Alappuzha Tales: Serenity on the Backwaters

A few years ago, Mr. Peter and I decided to celebrate our wedding anniversary in a pretty unusual way—we hopped on a houseboat in the backwaters of Alappuzha. Honestly, all we wanted was a break from the city, the noise and the constant rush. It was one of those spontaneous trips where we didn’t plan much, but it turned out perfect. Just us, floating along, soaking up the peace and quiet—it felt like the world had pressed pause just for us. 

I remember that anniversary—it was on a Saturday. Friday was a regular day: Mr. Peter was stuck at work, the kids had school, and we couldn’t sneak away early. Trains and flights didn’t line up with our timings, so we settled for the Friday night bus from Bangalore. It was the kids’ very first long-distance bus ride, and to our relief, they slept through the journey without any fuss.

By the time we reached Alappuzha, it was around 8 in the morning. The air was fresh, with that mix of sea breeze and the earthy smell of wet soil. Our tour manager told us the houseboat check-in wasn’t until 11 a.m. at the Finishing Point. That left us with a few hours to kill, and none of us wanted to just sit around. So, we hopped into an auto and asked the driver to take us around his town. A quick sightseeing spin before the houseboat adventure—it felt like the perfect way to start the day. That ride turned into a mini adventure of its own. The auto rattled through narrow lanes lined with coconut trees, past little tea stalls where locals were already deep in conversation over steaming cups. The kids were wide-eyed, pointing at everything—boats tied along the canals, colourful houses, and even a few goats wandering about like they owned the road. Looking back, that unplanned sightseeing trip was the perfect start. It set the tone for the day—spontaneous, simple, and full of little surprises.

Alappuzha has always felt like a place where land and water meet in perfect harmony. On one side, the vast Arabian Sea stretches endlessly, and on the other, a maze of lakes, lagoons, and rivers flows gently into it. No wonder Lord Curzon, the British Viceroy, once called it the “Venice of the East” when he visited in the early 20th century. Standing there myself, I could see exactly what had captivated him.

Known today by both its original name Alappuzha and its anglicized version Alleppey, this town on Kerala’s southwestern coast carries centuries of history. I learned that its foundations were laid in the late 18th century by Raja Kesava Das, the Dewan of Travancore. His foresight turned Alappuzha into a thriving port town, with canals and roads that made trade flourish. It’s fascinating to think that this little town once had connections with ancient Greece and Rome, and that its port was among the busiest in its time.

Not far from here lies Kuttanad, famously called the “Rice Bowl of Kerala.” Driving past its endless paddy fields, I was struck by the uniqueness of farming below sea level. The sight of lush green coconut palms lining the canals, with farmers at work in the fields, felt like stepping into a living postcard.

Alappuzha isn’t just about trade and farming—it also has deep spiritual roots. Christianity found its way here as early as the 1st century A.D. Tradition says that St. Thomas, one of the twelve disciples of Jesus, arrived in India in 52 A.D. at Muziris Port, now known as Kodungallur. The church at Kokkomangalam, one of the seven he is believed to have founded, still stands today as a historical landmark.

Walking through Alappuzha, I felt like I was moving through layers of time—ancient trade routes, colonial influences, spiritual landmarks, and the everyday rhythm of life by the water. It’s a town that doesn’t just tell stories; it lets you live them.

Today, Alappuzha is best known for its enchanting houseboat cruises along the backwaters, drawing thousands of visitors every year. These modern houseboats are massive, slow-moving barges designed for leisure, but they are actually inspired by the traditional Kettuvallams of old.

Back in the day, Kettuvallams weren’t about tourism at all—they were workhorses of trade, carrying tons of rice and spices. In fact, a single boat could hold up to 30 tons of goods, transporting them from Kuttanad to the Kochi port. The name itself tells a story: in Malayalam, Kettu means knots or dwelling structures, and Vallam means boat. Built with wooden hulls and thatched roofs, these boats were crafted from jack-wood planks tied together with coir, then coated with a black resin made from boiled cashew kernels. With proper care, a Kettuvallam could last for generations. Traditionally, they were steered by oarsmen, though some later had small engines fitted.

Today, these boats have been lovingly transformed into houseboats, with care taken to use natural materials in the process. They are now a familiar sight gliding across the backwaters—Alappuzha alone has nearly 500 of them. What was once a lifeline for trade has now become the heart of Kerala’s tourism, offering travellers a chance to drift through palm-lined canals and soak in the timeless charm of the region.

