Yercaud is about 230 kilometres from Pondicherry and there are two ways of getting there. The first is taking a State Transport Corporation bus to Salem and then another bus up the hill to Yercaud. The other is to do the entire journey in a taxi. You have probably guessed which option I chosen.
The taxi was supposed to pick us up at 0700 in the morning and we got up around 0615 or so, packed our bag and stepped out of our room in Residence Shalimar to have breakfast.
This morning, there was another guest waiting at the table. An Iranian-American, she has been coming to Pondicherry for many years to discover spirituality and yoga. The lady is obviously fascinated by such deep faith in India and got talking to us about spirituality.
I knew this was going to be a long discussion, so I slipped away to check up on the taxi. Sir, the driver who was supposed to take you to Yercaud returned late last night. He will be with you by 0800. So why wasn't I informed? I tried your number at 10.30 last night but it was switched off. There, another one chides me for switching my mobile phone off after 09.00 pm.
After my lame attempt with "people have so much faith in God because there is little to believe in - as Government, Police, Bureaucracy and Society have all failed them" my better half did a better job articulating the ancient culture and the belief of its people in that Lord Almighty. Maybe I was distracted by the Starbucks coffee bag that the Iranian-American was carrying. She loved the yoga and spirituality of India, but the coffee will have to be American.
The taxi arrived at 0800. It was nice and spacious Ambassador, which is still the best car to negotiate India's motorways with. It is tough and rarely breaks down. The driver apologised for the delay. He had been on a six-day visit to Goa and Karnataka and got back in late.
The journey to Salem takes one through the NH-45 (or National Highway 45), one of those toll roads built under the 'build-operate-transfer' scheme by private operators. Such roads are well-maintained and have cut the travel time to major cities by hours.
Unfortunately, Salem requires a detour through NH-68, a motorway still being developed. Some stretches are good, but others are pretty bad. Traffic from both sides flows on just one side of the road and the regulars - like our driver - drive cautiously.
Somewhere along the road, an elephant came along. In return for some coins, he put his trunk in through one of the windows to bless our little girl. She was too excited by this and wanted us to give some more coins. But we decided to push ahead with our journey.
It took over five hours to get to the top of the hill and to our hotel, Grand Palace. The hotel had lovely views of the valley, a nice play-area for younger kids, another play area for older children with table-tennis, chess and computer games. For adults, there was a spa advertised through a woman lying in a jacuzzi with loads of rose petals.
This was 30 December and many other guests - with similar plans of welcoming 2010 in Yercaud - had started coming in. The fliers around the hotel promised 'Fun-filled party with party-games, mind-blowing music and a buffet of 50 international and national dishes'. The Cloud 9 pub at the hotel went a step ahead, promise a third drink 'absaloutly free' if you bought two small drinks.
Our friends from London, we were supposed to meet, were headed to Yercaud from Bangalore. Even though the road is much better (NH-7), it took them much longer to get there. A famous Kannada actor died that morning and his fans were out on the streets to mourn the death and to break or set fire to a few vehicles. Then, their luxury Volvo bus broke down in the middle of the motorway and a replacement bus had to come from Bangalore to bring them to Salem. It was nearly 11 in the night when they got there.
On new year's eve, we hired a cab to take us to the local attractions. Like any hill station, Yercaud had many good viewing points, an old temple, an old business in natural essences, a lake with paddling boats and loads of monkeys - including some really fond of drinking Mirinda.
We spent a fair bit of time in the local botanical garden, which had many varieties of orchids and plants, including a fly-eater - kept away from people in a cage. As with other monuments or places of public interest, the botanical garden also had a mark of some visitors - scratched on a leaf.
By the time we returned to the hotel, there were cops all over. It seemed to be the usual security check, unless one of them mentioned that a threat had been received about blowing the hotel up. All rooms were being checked to ensure that such a nefarious plan didn't succeed.
A further dampener for us was the main function, which was some party-games followed by extremely loud - and very often, bad, music. Of the 50-dish buffet too, the only things edible were roomali roti, daal, chicken biryani and some desserts.
After trying to watch a film in our room for a little while, we came out. It seemed too boring a way to welcome the new year. Thankfully, the hotel had arranged a bonfire outside and we sat around it until the clock struck 12.
Then, it was time to sleep and prepare for the next day. Our friends were returning to Bangalore and we were going to Salem - to catch an overnight train to Trivandrum.
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