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.
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.
