59fghjkl;

FEBRUARY 2016 • `150 • VOL. 4

ISSUE 8

SWITZERLAND SPECIAL COMPLIMENTARY WITH THIS ISSUE

1000 ISLANDS

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WATER-LOVING GETAWAYS

LOVE ON THE ST. LAWRENCE RIVER

GRAND CANYON WILD TACKLING THE COLORADO

ON THE WATER CRUISE CONTROL BIG PARTY ON THE BALTIC • STOK KANGRI MIND GAMES ON THE MOUNTAIN

n a t i o n a l g e o g r a p h i c t r av e l l e r i n d i a

FEBRUARY 2016

CONTENTS Vol 4 Issue 8

O N T H E WA T E R

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Paddling on the Grand Canyon’s threatened Colorado River requires a steady oar and a surge of courage Text and Photographs by Pete McBride

ROCKING THE BOAT TRIP

Party, food, and cheap thrills on a passenger ferry across the Baltic Sea

By Zac O’Yeah

90

ONE IN A THOUSAND

On the St.Lawrence River, castles, Victorian cottages, and the beginning of a love affair

By Kareena Gianani

90 1000 Islands, Canada

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NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | FEBRUARY 2016

68

INTO THE BLUE

Dive into 50 water experiences across the globe, from feeling the spray of Victoria Falls to soaking in Iceland’s geothermal spa

96

GENTLY DOWN THE STREAM

On England’s Oxford Canal, cruise past pastoral scenes with floating neighbours who leave formalities on the shore

By Tara Isabella Burton Photographs by John Kernick

WILL VAN OVERBEEK/NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINES/GETTY IMAGES

48

RIVER DANCE

122

34

VOICES

FEBRUARY 2016 • `150 • VOL. 4

ISSUE 8

SWITZERLAND SPECIAL COMPLIMENTARY WITH THIS ISSUE

Pythons, rhinos, and elephant grass: Walking the wild side in Nepal’s Chitwan National Park

22 Inside Out

Mangroves inspire a meditation on the invisible roots that bind us The magic of chance meetings on the road

N AV I G AT E

26 Taste of Travel

On the honey trail in Slovenia

Local Flavour

30

How Assam’s smoky Singpho tea changed a nation 32 Pedakia, Bihar’s half-moon shaped sweet, tickles the palate

34 On Foot

Graffiti artists are on point in East London

SHORT BREAKS 1000 ISLANDS

50

WATER-LOVING GETAWAYS

LOVE ON THE ST. LAWRENCE RIVER

GRAND CANYON WILD

TACKLING THE COLORADO

ON THE WATER CRUISE CONTROL BIG PARTY ON THE BALTIC • STOK KANGRI MIND GAMES ON THE MOUNTAIN

On The COver At Iceland’s Blue Lagoon geothermal spa, photographer Layne Kennedy captures happy visitors raising a toast. Located at Grindavík in the southern part of the country, the lagoon attracts thousands of visitors who soak in the silica, algae, and mineral-rich waters.

From Delhi

116 Himachal Pradesh’s low-key Banjar Valley brims with possibilities

Stay

120 A heritage farmhouse in Sikkim has the warmth of home

38 Geotourism

Rooting for Maharashtra’s fascinating art and storytelling traditions in Pinguli

42 Off Track

Flaming cliffs and dinosaur fossils in Bayanzag, Mongolia

GET GOING

108 Adventure

Mind games on a trek to Stok Kangri peak in Ladakh

12

NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | FEBRUARY 2016

REGULARS 16 Editor’s Note 18 Notebook 122 Inspire 128 Travel Quiz

26

ANDREAS RENTZ/GETTY IMAGES ENTERTAINMENT/GETTY IMAGES (FLOWERS), CHRIS CHEADLE/ALL CANADA PHOTOS/DINODIA (MURAL), JURE PORENTA/SHUTTERSTOCK (HONEY) LAYNE KENNEDY/LATITUDE/CORBIS/IMAGELIBRARY (COVER)

24 Crew Cut

113 Active Holiday

Editor-in-Chief NILOUFER VENKATRAMAN Deputy Editor NEHA DARA Associate Editor KAREENA GIANANI Associate Editor-Special Projects DIYA KOHLI Features Writer RUMELA BASU Art Director DIVIYA MEHRA Photo Editor CHIRODEEP CHAUDHURI Associate Art Director DEVANG H. MAKWANA Senior Graphic Designer CHITTARANJAN MODHAVE Editor, Web NEHA SUMITRAN Assistant Editor, Web SAUMYA ANCHERI Features Writer FABIOLA MONTEIRO Features Writer KAMAKSHI AYYAR

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N ATIONAL GEOGRA P HI C TRAV EL ER U.S. Chief Content Officer CHRIS JOHNS Editor In Chief, Travel Media MAGGIE ZACKOWITZ Design Director MARIANNE SEREGI Director of Photography ANNE FARRAR Deputy Art Director LEIGH V. BORGHESANI Senior Photo Editor CAROL ENQUIST Production Director KATHIE GARTRELL Editors At Large COSTAS CHRIST, DON GEORGE, ANDREW McCARTHY, NORIE QUINTOS, JERRY SEALY, GEORGE W. STONE Contributing Editors ANNIE FITZSIMMONS, KATIE KNOROVSKY, MARGARET LOFTUS, ANDREW NELSON, ROBERT REID IN T ERN AT I O N AL M AGAZ I N E PU B LI SH I N G Senior Vice President, International Media YULIA P. BOYLE Director, International Magazine Publishing & Business Development ARIEL DEIACO-LOHR

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ADVERTISING ENQUIRIES TEL: +91 22 49188811, advertise@natgeotraveller.in SUBSCRIPTION ENQUIRIES TEL: +91 22 40497435/37, subscribe@natgeotraveller.in EDITORIAL ENQUIRIES NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA Unit No. 201 & 202, Sumer Plaza, 2nd Floor, Marol Maroshi Road, Andheri (East), Mumbai – 400 059, India. mail@natgeotraveller.in RNI NO. MAHENG/2012/51060 Printed and published by Mr. Vijay Sampath on behalf of Amar Chitra Katha Pvt. Ltd. Printed at Manipal Technologies Ltd., Plot no 2/a, Shivalli Village, Industrial Area, Manipal-576104 and Published at Amar Chitra Katha Private Ltd., Unit No. 201 & 202, Sumer Plaza, 2nd Floor, Marol Maroshi Road, Andheri (East), Mumbai – 400 059.

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This issue of National Geographic Traveller India comes with a complimentary copy of the Switzerland Special, created in association with Switzerland Tourism. The Switzerland Special edition is free with the February 2016 issue and cannot be sold separately.

Disclaimer All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or part without written permission is strictly prohibited. We do our best to research and fact-check all articles but errors may creep in inadvertently. All prices, phone numbers, and addresses are correct at the time of going to press but are subject to change. All opinions expressed by columnists and freelance writers are their ownand not necessarily those of National Geographic Traveller India. We do not allow advertising to influence our editorial choices. All maps used in the magazine, including those of India, are for illustrative purposes only.

About us National Geographic Traveller India is about immersive travel and authentic storytelling that inspires travel. It is about family travel, about travel experiences, about discoveries, and insights. Our tagline is “Nobody Knows This World Better” and every story attempts to capture the essence of a place in a way that will urge readers to create their own memorable trips, and come back with their own amazing stories.

COPYRIGHT © 2016 NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC SOCIETY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER: REGISTERED TRADEMARK ® MARCA REGISTRADA.

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Editor’s Note |

N I LOU F E R V EN KATRA M A N

I

OUR MISSION

It is a place of transition in which I can choose to think about the place I’ve left or the one I’m going to

16

n the last few years I’ve found that the days leading up to a trip abroad, especially if it’s for work, are always terribly hectic. Somehow, before I leave, a truckload of stories need to be cleared for the magazine, and at home, the list of errands that need completing magically becomes long enough to necessitate the making of an Excel sheet. I find I’m bustling about until the minute the taxi comes. Once I’m out the door, I’m usually nervous for the first ten minutes of the ride.

I recheck my handbag to make sure I have my passport, ticket, and any vouchers or reservations copies. Then I worry that there will be too much traffic and I won’t reach the airport on time, and really, I ought to have planned on leaving at least 30 minutes earlier. What if there’s already a massive line at the check-in desk? What if the flight is delayed and I miss my connection? Why didn’t I download the airline’s app to make the journey easier? And so on.

Once I check-in, 50 per cent of my anxieties dissipate. Then, depending on the time of day or night, I make calls or text or email people with reminders for things that need to be done while I’m away. It’s only once I’m in the aircraft and the crew demands I turn my phone off that I finally relax. That’s when I sink into my seat with the relief that comes from surrendering to the inevitable. Once that cabin door is sealed, I’m on that flight until it gets to its destination—that’s it. There’s nothing I can do, once

we’re soaring 30,000 feet above Earth, if I did not sign that important document or forgot to pack that half-read novel. That closed space brings on for me a happy feeling of time standing still.

Most people hate long flights and I can’t really say I love them too much either, but there’s one aspect of them I’ve grown to relish. Call me strange, but I’ve developed an appreciation for that period of limbo on a long-haul flight. Somehow, in those hours in between departure from one place and arrival at the next, my mind descends to a quiet place. Stuck in that capsule, flying from one part of the planet to another, I feel a sense of peace. I’m neither at home nor in another country. For those six to eighteen hours, there’s nowhere I have to be.

At that moment, no one, except those on board can get in touch with me, nor I with them. It allows me to be nothing more than just another passenger, cut-off from everything that I know, love, or hate. It is a place of transition in which I can choose to think about the place I’ve left or the one I’m going to. But what I prefer to do is shut my thought processes down and watch movies back-to-back; sleep, eat, watch another show. For me this time on the plane becomes almost a short break from life.

Sometimes I strain and look out of the window. All I see is endless, white, puffy clouds in the vastness below or the interminable darkness of the stratosphere. At this point, I like the relative freedom from choices. Beyond chicken or fish, orange or apple juice, still or sparkling water, I’m in a freeze-frame from the normal hectic pace of life. Sitting in an airplane might seem like the most uncomfortable and restrictive thing in the world, but it’s not so bad if you decide to savour that state of limbo. I think children really understand that. I’ve seen how my daughter embraces the time on a flight for what it is—a moment to enjoy.

In January last year, when a colleague messaged me from on board her transatlantic flight, and announced that there was free Wi-Fi in the skies, I shuddered, unsure whether it was a good thing or bad. A year after this facility rolled out, I’m actually quite happy to say that I have not yet been on a flight with free Wi-Fi. And if one of the flights I’m taking this year happens to have that service, I think I’m going to pretend I didn’t notice it.

National Geographic Traveller India is about immersive travel and authentic storytelling, inspiring readers to create their own journeys and return with amazing stories. Our distinctive yellow rectangle is a window into a world of unparalleled discovery.

NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | FEBRUARY 2016

COMPASSIONATE EYE FOUNDATION/JUSTIN PUMFREY/DIGITALVISION/GETTY IMAGES

SITTING IN LIMBO

Notebook |

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spirits of the sky Start planning a trip to see the Northern Lights dance across the skies in Iceland, Greenland, Norway, and Canada. We’ve got the details you need to make it happen.

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LETTER OF THE MONTH

Wild Encounters Last year, on a warm April morning, we were tracking a tiger in the Jim Corbett National Park. After two hours, we noticed something moving in the grassland, and were delighted to see a tiger eyeing a herd of deer that was oblivious to its presence. We waited patiently.

The tiger moved closer, slow and stealthy, hidden by grass. Suddenly, it charged at the deer amid blaring alarm calls. Our vehicle stood at the perfect spot to capture this moment. Though the tiger was unsuccessful in bagging its meal, it left us with a memory to last a lifetime. —Aditya Sahdev

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NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | FEBRUARY 2016

Theme: Extended Travels At our January Meetup, travel speaker Ansoo Gupta, wanderer with a purpose Neil D’Souza, and slow traveller Vahishta Mistry discussed with NGT Deputy Editor Neha Dara, their extended travel experiences.

Here are some tips from the experts and audience.

■ Ask yourself if you’re emotionally ready. Extended travels have their share of highs, but involve much hardship too.

■ Accept the fact that you will lose something along the way. Travel light.

■ Budgeting is crucial to long travel. Look for hostels with complimentary breakfast, or couch-surf to save money.

■ Plan ahead and get visas for the longest duration possible. It allows your long trips to be flexible.

■ Hone your skills and hobbies; they will allow you to make new connections and can also help you travel longer.

NEXT MEETUP: 12 February 2016, 7.30-9 p.m.

Venue: Title Waves bookstore, Bandra (West), Mumbai.

KAMAKSHI AYYAR (LANDSCAPE), ADITYA SAHDEV (TIGER)

dream vacations From flying out to the Galápagos Islands off the coast of Ecuador to watching the Milky Way in the Himalayas, here’s the NGT team’s travel wish list for 2016.

See Web Exclusives> Experiences

Notebook |

CONNECT

THE FIND

A Glass Apart Sometimes a souvenir triggers a long-forgotten travel memory. When my colleague, Diviya brought me this Murano glass wine-stopper from Italy, I realised I have this memory, from when I was 18, of visiting Murano, Italy’s famous glassmaking island. I recall watching with fascination as glass artisans painstakingly crafted vases, glasses, lamps, and chandeliers. The sight of glowing furnaces, the smell of wood burning, the molten glass being cajoled into graceful shapes—it all came back when I opened the little box and saw the swirls of colour in the glass. —Editor-in-Chief, Niloufer Venkatraman

NGT INDIA@WORK

Chasing Autumn

WHAT I KNOW

PETE McBRIDE WRITER/PHOTOGRAPHER

Above and Beyond

Peak Experience

All the Right Moves

Pet Project

My favourite shot ever is the cover image of my book The Colorado River, which is an aerial shot of a double oxbow in Canyonlands National Park. Not only is the site a magical place, but I was able to capture it from my father’s singleengine plane while he piloted it at sunrise.

Working inside the Khumbu Icefall on Mount Everest, Nepal, was full of surprises, such as the beauty of the mountain and the generosity of the human spirit. But the depth of ambition and ego in others was alarming.

It was a journey into extremes—physically and emotionally.

I recently did a source-to-sea Ganges River trip and spent a morning learning dance moves from a professional Bollywood choreographer who happened to be staying in the same hotel. Not your typical morning.

My recently released film, Martin’s Boat, is on Martin Litton, the river runner and conservationist who helped keep dams out of the Grand Canyon.

I rowed the Colorado River in a baggage boat along with a dory named for Litton, who passed away in 2014.

Story on page 48

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NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | FEBRUARY 2016

—Monika Joshi

CHIRODEEP CHAUDHURI (WINE-STOPPER & TREES), PETER MCBRIDE (MAN)

The sun had swooped towards the horizon leaving behind a trail of orange. It was my first day in Switzerland, but a pre-planned itinerary had led me to spend the first few hours at the Swiss Museum of Transport in Lucerne. Knowing it was going to be a magnificent sunset, I ran out to the park across the museum. I pointed my tiny camera this way and that among the trees bordering the lake, but it was near impossible to choose what to leave out of the frame. It was a watercolourist’s dream palette. Pilatus loomed large over the city, its distinct contours identifiable over the Old Town’s clock towers and spires.

This picture was taken by my colleague, Chirodeep Chaudhuri, who manages to make photographs speak. While I struggled to capture the colours of this unforgettable setting, he gave me a picture that became my visual bookmark for a trip that was painted in all the shades of autumn.

—Associate Editor-Special Projects, Diya Kohli

I NS I D E OU T

Common Roots A CRUISE THROUGH THE SUNDARBANS INSPIRES A MEDITATION ON THE INVISIBLE LINES THAT BIND US

W

e leave the Kokilmoni, the cruiser we have been travelling in all day, in small boats. We are heading towards the largest mangrove forest in the world, the Sundarbans, about 300 kilometres south of Dhaka. Most of the forest lies in Bangladesh, a smaller part is in West Bengal in India, in the vast Ganga delta at the mouth of the Bay of Bengal.

The children in our party, about nine of them aged seven to 14, are quietly excited by the prospect of sighting wildlife. They have been promised deer, wild boar, crocodiles, and maybe even the elusive tiger. It is early afternoon and the sunlight filters through the sundari trees casting strange dancing shadows in the shallow waters. We alight carefully onto the grey, slippery ground. This is treacherous swampland, hospitable only to a chosen few. The forest looks eerie, unreal. It could be a scene from a science fiction movie set on an alien planet.

There is a sense of secrets lurking below the surface.

Several grey spikes stick out of the ground, two- to four-feettall, slightly tapering at the top. They could be quills on the back of a giant dragon.

“Look at the roots of the trees,” our guide points out. The children are scornful. “Roots are found under the soil,” says one.

“We learned that in science class.” The adults are silent, unwilling to display our ignorance, secretly nursing a sense of wonder.

These are aerial roots, pneumatophores. Our guide is an amateur naturalist who has been on this journey several times.

The swampy soil cannot provide oxygen for the roots, so the tree has adapted by allowing its roots to grow outside the soil.

A few metres away, we see more trees with a mesh of roots at the base, reaching their way into the soil like tentacles of a sea creature. The stilt roots are all intertwined together creating a buffer around the tree, holding it steady in the face of frequent tides and storms. The mangrove forest absorbs the brunt of frequent cyclones in this part of the world, protecting other life forms.

It makes me think about our human roots, the invisible lines that bind us to a land, a community, or an idea of a nation.

There are about 30 of us on this trip to the Sundarbans from various parts of the Indian subcontinent. Here, in Bangladesh, our common roots hold us together.

They show up in conversations through a common context, through the lack of

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NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | FEBRUARY 2016

Nirupama Subramanian is a columnist and author of two novels, Keep The Change and Intermission. She has also won the Commonwealth Short Story Competition prize in 2006 for her short fiction.

explanations. We talk Bollywood movies, want masala peanuts with our drinks, and make disparaging comments about our political leaders. I become more conscious of my origins when I am far away from them.

Yet, sometimes we need to hide them, to adapt to a new environment. Friends and relatives in western countries have contracted their long unpronounceable names and given their children short global names that easily slide off the tongue.

I remember an aunt who had emigrated to the U.S. several years ago. I had seen her as a new bride, shy, sari-clad, with few words of English. When I saw her a few years later, she looked very comfortable in jeans and shirt. She sported short hair and a distinct American accent. The red dot on her forehead had vanished along with the thick gold chain around her neck.

“People sometimes think I am Hispanic,” she said quite happily.

Yet, she came to India every two years to reconnect with her roots. This connection, through family ties, the language spoken as a child, or a palate that craves a familiar taste is always there. It is the place we go to in our heads, when we are asleep in our beds, like the Peter Sarstedt song, “Where Do You Go To (My Lovely)?”

I see a scatter of knee roots. It is the exposed part of a long subterranean root that has come up for a bit of air before it goes back again. The broad plank roots radiate in plump curves from the base of the tree like snakes.

Trees will do anything to survive; their roots are willing partners in this struggle. It is perhaps the same with us humans.

ARATI KUMAR-RAO (ILLUSTRATION)

Voices |

CR EW CU T

Chance Encounters FORGING UNEXPECTED CONNECTIONS ON THE ROAD

I

first saw them at a waterfall in Yavakapadi, a tiny village in Coorg. They were dressed in bright, roomy nightdresses.

Six women, between the ages of 45 and 70, guffawed as the youngest one imitated a yesteryear Hindi film star dancing under a waterfall. I sat on a boulder nearby, trying to be invisible, but I couldn’t help eavesdropping on their jokes.

I had come to this part of Coorg for its walking trails, babbling streams, and for much needed solitude. But minutes after I had exchanged polite smiles with these women from Hyderabad, I found myself happy to join them on the walk back to our homestay. Later, when they rejoined the rest of their group of 11, I sat with them, eating homemade murukku and tuning in and out of their conversations.

I ended up spending the next three days with this family, and my impressions and thoughts of Coorg are irrevocably tied to them. My memory of hiking along its trails is entwined with how one of the three sisters, Alaknanda, slid bright yellow blooms in my pierced ears to wear as earrings. As dusk settled over the lush coffee plantations around our homestay, I’d look forward to the family’s evening ritual of singing old Hindi songs. I was invited to their hearty dinner of traditional Coorg chicken curry, during which the three sisters relentlessly chided their diabetic 50-something brother about his diet. Then, one night, they surprised him by celebrating bhai dooj and letting him feast on pheni, a traditional Telangana sweet they had brought with them. The day after, they suggested I join them on a visit to the Tibetan settlement of Bylakuppe. During the bus journey, I laughed uncontrollably at the antics of Shobha Rani, the otherwise gentle matriarch of the group. She transformed into a fierce and formidable opponent during the game of antakshari, and was convinced that every player was cheating.

Later, at the monastery, Shobha’s sister-in-law shared with me her own story. She had

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NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | FEBRUARY 2016

Kareena Gianani Kareena Gianani is Associate Editor at National Geographic Traveller India. She loves stumbling upon hole-in-the-wall bookshops, old towns, and owl souvenirs in all shapes and sizes.

been reluctant to come on the trip because of a recent personal loss. But there she was, with a family that wanted to be by her side while she faced her demons.

When we travel, if we are willing to listen, places tell us stories.

But I’ve found that my time on the road becomes more meaningful when I open up to the lives of strangers. What makes these accidental bonds even more special is that they don’t happen too often. But when they do, I find my journey enriched in ways I couldn’t have planned or imagined.

In August last year, my guide in Toronto was a sprightly septuagenarian who walked as if she had rollerblades on her feet. I met her as part of a large group, so we barely interacted at first. But, later that afternoon, as our boat left the city and sailed towards the Toronto Islands, Dorothy Khorshed and I bonded over a matter most mundane: our skirts billowing in the breeze.

She told me about how she, a German, landed up in Toronto decades ago. Her husband wanted to come here in search of a better life. He was Egyptian, and they met in Paris at a French language class. Dorothy was late for the course by a week, and flustered to find all the seats in the room taken when she entered. “Suddenly, I saw this tall, young man gesturing to the empty seat beside him, at the back of the room. I rushed towards him and slid into the seat. We sat together for life, he and I,” Dorothy said candidly.

Over two days, she showed us around Toronto’s historic Chinatown and Kensington Market, loved for its vintage shops and hipster cafés. She was adept at telling us stories about the areas’ past and present. My Toronto memories are mixed with little, admirable details of her life: like how she cycles 54 kilometres from Mississauga to Toronto and back every day, wears only neon pink sneakers, and how her preferred parting Toronto’s historic gift to people she likes is a tiny Kensington Market is on tube of anti-ageing cream. It every tour guide’s itinerary. now lies in my backpack.

