The Backwaters

I have absolutely no idea when the next boat is coming.

But, it's blatantly clear that the pace of life is slower here. So here I sit. And the best part? I don't mind...I'm actually quite enjoying myself.

I'm surrounded by beautiful women in their gorgeous, brightly colored saris. And a newborn. She has kohl smudged under her eyes (for good fortune in eye sight I'm told), the Hindu mark on her forehead, and teeny tiny bangles around her wrist - all the women are cooing to her as her mom paces up and down the dock trying to sooth her.

Five or six men have been working, for at least the 30 minutes I've been sitting here on the dock on the edge of a very picturesque backwater canal, heaving huge wraps of burlap or something like it - like 20 of them - Onto one dugout canoe. By the way they know just how to place them to keep the boat's balance, I'm betting this grand act of teamwork many times before.

The weather could not be more perfect - the sun is shimmering brightly on the water,  the sky is blue, the breeze is just right - it's warm but not too hot. These backwaters of Kerala are quite pleasant, relaxing, a great chance to sit and watch as life goes by.

Two public ferries, AKA my ride,  have come and gone. I've chosen to stay right here.

Some of her super fancy houseboats that float by are tempting...though Joseph says a canoe trip into small canals is a much better experience- I'm still undecided. But, I trust Joseph.

Joseph is the most talkative, friendly, kind-hearted guesthouse owner I've ever come across...anywhere! The rickshaw driver brought me here after the place I intended to stay was closed - permanently.  He and his wife have been married for 51 years. When you hear his goofy laugh, you can't help but giggle yourself. His stories are endless - as one always leads to another...as he puts it, "the problem is in these hotels and hostels: no one TALKS to you...like really talks."

Among other things,
He has told me about dealing with racism and classism in India.
He has told me how he learned to deal with European tourists and how much he likes the French.
He has told me of his previous career as a financial analyst, and how tourism just kinda happened.
He has told me of his attempts to work with Mother Teresa in Calcutta, but how she was impossible to convince of anything - stubborn even.
He has explained to me that though his guesthouse was once one of the premier places to lodge in Allepy, the people just don't come anymore.
He has shown me 20 years of guest books- including messages from European Royalty.
He has explained how they took in Israeli tourists when no one else would - after all he told me "Jesus was from Israel. "
He has joked with me about his name being Joseph and mine being Mary...I was meant to end up here he says.
He has explained how, though he's never been able to travel outside of India, the world has come to him.

He stands in his lungi (south Indian man skirt), thin as a rail with slicked back grey hair, so full of life, in his beautiful jungle garden yard and tells me the stories he's told a hundred times before.  I'm the only guest at Sona Heritage House. I sit on the beautiful porch, shooing away the ever - present mosquitoes,  enjoying his wife's version of banana pancakes and delicious masala chai tea, listening and nodding along with a smile permanently plastered on my face.

If Joseph, Sona Heritage House, is reminiscent of a time gone by, then more so are the ways of the water, and its villages, where I sit now. As simplistic dugout canoes, intricate houseboats, and practically every mode of water transportation in between pass me by, it seems as if it's not 2016 - it's as if I've entered another time and place altogether. 

Maybe I have.
God's Country...that's what Joseph calls it.