Cruise through the Kerala water maze
Kerala, located in southern India, is known for its spice plantations and Ayurvedic treatments. One of the state’s biggest attractions is a houseboat cruise through the backwaters, crisscrossed by canals and lakes.
Text by Yaroslava Troynich and Ville Palonen
Photos by Ville Palonen
“Why on earth would you want to go to Kumarakom?” asks Rajeev Kochayat, the 63-year-old captain of our houseboat, when he hears our itinerary request. “It’s not just rich Indian tourists there. Let me take you to see real life on the backwaters!”
We are embarking on a two-day canal adventure from Alleppey, the most popular port of departure for houseboat cruises in Kerala. Before we set off from the jetty, our crew – Captain Rajeev, Chef Ponnan and Engineman Sabun – will tailor our itinerary to suit your needs. Then the 10-metre vessel will set off towards Vembanad Lake.
The beginning of the journey does not bode well. We get stuck in a traffic jam of houseboats in a hundred-meter-wide canal and a moment later, on the open shore of the lake, a shocking sight awaits us. Dozens of houseboats are pushing towards the small town of Kumarakom on the opposite shore like giant cockroaches racing to each other.
The captain calms us down and turns the bow towards the mouth of the narrow canal. The mood rises even more when Ponnan whips up lunch and a couple of cold beers for the ride. The next two days are reserved for relaxation, not stress.
The labyrinth of Kerala's Backwaters
Kerala's famous backwaters are a vast labyrinth of inlets, rivers, lakes and canals. They cover a large part of the Malabar Coast in the southwest corner of India. The nearly 1,000-kilometer waterways connected coastal port cities with pepper plantations inland long before roads appeared in the region. For many rural dwellers, canals are still the fastest way to get from one place to another.
Almost a thousand kilometers of waterways connect coastal port cities with inland pepper plantations.
A houseboat cruise is a popular and comfortable way to explore inland waters. Passengers can marvel at nature and the lives of local people up close while lounging like a maharaja in an armchair raised on deck.
“Houseboat cruises only started about twenty years ago,” says the captain. “A Kerala businessman named Babu Vargiz visited Srinagar in Kashmir and was impressed by the houseboats that had been converted into hotels. He decided to use the same concept in Kerala. The first houseboat was named Tour India, according to his travel agency. Vargiz now owns about a dozen boats. When I started working on houseboats, there were only five.” Today, there are a whopping 500 houseboats in the Alleppey area, as almost every hotel has its own armada to boost business.
Before the houseboat boom, traditional kettuvallams were cargo ships that transported rice and other goods along the coast. Rice barges were given a new lease of life when they were converted into luxury floating hotels. Houseboats have become the biggest business in the region, and shipyards in Kerala are constantly building new kettuvallams specifically for houseboats. Old barges are no longer available for renovation, as the lifespan of a kettuvallam is only about ten years. The local wood used for the ships rots quickly.
“There is only one ship left, a conversion of the original rice barge. Their story ended in the early 1990s,” says Rajeev as he turns the helm. “That’s when I became a houseboat captain. Before that, I worked on a barge for over 30 years. In the old days, the ship was propelled forward with long poles. Now, it’s easier with engines.”
It takes ten workers six months to build a new houseboat. There are a wide variety of ships: traditional and modern, a few meters long or train-like giants designed for a dozen passengers.
Captain Rajeev is not a fan of modern ships: “There are ships with up to ten bedrooms here, but I prefer the old-fashioned ones. They are also eco-friendly, as they don’t use plastic or have air conditioning.”
Our ship is called Sumangali, and it is a model of traditional fox hunting. The modest ship is covered with a roof woven from bamboo and coconut fibers, which protects it from rain showers and the scorching sun. The only open space is at the bow. There, passengers can lounge in armchairs, listen to the captain’s stories and watch the scenery pass by. Sumangali’s two bedrooms are equipped with mosquito nets, Western toilets and showers. The small kitchen, Ponnan’s kingdom, is at the stern.
Life along the Kerala Backwaters
The tropical backwaters of Kerala are a unique ecosystem, as the fresh water of the canals and lakes mixes with the salty sea water. In the narrow canals, nature comes within touching distance. Snow-white herons strut majestically in the groves of pink lotuses, and the black finches glinting from the water remind us of the periscopes of a submarine. Red-breasted kingfishers peer hard from the power lines that cross the canal.
A small village appears around the bend. Each house is painted a different color, and a few half-sunken boats lie on the shore. A couple of men shave their beards on the shore, the village women wash their clothes with the hems of their colorful saris rolled up. A fisherman mends his tattered nets, and a group of boys play India’s most popular game, cricket, in the meadow.
A man balancing on a narrow canoe floats towards us, herding a flock of hundreds of ducks ahead. He is followed by a rowboat that is about to sink. It is loaded to its brim with clay dredged from the bottom, which is used to repair the canal embankments. As the hours pass, the coconut plantations change to nut orchards, the orchards to emerald-green rice fields, and the fields to shrimp farms.
The canals look pristine, but pollution is also threatening the nature of the inland waters. Houseboat cruises are becoming too popular, and the villages in the Alleppey area have a combined population of about the same as Helsinki.
The captain explains that although the canals have become dirtier in recent years, at least efforts are being made to protect the environment. “A law came into force at the turn of the millennium, requiring all houseboats to have a septic tank. The boats also stop at different places for the night. That way, large crowds of tourists don’t disturb the villagers.”
Kerala is God’s own country
The Kerala Tourism Promotion Board advertises the state with the slogan “God’s own country.” In fact, there are several deities in the region. Hinduism is the dominant religion in Kerala, but Islam, Buddhism, Christianity and even Judaism flourish alongside it. About twenty percent of the population are Christians, mostly Catholics.
