In the original plan I was going to head to Madurai after my stay in Kumily to see the temples and then visit a hill station in Tamil Nadu before heading south to meet Tara. I had forgotten that to get anywhere you had to plan for at least one day of travel. In order to reach all these destinations and meet Tara on the 15th, I would have to travel everyday and there would be no time for hiccups. When I woke Sunday morning I felt like I just wanted to go somewhere and stay for a while so instead of heading to Tamil Nadu, I hopped on another bus that would lead me to Kottayam and from there I could take the bus to Varkala, a quaint town on a cliff overlooking the Arabian Sea. I was enjoying the bus travel even though the roads are a little frightening and none of the buses have any suspension but when I arrived in Kottayam I learned that I would have to make four transfers and it would take at least five hours for a two hour journey. Much to the bus attendant’s dismay I decided to try my luck on the train and traveled across town to the train station. It was packed! There were four lines at least sixty deep and it was difficult to maneuver with my packs. I made my way to the inquiry counter and was informed that the next train to Varkala was in twenty minutes, there was no tourist information desk at the station and “long ticket queue madam, so many people”. I established myself in one of the lines and was impressed by its linear quality. There were signs all over the station announcing: Please remain in Q, No separate Q for Ladies, Must Q for Enquiries. As I made my way closer to the ticket counter I could see that there was a cluster of people trying to get others to purchase tickets for them so they could skip the queue. This irked the older gentleman in front of me and behind me who began to yell at the cluster of people and motioned them to the back of the line. Eventually I bought the ticket but I thought that I had already missed the train. I returned to the inquiry counter and learned that the train was late so I made my way to platform 1. I strained to follow the announcement when it came in English but the decades old speakers and chatter from the station prohibited me from understanding. I asked around me if anyone spoke English. A well dressed gentleman with an older woman in a beautiful cream-colored sari with perfect English came to my aid. We were all travelling the same direction, they were returning home to Trivandrum after a wedding and were happy to guide me. When the train arrived the woman motioned for me to move to the front of the mass. Bodies poured out of the narrow doorway and when it was free for people to board she shouted : Now I push you! Go! Go! Go! A good shove came from behind and I was lifted up onto the steps of the train, they followed close behind. Some boys helped hoist my heavy pack onto the luggage rack and we stood in the aisle of the over-capacity train for the first two stops. On each bench there was room for three but on many there were four, five or even six bodies. There was a four inch gap between me and the man next to me and at one stop a wide-bottomed woman motioned for me to scoot over. I slid as far as I could and she deposited one butt-cheek on the bench and the other on the leg of the man next to me where she remained for the next forty minutes. During the ride I learned that my co-travelers are mother and son. Kurien is a professor of engineering at the aeronautical college in Trivandrum who did a sabbatical in Delaware at some point during his career. His mother has a Master’s degree in Linguistics and four of her seven brothers live in the United States where she has travelled many times for weddings. The conversation was delightful and I arrived in Varkala much sooner than I anticipated. I thanked them for their help, disembarked and waved as the train pulled away.
In Varkala the touts and auto-rickshaw drivers are tough and Mafioso. They refuse to negotiate a cheaper rate and I read that they drive you all over to make a commission. I visited two stops with my driver, the places listed in LP however the price was astronomical considering the care of the place and eventually I found a room on the North Cliff. I freshened up and dined at The Hungry Eye, only for its name. The freshly caught half pound of grilled butterfish and finger chips (British for French Fries) were delicious.
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