The Backpacker

Hello there,

It was not without certain misgivings that I boarded the Dimapur -bound train at Guwahati for it was not really my destination. It was to Tamenglong that I was headed and to reach there I had to pass through many eastern Indian states. Dimapur and Imphal all happened along the way. Of course there are various ways to reach Tamenglong, but I did not learn of it until much later. As a tourist destination it does not rank very high anyway.

(Domestic tourists intending to visit Manipur by road via Dimapur/Kohima require Inner Line Permits to pass through Nagaland which are issued by Liaison officers of the Government of Nagaland, New Delhi, Calcutta, Guwahati, Shillong and Sub-divisional officer (Civil), Dimapur. Deputy Commissioner, Imphal can also issue permits to tourists traveling by road from Imphal to Kohima and Dimapur in Nagaland.)

Therefore Imphal served as a transit-point from where I boarded the Tamenglong-bound bus, 156 km away.

Imphal greets its visitors with friendly smiles and the driver on the Tamenglong-bound bus carried on the tradition. His eyes, at the sight of my backpack, shone brighter and he smiled through the dangerously long six hours ride and even when the bus headed on a collision course with the nearest tree!! Yet, I arrived in once piece, albeit a little shaken. The driver kept smiling even as I disappeared into the crowd.

Tamenglong is a pretty town with simple people who mind their own business. A few occasions generate interest, like the arrival of a female traveler. Unashamedly they gathered around, speaking in strange tongues accompanied by excited gestures and smiles.

There was no internet to aid my search of a suitable place to lay my bags down and everyone still seemed to be smiling. I indicated “sleep” by joining my palms and placing them behind my ears and inclining my head, all at once. If that did not do, I was in trouble. It worked wonders. One woman grabbed me by the arm and led me towards a decent-looking house within easy walking distance of the bus stand. There was a small room with windows covered with a mat, a little cot and a washbasin no bigger than a soup bowl. But it would do. She even knew Hindi!!

Thus having acquired a living quarter, I slept a while. Tamenglong is pretty cold too, but in a healthy sort of way. An evening walk in the town enlightened me as to some wonderful places, my mind anxious to see the Burning Meadows, which one kind old retired army personnel had referred to as “a carpet of fire”. Then there was the Zailad Lake and the Tharon cave. Tamenglong is blessed with amazing sights and sounds and is entirely composed of hills and valleys and green tropical virgin forests. This tiny place, I learnt, is also called the Land of the Hornbills owing to the large number of these birds found here. Great pied Hornbill and Indian pied Hornbill species are found here.

Burning Meadows was well, not exactly on fire when I saw it the next morning. In fact it was a carpet of flaming grass spread right across the valley as far as eyes could see. Nevertheless there is only way to describe it. Flaming beauty.

Tharon cave I discovered has much historical importance. This cave has thirty four joints and is 655.6 meters in length. It has five exits and good ventilation system too. No cause for asphyxia either. The two other visitors in that ancient cave did not make much of its history either, and were more hung upon the scenery outside.

The hilltops and valley sides are dotted with small hamlets, located at strategic points
The land was believed to have been formed due to orogenic movement during cretaceous and Eocene period. Due to weak and fragile nature of rocks and high gradient of the hill slopes, landslide is a common phenomenon in the whole district in rainy sea.

A TEAR AND TEAK

Hi,

All of you. I am back agian after having gone off the net for nearly two months!!

This is an interesting place. (one of my favourites!!) 

Top Slip is nature’s way of making known that, it rules, so much so that any visitor to this place, first bows to the sheer magnificence of its presence.

That I was in Coimbatore (Tamil Nadu), a mere seventy kilometers way from this hidden paradise without knowing of its existence was quite unfortunate, seeing that backpacking on the roads less trodden was my sole motto. It was the jolly old man in the truck full of goats, who told me of the place and made me realize that if I missed Top Slip, I was a no good traveler. I joined him. 

Traveling to this place in a truck full of ill-mannered, foul-smelling goats was the only low point of the trip--that and the constant whistling of the cleaner boy. Otherwise it was plain sailing.

Top Slip is a little hamlet in the Annamalai hills (Western Ghats) with an interesting history to it. Thick teakwood forests can be seen for miles, which, the old man explained, was the legacy of the British Raj. I could not make a connection, pondering over why the place was called Top Slip. He threw light upon the subject. In the days of the Raj, timber was slipped down to the plains through canals, seeing that there was no other mode of transporting it. Thus the name. Fair enough.

