July 2014
ING WRIT 4 L E V TRA EST P. 17 CONT ONTESTS OC PHOT 5 & P. 173 P. 16
CONTENTS
Volume
3
Issue
1
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
The Bahamas
82
94
106
114
MY GRANNY, THE REBEL
HIDDEN DEPTHS
AT HOME ABROAD
RELIVING REMEMBERED JOYS IN KOLKATA
On the trail of a revolutionary ancestor in central Mexico
Sometimes, you need to get beneath the surface to really discover home
TEXT AND PHOTOGRAPHS BY PETER MCBRIDE
TEXT AND PHOTOGRAPHS BY BRITT BASEL
Despite the winds of change, Jackson Heights retains much of its ethnic charm, giving an AmericanIndian enough to feel nostalgic about BY PIYALI BHATTACHARYA
10
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | JULY 2014
There’s no place like home. Especially if it involves old friends, bed tea, and long jaunts down Park Street BY SHREYA SEN-HANDLEY
122 DIVING BACK IN Sharing lessons learnt in England’s Lake District with the next generation BY MARK HANNANT
ONNE VAN DER WAL/CORBIS/IMAGE LIBRARY
In Focus
152
Voices
22 Tread Softly Using the phone behind the wheel is calling for trouble
24 Far Corners
60
38 Geotourism
56 Book Extract
Get Going
Bonito’s crystal-clear lagoons
40 Local Flavour
Valmik Thapar traces the past and present of the tiger in India
150 The Walk
Hyderabad’s MLA pesarattu Tokyo’s hot noodle broth
60 Experience
Barbed wire and invisible lines on the Bangladesh border
44 Quest
26 Book of Hours
46 On Foot
Mauritius, an illustrated travelogue
World War I tales in Italy’s rocky Dolomites
28 Guest Column
48 Hidden Gem
Alone in a new place, a fictional self emerges
Navigate
Following Goa’s Mandovi River
Kerala’s backwater cruises for tourists in a hurry Skinny-dipping can be a soul-stirring affair
64 The Trend
A sunrise hike up to the volcanic Mount Batur in Bali, Indonesia
152 Adventure A beginner’s guide to coasteering trips that explore rocky shorelines
In Lima, the food and art scenes beat fast and furious
Short Breaks
The ground beneath Amer Fort
68 Taste of Travel
50 Urban Renewal
The Niçoise tomato is ripe with Mediterranean flavours
Tricoloured sands and a virgin goddess in Kanyakumari
Tales of Saint-Louis’s past through the language of jazz
70 National Park
In the fast-forward Cambodian capital, the past still haunts
52 Detour
Barren and beautiful Pin Valley National Park
34 Take Five
54 Culture
Culinary pit stops that enlighten and entertain
Borobudur Temple, the world’s largest Buddha shrine
30 The Insider
Germany’s intellectual capital
76 The Concept Icy views, and the occasional grizzly bear, from Jasper’s Glacier Skywalk
154 From Chennai 160 Stay Angling and sustainable farming in rural Maharashtra Stories by the fireside in a fabled Deogarh mansion
162 From Bengaluru An insider’s guide to the simple joys of Kodaikanal
JULY 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA
11
PAUL HARRIS/AWL IMAGES/GETTY IMAGES (ROCKS), JENNY PATE/ROBERT HARDING PICTURE LIBRARY/DINODIA (BOAT)
18 Editor’s Note 20 Letters 165 Big Shot 166 Inspire 176 Travel Quiz
132
On The Cover Photographer Jeremy Woodhouse shot this image of young girls in Quinceanera dresses in San RetuRn to Roots } } Miguel de Allende, in central Mexico. Traditions like this coming-of-age celebration thrive in the city, which has a well-preserved historical centre and a flourishing art and cultural scene that attracts visitors. 2nd anniversary
J U L Y 2 0 1 4 • ` 1 5 0 • VO L . 3
special ISSUE 1
annual travel writing contest
roma rhapsody the Kings of gypsy music
Mexico LOOkIng fOr a rEbEL grannY new York’s LIttLE IndIa kolkata nO pLacE LIkE hOmE the bahamas dIVIng tO dan’S caVE England LakE dIStrIct mEmOrIES
organic connections canada’s oyster isle
138
132
138
ROMA RHAPSODY
EATS, SHUCKS, AND LEAVES
Following the kings of gypsy music straight into the heart of Romania
Connecting with Prince Edward Island, one meal at a time
BY PANCRAS DIJK PHOTOGRAPHS BY BOGDAN CROITORU
BY NEHA SUMITRAN
PAGE 94
BAC KSTORY
DISAPPEARING ACT
T
he day after exploring Dan’s Cave, Britt Basel and a few friends ventured back into the Bahamian bush of Abaco to dive into another blue hole called Sawmill Sink. In the original National Geographic magazine article that inspired Britt’s trip, the author, Andrew Todhunter, writes about passing through a murky sulphurous layer hidden under a layer of freshwater, during his dive at Dan’s Cave. Since Britt and her friends didn’t intend to dive deep, she hadn’t given much thought to this phenomenon. If she had, it would have made the moment when her dive companion Adam suddenly vanished from sight, less heart-stopping. A few panicked seconds later though, his head popped back into view. He had passed through the sulphurous layer, and Britt had the bizarre experience of watching a friend disappear momentarily.
12
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | JULY 2014
BARRETT & MACKAY/ALL CANADA PHOTOS/GETTY IMAGES (LIGHTHOUSE), AFRANCOIS LE DIASCORN/GETTY IMAGES (MUSIC), BRITT BASEL (DIVER) JEREMY WOODHOUSE/DINODIA (COVER)
Journeys
Editor’s Note | niloufer venkatraman
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.
was dozing off on the deck of an Indonesian klotok (wooden boat), as we gently chugged our way past vast swathes of water hyacinth threatening to get stuck in the propeller. My eight-year-old daughter’s excited voice woke me up: “There’s Tom, it’s Tom!” I opened my eyes and saw an enormous orang-utan casually hanging from a tree on the riverbank. The “Tom” my little girl thought she had identified, referred to a primate we had learnt about at Camp Leakey, an orang-utan rehabilitation centre that we’d visited earlier that morning.
