Bold Brews and Birdsong

Is a coffee plantation the perfect holiday destination?

Hands up who has ever had a truly exceptional cup of coffee served to them at breakfast in a hotel? No, not a one-button cappuccino comprising flavourless foam on top of scolding brown dishwater. Not a lukewarm french press dumped in front of you, either. Certainly not a sachet of Nescafe 3-in-1 from the in-room beverage tray. I mean a delicious flat white, or a beautiful latte—an aromatic and aesthetic wonder worthy of photographing, savouring or honouring in a blog post. Hands up who has enjoyed one of those in a hotel.

Anybody? Nobody?! Well, unless you are not into coffee at all, in which case you might want to stop reading now, then I have some advice for you: advice that will brighten your vacation mornings but that may also dent your holiday budgets. Advice I consider myself qualified to offer on the basis of extensive travel across a very wide spectrum of comfort levels: from $1-a-night backpacker hostels to places charging closer to a thousand times that. Throughout my exploration of the world, disappointing breakfast coffee has been a constant. What was a niggle, has been aggravated in recent years by the acquisition of our own espresso machine at home, on which Dylan is fully trained and not unskilled. Dylan is also not one to mince words when it comes to reviewing a morning offering from a hotel and I am therefore unable to turn blind taste buds to bad coffee when I am forced to consume it. My qualification, therefore, is that I have tried it all, and just last week, I finally found the solution to the problem: go straight to the source. Find yourself a hotel in the middle of a coffee plantation and submit yourself to the capable hands of the on-estate baristas. 

‘Where?’, you might well ask. Perhaps you don’t think of India when you think of coffee—and perhaps you don’t think of coffee when you think of India. But I can assure you, the two have been dancing a fine jig for centuries (helped along by all the caffeine, perhaps). An excellent place to start? The Evolve Back hotel in Coorg, Karnataka. 

We recently enjoyed four well-caffeinated days at the Evolve Back Coorg in celebration of visitors. My father and sister, Jasper’s grandfather and aunt, or Clive Daadaa and Auntie Lala as they are known, popped over to India, giving us the perfect excuse to leave Mumbai during Jasper’s easter holidays. My brief to the travel company was to find us somewhere cooler, greener and emptier than Mumbai in high summer but which we could reach with only a single flight and a short drive. The travel time constraints immediately ruled out many of India’s far flung scenic spots although most of them would have met the other criteria easily. The travel company’s response was to send us to Coorg, the coffee capital of India and, while a quick google reassured me that it was exactly the escape we were looking for, the photos I found online barely scratched the surface of its ability to relax and refresh us all. Even our guests, whose home environment of Jersey is naturally rich in peace, quiet and fresh air, were enamoured by the slow approach to life and luxury at the Evolve Back resort. 

From the moment we took our first sip of the hotel’s welcome drink of sweet, milky iced coffee, at the same time observing an impromptu minute of reverent silence for the birdsong by which we were enveloped, we knew we were in for a smooth blend (see what I did there?) of sensory indulgences. Seated in the open-air lobby of the hotel, we tried to listen while someone introduced the activities on offer during our stay, but really our minds and bodies were already melting into the nature around us. Decisions around bird watching, plantation tours, boat rides and spa treatments could wait. Right now, all we wanted was to Relax—with a capital R. 

Thunder snapped us from our reverie, and moments later the sky released a deluge of dolloping great raindrops, awakening the full perfume palette of the greenery around us. I love the smell of early monsoon rains as much as I do the shimmering emerald of the leaves once they are washed clean of the dust they have spent all summer gathering. It’s a warm, juicy, earthy smell of wet mud, crushed herbs and fresh flowers.The landscaping was so lush and dense that we only knew of some plants’ presence from the aromas emitted as we brushed past. Jasper simply loved the fact that the rain meant we were now being escorted to our rooms by golf buggy instead of on foot.

The rooms were indulgences in and of themselves. Between us, we had three swimming pools, and that’s not counting the main, family pool in the centre of the resort. We each had a cottage: one for the Rae family, and one for each of the visitors. Each heritage-inspired cottage, with its thatched roof and wooden window-frames, was its own little haven of serenity — or at least, each had the potential to be, were Jasper not present in it at the time. Besides the lily pond, plunge pool and chic-simplicity decor, two luxuries really stood out in each cottage: a beverage tray stocked with locally grown and roasted coffee, and the mini-fridge which, in a rare hotel twist, was actually chilled. I stashed a bottle of rosé and some hot cross buns in there (not for consumption together, you understand) and they remained fresh all week. As for the DIY coffee, it made for a delicious pre-breakfast awakener by the pool every morning. 

