James has grown incoherent with rage over the Prawn Incident again so I’ve taken over. Varkala is a little seaside resort characterised by fresh seafood, beautiful red cliffs and a multitude of Sunday Times reading ‘hippies’ practicing yoga on the beach and sampling Ayurvedic medicine.

We hit the jackpot by arriving just as two festivals were kicking off close to our hotel and on our first night we were treated to a bone-fide Kathkali performance in the temple grounds, attended by a combination of locals and tourists. We stayed for around two hours, surrounded by the frenetic beat of drums, the menacing chants and gestures of the performers and the stench of pot (legal in India during religious festivals), but we didn’t have the stamina or the depth of understanding for the full nine hours. On the way home we were accosted by the local gambling mob and Matt relieved one of the card tables of about a thousand rupees before deliberately losing it all again.

The following day we tracked down a full blown parade complete with elephants, food stalls, drummers, dancers and deities. I have no idea what the celebration was in aid of and I’m not convinced anyone else did, locals included, but almost everyone in Varkala threw themselves onto the narrow village streets and had one big, disorganised party for a few hours.