Anjuna
We had a connection via Bengaluru from Langkawi to Goa, with a stopover of just over two hours. At first, this sounded like plenty of time, but after researching we realised we’d actually be pushing it. Immigration was said to be a nightmare and could take up to an hour, and we also had to collect our baggage, take it through the scanners, and then hand it back in again. After that, we still had to take a shuttle bus because our connecting flight was in another terminal.
Luckily, immigration was fine with hardly any queue, and the baggage scanning wasn’t too bad either — so far, so good. We found the shuttle bus and, ten minutes later, arrived at the domestic terminal. This, however, is where the mayhem started.
There was a huge queue at security to scan our cabin bags. It was chaotic and didn’t even look like it was moving. We were clock-watching now, with our flight due to start boarding in around half an hour. One guy could see how on edge we were and suggested we ask if we could queue-jump a little, which we did. Even so, it was painfully slow and the minutes were ticking by fast.
Finally, our bags went through the X-ray — but then they stopped. Instead of coming out to collect, they went off to the left for additional checks. Guess what… yes, both of our bags. You couldn’t write it. We honestly thought there was no way we were going to make the flight.
Shane’s bag was checked first, and they even made it go through the scanner again. After more agonising minutes, we finally got the all-clear and raced to the gate, arriving with about ten minutes to spare.
Talk about stressful — but such a relief that we made the next flight.
The connecting flight was only an hour, and we were straight through at Goa airport having already cleared immigration. At last, we had time to catch our breath, grab a coffee, and sample our first Indian samosa before agreeing on a taxi fare to Anjuna in North Goa where we were staying.
The airport is situated between North and South Goa so we still had a fair drive as it takes around an hour and half to reach Anjuna.
We’ve visited Goa several times before, but we haven’t been for 13 years. We’d never stayed in Anjuna, only visited on day trips and spent time at the weekly market, so it felt like a nice opportunity to experience somewhere new.
The sun had just set by the time we arrived, and we were happy to dump our bags, freshen up quickly, and make our way to one of the beach restaurants. Let’s see if the curry is just as good as we remembered.
We found the perfect place, right on the ocean and wonderfully chilled out. It certainly didn’t disappoint — we had the most delicious curry, and the bar guy made us the spiciest cocktail we’ve ever tried. It was literally local firewater; we couldn’t feel our lips from the intense chilli he added, but we still loved it. Yes, we were definitely going to like it here!
Anjuna was always known for the hippies who arrived in Goa in the late 1960s. By the early 1970s, Anjuna had become famous for long-term hippie communities, beach gatherings, and full-moon parties.
The hippies have mostly long gone. By the 1990s, it had shifted from a quiet hippie hangout to a backpacker and party vibe. Anjuna is now a little more built-up and nightlife-focused than it was in its heyday.
It was early days for us, so it would be interesting to see how it is now.
As we’d arrived on a Tuesday, the following day was the weekly flea market, and we were staying right where it takes place. We remembered how vibrant it once was and were looking forward to a mooch. The market began in the 1970s, when hippies sold handmade goods to fund their travels.
We wandered around the stalls that stretch across sandy, palm-shaded paths, selling everything from bohemian clothing, jewellery, leather bags, and Tibetan crafts to souvenirs, crystals, dreamcatchers, spices, and beachwear.
It used to be enormous, so it was a shame to see that it’s now only a fraction of its former size. After speaking to a few people, it seems that shifts in tourism after COVID mean many long-stay backpackers haven’t returned in the same numbers, resulting in fewer vendors and shoppers overall.
It was still very colourful all the same, and even though we weren’t there to buy anything — as we literally couldn’t fit a single item into our already overpacked bags — it was good to browse and take photos.
It passed the morning, and then in the afternoon we walked the whole length of the beach and back and flopped into one of the beach shacks for which Goa is famed. Most shacks offer free sunbeds and parasols, and they always look after you. The one we chose was no different — the perfect place to chill.
We were enjoying what we’d seen of Anjuna so far. It didn’t seem all that different from what we remembered, although we hadn’t yet encountered crowds of people or partygoers. In fact, it felt quite the opposite — very quiet.
A recent club fire was most likely the reason for this. The tragedy had led to new inspections by officials, with many clubs temporarily sealed to ensure health and safety measures were in place. As a result, we were experiencing a different side of Anjuna — one that suited us down to the ground. We were more than happy with the peace and quiet.
Cows still have free rein, wandering the streets as they always did, and by sunset they drift to the beach to cool off in the seabreeze and settle into the sand. As night falls you need a torch to light the pathways. We love this – it feels wonderfully rustic, quietly unchanged, and instantly takes us back to our first visit to Goa almost 25 years ago.
The following day we decided to head up to the next bay, Vagator. It was always a favourite of ours — another hippie hangout back in the day — but we’d read that in recent years it has seen a rise in boutique hotels, luxury villas, and stylish beach clubs, attracting wealthier Indian travellers, especially over the last decade and even more so after COVID.
We thought we’d try out the taxi app GoaMiles, which is a fairly new ride-hailing platform, similar to Uber or Grab. The trouble is it hasn’t really taken off here yet, so we knew it might take a while to get a taxi — but it was worth a shout. As luck would have it, our ride request was accepted and we were soon on our way to Vagator.
Where the taxi dropped us off, we noticed a large group of eagles circling overhead. If you’ve read our previous stories, you’ll know how many chances Shane has missed trying to photograph eagles. This time, he had the big lens at the ready — a first — so he took the opportunity to get some shots. There were so many of them that they were clearly drawn to something.
It didn’t take us long to find the answer — a guy up ahead in a four-wheel drive was feeding the local stray dogs. We spoke with him briefly; he’s a British expat who goes around each day feeding the dogs chicken scraps. The eagles have got wind of this and swoop down to try to grab a share, sending the dogs into a frenzy of barking, clearly not happy to share their food.
We left him to it and ventured off in search of the beach path. We couldn’t recognise Vagator seeing how it had changed since our last visit. The beach is nestled below and thankfully untouched but the town above is very much built up with fancy beach clubs, restaurants and small hotels. We found a pathway that led down to the beach to the familiar beach shacks, which hadn’t been spoiled.
We first walked to the far corner of the beach, remembering that there is a well-known rock carving there. The carving is the face of the Hindu deity Shiva, etched directly into the cliff-side rock by an artist during Goa’s hippie era. It’s more weathered now, but we could still make it out.
We retraced our steps and set about choosing a good shack for the day. They’re all good, so it doesn’t really matter — anyhow, we found one we liked the look of and thought we’d grab a nice cup of masala tea before crashing on a lounger.
We soon got talking to a few of the expats out for the season. They said they weren’t happy with the recent developments and changes, feeling that it was ruining the once spiritual, chilled vibe that Vagator had. Still, they return each year, as the place is still dear to their hearts — they just have to accept the changes if they want to continue spending their winters here.
We had a great day. The expats were really friendly and, as one of them said, it’s more like coming to a social club when you come to the shacks. They even invited us to spend Christmas Day with them, but we were moving on further down the coast by then. Still, it was really nice to be asked.
We were still on the beach as the sun started to set, this is my favourite time of day and it’s when you tend to see the cows return, probably as the temperature cools. We then packed up said our goodbyes and thought we’d try our luck with the taxi app once more.
Unfortunately, we weren’t so lucky on the return — it seemed no taxis were in the area. After trying for a while, a local lady selling drinks and snacks on the roadside offered to help. The people really are lovely here. She tried to see if she could get us a taxi, but unfortunately wasn’t getting an answer — I could see us walking back at this rate.
Then, as luck would have it, a couple of the expats we’d talked to on the beach passed by on a scooter and couldn’t believe we were still waiting. Being a trooper, she phoned a taxi friend who was soon on his way to collect us. She explained that taxis are scarcer around Vagator, as many of the clubs here had been sealed due to the recent fire, so partygoers weren’t coming for the nightlife — hence, no taxis.
The following day we took a taxi to the nearby town of Mapusa as it was Friday Market day. A group we’d met on the beach the day before had recommended it, saying it was well worth a visit if we fancied some culture. This isn’t just a shopping place — it’s a slice of Goan life where villagers and traders come together. We’d visited Mapusa before, but never on market day, so we were well up for it.
The taxi dropped us right across from the market. The area was already lively, slightly chaotic, and wonderfully authentic.
The market was split into sections, with areas selling fruit and veg, spices, clothing, and meat. It was so colourful and noisy. We were mainly there to soak up the atmosphere and take photographs. However, we did pick up a few bits, even purchasing a Christmas star and some tinsel to decorate our room for the big day, which was only a few days away.
In the centre of the market, we stumbled across a small café serving Indian snacks — perfect! Samosas and hot cups of masala tea were most welcome, and the café was called ‘Shanes’ — how funny!
We continued around the market, making sure we’d seen all corners before deciding to head back. On the way, we’d managed to get a taxi via the app, but we didn’t really need to worry about the return as right outside the market there was a row of tuk-tuks all waiting. We haggled what we thought was a fair price and headed back to Anjuna.
We absolutely loved the little bungalow where we were staying. It had a shady front porch with deckchairs — the perfect place to relax, listening to the different bird calls as cows wandered past. Set in amongst palm trees, there were just a few local houses nearby and a small chapel right next door. We often watched the lady across the way draw water from her garden well, a quiet reminder of how simply life is still lived in many places. One day, the chapel bells rang and a small congregation soon gathered for mass. Hearing them sing together was lovely.
We really enjoyed our time in Anjuna and I’m glad we decided to stay here, as it gave us a glimpse of the old Goa we remembered from our very first visits. If anything, it was quieter than we’d expected, but that didn’t matter to us — as long as we could find a nice curry (which of course we did), we were happy to relax. Next, we moved down the coast to Candolim, which isn’t too far — around eight miles or so. We’ve never stayed in Candolim before; like Anjuna, we’ve visited on previous occasions but were always based in Baga or Calangute. From what we’d read, Candolim sounded like the better choice for us, especially over the Christmas period, as it’s a little less chaotic. Let’s see!
Candolim & Baga
We were staying just off the main Candolim road on the beach side. We’d booked a small guest house, which we found to be in a lovely setting among lots of other colourful guest houses nestled between palm trees. So, considering it was only a ten-minute walk to the beach and the same to the main road, it actually felt rural and peaceful where we were.
We got settled then set off in the direction of main road in search of milk and a few provisions as you know an Englishman can’t function without his cup of tea!
The first lovely thing we noticed was that many of the houses were highly decorated for Christmas, with lights, stars, Christmas trees, and even Nativity scenes set up in their gardens. It felt much more Christmassy than it had in Anjuna.
The main Candolim road we found to be a bit chaotic, busy with people and traffic. No one gives way, horns are constantly honking, and it’s pretty crazy. Even the pedestrians cause traffic jams on the pavements, walking at a snail’s pace side by side so you don’t have a chance in hell of getting past. We’ve seen this in many places and it really gets on Shane’s wick.
We’d better get used to it though, as I imagine it will get a whole lot worse as we explore more of India. Somehow, dodging people, cars, scooters and tuk-tuks, we made it to the supermarket in one piece — phew!
Candolim has a couple of larger supermarkets; there was nothing like this in Anjuna, so it’s great for stocking up on a few bits. We’d never stayed here before, so it’s hard to say how much it’s changed, but it certainly will have, and there’s no shortage of restaurants and shops. It’s still a dusty place — but that’s Goa, and we’re used to that. There’s no point wearing any decent shoes here; they turn orange after half an hour.
Nestled among the dust and chaos of the Candolim road were a few signs of change, with the likes of Burger King, Maccy’s and KFC, and we were shocked to see they even had a Decathlon. There definitely wouldn’t have been shops like that when we last visited.
Glad to get off the busy road and weave our way back down the country lanes to our guesthouse we dropped off our bits and decided to check out the beach.
The beach was much as we’d remembered it, but with far more beach shacks. One after another, they line the shore. This long stretch of beach runs all the way from Baga, past Calangute and Candolim, right down to Sinquerim Fort at the very bottom — a distance of around 9 km (about 5.6 miles).
We joined the beach at its busiest spot at the end of Candolim Beach Road. Lots of Indians are on holiday here at the moment, and it seemed that they favour the shacks around this area and the water sports on offer. It was far too busy for us, so we carried on, and the further along we went, the quieter it became. Eventually we found a shack we fancied and flopped onto a lounger for the rest of the afternoon—perfect!
That evening we found a few of the popular watering holes and ended up in a fantastic restaurant, the curry was getting better and better. It’s much busier here with Brits — Candolim definitely seems to be the favourite hotspot. Alongside holidaymakers, many people come here for the season, staying until late March or April. You can hardly blame them: it’s still so cheap here, it saves a fortune compared with spending winter in the UK, and it’s a lot warmer too.
The following day we decided to walk towards Calangute for old times’ sake. The question was whether to go via the beach or the road. We opted for the latter; although it’s chaotic, there is at least a pavement. We could always walk the beach another time.
We stopped on the way at one of the many Indian cafés to grab a samosa and a cup of masala chai (spiced tea) — we love it! We noticed they also did samosa pav, which I assumed might be served in bread. I asked and it was, so when in Rome — or even Candolim — let’s give it a try. To us northerners, it’s not much different from a “Wigan kebab”, which is a pasty on a barm, and hey, don’t knock it — it was absolutely delicious, smothered in minty coriander sauce. Yes, I’d definitely have one again.
Fuelled up, we carried on walking, passing the lovely church in the middle of the road before turning left towards Calangute. A few places began to look familiar and we realised we were close to the hotel from our very first visit 25 years ago, so we took a quick detour. It was far more built up than we remembered, but we found it — hard to believe how quickly time flies.
The Calangute crossroads and Beach Road were as busy as ever. It’s clearly become even more popular with Indian tourists, judging by the number of Punjabi restaurants now lining the area. The beach steps were even more packed, though that’s never been a surprise.
We then doubled back towards the Calangute–Baga crossroads, passing a couple more old hotels — another blast from the past. This area felt more familiar, just with a lot more shops now, especially wine shops, and plenty more colourful Punjabi restaurants.
We recognised a bar we used to frequent, so we popped in for a drink — why not, just the one. We soon got chatting with some fellow Brits who just happened to live up the road from us back home — what are the chances? Such a small world. Well, one drink turned into two and so on. It was packed by the time we left, so we opted for a tuk-tuk back; there was no way we were walking now! Great day, though!
Christmas Eve, on the recommendation of others, we were told that in Panjim (the capital) there was a Christmas parade taking place late afternoon in the old Latin quarter which is the known as Fontainhas. It sounded like something we’d like to see, so later that day we booked a taxi.
It took around half an hour to reach Panjim. We’d only been once before, many years back, but we’d never visited the Latin Quarter, so we were looking forward to that.
As we walked the narrow, winding lanes, colourful Portuguese houses came into view. Fontainhas dates back to the late 18th century and is a protected heritage area, so the buildings retain their original character. It has a very European feel; you could almost forget for a moment that you were in India. One house was decorated with large Portuguese tiles, and all the street names were written in Portuguese on lovely blue-and-white tile plaques.
Many of the houses were decorated for the festive season and The beautiful St Sebastian’s Chapel in the centre was being set up for the Christmas Midnight mass.
We loved wandering the colourful streets filled with small boutiques, bakeries, and restaurants. Around every corner or alleyway, we found something quirky. One bakery, hidden away in one such alley, was very popular. Highly decorated with floral and festive displays, it was most definitely an Instagram favourite.
With time to spare before the Christmas parade at 4pm, we walked to one of Panjim’s iconic landmarks, Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception Church. The bright white Baroque-style church, originally built in 1541 and later expanded in the early 1600s, overlooks the main square, its striking zigzag staircase climbing the hill to the entrance.
The square was buzzing with locals and tourists. Christmas decorations lined the centre of the main square, making it feel very festive — the closest thing we’d get to feeling at home, that’s for sure.
We returned shortly afterwards to the Old Quarter, but we never found any signs of the so-called parade. I read a bit more about it and discovered that it was more of a walk than a parade. Nevertheless, we had really enjoyed wandering the streets here and might not have visited otherwise—so all in all, nothing was lost and much was gained. It had been a lovely way to spend Christmas Eve, and we were happy to take a taxi back.
It didn’t feel like Christmas Eve back in Candolim as we went out for dinner and drinks. It’s just not the same in a hot climate—not to us anyway, being used to cold and cozy. It was just another night, but we made the most of it.
Christmas Day followed suit, we walked down to Sinquerim Fort at the far end of Candolim, stopping for masala chai and samosas—our idea of a great Christmas breakfast. The fort area was buzzing with locals enjoying the day with their families. The Fort was built by the Portuguese in 1612 to protect Goa’s coastline, there’s not too much left of it today but it makes for a nice walk around the headland with views over the Arabian Sea.
From there, we strolled along the beach and flopped into one of the shacks—today was officially a chill day. It was hilarious seeing people decked out in Christmas shirts and hats with the sun blazing down.
Christmas dinner was a curry—of course it was! We didn’t even bother changing out of our beachwear, because why ruin the vibe after the sun goes down? A few drinks later, and we called it a night. And just like that… Christmas was over. Blink and you’ll miss it!
We spent a couple more days in Candolim relaxing, reading, and not really doing much at all. Then it was time to move on, as we’d decided to spend New Year in Baga. Call us crazy—by all accounts, people were heading in the opposite direction to escape the chaos. But we like to mix things up, and besides, we’d had our fill of Candolim.
The day we walked to Calangute, we hadn’t made it all the way down to Baga, so it would be interesting to see how it had changed, as it was an area we were most familiar with as we stayed there previously. We booked a guest house just around the corner from the lively Tito’s Lane, but far enough away for it to be quiet.
The guest house was lovely, but even the owner raised an eyebrow and said, “Why are you coming here for New Year’s? It’ll be crazy—ha!” We’ll see. What you’ve got to remember is that we’re used to cities and full-on hustle and bustle. Even Tito’s Lane, at least from what we remembered, is probably comparable to some of the city-centre nightlife back home. Plus, we probably won’t even go there on New Year’s—we don’t need to be right in the thick of it.
