Everyone loves endless golden beaches. So much so, they've become something of a tourism clich, often indistinguishable from one another.

But the allure of a beach is not just in the sand and the sea. It's in the living environment that surrounds it.

In the trees and plants, the birds and fishes that call it home. And most of all, in the culture, life and colour of the people who belong there. Because it is only this that makes it special, different from other interchangeably pretty stretches of sand around the world.

A beach is just a beach, until you find its living heart. For us, the search ended in the little village of Mararikulam.

The huts are slapdash adobe, thatched with-what else? -palm and tied with coir, or coconut rope. (In fact, the coconut tree supplies the villagers with an endless number of useful items, from kitchen ladles to sunhats to boat hulls.) Neat and scrupulously clean footpaths veer between the huts and everywhere, the pungent scents of the sea mingle with the fragrance of coconut oil and spice.

Spread out here and there on rough coir mats are sunbursts of red. These are the famous red chilis, without which no self-respecting fishwife would ever dream of serving up dinner.
Evening in fact, is a special time. The winking of oil lamps and cooking fires transforms the village into a glowing tableau vivant, with a painted sunset as the backdrop. Within moments, you feel your city clock winding gently down, then dying without protest as you pass through a scene unchanged for centuries.

The Village Reborn.
The challenge for us was to take the village, not just its architecture, but the subtle elements of its life and translate them into an unforgettable experience for the modern traveler.
We wanted to recreate the same harmony with nature. And impart the same sense of languid pace to the Marari Beach resort.

Sprawled expansively across 25 acres of land, the resort, like its namesake, is separated from the sea by a windbreak of stretching palms. There are a mere 52 cottages, so the sense of space here is much more dramatic. The cottages are separated by generous stretches of open parkland, dotted with fruit-laden trees. The winding village pathways are a faithful echo of the originals.

Rambling walls curve around corners, their rust-coloured stones smothered with trumpet flowers. Completing the picture are rippling lotus ponds, usually with a family of ducklings getting a swimming lesson out in the middle.