Kodaikanal - things don't go as planned

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The downside of sleeping in a tent – even one with a heater- becomes rapidly clear. It is very cold and the bathroom, lacking any heating, is positively freezing. We sleep exceedingly badly. In part, this is due to the altitude. It comes back to us how badly we used to sleep on the first night skiing in Colorado. In part, it is due to the chicken Chettinad we ate at dinner, which burns its way slowly through our guts. Both of us fear that after 2 weeks away, our luck has run out and we are about to get ill, but mercifully this turns out not to be the case. The animals don’t help either. All night dogs can be heard barking furiously, as if repelling invaders or lining up in pitched battle. When they fall into an exhausted slumber, the cockerel and the pigeons start up. By 7am we admit further sleep is impossible.

As it is far too cold to consider showering, we dress and go to breakfast. This does not go well. We ask for filter coffee. Two cups of white coffee arrive, so Sara asks for a black cup. It eventually arrives, complete with a jug of hot milk. Meanwhile, we had ordered eggs and toast. The toast and Sara’s omelette arrive fairly quickly, but David’s boiled eggs will, we are told, take 15 minutes. Well, we say to ourselves, it does take longer to boil an egg at altitude. 15 minutes pass. ‘Just 15 minutes more, sir’. It’s like the old joke about London buses – you wait 30 minutes then three arrive all at once. In this case, shelled and sitting in a bowl of hot water.

As we contemplate the eggs, the manager appears to tell us that there is a problem with our car. Apparently it would not start this morning. He tells us this because the diesel has frozen in the cold. Even Sara, with her limited knowledge of the workings of the internal combustion engine, knows that this sounds implausible. In any event, our 9am start is pushed back to 10.30. We enjoy the only sun of the day and sit in the garden, both feeling a little under par. At 10.30 we find Mr Hussain fitting a new battery into the car. Seemingly this is not the only problem, but the car will at least start, so he drives us to the start of Croker’s Walk and says he will pick us up in an hour. We had understood this to be a walk of about an hour, offering stunning views of the valley below. The first and most evident problem is that the valley is filled with mist, which swirls up and across the path. There is no view whatsoever. The second snag is that the walk turns out to take under 15 minutes. Even allowing for walking back slowly, inspecting all the stalls strung out along the route, we face a long wait for Mr Hussain. The stalls cater for every eventuality. You can buy cold drinks, ice cream (are you feeling lucky, punk?) or, strangely, carrots with their greenery still attached. These seem to be the choice of the day judging by the number of people who pass us munching on a carrot. You can get a cushion (why??), new pair of sandals, an umbrella in case it rains, or a sweater/jacket. The latter are clearly second hand. We are reminded of a trip years ago to Vietnam when our guide told us that distributors bought large consignments of clothes that charity shops could not sell (or else that were fraudulently obtained from door to door collections) then sold them on at a profit in Asia. This looks similar. You can also get your photo taken for 50 rupees. David toys with the ideal of offering to do it for 40 rupees until Sara points out he has no way of printing the photos. Mercifully Mr Hussain reappears early. The car is still not full fixed, so he drops us by the lake and says he will pick us up in an hour. The lake is billed as the most scenic spot in town. Really? The most interesting aspect of our walk is peering in at the huge, expensive villas that line the lake shore, many with heavy security.

Call us slow learners, but after lunch we opt to go on the valley tour drive. First stop is a ‘walk’ in the woods. A few vendors are packing up their wares, harassed at every step by a group of aggressive macaque monkeys. We set forth into the wood, which is in fact a forestry department plantation of tall, spindly uninteresting trees. Judging by our fellow visitors, the walk consists of going 50 yards into the wood, taking photos of each other and leaving. We follow their lead, minus the photos. After this, the drive descends into farce. The mist thickens until we can barely see the road ahead. The temperature drops ten degrees and there is a touch of rain in the mist. The highlights of the drive are a series of viewpoints, none of which is visible. By the time we have finished, even Mr Hussain is laughing along with us.



There is nothing else to visit, and it is really rather chilly to sit in the garden. We retreat to our tent and turn the heater on. Every long trip has one bad day, and hopefully this is it for this trip.

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