We ate together in the town, most menus were printed in broken English and Hebrew. We loved the spelling errors and mis-translations. So far on the menus we have studied since Arambol, we’d seen such delights as Potato Lesbians, Chicken Person’s Nose, Banana Filters, Hashish Browns, and Fresh Jews, available in Spineapple,Orrange, Greatfruit, and Caner, finished off with Cock Flavoured Ice Cream.Munnar had once been the Raj’s own hillstation, but now it was more a stop off for Israelis, touring Indians, trekkers, backpackers and bikers. The town had grown, and large, ugly buildings littered the streets and the hills. Guest Houses, hotels, and homestays were all over, but on this night, all were busy. Juz called a couple of his friends.
-I have found us a place, but its not what I was hoping for, he told us as he hung up on his third call. Tonight we’ll stay here in town, but tomorrow I have a much better place for us, more quiet.
Juz’s friend came to meet us, and we followed in convoys to his hotel. It wasn’t a bad place, even quite grand from the outside. We had hot water and electricity, and even a shower, with water that came from the shower head, and was hot as well as having a little pressure. What a bonus! Up until now we had been taking Indain baths-a bucket that you’d fill with water, pouring water over yourself with a smaller bucket that was normally floating in the larger receptacle. Phoebe loved this, but I longed for a proper bath to soak my aching muscles. This was a close second, not quite a power shower, but the closest we’d had to a proper shower.
In Arambol, in our beach hut, our bath was used very little, we would swim in the morning, shower on the beach, and then go about our day. You didn’t pick up much dirt just lying around on the sand. But on the roads, things were different.
At the end of each day Phoebe and I had our own DIRTIEST FACE compettion, the winner whoever could make the dirtiest Wet Wipe. Generally Phoebe won. She was getting better and better on the bike, but still hung back a little longer than Juz and I when it came to overtaking bigger vehicles, so she’d get caught behind the fuming trucks and belching busses, accumulating more black soot on her face, and so far she was the undefeated champion of the dirty face comp.
-Wow, you really caught the sun today, I remarked when we got into our room,
-I think most of it’s going to wash off- she said, and true enough, after her shower, Phoebe’s face was a good few shades lighter.
-It’s a natural sun block, that road dirt.
Our noses took the brunt of the sun’s rays, and even though we caked ourselves with sun block, the sun’s powerful rays penetrated our defences and our noses were both red, sore and peeling.
We ate together in the town, most menus were printed in broken English and Hebrew. We loved the spelling errors and mis-translations. So far on the menus we have studied since Arambol, we’d seen such delights as Potato Lesbians, Chicken Person’s Nose, Banana Filters, Hashish Browns, and Fresh Jews, available in Spineapple,Orrange, Greatfruit, and Caner, finished off with Cock Flavoured Ice Cream. Our meal the ususal simple, Dosa-spicy potato masala, gravy and coconut chutney.

We headed to bed exhausted from our climb, we’d been on the bikes for almost 12 hours.

After our breakfast, more Vadas and Dosas, we checked out of our central hotel, and rode out of town for a few kilometres before turning left onto a dirt track, then another left which led us up a gravel and stone steep track up into the heart of the tea fields.

We followed the winding , bumpy track up and up , the bikes skipping and wobbling on the loose surface until we saw the farmhouse, sitting peacefully among a sea of green bushes.