Last month, as I was making the final arrangements for my family’s two-week summer holiday in Indonesia, I had a worrying thought: Would my daughter enjoy herself without any peers for company? I’d been warned that by age eight the company of parents on a vacation starts to become boring, if not altogether tedious. On the first leg of the trip, we were to spend three full days on a wooden boat just 20 feet long and 10 feet wide, travelling on the Sekonyer River deep into the Tanjung Puting National Park in Kalimantan. I had wondered how my normally fidgety child was going to fare. She had a blast, we all did. The boat quickly became home. The crew was a young couple who had brought their two-year-old son Ily along and he became my daughter’s occasional companion. Our guide Nina became her pal. My girl learnt to take pictures until her camera battery died. She thrilled at spotting orang-utans, learning the names of the semi-wild ones from Nina, and even trying to recognise them by their features. We all fell in love with these gorgeous primates. A curious, mischievous baby orang-utan called Lincoln became my daughter’s favourite. In every way, I had underestimated how easily she would take to living on an open boat, or the experience of being in another country. Travel piqued her curiosity, and her sense of amazement at new discoveries quickly infected us as well. Children are far more adaptable than we give them credit for. On a blazing hot day, we somewhat foolishly rented bicycles to cycle for two hours around the island of Gili Air, not far from Bali. I was amazed at how confidently she managed her bicycle considering she’d barely learnt to balance on a small one at home. As it turned out, neither the visit to see orangutans nor the week of lazing on a beach was in the least bit problematic. Not only did our daughter enjoy the company of her parents, I think she loved having so much of our attention. Travel builds a child’s confidence, curiosity, and the ability to accept that things don’t always go exactly as you want them to—they learn that you must adapt, adjust, and move on. When the trip was almost over, my daughter declared: “Next time, let’s go on holiday for 85 days.” I thought quietly to myself: “Maybe not the next time, but someday soon, we will.”
JULY 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA
19
ANDRÉ MORRIS
Into the Wild, Child in Tow
facebook.com/ natgeotraveller.india @NatGeoTravellerIndia @NGTIndia
INBOX
Facebook Likes
1,10,130 ON THE WEB
I’ve been to Wales and I couldn’t agree more with the article “Welsh Rarebit” in the June issue. The scenery is so picturesque that no matter how long you drive, the landscape never gets old. —Pooja S. Shah Neha Sumitran beautifully captured the Chadar trek in her article. It is an experience that tests you both physically and mentally. I remember seeing her on the first day of the trek with her arm in a sling. I didn’t know who she was at the time, but we were all in awe of her grit and determination. —Sobhan Mohanty After reading Karanjeet Kaur’s piece, I feel like I have just returned from Kannauj with vials of ittar. —Rhythma Kaul
Lord’s Cricket Ground, London.
M
Write to us Share stories of your travel with us. We will publish some of them on these pages. Emails letters@natgeotraveller.in Letters National Geographic Traveller India, Sumer Plaza, 2nd Floor, Marol Maroshi Road, Andheri East, Mumbai 400 059. Published letters may be excerpted and edited. Subscribe Call+91 22 40497435/ 37 or write to subscribe@natgeotraveller.in
I am very impressed by Nat Geo Traveller’s innovative approach to travel stories. The Voices section is my favourite, as it often forces me to rethink my opinions. I have learnt to appreciate the new relationships we form while travelling, our impact on the environment, and the importance of the journey. I look forward to
more interesting issues and even more “voices”. —Praachi Jain The Editor’s Note titled “Inward Bound” in the May 2014 issue was extremely thought-provoking. It took readers to Auschwitz through the past and the present with great clarity. It brought a sense of reality
Visit us at www.natgeotraveller.in
20
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | JULY 2014
to history. Despite all the horrifying details, the stories of survival proved very inspiring. One wouldn’t have expected a travel magazine to evoke such strong feelings. I do hope to visit Auschwitz soon and thank you for your insightful perspective on this human tragedy. —Vasanti Patwardhan
TOM SHAW/STAFF/GETTY IMAGES SPORT/GETTY IMAGES
y visit to Lord’s Cricket Ground in London was like a dream come true. I spent an afternoon The Kannauj piece is a delightful read; as visual as it at a county game, delighted to be watching a match is fragrant. in the place where the sport was born. It is the ideal —Anurag Banerjee destination for a cricket-loving traveller. At Lord’s, one can explore the rich history of the game, get lessons from the Marylebone Cricket Club, have a picnic, even get married when a game isn’t on. My day there gave me a deeper understanding and connection with India’s favourite game. —Shouptik Basu
Voices | book of hours AMRUTA PATIL
ANAﾃ記 SEGHEZZI (AMRUTA PATIL)
Writer-painter Amruta Patil is the author of graphic novels Kari and Adi Parva. Book of Hours is her travel journal.
JULY 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA
27
Navigate | take five
Food for Thought CULINARY PIT STOPS THAT ENLIGHTEN AND ENTERTAIN | By NEHA SUMITRAN
O
ur diets speak volumes of the lives we lead, whether they include roast pork, Roquefort, or rajma-chawal. If our appetite for cheeseburgers reflects our pursuit of comfort, our appreciation for the rich textures in a bowl of ramen is testament to enduring culinary traditions. These galleries put our meals into context.
Shin-Yokohama Raumen Museum Few culinary flourishes are as mesmerising as watching a ramen chef hand-pull noodles. The deft display is among the top attractions at the Yokohama “food amusement park”, which traces the noodle’s journey from traditional Chinese kitchens to supermarkets, where its instant version grows in popularity every year. Instant ramen was invented in 1958. According to a survey conducted by the Fuji Research Institute in 2000, the Japanese public believes it was the best invention of the 20th century (karaoke comes second). At Shin-Yokohama, visitors can noodle over exhibits on ramen history and stock up on Japanese ingredients. A part of the museum is designed like a street from 1958, with nine stalls that serve bowls of steaming broth. Another section is dedicated to dagashiya, traditional sweet shops that stock local sweets and toys (+81-45-471 0503; raumen.co.jp/english; daily 11 a.m.10 p.m., except on public holidays; entry 300 yen/`175, children under 12 and seniors over 60 years 100 yen/`58).
Mariager Saltcenter Mariager, Denmark Wonder what 250-million-year-old salt tastes like? Have a lick at the Mariager Saltcenter in the picturesque Danish town of Mariager. The museum explores civilisation’s relationship with white gold, perhaps the only ingredient that is ubiquitous in kitchens across the world, from frosty Alaska to sultry Barbados. A tour of the Saltcenter begins with an elevator ride that takes visitors to an underground mine where they are shown how salt is collected. The mine also doubles up as a cinema. Learn about the history of salt (evidence of processing dates back 6,000 years), load up on interesting facts (there are 35 grams of salt per litre of seawater), and learn about its ritualistic significance (salt features in Jewish and Islamic ceremonies). Round off the trip with a soak in Mariager’s “Dead Sea”, a pool that rivals the buoyancy of its namesake in Western Asia (045-9854 1816; saltcenter.com/english; Mon noon to 8 p.m., Tue-Sun 10 a.m.-4 p.m.; closed between 17 Dec and 2 Jan; entry Danish Kroner 98/`1,056, children Danish Kroner 70/`755).
