Nat Geo Traveller October 2014

o c t o b e r 2 0 1 4 • ` 1 5 0 • VO L . 3

ISSUE 4

finding jOdhpur in the ramayan A

Masters craft of

Authentic Passages to Handmade Arts Dune Bashing in Dubai • Italy’s Finest Artisans • Geneva Trip Planner

October 2014

OUR READ LUSIVE EXC WEB RIES ON STO veller.in otra natge

CONTENTS

Volume

3

Issue

4

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

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Madhubani, Bihar

In Focus

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FINDING JODHPUR IN THE RAMAYANA

HANDMADE IN INDIA

INDIA BY DESIGN

TREASURES OF ITALY

Handicrafts aren’t just great souvenirs—they’re periscopes into a region’s culture. And sometimes, these creations alone are worthy of a trip.

The homes of india’s finest traditional handicrafts

Twenty places where you can witness craftsmanship in its highest form

BY MAMTA DALAL MANGALDAS PHOTOS BY NEIL GREENTREE

Journeys

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ELEMENTARY, MY DEAR

BEEN THERE, DUNE THAT

Seeking Sherlock Holmes across England

Dune bashing isn’t for the faint of heart, or weak of stomach

BY SHREYA SEN-HANDLEY

BY JANE DE SUZA

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BY KARANJEET KAUR

BY ISABELLA BREGA DINODIA (WOMEN), ALIYEH RIZVI (ICONS)

What links Ravana’s kingdom and the Rajasthani city?

o c t o b e r 2 0 1 4 • ` 1 5 0 • Vo L . 3

ISSUe 4

finding jOdhpur in the ramayana

On The Cover Neil Greentree is a photographer at the Smithsonian Museum in Washington D.C. He took this photograph of a miniature painting from the Ramayana manuscript collection of the Mehrangarh Museum Trust in Jodhpur, Rajasthan.

Masters craft of

Authentic Passages to Handmade Arts Dune Bashing in Dubai • Italy’s Finest Artisans • Geneva Trip Planner

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47

Voices

44 National Park

14 Tread Softly Change the way you travel, not the place you visit

make ema datsi, Bhutan’s fiery national dish

32 Point of Origin

Spot hundreds of bird species in Rajasthan’s Keoladeo

of the Philippines with a roughand-ready canoe trip

112 Learning Holiday

The divine, ghee-soaked Tirupati Temple laddu.

Super Structures

47 Urban Spirit

What impulses guide our fascination with royalty?

32 Bookshelf

A cooking class in Phnom Penh, garnished with Khmer culture and history

Novels with a sense of place

Castles and kings in the Czech capital of Prague

Short Breaks

18 Guest Column

34 The Landmark

51 The Landmark

116 From Bengaluru

The fate of the planet’s great destinations lies in our hands

The sacred and the profane meet in Bhaktapur

Beijing’s Giant Egg

Navigate

36 Experience

Smart Traveller

Madurai’s temples, palaces, and rose-flavoured jiggerthanda

20 Neighbourhood

A masterclass in Omani fashion from the Royal Opera House’s glamorous attendees

52 Money Manager

118 Stay

The good life, on a family holiday in Geneva

Jungle huts in Karnataka’s

38 Slice of Life

58 Checking In

24 48 Hours

The lure of bangles in Hyderabad’s Laad Bazaar

Score a room and a stunning view of the Aurora Borealis

Panda, tea, and hotpot in the Chinese city of Chengdu

40 Book Extract

Get Going

Thomas Bell on Kathmandu’s mythology, mysticism, and complicated social structure

110 Active Break

16 Far Corners

Brooklyn: Where New York’s tykes and literary types gather to play

30 Local Flavour Chilli and cheese join forces to

Discovering the natural beauty

misty BR Hills Sipping feni in the peaceful colonial side of South Goa

ADSTOCK/UIG/UNIVERSAL IMAGES/DINODIA (PANDAS), BJÖRN STEINZ (CHURCH), SUDHIR SHIVRAM (BIRD) NEIL GREENTREE (COVER)

10 Editor’s Note  12 Letters  120 Inspire 126 Big Shot  128 Travel Quiz

Editor’s Note | niloufer venkatraman

Simple Pleasures

I’m not quite sure what it is about children and digging in the sand, but obviously this particular life skill is innate OUR MISSION 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.

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NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | OCTOBER 2014

waiting, we watched a bunch of youngsters playing in the sand. They were, you guessed it, busy digging up the sand. Now one would think that to a bunch of local lads playing in sand surely holds no novelty. Yet, these boys were enthusiastically shovelling away. I’m not quite sure what it is about children and digging in the sand, but obviously this particular life skill is innate.

The dining room of the bungalow we were staying in has a bed-sized old teak swing, and that became my daughter’s next favourite. And so it was that this unplanned long weekend went by: digging holes in the sand and letting them fill up again, swinging, snacking on chikoos, fresh from the orchard, sampling local chikoo-flavoured ice-cream, eating Parsi food cooked the way it has been for generations in this wadi, and playing the occasional game of Uno. I find, the busier I am, the less spontaneous and more unwilling I’ve been to get out on the spur of the moment. But I’m learning that in fact, it’s these uncomplicated trips that require very little planning, that offer the simplest of pleasures, and work best to restore my energy and balance.

Next weekend I’m headed to Nargol, another coastal town with old Parsi bungalows, endless desolate beaches, fishing boats, and very little else. I know what I’m going to do when I get there. Get to the beach, and dig my feet in.

