
Last Updated: July 12, 2026
Quick Answer: how to get around Alleppey
A guest last week stood on the veranda for twenty minutes. Just stood. No phone. No camera. I thought maybe she’d dropped something. But she was watching the egret on the toddy palm. That silence — the kind that isn’t empty — is what our island gives you. And it starts the moment you leave the road behind.
Honestly, most of Alleppey town isn’t quiet. The main road near the boat jetty has buses, auto-rickshaws, and a lot of honking. Tourists rushing to houseboats. Vendors selling fried fish. It’s alive, loud, and honest.
But our island is different. We’re a six-minute boat ride from that noise. The only sounds here are the diesel hum of a vallam boat passing, the chop of a coconut falling into mud, and the rain on the tin roof.
Here’s the thing: when people ask me how to get around Alleppey, they usually mean “how do I reach the tourist spots.” I tell them the spots are overrated. The real Alleppey is the narrow canals between paddy fields. You don’t drive to them. You float.
The public ferry from the town jetty to Kainakary costs about 8 rupees. It runs every hour until 6 PM. The benches are hard. The roof leaks in monsoon. But you’ll see women washing clothes on steps, kids waving from punts, and the sun setting over Vembanad Lake. That’s the transport I recommend.
It means you can’t just step out for a pack of cigarettes or a cold drink. Our nearest shop is a ten-minute walk across the paddy bund, and that walk is muddy half the year. Most guests find this disorienting at first.
But then they settle. The isolation becomes a luxury.
You wake to the sound of water lapping the stilts. The morning ferry brings fresh fish and vegetables. Our kitchen prepares home-style Kerala food — fish curry with pearl onions, sambar with drumsticks, rice steamed in banana leaf. The meals come when they come. There’s no menu. No rush.
Most people skip this, but I’ll say it: the isolation forces you to talk to strangers. Same boat, same island, same ferry schedule. You end up sharing stories with a German couple or a family from Bangalore. The silence connects people more than noise ever does.
Some guests disagree, and that’s fair. One man from Mumbai left after one night. He said the quiet made him anxious. I understood. The silence here isn’t passive. It’s present. It asks you to sit with yourself.
If “switch off” means Netflix and room service, no. We have no WiFi in the rooms. The signal comes and goes like the tide.
But if switching off means hearing the mustard seeds pop in coconut oil from the kitchen at dawn, or watching a monsoon storm roll in across the paddy fields — then yes. That’s what we offer.
The veranda at Evaan’s Casa opens directly onto the water. You can sit there for hours. No schedule. No agenda. The kingfisher dives. The coir boat glides past. The smell of woodsmoke from a distant cooking fire drifts across.
I’m probably biased, but I think this is the real Kerala. Not the houseboat parties. Not the tourist trail. Just the rhythm of the lake.
In monsoon, the water rises and the island shrinks. The ferry sometimes stops running for a day if the wind is bad. We stock up on rice and dried fish. Guests learn to surrender to the weather. That surrender is the point.
A six-minute boat ride from the Kainakary jetty, then a two-minute walk across the paddy bund. The town jetty is another twenty minutes by ferry. Total journey from town to our door: about forty minutes, if the ferry schedules align.
Very safe. The local ferries are used by schoolchildren, grandmothers, and vegetable vendors. The only danger is stepping into a loose plank on a jetty. Wear flip-flops, not sandals with heels.
Cash. The ferries and small shops don’t take cards. A flashlight for walking the bund at night. Mosquito repellent. And a rain jacket — even in dry season, the lake can spit at you.
Not reliably. The homestay has a mobile hotspot you can use in the common area, but it’s slow. Most guests find they don’t need it. The view from the veranda is better than any screen.
The last ferry to Kainakary leaves town at 6:30 PM. If you miss it, you’re stuck on the mainland. I’ve seen guests sprint through the market, saris flying, bags banging. They arrive breathless and laughing. That’s the thing about our island — it teaches you to move slower, but it also teaches you to pay attention.
Evaan’s Casa is not for everyone. If you need constant entertainment, a pool, or a bar, this isn’t your place. But if you want to feel what it means to be somewhere that a road cannot reach — where the only way in or out is water, and the only schedule is the ferry and the tide — then come. The egret will be waiting.
Evaans Casa — Homestay near Backwaters
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