Dzongri trek - Day 2 - Sajan to Tsokha

Rudely awoken on day two by the constant clanging of a yak's bell. Apparently during the night one of the dumb bovines (to be more accurate our pack carriers were Dzos, a male hybrid of a yak and a domesticated cow) had hiked up the hill to graze on tall grass next to our tents - the bar steward! Still, it's difficult to stay mad when, as you unzip the tent flap to boot the 1000lb beast between the bullocks, you're greeted by a smiling porter bearing gifts such as piping hot tea!

There's nothing like a strip wash in sub-zero temperatures to motivate the soul, so it wasn't long before the group was rallying around the dying embers of the previous night's fire. A hearty breakfast -pancakes, boiled eggs, cereal, coffee, you name it Mingma the cook pulled it out the freezing air - digested we were soon on our way, a steep 6km section our test for the day.

The morning started with a short descent down to a jaw-dropping ravine where, one by one, we took turns inching across a smart looking suspension bridge. A quick breather allowed us to take on water before embarking on one of the toughest parts of the hike - a gruelling two hour uphill climb to the tiny village of Bakhim (which sits at 2900m). This was hard work, but fuelled by dodgy Indian chocolate bars we all made it - before collapsing in a sweaty smelly heap!

But just five minutes later we were back on our feet and chasing the porter's shadows (these guys really are super-human!) up the final 2km incline and into the picturesque village of Tsokha, where frail wooden huts would be our home for the night, the designated point for a spot of acclimatisation.

Yet even another mighty lunch couldn't raise the spirits - everywhere we looked we saw snow. Not normal snow though. We're talking the kindof snow that buries unsuspecting mountaineers and destroys Alpineinfrastructure. The type of snow that breeds disaster movies and saysto you "venture forth if you dare"!

Dzongri trek - Day 1 - Yuksom to Sajan

Light walking my arse! This was tough going from the outset - probably not for alpine pro's but for a couple that had spent the past few months chowing down on curry and lounging on exotic beaches the prospect of 10km of undulating terrain was in all honesty quite frightening!

A dirty 6am rise was rewarded with stunning views of the, soon to be entered, Khangchendzonga range (including peaks such as Pandim at 6691m, Narsing at 5825m, Kabru at 7338m and Siniolchu at 5780m) and a breakfast that boasted more carbs than a Indian paddy field.

With the formalities of additional permits - necessary to enter the national park - out of the way and a quick glimpse of Sikkim's "greenlake" (it's deemed sacred by the indigenous Buddhists but the idea it's overgrown with algae seems more plausible) our intrepid group, lead by Chungda, set off through wheat fields along the valley- clinging track to Sajan.

Despite reports of heavy snowfall (every group we passed had given up on a summit attempt) the sun hung high above us as we clocked up kilometer after kilometer through steaming yak crap (it's amazing that an animal can walk, pee and poo at the same time), across pulse-racing bridges and round gravity defying ledges on the way to Sajan where tents would form the shelter for our first night.

Yuksom

The tiny village of Yuksom was the jumping off point for our first taste of trekking India style, not to mention an opportunity to do battle with the mighty Himalaya.

Booked in Darjeeling through the West Bengal Tourism Office, our trip was sold to us as an "easy introduction to hiking in the world's greatest mountain range" and promised great views of India's highest peak and its snow-capped neighbours.

What we weren't told - it took a discouraged French couple to inform us while we were warming up over a bottle of award-winning local whisky - was that the pass to Mt Dzongri was blocked by waist-deep snow and no porters were prepared to take the risk.

Over dinner with our trekking colleagues (London-based Pip and Alex, and yet another Dutchman in Roland from Breda) we discussed the reality of making the 4100m summit and sought assurances from our guide that his team would not shit themselves and turn back if the weather deteriorated further.

Obviously being India we were afforded all the assurances we needed, complete with Sikkimese head-bobble (more subtle than south India but accompanied by a guttural grunt), even though the rest of the village seemed baffled by our apparent recklessness and appetite for premature death!

In addition to being the trail head for the Dzongri and Goecha La treks, Yuksom (or "meeting place of the three lamas") boasts Sikkim's oldest monastery, Dubdi Gompa, and a stone throne that claims to be the crowning place of the first chogyal of Sikkim in 1641 - between you and us, it's just a slab of bloody stone, while the gompa is, well just another gompa!

