January 5, 2011
Rest Day
Honey Beach
The only sound is that of surf running up and down the sand about 100 metres away from my bed and the rustle of the palm leaves that are above my roof, with the high, spindly trees dotting, shading this compound of simple huts. It's peaceful stuff.
It's before 7 o'clock when I decide to check out the beach and find the manager sat alone looking out to sea and give him space.
After taking some photos by the rocks, the manager comes over to me after a while to say he's done his yoga and would like to see my efforts, which I show him, knowing that a picture of surf on sand is a bit disappointing because my attempts to be creative have failed big- time.
It's not hard to decide to stay a second night as the effort involved getting here - plus the fact that place is so bloody nice - help make that call an easy one. Another 250 rupees is hardly going to break the bank.
Breakfast is more juice and some fried veg with an omelette.
One hours goes, then another. I take a nap. I take photos. The day drifts on.
There's only me here, and a couple of workers.
At around five I walk up to the cottages on top of an outcrop and find the cafe there and opt to have a pineapple juice, which the man in charge bills me 100 rupees for and I tell him that this is ridiculous.
I'm just glad I didn't ride here and stay in this soulless, pricey place. Robbing bastards.
The good thing is it seems that from looking around I can make my exit from their access road instead of trekking all across that rocky goat trail route when it comes to leaving tomorrow.
Back at the open-sided cafe on the sand, dinner is prawns in sauce that tastes like it has sage or some other herb in. It's different.
I also have a plate of what are called finger chips, too.
They serve beer and I'm tempted to have a bottle, but don't.
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