After our lovely house boat cruise, we continued south for a few days of doing absolutely nothing on Varkala Beach, a somewhat tacky strip of eateries, tourist shops & internet stands perched precariously on a red earth cliff strewn with garbage and a verdant tumble of squash plants. The draw here is a small sandy enclave populated by tattered rented umbrellas, sun worshiping westerners, ogling fully clad young Indians, and the odd sari clad woman selling pineapples and coconuts. The not very friendly but deliciously warm Arabian Sea steadily rolls in, tumbling tourists about in its wake. Definitely not the best beach we’ve been to, but the sun, daily chicken tikka snacks, mocha chillers & white mischief vodka & limcas had us happily sated and yearning for more.
Alas, today we flew back to the rude awakening that is New Delhi and I find myself wishing we’d made a bigger effort to seek out the world famous Ammaji, whose ashram is somewhere in the Keralan backwaters. Bonnie, our wondrous holder down of the Stuff & Nonsense fort requested we entertain an extended Amma hug on her behalf, but sadly the closest we came to the famous ‘Hugging Saint’ was a photo tacked up in a rickshaw we took to town to visit the booze emporium. All of New Delhi could use a hug. I’ve known armpits that were friendlier, sexier and smelt considerably better.
Nothing like a dose of New Delhi in an unexpected downpour, dripping Delhi dirt down my face and washing Delhi street goop over my flip flops to shake me awake from my tropical beach reverie and make me homesick. Three more sleeps before the long haul back to Canada-land.