Alleppey: Boats, trains and fried bananas

Alleppey is the home of the backwaters, a maze of rivers and lakes that are lush, green and a little bit scary in an Apocalypse Now kind of way.  Tourists have been coming to check out the backwaters for years, but the tiny town of Alleppey doesn’t offer much in the way of charm or accommodations. Someone finally had the bright idea to construct large houseboats which double as both touring vessels and floating hotels.  The boats’ foundations are solid wood, but the cabins are woven bamboo, temporary structures lasting one season since they are blown all the way to Oz during the monsoons.

Our boat was cute as a button and staffed by three amiable men, including the best chef in India.  He fed us like we were turkeys and Thanksgiving was around the corner.  “What is in this dish? And what makes these beans so delicious?” we squealed during our four course lunch, shoveling food in our mouths like we were being shipped off to Alcatraz the next day. The answer was always “coconut”, which grows like kudzu in the backwaters and its meat and milk are the mainstays of every dish.  In between our high tea snack of fried bananas and our fresh fish lunch, we stopped at an Ayurvedic Center then toured a local village. The flowers and trees surrounding the backwater are gorgeous, and the village was rustic but pristine. Several of the local kids came out and mugged for the camera and we took more pictures of them than the pretty sunset.

We docked for the night next to a boat full of college students on Spring Break who amused themselves by singing along to deafening music and doing cannonballs into the lake.  I never knew what the saying “If it’s too loud, you’re too old” meant until that night.  “Can you make them shut up?” we asked our Captain, “We are trying to nap and read.” He marched off to squelch the noise while we realized in horror that we were teetering on some sort of precipice of middle age. We vowed to have too many cocktails and stay up really late once we got to Chennai to make up for being such fuss-budgets. 

The next day we headed back to Kochi and were informed that our train didn’t leave until 9:45 that night.  Since we had thoroughly toured Fort Kochi 2 days before, we spent some time in an internet cafe and took a class from a yogi named Joseph, a man more flexible than Mr. Fantastic.  Kristen and Erin were already fans of Joseph and had taken his classes during our previous stay, but I had opted to go for a run instead, a huge mistake since running in India is an Extreme Sport due to the roaming cows, zooming buses and gaping holes in the sidewalk. Joseph was a positive and encouraging teacher and possessed a great sense of humor.  He taught the whole class dressed in a polo shirt, pleated pants and a belt, and looked more like he worked at Best Buy than in a yoga studio.  We bent ourselves into pretzels for 90 minutes and were relaxed and exhausted by the time we got to the train station.

I think a time line best explains our Kochi train experience, so here you go:

9:00- Arrive at train station with our backpacks, 3 chicken schwarma sandwiches and a bag of various snacks.

9:10- Informed by train station lady that we are on a waiting list, our air-conditioned, sleeper-car seats are not confirmed, and the train is almost full. Begin to panic. Make frantic calls to our travel agent who doesn’t answer. Eat aforesaid chicken schwarma sandwiches.

9:20- Create back-up plan. Erin and Kristen go buy the only tickets left on the train, the cheap tickets for the section of the train where chickens are running down the aisle and American girls get kidnapped. I wait with the bags and am informed by a German guy that we should padlock our bags to ourselves if we get stuck in cheap section. Begin to emotionally eat and polish off a bag of chips weirdly called “Naughty Tomato”.

9:30- Panic more and make our 43^rd call to our travel agent.

9:45- Are told to board the train and take the issue up with the conductor.  Travel agent finally calls back and says, unhelpfully, “I think it will be OK.” 

10:10- Board train and pile our bags on shaky platform between two cars.  Sit on bags and create annoying obstacle for everyone trying to use the bathroom.

10:20- Conductor comes by and tells us to “PLEASE WAIT” and that his supervisor will be by soon to help us.

11:10- See supervisor-looking person and chase him down. He tells us to “PLEASE WAIT” and that the Supervisor of the Supervisor will seat us soon.

12:15- Supervisor of the Supervisor finally arrives and guess-what tells us to “PLEASE WAIT”.

1:15-Supervisor of the Supervisor finally comes back and says, “ Sorry. Tickets are invalid. Pay 3000 rupees to stay in the sleeper car or go sit with the chickens and the kidnappers.” 

1:20-Hullabaloo ensues. A group of three passengers get involved on our behalf and make matters worse.  We present a brilliant, concise and factual argument on why our tickets should be honored and the Supervisor responds, “OK don’t buy tickets, get off the train.” We cave and buy duplicate tickets.

1:25: Kristen and I can’t sleep so we watch 127 Hours and see James Franco saw off his arm.  Decide that buying duplicate train tickets is better than having to saw of your arm. Feel a little better.

10:00 AM: Arrive in Chennai looking like death warmed over.

Chennai, our current destination is called the “Detroit of South India”. Whatever...after that train ride, we can handle anything. Bring it on Chennai Rock City.