Falls and Spices, Following The Tourist Trail in Goa

Blog Part 5

Falls and Spices

Having made all the necessary arrangements, agreed a price plus the various destinations, we woke early the day after our trek to the Fort, to join Rajesh in his super little Taxi for an entire day of trips and tourist style money spending.

We settled into the 2 hour journey to the falls, (the furthest point of our travels) stopping once or twice to pick up cooling water, fresh rolls from a passing, horn tooting, cycling bread boy,and also some fuel for the Taxi.

Near the Western border of Goa with Karnataka we turned right, travelled another 2 or 3 k South and eventually entered a small village full of what looked like total chaos but is in fact totally under the careful orchestration of the Head Jeep man. Taxis crept forward, cars reversed tooting their horns, cows ambled through the throng, oblivious to the noise, while every person stepping out of a vehicle and onto the street was immediately surrounded by half a dozen street sellers trying to ply their wares.

Above this cacophony of sound and movement comes the unmistakable voice of the conductor as he plays out the symphony of the day.. “You, How many people?”, “You, 700 Rupees, pay your driver entrance at the gate!”, “You three, 1800Rupees, stand over there!”, “You six, go with him!” “You there, you join these people and go with this man!”. All is arranged, the crowd gets smaller, more taxi's arrive to disgorge their occupants into the medley. The music flows and ebbs as the tourists are directed to their designated Jeeps. The street sellers lose interest in the departing backs and turn their attention to the new arrivals as life goes on.

We joined the music, paid our money, followed our directions and were swept away into a Jeep by a smiling boy. The tarmacked road ends here and it is a 9k bouncing, river fording, bone shaking, off-roading Jeep trip, through the National Park, to the base of the falls.

The views are breathtaking, (if one could stay in one place long enough to either photograph or fully appreciate them) the greenery even at this time of year is splendid. Tall brown clay termite mounds reach up into the air, funnel spiders spin their delicate filigree nets along the floor and over the entrances of their underground lairs. Up and down the rutted track we thundered, Jeep overtaking Jeep on the narrow path. Even here the urge to overtake everything and one, is still the dominant emotion to be found within the ranks of the people holding steering wheels.

Buttock bruised, and shaken to the extreme (but not stirred) we gratefully reached the place where even these solid sturdy Jeeps have to stop. Here our driver became our guide taking my camera in his capacity as official photographer of the day.

He led us across bridges, (with a stop for a photo)

up ridges (more stops for the photos)

past large rocks (you guessed it, photo shoot time)

0ver smooth plateaus and beneath mountainous trees.

Monkeys lined the path waiting for their obligatory bananas, posing, (as did we) for their photo at each recognised stop, performing (as did we) for the photographer and my camera.

The Falls themselves however are more than worth the tourist trail up even at this dry time of year. Cascading down the mountain and under the three arched rail bridge, it falls at last into the sweetest plunge pool.

On my various other visits to the Falls,  the water has been spring mountain cold causing what I term Ice-cream Head as you emerge from your dive into the deceptively cool water.

Today it was fresh and reviving, positively warm once one was immersed. (Maybe there is something to be said for braving the 36+ degree summer after all.

We swam to the edge of the falls, swimming hard against the current caused by the falling water.

We swam through the actual falling water, Peter remarking on how hard it hit his head and all dreams of making love under a waterfall were crushed from his mind!

We swam, we dried, we ate our picnic, the monkeys, now aware of our lack of bananas, moving on to the next arrivals (much like the street sellers far below).

Refreshed, photographed to death yet very happy, we descended over the rocks, bridges and rock plains to the awaiting bone shaker and hurtled our way back to our waiting Taxi.

Next came the Spice Plantation.

When I had visited in 1998, the entrance fee was nominal, the tour extensive, food and drinks were available in the small café at the end of your tour and fresh coconuts were chopped before your very eyes to be served with a straw, should you require them.

Food is now included in the price, a compulsory meal of rice, meat or non meat stew, bread, lime chutney, curried cabbage and a popadom is served alternatively in one of two covered seating areas in 20 minute intervals from 11am onwards. Drinks are still extra but you do get a glass of Cardamom, Ginger and Lemon-grass tea as you sit down.

You also get a small garland and a dot of red powder upon your forehead as you enter through the gates clutching your receipts and wondering what happened to your non existent change. Every 20 minutes or so, coinciding with the meal, three sari clad ladies (the ones who dotted and garlanded you upon arrival) dance around the Tulsi Bush in the courtyard outside the covered seating areas, singing their 'Traditional Song' while you eat.

The tour is now compact, although very informative and well presented, it is over in 15 minutes and you return just in time to see the Sari Ladies repeat their dance as the next Spice Plantation tourists eat!