KAREENA GIANANI

Voices |

NAVIGATE 34

on foot Graffiti artists are on point in East London

42

off track Flaming cliffs and dinosaur fossils in Bayanzag, Mongolia

A typical Slovenian bee house (left) has removable wooden frames of beehives; Gingerbread hearts (top right) are made from honey dough and shaped by hand or in moulds; Artisanal honey in local markets is sold in glass bottles painted with pretty, nature-inspired motifs (bottom right).

The Bee’s Knees ON THE HONEY TRAIL IN SLOVENIA BY KALPANA SUNDER

B

eekeeping has been serious business in Slovenia since the 16th century, when honey was the main sweetener, and beeswax candles were an important source of illumination. Bees were kept in wooden hives traditionally stacked under a roof, and even today, these can be spotted in orchards and gardens across the country. In the mid-18th century, a folk art form emerged with beehive front panels becoming canvases for artists to depict Biblical stories, historical events, folk tales, and scenes from rural life.

26

My guide, Ales Fevzer, tells me that as well as helping the beekeeper distinguish between different colonies, painted hives help bees orient themselves and find their homes easily.

Some motifs provide protection from witchcraft or misfortune. According to a Slovenian saying, beekeeping is “the poetry of agriculture.”

Beekeeping tourism is unique to Slovenia, as is its protected native bee species, the dusky brown-grey Carniolan honeybee, popularly known as the grey bee. The species is known for its “docility and diligence,” Ales explains,

NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | FEBRUARY 2016

ATLAS

SLOVAKIA IA

BANGLADE ADESH

COLOMBIA

LESOTHO

Radovljica, Slovenia Honey cookies or loški kruhek are baked in carved wooden moulds or loški, named after the town of Škofja Lok, a 1,000-year-old city that is the best preserved medieval city in Slovenia.

JUAN CARLOS MUÑOZ/AGE FOTOSTOCK/DINODIA (BEE HOUSE), PHOTO COURTESY: SLOVENIAN TOURIST BOARD (GINGERBREAD HEARTS), KALPANA SUNDER (BOTTLES)

30

local flavour How Assam’s smoky Singpho tea changed a nation

TASTE O F TRAVEL

Radovljica’s Museum of Apiculture has exhibits (top) of the 18th-century folk art of painting beehive panels; Beehives in Dolenjska province (bottom) are often brightly painted, apparently to help bees locate their homes.

and is one of the top three species favoured by beekeepers worldwide.

“Slovenia is the only EU country that has protected its indigenous bee race,” Ales tells me.

In Radovljica, a small town in northern Slovenia and the centre of bee tourism, I taste a variety of artisanal honeys made by these bees—fir, spruce, linden, maple, wild cherry, and even dandelion. Since 60 per cent of this small country is wooded, bees forage on a variety of trees. According to Ales, honey takes on a gamut of flavours

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and consistencies depending on what flower it comes from. Artisanal honey is usually thicker and denser than massproduced honey because its harvesters patiently wait till bees build wax caps over the cells of their honeycombs, signalling that the honey is mature.

In Slovenia, this honey makes its way into a variety of products. Some that I see on sale in Radovljica include mouth-warming honey biscuits baked in moulds, boxes of honey chocolates shaped like bees, honey liqueur, honey wine (mead), and honey sparkling wine.

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In the cellar of the Lectar restaurant, I visit a workshop fragrant with the aroma of Slovenian gingerbread hearts.

I watch a baker make these beauties out of honey, rye flour, pepper, cinnamon, and clove, icing them with colourful floral decorations. Heart-shaped honey cakes are traditionally purchased by lovers as gifts, iced with a name, and embellished with a mirror.

Nearby, at the gift shop in Bled Castle, Slovenia’s oldest castle and a popular tourist attraction, I encounter some unusual bee products like royal jelly, which is secreted by worker bees, and propolis, used to protect their hives from infection. Propolis is created when bees collect and enrich tree resin with secretions from their salivary glands.

It is believed to have around 300 chemical components and is known for its healing powers.

In the central square of historic Radovljica, a few rooms of a baroque mansion are occupied by the Apiculture Museum. Inside, I see a tall wooden statue of a Slovenian peasant brandishing a pitchfork, almost missing the discreet opening above his hand: a hole for bees to enter. There’s also a wooden soldier and a small church, each with an opening in the back for removing the honeycomb.

The museum has 200 hand-painted panels of apiary art, dating to the 18th and 19th centuries. There are scenes of bucolic bliss and several panels that make fun of hunters, including one depicting a fox holding a knife to a man’s neck. I see scenes from the Old Testament, bears with honey on their paws running from farmers, soldiers in battle, and even bandits attacking innocent travellers.

There are 15 “honey routes” around Slovenia, where people can learn about honey gathering, the healing qualities of honey, and even experience “apitherapy”, which uses honeybee products such as honey, pollen, bee bread, propolis, royal jelly, and bee venom. Although most of the country’s 9,000 beekeepers are amateurs, they produce about 2,000 tons of honey each year, mostly for local markets. I buy two jars to take home, along with some beeswax candle figurines, and a souvenir painted panel. Every time I drizzle honey on my toast, I taste a bit of Slovenia.

KALPANA SUNDER (PAINTING ), WHITWORTH IMAGES/MOMENT OPEN/GETTY IMAGES (BEEHIVES)

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Singpho Tea Party THE ASSAM TEA THAT CHANGED A NATION TEXT & PHOTOGRAPHS BY SARITA SANTOSHINI

Tea planter Rajesh Singpho (left) pours freshly brewed Singpho tea for guests as he narrates its history and the way it was traditionally processed; Many families in Katatong still grow tea in their backyards for their own consumption (top right); After the tea is plucked, it is dried in large metal pans (bottom right) to stop oxidation, giving it a smoky flavour.

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am sipping a cup of light, smoky flavoured tea, and listening to Assam tea planter Amiyo Ningda talk about a time when the neat patches of tea shrubs and leafy vegetables outside his window looked very different. I try to imagine his ancestors, hundreds of years ago, mounted on elephants to pluck handfuls of leaves from tall tea trees growing wild. I picture the chief of the local Singpho tribe, Bisa Gam, inviting Major Robert Bruce of the East India Company to his bamboo hut back in 1823, and introducing him to tea plants in his backyard. This was how the British discovered tea in India and its commercial plantation began.

Over a cup of traditionally handprocessed tea in the village of Katatong in Upper Assam, everything I had learned during my upbringing in a former British tea garden a few hours away comes undone.

The Singphos, a tribal community residing in parts of Northeast India, Myanmar, and China, are believed to

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be among India’s first tea drinkers. To this day, they continue to process tea by first heating the leaves in a metal pan until they brown, and then sun-drying them for a few days. To make the more flavourful, smoked tea, the sun-dried leaves are tightly packed in bamboo tubes and smoked over a fire. After a week of storing these bamboos, the processed tea hardens to take the shape of the tube. It can then be preserved for up to 10 years, with small portions sliced off with a knife to brew a fresh cup of tea.

When processed and brewed correctly, a cup of Singpho tea, which is had without milk or sugar, is a lovely goldenorange colour. The leaves can be reused to brew three or four cups, the flavour getting better with each infusion.

According to Ningda, the tea’s organic production and traditional processing retains its medicinal value. The Singphos say a cup after every meal aids digestion, and believe it has kept the community relatively free from cancer and diabetes.

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Families like Rajesh Singpho’s in Ingthem village, relish tea in other forms too. A popular version is pickled tea, made by mixing steamed leaves with spices, and allowing them to ferment.

The pickle is served in a salad with onion and leafy vegetables. It’s similar to Burmese lahpet thoke, which was exchanged as a peace offering by the warring kingdoms of Burma and Siam centuries ago, and is a popular street food in Yangon. Singphos also use white tea flowers, pan fried and served with rice.

These traditional recipes and ways are slowly being forgotten. But sitting here, drinking my third cup of tea, I am grateful to the Singphos for their role in giving India its favourite brew. THE VITALS Katatong village is in Tinsukia district, 92 km/3 hr east of Dibrugarh airport.

Singpho Eco Lodge sells Singpho tea (`120 for 100 gm) and organises demonstrations of the production process from Apr-Oct (98544 38896).

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Half-Moon Memories PEDAKIA TICKLES THE PALATE AND EVOKES A WARM, FUZZY FEELING BY KAVITA KANAN CHANDRA

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or me, childhood memories of visiting my grandparents in Patna are irrevocably tied to eating pedakia, the classic Bihari, half-moon shaped sweet that is very popular during Teej, Holi, and Diwali. No one visiting the city during these festivals can escape the aroma of the crisp dumplings, their crusts fried golden brown, wafting from sweetshops and temporary roadside stalls. During this time, restaurants tend to offer diners complimentary pedakia at the end of a meal.

Just the mention of this sweet fills my nostrils with its scent. Even when we were far away from Patna, my brothers and I eagerly awaited festive occasions when our mother made pedakia at home. We’d run home drenched in colours, in the midst of our high-spirited Holi celebrations, just to eat a few pieces, and run out again. I remember how comforting it was to return from school and find our house redolent with the aroma of pedakia being fried in pure ghee. The whiff of the roasting sooji or semolina, coconut, and freshly ground green cardamom used in the sweet filling elevated my mood. I’d tiptoe around the kitchen as mum filled mawa

or evaporated milk solids, sooji, coconut, and nuts into a circle of maida dough.

She expertly folded the dough into a semi-circular shape, and glued the edges with water.

The filling of this scrumptious sweet varies from home to home. The most delicious version I have eaten is rather unusual, made by my mother’s friend, from a traditional recipe handed down in her family. It entails the cumbersome process of making super-crisp wheat puris, drying them in the sun, grinding them, then mixing them with mawa and dry fruit to make the filling.

As I’ve travelled around India, I’ve been thrilled to discover other local variants of the pedakia. The name and filling change with each region, but the fundamentals remain the same. In northern India, it is known as gujiya, and during Holi is available in every Delhi sweetshop. Karanjikai in Tamil Nadu and kajjikai in Karnataka, Andhra and Telengana are close cousins from the south. In Goa, there’s

a version made during Christmas called neureos and during Ganesh Chaturthi and Diwali, the version stuffed with desiccated coconut, poppy seeds, and nuts is called nevri. In Maharashtra, these two holidays are celebrated with karanji, filled with tasty dessicated coconut and jaggery. And in the Gujarati variation, the filling in the ghughra is usually flavoured with grated nutmeg and crushed saffron, and the dough is kneaded with warm milk.

Despite my love for all these variations, now that the baton of preparing pedakia at home is in my hand, I consciously steer clear of any innovations, trying to keep the shape, size, colour, texture, and taste close to the version from my childhood. Trying to improve upon a memory is futile. SWEET SPOTS To taste some of Patna’s best pedakia, visit Sweet Home at Alankar Place on Boring Road. Several varieties are sold including the much sought-after mawa pedakia made in pure ghee (`400 per kilo). Other popular Patna shops are Sangita, behind Kotwali Thana near the Patna Museum, and Cathy Confectioners in Kankarbagh.

TUKARAM KARVE/SHUTTERSTOCK

Pedakia, gujiya, karanjikai, or kajjikai: The name and recipe of this traditional sweet varies across India, but its flavour generates the same relish and warmth in every place it is made.

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One of East London’s most remarkable graffiti artworks is the giant bird painted on Hanbury Street by Belgian artist ROA.

The Art of Street Murals

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nlike any other part of the city, East London is at once slick and shifty. Artisanal coffee shops and curry houses both find space on Brick Lane. Every way you turn, you’re likely to find a signboard for a “Balti House,” or a graffiti-covered wall.

Ben, a graffiti artist and our guide for a street art walking tour of East London, tells us that there were 250 curry houses in the area at last count. Stopping at a corner of Brick Lane, he points to graffiti by an artist known as Stik. It is a symbol of how young, white English folk and Bangladeshi immigrants coexist here.

Against a blood-red background, two stick figures hold hands—one is dressed in white, the other wears a black burqa.

Stik’s art suggests that the older and newer inhabitants of East London have learned to coexist. Its message is a far cry from that of underground music groups, such as the Asian Dub Foundation,

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which, in the 1990s, sang lyrics like “Some fascists in Brick Lane looking for a fight/Police doing nothing/One rule for black/One rule for white.”

According to Ben, Stik’s work has been on this corner for five years. A reminder of the positive change in race relations, its staying power is a sign of how people respect the idea of coexistence. Most street art, Ben says, doesn’t stay on the walls for more than two weeks because of the paucity of space and “legal walls” that the artists are authorised to use.

Not all street art is cerebral, or takes upon itself the task of harping on some political or social evil. A few turns ahead, we stop short to gawp at a four-storey mural of a stork-like bird, which looks like it’s about to hop onto Hanbury Street for a quick bite—at a balti restaurant, of course. The black-and-white bird is a signature piece by Belgian artist ROA. ROA’s distinctive style incorporates

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detailed brush strokes, which bring beasts and birds alive in the urban jungle. A grumpy pig, who looks like he’s suffering from a serious case of Balti belly, resting under the display window of a jewellery store and a hedgehog hiding behind a lamp post in Shoreditch are both instantly recognisable as ROA’s creatures.

As with most art forms, the biggest challenge for most street artists is to come up with a trademark style that identifies them, and to break the mould THE VITALS The two-hour-long Alternative London Walking Tour is conducted on a payas-you-like basis by street artists. I paid £30/`3,000. Tours start near Spitalfields Market, East London, 5 mins from Liverpool Station; Monday to Saturday; booking essential, details at alternativeldn.co.uk.

CARLOS S. PEREYRA/AGE FOTOSTOCK/DINODIA

GRAFFITI ARTISTS ARE ON POINT IN EAST LONDON BY LALITHA SUHASINI

ON FO OT

Birds are a recurring theme in street art, and are sometimes used to symbolise freedom (top left); Graffiti livens up the streets of areas like Shoreditch and Brick Lane market (top right and bottom right), which convey more politically charged messages; Alternative London’s two-hour bike tours (bottom left) cover the back alleys of the neighbourhoods of Shoreditch, Hoxton, Hackney, Brick Lane, and Spitalfields.

as often as they can. Lily Mixe, one of the few female street artists in the city, stands out because of her labour-intensive paste-ups, which are first painted on paper and then glued onto the walls. In one of her works, an oceanic adventure unfolds on a wall close to ROA’s stork, with jellyfish and octopuses trying to get a peek inside an unsuspecting Londoner’s bedroom. It’s not easy to tell it is a paste-up until you spot some sea anemones peeling off the wall. Mixe is also a guide at Alternative London Tours.

We almost miss the Pac-Man installation in Shoreditch, painstakingly made using tiles, by French artist, Invader, a well-known name around the world. When do these artists from all over the place take to the streets of London? “Mostly at night,” Ben says. “It’s too risky to do it during the day, but some of them do. A lot of times, the boldest of

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moves can go under the radar.”

Of course, there is some posturing on display too. A few street artists take on commercial work that craftily sells a car or expensive liquor. Ben says he and other artists immediately paint over such work, identify who its creator is, and ensure everyone else knows who he is as well. This loss of street credibility can crush an artist’s career.

The line between commercial viability and credibility is a tightrope walk for many. I wonder if it isn’t hypocritical to diss business suits on the street, while selling street art for hefty prices in galleries. “I hear you,” Ben says, “these are doubts that bother us too. But we have to make money. The rents are so high in the city now that a lot of artists are just moving to Berlin.”

If you know where to look, you’ll find art in every corner of the street.

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Ben points to the top of a lamp post in Shoreditch that is fitted with a miniature brass angel, its wings spread open. The angel was made in 2013 by Jonesy, a street artist and master sculptor from London. Ben tells us that “for the wings, Jonesy made a cast using the wings of a dead pigeon that he found at his home.”

This kind of effort is unusual—speed and location take priority for most street artists. A few months down the line, the angel may vanish to make space for another mythical being out of Jonesy’s imagination, or the City of London Police may have cleaned things up. One could follow its story using Pinterest and Instagram, but a tour like this one, which lasts close to three hours and constantly has new landmarks on its path, is a much more exciting way to watch the battle between street artists and city authorities.

GRANT ROONEY/AGE FOTOSTOCK/DINODIA (WOMAN), CHRIS CHEADLE/ALL CANADA PHOTOS/GETTY IMAGES (POLICEMAN), PHOTO COURTESY: ALTERNATIVE LONDON (CYCLISTS), LUIS DAVILLA/AGE FOTOSTOCK/DINODIA (MAN)

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Folk Art Frisson A GLIMMER OF HOPE FOR MAHARASHTRA’S DYING ART AND ORAL TRADITIONS TEXT & PHOTOGRAPHS BY ANJANA

The 500-year-old delicate art of Chitrakathi comes alive with the use of natural colours.

Borders framing recreational scenes (top) from the Mahabharata, Ramayana, or Nandi Purana are always intricate; The torsos of marionettes (bottom) used in string puppet shows are carved from the wood of the Indian coral tree.

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cool monsoon breeze rushes in through an open window of the well-used Maruti van I’m in. It carries with it the sweet scent of wet mud. Like freshly polished emeralds, the Sahyadri hills gleam in the distance, the summer dust now washed off the trees that sheath its slopes. Take away the signboards for fancy Goa hotels, the concrete road, and the motor vehicles that roar past occasionally and it’s a living Eden.

For over 400 years, this area along the Mumbai-Goa highway has been the home of the Thakars, an indigenous tribe of artists, storytellers, and puppeteers.

The Maratha warrior Shivaji is believed to have christened the group “butterflies of the forest” because they would flit from one part of the forest to the other.

Chetan Gangavane is driving me towards his home in Pinguli village.

Pinguli is where many of the “butterflies” have settled in more permanent homes, several opening small resthouses for truckers plying the route. Others work as carpenters or painters. Their art has also taken on a more permanent form.

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“Eventually, with the support of the Raja of Sawantwadi, our people started painting on 12x18 inch handmade paper,” Chetan tells me. However, “art doesn’t pay much and the income isn’t constant, so the old traditions are dying out,” he adds. This is precisely why I’m here. Chetan’s father, Parshuram Gangavane, who received an award from the Maharashtra state government in 2009 for the preservation of folk arts, has promised to share his tribe’s folktales with me, including stories that have never been recorded before. My timing is perfect, as the family has just initiated a homestay scheme.

The car dips into a puddle as Chetan turns into a dirt road and pulls up beside a row of palm trees with paintings on their trunks.

A display in a small hut near the entrance shows how the tribe lived in

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its nomadic days. A doorway next to the entrance to the main cottage leads to the “museum,” a modest space of two rooms that together measure less than 300 square feet. The walls are adorned with Gangavane’s inheritance of paintings; some are 200-300 years old.

Eknath, Chetan’s older brother, demonstrates the tribe’s unique musical instruments fashioned from utensils.

He drags the shafts of two ladles on an upturned metal trough to strike sharp notes on the donavadya, and plays the thalivadya by running his fingers up and down a thin stick placed at the centre of a metal disc. It’s a lot harder than it looks; my feeble attempt doesn’t produce so much as a squeak. In a traditional performance, these instruments would be used with a dholki (drum), cymbals, conch, and tuntuna (a stringed instrument), while beautifully painted figures made of animal hide would be manipulated behind a screen.

“In the old days, people believed these shows were magic,” says the patriarch, Parshuram, who has joined us. “They believed that the size of the shadows was controlled by the sound of the conch.”

The Gangavanes also specialise in Kalsutri Bahulya, string-puppet shows for which they craft their own daiti (marionettes) using wood for the upper torso and cloth for the lower halves.

It was because the Thakars used to stage these performances door-to-door that Shivaji employed them as guptahe (spies). “Performers were to listen to and report on what was being discussed at the homes they visited,” says Parshuram as we enter his living area, a simple room fitted with a large TV. His wife Kavita serves us tea and vegetable puffs, for which she made a special trip to town. The family seems anxious at first, but they relax when they see me enjoying the

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Artist Eknath Gangavane (top) pores over a large collection of Chitrakathi painting borders and shadow puppets made from animal hide; The family teaches the art form to artists and students at Pinguli’s Thakar Adivasi Kala Angan museum (bottom).

snack. Parshuram settles down on a sofa so he can stretch out his injured leg—he was in an accident 15 years ago—and recounts the stories he grew up on, filling me in on the tribe’s legends and customs.

He tells me how, even today, a Thakar marriage is deemed incomplete until a male member of the Panchayat dressed as “Radha” dances at it. Another fascinating ritual involves a sister and brother who haven’t met for years.

They can’t simply greet each other. The Panchayat must first assemble at a farm and make the siblings stand with their backs to each other. Then they start moving closer and once their backs touch, they are free to reconnect.

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Dinner is an ample meal comprising chicken curry, a sort of wild green called ghod, chapattis, rice, and dal. With crickets singing in the background, I learn of haunted cashewnut trees, and watsus, or benevolent spirits that guide lost people through the woods. I listen to tales of battles between Thakar artists and demons and about Hirva Dev, the forest and nature deity.

My homestay room is basic and clean.

The bed and pillow are a bit stiff, but the night passes easily with the promise of what the next day will hold. Breakfast is a full meal again, with a host of sweet and savoury preparations. The family invites me to use the kitchen if I’d like

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to fix myself something specific as well.

Eknath shows me the studio, a small room with a single window. A palette and a tray of paints sit on the windowsill.

A desk in one corner is surrounded by scrolls, paintbrushes, and pigments.

“After we converted our cowshed to a folk art museum in 2008, people started coming here to study Chitrakathi and puppet making,” Eknath says.

In Chitrakathi performances, twodimensional paintings of scenes from the Mahabharata, Ramayana, or Nandi Purana are displayed, while stories are related through song. War scenes are plain and sombre, but recreational scenes have intricate borders. Chetan shows me some, saying “fashion students like to study these.” Though Eknath works at the village accountant’s office, he and the rest of the family are happy to schedule art workshops according to their visitors’ preferences.

I spend the afternoon in Sawantwadi, about half an hour away. The durbar at the Sawantwadi Palace, home of the Bhonsles, the erstwhile royals of the region, is open to visitors. Here, under a magnificent chandelier, sharing space with old hunting trophies, a silver throne and assorted regalia, are rows of desks where locals are being taught to paint Ganjifa cards. The rules of this ancient Mughal card game are now known only to a handful of people.

Chetan tells us that the Bhonsle family supports folk artists wholeheartedly and locals still revere them as they did hundreds of years ago. The community’s efforts are inspiring despite lack of financial support. I hope they manage to revive the dying traditions they are all working to preserve.  THE VITALS Pinguli village lies in Maharashtra’s Kudal town in Sindhudurg district, 120 km/3 hr north of Dabolim airport in Goa. Taxis charge upwards of `4,000 for a one-way trip; Chetan Gangavane will pick up or drop visitors for `3,500. There are five direct trains between Goa and Kudal (45-min journey; ticket `42).Pinguli village is a 20-min rickshaw drive from the station (`300).The Gangavane family home offers a single private room with an en-suite bathroom and very basic facilities (99876 53909; maharashtratribalmuseum.blogspot.in; `1,500 per night; all meals included).

