Beaches and Biking

Palolem, Goa, India

In this blog: quiet beaches, a rural village, a one armed beach poet and a funk-soul party.

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This follows part one the Palolem blog - I kindly suggest read that one first. Only if you feel like it. You don't have to. No pressure.

18th Feb

Beautiful paddy fields

After a couple of lazy days on the beach at Palolem, it was time to get out and about and see the local area, so naturally I hired a bicycle; a pretty terrible creaky single-geared Indian thing, and hit the road. Since arriving in Goa it's been about 32° and sunny every day, but this day it was even hotter, maybe 'cause of a lack of breeze. Knowing the present weather at home, I know I'm getting no sympathy discussing this! Drowning in my own sweat, I followed my nose and went inland through a small town, along quiet roads, over a large river, through some nice jungle and some small villages. I passed some locals removing silt from the river by hand, saw a very Indian take on what a Catholic Church should look like, and went along a road that cut through the middle of some beautiful vivid green paddy fields, fringed all around by palm trees. It ended up being about a twenty mile loop, which eventually led me back to the coast.

Galgibad beach, aka Turtle beach

Turtle beach, when I eventually reached it was a revelation - a very peaceful and undeveloped place with very few people around; just a few simple huts and cafés set back from the beach amongst the trees, and a mile-long stretch of sand. It was a total contrast to busy Palolem and I absolutely loved the tranquility of it - a rarity in India. In fact, it was like back in Cornwall for a couple of hours.

Back in Palolem that night, I wandered along the beach to see what was occurring, bumping into Hans and his friends at a small gig along the way, where some Westerners played Indian instruments like the sitar and tabla. It was a bit embarrassing to watch, not cause they lacked skill, but was a bit like watching white people doing black rap music. The traditional Hindi songs were pretty dull, but their versions of western music such as a couple of Rolling Stones songs were plain awful. That's free gigs for you. Whilst sat there one of Hans' friends told us a yarn about how he was once installing a fountain in the home of Eric Clapton. Walking through his house he cheekily picked up a guitar thinking no-one was around and started playing it, only for Eric himself to walk in and rather than get annoyed, instead gave him a half hour guitar lesson. Lucky guy.

We later went to a silent disco - music in Goa is banned after 10pm, so a couple of venues hire out wireless headphones to party goers and the party continues. I'd tried this before at Glastonbury a few years ago and whilst fun, in many ways it's just a bit of a novelty, but ended up being good fun, and not as anti-social as it sounds, as you can talk easily in the silence when slip off the headset. I met and hung about with Emily and Milly for a quite a while - a couple of young and slightly snobby English girls who were actually quite fun, and later bumped into a group of people from Okehampton of all places. Can't get away from those Devonians. 

19th Feb

Deserted Talpona beach

After enjoying the peace and solitude of Turtle beach the day before, I headed south on the hire bike again, to another remote sandy bay backed by a long line of trees, which was even quieter and less developed again. So much so, that I was the only person on this mile long stretch of sand some of the time - a complete surprise in the country where you can't normally escape people for even a second. After a relaxing day of reading on the beach and in the makeshift cafe behind, I braved the local dogs on the journey back. Indian dogs, stray or owned, seem to go a little loopy after dusk. I was warned of this by a local, and carried some stones in my pocket to try and scare them off when needed, but these were hardy dogs and I still had to pedal pretty fast to escape the blighters a time or two. 

Back in Palolem that evening, walking along the beach I found myself drawn like a mosquito to skin into a packed cafe along the beach, where funk-soul tunes were blaring out and the place was jumping. The music this time was absolutely fantastic, and I had a great time dancing with three French ladies in their sixties, friends of friends from the cooking course - they still had the moves. Afterwards on the beach outside, I hung around with German Hans, and English Emily and Milly, watching  an Indian fire dancer. This guy was good - he starting by spinning a long pole with each end on fire, then moved on to fire poise, jumping through a flaming hoop, and his finale of filling his mouth with presumably paraffin (Indian H&S again), and blowing out huge fireballs into the night sky.

