Come one, come all, while I regale you with a tale of an Odyssey, into the far-flung reaches of Munnar, where birdsongs dance across tea leaves, the elephants drink themselves silly from a mysterious bubbling source, and the bison mobilise to make flee a foolhardy tiger.
Let not the passage of two months since these events detract from the import of this tale, which will continue to ring with relevance for many days, weeks, nay, even decades, until you and I and our fur babies sink deep into graven depths and rise again as reincarnated worms or planets, singing this tale as a song into the vacuum of the galaxy…
Chapter One
The tale begins with the close of our trip in Kochi, where we partook in the joyous celebration of the union between two blessed creatures Nikhil and Nimi. Having been fortuitous enough to bask in their radiance, we, three inconsequential critters with the names of Amil, XJ, and yours truly, stepped into a privately-arranged cab, expecting a 4.5h snooze to our destination, the beautiful Amber Dale hotel in Munnar.
Alas, as all Odysseys consist of challenges and obstacles, so too does this one, in which we were called to empty our reserves of mana on spells, or what non-magical beings call prayers, to be delivered safely despite William’s, our driver, intentions to the contrary. Perhaps it was an honest misunderstanding of our destination as Hell. For here he awed all on the road with his driving prowess on a one-lane curving passage up the mountain where he sped, tailgated lumbering vehicles five times bigger than his, and jam-braked now and then when oncoming vehicles came close to demonstrating what happened when two Newtonian objects with significant but opposite velocities came into contact with each other.
The last stage of our journey consisted of a narrower road forking right from the main trunk and littered with stones and various debris. Perhaps the car, which did not possess a suspension system, enjoyed its up-and-down massage. The three passengers did not. It is unclear if the driver did. To our immense relief, our mana was sufficient to ensure that your writer today remains on this mortal plane to deliver this tale. William could not understand why his passengers were not in the mood to visit any of the passing attractions he pointed out. Apologies, William, for your passengers are made of weaker stuff.
Here, the hotel staff took one look into our souls and Saw that we were in need of a hot face towel, a dab of cold clay on our foreheads, and a cold, sweet, glass of fruit juice. The staff would continue their soul-divining skills for the rest of our stay, a period of 6 days. I cannot recommend this hotel enough. Every time we passed by their staff, they smiled at us warmly and asked us with genuine attention about our day. Most guests either intended to stay in the hotel throughout or went with a guide; we, being carefree/heads-empty-no-thoughts heroes, did not, but the hotel staff arranged every cab we asked for. This would be very important later.
Notice the birdsong in the balcony of our room, one that came with a valley view. I promised birdsong, and here I deliver:
Chapter Two
We were very satisfied by the hotel’s ample schedule of activities:
- 6am: Tea-tasting on the rooftop with the sunrise
- 8am: 1h hike
- 4pm: Tea and chaats on the rooftop. This is the one activity we attended with fervent religiosity, having discovered religion on our journey here.
- 6pm: Cooking demonstration on the rooftop
- 8pm: Campfire on the rooftop
- At any reasonable time, aka not the middle of the night: Ping pong/carrom/chess/foosball in the activity room, or an Ayurvedic massage (not included with room. The number to call is 666.)
Picture us, Timon, Pumba, and Simba, hakuna-matata-ing for a day, if hakuna-matata could be expanded to encompass some intense googling to figure out a) where to hike and b) the exact trail to hike. These were not straightforward questions to answer.
First, understand that we google in English, which could explain the extreme paucity of answers. Second, as the googling stretched on, it started to occur to me that I could not simply find a map of a hiking trail to download, as I have done for my trips in the US and Europe. The Hakuna-matata-ing was not going swimmingly at this point, because it looked like I might be having worries for the rest of the day, and if these questions were not resolved, for the rest of another four days. Perhaps you would argue that trying to fill subsequent days up with activities was itself against the philosophy of the song. To that I say enlightenment is a long road and I am going in the opposite direction, so I might as well go fast and maybe the road will loop?
