Those who flock to Goa merely for the beaches miss the amazing sidelights, like a morning walk among the grassy sea-cliffs of Vagator. Besides a fantastic view, there’s small wildlife, birding and fresh air to be taken in
Tidal waves of tourists washed over Old Goa that Saturday morning and soon I was walking in a trance, the rhubarb-rhubarb of their chatter forming a calming screen of white noise at the back of my head as I explored, wandered entranced and gleaned anecdotes.
Romantic poets are boring. But that’s because we’re not in touch with nature as they were. One skylark song made me respect Shelley. If just a little.