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Yercaud, TN on the NH7

"Babies and travel don't mix"- some early advice we received, delivered in somber tones by raccoon eyed parent-friends. I took this particular piece of advice so seriously that it was almost 10 months after Shailee was born that we dared venture on our next road trip. That too completely unplanned (the trip not the baby).
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Jan 26th- Republic Day- came on a Friday this year. A long weekend in a bygone era would have us reaching for the Outlook guide, making our reservations at the best-looking budget hotel weeks in advance, getting the car serviced the week before, getting our good previous nights' sleeps and starting off at the crack of dawn to our preferred destination. This time was completely different- I was working hard the earlier week, and Gautam said he'd ask around about Yercaud, and between the two of us we never quite managed to do anything about it. In the end it was Sonal, baby on lap, who did some huntin' and callin' but we never managed to get any bookings anyway. Assuming the trip was off, me and Gautam slacked out in front of the TV Thursday night, while the lady of the house tended to the bawling baby inside. It was a bit disconcerting to say the least when the bedroom door suddenly opened and Sonal marched out, resolute look in her eyes. "Where are we going tomorrow?"she demanded. "Errrr...Nowhere. Gautam didn't book anyplace in Yercaud....He said he would..." I trailed off as the missus trained her gimlet eye on the hapless younger brother, who shrugged helplessly. That's that, I thought in relief.
Hell no.
"I'm exhausted," she said quietly. "If I don't get a break this weekend..."The unvoiced thought had us two grown up men shivering in our boots, or at least, our ghar ka chappals.
"But sweetie, "I bleated. "Surely you don't want us to go all the way up to Yercaud in winter without a confirmed booking. With a baby, no less?"
Sometimes a raised eyebrow can be a highly persuasive argument. So the next morning we woke up at 6, packed a hurried suitcase, grabbed the guitar, grabbed the baby, put the guitar in the trunk, realised it was still outside, reopened the trunk, replaced baby with guitar and set out for Yercaud, in the Eastern ghats of Tamil Nadu.
(I'm kidding of course; I would NEVER treat my guitar that cavalierly).
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Outlook Traveller informs me that Yercaud, 247 km South of Bangalore on NH7, is often referred to as "the poor man's Ooty". Well obviously concepts of poverty have altered radically since the time that edition was printed, because the Yercaud we saw was every bit as nice as Ooty, and seemingly equally in demand. The first 3 hotels we tried were all full and just as we were giving up, we found a room in one of the cottage-turned-hostelry places that seem to thrive in these hill station towns. We'd decided to stay in Salem (about 31 km away, where we stopped for lunch) in case we didn't get any accommodation up in Yercaud but that proved unnecessary.
One nice thing about this trip was that both Gautam and Sonal have fairly sharpened up their driving skills by now, so we took turns at the wheel- a wonderful feeling when you consider that most of the 66,000 km on my odometer have been done by me alone. It was enjoyable- weird almost- sitting in the back seat playing with Shailee while Gautam drove, with Sonal in the passenger seat providing some much-needed advice for him (and entertainment for me).
By the time we checked into the hotel (I forget the name, it was a generic cottage type thingy and what is it about these small town hoteliers that they have to act all reluctant about letting their rooms out, as if they were doing you, the paying public, a massive favour) it was about 4 pm, so we thought we'd just do the lake that day and save the rest of it for the next day.
Which was a good decision, because the lake was something awesome. We rented a pedalboat(very touristy), dumped Shailee on her uncle's lap (he for some strange reason was going about photographing petals and grasshoppers and cursing my poor Olympus for not being an SLR), and spent a lovely hour pedalling around the lake talking- mostly about our older roadtrips, but sometimes interjecting an anxious comment about whether we'd packed enough diapers.
The sun had set by the time we were done with the lake, and we next headed to a place called Lady's Seat (don't ask). It was one of those generic "points" that you find at any hill station, with a fantastic view and tons of monkeys. The difference was that this place had a couple of bhajji stalls close by as well. I messaged friend Omit (single oh seven) to the effect that "Am sitting on a hilltop breathing crystal clear air overlooking the valley at dusk with a hot chai and steaming onion bhajjis. Best thing is that it was all unplanned as of last night. Sigh- this is the life".
The bhajjis were delicious. We couldn't think of doing dinner after that, but Shailee needed some hot milk so we drove up a hill to this lovely hotel (Grand Palace something) and got a couple of cups filled into her milk bottle. There was a bunch of revellers there (some sales office, from the looks of it) who were feasting their hearts out beside a great big bonfire. We promised ourselves (and the hotel staff, a nice bunch) that we'd stay there the next time we came to visit.
About 9.30, back in our own hotel, we suddenly started feeling hungry (that's the problem with these cold cold places, you're suddenly ravenous without realising it). Our own hole-in-the-wall didn't have a kitchen, and the place next door had already shut down, so we took the car out again and headed to Shevaroy's, a decent hotel near the lake where they serve food pretty much into the early hours. We tried our luck at the reception there, but they were apologetic- the long weekend meant that all rooms were full, we could probably try the next morning. Which we did, since we liked the food so much we returned there for breakfast (and having been kicked out by our spoilsport hotel guys at 9 am the next morning since we had only negotiated for one night). And guess what, they found us a room- much nicer than the old one too.
It had cable, but no SONY. Apparently nobody in semi-rural TN has heard of Sony, so we missed the grand finale of BIGG BOSS (Rahul Roy won, yay!) After unpacking, we all got Ayurvedic massages (much needed to unravel the knots induced by too much city life). In the evening we headed to the Shevaroy cave temple followed by a visit to Pagoda Point, also known as Gent's Point (don't ask). The cave temple was nice, a tribal deity of some sort and someone informed us that the caves extended for hundreds of miles into the mountain. The drive to Pagoda Point in the dusky fog was magnificent and it started drizzling as we approached it. I'd been complaining of how dirty my car had become, so the rain served a double purpose- cleaned the car and lifted our spirits. We chomped on juicy sweet buttas (corn on the cob) as we gaped at the magnificent views and I don't remember feeling so much at peace with myself in a long time.
Time really passes slowly at these hill stations and finding ourselves back at the hotel and only half past six on the clock, I had a brainwave- hit the bar! I have hardly drunk a drop since November and the weather was just perfect. Gautam was willing company and Sonal, always a sport, was in a super mellow mood because of the way the trip had gone so far. So Old Monk and Thums Up for the boys it was (we imagined the crowd at the bar to be a raucous bunch, so Sonal stayed away, initially, joining us just before dinner). It's heavenly to drink slowly in cold weather, with eager waiters supplying free eats, and we chatted about that and this and watched cricket on the TV.
Dinner was Chinese- a poor imitation of it, but we weren't complaining. There are worse things.
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The drive back on Sunday was uneventful, but tiring for myself (since we wanted to reach quickly, I drove most of the way). The traffic getting back into Bangalore was your usual long-weekend-return dense. I was down for a few days after we returned, whether from genuine illness due to the weather change, or just post-trip blues we'll never quite be sure. Anyway, nothing that a few hard days at the office didn't fix.
Some nice things: filling petrol at 50/- (TN is a cool 3/- cheaper); getting a mileage of 15+ for the entire trip; Gautam's driving (which has really improved, except that he sometimes doesn't look where he's going and we once almost ended up on the median); and most of all, Shailee's perfect behaviour throughout (she slept, looked out the windows, babbled and generally behaved exactly as she does at home, only nicer). Gives us some hope for future trips.

