Black Sand and Communism

First of all, check out the photos.

Approaching the southernmost tip of the Indian subcontinent lies Kovalam and it’s fabled beaches. On the main tourist drag, to my amazement, the sand is actually black. Not from tar, mind you; black is simply the dominant color. There’s plenty of sun, and of course a bit of rain, with mid October being the tail end of the monsoon so far down south. True to form, we arrived just before the real tourist season started, and had the excellent luck to find lodging in the Rock View guest house, which has only two rooms. We had the run of the place, including seafront balconies and a full-on rooftop.

One fine morning, after another night of gin and tonic carousing, we hit the beach at a relatively early 10:00. As previously mentioned, Mikael and I are in a tanning competition, I being undaunted by his South American origins. I told him the fable of the rabbit and the hare. Nevertheless, by early afternoon, large and frequent dollops of sunscreen notwithstanding, it became clear to me that my day in the sun was over, and we should move on to other activities for safety’s sake.

Mikael insisted on a final dip in the high waves before hitting the showers and applying the aftersun lotion, and who was I to refuse. The waves were strong and high, and I conveniently placed myself right in his path so that the waves propelled me to crash into him several times. And as I was walking ashore ahead of him, he let out a peel of sustained laughter. I turned around to see him nearly falling over, pointing at my ass. As it would happen, my bathing suit had a nice big gaping hole in the rear. I can only speculate the interesting effect it must have had on my tan line. Upon reaching Nina on her chaise longue under the parasol, she commented that she had noticed the tear on my way out, but realized that calling out to alert me of the garment malfunction would only have drawn even more attention to it.

Later on, we found a pizza place on the boardwalk, and I gave my surely annoyingly specific instructions on exactly what we wanted, thinking we would be getting a family sized pizza. To that end, we spent a good quarter of an hour creating a consensus pizza that would please the three of us. Domino’s it wasn’t, and in the event, we were served with three individual consensus pizzas, when I had really wanted bacon on mine, Mikael had wanted chicken, and Nina pineapple. Underwhelming is the word that first comes to mind.

Pizza disappointments aside, the fresh fish and seafood in Kovalam is nothing short of spectacular. We already have a designated favorite restaurant, Leo’s. What’s more, I can give the most specific instructions for preparation, and they will follow them to a T. Ditto for the German Bakery, albeit for different fare.

The other day Mikael and I rented a scooter. I allow myself to do this in third world countries where seatbelt, helmet, and indeed driving license laws are conveniently suspended. In any case, perhaps my most favorite activity in the whole world is to drive at a leisurely pace along scenic country roads. (This is of course because I have not yet driven a Porsche on the Autobahn at 250 km/h).

We found and wandered into a village not far from Kovalam. Kerala is one of two states in India that are usually governed by the Communist Party of India (Marxist) – CPI (M). It has the lowest illiteracy and birthrates, and is perhaps the least caste-conscious state in this vast country. Kerala is also home to something like half of all of India’s Christians. In any case, this village was mixed with Hindus, Christians and Muslims all living side by side. And amazingly, the CPI (M) was their common rallying point.

Now you probably have a preformed opinion about Communism as an ideology. While Skye Frontier concedes that as an economic system it was somewhat nonsensical, you must agree with me that in a parliamentary democracy where they win (and lose) fair and square, as a common rallying point, it has a definite non-sectarian appeal. Focusing on class rather than caste differences is also a huge step in the direction of progress. And there’s still something of an armchair socialist lurking in the core of the Neo-Colonial Baroness’s heart.

Our evening tradition includes gin and tonic at our sunset point, just up on the rocks about 50 meters from the guest house. We are impressed each evening anew, and the waves crashing into the rocks only adds to the romance of the scene. Around that time, a rat usually emerges, whom we’ve christened Rufus. However, it would seem that Rufus has replicated many times over, though I am happy to report that the rat population is confined to those rocks by the shore, and they provide a bit of scary entertainment as the sun goes down each evening.

We prepaid the guest house for three weeks in advance. So this is just the beginning.