The backwater trip

We went downstairs where a rickshaw was waiting for us. I sat on the single seat with the driver, and the other three women squeezed in the back seat. On the way to our houseboat the driver sang loudly—“A love song!” he told me as we weaved in and out of traffic. You better take notice Tim!

When we arrived, we saw the boat yard where they were repalming a boat. Every year they replace all of the palm work. No small feat. The boat we were to travel on had 3 attendants, the captain, Sonny, the cook, Anthony, and the ? What was his role? Who knows. It felt a little like a floating boudoir. The front of the boat had the classical steering wheel, with a raised mattress and pillows behind, with a table and four chair on the front deck all in a shaded palm cover. There were two bedrooms behind, each with 2 beds, mosquito net, and separate toilet, sink, and shower. Behind those was the galley where they concocted delectable delicacies and waited upon us like we were royalty.

It was a hot sultry day, and we lazed languidly about on the front deck feasting our eyes on the sights around us.

Occasionally we exchanged thoughts and perceptions, but mostly we drifted. This was far different quality from the day before. We watched Indian life drift by—the houses, the fishermen wearing these umbrella modifications for hats. A fisherman approached our boat to sell us giant prawns (they looked like little lobsters) for our dinner that night. WE drank a lot of water, and lime sodas—I in the sun any time I got.

We passed endless rice paddies—all worked by women in saris. The green is startling, and their saris as well. The lake we were traveling on is about 1 km. from the ocean. The land on both sides heavily used. Little tiny spits of land, about 100 meters wide have houses right next to the water. Kerala is the first (and only?) elected communist government. It has the highest reading level in India—91% (supposedly). We saw many pictures of Che Quevera along the river. He is a hero in these parts.

We stopped at noon, so the men could take a siesta, and I swam in the cool murky waters. Floating on my back looking at the clear blue sky with occasional puffs of clouds. It was a lazy day, and then we arrived at the village where we tied up to land.

My camera lost power.

I followed a young girl to the temple. Nothing like the ones at “home” in Tamil Nadu. It was spare—a dusty court yard with many tall brass candle holders, characteristic of Kerela. There was a Ganeesha statue and another Krishna in pagoda like shrines. We walked leisurely back, meeting a man who spoke English. “I am a poor man. See my house? (It was indeed simple) I work in Alipuzhia weaving mats now, so I can build my home better. I have one son. See how strong he is? And Obama! This is good for everyone, don’t you think?” Yes, I think.

When we arrived back at the boat there was a man with a canoe waiting for us. He took us weaving through the canals of the village. We watched families coming home—children from the school, women cooking, and men talking. We bought a bottle of “toddy” a liquor, or beer made from coconut palms—gross! People paid us very little mind but we could observe them living along the canal. Each house had a stair way built to the river, and there was a government break wall built along the canal. People bathing in the river, washing dishes and clothing, and talking to their neighbors on their stoops. Many of the very simple houses had TV, and music is in the air everywhere. Watching how normal people live is my greatest joy and biggest interest here. There was a feast for the eyes. We arrived back at the boat to find a candle lit dinner ready and waiting for us. The freshly caught prawns for the others and fish for me. We ate and sat in the candlelight marveling at the accident of history that allowed us to be in such a spot. I am traveling with 3 strong and wonderful women. Frogs were a symphony to sleep by.

The morning only allowed a quick walk, and swim before we ate our breakfast and were headed in a streamline back to Allapuzhia.

Time is funny here. What seems like a lifetime can be only minutes. I think of the string theory, and how time is warped. It is proven here in my mind and experience.

We arrived back at Allapuzhia to catch a bus into the mountains to see the tea plantations at MUNAR!