Nilgiri brew: The ineffable charm
Kurumbadi in the Nilgiris in Tamil Nadu welcomed us with bouquets of flowers. Wild sunflower blooms painted the thick green shrubs on both sides of the narrow twisting mountain road in startling yellow.
By Gustasp & Jeroo Irani, TNN |
Kurumbadi in the Nilgiris in Tamil Nadu welcomed us with bouquets of flowers. Wild sunflower blooms painted the thick green shrubs on both sides of the narrow twisting mountain road in startling yellow. It was almost as though nature was celebrating the fact that there were still little nooks in the famous Blue Mountains that it had held on to which had not been replaced by concrete in the name of progress and development. And we were pleasantly surprised to discover that there were large swathes of land in the Nilgiris that exuded the ineffable charm that first endeared the region to the British.
Yes, these were the very same hills that Lord Lytton, Viceroy of India from 1876 to 1880, described to his wife in a letter: “It far surpasses all that its most enthusiastic admirers and devoted lovers have said about it. The afternoon was rainy and the roads muddy, but such beautiful English rain, such delicious English mud ...”
We, however, drove across mountains awash with crisp Indian air under a vast blue Indian sky. After the hill resort town of Coonoor, we pulled into Kurumba Village Resort. A rich fragrance spiked the air betraying the fact that the property nestles in the midst of a spice plantation. The fact that the resort was designed in an attempt not to fell any trees underscored the rustic back-to-nature charm of the resort.
Having driven from Coimbatore, the closest airport 60 km away, we slumped into bed in our airy cottage, bright with Kurumba tribal motifs, and let the vision of the lush forest framed in the large picture window of our bedroom caress our frayed nerves like a soothing balm. After a quick bite in the resort's open-sided thatched roof restaurant, washed by the cool night breeze that swept in from the forest, we kept sleep at bay, nursing a nightcap.
We gazed out at the branches of the trees waving eerie fingers at the crescent moon that floated above the horizon.
We awoke the next morning to the flirtatious calls of the Nilgiri Whistling Thrush. At first we imagined it was a man whistling but then the sweet trilling came from outside our window and there was no one in sight. Even as the morning mist danced like a flimsy veil in the wind across the forested mountains slopes, we set off on a jungle trek. Tiger, the hotel's guard dog, led the way as we stomped through the forest.
Yes, these were the very same hills that Lord Lytton, Viceroy of India from 1876 to 1880, described to his wife in a letter: “It far surpasses all that its most enthusiastic admirers and devoted lovers have said about it. The afternoon was rainy and the roads muddy, but such beautiful English rain, such delicious English mud ...”
We, however, drove across mountains awash with crisp Indian air under a vast blue Indian sky. After the hill resort town of Coonoor, we pulled into Kurumba Village Resort. A rich fragrance spiked the air betraying the fact that the property nestles in the midst of a spice plantation. The fact that the resort was designed in an attempt not to fell any trees underscored the rustic back-to-nature charm of the resort.
Having driven from Coimbatore, the closest airport 60 km away, we slumped into bed in our airy cottage, bright with Kurumba tribal motifs, and let the vision of the lush forest framed in the large picture window of our bedroom caress our frayed nerves like a soothing balm. After a quick bite in the resort's open-sided thatched roof restaurant, washed by the cool night breeze that swept in from the forest, we kept sleep at bay, nursing a nightcap.
We gazed out at the branches of the trees waving eerie fingers at the crescent moon that floated above the horizon.
We awoke the next morning to the flirtatious calls of the Nilgiri Whistling Thrush. At first we imagined it was a man whistling but then the sweet trilling came from outside our window and there was no one in sight. Even as the morning mist danced like a flimsy veil in the wind across the forested mountains slopes, we set off on a jungle trek. Tiger, the hotel's guard dog, led the way as we stomped through the forest.
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Woodpeckers tapping on trunks of towering trees, the creaking of bamboo groves nodding in the breeze, the chirruping of birds, the grumbling of distant waterfalls, the gurgle of forest streams ... the forest regaled us with its morning raga. Delicate flowers blushed under the jealous gaze of thorny leaves. The rays of the morning sun streaked through the branches and glinted off the strands of spiders' webs. Our forest guide cautioned us to move slowly as we approached a meadow as it was a popular congregation area for herds of wild elephants and gaur also known as the Indian bison. Thankfully, the open space was empty, and we crossed over to a rocky outcrop where we rested our weary urban legs and admired nature's canvas of wild greens unravel against the blue sky in front of us for miles and miles.
Green was the theme once more on the road to Coonoor later that day but here it was dabbed in mellow light shades across the tea estates that carpeted the slopes of rolling hills. Lower Coonoor, like many resort towns across India, turned out to be the usual urban sprawl. The highly successful campaign to keep the Nilgiris a no-plastic zone had somewhat redeemed its fading good looks.
And yes, there were still some pockets which gave us a hint of why it was once rated as one of the country's finest hill stations. We drove through the tea estates of Upper Coonoor to the waterfall streaked vales around Dolphin's Nose and Lamb's Rock, strolled through Sim's Park and admired its imposing churches and colonial buildings before stumbling upon Tranquilitea, a delightful little tea lounge that snuggles in one corner of a stately colonial cottage.
There in a very 'propha' Raj style atmosphere, we indulged ourselves in an enchanting tea tasting ceremony where the manager reverentially poured different kinds of tea from glass decanters into elegant glass cups. Between sips of the classic brews, ranging in colour from dark red to light honey yellow, we munched on crunchy almond cookies and brownies.
We were served another generous helping of Raj nostalgia when we boarded the Nilgiri Passenger, the little toy train that recently chugged into UNESCO's World Heritage list. A few minutes before the scheduled departure, the vintage steam engine puffed self-importantly into the station like a bratty little boy who knew full well that he was the centre of attention. With much fanfare, tooting of the engine, blowing of whistles and vigorous waving of flags, we set off on an enchanting journey.
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The little toy train wheezed and coughed, belching great columns of smoke into the air as it snaked through the mountains: slithering through narrow passes and tunnels, clinging to the edge of deep cliffs and crevices, rattling over archaic bridges ... We gazed out of the windows at the forested slopes of the mountains shimmering in the warm glow of the setting sun and suddenly realized that the Nilgiris were wooing us with the intensity of a spurned lover. And we found ourselves falling in love with the Blue Mountains all over again.Download
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