Friday 13th - Lucky for some

There is a problem.  We cannot transfer photos from D's camera to the tablet in order to illustrate this blog. It appears that the little bit of wire with the special plugs on the end that connects the card reader to the tablet has a malfunction. This has to be sorted. 

After breakfast D sets out to look for a replacement.  It's still a bit early but some of the electronics/photography shops near CST are starting to open. At a couple they consider the issue before shaking their heads, at one two chaps have a very lengthy discussion before deciding they cannot help. At another spot the chap says "Please wait" and recovers a box from the back. This contains all sorts of weird and wonderful cables but not the one that we need. He is very apologetic. 

D is nearly back at the hotel when he spots a couple of stationery stores that seem to have computer accessories.  The first two are a blank but at the third the chap says "Please have a seat". He makes a couple of phone calls and then dispatches an elderly minion on an errand. Within a few minutes the minion returns with exactly the right piece of kit. On Amazon UK the original cost over a fiver. Here 150 rupees. It doesn't quite solve the original problem but it does give a workable fix and we can once again be fully illustrated.

The main event today is lunch in Bandra with B, another IndiaMiker who is visiting Mumbai from Delhi. We have plenty of time to get to the station so we take in the Bombay Store, a top dollar emporium catering for gullible tourists. R has to be surgically removed from the display of earrings but is permitted to purchase a couple of stencils. Watch out for greetings cards bearing elephants. D also remembers to get a top up of data for his phone. A shop over the road has a big Airtel banner over the door. The entrance turns out to be a stairway up to some offices and the shop is a cupboard fastened to the outside wall of the building tended by two young men seated on plastic chairs on the pavement. The transaction takes less than a minute and D is now the proud owner of 2 Gigabytes of data.

R wants to visit St Thomas Cathedral,  which sits a little incongruously amongst the commerce of the Fort district. It is well maintained and has a few people in praying and reading the bible. The place is full of memorials to Brits who met untimely deaths serving the East India Company or the Army in India. We also pass a couple of Parsi temples but these have notices forbidding entry to non-Parsis.

Trains run to Bandra from both CST and Churchgate but the m-Indicator app warns us of a service suspension between CST abd Bandra so we walk across the Maidan to Churchgate. As we do we see lots of the legendary dabbawallas riding bikes and pushing carts laden with lunchboxes of all types. These are picked up from homes and delivered to offices all over the city.  We still have plenty of time so we go to the Tea Centre for a cuppa. Our order is taken but 25 minutes later nothing has happened so we have to cancel and go for our train. The Tea Centre must be some sort of Government establishment.

The station forecourt at Bandra is covered in tarpaulins and worshippers who have overflowed from the nearby mosque for Friday prayers. There is a roped off passage to allow infidels to get to and from the station. We have only been there a couple of minutes when B arrives and we squeeze into an auto to head for lunch. The venue is Hakkasan, a very smart Cantonese place on the second floor of an office building.

It is an incredibly smart place and we appear to be the only diners, greatly outnumbered by the staff. We are so busy chatting that we keep having to ask for more time to order. When it comes the food is superb, even the lotus roots that we have to try out of curiosity.  Nobody hurries us and it is about 4 p.m. before we leave, moving on for a coffee and then a Friday evening beer. 

B is a little concerned about our plan to take a train back to the city but we persist, even when the taxi driver joins in on his side. Bandra station is busy and R learns not to stand too near the platform edge when she is clattered by somebody hanging out of the door of a moving train. We get seats on a fast train to Churchgate and have a hassle free trip. As we walk back to the hotel the music is thumping out from the Kala Ghoda live stage, too loud for old folks like us. 

We don't feel too energetic tonight so it's a couple of cold beers from the offy and a bag of Bombay mix while we catch up on the emails.

Thursday 12th - Dhobi Day

We plan to get some value out of our rail passes and explore the suburbs a little today but first we drop our laundry off at the place right next door to the hotel. "Tonight or tomorrow morning? "  We say that tomorrow morning will be fine and head off to Churchgate Station for the short train ride to Mahalaxmi. Immediately outside the station is the viewing point for the famous Dhobi Ghats where most of Mumbai sends its laundry. An impressive sight but things are a little blighted by the souvenier hawkers who won't take no for an answer. We don't spot any of our stuff.

