Hospet is linked to Goa by one train in each direction, four days a week. The train west leaves at 6:30 am, and although I nearly missed it, it wasn’t because I didn’t get up early enough. The rickshaw I had arranged the day before got me to the station at 6:25, and the train was five minutes or so late. No, my trouble was finding my carriage, as there were no helpful train plans posted in the station, and I got conflicting information.
Perhaps I should explain a couple of things about Indian trains. First, they are very, very long. At least 20 carriages long, and although the air-con cars are usually at the head end, where the ride is smoother, that’s not always the case, and it can easily take longer to walk the length of the train than the train is scheduled to wait. Second, there’s no whistle to signal that the train is leaving, it just starts moving. Very quietly. Fortunately, someone yelled at me, and at an equally confused Australian, in time for us to scramble on board as the train pulled out (good thing we had backpacks!). Then I pushed and slithered my way through half the non-AC sleeper carriages to reach my seat. Nothing like that to make you appreciate being able to afford something cooler, quieter and less crowded!
My first trip to India I stayed at north Vagator, and thought it the very model of a tropical beach: a long stretch of golden sand, backed by a profusion of palm trees and with a ruined fort on the headland to the north. I ate breakfast at a secluded beach shack near the fort, and headed south at sunset to drink cold Kingfisher beer while a rose-red sun slipped slowly into the Arabian sea. But I had heard that the southern beaches were even prettier, and this time I was visiting Palolem, as far south as I could go and still get AC. Ten years ago, Palolem was considered “undiscovered”, and even though it’s now firmly on the tourist map, beach chalets remain the main form of accommodation. The place I booked, Village Guest House, describes itself as “Palolem’s first boutique guest house”, and while that’s stretching it a bit, it does have rooms with AC and attached bath, and serves a praise-worthy breakfast. At least, the rooms are meant to have AC. I arrived by pre-paid taxi from Margao station (I avoided haggling with the taxi touts, but had to stand in a not very disciplined line in the sun) to be told that the AC in my room would be working “in two hours”…
I asked whether the power was out (everywhere in India is subject to frequent, generally daily, power cuts, although many hotels have back-up generators) and learned that the unit wasn’t working but that a technician was coming to fix it. Having little faith in the appearance of the technician, and less in his ability to fix the unit in the promised two hours, I insisted I wanted a different room. Fortunately a (bigger) room with working AC was available for one night, and Janet, one half of the couple who owned the place, agreed to move me, albeit reluctantly. (Justifying my skepticism, the AC in my original room wasn’t fixed until the next afternoon.)
While I found the guest house comfortable – certainly much more comfortable than a beach chalet – it was a little far from the beach and my choice put me firmly in the holiday-maker rather than the traveler camp. Most of the other guests were westerners spending a week or two sunning and partying. Not really my scene, although I did go to dinner with the group one night. As I get older, and my hearing gets worse, I’m less and less inclined to spend my time in loud places with a lot of people I barely know. If you want to party, and you certainly don’t have to, the upper verandah is the place. There’s an actual barman from 6:00 to 11:00, and other tastes are still catered to in Goa if not in Hampi.
Palolem beach, despite the continuous line of cafes and chalets ringing its sands, was lovely. A perfect crescent curved between two rocky headlands, fishing boats still put out at sunset, and the sun made a dramatic exit behind a thick stand of trees. The shacks were set back under the fringing palm trees, and although I had to walk a gauntlet of clothes and souvenir stalls to reach the beach, the vendors weren’t especially pushy. The next beach south, Patnam, was following in Palolem’s footsteps, but still had a ways to go. I took a rickshaw there, quite early one morning, to find the cafes barely open – the help was still sleeping on the sofas out front – and hardly another person to be seen. Plenty of cows though – I didn’t go into the water!
In fact, I didn’t do much of anything – isn’t that what beaches are for? I spent some quality time in the beach front cafes – notably Drupadi, conveniently situated right where the road met the beach, with a stellar sunset view, and good food and service. I bought some cheap cotton clothes to beat the heat and humidity. I organized tickets for the next two train trips – I had planned to ride the local train, but when it came to the point I couldn’t face several hours without AC. I was lucky to get a ticket on the taktal quote for the Margao to Mangalore leg – these tickets are released 48 hours before the train leaves, at a higher than normal price. I even rode on the back of my host’s motorbike into the nearby town to buy an Indian SIM for my cell phone. Many tourists chose to ride bikes round Goa, but the accident rate is high and no helmets are worn. (For that matter, I don’t think I’ve seen a single helmet the whole time I’ve been in India, but I’ve seen hordes of motorbikes.)
And I made friends with another solo woman traveler, a technical writer from Delhi traveling on her own for the first time. Our last night at Palolem we ate dinner (at Drupadi) with a newly arrived young couple from Chennai (both I.T. workers – maybe the owner of the Mango Tree was right about them going to Goa). When they arrived I was on the net trying to find accommodation in Coorg. I had planned to stay at Coffee Creek, but when I sent an email confirming the reservation before finding an ICICI Bank to pay the deposit, the reply said, in so many words, please find somewhere else. Finding somewhere else wasn’t going very well, until the Chennai couple recommended Kabbe Holidays, where I wound up staying.
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