They do have one added bonus to my previous visit, the Elephant Wash! You can sit upon an elephant as she treads a well worn path around a small circuit for 600Rps (£8) or you can sit on her back and walk 10m to a large tank where upon our beloved pachyderm sucks up a healthy supply of water in her glorious trunk and then throws it all over her back and any-one who happens to be sitting there.

The children were delighted and by having two children (having paid two fees of 600Rps) sitting on her back at the same time, they had twice as long.

Water was sloshed, trumpeted, thrown, blown and generally sent in all directions as two openly laughing children became drenched and cooled in the mid day sun.

The children were returned to us wet and happy, the elephant was fed tomatoes (for a price),

clothing was recovered and we left (as the Tulsi ladies once more performed their Traditional dance in front of the eating tourists) to find our Taxi.

We dried, we changed, we combed our hair and made ourselves presentable.



Next stop The Temples.

Two delightful Temples lie just outside Ponda half way back from the Falls. One is dedicated to Ganesh, the other to Shiva.

The Ganesh temple is a small highly decorated cool and relaxing place. It lies opposite an imposing, well painted grand double stairway that zig-zags upon itself to lead you to a large statue of a great Sikh General. Although stunning to view we turned and walked directly to the small temple. We paid our obeisances to the forms enshrined in the inner sanctum, circumnavigated the central shrine three times, received our blessed water and looked around. The Ten incarnations of Vishnu adorned the walls so I told the story of Lord Nrsimhadevi much to the horror and fascination of Angharad.

Outside and in need of more cooling water, I discovered the sweet milk balls so loved by my children and I, in a jar upon the small shops' front counter. Angharad, Peter and then Cian were introduced to this fudge like delicacy but only Angharad appreciated this wonder of India as the boys declared them too sweet to pallet!!

Shiva's temple, by comparison is a huge affair. The road was closed due to a Festival the next day and we walked the 300m path through a growing collection of stalls to the main entrance. I bought flowers to offer for 10Rps, removed my shoes, washed my feet and entered the main courtyard.

People flowed around the area, a large chariot lay to one side ready for its decorative flowers that would transport the Deity in his journey around the village. Brahmans chanted, took offerings, blessed items and people alike, poured water into hands and generally helped where they could. One took us to the side wall and explained the origins of the temple and deity.

He led us outside to the spare chariots hidden away in an arch way, these we could photograph he said but no photos outside this room he warned. He looked at Peter and asked his profession. “Taxi Driver” answered Peter. Our Brahman proceeded to tell us how the next year would proceed, “With certain people I can see things, “ he said, looking at the children. He told us where their futures lay, told me things I hope to be true. He asked for a donation and left us.

We stood a little overwhelmed for a moment or two, took a few photos and returned to the main temple. We gave thanks for the blessings and experience, collected our shoes and went to leave.

Just at the top of the stairs leading down to the stalls below, stood a man with what looked to be bags of brown sweets. I approached to discover an entire stall of my delicious, tongue delighting, soul lifting, heart stimulating, mouth watering fudge sweets!!! I bought two bags at 90Rps each and again thanking Shiva for my treats hurried after the departing children and Peter.

Next stop Dona Paula on the coast.

In 2004, Lisa, Kris and I had planned to bring Mark to India. We had decided that Goa would be a nice gentle introduction for him but discovered flights to be astronomical (£560). The plan was put on hold.

(Photo from India 2004)

Then, last minute, I had discovered a package deal too good to be true. Two weeks for £499, including flights, bed as well as breakfast at a little Hotel in a place I had not heard of, Dona Paula.

Our adventure had been perfect. We had spent two nights at the hotel before disappearing North for 4 days, then returned and went South for another few days before enjoying a boat trip and some wonderful indulgences in comparative luxury until our flight home.

I was curious to see if it had changed as much as the rest of Goa and I also wanted to see if my little hotel was still there.

Being a Saturday the place was brimming with visitors, mainly Indian. We strode up to the look out point, gazed back at the coast line and leaving Peter and the children to refresh themselves with fresh made lemon sodas I went in search of my hotel.

It was indeed still where I remembered, still in the same name and still with the beautiful grounds that led down to the private beach. The only thing that had changed was the price. Although I never paid a daily rate, as I mentioned before, the entire holiday including flights and transfers had cost us £499 a person. For the exact same room (including breakfast) they now charged 3200Rps a night!! Plus 15% Tax extra!!!!! Slowly I worked out that 14 nights in the same two rooms would now cost me 103,040 or £1288 and flights would be on top!! I smiled politely, took their brochure and left. Next stop Shopping.