34
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | JULY 2014
KENICHIRO SEKI/XINHUA PRESS/CORBIS/IMAGE LIBRARY (NOODLE-MAKING), HILKE MAUNDER/ALAMY/INDIAPICTURE (BAGS)
Yokohama, Japan
The Museum of Burnt Food Arlington, USA The Museum of Burnt Food celebrates decades of culinary disaster with a collection of 49,000 charred exhibits, including carbonised steaks, singed gyoza dumplings (including coal-black ebony chopsticks), and a Hall of Burnt Toast. The research institute—they’ve published numerous papers on carbonisation—was set up by onetime science historian and now Grammy-nominated harpist, Deborah Henson-Conant, who ensures that the exhibits are deadpan, hilarious, and fascinating all at once. Popular installations include “Why, Sure You Can Bake Quiche in the Microwave!”, “Thrice Baked Potatoes”, and “Free Standing Apple Cider” (pictured), which HensonConant made herself (burntfoodmuseum.com. Premises are opened on request; email info@HipHarp.com).
Dutch Cheese Museum Alkmaar, Netherlands
DE AGOSTINI/GETTY IMAGES (CHARCOAL EXHIBIT), GLOW IMAGES/GETTY IMAGES (CHEESE PORTERS), KAVEH KAZEMI/CONTRIBUTOR/GETTY IMAGES (PARK)
A half-hour train ride from the haze of Amsterdam is Alkmaar, a town with a seriously cheesy history. Its 14thcentury dairy market is still popular, as is the town’s Dutch Cheese Museum, which enlightens tourists on Gouda, Edam, and other dairy icons of Dutch origin. Audio-visual exhibits show visitors the journey from cow to cheese, displaying how milk is curdled and why cheese is shaped into circular wheels. It is the delight of geeky gourmets and hungry travellers. On Fridays from April to September, porters with straw hats ferry cheese on wooden barrows from the 14th-century weigh house, where the museum is located, to the market outside (+31072-515 5516; kaasmuseum.nl; open Apr-Oct, Mon-Sat 10 a.m.4 p.m., Nov-Mar Sat 10 a.m.-4 p.m.; €3/ `240).
Parque Nacional del Café Quindío, Colombia The perks are many at Colombia’s Parque Nacional del Café. Visitors can ride cable cars over emerald Arabica plantations, hike through a reserve for the protection of endemic bean varieties, even ride a roller coaster (hold off on the coffee until later). The 30-acre coffee-themed amusement park has a museum of exhibits on the world’s most famous bean, but also offers other pick-me-ups like bumper cars and horseback rides. Visitors can learn about Colombia’s indigenous people, buy handcrafted souvenirs, and taste brews from around the world as they watch a choreographed dance depicting the history of coffee, a story as rich as a steaming Colombian cuppa (+38257-6744 9955; parquenacionaldelcafe.com; open 9 a.m.-4 p.m.; entry $23/`1,718).
JULY 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA
35
Navigate | local flavour
Tokyo’s Hot Noodle Dish COMFORT IN A BOWL OF RAMEN SOUP | By DAISUKE UTAGAWA
Preparing ramen at Inoue.
42
wavy, are aged for up to ten days in a cool place to achieve their peak flavour and texture. It’s thought that missionaries brought ramen from China to Japan in the 17th century. But it wasn’t until 1910 that Japan’s first ramen shop—Rairaiken—opened in Tokyo’s Asakusa district, an area of merchants and artisans. It served simple Chinese noodle soup modified with traditional Japanese ingredients—dried fish, seaweed, and soy sauce. Today, the nation boasts more than 30 regional varieties of ramen, and nearly 4,000 places sell it in Tokyo alone. The dining routine
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | JULY 2014
never varies: Wait in line, order, squeeze into a seat, and slurp quickly so the next person can take your place. In Tokyo, locals line up at Inoue’s outdoor stand near Tsukiji Market for classic shoyu (soybased ramen), its golden noodles nestled in auburn broth and topped with pork and bamboo shoots. Sixty-year-old Raishuken, in Asakusa, adds wonton-men to its menu, silky dumplings floating over traditional ramen. In a narrow alley in Jinbocho, the tiny Sabuchan serves hanchan, the ultimate ramen and fried rice combo.
ATLAS
Yokohama, Japan
The noodles in one packet of instant ramen would stretch the length of two tennis courts.
BASIL CHILDERS/THE NEW YORK TIMES/REDUX
W
hen someone mentions ramen, you probably think of those store-bought dried noodles you bring to life with boiling water and a packet of spices. In Tokyo, ramen noodle soup is not fast food; it’s an art form. Complexly flavoured, the perfect bowl of ramen combines clear broth with wheat noodles, slices of roasted pork, seasoned bamboo shoots, and chopped green onions. This aromatic stock—meat, vegetable, or seafood—contains up to 40 ingredients and is simmered for hours. The noodles, from thin to
Navigate | experience
Bare Necessities
Colorado’s springs are very popular with winter tourists, who come for the frosty views and the luxury of soaking in naturally heated rock pools.
S
easoned travellers will tell you that the only way to travel is to immerse yourself in a local culture. But what if the local tradition is skinnydipping at night—with a group of strangers? For shy Indians like me, such an adventure requires a long mental leap. Even when we go swimming, many of us wear modest swimsuits to ensure our bodies are properly covered. Understandably, skinnydipping hadn’t really crossed my mind—until I got to Steamboat Springs, Colorado. My partner and I crossed the Colorado state border the day an early snowstorm had visited, fringing the land with frost. Steamboat Springs is an atmospheric little ski town that gets its name from the hot springs in the craggy mountainside. Early explorers thought the gurgling sound of the water was the chugging of steamboats on the Yampa River nearby.
We were headed high above the main town lined with woodfronted sports equipment shops, to Strawberry Park Hot Springs, an ideal spot for stargazing. The online reviews warned us that the lodge’s residents sometimes go skinny-dipping after hours, and that guests were expected to use torches and lamps sparingly to maintain discretion. We laughed it off on account of the freezing weather. Little did we know. Strawberry Park’s hot springs were edged with snow. In the rock pools, travellers soaked in the water (clad respectably in swimsuits), chatting softly, or silently contemplating the pine trees that rose all around. We went for a midday dip, enjoying the crisp mountain air and warm water before climbing out to grill hot dogs for dinner. As night fell, the temperature plummeted. I could barely feel my fingers and stomped my feet to keep the numbness at bay.
ATLAS
Colorado, U.S.A.
