I'm digging back in the memory banks now to write up about our time in fabulous Goa, but I am sure to have no problems in doing so, as the place is unforgettable. Anyways, it was with great regret that we dragged ourselves away from Delhi, a city that had endeared itself to us with its charming blend of rubbish, touts, smog and general chaos, and boarded the long train running all the way to the Goan coast with a stop in Mumbai along the way. After our tumultuous journey through Rajasthan the thought of a chilled beach setting where we didn't have to jump on a train or god forbid another bus the very next day was very appealing and Goa was everything we had hoped for and more.
I had initially thought that Goa was a lone stretch of beach maybe a few kms long so I was quite surprised to discover that it is actually a huge coastline of over 50km with many different beaches of unique and individual character. For starters you have the famous northern beaches of Anjuna and Calangute, where Israelis rave well into wee hours of the next afternoon with the assistance of various illegal substances; down south you have the bounty ad beaches such as Palolem and Patnem with long stretches of white sand and overhanging palm trees, and in the middle you have the very relaxed and comparitively underdeveloped beaches of Colva and Benaulim which happened to be our first port of call after arriving in Goa.
Some of the more exotic coastline around Goa
Quickly settled in some comfortable although perhaps structurally unsound palm leaf huts with fairly lax security, and just as quickly it seems, Pat settled in on his pursuit of some fetching British ladies who just happened to be staying in the same place. With Pat missing in/getting action, it was down to Tim and me basically to find ways to entertain ourselves, which considering our surroundings, proved to be particularly easy. A daily routine might have involved waking up at a decidedly leisurely hour, wolfing down an incredibly cheap breakfast consisting of several pieces of nutella toast, scrambled eggs, muesli with fruit and yogurt, some pancakes perhaps and could I get a few pieces of french toast and bugger it, while you're at I might try your chocolate pancake as well....(as you can probably tell, I may in fact be the only person to travel through India and actually put on weight).
Following breakfast, one might roll down to the water lest one be confused for pregnant beached whale, splash about til it gets a little too toasty, head back up for some lunch (similar story to breakfast), have a few beers priced at around $1.50 for 650ml!!, maybe chill with a good book before heading back down to the beach for another swim and perhaps a futile attempt at doing some exercise to withhold the onslaught that I was deluging my body with each day. Yep yep, tough life indeed, all for less than $20 a day.
One of my favourite of the fruit ladies, Lachsmi.
Even sitting around on the beach with the hordes of British tourists who seem to spend their entire holiday sunning themselves, was an exciting pastime as their was always something going on around you. Impromptu games of beach cricket, soccer and volleyball sprung up every few metres, the very charming fruit girls would try (and succeed in my case) to sell some of their eclectic selection of tropical fruits and whilst they were at it, anything else they could remotely think of to sell, be it silver jewellery, sarongs, hennah paintings, you name it. The sunbathing obviously wasn't having much effect on me as I proved to be quite a hit with those ladies due to several of them commenting that I was the "whitest" man they had ever seen. Conversely when I get burnt a little, I believe the phrase they described me as was "pink like a pig". Charming.
My favourite was however the random dudes, who under the guise of pretending to point out a blob of sunscreen on your face, would walk up to you and wham, stick a bloody steel rod in your ear. When you reeled around in shock and disgust, they then present to you some ungodly clump of crap of unknown origin claiming that your ears were in great need of a clean, which they (due to their qualifications which they promptly pulled out to show, literally a "bachelor of ear-cleaning" supposedly) could perform for a very reasonable fee of only about $5. Nice try boys.
A stunning sunset complete with old, random bald hippie dude.
The evenings were even more enjoyable. Each afternoon after enjoying the rarified experience of watching a stunning sunset over the water (western coast of India), we would generally tuck into some of the aforementioned super-cheap beers before heading to a local beachfront restaurant to sample some fresh fish from the day's catch. The seafood there was SO good, they would bring out a tray with the catch, you point at the one you want and in about 30 minutes you a wolfing down the best damn fish you've ever tasted in your life, usually for about $5-6 for a whole red snapper for example.