After settling in and unpacking, we decided to take a walk down the famous Tito’s Lane as it leads to the beach. In the daytime, it’s a completely different entity. Instead of club queues, the lane is filled with souvenir shops and clothes stalls, with friendly shopkeepers sitting out front. It’s busy but manageable, colourful rather than chaotic. It’s more about wandering and browsing than partying—a reminder that this infamous strip has a surprisingly relaxed side before night turns it back into the circus it’s famous for.
Baga these days is much more popular with Indian tourists, even more so since Covid. There are still a handful of Westerners, but most Europeans now tend to stay in Candolim and Calangute, while many Russians have apparently moved further north to Morjim, Ashwem, and Arambol.
We made our way to the beach and were shocked by the sheer volume of people. Hundreds of families and groups were all enjoying the beach. What shocked us most was the amount of rubbish — plastic cups, bottles and plates left on the sand. It was an absolute disgrace.
The lifeguards were certainly being kept on their toes, with crowds of people in the sea — many of them fully clothed. It was good to see lifeguards there, as this is a fairly new development, introduced around 2008. Beach safety came after a number of drowning deaths in the mid-2000s.
At the far end of Baga Beach, there was a secluded cove with just the one beach shack we used to enjoy visiting. To escape the crowds, we decided to see if we could still get to it. Unfortunately, you can’t reach it directly from the end of the beach because of the Baga River, so we had to walk a little further upstream to cross the bridge.
We found the pathway and followed the coastal path. There were a few people about, but not many. A short distance further, the cove came into view. One section they had improved access with a wooden footbridge, but it had seen better days and was on the verge of collapse.
A young guy approached us and told us that, fortunately, the shack wasn’t open, but he could get us a couple of chairs if we still wanted to sit there. Bless him — the people are so lovely. However, we didn’t really see the point, as we had no water with us and it looked a little challenging to get over the rocks — well, it did for me, as I didn’t want to risk damaging my healing ankle. Shane walked down to take a quick peek but said it wasn’t quite as we’d remembered. Shame!
So we walked back, it was getting on anyway. Just a little time to relax before dinner.
That evening, we took another walk down Tito’s Lane. It was still quite early, so we didn’t see it at its busiest — and probably never would, since we’d most likely be in bed by the time the street was really coming alive! Old-timers, eh?
We had a few drinks and ended up checking out one of the Punjabi restaurants that seemed to have popped up all over the place. It didn’t disappoint — how could it? We love all Indian food.
The next day, we decided to walk along the beach, as we didn’t fancy crashing amongst the crowds. The beach is good for walking — generally firm and flat, which makes it much more enjoyable. Apart from stopping along the way for drinks and chai tea, we walked all the way back down to Candolim, which is quite a fair distance.
Thankfully, the beach isn’t busy all along, unlike Baga. It does have popular, crowded sections, like by the Calangute steps and Candolim Beach Road. It was also nice to see that the beach had been cleaned up since yesterday. We noticed four-wheel-drive pickup trucks driving along the stretch, collecting all the bagged rubbish. Apparently, this happens twice a day. It’s terrible that it has to be done so often — if only it hadn’t been dropped in the first place.
The lifeguards are stationed at fairly close intervals along the beach, and they also patrol in beach buggies, using a tannoy to call out to people who are a little too far out at sea for comfort. The Christmas period is likely the busiest time for them, due to the large number of tourists.
We were shattered and hungry by the time we got back. The lady from our guest house gave us a recommendation for dinner. I checked out the menu and noticed they had pies — and they looked good. Normally, I’m not one to veer away from Indian food, being our favourite, but we’d been eating it for over a month, so it felt nice to have a change.
Great recommendation! The pies were delicious, served with chips, mushy peas, and gravy. Hands down the best pie I’ve eaten in years — even better than many back home. Funny how you don’t realise you’ve missed something until you have it. I already know we’ll be back!
New Year’s Eve came around, we decided to have a lazy morning and caught up with people back home, taking the time difference into account. Late in the afternoon, we decided to return to the pie restaurant — be rude not to! Plus, it would be some good stodge to line our stomachs in preparation for the evening celebrations.
Walking back, we noticed many local kids had made life-sized figures of an old man using whatever they could find and were asking for “pennies for the old man.” We saw quite a few and later found out it’s a local tradition, with the figure representing the old year — tired, worn out, and ready to be left behind. At midnight on 31st December, the Old Man is often burnt or symbolically discarded, marking the end of the old year. Some were really cute, and we were happy to give the old man a few pennies.
We didn’t really have any special plans for the evening, so we decided to walk down the road to a bar we’d found. It was popular with Brits and also great for people-watching, with stools facing the busy Baga Road. We didn’t know how long we’d stay — we’d just go with the flow.
The road isn’t wide, so the sheer number of cars and scooters trying to get in and out, along with the crowds of people, soon caused gridlock. Traffic police tried to organise the chaos, but really it was just a free-for-all, with vehicles cutting in and causing even more backups. It was funny to watch — the traffic carried on all night long, as did the crowds, the scooters, and then the cows.
We were enjoying our evening and it got to the stage where there was no point in moving on — we had a good seat, the music was good, and we got chatting. Seconds before midnight everyone was up for the big countdown, and then, as the clock struck, we all celebrated and welcomed the New Year to Auld Lang Syne.
We were there until the small hours, wishing all and sundry a Happy New Year as they made their way back past the bar. We never did get to see what it was like along Tito’s Lane or on the beach. We were quite glad, as I’m sure it would have been mayhem, with half a million visitors expected across the state and Baga being one of the main hubs for the New Year’s Eve celebrations I can well imagine it would have been crazy.
A bit worse for wear the following day, we just chilled and went for a short walk to brush away the cobwebs. We’d be moving on the next day, heading further south to Colva Beach. Situated not far south of the airport, Colva was somewhere we’d never visited before. It’s apparently a lot quieter and more relaxed, and I’d say we were more than ready for that.
We’d enjoyed our time in North Goa, but it had changed in places — much busier than we remembered. It was Christmas, so it would obviously have been at its peak, but for us, we can say we’re glad we’ve seen it as it is now, though we most probably won’t return. I think what awaits us in the south will be much more up our street — let’s see!
Colva
We took a taxi from Baga to Colva Beach. It’s not that far south, just past the airport. It took us just under an hour and a half at a very affordable price and much quicker than the bus. We chose a lovely guesthouse in a rural setting, yet it’s only a five-minute walk to the beach and a ten-minute walk into town. We’ve never stayed in this area before; it’s supposed to be a lot quieter than North Goa, which sounded perfect for us—especially after the New Year crowds in Baga.
We were pleased to see that our room had a lovely balcony overlooking lush green fields, with cattle grazing and lots of birds. The main thing was how peaceful it was — a really chilled place to sit.
We’d passed through the town in the taxi on the way here. It’s only a small town centre with guesthouses, cafés, convenience shops, and restaurants. It’s not polished or boutique — it felt lived-in and easygoing, with a laid-back vibe that immediately reminded us of what the North was like on our first visit many years ago.
Once we’d settled in and unpacked, we thought we’d take a walk to the beach. The coastline here stretches for about 40 km, so we could walk for miles in either direction as we were roughly in the middle. We didn’t plan on doing anything too mad today — we just wanted to familiarise ourselves with the beach and then check out the town.
The five-minute walk from the hotel took us through a local fishing village. Bamboo huts lined the road, many of them drying fish on large tarpaulin sheets. I love seeing local life, but the smell — wow. I had to cover my nose and try not to breathe until we’d passed. It’s not my favourite smell, I’m not gonna lie.
I was so relieved where we’d joined the beach and left behind the fishy air, now I could breathe out. The beach here is wide and open. It’s not a compact little cove; it’s a long stretch of shoreline perfect for walking. It’s also flat and easy to walk on, with a shallow slope into the sea.
The sand is soft and pale, more light golden than white, and quite fine underfoot. Near the waterline it firms up, making it perfect for long barefoot walks. Further back toward the palms it becomes softer and more powdery, especially around the beach shacks and sunbeds.
Where we joined the beach there were a handful of shacks — maybe four or five — and then a gap before another little cluster, those ones set back from the main town beach road. There were more than enough places to choose from, but nothing like the north where they run one after another.
It was the afternoon, so the cows were gathering on the beach, as it’s cooler there and they like to scavenge (and don’t think twice about pinching your fruit peelings). They’ll literally give the cheeky monkeys a run for their money.
Another nice thing to see was how much cleaner it was — hardly any litter at all, unlike what we’d witnessed in Baga.
We only walked so far down the beach before heading into the town. The road was lined with little street sellers and shops, vendors sitting under colourful umbrellas or makeshift awnings with tables laid out with shell jewellery, beach sarongs, flip-flops, and fruit stalls.
There was a decent supermarket in town, so we stocked up on the usual bits and pieces and decided to stop for a late lunch while we were there. We were quite happy to relax on our balcony that evening, so we thought we’d get fed now.
During our stay in Colva we planned to do lots of walking — long, leisurely beach walks. My ankle was healing well from a recent injury and I felt almost back to normal, and the fact that the beach was a good, flat surface would help too.
The next morning started with tea quietly on the balcony — though “quiet” is a generous word. Our neighbour on the adjoining balcony decided to entertain himself by strumming his guitar and singing some country and western tunes. He wasn’t even that good. I nearly spat out my tea when I saw Shane raise his eyebrows. Thankfully, he couldn’t see us — but it was absolutely hilarious and gave us a proper giggle.
Entertained, we set off on our walk, cutting down to the beach past stinky fish town. You could really do with a peg for this section — seriously. A group were busy gutting the catch of the day, music playing as they worked.
From our short walk the day before, you could see that Colva still retains elements of a fishing town. You catch glimpses of traditional fishing life, with small wooden fishing boats moored along the shore. It’s not a “working fishing port” like some villages, though, as Colva has become a popular Goan beach town so tourism plays a much bigger role now.
We decided to walk in the direction of Benaulim, which is basically the next resort, a few miles down the beach. When we were looking at where to stay it was a toss-up between Benaulim and Colva. There didn’t seem to be much between them, but we chose Colva in the end as it sounded like it might have a little more going on.
Just as we’d hoped, the beach was great for walking — firm and flat. There was a lovely breeze, and the temperature at the moment is perfect. It’s hot but not humid, so totally manageable, which makes such a difference.
We noticed that the lifeguards were stationed at regular intervals, just like we’d seen in the North, and they had these cute little lifeguard buggy cars patrolling the beach as well.
After we’d been walking for quite a while, we came across a group of local ladies who appeared to be setting up a tug-of-war competition. We had to stop for this… come on ladies! When the whistle blew it was all over in seconds, one team clearly much stronger than the other. The losers toppled into the sand, laughing. It was all good fun. As we walked on, we heard the whistle blow again — it sounded like they were onto Round Two.
The sand was so firm that we even saw a few people cycling along the beach. Along with joggers and walkers like us, it’s a great beach for being active.
We ended up walking well past Benaulim, as we reached it quite quickly. We didn’t see the town itself today because we were sticking to the beach — always another day for that.
We’d done about 4.5 miles by that point, so we figured we should stop, have a drink (maybe a snack) and turn around. You could easily get carried away walking this beach — this was already going to be a 9-mile round trip, which isn’t bad going!
On the way back we passed a beach shack with live music. As we got closer we realised it was a private function, but we stopped outside to listen because the guy singing was amazing. He was halfway through Chris Isaak’s Wicked Game and it could easily have been the record playing.
A group of young fishermen were working just up the beach, pulling in their nets two by two. Each pair leaned back against a plank of wood that they dragged behind them, using it as support and leverage as they heaved the heavy net inland. It was slow, rhythmic work — dig in, lean back, and pull. Fascinating to watch, it felt like a glimpse of the old fishing traditions that still linger here.
We watched for so long — probably over an hour — that it got to the point of no return, so we waited until they’d pulled the net completely in, eager to see what they’d caught. It actually didn’t look like much, considering all the hard work it had taken to bring it in.
By now it was getting late, but we’d both really enjoyed our walk. Our legs were definitely starting to feel it as we tackled the last mile or so back.
We’d enjoy a good meal in town later, well earned after our long walk.
As night fell, Colva town took on a more relaxed vibe. The streets were quieter than during the day, lit by strings of fairy lights outside the small cafés and restaurants, and we happened to stumble upon the one and only bar — a great rooftop one. Now don’t get me wrong, there’s no shortage of places to get a drink; most people probably enjoy a meal and a drink at the beach shacks, and we were aware of a few that have fire shows. However, the town was more than enough for us — a perfect place to unwind after our day.
Having enjoyed our beach walk so much, we decided to do it all again in the opposite direction. As I’d mentioned, this beach stretches 40 km, so there’s plenty of walking to be had. We didn’t have the singer this morning — aww, well, never mind; I’d only have the tune stuck in my head all day anyway!
Heading north, the beach felt much quieter. The first part was wide and open, with lots of fishing boats scattered along the sand. A few fishermen were folding the nets from the morning’s catch, while eagles and kites circled above, hoping for any scraps.
The beach shacks were few and far between as we headed north, giving the shoreline a quiet, unspoiled feel. One area, though, was slightly busier. I checked the map and saw we’d reached Betalbatim Beach, which has a few larger hotels and a more developed stretch of sand.
We continued along the beach, and where it quietened we used shacks in the distance as markers — let’s stop there for a drink! We did that a couple of times before finally deciding it was time to head back. It felt like we were almost at the end, but we weren’t; the headland jutting out just looked closer, while the beach probably carried on for several more miles.
On the return, we watched a group of fishermen taking out more nets, and in the distance we could see a herd of cows heading our way. I know we’re used to them, but it’s still funny seeing cows on the beach.
We’d covered similar miles to our previous beach walk, but it seemed longer this way — I think it was because it was much more remote, so seeing shacks in the distance felt almost like a mirage! Ha! We still loved it, though, and the sand was just as flat and firm, making it a pleasant walk.
Colva is mainly a beach resort, but we wanted to see what the place was like away from the shoreline. So our last day we walked the back roads down to Benaulim. It was a nice way to get some steps in, which suited us fine. What we liked most was how green it was as we wandered along — fields with different crops and quiet country lanes lined with palm trees.
There were also beautiful homes along these lanes — Portuguese-style villas in all different colours. I wouldn’t have said no to any of them. It was so peaceful as well.
As we neared Benaulim it became a little more built up, but still very much village life, just with more amenities like banks, shops, restaurants and guesthouses. The centre of Benaulim was better than we’d expected; it definitely had a good selection of restaurants and we would have been equally happy staying here.
The only downside we found was that the town is a fair walk from the beach — not miles, but around a 20-minute walk or so — whereas in Colva the beach is only about 5 minutes from the town. We’d still stay here though, no problem.
We walked back via the beach, passing the fishermen bringing their nets in. It looked like such hard work — let’s hope it pays off and makes them a living.
This brought our time in Colva to an end, as we’d be leaving early the next morning. We’d enjoyed it here; laid back and peaceful, it reminded us of how North Goa used to be all those years ago. We loved chilling on the balcony, and I forgot to say we’d had a bit more country and western this morning courtesy of our neighbour. Shane started singing along — I could have died with embarrassment! I don’t think he heard, and it gave us a laugh at least.
Tomorrow we’re taking the train inland to the ancient city of Hampi — a huge archaeological area with temples and palaces, and a UNESCO World Heritage Site because of its scale, architecture and preservation. After our beach break we’re more than ready for some culture and to feel we are travelling once more.
Hampi
Next stop was Hampi which is a UNESCO-listed site in Karnataka, famous for its ancient ruins and boulder-strewn landscapes.
We were travelling there by train, this was going to be an adventure as it was our first time using the Indian railways. The journey took around 7.5 hours, and because it was long distance the carriages were all sleepers rather than regular seats. I’d booked AC 3-tier (3AC), which meant six bunks in an air-conditioned compartment — literally three bunks on either side. Erm… this would be interesting to say the least. At least I’d managed to bag a bottom bunk — ha!
Madgaon railway station was only 20 minutes away from Colva Beach, so we arranged a taxi and arrived in good time. It was probably a good station for our first train journey, as it’s relatively small with just six platforms. We were able to walk straight through to the platform where there were electronic information boards showing all the trains, times and platforms. Ours didn’t have a platform number yet, but so far so good — at least it didn’t look too daunting.
With some time to kill, we decided to check out one of the cafés. It was busy with people grabbing snacks for the journey. I joined the queue and got us our go-to — samosa and chai. Can’t knock it, the best Indian breakfast as far as I’m concerned.
The information board finally told us we were on Platform 6 — yep, the furthest away. Of course it was. So we joined the hordes of people obviously on the same train and headed to the bridge that crossed over two lines to reach the platform.
I’d looked it up beforehand and read that our carriage would be centrally positioned, so we waited where I thought the centre was. When the train arrived it stopped slightly further up, but we were close, so it was only a short walk along the platform.
We boarded and found our compartment, which was already occupied by four older Indian men. They were very friendly and immediately asked where we were from — people here always seem curious about that. Since it was daytime, Shane just sat next to me on the bottom bunk; there wasn’t any need for him to move up to his bunk yet.
As we got going, sellers came down the carriage offering snacks, tea and water. We ended up having all three — it would’ve been rude not to sample their samosas as well. A little later, a guy came around taking lunch orders, so we ordered lunch too. We were on the train for almost eight hours and honestly it cost pennies. I had a feeling we were going to enjoy this journey. The bunks were comfortable enough, and there were pillows and blankets if you wanted to sleep.
I had a good book to pass the time, and you could get up and wander about if you wanted. Shane noticed the compartment next to ours was empty, so after a while we moved in there. Even the Indian guys were moving around — it felt like musical chairs as we kept swapping seats. I imagine the cheaper seats would have been rammed, so it turned out to be a great choice to be in the higher class.
Guys were constantly travelling through the carriages with tea and snacks. I lost count of how many teas Shane had, but in fairness they’re tiny cups — three or four would probably equal one of our cuppas. Next came the pav guy — a pav being an Indian snack in a bread roll. Lunch probably wasn’t far off, but we thought “sod it, when in Rome,” let’s try it all. It was delicious — much better than what you’d get on British Rail, that’s for sure.
Lunch arrived, which was a veg thali (a mix of dhal, rice and curry). Again, it was very tasty and all under a pound. After all that food we were ready for sleep — or at least a lie-down — and luckily we had the luxury of the empty compartment. The time actually flew by and before we knew it we’d arrived in Hospet, the nearest station to Hampi. We’d both enjoyed the journey; if all train journeys were like this, we’d be very happy.
