As the sand moved between my toes and the dawn sun touched my face, I watched a local farmer driving his herd of cattle along the beach. Ahead a burnout fishing boat lay across their path. The lead animal suspicious shied away, then turned towards the palm trees fringing the shore, taking care to avoid a group of feral dogs. I would pass the day lounging under topical palms. That evening I sundered into a beach shack as the sun touched the ocean, as four men arrived and hoisted the blacken kneel of the boat onto their shoulders. As I dined upon red snapper and naan bread, and listen’ed to a tale of rivalry, and territorial rights, and the dangers of straying into someone else’s fishing area. Over the next few days I watched the local fishermen use a draw net until their small craft was rebuilt. Such where the delights of beach life in Goa.

Genre. My Memoirs.