20th Feb

Sunset at Agonda beach

After cycling north about six miles and spending the day at Agonda beach, I returned to Palolem and that evening and bumped into Emily and Milly at a beach cafe, so had a few drinks with them and a couple of their friends. A young Indian guy came up to us and introduced himself as 'the beach poet'. With a large number '7' tattooed on his neck, and his left arm missing he was quite the character, and makes his living by reading poetry to people on the beach in return for tips. Being late at night he gave us a free poem, maybe as an appetiser, hoping for us to scream 'more poetry, MORE POETRY!'. To be fair he was actually pretty funny, and it was quite a novel idea. Only in India.

21st Feb

Beer time with Aussie Shaun

My Australian friend Shaun, who'd I'd previously hung around with in Rishikesh and Mumbai arrived in Palolem, along with Oz (coincidental name) - his German mate of Kurdish-Turkish origin; a switched on and funny guy. We met up at nearby Patnem beach for a sunset beer and ended up having a really good laugh and talking crap for hours. Walking back later, I came across Aurelia and Christophe in a bar, a French couple I'd met a few days before so finished the night having a beer and talking to them before yet another late bedtime.

22nd Feb

Ride to Chapoli dam

Village in the hills near Palolem

Cycled inland a few miles into the mountains to Chapoli dam, a place that I saw on the map that turned out to be well off the tourist radar. With a steep hill, one gear on my bike, and once again 32° sun with no breeze, I was a sweaty mess. With no-one else in sight, I sat by the quiet lake for a while relaxing, watching eagles flying overhead. Cycling further up into the hills, I reached a dead end at a remote village and stood there for a few minutes, looking around at the basic houses, dried-out rice terraces and a volleyball area, a sport which seems popular in Goa. Some women were drying out rice grains on the concrete playground of the local school, and a few buffalo wandered the roads on their own. A lad in his twenties came and talked to me in broken English, neither of us really understanding each other. 

At sunset, I met up with Aussie Shaun and German Oz on the beach again for a sundowner, later watching a live band whilst sat on the beach, and having Chinese noodles and a beer or two. Another fun night. 

23rd Feb

I headed southwards along the coast for the day across three different beaches, scrambling round the rocks to get between each. The further I got the quieter and more beautiful they were. I realised time was ticking and I'd been in Palolem over a week, when that night I found myself at the weekly reggae gig again, along with Aussie Shaun and German Hans. I got talking to a Scottish woman who was stereotypically loud and drunk, yet still composed enough to be good fun, and after sensible talk on Scottish independence, she helped me to fine tune my Scottish impersonation which was 'nearly impressive' apparently. 

24th Feb

A quiet day of blog writing and catching up on sleep after quite a few late nights. The only highlight was hiring a sea kayak for an hour, and paddling round a small island just offshore. With the sun setting, gentle rolling waves passing by, and the odd fishing boat on the horizon it was one of thos perfect moments that really brings a smile to your face. A great ending to three weeks in Goa. 

Goa had been infectious. I'd stayed a bit longer than I intended, but after six months on the move I had no issue with that. It was a holiday from a holiday. A time to relax, read, meet people, and party. I could never argue travelling is stressful, but it was good to have a break from getting up at a sensible hour, from being on the move all the time, from culture, poverty, uncomfortable transport, noise, seeing stuff and haggling. Imagine if you went to your favourite restaurant every single night, or spent all day, every day with your best friends; you'd probably get bored of it. The experience of travelling is similar - you can have too much of a good thing. 

But it's a big exciting world with lots to see though, and after three weeks I felt suitably rested and ready to move on, ready to get back out there and make the most of the great opportunity I have.

Catholic church, Indian style

Indian buffalo eating out with friends

Riverbed labourers

Indian spotted eagles flying overhead at Chapoli dam

Villagers drying out rice grains

Nearly Paradise

Palolem, Goa, India

In this blog: a 450 year old corpse, gigs and parties on the beach, a cooking course and a spot of cycling.

