Discovering South India: Tamil Nadu and Kerala (page 3 of 8)

8. Three Highlights in Madurai

The next day, against all odds, turned out to be one of the highlights of our trip. The Indian breakfast we’d ordered was barely edible—hospital food, really. We forced ourselves to eat as much as we could; no way were we wasting it. Bruno offered to take the leftovers to the local cows, the Indian way. In the street, he struck up a real bond with a young stray dog with short fur, whom he named "Snoopie." Every time we entered or left the building, Snoopie would wait for him, tail wagging, overjoyed to see him. After a quick pat for Snoopie, we headed into town for a full tour of the temple. We’d asked Vijay to find us a French-speaking guide so we could better understand what we were seeing.

The Meenakshi Temple, an avatar of the goddess Parvati, is also dedicated to Shiva. Our guide greeted us—he spoke excellent French. The rules for entering the temple were strict: no shoes, no cameras, no phones, and we had to pass through an electronic gate. We stepped into the vast sanctuary. Inside the large courtyard leading to the different temples, our guide gave us a quick but welcome lesson on Hinduism. Then the tour began, lasting nearly two hours. Thanks to his explanations, we could more easily feel the general atmosphere of the sanctuary—a spiritual place, a place of art and history, but also a place of life. Nothing like the churches back home, where silence is usually the rule. Here, it was a constant hum of laughter, songs, and strong displays of devotion. The vibe was warm and relaxed. There was even a canteen offering free meals to pilgrims. A moment of intense aesthetic emotion came when we discovered the Hall of a Thousand Pillars. In the massive hall, life-sized statues of Shiva in high relief seemed to literally emerge from the granite they were carved from. The gods danced, smiled—you’d think they were alive. It was breathtaking! We left the visit thrilled, yesterday’s disappointment forgotten.



We decided to grab a bite at Sree Sabarees, a spot we’d found in Pagal’s VF travel journal. It turned out to be a chain of popular canteen-style restaurants. The crowd was indescribable—no seats available. The owner spotted us and asked us to wait inside. We stood there in the middle of all the hustle and bustle. The waitresses bumped into us as we watched people eat. Everything moved fast—customers rotated quickly, and no one lingered. The group at our future table was more or less explicitly asked to make way. We felt a little awkward, thinking the owner was doing us a favor as Western tourists. Not at all—it was just how the place worked. Eat fast, then move on. We sat down, and the meal was served on banana leaves. Rice was the main dish, accompanied by three small portions. I recognized a potato and cauliflower curry, probably a chutney, but I couldn’t identify the third. On the leaf, there was also a pappad (a crispy flatbread) and two small pots—one with a mild yogurt-based sauce, the other with a kind of rice pudding. The whole thing was delicious, subtly spiced. No utensils—we ate with our fingers. Kate nudged me to switch hands; I’m left-handed. After about fifteen minutes, a group of Indians stood conspicuously in front of our table. Time for us to clear out too.



We had a meet-up at the guesthouse in the mid-afternoon to visit an orphanage: the Grace Kennett Foundation. It’s a private social institution that takes in orphans and helps facilitate their adoption. A poised woman with a radiant gaze welcomed us and introduced herself. "My name is Nirmala, I am a social worker." She showed us into her office and asked us to leave our cameras and phones. The conversation started, and she explained how the foundation worked and the immense challenges it faced. Nathalie, who’s also a social worker, was captivated. The two women, who sometimes dealt with similar professional realities, instantly connected. Nathalie’s English improved as if she were bilingual, while the rest of us were lost. But our friend would pause now and then to translate what she was learning. The center currently housed 22 orphans—15 girls and 7 boys. Fourteen of them had been entrusted to the foundation by young mothers, while the other 8 had been left—abandoned—at the center. Most of these children came from rural areas where economic and social poverty was still very strong. Nirmala also mentioned unwanted pregnancies resulting from rape, as well as the birth of girls still being seen as a catastrophe in some villages. It was time to visit the nursery where the children, aged from a few months to 3 or 4 years, lived. We entered this child’s world, which smelled of cleanliness and dirty diapers at the same time. The caregivers greeted us with smiles. The infants lay in cribs, while the older ones were in playpens. All four of us had lumps in our throats and misty eyes, but we forced ourselves to smile. A little dark-skinned boy looked at us in surprise, then started crying. What moved us the most wasn’t the sight of the children themselves, but the idea of the future that awaited them. The luckiest might get a second chance, a different life from the one they were born into. But for the less "appealing" children—those with disabilities, like the little blind girl we’d been introduced to—the future looked much harder. The visit ended. We thanked the staff and Nirmala for their welcome. Before leaving, we decided to make a donation to the Foundation.

