We awaken determinedly and with the help of a wake up call at the ungodly hour of five am, to ensure that we get the maximum time at the lake. The sun is somewhat more lazy and doesn't rise till well after six, forcing us to stay in bed for an extra forty-five minutes, much to our delight. We are up before sunrise and out for a walk, where we encounter a group of nilgiris langur leaping around in the trees. There is a boat safari at seven. The lake is silent, hazy, half-asleep. Unfortunately the same cannot be said for the passengers, who are noisy and wide-awake. A few minutes into the safari we spot a wild boar at the bank, a couple of hundred of metres away. Elephant exclaims the Bengali in the seat on our left. We stare at him and then in the direction that he is looking in case he has seen something different. No, the guide is gently informing him that it is a boar. We speculate as to whether he really needs the glasses he is wearing. After we pass boars a few times, a wise gentleman behind us issues the profound declaration that he is bored of seeing boars. Having stumbled upon the witticism of the century, he proceeds to exhibit further signs of intellect. Look, one two three four, oh there are many of them, he says. It is now evident that he can count till four; and evidence that anything more than four is "many" is forthcoming when he repeats this statement at future sightings of birds, and then of deer. Further back, a travel-weary couple is talking in loud voices of their trips to Luxembourg, Singapore and Hongkong, to inform the general public as to their immense experience as also their immense wealth.

We try to shut our ears and concentrate on watching hard, or else just relaxing and enjoying the lake. It is a cloudy day and the shadows on the lake are ever changing. The guide points out elephants on a distant slope, but they are so high up the look like mere specks, totally indistinguishable from small grey rocks. We spot lots of snake birds, sitting on trees with their wings spread out to dry. They dive into the water and submerge their bodies, only their thin scrawny necks sticking out making them look like snakes. Occasionally they disappear underwater completely and emerge a foot or so later. There are cormorants, and kingfishers and twice we catch a quick glimpse of a fish coming up for air. Finally the sun comes up. Then, all too soon, it's over; and we have to rush to catch a quick breakfast, no packing to do, so we hop into the car and head for Kottayam. Yesterday's mini-disaster notwithstanding, I am determined to do some backwatering, so we plan to ditch the car at Kottayam, from where, we have heard, we can get on a ferry to Alleppey.

But bad news awaits us. Upon calling the Cochin hotel from Kottayam, we find that the same people who had yesterday agreed to transport our luggage, today refuse to do so. So we have no choice but to head for Cochin and rescue it ourselves. Undeterred, we enquire for a ferry to Cochin. There's none here, a couple of locals communicate through pidgin English and sign language. Try Kumarakom, the consensus is. In fact our driver had already told us this, but he has his own hidden agenda. We had hired him to take us from Cochin to Thekkady. Upon reaching Thekkady, he wanted return fare to Cochin. We told him to go to hell, or, alternatively, to wait overnight, and we would return with him the next day. Both parties having agreed to this, he is alarmed by our attempts to ditch him halfway, not unknowing that we are decent folk who would pay him the agreed sum even if we did ditch him.

Now we are losing time if we are to get to Cochin, retrieve our luggage and make it to Alleppey by ferry. For the ferry idea is firmly upon me and nothing on earth can shake it - until finally something does. Though Kumarakom is only 14 km from Kottayam, the prevailing atmosphere of doubt about the availability of ferries to Cochin persuades us to retain the cab, and so it is that we reach the hotel a couple of hours later. Luggage reclaimed, we enquire at the travel desk about ferries to Alleppey. There aren't any we are told, and if they are they are unaffordable. It's written in our brochures that there are frequent and economical ferries, we scoff and head for the dock. Where we are informed by an official of the boat tours association that government ferries have been stopped as they are too slow. Private ferries are available, but the entire cost will be borne by us, amounting to Rs 5,000 for the trip to Alleppey. It's only a one-and-a-half hour journey by bus, the fellow adds, blissfully unaware of my intense desire to commit a homicide instantly.

Well, we finally have it from the horse's mouth. There are no backwaters and no ferries. We head for the bus stand where we argue fiercely with the cabby about the fare till date. So fiercely, that we finally have to return to the hotel for arbitration. After the matter has been settled to the dissatisfaction of all parties, the cabby departs and we are left to survey the situation. Which is dismal. We are tired, deprived of backwatering, and miles away from the booking of the night. We both want to return to Bangalore and home sweet home, where we can lay down our heads and weep in comfort.