NGT India August 2014

A U G U S T 2 0 1 4 • ` 1 5 0 • VO L . 3

ISSUE 2

Secrets of the

NORTHEAST ManipurNagalandMeghalaya AssamMizoramTripura Arunachal Pradesh

A SCOTTISH OBSESSION  CALIFORNIA’S HIPPIE TRAIL  PHUKET ADVENTURE

August 2014

ING WRIT 0 L E V TRA EST P. 5 CONT ONTESTS OC PHOT & P. 121 P. 52

CONTENTS

Volume

3

Issue

2

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

94

Inner Hebrides, Scotland

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64

70

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MYTH, MYSTERY, AND UNEXPLORED BEAUTY

LIVING LEGACY

HUNT FOR A BURNING BIRD

THE MEN UNDER THE GROUND

Visions of a sublime life among the thick forests and mist-laden falls of the Khasi Hills

The search for a World War II wreck leads deep into a forest beyond the blue mountains

Battlefield tours in Manipur lift one of the most terrible wars ever fought out of the shadow of oblivion

Redolent with promise of the unexpected, the seven sister states of India’s northeast present a tableau of cultural and geographic gems

TEXT & PHOTOGRAPHS BY NEELIMA VALLANGI

BY SHAHWAR HUSSAIN PHOTOGRAPHS BY ANUJ SINGH

Journeys

6

86

94

CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’

MY SCOTTISH OBSESSION

A mother takes her son on the long and winding hippie trail she left behind decades ago

Atlantic gales and defiant landscapes exhilarate this fan of the Inner Hebrides

BY BARBARA GRAHAM PHOTOGRAPHS BY CLAY McLACHLAN

TEXT & PHOTOGRAPHS BY JIM RICHARDSON

NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | AUGUST 2014

BY RAGHU KARNAD ILLUSTRATIONS BY CLAY RODERY

JIM RICHARDSON/NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC SOCIETY/CORBIS/IMAGELIBRARY

In Focus

A u g u s t 2 0 1 4 • ` 1 5 0 • VO L . 3

IssuE 2

Secrets of the

NOrthEAst ManipurNagaland Meghalaya AssamMizoram Arunachal Pradesh

A sCOttIsh OBsEssION  CALIFOrNIA’s hIPPIE trAIL  PhukEt AdVENturE

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On The Cover This photo of the Karbis of Assam was shot

by Varun Mehta, winner of the National Geographic Channel show, Nat Geo Cover Shot: Mission Northeast. The group is seen performing the Chong Kedam, a dance that narrates the story of their migration from China to the hills of Assam, on the banks of the Brahmaputra River.

12 Editor’s Note  14 Inbox  16 NGT Connect 121 Big Shot  122 Inspire  128 Travel Quiz

104

Voices

44 Local Flavour

18 Tread Softly Burden of the beasts

Tracing the world’s first hamburger in New Haven, Connecticut

20 Far Corners

46 Book Extract

Football without borders

22 Crew Cut

Green Wars tracks some of the biggest environmental concerns of our time

Embarrassment can be a social lubricant

Get Going

24 Guest Column

104 Adventure

Scammed and glad for it

Navigate

Jet-skiing, racing karts, and bungee jumping in Phuket, Thailand

26 Heritage

110 Underwater

A historic stepwell and India’s youngest national park earn UNESCO World Heritage status

Diving with sharks aound Malpelo Island, Colombia

28 National Park Sailana Bird Sanctuary’s elusive lesser floricans

32 Taste of Travel Appams, stew, and Calicut’s best breakfasts

36 Geotourism Saving turtles in the Chambal

AYAN82/GETTY IMAGES (DOLLS), GABRIEL FRAGA DE CAL (POT), F. STUART WESTMORLAND/SCIENCE FACTION/CORBIS/IMAGELIBRARY (TURTLE) VARUN MEHTA (COVER)

40

Short Breaks

112 From Mumbai The long arc of history in Junagadh, Gujarat

116 From Chennai Beyond Thanjavur’s Brihadeshwara Temple

118 Stay Contemporary colonial

40 The Drink Mythical monkeys and the cradle of China’s tea culture

chic in Goa Among the orchards near Srinagar’s Dal Lake

AUGUST 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA

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Editor’s Note | niloufer venkatraman

It was, in every way, a stupendously stunning place, and yet my thoughts had wandered to another beach closer home 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.

12

I

t was day 14 of my trip to Indonesia this summer, and as I lunched on a plate of nasi goreng (fried rice), I felt a tiny longing—for a real biryani, packed with spices, exploding with flavour. It’s not like I wasn’t enjoying both Indonesian and tourist food, but at that moment, I felt a touch of veneration for that ubiquitous Indian celebratory dish. I thought about the wonderful biryanis I’ve had—in Hyderabad, Pune, Mumbai, Lucknow, and one of my favourite versions made by Mamu, a modest caterer in the hill station of Lonavla.

Travelling to other parts of the world has increasingly made me reflect not just on the places and cultures I’m visiting, but on my own as well. Just as travel opens my mind to new places, new ways of doing things, new perspectives, and ever-new ways of seeing, it also, in interesting ways, allows me to appreciate home a little more.

Caught for three hours in Jakarta’s barely moving traffic, I suddenly felt like I’m not so badly off in Mumbai. Paying close to $5 for a short bus ride in Copenhagen, I laud the lowcost public transport systems in India, including the eight-rupee short hop on the Delhi Metro.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking at what’s wrong with the places I travel to. It’s not just the negative comparisons that make me appreciate home; often it is positive experiences too.

Earlier on the same Indonesia trip I was on the

NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | AUGUST 2014

island of Gili Air, a little piece of sandy paradise in the Bali Sea. Lou Reed’s baritone filtered from the beach café, outside which I was lying on a sunbed. Occasionally I’d turn my head to the Scrabble board on my left and play my turn. Then my eyes would return to staring at waves softly hitting the sand and the glistening shades of aqua in the sea. It was, in every way, a stupendously stunning place, and yet my thoughts had wandered to another beach closer home. I thought about Goa, about its fantastic, endlessly long sandy coastline, its great food, its local markets, and fusion culture—and the fact that I can, from my home in Mumbai, be there in less than 3 hours. Much as I was enjoying the exotic locale I was in, I registered how very special Goa is and how very lucky I am to live so close to it.

At the stand-up paddle shack we met Stephano an expat Italian. His eyes shone as he gushed about the months he had spent travelling in India. So often I’ve met travellers like him, and I’m always amazed at what I hear them say about India: animated, lively descriptions of their love for this country, for its diversity, colour, energy, its hospitality. They rarely point out the potholed roads, odours, or hustlers. No surprise then that when I’m away I too find myself reflecting back on this wondrous land in which I live.

FANATIC STUDIO/GETTY IMAGES

The Green, Green Grass of Home

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Navigate | heritage

Jewels in the Crown A HISTORIC STEPWELL IN GUJARAT AND INDIA’S YOUNGEST NATIONAL PARK HAVE EARNED THE WORLD HERITAGE SITE TAG | By KARANJEET KAUR

T

here’s a spot of good news for the Himalayan musk deer. Its residence has been granted UNESCO World Heritage Site status. Until a few years ago it was hunted nearly to extinction because its musk, used in traditional Asian medicine, as well as a stimulant, is worth its weight in gold. The highly endangered deer is a resident of the Great Himalayan National Park (GHNP) in Himachal Pradesh, which was recently granted status as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The park’s inclusion in the list will likely draw the kind of attention—from administrative authorities as well as travellers—that a biodiversity hotspot like it deserves.

