We leave Yelagiri Hills on Sunday afternoon. Switchbacks wind down from the plateau—call it a mountain. The view alternates between a vertigo-inducing vista down the slope to the flatland far below and a close encounter with the rock face and vegetation. Monkeys appear along the low, zebra-striped retaining wall and play hide-and seek with our cameras in the trees. Homeward bound festival goers buzz past on motorcycles and crowd big red busses ahead of us. They hang out the doors and whoop with each hair-pin turn as the bus tilts crazily outward. Sometimes they get caught in the turn, front grill kissing the wall, and have to back up for another try. We wait our turn behind them, waving at the bus passengers and looking for monkeys.
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