After months of Swedish darkness, landing in Goa feels like someone turned the saturation dial to maximum. The heat hits you first — thick, salty, unapologetic. Then the colours: the impossible blue of the Arabian Sea, the crumbling ochre of Portuguese churches, the green of palm trees that look photoshopped but aren't.
Eleven days in December. Enough time to slow down to Goa speed, which is approximately one-tenth of any other speed you've ever lived at.
Old Goa & the Portuguese Ghost
Walking through Old Goa's basilicas and cathedrals is a strange experience for a desi who now lives in Europe. Here is European architecture — baroque, ornate, grand — but set in tropical heat, surrounded by palm trees, reclaimed by vines. It's a collision of worlds that produced something entirely unique. The Basilica of Bom Jesus feels like a European cathedral that went on holiday and never came back.
Anjuna to Palolem
North Goa and South Goa are different countries that share a border. Anjuna has the markets, the noise, the scene. Palolem has the crescent beach, the silence, the dolphins at dawn. I spent time in both, and the contrast is as stark as Stockholm versus a Swedish countryside village.
The Food
Goan food is what happens when Indian spices meet Portuguese technique. Fish curry rice is the foundation — tangy, coconut-rich, with a heat that builds slowly. Prawn balchão, chorizo pav, bebinca for dessert. And feni, the cashew spirit that tastes like Goa distilled into a glass.
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