Ernakulum is a whole lot nicer than Chennai: greener, less polluted, less frenetic and generally a lot healthier. This may not be just because it's a small city but because it's in Kerala.

Kerala has a 95% literacy rate and a reasonably equitable distribution of income according to my Lonely Planet. It also had the world's first democratically elected communist government in 1957. Forty years later and the party is still strong; as I made my way home last night I had to wait for a procession of people with CMP banners to pass - it must have been several thousand strong.

I'm getting used to the heat now - I've almost forgotten what it's like to be cold and can hardly imagine what a jumper is for. It is cooler in the north though, and that's where I'm heading next; up the coast to Trichur, Calicut, Mangalore and then, rather inevitably, to somewhere in Goa. From Goa to Mumbai/Bombay at which point I'll catch the next flying machine east.

The air, like so much else here, is constantly on the move. Propelled by fans that sprout from every ceiling and wall. It swirls around you in a weak attempt to convince its saturated self to absorb a tiny percentage of your perspiration. A side effect of this is that small, but invariably important, pieces of paper never stay where you put them. Tickets, receipts, money and other such essentials will be whisked away the moment your back is turned. The average Indian office worker has evolved to become unconsciously adept at dealing with these problems; tickets and loose paper money are weighed down with assorted change, and forms and receipts are immobilized by a variety of office equipment. Calculators, staplers, files, books, all are brought into action in this war against the perpetual breeze.

This thought finally struck me whilst I was waiting in the queue (or "Q" as it is spelt here) for a ticket for a canal boat trip. Behind the city of Ernakulam lies a network of canals and rivers that empty into the bay that forms Kochi. My picture of India as a densely packed, bussling miasma was redrawn during this excursion. In between the coconut palms, houses were scattered in a loosely packed village. There couldn't have been a greater contrast with the city; it was quiet and clean and the air was actually pleasant to breathe. No matter where you are in this part of India though, there is one constant. Coconuts dominate the landscape. There are other fruits and nuts here: tamarind, betel nut, cashew, banana, cinnamon and even pepper vines. But coconuts dominate - and for a reason: the Keraleans use them for just about everything - food, alcohol (the fermented sap is called toddy), rope, housing material. It is said that the coconut tree has a hundred uses. One of which is provincial naming: "Kerala" means "land of coconuts". All this coconut activity does get me slightly nervous when I see them hanging rather precariously 30 feet above the street. But I don't think that they ever get ripe enough to drop - there are four or five coconut harvests here a year!

Almost everwhere here is painted, exposed brickwork or concrete is virtually non-existent, but it is rather a Sysiphusian task - the humid and sunny climate favours mould over paint and all but the newest buildings have long green or black fungal streaks running down them. Buildings are generally painted in rather pale colours. But two things are painted in the most garish colours imaginable: temples (usually a mixture of red, blue, green and pink) and the lorries! These gaudy vehicles simpy defy description.

I'm still trying to figure out the exchange rate - the official exchange rate is about 70 Rupees (Rs) to the pound. But based on what you can buy and comparing those prices (a meal that would cost £5 in the UK costs Rs50 here) it looks like your money goes about seven times as far. This not only explains all the long-term western travellers here, but also implies that I'm still getting fleeced by the autorickshaw and taxi drivers who seem to regard westerners as an instruction to multiply by ten.

Mind you, the westerners are fighting back. Forget globalization with Coca-Cola, the west has well and truly arrived in Kerala. Yesterday I spotted a packet of McVitie's Hob Nobs at the bargain price of Rs14 Rs. Still, Internet access remains a bargain at Rs60 an hour. But I've not come all this way to surf - at least not the web! To the Beach!