Venice of the East

(Houseboats navigate through the canals of Alleppey.)

You won’t find Ferragamo or Versace lining these canals, but in Alleppey, India, also referred to as the “Venice of the East”, you’ll find a maze of canals lined with lush green foliage, palms and water fowl. A world away from the crowded and dusty streets of the hustle and bustle of urban India, Alleppey is tucked away in central Kerala, one of two states in the southernmost point of India. From Ft. Cochin, the drive was slightly more than an hour. Each day over 300 boats wait to be hired by tourists for a twenty-two hour excursion winding through the canals and across India’s largest lake, Lake Vembanad.

(Laundry day at the canal's edge.)

From noon to 10 a.m. the following day, you can hire a boat with sleeping quarters, AC, a bathroom and a crew of three. My captain was Suresh, his engine man was Joseph and the Chef was Shyju. This was not the booze cruise of Mexico, rather it was the snooze cruise of India. Only the sounds of birds, the wind and the occasional slapping of cloth against rock (for laundry) occupied the airwaves. Leaving Bangalore for Alleppey was like going 80 m.p.h. to a dead stop.

(On the highway of Alleppey.)

Life along the canals was much like river life I have seen in other parts of the world. Simple one or two room homes perched on the waters edge, children playing together and women doing laundry knee deep in the river. This is not a poor community, rather it is rich with beautiful scenery, fresh air and serenity. Pollution in the big cities dramatically shortens life expectancy and men living in the city often are away from their families months at a time returning only twice a year to visit.

There are no cars and just a few pieces of motorized farm equipment. The canals are the roads in Alleppey as boats row, push and motor their way through the waterways. Me and the crew cruised along the canal banks for five hours before stopping in Champakulum, a small town on the river with a 486 year old Syrian Christian Catholic church. The church was beautifully maintained with elaborate wall and ceiling paintings depicting all of the major saints.

From the church we set course for an undesigated spot on the map, a place where I do not find myself often. But as we pulled aside shore to anchor for the night, the sun began to set, or at least it appeared to set as I was reminded by Sri Sri that the sun actually never sets, it is just our perception of reality. Inching behind the palms, the sun began its descent morphing from yellow to orange to red before falling below the rice fields on the horizon. I stood in the bamboo and twine doorway of the boat, camera in hand wondering how I could ever capture the moment. Any picture would not include the damp thick warm breeze, the competing bird and insect calls and the sound of swooshing water as dugout canoes paddled past us at dusk.

Sun down and dinner preparations were quickly underway. Strategically placed mosquito coils lit, I sat in a wicker chair on deck until darkness swallowed the last flicker of daylight. The river was still alive as lights could be seen in homes dotting the canal banks and the last boats returned to their home berths, a scene very reminiscent of the the Pirates of the Carribean ride at Disneyland, minus the drunken sailors of course.

Shyju finished preparing dinner and I asked the two remaining men on the boat to join me at the table for dinner. Reluctant to eat with the passenger as if against company policy, I continued to motion and urge them to take a seat at the table. Fourth time a charm, they brought their plates and we had as much conversation as our language barrier would permit. Both men were in their mid-twenties, unmarried and waiting to get married until their late 20s, characteristic of Keralans, the most literate state in India. Both men were also expecting to enter into arranged marriages. The idea of going on a date was a completely foreign concept. These guys spent everyday of the season (about 9 months straight), 7 days a week on the boat, returning every third night to their village only to get back to the boat the following morning. Drop off passengers at 10 a.m., pick up new ones at noon and repeat. It was Groundhog’s Day in Venice. And this was a good job as it is just good to have a job in India.

(Sunset Alleppey Style.)

Post dinner festivities kicked off and finished with a bath for the crew somewhere on shore and a cooling shower for me onboard. Nights on the river pace the sun much more than most city dwellers where electricity and cable stand ready to climatize and entertain twenty-four seven. I stood on the bow for half an hour staring at the stars, listening to the river sounds and watching lights from within homes along the banks go dark as villagers retired for the evening. This was how I imagined it felt 100 or more years ago on the Ohio or Mississippi Rivers.

Perhaps it was the humid hot weather or the large cockroach with hairy biceps (or thighs) peering into my mosquito net from the top, but I set my alarm for a pre-sun rise awakening. If I was going to live on the river, if only for a night, then I was going to wake with the river.

And the sun would thank me for rising early to meet it as it returned in reverse colors, red to orange to yellow over the misty rice patty fields. With the first sign of light, the birds, the fish and the people on the canals began to stir. The fish jumped to catch insects skimming the water surface while the birds looked for jumping fish and villagers looked for both fish and fowl for the day’s nourishment.

It may not be filled with high fashion and fine wine, but the Venice of the East is full of rich culture and a sustainable way of life living in harmony with what nature has provided.


(Me and the Crew with an extra in the background. From left front row: Captain Suresh, me, engine mate, "Joseph" and behind me, Chef Shyju.)