There are certain feelings that we chase our entire lives.
We seek comfort and safety in the shelter of a home, or fulfillment in pursuing our hobbies and passions; we search for completeness in love, satisfaction from the ideal job, or simply yearn for considerable wealth. People typically have a combination of these desires, and they fluctuate with the ebb and flow of life.
My most consistent craving has been to get out.
An insatiable need to go.
No matter where I end up, I always find myself contemplating what’s next. There’s a steady hunger that never subsides, and it eventually reaches the point where I have to do something about it.
This has taken me to some amazing places, along with places that I don’t particularly care for.
Colorado, for instance, was damn near perfect. I spend a fair amount of time outdoors and enjoy seeing as much as possible. Sometimes this means going to a region and covering every highlight that I can, other times I’m spending several days extensively examining a specific setting. What I love most about Colorado is that not only is the entire state filled with beauty and adventure, the surrounding states also have SO MUCH to offer.
Almost every week, I’d lie in bed on Thursday night viciously studying maps, weather forecasts, and road conditions, in order to hit the highway within minutes of work ending on Friday. Or I’d use my paid time off to really make it a full weekend.
Of course, I eventually had to keep moving.
Which is what brought me to India.
I lived in Bangalore for about a year, and like my time in Colorado, I stayed busy.
When I wasn’t working, I was constantly planning my next trip. I’d find a friend that was looking to get outta town, maybe there was somewhere they’ve been meaning to visit — and there you have it — we’d brainstorm ideas, figure out our stay and transportation, and voila.
When I first arrived in Bangalore, I was like a fungus dropped in a petri dish, branching out in each direction to gain a sense of my surroundings. It began with walking all over the neighborhood, familiarizing myself with the local streets and stores, finding my favorite chai stands and coconut vendors. Then it became outings to the nearest bars and getting rides to other parts of town. I’d explore this way, then the opposite, revisiting areas densely packed with things to do or see.
When I’d talk with people back home, I was surprised at how frequently I heard, “Have you checked out the Taj Mahal?” Realistically, this question should be expected, if I were in France, I’d probably be asked about the Eiffel Tower, or in Egypt — the pyramids, Peru — Machu Picchu.
You see this at a city level and regionally, as well. “Oh, you were in New York? Did you see Time Square?” “National Parks? Have you been to the Grand Canyon?” All of these places are well and good (except maybe Time Square), however, they each have considerably more to offer.
For example, the National Park System. The Grand Canyon, Yosemite, Yellowstone, they speak for themselves and are widely celebrated, but there are many smaller parks that deserve praise yet often go unheard and overlooked. In Navajo Nation or the shores of a Great Lake, an old volcano in the desert or some buttes on the Nebraskan plains, these seemingly quiet places have a lot to say.
Most people visiting India will arrive in New Delhi or Mumbai. They might work their way through Rajasthan to Jaipur while completing the Golden Triangle. But India’s a huge country, there’s clearly more to experience than the handful of places that immediately come to mind.
Let’s get off of the main route.
What about the South?
Not Hyderabad or Chennai, further south — in Kerala.
As I became familiar with Bangalore, I was continuously collecting suggestions of easy-to-reach destinations accessible by overnight bus — which is how I reached Varkala. In my case, it was a bus to Thiruvananthapuram, followed by a quick train ride.
*****
If you find yourself in Kerala, along the Malabar Coast,
here are things to do around Varkala Cliff
There are myriad hotels and resorts to choose from within walking distance of the Arabian Sea. You don’t need to stay directly on the water, but you might as well stay close.
From the bus/train station, it should take about 15 minutes to reach a nice place near the beach. I recommend renting a scooter — you can probably find one outside of the station, or can reserve one through your hotel/resort. A scooty makes life easier so you’re not relying on others and haggling for a ride everywhere you go; not only will this free-up time but will likely save you money.
Upon your arrival, take it all in.
Step away from your room and listen to the waves.
Check out the shops and cafes lining the cliffside; find a staircase that’ll take you down to the variegated black sand below.
It’s a gorgeous beach. Lush foliage covers large boulders that rise abruptly from the otherwise smooth, dark earth. Towering trees dot the crest, with vegetation cascading downward, inching ever-closer toward the sea. Music and lights from the restaurants above seem to be a different world from the serenity of the tide washing over your ankles.