Back on the train heading north to our next stop, Santacruz. We have picked up a small brochure/map listing some of the attractions of the Juhu Beach area and we thought that we would give it the once over. The slight fault with the map is that it does not show any railway stations.  Yesterday A initiated D into the mysteries of m-Indicator, an Android App that covers local transport in Mumbai. With this on a smartphone you have all of the info that you need to navigate the system but you need a reliable map once you get off the train. At Santacruz we followed the Skywalk above the streets as it seemed to be heading west, towards the sea. 

When the Skywalk ran out we descend to street level and set about bargaining with an auto driver. He looks at us as if we are mad and taps the meter. We jump on and set off for Juhu Beach, home of the stars. We are stunned to be charged 37 rupees for our ride. This is probably the cheapest auto ride we have ever had. If only other cities made the system work. We have no objection to paying a fair price for a ride but in too many places you end up feeling cheated. Once Mr Modi has picked up all of the litter perhaps he could address the issue.

Juhu Beach looks like a pretty run of the mill patch of sand to us. Presumably the guy who parked his truck in the middle of it was not particularly impressed either. We see no stars, just a lot of men in red trilbys who look like some sort of sales team, so decide to move on in search of elevenses. Each in turn we spurn the Ramada Plaza, Starbucks, Cafe Coffee Day and the Marriott. Cafe Moshe's is approved by R and we linger over pots of tea and Marzipan Carrot Cake. Still no Bollywood stars but we probably would not recognise them anyway.

Outside we find an auto driver who takes us back to the station on the meter. We hop a local for the two stop ride to Andheri where the newly built Mumbai Metro intersects with the suburban network. This is on D's 'Must Do' list for this trip. On exiting the railway station we totally fail to spot the prominent signs pointing towards the Metro and instead take a long walk around the local market before realising that we must cross back over the railway to get there. It is all shiny and new, with teams of young ladies in smart uniforms to explain how to use the ticket gate and where to stand on the platform.  Compared with Delhi or Kolkata it is pricey - 20 rupees for a two stop ride, but the trains are spacious and spotless. In 20 years or so when it connects the city centre with the airport this will be  a really useful system.

A discrete veil will be drawn over lunch. We picked a spot from the tourist brochure that was a much longer walk than the map appeared to indicate. When we got there, all hot and bothered, it was part of a cinema food court with very ordinary,  but overpriced food and drink. We auto'd back to Andheri and got a train heading downtown. We had spotted a highly recommended kulfi place listed at the north end of Marine Drive, so we detrained a couple of stops before the terminus and walked to it. The front of the store took the full force of the afternoon sun but the chap pointed round the corner where there were a couple of benches in shady and surprisingly clean alley. The kulfi portions were huge and it was absolutely delicious.

When we had finished there was a taxi waiting by the pavement. We tell him the name of our hotel and hop in. He heads off down Marine Drive but to D's surprise does not turn left at Churchgate.  R says not to be silly, a taxi driver will know his way around. He takes us much further south than we have been before and is clearly heading somewhere else.  Eventually D's protests get through and a smartly dressed lady pedestrian is asked to interpret.  D produces the map and the correct destination is agreed. The driver seems genuinely apologetic and it's not a bad day for a drive. In total our extended tour of South Mumbai costs less than £1.50 and we were not in a hurry so no harm done.

Tonight we are going to eat at the 'Taste of Kerala', close to the hotel and another recommendation by an IndiaMiker. It is unpretentious and is not licensed but we can get by on water in an emergency. We order veg pulao, prawns masala and parothas, a kind of flaky chapati. It is served promptly,  is very tasty and unbelievably cheap. The total bill is less than £2.50. As we are leaving D needs a comfort break and asks for directions. A junior waiter is summoned and leads D out of the door, down the street,  round a corner, into another restaurant, through a door at the back into some kind of dormitory, and along the dormitory to a gents with no working lights.  It would have been quicker to go back to the hotel. Returning to the restaurant D counted 110 paces, a bit like a Wetherspoons.