The number of World

26

MINUTIAE

The waters of Rani ki Vav were considered to have therapeutic properties, possibly due to the medicinal plants and herbs that once grew around the area.

NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | AUGUST 2014

Heritage Sites now stands at 1007, spanning 161 countries across the globe. GHNP is in the company of Botswana’s Okavango Delta and Mount Hamiguitan Range Wildlife Sanctuary in the Philippines. Located in Himachal Pradesh’s Kullu district, the park was selected on the basis of its “exceptional natural beauty”, which ranges from a vast rhododendron forest to alpine meadows, and “conservation of biological diversity”, which includes the musk deer’s friends, the blue sheep, the rare Western tragopan (jujurana), as well as the shy snow leopard and Himalayan brown bear.

The park’s nomination to the list came a day after Rani ki Vav, or the Queen’s Stepwell,

in Patan, Gujarat, received the same honour for its “complex technique and great beauty of detail and proportions”. Designed to take a viewer’s breath away, the walls of the Maru-Gurjara-style inverted temple, are sculpted with images of gods from the Hindu pantheon, mainly the ten incarnations of Vishnu. The 11thcentury structure, a memorial to King Bhimdev of the Solanki dynasty, was commissioned by his wife Queen Udayamati.

While the stepwell remains dry through most of the year, it was submerged by the Saraswati River until the late 1980s. Around that time, it drew the Archaeological Survey of India’s attention. After excavation, 400 of its estimated 800 sculptures have survived.

DINODIA

The designs of Patola saris, an ikat weave indigenous to Patan, seem to be inspired by the architecture and sculptures of Rani ki Vav.

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ZZVET/SHUTTERSTOCK

THE DETAILS

Navigate | taste of travel

Morning Glory

Rice is the star of the Malayali breakfast menu. The humble grain takes on numerous avatars, including appams, string hoppers (top right), and puttu (bottom right). Mutton stew and fiery fish curry (left) are traditional accompaniments to appams.

I

was due to arrive in Calicut (Kozhikode) early in the mor­ning, en route to Waya­ nad’s thickly forested hills. I had only a couple of hours to spare.

Anticipating a rumbling tummy when I got off the train, I asked a friend to recommend a place for breakfast, something near the railway station that would be open at 6 a.m. “Not near the station,” he texted back, “inside it.”

That was my introduction to Hotel Salkara on platform number one—and to the seaside city with breakfasts as bracing as its ocean breezes.

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By 6.35 the next morning, my companion and I were ensconced at a Salkara corner table, our two small strolley bags standing flat against the wall so they wouldn’t get in the way of the waiters striding about at top speed. Salkara is run by the same people who own Paragon, an old Calicut institution known for its lush beef fry and Malabari biryani. Like its more famous sibling, Salkara’s decor is spotless, but functional, with rows of plastic chairs and tables on a gleaming tiled floor. This no-frills style, I soon discovered, was

NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | AUGUST 2014

But then we looked at what everyone else was eating: Wasn’t 8 a.m. a bit early for fish curry?

typical of Calicut’s eateries. The focus here is solely on the food.

Within minutes of our arrival, we had steaming appams with two delicious accompaniments: a richly flavoured egg roast (hard-boiled eggs in a chunky onion-tomato gravy) and a subtle kadala curry, black Bengal gram cooked with onions, curry leaves, and shredded coconut. By 7 a.m., we were done—and only because we dawdled over our filter coffee.

Three days later, after the quiet of Wayanad’s forests, we were back in buzzing Calicut. And I couldn’t wait to have breakfast.

SIMON REDDY/ALAMY/INDIAPICTURE (FISH CURRY), STA/SHUTTERSTOCK (STRING HOPPERS), AJP/SHUTTERSTOCK (PUTTU)

GORGING ON APPAMS AND MUTTON STEW IN CALICUT’S FUSS-FREE BREAKFAST JOINTS | By TRISHA GUPTA

Work up an appetite for a big Kerala breakfast with a walk along Kozhikode beach (top); Round off the meal with kumbilappams (bottom), steamed dumplings made of rice flour, jaggery, and coconut.

for anything with that breakfast sitting in my stomach. So I settled down in a shady corner and watched sari-clad women lead little girls in pavadais (long skirts) around the Shiva shrine and the courtyard.

Calicut has many culinary icons, but there are also surprises around the corner. On our way back from the Kadalundi Bird Sanctuary, we stopped at a little bakery for flaky, spicy egg puffs and ice-cold milkshakes.

There was a luscious avocado (butterfruit) smoothie, but the real winner was the Sharjah shake, made with milk straight from the freezer, blended with banana, coffee powder, sugar, and Horlicks. The sugar rush continued on the walk along S.M. Street, where several shops sell the dense, rich Calicut black halwa.

On our final morning in the city, we took a long stroll on the beach, working up a voracious appetite. We considered return­ ing to Paragon, but decided to try Sagar Hotel, another local icon, instead. Thinking we should end the trip the way it had begun,

ATLAS

Calicut, Kerala

For centuries Calicut or Kozhikode was India’s most important spice trading port.

Black pepper was especially popular with Europeans who traded it for silk, wine, even gold.

we ordered appams with kadala curry. But then we looked at what everyone else was eating: pungent gravy the colour of red earth. Wasn’t 8 a.m. a bit early for fish curry?

We got only one plate, and with it, a green gram curry and a plate of puttu. The gram was subtle and creamy without being heavy, but it was no match for the ayyakoora (kingfish) in a fiery-red curry redolent with the sourness of kudampuli (Malabar tamarind).

If a breakfast like that doesn’t put a fire in your belly, nothing will.

On my next trip to Calicut, I know where I’m starting.

AUGUST 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA

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LUIS DAVILLA/DINODIA (BEACH), STA/SHUTTERSTOCK (FOOD)

We made our way to Paragon, expecting crowds, even a queue.

But the branch we visited on Kannur Road was pleasantly relaxed. At the table next to ours, a middle-aged man was tearing methodically into a gigantic dosa.

We gave in to greed, ordering both a ghee roast dosa and a plate of appams with mutton stew. The dosa was great, but breakfast at Paragon really is All About Appams. Crisp and lacy around the edges and soft in the middle, they looked like bowls because of the deep tawa they’re cooked on. The fluffy centres sopped up the silky mutton stew perfectly.

We left promising to return for Paragon’s legendary biryani and mango fish curry.

Next morning, we abandoned the hotel’s complimentary buffet for the next stop on our Calicut breakfast pilgrimage. Though I like stuffed parathas and kachorisamosa-jalebi as much as the next person, all the force of my half-North Indian blood can’t make me eat them at 8 a.m. Good half-Bengali though I am, I can’t eat rice in the morning either.

But once rice has been magically transformed into dosa and idli, appam and puttu (rice flour steamed with grated coconut) by the infinite Malayali genius, it feels like the perfect thing to eat at breakfast.

