The wife and me had planned on driving through some parts of Karnataka in the only 4 wheeler we owned - a Maruti Zen. The trip was planned for the month of November - during the Diwali break - when the wife, Leena, could take off from school - her Masters program at Nirmala Niketan. Leena, was the tourist and I was the operator - I planned the itenary, made the bookings, did the driving, carried the lugguage, spoke to the locals and did all the photography - just kiddin here.
Here below is a Day by Day account of that wonderful trip
Day 1
We had decided to drive into Bangalore from Pune, saving us a couple of hours of driving from Mumbai to Pune, hence we had rolled into Pune the evening before. In celebration of our forthcoming journey I shaved my head off the few hairs still present shocking my mom, and chilling my naked scalp in the cool Pune winter evening.
We set off early, at the dark hour of 5 am, having already been warned that the drive into Bangalore could take upto 17 hours. We drove through the silent streets of Pune subdued by the excitement of the unknown journey we had set upon. As we hit the Pune-Bangalore highway, we played Yuva, which we unanimously voted to be our start-of-drive music. The peppy A R Rehman music soon got us flowing with the fast rhythm of our Zen, as we chewed miles of smooth roads.
Another thing that was to be repeated over the next few days was the ease with which Leena, the wife and navigator, fell asleep. There was often a post getting-into-car snooze, but the nap post breakfast was like a disease, striking its head each and every day, irrespective of the time.
We stopped outside Satara for breakfast before we hit the four lane roads, part the of the National Highway Project. These roads, although providing unquestionnable comforts for driving were pretty weary on the eyes. The straight roads with no tree cover, ran through the arid baked Deccan Plateau, littered with wasted hills. But these were the only stretches of road where we could push the little Zen engine almost to its limits and drive at 120 kmph. As we zipped through numerous little towns and villages, we wondered what effects these highways had brought upon the lives of the deeply agrarian people who lived here.
Having crossed into Karnataka, a litte before we passed Belgaum, we began having one of the only problems we would face through the journey. I barely knew more than 10 complete words of Kannada, and most of the signs were only in Kannada and almost all of the people spoke only fluent Kannada. Leena, with surprising dexterity, managed to convey our questions and fetch answers in a hash of Hindi and English, spiced with the few Kannada words I knew.
One very funny trait that most people who spoke with us exhibited, whilst cheerfully giving us directions, was the shameless confidence in their knowledge of the local geography, which sometimes led us along the wrong paths, and their emphasis on the word straight, rolling their 'r'. They used both hands to point directions, but they always used the word 'strrraight', confusing us even further. So at a crossing, with all signs in Kannada, having already asked for directions, we would not know if we were to go straight ahead, or straight left, or straight right. Its a good things that these people dont make navigation compasses.
A sorry lunch at a typical Family Restaurant and Bar (the word family implying the availability of a family room) preceeded even sorrier road conditions. Gone were high speeds and smooth roads, and in were broken paths and 40 - 60 speed levels, with the highways taking liberal diversions. The conditions were aggravated by the rapidly dipping sun, and rising rainfall. Soon we could barely see and we often found ourselves on roads, where even though left and right traffic was seperated by a divider, we often had to avoid hitting a two wheeler or truck merrily going in the wrong direction on our lane. I soon adopted my strategy which I use when driving on the highway at nights. I tagged along with a large bus, hiding our little car behind his large rear, and avoided all the hassles of trying to avoid being blinded by the vehicle headlights of oncoming traffic.
A little outside Bangalore things got better. The rain stopped and the traffic was actually following lane discipline. We drove into Bangalore, tired and frustrated, a little after 9. Spending some more time locating our little hotel tucked away on a side street from the main M G Road (does'nt every city have one), we finally reached our destination only after 10.
We treated ourselves to a hot meal of Pork Chops (our flirtation with pork or pandi, as it is known in Coorg, had already begun) and cold beers, before we crashed into our beds, with all thoughts of having a shower dismissed by sheer exhaustion. Unluckily for me my journey had not yet come to a halt. Soon I would wake up ithching frantically. Discarding my sheets did'nt help at all, and I finally found a little rest only when I crawled out of bed and slept on a little two seater sofa, some twenty four hours and nine hundred kilometers after I had woken up.
Day 2
Sunday 31st October. After eating some unauthentic South Indian in what seemed to be an authentic eartery, we walked along M G Road in the grey cool Bangalore morning, enticing us to think about moving there from hot Mumbai in which we lived.