But the village itself is beautiful and the locals more than made us feel welcome. Our hotel, while cold and short of hot water, was cheerful and well run and allowed us the perfect opportunity to catch up on yet more Z's ahead of the 10km trek to Sajan.

Sikkim

And so it was, after a relaxing week among the tea plantations of Darjeeling we set out in search of the Tibetan lamas and ancient monastries (gompas) for which the north eastern state of Sikkim is famous.

Though this primative and peaceful state - from where you see the looming profile of Mt Khangchendzonga anywhere - passed to India during independence in 1947 it's still motivated by the fear of neighbouring China (who wouldn't these days) and as a consequence has attracted investment on a mass scale - in roads, hydro-power, local industry and liquor production - from the Indian government. Yet the local government remains sceptical of outsiders and all foreigners are required to get hold of an entry permit allowing a max stay of 15 days.

But it's easy to secure the permit, and more than worth it! The moment our shared jeep (it never fails to amaze us how many Indians you can cram into a four-wheeler) crossed the check-point into West Sikkim there was a noticeable change. The streets of Jorethang are litter and faeces free, the buildings completed and you can even hear yourself think. A million miles away from the India we'd come to love, and hate!

The five hour road trip to Yuksom, and the start of our first Himalayan trek, passed by in a heartbeat courtesy of stunning views as our jeep weaved its way through deep gorges and plunged head first into steep valleys. Several times we stopped to stare in awe at the way wooden shacks cling to the terraced landscape and to take chai next to towering waterfalls that feed the state's ancient Rangeet River.

Darjeeling

I don't know what was more dramatic, the sudden drop in temperature (the three hour jeep ride to Darjeeling was all uphill, climbing to aheight of 2070m) or the change in facial features from dark skin and tashes to slitty eyes and yellow skin!

The drive was amazing, taking in the dramatic hill stations of Ghoom and Kurseong, as the 84km road wound its way this way and then that through the beautiful West Bengal hills. What was noticeable though was the way our naughty bits shrunk back inside our torsos the moment we stepped out of the jeep and onto Darjeelings icy cold roads.

We opted for a posh hotel, complete with toilet paper and "hot"shower, and immediately set about ordering a coupla bottles of cheap Indian vino to warm our extremities. Needless to say we enjoyed an early night wrapped up deep in the folds of our very own feather duvet!

Darjeeling really is a beautiful place - the ultimate Indian hillstation sitting precariously in the foothills of the Himalaya. Above the town tower five of the range's seven highest peaks in a spellbinding 250km stretch of snow-topped mountains.

Home to the world's finest tea (and 81 tea estates in fact), we were keen to savour the taste of a fine cuppa and headed down, through the winding paths, to the Happy Valley Tea estate. Here we met Kusum, a third generation tea picker, who possesses an extrodinary wealth of knowledge on the worlds' loved brew. Soon we found ourselves sipping"Super Fine Tippy Golden Flowery Orange Five Second Tea", a truly remarkable cuppa that does exactly what is says on the tin - takes five seconds to brew!

Next up, a look at the excellent Himalaya museum and the less than impressive zoo, before tantalising our taste buds with fine Tibetan fare. Hmmm, those "momos" sure are good! Mind you, the Nepalese and Thai tucker runs it a close second!

At 4am we awoke to the rude noise of our hotel phone ringing. Time to pull on the hiking boots and cold weather layers as we head up toTiger Hill, some 14km away, for the daily sunrise that illuminates the jaw-dropping summits of Everest (8848m), Lhotse (8501m), Makalu(8475m), Khangchendzonga (8598m - India's highest peak), Kabru (6691m) and Janu (7710m). The walk back ain't bad either!

Busying ourselves by spending vast volumes of cash on proper cold weather gear ahead of first trek proper - a six day jaunt with yaks through the snow of west Sikkim up to Mt Dzongri - which kicks off our 15 day visit to the sub-continent's most northerly state."

West Bengali Hills

We arrived in Siliguri, a dump of a dust town in north West Bengal, after a decent enough over-nighter rail trip from Kolkata and quickly made the decision not to stay! Instead we jumped aboard a jeep and headed east to the tiny town of Jaigaon where you can cross the border into Bhutan for 12 hours without forfeiting the mandatory $200 a day tourist tax.

But by now we should've guessed all was not well - we were the only"westerners" heading in this particular direction - just as we were dreaming of feasting on Bhutanese fodder! Nope, you see the muppets who make up the Bhutanese government decided six months ago to close the border (to Phuentsholing) rendering our detour useless.

