Travel Guides: All Countries / Asia / India / kerala
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| | | | Ayurveda and jumbo prawns
Seasoned travellers know India can be a hectic place. Well-trodden routes such as the Golden Triangle can lose their mystique amongst the bustle of yet another overcrowded attraction, train, bus or street.
For many, the key is to search out peaceful retreats where you can relax before rejoining the melee.
We set out to do just that in the laid-back state of Kerala on India's south west coast.
Our first destination was the Ayurvedic beach resort of Varkala. The word Ayurveda is derived from the Sanskrit, ayu (life) and veda (knowledge) and is considered the science or knowledge of life.
It has been practised for thousands of years and and there are numerous centres in Varkala where you can enjoy ayurvedic massage and yoga, activities considered by some as key to a balanced life.
The beach sits at the foot of majestic cliffs which glow red as the sun sets on the waters of the Lakshadweep Sea. After a hard day's sunbathing you can enjoy seafood of the highest quality at the cafes and restaurants which line the cliff-top.
The catch of the day is displayed on porcelain-tiled tables and can include shark, king fish and some seriously big prawns, all at ridiculously low prices.
Once selected your dish is whisked away for slow cooking in a traditional clay oven known as a tandoor.
There is plenty of budget accommodation nestled among the eateries with the more upmarket hotels lining the road into the small town.
One of the highlights of a visit to Kerala has to be a boat trip on the famous backwaters.
This vast network of rivers, canals and lakes stretches far inland from the coast and has helped mould a unique lifestyle for its inhabitants.
Most tourists take the direct eight-hour trip on a motorised craft between Kollam and Alappuzha, but chartering a houseboat of your own or as part of a small group affords you a much more intimate view of life on the water.
The riverbanks are dotted with villages and small settlements and the hyacinth-laiden waterways teem with industry as nuts and fruit are loaded onto boats.
Those not collecting coconuts to make coir (coconut fibre) and copra (dried coconut meat) can be found re-setting their cantilevered Chinese fishing nets, which form intriguing shapes on the backwater skyline.
Drifting along on these calm waters will soothe even the most agitated soul.
Travel guide: Kerala
Holiday tales of Holby City star Jan
Holby City star Jan Pearson reveals her love for the Indian seaside resort of Kerala as she talks about her favourite holidays — and the ones she'd rather forget.
The 44-year-old actress has played long-suffering nurse Kath Shaughnessy in the hospital drama for two years during which time she's survived domestic violence, being stabbed by a nurse and an affair with a cancer-stricken priest.
Pearson lives in Suffolk with her partner, TV director Richard Signy. As she prepares to leave the show in March, she talks to us about her best holidays.
What is your dream holiday destination? I'd love to see the Northern Lights — the aurora borealis — that's a real fantasy for me. I suppose I would have to go to somewhere like Iceland or Scandinavia to see it.
Who is your ideal holiday companion and when was your last holiday? My partner Richard Signy — my lovely boy. We've been together for more than two years. We went to Kerala in the south of India.
What did you think of Kerala? It's a lovely place. We saw loads of temples and it's called the Venice of the east as there's so many waterways.
Where are you going next and what do you always pack? Haven't got a clue as we moved to Suffolk last year and we've still got things to sort out. I always pack books.
Where would your character go on holiday? Kathy would probably go to Australia to see her son Danny. He was extra supportive when she was a victim of domestic violence and when her partner Terry died from cancer.
Who with? Kath would take her new love Larry the architect (Dominic Mafham), of course.
Have you had any holiday nightmares? When I had everything stolen in Portugal about 15 years ago. My clothes, passport and plane ticket were all pinched. We had stopped off en route at Sintra for the airport and the car was broken into. It was terrible.
Any holiday romances? When I was 22 I went to Turkey and fell for a Turk but we didn't keep in touch.
What do you like to get out of a holiday? I like a varied experience, I enjoy sampling the local culture and visiting different places. I'm not one for lying on the beach and soaking up the sun.
Do you ever get recognised on holiday? It's happened all the time. People who spot me are always mortified about how things never go right for Kath.
Travel guide: Kerala
The backwaters of Kerala
From the Mail on Sunday
'Is Paul McCartney famous?' asked Gopal, as he brought us his delicate tomato and onion curry, smooth and creamy with coconut milk and yogurt. It was lunchtime.
