South Indians are a tolerant people. Hinduism, Islam, Judaism and Christianity have flourished along this Malabar coast for centuries. On our first shore excursion of the day, Joseph leads us through a lovely old 18th century church built by the Portuguese. He then takes us along a rough pathway to a wood-carver's workshop, one room of which is filled with larger-than-life size statues of saints and Madonnas. They appear commonplace at first glance, lacking any originality of design or concept, and we glance around desultorily, hoping we can make good our escape before the owner hits us with a sales pitch.
I pause before a massive Crucifix carved in rich brown wood, which stands propped against a wall-and the expression of the Christ figure causes me to suck in my breath. It portrays the desolation of a man, crying out in spiritual anguish, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" This is not just a thing of wood; it is an artist's elegy to his personal Lord and Savior. I run my fingers across the wood surface, over the knotted, strained muscles in an upper arm, the cruel jut of the rib-cage, and the distended network of veins along the calves and feet. It strikes me that there is something extraordinary about standing here in a battered shack set in a grove of palm-trees in an insignificant little village, with sawdust motes dancing in a shaft of sunlight, the smell of turpentine and polish, and the sounds of chipping, sawing and planing surrounding me, and looking at an unsung piece of art that has its creator's soul limned into the wood-grain.
The owner of the workshop is a stocky, bespectacled man in his mid-thirties. "The art of wood carving goes back three generations in my family," he explains. "I spent two years at the J.J. School of Arts in Bombay," he says, "but my father and my grandfather never had a lesson in their lives." He shows us a 3-inch high bas-relief of a village scene rendered in exquisite detail down to the curve of a grass blade under the foot of a tiny goat. " My grandfather carved this," he says, and then, catching my questioning glance he adds, "but it is not for sale. It is part of my family's heritage."
Contrary to our earlier misgivings, he does not press us to buy anything, as very few of the exhibits are for sale. Most have been hand-carved on order from churches or private patrons.
On our way back to the houseboat, Joseph talks about the big annual Snake Boat race held in August along the backwaters. The festival is exuberant with music and dancing and as a warm up to the main event, a regatta of gaily decorated small craft tack their way past tens of thousands of people. Then, when the Snake Boat race starts, the crowd goes wild. They wave and cheer as rowing teams from twenty or thirty villages up and down the coast compete fiercely to win the much coveted Nehru Cup. Every boat is an original piece of work, carved with pride and skill. "It takes many years to make a canoe," says Joseph. "Come, I will show you one that is still being constructed even after eight years."
Small wonder. Mounted on struts in an open-sided hut is a gargantuan Snake Boat. At a length of 131 feet, it extends urther than the depth of my larger-than-average residential plot back home. It has a draft of just under 2 feet, is 5.75 feet in girth and is surmounted by an 9-foot high headpiece shaped to resemble a formidable cobra-head. 110 men row in synch to the chant of four singers seated fore and aft, while a drummer sitting half way along the length of the boat, pounds a sturdy log against the bottom of the canoe. Not only does this provide a rhythm for the oarsmen, but it propels the craft forward by lifting it up very slightly after each hefty thud, thereby increasing its velocity. Teams routinely clock a mile in four minutes but, according to Joseph, they have to do better than that in order to win.
Alappuzha dozes in the afternoon glare as we pull up to the jetty. This is journey's end. The crew pile our overnight bags onto the dock, and Ramdas, the driver of our rented car, helps us haul them into the trunk. We say our farewells, and John poles the houseboat away from the bank. As the boat grows smaller, we hear him singing across the widening band of water.
Margaret Deefholts
March 27, 2002
IF YOU GO:
Getting There: Although buses ply between the large neighbouring twin cities of Kochi and Ernakulam to both Alappuzha and Kolam (the latter is also connected by rail to Chennai) the most convenient option is to rent a taxi from Kochi to Alappuzha (about a 90 min. drive at a cost of approx CAD$10.00 one way) and cruise down to Kolam. An hour and a half away by taxi from Kolam is the attractive beach resort of Kovalam. Kochi (worth a couple of days' stay in itself) is connected by rail (Ernakulam) and air to Mumbai, Goa, Delhi, Bangalore and Chennai, but not all flights run daily, so check with your travel agent.
Where to Stay: Kochi and Ernakulam have several hotels, ranging from five-star luxury accommodation to mid-priced establishments and budget accommodation. Prices run the gamut from CAD$120 to CAD $10 per day. Prices are generally lower in both Alappuzha and Kolam. Check out The Lonely Planet Guide - India or your travel agent for details.
The Backwaters:
Houseboats (rattan-framed, converted rice-boats) may be booked through the District Tourist Promotion Council or the Kerala Government Tourist Department, or by a local travel agent. Overnight tours run to approximately CAD $170.00 for a two-double-bedroom houseboat (some provide up to eight bunks) with an add-on of $18.00 per person for three meals.
Day tours: Houseboats may also be hired for day trips at CAD $120 (plus meals) which is an attractive bargain for group travel. In addition, the Kerala Tourist Development Corporation runs eight hour trips between Alleppey and Kollam for a nominal CAD $8.00 per person (meals extra) which include the services of a knowledgeable tour guide. Other than a stop for lunch en-route, the trip does not include shore excursions. Although the government boats may lack the ambience of a houseboat, they run on schedule, are spanking clean and well maintained. Bookings and details are available at the Kerala Government Tourist Reception Centre in Kochi or through your travel agent.
Public Ferries also crisscross the backwaters. Among other routes, The State Water Transport runs six ferries a day between Alappuzha and Kottayam (2-1/2 hours) at a cost of (CAD) 20 cents per trip. Hop on if you want something that goes beyond conventional tourist expectations.