Splashing out with the Royals in Ooty

February 2007

Although it was at one time a cool, green and beautiful British hill-station, Ooty was now a dusty, dirty and disappointing town with little to recommend it.  We did of course go to the little market, which was where, much to my own surprise, I was sweet-talked by a young perfume seller into buying several bottles.  My favourite was the one he dabbed gently on my wrist, saying: "'Fancy Bouquet', Madam, it is perfect for you."

One day we decided to go to the Fernhill Palace, once the summer palace of the Maharaja of Mysore, and now a ritzy, if somewhat faded, hotel for well healed (mostly foreign) tourists. We tramped up a nicely paved road, through an area forested with some kind of fir, and so pleasantly shady, though not exactly "cool."  We arrived at the grand iron-gated entrance to the hotel where we were greeted by a uniformed guard who informed us that we had to purchase a pass from the Regency Villa (another old hotel, just down the road) in order to visit the Fernhill Palace, but that anyway the Palace was closed because there was a convention on (with which he pointed to the banner above the gate - a conference on "integrated watershed management" no less!) AND a movie was also being shot at the Palace that day.  He smiled broadly, obviously proud of the goings on at "his" hotel.  As we are never sure if we have correctly understood what we have been told, and even less sure if what we have been told is in fact correct, we decided to carry on to the Regency Villa and ask there.

 

As it happened, the Regency Villa was also a rather regal old estate, apparently where the Maharaja would put his guests up.  It was converted into a hotel many years ago by the British, who added a number of "cottages" on the back side of the villa.  The villa was very grand indeed, made entirely of wood, in the style of a Swiss chalet, with fancy carved balustrades and trim.  Inside, the walls were wainscoted with a highly polished dark wood (teak?), and white plaster above.  The walls of the main entry and hallway were hung with dozens of old photographs of the Maharaja, his family, friends and visiting dignitaries.  There were several photos of hunting parties, hunters, horses and hounds all well-turned out in pastoral landscapes such as one only sees these days in movies.  Others showed the Maharaja and other Royal Personages in their ceremonial garb - silk-robed, bejeweled (with sapphires, rubies and diamonds) and befeathered (mostly peacock) - like something out of the Arabian nights. 

 

There were also several sweet photos of beautifully dressed royal children sitting primly in swing chairs in the garden, or riding in fancy little carts pulled by ponies or goats.  Our favourite was one of a child dressed in a cowboy suit complete with fringed Davy Crockett jacket and stenciled leather holsters with guns and a cowboy (not coonskin) hat, likely a gift from some visiting American dignitary.  Clearly there was nothing but the best for India's now defunct royalty.  (We have read that a few of the Maharajas owned fleets of Rolls Royces that they never drove.  One had 88 of them, all parked under cover, all never driven.) 

 

The main rooms of Villa had been converted into four expansive and opulent guest suites.  Each suite had a large separate sitting room with a (working) fireplace, a lavishly furnished bedroom, and a HUGE tiled bathroom.  All of the furniture was antique, mostly from the turn of the century, although some of it was older.  The fixtures in the bathroom were period pieces, including old cast iron bathtubs and toilets with overhead flush tanks and pull chains.  We were able to wander freely through three of the suites, as only one was occupied by an elderly British couple who said they preferred to stay in places with "character" rather than in the newer, often quite non-descript and expensive, hotels one finds in India.  

 

As we made our way back through the Royal Gallery towards the dining area we noticed that a large table was not only set for lunch, with clean white table cloth, plates, cups and a full set of cutlery at each place (something we haven't seen since we've been here), but that a bowl containing the first course, which appeared to be some sort of vegetable salad drowning in a sea of white sauce (mayo?), and likely meant to be kept chilled, was sitting at each of the 12 or so places.  Bottles of water (once cold?) were also on the table, waiting and warming.  

 

But there were no prospective customers in sight.  Was this just a tableau, for visual effect only?  The only people we saw were two young men (waiters?) who were standing in a very small room behind a counter.  It looked like the registration desk - and it was.  (Where the kitchen was we have no idea.  It was not immediately visible.  Perhaps it was on the second floor... .)

 

We asked the young men if they knew where we could purchase passes to visit the Fernhill Palace, and they said "right here, we have them."  But... "today the Palace is not open madam.  Today there is a convention, and a movie. It is not possible to visit the Palace today."  Big smiles, heads waggling as they talked.  We asked if we could anyway visit the Palace's gardens and see the Palace from the outside.  "Oh yes, that is possible.  Even you can look inside at the ballroom.  Just be looking at the ballroom, madam, that will be possible." 

 

“So, we should purchase some passes then?” we asked.  They seemed not sure about the answer, but the prospect of 200 rupees (100 rupees or $3 each) was too enticing to pass up, so they quickly decided that yes, even though we couldn't really see most of the Palace, we should buy passes.  

 

The route to the Palace circled round the hill on which both the Regency Villa and the Palace were located.  The views were lovely - verdant green valleys meticulously tilled and planted in regular rectangular plots.  In the distance were some higher mountains, forested and serene.  Overlooking this view were a string of one-story attached "cottages," with suitably romantic names like "Rose Cottage," the summer get-aways of British families who came, with their servants, for the whole season.  These were all quite empty save one, which had been commandeered by a tailor.  Perhaps he was one of the last remaining members of the Maharaja's family, trying to eke out a living, who knows?

 

The track continued up and around the hill through a small wooded copse, and then opened up to reveal the side of the Palace, where a large movie van was parked.  There was a minimal amount of visible activity outside, so we presumed that most of the shooting was being done inside the Palace.  We carried on around to the front to take the Palace in in the way it was meant to be seen.  

