Manideep’s Family Trip to Munnar with Thrillophilia

There’s something magical about a journey that begins without a reason but ends with a story.
Our trip to Kerala wasn’t planned to tick off a bucket list. It wasn’t for a celebration or a reunion. It was simply an escape. A spontaneous decision to break free from the mundane life and dive into the heart of nature.
And, what unfolded was nothing short of a love letter to Kerala—a tale of laughter, learning, and connection, stitched together by tea leaves, spice gardens, and a houseboat that felt like home.
The Art of Getting Lost
It all began with a road-a winding, endlessly green road. As we left Kochi behind, the concrete jungle melted away, replaced by a canvas of misty hills and dancing waterfalls. The car windows became our frames, each scene more surreal than the last.

“Valara Falls,” Saneer, our soft-spoken driver, announced as he pulled over. For a moment, we simply stood there, mesmerised. The falls thundered down the cliffs, the spray cool against our faces. My younger brother, the family’s unofficial photographer, raced to capture every angle. My mother, on the other hand, whispered a prayer of gratitude, her eyes shining bright.
Saneer was more than a driver for us. He was a storyteller, spinning tales of ancient traditions, festivals, and even local gossip that kept us entertained throughout. He told us how the tea plantations we admired weren’t just pretty landscapes; in fact they were a lifeline for generations of families.
We stopped wherever the road called, clicked pictures where the clouds kissed the earth, and ate at roadside stalls that served chai and banana fritters so good, they put five-star menus to shame.
Of Tea Gardens and Spice Tales

Munnar greeted us the next morning with chirping birds and the soft hum of the hills. The air smelled different—fresher, richer like it belonged in a bottle labelled “Essence of Calm.”
The tea gardens were a sea of green, every bush a masterpiece trimmed by invisible hands. As we walked through the plantations, our guide explained the process of tea-making, from leaf to cup. My father, who never missed his morning chai, was suddenly as curious as a schoolboy. He even tried his hand at plucking the leaves, much to the amusement of the workers.
Next, we visited a spice plantation, where the air was heavy with the scent of cloves, cinnamon, and nutmeg. It was purely an educational tour for us. Did you know that nutmeg trees have both male and female plants? Neither did we. The guide’s passion was infectious, and my mother ended up buying an entire stash of fresh spices, determined to recreate Kerala’s magic in her kitchen.

What stayed with me most, though, was the simplicity of the people. The plantation workers, with their sun-kissed faces and laughter that echoed through the fields, reminded us that happiness isn’t always tied to luxury. Sometimes, it’s as simple as a cup of chai under the open sky.
Floating Dreams
By the time we reached Alleppey, we were ready to trade the roads for the water. The houseboat was waiting—a charming wooden vessel with cosy rooms, a small deck, and a crew that treated us like royalty. As the boat glided through the backwaters, we were enveloped by a world that seemed untouched by time.
Villages lined the shores, their lives intertwined with the rhythm of the water. Women washed clothes by the river, children waved at us from tiny canoes, and fishermen cast their nets with so much expertise that came from years of practice.

Lunch was a feast—a spread of fresh fish, rice, and tangy Kerala curries served on banana leaves. My father, a hardcore North Indian foodie, couldn’t stop raving about the flavours. Even my brother finished off his plate, though he insisted it was the view that made the food taste better.
As the sun dipped into the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, we sat on the deck, sharing stories and laughter. It struck me then: this wasn’t just a boat ride; it was a pause. A moment to breathe, to connect, to simply be.
The Goodbye That Lingered
Our journey ended in Kochi, but Kerala had left its mark. The people, the food, the landscapes—everything felt like a gentle reminder to slow down and savor life’s little joys.
Back home, as we were going through the photos, my mother said something that summed up the trip perfectly: “It wasn’t about the places we saw; it was about the way we felt.”

And that’s the thing about Kerala—it doesn’t just give you memories; it gives you stories. Stories that linger, that warm your heart on a rainy day, that remind you why you travel in the first place.
Would I do it all over again? In a heartbeat.
Read more: Thrillophilia Munnar Reviews