During one of my trips down into the South of India, I picked up a wonderful square double bed mosquito net. Angharad and I had slept soundly under it in Arambol, Peter and I had used it on the balcony at Aswern. There were no nets at Francis's place mainly because we had glass windows to close preventing all bar the odd one from entering.

There is a wonderful saying – if you think you are too small to make a difference, try sleeping with a mosquito in the room! The children we had covered with the one net we had, Peter and I had received a restless nights sleep and more than our fare share of bites after leaving the door open a touch too long the night before. A second net was now an essential necessity.

Rajesh took us first to the obligatory antique shop where if one shows adequate interest he receives a small fee, even if you don't buy something, more if you do. 20 minutes asking questions and exploring the fine arts is usually enough to get your driver his fee and everyone is happy (except the shop keeper who with his inflated prices does not deserve your custom)

Having satisfied our driver he then took us to where we really wanted to go – the local market. Hidden behind a front of shops unseen by the tourist eye, lies a maze of stalls and networks to rival any Souk in Morocco. Nighties for 170Rps (£2.10) Mossy nets for 400Rps, shoes, dresses, baubles, scarves, pots, pans, spices, bags, anything and everything can be found somewhere within the maze. We picked up what we needed including a few samosas for good measure and while Peter and the children enjoyed some cooling drinks I reserved us rooms in a great hotel right next door to this shoppers heaven in anticipation for our shopping frenzy just before we leave.

We had marched, we had looked, we had swum, smelt, laughed, prayed, been blessed, seen sights and shopped ourselves out. It was time to return to our rooms, to shower and rest, to hang up our new net and for some of us to try on our new clothes!

We spent the evening safe under our nets reading and talking about the days events.

In the morning journals would be filled with the wonders and details of the day. Our day of excursions would be followed by a day of rest. The children would sit upon our balcony, I would take a final stroll around the side streets and alleys.

We would walk the beach, dine with the sand beneath our toes and make plans to move on.

Candolim, is Candolim, and no matter how beautiful the long sweeping beach is, no matter how many wall to wall cheap cafés there are to while away the day, no matter how great the restaurants, with aromas to set your mouth watering from afar, or the multitude of side roads full of shops brimming with colour and trinkets, all full of tourists happy and smiling, Candolim is still Candolim and it is not the India I came in search of.

We have decided to go South, out of Goa and into Karnataka.

Soon The Adventure will continue but tonight …... we sleep, safe from the bugs and tell tale whines of tiny things that bite in the night. .

Morjim to Candolim

BLOG PART 4

Morjim to Candolim

Early rises are not, I have decided, the best time for the male James. To be fair, Peter was still red around the legs, Cian had tiny blisters on his shoulders and even Angharad was looking a wee bit jaded as we shouldered the bags and left the sweltering heat of the cottage. Luckily we didn't have to walk too far as Goan bus's are very good at stopping for anyone who even looks in their direction, let alone waves frantically from the middle of the road. Peter was quickly pulled out of the way as the bus ground to a halt beside us. Bags were handed up, seats at the back were found and grateful to be on our way without the weight of the bags upon our sun scalded shoulders we settle down to enjoy the view.

Photos taken from an Indian bus, as I am sure I have mentioned before, are not an option. Our bus like so many of the ones I have travelled in during my various visits, was no exception to the general rules pertaining to Indian roads. I am sure specialistic training is given to all large vehicle drivers in India, as to do what they do naturally, is surely am impossibility.

Our bus hurtled down the narrow roads, slowing only fractionally for speed bumps and dogs. It swerve last minute to avoid moving and stationary cows and overtook anything and everything it could whether it could get past or not!! Most waving people were picked up without the bus actually coming to a full stop, whistles and hand signals becoming a language in its own right. Peoples bags were handed down until a space could be found on the over head rail, bodies squeezed in, wiggled over, smiled politely and handed over money to the co-ordinating, whistle blowing conductor. All was done in good nature, no one complained as the bus lurched first one way and then the other. Corners took on a new meaning as 'all left' or 'all right' saw every one of the standing, sitting or leaning people move with a synchronisation that was more inflicted upon them by something similar to Mach Force, than by any co-ordinated practice!

Slightly battered we arrived in the chaotic sprawl of Mapusa Bus Terminal. Buses reversed, pulled forward, and reversed again to the accompaniment of the now familiar whistles and hand waving. Engines revved loudly, dust rising in hot swirling clouds as exhausts belched blackening fumes over all and sundry. Voices shouted destinations, food sellers called out their delicacies, piles of pots, parcels and packages were carried on heads as people merged with the traffic and then flowed out onto the streets of Mapusa.

