Years ago, when funds and time were limited to an extendable four-day weekend, finding cheap, unknown places hinting at adventure and within easy traveling distance was top priority, especially for someone drawing the journalist’s pay in India. I considered it money well spent if I could find all mentioned elements, never mind that I had to dip my beak into my meager savings to budget for contingencies.
Determined to make the rupee stretch far, I zeroed in on Horsley Hills, a less-known hill station in Andhra Pradesh with cheap transportation on a Bangalore-Madanapalle passenger bus that also came with free lessons in how to share your three inch seating space with voluminous passengers on a sticky day without complaining.
I have since adjusted my ideas on adventure, fully agreeing that it begins when you board any public transport and continues till the journey’s end through breakdowns, rains showering their way through cracked window shutters, gnawing hunger and no-refreshment stops through the four-stretched-to-six-hours journey.
“All part of the game,” I humoured myself when I arrived at Madanapalle to find the only bus to Horsley Hills gone and the ladies room at the bus station locked.
However there is nothing like turning up in a Telugu-speaking state and conversing in gestures that adds to the feeling of being a stranger in your motherland, which you will agree is romantic, but not helpful when you need reliable information on getting to your destination before nightfall. Keeping the backpacker’s wit about me, I sorted my options and came up with three – thumbing, hiring private transport and indefinite waiting, but determined to make it to the Hills before sundown.
My mind conjured up images of a sleepy paradise with rustic bungalows and gurgling streams, which, fanned by the heat and chaos of Madanapalle was enough to persuade me to get a move on and not spend too much time doing the comparative math on hiring a taxi and thumbing.
While thus contemplating on rupee-saver schemes, nature played her hand, bringing forth the station master, who explained a less complicated way and urged me on a Hyderabad-bound bus that passed ‘close to the hills,’ from where, he elaborated, HH was 10kms uphill and if all else failed, I could hoof it. This followed a quick exchange with the conductor who agreed to let me off wherever I wished.
Thus arranged, we raced past the dusty and congested town of Madanapalle towards my destination and arrived at the fork-in-the-road with a dilapidated tea shop beside a tomato field and with friendly thumbs up at me, the conductor whistled the bus onward while I repaired to the tea shop.
Bucked by two glasses of milky tea, I set out on my way realizing pretty early that it wasn’t a good idea to continue, what with the heat and low water level that left me feeling that I had wished for a nightmare and been granted it, when Providence smiled again.
A tractor rolled into view and few smiles later I was balancing on a pile of bricks and cement bags swaying uphill to paradise that appeared to be in need of repair!
Imagine how impressed W D Horsley must have been when he rode his horse into this place over a century ago and promptly lent the hills his name! Every inch of the way was a riot of colours- shades of green battling with red, yellow and white, chattering primates and chirping birds scoring off on crickets audible over the tractors engine. As we pulled up to the Hill top, it started to rain.
Fortunately HH was equipped to deal with such emergencies, there being a guesthouse with an available room, thanks to the low season. I suppose only abundantly blessed, freak travelers such as I who refused to consult weather charts found shelter in trying times but geared up as I was to stick it out ‘wherever’ it was comforting to know I had not fallen out of favour with Lady Luck. But I admit that a warm bed and hot coffee paled in comparison to the pleasure of hearing winds whistle through the sudden fog scattering raindrops and blanketing the breathtaking views outside my window.
There was some daylight left after the rains receded. The Hills, swept by a gentle wind rising from the valley was awash with fragrance of eucalyptus and coffee blooms creating the perfect setting to savour fiery chilly fritters (pakodas) an old lady dished up at the park entrance. She clearly enjoyed watching people grimace and pressed the devil fritters on you till you went down on your knees and begged for ‘kaapi’ (coffee) to soothe the fire and ended up emptying her boiling pot.
You don’t think much of dinner after this. Perhaps the only reason hotels-owners allow her to operate is because she was one of the oldest residents of Horsley Hills.
The night comes with its own variations and not, I hoped, as the owner of Hotel Devdas told me, with panthers or bear known to roam the wooded area of the hills at night. But that could be just old wives tale, because during my stay I didn’t even hear so much as a dog bark, let alone a ferocious growl even during my nocturnal sojourn around the Hill, exploring disused buildings near the temple. Only a snake, surprised out of his slumber provided some excitement.
Morning on the Hills is a revelation, the breakfast-included option being the best of all, for a stomach fuelled by idlis and peanut chutney will remain uncomplaining till lunch and not protest if your order for food has missed its deadline, which happens so often.
Surprisingly there are a few houses on the Hill with residents employed at the guest houses or running mini-stores out of homes. A school, museum, park and a temple completes the picture.
But you don’t come to Horsley Hills expecting anything, therefore feasting your eyes on views and annoying lazy marsh crocodiles are great pass time, not to mention finding a sturdy tree branch to lie down and let nature do her job.
I tried my hand at climbing rocks but found myself slipping more often than I liked, gave up and munched lantana berries, peered into bougainvillea lined cottages and photographed school children.
On Horsley Hills I learnt that excitement and peace were the same, each revealing the state of your mind as you inhaled the fragrance of a million flowers to the accompaniment of twittering birds and sunlight on your back, your stomach suggesting that rural-styled chicken from Hotel Devdas and tongue craving chilly fritters, the feet wishing for a brisk walk and the mind in happy agreement to all this.
I made it to the last bus back to Madanappale, two days later.
Useful info:
- Do not expect anything from HH. If you have planned well, you can return the same day.
- If you do want to stay over, book in advance or get lucky. APTDC runs a nice guesthouse.
- Limited food options, requiring you to order at least two hours in advance. Alternatively you could order at Hotel Devdas (less expensive than your hotel) and the food is yummy.
- The Hill can be covered in less than three hours, so if you are looking for an action-packed weekend, this is not your place.
- Rishi Valley is very close to Horsley Hills and a great place for a quick visit.
- If you plan a long stay, stock up on snacks and other essentials in Madanapalle
