It’s Easter Sunday, the day before our departure for New Delhi tomorrow, April 9. Bruce and I find ourselves holed up in a hotel room in Coimbature, South India, both recovering from a stomach bug that had the bad timing to foist itself upon us during a transition period. I came down with it on the night before we were checking out of our “cottage” of two weeks duration in Ooty. Not knowing exactly what had laid me low, I kept hoping that it would run its course and be over by check-out time at noon. That was not to be. Though I was worried about dehydration, my innards refused to keep anything inside, be it just water or the oral rehydration solution prescribed by Raj, our new Indian physician friend. A 3 hour trip on the tiny, historic, narrow gauge UNESCO “toy train”, built in the early 1900’s to carry passengers from the mountain peaks to the plains, loomed large in my mind. I didn’t relish the specter of myself vomiting out the window. Luckily, our friend graciously prescribed an “anti-vomit” pill that worked wonders in getting me down out of the mountains without any embarrassing incidents.
The train ride was something that Bruce and I had been looking forward to since we had learned about the Nilgiris Hills. We hadn’t counted on the fact that our trip would coincide with Easter weekend, as well as a Hindu holiday and the start of the summer season in touristy Ooty. So tix were hard to come by on the train that carried about 250 passengers once a day. We had ordered our tix more than a week in advance but didn’t know if we would be allowed onto a car until it happened - at the moment of departure. Our success at finally being assigned seats may have been due to white privilege, plus a little extra requested “fee” to the station master. The fact that we had purchased tix in both 1st class and 2nd class cars, a total of 4 seats, probably had no influence on the final decision. I honestly don’t think that anyone was left behind. We were the last to get on, and the only ones dragging big bulging suitcases. In my weakened condition, I was of no help to Bruce, who had to muscle them over people’s heads and finally leave them in the middle of the aisle. I guess that 2nd class travelers from the early 1900's didn’t bring big cases with them!
Our small, narrow antique car was stuffed to the gills with passengers who seemed to know each other. They were families of all ages and definitely in a party mood, hooting and whistling every time that we entered a tunnel, of which there were many! Beside each set of seats was an open window space, from which I could lean out and feel the fresh air and see the incredible scenery. We traveled through gorgeous, far-reaching tea plantations, looking so orderly and fresh, ranging up and down the impossibly steep mountainsides. People living near the tracks in the countryside sat outside on the grass, waiting to wave as the train passed.
"Toy train" stretched out
Tea plantation climbing the steep mountainside
Afternoon entertainment: waiting to wave to the passing train!
The train chugged along at a pretty slow speed, which I appreciated, especially as we crossed trestles high above river gorges and began descending the steep terrain. Bruce befriended a beautiful toddler girl across the aisle, with big brown eyes, dark eyebrows, and a sweet smile. We made stops at a few stations along the way. Each time, older gents came along, selling cups of sweet tea through the windows. Monkeys reigned at one of the stations, dashing down from the station roof and beguiling passengers with their humanoid mannerisms, obviously familiar with the train routine, gobbling up whatever edible tidbits were thrown their way.
We switched to a steam engine with a cog about half way down the mountains.
Can you see me in the window? I'm smiling because I haven't lost my cookies - yet!
Monkeys getting a daily treat from a passenger.
As we made our way from a height of 6000 feet to an area just slightly above sea level, the air became hot and humid and the vegetation tropical. By the time we were on the plains, we were seeing date and coconut palm groves, as well as sugar cane fields.
The train was right on time for its 5:30pm arrival at the station. Since we were still an hour and a half away from our destination of Coimbature, we had arranged for our original taxi driver, Pon, to meet us at the station. I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to see him stick his smiling face through the train window, dragging our suitcases out with no effort. We felt very cared for. I rewarded him with one last vomit as I entered his taxi (into a plastic bag: we were prepared :).
