It is when you see the tea gardens of Munnar, when you start believing that God is a manicurist.
Orderly rows and columns and meticulously pruned bushes, climbing up and rolling down misty slopes - as far as the eye can see....
Not that we saw much of it in the first two laboured hours of our existence this day. The sadists that our guides were, they made us start our cycling with a 2 km uphill stretch, in the middle of a hot Kerala day, 4000 feet above sea level. We laboured up the (pretty) slopes, cursing cycles, Kerala, the tea bushes, ourselves... Only when we would stop every very few minutes, would we appreciate the manicured vista laid out in front of us.
For Vipin, on the other hand, it was a leisurely stroll in the park. Perhaps to mollify us, he also told us that it was his first time. First time, that is, with Indians. Before we assumed other more interesting meanings, we were told that in the twelve years of their company's history, this was the first time that two Indians were doing this crazy cycling thing. Every single person until then had been Brit or some other European, most well into their middle age, some more than sixty...You know, there is this old quote about mad dogs and Englishmen...
The first day saw us do a measly 20 kms, mostly uphill though, until we ended up at perhaps our most beautiful camping site of the trip - Anaerangal Camp, called so since it was set above the Anaerangal lake. Anaerangal in Malayalam means 'where the elephants come down'. And, I believe they came down to the camp also, on some nights - in groups looking for food and liquor. Now, for those who have been around in these parts, the single most dangerous animal is the elephant. More than the tiger, the leopard, even the king cobra. When you hear elephants coming, you usually turn around and go in the opposite direction - fast.
The camp was half a dozen very basic tents. Made of canvas and sticks, rooted on strong plywood foundations, with doors that zipped up shut tight. Absolutely one hundred percent elephant proof - against an elephant born about four hours before, that is.
We had a great bonfire, some vodka with orange juice, some great camp prepared grub, and then we retired to our reinforced tents and zipped ourselves safely in.
The elephants did not come. But the wind did.. and how. Great howling gusts of wind. Wind like a waterless tsunami - we could hear it coming from across the valley, picking up speed and momentum as it approached us, howling like a banshee, gathering more and more force as it hurtled towards us, and then it would hit our eggshell tents like an express train ran amuck. Again and again, through the night. When I crept out of bed the following morning, there was just me on my bed, everything else around was strewn on the floor. Cursing the place where the elephants come, we crept out of our (reinforced) tents, to see the signature view of our trip:
It is moments and sights like this that makes your forget the uphills, the howling winds, the flimsy tents, everything. And realise what a beautiful world you stay in, only if you let it be....
(To continue....Cycling around Kerala: Day 2: Cardamom)
Orderly rows and columns and meticulously pruned bushes, climbing up and rolling down misty slopes - as far as the eye can see....
Not that we saw much of it in the first two laboured hours of our existence this day. The sadists that our guides were, they made us start our cycling with a 2 km uphill stretch, in the middle of a hot Kerala day, 4000 feet above sea level. We laboured up the (pretty) slopes, cursing cycles, Kerala, the tea bushes, ourselves... Only when we would stop every very few minutes, would we appreciate the manicured vista laid out in front of us.
For Vipin, on the other hand, it was a leisurely stroll in the park. Perhaps to mollify us, he also told us that it was his first time. First time, that is, with Indians. Before we assumed other more interesting meanings, we were told that in the twelve years of their company's history, this was the first time that two Indians were doing this crazy cycling thing. Every single person until then had been Brit or some other European, most well into their middle age, some more than sixty...You know, there is this old quote about mad dogs and Englishmen...
The first day saw us do a measly 20 kms, mostly uphill though, until we ended up at perhaps our most beautiful camping site of the trip - Anaerangal Camp, called so since it was set above the Anaerangal lake. Anaerangal in Malayalam means 'where the elephants come down'. And, I believe they came down to the camp also, on some nights - in groups looking for food and liquor. Now, for those who have been around in these parts, the single most dangerous animal is the elephant. More than the tiger, the leopard, even the king cobra. When you hear elephants coming, you usually turn around and go in the opposite direction - fast.
The camp was half a dozen very basic tents. Made of canvas and sticks, rooted on strong plywood foundations, with doors that zipped up shut tight. Absolutely one hundred percent elephant proof - against an elephant born about four hours before, that is.
We had a great bonfire, some vodka with orange juice, some great camp prepared grub, and then we retired to our reinforced tents and zipped ourselves safely in.
The elephants did not come. But the wind did.. and how. Great howling gusts of wind. Wind like a waterless tsunami - we could hear it coming from across the valley, picking up speed and momentum as it approached us, howling like a banshee, gathering more and more force as it hurtled towards us, and then it would hit our eggshell tents like an express train ran amuck. Again and again, through the night. When I crept out of bed the following morning, there was just me on my bed, everything else around was strewn on the floor. Cursing the place where the elephants come, we crept out of our (reinforced) tents, to see the signature view of our trip:
(To continue....Cycling around Kerala: Day 2: Cardamom)