As we were about to turn in, the room phone rings. Our laundry is ready. The man brings it up to the room in a very neat parcel, washed, dried and pressed beautifully. Every single one of the twenty four items that we sent has a small piece of blue cloth attached with a piece of thin twine. On the cloth is written the Hotel's code number plus our room number. All present and correct after an outing to Mahalaxmi Dhobi Ghat. Total bill just over £6. Isn't India just brilliant?

Wednesday 11th - A Day Trip to Matheran

I

An early start today so we have to skip breakfast. A brisk walk takes us up to CST. Quite a few people about but no vendors. We find a tea stall open in the main station and get a fix of chai. The plan is to take a suburban train out to Neral Junction,  about an hour and three quarters trip, where we will meet A from IndiaMike who is going to take the ride up to Matheran with us on the narrow gauge train. We have researched the 6.45 to Karjat as the train we need and D has a minor panic when there is no train listed at that time. There is however the train we need at 6.50 so we can relax.

We leave dead on time and make very good progress. The train runs as an express until Kalayan Junction and then as all stops. To start with it is not very busy and we get ourselves window seats facing each other. Ever profligate D has bought First Class passes which work out at just over £1 per day. R's visions of a peaceful coupe with an attendant in puggaree and white gloves are dashed. The seats are exactly the same as in Second Class  on the other side of the stainless steel cage bars. A five day pass in Second class works out at less than 30 pence a day for limitless travel over a very wide network.

 As we head north out of the city the train fills up. Second class is soon quite packed and the seats in First are full. At every stop a few people get off and more get on. It was much busier than we had expected the early morning outbound trains to be. At Kalyan lots of students get on and our 3 person bench seats now contain four. We ask a chap where everybody is going and he tells us there is a college at Neral so hopefully we will be able to get off the train. It actually thins out significantly at the stop before ours and we get down without a problem. We make our way over the footbridge to the narrow gauge station. A is in the queue waiting for the booking office to open and we introduce ourselves. 

D does a quick recce of the train and opts for the First Class chair car. This should give us more space and less competition when we want to stand at the doors. The tickets are old fashioned Edmondson card tickets, manual stamped and dated, so the ticket issuing is a laborious process. In true Indian Railways style we are allocated a bay of four seats,  but only one window seat. The fourth seat in our bay goes to a German lady who looks thoroughly unimpressed.  Her travel partner, a younger man, is seated by himself in the opposite bay. 

D and A do all of the necessary things like visiting the loco shed and watching the couplings being fastened. Our loco is a fairly elderly NDM1 class diesel, number 501. The coaches appear to have been smartened up since our last visit, three years ago.  The down train arrives and pretty soon we are off. The German lady and friend decamp to an empty bay behind so we get comfortable.  R sees some birds to watch while D and A take photos out of the windows and doors. All great fun.

There are a couple of stops on the way up including at the splendidly named Waterpipe station where we wait for quite a while to cross a downward train. A tribe of monkeys live here and they entertain the passengers in return for pieces of bread. After we move off we catch glimpses of the other train on the hairpin bends lower down. Only one tunnel on the line - the very short "One Kiss Tunnel". No screams today. There is a splendid Ganesh statue on the side of the mountain and the train stops briefly to let us take photos. 

The Matheran USP is that there is no traffic, just horses and hand pulled carts and rickshaws. This makes wandering around much less of an ordeal. The admission fee has gone up to 50 rupees per head since we were last here. A major section of the main street has been partially paved with a dirt track down the middle for horses. Otherwise it looks much the same, but a bit quieter. We walk down to the lake and out to one of the viewpoints.  From here you can really see how elevated Matheran is although the distant view was hampered by quite heavy haze. A kept seeing butterflies that refused to pose for pictures. They are even worse than birds. 

