MP, KC and Raj - the Lucky Star boys
Prince in pensive mood (probably trying to work out how to make me buy some jewellery...)
Shridevi with three of her seven daughters
Ah, Goa. Home of Kingfisher beer, the shark sizzler, the speedboat and the humble peanut seller.
Had a rapturous reunion with Mike and Tris in our GORGEOUS Baga Riverside apartment (all high ceilings, gleaming bathrooms and air conditioning. Oh yes...) After depositing my bags, quick shower and hairwash then destination Cafe Lila for freshly squeezed orange juice, fried potatoes and filter coffee. It's good to be back.
I have to confess to having very low expectations of north Goa, having endured rather than enjoyed my last week there in 2008. But it was great. Whether because of the recession or the Goan tourist board coming to its senses and easing back on the ridiculous over-development, this year has been quieter, friendlier and surprisingly like it used to be.
Everyone complains about the numbers of Russians there; they spend less and don't speak English, so are universally unpopular with traders, restaurateurs and taxi drivers. They're not a problem for their fellow tourists, although - however good they are to look at - they're sadly lacking in the rudiments of good manners in any language, including their own. Brits, Germans and other west Europeans are significantly thinner on the ground, but most tourists seem to be domestic: honeymoon couples and rich kids from Mumbai, Delhi and elsewhere in the north.
They love their noisy watersports, but the speedboats are less pervasive than a couple of years back - and, one positive development - the four-mile stretch of beach that runs from Baga River to Fort Aguada is now liberally staffed with lifeguards, their look out points slotted at regular intervals between the beach huts. Whether in response to the recent attack on a small Russian girl in the sea, or as part of a planned development, this has to be a good thing.
The beach police continue to be a threat, regularly dragging the traders off the beach to demand money with menaces. Mike was particularly upset when it happened again to Shridevi, our peanut seller friend. We'd been chatting to her kids on the beach, cuddling the new baby (another girl - her seventh!) and buying ice-creams when she was dragged off by an officer (a woman this time) and didn't reappear for over half an hour. In the meantime, we were left literally holding the baby, together with two other children under seven.
The system is corrupt, with beach police topping up their salaries by as much as 30,000 GBP in bribes, according to our jeweller friend Prince. Anyone who doesn't pay up can be prosecuted for illegal selling and put in the cells for a couple of days.
Shridevi obviously thinks the money she makes on the beach in season is worth the money she has to pay out in bribes. Four of her children (aged seven to 15) are also beach sellers, meaning that, for six months of the year, schooling is sketchy or non-existant - in spite of recent legislation that requires all children to attend school.
Munjo, the seven-year old, is our special favourite. We've known her since she was three or four years old and she has a smile that lights up the beach. She's a precocious madam, and has started charging for her 'massage' services, earnestly rubbing Tris and Mike's shoulders and legs before pitching in with her sales patter.
Prince, the handsome jeweller from Kashmir with the hypnotic voice, still hasn't married his girlfriend of seven plus years. Apparently her father won't give his permission, but she's refused to marry anyone her family chooses for her: it's Prince or nobody. We're still waiting for our wedding invitations...
It's hard to beat north Goa for cuisine and cocktails. Tris has developed an appetite for Singapore Slings and Old Monk, a dubious Goan dark rum. I can be seen sipping the occasional Blue Margarita, but my first love is still a freshly squeezed papaya juice, thick and pinky orange and tasting of sunshine. We celebrated my 45th birthday at Fiesta, a candle-lit garden restaurant where diners recline on silk cushions in hollowed out canoes, or at glass-topped tables over smooth white pebbles and shells.
Lucky Star, the biggest and best beach shack at the end of Tito's Lane, is still the same: the warmest staff and best banana milk shakes in Goa. KC, MP ('Yampi') and Raj seemed as pleased to see us again as we were to see them. Waiting for our shark sizzlers, we heard the news of MP's wedding and the baby on the way this summer. He'll be a great dad.
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