DINODIA

E

ven if I say so myself, I’m quite good at planning exciting, slightly unusual family holidays: Great Keppel Island, Kalimantan, the Adirondacks... they’ve all been done. I spend months planning, organising (sometimes agonising), making lists and reservations, and reading everything I can lay my hands on about the destination. Lately though, feeling swamped with work, I had felt miffed that we were already at the end of August, and I’d missed several long weekends during the year because I’d failed to plan ahead. It still irritated me that by the time I got around to planning my trip to Srinagar in May, the ticket prices were on par with a flight to Europe.

So a few days before Ganesh Chaturthi, at the end of August, when a friend mentioned feeling completely overwhelmed at work and in need of a break, I dropped a hint. For ten years we’d been talking of visiting his family’s chikoo wadi in Gholvad in northern Maharshtra, but nothing had ever come of it. So I popped the suggestion again, and before we knew it, we were driving down the Mumbai-Ahmedabad highway.

Their chikoo farm is right on the beach. It’s not a golden beach, but it’s long, and very, very wide. I’ve been to at least 30 beaches on four continents, but I’ve never encountered anything quite like the ones on this stretch of our 7,000+ kilometre coast. When the tide is out, you have to walk almost a kilometre on the placid continental shelf to reach the Arabian Sea. The tide leaves behind pools of water, a mixture of sand and mudflats, sections of mangrove and a pancakeflat beach as far as the eye can see. Herons and egrets come to feed on the sea creatures the waters leave behind, and there’s barely a soul in sight.

When we got to Gholvad, my eight-year-old quickly considered her options, and without much hesitation, announced: I want to go to the beach and dig holes in the sand.

That evening we drove to the little village of Jhai to see the fishing boats come in. As we were

Voices | guest column COSTAS CHRIST

Making it Right THE FATE OF MANY OF THE PLANET’S GREAT DESTINATIONS LIES IN OUR HANDS

Costas Christ is Editor-at-Large of National Geographic Traveler (U.S.) and is one of the world’s foremost experts on sustainable tourism.

Tourists Gone Wild In 1979, I was a 21-year-old

Battle of the Billionaires The super-rich have

backpacker who set out in search of paradise.

I found it in southern Thailand. Lost on Ko Phangan, I stumbled upon the brilliant sands of Haad Rin, a slice of tropical beauty beyond imagination. I stayed there a month, living off the land. I made a hand-drawn map of its location and vowed never to let the secret out.

But others discovered it, and my beach became the site of Thailand’s infamous and raucous Full Moon Party. Today Haad Rin represents tourism gone wrong; its sad decline sent me on a lifelong mission to help make tourism right for local people and the planet.

Haad Rin is one of four places featured in the new documentary Gringo Trails (www. gringotrails.com), by filmmaker/anthropologist Pegi Vail. She depicts—in sometimes shocking images—the bad, the ugly, and, yes, the good sides of tourism. Gringo Trails has been rolling out at film festivals and on college campuses, sparking much needed discussions about what it means to be a traveller. Postscript: I never returned to that beach. But as Gringo Trails points out, its fate and the fate of all special destinations rest partly in your hands.

long been known—accurately or not—for their competitiveness. Take Ernesto Bertarelli and Larry Ellison. The Swiss biotech billionaire and the American software billionaire–both sailors— fought bitterly in court over the America’s Cup yacht race. But luckily, some of the world’s one per cent are also engaged in a far worthier competition—protecting the planet’s seas and islands.

Bertarelli appears to have the early lead, having helped create two marine reserves. Chagos, 500 km south of the Maldives in the Indian Ocean, is the biggest in the world; Turneffe Atoll in Belize, Central America, while smaller, may be more critical, given that 70 per cent of the Caribbean’s reefs are threatened. Not content to sit on the sidelines, British tycoon Richard Branson pledged ongoing support for the Caribbean Challenge Initiative, which aims to protect 20 per cent of the Caribbean’s marine and coastal resources. Then there’s Ted Waitt, the personal computing entrepreneur, who is helping to expand Cabrera National Park in Spain’s Balearic Islands—an important spawning ground for the bluefin tuna. Competition can be a good thing. Let’s see more of it.

Pack a camera and track a rhino on foot with a local guide. Not only is it an exhilarating wildlife experience, but the rhino gets to live

Dallas Safari Club, a Texas-based hunting outfit in the U.S.A., came up with an unconventional idea for protecting the critically endangered African black rhino: Auction a permit to shoot one and donate the money for conservation.

An international furore followed, pitting protrophy-hunting groups and wildlife conservation advocates against each other. One side pointed out that the targeted rhino was an old male well past reproductive age. The other side argued that killing endangered animals for sport—even to raise funds for conservation causes—sends a contradictory message. Namibia, the country that offered the permit to shoot the rhino, is largely a conservation success story. But that has more to do with community-based ecotourism, a model that has shown that a living rhino can generate more income for conservation than one-off payments for dead ones. There are only about 4,880 black rhinos left in the world; these beasts are just steps away from extinction. What are enlightened travellers to do? My take: Hunting has its place, but not where the cross hairs are fixed on an endangered species. Pack a camera and track a rhino on foot with a local community guide. Not only is it an exhilarating wildlife experience, but the rhino gets to live. OCTOBER 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA

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BRIAN J. SKERRY/NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC CREATIVE

Shoot One to Save the Rest? In January, the

Navigate | neighbourhood

Navigate 24

48 HOURS

PANDAS, TEA, AND HOTPOT IN CHENGDU

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LOCAL FLAVOUR

BHUTAN’S FIERY NATIONAL DISH

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EXPERIENCE

NATIONAL PARK

THE ROYAL OPERA HOUSE OF OMAN

FLIGHTS OF FANCY AT KEOLADEO

Brooklyn is famed for its block parties, kerb-side gatherings open to all, with DJs and food stalls selling everything from maple-bacon cupcakes to locally brewed organic beer.