Nirmala



The day had been intense, filled with all kinds of emotions. Tomorrow, we leave Tamil Nadu for Kerala. And Bruno won’t forget to say goodbye to Snoopie, another street orphan, though perhaps with a slightly less precarious existence. Bruno would’ve loved to bring her with us, but Nathalie told him it wasn’t going to be possible.

I can’t identify the third one

It’s a mango pickle. (If I had time, I could’ve reacted to the dozens of interesting things that have been said since yesterday, but I picked this one.)

I loved Madurai.

My name is Christelle and I’m also a social worker 😊. Like Nathalie, I would’ve loved to chat with Nirmala, but meeting the kids would’ve "torn me apart," though. Still, they’re "lucky" to be in a small facility. Let’s hope their care is appropriate and they’re well supported!

Like Nathalie, I would have loved to chat with Nirmala, but meeting the children would have "torn me apart" though.

I can still picture myself walking through that door into a room filled with small wooden crib beds. In those cribs, babies wriggling around. One of the assistants picked up the little girl Richard mentioned to introduce her to us. She was blind, missing some fingers. She was like a rag doll, no reactions. "This one will never be adopted," the assistant confided 🙁

That evening, the orphanage director invited us to play paddle tennis (there’s a court right next door). We said yes but ended up staying in the apartment, silent over a beer, dates, and other snacks to munch on. The day had been too intense; we went to bed early.

9/10. Entering Kerala: Munnar and its tea plantations



The idea was to spend an extended stay to enjoy the countryside and high-altitude forests, the still-wild nature. But the rainy and cool weather put a damper on our plans. In India or anywhere else, the mountains are a pain when the weather’s bad. Munnar is a popular hill station among Indians who come here to escape the heat and enjoy mountain walks. Let’s get this out of the way: Munnar is really ugly, even though it’s nestled in a remarkable site crossed by a large river and surrounded by green hills. The urban center sprawled at the bottom of the valley is literally choked by heavy traffic, which generates significant air pollution. Ah, the pure mountain air! Crossing the main street is an urban feat that requires mastering Indian-style dodging techniques. Most of the buildings look quite run-down and sprawl haphazardly across the city.



Despite everything I just said, we had some really pleasant moments in this little Kerala town. There’s something almost telluric in these Indian cities, which are rarely attractive at first glance but awaken the body and mind with a kind of stimulating vital energy. It’s exactly like Indian food—hard to swallow at the first bite but tasty and invigorating afterward. Is it just the tourist’s distorted view that finds everything new interesting? Maybe.

Our guesthouse Landy Queen is located a bit above the center, in a spot away from the noise and traffic. Ronnie, the owner, welcomes us warmly. He’s a small, smiling man with a kind expression. He’ll bend over backward to make sure our stay goes as smoothly as possible. During check-in, he tells us breakfast isn’t included, which contradicts the services listed on Booking. He seems quite bothered by this site error and offers to let us have breakfast every morning in his own home without charging us. Classy, Ronnie!

In the evening, we go for dinner at Gurubhavan, a very touristy restaurant but with an almost exclusively Indian clientele. Big room, long tables, harsh neon lights, the usual buzzing atmosphere. The staff is friendly, patient, and attentive. Unlike the other customers, we get plates and cutlery. The girls order a masala dosa, Bruno gets tandoori chicken, and I have Indian-style noodles. 1200 rupees for four, plus Bruno’s lassi. It’s really cheap and delicious.





This morning, we set off for a short 2-hour excursion to explore the tea plantations. The weather hasn’t worsened yet, and the walk is really pleasant amid this landscape shaped by human activity. We learn that tea plants are actually trees and need to be pruned to the ground to keep them from growing too tall. The guide also explains that whether it’s black, green, or white tea, it all comes from the same plant. The difference lies simply in when the leaves are picked during their maturity. Depending on the light and the view of the cultivated hills, the shades of green change, as do the shapes of the bushes. From a distance, the whole thing sometimes looks like carpet. You want to touch it or dive in and snuggle up. I’m still surprised by the steepness of the slopes and the narrowness of the access paths. Picking tea seems like a tough, exhausting job. The part of the property we’re visiting, however, is empty of workers. According to our guide, they’re harvesting on another side of the hill.







Next, a quick visit to the tea museum with a reconstruction of a production line. In the shop, we buy some teas and incense. The prices are ridiculously low, but are we making the right choices? Time for a tea break. While Bruno smokes his cigarette and Kate takes photos, Nathalie and I queue up at a small stall. But we know from last year that waiting in line in India is a constant battle. Sure enough, a mother and her son cut in from the side and try to push ahead of us. Nathalie gives the mother a dark look, and the mother glares back. The boy pretends not to notice. Who’s going to win? I dig deep for some anger and drop my overly polite side. "Please, follow the lane!" I say loudly. The young man apologizes, and we get to order first. We won! In the afternoon, a fine rain starts to fall. Vijay takes us to visit a botanical garden of Ayurvedic plants. Not uninteresting, but nothing special. We head back to the center in the late afternoon to soak up the city’s energy and fill our lungs with CO2. Tomorrow, we’re heading up to the peaks, toward Top Station.