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The Lost World FLAMING CLIFFS AND DINOSAUR FOSSILS IN MONGOLIA TEXT & PHOTOGRAPHS BY PRATHAP NAIR “Every driver and guide knows of a secret location where you can still find dinosaur bone fossils,” Sara told me, piquing my curiosity. I took her bait.

One of the high points of my childhood in a nondescript Tamil Nadu town was watching Jurassic Park in a dark theatre. I was 15 and I still remember clutching the armrest tightly. Ever since Michael Crichton and Steven Spielberg saved dinosaurs from paleontological obscurity and immortalised them in popular culture, these creatures have held a powerful sway over me. I feel exhilaration at the mere thought of walking on the same ground where giraffe-necked brachiosaurs ambled along millions of years ago.

The flamboyant American paleontologist Roy Chapman Andrews, allegedly the inspiration for Indiana Jones, arrived here in 1922, on an expedition for the American Museum of Natural History. His team found hundreds of fossilised remains, and Bayanzag became known as a dinosaur

On various stretches of the Gobi Desert, only hardy, drought-resistant saxaul trees provide relief from the stark landscape.

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graveyard. Ultimately, the team collected fossils of up to 140 previously unknown dinosaur species and other prehistoric mammals at the site. Among the 80 million-year-old bones were skeletons of Velociraptor, Saurornithoides, Oviraptor, Protoceratops, and Pinacosaurus.

Andrews’ expedition took an even more exciting turn when George Olsen, a member of his team, found fossilised

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BANGLADE ADESH

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Bayanzag, Mongolia Fossils found in Mongolia include that of a Velociraptor buried while attacking a plant-eating Protoceratops, and a group of baby dinosaurs discovered with eggshell fragments.

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lutching my camera tightly, I scrabble in an ungainly manner after my guide Sara, following her down the craggy, orange sandstone cliffs that overlook the vastness of the southern Gobi Desert. It is a sunny afternoon in early September, and a swift breeze whips at our clothes and sends swirls of fine sand into motion like an unruly dervish.

In the distance, the scattered greenery of needle-leafed saxaul forests adds a touch of shrubby vegetation to the otherwise khaki-brown landscape of Bayanzag, Mongolia’s “Flaming Cliffs.”

I’m here in the stark wilderness of the south Gobi Desert on a mission to see dinosaur fossils. A few days earlier, in the capital Ulaanbaatar, I saw fossils at the Central Museum of Mongolian Dinosaurs. And a couple of hours before this trek, I was shown some fossilised rocks, purportedly containing fragments of dinosaur bones, in my desert tent. Now I hope to see them in their own habitat.

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Mongolian gers (top left) are tents built with wooden frames, felt, and waterproof canvas. They can withstand the strong winds of Bayanzag’s Flaming Cliffs (bottom left); Mares (top right) provide nomads with nutritional milk, which is fermented to make the popular drink, airag; Toad-headed agamas, a lizard found in the Gobi desert, are known to display their red oral frills when threatened by predators (bottom right).

eggs at the site. This was the first clutch of dinosaur (oviraptor) eggs and nest ever found. Since these discoveries, Mongolia has become one of the most prominent paleontological sites for dinosaurs. The Gobi’s wind-battered, serrated sandstone cliffs are constantly exposed to the harshness of the region’s extreme weather, bringing more fossils to light. Dinosaur eggs have been found here as recently as 2013.

I kick a misshapen rock speckled with calcium deposits, and then reproach myself; it could well be a dinosaur fossil.

Sara points to a cluster of wooden huts

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in the distance, a winter settlement for the region’s nomads.

Our driver, Batah Erdene, walks ahead of us on the gravelly mounds, armed with a pink toilet brush. Every once in a while, he points at the earth, squats down, and brushes the sand to reveal a white, chalky piece of mineral. “Is that a bone?”

I ask incredulously. Yes, it is. Batah sticks it in his mouth and says, in throaty Mongolian, that dinosaur bones will stick to your tongue. He hands the fragment to me. It looks chalky and bone-like. For all I know, it could be a piece of camel bone, but I also know that it is this easy to

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stumble upon dinosaur bones in this part of the Gobi. However, I politely refuse the offer of a lick.

It is illegal to remove fossils from Bayanzag. Sara and Batah place the bone fragment back where they found it, and throw some sand over it. The orange of the early evening sun lights up the sandstone cliffs, as if they were on fire.

I turn back to see two fast approaching jeeps with another bunch of tourists, all intent on making the next big discovery.

I may or may not have found a dinosaur bone, but this certainly is as close as I will ever get to a bona fide Jurassic Park.

IN FOCUS 68

world 50 water-inspired trips that make a splash

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canada 1000 Islands and the lure of a river

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scandinavia Rocking the boat trip across the Baltic Sea

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Keen instincts and Lars Haarr’s deft oar strokes guide a dory down the churning Colorado River.

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“THE GRAND CANYON IS CARVEN DEEP BY THE MASTER HAND; IT IS THE GULF OF SILENCE, WIDENED IN THE DESERT; IT IS ALL TIME INSCRIBING THE NAKED ROCK; IT IS THE BOOK OF EARTH.” DONALD CULROSS PEATTIE, THE ROAD OF A NATURALIST, 1941

HUNCHED IN A dropping into one of the most storied rapids in the world’s canyon, I’m surprised by all that I hear. The crash of DORY grandest water echoes off the granite walls around me, but so do much

Author-photographer Pete McBride (left) and his sibling, Johno, hang tight through Lava Falls, one of the rapids that amp up a Grand Canyon river ride.

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smaller noises: the creak of the boat’s wood hull, the squeak of the oars, the call of a nearby canyon wren. Maybe the adrenaline crashing through my veins has honed my senses, or maybe it’s sleeping on the banks of the Colorado River under a silent spray of stars. Whatever, everything has become hauntingly loud. I’m on the 11th day of a 15-day boat trip down the Grand Canyon with family members, and we’re about to hit Lava Falls—an experience our boatman just described as

■ U.S.A. around us, its red sediment—that memory of the Rockies—fil“getting tossed down a flight of stairs while someone fires a river tered by the dam. “Too thick to drink and too thin to plough” hose at you.” I’m questioning the wisdom of our having opted for described this river before human engineering transformed its dories—low-slung boats that in smooth water bob like corks— flow from a silt-rich red into an emerald snake. It’ll be our trail, but in rapids can flip like bottle caps. My hands clutch the gunour drinking water, our home, and our evening lullaby for the wales of the dory I’m in, the Okeechobee. During its 35 years of next two weeks and 446 kilometres of wilderness. dancing the Colorado through this 1.5-kilometre-deep Arizona Our riverine caravan bobs downstream through oxbows withcanyon, the Okeechobee has been rebuilt at least five times. in the polished limestone walls of Marble Canyon, which is conSitting in the refurbished bow with me is my older brother, sidered the unofficial gateway to the Grand Canyon. Johno, setJohno, an action addict—he coached the U.S. Olympic ski tling into our dory nicely, seems to have taken my rationale for team—who craves excitement. Right now, though, I see nervchoosing a wooden craft to heart. ousness in his eyes. Checking that our life jackets are snug and “Why dories?” he had asked when I first proposed a trip to him our helmets more snug, we exchange a brotherly look.

“You got it, Moqui!” Johno yells to our veteran boatman, working the oars behind us. “You’re king of the world!”

A hiker sticks to firmer canyon ground, on foot.

It’s a moniker Moqui—also called Mark Johnson—earned decades ago.

Right now the king is laser-focused on the rage of “lava” ahead of us. We drop down a glassy green tongue and a wave curls over us, blasting us. We whoop— and our boat stalls just long enough to push us sideways. Fortunately, Moqui is known for his explosive “Moqui strokes,” fierce oar pulls that always save him from the river’s jaws. He will correct our crooked line. But we keep veering left. I look back at our captain: He mans the only set of oars controlling our boat. What I see makes me shudder. His left hand claws the air, empty; no oar is in sight. White water thunders around us. Plan A, run right of the river’s centre, is gone with the oar. We’re left with plan B—survival.

MY BROTHER AND I grew up on the Colorado River, swimming and fishing in it in summer, skiing in winter on the snows that feed its headwaters. Six years ago, I traced the Colorado from its source in the Rockies to its delta by the Gulf of California for my book, The Colorado River: Flowing Through Conflict, and saw the river being sucked dry by drought and population growth.

The Colorado no longer reaches the Gulf; too many straws drain the drink.

My shock at the transformation of this magnificent lifeline, one of the world’s hardest-working rivers and, some say, the most loved and litigated, sparked a passion to know and protect it.

It’s my river capture, a geology term for when a waterway erodes faster than another, eventually capturing the flow from the neighbouring drainage—just as the Colorado River has been capturing me.

So, on a May morning, five dories and three baggage rafts carrying our group and other river runners set off from Lees Ferry, the staging area for most Colorado River expeditions. The Glen Canyon Dam rises a few kilometres upstream; though we don’t see it, its impact is immediate. Unnaturally clear water pools

and his wife, Sunni. “Why not a safer rubber raft?”

“If you’re about to drive down a country road on a warm spring day,” I answered, “what would you choose—a crowded bus with few stops, a roomier but sluggish truck, or a vintage sports car?

Where you gain safety and time, you give up style, and where you gain cool, you give up practicality. Dories score high on cool, medium on practicality—and safety depends largely on the individual holding the oars.”

Dories also, I’d added, convey a sense of what John Wesley Powell experienced on his 1869 Colorado River journey, when he became the first to navigate the uncharted waterway in a wooden boat—and was one of the first to begin mapping it.

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“Dories,” says Arndt, “are fun, fast, and at times wild. When “What falls there are, we know not,” Powell would write up in I guide one, it commands my full attention. I need to know his journal. “What rocks beset the channel, we know not; what exactly where the boat can and can’t go, without scratching walls rise over the river, we know not.” Although the river today is its paint.” fully mapped, I’m starting to know just how he felt.

Every dory guide can recall collisions and flips. An expedition As we descend into the canyon’s 40 layers of sedimentary rock, without any? “We call that a golden run.” Each of us hopes, of each layer a signature of time, I pretend to recall details I learned course, for a golden run. Except my brother, who keeps asking, in geology class. The truth, however, is that the place has too “When do we tackle bigger rapid action?” Soon, I tell him, soon. many dates, layers, and layer names—Kaibab, Supai—for me to I don’t add he’s late for the monstrous rapids John Wesley keep track of. The Grand Canyon just overwhelms with its scale, Powell fought, that the river is a shadow of its former self. In its kaleidoscope of colours, its sheer physicality, shrinking every1983, a record Colorado snowpack melted and flooded Lake thing in you but your soul.

Powell, threatening the Glen Canyon Dam. Desperate to save it, Thankfully, our guides prove to be walking encyclopaedias. dam operators opened its bypass gates, releasing a maelstrom Of the five, three earned “legend” status with O.A.R.S., the of 100,000 cubic feet of water per outfitter, which has run river trips second (cfs). Today, an average since 1969. One of them, Andre river trip sees water levels between Potochnik, has a PhD in geology 8,000 and 15,000 cfs. and served on the U.S. Bureau of Reclamation’s recreation “GOOOD MOOORNING Graand commission, which addresses the Caaaaanyon! Coffee and tea in aisle diverse interests that depend on seven!” booms Haarr, our tattooed the Colorado. The second largest boatman, on day three. It’s about producer of hydroelectric juice 5 a.m.—I think. My watch is lost in in the U.S., the bureau controls my dry bag, so my clock has aligned the flow in Grand Canyon. Some to river time: sunrise, sunset, and see hydroelectricity as the river’s lunch, when my stomach growls. economic engine. Others see a freeEvery morning the river is low, flowing river, which would attract leaving our boats high on the beach. billions of tourist dollars, as the By mid-morning it starts swelling, economic driver. After 13 years on a dam-fed hydroelectric curve. As the commission, Potochnik went temperatures spike in Phoenix, air from “dams must go” to a more conditioning demand rises, requircentrist view. ing more power. Dam operators “There was room to work with release more water. (Weekend need the bureau, so I softened my aptypically falls; offices are closed.) proach.” On our trip he’ll talk rock In 1540, when this river ran theory until the river, or the beer, wild, a Spaniard, Garcia Lopez runs dry. These days, the beer may de Cárdenas, peered out from outlast the river. the canyon’s south rim, the first The canyon’s ecology and the European to lay eyes on this constellations in the canyon’s starry drainage big enough to contain amphitheatre, still wonderfully his homeland’s Basque Mountains. free of light pollution, will be the I consider this as we hike up a purview of guide Lars Haarr. Then Veteran dory guide Eric Sjoden rests up for the next side canyon one afternoon to the there is trip leader Eric Sjoden, a round of white-water adventure. confluence of the Little Colorado wiry, soft-voiced grandfather from River and larger Colorado. The Little Colorado, rich with Montana, who seems to speak another, water-defined language. calcium carbonate, flows a fluorescent blue. The confluence is The bigger the waves, the less he rows, as if willing his boat a refuge for the humpback chub, one of four endangered fish around rocks. species here struggling with both the cool water created by the The feistiest guide will be the sole woman, Chelsea Arndt, one dam and proliferating non-native fish species such as trout. of a growing cadre of female guides on the Colorado. Raised in A recent development may add to the challenges facing this Wyoming, she came to the canyon right after college and got into ancient ecosystem. A proposed 2.25-kilometre tramway, the guiding literally by accident, when she, with no experience, had to “Grand Canyon Escalade,” would transport some 10,000 visitors take over for an injured guide. “It was messy, but I figured it out,” a day down to the merge of the two rivers. Hotels, shops, and she says in her slow Wyoming drawl. other businesses would join it on the canyon rim. Eleven native We 18 passengers take turns in each guide’s boat, so one day tribes live around Grand Canyon National Park; many consider my rat pack—me, my friend Nicole, Johno, and Sunni—rides in this river confluence sacred and oppose development. Others Arndt’s Roaring Springs. Dories carry their own mystique in the argue the tramway is a needed economic boost for the Navajo. river running world. Generally built with some mix of foam, ply“Can you imagine thousands of people here?” Potochnik asks wood, and fibreglass, they’d seem no match for the toothy rocks as we row past the confluence. We shake our heads. in many of the rapids.

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Deer Creek Falls adds touches of greenery to stony Grand Canyon.

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As twilight falls, boaters gather around a campfire near Marble Canyon.

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“Come on, Pete,” my brother ribs me. “Keep us straight. Keep DAY FIVE, RIVER KILOMETRE 110, and what has been a narus alive.” We buck down the rapids, see-saw through a train of row-walled canyon suddenly yawns open. For the first time we waves, and emerge. Alive. What I don’t know: Haarr made up see both the north and south rims of the Grand Canyon, loomthe name “Satan’s Jaws.” I strong-armed our craft through an ing some 5,000 feet above us. I discern what look like stone unnamed, insignificant riffle. structures maybe 800 feet up and can’t resist a quick exploratory hike. Forty-five minutes later, I find Native American ruins DAY ELEVEN: A nervous energy ripples through our group. We that have survived 900 years of storms and other natural events. can hear ahead the roar of “the most formidable reach of white Ancient Pueblo Indians once inhabited much of the canyon— water” in the Grand Canyon, according to the U.S. Geological until they left it for unknown reasons (some speculate it was to Survey. Lava Falls, one of Earth’s great rapids. escape drought conditions). As I ponder trying to farm this arid “We need to arrive with the perfect water level,” warns Sjoden, landscape, my attention gets lost in the immense silence. referencing the drought across the American Southwest that has Day seven dawns with sunlight filling the canyon. Everything strained water resources. The river is running exceptionally low, looks serene. Then I hear, “Big punchy white water today.” so we’ll wait for the swell of dam-released water. We park our Moqui appears wearing pyjamas under his shorts. flotilla at river kilometre 269 and use the time for a stroll up “Planning on napping later?” I ask.

National Canyon. Within seconds we enter a labyrinth of what “On big water days I bust out the jammies,” he explains, his Potochnik tells us is “Muav limestone.” After a bit, the canyon eyes sparkling with excitement. walls close in, creating a water-smoothed corridor of stone.

We gather for a refresher safety talk; as guide Sjoden wryly Then Johno points: a notes, “We’re heading pool of blue water. Gleeinto some deep schist.” fully, the two of us jump A few river kilometres in, our laughter pinging downstream, a geooff the rock walls. logical unconformity, or On our way back to break in the sediment, the boat, I turn a corner pushed 1.6-billion-yearand almost collide with old granite schist to the an elderly man carrying surface, creating whitea bundle of plants. An water fun—or “deep elder of the Hualapai schist” if you screw up. tribe, he says nothing, “Stay in your boat to just peers up the canyon. help keep it upright,” Two other men follow, Sjoden advises. “If you bearing green bundles. spill out, keep your feet Every year, revangled downstream and enue from Colorado’s hang on to the dory so it hydroelectric operations won’t flip. If it flips, we’ll funds spiritual canyon try to reflip it.” journeys for the area’s Our dories will bob Navajo, Hopi, Zuni, like toys through the Pete McBride mounted a GoPro on the bow of the dory and set it to take shots and Hualapai tribes, schist of Granite, Herin bursts or on a timer, to capture some great moments of excitement on the who believe certain mit, and Crystal rapids.

Colorado River. side canyons represent The water soaks us but the place they come no one makes a mistake; from and eventually return to. By coincidence, our trip has the dories appear to magically correct themselves. aligned with spiritual journeys for Navajo, Hopi, and Hualapai “You two want to row?” Haarr shoots back to me and Johno. tribal members.

My big brother goes first, and within minutes we spin sideways, I introduce myself to the men, and the elder says, “We are then backward. blessing tobacco for our ceremonies. We find it wild here in the “We’re going to diiee,” Haarr screams. The word “die” ricochets canyon. The harder to find, the better for ceremonies.” He pausoff the canyon. Lesson one: Dories don’t automatically correct es, then adds, “Welcome to Hualapai.” themselves. One wrong stroke, and the river steers the vessel I want to ask more, about the canyon, his life, their spirit where it chooses. I take the oars. Twenty strokes, and I have the world, but they’re on a mission, and my group is gathering back feel. Rounding a bend, we glide into a canyon shadow—and I by our dories. “Thank you for letting us visit your beautiful land,” hear a roar ahead. White water. My heart thumps and my hands I say. begin to sweat.

He looks at me sharply, then smiles. “I grew up there, on the “Want the oars back?” I ask Haarr. ridge.” He points with his chin. “I’m used to all you coming here.

“You’ve got this one. Satan’s Jaws; no biggie.” Funny. I I just hope you respect it.” manoeuvre what now feel like frail wooden sticks and try to read Respect for this land is what President Theodore Roosevelt the water. I decide to follow bubble lines that represent currents, had in mind in 1903 when he looked from the south rim near but with each stroke the river fights me. I adjust, overcorrect, today’s visitor centre. “Leave it as it is,” he said of the canyon. struggle. My arms ache.

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Nights bring cool temperatures—and the warmth of shared stories.

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“The ages have been at work on it, and man can only mar it.”

His love for wild places would lead to his declaring the canyon a national monument; in 1919, it became a national park. Overall, Roosevelt’s words have been heeded: Grand Canyon remains fairly unmarred. Still, development voices are louder than anytime in the past century, and water woes show little sign of reversal. As I hike back to the river, I think of words Ben Franklin wrote: “When the well’s dry, we know the worth of water.”

The well at Lava Falls is low but, we are about to find, far from dry—the river has risen enough to hide the staircase of rocks below, which creates the churn.

The first four dories make perfect runs. Our boatload hopes for the same. All goes swimmingly, until it doesn’t—until we become that submarine with one operational oar. We don’t have time to unlatch the spare oar before we careen sideways, then backward. We plummet over a roiling rush of water and enter the fearsome V-wave, two lateral churns of waterpower that crash to form a frothy mayhem large enough to swallow the Loch Ness Monster. As the V sucks us in, Moqui announces loudly but with notable calm, “Time for plan B,” followed by “Get ready … and … hiiiigh siiiiide!”

Sunni and Nicole, in the stern, look up: An overhead wave stares them in the face. When it hits, we lunge to the highest side of the boat, facing downstream, to counter the energy. The water buries us, and we plunge into an icy emerald darkness.

Everything submerges: dory, bodies, even the roar of the rapid.

All is silence. Slow motion. Milliseconds feel like minutes as

Stretches of calm water allow Colorado River expeditioners to kick back and drink in the sheer grandeur of Grand Canyon National Park.

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the dory rolls onto its side. Our Okeechobee, built, as a boatman said, “with tissue paper and baby bird bones,” swirls into the hydraulic mouth of Lava Falls. Somewhere I sense a giant grin; Johno and I sit in the front row in an overdue sibling adventure in the heart of a river that helped shape the greatest of canyons—and much of our childhood.

The V-wave releases our dory and we pitch sideways into the last wave, a standing tsunami called Big Kahuna. Smashing into the wall of water, we start to flip. Amazingly, Big Kahuna lets the dory go. Johno and I still sit in the bow, upright. Somehow we survive, oar-less, shepherded by the Colorado River.

“High fives!” Moqui hollers, followed by, “Now bail, dammit; we are NOT done.” In a frantic scramble of arms, laughter, and bailing scoops we empty the listing Okeechobee, and grin.

That evening, around a campfire on Tequila Beach, the tension of our biggest boating day deflates as we realise that our run has ended surprisingly well. Tequila and stories flow, and soon everyone in our group, ages 24 to 78, agrees we need more time in the canyon. We understand now how someone comes for a single trip down the Colorado and stays a lifetime: Every river kilometre has washed away layers of daily life from each of us, a random tribe of souls who share a new sense of awe for this walled masterpiece sculpted by a river. I only hope we all find the collective commitment to “leave it as it is.” Pete McBride is an American photographer and writer. He directed the award-winning Colorado River film Delta Dawn (2014).

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THE GUIDE

Lake Powell

Glen Canyon Dam Lees Ferry

Kaibab Reservation

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Visas

Seasons

Running the River

The tourist visa application for the United States needs to be submitted online (ceac.state.gov/ genniv). It is followed by a personal interview at the embassy in Delhi or the consulates in Mumbai, Kolkata, Chennai, or Hyderabad. The visa fee is `10,880, and depending on the season can take anything from a few days to a few weeks to process. A number of financial documents like bank statements and tax returns are required to prove that you will return to India.

