Ooty was the Anglicised jolly hockey sticks corruption of Ootacamund, but the name endured the departure of the British, and 'Ooty - Queen of the Hill Stations' is still proclaimed on the town sign. We were booked into the best hotel in town, the Savoy, again fondly imagining our forebears staying in our very rooms, just up the road from the Ooty Club. Polite society in Ooty was based around a horse race meeting once a year, and long before spin doctors and image consultants, the protagonists of upper class warfare coined the acerbic strapline 'Snooty Ooty', which can only be pulled orf with received pronunciation.
However, actually getting to Ooty is a major undertaking, and we made an early start to cram in as much as possible along the way, leaving Chethalli at 7am. First stop was at the Tata Coffee Curing Works at Kashalnagur. I was particularly interested in this trip, as they also process organic coffee, and that was what I was interested in sourcing.
This is the handraulic coffee turning machine. This is a time-honoured method, and some old fashioned barley maltings in the UK still use this method
And this the organic coffee store
The walls were dotted about with mission statements with a difference, of which this was typical
After a very short visit, we left indecently fast, as we had many miles to cover, and we were keen to visit a Buddhist temple close to Kashalnagur. This is the main temple, which was quite a fantastic architectural feat, and the largest temple in the world outside Tibet
As luck would have it, we witnessed a major festival in the Buddhist calendar, when the monks had been observing a vigil for several days, but didn't show outward signs of exhaustion
We were befriended by a Taiwanese female monk, who explained the whole festival, and the basic tenets of Tibetan Buddhism. She was, however, a foreigner, and therefore outside the hierarchy of monks, but was one of the few 'lay' members who spoke English, so her role was to greet foreigners and explain the ropes. For anyone struggling with gender recognition, she is on the right.
Time pressed again, so we were back into the Tata, with the aircon on (1 rupee extra per mile, mind!) and speeding, when possible, towards Mysore. It was time for lunch, and we stopped at a reasonably up-market hotel cum diner. It was there that I realised how heartily sick of curry I had become. Jules saw the whole trip out on curry for breakfast (idly is an acquired taste!), tiffin, luncheon and dinner, but whilst nursing an ice-cold Kingfisher, I spied noodles on the menu, and they were absolutely deelicious.
We then skirted Mysore City and then turned right, heading due south on the Ooty Road. I have a mobile phone that is the techno version of a Swiss Army Knife, and one of its 'blades' is satnav that includes altitude. The plain to the south of Mysore is at about 2,000', but still very hot, as the phone also told me we were only 12 degrees north of the equator. It was on this road we saw our first monkey colony.
About an hour out of town, we happened upon Vasantha's favourite diner, and he knocked off for twenty minutes and disappeared inside for his scram. We respected his space and poked around the side of the road in the heat and dust. That diner could have been anywhere in the arid parts of middle earth, complete with the obligatory truck, a herd of goats and staring people.
Onwards, and eventually upwards. We passed through a nature reserve that was absolutely beautiful, glimpsing the occasional elephant, and then, climbing slightly we drove towards and then into the bottom of a massive mountain. It dawned on us that they aren't called 'Hill Stations' for nothing when we were confronted with a roadsign on a hairpin bend that had the figure '1' over a figure '36'. Yes, the first of 36 hairpin bends on a single track road that climbed from 3,500' to 7,500', four thousand feet climbing into downcoming traffic of all shapes, types and HGV/PSV classes, in a country where the concept of an MOT is alarmingly remote. I cannot recount how many times Vasantha sat on the horn on the way up, the gaps between were probably the shorter of the two. Suffice to say it was hairy, and we did pass several vehicles that had boiled. However, with every 500 feet we climbed, the temperature dropped another degree, and getting out of the car in the chill evening air was quite shocking, 12 degrees north of the equator.
But that was after we had to pass into Tamil Nadu. We had been in Karnartaka State for the trip so far, so it was quite a surprise to come to a halt just as we had breasted the top of the mountain, where Vasantha had to buy a pass to travel in the state. This seemed a bit rich, as the moment we passed the post, there was two miles of the most shocking road we had yet encountered, but again, there was evidence that something was in process of being done about it.
Ooty is lovely. There is a successful campaign to keep Ooty 'Plastic Free'. The plastic bag is the curse of India, and China, for that matter; it is the new carpet for the towns, villages and highways. Why the Indian Government can't grant a bounty on every sack collected is beyond me. But Ooty has made this plan stick by banning the shops and stalls from wrapping goods in plastic bags, and good on 'em.
It was now dusking as we drove into the opulent grounds of the Savoy. Allix and I drew the long straws and got the most fantastic suite, with our own bedroom and bathroom each, whilst Mary and Jules slummed it in the modern end. The ayah came by to light our fire, and we got stuck into some gin and mango before dinner, and got quietly pissed, to put it frankly.
And as we all know, drinks before dinner, then drinks with dinner.....
