Strange one this because we have been back nearly three weeks now and for some reason this little tale keeps bothering me.

Not sure why as we have been going for years and are usually immune to any sad stories.
Not that this is a sad story maybe more of a typical Goan story.
Anyway here is how it goes.

As I said we have been going for years and are well used to people trying to attach themselves to you and also well used to having a good chat with the various characters at the various shacks.
After using Café Roma for a couple of days on Calangute Beach and being distinctly unimpressed with the service compared to that we received in November albeit when there was not even a shack built we moved on.

On our scooter we got and found ourselves at the oddly named Rovers Return Shack.
Hate to spoil this for us next year but this is a little gem. Loads of room between the beds and if you want Sunday Dinners (we did not).

Having said that the actual service was not that much different from Café Roma. Maybe just me but back in the day the shack lads used to be around all the time checking if you needed anything. Maybe late in the season but whatever.

I digress. The Rovers return attracts its usual share of sellers and each day a young lad would come around selling 3 rupee newspapers for 10 rupees.
I got in the habit of buying The Times of India each day from this engaging young chap and before long the paper was waiting on the sunbed along with our towels which we got into the habit of leaving at the shack.

Not only was the paper waiting but the towels were perfectly arranged by the newspaper lad (Satish aged 13).

Satish had competition in the form of 3 other young lads who all vied for my money. I being a loyal sort of chap stuck with Satish.

It started with me buying him a bottle of water. Next day they were all around the bed playing as kids do and Satish whispered he would like Coke.

Fine I thought cheeky little sod is not happy sharing a litre of water see how he likes sharing a coke.
Of course it was not long before I was buying 2 Cokes and then 4 and this was every day.
No big deal only 80 rupees a day and unfailingly they would come and sit on our sunbeds and drink their cokes and shake our hands and thank us and generally just be really happy kids.

To be honest we got to quite look forward to seeing Satish his brother and two cohorts all shaking our hands and sitting and getting a bit of shade.

The rule seemed to be they could not come back for their free coke until they had all sold their news papers.

I asked Satish why none of them went to school and he told me it was a holiday. Patently untrue as we witnessed the kids each day dressed immaculately in their uniforms going to school. Plainly these kids were the Goan equivalent of street kids albeit reasonably wealthy ones compared to the kids of Mumbai.

The next move was Satish trying to get me to buy him a T shirt. I resisted and just kept it to a coke each a day.

I then made the classic mistake of letting slip when we were going home. Well the last day Satish made his big push.

As well as the usual four cokes he now wanted 4 plates of chips. He was of course very used to hitting on our generosity understanding we were at our most vulnerable on our last day.

I agreed to 2 plates of chips to be shared amongst the four of them.

At lunchtime Satish came and told me he wanted "hotel chips". I at first did not understand what he meant and then got it. He wanted to have the chips at the shack.

I found what transpired next quite funny. I had to order the "hotel chips" and then they all trooped up to the shack and sat at a table waiting for their food.

When the two plates of chips arrived we were watching from another table. Satish made the shack lad go back and get 2 extra plates and cutlery and then divided up the food perfectly between the four of them.

I of course then had a guilt trip about why I could not have just got four chips.

When they had finished they all came over and said thank you and that was it. I did however buy them some water to wash down the food.

We were dismissed. When they would have usually came back late afternoon for a chat and a play with our phones he knew we had spent our last rupee on them and just moved on.

They just went looking for someone else to hustle.

Not complaining just observing what it must be like to live like that. See people for a couple of weeks and try to get as much out of them as they can and then move on.

Just what have we done to Goa?

How would these kids' lives turn out if we were not there?

How will their lives turn out with us going there?

I am not in the least bit sentimental but it really has made me think of the impact we have on the locals.

This lad at 13 years of age was an expert hustler already understanding the concept of hitting us hard for two weeks.

This is not an unusual tale and most of you have seen this hundreds of times but for some reason it touched me enough to spend time writing and posting it.

Still sat here thinking of those kids.

Hope it was not a complete load of tosh

Papa