The Keralan Backwaters.

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The teeming streets of an Indian city are the narrow stages upon which millions of Indians act out their daily lives. For this epic production there are no noises off and no exits stage right, this is a one act play performed in the round; longer than any traditional Kathakali performance, more confusing than Becket, more tragic than Hamlet and definitely without a single Pinter pause. Here in Alleppey's backwaters in Kerala, things are a little different: the roads are replaced by canals or rivers and the pavements by thin dirt towpaths. The whole gamut of Indian life is still performed in the open, it is just that the stage is considerably narrower, the players far fewer and the scene much less frenetic.

The Keralan backwaters are a vast network of inland waterways, lakes and canals that surround, bisect and traverse great fields of rice. The lakes and canals are really the byproduct of the land reclamation that was necessary to produce paddy fields from what was, many years ago, a vast tract of inhospitable swampland. Banks of earth, or dykes, were built up around an area of swamp to create viable agricultural land. As these patches of paddy multiplied they formed a large mosaic of green paddy islands, with the gaps between them collecting the displaced water and forming the emblematic lakes and canals that the area is now famous for. Most of the fields in the backwaters actually lie below sea level, with the small strips of land on which the houses are built being only a couple of feet higher themselves. An interesting fact being, that here, unlike the rest of India, the farmers have to pump the water out of the rice fields, not in!

This same process of land reclamation is still very much in use today; indeed the mud diggers (for the dykes) continue to be a separate cast in their own right, as are the sand collectors, dyke builders, toddy tappers, ferry men and, well, the list is almost endless. For some of our time whilst exploring the backwaters we stayed on an island which provides for four villages and which is only seventeen kilometres across at its widest point. Yet this small island is entirely self sufficient, with all the trades and professions necessary for efficient running of island life being held by the members of the various casts. For example; the large and beautiful modern house in which we stayed was constructed by a team of masons, carpenters, plumbers, electricians and decorators who all lived and worked on the same small island, no outside help was needed at all. If this division of labour sounds a little too well ordered to be true, it may not surprise you to note that Kerala, since the late 1950's, has had a freely elected communist government for the vast majority of the time!

As the backwaters are an entirely man made environment it comes as something of a shock to find them quite so mesmerically beautiful. From the perfectly poised palms that line the stone flagged canal's banks to the green, patchwork paddy that shapes the islands, man seems to have harnessed nature in a beautifully sympathetic manner. Here, it is order and structure, form and function, that are the defining factors of the environment; there is no superfluity, every inch of land has a purpose and not a precious inch is wasted. Unlike in many other parts of India where the natural environment seems to be nothing more than an impediment to a cities natural growth, here in the backwaters man has created an environment so seemingly natural that it has defined and regulated any outward growth. The Keralans who live here do so in an exquisite open prison of their own construction. A land so quietly composed, measured and hospitable that it was quite clearly created in its makers own likeness, as to watch a Keralan go about his daily activities is to view a performance of languid efficiency.

Wherever I went in Chamaankary, and indeed in the whole of Kerala, I was witness to people working. It seemed that everyone there had something to do, yet all the time in the world to do it. I remember watching a group of men unloading a massive barge of sand to supply a house under construction. The four men were using large buckets that they placed on their heads to carry the material from the boat, across a gang plank and on to the land. I viewed them for a while as they hefted their massive loads, but the way in which they worked with a calm, languorous steadiness, soon had me drifting away into thought. Yet, seemingly seconds later, when I had popped out of my midday reverie and returned to watching, I was amazed to discover that the job was complete and that the workers were standing around smoking beedies and drinking chai! A bit like a watched pot never boiling, so you can spend several minutes watching the slow strokes of the ferryman's paddle seemingly bringing him no closer to shore, yet after being distracted for an instant by a persistent mosquito, upon looking back up you find him barely meters away. I've found that, in Kerala, if I get bored waiting for something to happen that seems as if it never will, all I have to do is to forget entirely what it was I was waiting for and it will suddenly surprise me by occurring. Kerala has become, for me, the land of serendipity.

In contrast to all this calm activity the day we spent watching the snakeboat races showed Keralan men at their frenetic peak. It seems that all the energy they keep in reserve whilst performing their jobs is here unleashed upon the water, in a spectacular frenzy of perfectly poised paddling. Some forty men, sitting in pairs, are bunched along the one hundred foot length of the beautifully carved and decorated snakeboats. In unison, strokes matched to the rhythmic banging of huge twin drums, these men manage to power their narrow craft at great velocity and with much frothing of water the one mile length of the course. Three of these reptilian craft race at a time and the manic exertions of the rowers is mirrored by the frenzied support from the tightly packed supporters that line the banks.

