Aqueous Allapuzha

We arrived in Alappuzha, a back water haven on the West coast in Kerela, and without much inspiring guidance from the seven tonne India Lonely Planet bible I've been studiously lugging around, we had no stong inclination towards lodgings for the night. The book has been a conflicting source of wisdom, sometimes revealing sneaky hidden gems, or otherwise fabricating unhelpful untruths and confusion. Luckily we were approached immediately by a cool looking Indian who ran a restaurant and homestay named Avocado, and given my great proclivity towards avocados in general we decided to follow. The homestay turned out to be an absolute winner with small rough room of sandy wooden accents complete with a rope hammock, which fronted a shaded garden interspersed with fairy lights amongst beautiful flowery shrubs.

Having arrived at 5:30pm we were quick to disguard our things in the room and hurry for the beach to observe the sunset. The long and featureless beach had an uninspiring periphery of tattered boxy buildings strewn with innumerable rusty carts selling a myriad of unhealthy pickings, of which I selected the deep-fried boiled egg. Allaphuzha beach was literally heaving with a thick throng of holidaying nationals snaking far into the distance

hugging the water's edge. The weather was rough and foreboding, producing enormous waves which crashed from their lofty precipices directly onto the sand steadily creeping up the beach and flooding those who were seated obliviously. We crossed a camel and nearly resisted the urge to climb aboard before diving into the turbulent swell fully clothed. After being thrown around for half an hour to the beaming backdrop of an enormous effulgent sinking sun, we headed back to our hostel.

We arranged a boat for the following morning to ramble us round the renowned backwaters, 900km of labyrinthic little streams trickling off faster flowing main estuaries. Vijay, our slight and aged captain, commendeered his little vessel with indefatigable steadyness all day long, as we reclined comfortably under a quaint canopy only occasionally stirring from our languid retreat to help row. The streams were constantly bustling with practical activity as locals utilised the water as a domestic appliance; cleaning pots, washing clothes, fishing and bathing. We stopped off for a lunch in a relatively grimey little shack, and ate a spectrum of colourful gloops to accompany the fishy morsels we'd selected, from a large banana leaf with our fingers. The meal was sapid and vibrant, if not a little boney, but the propiertor had a large and majestic resident sea eagle, which really sweetened the deal. 

Alappuzha is famous for it's backwater tours and the popular evening house boat voyages cause congestion along the main wider tributaries, so our modest little motorless canoe was ideal for cruising calmly. The waters were filled with large bulbous alien pods of algea that floated like spherical, green glass beakers on the surface. Kingfishers dove around all day slicing through the lustrous green landscape with flashes of beautiful colour. Unfortunately the more populated centre of Alappuzha suffers under the concentration of the population and the streets were rather filthy as were the rivers on the outskirts of town. We visited a morning market at the crack of dawn, and were the targets of teeming stares of locals madly stocking their busy shops. Menacing scenes of blood soaked butchers haking away beside coops of chickens gabbling obliviously left me feeling resoundingly resolute in my vegeterian habits. The emaciated corpses of goats and cows were hooked up ugsomely, and I was even presented with the brain and eye balls in resonse to my palpable recoil. Jack was in heaven capturing images of intriguing individuals with increasingly impressive moustaches going about their curious business. The bustling ambience was fascinating to observe, but I was pleased when we were heading by train to the cliffs of Varkala for some imminenet beach dwelling.