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