'All Go-an Things Must Come To An End': Finishing up in South Goa

'People travel to faraway places to watch, in fascination, the kind of people they ignore at home...' (Dagobert D Runes)

'Namaste' guys! (for those of you who aren't down with Hindi, 'what's happening'?!) Hope you're all good and enjoyed Pancake Day/Valentines Day and are sticking to Lent so far! As a homage to our British roots, we decided to seek out some pancakes whilst in Goa. We didn't have to look far; pancakes, or 'crepes', feature heavily on an Indian dessert menu: to be honest, they're the only option on an Indian dessert menu! Now, I'm not the biggest lover of pancakes, unlike Mr Mac, who has sampled pretty much every filling there is on offer, but a banana and Nutella one did hit the spot that night! With regards to Valentines Day, over the years I have been spoilt rotten with lovely cards, flowers, a cheeky city break here and there... this year was no exception. I was treated to a tub of Pringles and a Bounty in Goa airport, paid for by our joint account. Who says romance is dead?! (to be fair, I really enjoyed them!) Valentines Day isn't as celebrated here as it is back home, and I didn't expect him to lug around cards and such like in his rucksack from the UK! Ironically, 'Valentines Day' was the film they were showing on our flight to Delhi, so all romance was not lost! What have you all given up for Lent? The usual? Chocolate/alcohol... As some of you remember, back in uni days, Lent was the time I'd pretty much give up eating anything in favour of cabbage soup, the odd ryvita and anything on my 'allowed list' (which was pretty non existent.) Giving something up while travelling is a completely different kettle of fish. It's not as easy to say 'I'll give up chocolate/crisps/bread...' because, more often than not, you're in a place that looks a bit dodge and it's best for your stomach if you go for the packaged Twix rather than the sandwiches with flies crawling over them. It's so weird that we're a few days in to Lent and I've eaten stuff that normally would be on the 'out of bounds' list, but you know what? If it's going to keep me Delhi belly free, then so be it. (For the record, we've both said we'll give up fizzy drinks. I don't really drink them anyway but it's more to say I've given something up!)

Anyway, enough chit chat. I left things last time as we prepared to go South in Goa to see what the crack was with their beaches. Many people have asked, 'Did you not get bored?' 'Once you've seen one beach, don't they all look the same?'. In short, No and No! We both wanted to completely chill out during our first few weeks of travelling - we both worked our arses off towards the end saving wise and deserved a break - and I think every beach has its own character. Yes, the sea and the sand do get a bit repetitive, but a certain atmosphere can make each beach unique - in the previous blog, I favoured Mandrem beach for its tranquillity as opposed to Vagator, where I was hassled with 'lucky lucky's' and the Indian paparazzi aka tourists! OK, so from Mandrem we travelled about an hour south to a hotel which, as listed on its website, was 'close to Baga, Calangute, and Candolim beaches'. Sweet, three in one, we thought. So, it turns out that their definition of 'close' was, in reality, an hour walk to the closest one. Are they messing? We were in the middle of nowhere in a resort I'd never even heard of (note to self: THOROUGHLY RESEARCH accommodation before you book it. Somewhere that's cheap, for example, may not be as ideal location wise as somewhere slightly more expensive but, as always, LOCATION LOCATION LOCATION!).

We had no choice but to sort ourselves out with some sort of transport. Now, I class myself as a half decent driver (some may heartily disagree) but was in no way prepared for the Indian preferred method of travel - a scooter. I'm sound on a push bike  so how hard could one with an engine be? Bloody hard, I'll tell you that! Mix that with the insane traffic and it was a recipe for disaster! In the end, He took the reins and ferried us around and I was limited to wobbling up and down the dirt road outside the hotel 'for practice'. I think I did pretty well, but in his words, I'm 'definitely not roadworthy yet'. Anyway, our little scooter was a godsend for those couple of days as we had the freedom to whiz round the local beaches. Calangute beach was, in a word, vile: it was so dirty and jam packed with sunbeds lined up like sardines in a tin. And THIS was where the Brits had been hiding - we passed so many bars with signs for 'Full English Breakfasts' outside. I don't get it, never have - why do Brits go on holiday to a foreign country and not sample local food? Why do we feel the need to have our comforts as a 'safety net'? YOU'RE ONLY ON HOLIDAY FOR A WEEK OR SO. DEAL WITH IT. Baga beach was alright, and we couldn't find Candolim; we ended up stopping at this little cove which turned out to be a place called Sinquerim beach which was fab, bar the family who came over to my sun bed and asked for a photo (what a surprise). I obliged, in hope they'd leave me alone, but I was sadly mistaken: the WHOLE family appeared (as in like 10 of them) and proceeded to have individual photos taken with me. One by one. In the end I had to politely tell them to do one as my stomach was hurting from breathing in so much. Mr Mac was a bit gutted - he stood there flexing in hope of a cheeky snap, but they just weren't interested. Bless.