Update

...Well, more like an excuse why there have been no updates...

Well, you can't really blame me; things have been kinda dull on the long trip front; what with the almost-weekly trips back home to Mumbai. The car mostly stays put in its parking slot. My windshield got shattered again: this time the front one, and incredibly, by an unknown miscreant. I created a big fuss with the welfare committee, and my printed outpourings became the toast of the apartment cocktail circuit (the wife, her good friend who is on the commitee, and the miscellaneous three others who happened to read it). However, the committee chairman, one Asthana (may his soul burn in hell and what the hell kinda name is that anyway) steadfastly refused to accept any responsibility for the incident, which took place in my absence and hence, predictably, without any concrete action on the part of the teeming masses employed by the apartment committee as gardeners, landscapers, pool attendants, watchmen and, anecdotal evidence suggests, dogwalkers. As a result, I couldn't bully anyone into shelling out for the damage this time around (refer previous post). Asthana, to his credit, is a much better guy to deal with than the vile Bhattacharya, but the son-of-a-what-not refused to be drawn into even offering me an alternative parking slot. I had to count on the sympathy of one of the other committee members to find one, which I now use, except that the lady who so kindly offered her own spot has not made it official, and I keep having to go back to my exposed parking slot time and again.
I am sorely missing Sonal. In addition to being a great wife, she's an incredible travel mate and our journeys in the Accent are much-missed.

