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British Mensa Travel Special Interest Group |
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Matheran
Hill Station A pre-dawn calm lay over the city. The streets were deserted, except for the dogs still curled up against the morning chill, and we made good time as we rattled towards Pune Central Station to catch the morning train to Mumbai. The ticket office directed us to Platform One where a huge express waited but as departure time got closer without boarding activity, lights or guards a niggling doubt entered our minds and so we asked a fellow passenger if this was indeed the train to Mumbai. He confirmed that it was, but that there was another on Platform 5 across the bridge. Panting and dragging our cases behind us, we raced to catch the Bombay Express, which pulled out just as the doors slammed behind us. We settled ourselves in an open compartment with filthy shuttered windows, ceiling fans and drop down bunks for the journey to Neral. There we would catch the miniature train which would take us to the hill station of Matheran. The skies lightened and as we travelled slowly through the suburbs we saw the morning activities of people who lived by the railway. Cooking fires were lit and smoke mingled with the early mist. Inside the train was a population of traders as well as the melee of passengers. The chai wallah walked up and down with his huge kettle of hot sweet tea, calling as he went. We could also buy coffee, soup, figs, sandwiches, cakes, nuts, shawls, have our shoes cleaned and our compartment swept. A brass band boarded, raising the noise level to deafening. We bought everything, ate, drank, gave to all and had the cleanest shoes and compartment. Suddenly the train lurched to a halt. We leaned out of the window to see a crowd had gathered just by our compartment. Word went round quickly; a body on the line. I moved to the door to see if I could help but men blocked my exit explaining that he was dead. His severed arm was some way up the track. Leaving the Express at Neral Junction Station, we purchased our tickets for the next stage of the journey on the toy train, which zigzagged its way along 21 kms of narrow gauge track. It is best to book in advance and the fares are Rs21 for a general ticket or Rs43 for a reserved ticket. We dozed as the temperature rose and we wound our way up the mountainside to the town situated on the plateau. Matheran means ‘woodlands overhead’ in Marathi and was discovered in 1850 by Hugh Malet, the British Collector of Thane and developed as a tourist resort. No cars are allowed there, so horses and hand pulled rickshaws are used for transport instead. When it is dry, the horses raise a thick cloud of dust which covers everything. We thought we would walk to our hotel, but were soon persuaded by the numerous rickshaw drivers that it was too far, too hot, too bumpy for our suitcases and altogether not appropriate for us to be walking. Our hotel was Lords Central which at first appeared to be rather run down, but turned out to be the best in town, with glorious gardens full of wisteria, bougainvillea and spectacular views. Monkeys roam the grounds and we were warned to keep our door closed so that they could not steal our belongings. Rooms are comfortable and water, though intermittent and brought in a bucket, was hot. The large dining room is light and airy and the four course meals were substantial, “Indian with an English flavour just like home”. Mulligatawny soup, eggy bread, fish and chips, chicken fricassee, goat curry, trifle or blancmange were included in the menu. My husband, on a milk-free diet, was offered jelly. The owner, Mrs Lord, her son and their staff are delightful, cheerful and very anxious to please. The town itself is small, unhurried and was a welcome retreat from the searing heat of the plains for many English families living in Bombay. Now their spacious houses, hidden by the forests, quietly decay. That era has passed and now holiday makers come to enjoy the cooler pollution-free air, peaceful surroundings and forest walks. The best time to travel is December to February but because it is a tourist destination it is relatively expensive, though there is a wide range of hotels at various prices. The boys
at the station tried to steal sweets from the stall, giggling and leaping
as their ‘uncle’ tried to beat them with a stick. While
we waited for the train to leave to take us back to Neral Junction, they
leaned into our carriage asking us questions about life in England and
in the world outside their peaceful hill station. We reluctantly
left them to travel back to Pune catching the Deccan Queen Express. Finding
a man in one of our seats, we showed him our reserved ticket and he apologised
profusely and moved further down the train. Not until we reached our destination
and left the train with our heavy suitcases balanced on the heads of luggage
wallahs did we notice that we had been in the wrong carriage. For further
information about Matheran visit www.matheran.org
First published in VISA 83 (Feb 2009) |