We had just boarded a houseboat for a day-and-night journey on the coastal backwaters of Kerala, southern India, and were already sighing with delight at the delicious experience of red spinach and freshly grated coconut.
Gopal was the cook, part of our young crew of three.
Sir Paul had hired the boat only a day or two before, and impressed everyone by the amount of money he had reputedly paid to have the large, arched bamboo canopy totally encrusted with fresh flowers: jasmine, roses, marigolds and tuberoses, for his bride Heather Mills.
None of our crew had heard of Sir Paul before, though they spoke enthusiastically of Michael Jackson.
Many of these old wooden boats, used for transporting rice from the farms and villages around the lakes, lagoons and canals to the towns of Cochin and Allepey, have now been converted into comfortable houseboats for tourists.
We may not have had a flower-bedecked boat, but we had Gopal's exceptional vegetable and fish dishes, freshly cooked with lightning skill in the tiny galley.
We watched little fish being caught over the side minutes before we sat down to eat them.
Then, on old-fashioned basket chairs, feeling like a colonial couple, we ate, looking out at the shimmering sheet-glass water, in which rows of tall, graceful palms on the bank were perfectly reflected.
After eating, we lay against white cushions on deck for our siesta, listening to the distant sounds of life on land.
Elegant fishing boats with huge sails passed by, and little boats, piled with produce or people, holding black umbrellas against the sun.
Travel guide: Kerala
Tallulah, little star of India
From the Mail on Sunday
There's a certain amount of depression that accompanies parenthood. Amid the joy, you suffer the inevitability of your life changing, despite all your efforts to remain the same.
And as time goes by and you've forgone all-night sessions, lie-ins and even reined in your alcohol consumption, you realise, with a sense of panic, that you've left certain parts of your old self behind.
You start to question whether you'll ever relax on an exotic beach again. Your possibilities for a change of scene seem suddenly to have shrunk to a few weeks a year in Spain, probably with the grandparents in tow.
And then some of your closest unsprogged mates announce that they're off on a two-year jaunt around the world... 'before it's too late,' they add, with a sympathetic look.
It's the last straw. We book three weeks away in Kerala, on the southern tip of India. To hell with it! There are 10 million two-year-olds in India; ours is bound to survive.
But despite our gung-ho attitude, travelling with a semi potty-trained toddler seems to be quite a tall order.
First, there's the packing. I head for Boots, where I buy enough Calpol to 'suspend' the little darling for the entire trip if necessary, a gallon of Haliborange multivitamin liquid, which is the only thing that will hide the taste of crushed-up malaria tablets, and the full periodic table of sun-cream factors.
Emlyn is on the case with food. Despite being nurtured on Indian takeaways while in the womb, Tallulah, our daughter, has not turned out to be a curry fan.
In fact, she's not really a fan of any food and so her father crams 26 cans of baked beans (in his back-pack) to avoid imminent starvation.
There's also the bucket and spade, crayons, the Tweenie doll and enough sweets, mints, chocolate and cereal bars to give Woolworths a run for their money.
Travel guide: Kerala
India's green and pleasant land
From the Mail on Sunday
Offshore there was an island inhabited (exclusively!) by huge bats and bigger cobras; crocodiles loitered in coastal swamps and sea eagles cruised the bay. But in a glass pavilion set in lawns, the British were having tea with dainty cakes and nice sandwiches.
It was a special occasion. Some of the visitors had been going to Goa, to the same hotel, in some cases the same room, for 18 years.
'We enjoy this place so much,' said Mrs Diana Good, from Rye in Sussex, who with husband John was making a 13th visit. 'The lovely weather, the food, the Goan people. Each time we leave there are tears all round. They ply us with presents, carved boxes, trinkets, bags of fruit and even a pair of candlesticks. Last year we had to draw the line at a brass oil lamp.'
As for me and my wife Diana, it was our second visit in four months. No rain had been recorded since the previous November when we left and none was confidently expected until May at the earliest. I have never known anywhere in the world with such a fine - and certain - climate. Do not go in June or July though, because it pours.
The Cidade de Goa hotel is set beside an expansive bay, painted every evening by outrageous sunsets. On the skyline, huge ships - bulk ore carriers - sail to and from the port of Vasco da Gama, named after the man who found this coast for the Portuguese.
