Our “Kerala Backwaters Houseboat Adventure”

January 2007 

Having made the decision to splurge and take a trip on one of the many houseboats that cruise the Kerala backwaters, we agreed we ought to do it with flair, so went out and bought a bottle of rum (that was the hard part, here in India, where alcohol stores are few and far between), some big bottles of soda, a dozen limes, a bunch of mint and a packet of sugar – all of the necessaries for enjoying mojitos as we cruised, in the sun, in the luxury of our own houseboat.  

Actually we had been asked, at the 11^th hour, if we would be willing to share the boat with a British, and an Australian, woman.  We agreed without hesitation, as we figured it would make for a livelier trip, and help reduce the exorbitant cost of the trip.  We were right on both counts.

 

On boarding our boat we were greeted with jasmine flower necklaces and fresh coconut juice in the shell, which we livened up with a generous splash of rum.  And off we set.  

 

My first order of business was to explore the boat.  It was lovely, albeit much the same as all of the others.  The boats are fashioned after the rice barges that have plied these waters for centuries, with thick, heavy wooden hulls.  They’re fairly big, ranging from 50 to 70 feet long, and 18 to 24 feet wide.  I guessed ours was on the smaller side, as it had only two guest bedrooms, where some have four, or even six, all with attached bathrooms.

 

What really differentiates one boat from another is the design of their woven palm frond canopies.  

These are quite beautiful, well crafted, with graceful lines and curves.  

I particularly liked the large ‘window’ openings along the sides, with the bamboo lattice-work frames – the perfect frame for pictures of the scenery as we drifted by.    

 

Having been shown to our ‘quarters’ by the captain, I started my tour with our room.  It was quite spacious and very comfortable, with a curtained window looking out onto the water, and a fan, which was helpful at night, when the evening breezes weren’t strong enough, even with the window wide open, to cool us down enough for a comfortable sleep.  The double bed was comfy – neither too hard nor too soft (as is so often the case in the places we stay...) – and boasted crisp, clean sheets and soft pillows (ahh!).   Our bathroom was bigger than I would have thought, and, best of all, clean.  With a flush toilet!

 

My next stop was the kitchen, which was towards the back of the boat.  Although it was small, I was glad to see it was very clean.   

The chef was there, already beginning to prepare lunch.  

He may have been surprised by my visit, but was clearly very proud of his kitchen, and happy to show it to me, even posing for photos.  

And the meals he prepared for us were some of the best we’ve had in India, and served with a flourish.  He’d make tea or coffee for us any time, and happily provided us with ice for our mojitos.  He was curious about the recipe and where we’d gotten it from.  What and where is ‘Cuba?’

At the very back of the boat were the staff ‘quarters’ – a couple of cupboards and a tiny bathroom.  I didn’t open any of the doors to those rooms... .  There were three staff members on our boat: the captain, the cook, and the go-for.  I wondered if they were all somehow related, as is often the case in India – whole families involved in whatever business or activity or shop they own.  They didn’t look much alike, so maybe not brothers, but brothers-in-law?  I didn’t ask.

 

Towards the front of the boat was the large open lounge-cum-dining area, where we spent most of our time. There was a comfortable stuffed couch and a couple of chairs, but we’d often sit on the wide railing of the boat, enjoying the little breeze, and the view.  Some of the boathouses do have upper decks with lounge chairs, but ours didn’t have that particular amenity.  Not sure we would have used it as all of us were sun-savvy, preferring the protection of the reed canopy.

 

The size of the houseboats limits their cruises to the larger, wider canals, which are plied by a veritable flotilla of similar houseboats.  Although we saw many of the same sights we had previously seen by canoe, our exalted status – and our height above water level - made us feel a little more like voyeurs and intruders.  

It looked like this guy had his boat all to himself.  It was one of many we passed, or were passed by.

 

We did get considerably further in the big boat than we had in the canoe, and saw some lovely buildings – and the odd glimpse of family life. 

  

We did have one fun exchange with a local fisherman, who was expertly and gracefully throwing his net out into the water.  We watched him for some time, intrigued.  He called out to our captain, asking him if we wanted to give it a try.  One of our boat-mates said ‘yes’, and she was ferried ashore in a little boat.  Despite her best efforts at mimicking the fisherman’s style, her attempts to throw the net out were, well, disastrous.  But it was great entertainment for all, especially the fisherman.  And he earned a few rupees for the fun.

