Sunday, December 10 Kerala's Backwaters

I woke up after a horrible night of sleep thanks to the hordes of mosquitoes that bit me over 10 times. I am not rally surprised, given I’m in the backwaters lakes, a 900km network of stagnant freshwater lakes and canals, and I had on shorts and at shirt. But I used the mosquito net and sure enough, they still bit me. I woke up to find a few on the inside of the net; how that happened boggles my mind. I got served tea and breakfast; coconut idly with coconut aloo ghobi, and pineapple. It was delicious. The coconut thing is so extreme; Kerala means coconut land, coconut is found in every dish of every meal, people smell like coconut in any given direction you will always be able to see a coconut tree, and the leaves, husk, and trunk of the tree are used for everything. It’s like Bubba from Forrest Gump times 100. I got antsy, but we could not leave until 8am after the sunrise, because the fishermen had their nets out, so it would cause them to get torn or tangled if we used the motor. We finally got going and winded through more of the backwaters. This time we winded through tiny canals, where people went about their business collecting water, bathing, paddling canoes to work, collecting coconuts, beating laundry, swimming around, and walking along the narrow raised paths. The homes were nice, most were Western-style with red tile roofs. Communist flags occassionally flew from poles and Christian churches were full of worshippers for Sunday-morning mass. These people lead such simple lives, but they are not as impoverished as many rural Indians, especially their counterparts on the Ganges River Delta canals in Bengal. And all are friendly, asking your name and shouting, with huge smiles. Women wore muumuus, while men wore white or plaid skirts, folded halfway when it a wet or muddy path. We were turning into a small canal which was traversed by high walking bridges or coconut trunks laid down, and the side of the houseboat nicked a concrete pole, but the drivers didn't even seem to notice. They pointed out a snake slithering a curvy path through the green water. This could have been useful information before I jumped into the water yesterday. Time flew by, and before I knew it, it was 11am and we were back where I had picked up the houseboat 20 hours ago. A rickshaw took the back to civilization and I had a good 12 hours to kill before my 12 am train, so I walked down to the ferry jetty and hopped aboard the local public ferry to Kottayam, a town 25km east, through the backwaters. I was one of three foreigners, the rest were Keralan men in skirts and the occasional wife and kids. The ferry was a rickety wooden thing with a really long and shaky motor right in the middle of the boat, where a man sat controlling the direction. How he could see I will never know. Yet the stops at tiny jetties basically just elevated stairs, were all perfectly executed and navigated amidst the identical-looking palm-fringed canals with never-ending rice paddies behind. I had the boat wait for a minute while I hopped off to take a picture of rice fields; I am officially the most Asian person ever. In the rice fields, little islands of palmtrees stood like oases in a green desert; before planting when there’s no rice and only water, it looks like a desert island in the middle of the sea, breathtaking. The views were nonetheless spectacular, drifting through huge superhighways and tiny Venetian or Dutch-like canals. Drawbridges were pulled up by villagers as we passed by, near Kottayam. The town itself had nothing; one main road with completely closed shops and a sleepy bus stand. I walked through the hot sun through some palm forests to the nearest canal, and a man took me on a canoe, to the other side. I took some pictures and walked further, to where a bunch of old women were witting and chatting. One ran up and I gave her my bottle and got a picture, for which she went inside and got a new clean dupatta on. Then I met some boys, and I watched them play cricket and they all screamed, jumped around, and carried each other when they scored, and showed off. I got bitten in the tall grass by green ants, so I had to go, and I kept walking down the little pathway. I am complaining about an ant bite; I am such a wimp compared to these rural villagers for whom ants are ants compared to elephants that are their struggles. Everyone was really friendly but most asked for some money or a pen. Once I hear that, I just stop smiling and walk away. I had to cross a bridge that was basically under construction; loose planks and huge gaps with only lengthwise steel rods; it was like Indiana Jones but with my iPod and camera on me. Some boys were swimming and tried to get me to go in; I would have actually, but I had all my valuables, plus no shower. I caught the ferry back to Alleppy, full of French tourists (I know because they had on matching Lacoste shirts with popped collars) and the views of the sunset over the forest of palmtrees was stunning, especially when local fishermen would row by in their tiny canoes. I disembarked, with still six hours left until my train’s departure (ugh) so I walked around the town in the dark looking for a restaurant. Apparently in Kerala they don't eat dinner, so the only thing I had was a parotha (like a parantha, out flakier and like a croissant) which was delicious. I took the bus to the train station, where I saw an enormous rat the size of a housecat, scurry across the platform. I obviously freaked out, and people laughed at me, without even really paying attention to the fact that it almost ran over their bare feet into a little sewer bole. After that, I was paranoid and waited in the Upper Class waiting room, killing time. At 12:30am, I hopped on the sleeper class train to Madurai.