Kerala, God's own country

Kerala, God's own country - "the land of God": a short "wellness" holiday by the sea, with ayurvedic massages

November 2004

Before landing at Trivandrum airport the pilot had announced 34 degrees, and as I get off, still dressed for Dharamsala 1350 m, it feels like stepping into an oven. But I am already too busy looking at the palms surrounding the airport and smelling the scent of salt. The hotel is not far from the airport; a modern and lovely hotel. My room is 50 m from the sea and the room opens onto a little covered veranda with a fine colonial-style portico; the lawns of the large park surrounding the complex are kept in a surprisingly tidy way for India. I sit on the veranda and listen to the sound of the gigantic ocean waves. It's been 26 years since I was last in Kovalam. My holiday programme is very simple: breakfast, beach, a couple of hours a day devoted to ayurvedic massages, dinner with a final rum. The massages were booked at an ayurvedic resort owned by Doctor Franklin, probably a Christian.

The day after my arrival I use a car transfer service provided by the clinic. I find myself in a beautiful setting. Extremely clean, functional, and with lots of plants and greenery all around. The procedure requires that I meet Dr Franklin, in his small but meticulously kept office. Introductions! My booking is for a week of "Panchakarma". After the usual consultation and explanation of what ayurvedic medicine is, I ask the doctor what this "Panchakarma" consists of. He explains that it is a purification treatment based on herbs, enemas and other treatments aimed at purifying the whole body. Doubts... He notices too and tells me that perhaps it would be better for me to do a week of rejuvenation. I like this. He entrusts me to the hands of a young masseur, very kind and very skilled; he invites me to undress. I keep my underwear on.

"Those too," he says, and he notices my reluctance; I obey. He has me sit on a stool and begins to oil my hair with coconut oil, then massages my arms and back. He has me lie down on a little bed, and I notice how clean the place is... strange for India! While he massages the back of my body I see on the right a rope hanging from a ceiling beam. I look at this rope and the mattress beneath it and start thinking about the name Franklin and all sorts of torture. When he finishes the back, Gigi turns me over and starts on the other side of my body; by now I am oiled and greasy, and I will stay in this state for the whole week. Gigi finishes with a massage of the face and ears. He has me get down and signals to lie on the little mattress under the rope; I obey silently.

I am lying on my stomach and he grabs the rope, which has various knots at different distances, and after asking me if the pressure of his foot is right, he begins to massage me. He is very fast and very light, so skilled that it feels as if he is massaging me with his hands. The first part of the treatment, which will be repeated for seven days, is over. I am covered in coconut oil. He puts a clean green gown on me and leads me into the other room, handing me over to two graceful and kind ladies. This room too is as clean as the first. On one side is a magnificent antique wooden table, and on it a terracotta vessel with a spout from which warm oil will drip. The massage is called "Dhara", and it is magnificent.

One of the ladies turns off the light and speaks softly with her colleague, then applies a sort of band to the lower part of my forehead so the oil doesn't drip onto my face, and begins gently to swing the vessel from one temple to the other, passing it over the forehead. The Dhara massage lasts 20 minutes. On the following days Gigi's massage stays the same but the second session changes. Today I have the "Pizhichil". Kindly passed from Gigi's hands into those of the two ladies, they too tell me I have to be naked. I'm embarrassed! They have me lie on the usual table and pour litres of warm coconut oil over me. They massage the whole body, take away the oil and pour on more. I am on the table, totally oiled, so turning over becomes a major feat.

I slide down but the ladies catch me promptly; I try to turn but I can't make a single movement, and if it weren't for the ladies' help I would end up on the floor. The next day it's the turn of the "Gnavarakizhi". Again they lay me on the antique wooden bed and the ladies appear with a sort of cloth bundle containing boiled rice and a mixture of herbs; all warm. Placed on one side and the other of the body, the two ladies pat me from head to toe with this poultice, and as soon as the first has cooled, a third girl is ready to pass two more warm bundles. At the end of this treatment, as also of the "Pizhichil", they clean the body with palm leaves, removing all that is left over. Last day. Today it's the turn of a mask on the face and body. The face is spread with a paste of banana, papaya and other herbs, and the body with clay and sandalwood powder.

I am left there for 20 minutes and then it's time for the sauna. I am in a little room with a cube big enough to hold a body. The side walls are glass; inside there is a swivel stool to adjust the height so that the head can come out and be held still between two boards. They let in warm steam, asking whether the temperature is pleasant, and leave me to sweat for 20 minutes. Done! Before leaving I meet Dr Franklin again, who asks how the week went. I explain that I come from an India where you rarely find so much cleanliness and organisation, which left me pleasantly surprised, as I am also pleasantly surprised by the perfect organisation and technical skill, the courtesy and discretion of the staff. He takes me to see the bungalows of his centre, also exceptionally clean and lovely, with gardens around, but something is missing...the beach.

Franklin, old fox, understands me and tells me that the beach is only 5 minutes away and that a car from the clinic will take you there whenever you want and pick you up whenever you wish! I spend the afternoon on the beach reserved for tourists. Not out of any "neo-colonial" attitude, but Indians have the habit of using the beach as a toilet and so, to avoid stumbling into unwanted deposits, private beaches are needed. Mine is run by Khan. He rents sunbeds and umbrellas for 200 rupees a day and brings you anything you want to drink or eat. The sea doesn't allow swimming: the ocean always seems angry and big waves like walls of water keep tumbling onto the beach; all that's left is to play by diving in and letting yourself be dragged along the shoreline.

I remember one of the first images of Kovalam beach: 26 years ago, 5 bodies of people who had drowned through carelessness lay on the beach. On a little hill behind the beach there are two very simple and lovely little restaurants: the Lobster and the Saljemini. They are clean, with little tables covered by white-and-red checked tablecloths, and in the evening they are lit by candles in glass holders to protect them from the wind. I go there every evening, to eat king prawns and lobsters, drink beer and rum, and watch the big waves. I leave relaxed and happy and from the plane I look down again; seeing the clean sea, the expanses of coconut, remembering the kindness of the people of the south, the idea of coming to live in this paradise takes root in me.