Hampi is around 40 minutes from Hospet. The guesthouse had arranged a rickshaw to pick us up from the station, so I sent a quick text to say we were arriving shortly. As we headed out of the exit we were greeted by a guy ready to take us. Don’t you just love it when a journey runs smoothly?
We’d made it to Hampi in one piece and were excited to explore.
We were staying in Hampi Bazaar, which is essentially the central village strip, making everything walkable. As we approached, we were first struck by the landscape — rolling hills covered in enormous boulders — and as we entered the bustling village, the Virupaksha Temple came into view. Hard to miss, really, as it sits proudly above everything, dominating the bazaar.
The village felt like a step back in time — it almost had a biblical quality to it. I love places like this. Our guesthouse was very basic, as I’d imagined, but it was clean and had a comfy bed. That’s all that really matters; the rest just adds to the character of the place. There was a roof terrace (well, let’s call it an area to dry the washing), but there were a couple of chairs, and from up there we had a perfect view of the temple. We even spotted our first monkeys — yay! You know how much we love monkeys.
It had been a long day, and the sun was just setting, so after unpacking a few bits we decided to take a walk over to the temple.
Virupaksha Temple is one of Hampi’s most iconic landmarks and a functioning Hindu temple dedicated to Lord Shiva. The temple complex itself dates back to the 7th century, making it one of the oldest structures in Hampi, and it remains an active site of worship, with daily rituals and festivals. We couldn’t have arrived at a better time — just as the evening ritual was taking place. Each evening around 7:30 pm, the temple comes alive: the courtyard fills with the glow of oil lamps, and priests carry large brass lamps while chanting mantras and ringing bells. A musician played a trumpet, and the priests waved the lamps in sweeping motions before the deity. It was incredibly spiritual — we instantly felt like we had truly arrived in India.
The temple closes at 8 pm, which was perfect timing for us to grab dinner and call it a night. Full exploration would have to wait until after a good night’s rest.
One thing to know about Hampi: it’s almost entirely vegetarian, and you won’t find much in the way of alcohol. Perfect if you love veggie food, but don’t expect a night out with cocktails! However — by chance, we ended up in a restaurant serving beer and chicken. Honestly, it was just by chance. Must have been my “beer radar” on autopilot — ha!
After a good night’s rest we couldn’t wait to explore.
Hampi stretches over a huge area, and with so many temples scattered around, it’s easy to get overwhelmed. I’d put together an itinerary for us to explore most of the key sites on foot over the next few days. I won’t list every single temple (there are literally dozens!), but I’ll definitely be highlighting the main ones.
You don’t have to walk between the sites — that was purely our choice. Most people hire a tuk-tuk driver for the day, and it’s also popular to rent bicycles.
We decided to bypass Virupaksha Temple by day for the time being — it was right on our doorstep, so we could save it for later. However, we still had to walk past it, as our route today took us up the hillside to Hemakuta Hill. Its tall, elaborately carved tower dominates the skyline, instantly giving you a sense of Hampi’s rich history.
Hampi is a pilgrimage town, so the area around Virupaksha Temple is buzzing in the morning. Cows and monkeys roam freely, devotees flock to the temple, and street sellers fill the air with smells, sounds, and colour. It’s chaos — but the kind that draws you in.
As you can imagine, we ended up spending a fair amount of time photographing the monkeys — of course we did, we hadn’t seen them in a while!
We were also constantly getting stopped, as many of the locals and pilgrims in Hampi are fascinated by Western visitors and often want photos. It’s partly curiosity, partly just a bit of fun — we were clearly outsiders, and people seemed genuinely excited to snap a photo with us. Honestly, it felt like being temporary celebrities in the village!
We weren’t going to get anywhere fast at this rate, but the people were lovely, so who were we to refuse?
As we ascended the hill, boulders and ruins were literally all around us. At the top, we came to a temple filled with intricate carvings. There were school children on a day trip, the teacher busy organising them for a group photo. As they dispersed, I think every single child said hello to us. Respect is very much a part of life here — something I feel we are losing back home.
An area at the top of the hill had a few makeshift cafés and stalls selling coconut. We hadn’t had breakfast, so we decided to stop for chai at the very least. The lady made us the most delicious masala tea and asked if we wanted a dosa. We love dosa, so we ordered just one to share — and we were glad we did, as it was possibly the best dosa we had ever eaten.
Fed and watered, we crossed the road to the impressive pavilion housing a large stone carving of Lord Ganesha — the elephant-headed Hindu god. It was here that we spotted dozens of parakeets flying overhead and perching on top of the stone pavilion. “Shane, get your big lens!” Here we go again — it’s no longer eagles, it’s parakeets! What a treat, though; so colourful and lovely to see.
Just a short walk from here brought us to our first impressive temple ruins at the Sri Krishna temple. Built in the early 16th century, It’s dedicated to Lord Krishna. The temple is set within a large walled complex with intricately carved gateways, and beautiful decorative carvings depicting scenes from Krishna’s childhood.
Hampi often gives the impression of being incredibly ancient, but it isn’t like Rome or Athens, where the city is thousands of years old. Most of what you see in Hampi dates back to the 14th–16th centuries, during the Vijayanagara Empire. It’s more of a vast archaeological and temple landscape rather than an ancient city that survived into modern times.
Of what we’d seen so far, Hampi was incredibly impressive — site after site, some more striking than the last. Hampi isn’t just a place of temples; the ruins also include a surprising number of ancient baths and water pavilions that show how advanced the city once was. Water played a huge role in both daily life and religious practices, so these structures were used for ritual cleansing, bathing before worship, and ceremonial events.
Just a short walk from the Krishna Temple was the Lakshmi Narasimha monument, famous for housing the largest monolithic statue in Hampi — carved out of a single block of stone in the 16th century. It depicts Narasimha, an avatar of the Hindu god Vishnu, shown in his half-man, half-lion form. I really liked this one — the setting, surrounded by banana plantations and coconut palms, just set the scene beautifully.
We had more group photos, of course, and even bumped into a few groups of Western travellers clearly on the same walking route as us, ticking off the same temples. We joked as we left — “See you at the next one!” — and sure enough, we did.
Next, we were heading to the Royal Enclosure and Queen’s Bath. It was a bit of a walk from here, but a pleasant one — the area is lush with banana plantations and rice paddies, and we passed stretches of enormous boulders, some with smaller boulders casually balancing on top. Along the way there were more ruins, some set back from the road, but you can’t possibly see everything, so we just stuck to the ones on our plan.
Before reaching the Royal Enclosure, we made a quick stop at the Hazara Rama Temple. This one really caught our attention because of the carvings — the outer walls are covered in rows of elephants, horses, dancers and warriors, all marching along in a sort of stone parade. It was quite something to see up close. Inside, the temple felt a bit more refined with dark stone pillars, and you could tell it had once been connected to the old royal quarter.
From there we wandered into the Royal Enclosure, which really gives you a sense of how big and impressive the old city must have been. It’s mostly foundations and low walls now, but you can still imagine the scale — different courtyards, platforms, baths and big open spaces where everything from ceremonies to day-to-day royal business would have happened.
Just outside, near the Mahanavami Dibba platform (a raised ceremonial terrace in the Royal Enclosure), are a pair of massive stone door panels that once formed part of one of the entrances. Each door was carved from a single huge boulder — a testament to the stoneworking skill of Vijayanagara craftsmen. Based on their size and weight, they likely needed elephants to open them in their day — imagine the imposing entrance they once made.
After wandering around the enclosure we were starting to flag, but we carried on to the Queen’s Bath. Despite the name, it’s more like a courtyard building with a large pool in the middle. From the outside it looks fairly plain, but once you step inside there are arches, little balconies and an almost Mughal feel to it. You can picture how grand it must have been when the central pool was full and the walls were painted and decorated. Now it’s dry and echoey, but still very atmospheric.
But omg the place was full of Instagrammers all posing in the balcony windows. So in true Shane style, he just used them as props — because honestly, you’d be waiting all day trying to photograph it empty. Makes for a pretty good shot anyway!
This would be as far as we’d go today, as we had a fair walk back. Unfortunately, we had to retrace our steps, but before heading off we stopped by the roadside to buy a couple of fresh coconuts. Perfect for hydrating — and the young coconut inside was delicious. We also grabbed a couple of bottles of water and set back off. Even at this stage we could have taken a rickshaw, but we wanted to get our steps in… plus we’d definitely sleep well tonight.
Over dinner that evening, we spoke with a couple who said that the Virupaksha Temple elephant is bathed each morning down by the river. Well, we were heading in that direction the following day, so hopefully we’d get to witness it first thing.
The next morning, we made our way down to the Tungabhadra River. The ghats here are a world apart from the temples — wide stone steps leading down to the water. This is where you get a true sense of village life: locals washing clothes, bathing, cows wandering lazily among the steps, and a few monkeys eyeing anyone with snacks. And then, there was the temple elephant, having a good old scrub. We watched for a while before moving on, as we had a long day ahead.
To join the river pathway further downstream, we had to take a detour back through the village and down the colonnade — rows of stone pillars that once supported shopfronts. During the height of the Vijayanagara Empire (14th–16th century), traders here sold precious stones, silk, spices, jewelry, livestock, and all kinds of goods.
Along the colonnade are two gigantic temple chariots. These multi-tiered, elaborately carved wooden structures were used to carry deities during festival processions. Built on heavy wheels, they are so large that it takes dozens of people to pull them during a festival. We weren’t sure what they were at first, but they were very impressive.
At the end of the colonnade, your eyes are drawn to Nandi, the giant stone bull sitting in a calm, almost watchful pose. Carved from a single block of granite, he faces Virupaksha Temple as he has for centuries, guarding the deity and welcoming devotees.
From here you can join the path down to the river or take the steps leading up to the viewpoint. We’d leave the steps for another day, as today we planned the riverside.
The pathway along the river is lovely; you pass a few sellers offering coconuts, drinks, and souvenirs. A little further along are the conical coracle boats, made from woven bamboo and shaped like giant bowls. They were once used to cross the river, however they now seem to be mainly for boat rides, with boatmen happily spinning their passengers around as they paddle. It’s a playful sight and adds a bit of fun.
You pass more temples and ruins along the riverside, and where the path moves away from the river it splits. One path leads back towards a very impressive temple and the other continues on. We chose to detour and explore what we later found out to be Achyutaraya Temple. It has a long walkway leading up to it (Courtesan Street), and although it was hot under the midday sun it was worth the walk. It would be a shame if people missed this one as it’s pretty spectacular.
We were in for another treat here. We heard them before we saw them — more parakeets, but these ones appeared to be bigger. We spent ages watching them flying from nearby palm trees in small flocks into the temple area. We later found out that these bigger ones are called Rose-ringed Parakeets: bright green bodies with long tails, and males often showing a slender rose-coloured ring around the neck.
So this temple definitely gets a big thumbs up for preservation and wildlife (we also saw lots of Indian squirrels and lizards). We read afterwards that it’s one of Hampi’s grand but quieter temples. I think it’s just the location. Either way, we made the walk and didn’t have to share it with too many people.
Hampi kept on giving and giving — we were really enjoying our time here. Immersed in culture and wildlife, it was right up our street. As we walked back down Courtesan Street to rejoin the path, we saw two colourful characters heading in our direction. Yes, this way! We were in for a treat with these two. I didn’t mind giving them a few rupees in return for a dance, and entertain us they did. The two young performers, dressed as monkey warriors, gave their all with painted faces, red robes and maces, bringing a burst of colour and drama to the temple grounds.
After they’d moved on, we took shade under a tree that happened to be full of Grey Langur monkeys — perfect, told you it kept on giving. So we sat there awhile, observing their behaviour, which we never tire of. Langurs are generally timid and not aggressive, however the young were quite feisty and telling us to shove off — in monkey language, of course. They’re obviously not used to humans, unlike the elders, who are quite chilled. We didn’t outstay our welcome — didn’t want to upset the little ones — so we carried on.
The ancient pathway continued on, passing more ruins, a cave temple, and even a wishing tree covered in silks and bangles. It led all the way to the Vitthala Temple, which is one of the better-known temples. We’d planned to see this one another day, and it was getting late, so it was time to turn around and head back.
Back at the bazaar it was a hive of activity: pilgrims coming and going from the temple, monkeys, dogs, cows, and even goats. Music drifted through the air from the temple and street sellers were set up cooking Indian snacks. We’d not really eaten much today, mainly fruit (trying to be healthy for a change), so we decided to sample a selection of snacks (fried — not so healthy). But we’d walked all day, so that was our excuse.
So we sat on the little plastic chairs at the side of the street cart and devoured onion bhaji with coconut chutney and other fried goodies (couldn’t tell you what they were, but all tasty). Washed down with little cups of chai, it was perfect. We ended up ordering more — no need to go back out for dinner later, this would do nicely.
As we walked back to the guesthouse, I said to Shane, “I love this place.” It transported you back in time — life here lived as it probably has for hundreds of years. Small homes nestled between little shops and small guesthouses, dusty lanes only wide enough for tuk-tuks. Life here was simple: people tending animals, women washing pots outside their homes, others preparing vegetables. The area outside each home was swept, and you saw patterns chalked on the ground right by the entrance to bring good fortune to the household and ward off bad luck or negativity. It was primitive, but organic. A spiritual place with a kind religion — this little village kind of gets under your skin.
Goats woke us before dawn, and by breakfast (a dosa the size of a bin lid) we were on our way to the Vittala Temple — the one with the famous stone chariot that appears on all the postcards. There’s a small entry fee, but it also covers admission to the Lotus Mahal and the Elephant Stables, so that became our plan for the day.
We retraced our steps towards the riverside to reach the Vittala Temple. We walked along the colonnade, to where the bull statue (Nandi) sits, and decided to take the steps behind it first, believing they led to a viewpoint. We were glad we had — the view from up here was great. However, we hadn’t planned on heading all the way to the top, and as luck would have it, another set of steps dropped straight down into Achyutaraya Temple — the hidden gem we’d found the day before — turning it into a shortcut. We loved that temple anyway, so we didn’t mind walking back through to rejoin the pathway.
It didn’t take us long to reach Vittala — this time we went straight there instead of wandering here, there, and everywhere along the way. We paid the admission and headed inside.
Vitthala Temple is one of Hampi’s most impressive sites. It’s famous for its stone chariot that shows up on the 50 rupee note, postcards, guidebooks, and every second traveller’s Instagram. The chariot is actually a Garuda shrine built to look like a ceremonial chariot.
It was the grandest temple we’d seen so far and surprisingly well-preserved. Luckily we’d gotten there quite early, so although it was starting to busy up, it was probably much less crowded than it would be in the afternoon. Even so, it was still tricky trying to get a photo of the chariot — everyone is drawn to that first.
Alongside the impressive chariot, the large courtyard is dotted with beautiful buildings, many of them filled with pillars carved with intricate patterns and figures.
In one of the pillared halls, there are columns that, when struck, produce musical tones. Different pillars give different pitches, and the whole thing was carved from single pieces of stone. You’re not allowed to tap them anymore (they were getting damaged), but guides still tell the stories.
We wandered around the site for quite some time, and once we were happy we’d seen it all, we decided to move on, as the next temple we were heading to was a few miles away. Luckily I found out that the ticket included a free shuttle bus — brilliant, that would save our legs. What we didn’t realise was that it only took us down to the main entrance. I thought it was taking us to the next temple — silly me. It actually took us further away from the next site. Never mind — we always say we like getting our steps in.
So we set off down the country lanes. It was actually quite pleasant, thankfully part-shaded by palm trees with lush fields on either side. Little stalls were selling coconuts every few hundred metres, and for half the price of the ones around the temples. So we stopped for a coconut — it would fuel us for the rest of the walk.
We’d continued for a mile or so when a tuk-tuk passed by and offered us a lift — hallelujah — we were quite glad of it, as it saved our legs a little. Well, actually a lot, as we seemed to be in the tuk-tuk for ages; I think we’d underestimated the distance.
He dropped us at the Queen’s Bath, and from there it was only a short walk down to the Lotus Mahal.
The Lotus Mahal sits within a walled courtyard with small watchtowers. It’s believed to have been part of the Zenana, or women’s quarters, in the royal palace, meaning it was probably used by royal women for leisure or private gatherings. This elegant two-story building has archways all around the ground floor, each one carved with delicate, flowing patterns that looked almost lace-like in the sunlight.
Its name comes from the lotus-shaped dome, which apparently resembles a blooming lotus when viewed from above.
The architecture is a blend of Hindu and Islamic styles, common in Vijayanagara architecture: the arched doorways and domes reflect Islamic influence, while the lotus-shaped roof and symmetry reflect Hindu design principles.
During the empire’s decline in the 16th century, it was abandoned along with most of Hampi’s royal structures. Today it stands as a beautifully preserved example of Vijayanagara palace architecture.
A few steps away were the Elephant Stables, a long, low building with 11 arched chambers, built to house the royal elephants. Wow! Walking inside, you feel tiny. The scale is impressive, and it’s easy to imagine elephants moving through the chambers. These elephants were used for ceremonial purposes, processions, and defense, so the stables were both practical and prestigious.
The structure has survived remarkably well, giving a sense of imperial grandeur and highlighting the importance of elephants in Vijayanagara culture.
We were more than impressed by what we’d seen today — all of the temples and palaces were amazing. Hampi had far exceeded our expectations, and we weren’t quite finished yet. However, we were done for the day. We had a long walk back, which we decided to do ourselves. We could have taken another tuk-tuk, but we wanted to rack up the steps — call us mad, I know, no one else was walking! Still, it does give you a real sense of achievement when you finally make it back to the guesthouse.
Plus on the way back, we came across what was probably the largest group of monkeys we had ever seen—far too many to count. They were actually a bit intimidating. They were scattered all over the rocks and the pathway along our route, so we felt we had to make a detour. It was only a slight detour, and although these monkeys aren’t known to be aggressive, walking among them didn’t feel like the right thing to do. Keeping our distance felt sensible. Still, it was amazing to see.
