Manideep’s Family Journey Through Kerala’s Soul with Thrillophilia

Our trip to Kerala didn’t start with a grand plan or an elaborate checklist. It began with a longing—a longing for something different, something soulful and somewhere closer to nature. When we landed in Kochi, it felt like we had pressed pause on life and stepped into a different rhythm altogether.
Saneer, our driver, was already waiting for us at the airport, his warm smile setting the tone for what lay ahead. “The road to Munnar will be your first teacher,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. And he wasn’t wrong.
The winding roads were hugged by emerald hills, and every turn seemed to hold a new secret. Valara and Cheeyappara waterfalls spilled out of the mountains like a song, their spray cool against our sun-kissed faces.

My little brother, camera in hand, ran ahead like a kid on Christmas morning. “This is it,” he announced dramatically, “the perfect shot.”
We stopped at roadside shacks that served chai in glass tumblers and crispy banana chips fresh out of the fryer. My father, ever the explorer, struck up a conversation with a local vendor who explained how every spice in Kerala has its own story.
By the time we reached Munnar, the hills were wrapped in mist, as if nature herself had drawn the curtains for a grand reveal.
Tea, Spices, and the Symphony of Simplicity
If Munnar was a painting, its tea plantations were the brushstrokes—endless, precise, and impossibly green. Walking through the gardens felt like stepping into a living postcard.
We learned how each cup of tea begins its journey here, crafted with love and care. My mother, who swears by her morning chai, declared it the “freshest cup” she’d ever had. My father, on the other hand, was mesmerized by the stories of the workers—how generations of families had been tied to these hills, their lives intertwined with the land.

Later, at the spice plantation, the air was thick with the aroma of cardamom, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Our guide explained how Kerala’s spices once lured explorers from far-off lands, changing the course of history. My brother, ever the sceptic, asked, “But is it really that special?” One whiff of fresh pepper later, even he was a believer.
Lunch that day was served on banana leaves—a symphony of flavours that danced between tangy, spicy, and sweet. The fish curry, made with freshly caught fish, stole the show. “This tastes like the ocean,” my father declared, to which my mother replied, “And a whole lot of love.”
The Backwaters
If the hills of Munnar were a symphony, the backwaters of Alleppey were a lullaby. Our houseboat floated through narrow canals and wide lakes, while its wooden frame made soft peaceful creaking sounds.

The world here moved slower. Children waved at us from the banks, their laughter mingling with the calls of birds. Women washed clothes in the water, their hands moving in rhythm and with precision. Fishermen, silhouetted against the golden light, cast their nets with a grace that came from years of practice.
Onboard, life was just as peaceful. Lunch was a feast of Kerala’s finest—grilled fish, tangy, spicy curries, and warm parathas. My father, who rarely compliments food was speechless. “This,” he finally said, “is soul food.”
As evening fell, the sun set the sky ablaze with hues of orange and pink. We sat together on the deck, sharing stories and watching the stars emerge one by one.
The Parting Gift
Our final day in Kochi was bittersweet. The city buzzed with life, a stark contrast to the serenity we’d left behind. We visited spice markets where the scents seemed to follow us home, and my brother picked up a wooden elephant as his “official Kerala souvenir.”
As we boarded our flight back home, my mother turned to me and said, “It wasn’t just the places, was it? It was the way they made us feel.” And she was right.

Kerala wasn’t just a trip; it was a reminder. A reminder to slow down, to savour, to connect—not just with nature, but with each other. It was a story we’d tell over and over, each time with the same wonder in our voices.
Read more: Thrillophilia Munnar Reviews