2025 – Goa

I visited Goa as a solo traveller in 2017 and 2018, staying at the Santiago Beach Resort in Calangute; I enjoyed both my stays and had been looking forward to introducing Ali to Goa, and indeed to the Santiago – even if, as a ‘Beach Resort’ it’s a full quarter mile from the beach!

So, I was pleasantly surprised when it appeared on the TUI website, with direct flights from the UK. We had already agreed that we wouldn’t be revisiting Morrocco in February ’25, so a quick check at the expected weather for Goa in February (about thirty degrees during the day, pretty good), Ali and I chatted, and I soon had it booked.

Our flight was overnight on Saturday February 15th, arriving at Goa’s new Manohar airport in Goa at Sunday lunchtime.

Our journey to Gatwick, through rain and sleet, was straightforward, as was dropping the car at the valet parking; we’ve used them a few times now, and it’s a slick operation.

I’d checked us in online, but the bag drop was complicated by TUI insisting on checking the validity of our Indian visas. We had booked special assistance for Ali – who’d wrenched her knee a few weeks previously. They explained the procedure; gave us a pager and we headed through to the ‘Red Lion’. We’d done our research and discovered that all the other bars and lounges closed at either seven or eight PM, while ‘Spoons’ stayed open late.

Ours was the last flight out, at 10:15 PM and virtually all the flight’s passengers were ensconced in the bar.

When our flight’s gate was announced we returned to the assistance area and were whisked to the front of the departure gate. Once again Ali was the first person in the economy cabin.

The flight was full, and the service okay, the seat-back entertainment wasn’t quite up to the standards of Qatar or Emirates, but we whiled away the flight, even if we didn’t manage to get much sleep.

We arrived at Manohar airport on time, at lunchtime on Sunday and were swiftly through immigration. Baggage reclaim was slightly less efficient, but we were outside the shiny new terminal within an hour of landing, and our car was waiting.

The drive to Calangute was uneventful, the new roads and flyovers I had seen being constructed on my last trip were effective and we arrived at our hotel within an hour of leaving the airport. Our driver initially struggled to find our hotel, but we were soon checked in, to room 158, next to my previous room, still on the ground floor and with a slightly better view of the pool.

We dumped our bags and headed over to the bar for a drink and some lunch. The onion bhajis were as good as I remembered, while Ali tried fried balls of mashed potato with mint – accompanied by a couple of bottles of Kingfisher lager. A couple of the bar staff recognised me (from six and a half years previously) and welcomed Ali.

Back in our room we both had a couple of hours sleep and later stepped outside the hotel to catch up with Max the tailor and Jack the jeweller, I intended to do some business with both.

We then returned to the bar for dinner, Ali had a ‘Goan Fish Curry’ while I had a – slightly disappointing – ‘Chicken Xacuti’. Then back to our room where Ali managed to get a better night’s sleep than me.

Breakfast on Monday was distinctly ‘Indian’, despite the waiter’s conspiratorial offers of bacon and sausages.

After breakfast we strolled down to see Max (the tailor), where I ordered a couple of waistcoats based on a waistcoat he’d made for me seven years earlier, using fabric I’d bought from Chelmsford market. Then, over the road to Jack (the jeweller); I had some things I wanted made, and we stumbled across a rather nice ‘eternity’ ring for Ali.

From there we strolled down to the main Calangute to Baga road and found an ATM. I also bought myself a hat, made – I think – of cardboard – for the princely sum of 650 rupees, about six quid. By now it was approaching lunchtime, so we headed back to the hotel for lunch and a couple of beers.

In the afternoon we sat on our room’s balcony reading our books, before meeting our TUI representative. There was some confusion over our excursion planned for Tuesday, initially it wasn’t going ahead, and it would be rescheduled to the following Tuesday – our last day, which we refused – or we could rebook onto a longer, more expensive trip on Saturday – which we also refused. He left having confirmed that our trip would be going as planned, and that we would be picked up from the hotel at 8:45 on Tuesday. We were sceptical.

The hotel had fired up the Tandoor oven for Monday evening and we enjoyed an exceptional meal before an early night.

Tuesday morning dawned and we were down in reception at 8:40 in anticipation of our excursion. The car arrived at 8:45 and we headed off to pick up another couple from a fancy looking hotel in Candolim, they hailed from Ilkley and, during the day we learned that they’d been told the same thing about the trip to up-sell.

Our first stop was at a large church in Panaji, the state capital of Goa, after which we strolled through some picturesque old Portuguese style homes. From there we visited Panaji market where we snuck over the road for a cup of chai.

