Dreamboats and water snakes

Sun 1 Dec 2013

Our attempt to leave Fort Cochin for the second time went without a hitch. All packed and feeling fresh after a full sleep, we arrived at the ferry port in time to hop aboard the approaching boat and glide over to the mainland, then onto the bus to Kollam.

We took the familiar route back from Ernakalam, over the bridges to Fort Cochin, and then down the motorway to Allepey. Having day-tripped to Allepey and the following day driving the same way for filming, we felt like we knew this stretch of road inside out. At Allepey, we entered brand new territory as we continued south to Kollam.

When we first started looking into Kerala, we both instantly wanted to spend the night on a houseboat in the backwaters. Trips were advertised everywhere but were expensive. In Fort Cochin, we'd found a good deal for about £40, but we were worried we wouldn't see the real backwaters. We'd day-tripped to Allepey to research and get some prices but ended up seeing one shabby, overpriced boat. The last opportunity to get onto the backwaters was Kollam. Being smaller and less touristy, we thought we'd be able to get a steal.

Off the bus, the touts soon found us and started to barter. The first price was a staggering £90 for a night. We swiftly left his shop and went to speak to another man who'd been shouting for our business. In the little narrow office, we were given the usual speech, but then the guy had a brainwave. He had a boat that was en route to Allepey with no one booked on for the return.

We would need to find somewhere to sleep in Kollam for the night, get a bus back up to Allepey the following day, and then we could ride the boat the 90km of backwaters down to Kollam. Thinking we were being coy, his best price came down to £50. For the journey and food all in, this was an absolute bargain, but it meant staying in Kollam town with not much to see or do, bussing back to Allepey, risking a shoddy boat, and coming down the main waterway—which would be more of a river than little backwater lanes. And it was still £50 that we didn't have. Oh, and toddy was off the menu. No one drinks it in Kollam, so we wouldn't be able to hang out in a toddy bar getting merry on the juice from the tapped coconut tree.

We instead opted to spend our time in Kollam doing a canoe tour, before getting the train to Varkala where I could scratch my big itch for the beach.

Wanting an early start, we'd skipped breakfast and settled for a 5 rupee samosa at the coach station. Both starving, we asked for a recommendation for lunch. Two doors up from the little narrow office was a good old-fashioned eatery.

Lunch was the only thing on the menu... and lunch was Thali. We were both very happy about this and asked for one to share... with Thali being 'all you can eat,' this could have easily been frowned upon, but the waiter happily obliged.

Big fluffy rice, sambar, pickles, curd, and other pots of goodness arrived... including the sweet masala rice pudding which Jamie has fantasized about since first tasting it in Mumbai. We ordered pappads and tucked into this feast.

The guy from the shop came over, pointed at a man opposite us, said, "That's your driver," and left.

Finishing in record time, we paid the restaurant and went two doors down to pay the tout.

The driver had the TukTuk ready, and we loaded in our bags. We'd managed to get a lift to the train station after the tour thrown into the trip as a freebie.

The drive to the village was about 45 minutes long, and at one point our driver started frantically honking his horn, but there was no one in the road and no bends to conceal him. As we saw the cars and motorbikes drift off across the river, we realized he had tried to sound out to the boatmen. Sadly, it was already full, and no amount of beeping would have helped.

We waited at the peaceful little dock for the boat to drop off, fill up, and return for us.

When the boat came back, we noticed that it was in fact two boats that had been strapped together and loaded with timber to make a DIY flatbed. We walked on and watched TukTuks, cars, and bikes precariously motor up the ramps and into a suitable parking spot. The men running the boat ran and ducked to add wooden stoppers to the wheels to ensure minimum movement.

Back on the road, we drove past a wedding, over some little bridges, and pulled in at the back of a wide river where a smiling young man stood waiting for us.

Thankfully, the canoe was dry for our bags and substantially bigger than what we'd crossed the river in with Tangachen the previous day.

We started to punt up the river and quickly turned a corner into a smaller tributary and then towards a narrow bridge.

"Duck, ma'am," our canoer called out.

We were going to go under this tiny little bridge that looked more like a tunnel. Although not a sufferer of claustrophobia, I was very happy to see that this black tunnel was short and that we wouldn't be doubled over for long, worrying about the creepy crawlies on the ceiling.

