Following our trip to the backwaters, our Indian "I can arrange anything" friend has a suggestion. He's getting to know us pretty well by now and has a better sense of what we do like and what we don't.
"I know a very good place for you," he begins, "no other travellers, no other white faces, no English." He suggests we have a "look" and if we don't like it, he'll find something else.
We drive through a very winding road on the outskirts of Alleppey and before long, are bumping over a narrow lane and into a small village full of friendly smiles. One more turn, an even narrower lane, and the car stops before a solid wooden gate. The driver honks and the gate is opened by the "manager" of this mysterious place, the charismatic Rajesh who will come to be a wonderful friend.
We drive into an absolutely stunning tropical garden. Framed by gigantic palms, the Arabian sea pounds a makeshift retaining wall directly in front. To our immediate right, sits a gorgeous bungalow which can be ours for a reasonable price. No one else is here except Maya and Philomena, the maids, and Josef, the gardener. As it turns out, Rajesh is an accomplished chef and will be "more than happy" to prepare all of our meals.
We can't quite believe our good fortune and are still in shock when out bags are unpacked and we are here to stay.
This "resort" has no name. We learn that the place has been opened just for us and will close after we leave in eight days. No permits are yet in place but courtesy of our Indian "arranger" friend, we've flown under the radar and landed in paradise.
Before we know it, we've found a pretty nice routine.
Every day at dawn, Peter walks down onto the beach to watch local fishermen landing their small boats through the huge surf. With a lot of cooperation, they unload their nets and bring dozens of small, herring-like fish to shore.
Soon afterwards, Rajesh arrives on our patio with milk coffee and hot water. Within half an hour, he'll call us for breakfast, a cornucopia of delicious Indian foods. Breakfast is served on the terrace of the "mother house" which holds the kitchen and a gorgeous great room where we'll come to spend many hours in the evening reading and writing.
Most days, we'll wander back down the narrow lane into the small community which is our neighbourhood. Tiny shops selling fruits and sundries open onto the side of the road and lazy dogs occasionally lift sleep-filled heads to bark at us. We cut through the yard of a Catholic school on our way to "Simon's Shop" and are always surrounded by curious children wondering who are are and where we've come from.
In the late afternoon, we sit in comfortable chairs and watch a huge red sun drop into the ocean. A flock of crows amuses us every day with a game of "pick up the sticks" which have fallen from the thatched roof above. We notice haphazard nests being built high in nearby trees but conclude that the game is more about fun than hard work.
The days pass slowly and we feel that we could stay here forever.
Inevitably, though, the time comes for us to leave and on a dazzling Saturday morning, our bags are loaded in Sobit's car for the journey further south to Varkala.
There are tears and hugs as we say goodbye to our new friends. and the most incredible experience we've ever had anywhere.
The gate closes behind us and "poof," our slice of paradise is gone.
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