Still, being the kind of duo that has to make something outa nothing, we managed a few "illegal" pics of the border before the guards noticed the flashing of the camera and chased us down through the market! And that night, determined to sample some Bhutanese booze, we sent our servant boy across the border to fetch some authentic rum! Ahhh, and we eased ourselves to sleep with the unusual taste of alcholic vanilla staining our pallets! Another long journey that would take us to Darjeeling was ahead of us for the next morning.

Kolkata - Take 2

And so back to "The City of Joy". But this time round sight seeing was gonna take a backseat as we set about gorging ourselves silly on the famous West Bengali cuisine. And boy did we manage that!

It's not difficult to find a fine restaurant in this city - after all it was home to the Brits for decades! Peter Cat, a Kolkata institution, was a fine choice for a lunch-time Indian. The mutton and chicken kebabs a million miles away from the shyte served up by greasy locals in Ol'Blighty.

But surely no meal to date can top the gastronomic delights laid before us in Park Lane's most exclusive eatery, Cinnamon! Washed down with a handful of potent cocktails and a bottle of India's finest vino (it ain't great shakes but when in Rome....) we were blown away by the stuffed chicken breasts and succulent pot roasted lamb. Hmmm. Regrettably the last of the wine seemed to leave us both reeling and the short walk back to Sudder Street unfolded into something of a marathon!

Varanasi

And so to Varanasi.... one of the sub-continent's holiest cities and home to the burning ghats.

There is little to prepare you for your first taste of Varanasi - in short this place is unforgettably India. Perched on the river Ganges,some 600km west of Kolkata, for hundreds of years the place is thoughtto be the resting place of some God's toes and a place where young andold come to, put bluntly, die.

Nb, for those of you who do not already know, Varanasi is deemed Hinduism's holiest city and according to the Vedas, one who dies inVaranasi will attain instant moksha, automatically escaping the cycle of death and rebirth (or is it birth and redeath?).

As a result, the city is awash with the aged and dying, as well as Sadhus, hippies, and, to a lesser degree, travellers in search of theinfamous mind-altering drink Bhaang Lassi. Tiny alleyways are crowded to breaking point with homeless cows (and they do shit everywhere) and locals selling all manner of goods and wares while all the time locals try to pick pockets and sell you junk.

I don't know what is a more disturbing sight as you walk along the ghats, legs and arms protruding from the freshly lit funeral pyres (sandlewood is used as one of the four woods on sacred grounds but we think it's to mask the smell of burning flesh) or the naked babas' stretching their penis' into such weird and wonderful shapes - that would put Australia's "penis puppet" show to shame - after chowing down on a lung-busting chillum session!?

And it's here in Varanasi that we realised what we'd been missing all along with yoga...."chai, chillum, chapati, challo", as one master explained shortly before handing us a pipe stuffed full of India's finest hashish and standing up to show just how strong the male sex organ can be after years of abuse.

Figured there's no way better to see the city and its amazing ghats (steps) than from a boat, which for us, and the gang, meant a 4.30am rise. Still the sight of human flesh burning 24-seven and the erie pre-sunrise chanting echoing across the water more than made up for the rude awakening from sleep.

Another reason for our whistlestop trip from Kolkata (marred only by the Indian rail system which really and truly is diabolical at times, despite being so bloody cheap) was to try our hand at the infamous Bhaang Lassi, a local drink made from mixing hand-rolled charis, or hashish, and water from the holy Ganges. Now, given the state of the river (I wouldn't let Tony Blair drink it it's that putrid) we passed on the "authentic" special lassi in favour of a tweaked number made of curd. The taste may be different (not to mention the first trip to the toilet next day) but the effect most certainly isn't. I think the word "hallucinogenic" is most relevent here!

Kolkata

Touched down safely in Kolkata, after a faultless 2hr flight from Port Blair, to be greeted by a city that's a million miles away from the disease stricken slum depicted in Dominique Lapierre's best-seller"City of Joy".

In fact, the place has changed dramatically in recent times (government sponsored clean up after the afore mentioned novel struck international chords) and walking around on foot is a real pleasure.

There's a noticeable change too in the people. Gone are the dark brown skin and bush tash's, replaced by more mongrel looking folk (a weirdmix of Chinese and Indian). Despite their looks the people are far friendlier and, at times, more helpful than their counterparts in the southern states. Still, at the end of the day they're all after ya Rupees so Marit's taken to learning, and then shouting, a few lines rich in expletives and short in courtesy!