We were fortunate also, as we had been throughout our whole trip, to be sharing our accommodation with some fine folk who made our time there all the more enjoyable. Particularly for Pat of course, but Tim and I did enjoy merely speaking to the other guests at least. We did at some points also find great mirth in listening to some of Pat's slightly exaggerated tales of adventure and danger, obviously brought up during the courting stage, which brought about fits of schoolgirl giggles between me and Tim (whilst Pat was talking), and conversely, fits of rage from Pat later on, understandably. Ah yes, the worst wingmen ever. But that Pat's a professional, water off a duck's back etc. Yes the evenings were fun affairs and what's that? Get the guitar out? Oh no I couldn't possibly, please put it away, put it away....ok maybe just a few tunes....
(I can assure you it did a me a fat lot of good. Ah Master Pat, I have much to learn....)
C'mon guys....I mean, I'm just a man....with a guitar....singing his heart out....Good times with the crew in Benaulim.
From the chilled settings of Colva and Benaulim, we headed north to Anjuna where we expected to run into some 24 hour parties, huge outdoor markets, beautiful women and of course, Israelis. Started off great, in our initial scope of Anjuna beach there was a full blown party raging on the sand at around 5pm, in broad daylight with some of the most beautiful and scantily clad women I've seen in my life. Adding to our (or my at least) excitement was the advertisement for an all you can eat seafood buffet for around $6!! Heaven!! After a few obligatory warmup beers, we headed to the restaurant and the sight that presented itself to me will remain a treasured memory for a long time. A huge table filled with just the most delicactable assortment of seafood I've ever seen (for $6 at least). Red snapper, sole, kingfish, barricuda, shark, calamari, prawns, flake, to name but a few.... all as much as you wanted!! My only regret was that I ate so damn fast so that I could make sure that I could get back for seconds (and thirds) before that snotty little kid who didn't eat fish took all the frickin calamari. And then after the meal of course, it was on to the huge party filled with beautiful women!! Rave on!! Suffice to say, my timing was, as ever when ladies are involved, poor to the say the least as the party shut down pretty much as soon we walked over at the pathetically early hour of 10pm. I tell you, kids these days are getting soft. Admittedly they had been going for the previous 24 hours, but 10pm, honestly!?!?
A huge 300m + oil tanker that ran aground about 5 years ago is easier to just be left as is rather than expensively dragged back out. Anyway, it's beautiful isn't it?
Anjuna is also famous for its huge Wednesday markets, a sprawling affair when tourists and locals alike come from all over the region to pick up anything from silver jewellery, fake clothes, carvings, linen, hammocks, leather goods, bollywood DVDs, some strange fluoro coloured powder, you name it. A must-do if you ever get to Goa and are keen to pick up some useless trinkets which will just make your pack even more damn heavy.
Anjuna markets.
Highlight of our time in Anjuna however was undoubtedly our time on the little Honda activa scooters. I was a little bit wary to begin with, but after speaking with the kind gentlemen who we dealt with to hire them, I was positively terrified. He just threw us the keys and said to bring them back by sunset. No vehicle license (let alone a bike license) required, no passport, not even a name for crying out load, and no helmets. We just handed over our $4 for the day and soon we were hooning about in the crazy Indian traffic like little lambs to the slaughter. Absolutely terrifying but totally exhillarating at the same time, was unbelievable how much fun it seemed to be dodging and weaving along the highway at 70km+ per hour (top speed for the activa, but let me assure you it might as well be 170 when you're driving sans helmet). One thing you quickly learn when driving these things is there is only one road rule you need to follow; Give way to EVERYTHING. I was cut off too many times to remember by incoming vehicles onto the highway, and several times I actually had to squeal the brakes whilst IN a roundabout to let vehicles to my left enter at ridiculous speeds with no intention of slowing down.
Born to be wild...no, that ain't the Hell's angels, but none other than me, Pat and Tim on our beasts in amazing old Goa.
