In Goa, the beaches really are very beautiful.

The place was full of Russians - beautiful glamorous females - they could be models or hookers. The men on the other hand looked 20 years older.

There was a group of men near me, sheltered under umbrellas, sitting on loungers, a Playboy on one of them. They were dressed in shirts and shorts, chunks of gold on their pinky fingers.

I was convinced they were the Russian Mafia – whispering and on their cell phones. And then out came the booze, a bar-full of it - Jonnie Walker, red wine, Vodka (of course) and more.

They offered me some red wine, which I accepted. And later, just as I was leaving, they asked me to join them for whiskey. Who knows, if I’d stayed, joined them for a few drinks, maybe they would’ve abducted me into Russian prostitution.

It certainly was an unusual day in Palolem, southern Goa.

For many years I’ve heard about India’s smallest state of Goa, 3 701km sq, population of 1.5 million, and its beautiful beaches.

However, I was put off going because I thought it would be full of package tour holiday-makers and partygoers. But we went and we found that it isn’t that bad.

And as for the palm-fringed beaches, they certainly live up to their reputation.

Goa is a former Portuguese enclave and the Portuguese influence still lingers in the unique architectural heritage. There are red tiled houses and white-washed churches - Roman Catholicism is the major religion - and skirts outnumber saris.

HISTORY In the third century BC, Goa formed part of the Mauryan Empire. Since then it’s been ruled by the Satavahanas of Kolhapur, Chalukyas of Badami, Muslims, Harihara I of the Vijayanagar Empire (whose capital was at Hampi – see previous report).

At that time, Goa’s harbour was important for ships carrying Arabian horses for the Vijayanagar cavalry.

Later, the harbour was an ideal base for the seafaring Portuguese who arrived in 1510 with the aim of controlling the spice route from the east.

By the mid-16^th C, they expanded to include the provinces of Bardez and Salcete.

In the late 18^th C there was a brief occupation by the British, during the Napoleonic Wars in Europe, after the Marathas (central Indian people) almost vanquished the Portuguese.

In 1961 the Indian army marched into Goa, ending Portuguese rule on the subcontinent.

TODAY Goa has India’s highest per capita income, with fishing, farming, tourism, and iron and ore mining forming the basis of its economy. www.goa-tourism.com

The coast is best explored on two wheels, passing from one crescent-shaped beach, lined with coconut groves, to another. Cross rocky outcrops, guarded by crumbly forts or grand houses nestling amid lush foliage. Inland are spice plantations and several wildlife sanctuaries.

However, the downside is that with increased tourism, the overuse of water and mining are posing threats to Goa’s environment.

The Goa Foundation was formed in 1986 and is based in Mapusa, visit www.goacom.com /goafoundation. It’s the state’s main environmental pressure group and has been responsible for a number of conservation projects.

Discarded plastic bottles are a major problem. This has promoted the authorities to declare some beaches and historical sites, such as Old Goa, as plastic free zones, where the sale and use of bottles are banned.

Craig and I drank local, filtered water; in fact I use this practice wherever I go.

It was a two bus, three-hour hop from Gokarn crossing from the state of Karnataka to Goa.

We started off at Palolem in the south, where it’s generally less touristy, more laid back.

Accommodation prices here are above the average with a shack on the beach being totally sky-high - more than double what we were used to paying, which was Rs200, R32.

But we found a clean place with Rosie, just off the main street, sheltered by tall palms.

The beach was far more beautiful than I’d expected, a half-moon, fringed by palms, restaurants and shacks.

On either end of the one-kilometre beach were headlands of large boulders. One end was packed with sun-worshippers; the other was more sparsely populated.

Here and there were long wooden fishing boats. We watched four men launch one of them into the water. They roll the boat on logs of wood, moving the logs as they got closer to the water.

There were touts selling scarves, jewellery, fruit, hair-plaiting and loungers and umbrellas were for hire.

That night we ate a delicious meal at an Italian restaurant, which was by far the busiest in town. We met four South Africans, the only ones we meet on the trip.