Much Ado About Brooklyn NEW YORK CITY’S MOST POPULAR BOROUGH IS WHERE TYKES AND LITERARY TYPES GATHER TO PLAY

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rooklyn is known for all the writers who live here: You can find them frowning at their laptops in their neighbourhood cafés, donning their noise-cancelling headphones to block out the clamour of the only other comparably populous group— children under five. As luck would have it, my Brooklyn lies

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I was worried I wouldn’t be cool enough for Brooklyn.

As it turns out, I’m not—and that’s fine

NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | OCTOBER 2014

at the intersection of these two sets of scribblers.

Before I moved here three years ago, I was worried I wouldn’t be cool enough for Brooklyn. As it turns out, I’m not—and that’s fine.

Brooklyn—with its milliners, its moustaches, its small-batch cupcakes for dogs—might even be tiring of its own hipness.

An artisanal spirit without the pretentiousness can be found at places such as Café Martin, in Park Slope, where the Irish owner is often behind the counter. “Why does that man have such a sulky look?” one pint-size customer recently inquired, over her hot chocolate.

Admittedly a bit taciturn, owner Martin O’Connell makes

RICHARD LEVINE/ALAMY/INDIAPICTURE

By NELL FREUDENBERGER

the best and among the most reasonably priced espresso drinks in the borough. A little farther north, Blueprint has a peaceful garden walled in by repurposed Brazilian walnut, where the Dark & Stormy, a drink with house-made ginger beer and lime, perfectly accompanies the Niman Ranch pork butt sliders.

One of the many things I love about the borough is its choice of bookshops. The Manhattan independents tend to be dark and crowded, both with shoppers and wares; not so Greenlight in Fort Greene, a clean and well-lit place, which also sells books at the Brooklyn Academy of Music’s Eat, Drink and Be Literary series. The Community Bookstore in Park Slope is more traditional, narrow and a little

musty, but with a whimsical children’s section and a pond full of turtles out back. The tiger cat, Tiny, is often napping sprawled across the table of new hardcover fiction. (Do not attempt to move her, even if her hindquarters are obscuring the cover of the novel that took you five years to write.)

When it’s nice outside and the cherry and dogwood trees are blooming, there’s no reason to be any place besides Prospect Park, where we’re regulars at the carousel and the zoo. On rainy days there’s Brooklyn Boulders in Gowanus; its colourful climbing walls accommodate everyone from the serious mountaineer to … well, me and my kid. Prospect Park’s historic carousel closes in the rain, but that’s arguably the

ATLAS

New York, U.S.A.

In 1835, American poet Walt Whitman served as librarian of the Brooklyn Apprentices’ Library, the borough’s first free and circulating collection.

best time to visit Jane’s Carousel on the waterfront in DUMBO (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass). Designed by Jean Nouvel, it is encased in a glass box that becomes a kind of submarine with water streaming down its walls, blurring the barges gliding by on the East River.

Just a few steps away on Front Street is Berl’s: the only all-poetry bookstore in New York City. Its owners, married poets Jared White and Farrah Field, sold chapbooks at the Brooklyn Flea for years before opening Berl’s last September.

“It’s hard to take a baby to work at a flea market,” White explained—a good reminder that even writers have to grow up sometime, and Brooklyn is a pretty nice place to do it.

OCTOBER 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA

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RAYMOND PATRICK

Park Slope’s historic brownstones (left) and Fort Greene’s Greenlight Bookstore (right) are neighbourhood standouts.

Super Structures | the landmark

The Giant Egg BEIJING’S NATIONAL CENTRE FOR THE PERFORMING ARTS STANDS OUT IN AN AREA DOMINATED BY CHINA’S MOST ICONIC BUILDINGS | By TUSHAR ABHICHANDANI

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eijing’s National Centre for the Performing Arts (or Beijing National Grand Theatre) can look like a giant pearl, a massive drop of mercury, or even a futuristic spaceship waiting to take off, depending on your vantage point and your imagination. Locals however, prefer to call it “The Egg”—some affectionately, and others in mockery. This ultra-modern, ellipsoid-shaped complex is covered with glass and titanium panels, which give it the appearance of a partially open shell. At night, 506 mushroomshaped lights bring the building’s exterior to life and form intricate patterns.

Surrounded by a giant lake on all sides, the structure appears half submerged, as if floating on water. Around the lake is a green belt the size of five football pitches that is formed by thousands of trees, paved walkways, and recreational squares.

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The design thrives on the contrast between the natural and the manmade, while also creating a sense of serenity with its flowing features. The Chinese structure has its admirers, but its detractors believe that it has ruined the traditional aesthetic of the area, which includes historic architectural masterpieces such as the Forbidden City, Tiananmen Square, and the Great Hall of the People—the equivalent of China’s parliament building.

Opinions differ, but the NCPA continues to attract thousands of tourists and patrons each year.

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In feet, the approximate depth of the NCPA. Of all of Beijing’s buildings, it has the largest subterranean expanse.

NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | OCTOBER 2014

Most visitors are floored by what they experience inside. The building doesn’t have an overground entrance to avoid a rupture in the structure’s smooth exterior. Visitors enter through glass passages under the lake, giving them a view of the water above. The main reception area is right under the glass facade. The transparent shell provides light during the day, and gives those on the outside a view of the interior at night. Performance venues within the centre include an opera house, a concert hall, and a theatre. Each of these has a 360-degree seating plan with interiors that fuse traditional Chinese and Western styles. Since it was unveiled in 2007, the venue has witnessed concerts conducted by Zubin Mehta, performances by the Royal Shakespeare Company, and even a stage adaptation of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings.

BEST VIEW STOCK/DINODIA

The futuristic-looking shell of the National Centre for the Performing Arts is made up of 18,000 titanium sheets and 1,000 glass panels.

Smart Traveller | checking in

Turn On the Northern Lights

Iceland’s ultra-modern Ion Hotel, near Thingvellir National Park, is an ideal spot to watch the aurora borealis, which can appear on a clear night from September through April.

LYNGEN LODGE

FOREST HOTEL

ION HOTEL

Sandwiched between fjord and mountain, this cosy grass-roofed lodge overlooks Norwegian tundra, through which guests can mush a team of sled dogs. Evening photography tutorials demonstrate how to capture the surest shots of the aurora borealis, and night-time wake-up calls guarantee guests will be out of bed and cameraready when the northern lights put on their show.

The vast, light-pollution-free skies capping this family-run wilderness retreat on the banks of the frozen Tärendö River, in Swedish Lapland, offer an IMAX-worthy screen for the aurora borealis. Guests can chase it on snowshoes, cross-country skis, or nocturnal snowmobile safaris. For warmer cultural immersions, choose a reindeer barbecue in a native Sami tepee or a birchwood-fire sauna.

Surrounded by hot springs, lava fields, and glaciers, this Icelandic hotel features glass walls, recycled wood, and guest rooms adorned with photographs of the famous Icelandic horses, some of which are nearby, ready for riding. Glacier walks offer another eco-adventure. Back in the hotel bar, guests can toast views of the shimmering spectacle with a selection of local microbrews.

DJUPVIK, NORWAY; from 2,054 Norwegian kroner/`19,600 per person including all meals

TÄRENDÖ, SWEDEN; from 1,520 Swedish kronor/`13,000 including breakfast and sauna

NESJAVELLIR, ICELAND; from 33,500 Icelandic kronur/`17,000 including breakfast

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ARCTIC IMAGES/ALAMY (AURORA BOREALIS), GRAHAM AUSTICK (LODGE), FOREST HOTEL (REINDEER), ION HOTEL (POOL)

SCORE A ROOM AND A STUNNING VIEW OF THE AURORA BOREALIS | By RAPHAEL KADUSHIN

In Focus | masters of craft

India is a treasure chest of indigenous handicrafts, and every embroidered shawl and sculpted jewel box has deep roots in the land it originates from. Entrenched in the history of a place, traditional artefacts aren’t just great souvenirs—they are mini periscopes into a region’s culture and geography.

And sometimes, these creations alone are worthy of a trip.

india

Channapatna, Karnataka

LACQUERED WOODEN TOYS FOR CHILDREN OF ALL AGES CHANNAPATNA IS ALSO CALLED Gombe gala Ooru “toy town”—handy to know when you’re asking for directions to this little town. It’s largely nondescript, save for a narrow main road lined with stalls selling wooden toys. On display here, are rows and rows of orange, ochre, and parrotgreen figurines shaped like monkeys, matryoshka dolls, caterpillars, kitchen sets, pundits, and bobbling Bharatnatyam dancers that boogie at the faintest touch. They are the pride of this Kannadiga town, only 60 km southwest of Bengaluru, and one of many products from the state to have earned the Geographical Indication (GI) tag, an international label awarded to products from a specific location.

Channapatna’s toys supposedly date back to the era of Tipu Sultan. The fierce 18th-century ruler was a great admirer of wooden crafts and invited Persian artisans to Mysore, to teach local craftsmen. Traditionally, the toys were handcrafted from rosewood, sandalwood, even ivory, and lacquered using resin and vegetable dyes. Ecofriendly paints are still used by some of the 5,000odd local artisans that practise the craft, but with more inexpensive wood like pine and rubber.

Sadly, many others resort to the use of synthetic tints. “Look for tonal gradation,” advises Atul Johri, a contemporary designer who works closely

with the artisans in Channapatna. “They indicate the toys have been made using natural shellac instead of artificial paint.”

They might be designed for children, but the allure of Channapatna’s toys is ageless. Visit the town over a weekend and you’ll see small groups (of adults) giggling over dancing puppets, wooden snails that glide gracefully along countertops, and miniature mazes involving pretty wooden damsels. Many stores have an attached workshop where curious travellers can watch artisans handsculpt the wood.

GETTING THERE Channapatna is 60 km/1.5 hrs from Bengaluru on the Bangalore-Mysore Highway. It is connected to the state capital by train and bus.

WHERE TO BUY To see the artists at work, visit Kala Nagar, the artistan’s colony set up by the government of India. The cluster of home-workshops is close to the crafts facility. Craftsmen also sell their wares at stalls along Mysore Road.

Select products carefully though, for some stores are known to stock massproduced imitations.

