We're on the move again today, heading for Kanyakumari, the 'Lands End' of India, but before we leave Varkala we engage in some last minute shopping and buy a Tibetan Singing Bowl. Depending on which vendor you believe, this is made from either seven, nine, eleven or twenty-one different metals. Either way, it comes with a wooden stick which, when rubbed round the rim of the bowl whilst the bowl is being held on the flat palm of the hand, produces a very pleasant and soothing resonance which seems to fill the air. It's very good, apparently, for moments of meditation and relaxation. We reckon one should be mandatory in every workplace! There are various sizes of bowl available - the larger the bowl the deeper the note. Some even play two notes. Although we prefer the larger bowls, we buy a smaller one because it's easier to get it home.

We get an auto to the railway station, and go through the well-established drill of establishing a) whether the train is on time, b) what platform it goes from, and c) whereabouts on the platform our carriage will be. This latter point is quite important because with trains in excess of 20 cars, and us carrying large packs, we don't want to find ourselves at the wrong place on the platform. A word of explanation: Carriage numbers are designated according to their function. The two-tier AC sleeping cars that we're typically in are designated A1, A2, etc, and we know which one we're in from our reservation details. Most stations have a board that identifies whereabouts in the train each carriage will be, e.g. A2 is the 2nd carriage behind the loco, or maybe it's the 19th. Armed with that information you can stand at the right point on the platform, beside one of the signs that identify where each carriage will stop. However, some stations are not diligent and don't provide the information readily. This proves to be the case at Varkala. Because the board hasn't been updated Clive goes to the Station Master's office to enquire, but is told by an official, "It is not exactly clear to us. We do not have all the facts. However it will be at that end of the train." Pointing to the north end of the platform, which in this case is at the back of the train. We're not convinced, and put in place a mitigation strategy which is to be implemented in case car A2 turns out to be at the other end of the train. This strategy has been successfully used previously, and involves standing at the end of he platform where the train enters the station. If car A2 sails past us at the front of the train, we start walking down the platform. From this point it will still be about a minute before the train actually stops, and you can cover quite a lot of ground in a minute! As soon as you hear the loco sound its horn, you know the train will start moving, so you climb aboard at that point and make your way down the train. It's very easy to get on a moving train, since they start very slowly and few, if any, of the doors are closed until the train is well out of the station. If on the other hand car A2 is at the back of the train, as proves to be the case now, then you simply climb aboard and look smug. The ticket inspector says, "Ah, Mr. Thompson! Please come this way," and escorts us to our seats. Gosh, we feel like VIPs. We pull out of Varkala at 14.15, only 30 mins late.

Once aboard we realise we're quite hungry, not having eaten since breakfast. When the train pulls into Trivandrum, vendors get on selling food, including something wrapped in newspaper called Bllblbrgllblbrum. At least that's what it sounds like to us after asking the vendor to repeat it twice, which he does at high speed. We decide to try some of the Bllblbrgllblbrum, which turns out to be a nondescript brown vegetable curry in a small plastic bag, with roti bread and a hard-boiled egg. The curry is quite runny and is eaten by dipping the bread into the plastic bag. It's very spicy, but fills the lunchtime gap nicely. Mmm, Bllblbrgllblbrum..

Despite the train being a little late we arrive in Kanyakumari in daylight and have time to take a look around. We walk through a fishing community down by the waters edge, and when we say waters edge we mean it. These places are barely above the high water mark. They're brick-built homes but they're very small, with narrow passageways leading between them. The local people and sitting around outside their houses, and there's barely any distinction between the inside and the outside, everywhere's so close. We decide not to walk up some of the narrower alleys because we've almost be inside their homes! Everyone's very friendly and wants to say hello, particularly the children who all want a photo. "Maybe later" we say. By now we're hungry and thirsty, so we head for the Permit Room (i.e licenced restaurant) of a nearby hotel to finish the day with a butter chicken masala and a Kingfisher or three.