We took a side trip to one of the unofficial viewpoints which resulted in D taking a slide on the gravel and getting thoroughly coated in the local red dust. As it happens we carry a stiff clothes brush in our gear - bought last time we were here for the same reason. We are starting to flag a bit in the heat and dust, so we head back to the village and have lunch. Aloo mutter, Dal Fry and two rotis each. We have worked up an appetite,  not to mention a thirst.

We decide to return to Neral by road to save a bit of time (chorus of cheers by R). This involves a walk of a mile or so as motor vehicles are kept out of the town. On the way to the roadhead we pass several convoys of pack ponies carrying loads up the hill. There is almost a Wild West feel to Matheran in some ways. We arive in time to complete the body count in a microbus heading for Neral. The driver does not know fear. We must introduce them one day.

There is a bit of a crowd on the platform and a little jostling as the train comes in. Somebody stands to offer R a seat and then we are away. We realise that A is not with us but manage to text him and he is OK. He is further back on the train. We see him through the crowd on the platform at Thane. Once again the train fills up for a few stops and then thins out as we head for CST, arriving around 6.15. We get back to the hotel and wash off the all pervading red dust of Matheran. A long and tiring day but great fun and wonderful to meet another IndiaMiker.

We are just about bushed but feel the need to eat. We ask the hotel concierge to recommend something nearby. He immediately beckons us to follow and sets off on a two block rapid march to the Pratap Lunch House. We are seated at a table next to a New Zealand couple (man + woman) who now work as a team driving a truck backwards and forwards between Houston, Texas and Edmonton in Canada. They basically live in their truck, taking turns to drive. Stop moaning about a 60 minute commute. Strangely enough they are also at the Residency and were brought here by the concierge. The food is OK but we are ready for an early night and bale out.

Today's set of photos is incomplete as the little gadget used to transfer photos from the camera to the tablet appears to have gone on strike. We are working on a solution. 

Tuesday 10th - CST Revisited. Again and again.

When Mumbai was Bombay it had a wonderful railway station called Victoria Terminus (VT). Many people still know it as that but the official name is

Chhatrapati Shivaji  Terminus , named after a seventeenth century Indian warrior king , now usually shortened to CST. It is still a wonderful sight to behold and a tour should feature on every visitor's Mumbai agenda. It certainly features on D's list.

We breakfast and pack our bags so that our room can be swopped while we are out. First job is to buy our five day rail passes so we can travel the local trains without needing to queue for tickets each trip. At around 9 a.m. we arrive at CST which is just starting to get a bit busy. D joins the dozen or so in one of the queues which moves quite steadily and he is soon in possession of the necessary. Next job the Museum. We are directed around the houses and eventually come up against a man with a sub machine gun who tells us to come back at 10 a.m.

We kill an hour by walking up to Crawford Market where things are just starting to get under way for the day. We follow this with a circuit around the outside of the Mangaldas clothing market. We save a lot of money as it is still closed. Back to the station. At the barrier we are told to go away and waved off in the direction of the main gates. As we try to enter these a man shouts 'No!' very loudly. When we tell him that we want the Museum he just shakes his head. We are about to admit defeat when D sees a locked gate and a notice to the effect that the Museum hours are 3pm to 6 pm.

Plan B kicks into action and we head for the Kala Ghoda Arts festival. Last time that we were here it was Sunday and the place was packed. Today it is quieter and there is more chance to see the slightly wacky stuff on display. It is heating up now so we move on in search of shade and/or AC. We have time to come back later in the week.

Just next door is the Jehangar Art Gallery which is showing work by some current Indian artists. The main hall has a collection of views of Venice by one such. In a side room there is a collection of sculptures and the man responsible seems to mistake R for a serious collector, pressing an autographed catalogue upon her and insisting that it is a gift. We make our escape and enjoy a lemon tea in the Cafe. The Panjim Marriot could learn a bit about how to do it from here.

We have been contemplating going to the cinema while in Mumbai so we walk on to the Regal Cinema to check the listing. Nothing on the listing really grabs us but the lure of the nearby Cafe Mondegar and a cold beer does. After Panjim the prices seem astronomic. We make our way back to the hotel where our room switch has gone smoothly. The new room is a little smaller but has all of the same facilities. The tap in the bathroom does not shoogle. However the entire pedestal washbasin does.