Our driver kindly waved us in the direction of our next bus as we too entered the bustle and noise of the station. Samosas were found and consumed, ginger cookies, thick, crumbling yet moist and delicious were added to our supplies. A bus reversed into the gap we were standing in forcing us to one side. A head emerged from the rear calling out what I thought was our desired destination. Having been caught out in the past with pronunciations of similar sounding towns and villages, I confirmed that this bus was indeed going to Candolim before ushering everyone aboard.

Way back in 1998, I had ventured with my children for the first time to India. A last minute package holiday in Candolim had seen us all frolicking in warm sea's, eating Christmas dinner on a clean sandy beach and enjoying the hospitality of a small, friendly hotel.

The streets are now jammed with restaurants and tourist targeted shops. White faces outnumber the Indian ones, Russian, German and English abounds in the cafes and bars.

The beach has been filled from one end to the other with private resort entrances, beach restaurants and fee charging sun beds. Parachutes, attached to powerful speed boats fly tourists in tandem along the shores, banana boats, ringos and the other favourite water sports are filled with shrieking people and everywhere music fills the air. The power cuts so common in this area, bring a peaceful rest-bite for a moment or two before generators are pulled into life and it all continues again.

Saying that small pockets of comparative quiet can still be found. We called at Lucia's at the far end of the main drag, the No 1 Bed and Breakfast according to Trip Advisor and asked about rooms. They were fully booked for the rest of the year (recommendations on Trip Advisor has serious advantages to those who give a good service)! Undaunted we asked for somewhere near that they could recommend. Their wonderful reputation as delightful hosts in Trip Advisor is well deserved as they not only recommended, but also phoned to confirm availability, arranged collection by the proprietor and advised us of all sorts of things while we waited. Dudsagar Falls and the Spice Plantation were mentioned and before we knew it another phone call had us a price for a whole day of activities with a driver! We thanked them profusely for their assistance as one by one we were ferried on the back of Francis's moped to our new home.

Francis, a devout Christian, lost his wife last year leaving him to run the family guest rooms with the aid of his two sons. He is possibly the most sincere, attentive and polite person I have ever met and his need to please knows no bounds. He practised our names one by one until he had memorised their exact pronunciations. He called a dozen times after we had said yes to the rooms bringing added items he felt would be useful.

The rooms are clean, functionally furnished and huge. 

A fridge stands in a kitchenette area allowing for cheese, chocolate sauce, fresh fruit and chilled water to become daily luxuries.

We have two bathrooms, one with electricity supplied constant hot water, the other fed by the huge black plastic water butt that sits upon the roof and reaches temperatures of excess during the afternoon.

A long narrow balcony runs outside in the shadow of the building allowing cooling air to swirl and freshen the children as they study, the sun only just reaching it in the late afternoon. All in all the most perfect of places to rest up after our two weeks of beach based activities.

Within a day the essential shops had been noted, fruit, veg, ATM.

Fresh bread rolls arrive at 7am each day in a huge covered basket of such a friendly bread man. He stops just outside our door, hooting his hand held bicycle horn and charges me the same as the locals! It is a well known and accepted fact that tourists are usually charged at least 1/3 more (usually a lot more) for local products.

A tiny store 100m away supplies us with water at the recommended marked price and right at the end of the narrow lane that runs outside our door, lies the most amazing curry house that serves ice-cream with hot chocolate sauce, much to the children's and my delight!

Having settled into our new quarters and enjoyed a well deserved day of rest, it was unanimously decided by me that we should ALL partake in the 3k uphill hike up to the red bricked Aquada Fort. We had been advised to wait until late in the afternoon before beginning the climb as the heat at this time of the year is incredible. We have just entered the first week of the Indian summer and temperatures are reaching in excess of 36 each day and drop to a bare 30 by night.

There is also a fine line to found between the cool of the afternoon and the point where darkness instantly descends! At 4pm we began our journey full of enthusiasm. By 4.20 we had reached the base of the imposing hill that stretched away into the distance in what looked like a 3 in 1 gradient! The climb began. Half a kilometre later people were in desperate need of encouragement. Why were we going? When would we get there? Why was it so hot, uphill, dusty? Why couldn't we catch the bus!!! I loosened two of the straps on my bag and encouraged Ahgharad to use me as her horse, Peter and Cian I left to their misery as the climb continued upwards.

The road levelled off to everyone's relief but the Fort was still some way away causing a fresh round of sighs and huffs. When the road began to climb once more even I was wondering how much longer the family could survive. The Fort came into view and the last reserve the children had was sapped away with the realisation that the whole place was closing!!!

