Broken Bones & a Broken Spirit (Part I)

In Kerala I traveled on a houseboat and was reminded not all stories have happy endings.

The day started pleasantly enough. Rajesh, my local tour driver, picked me up early from the hotel in Thrissur. We drove for three hours to go to the designated pickup spot for houseboat travel in Alleppy. We waited. Raj called the owners and was told the boat was being cleaned and would be ready shortly. Fine. We continued laughing about relationships and how different “dating” is between our cultures. He called again and they stated that instead of the original boat, I would share a 3-bedroom houseboat with a family, which would arrive shortly. Ok. 30 minutes later, they called to say that I would be transferred to “my own” boat in the evening. Sure. Finally, after 2.5 hours of waiting, we were told that we needed to drive another 25 km to meet the boat.

3 hours later than originally planned we drove to the other side of the lake, through small back streets, and we arrived at a 4-bedroom houseboat, that turned out to be the correct location. I boarded the boat and met 2 couples. We all were initially hesitant to speak. Lunch was served and I felt the odd woman out. So, over the meal, I attempted to speak a bit to get to know the group better. After cruising for a bit and enjoying some chai, we all began to relax. Then, in the middle of another jungle stop, we picked up a family: wife, husband, and 3 young boys.

The husband of the family is a civil engineer. Immediately upon boarding, he was asking questions about our origins and our careers. He truly engaged the group. Meanwhile, his wife watched the kids, and kept a steady eye on him. We cruised for a few hours through the lake, really enjoying the quiet, the scenery and the breeze. It was a relief after the suffering humidity on land. As the sun set, we docked on one edge of the lake alongside other houseboats and prepared for the evening.

What trip is complete without me doing something ridiculous? At the dock, I heard the captain say a small boat would take us to the other side to see the local church. Unprepared, I got into the boat, wearing flip-flops and was ready to gallivant into the forest.

On the way back from the church, it was truly getting dark. I was slightly worried about losing my way, but followed closely behind one of the couples from my houseboat. We waited several minutes on the shore and as the boat arrived, I stepped from the pier onto the concrete ledge and slipped. I feel sideways into the mud. As my body went down, I felt my left foot go into a depression in the mud, and heard a crackling sound as my foot twisted beneath me. One of the couples ran over to help me up. My first tentative step hurt like hell. Yet, the last thing I wanted to do next was fall into the water. A big girl falling may equal comedy; but a fat girl drowning would just be an expensive headache for all. An hour later, my foot was really swollen and the only thing I was hoping was that it was my jeans that were the only things damaged in the fall.
Realizing I didn’t want to spend the rest of my trip in the room alone, I returned to the communal area and sat on a seat in the corner. The family was sitting around the dining room table watching a movie in their local language. I wrote the above in my travel journal, and then turned to read a Nora Roberts book. Complete trash, but good enough for a vacation book. The wife asked if I were a writer and I said, “no.” I simply enjoyed writing and telling my friends stories. I smiled at her. Minutes later, more of the group arrived to the communal area.

Part II to come shortly