“Why don’t you come to my Estate?” asked Avin, “Its smaller than this, but I would love to show you around, please, be my guest’.
Santos’ guests were leaving, so we said our thank yous and goodbyes to Anita and Santos and followed Avin and his neighbour back to their estate along probably the hardest road of the trip so far. The unpaved road went on for what seemed like an eternity, my legs and arms ached as we rocked and rolled along the rocky track, picking our way around the bigger rocks, follwing Avin’s 4x4 until we eventually came to blessed tarmac.We were woken at 6am by the call to prayer , a 30 minute-long recording of first singing and chanting that came blaring through our open windows.

We crawled out of bed, bleary-eyed, and followed the call to the temple. It was a lovely time of day to be out. The streets were quiet except for a few bicycles and Tuk Tuks. We walkd up to the Temple, a beautiful structure, its magnificence subdued by its cloack of scaffolding. Worshippers were waking from where they had been sleeping in makeshift camps at the bus stop. We waited for he gates to open as more people arrived to see the temple, all of them eyeing us up with the ususal curiostity that accompanied us.

The gates opened and there was a rush to the gates from the eager visitors. We entered the complex as the sun rose above the palms, and the Temple was lit with a golden hue.

We began our clockwise circuit around the temple, taking photos of the intricate carvings and huge statues. The other visitors to the Temple seemed to be more interested in us thatn the 1000 year old wonder that was all around them, and as we took pictures of the buildings , they took pictures of us. A group of school boys followed us wherever we went-“phot, photo?” the pleaded with us. We stop to pose, a few kids joined us, then more, and before long, we were again surrounded with dozens of kids, all wanting their picture with us.

We obliged, but the photo taking went on and on , more and more kids and now their chaperones too wanted us to pose with them, to take photos of them, or for them to take photos of us. We cursed the blight of the mobile phone, and again empathised with the Beckhams and others who had this sort of attention wherever they went.

Our weariness catching up with us , we retreated to our hotel, stopping for a Chai and some banana bread on our way. We decided to stay another day in Belur, we were road weary and ready for a day off the bikes. We’d planned to visit a few of the surrounding Temples, and after an unsuccessful attempt at a bucket-style shower (the water was far too cold) we headed out for the Main Temple at Hilabidoo, some 24 clicks to the east of us.

We left the mule, Phoebe on the back as we rode together out of town. Within a few Ks, the tarmac ran out and we bounced on bumped down andother dusty track towards the Temple.

The site was awesome. This complex was five times the size of that in Belur. The carvings were even more intricate and the work that had gone into biulding the Temple was beyond belief. Three generations had worked to build this Temple. Huge stautes of Nandy guarded Shiva’s Temple. We set about the tourist business of taking photos, but our progress was hindered by the school groups who again were more interested in us than the structure of the temple. At one point Phoebe and I were seprated, and both of us cornered in separate parts of the temple. I was saved by one of the guardians, who shouted at the kids who were literally climbing the walls to get a pic of us. Phoebe had to yell at the boys to stop and let her out of the nook into which she had been confined.

Tiring of the constant pleas for photos, and the salesmen following us, imploring us to give them some business and buy a Karma Sutra book or tourist map, we left the main temple and headed for the next temple on the ‘Temple Tour’.
The next edifice, a Jain temple that had been abandoned when the Muslims came, was mercifully free of tourists, touts and teenagers. We were shown around by an elderly man whose family had looked after the site for some 60 years. We relished in the tranquility and calm of the site and the green lawns that surrounded it, before continuing on our tour, passing workers harvesting and washing ginger, the pungent smell filing the air as we rode past to the next Temple on the circuit.
This site was even more deserted than the Jain temple, another Hindu temple , as beautiful as Halibedoo, but without the crowds.
Templed out, and fully aware of Phoebe’s desire to go visit some coffee plantations in the area, we rode back to our hotel, packed up, and headed back up into the hills in search of coffee.
We followed the road out of town beside our hotel, and withing 10 minutes or so , we were compltely lost again. We stopped and asked Tuk Tuk drivers “Coffee?’ and were waved vaguely westward.
It didn’t take too long to figure out that we had taken the completely wrong road out of town. But we were still in the hills, and still surroundede by coffee estates.
We came to a small village with a cross roads and stopped our bikes. We’d realised that if we stopped and looked confused enough that soon enough an Anglphonic Indian would ask us where we wanted to go. We waited a couple of minutes, looking around and sure enough , a well dressed local approached us asking if he could assist us.
He directed us to coninue along our path , on the same road for another 25 or so Kms, and assured us that we were indeed surrounded by plantations.

