Goa: sit down and be quiet sir

(Here I am bottling the Goan sunshine to send your way)

Goa is huge. Goa can be anything you are looking for in a holiday, or everything you’re not: apparently it all depends on choosing the right beach. I’m sure frequent visitors to the Costa del sol could have told us this a long time ago! So where to go? The answer really depends on who you’re talking to, Goa can be cliquey. We discovered that if you’re looking for the 90’s trance DJ party scene with a sprinkling of illegal narcotics Anjuna’s your place (albeit a smaller scene these days).

But if finding enlightening and massaging your third eye, while stretching yourself into a hero pose is your thing, then Aranbol is definitely the right place for you. And those just looking for an Indian Style Costa del Sol, well Baga or Palolim are right up your alley. Then of course there are all those secret 5 star resorts, about which nobody we came into contact knew anything of! To the dismay of the travellers we met we were heading to Baga; package holiday and rich Indian weekend getaway central! Why? - because that’s where Malachy’s hand making guitar course is.

A henna painted dog hanging arround the guitar workshop!

The only available train deposited us to a station called Madgoan at 2am, far from where we needed to be. We boarded early the previous day to a full compartment, where we had to move extra people from our beds and all our luggage space was used up. We eventually almost squashed our bags under the seat, under the watchful eye of a rude Indian man who insisted that the bag taking up all our space wasn’t his.

Mal: Well whose is it then?

Rude man: Another passenger, he’ll be right back. Sit down over there.

Mal: (Private comments to me)

Twenty minutes later, long after our departure

Mal: What did the man look like who owns this bag?

Rude man: There’s no problem, don’t worry about the bag.

Mal: Well there is a problem, the bag is taking up all the room, I have no space for my legs and they are touching yours!

Rude man: just sit over there (pointing to where I’m sitting)

Mal: My wife is sitting there, this is my seat, that’s not my bag and if it’s not your bag, and we can’t find the owner, it’s dangerous.

Rude man: (Laughing) it’s not dangerous, that’s impossible.

Mal: I’m going to find the conductor and report the bag

This is a few weeks after the Mumbai attacks; bombs on Indian trains are unfortunately a frequent occurrence. Mal eventually finds the conductor, who ignore him at first and then tries to reassures Mal that the bag is safe (even thought he hasn’t seen the bag).

Conductor: It’s not possible to be a bomb sir, don’t worry sir, it’s very safe on this train. I will check it shortly.

He never did check the bag, the ‘owner’ never appeared, the bag disappeared when the family left.

This is India.

The taxi vultures were waiting outside the gates at our arrival to take advantage of us weary souls, but we weren’t to be broken! A budget’s a budget and the train or buses are our only options (until my sister Demelza arrives!). Unfortunately those options don’t avail themselves at 2am and even if they did, who wants to look for accommodation at that hour? So a bench for a bed until 6am became our home (once again!).

The train we arrived on was full full full of small cockroaches and after the second one crawled across my hand/face that was the end of attempted sleep for me. A 6am train, followed by a tuk-tuk, then a bus and one more bus left us in Calangute, right next to where we wanted to be with the usual search

for accommodation ahead! Nobody said travelling was easy!

Accommodation sorted, and after a nap, we checked out Calangute, it’s right next to Baga (where the guitar course is) you can walk from one to the other, or they really just merge in one busy shop/restaurant road. As said, Calangute is really the Costa del Sol for rich Indians. It was Sunday and it was PACKED with Indians completely dressed looking around at each other and staring/perving at any foreigners in a bikini. We didn’t really like the vibe there.

We then walked down to Baga beach, which was similar but not as busy, but then again it was getting late in the evening.

But I’m happy to report that Baga is actually really nice. It’s less hectic, I guess a lot of the Brits on holiday returned home after Christmas, but there is still a good vibe around.

The guitar workshop is a few minutes walk from the beach in a jungle area, hence the name: Jungle Guitars. We decided to stay close by thankfully finding a nice room in a lovely quite corner. From our room, we can walk over the little jungle hilltop and get to Anjuna beach, which takes about 10-15 minutes. This beach is nice with a chilled out hippy vibe- although some of the sun bathers look like walking skeletons. I guess taking lots of drugs and parting all night has some benefits!! Unfortunately I can't resist yummy foord!

Anjuna used to be the happening place for massive raves and trance parties, but due to the clamp down on loud music after 10pm these parties have moved further away. You’ll see more beautiful Russians on the beach-taking advantage of their new special visa gateway- then ravers. Anjuna also has the ‘famous’ flee market every Wednesday, which we went to but managed to avoid parting with much money. There is nothing like a heavy backpack to discourage shopping and accumulating crap. The market reminded me of going to car boot in England- minus the car boots!

So Baga became our home for the next three weeks while Mal laboured over the birth of our first born, and boy is she a beauty: Indian rose wood back and sides, Sitka spruce top, mahogany neck and rose wood fret board. I think he loves her more then me right now!