Into the Kerala hills

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The first night in the Wayanad hills, we are the only guests. We have a pleasant meal which is slightly marred by the fact that one or both waiters spend the entire meal watching us, and waiting to serve another spoonful of food. We’re not sure if this is the novelty value of having non-Indian guests, or if there is just a big cultural difference between India and the UK. The waiters serve us a spoonful of each dish, then hover nearby waiting for us to consume that, so they can serve the next spoonful. The constant scrutiny makes us feel slightly uncomfortable, but we’re starting to think that’s just expected behaviour here. David thinks any discomfort is due to the fact that we are not used to having servants; in the days of the Raj your bearer would have stood behind your chair to attend to your every need in just this fashion. The chef is very keen that we should like his food, and there is a limitless supply. As soon as one dish is emptied, a replacement arrives. Enough rice appears to serve about six people, and is speedily supplemented by a big bowl of chapattis. No wonder our clothes are beginning to feel a bit tight! The chef pops out of the kitchen, head wobbling from side to side “How is being the food sir?” “Oh very nice, thank you”. Contentedly he returns to the kitchen.

Sitting on our balcony looking at the view, it is easy to do nothing. The only snag is that is that there is virtually no internet. There is no landline and the mobile coverage only runs to 2G. We cannot use our own laptop at all, and have to sweet talk the manager into letting us use his computer to open webmail mail and reconfirm our hotel booking in Bangalore. That alone takes 15 minutes, by which time the manager is looking agitated. He tells us he is not supposed to let guests use his computer and the police run regular checks. It seems there are very concerned about Maoist insurgents. Apparently it is a problem in Kerala. We point out gently that we don’t really fit the profile, which he acknowledges, but he remains adamant.

The hotel website advertised guided nature walks and farm tours. We had assumed these to be maybe an hour long each, and had also imagined we could go for walks on our own. When we arrive, we ask about the tours and are met with blank incomprehension. Later, we stroll down the road from the hotel. One of the lads who took our suitcase to the room materialises from nowhere, and starts to tell us what the different trees are. There is an extraordinary variety growing cheek and jowl next to each other – palm trees, banana trees, coffee and tea bushes, mango, jack fruit, lemon and pepper. We’ve never seen pepper growing before, and it comes as a surprise to find thin stalks with pepper corns on either seed hanging down from a tall tree. The last stop on the tour is the ‘petting farm’ for visiting children which comprises four pens. One has half a dozen chicken of different varieties, the second has some ducks, the third rabbits and the last one goats. We politely decline the opportunity to go into each enclosure. At the end of 15 minutes, we realise we have just completed the tour of the farm and gardens. The scope to walk is limited. The hillsides are steep and covered with tea bushes, and it is not that easy to wend your way between them. It’s also very hot. We’d like to visit the tea plantation, but nobody speaks enough English to find out if this is practical. The signs are redolent of a colonial past – the manger’s bungalow, the canteen, the muster hall, staff quarters and even an estate hospital. It all sounds very paternalistic, but we’ve just watched a piece on BBC World News about how the workers are exploited and mistreated on many of the tea estates in Assam. We can’t help but wonder what the working conditions are like here in Kerala.

Feeling we should not just sit around all day on the estate, we set off in the morning to visit the Soochiparra waterfall and some caves. The waterfall is nearby and on land run by the Forestry Department. We pay our entrance fee, and our names and nationality are carefully recorded in a paper ledger (checking for Maoists again no doubt). We take our electronically produced entrance ticket 10 feet to the entrance, where it is checked by three staff and our names and nationality are once more recorded (“we're British, can't you tell??”). The waterfalls are 3/4km away, which is not far but feels further in the blazing sun. They are pretty enough, but quite low on water. The walk back is all uphill and David starts to feel unwell, so we beat a tactical retreat and return to the hotel. Much to our surprise, a thunderstorm rolls in, and we have to retreat indoors. The thunder is crashing down the valleys like continuous artillery fire, and the hills are obscured by rolling mist, as the rain patters down. Not monsoon heavy, but wet enough.

The next morning, the 7^th, dawns clear, and from the balcony we see the tea plantation workers are busy, seemingly pruning the brushes, the click click sound of their shears echoing across the valley to our hotel – sound travels a remarkable distance in this place. We decide to visit the much vaunted Edekkal caves, about 40km away. We are struck once more by the relative affluence as we drive through the rolling countryside and towns. But of course in the 17^th and 18^th centuries the East India Company was initially built on, and the European powers fought over, the trade in spices which grow in abundance in Kerala. The wealth from tea and coffee followed later. We have never seen anywhere that produces such a diversity of high value crops in such profusion. The obvious prosperity sits oddly alongside the red hammer and sickle flags flying every few hundred yards, but there it is.

This part of Kerala at least has a significant Muslim population, who originally came here presumably with the wave of Arab traders who for centuries, possibly millennia, sailed across the Arabian Sea to trade with the Malabar coast. There are also many Christian communities here, both Catholic and Lutheran establishments, and today we also say an Orthodox Church (Syrian Orthodox perhaps, who originally came to Kerala in the 1^st and 2^nd centuries AD).

We arrive at the caves only to be told you have to walk a kilometre from the car park and then down 300 steps. It is midday, the sun is blazing and it is about 35C, David's ankle is troubling him again and Sara has a splitting headache. To hell with it, it is just too much to contemplate. We decide instead to visit nearby Sultan Bathery. This place supposedly has the remains of a fort Tipu Sultan used during the Carnatic wars in the late 18^th century when he was fighting the East India Company's encroachment into Kerala. The name of the town originated as he stockpiled his munitions here (though they spell it Bathery not Battery). We find a modest 14^th century Jain temple where the curator tells us that that nothing now remains of the old fort. So after a slightly frustrating search for a piece of history we set off back to the hotel. We tell Mr Hussain we want to buy some beer. We stop in a little town and he asks a tuk tuk driver for “liquor shop”. We are in luck, there is one nearby. We set off, Mr Hussain in the lead. We head down a smelly little narrow alley, lined with lads who look like they have already paid the shop a visit. There is much laughter at the two white people off to buy booze after Mr Hussain has exchanged a few words with them and presumably told them what we are doing. Down the alley, around a corner, up a scruffy flight of stairs, being passed all the time by men going in the other direction bearing paper bags and shifty looks. We reach a queue and an iron railing and a counter with a metal mesh grille to corral people into line. “Make way, make way, important foreigners wanting to buy booze” we assume Mr Hussain has just said. We jump the queue, no one seems to mind, as they are much more interested in squeezing past Sara which they can do because of where they are standing. “Kingfisher” says David. Four bottles appear. “Mr Hussain something for you?” says David. With a wobble of the head and a grateful grin he selects a bottle of brandy for £3. Quality stuff no doubt. Just make sure you are sober in the morning for our drive to Bangalore.......



Back in the hotel, David fills the sink with water to try and cool the beer. Best we can do, there is no fridge. Not having had a beer for nearly two weeks if it is a little warm we will cope.

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