We did forego the beach one day (shock horror) to actually go and do some sightseeing (Goa does have other things to see, bar its beaches!) We hired a taxi driver for the day who, for £12, took us out and about for 8 hours. £12 wouldn't get me into town at home, and I live 20 minutes away!  This method of transport is much more economical than, say, going to each individual sight separately, and you haven't got the hassle of trying to bargain with each driver. As you'll see from my Facebook pics, we went to Old Goa and visited some beautiful churches, including 'Bom Jesus' where the remains of St Francis Xavier, the 'Apostle of the Orient' are held. We popped to a spice plantation (far too many plants to remember) and then stopped off in the capital, Panjim. As much as it pained me to be separated from my sun bed for a few hours, I think it's good to go and actually see some of the sites when you're away, otherwise you may as well have just gone to the local sunbeds at home and saved yourself a few quid!

We've all stayed in places abroad. You know what makes good service. Helpful and friendly staff who are there when you need them but for the most part leave you to your own devices. Up until now we'd had no problems whatsoever. That's until we met George. When we pulled up outside our hotel in the middle of nowhere, it reminded me a bit of the Addams family house - set behind wrought iron gates shrouded in shrubbery. It didn't look busy. At all. In fact, I didn't see any other guests the whole time we were there. Despite this, there were an abundant number of staff that, quite frankly, had nothing to do, so spent their time standing round looking like spare parts. This is true of many places in India, I've noticed; surely the managers, in a bid to save on personnel expenses, would assess the ratio of employees to customers? Anyway, as we were checking in we were greeted by a young Indian guy who introduced himself as George, who said that he'd be happy to 'serve' us as his family were in the UK and he felt like he was our 'brother'. Bless him. So, as the days went on, his visits to our room became more and more frequent - knocking to 'check up on us' and to see 'what we were doing'; I actually had to blag that I was 'working' so he'd go away and I could write my blog in peace one night! He had no concept of personal space - he would hover outside our room for us to come out, sit next to us whenever we sat downstairs to use the Internet and use ANY excuse to make physical contact, particularly with me (sorry mate, but you've defo seen a freckle before, no need to start counting them on my arm...) If he ever saw that the Mac was on his own, he'd sprint up to our room, in the hope that I was there. Over friendly some may say? No, just a plain wierdo. Well, it all came to a head when it was time to check out... there were signs up saying we had to check out by 11, but good old George had said we could leave at midday (course he did). To be fair, it's not like the place was mad busy so it really didn't make a difference what time we left. Anyway, the phone rings just before 11... a guy is making sure we're checking out at 11. We were like, 'yeah, we'll be down in about half an hour'. The phone then rings in 5 minute intervals asking where we were and we'd be getting charged an extra day. GET A GRIP. Have you ever heard of a grace period? We were both pretty angry by the time we got down to reception, even more so when they presented me with a bill for photocopying our passports. Are you kidding? I told them, in no uncertain terms, I'd be paying for sweet nothing and then George floats in asking us if we had any tips for him?! Yeah, here's a tip for you - f**k off! In all seriousness, it made me very uncomfortable and if I was travelling on my own I'd have probably moved hotels, he was that bad. It kind of puts a dampener on this part of the trip; we laugh about it now but it just shows how something, or someone, can affect your perception of a place. I'm in no hurry to return to that part of Goa, that's for sure!

On a much brighter note, our final days in Goa were some of the best of the entire trip. We spent 2 days at Benaulim beach, a quaint little place where we had the luxury of a pool at our digs (it was so nice to be sand free for once!) and spent our last week in a beach hut on Palolem beach. Jason Bourne famously jogs along these shores in the second 'Bourne' film; I had all these visions of me enjoying an early morning run along here whilst watching the sun rise... the only running I did was from the sun bed to the sea: the sand was bloody hot! The 'Cuba Beach Bungalows' had been recommended to us (well in the Jo's!) and it was the perfect end to our Goa experience. We'd step out from our hut onto the sand, there was (nearly) always a bed right outside and the sea was less than a 100m dash. At night, the beach itself was busier than the main road - the restaurants put all their tables out on the sand to entice the beach revellers in. What's more perfect than eating dinner under the stars, a moonlit stroll along the beach and falling asleep listening to the sound of the waves? Not much, in my book.

