If you live in Mumbai long enough, you start to develop a specific kind of twitch. It usually happens on a Thursday afternoon when the humidity hits 85% and you realize you’ve spent four hours of your day staring at the back of a bus. You need to leave. Not forever—we aren’t that lucky—but just long enough to remember what a tree looks like when it isn’t covered in construction dust.

The problem is that every list of “best places to visit near Mumbai” is written by people who seem to enjoy suffering. They recommend Lonavala in July like it’s a spiritual experience, conveniently forgetting that the expressway becomes a 90-kilometer parking lot and the fog is so thick you can’t see the Vada Pav in your own hand. I’ve done these trips. I’ve made the mistakes. I’ve spent way too much money on “luxury tents” that were basically just ovens with zippers.

The Lonavala trap (and why I still fall for it)

I know people will disagree with me here, but Lonavala is objectively terrible during peak season. There, I said it. It’s a town designed to extract 500 rupees for a box of fudge that you could buy at any T2 terminal. And yet, like a total idiot, I find myself there once a year. Why? Because it’s there. It’s the default. It’s the “safe” choice when you’re too tired to plan anything better.

If you absolutely must go, don’t go to Tiger Point. It’s just a place where people play loud music from their cars and throw plastic bottles into the abyss. Instead, drive ten kilometers further toward Pawna. I used to think Pawna was overrated. I was completely wrong. If you find a spot that isn’t one of those ‘commercial’ campsites—the ones that promise a DJ and bonfire but deliver a lukewarm paper plate of poha—it’s actually peaceful. I once spent 4 hours just watching the water level rise against a rock. No phone, no ‘hustle,’ just the damp smell of earth. It was the only time in 2023 I felt my heart rate drop below 80.

Avoid the main market after 6 PM. It is a sensory nightmare that will make you want to move to a desert.

Alibaug is for people who like boats more than beaches

Let’s talk about Alibaug. Everyone acts like it’s the Hamptons of Mumbai. It’s not. The water is—well, it’s not blue, let’s just say it’s the color of a weak chai. But the Ro-Ro ferry? That thing is a genuine game-changer. I don’t care if that’s a banned word in marketing; for a Mumbaikar, being able to drive your car onto a boat and skip the Pen-Panvel traffic is a miracle. It takes exactly 62 minutes from Ferry Wharf to Mandwa. I’ve timed it three times.

The trick with Alibaug is to stay as far away from Alibaug beach as possible. Go to Nagaon or Revdanda. I stayed at this one place—I won’t name it because they overcharged me for an extra towel—but the beach was empty at 7 AM. That’s the only time Alibaug is worth it. The rest of the time, you’re just paying South Bombay prices to sit in a slightly saltier version of Dadar. Anyway, I’m getting off track.

I have this theory that we only like Alibaug because it feels like an achievement to get there. You took a boat! You’re a maritime explorer! Then you eat a fish thali that costs 900 rupees and realize you’ve been played. But the fish is usually good. So we keep going back. The Surmai fry at Sanman is the only thing in that town that doesn’t lie to you.

The time I almost died on a horse in Matheran

Matheran is the only place where I’ve had a genuine panic attack in nature. It’s beautiful because there are no cars, which is a blessing until you realize you have to walk 4.2 kilometers uphill or trust a horse that clearly hates its life. In 2018, I tried to save 300 rupees by not hiring a porter. I was carrying a heavy backpack and wearing sneakers with zero grip. I slipped near Panorama Point, dropped my phone into a literal puddle of horse manure, and almost slid off the edge. I sat there and cried for a solid five minutes while a monkey watched me with what I can only describe as professional pity.

What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. Matheran is for people who are physically fit or don’t mind the smell of stables. If you go, stay at one of the old British-era bungalows. Don’t book the ‘resorts’ with the plastic swimming pools. They ruin the vibe. Matheran is supposed to feel like 1920. If you have 5G and a buffet breakfast, you’re doing it wrong. It’s one of the few places where the silence actually feels heavy. It’s uncomfortable at first. Then it’s addictive.

I might be wrong about this, but I think the toy train is a scam. It’s slow, it’s crowded, and you can walk faster than it moves. Just walk. Your calves will hurt for a week, but at least you won’t be stuck in a metal box with thirty screaming toddlers.

Walking is better.

My very specific, probably wrong rule about Karjat

I refuse to recommend Karjat to anyone who likes luxury. Karjat is for getting muddy. It is for trekking up to Kothaligad and wondering why you smoke cigarettes because your lungs are screaming. I tested four different ‘farmstays’ in Karjat over the last two years, and the results were consistent: the more expensive the place, the worse the experience. The best time I had was at a place that cost 1,800 rupees a night and had a tin roof. When it rained, it sounded like a machine gun, but the Pithla Bhakri they served was better than anything I’ve eaten at a 5-star hotel in Juhu.

I have a personal bias against Igatpuri. I know everyone loves it for the ‘Bhandardara’ views, but every time I go, it’s just full of ‘travel influencers’ standing in the middle of the road with tripods. It feels performative. If you’re going to nature to take photos of yourself looking at nature, just stay in your balcony in Goregaon. It saves petrol. Igatpuri is boring unless you are doing Vipassana. There, I said it. If you aren’t there to sit in silence for ten days, you’re just there for the fog, and the fog in Karjat is just as good without the pretension.

One more thing—if you drive to any of these places, please, for the love of God, check your brake pads. The descent from Malshej Ghat is not the place to find out you wanted to save money on car servicing. I saw a guy in a Swift almost lose it on a hairpin turn last September. It wasn’t funny. Well, it was a little bit funny until I realized I was right behind him.

A quiet realization

I spent 14,200 rupees on my last weekend trip to Alibaug. Between the Ro-Ro ferry, the overpriced ’boutique’ villa, and the seafood, I could have probably flown to Goa for a mid-week break. But we don’t go to these places because they are the ‘best.’ We go because Mumbai is a city that eats you alive if you don’t step out of its mouth every once in a while.

We go to Lonavala to see the green. We go to Matheran to hear the silence. We go to Alibaug to pretend we own a yacht. It’s all a bit of a lie, but it’s a necessary one. I don’t know if I’ll ever find a place near the city that is actually ‘perfect.’ Maybe the search is the whole point? Or maybe I just need to stop traveling during monsoon.

Go to Matheran. Walk until your feet bleed. It’s worth it.