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After a nice, but slightly dull few days in Vagator in North Goa, I headed to the South Goa coastal village of Palolem - known as a bit of a hub for independent travellers. Like the previous week or so in North Goa, most days in Palolem seemed to revolve around walking, swimming, lazing on the beach, hanging out in beachside cafés, reading, podcasts and meeting people - good to do, but pretty boring to read about so I've tried to cut it down to a few highlights below.

Palolem beach - nearly paradise

Palolem is a place of outstanding natural beauty, though slightly ruined by development over the past twenty years or so. Compared to other parts of Goa it's better looked after however, with the council banning hawkers from flogging stuff, keeping the con men away, and picking rubbish daily so it's not all bad. It also seems to be quite literally Little Britain - I've not come across so many Brits since I left home. Some on holiday, some spending the winter there. Most of them nice, but I came across a few less desirables such as an ex-con couple and some lager louts. On the whole I loved the place though - not over busy by day, but busy enough by night.

I arrived knowing no-one, but managed to meet quite a few people over the week, to the point that after a short wander along the beach of an evening I always came across someone I knew to hang out with - a nice experience after several quieter weeks on the social front.  A mix of English, Scots, Germans and French mostly, with the odd Dane, Swede, Indian and Ukrainian thrown in for good measure. 

15th Feb

Started the day in Vagator with an Indian breakfast I'd had every day for the past week - Poori Bhaji. This consists of a doubled up roti bread which is deep fried so it comes out as big puffy discs, and is served with a non-spicy veg curry. Using your fingers, and trying not to burn them at first, you tear strips from the bread, double it up and pinch the veg between - in the manner you do with many Indian dishes. A great breakfast which really keeps you full for hours.

Leaving Vagator, I set off heading south to Palolem. Despite it being less than seventy miles away, this involved taking six different buses but unbelievably for India, I didn't have to wait more than a minute for the next one to depart each time, what are the chances of that I thought? 

Cathedral at Old Goa

Coffin of St Francis Xavier

I did a little detour along the way to a town called Old Goa - the former capital of the region of Goa when it was a Portuguese colony, but mostly abandoned in the seventeenth century due to cholera outbreaks. As I was en-route to Palolem, this meant spending two hours walking round with my heavy main backpack as there was nowhere to leave it - not the most pleasant of things in a breezeless 32° sunny day I tell you! The buildings were all typically Portuguese in style and interesting to see, but the most interesting part was the Basilica of Bom Jesus - a church where the body of St Francis Xavier is kept in a glass sided coffin resting on a plinth. Despite dying hundreds of years ago, his body 'miraculously' stayed well preserved (though fairly shrivelled now), and bizarrely they open it up and carry it through the streets every ten years for everyone to see. He is however missing a toe which someone curiously bit off, and an arm which was given to the Pope as a gift!

Digs

Arriving late afternoon in Palolem, I walked a mile or two from an inland village to the coast with a recently married British couple from the bus, who are travelling India for a few months as their honeymoon, nice idea. My digs this time were as simple as it comes - a small bamboo and palm leaf hut raised on stilts, set amongst other huts about twenty metres from the beach, with only an outside toilet and cold shower - basic but fantastic.

I headed out along the beach that evening, which in between the swaying palm trees is lined with many restaurants. The evening started a bit dull, having tea in a place full of ignorant London geezaas watching Premiership football. Moving on I found a venue with a live band playing, and got talking with a guy at the bar who I thought was English due to his near-perfect English accent, but turned out to be a German guy called Hans (what else?!) who'd lived in England for eight years. A 48 year old train driver, like many people here he comes to Palolem on holiday every year so knows it inside out, and thereafter I ended up bumping into him most evenings at the various gigs and parties that happened around town.