Without daring to break the step, I marched everyone straight past the gates and onto the lighthouse beyond. With relief I paid the 100Rps for our entry and encouraged the children inside the cool construction. 88 steps up, including the ladder to the roof rewarded us with breathtaking views not only over the area but also deep into the Fort next door. Walkways were spied, towers were explored by eye, as the last of the Forts visitors filed out of the gate.

Cooling wind blew new life into the melted souls that had climbed the Hill to this amazing view point. The rough location of our place of residence was guessed to amongst the palms that stretched away along the coast. From here the hotels and shops disappeared beneath the lush vegetation that covers this wonderful country. From a distance, (as the song says) the world looked green and blue, rubbish, blackened building, belching fumes all disappeared and for a few moments India lay before us in her beauty.

The climb down from heaven to earth, the return of the noise and smells of the main street plus the evening of failing to get the WiFi of a very expensive café to talk to our laptops, brought us back to the reality of the Goa we had come to explore. A country of diversity and hidden illusions.

There are No Photos of the Fort nor the lighthouse and views I am afraid, as both Peter and I forgot to take our cameras, Peter thinking that I would take mine and me thinking he had his!!!!

You will just have to make the climb yourself one day!!!

(A random photo of Calolim to make up for the lack of the Fort ones xxxx)

Aswem to Morjim

Part 3 Aswem to Morjim

Our transfer to Morjim was a painless affair. Having walked the beach during our stay in Aswen after an early morning yoga session, we had discovered that just around the next point (a half hour walk) lay the beginnings of Morjim. We had explored the first 400m of shops and beach shacks and reserved a wooden cottage 100m from the beach.

We settled in quickly, spreading ourselves as we had in our sprawling roof top terrace. 20 minutes later came the realisation that 4 people within a 16 foot square needed an organised system to survive! Clothing spaces were allocated, shoes were put outside, school books were put separate and food was stored on a shelf of its own.

Confident of our planning we retired to the covered well for the days schooling.

Upon our trturn to our wonderful compact room we made the discovery that wooden huts absorb heat! BIG TIME!!!!

With every the windows open, the door wedged to one side and the fan of full, the heat inside was incredible. Even so Angharad and Cian needed sleep and some very sweaty children rose 2 hours later to begin our exploration of the area.

Our first mission was to obtain photos for our new land lord. India is quite strict on the policing of tourist movement. Each place of stay must present a photo-copy of your passport and visa to the police station upon your arrival. In Arambol I had handed over the passports and had them returned to me 4 hours later, in Aswen no one had asked for anything and I had not offered. Here our land lord wanted not only the passports but individual photos too. As we didn't have any he offered to take them for 50Rps EACH!

I asked if there was a place in town that took photos and when the children awoke we headed off to find the photographer. In the back of a tiny dark store room filled with sacks, boxes and bottles, we took turns to sit on the tiny bench behind which was propped a photographers white sheet. “Photos ready this afternoon” I was informed, “about 5.”

I asked for 6 copies of each photo to last us on our journey, total price 80 rupees a person. Less than 14 rupees each photo.

We continued our walk turning left at the T junction and found the first of what was to become an afternoon of temples. The who, what, why's abounded as I pointed out Shiva, Ghanesh, Krsna and others. The calmness as well as the coolness of the temple helped to restore the children after their long walk in the hot sun to the small village.

Refreshed we returned to the junction that led back to the photographer and noted the chai shop. The sun was still hot so leaving Peter and the children to discover the delights of chai, I headed back alone to collect the photos along the dusty path.

As I walked two scooters pulled to the side of the road just in front of me, English voices started chatting and taking photos of something in the field to the left. As I reached the bikes I too saw the old man with his two powerful white bullocks ploughing the field with a hand held plough in the heat of the afternoon. Seeing such an abundant audience to his labours he stopped and asked for a drink, “Limka”, he asked, the two couples looked blank then started to walk away. “Limka” he called again, raising his hand to his lips in the imitation of drinking.

“ I'll get one” I said to the confused tourists and popped into a small side shack to buy the small bottle of lemon he was asking for. His face burst into a huge beam as I passed it down to him, “Oh!” exclaimed the tourists “We thought he was asking for feni or something”, the next ten minutes were taken up chatting and smiling. The tourists from Yorkshire posed for their photo with the plough, we talked about the changes to Goa over the past 20 years and the joys of Kerela.

Holiday Showdown was mentioned and I confessed to being the one in the program they were referring to. Was I still in touch with the other family, they asked, I assured them we were and that although reality TV was any thing but real, it had all been a great experience. We said our goodbyes, the old man received another bottle of Limka and I continued on my way to get the photos - which were not ready!! “One more half hour please!”

Back at the chai shop, Peter and the children were drinking chai as if it was the best thing known to man ( which in some situations may just be the case). Angharad has also discovered the joys of puff tubes!!