Pillai Snacks, on the busy Kallai Road, seemed like the ideal stop en route to the Tali temple. It was a long, narrow space crammed with tables and customers on their way to work. We began with idlis and kutti dosas, fluffy mini uthappams that seemed to be on everyone’s plates. Then we ate our way through a massive, milkywhite mound of upma on a green banana leaf, had a vada each with thick, spicy coconut chutney, and rounded off our meal with a plate of pazham puzhungiyathu, steamed Kerala bananas steamed to golden perfection and sweetened with sugar.

Somehow we managed the 15-minute walk to the temple, but it was hard to summon up energy

Navigate | taste of travel

34

NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | AUGUST 2014

XXXXXXXXXXXX ANSHUL MEHROTRA (XXXXXXXXX) (DANCERS), TARUN SALDANHA (LOTUS)

In Focus | secrets of the northeast

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NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | AUGUST 2014

india

MYTH,

Mystery &

Unexplored Beauty Redolent with promise of the unexpected, the seven sister states of India’s northeast present a tableau of cultural and geographic gems

In Focus | secrets of the northeast

Martial Dance —Karbi Anglong, Assam— Chong Kedam is a living memorial to the Karbi people’s origin story | By Karanjeet Kaur

56

or aluminium variants.

In the state’s plains, Chong Kedam is reserved for recitals during two of the three Bihu festival celebrations held during a year. But in Assam’s hills, performances often take place during the elaborate funerary festival of Chomangkan. During that time, they tend to acquire an erotic verbal component as well.

The three- to five-day festival brings together community members from different villages across the state, resulting in a rich, vivid display of Karbi culture that community members encourage visitors to witness, but not take part in.

NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | AUGUST 2014

—With inputs from D.S. Teron

THE VITALS You can witness a Chong Kedam performance during the Bihu festival celebrations in January and mid-April. In Assam’s hilly reaches, the dance is also performed during Chomangkan, usually held between early December and the first few days of March.

ANSHUL MEHROTRA (DANCERS)

CHONG KEDAM is an Assamese martial dance that was traditionally performed by adolescent or unmarried males of the Karbi community armed with swords (nok) and shields (chong).

The Karbi people are believed to have migrated to present-day Karbi Anglong in central Assam, the state’s largest district, from western China along the course of the Brahmaputra and Irrawady rivers.

This origin story is usually presented as an oral narrative at the conclusion of Chong Kedam. In earlier days, the shields would be fashioned from rhino­­ceros hide, but given the horned animal’s endangered status, dancers— now both men and women—use steel

delicate landscape of ferns, orchids, and rhododendrons amidst dense green forests emerged. The temperature dropped, crowds shrank, and the air felt cleaner.

My host was a local Apatani lady in her 50s. Bright eyes dominated her wrinkled, tattooed face, which filled with pride when she spoke of Ziro. She guided me on walks through thick forest and beautiful villages of the green valley.

The Apatanis have distinctive methods of sustainable farming, like rearing fish in water-filled paddy fields. It is for practices like these that the Apatani Cultural Landscape is mentioned on the tentative list of UNESCO World Heritage Sites.

My trip coincided with Myoko, a unique festival which celebrates friendship. Each year in March, homes in a few host villages are opened to guests around the clock. You don’t need to know the owners, just walk in to meet them and enjoy local delicacies and fresh rice beer.

I left knowing that Ziro is one of those rare places with the perfect combination of natural beauty and hospitable people, successfully coexisting together.

Apatani Grace —Ziro, Arunachal Pradesh—

THE VITALS

Camaraderie and coexistence, Apatani tribe-style

Ziro is 167 km/4 hrs north of the state capital Itanagar. Shared (`300 per head) and private taxis (`3,000 one way) are available. Visitors require Inner Line Permits, which are available from the state’s Resident and Deputy Resident Commissioner’s office and Liaison Offices in Kolkata, Delhi, Guwahati, Shillong, Dibrugarh, North Lakhimpur, Tezpur, and Jorhat.

| By Richa Gupta THE ZIRO FESTIVAL of Music catapulted this remote valley in the eastern Himalayas into popular consciousness.

However, for travellers who are not musically inclined, Ziro is indelibly linked to the Apatani tribe, whose female

members have facial tattoos and wear cane nose plugs. Yet, when I stayed with a local family a few months ago, I learnt that there is much more to the place.

As I made my way into Arunachal, the plains gave way to hilly terrain and a

AUGUST 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA

57

HEMIS COLECTION/INDIAPICTURE (PADDY FIELD), KRISTIAN CABANIS/AGE FOTOSTOCK/DINODIA (FISH)

india

In Focus | secrets of the northeast

Hidden Waterfall —Sohra, Meghalaya— Rediscovering home through a stranger’s eyes | By Amrita Das

58

ised it went over an empty riverbed; at the same time my sister said she could hear running water. We traced the riverbed until the faint sound of water became a gushing fury and the magnificent Dainthlen Falls came into view.

According to local legend, an evil and monstrous snake known as “thlen” was killed here. Deep scars in the rocks next to the waterfall are said to mark the place where it died. I didn’t see the marks, but I do remember how I felt when I first saw the waterfall. The silently flowing water escalated into a roaring jet as it tumbled over the edge. I could peer down and see it gather into a pool at the bottom. After a few minutes spent lost in the sound of the water, I pulled myself away to find my sister sitting quietly on the rocky riverbed and my brother-in-law busy

NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | AUGUST 2014

photographing the soothing greens, blues, and browns of the place.

I realised that day that in my quest to travel the world, I’d never explored my own backyard. In showing my home to a visitor, I had taken an unknown turn that led to a beautiful discovery.

THE VITALS Dainthlen Falls is 50 km/1.5 hrs southwest of Meghalaya’s capital Shillong, along the road to Sohra (formerly Cherrapunji). Turn right from Sohra-Shella Road at Sohrarim.

Taxis charge `2,500 for the trip from Shillong to Sohra, including a detour to the falls.

LAMBERT SHADAP (WATERFALL)

LISTENING TO MY brother-in-law complain about the concrete jungle that my city Shillong has become, I decided to take him on a little trip to explore the more beautiful side of Meghalaya.

We headed off to Sohra, formerly Cherrapunji. I took him on a tour of the usual sights like the limestone caves and windswept Shillong Peak. They were picturesque, but the intended high point of the trip was a hidden waterfall that I’d heard of but never actually seen.

Only, it was hidden a little too well.

After frequent stops to ask for directions, we wound up at the end of a small dirt road. It was a vast green space, with no waterfall in sight and no people to seek further directions from.

Dejected, I wandered aimlessly and came across a scenic old bridge. I real-

india

Unlike the route to Uttarakhand’s Valley of Flowers National Park, the path to Dzukou is completely devoid of touristy comforts, so it is important to carry food and other essentials from Kohima. Tourists can hire cooking stoves and other utensils from markets in the base villages of Viswema or Zakhama.

Less adventurous hikers can head to the government rest house, which offers accommodation in a dormitory and basic food for a nominal charge.

