Why I Still Take Guests to the Toddy Shop Myself

Someone asked me last week why I don’t just hand guests a map and let them wander. Fair question. But you can’t hand someone a map to a toddy shop down a bund road at six in the evening. Half the fun is getting there, and the other half is Realizing you have no signal and don’t care.

So I go with them. Most evenings, anyway. Let me tell you what a day here actually looks like, because the toddy tour people ask about is really just one hour inside a much longer rhythm.

How mornings start here

Before the sun clears the palms, the lake is flat and grey and the only sound is a vallam engine somewhere far off, that low diesel hum that carries across water. I’m usually up by five thirty. Not because I’m virtuous. Because the teakettle whistles and once you’re awake here, staying in bed feels like a waste.

Guests drift out to the veranda between six and seven. Nobody talks much at first. I bring tea. The mist sits on the paddy like something spilled.

An elderly couple stayed with us for their fortieth anniversary a few years back. They asked for nothing the whole time. No tour, no boat, no special meal. Just tea on the veranda at six in the morning, both days. I watched them sit there without saying a word to each other, and I understood something about marriage I won’t try to explain here.

What guests actually do all day

Less than they planned. That’s the honest answer. People arrive with lists, and by the second day the lists are gone.

Some go out in the canoe with Biju. Some walk the bund road to the next village and come back with stories about a goat that blocked the path. One guest spent an entire afternoon watching a kingfisher. Just that. One bird.

Then there’s the toddy. The Alleppey homestay toddy tour isn’t a formal thing with tickets and a guide holding a flag. It’s a walk down a narrow path, past the paddy, to a small shop where the toddy comes fresh in the evening. You drink it there, warm, slightly sweet, nothing like the bottled stuff. They fry karimeen and you eat it with your hands.

I’m biased, obviously, but the karimeen from our stretch of the lake tastes different in December than in June. Ask any fisherman here and you’ll start an argument you can’t finish. Something about the water, the feed, the rains. Nobody agrees. They all have theories.

The slow middle of the day

Lunch is at one. Home-style Kerala food, rice and fish curry and a thoran, served on the veranda if the rain holds off. After that, the island goes quiet in a way that takes some guests a full day to get used to.

No television. No traffic. The fan turns. Someone’s clothes dry on a line and nobody moves them.

Most people skip this part of the day in their planning, but it’s the part I’d keep if I had to choose. The light through the coconut palms at two in the afternoon, the smell of woodsmoke from somewhere down the lane, mustard seeds hitting hot coconut oil in the kitchen. I’ve lived here my whole life and I still notice it.

I remember my uncle telling me about the Thanneermukkom bund when I was small. He said it was built to keep the salt water out, and that’s why the paddy on our side stays green so long into the season. I didn’t care then. I care now, every time I see that green.

Evening, and the toddy

By five the light turns gold and the birds get loud. That’s when we walk, if guests want to. Past the paddy, along the bund, to the shop. The toddy arrives in a clay pot and you drink it in the first hour before it turns. After that it’s vinegar with ambition.

We come back in the dark with a torch, and dinner is waiting. Rice, sambar, maybe a fish fry. Then the generator hums for a while if the power’s out, which it sometimes is, and everyone goes to bed early without meaning to.

You can read more about the rooms and how to reach us over at Evaan’s Casa if you’re planning a stay.

Things guests usually ask me

Is the toddy tour safe for a solo woman traveller?

Yes, in my experience. I go along, and the shop owners know us. That said, I wouldn’t send anyone alone at night down the bund. Come with me or with another guest. That’s just sense, not fear.

What if it rains the whole time?

Then you eat and read and watch the rain on the tin roof, which is honestly not a bad way to spend a day. The backwaters in monsoon have their own mood. Some guests disagree, and that’s fair. It’s wet.

Do I need to book the toddy thing in advance?

No. Tell me when you arrive and we’ll figure out the evening. Weekday evenings are better. Weekends the shop fills up and the toddy goes fast.

That guest who asked our boatman to circle the island twice before landing? I get it now. Some things you don’t want to arrive at too quickly.