Tumultuous taxi terror

We caught the 1pm bus down the mountain, dreading the ensuing mayhem of local transport. Serendipity struck as we found we were sitting amidst a group of gregarious tourism and travel students, who enthusiastically began to map our journey South to the hillstation of Munnar. One of the brightest students, Tamil from Tamil Nadu who spoke the native language of Tamil, befriended us and happened to be venturing for the same bus destination, from where we learned we would be able to catch a bus 3 hours to Munnar. We came across two Ukrainian girls heading the same way at the next shambolic station who, having had similar nightmares on a string of ropey local buses, implored us to taxi with them for 2,000 rupees. On good advice from the knowledgable Tamil, we advised them to wait a measly 40 minutes for a bus which would take the same time and cost a meagre 70 rupees. Thus began the war of the worlds.

The rabble of taxi touts who had been trying to bleed the Ukranians dry instantly assumed Tamil was an ambitious young rival out to steal their catch, and soon gathered in alarming numbers swarming around the poor boy spilling vitriolic fury into his every pore. As the mob grew, we tried to diffuse the situation ascerting that it was us who had disuaded the other travellers, and that Tamil was only a helpful student, but this only seemed to further enrage the maddened seemingly drunk taxi man. Little did we know during our early introduction to the timid Tamil that we would later be caught in the cut through cross fire of warring castes dodging the projectile spittle of a seething storm. The perpetrator's fierce countenance was positively terrifying, and we were cowering under the gaze of a hundred inquisitive stares. We had no option but to retreate resolutely to the safety of a nearby chai stop and summoned a police man. Who proceeded to react predicatbly nonchalantly and seemed to care and achieve very little with regards to the disturbance. 

After a fearful 30 minute saga the crowds finally began to dissipate, and after we attempted to lodge a formal complain to the disinterested constable against the rabid man, we resolved to cut our losses and make for our stop.... Only to find our bus had been cancelled. In a severely covert operation we circumvented the inteferring masses and Tamil reluctantly helped us organise a taxi with the Ukrainans who had been hiding out of sight during the turmoil. And off we ventured, tails between our shakey legs, on a hectic 3 hour taxi ride up into the mountains tackling highly dubious crumbling roads composed entirely of nauseating twists and turns. Yet we were alive, we'd survived the tiger infeted jungles of Perumbikular, and the madman infused streets of Pollachi. On to Munnar.