With a five hour car journey ahead of us, the next day we scooped up our belongings, said our goodbyes to the friendly staff as they prepared for their Republic Day celebrations, had one last dip in the magnificently picturesque terrace pool, and sky-rocketed into the next part of our Indian adventure.

Coorg, also known as Kodagu ‘the coffee cup of India’, is in southern Karnataka, and set deep in the Western Ghats – a mountain range covering 140,000 square kilometres, and an enormous slice of India stretching across parts of Gujarat, Maharashtra, Goa, Karnataka, Kerala and Tamil Nadu. So, in a nutshell, gigantic! And with Jit a barista in a former life, where it’s survival of the fittest in the most punishing of central Wellington’s café scene, learning the mechanics of one of India’s most infamous coffee plantations headlined at the top of this trip’s hit list.

We’re now well versed in how these epic roadtrips generally go. I’ve learnt not to let my eyes drop too low too often along the roadside, my heart broken once too many having seen a stray dog that’s been clipped or a crowd surrounding someone who’s come off their bike – the ambulance (a Toyota Hiace) hours away. But where once we thought intense concentration would prepare us for what might come flying through the windscreen at any given moment, now we’re a bit more relaxed, with Jit quite happy to nod off and catch forty winks and me just content watching this strange, new and brilliant world flutter by.

In between pitstops at busy roadside stalls, where delicious real-deal Indian staples just had to be the order of the day (today it was a thick, rich, deep red aloo gobi with chapati – spicy potato and cauliflower cooked in onions, tomato, garlic and chili), we passed more special, pitifully tender scenes – the kind that only India can offer up – an Indian blackbird having his morning wash in a puddle, a cattle beast covered in herons picking bugs from her hide, women and young kids knocking on the car window whenever we slowed, pleading for money or food.

As we climbed higher into the mountain range and edged closer to Coorg, the temperature began to drop and road signs warning of ‘Bull Elephants Crossing’ emerged (in the same way we’d be warned of little blue penguins back at home). We knew this meant we were inching towards a pretty special chapter and when we finally arrived at the hotel it was early evening, with the timing just right to be whisked away to a table for two set under the night sky – and a degustation banquet featuring kottayam fish curry (a spicy, tamarind based Kerala dish with mahi mahi the star of the show), tikka prawns, lamb masala and mutton sambal.

Over dinner we passionately debated the merits of north versus south Indian cuisine, and the subtle and difficult-to-detect differences between Kingfisher Premium (the King of Good Times), Kingfisher Ultra (the Emperor of Good Times) and Kingfisher Strong (the Gateway to Good Times). By the end of it, deliriously stuffed full of food we were almost hallucinating, we agreed that whatever was in store it was guaranteed good times, and looked forward to the coffee tasting that was on the agenda for the next day!

Coorg’s plentiful water sources and fertile soil make it a perfect location for growing coffee.  Legend has it that in 1670 a Muslim pilgrim smuggled seven coffee seeds out of Mecca and planted them in the Chikmagalur region near Coorg, introducing coffee to India. Here, both arabicas and robusta are grown at between 1,500-3,500 feet. The robusta coffees produced are meant to be the best in the world, and with the plantations filled with honeybees, Coorg is also famous for its honey. Like moths to a flame, Jit and I were keen to soak up as much as we could about local beekeeping having just started up our own hives at home, and wanting to diligently and dutifully report back to those we’d come to rely on for their good guidance, support and encouragement!

The coffee tasting was an education in the beginnings of espresso, cappuccino (named after the brown robes of Franciscan Capuchin Friars), Moroccan café noir and nous nous (Arabic for half-half – half coffee/half milk), South Indian Filter ‘Kaapi’, French Press and the grand finale, a sugary sweet Vietnamese iced coffee.

Back at Gokarna, in between debating the fact that bloodsports were still happening in England (despite now being illegal), we’d been told about Coorg’s legendary (and horrendously expensive) civet coffee – kopi luwak – which is derived from beans the extremely rare (and endangered) civet cat excretes after eating coffee berries! We wondered whether there might be something in this – surely DOC and MPI back home could nut out a similar way to manage the perceived indecency of New Zealand’s cat population – I’m sure our Morse and Satchmo would be more than happy to contribute to the cause!

But at this point, completely wired having sampled the strongest beans Kodagu had to offer, and likely to be wide awake until the same time next week, we decided it could only be a plunge in our ice cold, private, lilypad-filled cottage pool that would help. And while lying on our backs in the cool afternoon air, we watched flocks of young birds carving fresh papaya from the fruits dangling in the branches above, dropping tidbits from their beaks to the pool’s tiny fish that swarmed below.

Later, after an incredible audience with kamsali tribal drummers and dancers from nearby kundapur, and sipping on our Botanist bestie, we agreed the matching, eye-catching, candy-striped sarees worn by three young ladies at cocktail hour the night before were to die for, and contemplated the 6.30am start we had to look forward to the next day – with an epic eleven hour car journey to Kerala that only the seriously-(or-stupidly)-committed roadtrippers could happily endure! Or so we thought, until we met Shafi.