The Bus Journey up into the hills

It was a strange feeling to be getting up in the dark - at 5.30am. I had packed and several times the previous afternoon, and still the backpack seemed ridiculously heavy for a few days away. Still, I wasn't going to be doing much carrying, so there was no point in worrying too much about it. I locked my room, left the keys in reception, hauled my bag into the rickshaw and headed off to the bus-stop. I was there at 6 ready for the promised direct bus - great! I'd be up in the hills in time for breakfast.

My reliable rickshaw driver from the village

My regular rickshaw driver could be relied on to collect me on time and greet me with a cheerful smile, even at 5.45

He was there, and we were at the bus stand on time, but there would be a delay. 

It appeared that the bus was leaving the town down the road at 6 and would be at my stop in Ellamanoor at 6.20. I smiled and waited patiently.

At 6.25 there was a further correction, the bus was leaving from the next town at 6.20 and should be with us at 6.40.

At 7.00 there was a debate about whether the departure time was an hour later.... and I decided that perhaps the best plan was to take my rickshaw to the main bus station at Ernakulam, which we did. A smart information officer explained that the bus I wanted would be leaving at 8.15, and when it reached its unpronounceable destination, I could then change on to a direct bus  to Munnar.

I decided that this man definitely knew what he was talking about, and put my bags on a seat at the back - where there was marginally more leg room - and went in search of something for breakfast.

Fried bananas - Indian style

All I could find was rather soggy banana fritters, so I purchased two for a few pennies and staved off my hunger.

Sexual harassment

Every bus has two "conductors," one by the front door and one by the back door. They hustle passengers off and on at the stops and take turns to sell tickets. The first stage of my journey would take an hour and a half for the princely sum of 34 pence, (the second stage cost 50 pence - yes, that's the correct exchange rate into sterling.) When the rear-door conductor saw me, I think he imagined all his Christmas's had come. He was effeminately gay and clearly considered my fair skin and soft, wispy grey hair to be an irresistible novelty. He spent the entire journey smiling at me with a lascivious leer, and rolling his wide-open eyes. He kept finding opportunities to put his hand on my arm, or press his leg against mine, or reach across me and brush against my head or shoulders as he did so. The Cheshire-Cat glare became unnerving, as he simply sat across the aisle of the bus with his eyes fixed on me, nodding flirtatiously if I ever looked in his direction. It got to the point when I wanted to slap him across the cheeks, but I have an awful suspicion that he might have enjoyed that.

However, he had his uses when, after the first hour of my journey, we caught up with the Munnar bus, and when both buses pulled up at the same roadside stop, he leapt out with my backpack and ushered me into the Munnar bus, waving me off with one final flutter of the eyelashes.   

Farewell breakfast

Plenty of fresh air through the open windows

These country buses have no glass in the windows, which makes them open to a welcome, gentle breeze. However, if I have my preferred seat, at the back, where the leg-room is, it means that there is a faint whiff of diesel permanently in the air. To start with it didn't bother me, but it became more intrusive as the morning progressed.

Then there was the way the drivers control their charges, which is a fairly constant high-speed swerving to avoid pot-holes, pedestrians or oncoming traffic, with which they enjoy playing a daring game of "chicken." And then there's a small matter of the climb up to the hills and the serpentine twists and turns.

It wasn't long before, despite my best endeavours, I began to feel queasy and wished I hadn't chosen banana fritters for breakfast - not that there had been an appetising alternative, unfortunately. I prepared myself for the inevitable, emptied my breast pockets, removed my glasses and put them in a side pocket so that nothing could fall out if I leaned out of the window. 

Which I did. Several times, and to write anything more on the subject would be, in a favourite phrase of my children, just "too much detail, Daddy!" 

View over Munnar

Homestay

Munnar is typical of the sprawling ramshackle towns of India. There is an undeniable energy and sense of enterprise as you see new businesses seizing any new opportunity. There are travel agencies offering extreme sports, photo shops offering to burn your digital pictures to disk to send home to loved ones and fruit shops rebranded as healthy juice bars. 

Yes, it's scruffy and untidy - but it's vibrant and exciting.

Mine is the smart house at the far end

Home for the next four days

"Homestay" is a thriving business in the Indian tourist economy. My host had a two spare bedrooms with ensuite and outbuilding with one en-suite room, - which was the one I had. For £9 a night it was perfect, with the bonus of the services of Kapil, the servant who would bring me a thermos of tea or bring back a takeaway from the restaurant at the foot of the hill. 

Not a take-away in little plastic boxes, but wrapped in  banana leaf, parcelled in newspaper and tied with cotton thread. To be eaten with the fingers of the right hand - of course!

My take-away dinner

Munnar lies at an altitude of around 5,000 feet, and I soon realised that I would need to acclimatise myself both to the cool weather (I had brought a sweater,) and to the thin air. The lack of oxygen made me feel slightly dizzy, and I was grateful of a comfortable bed and the extra blankets when I turned in for an early night.