Steamboat Springs is a favoured ski destination. In winter, the town hosts competitions for ski racing and jumping, and dog sledding.
Still, it was a picture-perfect night with shining stars studding a velvety blue sky. We decided to make the most of it, quickly changing into our swimsuits. Our breath formed little white puffs as we scurried to the pools and took flying leaps into the water. Our limbs thawed instantly and as our eyes grew accustomed to the darkness we realised that most swimmers were in the nude. Now and then, the careless swing of a flashlight would set off squeals of protest. The moonlight glinted on a bare bottom as it twinkled past in the night. I blame it on the steam. I think it made me light-headed. Whatever it was, it made us want to share the experience. We quietly slipped our swimsuits off and floated in silence for a couple of minutes. The uneasiness of being nude faded quickly. The stars shone above, the snow gleamed around us, and the soft sounds of people laughing rippled the air. I leaned my face against the side of the pool, spreading my arms to hug the rock, silently thanking the universe for this moment. As the warmth of the rocks seeped into my bones, tears inexplicably sprang to my eyes. With them came an epiphany: Despite being adults, all human beings can experience the innocence of a child, if only we let go of our self-consciousness. As I pondered this, I heard a stranger cough as he glided past. And just like that the selfconsciousness returned: What if he bumped into me? What if he wasn’t wearing anything? Worse, what if he was clothed, when I was skinny-dipping? “Uh… don’t come too close” I quavered. “I’m not...um… I’m naked.” “Don’t worry honey,” he replied. “All of us are.”
JULY 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA
63
JASON DEWEY/STONE/GETTY IMAGES
SKINNY-DIPPING CAN BE A SOUL-STIRRING EXPERIENCE | By MISHANA KHOT
Scientists are fascinated by the existence of rich ecosystems of crustacean life deep inside blue holes where no plant life exists. Facing page: Attila and Adam discover a cavern hidden from sight by the reflection of the rock above. Inside was a labyrinth of stalactites and stalagmites that stretched into the darkness beyond.
94
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | JULY 2014
XXXXXXXXXXXX WES C. SKILES/NATIONAL (XXXXXXXXX) GEOGRAPHIC STOCK
In Focus | return to roots
the bahamas
Hidden Depths SOMETIMES, YOU NEED TO GET BENEATH THE SURFACE TO REALLY DISCOVER HOME Text and Photographs by BRITT BASEL
JULY 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA
95
In Focus | return to roots
“Could that be the turn-off ?” I pointed to a barely visible trail that led off through the Abaco Pine. “I don’t think so,” Adam replied. “We haven’t seen the rock pile yet.” The rough dirt road was technical gear. He was barely wide enough for the determined to map a truck to squeeze through. recently discovered maze Branches of poisonwood of underwater caves slapped against the sides beneath Great Abaco. He of the vehicle, leaving an painted a vibrant picture oily residue that we had to of a watery underworld and be careful not to touch, lest narrow passages that led we risk the bubbling rash onward for kilometres. He that we’d seen on too many told us about the thrilling embarrassed tourists. We risks of laying line as he were on Great Abaco Island explored this unchartered in the Bahamas, armed wonderland. For the most with a hand-drawn map part, I dismissed them as and on a mission to find a tall tales edged with truth. place called Dan’s Cave. By Then, years later, walking coming to these islands, I by an airport newsstand, had come back home. But I stopped short. There, this time I had set out to on the cover of National discover a different side Geographic magazine, were of Abaco. the Blue Holes of Abaco. Under the shadow of the Elbow Reef Lighthouse, the Hope Town The Abaco Islands are a I had always thought that I Settlement sits between the Sea of Abaco and the deep waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Over two centuries, the town has had a colorful history as a mix of British colonialism knew these islands as well centre for wrecking, fishing, and agriculture. and Caribbean flair. I as anyone knows the place spent most of my teenage they call home. But Fred years living on an eight-metre sailboat in Hope Town Harbour had been right. Abaco had a stunningly beautiful and hidden among a motley crew of colourful characters. I was towed side that I had barely known existed. Now I wanted behind speedboats, clutching on to a line as I scoured the ocean to see it for myself. floor looking for conch (a local delicacy), while we joked that This year, I had to make it happen. I called Adam, a longthe boat captain was using us to troll for sharks. I tried—and time friend who we refer to as Captain Adventure. “I want to failed—to climb palms for the coconuts that I loved so much. check out Dan’s Cave and the Blue Holes of Abaco. You in?” Of I learned how to scuba dive, eventually becoming an instructor course he was. for a colourful stint in my twenties. I sailed traditional Abaco A month and two sweaty travel days later, the ferry delivered dinghies at sunset beneath the shadow of the red-and-white my father and me to the boatyard where Burgoo was “on the striped lighthouse. dry” and waiting for us. The next two days were lost in a flurry Now I can only return to Abaco for a few weeks each year. of cleaning, varnishing, and maintenance. Our boat is now 52 I help my father fix up our sailboat and get it into the water, years old. She’s a classic—the first fibreglass hull to win a major spend some time with him, and slip back into the easy rhythms race. Famous and frisky in her youth, she shows her age a little of island life. Even if my visits are brief, every time the ferry now. In 48 hours, we had managed to put Burgoo in the water, drops us off at the boatyard and I clamber on to the deck of sail through Whale Cay Passage, and arrive in Hope Town. Burgoo, I know that I am home. Adam was working all week, so I had to be patient. A sign Fred, also known as the Cave Man, was one of the characters as you enter the harbour reads, “Slow down, you’re in Hope I met during my teenage adventures. Every day I would Town.” It’s directed at powerboats that tend to blaze through see him head out, alone and weighted down with a snarl of the anchorage at high speed, but it was good advice for me too.
96
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | JULY 2014
the bahamas
XXXXXXXXXXXX (XXXXXXXXX)
In 1964, Britt and her father George’s boat Burgoo took first place in the Newport-Bermuda Yacht Race. It was the first time a fibreglass sailboat had won a major competition.
JULY 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA
97
In Focus | return to roots
XXXXXXXXXXXX (XXXXXXXXX)
Abaco had a stunningly beautiful and hidden side that I had barely known existed. Now I wanted to see it for myself
98
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | JULY 2014
In 1952, Randolph Johnston and his family left the United States in search of a better way to live. They settled in a remote hurricane hole on Great Abaco called Little Harbour. Sailors now flock to this beautiful and solitary bay. JULY 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA
99
XXXXXXXXXXXX (XXXXXXXXX)
the bahamas
In Focus | return to roots
Brightly painted homes made from sturdy Abaco pine characterise the sleepy settlements of Great Abaco and the Out Islands (top); The first days back in Abaco are always a flurry of activity in the boatyard as Burgoo (bottom) is prepared to set sail. It will take a full day to sail from the boatyard on Green Turtle Cay, navigate the waves and wind of Whale Cay Passage, and finally cross the Sea of Abaco to arrive in Hope Town.