When you’ve had enough peace and quiet, you can climb back up the stairs and re-enter the lively strip of sidewalk. There are plenty of eateries to sample, many of which feature fresh seafood. You’ll also find a vibrant nightlife that awakens with the setting sun (it’s not quite Goa, but that’s sorta the point).
In such remarkable places, it’s easy to get caught-up in blissful delight and lose track of what’s actually occurring around you; like a dream, you float through moments, not fully paying attention to details, yet somehow come away feeling that everything went according to plan.
It’s important to reflect often and deeply.
Appreciate the idiosyncrasies of today, they will not be repeated tomorrow.
But there is a downside: when you begin to add-up the good things comprising your day and cementing the wonderment of a place, it becomes easier to realize — this won’t last forever, life cannot permanently be this sublime.
In these times, I recover by remembering how incredibly fortunate I am; it’s a glorious gift to have such an opportunity to begin with. Following these thoughts, every interaction feels more personal; you prioritize spreading happiness, laughter, a smile, gratitude — in any form — each moment thereafter. You genuinely sense gratefulness while saying Thank you when passed your coffee. You become aware of how much people are doing for you. Then you can go back to scanning the water.
Even the rainy days are lovely.
One of my favorite memories from this trip was having a beer while drying-off after scurrying into the closest bar as soon as the rain picked-up. Puddles forming from droplets rolling off the canopy; condensation slides down my glass; plants bob and glisten. I’m peering into the cloudy fog, trying to spot the furthest waves crashing within the immense wall of precipitation slowly encroaching from the horizon.
It’s gloomy, with the breeze it’s slightly chilly — and everything feels right.
*****
The view from Varkala Cliff is a highlight itself, but another magnificent, more expansive view can be seen from the Jatayu Earth’s Center.
Constructed 1,200 feet above sea level, the park’s feature attraction is the world’s largest bird sculpture, depicting a scene from the Hindu epic Ramayana. Measuring 200 ft long, 150 ft wide, and 70 ft tall (by sculptor Rajiv Anchal), Jatayu poses majestically on his back — both wings fully extended, legs kicking high, with a fighting snarl on his beak and sharp talons at the ready.
It truly is a work of art. The manner in which the sculpture lies offers interesting perspectives from different vantage points: from one side you recognize the structure’s massive scale as you stand beside his outstretched legs, from another point you’re staring down the entire length of his wing, along giant, intricate feathers, leading your eyes to his.
And the most breathtaking quality: the scenery.
Atop this rocky hill, you have a panoramic view of a rolling, tropical landscape. Signs of the adjacent community — roads, buildings, open fields — dissipate into the encompassing greenery, until the trees simply outnumber them. The topography steadily gets darker and more blue in color while sprawling into the distant clouds.
This view is reached via 826-step staircase… or by cable car.
The cable car was a blast — initially, I was gazing every direction like a kid on a Ferris wheel. But overall, the ride was soothing; there’s a romantic charm to the experience, regardless of how many people are crammed-in next to you.
There are all sorts of other activities, too, but I stuck with the basics. There’s zip lining, bouldering, rappelling, archery, even paint ball; instead, I had chai on top of the world, visited Kodana Rama Temple, and saw Lord Ram’s footprint in the stone.
An aspect of the day that unexpectedly rivaled any other peak was actually the scooty ride to and from the sculpture. I was taken aback by how resoundingly green the forest appeared; it was electric; it felt like the Emerald City of Oz.
Flowing through the trees like a stream hugging the hillside.
The scooter could have been levitating, or maybe my mind was still in the cable car — I couldn’t tell you, but it was out of this world. And the day’s best golden light was not wasted: a humming warmth blanketed every surface.
Back in Varkala, as the stars begin to shine through the fading twilight, it might be a good time to think about what made today special, before you rush into planning tomorrow.
*****
I’ve always been enthralled with traveling (ie. the never-ending need to go). Growing up, I had several books revolving around the idea of “X-Number of Must-See Places”; this lead to a decent amount of Jeopardy! knowledge (not enough to know that the Taj Mahal is closed on Fridays…), though I generally classify these locations as “Would Be Nice to Visit, But Not Vital.”
The Kerala backwaters was an exception.