—As told to Karanjeet Kaur

THE VITALS

—Dzukou Valley, Nagaland— The wild, fragile beauty of a perfumed valley | By Arkadripta Chakraborty ON AN OVERCAST day you could mistake the landscape of Dzukou Valley for Middle-earth. Between June and September however, Nagaland’s “Valley of Flowers” becomes the only residence for the large, rare, fuchsia-coloured Dzukou lily—even its botanical name, Lilium chitrangadae is poetic. The lily draws botany enthusiasts as well as trekkers, who walk through a carpet

of flowers: from varieties of flat-petalled euphorbia, striking lavender aconitum, and wild orchid to several species of rhododendron.

A trek across the valley is ideally done over two days, because of the altitude and the occasionally steep gradient. A few streams gurgle through Dzukou’s flat hills, and the ones close to the valley’s rock caves make for ideal camping spots.

AUGUST 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA

ARPAN KALITA (FLOWERS, STREAM)

Blossom Valley

Dzukou Valley, located behind the Japfu Range at an elevation of over 2,400 metres, straddles the borders of Manipur and Nagaland, and is about 45 km southwest of the latter’s capital, Kohima. There are a couple of routes to approach the valley, but the most popular one is via Zakhama village, an 11-km trek of which 7 km is very steep.

It is not advisable to attempt it without a porter and guide; they can be engaged from Zakhama for a charge of `1,000 a day. Entry to the valley is `30. Visitors require Inner Line Permits. Forms are available from the state’s Resident Commissioner and Deputy Resident Commissioner’s Offices in New Delhi, Kolkata, Shillong, Guwahati, or Mokokchung in Nagaland.

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In Focus | secrets of the northeast

Mother’s Market —Imphal, Manipur— Like a child in a candy shop at Ima Keithel THE MOMENT I stepped into Imphal’s Ima Keithel or Mother’s Market, I felt I was in a place where women have asserted their rightful share of public space. All around me in the all-women market, I could see female shopkeepers selling everything from food—fried beans, fish curry, and rice—to photographs of deities, traditional Manipuri attire, and pirated Korean and English movie CDs. The atmosphere is convivial and friendly: The women pause to share an anecdote or tell a joke as they go about their work, and discuss socio-political issues during their breaks. I noticed that most of the stall-keepers are older women, as young mothers stay home to look after their children. But there are also the very young, who want to do something of their own before getting embroiled in family life.

Most women are dressed in the traditional wraparound, phanek, and inaphi shawl; many have sandalwood stripes on their foreheads. Some of the 3,000 women who work in the three sections of the market begin their day as early as 3 a.m., closing shop only at six in the evening.

For many of the imas, their stalls represent a family legacy. I spent some time with Radha, who told me that she had inherited her fish stall from her mother, and that her daughter will run it after her. Women of a family often help each other out at their stalls. The market has also often served as a venue for Manipuri women to stage protests or voice their concern on issues important to them.

As I left, I realised that I had spent over four hours in the market. I hadn’t made a purchase, but the sense of warmth and belonging that I walked out with was an unforgettable souvenir (Khwairamband Bazaar is a short walk from Kangla Fort, just off Bir Tikendrajit Road).

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TARUN SALDANHA (WOMEN SELLING LOTUS), KAREN DIAS (THREE WOMEN)

| By Paromita Bardoloi

india

COURTYARD PANTOMIME Shumang Leela is one of the oldest, most popular forms of traditional theatre in Manipur valley. Roughly translated as “courtyard theatre”, the history of the performing art form goes back more than 2,000 years. Shumang Leela is performed in the Meitei language by a troupe of 12-15 travelling artists who are invited by families or communities to mark special occasions like religious festivals, a birth in the family, a marriage or any prosperous event. Traditionally, even female roles were essayed by an all-male cast, but now troupes welcome members of the transgender community, locally known as nupi shaabi. The plays are staged on an elevated platform using only two chairs and a table as props; the audience is seated around the platform, close to the actors. It is common for viewers to offer money as dakshina (donation), to the performers.

In ancient times, Shumang Leela performances began as enactments of scenes from the Mahabharata and other mythological events. With time, Bengali literature also came to be a source of inspiration. Present-day Shumang Leela though, has transformed into a medium to generate socio-political awareness through comedy, pantomime, and songand-dance sequences.

—Karen Dias

KAREN DIAS (ARTISTS), SANDRO LACARBONA (MARKET)

I spent some time with Radha, an ima who told me that she had inherited her fish stall from her mother, and that her daughter will run it after her AUGUST 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA

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In Focus | secrets of the northeast

Cat Condo —Dampa Tiger Reserve, Mizoram— Big cats and bamboo-enveloped silences | By Nimesh Ved

An elusive Dampa cat caught by a camera trap

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visitors climb up and down rocks—I narrowly missed slipping several times.

On our walks, we collected scat samples that were sent to research institutions for analysis. It is one of the methods, along with camera traps, to det­ermine approximate numbers of the animal species that inhabit these remote forests.

The elusive marbled cat is one of the six feline species that calls Dampa home.

In addition, two types of bears—including the rare Malayan sun bear—Hoolock gibbon, Phayre’s leaf monkey, and six other species of primates, roam the wild.

The nights in the forest proved un­ forgettable. During one excursion, we slept at an anti-poaching camp beside the Sazuk River. The setting was rendered stunning by the full moon night.

On another, we camped alongside a river.

I still recall how nervous I felt as I helped light the fire, completely dis­ tracted by the elephant tracks I had seen earlier.

But deep inside the bamboo-enveloped silences of Dampa, I slept like I was at home.

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THE VITALS Dampa Tiger Reserve is head­quart­ ered at Phaileng in Mizoram’s Mamit district. The closest airport is at Lengpui near Aizawl (75 km/3 hrs), which has daily flights from Kolkata and Guwahati. Taxis charge `2,500 for the one-way journey to Phaileng.

Visitors require Inner Line Permits, available from the state’s Resident Commissioner’s Office in New Delhi; Liaison Offices in Kolkata, Silchar, Shillong, and Guwahati; and on arrival at Lengpui Airport.

SANDESH KADUR (CAMERA)

I HAD SPENT three lovely years living in Saiha, a town in southern Mizoram, around 2007. So when I returned in 2013 to visit Dampa in Mamit district, Mizoram’s only tiger reserve, I couldn’t wait to embrace the comforting warmth of the people and the place again.

We landed at Lengpui Airport close to Aizawl, the state’s capital, on a Sunday. Everything was shut, so we drove directly to Dampa on very uninviting roads and over a wooden bridge.

I stayed in Phaileng, headquarters of the tiger reserve. The evenings here are special, the green and brown hills around seem to rise to greet the night sky. Homes along the meandering roads, when graced by electricity, reminded me of a pearl necklace. The silence was pronounced, broken only by the occasional purring of a cat nearby.

The beautiful tropical rainforest, that stretches over 550 sq km, is bisected by the Tropic of Cancer. There are few walking paths inside the forest, but the terrain is mostly rugged, requiring

india sculpture’s headdress alone is over 10 feet tall. Vishnu, Ganesha, Hanuman, Durga, and other deities complete the pantheon.