This brought us to our last day in Hampi. We had an early check-out, but we weren’t leaving until 7 pm, as our next journey was an overnight sleeper bus back to the coast. Luckily, our guesthouse owner had a place to store our bags, and he said there was a shower we could use and somewhere to sit later before taking a tuk-tuk back to Hospet to catch the bus.
There is so much to see in Hampi that we could easily pass the hours. We still needed to visit the Virupaksha Temple by day, as we’d only been at night, and we had a handful of other plans — happy to retrace some steps along the way.
We first headed up Hemakuta Hill. The view from up there is great — you can see towards Bazaar Street, the Tungabhadra River, and the sprawling sea of boulder fields that wraps Hampi. But the main focal point is the Virupaksha Temple, only just taking the lead over the enormous boulders all around you on the hill — huge, rounded, ancient stones piled in ways that make you wonder how they got there. It’s ancient stone architecture beautifully paired with the ruins.
Hemakuta has clusters of early stone shrines, many of them dedicated to Shiva.
You could sit here for hours (we did). It’s peaceful and spiritual, and as you sit you’re guaranteed to get a four-legged friend join you — thankfully not a cow — but one of the many cute dogs that seem to make the hill their home. It’s also an incredible place to watch the sunset. Unfortunately, that was something we didn’t get to witness. As much as we love a sunset, after the long days we’d had in Hampi we passed on climbing back up the hill.
Before we knew it, it was afternoon. We headed back down the hill across natural stone slabs, some with carved steps. It makes for a cool walkway and is surprisingly not slippery.
Virupaksha Temple sits immediately at the bottom of the hill, and there’s always a buzz here — a hive of activity. Pilgrims with flowers, tourists with cameras, school groups in uniform. Monkeys, cows, and dogs wander through the chaos. Music plays constantly from the temple speakers, giving the place a surprisingly atmospheric feel.
Virupaksha has been in continuous worship for over a thousand years, making it one of the oldest functioning temples in India.
We handed in our shoes and entered the temple barefoot — nice to walk on the warm stone. The first thing you see is the towering gopuram — the entrance tower — rising up in creamy stone, carved tier after tier with guardians, deities, and mythical figures.
Inside, the temple complexes unfold into courtyards, pillared halls, shrines, and corridors.
The temple elephant we’d seen having a bath down by the river was in its stable. We went over to take a look, but we could only partially see it. We missed seeing it on temple duties, where it blesses visitors with a tap on the head in exchange for a coin or fruit.
The temple is also home to a group of cheeky macaque monkeys who absolutely know the temple is their territory — they dart between pilgrims and tourists, eyeing up snacks with pure mischief. We even saw a few snatching treats off a group of schoolchildren. They are so cheeky. I don’t give them eye contact — that way they tend to ignore you. You know, us being monkey experts now — ha!
Just beside the temple is a stepped water tank, the Pushkarini, traditionally used for purification rituals and temple ceremonies. It still holds water, now a deep green, and the only creatures attempting to enter are the fish and what looked like turtles or terrapins, bobbing about lazily. You can easily imagine how atmospheric it must have been during festivals.
Before we knew it, it was almost time to return to the guesthouse. We just had time to walk over to the riverside ghats, where stone steps lead down to the water. Locals wash and pilgrims perform rituals, while small boats ferry people across the river. The banks are dotted with monkeys, cows, and dogs — it’s another world, but wonderful to witness.
We had an amazing last day. I think you could say we’d seen most of what Hampi had to offer. We hadn’t made it to every temple (impossible), and we hadn’t seen the sunset, but we’d had a blummin’ good time. We only had a short wait back at the guesthouse before our tuk-tuk arrived to take us into Hospet. Bouncing along the bumpy roads in the rickshaw, we did actually see the sunset as we waved Hampi goodbye.
By nightfall, we were on the overnight bus to Gokarna, still in Karnataka, a chilled-out beach town with golden sands and palm-fringed shores. After the chaos and history of Hampi, we couldn’t wait to trade temples for sunsets and the sound of waves.
Gokarna
The plan was to head back towards South Goa, but just before we did, I decided to research whether there was anywhere else worth visiting while we were still in Karnataka. That’s when I read about Gokarna — a laid-back coastal town said to have quiet beaches, dramatic cliffs, and a spiritual vibe. Beaches like Om, Kudle, and Half Moon sounded perfect: relaxed, scenic, and far less hectic than Goa. Maybe what Goa used to be like.
The only dilemma was that the overnight bus arrived in Gokarna at 4:30am — not exactly ideal. Trains weren’t very straightforward, and at least the bus would get us there, so we decided to go for it. What was the worst that could happen? We’d wait at the hotel until daylight.
This would be our first experience of a sleeper bus in India, and it turned out to be great. We had a lower double-bed compartment with pillows, blankets, and a privacy curtain — very much like the ones we’d used in Vietnam. It was a little bouncy at times due to the number of speed ramps, but overall it was comfortable.
The bus was filled mainly with European backpackers and a few Indians. That didn’t surprise us, as we’d read that Gokarna is very much on the backpacker trail — especially popular with young Israelis — though there also seemed to be quite a few French in the mix as well.
We slept on and off, and the journey flew by. We stopped once for refreshments and a toilet break, then arrived in Gokarna at 4am, a little earlier than scheduled. Thankfully, when we exited the bus, local rickshaw drivers were waiting. We agreed on a price — an inflated one, but who could blame them? You don’t start work that early for nothing. We were just glad to have transport and get to the hotel, which was about 20 minutes away at Kudle Beach.
With the arrival time in mind, I’d booked a hotel that was more of a resort than a guesthouse, hoping there’d be somewhere we could rest until it got light.
In the dark of night, the security guard welcomed us into the hotel grounds and woke up the night reception guy (I bet he was cursing us). I was relieved to see four large settees just in front of reception. It was an open-sided area with a canopy, but at least it was somewhere we could rest.
The night reception guy wasn’t very helpful — he simply told us check-in was at 1pm (which we already knew) before climbing back under his blanket on a makeshift bed. Thankfully, the security guard was friendlier. He told us to rest and even asked if we wanted the fan on. We were safe and had somewhere to sit, so it wasn’t the end of the world.
The resort had a pathway leading directly to the beach, so as soon as it got light, we strolled down.
Kudle Beach was a welcome sight — a curved stretch of golden sand backed by coconut palms and surrounding hills. With the sun just rising, people were starting their day: shacks setting up for breakfast, cows still resting on the beach, and local dogs stretched out on the sand. Throw in a few early risers meditating and holding yoga poses, and it definitely had a chilled vibe.
We walked to the far end of the beach and dropped into one of the shacks. At least we could get breakfast, and back at the hotel there was also a pool, so we could easily spend a few hours there until check-in. Sorted — plan in action.
And that’s exactly what we did. By the time we got our room keys, we were more than happy to stay at the resort for the rest of the day and enjoy the pool.
Kudle Beach felt entirely centred around the shoreline. From what we could see, small hotels, guesthouses, and beach shacks sat just back from the sand, with no real town or strip to speak of. Apart from the single road leading down to our hotel, we didn’t notice any other roads or lanes — no clusters of shops, no busy streets, nothing pulling you away from the beach. So for dinner, we simply chose one of the shacks, and still in need of proper rest, we were more than happy to have an early night.
After a good night’s sleep, we were ready to explore more. We could walk one way into Gokarna town or the other along the coastal path to Om Beach. As we were a little low on cash, we decided to head into town, where there were more amenities and a few ATMs.
It wasn’t too far — just across the beach to a set of steps in the far corner that led up the hillside to a road (well, more of a dirt track). From there, we followed the dusty path into town.
The road dropped down near a small Hindu temple with a pushkarni — a temple bath traditionally used for ritual bathing and ceremonies. As we entered the town, we were met by a bustling crowd. Unbeknown to us, we’d arrived near the Mahabaleshwar Temple, the main Shiva shrine in town. There must have been a ceremony taking place, as the streets were packed with devotees in traditional attire, carrying offerings.
We were thrown smack bang into the middle of it all — local ladies selling flower offerings, music, noise, and mayhem. Totally unexpected, but we loved it. I’d imagined Gokarna as a sleepy fishing village with a few shops. This was a turn for the books — and a good one. We love a bit of culture.
We didn’t follow the crowd to the temple just yet; first, we needed cash. There were supposedly three ATMs in town, but the first two were empty. Thankfully, the third worked. For a moment, I thought we were going to be living on chickpeas and water for a few days… which, to be fair, would probably do us good — ha!
With money sorted and our expectations well and truly reset, we were excited to explore further.
We really liked the town. It had a strong spiritual vibe, and the main street was alive with colour. A massive temple chariot — like the ones we’d seen in Hampi — stood proudly among spice shops, clothing stalls, and little cafés tucked in between. We spotted a few Western faces too, mostly older European hippies, barefoot and wrapped in sarongs, blending in effortlessly. They looked like they’d been coming here for years — perhaps much like Goa back in the ’60s and ’70s, when it was a buzzing hippy commune.
We noticed garlands of leaves strung across many of the narrow lanes. Curious, I quickly Googled and learned they were mango-leaf garlands, called toran or bandanwar, traditionally hung for protection and blessing — a bit like evil eye charms in Greece or Turkey. We also saw them above doorways of homes and shops, which confirmed that’s exactly what they were.
Every corner revealed something new: colourful doors, tiny shrines tucked between houses, cows wandering past, scooters and rickshaws buzzing by.
Then suddenly, we came upon Koti Teertha, a large sacred, man-made tank used for ritual bathing. It’s considered one of the holiest water bodies in the town.
While we were there, a group of local men were bathing. We walked all the way around, noticing areas where offerings could be placed. Two worshippers were just laying out offerings on large banana leaves laden with flowers and rice when a local cow decided to intervene — successfully stealing some of the rice before they’d even finished. We couldn’t help but laugh.
After exploring the town, we headed towards the beach, passing once more through the busy area around the Mahabaleshwar Temple, where worshippers were constantly coming and going.
The beach here is a long stretch of sand and felt very different to Kudle. It was busy with a local Indian crowd, families, groups, and people visiting the temple. It was also peak season, and on weekends and public holidays, young Indians from cities like Bangalore and Mumbai often make short trips down, pushing crowd levels up significantly.
There were even colourfully decorated camels on the beach offering rides — not something we’d expected to see here.
All in all, we’d had a really good day. Gokarna was far more cultural than we’d first imagined.
Back at Kudle Beach, evenings were spent eating at the beach shacks. There was no shortage of them, but none were particularly highly rated — mostly just okay. We eventually found one that wasn’t too bad.
Interestingly, they seemed better at Western food. As far as the curries went, they just didn’t seem to have much love put into them, as Shane always says. We’ve eaten a lot of curry, as you can imagine, so it’s always disappointing when it’s just basic. Still, we’re in India for a while yet — I’m sure great curry will return.
We were only here for a few days so the next day we walked over to Om Beach. Starting at the far end of Kudle Beach the opposite direction from yesterday a narrow stepped pathway lead uphill. Almost straight away, the views open up behind you, with Kudle stretching out below. It led us up to a parking area then we lost the path for a moment, it was only by chance we went in the right direction across a rocky area of ground which thankfully led us once more onto an obvious pathway through a forested area and downwards to Om Beach. Overall, it’s an easy 20–30 minute walk and worth it as Om beach was lovely.
It felt rawer and more youthful than Kudle, with a strong backpacker energy rather than a polished resort feel. The beach is split into two curved bays, separated by a rocky outcrop, which gives it a slightly wild look and makes it feel like two beaches in one. There were lots of stalls along the first bay selling clothing and souvenirs.
Both bays are lined with simple beach shacks, full of young travellers interacting, playing music on the sand, and clearly having the time of their lives making lifelong memories. It was actually really nice to see… but it also confirmed we’d definitely chosen the right beach for us — one with a slightly more mixed age group and earlier bedtimes.
We stopped for lunch at a lovely shack right at the far end. Raised up, it had excellent views over both bays — the kind of place where you could spend hours. I noticed the shack also offered accommodation in two-man igloo tents. I’m sure it would be very cosy camping out here, but with this lively young crowd, we imagined it might get a little… enthusiastic after dark. We’ll happily leave the tent life — and the late nights — to them. Ha!
From the map, we could see that from here we could continue along a coastal path to the next bay, Half Moon Beach, so we decided to give it a go. The path climbed up into a wooded area first, which was fine, but as it wound closer to the coastline we began to catch glimpses of the ocean below. The narrow trail ran a little too close to the edge for Shane’s liking, and his fear of heights got the better of him. In the end, we decided to do an about-turn and head back.
It had still been a good walk, and back at the resort there was a pool waiting for us. We hadn’t had a pool for a while, so we were more than happy to take advantage of a bit of luxury.
So that brought our short visit to Kudle Beach, Gokarna, to an end. Tomorrow we head back into Goa to Palolem, a place we’ve visited a few times over the years but not for over a decade. It’s only a couple of hours’ drive from here, so we’ll go by taxi — it’s easier and not expensive. It will be interesting to see what’s changed. One thing I bet on is that we’ll be getting good curries again!
Palolem
We were very much looking forward to revisiting Palolem. Thirteen years had passed since our last visit, and we were curious to see how it had developed. The journey was easy — just a couple of hours by taxi from Gokarna along the coastal road back into Goa.
The very first time we visited Palolem was 25 years ago, when we came on an overnight excursion from North Goa. Back then, there were just a couple of camps with basic huts. We had campfires at night, and it was all about the beauty of the beach.
Over three further visits during the following decade, we saw it change each time, with more and more huts being set up along the beach.
As we approached Palolem, we could immediately see signs of change. What was once a quiet, sandy track lined with a handful of guesthouses has grown into a lively strip packed with small shops, cafés, and places to stay. It wasn’t a negative—so far, I was happy to see the change.
We were staying in a small resort with bungalows right on the beach, so when we exited the taxi we had to carry our bags across the sand to reach the place. Thankfully, it was only a few minutes’ walk, as it’s not easy with heavy bags.
There was a massive change here. The beach was really busy, with lots of boats pulled up on the sand — not fishing boats, but tourist boats for trips. It was the weekend, so it was also busy with Indian tourists. It was a far cry from our previous visits; this place had most definitely gained popularity over the last decade. The beach was still beautiful, though — you couldn’t take that away from it.
The beach bungalows had gone up in the world as well. They used to be more rustic, and you’d be lucky if you even had a fan. Nowadays, they’re all singing and dancing, with air-con as standard — and I definitely wasn’t complaining about that.
We quickly settled in and decided to take a walk down the beach. Resorts with bungalows like ours stretch the whole length of the beach, with hardly any gaps in between. They all nestle under coconut palms, so it still feels very tropical — just more accommodation, more people, more boats.
It wasn’t quite as busy further down, as Indian tourists seem to like to congregate on the stretch of beach closest to the beach road. It was the same when we were in North Goa.
Palolem still has the vibe, though — just strolling along the beach, it felt good to be back. On our previous visits, we would stay two or three nights, and it was always enough because, apart from the beach, there wasn’t much more. With so much more going on now away from the beach, I think that will change things — let’s see!
That evening we took a walk up the beach road. The street comes alive, with scooters and tuk-tuks weaving through pedestrians, music drifting from cafés, and cows still milling around. Restaurants with tables under fairy lights offer everything from Goan and Indian curries to Israeli, Italian, and Chinese food. We were still favouring Indian food, and after Gokarna we were praying we’d be back to excellent curries — fingers crossed.
We ended up being drawn into a tiny little bar on the beach road (of course we did) — ha! It was actually called Tiny Bar. It only seated around ten people, and we spotted two free seats, so grabbed them quickly.
We soon got talking — hard not to, it was that small — and everyone in the place was British, so we ended up having a right good chat. There was much more of a holiday vibe going on here as well.
We also ended the night on a high and had a delicious curry — woohoo, at last!
Palolem was once the only beach along this stretch with places to stay. As it became more popular over the years, that growth couldn’t be contained, and the neighbouring bays gradually developed as well, with Patnem following in its wake. We’d never visited Patnem before so we were looking forward to the walk there.
We walked south to the end of Palolem Beach, where steps lead over the headland to a small bay. This little bay was where we used to stay — our favourite place — quietly tucked away, with calm water and a small, secluded beach, yet only a few minutes’ walk from the main beach.
Back then, we only used to bring an overnight bag, so we didn’t have to worry about the walk to this cove. This time around, with heavy rucksacks, I didn’t dare book here, as I wasn’t sure what the access would be like. Hence, we stayed closer to the beach road.
As you climb the steps, you’re treated to a spectacular view of the bay as it sweeps around to a small island at the end, set against a mountainous backdrop — it’s pretty spectacular.
The steps then lead you down into our favourite little bay — and how it had changed. The area was now crammed with multiple small beach resorts, and even a small boutique resort with a swimming pool.
To continue our walk, we found a pathway leading through these new resorts, winding around the back of the bay and out onto a dusty road. We took a little detour here to where there used to be bungalows up on the hill. The path still led there, although slightly overgrown; the huts were long gone, demolished, with just the concrete bases still visible in places.
Rejoining the lane, guesthouses and low-key beach cafés reappeared along the road towards Patnem, but in a quieter, less crowded way. It was really nice along here and had a great vibe, with small shops and stalls selling clothing and souvenirs. So far, we definitely liked what we saw.
It wasn’t a long walk and when we arrived at the beach, that didn’t disappoint either. The bay curved gently, pale sand backed by palm trees. Beach cafés and guesthouses line the edge of the sand, spaced out rather than packed together like Palolem — I suppose how Palolem was on our previous visit. You could see that tourism here is centred along the beach, with no busy back road just yet — not yet, anyway.
We walked the stretch of beach to the rocky outcrop at the end, but couldn’t go any further to the next bay as the sea was in. We were happy with what we’d walked, though, so flopped into one of the beach cafés to hydrate.
Yes, we’re impressed with Patnem — it’s probably quieter at night, with low-key dinners spent by the sea, nice if that’s the vibe you’re after.
Our time here in Palolem was mainly spent chilling out: lazy days and walks on the beach. We also enjoyed exploring the smaller lanes branching off the main road, often sandy rather than paved. These lead to guesthouses and tucked-away cafés, shaded by palms and trees.
This would be our last beach for a long time, so we’d better make the most of it.
