Kerala Backwaters
Shenil welcomes me to the traditional houseboat where I’ll spend the next 24h sailing the Kerala backwaters. He has a serene professional demeanor but when he learns I’m Portuguese he lights up with joy and gives me a second handshake. It turns out he’s part of a local group of football supporters for Portugal and he shows me videos and pictures of his school friends their faces painted red and green in front of the largest Ronaldo poster I’ve ever seen. They’re dancing, jumping and waving the Portuguese flag. They even have red smoky flares. “The last time I cried was when Portugal lost against Morocco in the World Cup” he tells me. I didn’t even remember Portugal had lost that game.
They told me I didn’t have to take my shoes off but somehow it didn’t feel right to leave them on. As I walk the corridor past the kitchen, I hear the wood floor creak as I step on the coir mats barefoot.
From the outside, the boat looks like a floating Hobbit house. The hull is dark jack planks and the roof is bamboo poles and palm leaves – everything held together by coconut fibers and rope. It smells like a dry forest here.
The boat is a historic barge that used to carry goods but now is converted for tourism and furnished for meals and spending the night. From a lounge chair I watch the deck where the captain is maneuvering us out to start the trip. There are two white mattresses and pillows right behind him where I know I’ll lie down and read my book (“My Year of Rest and Relaxation”). A white sheet stretches over the captain, providing shade, and he has a glass bottle of whiskey filled with water so I make a joke about drinking and sailing. It’s a slow way down the river.
I hear drums nearby and spot a family in a secluded fenced house by the river. They’re sitting around a small fire and their voices are swallowed by the unhurried rhythmic sound of the drums. The grandfather gets up waving a long stick in his hands in a menacing way and chases a 5-year-old. When the kid starts laughing, the drums stop and the entire family bursts laughing too.
I’m lulled by the tranquility and the heat and these snapshots of life. I watch every jackfruit, coconut tree and house before lunch is ready. The boat continues while I eat my fried fish with rice and vegetable curry. I’m usually a fast eater and force myself to slow down to match the pace of life out here. When I’m done, I change to a smaller motor boat to roam the narrower canals beyond the river.
We cross boats carrying everything from big stones and dirt from construction work, to gas bottles and groceries being delivered door to door. A father and son fish under the shade of a palm tree and two young guys tend their duck farm guiding hundreds of tiny ducks across the water. Kids fight inside an old docked boat next to a lady washing dishes in the river water. Most people wave and greet me even though I try not to intrude too much by staring for too long.
The rest of the afternoon feels like a slow piano playing. I close my book and my eyes just to hear the birds. There’s always hornbills, kingfishers, crows or ducks around.
Before sunset we dock and I go for a walk. The family I saw earlier are finishing their dinner, the drums replaced by dishes and metal pans. I continue and wander between the houses and the trees I saw from the river. I spent a whole day on a boat but my body feels grounded, no swaying. I walk until the orange sun sets.
The next morning I wake up to the sound of people screaming on speedboats that rock my bedroom as they burst by. It’s 7AM.