Fortunately our boat-mates were good conversationalists, well-travelled, with great adventure stories, and loads of fun.  So we all sat back, drank more mojitos than we had planned – fortunately we’d brought adequate supplies! – and enjoyed being waited on hand and foot as we cruised the Kerala backwaters in (relative) fat-cat style.  

For more information on the Kerala Backwaters and houseboats go to: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kerala_backwaters

Paddling in Alleppey

January 2007

Here we are in Alappuzha, more familiarly known as Alleppey.  Alleppey is also called the “Venice of India” because of the many canals, rivers and waterways that serve both as streets and as sewers.  We were in Alleppey to arrange for one of the “must do” items on virtually all tourist itineraries: the famous (and now becoming infamous) “backwater boat trip.”  

We were informed by a ‘reputable source’ (recommended in the Lonely Planet guidebook) that we would have to wait for a day or two for a good, clean, reliable boat.  And, silly us, we believed him!  (We are finally, after many weeks and many experiences, learning that Indians will say anything, including out and out lies, to capture tourist dollars. The number of times that we have been told that “there is no bus,” or “that hotel is full,” or “the museum is closed,” when there is a bus, the hotel is not full, and the museum is open, is nothing short of staggering.  We now take absolutely no notice of what they say, and press on regardless, generally with good results.)  

 

In any event, we had a day or two to 'spare,' and only so much time we could spend in our favourite coffee shop - the 'Nabob' - with the guy in the splendid hat.  After a couple of shots of milky coffee we wandered around the town taking in the usual weird and wonderful sights that abound here in India, and waited for our ‘good, clean, reliable boat.’  As we were walking alongside one of the canals, an old fellow in an equally old wooden canoe called out to us.  In limited English he managed to get across that he would take us for a ride in the canals for 100 rupees an hour.  We knew this was the going rate for the tourist canoes, but his canoe didn’t look to be one of those.  Nevertheless, we felt better giving him the 100 rupees than one of the younger, flashier fellows who were apparently more attractive to tourists.   

So we yelled back “o.k.,” and gave him a thumbs up – such a great universal sign.  He pointed to a spot down the bank where we could get into his canoe.  Reaching the spot he’d indicated, we were met by a gaggle helpful Indians who were determined to assist us in our negotiations with the boatman – and undoubtedly looking for a share of the fee.  When we pointed out that we had already made a satisfactory arrangement with him, they switched their approach to directing the boatman as to how to arrange his craft (he was doing a fine job on his own) and directing us as to how to board it (although we were, despite our advanced age, clearly doing a fine job on our own).  

As we fended off our would-be negotiators, the boatman transformed his little flat-bottomed canoe into a comfortable two-seater with cushions and bamboo matting on the floor.  So off we went, with the old man slowly paddling, gliding along the canal, past dozens of deserted-looking tourist launches and old half-sunken local ferry-boats, towards the more open area where the backwater houseboats were tied up.  

And, no surprise to us, there were lots of them, mostly idle, their captains and crew lolling about waiting for tourists who, with the right sales pitch, might agree to charter them.  

Our boatman turned into one of the narrower canals that only canoes can navigate.  Our slow, silent, and low profile craft enabled us to enjoy spontaneous, lingering, and intimate views of the lives of the many canal dwellers.  Although all of the canals are highly polluted with sewage, garbage and all manner of disgusting objects (no trailing our fingers in the silky waters of the canals as we drifted along), the people use them for cleaning their fish, washing their dishes and clothes, bathing themselves, and even drinking the water.  

In the late afternoon we witnessed countless daily baths, dinner preparations and laundry cleaning.  We heard the rhythmic slap slapping of wet saris and pants against the flat stones lining the canals long before we saw the washers (men and women).  Up and down the canals we heard also the shrieks and laughter of children as they bathed and cavorted in the murky, oily waters.  

 

Many of the smaller canals are completely choked and now impassable due to the overgrowth of African water hyacinth, a pretty but virulent weed.  Nevertheless our intrepid boatman paddled patiently up as far as he could, providing us with glimpses of even more out-of-the-way “neighbourhoods,” where some very poor people somehow eke out a living, tending nearby rice paddies or seeking work as day labourers in town.  Everywhere we went we were greeted with smiles, waves and hellos.  

