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 the numerous reassurances to the contrary on their website. "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 dishes, fish thali. The highest-rated restaurant in the area 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 a fish. One by one, she stacked more plates of mystery fish in front of me. Every time I attempted to begin eating, her husband would smile and yell, “Wait!” Eventually, I was given permission to dig in while the couple watched and waited for 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 hundreds of tiny bones that were seemingly designed to get stuck 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 the coastline in Alleppey proper. The beach was speckled with a collection of fishing boats, their weathered wooden hulls lined up against a deep blue sky. My appreciation for the landscape soon 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 kids who dragged me back to the beach to show off the tiny crabs they’d dug out of the sand. They had that infectious enthusiasm kids get when they find an adult who is also easily impressed by small crustaceans.
Back in town, I celebrated survival with a solo beer at the ironically named 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 took pity on me and insisted that I join her. Her husband was busy with "business calls", which I took as a means 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, “We’re at a point where we can do things like this for young people now.”
With the following day came the main event, a canoe trip through the backwaters. Our group was made up of a solo Welshman, a Swiss-Portuguese couple, and a group of local teenagers who were so rowdy that they were eventually exiled to their own canoe.
Our guide steered us through narrow canals that bore little resemblance to the postcards, but were fascinating nonetheless. Every few moments came a new scene: women washing clothes next to gutted fish and curious 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. As the sun set and the beer took hold, we waxed philosophical about the absurd joy of travel — how being uncomfortable leads to the most memorable moments in life.
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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