From Stoke on Trent to the Beaches of North Goa

We departed Snowdonia after 9 magic days and made our way to Heathrow via Stoke on Trent, where we stayed for two nights. Hmmm not quite sure what to say about Stoke on Trent. It’s famous for its pottery works but probably not much else. There was a bit of an argument and scuffle going on at the bus-stop outside our Airbnb, followed an hour later by a bang of cars colliding and few more choice words. The CBD is pretty dire – much concrete and a few homeless people hanging around – at least I got to hand out some spare change.  Jo and I decided to go on a long walk up one of the canals where you definitely see the place in a much better light – a sort of arty grunge . . .

​Air India was a good airline – depositing us after nine hours in Mumbai where we transferred to our flight to Goa. There was much furious stamping of passports, a forensic examination of our e-visas and taking of fingerprints at customs control – after which we trotted off down the green channel, past a few bored looking officials and emerged to the wonderful cacophony of people and sounds that is India.

Our taxi ride from the airport was a bit like being on a roller-coaster, but without the safety harnesses. Our driver seemed to enjoy sticking as close as possible to the back bumper of the car in front (until he found a micro moment to pass), all with a continual blasting of the horn and a running commentary of the sights we were passing. It was certainly clear he didn’t like the many cows that nonchalantly blocked the road every ten minutes or so. Having travelled a bit in Asia we were fairly used to this mode of travelling (I still think the tuk-tuk divers in Colombo are the scariest) – besides which we hadn’t slept in about 24-hours and so it all seemed a bit surreal. 

At our destination, our quote of 1600 rupees (about $34 for the 90-minute journey) seemed to have risen to 1750 which then became problematic when Lewis Hamilton didn’t seem to have any change for my 2000 note. Suffice to say he got a tip for which I received the broadest smile ever. That small amount of money probably doubled his wages for that day.

Goa is on the west coast of India. Up until 1961 it was controlled by Portugal and hence you spot remnants of those days, including many Catholic churches. It is renowned as a beach destination for international travellers – that is when it is in season. We cleverly picked our time in the middle of the monsoon time – it rained most days but for no more than an hour or so which cooled things down considerably. We loved roaming the streets – there are no pavements and so we simply wandered along the side of the roads, calmly noting the toots as well-meaning drivers warned us of their presence. The people are very laid back – not effusive in their greetings like the people of Bali or the Phillipines – more circumspect and  chilled.

We stayed in an older and cheaper hotel In Morjim – Papa Jolly’s Eco Retreat –  which favoured style over modernity. What the “eco” was all about, we had no idea, but our room was amazing. The downside was the restaurant – a little soulless and deserted for most of the day. We gave the staff a hell of a fright when we trooped in on the first morning and there was a quite a long discussion on what we might want. No matter – just 300m down the road were two excellent cafes where we seemed to find ourselves for about fifty percent of our waking hours.

Morjim Beach was simply beautiful, but so disappointing to see so much plastic rubbish washed up. We made a decent walk one early evening – the beach dotted with local families coming out to paddle or, in the case of one couple, furiously snog. There wasn’t a European looking tourist to be seen. All the dogs in the area seemed to have deserted their lazing-around spots in the middle of the road to park themselves on the beach to admire the sunset. The odd cow would progress past along with its owner and there was an excellent game of cricket going on. 

​Would I come back to Goa? Well maybe but I wouldn’t rush. It was beautiful laid-back place but with all the shops and cafes catering for tourists I felt we weren’t really experiencing the real India. That’s to come as head off for the last week of our big adventure to experience Ashram life in India’s north . . .