Letter from Goa - The Baga South Run

The first time I did the "Baga South" run in Goa was on a Saturday afternoon in March 2006. Having slammed more than a few beers the previous night over live music at the Cavala Beach Resort on Baga Beach, I woke up on Saturday morning with a hangover from hell. A dose of Tylenol helped somewhat, but a stroll on Baga Beach convinced me that what I really needed in order to feel better was a nice long run.

A little while later, I was at the north end of Baga Beach, right by a creek that flows into the sea. The stretch of beach looked inviting, and off I went barefoot, headed southwards. This was my first barefoot run, and it was a lovely feeling, running on the soft sands. It was a warm afternoon, but the sea breeze coming in kept me cool. Within a mile or so from the north end of Baga Beach, I ran into vast crowds at Calangute Beach – the scene reminding me of Juhu Beach in the evenings (I have fond memories of Juhu Beach – many years ago I used to meet the girl I was madly in love with for dinner at a restaurant right on Juhu Beach – happily she is now my wife). Further south the crowds thinned, and I settled into something of a rhythm, although the varying textures of the sand meant that keeping the same pace for more than a couple of minutes was difficult. About 45 minutes into the run, I ran past the “River Princess”, a ship that had run aground – I didn’t know it at the time, and remember wondering how such a big boat could be anchored so close to shore. At roughly the 55-minute mark I saw that the beach dead-ended in a stone wall. I made a U-turn a little short of the wall, running north now towards Baga Beach.

When I finally reached the north end of Baga, I was quite spent. Crawling into a shack, I ordered two bottles of Limca, which I dispatched speedily. I asked the waiter the distance to the other end of the beach, and he shrugged his shoulders and said something like, “I don’t know, but it must be 4-5 kilometers.” I could scarcely believe it, since I had been running for just short of 2 hours, and although it had been a plod through the beach, my own reckoning was that I had run at least 8 miles. The waiter, clearly unimpressed with my estimate, pooh-poohed it and repeated quite emphatically that the distance couldn’t be more than 5 kilometers. Jesus – was I disappointed! My reaction must have been apparent, because it elicited a chuckle from a guy at the next table. He offered to buy me a drink, which I had to decline, because I couldn’t bear the thought of more alcohol after the previous night’s binge drinking. I told him that he could pay for my Limcas, but it was now his turn to refuse, on the grounds that a Limca didn’t qualify as a legitimate drink in his book. My kind of guy! We struck up a brief conversation over a drink – he nursing a Gimlet, and me on my third Limca, during which I found out that he was an Englishman who had settled in Goa some years ago. He ran a business helping people invest in property there. He lived on an island on the Mandovi River, and had come to spend the day at Baga Beach with his lovely family. After thanking him for his offer to buy me a drink, I left for the hotel exhausted and a little disappointed that all I could log for that afternoon’s run was 10 kilometers. I was sure that the course was longer, but to prove it I would have to repeat the run on another trip with my GPS watch.

Well, my turn came a little less than a year later in February 2007, when I spent three days in North Goa. Equipped with a Garmin Forerunner GPS watch, I eagerly reached the north end of Baga Beach at 9:00 AM on a lovely Saturday morning. With the vast, open skies over Baga Beach, the Forerunner had no trouble acquiring satellite lock, unlike in Bangalore where it usually has a devil of a time finding the orbiting GPS satellites through tree cover and high-rises. The run itself was enormous fun, with the cool sea breeze compensating for the warmth of the day and no hangover to deal with. As expected I ran into the teeming crowds at Calangute Beach a little over a mile into the run, where I had to weave and dodge my way through masses of sunbathers, beach soccer, beach cricket and beach volleyball enthusiasts, apart from the occasional Yamaha Waverunner water jet skis that came hurtling onto the beach at near supersonic speeds with their grinning occupants clearly enjoying the high speed thrills. Even on quieter stretches the running was not always easy; at some places the sand was firm, so that I could pick up the pace a bit, while on other stretches, my feet sank into the soft, wet sand, slowing me down to a crawl. Still, running barefoot on a beach with the waves lapping at your heels beats running in the city every time. A little further south from the marooned “River Princess”, the Forerunner showed that I had already crossed the 4-mile mark, with a half mile of beach still to go. At the stone wall at the end of the beach, my Forerunner read 4.60 miles. Fantastic – so I’d been right after all in my reckoning a year ago! Touching the stone wall, I headed back towards Baga Beach, finishing the entire run in 1:49:52, before collapsing onto an inviting chair at the Shining Star shack on Baga Beach. The Forerunner had logged 9.18 miles. Treating myself to twin Limcas again, I celebrated some more with a Daiquiri, a bowl of fresh watermelon, an Aloo Paratha, a couple of cans of Diet Coke and a hot cup of tea to round out a motley, but hugely satisfying breakfast.

The day was gorgeous. The beach looked enchantingly beautiful. Stretched on a beach chair with a full belly, a perfect run behind me, and a lazy day stretching ahead of me, there was nothing more I could ask for. Except another Daiquiri, that is.