After a night listening to the frogs and rain, we rose to monsoon skies and a day cruising the Keralan Backwaters.
Breaking our golden rule and booking on Palmy’s recommendation, we rick-shawed to the quayside, expecting to be faced with a floating deathtrap. After an ominous walk along partly submerged paths and under increasingly threatening skies, only a dubious gang plank stood between us and time aboard the ‘Balasal’, a clinker built hulk with what an elaborate hut constructed from palm leaves, on the top.
Men worked around us, excavating mud from the bottom of the quay, using only their hands, whilst leaning adventurously over the sides of their teetering canoes. The shallow water was little consolation as we wobbled like tight-ropists and the gang plank rocked alarmingly beneath our feet. Once aboard, with bags stowed we met the crew. Kadagan was the driver, Mani the captain and chef, and confusingly, Boss was introduced as engine-man. Together they would waft us seamlessly across the waters, whilst feeding and entertaining us for the next 24 hours.
Mr K fired up the engine and we reversed from the quay into our own choking plume of diesel fumes. There are 500 similar boats that ply the backwaters at high season. In the off season they disperse for repairs or to serve as a home for the crew and their families. Fifty or so remained at the quay as we left, waiting for the elusive off season tourists who can drive a harder bargain than they probably realise. Our boat was 25,000 rupees in December but only 5,000 rupees today, and that was without any haggling. It seemed churlish to squabble over $70 between three of us for the day and night’s use of the boat, with three crew.
The quay opens into Lake Benbenara. White crested Fish Eagles patrol the air and black Cormorants dive the waters in between drying their open wings, whilst sitting on clumps of floating weed. Fish jump and Egrets swoop to intercept them. We processed across the lake at the stately pace of one knot. Any faster and a collision would have been inevitable as the helm was as responsive as a corpse. Clare took charge and immediately one of the few boats ahead of us changed direction at ramming speed. Furious spinning of the wheel took an agonising length of time to have any effect and only frantic parping of the horn persuaded the other boat to take evasive action.
Disaster averted, we left the lake at a side canal and entered an eerie world of flooded land lying alongside the thoroughfare. Two narrow man-made fingers of vegetation formed the boundary of the canal, but as it was monsoon, water lapped happily over the levee and into the surrounding fields, flooding them as far as the eye could see. The effect was of an inconguous palm tree fringed corridor planted across the middle of the lake. Antiquated dredgers worked overtime to keep the channel clear while levee construction raised the land a precious few inches above the waters.
Kerala’s neighbouring state, Tamil Nadu holidays in the monsoon and balloon festooned boats passed us, laden with drunken, high-spirited Indians, oscillating madly to the Banghra beats pumping out of the deck speakers. The Cormorants dived for cover and surfaced when they were gone, with beaks full of fish.
The guest book forewarned us that a compulsory pit stop at the local fish market would occur shortly and we duly paid multiples of the market-price for mackerel and king prawns that Mani cooked up in stinging clouds of chilli that wafted to the forward deck. Dinner was delicious and plentiful, but as we ate, so we were consumed. The water hosted an armada of mosquitoes that took to the air at dusk. only heavy weight DEET repelled the attack, whilst the Ghekos mopped up.
We moored for the night and before the moon rose like a balloon over the palm trees, we walked the canal-side path with water lapping at our feet from both sides. How the small communities living on the pencil thin stretch of land cope with the monsoon inundation, isn’t clear. Pigs, goats and chickens roamed the paths, at home with the flood that spilled over the canal sides with the wash off every passing boat. Children splashed in the water pooling around their doors. Women laundered clothes in the shallows and men cleaned themselves after the labour of the day was ended.
We slept fitfully, nibbled by insects and woke to more grey skies and rain.
The guest book entries claimed routinely that this was a once in a lifetime experience. Maybe for some, but not for me.
After all, I’ve been to the Norfolk Broads.
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