Mir and Mar go to India: start of houseboat

We take the scenic route for the two hour drive from Fort Cochin to Alleppey where we pick up our houseboat for the next two days. Houseboats are like barges, only posher! They are flat bottomed, necessarily so because they travel through shallow waters so often; but they can also be very grand with upto six double bedrooms and extensive communal areas. They were previously used for transporting spices and other local produce, back in the day when water was the only transport route in these parts, but once the road network was developed, they lay idle for decades until someone had the bright idea of marketing them for holidays and the tourism board supported the transition with funding. Today we hit India’s second biggest lake at rush hour, when I counted over forty houseboats on the waters, and this is off season!

Our driver Jithin explains he will avoid the main roads so that we get to see the local villages and also offers to stop and show us his church, a suggestion we eagerly accept (me being such an avid church goer as Mir has previously pointed out!). All along the route, people are hanging lights, flowers and streamers ahead of tomorrow’s celebrations marking the end of the ten day Keralan festival of Onam. Schools and offices close for these ten days and as we get closer to the finale, we see more women wearing the traditional costume of white and gold saris, and observe many groups reveling in their time together, faintly reminiscent of a hen night in Temple Bar but without the alcohol and a great deal more sophistication.

But back to our journey: The narrow roads are windy and pot holes are plentiful so the car dips and dives to avoid the worst of them. We stop to replenish our alcohol stock, and for a largely tea-total country, the offie is remarkably busy! There is a constant stream of men in and out of the shop, grabbing bottles of spirits by the neck and beer by the crate. Apart from one woman at the counter, (out of a total of five staff taking payments), there is not a single woman to be seen. We are quick in our purchases and delighted at the €1.20 cans of ‘British Empire’ lager – the more you drink, the more you save!

There is trepidation as we approach our abode for the next three days, despite our guide and the agent being effusive in assuring us what a wonderful few days we have ahead of us. Having booked the houseboat, at the excellent suggestion of James xx, we have eagerly taken in the details of similar vessels which pass our path, and note an inconsistency in quality and space.

Stepping aboard the ‘Rose Mystic’, with our chef and maitre’d grabbing our hand to ensure no mishaps on the somewhat unstable gangplank, we are immediately assured of the rightness of this decision. The boat is spacious and spotlessly clean; our individual bedrooms are roomy, welcoming and dare I say, romantic, (a couple of nights on a houseboat is an increasingly popular aspect of Indian honeymoons); the design allows the breeze and noise of the water to roll over us as we relax in our bamboo chairs, and it’s very clear that we are going to be fed amazing home cooked dishes on a regular basis.

This should be bliss; it really is idyllic. It’s heavenly, peaceful and nurturing. A perfect combination of nature and the best of human innovation to maximise our access to it. And so it is with an impending sense of doom that I note the frown on Mirs brow, the knot in her shoulders, and the very obvious tightness of her neck. This is not a happy traveller.

‘For fecks sake, there’s no WiFi!’ she declares.

I talk softly, conscious of her delicate frame of mind, and gently remind her that the chef and skipper have just moments ago agreed to resolve the issue, and are currently talking to their IT people to sort the problem.

‘Jesus Christ Mar, we’ve been here half an hour and I still can’t access google, never mind the RTE website!!’

I realise there’s little benefit in pointing out that we have actually only been on the boat for seven minutes (give or take) and in seeing the tension escalating, I decide to take drastic measures: I open the bottle of brandy intended for our last few nights. It’s clear the occasion calls for it and as Mir sips the soothing nectar, Manu our skipper runs in, practically throwing himself at her feet and exclaiming that the internet issue had been fixed.

‘Thank fuck’ we say simultaneously.