River trips on the Colorado run from April through October. Boaters in spring (Mar-May) and fall (Oct-late Nov) should prepare for variable weather, with snow and high winds possible; temperature can be anything from 10°C into the 20s. Summers (May to mid-Sept) bring a rise in temperatures— 40°C in the canyon isn’t uncommon—and in recreational vessels, which can mean sharing space. River runners interested in extending a visit should consider staying at one of the six lodges in the park, including the 110-year-old El Tovar, on the canyon’s South Rim (+1-888-297-2757; www.grandcanyonlodges.com/lodging/el-tovar; doubles from $207/`13,850).

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Crystal Center Havasupai Rapids Reservation Granite Rapids Hermit Rapids So uth Grand Canyon Village Rim

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Park Attractions The Grand Canyon’s North and South Rims, which include visitors’ centres and lodging, are gateways to many of its sites. Highlights include hikes of the easy Rim Trails; more challenging hikes that descend from the rims toward the canyon floor on such trails as Bright Angel, South Kaibab, and North Kaibab; and mule rides along both rims or into the canyon (starts $45/`3,050; reservations recommended). Both the Yavapai Museum of Geology and the Tusayan Museum illuminate the canyon’s geology and its Puebloan history. Located outside the Tusayan Museum, the Tusayan Ruin, an 800-year-old remnant of an ancestral Pueblo settlement.

Atlas NV

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Grand Canyon CA

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Phoenix

l Grand Canyon National Park is home to five of the seven life zones (distinct ecosystems) of North America, comparable to travelling from Canada to Mexico. l An estimated 1,000 cave formations honeycomb the Grand Canyon. l The 89 mammal species in the national park include the native, mountain short-horned lizard, which squirts blood from its eyes when it feels threatened.

Numerous outfitters guide float trips through Grand Canyon National Park. The author went with O.A.R.S., one of the first outfitters granted a licence to operate trips on this stretch of the river. Others include Arizona River Runners, Grand Canyon Expeditions, and Grand Canyon Discovery. For a full list of river outfitters, see the park’s website, www.nps.gov/grca.

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INTERNATIONAL MAPPING

There are no direct flights between Lava India and Arizona, U.S.A. Daily flights Falls Rapids from Delhi and Mumbai to Phoenix, Arizona require at least one stop at Hualapai Reservation London, New York, or Chicago. The more popular South Rim of the Grand Canyon National Park is 370 km/ 3.5 hr north of Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport. The Trans-Canyon Shuttle connects the North and South rims of the national park (www.trans-canyonshuttle.com; 15 May-15 Oct, limited buses between 16-31 October; $90/`6,000).

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Getting There and Around

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The course of the Colorado River runs 2,334 kilometres through the American Southwest and northwestern Mexico. The most scenic stretch of the river cuts through—and carved—the Grand Canyon.

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Vermilion Cliffs National Monument

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Rocking Boat Trip PARTY, FOOD, AND CHEAP THRILLS ON A PASSENGER FERRY ACROSS THE BALTIC SEA

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the

Cruisers enjoy the sun on the deck of a ship during the ferry crossing between Sweden and Finland.

It is a popular journey, with the Viking Line hosting 5-7 million passengers annually.

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Flaming yellows and reds of trees on the Finnish coast add colour to a scene otherwise dominated by a leaden autumn sky and dark sea. I’ve climbed up to the top deck of the M.S. Amorella as we pull out from the harbour.

Sweden, my destination, is a day’s journey to the west. As I see Turku city, on the mouth of the Aura River, disappear and drop under the horizon, it strikes me that there’s something natural, almost inevitable, about the fact that I’m travelling from one Scandinavian country to another by ship across

The Vikings were sea-farers. Their ships were considered symbols of power and prowess. When an important person died, they were buried in a ship that could carry them into the afterlife, along with other offerings suitable to their status.

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At least since the Viking Age, a thousand years ago, we Nordic people have had the travel bug built into our genetic makeup. In their heyday, our Viking ancestors sailed around the world, from Baghdad in the east to America in the west. In a historical museum in Stockholm, showcasing stuff from excavations of Viking settlements, there’s even a fifth-century, Gupta-era Buddha statuette from India on display. The Vikings truly were globetrotters.

There are two basic theories about Viking activities. One is that they were some of the first global traders, but the more prevalent view is that they were ruthless pirates out to pillage and plunder. Every spring, after having spent the winters drinking mead in their thatched huts, they went forth from Scandinavia with bad hangovers, in their primitive ships, and burnt down their annual quota of monasteries in Europe.

But we, their descendants, don’t do that anymore. I’m not about to burn down any monasteries today. Even so, standing there on the upper deck and braving the icy morning wind, I already feel weirdly connected with the ancestors. As a people, we still love to book ourselves on a ferry cruise, where the beer is flowing. And there’s no better ferry to take than one run by the Viking Line, Scandinavia’s most popular cruising company. When you travel by Viking Line, it’s not just to travel across the Baltic Sea; what you really are going for is the partaaay!!!

After watching the pretty islands of the Turku archipelago pass by, with dainty summer cottages perched on their cliffs, I’m ready to step indoors again, into the warmth. Hold on, a tiny alarm bell goes off. Through the corner of my eye, I spot a hefty guy with a shaved head, ambling zombielike towards me. Despite the chilly air, he’s only

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wearing shorts and a T-shirt with puke stains, and carrying a tattered plastic bag.

Ingrained in my Viking mentality is a set of safety precautions. One: Check if there are other folks around. If they are alive, they can be called upon to help should this spiral out of control. (Note to self: If they are dead, then this has already spiralled.)

Nope, nobody. What to expect at this hour when most passengers are busy settling into their cabins? Two: Where is the nearest emergency exit?

Too late! The ogre is right beside me. I acknowledge his presence, locking eyes with him. His breath reeks. He’s swaying. “My friends…”

“Yes, I’m so glad you have friends,” I hasten to say, to break the ice. “Tell them I said hi.” “…are gone.”

“Is it so?”

He speaks to me in Swedish, so I figure that he travelled out from Stockholm the previous night— this ship travels back and forth between Sweden and Finland 24x7—had a ball, and somehow managed to misplace his travel companions en route.

Man overboard? The night departures from either side do get rowdy, with people partying just a wee bit too hard for their livers and brains to survive intact. I feign sympathy.

“Gone where?”

“Asleep.” He burps softly. “They’re too boring.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He introduces himself as Benny. He digs into the plastic bag and for a fraction of a second I imagine various possible weapons that a bloke like him might lug to a party: dumb-bells, chainsaws.

Instead, he pulls out two beer cans.

“Mate, won’t you have a last one with me?”

Afterwards Benny is sleepy and wants to curl up in foetal position on a bench on the deck. I drag him indoors, so that he won’t die of hypothermia,

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the Baltic Sea.

PARKERPHOTOGRAPHY/ALAMY/INDIAPICTURE (STATUE), VVOE/SHUTTERSTOCK (PROMENADE)

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Sculptures (top) on Finland’s Kobba Klintar island pay tribute to the pilots who once helped navigate ships through its rough waters; Cruise companies vie to out-do each other in attractions for travellers. One of these ships has a stylish glass-topped promenade (bottom), lined with shops and restaurants, where events are organised. Some cabins overlook it; cabins with ocean-view windows usually cost more.

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Though the journeys are short, usually 10-16 hours, the ferries offer a whole variety of activities on board. There are nightclubs (1), duty-free shops (2), restaurants that serve delectable spreads (4), and even gaming arcades (5).

Cabins (3) to suit a variety of budgets are available, with prices starting as low as `450.

The agenda is usually to party, so most people come on board, eat to their heart’s content at the buffets, and then party the night away.

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and leave him to rest in peace on the carpeted floor. There’s a time when every party has to end, and Benny has reached that point.

The ship I’m on is about 560 feet from end to end, and carries almost 2,500 passengers, accommodating them in 2,000 cabins ranging from tiny, 43 sq. ft., ultra-cheap, no-window cells with bunk beds, to rather luxurious, 350 sq. ft. suites with sea views. It’s a floating town, with eight floors, a couple of which are devoted to shops, eateries, and various other amusements, while the rest are cabins and car decks.

During the crossing to Sweden, I catch some of the feverish action in the pubs and nightclubs on board. Business is booming even before lunch is served. In the main ballroom, a gang of geriatrics are tangoing in wheelchairs. Some people gamble at a casino table, while off-key singers butcher pop anthems on the karaoke stage. In a British pub, a troubadour plays evergreen hits, to be replaced later by a German oompah band in black waistcoats (it is that time of year, global Oktoberfest).

The event schedule also lists forthcoming jazz orchestras, a Creedence Clearwater Revival cover band, and various deejays.

Even though the ferry line is named after those hardy Vikings, the shipping company has only been around for about 50 years. Back in the 1960s and ’70s, when air travel was neither frequent nor affordable, these ships provided easy passage between the countries surrounding the Baltic Sea. With roots in both Finland and Sweden, I virtually grew up on passenger ferries, shuttling across the sea to visit relatives during the holidays, clocking in half a dozen journeys per year as a child.

The thrill never wore off.

Whereas elsewhere in the world, cruising on the sea tends to be an expensive luxury activity, in the Baltic Sea travelling by a ferry like this one that I’m on remains cheaper than any other mode of transport, besides swimming. This time, my Turku-Stockholm ticket cost me less than `900, including a cabin bunk. This is why the Viking Line hosts a mind-boggling five to six million passengers annually (equalling the total population of Finland).

As air travel grew popular with the advent of low-cost carriers, the Viking Line cleverly reinvented itself as an entertainment destination, touting each ship as a “pleasure palace of the Baltic Sea;” the ferry cruise became a tourist experience rivalling even the cities where the ships docked.

Benny, for example, never got off to sightsee in Turku; he just went and came back.

In another clever move, the shipping company has its registered office in the small port of Maarianhamina (population:10,000) in the Ahvenanmaa Autonomous Province of Finland, a remote archipelago that has managed to stay out

of the European Union. Thus, as long as each ship docks briefly at Maarianhamina, it is allowed to have duty-free shops on board which peddle single malt whiskies and cheap beer by the cartload, wines in three-litre boxes, fancy make-up and perfumes, and giant packs of cut-rate candy.

These incentives draw people like Benny to the ferries. Offices take their employees on ferry cruises for kick-offs, conferences and, of course, to partaaay!!! If you’re getting married, you have your stag or hen partaaay on board. If you feel a bit down, you buy a ticket. And partaaay!!!

As I check out the bars on board, I walk past Benny, who has somehow sleepwalked to a chair, where he is slumped over and snoring blissfully while clutching a mug of beer. He is oblivious to the beautiful scenery outside the panorama windows as we cruise slowly through the Ahvenanmaa Archipelago. We pass forested islands with nicelooking villas on them, as well as some uninhabited rocky islets. As I stand there and look out, the ship passes a tiny island with a pretty, wooden sauna, painted red. For a moment, I wish I could live on such an island.

Being on the sea awakens one’s appetite, and one of the main draws of this journey is the sea buffet (other options on board include bistros, steakhouses, and cafeterias, with something to suit every budget). The grand buffet is an all you-caneat, fixed rate feast which used to be my biggest childhood excitement. I’d go with my parents and stuff myself silly on meatballs, salmon, prawns, cheeses, refilling my plate as many times as possible. Until I had virtually doubled my weight.

These days, I’m trying to get rid of my paunch, so at lunchtime, I visit the minor buffet restaurant where I choose from a help-yourself-display of fresh seafood and salads, and then pay by weight at the checkout cashier counter.

Eventually, in the late afternoon, the sun disperses the leaden cloud cover and the sky turns a sparkling blue. Passengers move onto the decks, where strategic “wind shields” divert the chilly breeze, and one can enjoy drinks from the outdoor bar, or just bask in a deck chair. If the Vikings had lived a thousand years later, and availed themselves of ships like these, they may perhaps never have gone ashore to burn down foreign ports.

Towards evening of the same day, the ship approaches the Stockholm harbour, picturesquely located in the centre of the city with the old town within walking distance. Meanwhile, we Viking descendants sip a last cocktail on board. I get the feeling that our ancestors would have been proud of us: civilised, modernised, but still cruising. Zac O’Yeah’s latest novel on his fictional Bengaluru detective Hari Majestic is called Hari, a Hero for Hire (Pan Macmillan India, 2015).

Vikings covered everyday objects like axes, tumblers, and jewellery with elaborate motifs. These are now very popular as Viking tattoos, though it is unknown whether the Vikings themselves sported tattoos.

The Vikings definitely wore helmets in battle, made of hardened leather and iron strips. However, these were nothing like the horned helmets usually associated with them in popular culture— an image mainly fostered by the paintings of late 19th-century Romantic artists.

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OMNIMONEY/SHUTTERSTOCK (EMBLEM), BUCHAN/SHUTTERSTOCK (HELMET), FACING PAGE: PHOTO COURTESY: VIKING LINE (DANCE & FOOD), ERIC ROXFELT/BLOOMBERG/CONTRIBUTOR/GETTY IMAGES (SHOPPER), HEIKKI SAUKKOMAA/STAFF/AFP/GETTY IMAGES (CABIN), SUPERDIC/ALAMY/INDIAPICTURE (GAMING)

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Besides one-way ferries, there are also cruises that include two days on board and one day exploring the destination. On Riddarholm Island (top), which forms part of Stockholm’s old town, travellers visit Riddarholmen Church, the burial place of Swedish aristocrats; Travelling on ferries during the winter (bottom), as they cut through the ice covering the frozen Baltic Sea, offers a completely different and unique experience.

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The Guide a sea buffet meal will be in the range of `1,000-2,000; a large beer is about `500; soft drinks are cheaper.

NEED TO KNOW

Turku city’s (top) location on the mouth of the Aura River in southwest Finland makes it an important port; At the Viking Ship Museum in Oslo, visitors can see well-preserved Viking boats (bottom) on display.

It is simple, cheap, and safe to travel by ferry companies like Viking Line (www.sales. vikingline.com) which connect ports in Sweden, Finland, and Estonia. Viking Line isn’t the only ferry company in Scandinavia, however, it remains the most iconic.

Passengers are spoilt for choice—millions of people cruise in the Baltic Sea every year, with multiple companies.

Other reputable and affordable Scandinavian ferry companies worth checking out include: Tallink, which connects the Baltic ports in Estonia and Latvia with Germany, Finland, and Sweden (www.tallink.com).

Silja Line, also owned by Tallink, is the main rival of Viking Line with popular ship routes between Sweden and Finland (www.tallinksilja.se).

DFDS runs a popular ferry line between Copenhagen in Denmark, and Oslo in Norway.

It also offers trips to Tallinn in Estonia or from Amsterdam on the European mainland to Newcastle, UK (www. dfdsseaways.co.uk).

Gotlandsbolaget does short trips to and from the Baltic island of Gotland (gotlandsbolaget.se).

Scandlines connects Denmark with Germany and Sweden, all relatively short trips (www.scandlines.com).

Stena Line sails between Denmark, Norway, Germany, Poland, and Latvia. They also operate ships elsewhere in Europe such as between France, Netherlands, the UK, and Ireland (www.stenaline. com/stena-line).

TICKETS AND RATES

More elaborate cruise alternatives are found on the companies’ websites.

Book online and well in advance to avail yourself of the best discounts for cabins (if you plan to sleep). Last-minute sales occur, especially in low season. High season is during summer (July-August) and major Scandinavian holidays, when prices go up.

The fact that the basic ticket rate is very cheap is nothing to be suspicious of, because the ferry company makes its profit on selling food, beverages, and other add-ons. Average cost of

Cost A basic one-way 10-hour ferry cruise from Finland to Sweden or vice versa, from morning to evening, or from evening to morning, starts at around `450 with a berth in an economy cabin for 4 people; food and drinks extra.

About `3,000 will buy a two-night cruise between Helsinki and Stockholm, with one day ashore and a berth in an economy cabin; a more pleasant cabin for two people with a sea-view and attached bathroom will cost about `4,000 per night.

HEMIS/INDIAPICTURE (CYCLISTS), FOTOSEARCH RM/DINODIA (SHIP)

CONNECTIVITY

l Safety is a priority on board these ferries. There are life jackets and rescue boats in sufficient numbers for all passengers, and evacuation maps that are worth studying, even though a passenger ship hasn’t sunk in the Baltic Sea for more than twenty years. l Some passengers occasionally get rowdy when drunk (especially on the night ferries), and so unprovoked violence on board isn’t entirely unheard of. The ships have security staff and holding cells where aggressive passengers are put away to be later handed over to onshore authorities.

If at any point you feel threatened, you may report it to the crew. l Many families travel by the ferries, so it isn’t really just all about partying—especially if you travel by day. There are playrooms and activities for kids throughout the day, as well as sauna and spa facilities for grown-ups. Strolling on the decks and taking in the views is wonderful during the summer. Entertainment on board is usually free and many companies offer free (or subsidised) bus transfers from various cities to the harbour.

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The ten-kilometre stretch of Hawaii’s Oahu North Shore from Hale’iwa to Sunset Beach is the original surfer’s paradise with waves that can crest up to six storeys. It is also a great place to go snorkelling and diving at sites like the world-famous Shark’s Cove, home to superb corals and marine life.

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I N T O 5 0 Wa t e r - I n s p i r e d Tr i p s

T H E B L U E

BY MARGARET LOFTUS, AMY ALIPIO, MAG G IE ZACKOWITZ, RAUL TOUZON, NORIE QUINTOS, DAVID SWANSON, ANDREW EVANS, EL AINE GLUSAC, RACHEL HOWA RD, HANNAH SHEINBERG, EDWARD READICKER-HENDERSON, & OTHERS. ILLUSTRATIONS BY HANNA BARCZYK

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That Make a Splash

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Orlando

ALEX S. MACLEAN

Water is one of the main reasons we travel. Even Orlando, 88.5 kilometres from the closest Florida beach, has lots of ways to get wet: lazy rivers, water slides, hot tubs, swim-up bars—and wave pools. Sure, Mickey Mouse is king, but we’re betting water helped draw some of Orlando’s record-breaking 62 million visitors in 2014.

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Pristine Shores

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GREEK CYCLADES The Cycladic archipelago strings together a necklace of pebble-beach islands, such as

storied Naxos and Paros. Enric Sala, leader of National Geographic’s Pristine Seas project, calls the island of Amorgos, with its crystalline coves ideal for diving and snorkelling, “the essence of the Mediterranean.”

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Patara, Turkey

Anakena, Easter Island

Plage de Saleccia, Corsica

Thanks to a preservation order that prohibits development from encroaching on the nearby Roman ruins, the 19-kilometre stretch of sand at Patara on southwestern Turkey’s “Turquoise Coast”—one of the longest beaches on the Mediterranean—is blissfully unspoiled.

Legend has it that Hotu Matu‘a, the Polynesian chief who first settled Rapa Nui (Easter Island), landed on Anakena, a rare stretch of beach that interrupts the island’s mostly rocky shoreline.

Today, carved moai keep a watchful eye on beachgoers and swimmers.

Loango National Park, Gabon

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With regular sightings of humpback whales, elephants, and western lowland gorillas, the 97-kilometre coastline along Gabon’s Loango National Park is “the wildest beach on the planet,” says Pristine Seas’ Enric Sala.

Swimmers beware: Hippos have been known to bodysurf here.

One of the handful of beaches that skirt northwest Corsica’s protected scrubland, Désert des Agriates, Plage de Saleccia can be reached by boat or a rugged hike through the fragrant maquis. Your reward: nearly a kilometre of soft white sand, sloping gently into the Med, all to yourself—well, almost.

MARJA SCHWARTZ

Shells frame a sunset view from Agia Anna beach on Naxos, Greece.

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Picture Perfect

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RAJA AMPAT, INDONESIA Dubbed the Amazon of the oceans, this archipelago off the coast of West Papua

is “the heart of marine biodiversity,” says photographer David Doubilet. “Raja Ampat is under-explored and laden with life. The currents can rise like a wind, bearing nutrients that feed this ocean wilderness.”

Rich in all manner of sea creatures, the waters around the archipelago of Raja Ampat are among the world’s best diving spots.

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Sri Lanka

Cuba

Rajasthan

Few know that the waters off this island are strewn with shipwrecks, perfect for adventurous scuba divers.

Interesting relics include a 17thcentury European ship laden with soda bottles off the coast of Galle. Sri Lanka’s wrecks are usually surrounded by schools of brightly coloured fish.

The Gardens of the Queen, a protected 2,590-square-kilometre stretch off Cuba’s southeast coast, teems with sharks, large reef fish oblivious to divers, and crocodiles that patrol at the edge of dense mangroves. “This time capsule of a national park represents what the Caribbean was 50 years ago,” says Doubilet.

Built over 1,000 years ago, Chand Baori stepwell near Jaipur, is considered one of the oldest and deepest in India.

About 3,500 steps descend 100 feet, creating a lattice that is a masterpiece of symmetry.

Temperatures at the pool at the bottom of the well are always much cooler than at the surface.

TIPS When photographing

underwater, work within about ten feet of your subject.

The deeper you go, the less light you’ll have and the more important flash becomes. Flash will bring out all the colours in the fish and reef. It will also allow you to “freeze” or convey the movement of a subject.

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DHRITIMAN MUKHERJEE

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On the longest day of the year, Iceland’s famed geothermal spa stays open until midnight, with music playing and waitresses serving drinks while visitors soak in the 3640°C waters. In winter, the lagoon becomes a prime spot for aurorawatching.

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Blue Lagoon, Iceland

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Keeping It Clean

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RIVER YAMUNA, DELHI Help revitalize the Yamuna River during the annual clean-up drive

spearheaded by Swechha, a Delhi-based non-profit. The organisation runs awareness programmes about the high levels of pollution in the river with a 15-kilometre-long monthly Yamuna Walk.

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Bolivia

Cambodia

Gujarat

Planet Earth

Water for People works to bring sustainable solutions for safe water and sanitation in nine countries. This March, join a tour visiting project sites in the villages of Khuchumuela and San Pedro, where the non-profit has reached its goal of providing water in every household.

Dig a latrine and teach hygiene alongside locals in rural Cambodia with the non-profit Wine to Water. Operating in more than 24 countries, the group provides clean water and improved sanitation through the sale of five wine varietals from California’s Brutocao Vineyards.

Since its opening in 2014, the Sabarmati Riverfront promenade has become a popular spot for an evening jaunt with residents and visitors. Once overrun with urban waste, the rejuvenated riverfront offers leisure activities like boating, and hosts annual celebrations including flower shows and a kite festival.

An easy way to get involved in water sustainability is to avoid buying plastic bottles of water while on the road.

A campaign by Travelers Against Plastic encourages people to carry a reusable container and treat their drinking water, instead of using disposable bottles.

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In order to conserve the flora and fauna, wetlands around the Yamuna have been turned into parks like the Surajpur Wetland and Natural Forest.

