Overlooking Varkala Beach, with its smooth sands, basking girls and beautiful treacherous waves, North Cliff was a place to enjoy a latte in a louche cafe, lulled by some gentle pysbient music - Debra had shown us the ethnic shops and eateries lining the cliff edge -
Every evening, we would linger here, sitting in the Abba Restaurant, watching the sun fall into the warm Arabian Sea - after a dhal, we would drink mango lassi, then share a Kingfisher - we would then go searching for rings and bright cotton trousers - the cliff path would thronged with westerners of all ages, silver foxes and Lolita's -
In Wind-Horse, Sophie and Anne exchanged grave words with the Tibetan proprietor - he looked like a Chirico mannequin, the smooth oval of his head bent over mandalas and prayer flags -
I roamed along the path, gazing at a sword fish displayed outside a fish joint - I saw posters advertising yoga for beginners, with Vasudev -
Sophie bought a photograph which she later lost in Dubai Airport - a young father took a drumming lesson with his graceful infant -
The night air was warm and mild - we took an auto rickshaw from the helipad, back to Kaiya House -
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