Digha Tourism: A Sea, Some Sand, and a Lot of Snacks.
So if you fancy a beach that somehow is crowded and peaceful, sandy and mysteriously muddy, visit Digha to take your next great adventure. Located on the Bay of Bengal in West Bengal, India, Digha is the kind of place that promises relaxation, delivers chaos, and leaves you wanting more anyway and leaves no shortage of treats. The opening sight when you arrive in Digha isn’t the beach or the waves or even the smell of the sea. It’s the clear scent that accompanies fried fish. Like a friendly welcome signage, it floats through, except that the sign itself is a plate of freshly fried pomfret served by someone who knows you need to try it now. Digha takes its seafood seriously. If you don’t, don’t fret, there’s always chaat, chowmein, the good old ice cream to be had. Just be ready take them with a few swaggering, too-confident seagulls. Now, the very beach. The “Old Digha,” is rocky, rough and perfect for anyones that enjoys a walk on the seaside with slight danger. You walk into each and every inch of it; it’s a trust exercise between your feet and the rugged sandstones. “New Digha,” by contrast, is the contemporary brother, larger, tidier, and better for selfies. There are horse rides, toy trains and the occasional loudspeaker blaring Bollywood hits from 2007. Sunbathe if you want, although you’ll likely spend most of your day waving off hawkers (who are absolutely convinced) who think you need another seashell keychain. A trip to Digha is not enough without hitting up the local markets. You will encounter an impressive collection of conch shells, corals (real and very fake), and souvenirs that give you an impression that they may be the sorts you saw at Goa, Puri and your neighborhood fair. It is an art to negotiate here. The seller begins with a number that seems like a personal insult, and you follow up with one that makes them gasp dramatically. Somewhere in between, you agree on a price that is winning. For those who want “culture” in between their naps, there’s the Marine Aquarium and Research Centre. It’s tiny, but it’s charming, and you can gawk at different sea creatures while wondering if you’ve just inadvertently caught that fish at lunchtime. The nights in Digha are pure magic — if you carve out a corner for yourself away from the speakers and scooters. And suddenly the sky takes on an orange, dreamy hue, the waves crawl away on the shore and you doubt the whole plan that put you here, good in a way. Maybe Digha is less a spectacle than a reflection of the joy one derives from performing nothing at all while pretending it's good medicine. Is Digha everything there is? Of course not. But it is sincere and playful and endearingly crude around its edges. There’s a moment when you arrive here for a weekend, roll your eyes, laugh at the riot, and then, inexplicably, start planning your next trip before you’ve even left the venue. That’s Digha for you — a seaside paradox with saltwater and fried fish at its center. |