I then dig deep and find a bit of anger, letting go of my overly polite side

Oh wow! Haha, I’m laughing 😏 Your "very well-mannered" side would usually lead to: "oh no, please, after you," "thank you so much, ma’am," "oh sir, by all means, you first..." But where did you find that anger? Then again, it balances out my bulldozer side!

That’s the issue with collaborative travel journals: sometimes you witness a few clarifications… 😉

That’s the thing with co-written travel journals: sometimes you witness a few clarifications... 😉

🎶Maybe that’s what love is... 🎶 😛

That’s the thing with co-written travel journals: sometimes you witness a few clarifications... 😉

🎭Maybe that’s what love is... 🎭 😛

And the journal isn’t finished yet 😉

Day 11. Munnar: What to do in the rain?

When the sky is low and heavy... Rotten weather this morning—no point driving an hour to hike in the mountains. We consider leaving Munnar and canceling our third night at the hotel. But that wouldn’t be fair to Ronnie, who’s been so thoughtful toward us.

Vijay suggests visiting a dam lake half an hour’s drive from town. The lake is nestled below the road, in a peaceful and rather charming setting. The place must be quite touristy, judging by the number of small stalls around the water. But today, aside from the monkeys, there aren’t many people—probably because of the weather. A network of paths winds through a lovely eucalyptus forest. With our hoods up, we take a short but very pleasant walk.

Before heading back to the car, we invite Vijay for a nice hot chai. In North India, we drank masala tea, but here it’s called chai, and the taste seems slightly different. They’re usually served in dabaras: two metal containers—a cup and a deep saucer. The trick is to pour the drink back and forth to cool it down.







Last afternoon in Munnar. On the agenda: shopping, visiting the church, the small market, and street photography for Kate. The church, built in 1911, sits atop a hill overlooking the town. Just like the mosque, by the way, and just like the Hindu temple. The power of religion is always inscribed in the landscape. I’d actually discussed religion in India with Ronnie, who’s Christian. He pointed out that in Kerala, coexistence happens without issue. “The problem is in the politic,” he concluded. We know that at the national level, the identity-driven politics of Prime Minister Modi are overtly pro-Hindu. Kerala seems to escape these religious tensions exacerbated by power.

Wandering through the crowded streets of the town, but the small market—partially covered—is away from the traffic. Kate spots an elderly woman on one of the town’s bridges, selling magnificent black hair. She takes her photo. “I’ll put it in the journal—you’ll write about it. Okay?” “Okay.”









The day comes to an end. Tomorrow, we head to the Malabar Coast on the Arabian Sea, the backwaters, and the beaches. Time to break out the T-shirts and sunglasses again.

Before heading back to the car, we invite Vijay for a nice hot chai. In North India, we used to drink masala tea, but here they call it chai, and it seems the taste is slightly different.

Actually, it’s the opposite—people say chai in the north and masala tea in the south, even though chai or chaya are becoming more common there too. And yes, they’re slightly different because in the north, the water, tea, spices, and milk are boiled together over high heat in a pot. In the south, the black tea steeps first in water with ground spices, and it’s often mixed with sweetened condensed milk using two carafes to make it a bit frothy, like filter coffee.

Actually, it's the opposite—people say chai in the north and masala tea in the south, even though chai or chaya are increasingly used there too.

Oh really? Yet several times in Kerala, I remember we couldn’t find masala tea, and they’d offer us just "tea" or ginger tea. But honestly, it was always delicious! I bought some powdered version but haven’t tried it yet. I have my doubts

That’s exactly what I was saying, Catherine, in response to Richard who was saying the opposite. In the south, we use the term tea (masala, ginger, or whatever you like). Whereas in the north, they say chai.

Actually, it's the opposite—people say chai in the north and masala tea in the south, even though chai or chaya are increasingly used there too. And yes, they’re slightly different because in the north, water, tea, spices, and milk are boiled together on high heat in a pot. In the south, black tea steeps first in water with ground spices, and it’s often mixed with sweetened condensed milk using two jugs to make it a bit frothy, like filter coffee.

I’d happily add my two cents to this tea discussion, but it might look like I’m saying you’re wrong… Though, yes, you’re right—people say *tea* in the south and *chai* in the north. And despite the north-south rivalry and the boycott of all things northern, *chaya* is becoming more common in restaurants and even on trains. Probably because of the influence of all the Indian tourists from the north who love vacationing in the south and brought their term with them.

