My first trip outside Goa was to Bombay, now Mumbai, in the late 70s. My uncle Cruz, visiting from Kuwait, invited me to join him and his family. Eagerly, I accepted. We traveled by bus, which back then lacked air conditioning and had rattling windows that made sleep elusive. The journey took around 14 hours due to the steep ghats.

We arrived in Bombay early the next morning. The city's stench was overwhelming, a stark contrast to my village life. During my stay, I marveled at the Gothic architecture and enjoyed the less crowded atmosphere compared to today's bustling metropolis. However, I did not use the railways—a wise decision considering my inability to cope with such chaos.

After a week, I boarded a steamer for my return journey. Unprepared, I brought only cigarettes and no bedding or blankets for the night. The daytime voyage was pleasant; passengers mingled and enjoyed camaraderie during our 24-hour journey. At night, I won one hundred rupees playing housie and treated myself to a beer.

The cold night forced me to stay close to the engine room where I consumed most of my cigarette pack. As we approached Goa's coast from the Arabian Sea, the sight of pine trees evoked a sense of belonging. That memorable trip remains close to my heart.