We left Thekkady in two cars. A fine ride down twisting mountain roads. Pitted hairpin turns and wasted pavement. Beautiful scenery. Jungle, bananas, tea, rice. A stop for tea a biscuits at a cliff hanging shop. The front at street level, the rear a hundred feet above the jungle below. A pair of beautiful birds, one orange and one yellow just out of camera range. Down, down, down, winding and twisting. Passing on the right, passing on the left. Never fast enough.
A few hours later we arrive at the bottom. The very bottom, of the sub-continent of India, and 6 feet below sea level in the backwaters of the state of Karela. The bus stops at the riverside of a rural village. We transfer luggage to large canoes to ferry us across the river. The river is about 100 yards across and still. The canoe is 2 feet wide, 30 feet long, and like all canoes it feels remarkably unstable and unsafe. I don't swim. I have no life jacket. I am wearing a backpack. Two thoughts fight for dominance: I am going to drown. The camera will be ruined. Will it be possible to hold the camera out of water as I sink so that someone can see what is inside?
Our night's stay is in the home of a local farmer's sister who now lives in England. He and his family welcome us as wonderfully as if meeting long lost cousins. We are served a welcome mango juice and listen to our host's quiet voice introduce his home and family. There are no cars, no motorbikes, no horns. An occasional motorboat cruises by. The river is just outside the home, just across the foot path. We find rooms we like and settle into various quiet activities - reading, cards, chatting. I take a walk down the foot path along the river with the water on my left and small tropical homes on the right. The path is shaded by coconut palms and many beautiful flowers. Children walk along. Hello! Where you from? Many smiling brown faces. More smiles than seen anywhere else. Bright white teeth with perfect orthodontia, and many have never seen a dentist. A beautiful Catholic church glows in the sunset with soft natural colors. Paradise.
Dinner is adequate. Family style rice and curry. Chapati, or what we would call tortillas to sop the gravy. In darkness we board canoes for a night ride. I insist on a life vest, but why on earth did I bring the camera. It will certainly be destroyed when we capsize. Instead of terror, it is blissful. The canoe is gently paddled by our host and brother. Fireflies twinkle in the palm trees with early Christmas sparkle. Meetup with another canoe from another house. The silent paddling is broken with song as our hosts sing several choruses of ancient peasant songs, punctuated with rhythmic drumming on the bottom of the canoes. One song is begun with an amazing long note sung without end, almost impossible. What a wonderful thing, to live along this river and hear this song from your riverside home.
This mornng was up early for a group walkabout. We walked for almost 3 hours. A stop for tea. The shop a primitive wooden bench of boards and branches supporting a burner and a few ingredients. The glasses washed by hand, only a rinse with river water. Sweet, hot, flavorful. The path circles around and by many small houses of farmers, mud diggers, doti tappers, mussel fishers, carpenters. Rice farmers work 6 months of the year and rest the other 6. Doti tappers climb coconut palms twice a day to collect sap drained from wounded palm flowers. They beat the flowers with a bone with a wonderful music to encourage them. Mud diggers dive in the river bringing up buckets of mud used to maintain the dikes. Life is similar to how it has been for a long time. There is not much to change in this tropical paradise. Or is there?
Too many mosquitoes. Too many ants. Too many strange flying and crawling beast in close cohabitation inside and out. The monsoons bring floods to this lowland every 2 or 3 years. The water in the house rises to knee deep. Our host tells that as a child he used to fish in the kitchen while sitting on the table. His mother would then fry up the catch.
The backwaters of Kerala are home to some of the oldest continuous human settlements on the planet. Some of the words pre-date human language. The greeting is "awk." I notice it is exactly the same word crows here and home use to greet each other. A monkey like whoop calls over a passing boat when a ride is needed to the other shore.
It is hot. Tropical steam. A morning nap under a spinning fan. Very calm and restful. And too soon time to leave. A motor boat picks us up and transports us through river, canals, and lakes to a small town. The bus awaits us to carry us back to where we started - Kochin. The bus is an Indian intercity bus driven by a man who craves a Nascar competition. The bus is oversold and we are the last to board. Some sit. Some stand amongst piles of hastily stowed luggage. The bus careens and screeches and roars and beeps for a very long 1 1/2 hours. A quick tuk-tuk ride finishes the journey to the hotel where we started.
Kochin did not change. Or did it? It is not quite as hostile and grimy as it was 2 weeks ago. Crossing the street is an easy game of dodge-em. A beep of the horn does not mean "watch out!" but "Don't worry, I see you."
Tomorrow the second adventure begins with a morning flight to Delhi.
Namaste!
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