Travel · Eco-tourism · 6 min read

Gavi: Where the Road Ends and the Forest Begins

Beyond Vandiperiyar, a narrow forest road climbs into the Periyar Tiger Reserve and leaves the modern world behind. A journey to Gavi: mist on a silent lake, the scent of wild cardamom, and a lesson in travelling lightly.

By GK Global, Adimali, Munnar · Trails & Tales by GK

The first thing you notice at Gavi is what is missing. No horns, no engines, no phones chiming in pockets. The signal bars died somewhere back on the forest road, and in their place there is only the drip of mist from the leaves, the wingbeat of a hornbill crossing the valley, and, far off, the creak of bamboo in the wind. For a moment the silence feels almost loud. Then you settle into it, and it becomes the reason you came.

The road in

The journey begins at Vandiperiyar, the tea town on the Kumily road, where you turn off towards the Vallakkadavu forest checkpost. Beyond the barrier, the tea bushes give way to forest, and the road narrows to a single ribbon of broken tarmac that twists and climbs through the hills of the Periyar Tiger Reserve. Jeeps lurch over roots and rocks; streams spill across the road; the canopy closes overhead so that the light turns green. At every bend the driver slows, scanning the verge for the dark bulk of an elephant. Here and there the trees open onto a sudden view: ridge after blue ridge of the Western Ghats, the glint of a reservoir far below, the grassy dome of Pullumedu. It is about a two-hour ride from Kumily, and nobody minds that it is slow.

Mist, cardamom and silence

Gavi lies at around 1,000 m, in the hills where Idukki meets Pathanamthitta district, cradled by forest on every side. Mornings come slowly here. The valley fills with mist that lifts in soft rags from the lake, and the air is cool and damp, carrying the green, resinous smell of wet leaves and the sweet, sharp scent of cardamom, which grows in the shade under the trees. Woodsmoke drifts from the kitchens. Somewhere a whistling thrush begins its rambling song, as if trying out a tune it never quite remembers.

There is no mobile network in Gavi, and after a few hours you stop reaching for your phone. Time is measured instead by the light on the water, the call of the langurs and the moment the mist burns off the far ridge.

A forest full of life

The forests around Gavi are part of one of the best-protected wildernesses in South India, and they are alive. Herds of wild elephants move through the valleys, and their fresh dung on the path is a reminder that you are a guest in their home. High in the canopy, the Malabar giant squirrel, rust-red and black with a tail longer than its body, leaps between the branches with a startled chatter. With luck, a troop of lion-tailed macaques, the endangered silver-maned monkeys found only in these hills, may be seen feeding in the tall evergreen trees. The heavy whoosh of wings overhead belongs to the great hornbill, and on the steep grassy slopes nearby, the endangered Nilgiri tahr picks its way across the rocks. More than 250 kinds of birds have been recorded in the area, and the reserve shelters tigers, leopards, gaur, sambar and dholes, though these keep mostly out of sight.

(Read more in our articles on Periyar Tiger Reserve and the wild animals of the Western Ghats.)

Dawn on Gavi Lake

The finest hour at Gavi belongs to the lake. Early in the morning, before the mist has lifted, you push off in a small boat onto Gavi Lake, a long, still reservoir hemmed in by forest. The only sounds are the dip of the oar and the plop of a fish rising. Dead trees stand silver in the shallows, cormorants dry their wings on them, and the reflections of the hills lie unbroken on the water until the boat slides through them. Sometimes elephants come down to drink at the far shore. It is the kind of quiet that stays with you long after you leave.

Into the undergrowth

Later, a guide leads you into the forest on foot. The guides are local people who know every path and every sound, and they walk with care, reading the forest as they go: a broken branch, a pug mark in the mud, the alarm call of a langur. The trails wind through tall evergreen forest, across streams and through cardamom shade, to viewpoints such as Valley View and Meenar, where the land falls away to the plains. Watch your step for leeches in the wet months, and for the shy forest birds that flit through the undergrowth.

Sleeping in the forest

Overnight visitors stay at the Green Mansion, the KFDC's simple eco-lodge overlooking Gavi Lake, or in tents and camps in the forest. Do not expect luxury: expect clean beds, hot food, and nights so dark and quiet that you hear the forest breathing. After dinner, the stars come out in numbers city dwellers have forgotten, and the night is full of crickets, frogs and the distant trumpet of an elephant.

Travelling lightly

Gavi is not a resort. It is a working forest, protected because it is precious. Tourism here is run by the Kerala Forest Development Corporation (KFDC) under strict rules: visitor numbers and vehicles are limited, entry is by permit, activities are guided, and plastic is discouraged. These rules are what keep Gavi wild, and they are worth respecting.

Gavi is also home to people. Many of its residents are Tamil families repatriated from Sri Lanka under the India–Sri Lanka agreements of the 1960s and 1970s, who were settled here to clear and work the KFDC's cardamom plantations, and who now work as guides, cooks and staff in the eco-tourism programme. Their lives in this remote place are not easy. Treat them, and the forest, with respect: keep to the paths, speak softly, take nothing but photographs and leave nothing behind.

(Read also: The ecological hotspots of Idukki and cardamom, the Queen of Spices.)