The city seemed so different from the couple that I have lived in. There were throngs of young people of all genders and sexes gaily walking aroung in trendy clothes. Surely, the average age of the Bangalorean is less than that of say Mumbai. But what caught my attention most was the attitude that they wore on their sleeves, an attitude, which combined a healthy mix of the arrogance of Delhi, the carefree of Mumbai and the culture of Pune.
In the evening, I soon realized how myopic my mornings vision of the city was as our rickshaw motored through terribly indisciplined traffic, narrow lanes and polluted air, towards one of the districts in search of The Adventurers.
I had planned on spending a couple of days in Goa on our way back, but then soon found on the Net some activity based program which we could do with this group called The Adventurers a little ahead of Shimoga. At Bangalore when we met one of the organisers, both Leena and me, walked out with some amount of apprehension about our little stopover at the facilities The Adventurers offered off Shimoga. But even then we signed up for one days programme with one night thrown in free - typical hotel style, as the lady mentioned. And that decision of ours was to be extremely rewarding as we were to discover. The Adventurers is a non-profit organisation that promotes outdoor learning and nature exploration through a wide range of activities (Line taken from their own material). In addition they also conduct a 1 year Diploma and a 6 month Certificate course in Eco-Tourism which is recognised by the Hampi University.
Having done the little we had too, we decided to do what Bangalore is famous for. Drinking! Joined by a friend, who had recently moved to the city. I resumed my drinking (which I had begun in the afternoon in the company of my William Faulkner) at Night Watchman, a small trendy pub off M G Road. This place, according to our not-so-local guide has an interesting quiz programme every Thursday.
Having volunteered to drop off our friend, we went a little silly trying to locate our hotel, through the wide one way streets of Bangalore, on our way back. Unfortunately for me, I could not get my intoxicated self to sleep that night too, all thanks to the mysterious itching, which surprisingly had not affected Leena, who is otherwise severely prone to all sorts of allergies.
Day 3
After a lazy morning we set off towards our next destination - The Palace Estate. I had found the contact numbers and nothing else for The Palace Estate from Outlook Traveller. They were moderately priced and the gentleman I spoke to seemed quite friendly.
From Bangalore we drove to Hunsur via Mysore. We gave Mysore with its palaces and sculptured gardens a miss. After Hunsur, the road started simultaneously narrowing and rising. By the time we had reached this town called Virajpet, it was early evening and there was a strong nip in the air. We were so lost in the delight of being in the hills with lovely greens all around, that we didn't think it important enough to call our hosts and ask for directions.
Once we left Virajpet, the road climbed even further and the sun soon disappeared. We drove for what seemed like miles through a narrow rough road, with no sign of either humans or road signs. It was already dark and then it began raining too. At Kakkabe, the nearest town before the coffee estate we were trying to reach, to our utter dismay none of the people we found either spoke any of the languages we knew, nor had they heard of The Palace Estate. And I had no signal on my cell. Wonderful!
There was only one steep road out of Kakkabe and we guessed that is the road we were to take. The car was groaning and we could barely see the roads, now wet and covered on the sides by thick undergrowth. And then the car coughed, once, twice and finally stalled. It was dark as black, raining, the road was obviously climbing through mountains with dense forest cover and we had no signal. Wonderful! Wonderful!!I turned the ignition and the engine coughed, spluttered and died.
I turned and she died. I figured the battery was not the problem since all our lights were on and the music from our car deck was driving away the silence.
We decided to let the car roll down a bit, dangerous I know, but it was the only thing we could think of. I turned the ignition, the engine coughed once or twice and then purred to life. Yippee! Our shout relieving our obviously growing anxiety. We obviously have some dirt in the filter I mentioned very knowledgably to Leena.
As we began climbing up again, I caressed the steering wheel, pleased that our Zen had not let us down. A little more enthused now, we knew we were close to our destination, and to charge our spirits up we played Yuva. A little ahead, the engine coughed and died again. Wonderful! Wonderful!! Wonderful!!!
I turned the ignition, the engine coughed and spluttered and died. I turned, she died. Turned, died, Turned, died. Turned, died. This little repartee grew in speed, as our anxiety levels quickly rose. Knowing that my efforts were not getting us anywhere, I switched off all lights in the car.
Leena and me sat in the dark car, on the little road, on the dark mountain, thinking off the most outrageous and bizarre outcomes of being stranded there at that time of the evening. Knowing that the battery of our car was fine, I decided to have another go at starting the engine. I turned, she died. I turned, she died. I turned and she spluttered, coughed and came to life. Yippee! We blessed the Maruti-Suzuki management, the efficiently engineered assembly lines and the dedicated workers for producing gems of little cars.
