South Goa

I spent the morning at Palolem beach yesterday. Just me, my camera and the sea. Rows of weathered fishing boats, shells striped like the rear-view of a line of happy dogs, and the ceaseless thundering of the waves, content in their marriage to the lazy palm fronds. 

Below, you see one of the million blue dragonflies that hovered around me as I sat under one of those zorgein maads [Conconi for 'lazy palms'], reading Eat, Pray, Love. One of the best books I've ever read. Thank you, mum.

To its right, you see the proud flag of a fishing boat. Who knew?

I found a five-paise coin washed up on the shore. It's refreshingly light and, as you can see, very worn by time and sea. But it's mine, and I love it.

The baby pomfret on the right? "Wery fresh", assures us the lady in the fish market. We can tell by how pink its gills are. And how it smells like the entire sea dried up into three square centimetres.

Don't let the two pictures below fool you. Life is not equal parts work and rest in Goa. Much less picking up rags at the beach, much more sitting in your chair, staring out at the passersby.

It's good to be here. On holiday, finally.