Well I've arrived, safe if not sound, the three hour delay in Dubai due to the captains inablilty to make a decision on whether or not to allow the drunk, and apparently emotionally unstable, German sun-seeker back on the plane. He did.
Dabolim airport also doubles as a military airport, providing assistance to Mumbai if needed and vice versa, I was told that Goa, with its large western tourist population, is always on high alert when the extremists are trying to make a point although this has mainly been directed at Mumbai...so far. As we taxied to the 'Terminal Building' I look out the window to see three fighter jets and one slightly dusty, dilapidated looking airport bus, which a man was throwing water at in an effort to give some form of transparency to the windscreen, one of these modes of transport was to the terminal.
Once inside a disorderly queue formed, the flight was predominantly German charter tourists so I'll let you paint the scene, and the various forms were stamped and passports scrutinised. i shied away from the German couple I was sitting next to on the plane as they were sent to the back of the queue and I hurriedly filled in the visa entry section I had dutifully translated to them that was to be filled in by officials only. The baggage reclaim was another sight, the passengers of DE 5344 were greeted by a giant roulette wheel, some Goan casino had clearly seen an opportunity of filling in the last bit of space available in the airport free for advertising, red 3 proved my winning number and off I went.
I was collected by from the airport by my host for the next two weeks, Jimi, and he whisked me through the back roads and...main roads? Swiftly weaving between anything from 'the mother' ( a cow) to 3 generations of the same family huddled on a moped, this was all through sleep deprived eyes and had it not became the norm over the next few weeks I may have questioned my sanity that morning. Arriving at Baga Villa, swing a right after the 24hr Subway, and I was met by a clean spacious room with hot water, a commodity I was soon to learn should not be taken for granted!
The Baga/Calangute strip consists mainly of Brits and Russians, the majority of whom seem to be season regulars, judging solely on the colour of their skin/leather. The roads and the pavements are one and the same with no human, animal or vehicle seeming to have right of way. Dotted along these 'ravements' are numerous souvenir shops, selling anything from stone carved deities to angry bird t-shirts, pubs and numerous eateries, again ranging from fine dining to street tandoori cooked in an improvised oil drum, prices set accordingly.
The beach is about a 3 mile stretch, packed with beach huts and their associated sunbeds, laden with frying tourists. The occasional fishing boat breaks up the ranks of loungers and once you reach Calangute steps the place is rammed with Indian nationals, they come for the weekend from miles around and get dropped off here and rather than disperse they all descend on the same 100m stretch of beach, as I arrived the day after Republic day, commemorating the day on which the constitution of India came into force, the number of nationals crammed into this patch would have well outnumbered that of the Brit/Russo contingency.
Dabolim airport also doubles as a military airport, providing assistance to Mumbai if needed and vice versa, I was told that Goa, with its large western tourist population, is always on high alert when the extremists are trying to make a point although this has mainly been directed at Mumbai...so far. As we taxied to the 'Terminal Building' I look out the window to see three fighter jets and one slightly dusty, dilapidated looking airport bus, which a man was throwing water at in an effort to give some form of transparency to the windscreen, one of these modes of transport was to the terminal.
Once inside a disorderly queue formed, the flight was predominantly German charter tourists so I'll let you paint the scene, and the various forms were stamped and passports scrutinised. i shied away from the German couple I was sitting next to on the plane as they were sent to the back of the queue and I hurriedly filled in the visa entry section I had dutifully translated to them that was to be filled in by officials only. The baggage reclaim was another sight, the passengers of DE 5344 were greeted by a giant roulette wheel, some Goan casino had clearly seen an opportunity of filling in the last bit of space available in the airport free for advertising, red 3 proved my winning number and off I went.
I was collected by from the airport by my host for the next two weeks, Jimi, and he whisked me through the back roads and...main roads? Swiftly weaving between anything from 'the mother' ( a cow) to 3 generations of the same family huddled on a moped, this was all through sleep deprived eyes and had it not became the norm over the next few weeks I may have questioned my sanity that morning. Arriving at Baga Villa, swing a right after the 24hr Subway, and I was met by a clean spacious room with hot water, a commodity I was soon to learn should not be taken for granted!
The Baga/Calangute strip consists mainly of Brits and Russians, the majority of whom seem to be season regulars, judging solely on the colour of their skin/leather. The roads and the pavements are one and the same with no human, animal or vehicle seeming to have right of way. Dotted along these 'ravements' are numerous souvenir shops, selling anything from stone carved deities to angry bird t-shirts, pubs and numerous eateries, again ranging from fine dining to street tandoori cooked in an improvised oil drum, prices set accordingly.
The beach is about a 3 mile stretch, packed with beach huts and their associated sunbeds, laden with frying tourists. The occasional fishing boat breaks up the ranks of loungers and once you reach Calangute steps the place is rammed with Indian nationals, they come for the weekend from miles around and get dropped off here and rather than disperse they all descend on the same 100m stretch of beach, as I arrived the day after Republic day, commemorating the day on which the constitution of India came into force, the number of nationals crammed into this patch would have well outnumbered that of the Brit/Russo contingency. 
The beach huts are all pretty alike, serving the same old food and drink, an average beer coming in at about 45p and a chicken biryani about a pound, the shack toilets seem to be rather infamous but I won't go into details why. One hack that did stand out was Pete's, for anyone coming this way, the food was cooked fresh and they had a selection of carrot cake which was a surprise, but a tasty one, the toilet shack was also i better knick than the majority of their competitors (which included; Weather Spoons, Rovers Return and Fawlty Towers to name but a few!)
Aye well I'm bookmarking this!
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