The hill stations of India, two ways

In colonial times, the hill station of Ooty was where the English retreated for a dose of home. “Such beautiful English rain, such delicious English mud,” Lord Lytton-Viceroy wrote of Ooty to his wife. Located at the pinnacle of the Nilgiri mountain range, the expats were so enamoured by the cool, green setting that they relocated the state government to Ooty for summer in the 1800s.

But it’s not just England that is replicated in these high hills. At one stage I have a sense of deja vu that I can’t put my finger on for at least a kilometre. I then realise it’s Australia I am seeing as I spy grey stringy bark gums rising on either side of the road. The eucalypts were introduced to absorb the high moisture levels in the atmosphere and in another continental connection, the Nilgiris are called the Blue Mountains for the shimmering vapour they emit. And Ooty’s Botanic Gardens prove just how hospitable the weather is for other countries’ horticultural icons. The cabbage tree of New Zealand, the cypress of California and the monkey puzzle tree of Chile all flourish here. Ooty truly is a chameleon.

BY ROAD

There’s no comfort quite like a sign that offers a “free mortuary van” just a phone call away, especially when it is located on a hairpin bend more than 2000 metres above sea level. I am driving up a pinball mountain route to Ooty and the air through the window becomes cooler and thinner with each kilometre.

The views are staggering, with multicoloured houses built in patches parallel to the mountain’s contours. Yet I can’t take my eyes off the marigold signs on every hairpin bend. More biblical parables than practical road-aid, they range from common sense to whimsical and provide a welcome distraction from the precipitous edges.

“Every animal has a right to live. Let us not take that from them” reads one. “Learn to love a memory – don’t drink and drive” reads another, a riddle that can possibly only be understood after a drink. Then comes the most biblical instruction yet. “Spare a thought for the passive smoker”. Other standouts include “speed is killing us” and “buckle up before you buckle down”.

These instructive signs are interspersed with a road bend countdown. Each hairpin turn is numbered – from 36/36 at the bottom of the mountain to 1/36 at the top. This road is state highway 67 and it rises 1500 metres over 14km. From 18/36 onward, my ears pop with altitude at each turn of the wheel.

BY RAIL

The Nilgiri mountain railway, also known as the toy train, is a colonial throwback that is a slow sojourn through a vivid green landscape reminiscent of England. Everyone leans out of the waist-high pushdown windows to see the purple jungle flower trees and red African tulip trees that cover the verdant hills.

I embark on the leg from Coonoor to Ooty, which takes in four station stops. After each stop the train steams back up in order to move, making the journey feel ceremonial, led by a stationmaster with a green flag. At some points signs along the tracks dictate a speed of 10km per hour, but you wouldn’t want it to go much faster.

This toy train may be thin gauge – only one metre narrow – but it takes precedence in these parts. Traffic stops prioritise the train while viaducts and tunnels carve through the landscape. Every tunnel turns the carriage into a ghost train – darkness and a jolting motion gives it the feel of an amusement park ride. That’s possibly why all the passengers gasp and squeal until we reach daylight and the echo recedes.

This train was built in 1886 and alternate biting teeth is the technology which binds track to train. The carriages are made of wood and painted blue with a custard streak along the windows. The train takes after all other vehicles in India and utilises its horn for no apparent reason. Children in villages hear the train coming and rush out, jumping and waving simultaneously as gesturing contagion spreads through the carriages.

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hill stations india nilgiris