Two energy zapping bus journeys and 24 hours later I arrive in Margoa the main regional town in the South of Goa. When I arrive I am absolutely knackered but eternally thankful that I had made it alive (The bus driver had a somewhat unorthodox understanding of road safety). At Margoa I get a breakfast of omelet and chai from a street stand at the bus station, and arrange for my onward journey to Palolim. A one hour motorcycle taxi ride later and I arrive.

Palolim is the most picture postcard beach in Goa, a sandy cove fringed with a thick canopy of leaning palm trees, with rocky islands at either end of the cove. Accommodation here consists or about 20 or so groups of Coco huts (bamboo huts on stilts) under the palm trees. The whole set up is like camping on the beach and the place has an extremely relaxed feel to it. Its noticeably different from the scene I remember in North Goa on my previous visit.

I find myself a hut and set about chilling out. I don’t think I ever really reacclimatized after Ennis's visit and the relentless pace at which we traveled around. This pace I have pretty much kept up until now, and I really need to relax for a while.

After a day I have become very comfortable in my hut and have met numerous people (drinking buddies). I decide I will spend some time here (7 days in total) before heading back to the real India for a place called Hampi.

Life in Palolim revolves around the beach and, if you want you need never leave the beach at all. You live on it, sleep on it, eat on it, and go out at night on it. There are even internet facilities available without having to leave the beach. I quickly adapt and find the time flying by even though I am doing very little each day. My daily routine involves sunbathing, eating, swimming, beach football, and drinking.

On my final day in Palolim a group of us (English, Australian, and Irish) decide to hire motorcycles for a day trip and head south out of Goa and to the small coastal village of Gokarna in the neighboring state of Karnataka.

The electricity in Palolim had been out for half a day and the day trip got off to a bad start when the petrol station informed us that their generator was broken and they couldn’t power the petrol pumps. The next petrol station was about 30km away and we weren’t sure any of us had enough petrol to make it. We head off in the direction of the next station and fortunately we all make it, just! Two of the bikes running out of petrol as we entered the forecourt.

Eventually after over an hour of messing around we all have petrol and head south towards the border, knowing full well that upon reaching the border we will be pulled over by checkpoint police hungry for a little baksheesh (bribe money). We all have the papers, licenses and crash helmets required, and after much arguing and another hour wasted we are allowed through the border without paying and money.

As we cross the border the chance is instantly obvious. Back in the real India and the feast of activity that is on every street. As the road rolled up and down the Hills of the Western Ghatts hugging the shore line of the Arabian sea we came across a small fishing village and industrial docks set in a craggy cove between two rock headlands. We stop here to take some photos of the fishermen and all the activity around the port. Women in squat by the side of the road sorting and selling fish from large woven baskets, whilst men repair nets. Trucks spew up dust as the deliver and collect goods from the port, and dock workers operate the primitive rusty cranes to empty the barges docked at the wharf.

We head back on our way having to creep our way past the stream of trucks that had left the port. As the road wound back up the hills the overloaded lorries slow to a snails pace, all spewing out clouds of black fumes and throwing dust up form the road side. Not nice riding conditions! We eventually get through the traffic and the rest of the journey to Gokarna is hazard free except for the odd cow walking down the road, and the Indian belief that when driving, good karma alone will ensure your safety. This generally means that on Indian roads anything goes and there are few rules that are adhered to. The journey takes us through some amazing scenery and through small road side settlements bustling with activity and color.

We eventually arrive (Three hours later than planned) in Gokarna. We drive through the main street, a narrow sandy track lined with leaning timber buildings, and bamboo shacks. This leads us down to a small beach. The street scene is a colorful hotch potch of shops selling everything from spices to earthen ware, and tacky tourist gifts.

We had lunch in a beach front restaurant and had about an hour or so to look around the village before we had to head off. Our earlier delays meant that this was the extent of our visit if we were to get back to Palolim in daylight, but it is definitely somewhere I will come back to when I head south in the new year. We head off on the return journey and get back to Palolim before sun set.

The following morning I am rudely awaken at 5.00am by my taxi driver eager to get me to the train station. I am tired and confused and reluctantly say goodbye to my hut. I get to the station and board the 7.00am train to Hampi.