The ferry attendant turned a rusted brown wheel to lift the ramp back above the waterline. Just as the boat’s motor fired up, a white moped sped up the ramp and onto the edge of the platform. It seemed to be in the nick of time, but the ease of the maneuver indicated it was far from the first time for both the driver and the boat’s passengers.

Divar Island, across the Mandovi River from Old Goa, is not connected to the mainland at any point by a bridge. Instead, a network of ferries run around the clock, rain or shine. The island is quaint, and locals intend for it to stay that way. The Indian government has tried in vain several times to build a bridge to Divar, but the island’s residents have protested and organized strikes each time. Those we spoke to said their main fears were commercialization and noise pollution.

In an age of convenience where the path of least resistance is often glamorized, it felt refreshing to be somewhere that places serenity over ease of access to goods and services. I’ll be the first to admit that I am no Luddite when it comes to things like technology and modern consumer culture. Even so, a glimpse at a different way of life definitely encouraged me to consider the benefits of less engagement with the twenty-first century conveniences that I so often rely on.

We stayed in a quiet guest house in central Divar, where our room opened to an indoor courtyard and a plush balcony overlooked the greenery of the monsoon. During a bike tour of the island, we rode past colorful Portuguese heritage homes now owned by islanders and other Indians who rent them out to friends and family for vacation. Divar’s quiet streets are occasionally pierced by horns honking to signify a car or moped coming down a narrow lane. As we passed lush rice paddies and toured a sunken Hindu temple, it often seemed as though we were the only ones around.

It being monsoon season, a downpour ensued as we pedaled back to Old Goa to return our bikes. We boarded the ferry as waves rocked the boat back and forth. After dropping the bikes, we faced the daunting options of either walking back to our accommodation — a journey of several miles — or attempting to find a taxi (which are already resistant to the Divar ferry) in the rain.

Graciously, our tour guide sensed our nervousness and offered to drop us off himself on the back of his motorbike. We zoomed past the rice fields and heritage homes of Divar, and arrived back at our stay in record time. Where tourist infrastructure lacks, hospitality abounds.