Goa Beach

We spent three days in Goa, mainly at the beach and walking in the beachside towns.  We walk the length from Baga Beach to Calangute Beach and then toward a cargo ship at the bend in the coastline - about 10 km each way.  All told we walk about 25 km each day, which is pretty good - that's Camino de Santiago distances, on an average day. In an effort to avoid the vendors selling necklaces, massages, fruit, sarongs, etc, Jody perfects a technique that involves her crying out "Dive!," then plunging into the surf, where the vendors don't want to go because their goods will get wet.  I just wave them off with my hand and ignore them; being a spokesman for ten years gives you pretty thick skin.

For breakfast we are eating mainly Malabar paratha, which are heavenly thin buttery flaky breads, tomato and coconut chutneys and sambar, a type of stew.  The hotel also offers cinnamon rolls, but I scoff at these pathetic mockeries of Cinnabons, barely bigger than an Eisenhower dollar and with no frosting whatsoever.  This country will never become a superpower as long as its pastries weigh under a pound each and provide fewer than 4000 calories a pop.

Nearly all the buses and taxis in Goa have hoods decorated with bright orange flower leis.  At one point we passed several parked taxis festooned with the flowers, and there was a goat eating the flowers right off one of the cars.  People were playing cricket on the beach, and it's no more comprehensible a sport up close than it is from a distance.  A couple of oxen make it onto the beach, but the water buffaloes stay in the rice paddies.  Except for the young men, it seems like Indians just wear normal clothes (ie, saris) to the beach, not bathing suits, and then they just go right into the water in long pants, full-length saris, etc.  And the ubiquitous crows were all over the beach, pecking at fish that had washed up and scavenging for scraps.