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Having finally tracked down a half-decent moped, I sped away from the yoga and cocktails. A tiger and cub had been spotted by some fifty miles inland and I couldn’t resist a quick expedition. Besides, a week on the beach had left me eager to be away from the hordes. A smattering of Hindi came in handy, because my phone was broken - and in lieu of google I’d drawn a very basic map. The trip through dusty towns is a bit of a blur – but the slow ascent up the mountain is imprinted in my mind: The tightly winding road clings to the cliffside, the view of the towns I’ve already travelled begs me to stop and gaze. Red rocky outcrops glow in the golden afternoon and hazy sunlight lends the leaves dazzling halos. Best of all, when the jungle shade quenches my sun-baked skin, the air fills with the scent of clean earth - and my eyes adjust to the leafy canopy, picking out intriguing animal paths. I’d failed to realise that I’d be crossing a couple of state lines. As a solo traveller with just twenty quid to see me through two days - plus a trip to the airport - I couldn’t afford any baksheesh payments. I had little choice at police stops, but to speed up and cover my pale arms with my sleeves. I’d jotted down the name of a hotel near to the Ghats where the tigers were seen, which, as the only building for many miles, was easy enough to find. A security guard hauled open the high wooden gates, the hotel peeped out from the jungle. “Hi, I’d like to stay here, but don’t think I can afford it…” I start, smiling hopefully. He asks how much I have. I suggest 500 rupees. It’s a simple no. I cast around for inspiration and ask how much to sleep on a stone bench, tucked away in the tranquil garden. He says 300 rupees. The shadows are growing - but I feel like I can do better. I say thank you and goodbye: The sliding sun is spectacular and the trees are beginning to sound lively. It was getting too dark to drive and with more urgency, I began mentally scanning the odd roadside shack that I passed by. With a shudder I realised that my broken phone and lack of torch would make checking for resident snakes a bit of an ordeal. Fortunately, I came across a sort of motel - open, but out of season. I negotiated a small round lodge for 500 rupees and settled in a plastic chair with a book, anticipating tasty local cooking and a peaceful evening. Five minutes later the ‘boss man’ appears and we have a row – he says I can’t stay, in short because I’m a solitary female. Outraged and unprepared to set off once again into the now inky unknown, I agree to leave first thing in the morning. With no alarm to wake me, I hope to rise at dawn - a last chance to spot a tiger before they retire for the day. I dreamt all night of a leopard prowling round my little lodge, trying to get in. I woke gladly with the birds – and before taking my leave I ducked through a hole in the wire fence and followed the sound of water falling, leaping across boulders. I finally felt free. Finding a tiger was never really the point. I wanted to glimpse India, away from the colourful tourist uniforms and German bakeries. Any lingering tension, from the previous manic week at the beach, melted into the warm earth. My stop at the Ghats consisted of curious smiles and a tour of the village by some giggling children, who introduced me to the cats and chickens. I drank chai with the shop keeper and held a baby whilst her mother pumped water from the well. When I asked about big cats, I received shy little head shakes and friendly laughter. Later, as my scooter bounced along the track away from the tiny village, I glanced back. Those red rocky outcrops were striped with black – the land, a veritable sleeping tiger.