She's Like A Rainbow - Fontainhas, The Colourful Streets Of Goa's Latin Quarter

From Jaipur we travelled down to South Goa where we soon fell into our usual rhythm. Early morning walks along the shore, tin plates of pav bhaji washed down with glasses of sweet masala chai in tiny roadside cafes, lazy afternoons laying on a blanket on the pristine white sands, leaving only after the sun had dipped into the Arabian Sea, and laid back evenings enjoying chilli-hot Goan cuisine washed down with an ice cold Kingfisher beer or two.  Much as we could - and often have - lived like this for weeks on end, further adventures were calling so we packed our bags, jumped on a bus and less than two hours later we were in Goa's laid back state capital, Panjim.

It had been a few years since we'd last stayed in Panjim and then we'd visited in early May, just before the arrival of the monsoon. With humidity at 99% my flip flops adhered themselves to the melted mess that was once the tarmac and we were forced to seek refuge in a park, lying on the parched grass under a banyan tree, dousing ourselves in mineral water before dragging our soggy selves back to our B&B where we'd take long siestas and resurface after sunset. In February, while the average temperature hovers at around 95°, the humidity is a little more forgiving.

 While Panjim is lovely, it's the area of Fontainhas that really steals the show, a tangle of narrow streets in the old Latin Quarter. Nowhere is the Portuguese influence felt more strongly than here, where the late afternoon sunshine illuminates yellow houses with cobalt blue doors and around almost every corner, you'll stumble across restored ochre mansions with terracotta-tiles roofs, wrought iron balconies and oyster shell windows.

We'd forgotten how much we loved Panjim. The juxtaposition of olde world with the hip 'n' happening, where relics of a colonial past rub shoulders with today's India, a ghost advert from the 1950s, graffiti a la Banksy and above, a mixture of the two, concrete steps adorned with azulejo (Portuguese tin-glazed ceramic tiles) in a contemporary design featuring India's national bird, the peacock. 

 The Portuguese arrived in Goa in 1510, gradually extending their power throughout the state, zealously converting the locals to Christianity with the powers that be decreeing that only the churches could be painted white. Although Goa achieved independence from Portugal in 1961, you'll still find trippy looking houses all over Goa.

 We stayed at Marquito's, an eighteenth century Portuguese-era heritage hostel, painted in moss green with buttercup yellow paintwork and traditional balcoe, a covered porch with stone benches, built to offer respite for weary travellers.

   

Goan cuisine is a tantalising fusion of Portuguese and South Indian flavours. Traditional dishes include Xacuti, a spicy stew cooked in a red coconut sauce, Cafreal, a dish marinated in a green masala paste and sprinkled with toddy vinegar and Vindaloo, a fiery marinade of vinegar and garlic, which bears absolutely no resemblance to the tomato-based mush you'll find in most UK curry houses.  Although many Goans are Christian and meat & fish feature strongly in their diet, most of their traditional dishes are available as meat-free options.

Jon's enjoying a pre-lunch beer in Viva Panjim, an award winning side street eatery run by a local woman, set in an old Portuguese house stuffed with antiques. Here, as in many of the restaurants in Panjim, the soundtrack isn't the usual Bollywood filmi music, it's Portuguese Fado, sung in Konkani, the language of Goa.

Fontainhas boasts perfectly restored heritage hotels, trendy bars, bistros and eateries nestling alongside cheerfully dilapidated 300 year old homes, still lived in by ancestors of the Portuguese settlers and derelict buildings, boarded up for decades, the Indian inheritance laws too complicated for any remaining relatives to lay claim upon them.

The window in the centre is lined with oyster shells, keeping the interior cool whilst creating ambiance

For hours we'd wander these streets, pointing out the ruins and dreaming over an ice cold beer (or a coconut fenni) of restoring them to their former glory. 

This one will do for me! Sadly foreigners aren't allowed to buy property in India, which I can understand. They had enough trouble trying to get rid of us in 1947.

You can see more of Fontainhas HERE.

 And that was India, 2019! Thanks for coming along for the ride.

In the meantime it's back to real life. More about that soon!