I bought some in powder form but haven’t tried it yet. I have my doubts

Hi Kate, What did you buy in powder form? Tea or masala chai? Neither is great! Actually, a good masala chai takes a while to prepare... When I make it, I brew a big pot—one and a half liters or more—and after drinking my fill, I strain it and refrigerate the rest for later. Even the next day. And cold (iced) it’s absolutely delicious, especially in summer. I also discovered that here in Thailand, where I am right now, tea is served iced everywhere. Thai tea is a close cousin to masala chai but less spicy. A good masala chai *must* be well-spiced. Mine is so good that my Indian friends often ask me to make it for them because they don’t know how...

I’d gladly add my two cents to this tea, but it might sound like I’m saying you’re wrong...

But there’s absolutely no harm in that—quite the opposite! In any case, I’ve always seen it done the way I described in the north, whether on the street or at home. For the south, I’ve also seen it done that way on the streets of Tamil Nadu, in Tamil eateries in Paris, and at friends’ places in Karnataka. But I don’t doubt others do things differently at home. Do let me know where I went wrong!

Anyway, I’m off to make myself some chai (from the north)

What did you buy in powder? Tea or masala chai?

I brought back this:

Just tea for two And two for tea Just me for you And you for me alone ...

Day 12. On the way to Munroe Island and the backwaters

Sickles and hammers painted on walls, posters, portraits of Marx and Lenin. Kerala is red, and we had plenty of time to notice it during our long journey to the coast. It’s actually the only state in India (and probably in the world) governed by a freely elected communist government. This political setup partly explains—and I say this without any propaganda intent—the excellent results the region achieves in education, women’s rights, and human development in general. For those interested, here’s a short France Info article on the topic here.



We arrived in Munroe Island around midday, a small peninsula in the southern part of the backwaters. It was thanks to reading a fantastic blog called « Mi-figue, mi-raison » that we decided against basing ourselves in Alleppey, a city that’s more central and ideal for exploring the area but very touristy. Our guesthouse, the Coconut Homestay, is nestled in the heart of a palm grove—a coconut plantation, really—far from the urban hustle in an environment where human activities and natural spaces seem to coexist in harmony.

View from our room

Rahul, the young head of the family, welcomes us warmly. But before we settle in, we have to say goodbye to Vijay. As planned, the rest of the trip will be without him. There’s always a bit of emotion in parting with someone you’ve spent every day with, built trust and mutual respect. We settle the bill. A firm, warm handshake. « Bye, Vijay, take care! » After quickly explaining how his homestay works, Rahul offers us a backwater boat ride for tomorrow morning at dawn.

What’s known as the backwaters is a series of lagoons formed behind the coastal barrier, hence the name. They make up a unique ecosystem of lakes, mangroves, and islets where wildlife and flora are particularly abundant and diverse. But this natural space is also shaped by a network of small canals, bridges, and paths that allow people to move through a world that’s half-land, half-water.

Our guesthouse, the Coconut Homestay, is nestled in the heart of a palm grove—actually a coconut plantation—far from the urban hustle and bustle, in an environment where human activities and natural spaces seem to live in harmony.

If you're reading this post, it's your lucky day! An absolutely fantastic spot! Not listed in any guidebooks, this place was one of the most delightful of our trip. The enchanting setting amid the coconut trees, Rahul’s warm welcome—he kindly met all our requests—the comfort of the rooms, and its unbeatable value for money at 1400 INR including breakfast.

13/J14/J15. The backwaters by boat, on foot, by tuk-tuk, by car... (1)

5:30 AM, the day hasn’t broken yet. By the light of his flashlight, Rahul leads the small group to the foot of the jetty. We’re off for three hours of discovery along the water. The boat glides silently through the narrow channels. The low bridges force us to lie flat in the boat each time. It’s almost chilly. The gentle lapping of the oars, the light breeze brushing our faces, the darkness of the night shifting to pale gray then tinged with pink, the yelps, trills, and hoots of nocturnal birds... We’re having a pretty intense sensory experience. Dawn gives way to sunrise as we emerge onto a vast expanse of water, Lake Ashtamudi, the second largest in Kerala. Fishermen are already busy at work. As they pull up their nets, they attract a whole flock of birds. These aren’t seagulls like back home, but Kerala eagles. They’re magnificent. From their boats, the fishermen chat in a language we obviously don’t understand—Malayalam.













The three hours flew by, like a dream. On our return, breakfast prepared by Rahul’s family awaits us.

In the afternoon, after a quick nap, we take a tuk-tuk to visit a small fishing port on the peninsula. We arrive under a huge hall that serves as both a landing dock and a fish auction. The atmosphere—both auditory and visual—is very local. But I feel at ease in this setting, which reminds me of the sensations I had when visiting the fish market in Sète, my hometown, with my dad.









We share a meal with the other guests in the evening—all French! At the table, we meet Élisabeth, a warm and smiling woman traveling solo in India. We send her a friendly hello if she reads this post.