End of an era
Back on the coast, this time on the busy stretch north of Panaji, I felt I needed at least a peek at the beaches where the world’s ‘flower children’ arrived in the 1960s. The hippy vibe, l now realise, was perfectly attuned to the susegad lifestyle, lam not sure they would find Calangute and Baga’s beaches quite as groovy now, what with noisy jet skis, hardcore clubs and giant TV screens pumping out Indian Premier League cricket. Europeans, Russians and Israelis all fill resorts, but Goa’s main tourism market is now India’s affluent middle classes.
Even Anjuna beach, the hippest hangout of all from the old days, seems to have become a bit of a Goa institution now; almost a hippy-era museum. The dirt track down to this stretch of golden sand has been preserved rather than replaced with tar while stalls selling sarongs and trinkets are faithfully laid out under palm-leaf shelters.
Driving up the far-north coastal road, the tourist resorts petered out after Aswem and Mandrem. That left just Arambol beach, a curve of sand and surf cradled between cliffs and backed by bamboo huts for rent. Here, perhaps, was my last chance of finding some vestiges of flower power? But instead of peace signs and Bob Dylan songs strummed on battered guitars, I met a noisy, though very polite, gang of Gujarati medical students enjoying beach life. “Gujarat is 100 per cent dry state, but here we can drink beer 24/7,” enthused physician- of-tomorrow Harjit.
My final stop – and perhaps the most enchanted spot on my whole journey – was Fort Tiracol, a tiny outpost of Goa on the northern jaw of the Tiracol river that separates Goa and Maharashtra From Querim on the south bank, my driver manoeuvred the car on to a small roll-on-roll-off ferry that was crammed with trucks, scooters and one skittish goat, and we drove our way to the fort.
From its crenelated walls, high on a rocky perch overlooking the estuary, it was easy to see why this fort had been bickered over for centuries. Originally built by India’s Maratha Empire, the Portuguese captured it in 1746 for its strategic defence against aggressors and it played host to occupants ranging from British garrisons to nationalist movements in the lead up to Nehru’s 1961 fight back.
Nowadays it is hard to think of anywhere more peaceful. The fort has been turned into a luxury heritage hotel, with seven enormous suites. There’s nothing to do here – no beach, not even a swimming pool – so I went for lunch in the restaurant on the ramparts. In view of the estuary, ocean and unblemished white beaches that swept southwards, I sucked on tiger prawns the size of bananas. Overhead a huge bird of prey was turning on the same trade winds that brought the first Portuguese explorers 500 years ago.