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River Cruises Rising

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BRAHMAPUTRA This mighty Asian river flows through Tibet, India, and Bangladesh. Try the thrill-

ing river rafting excursions in the upper Brahmaputra, or take a leisurely cruise on the lower reaches.

Along the route, make a pit stop at Kaziranga National Park to see the great Indian one-horned rhino.

The Brahmaputra flows through Guwahati, Assam’s largest city, providing sustenance and livelihood to its inhabitants.

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Mekong

Amazon

Columbia

Elbe

The longest river in Southeast Asia glides through Myanmar, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam.

Cruise itineraries vary depending on seasonal water levels (generally higher in fall and winter), but typically include Cambodia’s buzzing capital city of Phnom Penh.

From its source in Peru, the world’s largest river system by volume sprawls across six South American countries before emptying into the Atlantic. Indigenous peoples navigate this watery lifeline, and colourful wild animals compete for visitors’ attention.

The dramatic Columbia River Gorge is the highlight of the largest river in the Pacific Northwest of the U.S. Cruises feature Lewis and Clark history; the progressive city of Portland, Oregon; historic Fort Clatsop; and natural wonders such as Multnomah Falls.

In the Saxony region of eastern Germany, the Elbe flows past the baroque towns of Dresden and Meissen. In 2017, the Elbe town of Wittenberg will mark 500 years since Martin Luther nailed his “95 Theses” to the door of All Saints Church, sparking the Protestant Reformation.

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Victoria Falls, in southern Africa, spans about a mile and drops a distance about twice the height of Niagara.

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Top Waterfalls

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VICTORIA FALLS may not be the widest or tallest waterfall in the world, but it is without doubt

the most impressive. Not only can you see it, you can hear it (from about a mile away), feel it, smell it, and taste it. Locals call it Mosi-oa-Tunya, or “the smoke that thunders.”

WHERE IS VICTORIA FALLS?

The waterfall straddles the border between Zimbabwe and Zambia. You can access it from either country.

Zimbabwe has historically been the more popular entry point, but its political turmoil and hyperinflation in the 2000s made Zambia preferable.

Today, although Zimbabwe’s long-time autocratic president Robert Mugabe remains in place, the nation’s currency has stabilized, and the safari industry is resurgent.

HOW DO I GET THERE?

There are national park entrances on both sides of the falls, easily accessible from the towns of Livingstone, in Zambia, as well as Victoria Falls, in Zimbabwe.

If you’ve booked through a safari operator, your guide will simply drive you to the entrance. The per-person fee is $20/`1,360 on the Zambia side and $30/`2,041 on the Zimbabwe side.

WHICH SIDE IS BETTER?

Put very briefly: To see the falls, go to Zimbabwe; to feel the falls, go to Zambia. But we recommend seeing it from both sides, and here’s why: The Zambia side at high flow (February to June) is an exhilaratingly visceral experience. Visitors walking on this side of the narrow gorge can feel the spray.

The Zimbabwe side tends to offer the more picturesque views because the vantages are farther, offering perspective. If you go in the height of the dry season, say, in November, the water volume is at a low point and the falls can feel a little underwhelming.

CAN I DO BOTH SIDES IN A DAY?

Yes! In fact, it’s possible to do both sides in a couple of hours. Make sure you have 24-hour Day Tripper visa from Zambia as well as a multiple-entry visa from Zimbabwe. For those who want to keep things simple, you can also just stand on the bridge between the two countries and gaze at the world’s most famous cataract.

I HAVE SEEN MANY PHOTOGRAPHS OF PEOPLE STANDING AT THE EDGE OF THE FALLS. HOW DO I DO THAT, AND IS IT DANGEROUS?

Devil’s Pool is an experience you can have only on the Zambia side and only during the dry season (late August to late December). It involves a thrilling boat ride on the Zambezi River to Livingstone Island, from which you can swim in this natural pool at the falls’ edge. Breathe easy: An unseen lip prevents you from going over. Run by a reputable tour operator, Devil’s Pool isn’t a dangerous activity if you follow directions. Avoid unofficial natural pools; people have gone over the edge.

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Niagara, U.S.A. and Canada Known for a dramatic combination of volume and height, the three cataracts that make up Niagara Falls straddle the border between New York state and Ontario, Canada.

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Ban Gioc, Vietnam and China Set in the karst hills and spanning the border between Vietnam and China, Ban Gioc–Detian Falls become one when the Quay Son River swells with summer rains.

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Angel Falls, Venezuela Plunging more than 3,200 feet, Venezuela’s Angel Falls is the world’s highest waterfall.

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Gullfoss, Iceland Fed by the Langjökull glacier, Gullfoss, in southwest Iceland, streams into a steep canyon, creating a rainbow on sunny days.

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Large Waterfall, Plitvice Lakes, Croatia Plitvice Lakes, Croatia’s largest national park, is a series of cascading lakes linked by waterfalls and natural dams.

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The largest chain of freshwater lakes on the planet, the Great Lakes offer numerous experiences in and around the water, from surfing to shipwreck-diving.

Here, South African kayaker Steve Fisher paddles downstream on the Black River, which flows into Lake Superior.

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Ocean Cruise Q&A

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THE CRUISE INDUSTRY carried more than 23 million passengers in 2015, and nine new

oceangoing ships will debut this year. But if you’re among the millions who have never cruised, here’s a primer on what’s happening on the high seas.

WHAT’S NEW IN THE CRUISE INDUSTRY?

Ships from mainstream lines continue to break size barriers as they compete against megaresorts on terra firma, with giant slides, skydiving simulators, and cooking classes. If you enjoy Orlando’s Disney World or Nassau’s Atlantis resort, megaliners such as the 5,479-passenger Harmony of the Seas—launching in May—can dazzle.

Increasingly, major lines enlist outside

brands to sell their experience: Royal Caribbean offers Starbucks, Carnival offers Guy Fieri burgers, and Norwegian lures with entertaining Broadway shows like Legally Blonde.

But size isn’t everything. There also is a whole lot of action on the boutique and luxury side, most notably with the arrival of Viking Ocean Cruises last year.

“Viking already has 50 per cent of the river cruise business, and now they’re really shaking things up with their oceangoing line,” explains Gene Sloan, travel and cruise editor for USA Today.

“They’re catering to an underserved niche with more intimate smaller ships.

Viking is more upscale than the big

mass-market lines, yet not as expensive as the superluxury lines.” Virgin Cruises, due to launch in 2020, may prove to be another game changer.

The industry is also capitalizing on the solo cruiser market. Cunard, Norwegian, Royal Caribbean, and Holland America are building (or adapting existing) ships with a few smaller cabins built for single occupancy.

I THINK I’M PRONE TO SEASICKNESS. ARE CRUISES A BAD IDEA?

Most modern ships are well stabilized, but if you’re concerned, over-the-counter meds are available for mild cases.

Consult your doctor if you are prone to more serious bouts. Book a cabin closer to the middle of the ship, where the rolling will be less pronounced. Also, consider cruising the calmer waters of Alaska’s Inside Passage or the fjords of Norway. The Caribbean is more placid outside of hurricane season; during those months, captains can steer clear of major weather systems.

IS A BALCONY WORTH SPRINGING FOR?

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Almost everyone covets a private veranda. Such demand means balcony cabins cost considerably more than an identical “ocean view” cabin with a window. But note that verandas

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ARE CRUISES ALL-INCLUSIVE?

Most amenities that were included in a cruise fare a few decades ago are still there, but opportunities for spending money have multiplied. Tipping—once optional—is now mandatory, with perperson, per-day costs of $12/`816 or more often added to the checkout bill, plus service charges of 15 to 18 per cent for all drink orders.

With most mass-market cruise lines, anticipate add-ons for Internet, drinks, upgraded coffee, and such specialized exercise classes as spinning. Some ships boast a dozen or more dining options, but most will incur a surcharge of $20/`1,360, $40/`2,720, or more.

Carnival and Norwegian rocked the boat last year when they began charging for room service meals—long a standard of cruising. Several lines have designated

some outdoor deck areas as fee-added options, meaning we now pay for elbow room.

“On the low end, there’s definitely more nickel-and-diming in recent years,” says Sloan. “And the gratuity charges have really gotten out of control.” Highend cruises waive most or all of these add-ons, though fares can easily top $500/`34,000 per person per day.

Yet if you avoid the add-ons, cruising can be an excellent value, especially for families. If you’re not too fussy with dates or itinerary, and book close to the time of departure, it’s possible to find an ocean-view cabin in summer on a Mediterranean cruise for not much more than $100/`6,800 per night per person, including meals and entertainment. And how many resorts in the Med can compete with that in high season?

WHAT NEW GEOGRAPHICAL AREAS ARE CRUISE LINES EXPLORING?

Cruises to Asia, Australia, and New Zealand are on the rise. Ships also are venturing north of the Arctic Circle; the National Geographic Explorer offers the “Epic 80°N” cruise to Baffin and Ellesmere Islands, and Greenland.

Multi-continent cruises also have become popular, often selling out many months in advance. For sheer value, though, such tried-and-true regions as the Caribbean, Europe, and Alaska may prove the best bet for the best deals.

More exotic cruise itineraries tend to draw experienced passengers who are willing to pay a premium to enjoy new vistas and experiences.

49 Average age of cruise passenger

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are shrinking: The newer ships from Princess and Norwegian have balconies that are less than four feet deep. If you are headed on an itinerary where port days will be long and intensive, you’ll have little time to spend on the balcony.

If cost is a concern, decide whether your cruise is about the destination or the seagoing experience.

“Inside” cabins are also evolving. A new option on several Royal Caribbean ships is “virtual balconies”—a floor-toceiling, high-definition screen (instead of a window) that displays real-time views of the sea. Inside cabins aboard Disney’s Dream and Fantasy feature faux portholes offering virtual sightings of animated Disney characters.

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Chicago, U.S.A.

Antarctica

Pamban Island, India

Saratoga, U.S.A.

Sitting on the shores of Lake Michigan, the Windy City might as well be nicknamed Water City. A cruise along the Chicago River highlights the city’s historic architecture, and in Millennium Park the playful Crown Fountain always draws crowds.

Travellers journeying to the chilly continent can kayak past imposing icebergs, snorkel in frigid waters, and walk among frolicsome penguins.

Sea turtles and dolphins keep kayakers company in the aquamarine waters of Pamban Island near Rameswaram, part of the Gulf of Mannar Marine National Park. The area is known for its technicolour corals.

This historic Hudson Valley spa town offers 18 mineral springs, each with its own distinct flavour. A soak in the caramel-colored waters at Roosevelt Baths can feel like floating in root beer.

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Siberia, Russia Visit Zov Tigra National Park, in far eastern Russia, for a chance to spot endangered Siberian tigers, whose footprints are easier to track in snow.

Ride the Trans-Siberian Railway for views of frosty landscapes from the comfort of a heated car.

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Rome, Italy The Italian capital is home to one of the world’s most famous fountains, the Trevi, completed in 1762. Since the Trevi’s renovation last year, visitors can again toss in coins to ensure that, as the legend says, they’ll someday return to Rome.

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Dubai, U.A.E. In a city known for breaking records, it’s no surprise that next to the world’s tallest building is the world’s biggest dancing fountain, the Dubai Fountain, which is synchronized to lights and music.

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Lapland, Norway Reindeer sledding makes for an exhilarating way to explore Norway’s landscape.

Plus, nighttime riders may get a glimpse of the northern lights.

Sifnos, Greece This Cycladic island has built a reputation as a gourmet destination. At Manolis Restaurant typical dishes such as mastello (lamb with wine and dill) are slow-roasted in a wood-fired oven. Or try the baby calamari tempura at the Omega3 fish and wine bar.

Vergèze, France Fizzy Perrier water sputters up from a single spring in this Provençal village. Louis Perrier bought the spring in 1898 with the intent to sell the water as a curative. Roam the museum and witness the parade of green bottles that are shipped daily to 140 countries.

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Jukkasjärvi, Sweden

Japan

In this Swedish town 200 kilometres north of the Arctic Circle, the famed Icehotel will soon be open year-round, thanks to a new solar-powered building design that keeps the ice from melting even in summer.

There are about 20,000 onsens or hotspring baths in Japan, and they are very popular. Different onsens have different minerals and therapeutic properties, and most good ones have some kind of tourist accommodation or facilities attached.

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Harbin, China

Astypalaia, Greece

When temperatures drop in northeast China, a theme park made entirely of ice pops up.

The annual Harbin Ice Festival (5 January-25 February, 2016) features towering castles and intricate ice sculptures, all colourfully lit at night.

Only one proper road traverses this rugged westernmost island in the Dodecanese group.

Treacherous tracks lead to pebble beaches such as Vatses and Kaminakia, where the farm-to-table fare at Linda’s restaurant includes mutton stew.

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San Pellegrino, Italy The Italian bubbly surfaces in its namesake town in the Bergamo Alps, an hour outside Milan. A day pass at the recently renovated QC Terme San Pellegrino spa lets you soak a dozen different ways.

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Taste the Water Consumed widely across Jammu and Kashmir, the stem is the most nutritious part of the lotus plant.

menus of Kashmiri restaurants. Grown in Dal Lake, which is usually carpeted with the plant’s delicate pink blooms, the stem is best showcased in the popular nadru yakhni, a dish in which its starchy slices are smothered in a thick yogurt-based sauce, with hints of cardamom and mint.

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Palolem, Goa

Konkan Coast, Maharashtra

Tirthan Valley, Himachal Pradesh

Each evening the Malvan shore is the site of a glorious cacophony.

A hundred voices haggle and negotiate for fresh catch from the sea coming off wooden fishing boats. There are crabs, sharks, and eels, and numerous varieties of fish. Try to wrangle an impromptu cooking class in a local home.

Trout was introduced into the waters of Himachal Pradesh to provide recreation for British officers. Thanks to them, the fish flourished and still continue to provide avid anglers with a reason to travel. The Himalayan rainbow trout is the muchcoveted catch advertised in all hillside restaurants.

Next time, try something different in Goa. Go fishing for mud crabs in the rivers of the state. This rewarding local experience also lands you fresh catch for lunch and allows interactions with local fishermen.

Over a leisurely boat ride, absorb the sights of the river and pick up simple lessons and insights from the fishermen.

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Kerala Savour the goodness of fried pearl spot and prawn curry as you glide through the state’s backwaters. Numerous private operators from Alleppey and Kumarakom offer dinner on their evening houseboat cruises.

With views of swaying palm trees silhouetted against the night sky, even the payasam tastes sweeter.

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DAL LAKE, JAMMU AND KASHMIR Nadru or lotus stem is a delicacy that holds pride of place on

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50 Then there are the secret water spots, the ones you simply call “the stream”or “the swimming hole”, and you tell your friends to meet you there on an endless summer afternoon. And nothing could be better.

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BRYAN DERBALLA

Your local swimming hole

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By EDWARD READICKER-HENDERSON

I used to know a man who tuned rivers.

Forget the poets who tell you we’re made of stardust. The human body is composed of up to 60 per cent water, a coming together of those most common of elements, hydrogen and oxygen. Our bodies’ own rivers and streams are traced in blood, as susceptible to the forces of tides as Canada’s Bay of Fundy, where the seawater

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can rise and drop 50 feet in a matter of hours.

Water compels us, and water saves us. It hydrates us. It keeps our minds supple as we learn its patterns and splashes. It offers us many ways to move through the world.

And not just us: Consider whales. Look inside a whale flipper and you’ll see the

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I ALSO HAVE LIVED in a place where it

didn’t rain for 143 days, where there were no rivers, no lakes, nothing but desert and heat and sand and plants that wanted to harm me. When the rains finally did begin, I stood outside, letting the downpour drench me while I reached my hands to the sky to catch drops even sooner in their descent to Earth.

“He who hears the rippling of rivers … will not utterly despair,” wrote Henry David Thoreau in the 1840s. No wonder all civilization has followed rivers, from the Tigris and Euphrates, where essentially everything was invented, to China’s Yellow River, along which everything else (the compass, paper, fireworks) was invented.

Annual flooding by the Nile River brought fertile silt for crops, which enriched pharaohs—and made possible the pyramids,

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He would make camp on a willowy bank, then sit and listen. Listen to the chatter of water over rocks, the whirl of an eddy, the late evening splash of trout. To truly hear the river required a few days. He’d have to learn to separate the trill of a tiny stepped waterfall, or the bass of a torrent over deadfall, from the rest of the landscape. If he was lucky, it would rain, and he’d get a chance to listen to the clouds building the river once again, drops spilling off trees like a water clock. At last, he’d start to tune the stream. He would wade into the cool wet and move rocks to change the entire music of the flowing water, adding words to the language of a spill of river across moss. This may be one of the most sensible things anyone has ever done.

Because, really, aren’t we all dancing to the sound of water before we’re even born, in our mothers’ wombs?

bones of fully articulated fingers. Millennia ago, the precursors of whales came ashore, hung out on land awhile, then headed back to the sea, where they could sing watercarried whale song to each other across hundreds of miles.

Is it any wonder that we run for the water’s edge whenever we can, eager to feel that cut of sand pulling out from under our feet, reminding us where we came from?

Water is anywhere and everywhere.

It steams in a hot spring, lingers in a still lake, hides alligators in the rich mud of wetlands, flows as surely as the Mississippi River.

I once stood on the ice sheet that blankets Greenland, stood in a place where absolutely nothing was visible but ice, stood where there was more than a mile of ice beneath me. I wonder now if that ice sheet remains as vast, if it’s still as real as cement. Or is the ice cracking, sending out sounds like shots from a very powerful gun? Someday, probably sooner than we expect, all of that ice will be waves, currents, eddies.

■ WO RLD made possible Cleopatra floating on her barge as if she were on the world’s most exclusive cruise line.

Rivers transport us—freighters on the Danube, canoes on the Orinoco, paddlewheelers on the Columbia—and purify us. In India, millions of people gather at the confluence of the Ganga and Yamuna Rivers to bathe in their waters, washing away sin and preparing for a new life.

My own choice of rivers is the Stikine, which rises deep in British Columbia and cuts to the coast of Alaska. I keep a talismanic jar of the river’s water in my house, taken from a night of avalanches and wolf howls.

But don’t we all have our own small waters, the water of a homeland? Today, the first mist coming in over salmonberry bushes and the reflections of bald eagles in Washington’s Bellingham Bay make me as alert as a wildebeest preparing to cross the crocodile-clotted Mara River in the Serengeti. I believe each of us has such a centering point. A special cove, with the beach house that smells of coconuts and sunburn; the summer lake with its rope swing.

Can we ever fully know these blessed places? I have been living on a lake in Washington State for the past year. No two days are the same, but I slowly am coming to know the water’s rhythms and sounds— the songs of frogs, the way the lily pads turn silver right before the sun drops behind the mountains. Not once have I peered out the window and not seen something completely new.

OVER A LIFE of water defining my own

travels across our big blue world, I’ve kayaked with orcas off a speck on the Alaska map labeled “Deadmans Island,” had a hippo try to overturn my boat on the Nile, watched the glint of dolphins surfing a standing wave between sea and lagoon in Tahiti, and, as I explored a swamp, ignored my parents’ shouts to watch for snapping turtles, which to a six-year-old are the greatest things ever.

I have sailed on six of the seven seas, through 50-foot-high waves as my vessel travelled the southern Atlantic Ocean on its way to Antarctica, and past sperm whales in the deep Pacific Ocean.

It always has surprised me that we have better maps of the moon than we do of our oceans, even though oceans are home to the biggest mountains on the planet and canyons so deep they make the Grand Canyon

A Very Soggy Timeline

CIRCA 3000 B.C.

The Great Bath in Mohenjo Daro is built, and is the earliest known public water tank from ancient times.

312 B.C.

The first Roman aqueduct is completed.

CIRCA 2ND CENTURY A.D.

Kallanai Dam in Tamil Nadu is among the world’s oldest dams and is in use even today.

1777

A member of Captain James Cook’s expedition describes seeing Hawaiians surfing.

1843

S.S. Great Britain, the world’s first modern ocean liner, is launched.

1914

Panama Canal opens.

2010

Naval officer Cdr. Dilip Donde becomes the first-ever Indian to solo circumnavigate the globe in a sailboat.

look like a roadside ditch. An entire universe thrives under oceanic waves.

What isn’t down there is light. Photosynthesis doesn’t work beyond a depth of 650 feet; by 3,000 feet, the dark is perfect. Filmmaker Stephen Low, who in the 1990s recorded an expedition to the wreck of the R.M.S. Titanic, said that when he descended to the ship, resting nearly 10,000 feet deeper than any light not caused by the bioluminescence of sparse and impossible-to-imagine fish, it suddenly was just there.

“No perspective at all. No way to tell how big the thing is.”

The day in 1912 that the “unsinkable” Titanic cast off to cross the Atlantic, man experienced a moment of hubris. At last we humans controlled water—though what we master now with computers and GPS is nothing compared with the ancient Polynesians, who learned to read the sea and sky as clearly as a billboard and sailed canoes thousands of miles across a world with no landmarks at all.

In one of the greatest moments of my life, I interviewed explorer Francis Cowan.

Sixty years ago he sailed a raft from Tahiti to Chile without navigational instruments other than the sky’s swirl of stars.

“But Francis, what did you do when the storms came,” I asked, “when you couldn’t see the sky?”

“The sea is great,” he answered. “You can always wait for another day.”

WATER IS GREAT. We tune ourselves to it,

to its murmured song of ebb and flow, of wave and ripple, in seas, rivers, streams, lakes, wetlands, ponds, snows. We drink it, we bathe in it, we stare at dark clouds praying for their sudden moment of release of it.

“Take me somewhere magical,” my favourite cousin once said. So I did, to sail the sea. By the third day our ship was completely out of sight of land, nothing but water curving with the horizon.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh. That’s exactly what I needed.”

Below us, the swells rolled, allowing us to dance with them until our very steps were full of the lift of waves. In our own small way, our steps lifting with the waves, we were tuning the ocean as we sailed—and it, in turn, was tuning us.

Edward rEadickEr-HEndErson finds himself seeking out the world’s waterscapes.

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The 1000 Islands archipelago springs from aquamarine St. Lawrence River like a dream. Whether it is laid-back cruisers, or thrill-seekers wishing to try stand-up paddling or wakeboarding, the river welcomes all.

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One in a

Thousand ON THE RIVER, FLOATING CASTLES, VICTORIAN COTTAGES, AND THE BEGINNING OF A LOVE AFFAIR

PHOTO COURTESY: THOUSAND ISLANDS TOURISM

BY KAREENA GIANANI

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LEANING ON THE railing of the boat, I inhale the crisp air and feel the easy sway of the vessel. The morning looks freshly minted. Puffy cumulus clouds hang low from the skies as if suspended by invisible strings.

