Tea Time in Camelot

(Munnar Tea Trees on Camelot Estate.)

If you’re fond of the scenic Napa Valley, then you’re bound to like Munnar, India, provided you’re looking for a 2006 chai, rather than a 2001 Pinot. A former hill station during the British occupation, you won’t find stretch limos carting thirsty tasters from winery to winery, but you will find more than eighty kilometers of rolling hills lined with rows of lush low growing tea trees. Climbing out of Cochin (Kochi) on the southern edge of India’s west coast, brown, loud and polluted transitioned to green, serene and fresh. One hundred thirty six kilometers of mostly winding one lane roads from Cochi, the destination is well worth the journey.

Panoramic views and pleasantly cool temperatures had my head spinning as nature spoke to my eyes, ears and nose. For the first time in almost five weeks, my senses were happy to be sensing all of the moment, not just the sights, or just the tastes, but the whole enchilada, or dosa in this case. Upon arrival, all reservations I had about choosing Munnar as a stop were erased.

Pulling into town I explained to my driver, Joseph, that I wanted to find Wi-Fi access (hard enough to explain the concept of Wi-Fi, much less actually find the service). While parked on the side of the road lost in translation about Wi-Fi, a man approached my open window and introduced himself. By now, I was used to this type of encounter from Indians, inquiring, “where are you from?”, “what is your “good” name?”, “what do you do?”. And depending on my energy level, I would entertain the conversation, but somedays were tougher to answer than others. And after four and a half hours on a winding road, today was one of those tougher days.

“What is your name, Mr. . . . ?,” the man said as he extended his hand inside the window. “I am Dileep. You are going to stay at Camelot?”

“No thanks, I already have a room,” I replied, figuring he was trying to book me into a hotel for a commission.

“No, you are staying at Camelot. I am the manager.” (Later I would learn he was owner too.)

I didn’t recall the name of the place I had booked, but Joseph confirmed that I was staying at Camelot which was 15 km out of town. Still, I was confused as to why the hotel manager would be meeting me in town. As with many Indian business owners I met, Mr. Dileep Pottamkulam was the proprietor of more than one business. We had stopped in front of his “Fashion Jewellery” shop as Joseph was inquiring where to find Wi-Fi.

A bit embarrassed by my initial standoffish nature, I smiled and introduced myself. No harm no foul apparently as Mr. Dileep did not lose the big smile on his face. And, after a few references to John F. Kennedy and King Arthur, he was laughing at the my connection with his resort to the historical figures, one he had no doubt made before, at least with King Arthur since it was Dileep’s wife, an avid reader, who named the resort. He encouraged me to visit his gold shop before heading to Camelot, but I politely declined still set on finding an internet café. A half-hour later, Dileep found me at the internet café and informed me that he would see me later at the “resort”. Surprised to see him and taking a moment to register who he was, I agreed, half appreciating his enthusiasm and half wondering why he was so enthusiastic.

Fifteen kilometers outside of town, Joseph parked the car at the base of a dirt road where we met a brand confused fire engine red four wheel drive Suzuki with the yellow and black Ferrari emblem on its doors and “Land Rover” written across the hood. In low gear, the Suzuki engine worked hard to carry four of us and my bags up the long, steep, rocky road to Camelot. The drive from town was beautiful, but arriving at Camelot was breath inspiring.

Nestled on a hillside in the middle of a seventeen acre tea estate, Dileep had inherited the property from his family first purchased in the 1970s. Officially it was referred to as “Camelot, The Camp Home.” From the name, I expected cold showers or no showers and less than clean bathrooms as I had previously found in my travels. But what I discovered was far from camping.

Perhaps it was reverse shell shock syndrome after being in the cities and now in the hills, or maybe it was the freshest air I had inhaled in a month, but more likely it was the 200 degree panoramic view straight off of my room encompassing rolling hills with eucalyptus, cardamom, orange, mulberry, coffee bean and of course, tea trees. Knowing better, I felt like I had discovered a hidden treasure.

Waiting for me at the top of the one plus kilometer driveway to Camelot was Dileep and three staff members. As if pulling into the Ritz, my car door was opened and all of my bags were immediately taken by the staff. Dileep officially welcomed me to “Camelot” with a single yellow flower. It was a warm welcome full of enthusiastic energy.(Dileep in the midst of his tea estate.) As with many small businesses, the welcome extended from the heart of the owner, Mr. Dileep, whose vision had materialized with hard work and attention to detail. “Camleot” was truly a Camelot-like place because of his personal investment of time and energy.

