14 Sep 06
Inevitably everyone tailgates to line up that overtake, but about 40 miles in we see the danger inherent in that: three trucks have just shunted at high speed with the last, a tanker, suffering horrific damage to the cab. We find the unscathed driver of the crunched middle artic, who tells us in broken English the third driver has been rushed to hospital with terrible cuts. His plastic-mesh seat was forced right to the roof in the smash. It's then that I notice a sign on the side of the tanker: he was carrying sulphuric acid.
A strong wind off the flat, red-earth plains enforces a speed limit we probably would have kept to anyway, after seeing that. The dubious shade offered by our black, vinyl-roofed rickshaw is improved by the almost Gallic avenues of trees, punctuated every so often by the stunning scarlet of a flowering flame tree. We stop at the industrial port of Tuticorin to be given a ceremonial welcome by the chief of police - a Tamil called John Nicholson sporting a fabulous handlebar mustache - and then head inland towards the clean air of the Nilgiri mountains. A detour to a well-stocked fruit farm ends with a slug of palm toddy, tasting of flat champagne but with twice the kick. We blame it for our descent into hooliganism on our way back to the main road. After that, I can say with absolute confidence that rickshaw argy-bargy is one of life's truly great motoring giggles. In fact, it's probably the most fun you can have at 30mph.
The main road to the foothill town of Courtallam (aka Kuttralam) sobers us up quickly, as all India' s main roads tend to do, but at least the flat scrubland is changing for the better. We catch our first sight of the mountain range, and bright green rice paddies carpet the foreground. Apparently, the water is a natural weedkiller - only rice plants can grow through it.
A minor incline halves our speed on the road to the hotel, which turns out to be a series of substantial bungalows, each with its own garage. Lush gardens glow with red hibiscus, clouds of purple bougainvillea and the bright blue of a swimming pool. All for £7.50 per person. I'm off to hitch a ride with the Americans to experience the supposedly health-enhancing local waterfall. With just one day to go, chances of survival look good, but a splash of local superstition can't do any harm. Can it?
