Born on this water, built for it.

The kettuvallam came first — long before the tourists. For centuries these hulls carried rice and spice through Kuttanad, stitched plank to plank with coir rope and not a single nail. When the cargo moved to roads, the boats could have died. Instead, the backwaters taught them a second trade: carrying people slowly.

We run that trade at its highest pitch. A fleet of one-to-sixteen stateroom vessels — jacuzzis on the water, chefs at the market by dawn, crews born in the villages the routes pass — under one rule that never bends: the whole boat is yours. One party, every sailing, always.