Lunchtime beer knocks R out so D sets off for CST alone. The museum gates are still locked at 3.05. An official looking man says to come back in thirty minutes. This is a chance to take a train trip. D hops on the first one, virtually empty, and heads out for 15 minutes, riding at the open door, then crosses to the other platform and returns to CST. The gates are open and a lady takes the 200 rupee fee, issues the ticket in a plastic pouch with a neckstrap and sends D on to the security check. First off is a gallery of photos,  models and railway artefacts. 

While D inspects these a guide and three English ladies arrive. One lady is quite old and the other two are her daughters.  She lived in Bombay and Calcutta as a girl and had come to relive her memories of using VT. She has some fascinating stories, much more interesting than the guide's spiel about the architecture.







 He does take us to some interesting areas accessed via a spectacular grand staircase, including a gallery overlooking the booking hall, and a flat roof at the front which gives a great view of the snarled up traffic. These ares are all part of the Central Railway offices and are closed to the public except for these tours. Halfway round we are given chai and biscuits. Time flies by and it is heading for 6 p.m. when D gets back to the hotel.

For supper we head to an old favourite,  the Gaylord, near the other big railway station,  Churchgate. We have been urged to try a fish called pomfret so we share one, tandoori roasted. It is delicious. On the way back we happen upon the Kala Ghoda festival live performance stage where we see some dancing and some kind of comedy double act that reminds R of Francie and Josie. 

Monday 9th - Mandovi Express

One of D's targets for this trip is a daylight run on the Konkan Railway between Goa and Mumbai. We did the trip two years ago but nearly all of it was in darkness so we didn't see much. The plan almost didn't come off because our first choice (Sunday) booked out in no time and by the time we had decided to reschedule for Monday there was only 1AC left. D would cheerfully have gone Sleeper but suspects that R is secretly pleased with this development. We say goodbye to the Aussies  at breakfast. They are going to Mumbai today but by plane.

We gather our belongings and take a mini-van taxi out via Old Goa to Karmali Station.  This saves us both money and time but the downside is that Karmali is a pretty small wayside station.  Our train is twenty four coaches long and we are in coach 4. The shaded seating is all around coach position 16. We wait as long as we dare before setting off up the platform in the full glare of the sun. A southbound train pulls in at the opposite platform and a bunch of giggling girls start taking photos of us. D reciprocates and provokes shrieks of laughter which are reprised as their train pulls out and they wave goodbye.

 As usual the train is late, by about 25 minutes this time. We don't quite get cooked but we are glad of the AC in our coach. The coach attendant checks our names as we board and carefully points out the bedding and the soap and hand towels. A man in search of a tip perchance?

Our 2 berth coupe is fine although window visibility is only adequate at best. Not a problem as there is no competition for riding the open doors. R visits the loo and pronounces it one of the cleanest she has seen on Indian Railways. This is faint praise indeed. D is pondering how the allocation system has worked this time. 1AC on this train has 2 four berth cabins and one 2-berth coupe. In our previous travels we have more often been allocated a coupe than not. D's theory has been that we have been given it because we have been the oldest travellers. Today this does not hold good as one cabin contains an Indian couple who are a combined 10 years older than us and the other has a couple who are a combined 34 years older than we are. There is no guesswork in this as each passenger's age is published on the Reservation Charts displayed by the coach door.

As we ride northwards the scenery changes. There are fewer palm trees and more open land.  We cross some big rivers and an awful lot of dry or nearly dry river beds. The route taken by this line cuts across the grain of the country with many viaducts and tunnels. Mercifully no screamers on this train. To save money the line was built with single track and passing loops as recently as about twenty years ago. It operates virtually at capacity and there is talk about doubling it - a very expensive project if it comes off.



At nearly every loop we pass a southbound train, mainly passenger trains but we do see a couple of trains of flat cars full of lorries with their drivers. No AC, no toilets, no catering but maybe better than driving for hundreds of miles on India's disintegrating roads.