From here, as we tour through India, none of the stops — apart from Mumbai and maybe Kerala (if we make it there) — will be coastal, but that’s also exciting, as we’re ready to explore cities and new places. India is a vast country, and we could never see it all, so careful planning will be key to making the most of our time here.
So, happy with beach life for the time being, one day we walked north along the beach to where it meets the backwaters.
A guy approached us asking if we wanted a short boat trip, we hadn’t really considered it but it was literally a couple of quid and something different to do, perfect! Let’s go!
The backwaters are lovely, with narrow, winding channels of calm water that snake through dense mangroves and palms. The area is quiet and peaceful, a stark contrast to the bustling main beach. Surrounded by lush mountains, it’s also a great spot to see the large balancing rocks. Birdlife is abundant here — kingfishers, eagles, herons, and egrets. Kingfishers are our new “eagles”; they’ve taken the lead as our bird species to photograph. Move over, big eagle — we’ve seen a ton of you now. Luckily, we’ve got the big lens, so kingfisher ready… OMG, we’ve become bird watchers. We’ll be train spotting next… rein us in, someone, before this gets out of hand — ha!
We saw lots of different birds — plenty of eagles and kites — and we did get lucky, spotting a couple of kingfishers. We managed to take a few photos, although a few flew by too quickly, so we missed some photo opportunities — teasing us, I reckon!
We had a really pleasant time, and when we finished our little tour, we continued down the beach. The tide was out, enabling us to walk almost across to the island at the very tip, which is more often than not inaccessible. The sun was just going down — my favourite time of day — and we even came across a large rock painted with a shark — something we definitely hadn’t seen here before.
I’d really enjoyed our time spent in Palolem. We’d had some amazing food and met a whole mix of wonderful and interesting people at Tiny Bar. When we first arrived back in Goa just before Christmas, we both said we were glad we’d returned to see how much it had changed, but we probably wouldn’t come back.
We didn’t feel like that in Palolem — I would definitely return here. Hopefully it doesn’t develop much further, as it’s still fairly low-key, and it would be a shame to spoil it.
Next stop Mumbai — this should be fun and most probably chaotic, but bring it on, Bollywood, we’re ready for you!
Mumbai
We were taking the train from Goa to Mumbai. The good thing about this was that we’d already experienced Madgaon train station, so hopefully we were now pros at getting to the correct platform, etc. Madgaon isn’t a large station, so it should be pretty straightforward — hopefully.
The fun and games started on the journey from Palolem to Madgaon. Traffic was backed up, and we soon found out there had been a crash involving three cars. Hopefully everyone was okay. It delayed us for a short while, but I’m always early, so we still made it to the station with plenty of time.
Once the platform was announced (they do it at the last minute for some reason). everyone then rushes over — and let me tell you, there is no order. Survival of the fittest! Ha!
Our train arrived, we found our seats, and that’s when problem number two arose: someone was sitting in them. After scrutinising our tickets, we realised my agent had booked the wrong date — securing us seats on the train one month ahead, February instead of January. What a nightmare.
We didn’t know whether to get off the train or how to sort it out. Thankfully, with the help of kind people and competent railway staff, we were able to book new tickets online. The only issue was payment — but once again, kindness prevailed. An Indian gentleman paid on his card, and I was able to give him cash. Phew! All sorted.
What a palaver. It could have ended much worse — but there’s no need to go there.
So finally, and in better class seats as well, we were on our way to Mumbai — and breathe!
The journey was long-distance, around 10 hours, but it went well and the seats were comfortable. We had normal train seats this time, not a sleeper like our last train journey.
We arrived at Mumbai’s CSMT Railway Station around 1:30am — not an ideal time, but at least we could head straight over to the hotel and check in. Even in the early hours of the morning, the station was busy with people; apparently it never closes. Mumbai basically doesn’t sleep, and this station is the beating heart of the city.
Outside, we quickly agreed on a price for a rickshaw, and thirty minutes later we were tucked up in bed.
Up at a reasonable hour, we enjoyed breakfast delivered to our room — a real treat and the perfect start to the day. We were really looking forward to exploring Mumbai. Our hotel was at the top end of Marine Drive, a great location for exploring areas like Fort and Colaba on foot. Just a short stroll away was Churchgate railway station, a major transport hub for reaching other districts, though we didn’t need it today as everything we wanted to see was within walking distance.
We’d noticed on the short drive over the night before just how many impressive buildings there were, but in the light of day we could appreciate them much more. It feels especially grand around the Fort district. Street after street is lined with imposing buildings that stop you in your tracks — impressive architecture with ornate balconies, carved arches, and domes. Many date from the British colonial era, and their scale and detail give the area a distinctly old-world elegance.
What makes it so striking is the concentration of these buildings. In Fort in particular, you can wander landmark after landmark, which is exactly what we did. The avenues are also tree-lined, with big old trees offering shade and greenery. It felt very European, not dissimilar to many large European cities. Some buildings were crumbling, but that only added to the romance.
The city also felt safe, even wandering down back streets we were met with friendly faces and greetings from locals, a group of young lads playing cricket in a quieter back lanes were intrigued asking where we were from. Going off first impressions I think we were going to like it here.
The only thing we didn’t like was crossing the road. Thankfully, at some of the busier junctions there were pedestrian crossings, but you still had to be careful as scooters seemed to sneak through even on red. Sometimes you just had to walk, hand held up to signal to the traffic, keep a steady pace, and pray you made it — ha! It was a bit like Vietnam, so we’d had a bit of practice during our travels… not that we like it though.
After exploring all the nooks and crannies of the Fort area, we continued over to Colaba, where you’ll find the impressive Gateway of India and the equally impressive Taj Mahal Palace Hotel. The number of people increased tenfold as we walked past the grand Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya (history museum) and down towards Colaba. I suppose that’s to be expected, as it’s one of the most touristy areas of Mumbai.
We’d been told by a lady we met in Goa that, unfortunately, the Gateway was currently under restoration and covered in scaffolding — how typical. This seems to happen to us time and time again with well-known attractions on our travels. However, as we approached (fighting our way through the masses of people), we found it wasn’t actually that bad, as the bamboo scaffolding they use doesn’t disguise it too much. The only downside was that, at the moment, you can’t walk through the Gateway, only around it.
After admiring the Gateway, we continued past the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel along the harbourfront, where it felt more relaxed and coastal. We stopped for a drink to rest our feet and soon heard music in the distance — the sound of drums heading our way. We couldn’t wait to see what it was.
We took a peek down the avenue where the sound was coming from and spotted a man riding a white horse. I said to Shane, “I think it’s a wedding procession,” and, luckily, it was heading straight towards us. We waited at the top of the road and couldn’t have chosen a better spot, as the procession stopped right in front of us. The drums played and soon the male guests were dancing in the street, followed by the women, all surrounding the groom as he sat smiling on his horse, dressed in his finery.
It was amazing — we felt part of it for a moment… well, a long moment, as they danced there for quite some time. Even the wedding staff brought canapés and drinks out to the guests dancing in the street. The party was heading towards the Bombay Presidency Radio Club, which we had just passed, and we noticed it was decorated with extravagant floral displays. We’d even said earlier that it was probably for a wedding celebration.
How lucky were we to be in the right place at the right time? Even the groom’s mother spoke to us briefly and offered us nuts and drinks — it was great!
The group was still dancing and celebrating a little further down the street when we decided to move on and made our way towards Colaba Causeway, a busy shopping street lined with stalls selling all sorts of things — clothes, souvenirs, and food. It was here that I wanted us to visit the iconic Leopold Café.
Leopold Café has been around since 1871, founded by Iranian immigrants. Today, it’s one of Mumbai’s oldest Irani cafés and a living landmark, beloved by locals, backpackers, and tourists alike. It even features in the bestselling novel Shantaram (a book I’ve started and never finished — maybe now’s the time to read it). Unfortunately, when we saw the queue, there wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance we’d get in — or at the very least, it would have meant a long wait. Never mind; at least we’d seen the place, and maybe we could try again another day.
Plan B was just a little further down the road at Café Mondegar, another iconic spot on my to-do list. Established in 1932 by a Parsi-Irani family, it’s one of the oldest cafés still operating in the city. The interior is decorated with famous Mario Miranda murals — detailed cartoons running across the walls and ceiling, illustrating everyday life in Mumbai and giving the place an artistic, playful vibe. Guess what? The queue here also stretched down the street. What a shame — no chance today… but we weren’t giving up just yet.
So we sauntered back in the direction of the hotel, stopping for street food along the way. It was the perfect way to end the day — it had been a really good first day in Mumbai.
To make the most of our time here, I’d made a list of what we wanted to do and see. Bandra West was a district that sounded worth a visit, and the easiest way to get there was by train. It seemed pretty straightforward from Churchgate, the station close to our hotel.
The good thing about Churchgate station is that it’s the end of the line — or the start, however you want to look at it — so all trains head in the same direction along the Western Line. The only difference is how far they go and whether they’re fast or slow trains. When I checked, all of them stopped at Bandra, so we could just take our pick of platform.
We soon realised we were on a slow train, but it didn’t matter as it still only took a little over half an hour. Trains are incredibly cheap too — a return journey cost just 16p, making transport affordable for everyone, it’s a shame the same can’t be said for the UK.
The first place we headed to after arriving in Bandra was Ranwar Village, only a short distance away. I’d read that it was a charming area filled with Portuguese-era houses and narrow lanes covered in street art — it sounded great.
The road we took to get there was interesting, to say the least. We ended up smack bang in the middle of a market running through the narrow streets — first the meat market (not my favourite sight), then the fruit and veg, which was much easier on the eye. It was definitely a more run-down area, but we still felt safe the whole time. People were friendly, so apart from avoiding rickshaws, cows, and scooters, we carried on towards Ranwar.
We knew we’d arrived in Ranwar when we spotted the large, colourful Bollywood mural adorning the side of a building. We found more art tucked away down little lanes, along with a few small churches and chapels that reinforce Bandra’s Catholic heritage. It’s an area full of little corners, perfect for wandering without a plan.
It was nice to see the mix of old and new. Long-time residents still live here, sitting outside their homes and chatting, while small cafés, boutiques, and art spaces have quietly moved in without overwhelming the character of the place. It didn’t feel like we were in a big city — it still had that village charm.
From here, we continued towards our next stop, Mount Mary Basilica. Along the way, we discovered the Bandra Steps — a wide set of steps used as a cut-through by many, but also a place where locals sit and chat and kids play. What really drew us in was the colourful street art, which added even more character to the area. From what we’d seen of Bandra so far, it really was quite quirky.
It wasn’t much further to Mount Mary Basilica, one of Bandra’s most important landmarks. Perched on a small hill, the basilica is a beautiful neo-Gothic church. It dates back to the 16th century, originally built by Portuguese missionaries, and has long been a place of pilgrimage. From the church grounds, there are also lovely views over Bandra and the Arabian Sea.
From here, we’d originally planned to walk down to the seafront promenade and Bandstand, but we had a change of plan and decided that a better alternative would be to visit Gandhi’s house (Mani Bhavan). It was back in the direction of where we were staying and, in fact, not too far from Marine Drive, so it made perfect sense.
To avoid wasting time, we took a tuk-tuk back to the station and were soon on our way.
Whilst on the train we made a quick, split-second decision to visit Dhobi Ghat. We were passing anyway, so it seemed a shame not to see the world’s most famous open-air laundry.
A five-minute walk from Mahalaxmi station is a viewing platform. From here you can look into the washing area without walking through people’s workspace.
Here hundreds of dhobis (traditional washermen) stand in rows at concrete wash pens, hand-scrubbing clothes and beating them against stone slabs, then hanging them on an endless maze of lines and rooftops to dry. Hotels, hospitals and local households all send laundry there, creating an incredible patchwork of white sheets and colourful clothes everywhere.
It was later in the day so most of the washing was already drying, with only a few items still being scrubbed. Had we visited first thing in the morning I think we would have seen it at its busiest. Still, it was fascinating to see and definitely worth a quick detour.
Back on the train for just a few more stops, we exited at Grant Road station and from there it was a 10–15 minute walk to Mani Bhavan. We knew we had arrived when we saw a group of tourists congregating outside this modest two-storey building, which sits quietly on a leafy, tree-lined street.
Mani Bhavan was Gandhi’s Mumbai home between 1917 and 1934, where he carried out much of his work for India’s independence.
Today, the building is preserved as a museum and memorial. Inside, there are photographs, letters, newspaper clippings, and displays documenting Gandhi’s life and philosophy. Upstairs is the small room where he stayed, complete with his spinning wheel, reflecting his commitment to simplicity and self-reliance.
We didn’t need to spend a lot of time here, but I’m really glad we took the detour to visit. For me, it was a chance to gain a deeper understanding of the life and work of this extraordinary man.
From here, we decided we could actually walk back to the hotel, as Gandhi’s home was only a five-minute walk down to the seafront at Chowpatty and Marine Drive promenade. It would probably take around an hour, but it was just before sunset, so it seemed like the perfect time for a stroll along the seafront.
What we hadn’t banked on, however, was the sheer number of people who head here for sunset. You cannot believe the crowds. As we walked along, the best way to describe it was like leaving a massive concert, with everyone heading in the same direction. Add to that the number of times we were stopped by locals wanting photographs with us. We definitely drew attention, as I reckon we were the only Westerners there—I certainly didn’t see any others. So what should have taken an hour ended up taking an hour and a half.
Another great day — it was so varied. We were also glad we’d sussed the trains, as we’d be using them again the following day to join a tour of the slums. Mumbai so far was exceeding our expectations.
The tour of the slums was something I’d always wanted to do. I know it might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but having seen many documentaries over the years, it was somewhere that had long intrigued me — and Shane wanted to visit too. We’d spoken to a few people over the last month who had done the tour, and nine times out of ten they said it was a must.
Online, it was easy to book a 90-minute guided walking tour. We were given instructions to meet at a coffee shop close to the slums, which also happened to be directly across the road from Mahim train station.
So, back to Churchgate station the following morning — we had it all sussed, no stress at all. You really can’t go wrong, as trains run every 10 minutes. I just had to make sure we took the slow train that stopped at Mahim.
We met our guide at the coffee shop and, along with nine other people in our group, set off on the short walk to the slum.
Mumbai has more than one slum — in fact, there are around 2,400 slumsacross the city. Some reports and surveys suggest that more than half of Mumbai’s 20 million residents live in slum conditions.
The one we were visiting was Dharavi, the most famous and one of the largest slum areas. In just over one square mile,around 700,000 to 1 million peopleare thought to live there.
Dharavi isn’t just a place where people live — it’s a densely packed area buzzing with small businesses. Tucked into its narrow lanes and stacked buildings are thousands of workshops, many no bigger than a single room, collectively generating millions of dollars each year.
We headed first to the recycling area. Dharavi is often described as one of the largest informal recycling hubs in the world. Plastic, cardboard, metal, glass, and electronic waste are sorted, cleaned, shredded, and resold. What the city throws away is carefully processed here and fed back into the supply chain — it’s labour-intensive but surprisingly efficient.
Many of the people working here are from outside Mumbai, mainly men. Often from the same villages, they come to work in Dharavi and send money home to support their families. They earn around £3 per day, so unable to afford housing nearby, the factories they work in also double as sleeping quarters. At night, the workspaces are cleared to make room for mats laid out on the floor.
Alongside the factories are small cafes feeding workers throughout the day. Many work 10–12 hour shifts, with little time to search for food, so these cafes make daily life easier. Meals in Dharavi are kept as affordable as possible, with workers relying on simple dishes of rice, lentils, vegetables, and flatbreads, meat or fish maybe a couple of times per week. In some places, people can pay a small daily amount — often just a few rupees — and receive two basic meals a day.
Not everyone here is from out of town. Many people in the residential areas have lived in Dharavi all their lives. They work across the city — in offices, as policemen, and in all sorts of other jobs — but Dharavi remains their home. There is a strong sense of community here.
Although living conditions are poor, People go about their daily lives, getting on with things. It felt very safe to walk through, and our guide explained that there is relatively little crime. Like anywhere, it isn’t crime-free, but Dharavi is a very tight-knit community. People live and work side by side, often in the same buildings, and as many families have been here for generations. That constant presence — everyone knowing everyone — means people look out for each other. Serious crimes such as violent attacks or muggings are relatively uncommon, particularly during the day.
From the recycling area, we moved to the clothing and textiles area, which plays a huge part in the local economy. Small units cut, stitch, dye, and finish clothes that end up in markets across Mumbai and beyond. You’ll see tailors working shoulder to shoulder, fabric piled high, and sewing machines running nonstop. One place had a rack lined with high-end tailored uniforms, all ready to be delivered to one of the city’s five-star hotels. You wouldn’t expect somewhere like this to be where such beautiful garments are made.
Our last stop on the factory side was at the leather workshops. Leather production has historically been one of Dharavi’s most famous industries. There’s thousands of workshops and units, which produce finished goods such as handbags, wallets, belts, jackets, briefcases, luggage, and accessories, often using pre-tanned leather brought in from elsewhere. We witnessed large piles of hides being inspected and trimmed, ready for cutting and shaping before the final quality touches for retail and export.
We were given the opportunity to visit one of the outlets that has developed its own leather label, aptly named Dharavi. Here you can buy bags, purses, belts, and more. I treated myself to a bag — a meaningful reminder of our time there and a way to support the people behind the work.
The latter part of the tour involved visiting the residential area. As a group, we followed our guide across a busy road, which was a mission in itself. Once safely across, we made our way through the narrow streets. At one point it was so cramped that we had to cut through an alleyway so dark we needed to use our phone torches.
It was only wide enough for one person, so if someone came from the opposite direction you had to squeeze past each other. Our guide also warned us to be careful where we stepped, as there were uncovered drains and you never quite knew what you were standing in. It sounds shocking, I know. It’s hard to comprehend that this is how people live.
However, as our guide explained afterwards, a housing scheme was introduced and a small apartment block was built to provide some residents with free accommodation. Many moved in, but some eventually rented out their flats and returned — it was the life they knew.
It was in the residential area that we lost Shane. In the narrow alleys, Shane – being polite as ever – let people go in front and gradually detached himself from the group.
Not realising it was like a maze inside, he took the wrong path.