We took exactly three hours to reach Top Slip from Pollachi (35 km), including the tea-breaks, a short nap under the teakwood post lunch and three short stops to pay obeisance to the nature god. The road to Top Slip snaked upward along the backbone of Annamali from the forest checkpost at Sethumadai, the entry point. The shadows had lengthened on the hill and so it was back to Pollachi for the night. Also, the rest house was unfortunately full.

My first real day in this place began on the second day, although the bus ride was not as interesting as the truck ride, even with the goats. It was pleasant just to wander about the little row of shops and past the tribal school, sip tea and inhale the freshness. There is something about the air that makes you want to curl up and take a long nap. I do not fancy elephant safaris and no amount of persuasion could get me to undertake one. (The Forest Department organises elephant safaris and jeep rides into the sanctuary.)

That a place such as this could house so many varieties of birds came as a surprise, as I had associated “the whistling schoolboy” to a naughty teenager, but which was a bird, Malabar whistling thrush, with a blue coat.

To walk in the jungle requires the permission of the forest department, but visitors do sneak in unnoticed.  I decided against this particular exercise after the tea-wallah told me about the pug marks he had seen a few days ago. Alternatively a small group of people, including myself, sought the assistance of a local guide and beat a path through the undergrowth.

Top Slip has much on offer. And yes, it is cold in winter and has been hailed by tourists as a ‘haven for wildlife’ which, an expert guide can spot for you easily on your hikes in the forests. Patient watchers have been rewarded with sighting interesting animals, but the unlucky ones claim that the wait is just as satisfactory.

The walks can take up a good part of the day, through various ups and downs. I found myself going down for most parts, on my back. My guide clearly did not enjoy having to pick me up each time I slipped. He suggested once that it would have done me good to stay behind and visit the museum. I never once fell after that.

The he told us tales of ferocious tigers, panthers, the intimidating wild elephants and bison to the unobtrusive pythons and green vine snakes. (I suspect it was to keep me from going further with them.)  Of course we never saw the animals and the guide attempted to cover up by saying it was off season!! 

That night I managed a room at the rest house, waking up to a morning full of sunshine. The place was already growing on me. I missed a trip to Parambikulum nearby just so that I could watch the birds in the skies. The food at Top Slip was probably the best I have eaten. It had the taste of nature in it, would be so naturally for it was made by the tribals themselves.   

It was hard to say goodbye to Top Slip. For some reason, my mind wandered back a hundred years. I saw a felled teak slipping down the narrow canal to the plains. It was actually a tear.   

If you are looking for a heritage site, this is the place for you. (Try swimming in the sea but watch out for the shells!!)

ALAMBARAI FORT, (Near Chennai)

Everything takes you by surprise here, beginning with the roads. The 136-kilometer long road connecting Chennai (Tamil Nadu) to Pondicherry is one India should be proud of. Secondly, the Alambarai Fort. For a visitor who does not know Tamil, the local language, reaching the ancient heritage site is an achievement in itself. But if you do reach Kadapakkam (about 45 km from Pondicherry on the Chennai road), after much gesticulating and coaxing the locals, you could just turn right and drive further about three kilometers, over really bad roads and gaping fisherfolk, you are transported back in time.

Literally

The seas have never been so alluring or so blue and the skies so seductive. But what takes your breath away is the now ruined Fort. Its broken walls that have turned deep red with the passage of time stand testimony to the era that once was, adding beauty to the quiet of the place. Crystal clear white sand stretches for miles and just for a moment you glimpse the Emperor looking down lovingly upon his kingdom from the tall towers. For just a moment. The blue seas then reach up to your feet and you awaken from your momentary slumber. The image of the Emperor fades away and you see the square shaped brick fort with its partly destroyed towers that were once the pride of the place, now merely watch over the blue waters that reach up to kiss its walls.

Alambarai Fort, built towards the beginning of the 17th century (1735) by the Mughals, was ruled by Nawab Doste Ali Khan and later gifted to the French for services rendered to the rulers. Spread over 15 acres, this also served as a sea port for the ancient Tamil Nadu where much trading activity took place. This was the only port on the East Coast of India (also called the Coramandel Coast), back then. When the French was defeated by the British, the Fort was captured and partly destroyed in 1760. Now maintained by the State Department of Archeology, this mysterious yet enchanting ancient heritage site, faces the ravages of nature. Built on the sea that is rapidly eating away at its foundation, it is a matter of time before it comes crashing down.

When you have briefly glimpsed history allow yoursef to be caressed by the warm salty breeze. stand on the old towers with your arms extended and you'll be surprised how much of the universe you can hug in just that gesture. there is something about the place that makes you want to step back in time, even for a tiny moment.

That is just the way I felt when the sun went down and drowned the fort in a golden red light, like the flashing of a million diamonds. It was a place that I could never forget. It would always play on my mind.