The long beach is firm enough for the local boys to play exuberantly at cricket and the visitors lounge in the sun, always eased by a touch of sea breeze. It was on this beach, during our first visit, that my wife found Rambo.
He did not look much like his name - a puppy with his eyes just open, deserted by his mother and with three siblings either dead or dying. He lived, a ball of fluff, in a tight cave with the tide just turning at its door.
Diana went down to feed him five times a day, and when it was time to leave we found Vasu, a young Hindu working with the beach boats, who took Rambo home. We went to Vasu's house in a rustic fishing village. Rambo was sitting, bandaged, in with the family. He did not take up much room, which was just as well because there was not much available.
We kept in touch with Vasu (at Christmas he sent us a parcel of nuts) and now, on our return, we were reunited with Rambo and Vasu's family. Our puppy was shy, but growing and healthy. Diana is sending him a flea collar.
Travel guide: Kerala
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| | | | Churches and palaces
Finally, we headed back to our starting point, the vibrant city of Kochi to the north of Kerala.
It stands on a collection of small islands (one of which is artificial) and has a diverse cultural heritage combining Portuguese, Dutch and English architectural styles.
The 16th-century synagogue with its hand-painted Chinese floor tiles is well worth a visit, as is the surrounding area which forms the hub of the Kochi spice trade.
Small doorways lining the streets open out into vast courtyards, covered entirely in swathes of ginger, pepper, coffee and cardamom as they dry in the midday sun. The aromas are incredible and it's a great place to test your haggling skills.
St Francis's, India's oldest European-built church is also worth a visit. Constructed by the Portuguese in 1503, it was also the original resting place for the explorer Vasco da Gama, who died in the city.
The Mattancherry Palace is another Portuguese construction - with an amazing array of turbans, palanquins and dresses, worn by the Rajas at coronation ceremonies, on display.
The main attraction at the palace is the incredible display of murals in the central hall.
Various scenes from the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, the ancient religious epics on which much of Indian culture is based, adorn the walls.
For those daunted by the sheer size and vastness of India, Kerala is a great place to begin exploring.
So far it seems to have avoided the clutches of the overzealous hotel empires, but this is sure to change soon.
In many areas you can find yourself travelling along dusty paths or rippling canals without meeting anyone - in a land of over a billion inhabitants.
Make the most of it while you can.
Feeling inspired? Book a holiday.
Home cooking at its best
Gopal's food was home cooking at its best - even if it was on a boat.
On previous Indian journeys by far my best meals have been taken in someone's house.
Hotel and restaurant food can never be quite the same; professional chefs cook for large numbers in hotels, whereas private cooks produce unique family recipes for the few.
Now it's no longer just the Maharajas who open up their palaces. Today families will open a few rooms to guests, making it possible to enjoy the atmosphere and hospitality of a real Indian home - as well as tasting their original dishes.
Two of the private homes we stayed in were on the 'islands' of the backwaters - areas of reclaimed land surrounded by canals.
Mankotta is an atmospheric old farmhouse owned for generations by the Chacko family.
It is a timeless place of absolute peace - perfect if you want a day or two resting, reading or listening to a wonderful fusion of birdsong, and, surprisingly, jazz.
Jai Chacko, a retired naval captain, is a jazz fanatic; you can hear strains of his many recordings when he does yoga before breakfast, and in the evening, sitting out in the tropical night with the tiny twinkling lights of a million fireflies, he can easily be persuaded to pick up his clarinet.
You eat well here too; don't fail to try Layla's excellent dark-red banana jam and feather-light rice pancakes with local honey and yogurt for breakfast.
The Kutty family were waiting for us on the jetty at 'Philipkutty's Farm'. They are one of the area's prominent families.
Philip Kutty was a well-known agriculturist, and since his death young Vinod Kutty has built, painstakingly, three traditional Keralan-style cottages on the family farm, overlooking the water and backed by coconut palms, nutmeg, mango and cocoa bean trees.
Paid to go in style
We set out at 5am. 'This is exciting!' I gush, as our minicab slugs through the rain towards Heathrow. Tallulah responds by vomiting her morning milk and cornflakes down the front of my only travelling clothes.
The flights, despite our fears, are fine. Tallulah has her own seat and everyone around us has headphones on. They've shuffled away, due to my dried-puke odour. I take advantage of the free red wine to take the edge off drawing endless monsters on the travel scribbler.
