Last Updated: February 03, 2026

I remember the sound before I even opened my eyes. It wasn’t an alarm. It was the soft, rhythmic knock of a wooden canoe against our jetty, followed by the low murmur of the fisherman greeting my father. That’s my first memory. Not a street, not a car horn, but water and wood. That sound is my definition of morning.

Many places here call themselves a ‘Kerala riverside homestay’. But from my 35 years on this water, I can tell you the difference. It’s about whether the water is a view or your front yard. It’s about whether you hear the lake at night.

The Water Isn’t Just Outside. It’s Part of the House.

When you stay with us, the Pamba River isn’t something you go to see. It’s the air you breathe. Literally. There’s a particular damp, green smell that comes off the water in the early hours, mixed with the scent of the mango trees behind the house. By mid-morning, it changes. You might catch the clean, sharp smell of laundry being beaten on the washing stones at the neighbour’s house down the canal.

In the evening, it’s woodsmoke from the kitchen fires, carrying the promise of tamarind and turmeric. You learn to tell time by your nose here.

The sounds are a constant, gentle soundtrack. The distant putter of a ‘Vallam’—the long, slender cargo boat—carrying coconuts. The splash of a cormorant diving. The sudden, dramatic rustle of a water hen in the hyacinth. At night, it’s just the frogs and the lap of water against the laterite stone wall. The main road, with its buses and autos, feels like it’s on another planet. Because it is.

Why You Have to Take a Boat to Get Here

This is the real secret. The best homestays aren’t on the mainland road. They’re on the small, networked islands in the backwaters. Our island is one of them. To get to Evaan’s Casa, you park your car in the village. Then, my brother or I come to fetch you in our wooden boat.

That 6-minute ride isn’t just transport. It’s a decompression chamber. You leave the dust and noise behind. You glide past women fishing for ‘Karimeen’ with lines, past children swimming, past men mending nets on their verandas. By the time you step onto our jetty, you’ve already switched gears. You’re here. There’s no popping out for a bottle of water. You’re part of our island now. This separation is what makes the experience real. It’s why you’ll sleep so deeply.

Food From Our Kitchen, Not a Restaurant Menu

My mother, runs the kitchen. There is no buffet. She cooks what we eat, what the neighbours are eating, what the season provides. If the neighbour’s jackfruit is ripe, we’ll have ‘Chakka Varuthathu’ (crispy jackfruit chips) with our tea. If the catch from the morning was good, you’ll have Pearl Spot fish.

You have to taste her Karimeen Pollichathu. The ‘Karimeen’ (Pearl Spot) is marinated in a paste of roasted coconut, spices, and shallots, wrapped in a banana leaf, and pan-roasted. The banana leaf chars a little, smoking the fish. You open the packet at the table. The steam that comes out is the smell of Kerala. You eat it with your hands, with a mound of red rice. It’s tangy, spicy, and sweet from the coconut all at once. It tastes of the lake.

Breakfast might be ‘Appam’ with sweet coconut milk, or ‘Puttu’ with kadala curry. The coffee is strong, local, and brewed fresh. Every meal is served on the veranda overlooking the water. You might want to visit us at Evaan’s Casa just for that.

Jackson’s Tips for Your Riverside Stay

Pack light, but pack smart. Leave your fancy heels behind. Bring comfortable cotton clothes, a hat, and sunscreen. Mosquito repellent is a good idea for the evenings. Most importantly, bring a mindset to slow down.

Don’t just take a big public sunset cruise. Ask me to arrange a small canoe in the early morning. That’s when the water is like glass and the kingfishers are hunting. We’ll paddle through narrow, silent canals you’ll never see from a big boat.

Talk to my father. He’ll tell you stories about catching giant ‘Poomeen’ (snakehead fish) in these very waters 50 years ago. Learn a few words of Malayalam. A simple “Swagatham” (welcome) or “Nanni” (thank you) will make our neighbours smile.

Be curious. Ask to see how coir rope is made from coconut husks. Watch how my mother grinds spices on the stone. The magic isn’t just in the scenery; it’s in the everyday skills that have kept this water-world alive for generations.

This Is Our Home

Evaan’s Casa isn’t a resort. It’s the house I grew up in, expanded a little. The books on the shelf are ours. The photo albums are filled with pictures of our family. The swing on the veranda is where I spent countless evenings.

When you stay here, you’re not a customer passing through. You’re our guest. You’ll drink tea with us. You’ll hear our stories. You’ll see the backwaters not as a postcard, but as a living, breathing home.

That’s what a true Kerala riverside homestay should be. It’s the difference between looking at the water and, for a few days, living with it. I hope you’ll come and feel that difference for yourself. We’re here, on our island, waiting to welcome you. Come and see.

To truly step into this world of water, silence, and spice, we invite you to visit us at Evaan’s Casa. Just send a message. We’ll be at the jetty with the boat.