The rest of us ended up in a play area, and that’s when we noticed he was missing. Luckily, a local resident said to our tour guide, “I think one from your group has gone the wrong way,” so we waited while our guide went in search of him. Thankfully they both returned about five minutes later. For a moment we thought he might be staying the night and getting the full experience, as he never carries a phone — ha!
The residential area was the last stop on the tour, and as a group we returned to the railway station before parting ways.
I’m glad we went — not because it was comfortable, but because it gave us a deeper understanding of the city and the resilience of the people who call it home.
We finished our day back in Colaba, as we wanted to see the Gateway of India and the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel at night. We also thought we’d attempt a second visit to Leopold Café and Café Mondegar, but that ended exactly like the first — crowds, queues, and no tables — so we gave up and found dinner somewhere quieter.
This brought us to our final day in Mumbai, we didn’t have to leave the city until late afternoon so with a few hours to kill. So we decided we’d walk back to the gateway and around the fort area.
We walked down the road past the High Court and the university buildings, which are incredibly impressive. Across the road lies the Oval Maidan, a large green space dedicated to cricket and other sports. Throughout the day it fills with matches, with dozens of cricket games being played at once.
Back at the Gateway of India it was as busy as ever, so we took a few last photos before heading one last time to the Fort area and on to the impressive Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus (Railway Station). As a UNESCO-listed heritage building, it’s not to be missed it’s one of the most striking buildings in Mumbai. Built in 1887 during the British Raj, the station combines Victorian Gothic architecture with traditional Indian details. Inside, the grand staircases, stained glass and high vaulted ceilings make it feel more like a historic building than a working railway station, yet thousands of commuters pass through every day.
Mumbai took us by surprise. Beyond the sheer number of people and the constant movement of the city, we found beautiful buildings and remarkable architecture at almost every turn. What stayed with us most, though, was the resilience and warmth of the people; despite the intensity of daily life, we felt welcomed and, at all times, safe.
Our next stop is Rajasthan. This will be our longest journey so far as we take a 17-hour overnight bus. Hopefully we’ll sleep through most of it — though we’ll see!
Udaipur
I had my reservations about taking a bus from Mumbai to Udaipur — not because of the distance, but because the pickup point was so vague. When booking online you had to choose a stop, and the closest one to us was basically a random point on the freeway. It showed coordinates and there was a bus stop there, so we figured that must be it.
We arrived an hour early and were reassured to see other people waiting with suitcases. We were booked on a Falcon bus, so I kept an eye out for it constantly. The departure time came and went… then another hour passed… and after two hours it was clear no Falcon bus had gone by. Eventually we managed to contact them and discovered the bus was miles ahead — it must have taken a different route because it definitely never passed us.
So what now? We could stay the night and try again tomorrow, but we already had a hotel booked in Udaipur. I checked online and found another night bus leaving in an hour — the only problem was the pickup point was an hour across town.
It was cheap, so we took the gamble. We booked it, grabbed an Uber and raced across Mumbai. Of course we hit traffic and I started searching hotels again, hoping and praying the bus would also be delayed.
We reached the new pickup point about five minutes late. The instructions said “Falcon office next to a particular restaurant”… except there was no office anywhere. Then suddenly two Falcon buses flew past and stopped further down the road. We sprinted across three lanes of traffic with our backpacks and somehow made it.
The first bus wasn’t ours. We ran to the second one just before it pulled away, breathlessly asked if it was going to Udaipur, and got the famous Indian head wobble — which we chose to interpret as yes. We climbed aboard and hoped for the best.
Honestly it felt like we were contestants on Race Across the World. Absolutely hilarious… afterwards.
I don’t know if it was the adrenaline from racing for the bus, but it actually turned into a brilliant journey once we realised we were at least heading in the right direction. We basically slept the whole way, stopping once around 1 a.m. and dozing straight back off after. It was a 17-hour trip and I reckon we were awake for maybe three of it. Just fall asleep in Mumbai, wake up in Rajasthan — perfect.
Udaipur is our first stop on what is going to be a big tour of Rajasthan. The state is huge — the largest in India by land area — bigger than the UK and not far off the size of Germany.
Entering Rajasthan, Udaipur is generally considered the first practical tourist city you reach when coming from Mumbai. It sounded lovely — the “City of Lakes”, with several clustered around the old town, the most famous being Lake Pichola and its Lake Palace. This is where we’d chosen to stay.
The bus dropped us just on the outskirts of the old town, which was fine — we quickly hailed a rickshaw to take us the rest of the way. The driver couldn’t get all the way to the guesthouse as the road was blocked off at the main temple square. A ceremony seemed to be taking place: it was noisy, horns blaring, scooters, dogs, cows, people… chaos everywhere.
Funnily enough it doesn’t faze us anymore. This is India — it only seems to have one gear and that’s top gear. We wove through the crowds and, thankfully, the guesthouse was only a five-minute walk from where we were dropped. We found it easily — forever grateful for Google Maps.
On the short, chaotic walk from the square, the first thing I noticed was the architecture. It was exactly how I’d imagined Rajasthan — tall houses stacked almost on top of each other, with wooden balconies, carved doors and little windows framed by arches.
There were lots of small shops selling art and wood carvings, especially puppets. Even at first glance I could have bought loads — so many beautiful things, with little boutiques, cafes and chai stalls squeezed in between.
On first impressions, I really liked it.
It didn’t take us long to get settled. There was no point hanging around the room — after that long sleep on the bus we were more than rested and ready to explore.
We were only a few minutes from the lakeside, so we headed there first. An archway led us onto a pedestrian footbridge crossing the lake, and the view from here was wonderfully serene. The calm water shimmered in the afternoon sunlight, and our eyes were drawn to the small islands in the middle of the lake. In the foreground was Jag Niwas Island, home to the Lake Palace Hotel. Beyond it lay Jag Mandir Island, older and historically more significant. The Mughal prince Shah Jahan, long before he became emperor and built the Taj Mahal, is said to have stayed here for a time.
From the bridge, the impressive City Palace stretched along the eastern bank, its pale stone rising from the water. Balconies, domes and delicate jharokha windows — small overhanging enclosed balconies covered with intricate lattice stonework a signature feature of Rajput architecture.
We walked across the pedestrian bridge that connects the City Palace side to one of the small islands. Udaipur really does feel like a city made of islands, especially around the lakes.
As you wander the narrow streets you notice nearly every hotel has a rooftop restaurant, all making the most of the lake views and the palaces. We wandered into the courtyard of a very fancy hotel — it had a restaurant too, so there was no harm in having a look. The roof terrace was beautiful and you could immediately see why it was so popular; every table set for dinner was reserved.
I checked the menu and it wasn’t even expensive. Shame it was fully booked — somewhere like this in Europe would cost an arm and a leg.
Udaipur is very big on art, so you can’t go far without being approached to look in one studio or another. Much as we’d love to, we can’t buy anything — our bags are already rammed to the rafters. The shops selling hand-carved wooden ornaments are amazing; we’d love to take some home if we could.
Just beyond the beautiful hotel was Ambrai Ghat, one of the old stone bathing steps. Historically, ghats were where locals came to wash, collect water, pray and watch daily life on the lake — a bit like the town’s front doorstep.
What makes this one special is its position: it sits directly opposite the City Palace and the Lake Palace. A local artist (yes, another!) told us it’s especially popular at sunset, when the evening light glows across the water and illuminates the palaces.
We continued mooching through the narrow streets and alleyways before making our way back over another bridge a little further down. Cars, scooters, and rickshaws could use this one. On our side, we found a lovely rooftop restaurant — well, it was lovely once we reached the top; there aren’t many lifts in these old buildings.
One thing we noticed was the temperature drop. At this time of year it’s almost perfect in the daytime (nice British summer temperatures), but it definitely gets chilly as the sun goes down. I’ll remember next time to bring another layer.
As always, I had a list of things to see and do while we were here. The City Palace was on it, so the following day we headed over.
It’s a busy place — weekdays or weekends it’s always crowded — so we joined the queue to buy tickets, eager to get inside.
The City Palace is a complex that kept growing for over 400 years. The rulers of Mewar (the Maharanas) began building it in 1559, and each ruler added their own section. Instead of knocking it down and rebuilding, each Maharana simply attached a new palace onto the last one.
The palace is positioned so almost every balcony frames a view: Lake Pichola, Jag Mandir Island, the Lake Palace hotel and the old city rooftops.
Part of it is now a museum, which visitors can explore, but another wing is still the royal family’s residence. The current Maharana’s family actually lives there.
The large courtyard through the main gates was in the process of being set up for an elaborate event with hundreds of people setting up what you could describe as a film set.
Inside, the palace becomes a museum and you follow a set route through rooms, courtyards and narrow corridors. It’s less about glass cases and more about seeing how the rulers actually lived. There are armouries with huge swords and shields, old rifles, portraits of the Maharanas, royal thrones and even the elaborate carriages they once travelled in.
Some rooms are decorated with coloured glass, mirrors and painted tiles, while others open onto balconies overlooking Lake. This was where the Instagram crowd took over. Trying to get a photo was nearly impossible — we’ve had this in so many places.
If you can’t beat them, join them. I found myself stepping onto a balcony (not because I wanted a photo of me) but so that, in the split second I moved away, Shane might get a clear shot — if he was lucky. It’s every man for himself; you learn quickly… ha!
The courtyards were some of the nicest parts of the City Palace. After winding through narrow passages you suddenly step out into open squares filled with light and air. Each one felt different — some small with carved balconies above, others larger with marble floors, fountains and decorative archways.
Once again, prime Instagram spots. One glamorous couple had their young daughter photographing them against a grand doorway. We offered to take a photo of all three of them, but they quickly refused — really! What’s the world come to.
All in all, it was well worth a visit for a few hours. There’s plenty to see without it feeling rushed, and wandering through the rooms, courtyards and balconies gave a real sense of the palace’s history as well as some beautiful views over the lake.
We spent the remainder of the afternoon exploring the streets of the old town. Many roads climbed uphill before dropping back down towards the lakeside and the numerous ghats. The largest was Gangaur Ghat. Coming through the old city lanes, you suddenly pass under three adjoining sandstone arches and the view of Lake Pichola opens up all at once.
It overlooks the Lake Palace (Taj Lake Palace) floating in the water, while the City Palace rises behind you and the Aravalli Hills frame the setting.
You can see why it’s one of the most famous spots in Udaipur and still used by locals for ceremonies and celebrations. In the mornings, locals bathe, temple bells ring, and chai sellers set up their stalls. In the evenings it’s clearly popular — locals sit chatting, children feed the birds, and couples take wedding-style photos, with someone usually playing a guitar or flute. It’s definitely one of Udaipur’s Instagram hotspots.
The sun setting in Udaipur almost felt romantic, with illuminated bridges casting reflections across the lake. We wandered over to Ambrai Ghat (as recommended) to watch the palaces light up across the water. The City Palace lit up along the shoreline, followed by the Lake Palace and Jag Mandir in the middle of Pichola, the islands suddenly standing out against the dark water. People lingered here for hours — groups of teenagers played music while others sat along the stone steps simply watching.
Udaipur immediately gives off a magical vibe, with lakes crisscrossing the city and palaces rising elegantly from the water. It’s easy to see why some call it the “Venice of Asia” — the sunlight shimmering on the lakes, bridges linking different parts of the city, and narrow streets winding along the waterfront all feel like a charming, watery labyrinth.
We hung around until dark before strolling back through the narrow lanes, where shopkeepers were still busy with night trade, temple chimes rang out, and worshippers attended evening ceremonies. By now we were hungry, and our only dilemma was which restaurant to choose — most were on rooftops, making the most of the setting, and thankfully we picked well: delicious food, chilled music, and a perfect nighttime atmosphere overlooking the lakes.
One day, we just explored on foot around the town and beyond the palace. We were thinking of walking up Machla Magra Hill for views over the lake and palaces. There’s a short hiking trail—or you can take a cable car—to reach the top. Before that, there’s a park area by a small lake called Dudh Talai, another spot filled with Instagram-worthy photo ops. It seems to be a national pastime—well, these days, I should say worldwide; it’s everywhere.
We also saw monkeys here—yay! You know how much we love spotting them. And even a camel! We’re seeing more and more of them now in Rajasthan, basically now desert country.
We decided not to walk up the hill; it had become quite cloudy, so we didn’t think it was worth the hike if the views weren’t at their best.
Instead, we stayed around the park area. There was a zip line popular with the locals, so we were happy to sit and drink chai, watching people whiz overhead.
On the way back Shane also got a haircut, which turned out to be quite an experience. After his cut, the barber brought out this weird vibrating contraption to massage his head—and then his back. It was Shane’s face that made me laugh; you could see he wasn’t exactly comfortable with it—ha!
That evening, we wanted to see the Dance Show at Bagore Ki Haveli, a historic mansion on the waterfront. The evening “Dharohar” show is a 1-hour performance of Rajasthani folk dance, music, and puppetry. The show runs daily at 7 PM, and we’d read that it’s best to arrive early (around 6:15–6:30 PM) to buy tickets and get good seats, as it can fill up fast.
We managed to get tickets and just waited around until the doors opened.
Once inside, there were bench seats on either side and floor cushions directly in front—well, there’s no way I could do floor sitting; I just can’t get comfortable. So, we took seats on the benches to the side. We were only in the second row, so hopefully good seats.
The show was vibrant and full of energy from the very first beat. Traditional Rajasthani folk dancers in colourful costumes twirled across the stage, their skirts fanning out with every spin. There was folk music, live drumming, and rhythmic clapping, creating an incredible atmosphere.
The dancers performed everything from fast-paced, high-energy group dances to graceful solo pieces, each telling a story of Rajasthan’s history, culture, and rural life.
The puppet performances mirrored the dancers on stage, with miniature puppets twirling, spinning, and striking poses just like the performers.
The grand finale was a solo performance by one of the dancers. She took center stage, balancing 3 pots on her head with perfect poise. Just when we thought that was impressive enough, another pot was added—and then another, each one stacked carefully on top of the last. The audience held its breath as she continued, moving gracefully across the stage while balancing nine pots in total.
At one point, the solo dancer walked barefoot across a bed of broken glass, moving carefully yet gracefully, stepping lightly without a hint of hesitation or pain. Every movement was perfectly controlled, adding a thrilling edge to the performance.
When she finally struck her final pose, perfectly balanced, applause erupted, and we were all cheering.
Some spectators even came up onto the stage, approaching the dancer with small notes and coins in hand. A few even danced with her for photos—and she still had all nine pots balanced on her head!
By the end, we were smiling and clapping along with everyone else, completely charmed by the energy, skill, and artistry of the show.
I’m so glad we got to see the show—it was brilliant, bursting with culture and colour.
With one day left in Udaipur, we had a couple of things planned. We wanted to visit Jagdish Temple, the place we’d been dropped off at when we first arrived. We’d passed it a dozen times but hadn’t gone inside. A long, steep flight of stone steps leads up to the entrance, and from the bottom we could already hear bells ringing and devotees chanting.
Built in 1651, the temple is dedicated to Lord Vishnu, and its towering spire dominates the skyline of the old city.
Up close, the detail is incredible — the exterior walls are covered in intricate carvings of gods, dancers, elephants, and musicians, each figure carefully etched into the stone.
At the top of the steps, the atmosphere changed completely. Inside, priests were performing rituals while worshippers offered flowers and prayers, and the sound of drums and bells echoed through the hall. It was busy, colourful, and full of energy.
Next we wanted to visit the palace on the lake — Jag Mandir. It almost looks like it’s floating as it sits calmly on the water.
Jag Mandir dates back to the early 17th century. The palace was designed as a place where the royal family could escape the heat and bustle of the city. Its open courtyards, shaded pavilions, and lakeside gardens allowed cool breezes to pass through, making it a comfortable refuge during Rajasthan’s hot summers.
At the City Palace, you can buy a ticket that includes a boat ride across Lake Pichola and a stop at Jag Mandir. After making our way through the palace complex, we were directed down to the lakeside jetty, where a small group had gathered. Soon our boat arrived and we climbed aboard. The ride itself was half the experience. We cruised past the famous Lake Palace hotel sitting in the middle of the water before continuing on to the island of Jag Mandir.
Approaching by boat, you see the domes and marble pavilions clearly, and the stone elephants along the edge appear to greet you as you arrive.
Once on the island, you’re free to wander the courtyards and gardens at your own pace before catching the boat back. It’s not a large place, so we didn’t need long to look around. There’s also a restaurant where you can stop for lunch or simply sit and enjoy a drink by the water.
Happy with our short time there, we took the boat back across the lake to the City Palace. Walking back through the palace complex, they were putting the finishing touches on a lavish event that was being set up. It was a big occasion — rumour had it a famous Bollywood couple were tying the knot, though everything was very hush-hush. Whatever it was, it was going to be spectacular.
One thing I keep forgetting to mention about Udaipur is the number of street dogs — hundreds of them. They’re looked after collectively by the locals, with food left for them here, there, and everywhere. One morning we even saw a lady giving them milk. You rarely see them thin, so they must do okay.
But the one thing they do that must drive people mad after a while is the howling at night. We had a group right outside our window; at around 3 am they would start, and in the distance you could hear more joining in the doggie chorus. I can’t believe it didn’t bother us, but I suppose we don’t live with it constantly.
You could hear some people opening their windows and shouting for them to stop. Our hotel owner said he often throws water on them. I imagine it would drive you mad quite quickly.
We only had one more night to endure, and to tell the truth, they hadn’t disturbed me every night — I think the gin probably helped with that matter.
So that brought our short time in Udaipur to an end, and it was a great introduction to Rajasthan. We’re taking a slight detour for our next destination: not too far from here (around three hours — a short drive by Indian standards) is Bera Jawai. This area is famous for its leopards, which live among the rock hills around Jawai Dam. Here you can do leopard safaris, and when I read about it, there was no way we’d pass it by.
Tomorrow we’re being driven there (our hotelier is actually driving us!) — at cost, obviously. I think this stop will be a welcome change, away from the hustle and bustle, and you know how much we love wildlife. Excited already!
Bera
Our next stop was Bera in the Jawai region. The area has a rich variety of wildlife but is best known for its leopards. It is popular for safaris, which was the reason for our visit, and we were very much looking forward to a couple of days in one of the many safari lodges in the region. While we were there, we planned to do a couple of safaris in the hope of seeing these amazing cats.