So, this is where the story ends. For today. Goa was, in short, amazing. I'd recommend it to ANYONE and would go back in a heartbeat. I've left a happier and healthier person (healthier colour wise, I no longer resemble a ghost. NOT healthy in a food sense - can't remember the last time I had any fruit. 5 a day for me now consists of 5 different types of carbohydrate a day!) Our next venture sees us trade the shores of Goa for the sights of Delhi. Oh god, the home of Delhi Belly. Can we put it off any longer? Watch this space...

'Life's a Beach': Tales from North Goa

'There are no foreign lands. It is the traveller only who is foreign...'  (Robert Louis Stevenson)

Greetings loved ones! Hope you all survived January in one piece? By now, New Year's resolutions have definitely been broken - sales of chocolate are on the up, gyms are back to their empty states... This is precisely why I didn't make any this year; all I promised myself was to document my travels (check) and take more photos (sort of check - I WILL get round to uploading some I promise, otherwise you'll all start to think I've gone into hiding rather than travelling the world!) So, I believe we left things last time on the train journey from Mumbai to Goa - I can't believe that was almost 2 weeks ago! Time sure does fly when you're having fun! We started out at the top of Northern Goa and have slowly started to work our way down the coast and visited several resorts along the way... Warning, this blog will contain descriptions of white sandy beaches and clear blue seas, so if you are of the jealous disposition I suggest you look away now!

As most of you are well aware, I am a BIG fan of tanning and will go to the ends of the earth to achieve that golden glow, real or fake. So, you can imagine my actual joy when we decided to spend a month on the beaches of Goa, Don't get me wrong, I do love a city break but for me, nothing beats lying on a sun bed catching some rays. I see it almost as a sport - a daily competition to be darker than the previous one. However, being part of a couple travelling has opened my eyes to the importance of COMPROMISE. I, for example, could lie on a sun bed from dusk ‘til dawn; the English rose complexion of my other half prevents him from getting any enjoyment from long periods of sunbathing. So, we work it so we only spend a few hours at the beach a day, or we alternate a day at the beach with a day sightseeing. It pains me to think I could be a near native colour by now, but, actually, I've got the next 2 years to work on that. 2 weeks in, I can happily report that I am no longer the colour of a ghost and, despite Indian women constantly commenting on my 'lovely WHITE skin', I am confident that fake tan may be a thing of my past… for now (a HUGE statement to make: I've kept so many brands in business for years!) As an experienced tanner, I pride myself on knowing when enough’s enough to avoid the inevitable burn; I did not factor in the side effects of anti-malaria tablets. Like any medication, you tend to neglect reading about any effects they may have and I chose to ignore that mine could make your skin 'extra sensitive to light' and produce 'red patches'. They weren't wrong. To date, I've had to deal with a nice red hand (yes, just the one) and my knees, of ALL places. On a more positive note, my skin is spot-free! Freckles have replaced the blemishes that used to frequent my face back home, something which I now attribute to all the slap I used to put on. My makeup bag STILL remains buried at the bottom of my rucksack acquiring dust (honestly, I'm a changed woman, definitely embracing my inner hippie... more on that later).

Anyway, enough about me, you're all wanting to know about Goa, right? OK, so after our epic train journey we arrived at Thivim station and took a taxi to the Asterix hostel in Vagator, North Goa. This hostel is ranked #1 on TripAdvisor and I can honestly say that my experience here diminishes all of my previous views on hostels (see previous blog). It was founded by 2 guys who wanted to create a haven for travellers, so quit their daily jobs and did just that. There is a great communal area (essential in my eyes) and over the week we stayed there we met some great people. Now, I don't know about you, but the art of approaching people when travelling reminds me of your first day at school/uni. You have to make friends and the only way to do this is to TALK to people! As we get older, we take friendship for granted and forget the initial awkwardness when it comes to meeting new people. On our first morning, at breakfast, we decided to put our game faces on, look approachable and try and mingle. No such luck. I turned to him and was like, 'what's wrong with us?', and then realised the problem. He was only sitting there in his prescription sunglasses. Essential for him, but to an outsider, we were totally unapproachable! Fortunately, later on, we jumped right in - after the first few minutes you wonder why you'd been so apprehensive in the first place. Everyone's in the same boat. It's actually amazing, the different types of people you can meet at a hostel - we met fellow Northerners travelling (what can I say? Scousers just migrate towards each another and there's always a Manc about!), a Canadian who was passing through after attending a work colleague’s Indian wedding (hey Gavin!), even a Londoner who'd come over to get his teeth done! (To be fair, when he told me how much he was paying I did consider trading my travel fund in for a fabulous set of veneers!) Of course, the downside to all of this is that eventually reality sets in: people have to move on. But I guess you have to be grateful you had the opportunity to meet these people and, especially travellers, you'll more than likely bump into them somewhere along the way.

