Choo-ChOoty

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Ooty can be reached from Mettupalayam by means of an old steam train that winds it’s way up the 46km track by means of a ‘alternate biting teeth’ technology, necessary because it’s 1:12 gradient makes it the steepest in India. At the end of which you are deposited 6159 feet further up amongst the tea plantations and the vegetable plots. There is an eriry feeling of England that hangs over the town, probably brought on by the market stalls filled with carrots and potatoes and the need for socks. After months of plus 30degree heat it’s bliss to have a hot shower and sleep under a duvet.

Because my train from Ernakulam was delayed I never saw a bed that night - arriving in Coimbatore a little before 4am, then catching a train to Mettupalayam at 5am to que for a ticket to Ooty that left at 7.30am. Luckily I got a ticket - a number of people behind me got to the desk only to find that 1st class had been booked out in advance and all the second class tickets had gone. Maybe they’d gone before I got there as well but my crazy, no sleep eyes told him it would be wiser to let me on than try and tell me it had all been in vain…

Happily, it hadn’t been in vain and it was definitely worth staying up all night for. The train ride is spectacular - you ride over perilous looking gorges, past tea and spice plantations and through tunnels straight out of The Railway Children. It would have been nicer if the steam engine hadn’t sprung a leek - consequently meaning the journey took over 8 (very bumpy) hours instead of the usual 5. By this point I though I was destined to spend my life on trains.

In Ooty we (myself and a group of Norwegian students I’d met on the train) went for a days trekking with a lovely local guide, Kummar, who took us to see all the various types of plantations, some local villages (where we had a beautiful Thali made from the freshest vegetables imaginable) and then up a mountain. Where, low and behold, there was quiet! Yes, in India there is at least one place free from the tooting of car horns and the shouts of hawkers. No one is hocking back phlegm (a sound that still causes an involuntary shudder every time I hear it, especially when it emits from a respectable looking lady) and no one is asking me where I’m from or what my good name is.

At night we wander the town - the girls all buy 'gold' watches for about £3 a pop and we lose a few lovely hours examining the stalls of the market with minimum hassle. And the chef in the restaurant we go to for dinner tries to teach me how to make Porotas, which involves spinning the dough out much like Italians do for a pizza base - a skill that I decide requires practise. Taste great though.

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Photos

Eucalyptus pickers
they get pain 2Rupees a kilo (about 3p)

Tea plantations
you did feel as if the white rabbit would pop up any moment