Christmas Day in Varkala

For being four months into a semi-permanent vacation, I sure feel like I've been at work. For the past four weeks, all my Internet time has been spent researching and applying to a few graduate programs in bioengineering. Thankfully, I have some good people helping me on home soil, so I'm almost finished. Big thanks to Paul, Dave, Bill, and Dad for their help, and to Marita for putting up with my conspicuous absence!



Of course, the big difference between filling applications and work is that, in Seattle, I don't have the option of breaking for lunch on the beach, taking a dip in the Arabian sea, and sipping cool lime sodas in a sunset-view hammock after finishing early. Such is the cross I have to bear.



And speaking of crosses, Merry Christmas. Having only each other to share the day with, our thoughts are with all of you, wherever on the globe you may be. Here’s to your health, and to all the things that make Christmas what it is in North America. Mmm… gingerbread.



What is Christmas like in India? In Goa, the hotbed of Christianity in early and modern India, and of all-night beach raves in the early nineties, Christmas is a huge party.



At one level, the celebration is spiritual. The state is primarily Christian, and its numerous whitewashed churches stand out distinctly, looking down over fields and villages, or over the small lanes of colorful houses in Panjim. Sunday Mass draws huge crowds, as does the once-in-a-decade showing of “The Immutable Body of St. Xavier.” (For one so immutable, his corpse looks quite fossilized in person.) Christian faith runs strong, and is expressed as publicly as Hinduism elsewhere.



At another level, the celebration is fun for fun’s sake. Indians are notoriously good-natured partiers, and anxiously involve themselves in any festival, religious or otherwise. It’s not uncommon to see Goan car interiors decorated with side-by-side images of baby Jesus and a blue-skinned baby Krishna, so it shouldn’t be surprising to see people from all walks of life engaging in the Christmas festivities.



Anyway, we’re in Varkala, not Goa. Varkala doubles as a site of Hindu pilgrimage and an emerging tourist destination, and for one week, it’s been our home.



These are the kinds of people we see here: Hindu pilgrims, bathing on the temple ghats; Indian tourists, dressed the same (button-downs and trousers) for either a sit on the beach or a dip in the ocean; western tourists, flaunting wide swaths of skin as they tan, giving the hormonally-charged Indian boys an excuse to gawk; local business owners, who would sooner block your path than let you pass their restaurant without a glance; fishermen, paddling in from the ocean with bamboo poles, and stretching their nets over entire beaches to dry for the next day’s work.



With this circus of performers, Varkala makes a strange stage for our little Christmas pageant.



On Christmas Eve, every restaurant had a special menu (expensive) and a special program (also expensive) consisting of local cultural performances. The most unique act had to be an Indian guy in his clubbing outfit, doing the robot to the sounds of Goan trance music. Who pays to see this? The food was typically outstanding, highlighting the fresh seafood that is so easy to come by and cheap to order. Tender marlin fillets go for three or four bucks per pound, grilled in garlic butter and served with naan.



While we dined, our restaurant hosted no fewer than four eager groups of boys, each micro-parade making a semi-musical racket around a lean Santa and a tree on a bike. They were seeking donations for their efforts, however cacophonous, until the restaurant would move them on to the next unfortunate dining establishment.



The tourist area was completely transformed for the holiday. Restaurants supported strings of paper stars and lights, cypress branches gave their lives as stand-in Christmas trees, a giant metal enclosure was erected to house a thumping party (hosted by “Fat Boy Souraj”), and the cliff-side trail earned a makeshift fence, presumably to keep drunk party-goers from pulling a Wiley E. Coyote stunt on the rocks below.



Despite the noise of the party, our “long winter’s nap” was quite peaceful, and we awoke on Christmas morning to the familiar sounds of crashing surf and cawing crows. No presents this morning, since our needs are met and our bags are full. The rest of the day will involve more set menus, more wishes of “Merry Christmas,” and one last sunset from the beach before we move on to Trivandrum. I’m sure it will be gorgeous, as usual.



After ten weeks of traveling in India, our Christmas gift to ourselves has been a week removed from the trains and reservations, a week to reflect on our journey and our home. Despite being far from our families and wishing for turkey and pumpkin pie, we have this week to be thankful for where we are, and what we are doing.



Merry Christmas