 

Two young ragamuffin children ran along the bank beside us, begging us to “take photo, take photo.”  So we did, and a moment later out came their mother from a nearby shack, waving a piece of paper.  We asked the boatman to stop, and the woman passed us the paper, on which she had written her address.  “Send  photo,” she said.  As luck would have it, we found a good photo shop that evening, and managed to get the photos printed and sent the next day.

 

In addition to the private lives of the canal dwellers, we also saw many small industries, shops and, of course, the ubiquitous Indian temples.  Perhaps the highlight of our two hour paddle was our sunset return, through the more open waters of one of the larger canals, towards the city.  The rosy golden glow of the dying sun, reflecting in dancing kaleidoscopic bangles on the rippled waters was surpassed only by the dazzling display of blinking Christmas lights and the wailing “music” emanating from the Hindu temple on the shore of the canal.  What a welcome back!

We so enjoyed our canoe ride, and our mostly silent, but always smiling, boatman, that we arranged for a second ride the next evening.  He paddled us silently through even smaller, less frequented canals, under old pedestrian bridges, and past several old houses, schools and churches.  These evening paddles provided, as it turned out, our most vivid and memorable images of the famous “Kerala backwaters.”  

As is so often the case when traveling, it was as a result of not being able to do something we had hoped to do, or having to change our plans at the last minute, that we got to experience something even better than what we’d planned.  So glad we’re both happy to ‘go with the flow.’  

 

For more information on Alleppey go to:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alappuzha

 

For more information on Kerala backwaters go to:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kerala_backwaters

Varkala Cliff House Beach Resort

January 2007 

Sitting on our cool, palm-shaded balcony relaxing, reading, writing and listening to the steady rhythm of the waves breaking on the beach below us, and the distant sounds of birds, and people going about their daily activities (almost all of which occur out-of-doors).  We’re here in “Varkala Cliff,” on the southwest coast of India, not far from the ‘tip.’  It’s a little oasis of (relative) cleanliness, quiet, fresh sea air and great food.  It’s also tourist trap, of course, but much smaller and more relaxed than Goa, with its huge hotels and package tours.  

“Varkala cliff” gets its name from the 100’ high red rock cliff that lines the beach for about five kilometers of the coast here.  It's the only place in southern Kerala where cliffs are found adjacent to the Arabian Sea.  They’re unusual enough and special enough to have been declared a ‘National Monument. 

The tourist development on the cliff consists of a fairly narrow strip of mostly family-owned 4-12 room lodgings strung out along the top of the cliff, all on the landward side of a stone walk-way that runs almost all of the way along the cliff top.

 

The wonderful thing is that we can sit in any one of the restaurants or cafes, some of which have second stories, and enjoy an unobstructed view of the ocean.  There are usually a few small fishing boats or rafts out there during the day, but at night there are enough boats, with bright lights, to make it look like there’s another street out there, or an airport runway.

 

The “hotel” side of the walkway is also where colourful tourist shops, selling jewelry, clothes, shoes, books and, luckily for us, basics such as bottled water and T.P. can be found.  And there’s a plethora of excellent restaurants serving an incredible array of foods – everything from pizza to Thai and Tibetan food to French pastries and American coffee, and of course a wide range of local Indian specialties.  

 

But the specialty here is fish, and every night we stroll down the seawalk to check out the fresh catch – tuna, barracuda, butter fish, sword fish, snapper, bright red grouper, prawns, crabs and calamari – all of which are artistically arranged on large stainless steel tables.  Sometimes there’s a few ices cubes melting quickly in the 80°+ heat (even at night), but generally the fish are just out there, and it’s buyer beware, in terms of freshness and quality.  

We’ve had all of the different types of fish (except swordfish and lobster which are both very expensive) in almost all of the different ways, from very plain, fried in butter and garlic, to roasted with onions, garlic, tomato and spices in a banana leaf, to swimming in an eye-wateringly hot curry masala.  We often order “sizzlers.”  These are dishes of meat, fish or pure veg, cooked in a cabbage leaf, and brought still sizzling, to your table.  

There were a couple of great pizza places, with wood fired ovens, and one of our favourite tandoori places where the naans were cooked in a huge dome-shaped tandoori oven.  They are literally slapped up against the inside, curved top-sides of the oven, and retrieved just before they fall into the flames.  It’s quite an art.  The kitchens of most of these places are about as rudimentary as one could imagine, which makes the quality of the meals the ‘chefs’ produce just that much more amazing. 

