Situated in the south western state of Kerala, Kochi serves as our first proper introduction to Southern India. The humidity here is so thick that it feels like walking underwater and clothes become clingy and sweat sodden within minutes of leaving the A/C hotel. Unlike Singapore, a city well known for its stifling weather, one cannot seek refuge in vast underground shopping complexes or Mass Rapid Transit stations. In Kerala you just have to deal with it.

If there are two things my father cannot abide, it is humidity and mosquitoes. A strange thing for a man who grew up on an island in the middle of the Indian Ocean but there it is. Such a mortal fear do these produce in him that he has, on more than one occasion, risked giving both my mother and I an acute case of pneumonia by insisting that the A/C be set to "Ice Age" in addition to cranking the ceiling fan to maximum. And no small inconvenience has been borne on my part at his demands that I lug around an electrified mosquito repellent since departing South Africa months ago. So when we arrive in Kochi -a breeding ground for mosquitoes with a Humidex of 80%- for a pit stop before a week long retreat in Munnar it is not very long before he is crying uncle.

We arrive in the early evening -just as the mosquitoes begin to feed- and are already sweating through our clothes by the time we locate our homestay. Sensing an opportunity, the owners nickle and dimes us charging an extra R300 plus tax to flick the switch that activates the A/C in our rooms. Rather than being incensed at their opportunism, dad is desperate and practically throws money at them before closing the door to his room lest the mosquitoes get him. We don't see him again until it's time for dinner and as soon as he's finished eating (inhaling really) he ups and leaves, social decorum be damned.

The next day our driver picks us up mid-afternoon and we begin the 5h ride up the hills into Munnar. It's a slow and winding drive, made worse by the single lane road that's meant to accommodate two way traffic. There's a lot of honking, queuing, some overtaking and plenty of yielding to the large tour buses that somehow manage to navigate these narrow and pot hole riddled roads.

When we finally arrive to Munnar it is a welcome respite from the overwhelming heat of Kochi. In the highlands of the Western Ghats -a mountain range that spans from eastern Gujarat to Tamil Nadu- Munnar's cool climate is perfect for growing tea. What's produced here is nearly identical in character to its better marketed Ceylonese cousin but can be had for half price.

If you've ever been to the Cameron Highlands of Malaysia then you already have a good idea of how Munnar is: rolling hills and lolling valleys spanning to the horizon, every square inch devoted to cultivating dense thickets of tea harvested by bonneted ladies with modified hedge trimmers. Viewing the hills from a distance, these topiary efforts give the impression that everything is covered in lush green carpet, making a striking vista all the more so for its manicured uniformity. The plants are fragrant and tinge the mountain air with a floral redolence not unlike the tea produced here, and because of the altitude, clouds often creep through the hills covering everything in a fine mist before being burned away by the afternoon sun.

A typical Munnaran vista

Arriving at our mountain top resort we are dismayed to find that we've been placed in a musty log cabin at the very back of the hotel grounds requiring a shuttle bus just to get to the lobby. My mom, having thoroughly researched the place beforehand, kicks up an unholy fuss that eventually lands us in a front facing suite with sweeping views over the tea estates and better still, HBO access. Away from the humidity and mosquitoes, my dad is delighted by the cool climate and resolves to do nothing but sit on his keister, swipe on his iPad and imbibe his special edition VAT 69 courtesy of JL. He doesn't always aspire to such lofty travel ambitions, but when he does it's an inspiration.

We make the winding 40 minute tuktuk ride through verdant tea estates and heavy mist to the town of Munnar itself where dad gets his haircut for R80 and we indulge in some cheap but delicious street food, making a meal of a stack of fresh parathas, spicy sambar, fried quail and dahl fry. It barely makes a dent on the wallet with a meal for four costing a paltry R200 despite our bellies being close to bursting.

Being in the mountains, getting supplies here is a real pain, an inconvenience the hotel is more than ready to charge for. Refusing to be a captive audience to the hotel's exorbitant prices (R1,300 per person for dinner buffet) we go through our ration of instant ramen faster than you can say "pass the soy sauce" and before long find ourselves at "Dreamz" a local establishment a short five minute walk from our hotel. This being South India, food here is spiced to a considerable degree and you can feel the wrath of Shiva in its fiery curries -studded with chilies and loaded with ginger- if not on the way down, then certainly on the way out. Ring of Fire. But I am no lightweight when it comes to Scoville ranked foodstuffs, accustomed to spicy food at a young age, even beating out my dad in a bet where I was dared to chew a glowing red chili for 60 seconds before swallowing, no water or milk allowed (I was ten). I managed to do it, but not before having my vision go stark white, losing hearing in my left ear, and having tears and snot stream down my face. It was worth it though, I got a free NES cartidge out of it (Prisoners of War I think).

We end up eating at Dreamz three days in a row, for both breakfast and dinner during which I (over)indulge on the spice. And while my tongue can handle it, my bowels cannot and I suffer my first serious case of upset stomach (after two months in India that's pretty good I reckon). It's not the kind of bowel obliterating dysentery you often hear horror stories about but it's enough to keep me indoors the following day daintily sipping mint tea. I am sidelined for the next few days and indeed am still suffering lingering consequences as I type this from Kumarakom. I've since had to dial back the spice and increase the dairy intake (raita and kulfi so it's not all bad).

After seven days of accomplishing next to nothing except finally getting around to watching Frozen we're headed back to Kochi for three days of heat, humidity and mosquitoes. Can't wait (to see my Dad squirm).

Deep fried quail for sale

Tea pickers packing leaves to be weighed

Tea picker takes a break

When the mists envelop the hills it gives Munnar an otherworldly feel

Parathas, unleavened bread that are a staple in India cuisine, are used to sop up sauces and curries. Done right, they're flaky and crisp on the outside and doughy inside. This is what they look like before

During

After