After a rewarding ten-day meditation retreat at a small ashram in the country outside Bangalore, a taxi took us the two hour drive to Bangalore railway station where we caught an overnight train direct to Gokarna. We arrived at 7 am quite refreshed from an unusually good night’s sleep.

Gerard was looking forward to the train ride, his preferred mode of transportation ,and it didn’t let him down. The train left on time, and even I was impressed by the cleanliness and comfort of the Panchaganga Express. As usual our 2AC compartment was chilly but quiet: no snoring sleepers or wailing children. Marina, our English friend and already in Gokarna, had messaged us saying she thought her partner’s sister, Anita, was on our train and included a photo. Sure enough, we woke to Anita peering around the compartment curtain, and though we hadn’t met before she was easy to recognize from her photo. Anita’s an interesting woman, part Indian/part English, living in CA and married to an Algerian. She speaks seven languages fluently and has been a United Airline hostess for many years. The taxi ride to our guesthouse flew by as we got to know each other. And I was very happy to see Marina, our London friend, again.

We reserved the same room as last year. The guest house has only a few patrons and two are longterm regulars. An interesting addition is an Indian family with two small children who has set up housekeeping in a room at the top of the stairs. The father is a masseuse who we pass on the way to the beach. “Oil massage today, Madam?”

Dropping of our cases, we went straight to our breakfast stall down the road. The young owner greeted us warmly and immediately served up chai and idli. His sister makes the best samba we’ve ever had (a spicy vegetable stew with chickpeas) and coconut chutney eaten with steamed rice patties. An idli plate is a substantial South Indian breakfast. Since opening last year, the boy’s business has grown and he’s able to make enough to shut up shop at 10 am and pends the rest of the day preparing food for the following day. Unfortunately, his small premise holds only a couple of tables, barely enough to support the influx of customers. This gives us the opportunity to meet a variety of people. Today a portly Swedish gentleman shared our table. He used to be a vegetarian chef, now retired. He says Sweden is perhaps 20% vegetarian. Living almost in the center of Stockholm, he has his housing paid for by the government because he has no bank account. Of the $900 he gets in social security each month he manages to save $300. In Sweden, it doesn’t pay to save for retirement!

We hustled back to the room, put on our swimsuits and went straight to the beach. At a quick glance, the beach had hardly changed since last year. The sea was typically warm and clear. I swam until my hands wrinkled. At our favorite beachside cafe, Shankar and his wife gave us another friendly greeting. Curd and papaya followed by a glass of strong masala chai.

Back in our dusty room, Gerard spent a couple of hours scrubbing the place down, hung the washing line, pinned the mosquito net across the window, and then we unpacked. Now the room feels like home.

Except for the wild life! We’re surrounded by birds, animals and insects. I love hearing birds chirping in the early morning (thankful my reverse slope hearing loss doesn’t extend to high frequency sounds), until their song is overpowered by the cawing of a raucous craven and the shriek of the chipmunk. How can such a small animal make such a piercing noise? And of course there’s the dogs. This time, below our room a Labrador puppy is an addition to the guesthouse dogs. Easy to train, says Gerard. But nobody does anything about this puppy’s shrill and constant barking – particularly as we’re about to go off to sleep. And then the neighboring dogs, part domestic, part wild arrive and add their howl. Dogs in India as everywhere are highly territorial. In the middle of the night there can be an outburst of ten or more dogs barking at once. A benefit of hearing loss is I don’t usually hear the dogs.

The day after we arrived we made the 30 minute excursion into town for fruit, rice cakes and peanut butter. With the exception of increased traffic, the town has changed remarkably little since last year. No new restaurants, the same tourist cheap clothing shops, and stalls selling offerings for the pilgrims to take to the temple. While there may be fewer westerners, there does seem to be many more Indian visitors in town, but it’s a long weekend celebrating one of many Indian holidays.

No one can explain exactly what it is and usually resort to: “It’s an Indian holiday.” At the end of the beach near the town, there’s ample amusement for the Indian pilgrims/tourists, including camel rides and ice cream vendors on bicycles.

We have a choice of restaurants on the beach for dinner. After several days we returned to a favorite from last year and there was the couple we knew sitting at their usual table with a prime sunset view. Daniel is American but left in 1969 and landed in Israel just as the War of Attrition broke out. He freaked out and fled to Norway where he married and still lives. In the richest country in Europe they enjoy a good lifestyle, but have been coming to Gokarna for many years for four months at a time. Leaving the US the same time as Gerard and staying for similar reasons, he has some interesting stories.

Eclipsing our joy of being at the beach was the news that our good friend, Arthur, had suddenly died while we were at the retreat. One of Gerard’s oldest friends, they met on Beacon Hill in Boston back in 1966 and he has written much about their relationship in his memoir, Beyond Black and White. Although Arthur moved to Florida, he and Gerard remained in contact, the more so during the last decade when they would talk by phone at least twice a week. Arthur was the first of Gerard’s friends I met in 1973 and I immediately loved him. Gerard’s been in constant contact with mutual friends and helped write the obituary and a speech to be read at Arthur’s funeral. None of which has helped him deal with reality. That will come in time.

I also lost a good friend shortly before we left. Unlike Arthur, Chris had struggled with cancer for over six years and we knew it was highly unlikely she’d survive before we returned. Fortunately, I had the opportunity to say goodbye to her. I was expecting to play the role of cheering her up, as she lay paralyzed from the waist down in a hospital bed. But instead she was surprisingly animated. Our visit was full of light and joy. After we left, I looked up at the winter sky which was clearing after a night of rain, and watched a large bird slowly circling. I felt a tremendous peace. Chris died a few days later.