December 30-31: Varkala
shops overlooking Varkala Beach
Unfortunately, our visit to Munnar ended with some misinformation, which kept us waiting at a bus station for several hours at 6am, hungry, cold, and very unhappy. The subsequent bus ride was several more hours of continued hunger, and unhappiness at the fact that the bus was 120% full the entire time, squeezing us three to a seat with various large Indian men. Another long wait at a dingy train station, and then a train ride finally got us to Varkala Beach in the evening. And there was no better place to melt away the frustration of travel.
Our guesthouse was bright, with tie-dyed linens and a large garden, and was a short walk from the cliffs overlooking the beach. Hugging the cliffs were cafes, restaurants,bars, souvenir shops, and art galleries. Bob Marley and Jack Johnson music wafted through the air, and a relaxed, hippie, vibe infused every inch of the place. Slightly more revealing clothing and beer with dinner were much more acceptable and laid-back tourists were abound. 
So many of the travelers we met said that they had come to Varkala intending to stay for a day and had been there for weeks or even months now. If we hadn’t already had return tickets back, I would have been sorely tempted to do the same. It was the perfect final stop in India and demonstrated the range of contrast that existed in the country–from dodging cows, to cold weather, to tea covered mountains, to a hippie beach town.
For our only full day in Varkala, New Year’s Eve, we whiled away the hours reading on the beach, shopping for art, and indulging in Western foods. That evening, we decided to send off 2010 at the party that our guesthouse. The eclectic mix of guests gathered in the garden for food, drinks, and entertainment. Kingfisher beer was aplenty, along with a homemade punch that was hidden prohibition-style in the bushes, because of the strict liquor licensing laws in the state. We all ate thalis around a long table, and watched an interesting collection of performances, which included a glass-eater, fire breathers, kids dressed in sparkly costumes doing Michael Jackson numbers, and Bollywood dancing that involved cross-dressing. The other people provided equal entertainment, including dreadlocked backpackers who had started living at the guesthouse, a bearded man from Brooklyn who built musical instruments for fun and moved to India to make a sitar, and an Israeli yogi who led everyone in a spiritual ceremony around the bonfire.
A firebreather at the New Year’s party.
So 2010, a year that began in Italy, and included graduation, moving to a totally unexpected country at the last minute, beginning to teach, surviving dengue fever, and going to Bali and Thailand (side note: I managed to visit all 3 Eat, Pray, Love countries in 2010) ended at a bohemian garden party in southern India.
Before the first sunrise of the New Year, before many of the parties had ended, and before my American friends had even celebrated, we groggily got in a cab to the Trivandrum airport, where the final trial of India was a labyrinth of disorder, no airconditioning, and impatient line-cutters with oversized baggage. By 8:30am, we were in the air, leaving the subcontinent. Though the India portion of my trip was over, visions of bushy moustaches, litter-strewn alleys, head bobbles, autorickshaws, and rotis would continue to linger in my mind long after.
Several hours later, I was in an orderly queue at the Singapore airport, waiting for the next fresh-smelling, metered cab to take us to the PiA apartments. I can think of few greater contrasts to India than Singapore, land of cleanliness, efficiency, and modernity, where I would spend the next few days.