Friday 6th April

Itmenaan Estate – Deodor Cottage

A short post today..

At the best of times, undertaking a long journey on Indian roads is an act of faith. With a jippy tummy it is daunting. Will it behave itself? Will there be anything remotely resembling a loo en route? Should I eat anything at all during the day at the risk of disturbing the status quo?? With such concerns I got gingerly into the back of the car.

Our last hot sunny morning in Jim’s Jungle Retreat had dawned and we were all packed and ready for departure at 9.15. Ahmed, our host for the next few days, had arrived together with our driver for what proved to be a long and winding road up to where we are now. “Morning Mam” he said. He was only young – very polite but on the ball and helpful. Sort of clean, I thought.

To get out of Jim’s Jungle Retreat is a feat because you have to manoeuvre across the dry river bed, which could just as well be a lunar landscape. We bucked and plunged as usual but the driver did very well and we emerged still breathing onto the road. Get ready stomach, I thought.

The early part wasn’t too bad. The Jim Corbett Museum is in Kaladunghi, which was en route. So we stopped off and had a look round. The museum is actually his old house, a very simple residence where he would stay in winter, retreating to the hills in summer.

I would love to write at length about this man, as I have been inspired by all he did for the people around him and his legacy. Having lost his father aged 6, and come from nothing, by the end of his life he was greatly loved and publicly honoured. But the little museum plaques probably express it more simply and better than I can.

Here are a couple of them:

Lingering possibly too long in his house we got back on the road and pushed on. It is so difficult not to back seat drive when you see vehicles coming at you on all sides and the driver going to within inches of the bumper in front. But there is a curious insouciance amongst all the Indian drivers on the road, and somehow the impossible happens. Overtaking on blind corners going up hill? No problem. Driving straight at the vehicle in front and seeing who gives way first? No problem either. It’s usually the smaller one. Doing a five point turn on a major highway? Piece of cake. All these delights were giving my stomach muscles even more contracting to do.

Next stop was lunch. As we turned off the road I thought, we can’t possibly get up there. But it’s India. So we did. At the end of a series of hairpins and breath holdings we arrived at Freddy’s Bungalow, a beautiful simple guest property, to be served lunch. I had only planned on dry toast or (shh) an ice cream, feeling desirous of some sugar. But this was a proper meal, and spiced. I decorously took a very small amount and hoped against hope nothing would happen.

Those stabbing pains again. But, surprisingly, they subsided, terrorised possibly into submission by my subconscious. We got back into the car and then came the really tough section of relentless bends and twists for mile after mile, with our bodies tossed from side to side and backwards and forwards as up and up we climbed, narrowly missing some large lorries coming down. ‘Just accept’ I thought, don’t fight it, and DON’T look through the front windscreen! But after only a short time it was my bladder not my tummy that was complaining. Damn it. Jeremy tapped Ahmed on the shoulder and said could we stop at a washroom in the next ten minutes. “Washroom? There are no washrooms mam. No washrooms on this side.” I stared back, incredulous. And then mutinied. “Well I can’t last till we get there!” And now having lost all my pride added “I don’t mind where we stop – trees are fine”. “Very well mam”. The poor driver was now under pressure to keep going whilst looking for an appropriate spot. Within minutes we stopped on a hair pin bend where a stream came down.”Over there mam, you can go over there.” Having checked no one could see, (I was wearing my spot-the-tourist red trousers after all) I lowered myself down the bank to do the necessary. Feeling thrilled that no one had had to observe the baring of my all, I stood up to fasten the red trousers. Within seconds a woman bearing a heavy load on her head walked right past just above where I had been. Thank goodness she had been spared a viewing.

Then on and on we went, almost unbearably. There was one more stop for a photograph and this time I had no compunction at all and marched straight over to the nearest bushes.

Only an hour later, but earlier than we had anticipated, Ahmed stopped the car, in the middle of a pine forest and said we would now be walking down to our accommodation. Some men appeared, given the onerous task of portering our stuff.

He proffered two walking poles! I took mine gladly but the boss refused. It wasn’t easy in flip flops but we then wound our way down a steep stoney path for at least ten minutes until finally we arrived.

Quick pause..feelin’ happy

It was a really beautiful spot. Honeylemongingertea (said all in one go) was immediately served. Heaven. Behind us our lodge. Before us a panorama of breath taking views, across to the hills and distant villages and down to the terraced hillsides stretching away far below. The sun shone and the birds were singing like mad.

It was a wonderful end to the journey and those tummy angels had indeed been merciful.