By 
The Indian Army entered Goa in 1961, ending 450 years of Portuguese colonial rule and, in an accidental side effect, opening a hippie tourist mecca. Liberation, as it is officially known, eliminated one group of invaders but gave way to a new one.
Goa’s changing face began with a succession of Hindu dynasties, then Muslims from the north and east, and finally the navigating Portuguese. During the four centuries of their occupation, the Portuguese demolished temples, built churches, and converted people to Christianity.
The hippies of the sixties found no airport or signs of established tourism. There was virtually no accommodation available, so they built palm-leaf shelters on the beaches or rented rooms in village houses for a pittance. Until the mid-1970s, a steady stream of ‘freaks’ appeared and gave Goa a rather unsavory reputation as a haunt of drugs, late-night parties and nudism that upset some local sensibilities.
They’re almost gone now, but something of their character remains, especially at Anjuna’s Wednesday flea market. Covering a vast stretch of beach just to the north of the region, those earlier travelers found their wallets empty but, wanting to stay longer, began auctioning off their belongings, from guitars to jeans, floral shirts to Beatles records.
A hair-raising package of noise, color and ethnic mix, it’s an exhilarating if exhausting combination of cultures and products. You can buy spices and shoes, jewelry and clothes, fish stew and dahl. The colors, the smells, the young women in their brightly colored sarees who will lunge at you, grabbing you, pulling you, dragging you. “Come to my post!” and he won’t let you go until you’ve given a few rupees for something. They are nothing but tenacious. They’ll fight among themselves if they think one of their group has stolen a sales opportunity, and they’re hot-tempered and proud but just as quick to forgive.
Rajesh is from Rajasthan. He pays what seems like a hefty rent for his field, so he works long hours to generate an income during the peak season that will help him get by when the monsoons come. “My family, my brothers and sisters, we do these things during the rains when he’s too wet to work outside.”
The instinct for trade is strong. Rajesh and others ask me if I have anything to sell. He’s desperate for an MD player, but Indian government taxes put a regular Sony out of reach. He would like me to buy him one in the UK that he could send to him and he would pay me in the quilts and launch that line at his stall.
Like many others, Rajesh sells richly dyed, beaded and jeweled decorative covers with abstract patterns in color themes. Shells and satin cutouts, cheap jewelry, silk, and deeper cottons combine to create pieces that range from cushion covers to twin bed sizes. Hanging in an exclusive gallery in Edinburgh, they would cost at least £150 each. Here they cost around £15.
Rajesh introduces me to someone who makes leather goods, a popular trade in Kashmir. I want a leather jacket for my 19 year old son. The fact that today is the end of Ramadan means that there are fewer Muslim merchants than usual in Anjuna, but we did find one. “What kind of leather do you like, what style, what size?” ask Rouf. “Yak is the best,” he tells me, “he looks, you can twist him in your hands, twist him, and he’ll still come back perfectly.”
I took a chance guessing at Nicky’s size, chose the style of a Hugo Boss model from some major retail exporter’s catalogue, and had the Yak jacket delivered to my hotel the next day, made to order, for £45. Silk-lined cashmere suits for men and women; bags, belts, briefcases, all are custom made in a few days in cities and towns of Goa.
Although few of the vendors are Westerners now, the hawkers who hail from Gujarat, Rajasthan and Karnataka’s semi-nomadic Lamani tribe remain, like their predecessors, on the fringes of Goan society. They have a unique style of clothing and culture of their own, selling everything from an ear picking service to motorcycles.
Beach parties abound around Anjuna. A renowned party host is ‘Goa Gill’. He describes how it all started when he first arrived as an Australian backpacker in 1969. “I remember it as clearly as I do today. We were sitting by the holy fire on Anjuna beach. The good thing about when we got here was that it was untouched. I guess we created a lifestyle that was the best of East meets West.
“We developed the concept of redefining ancient tribal rituals for the 21st century and tried to use the party situation to raise people’s consciousness through the trance dance experience.
“You know, use music and dance to evoke the cosmic spirit and everyone will be rejuvenated and healed by it, and the earth too. We’re just translating that into youth work now.”
There is real alarm that too much of this sort of thing could be the route to Goa’s collapse as a respectable tourist destination, but that seems highly unlikely to me. Goa encourages its visitors to enjoy what they want to enjoy. You can ignore the raves and noisy nightlife if you want to. You can go on your own little crusade around all the major churches like St Francis Xavier or you can spend all your money on cut-price designer items in the capital city, Panaji.
You can treat it as you would a Majorcan resort, or you can go native and explore the unspoilt hinterland with its rich environment of plant life, birds and animals. You can stick to the organized tour buses or take a chance on the sardine can buses for a couple of cents. You’ll eat at restaurants that reflect every ethnic group imaginable and find, as with most places, that the quality varies. When it’s good it’s fabulous and a whole lobster will set you back maybe £2.
Goa, with its strange mix of modern style and medieval morality, is a small region only 65 km wide and 105 km long (3,701 km2). Somehow he manages to generate something that is still unique and for a much lower price than a week in Cornwall.