At Cola Beach in Canacona

The night after the Carnival I had woken in the small hours with a rod of ice replacing my backbone, despite an ambient air temperature of 25�C. My flesh undulated over my bones and the blue distempered walls of the simple guest-house bedroom room alternately contracted and expanded. Usually when this happens, I pile on three duvets and sweat it out. After 24 hours the fever abates and I am free to get on with living even if feeling somewhat fragile for the next couple of days. This time, though,there were no duvets, no blankets, nothing but a thin sheet. All I could do was pull on a pair of thick woolly socks I had worn to Manchester airport and the woollen pullover brought in anticipation of an expedition to the Western Ghats. That is probably why the fever this time lasted over thirty hours. If the coach tp Cola Beach had been due at dawn on the fourth day, there was no way I could have joined it. Luckily it did not depart until nearly noon so I tottered on and was rewarded with two entrancingly tranquil days , with nothing to do except lounge, swim, eat and chat with convivial companions round the evening bonfire.

I slept happily in a handmade tent imported from Rajasthan which contained all mod cons including a resident gecko perched on the shower and small flat frogs that clung to the inside of the toilet bowl and returned victoriously after every loo flush.

	Looking south towards the estuary where the water is gentler for swimming
Looking North
	A fishermen's boat protected from both sun and misfortune
Boats come in more than one size