We've been subjected to a couple more money-grabbing schemes in the short time we've been here. One takes place in the evening while you're having a meal at one of the many eateries along the beach. Indian Santa Claus appears with a number of' 'elves' in tow - Indian kids wearing santa hats. Santa is wearing the normal santa garb, but because he's an Indian he's wearing a plastic mask that has a white santa face on it. It would probably scare young kids!

Santa goes round shanking hands with diners while the elves sing totally inappropriate Christmas songs such as 'I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas' and 'Jingle Bells'. Another elf brings round a tray of money inviting people to donate. There's absolutely no indication of what the money is to be used for. As soon as they've finished and dispersed, they huddle together and share out the takings, before proceeding on to the next restaurant. Many people presumably think they're giving to some kind of charity, or maybe they've enjoyed the experience of having shaken hands with 'plastic' santa. The other scam involves a small boy who presses a piece of paper into your hand. It explains that the boy is deaf, dumb, and maladjusted, and urges you to contribute to a fund for a welfare scheme, presumably so he can become a pinball wizard. The paper has the title of an educational establishment and an official-looking stamp. It also contains a table with columns where previous contributors have put their names and the amount contributed. Donations of R500 and similar have already been given, apparently. When approached by aforesaid boy, we asked an Indian woman on the beach if he could hear, so she asked him a question in Hindi and it seems that his hearing was perfectly good. Surprise surprise!

This evening we take an auto-rickshaw for R50 the 3kms down the beach to Benaulim and dine at Domnick's (correct spelling) beach restaurant. Tables are actually on the sand and the food is good. Domnick himself tries to differentiate his restaurant from the many others by having fireworks, a bonfire, and a fire-twirling act. There's also a fairly bad singer with a karaoke machine who, it seems, didn't get the song lyrics with the machine, so has interpreted them himself. For example, to Dire Straits' 'Walk of Life' he appears to be singing "Do the rock of life". As the singer finishes and the DJ is announced, there's a power fault and everything is plunged into darkness apart from the candles on the tables. By the time power is restored we've got bored, paid and left. The auto-rickshaws now demand R150 for taking us back to Colva, which we negotiate down to R70, but Clive still refuses to pay the extra R20 (Meanie - it was all of 70 cents - Sarah) so we walk home (forced march) along the beach.