We got in a rickshaw in Goa with a driver who assured us he knew where he was going. Fifteen minutes later we were dropped in the middle of nowhere with no idea where we were headed. After a phone call and several conflicting sets of directions from locals we surprisingly found our way.

The room was nice, knowing we were in for a bit of a stay in Goa we opted for the room with a balcony and a fridge- handy for keeping the Kingfishers and olives cold. What we didn't bank on was the early morning wake up calls from the cockerels at 4, 5, 6, and 7 o'clock every morning. After the first unrestful night's sleep we made good use of the earplugs. I knew I had been carrying them round for 6 weeks for a reason.

We spent the week exploring the beaches of Goa. There's more to the state than we realised and luckily, being based on a beach quite central in Benaulim, we were good distances from the popular beaches. Benaulim was the nearest and so the first day was spent here. Pristine white sands and lots of ladies selling their wares, fortunately we had picked the perfect time to visit, just after monsoon meant we had perfect weather but just before tourist season meant the beach was pretty much deserted, very few tourists about. Of course this also meant we were prime ribs in the eyes of the locals who all wanted our business. After several days of being followed along beaches Laura may have lost her rag slightly and we both ended up beginning every conversation with 'we don't have any money and we don't want to buy anything. Thanks.'

We ended up on the next beach along in Varca which was even more idyllic than the last. We got the bus which the locals absolutely loved. Laughing at the white man on the bus didn't get old at all. We walked through the swankiest hotel to get to the beach and we had to sign out of the hotel to get out onto it. We wonder if they are still looking for 'River. P' and his friend from room 1905. We walked back along the beach to get to Benaulim and watched the fishermen get their net in, a group of men on one side and the boat about 100m further down the shore, both heaving the huge net in. They took quite a while so we never got to see if their labour was worth it.

We walked north on Sunday to get to Colva where we knew there was another beach and, more importantly, the English football was on. We also, to our delight, discovered another Cafe Coffee Day! Heaven in the heat. Spent a peaceful hour here traditionally spending our Sunday morning with coffee and trying to get some news. The international sections in the newspapers here leave a lot to be desired though. On the beach we had forgotten that Sunday was when they let the locals loose. We walked a little way down the beach and away from the lifeguards, to whom the Indians stick like glue, but even this did not afford us much peace. No bikini for Laura today. Spent the evening in Goodman's, owned by a rotund jolly Scot who has lived in Goa for 19 years. Watched the football, several hours worth, which reminded Sean of many a Sunday. Laura read her book.

We then hired a moped and took it back to Colva for another coffee and ice-cream fix. This also coincided with the annual Christian festival making the roads an interesting place to be. Have you ridden a moped before sir? Yes of course, well I've ridden a bicycle, same thing really.. After a slightly nervous start, for both parties, Laura being on the back, we were free and easy on the Goa roads. Headed further south and discovered another perfect beach, backing onto a $200 dollar a night hotel and we easily fooled ourselves that we were living the high life too. Which is also what the locals thought too as we once again were circled by vultures out for business. Leisurely ride back without incident.

We wish we could say the same for day two on the mopeds. Cocky with confidence we decided that the 100km round trip south to Palolem was no match for us, even on the national highway. With detailed instructions (basic map scribbled on the back of a photocopy of an Israeli passport) to the national highway we set out. Successfully onto the highway we complacently dodged cattle, cows and potholes, we drove smoothly along, Indian style; overtaking, undertaking, sometimes on our side of the road. We were cruising along the wind whistling through our hair without a care in the world. That was until we missed the turning and had to perform a u-turn on a small side street. The simplest maneuver yet at 2mph. I took a wide berth which got wider and wider until I had to try and rescue the bike by leaning and the back tire hit the dirt and went from under us. Nothing fancy or dramatic just me onto the dirt and Laura casually using me as a crash mat. Immediately we had some help, thankfully we were okay. I got up asked Laura if she was okay, which she was, asked if the bike was okay, phew fine, then realised my leg looked like a scene from Die Hard. It looked worse than it was, and we continued to Palolem. Once off the bike my leg looked even worse but once Laura Nightingale had baby wipe-d, dettol-ed and cleaned up, we saw twas but a flesh wound. Put a slight dampener on the beach plans as I limped along the sand in bandages like a war hero. The ride back was not quite as relaxed as the previous trip. White knuckle ride better describes it, being already slightly shaken and then embarking in rush hour traffic. Got back just as it was turning dusk, lucky for us to conceal the damage to us and the bike.

Having had miraculously avoided mozzies for several days, thinking two repellants in the room and spraying ourselves before bed was sufficient, we were bound to be caught out at some point. I didn't quite expect to wake up with a total of 34 bites across both legs however. Sean described the sight as a reincarnation of the elephant man. This coupled with bruises from our off road adventure made me look like a plague victim. I was thus subjected to Sean dousing me with holy water and backing away with crucifix sign was not amusing. Not disheartened and not passing up any opportunity for a tan it was still shorts on the agenda. When even the locals recoil in horror, you know the situation is bad. It doesn't help that all of my bites swell up to the size of coppers and the distinctive red and yellow colour give the pattern a look reminiscent of Mr. Blobby. Sean says the facial features don't help. Our final day was overcast and due to our various maladies we decided to have a relaxing day around Benaulim. Beginning with fresh coconut water straight from the coconut. And when we say fresh we mean 'boy, get up the tree and get two coconut for white man'. Fresh. A gorgeous thali for lunch, authentic as we now only eat at the locals' restaurant, and then an afternoon reading our books with Kingfishers on the balcony. Early to bed for our super early train out to Hampi. Luckily we also have a super early cockerel shaped alarm clock.