Juz’s friend opened the gates for us and waved us into the cleared area in front of the house. He apologised profusely for not being able to accommodate us the night before, and brought us chai and biscuits.
-I have one group that leave today , so I will have a room for you
-Are you alright if we share for one night? Asked juz
-Course, man, the closer the better, we joked.
We unpacked and stored our luggage, the occupants of our room were still packing, so we sat on the veranda, looking out over the tea bushes and to the forests that lines the hill tops.
This was more like it. We’d been riding pretty hard for the last 4 or 5 days and were ready for a stop and a recharge, and this seemed as god a place as any, but we weren’t stopping yet, Juz had plans for us.
We should ride to Top Station, the views over thiese lands from there makes your hear soar. He said, his eyes sparkling and his white teeth shining in the midday sun.
-I looked over at Phoebe, who simply shrugged. We were both desperate for some time off the bikes, but also wanted to take full advantage of our guide, Juz was heading back to Banipur after today.
-Cool, let’s do it, I said
We fininshed our cinnamon-spiked spiced teas, saddled up, and slowly began our bounce back down the rocky track, back through Munnar, which seemed even more chaotic after the peace and tranquility of our farm house high up in the hills, away from the Jeeps, taxis, tuk tuks, coaches, busses, trucks, street carts, cows, dogs, and a multitude of our new biggest enemy , the Force trucks. These Transit sized mini busses were hired by wealthier Indians who apparently wanted to die quickly. The drivers of the Force trucks made up for their lack of size by using maximum speed at every opportunity. The would come stonking straight for us, horns blaring in a deafening war cry, and if you didn’t get the hell out of the way, you were done for.
We hated these minibusses more and more, the more we came across them, the worse they got., as we got deeper into the heart of Indian tourist territory. The drivers kamikazi’d their way through traffic, barged through villages, bullies busses on mountain roads, and didn’t brake for anyone, apart from the great Cow, of course.

We made it through Munnnar alive, the streets were lined with colourful market stalls, street food carts-attended by weather beaten and sun dried toothless Indians-souvenir shops, home made chocolate shops and Tata Tea shops. As soon as we left the town, the road began curling its way up the next mountain. The enemy was out in Force. White trucks with company logos sprawled along the side, I laughed as one cut in just in front of me, almost hitting my front tyre with his back bumper, when I saw in big red letters across the rear doors, a phone number, followed by the legend;
Please Inform if this Bus is Driven Rashly
The phone number had been mostly covered with black masking tape.

We climbed on, warily, hooting on every corner to warn oncoming traffic of our presence, and pulling into the dirt verge to avoid collisions with the death-wish Force drivers coming hurtling in the opposite direction, often on the wrong side of the road, which was barely wide enough for two cars two pass each other. Somehow, the chaos worked, most of the time.
Single track roads would, when needed, accommodate a bus passing a truck, passing a scooter. Two lane highways would magically allow four lanes of traffic.
We couldn’t work out this miracle, but if happened.
This was a tourist heavy route, we passed the Rose Gardens, where throngs of Indians clambered out of their Force Tourist Vehicles to jostle for a photo, next up was the boating lake, with the usual tourist trinket shops and attractions, horse rides, and fairground games. We passed the lake and followed the meandering road up and up towards top station.
Again, the views were immense as we continued climbing towards the heavens.
The closer we got to the top, however, the thicker the mist became, to the point that we could not see more than 20 metres in front of us. We pulled over to the side of the road and got off our bikes.
-Sorry Guys, not much of a view today
-It’s cool, the scenery has been amazing on the way up, I’m satiated! I said, Phoebe nodded in agreement..
We abandoned our cameras, and followed Juz back down the mountain to the lake.
-We can go another way back to town, some off roading, through another reserve, its very beautiful, maybe we add another hour , its OK?
We preety much always did what Juz suggested, he knew us now, knew what we liked, what we could handle, and what to avoid, so we happily followed hm through the crowds of tourists, passed the vendors and food stalls and out the otherside, up a steep, narrow track that started off slightly paved and quickly deteriorated.
The temperature cooled as we rose up once more towards the sky, the road was now unpaved, sandy in parts, muddy in others, with crater sized pot holes across the whole width of the track.The terrain was tough but rewarding. We rode through more colonies of butterflies, their short lives coming to an abrupt end as the splatted on my face and chest. We past mini waterfalls coming off the side of the mountain, and charged through pools of water, cooling our feet as we did so.
We reached the gate to the reserve and Juz went over to talk to the guards.
After a few minutes, he returned glum-faced.
-We can no longer go in, only in a local Jeep Tour, they say its because of too much pollution, but the Jeep guys have probably paid them so they send more Tourists to their company.
- Can we pay them to let us in, I asked
- Then you have to pay the guards at the other end too, too many peopole involved, I think its best we forget, so sorry

We sat on our bikes smoking, admiring the magnificent view, and cursing the baksheesh that had thwarted our progress. Nothing to do but turn round and go back the way we came, we rode back past the lake, down the mountain road and back into the madness of Munnar.