The sun was now dipping behind the trees making long shadows on the road that led to the beach. Rather than walk back the way we had come we decided to head for the sun set and to hopefully find our way along the beach back to our cottages.

What we did find was a scattering of small shrines and then another large temple. Leaving our shoes at the entrance, we entered the coolness of the inner sanctum. A Brahman waved us closer and helped me explain the two Deities decorated with flowers in front of us. He offered us blessed water to drink and smear over our heads, he offered us Maha Prasad, sugar that had been offered that day to the gods. He indicated that we should circumnavigate the deities three times, and left us. We walked, we knelt, we thanked the universe for our blessings and we too left. The children's first of what will probably be many blessings completed.

Outside to the right, stood a huge banyan tree, its roots forming cave like spaces and narrow passageways. We stopped briefly to explore, the crisp leaves under foot crunching and collapsing under our weight. Too late I though of snakes sleeping in the warm leaves and guided Angharad back out the way we had come in.

Just before the beach, and just after the huge bush of cacti that Angarad found totally fascinating having seen cacti only in little pots until now, we found tree houses!!

Not the rickety one room affairs of Aswem of old, but solid wooden walled, glass windowed and flush loo-ed ones, with real stair cases, curtains and prices to go with them. We looked inside, debated the price with the host and moved quickly onto the beach! Tree house residences were definitely not a budget option here. 

Somewhere the gods must have been looking after us, for once out on the beach, we found ourselves 200m away from the path that led to our cottages! The children and Peter were sent for cooling showers while I marched off to collect the now ready photos.

Supper was had at one of the shacks on the beach, the sand flies making good work of Peters feet. It was decided that the next day should be a rest day, no school, no walking, no shopping just total relaxation and beach fun!!

Wednesday 6^th March

A  Day of rest

The sun was hot, the breeze was cooling, the waves refreshing and although we watched the children like hawks to ensure they did not burn, both Peter and I failed to watch ourselves!!


To be fair I spent a good half hour sitting out in the full glare of the mid day sun, chatting to an amazing guy from Jersey who is a World Champion Sand Castle Builder!

He stays in Morjim for 6 months a year, travelling the world the rest of the time, giving demonstrations and building creations up to 20foot high. I sat and watched with fascination as he carved turrets and balustrades, blowing away the grains not needed from the finely carved details with a straw.

By the time I returned to the shade my shoulders were hot, my feet were tingling and my side was puce!!

Peters foray into the burning sun consisted in him popping down the beach to fetch a map of Goa, which turned out to be a half an hour further away than expected.

That evening we stood under burning hot showers to remove the sting and gazed dismally at the reddened skin. Tomorrow we would be shouldering our back packs once again and heading off to Candolim via Mapusa.

We retired to bed hot, tired and smothered with after sun!

India 2013 Arambol to Aswen

Part 2

What's that Kerriann ….. What are they doing Kerriann …. Where are we going tomorrow, tonight, next week Kerriann …... Can I have …. a drink, a biscuit, and ice-cream Kerriann? ….. What time is it Kerriann?

Back in the history of time I can vaguely remember Lisa and Kris going through the why, what, when, stage, I also remember being exhausted by their constant questions, their never ending search for answers pertaining to the world they lived in. At the ripe age of 4 Kris asked me the now historic question of why he existed, what was his purpose in life. I had answered that his purpose was to play but that had not satisfied him and so began my family's journey into spirituality and eventually to India.

Angharad and Cian are also trying to understand this strange world around them and the days are filled with the Why, What When questions from day break to bed time and some times beyond. Some questions Peter can answer but many of the sights and scenes we have passed are as new to him as they are to the children.

After our 5 nights in Arambol, we packed our back packs and marched the 3miles or so down the beach to Aswern. We left before the sun had risen and the day was still cool enough to allow us to set off at a good pace. By 9am the sun was high in the sky, the heat washed over us with every step and despite an excellent performance from both children, carrying back packs of their own, we were beginning to get hot and tired.

We reached Mandrem, waded the shallow stream as it wove its way in a wide estuary across the beach and rested on the rocks at the far point of the beach.

This was new ground for me as well as the tribe. My long ago visit to Aswern with Lisa and Kris in 2004 had seen us approach the beach from the South. With Lisa and Katie I had walked as far as the estuary but no further. I had no idea how much further we needed to walk or even where to stay at that point, but being the 'Mommy in Charge' I bluffed it well and settled everyone with biscuits and drinks while I went off to ask!!

I briefly fell into conversation with a lovely couple from London who informed me that we were at the beginning of what they had been told was Aswern beach. I looked at the rows of hotels and beach hut complexes. What happened to the tree houses I wondered!

