🌴 how to work in the land of coconuts without losing your Wi-Fi, your inspiration, or your zest for life

🐚Kovalam or Varkala? Two parts of the same shore, one ocean, and hundreds of ways to understand that paradise comes in different moods

This is a question we hear regularly, usually from people who are only planning their first trip to India and have already swallowed a hefty informational pill of scary stories.Let’s be clear: we don’t claim to hold the ultimate truth, but we rely on our years of living in Kerala, countless journeys across India, and statistics that are easy to find and verify. In short:  India is generally safe for tourists, including women traveling solo — provided you follow simple safety

(an epic about QR codes and rocket fuel 🚀💳) If you believe Soviet textbooks, certain YouTube videos, and Marya Ivanovna — the geography teacher who used to poke a globe with her pointer while speaking rather dismissively about a “third-world country” — then in India nothing noteworthy has happened in the last two thousand years: they merely swapped horses for tuk-tuks and, thanks to Gandhi, expelled the British, which allegedly brought electricity to the cities. In reality

between a beachside booze paradise 🏝️ and a sobering-up ward 🧘‍♂️🚫 Prologue, where truth drips in by the glass 🍹 India isn’t one law and one cash register; it’s 28 states and 8 union territories Each runs its own show: excise duties, licences, dry days  (that’s a day when retail liquor shops are closed ; alcohol may be available only in hotel bars, and even then very limited — a nasty surprise for the unprepared 🗓️🚫🍷), and their very own rituals at the till. In Kerala

— “Guys, can you even buy coffee in India, or should I bring instant?” — “Is there any normal  bread, or only those flatbreads with onions and chilli?” — “Will I find sunscreen there? Or only coconut oil?” — “Green tea? Or just black? In tea bags?” — “Aspirin, ibuprofen, paracetamol… what else do I pack in case— well, you know?” Friends… come on. You might as well bring Krasnodar rice and pickled herring while you’re at it. India isn’t the 1985 geography‑lesson postcard livin

...or why a barefoot grandpa in a lungi might just be the national symbol of transport philosophy) Almost everyone who's ever planned a trip to India has heard it: "The roads are awful, and driving there is a nightmare." On one hand — there's a grain of truth to that. On the other — roads here do exist. And not just a few. A lot. A whole lot. 📈 India ranks second in the world for the length of its road network. Over 6.6 million kilometers. That’s not a joke — it's a stubborn

🍽️   Indian cuisine is not just food. It’s an international conspiracy. — Which city has the most Indian restaurants? — London. (≈ 1,800 venues — Evening Standard, 2024) Indian cuisine is as vibrant and diverse as the country itself. Each state has its own: distinctive, unique, and unrepeatable. People eat geographically here: arrived in Tamil Nadu — eat dosa; in Punjab — butter, naan, and kebabs; in Rajasthan — dal baati; in the South — everything on a banana leaf, coco

When you say you live in India 🌴, people often wrinkle their noses, as if they’ve just stepped into a cow pat 🐄. And they ask:— So… they say it’s really dirty there? How do you even live like that? 🤔 It’s hard not to respond with a question of your own: Can you even imagine what a country with 1.4 billion people 🌏👥 actually looks like? 🤯 India Through the Lens of Math (and a Bit of Karma) • Area of Russia — 17.1 million km² 🇷🇺 • Area of India — 3.3 million km² 🇮🇳

If you're visiting Kerala for the first time, be prepared: fruits here are not just food. They're part of daily life. You'll find them everywhere — on the streets, in menus, in schoolchildren’s hands, and in offerings to the gods. They’re cheap, tasty, and so diverse you'll want to try them all. And you should! Many are exotic, unique, and unforgettable. You might regret not having tasted them under a palm tree with an ocean view. 💡 If you decide to use local names, be cauti

(Or how to tell ancient wisdom from a mediocre massage with an ocean view) 📖 Introduction to Ayurveda We’re not doctors, not gurus, not licensed oil therapists, and not even organizers of the VIP retreat “How Not to Get Fooled”. We just live here. We listen. We observe. So let’s get this straight: this article is our subjective take. We’re not claiming the truth, we don’t promote any specific clinics, and we definitely don’t give medical (or other) advice. We’re simply shari

Once upon a time, clothing in Kerala was more a philosophical stance than a practical necessity. Given the heat, the humidity, and a climate that watches every inch of cloth with quiet judgment, minimalism wasn’t a trend — it was a way of life. Just 150–200 years ago, Keralite women often did without the upper part of their outfit. Yes, you read that right — topless, not from a lack of fabric, but from an abundance of tradition. It was as natural as July rain or a cup of chai

In chats, forums, and even sacred groups named things like “Yoga. Sea. Panchakarma,” there’s one question that regularly splits the community like a papadam at breakfast: “Should I go to Goa or Kerala?” 🤔  A fair question. But the answer is like an Indian train schedule — it exists, but you’d better rely on karma. 🛕🕉️ We’re not going to decide for you — but we will try to compare these two states so you can make your own choice. Just a heads-up: we’ve visited Goa more than

(or why thinking it’s always sunny in Kerala might be a mistake) Lately, in Russian-speaking chats, forums, and, dare we say, interest clubs named things like “Sun, Yoga, Panchakarma,” one particular type of question keeps popping up: “So what's the weather like in Kerala?”“Where can I swim in Kerala?”“Are there waves?”“What if it rains?” After answering these questions more times than we can count — and carefully observing what kinds of answers people usually get — we realiz

An epic tale of how we tried to fly somewhere far away — and almost succeeded Yes, you might say — what could be better than enjoying the gentle sea, sunshine, and the chirping of peacocks and parrots? Well... clearly, you’ve never been to Kerala. Because the local sea is as gentle as a tax inspector on Monday morning. The ocean here lives by its own laws: calm and quiet in the morning, and by lunchtime it can rise up in waves three to five meters high — the kind that make ev

Life in Kerala is beautiful — like a February sunset over Lake Vellayani — but sooner or later, anyone who stays here longer than the 90-day tourist limit (which is, frankly, enough time to morph into a relaxed expat in a lungi — or, at the very least, elephant-print harem pants — with a giant tilaka on the forehead and a vague hope of someday understanding Malayalam) begins to feel a deep, irrepressible urge… to feel human. Not a saint, not a yogi, not a Kathakali dancer (th

For almost two years now, we — Lena, Andrey, and our fluffy lady, the Norwich Terrier Shanya (a.k.a. Shining Diamond Lekato Venus) — have been settled in the Indian state of Kerala, not far from its capital city whose very name provokes a mild sense of panic in anyone attempting to pronounce it: Thiruvananthapuram. Even the locals themselves prefer to call it Trivandrum. Or simply TRV. If you dig just a few centimeters deeper, you’ll discover that even the state’s name is sup