Beach Bumming, or "livin' in the fun zone"

Monday 18 February

Morning battling with the wi-fi, then head off on the bummel again, following the coast road north. It's a twisty turny affair through coconut groves dotted with holiday villas. Some are quirky and old, others just quirky, like an interpretation in concrete of a Swiss cheese, full of odd-shaped arches and openings. Many are painted in vivid colours (like Tansy Cottages). Illustrated is the best of the bunch. I dive down four separate beach roads, and though they all lead in effect to the same long beach, they couldn't be  more different. Just north of here is Colva, which the Time Out guide calls scruffy (it is), but Footprint puts it on a footing with Benaulim. So glad I chose Benaulim, which is characterful and villagey by comparison. 

Fatwah about to descend?

Colva beach, however, is where the action is, and the beach is quite crowded with people in and out of the surf. Choose from a menu of delights - banana boat (squishy yellow thing that bounces along the waves while everyone screams), parascending from the beach, which does a brisk trade despite costing Rs. 700, or about one rupee per second. There are also jet skis for hire (with or without skipper) and plain ordinary boat trips (with or without drenching depending on how the waves catch the boat on leaving the beach). In a rare concession to safety, lifejackets are provided. I'm too late for dolphin-watching, which leaves at dawn. Unlike Benaulim, which is an Anglo-Russian enclave, Colva is almost entirely Indian. 

The banda - an idyllic spot for meditation, or a beer

The next section of beach, however, is entirely different. Instead of a parade of beach shacks (restaurants) on stilts, it boasts a single beach banda (Swahili for shelter with thatched roof supported on bamboo poles) with a small bar serving snacks of Goan sausage in a "traditional" bun. A uniformed attendant labelled "Security" sits at a desk by the entrance, but he only looks about 14 and skinny with it, so I doubt if they get much trouble. Today the shack/banda is patronised by wrinkly Germans with flabby tums - and me. The Germans all have their heads buried in weighty books, possibly Schiller's Wallenstein's Tod from the frowns on their faces. I take my first of three dips in the sea, dry off in the sun, then draw breath over the sausages whose spiciness catches me unawares.

Hedging his bets

Back to the Tansy Cottages before sunset and later return the moped. Tonight I catch the train 849 kms. down the coast to Cochin. Goa has gone.

Name of boat on Benaulin beach: "Anally Parascending" - strictly for beach bums. (Spotted late on, but no camera, sadly. Never go anywhere without the digicam).