The next morning, after yet another eye-wateringly good and hearty traditional breakfast, we took a short walk up to the main road for some of the more mundane aspects of travelling like buying insect repellent, bottled water and toothpaste, and finding an ATM. But in India even small off-the-beaten-track superettes are extraordinary places to explore, and I could have just as easily been dropped at the British Library in Central London to scan the shelves for treasures I’m that easily enchanted (or distracted, Jit might throw in there).

Narrow aisles stuffed with fresh produce and baked goods, and big overflowing baskets of flours (atta, used mainly to make flatbreads like roti, naan and chapatti, and besan, made from chickpeas and for making extra-crunchy pakoras), plus colourful dal like split mung beans, red (masoor dal) and yellow (mung dal) lentils, and other pulses like black eyed peas and matar dal (or bright green dried peas) were enthralling and a feast for the eyes and spirit. I just loved watching the local women race in and out to get their daily orders, wondering what they had in mind for dinner that night. My imagination ran wild!

With it being our last day at the sanctuary before heading to the houseboat in Alleppey, we had big plans to do not much at all so, armed with our ‘tourist’ groceries, we ambled back, taking the long route through the maze of back streets in the 30 degree heat/91% humidity, respecting the gentle, languid care of proud homeowners as they swept front porches, tended their handsome gardens, and shooed cheeky neighbourhood cats from prawns laid out on mats – purposefully left out to dry in the hot Keralan sun. We noticed one clever bloke (clearly just wanting a late morning snooze in the shade without interruption for pete’s sake!), holding a long piece of string tied to a brick, which he’d pull ever so slightly whenever a crafty puss came too close – just to startle them but it did the trick. Genius!

I’m still not sure if it was sensible or ridiculously stupid (whatever it was, it’s up there with the most memorable) but with there being not much to do that afternoon other than languish by the pool drinking exquisite but expensive cocktails, I decided a full body massage with Asha, the household masseuse with over 30 years’ experience, would be just the tonic. Knowing full well my chiropractor would likely have kittens, but channelling ‘when in Rome’, I made the appointment and at 4pm (on the dot) there was a knock at the centuries-old door to the suite and I was ushered down to the spa for what I anticipated would be an extremely serene if not therapeutic experience.

Fast forward twenty minutes and here I am virtually completely naked (and very well oiled!), with Asha – straining, stretching, wrenching and heaving (and all the facial expressions and voice effects to go with it) – attempting (I suspect) to make me at least another foot taller! At one point, having caught a glimpse in the spa’s gold and very ornate floor-to-ceiling mirrors, I couldn’t help but burst into hysterical laughter – me with the full weight of Asha standing completely upright on my back and, with the determination of an Olympic athlete, kneading every inch of my spine with both her heels and all her toes! When the 40 minutes was up, bruised, limping and somewhat crazed, I made my way back to the suite (the staircase was a challenge) to tell Jit about the ordeal, who promptly cancelled his appointment booked for the next morning! Let’s just say Asha’s sweet and dulcet, heavily-Hindi-accented “Relax madam” continued ringing in my ears well into the night, as I tossed and turned desperate to get some sleep ahead of our nautical adventure the following day.

Despite the punctured sleep, we were up bright and early for the quick trip to Alleppey, where we were due to meet the houseboat booking manager and our captain and very own cook at midday. Hurtling along between towns, we passed more gorgeous scenes of daily life in Kerala – an elephant dressed in full red ceremonial garb, stall-upon-stall-of-watermelons, coconuts and pineapples, piled in geometric patterns as high as the sky, and lots of plant nurseries! – testimony to just how much Keralans love their gardening.

By early afternoon, after a short tour of the boat (but interestingly no run-through of procedures in case of an emergency), we drifted away from the jetty and into another extra special part of our south Indian adventure.

The Kerala backwaters are a network of waterways – lagoons and lakes connected by inlets, rivers and canals – with a number of towns and cities dotted in between which are generally the start and end of the popular houseboat cruises. The houseboats (or kettuvallams as they’re traditionally called) are distinctive with their thatched roofs and wooden hulls, and they were once used as barges for transporting rice from the fields that stretch alongside the waterways.

As well as their many communities, now these waterways also feed a hungry tourist industry, and as we’d booked the boat for an overnight cruise, we were especially looking forward to lunch, dinner and breakfast skilfully prepared by Vinod with the freshest-of-fresh ingredients caught along the way.

And it was to die for! Straight out of the blocks, Vinod served up one of Kerala’s signature staples – Karimeen Fry as it’s fondly known, made with pearl spot, a fairly small flat fish that’s been coated in exotic masala spices and deep fried. It was delicious and completely out of this world, and what followed was dish-upon-dish of spicy fresh fish, chili-rich chicken curries, all accompanied by a mix of simple salads and rice, and good old ice-cold Kingfishers.

As we chugged along Alleppey’s waterways, our bellies full (and on fire!), we sailed past the sweetest scenes of river life – little storybook vignettes along every inch of the winding canals – school uniformed kids ringing bells on their handlebars as they cycled too fast along the towpath, women beating the hell out of their sarees, sheets and pillowcases as they did their household laundry side-by-side on concrete steps leading down to the water, men cleaning shrimp, elderly gents still half asleep brushing their teeth – it was all just too lovely and so, so brilliant.

And sailing slowly past fertile rice fields and coconut groves, little cormorants (or ‘little comrades’ as I’d initially misheard Vinod) darted around and about the boat, looking for a lazy fish to pluck from the waters below. Just a little murky so as to hide what truly lies beneath, but on the whole pristine clean and filled with floating aquatic vegetation – mainly Kerala’s pretty but pesky water hyacinth – we were sad to see the odd plastic water bottle float by, and at one point a cow that had (fairly recently) met its watery fate – the sights just so at odds with the otherwise pretty pastel watercoloured scene stretching for miles before us.

Vinod told us the houseboat was called ‘Gouri’s Omkar’ or ‘Mother’s honour’ and the next morning we agreed that must have been why we’d had the best night’s sleep yet (and with Asha’s help too, of course!).