The other day while we were on the beach, an Indian man came up to us and said "Excuse me, but are you thinking of going to the Anjuna market on Wednesday? If you are, I can sell you a bus ticket there and back for R150. The bus takes you right to the market". Now normally when approached by anyone selling something our first reaction is to dismiss it out of hand, but on this occasion we were interested.

We'd heard about the Anjuna market and it was somewhere we wanted to go, and R150 seemed very reasonable. "How do we know which bus to get?" we asked. "Don't worry" he said, "there'll be lots of people the same colour as you!". We wondered later why we had been interested in his offer, and we decided it was because he was pleasant and spoke very good English. Most of the people who approach you with something to sell have a minimal grasp of English and are simply annoying.

So today, being Wednesday, we, and others the same colour as us, board two buses at Colva roundabout at 9.30am and set off for the market. The journey time is about an hour and a half, and during that time we're regaled with music from a tape which is probably entitled 'Muzak you like to hear once only and then get very fed up with' which is played at an unnecessarily high volume and repeated about three times. On the bus is an ageing German hippy with bleached blond hair, many bangles, bracelets and anklets, and a vacant look in his eyes which suggests he isn't quite with it today, or indeed any day. He seems to enjoy the music, even on the third play, and wants to love everyone. Someone mutters something about "punching his lights out if he comes near me" in a Macunian accent.

The market is huge. Even Clive, not the most enthusiastic when it comes to markets, is impressed. It's been going a few years and started just back from the beach, but has spread inland and now extends well into a field behind the coconut palms. Most of the stalls are temporary structures set up in rows, with a few permanent restaurants nearer the beach. The market is in full swing when we arrive. You can buy anything from clothes to musical instruments, wooden elephants to CDs, and anything else besides. Many items are duplicated and competition is fierce.

The vendors seem to have picked up a number of sayings from the predominantly English tourists. "Cheap as chips" and "Lovely jubbly" are two phrases they like to use. Sarah buys plenty of bling for dancing, and Clive buys some Hindi lounge/trance music. Haggling is the name of the game, but we get the best deal shortly before we leave to catch the bus home. We go into a stall selling leather sandals and Clive tries a few on. "How much?" "R750 sir". "Oh dear," we say "we've spent all our money, sorry we'll have to leave it". With that ploy, we finally come away with a pair of sandals for R250, about NZ$8 or Á£2.50! When we board the bus home the German hippy suggests putting on the music, but everyone else choruses "No!", so we journey home in silence.