Kerala is renowned for plenty of things – you just have to scratch the surface and you’ve got its magical backwaters, the Chinese fishing nets of Kochi, and Kathakali, which is a very special kind of Keralan classical dance. But its rich, fertile soil, staggering humidity and endless water supply also lend it the perfect conditions for production of the very fragrant and very expensive ‘queen of spices’ – cardamom.

Along with its royal spice courtesans – the likes of pepper, cinnamon, vanilla and cloves – cardamom has become a key export out of the southern state, and having landed in Kovalam with a loose shopping list from Jit’s mum, and a fair idea of what was seriously lacking in our own kitchen back home, we decided this was just the place to get-up-close-and-personal with the spice trading scene.

The sweltering, sweaty heat of the sandy, sleepy beach town made taking even a few short paces near impossible, so we eventually gave up and jumped in the back of a tuk-tuk, to be jettisoned up the road to where tiny narrow shops, some only as wide as their front door, were hiding our aromatic treasures.

Fact. Sometimes tropical heat gets the better of you, having lulled you into a dazed-and-confused, coconut-suntan-oiled stupour, and when the tuk-tuk driver suddenly announced the fare was actually a lot more than what we’d anticipated, a short, sharp exchange ensued.

The raised voices must have alerted one of the shopkeepers because out through one of the doors stepped a very fine looking woman, draped head to toe in the most beautiful saree of the deepest purple, her hair almost down to her knees and the deepest glossiest black, and her English near perfect. She introduced herself as Sajitha, and told us that she and her husband had owned the shop behind us for (“no less than”) twenty years, and she went on to explain that the driver had a minimum price, and he was simply asking for what he was due.

Whether we were still in our heat-driven stupour or completely captivated by this woman’s beauty, we apologised profusely to the very confused tuk-tuk driver and paid him the balance, and quick on her heels like little lambs followed her back through the open door.

Once inside (and our eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room), here were shelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling, a treasure trove stuffed to the brim with every tea and spice imaginable, exotic perfume oils and hair and beauty products, homeopathic tonics and cure-alls for any kind of ailment, ache or pain, little jars of our go-to-for-everything-under-the-sun, honey – which sparkled a jewel-like amber-gold alongside the metallic threads and ribbons of the handicrafts and musical instruments it sat next to.

We couldn’t believe our luck and spent a good couple of hours poring over the stock and loading up our baskets with nearly everything we now knew we just couldn’t live without. As Sajitha educated us on the health benefits of each of her products, all colourfully packaged and labelled, her husband roasted cashews and peanuts out the back, which were then carefully placed, still warm, in little boxes on the front counter for sale.

It was such a gorgeous, unexpected treat and as we were leaving, loaded-up like donkeys with our bagged-up treasures, Sajitha surprised me with a gift of bindis “simple, just like mine” she said, pointing to her forehead – and ones that I’ll always now cherish because of it.

Later, after a comical lesson in saree draping with Pooja (I’m so uncoordinated when it comes to sarees, as all Jit’s aunties will agree!) – one of the young estate girls who, having been assigned the task of running these new classes, chose me as her very first student – and a quick chat about pottery with Mr Shivam, an award-winning national champion and local expert in ancient ceramics, plus a sunset walk along picture-perfect Kovalam Beach, just in time to see all the crabs famously riding in on the waves (also deciding to call it a day), we agreed screw it, tonight let’s push the boat out and take up the ‘fine dining’ option in the little restaurant located away from the other run-of-the-mill diners for special occasions (and budgets!).

And it was an education in south Indian seafood cuisine like no other, beginning with a palate cleanser of pickled watermelon and followed by a rollercoaster through all the jewels the Arabian Sea had to offer – including a once-in-a-lifetime chance to meet the ultimate royal and aptly titled ‘King Lobster’, an enormous specimen – almost the size of our 7kg Morse back at home! – his shell an iridescent kaleidoscope of blues and yellows, and just far too handsome to wind up on someone’s plate. It made us sad to think he’d met his fate this way, and the poor wait staff had quite a challenge on their hands trying to placate our concerns by instead explaining all the menu options he might be used for!