By the time we've had a stopover in Bahrain, Tallulah is asleep on my lap. I glance over at Emlyn. He's slack-jawed with boredom, staring at the miles-to-go screen.
Then suddenly we're landing in Trivandrum and bam! The scene hits us like a slap around the face. Firstly there are the people - thousands of them hanging over the barriers at arrivals - then there's the wall of heat, the blue sky, the palm trees, the honk of cars, and rickshaws.
We wheel our trolley through the colourful morass, smiling. Tallulah sits unconcerned in the buggy, singing the Scooby-Doo theme on a loop.
We soon realise that the biggest difference between the last time we were both in India as teenagers and now is, of course, money. We've paid to go in style and our driver is waiting in an air-conditioned white Ambassador car which combines the impressive girth of a Rolls-Royce with the power of a milk float.
Despite an abundance of courteous government road signs (Drive Safely All The While, Go Home With A Smile and Rash Causes Crash!), Emlyn and I exchange nervous glances as we are thrown into the insane kamikaze rally known to locals as traffic.
Unfazed, our driver calmly toots his way through swerving motorbikes - each with an entire family on board - lumbering elephants and dozens of rickety bicycles veering along the potholed road.
Tallulah, oblivious to the danger, is more interested in the freedom afforded by the lack of seatbelts. Standing and looking through the back window, she merrily points out a burnt-out bus. Cheerful schoolchildren in immaculate uniforms wave from the side of the road.
A British favourite
Early Portuguese explorers rarely ventured far inland. From Madeira to Macao in China they colonised tight enclaves with the sea-route always available if they had to beat a retreat. Even in Africa, where they later spread across the width of the continent, their original settlements were prudently close to the shore.
Goa was the Indian landfall and it remained a Portuguese possession for 451 years until 1961. Now the only trace is in the family names: da Suza, Pereira, Dominquez and the rest; in the Roman Catholic religion and in a few buildings, churches and forts.There are some songs and dances too but comparatively few Portuguese now visit the territory.
'Eighty per cent of our foreign visitors are British,' Ceri Stone, a Welshman working in Panjim, the dusty little capital, told me. As if to underline the local preference, a huge map of the world decorates the lobby wall in the Cidade de Goa hotel - the one with great splodges of British Empire red spread across it.
Something the Portuguese did leave were enormous and ghostly looking churches. They are looking fragile now, bushes growing from roofs and creepers choking parapets. The huge basilica of Bom (Baby) Jesus seems to tremble under the weight of its packed visitors. It has the silver-framed remains of St Francis Xavier, resting placidly for all to see and to photograph despite being requested specifically not to do so. There is also a warning notice: 'Do not let off firecrackers' - a caution to overexuberant wedding parties.
We took the local ferry across to Divar Island, a lush place surrounded by deep brown inland rivers, and arrived just in time for a near riot, with locals vehemently protesting at the rise in ferry fares from half a rupee to three rupees. There are 70 rupees to a pound. 'It may seem small,' said a man called Willy, who was leading the protest. 'But these people live on 1,000 rupees a month.' That is about £15.
But Goa is a place of attitudes. You may sympathise with the women digging ditches with pickaxes for a pittance while their toddlers play in the rubble, but small change is apparently of no importance to the government-employed toll keepers on the bridge across the River Mandovi.
Instead of one or two rupees change they hand the motorist a couple of boiled sweets. This is by no means the most interesting diversion while driving in Goa. The roads can be occupied by water buffalo or sacred cow, not to mention languid pedestrians and a melee of other vehicles, all of which seem to be driving the wrong way.
Our taxi driver, having given a double honk on his hooter to acknowledge a roadside shrine, shouted that there were many accidents. 'Usually because of overtaking on blind bends!' he bawled as he did just that.
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| | | | Curry was unforgettable
Here we stayed in spotless comfort. Vinod's mother and pretty wife, Anu, cooked us excellent meals, and demonstrated some favourite dishes. Their succulent duck curry was unforgettable.
Sebastian, the handsome driver of a white Ambassador car, looked like a young Omar Sharif.
With him we set off to experience quite another aspect of Kerala - the hill country.
We stayed the first night at the Palai rubber estate. The house is pure Thirties, down to the last piece of teak furniture.
Here we found yet another wonderful cook, Regi George; his offerings, including white mango and fresh coconut chutney, pickled vegetables and a meltingly soft aromatic pumpkin dish, were all mouthwatering.
