Kerala Backwater tour

Whilst enjoying a lull from the monsoon in Kochi we signed up for a day trip through the famous backwaters, where rivers merge with the sea through a labyrinth of channels framed by dense jungle and small villages.

In peak season there are luxurious houseboats decked out with double beds, hot tubs, chefs and every other conceivable trimming. As it wasn’t, there was just the option of a smallish boat filled with wicker chairs pushed through the channels by two men wielding long bamboo punts.

It was an early start – we left at 7.30am. There was an hour’s drive to the start point of the boat trip, most of which was taken up circling around town picking up more tourists. An Indian family got on at the second stop and immediately busied themselves with a carrier bag holding their day’s snacks. The bag was solely filled with crisps of every description. The grandmother dutifully tore open packets of what looked like Nic-Nacs and funnelled them into her grandchildren’s open mouths until their little faces were shaking for her to stop. Not satisfied with stuffing her little angels’ faces to bursting point, grandma finished the packet off by shovelling the leftovers into son-in-law’s mouth without asking if he wanted them.

The bus came to a stop causing a brief interlude in the crisp munching and we all filed off along a muddy lane past dwellings by the side of the river and onto the boat. The boat was much prettier than I had been expecting, with intricate latticed windows, a roof of platted palm leaves and miles of coir rope holding the whole thing together. Two thin looking men expertly pushed the boat away from the river bank with the bamboo poles, guiding the boat effortlessly toward an impossibly narrow looking channel bursting with reeds, huge lily pads and coconut palms.

Crashing through the foliage on either side of the channel, everything was close enough to touch. The man punting from the front of the boat stopped and pointed, sitting completely still: on a low branch was a kingfisher, a flash of electric blue near its eye making it stand out from the greens and browns of its surroundings. There was a stunned silence as people snapped away with their mobile phones, finally interrupted by the tearing noise of mum opening an enormous bag of crisps.

A short while later we came to a stop where a team of loincloth clad men were busy at work shifting large piles of minute clam shells around. The clams had been caught in a nearby lake and the meat sold at the local fish market. Once cleared of flesh the shells were baked with petroleum coal for 8 hours until they turn white. This turns the shells into pure calcium carbonate which they also sell. It was an impressive and sight and seemed an excellent way to make money out of a clam twice. Happily there was no pressure to buy any of the calcium carbonate or fresh clams and we moved on.

We were next taken to a small village and shown the art of Coir making. An old man and his wife stood by a pile of dried out coconut husks and pulled the fibres off into balls. Then, using a contraption very similar to an upturned bicycle, spun the fibres into a thin rope. The way the rope was appearing out of the ball of fibres looked unreal, as if it was a magic trick, but it was definitely happening. It was incredible how quickly the rope was being produced. And just like the tiny clams it would appear that coconuts can be sold twice. Once for the nut and once for the fibre. Very impressive.

Back on the boat we slid away from the village and into a wide waterway. The man at the front asked if anyone would like to try punting so I shot my hand into the air, kicked off my flip-flops and made my way to the front. At the start of the day I had thought it looked pretty easy and not particularly strenuous. Eagerly I grabbed the bamboo and began pulling it up out of the water, but the thing didn’t seem to end. Eventually the pole burst free and I lobbed it hard into the water in front of the boat, yet the pole rapidly slipped away from me. Running back down the boat to catch it from falling into the channel my feet were on fire. The uncovered deck was scorching hot and from the sun adding to the difficulty of the task. Determined to not look like a complete berk, I persisted for a good 5 minutes to prove that I had it all under control. By which point my shirt was dripping with sweat and I was knackered. Happily giving the pole back to the professional, it made me realise my initial theory wasn’t bang on and punting for 7 hours is not easy and is very strenuous.

I made my way back down the boat through an applause of lip smacking potato snack annihilation, closed my eyes and began to drift off. The chips supplies must have run out as the boat fell completely silent, save for the light thud of the bamboo punts hitting the river bed. A minute or so of quiet passed which was clearly too much for a group of English medical students, who began discussing if tuna was the a type of fish or a brand name and if it was a brand name, what fish did tuna come from? Not essential knowledge for a doctor to know, but if it was up to me none of those students should be allowed to practise medicine.

Thali on a banana leaf