With my foot on the pedal we soon passed some men walking on the road with extreme purpose in their step. We stopped and asked them if The Palace Estate was anywhere in the vicinity and their response warmed our cold cockles. Without any hesitation all of them told us that it was 'strraight' ahead, and very close by.
To our dismay we came across a fork. After a little deliberation, we decided to take the road which seemed to do downhill, tired of climbing and getting no where, when hidden by trees I sighted some light. Moving a little off the road we saw a house, and were to come across our first experience of the famed Kodava hospitality.
The region of Coorg, or Kodavu as it is known locally, was once a princely estate, and after independence was accommodated into the boundaries of Karnataka, with disregard to popular local sentiment. The Kodagu are the people of Kodavu and have a set of totally unique customs, chief being their disbelief to any religion. Their deities were the forest, the mountains and the rivers.
When we entered the compound of that little house in the nook of the fork, the men of the house came streaming out bearing torches. When they realized that we were looking for The Palace Estate, they quickly began to give us directions all at once. The head of the family soon asked one of the sons to call the Estate and I spoke to Prasad, who said we were just a few minutes from his estate.
We climbed again, away from the road leading down and in a few minutes came across this man bearing a large torch and an umbrella standing in the middle of the road. He squeezed himself into the back of our car, sharing the space with our bags and some of our underwear, which we had put on the back seat to dry. We climbed up the rough track in first gear, and went through a couple of turns, which we would have definitely not seen unless it was broad daylight, and approached The Palace Estate, a low structure built on a little plateau.
Prasad soon showed us to the only room that his estate had which had an attached bath. With his friendliness, he quickly organized for some welcome coffee and hot water and asked us if we would like to have dinner with the family. Not too sure if we would be intruding, we hesitatingly answered in the affirmative. He left us to enjoy our coffee and space.
The room, at the bottom corner of a one-storied structure was small and had wood pannelled walls. The door to the room and to the bath, like all the other doors in the house, had two separate sections and the upper one could be independently opened like a window. The door to bath, in addition, also had a glass sheet invading the privacy of the bath. The door to the room, made of solid teak, had some interesting carvings, which we later were informed was almost 100 hundred years old. We loved out little room and our hosts already.
Soon we joined the entire family for dinner, where we were served some very excellent authentic Coorgi vegetarian food including the delicious rice-balls, called 'kadembittu, which is to be crushed and soaked in curry made from coconut milk before eating. We had several helpings of everything on offer, devouring the history of the estate and some insights into the culture of people, over our meal. Well nourished and extremely content with our selves and the place, we were led onto the reading corridor with its wooden tables and chairs and lovely travel books left behind by numerous foreign guests.
As the family retired, we read and sipped some warming whiskey, soaking in the cool clean air, and the wonderful sounds of the night. I was excited when I sighted some very pretty and distinguished looking moths and beetles and even a tiny green frog, all of them glad to be seeing us in their surroundings.
That night we slept deep, on clean mattresses and comforting sheets, in the lovely room which was naturally air-conditioned.
Day 4
I woke up feeling better than I had in the last few days, and walked out into a wonderful day. The grass in the yard was wet with cool dew. The light had turned the surroundings, which in the evening was all black and dark to us, into a lovely valley covered with forest and swimming in mist, which was gently being blown away by the rising sun. As if on cue, our host brought us some hot coffee.
We soon had another sumptuous meal of thin rice rotis, chutneys, eggs, French toast and fruit. Over breakfast we discussed with our hosts our options. Unfortunately we did not have the days to just breathe in the air and soak in the green surroundings, and decided to move onto another estate closer to the Nagarhole Forest Reserve. We also checked with our hosts where we could get to eat authentic pork curry.
After our breakfast we walked through the estate leaping over little brooks and collecting wild oranges and generally doing things that sensitive children would do in a charming forest. We checked out the local palace - more like a very large house of 2 stories’, with its courtyard temple and woodcarvings. Refreshed and a little hot after our long walk, we returned to our estate to pack and leave our wonderful hosts.
On pulling out my shoes I discovered that my white socks had changed colour, and now sported substantial portions of a deep red. Pulling my blood soaked socks off I discovered 3 little leeches, bloated with my red blood corpuscles. I yanked, and the content little suckers let loose their grip more easily than they would normally have done, leaving behind little sterile wounds.
We soon said our goodbyes, promising to return. Our destination was Kutta, via Gonikoppa and Ponnampet. At Gonikoppa we feasted over pork fry and pork curry and washed down our food with some cold beers in an extremely unpretentious place called - Silver Sky. At Ponnampet we made reservation at The Coffee Retreat, another Outlook Traveller recommendation. Kutta was like several little towns, which would soon be forgotten if not for the economy an increasing tourist population brought in. There were no hills visible; there was loud traffic, garbage strewn all over, and buses plying on roads built for two wheelers.
