My relaxing beach part of the holiday gets off to a great start when my taxi driver drops me off at my hotel which, it turns out, does not exist! It’s called the Secret Cove, but it’s so fucking secret that it’s invisible to the naked eye and none of the locals know of its existence! Cue an angry email to Agoda, a swift refund, and a hasty booking of another hotel down the road.
In good news, alcohol here is cheap, and bars are everywhere. God knows I could use a drink right now. I plonk myself in one of the many beach bars and order a Kingfisher. I’m regretting my decision to stay two nights at Baga Beach (the party side of North Goa). It all feels a little tacky and not at all what I expected. I watch the sunset, along with the cows who all bizarrely traipse to the beach en masse to watch it too.
That evening I meet Chantal for drinks on the beach. Baga at night is a totally different place and I instantly hate it. It’s like the Blackpool illuminations. Ridiculously loud music and flashing lights emanating from all the bars, strobe lights in the sky. It feels like I’m at a carnival. I also expected to see more foreigners but all of the tourists here are Indians. It’s back to be being famous with so many people approaching me asking where I’m from and asking for photos. I’m in no mood after the day I’ve had so I’m rather short with them.
We manage to find a slightly quieter beach bar where we’re actually capable of having a conversation. We have a few beers, but in 80% humidity they’re warm as soon as they touch the table. We call it a night around 11 and head towards the main road past all of the clubs. It’s just a sea of people, mainly men, and so many club touts trying to tempt us in with free entry and drinks. I literally could not think of anything worse.
On my walk back to my hotel, my stomach starts to feel a bit funny. Fucking brilliant. Icing on the cake after the day I’ve had. To top it all off, the toilet flush breaks. Jesus Christ. I toss and turn with stomach cramps most of the night. I’m not even sure what caused it as I didn’t have an appetite today and all I ate was a croissant and some chips. I message the hotel owner to let him know I’ll be checking out tomorrow a day earlier than planned. I can’t stay here a minute longer.
The next morning I head to Panjim, the capital city of Goa. I still feel like death, and feel nauseous the whole day. After a short lie down I force myself out as I’m only here for one day and would be a shame not to see the town. I last about 20 minutes before I feel like I’m going to pass out and head back to the hotel. A couple of hours later I’m feeling a bit better, so I head back out for a walk. The old part of the town, Fontainhas, is the legacy left by the Portuguese who ruled Goa for close to 450 years. Who knew. The town, now a UNESCO world heritage site, retains all the architectural from that time so there’s cute little streets with colourful colonial buildings, many now cafes and boutique hotels. Because of the Portuguese influence, there’s lots of great restaurants serving Portuguese/Goan fusion tapas, which i don’t think I have it in me to try. I was supposed to do a tapas and cocktail tour that evening, which I had to cancel. At this point I can’t even stomach a pastel de nata, so you know I must be ill!
After another lie down, I’m starting to have a bit of an appetite, which is a good sign. The only thing I think I can stomach is pasta, so I head to an Italian restaurant for a simple tomato pasta before having a very early night. Fingers crossed I’ll be back to normal tomorrow
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