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From Varkala to the Backwaters
Arrival in Alleppey: March 23
In the cool of the morning, we left Varkala -- which after 4 days had become something of a womb for us -- and jumped on a train headed north to a city called Alleppey, famous for its Backwater cruises aboard house boats.
When I say we jumped on the train, I mean it in the literal sense.
We bought second class tickets for the 2 hour train ride, which in terms of the Indian railway system, means we bought tickets for a mosh pit without the band. Second class is the lowest class one can travel by train, except for what I call, "The Hobo Class." At a train station in Northern India, I saw what looked to be a cattle car full of people... it was the last car of the train and from the pitch black interior, I could see white eyes gazing out from the darkness, like a Scooby Doo cartoon. There appeared to be no seats, lights, or fans. And the people looked like the zombies from Michael Jackson's Thriller video, except they weren't really missing chunks of flesh, although how could I really tell? It was pretty dark, and there is leprosy in India...
But back to second class. There are no reserved seats, so when the train approaches, the people waiting on the platform, who up until the train's arrival had been politely engaged in quiet conversations, form into packs of wild dogs running up and down the platform in anticipation of an open door when the train finally stops.
When the train pulls in, ever so slowly, people jump off and jump on, even while it's still in motion. The doorways are hardly doorways as they are packed with people, five deep. All that one can really see is a writhing mass of arms and legs and the occasional body spit out of the car, as if the train is giving birth.
It was into this mass of sweaty body parts that we were thrust into the train, propelled by the weight of our backpacks. A backpack is a great thing, except when forced into a cramped space full of people who can too easily become victims to the unnatural extension of it upon your back. Each turn can pack a wallop to an old man's head, or knock a person to the ground, with the force of an all star linebacker. We were not well liked on the train that day.
We arrived in Alleppey and were spit out of the train -- a feat, I must say, we could only have pulled off by using our packs as battering rams. We were spit out of the suffocating train and into the hands of a rickshaw driver, who offered to take us to the main boat jetty for 20 rupees. We didn't have a boat reserved, although we told him that we did, but that didn't stop him from stopping 5 times along the way at various tourist agencies... Eventually we were deposited at the main boat jetty, after a false-drop, an increased far, and lots of arguing.
Alleppey is home to numerous house boats, which look like organic, floating palaces made with local materials such as bamboo and coconut fiber. The boats cruise the Backwaters, a 1500 km area comprised of a chain of canals, lagoons, rivers, lakes, and massive coconut tree groves that seem to spread and sprawl all over Kerala. In fact, Kerala's name is taken from the sanskrit word for coconut.
A typical Backwater cruise includes 24 hours, visits to local villages, a nap on pillows under the boat's canopy, a dip in the water, a night spent under the stars, and all meals (traditional Keralan dishes) thoughtfully prepared by your own personal chef. The houseboats are equipped with a kitchen, bathroom, and bedrooms complete with mosquito netting and fans.
We hired a boat, the two of us accompanied by a staff of three, and sailed off into the Backwaters, leaving our troubles and the rickshaw driver behind us on the shore, and tuned into the gentle sound of water lapping against the boat, the splash of a passing canoe's paddle, twittering birds, converstations of shore bound villagers, the breeze caught in palm fronds, the sound of song carried upon the wind. At night, I heard the symphony of a forest, with crickets and other mysterious sounds of the night. In the morning, the cry of a baby, the wake up call of a rooster, a high pitched, "Bo-oop," which, I found out from our guide, is the call of men who paddle their canoes as if they were ice cream trucks, instead selling fish to the water-bound communities of the Backwaters.
The scenery, the broad strokes like a layered cake, consisted of glistening water, green coconut trees, and blue sky. Up closer, there are rice farms, fish markets, churches, local shops, villagers planting rice, women doing the wash, children playing games, men relaxing.
Our cruise in the Backwaters was a refreshing, pleasant detour. It felt like we'd left India and were, perhaps, in Polynesia, Indonesia, or some other tropical paradise far, far away. As we drifted back to Alleppey, both in mind and in body, we felt ready, once again, to leave the womb as we had in Varkala the previous day.
