Getting there

The journey started at Heathrow with a flight to Amsterdam. I was worried I would miss the connection as the Amsterdam flight landed at 11.05 and the flight to Mumbai took off at 11.55. But the friendly Australian working for KLM assurred me that if it was not possible to make the flight they would not have sold me the ticket.

He was right. It was a matter of walking off one flight onto the next. No time to admire the airport at Amsterdam. Squeeky clean and of course the tulips were there.

The passengers were mostly Indian. I sat next to a youngish man and his wife. I wish I could have sat next to one of the old Indians whose hair was whiter than white. He might even remember the British and his stories would be  fascinating.

The guy I sat next to had very little of say for himself and I got the distinct impression he did not want to talk.

I watch the movie Grease and listen to some country and western songs and then I fall asleep. Nine hours to Mumbai passes quickly. I am in no hurry to jump off the plane and there is some slight sense of trepidation.

The airport is carpeted with an interested Mughal design to walk on. It is modern with palms and tropical plants. The E visa queue is long but the wait is not to horrendous. Some of the passengers and the airport staff are wearing masques and there is a lot of information about the corana virus with travellers from China being advised to report to the medical unit if they have flu symptoms.

My luggage has already been taken off the  belt and I pass through customs with nothing to declare.  Then it’s a short taxi ride to the domestic terminal. The taxi driver can’t lift my bag onto the roof rack and asks for help. He makes a sour face. When we arrive I help him off load the case and he manaes a crooked smile.

The domestic terminal is  as elegant well decked out as the international. Lots of tourists on the flight to Goa. No one sits next to me and I fall asleep. The flight is only an hour. In Goa the terminal is small and the pre paid taxi stand easy to find.

A very confident lady with an encouraging smile asks me where I am going and tells me that her husband has just paid for a taxi and I am welcome to join them. Is this a sophisticated kidnapping or just a friendly gesture? Her husband does in fact have the receipt for the taxi in his hand so off I go. The couple, Alex and Jane are Russian. They come to Goa for a holiday every year. Their English is just a few words and a lot of smiles but we get on  well.

It is dark outside as we speed off. First impressions. Not salibrous place. As the day dawns and endless greenery unfolds the beauty starts manifesting itself.  The Tree house Silken Sands resort is spacious with large comfortable rooms. The Russian couple decide to stay here and abandon their earlier plans. My plans of sleeping quickly change as Billy the man who organised my tour says he is coming to see me at 11am. He is a very welcoming chap with an engaging smile. What he doesn’t know about Goa is not worth knowing and it is better to listen than to read a tourist guide.

Goa is a state in western India with coastlines stretching along the Arabian Sea. Its long history as a Portuguese colony prior to 1961 is evident in its preserved 17th-century churches and the area’s tropical spice plantations. Goa is also known for its beaches, ranging from popular stretches at Baga and Palolem to those in laid-back fishing villages such as Agonda.

It is decided that at 4pm Alan my guide will take me clothes shopping and gift shopping. I have to buy presents for the folk in New Zealand where I am from. After five days in Goa I am flying to Auckland and then to see my step sister in Dunedin.

Alan arrives and off we go to Fab India where I manage to spend nearly all the rupees I  brought with me from London. The weather is very hot and the jeans are a killer. In Fab India there is too much choice. I know what I need so I just buy a pair of black trousers, a pair of white trousers. Then it’s off to the handicraft shop for presents. The shop is run by a Kashmiri lady and Alan has already primed her to give me a good price. My luggage is overweight as it is and I don’t want to carry a lot more weight but six coffee mugs seem like the ideal gift. They are nicely wrapped in a box. For the special ladies I buy two necklaces and that’s it.

We go for a walk on Colva Beach.

Colva is a beautiful beach in the village of Salcete in South Goa. A very popular tourist destination, it is known for its beaches, food, pubs and bars. It is also known for its Portugal significance with a number of buildings which speak of history, elegance and architecture.

A cool breeze is  blowing and it great to be walking on sand. As for the  headlines of rape and murder  on Goan beaches it is hard to believe. As we make our way back it  is pitch black. The stray dogs are out in force. No woman in her right mind should walk on this beach alone at night and if she goes there with a man she is asking for it. I felt with Alan but alone no way.

It’s dinner back at the resort. I order  chicken tikka but the Nepalese waiter tells me I won’t be able to eat it and tells me to go for the grilled chicken. It is nicely spiced. The waiters are obliging and friendly. 

It’s time to sleep. I can’t access the blog as the browser on the lap top does not support it. I have very problem indeed and email my friend Tim in Essex. He will update the blog for me when I send him the material in a word document.