Goa tourism needs to reimagine itself. There’s more to it than beaches and booze
For months now, Goa has been spinning in a vortex of competing narratives. Across social media, voices have railed against the steep rise in the cost of visiting the state and its lack of infrastructure—some have taken particular glee in sharing videos of empty streets at peak season time. Meanwhile, the government has shot back with record “provisional” figures: Goa received over one crore visitors in 2024, marking a 21 per cent growth over 2023. Ranged against this have been the voices of Goans, who push back against their homeland’s reduction to beaches and bargain spirits, and the flattening of a complex cultural landscape into easily consumable experiences.
All of these tensions seem to recede in the mellowing light of a January evening in Panjim. In the streets that I have walked about for more than three years, I’ve often seen a symbol on the facades of old houses: A large circle, flanked by three, sometimes four horizontal lines. I’ve idly wondered about its origin and meaning, but it is only now that I am learning it’s an Art Deco motif, unique to the subcontinent. Mustansir Dalvi, an architecture professor and a trustee of Art Deco Mumbai, has labelled it “the most ubiquitous and least deciphered motif”, which, like several other Deco flourishes, has seafaring connotations. Dalvi said it is a “reworking of the Plimsoll line”, a reference mark that indicates the maximum depth to which the vessel may be safely immersed.
The medallion keeps company with other symbols, like curved balconies with stepped relief work, nautical-themed grills, and wooden sunbursts tucked away in random little nooks, all paying homage to Art Deco and its offshoot Streamline Moderne. Yet, these flourishes are in perfect harmony with the balcaos of Goan houses and the stark lines of modernist concrete.
Here, design languages separated by centuries engage in quiet conversation. It’s a lovely testament to how this land has always absorbed, transformed, and continuously reimagined itself.
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A deeper truth
I discovered these layers during an evening walk conducted by Leaxan Freitas, a cybersecurity professional whose passion for Art Deco is entirely self-motivated. Freitas reintroduced the group to the grandest expressions of Art Deco in buildings that we wouldn’t glance at twice. Damodar Niwas, built in the 1940s, mirrors the ascent of Goa’s mechanised mining era, when iron ore flowed to a rebuilding Japan. The building itself, a stripped-down version of Mumbai’s Soona Mahal, wears its nautical inspiration—ship deck-style railings and two-tone facades—with pride.
A short walk away is the now-shuttered Hotel Mandovi, Goa’s first starred hotel. It was conceived for the 1952 Exposition of the relics of St Francis Xavier, and has hosted dignitaries like Jawaharlal Nehru, as well as multitudes of clergy and pilgrims. Designed by renowned architectural firm Master, Sathe, & Bhuta, its facade bears a gorgeous bas–relief panel. It might echo the sculptural narrative of The Muses Running to Apollo from Paris’s Théâtre des Champs-Élysées, but its expression is entirely Goan, and it is a bridge between Goa’s sacred and secular aspirations.
The walk is a reminder that there are several pathways to immerse yourself in Goa, even as a tourist. There are the Arvalem Caves, popularly known as the Pandava Caves, that date back to the fifth century. The prehistoric petroglyphs at Pansaimol offer glimpses into the lives of early settlers along the Kushavati River. Museums like Goa Chitra in the village of Benaulim preserve agricultural tools and everyday objects that tell stories of rural life. For those who wish to go deeper into Goa’s built history, spending an afternoon at Palácio do Deão will get you up to speed on life as a Portuguese noble. Even in its natural spaces—its islands and sanctuaries and bubbling lakes—Goa reveals facets of itself far removed from lazy beach tourism.
When I mentioned to Freitas that these Art Deco walks could become another way for tourists to experience Goa, his response was immediate and firm. “I personally don’t want these places to become tourist hotspots,” he said, explaining why his groups are deliberately kept small—no more than 8-10 people—and consist of primarily Goans. His protective stance might seem paradoxical in a state that proudly announces record visitor numbers, but it speaks to a deeper truth: that some stories need to be shared slowly, carefully, with those who come ready to listen rather than merely consume. Freitas points to the Instagram fame of Fontainhas, and the perils of packaging people’s lives as tourist objects.
Also read: Goa’s tourism is changing, not dying. People don’t want ‘minibus tourists’
Bridging the gap
This tension—between sharing and preserving—runs like an undercurrent through many conversations about Goa’s future. It surfaces in discussions about dirty beaches and overpriced taxis, about the commodification of culture and the strain on local communities. Yet within this complex landscape, some are finding ways to navigate these competing demands, crafting experiences that honour both the place and the visitors.
Varun Hegde, founder of Soul Travelling, a company that conducts walks across Goa, offers a different perspective. “Ninety to ninety-five per cent of the people that come to us are good tourists who want to experience and understand more,” he told me. Hegde said that despite reports, December 2024 was their busiest month since they started Soul Travelling in 2018. Yet he acknowledges a fundamental disconnect. “For a long time, tourism has run parallel to local life, but has not taken into account local sentiments.” That’s the gap his company attempts to bridge by weaving community engagement into their experiences, like cooking sessions with Goan bakers and a respectful encounter with village life in Chorao Island.
Perhaps this is what reimagined tourism might look like in Goa: Not a relentless pursuit of numbers or a packaging of experience into easily digestible bites, but a careful cultivation that allows both visitors and the place to recognise each other. It requires us to move beyond the simple binary of preservation and progress. And it might serve us well to remember that Goa has always known how to take what comes from elsewhere and make it uniquely its own. For meaningful tourism to flourish in Goa, it must be built on reciprocity—visitors who come not to consume but to understand, and a place that can share its stories without fear of their dilution.
Karanjeet Kaur is a journalist, former editor of Arré, and a partner at TWO Design. She tweets @Kaju_Katri. Views are personal.
(Edited by Aamaan Alam Khan)