Mysore- via Kodaikanal!!!

"Second trimester" is a phrase any expectant couple longs to hear, since that is the only time during the entire term that travel is recommended. Ours started towards the end of September, and ever since, the wifey and me have been planning a weekend getaway a la our trips to Ooty, North Kanara and Pondy. The festive season done with, a chance came up when we won a free 2 night trip to a destination of our choice thanks to some offer at Giria's, the electronics store where we bought a TV recently. Sonal made some calls and we chose Kodaikanal, a 11 hour drive from Bangalore according to our trusted companion, the Outlook Traveller guide.

We decided to start driving on Thursday evening after work, stopping overnight at Salem in Tamil Nadu, a straight 200 km drive along the NH7. Or so we thought.

It was raining on and off the week before, but that's not uncommon this tim eof year so we didn't think too much of it. The drive via Hosur to Krishnagiri was amazing as usual. 90 km of smooth 4-lane highway later, we crossed the Chennai turnoff and crossed over onto NH7 proper.

That's when our nightmare started. Krishnagiri to Dharmapuri on our map was about 46 km, and I blithely predicted we'd be there in an hour, even accounting for heavy traffic. No sooner had we started this section, having taken a snack and loo break just after K'giri, than our plans started to unravel, and fast. Apparently this part of TN had been pounded by heavy rains for the last couple of months or so, which reflected in the sorry state of the roads. Actually, beyond a point there wasn't any road, just one crater to avoid after another in some nightmarish obstacle course designed to test the most challenge-happy rally driver. Well, normally one loves to step up to the challenge, but remember this time there were other considerations and about halfway to Dharmagiri, we realised that continuing on this course would be utter madness, unless we planned to use the services of a midwife somewhere further down the highway. Somehow we persevered to the next civilised town. Around a quarter past nine, we made it to the town centre at Dharmagiri, where to our delight we found a nice AC room in a decent hotel called Sarvanna Bhavan. "Decent" in a purely relative sense, since the previous hotel we recced was a hellhole with no running water in the toilets and seemingly occupied only by drunken salesmen.
Some dinner and cable TV later, we turned in for the night, bitterly disappointed at the mess our much-planned weekend trip had degenerated into. The next morning we headed back to Bangalore, dreading the nightmare two hours back to Krishnagiri. But maybe because we'd already done it the previous evening when the light was really bad, the trip back was much smoother. After Krishnagiri, on solid tarmac again, Sonal had a brainwave: could we drive all the way to Mysore instead? After all, doesn't tourist season in that city peak around Dassera-Diwali? Could I somehow manage to secure accomodation at our guesthouse there at the last minute? By now, I was feeling so guilty about not having thought the damned Kodai thing through that I pounced at the chance of making amends. A couple of quick calls to the office later, it was done. Though they were running nearly full, Donald at the ILI guesthouse, who thankfully turned out to be an old acquiantance, promised that he a room would be ready for us when we arrived. Considerably cheered up, the trip to Bangalore and then onto Mysore went like a breeze. We stopped at a nice place somewhere between Chennapatna and Maddur for lunch, a motley collection of restaurants including a 24-hour Coffee Day.
Check-in was smooth as promised, at around 4 p.m. I had deliberately undersold ILI to Sonal, telling her the guesthouse facilities were "adequate", what could we expect at the last minute, etc. You can imagine her shock and utter delight when we finally stepped onto the campus and inspected our five-star room, with the attached patio and the fantastic bathroom. A couple of looooong hot baths later, we visited the closest food court and discovered that the food on offer was as good as the lodgings. The Mysore facility has changed almost unrecognisably since the last time I had visited, sometime in 2003 with a client team. The previously desolate campus is abuzz with activity, teeming with youngsters all undergoing their compulsory training before proceeding to full-fledged corporate life. There is a supermarket, beauty salons for both men and women, a full-fledged clinic, basketball and volleyball courts, a gym--- everything the Bangalore campus has and more, and infinitely more beautiful! Sonal remarked that it's like stepping into a foreign country and, blasé as I am about such generalisations, for once I had to agree!
She claims we could happily have spent the entire two days without stepping out of the premises and she'd have felt the trip was worth it. But of course, we did visit the magnificent Mysore palace, Chamundi Hills, the awe-inspiring Lalitha Mahal palace and Tipu's old capital of Srirangapatna as well. The drive both ways was smooth and fast, about two and a half hours on an increasingly sexy piece of road. What started off as a disaster actually ended up being a very enjoyable weekend trip for the two of us.