It was time to leave the mainland behind and get back to the easy living that Abaco had taught me. No matter how excited I was to get to the Blue Holes, nothing was going to make Friday come sooner. Why not enjoy myself? While I waited for Adam, my father and I fell into our favourite routine. After a rich cup of coffee and my run on the beach, we would head out to the reef to go spear-fishing and catch a spiny lobster or fish for dinner. If the wind was up, we might opt for a day of sailing, my father humming the theme song to Gilligan’s Island while we trolled with a fishing line. My father thinks of it as a sneak attack, trolling for fish while under sail instead of using a powerboat. During one trip, just as I was thinking that I hadn’t seen this technique work in years, the line started screeching. “Get into the wind! We got a bite!” he yelled, as he called me to the helm and jumped like a thrilled ten-year-old. The sound of flapping sails ratcheted up the excitement as he fought the monstrous mutton snapper and eventually hauled all 80 centimetres of it into the cockpit. It was enough to feed us for days.
100
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | JULY 2014
Friday finally arrived. With my hair thick and salty from ocean water and my skin turning a darker shade of brown, it was time to get back to the adventure I was here for. Through a little sleuthing, Adam and I found out that Brian Kakuk and Nancy Albury had become the local experts on Abaco’s Blue Holes. Brian is a cave diver, proud to have found a way to make a living doing what he loves. Nancy is a palaeontologist responsible for the landmark find of a fossilised Cuban Crocodile in one of the Blue Holes. After we put together a small team, our next stop was their lab in Marsh Harbour. There, surrounded by stunning photos of their explorations, I plied them with questions. The low-lying islands and cays of Abaco sit in shallow turquoise water on the Little Bahama Bank. Over millions of years, countless little creatures built a reef, eventually creating this platform that juts up from between the deep waters of the Gulf Stream and the Atlantic Ocean, just off the Florida coast. Rainwater seeped into the cracks of this karst stone over millennia, slowly melting away a system of caverns. The result? Islands riddled with blue holes where the surface has fallen in to expose caves below. Years of rain have filled these caves with fresh water that rests on the saltwater from the surrounding sea. Historically, animals and
the bahamas
humans alike have depended on these precious watering holes. Pottery shards and fossils make the Blue Holes an invaluable window into the past. In modern times, the Blue Holes are remote and usually covered by dense brush that Bahamians call bush. It’s usually hunters after wild boar that stumble into them. Maybe literally. In the 1990s, a pilot flying over Dan’s Cave spied a break in the bush. Intrigued by the possibility of an undiscovered blue hole, he called Dan, a local diver, to investigate. Many explorations later, almost 13 kilometres of Dan’s Cave have been mapped. Brian’s eyes were shining as he explained that it will take generations to map the rest of it. The Blue Holes are a delicate and dangerous national treasure. Exploring them requires much more than a simple scuba dive with a tank of compressed air. You need multiple backup torches, a line to guide you in and out, and several tanks filled with specialised mixtures of gases to allow you to stay underwater for hours at a time. With so many technical details, and sometimes kilometres between you and the surface, inexperienced divers can easily get themselves in trouble. More than one overly ambitious and underprepared diver has died in these tunnels. The divers pose a few dangers themselves. These Blue Holes may hold clues to lingering mysteries about ice ages and the
indigenous people that lived here long ago. A careless kick with a fin could forever destroy an irreplaceable remnant of history. Inspired by our newfound respect for the importance of these caves, we asked Nancy to draw us a map and piled into the truck. Soon we were surrounded by Bahamian bush and pine so dense it wasn’t readily apparent where the sun was. Every direction looked identical. It makes it easy to understand how these holes have remained hidden jewels. Even with our map, we made a wrong turn. Unsure, Adam pulled out his phone to get a bird’s-eye view from Google Earth. He hoped to see that same break in the brush that the pilot had spotted back in the 1990s. Finally, we found the rocks piled into a cairn, the road we had been searching for, and a few minutes later, a path leading off into the brush. And then it appeared beneath an outcropping of rock in the vast no man’s land of pine and poisonwood. Brilliant blue water sparkled in a small pond surrounded by ferns. You never would have known that it led into the belly of the island. It was like unexpectedly happening upon a sacred site. We stopped short, eyes wide, completely silent. Then, as if coming out of a trance, we were transformed into little kids, running back to the truck for our masks and fins. We aren’t technical cave divers, so the inner caverns would have to remain a mystery. But keeping the light of JULY 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA
101
M. TIMOTHY O’KEEFE/ALAMY/INDIAPICTURE (CRABS)
On Town Beach behind Hope Town, Attila looks for coconuts to harvest (left). Brilliant white sand to lounge on, brightly coloured coral heads for snorkelling, and a mellow surf break make this the perfect place to while away an afternoon in the sun; Seafood, especially conch, is a staple in the Bahamian diet. Baked and stuffed land crab (right) is another local delicacy, but harder to find.
In Focus | return to roots
When the British government built the Elbow Reef Lighthouse in 1863, the people of Hope Town repeatedly tried to sabotage its construction. They knew it would bring an end to the wrecking industry that had been important to the economic survival of the Abaco Out Islands. Their efforts failed and now, all these years later, the lighthouse is the pride of Hope Town.
the sun in sight, we were determined to explore what we could of that sparkling pool cut into the rock. Navigating vines, trees, and bushes we made our way into the water. The coolness came as a shock after the heat of the tropical sun. We carefully picked our way through the shallow water at the entrance. Suddenly, the bottom vanished. Rock walls covered in years of leaves and silt plunged into the darkness below. With a deep breath, I dived down. Unlike ocean water that keeps you buoyed to the surface, the frigid fresh water let me descend effortlessly. The funnel of the first chamber eerily disappeared into shadows. With another kick, I continued downward, hungry to see just a little more. Finally the burning of my lungs overcame my curiosity, demanding I return to the sunlight. Brian had described the wonder of what lay beyond that darkness—a cavern, like an ice castle, filled with crystalline rock formations. My mind sparkled with visions of what it would be like to tech-dive this cavern: weightless, the air in my lungs lifting me over stalagmites as the light from my torch dances along crystal columns. Back at the truck, we peeled off our wetsuits and climbed in for the hot and sticky journey back through the Bahamian bush. With our excited discussion about what we had just seen,
102
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | JULY 2014
the drive flew by. Soon we were at a beachside pub overlooking a small harbour. With my toes buried in the sand and relishing in the ocean breeze, I was sipping on a celebratory drink of rum mixed with coconut water. The conversation from the truck had continued. Now we were dreaming up plans to become certified as technical divers and kayak through shallow back bays to explore sinkholes. Attila chimed in, “Britt, your eyes are shining.” The gentle smile stayed on my face, but I got quiet for a moment. As I gazed out at the sailboats in the harbour, I thought about how the story is always bigger than it first appears. Fred was simply one player among many who had discovered and explored Dan’s Cave. And Abaco was a lot more than what I had seen from the surface. No matter how well we know a place, or how well we know ourselves, there is always some hidden beauty waiting to be discovered. Sometimes it takes diving just a little farther in. I turned my head back to Attila and finally responded, “Let’s just say, it’s good to be home.” Britt Basel is a scientist, teacher, and photojournalist, working around the world to help communities adapt to climate change and protect their natural resources.