From there it was a half hour drive to the church os St Francis Xavier, which houses the saints preserved body in a glass casket. Then over the road to the cathedral of St Catherine, the largest Christian church in Asia.

Our next stop, another half hour away was at a Hindu shrine, but we stopped on the way for an obligatory visit to a rather expensive handcraft shop. Then another half an hour drive to a spice plantation where we enjoyed an excellent lunch before a brief tour showing us the various spices gown on the plantation.

Our guide skirted us past the spice plantation’s retail offering, and we sped back to our hotel, arriving back at around 4pm, an enjoyable and extensive ‘half-day’ trip.

We stayed by the pool for the rest of the day and into the evening, enjoying another exceptional meal before crashing out, it had been a long day.

We had planned to visit the beach on Wednesday morning, but my left ankle had flared up with what I suspected to be another bout of cellulitis, so instead we walked down to a nearby pharmacy and bought some antibiotics ‘over the counter’. I had feared that we might have to summon a doctor to get a prescription, but the pharmacy had no qualms about the sale.

Ali enjoyed a few swims in the hotel pool, while I sat on the balcony reading my book.

After lunch we strolled down to the beach, the route down there – which we later learned was not the best route – was littered with rubbish and difficult to navigate.

We found the beach filled with cabins and bars, so settled at the nearest for a quick drink before heading back to our hotel.

Interestingly, it looks as though the microbrewery formerly known as ‘Habanero’ – which didn’t survive through the lockdowns – might soon be ready to reopen. There were distinct brewing smells emanating from it a few days earlier.

Dinner comprised some exceptional biryanis in the hotel, accompanied by bottled Kingfisher beers and a rather good local brandy nightcap.

On Thursday we had decided to whizz up to the Royal Enfield Café, which I’d visited on my previous trips. Various maps suggested that it was only a mile or so away, but we figured it would be prudent to take a cab. There are drivers lurking on the road from the hotel to the main drag, I negotiated a price with one of the drivers – ‘shaggy’ – and he drove us down, agreeing to wait for us.

My main objective was to get a gift for an Essex County Council colleague who rides a Royal Enfield motorcycle, and once we’d accomplished that we went into the bar.

The bar has an impressive selection of draught beers on offer, but sadly the draught taps were out of operation, and unfortunately most of the interesting, bottled brews were out of stock, so we tried a couple of locally brewed lagers and headed back to the hotel for lunch.

We spent the afternoon relaxing, Ali taking the occasional dip, while I contented myself with reading my book.

The kitchen had fired up the tandoor oven for the evening session and we enjoyed another excellent meal, including freshly cooked tandoori chicken.

Our Friday objective was a visit to the fish market in Calangute and the Hard Rock Hotel; we’d already agreed that ‘Shaggy’ would run us down there. As it was, he delegated the trip to one of his colleagues.

The fish market has had some new tiled murals since my last visit but was largely unchanged; ladies sitting around with small piles of fish and seafood, watched covetously by several cats.

We found a spice seller and stocked up on some spices and were amused when he hand-sealed the bags over a small candle.

From there we strolled over to the Hard Rock Hotel for some retail therapy and a cold beer; it really is a strange place, a tranquil western enclave amid Goa’s chaos. I wonder how many guets actually venture ‘outside’?

Then a taxi back to our hotel; Jack the Jeweller had re polished Ali’s wedding ring, while my new shirts had been delivered to Max the Tailor.

In the evening, we ventured down to Baga Deck, a restaurant I had only tried on the last night of my previous trip.

I had previously avoided it, as it looked like a tourist trap, but I had really enjoyed the food. We had starters of Chicken Satay with a huge portion of Vegetable Pakoras; followed by Prawn Balchao, a local specialty that I’d enjoyed on my previous visit. It’s rich and jammy with a sweet and sour flavour, Baga Deck usually serves it with sliced white bread, but I ordered ours with rice.

As we walked back to the hotel there were signs of light and life in what was formerly ‘Habanero’ so fingers crossed they’ll reopen before we depart.

On Saturday morning, after a late breakfast, we wandered down to the ‘Tibetan Market’, which was, frankly, a disappointment. After a sneaky beer in a nearby b, we returned to the hotel for a lazy afternoon and evening.

On Sunday morning, I strolled back towards Calangute to pay a debt. On Monday, I bought a hat from one of the street stalls. It was 650 rupees, but between the stall holder and me, we could only muster 600, so he said I could owe him fifty. I found the stall, and he said, “Do you have the fifty rupees you owe me?” I think he was pleasantly surprised when I brandished the note and paid the debt without question.

