The Fallout paradise of Goa’s Beach Hut
Goa’s beach huts are not for everyone. They aren’t polished resorts or boutique hotels. No sleek infinity pools or white-linen tablecloths here. Instead, these makeshift shacks, teetering on the edge of collapse, are the kind of places that might turn off anyone too squeamish about splinters, rust, or the general aesthetic of a post-apocalyptic settlement. Fallout fans would feel right at home—the place looks ripped straight out of the game.
The huts are cobbled together from whatever scraps the sea didn’t claim—wooden planks, corrugated metal, and an assortment of military-grade bunks, probably from a bygone era of conflict or shipwrecks. Bathrooms are an adventure all their own. You walk through dimly lit corridors patched with tarps and plastic sheets, always with the faint, rusty tang of salt in the air. These spaces scream survival and ingenuity in the face of nature’s relentless wear and tear. And somehow, in their shabbiness, they are a thing of beauty.
This isn’t a place that panders to creature comforts. It’s raw, it’s real, and it’s a reminder that sometimes the roughest settings can offer the richest experiences.
The beach huts are where you go to eat. Really eat.
I think I’ve made my way through every single menu, from the chalkboard specials to the laminated sheets sticky with years of sunblock and sand. You start simple, maybe a mushroom chilly that’s all fire and tang, the kind of heat that sears your tongue but leaves you going back for more. Then there’s the chicken dragon chilly—a dish so fiercely spiced and unapologetic it feels like it’s daring you to quit. You won’t.
Tandoori chicken here tastes like it’s kissed by the gods of fire themselves, the charred, smoky crust giving way to tender, spiced meat. Vindaloos will make you sweat and cry, but you’ll be grinning like an idiot. And then there’s the Love Shack special: murg masalan. This is no ordinary chicken curry. It’s deep and rich, with a complexity that makes you want to stop talking and just let your taste buds do the work.
Today, I tried something new. A lassi. I started with a sweet lassi—simple, refreshing, the kind of drink that feels like a balm for the inferno in your mouth. Then I graduated to a lassi with Old Monk rum. Divine isn’t a strong enough word for what that was. Sweet and creamy with the heady, caramel warmth of the rum. It’s a drink you sip slowly, letting the world around you blur a little.
This place, with its crumbling charm and makeshift brilliance, doesn’t just feed you. It envelops you. It’s an experience that strips away the unnecessary and focuses on what matters: good food, strong drinks, and the beauty of imperfection.
The beach huts of Goa may look like the end of the world, but for those who venture in, they’re just the beginning of something extraordinary.