the bahamas
As part of the team, Captain Sarah Gilmer explores the outer pool of Dan’s Cave. JULY 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA
103
Journeys | the essence Accordion, viola, double bass, violin: Members of the Szรกszcsรกvรกs Band head for a gig in the Transylvanian village of Ceuas,.
ROMA RHAPSODY 132
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | JULY 2014
romania
FOLLOWING THE KINGS OF GYPSY MUSIC STRAIGHT INTO THE HEART OF ROMANIA BY PA N C R AS D I J K P H OTO G R A P H S BY B O G DA N C R O I TO R U
JULY 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA
133
Music making is as natural as breathing in Zece Pra˘jini, where a villager plays accordion in a bedroom.
134
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | JULY 2014
XXXXXXXXXXXX (XXXXXXXXX)
Journeys | the essence
romania
U
NDER A STARLESS NIGHT SKY, THE MUSICIANS ARE GATHERING. FOR THE PAST SIX HOURS, THEY’VE BEEN PLAYING AT A PARTY IN
this small Gypsy, or Roma, village in the Moldavia region of Romania. But now, with solemn expressions on their sweaty faces, the 12 men have one more important task to fulfil: to pay tribute to a 60-year-old fellow villager who earlier in the day took his last breath. At exactly midnight, they enter the large front yard of a traditionally built dwelling of clay. They take their positions between some bent fruit trees and a wood fire heating a big kettle of cabbage. Tubas on the right, baritone horns in the middle, trumpets and clarinet on the left. Firmly filling their lungs with air, the men known as Fanfare Cioca˘rlia—having performed in more than 60 countries on five continents and enjoying a worldwide reputation for being the fastest and wildest Gypsy brass band around—begin playing a farewell march to their neighbour. Searching for the roots of Roma music in a nation on Europe’s edge has led me to this melancholy yard. Fifteen years ago, I followed my Romanian girlfriend to this country and since then have shared many joys as well as a loss or two, so I’m somewhat familiar with Romanian mourning habits: I spill some drops of the home-made wine, which the relatives of the deceased had passed around, then raise my glass in acknowledgment of their grief. But my spontaneous libation isn’t repeated by anyone else, I notice. I feel as if I’ve entered a parallel life, its sound track playing right in front of me. It becomes obvious to me: This is a different Roma-
nia, not the same country I have visited more than a dozen times in the past decade. Welcome to the world of the Roma. ˘ JINI is one of a kind—and not THE VILLAGE OF ZECE PRA just because of the many excellent musicians among its 400-some inhabitants. It is said to be the only Romanian village with a 100 per cent Roma population; the church, built a decade ago entirely with donations by members of Fanfare Cioca˘rlia, claims to be the only Roma Eastern Orthodox church in the world. Next to the church, Costel Cantea has a bar. He generously serves a sweet vi inata˘ de casa to visitors he happens to like. As he fills my glass a second time with this high-proof, house-made sour cherry liquor, he notices me looking for an ashtray. “Pancreas,” Costel says, mispronouncing my name, “please, just throw it on the floor. Dirt makes a bar look lively. You can’t have fun in a clean bar. Or what do you think, Pancreas?” Romania has the largest population of Roma in Eastern Europe, estimated unofficially by the European Commission at 1.85 million. Here, as elsewhere in Europe and the U.S., Roma are often viewed unfavourably. While enjoying a beer in a second village bar, I catch a TV news report about 400 Roma who are about to be deported from Italy to Romania. The reality of this Roma village contrasts markedly with what the news anchors report about the miserable conditions in which
Visiting music fans can stay at a Romastyle guest house.
JULY 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA
135
Journeys | the essence the Roma live in Italy, France, and other western European countries. In Zece Pra˘jini, earlier in the day, a woman picking apples from a tree had offered me a handful of them when I passed her yard. “Have some more,” she said, after I remarked that they tasted very sweet and juicy. Zece Pra˘jini, meaning “ten acres,” has been breathing music for over a century—quite literally, because unlike any other Roma community, the inhabitants play brass instruments, with the odd woodwind or percussion instrument thrown in. Despite its small population, Zece Pra˘jini counts four brass bands: Cioca˘rlia, Ciucar, Shavale, and Zece Pra˘jini—with all shades of rivalry between them. “Look at my hands,” says Laza˘r Ra˘dulescu, a trumpet player and senior member of Fanfare Cioca˘rlia. “They’re way too big and coarse to play something as delicate as a violin. We play brass.” That’s been the tradition since the 1860s, when slavery was abolished and each Roma family here was awarded ten acres by a landlord. Ra˘dulescu, in his 60s, remembers his childhood as being full of brass music, and he’s confident that the future will be no different. “Lots of our kids play instruments, too. They’re eager, but also they see what prosperity it has brought us.” The youngest generation of la˘utari, or musicians, differs from the older ones in one main aspect: They are taught at music schools in the nearby city of Roman, and they are able to read music. So how did you learn it? I asked several older musicians. Their answers were always the same: “With the ears, from my father and grandfather.” I SAY GOODBYE to Moldavia and follow a route that crosses the Carpathian Mountains at Cheile Bicazului, a spectacular, 1.6-kilometre stretch of road through a startlingly narrow pass, flanked with walls of rock stretching 1,148 feet up to the sky. Halfway through, in a spot where the canyon offers a bit more air and is suddenly wide enough for more than just a two-lane road, souvenir sellers display their wares, some of which are worth the money: fine fabrics, wooden toys, decorated pottery. Dozens of plastic Dracula tchotchkes make it clear I’ve reached the region of Transylvania. But I am going to meet God, not a vampire. With a worn-out violin held loosely in one of his hands, he arrives right between the welcoming glasses of strong horinca˘, plum brandy, and the chunks of meat with salad and potatoes that compose my dinner in the village of Ceuas‚, or Szászcsávás, as they call it in Hungarian, the dominant language in parts of Transylvania. The moustachioed, stern-looking Dumnezeu (God) has brought three of his disciples. Together they make up the Szászcsávás Band, a string ensemble that plays old-style Hungarian and Romanian Gypsy music: a frantic rhythm with up to four melody lines, weaving complex lyrical patterns. “At age four I held my first violin,” says Dumnezeu, the nickname that star violin player S‚tefan Iambor goes by. He formed his first ensemble at 13. “Your violin looks pretty old and maltreated,” I tell him, but he tells me it is only two years old. “It was custom-made for me in Bucharest,” he says. Due to the intense way he plays, his instruments don’t grow old with him. “Music is an essential element of our identity in this region. Far away from Western influences, we were able to preserve the traditional, Hungarian-style Roma music. Even in Hungary you won’t find anyone playing this kind of music anymore.”