South Kanara

Funny, when I started typing this, the first word to emerge was "Mangalore" so synonymous is my ancestral town to the district of South Kanara. But realised quickly that in fact the trip I am about to describe did NOT include Mangalore. Our base in fact was Karkala, a small rather prosperous town dominated by the trader GSB community, from which my brother in law hails (closely affiliated to my own community the Chitrapur Saraswat Brahmins or CSB). Sis and family were down there for the annual "taer" (literally "festival"), which is essentially a period when the emigrant population returns to its roots and celebrates a week of revelry, mainly centered around the town's temple. This happens every year in May.

Sonal and I took a bus from Bangalore to kickstart this one. We were supposed to drive down, and sis and family take the train from Mumbai, but there was some confusion about their bookings being confirmed, which meant that they drove down all along the Konkan coast, then travelled with us in tow to Bangalore, and finally back to Mumbai in an isosceles-triangular path. We spent a fun-filled week in Karkala, at my sister's in-laws' nice house, and spent a lot of that driving around. Travelling with kids is no picnic at the best of times, but Ro and even Aman were on their best behaviour, and that helped.

It's been a few months since that trip and I can only recall some the highlights, pity. We did Kollur, Udipi, Hornadu---day trips all from home base Karkala--- before starting the trip to Bangalore via Hassan. Stayed at a horribly overpriced resort at Hassan for a couple of nights, and made the most of it by planning endless games of UNO and 20 questions (Rohan, not yet 8 then, turning out to be pretty good at it!) and lazing in the pool in the evenings.

A nice family holiday, took a couple of days off from work and did the usual touristy thing in Bangalore as well at the end of it.

Murudeshwar/Kumta on NH206

Harish called on Sunday. He wanted to know about places to see around Bhatkal, where he was going to complete some research on a book he's working on. Something about madrassahs springing up there in the late 90s. After the mandatory joke about him being attacked in his sleep by ISI agents etc., impetuously ventured that I might join him on the North Kanara coast as well.

Now Harish and me have a long history of unfulfilled promises to meet; ever since I moved to Bangalore, every trip back home is the same old story of me promising to meet everyone in Mumbai I know and then typically ending up so stuffed after Mom's or MIL's pampering that an apologetic telephone call is about the most that Harish and others like him can hope for. So he was to be forgiven when he treated my assertion of a meeting by the sea with the skepticism it deserved.

Perhaps because long weekends are so hard to come by, or the relative ease with which Sonal and (her brother who lives with us) Gautam agreed to the idea, I found myself scrambling for route maps, websites, Outlook traveller guides, and by the middle of the week, had booked us into two of Murudeshwar's finest. RN Shetty, the man who singlehandedly converted a tiny temple town into the (relatively) bustling tourist centre it is today, built hotels for every type and class of tourist and I slotted ourselves into the budget category. 390/- for a room, with 50/- for an extra bed sounded good to me by any standard, and when we finally did see the room--- a magnificent corner of the floor wonder with extended sea-facing balconies on two sides, we decided it was worth every penny and more! We booked the room adjacent for Harish and his travelling companion, a sweet middle aged lady named Abha. The idea was to spend just one night there- Friday- before headed back our separate ways.

Thursday passed in a blur of excitement. I hadn't realised it was so long since I'd taken a real break from work. Everythign was checked and double checked. The car had been acting up and was in the shop, another reason for worrying, especially since it was due to be returned to me only around 5 p.m. that evening. After some hurried packing, Sonal and I lugged the bags and my guitar into a passing auto and drove to the Hyundai service station on Kanakpura Road. Amit was true to his word and a few minutes after five we were on our way, only to hurriedly turn back for home when we realised that neither of us had remembered to pack the car CD player. The way back was spent in needless recrimination 9it was clearly my fault, but I wasn't conceding the advantage that early in the roadtrip!!!)

