India 2013 Arambol to Aswen

Part 2

What's that Kerriann ….. What are they doing Kerriann …. Where are we going tomorrow, tonight, next week Kerriann …... Can I have …. a drink, a biscuit, and ice-cream Kerriann? ….. What time is it Kerriann?

Back in the history of time I can vaguely remember Lisa and Kris going through the why, what, when, stage, I also remember being exhausted by their constant questions, their never ending search for answers pertaining to the world they lived in. At the ripe age of 4 Kris asked me the now historic question of why he existed, what was his purpose in life. I had answered that his purpose was to play but that had not satisfied him and so began my family's journey into spirituality and eventually to India.

Angharad and Cian are also trying to understand this strange world around them and the days are filled with the Why, What When questions from day break to bed time and some times beyond. Some questions Peter can answer but many of the sights and scenes we have passed are as new to him as they are to the children.

After our 5 nights in Arambol, we packed our back packs and marched the 3miles or so down the beach to Aswern. We left before the sun had risen and the day was still cool enough to allow us to set off at a good pace. By 9am the sun was high in the sky, the heat washed over us with every step and despite an excellent performance from both children, carrying back packs of their own, we were beginning to get hot and tired.

We reached Mandrem, waded the shallow stream as it wove its way in a wide estuary across the beach and rested on the rocks at the far point of the beach.

This was new ground for me as well as the tribe. My long ago visit to Aswern with Lisa and Kris in 2004 had seen us approach the beach from the South. With Lisa and Katie I had walked as far as the estuary but no further. I had no idea how much further we needed to walk or even where to stay at that point, but being the 'Mommy in Charge' I bluffed it well and settled everyone with biscuits and drinks while I went off to ask!!

I briefly fell into conversation with a lovely couple from London who informed me that we were at the beginning of what they had been told was Aswern beach. I looked at the rows of hotels and beach hut complexes. What happened to the tree houses I wondered!

On my last visit two tiny encampments had stood about 200m apart, we had dinned in both of the small restaurants during our stay as there had been nothing else there. We had played cricket on the beach with the locals, rented a motor bike for 250Rps and explored the entire area in an hour!

Now woven gates fitted into wide arches marking the entrances of huge sprawling resorts. Luckily building regulations have prohibited the building of brick hotels or anything over two stories yet the hide away feel of Aswen has definitely gone. The 200 rupee beach hut has also gone, 1500Rps is the minimum to be found and we are talking out of season!!

We marched steadily onwards, the heat making our bags heavy, the hot sand beginning to burn the soles of our feet. One more rocky point I encouraged, just past the next clump of trees I begged, surely all this would end soon and my remembered tree houses would appear.

Angharad with Peter by her side fell further behind, thirst and tiredness getting the better of us all. “Let us get as far as the next point and I promise we will stop”, I encouraged, “even if it means you sitting on a sun bed for the rest of the day, while I search for something that I don't even know exists any more!!” I added to myself.

Sun beds laid out under cooling woven shades came into view as I reached the next point. I led Peter and the children to this haven in the heat, I too grateful of the chance to put down our bags. “400 Rps” a voice said as we unloaded, “Do you have rooms?” I countered and was politely led away to the restaurant behind the beach beds. I was shown some very nice rooms but they were 1300 Rps EACH!! and we needed two! A far cry from the 200RPs Tree house I had come in search of.

“I must confer with my husband,” I stalled heading back to the exhausted group on the beach. “We also have nice room upstairs” called my guide, “2000 Rps”, I viewed the room and wandered back to Peter with a grin on my face. “There is good news and bad,” I smiled, “They do indeed have rooms but they are 1300 each,” I let the news seep in, “or they have a roof top terrace for 2000 a night (£25).” . This was way outside our planned budget but I had seen the terrace and it was perfect!

Within ten minutes the bags were in place and the children were in the sea laughing and jumping as if the last 3 hours of walking had never happened. The new Flying Carpet was strung across the balcony and the mozzy net was hung over the terrace bed. We were now the residents of a Huge Roof top suite! The children's room consisted of a large woven walled enclosed area with two large double beds pushed together and covered by a luxurious full length net. This room opened out onto the main terrace where 6 chairs and two tables stood next to another double bed. Through an opening lay a large shower area with HOT!!! water, a sink and enough room to hold a dinner party, behind this was the fero concrete based toilet complete with loo paper! (and no wobbles!)

From the balcony we looked out over the sea, the cooling breeze, the flowing palms and the children frolicking in the waves. To one side lay a series of rock pools that later the children happily joined together with the aid of dug channels. I stretched out on the flying carpet and smiled at the thought of the next two nights, up on the roof!!!

Our days are now even more simple than they were in Arambol. Schooling is now done on the shaded balcony, breakfast is had in the restaurant beneath us, the waves break on the beach not 50m from our door and apart from the Tecno music that pumps away in the distance until 11pm each night, life is good. (now I have got over the fact that somewhere between Arambol and here I lost two of the wonderful goblets we had brought on our journey.)

Aswen has changed beyond my recognition, The Plauge, a French run operation of white billowing linen dominates the beach. Live DJs compete in the bars and palm woven resorts, mixing set after set to send out into the tropical nights. If it had not been for our terraced touch of luxury, Aswen would have been a huge disappointment to me. Bottles and bags litter the beach, more resorts are being built, the human impact of this once deserted beach can never be removed.

It has been quite an experience coming back but I am happy to move on …... and yet the reports that Morjim, our next port of call, having been taken over by the Russian Mafia makes me a little nervous as to what we will find around the next bend of this once fabulous coast line!

How much further Kerriann? ...............Are we nearly there Kerriann? …....................Where are we going to stay Kerriann? …...................... Whow, Look at this Kerriann! ….................Look at that! What are they doing Kerriann! …...............................Would I change it? …. well …. maybe for an hour or two!!!!