Gorgeous Varkala...

We were excited for Varkala; our last beach together, and a different one. It’s a gorgeous beach town where the beaches are surrounded by cliffs; to reach the beaches, you have to climb down really steep steps.

We checked into our resort, Bohemian Masala, which was gorgeous, but the staff were pretty unhelpful. We took a walk, got a nice lunch, and then headed down to the beach for a swim and a relax.

After dinner, we hung out in our little hut, with a candle, talking, swatting mosquitos away. We talked about everything in a way you can when you don’t have restraints. It was so nice.

The next day was yoga and beach. We went to morning yoga at Bohemian Masala Cafe, and it was pretty awesome. Then the beach during the day, and an ayurvedic doctor who gave Wayne some good back advice. Then yoga again on the gorgeous rooftop with a view of the ocean at Nirvana Yoga.

I love yoga in India; it can be so very different than yoga back home. The teachers are actually more focused on the asanas of yoga; I think it’s assumed you are practicing the other 7 limbs of yoga outside of class. In NYC, they try to incorporate other elements because frankly, most people aren’t practicing the other limbs of yoga.

Wayne really liked his yoga experience in India; I was glad he could see why I came here.

We got dinner with one of the yoga girls; her friends came and one of them was going to Burning Man, so we were full of playa advice. We bought a piece of art of Saraswati…

The morning was another day of a clifftop run, yoga, and then a day of transit: an hour in a taxi to Trivvandrum, then flight to Delhi, then taxi to Agra.

The adventures continue!

Goodbye, La Playa

Slept intertwined in each other’s arms, we woke before dawn. We’d pad out to the balcony, barefoot, scanning the sky for the sun’s rise. We’d watch it from the matrimonial hammock, holding each other, still sleepily cuddling each other. Then I’d head down to the sand, sometimes alone, sometimes with Wayne. I’d run back and forth and the sand, doing laps, smiling “Buenos Dias” at everyone I passed. Sweat wouldn’t be too voluminous as I’d splash in the waves and the water, soaking my legs and sometimes more.

I’d go up and rinse off in the shower, and put on a bikini. We’d head out to breakfast, easily agreeing on a place as they were all good. Sometimes we might bring a book, other times we’d entertain each other with conversation and hand holding and discussions of the waves, the food, the beach.

We might get a large hibiscus tea, the size that Bloomberg would try to ban were we in NYC. Ten pesos (13 pesos=1 USD). We’d go back to the beach, alternating between sitting in the sun with our books, splashing around in the ocean, or lazing in the hammock. “Pass the Jamaica te.” “Did you see that wave?” “Want to splash about?” I’d show you a shell I found, or you’d tell me about the birds and guarno.

And suddenly, we were hungry. Where to eat…Soon we’d be sitting down, to salads or tortas or quesadillas or sometimes, all three. And often, guacamole. More than not. In fact, almost always. A sol for you, a Pina Colada for me…or maybe a mojito? If we were eating at Dos Estrellas, we’d be playing “Drunken Mexican Scrabble” which means you can play scrabble drunk using proper nouns and none of those stupid normal scrabble rules, and you can play with English or Spanish words. Like Scooby Doo. Or pequena.

Back to the sand. But it might be too hot. So let’s snuggle in a hammock, reading, shifting only when we’d have to run up to the bathroom or drink some more. Watermelon juice or water or something else.

The sun would start dripping down the sky. We might head out to Posada Mexico and get two for one drinks, snacking on the tapas they served while I’d snap pictures and we’d talk about how beautiful it was, how annoying the vendors were, where we should go for dinner, how much we missed our cat, our training, whatever.

Upon sunset, we’d pay la cuenta and shower in our room. We’d get ready for dinner, the most formal affair that only sometimes required shoes. We’d share dinner, often, laughing and kissing and we were used to the terrible service so we didn’t mind the wait. We’d people watch, talk, talk our heart out like we haven’t done in a while (before life and work and deadlines and being late and grocery shopping and washing the dishes and doing laundry and blah blah blah why does all the crap get in the way of our dreams?), eat.

And then maybe we’d stroll into the shops, past the vendors, down the beach. We saw a dead sea turtle one day. I’d collect shells.

We’d head up to our room and listen to the roar of the waves. We’d close to the door to the balcony so the mosquitos wouldn’t get in. We’d look at the big moon, watch the waves crashing. Then we’d collapse into bed at a ridiculously early time, and fall asleep in each others’ arms, letting the waves lull us to sleep.

Zipolite, Mexico

Sunrise

Puerto Angel

Whales

We had little to do except relax. Wake up. See the sunrise. Go for a nice relaxed run on the beach. Shower. Eat breakfast at one of the many restaurants on the beach. Go back to room, slather on sunscreen. Chat and chill on the hammocks on the balcony in front of our room. Be glad for our ocean view and the roar of the waves. Read on the beach. Jump around in the water when it's too hot. It's lunchtime. Ponder lunch. Sip watermelon juice and laugh, maybe order a pina colada or two and play a version of Drunk Mexican Scrabble. Back on the beach. Swim. Read. Talk. Laugh. Head for the hammocks in the shade if it's too hot. Buy hibiscus juice. Head upstairs for a shower before the sunset. Over to Posada Mexico for pina coladas and tapas. And then where is dinner? The sun sets beautifully over the rocks. Get dinner. Relax. Walk around in the streets, scanning the goods vendors have, trying not to bump into other diners and strollers. Up to the room. The roar of the ocean while reading before bed. And sleep. And let's do it again tomorrow. In a town of pure beauty and chill and guacamole...it's a great place to be.

Floridays

I call them Floridays....

Floriday mornings....


Get up early, pull on running clothes (of course), towel, water, keys, and head to the car. Drive with windows open, music on, smile on my face.

And onto the sand. Run at whatever pace I want. Sprint when there are seagulls. Slow down when the sand gets tricky. Find the flattest, hardest part of the sand. Love the squish of feet between the feet.


Know tomorrow will be tough, fifty miles of fun. But today is fun. 


And after, straight into the water with running clothes on, letting the waves cleanse and excite me.


Good morning, Floriday!