The Coffee Retreat, located along a rough road off the bus stand in Kutta, with its beautiful, almost English styled bungalows, and its substantial outhouses, which were converted as accommodation for the guests, was to provide an all-together different experience than the one we had enjoyed at The Palace Estate. After a quick coffee, we set off towards The Wyannad Forest Reserves, part of the same forests as that of Nagarhole, but a cheaper and newer development. But unfortunately, because of unusual rains the forest department had closed down the roads leading into the forest and we had to return to our estate unsatisfied. Our hosts, a mother and her two sons, we discovered to be distinctly unfriendly. But we had no complaints about the food we experienced. Although not original local cuisine by any standards, we had lavish meals with soup, salad, vegetables, bread, rice, chicken and even dessert, served in charming glass bowls. That evening we were content with the food, but disheartened with the experience of the estate, its topography and to some extent our hosts. We already missed The Palace Estate and wished we had stayed there longer.
Day 5
After another huge breakfast we headed off towards the Irrupu Falls. The Falls, maintained by the Forest Reserve, provided the starting point for some treks. The flora around the falls housed many spectacular species of butterflies and the chief among them being, The Blue Butterfly, a large black species with striking fluorescent blue markings.
Coming back to our estate, we walked around the property looking for some water bodies, which had been advertised by as good fishing grounds. On the estate itself we amused ourselves with the large turkey, which moved nosily over the grounds chasing an obviously disinterested hen. We also sighted a most unusual tree with melon like fruits hanging along the trunk, like jackfruit. I discovered that the tree, which had a very strange orchid like flower, with an almost pungent odour, flowered just once a year and then quickly turned black.
After an early lunch we left The Coffee Retreat with definite haste and moved towards the town of Madikeri. The long drive to Madikeri went through flat plains covered with paddy and rolling hills with wild bamboo covered with dense bramble with their nasty long thorns, threatening to overtake the roads.
Madikeri or Mercara as it is called locally is a quaint little town situated on a hill, with a huge statue of General Kariappa in the center, where the roads follow the natural contours of the hill. We reached the town early in the evening and there was a pleasant breeze blowing already, which would get substantially cooler as the light faded. After looking up a couple of non-descript places, we settled on The East End Hotel. The place, styled like a typical club, with low buildings and long corridors, is a very popular place, where the locals with the distinctive air of Rotarians, Lions and Lionesses, came in for their evening snack, their whiskey-sodas and their noisy kitty parties. We walked around the town, picking up fragrant coffee, spices, honey and pickles from the stores.
Day 6
The next day after we had had our respective tiffins, a colloquial term which meant snack, we set off towards Bylekuppe, the largest settlement of Tibetans in Southern India. En-route, we wasted time at this place called Nisargadhama, where an old elephant with heavy iron chains entertained hysterical parents and shrieking children. Bylekuppe, with several colourful monasteries serving the numerous sects, was brimming with young Tibetans wearing trendy clothes and listening to the latest pop music, and Indian beggars and haggard Indian rickshaw drivers.
We returned to East End, where we played a couple of rounds of Scrabble and sipped our cocktails. We went hunting for some more pig to eat that night, and found one reasonably serviceable place, where we eat some moderate pork-chilly fry, with more chilies than pork.
That night we slept with mixed feelings. On one hand we were moving towards another part of the state, with its own measure of unknown beauty, and on the other hand, we had finished with the first leg of our trip with its bouquet of experiences and tastes, all sublimely beautiful.
Day 7
We had a long drive and left early in the morning. That day our destination was Chikmagalur (meaning younger daughter) via Mangalore and Mudigere. The drive into Mangalore was a total diversion, but we were on a driving trip, so an extra hundred kilometers didn't really matter. And of course, my so-called roots were not very far away from this coastal town. The road from Madikeri to Mangalore gradually descended through the hills and into flat terrain devoid of cover.
At Mangalore we fleetingly considered changing our route and either driving south into Cochin or north into Panjim, both routes which would have taken us through some wonderful coastal routes. We savored some fish that afternoon, a far cry from the fish my mother makes, in a restaurant run by some Shetty, which promised authentic North Indian, Mughlai and Chinese food. The Shettys, or Bunts, as the community is really known, are another one of those communities throughout India who are strangely associated with a profession, in this case the profession being running of Udipi restaurants. Other examples of this association could be Keralites with 'Tyre Shops' across the highways of the country; Sikhs with auto spare parts stores and Bhoris with crockery and cutlery stores.
