Bleating goats and backwaters bliss

The covered 15-passenger boat surged to a start and my cheeks immediately began to jiggle with the jumbling of the motor.  I bit my lip to avoid making a childish whirring noise in reaction. 

We puttered through the narrow backwater canal, the crew plus eight passengers.  Two Indian couples, one Japanese couple, an older German woman and me.  We are a frugal bunch, opting for the three-hour sunset boat ride that costs only 200 rupees (less than $5).





Backwaters bliss

As we left loud Alleppey in the dust, we passed the biggest resort in town on our right.  Through the boat window, I saw white, two-story bungalows in a row with an enormous backwaters boat parked in front.  Across the canal on my left, I saw the ubiquitous Indian fishing community homes hidden behind trees. One-story cement homes with two or three rooms, the outside painted in a variety of colors making them shine brightly through the green backdrop.

Fishing village homes

Resort in the distance

I listened in amusement as the younger of the two Indian couples explained the numerous languages and dialects spoken here to the Japanese couple. 

“In Kerala, they speak Malayalam.  In Tamil Nadu, they speak Tamil.  In every state a different language!”

“Ohhh!”

Later in the trip, the Indian man who explained languages turned to humming incessantly.  Convinced he was ruining my zen, I was about to move to the lower part of the boat until he started air guitaring to himself.  I stayed put, recognizing a true zen moment when I saw one.

The German woman sported tan, quick-dry pants that zip-off into inappropriately short shorts.  She made repeated trips into the bowels of the boat to spray herself vigorously with mosquito repellant, carefully never to rub it in with her hands, using her legs like a grasshopper to spread out the deet.  Meanwhile, the older Indian woman watched in a combination of interest and skepticism as she lounged in her free-flowing cotton saree. 

Large, luxurious houseboats lumbered past our significantly smaller boat.   As we puttered by, I wondered how many of the families we passed benefit from the backwaters tourist trade.   

Big, fancy houseboat

Tiny one-person fishing boats were parked outside neon pink homes.  During the obligatory tea break at four, one fisherman pulled up to the café in his boat to sell fish to a few women.  His cigarette hung precariously from his lips as he scooped about fifteen fish into each of the bowls the women brought.  Afterwards, he was served tea in a glass, pouring the remainder out into the canal when he finished.

Fisherman taking a tea break

We whirred by bleating goats and cows ready to be milked.  Kids scampered out of passenger boats coming home from school and women worked in paddy fields with bellowing hats on their heads.  Chickens picked scraps on porch steps and women slappedlaundry on rocks.  People were bathing and working and eating and washing as I clicked photos and passed quickly by, a tableau that each tourist views from a distance.

Students take a school boat to this government school.

Villagers had different reactions to being an unintended part of this tableau.  Some waved and smiled, directing their children to the tourists waving at them.  One woman put her hand up to her face and turned away, avoiding our cameras.  How many times must she do that everyday?  A few hawked fresh coconut juice or treats along the way.

It was a wonderfully relaxing evening.  Repleat with beautiful village vistas, a cloudy sunset and some major-friggin-air-guitar.