Goa

I figured I had better write about Goa soon as we are now on our next and penultimate Indian pilgrimage to Varanasi and Darjeeling. But before I get around to that let me offer some advice, if you are taking the train from the New Delhi Station or the Old Delhi Station, don’t drive there – the traffic is horrendous. We’ve tried driving several times and tonight instead had our driver take us to the Central Secretariat Metro stop, from there you are only 3 stops, or 10 minutes, away from the New Delhi Railway Station. It’s clean and fast and brilliant and can cut 45 minutes off your trip if you are coming up from Gurgaon or South Delhi.

South Goa

We stayed in South Goa at the Mahindra Beach Club hotel. As it turns out, the Mahindra Beach Club is mainly a resort for upper-middle class Russians. There were a few Brits and actually a group of Americans for a while, but Russian was the language of choice by the pool and Cyrillic the alphabet of choice on the beach shack signage. It seemed to me that if you are on your honeymoon or have a family, Mahindra Beach would be a good hotel. The bar closes at 23:00 and at that time the disco dance floor is mainly populated by toddlers being swung around like sacks of potatoes by their parents. If you like a little more action that this go to Calangute.

This is not to say that South Goa doesn’t have its merits. It has a beautiful big sandy beach that is for all intents and purposes deserted and runs for miles. The waves, unlike many we have seen on our trips to the shore in South Asia, were just right for splashing around in. I don’t know what temperature the water was but I would call it perfect (which means a tiny bit on the warm side). On Varca Beach where we stayed you can walk along the beach in the evening and watch the sun set into the ocean while picking up starfish and tossing them back into the water. If you’re lucky you’ll even see a pink parasail floating by. There may be somewhere a non-millionaire can get this experience still in North America or Europe, but I don’t know where. And we were there during high season!

Curiously to us, our hotel had no facilities like chairs and umbrellas directly on the beach, instead keeping their service on a tiny man-made beach 100 yards from the ocean. But no matter, the way to enjoy Goa is to park yourself on a lounge chair steps away from the ocean and in front of one of the beach shacks that are right on the beach. You can spend your day there, ordering Fresh Lime Soda (sweet for me, neat for Mrs. WMG) or 650ml Kingfisher Beers from the semi-attentive waiters (no need to go back to the hotel at all, the beach shacks even have surprisingly clean toilets!). When it’s lunchtime, leave your book on the chair and move to the sand-floored open-air shack for a dish of grilled prawns or crab or lobster or even a steak sandwich.

As I said, the south is a little quiet, but you will still get your share of vendors selling shawls, wrap-around skirts, musical instruments or offering to paint women’s hands and arms with an ornate henna tattoo. We watched as a man set set up a tight-rope and his daughter walked and cycled across. Alas, one never knows in these cases whether to show a monetary appreciation in these cases lest one encourage child labour.

Calangute

If South Goa feels like the Russian Riviera, one need only take the 90 minute taxi ride up to Calangute beach to be transported back to India. I’ve never been to Ibiza, the beach Mecca for drunken British holiday partyers, but Calangute felt to me like what I imagine it is like. No, wait, Ibiza couldn’t be this chaotic, for that you need Indians. A quick run-down of the sites:

• Jet skis zipping along the surf dodging the many swimmers in a manner that any sane person could only call ridiculously dangerous (but oh so Indian)
• Young guys playing on the beach smacking the ball as hard as they could into the crowds of people lounging in front of beach shacks
• A man with no legs playing soccer (apparently his mates give him a special dispensation to use his hands to “kick” the ball)
• Vendors selling the ever-present chai, clothing, sunglasses, watches, ice cream and blue-lighted beach toys that they sling high into the sky and watch as they gently helicopter down to earth like a man-made maple seed.

OK, I think I’ve reached the Trevor-zone but next time I will have to remember to write about Bob’s Shack on Colva Beach, my almost cooking lesson for Prawn Masala and the local hooch – Cashew Fenni.