Leaving Kanyakumari this morning wasn’t exactly heartbreaking. We didn’t warm to the place. For all its promise as the southernmost tip of India—a spot where three oceans collide—it was underwhelming. Sure, there were a few pleasant moments, like the sweet family who did our laundry and the hotel that was perfectly fine. But everything else?

Crowded. Noisy. Dirty.

Last night’s dinner summed it up: a restaurant famed for its views that served up grimy windows and mediocre food. The staff didn’t seem to care, and the streets mirrored that same apathy. So did the guy peeing in the ocean, followed ten seconds later by someone washing their face in the same water. For a place with such potential, Kanyakumari felt… tired.

The Gandhi museum reminded me of what an inspiring human he was.
Dalma in the mediocre restaurant with scenic views.
The actual southern tip

This morning, eager to put Kanyakumari behind us, we set off north. And guess where we ended up? Back on the infamous National Highway 66. 🙄

Oh yes. The same NH66 we’d worked so hard to avoid between Kannur and Kochi. Except this stretch was somehow worse.

Endless construction. Potholes that could swallow a bike whole. Random patches of pristine tarmac teasing us before disintegrating into gravel and dust. It was like riding through a construction site that stretched for miles.

The wind didn’t help. Hot, dry, and relentless, it blasted dust into our faces for hours. The traffic was heavy. Trucks, buses, and scooters all jostled for position, and the heat seemed to make everyone meaner.

It was exhausting.

Dalma on the roadside

At one point, three hours in, we debated stopping. “Only 30 kilometers to go,” we told ourselves. “We can push through.”

Five minutes later, the heat won. We stopped at a small Muslim eatery and tucked into some of the best biryani we’ve had so far. Kind people, kind food. It was exactly what we needed to refuel for the final stretch.

Refreshed, we pushed on toward Kollam, and Google Maps did what it does best: led us down pointless, winding backstreets in the name of “saving time.”

Instead of taking the main road into the city, we found ourselves dodging stray dogs and navigating crumbling alleys. It saved us maybe two minutes and cost us a good chunk of sanity.

But eventually, we made it. And you know what? We like it here.

We stepped out for a walk, and something unusual happened. Someone stopped for Dalma at a crosswalk. They didn’t honk. They didn’t swerve. They just… stopped and waved her across.

It was such a simple gesture, but after weeks of traffic anarchy, it felt like witnessing a miracle.

We stumbled upon a supermarket and restocked our coffee supply (a priority, obviously). Then we found these incredible red bananas—rich, sweet, and unlike any banana we’ve had before. Small joys, but they matter.

Dalma was starting to fade, so we made our way back to the hotel, watermelon in tow, ready to relax.

Tomorrow, maybe we’ll head to Alleppey. Maybe we’ll stay another day. That’s the beauty of this kind of travel—decisions are made on the road, not in advance.

Of course, we do have to be in Kochi by the 21st to catch our train, but that’s a problem for future us.

One day, when we’re traveling full-time, we won’t even have that constraint. The only clock ticking will be the one reminding us how many days are left on our visas.

But for now, we’re in Kollam, letting the dust settle—literally and figuratively.

And that’s enough.