Once we left Mangalore and the coast behind, the road began to climb. Our original aim was to get to this town called Kalasa, which I mistakenly thought was to be approached via Chikmagalur. The road from Mudigere, not to be mistaken with Madekeri, to Chikamagalur was circuitous, bad and moderately populated. We reached Chikmagalur, which was promised to be colder than Coorg, towards evening.
Once we got there, we discovered that Kalasa was actually behind us, off Mudigere, and quite a distance away. We decided to park our tired selves in Chikmagalur that night and sought some reasonable accommodation, having done no homework on the place before. Surprisingly, the larger hotels were all full. Even The Taj, which has a property there, was all booked and had only cottages to offer. Finally we located a place to sleep in The Rest Inn, a gaudy tall joint crammed in between two shorted structures, constructed out of apparent 'Gulf' money.
That evening we decided to rest our systems and went in search of some simple vegetarian fare. Our plan for the next day was to drive into this hill station called Kemmengundi and then drive into Kalasa, our scheduled stop before Kudremukh.
Day 8
We began our drive into Kemmengundi early that morning, and also planned on visiting a tomb some where along the same route. The drive we had been warned was rough, and was it rough. The road was continuously winding along steep mountains. One side of the road were deep valley on the other side, closer than one would have imagined were jagged rocks. The road was bad, and we soon were having second thoughts of attempting to get to Kemmengundi. And then we saw the mountains.
Smooth faces covered with the most luxuriant looking grass, with generous cover of thick evergreen forests towards their bases, with the clouds and mist slowly meandering through them. Outlook Traveller had brazenly called Coorg the Scotland of India. But for us, if there was to be made a comparison, it would definitely be these hills. Every few minutes we would stop on the narrow road to admire the landscape, as the faint rays of the sun illuminated one and then another face of the hills. Kemmengundi itself had few attractions, and stayed up there for all of ten minutes.
On the way down the mist, which was just a lazy shimmer all this while, lay thick and heavy. Even with our lights on we could barely see a couple of feet in front of us. Our windscreen was wet, with a mixture of dew and condensation. On that ride down, I generously leaned on the horn, something, which my navigator felt I should be doing more often than I chose to.
We reached Chikmagalur around noon, and went in search of the famed Pandurang Coffee Works on M. G. Road. We picked up a few kilos of the fine stuff and learned a bit of the entire process of making coffee powder, of the merits of chicory, of the kinds of filter machines and of how instant coffee is produced, even though coffee is inherently not soluble in water.
After a meal just outside Chikmagalur, where we had bunches of college kids eating and drinking liquor in the afternoon, we proceeded towards Kalasa. The road to Kalasa was through Mudigere, Kotigera, Aldur and Ballehonur. The only stretch worth remembering was this patch when the road went through vast paddy fields with little streams flowing in the background.
Kalasa has fortunately for it a lot of traffic crossing it, else I am sure it would have ceased to exist a long time ago. It gets chilly in the winter at Kalasa, and the thick sulphur laden air, thanks to the traffic and thanks to the Kudremukh Iron Mines, the air is quite unbearable. The only place of accommodation besides the princely Orange County Resorts, a little outside Kalasa, is a little run down place called Chandan. Be prepared to lower your minimum standards if you happen to lodge there.
After a few whiskies, which helped me ignore the place, I went to sleep reading about the degenerates in Faulkner's book and wondered if Kalasa would have such rich characters.
Day 9
We left early and quickly reached the town of Kudremukh, actually more of a junction than a town. The few permanent residents were either employees of the Kudremukh Mines and the forest officers. We proceeded towards the forest office wanting to make bookings to the Bhagwati Nature Camp, facilities administered by the Department of Forests.
At the offices of the Forest Department, we met an extremely colourful character, a character Faulkner would be proud of. He was a Muslim from Hyderabad, who was the only soul knowing Hindi in that place, who was posted to the Kudremukh Forests. With his thick Hyderabadi accent, he spoke like he suffered from verbal diarrhea, through a mouthful of pan, which he constantly chewed, without ever letting an accidental stream of red juice loose. During the time that we spent with him that day, we understood that he craved for company other than his colleagues with whom he could converse on various subjects. His logic for conversations and social interactions was simple and practical. According to him when two people choose to converse they select a topic and expend about 1000 words on the topic. Once that is done, they either look for new companions of new topics.