Half an hour later, we were headed back, this time to M.G. Road to make our last fuel-and-tyres stop and pick up passenger number 3, Gautam. By the time we actually hit the road with "0"on the odometer, it was almost 6 p.m. So much for our good intentions of departing early!

Obviously Shimoga, 281 km away, was out, since it would be midnight or later when we got there. So decided to stop over at Tiptur, about 3.5 hours out of Bangalore at the nondescript Janata Deluxe Lodge. That still left a lot of driving on Friday morning, but I was fairly confident of making an early start and making up a lot of good time on that stretch.

Which turned out to be pretty true, because the next morning, having got out eagerly of our not-too-comfortable beds at the crack of dawn, we hit the road at 6:00 a.m. and were in Shimoga, 143 km away, in exactly 2 hours, savouring a breakfast of idli-vadas and masala dosas at the Hotel Ashok before resuming our journey to the coast along NH206.

Route so far: NH4 out of Bangalore towards Tumkur; approaching Tumkur, watch out for NH206 (to Honnavar) sign. Gubbi, about 20 km from Tumkur, is the next real town on the route, followed by Tiptur (128 km from Bangalore). If leaving Bangalore after work, your only stopover options are Tiptur or perhaps Arsikere if you can make it that far. Dinner options are limited and timebound and accomodation also rather minimal at these one-horse towns, so be prepared!The better option is to start somewhat early, around 3 p.m. and reach Shimoga by about half past eight.

After Shimoga, the ride was pleasant and we averaged nearly 75km on the near-empty highways. As the day progressed, our speed slackened, thanks to the cows, cyclists and pedestrians (including incredibly, people who took their morning walks along the national highway!) who kept getting in the way. The ghat section of NH206 starts rather suddenly about the same time as the milestones for the Jog Falls appear. Jog- which are actually 4 waterfalls in one- was not one of the places we had planned on visiting, but given that we'd made up almost an hour and a half en route by virtue of an early start, we took the 2 KM deviation and headed there. After paying Rs. 20/- to a bored looking guard, we went in and took a look at the trickle, rather obvious at this time of the year. The disappointment was somewhat eased by our taking photos alongside signs proclaiming "World famous Jog Falls" and enjoying an icecream in the early-summer heat (Sonal had Chocobar, I had Mango duet).

Honnavar was just about 60 KM from the Jog Falls but the ghat section got steeper and I was getting a little tired, so we covered the last stretch rather sedately. Being the only driver has its perils. Sonal tried her hand at the wheel after Shimoga, her first time on a national highway and did rather well for about 50km braving the barbs and taunts hurled at her from the passenger seats almost as well as she did the oncoming traffic. I took over again after a rather bumpy section that made her lose her confidence somewhat (no fault of hers).

After the Jog Falls, the sun was almost overhead and my fellow travellers seemed to be dozing off, so we decided to start the first of our car games- spotting town names that doubled up as amchi surnames. For the uninitiated, amchi (literally "ours") is an adjective that people belonging to my Konkani-speaking Saraswat Brahmin community, refer to ourselves as. My people are spread along the length of the Malabar coast, from North Kanara (Karwar) right through South Kanara (Mangalore and adjoining areas) through even to bits of the Kerala coast (Manjeshwar and Kasargod). Most of these good folks took the names of their native towns as their surname (my own is "Mangalore" replaced by the more user-friendly honorific "Bhat"in my father's generation). Sonal's and Gautam's likewise was originally "Mankikar", or "resident of Manki". We started listing the village names- that doubled up as - surnames some time after the Jog Falls and there seemed to be no shortage of them on the way. Kodkani, Dhareshwar, Upponi, Gerusoppa flashed by in a blur and suddenly Honnavar (my maternal grandmother's maiden name) and the incredibly beauteous NH17 was upon us.

NH17 runs from Mangalore along the Karnataka coast through Karwar into Goa and then on to Mumbai along the Konkan coast in Maharashtra. The Konkan railway, that marvellous feat of engineering, runs parallel to this lovely strip of tarmac for most part. We hit NH17 at Honnavar and turned left, heading South into Murudeshwar, some 24 km away. Panaji, the capital of Goa, is about 200 km to the North.

Took one look at the lovely highway and decided that the next trip would be to Mangalore via Hassan and then a leisurely drive up the coast to Goa. That would mean about a week off and absolute time on our hands. Srinibab was inspired by my dream, and it will probably make another great blog sometime in the future!

