'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…