Kerala

The backwaters are a network of interconnected canals, lagoons, rivers and lakes running behind the coast, fed by dozens of rivers draining out of the Ghats. Alleppey is the main hub: converted kettuvallam rice barges leave the wharf for overnight cruises through narrow channels lined with coir workshops, toddy shops and village life happening at the water's edge, with a cook aboard producing fresh fish and Kerala rice. The classic route crosses Vembanad Lake into Kuttanad, where the paddy fields sit below sea level and the farming is done behind dykes — one of the few places on earth where that is true. Kumarakom on the eastern shore is the quieter base, with bird sanctuaries and resorts rather than boat traffic. Two pieces of advice worth more than any booking tip. First, the smaller and older boats reach channels the big ones cannot, which is the entire point of being there. Second, if a night aboard is not essential, the public ferry between Alleppey and Kottayam crosses the same water for pennies and takes a couple of hours — the same landscape without the markup, and with commuters aboard.

Munnar sits at around 1,600 metres in the Ghats, where the British laid out tea plantations from the 1880s that now cover the hills in clipped green geometry as far as the eye goes — the most photographed landscape in Kerala and genuinely worth the winding drive up. The town itself is unremarkable; the estates, the ridges and the light are the attraction. The tea museum covers the history and runs tastings. Eravikulam National Park, a short drive out, protects the endangered Nilgiri tahr — a mountain goat unusually tolerant of people — across high grassland with long views, and closes for part of the year during the calving season, so check before planning around it. Top Station gives the highest viewpoint and looks across into Tamil Nadu. Between the lakes and dams there is boating and, more rewardingly, walking. Come between September and March for clear air and cool days; the monsoon months bring fog that erases the view entirely. The road up from Kochi passes through cardamom, pepper and cinnamon country, and the roadside stalls sell spices at a fraction of what they cost anywhere they are exported to.

Fort Kochi compresses an improbable amount of history into a walkable neighbourhood. The cantilevered Chinese fishing nets at the harbour mouth — introduced by traders centuries ago and still worked by hand with counterweights — are the image everyone knows, and best at sunset when they are in use. Behind them: St Francis Church, the oldest European-built church in India, where Vasco da Gama was first buried; the Paradesi Synagogue in the old spice quarter, its floor laid with hand-painted Chinese tiles, no two alike; and the Mattancherry Palace, whose murals are among the finest surviving Kerala wall paintings. Every two years the Kochi-Muziris Biennale takes over warehouses and heritage buildings across the peninsula and has become the most significant contemporary art event in South Asia, with most venues free. Ernakulam, across the water, is where the city actually lives and works, and the commuter ferry across the harbour costs almost nothing and gives the best water-level view of the nets. Give Fort Kochi two days if the art or the history interests you, one if you are passing through to the backwaters.

Kerala's coastline runs some 580 kilometres and offers a genuine range rather than one beach repeated. Kovalam, close to Thiruvananthapuram, is the developed end: three crescent bays under a headland, with a working lighthouse, surf schools, restaurants and reasonable swimming when the currents allow. Varkala, further north, is the more dramatic setting — a long beach at the foot of red laterite cliffs, with cafés, yoga shalas and guesthouses strung along the cliff path above, and an ancient temple at the northern end that makes the beach a pilgrimage site as well as a holiday one. Marari, near Alleppey, is the quiet option: palms, fishing boats and very little building. North of Kozhikode the coast empties out almost entirely, and Bekal's fort and Kannur's beaches see few foreign visitors at all — which is also theyyam country in season. Swimming conditions change with the season, calmest between October and March and rough through the monsoon; lifeguards patrol the main beaches and nowhere else, and the rip currents here are not decorative.

