Normal beach scene as I look along a row of sunbeds.
First, and English couple with a two week tan. Man, earrings and tattoes, reading the Times of India who has finally found a small paragraph about the Premier League underneath three columns about a plucky Goan gymnast who has come fifth in Delhi.
Lady, once more being fleeced by a jewellery seller making the most of the local police having lunch.
Second, a Russian group. The men have gone swimming whilst the ladies are bossing all the shack boys about as they arrange four sunbeds in a row. On the sand, yapping into a mobile phone, is a 20 year old Russian girl in a micro bikini.
Close by are a group of Indian men, dressed for the beach in long trousers and shirts, who have paused to examine the Russian girl in minute detail. She is oblivious.
Next are a group of cows all looking like they have just failed an IQ test.
Further along is a nervous English lady not yet aware that asleep under her sunbed are two large dogs.
Finally, are three young Indians, all down from Mumbai for a weekend break. Two men, all designer sunglasses and bling, have just encouraged the owner to play high volume rap music out of the shack speakers. One lady, dressed daringly for an Indian female, insofar as her swim suit leaves only 20 % of her skin exposed. Back home they are telesales reps.
Not much else is happening. Occasionally a battered jeep passes, slowly rotting away through salt corrosion, carrying a bored lifesaver and a plain clothes cop. Lower down the food chain, uniformed police prowl, carrying huge sticks to beat small children trying to sell strawberries.
At low tide, sometimes a game of cricket breaks out. This will involve athletic young Indians who are very good, English men, mostly decrepit old geezers who are bored with the sunbed, and a collection of young boys and dogs. Russians, oblivious to the etiquette of the game, wander through the bowlers run up.