Varkala

Varkala is the one stretch of the Kerala coast where laterite cliffs come down to the sea, and that accident of geology is why the place exists twice over. Pilgrims have come for centuries to the beach below — Papanasam, the washing away of sin — to perform the rites for their dead.

The Janardanaswamy Temple stands just above it, and three kilometres inland is Sivagiri, where the reformer Sree Narayana Guru is buried and tens of thousands arrive each New Year. The cliff-top cafés came a very long time afterwards, and sit on top of all of it.

At the south end of the sand, families in white perform rites for their ancestors while priests work in the shallows. A few hundred metres north, the cliff path runs on banana pancakes, tattoo studios and yoga boards. The two crowds mostly ignore each other, and Kerala tolerates the arrangement with unusual grace.

Away from the strip the ordinary version is better: toddy shops inland, fishermen hauling in at Odayam, Kappil where the backwater comes within a sandbar of the sea. Ask about a temple festival — chenda melam, the drumming, is not background music here. It is the event.

Swim at Papanasam where the lifeguards are, and believe the red flags — the current here has taken strong swimmers. The cliff is actively eroding, and the fenced sections are fenced for a reason. Sunset on the North Cliff is a crowd; walk twenty minutes to Odayam instead. Eat away from the cliff at least once — the fish is the same and costs a third.

Cover up when you leave the sand. Beachwear is fine on the cliff, out of place at the temple, and plainly rude near families performing rites — don't photograph them at all. Carry your plastic off the cliff too; waste goes over the edge here more often than anyone admits.

If you liked Varkala's cliff and not its crowd, go north to Gokarna, where the beaches are reached on foot and the temple town still sets the rules. For Kerala's other half — water instead of coast — Alleppey is a few hours up.