The plan was rest. I had pictured the houseboat, the tea gardens, the long lazy mornings on the water. I hadn't pictured sitting on my own private deck at dawn, watching a fisherman cast his nets into mirror-still water while kingfishers flickered past.
Our captain, Sunil, seemed to know everyone along the canal. The family selling freshly fried banana chips, the temple priest who waved as we passed, the toddy-shop owner who insisted we taste his coconut milk straight from the shell. Kerala unfolded through hospitality, not monuments.
The Munnar trek was beautiful, of course, with its rolling tea estates. But the moment I carry home is waking on the water with absolutely nothing to do. Then, slowly, the sun warming my face.