16th Feb

Elsewhere in India you often wake up in the morning (or night) to the sound of traffic, beeping and shouting. In coastal Palolem though, it's sometimes cockerels calling, wild boar snorting, and crows crowing, or on my first morning there - the sound of waves crashing in on the beach nearby - not the worst wake up call. 

Near to my hut was a slackline tied between two trees about a foot from the ground - a bit like a tightrope, except a fabric strap. Along with a French guy, we had a go at learning to walk it later that day. At first it was a pretty disastrous effort, but we slowly got better, eventually both being able to do nine or ten steps until it got too bouncy in the middle and we could go no further. I really enjoyed learning a new skill and spent a little bit of time on it every day though never got that good - the circus hasn't called yet anyway.

In the evening, a live reggae band were performing at the end of the beach at a busy venue in a little cove surrounded by palm trees - a perfect location. The music was fairly average, but I hung out with the English couple from the day before and it turned out a pretty fun night nonetheless.

17th Feb

Cooking course

After another day on and around the beach, I booked to do something different - an Indian cooking course. I've eaten so much Indian food now, it would be sacrilege to keep using those crappy jars of sauce from the supermarket when I eventually get home. I also thought it would be a good way to meet people, maybe even some girls for a change. No such luck - the group comprised an Irish couple, and three gay English/French guys! 

The dishes on the cards were butter chicken, fish byriani, mushroom masala, chicken vindaloo and chapatti bread. Rahul the instructor was very good - down to earth, patient and knowledgable, and at different times either split the group in two, or gave us individual tasks to do - chopping, stirring, adding spices etc. Indian cooking turned out to be quite complex, for me anyway, involving a huge range of spices and many steps - often the meat and certain veg and spices are cooked separately then combined at the end. I see Indian cooking as 'modular cooking' - many of the different dishes are from the same ingredients, but just made using different quantities and methods. It was good fun and pretty interesting, even for someone who generally hates cooking, but there were two especially good bits at the end - 1) we didn't have to wash up, and 2) we got to eat it all! And very good it was. 

Our group got on well, and went for a drink afterwards, also meeting-up with some French friends of theirs who I got talking to. After just a few minutes, one of the girls - Aurelie - said to me 'so what do you think about French people?'. Oh hang, sensitive subject. I hesitated, trying to think of a diplomatic answer, and she laughed knowing this. All the French people I've met whilst travelling are first of all very nice, but also quite aware of the tendencies of some of their fellow countrymen, and I carefully explained my view before she fortunately smiled and agreed. 

Continues in a couple of days...

Local going net fishing on the river near Palolem beach

Typical house in Goa - bright, bizzare, gaudy

Lunch one day - it's not all curries -
masala omelette and salad papad

River near Palolem beach

Goa To The Beach

Arumbol, Goa, India

In this blog... I go to the beach, have my palm read and see a load of live music

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Goa is synonymous with India, but in reality isn't the real India at all. One of the country's 28 states, the former Portuguese colony was only taken back as part into India about fifty years ago, giving it a much more laid back and European feel than the rest of India. For me personally it's always eluded thoughts of swaying palm trees, hippies, and trance music, and indeed I've found that to be the reality. But with Arumbol at least, it's heyday as a travellers paradise appears have since past, with hoards of tourists, commercialisation, unplanned development, and police rules taking away the relaxed magic it would have had in the sixties. That said, it's still a very appealing destination and in many places beautiful. It's just not paradise.

Naturally it's fair to say the past week or so hasn't been action packed or cultural like the previous few, and the pace of life has slowed down to that of a turtle. It's a nice change in many ways, but doesn't necessarily make great reading, so I'll spare you the full diary and pick out a few bits. 