We started our bikes up again, thanked our giude and followed the road west. Just outside the village, athree young men on a Honda Hero pulled up next to us –“Coffee?’ shouted the driver, and waved for us to follow.
We sat behind the overloaded Hero as we climbed the hills and then on our right saw the sign to an IBC coffee Estate. We bounced along a track, past villagers who followed us with their eyes. The boys on the bike stoppped and the one in the middle was carrying two chickens. Three men, two chickens, one bike. He motioned that he was just going to drop off the chickens at the village and we waited for him to do his chores before once again following him to the gates of the Estate.

He waved us down through the gates and in a cloud of dust they dissappeared along the track.

We followed the driveway down to the estate, on wither side of ot were parked big, new European cars, A Land Rover or two, some BMWs’ and a selection of modern , shiny, imported 4x4s. The house was huge. As we approached, a young woman came out to greet us, introducing herslef as Anita, she asked what she could do for us.
“We were just hoping to be shown around your estate, some young boys from the village led us here, would that be OK’ asked Phoebe.
“Of Course’ replied Anita, you have come on the perfect day, we are having a party with all the local planters to celebrate the arrival of our new machinery, please come and meet my husband, have you had lunch, would you like a beer?”
Anita led us down to the coffee drying area, where a purple marquee had been set up. Rock music played from a sound system .All the local growers, the owners of the vehicles we had seen on our way in, were there. We were introduced to Santos, Anita’s husband and the owner of this Estate, The Panjali (?)Estate, who led us to the bar, and invited us to take a beer, before Anita led us to the buffet and invited us to make ourselves at home and eat and drink.
The song that I had been silently singing to myslef for the last two days, On the road again’ by Canned Heat came on and Phoebe and I burst out laughing, it was almost too perfect.
One of Santo’s friends and man who introduced himself to us as Avin, offered to show us Santo’s new equipment and explained how this new water saving pulper worked. We got chatting to Avin as Santos was busy saying goodbye to some of his friends.
“Why don’t you come to my Estate?” asked Avin, “Its smaller than this, but I would love to show you around, please, be my guest’.
Santos’ guests were leaving, so we said our thank yous and goodbyes to Anita and Santos and followed Avin and his neighbour back to their estate along probably the hardest road of the trip so far. The unpaved road went on for what seemed like an eternity, my legs and arms ached as we rocked and rolled along the rocky track, picking our way around the bigger rocks, follwing Avin’s 4x4 until we eventually came to blessed tarmac.
A few more kms down the smooth road and we were at Avin’s estate. He introduced us to his family as his house staff brought us coffee and biscuits.
The estate, he explained, was his father’s, and his father’s before him. Like most of the Estate’s around, it had originaly been a British oned estate.
After independence, the Colonial owner had given plots to several of his workers and they were now all millionaires.
We sat and drank our coffee and talked until the sun went down.
Avin insisted that we come for a proper tour of his Estate, as did his Uncle Deepak, who was apparenty the No 1 grower for quality in the whole of India, an opportunity too good for us to pass up, so the next morning , we packed our bikes and rode back out to Avin’s estate to take him up on his offer.

