Kodaikanal - charm in the hill station

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Kodaikanal clings to the hillside high in the Western Ghats. Once a colonial hill station, it now sprouts an ever growing spread of modern buildings – houses, hotels and shops. But there is still charm and beauty to be found.

Kodaikanal marks the start of the second half of our holiday. The first half was the sea, heat and temples, the second will be cooler with hills, plantations and animals. The journey from Madurai takes three hours, with the best road of the holiday so far giving way to narrow winding roads as we make our way up into the hills. Our average speed drops to 30kph. Mr Hussain ignores the many signs exhorting drivers not to overtake on the bend, which is probably just as well since there is no bend free section for 80 kilometres. Added to the consequent hazard of finding a vehicle coming in the other direction (mitigated by low speed and copious use of the horn) is the risk of not slowing down in time to avoid the sections where a landslide has caused one side of the road to drop off down the cliff. The arid landscape of the plain is replaced by thin stands of trees, with an occasional spectacular view over two or more ranges of hazy hills. We wind endlessly upwards, with no obvious sense of direction, passing numerous Catholic and Lutheran foundations, including a Carmelite monastery.

Kodaikanal was “discovered” in 1821 by one of our Plucky Chaps called Lt. Ward who was looking for somewhere for the colonial administrators and foreign missionaries in Madurai to spend the summer, as they were dropping like flies from the heat and pestilence if they stay down in the plains. Once in town, we face the usual challenge of finding our hotel. It is small and nobody seems to have heard of it. But eventually we find a discreet sign next to a closed gate. We’ve arrived. The Fern Creek is a charming, quiet place in the most literal sense of the word. Slightly out of town, it has just seven tented rooms scattered about a peaceful hillside garden. We are invited into the main building to check in and offered tea. This turns out to be exceedingly strong, with milk – not exactly how either of us likes it. We sip tentatively under the steady attentive gaze of three staff members standing to attention. Either they are incredibly attentive or Europeans are something of a rarity. We suggest going to our room. ‘No, no, you drink tea first’. It is hot and we swallow hard. Sara spills half of hers. We are both desperately suppressing our giggles by now. Eventually we are led off down a path through the garden which culminates in the honeymoon suite (or tent). We enter. It is sepulchrally dark and stiflingly hot, which seems odd as Kodaikanal is at nearly 2000 meters and is a lot cooler as a result. Then we realise the gas fire is turned on. Our host seems surprised when we turn it off. Darkness apart, the room/tent is spacious and comfortable and the bathroom actually looks more modern than the previous hotel. It has curtains draped from the ridge of the tent, and a bed with four posts but nothing attached to them.

Lunch is speedily cooked for us. The waiter (who is probably also the cook) hovers over us, feeling it his duty not to let us ever serve ourselves. As ever, we are offered more of everything, despite the first serving having been generous.

We ask for advice on what to visit, and are presented with a list of places which seem to be grouped into small tours. We decide to opt for the ‘trekking tour’ and ask them to give Mr Hussain directions. The journey is an interesting one as none of us have a clue where we are going. The road gets narrower and narrower. At one point it is being repaired, and the gap that is left looks to be roughly half the width of our Innova. But with the miraculous ‘make me smaller’ button that all Indian vehicles seem to be equipped with, we get round it somehow. Sara is grateful that she is sitting in the car on the inside of the bend and not the side with the sheer drop. Eventually, we draw up alongside some stalls selling soft drinks. ‘Walk there’ gestures Mr Hussain. Having read that the walk to the Dolphin Nose rock is a steep 1km, and David’s ankle being unstable, we have brought out our walking poles. The first people we pass are two backpackers, wearing shorts and T-shirts, heavily tattooed and with nose rings. We, by contrast, are sporting trekking trousers, long sleeved shirts, hats and walking poles, with rucksack (Hannah and James will recognise our stylish appearance). Probably being stoned they at least have the grace not to laugh at us, which is more than can be said for the majority of the Indians we meet on our walk. Some smirk, others burst into outright laughter, pointing as they do so. But we are infused with the spirit of John Bull and the Raj so we don’t care. Besides, the path is not only steep but treacherous, with sections of rock outcrops and others thick with gnarled tree roots, and we are grateful for the poles as we pick our way cautiously down. The path is littered with discarded snack packets and broken and discarded chappals, probably the stupidest footwear to have on your feet on this path. At one point we have to stand aside to let a dozen or more donkeys past. They are all laden down with bags of cement, but move much faster and more sure footedly than we do. The walk is not quite the commune with nature we were expecting, as there is a makeshift stall selling soft drinks every hundred yards. Since we only meet about six other tourists on the path, it’s hard to see how any of these stalls make money. As we pass one of these stalls, a woman emerges and shrieks with laughter. We turn around and she is mimicking a person walking with poles, swinging her arms back and forth and lumbering her body from side to side and puffing for breath. Actually very amusing but most disrespectful of the former rulers of the Empire.

We reach the Dolphin's Nose. A rocky outcrop with a drop of about 2000m down to the valley floor below. The walk is worth it, as we are rewarded with sweeping views of the hills at the end. Then it is time to retrace our steps, this time uphill – harder work on the lungs but easier walking. There is low growling coming from somewhere. Are we about to meet a leopard? Alas no, it is just a troop of macaques in the trees, clearly warning the interlopers passing through their patch. We pass a stall we had noticed before that has a sign saying 'Shalom' and 'kosher food'. Hippies in India these days all seem to be Israelis (why?) and they have clearly made it to Kodaikanal.

We return to the hotel where we are immediately offered more tea. We accept gracefully and adjourn to our tent. Having opened the ‘windows’ to let some light in, it now feels distinctly cool, so we close up the flaps and turn the fire back on. Tea arrives. There is a flask, with cups, teabags, sugar and slices of lime. Sara puts a teabag into a cup and starts to pour, only to find the flask contains tea not hot water. What, then, are the tea bags for? We sit on our tiny balcony and read. The sound of the birds is pleasingly louder than that the faint murmur of distant vehicles, punctuated only by the sound of things dropping off the trees and landing on our awning. The smell of wood smoke suffuses the air. Soon the light will go and we’ll need to move inside. We are glad that we brought a pair of clip-on reading lamps, as we’ll need them tonight.



A young man appears five minutes later to ask if we want anything. We cannot think of anything but then he asks if we would like some French fries and coffee? Not what we were wanting until he mentioned it but yes please! So we scoff that down at about 6pm. Not exactly high tea, but perfect as we sit in front of the gas fire in the gloom.

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Comments

[Sam]

I enjoyed this!
Great blog, laughed out loud at the trekking gear bit, been there!! Sounds like a great trip, thanks for sharing!