Varkala Ending
Black sand beach hugging the red cliffs. The waves comes in and out, and I try to imitate - try to blank my mind before the inevitable return. Float float floating on.
It's the end of the road and I'm in Varkala.
Finished with the houseboats through the backwaters of Kerala. Finished with the creepy Ayurvedic treatments (oil + nakedness + cuppage). Finished with temple gazing and jungle trekking and elephant riding and all the oh my's.
Finished with many many forgotten things condensed into remembrances, of gorges and medieval villages, of delta markets and third world cities – pyramids and tombs, mosques and cathedrals, people and their cuisines... of the aromas and tastes of discoveries, spiced with personal biases and prejudices.
The only thing left?
Black sand beach hugging the red cliffs. The waves comes in and out, and I try to imitate - try to blank my mind before the inevitable return. Float float floating on.
I'm camped out here on the beach for the last week – done with running around and train schedules and all that.
So to tally the inventory. Scratched arms, legs, and knees. Scarred calf and elbow. Skin three tones darker, back a little more bent, and hair has developed a shag.
My "closet" consists of 5 pair of t-shirts, a pair of ragged jeans, and an assortment of fishermen pants and shorts and throws that I've collected along the way. My idea of a good time is a shellfish meal under $5 while the sun goes down.
Harder to please, quicker to judgment, and increasingly annoyed at the inefficiencies easily reparable.
One of these days, I'll go through my journal and remember all the things that have happened this year. For now, Varkala, the water and sand, is another memory in the making.