From almost the moment I arrived at Goa it seemed like a mistake. Certainly I was aimless; it was hot, humid, and one could see the place was emptying out. I had left a climate in Kashmir that defined pleasant, done so without an itinerary, mainly from an obligation to visit some other place in India, to upend the comforts of the status quo. Within three days I was plotting lamely to leave Goa, but it took ten days to make it happen.
At Anjuna the staff were pleasant but settled, since the tourists were few, and slow to rise for any reason at all. The tourist season in southern India was drying up, and soon these people would be home, happy with the friends and family that now occupied their thoughts. Property-owners and landlords in the state mainly rent their lands on a temporary basis to concessionaires who operate seasonal guest houses and restaurants to serve Goa's many visitors. Most of the structures have to be dismantled and removed when the lease ends, and some come down earlier, if business has been slow.
It had not been a banner year, and Anjuna wore it on the face. I spent two days in north Goa on a rented scooter exploring a string of beach new to me: Candolim, Baga, Vagator, Arambol. It didn't look its best, no place does at the end of the dry season, but it was the many cliff bands separating the beaches which put me off, so I went to south Goa, returning to Palolem after two years.
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