‘That’s too expensive’ Goof said to me in exasperation. Just a few days ago she saw no problem with spending 150 bucks on a room. Now India had got into her, and a rickshaw ride inflated by a dollar fifty seemed preposterous. I knew this feeling.
My sister and I had been exploring Varanasi for a few days, strolling on the ghats and getting lost in the maze of back streets. Varanasi can be a bit intense at times but it didn’t matter. Our next step was onto the sandy beaches of Goa.
A sunny southern state quite unlike the north of the country, Goa is famous for its beaches: party beaches, rave beaches, hippy beaches, yoga beaches, family beaches…Even the pickiest visitor can be satisfied. Definitely the drunkest one – especially in the northern part of the state’s stretch of oceanfront real-estate.
Basically, Goa is one of the worst-kept secrets ever. But with good reason…there are some beautiful beaches there.
Goof and I flew down from Varanasi one evening. It was well after dark when we arrived, met our ride and set off for our beach hotel. As we drove the highway narrowed to an often single-lane road passing through forests and spice plantations, and small towns totally silent at the late hour. The 400 year long colonial legacy left behind by the Portuguese was easily visible even in the darkness: we passed one Catholic church after another, lost count of the shrines at intersections and roundabouts. Eventually the driver turned off the road altogether and headed down a deeply rutted track towards the shoreline. When we finally got out of the car we really couldn’t tell much about our surroundings. We could hear the ocean and that’s about it. The night manager took us along a little path and let us into our bungalow. We went straight to sleep, wondering what we’d find when we woke up in the morning.
We found this:
Cola Beach in south Goa is a small cove nestled between rocky hills at either end and backed by a green lagoon, jungly palms and forest. Because of its relative ‘inaccessibility’ (the long bumpy dirt track is the only road in; otherwise you can walk from other beaches on a forest trail), there are only about five bungalow operations set up here.
Between our little cottage in the shade and the bar-restaurant on the beach, we had everything we needed.
Except sun loungers, the hotel seemed to have a shortage of those (they had about four. It’s a small place but still).
One afternoon as Goof and I lay on a shared sunlounger she gazed out at the blue water and said ‘This is just like that movie Castaway’. I pictured my sister disappearing over the horizon on a homemade raft, or maybe an inflatable lobster, her hand outstretched towards the shore, screaming ‘WI FI! Wi Fiiiiiiiiiii!’.
We’d had all sorts of ambitions about kayaking on the lagoon and hiking the forest trails but we got swept away by the lazy vibes of the place and just hung out on our verandah or drank beers on the beach, and ate seafood and curries in the restaurant.
Then we hopped on over to Agonda beach. It’s longer and more built up, but still a beautifully relaxing place. There’s a village behind it: a sandy network of shady streets with a lot of little bungalow hotels, bars and restaurants, massage, and yoga shalas.
We stayed in a garden bungalow at the tiny Agonda Serenity Resort.
They serve awesome breakfasts (and lunches…and dinners…) and also have plenty of sunloungers.
‘Does it still feel like India?’ I asked Goof as we lolled about in the sun staring at the ocean and sipping cold drinks.
But all good things come to an end and we couldn’t just stay on the beach drinking fresh pineapple juice all day forever.
It was dark once again when we arrived back in noisy chaotic smoggy Delhi (Serenity now….) and checked into the same hotel where we’d started this trip. I saw Goof off in the wee hours of the morning.
She went to the airport for her flight home, and I went back to bed.
When I woke up again a few hours later it seemed almost like my sister had never been here. I felt a bit dejected as I set off myself, to New Delhi Station. But when I arrived at the familiar platform and boarded the train in the early morning rush I felt my spirits rising quickly.
No train journey around here is ever without entertainment. When I hopped off a few hours later at Jhansi Junction, I saw this handy advice from India Rail painted on the stairs.
Several of these suggestions didn’t seem to have much to do with train travel; maybe the citizens of Jhansi need some life-guidance in general. I didn’t stay there long enough to find out. Instead I took an auto rickshaw for another hour to a small town called Orchha.
In Orchha I settled on a guesthouse that I liked: a family home in an extremely messy state but my room was clean and besides, I liked the family. They ran a snack stand next door and constantly fed me samosas, pakora and chai. Plus one morning I woke up to some monkeys running loose in the hall outside my door.
Tucked away in the countryside on the banks of the Betwa river, it’s fitting that the name Orchha means ‘hidden’. It’s an historical town: founded in 1531 it was the capital of one of the most powerful kingdoms in central India, until 1783. Today it’s just a few rambling modern streets built around an impressive Rajput palace complex and some seriously massive temples.
It’s an easy place to spend a few days soaking up the silence in ancient ruins, exploring magnificent temples and noisy modern-day markets, and eating sunset dinners on rooftop lookouts nestled amongst the lofty spires of the temples and palaces all around.
The main complex is made up of two 16th and 17th century palaces: the Raj Mahal and the Jehangir Mahal.
There are outlying buildings including one that served either as some pretty elaborate camel stables, or as a royal pleasure pavilion, whatever that means – no one knows for sure. And the nearby Rai Parveen Mahal palace once belonged to a famous courtesan.
Life in Orchha today revolves around the huge Ram Raja temple, where Rama is worshipped like a king.
Anywhere else railings like this would corral the queue for a rollercoaster or a stadium: here they’re for containing devotees come to worship at Ram Raja.
Originally a palace, the building inadvertently became a temple when it turned out that a temporarily installed effigy of Lord Ram was impossible to move.
And just next door, Chaturbhuj Temple towers over Orchha – the actual temple the effigy was intended for. Climbing up inside the temple you can see all over the entire town.
Besides palace-and-temple-hopping, a short walk out of town and along the river is a group of chhatris.
The once glorious Rajput kingdom is long gone, but fourteen cenotaphs still stand – funerary monuments to the royal rulers of Orchha.
As for me, I had a flight home coming up fast, so I reluctantly retraced my steps to Jhansi station and then caught a train for Delhi. It was less than a year since the last time I’d travelled in India. When I left that time I felt sad, wondering when I’d be back. But as I boarded my flight this time, I thought to myself, no doubt the next time will come sooner than I think.
Read More
For more of my adventures (and misadventures) in India, check out the rest of my stories from the road.