Dileep and crew showed me to the nicest room I had had thus far in India. A converted old farm house, my room was one of two with which Dileep started “Camelot”. The only indications it had been a farm house was the shiny dark pine planks on the ceiling. Uphill from the converted farmhouse, there were four “Standard” rooms as well, and four more rooms with amazing views under construction. I thanked Dileep and the crew for the warm welcome and set afoot into the estate, camera in hand, to explore the orchards.

(Converted farmhouse.)

Camelot is a true getaway with no mobile service, no television and no phones in the room. And if you plan to do some late night reading, you’ll be doing it by flashlight as it’s lights out at 10:30 when the kerosene generator, powering the outfit, is shut off for the night. I’m not sure how long this getaway will last though as Munnar is fast becoming a popular resort destination. Two new resorts (one with sixty rooms) are under construction within 10 minutes walk from Camelot. It’s only a matter of time before phone lines, satellite dishes and paved roads change the character of this natural haven.

On the terraced hillside in front of the old farmhouse, two thatch roofed umbrellas overhang four sets of chairs each. You can have breakfast, dinner, or even afternoon tea overlooking endless vineyard like orchards of tea trees. Don’t miss the sunset as nature’s elements compete for your attention, whether it is the dark and light shades of green tea trees, the rolling mist in the valley, the cheerful sounds of birds chirping or the yellow-orange fireball setting in the West, breathe as deeply and fully as you can, the air is purified by mother nature and unpolluted by man.

Sun down, plans for an early evening began with dinner delivered to my room with a view. A typically spicy Keralan biryani was about to rock my world. Aye Caramba! Hot! Hot! With the first bite, the spices ignited flames in my mouth delivering a three alarm fire to my stomach. Fire department, in the form of a cold glass of milk was no where to be found, so I battled the flames solo until about 3 a.m. when the burning reduced to a smoldering. It is a miscalculation I will only make once, not fully appreciating the level of spice preferred by the Keralans.

The following morning, almost as if possessed, I mocked the vacation gods again, rising to start the day before sunrise. I was beginning to wonder who I was, speculating that perhaps a parasite had taken over command. Not possible I assured myself as I was pretty sure the fire cleanse from the prior night left no signs of life, good or bad. Casually pulling back the curtains to let more light into the room, the view I had seen just twelve hours earlier was again breath inspiring as if seeing it for the first time. Without brushing my teeth or wetting the calics from my bed head, I reached for my camera and darted outside to capture the morning light on the groves of tea trees.

Impossible to fully capture, I’ve included a few snaps here for your perusal.
When viewing them, add about four different bird sounds, a low level cricket buzz and fresh air from the redwoods gently misting over your face. That is Camelot in the morning.

After a brisk walking tour of the estate with Babu, one of the staff members, a simple breakfast was served at one of the thatched roof huts overlooking the estate. By 9:30, Joseph and I were off to the “Top Station” at the border between Kerala and Tamil Nadu, the neighboring southern state. Driving past the tea estates, the warm sun, pleasant temperature, fresh air and miles of low growing tea trees reminded me of the California wine country. At times you could have told me I was in Marin, Sonoma or Napa Counties and my eyes would have been willing believers.


Nearing the state border, the mountains, known as the High Range of Travancore, rose like steep centurions standing watch over the green valleys on both sides. (Centurions rising from valley floor.) We were at 4,500 feet, but Anamundi Peak, the highest peak in south India was at 8,841 feet (Anamundi Peak viewed from Camelot). From the lookout, it was a 360 view of green peaks and valleys. Bus loads of locals were day trekking around the station as Sunday was a day of rest for those fortunate enough to have such days.

Returning to town, the afternoon was capped by another $12 ayurvedic massage before returning to Camelot for my last evening in Munnar. Basking in the serenity, peacefulness and temperate climate, I did not want to return to the hot polluted noisy cities in the flatlands, but I knew that this was just a rest stop before the classroom of life resumed.

In two days, I would fly to Bombay to see Roopa, now having undergone two surgeries and three rounds of chemo. Looming in the back of my mind was what I would encounter when I saw her again. Could I be strong for her? Should I pretend like nothing has changed? What can I bring or do to help? I don’t know the answers or if there even are answers, but if there are, I’ll be sleeping with one eye open ready to receive them.