Arumbol beach

Waking up on the night bus from Pune, I was shattered, having reminded myself that the irony in the phrase 'sleeper bus' is that it's very hard to actually get any kip due to the constant moving around whilst you lay down. Arriving in the inland town of Mapusa, I shared a taxi to the coast with a German girl who'd also been on the bus, and once at the large coastal village of Arumbol had breakfast with her at a little vegan cafe, her choice I add, before heading different ways. Arumbol is a pretty, laid-back village in the north of Goa, dominated by a strange mix of hippies and Russians, and sometimes Russian hippies. Indians are most definitely the minority for once. The long white-sand beach is beautiful, and backed by a small jungle of palm trees, indispersed with lovely little makeshift bamboo huts you can stay in, but after asking in about ten different places I disappointingly found nothing available, so went to a boring ol' guesthouse in the village behind instead.

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I started my time in Goa as I meant to go on - with a doze, some lunch at a nearby cafe, a walk along the beach and a late-afternoon beer at another place on a quiet rocky piece of coast. These small bamboo and palm leaf cafés seem to dominate the whole stretch of coastline, and are great hang-out spots with their nice seats and sunloungers. Most days thereafter consisted of various combos of hanging out with people, reading, writing, walking, swimming and listening to my new-found passion - podcasts. I finished off the book I'd been reading - What Young India Wants - an interesting read which seemed to boil down India's problems to government corruption, lazy politicians, an undemanding population that only votes for people for their own caste, Simon-says schooling and a lack of creativity generally. 

The highlight of the first day was a trip to the doc, I say highlight as this was thankfully my last rabies vaccination, after a month of weekly jabs following the dog bite on New Year's Day. Come get me dogs, cause I'm immune! The process of getting the jabs has varied whichever town I'd been in at the time - one was at a pharmacy where a guy, hopefully a nurse, turned up on his motorbike and did it. Another was done at a backstreet pharmacy by the owner himself, another whilst sat in the back of a open fronted pharmacy, and one in a fairly posh clinic by a nurse, and the cost every time -just £1 (100 rupees).

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Abiah and Lambo

The first couple of days in Arumbol I found it difficult to meet people to hang out with, thanks to the majority either being couples, stoners, or large clique groups. But as the week went on at various points I briefly met and hung out with a couple of Finnish guys, some Israeli girls, a German electrician who helped to build the Fendt tractor factory, and a Spanish guy who by chance I'd met in Pune a few days before. Yes, a very male dominated place again. On the third evening at the nightly sunset drum circle on the beach, where foreigners bring along a drum and jam away whilst others dance wildly in front, I spotted a familiar face. One that's hard to miss since he's a 6'6" dreadlocked Dutch guy, known by his pals in India as Lambo - the Hindi word for tall. I tried to think where I'd seen him before, then remembered back to East/West cafe in Rishikesh, northern India, where I'd hung out a number of times back in December. Along with an Israeli girl we met the next day, most evenings over the week the three of us hung out together, which was great since we shared a similar sense of humour, and as with many people from both those nations, they spoke perfect English. 

Typical scene outside the crazy Love Temple resort

One morning I awoke to the sound of laughter outside. It was a very strange laughter though, continuous and very forced sounding. Was this some sort of early-morning stand-up comedy extravaganza consisting of just one-liners I wondered? Even better - it turned out to be people doing laughter yoga, at a strange beachside resort nearby, interestingly named the Love Temple. This placed seemed to be the epicentre of hippiedom in Arumbol, with the beach outside filled with dreadlocked and tattoo covered people meditating, learning various circus skills, smoking pot and generally fulfilling the stereotype you come to expect. It sounds like I'm hippie bashing here, but I did meet one or two by end of the week who were quite fun and engaging. Still not my scene though.

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Nightly drum circle at sunset

Soon after hearing said laughter yoga, the noise from my room changed to Goa's signature sound - trance music, coming from the roof of our hotel where it turned out a Russian guy was interestingly living in a bamboo-framed cotton tent, and practicing his DJing outside. But trance wasn't the only music to be found in Arumbol, 'cause there's also a good live music scene. One evening I watched a couple of American acoustic guitarists who surprised me with their creativeness, another evening a live reggae performance consisting of various travellers who seemed to have formed a band for a few days.