 

And what a sight it was!  It too was built in the Swiss chalet style, a red painted wooden edifice with fanciful carved wooden trim and ornamental iron work balustrades all painted white.  Rather like a large gingerbread house, or an old railway station, but much grander.  We quickly identified the ballroom, and stepped inside for a peak.  It was very grand, and very ornate, with teak walls, elaborately carved posts, mantles and doorways, massive chandeliers, and decoratively painted plaster ceilings around three stories high.  The ballroom could easily accommodate 500 dancing couples or more.  It was huge.  On either side were two high balconies - for billiards playing (we could see the tables still there).  

 

I was just about to take a photo of one of the paintings on the wall when a guard came in to inform me that photos were prohibited.  This is often the case in India, sometimes for obscure (even to them) reasons.  For example, in the silk and tea factories photos are not allowed, apparently because of the factory owners' concern that the out-datedness of the equipment, the dirty environment and the unsafe working conditions might be exposed (not to mention the child labour!).  The guard then went on to explain that in any case the Palace was closed, so we couldn't come in at all.  

 

But in this case the often tedious and frustrating bureaucracy that is so prevalent in India was on our side - we had purchased passes!  With a flourish and a smile, we produced our passes for the guide:  "Yes sir, we are understanding that the Palace is not open today, but we have just now today purchased passes.  We are wanting only to look at the ballroom."  (We have found we are better understood when we speak in Hinglish (Hindi-English) like they do.  Then we're all talking the same language, as it were.)   

 

"Ah," he said, peering at our passes.  "I will just take these to the manager."  And off he went to show our passes to someone who could make a decision about what we could and could not do, or see.  We waited.

 

Within a few minutes the guard was back, beaming.  Clearly he was the bearer of good news.  "Yes, I will be showing you the Palace, no problem Sir, no problem Madam."  And with that, he took us on a complete tour of the Palace, proudly showing us all the old features, fixtures and furnishings, and the careful restorations and renovations that had been done.  

 

As it happened, this was an incredibly lucky stroke, because the Palace was purchased some four years ago and has been undergoing painstaking restorations ever since.  Everything we saw has been carefully restored and refurbished - wood surfaces polished, tile work replaced, furniture re-upholstered.  But all done, as our guide pointed out, in such a way so as not to alter or harm the original.  It is truly a work of art, and very beautiful.  And, it is scheduled to open next month as a five star hotel.  So unless we were to come back prepared to pay handsomely for a room, it is unlikely we would be able to take such a tour again. 

 

In addition to the ballroom, we saw a very large kitchen area with an impressive array of new stainless steel countertops, grills, ovens, fridges, freezers, etc.  "All modern, all tip-top quality, the very latest!" our guide exclaimed happily.  From there we went down a hallway, again festooned with old photos of the Maharaja and his clan, and past the salon where they were filming the movie.  We stepped carefully around the cables and equipment, around computers and a hastily constructed mini-temple complete with burning candles, incense and a picture of one of the many deities.  Our guide unlocked and ornately carved wooden door to reveal one of the many suites.  

 

The sitting room was large, with several antique chairs, settees, sofas and tables, some grouped around a small a tile-faced fireplace.  The bedroom, also large, was similarly tastefully and comfortably appointed, with massive wardrobes for hanging clothes, and wonderful old dressers.  All the windows were curtained with plush draperies, and there were beautiful accent rugs on the wooden floors.  The bathroom, as our guide pointed out to us, was the only room that had been completely redone, with all new fixtures because "that is what the tourists are liking, especially the jacuzzi tubs!  They are liking the jacuzzi tubs!"  

 

Our guide emphasized to us that no two suites were the same.  Each had its own colour scheme, tile work, furnishings, and "feeling."  To make sure we understood, he showed us two or three of them.  They were all lovely, unlike anything we have seen here, but then we weren’t staying anywhere that might even begin to approximate this kind of luxury.   All of the suites also had an exterior covered and enclosed balcony or an interior courtyard with plush furniture and plants - a cool quiet private place to have breakfast or take afternoon tea.  

 

After we'd seen the suites, we headed back past the salon where the filming was taking place.  But this time, just as we were passing, the doors opened and the film star herself stepped out, surrounded by her retinue.  Doug said hello, and she said hello back, which was the highlight of that particular stretch of hallway for him. 

 

Our next stop was the dining hall, which was long and fairly narrow.  One long side was windowed from its high ceiling to the floor, and looked out over the view of a large courtyard, gardens, and distant mountains.  On the other side, above the teak wainscoting, there is a very impressive newly painted mural depicting life in India during the time of the Raj.  It was all in black and shades of grey, wonderfully done.  

 

Directly behind the dining hall was a terrific old bar room, replete with a massive teak bar, mounted heads of wild boar, antlered deer and ferocious-looking wild dogs, as well as old saddles, trophies, and the kinds of chairs and tables that invited men to sit and smoke a good cigar while their wives and daughters twittered over sweets and tea in the dining hall.

 

Our last stop was the lobby, adjacent to the ballroom, and almost as elegant, though considerably smaller.  And then, of course, the entrance (exit) and reception area, awaiting only its complement of telephones, fax machines and computers to be fully functional. 

 

Old rotary lawnmower

We happily tipped our wonderful guide, and strolled along the grand circular driveway around a large grassy area in front of the Palace.  At one point we spied an old rotary lawn-mower that was designed to be pulled by a goat, or perhaps a small pony.  We hope they'll refurbish that as well, rather than replacing it with the kind of noisy, exhaust belching lawn mower so prevalent in North America.  

 

As we left the Palace grounds we stopped at the little guard house by the entrance gate and saluted the guard who had told us, several hours before, where to get our passes.  He was most happy – “so very happy for you, Memsab” – that we had had our tour.  So were we.