Using his own charm he convinced us to accompany him and a team of his, which was proceeding towards the base of the Kudremukh peak. He recommended that we climb the peak and then camp at the base with the family of one his local colleagues. He also convinced us that it would be impossible to come back to the base and then get a ride to town, as an alternative to staying with some strangers' family in a village. From his manner we figured that the said villager was quite used to having strangers coming and spending the night after a tiring trek. We tagged along, a mite suspiciously though.
The ride in that 4x4 jeep was like no ride I have ever been on. We rode through streams, which threatened to overthrow us. We rode on terrain with boulders just waiting to pierce our undercarriage. We climbed up paths, which seemed to me mountable only by foot. After a bumpy ride, we stopped and trudged along towards the village. Our escort party was heading towards a forest hut in the wilderness. From our conversations we realized that forest offices like him, don't stop at playing the role of a forest officer. They are often playing a very large role in the local administration, politics and economy and sometimes even passing judgment in local disputes. Our friend on the pretext of catching up with the boys at the forest hut was really there to settle some misunderstanding over property matters.
After a short meeting at our future hosts house, where our friend was doling out free medical advice to a sick lady, we proceeded towards the forest hut, where we were scheduled to pick up a guide for our trek. At the hut we found no one and decided to attempt the trek by ourselves, as the route was apparently easy to follow as the Forest Department had placed periodic markers. He kind of suggested that we would not be able to complete the trek, since it was just the two of us, we would soon run out of conversation if we applied his simple logic.
The trek was good and we set off a fast clip. We let our eyes feast on some more beautiful landscapes, but the silence of our surroundings was being broken by the strong wheezing of our breath and our furiously beating hearts. A little beyond the halfway mark, we decided to turn around so that we could use the daylight to get us some transport back to the town. On our way down, we met the missing boys from the forest hut. We got one of them to accompany us to the base of the hill from where we could call for a jeep to come pick us up.
Fortunately for us, our friends from the Forest Department were lunching at the house of our scheduled hosts. We joined them for a quick bite and proceeded down, assured of a jeep ride back to town. On the way down a band of locals jumped into the jeep and soon the space, which in times of comfort is occupied by four persons, was overflowing with ten of us. At a couple of places, we met jeeps heading in the opposite direction, and the skill with which the drivers of the jeeps maneuvered their respective vehicles, balancing them on the terrain, which seemed to constantly shift, was extremely enjoyable to me and not so to Leena.
We returned to the Forest Office in town where we made bookings for one night at the Bhagwati Nature Camp. We were asked to pick up food supplies, which we could give the local caretaker to prepare for us. We headed towards the camp, having no doubts about the facilities since we had enjoyed similar facilities at Dandeli. At the gates of our camp we found Shetty, the caretaker, who spoke Tullu, a spoken language of the Bunt community. He showed us to our tents, and soon brought us hot water to bathe away our tiredness and proceeded to prepare dinner.
He cooked us wonderful rice, sambhar and vegetables and enthralled us with stories about himself, his experiences with guests, his encounters with bison, apparently found in large numbers, with wild dogs and other animals. We were tired after our short trek and soon retired to our tents, mounted on cement structures and covered with tin sheets disguised with thatched roofs. We had already been warned to close us the tent completely to prevent insects from entering and also about the bison often wandering through the premises early in the morning.
I went to sleep that night with my torch and my camera close to me, hoping to wake up and find bison in large numbers just waiting for me to film them.
Day 10
I woke up or was woken up to sounds of a large animal crashing through the forests. It was still dark outside and I waited for little while, not knowing how a bison who stood at 6 feet at his broad black shoulders would react to torchlight and a camera disturbing him whilst he caught the figurative early worm. I stayed in the tent, waiting for a little daylight to break and then went wandering through the deserted campsite.
After a breakfast of eggs and toast, we drove to town to get more supplies. He had decided that we would not attempt anything that day and would stay on at the camp and just let the old bones soak in some rest. In town we procured a chicken and other supplied and returned. After having offloaded our purchases and having provided instructions to our caretaker on our meal requests and our departure plans for the next day, we proceeded towards the river, catching up on a some reading in the sunlight in the company of a bunch of colourful butterflies which flitted over us.
Towards the end of a generally lazy day we walked around the site with Shetty, who instructed us to keep our voiced down to avoid disturbing the bison. It was getting dark, and we had had no luck and were returning back dejected, when the resident dog shot off towards the undergrowth. Soon, we heard loud hissing and noises of animal evidently disturbed. And in the bright torch light of we detected a wide set pair of bright and small eyes on the shoulders of a huge sample of the bison species. Having studied us for a few seconds, he proceeded deeper into the dense growth.