A challenge we always face in Indian hotels (and elsewhere in the world, to be honest) is the meal timings. No matter what timezone we are on, we are awake and hungry for our meals at six, twelve and seven, with a few rounds of snacks in between. Hotel meal timings, however, tend more towards a seven-one-eight structure, leaving us to manage a hungry, over-awake boy in the mornings and a hungry, over-tired boy in the evenings. Having flown and driven through lunch on our way to Coorg, we had an over-tired, hungry boy in the middle of the afternoon to deal with, so the first thing we did was explore our way to the main restaurant and the promise of high tea. 

Refuelled, we discussed our plan of attack on the list of activities we had been given as a printed handout once it became clear we weren’t retaining any details from the initial verbal presentation. The bird watching walk, a short hike, a plantation drive and a coracle (round) boat ride felt like our pace. The travel company had kindly arranged for our driver and car to remain with us during our stay, taking us to a nearby Tibetan monastery and an elephant camp should we so wish. But having got our heads around the on-site activities and cleansed ourselves of the arrival journey in our temperature controlled pool, we realised we had no desire to interact with the outside world before we absolutely had to. I let the driver know we wouldn’t be going anywhere and promptly forgot all about him for four days. 

As bird watchers, we were either very talented or very lucky. Probably we were lucky. The morning we chose for the birding walk was cool, still and beautiful: perfect weather for birds, as it turned out. The walk took an hour, despite being only a few hundred metres, because there were plenty of reasons to stop. Jasper was enthusiastic to begin with, especially when the guide gave him some jazzy, red binoculars, but after a few minutes it was clear that wherever Jasper and his increasingly disgruntled chatter were, the birds weren’t. While he was steered towards the breakfast buffet by Dylan, my father, sister and I focused in on a white-throated kingfisher perched on a broken branch. Birds are not something I have ever found interesting, but perhaps I just haven’t been anywhere with interesting enough birds—until now. For the 72 hours which followed our dawn patrol, I was convinced I was an expert in spotting sunbirds, great green leafbirds, the black-rumped flameback woodpecker, serpent eagles, pairs of greater racket-tailed drongos, plum-headed parakeets and the local hero, the Malabar grey hornbill. A couple of weeks later, I’m not sure I’d know a parrot from an owl, but on that morning, armed with binoculars and fuelled by in-room coffee, I was very alert and observant. Our guide was also very excited every time we spotted something, so perhaps we came away believing we were better and luckier than we were. 

An hour’s shuffle-paced walk was more than enough to work up an appetite for breakfast and our first taste of coffee artistry. Dylan and Jasper had already attacked the buffet spread, but we didn’t know their assessment of it until we arrived there ourselves. What added to the otherworldliness of the Evolve Back was that the entire resort had absolutely no mobile reception. Once you left one of the wifi-enabled buildings — be that your room, one of the restaurants, the lobby, spa, coffee museum or reading room — you were off the grid. As far as disconnecting from the outside world went, this was wonderful; we could bird, hike, boat and wander to our hearts contents without so much as a news update or telemarketer as interruption. For Dylan, whose construction site was still operational while he was out of range, it was less wonderful. But work crises didn’t stop him enjoying himself and his rave WhatsApp review of his breakfast latte reached me just in time to order my own. Even my father, who usually abstains from caffeine, couldn’t resist. Had the hotel not been too sustainable to stock take-away cups, Dylan would have demanded I bring him a second one back to the room. 