Architectually the city, once dubbed the "Paris of the East" by it's rich and famous colonial fathers, is stunning. The world's busiest bridge, Howrah, dominates the skyline and links the city's north and south suburbs. Beneath it the streets teem with life making any journey by any means almost impossible.

It's here, under the bridge, that remains a vivid picture of how the city must have been in the 60s and 70s when it swelled with disease and poverty to become the world's biggest slum. The sight of the children and the conditions they're forced to endure really is quite disturbing. But a few minutes walk away all is beautiful again.

Buildings like the Victoria Memorial and Writers' Club wouldn't be outof place in Paris or London, while the Maidan park area extends milesbreaking up the concrete monotony.

Saw our first Cobra too - well we couldn't miss it seeing as some Indian bar steward had lassooed me off the street and had the thingcurled around me neck quicker than I could say "no want to take part".That was bad enough, but when the little towrag demanded 50 Rupees forfrightening the excrement outta me I nearly lost the plot!

Managed to blag our way into Kolkata, and West Bengal's, oldest Pressclub with a card that expired three years ago (it says it all aboutthe dum prats) and had a good ol'drink in a few splendid hotels.Teamed up here with our neighbours from Pooja in Havelock (Yanir,Carmel and Adam) - which made for some interesting late nights - andmade a decision to hit the northern state of Sikkim together in a fewweeks for a shot at the Himalayas.

Wandoor beach, private once again!

Situated some 40km south of Port Blair is Wandoor, jumping off point for Gandhi marine national park. It's breathtaking. Here we took time out from our hectic schedules to relax, ha ha ha ha! Simple was the name of the game here as we pitched a tent on the beach and slept under the stars. Supper was fresh fish, the taste of which stays with me now. The only sounds our voices and the fire, around which we were sat, crackling.


Here we wasted away the finals few days of our time in paradise by exploring the underworld of the national park; swimming with Manta Rays, weaving through the most beautiful coral reefs and climbing trees on deserted islands to fetch coconuts (actually that wasn't us, but the deckhand who took less than 30 seconds to run up (and later down) a 20 meter tree!

For some mystifying reason this place is overlooked by most - thankfully we were joined by two interpid motorcyclists Simon and Ran who made the last two days as good as any others on the islands (not to mention the bike ride back to Port Blair on their bikes - awsome!) - which left us with the time and freedom to do anything we wished....and we did, after all, why not.

Sunset in Mayabunder and Avis Island

After a night of chilled beer and garlic chilli prawns back in Port Blair a 4am bus to Mayabunder beckoned. Barely awake, the overcrowded excuse for public transport started its 9 hours trip north to Mayabunder at Middle Andaman's most north easterly tip.

Wow. The drive was stunning - though we were both a little worried about piles - as the dirt road wove its way north through first mangroves and later rainforest. Travel was slow and painful - doc says "no piles"- as vehicles must travel in convoys to avoid trouble with spear-bearing locals dressed only in loin cloths (actually I'm making the loin cloth bit up, though we have it on good authority the Jawaras do eat each other). But it's all worth it.

Mayabunder is much like any other Indian fishing town, a dump! But we were there to see Avis Island, a small circular outcrop of rock and sand that is truly stunning.

We chartered a fishing boat and headed the 30 minutes or so east before seeing the island for the first time. Alone and in love we quickly made the island our own (it was, no other person was there) and I set about burning me goolies and Marit her bum. It was worth all the sweat (permits are required for some more remote places and some are still outa bounds) and tears - as one Indian official passed us onto the next - and for sure our highlight of the Andaman trip.

Pooja Paradise beach, Havelock

Home sweet home! Or in Andaman, hut sweet mud hut!

You'd have thought after three days at sea we'd be in search of a little luxury, and you thought right. There was no way we were gonna dangle from trees in our hammocks, so a mud hut it was.

Pooja was a lovely place complete with international flavour that provided us with our first jaw-dropping sights of the islands. Just yards from am idylic beach, Pooja is tucked away in a quiet corner of Havelock one of the Andaman's busiest destinations. This place was perfect, picture perfect. Elephants walk the beach while we sit back and sip coffee. A single road links us to the handful of other resorts dotted around, which include Beach Number 7 (a top five beach in the world according to Time Out magazine).

