Chhavi is trying to take over my blog! Hers is her version of our holiday in Goa last year! Over to her.
When my dad suddenly declared, “Let’s go to Goa,” I thought it was just one of those random ideas he’d forget in five minutes. But to my surprise, on April 22, 2024, we were off to Delhi Airport, bags packed, excitement bubbling, and beach dreams in our heads. We were on our way to Goa!
We had breakfast at the airport—because apparently, food tastes better when it’s overpriced. A few hours later, we boarded the flight to Goa. I tried watching a movie on the plane, but the in-flight entertainment system was from the Stone Age. The screen could only do three things: play, stop, and test your patience. No forward, no rewind. Just pure cinematic torture.
Finally, we landed at Goa Airport, took a taxi, and arrived at the Caravela Beach Resort, a gorgeous 5-star property where even the hotel lobby had a wonderful view. From the entrance, you could see the pool and the beach—two reasons enough to move in permanently.
Day 1: The Five Star Floor!
We entered our room, and wow—spacious, elegant, and complete with a king-size bed, a plush sofa, a balcony, and a bathtub that practically begged for a bubble bath photoshoot. But plot twist: my dad took one look at the fancy bed and said, “Nope.” His back wasn’t a fan of soft mattresses, so he claimed the sofa… then the floor… and finally, after much drama, a cot.
That first day, we had lunch in a restaurant so crowded it felt like a concert with free food. So we bailed and went to the beach hut of the hotel. Back in the room, nap time kicked in—dad on the floor (yes, a 5-star floor), me on the sofa, and mom on the royal bed.
Evening brought the beach, where we played like kids, clicked a hundred photos, and returned for dinner with sand still between our toes. That night, dad finally claimed the sofa with pride, like it was a throne.
Day 2: The Swimming Pool Saga
The next morning, mom and I hit the pool while dad became the official “poolside cheerleader.” But I had plans. I forced him to join us. First, I pushed him into the kiddie pool. He panicked: “I’ll drown!” I rolled my eyes. “Dad, it’s ankle-deep. You’re taller than this pool.”
Then came the deep pool. He clung to the railing like it was a lifeboat. “I can’t stand!” he yelled. “I’m drowning!” “Dad,” I said, “even I can’t stand, I’m floating. It’s called swimming.”
Finally, mom reminded him that he knew how to swim, he started swimming again—if you can call flapping and floating with his mouth out of water “swimming.” But hey, he tried! After 20 minutes, he dramatically declared, “I’m done,” and exited the pool like a war hero. Mom and I stayed and swam while he recovered from his near-death kiddie pool experience.
Later that day, we hit the beach again and had lunch where I tried prawns for the first time. My verdict? Good… not great, but good. Like a seafood handshake instead of a hug.
That night, a miracle happened—dad accepted the cot. The sofa and floor were finally free.
Day 3: The Goodbye
The next morning was all about breakfast, packing, and one last look at the beach. We checked out, headed to the airport, and flew back to Delhi, where our regular lives—and dad’s beloved firm mattress—awaited.
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