Lovely Varkala

1030 on Monday morning and I’m typing this in the Ladies Waiting Room at Varkala train station, having extended my guilty weekend pleasure an extra night.

I heartily approve of the ladies waiting room idea. While all the male passengers are outside in the full glare of the sun, presumably doing manly things, I’m indoors in splendid isolation. I have my bottle of water, my small cup of ka-pee (coffee) and an ancient and interesting piece of furniture that looks a bit like a Victorian coat stand, It has a useful flat surface that I’ve commandeered for laptop purposes.

Varkala, as always, is lovely. Breakfast of fruit, brown toast and milk coffee at the Abba café, staffed by softly-spoken Nepalese boys who are always happy to stop and chat about their home and mine. Then a three-mile walk into town to buy an adaptor plug and new sunglasses, during which I accidentally buy two new sarees.

Lunch is a huge plate of salad: brightly coloured fresh vegetables, fish and sprouting beans. Then a scramble down from the top of the cliff to the beach. There are stairs of a sort, but a lot have crumbled away, so the descent isn’t exactly elegant.

It doesn’t take long to walk the length of the beach, watching the Indian boys playing Frisbee or dancing to music, and the pale-skinned tourists trying to cram a year’s worth of sunshine into two weeks’ holiday.

As the sun goes down, tourists and locals promenade along the cliff top, buying and selling. There’s the usual mix of brightly coloured fabrics, local embroidery, hand-made leather shoes and silver jewellery. Jewellers come from Kashmir and Rajasthan, while the fabric bags, ‘blankets’ and cushions are mainly sold by Karnatakans. Yesterday I bought an entire new outfit: dress, shoes and bag for under £20 – bargain!

Dinnertime and I’m spoiled for choice. All along the cliff top restaurants have laid out the catch of the day on huge slabs of ice; barracuda, butter fish, tiger prawns the size of tennis balls and the occasional lobster. The sizzling seafood platter is something else.

After dark, the cliff top is blessedly free of touts flogging drums, maps and the ubiquitous clacking silver balls. If you stay out late enough, the lights of the shops and restaurants gradually disappear and you are left with palm trees silhouetted against midnight sky and all the stars of the southern hemisphere. It’s beautiful.