Legends surrounding the hill abound, but according to the most abiding one, Shiva and a crore other divine beings were passing through the region on their way to Varanasi. They paused overnight at the hill, but only on a condition placed

by Shiva that they’d all depart for their destination at the break of dawn. In the morning, however, Shiva was the only one who managed to wake up and made the journey on his own—but not before cursing all the others and turning them to stone. The best time to experience Unakoti is during the vibrant Ashok Ashtami Mela, organised every April. —As told to Karanjeet Kaur

THE VITALS

—Unakoti Hill, Tripura—

Sermons in stone | By Arkadripta Chakraborty UNAKOTI OR “one less than a crore” is Tripura’s most dramatic attraction. The low hill bears several gigantic carvings of Hindu gods and goddesses, some of them over 30 feet tall. Even the path to Unakoti, located about 160 km from Tripura’s capital Agartala, is strewn with fallen idols: large boulders that have

been etched like the faces in the hillside.

Historians have been unable to pin a date to the ancient Shaiva pilgrimage spot, but most estimates verge between the fifth and the seventh century. The most imposing carving on the hill face is the head of Shiva, referred to as Unakotiswara Kaal Bhairava. The stately

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DHRITIMAN MUKHERJEE

Faces in the Hillside

Unakoti Hill is 10 km/30 mins from the district headquarters of Kailashahar, which is about 160 km/4 hrs northeast of Tripura’s capital Agartala, connected to Kolkata by flight. Taxis are available at Agartala for a day trip to Unakoti and charge approximately `3,500 as return fare. Travellers can also board the Agartala-Silchar MG Passenger Train that departs from Agartala at 6.45 a.m. and reaches Kumarghat Station (30 km/1 hour south of Unakoti) around 11.45 a.m. Taxis (approximately `430) and buses (approximately `15) are available from Kumarghat to visit Unakoti.

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My Scottish

scotland

The rugged isles of the Inner Hebrides mesmerise a f latlander from the American Midwest Story and Photographs by JIM RICHARDSON

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Flint-eyed lord of his domain, the Laird of Muck stands atop his isle, one of 36 populated islands that dot the Inner Hebrides.

Journeys | quest

THE LAIRD OF MUCK hunkers down

on top of his Scottish island. And so do I. An Atlantic gale threatens to lift and blow us both out like October leaves, over the sheer cliff at our feet and across the bay 400 feet below, dropping us in the surrounding ocean. Then the laird’s sheepdog creeps up, and blonde, bearded Lawrence MacEwen pets him with gentle hands. The howling wind, rage as it might, can’t make this lord uncomfortable here, atop his island in the Hebrides, where he looks— and is—perfectly at home. Like other Scottish islands, Muck had a medieval land-ownership system in Gaelic times, when Scottish islanders battled invading Vikings in these very waters. Land ownership took deep root in the Inner Hebrides, rocky isles anchored off the northwest coast of Scotland. Geographically isolated, lashed by the North Atlantic, these brave outposts nurtured an individuality and an independence that have lured adventurers and romantics for centuries, from the ancient Celts to 19th-century poets, painters, and composers. Even Queen Victoria came, beguiled by the raw, defiant landscapes, alternately sublime and bleak.

It’s hardly surprising that a Kansas flatlander like me would find these craggy oceanic domains captivating. According to my plain-spoken wife, however, captivation had grown into more than that. “You’re obsessed,” she’d said when she caught me yet again studying my well-worn map of the islands. “High time you stopped dreaming about the Hebrides and got yourself on one of the ferries.” She was right, of course: My keen interest had swelled into a hunger of the soul. I needed to not only visit these places. I needed to make them my own.

SWEEPING HIS EAGLE GAZE across the archipelago known as the Small Isles—vivid in sunlight here, slate gray behind sheets of rain there—MacEwen is giving me a visual tour of his neighbourhood. Nodding to the north, he yells, “That island is Eigg. The one to the west of it is the Isle of Rum. It gets twice as much precipitation as we do.” I watch heavy clouds dump rain on its hulking mountains. “Just beyond Rum is the island of Soay.”

In the howling wind, my voyage is taking shape. Not only can I see my island journey laid out before me—Muck to Eigg to Rum, then down the coast to the whisky isles of the south, Islay and Jura—but MacEwen is sweeping me into his island world.

I feel as if I’ve closed a guidebook and opened a novel as he shares local lore: that Muck had barely skirted oblivion when its population shrank to 13 souls; that the crofters of Eigg had run off their lairds (lords); that the Isle of Rum once enjoyed stupendous Victorian wealth. Wee places, these, not much travelled today, inhabited by dreamers and stoics. Retreats from the world. Blank canvases for quixotic quests.

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“I have sheep to move,” MacEwen abruptly announces when rain drifts toward us. We start down the bluff. As we stride along, he catches me up on island details: Volcanic Muck is 3.2 kilometres long and half as wide; its greylag geese eat vast amounts of grass; and MacEwens are buried in a Bronze Age stone circle here.

Sheep-herding interrupts his flow. Tie, the sheepdog, is circling a flock—and not doing it well. “Away to me, Tie. Away to me,” meaning the dog should circle to the right. He doesn’t; he goes straight up the middle of the flock, creating confusion.

“Tie.” MacEwen’s voice drips disappointment. “That will never do.” The dog shrinks with shame.

MUCK IS LARGELY a MacEwen enterprise, has been for a century. Laird Lawrence runs the farm with his wife, Jenny; son Colin, newly married, manages the island cottages; and daughter Mary runs the island hotel, Port Mor, with her husband, Toby (he manages the hunting). Mary and Toby love that their two boys can wander the island on their own and sail dinghies on summer days. “They go out the door and come back only when they’re hungry.” But island life has its compromises. For one, electricity on Muck remains a sometime thing. My first evening, I wait anxiously for the lights to turn on. The next morning I find Mary setting out breakfast by flashlight. But I get used to it—along with no cell phone service. “There is mobile reception on the hill,” Mary tells me. “Most people last a couple of days, then just put the phone in the drawer.” So I do.

Everything on Muck seems delightfully improbable. The boat today brings over groceries—and a woodwind trio, which hops off carrying bassoons and clarinets. Its concert in the island’s tea room proves a smash hit, with islanders tapping their wellies in time to Bach and Poulenc.

That night, sitting by a glowing fire as it rains outside,

scotland

Century-old Kinloch Castle (bottom), built on Rum by George Bullough, the baronet who inherited the island, enjoyed a heyday until World War I. Now a historic site, it features sculptures (top left) and a revealing portrait of Lady Bullough (top right).

Facing page: Wildflowers, and rain boots, are common sights on Muck, the smallest of the four main islands that make up the Small Isles cluster.

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Journeys | quest Lawrence MacEwen tells me how he met his Jenny. “Her father saw a croft on the isle of Soay advertised in the Times, and bought it sight unseen. He’d never been to Scotland.

Jenny was sent to manage the farm.” Did Jenny know anything about running a farm? “She had good typing skills.”

Buying a house sight unseen isn’t that unusual on these islands, I learn. The clarinettist at the concert had done so.

Did these people know what they were getting into? Or was that the alluring part?

I go to bed with rain and awake to more rain. But I eat well, virtually every last morsel of food coming from the tiny island: lamb, beef, pheasant, seafood, vegetables, fruits—an unexpected variety. Mary sends me down to fisherman Sandy Mathers for fresh lobster. As I watch, he hoists a whoppingly big one out of the cold waters. I carry it back through the village, cross the hotel’s grounds (after closing the gate so sheep won’t get onto the lawn), and deliver the crustacean to Mary at the kitchen door. By 7 p.m., our lobster dinner is on the table, delicious beyond reckoning.

