On our last full day with the Royal Enfield, we went to Mandrem and Morjim to check out the other beaches.
Mandrem was such a big contrast from Arambol. It is quiet, there was just one souvenir stall and there were very few beach huts. They are a tad more expensive, but these were made in better taste and looked more secure that the ones we were shown in Arambol.
The wind was really strong that day, and where there were no little ponds and creeks, the sand would fly so we had a beach sandstorm.
There was a big sandbar and lots of puddles and creeks on the wide, grey beach. The wind made ripples on the water.
It's so cheesy! A Hallmark Card moment we couldn't resist :)
Take a good look at one of the posts on this hut... it's alive!
Henri and the Royal Enfield that burned him and put a hole in his shorts... but he still loves it.
Then we went to Morjim, which is the southernmost tip of North Goa. It was noisier and more cramped with tourists of all backgrounds, but it was also reminiscent of the old rustic Goa of 15 years ago.
The moonrise, which was parallel to the...
Sunset.
The following morning was our last day in Goa and we stayed in Arambol to send our packages to our families.
We saw some people covered in yellow mud and wanted to solve the mystery of the yellow tourists. A path led up from behind the freshwater lake to the hill and through a dry river. We walked for a long time and saw yellow Indian men and they pointed forward, so we went forward. We passed two yellow rocks, in one of them an Indian man shouted at us and said "good for skin!" But Henri thought there would be a bigger yellow lake but there wasn't. We walked as far as the old banyan tree where people chanted and got high. We watched them with raised eyebrows and then went back down to the yellow rock and put the mud all over our exposed skin.
Like a Coldplay song, we were all yellow.
Then we washed it all off in the beach until we were the only people in the water.
That night we had one of our best meals in India, in a place called Rice Bowl which was next to the shop of a French guy we met who said "come over, I'll make you crepes." We sat next to the beach and it was nice and quiet, with a bit of Russian on the background because Russians cannot be avoided in Goa. They assume everyone white here is Russian, even Henri :D
After dinner, we followed the music to Coco Loco where we had drinks and danced until midnight. It was a bit hard because people are required to leave their shoes outside and dance barefoot. Weird, but... It's India anyway, and sometimes we are asked to leave our footwear outside Catholic churches too, so ok, we'll play by the rules... We also met a nice French couple (artist and theater actor) who witnessed Henri's reaction when he lost his Birkenstocks. Gasp! Later we found out that place is famous for missing slippers.
The next day we said goodbye to Goa and Henri's Birks, the one that was dipped in the holy Ganges and slipped on a lot of unsavory things... Sure, it was comfortable and it was nicely broken in, maybe it was really time to say goodbye?
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