 

The Beach

 

Several steep flights of stairs and rocky pathways lead from the cliff down to the beach, which in the “main cliff area” is a wide expanse of lovely white sand, and in other places little pockets of white or black sand or large red and black rocks.  The beaches here are cleaned every morning by state staff.  The cleaners are all women, using rakes, litter grabbers and their bare hands (no gloves) to remove the detritus left by yesterday’s tourists.  

As there are no locals using the beach for fish cleaning or as a toilet, the beaches here are, unlike those in so many other places we’ve been, clean and inviting.  There are even umbrella and deck-chair wallas (business people) who rent these items by the day, or half day.  The umbrellas are essential as the sun, and its reflection on sand and sea, is blistering.  Daytime temperatures range between 84-90° in the shade.  Most days there’s a somewhat ‘cooling’ breeze, and once in a while a light haze provides a little respite from the heat and glare.

 

There are no local hawkers or gawkers on the beach, thanks to the 3 or 4 policemen who maintain a vigilant eye.  So western tourists, and in particular western women, can wear skimpy swimsuits without being harassed by locals who are unaccustomed to seeing so much of a woman’s body.  Indian women, including the tourists who come to Varkala, generally continue to wear their saris at the beach, and only wade far enough into the water to get their feet wet – or maybe up as far as their shins – if they dare!

 

One of many 'back roads' in Varkala

We haven’t spent much time on the beach, and have only been swimming a few times, and then mostly late in the day.  

We prefer to spend our time walking and exploring the little lanes and paths behind the hotels, which although not far from the more popular tourist haunts near the beach, are almost always ‘tourist-free’ zones.  

 

It’s here we are able to meet and chat with local Varkalites.  

The friendliness and helpfulness of the local people, here as elsewhere, has been a hallmark of our trip so far.  

It’s a wonderful and very endearing characteristic – we feel welcome wherever we go.

 

Bollywood Dancing at the ‘Funky Art Café’

 

One of the highlights of our time in Varkala has been the live performances of traditionial and Bollywood dancing at the ‘Funky Art Café,’ one of the most popular restaurants on “The Cliff.” 

The performances we’ve seen started with two traditional trained female dancers, in somewhat scaled down traditional costumes (they weren’t dripping with gold jewelry), who performed first a short traditional dance, and then, much to our enjoyment, performed a modified version of a traditional dance movements to modern disco music, creating an entirely new art form.  Although we’ve seen a number of traditional dances, this adaptation was fantastic – a very creative, and very beautiful, fusion of old and new.  

 

Next in the program came the Bollywood dancers, almost all male, and dressed in bright shiny satin shirts and pants with lots of glitter and gold.  If you’ve ever seen a Bollywood movie, and thought that the dance numbers were artificially speeded up after being shot (how could anyone dance that fast?), we can now say without hesitation that the dancers really do move that fast.  

Their energy and dynamism is breath-taking.  Again, as with the traditional Indian dances, most of the dances have a story.  The story is almost always romantic – lost love, found love, lost love again, found love again, etc. etc. – but that’s often lost on us.  We just enjoy the energy, colour and exuberance of the dancers.  They are clearly having a very good time!  From time to time a dwarf who works at the restaurant joins in, shaking his booty, as it were, and unwrapping his head scarf and waving it about with one hand as he puffs on his cigarette with the other, grinning broadly all the while.  

 

In between the Bollywood dances there are some great, and very cute, child Bollywood-ish dancers – one young lad in particular is very talented and thoroughly enjoys playing to the crowd.  

But perhaps the most amazing and spell-binding act is performed by two young (20-ish) men.  These lads wear loose, shiny, yellow pantaloons, but are bare-chested and bare-footed.  Their act is a combination of free-flowing yoga and acrobatics, performed in very close contact, at times intertwined or interlocked, even as they climb up to and dangle from a trapeze.  The act is set to music, and beautifully choreographed.  It’s definitely homo-erotic, and held all of the gay guys in the audience spell-bound.  But it’s unlikely the young men themselves are homosexuals.  Close contact among men here is common, and can be seen everywhere.  Guys often walk holding hands, or with their arms around one another.  Close contact between men and women, on the other hand, is seldom seen, and not well-accepted (indeed frowned upon).  Definitely a different world from the one we know!

 

For more information on Varkala go to:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Varkala