"Your skin white like milk...mine dark like chocolate"

Thunder and lightning storms from the night had cleared the air and given us a fresh, beautiful, crisp morning at Mandrem Beach. Still unaware of the activities available to us in the north of Goa and keen to maximise Adams and Patty's last day, we chatted with the local taxi man/tour operator.

Boat trips were a no-go as they only departed at 6 pm each night. Soon, our man had suggested a full day's tour, starting at Mapsa to explore the market, a stop-off at a local Hindu temple, and a trip to Old Goa. We'd wangled an airport drop-off and a stop at Colva Beach for the bargain price of 2600 rupees, and the deal was struck.

Keen to make the most of the morning, we booked the driver for 11:30 and changed into our swimwear. Slowly wading in the ocean with the vision of the eels' strong jaws at the forefront of our imaginations, we were all a little cautious. Victoria was the first to get nipped. Then Jamie. And we were back on the shoreline. Being 'brave' (easily so when not having been bit), I suggested we should all man up and get in. It was the last day we would be together in Goa, and we should enjoy the sea.

Back in, I got nipped, then Patty. I made another run for the shore, feeling abashed. Keen not to be defeated, I got back in, and we all made our way to the break... trying not to linger in one place too long. I think we all made it without any more fish giving us little kisses.

We showered, changed, and got supplied for the trip. Our driver was friendly and super informative (even though his information was lacking accuracy), and he made a few little excursions off track to show us the old Portuguese quarter and explained the rules of private and public schooling. Anyone can go to private school if they pay. All boys can go to public school, but not all girls are given this privilege. We're still not sure as to the exact criteria, but needless to say, although education is becoming more accessible, the number of children of school age seen out in the daytime begging or selling their wares is still phenomenally high in India.

The market at Mapsa (or Mapusa as it's sometimes called) was buzzing. There were cloth stalls, spices, and flower sellers. We soon had a tagalong. A girl who was very informative but wouldn't leave until we'd 'looked her shop' joined us early on. She told Adams that they were good friends and that Adams had skin "white like milk" and hers was "dark like chocolate"—and how she'd like to swap.

Jamie bought dried gooseberries from a stall selling cashews and mango pickle (not mango chutney... but mango pickle). We stopped for a chai (the best chai is always at a roadside stall, on a train, or in a market). The girl thought it was funny that out of the whole market, we were most interested in the spices, dried fruit, and chai, and joked that we must be hungry.

We went to see the girl's shop, which was at the end of the market. She did have some beautiful scarves and pashminas. Feeling sorry for the girl, Victoria haggled for a scarf but, not needing or wanting it, held firm to her maximum price. The girl refused to budge, and we lost a friend but managed to continue our market tour in peace.

Back in the car, we next stopped at a temple. The temple was a little community hub. The driver explained this was one of the Hindu gods who make unities, and many young people come here to make proposals for marriage.

We entered a little unsure of etiquette and concerned our dress code could be offensive to locals. We walked around and saw the bright statues of the gods—much less sinister than the silent temple of Agonda me and Jamie had visited alone. We were given a little silver tray of sweetened coconut rice by one of the ladies worshiping. At the front of the temple, visitors were buying offerings to present. A man took the offerings and gave a blessing.

Eager to participate in this ritual, we bought both bananas and a flower garland for a few rupees. A big guy asked if we wanted a blessing and told us to wait. He swapped with the current blessing-giver and whipped off his shirt. Showing his rather large belly and man boobs off for the whole temple to see, we were instantly assured that our shorts and bare arms wouldn't be causing offence. The big man summoned us in front of him, and we placed our offerings. He asked our names before giving us a blessing for our friends and families. He then handed us each a banana, which we ate so as not to cause offence.

En route to Old Goa, we stopped at what our driver explained were the ruins of an old 'palace.' Inside, we soon realised that this was in fact the ruins of an old Catholic church—or, judging by its size, an old cathedral.

Old Goa was literally just round the corner and was a few old Catholic churches and relics. There was no old city to explore. Hungry, we ate in an odd restaurant and decided to check out the churches and hop foot down to Colva, where we could get a thali, me and Jamie could check into a room, and Adams and Patty could freshen up before their flight home. Otherwise, we'd be stuck in Old Goa, bored for the next four hours!

Patty was the only one to get a successful lunch—veg biryani. Jamie's cheese sandwich was a sandwich of cucumber, onion, and tomato (making the bread sodden and soggy), cut into triangles with cheese grated on top. The veg noodle soup Victoria and I had requested came sans soup but with a hundred chillies.

Having been told that the best church was the St Francis of Xavier, we decided to check this out and give the others a miss—giving us more time beachside. The church was pretty impressive... the same as most grand Catholic churches. At the relic of St Francis Xavier, there were tonnes of people, and the heat hit me, so I made a quick exit. Jamie said that they'd put a wax figure in the glass casket to give the impression of the saint's actual presence. All a bit odd. Being hundreds of years old, he'd obviously be just bones by now.

About an hour later, we arrived at Colva. I couldn't believe it. The road leading to the beach was littered with stalls. We thought it must be market day, but the stalls lined the road right up until the big concrete car park swarmed with ice cream sellers, taxi drivers, and touts. We'd arrived in yet another of Goa's overpopulated beaches.

We took a walk along the shore. All of a sudden, this young Indian guy ran up to Jamie and asked if he could have a photo with him because he really liked his haircut. After posing, the guy ran off and came back with all of his friends, who all wanted photos too! Turns out Patty's missed his calling in life... not too late to swap the skateboard for scissors. :)

The beach was brimming with Indian tourists. There were no Westerners in sight. The water was full of swimmers, jet skiers, and paragliders.

At a bar that sold Monkey Glands, we sat and ordered drinks while Jamie checked out accommodation. He returned looking dishevelled. On his quick hunt, he'd been confronted by rude people, turned away from fully booked or overpriced places to stay, and even offered a 'romantic' time from a boy on a street corner.

This was not the place for us. We decided to head back to Agonda, where the beaches were quiet, the people kind and friendly, and the accommodation reasonable and available.

As night approached, Colva became more and more menacing. We grabbed a local chai with Adams and Patty, who were soon to head to the airport. Disappointed that their last stop in Goa wasn't ideal, we said a heartfelt goodbye and held back the tears as we sped off in our cab back to Agonda.

We stopped at Sparkle and agreed on a good price for a beautiful room out the back and ate dinner. All tucked up and cosy, we drifted off to sleep

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