"It was the worst of times, it was the best of times," in that order. Our Goan holiday began badly. A misguided attempt to re-write history led me to book us into a hotel in Anjuna, a beach town in the former Portugese colony where I had stayed 15 years before and not enjoyed then. The fact that it had most certainly only got worse in the ensuring time did not inform my hope that I could have a better time on this trip. Anjuna was heading in a bad direction then, and now it seemed to have arrived there.
(Palolem Beach - around Breakfast time)
Fifteen years ago, it was still a relatively rustic, rural and unrefined beach retreat. It was famous for its weekly flea market which had become a Mecca for backpackers and itinerant hippy drops outs and a great source for Thai-dye, hammocks and trance CDs. Its population was primarily young Israelis de-mob happy after their National Service and any number of European backpackers wizzing about on scooters looking for the next rave party. Other than that, what seemed to me then - prior to living 12 years in Australia - an idyllic beach was lined only with a few lean-to bars and restaurants, certainly not enough to obscure its iconic palm-tree Forrest back-drop. Today, that back drop has been entirely eroded by Wall-to-wall bars, the Israelis replaced by Russian mafia and the hippy vibe rubbed out by a distinctly derelict pseudo-criminal edge that might lead you to mistake it not so much for Goa but for Gomorrah.
So we de-camped rather abruptly. About as far south down the Goan coast as we could get in fact. We found a beach in Palolem that much more closely meets most people's expectation of what a Goan escape represents. (Awesome resort called Ciarran's - best on the beach!) While Anjuna is much more Ibiza, Palolem is very reminiscent of Thailand. While bars and restaurants do line the beach, the hinterland is far more limited and the hut-culture is a carbon copy of Thai resorts I've visited. The drug trade is almost entirely under control (one offer in Palolem in a week versus every other person in Anjuna in only two days!) and while music does make an appearance during the day, it is not the loud duff-duff that permeates every aspect of Anjunan life. Holiday makers - Western and Indian - and travelers trying to relax dominate the beach scene in Palolem versus the drug-casualty drop outs and drug pushers that seem to dominate its northern rival.
The two experiences are probably best exemplified by the sunsets we watched on each beach. The last sunset of 2012 we watched at a secluded bar at the end of Palolem beach, sharing it with a few couples, one or two groups and even a young family. With a background of very quite ambient trance, everyone chatted quietly as they drank their sundowner drinks, concentrating carefully on the spiritual moment that is a sunset. When the quite beautiful vista reached its crescendo everyone clapped and a feeling of bonhomerie transcended the scene.
(The Anjuna Sunset - with our friends)
However, while that was more characteristic of sunset experiences on Anjuna beach 15 years ago, the same moment only a few days before was quite different. We spent much of it watching a young chap attempt to revive his near-unconscious and vomiting friend as he lay paralytic in the sand after what seemed a drinking bender gone wrong. Eventually his other friends arrived and they argued drunkenly about whether to abandon their hapless chum or not. Repetitive duff-duff hammered our ears from the next bar, at which a lone forty-something drug casualty danced with himself like it was 1999. Gangs of over-stylized local men cruised the beach looking for action with a swagger that betrayed attitude, arrogance and mischief. No one seemed remotely interested in what was an equally beautiful sunset except us and possibly the few cows and dogs that also shared the beach with us.
Goa is a funny old place. After weeks of traveling a country peppered with well-attended little shrines on every street corner worshipping Hindu gods, it's strange to see them here instead dedicated to the Virgin Mary. And while most taxi, bus and Rikshaw drivers have small Ganesh, Vishnu or Shiva statuettes on their dashboard, in Goa they are usually depicting Jesus. Temples are swapped out by Portugese churches as a testament to the Jesuits' far more effective conversion track record than that of the British Evangelical Missionaries. Cars seem to far out number scooters on the highways contrasting sharply with elsewhere in India, and the adverts speak far more about swimming pools and casinos and far less about cement and sarees.
But if Palolem in the far south is anything to go by - and by all accounts Arambol in the far north remains the chilled out sanctuary it was on my last visit - it is at Goa's geographical extremities that you will find the more moderate experience and in its centre where the extreme is at its most intense. Always hard to pass by on any Indian Odyssey - especially at Christmas - I can say that after this second visit, wherever you stay Goa remains compelling, engrossing and tantalizing and well worth any aggravation.