What was meant as just a couple of days soon became a week, I think the pictures show why! Met some cracking characters here - a big heads up to Luca, the yanks, Adam, Yanir & Carmel, Alan and Carl (how's the head mate?) - which made the stay all the more easy! Of course, this is India so there's always a downside. In the case of Havelock it was a worrying shortage of beer forcing the dozens of thirsty travellers to toast the nights away with warm rum and flat coke! What a shame eh!

And I think Marit's finally forgiven me for making her straddle a motorbike as I learned to use gears on a two-wheeler for the first time. She must've been petrified at the thought of clining onto the rusty motor, but it wasn't long before we were clocking up the kilometres and blazing a dusty trail.

Put quite simply, paradise.

Message in a bottle

Gobbled up as many vitamins as is physically possible before boarding MV Nicobar, our ride to the Andaman Islands some 700 nautical miles east. Coconuts, bananas, oranges, sultanas (could've settled for a bowl of Special Crunch eh) were consumed en mass in a last ditch attempt to avoid a bout of cholera, or rickets even, at sea.

There really aren't enough words to describe our 70 hour trip. But given the sights and sounds below deck I'm gonna give it a go! Right, we went "bunk" class. We're talking Marit and I sharing a dorm with 1500 Indians at the very bottom of the Nicobar's hull. Get the picture?!

Right, now imagine the smell and noise "below deck" after three nights at sea. Not pretty eh! Christ, the ship even had some bloke hosing down turds every morning that were stacked in the four toilets a mile high. Showers were blocked with rice and dhal - Indians' obviously deem showers as advanced forms of dish washing - while bins somehow attracted flies! How the hell do you get flies 500 miles out at sea?

But that is nowt compared to the melee that unfolded when the same 1500 Indians landed on the canteen for meal time! I must add here that upon boarding all passengers in "poverty" class are forced to exchange cash for meal tokens ensuring the system of alloted times works smoothly - it doesn't! I can only say it was like being in the frontline during feeding time at San Diego zoo! And this lot want the western world to hold them in a better light....animals, they're all animals! Food was great though. Rice and dhal followed by rice and dhal followed by rice and dhal followed by, get the picture! Come to think of it, the dhal must have been responsible for the colour of the squatters down below.

Noise and smell aside, the trip was truly great and an unforgetable experience. Time was passed drinking the liquor travellers successfully smuggled aboard, playing cards, writing, hide n'seek, sunbathing and, in our case, doing the cliched "message in a bottle" thing. After all, who knows where the thing may end up!

The sight of Port Blair (the islands' capital) on the horizon was a welcoming one and was only marred by the red-tape bollox (that can only happen in India) that held us back two hours after 1500 savages had descended on the town as we waited patiently for our permits to enter the islands.

Indian swimming sensation, Mamalapuram

There have been a few sights so far that have stopped us in our tracks - hundreds of fishermen simultaneously crapping on Chennai beach springs to mind - but not many will top the sight of Indians enjoying a Sunday swim in Mamallapuram!

Now to put this into perspective, Indians can't - by all acounts - swim very well. In fact they're bloody terrible at it! So imagine the picture when thousands of the buggers converged on the village's southern beach to frollick in the waves. Men, stripped down to their undies, and women sporting saris hop, skipped and jumped the waves howling like injured wolves when ever one of them was caught by a bit of the wet stuff. Just for once grown men ceased being pervs (the downside of Indian beaches is the way in which mobiles and cameras are used to record the delights of white skin) and concentrated on surving the ocean's surf....comical to say the least.

Top place Mamallapuram, a real travellers' enclave. Famous for its sea sure temples and stone carvings the small fishing village attracts all sorts with its groovy laid back atmosphere, funky bars and cafes and cheap accommodation. A real delight that anyone visiting Tamil Nadu should note.

Movie stars!!

The town of Pondy might have been a bit boring, but it all went down when some famous hiphop band called 'Clik' decided to shoot their video on the pier. Lights, cameras, important people and a lot of curious tourists made for an interesting afternoon. Especially since we were asked to be extras. As always, nothing is straight forward in India so what was supposed to be a ten minute 'waste-some-time-before-a-drink moment' ended up in a two hour spectacle of repeating the same moves over and over. Now why is she holding an accoustic guitar for a hiphop music video I can hear you think. Well, don't ask me, but it was funny nevertheless.

Pondicherry

The old French colonial town of Pondicherry. Nice place this - a parting reminder that the French did at some stage have a small foothold in India!