We spent much of the day around the pool, and then, in the evening, we wandered down to find that Ravi was at his clothes stall. He greeted me warmly and told Ali what a lovely person I was! He’s doing well, he has another shop and attends markets and, finally has started stocking large sizes for foreigners!

I ordered a shirt from Farook – the tailor on the corner – he tries hard, but most guests seem to visit Max, so he misses out.  Twenty quid for a tailor-made shirt is sharing the love around.

And, on the way back to the hotel, Max delivered my waistcoats, I will need to settle with him.

For dinner, we explored the hotel menu further, Ali enjoyed a Mutton Rogan Josh, while I sampled a Chicken Vindaloo – which was spicy with a hint of vinegar, but less authentic than perhaps I’d hoped.

I headed down to the bank on Monday morning to draw cash out to ay Max but learned that the maximum withdrawal was only ten thousand rupees, about-ninety-five quid, so I would need to make another journey on Tuesday.

I paid the first instalment and then chilled at the hotel until lunchtime, when we took a taxi down to Tito’s statue, at the end of Tito’s Lane. Tito D’Souza was the founder of tourism in the Baga – Calangute area.

We ventured into the beach and then retired to one of the many beach shacks for a drink. Then back to the hotel, where I finally finished my book; it had been heavy going, but enjoyable.

In the evening, we strolled down to see Ravi and bought a ‘beach’ dress for Ali, he said he might have some shirts in my size for Tuesday evening. Then dinner in the hotel; nobody watched the cricket match on TV (Bangladesh versus New Zealand) where they had been clustered round the previous evening for India versus Pakistan.

After breakfast on Tuesday, our last full day, we went down to see Max and Jack. Jack had finished Ali’s ring which looked beautiful, we said we’d return to pick it up in the evening. Ali returned to the hotel, feeling a bit under the weather, while I went to the bank to withdraw the final payment to Max.

Then a quiet morning on the balcony, enjoying the warmth, conscious that – back home – it’s still February. A dip in the pool and my last Onion Bhaji lunch for a while. We chatted to Diane and Wayne, whose room is the other side of the staircase from ours. He’s ex-military and a long-distance truck driver who spends five days a week on the road.

The internet was down for much of the day. Someone had cut through a fibre-optic cable and much of the town had no signal.

In the evening, we headed down to Jack, to pay for Ali’s ring, to the corner tailor for my ‘spread the love’ shirt, and to check whether Ravi had anything to fit me. The ‘spread the love’ shirt didn’t quite turn out as I’d hoped and Ravi had been unable to source any large shirts, but no matter.

Back at the hotel, we enjoyed our final dinner, with me trying a Chinese Hot and Sour soup to start, then continuing to enjoy the hotel’s Chicken Biryani while Ali tried a Galina Cafrael, an unusual Goan Chicken dish, cooked in a green Coriander sauce.

Next morning, Wednesday, we sealed our cases and enjoyed breakfast, bidding farewell to the waiters who had served us so cheerfully – and passing a tip to Walter to pass on to the team. And to some of our fellow guests, although there had been quite a few who loved to complain yet kept on returning- some for over twenty years.

We’d booked a car to take us to the airport and were surprised and disappointed when the driver arrived without his car. He’d been threatened by the local taxi drivers who wouldn’t let him drive gown the side road to the hotel. The hotel provided a porter and we walked down to the main drag where our driver met us.

The trip to the airport, through some creative back roads, took just over half an hour, and we were deposited outside the terminal for the first of several document checks. We checked in and negotiated passport control and the security checks by 10:30. The only annoyance was that our mozzie bite ‘zapper’—which had stood us in good stead for many years and many flights—fell foul of the Indian security check and was confiscated.

Once through security we found a quiet place to sit before boarding the flight which departed on time at about 12:55. The flight itself was uneventful, taking a different routing compared to the outward journey, and landed on time at Gatwick at 6pm.

The last time we flew TUI into Gatwick we found ourselves at a gate that seemed several towns away. Given Ali’s dodgy knee we decided to exploit the assistance we’d requested; this meant sitting on the aircraft until the rest of the passengers had deplaned.

We finally left the aircraft at 6:30 and were driven on a golf-cart through passport control and down in a lift to the baggage conveyor. Our luggage arrived promptly, and while we struggled to find the valet parking area – again -we were on the road by 7:15, arriving home an hour later.

All in all, a most enjoyable trip, we may return one day, who knows?