into my child's face. Before leaving India I gifted her with a very special ring she had made for Neal.

In closing, my late response to the book is due to just becoming aware of its existence this year. It would take a sharp edged scan to filter out the continuous fabrications, distorted facts, egoistic prattle and most suspect intentions. I feel sadness for the shadow placed on my sweet memories of Goa. I was left psychically wounded with a sense of violation and betrayal to the people and place of that time. Lastly, in the interest of peace and fourteen years of sobriety, I do extend forgiveness to all beings, myself and especially to Miss Cleo.

~ Eve
February 2011

My babysitter and I read this book within the same week and both of us felt it was a very sad tale. It was an interesting, yet unsavoury story, that we felt should be mandatory reading for all modern spoiled hippie wannabes.

We note that the author's recollection was very condecending of many people she encounters (including her victims, and jailed scam partners), yet she never comes clean on what a completely horrible person she had become. We found this characteristic of her narrative annoying.

This book lacks a satisfactory conclusion, like some sort of lesson learned, or hindsight review of the lifestyle it described. We are left to think that the author is simply boasting of her behavior as described in the book, and that she has grown tired of our "scene" and suddenly disappears on her readers as she did on so many of her friends long ago. END