By the time we finished our little auto ride around town, it was almost time to head to the Finishing Point. The sight of dozens of houseboats lined up along the water was something I’ll never forget—each one with its own charm, some decorated with bright flowers, others with cozy wooden decks. The houseboat we boarded was cozy and welcoming. On the main deck, just behind the driver’s wheel, there was a small common area where we could sit and relax. A compact kitchen stood nearby, and our air-conditioned room came with an attached bathroom—comfortable enough for the journey. Two attendants, who also doubled as chefs, looked after us on board.

They greeted us with a refreshing welcome drink: fresh lime blended with tender coconut water and a hint of cardamom. It was the perfect start to our cruise on the Punnamada Kayal in Alappuzha.

From the banks of the river, houseboats began setting sail one after another. Each looked unique and beautiful—some small and intimate, others large and grand. As our cruise began, we drifted past little houses, bustling markets, and even a few public boat taxi stands. Ayurvedic massage spas dotted the banks, adding to the charm of the place. Along the way, we spotted different kinds of birds gliding overhead and ducks happily splashing in the water.

All around me, it was green—coconut palms swaying gently, banana trees stretching out, their reflections shimmering on the water. The whole scene looked like nature had painted it just for us. I sat quietly on the deck, soaking in the view, cherishing each calm and peaceful moment the boat offered.

Lunch was served soon after, and oh, what a feast! Steaming rice, curries rich with coconut, crispy papadam, Karimeen Pollichathu - a local delicacy, and fresh king prawns that we had picked up from the riverside markets. The chefs cooked them to perfection, and the flavours were absolutely delicious. Eating while drifting past palm trees and little villages made it even more special.

For lunch, we were served rice and sambar, accompanied by Karimeen Pollichathu, a local delicacy, and fresh king prawns that we had picked up from the riverside markets. The chefs cooked them to perfection, and the flavours were absolutely delicious.

After the meal, the cruise continued. The afternoon sun was strong, but the gentle breeze across the backwaters balanced the heat, making it pleasant to sit back and enjoy the ride. As the day drew to a close, the sky transformed into shades of gold and orange. Watching the sun sink slowly over the horizon was magical—it was truly one of the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever witnessed.

According to government rules, cruising had to stop after 6 p.m. So, our boat was anchored beside vast paddy fields, ready for harvest. We stepped off the boat and wandered through the fields, the golden stalks swaying gently in the evening breeze. It felt surreal—like walking into a scene straight out of a movie.

As night fell, we returned to our rooms to freshen up before dinner. The menu was simple yet delightful—kappa with meen pullimollakku, a local specialty, along with chapathi and chicken curry. Every dish was delicious and comforting after the long day.

Once dinner was over, kids drifted off to sleep, while Mr. Peter and I stayed back on the deck. The silence was magical, broken only by the occasional chirping of crickets and the soft splash of water against the banks. Darkness surrounded us—the paddy fields stretched quietly in front, and water lay on the other three sides. In the distance, tiny lights from other anchored boats twinkled like stars on the horizon. It was one of those rare times when life felt completely unhurried. After sitting there for a while, soaking in the stillness, we too retired for the night.

We woke up early to catch the sunrise, and once again it was a breathtaking sight—the sky painted in soft hues of orange and pink, reflecting gently on the waters. With a steaming cup of tea in hand, I sat quietly, savouring the calm of the morning. Soon, it was time to get ready, as we had to check out after breakfast. The crew untied the ropes, and our boat began its gentle journey back toward the Finishing Point. As we sailed, I found myself reflecting on the beauty of the past day—the still waters, the endless greenery, and the serenity that seemed to linger in every moment.

And just like that, our trip drew to a close.

Looking back, that anniversary wasn’t about grand plans or luxury. It was about being together, away from the noise, and finding joy in the simplest things—a bus ride, an auto tour, a houseboat drifting through the backwaters. And that’s what made it unforgettable.

For those of us coming from a bustling city like Bangalore, the Alappuzha houseboats felt like stepping into another world. It was the kind of break we truly needed, and for us, the whole experience was nothing short of surreal. What made it magical was not just the gentle rhythm of the boat, but the views it opened up—untouched stretches of rural Kerala, places you could never reach otherwise. Floating slowly through the backwaters, surrounded by calm waters and endless greenery, it felt as though time itself had slowed down just for us. 

So if you ever get the chance—go cruising in the houseboats on the backwaters of Alappuzha. It’s not just travel; it’s an experience that stays with you long after the boat has docked.