Articles > Goa, Goa, Gone

You only need to survey their imprint on India to come to the conclusion that the Victorian British were about as much fun as a dose of gout. This bridge-playing clan, stiff of upper lip and profuse of moustache, bequeathed to India the colourless legacies of cricket, an unwieldy railway network, snail-paced bureaucracy and a taste for splitting great chunks off the subcontinent and starting wars. Now consider, if you would, Pondicherry, in Tamil Nadu (southern India), a former colony of the French. Gallicly showy-offy, Pondicherry’s whitewashed buildings froth with pink bougainvillea, its baguettes are crackly crisp and its ratatouilles run with olive oil.

But, if anywhere would have made the doughty old Queen Victoria swallow all four chins in moralistic horror, it’s Goa. ‘Discovered’ by explorer Vasco de Gama in the fifteenth century, Goa was one of Portugal’s overseas territories for over 450 years. The Portuguese, in marked contrast to the Brits, were a people inclined to loosen their breeches and let the beer flow. Their enduring legacies in this, a tiny state hugging the west coast of the subcontinent (at 1,446 square miles, Goa’s roughly the same size as Sussex), range from ravishing fish dishes, to cheap and free-flowing alcohol, and, above all, a laidback relish for life, the attitude best being summed up by Goan term ‘susegad’, which roughly translates as ‘carefree’, or perhaps: ‘Bridge? Not on your nelly - I’m off to party’.

But it’s another group of migrants who did most to establish Goa’s legend as a goodtime state. The first of the great hippy unwashed beached on Goan sands in the 1960s, bringing with them all-night parties, flouro waistcoats and rampant nudism. It’s an alternative lifestyle that still flourishes in Goa, especially to the far north of the Goan coast (in Arambol); the far south (Palolem); and in Anjuna, with its famous Wednesday flea market (everything from hammocks to Day-glo jockstraps) and its earbleed trance beats, which rip through coconut thickets into the ink-black Goan skies every night during the high season of Nov-Feb. So, if you’ve come to Goa to play a didgeridoo with a man in a loincloth, or nibble vegetarian sushi while a lady ‘performer’ sings like someone slipping in and out of consciousness, you won’t be disappointed. Although these days, of course, your fellow party-goers are as likely to be English gap-year lovelies, Israelis fresh out of military service uniform or upper-middle class Russians as leathery-faced old-timers.

Happily there’s also plenty on offer in Goa for those with an interest in rudimentary personal hygiene. In the 1990s, glossier resorts began to mushroom across the coast, offering everything from high-class golf resorts, to yoga breaks and health spas. One of the newest in the Taj empire of super-slick hotels, the Taj Exotica offers pitch and putt, Ayuverdic massage and rose-petal filled outdoor baths, as well as your own private veranda overlooking the electric blue Arabian sea. Or, for something more secluded, try the Aguada Hermitage in Sinquerim. Its 15 exclusive villas are perched upon a hill, with coastal views that will make any man weep with wonder.

Key to the popularity of the snazzier hotels, of course, as well as the beach hotels thronged by package-holidaying families (such those in the bustling Colva and Calangute) are Goa’s natural blessings: 105km of coastline lapped by a warm Arabian Sea. For this reason, many of the new breed of two-week holidaymakers ignore Goa’s interior. This is a true pity, as there’s much to explore if you find the get-up-and-go to roll yourself off the hot sand and onto a hired scooter (the easiest way to get around).

Panaji (Panjim), the State’s capital, and the nearby Old Goa are a particular highlight. Despite Goa’s wealth (it’s the richest state, per capita, in India), there has been no swell of urban migration into Panaji, meaning it remains the most relaxed state capital in India. The biggest trades here are the sale of kaju (cashews); gentleman shaves in the barbieris and enthusiastic feni-quaffing (potent cashew-nut liqueur, see below) in the booths of Panaji’s bars. The whitewashed Catholic Church of the Immaculate Conception looms large over the city’s central Largo Da Igreja square, with its baroque towers and marble statues (visit on the feast day of 13 Oct and 8 Dec for candlelight processions).

Slung on the crest of a low hill 8km from Panaji you’ll find Old Goa (Velha Goa), a flagging, melancholy beauty that once rivalled Lisbon in grandeur, and was dubbed the ‘Rome of the East’. Don’t miss the Basilica of Bom Jesus (a world heritage site) and the quirky nearby modern art gallery, featuring the surrealist paintings of Goan artist Dom Martin. Be sure, too, to take time to drive through the richly forested hills of the Sahyadri mountains, part of the Western Ghats, or go off the beaten track and stumble across the locals sorting vast blankets of the blood-red local chillies and laying them out to dry in the baking sun.

These firey ‘bird’s eye’ chillies are behind one of the other unmissable Goan treats - its remarkable local cuisine. Goans, in particular love their fish, with ‘fish curry and rice’ having become a local catchphrase. Plough into a spicy tamarind Kingfish the size of hotwater bottle, spicy prawn pie (apa de camarao) or reichado, a whole fish cut in half and served with a hot masala sauce. Coconuts and juicy cashew nuts are ubiquitous, used in sauces, drinks and snacks. And those who see dining as an extreme sport should dive into an eyewateringly hot vindaloo (this is the state that invented it), perhaps watered down with a feni (a cashew nut or coconut spirit known as ‘firewater’), best served with soda, salt and lime juice.

Despite the rising tide of tourism - from Vagator southwards is, in season, as populous as Torremolinos on a torrid August day - there’s still plenty on offer in Goa for those seeking something of the tranquil emptiness and laidback mood for which the State is famous. In Morjim, Aswem, Mandrem and Arambol you’ll still find stretches of butterscotch beach undotted by the glare of humanity. An opportunity, perhaps, to return home with Goa’s greatest export - a lavish serving of susegad.

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