Transported to a magical world where life goes by at a tranquil pace
Essentially, the backwaters are a series of rivers and canals which link five large lakes, and the network extends some 800km. The man-made banks between the canals and paddy fields are no more than a few feet wide, and are home to much of the local population. Men, women, children, dogs, goats, cattle, ducks and chickens all live on these narrow strips of land. Motorbikes and a determined tuk-tuk or two go bumping past, but just as on the broad rivers, small boats and canoes form the most popular mode of transport here, weaving busily between the stately kettuvallams.
Beautifully coloured kingfishers dart in and out of the water, and majestic fish eagles soar overhead. Buffalo graze and white egrets show up clearly against the vivid green of the rice plants. The calm is disturbed by only one intrusion: a rhythmical thwack as women beat wet clothes against a stone after washing them.
But the river turns out to be much more than just a launderette. It is the central feature in everyday life here. Locals bathe and brush their teeth in it. Children splash about happily and farmers in canoes skilfully shepherd ducks from one site to another. Just about every conceivable object is transported, often precariously, by canoe, and so absorbing are the comings and goings that you can’t put your camera down for one minute.
We disembarked just the once to visit a village, with Emma clutching two boxes of colouring pencils. I had been told they are in short supply and that children love them, and so it proved. It was humbling to see their joy as they accepted something so simple. And yet a little further along the dusty track, a child wearing a
Lionel Messi soccer shirt was busy on his smartphone. India is forever confusing its visitors like that.
As sunset approached, we tied up to a couple of palm trees. With the low rumble of the engine now silent, a perfect hush descended (apart from the thwacking of the laundry, of course).
We brought our own alcohol aboard, and with charged glasses watched from the top deck as the sun went down. Our mooring places were always close to habitation, and as the lights twinkled along the bank, the sounds of village life drifted over the water. There was always music and, on the Saturday evening, women and young girls gathered in a building on the edge of the river to sing. For just a few hours we were part of their world.
Dinner was cooked at the back of the kettuvallam. The vegetable curries were delicious, and I also enjoyed the breakfast offering of onion uthappam – a crepe-like south Indian speciality.
The nights were dark and quiet. The river sleeps too, and so still is the water that the boat does not rock at all. The first movement can be detected as the sun rises through the mist and the crew start to prepare breakfast. In a matter of minutes, the river bursts into life with ferries picking up schoolchildren and barges chugging back and forth.
National Geographic listed the Kerala backwaters as one of its 50 Places of a Lifetime, and the scenery and slow pace of the cruise guaranteed that it lived up to its billing. But most memorable of all was the window we could open into such a very different world; one in which people live modestly at an enviously gentle pace, and always with warm and welcoming smiles.