Om Beach, Karnataka

Om Beach

Every now and again you find a place where you belong. Not for forever but simply for just now, just for these few moments, you belong.

Sometimes the moments turn into days, possibly weeks, even years have passed as you dwell in that place that makes time stop. Nothing else seems to matter, each moment is as beautiful as the last.

Our rooms at the far side of Om Beach are simple. Once through the open restaurant, five terraced rooms lie to the right of a covered walkway, two lie to the left.


The floors are covered with a scree of the smoothest concrete.

Doors open inwards to cell like rooms without windows. A concrete slab covered with a thin solid mattress fills half the room, an overhead fan turns at one speed only, a light switch illuminates a bare economy bulb fitted to the wall.

The roof, made from roughly overlaid woven palm fronds, sits on tied bamboo struts that in turn is balanced upon the tops of the textured walls. The gaps between roof and walls allowing for basic ventilation plus an open house for mosquitoes.

The two toilets are squat loos.
Water is carried the length of the beach each evening in large barrels upon the heads of our hosts, to fill the large buckets in the corners.

The shower is a screened off area with an even larger container of water (again filled by hand) with a jug that is shared between us all.


Communal drying lines hang outside the doors full of clothing. Sand, gathered on our wet feet, fresh from the sea, is swept away each morning with thin sticks bound together with string.

There is no luxury, there are no frills and yet it has become home.

Peter and Cian share one of the two rooms to the left, Angharad and I one to the right.

There is the most delightful Italian couple in the room opposite, a solo male traveller who reads for hours in the sun lit doorway of his room at the far end.

We take turns to sweep the sand, we share the wash room without problems, using the water sparingly.

We respect the quietness of the evenings as we sleep, we wake together to begin each new day refreshed.

There is a restful presence here, the wind in the palms, the ebb and flow of the waves, even the rats at night and the crows by day who steal bits of the roof have their place and add something special to this place.


Our hosts sleep on the floor of the restaurant at night, waking just before us, clearing their bedding and joining us as we take our turns in the wash room.

We have become a family, separated by language and culture yet together.

For the moment we all belong here, each of us in our place, each of us with our own unique experiences, past times and activities. We walk, we swim, we read, we explore.

Schooling is done along the front bench of the restaurant, journals are filled, maths equations are explained, reading is shared as both children take turns to read Charlie and the Chocolate factory.

Tracks lead up over the mountain at our end of the beach.

Tracks that wind around the headland, through the trees and out onto rocky ledges with cliff like drops to the sea.

This path eventually drops back down to the beach and Half Moon Bay is discovered. 400m long, silent except for the sea and the breeze, tranquillity extreme found within this oasis of calm!

Everywhere is perfect. The food is wonderful, the people beautiful.

I met a seller of bracelets and necklaces as I walked the beach one morning looking for shells.

A gift of sandalwood beads was bestowed upon me along with a smile.

Shells are washed daily into piles upon the far beach.

I have made necklaces of shells, key fobs of shells, anklets and decorations of shells.

I have woven shells into a twine that supports the billowing sarong that hangs over my door, I have pots of shells, sorted into their sizes, awaiting creations yet to be made.

A time will come when I will be ready to move on. We have spoken about some day trips we can do from here but for now, for this moment, for these few days, I am totally content to stay here, to stay within this bay, to swim within these waters, to gaze upon this view and to breath.

Hare Krsna