A Day in Susegad: Living the Goan Way

The day begins not with an alarm clock, but with the gentle call of a koel somewhere in the coconut palms. Sunlight filters through patterned window shutters, painting the walls in soft gold. You stretch, not in a hurry to leave the bed. This is Goa — and here, time bends to the slow rhythm of the tide.

Morning: Work With the Day, Not Against It

You step outside to a chorus of village life — the thud of an axe splitting firewood, the chatter of women walking to the market, and the hum of a scooter heading toward the main road. Down by the shore, fishermen are pulling in their nets, laughing as they sort the morning’s catch.

Breakfast isn’t rushed — just a fresh poi bread still warm from the neighborhood bakery, butter melting into its soft crumb, and a cup of strong black coffee. News travels faster than the internet here, carried by neighbors pausing to greet you at the gate.

Afternoon: The Gift of the Siesta

By noon, the sun is high and the air warm enough to slow even the busiest hands. Shops pull down their shutters, children wander home from school, and the village slips into a quiet lull. You find a cool spot under a mango tree, or maybe stretch out in a hammock strung between two palms.

Lunch is slow-cooked fish curry with rice — the kind that fills the house with the scent of coconut, tamarind, and spice. After eating, the only thing left to do is nap, the ceiling fan whispering you into dreams.

Evening: Community and Connection

The day wakes again as the light turns soft. You stroll toward the old church square, where friends gather on balcaos (pillared verandas) to trade stories. Kids play football in the dusty field. Someone strums a guitar, the mellow notes floating into the fading light.

You walk to the beach. The sun, now a glowing ember, slips into the Arabian Sea. Couples sit hand in hand on the sand, while a lone fisherman heads out in his canoe, his silhouette cutting across the silver water.

Night: The Art of Enough

Dinner might be at a roadside tinto (small eatery) — prawn balchao with poi, maybe a glass of cashew feni. You eat slowly, not because you must, but because it feels right to let flavors linger.

Back home, you sit outside in the warm night air. The crickets are loud, the stars are generous, and the world feels smaller, kinder. There’s no rush to plan tomorrow — after all, Susegad will take care of it.

Susegad isn’t about doing nothing — it’s about doing what matters, in its own time. It’s a fisherman’s dawn, a lazy afternoon siesta, a sunset shared with friends, and a meal savored without a clock in sight. It’s knowing that the richest days aren’t always the busiest — sometimes, they’re simply the ones you’ve lived fully, slowly, and well.