Goan Glory

I just unpacked my suitcase from my trip to Goa last week. The clothes still smell of the ocean and there's bits of sand in the corners. Good trip. I've never enjoyed Goa this much before.

When we decided that Goa it would be, I set about looking for the best beach and the perfect little place to stay. It had to be comfortable but not too fancy, in budget but not necessarily too cheap. And of course, not too touristy. Er, compulsive behavior, I admit. But Goa, being the holiday haven it is, gave me several options from north of the North beaches to the ultra-southern areas. We finally picked Palolem beach because there was a hospital near by (just in case certain pregnant people (not me) needed to use one) and stayed a Ciaran's camp, which I thought was not very Indian friendly (the discriminated-in-my-own-country experience). I would periodically get riled up about it but was afraid to say anything lest I make a bad impression on my new friends....

The food was great - a pure fish diet for one week, the company was fantastic (I learned loads from Renu Nair about being the Boss), the afternoons were spent taking naps or playing scrabble (well, Arun and I playing while the others were trying to stay awake), I'd like to make an honorable mention of the deolicious oil massages I received everyday. We celebrated Arun's birthday at Loginoors, an old Goa classic complete with sullen waiters and no air conditioning. The devious three (the baby got it's own vote) convinced us, under the pretense of a democratic vote, into driving an hour into Margao to watch Tashan (every vacation has a thorn).

The waves in Goa were surprisingly large. A big one whammed into me and slammed me back towards the shore, shoving salt water all the way up into the brain. That's when I bowed out and tip toed sheepishly to the gentler edge of the beach. The boys battled the waves challenging the ocean to come get them, and it sure as hell did. At the end of the trip, I wasn't alone on the gentler edge of the beach.

The next two days were spent at "eco beach huts" called Chattai. Looked very cute and nicely designed. But with the cheap rates and natural materials, we got loads of red and black ants, mosquitoes, a hard bed, and a toilet whose seat refused to stay on. Two days into it, we were so miserable that we decided to fuck our budget and move into this posh Portuguese villa an hour north of Palolem. By now, we just wanted some comfort, didn't want to see the damn beach and the idea of sand in our bums was just too squirmy. The last two days at the villa were enough to erase all painful memories of Chattai. We even got to eat lunch at Martin's Corner, Sachin Tendulkar's favorite restaurant in Goa (Oh My!).

One morning we went for a little boat ride to see dolphins and spent the hour chasing a couple of them around. APSD was hoping for a little synchronized show where a whole school of dolphins would jump through the air to show off their skills. Poor child should have gone to Sea World instead.

By the time the trip ended, we had spent time at almost all the places I had narrowed down in my research. The OCD shade of my persona was deeply satisfied (so what if Chattai sucked). I wanted to gloat about it but was distracted by the misery of the trip back home. Air Deccan delayed by hours and I was left all by my lonesome to suffer the withdrawal symptoms that always come on after each vacation.