Once more we found ourselves in the steps of Sir Paul, who had stopped for lunch a few days before.
Regi had no idea who the star was, but remembered that he had praised his pumpkin dish.
I told Regi that he could now tell people he had cooked for a world famous man, but he just smiled, slightly puzzled.
The Cardamom Hills are even more romantic than their name implies. As you climb higher the landscape becomes a kind of Shangri La - and just as surreal.
All in one scene you can see dramatic hills and waterfalls (identical to parts of Scotland), exotic jigsaw patterns of brilliant green tea plantations and jungly forests in the shade of which pepper and cardamom are grown.
The ultra-clear light adds to the unreality; the air is pure and refreshing.
Laden up with tat
Finally, we turn off, following the signs for Varkala, and Emlyn relaxes. 'Isn't this exciting?' he says and Tallulah nods in seeming agreement before delivering another generous helping of tummy porridge on Emlyn's one smart 'hotel check-in' shirt.
Kerala is often referred to as 'God's own country' in all the tourist bumph - and we can see why. As we are assisted (stinking) out of the car on to The Taj Garden Retreat's red carpet, butterflies dance around us and flowering creepers cover the building. Beyond, through the tasteful reception area, we can see the sea twinkling through a forest of coconut trees.
We piggy-back Tallulah across to the pool bar and order beers.
We feast on vegetable pakoras and Tallulah wolfs down fresh orange juice and a plate of fish fingers. As the first day ends in an impressive display of kathakali dancing on the manicured lawns, we already feel as if we've been away for a month.
Next morning we venture out, following the pathway down through a dry paddy field, past an amorous bull and on to the beach. There are a few beggars, but mainly hawkers block our path, trying to sell drums, painted leaf cards, embroidered wall hangings, hats and jingling elephant decorations.
When they realise we haven't yet got the knack of saying 'no', we're instantly laden up with tat.
We eventually escape, lie out on the hot sand and run squealing into the crystal-clear blue sea. When we come out, an old woman hacks up a fresh pineapple with a machete for us and we eat it messily, sweet juice running down our chins, as Tallulah sets about burying her new trinkets.
A few days later and we're back on the road up into the backwaters (all 75 miles of them!) and on to Coconut Lagoon in Lake Vembanad. The scenery gets so overgrown-lush and green that Tallulah asks with innocent confusion: 'Mummy, are we in The Jungle Book?'
We arrive by boat on the private island and are presented with flower garlands. As we step into our mansion, we continue to sigh with delight.
Through a thick teak door at the back, there's an outdoor bathroom. Tallulah places her potty in pride of place under the giant leaf of a palm tree and declares that she's 'very, very happy'.
So she should be! It's taken us 30-odd years to achieve this level of luxury.
Biswas on a Friday morning
If the lawns that verge the beach at Cidade de Goa give a velvet touch to the coast, then it is only necessary to travel 10 miles to see the state at its most vibrant.
The market at Mapuca on a Friday is a bowl filled with every kind of colour and life. Mountains of scrubbed vegetables fill the alleys. There are tangy spices and cheap trinkets, baubled and bangled nomadic tribeswomen, beautiful gipsy children, umbrellas to shade the sun and, inverted, to carry consignments of rat poison.
There are men with nasty looking implements who offer to clean your ears, a Dr Biswas offers cures for 'secret' diseases, and an old woman claims she can get you a new wife. Amid all the noise and activity stood one medium-sized elephant swinging his trunk as though conducting some private music.
Every night the moon came out like a silver toenail, the mornings were beautiful, only a little less so than the evenings. In our two visits we saw no flies or mosquitoes or other buzzy things, certainly not on the coast. Another bonus is that you can get a decent dinner for under £3.
The Malabar Coast stretches south from Goa past the textile city of Calicut to Cochin in Kerala. I like to think of it as the Calico Coast because it was from here that the pale cloth first came in the 17th-century, and the sea and the shore, even now, have a gauze look.
This is the most prosperous part of India and it looks it. There is a clean, gentle lushness about the countryside, people live in tidy houses on the banks of the warm, green water, and fish and travel in boats called Hail Mary, Immaculate and, somewhat puzzlingly, Infant Mary.
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| | | | You are in Heaven
At one point on the road we found a rusted old sign which read: 'You are in Heaven'. We believed it.
