Our visit consisted of mainly that: lying on the beach, playing in the sand, eating pancakes and drinking lassi’s in outside restaurants, reading books, taking slow walks. One day revolved around renting mopeds and driving through small streets full of construction and sacred cows, out onto the open road with semi-trucks. I have a whole new appreciation for the horn, for it is the best way to warn and be warned on the road. Visiting a small, clean village with naked children running around, we watched a dance performance by boys in drag. Brought into a house to buy palm leaf paintings, and drinking hot lemon tea while you were already sweating from the ride over. We also decide to take a bus to a famous temple to not enter because we are too cheap, but then enjoy ourselves on the quiet beach. Quite a lot of Indian men want to chat with us, but the chip on our shoulder shooed them away. It was warranted, especially after comments like, “Your eyes are a miracle from God.” And, among this all, constant and incessant giggling.

The week was just a mess of no schedules for once, well needed. And we arrived home the morning of the Festival of Colours, Holli! It's a day that you throw bright coloured powder and paint on each other. Why? I have no clue. We never offically figured out why it's a holiday. But that's India, and rule #1 -- don't ask questions.