The best though was a live jam session in a tiny makeshift cafe, run by a hilarious Tibetan guy known as Cookie who's catchphrase was greeting everyone with a funny Mary Poppins-esq 'hello'. This live jam session had a mix of people playing acoustic guitars, an accordion, a bongo and a bass guitar all coming together in fantastic quirky manner. It was so infectious that they went on long past the 10pm noise curfew enforced in the town, and Cookie got taken off by the cops! 'Its not the first time, nor the last' he said the next day smiling. A couple of the beach cafés sometimes paid a bribe, sorry bought a licence, from the local police to stay open til 3am. So two or three nights we ended up out 'til closing time at these great beachside trance parties, with some excellent foreign DJ's, and everyone either inside or on the beach dancing around barefoot. It was fantastic, and I loved the laid back feel to it all.

You may recall a few weeks back I wrote about getting my palm read. I couldn't help but think at the time it was a load of tosh, just someone picking out the obvious or generalising to get my cash. To be fair I had it done in a gem shop, where they guy obviously just wanted to flog birthstones 'to balance your jupiter' as he said... Hmmm. Lambo was telling us how he'd learnt to read palms over the past couple of years, and knowing he was a genuine guy and all he'd want in return was a beer, I asked him to read mine. This time I felt a little more convinced that there might be at least something to it, partly 'cause I trusted him but also because the outcome was more accurate. His reading described my personality and past with a depth beyond an acquaintance of two days, and told me some interesting future predictions, and whilst there was a couple of things that didn't quite tie up, he did admit as much. The trouble for me with someone predicting your path ahead is that it's based on the notion of the future being pre-destined, written already, but as with most people I tend to believe that the future is based on a mixture of preparation and chance so can't be predicted. That said, whilst not completely convinced I now believe there might be a bit of something to it, and recommend palm reading to anyone for a bit of fun or curiosity as long as it's done by someone you trust.

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Trees along the shoreline

The beaches around Arumbol are beautiful, and surprisingly clean for a nation that leaves their rubbish wherever they like, and great to stroll along. Indians for once were the minority, but the few Indian tourists never ceased to make me smile, jumping around and playing in the water like ten year olds, I guess it's the first time in the sea for many of them. In this conservative and sexist country as ever the groups were mostly men, who go in the water either fully dressed or in their underwear, and when you did see a woman on the beach or sea they were generally covered up in saris or loose t-shirts. One day I wandered off behind the beach up a narrow sheltered valley, to a fantastic big banyan tree that people talked about - with a spiders-web of branches drooping to the ground. It seems the tree is quite an attraction for the hippies and there was a circle of them sat at the base if it smoking pot with an Indian sadhu - an old holy man sat in a white robe giving them pearls of wisdom. It was a strange sight, but not as much as when I wandered down one of the small paths that led away from it, to find a few groups of hippies living in small camps in the woods. Sometimes in tents, sometimes just sleeping in the open air.

Catholic church, Indian Goa style

Goan food is a little different to the rest of India, with more emphasis on meat and fish, and some different Indian dishes that I'd not seen elsewhere in the country, such as xacuti (chicoti) and vindaloo - the latter not having the notorious spicyness as at home. Or maybe my spice tolerance has just gone through the roof. I also found and ate beef for the first time in India, not generally eaten as cows are sacred in Hinduism, but with Goa having a high Christian population and lots of foreign tourists, things are a little more relaxed. The beef wasn't terrible, but the finest steak of Philip Warren butchers' it certainly was not. Alcohol is another difference in Goa - much cheaper (lower taxes) and available everywhere, rather than just a few tightly controlled shops elsewhere - Portuguese influence again.

Arumbol grew on me over the eight days I was there; it was quite moorish and I'd ended up quite liking it. But Goa is a big area with lots to see, so I headed next a few miles south in search of quieter beaches and better nightlife.

Of course there's cows on the beach, this is India!

Fresh water lake behind the beach