That evening I went to sleep with a keener sense of capturing the animal on my newly bought handy cam.
Day 11
That day the crashing sounds that I had heard the previous morning were even louder and seemed to be just outside our tent. Anxious to get up and go out, but not wanting to disturb the animal who could very well mistake me for his morning meal, I lay in bed, torch in one hand and camera in the other. The noise subsided and I ventured out into the darkness of pre-dawn. In the undergrowth a little away I noticed the friendly eyes of our marauding friend, who just went further in on sighting me. I had just lost my National Geographic moment.
We were leaving that day for a short stay at Honnemardu, where The Adventurers had their retreat. We were disheartened that our holiday was coming to an end, but at the same time looking forward to heading home. Our drive that day would take us down to Shimoga, Sagar, Talguppa and Honnemardu.
After lunching at Shimoga we got on a stretch of road, which for a driver is extremely pleasing. Straight, smooth roads, with little traffic and covered on both sides by shady trees. I wish I could drive all day on such roads. We soon passed Sagar and went through Talguppa and soon approached Jog Falls, where in the days of plenty, the river Sharavati fell in loud gushes. But now all we could witness was a little unimpressive trickle.
From the falls we left early looking for Honnemardu as we had been told to get there before nightfall. We ran a little amok in the neighbouring countryside in search of this village called Honnemardu, thanks to all the contradictory directions given to us by the people we happened to query for help. We soon reached this large hut, the main structure housing the kitchen, stores, office and some residential rooms of The Adventurers. A little background here about the organization. This organisation has been leased a little property along the river Sharavati, from where they manage to conduct their programs aiming at increasing the sensitivity of people towards nature and the natural inhabitants - human, animal and plant.
At the time that we were there, there were a whole bunch of young boys and one single girl, from across Karnataka, from semi-urban and rural backgrounds, coming here to pursue either the Diploma or the certificate course, under somewhat severe circumstances. Two of these boys urged us to hurry up and led us towards the shore, from where we were to row across to an island. A little explanation of local geography here. Honnemardu is situated along the banks of the river Sharavati, on the reservoir of the Linganamakki dam. The reservoir is like a sheet of glass, 60 kms by 35 kms, surrounded by mountains, covering what used to be a valley. There were little islands popping through the water, and we were headed towards the largest one. It was a truly amazing sight.
We rowed across to our uninhabited island in a coracle, a round boat, made usually from natural fibers, but ours was fabricated. Owing to its shape, the boat is likely to spin around in circles. Leena and me volunteered to row ourselves, and we soon found a rhythm, which grudgingly took us towards our destination. Once we hit shore, we secured the boat and carried our tents up the hill on the island towards the camping ground. Having pitched our tents, our hosts proceeded to head back to the mainland to bring dinner.
We watched the stars march across the clear sky and seemed extremely pleased by our decision to come here. This seemed like a wonderful finale to our very wonderful trip. Our host soon returned and we lit up a little fire, after a lot of struggle. A little food and we retired to our tents.
I didn't sleep too well that night. I was a little uncomfortable sleeping on a thin mat on the hard ground. Also, the anxiety of the drive back home ate into my sleep. I had a fairly decent job of organising the trip so far I think. It had brought in numerous experiences to both of us, and Leena and me had a trip by ourselves after long. With so many thoughts, I waited for dawn so that I could get out of the warm tent and into our last day.
Day 12
As day broke, I ventured down to the shore and absorbed the serenity of the place for a while. It was an almost humbling experience, standing there on the little island in the middle of the immense body of calm, clear water. After a while, distracted by the loneliness I trudged back up to the campsite.
Soon the others woke up and we rowed back to the mainland. We had our bath next to the well, drawing up plastic buckets of cold water. After a quick breakfast we went down to the lake, and got into the water. Soon, all the boys from the oganisation were in the water doing all kinds of things, but basically having a lot of fun. Some of them were swimming, others were rowing on surfboards, and others were coracling.
That afternoon we played scrabble and taught some of the boys the magic of words. The water sports continued until early evening, when the cooling waters got everyone out of the lake. We climbed up a high peak, and watched the lights on the dam come to life as daylight began disappearing. Leena helped prepare the evening meal, kneading dough and rolling bread in quantities she had never done before.
After dinner we hastily bid our last farewells to the entire lot of our hosts and we walked back to our dingy room in the darkness and the silence, comforted by the feeble light of a dying torch. We talked about what must have inspired these boys to come and spend a year of their time here, amidst these forgotten backwaters. Would all of them learn and spark off more minds, eager to save our dwindling natural resources.