On my last visit two tiny encampments had stood about 200m apart, we had dinned in both of the small restaurants during our stay as there had been nothing else there. We had played cricket on the beach with the locals, rented a motor bike for 250Rps and explored the entire area in an hour!

Now woven gates fitted into wide arches marking the entrances of huge sprawling resorts. Luckily building regulations have prohibited the building of brick hotels or anything over two stories yet the hide away feel of Aswen has definitely gone. The 200 rupee beach hut has also gone, 1500Rps is the minimum to be found and we are talking out of season!!

We marched steadily onwards, the heat making our bags heavy, the hot sand beginning to burn the soles of our feet. One more rocky point I encouraged, just past the next clump of trees I begged, surely all this would end soon and my remembered tree houses would appear.

Angharad with Peter by her side fell further behind, thirst and tiredness getting the better of us all. “Let us get as far as the next point and I promise we will stop”, I encouraged, “even if it means you sitting on a sun bed for the rest of the day, while I search for something that I don't even know exists any more!!” I added to myself.

Sun beds laid out under cooling woven shades came into view as I reached the next point. I led Peter and the children to this haven in the heat, I too grateful of the chance to put down our bags. “400 Rps” a voice said as we unloaded, “Do you have rooms?” I countered and was politely led away to the restaurant behind the beach beds. I was shown some very nice rooms but they were 1300 Rps EACH!! and we needed two! A far cry from the 200RPs Tree house I had come in search of.

“I must confer with my husband,” I stalled heading back to the exhausted group on the beach. “We also have nice room upstairs” called my guide, “2000 Rps”, I viewed the room and wandered back to Peter with a grin on my face. “There is good news and bad,” I smiled, “They do indeed have rooms but they are 1300 each,” I let the news seep in, “or they have a roof top terrace for 2000 a night (£25).” . This was way outside our planned budget but I had seen the terrace and it was perfect!

Within ten minutes the bags were in place and the children were in the sea laughing and jumping as if the last 3 hours of walking had never happened. The new Flying Carpet was strung across the balcony and the mozzy net was hung over the terrace bed. We were now the residents of a Huge Roof top suite! The children's room consisted of a large woven walled enclosed area with two large double beds pushed together and covered by a luxurious full length net. This room opened out onto the main terrace where 6 chairs and two tables stood next to another double bed. Through an opening lay a large shower area with HOT!!! water, a sink and enough room to hold a dinner party, behind this was the fero concrete based toilet complete with loo paper! (and no wobbles!)

From the balcony we looked out over the sea, the cooling breeze, the flowing palms and the children frolicking in the waves. To one side lay a series of rock pools that later the children happily joined together with the aid of dug channels. I stretched out on the flying carpet and smiled at the thought of the next two nights, up on the roof!!!

Our days are now even more simple than they were in Arambol. Schooling is now done on the shaded balcony, breakfast is had in the restaurant beneath us, the waves break on the beach not 50m from our door and apart from the Tecno music that pumps away in the distance until 11pm each night, life is good. (now I have got over the fact that somewhere between Arambol and here I lost two of the wonderful goblets we had brought on our journey.)

Aswen has changed beyond my recognition, The Plauge, a French run operation of white billowing linen dominates the beach. Live DJs compete in the bars and palm woven resorts, mixing set after set to send out into the tropical nights. If it had not been for our terraced touch of luxury, Aswen would have been a huge disappointment to me. Bottles and bags litter the beach, more resorts are being built, the human impact of this once deserted beach can never be removed.

It has been quite an experience coming back but I am happy to move on …... and yet the reports that Morjim, our next port of call, having been taken over by the Russian Mafia makes me a little nervous as to what we will find around the next bend of this once fabulous coast line!

How much further Kerriann? ...............Are we nearly there Kerriann? …....................Where are we going to stay Kerriann? …...................... Whow, Look at this Kerriann! ….................Look at that! What are they doing Kerriann! …...............................Would I change it? …. well …. maybe for an hour or two!!!!

India with Children

India with children! Primary aged children!!!

Way back in 1999 I brought Lisa and Kristofer aged 12 and 10 to India. They were already seasoned to the traditional package holiday in the sun and took India in their stride. As it was only a two week excursion, apart from the compulsory evening daily diary, their morning recitals of times tables and some basic cultural history as I whisked them from temple to temple, schooling was not an issue.

Taking Angharad (aged 8) and Cian (aged 11) out of their schools for 7 weeks, 5 of which are teaching weeks means that UK style schooling must be kept up if they are not to fall behind their class mates.

The cultural experience they will gain during this trip will be huge, an education in its own right, but if their school work suffers and they return at an educational disadvantage, then within the society we live in, I will have given with one hand and taken away with the other.

