Chennamkary and rice
Maureen Hambly discovers a delicious way of life in the Keralan water world of southern India
THE fish seller’s cry of “Meen … Carimeen” echoed along the tree-shaded canals of the Keralan backwaters, in southwestern India. Later, freshcaught fish would be included in the lunch we would help cook during a lesson at Green Palm Homes, a homestay in Chennamkary. My daughter and I had travelled in a jam-packed bus from Kochi to Alappuzha the previous day, and continued by auto rickshaw and canoe to our island destination, where Maria, our charming host, gave us tea and biscuits on dainty china. It was September, and the late monsoon air was warm and humid but free of the pollution we had encountered in the cities.
In the morning, we were up early for a guided walk around the island, which is criss-crossed by narrow paths and canals. Along the river banks, dykes are built up with mud dug from the lake or the river when silt is washed down from the hills. We watched a man piling up mud with a hand-held hoe. Everything for building that is not naturally grown here has to come over the water. Coconut palms provide coir for ropes, dried leaves for matting, roofing and reinforcing, and fruit for oil and for eating. We passed numerous homes, humble and prosperous, Hindu and Christian, plus temples, churches and a school. A “pub” where palm wine (toddy) is sold was open for business with several customers at 9.30am.
We watched a carpenter making chair legs and a canoe maker busy at his age-old craft. Planks of wood are shaped, curved by heating and sewn together with coconut rope. Local farmers grow two crops of rice a year thanks to mechanical pumps which irrigate paddies with river water. Some rice paddies were brilliant green with new growth, others flooded with water, and many were recently ploughed mud dotted with birds.
We saw pastel-painted churches, mostly Catholic or Syrian Orthodox; at a Catholic shrine, the birthplace of a saintly monk, Kuriakose Elias Chavara, there is a below-ground meditation room, cool and dark, with space only to sit or lie down — a place without distractions. A nun in a black habit walked serenely beside an emerald field and Hindu temples, decorated in yellow, orange and magenta, were reflected in quiet inlets.
A great variety of boats ply the waterways: the slimmest canoes navigate canals, larger canoes take passengers across wider channels and transport canoes with motors carry building blocks, gas bottles, furniture and even tractors balanced on two canoes. Motorised ferry boats carry paying passengers longer distances; houseboats with palmmatting side-screens, popular with tourists, can move quite quickly, leaving a large wake which sets other boats rocking.
We had breakfast that first morning at a traditional island home on our route. We were given pootu, a crumbly mixture of shredded coconut and rice, served in a small mound, with mixed dhal, plantains and hard-boiled egg, and thin, crisp poppadoms. These were followed by sweet banana fritters served in a banana leaf, and then hot, spiced tea (chai) to wash it all down. Thus sustained, we walked 7 or 8km and were rewarded with a tasty lunch of water buffalo curry and rice. Our guesthouse kept filtered rainwater for drinking.
One evening, we boarded a motorboat and watched backwaters life as the boat cruised down side channels, passing people doing their washing or cooking their evening meals. Mothers called to children; brass utensils clattered; a church bell rang. Every home here has a washing stone at the water’s edge; we had the dirt smacked out of our travel-stained clothes with soap and river water. Further on, the canals opened out into calm expanses of Lake Vembanad, gleaming in the sunset; palm trees and temples were mirrored until a passing boat or a diving cormorant broke up the reflections. Soon, the large fruit bats started to appear, skimming past with an audible swish of wings.
The following day’s activities included the cooking lesson, frying previously chopped vegetables, curry leaves, tamarind and spices in sizzling coconut oil to make spicily fragrant sauces for meat and fish. My daughter had a massage with coconut oil and herbal extracts, which she found relaxing. There was an evening walk rounded off by a canoe ride home in the dark, while the boatman sang local folk songs and hymns. Although malaria is not a problem here, insect repellent is useful to have.
We left regretfully the next day, by canoe across the river, waving to the diminishing figure of our host standing in front of her home, until a taxi that we had ordered came to take us to Kochi airport.