Raucous seagulls squawk with all their might. But my eyes keep coming back to stare at the St. Lawrence River as it changes hues depending on where I look: bright lapis near the boat, a deep cerulean in the distance.

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Minutes ago, I’d joined 300 people at the pier in Gananoque, a small town in eastern Ontario, Canada, to board this boat to cruise the St. Lawrence, which straddles the international boundary between Canada and the U.S. We will sail across some of the 1,864 islands that constitute the legendary Thousand Islands, where the eponymous salad dressing was apparently invented. Most of the 1000 Islands lie in Canada, and a few are spread across New York state. Back at the pier, talk had turned to the draw of waterbodies.

One person in the group said a city doesn’t feel like home if it doesn’t have the sea or a river nearby. Another stated that the rise and ebb of tides reminds her of the first time her parents took her to the ocean. They’d turned to me. I had shrugged: I am a mountain person through and through, I’d said. Rivers are interesting, and sure, I see the lure of the sea. But I am mostly enchanted by mountains, valleys, yawning ravines.

As soon as the horn blew and we boarded, I found myself at the bow of the boat. My view now is the horizon marked by a thick forest of pine trees. It feels like the perfect day to get to know the river.

“There! That’s our first island,” a father standing near me says to the toddler in his arms, pointing at what can only with generosity be described as an outcrop of rocks covering a few square feet and holding two pine trees.

“That’s an… island?” I ask the man.

He nods. He lives in Kingston, a 30 minute-drive from Gananoque, and is taking the cruise with his daughter for the second time. I learn that to be considered an official island, the land mass must stay above water 365 days of the year and support at least one living tree. Just then, a charming Victorian

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Fishing and boating are central to the 1000 Islands way of life and boats are easily available for hire at various marinas.

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Boldt Castle (in picture) is one of Heart Island’s most memorable structures.

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reception, I notice photographs with aerial views of some of the cottage appears on my right, on a 1,500-square-foot island with islands, all taken in winter. The river has a different form, and the a few pine trees swaying in the breeze. A family of five emerges landscape is unrecognizable: Vast, solid sheets of ice are flecked from the home with picnic baskets, and heads towards a small with islands. There is powdery snow on the pines, and yellow boat tethered to a pole on the river. lights gleam from the cottages. Boldt Castle looks even more The commentary playing on the boat says that many islands mythical, rising from the depths of the snow. are privately owned, and over 20 islands on the Canadian side The pilot says the ride will give me 1,000 points of view. constitute the Thousand Islands National Park. Some are spread Seconds after we take off, I see what he means. It is sheer sorcery, over several acres, while others barely have enough place for a the way the waters of the St. Lawrence glint in the afternoon sun, large group of waterfowl. Outside some cottages I spot colourful how deep green patches of island erupt randomly. Exhilarated at wooden loungers with wide armrests. Called Muskoka chairs, the vantage point, I feel like I’m living out a dream, flying over they are a Canadian summertime favourite. On larger islands, wondrous lands. The cruise gave me a sense of detail, but not grand cottages for rent flaunt their graceful, sloping roofs and the scale of the river. From up above it, I see boats snoozing at manicured lawns. They are surrounded by pine, ash, or maple the islands’ vast marinas. There are luxurious indoor pools on trees. Everything looks like it’s out of a glossy brochure, the ones some islands, says the pilot, and I spot wineries, restaurants, even that sell promises of an idyllic life in the countryside. golf courses and hiking trails. He points to Wellesley Island, the As we travel along the river, I am joined by fellow passengers largest island on the U.S. side, which has New York state’s who seem equally taken by life on the St. Lawrence. Three prebiggest camping park, sandy beaches, and a golf course. teens stay rooted on the spot for over 15 minutes, immune to Later that evening, I walk around Gananoque along lanes their mother’s calls for a quick snack. More fathers arrive with with quiet Victorian homes and grand stone churches. It is just toddlers on their shoulders, pointing out birds and boats. I too a three-hour drive from Toronto, yet worlds away from its posh am spellbound at the sights and sounds around. We pass neighbourhoods and Starbucks-coffee-toting crowds glued to lighthouses, houseboats, deathly still anglers hoping to catch smartphones. In Gananoque, a long conversation could follow that prized walleye or muskie fish in the river. A group waves at a smile exchanged at a local dairy our boat and in the distance, a sunbathing because you picked the same flavour couple leans in for a kiss. In Gananoque, as the porter at the inn had said: All IN GANANOQUE, ALL THINGS of ice cream as the person beside you.

Ask somebody for directions to a things begin and end at the St. Lawrence.

BEGIN AND END AT THE church, and chances are that they will Mac Higgs, the boat’s captain, comes ST. LAWRENCE RIVER take you there. over just when the voice on the speaker A sense of community is palpable starts talking of smugglers and pirates. in this town of 5,200 residents, be it in the warmth of the owner He says locals in Canada and the U.S. crossed the St. Lawrence in of a little boutique-cum-gallery promoting local artists, or the speedboats and skiffs to smuggle alcohol during the Prohibition lady who runs an antique store and lets me have a good bargain. era between 1920 and 1933. He is quite the storyteller, I finally end up where many locals suggested I should, The dramatizing tales of pirate attacks in the 18th century, and telling Socialist Pig café. Across the main counter, which is supported me about the river’s oldest known shipwreck dating back to 1763. by piles of books, I chat with the barista who tells me she brews He claims the ship’s skeleton still lies in the river’s depths. a great apple pie tea latte. As I take in the blue damask print Higgs’ favourite tale is one tinged with romance and tragedy. wallpaper and breathtaking watercolours by Ontarian artists, We inch closer to Heart Island, home of Boldt Castle, a medieval she asks me about my plans for the night. She suggests I catch a fairy-tale structure hidden by trees. In 1900, George Boldt, who play at the Thousand Islands Playhouse. I admit to her that right built New York’s famed Waldorf Astoria hotel, began building a now I’d rather walk along the riverfront. She smiles, and replies, 120-room castle on the island as a Valentine’s Day gift for his wife.

“That makes you one with Gananoquians.” Day or night, the peoHe also commissioned ten stone structures, including the grand ple of this town seem to gravitate towards the St. Lawrence. The Alster Tower, and had the island carved roughly in the shape of Playhouse, I later find out, is built on the banks of the river in an a heart. But in 1904, his wife passed away and Boldt ceased all old, restored canoe club of the early 1900s. As the sky and water construction, never to set foot on the island again. I see tourists darken, I watch guests come to the theatre in motorboats. They emerging from their tour of the rehabilitated castle, and wonder are all elegantly attired in dresses, suits, and scarves, holding on how a restored but essentially incomplete castle would look. to their hats as the river breeze threatens to blow them off.

It was Boldt, according to Higgs, who named the Thousand Close to midnight, I sip a drink on the inn’s rooftop deck. This Island dressing. Legend has it that it was invented by Boldt’s too overlooks the St. Lawrence, now black and placid. In the dischef while they were cruising across the islands in the late 1800s. tance, a man walks by its shore in solitude. Strains of music waft Apparently, the chef had run out of his usual ingredients for a out from a nearby pub, and I imagine it filled with bonhomie and salad dressing, and created a new one with local produce. Boldt craft beer. There are many ways to make this town your own, but was deeply impressed with the experiment, and added the your compass will always be the river. Despite my short journey recipe to Waldorf Astoria’s menu, calling it the Thousand Island here, I feel I have come to know it; it makes me want to return. dressing in honour of the region he so loved.

Sometimes, all it takes is a boat ride to fall in love with a river. Higgs excuses himself after telling me this charming tale. I feel even more enamoured by the river and all it holds, and wonder how many more stories are hidden in its depths.

Kareena Gianani is Associate Editor at National Geographic Later that afternoon, I take a 30-minute helicopter ride Traveller India. She loves stumbling upon hole-in-the-wall over the 1000 Islands. While waiting at the tour operator’s bookshops, old towns, and owl souvenirs in all shapes and sizes.◊

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THE VITALS

GETTING THERE There are no direct flights from India to Kingston, which is the nearest airport to the town of Gananoque. There are daily direct flights between Delhi and Toronto. Daily flights from Mumbai to Toronto require at least one stop, at an American, European, or Middle Eastern gateway city. Toronto has several daily flights to Kingston airport, which is 47 km/35 min west of Gananoque. You can also drive the distance (262 km/3 hr).

SEASONS The climate in the 1000 Islands region is characterised by mild summers and cold winters. At the peak of summer (May-Aug) the average temperature is a pleasant 21°C. This is the best time to visit the archipelago to enjoy a leisurely cruise along the St. Lawrence River, or to indulge in summer activities like swimming, fishing, camping, or golfing. In winter (Nov-Feb), the region experiences sub-zero temperatures and parts of the river freeze over.

With their slanted backs and cheerful colours, Muskoka chairs (bottom) outside cottages are a common sight across the islands. They are also known as Adirondack chairs, and are believed to have been designed in New York in 1903; Whether you choose an idyllic evening cruise or one themed on the ships lost in the St. Lawrence, the sight of charming cottages (top) scattered across the river never gets old.

CRUISE From Gananoque, the Gananoque Boat Line offers one-hour day cruises, a 2.5-hour Lost Ships of the 1000 Islands cruise, a 5-hour Boldt Castle Stopover cruise, and evening cruises (tickets from CAD23.90/`1,136 for adults, CAD12.83/`610 for children aged 6-12, free for visitors under 6 years).

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GALL MOONEY-KELLY/ALAMY/INDIAPICTURE (HOUSE), PHOTO COURTESY: THOUSAND ISLANDS TOURISM (CHAIRS)

ORIENTATION The 1000 Islands archipelago on the St. Lawrence River comprises 1,864 islands that straddle the Canada-U.S. border. The majority of islands are in Ontario, while the American islands lie in New York state.

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Gently Down the Stream Going fast isn’t an option on the Oxford Canal—to the delight of all who merrily, merrily cruise this British waterway

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A narrow boat plies the Oxford Canal, an 18th-century conduit that today attracts cruisers with its natural beauty and leisurely pace.

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A town rich in architectural styles, Oxford lays claim to many landmarks, including the domed Radcliffe Camera.

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It’s Alice’s Day in Oxford, England.

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A winged griffin is playing a ukulele on Broad Street, awaiting the arrival of the Red Queen. At the nearby Bodleian Library, a caterpillar dispenses nutritional advice to children. In front of the Pitt Rivers Museum, a lachrymose Mock Turtle leads a lobster quadrille dance. Me? I’m standing on the prow of the Hertford, my rental narrow, long canal boat, trying to take in this annual celebration of the famous literary creation, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, by Oxford University don, Charles Dodgson (better known by his pen name, Lewis Carroll).

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Built to transport merchant boats from Oxford and London to the Midlands in central England, the 126-kilometre-long Oxford Canal is marked by more than 40 locks, which adjust water levels to enable the raising or lowering of boats—as here, at Lock 34, in Somerton village.

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I lived on St. Barnabas Street from 2009 to 2010, when I was an undergraduate immersed in the eccentricity of Oxford University life. England was still new to me, every day a cultural shock as I tried to reconcile English reserve with my American exuberance—a balance that I still am not sure I’ve struck.

But today I am looking at my university home, which sits 96 kilometres northwest of London, from another angle entirely.

Daventry Napton on the Hill

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OXFORD

ager for an adventure, a British friend, Sarah Heenan, and I are spending one week cruising the Oxford Canal, an 18th-century waterway that runs north from Oxford for almost 128 kilometres to Hawkesbury Junction, just north of Coventry.

The experience, we’re discovering, is hardly that of Oxford University with its Gothic towers. Nor is it of Oxford the town, a staid, prosperous place that, for all its academic whimsy, is unfailingly polite and invariably aloof. For narrow-boaters such as us—which includes day trippers, retirees, and liveaboards gliding leisurely from village to village by water—the Oxford Canal embodies a different, less strait-laced, way of English life.

“Along a canal,” explains Heenan, who grew up around her family’s pub in a Cotswolds village, “you say hello to everybody.”

Perhaps as a release from the intensely private nature of English culture, Brits seem to come alive on the water. After all, the ultimate fantasy of an English pastoral idyll is Kenneth Grahame’s The Wind in the Willows, a classic children’s novel featuring animals dwelling by a river, which was inspired in part

by Grahame’s school days on the Oxford Canal.

“Here today, up and off to somewhere else tomorrow!” the book’s enthusiastic Mr. Toad exclaims. “Travel, change, interest, excitement!”

As Heenan and I rev our engine—we’re our own captains after a boat-handling tutorial—we spot an elderly twosome strolling the canal’s towpath. They spy Heenan’s glass of Pimm’s, that classic British liqueur. “And very good, too!” the woman calls out as we pass.

We raise our glasses to toast her.

Cruising along at five kilometres an hour, I find myself peering into back gardens, wondering who tends them. Who owns the stone bust of Napoleon? The carving of a rabbit shooting a frog?

I ask Heenan if I’m breaking some fundamental rule of Englishness by looking.

She bursts into laughter. “That’s the most English thing of all!” she says. “Deep down, we’re all really nosy.”

Near the village of Wolvercote, we are preparing to dock when a comely man dressed in a white vest and jeans leaps confidently onto our narrow boat and grabs the tie-up rope.

“Don’t worry,” he says, when we have secured the vessel.

“You’re no worse than I was my first time.”

Mike Pitman’s first time was three years ago. Priced out of property in Oxford, Pitman—a documentary filmmaker and musician in his 20s—bought a boat and has lived ever since along the water, part of a community of artists.

“Before living on a boat, I never knew any of my neighbours by name,” Pitman shares. Here on the water, he knows everyone.

“Or at least what instrument they play.”

He invites me onto his boat, Songlines, and shows me his Australian didgeridoo—his favourite instrument—followed by an Indian flute.

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The Red Lion Inn, in the village of Cropredy, tees up live music, quiz nights—and, it’s said, occasional ghost sightings.

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Onions dry in a barn at Rousham House (top left), an estate known for its 18th-century gardens; Always up for a chat, canal regulars (top right) also dispense navigation advice; Pub dog Ollie (bottom right), browneared mascot of the Boat Inn, waits for someone to buy his nightly potato chips; At outdoor tables of a tea room, guests tuck into scones, jams, and sandwiches (bottom left).

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■ E N GLAN D It’s just good boating etiquette, Derek says “I played a duet with this guy under a Read it, Do it after I thank him. He lives on his boat alone, bridge once,” he says. “When we were done, a rarity given the amount of work cruising he gave me his flute.”

PLANNING YOUR CANAL TRIP Numerous outfitters offer canal entails. But he never worries. “People help Just like that? boats for rent, including Rose me on the locks all the time, so I help them.

Pitman shrugs.

Narrowboats, CanalHolidays.com, That’s just how it is.”

“We look out for each other,” he says, Oxfordshire Narrowboats, Twyford Besides, he adds, he’s not in any rush. sometimes by monitoring mooring spaces Wharf Narrowboats, and College Cruisers, which the author used.

Nobody here is. when one of them is away, sometimes by Rates for a group of 2-8 people for pet-sitting or helping with boat repairs. one week’s rental hover around Another boater, a photographer named Jeff £1,000/`96,345. t takes a few days before I Slade, ambles over. He and Pitman trade understand what “canal pace” news: Two buzzards have taken up residence MORE EUROPEAN OPTIONS means. I had drawn an optimistic in a canal-side tree; one of the moorhens has With its network of canals, Europe offers the most choices. Canals map at the week’s outset, circling given birth to five chicks. Slade shows me popular for recreational barging planned mooring points as I a repurposed flowerpot on his own boat’s include France’s Burgundy Canal plotted to make it all the way to my arbitrarily roof; he hopes the local duck will lay her and Canal du Midi; England’s chosen destination of Napton on the Hill, eggs there.

Kennet and Avon Canal; and the Scottish Lowland Canals. Many some 32 kilometres south of Coventry, before At first these boaters’ attention to nature’s outfitters rent boats, including winding back toward Oxford. It would be a details surprises me. So far on our cruise, Le Boat, Black Prince, and Canal gruelling route of seven hours of boating the landscape has been overwhelmingly Barge Cruises. a day (canal travel is measured in hours, green. Picking out individual shapes has given the variables of lock traffic), I’d judged, seemed as impossible as picking out brushbut doable. strokes in a Monet painting. But as we wend past bend after We’re speeding as quickly as the Hertford will allow. If we identical bend, thatch-roofed village after thatch-roofed village, hurry, we can make the village of King’s Sutton by nightfall. the landscape’s uniformity breaks apart like a kaleidoscope. At Dusk glints golden on the water as we cruise past Upper the stately pace the Hertford will let us go, it’s impossible to not Heyford. Sheep nip at long grasses in the shadow of its Gothic look at every branch, every leaf, a little longer, a little more carechurch tower. It’s the most idyllic spot we’ve seen on the canal so fully. I start to notice the difference between Japanese and giant far, and we’re tempted to stop. But it’s not on our schedule. I turn knotweed, elderflowers and Queen Anne’s lace. A few days ago, off the engine anyway. all this was a vague notion I had of “countryside.” The canal was Heenan pours out our Pimm’s. A few minutes later, a young a waterway I barely glanced at. Today, each branch, each bush, man appears on the towpath, walking his dog. As he gets close, each bend of the canal contains universes. the dog sniffs the air, then scampers onto our deck before its owner can stop it. Mortified, he stutters out an apology.

We laugh it off, retrieve the dog, make conversation. Kevin, n The Wind in the Willows, Rat tells Mole “there is we learn, is a Heyford local. I invite him to join us for a drink, nothing—absolutely nothing—half so much worth motivated in equal parts by hospitality and anthropological doing as simply messing about in boats.” curiosity. Under normal circumstances here, I know, this would Aboard the Hertford I have little time to mess be considered only slightly less brazen than proposing marriage. about. There always is something to do: piloting, But we’re on a boat. mooring, unmooring, filling the water tank. And the routine For a moment, Kevin looks surprised, even nervous. Then he of locks—enclosures with sliding gates that adjust water levels, takes a deep breath and steps on deck. We hand him a Pimms enabling boats to travel from lower to higher areas—is the most and clink glasses. At last he smiles. For half an hour we drink and ceaseless of all. Every hour or so we stop to open one gate, cruise talk, about the weather, Heyford life, the canal. Kevin admits he into the lock, slide up the panels (called paddles or wickets) wonders about the boats he sees cruising by. Still, he could never to let water flow into the lock and make the boat rise (we are imagine doing it himself. “You’d have to say hello to people all the heading upstream), open the exit gate, then reset everything. time, be friendly. We couldn’t have that!”

I wonder once or twice what Rat was talking about.

To my surprise, however, the routine soon becomes comforting, a quiet rhythm that gives structure to the meandering of here is one place, Heenan points out, where days. I find myself taking pride in winching up a particularly English people always say hello. The pub, in heavy paddle or forcing a stuck gate. I like the tangible, most small villages the only choice for food or physical results. drink, is to locals what locks are to boaters: the The locks, Heenan and I soon realise, double as social hubs, one socially sanctioned space where talking to where strangers exchange travel advice or boating gossip, or strangers is not only allowed but encouraged. Several pubs are help less experienced boaters. Arriving at a lock now means seesignposted “Open 11 a.m. until close.” ing familiar faces: the redheaded Scottish family of four; the Isn’t that a tautology? I ask Heenan. bachelor party group; Derek, a retiree from Birmingham, who “You’ll see,” she answers. bought a boat when he turned 60 (“better that than a Zimmer Each pub has its own character. There’s the Boat Inn, in frame!” he says, the British term for a walker) and who stays Thrupp, where locals vie to buy the geriatric pub dog, Ollie, behind to help us close the gate.

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Cosying up to neighbours comes naturally along the canal, where boaters share moorings, refreshments, and accounts of their day.

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■ E N GLAN D his nightly potato chips. There’s the brick Bell Inn, in Lower Heyford, where an elderly man enters, only to start at the sight of Heenan and me on a sofa. (We’re sitting in his customary seat, another regular explains.)

But nothing compares to the rambunctious energy of the Red Lion Inn, in the thatch-roofed village of Cropredy. Drawings by a local artist line the walls, along with clocks handcrafted by the owner’s father-in-law. In the corridor to the bathroom I find framed limericks riffing on regulars’ drunken antics and dietary misfortunes.

Those same regulars hold court from 6 to 10 p.m. at the bar, engaging in sometimes raucous mockery of one another. When I ask the barmaid about the pub’s rumoured ghosts—Cropredy was the site of a 1644 battle during England’s Civil War—a greyhaired biker in a bandanna cuts in before she can answer: “She’s the one who is ’aunted!”

An elderly liveaboard boater named Mick, who, I learn, lost his business, declared bankruptcy, and realised that “they can’t send collections if you’re always moving”, takes it upon himself to help me understand a proper village pub.

“When I came in here, I hit my head on those”—he points out the low ceiling beams—“and the barmaid, instead of helping me, laughed.” He waits for me to get it.

“That’s what a proper pub is! People taking the mickey out of you, teasing you, even if you’re a stranger.” English people, he insists, are as open as anyone else; they just need an excuse to show it. “Why do you think English people talk so much about the weather? It’s ’orrible, and we know it’s ’orrible. It just gives us a reason to say something.”

I tell him about our dawdling in bucolic Upper Heyford, and he remarks, “That’s nothing. It took me three and a half weeks to get here—I saw a field full of cows I liked.”

Outside the Red Lion, church bells begin to ring the 11 p.m. hour. We’re approaching closing time, but tonight’s patrons show no signs of leaving and the barmaid just continues to chat with everyone.

“When they close, they close,” shrugs Mick.

We don’t exchange numbers as there’s no phone signal, but Mick invites me to look for him on our return voyage. I will find Mick again, at Cropredy Lock. He’ll grin, wave, then cruise on.

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f a pub—England’s great equalizer, where rich and poor, locals and transients come together—has an opposite, it’s the stately country manor, or estate.

These days many historic English manors, often the homes of aristocrats, open their doors to the public.

They are, I learn, where the English go to indulge in that most English pursuit: peeking into the private lives of others.

Of the three or four manors we pass, it’s the palatial Rousham House that most piques my interest. This 17th-century residence, still lived in by descendants of the original owners, is visitable only by appointment, but the acres of gardens are open daily.

Among the most celebrated landscapes in England, they were designed in the 1700s by the architect and artist William Kent, who pioneered the “natural” landscape.

“This is the ultimate English domestic fantasy,” says Heenan, “the private garden that feels like it’s in wilderness.”

We are only a 15-minute walk from the canal, but in this riotously colourful floral setting, we find ourselves in the heart of

As we wend past bend after identical bend, the land’s uniformity breaks apart like a kaleidoscope.