The frantic, break-neck ride to the hotel provoked the same thoughts in both Bruce and me: I’ll be glad to leave this area. I feel sorry about this conclusion. I want to love India as much as Rudyard Kipling, whose novel Kim I’m enjoying greatly, or as much as Mark Tully, longtime BBC correspondent and author of The Heart of India, a lovely collection of stories about Indian village life. We’ve encountered astonishingly heart-warming kindness and generosity here, which we won’t soon forget, and gorgeous color and scenery, but life is difficult and often uncomfortable, especially in the overpowering heat – and downright dangerous on the roads! Maybe New Delhi will be better. Stay tuned!
The train ride was something that Bruce and I had been looking forward to since we had learned about the Nilgiris Hills. We hadn’t counted on the fact that our trip would coincide with Easter weekend, as well as a Hindu holiday and the start of the summer season in touristy Ooty. So tix were hard to come by on the train that carried about 250 passengers once a day. We had ordered our tix more than a week in advance but didn’t know if we would be allowed onto a car until it happened - at the moment of departure. Our success at finally being assigned seats may have been due to white privilege, plus a little extra requested “fee” to the station master. The fact that we had purchased tix in both 1st class and 2nd class cars, a total of 4 seats, probably had no influence on the final decision. I honestly don’t think that anyone was left behind. We were the last to get on, and the only ones dragging big bulging suitcases. In my weakened condition, I was of no help to Bruce, who had to muscle them over people’s heads and finally leave them in the middle of the aisle. I guess that 2nd class travelers from the early 1900's didn’t bring big cases with them!
Our small, narrow antique car was stuffed to the gills with passengers who seemed to know each other. They were families of all ages and definitely in a party mood, hooting and whistling every time that we entered a tunnel, of which there were many! Beside each set of seats was an open window space, from which I could lean out and feel the fresh air and see the incredible scenery. We traveled through gorgeous, far-reaching tea plantations, looking so orderly and fresh, ranging up and down the impossibly steep mountainsides. People living near the tracks in the countryside sat outside on the grass, waiting to wave as the train passed.
"Toy train" stretched out
Tea plantation climbing the steep mountainside
Afternoon entertainment: waiting to wave to the passing train!
The train chugged along at a pretty slow speed, which I appreciated, especially as we crossed trestles high above river gorges and began descending the steep terrain. Bruce befriended a beautiful toddler girl across the aisle, with big brown eyes, dark eyebrows, and a sweet smile. We made stops at a few stations along the way. Each time, older gents came along, selling cups of sweet tea through the windows. Monkeys reigned at one of the stations, dashing down from the station roof and beguiling passengers with their humanoid mannerisms, obviously familiar with the train routine, gobbling up whatever edible tidbits were thrown their way.
We switched to a steam engine with a cog about half way down the mountains.
Monkeys getting a daily treat from a passenger.
As we made our way from a height of 6000 feet to an area just slightly above sea level, the air became hot and humid and the vegetation tropical. By the time we were on the plains, we were seeing date and coconut palm groves, as well as sugar cane fields.
The train was right on time for its 5:30pm arrival at the station. Since we were still an hour and a half away from our destination of Coimbature, we had arranged for our original taxi driver, Pon, to meet us at the station. I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to see him stick his smiling face through the train window, dragging our suitcases out with no effort. We felt very cared for. I rewarded him with one last vomit as I entered his taxi (into a plastic bag: we were prepared :).
The frantic, break-neck ride to the hotel provoked the same thoughts in both Bruce and me: I’ll be glad to leave this area. I feel sorry about this conclusion. I want to love India as much as Rudyard Kipling, whose novel Kim I’m enjoying greatly, or as much as Mark Tully, longtime BBC correspondent and author of The Heart of India, a lovely collection of stories about Indian village life. We’ve encountered astonishingly heart-warming kindness and generosity here, which we won’t soon forget, and gorgeous color and scenery, but life is difficult and often uncomfortable, especially in the overpowering heat – and downright dangerous on the roads! Maybe New Delhi will be better. Stay tuned!
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