The guesthouse of the Windemere Estate at high Munnar was our home here; comfortable beds, good cooking and a garden massed with 'English' flowers.
From these high, lush hills (mountains, really) we drove steeply down to the dry plains of Tamil Nadu state, where perhaps the most enjoyable surprise of the trip greeted us at The Bangala, in the centre of the remote Chettinad region.
Chettinad is famed for its food, its temples and for the incredible marble and teak mansions built by the trading and banking Chettiar families when they made their fortunes in the late 19th Century.
Mrs Meyyapan is from one of these families and has restored a guesthouse to its Art Deco glory - Indian style.
The Bangala, or bungalow, is beautifully conceived to the last period detail. There are special features too: we slept in a four-poster bed inlaid with seductively reclining beauties and roofed all over with a mirror.
But the best treat of all was Mrs Meyyapan's food - cooked by two private family chefs.
Their creations were the crowning glory of what had unexpectedly turned out to be a truly gastronomic tour of home cooking in India.
TRAVEL DETAILS
A similar tour, and bookings at the above mentioned private homes, can be arranged through Equinox Travel, (mentioning the special tour arranged for Josceline Dimbleby) or through Pettitts Travel - http://www.pettitts.co.uk/india.html tel: 01892 515966.
Splendid colonial hotel
Coconut Lagoon is famed for its Ayurvedic centre, where we take it in turns to have alarmingly rigorous body massages and facials. I do a yoga practice overlooking the lake at sunset. Emlyn hires a boat to go water-skiing.
The resort is full of lovely people, not least the other two-year-olds, Rhia from London and Margo from San Francisco, who immediately form a gang with Tallulah. Together, they teach the patient, if not slightly bemused staff to hitch up their saris and join in the hokey cokey.
We have to wrench ourselves away to travel to Cochin, the ancient port up the coast, where we're booked into Brunton Boatyard, a splendid colonial hotel.
The second we arrive Tallulah is whisked into the air by Vilas, the manager, who describes himself as the Pied Piper of Cochin. He and Tallulah chase each other around the Victorian snooker table, beneath the old punka fans, while we clink glasses of gin fizz together.
For the first time, we do the tourist bit and take a boat into the old city, where we get mobbed by gangs of Indian tourists, swarming around like paparazzi to take pictures of Tallulah. She doesn't bat an eyelid.
Again, we don't want to leave but it's time to wend our way inland to the Cardamom Hills, heading up the hairpin road past rubber plantations and pineapple groves until, further up, we pass women picking tea on the slopes.
The wildlife is incredible but Tallulah only has eyes for the grumpy elephant on the side of the road and eventually we relent and pay for a ride. Emlyn is first up the ladder and lifts up Tallulah. I'm on next but I've no head for heights and there's nothing to hang on to as we set off with a lurch.
A little hand rests consolingly on me. 'Don't panic, Mummy, it's going to be all right.' 'OK,' I squeak, our roles truly reversed, but Tallulah is whooping with delight as the elephant is doing a giant you-know-what. It's the highlight of her trip.
Lastly, we head south to Kovalum to hook up with our mates doing the round-the-world trip. We have booked the charming Kundukulam villa, a self-catering apartment set in a coconut grove.
The owner, Varghese, welcomes us as if we're long-lost relatives. 'Come in, come in,' he urges - only to be instantly sabotaged as the nightly power-cut kicks in.
Gliding through the gardens
The new city of Cochin is full of dusty industry; massive tankers and rust-red ore carriers nudge each other at the docks, but alongside them the inhabitants earn their living by fishing with an extraordinary Heath Robinson design of net that was first brought there by the Mongols in the days of Genghis Khan.
These contraptions sit astride the grass banks of the lagoon, each the size of a two-storey house, the nets stretched over a pyramid frame of poles. A cantilever operation, seemingly complex but sweetly simple in operation, lowers the triangular frame into the water. The fish, which apparently never learn, swim into its clutches and the fishing crew reverse the weights and tackle to bring them to the bank, and swiftly to Cochin market.
Morning was cool, clean and clear. We set off in two tourist boats from below the frown of a huge ore carrier. Our boat was for English speaking people, the other occupied mainly by German tourists whose guide had the advantage of a megaphone. We lost them in the curling waterways, although we could still hear their guide over the trees. Ours, as though to compound the situation, spoke to us in whispers.