Third, understand that the Eravikulam National Park, the nearest national park which populated brochures with pictures, was closed for two whole months for breeding season.
Googling led me to the Chinnar Wildlife Sanctuary, which had reviews with pictures of bison, giant squirrels, sambar deer, and wild elephants. Who could say no to that? My heart was set. But trail maps remained elusive. I was also unprepared to encounter these marvellous creatures as an ignorant urban dweller. The website advertised guided treks of 1h, 3h, or 6h, and a check-in time of 8:00am. Gmaps gave the sanctuary’s opening hours as 8am-2pm.
Understand, fourth, that Amil had tried to go for the hotel’s hike that first day and had waited 20 mins before he was informed that the guide was not coming. This incident loomed big in our minds.
I made a call to the sanctuary. It involved me repeatedly going, “Sorry, could you repeat?” This is my interpretation of the conversation.
Me: “Can we make a booking?”
Woman: “No need to book, just come at 8am.”
Me: “There is definitely a guide?”
Woman: “Just turn up.”
Fifth, understand that this place is 2h away.
We convened for a decision, and the decision was to go. The hotel manager arranged for a full day’s cab which would come at 5am. A thousand blessings upon him, for he also arranged for sandwiches to be packed on the counter, since we would be missing that day’s hotel breakfast.
The next day we blearily arose and bundled ourselves up, for it was 10 degrees when the sun had not risen. The sandwiches were on the counter, and our cab driver was waiting outside. It was a promising start. I googled Chinnar Kerala Forest Check Post on GMaps to show the driver. He made a call. It seemed to agree with our plans, as he started the vehicle. We were on our way.
There were 19 reviews for the check post. I started reading them, including the 1 star ones:
“When entering from tamilnadu you reach first checkpost where you pay entry fee 50 and travel through anamalai tiger reserve forest, after few kms u will reach a kerala check post which turns towards left .kerala police demand money and they threaten you that they are going to file a case to demand more money .They banged our car door hard and they checked our bags as if we are smugglers and the way they treat is worse than accused . Please be careful worst service by kerala police . Kerala government needs to take action against these beggars they have no shame after getting 150rs they giggle at you and you just feel like slapping them“
“The forest officer stopped our vehicle and tells us that Kerala border starts from here so you have to give your details and asks for 200 rs. When asked for receipt for the same… No answer… Tells no u can go ahead! Pathetic behavior. Really a downgrade for Kerala tourism. Note: A single slip of rs. 50 is only required for entry. Don’t pay anywhere else.”
Xj and I decided this was information that Amil did not need to know.
Chapter Three
We arrived at the check post, and more importantly, had slept on the way there. Another ritualistic dance to the gods was in order, for bestowing a driver not in a hurry to send us to our next incarnation. Peacocks had pranced next to our car. The guards did not rob us and instead waved us past after we paid the entrance fee of 50 rupees. All was good as we opened our car doors to the smell of sweet nature. It was 7am.
“Will there be guides coming at 8am?” We asked the guards. “Yes, there will.” We sat down, warily eyeing the swarm of macaques. We were dumb urbanites but Singapore had taught us one thing: macaques are devils. We clutched our bags in front of us and with extreme care took out the boxes containing our food. The hotel had packed bite-sized sandwiches, watermelons, pineapples, and muffins for us. We never opened the boxes more than a gap, and popped entire pieces of bread and fruit into our mouths.
Thus we were rewarded with being left alone by those creatures, which was more than could be said for another unlucky car.
They had wound down their window to talk to the guards, when, having espied an item of interest within the car, the macaques rushed towards the opening. The inhabitants of the car screamed and ran out of the car from the other side, leaving all car doors open. The macaques grabbed the goods and played in the car for a while before relinquishing the vehicle. When the car left, one of them was feasting upon a fat apple, and subsequently deigned to share the core with another monkey.
8am rolled around with no guide in sight. We asked the guards again.
“Are the guides coming?”
