There's a notice on the beach here at Varkala which says "Swimming is Dangerous Without Proper Training".
In a similar vein, a notice outside a travel agent advertises "Fresh Air Tickets".
Here, just as at any other tourist resort in India, there is an oversupply of shops. It seems that if one person comes up with the idea of selling, say, wooden elephants, and makes a success of it, then a thousand others will see this success and set up a shop to do exactly the same thing. Consequently retailers are desperate to get tourists to go into their shops even though they are selling exactly the same as the shop next door. Walking around Varkala beach area is a constant exercise in avoiding the persistent attentions of local vendors. "Hello Sir/Madam. You look my shop. Very cheap price!" is a familiar call. When you decline or simply ignore them, it is often followed up by a "Maybe later?" to which we normally give a dismissive "Yes, maybe later". A similar ritual occurs when passing a line of taxis or autos. You'll be walking past minding your own business, and you'll get "Sir/Madam, you want taxi? To airport maybe?" This quickly becomes very irritating because, quite clearly, if you had wanted to get a taxi to the airport you would have walked up to the driver and said something like "Please take me to the airport." The fact that you are walking straight past the taxis would imply to any right-thinking person that you do not, in fact, wish to take a ride in a taxi. However that does not put these people off. When you dismissively wave them away, or ignore them you get "Maybe tomorrow?" As a result of these experiences "Maybe Later" has become our current catchphrase.

The first vedi vashipadu explosion is at 6.15 this morning! Thereafter they occur regularly throughout the day. After the usual leisurely breakfast of porridge, toast and coffee the day is spent mainly between the beach and the internet café.

An old friend of ours, Mick Howard, is 50 today. Mick has a business as an entertainer at corporate functions, so Clive phones him at his home in Kent, puts on an Indian accent and pretends to be from the Indian High Commission in London looking to book him for a dinner function. Mick soon clocks that the call is a wind-up, but doesn't know who it is until we both start singing Happy Birthday with Indian accents. He said it made his day.

In the evening we choose an Italian restaurant on the cliff-top. Non-Indian food is always a risk, and normally results in disappointment, but this turns out to be the best non-Indian meal we've had the whole trip. It consists of bruschetta with cheese for starters. Then for the main we share seafood lasagne, spaghetti carbonara and a delicious tomato & basil salad. For dessert we both have chocolate & banana crepes. As usual the beer is served in mugs disguised as 'special tea', and the bottle has to be hidden under the table. This certainly doesn't detract from the taste though!