''Pool closes at 7pm''
Trip Start
Apr 11, 2011
1
10
26
Trip End
Apr 11, 2013
Varkala, Kerala, India
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
We met ''Rex'' a ''homestay'' owner on the Indian rail from ''Alleppey''. He thoughtfully carried our bags for us and helped us find a seat on the ever crowded train. ''What's this guy after?'', was from past experience my brains initial knee-jerk reaction to the act of kindness, and with true Scottish ignorance, I thanked him, put my Ipod on, and shut my eyes. On awakening an hour or so later, Vaila, being a better person than me, had conversed with Rex, and agreed to take a look at his ''homestay'' on arrival. Admittedly the pair of us were still wary, as exaggeration was generally a key factor in selling goods in India, but with nothing to lose, we went for a nosy.
Pitching up at ''Black Sandy Homestay'', was the moment I immediately retracted my doubts about Rex. If anything, he had undersold the stunning double room within an otherwise empty apartment. The balcony, accessible from all rooms, with a sea view, a hammock, and a blissful breeze, clinched the deal of 150rps (two pound) each per night. We met his crazy puppy ''Manuel'' along with his lovely wife ''Harriett's'' undergarments the dog had chewed to shreds, prior to our introduction to her. Their warm, welcoming manner made us feel at home, and by the following evening, we had rallied in the troops that we'd met elsewhere in India, plus a few extras, to fill the entire apartment, and before we knew it we had our very own party paradise.
The food was good, the drink was cheap and the company was spot on. A few days into our stay we discovered our own private beach where we spent our afternoons sweating out the previous nights alcohol consumption, attempting to tan our shockingly white bodies (a notable progression from pale blue, I feel), with some general wave rape thrown in for good measure. ''Martzio'' the stubborn Italian, who uses the phrase ''more or less'' as his answer to more or less everything, commenced a ''Come Dine With Me'' Esq cook off a few evenings in. Rex and Harriet let us loose in their kitchen, as we took it in turns to prepare a meal for the rest of the group. Impressed by everyones efforts, myself and Vaila decided to treat them to our signature Mexican feast. Hungover, following a night of rancid antics, in the blazing heat, we were soon to regret our drunken promise. And no, searching for Mexican ingredients in an Indian town, isn't as difficult as it sounds. It's fucking impossible. So, ''fajitas and nachos'' soon turned into ''chicken stir-fry with chipattis and banana chips with paneer cheese, homemade salsa, and curd''. All, might I add, cooked in a frying pan. I'm going to give ourselves 10/10 for improvisation, and our fellow diners an equal mark for their slyness in under the table dog feeding.
The nights out were, in one word, epic. With everyone up for a good time, every night was a guaranteed sesh from the word go. We jammed, we danced with Indian's solution to ''Michael Jackson'', we fell down, but we got up again. We partied in on of the local clubs that served such delecacys as ''a dash of cock''. I don't know about you, but I never order a cocktail without one. Josh, the legend, who knew us as the ''wee jessies'' did what we now refer to as ''pulling a Josh'' and drank his weight in beer, and danced like an albatross on it's hind legs (as only a guy of 6ft 7 can) until he paralytically left to catch his 6am flight back to London.
Gemma and Steve, by far a pair of our favorite people, improved the nights out ten fold. Steve, who jammed with me to Indian music, with which we added our own touch of British lyrics:
''This could be your kingdom come,
I'm going on the run, run, run,
But I think that she's the one, one, one,
'Cause she takes it up the bum, bum, bum''
And Gemma, who gave me my nickname ''Coconut Jo'' (most likely to die from a coconut falling on my head), my partner in crime, who was always as keen as me to create as much carnage as physically possible. Without her, I doubt ''swimming pool gate'' stage I, and stage II, would have occurred. The first evening, after dancing the night away in one of ''Varkala's'' discotheques, and drinking the bar dry, we marched on our merry way. Steve, like a newborn lamb, required walking support by two willing parties (and even that wasn't fully effective) so me and Gemma trundled ahead. The advertisement for the swimming pool in a nearby hotel was too much to resist, and before we knew it, the remaining five of us were getting an early morning swim underway. Numerous diving lessons, handstands, and running bombs later, with slyness and volume control not something we chose to include, we were pleasantly surprised that we were yet to be evicted. Steve, who, we were all relieved to discover was finding swimming slightly easier than walking and hadn't drowned in the process, seemed overly concerned that he still had his jeans on. And following his announcement of ''Av got me jeans on'' to every party, we decided it was time to take him home, with a souvenir ''Pool Closes at 7pm'' sign in tow.
After one of our few nights on the wagon, we were back on it with style again the following evening. Myself and Gemma led the stagger home from the bar, with a mission on both our minds, and before we knew it, the five of us were back in the pool for a skinny-dip at dawn. Mucho fun was had, but unfortunately it wasn't long before our cockiness of not being caught the first time backfired and there was soon an Indian guard standing, arms folded, shouting over the five naked additions to his pool. Clearly not a crowd to let anything get to us, we continued the general carnage in the water. Diving, smoking, photography and such like, until another guard appeared and threatened to call the police. We decided this was our cue to leave. With a cheeky ''How are we supposed to know the pool's closed? You should get a sign mate'', thrown in for good measure, we squelched our way home, with a group consensus that ''Varkala swimming pool rape'' was a thing of the past.
A romance blossomed between ''Ryan'' and ''Anna'' which cut Anna's travel around India short and she found herself diverting her route, back home with Ryan to America. Martzio's love affair with Steve, was far more passionate, however. They enjoyed a daily ritual of sunscreen application, moonlit walks, and heart to hearts. The love story though, With us all parting in different directions, was a situation of unrequited love and left Steve with no other option but to stick with Gemma, the love that once was. At the end of the day, you've got to take what you can.
Ten days following our arrival in ''Varkala'', leaving the ''Pool Closes at 7pm'' sign behind, we reluctantly parted ways from the wonderful shower of good time guys and gals, minus the unshakable Italian who was to join us on the next part of our journey. With plans to explore Italy and Britain together as a group, prior to settling in the Shetland isles in the future, we managed to hold back the tears.
Lesson of the day - when breaking the rules, ALWAYS destroy the evidence.
Comments
Given the effort put in to self destruct you're both looking amazingly well! X
So happy to get your postcard today and can see by the blogs your having a good time. Will keep an eye on you throughout your travels and remember to keep in touch and don't forget us. Take care of yourselves xx
what fun it seems you are both having, go for it girls. having read your story's, if i had known the fun that you could have travelling before i had settled into the married life i would be there travelling with you both now. wish you all the best, keep in touch xx.