2/16/06: The Indian Maharani (and Maharajah)

No Aryuvedic retreat would be complete without a sunrise yoga class overlooking the lake. With our minds relaxed and our bodies stretched, we then stretched our stomachs at the breakfast buffet. Anne then meandered in the pool, while Rick fought the never-ending battle for a good internet connection to check e-mail and update the blog. By 11:30, Anne and Tyrone were in final rehearsals for their Kate and Bogey reprisal—a full day and over-night houseboat ride through the back waters of Kerala, with two boatmen, and our very own chef from the hotel.

We were greeted by our friendly houseboat crew--Kanju the chef, George the Savior (and boatman), and Reni the Younger (of the two boatmen). Our vessel was a beauty: a 35’ wood hull, with an arced top of bamboo and coir (that’s a thick rope made from coconut palm tree fiber, for other illiterates like yours truly), and a comfortable master bedroom and bath bigger than our Ian Schrager-designed room at the Hudson Hotel in NYC.

We spent the day comfortably reclining in our chairs, sprawled on a mattress on the foredeck, and cruising across the lake, down rivers, and into canals, past quaint fishing villages and rice fields the size of Grant Park, with legions of workers bent over like Olin Kruetz, and working a lot more than 3 hours per week for 20 weeks. Uniformed children, on their way home from school on the banks of the canals, smiled for the camera and asked for pens (Kerala’s literacy rate is 95%). Women waded into the waters, noisily beating their clothes clean, and scrubbing their pots and pans to a silvery shine. Mussel men dove into the murky waters in search of dinner, with the help of a bamboo snorkel. Floating retailers peddled an assortment of foods and dry goods from their dugouts. Distillers climbed coconut palms to tap their toddy pots (toddy is a local home brew, made from coconut milk, often drunk in the afternoon, which coincidentally is a good description of its consumers by early evening). As in the rest of India, construction was booming in Kerala’s backwaters, with piles of bricks piled up all along the shoreline, and new resorts popping up like zits on a 15-year-old’s cheeks. And sea birds were everywhere, noisy crows and seagulls, three varieties of stately herons, eagles gliding, kingfishers profiling on wires, storks awaiting baby orders, and cormorants perched atop branches floating in the river while drying their outstretched wings.

As the sun started burning up the skies in an orange-red glow, we settled into a little canal for spectacular sunset views (and photos), and to anchor our floating hotel for the night. At dusk, the houseboats all park, to free the waterways for the fishermen, heading out to sea for the evening catch, collected in four 2-hour netting sessions, which, on a good day, bring in 1,500 Rs for two (or about $15 each per day). However, we suspect that the nearby prawn men do considerably better—we paid 500 Rs for just two live prawns, much to Anne’s chagrin. Earlier, Kanju had served up the lunch from bountiful, with enough grilled seer, roti, shrimp curry, gobi (the cruciferous veggie, not the desert) thoren, and dal to feed the entire Sinha Six. Dinner was also fit for a Kong, with the two giant-sized prawns preceding an orgy of Indian popcorn shrimp, fish curry, bindi (okra, not Oprah, who Anne misses dearly), and a tangy mixed vegetable, all masterfully, freshly, and miraculously prepared in an onboard sardine can of a kitchen.

After dinner, we very quickly rinsed off in our unheated shower, then read our books out on deck, while the bugs, clearly attracted by the light from the gas, repeatedly crashed full speed into our heads, hands, and necks—no bites, just minor bruises and major annoyances. As the assault proliferated, we bid a hasty retreat into our cabin, and aided by a day’s worth of southern sun, fell fast asleep by 10 pm.