The drive from Udaipur by car takes around 3 hours. We’d read that, if possible, it was worth stopping at Ranakpur Temple en route. Our driver (our previous guesthouse owner) recommended this as well. He said we will stop there then we can stop for lunch- this journey was getting better by the minute.
It took around 2 hours to reach the temple which is almost hidden in a forested valley of the Aravalli Hills.
Our driver told us to just take our time it’s not a temple to be rushed. We paid the small entrance fee with audio guide and headed towards the main steps.
Built in the 15th century, the temple is constructed entirely from pale marble. From the outside it was impressive, but the real impact is inside.
Inside, the temple opens into a vast hall supported by 1,444 intricately carved pillars, each one different from the next. The ceilings are just as remarkable, layered with delicate carvings of dancers and deities.
We spent around an hour admiring the temple and learning its history before returning to our driver. A short drive from the temple, we stopped for lunch before continuing on to Bera, only an hour away.
On the final part of the journey to Bera we saw the landscape change, becoming far more rural and agricultural. Between small villages were fields of millet and mustard, and herds of goats and sheep lined the roadside, tended by herders in bright red turbans. It was a complete contrast to the chaos of Udaipur, and a welcome one.
Bera sits beside the Jawai Dam, surrounded by huge granite hills and boulders. The area is surprisingly green for Rajasthan, especially after the monsoon, with wetlands around the reservoir.
By late afternoon we reached the lodge. We had arranged our safaris for the following day, leaving us free to relax for the rest of the day.
Our lodge was wonderful. The accommodation is described as “tents”, but nobody is exactly roughing it — far from it. They are permanent structures, yet inside the canvas-lined walls and draped ceilings create the feel of a traditional safari tent, with proper beds (the comfiest we had experienced so far) and full bathrooms.
There was also a very inviting swimming pool that I planned to make full use of while we were there.
The one thing we noticed as we relaxed on our lovely deck was the calmness. Aside from birdsong, there was nothing but peace and quiet. The racket and constant horn honking were gone, replaced by noticeably clean, fresh air.
Safari lodges here are scattered around the countryside. There are no shops or restaurants on your doorstep, but you don’t need them as the lodges take care of everything and provide all meals.
They served us a feast that evening in the small restaurant, with an array of different Rajasthani dishes, and we enjoyed it all. They also lit a campfire for guests to sit around if they wished. The temperature drops at night, and I imagine it would be cosy sitting around the fire, but the thought of that big comfy bed was calling. We opted for an early night as we had a sunrise safari at 6am.
We woke just before 5:15am, subconsciously unwilling to risk oversleeping even with an alarm set.
Layering up, knowing it would be cold until sunrise, and quietly made our way to the main gates to meet our driver. We’d booked a Gypsy (a Jeep); you pay per vehicle rather than per person, so it’s excellent value if a group is sharing.
Our driver arrived just as we reached the gates. Veejay introduced himself and we were on our way.
I love that early-morning safari energy — half sleepy, half excitement, and a bit of “why am I awake at this hour?” It’s a bit like having an early flight; you’ll know the feeling!
We drove only a few minutes before heading off-road. This is where the fun began: being bounced around over the uneven terrain, holding on tight while these amazing vehicles seemed to take it all in their stride.
Along the track, in the distance, we could see other jeeps standing stationary — a good sign. Hopefully leopards had been spotted… fingers crossed!
The drivers, to a degree, probably know the movements of the leopards and their usual territory. The area we arrived at was a huge expanse of smooth granite, broken by piles of boulders and deep cracks that form natural shelters for leopards.
It was pitch black, too dark to see much, but each driver had a powerful torch scanning the rocks and crevices.
Excitement grew as the torchlight swept across the rocks. Veejay didn’t take his eyes off the area for a second. It didn’t take him long to spot one. Bingo — just the start of the safari and we already had leopards.
He handed me a pair of binoculars and pointed in the right direction, guiding me with his torchlight towards a large desert cactus growing between the rocks. The eyes were the first thing you saw, glowing bright green in the beam.
You definitely needed the binoculars as it was still a fair distance away (thankfully). I don’t think I’d fancy being any closer, even if they say the leopards here live in harmony with the people.
Thankfully Shane had the camera ready with the big lens and was able to use that to see them more clearly.
It was a female, and she had a couple of cubs. When she emerged from the crevice Shane was clicking away, hoping to capture her on camera, although in the darkness it was difficult. I caught glimpses of the cubs a few times through the binoculars, but in that light they were near impossible to photograph — still a pleasure for us to see.
The sky was rapidly changing and daylight was approaching. Veejay said we could wait; it would be much better then.
The other jeeps moved on, leaving just us. We kept silent, binoculars glued to my face and the camera to Shane’s. Then we got lucky — she re-emerged, pacing the area. Such a beautiful animal, so graceful. We didn’t see the cubs again; they had most likely returned to the shelter.
Ready to move on and explore, we weren’t quite expecting what came next. The jeep drove right up a steep granite hillside — honestly, you’d think it might flip, it was that steep! At the very top came the wow factor: a landscape spread out before us, lakes and mountains framing the view as the sun was just rising. An absolute treat. We’d already seen a leopard, so everything else was a bonus.
We waited while the sun rose before heading back down the same rocky slope (hold tight… white-knuckle ride — ha!).
We went on to see a mix of wildlife and many different birds, especially peacocks. Then we came across a Nilgai (also called the Blue Bull). What a strange-looking animal — it sits somewhere between a horse and a cow that decided to join the deer family! It spotted us and trotted off to hide behind the bushes.
We also saw a baby crocodile beside a watering hole, and a vllager walking the same pathways carrying a big sack on his head — a real testament to how humans and leopards live here in harmony.
We then headed back to the lodge. All the excitement had worked up an appetite, and we were looking forward to the breakfast waiting for us.
Similar to the previous evening, breakfast was a feast that just kept coming — there was no way we could eat everything, and we weren’t even sure we were supposed to!
They brought fruit, yogurt, toast and jam, omelettes, paratha, poha (an Indian rice dish) and a large jug of salty buttermilk. I couldn’t quite make up my mind if I liked that one or not — however Shane seemed to like it.
Every time a plate was nearly empty, someone appeared to refill it, and our chai cups were never allowed to stay empty for long. They even asked if we wanted more. You certainly wouldn’t go hungry here, that’s for sure.
We had the rest of the morning and early afternoon to relax before being picked up again for our sunset safari.
This meant only one thing — that refreshing pool and those big comfortable loungers beside it had our names all over them. The staff brought big fluffy towels; luxury and little touches certainly didn’t go amiss here. I could definitely get used to this.
The temperature was perfect as well — I’m talking about the sun, because the pool was far from it! But once you dared yourself and got in, it was definitely refreshing… you just didn’t need to stay in for long.
These few hours of doing nothing were just what we needed. The surroundings were so quiet and peaceful — we had the pool to ourselves, with only staff milling about and tending to the gardens.
Before we knew it, it was time to get ready for safari round two — pick-up at 3:30 pm. Woo hoo… bring it on!
Veejay was ready and waiting, so without a minute to waste we set off. Heading back in the same direction as that morning, he drove us to the area where we’d seen the leopard earlier.
We scanned the area for a while — nothing. She’d probably moved on, maybe she would return later.
Close by was a small temple building, and I noticed langur monkeys there — lots of them, around fifty or maybe even more. But we just drove past; he probably didn’t think we were interested, and after all we see monkeys all the time. So for now, sorry you cheeky lot, but we were in search of the cats… and other new wildlife of course!
It wasn’t long before we were heading back up those steep rocky slopes, It’s amazing how these vehicles handle this terrain. I think the afternoon’s plan was to go up and over the granite hillside, then down towards the lakes formed by the Jawai Dam.
The water is low at this time of year, but during the monsoon much of the farmland we were seeing would be flooded. The area then comes alive with migrating birds — flamingos, cranes, pelicans, storks and more. Veejay even pointed out the monsoon water level against one of the large boulders.
We climbed up one more hill, overlooking the lakes on either side. The scenery was spectacular — even more so because we didn’t expect it. I had just imagined flat bushland.
In one of the lakes, a small boulder protruded from the water, and basking on top of it in the sun was a rather large crocodile. All I can say is I’m glad it was in the distance.
It looked like we were stopping here for a short while. Veejay told us we were safe to get out of the jeep and explore just this spot.
He waved us back 10 minutes later — aww, this was why he wanted us out of the way: he’d set up high tea all laid out on the jeep’s hood. Cucumber sandwiches, biscuits, and chai — how lovely!
Well, that actually went down a treat — and I don’t really like cucumber! I think the setting helped my taste buds… ha!
We set off again, not driving too far before climbing up once more. It became clear just from our position that this was the perfect spot to watch the sunset. Other jeeps made their way up, and we sat and watched the sun begin its slow descent behind the granite hills in the distance.
The lakes reflected the fiery sky, turning each ripple into a little flash of light. The sun dropped out of sight, leaving gold and soft pink hues across the sky. We’ve seen a lot of sunsets, but this was definitely up there.
Acting romantic in this idyllic setting, I joked to Shane and said, “Will you marry me?”
“Most definitely not,” was his ultra-quick response… charming. He also added, “Not knowng what I know now” — funny, and good job I know he’s joking… cheeky!
It was getting dark, and the temperature was dropping as we headed back down. I didn’t know how much time we had left — it would have been nice to see the leopards once more. You could sense that Veejay wanted that for us too, so he was trying his hardest to make time to visit their usual territory.
We sat in one spot with binoculars for a while, but saw nothing, so we carried on. Then we spotted a group of Jeeps ahead, stationary once more — a good sign. The hillside we were scanning was steep, covered with broken boulders and desert cactus. Veejay spotted one; for love or money, I couldn’t see it. He was adamant we should, and eventually we did… but wow, he must have excellent eyesight — there’s no way I would have ever seen it. It was a cub and so perfectly camouflaged. Even in the photos, without zooming in, it’s hard to make out. But when you do see it, it’s undeniably cute.
However, our day wasn’t finished just yet. We hadn’t realised quite how far we’d driven, and it was actually quite thrilling heading back in the dark — over the hillside and through the forest. Perched higher on the jeep’s back seat, we had to keep ducking to avoid low branches. It was all good fun.
For one last try, Veejay returned to the spot where we’d seen them at sunrise. This time it was completely silent — just us, the engine switched off, torch light sweeping slowly across the rocks in the darkness. For a moment there was nothing… then suddenly, movement. There they were: the mother and one of the cubs, emerging from the shadows. We couldn’t believe our luck.
It felt like the perfect ending to an incredible day. Wildlife sightings are never guaranteed, and that uncertainty made the moment even more special.
When we arrived back near the village, Veejay asked if we could take a slight detour to visit his family. Bless — how could we refuse? He promised he wouldn’t keep us long, just tea.
We walked up to his house and, in the front courtyard, his mother was cooking chapatis on an open fire while his wife prepared dhal in a small kitchen to the side. His father was there too, along with his sons and nephews. We were greeted so warmly and immediately offered seats and tea.
His father brought out a charpai — a traditional wooden frame woven with rope, used as a bed or bench — and patted it, encouraging Shane to sit. Shane politely said, “Oh, it’s okay, I’m fine with the chair.” It felt awkward because you don’t want to seem disrespectful, but I’m sure they understood.
After finishing our tea came the inevitable big photoshoot — yes, we knew that was coming! We took photos with all the family before saying our goodbyes and heading back to the lodge.
The leopards were incredible, but what stayed with us most was the people we met.
A quick freshen up and dinner was served — more delicious food, more tea. One thing we could say was that we were being very well looked after here. After dinner we retreated to our lodge, happy to sink into that big comfortable bed one last time as tomorrow we move on.
After breakfast, the lodge kindly arranged a car to take us onwards to our next stop, Jodhpur (the Blue City). Away from the calm and back to the chaos — at least we’ve had a chance to mix it up.
We leave here with fond memories, and the thought that our photo probably now hangs in Veejay’s family home.
Jodhpur
In just over three hours we travelled from our safari lodge in Bera to the blue city of Jodhpur. The lodge arranged a car and driver, making the journey completely hassle-free — exactly the way we like to travel.
Leaving the peace of the countryside behind, our Rajasthan journey brought us back to the city — the crowds, the noise and the chaos. But it also brings us to a place boasting one of the most magnificent forts not just in Rajasthan, but in all of India: Mehrangarh Fort.
We were staying in a small hotel in the old town, close to the Clock Tower, a well-known landmark in Jodhpur. Our driver could only get as far as the tower; beyond this point the streets are narrow and accessible only by rickshaws and scooters. We had suspected this, so it was no surprise, and the hotel was only a five-minute walk away.
Well, one thing we weren’t exaggerating about when we said we were heading back to the chaos — boom, here we go again: horns blaring, traffic everywhere, dogs, cows… yes, this is India. Thankfully, we’re quite used to it by now.
We arrived at the hotel unscathed — just! The room we’d chosen was advertised as having fort views, but we didn’t realise quite how good they would be until we opened the balcony doors. There it was, in all its glory: a beast of a fortress rising from a rocky cliff, guarding the city.
But the fort isn’t the only reason to visit Jodhpur. Known as the Blue City, we planned to explore the maze of winding lanes painted in countless shades of blue.
Staying in the heart of the city was a good choice; from here we could reach the fort and the Blue City on foot, and a few other attractions I’d read about were only a short rickshaw ride away.
The hotel had a roof terrace, so we went up there first. From the terrace there were views across the rooftops stretching in every direction, and beyond them the fort dominated the skyline — it was pretty spectacular. A cheeky beer was in order too; it would have been rude not to sit in such a beautiful place in the afternoon sun. We made sure we didn’t get too carried away, as we wanted to have a wander around the area.
A few minutes’ walk from our hotel was Toorji Ka Jhalra, a beautifully restored stepwell dating back to the 18th century. Before running water, these stepwells were essentially the city’s water system — people collected water, washed, met friends and escaped the heat there.
Even today it’s a popular social space, with lots of people sitting on the steps chatting with friends.
From there we simply wandered the surrounding streets with no real plan. However, walking these streets is no easy task: rickshaws squeeze through impossible gaps, cows stroll down the middle of the road, and dogs doze in the shade. Scooters appear from nowhere and horns sound without warning, scaring the living daylights out of you.
As you walk, everyday life unfolds around you — tiny shops all specialising in something different, food stalls frying snacks in large metal woks, and people going about their day. It was chaotic, noisy and slightly overwhelming at times, but also endlessly fascinating.
It was getting late, so we escaped to a more peaceful setting at one of the rooftop restaurants. The fort was now illuminated, making a rather gorgeous backdrop. A perfect end to the day, I’d say. Tomorrow we would head up to the fort to see it in all its glory — we couldn’t wait.
After breakfast on our lovely rooftop, we set off towards the fort. The streets were a maze, twisting and weaving, but as long as we were heading roughly in the right direction I was sure we’d eventually find our way.
The narrow lanes were full of life — people going about their everyday routines: preparing food, chatting in doorways, sweeping. The ladies here are always sweeping dust from one place to another. It feels like a pointless task because it’s never actually picked up, just moved aside… but they’ve been doing it this way for years, so who am I to question it?
The streets aren’t the cleanest. I’d like to say it adds character, but honestly it doesn’t. Which is a shame, because there’s so much real character in these little lanes, and a lot of effort has gone into the street art.
There’s lots if dogs here just like in udaipur, also cows wandering freely and plenty of goats. We even saw a group of goats wearing little hoodies — apparently the latest fashion trend.
“Goodies.”
Sorry — I promise there won’t be any more terrible goat jokes.
We carried on past blue-painted houses, small courtyards and temple walls. As the village thinned out, the path began to climb more steeply, turning into a stone-paved ramp. From here the fort loomed above us and its scale became clear — massive sandstone walls rising almost vertically.
We continued up the zigzagging path. The stone steps were worn smooth by centuries of feet, and the fort walls towered directly overhead, blocking much of the sky. It was a beast, that’s for sure.
Finally we reached the entrance. From here you get amazing views. Looking out across Jodhpur, the colour of the old town became obvious — a sea of blue broken by sandstone buildings and the occasional temple spire. The view would only get better, as we were still only at the entrance and the fort itself towered above us.
After buying our tickets we headed up the steep path towards the gates, listening to the audio guide as it explained the history along the way.
Mehrangarh Fort was founded in 1459 by Rao Jodha, the Rajput ruler who established the city of Jodhpur. He moved his capital here from nearby Mandore because this rocky hill was far easier to defend, and over the next 500 years successive rulers gradually expanded the fort.
A local legend says a hermit living on the hill cursed the kingdom when he was forced to leave during construction. To appease the curse, a temple was built and, according to tradition, a man sacrificed his life in the foundations so the fort would prosper.
Mehrangarh wasn’t only a military stronghold — it was also the royal residence of the Marwar rulers. The palaces inside were where the maharajas held court, celebrated festivals, and governed their kingdom.
The royal family later moved to Umaid Bhawan Palace in the 20th century, but Mehrangarh remained the symbolic heart of Marwar, a statement of power visible across the Blue City below.
Visitors don’t see the entire fort, only the preserved palace section that has been turned into a museum complex. Mehrangarh is enormous, and the hilltop complex spreads far beyond the standard visitor route. What you follow today is a carefully planned path through the restored royal apartments, courtyards and galleries.
Once inside, the architecture is stunning: latticed balconies and screened windows allowed the royal women to watch ceremonies and life in the courtyards without being seen.
Some halls, like the audience chambers, have painted ceilings, gold decoration and coloured glass, showing the wealth of the Marwar rulers.
Mehrangarh really is spectacular. As you explore, you find yourself imagining what life was like here and whose footsteps you might be following.
Musicians added to the atmosphere and romance of the fort as we moved between the different areas.
I imagine we’ll visit many forts as we travel through Rajasthan, although I think this will be a hard act to follow.
A short walk from the fort was Jaswant Thada, the royal cenotaph. It felt like the perfect place to visit next before heading back down into the city.
Between the fort and the cenotaph you can’t miss the large bronze statue of Rao Jodha mounted on his horse.
