The Goa Way

Vagator, Goa, India

In this blog... cows on the beach, snakes in the bushes, drug dealers in the shadows, and peace and quiet on the cliffs.

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It's been a long time since the last update - the slow Goa way of life has obviously got to me, but fear not, normal service will now be resumed.

After eight days in the north Goa beach town of Arumbol, I headed twenty miles or so south to the coastal village of Vagator, via a couple of shared taxis and a bit of walking. Less hippies, nicer beaches and more bit nightlife were the draws, but only the first two ended out to be true.

Fishing boats at Vagator

I was struck straight away by how much more chilled out it was than Arumbol. More space, less people, less commercialism - more the Goa I expected in the first place. I found a very basic, clean and as ever, brightly painted room in a guesthouse for £4 a night, and headed to the beach, with my walking shoes on ready for a stroll. I was warned the beach would be full of bus loads of excitable Indian day trippers, and consequently very busy and noisy, but in reality it turned out to be pretty quiet most of the time, with beautiful white sand fringed by a sloping grass hill behind. I spent a couple of hours walking along and around the rocky headland, doing a bit of scrambling and easy climbing along the bottom of the cliffs at a few points, exploring small isolated beaches. After an hour or so I came across a small harbour full of local fishing boats. Many fishermen were hanging around together on the boats, some were making repairs but most just lazing about or sleeping. The boats were all wooden hulled and pretty crude, with flaking paint and many botched repairs - there's no way you'd catch me out on one.

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View from the cliffs towards Anjuna

I stopped at a small cafe for Chinese mushroom noodles, before walking for another hour or two around the small quiet roads of the area, trying a custard apple at a fruit stall for the first time along the way. A strange dimpled fruit with a deceiving name, it's actually more along the lines of an avocado than an apple, but instead with many seeds inside coated in what could actually be mistaken for custard, and fairly testing on the patience to actually eat. A few miles later I found myself walking up into the hills behind the coast, across a large expanse of scrubby plain with no people in sight - very rare in India and immediately relaxing. I reached the cliffs and hung out on a rock for an hour or so listening to music, taking in the amazing view along the coast both ways, and enjoying the sunset. 

The disappointment that night was that far from Vagator having great nightlife as I understood, the town was pretty dead. I went to a local tourist bar, and talked to a couple of English guys at the bar for an hour or so - one holidaying on his way to emigrate to Australia, and the other living there full time. Both were decent enough to talk to but turned out to be quite the fan of recreational drugs, the latter describing himself as a 'retired drug dealer' to the rich and famous. 'I dealt to George Osbourne, and have a photo of him doing a line, it's my passport out of any trouble' so he said. Probably total bull, but who knows! I didn't exchange contact details funnily enough.

The next day was a relaxing one mostly spent on another nearby beach nicknamed 'spaghetti beach' due to the amount of Italians who go there. This was quite obvious, with too many older men in speedos (not pretty) and women in skimpy bikinis. I spent the day reading, listening to podcasts, swimming, and of course eating pasta. This being India, it was no normal beach though. First you have the hawkers - local women in saaris walk up and down the beach all day persistently flogging jewellery, sunglasses and other tat. You have the odd beggar, demanding small change. There's the amusing sight of the herd of cows who wander down to the beach in the morning after being fed by their owners and back in the evening, after spending the day sunbathing - there must have been a good thirty or so cows on this small beach, with one herd of about fifteen all sat lying together in a group soaking up the rays - a sight to make you smile. There's also the many stray dogs, who also spend the day lazing about, when they're not having the odd play fight, swim or spot of cow chasing.

