
Sailing India's western coast sits outside most bluewater itineraries, and that absence shapes everything about the experience. The Arabian Sea between November and March settles into reliable northeast trades running roughly ten to fifteen knots, making the coastal passage between Goa and Kerala largely benign, with moderate swells and manageable chop once you're south of Goa's river mouths.
The tricky moments come entering and leaving anchorages through surf-prone bars — Mandovi River into Panaji can catch you short if swell has built overnight, so local knowledge or a skippered arrangement is genuinely worth having rather than just a convenience.
Goa's appeal from the water is its layered Portuguese-Indian shoreline: red laterite bluffs, palm-fringed beaches at Palolem and Agonda, and the bustle of the fish market quays at Margao Jetty where provisioning is excellent and chaotic in equal measure. Kerala's backwaters are a different world altogether — you transition from open-sea sailing to rice paddies, coir factories, and kingfisher flashes on narrow canals aboard a traditional kettuvallam houseboat.
You won't be racing anywhere; the point is the pace. Allow four to seven days on the backwaters alone.
Logistics require patience. Charter infrastructure is thin compared with the Mediterranean. Most reputable bareboat operators work out of Panaji or Kochi, though the latter is your better base for backwater access. Paperwork for foreign-flagged vessels entering Indian waters can be involved, with port clearances at every stop; a skippered local charter sidesteps most of that friction.
Provisioning in both regions is superb for fresh produce and seafood, though bonded stores for alcohol require advance planning.
Experienced coastal sailors comfortable with limited support infrastructure will find this rewarding; first-time charterers expecting Mediterranean-standard marina facilities should wait until they have a few seasons behind them.
One ought, at least once in one's life, to take a slow boat through the Kerala backwaters. And if one is going to do that, one might as well stop in Goa for a few days on the way down — for the architecture, for the food, and for the mild absurdity of the place. I did this trip with my late wife Margaret in 2003, alone again in 2014, and most recently with my history-teacher friend Rupert in 2023. The backwaters in particular have changed remarkably little; Goa has, in my view, somewhat for the worse, but the old quarters of Panjim and the colonial churches in Velha Goa are still as they were.
[IMAGE: https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1602216056096-3b40cc0c9944?w=1600&q=80&auto=format&fit=crop | A traditional kettuvallam (rice-barge houseboat) drifting through the Kerala backwaters at golden hour, with palm trees lining the canal banks]
When one says "Kerala backwaters" one means a network of about 900 km of brackish canals, lagoons, and lakes running parallel to the Arabian Sea coast of southern India for some 250 km, mostly in the state of Kerala. The system is a complex of old natural lagoons, the Vembanad Lake (India's longest), and a great many hand-dug colonial-era canals. Originally the backwaters were the freight network of the spice trade — the old kettuvallam barges that now carry tourists were originally rice-and-cargo boats.
Goa, meanwhile, sits about 800 km north up the same coast, and is technically not part of the backwater system at all — it is an entirely separate former Portuguese territory that one passes through to break up the journey. I include it because the train down from Mumbai stops there and any sensible itinerary works it in.
The error most travellers make is to go to North Goa — Anjuna, Vagator, Calangute — for the famous beaches. Skip these. They have been ruined by package tourism and rave culture, and if I had wanted to be in Ibiza, I would have flown to Spain. Go instead to South Goa (Palolem, Agonda, Patnem) for the beaches, which are still genuinely lovely, and to the inland heritage areas (Old Goa, Panjim, Chandor) for the architecture, which is the real reason to come.
Old Goa (Velha Goa). A 30-minute drive inland from Panjim. The Portuguese built this in the 16th century as the capital of their entire eastern empire — at its peak it was one of the wealthiest cities in Asia, with a population of 200,000. Then plague hit in the 1600s, the river silted up, the capital moved, and the whole place was largely abandoned. What survives is half a dozen extraordinary baroque churches in a few square kilometres of jungle. The Basilica of Bom Jesus (which contains the supposed remains of St Francis Xavier in a silver casket on the high altar) and the Sé Cathedral are both UNESCO-listed and one ought to spend a full morning at each.
Panjim's old quarter (Fontainhas). The Latin Quarter — Portuguese-coloured townhouses (mustard yellow, terracotta, cobalt) on narrow lanes that descend toward the Mandovi River. Walk it slowly. There is a small museum at the Casa Moeda that is worth an hour. Eat at Viva Panjim, a family-run Goan kitchen on 31 Janeiro Road that has not changed its menu in twenty years and one hopes never will.