But you hardly needed a commentary.
Kerala is the greenest, gentlest state of India. There is little of the raw toughness of the North-East. Paddy fields stretch out like tablecloths from the waterbanks. All the way there are neat villages, often with a church, a temple or a market, and small white houses, their feet in the water.
Women in vivid saris waved shyly to us as they washed clothes in the lagoon and children jumped about and pointed at us. There were well-tended boats (even an ambulance boat blazoned with red crosses) and well-tended gardens. The land went green and untrammelled to join with the cool sky.
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| | | | A happy blur
It's no matter - the apartment is lovely and, when our friends arrive the next day, footsore and weary after some hardcore travelling, they're delighted, too. They gratefully dump their rucksacks, down a vodka and tonic and the most delightful 10 days commence.
A lot of the guide books have been disparaging about Kovalum, calling it 'Costa del Kovalum', but we're still keen to explore. We soon discover there's nothing remotely 'Costa' about it. Emlyn was here in 1989 and says the locals seem a lot happier (not to mention wealthier) for the influx of package tourists.
Cows wander about on the beach, as fishermen haul in the nets, while below the mosque we watch the surreal sight of 60 nuns running fully clothed into the sea to play in the surf.
We take a boat out to sample the fine snorkelling around the rocks, the fishermen commenting on how pretty our daughter is, before offering to sell us a variety of contraband from grass to cocaine. But it's all very friendly.
The days pass in a happy blur of long breakfasts, sandcastle building and swimming in the posh pool at the Ashok hotel (£2 a day for non-residents). In the evenings, we sample the restaurants on Lighthouse beach and eat the catch of the day, while Tallulah crashes out in the buggy.
Tanned, healthy and relaxed, it's time to leave. Our friends are off on a 10-week budget tour around India but I can't say I'm jealous. Our trip to Kerala has opened up the world again and we feel free, having spent the most precious time together.
I'm left wondering why we haven't done it before: it was all so easy - and so cheap. All our fears about travelling to a Third World country came to nothing, especially as Kerala doesn't seem remotely Third World, with a national literacy rate higher than London's. My only advice is to go immediately.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Kerala Connections (01892 722440, http://www.keralaconnect.co.uk) offers tailor-made holidays to Kerala.
Josie Lloyd and Emlyn Rees's new book Love Lives is published by Heinemann at £9.99.
Religious melting pot
Towards the town of Cochin, buildings and the hulls of huge ships rise beyond the trees. The streets are busy, but it does not take long, with an intrepid driver in an Ambassador - a model of a Fifties saloon car - to reach the tranquillity and shadows of the old town.
Here lives a settlement of Jews. The synagogue was built in 1568 but now there are only 16 worshippers left. The young people have left for Israel or other countries. Political correctness is not high on the list of Indian sensitivities and the little group all live in or around Synagogue Lane, Jew Town. It says so on the wall above one of the shops.
Only a week before our visit one of the Jewish elders had died. It was now getting difficult to get a quorum for services in the synagogue. They look around for visitors in the street but sometimes it is difficult. Mr K. J. Joy is the curator of the synagogue.
'There are other Jews in Kerala State,' he said. 'And there are 5,000 Jews in Bombay. We try to encourage them to come to our services.' The leader of the community literally rejoices in the name of Sammy Hallelugua. When I called at his house he was resting in the heat of the day, and later I just missed him as he and his rather regal wife swept through the narrow streets in their chauffeured car. He looked a true patriarch.
Inside the synagogue the shadows seem to touch you. It is not very big, but it has a presence. There are 3,100 blue-and-white Chinese tiles decorating the walls, each hand-painted and no two of the same design. Legend says that the Jews of Kerala arrived with King Solomon's merchant ships. They were joined over the centuries by others, fleeing from persecution. Even they seem to have some doubt as to where the Cochin Jews originated but the favourite guess is Spain, possibly the Balearic Islands.
All around the unique little place has grown up a virtual town of antique and curio shops, some of them as deep and dusty as caves, their proprietors from trading countries as far as the Mediterranean. They sell ancient bits and pieces, saints and gods and holy characters from half-a-dozen religions.
Here you can see Mary and the infant Jesus standing beside a Hindu god and a serenely squatting Buddha, a time-gathering place of true beliefs. But there seems to be room for everybody in Jew Town, Cochin.
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