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And then you have the ear cleaner - that's right, another very Indian profession. I've seen them elsewhere before, often at bus stations where a guy carefully cleans out the ears of other locals whilst they sit waiting. Here though, they've turned it into a tourist scam whereby an innocent looking local Indian casually says hello as you pass him, then ten seconds later chases you saying you have something your ear. He then in the flash of an eye, pokes his finger in your ear before you have chance to stop him, pulling out earwax which in actual fact he actually put in there himself. Yes, disgusting! This happened to me a couple of weeks back in Pune, and I could tell straight away what the guy was upto and immediately walked off telling him what I thought. On spaghetti beach though, you clearly watch them targeting tourists, the odd one falling for it, and the guy magically pulling out his cleaning kit and getting to work. 

Anjuna beach

Not exactly a Harley Davidson

The following day I wanted to get out and about, so I hired a scooter for the day and went exploring. The roads around the area were pretty quiet, much less chaotic than other states in India, and the local scenery very nice with small colourful villages, a few lakes, and thousands of palm trees growing naturally. I went south to Anjuna, a small village and thin strip of beach, and as I rode down a dirt track into the makeshift tourist area a local attempted to flag me down, furiously yet quietly shouting out a menu of drugs he had as I passed, whilst others tried to lure me into their shops whilst I was still riding - these hawkers were extreme. 

Needless to say a quick stroll on the beach was enough before getting out of this dive. Further south, I stopped in the town of Calungate for lunch - the biggest resort in Goa, and as far as I was concerned, pure hell - a beach packed with loud and uncouth package-holidaying Russians, Indians and Brits, people on jetskiis roaring around, tacky shops, and more hawkers. It was more overdeveloped Spain than beautiful Goa. I got out quick, heading back north, and spent a few hours reading on the beach at Morjim, a long, pretty and fairly quiet beach where turtles sometimes nest.

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View over Vagator beach from the fort

The final day in Vagator was spent locally again. I walked to an old Portuguese fort looming above one end of the beach and had a wander around for a while. The views along the coast were fantastic, but the deladapadated fort was basically just a walled enclosure without much to see. Walking back down the steep path to the beach, I heard a rustling in the bushes next to me. I instantly assumed it was small birds moving about. I then realised it was at ground level, and stopping to look realised it was a snake. An actual wild snake, crawling past less than two metres away. The hairs on my neck stood up, my shoulders tightened, and I walked on down the hill a little faster than before. It was no baby either, with a girth of at least 1.5 to 2 inches, and from the bit I could see, quite a length. Slightly chilling I must admit, but we agreed to leave each other alone.

After spending the rest of the day on the beach, I headed out that night in search of the nightlife I'd heard about. Once again, Vagator proved to be disappointingly quiet of an evening, devoid of other like-minded travellers, and generally a bit dull. I got talking with a couple of Dutch brothers at a restaurant, who invited me to join them for a beer at what turned out to be a hostel full of other young travellers. There's not many hostels in India 'cause a room in a guesthouse is so cheap, so I was surprised to find this hidden away spot full of young travellers. I turned out to be the old man amongst this bunch of mostly 18 to 25 year olds, most of whom conformed to the 'young hippie in India' stereotype, wearing tie died t-shirts and brightly patterned baggy trousers, with dreadlocked hair and piercings, and talking of turning vegetarian, doing yoga, and finding themselves, whilst simultaneously and quite ironically, ordering a take away Dominos pizza and constantly looking at Facebook on their smartphones. 'Blenders' I've amusingly heard this type of traveler called - people trying to blend in with the natives, but instead looking like a right bunch of plonkers and standing out even more. It was a bit of a crack, but none of them were really the sort I'd normally hang out with, so I called an early night, ready to move on the next day.

I've got conflicting thoughts on Vagator. In some ways it was disappointing - a bit dull, devoid of other travellers, and maybe a waste of time, but in other ways I'd seen some interesting stuff and had a relaxing few days on my own. I wasn't done with Goa yet though, it's a state about the size of Cornwall with lots to see, so the next day I headed south to what was supposed to be one of the most beautiful spots - the town of Palolem.

Custard apple

Open plains above Vagator

I came back to me room one night to find not just one, but
two invaders- A Gekho and a red cockroach. I didn't let them stay.