Ooty

After spending a night in the Nanda Lodge in Mettupalayam, I got on a bus the next morning for Ooty. It took two and a half hours of winding hairpin bends and psychotic drivers before I arrived at the bus stand. But the views of the forested mountains made up for the sheer abject terror of riding the bus. I don’t like buses but for twenty rupees, I couldn’t complain. Once I emerged into the sunshine, I took a few moments to get my bearings, ignored the wallahs and walked down the road towards the guest house I had booked a day before. I walked in and was hit by the usual fear that there would be no room available. It seems I don’t put much faith in a simple phone call to reserve a room. I was greeted by what I assumed was the woman of the house who welcomed me into the living area. I was asked to wait for my room to be prepared so I started reading a battered book from a café in Goa. Finally, I was shown to my room on the top floor of the guest house. The building is built into the side of the hill and I got a terrific view of the artificial lake below me. Ooty is also known as Ootacamund and Udhagamandalam. The lingua franca of the town is Tamil, a language completely different from Bengali. Not that my few miserable phrases of Bengali would have gotten me far. I have decided to add my own name to the town. I call it: Hooty. I thought I was going into the hills for some peace and quiet. But I reckoned without Indian’s fondness for horns louder than ambulance sirens. It does get a bit trying after a while. But at least the air is a little cleaner, even the vehicles are not. The town is situated approximately 2,240m above sea level. I haven’t been this high since California! On Sunday, I took a long walk through the botanical gardens. They were much more impressive than Bangalore, mostly because it was set on the hillside. I spent over an hour wandering through the forest above the main gardens. It was quiet as most people basked on the lawns near the entrance to the gardens. On my way out, I came across the monkey puzzle tree. I had heard about it before I visited the gardens and knew that it was so called because monkeys couldn’t climb it. The reason became obvious when I saw the bark was covered in sharp thorns. I also saw a fossil tree reputed to be 20 million years old. I’ve seen more impressive trees in the bogs at home.

On Monday, I went in search of the rose garden and the post office, in no particular order. I never made it to the rose garden as I met an Indian named Daniel who advised me that there was nothing to see. The roses don’t flower until May and by then; I will be at home, freezing to death. I did have a good chat with him and learnt that he’s doing an MBA and is going to work in Dubai. I eventually found the post office and had great fun affixing my stamps with dried-out pritt stick. The following afternoon, I walked into the bus station, looking lost as usual. I found the bus I wanted and paid three rupees and fifty paise for the fifteen minute trip up to Doddabetta Junction. Doddabetta is the highest peak in the Nilgiris and is located at the junction of the Eastern and Western Ghats in South India. I was dropped off after a winding road trip through tea plantations and hillside houses. I started walking down a forested path but had no idea where I was going. After about twenty minutes, I came across an eco farm and realised I was going in the wrong direction. I didn’t mind though. I walked back to the junction and laughed when I saw the sign for Doddabatta Peak. Had I looked closer after getting off the bus, I would’ve seen it. I began the uphill 3km trek along a badly paved road. At one point, a jeep beeped at me and the driver asked me if I wanted a lift. I pointed at my boots and said I was walking to it. I enjoyed the walk more than I enjoyed the peak itself. It was full of lazy tourists who drove up and the telescope house was an eyesore. The views weren’t as good as I hoped, thanks to the distant haze. But it felt great to be at a height of 2,634m. I didn’t get the same sense of achievement that I might get after climbing Carrantuohill but it was enough. The highlight of my day was walking back to Ooty. I walked past tea plantations, farmers watering their vegetables and workers making reinforcements along the winding roads. After two hours, I made it back to the guest house. I could barely climb the stairs to my room and consoled myself with the fact that I hadn’t hiked properly since I left Ireland.

On my last day in the hills, I took a bus to a nearby hill station called Coonoor. It’s even busier and more populated than Ooty. However, I wasn’t there for the people as I wanted to see Sim’s Park. As my legs were still crippled from the walk on Tuesday, I got an auto to the park. It was similar to the botanical gardens but it felt smaller somehow. I was amazed at the number of catfish in the lake at the bottom of the park. I kept an eye on my watch because I knew there was a train leaving from Coonoor to Ooty at 1.35pm. I wanted to be on it. I got back into an auto that rolled most of the way down the hill. I made it with ten minutes to spare, paid three rupees for a second class ticket and squeezed myself into the seat. The journey exceeded all my expectations even though the carriages weren’t being pushed uphill by a steam train. I passed through three tunnels, one of which was hewn out of solid rock. I saw endless tea plantations below me, interspersed with small houses. But after an hour, it was all over. For the price of the ticket, I felt like I was robbing Indian Rail.