And so a schooling routine, as well as all the fun things, must be put in place if we are to survive the next 7 weeks together.

We arrived in Arambol late Tuesday afternoon after the usual 30 plus hours of travel and dropped the bags into two of Classic Huts beach shacks. By coincidence I am in the exact same hut occupied by myself last year and Peter has taken over the hut occupied, during that same trip, by Lisa and Katie! It has been over a year since I stayed here but not only was I remembered as I walked in through the gate, but two lines of shells strung delicately on threads of unwoven nylon thread from my last trip still hung from Hut No1. I feel at home already (shame the loo still wobbles!!)

Bags were semi unpacked, the children changed into suitable clothes, and we hit the beach just as the sun was setting over the ocean. Slightly up the beach, as they do every evening, Arambol's travelling residents had gathered on the sand to perform their unique sun set ritual. Drummers were out in force, dancers gyrated and twisted, the jugglers threw things, hool-a-hoops spun and yoga poses were struck as the sun dipped beneath the horizon and darkness spread her wings behind it.

I have fond, fond memories of Arambol, it was the first place I came to as a traveller rather than a holiday maker. It has changed so much since that first visit in 2002. the long stretches of sand between the occasional beach café have been filled with more cafés and entire encampments of beach huts are spread out beneath the coconut trees. Soft chill out trance music has been replaced by drum and bass blasted from huge speakers as different restaurants compete for a new type of clientèle. The hippys, who outnumber the locals, are now being replaced themselves by Russian tourists. Booze shops have sprung up to cater to this influx and the mood is slowly but definitely changing.

To Peter and the children, who never saw the old Arambol, it is still a place of wonder. The beach is huge, the tastes and smells different. The colours of the market stalls that line the road to the beach fills them with awe, the shopping potential of this place is unlimited!

What I call essential shopping was done the first evening. Everyone now has a shoulder bag of their own so I am not responsible for anybody’s possessions as we move around the place. Angharad has been given cool colourful clothes to replace her usual leggings and tight tops, Cian and Peter have had trousers hand made for them, as their unusual shapes mean that buying off the peg is not an option, mossy spray has been topped up, as has the coconut oil supply and a knife, spare adaptor and mossy coils have been added to our baggage .Personally, I need nothing but that will not stop me stocking up when we return here at the end of this trip as I have no idea of When or rather IF I shall ever return to Arambol's with its unique assortment of colours and styles.

Our plan is to stay here for a few days to allow the children's to acclimatise and then to either hike the 2 miles down the beach to Mandrem or continue the march down to Aswen where we will rest up for another few days.

Before we leave however the schooling, as well as a daily ritual needs to be put into action.

Our day starts at 7, (it is dark until 6.30) with morning Yoga and a march down the beach plus a swim, At 10.30, as the sun increases in strength, we retire to our rooms for showers and breakfast of fresh melon, oranges, or in Peter's case bread and tomatoes.

Schooling takes place in the Olive Garden (free Wifi and the best Thali in town!), diaries are written, reading books are read, maths problems are solved and eventually sewing, geography and mobile making will join these past-times. At the moment the children's reluctance to actually do any work means that 3 hours pass with only the bare minimum being done. It is not that the work is too much, it is simply that their mind space needs time to adjust. A milkshake bribe yesterday saw all the work completed in 20 minutes after they had huffed and puffed for an hour and a half!

Work is finished with a lunch time snack before siesta time sees them flat out on their beds with the overhead fan whirling away. 

By 4pm they are refreshed and the sun is cool enough for beach time play or other activities.

Sandcastle building has proved to be very popular with not only the children but with the evening strollers.

So far we have spent the evenings wandering the busy, but evening cool, streets gazing at the hand crafts, chatting to the makers and bakers and writing shopping lists in our heads. Weekend pocket-money has been put on hold until the end of the week to allow the shopping fever to cool before we let them loose with money of their own.

Dominoes has become the game of the night, with 5s and 3s taking us an age to play as we add, divide, check each others addition, argue over the points and eventually settle only to have it all repeated on the next go!

Our bed time reading is coming along well. The Hobbit is adored by the children and also by myself. It must be 11 years since I read it last and yet reading it aloud has given it a whole new dimension. Bilbo has just been sent ahead to see what the light amongst the trees is and we are all awaiting his findings to be read tonight!

A routine has been set, it will flow and change as we make our way across Goa. Soon we will begin our march down the beach, chanting tables as we go, discussing life as we wander. 

The Adventure has begun.

PS . I may not NEED anything but I just became the owner of a wonderful flying carpet … all will be revealed in the next Blog