In the cool of the morning, we left Varkala -- which after 4 days had become something of a womb for us -- and jumped on a train headed north to a city called Alleppey, famous for its Backwater cruises aboard house boats.
When I say we jumped on the train, I mean it in the literal sense.
We bought second class tickets for the 2 hour train ride, which in terms of the Indian railway system, means we bought tickets for a mosh pit without the band. Second class is the lowest class one can travel by train, except for what I call, "The Hobo Class." At a train station in Northern India, I saw what looked to be a cattle car full of people... it was the last car of the train and from the pitch black interior, I could see white eyes gazing out from the darkness, like a Scooby Doo cartoon. There appeared to be no seats, lights, or fans. And the people looked like the zombies from Michael Jackson's Thriller video, except they weren't really missing chunks of flesh, although how could I really tell? It was pretty dark, and there is leprosy in India...
But back to second class. There are no reserved seats, so when the train approaches, the people waiting on the platform, who up until the train's arrival had been politely engaged in quiet conversations, form into packs of wild dogs running up and down the platform in anticipation of an open door when the train finally stops.
When the train pulls in, ever so slowly, people jump off and jump on, even while it's still in motion. The doorways are hardly doorways as they are packed with people, five deep. All that one can really see is a writhing mass of arms and legs and the occasional body spit out of the car, as if the train is giving birth.
It was into this mass of sweaty body parts that we were thrust into the train, propelled by the weight of our backpacks. A backpack is a great thing, except when forced into a cramped space full of people who can too easily become victims to the unnatural extension of it upon your back. Each turn can pack a wallop to an old man's head, or knock a person to the ground, with the force of an all star linebacker. We were not well liked on the train that day.
We arrived in Alleppey and were spit out of the train -- a feat, I must say, we could only have pulled off by using our packs as battering rams. We were spit out of the suffocating train and into the hands of a rickshaw driver, who offered to take us to the main boat jetty for 20 rupees. We didn't have a boat reserved, although we told him that we did, but that didn't stop him from stopping 5 times along the way at various tourist agencies... Eventually we were deposited at the main boat jetty, after a false-drop, an increased far, and lots of arguing.
Alleppey is home to numerous house boats, which look like organic, floating palaces made with local materials such as bamboo and coconut fiber. The boats cruise the Backwaters, a 1500 km area comprised of a chain of canals, lagoons, rivers, lakes, and massive coconut tree groves that seem to spread and sprawl all over Kerala. In fact, Kerala's name is taken from the sanskrit word for coconut.
A typical Backwater cruise includes 24 hours, visits to local villages, a nap on pillows under the boat's canopy, a dip in the water, a night spent under the stars, and all meals (traditional Keralan dishes) thoughtfully prepared by your own personal chef. The houseboats are equipped with a kitchen, bathroom, and bedrooms complete with mosquito netting and fans.
We hired a boat, the two of us accompanied by a staff of three, and sailed off into the Backwaters, leaving our troubles and the rickshaw driver behind us on the shore, and tuned into the gentle sound of water lapping against the boat, the splash of a passing canoe's paddle, twittering birds, converstations of shore bound villagers, the breeze caught in palm fronds, the sound of song carried upon the wind. At night, I heard the symphony of a forest, with crickets and other mysterious sounds of the night. In the morning, the cry of a baby, the wake up call of a rooster, a high pitched, "Bo-oop," which, I found out from our guide, is the call of men who paddle their canoes as if they were ice cream trucks, instead selling fish to the water-bound communities of the Backwaters.
The scenery, the broad strokes like a layered cake, consisted of glistening water, green coconut trees, and blue sky. Up closer, there are rice farms, fish markets, churches, local shops, villagers planting rice, women doing the wash, children playing games, men relaxing.
Our cruise in the Backwaters was a refreshing, pleasant detour. It felt like we'd left India and were, perhaps, in Polynesia, Indonesia, or some other tropical paradise far, far away. As we drifted back to Alleppey, both in mind and in body, we felt ready, once again, to leave the womb as we had in Varkala the previous day.
posted by Cheryn at 4:15 PM
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