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Narrow wooden fishing boats, blackened and weathered over the years, lay on the beach like charred carcasses. On them sat fat black crows, awaiting the fishermen's booty. Their cries clashed with the rhythmic chant of the men as they hauled in their nets, their muscles tensed in a tug-o'-war with the sea.

Wiry women with checked sarongs and cropped bodices of fuchsia, orange or lime were chattering animatedly, hoping for a worthwhile catch to take to market. Children cavorted on the beach in the early-morning golden sunlight.

Finally the last stretch of coir rope was coiled and the men splashed into the waves to lug the net out of the water. Faces dropped. On a good day, the whole net pulsates with life, but this catch was pitiful: a couple of dozen small fry the size of fish-fingers. Crows swooped in as a man in a yellow polka dot turban opened the bidding; deals were struck, rupees changed hands, and the women strutted off to market with their battered tin pans on their heads. The brilliantly coloured spectacle was over for another day.

Life may be physically tough for the fishing communities of Kerala, but nobody starves in this narrow state on the south-west coast of India. Lush and fertile, it is celebrated nationally for being more than 90 per cent literate and having an effective birth-control campaign, using the slogan, "We [the couple] are one and have one". People are markedly more smiling and friendly than in northern India, and as an entrée to this sometimes overwhelming country you can do no better.

On the cliffs above this particular fishing community, stands Somatheeram health resort. "Resort" is perhaps not the most apposite word for it, conjuring pictures of outsize swimming pools and raked beaches. Here you live in back-to-nature simplicity in little thatched cottages, with old carved Keralan doors and shutters, sandy terraces shaded by coconut palms, and the constant sound of the sea crashing below. Your beach is shared by the fishermen.

At night, as you dine by oil lamp on kingfish, pilau rice and tropical fruits, the fishing boats set forth once more like Viking ships, their prows cutting through the waves and paddles fighting with the swell. Seen from above, the horizon dissolves as the lamplit sea and starlit sky shimmer into one.

Somatheeram follows the philosophy of ayurveda, the ancient Indian science of life, which believes that the key to a healthy mind, body and soul is a balance of elements - fire, air, earth, water - within oneself. This is achieved through diet, herbal remedies, and massage using ayurvedic oils. While I cannot vouch for the medicines, the natural diet of fresh, low-fat food is delicious and unquestionably health-giving, while the massage, though unconventional, yields stunning results.

I say unconventional advisedly. It is not often that you find yourself lying beneath a tamarind tree, naked and spreadeagled on the ground, with a man in a loincloth massaging you with the Brillo-pad sole of his foot. I found it a bitter-sweet experience, but the American woman in the cottage next to mine said afterwards, in awe-struck tones, "It was so beautiful, I wept." The masseurs do use their hands as well, and, if they are less gentle than their Western counterparts, it is worth a certain amount of teeth-gritting: cellulite magically disappears and your skin takes on a radiant bloom, regaining the rubbery bounce of a child's.

You can, of course, eschew the massage treatments altogether and just use the place as a beachside retreat. This and neighbouring Surya Samudra, a similar establishment, are certainly preferable to much of the accommodation available in the hinterland of Kovalam beach, Kerala's best-known resort, which was hijacked by the hippy community as an alternative to Goa. The daily catwalk parade of hawkers, so elegant and erect, contrasts sharply with the array of slouching travellers.

The congested bay, lined with shabby guest houses and restaurants with names like Velvet Dawn and Milky Way, seems an anomaly in a land that is so culturally rich. On the other hand, they say that this state has never known the sword, only gold; it has welcomed, rather than struggled against, outside influences. As you scan the coastline, you will see, peeking through the palms, gleaming white steeples, colourful temples and mosques. Perhaps, then, psychedelic restaurants and health spas are simply another layer in Kerala's diverse cultural make-up.

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