......meant I woke not feeling my best. In fact, I had a horrible night, as what had started as the most comfortable bed of the trip so far, with lovely cool, crisp sheets, when warmed up gave off the aroma of having been previously enjoyed by someone with incontinence issues. As there were two enormous single beds pushed together, I cut my losses and climbed into the other bed after having pumped the bilges out of all that beer and wine, but sad to say that they must have been an incontinent couple, so it was horribly whiffy. I planned my invective in the wee small hours, but as is usual in imaginary speech writing, when it came to the denouement, I was probably too delicate, as all they did was turn the mattress and put a protector on, which although it made me feel like the incontinent party, was 90% successful at hermetically sealing the stench.
We had one full day in Ooty, so made the most of it. The day started with a boating trip, as we were able to hire a rowing boat. As with all rules in India, the sign that firmly stated 'NO SELF ROW' was flouted as we hired a heavy carvel dinghy and waved off the services of the lascar.
Drunken people not allowed? Glad I wasn't breathalysed!
But, of course, I couldn't resist turning it into a race with another of the 'skippered' boats. I fancied my opponent didn't understand boat trim, so I made a pain of myself shifting the girls for'ard and getting my transom out of the water and reducing drag. It worked and we were pulling ahead nicely, but I hadn't reckoned on the thin air, and as I was pulling my tripe out like a spinach-fuelled Popeye, I started to feel quite sick.
But you should have seen the other bloke.......
We paddled right round the lake, far away from any of the other rowing boats or pedalos, and then Jules took the oars and showed us she had learned a thing or two down at Woodup all those years ago. As we two are close in age, when we were growing up, I was mad on boats, and she on horses, and it was a strange day indeed that we both were allowed to indulge ourselves in 'our' thing, as she hired a nag later for a canter in the hills. And all this at 7,500'. When I flew back into Heathrow, my plane flew the length of the City at exactly that height, and it is a hell of a long way up.
When we went ashore, Jules couldn't resist a go on the dodgems, or the 'Dashing Cars' as they are charmingly named. Just look at th unbridled aggression as Jules teaches the locals a thing or two about road rage.
From the Boating Lake it was off for a serious cup of coffee, and this was when we happened upon teh Indian version of Starbucks, called Coffee Day, and the coffee was knockout, so much so that we called back in the next day on our way out of town for another scoop. Then it was off to the church where our forebears had worn their knees out with piety (ho ho)
.... where I saw this wordy gravestone. The words are probably used in every second eulogy, but they were new to me, and I captured them for a good friend who is nursing the recent loss of her mother
Then we were back to the Savoy where Jules had hired this 'ornery critter for a hack in the hills. I have to say my sis does sit well in a saddle. She had a wonderful ride, with a Toda syce on a tiny pony as a guide, whilst the rest of us had a snooze and a trip round the shops
It was all a bit end of holiday then, as we dined in the Savoy restaurant. We made firm plans to return for the Christmas of 2009, with as many of the family as we can possibly amass. Next morning, we packed to leave, Vasantha strapped the suitcases to the roof, and we got this one final shot of the good old days
Then it was off, over the appaling road back to the border, and then into Karnartaka and down through 36 hairpin bends. Those who know about my 'thing' for speed bumps won't be surpirsed by my fascination with how Indian drivers avoid them. Simple, just drive on the other side of the road!
It is impossible to show the scale and majesty of the mountain, but here's trying
The trip back to Mysore was enjoyable, but was retracing our outward journey, but this time Vasantha got to dine first. Whilst we waited for him, two goats gave birth to kids, which were of great interest to the dogs, who were gathering to move in for the kill, when the family rushed out and rescued the valuable newborns
We dined regally in the Metropole in Mysore, which was outstandingly good food, but then it was back into the car for the final grind back to Bangalore and the real world beyond. It took an age to traverse town again, but eventually we found our old apartment, unloaded an bade our fond farewells to Vasantha, who had now been with us for six days.
Man
And Machine
We went out and dined lightly in a restaurant near the apartment, and I was struck how differently I perceived the town for only a week before, when I found it a filthy third world ghetto. I realised we were lucky to be in a posh part of town, and the shops and restaurants were quite cosmopolitan. It was undeniably Indian, but had a strange chic about it, one that I really warmed to, and makes me want to go back to Bangalore soon and spend much more time there.
I had forgotten Mary's inability to say goodbye, but remembered it as she retreated, closing the apartment door firmly behind her, for which Jules congratulated her by text, 'best one yet!' There is nothing left of import to impart, other than I am glad I have let a month pass to put the trip into perspective before finishing the narrative.
The defining feature of the trip for me was, perhaps surprisingly, not Dalquarren. It was meeting my sisters for the first time as travelling companions, sharing the very best of quality time, and lots of it, and this is going to sound mawkish, and you know it's coming, but realising quite how much I love them.
No comments:
Post a Comment