Slowing Down in Alappuzha: Our Houseboat Adventure
Somewhere between the buzz of the motorcycles and the endless rhythm of the road, Dalma and I needed to pause. India is a demanding place to ride and it’s good to stop sometimes. I’d long heard of Alleppuzha and its rice boats. Alleppuzha is a rice producing area a little south of Kochi, a labyrinth of canals and lagoons dotted with houseboats. Not just any houseboats, mind you, but converted rice barges known as kettuvallam in Kerala.
The name kettuvallam comes from the Malayalam words “kettu” (meaning “to tie”) and “vallam” (meaning “boat”), referring to the way these boats were historically constructed by tying wooden planks together without using nails. With the development of new methods of transporting rice (like the godawful underpowered Tata trucks that bullied us on the roads), the rice boats have reinvented themselves as miniature floating hotels.
We parked the motorcycles in in a local’s house (preorganised, we didn’t choose a random house), and stepped onto the boat. Mr. Suresh, the boat’s owner, greeted us with smiles and welcome drinks. There are three levels of boats, deluxe, premium, and superpremium. We had booked a deluxe, the least luxurious, which suited us just perfectly. The “premium” houseboats were glass monstrosities where travellers watched the canals through windows and travelled at breakneck speeds. Often they were party boats with pumping music. Why would you want to rush through this? Our boat was simpler, slower, quieter, and far more connected to the world around us. It wasn’t just a ride; it was an experience.
Shortly after we departed, we stopped at a tiny riverside stall where our cook helped us pick out fresh tiger prawns—giants the size of my hand. They became the centrepiece of both lunch and dinner.
Lunch was a highlight. The cook—a soft-spoken and kindly man—prepared Keralan-themed meals. Think lots of spices, chilli, and coconut. We ate slowly knowing that if we ate faster, we’d fill up too quickly. It was too good to waste, and the prawns were amazing.
The rest of the day was an exercise in The Art of Doing Nothing. There was an upper deck with a simple mattress laid out under the open sky where you could stretch out and watch the blue canals and the green rice fields and palm trees drift by. I climbed up there in the afternoon and, lulled by the warmth of the sun and the soft lap of water against the hull, fell asleep. Dalma sat on a wicker armchair reading. We both found ourselves slowing down in ways we hadn’t for weeks. We chatted idly watching the sun turn a deep red.
Eventually, the board was moored near Mr. Suresh’s home. It was a quiet spot, far from the crowded docking areas where other boats huddled together in noisy clusters. Here, the only sounds were the occasional rustle of the breeze, the gentle hum of life along the canals, the distant upbeat music played from the local Hindu temple, and the gentler call from the muezzin at the local mosque, a sound I’ve always found exceedingly beautiful.
At about 9pm, after providing dinner, the cook went ashore to his nearby home, leaving us in the care of the skipper, who slept on the deck. We retired to our room, turned the air conditioning off and drifted off to sleep listening to the sounds of the canal.
We slept deeply that night, rocked by the water, and woke to white sweet coffee and Keralan-inspired simple breakfast. Our last hour on the boat was spent lazily motoring through a small lake before returning to the starting point.
The houseboat wasn’t just a way to see Alappuzha and canal life—it was a reminder to slow down. Even travelling by motorcycle could be fast travel. We needed to be reminded to to eat a little more than you should when the food is extraordinary. To nap in the sun without guilt. To savour the quiet moments, like a sunset over still water or the sound of a paddle breaking the surface.
There’s a lot to be said for slowing down, for embracing the idea that sometimes the best way to move forward is to stop for a while. I think we could all use a little more of that in our lives.
We disembarked refreshed and ready for the next motorcycle trip. But that’s the next story.