Also beyond reckoning: my ferry ride the following morning to my next island. Over the preceding two months, many of the scheduled ferries had been cancelled because of high seas. If my ferry didn’t come, I’d be stuck on Muck for two more days.

Which, now, was what I secretly longed for.

The ferry came. Too bad it wasn’t going where I wanted to go. Weather, tides, and ferry schedules are stern masters in the Hebrides. I’d envisioned hopping from one island to the next, but Hebridean travel is its own version of “you can’t get there from here.” To reach Eigg, just 11.2 kilometres north, I had to ferry 32 kilometres northeast to the mainland port of Mallaig, overnight there, then catch a ferry to Eigg the following day.

Dusk descends on the village of Port Charlotte on the isle of Islay.

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But Eigg proves worth the deviation: As the ferry approaches the 31-square-kilometre island, its landmark, a black tooth of pitchstone called the An Sgùrr, is raking rain out of gray banks of clouds. Braids of black volcanic sand, washed down from the surrounding cliffs, twist their way across a white shell beach. My photographer’s eye cannot get enough of the scene.

Owned by a succession of off-island proprietors, Eigg would gain fame in the 1990s when islanders got fed up with their absentee landlords and bought them out, thereby ending centuries of “recreational colonialism,” as one islander put it. This proved a turning point in Scottish land ownership: Common folk formed a trust, raised the money, purchased the island— and became their own lairds.

“It was being owned by a mad German artist that clinched it,” Maggie Fyffe tells me in her cottage filled with bookshelves sagging under the weight of tomes about everything. “We said, ‘We can do better than this.’ ” The way Fyffe tells her small-island tale, it becomes world-class drama. When the German artist put Eigg on the market again, in 1997, “everybody here was like, let’s go for it.” The islanders needed 1.5 million pounds to buy Eigg. More than 10,000 donations flooded in. “We raised half a million from folks around the world. Then a woman who’d followed the story gave a million quid.” They bought their island. “Scots love the idea of the little guy winning over the big guy. It was an amazing thing to be part of.”

Eigg’s new islander owners have been transforming it into a “green island” with an additional 1.5 million pounds they’ve raised for sustainable-energy technology: water, wind, solar.

“It’s brilliant, what happened here,” says Fyffe. People are moving back; the population is growing.

scotland As evening falls, I poke around Eigg’s main settlement, Cleadale Township, a hamlet huddled under cliffs on the island’s west side that once was full of crofters and the laughter of their children. I sense a bittersweet Highland melancholy here, left from the 1800s, when the clearances removed the local crofters to make way for something more profitable—sheep.

Yet tonight, Eigg’s new community hall is jumping: It’s Halloween. Children are arriving from around the island (how can there be so many?), costumed for a contest. I vote for the mummy but praise the pirate, the skeleton, and the gremlin profusely. Life is good. So is the beer.

RUM, ONLY ELEVEN KILOMETRES to the northwest as the raven flies, is another story. One comes to this larger island (108 square kilometres) for two things: the hilly green landscape and to size up a stupendous folly. I’ll be staying in the folly, Kinloch Castle, docked on its lawn like a red aircraft carrier decorated in Scots baronial style, battlements glued onto towers and facades wherever they would stick.

Disembarked from the ferry, I make my way over to the castle.

The derelict structure—so fervently conceived in 1897 by Rum’s inheritor, British baronet George Bullough, but now the stuff of Fawlty Towers humour—delights with its Edwardian craving for excess, set in stone.

Bullough, heir to a fabulous fortune, ran through a measure of it entertaining London society at Kinloch. He renamed the island “Rhum,” allegedly so he wouldn’t be known as the laird of Rum, and lavished his castle with special touches. Tuxedoed guests and their dates, for example, would be called to the grand hall by a mechanical musical contraption known as an orches-

trion. The baronet—whose colourful life is recounted in the 2011 book Eccentric Wealth: The Bulloughs of Rum, by Scottish author Alastair Scott—later caught the attention of King Edward VII, who knighted him for his help during the Anglo-Boer War, including mandating that Kinloch Castle be put at the disposal of wounded officers.

When World War I came, luxury became unsightly and Bullough spent less and less time on Rum. Today Kinloch is a time capsule administered by the Scottish National Heritage, not so much preserved as ossified in place. Though Bullough and his guests are long gone, I walk the halls hoping for a trace of those vivid times: the click of billiard balls, the whiff of cigars.

I find it, finally, hanging outside Lady Bullough’s bedroom: a daring portrait of her, in the nude.

GEORGE BULLOUGH wasn’t the only one to fall under the spell of the Hebrides. I’m headed to Islay, the southernmost of the Inner Hebridean islands and home of another who decamped to a remote place to reimagine himself. Mainlander Mark Reynier had a thing for whisky. So he bought an Islay distillery.

“First time I saw Bruichladdich, my jaw just dropped,” he says, speaking of the old structure. “It was awful. Trees growing out of the roof.” But Reynier is nothing if not a whisky believer and evangelist. As we walk through today’s modernised complex, he describes his dream of bringing back traditional Scottish distilling. Everything about his distillery is a marvel of antique machinery and unbridled energy. The pot stills steam.

Casks in the warehouse waft out the heady, pungent “angel’s share” of whisky vapour.

Rearing up from the wind-whipped North Atlantic, a ridge of pitchstone dominates the island of Eigg.

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Journeys | quest “The air on this shore of Islay is what the whisky breathes; it 18,000-acre estate that encompasses a guest lodge and comes absorbs the flavour,” Reynier says. “I can’t make Bruichladdich with a young laird, gregarious Andy Fletcher. His family has anyplace else in the world.” Islay farmers grow organic barley for owned Ardlussa since 1926. Lady Fletcher is Claire, who soon him just so he can trace the provenance and terroir of each of points out the obvious: “Andy was born to this.” She wasn’t. “I his bottlings. “The organic barley isn’t some sort of twee thing. was a radio station manager in Glasgow,” she says, “where I was It’s because it tastes good. I can tell this barley comes from Mid the boss.” They share their island story in the kitchen, the oldCoul and the mains of Tullibardine.” est part of the 400-year-old-house. Claire met Andy when she In 2006, he made a whisky that was quadruple distilled to came to Jura as a journalist in 1991 to cover a performance by a whopping 90 per cent alcohol. “I got the idea from a 17ththe British band KLF; Andy was hired to drive reporters around century Hebrides explorer who described usquebaugh-baul: the island, Claire lodged at Ardlussa—and they fell in love. The perilous whisky.” Perilous indeed. Reynier once received an couple lived in London, then Glasgow. But when Andy’s father e-mail from the U.S. Defense Threat Reduction Agency askdied, five years ago, Andy moved back to save the estate. ing why one of the distillery’s eight webcams wasn’t working.

