Our three-week itinerary revolved around the Anjuna market

Three things had been recommended by other traveller’s for our trip – Hampi, walking from beach to beach in Goa and the Wednesday Anjuna market.

Here we were in Anjuna and I was sick.

I’d come to India with the bare necessities – a change of clothes, three books, miniature toiletries and goodies for Craig, which had long since disappeared. The idea was to do some mega-shopping, and Anjuna is the place.

The journey from Panaji, or Panjim as it is also called, had taken longer than expected. Two buses and lots of traffic, it was a relief to arrive in the central part of the town.

Anjuna appears to be spread out over a large area. The beachfront is disappointing with restaurants on a small cliff.

We chose to stay mid-way between the beach and the turn-off to the market. We found a place just off the road which we thought would be quiet, but it wasn’t. Being a light sleeper, I was woken during the night to barking dogs, roosters at midnight and loud music and the inevitable crows very early in the morning.

The noisy was punctuated by me running to the loo, the previous night’s meal coming out of both ends. Craig on the other hand slept through everything.

Having booked into our hotel but we decided to visit nearby Vagator, to see the fort. After a short bus ride along narrow lanes busy with travellers on motorbikes and scooters, we arrived at one of the entrances to Vagator.

The fort was disappointing, a wall surrounding a large area of scrubby land, but its position was striking, on a bluff with two stretches of beach and a lagoon on either side.

The weather was hazy and not good for pictures. Craig was fascinated by a flock of some kind of raptor and took many shots, but they didn’t come out well enough for identification.

Rather than retrace our steps we followed a steep, loose path down to the beach. The beach was rocky and broken up into bays.

Craig remembered seeing a picture of a face carved into the rock along this stretch of coast and went to explore, but sadly he didn’t find it.

We did come across small Diaz crosses, one on the rocks and the other on the beach.

The beach was full of umbrellas, beds, stalls and bars while above were shacks and hotels. This is said to be the party beach of Goa.

That night we ate at a nearby restaurant where we decided to share a pizza and pasta. We had problems making ourselves understood because we wanted four vegetarian choices on each quarter of the pizza. When it came, two sections had meat and fish. I was either sick from this or from stroking a Siamese cat and not washing my hands before eating.

Wednesday at last and the day of the market, but all I wanted to do was lie down and die.

It early and already hot and a long walk to the market, about 2km, and there was lots of traffic. The market was much bigger than I imagined but we soon realised that many of the stalls sold the same things – sharmina shawls and scarves, bed covers, cushions, clothes for men and women, jewellery, spices and much more.

There were many Nepalese people selling singing bowls, Buddha statues and jewellery.

It’s a colourful place where beggars and musicians pass between stalls, some thankfully shaded against the sun.

We’d picked up a French girl who was staying at our hotel and she spent much time with us.

After an hour or so of browsing we went off for breakfast, although I could only stomach juice while Craig had a huge bowl of muesli, fruit and yoghurt.

I left Craig and the French girl to look around while I lay on the sand under the restaurant for an hour. While there I watched a young girl walk a tightrope for tips. Her parents had three children and I found it sad that they weren’t in school. There’s a lot of child labour in India.

Even though I felt so dreadful I managed to shop, especially knowing that this was my last chance. The clothes are wonderful, although they are made of poor quality material, but it’s difficult to buy without being able to try them on.

I also bought a couple of pairs of silver earrings with semi-precious stones. It must have been hard for Craig to wonder around and not be able to buy.

We left after a few hours and spent most of the afternoon at a nice lodge cum restaurant called Martha’s. It was very hot but Martha’s was shady and cool. I put two chairs together and lay down while Craig read and used the internet.

We had to kill time because we were taking an overnight bus to Puné, which only left at 11pm. In the end we almost missed the bus to Mapsa because all the buses into the town were full, so we had to take a taxi.

The bus station was chaos with people, baggage and scooters everywhere. There was no system in place and buses came in with no sign to let traveller’s know where they were going.

When our bus finally came, we weren’t allowed to put our backpacks underneath. Everyone was angry but it turned out that the bus had to drive around the corner to a large parking area where it could stop.

While our baggage was being stored below, there were a number of irate passengers who thought they’d booked a single bed but found that they had to share.

Thank goodness Craig and I were sharing, although we slept head to tail, Craig’s feet hanging into the passageway.

From what I saw of the trains and our first overnight bus trip from Mumbai to Aurangabad, I must say that this kind of transport is far better.

The road was good, probably because it was a toll road. The infrastructure in India is dreadful – no garbage collection, the pavements - when there are any - are death-traps, there are electric cables everywhere and no control of the use of electricity. We saw very few police and everyone drives where they want and how they want. And the sewerage and toilets are disgusting - the bus stations are the worst.

Travel in India takes a strong stomach and is a combination of love and hate, but you have to go there and see it all for yourself.