Each bush we see now contains universes Alice’s labyrinth. Passages wind through hedges, past hidden fountains, toward purpose-built “ruins” and Grecian arcades that lead nowhere. I watch a lone peacock sashay in front of the entrance to the round pigeon house, which echoes with the coos of pigeons and doves.

Still, it’s the residents of Rousham House who fascinate me.

Passing the front door, I search for clues to the inhabitants within. “Home Rule,” says a sticker on the front door, which also features an EU flag with an X drawn through it. “British Subjects, Not EU Citizens,” another states. I sneak a glance into the windows. Everything is museum-perfect with panelled walls, oil paintings, gold brocade wallpaper, all except one touch: the most outstanding collection of ugly porcelain figurines I’ve ever seen.

I think of Heenan’s insistence on English nosiness and smile.

Englishness has rubbed off on me after all.

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ur last night on the Hertford, we moor in north Oxford and I am back where I began, a short walk from my old university quarters. I feel almost regretful. Seven years in England, I think—what else did I miss? How much time did I waste, failing to follow and explore this path that started in my own backyard?

A thrush flutters down to my feet. Once, I might have scared it away. But a week on the water has left me slower, more careful in my movements. The bird lets me approach and photograph it at close range before it vanishes against the gold of sky.

I make out the charred remains of bonfires in the grass around me. I wonder if they belong to Mike Pitman, to Jeff Slade, to the boaters who have made the canal their own.

Then I remember a plaque I’d seen along the nearby Thames River, part of a local initiative to record oral histories.

“My father was a great plant lover …” it reads. “We spent a whole afternoon by the river at Godstow in the beautiful spring sunshine, searching the meadows for birthwort which we didn’t find. I thought it was a real waste of time, but now I look back on that afternoon as a lovely day spent with my eccentric Dad.” I understand. On the water there really is no such thing as a waste of time. Tara Isabella burTon is working on a doctorate in theology and 19th-century French literature at Oxford University.

Photographer John KernIcK is based in New York City and a frequent contributor to National Geographic Traveler (U.S.).

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active holiday Walking the wild side in Nepal’s Chitwan National Park

Descending from Stok Kangri peak is even more challenging than the climb up as the sun makes the snow soft and the path slippery.

Mind Games on the Mountain TREKKING IN THE MOUNTAINS IS ALWAYS SO MUCH MORE THAN A LONG WALK TO THE TOP

BY PRAVEEN SUTHRUM

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his is a mind game, Dhruv Joshi, our usually reticent trek leader, tells me, before letting me steal some of the khichri that was cooked for the trek staff. He talks about how long a body can go without food and water. Ignoring his wisdom, I scoot off to the dining tent to share the spoils with my hungry trek mates. I had upset them earlier in the day with my slow hike from Gangpoche (14,173 feet) to Stok Kangri base camp (16,332 feet) in Ladakh.

Home-style khichri with mango pickle should make up for my misdeeds.

Dhruv, who grew up in the Kumaon foothills, has the unperturbed demeanour of a climber who belongs in the mountains. He reveals the depth of his experience only when necessary by showing up exactly when someone needs assistance: at confusing turns, river crossings, and difficult rocks. At other times, he blends seamlessly into the Ladakh range of the

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adventure Life lessons on a trek to Stok Kangri peak in Ladakh

INTENSITY THE TREK IS PHYSICALLY AND MENTALLY CHALLENGING AS PARTICIPANTS NAVIGATE THROUGH ROUGH TERRAIN IN EXTREME WEATHER.

EASY

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Karakoram mountains, climbing gently with a large green rucksack covering his back.

Base camps often have the vibrancy of anticipation, the energy of people ready for something big, but knowing they must wait for the right moment to make the final push. This one looks sparse. There aren’t many tents except for an imposing blue-coloured one, where noodles, beverages, and climbing gear are sold. An awkward logo on the tent consists of an incomplete heart underneath different wise sayings.

One advises us that “Worry dries up the blood sooner than age.”

A stream flows unhurriedly on the side, and a sign near it warns people not to relieve themselves by the water. Yellow-billed choughs, members of the crow family that breed at a higher altitude than most birds, peck around the campsite. As with most base camps, we cannot see the peak we hope to summit because of how close we are to it. It is also snowing or raining continuously, and we are unsure if we should even attempt the climb scheduled for the next day.

Our trek started ten days ago, when we drove from Leh to Chilling, a village that appears from within a gorge running along the left bank of the Zanskar river, after it briefly meets the Indus. Accompanied by Dhruv and his staff, six of us started our journey on foot from one side of Chilling, after darting across the Zanskar on a pulley bridge. Ladakh’s barrenness grew on me bit by bit, day by day. The dry desert winds, harsh sun, bitter cold nights, unexpected flower trails, thorns, rivers, rocks, snow-filled high passes—everything slowly moulded my being into something that was also becoming a part of this empty landscape.

ATLAS

Ladakh, Jammu and Kashmir

Jammu and Kashmir Srinagar

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Stok Kangri

Stok Kangri, the highest peak in the Stok Range of the Himalayas, with an elevation of over 20,187 feet, is almost 70 per cent the height of Mt. Everest.

I’d injured my back before this trek, but it seems to have magically healed since we started walking. On the day before our final climb, for which I had been preparing these past four months, there is some confusion caused by the less-than-perfect weather and an unexpected reduction in our group size. Two trek mates had decided not to attempt the climb after reaching base camp, and had returned to a lower altitude. They were the fittest and fastest among us on previous days, but Ladakh’s adverse conditions can influence our minds and bodies in unpredictable ways.

That thought preys on me as I listen to Dhruv’s instruction to “Dig your toes to climb and use your heels to descend,” as we practice using snow shoes on a hill near base camp. The big white boots are also used by the Indian army while guarding our highest borders.

They have a soft inner layer that lets you wiggle your toes, and an outer, rock-like layer that lets you dig your foot into snow. I feel as though I’m walking with weights around my ankles. Additionally, my harness, the purpose of which I’d rather not think about, keeps sliding down like ill-fitting underwear. I fall multiple times and can’t decide whether I find this practice exercise fun, annoying, or worrisome.

When we return to our tents, I notice that my big toe has developed a blister from the snow boots. Padding it up with blister tape only makes me more conscious of it. The climb, if it happens at all, will begin after midnight. Racked by fatigue, backache, and a new blister, I desperately need to perk up. I have climbed other difficult mountains like Kilimanjaro before, but somehow that fact doesn’t encourage me. I find FEBRUARY 2016 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA

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NICRAM SABOD/SHUTTERSTOCK (DONKEY), CSP_IMAGEX/FOTOSEARCH LBRF/DINODIA (FLAGS)

Pack horses (left) carry tents, backpacks, food, and supplies up to base camp; Strings of Buddhist flags (right) are a common sight at passes. It is believed that wind carries prayers far and wide.

LA DA KH

Dhruv’s words from the previous day resonating in my head: This is a mind game. Yes, it is.

Overwhelmed by the constant tumult inside my head, I sit down to meditate. Taking deep breaths is difficult at high altitude, but it helps me calm down and accept the situation for what it is. I finally manage to sleep despite a noisy group playing football, a dangerous choice of game at this elevation.

It’s 2.30 a.m. when the weather miraculously becomes conducive to a climb, and the full moon shines like a flashlight flagging-off our expedition.

Getting ready to scale over 3,000 feet in the next several hours we don our gear, which consists of multiple layers of clothing, harness, snow boots with gaiters, crampons, and a backpack with water and food.

In just a few minutes we encounter our first steep climb. With the additional gear, ascending the nearly 60-degree incline feels robotic and unnatural, adding to the challenge. I use a mental count (one, pause, two, pause, one…) to impel me slowly upward, thereby maintaining my heart rate at a steady pace.

Through my adult life, I have lived with hypertension. In the initial years, after I was diagnosed with the condition, I passively accepted medications and stress as part of a genetic deal that my body inherited. Through my 20s, I was slowly consumed by a sedentary existence that made the years roll by. And then, just like that at age 33, I bought an Enfield motorcycle and drove all the way from Mumbai at sea level to Khardung La at 17,582 feet, which is one of the highest roads in the world.

The journey woke me up from within, and made me reflect on everything differently. I perceived the short shelf life that our bodies have for the many possibilities this world offers. Encountering various people in remote India allowed me a glimpse into the magnificence of the human condition. It appeared foolish to trap myself into imaginary little boxes. When I returned, I quietly went about doing the things that I knew my heart desired but didn’t insist on because of pointless fears. That’s when I started climbing mountains. That’s how I’m here, almost at the top of the highest trekking peak in India.

By around 5.43 a.m., the sun hides behind the clouds, but our surroundings are more visible now.

Buddhist prayer flags mark the beginning of the glacier. The climb to the ridge begins here and it is hard not to be aware of the milky whiteness encompassing us. I feel both nauseous and heady with appreciation for where we are.

Soon, the sun is out, shining brightly against a deep blue sky. White clouds move at a leisurely pace, and they seem to be the only things moving besides us.

Everything else is still or subtle. Cool winds blow on and off. Our shadows dance against the white surface of the snow as we keep plodding on. Other than two trekkers who went ahead of us, our group is quite alone on the entire range this morning. I get a sense of being lost in time.

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Cups of hot tea are passed around as soon as the kitchen tent (top) is set up at the day’s campsite; Kneeling on the snow near the peak, the writer (bottom) absorbs the sight of the snowy mountains all around.

I shake away from one mood to another, suddenly remembering the actress Sridevi in her role as a celestial nymph in a 25-year-old Telugu movie that an entire generation obsessed over as teenagers. She meets the movie’s earthly hero during a song sequence set in the Himalayas. In a more innocent era, the director played to the imagination of the masses by creating the mountain ranges with plastic bags, cotton globules, and plants illuminated with green lights. Just like she did in the song, I visualise Sridevi swaying on godly white wings, up on Stok Kangri. Perhaps she’s summoning me, or urging me to shut up and climb on. The fleeting thought comforts me and I keep moving on, step by step.

Dhruv and Chain Singh, our supporting guides, help with our harnesses. A rope unites the entire group as we climb a steep and deadly 75-degree incline. While the harness safeguards us from falling off, it also increases the risk of a single mistake taking everyone down. Using a pickaxe, Dhruv leads us higher and higher. I resume my mental counts to climb

PRAVEEN SUTHRUM

Get Going |

Trekkers have to use snow shoes with crampons to walk up the steep glacier section of the trek.

separated and I can see others in the distance as small specks on a huge sheet of white. I still find it hard to believe that we are all alone for hundreds of kilometres all around, an impossible occurrence in cities.

Clouds gather again. Dense cumulonimbus formations are about to drench us when at 3.35 p.m., 13 hours after leaving base camp, we reach the Buddhist flags that marked the start of our glacier walk.

I’m walking back with Dhruv and ask him his views on the virtues of trekking slowly at a steady pace at high altitudes. He responds by narrating the story of a Japanese man who climbed over 22,900 feet at the age of 70. He would start earlier than the rest of the group and reach camp much after them. He went on the trek to keep a promise to his friend who had passed on, and for whom he wanted to perform a sacred ritual on top. Mountains have the ability to bridge the gap for many people in unique ways. Well, in the end it is a mind game.

The sun has made the snow loose and powdery, making sections of the track more treacherous than they were earlier in the day. My leg keeps dropping into orifices two feet deep. I use my walking sticks to dig myself out and keep going. At sunset, I finally reach camp, and the sight of the tents triggers the happy feeling of returning home.

From the window of the van driving back to Leh, I see a range of mountains zoom by. In the far distance is Stok Kangri, easily recognisable by its jagged edges.

It sits still while we keep moving. These transient images seem to reveal something about how life keeps on changing, and yet it never really does.

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slowly but the gaps between counts become longer as I take time to catch my breath. The thin air and rough weather make it an exhausting exercise, demanding every ounce of stamina. The responsibility of the interdependent climb makes the mind even more alert and focused.

After ten hours of steady climbing, we reach a high point of the range, after which the ridge begins. At over 19,850 feet, it’s the highest point I have climbed so far. Given the time we have left, we take the hard but sensible decision not to risk continuing to the summit though it is only another 330 feet or so away.

I see the massive Himalayan ranges of Karakoram and Zanskar around us, intermingling gently with clouds.

It is a view that I have often seen on flights to Leh. Realising that we are standing above most of life as it exists on Earth, I’m enveloped by a sense of gratitude for my long journey.

“Sit in the middle of the group, otherwise you’ll drop all the way down and take us along,” Dhruv says smilingly, but with obvious concern, jolting me from my thoughts. I realise I am sitting on the edge with my backpack weighing in the wrong direction. So I kneel down and blissfully absorb the scene around. But the precious few moments escape all too fast and we decide to descend so that we can return to base camp before dusk.

Going downhill, the powdery snow makes it easy for us to slide rapidly down several hundred feet. We hold the trekking poles like a scooter handle and use our legs to slide. It feels like I am part of another joyous Telugu film fantasy. In the sliding, our group has

Get Going |

LA DA KH

The Guide

Sure-footed pack mules carry the trekkers’ gear and other camp supplies. Though the staff and animals leave after the trekkers, they quickly overtake them.

Kangri (20,187 feet). You could be trekking for 3-7 hours a day.

Maximum altitude 20,187 feet

Terrain The route goes through rivers and high passes. In June and July, the mountain is covered in deep snow and trekkers must be equipped with climbing shoes, harness, crampons, and gaiters. By mid-August, the snow melts and most of the climb is over rocky terrain.

Grade Challenging; prior experience in the Himalayas is preferable.

Cost From Delhi, a 15-day trek via the Markha Valley costs `74,400 per head. A shorter, 11-day version of the trek costs `52,300. The writer travelled with White Magic (www.whitemagicadventure.com).

Season End-June to mid-September What to expect The trek begins in Chilling (60 km/2 hr from Leh), and passes through Skiu (11,155 feet) and Mounkarmo (14,370 feet) over seven days before reaching Stok Kangri Base Camp. After a day of rest, trekkers finally begin the ascent to Stok

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Weather In the valleys, the temperature is 15-30°C during the day and 10-15°C at night. At the base camp, the night-time temperature can be as low as -5°C. It might rain or snow occasionally. The sun is pretty harsh at higher altitudes.

Gear Good gear is key to enjoying the trek and helps prevent injury. Ensure you have plastic double mountaineering boots or well insulated, four-season mountaineering boots. You will also need crampons with front points, trekking sticks, climbing harness, karabiners, a four-season sleeping bag (at least 0°C). Invest in a good pair of walking boots, waterproof jacket and trousers, fleece jacket or similar, a down jacket (optional), warm hat and gloves,

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sunglasses, a day pack, headlamp, water bottles, and the all-important sunscreen.

There are several shops in Leh that sell all outdoor and camping gear at reasonable prices. You could also rent the climbing gear in Leh itself, which costs at least `400-500 a day for the boots, crampons, harness, karabiners, and poles.

Fitness Your fitness levels will make all the difference between enjoying this trek and merely enduring it. Begin training at least a month before the trip, and incorporate aerobic training such as running, cycling, or swimming. For strength training, go for long hikes or climb stairs with a heavy backpack a couple of times a week.

Acclimatization Set aside two days for acclimatization in Leh. At any stage during the trek, the average gain in sleeping altitude should not be over 1,000 feet.

Climbing Permit Trekkers need a permit to climb Stok Kangri. Permits are available at the Indian Mountaineering Foundation’s office in Leh for `200 for Indians and `2,000 for foreign nationals. This is usually arranged by the trekking company.

PAUL HARRIS/JAI/CORBIS/IMAGELIBRARY

Orientation Stok Kangri is the highest mountain in the Stok range of the Himalayas in Ladakh. The Stok Kangri base camp (16,322 feet) lies southeast of the summit and can be approached through various routes. However, it is best to take the longer route as it helps ease acclimatization. The closest airport is Leh, which has daily flights from Delhi.

ACTIVE HOLIDAY

INTENSITY THE WALK THROUGH THE JUNGLE IS NOT STRENUOUS THOUGH IT TRAVERSES DIFFERENT TERRAINS. IT MAY REQUIRE CONFRONTING ANY FEARS OF THE WILD THAT VISITORS MAY HAVE.

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Chitwan is one of those rare places where hikers are allowed into the national park’s core area.

Walking safaris are one of the best and most intimate ways to observe wildlife.

Walking the Wild Side B

eyond the village of Meghauli in southern Nepal extend the dense riverine forests of Chitwan National Park. Over 600 one-horned rhinos and other wildlife, like the sloth bear, royal Bengal tiger, and elephant, live here. Walking in the wild is commonplace here and I was about to hike in the forest.

When a boatman dropped my guides, Prem Gurung, Subhash Gurung, and me off on a lonely bank of the Reu River, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of being abandoned.

The guards were not carrying rifles, which left me feeling uneasy. Neither the sight of hundreds of sand martins roosting on a sandbar, nor the vast panorama of the Reu winding through the hills of Chitwan, could calm my thumping heart. I had never set foot inside the core area of a national park before.

Apart from being a roaringly successful conservation story, Chitwan is unique and different

1,000 The number of police personnel that patrol Chitwan from about 40 posts, to keep poachers out.

from most national parks in India, in that you can actually track animals on foot here.

I was thankful that the first creatures we came across inside the forest were a herd of docile chitals grazing in a green pasture. Despite myself, I hoped that the sighting signalled the start of a boring, uneventful day. However, the next few hours turned out to be anything but humdrum.

Charting a path straight through the jungle, by noon we’d arrived at a spot frequented by a tiger.

Here, we stumbled upon a well-marked trail going up a hill. Hoping to get a bird’s-eye view of the park, we marched up, stepping over withered leaves that covered the forest floor. Suddenly, Subhash threw his bag down and ran towards something. It slowly registered that the young, lanky naturalist was wrestling with a humongous rock python just 15 feet from me.

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A CITY SLICKER LETS HER GUARD DOWN IN NEPAL’S CHITWAN NATIONAL PARK | BY NEELIMA VALLANGI

Get Going |

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I have fear-filled childhood ideas about big snakes thanks to the outrageously misleading movie, Anaconda. Those fears rushed to the surface and, imagining I’d be hunted down by a conniving reptile of the sort shown in the movie, I shrieked and ran away.

Meanwhile, Subhash seemed to be using all his might to straighten out the python. The poor snake however, seemed intent on gently slipping into its home, a hollow bark nearby. In his career spanning nearly a decade Subhash had never seen a python that big and wanted to measure it. It was a massive 18 feet long.

Leaving the python and my fears behind, I hiked to the top of the hill, where we ran into a few army men who were part of the 1,000-strong force deployed for park protection. These men patrol every inch of the national park, guarding the denizens of Chitwan. Their efforts over the past decade have produced phenomenal results in curbing poaching and raising the dwindling number of Indian rhinos in Nepal from 375 to the current 645. But because of this frequent human movement, encountering a tiger in Chitwan is uncommon. Thankfully, I thought from my position on land.

From the vantage point near the army camp, I spotted a lone rhino cooling itself in a river, a few hundred metres away from where we would be crossing it on foot very soon. My heart went back to thumping mode in an instant. As we descended to the valley floor and walked through a narrow, sand-covered path fringed by tall elephant grass, I couldn’t tell the difference between fear and exhilaration anymore. Luckily, just as

ATLAS

Chitwan National Park, Nepal China NEPAL

Kathmandu

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Chitwan National Park India

Chitwan is Nepal’s first national park and a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It has managed to stay free of poaching for two years, since 2014, with not a single tiger, rhino, or elephant killed.

we were about to wade through the thigh-high water, an old friend of Subhash’s offered to take us across in an old WWII army vehicle.

Soon after crossing the river, Subhash and Prem positioned themselves on either side of me and asked me to stay quiet and be cautious. The large swathe of towering grassland by the riverside is prime rhino territory. Climbing up a wooden watchtower, we spotted bear scat on the stairs and at least three rhinos munching on the grass around us. We also saw a baby rhino with its mother hiding in the grass right next to the trail we had come on, though we had failed to see them as we passed. On the way back, we carefully tiptoed around the colossal creatures. A startled rhino mom chasing us was the last thing we wanted: The massive, prehistoric-looking beasts can reach speeds of 40 km/hr, though they don’t have very good eyesight.

As we made our way back through a dense thicket in which the grasslands mingled with the forest, the flaming red of a scarlet minivet, the splash of a turtle jumping into a swamp, and a lone wild boar scampering through the undergrowth kept me distracted enough to keep fear at bay. The wonder set in. Putting myself in such an unguarded situation in a forest brimming with wildlife seemed to have aroused my primal fears, but as soon as I reached the safety of civilisation, I was thrilled to have walked through one of the world’s last remaining pristine stretches in the Himalayan foothills. The forest had opened its heart to me, and I’ll be forever indebted to it for that privilege.

JACEK KADAJ/MOMENT OPEN/GETTY IMAGES

Indian rhinos are solitary creatures that love to wallow in water bodies to cool down on hot afternoons.

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The Guide

ORIENTATION Chitwan National Park lies in southern Nepal. It is located on the banks of the Rapti and Narayani rivers, about 180 km from Kathmandu. Far away from Sauraha, the over-commercialised region providing entry to Chitwan, Meghauli offers respite from the crowds and is the recommended gateway into the park’s more tranquil parts (chitwannationalpark.gov.np).

GETTING THERE

By Air The closest airport is at Bharatpur, 32 km/80 min east of Meghauli. Taxis to Meghauli charge `2,500.

By Road Meghauli is 180 km/7 hr west of Kathmandu, on a road that winds through the mountains before opening onto the plains of the terai. The roads are mostly decent, but the ride from Bharatpur to Meghauli can be a bit rough along country roads through villages of the

indigenous Tharu people (taxis charge `8,000 one-way). Taxis and private deluxe buses, most popularly from Greenline Travels, ply from Kathmandu and Pokhara towards Bharatpur (5-7 hr; `700 per head).

The border towns of Sunauli/ Birgunj, 150 km from Meghauli, are the nearest points of entry from India to Chitwan.

HIKING IN THE JUNGLE Walking safaris on the periphery of Chitwan National Park can be organised through your accommodation. Anything from half-day hikes to multi-day jungle walks, which include camping on the fringes of the national park, are possible with prior reservation. The walk I took was organised by Barahi Jungle Lodge, a luxurious ecolodge situated in Meghauli (97186 37711/+977-56-695447; www. barahijunglelodge.com). Other options include Landmark Forest Park (www.

landmarkforest.com) in the Sauraha region, and Kasara Resort (kasararesort.com) in the Kasara region.

SEASONS While the park remains open all year long, the weather is most pleasant from October until March (10-25°C). In summer (AprMay), the temperatures can soar upwards of 40°C. In the monsoon, between June and September, intense precipitation floods the park’s mud roads and adjoining rivers, making it difficult to enter the forest.