Chetty was running the east coast to raise funds for a school in the northern suburbs. Mike, from Hout Bay, had come to run with him for part of the way.

As we left we saw a cow trying to enter one of the restaurants. “Did someone order steak,” said Craig.

The following day we somehow went our separate way. I walked to Patnem Beach, passing through Colomb Bay, which was mainly accommodation, then through a village following a vague path.

The next stretch of sand was quieter than Palolem, even the cows looked calmer, always completing any scene.

At the end of the beach I bumped into Tanya, Chetty’s wife. She had been for breakfast to the Intercontinental, Grand Goa Resort on Rajbag beach, 3.5km further on. I decided to go and have a look.

At the entrance from the beach of the 85-acre landscaped garden I decided to follow a young girl. It turned out that Lucia, who works in the publishing industry in Italy, was also going to have a look, so we explored together. We ended up spending the day there, lounging around the pool and swimming.

The four-year-old Portuguese-inspired Intercontinental is the largest in Goa with 255 luxury suites, built between two rivers and next to the long stretch of beach.

The resort also boasts a spa, six restaurants and a nine-hole, 36-par, tee links golf course. To give you an idea of cost, we were paying Rs200, R32 for our accommodation, at the Intercontinental a garden view suite would set you back Rs18 000, R2 880, visit www.intercontinental.com.

It was so enjoyable, and I was really into my book, Spud by John van de Ruit, that I suddenly realised I had one hour to get to Craig, and it was about 5km away.

Craig, in comparison to my enjoyable day, hadn’t done very much and I think he was a little envious of what I’d been up to.

He tried to book a train ticket from Panjim, the capital of Goa, to Puné, but booking train tickets is apparently difficult and he was told that the trains were full.

We had a beer at the end of the beach and watched women walk past, their heads loaded with firewood, collected from the surrounding hills.

That evening we looked for another restaurant but ended up back at the Italian one. The food was delicious. We shared a salad of sliced tomatoes and mozzarella with a dressing of balsamic vinegar, olive oil and basil. I had the most delicious four-cheese pasta I’ve ever tasted – chunks of cheese-with-a-bite.

Next morning we hired two kayaks for one hour – the second way we got sore bums, apart from the buses of course.

Just our luck but it was windy and the sea was choppy. But any peril would be worth it if dolphins suddenly sliced through the sea.

We’d decided to navigate around Green Island, but we hadn’t gone far when a fisherman called to us and pointed vaguely in the direction of a flock of seagulls floating on the sea. “Dolphins,” he called.

“So that’s where the seagulls go,” I thought. They’re probably chased out of town by the thousands of crows we see everywhere.

As we got closer to the gulls they would fly a little further and we’d follow, but not a dolphin in sight. We made our way to the headland, an adrenaline rush as we maneuvered between huge boulders, trying to avoid those just under the surface.

Having worked up an appetite we went for breakfast. While there, the cow tried to enter, it must be the same one as the other night.

The previous day, Craig had tried to get to Butterfly Beach, two-kilometre away and in the opposite direction to the way I had gone. A boatman had told him that it wasn’t possible to walk there.

We decided to explore. Following the lagoon we passed a garbage dump and a pile of fish, probably dumped because they couldn’t be sold.

We were joined by a dog as we climbed what was probably a wood collector’s path - in fact later we met a man carrying wood coming in the opposite direction.

Climbing higher, the path getting narrower and more overgrown, the dog left us – I don’t blame him.

In the end, almost at the top, the path really vague by now, we also gave up. Back to the beach for a swim, but the wind was blowing the sand and it was very hot so we went for fresh orange juice in one of the many restaurants lining the beach.

On our way to find Butterfly Beach we’d passed a ‘real’ coffee shop. Indians are not big coffee drinkers. Chai is the drink of the masses, made with more milk than water and more sugar than you’d care to think about.

The Indian idea of coffee is similar to chai – a few granules of instant coffee with lots of milk and sugar. So, after finding the ‘real thing’ my salivary glands were craving coffee and we went in search of it. The smell alone was worth the cost.

TIP: Don’t go between October and March, it’s the monsoon season when almost everything is closed.