Vagator beach is split into 3 different parts - the furthest one, Ozran, being the quietest and is where we spent most of our days. So, you know how in the UK, travel companies organise day trips to, say, Brighton beach for tourists? Well, it seems that Indian tour operators do the same. Coaches come by the bucket load, full of Indian tourists who live inland, and they pour out onto the Goan beaches for the day. You have never seen anything like it. Fully clothed men and women running into the sea like they've never seen a beach before (this may even be the case).What’s more shocking is that these tourists, predominantly male, have never seen western women before, let alone western women in bikinis. So they feel the need to document evidence that they've seen one to show their mates back home by shoving their phones in my face as I'm trying to sunbathe. The polite ones ask if it's OK to take a photo; this is fine, I have time to breathe in and smile. Some are quite discreet - they'll pretend to be taking a picture of their mate who has conveniently positioned himself beside my sun bed - but others literally snap away. Our hostel warned us of this, explaining that it was the 'norm' and to just ignore them. How can I ignore a gang of old men ogling me as I'm putting my cream on? It's just weird. What's more weird is that these guys have probably got wives, daughters... This behaviour doesn't end on the beach; even on a night out westerners are seen as celebrities. It’s normally after a few Kingfishers that I've posed for god knows how many photos with gangs of Indian guys, who are SO grateful and rush to shake your hand after the photo. Maybe I should start charging?!

There’s an inner hippie inside every traveller. Fact. The carefree, relaxed style is soon adopted by someone travelling for a long period of time. In fact, Goa is home to many ex-pat hippies aka Leathers as they are known (they are literally the colour of mahogany, they've been here that long) and I've seen some sights when it comes to their dress sense. I myself have jumped straight on the hippie bandwagon – at the local Anjuna flea market I kitted myself out with some infamous ‘Ali Baba’ pants, a floaty dress and a few anklets and bracelets so I'm good to go. The great thing is at these markets you can haggle your price down as much as you can and you walk away with some complete bargains. What’s more entertaining is how they entice you to their particular stall – I've heard ‘Come look at my cheap rubbish’ and ‘Cheaper than Primark at my shop’ to name but a few. I'm not sure they even know what they’re saying! Keeping in with the hippie way of life, I am still a practising vegetarian. I literally do not miss meat and I could grow accustomed to chickpeas and lentils on a regular basis. I'm probably eating a tad over the recommended daily carbohydrate allowance but if it keeps Delhi Belly at bay, I’ll deal with the extra pounds! IT IS SO CHEAP TO EAT IN INDIA. We go out for dinner and for a starter, main and drink each it’s like £9. For both of us. It’s insane. Also, booze is ridiculously cheap too – a Kingfisher can set you back about 60p. One club we went to was 400 rupees entry (roughly £5) and it was all you can drink all night. How do they make any money? Trance music and nightlife in Goa pretty much come hand in hand – when I first heard Basshunter blasting out of some club speakers it did take me back about 10 years, but you soon become accustomed to it (the hippies are that off their faces that they probably can’t even hear the music!)

OK, so this paragraph is really for my mum as I know she’s been dying to ask me about a) if I'm doing any washing and b) the welfare of all the animals. Well Sue, you’ll be pleased to know that we've had some washing done, finally! 10 days in and all I’d done was the odd rinse in the sink and made use of my mini washing line (gracias VLC Chicas). This seems a relatively short time, but sun cream and sweat quickly become embedded in everything. We found a lady who offered to do laundry for us – she actually followed us back to our room where we were both like madmen – chucking stuff out of our rucksacks and stripping off to give her everything that had been worn! 35 items for 600 rupees (roughly £7) and we’re back to being (relatively) clean. Animal wise, surprisingly, it’s a positive report. Cats aren't very common, well, I haven’t seen many. Of course there are strays, like anywhere, but none I've seen are mistreated or underweight. In fact, I've seen more dogs with collars on than I have strays. There is an equivalent of the RSPCA that take the stray dogs in for 20 days, neuter and treat them for any ailments they have, collar them and then release them back where they were picked up. I've stroked many a Rottweiler, Alsatian, Great Dane (and a one eyed dog) that have been fully vaccinated and belonged to a hotel/restaurant so chill out Mother! What is strange is the amount of cows around and their attitude towards tourists. For religious reasons, Indians cannot harm a cow - they are seen as holy. So it’s commonplace to see them wandering the streets and chilling on the beach. I've even seen people patting them as you would a dog, they’re that placid. An animal I have dealt with far too much already however is the mosquito. I have never got on with this godforsaken insect and would actively play a part in eradicating them forever (more on this later).  

