Munnar's two ATMs were out of order and both of us were short of cash. We were also very low on petrol but fortunately (it seemed) an Indian Oil garage took mastercard. 10 litres were already in the tank when I got nervous about a UK card being accepted here (I'd had some problems in the US a few years ago). The transaction went through OK so we put in another 10 litres. Problem: we'd either have to wait an hour to make another credit-card transaction or pay some other way. I showed the cashier I had traveller's cheques and so all they needed to do was wait a bit while I cashed one. He seemed to accept this but the manager came out and started giving us abuse. Eventually Ajeesh scrapped up enough cash to pay for this petrol and we escaped.
I can understand a bit of the garage-manager's annoyance because cashing regular travellers cheques at a national bank in a well-known tourist resort took 30 minutes, interminable-seeming paper-shuffling and at least three staff gabbling at each other. Efficiency appears not to be a priority in this bank (State Bank of Travancore).
We drove to a place called Echo Point, near Mattupetty Dam. I was eventually persuaded to try chewing tobacco - bleurgh. There was also a wonderful 'no shit, Sherlock' moment: on the dam, a sign saying 'Mattupetty Dam: 0 km'. Love it to bits!
The way Ajeesh had planned to go had been blocked last night by a landslide so we drove the long way to a tiny village called Kanthaloor (the nearest town is Marayoor/Maraiyur, north-east of Munnar) in the north-east of Idukki district, where one of Ajeesh's many cousins lives. On the way we passed many tea-plantation workers, working outdoors without waterproofs in absolutely filthy weather. Most of the plantations in this area are owned by the Kanan Devan brand/division of Tata: apparently it's a relatively good employer: it pays its workers twice the usual rates (Rs90 per day) along with accommodation, sick pay and pension contributions. Others pay Rs50 per day with no such benefits. Bear in mind that £1 is Rs80 and that a night in hospital here might cost Rs500.
Around Marayoor is India's best sandalwood growing area: apparently nowhere else has the combination of altitude and rain shadow this area enjoys. It's under heavy government protection: taking a sandalwood tree could net you 2 lakhs but also entitles you to around 12 years at Mr Gandhi's boarding house. We stopped briefly at Kovilkadavu to visit a Tamil-style temple (many people here are Tamils - it's about 12 km from the Kerala/Tamil Nadu border) and look at some ancient structures that are apparently prehistoric graves (officially called 'Dolmenoid cists').
We also stopped at a one of the local jaggery (raw cane-sugar) outfits. Local sugar-cane is pressed to extract the juice. A pan about 10 metres in diameter and 1 meter deep is heated over a fire fuelled with pressed cane for a couple of hours to evaporate most of the water. The residue is then poured into a cooling pan where the still-hot product is shaped by hand into balls. We were given some: it's bloody delicious!
Ajeesh's cousin, Suresh, lives with his wife (Raji) and their young son (Apimenu) in a house behind the telephone office he runs in Kanthaloor. Behind this, he grows cardomom, tree-tomatoes, brinjal, peaches, apples and plums: This flabbergasts me: his house is at about 2000 metres above sea-level yet he can grow crops that rival Worcestershire's and it's at only 50 to 100 metres. The secret is apparently that this area is in rain-shadow, sheltered by 2500-metre mountains in all directions.
Just as we arrived, the local police commandeered Ajeesh and his car to take away a bloke who'd been caught running an illegal still: spirits are a government monopoly in Kerala. There's also the fear that the products are cut with meths and other nasties. The police and the arrestee reappeared in a police jeep a few later minutes later. This was a great relief - all my stuff apart from my passport, cash and ticket home were still in the car and I certainly didn't want the police going through it.
Various locals (apparently village-level politicians) came out to argue with the police. (Ajeesh reckoned they profit from such stills.) I suppose I'm lucky that my camera batteries had just run out - otherwise I might have really pissed off the police, the arrestee or the local politicians. Hmmmm...
A local bloke took us to a tribal village below Kanthaloor. Most of the houses are made of mud plastered onto wooden frames and have roofs woven from leaves and earthen floors. They're about 2 or 3 square metres in area with the roofs and very low - it's just possible to stand under the ridge but everywhere else you have to crawl, sit or crouch. Such houses are homes for families of 5 or 6 people. This is also the first time I've been in the presence of royalty: one of these houses, in which I was incredibly warmly greeted and offered local coffee made by the village's queen, is home to the village's king and his family. It didn't appear to be any bigger than the others. There are some government-funded cement houses in the village but the locals don't like these because they're insufferably hot in summer. Screens of woven leaves alleviate some of this but don't do anything about the poor quality of the cement. I was told that outsiders (both Indian and European) have bought much of this village's land very cheaply and now its former owners are poorly-paid labourers on it. It looks a fantastic place to live: 2000 metres up yet surrounded by fertile (but severe) slopes and effectively isolated from much of the modern world but sadly hit by our old enemy, capitalism. Ajeesh wants to set up an eco-development committee here so that the locals can effectively combine to deal with outsiders.
We spent the night at the hotel 'Mountain Shine'.
Hotel Mountain Shine
Perumala
Kanthallor (PO)
Munnar (via)
Idukki (district)
Kerala
India
PIN 685620
tel 0091 04685 246372
It's apparently run by a Scotsman who's settled here because he likes the local produce: no further comment m'lud. It's clean and fine apart from the lack of hot water: probably because the electicrity supply had been cut off by the same landslide that had delayed us.
© (except the blatantly ripped-off bits) Random Bozo 2006