Rebirth in India

The bus conductor wobbled his head to say "this is it". We jumped off the bus where a hand pump water tap, a few dirty bags of produce and a bomb shelter of concrete defined the bus stop. We looked around. A dark Indian asked "Honey Valley?"
Then he answered himself "Five minutes!" And scampered up the dusty track.
A half hour later a couple Mirhinda jeeps came down the dust trail in low gears with engines whining. A family of fifteen Bangaloreans tumbled out the back and piled into their waiting minibus. We hefted our packs and the dusty provisions onto the jeep´s roof rack, clambered in and headed up the rough road to the coffee plantation, Honey Valley Estates. The steep 3km track wound into the Western Ghats. The jeep jostled and whined, crawling up the slope. The jungle held the track tightly, limiting our view to tree tops and the rough road ahead. Suddenly the views opened to a valley of coffee plants surrounded by jungle. We bounced along through the dark green foliage loaded with ripe red berries.

The Estate is a coffee plantation first and a guest house second. The simple buildings were arranged on the hillside amidst explosive flowers of all colors. Courtyards were covered by multi hued coffee berries drying in the sun. We were welcomed by the sweet family of owners and steaming cups of creamy sweet coffee from the plantation. Suresh, the patriarch, handed us a worn green pamphlet of hikes in the area, ranging from an hour to full day affairs.

The estate can accomodate about 40 guests in rooms ranging from $5 to $25. All the guests shared communal veg meals with at least 5 nationalities crowded around the tables. There´s electricity from a micro-hydro generator and the water comes from a mountain spring just up the valley from the estate.

We finally found heaven in India! The jungle was intoxicating. The bird songs were deafening, particularly due to the absence of any other noise, a noticeable difference in a country of one billion people. We came for two nights, but stayed for four. We hiked the Western Ghats as much as our atrophied bodies could handle. Three days of hiking without setting foot in a moving vehicle or drawing a breath of exhaust was the rejuvenation we craved. We hiked alone, we hiked with friends, and on our final day we hiked with the most endearing trio of Honey Valley dogs. The trails led us through neighboring farms, across ridges, on elephant trails through the jungle, and up two nearby peaks. We fell into sleep every night serenaded by the jungle, wondering, are we still in India?