We had arranged a tour of the nearby mountain 'sights' with Hussain, a rickshaw driver whose "tour guide certificate" looked more Mickey Mouse than a Legoland driving licence. We had stopped by one of the two dams that generate power for the Munnar district, and which seemed to be the hub of entertainment to be had on a Saturday afternoon. Having admired the stunning views across the reservoir, and having taken necessary selfies, we were drawn to the rifle range.
A sizeable crowd had gathered to witness the white man with the gun. As I burst balloons left and centre (I missed the right), the crowd whipped itself into a frenzied excitement, cheering louder and louder. When I burst the balloon with my final slug, so raucous was the celebration that I was overcome: I turned and, raising the rifle above my head, yelled "freeeeddooooooom" in a Braveheart-esque manner.
In hindsight, I regret my overreaction, as it seems to have triggered an uprising: we genuinely passed trucks of armed cadets on our return to Munnar.
We rickshawed higher and deeper into the strangely-shaped hills, peaking at "top station", where the morning cloud had unfortunately not yet burnt off. This turned the famed view point into a bit of a farce - in fact, I'm almost convinced that there's no view to be seen, and that in fact it's a point for locals to easily view westerners: every man and his goat wanted a photo with us (we returned fire by catching several off guard and asking for a photo with them), and binoculars were genuinely being pointed at us.
(On the plus side, I spotted several Indians taking selfies - glad to see the movement taking off.)
Returning to town we checked into a cheaper hotel - a line I hope never to repeat: it was morgueishly grim. Instead of towels and loo roll, we got blackouts, an inexplicably flooded bathroom and an ant infestation. Sensationally dire, and an unfitting ending memory for the vivacity of Munnar.
With love
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