We were standing with a boisterous group from Varkala who were lending their excessively vocal support to their much loved team. Unfortunately their impassioned support did little to motivate the Varkalan crew, as their boat was soundly thrashed by a couple of lengths. This defeat did nothing to dampen their supporters enthusiasm however, especially for trying to teach me the finer details of their chant; details so fine that they consistently managed to elude me. Shouting out at what I believed to be the correct time for the yelling of the climactic, drawn out "rrrrrrrooooow", I found my impassioned bellow became a lone shout of embarrassment in a suddenly quiet crowd. As the massed Indians on the banks turned to look and giggle, as my friends and fellow Varkalan supporters turned away in embarrassment, I dropped my head and found something very important to fiddle with on my camera!

We have spent almost a week exploring the backwaters and for three of those days we based ourselves at the serene "Malayalam Resort" in north east Alleppey. This small guest house has a few rooms only, the best of which is a small wooden cottage with a stone flagged patio and two rocking chairs that sits two feet away from a sleepy backwater lake. Only breakfast was served on site and it proved to be quite an effort to drag ourselves up and out of the rocking chairs to brave the twice daily 4km trek into town! A very special, very friendly place indeed, if a little above our normal budget.

An activity that was most definitely a budget buster was our traditional Keralan houseboat trip. This involved 22 hours cruising the backwaters in a fully fitted out floating house for two, complete with our own captain and live aboard cook. As it is the monsoon and consequently the low season we got the boat for half of the high season price. We were well glad we did as we would have been twice as disappointed had we paid double the price. For us, and it really does seem to be our problem as many people absolutely love this activity, this was one travellers "must do" that really failed to live up to our expectations. The food was decent, but not as good as from the incredible Dhaba "Thaff", in town, and no doubt about twenty times the price; our crew were nothing if not exceptionally friendly but had only rudimentary English at best and failed to provide some of what we had paid for; we felt overly cocooned and separated from the area we had paid to see (plus we got the distinct impression, later confirmed, that the houseboats are a none too welcome intrusion upon villagers lives); and the distance covered and sights seen was less than we saw on the five Rupee public ferry to our homestay in Chamaankary. A homestay that cost half the money and gave us a truly immersive village experience, had incredible home cooked food, luxury accommodation, canoe tours, cookery lessons, guided walks and beautiful scenery. "Green Palm homestays", can't recommend them highly enough; backwater cruises are probably best enjoyed with a group of mates and some beer.

After Alleppey we were hoping to again cross the Western Ghats, this time into Tamil Nadu to visit a few Dravidian temple towns before ending up in Chennai, from where we wanted to catch a train to Visag, some twelve hours up the East coast. For love nor money nor baksheesh nor tiktal nor tourist quota could we get a train either into Tamil Nadu, nor out of Chennai. The lowest waitlisted train we could find was oversubscribed to the tune of 130, and this was a train we attempted to book over a week in advance. We think the reasons for the trains out of Kerala being so full was that we wanted to travel a couple days after their Onam festival (kind of like the Keralans harvest festival and New Year combined, and celebrated mainly with family, much like an English Christmas) and that all the Keralans, some of whom we met a week earlier on the train in, were now returning to their places of work in other states after their ten day holiday with their families. Why the trains out of Chennai were so full is anyones guess. Anyway, this has meant that my return to Tamil Nadu will have to wait till another time. We are still headed for Visag, but are now having to route ourselves through Bangalore (from where it is a 24 hour cross country journey); on the way we plan to stop off at the Wyanard National Park, which is located in a little visited area of densely forested hills in Northern Kerala. We look forward to finding out the reasons why fate has dictated that this is now to be our next destination.

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Comments

[Jenniferious]

Oh my god!
You must have been in Alleppey around the same time as me... I was there this weekend, I left on Monday. Your photos are so much nicer than mine, I am incredibly jealous. I'm so glad you said what you did about the houseboats. Me and my friends really wanted to do it but when we got there we just got a really bad vibe from the whole houseboat industry they had going on, so we decided to hire a little hand punted canoe thing for the day instead. So glad we did, especially reading what you've just written. You see a lot more going down the tiny little canals and it's so peaceful. Probably won't get around to typing up an uploading my little houseboat rant for another few weeks though as am running so far behind with this damn blog.

[Keep Smiling]

Words and pictures are clearly your thing!
Scott, you certainly seem to have a way with words - and with a camera that takes pictures worth a thousand of them. I look forward to more of both.

[Anastasia78]

So true.
I love the caption you chose for this photo. Unfortunately I do believe this is the same scenario worldwide.