Weekend in Goa

This latest trip was absolutely perfect in every way.

We set off on Thursday the 16th. Took a train to Kolkata after ages – because road trips are taking too long lately – the Coalfield Express, which brought back a flood of old memories, then a cab to the airport. A long wait, then a two and half hour flight (try not to fly Spice Jet whenever you can avoid it; they invariably give you creepy moments, besides the cramped Boeing 737s, though Pupu had got us the front row, which was very considerably better) to the spanking new MoPa airport in north Goa. We arrived at the resort a little before 8 p.m. This – the Grand Leoney, close to the Marriot but much closer to the beach – was, on the whole, the very best place I have stayed at in all these years, and surprisingly enough, far from the most expensive, so that was a delight, since we stayed for three nights and four days.

Over the weekend, I discovered that we had also made the best possible choice of beach, the Vagator, with Anjuna beach close by: wide expanse, lovely view with the Chapora fort to the right upon a cliff overlooking the bay, not too crowded, restaurant right on the sand, various kinds of water sports if you are interested including scooter- and motorboat rides. We slept late and woke up sinfully late every day; breakfast was given the miss in favour of one kind of brunch or the other. On Friday we bathed in the sea, then hired a Fascino scooty and zipped around, visiting the fort, the Baga and Calangute beaches, and a little bookshop called Champaca. At Baga, after huffing and puffing up and down from the fort, where cool coconut water soothed our parched throats (the view reminded me of Simhachalam at Vizag) we spent a whole hour dozing on shaded and padded beachside deck chairs. At Calangute, we bought a bottle of port, but then ran away from the crowd. From the bookshop, I bought a new work on Tagore’s ecological thinking by a Vishwabharati scholar.

On Saturday we had a lovely late morning swim in the hotel pool, then made a trip to south Goa in  a rented car (the view of the Mandovi river from the swanky new bridge brings to mind the backwaters of Kerala), taking in the Basilica of Bom Jesus (not much impressed by Portuguese baroque architecture, and things like the mummified remains of St. Francis Xavier leave me cold), the Se Cathedral, and the adjoining museum of ancient and medieval art maintained by the Archaeological Survey of India, followed by a trip to Fort Aguada (the Taj resort is next door, and located in a neighbourhood which has unfortunately become terribly crowded – I would never dream of burning money staying in a locale like that!) and rounded up by a sight of Candolim beach, where we watched a glorious sunset. By the way, these little forts are a joke to people who have travelled around Rajasthan and Delhi: I wonder why the Mughals didn’t blast them off the earth when they could. The two late evenings we drank beer and chatted on the beach as only Pupu and I can do.

Sunday was spent lazing about, the highlights being a long spell in the sea at midday, followed by a very refreshing full-body massage and a very late lunch of prawn and rice, local style, along with the inevitable beer. A short snooze in the early evening, then packing up. We took a cab to Dabolim airport in south Goa (now called Goa International). Arriving at 10:30 p.m., we were horrified to see the crowd at the lounge, but mercifully it thinned out as flight after flight left. Ours – IndiGo – was at 2 a.m. There was a layover and change of flight at Jaipur, where I grumbled over a second-round security check and worried about losing our luggage in transit. However, we arrived without mishap at Delhi a little after 6:30 a.m. on Monday the 20th, and were home within an hour.

My impressions of Goa: you can see women in almost every state of undress if you are interested, though it’s rarely a pretty sight. Everyone seems to be drinking all the time (as a Bengali waiter remarked with irritation, liquor is the only thing that comes cheap). Food at the cafes is good but very expensive (many things on the menu, like shark steak, are generally unavailable), and they are mildly surprised if you only want a meal without drinks. So is transport, except for the Scootys. The eateries have all kinds of interesting names, like Nibbles and Jaws and Gin Mill and The Last Hangover. Most of the beaches are rather too crowded, and too many people keep soliciting custom all the time, offering everything from local handmade trinkets to parasailing. The common language is Konkani, but most people have at least passable English and a little Hindi. The weather was balmy, with the Celsius rising up to 33 and falling to 22, but the sun is hot and dazzling if you forget your sunglasses. And it can get clammy when the breeze drops. Most of the cafes play loud music almost non-stop. The foreign tourists are back post-pandemic in full force. Beef is openly available, despite Goa being ruled by the BJP now: I guess they know very well which side of the bread is buttered, and are scared of chasing away their biggest, if not only, source of revenue. The locals like to do everything in a slow, easygoing fashion, so don’t expect to be served pronto even if you are hungry. The landscape is an odd mix of high-urban and still-rural. People with Portuguese surnames are far less common than might have been expected, though one of the reception clerks was called Albuquerque. The roads are good, and new high rise condos are coming up all over the place. People come travelling by car from as far away as Kerala and UP. We saw a lifeguard at only one beach, and though I had expected changing rooms (or rather tin huts), there were none, exactly as in Bengal. Likewise, pillion riders don’t have to wear helmets mandatorily. Very few policemen are in evidence, not even traffic cops, so it must be a peaceful sort of place. Everyone buys hats and the trademark Goan shirts with palm tree motifs on them. For those who have deep pockets and extravagant tastes, there are ten-minute helicopter rides which cost eight thousand rupees per head, but no balloons, which I would have liked. Knowing that the sea is murky, I decided against snorkelling and scuba diving.

So now you can make up your own mind. One can have a jolly good short vacation while working online from time to time. No wonder it’s so popular with today’s young, as well as all kinds of corporates arranging workshops and conventions. Didn’t find out how much fun it would  be if you are travelling on a shoestring budget, though!

For photos click here.