Monday 24th February - Unreserved Luxury and a Disappearance

D sets a 6 am alarm as he hopes to get pictures of the temple gopurams before the sun gets too fierce. R opts for an extra hour in bed. The streets are dark, but not deserted, and around the temple there are already a lot of worshippers. The sun rises quite quickly, but D manages to get some of the shots that he wanted, which display the colours of the carvings as they reflect the early sun. Back at the hotel a distance shot of the temple complex, over the rooftops of the city, already suffers from over exposure and it is only 7 a.m.

Breakfast is busy again but D manages to place an order for a masala omelette. Two are delivered to the table, so R does the decent thing and eats one of them. Then a third one arrives and we have to pass. We have plenty of time to pack and check out before taking the short walk to Madurai Junction for our next train. By a fluke we enter the station right by the Unreserved Ticket counter. D drops the hand bags and heads for the counter, which provokes all sorts of people to decide to go for tickets as well. D uses his weight and elbows to good effect and is soon in possession of an Unreserved IInd Class ticket from Madurai to Sencottai for two people, 174 km, total cost Rs 70. There is no other accomodation on this train, unless you are the driver.

It is over an hour until departure, so seats in the first a available shade are secured, and D is sent on a reconnaissance and provisioning mission. This is successful and after a short wait our train is announced. The southern footbridge is still boarded off so we have to make our way to the other one. When we descend to platform 4 we find a pair of side seats on the shady side of the train, which D has calculated will remain shady for the whole trip. He then goes to take pictures and spots a couple of almost empty coaches near the back of the train. When he reports back to R, she is mumbling about the miasma around the current choice of seating, so we pick up our bags and move.

In the new spot we get comfy and D attempts to switch the overhead fan on. In the next pair of side seats along the train reside an elderly couple. He sees D failing with the fan and jumps up onto the seats, biro in hand. He pushes this through the wire guard of the fan and vigorously flicks a blade with the pen. It works for each of the six fans he deals with. We never cease learning when it comes to Indian train travel. 

We are just adjusting to the breeze from the fans when three chaps arrive with a very large cardboard box and somehow wrestle it into the coach, where it gets an inside window seat in the bay nearest the door. Closer examination of the box suggests that it contains a large fridge. Just try that on a Dunblane local. 

The chai man cometh and R's cup of dip joy overflows. Train 56733 is a Passenger, the slowest of the slow in Indian Railways books, but it rattles along at a decent pace. R expressed the view that it is rather cleaner than some 1AC coaches that we have travelled in. (Yes, Northern Railways. We are talking about you.) The first part of the route parallels a major highway, and we outpace everything but the fastest cars. The stops are very leisurely and we keep losing time. About an hour in our route splits with the main line to the extreme south and heads off in a south westerly direction. The countryside is flat but we appear to be heading straight towards a wall of mountains. Then we veer away and pass to the south of the hills, amidst more wooded scenery. This trip provides superb door riding opportunities which D takes full advantage of. We do know people who pay 2AC fares and then spend the trip at the door, but here there is no competition. This trip has been a bit short of peculiar station names but here is one we saw today.

 At Sencottai Railway station we step down from the train and are greeted by some auto drivers. We give them the name of the hotel we have booked and they look blank. D gets the app up and the map. 'No hotel there' is the concensus. Booking.com have not let us down over the last 9 years so D digs his heels in. A policeman and numerous bystanders have become involved. He tells the driver where we want to go and that the fare will be Rs 70. We set off and at the end of Station Road the driver turns right rather than left. D protests and the driver does a U turn and then parks in the middle of a busy crossroads, leaving us in the back, while the traffic builds up around. He has gone to consult someone and returns with an English speaker who has not heard of our hotel either, but who is able to tell the driver that we will pay the return fare if the hotel is not there.  Our route lies across a level crossing where the red lights are flashing, the klaxon blaring and the barriers descending. All in a day's work for our man, who swerves to the right to get under the nearside bar and then gesticulates at the crossing keeper, who reverses the barriers. Phew!

Inevitably the Royal Fort Luxury Hotel is not where booking.com's map shows it to be, and nobody around there has heard of it. They are not answering their listed number. The auto man gives D a look that says 'I told you so!' before heading back into town. Visions of the Railway Retiring Rooms haunt us. At this point the miracle of 4G comes into play, as D finds the only other listing within 30 miles and secures a room as we drive. This time the driver calls them himself before we proceed. Who can blame him. It is a ride of about 5km to a place set back amongst mango trees. The driver's ask is very reasonable and we give him a bonus for remaining cheerful throughout. 

When we get to the Kuttalum Heritage Hotel it is apparent that the message from booking.com has arrived about 30 seconds before we have. We register and are asked to relax on the sofa. Complimentary Seven Ups appear while a lot of whispering and activity goes on behind the counter. Eventually the security man takes us for a long walk, past the restaurant and various bungalows, following signs that say Bar.

We arrive at some newer buildings, lifted on stilts, and are allocated a first floor room. This is cosy and simply furnished, but has a balcony on both sides of the room, one open to the air and the other enclosed by a sort of greenhouse. Do people bring their plants here on holiday? There are also curtained windows on both sides of the room but one has been blocked off by a wardrobe.

The grounds are quite pleasant with shady foliage. Our luggage is delivered on a scooter. The bathroom is a decent size and has both shower and bucket options. Even R admits that we have stayed in worse places. The next question is which of India's multiplicity of Police Forces should we call to report the disappearance of the Royal Fort Luxury Hotel? 

We decide that we need assistance with this sort of question and head for the bar. Internally this would be considered nefarious in Possil, but they have a couple of garden tables. The waiter brings our beers and then four different types of snack. R vetoes the watermelon immediately, as it is considered instant death. The two different dry namkeens are permitted but the unidentifiable soggy bean masala does not make the cut. People here must think that we are very picky.

On reflection we would probably have been thrown out of the interior saloon for smelling of Unreserved Train. We are back to tepid water and a bucket but it is very welcome. The dining hall is near reception and we are the first customers. Our waiter employs both the Tamil head wobble for yes and the European shake for no as the list of unavailable items is culled from the menu. It appears that the choices available are vegetable khorma, egg fried rice, onion raita and parathas. We can live with that, particularly as the food is really good. The raita and parathas are just wonderful. The orange melamine tableware is different.

Informed readers might wonder why we have come to Sengottai. It does not get any sort of mention in Lonely Planet and Wikipedia says that the name means Red Fort in Tamil and that the economy revolves around rice. Apparently there are a couple of waterfalls worth seeing after the monsoon but, apart from that, little to interest the tourist. Our reason for being here will be revealed, dear reader, in the next scintillating episode.