Alleppey: Expectations vs. Reality in The Kerala Backwaters
My journey to Alleppey began like every other misadventure in India: standing bewildered on a train platform and realizing that I still had no idea how this whole process worked. Indian trains tend to materialize out of thin air, giving you roughly thirty seconds to figure out which car you belong in before it lurches forward again. Guess wrong? Well, better luck next time.
Once safely deposited in Alleppey, Kerala's crown jewel of backwater tourism, I hopped in a tuk-tuk to my hostel, where the “front desk” turned out to be a couch occupied by two semi-conscious tweens. They laughed when I tried to pay with a credit card, despite their website’s numerous assurances to the contrary. "You can use Google Pay," they said when I told them I didn’t have cash. Fifteen minutes later, after multiple failed attempts and mounting frustration, came the kicker: "Oh, you're not Indian? Only Indians can use this." You’d think this would be obvious after taking one look at me, but apparently not. We agreed to sort this out at another time.
I hadn’t eaten all day, so I wandered toward the beach in search of the region’s must-try dish, fish thali. The top-rated local restaurant turned out not to be a restaurant at all, but instead a woman's backyard. Here I found a single plastic table and a small, greasy grill. Unsurprisingly, I was the only customer. Too embarrassed to leave, I ordered a chai while she headed off to hunt down some sea creatures. Nearly an hour later, she began stacking plates of mystery fish in front of me. Every time I attempted to start eating, her husband yelled, “Wait!” and disapprovingly wagged his finger at me. Eventually, I was given permission to dig in while the couple anxiously awaited my reaction. I mustered an appreciative thumbs-up, and they eventually left me to dissect the fish on my own.
The fish she eventually produced nearly killed me—not from food poisoning, but from the endless tiny bones that seemed engineered to lodge themselves in your throat. But there's something to be said for food that makes you work for it, even if that work involves nearly choking to death.
The next morning, I grabbed a tuk-tuk to Thumpoly Beach, which was thankfully much more photogenic than Alleppey’s coastline. The beach was dotted with fishing boats, their weathered wooden hulls contrasting against a deep blue sky. But my appreciation for the landscape dwindled when a pack of vicious stray dogs decided I was trespassing on their turf. I threw a flip-flop to buy myself an escape route before wandering inland, where a man on a bicycle casually stopped and wordlessly dumped almonds into my palm before continuing onward.
Eventually, I stumbled upon a group of local children who dragged me back to the beach to show off the tiny crabs they’d dug out of the sand. They were thrilled that I was so easily impressed by small crustaceans. And I was equally thrilled when they demanded their own personal photoshoot.
Back in town, I celebrated survival with a beer at the Harbour Beer Parlour, which had so many "You Are On Camera” signs that it felt like drinking in a police station. I’ve grown accustomed to eating alone when traveling solo, but a Canadian mom spotted me and decided that simply wasn’t going to happen, insisting that I join her. Her husband was busy with "business calls", which I assumed was his way of avoiding social interaction at all costs—a strategy I respected. With a hint of condescension, she offered to pay for my $6 meal, saying, “I’m fortunate to be at a point where I can do things like this for young people now.”
The following day brought the main event: a canoe trip through the backwaters. Our group was comprised of a solo Welshman, a Swiss-Portuguese couple, and a collection of local teenagers who were so rowdy that they were quickly exiled to their own canoe. Our guide steered us through narrow canals that bore little resemblance to the postcards, but were fascinating nonetheless. With every bend of the canal came a new scene—women washing clothes next to gutted fish and hungry cats, men climbing coconut trees with contraptions that would make OSHA weep, and kids waving like they'd been cast in a tourism commercial.
Later, I found myself drinking warm beer with one of the other tour participants at a shady bar where the beers had clearly been repackaged. We agreed we might die, but it was worth the risk. The night ended with more spicy Keralan curry on the beach while rats scurried past our feet. It was one of those perfectly ridiculous moments that reminded me why I keep coming back to places like this. The best stories almost exclusively come from the most questionable decisions.
While Alleppey may not be the pristine paradise the postcards promise, there is plenty of charm to be found if you look hard enough.
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