Exploring Goa 2.0, From Home To Heart

Goa didn’t just wake something in me — it quietly restored what everyday life had worn thin. There’s a freedom here that doesn’t demand attention, it just settles into your bones, until you realise you’re living exactly the way you want to. I’ve felt it in the slow stretch of a sun-soaked afternoon, toes buried in warm sand, beer in hand, a book lazily turning pages beside me. And I’ve felt it under the pulse of strobe lights, music dissolving into the night as we wandered from one beachside bar to another, salt still clinging to our skin.

This place doesn’t just offer escape, it brings you back to yourself, your rhythm, your joy. And once you’ve tasted that, even briefly, it never really leaves you.

It was this deeper, slower, soul-hugging Goa I was invited to rediscover on a trip with Airbnb and Goa Tourism, for the launch of Goa Unseen, a guidebook crafted by the hands and hearts of locals who don’t just live in Goa, but live with it. Artists, entrepreneurs, chefs, storytellers. Not the kind of people who talk about Goa from a distance, but those who’ve folded it into their everyday lives.

Rediscovering Goa

Goa Unseen isn’t just a guide, it’s an invitation into a more mindful, grounded form of travel. With the state becoming the first in India to adopt Regenerative Tourism, this initiative is a celebration of that spirit. Through ‘Rediscover Goa 2.0’, and in partnership with local voices, Airbnb is championing a more inclusive tourism ecosystem — one that supports both cultural legacy and community livelihood. The Homestay Policy introduced by the Government of Goa strengthens this further, empowering locals, especially in rural areas to open their doors and share their world.

Every space tells a story and Airbnb helps you find the ones that reflect your mood, your rhythm, your version of Goa. From breezy heritage bungalows and sea-facing cottages to jungle-side retreats tucked deep in the hinterlands, this is a state that doesn’t just welcome you,  it mirrors you.

And so, we did just that — stepped into a version of Goa that didn’t ask to be toured, but to be lived.

Shifting Landscapes

Our journey began up north, tucked into a charming home in Sangolda, Staymaster Rivaana, that felt more like a family friend’s holiday pad than a media trip base. That evening, we gathered for the launch — a garden-glow affair attended by Goa’s Tourism Minister Rohan Khaunte, actor Abhay Deol, Airbnb’s Country Head Amanpreet Bajaj, and a whole host of insiders who we kept crossing paths with — like characters in a novel you’re glad to keep bumping into.

The next morning came with a change of pace. We packed up and headed south, letting Goa’s shifting landscapes set the rhythm. That day unfolded like a slow dance of flavour and discovery. Our food trail kicked off at Padaria Prazeres. "Padaria" means bakery in Portuguese, and this one wore its heritage with pride. Divine sandwiches. Bread that still haunts me in the best way. 

Signal bars began to drop off as we wound deeper into Goa’s belly — maps gave up, but the road didn’t and so we stumbled upon a field... and then suddenly, C’est L’avi appeared — like a secret only the land knew. Chef Avinash Martins, with his poetic plating and Michelin-level flair, welcomed us to his farm-style restaurant nestled between marshes, buffaloes and the bright sky.

Chef’s Kiss

The seven-course lunch was a storybook in itself. It started with something that felt part science lab, part fruit dream — a tiny guava sphere that burst in your mouth with hints of chilli and a brightness that felt like a sunrise. There were scallops, duck, chorizo, in-house breads that made us lose track of time, and finally — a Serradura made by the chef’s wife that felt like the softest kind of goodbye — sweet, tender, and the kind you carry with you long after the moment has passed. We didn’t just eat that day. We felt fed.

That evening, we checked into Vivenda Dos Palhaços, a 120-year-old home masquerading as a hotel — or maybe the other way around. There’s no reception. No lobby music. Just antique doors that lead you into random rooms, a bar smack in the middle of the villa, and that delicious confusion of: am I lost, or just wandering? It reminded me of old family homes, the kind where stories hide behind every curtain.

A mere 20-minute drive away, we spent the evening at The Southern Deck in Benaulim, where we tried resin art (I approached it with all the sincerity of an overachiever at a hobby class, but by the end of it, the only thing I’d truly mastered was sipping — not swirling. Safe to say, the wine and I had far more chemistry than the canvas), and feasted on rava-fried mussels and the kind of beef carpaccio that briefly made us forget our names.

The following day began with an earthy exhale at Savoi Plantation. We wandered through spice trails, crushed leaves between our fingers, and tasted water apples and starfruit straight from the trees. Lunch was a traditional Saraswat Brahmin thali served on banana leaves — it felt less like a meal and more like something your grandmother might serve with quiet pride. Warm, generous, and made to nourish more than just your stomach.

Pause For Poiee

And then came my favourite bit: Poiee-making with Mr. Godinho. A 78-year-old baker keeping a family tradition alive. In that quiet bakery, surrounded by the warmth of a wood-fired oven and decades-old routines, he carries forward the legacy his father began: not just baking bread, but preserving memory. The kind passed down with flour-dusted hands, early mornings, and recipes that don’t need writing. He is one of the only bakers in the area to continue making poiee with toddy. 

We stepped into his fire-warmed workspace, where everything felt gently worn and deeply loved. Under his watchful eye, we rolled out dough and slid it into the fire oven, watching it puff and rise like it was taking its first breath. That first bite of poiee — warm, airy, and impossibly soft, was the kind that instantly imprints itself onto your senses. I found myself ordering it obsessively on my next trip back to Goa. I still do.

This wasn’t just about bread. It was about belonging — to a kitchen, a lineage, a slower way of life that still holds strong in quiet corners like this one.

Later, some of the group went cycling, while the rest of us visited the Paul John's Distillery — home to one of India’s finest single malts and a pretty smooth gin named Malhar. We walked through the distilling process, swirled amber spirits in fancy glasses, and briefly contemplated quitting our jobs to become professional tasters.

Luxe Hits The Night

That evening still lingered as we arrived at our final stay — like the last sip of something you didn’t want to finish. We reached Masaya – Off The Grid, a six-storey villa that felt like the exclamation mark at the end of a lush, winding sentence. It had a private waterfall, an infinity pool, a Feni fermentation station (I know!), and views that just didn’t end.

It was the perfect contrast — ultra-modern luxury perched above centuries-old forest land, just as the rest of our journey had been a balancing act between indulgence and introspection, the known and the uncovered. By this point, the narrative of the trip had fully settled in: Goa is not a monologue — it’s a mosaic. Somewhere between sipping Urrak with the owner and peeking into bedrooms that belonged in a Bond film, I realised: Goa really has range.

But more than the food or the views, it was the people that made this trip what it was. Our group was this joyful mishmash of writers, creators, wanderers — and somehow, all the locals we met felt like extensions of that same energy. The kind of people who open up their world to you.

This trip felt like a pause. Like Goa was reminding us,gently, that travel doesn’t always need to be thrilling. Sometimes, it just needs to feel like coming home. And when we left, it was with the comfort of Poiee still warm in our memory, laughter echoing from shared meals, and the quiet assurance that Goa — in all its layered beauty, wasn’t done with us yet.

Photographs by: Daniel D’souza

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