We got out of the car and entered the flea market consisting of make-shift thatched huts which I believe are rented out by the square foot. Tibetan, Gujarathi, Rajasthani, and a great deal of westerners sell almost everything under the sun: brightly dyed clothes, trinkets, oxidized silverware, beach wear, incense sticks, spices, semi-precious stones, imported cigarettes, etc., etc. In fact, we saw a westerner sitting on his motorcycle and it took us some time to realize that the motorcycle was for sale!

We bargained (it's become a habit by now!) for some ethnic-styled pens and settle for Rs 20 per pen (down from Rs 50). We picked up a dozen so that we could give them away to our friends in Chennai (Madras); when we paid for them, the lady was short of 20 Rs so she gave us two bracelets to compensate. We got back to the taxi and told the driver of our purchases only to get a sarcastic smile and some advice on how to bargain. He told us that the pens were hardly worth 10Rs and the bracelets not more than 5 Rs each. So much for all the effort! We decided that it's a FLEECE market rather than a Flea market and headed back to our room.

Anjuna, that's where they are. The flea market. In Anjuna all souvenir stalls are full with silk lamp shades, embroidered table cloths, bangles, anklebands, and sarons flapping in the wind.

Every seller has his own territory, neatly cordonned off. Every seller asks three times over the odds.
"Yes, I know saffran".
"Cheap?!"
"No, not really." The vendor doesn't believe me, "good quality", he assures me.
I haggle, I pay too much. My personal contribution to the third world.

The Anjuna flea market is no longer what it used to be. Two or three decades ago when the well-heeled tourists had not yet taken over Goa's beaches this market was the meeting place for the hippies. It was a barter market, surplus belongings changed owners, English books were in great demand, gossip was exchanged. These days there's not a hippie in sight. Vendors from all over India come to Goa to try their luck. All year round there are tourists in Goa. On Wednesday they're all in Anjuna.

Taxis come and go. Others come by boat. "On Wednesday no fishing", says an old fisherman who is mending nets, "lucrative business, transporting tourists".