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NAVEEN IQBAL/GETTY IMAGES (DOLLS), ROBERT HARDING PICTURE LIBRARY/DINODIA (HORSE), MALVEN57/SHUTTERSTOCK (FABRIC TEXTURE)

BY NEHA SUMITRAN

In Focus | masters of craft Bidar, Karnataka

SULTANS OF SILVER

Leh, Jammu & Kashmir

BUTTER TEA AND DRAGON-EMBOSSED TABLES

BY SIMAR PREET KAUR TRAVELLERS WHO HAVE VISITED Ladakh may be familiar with chogtses, the low wooden tables that are an indispensible part of trans-Himalayan homes. In a monastery, the chogtse is used as a meditation table where monks place the scriptures from which they recite. More elaborate, painted specimens are placed in front of the altar and bear butter lamps lit for the resident deity. In homes and at restaurants in busy Leh, steaming bowls of thukpa, followed by cups of salty butter tea, are served on the chogtse. They occupy pride of place in the homes of rich Ladakhi businessmen and in the wind-lashed tents of the nomads of the remote Changthang region.

The chogtse, like Ladakh’s hand-spun yak-wool clothing, is a result of its people’s needs, characterised by their centuries-old nomadic lifestyle. They are designed as three-sided folding tables, so that they can be easily transported. N. Rigzin’s shop, considered one of the best in Leh, has numerous finely crafted pieces. They come from several craftsmen; some in Leh, others from the villages of Choglamsar and Wanla, long considered the woodcarving capital of Ladakh. Each panel in his willow-wood tables is individually crafted and then integrated into the frame using a simple dovetailing technique. Depending on the complexity of the design, a chogtse can take between a fortnight and two months to complete. The painting of deep crimsons, rich yellows, and vibrant oranges takes about three days. “Traditionally, mineral pigments were used to render the snow lions, dragons, clouds, conch shells, and lotus motifs carved on the table,” Rigzin says. “But now, the finished product is so richly detailed that customers prefer to have it simply polished. You can still see the earliest painted chogtses in the ancient gompas of Hemis and Alchi.”

GETTING THERE Leh is the capital of Ladakh, a dry, high-altitude region in the state of Jammu & Kashmir. There are weekly flights and a daily bus that connect Leh and Delhi.

WHERE TO BUY N. Rigzin Wood Carving & Handicrafts, first floor, Chemdey Labrang, near ITBF; 94199 61510/96222 79488. Small, painted tables are priced upwards of `3,000, while large, intricately carved ones (usually bought in pairs) can cost up to `60,000.

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NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | OCTOBER 2014

BAHMANI RULERS WERE GENEROUS patrons of the arts. Sultans from the dynasty, which ruled the Deccan between the 1300s and 1500s, were as passionate about culture as they were about military strategy. Evidence of both these loves can still be found in Bidar, a small but astounding town in a dusty part of north Karnataka. The heart of the town has the soaring Chaubara Tower, and the beautiful ruins of the Mahmud Gawan Madrasa, the Arabic university for advanced learning. In its smaller lanes, artisans hammer and shine silver in their modest stores, keeping another Bahmani tradition alive: delicate Bidri art.

I see young artisans meticulously engraving black metal with silver wire. Some are shaping crescent moons; others are etching stars and flower motifs. There are elephant-shaped souvenirs, hookahs, trinket boxes, decanters, and jewellery. I wonder how many of these artefacts had a place in Bahmani chambers. As I scan the shelves, the artisan tells me about the process: an alloy of copper and zinc is treated with various chemicals and then mixed with soil collected in the vicinity of the imposing Bidar Fort. The quality of the soil is tested, he claims, by tasting it.

I am captivated by the shopkeeper’s explanation and the volume of his collection, and leave with far more than I had intended. Most precious among my purchases is a richly embellished plate that now hangs on my wall, bringing a part of Bidar’s antiquity to my contemporary home. Every now and then, when the sun catches its silverwork, it takes me back to that dusty Kannadiga town with a heady history.

GETTING THERE Bidar is 690 km/13 hrs north of Bengaluru and is connected by bus and train to Bangalore City Junction. Hyderabad, 150km/ 4 hrs away, is the closest airport. ­Auto­­­rickshaws are the best way to get around.

WHERE TO BUY Bidriware can be bought from stores on Kusum Galli at Chaubara road, in the heart of the city.

Small souvenirs start at `250. Costs depend on the size and intricacy of the work.

IP-BALCK/INDIAPICTURE (SILVERWARE), PARIKHIT RAO (WOODEN CHEST)

BY AMRITA DAS

india

Panjim, Goa

GOAN TILES WITH A PORTUGUESE GLAZE

BY FERNANDO LOBO bungalow, I’m greeted by bright tiles in all hues and shapes, some name plaques, some more tiles marked “Mario”, and some artistic representations of a bygone era. There are tiles portraying render (the Goan toddy-tapper), poder (baker), taverna (pub), and Goa serenata, a guitarist serenading his lover on the balcão of her home.

Noronha isn’t the craft’s only champion. Velha Goa is another local azulejos institution, whose art can be seen in the renovated chapel in Pilar, 13 km south of Panjim. The interior of the church, altar included, is decorated with azulejo ceramic. The government too supports the art, with a workshop in Bicholim, some 33 km northeast of Panjim. But Noronha is Goa’s azulejo superstar. His work adorns five-star hotel lobbies, Goa’s central library, and several hundred homes.

I visit his workshop, four kilometres from Panjim, in St. Inez where I see how the azulejo takes form. The clay tile (usually 6x6 inches) is fired in the furnace, glazed, painted on, and then fired again, to fuse the paint with the tile. According to Noronha, more and more people want azulejos, especially those inscribed with their names— a nod to Goa’s past as well as present.

GETTING THERE Panjim, Goa’s capital, is easily access­ible.

