Goa: Where Time Takes a Nap and So Should You
You start to feel as if what day it was and who your job title might be or why on earth you thought you needed spreadsheets somehow is lost in Goa. Maybe it's to breathe that salty air, or maybe water from coconut (one or two extra bits as though a little extra in) or perhaps Goa itself exists on its own enigmatic wavelength. Time doesn’t really stop here; it simply lingers, yawns, and opts to take a nap under a palm tree.
For the most part, most people arrive in Goa with visions of paradise. White beaches, soothing waves, bronzed people practicing yoga on the sand. And yes, all of that exists, but it generally subsists between a beach shack that rocks retro music, and a cow roaming down the road as if it owned the place. Which, to be fair, it most likely does. It seems like the locals are fine with it. They’ve also seen stranger things, tourists attempting to drive scooters after three King’s beers, for instance.
And as for tourists: Goa gets a pleasant cocktail. You will see backpackers in linen pants going on about “finding themselves,” families in sunscreen, snack-filled and sun-drenched clothes and honeymooners who have not yet discovered that romance fades a bit more quickly in 35-degree temperatures. Then there are the “spiritual seekers” who rush to Anjuna and Arambol, meditating around the time of dawn before attending a trance party that somehow lasts until breakfast. One finds a peculiar equilibrium of serenity and pandemonium, and somehow it succeeds.
Of course, the beaches are the most appealing element. North Goa feels like a Friday night that never ends, with every shack claiming to offer “the best seafood in town” and every DJ insisting you’ll “feel the vibe.” South Goa, meanwhile, is a sort of permanent retreat. You’ll encounter quieter sands, swaying palms and the odd person reading a book he’ll never complete. Each Goa version is dashing in its own right, depending on the volume your soul can handle.
Food in Goa is also a delightful contradiction. One minute you’re slurping feni and eating spicy vindaloo that keeps your eyes watering before you eat a wood-fired pizza by the beach because let’s face it, we all act adventurous until we’re reminded who’s boss by our stomachs. The seafood, however, is truly extraordinary. Nothing tastes like eating freshly caught prawns as your toes sink into the sand and the waiter Ricky insists on bringing you “just one more drink.”
Besides, Old Goa, with its vast churches and faded Portuguese charm that reminds us this tiny state is layered through time with past history. You wander the streets quietly, and for about fifteen minutes feel cultured before the beach returns once more.
By the end of your journey, you’ll possibly have a sunburn, a playlist of random beach songs in bits and pieces, and the vague intention of returning next year. You won’t, of course. Life will get in the way. But for a split second, Goa will have convinced you that perhaps, just perhaps, everything’s easier when you slow down, get another drink and let the world spin without you.
