GOA, the festering carbuncle on India’s otherwise placid posterior, has suffered another catastrophic blow to its already crumbling tourism industry. Official figures, likely plucked from the fevered imagination of a statistician with a bucket of cheap rum, suggest a 30 per cent collapse in foreign visitor numbers. And the British, poor sods, are being urged to exercise 'caution' before hopping on a jet to this sun-scorched hellscape of broken promises and aggressive beach vendors.
One must ask: caution about what, exactly? Caution about the fact that the once-pristine beaches now resemble a landfill site curated by a drunken modernist artist? Or caution about the local touts whose persistence would make a python blush? The official line from the Goa Tourism Development Corporation is a masterpiece of bureaucratic deflection, a gilded turd of corporate spin. They cite 'global economic headwinds' and 'competition from other destinations' as the culprits. But let's strip away the euphemisms, shall we? The simple fact is that Goa has become a bloated, decaying corpse of its former self, a destination that has been loved to death by budget airlines and package holiday purveyors.
This is tragedy incarnate, served with a side of vindaloo and a heaping scoop of schadenfreude. The British government, in its infinite wisdom, has now issued a travel advisory urging holidaymakers to 'exercise increased caution' due to 'rising crime and infrastructure strain.' Code for 'your hire car will be stolen, your wallet lifted by a mongoose trained for the task, and the hotel swimming pool will be filled with brackish water and the tears of failed entrepreneurs.'
The irony would be hilarious if it weren't so painful. The very tourists who once flocked to Goa for its 'authentic' charm are now fleeing in droves because that charm has been replaced by a grotesque pantomime of commercialism. The shack owners who once sold fresh fish now peddle overpriced pasta that tastes of nothing. The beach boys who once offered surf lessons now offer you a timeshare in a half-built resort. Goa has sold its soul to the devil of mass tourism, and the devil has just foreclosed on the mortgage.
And yet, the local politicians – a motley crew of opportunists and criminals – continue to wring their hands and blame everyone but themselves. The Chief Minister, a man whose grasp on reality is as firm as a wet paper bag, has proposed a 'heritage tourism' initiative. Translation: 'Let's persuade gullible Europeans to pay premium rates to visit a rotting Portuguese church and watch a man in a loincloth do a fire dance.' The sheer delusion is breathtaking.
But fear not, dear reader. There is always a silver lining. The plummeting visitor numbers mean that for the few brave, or perhaps insane, souls who do make the journey, there will be more room on the beach to contemplate the existential horror of it all. The flight prices will drop, the hotel rates will plummet, and the hustlers will finally have to work for their sales pitches. And if you're one of those adventurous Britons who simply must have a holiday in a place where the ice cubes are suspect and the wifi is a myth, then go with our blessing. But pack your sense of humour and a robust supply of gin. You'll need both.
As for the official 'caution' advisory, well, it's a bit like warning a condemned man not to trip on his way to the gallows. The damage is done, the tourists are fleeing, and Goa is left to drown in its own delusions. Cheers.
