Barksalot

Varkala (AKA Barksalot -- Benjamin cannot remember the name)

Ah. This is the life... just what the 'doctor' ordered, and what Benjamin needed to maintain sanity and interest in India. We are in Varkala, a seemingly tiny town, and with a population of over 42,000, by Indian standards, it is.

We have a round beach hut with thatched roof, faux marble floors, hot water, electricity... the works. From the chairs on our small porch, we can see the Arabian Sea. A breeze stirs the air, the sound of palm fronds rustle in the wind, birds caw, the clink of a toast rings in the tropical air. We've arrived in the perfect spot for our vacation from our vacation.

There's always paper work to be done when arriving somewhere in India. "For the police," we're told. Apparently, as we found out in Kolkata, there is even paper work done for bakseesh, which is essentially the documentation of a bribe... for the police. Hmmm.

We filled out the paper work for our beach hut and I imagined the carbon copy winding up in the central police station somewhere (maybe in Bhopal, it being the center of India and all). The carbon copy will be filed with the others, under a giant map with colored pins and string plotting our course through India. I'm sure the police chief would know that they could put our map away for a while, maybe take a few days off... because, he would figure, with the pace we've been moving, surely we'd stay put for a while (at least 4 or 5 days) -- in Kerala, or more specifically, Barksalot.