I just got back from a short trip to Goa. This was not my first and it probably won’t be my last either. But this was a trip after several years; my last had been towards the end of 1975.

Despite Goa being touted as a destination of choice that draws German charter flights like a Goan to his feni, the airport in Goa remains rather unassuming with no aerobridges or tunnels. You have a choice of prepaid taxis to take you to your destination, ours being Panjim. The buses are sparsely crowded with folks who are going about their work with baskets and since we do a lot of “push-push-shove-shove-squeeze-through-to-the-exit” in Mumbai, we decide to treat ourselves to a taxi and pretend we are on a five star vacation.

Goa to me was a bunch of cities interspersed in a wealth of small villages dotted with greenery. The big difference this time was there are no well defined village boundaries any more. Some of the older Mangalore-tiled houses with intricate trellises and bowers of greenery, leaning over imposing entrances have given way to cement-concrete monstrosities. Some unavoidable industrial areas have come up, but they still try and blend in with the surroundings, moderating their external display. Goa is still lush with mangroves, trees, and several mango, cashew and coconut trees crown it. You notice “houses nestled amongst trees” as opposed to trees decorating the house.

There are several watchdog organisations today that ensure that newly planted trees exceed trees brought down during any construction activity. One is delighted to see inland waterways, and mangroves. While driving inland in the hills, pineapples bought from locals certainly tasted much sweeter. Old women hawkers on the streets and markets of Panjim sell raw cashews and Goa’s local mangoes.

Earlier, as you entered the main village area, you would see a large football field, a church and temple, where you read announcements of impending matches with a visiting village team from elsewhere; folks landed up to cheer their team, to be followed by a goodwill feni session, and a hearty meal.

Roads in Goa are wonderful with most being two lane highways. I don’t recall seeing a single speed limit sign during my entire stay. Everyone drives as fast as they want, our taxi driver did an hour drive in 35 minutes flat without a single pothole jostle.

Goan tourism tries to do a commendable job running various tours. One cannot help but smile, when on explaining the importance of Aguada fort, where there is a jail, the tour guide proudly mentions that two very prominent criminals managed to escape from there. There is even a bust of one of the criminals, in the fancy restaurant where he was finally arrested.

The old quarter of Panjim, now treated as a heritage area has these amazing “gulleys”, (small pathways), where houses with intricate carvings and trellises, and a blue delft like plate fitted into the wall outside announces the name of the owners. Dark blue and brick red appear to be the favourite colours of buildings along with white. These areas are dotted with homely restaurants serving typical Goan food, and many are rather highly recommended.

We were treated to a lunch in one of these by our Goan friend towards the end of our trip. Fish Curry and rice being the staple, this place excels in serving various varieties of fish. The non vegetarians amongst us ate with single minded devotion to the plate in front oblivious to everything.

And then there is the Ferry. Despite the Panjim Mandovi river bridge spanning across Panjim and Betim, most people still like to travel across the river by Ferry. And so you see tons of two wheelers emerging, as if from the river, when the Ferry docks at Panjim or Betim. The heady combination of sea, fish and diesel fumes offers the right incentive for a chilled beer or a feni, wherever you plan to go next.

On our last day in Panjim we were looking for a place that sells a typical Goan sweet. Our Goan friend served this to us over tea at her riverfront living room in Betim. A deadly combination of gram flour (channa flour), coconut, and local jaggery (probably toddy based) this melt-in-your-mouth stuff has not been given the publicity it deserves.

And finally as we head  back to the airport, it is time to relax, take a nap and release the tensions.

Rediscover , relax and rejuvenate yourself in Club Mahindra’s  Goa property in Varca Beach

Karwar is beautiful . If you have ever dreamt of being in tune with the waves, bobbing along with the flow and gazing at the blue green waters, then look no further. Located just 8 kms from Goa, along the same coastline , it is completely different from the party destination with idyllic beaches . On one side is the narrow coast embracing the sea, while on the other side, the Western Ghats stand tall. Straddling both mountain and sea, Karwar is a nondescript little town perched in between, oblivious to its own beauty.

Pic : Lakshmi Sharath

Our first view of Devbagh was in the dark. After several stops enroute to Karwar, we got stalled by a traffic jam near the port where iron ores to be exported gets dumped by lorries. The road at some stretches seemed red. We were staying at the Jungle Lodges property at Devbagh and we quickly called the manager at the resort to inform him of our delay.A boat was waiting for us in the dark as we made our way to the jetty,which looked like a dilapidated boat house . We sailed across the sea in the night and reached the island.

The moonlight was a muse to none other than Tagore who was inspired by Karwar to pen his Prakritir Pratishodh. A beach here still remains in his memory. It is said that the 22 year old Tagore stayed with his brother , Satyendranath Tagore, who was the district judge in Karwar. The confluence of the rivers and the moonlight night when he went rowing solo promoted him to write his ode to Karwar. The quote I read somewhere says – “The sea beach of Karwar is certainly a fit place in which to realise that beauty of nature is not a mirage of imagination, but reflects the joy of the infinite and thus draws us to lose ourselves into it.”

Pic : Lakshmi Sharath

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