Coorg a blend of coffee and history

We boarded the early morning bus from Bangalore — me, my sister, and my niece — still wrapped in sleep and shawls, clutching flasks of filter coffee and a copy of Montaigne’s essays I’d been meaning to finish.

The hills began to rise gently as the city faded, and with each curve, the air grew cooler, the trees taller. My niece pressed her nose to the window, pointing at waterfalls and winding roads, while we shared idli-sambhar and upma packed from a roadside stop, the kind that tastes better when eaten with fingers and laughter.

Coorg greeted us like an old friend — misty, green, and quietly grand. The coffee plantations stretched endlessly, their earthy scent mingling with the breeze. We wandered through Abbey Falls, where the water roared, and stood in reverence at Talacauvery, the birthplace of River Cauvery, wrapped in silence and prayer.

The temples here felt different — some carved into hillsides, others painted in faded reds and golds, their architecture a blend of Kodava tradition and southern grace. Each stone seemed to hum with history. At Raja’s Seat, we watched the sun melt into the valley, my niece curled beside me, my sister humming softly.

We returned the next night, reaching Bangalore around midnight — tired, full, and a little changed. The journey had been more than a trip; it was a mosaic of meals, memories, and Montaigne. And somewhere between the hills and the heart, Coorg had become a story we’d always carry.

Manav Mander, Ludhiana