Tea and 'trekking' in Coonoor

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Will the mist ever clear to give us a decent view of the Nilgiri Hills? We set off optimistic as ever, this time to a couple of viewpoints a few kilometres out of Coonoor. First up is Lamb’s Rock. Mr Hussain enters into heated discussion with a man lurking at the entrance then tells us he will show us round for 100 rupees. On the basis that Mr Hussain usually warns us off guides, we agree. It’s billed as a trek but in fact consists of a round trip of just a kilometre. As ever, the view into the valleys is shrouded in mist, but the guide does show us lemon grass growing wild. He points out a village that has appeared in the valley a couple of thousand feet below us. “Tribal people live down there” he says disdainfully. “Are you Adivsasi?” asks David. “No no no” he says quickly. “I am a proper Indian”. He may be a Dalit, but he is not a tribal, tribals being considered the lowest of the low in Indian society.

The next viewpoint has even less of a view, though we are still extorted 20 rupees by an attendant for turning up. These people are clearly tribals, you can tell in one glance that they are not Tamils. However by now the mist is lifting and the scenery as we drive along is beautiful. You can see why the British liked to escape up here in the summer. We wend our way through tea estates, with bright green bushes all trimmed to a regulation height of about three feet, and tiny tracks, almost too narrow to count as a path, winding between the rows of bushes. The tea fields are planted at intervals with a particular type of oak tree that collects rainwater and then releases it into the ground from its roots to moisten the roots of the tea plants, as well as providing shade from the fierce sun. It is early enough in the morning for there to be few other tourists, and we relish the quiet beauty of the place.

Back into Coonoor, we drive through the smart end of town, where old Edwardian bungalows with names such as ‘Faraway’ or ‘Glendower’ mingle with large new houses of considerable affluence. Here and there the hillside is being ripped out in big red streaked terraces to make space for a new house. Next stop is Sim's Park, another botanical garden, established during the Raj, by one of Our Chaps, of course. It’s smaller but better maintained than the one in Ooty and has far fewer visitors. It is peaceful until we near the tiny lake where people have rented pedalos. They make a shrieking creaking noise with every turn of the pedal, drowning out the birds. We amble slowly up and down the hillside. At one point there is an unbelievably strong smell of citronella, but our botanical knowledge does not extend to working out which tree it is coming from.

Finally, we head to Highfield tea estate. This was the first tea factory in the Nilgiris, originally owned by the British but sold to an Indian company in 1974. The estate has 300 acres, and employs 300 people, 250 picking tea and 50 in the factory. We learn that the bushes are harvested every 15 days in peak season, but less at this time of year when many of the bushes have suffered some frost damage which means then leaves then burn in the sun. We are shown round the factory. The bright green tea leaves initially go onto big drying beds where air is pumped up form below for 10 hours to dry them. From there they go to the cutting room. The high quality tea is cut, and the cheaper stuff (which uses the bigger leaves) goes through a series of cutters and rollers to reduce it to dust. The leaves/dust are then soaked in water, dried again, oxidised, and finally roasted. Once roasted, they pass over a series of filters, to separate the different sizes of leaf/dust, and then bagged up. The factory is not big, but it produces 2½ tons of tea a day. The smell of tea is almost overwhelming as you walk through, quite intoxicating.

The tour is free but the quid pro quo is that you are invited to visit the shop afterwards. That is not a hardship, as most of what’s on sale – tea, spices, essential oils – is very cheap compared to home. No holiday would be complete without something slightly inconvenient to fit into the luggage, after all! We do, however, steer clear of the essential oils, fearful of the risk of leakage in transit. Nobody wants a suitcase full of clothes reeking of eucalyptus oil or lemon grass!

Once again, the hotel garden makes a pleasant place to sit out for the afternoon. The sun is shining, the birds flit in and out of the garden, and David starts to reminisce as he hears the tooting of the steam engine bringing the afternoon train from Mettapullayam into Coonoor station in the valley far below. The sun begins to drop and the mist starts to blanket the Nilgiris again.

The peace is suddenly disturbed by the arrival of two macaque monkeys, attracted by the open bag of nuts being consumed by two Englishwomen sitting at a nearby table. Initially the monkeys limit themselves to threatening calls, and are scared off by the hotel staff throwing stones at them. But gradually they get bolder and shimmy down a water pipe to seize the bag of nuts and a handbag. Fortunately they drop the bag but the nuts are speedily consumed. Thus emboldened, they raid the nearby waste bin which contains the remains of our lunch, and speed off clutching a red plastic bag. The Englishwomen are shocked, to say the least, having not realised how aggressive and thieving macaques are.

We retreat indoors as it gets cooler, only to be disturbed by a thunderclap noise like a firework going off. We peer outside to try to work out the source f the noise, only to smell cordite. One of the hotel staff has been taking pot shots at the monkeys after our neighbours complained. Nobody knows if he got one.



Everton are playing Arsenal so we order room service and eat grimacing in front of the TV.

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