Reflections from the Cliff's Edge

Shirodhara: Indian word meaning "I'mma gonna grease up your hair, beat you around the head and shoulders, then drip oil on your forehead for 45 minutes. Maybe your third eye will be massaged or maybe you will only end up with lustrous eyebrows. Who knows?" It did leave my eyebrows looking particularly luxuriant and relieved all the pent up stress I was holding in my big toe.

Kerala is a big Ayurveda state. There are Ayurvedic doctors on every corner waiting to take your pulse, pull down your lower eyelids and tell you whether you are a vada, pitta or kaptha dosha. Then they prescribe things. If you are lucky, they prescribe a massage. They may also recommend water binging until you puke (never been accused of needing to puke more), stuffing fabric up one nostril and pulling it out the other, a thorough vaginal cleansing (called yoni prakshalanam for those looking for one) or a good old fashioned blood letting. I just volunteered myself for the massage program since Dr. Internet tells me I am well balanced amongst all the doshas. The day I leave I am having a traditional Kerala Ayurvedic massage with facial and reflexology. That should fix anything three weeks in the sun couldn't.

Varkala beach is a weird spot. It's as though we are no longer in India but suddenly in any beach culture in the world. The only difference is the people in the shops selling bongs, tank tops and woven hippie bags are wearing sarees. Indian servers in the Caribbean style establishments blast Bob Marley and pretend to be Jamaicans, getting so stoned that they forget to bring your food to the table and eat it themselves. Young Israelis walk along in their baggy pants and dreadlocks while overtoasted, underdressed Germans complain about everything not being like at home. Canadians apologize to pickpockets and lie to the aggressive Kashmiri shawl and jewelry sellers that they will be back to look in their shops later. There are some lovely restaurants along the cliff run by Tibetans and Nepalis. Everywhere I have met Tibetans and Nepalis, they have been very friendly and quite efficient. Why aren't they running the world already?

Every night I run the fish gauntlet. Each restaurant along the cliff has an ice table upon which they place the catches of the day for diners to pick their dinner. Fish. Tables and tables of fish. Big fish, little fish, all kinds of fish. I fucking hate fish! I almost fall off the cliff trying to unfocus my eyes and walk past on the uneven cobblestone path. One foolish shopkeeper tried to block my way and force me into her shop right in front of a fish stand. She got a not-so-polite Canadian shove out of my way.

The resort we are staying at is quite swanky. Not only are we on the cliff face with an exquisite view of the sea but, we also have a pool to help during the heat of the day. It's a welcome bit of luxury after our Goldilocks rooms that were too cold, then rooms that were too hot. This room is just right. We have the group beer fridge and a kettle to make myself some green tea if I can't handle the 30 foot walk to the restaurant. Swanky being the case, you can imagine my surprise when I reached for my open purse this morning and a huge cockroach burst forth at me. He looked like my dear friend Aloysius on steroids. It is possible that I may have squealed and traumatized him a teensy bit.

Still, it's a nice room. Cz, my roomie, thinks so, too. In fact, she thinks it's such a nice room that I should spent more time in it. I assume that was why she locked me in the room again yesterday morning when she went to breakfast. I had to lean out the cottage window like a shorn Rapunzel and hail her at the breakfast buffet to be rescued.