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Published: January 26th 2006
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Houseboat - Our Private Paradise
This was our houseboat - two days and two nights in paradise Last night Vernon sent you the first part of his description of our time in paradise, time that will go down in our personal history as an all time best.
The images of our journey through the backwater are now be added and will now provide visuals of the peace, tranquility and beauty we experienced. The trip had us both spellbound.
And now over to Vernon for the continuation of his description of the backwaters of Kerela.
Penny
THROUGH AND OUT OF THE BACKWATERS OF KERELA
Our team of three devoted their every waking hour ensuring that we truly enjoyed what was unfolding around us. Meals were genuine Kerela fare. It is distinguished in its use of spices and herbs of the area for preparing sauces that accompany each dish. The sauces were so delightful, I took to combining them into soups that finished each meal. It would take a course to become mildly familiar with all the spices and herbs in play; but cardamom in the seed form, curry leaves and grated coconut fruit often appeared. Protein ran the gauntlet of fish, prawns, shrimp, chicken, chickpeas, eggs and split peas: garliced to within a
Houseboat - backwater vista
An example of the vista we had when we were in wider channels centimetre of un-kissability, done masala style, accompanied by dhals and sauced, always sauced. Vegetables included spinach, pureed and herbed, carrots, diced and mixed with slivers of coconut fruit, small cukes in a delicate paste of red onions, cabbage and beets in curds, ochres blended into potatoes cooked until they disappeared in their yogurt base. Carbs were couscous, herbed and stir-fried; rice, plain, as a pulao or a biriyani; papadom, chapati and thin roti in sada style. Oh, yes, fruits were bananas of all styles, creamed and sugared; and plain un-treated, freshly picked pineapples.
On our first evening, the skipper docked just as the sun was setting, put us squarely facing the Arabian Sea in the west and let nature perform its wondrous act, up to and including a reluctant, lingering curtain fall into the dark sky, low down.
On our first morning, I did my early rise trick and footed it out along the banks of the waterway to get an un-announced look at the villages waking up on the banks of the waterways. Indeed, chants from the various poems of the Hindu faith were in high melody over the landscape and I walked expectantly in their direction.
The villagers live on plots of land about 20 feet wide between the waterway and the start of the rice paddies. Each household tends several cows, a number of hens, roosters and chickens and its own collection of fruit trees and vegetables. Rolling pin stones and grinding stones, signifying home made Marsala, are in clear view. Rice, of course, is not an issue, but other staples, that villagers do not grow or rear, arrive on dugout canoes that ply the waterways. As I stroll by, I encounter people doing their ablutions, a serious daily rite; and also tending to their laundry, beating the clothes with overhead blows on large stones, alternatively scrubbing them with fist size stones, until they are clean. Presently, I arrive at the source of the religious music. It is a small building next to an un-pretentious place of worship. I stand, discretely, respectfully, off to one side, say a prayer of thanks and head back for breakfast, staring down a few inquisitive dogs on the way. This is of bliss; it is a wholesome instance of a primary lifestyle at its natural endearing best.
Over a tasty breakfast of delicately herbed omelets, with a side
Houseboat - first meal
Vernon seems totally bemused by the array of dishes which have been presented. of stir fried couscous in sautéed leafy vegetables, we ignore the chef’s safety offering of toast and jam, untie our trusty house boat from its mooring to a breadfruit tree and resume drifting through other delights to the eyes and ears for another day.
Every so often there appears an agglomeration of buildings, we have arrived at a town and it is clear that durables are at close enough hand for the villagers in our wake and ahead. We stop at one such town, take a return ride on a small ferry boat, to and from the other bank, to replenish camera batteries, field some pretty curious looks from town folk, nobody goes there from the houseboats, visit a 450 year old church, lose Penelope’s hat, and visit a racing boat that takes about 120 people to row it, has won a hat trick of Nehru yachting cups and is hence is retired to yacht stud.
By day’s end we entered a grand lake, Lake Vembanad, at the beginning of which we docked for the night. We went for stroll along the banks, we chatted with an engaging New Zealander, he being proud that we could correctly identify
Houseboat - ferry
The only way to get from one side to another was via a ferry his accent, discussed life in the Golan Hills with an Israeli couple, watched kids at play in cricket and volleyball, then returned home to another glorious sunset.
We spent our final morning crossing the grand lake at whose entrance we had slept, a two hour trip through wind swept conditions; and were returned to the care of our cricket fan of a driver who brought us here to Trivandrum, from where we leave tomorrow morning on a journey to the cape at the bottom of India’s foot, where waters from the Bay of Bengal, the Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean meet in spiritual confluence; or meet while crowds of pilgrims pay spiritual homage as the sun rises
Vernon
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Bhairavi Sanghi
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dreamboat
could i ask where did you rent this boat out i would love something like that when i reach kerela