Royal Enfield’s Goan Classic 350 took me back in time

Goa. 1969. I’m on a sandy coastal track and this bloke is looking at me funny. Not in a threatening way. How threatening could a man wearing a tie-die shirt and braids possibly be? He’s more curious than hostile. And fair enough – the Royal Enfield I’ve just parked looks like a psychedelic blend of the past and the future. It must be one hell of a sight.

The heat is blistering, and the village around me feels like a bad acid trip. Palm-lined streets crawl with people, cows, and single-cylinder motorcycles. Nearby, a music festival is being assembled by some very questionable characters, while a mob of unruly youths frolic naked in the ocean.

Another man sits in a Kombi, smoking a funny looking cigarette and blasting the Grateful Dead. Just beside him, someone else strums a sitar. Is that George Harrison? 

I attempt to process the scene. My mind is hazy. Is it the drugs? Or the heat? Wait… I don’t do drugs. I’m pretty sure, anyway.

Despite the mental fog, I feel alive. The bike sparkles in the sunshine. It looks like it’s laced with LSD. I’m far from home, but right now I get this wonderous sense that the whole world exists only in this time and place. Free love, man. Free love. 

Then I snap back into reality. I’m not in Goa. I’ve never been to Goa. I’m in St Kilda, and its 2025. A seagull is pecking at my discarded hot chips. My house is a mere 25 minutes away. And I swear I’m not high. 

But the bike is real. And there is something about it that transports you to a different time. It’s like taking a hit of acid and waking up 60 years ago, but without the drugs. I’m pretty sure that’s the vibe Royal Enfield was going for. 

The bike is a Royal Enfield Goan Classic 350 – a fresh take on the popular Classic 350 platfom. The boffins at Enfield essentially chopped off the pillion seat for a bobber stance and painted it in colourways that could have been sold in an arts-and-craft store at Woodstock.

Anyway, back to my hallucination. The tie-dye man has moved on after losing interest. He’s now trying to bum a cigarette from early festival-goers, but he gets no sympathy. 

A hippy couple have crashed their scooter into a market stall and there is a huge kerfuffle as they argue fault with the vendor. But overall, no one seems too concerned about anything. There is a strong smell of free spirit in the air (if you want to call it that), and the cool breeze off the Arabian Sea provides relief from the heat. 

I notice a monstrous face grinning at me in the distance. Jeez, this bike really is one hell of a drug. No, wait, that’s just Luna Park. Never mind. 

It’s no accident that Royal Enfield named the Goan Classic 350 after India’s countercultural capital. The Goa region was under Portuguese rule for 450 years, before India took back control in 1961. 

By the late 60s, Goa had morphed into a magnet for hippies, drifters and wide-eyed wanderers chasing freedom, simplicity, and a deeper connection with nature. Blending local traditions with Western counterculture, Goa became a colourful crossroads for anyone searching for something outside the ordinary. 

Royal Enfield’s whole schtick with the Goan Classic 350 is to channel that energy, as well as celebrate the area’s growing custom and classic bike scene.  

The available colourways are Shack Black, Trip Teal, and Rave Red. The latter two cost an extra $100 atop the refreshingly modest $8,890 ride-away price tag.

My bike is clad in Trip Teal which is arguably the best, and most psychedelic looking of the bunch. It’s certainly my favorite and looks fantastic here in amongst the hustle and bustle of coastal Goa…err.. St Kilda. 

Colour aside, the biggest differentiator from the standard Classic 350 is the bobber stance. This includes a single piece seat, raised ape-hanger handlebars and slightly forward mounted footpegs. All of this gives the bike a relaxed and comfortable cruiser-like feel which fits well with the overall Goa theme. 

The bike is otherwise pure Classic 350. And Classic is an apt name. You could argue it’s a new bike in an old bike’s body. But, in many ways, it’s just an old bike. And that is not a complaint. Not even remotely. 

Sure, the Classic 350 has few modernisms like EFI, ABS, and a TFT navigation pod, but it feels vintage in every meaningful way. Perhaps that’s why I keep slipping into the past. 

By now I’m sick of the growing throng of people stopping to gawk at the bike and strangers trying to sell me overpriced knick-knacks. I hop on and fire up the Goan Classic with the turn of a key and a push of a button. Wait. Bikes have electric start in 1969?

The engine rumbles like an old bike and it feels visceral and raw. There are rattles and shakes, but it’s all part of the bikes charm. 

There is a distinct lack of punch from the 14kW single, but that doesn’t really matter on tight crowded streets like this. It only becomes a problem on the highway. 

Performance-wise, it’s identical to the standard Classic 350. The suspension is competent but gets flustered over potholes – which, frankly, are just as bad in Melbourne 2025 as they probably were in Goa 1969.

The bike is also equipped with what Enfield calls the Tripper navigation pod. You won’t find that in 1969. And to be honest, I don’t bother with it because I have a QuadLock and an iPhone. Still, it’s a nice touch for a bike at this price point. Same goes for the USB port, LED headlight, and adjustable levers. 

The brakes? Soft. Learner-friendly, but lacking bite. I need to pay attention to avoid replicating the incident with the hippy couple I mentioned earlier. 

Speed is the other issue with this bike. There is none. It’s a slow and mellow machine that rewards relaxed and carefree riding. You won’t be winning races on this thing. At the risk of another cliché, it’s about the destination, not the ride. 

When I eventually pull up at a quiet, pristine beach, the point becomes clear: the Goan Classic 350 forces you to slow down and see. To remember the simple joy of riding a motorcycle for the sake of it.

With its vintage soul, it’s easy to slip back into that imagined Goa.

Whether you’re looking for chaotic fun or peaceful quiet, Goa attracts allcomers. It doesn’t invite judgement, just an adventurous and carefree sprit. Just like the Goan Classic 350. 

I park the bike, alone except for a stray dog with suspiciously wise eyes staring directly into my soul. Across the bay, I can just make out the music festival roaring to life, the crowd now a swirling blur of colour and smoke. The noise is barely a hum.

For a moment, I’m back in 1969. Until the Melbourne peak-hour traffic hits.