Dear old Anjuna, that stalwart on India’s hippy scene, still drags out the sarongs and sandalwood each Wednesday for its famous – and once infamous – flea market. Though it continues to pull in droves of backpackers, midrange tourists are increasingly making their way here for a dose of hippie-chic without the beach-hut rusticity of Arambol further up the coast.
Meanwhile Anjuna remains filled with a weird and wonderful, if these days somewhat diminished, collection of defiant ex-hippies, overlanders, monks, gentle lunatics, artists, artisans, seers, searchers and itinerant expatriates who have wandered far from the organic confines of health-food emporia in San Francisco and London.
The village itself is certainly a bit ragged around the edges these days, but Anjuna remains a favourite of long-stayers and first-timers alike. It’s spread out over a wide area, its most northerly point being the main Starco crossroads, where most buses stop and around which many eating options are dotted, and its southernmost point is the flea market site, about 2km to the south. Most accommodation and other useful services are sprinkled along the beach, or down shady inland lanes in between.