After birding and breakfast, we swam: first in the main pool, then back at our cottage again. Then we drank some rosé, ate some snacks and swam some more, before heading out on our plantation drive. Bouncing around in an open-sided jeep, we enjoyed the protective shade of the majestic, Australian silver oak trees as much as their intended beneficiaries, the coffee shrubs. We learned about coffee’s arrival in India — smuggled back from Yemen in the beard of an Indian muslim saint - Baba Budan; coffee growing cycles — and how the coffee blossoms look like snow; the differences in production of arabica versus robusta — all of which I have forgotten, and what kind of elephant defence systems are required to protect Indian coffee from being trampled or gobbled. Jasper even learned a magic trick: blowing bubbles from the oil-rich sap of a Jatropha Curcas plant. Our drive culminated in sundowners on a platform raised just high enough to enjoy views across the endless rows of coffee plants, but not high enough to keep away the bees who came for our coffee cherry wine in a matter of seconds. As many glasses of wine as they dive-bombed, we had to admit that we were, after all, in nature and these bees arguably had more right to be there than we did. Bees aside, the experience was magical. The evening air was as light and fresh as the fading sun caught in the branches above us, as we sat listening attentively to the birds’ twilight serenade.

Early the next morning, my father, sister and I set off into the coffee forest again: this time to a different estate and this time to explore on foot. We were well advised to leave Jasper out of this trip, so he and Dylan spent another morning together at the resort. Clambering up and over the densely planted hillsides, binoculars round our necks, watching the waves of coffee farmers sweeping along, checking and caring for every shrub, we realised something: despite our growing appreciation for all things coffee, our new-found love of birds and the tempting thought of abandoning our city commitments for rural respite, plantation life was probably not for us long term. These farmers could tell, just by looking at the outside of the plants, which parasite had made a home inside. They were as capable with a machete on wood as I would be with a sculpting tool on clay. And they did not jump out of their skin when a tiny frog crossed their path. I think it’s also safe to assume they also weren’t treated to a jungle breakfast at the end of an easy ramble every morning, like we were. 

Back at the hotel, even more deeply appreciative of our choice of holiday destination, we were ready for the final lesson on our coffee curriculum. ‘Coffeeology’ sessions were held daily in the Coffee Museum — a new addition to the hotel, but housed in one of its oldest buildings: the smokehouse, where the estate’s British owners once smoked rubber. This was, again, not a Jasper-friendly activity because goodness only knows that boy’s system does not need caffeine. However, he was more than happy to be given his tablet, some headphones and a comfy chair from where he could watch his cartoons while we got our mouths around a whole range of different coffee styles. From Italy to India, by way of Morocco and the impressive ‘nuss nuss’ layered coffee, we tried every avatar of the estate’s own Sidapur blend. By the end of the session, it was undeniable: no matter which way you brewed, dripped, shook, rattled or rolled this coffee, it was delicious. It was also possible we’d all had too much for one day. Luckily, however, we still had a day or so more to enjoy it. 

We passed the remaining time at Evolve Back by perfecting the art of relaxation. We swam, we ate, we played board games, we did crafts, we read books, we fed fish, we watched the butterflies, we listened to the birds, Jasper zoned out in front of his movies, I went running and two of our party managed to squeeze in a trip to the spa. Even the discovery (exactly how far into the massage, I am not sure) that there were more than two hands involved in giving the treatments, couldn’t ruffle their feathers. One by one, my father and sister returned from the spa — walking on air and with that dazed look of someone seeing the world through new eyes. Our coracle boat ride was a gentle punt up and down the river and, despite Jasper’s best efforts to ‘help’ with the rowing, we stayed dry. Again, I was ready with the binoculars, and again, there were kingfishers and sunbirds a-plenty. There was also a very vocal cockerel in the village across the river, whose crowing added a farmyard flavour to an otherwise tropical experience. 

We spent so much time in and around the pool that Jasper finally worked out how to get his arms and legs going at the same time. It might still look an awful lot like drowning, but I think we can actually call it swimming now. We knew we had well and truly made the most of the facilities when even he decided he was too tired to swim one last time on the morning we checked out. 

My sister, Jasper and I set off on the reverse of our outbound journey, back to bustle of Mumbai, while Dylan and my father set off for Bangalore, from where my father would fly home. As we drove out of the resort gates, through the plantation towards the main road, it felt as though a spell had been broken. As the distance between us and the Evolve Back grew, so did the feeling that we had been transported to another dimension for four days. We were by no means driving on a busy road, but the presence of even a few swerving, honking vehicles highlighted the extreme stillness of where we had come from. I savoured the time I had before my phone reconnected to the mobile network, dragging me back into the hectic reality of our life in India, and tried to relive the sound of every bird, frog and cicada; the sight of every sunrise and sunset; and the taste of every cup of coffee. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what it was that made the holiday so flawless but, if you ask me, Coorg is the perfect antidote to Mumbai.