Cruising Kerala's Backwaters

After nearly two weeks of fairly fast-paced sightseeing, it felt like I’d arrived in paradise when we reached Kerala’s backwaters and boarded the houseboats that would be our floating homes for the next couple of days.  The boats were tied up on the eastern bank of Lake Vembanad, the largest lake in Kerala.  Each boat (there were two for our group) had several bedrooms (each with private bath), a kitchen, a communal living area, and a large dining room – and a full staff to care for us 24 hours a day.  As I looked out at the palm trees, blue skies, and calm waters, I could hardly contain my excitement at the prospect of cruising around and soaking up the tropical sights. 

Our "Spice Routes" houseboat 

While we were eating lunch on board, our boat pulled away from the shore.  I hurried to finish my meal so I could kick off my shoes and step out onto the deck.  I haven’t spent much time on boats, but there’s something about losing my connection to land that gives me a sense of exhilaration. 

Wide expanses of the lake stretched in front of us.  During the course of the afternoon, our boat also made its way into several small inlets and canals.  We weren’t alone on the water, of course.  In addition to other houseboats carrying tourists, there were plenty of long, low wooden canoes transporting local people.  And there was the wildlife – snowy white egrets or herons, dark cormorants, swarms of sparkling dragonflies, and a school of ducks.  From our watery perch, we watched the world glide by.  And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, the houseboys offered us coffee, tea, and fried bananas. 

Towards late afternoon, our boat tied up again on the eastern shore of lake.  While it was still light, I walked along a path adjacent to the rice paddies.  Mollusk shells littered the ground.  The vibrant pink of water lilies stood out against the rich green of the lily pads.  Birds swooped across the darkening sky.  Within minutes, the sun had dropped behind the trees and a profound sense of quiet and tranquility seeped into every cell of my body. 

 

Tying up for the night

The next morning, I awakened early, eager to see the dawn of a new day.  It was gentle sunrise over the rice paddies, more of a gradual lightening in the sky.  The water lilies and lotuses were still open, and one of our houseboys walked down into the rice paddies to pluck a flower for me.  

Sun rising over the rice paddies  

While we were enjoying the usual Indian breakfast (my favorite meal of the day), our boat started gliding across the water.  Soon, we pulled up to shore again and transferred to smaller open-sided boats for a morning ride through waterways that the bulkier houseboats couldn’t navigate.  From that point on, the day was one glorious photo op after another. 

Now we were really up close, literally in people’s back (or front) yards.  We saw men washing their bodies, women doing their laundry and cleaning their dishes right there in the water.  In fact, I felt a twinge of guilt as I snapped photos with my iPhone.  Was it right to be observing these daily rituals?  Did these people feel that we were invading their privacy?  What did they think of these outsiders?  It was impossible to tell.  Many didn’t acknowledge us at all; others gave us friendly waves.  And I kept on taking pictures, entranced by the lush landscape and the vivid colors.

The homes we saw ranged from tiny rustic shacks to colorful small houses and spacious dwellings.  Satellite dishes were affixed to many roofs.  Several houses were decorated for Christmas with hanging stars.  Jaisingh told us that a large number of people in this area belong to the Syrian Malabar Christian church.

In some of the narrow waterways, it was nearly impossible to make our way through the dense clusters of water lilies. 

We made a few interesting stops, getting off the boats to watch the processing of shells into a white powder used for concrete and whitewash (this involves mixing the shells with coke – the fuel, not the soft drink), and to see how a regional beverage called toddy is made from the juice of the coconut palm tree.  A 70-year old toddy tapper demonstrated how he climbs up the tree and taps its juice using an antelope bone.  The juice ferments overnight, becoming a cloudy alcoholic beverage. 

We stopped here to watch the processing of shells

The 70-year old toddy tapper at work

Later, we made a stop at a government-licensed toddy shop, we got to sample the finished product along with some local bar snacks – spicy clams, fried whole fish (tiny ones), and manioc.  Toddy must be an acquired taste because, to me, it tasted like sour clam juice.  The toddy shop seemed to function like a neighborhood tavern.  

In the toddy shop

A little toddy goes a long way.

Finally, to get a better look at some of the villages and towns that border Lake Vembanad, we transferred into auto-rickshaws and then to our bus.  The area we drove through looked quite prosperous.  This includes the town of Aymanam, the setting of Arundhati Roy’s prize-winning novel, The God of Small Things.  If you haven’t read this book, I recommend it highly. 

We were back on our houseboats for lunch and I spent the next couple of hours sitting and chatting with my fellow travelers, being decadently lazy.  Later in the afternoon, we boarded “canoes” (more like big rowboats with motors) for another ride through the smaller canals.

The fish course at lunch

With fellow travelers in our "canoe"

Jaisingh, our wonderful guide throughout southern India

The following morning, I awoke at 6 am to music broadcast from a Hindu temple across the river.  I knew our time in the idyllic backwaters of Kerala was coming to an end.  But these relaxing couple of days had given me an opportunity to restore my energy, and now I was looking forward to exploring the city of Kochi, the final stop on our tour.