“Yes, yes, they will come. Wait until 8.30 please.”
“They come at 8.30?”
“Yes. Please sit.” We had earlier wandered around, but for some reason, the guards disapproved. Perhaps because it was the border with Tamil Nadu. Or perhaps it was the two dogs we saw in the distance drinking by the river, who then disappeared behind a rock and resurfaced moments later, their mouths full of… something. It looked like meat, but that would imply that the rock concealed corpses. Corpses of what, we did not find out.
To us, Amil said, “I have 3 fucks to give. At 8.30, if they are not here, that will be my first fuck.”
We watched a mother gray langur with her baby perched on a bare tree next to us. Unlike macaques, langurs had not been shown to be devils. I marvelled at her poise in balancing perfectly on a thin twig.
There was a shelf of animal books next to us.
“Can we read them?” XJ asked the guards.
“No. They are not meant for reading.”
8.30 wooshed by. The horizon was empty of humans walking purposefully towards us. We went back to the guard post.
“How do you know the guides will come?”
Our guard of infinite wisdom, a woman in a smart uniform and in possession of the most patience for us among all the guards, replied, “They will.”
“Can you give them a call?”
“They cannot be called.”
“You don’t have their number?”
“They are from the tribes. They are uncontactable.”
To us, Amil said, “My second fuck-it will be at 9.”
We twiddled our thumbs, for there was no reception. Amil rejected all the food we brought. I peed at a toilet with no water.
We counted down to the second fuck-it.
At 8.55, a man in a short-sleeved camouflage uniform walked over. On his uniform there was an embroidered name tag, “Nikhil”.
“This is your guide,” our guard of boundless understanding announced.
Chapter four
Nikhil (our guide, not the groom) was a man of few words. He led us through dry shrubland, towering cacti, and mounds of elephant dung. The 10 degrees had become a toasty 30, and we were on the leeward side of the mountain.
“Sambar deer,” he pointed.
“Where?”
“There.”
“Where?”
“That tree.”
A lot of squinting and three minutes later, we spotted some moving shapes going from tree to tree.
“What animal makes that sound, Nikhil?”
“Don’t know.”
“What is this?”
“A kind of onion. Don’t eat. Poisonous.”
We stopped at a vantage point. Nikhil looked at the land stretching into the distance beneath us, dotted with trees.
“Elephant.”
We peered into his binoculars. Three minutes later, we found the magnificent creature flapping its ears under the shade of a tree.
“Bison. The tree next to the elephant.”
“Another bison.”
Such faraway creatures, made small by distance, and yet we felt humbled at witnessing these big animals in this wild habitat, a different experience from zoo enclosures. We stood in the shade of a tree as they stood in theirs, all of us seeking refuge from the sun. But wait, what was that sound?
A bellowing! A chorus of bellowing! It was impossibly loud, from the distance that we knew it was coming from, a few kilometers away, and yet it sounded like we should be seeing the action up close. There was drama, so much drama, but we could only hear it! My mind played the scene of the wildebeests stampeding in Lion King.
“What was that?” we eagerly asked Nikhil.
“Bison,” he replied. A pause. “Chasing tiger.”
“What? Really? Was that the sound of a tiger?”
“No.”
“How did you know?”
He took this moment to resume his trek.
Readers, on the authority of Nikhil, we could only imagine the life-and-death drama we had overheard. A teenage bison, venturing forth to find Hakuna Matata, finds a hungry tiger. Panicking, she kicks and runs, but the tiger follows in hot pursuit. Just when it seems all hope is lost, a bison with rams half the length of the tiger appears and roars. The trees within a radius of 20m lose their leaves. More bison emerge from their bushes. More leaves are lost. The teenage bison lives, and Hakuna Matata has to wait for another day.
We walked past a lot more elephant dung and more elephants in the distance, but our secret hopes that we were following the tracks of an elephant family and would stumble upon them (but from a safe distance) were not fulfilled. It was here I realised we had acquired a quest: to see wild elephants without the aid of binoculars.
