Take a slow boat in Kerala's backwaters

The traffic jam of houseboats in the narrow canal of the legendary backwaters in the southern Indian state of Kerala did not really surprise us. But it did spark a memory of the first time we sailed the magical waters in one of these floating pleasure crafts many moons ago. Our vessel, an old kettuvallam - a modified rice boat on which a thatched bamboo and coir superstructure had been grafted - was a head-turning showstopper. Kids ran along the embankments to have a better look at us. Women stopped washing clothes and utensils to check us out. Passengers on local ferryboats waved to us. Locals in carved-out canoes paddled up alongside to have a chat with our crew. Tourists drew out cameras to shoot us.
The euphoria was understandable because, at that time, the houseboat was a novelty; it was the pioneering effort by Babu Varghese's Tour India that launched a proverbial thousand ships. Compared to the air-conditioned Xandari Riverscapes houseboat - with an on-board generator and some of the bells and whistles of a modern luxury resort - we were cruising on, the original one was a relatively basic version, with sails to occasionally cruise on wind power. 
Yet the basic design of the two vessels was much the same; a viewing lounge in the front and a corridor that connected it to the bedroom, kitchen and staff quarters at the rear end. Where Xandari differed was in its detailing like the viewing deck above the lounge, a dining area between the kitchen and the air-conditioned bedroom (the backwaters can get a little muggy on a hot humid day without air- conditioning). The repasts on our Xandari houseboat were virtual banquets - fresh catch of the day, luscious tiger prawns, karimeen fried fish and even a sadya or festive feast of some 21 dishes. the memory of the spread on the Xandari boat still buzz on our taste buds.
Despite the fact that more houseboats are plying the pea-soup green waters, life still unfolds along banks in an enchanting way: music pours out of waterfront churches; a buffalo is ferried in a dugout canoe; toddy tappers harvest the sap of palm trees; girls with red ribbons in their hair trudge to school; spider-like Chinese fishing nets strain the waters for their bounty; a flock of wild ducks and Brahmani kites swoop down to pluck their prey from the surface of the water. 
Our crew of three - the captain, chef and man Friday - welcomed us aboard at a waterfront landing on the outskirts of Alappuzha where the fleet of 10 luxurious Xandari vessels were moored. As we pulled out of the pier, one of the first things that struck us was the sight of houseboats on both banks of the waterway. It was a far cry from the early days when the art of building kettuvallams seemed doomed to drift into the backwaters of time. These traditional boats, originally used to ferry cargo, are what their name suggested: boats (vallams in Malayalam) made by tying (kettu) planks of wood of the jackfruit tree together with coir rope. Today, thanks to tourism, the boat-building industry is thriving once again.
We sailed down liquid avenues that fielded the reflection of the lush green vegetation that hemmed its banks. Coconut palms waved to nomadic clouds that journeyed across a deep-blue sky... baby-green paddy fields were trapped inside embankments; a kingfisher with sapphire wings surveyed the water for a strike from a dead tree stump. Village traffic - cycles, motorcycles, pedestrians - crossed narrow bridges that straddled the canals...
The captain docked the houseboat at a pier so we could offer a prayer of thanks at a village church. Later, we accompanied the chef as he went shopping for a fresh catch of tiger prawns and karimeen (pearl spot fish) at a local fish market.  
After a welcome siesta that followed our hearty lunch, flavoured with local spices, we climbed into a long dugout canoe with a long-tail outboard motor to explore the picturesque water channels that were too narrow and shallow for houseboats to ply. We had gate-crashed a thriving village community for whom the backwaters are a lifeline and the only contact with the outside world. Women washed clothes and utensils while they kept an eye on their kids playfully splashing about in the water; others cast fishing lines for what could end up as a spicy dish on their family table. A young lad brushing his teeth waved to us with his free hand. 
The sight of a man punting a dugout canoe laden with a rich harvest of bananas and coconuts reminded us of a chance meeting with the ex-mayor of Kochi - who had told us that the explorers and merchants of Europe were looking for an alternative spice route to India, the land of plenty, when they chanced upon the Americas.
Back on the houseboat, we nursed sundowners on the upper viewing deck and munched on steaming hot spicy pakodas (fritters). A large houseboat in full party mode - guests dancing on the forward deck to the thump of blaring music - cruised past us, briefly shattering the sense of all-embracing peace. Our vessel docked for the night on a bank of the Vembanad Lake and we watched a fiery sunset bleed into its waters. 
We lingered on the viewing deck and looked up at the first stars as they started to speckle a darkening sky. We planned to keep dinner light but aborted the idea, once we saw the spread our chef had laid out for us. Yes, our houseboat saga was a mixed bag of sheer indulgence at many levels: cuisine, nostalgia, nature at its pristine best and a peek into the simple life of the communities that call the backwaters their home. 
wknd@khaleejtimes.com