It’s a question that must dog many a discerning traveler to India: should I take advantage of the plentiful and cheap Ayurvedic spas? Even though it’s a travesty of the ancient healing system?

All across India, especially in the state of Kerala, visitors are beckoned with glossy brochures showing a bikini-clad blonde doused in oil by a wise-looking woman. “Ayurvedic body massage: 600 rupees,” the price list reads.

It’s tempting. But at its heart, it’s not Ayurveda. It’s packaged exotica for tourists.

India is the least Westernized country I ever visited. It’s a societal proof of entropy, that the most natural state of things is the least organized. That to create order takes work.

It’s the visitor who has to do the work. With time and effort, the disarray starts to assume recognizable forms and what was unbearable becomes a mere inconvenience between you and your reward.

This is how to get there.

After several months in countries where pyjamas are casual street wear and face masks are as banal as earrings (I’m looking at you, Indochina) it was a delight to arrive in Singapore and walk among such well-dressed folk.

It felt like the “work chic” and “party dress” pages of a BCBG catalog had sprung to life with thousands of women around me.

See post for a photo gallery.

I want to find the little lying bastard who told me the for $5 you can get a good, clean, comfortable hotel room anywhere in India.

He should suffer for warping my expectations in such an inhumane way.

This is what you get for $5 in the town of Kottayam, Kerala state.

In India, even the flower market is run by men. Strewn with refuse and dead flowers, it’s a place that doesn’t charm at first sight. The peeling walls are patched with old movie posters. “So this is the place my guidebook suggested,” I doubted silently.

But the merchants ask to be photographed, offer delightfully fragrant blossoms, and create skillful arrangements to adorn women’s hair or as offerings to the gods. And the experience transforms little by little.

See the post for a photo gallery.

Kerala is an Indian state that stands apart form its neighbours.

It’s the state with the highest rate of literacy in India and life expectancy that rivals many developed countries. Kerala is strikingly green. The vegetation is lush and thick.

See post for a photo gallery.

When I landed in Chennai, I realized I was also in the city of Madras. But when I wanted to explore the state of Madras, I learned I would be hopping around Tamil Nadu.

I haven’t been on this planet long enough to know a lot, but I never heard of a country that loves to change the names of its places as much as India.

As Istambul was Constantinople, Mumbai was Bombay, Kolkata was Calcutta, Bengaluru was Bangalore, Haora was Howrah.

A little shop in Airlie Beach sells pills, herbs and powders that can get you stoned, hyper, or horny. And it’s all natural and legal.

When we travel, we discover that the way we do things isn’t always the correct one. That our culture is only one among so many. And that human beings, fundamentally, have the same needs no matter their differences.

All this is very lovely. But when I hear an Indian burping loudly on the table beside me, it makes me, like my mother, want to scold him and follow up with a lesson on good manners.

When I see a man collecting audible phlegm in his throat before firing it with gusto on the sidewalk, I’m urged to start a little chat on the basics of hygiene.

My latest post for the WorldNomads Off the Beaten Path blog:

What to check for before taking a cheap hotel room.

There are gems in there. Read it.