Called Harish from Honnavar; he was in Bhatkal not to far off, so asked him to meet us midway at Murudeshwar for lunch. Meanwhile, we checked into one of the nice hotels of Murudeshwar, RN Shetty Guest House adjacent to the Murudeshwar Shiva temple (strictly no alcoholic beverages or non-veg food allowed). Which is when our delighted eyes beheld the superb rooms and the magnificent sea-view. In a flash, all the tiredness of the 12 hour drive was forgotten.

Showers and a change of clothing followed, after which we made our way to the Naveen Beach Resort (another RN Shetty enterprise, bless the man), recommended by my good friend Shefali Vaidya- Ganesh in her write-up in the Outlook Traveller Guide. She, more or less a teetotaller and a disgrace to Goans in general, omitted to mention chilled beer, which figured prominently in our lunch menu, now that the driving was done with for the time being. Over rawa fried king fish, a delicious lady fish curry and some good chicken, conversation flowed and ice was broken (Sonal had not been introduced to Harish before then). About 3 hours later, the bill appeared, not too much of a shock for a seasoned Bangalorean restaurant-goer. We checked in Harish and Abha into the room adjacent to ours and then hit the beach around 5 p.m.

City breeding has its disadvantages- we kept wondering that if the beach was this empty it was bound to be private propoerty of some sort, and peeped anxiously over our shoulders everytime someone headed our way. But nobody spoilt the party and it stretched well after dark, lazing on a grassy knoll near the seaside, talking about everything and nothing, sampling the fine spiced island rum, picked up from my latest duty-free experience. It drizzled a little as well and the moon was almost full, making it all a slightly dreamy experience. Some of us got rather more into the spirit of things than planned, so we ended the night's festivities and headed back to the rooms for dinner and much-needed sleep.

Day two was fairly mundane; we saw the temples in the morning (grotequely kitschy- Shefali was right about that!) then headed back to Honnavar where we dropped off Harish and Abha. They took in the local sights, including the lovely Om beach at Gokarna, before heading back to Mumbai on the evening bus; meanwhile, we headed to Kumta to the ancestral home of Sonal and Gautam's uncle, Anant Masurkar, who treated us to a sumptuous lunch and some delightful conversation. The combination of coastal heat and cool indoors (the house is set in 7 acres of coconut plantation) was irresistable and we found ourselves taking wonderfully satisfying siestas in the afternoon. Awaking at around 5, we brushed off the hosts' insistent pleas to stay and headed back on the road to Bangalore, me knowing full well that, as tempting as the thought was, staying over meant that I would have to drive nearly twelve hours at a stretch, not a pleasant prospect in the best of times and made doubly worse by the hot humid weather conditions.

The slight delay in leaving meant that we covered the ghat section to Jog Falls in the twilight and later in pitch darkness, with the lurking clouds adding to the atmosphere. Gautam and Sonal kept seeing weirdly frightening shapes in the forests surrounding the highway (update on 6 Feb 2007: Gautam completely denies this). I must confess that I felt much more at ease once the ghats were behind us and we were on the plains again.