Jaswant Thada isn’t very old, but it is strikingly beautiful, sitting on the hillside and gleaming white. It is built from the same Makrana marble used for the Taj Mahal. The monument was constructed in 1899 by Maharaja Sardar Singh in memory of his father, Maharaja Jaswant Singh II, one of Jodhpur’s most respected rulers.
There was only a small fee to enter. The memorial sits beside a small lake and, unlike the fort, it wasn’t too crowded and felt much more peaceful. The architecture was elegant, with well-tended gardens and great views back across to Mehrangarh.
There was a little bit of Instagramming going on — but honestly, you can’t really escape that anywhere now.
We’d had a really good day exploring the fort and the memorial, and with the sun starting to soften we began the walk back down into the town — thankfully, this time it was all downhill.
Back at the hotel we didn’t have much time to rest, as we’d agreed to go on a city walk with our hotel owner, along with a group of three other Brits staying there whom we’d met on our arrival. We love meeting fellow travellers; it’s good to swap stories with like-minded folk.
Daanish, our hotel owner, wanted to show us the sides of Jodhpur he felt many tourists miss. We followed him single file through the narrow streets, trying not to get separated by a cow blocking the path or a passing rickshaw.
Along one street local craftsmen were making the famous lac bangles, sitting beside a small flame and rod, warming the material and shaping each bangle right in front of you. Many of the little shops drew crowds as people stopped to watch this traditional street craft.
We then left the busy street and wove our way into a more residential area where art was everywhere, with colourful murals along the walls and buildings. Every corner felt worthy of another photo.
We climbed upwards again, the fort looming above us, but this was a different side from the one we had ascended earlier. These steps brought us around the far side of the fort. We kept moving quickly as the sun was beginning to set and Daanish wanted to take us somewhere to watch it. He knew just the place and led us to the rooftop of a small café.
It turned out to be not only a perfect sunset spot, but also the most incredible viewpoint over the old Blue City. From here you could see the dense cluster of blue-painted houses Jodhpur is famous for. We had thought the scattered blue homes we’d passed earlier were it — but this was the real spectacle, hidden on the other side of the fort.
We knew immediately where we wanted to explore next — but that would be another day. For now we enjoyed our chai as we watched a fabulous sunset.
We parted ways here; our new friends had planned dinner down in the old Blue City, so we walked back with Daanish. What an amazing day. We’d seen so much, definitely got the steps in, and earned a lovely dinner back on the hotel rooftop.
The next morning we retraced our steps from the night before, climbing back up the hillside to the café before dropping down again into the heart of the Old Blue City.
It was noticeably bluer around here, with murals and artwork on almost every building. We passed a beautiful hotel set within an old haveli and couldn’t resist a quick peek inside. The staff were more than happy to let us look around — future customers, after all.
It was absolutely stunning. The grandeur of these old buildings, combined with the romance of the décor — fine fabrics, cushions, and beautifully carved woodwork — made it hard to leave. I love a menu, so I had a quick look and couldn’t believe how reasonable it was. For such finery, the prices were surprisingly affordable, so once we discovered that, we headed up to the roof terrace for a spot of lunch, with great views of the fort, this time from the other side.
After lunch we continued exploring. The streets went on and on, and we took so many pictures. At times it felt almost biblical: donkeys were being used to carry sand while we watched a lady heating a big old-fashioned iron with hot coals. It was fascinating.
The area was charming, yet alongside the colour and character there was also everyday life — not all polished. Like many places, the photographs capture its beauty, but they don’t always tell the whole story. Still, it’s easy to see why people fall for the Old Blue City: imperfect, but all the more memorable for it.
Later that evening we visited a rooftop restaurant recommended by the group we’d met at the hotel. It turned out to be a great shout: a Rajasthani band was playing, creating a lively atmosphere, the food was outstanding, and the view — well, that spoke for itself.
Walking back to the hotel the funniest thing we saw was dogs sleeping on car roofs. They must climb up later in the day as the temperature drops and the metal surface is still warm.
So many roofs were dented because of this. We even noticed some cars with plastic covers fitted with spikes — obviously invented to solve the problem. The funny thing was we still saw dogs on top of cars with this deterrent.
Someone said that idea lasted all of five minutes before the dogs figured out how to lie between the spikes anyway.
We had one full day left, so we’d saved it to visit a couple of attractions just outside town. First on our list was Umaid Bhawan Palace. From many places in the city you can see this enormous palace in the distance, sitting up on a hill.
The palace was built between 1928 and 1943 by Maharaja Umaid Singh. At the time Jodhpur was going through a severe famine, and the Maharaja commissioned the palace as a massive public works project to give employment to thousands of local people. For about 15 years, villagers literally carried stone up the hill by hand. In a very real way, the palace fed the city.
It isn’t a typical Rajput palace. The architect was British (Henry Vaughan Lanchester), so it became a mix of grand domes, sweeping staircases and symmetrical gardens, but also jharokha balconies and traditional stone carving. It was built as a modern palace with elevators, indoor plumbing and central heating — in 1930s Rajasthan it was wildly futuristic.
What makes the palace unusual today is that it’s divided into three parts: a royal residence — the Jodhpur royal family still lives there; a luxury hotel — run by Taj Hotels (one of the most expensive stays in India, where movie stars and weddings are common); and a museum — the part we could visit.
The museum section is quite small but interesting, very 1930s aristocratic India: a vintage clock collection, old photographs of the royal family, art deco furniture and a line of classic cars outside, including Rolls-Royces.
We didn’t need much time there, but we were glad we came.
Next we headed out of town to Mandore Gardens.
Before Jodhpur, Mandore was the original capital of Marwar. The rulers lived here until Rao Jodha founded Jodhpur in 1459 and shifted everything to the safety of Mehrangarh’s rocky hill — Mandore sat on open ground and was too exposed to attacks, so it was abandoned and later kept as a royal memorial site.
That alone made it feel worth a visit. Today the historic park is dotted with remains of the old royal city, but the real stars are the cenotaphs: huge red-sandstone, almost temple-like structures with tall pillared halls, carved spires and incredibly detailed stonework.
The place itself is much older (there was a settlement here as early as the 6th–7th century), though the cenotaphs you see now are newer — most were built between the 17th and 19th centuries as memorials after each ruler’s death.
The gardens themselves are a great local hangout, especially at weekends when they’re popular with families for picnics. We’d avoided the weekend for this reason, today was a Monday so at least it was quieter. The gardens are also home to lots of langur monkeys — they are everywhere. You know how much we love seeing monkeys: history and wildlife, our perfect combo!
After visiting the cenotaphs we were more than happy to walk around the park observing the monkeys. Langurs are not an aggressive species, so you don’t feel too threatened, although we still kept a firm grip on our belongings — you never know.
We love seeing them play and interact with each other, the young ones are so funny. There were also lots of babies, one mother was feeding two, I read that it’s highly unlikely they were twins.
Sometimes a baby just wanders to the wrong mum and she goes, “yeah fine,” and feeds it. Basically, they run a shared childcare system. It’s one of the reasons langur troops are so successful — they basically invented communal babysitting.
Later that evening we returned to the rooftop bar with the Rajasthani band — why not? It was our last night and, if anything like our previous visit, promised a great atmosphere and good food.
The second time around didn’t disappoint. A group of young Indian men were loving the band, up and dancing along — it was brilliant. It brought our time here to a fitting end.
Next in Rajasthan we are heading deeper into the desert to Jaisalmer. Travelling by daytime bus, the five-hour journey will take us steadily away from the hills and into the sands of the Thar.
Jaisalmer
Next stop Jaisalmer, a Rajasthani town in the Thar Desert not far from the Pakistan border. We booked a daytime bus this time as it’s only a five-hour trip from Jodhpur — a short journey by Indian standards. The only reservations we had (yet again) were about the vagueness of the bus pick-up point — the company we booked with didn’t even seem that sure, so God help us. We had an approximate location on a busy roundabout, of all places. I won’t lie, we weren’t optimistic.
We took a taxi to the vague drop-off by some chai stalls and asked if buses actually stopped there. Apparently they do — but only if you phone the driver, as it’s a busy road and they won’t stop automatically. Not ideal.
There was a bus station just five minutes away, and with the number on my ticket not connecting (despite the chai guy kindly trying), we made a last-minute decision to dash there instead. If everything went wrong, at least we could buy another ticket.
We ran across the busy road with our luggage and started asking around. Most people said no — until one man appeared, checked our ticket and said, “Follow me.” He led us to a completely different bus, ushered us on, pointed to two single seats and asked if they were okay. We didn’t hesitate.
A minute later, we were pulling away.
It definitely wasn’t the bus we’d booked. Parcels filled the aisle, people sat on top of them, and the windows provided “natural AC.” But we had seats and we were heading to Jaisalmer.
Only in India.
The journey wasn’t too bad in the end — it felt like one long road stretching into the desert. Again, we were the only Westerners on board, so locals were keen to chat.
It was getting dark when we arrived at the small bus stand on the outskirts of the city. The usual crowd of rickshaw drivers bombarded us, offering rides. We agreed a fare and were soon on our way to the hotel.
I’d slightly misjudged the location when booking the hotel. I’d hoped to stay near — or even inside — the Fort, but this one was about a 20-minute walk away. Not the end of the world as we don’t mind walking, and there are always rickshaws if needed.
On the drive there, we noticed it didn’t feel as chaotic as Jodhpur or Udaipur. The roads were wider and it already seemed much easier to get around — so that was a positive.
The hotel was beautiful — probably one of the cheapest we’d had in a while, yet somehow the most luxurious. No complaints whatsoever.
After settling in, we decided we’d try out that 20-minute walk down to the Fort area. Along the way, we noticed the cow population here seemed to increase — there were so many. Dogs as well, but most definitely more cows! The whole place smelled of cows — the fragrance of Jaisalmer — and we hadn’t even got to the camels yet… ha!
We were right about the roads — they were far easier to walk. Aside from dodging cows, you didn’t feel like a scooter or rickshaw was about to take you out every two seconds — now just every 30. Yeah, not totally quiet.
As we neared the fort, we heard the familiar sound of drums — we’d bet it was a wedding. Yes, we were right. A procession was heading our way, the groom on a white horse. A car with an enormous speaker blared out Indian music while people danced in the street — fabulous! With the fort lit up above, it was an incredible setting.
The fort here is different from most in India. Known as a living fort, around a quarter of the city’s population actually lives within its walls.
After the wedding procession, we headed to the main entrance. It was the perfect time to see the fort illuminated at night. Built from yellow sandstone, it rises from the desert in a golden glow — the reason Jaisalmer is known as the Golden City.
A cobbled path winds up into the fort, steadily climbing through archways with large, towering gates. It then opens into a courtyard, with small shops spilling out onto the path and hotels advertising the best rooftop views.
Later, we did need to find somewhere to eat, but decided to have a little wander first through the tiny streets off the square. It was actually very quiet. I think we’d expected lots of hustle and bustle, even at night, but it was quite the opposite — the shops were closing and there weren’t really many people about.
The streets, though, were magical — little lanes lined with beautiful buildings, balconies and intricate latticework. We loved what we’d seen so far. For now, we’d seek supper and return by day to see it properly alive.
One of the gorgeous rooftop restaurants overlooking the city was the setting for our first Rajasthani vegetarian thali — a large metal platter filled with small bowls of curries, fragrant rice, roti, chutney and pickles. It was all delicious and with the stunning views, made for the perfect first night.
Walking back, we heard the unmistakable sound of firecrackers and music. More wedding celebrations? It was — but a completely different one. Another groom on a white horse, and alongside him another horse carrying young children. We’d noticed earlier that the previous groom also had a small child riding with him. We later read it’s considered a symbol of good luck and a blessing for the groom’s new married life — usually a family member, like a niece or nephew.
This procession was even wilder than the first — firecrackers exploding, music blaring, the whole street vibrating with energy. This time, ice creams were being handed out to the crowds.
Perfect. Don’t mind if I do.
Whilst I enjoyed the ice cream, I watched Shane being dragged into the celebrations — so funny, as I know it’s totally out of his comfort zone. However, he surprised me and embraced it. With an atmosphere like this, I suppose it’s hard not to.
After all the excitement we decided to take a rickshaw back to the hotel. For under a quid, it was a no-brainer — lots of time for walking. Plus, it made us realise our hotel wasn’t in a bad location after all.
The following day, we had to go in search of a new laptop. Ours had finally given up the ghost after playing up for weeks and, add to that the poor WiFi, it was becoming difficult to keep up with our journal. Hmmm, laptop shopping in a desert town — well, you never know!
There were a couple of stores, mainly offering used or refurbished models. We ended up making a deal (still overpaid), but we needed something to get us by and, to be honest, I think we did alright — at least we got one. Now we had loads of catching up to do.
In no rush to move on, Jaisalmer felt like the perfect place for some downtime. After being on the road for so long, every now and again you need to slow down — we just didn’t expect it to be in a desert town of all places.
But the pace here was slower. Our room was comfortable, we could catch up on the journal, and we finally had good WiFi (another surprise in the desert). We even managed a few movie nights.
There were plenty of great restaurants on our doorstep, all with rooftop terraces. It was the opposite of dining in the fort — from here, you looked towards it, not from it. We spent several evenings watching the sunset as the golden fort glowed and slowly lit up.
With the journal up to date and energy restored, it was time to turn our attention back to the fort and the old town.
Passing cows, more cows, a few goats, dogs — and yes, more cows — we wandered into the older part of town just outside the main fort walls. Narrow sandstone lanes were lined with small shops and handicraft stalls.
Architecturally, it’s beautiful — carved yellow sandstone buildings, intricate jharokha balconies, and detailed facades. It’s more residential, less maze-like than inside the fort, but still full of character. It feels historic without being overly touristy.
We love seeing everyday life unfold — scooters weaving through, cows wandering (still more cows), locals chatting outside doorways and sweeping their entrances. We saw one man sitting on a platform feeding a whole herd of cows, chopping up fresh vegetables for them. He told us he does it every day before going to work. He likes to make sure the cows here have a better diet, as you see so many scavenging through bins, eating cardboard and other rubbish.
In the centre of the old town is Nathmal Ki Haveli, a 19th-century mansion built for the prime minister at the time. This architectural masterpiece is famous for its stunning yellow sandstone work, intricate carvings and delicate jharokhabalconies.
Unlike some havelis that are fully converted into museums, parts of Nathmal Ki Haveli are still privately owned and lived in. You can visit inside and walk through parts of it, but we chose not to — we were more than happy to admire it from the outside.
The streets around the haveli were much more touristy, with musicians playing and stalls selling puppets and other souvenirs.
We continued through the winding streets, making our way towards the fort. On the way, we passed a popular street food stall — people queuing is always a good sign, whatever they’re cooking. We discovered it was kachori: a deep-fried, round pastry stuffed with a spiced lentil filling — oh yes! We’ll have two of those, please. Apparently, here they’re breakfast royalty — best eaten standing up, slightly burning your fingers, wondering how something so simple tastes that good. We’ll definitely be having those again.
Daytime at the fort was a different story — busy with tourists and street vendors, motorbikes and tuk-tuks whizzing about, and the cows still king of the road. Musicians played while large tour groups congregated. There was lots of hustle and bustle, but in a good way.
Narrow lanes twist and climb past centuries-old homes, many still lived in by families who’ve been there for generations. Doorways are framed with intricate carvings, and delicate jharokha balconies lean over the streets.
Shops spill onto the lanes selling textiles, silver jewellery and handicrafts — it’s a living, breathing neighbourhood. Children run through alleyways, residents sweep doorsteps, and you realise you’re not just visiting a fort… you’re stepping into someone’s daily life.
Tucked between the houses are boutique hotels and guesthouses, most advertising rooftop cafés with views over the city. We stopped at one overlooking the beautiful 12th-century Jain temples within the fort. From the rooftop, we were able to admire the incredibly detailed golden spires, delicately carved with terraces of lotus motifs and tiny figures. From here, we also had views over the city towards Gadisar lake in the distance.
After a rest and refuel, we continued, happily getting lost in the maze of narrow streets — often coming to dead ends and backtracking, then finding passageways leading to the walls. There, we discovered we could walk along sections and peer out from the lookout points in the fort’s walls, taking in the golden city below and the desert beyond.
After exploring every nook and cranny, we made our way out of the fort, happy to walk back to the hotel this time. It had been a great day.
Our hotel was situated just in front of the Vyas Chhatri, a historical architectural site with beautiful sandstone cenotaphs. The site sits in an old Brahmin memorial ground, and the cluster of cenotaphs creates a unique, peaceful setting. It’s famous for sunsets; however, we decided to walk over during the day. We paid a small entrance fee and basically had the place to ourselves. Each cenotaph is beautifully carved, a lovely example of Rajasthani craftsmanship in sandstone.
We didn’t need much time there, just enough to photograph and admire. The days are definitely heating up here, and there wasn’t much shade to be had, so we moved on. Our plan was to walk to the lake on the other side of the fort. We could have taken a rickshaw, but we’ve been lacking on the old step count, so as long as we keep hydrated and try to walk in the shade, we’d be fine.
Continuing past the fort entrance, it was only around 15 minutes to Gadisar Lake. We didn’t know too much about it, although as we approached we discovered it’s pretty popular with the locals. We’re always losing track of the days, but noted it was a Sunday — so no wonder it was busy.
It’s not a huge lake, and it’s definitely not wild nature — it’s man-made — but it has this soft, golden stillness that just fits Jaisalmer perfectly.
It was originally built in the 14th century by Maharawal Gadsi Singh (hence the name) as the main water source for Jaisalmer. In a desert town, that wasn’t just decorative — it was survival. Before modern plumbing, this lake basically kept the city alive.
It was easy on the eye, with ornate sandstone cenotaphs, small shrines and temples lining the water’s edge.
The most photographed feature is the beautiful entrance gateway, Tilon Ki Pol — a delicate golden arch you walk through before reaching the water.
Like many of our lakes and parks back home, there were even pedalos — it’s clearly a place where locals come to gather and picnic, with snack stalls dotted around and a couple of simple lakeside restaurants.
Looking out across the water, the view opens towards scrubland and the desert beyond. But when we wandered along the pathway and turned back, that’s when it became special — the golden fort rising above the city, glowing against the sky. It was a pretty spectacular sight.
We stopped for a drink at one of the cafés by the lakeside — it was nice to relax in the shade before heading back into town.
