A slow takeoff from Delhi, cloud-wrapped thoughts, airport chaos, beach sunsets, and the unexpected reality of Goa’s nights.
The wings of the plane slowly lifted off the runway and rose into the sky. From the window, I could clearly see how congested Delhi really is—hardly any vacant land, just endless stretches of residential buildings. Inside the cabin, the air hostess was giving instructions about fastening seat belts. I noticed her facial expressions and the movement of her hands, but the words barely registered; everything seemed to pass over my head.
Soon, the plane moved from the visible world into the clouds. A thick cluster of clouds surrounded us like soft cotton, and it felt as if the plane was gliding gently through them. After a while, fog covered the window, making it almost impossible to see outside.
My eyes then shifted from the outer world to the inner one.
People were coming and going, air hostesses were serving food, and we asked for some water. After drinking it, there was nothing but the low chatter of passengers and my own thoughts—wondering when we would land and when this journey would finally pause. Flying had felt exciting at first, but sitting in tight quarters for so long now made me feel bored.
The flight wasn’t very long, yet neither the screen nor the phone network was working. With nothing else to do, I kept watching people move around. Eventually, I picked up a magazine from the seat pocket and read a little, then drifted back into my thoughts, repeatedly wondering when we would feel the plane descend.
Soon, the cabin crew announced that we should remain seated as the plane was preparing for landing. The air hostesses stood in the aisle, demonstrating safety instructions. A few minutes later, there was a strong jerk as the tyres hit the runway, followed by a slow roll toward the parking bay. Finally, we had arrived in Goa.
The airport was small, and we were transported to the main terminal before collecting our luggage. It was around 3 o’clock by then. We waited as bags appeared one by one on the conveyor belt—other passengers collected theirs and left, while we kept waiting. A few of our bags arrived, but two small ones were still missing. We joked nervously, saying, “Delhi toh nahi chhod diya inhone.” After a long wait, our remaining bags finally appeared—second last, and then last. Relieved, we picked them up and booked a taxi to our hotel, Ibis Styles, Calangute. The drive took about one to one and a half hours.
During the ride, we saw cruise boats on the water, distant churches, lakes, boating spots—everything flashing past the window. As we entered Calangute, the roads became narrower, winding through residential lanes. Suddenly, a huge, colourful building appeared—that was our hotel. After a security check at the gate, we stepped out of the taxi and entered through large glass doors. Nearby, I noticed a small house with a temple-like setup, filled with photos and symbols. Seeing it gave me a strange sense of reassurance, as if a quiet sign that I wasn’t alone. I felt calm.
Inside the reception area, we submitted our identity cards and were offered refreshing drinks. Sofas and chairs were placed to the right while we waited for the final check-in.
Though exhausted, we were happy. Once the formalities were completed, we received our room keys, and the hotel staff took our luggage. We were guided to the second floor, where all three rooms were in the same corridor.
The room was cosy—bathroom on the left, an almirah on the right, a bed facing the TV unit, chairs with a table, and a small balcony with a sofa near the door. Curious to explore, I went straight to the balcony and saw a beautiful swimming pool surrounded by lush greenery.
After a quick check-in, I collapsed onto the bed and rested for a while.
After about 30 minutes, everyone freshened up. Calls echoed through the rooms—“Ready aa?” “Haan, apan ta ready aa.” By 5:50 pm, we stepped out, explored the hotel a little, clicked some pictures, and then headed outside. A wide open space lay in front of the hotel, with a road leading straight to Calangute Beach, just 1.3 km away. We decided to walk.
Wearing chappals and Goa-vibe clothes, we walked through narrow lanes and reached the beach in about 20–25 minutes.
The beach was lively—people playing volleyball, couples clicking photos, an uncle digging a hole and sitting in it for reasons unknown. We removed our footwear and stepped into the water, which reached just below our knees. Soon, a photographer approached us with a reasonable offer, and we agreed. We posed, clicked pictures, and the photos turned out great. They transferred the pictures to one phone for us to share later.
After coming out of the water, the sand on my legs started itching badly. We asked nearby if there was tap water, and a man directed us behind the shack. I washed my legs using a pipe, but soon another man demanded ₹50 for using the water. We hadn’t known it was paid and explained the situation, but after a heated argument, we gave up. That was my first Goa scam—unexpected and unpleasant.
We then guided everyone to a nearby resort, Titlie Culinary Bar, where there was a proper tap. Everyone washed their hands and legs, and we walked along a stone-paved path into the open dining area. White walls, cycle decorations, and outdoor seating gave it a nice vibe. We chose seats near the fence to watch the sunset and ordered lemonade, sandwiches, and pasta. While waiting, we clicked more pictures.
When the food arrived, we were starving—but after a few bites, we realised the sandwiches were mostly onion and tomato, the lemonade tasted awful, and the food was overpriced. Disappointed, we didn’t order anything else and decided to leave after finishing what we had.
Later, someone suggested visiting Tito’s Lane, so we took an auto. The lane was chaotic, crowded, and full of loud music. Women dressed flamboyantly stood outside clubs, calling people in. Russians, Israelis, tourists from everywhere—it didn’t feel like an Indian street at all. The vibe was intense and overwhelming.
The lane eventually opened to a beach lined with nightclubs, loud music, dancing, and drinking. For me, it was too much—I’m not into clubbing—and most of us felt the same. We decided to leave but struggled to find an auto. Walking back through Tito’s Lane felt uncomfortable, almost like a red-light area.
Exhausted, we stopped at Navratna Pure Punjabi Dhaba. Some ordered dosas, some thalis, but we ended up just having ice cream. After walking a bit more, we finally found an auto that dropped us near our hotel street. Tired, we walked back to the hotel and headed straight to our rooms.
The day was beautiful but exhausting—and Tito’s Lane turned out to be something entirely unexpected.