1-22-09 The Beach Incident

We arose around 7:30, which seems to be becoming part of our routine, and had a lovely, large breakfast before returning our houseboat to the dock. There were so many boats that there was no space on the dock itself. We had to pass through two other boats before we reached dry land. I wasn’t feeling too well at this point, an unfortunate combination of eating something that didn’t agree with me and stuffing my face. But we decided to go to the beach anyway. Luckily, we were allowed to leave ou luggage at the Vrunsdavanam Hotel even though we’d already checked out.
The beach was extraordinary. Dad made a few comments about how good an investment it would be to buy some real estate and build up some resort, but mom did not approve. Patrick said that someone at the hotel had said this was likely to happen in the next few years, which is too bad. The entire beach was almost deserted. I really wanted to go for a swim but had not brought a swimsuit because they are not considered decent. This forethought, however, had unfortunate results.
I decided to wear just the tunic of my Shalwar Kamees and my underwear - no bra because they take forever to dry – and that was I would still have dry pants when I was finished and could dry off a bit with my shawl. I happily ran into the water. It was sheer bliss. There was a slight undertow but nothing unmanageable. The water was warm, the waves perfect, and I was having a grand time. My queasy stomach was completely forgotten for a time. Mom and Patrick were still on dry land, so I tried to convince them to join me and Dad, but to no avail.
I ran back to the water, intent on trying to body surf. This was my undoing. It went well the first few times, but then I caught a wave wrong and got absolutely pounded into the sand. Being pounded is a very unpleasant experience and I don’t recommend it. I landed on my head - which could have been dangerous but I got lucky – and scraped up my face, knees and shoulders. It only took half a second to assess the damage as I struggled to get up out of the continuous roll of waves. I was virtually unhurt, but my clothes were ruined. The tunic had ripped all the way up the right side, from bottom hem to sleeve, and I was lying on a beach in India in all my glory with small wavelets still tugging gently on my ruined clothes.
Dad had seen my failed attempt at body surfing and my accidental flashing of the whole beach (I was VERY glad at this point for whatever inexplicable reason made this beach unpopular. You must remember – no bra) I told him I was fine, but explained to him the clothes situation, all the while holding my ruined tunic around me. He handed me a safety pin he had in his pocket and I tried to place it in the most discreet position possible so I could climb, humiliated, out of the water to my bag, where more safety pins awaited. But I was still standing in the exact wrong spot of the ocean. Just as I almost had the pin fixed, Dad yelled at me to look out. I pulled the pin out just in time to avoid getting stuck as I, once again, tumbled into the sand, forced down by the crushing weight of water. I then merely wrapped my tunic around me and trudged, defeated, back up the beach to our camp under the shady palm trees, where I fixed my clothes as well as I could.
I spent the next hour sitting and standing in the sun, making sand castles, and staring jealously at my brother, who had finally ventured into the warm waves. Still, all in all it was a fantastic two hours at the beach. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and have, more or less, given up my original mortification in favor of the obvious humor of the situation.
After the beach incident, we went back to the hotel, had some coffee, got our bags, and rode to the bus station in two rickshaws. (I got changed too, but no one else did.) We had some difficulty in finding the correct bus, but did eventually. They leave every 20 minutes for Kochi, so even though we missed at least one, there were plenty of others. The bus ride was rather unpleasant for me because my stomach began to bother me again.