Claire notes the challenges of island life. “It’s 40 minutes to Seems the defence agency had been using images from Bruich­ school for the children because the bus stops to deliver grocerladdich webcams to help train its people in how to differentiate ies, milk, and the paper.” But she’s hooked. “I’d have a hard time bet­ween a chemical-weapons factory and similar-looking civilliving back in the city having had this experience.” Plus, the busy ian machinery. “Apparently our old equipment resembled what life in London wouldn’t leave her time for such things as her they were looking for in Iraq for the pro“stitch-and-bitch group. We each bring our duction of chemical weapons,” says Reynier. sewing or knitting and a bottle of wine.”

Sensing an opportunity, he turned right Time is plentiful here, to wander, to exaround and produced a bottling of WMD— plore, to discover. Which is how, on a grassy Whisky of Mass Distinction. It sold out verge 27 kilometres from the nearest village, almost immediately.

I come across a most unlikely sign next to That night I board a ferry for the five-mina small folding table. “Tea on the Beach.” I ute ride northeast to Jura, my final island. wander over. On the table sit a menu and a I can’t wait to meet more folks who’ve let walkie-talkie. I speak into the walkie-talkie, these islands tease out inner gifts. and Georgina Kitching answers.

Such as Andy McCallum and his wife.

“Would you like some tea and cakes?”

They’d never lived on a Scottish island—and Well, yes, I would. Kitching walks down up and bought a hotel. I reach the Jura Hotel, from her nearby cottage with a tray in hand. in the town of Craighouse, after driving the Just for me. What possible economic model island’s sole road east from the Feolin ferry makes this work? And how did it even come terminal across moors grazed by Jura’s 6,000 about? “My husband said there was a house deer (versus 200 people). Camped on a pitch for sale at Inverlussa. I said we better buy of green by Small Isles Bay, the homey threeit.” Simple as that, her dream comes true. storey lodge looks more like a big house.

But to support this island life, her husband Visitors come to Jura to hunt—seven rides his motorcycle an hour down to Feolin, hunting estates patchwork the island—or to takes the ferry across to the island of Islay, relax. “Things are a wee bit slower here,” Mcthen rides another 20 minutes to the school Known for its whiskies, including Callum tells me. “They kind of glide along, Bruichladdich single malts. where he teaches. Every day. like the sea or the wind.” Across the street, at After settling her family into their new Jura Distillery, manager Willie Cochrane echoes the sentiment. life, Kitching decided she wanted a little business (she laughs), In his decades on Jura he has accepted that island life is slow, got the walkie-talkies for Christmas (laughs again)—and voila! that whisky takes time. That Jura has special water. “It’s the Tea on the Beach. It’s a small idea. But last summer, she tells me, water that makes the whisky,” he says. a group arrived at her tea table from Ardlussa. Ardlussa, New Jura’s hills are sodden with the stuff, I learn when I go trompZealand. Halfway round the world. ing across them with Gordon Muir, head stalker at the nearby Kitching falls silent, caught by the thought. I’m stunned.

Tarbert estate (owned by the stepfather-in-law of the current Somehow, without really meaning to, she has done a remarkBritish prime minister, David Cameron). The ground beneath able thing: She has brought people here, to this place at the end my feet, soaked with rainwater, quivers when I stomp on it. of a remote island road on the ancient isle of Jura.

Ahead of us rise the old, rounded mountains known as the Paps By any civilised reckoning, the folks I’ve had the pleasure of Jura, now wreathed in clouds that slide down, wrapping us of meeting on my Hebridean voyage were mad to think they in fog. Walking this ancient island landscape alongside bearded could buck the modern world and forge an alternative life Muir—kitted out in plus fours, deerstalker cap, and crook— on these dwarf universes. Yet they did. Like Kitching, they’ve I feel as if I’m in a Highland painting. made these islands of rock and wind their own. And, by golly, so have I. BEYOND THE PAPS, to the north, lies a sea inlet called Loch Tarbert that cleaves Jura nearly in two. I pass it the next day Author and National Geographic photographer Jim Richardson on my way to the island’s upper reaches. Within eight kilomehas been to many of the islands in the Hebrides—but is glad he tres I find myself at the end of the road—and at Ardlussa, an has more to discover.

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scotland

Walking the ancient landscape of Jura with Gordon Muir, who is kitted out in plus fours and a deerstalker cap, I feel as if I am in a Highland painting

Islay lies south of Jura, an isle of hunting manors and deer stalkers, here talking shop at Ardlussa Estate.

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GETTING THERE & VISA There are several daily flights to Edinburgh and Glasgow from major Indian cities, with one or two connections depending on the airline chosen. The flight time is about 14 hours, with a single connection at a Middle-Eastern hub like Dubai or a European one like Amsterdam. Indian travellers need a U.K. visa to visit Scotland.

The application can be filled out and submitted online at www.visa4uk. fco.gov.uk. Book an appointment to visit the visa application Suffolk sheep, whose coats centre to submit contribute wool woven your application and into Scotland’s Hebrides biometric info­rm­ tweeds (note cap). ation. A fee of `8,400 for a six-month visa can be paid by demand draft, in cash at the visa centre, or online.

Visas are processed within three weeks.

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ORIENTATION The Hebrides are a widespread cluster of islands located just off the northwestern coast of Scotland. The archipelago is divided into two main groups—the Inner Hebrides and the Outer Hebrides. The 35 inhabited and 44 uninhabited islands that comprise the Inner Hebrides are closer to the mainland, just southeast of the Outer Hebrides. The largest and most populous island of the Inner Hebrides is Skye, 402 km/6 hrs northwest of the Scottish capital Edinburgh and 371 km/5.5 hrs north­west of Glasgow, and connected by road. South of Skye are the Small Isles of Rum, Eigg, Muck, and Canna. Islay and Jura are further south.

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Bruichladdich Distillery

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GETTING AROUND By road Skye is a six-hour drive northwest of Glasgow, and is connected to the mainland at Kyle of Lochalsh via the Skye Bridge.

From Skye, ferries to the other islands are available.

By ferry Caledonian MacBrayne, commonly known as CalMac, operates ferries to the Inner Hebrides from Kyle of Lochalsh (291 km/4 hrs 15 mins north of Glasgow), Mallaig (241 km/3.5 hrs northwest of Glasgow), Oban (156 km/2 hrs 20 mins northwest of Glasgow), and Kennacraig (170 km/2.5 hrs west of Glasgow).

Route maps, timetables, and tickets are available at www.calmac. co.uk. All four towns are connected to Glasgow by bus (www. travelinescotland.com) and train (www.scotrail.co.uk).

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THE GUIDE

Get Going | colombia

Underwater INTENSITY SHARKS AREN’T THE ONLY THREAT IN MALPELO’S WATERS. THE OCEAN HAS STRONG CURRENTS AND DIVES ARE MEANT FOR ADVANCED DIVERS ONLY.

20 Easy

The average length (in feet) of hammerhead sharks that roams these waters

Moderate

Demanding

around the island comprise the Malpelo Flora and Fauna Sanctuary, a UNESCO World Heritage Site and the largest no-fishing zone in the east Pacific. Travellers can visit only on liveaboards, diving boats with accommodation.

The Malpelo Foundation allows only one liveaboard at any one time, with a maximum of 25 divers.

Swimming above schools of silky sharks in the waters off Malpelo Island.

JAW-DROPPING DIVES The deep waters of the east Pacific are teeming with sharks by neha sumitran

M

alpelo Island is perfect for divers who prefer thrills to frills.

