GOING THE DISTANCE

Jane Alexander is pushed to her physical limits with a deep, 21-day Panchakarma purge in Kerala

- Jane Alexander

At night, the road from Thiruvananthapuram to Kollam seems like one long A strip of flashing coloured lights festooning shops and restaurants. Kerala is a state on the move. Every empty space is a building site; the plan is to transform the main coastal route from single-lane mayhem to sleek superhighway. For now, makeshift markets huddle next to gleaming gyms and car showrooms, and wandering pidogs and kamikaze auto-rickshaws slow the traffic to a lurching stop-start crawl.

But Kerala's move to modernise doesn't extend to every aspect of life. The state is famed as the birthplace of Ayurveda, the 5,000-year-old traditional healthcare system, which remains mainstream medicine here, and hospitals, clinics, and training schools abound. A sudden right turn and the lights vanish. The road becomes narrow, winding through villages and coconut groves, where palms arch over stone walls. Abruptly, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, a sign appears: Kalari Rasayana Ayurveda Hospital.

"No way out for three weeks-you're trapped!" my driver laughs, as the gates close behind me. He's not joking. Once inside, it will be 21 days of monastic seclusion. No sightseeing or sunbathing, no trips to the beach or shopping at markets. Kalari Rasayana is one of two Ayurvedic hospitals owned by CGH Earth, the family-run hotel chain. In the early 2000s, managing director Jose Dominic became concerned Ayurveda was becoming diluted and debased. He had a point. Ayurvedic treatments were springing up on spa menus across the globe, often sanitised to the point where they bore little resemblance to the original. Panchakarma was a prime example. The stringent cleanse and rejuvenation regime, once the sole preserve of princes, is often shoehorned into a five-day flurry.