And on to Palolem

Part 11 of the Adventure

Om Beach to Palolem

It was with regret that we left Om Beach, two weeks had not been nearly enough on the tiny tranquil beach, with her shells, her dogs, her sand and the rolling sea. Yet our adventure was now just over half way through and we still needed to explore the coast back up to Arambol.

We took down the hammock, packed our bags, hung the last of our shells around the restaurant and amid much hand shaking, hugs and smiles we walked for the last time along the beach towards the steps.

This time however we veered to the right just before the point and walked through a large restaurant called the Om Ganesh. Behind the restaurant a narrow track wound its way up the near sheer mountain side, red dust and stone, loose earth and grave clinging to the ground in not an altogether safe manner. Our rickshaw driver was roused from his bed on the top story of the restaurant and a wee bit blurry eyed he loaded us in and headed up the track!

It was a long painfully slow climb to the top, and more than once we wondered if we had made the right choice as our rickshaw lurched from one pot hole to the next, sliding ever so slightly but ever so definitely on the loose scree. The thought of having to lug the bags up 128 steps as the sun rose had made us chose this, until now, unknown option and I was glad to do the journey only the once!

At the now familiar bus stop we consumed our travel breakfast of biscuits, refilled our water bottles from the Public water tap pleased with the way our bodies had now adapted to the local water and settled down to wait for the bus that would take us on the 2 hour journey to Chaudi.

Both children have adapted to travel mode in a way only children can. For some journeys they peer bright eyed through the windows commenting on everything and nothing. On others, especially early morning starts, they nod off into oblivion only to awake an hour later refreshed and ready to go!

At Chaudi we climbed upon a tiny 24 seat bus, already bulging at the seams, stowing our bags in the even tinier boot. Ladies were given priority on the seats but with so many people, Angharad on my lap, her small bag tucked between my feet, bodies squeezed into the gaps between the seat back-rests, space was not a luxury any of us could enjoy. The good news was that as the bus lurched around corners no one moved, so tightly were we all packed inside our sardine tin.

The bus conductor had arranged people according to their stops, those going all the way to Palolem towards the back, other stops nearer to the front, but as we stopped and picked up more people, this order became crushed even further until it was near impossible for some people to reach the door to disembark. Still no one complained, no-one became short tempered, no one pushed or swore. Each person helped, as best they could, the person next to them, offering to pass a package, helping move the smaller children, smiling and bending until people had passed and the bus headed off once more.

At Palolem itself we re-entered the commercialisation that defines Goa's tourist areas. Touts gathered around the bus before we had fully disembarked shoving cards with pictures of huts, hotels and rooms under our noses, splitting partners and children as they each fought for attention. The bus began to move with our bags still in the boot and touts were quickly put aside as we banged on the bus panelling to make him stop.

With all our possessions safely by our feet we looked again at the thrust of cards and smiling faces. “How much?” we asked and the battle of the prices began. 400Rupee, 300 rupee, 250 rupee.

“400 very clean, big hotel, near beach!!” one called,

“300, free Wifi, ON the beach,” called another.

We turned to the Free Wifi man. After two weeks in Karnataka's Wifi dessert, we really needed a few days of internet to load Blogs, check e-mails and generally look to life outside of India.

“How far?” was our final question, “100m” came the reply and we were sold!

Touts do have their place in the world and can be a very useful commodity to someone newly arrived in a strange location. You are under no obligation to stay at the place they show you and some of the huts and rooms are so well hidden off the beaten track that without their guidance the tourist would possibly never find them. 

80m along the beach two shops stood either side of a narrow sandy path which in turn led to a gathering of beach huts raised off the ground on sturdy poles. Behind these lay a concrete block containing four spacious rooms, all neatly tiled, all with on-suite bathrooms and real running water!! A long covered and tiled terrace ran along the front of the rooms looking out onto the palm trees swaying above us.

“Good roof!” exclaimed our host, “Coconuts no problem!” he added grinning broadly.

