On the palm-fringed magnificent beaches, the reedy cry of an oboe drifts on the breeze, tribal women peddle saris and exotic spices, unforgettable Rickshaws jostle with oxen in the narrow streets behind the bazaar, the aromas, the colours, and the chaos. Yes, this is India, great India.

Whitewashed chapels peek through the forest canopy, and beautiful girls with almond eyes. The Portuguese might have left in 1961, but their influence lingers.

We proudly announced the beginning of such a wonderful portal with Goa.