Just as we were settling in for the final run in to Shimoga, the clouds finally opened up and in a burst of violent thunder and lightning, poured down upon us. We had just crossed the town of Sagar, about 75 km from Shimoga, when it started pelting down with a force I have not witnessed in Bangalore, the city of gentle rains. Always one for the soft options, I opined that in this weather, we might take another extra 2 hours to reach our overnight destination, not a pleasant thought with the threat of being run off the road looming high. As if to add weight to the statement, we suddenly found ourselves off-road headed into someobody's verandah. For most part, the road was not visible and navigation strictly by instinct. So we turned back and to our delight, found the most amazing little hotel on the highway off Sagar town. Hotel Varadashree, AC and non-AC deluxe rooms, veg and non-veg food, room service, full cable television... we could not have asked for more! But we got more, in the shape of an attentive and responsive staff who fulfilled our every need (from chicken tangdi kababs to a pack of cards) with a promptness that would cityslickers to shame. The night was still young and a power failure in the town meant that cable TV was out ("I have told seth to put our own dish antenna," Wonderwaiter explained, almost sheepishly), so we (Sonal, Gautam and me, not WW) ended up playing dumb charades (which degenerated into an argument over the spelling of "charades") and later gulping down copious quantities of Sprite as we wolfed down round after round of some delicious chicken and naan.
I awoke the next morning at my usual 8 a.m. and while the others snored on, took a little walk around the premises and found a newspaper vendor. Nothing of note seemed to have occured on the day we were travelling, except rather unexpectedly what seemed to be an attack on Lalu Prasad Yadav in Gujarat (by some exceptionally brave and noble gentleman, I remember thinking warmly). Assuming the town's power supply was back up, I switched on the TV only to realise that the previous occupant of the room, probably hard of hearing, had turned the volume all the way up. Now all awake and alert, the three of us watched a rather interesting "Happy Days" documentary on the History Channel, followed by some aimless channel surfing, a favourite weekend pastime of ours. Breakfast was a typical South Indian affair- no omelettes, the only black mark on an otherwise excellent hotel. After showering and changing, we reluctantly left the cozy confines of our sanctum for the night and headed back toward Bangalore.
Nothing of note happened on the remaining part of the way. We skipped lunch and tried to substitute with some chips and rather horrible biscuits that we picked up at Gubbi, but it was just not enough. Finally we stopped at Tumkur at the Canopy Restaurant for good old fashioned dhaba styled chicken, parathas and ghee rice. Tummies full, we settled in for the last stretch into Bangalore, the one I was dreading the most and with good reason. Indian highways should not be 4-lane, because frankly we don't know how to drive on good roads. Slow moving trucks and tractor-trailers hogged the fast lane while we were forced to manouever our way past by repeatedly overtaking from the wrong side, something I hate doing. Worse still is to contend with traffic moving the wrong way, a nightmare at those high speeds. Somehow we made it past the mess at the NH4 junction at Tumkur and settled into a steady rhythm along with the rest of the weekend traffic headed back to Bangalore. As expected, the Sunday evening traffic was heavy and undisciplined; by now my fellow travellers were dozing and I was having a hard time keeping awake, so the last hour was punctuated by missed turnoffs and some ultra-cautious driving on my part. Finally, we reached home stretch, and after topping up on groceries at the nearest supermarkt, reached home, bone tired but happy, a weekend well spent.

Total distance covered: 1026 km (Bangalore- Murudeshwar: 455 km; Murudeshwar-Kumta: 40 km)
Mileage: 13-14 km/litre, with the AC on most of the way (disappointing, have achieved nearly 18 on similar drives; but the car is older, the weather worse and slow driving was a significant part of it)
Takeaways from the trip: First time ever, slumming it out at nondescript hotels along the way; a good idea to break trips overnight, especiaaly when driving alone; carry plenty of water and maybe a few dry snacks; be ready with car games
Worth doing again: DEFINITELY. Maybe add spice by driving Bangalore-Mangalore via Hassan and then lesiurely drive up the coast to Goa, return via Honnavar along NH206 in a big triangle.

What drives me

I bought my first car on my 26th birthday, a dark grey Hyundai Accent sedan that was so beyond my budget and my standing at that time that I vowed it would be another 5 years before I even considered buying another car. Four and a half years down, it has served me well.
I started driving a few months after my 18th birthday, but the craving to pilot my own destiny, as it were, has been with me as far as I can remember. The 100cc bike craze completely passed me by; whenever I attempted to seat my fat ass on a two-wheeler, it was more about peer pressure than any genuine attempt to appear sexier to the girls. Four wheels or none, that was my motto.
When I changed jobs (and cities) 3 years ago, it was like a dream come true on the driving front. Mumbai for all its virtues, is a driver's nightmare. The only real driving experience from the metrop is the Pune expressway; the Goa route is another, but the Ahmedabad one sucks. That's it. 3 highways out!
Welcome to Bangalore, the city that was meant to be driven out of. Connections to practically every nook and corner of South and Western India have meant that there is no shortage of weekend trips one can make. The fact that the city is fairly easy to get out of also helps.
Since moving to this city, I have taken my faithful steed to Chennai twice (once via Chittoor, the other time through Hosur and Krishnagiri), Pondicherry, Ooty via Mysore and Bandipur, Chikmagalur via Belur-Halebid and Sravan Belagola, Kudremukh via Hassan and Sakleshpur and most recently Murudeshwar via Shimoga and Honnavar.
This still leaves the Hyderabad route and the NH4 Mumbai highway, not to mention the coastal road to Mangalore after Hassan! So you can see, quite a bit of fodder for this blog still to go!!!