Pilar is 13 km/20 mins south of Panjim, while Bicholim is 33 km/ 1 hour away.

WHERE TO BUY Azulejos de Goa, 7/1, M.G. Road, opp Club Nacional, Panjim; 0832-­2431900, 98230 86867; azulejos degoa.com. Velha Goa, House No. 191, Rua de Ourem, Fontainhas, Panjim; 0832-2735294; velhagoa.com. Azulejos Tile Centre, Shed No. D2/13, Bicholim Industrial Estate, Bicholim; 0832-2360062; www. ghrssidc.org/handicrafts/handicraftsfacility/azulejos-tilepainting.

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GREG ELMS/GETTY IMAGES

BLINK AND YOU’LL MISS IT. Just opposite Club Nacional on the Panjim Riviera is a tiny lane that takes you straight out of Goa’s capital and into the heart of Alfama, Portugal. The quaint pathway leads to Azulejos de Goa, a 250-yearold mansion that Orlando de Noronha painstakingly redesigned to resemble a house in Lisbon’s oldest district. “But this is with a Goan touch,” he tells me at the door. The house has the finest example of Goa’s azulejos, the distinctive coloured tiles that you see around the older parts of some Iberian countries. The first thing I see as I enter is a Mario Gallery, exhibiting tiles based on the eminent Goan cartoonist Mario de Miranda’s art.

Azulejos are all over the sunshine state, adorning churches, hotel lobbies, and homes, especially in old neighbourhoods like Fontainhas in Panjim.

They were introduced by Portuguese colonisers in the 19th century, and are still a vital part of the Latin cultural landscape. In Goa, however, the art slowly died after liberation in the 1960s—until 1998, when Noronha, fresh from a scholarship to Portugal, began producing them locally with paints imported from Portugal.

Going up the rickety wooden staircase of the

It is common for all four wheels of the dune-bashing vehicle to be off the ground while driving over the Rub’ Al Khali dunes, some of which are 1,000 feet in height.

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Journeys | family time

ENYO MANZANO PHOTOGRAPHY/MOMENT OPEN/GETTY IMAGES

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Journeys | family time

The

cloud of dust makes it impossible to see anything through the windshield as the Land Cruiser careens at an alarming 45-degree angle, clinging onto the ridiculously narrow ridge of a sand dune. I wish I had a remote control to change the channel. Unfortunately, I am living it. As this dune-bashing trip in the Arabian Desert takes us screeching, tilting, swinging across the sand, I grab on in desperation to someone’s seat, someone else’s arm, and my half-digested lunch.

All travel brochures about the Middle East speak beguilingly about the desert safari. Before you die, they urge, you must travel up to Dubai’s Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world. And once you have touched the sky from the viewing deck on the 124th floor, you have to go dune bashing and die soul-satisfied, your jeep turned turtle, buried in sand.

I exaggerate, of course. The package put together for the desert safari—a slice of Bedouin life, they promise—is as gilded as any of the gold coins sold in the souks. Original Bedouins, or Badawiyin, Arabic for desert-dwellers, lived an undoubtedly harder life in tents, hard-pressed for food and water, before the oil boom catapulted them to prosperity. But tonight, we are to be treated to an Arabian Nights fantasy, crafted out of stretches of sand, sun, and smoking shishas. I can’t wait.

We have flown out to Dubai to be with friends, and since our two young boys threaten to grow roots in the air-conditioned malls, we decide to haul them off to the great outdoors. Three families team up to hit those dunes. We are picked up from Dubai mid-afternoon, and driven southwest on the Hatta Road.

The desert safari offers riding, dancing, dinner, and a sunset thrown in for free.

To notch up the mood, the driver stops at a remote outburst of stalls selling everything from magnets to souvenir camels of all sizes, materials, and digestive disorders, judging by their uniformly disgruntled expressions. There are eerie ceramic eyes dangling everywhere. I’m told they’re talismans meant to protect one from the evil eye, nadhar. The talismans mostly feature a blue evil eye, to ward off the Westerner’s often unintentionally evil eye, it is explained. I zero in on a slinky chiffon hip scarf, aglitter with coin-sized sequins, which seems app­ ropriately Bedouin-glam.

When we reach our spot in the Al Aweer Desert, we swerve off-road towards a cluster of people and camels. Then we wait, in the baking heat of the Arabian April—desert as far as the eye can see, vehicles still bringing in excited tourists—until a cloud of smoke and sand on the horizon announces our rides. Thirty white Land Cruisers zoom in like well-trained seals, kicking up a private sandstorm. The drivers jump out, and proceed to let out some air from the tyres so that they will grip the sand better.

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Our driver is the chatty type. He wants to discuss our genealogical roots and the Asian economy, while on his gravity-defying stunts. This involves him draping an arm casually over his seat, while he turns back to talk to us. Keep your eyes on the road, we’d have yelled, but there is no road. A dune as large as a two-storeyed building looms up ahead, and he gamely drives right into it, up, and then, almost free-falling, brakes his way down the other side. Citing medical reasons like spine surgery, some of us adults have been promised a slow car. “No fear, no worry, very slow, very safe,” we are told. We proceed to break speed records, race the others on our stretch, and send sand and blood pressure spiralling as we hurtle along. After scraping sideways on the sliding edge of a sand dune, and twisting middune on to another, he turns towards us with a smile. “There are no slow cars,” he confesses.