Lunch was waiting for us when we arrived. We parked our bikes and Avin came to greet us, calling one of his workers to come and take our luggage. We weren’t allowed to lift a finger as we were waited on hand and foot by Avin’s staff. We ate a delicious meal and met the rest of Avin’s family. Lunch was followed by a tour of the plantation, with Avin explaining the techniques used for growing his beans. Phoebe, being a barista, coffee roaster and caffeine junkie was delighted to be in such great hands. We met some more of Avin’s workers as Phoebe and I joined the pickers pulling beans from the plants and dropping them into sacks which would be weighed at the end of the day. Avin paid his team £2 each per day and a good yield was 450 kilos per person per day.
We were shocked to hear this, but then, Avin housed, schooled and took care of his crew. We could see the relationship when we were with the pickers, who sang and laughed as they worked, and who were all pleased to see Avin. Phoebe scared one half to death, Avin said that this girl had never seen anyone so white before. As Phoebe cale through the bushes, the girl turned and ran!
We helped load sacks of coffee into the tractor and rode back up to the house with the boys while the girls walked back another way.
The coffee was then weighed, each picker had his or her own bags and they were poured out into a measuring can so Avin could determine what bonuses to pay to whom.
The crews sang out the numbers as they counted the sacks of coffee.
“One more day of picking coffee, then they’ll start picking peppercorn.”
Avin told us. The farm had cows too, and our milk was as fresh as it gets. I declined Avin’s offer to milk the cow.
We ate a delicious meal together that night at Avin’s, his mother waited on him hand and foot ,and the team of staff that took care of the house scurried in and out with more plates of rice, chicken curry and a variety of traditional dishes. The rice we ate came from the paddy field on the estate too. Avin was almost self sufficient.
The next day we were taken to Avin’s Uncle’s place for another tour. Uncle Deepak’s estate was on a much larger scale, 200 acres or so, his team swere out picking and the coffee plants were heavy with beans.
Deepak was using the latest technology to irrigate his crop, and the rest of the growers would surely follow suit. Avin had explained to us that his Uncle was a very important member of the growers association, and a leading light in the industry. He was the first person in India to irigate his crops with this new equipment from ‘those clever buggers in Israel” and he was already seeing the benefits.
‘I’ll quadruple my yield this year” he said joyfully. “And maybe next year I’l have a Maserati”
We had another amazing long lazy lunch at Deepak’s and sat on the porch talking and laughing before heading off on the next part of our tour round the huge Estate.

‘Come, we should go, There’s too much I want to show you” Avin said, but the best is the sunset from the top of the mountains, I have been waiting for someone special to take up there for years, would you like to go” He asked.
Phoebe was touched by this sentiment and her flesh turned to goose bumps, “we’d love to Avin, thank you’ she said

We waved Deepak goodbye , climbed back in to Avin’s Jeep and headed off, up towards the mountains.
The road twisted and curved, winding its way up and up towards the heavens, part tarmac, part lunar landscape, we bounced on bumped up and up towards the setting sun. We reached the summit of one of the hills and Avin pointed to an electrcity pylon way in the distance.
“This is where we will go, I hope I cam remember the way, it’s a beautiful place, it will knock your feet off, it is called “God’s House’ in Hindi. Well God had certainly picked a room with a view.
We continued on our rally stage, Avin speeding along the straight stretches and tearing round tight bends, horn blaring to warn any oncoming traffic. I held on tightly to the edge of my seat as we raced towards the sunset.
20 minutes later, my knuckles white but my grin wide, we pulled off the side of the road’We’ll walk a little bit from here” he said , leading the way up to the edge of the mountain.
There beneath us was a tapestry of rolling hills, green fields and mountain peaks that onfolded as far as the eye could see. The golden sun just above, looked like it was resting on the top of one of the mountans, until is started its descent behind the peak. The whole landscape in front of us tinted with golden hues as the sun sank .
We sat and watched in awe at the beauty in front of us. Too much to process, too much to take in. We took a couple of photos, but they seemed worthless. There was no way that a photograph would ever be able to convey the majesty that our eyes were trying hard to process. The tranquility was invaded by a horn and Avin said
“Oh this is my friend here, he has a place near, we should go there”
Avin’s mate, Barat , had seen the car as he passed and leant on the horn until Avin looked around. The sun now gone, we walked back down to the cars and met Barat, who, just as Avin had predicted, insisted hat we come to his place for coffee.
The pair raced each other down the mountain, darkness falling rapidly , and then up the side of another mountain to the Eco-resort that Barat managed.
“This is an amazing place, toursist come here form all over the world to saty in the nature, its beauty is immense, you must see it”

In the dark, Barat’s place was impressive enough, we could see the pool, the dining room was furnished with beautiful hand carved chairs and tables, and the buffet was laid out for the guests, mostly wealthy Indians escaping from Bambay or Delhi.

We drank coffee at the bar,and talked Rock music. Barat and Avin were huge fans of Judas Priest, Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd and classic rock bands. Barat was a bassist and he told us stories of his days on the road with his band.
“I want to go to Birmingham” Barat told us
“Why” I enquired
“To see where Ozzy Osbourne came from”
‘Oh, right”