So, after a week in Vagator, we felt like it was time to pack up again and move on. Originally, our plan was to head south, but we’d heard a few people mention a beach further north that was quiet and absolutely stunning; as we have no fixed agenda, we decided to see what the fuss was about. When we were looking for a place to stay up there on-line  I came across somewhere a bit alternative: a yoga retreat where the accommodation was a luxury tent with a shared bathroom. None of these things would normally appeal to me, but when in Rome… So we booked for 2 nights and hoped for the best. We drove past signs for ‘The Mandala Resort’ in the taxi along the main beach road when, all of a sudden, the taxi took a turn down this dirt road. They weren't messing when they said we’d be staying in a tent – were we heading for some old camp-site  Actually, the place itself was situated within its own grounds and was, literally, an oasis of calm and tranquillity  I felt so relaxed the entire time we were there – it was as if we were at one with nature. Our tent (it was pretty big, with a double bed and wardrobe in) was situated in a coconut grove lined with palm trees, the shared bathroom situation was actually an open air wash room with separate shower cubicles and western toilets, and we fell asleep each night listening to the sound of the ocean. So, this beach everyone was harping on about… we set off to find it, and within 15 minutes we set foot onto white sand looking out at clear blue water. Ashvem/Mandrem beach is relatively untouched by tourists bar a huge presence of Russians – they seem to be the main tourists in Goa and they are slowly taking over the business here too. A lot of the menus at the beach bars were listed in both Russian and English and many taxi drivers were quick to inform us of their dislike towards them - their work was slowly drying up due to the influx of Russians arriving looking for jobs. Anyway, it was in this calm, Zen-like frame of mind that I decided to sign up for an 8.30am yoga class one morning. Now, I associate exercise with sweat – I don’t feel like I've done anything unless I'm pounding the treadmill or cross-trainer. If I'm honest, I've always done yoga/Pilates via a DVD at home when I've been too lazy to go to the gym; I viewed them as an ‘easy’ alternative. How wrong I was. Yoga isn't about how much you can sweat; it’s all about the breathing, holding the pose, focus and concentration. And believe me; the sweat pours out of you – especially in 30 degree heat! 4 of us did the 2 hour class in a marquee overlooking a river, and it must've been in this relaxed state that I failed to realise I’d been getting eaten alive by mosquitoes  It was only when I passed by a mirror after the class that I spotted my head looking like a dartboard! I’d only been bitten on the forehead, THE most noticeable place. Bloody things! After a thick layer of some anti-histamine cream (thanks Sue!) my forehead returned to a less swollen state. This experience in itself has put me off yoga (nothing to do with the aches and pains I felt for days after…)

2 nights was definitely not enough at Mandrem beach – it was far too ‘postcard’ like to just up and leave so suddenly. On one of our many strolls along the shore we noticed these beach huts set apart from the rest, buried in a cluster of palm trees. Beach huts definitely are the way to go in Goa – it’s all about the location! - So we went to enquire price-wise. The ‘Riva’ resort is actually still under construction – it’s going to be a beast of a place to stay once it’s all done – so we were able to negotiate a decent price for 2 nights. Now, when I say ‘decent’, it’s not in a traveller sense – what we paid probably could've fed us for a week. This has led to the apt nickname: ‘The Flashpackers’. Our room had a balcony, hot water, a proper mattress, a TV (I didn't speak to Him for the whole 2 days, he was in his element). So, budgeting might not be our strong point so far: to be fair, we've been ripped off a fair few times, and they say you always overspend in the first country you visit while travelling. Unfortunately, I've resigned myself to the fact that hostels and cold showers are going to be my foreseeable future, but you know what? The places I’ll see and the people I’ll meet will mean so much more than if there’s sufficient closet space for my ever growing collection of Ali Baba’s.

This is where the story ends for now… next stop on the agenda is Southern Goa which, according to my trusty guidebook, is ‘much more sedate than the North’ in terms of westerners. Brilliant. I best prepare myself for the Indian paparazzi-style onslaught on the beach then…