One of the attractions of the Mandovi  Express is its reputation for having the best onboard catering of any Indian train. We worry a little that we are not getting all of the good vendors at our end of the train but just as the sun is going down and we are getting hungry we get the pakora man (OK), the samosa chap (better) and a man who wants to take our dinner order. We go for Manchurian vegetables with fried rice, just the one portion. When it comes it is surprisingly good and well big enough for the two of us. 

One surprise is the airline trolley gift sales service that appears part way through the trip. It has all of those things you can live without and nothing useful like Duty-free booze. The trolley dollies aren't exactly easy on the eye either.

The last 3 hours of the trip are in darkness but we make decent progress and get into Mumbai's Victoria Terminal at 9.45, only five minute late. A brisk walk takes us to the Fort Residency Hotel where, once again, we are greeted with the news that we have a free upgrade to a club class room. This time it is only for one night and when we see the room we fear for the rest of the week. The houseboy is sent out for beers and returns in double quick time. Good sign. There must be an Off-Licence nearby. 

Sunday 8th - Lazy Sunday

Today is supposed to be the day of rest. Why are so many people singing this early? At breakfast we chat to an Australian couple who also went in search of the Food Festival.  They had more stamina than us as not only did they do the full tour of the Defence show but they then went the extra 400 yards to the food thing. They put a brave face on but we could tell that they were not impressed.

To many people Goa is all about the beach. Just to show willing we decide to visit one this morning.  This entails another bus trip, in the opposite direction this time. The bus station isn't quite as manic this morning and we soon find a bus to Miramar with plenty of free seats. We get comfy and realise that we may have made a mistake as the bus is clearly not going anywhere until it is full. The driver has all of the necessary equipment. Garland of marigolds, figure of Lord Ganesh and a string of flashing lights. Once we get going we quickly cover the ground that we walked yesterday and travel on another half mile or so, past the Food Festival, to the Miramar Beach Terminus. 

The beach seems somehow artificial with strange contours and patches of different coloured sand. The biggest give away is that you have to step up from the pavement onto the sand. There are a couple of talented types putting together a sculpture using the sand. Nearer the sea there is a plague of touts selling poor quality costume jewellery. Does anybody ever buy from these people?  The sea looks a bit murky so we pass on a plodge. The beach at Hyacinth's may have given us a taste that cannot be met.

Time for a cup of tea. We noted signs for the Marriot Spa and Resort from the bus and headed their way. They had a very nice cafe, overlooking the point where the Mandovi arrives at the sea. We order lemon teas which arrive as teabags and pot of hot water with somebody to relieve you of the chore of taking the teabag out of its individual packet and of pouring the water. Somebody else delivers two biscuits on a saucer. The service is totally OTT. D drops his teaspoon by mistake and is nearly trampled in the rush as several staff swoop in to retrieve it. This aberration costs us just short of a fiver. In the last three weeks we have had some very good meals for less.

We take another trip on the ferry, getting off at Betim this time.  It's not much of a place - a bit like Kyle of Lochalsh but warmer. We then walk back through the shopping area. A few places are closed for Sunday but most are open. The streets are much quieter.  We head for the Gujrat Sweet Mart and treat ourselves to a mixed box for our long train trip tomorrow. We also get some cashews. 

We hide from the sun for a couple of hours then set off up the hill via a brutal set of steps that misses out much of the zigzag road from yesterday. Our target is the Sunaparanta Arts Centre.  There is a fascinating exhibition of photographs in the garden,  specially chosen for their depiction of times past. The narrative with each is really informative and thought provoking. The indoor exhibition is also photographs with a literary theme. The cafe looks good but is closed and as we leave each room in the gallery a uniformed security guard locks it behind us. We may have got here a bit late but what we did see was well worth the effort.