That night we slept lightly. The facilities were extremely basic, and we had the disturbing reality of a very early morning and a long drive back home, which prevented us from sleeping soundly.
Day 13
We awoke in the deep silent darkness of a little after 4. Silently we changed, and made our way to the toilets, attempting to wash ourselves in the light offered by the car's headlights.
Soon we were winding our way out from the rough country roads leading us into Talguppa, and then onwards towards Karwar. With our combined sense of acute directionless, we were soon wondering if we would ever reach our designated road before daylight. There was not a living thing there, but for all the green stuff, that we could communicate with and ask for the way home. But luckily we saw the one landmark, which we recognised for sure, the bus stop on the road leading to Talguppa. Now that we were on the right road, we played our song.
We were soon onto a narrow, winding road turning up and then down and then up again. The loneliness of driving on those mountain roads seemed like forever, with no traffic in either direction. I was getting a little anxious, as we were not putting in enough distance, but were burning up plenty of gas and time. Leena on the other hand had her own set of the anxieties. She wanted to sleep so badly, but was forcing herself to stay awake and make sure I use the horn at each and every turn, disturbing the animals that were still catching their last couple of hours of sleep.
As daylight broke, I finally sighted the end of the long arduous journey. I forgot to mention, Leena had eventually fallen asleep. I drove alone through little towns and villages with people waking up to a brand new beautiful day. Some were walking their dogs, others stretching in the cold air, whilst others trudging towards their morning ablutions. All the while I had an eye on the fuel level needle which seemed to have plummeted down whilst we climbed and descended the ghats. None of the settlements we passed were big enough to support a fuel pump, and I was hoping that we don't run dry, an experience which I have had a few times in the past.
As we drove into Honaavar, I sighted a fuel pump and Leena awoke all refreshed and charged. Whilst the car tanked up on fuel, we had some chai and I called home having received a frantic message from my niece telling us that my mom was distraught at not being to able to reach us. Guess I still needed to talk to my mom about mobile networks and their loss of signal in remote locations.
We drove on, deciding not to stop for breakfast but rather halt for a heavy brunch. With food on out mind we aimed at making it to Panjim in time for a noon meal - with sausages and beer. The drive from Honaavar to Panjim via Karvar wound its way along the coast, with the see playing peek-a-boo with us through the low hills running along the coast.
There were plenty of signs telling us about the changes in our landscapes. The colour of the soil had taken a Deccan Plateauish red, the air was warm and salty to taste and the sun was bold and getting stronger. We soon had our windows rolled up and our inadequate air conditioner was running full strength trying to keep us cool and dry.
As we drove into Goa, we were looking out for some tea, but all we saw open were liquor shops, which were operational. Guess the Goans need their fenny as early we need our tea and coffee.
Panjim was crowded, with large numbers of people gathering for some special mass. After spending some time look for a suitable place which would serve us food of the type found at every shack on the beaches of Goa, forced by a growing hunger, we stopped off the Panjim - Mumbai highway and eat eggs, toast and chilly sausages.
As we drove out of Goa and into Maharashtra we were accosted by a bunch of policemen. Surprisingly, all we were asked for is to buy some tickets for a cultural program aimed at collecting money for the police welfare. Days later, I read about Rahul Singh's experience on the same lines. Apparently this polite manner of eliciting money from travellers working into Maharashtra from Goa is a practice that has been happening since some time.
Dwindling light and heavy showers delayed our estimated arrival time into Pune. Earlier we had seen some road sign saying 'Safety on the roads is safe tea at home', and we were really hoping to make it in time to Pune for some late evening tea. I had earlier planned on getting into Pune via Mulshi, but we were soon advised to take the Mahableshwar road.
When we reached the Mahableshwar road, we were advised to take the Bhor route into Pune, as that was much shorter. That was a huge mistake. Once we took the Bhor exit, we covered the 160 odd kilometers in more than almost 5 hours of extremely challenging and exasperating conditions. The bhor ghat was soon discovered to be a road which the Roads Department had divorced and abandoned a long time ago. It was rough, narrow, unlit and seemed like forever climbing along some apparently barren hills.
By the time we touched the Satara-Pune highway it was almost 8 and we encountered heavy traffic on our way into Pune via Katraj.By the time we pulled into our house, we were well beyond the point of exhaustion, with only the thought of the comforts of home keeping us on the road. Finally, after a journey of 3300 kilometers, hugely enriched by our experiences, our wonderful journey had come to an end.
Some pictures of our trip can be found here. Even if pictures can tell a story of 1000 words, they surely fail to express either of our true feelings on this trip