Nevertheless, dune bashing is a thrill. For the kids, it’s like a sugar rush. Ours have the wild-eyed look and hoarse throats from half an hour of whooping in glee. Disappointed somewhat, that there are no wild beasts on the safari’s next challenge, one of the kids says hopefully, “Maybe they’ll give us poisonous snakes.” For others, the dune bashing is a chance to push one’s limits—and to bite off one’s cuticles.

The camp we’re headed to lies in a valley. It’s really a large square around a central stage, walled-in by stalls selling souvenirs, spices, and carpets. The doshak or seating area is set up like the quintessential Arab majlis, a central courtyard of sorts where a sheikh traditionally hosted his guests over dates and coffee. Rough camel and goat-hair rugs and cushions called tekay are thrown around low tables. The cloud of smoke in one stall lifts to unveil a string of youth lounging around shishas. In another, a woman etches henna tattoos on to eager palms. There is even a stall offering Arab garb, the white thawb or dishdasha for men, and the black abaya for women. (Having given in to the temptation of dressing up Arabian, I wake up to the perils next morning, when some not-very-flattering pictures of me make it to Facebook.)

Then the cry goes up—the sun is setting! People rush up, cradling cameras, to the top of the nearest dune. And once its audience is ready, the magnificent desert sun, a brilliant red scorcher,

Camel racing is a popular sport in the UAE. Some camels can run at speeds of 60 km per hour. For the benefit of flustered first-time riders, however, they’re led at a much slower pace.

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A dune as large as a twostoreyed building looms up ahead, and he gamely drives right into it, up, and then almost free-falling, brakes his way down the other side 104

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Effort is made to ensure that the four-wheel drive in the desert is safe. Drivers need to have at least three years experience before taking passengers, and their cars need higher clearance, modified suspension, high manoeuvrability, and wide-rimmed tyres.

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Get Going | philippines

Adventure INTENSITY THE RIVER CROSSES 14 RAPIDS, WHICH MAKES THE RIDE THRILLING BUT NOT STRENUOUS LIKE WHITE WATER RAFTING. SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN OVER SIX.

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In feet, the height from which the waters of Pagsanjan Falls storm to the ground.

Easy Moderate

Demanding

The return canoe trip to Pagsanjan Falls goes over a series of big and small rapids and rocks, through a beautiful, green gorge.

SKILFUL MANOEUVRES A rough-and-ready canoe trip reveals the natural beauty of the Philippines text & photographs by vaibhav mehta

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wo adroit boatmen swing from rock to rock like acrobats, propelling our canoe upstream with swift, harmonious movements. I could well be watching an indigenous Filipino dance performance. The routine is tiring and drains the men, as they manoeuvre and occasionally lift and drag the canoe along a safe route.

This rough-and-tumble exercise—locally labelled “shooting the rapids”—has drawn adventurers for over a century to Pagsanjan Falls and Gorge in the Philippines’s Laguna Province. My journey had a tame beginning a couple of hours earlier in Pagsanjan town, located at the confluence of the Bumbungan and Balanac Rivers. The canoe floated along at an indolent pace, while I observed tourists snorkelling and daily

life on the banks. The boatmen seemed to be relaxing too. I then realised that our canoe had been tethered to another one, and then another, and the whole caravan was hitched to a motorboat. After steering through still waters for around 30 minutes, the canoes began bouncing over small rapids, and were quickly detached from the motorboat.

That’s when the real adventure began. The landscape changed dramatically: the river narrowed and the water turned a darker shade of green as we negotiated the Pagsanjan Gorge. The skilled boatmen had been conserving their energy to control the boat on this treacherous section. They were soon jumping in and out of the boat, shoving it this way and that. They had to move fast, using their hands and feet to push the canoe away from rocky obstacles, sometimes even hauling it where the water level was low. As the light boat swayed and lurched its way upstream, I was glad I’d eaten a light breakfast. Midway through the journey, the boatmen took a break at Talahib Falls, one of the three drops of Pagsanjan.

The tense, back-breaking ride ends at a pool at the base of the falls. From there I am transferred to a bamboo raft that takes me right under its untamed waters and inside Devil’s Cave, behind the falls. I even get off the raft and go under the waterfall again and again, holding tightly to a safety rope there.

The only other way to reach the falls is via a 90-minute hike from the Pueblo El Salvador Nature Park & Picnic Grove in Cavinti, which is the nearest town. A steep, steel ladder leads to the top, but does not afford a view of the second drop. You might not be soaked by the time you reach the top, but the hike doesn’t hold a candle to the canoe ride.

The few minutes I spent under the falls turned out to be the uncontested highlight of my Philippines holiday. My heart skips more than a few beats; I gasp for breath as the water, gushing from

Steering the boat down the Pagsanjan River is an acrobatic feat. The agile boatmen (top) often leap off to push the canoe through narrow sections​; Bamboo rafts take visitors under Pagsanjan Falls and into Devil’s Cave behind the curtain of water (bottom).

a height of 318 feet, descends upon me. The return journey is made over the same 14-16 rapids we had come up on. This time, however, I know what to expect and am a lot more relaxed. I admire the area’s natural beauty, and observe the proficient boatmen with newfound respect.

Watching their measured, rhythmic movements is a placid end to an action-packed day.

THE GUIDE Pagsanjan is 110 km/2 hrs south of Manila in the town of Cavinti. The 16-km canoe and raft ride costs 1,990 Philippine pesos/`2,758 per person (and includes pick-up and drop to Manila), but can vary depending on the number of people in group (pagsanjantour.blogspot.in).

The trip is meant for the dry season (Oct-May), and is closed during the rains (June-Sep).