The town's straight boulevards and beach promenade were pleasing to the eye, while a vast assortment of good restaurants made for a welcome break from colon damaging local cusine. French pate, fish, and strong black coffee appeared on our table every night washed down with chilled Kingfisher. Noice!

The food aside, "Pondy" soon got a little boring - the strong rips make this a definite no-no for swimming - but we managed a break from the tedium when we appeared in our Indian first music video. Marit managed to turn heads with a rip-roaring guitar solo (it went something like: "twang, twang, twang") while the film crew looked on in awe. I, meanwhile, was forced to straddle a rock and mime to the hip-hop esque lyrics pouring forth from the singers' mouths - in short I looked like a class-a twit!

Tickets for the boat to Andaman Islands

Not sure what was worst, our heads after Marit's birthday extravagnza, or the chaos that unfolded as we queued for boat tickets to the Andamans!

Marit's birthday really was crazy night - ended somewhat prematurely when a hotel porter advised us that romantic dancing on the roof of the building probably would'nt go down to well with the local police (well these folk should think twice before leaving bamboo ladders perilously perched against balconies more or less inviting drunken travellers to climb upwards) - and the 7am rise was most unwelcome!

10am the queuing started, and we'd made the front. Strange then, don't you think, that it wasn't until nearly 1pm we secured our bunks aboard the "Nicobar" despite being first in the queue. Course we have to explain here how the Indian's queue, they don't. Instead these smelly muppets cheat and conspire their way to the front using whatever means necessary. Our situation wasn't helped either by the jobsworths employed (by whom I'll never know) by the Director of Shipping, who spend longer sipping chai behind drawn curtains than doing what they're paid to do. Bloody Indians!

Still, a couple of hours of shouting and elbowing later we emerged from the crowd clutching our tickets - elated that we were indeed bound for paradise. But first we have a few weeks in Kerala to look forward to.

Happy birthday to me!

My birthday started on an overnight train from Kayakollum to Chennai. Not the best place to start I suppose, but you get used to smelly carriages and snoring people. It all turned out ok when Kris surprised me with a birthday cake, candle included. I think the plan was for Kris to take a picture of me blowing out the candles, but by the time he managed to find the camera I had already gobbled the whole cake down. Quite an impressive accomplishment if I may say so myself and the rest of the day was just as impressive. A trip to the shopping centre set us back a small fortune in sweets and crisps for and an evening in the Sheraton Hotel set us back a huge fortune drinking cocktails. But it was a great day which ended on the roof of our hotel overlooking the city. I can't grumble can I!

The backwaters in Kollam, Kerala

Beautiful eh! This is the place to be, so it seems, this time of the year.

Climb aboard a Keralan houseboat, kick off those smelly sandals and sit back to take in the beauty of more than 900km of canals and waterways. Course, 900km is not possible in three days but it was more than enough for a snapshot of what is out there.

Boats created from hollowed out trees weave their way, all be it at a snail's pace, through the networks, created hunderds of years ago as a way of carrying supplies (locally, copra (dried coconut meat) cashews and sand) between villages and towns. Now the waterways offer tourists a laid back chance of exploring Kerala, though some of the beautiful houseboats can set you back a small fortune for the privilege!

We opted for the cheaper option, a coupla quid for an afternoon on some local's boat. And it was worth every of the 200 or so pennies as we got a glimpse of locals in action. Alleppey (about 40km) north followed, and here we made do with the local ferries - about ten pence for three hours afloat.

Mind you, for such a popular place with "westerners" the social scene was distinctly lacking. Not that it stopped us having a tipple or 22 as we took advantage of the best accommodation to date. 4 quid a night for a brand new room in a large guesthouse, complete with massive balcony. Ah, life's good!

Varkala Beach

Tucked away on the west coast between Tamil Nadu and Kerala, Varkala is a beautiful beach set below a stunning cliff backdrop - the sunsets over the Arabian Sea are awsome!

Took time out of our whirlwind tour of the south to kick back and take it easy, which is exactly what we did! Three days of sunning, swimming, drinking and eating. Not such a bad life eh! It's a world away from the religious freaks further south yet manages to retain its charm by not selling out to package tourism like Goa.

Fresh fish stalls crowd the single cliff-top pass after sunset as travellers, much like ourselves, gather to barter for locally caught fish the likes of wish we'd never seen before. Our only regret - not staying longer before heading up the coast to the "backwaters" and the bedlam in Kollam.