Goa is famous for its beautifiul beaches

The British flock there in their thousands. But so do the locals.

The British are famous for getting drunk, loud and sunburnt.

The locals are famous for the amount of trash they leave behind

It is not a good combination.

We chose not to go to the beach. Instead we wander the old town of Panjim, the capital of Goa, where we are faced with a similar dilemma

Is this where you would choose to go and get your meat, fish, fruit and vegetables every day?

Probably not. But for the people living here, it is. Actually they don’t chose to go here. If they want to buy groceries, they have to go here

Outside, the sun is shining, the humidity is rising and the temperature has reached 90. Inside the market the cooling system is entirely dependent on the sea breeze blowing through the open sided building. Today there is no breeze and it is just as hot and humid inside as it is out.

If its chicken you fancy for tonight’s meal, you are in luck. The are rows of stalls selling chicken – live ones, some only just. You select the one you want from cages crammed full of the poor creatures. The butcher then inquires as to whether you want it dead or alive. If you want it dead, he quickly wrings its neck on that nasty hook contraption hanging over the counter, plops it in a bag, wings still fluttering and hands it to you. If you think that is unlikely just take a look at the charming gentleman who will help you. There is little doubt as to what he is capable of

But the chicken stalls look positively appetizing compared to the butchers stalls, where the meat is definitely dead and hangs in rather gruesome displays from hooks in the ceiling, just inches away from the customers faces. The tiled walls behind the counter are grimy and car keys hang from the meat hooks.

The customers can get an up close look at the quality of the meat, they can also smell the quality of the meat which is not suggested for those feint of heart, and they can count the number of flies feasting on what will shortly be on their dinner plate.

The customers don’t seem to mind, and the crows certainly don’t as they snack on the tasty tidbits they can find in the trash cans right next to the butchers

It makes vegetarianism seem appealing, especially when we move to the next hall, where rows of tables filled with fruit and vegetables look a lot more appetizing

But the customers are few and far between. There are various signs that the vendors have little to do. The first of which is that someone had the time to make this display of peas

But there are more obvious signs, such is this woman who has managed to find a space on her table to sit Buddha like , deep in meditation, or rather more likely, deep asleep.

Obviously a fashionista, she has taken care to wear a dress that matches the colour of the tarp that she covers her table with, her plastic bags and the umbrella. The purpose of the umbrella is unclear as we are inside!

But for colour coordination, no one comes close to this woman who has made herself look as much like a banana as she possible can. This way when she takes a nap nestled among that particular fruit she is almost invisible.

It was only the sound of her rhythmic snoring that makes us take a closer look.

Another hard day at the office!

Tucked away in the corner of the market under the tin roof we find another stall. This one is clearly not as appealing as the others, but it does offer an advantage to the customer in a hurry. It sells both both meat and vegetables so that you can do all your shopping in one place. At first glance it is hard to see the meat on offer.

But if you look closely it is there. And like the chickens it is live. A few moments later it moves and becomes more visible as it admires a large bowl of garlic.

Now you have lost your appetite, I shall take the opportunity to talk about toilets.

There aren’t any.

At least there aren’t any public toilets. We have learned to drink and eat nothing before venturing out for a day in India, but still the urge comes upon you from time to time. When the urge comes upon a local he has no problem pointing percy at a wall, but we have no idea what the women do.

We are delighted to see that this market actually has a sign to a toilet. Never wanting to pass up an opportunity we head over to it. It is remarkably clean by Indian standards, which surprises the hell out of us, but it is not one that is suitable for the purpose we have in mind.

Now dear readers, if you are of a certain age you probably know the feeling. Once you have decided that you want to go, there is no putting it off.

We leave the market in a hurry and look for a hotel where we might avail oursleves of the facilities. There are several in the neighborhood, but none of them look as if they would offer anything more comfortable than the market had to offer. Finally we find an old colonial style house beautifully renovated into what appears to be an uspcale boutique hotel. We ask if we might use their bathroom and are directed outside, which is not encouraging. But the toilet itself has the required facilites for our purpose,it is remarkably clean even by our standards, and as we pass by the urinal it even make us laugh

We leave the slightly depressing old town with a smile on our faces and a certain feeling of relief.