In the waters surrounding the rocky, uninhabited island lives a formidable population of sharks. Hundred-strong shivers of hammerhead sharks, silky sharks, whitetip sharks, small-tooth tiger sharks, barracudas, whale sharks, and moray eels swim in and out of the ocean’s underwater caves,

scouring the water for prey.

It is widely recognised as one of the top diving sites in the world, and since none of these shark species are aggressive towards humans, divers aren’t put in a cage.

Malpelo’s waters can be explored freely.

in complex formations during the day, breaking away to hunt alone at night.

Occasionally, divers can see humpback whales, and giant manta rays, which span 23 feet. Some dive sites have coral encrusted reefs.

Essentials

Sightings The prehistoric hammerheads can measure up to 20 feet in length and swim

Divers need the Advanced Open Water certification or proof of diving experience to depths of 40 m. The waters

Malpelo Island is barren, rocky, and inhabited largely by masked boobies, a gannet-like bird species.

There are over 25,000 on this 1.6-kilometre-long piece of land. An astounding variety of lichen and moss also thrive here, sustained by the nutrient-rich guano or bird faeces. The island is uninhabited, save for a few Colombian army personnel.

Visitors are not allowed on land without permission from the National Natural Parks offices in Bogotá.

Getting there Malpelo Island is 500 kilometres off the coast of Colombia. Buenaventura (30 hours by boat), is the closest port. Seats on liveaboards can be booked from Buenaventura in Colombia and Puerto Mutis in Panama. Liveaboards from Ecuador offer trips that stop at the Galápagos Islands as well.

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TOMAS KOTOU/ATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC SOCIETY/CORBIS/IMAGELIBRARY

The island

IN THE SHADOW of the Temple Discovering rare books, opulent paintings, and dancing-girl dolls in Thanjavur | By Lakshmi Sharath

2+ DAY S

Elephants are a significant part of the 1,000-year-old Brihadeshwara Temple. They appear on the walls in frescoes, were rumoured to have helped build the temple, and continue to be revered as mini deities.

It is just 6 a.m. but the sun is already shining brightly and the temple town of Thanjavur in eastern Tamil Nadu is rapidly waking up. Sipping filter coffee in a tiny eatery, I look out to find streets that were silent just minutes ago now brimming with traffic. Autorickshaws and motorcycles race past each other, bullied by bus drivers. An old man drags a pushcart filled with Thanjavur bommai, multi-hued terracotta dolls with heads nodding, their flowing skirts wobbling. I finish my coffee and head out to explore.

The first thing that meets my eye is the 216-foot tower (vimana) above the sanctum of the Brihadeshwara Temple.

Rising like a pinnacle, it dwarfs every man, monument, and tree in sight. The 11th-century temple was built by the

legendary Chola ruler, Raja Raja I. Its 80-tonne cupola is carved out of a single block of granite, which was placed on the top with the help of elephants. It also has the secondlargest Nandi in the country, and an 8.7-metre-high Shivalinga, one of the tallest in the world. Almost every bharatanatyam dance posture is depicted on its walls, and the corridors and ceilings are covered with frescoes. Everything about the temple oozes magnitude.

This landmark, now part of the Great Living Chola Temples UNESCO World Heritage Site along with two other temples in nearby towns, is Thanjavur’s showstopper. But when I set out to explore, I discover there’s more to the town than Raja Raja I’s magnum opus.

THE VITALS

Thanjavur is about 320 km/6 hrs south of Chennai and 170 km/3.5 hrs south of Pondicherry. It is well connected by bus and train. The closest airport is in Tiruchirapalli 60 km/1 hour west of Thanjavur.

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NIELS VAN GIJN/JAI/CORBIS/IMAGELIBRARY

the insider

Short Breaks | from chennai

thanjavur

MARATHA LEGACY

TAKE AN ART TOUR

The 400-year-old Thanjavur Maratha Palace next to the Brihadeshwara Temple was the residence of the Bhonsles who ruled Thanjavur for over 200 years. The courtyard is flanked by the arsenal tower, a smaller bell tower, and the 190-foot watchtower, goodagopuram.

The Sangeet Mahal, one of two durbar halls here, provides an insight into the Nayak era, when it used to echo with performances. All I can hear now is the laughter of children as they run around the pillars.

There’s a palace museum, an art gallery, and the six-storey madamaligai that was the kings’ private prayer hall.

The palace lacks the grand­eur of the temple but is a testament to Thanjavur’s dynasties (daily 9 a.m.-5.30 p.m.; entry `10).

Outside the palace, there’s a muddle of shops and markets, selling everything from terracotta dolls to brassware.

I’m fascinated by the shop windows of the many painters in town. There are ornate images of deities adorned with semi-precious stones and gold leaf. They are made in the traditional style of Thanjavur painting that was patronised by the Nayaks and Marathas and is kept alive by these anonymous artists.

Each shop is like a minigallery. In one frame, a gilded baby Krishna glows in the sunlight. Next to him are Radha and Krishna, the coronation of Rama, and the wedding of Meenakshi. Most painters still use the same techniques and natural colours used by their ancestors.

OLD MANUSCRIPTS

MUSIC BY THE RIVER

Saraswati Mahal is located in a silent corner of the palace complex. The 400-year-old royal library has rare palm leaf manuscripts and volumes in Sanskrit, Tamil, Telugu, Marathi, Hindi, Urdu, and Persian. While some of the works date to the Sangam era (100 B.C.-A.D. 250), a golden period in Tamil and Dravidian literature, the library also has treatises on Chinese torture and Ayurvedic therapy. There are maps, ancient atlases, and globes, and an 18th-century edition of Johnson’s Dictionary, the pre-eminent resource until the Oxford English Dictionary came 170 years later. There’s a museum where visitors can see some of the ancient manuscripts and artefacts (Thur-Tue 10 a.m.-1 p.m. and 1.30-5.30 p.m.).

The journey to Thiruvaiyaru, a town on the bank of the Kaveri River, 15 km/25 min­ utes north of Thanjavur, is lovely. Fields border the road which crosses five bridges over the rivers that give the town its name—the sacred land of five rivers. Most visitors head to the Shiva temple but this is also where legendary Carnatic composer and saint Thyagaraja spent his last years. The priest guides me to the one-room house next door where the saint composed his devotional songs. A statue of him stands at the entrance.

Thyagaraja’s samadhi is a short walk away. Every January, the site reverberates with music as artists perform live at the Thyagaraja Aradhana festival (details at thiruvaiyaruthyagarajaara dhana.org.).

Thanjavur bommai are bobbleheads (top) that sway on rounded bot­toms. The terracotta dolls are handmade and painted in bright colours; The walls and ceilings of Thanjavur Palace’s Durbar Hall (middle) show deities like Shiva and Vishnu, as well as scenes from the Ramayana; Fragrant jasmine perfumes the air all around the Brihadeshwara Temple and flower garlands are on sale everywhere (bottom).

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AYAN82/GETTY IMAGES (DOLLS), JOHN ELK III/LONELY PLANET IMAGES/GETTY IMAGES (HALL), DBIMAGES/ALAMY/INDIAPICTURE (FLOWERS)

four ways to explore