136
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | JULY 2014
Slapping and twisting his legs in lightning fast moves, a Roma dancer performs for a tour group in a Ceuas, yard.
I FOLLOW THE MUSIC to the other side of the Prahova Valley, through the Carpathian crescent separating Transylvania and the historic region of Walachia. Near the Bulgarian border, I reach the village of Clejani. The landscape has flattened, with cornfields stretching for miles. Clejani is the birthplace of the band that gave me my first taste of Roma music: Taraf de Haïdouks. Ten years ago, I had watched them perform in Amsterdam. They were impressive on stage. After the show ended, they played on, asking the audience for some extra money. I was sold, for good. The musicians making up the Taraf de Haïdouks ensemble happen to return home from a concert in Switzerland during my first day in the village. One by one, they get out of various taxis, dressed in shiny black suits, designer sunglasses hiding their eyes, with black hats atop their shiny black hair. They seem the odd ones out, here in this dusty village. In fact, they hold this place together. For many in Clejani, the group’s international fame is their main source of pride.
romania
The current star of Taraf de Haïdouks is Caliu, a violin player with talents one could describe as either divine or diabolic. In the evening some of the best Clejani musicians show off their skills in a long concert on the porch of a house that is still under construction, like so many in this rapidly developing country. The music the Roma play in this village, epitomising a very Romanian musical style, is characterised by the accordion and the cimbalom, a hammer dulcimer, played here at incredible speeds. During a break, I sit down next to the ensemble’s singer, the nationally famous Vasile Dinu. As he wipes the sweat from his forehead with a white handkerchief, he has to endure perhaps the stupidest question ever posed to him: “What are your lyrics about?” I ask. The old man frowns and says, “Despre dragoste—About love.” What else could one possibly sing about, his tone implies. As we’re chatting, some Roma women serve sarmale, spiced minced meat wrapped in cabbage. “We’ve been rolling them for two days,” one of the ladies playfully complains.
Clejani is close to the capital city of Bucharest, where, on the next evening, I decide to visit Club Fabrica, a trendy underground bar in the heart of the old city. While DJ Vasile (real name: Lucian Stan) pumps his 21st-century dance beats into the cramped club, my thoughts go back to the master violinists in Clejani and Ceuas‚, and the brass players in Zece Pra˘jini. Those last guys definitely generate more beats per minute than this DJ can pull off, I realise. Suddenly, the sound of a violin comes out of nowhere. To his mix of pumping bass and trance-like electronica, DJ Vasile has added a sample of what seems to be a sweet Roma melody. Two parallel universes sharing the same heartbeat collide into one. Adapted from a story that originally appeared in the Dutch edition of Nat Geo Traveler, where Pancras Dijk is a senior writer. Photographer Bogdan Croitoru is based in Bucharest. JULY 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA
137
Get Going | indonesia
The Walk INTENSITY THIS IS A LEISURELY HIKE WITH NO STEEP CLIMBS, EXCEPT AT THE VERY END. IT CAN TAKE 1-2 HOURS EACH WAY.
2000
Easy
The year Mount Batur last erupted
Moderate
Demanding
The most imposing sight on the Mount Batur trek is Mount Agung, an active volcano and Bali's highest mountain (3,148 m). Its last major eruption in 1963 left parts of the island uninhabitable for years.
BUBBLING HOT BREAKFAST by faye rodrigues
150
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | JULY 2014
T
here’s a certain holiday I envisioned with the mention of Bali. It included sunny beaches overlooking crystal-clear water, ornate temples with decades of history, and traditional dances telling stories of years gone by. To top it all, there would be water sports to excite even a non-swimmer like me. So why was I packing a pair of sports shoes in my suitcase? Two words: Mount Batur. It is an active volcano in northeastern Bali, whose 1,717-metre summit is the perfect point from where to witness the sunrise. The thrill of climbing a volcano with a very real chance of erupting cemented it in my itinerary. The adventure started at 3 a.m., when a friend and I climbed into a car that would take us from Ubud in southwest Bali to the base of the volcano. As the car sneaked through dark lanes during the hour-long drive, we keenly watched the starry sky, awaiting a glimpse of Mount Batur. All I
DUDAREV MIKHAIL/SHUTTERSTOCK
Sunrise at the volcanic Mount Batur unveils the beauty of the Balinese landscape
ATLAS
Bali, Indonesia
The Mount Batur volcano (top) consists of three craters—Batur I, II, and III—that are constantly being reshaped by eruptions. The last eruption in 2000 emitted a 300-metre-high ash cloud over the volcano; A small wooden shack (bottom) near the summit of Mount Batur is frequented by hikers, who come for the hearty breakfast and sunrise views.
Bali sun forced us to make our way back down. Blame it on the hearty breakfast or the adrenaline coursing through our veins, but we all had a noticeable spring in our step while descending.
Now, when I think of the island, I picture a glistening crater lake protected by two active volcanoes, Together, they preserve the charm of old-world Bali, unmatched by any other attraction.
Pura Ulun Danu Batur, one of Bali’s most important temples, used to be located in the caldera at the foot of Mount Batur. The shrine to the goddess of Lake Batur was moved to an adjacent ridge after it was almost completely destroyed by an eruption in 1926.
THE VITALS The access point to Mount Batur is Kintamani, 35 km/1 hour northeast of Ubud. Several tour companies organise the sunrise trek to the volcano (IDR 4,50,000-7,50,000/`2,200-3,800 per head). The writer travelled with Bali Sunrise Tours, and the package included pick-up and drop to the hotel, coffee, water, snacks, and a torch. The guides were friendly and helpful (www.balisunrisetours.com; IDR 5,50,000/`2,770 from Ubud). Alternatively, tourists can make their way to Kintamani and hire a guide there. Climbing Mount Batur without a guide is not advisable.