For supper we have booked a place literally around the back of the Afonso. They gave us no choice, just be there at seven and eat at an outside table. "Nothing else possible". We get there promptly and are seated. Within a few minutes people are being turned away even though there are empty tables. All a bit confusing. The prices are exceptional,  for drink as well as food. We have Kingfish Balchao, Pork Xacuti,veg pulao and three large beers for less than £7. Back at the room we treat ourselves to a nightcap and a couple of the sweets. They are yummy. We are in celebration mode tonight. An online check has revealed that we have the coupe on tomorrow's train.

Saturday 7th - What's Goan On?

There is a thin covering of hazy cloud this morning and it feels distinctly more humid. Our plan this morning is to visit Old Goa, the original capital of Portuguese Goa, about half an hour away by bus. We consider ourselves reasonably experienced travellers,  well versed in the complexities and genteel decorum of Indian train travel. This has not prepared us for the pandemonium that is Panjim bus station. It is utter chaos, a mass of dilapidated machines belching diesel fumes and men yelling unintelligible repetitive crys. Eventually we work out that each bus has a small board in the front window displaying its route. We fail to spot one saying Old Goa but a man at a stall points us in the right direction.  The shouty man's slogan for our bus sounds like "Ogre, ogre, ogre!" D is reminded of the men who chanted strange cries while selling the Yorkshire Evening Post. "Boycott three day hundred!" was one of the memorable ones.

We board and get seats but not together. The bus fills up with standees and then we are off in some kind of race for the bus station exit. Once that hurdle is cleared we have a fairly uneventful trip to Old Goa, mainly following the Mandovi river as we head east. Old Goa had a population of over half a million around 400 years ago, bigger than either London or Lisbon at the time. During the 1600s there were epidemics of cholera and malaria and the city was abandoned. The surviving remains are mainly religious edifices, built by the Portuguese. There is a Basilica, a Cathedral, a couple of monasteries,  several churches and a few chapels. The whole site is now classified as a World Heritage site and the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) run most of it.

We walk round some of the main sites. One vast church would be impressive but several within a couple of hundred yards gets to be overkill. It is hot and sweaty work. Quiet contemplation is not on the cards as the coach parties and school groups are marched in and out in quick order. We take a break for a massala black tea at a handy restaurant before tackling the Archaeological Museum. This has a very high tech body and bag scanner at the entrance which makes a wide range of alarm type noises. All of these are utterly ignored by the man at the door. It

is a pretty dull museum and D contemplates asking for a refund. After all they did promise a portrait of Salazar, the Portuguese dictator, which is nowhere to be seen. The remaining attraction listed for Old Goa, the bus stand, beckons.

The bus is full so we have to stand behind the driver, a youthful type in lead overboots. He has a terrible deformity which means that his hand is permanently attached to the side of his head.  No wait.  He is permanently on his mobile phone as he hurls several tons of rusty metal and about 50 passengers around the road with a single hand on the wheel. We walk silently back to the Afonso contemplating the mysteries of existence.  Just before we get there we spot the Horseshoe Restaurant and Bar. This is too good to miss and we pop in for a beer and check out the menu. The place is spotless with friendly staff and utterly devoid of customers. We book a table for tonight.

After a siesta we set out to find a food and music festival that is taking place this weekend on the west side of town. The direct route takes us up the hill behind the Afonso on a zig zag road. From the top we get good views of the Mandovi and also the Mahalaxmi Hindu temple, a bit of a rarity in this part of the world. We descend and walk for ages looking for the festival.  The cloud has disappeared and it is very hot. There are uniformed school parties everywhere but not much that looks like a festival. Eventually we arrive at a field full of defence equipment.  It is too hot to go much further so we retreat towards the bars. The festival will have to manage without us. 

We get sluiced down and smartened up before heading out for supper. The Horseshoe is a bit busier although not full. The food is great. Clams in Coconut and Goan spices with Goan Sausage and beans in red chilli sauce. With bread. D just has room for a Goan pud called bebinca. V good. On the way home we stop off at our local supermarket, The Little Presidency.  This manages somehow to be hotter inside than the air outside and the cashier pretends to have no change and hands out sweets rather than rupee coins. D objects to the strawberry flavoured ones and is given something worse for his cheek.