We examined the rooms, nodded our approval and booked in for two nights with the option of more. We showered in hot sun-baked roof-tank water, still aware of our water impact and turning the shower off while we soaped up. We unpacked the bags and did our laundry, hanging the cleansed clothes along a washing line that ran the length of the terrace. We hung the hammock, wrote the journals and signed into the net of the W.W.Web to see if the rest of the world was still out there.

That afternoon as we explored our immediate surroundings a new plan began to form. Agonda beach, 6km north of Palolim, had been recommended by a fellow traveller while we were in Gokarna, Cola beach had also been mentioned.

For the price of 300 rupees, according to the girl in the internet office, a taxi could take us to both beaches, a taxi that would allow us to explore the area without our back packs, a taxi that would wait for our return and allow us to decide if we wanted to move on.

The plan sounded good and as we walked the entire length of the beach that evening in search of our supper the plan became firm.

Palolem beach is a tourist beach. In the Bourne Supremacy, our hero is seen running along the shore of an idyllic beach as waves lap the shore, what they didn't show you, from the opposite angle, are the wall to wall restaurants, beach huts, tourist shops and rope lights that curve their ways into the overhead palms. Palolem was busy when I came here in 2002, now the town fills the entire waterfront in a solid block of construction. Palm fronds still wave in the air, coconut still fall from time to time but roofs are now solid, restaurant floors are concrete, music systems intense, live music has that professional feel.

At the far end of the beach a long narrow bridge weaves its way partially up the rocks. At the beginning of the season a shallow stream flows beneath the bridge to the sea. Now it is dry, sand has filled the channel and the bridge looks out of place stretching out over the smooth flat sand of the beach.

At the end of the bridge steps lead at first upwards before plunging steeply down into a tiny cove. Beach huts of exquisite design are neatly spaced along the steep sides, two restaurants, one raised on poles that pushes it halfway up the cliff face, offer magnificent views across the sea onto the long stretch that is Palolem beach. A beach now lit by a myriad of coloured lights, silent from this distance and magical in the evening air.

We settled amongst the huge cushions, a low table just in front and pondered the magic of our adventures so far. Dinner no longer cost us the 400 rupees it had at Om Beach, even water had doubled in price but it was different, it was new and in a few days time we would leave once more.

The food arrived in stages, each dish cooked on one of the two tiny rings hidden in a screened off area deep below us. Smells wafted along the breeze making mouths water, bellies rumble as we waited patiently for supper to arrive.

I am sure I have possibly mentioned before, the time delay from ordering, to food appearance. One of the first things I learnt in India was to never wait until you were really hungry before finding somewhere to eat. It is different in the cities, there the service of wonderful steaming food is virtually instant but in the Beach front restaurants that spring up each summer, things are run on incredibly minimalistic facilities. It is quite a sobering thought to realise that so much can be produced on one or two rings and in no more that four pots!!

There is a true story told by a friend of mine who, many years ago, ordered a fish curry at some remote beach shack in the North of Goa. He settled down to wait as he was an experienced traveller and knew what to expect. He ordered a second beer and then a third as the clock slowly ticked away an hour. After an hour and a half he noticed the shack owner walking up the beach, rod in one hand, fish in the other. “Now we have fish” he beamed, “I make curry!” Matt ordered another beer and 20 minutes later ate one of the most amazing curries he has ever consumed.

Our food was just as delicious. It was served with beaming smiles and happy faces. The season is slowly coming to an end, soon these people will be packing up and heading back to their homes as the rains lash the Goan shores yet their enthusiasm, their happiness seems to last until the very end.

Full and content we slowly meandered back to our rooms, enjoying the cool evening air. We walked past the restaurants with their music turned down in accordance to the 11pm curfew and entered the silence of our rooms. We slept well, we slept deep and no coconuts fell on the good roof!!

(Sorry about the lack of photos – I have no idea why I didn't take any lol!!)