JULY 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA
151
SEPPFRIEDHUBER/E+/GETTY IMAGES (VOLCANO), KBG/ALLOVER IMAGES/ALAMY/INDIA PICTURE (HUT)
could think about along the way was that the volcano had erupted a mere 14 years ago. Just a short while later we were standing at its base, warming ourselves with strong Balinese coffee. The tour guide geared us up for the trek with a torch, a bottle of water, and advice about sticking to the path. The moonlight barely pierced through the tall trees on the dark night as we followed the guides closely up the narrow trail. Loose rocks dotted the path, but posed no danger because we spotted them easily with the torches strapped around our wrists. The three-hour hike wasn’t very taxing, getting steep only towards the end. Just as we reached the summit, the night sky started transitioning to a deep blue, and a welcome yellow line marked the horizon. The rays of the morning sun slowly began filling the sky. The immense Lake Batur and the many villages spread around it came out of hiding. The baby-blue sky was reflected in the crystalline water of Bali’s largest crater lake. The towering Mount Agung, the island nation’s highest point and almost twice the stature of Mount Batur, loomed before us. Now that it was light, our guides took us across the top of the volcano, allowing us a peek into the safer craters. We didn’t see bubbling lava, but the steaming chunks of black rock served just as well to remind me that we were standing on an explosive tract of land. Thankfully, there was breakfast to distract us. It is difficult to beat the experience of eating tropical mangosteen fruit, bread, and eggs (freshly boiled in the steam of the volcano), facing that majestic view. Soon enough, though, the impending harshness of the
THE JOY OF Small Things Stunning views, flocks of cuddly sheep, smoked garlic—that’s what Kodaikanal is about | By Dilanie D
Kodaikanal is one among many hill stations in the Palani Hills of Tamil Nadu. Its popularity as a summer getaway dates back to the British era.
It is chilly outside, and the only thing that interrupts the silence is the sporadic hoot of an owl or a frog’s ribbit. I’m snuggling with a mug of hot coffee, and reminiscing about this hill station I call home. Kodaikanal is a tiny, touristy town engulfed by mist and thickets of pine and eucalyptus. The scarlet rhododendron blooms riotously once in a while, the weather is always pleasant, and there’s wildlife in the form of the occasional bison
or wild boar. Despite the tourist influx, this little haven radiates serenity. It may seem like there isn’t much to do, but growing up here I learnt to appreciate the small things in life, although, they really aren’t that small—watching the sun rise over the hills, sitting by the glistening lake with coffee, dew-kissed mornings. Or visiting the Sunday market along P.T. Road to stock up on cheese and smoke-dried garlic. Here are a few ideas to give travellers a fresh insight into my hill station hometown.
THE VITALS
Kodaikanal is a hill station in Tamil Nadu 450 km/8 hours from Bengaluru and 522 km/9 hours from Chennai. Frequent buses connect the hill station to both these metros. The closest airports are Madurai (114 km/3 hours) and Coimbatore (172 km/4 hours). Kodaikanal Road Station (80 km/2 hours) is the closest railway station, connected to most major cities in south India.
162
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA | JULY 2014
F9PHOTOS/SHUTTERSTOCK
the insider
Short Breaks | from bengaluru
kodaikanal
four ways to explore CHOW DOWN MOMOS
TREK TO THE TOP
A visit to Kodi isn’t complete until you’ve had a meal at The Royal Tibet restaurant, affectionately called Tibs. Located at the bottom of P.T. Road, Tibs is a local landmark. Walk inside and you’re welcomed with the aromas of fried chicken momos, chow mein, and chilli beef—all highly recommended as is the Tibetan bread. Wash down the delectable food with some hot lime-honey tea (open 11 a.m.8.30 p.m.; meal for two `500). Pastry Corner, or P.C., on Bazaar Road is another Kodi institution. The best time to visit is in the afternoon when a fresh stock of pastries arrive, making this shop on the main road leading up to the bus stop, easy to sniff out (open 10 a.m-6 p.m.).
Locals visit Pillar Rocks just as often as travellers, but instead of viewing the pillars from the deck, we hike to the top of the pillars themselves. The path is almost hidden, and only residents know about it. The 15-minute uphill walk is worth the effort. You’ll find yourself in the midst of woodland, with the entire world in front of you. The hike is slightly risky, since there’s a steep drop on the left the entire way. But the view from the top of the pillars is breathtaking. It’s best not to carry any food, as there are several monkeys in the area (taxi to Guna Caves about `250; the path begins behind the ticket counter for the caves; local guides available in the vicinity or via local travel agents for `150).
SCORE SOME CHEESE
PICNIC WITH SHEEP
Among the many species of sheep at the Mannavannur Sheep Farm (top), is the Bharat Merino, prized for the softness of its wool; Between the two boulders of Pillar Rocks (middle) is a bat-infested cave that the locals call Devil’s Kitchen; Tibs’ Tibetan food (bottom) is the stuff of Kodi legend. The restaurant is especially popular with the students of Kodaikanal’s boarding schools.
Drive 30 km/1 hour west of Kodi to the Southern Regional Research Centre in the stunning village of Mannavanur, also known as Bison Valley. The 1,346acre property is a picturesque picnic spot with misty mountains in the background, flocks of adorable sheep, and a shimmering, heart-shaped lake in the centre. It is a great place to drop off the grid, since mobile coverage is scarce. There are several other lakes as well and they’re all brimming with trout. Fishing enthusiasts can bring their own gear and try their luck. It is also possible to stay over night at Mannavanur, though the facilities are fairly basic (taxis charge `1,200 for the round trip to Mannavanur; www.kodaikanalcampersclub. com; 94444 77358).
JULY 2014 | NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA
163
MAHESH/MOMENT OPEN/GETTY IMAGES (SHEEP), SHIVAKUMAR SHANKAR (CLIFFS), AROON THAEWCHATTURAT/ALAMY/INDIAPICTURE (FOOD)
A Kodi picnic is incomplete without cheese, and there's plenty on offer. Spencer’s supermarket stocks a popular local brand called Kodai Cheese, which has hard Cheddar, Parmesan, and softer ricotta-like varieties. Caroselle Dairy, founded by an ItalianAmerican lady who settled in Kodaikanal, makes cheese aged with microbial rennet (and not from young calves as is usually the case), so they’re wholly vegetarian. Stock up on their Gouda and feta from smaller shops across the hill station (carosellecheese.com/ varieties-.html). Cinnabar is a homestay run by K. Balakrishnan and his wife who host cheese-making courses. They are known for their Cinnamano, a hard, Italian-style cheese, and Cinnableu, a blue cheese like English Stilton (cinnabar.in). —Kamala Thiagarajan