Coorg Diary - Part two

After the OC breakfast, we headed to the marketplace close by to buy film for R’s camera. Loaded (with film I mean), we looked for an auto rickshaw to take us to the first spot on the agenda – Abbey Falls. After some haggling, one guy agreed to take the four of us in his three wheeler for a reasonable sum. I sat on the side bar, while R, B and S were cramped in the seat which was clearly meant for two. The man drove like a maniac and the tortuous route and bumpy roads didn’t help matters at all.

After an uncomfortable and dangerous drive, we finally reached the destination. We got off the auto, but there was no sign of a waterfall anywhere. We got to know through a soft-drink vendor that we had to walk down 4-5 miles to get to Abbey. It was a pleasant walk, firstly because the path was shaded by trees, and secondly because I had thoughtfully worn shoes. A rather frail looking bridge had to be crossed to reach the waterfall and as usual I was scared. After B’s “Is there anything you are not scared of?” I relented.

The waterfall was breathtaking. We noticed a young girl on top of the falls, walking precariously to the other side and for a few moments were convinced she wanted to commit suicide. But as we watched terrified, she disappeared, only to get into a hut at the far end. These people live dangerously, everyday I mean.

Now it’s not possible that I go to someplace and don’t fall. So I had my customary fall at Abbey falls and B or S even captured the embarrassing moment on film. R refused to lend a helping hand, for the fear of getting drowned along with me. I was miffed, but they later convinced me it was for my own good. Yeah right!

Several photos and splashing-water-at-each-other later, we headed back. We had seen a foreigner cycling his way to Abbey on the way and now he was there. He had our back to us and since B was curious to know what he looked like, she requested him to take a picture of ours. She handed over the camera to him while a dozen desis looked on. If he was flattered or surprised, he didn’t show it.

We trekked back to the road, where our auto waited for us and we braced ourselves for the treacherous drive back to the city. We stopped at a restaurant for lunch and eager to taste Coorg-special cuisine asked the waiter if there was anything he could suggest. Suggest he did, but what? To quote him, “Handi Maamsa” [Translated verbatim: Pig’s meat]

“Naalakku South Indian Vegetarian mini meals please”