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GUIDED BY the Goddess

A rose-flavoured drink enhances a cultural exploration of Madurai

By Kamala Thiagarajan

2+ DAY S

Every inch of the towering gopurams (pyramidal gates) of Madurai’s Meenakshi Amman Temple, is covered with colourful stucco figures of Hindu mythological deities and celestial beings.

“So which spirit rules your home? Is it Madurai?” asks a turbaned fortune teller perched on a kerb, grinning cheekily.

Before I can recover from my surprise and respond, he melts into the shadows of gathering dusk. I ponder his question as I stroll through the narrow lanes leading from the magnificent Meenakshi Amman or Meenakshi Sundareshwar temple.

It is an enquiry repeated often in this temple city and is bound to confuse visitors until they are aware of the myth that sparked it. For centuries, locals have embraced Meenakshi, the fish-eyed one, believed to be an incarnation of Parvati, as Madurai’s patron goddess. She was the daughter of a Pandya king who ruled these parts and married Lord Shiva. If the spirit of

Madurai “rules your home”, the woman/wife is more powerful. That’s the way the goddess is celebrated and cherished at the Meenakshi Temple, while Shiva takes a backseat. Locals consider it the ultimate tribute to womanhood.

In the old days, life revolved around the temple, so the city’s streets were built in concentric circles around it. Even today this area is a thriving hotbed of activity, but there is a lot to experience within and beyond Madurai. Elephant Hill, for instance, is located on the city’s outskirts (25 km northeast of the temple). The 10-minute trek to the top affords a spellbinding view of the holy city, and the beautiful, ancient Jain inscriptions at a cave there offer a glimpse into its syncretic past.

THE VITALS

Madurai is the third largest city in Tamil Nadu, 460 km/9 hours southwest of the state capital Chennai. Several buses and trains run between the two cities, including the twice-weekly Chennai Central-Madurai Duronto and the Chennai Egmore-Guruvayoor Express that departs daily. Madurai Airport, 12 km from the city centre, is connected via several daily flights to Chennai.

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HAL BERAL/ENCYLOPEDIA/CORBIS/IMAGELIBRARY

the insider

Short Breaks | from chennai

madurai

four ways to explore MARKET OF MULTITUDES

intricate friezes of dancers and deities prance across the inner arches, many of them painted in brilliant red and green. It is said that the palace was originally four times larger but was destroyed in a fire started

by Chokkanatha Nayak, Thiru­ malai Nayak’s grandson. It was partially restored in 1866-72

by Lord Napier, then Governor of Madras (daily 9 a.m.-5 p.m.; entry `5; sound & light show daily at 6.45 p.m.; tickets `10).

I avoid auto­rick­shaws, cyclists, and a menagerie of animals on Manjanakara Street in central Madurai and come to a stop at a breathtaking sculpture. It is the gigantic, colourful Nandi that guards the entrance to the Pudhu Mandapam shopping centre.

Originally built in the 17th century as an annexe to the Meenakshi Amman Temple, the labyrinth of stores is rumoured to be connected to the shrine via an underground passage. Nearly 300 shop­ keepers sell their wares in a large hall punctuated by carved pillars and statues.

You can buy everything here: glittering sequins, jewelled embellishments, hair accessories, and special dhotis to dress the gods. At Raja Stores, I find the rare thazhampoo kungumam, a rich red kumkum scented with the screw-pine flower, which is used in Maha Shivratri rituals.

Hundreds of stone statues in various stages of completion dot Vellalar Street in Vela­ cherry, 8 km southwest of the temple. A fiery yaksha (benevolent nature spirit) stares at me with beady eyes, while many others lie face down, bleached white by the blazing sun. The workshops are bare, but shelves sag with an array of terracotta sculptures. Beautifully painted mud and plaster-of-Paris idols are laid out to dry on the floor.

All these handmade sculptures are much in demand during Navratri celebrations.

THIRUMALAI NAYAKAR PALACE Dozens of massive white pillars lead into the vast courtyard of Thirumalai Nayakar Palace. I am stunned by their girth: It would take at least three adults, arms linked, to encircle one. The palace’s beautiful arches and latticed windows appear European. That impression is confirmed by a signboard: King Thirumalai Nayak had commissioned an Italian architect to build the palace in 1636. Everywhere I look, a beautiful shade of sunshine yellow gleams from the archways.

The palace shrine’s inner dome is covered in gold, and

COLD, COLD HEART

The sculptors of Velachery’s potters’ colony (top) produce hundreds of idols for Navratri celebrations; The grand Thirumalai Nayakar Palace (middle), renowned for its imposing pillars, is a fusion of Dravidian and Indo-Saracenic architectural styles; Each year the Madurai district produces over 10,000 tonnes of Madurai malli, the unique jasmine flower (bottom) of the region that is prized for its heady fragrance and long shelf life.

It looks like rose-tinted slush but tastes like ambrosia. The refreshing, although shock­ ingly sweet jiggerthanda is a great way to experience Madurai’s culinary flourishes.

There is no one recipe and most vendors won’t share information on the ingredients they put in it. For `35-50, patrons are served a glass of chilled milk, cream, rose syrup, vanilla ice cream, crushed almonds, china grass, and bits of fruity jelly. It is delicious and supposed to cool your heart— perfect for this arid land.

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KAMALA THIAGARAJAN (STATUES), DINODIA (PILLARS), V. MUTHURAMAN/AGE FOTOSTOCK/DINODIA (FLOWERS)

VELACHERRY’S SCULPTORS