Are you looking for some of the most exquisite seafood known to man? Join us on a 700km pilgrimage along the Indian coast… by bike… to the heart of Konkani cuisine.

The sight in front us is… truly… BIBLICAL

Just a few yards away, on the gleaming white Keralan sand… mouth-watering manna from heaven is being served, right at our feet.

It’s a miracle.

But should it be happening right HERE? Right NOW? In the first half hour of our quest?

That’s the ‘why’ of our trip… to pedal the coast in search of the perfect Konkani meal.

We’re in Southern India, on Day One of a 700km cycle pilgrimage along the Konkan coast. In a country with almost 8,000km of beaches, we’ve chosen the Konkan because – as any Indian foodie will tell you – it’s one of the country’s pinnacles of seafood.

As the vineyards of Champagne can claim to be the cathedral of sparkling wine, the Konkan coast is arguably the Taj Mahal of fruits de mer. Which gives us the simple, existential ‘why’ of our trip: to pedal the coast in search of the perfect Konkani meal.

But standing on our first beach – is our foodie pilgrimage done, before it’s even started? Have we already found what we’re looking for?

Spool back a moment, and it’s Jeffin – friend and cycle guide – who first spots that something otherworldly is unfolding.

Just metres from the beach, a small flotilla of traditional fishing boats is bobbing close to the white water. Jeffin knows that something’s up. Any other day, these boats would be a dot on the horizon – but today they’re almost in the surf. You can see the concentration on the faces of the fishermen as they scan the shallow water. There’s a sense that everyone on the boats is holding their breath.

As the wave washes back, it leaves what looks like a string of glimmering fairy-lights on the beach.

The beach is just as tense. People are piling out of cars and jumping off scooters to hurry to the water. Word is spreading, crowds are heading down.

We drop the bikes, and scurry to the waves. Everyone’s studying the surf, but no one’s going in.

I have that ‘new-boy’ feeling that something is happening… and I’m the only one who doesn’t know what it is.

Suddenly, a bigger wave breaks. As it washes back, it leaves what looks like a string of silvery fairy-lights glimmering on the beach.

Sardines!

Hundreds of flickering, pristine sardines!

With every wave, people rush forward to collect the manna. Men in suits, women in traditional dress, children in denim. Everyone gathers the glinting fish in their bare hands. Soon, families have whole basketfuls.

A fish I’ve only ever seen in tins and on menus suddenly covers the beach. In a lifetime of sitting on beaches and sea swimming, I’ve never seen a single fish walk up the sand. Let alone glittering shoals of them.

We’re witnessing… a miracle?

Later that day, Jeffin and our friend Das cook our share of the manna on a camping stove. Within sight of the sea, they marinate the sardines in turmeric and chilli, and serve them pan-fried. We eat the fish whole, with fresh lime, to the sound of the surf.

The crispy skin crunches deliciously, like the sound like tiny seashells popping under bare feet. Chilli and lime break in waves over your palate. It’s exquisite.

But is it the ultimate Konkani meal?

We pedal on.

Travel north with us, along the Konkan.

Scroll down for the next chapter: ‘Mussel Men’