After the backwaters we headed off the boat, via a 1 1/2 hour train journey and a short tuk tuk ride through small, winding, bumpy lanes that seemed to stress the tuk tuk driver out, for the beach haven of Varkala. As we walked along the tourist cliff-top pathway past the tourist restaurants and shops I thought ‘we’re either going to love it or hate it here’!
And frankly, both were true!!
The hotel we had booked for the 5 nights was dreadful - scummy room, no balcony, no refund, no care…until we pushed and eventually got moved…..but not wanting to dwell on that too much.
Physically beautiful, but with a temporal feel - there’s a lovely golden sandy beach with crashing waves that mean swimming and surfing aren’t that easy. The ‘resort’ is mainly spread along the ’North Cliff’, with yoga studios, ayurvedic massage places, shops, bars and restaurants lining up on one side and a walkway clinging precariously to the top of the cliff, waiting to be eroded and fall into the sea. In some places it didn’t seem too far from the door of the shop - perhaps 2 metres, although further along it was wider, but never what you’d call ‘wide’ and certainly an evening promenade was quite leisurely …everyone walking at the pace of the people in front and having to do a quick side-step if they decided to pause for some shopping!
Further down the beach was a(another) important Hindu temple.
This all made for an eclectic mix of visitors. There were the backpackers; the young girls and older women here for the yoga (not many men); the older hippies who may have never left; Europeans in their 60s and 70s avoiding the northern winter in an alternative place to Benidorm and families with young kids. And lots and lots of Indian tourists who I think were there for the temple.
Days easily drifted by …. Yoga (Helen) or runs (Chris); late leisurely breakfasts in vegan-backpacker-friendly restaurants; books finished and swapped; lazing on the beach with dips in the warm, clear ocean. Ahhh bliss!
Only interrupted by the incessant whistling of the uniformed men on the beach. Never quite worked out if they were ‘life-guards’ or tourist police, but they seemed to only whistle at the young Indian men who swam in the sea…. Or even just walked down to the north end of the beach. As far as we could tell, it was an attempt to keep the beach segregated. I had heard of groups of Indian men hassling the women tourists, although I didn’t see or experience this myself. The Indian Government is acutely aware of the impact on tourism of the country’s poor image of how it treats women and so have taken steps to make things safer, including for visiting tourists. I felt quite agitated at the thought of segregation; in fact, the whistling was actually quite irritating; but on the other hand no-one wants to feel vulnerable to sexual harassment.
The beach was pretty busy, but with plenty of space for everyone…until 26th January when the beach was absolutely heeeeeaving! Hundreds and hundreds of Indians crowded on the beach, stood in the sea and hung out. It was only later that we realised it was Indian Republic Day which is a holiday celebration…other than being busy it was pretty low key; a bit like Waitangi Day might be for a tourist visiting NZ!
One afternoon sitting on the beach chatting to Chris and all of a sudden a guy launched himself onto my sarong face first looking terrified. He’d got a rip in his trousers and lay there panting. Transpired he’d kicked one of the dogs that hung around the beach and it had set on him and ripped his trousers and slightly scratched him. He wasn’t convinced he wasn’t bleeding to death until he stood up, pulled down his trousers and we looked at the back of his leg and reassured him! He then sat back on my sarong, still with trousers round his knees and made a phone call. Eventually pulled his trousers up and walked off. Then came back and sat on the sarong and made another call. Then he left. Then he came back and sat on the sarong again and got his mate to film him as he explained what had happened. Or at least that’s what we think was going on, as he didn’t speak English and didn’t seem that bothered that he’d launched himself onto my sarong and maybe….slightly outstayed his welcome! Then he got up and left…!
Later I was eating some nuts and another guy arrives, holds out his hands, indicates the nuts, takes a handful and leaves!
Beer was $4-5 / GBP2.13-2.60 a big bottle of Kingfisher, was never on the menu but was verbally offered when you walked in. It was served in opaque tankards with the bottle put discretely under the table and when the bill came it was usually described as ‘pop’!!
At night the fairly lights of the cliff-top bars and restaurants glistened while out at sea the fishing boats also sparkled waiting to bring their catch in next morning. On one of Chris’ runs he got literally roped into helping a group of fishermen bring in their nets for an hour….pulling like a tug-of war, then jumping into the sea to chase the fish into the back of the net! If you look closely in this photo you can see the boat out to sea and just over the wave is someone swimming in the sea pulling in the net.
Few of those that worked in the tourist industry seemed to be locals of Varkala, with many coming into town for the season from as far afield as Cashmere and Nepal. It looked like a hard life for these families, separated for months at a time and this year especially they said that visitors were down, with impacts being felt from Brexit and the wider global economy. Certainly made me count my many blessings....again.