The beliefs brought by European missionaries have taken on an exotic flavor since the time of Vasco da Gama. The statues of saints in the churches that peek through the coconut palms are painted so colorfully that they rival the local Hindu deities in their glamor.
A passenger ship passes us, with a crowd dressed in black standing on the deck. They chant hymns in a manner that suits the local taste: the singing echoing from the loudspeakers reminds us of karaoke.
A group dressed in black sings hymns in a way that suits the local taste. The singing echoing from the loudspeakers is reminiscent of karaoke.
Captain Rajeev assures that he respects all gods: “The most important thing is your own faith. Some ships have mixed crews, but on this ship we are all Hindus. Before every cruise we perform a puja ritual. The sailors do not have a special patron, so each of us prays to the god we believe in. I worship the female divine power. I pray to Shiva’s wife, Goddess Parvati.”
As evening falls, the loudspeakers of Hindu temples echo with an unbroken mantra like a mosque’s call to prayer. It is the ten-day Sabtaham festival, during which Hindus pray for rain.
We drop anchor in the twilight, accompanied by echoing prayers. You can’t sail inland waters at night, as fishermen set their nets in the canals. Before dinner, we also try our luck fishing from the boat. We use small balls of dough as bait.
We sit with fishing rods in hand until dark, but only our machine operator Sabu manages to catch a few small fish. They end up fried on our plates.
Hammer and Sickle: Socialists in Power in Kerala
The morning starts with freshly made idiyappams, rice noodle cakes topped with grated coconut. “Coconut is an important ingredient in Keralan cuisine,” explains the Ponnan chef. “I love coconut because it softens the flavor of spicy food.”
Ponnan, who is passionate about cooking, has worked on a houseboat for six years. In between cruises, he works as a caterer for weddings. “The biggest wedding had 1,200 guests, and there were only four of us chefs! But I still like cooking at parties. I have so many helpers there that I don’t have to do all the dirty work myself. At weddings, I’m the captain!”
After breakfast, the inland landscapes begin to pass by the window again. The light morning mist hanging on the water drowns out all sounds. A round rattan bowl floats next to our ship as if from nowhere. In the middle of the strange boat, a fisherman and his wife are sorting through an endless pile of nets.
A village appears from the mist, with hammers and sickles painted on the walls of the houses. Kerala is unique in that it was the world's first freely elected communist government, and since winning the elections in 1957, the communists have been in power regularly. Perhaps that is one reason why Kerala is considered the most socially progressive state in India. In addition to free education and quality healthcare, Kerala boasts the highest literacy rate in the country: nine out of ten Keralites can read and write.
Kerala is unique in having the world’s first freely elected communist government. Since winning the 1957 elections, communists have been in power regularly.
“In Kerala, there are all religions and political persuasions. Every one of our crew is a communist,” reveals the captain. According to him, the party in power changes regularly. “That’s how it’s always been.”
While chatting with the captain, the thought creeps into my mind that our cruise is reminiscent of a Bollywood movie. Everything is flashy and exotic, and as we witnessed the day before, there is also singing here. However, the stops are distracting, because the breaks are like intermissions in an Indian cinema – and we would like to experience the next twist in the story as soon as possible.
The captain also likes the winding canals: “It’s nice in the city, but the canals are so beautiful and quiet. I never get tired of being here. While I’m steering the Sumangali, I also look at nature, and sometimes I think about my wife. We have lived together for over 30 years. We only see each other four times a month, and it would be nice if I could get home more often. Here I chat with other captains, and some evenings I sit in a toddy bar. Speaking of which, there is a small bar right near our anchorage!”
Palm wine, Kerala style
We stop for the second night near a village called Kuppapuram. The bar the captain promised can be found in the shade of banana trees. A tin-roofed shed has been erected on the bank of the canal, with a sign on the wall that says “kallu”. It means toddy, or palm wine. The bar is full, so we sit at a table in the yard. At the same time, a few large bottles of the milky, cloudy drink are swung over to us.
Toddy is made from the sap of the coconut palm, and its alcohol content is about five percent. Although it is called “palm beer”, the drink tastes more like a mildly acidic homemade wine. It is left to ferment for a day or two to increase the alcohol content as much as possible. If stored for longer, the taste of toddy becomes vinegary.
The milky, cloudy drink comes in two flavors: sweet and strong.
There are two flavors of drink: sweet and strong. Freshly harvested palm wine is the sweetest and lightest. “It’s a women’s drink – but I still like it the most,” laughs the captain. “During the evening, Ponnan, Sabu and I can drink up to eight liters!”
The soft-tasting toddy loosens the tongues like a thief, and soon the old captain confides in us. “It’s sad that my son isn’t as enthusiastic about houseboats as I am. He loves big cars and engines, and that’s why he’s studying to be a car mechanic.”
“I like ships and tourists,” the captain cheers up. “Foreigners are the best passengers. Indians sometimes drink too much, and have even fallen overboard while drinking. Foreigners usually snort more calmly, and then sleep off their drunkenness.”
At the bar table, there is a perfect opportunity to ask if the captain loves his ship like a woman. The answer is romantic: “I call Sumangali my heartthrob, but she is more like a child to me. My wife is always number one, the ship only comes second.”
As the evening falls, the table is covered with empty bottles. We stagger back to the houseboat, escorted by flickering fireflies. At night, rain begins to patter on the bamboo roof. The prayers that have echoed from the temples have apparently been answered quickly – but that is no miracle in the homeland of God.