When we emerged back into the daylight, we were in a very thin waterway, barely wide enough for our canoe.

The banks of the river were bursting with palms, people, ducks, and houses.

We were right in the middle of a Keralan backwater village where the locals were busy pottering about, doing their daily chores on the riverbank.

The Ramayana (a sacred Hindu text, written as a poem, where the story of Rama and Sita is documented) was being sung over loudspeaker from the local temple. Our punter explained that the lady in the temple sings from the ancient text each day during December (which is a holy month) and only breaks for lunch. It gave us the perfect soundtrack to our backwater experience.

We watched eagles flying overhead, cormorants stretched out drying their wings, and cranes wading in the shallows. At one point, we saw a bird—unidentifiable on account of our excitement of seeing a live mouse in its claws as it flew overhead.

As we glided through the village, we passed a family of ducks quacking and waddling up to the home of their owners.

The man punting the boat started to tell us about himself. He was 20, studying social science, in his second year.

He and his father were currently fending for themselves as his mother was with his sister's new family, helping her with her newborn... And they had just realized that they had taken her cooking, washing, and housewife duties completely for granted over the years.

"Shhh, look ahead to the right," he'd say, pointing out a water snake slithering in the ripples at the edge of the riverbank. With a strong bite but no venom, these snakes were harmless. We were lucky enough to spot about five on the trip.

Our very sweet and informative punter made the tour pretty perfect and, ashamedly, I confess that we didn't catch his name. He'd learnt to punt from his father when he was a small boy and had grown up in the village on the backwaters. He explained that he'd only been two places in his life—the village and Kollam town where he studies for his degree.

All the while, he pointed out wildlife, including natural tattoos, which we of course sampled.

We asked if he'd like to travel, but he explained that he would not be able to. As his sister is married and has her own family, he would be expected to live with his mother and father and support them and care for them as they grow old. He knew things were different in England and said he'd love to have our freedom, but also he said he liked how things were for him—that family was very important.

It was fascinating to speak with him and understand how things really were here. He thinks that the mentality of people in the cities is changing quickly, but the villages will take a little longer.

We passed prawn farms, and he explained that they were grown like plants from these round little seeds. All of the harvest is exported, leaving only the normal-sized shrimp for the villagers to transform into shrimp curry and prawn fry.

We soon saw the same little family of ducks waddling up their little ramp and realized that we must have gone full circle at some point.

The tour was a delightful insight into life on the backwaters. It was nice that we'd been able to see this special place in such a personal way.

At the station, we only had a short wait until our quick 25-minute train to Varkala. We arrived and gave a TukTuk our standard list of room requirements, and surprisingly, he hit the nail on the head: clean, big, hot water, and Wi-Fi... and on budget.

We settled in, met the other guests, and made our way out to enjoy a pizza on the clifftop. Having had such a busy day, we left completely unprepared... and when we were halfway home, the town's blackout left us blind. Arms stretched, taking little steps, and squinting to read signs to get a sense of location, we made it back.

Fumes from the indoor petrol generator filled the room, and having safely erected our mosquito net, we were free to open the window, stuff a towel in the gap under the door, and hope we drifted into sleep dreams from exhaustion and not carbon monoxide poisoning.

We soon saw the same little family of ducks waddling up their little ramp and realized that we must have gone full circle at some point.

The tour was a delightful insight into life on the backwaters. It was nice that we'd been able to see this special place in such a personal way.

At the station, we only had a short wait until our quick 25-minute train to Varkala. We arrived and gave a TukTuk our standard list of room requirements, and surprisingly, he hit the nail on the head: clean, big, hot water, and Wi-Fi... and on budget.

We settled in, met the other guests, and made our way out to enjoy a pizza on the clifftop. Having had such a busy day, we left completely unprepared... and when we were halfway home, the town's blackout left us blind. Arms stretched, taking little steps, and squinting to read signs to get a sense of location, we made it back.

Fumes from the indoor petrol generator filled the room, and having safely erected our mosquito net, we were free to open the window, stuff a towel in the gap under the door, and hope we drifted into sleep dreams from exhaustion and not carbon monoxide poisoning.

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