If you go to Kochi because a glossy magazine told you it’s a ‘tranquil colonial gem,’ you’re going to be incredibly annoyed within twenty minutes of landing. It is hot. Not just warm, but the kind of humidity that feels like being hugged by a heavy, wet carpet that someone left in the sun. If you aren’t prepared for your shirt to be permanently fused to your back by 10:00 AM, stay in the airport lounge.
I’ve been to Kochi four times now. My first trip was a disaster because I followed a ‘comprehensive’ list of top ten sights and ended up spending three hours in traffic just to look at a church that looked exactly like the one in my hometown, only with more dust. I’m writing this because I’m tired of seeing people get scammed by the same three ‘must-see’ spots while missing the stuff that actually makes this city weird and interesting.
Fort Kochi is a beautiful lie
Let’s get this out of the way: the Chinese Fishing Nets are a total scam. There, I said it. I know people will disagree, and the photographers will tell you the sunset silhouette is ‘iconic,’ but here is the reality. You walk up, the fishermen gesture for you to come ‘help’ pull the ropes, you take a mediocre photo, and then they demand 500 rupees for the ‘experience.’ It’s performative labor for tourists. I hate it. It’s not that the nets aren’t historic—actually, let me put it differently: they’re historic in the same way a museum gift shop is historic. They exist now mostly to be photographed, not to catch fish.
Instead, just walk two blocks inland. Don’t look at the water. Look at the walls. The street art in Fort Kochi is actually world-class, mostly left over from various editions of the Kochi-Muziris Biennale. I once spent four hours just tracking down murals of octopuses and political slogans while eating a 20-rupee packet of spicy guava. That was a better afternoon than any heritage walk I’ve ever paid for.
The best thing to do in Fort Kochi is to get lost until you find a cafe that doesn’t have a menu in English. That’s where the real food is.
I might be wrong about this, but I think the David Hall gallery is the only ‘historic’ building worth entering. It’s quiet, the garden is massive, and they don’t try to sell you a miniature wooden elephant every five seconds. Most of the other ‘colonial bungalows’ are just overpriced hotels where the AC barely works and the plumbing is ‘authentic,’ which is code for ‘loud.’
The Mattancherry trap and the one shop I love
Mattancherry is where the Jewish Synagogue and the Dutch Palace are. Everyone goes there. The line for the synagogue is usually a sweaty mess of people who don’t actually care about history but want the checkmark on their itinerary. I’ll be honest: the Dutch Palace is boring. It’s a series of dark rooms with some murals that you can’t see properly because the lighting is terrible. I refuse to recommend it even though every guidebook loves it. It’s a dusty box. Total waste of 45 minutes.
But. The back lanes of Jew Town are different. Most of the ‘antiques’ in the main shops are fakes aged with tea stains and sandpaper—I’ve literally seen a guy in a back alley scrubbing a ’19th-century’ brass lamp with a wire brush to make it look old. But if you walk all the way to the end of the street, past the tourist fluff, there are these massive warehouses where they sell actual architectural salvage. I’m talking about entire wooden ceilings from old mansions and pillars that weigh three tons. I can’t afford any of it, and I certainly can’t ship a stone pillar to my apartment, but walking through those warehouses feels like being in a tomb of a giant. It’s eerie and cool.
I once tried to buy a small brass bowl in one of these shops. The guy wanted 2,000 rupees. I tracked the same bowl (same scratch on the bottom) to a supplier in Gujarat online for 300. I felt like a complete moron for even negotiating. Don’t buy ‘antiques’ here. Just look.
The part nobody talks about: Ernakulam
Most tourists stay on the Fort Kochi side and treat Ernakulam (the mainland) like a necessary evil they have to pass through. This is a mistake. Ernakulam is where the actual pulse of the city is. Yes, the traffic is like a game of Tetris played by people who actively hate each other, but it’s real.
- Marine Drive: Not a beach. It’s a promenade. Go at 6:00 PM when the locals are out. It’s loud, there are people selling glowing plastic toys, and the breeze off the water is the only thing that will save you from heatstroke.
- The Water Metro: This is the only thing the city government has gotten right in a decade. It’s cheap, the boats are air-conditioned, and it’s the best way to see the islands without paying a ‘private cruise’ captain 3,000 rupees to see the same mangroves.
- LuLu Mall: I know, I know. ‘Don’t go to a mall on vacation.’ Shut up. When it’s 36 degrees and the humidity is 90%, LuLu Mall is a sanctuary. It’s one of the biggest in India, and the hypermarket in the basement is a fascinating look at what people actually eat and buy. I spent two hours there just looking at the different types of rice. I’m weird, I guess.
Anyway, speaking of the Water Metro, I once missed my boat because I stopped to watch a guy fix a puncture on a Royal Enfield. He did the whole thing with two tire irons and a hammer in about six minutes. It was the most impressive thing I saw that entire week. Better than any Kathakali performance, which, by the way, are usually way too long. If you go to a Kathakali show, just know you’re signing up for two hours of very slow eye movements. It’s an acquired taste. I haven’t acquired it yet.
A very specific failure in food
I pride myself on finding ‘hidden’ food spots. In 2019, I thought I found the ultimate hole-in-the-wall near the bus stand. It had no sign, just a bunch of guys eating off banana leaves. I ordered the fish curry. It was the spiciest thing I have ever put in my mouth. My vision actually went blurry. I spent the next 24 hours in my hotel room, vibrating with regret.
The lesson isn’t ‘don’t eat at local spots.’ The lesson is ‘don’t be arrogant.’ If you want the best food in Kochi, go to Jeff Biryani in Thoppumpady. It’s not in the tourist zone. You have to take a rickshaw. They often run out by 1:30 PM. It is the best biryani I have ever had, and I’ve eaten a lot of rice in a lot of cities. It’s not greasy. It’s just… correct.
Also, Kerala beef fry (Ularthiyathu) is mandatory. If you’re a vegetarian, Kochi is going to be a bit of a struggle in the best places. You can get veg food anywhere, but the soul of the city is in the beef fry and the parottas. I’ve eaten beef fry at four different price points—from a 60-rupee plate on a side street to a 600-rupee version at a fancy hotel. The 60-rupee one won. Every single time.
Is it actually worth it?
I realized halfway through writing this that I’ve complained about the heat, the scams, the traffic, and the boring palaces. So why do I keep going back?
It’s the smell of the air when you’re on the ferry crossing from Ernakulam to Fort Kochi. It’s a mix of salt water, diesel fumes, and frying spices. It shouldn’t be pleasant, but it is. It’s the way the rain starts—not with a drizzle, but like someone flipped a giant bucket over the city. Everything stops for twenty minutes, and then life just resumes like nothing happened.
Don’t go to Kochi to see ‘sights.’ There aren’t that many great ones. Go to Kochi to sit in a plastic chair, drink a tea that has too much sugar in it, and watch the most chaotic harbor in India do its thing.
Just don’t pay for the fishing nets. Seriously.