'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...