Ayurveda in Kerala is a licensed medical tradition rather than the spa treatment that borrows its vocabulary elsewhere. Practitioners hold a five-and-a-half-year degree, there are dedicated hospitals and pharmacies, and the state runs a certification scheme — the “Green Leaf” and “Olive Leaf” classifications — that visitors can check before booking. A genuine course of treatment is residential and long: a practitioner assesses your constitution, then prescribes a programme of oil therapies, dietary restriction, herbal preparations and a fixed daily rhythm over one to three weeks. It is not a holiday within a holiday. Expect early mornings, a restricted and specific diet, no alcohol, and treatments that are clinical in feel rather than indulgent, in surroundings that range from institutional to genuinely luxurious depending on where you book. The tradition holds that the monsoon months are the most effective season for treatment, which is why serious centres are busiest when the beaches are empty. Whatever you are considering it for, treat it as you would any medical decision, and take questions about your own health to a clinician rather than to a brochure.

The Ghats along Kerala's eastern edge are a UNESCO-listed biodiversity hotspot, older than the Himalaya and exceptionally rich in endemic species. Periyar, around Thekkady, is the best-known reserve: forest around a large artificial lake, where elephants, gaur and sambar come down to drink at dawn and dusk. The lake boat trip is the standard way to see it, though bamboo rafting and guided walks with former poachers turned trackers get you far closer to the forest. Tigers are present and very rarely seen. Wayanad in the north is quieter and greener, with elephant and leopard country, Neolithic petroglyphs in the Edakkal caves, and a trek up Chembra Peak past a heart-shaped tarn. Silent Valley in Palakkad protects one of the last intact tracts of tropical rainforest in India and is deliberately hard to enter — permits are limited and the restriction is the point. Parambikulam runs multi-day treks with forest department guides. October to March is the practical window; the monsoon closes trails and swells rivers, while making the forest itself extraordinary.

Where the southern canon sits within Indian food as a whole is mapped in the India food guide; Kerala's own contribution is built on coconut in all its forms, curry leaves, tamarind, and the black pepper that made this coast famous enough to be worth sailing to. The state's showpiece is the sadya — a vegetarian feast of two dozen or more dishes served on a banana leaf in a fixed order, eaten by hand, with rice at the centre and payasam to finish, and it appears at its fullest during the Onam festival at the end of the monsoon. On the non-vegetarian side: karimeen pollichathu, the pearl spot fish marinated, wrapped in banana leaf and pan-fried; fish curry in a coconut and raw-mango gravy that every household makes differently; and the Malabar biryani of the north coast, made with short-grain rice and a distinct set of spices. Breakfast is its own pleasure — lace-edged appam with stew, steamed puttu with black chickpea curry. And for the most local experience available, a toddy shop serves fresh palm toddy alongside fiery fish fry and tapioca, which is where Kerala eats when nobody is watching.

Kerala keeps several performance traditions that are simultaneously art, ritual and social institution. Theyyam, in the north between roughly October and April, is the most extraordinary: performers in towering headdresses, full body paint and coconut-frond costume embody deities through all-night rituals at village shrines, and during the performance the performer is treated as the god — venerated by everyone present, including those who in ordinary life stand far above them socially, since theyyam performers come overwhelmingly from communities that have been marginalised. It is a community event rather than a show; there is no ticket, venues are announced locally, and a visitor attends as a guest. Kathakali, the classical dance-drama, uses codified gesture and elaborate painted makeup — green for the noble, red for the fierce — and centres in Kochi and Thekkady run evening performances that begin with the makeup being applied in front of the audience, which is genuinely the best part. Kalaripayattu, the martial art that may be the oldest in the world, is demonstrated at training halls in Thiruvananthapuram and Kochi.

Three international airports serve the state — Thiruvananthapuram in the south, Kochi in the centre and the most useful for visitors, and Kozhikode in the north — with Kochi carrying direct flights from the Gulf and every major Indian city. Public transport is unusually good: state buses reach everywhere cheaply and frequently, if alarmingly on mountain roads, and the coastal railway runs the length of the state. For the hills and the backwater villages, a car with a driver is standard practice rather than an indulgence. On seasons: October to March is the conventional window, warm and dry, and right for backwaters, beaches and wildlife. The south-west monsoon from June to August is the opposite proposition and has a real case — the landscape at its most saturated green, prices down by a third to a half, Ayurvedic centres at their busiest, and the snake-boat races at their most spectacular — provided you accept that hill roads may close and beach swimming stops. Health specifics for India as a whole, mosquito-borne illness included, live in the health and safety guide.