Farther south was Varkala, a nice beach set below a cliff on which rows of thatch roofed open shops and restaurants were lined up along the contour. It was a beautiful contrast from the beach we enjoyed in Mangalore. Here there were no gawkers and white women felt free to wear bikinis and sunbathe topless. The few single Indian men who attempted to site see on the beach were escorted off by a security guard with a whistle. Only Indian families were

allowed, of which there were few. Mostly the sand was full of Westerners on vacation. We body surfed in the waves, ate real pasta and fresh red snapper watching sunset on the cliff, and spent one relaxing night there wishing we had more time to enjoy it all.

Plans had been made to catch a train north to Kochi and then to Gokarna. We were in sleeper class so no bedding, narrow blue vinyl bunks, and cockroaches climbing around on the wall beside me all night. I slept well.

At Gokarna we arranged taxis to Om Beach, a beautiful, idyllic, nontouristy, unspoilt and unpopulated small beach to the south. Black rock formations reached up from the sea in a pattern resembling an Om with imagination. Cheyney and I went exploring the next day, finding a trail that wandered farther south. We thought we were heading to Half Moon Beach, a twenty minute hike. Instead we found the footpaths of local residents that climbed over the saddle of the hills separating the beaches. We wound past a smiling old farmer with his cow, its hut with thatch roof and its bed of fresh greens beside a six by six foot by ten foot hole dug out of the clay mud. A fresh underground stream drained clear water into the bottom. Ghat like steps descending along the opposite wall. We thought it might be a place for bathing and washing clothes as the water filled the hole.

A little way through the banana and coconut trees we found the few huts of his small family farm. Unlike the children accustomed to foreigners, the ones there seemed frightened of us white people at their home with cameras. Two cried and hid behind a supporting pole of their hut. The Indian women wre precious, warm and inviting, smiling, welcoming us in a language that we couldn't understand. The two oldest sat squatting, stick like bare knees in the air and beetlenut stained remaining teeth in their uncertain grins. We took their pictures and watched them exclaim over the screen images of each other and then let the oldest boy lead us in the direction of the sea. Behind his home were brilliant green rice fields surrounded by coconut trees. A flock of pure white birds resting there flew off above us.

We found the ocean eventually, much farther south that we had expected that morning. It was a deserted strip of sand and water to enjoy in the heat. Then we had lunch in a fisherman's canteen in a town we came to down the dirt road. It was a traditional thali meal with a five inch fried fish wrapped in Indian spices and with white rice and a bowl of fishy sauce. I was the lone female in a place that doesn't see many foreigners of either sex.

At Om, Christy, Austin and Catrina had decided to go home early. They'd had enough of India, and everyone was tired of group travel. Bethany and I headed north to Goa the next morning, leaving the other three behind. A bus took us to Palolem at Goa's southern tip. Famous for scenes from the movie, Bourne Supremcy, the recently unspoiled beach is now rimmed with backpacker style development nestled among the cocunut trees that reach out at all angles over the sand towards the sea and sun. Unsturdy one room huts of plywood and bamboo on stilts filled every inch of the beach's back edge not covered by open air restaurants and peddlers' shops. Fishing boats littered the shore. In the early morning I watched as Indian men with huge nets worked together to haul in piles of small silver fish. In the afternoon we enjoyed the beach, watching as many tourist types as those of the backpacker crowd. Bethany and I found a nice restaurant on the rocks on the far end of the beach and ate frsh lobster for six dollars each while we watched the sun set over the ocean with Old Monk Rum and Coca-Cola and girl talk.