It's 20:23 and I'm on my flight back to Bangalore. As I try to pen down my thoughts, there is a rush of emotions. Well, it's not often that one feels hopelessly in love with a state, absolutely wonderstruck by its beauty. I fight with this feel to perfectly structure my thoughts.
It's raining heavily and I'm standing outside the Aguada Fort. A majestic establishment that speaks for the era in which it was built. The fort can be divided into two segments: The upper part acts as a fort and a watering station whereas the lower part acts as a dock for Portuguese ships.
Though the fort has been well taken care of, it was the rain that added the extra beauty. Waves splashing against the fort-line, raindrops lashing down, the lightning and thunder around make me realize why this place is called so. Aguada is the Portuguese alternative for watery.
I visited my hotel for one last time and checked out, headed straight to the port, and took an evening cruize ride on the Mandovi River. The ocean winds were brushing against my face making my messy hair flow in all directions. In the far end, I can see the city lights. Loud music is turned on and everyone on the cruise starts dancing. An elderly couple requested me to join them. Truly speaking, that's the magic of Goan people. Not once had I felt a stranger in these three days.
Three days ago I came to this city as a traveler, with no expectations of seeing culture, history, and an addictive cuisine camouflaged behind this blanket of luxurious nightlife. Far away from the noise of a metropolitan city, I found a poise, alluring waterside that not only parties but has well-defined antiquity. The land speaks heritage in the sweetest voice. Every beach of Goa has a piece of my heart.