At least we heard what sounded like Jurassic Park dinosaurs but were actually bison chasing tiger.
Crucially, we arrived back at the hotel in time for tea and chaats.
Chapter five
Would our new quest be completed? The next day, we went for a half day hike with Vimal from Munnar Trekking Adventure, who was fortunately far more erudite than Nikhil. He led us through the tea plantations, up the mountains, and down through a stretch of forest, taught us about the tea process, pointed out the various animals and plants in the area, gave us a brief overview of the working conditions of the tea workers, and fed us downright satisfying food cooked by his mother.
“How would you rate the difficulty of this hike, Vimal?” Amil asked, having avoided certain death about fifteen times from slipping on the loose sand on the mountain paths in his frictionless shoes.
“Oh, easy,” Vimal replied. “The other hike you asked about to Chokramudi, that one is difficult.”
I don’t think Vimal has benchmarked his difficulty levels against those provided on All Trails, because I have done far easier hikes there rated “Hard”.
In further evidence that we are living in a video game, Vimal, after hearing of our quest, unveiled the fog of war from our game maps to reveal: the Anakulam Elephant View Point. “In the evenings, the elephants will walk out of the forest to drink from this spot in the river that bubbles,” he elucidated, to the sound you hear when you solve the crux of a Zelda puzzle. All that remained was to sort out how and when to get there, and the rest was up to Destiny, for it was not a certainty that the elephants would appear. XJ and I had one more full day in Munnar while Amil had none.
We arrived back for tea and chaats.
Chapter six
Our kind hotel manager had once again proven that he was the MVP of our trip, for he made his calls and had a cab come to us at 4pm, with boundless confidence that the elephants only came at sunset. We had wanted to arrange for 3pm to maximise the chance to catch these elephants, but this new development meant one thing: we made it for tea and chaats before we left for our 1.5h journey.
Did we make it, reader?
Fuck yes we absolutely did. With apologies to Amil, who had already left, but perhaps he did not accept the quest in the first place.
More wildlife drama in this video: the young elephant on the right getting chased away. It was either Not part of the group, or had done something heinous, like pooped at the water source.
And so we arrive at the end of our Odyssey. I leave this tale with you, so you may sing it to generations hence, perhaps in the form of the song that our friend En, inspired by our adventures, instructed ChatGPT to make:
Verse 1:
We hit the road, we’re on our way to Munnar
Excited to explore, nothing can bring us under
But there’s a monkey, causing trouble in the cars
Robbing people blind, stealing our bars
Chorus:
We’re on a journey, to Munnar’s paradise
With Nikhil as our guide, he’s the real spice
Making elephant sounds, it’s like a symphony
But William’s driving, it’s like a catastrophe
Verse 2:
We’re in the mountains, it’s a breathtaking view
But William’s reckless driving, it’s not so new
Endangering our lives, it’s like a wild ride
But we’re alive, it’s like a sense of pride
Chorus:
We’re on a journey, to Munnar’s paradise
With Nikhil as our guide, he’s the real spice
Making elephant sounds, it’s like a symphony
But William’s driving, it’s like a catastrophe
Verse 3:
We’re at the hotel, they’re giving gifts for free
It’s like a dream come true, it’s plain to see
Kerala’s hospitality, it’s like no other
We feel like family, we’re like sisters and brothers
Chorus:
We’re on a journey, to Munnar’s paradise
With Nikhil as our guide, he’s the real spice
Making elephant sounds, it’s like a symphony
But William’s driving, it’s like a catastrophe
Outro:
We hit the road, we’re on our way back home
Kerala’s memories, they’ll never be gone
The monkey, the guide, the reckless driver
And the gifts from the hotel, they’ll stay forever.
XXX
Oh yes, the hotel loved us so much, they gave XJ and me a parting gift, a first for us. Accept this humble tourist’s appreciation for your hospitality and beauty, Munnar.
Melodily 