RISKS AND DANGERS Forest rangers and guides might downplay the risk of a rhino encounter, but it is possible. Don’t push your guide to take you closer to the animals or accept any offers from them to do so. Stay with the guides and do not stray off alone because the tall elephant grass can hide a rhino or two.

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NEELIMA VALLANGI (PYTHON & RIVER), DE AGOSTINI/GETTY IMAGES (ANT HILL)

Spotting a python (left) on a walk in Chitwan National Park, an 18-foot giant at that, is rare; Rapti and Reu, the two tributaries of the Narayani River form a natural boundary around the park (top right); On a walk through Chitwan, the terrain changes dramatically (bottom right), from tall grassland to lush riverine jungle.

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from delhi Long walks and small pleasures in Banjar Valley

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stay A farmhouse in Sikkim has the warmth of home

Hidden Valley LOW-KEY BANJAR VALLEY BRIMS WITH POSSIBILITIES | TEXT & PHOTOGRAPHS BY NEELIMA VALLANGI

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ooden houses a couple of storeys high are perched in clusters on elevated slopes.

Their intricate carvings and cantilevered balconies blend seamlessly with the landscape. The ancient architecture of Himachal Pradesh’s Banjar Valley is striking. The small settlement of Jibhi where I stayed isn’t very well-known to travellers, but it has several camps and guest houses from which the many splendours of the area can be explored. It is also blessedly quiet. Over the week I spent in Jibhi, I came across very few travellers in this remote, unspoilt valley.

The mountains surrounding Jibhi are lush with pine and cedar forests and it is also just one hour away from the Great Himalayan National Park. A short drive from

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picturesque Jalori Pass, Jibhi is a good base for hiking, birding, fishing, and enjoying the outdoors.

I arrived at my guest house picturing a perfect week with nothing on the agenda. My lazy intentions went right out the window as soon as I spotted the handdrawn maps, illustrating the area’s walking trails, hanging around Doli Guest House’s reception area.

B.S. Rana, a retired military officer, founded the guest house 25 years ago after renovating his ancestral home, built in the traditional Pahadi, or mountain, style. A small group of devoted foreigners began visiting every year, and tales of Jibhi’s charms spread by word-of-mouth. Of late, domestic travellers looking to experience a slice of mountain life, without all the frills

The village of Chaini, close to Jibhi, has old, intricatelycarved wooden structures that are great examples of traditional Pahadi architecture.

MOUNTAIN ESCAPE

of a hill station, have been coming here. But though Jibhi may be a low-key tourist destination, it brims with possibilities.

TOWERING SENTINEL

My first walk was a four-kilometre stroll to the village of Chaini (Chehni), with my guide Narendra. A thick coat of deodar trees covers the mountain slopes around the small village where it seems like little has changed over the decades. Apple orchards abound. The nearest road is a kilometre below (it is also possible to drive eight kilometres to this point). Walking a trail through tall pine trees, we arrived at the fringes of the village and I caught my first glimpse of its watchtower. The five-storey structure dwarfed the surrounding houses.

The leaning tower is supported by a masonry wall, reinforced with horizontal timber logs. It has a secret tunnel underneath. We climbed a steep flight of stairs carved from two large pieces of wood and sneaked a quick glimpse inside the tower, now a Yogini shrine.

This type of temple tower is a rare example of Pahadi architecture, notably in the Kullu and Kangra districts of Himachal Pradesh. Isolated deep within the folds of these Himalayan foothills, the builders developed construction methods of kath-kuni and dhol-maide in which timber and stone are layered and interlocked to withstand environmental constraints.

These methods have enabled the Chaini tower, which is at least 40-metres high, to stand for centuries, and survive such ravages as the debilitating Kangra earthquake of 1905.

Opposite the tower, the remains of the crumbling

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Jibhi is a walker’s delight, with plenty of easy trails that wind through the lush pine and cedar forests of the Banjar Valley (left); The 1,500-year-old watch tower (right) of Chaini Fort leans slightly to the right.

Chaini Fort, built in a similar style, have been converted to a Krishna temple. On the other side of the tower is the bhandar, or storage house, where religious artefacts related to the Shringa Rishi, Banjar Valley’s presiding deity, are stored. The Shringa Rishi temple, half a kilometre below Chaini in the village of Bagi, is garishly painted, but underneath its lurid veneer is the same marvellous wooden architecture.

SACRED LAKE

The stunning and steeply inclined eight-kilometre drive from Jibhi to Jalori Pass, winding through treacherous twists, is an adventure in itself. It is also the prelude to two hiking trails that branch off in opposite directions from the top of the pass (an altitude of over 10,000 feet). One goes towards serene Seroyul Lake and the other towards the ruins of the ancient Raghupur Fort.

The trail to Seroyul Lake is a gentle five-kilometre hike, first over a ridge overlooking bare mountaintops rising out of green lower ranges, then through an enchanting oak forest. Shortly before the lake, the forest floor comes alive with wildflowers blossoming between mossy oaks. In a meadow along the way, I rested by the side of a pond surrounded by jagged pinnacles, with a thick bundle of clouds above me. After much ambling, Narendra and I arrived at the clear waters of Seroyul and settled down on a rocky outcrop. The lake is considered sacred and there is small temple on its shore.

On our way back, we encountered an afternoon mist that had enveloped the forest in a grey coat of gloom.

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F RO M D E L HI

I debated hiking to Raghupur Fort. Drawing from the lessons learned on previous travels, however, I remembered that it is never good to say no to an adventure.

RAINBOW SHADOWS

The ruins of Raghupur Fort are just an excuse to hike up to a bird’s-eye view of the Seraj Valley, from a verdant clearing at the top of a hill. The four-kilometre trail from Jalori Pass to the remaining fort walls gently descends through thick forest, before a steep ascent and then a long but gradual walk through open meadows.

The afternoon mist followed us well into the evening, with dull skies and obscured views dampening the walk. But the skies cleared up just in time for the gorgeous evening light to wash over the landscape. The meadows glistened green, and light filtered through the gaps between the mountains. Content with these panoramas, we were on our way back when I noticed a rainbow ring around my shadow reflecting off the mist a few metres ahead of me.

Had I not heard of this disorienting phenomenon before, I might have freaked out. Even so, I was astounded at glimpsing the rare Brocken spectre, also called a glory. In this optical illusion, a 360° rainbow

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An early morning stroll to the Jibhi waterfall (left), less than a kilometre from the village, is rewarded with the sight of a double rainbow; The woods around Jalori Pass (right) are like an enchanted forest, with oak trees and a carpet of wild flowers.

appears around shadows cast from a height into the mist below.

Though the day’s 18-kilometre-long hikes to Saroyul and Raghupur had been exhausting, I spent the last leg of it bouncing along on a rainbow-induced high.

I was glad I had said yes to adventure.

TROUT TRIUMPH

As you enter Jibhi, a handful of posters for angling tours remind you that the gurgling streams of the Banjar and Tirthan valleys are famous for trout fishing.

After listening to the tall tales of two fishing enthusiasts at the guest house one day, I was sold on the idea.

Narendra quickly procured a fishing permit and brought me up to speed on the basics of angling with a rod and a lure in the shape of a fish. One afternoon, fancying some fresh catch for dinner, I cast my line in the stream flowing beside the guest house. Narendra quickly landed his first catch.

Finally, after four hours and a growing sense of disenchantment with fishing, I landed my first catch using a dangling metal spinner bait. I’m not entirely sure whether it was the glorious rainbow trout I reeled in that tasted so good, or my triumph that was the perfect seasoning for my meal that night.

■ H I MAC HAL PRADES H THE GUIDE ORIENTATION

Jibhi is situated in the remote Banjar Valley of Himachal Pradesh. It is 40 km/1 hr southwest of the town of Aut, which is located on the road from Delhi/Chandigarh to Manali. Jibhi is 600 km/14 hr north of New Delhi.

GETTING THERE

By Air The closest airport is in Bhuntar in the Kullu district, 60 km/2 hr from Jibhi. Taxis charge about `2,200 for the one-way trip from Bhuntar. For a group, a more economical option is to fly to Chandigarh and take a taxi (`6,000 one-way) to Jibhi.

By Rail The closest railway station is at Shimla, 150 km/6 hr south of Jibhi. There is no direct service from Delhi to Shimla, so passengers need to change trains at Kalka, but there are plenty of connections for the comfortable ride (5 hr to Kalka and a further 5 hr to Shimla). Visitors can use the opportunity to experience the iconic “toy train” from Kalka to Shimla. A one-way taxi from Shimla to Jibhi starts at approximately `6,000.

By Road The simplest way to travel to Jibhi is to board a bus for Manali from Delhi and disembark at Aut. From Aut, arrange for a taxi pickup through your accommodation (`1,000 one-way), or take another bus to Banjar, which is 8 km before Jibhi, and get a taxi from there. If driving from Delhi, it is quite possible to do the 520 km/ 12 hr drive to Banjar Valley in a day, provided you get an early start. However, Ambala or Chandigarh are good places to break journey if needed.

GETTING AROUND

Vehicles for transportation and sightseeing can be arranged from the nearest town of Banjar. A round trip to Jalori Pass, including waiting time, costs `1,500, and a drop-off or pickup between Aut and Jibhi costs about `1,000.

SEASONS

During summer (Mar-May), the temperature in Jibhi is pleasant, and rarely goes above 30°C. During the monsoon (Jun-Sep), the forests are resplendent, but be prepared for torrential showers and landslides that may block mountain roads. Autumn days (Oct-Nov) are mostly pleasant with a nip in the air early in the morning and evening. Temperatures range between 15°C-25°C. Winter (Dec-Feb) is very cold, and temperatures can plummet below freezing at night. Daytime temperatures range between 5°C on cloudy days and 15°C on sunny days. There is a good chance of snowfall as well.

One of the biggest charms of Jibhi is the lack of commercialisation. Most accommodation consists of either tented eco-camps or simple guest houses run by local residents.

DOLI GUEST HOUSE, located near Jibhi’s main market, is a 65-year-old ancestral house converted into a simple yet cosy guest house It’s wooden rooms have attached bathrooms (01903-228231/98160 58290; mountainlover1956@gmail.com; doubles `600-800).

STAY

RANA SWISS COTTAGES is run by the owner of Doli Guesthouse, and is a good option for those seeking a bit of comfort. The four wooden cottages, inspired by Swiss chalets, sit on a mountain slope along a river, and have a great view of the entire valley. This is one of the few properties in Banjar Valley that stays open all year round, even during winter (01903-228231/98160 58290; doubles from `2,000).

TIRTHAN JIBHI CAMP on the riverside on the outskirts of Jibhi offers Swiss tents and mud cottages in a large open space close to the waterfall (01903-227090/+91 94184 64764; jibhicamp.com; doubles from `2,500).

BANJARA COTTAGE AND RETREAT perched on a hilltop at Sojha village, is 5 km before Jalori Pass. It offers excellent views of the valley and Dhauladhar ranges. Ten rooms and cottages are available (95994 81133; www.banjaracamps.com; doubles from `4,900).

GUIDE FOR HIKES AND OTHER ACTIVITIES

Hikes can be done independently, since routes are well marked and frequented. Most of the guest houses can arrange guides, fishing permits, and camping, trekking, or angling equipment at a nominal fee (`700-1,000 per day, depending on the activities).

FISHING PERMIT

Fishing permits can be obtained from the Fisheries Officer at Nagini village near Banjar for `100, except from November to February, when angling is prohibited. Most of the guest houses can help procure a fishing permit.

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IN THE SHADOW OF KANCHENJUNGA EMBRACED AS FAMILY AT A HERITAGE GETAWAY IN SIKKIM | BY LYNN HILLOOWALA

When the light is right, the five peaks of Kanchenjunga are reflected in the swimming pool at Biksthang Heritage Farmhouse.

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The resort is located on the estate of the Sharkahlon family, who settled here in the early 18th century. They chose this spot for its remoteness. The family’s original house is still standing, and is currently the home of Dekyi Gyatso, a member of the 14th generation of the Sharkahlons.

Dekyi and her family, including Bolt, a lolloping St. Bernard, greeted us warmly. Staying with them was like visiting old friends, as the family took great care of us. The staff, all locals, had beautiful manners, and were wonderful with our baby.

The historic main house is straight out of a fairy tale with its pretty painted gables and balconies.

On the edge of its lawns a sprawling pinewood deck has comfortable armchairs, lacquered tables, driftwood, river stones, and pine cones artistically strewn about. Those too lazy to venture into the surrounding wilderness can enjoy mountain views and do their birdwatching right here.

family-friendly

heritage

PHOTO COURTESY: BIKSTHANG HERITAGE FARMHOUSE

B

iksthang is located among acres of pine and fruit trees in a pristine Himalayan hamlet in Sikkim. After a two-hour drive from Pelling, via some of the country’s worst roads made bearable by some great views, we arrived at the Biksthang Heritage Farmhouse. Every corner of Biksthang has breathtaking views of the peak of Kanchenjunga, the guardian deity of Sikkim.

The pleasant October air was scented with the aroma of deodar wood and pine needles, which are fed into clay incense burners that send swirls of smoke through the trees.

When planning a holiday with a baby, Sikkim did not exactly spring to mind. As a young couple, Sikkim to us meant treks, frozen lakes, and cup noodles by campfires. Would we be able to enjoy it with a seven-month-old? We decided to put all thoughts of high-altitude treks on hold and made our way to this farmhouse in West Sikkim.

■ S IK K IM

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Pelling

Gangtok

ì Biksthang Heritage Farmhouse

fishing gear. The riverside, with its white sandy banks fringed by high grass and flat rocks is perfect for picnicking and lounging, legs dangling in the clear water. Another day, Popo took us to the family monastery. We strapped the baby in his carrier and trekked to Lhuntse Gompa to see some wonderful murals restored by Bhutanese painters, and a panoramic view of Kanchenjunga and the mountains around.

Guests can visit an organic farm nearby, explore the Sunday market, and learn to make delicious momos in the homestay’s kitchen. Biksthang is remarkably interesting and ideal for anyone who doesn’t need a sightseeing list. In fact, we did not venture out much.

One crisp morning, with my husband and baby still asleep, I stood on the veranda with only the mountains and the soft, distant chant of monks for company. Warm and content, I felt enveloped in the immutable peace of Biksthang.

Getting There Biksthang is a 2-hr drive south of Pelling. It is 116 km/2 hr north of the nearest airport at Bagdogra. The closest railway station is at New Jalpaiguri (115 km/4.5 hr south).

The farmhouse’s 18th-century heritage wing (top left) has been carefully restored to maintain its original look; The property is perfect for al fresco meals (top right) enjoyed under the shade of fruit trees; The infinity pool (bottom right) overlooks a lush valley and the peaks of Kanchenjunga beyond.

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PHOTO COURTESY: BIKSTHANG HERITAGE FARMHOUSE

Around the main house are the guest rooms, which are individual wooden chalets, tucked between mandarin and cherry trees. Biksthang’s rustic appeal has just the right touch of luxury, such as the infinity pool jutting over the lush forested mountainside. Sometimes this pool captures the magical reflection of Kanchenjunga’s five peaks.

Other indulgences include taking a traditional hot stone bath in a wooden tub. For newlyweds, the honeymoon suite is on the most secluded patch of the property, surrounded by bamboo thickets and approached by its own private path.

Our cottage was close to the main house, and had a large fir tree in the front and a small private garden at the back. Though we were left an enormous bowlful of walnuts, fresh from the property’s walnut tree, my husband spent a good deal of this holiday under it foraging for more.

During our stay we feasted on roast pork, soft local cheese, even edible orchids. We enjoyed fruits picked from trees on the property: mandarins, chikoos, guavas, and persimmons, served with jellies, custards or, our favourite, a hearty chocolate and marmalade bread pudding. Our infant who had just started eating solid food enjoyed his carefully prepared dishes, and was right at home in a high chair that once held Dekyi’s daughter. Every meal, served in a different space, came with its own view. Breakfast was on the deck, to take advantage of the clear morning views of the five peaks. Lunch was served in a Sikkimese style room, with low seating and brightly painted tables. Dinner was in a stone-walled dungeon, now converted to an elegant dining room. We were offered chhang, the tantalisingly sweet millet beer brewed in-house, and served in silver-embossed wooden flasks.

Dekyi, her husband Namgyal (Popo), and their daughter accompanied us on a picnic to the river, packing food, drink, rugs, umbrellas, music, and

Accommodation Biksthang has standard rooms, two to a cottage (doubles `7,050), private cottages (doubles `8,050) and heritage suites in the main house (doubles `22,050). Prices include breakfast and dinner.

Set meals are varied (Sikkimese, North Indian, Chinese, and Continental) and can be tailored to special requirements. The months of October to March offer clearest views of the peaks (81700 15329; www.biksthang.com).

Inspire |

BELGIU MNorway

Estonia Russia

Latvia

Sweden

Lithuania Russia

Belarus

Ireland

Poland

Brussels BELGIUM

Ukraine

GERMANY

UNITED KINGDOM

Slovakia Moldova

FRANCE Hungary Romania Slovenia Croatia

FLOWER CARPET BRUSSELS, BELGIUM

Bosnia and Herzegovina

Serbia Bulgaria

San Marino

Kosovo Montenegro

Andorra

Macedonia

Vatican

Turkey Albania

Spain

ugal

Greece

Morocco

Every two years, Grand Place, the 15th-century Gothic town square at the heart of Brussels, gets a fragrant, colourful Tunisia Algeria makeover. The UNESCO World Heritage Site is covered with a 246-foot-long flower carpet made of begonias of different colours assembled in intricate patterns. The carpet is the centrepiece of a four-day event in mid-August featuring concerts and sound-and-light shows. It is always created using fragrant begonias, as Belgium is the largest cultivator of these vividly coloured blooms, producing about 60 million each year.

The first carpet was made in 1971 by landscape architect Etienne Stautemas and his team. In 2016, the flower carpet will be laid out for the 20th time and themed on Japan to celebrate 150 years of Belgo-Japanese friendship.

The creation of the carpet is an elaborate affair. A committee of graphic designers and landscape architects creates theme-based designs inspired by a variety of sources from 18th-century French tapestries to Turkish kilims. About 100 volunteer gardeners assemble this massive carpet of over 600,000 flowers, in 4-7 hours.

The best vantage point is the balcony of the Town Hall, open to the public only on the first day of the festival (times, ticket prices, and reservations at www.flowercarpet.brussels). —Rumela Basu

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BULGAR I A

Hungary

Slovenia Croatia

ROMANIA

SERBIA

Kazanlak BULGARIA

GREECE

Italy

ROSE FESTIVAL KAZANLAK, BULGARIA Malta

Imagine a fairy-tale land, scented with the sweet smell of roses. For 25 days between May and June, the region of Kazanlak in central Bulgaria turns into just such a place, fragrant with the scent of rosa damascena, an oilbearing rose bloom that’s cultivated here. The damask rose is used to make rose scent or attar that is very expensive since about 4,000 kilos of roses yield one litre of oil.

Prices start from €1,500/ `1.1 lakh for 200 ml. During this time, fields are covered in delicate pink blossoms and their blooming is celebrated with the Rose Festival.

First celebrated in 1903, the harvest festival begins with the ritual picking of blooms early in the morning, when their fragrance is most robust. When the harvesting is done, celebrations begin and the singing and dancing can sometimes go on all day. Young women wear gowns in the soft pink colour of the roses, men bring out their traditional finery, and everyone is adorned with rose-shaped ornaments.

Colourful parades pass through every town in the region. Over time, more modern elements like music concerts and gourmet events have also become part of the festival.

At the end of the festivities, which usually last two days, a young woman from the region is crowned the Rose Queen.

—Rumela Basu

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VENEZUELA

Medellin COLOMBIA BRAZIL PERU

FERIA DE LAS FLORES MEDELLIN, Chile COLOMBIA Argentina

For one week in July-August each year, Colombia’s second city, Medellin is bedecked with flowers and overrun with the spirit of carnival, celebrating Feria de las Flores, the festival of flowers. Events include a rally of vintage cars, a procession of horses, concerts and festivities, as well as food festivals and flower shows organised to flaunt the produce of the surrounding agricultural region of Antioquia.

However, the star of the six-decade old flower festival is Desfile de Silleteros, or the Flower Bearers’ Parade. This parade showcases elaborate flower arrangements created by silleteros, vendors who traditionally carried small wooden seats or silletas, filled with a stunning variety of flowers on their backs, to sell them in the city. The colourful arrangements can weigh up to 100 kilos and vendors try to outdo each other with elaborate arrangements that display their skills. Not surprisingly, they draw more interest than the decorative flower floats of the main procession around the central square.

—Rumela Basu

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TRAVEL QUIZ T E S T Y O U R T R AV E L I Q

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WHAT DO BIRDERS CALL A FLOCK OF FLAMINGOS?

WHAT DO THEY CALL COWBOYS ON SOUTH AMERICA’S PAMPAS?

WHICH COUNTRY GROWS WATERMELONS IN PERFECT CUBES?

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4

DINOSAURS ONCE RULED LARAMIDIA, AN ISLAND LANDMASS THAT FORMED THE WEST COAST OF WHICH CONTINENT?

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AN OLD GERMAN WORD FOR BRACELET GIVES A NAME TO WHICH POPULAR BREAD PRODUCT?

5 NAME THE SUBMERGED VERTICAL CAVE BELOVED BY DIVERS IN THE BELIZE BARRIER REEF.

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NAME THE UMBRIAN HILL TOWN THAT DRAWS PILGRIMS TO ITS BASILICA HONOURING ST. FRANCIS.

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THE DRAGON’S BLOOD TREE, KNOWN FOR ITS DARK RED SAP, IS NATIVE TO WHAT ISLAND IN THE INDIAN OCEAN?

WHAT AMERICAN FOOD PRODUCT DID MARGARET THATCHER REFER TO AS A “WARTIME DELICACY”?

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ANSWERS 1. FLAMBOYANCE 2. JAPAN 3. GAUCHOS 4. NORTH AMERICA 5. GREAT BLUE HOLE 6. ASSISI 7. BAGEL 8. SPAM 9. SOCOTRA

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SPIDERSTOCK/ISTOCKPHOTO (FLAMINGOS), JCPHOTO/ISTOCK PHOTO (FRUIT), HUGH SITTON/CORBIS (MAN), LUCIE LANG/SHUTTERSTOCK (DINOSAURS), ALEX ROBINSON/JAI/CORBIS (ATOLL), ROJO IMAGES/SHUTTERSTOCK (STATUE), MAESTROPHOTO/SHUTTERSTOCK (WHEAT), EPITAVI/ SHUTTERSTOCK (CUTLERY), LARS HALLSTROM/GETTY IMAGES (TREES)

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