Took the scooters out to Old Goa, the former capital of the region when Goa was a Portugese colony. I had read that Old Goa used to rival Lisbon in magnificense and opulence and by the looks of the few remaining buildings of the era, it would not surprise me in the least. It felt like we were driving into a subtropical Rome, overgrown with palm trees and thick rainforest. The old chapels and cathedrals are enormous and beautiful constructions (which are still used by the largely Catholic population of Goa), and spring up out of the jungle like giant monoliths that you would never expect to see in such a location.
Some of the chapels were incredibly beautiful and ornate inside, hardly what we were expecting to find in lazy Goa.
Most impressive was the display in the main chapel of the supposedly incorruptible body of Saint Francis Xavier, who still lies in state to this day, albeit in an airtight glass coffin, some 500 YEARS after his death!! Sure, he's looking a bit grey and sunken in the cheeks, but bugger me I reckon he's doing pretty well for his age!!
"Old" mate Francis Xavier.
The chapels of Goa rising from the jungle below.
Thankfully we somehow escaped largely unscathed from our day on the scooters, I say largely because Pat, the most experienced rider among us, thought he could be a little too tricky and his attempted burnout in the dirt turned out a little painfully, although from my vantage point in behind, it proved immensely humorous. Also, despite our best intentions to obey Indian road rules, we were pulled over by some cops who graciously were willing to accept fines on the spot and were strangely enough located on a tourist only road well away from the town. Tim unfortunately had neglected to bring his Australian driver's license (highly irresponsible Tim), and the policemen assured us that there was a huge fine involved, in the order of 2000 rupees. (Pat and I, despite our lack of a motorbike license, vehicle registration and helmets, were apparently tip top, not even a warning). "You don't have 2000 rupees on you, you say? Well just pay us what you have....". After much histrionics and frantic arm waving to try and intimidate us, the "cops" eventually decided that our demands to at least be taken down to the police station and Tim's paltry 200 rupees were hardly worth the effort and waved us away.
Beautiful Palolem.
Next up it was down to the picture perfect beach of Palolem. To help you get a picture of it, if any of you have seen the movie The Bourne Supremacy, the opening scene with him running down the beach is actually filmed on Palolem beach right where we stayed. We watched the movie whilst we were there and that scene inspired me to get off my rapidly expanding arse and go for at least two whole runs during our time there. Palolem was a lot quieter than the other beaches it seemed, despite a full moon, most evenings were nearly always chilled out affairs for most people, primarily the hordes of British people who generally burnt themselves to a crisp each day and then sat around in the pubs watching Premier League at night.
Thankfully we met up with our good mate Ian, a Canadian from London, Ontario, whom Pat and I had met whilst rafting in Nepal. As the nightlife seemed a little stagnant round Palolem we soon got into a habit of making our own entertainment which basically revolved around sampling every one of the ridiculously cheap cocktails (i.e. $1) on offer at our favourite happy hour dive. This would then be followed by a delicious seafood meal (as always) and perhaps a stagger down the main street where we would help ourselves to some guitars and bongos from the local music store and set up an impromptu jam. I must stress this was for our own entertainment, as it was clear early on that no-one else was being remotely entertained by our antics.
Otherwise our days were filled with either total relaxation or preferably on our addictive scooters which we hired for another two days in Palolem. This time with helmets thankfully although as usual, my "extra large" was so small that it either seriously compressed my skull or popped off whilst driving and flayed behind my head like a fibreglass parachute. Pretty much managed to check out the entire coastline on those things and one of my fondest memories of the trip was finding empty stretches of long winding turns where you could just cock your wrist full throttle and hammer the scooter to its limits.
Had to put at least one picture of a cobra from our time in India. This is one in an animal refuge we visited in Goa.
Alas the good times had to come to an end eventually and it was with heavy hearts that Pat and I returned to Mumbai to make our flights out of India, a country of which our opinion was greatly enhanced by our two magnificent weeks in the sun down in Goa. We had only two days to kill in Mumbai and then it was off to Europe. Only two days, what could go wrong?
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