The Reluctant Traveller: Embracing adventure beyond Goa's familiar shores

Summer in the UAE tends to bring out two kinds of people: those who post smug selfies from breezy European holidays, and those like me, whose annual pilgrimage is less Tuscany and more Assolna (a village in Goa, in case you’re wondering). Every year, instead of chasing summer adventures, I faithfully head back to Goa to spend time with mum.

It’s not that I lack destinations. Most of my cousins were raised in Australia, and my sister moved there later, and they’ve all been pleading with me for years to come visit. Two other cousins, born the same year as me, live in Brussels: one born and raised there (his mum’s Flemish; his dad, my father’s brother), and the other grew up like me in Goa before moving later.

We were a tight trio growing up and have often talked about reuniting in Belgium… but somehow, despite all this warm, persistent family encouragement, I’ve never quite managed. In fact, until 2018, my passport barely left the UAE-Goa circuit.

Then came Japan. Not because I felt the urge to embrace my inner wanderer, but because I was dragged in for a media trip organised by an iconic Japanese watch brand. And Japan did something to me. Somewhere between sushi, sakura and spotless streets, I, the reluctant traveller, was suddenly contemplating ‘accidentally’ losing my passport and staying forever, a deeply ironic impulse given that I’ve long declared (and dramatically) that despite being entitled to a Portuguese passport (my parents were Portuguese citizens before Goa joined India), I can give up my head but not my Indian nationality!

The bemused marketing head from the watch brand kept a watchful eye on me throughout, no doubt mentally drafting emails to my family explaining why their daughter was now an overstayer in Tokyo.

Japan makes some of the world’s best cars, but the roads are pristine because they’d rather walk, cycle or take a train than clog their streets with traffic. Not a single bad-looking building in sight; even the houses look like they belong in a fairytale illustration.

The Japan of my imagination was real, what felt surreal though was the humility I encountered. I remember the Japanese managing director of the watch brand who oversaw the India operations, casually walking around with a garbage bag collecting litter on our tour bus. In India, this would make headlines. After all, holding a garbage bag is practically a status issue, let alone being caught actually gathering the waste.

The Japanese way is something we could all learn from: grace, humility and quiet responsibility.

Kozenji Temple in Komagane was a memorable stop, where photography was prohibited but memory thrived. This ancient Tendai temple venerates Hayataro, a heroic dog who, legend says, saved villagers from a terrifying monster and became the temple’s guardian spirit. Naturally, I tossed a coin and made a wish there. It hasn’t come true yet, though in my case, I remember exactly what I wished for: immense wealth. Maybe, Hayataro gave me the once over and decided money was, perhaps dangerous in my hands. I should’ve wished for something more achievable, like patience.

The visit to the watch factory was another reveal, with accuracy seemingly humming in the air. The real surprise? The watchmakers were all women, apparently blessed with sharper concentration and precision (I can barely focus on finishing this column). They work insane hours and impressively take micro-naps with their heads on their desks, all while still looking serene.

I, meanwhile complain if I sit too long at my desk, constantly munching and sneaking in idle chit-chat sessions between tasks. The highlight was meeting their Supermeister, a title held by one extraordinary woman who, when I visited, had been assembling top-tier watches for 49 years. Watching her work, I felt wildly unqualified to call myself “busy” ever again.

All this boils down to the fact that a dormant wanderlust seems to have stirred within since, although admittedly only when someone else is organising the itinerary. I even found myself in the Maldives last month, on yet another media trip.

So, here I am now sweltering in the Dubai summer while watching others escape to exotic destinations as I momentarily wonder: should I finally visit my Australian cousins, or my Brussels twins?

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Goa’s calling.