Chandor. A village an hour south of Panjim with several great Portuguese-era manor houses one can tour by appointment. The Menezes-Braganza house is the famous one — a 17th-century mansion with a 100-foot ballroom and the family's original Portuguese library still in situ. One arranges visits in advance through the Goa Tourism office.
For the beaches one wants to actually swim at, Palolem in the deep south is the right answer. Long crescent of sand, low-key bamboo huts, a fishing village at the southern end. Two days here is sufficient.
From Goa to Kochi (the gateway city for the Kerala backwaters) one takes the Konkan Railway, which is one of the most extraordinary feats of railway engineering on the subcontinent — 760 km of new track laid through 92 tunnels and over 2,000 bridges, opened in 1998. The journey is about 14 hours overnight in a 2AC sleeper compartment for around 2,500 rupees (30 USD). One sleeps reasonably, wakes to find oneself in a totally different country, climatically and culturally.
I prefer the day train (Mandovi Express) southbound which leaves Madgaon at 9.15am and arrives in Kochi about 6pm. The scenery — palm forests, river crossings, the long descent into Kerala — is some of the best of any journey one can take in India.
Kochi (formerly Cochin) is the launching point. Spend a night in Fort Kochi, the old colonial quarter, before going onward. The Chinese fishing nets along the harbour, the Mattancherry synagogue, the Dutch Palace — one wants the half-day the city deserves.
For the backwater trip itself, you have two options:
The houseboat (kettuvallam) overnight. A converted rice barge, with a private bedroom, a small kitchen, and a crew of two (a boatman and a cook). You depart Alleppey (Alappuzha) around midday, drift through the backwaters for the afternoon, anchor in a quiet canal for the night, and return the following morning. About 12,000-25,000 rupees (150-300 USD) for the whole boat for two people, depending on luxury level. Worth it once. Avoid the big multi-bedroom party boats — book a single-bedroom one with a quiet operator.
The public ferry from Alleppey to Kollam. Less famous, considerably better. A normal scheduled passenger ferry that runs the eight-hour journey down the length of the backwater system once a day. About 400 rupees (5 USD), no booking needed, you just buy a ticket on the day. You sit on the wooden deck with locals going home, school children in uniforms, women in sarees with bags of groceries, and you see the actual working life of the canals — people washing clothes on the steps, children jumping in to swim, lorries loading copra at small village wharves.
I've done both. The houseboat is comfortable and pretty. The ferry is the proper experience. If you can manage one of each, you've understood the place.
Kerala cuisine deserves its own essay (and Margaret tried to write one — there is a half-finished notebook in our study). The basics:
December to February is the dry, cool season — perfect weather, but the backwaters are at their busiest. March to May is hot, can be unpleasantly so, but the houseboats are cheaper. June to September is the monsoon — the backwaters fill, the rice paddies turn brilliant green, and you'll have the boats almost to yourself. The trade-off is the rain, which is genuinely heavy. October-November is the second-best window, after the monsoon.
I have been in February (perfect) and August (wet but glorious in its own way). I would go back in October next time.
The natural extension is northward up the spine of India — Mumbai, Rajasthan, Delhi, the Himalayan foothills. The India country guide covers the rounds. If you would prefer the logistics handled, tours in India lists various Kerala-anchored multi-region itineraries. For another deeply atmospheric Asian river journey, Ha Long Bay in Vietnam is a different kind of slow water but a similar pleasure.
The Kerala Tourism official site has up-to-date houseboat operator licensing, current ferry schedules, and weather advisories. UNESCO's World Heritage page for the Goan churches covers the Old Goa inscription.
This is a slow trip. One ought to allow ten days minimum — three or four in Goa, two or three for the journey down, three on the backwaters, a final day in Kochi. Compress it and you'll resent it. Take a notebook. Take light cotton. Take your patience. India runs on a different clock and the worst thing one can do is try to make it run on yours.
Margaret used to say that the backwaters were the only place she had been where time genuinely seemed to slow. She was right about most things. She was right about that. One ought, every now and then, to take a journey that does not try to do anything at all, and the backwaters are exactly such a journey. Marvellous.