From the first time I flipped through my favorite travel book and learned about the interconnecting water system, I was determined — I must see this.
As it turns out, the backwaters are unlike anywhere else I’ve ever been.
Palm trees line the riverbanks and lean over its blue-green water. Bamboo reaches into sunlight while vines drape from the shade. Sea eagles survey it all. An immense web of inlets, lakes, and rivers; canals connect one lagoon to another; brackish water meanders its way inland, meeting runoff from the Ghats. As you follow the labyrinth, you float through segments that are more than two stone throws wide. In other areas, you could probably jump from one side to the other.
Sometimes you may need to duck or crouch into the boat — like when going under bridges, or to avoid low-hanging branches through narrow waterways. It sounds like nothing, but there’s a spike in excitement associated with sitting back in your seat and not falling overboard.
Rather than a ballad-belting Italian man navigating his gondola through Venice, we have a similar vessel guided by a Malayalam gentleman cracking jokes at the other captains; it doesn’t take my friend’s translation for me to understand that he’s a funny guy, based on the gestures performed in response to his remarks — the extended shove of Get outta here! or a quick head twitch as they chirp back.
Our captain pushes on with a chuckle.
These brief, mundane niceties best illustrate the magic of truly memorable places, these are the moments that stick with you.
Although, there are also big decisions that require consideration, and ultimately influence ensuing events — such as choosing the type of boat to traverse the backwaters on. Your primary options include a gondola style, called a shikara (like those on Dal Lake in Kashmir), and a houseboat, kettuvallam.
If you’re planning to explore the waterways for a full day or more, or if you have a large group, then you should go with a kettuvallam. These houseboats range in size, grandeur, and amenities: from a more standard, thatched roof enclosure to luxurious fortresses that glide atop calm, reflective water. If you wish to be closer to the environment, to feel the wind and occasional mist that splashes up and cools your skin, then (figuratively) hop into a shikara. Either way, you’ll see both varieties on your voyage. Nevertheless, if you really want a feel for what’s around you — ask the captain if you can (literally) jump in! Take a dip!
(Public Service Announcement: don’t forget to stay hydrated and practice sun safety.)
While drifting through the rivulets, stop at one of the islands or anywhere with a small restaurant. Not only is this an excellent chance to try local cuisine, it’s also the perfect venue for watching the colorful parade of boats, painting the landscape’s allure.
It’s a slice of heaven. Enchantment tickles your eyes. The moment tastes superb, and it feeds a voracious appetite not associated with hunger. There’s a buzz in the air — due to what? Jubilation? Happy taste buds? Accidentally tipsy taste buds from that second toddy?
Whose to say, maybe it was just a good day. Not everything needs a why.
That evening, when you’re walking through the patches of streetlight — only illuminating portions of the total path you’re on — imagine your day as the lit-up areas before you, admire and appreciate as much of the picture as possible.
*****
And that’s every single thing to do around Varkala.
I can hardly type that with a straight face — this barely scrapes the surface! From religious centers and historical sites to water sports and beach life, or even the nearby island of Ponnumthuruthu, the list goes on.
There’s one major similarity that I noticed between the Taj Mahal and Varkala Cliff. Ever since visiting the Taj, whenever I hear the name, my mind no longer instinctively flashes to the iconic head-on view — I remember getting off the train in Agra at 3am and stopping for snacks before reaching the hotel, I think about the long, car-free stretch of road leading to the gigantic gate, and I fondly recall the four boys that were so excited to use my binoculars and catch an eye-to-eye glimpse of the Wonder that they live beside; and then I see the facade.
When I think of Varkala Cliff, it’s the same thing. I feel the motions of a conversation had with a gifted local guitarist. I see my first wild chameleon trying to inconspicuously slide from one grassy stem to the next, keeping an eye-out in all directions. I laugh again when I remember my reflection in the circular mirror at the chai stand, when we stopped for vadas and pazham pori, and my helmet hair was so disheveled that it looked like my best impersonation of a pineapple. And then I think of the cliff.
Revisiting cherished memories like this, the tiniest details suddenly feel exceedingly significant; they’re captivating, simple, and irresistible.
These would-be afterthoughts — observations, connections, experiences — become the main attraction, and cannot be planned or reserved.
These are the moments I’ve been chasing my entire life.
