I sport the morning on the bus to Ernakulam, a major transport hub in Kerala. After descending the hilly Western Ghats into Kerala, everything suddenly became green. ‘Kerala’ means ‘land of palmtrees’, and they are everywhere. Dense green shrubbery envelops the bottoms of the trunks. Water buffaloes waded through the marshy waters, grasses, and rice paddies. Nice modern houses with white Ambassadors parked in the carports were also nestled among these coconut forests. Kerala is one of India’s wealthier and more progressive states, always defying conventions of the country. The party in power is communist, and red flags with sickle and hammer fly along the street. This has made Kerala more economically homogeneous, has contributed to gender equality, a healthy sex ratio, an unheard of 91% literacy rate. Many Keralans also work as laborers in the Gulf States, and their remittances are large. Kerala's native language is Malayalam, with a script that literally looks like loopy-loops over and over again, with some sideways question marks. However, many people speak English, and it is written everywhere. Kerala is situated on the south west tip of India, bounded by the Western Ghats mountain range and with a long Arabian Sea coastline. It has historically been in contact with the outside world for a long time, especially for the spice trade. The Chinese, Romans, Phonecians, and Arabs all traded here, and eventually the Portuguese, Dutch, and English fought over control of the valuable spice trade. It has had significant populations of Muslims, Syrian Christians, Jews, and Hindus. The bus ride was nice, as was the lush landscape, with little green canals running through the verdant vegetation. There was a short breakfast stop for dosas, and then it was off to Ernakulam bus stand. I quickly pushed my way into a rickety old Kerala state bus on its way to the capital, Trivandrum. All the men in Kerala wear short little white or plaid skirts, and the women all dress in saris. They didn't seem particularly dark-skinned or “South Indian”, although all the men had moustaches and many had painted foreheads. Maybe this is because Kerala is more of a melting pot. Past more lush landscapes, nice Portuguese estates, catholic churches and clean cities, Allappuzha came. I got off the bus and strangely was not bombarded by houseboat or cruise operators which means it’s probably high season (and prices will be high). Yet another reason to hate tourists. I went directly to the Kerala tourism office. However, I think that it was a fake, and really it was just a front for a private company. Whatever the case, I paid $60 for a houseboat on the back waters, almost a requirement on an India vacation. The price was average, and since I have been staying in absolute shitholes, trains, or buses for the past seven nights, I feel like I deserve a nice day of relaxation and luxury. I rode on a motorcycle to the houseboat, tucked away in a tiny village insulated by coconut palms. The chariot was a really nice rice barge, essentially, with bamboo and palm weaved walls, wooden bottom, with a motor and three people serving food and driving the boat, and of course acting as my photographer. We pushed off and the old captain punted with a huge stick through the backwaters, an extensive network of lakes that eventually empty into Kochin's bay on the Arabian Sea. The water canals were 10 meters deep, green, and Lilly pads floated atop. We passed a bunch of dwellings built on the dikes of the waterways, and people were going about their everyday lives; playing cricket washing laundry, rowing boats filled with coconuts and hay, and commuting from work and school. Coconut trees and other tropical foliage hung over the peaceful waterways and created tunnel like pathways for us, other houseboats, motor boats, ferries, and little skinny skiffs. It really was magical floating through this world, far removed from the noise, traffic, and trash of everyday India. We traversed small little canals and larger lakes. We stopped at a big lake, so I could go swimming in the backwaters or Lake Vembanad. I jumped in and the water didn't seem dirty, and was comfortably warm. Then we watched the beautiful but short sunset over the palmtrees in the distance. I have noticed this whole trip even though it keeps getting closer to December 21, the sun keeps setting later and rising earlier, because I keep moving further and further south and now I am extremely close to the equator. I am also getting dark and I have a white stripe on the bridge of my nose from my glasses. We anchored on a narrow strip of land which separated the waterways from a submerged paddy field, covered in Lilly pads. I walked along the path past houses, where kids all ran up and asked "How are you" and "your name" enthusiastically, their parents smiling from house doorways. Canoes also pulled up and greeted me. The people here are really rice and hospitable, it seems like they'd be bored after tourists passing by day after day, but they are surprisingly very enthusiastic and friendly. I was served a candle-lit Keralan feast, which was absolutely spectacular. A bowl of South Indian rice and chapatis were used to eat the masalas; one was an onion coconut red dry mix, another was a coconut banana curry, and there was a coconutty tasty tamale, and of course a coconut dal. The meal was served with thick sweet Keralan coconutty coffee. Notice the trend? I love coconut, so I loved the meal, and coconut trees are probably my favorite plant. Well besides maybe Venus fly traps or money trees. I sat on the deck watching the bright stars, so peaceful.
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