s e p t e m b e r 2 0 1 6 • ` 1 5 0 • VO L . 5
I SS U E 3 • N A T G E O TR A V E L L ER . I N
Watch Kalki’s Great Escape on Fox Life this month
Cuba
Havana Nights
Khajuraho
A Divine Tempo
Vienna
In Full Swing
Seeking Rhythms Around the world in dancing shoes
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
september 2016
Contents Vol 5 Issue 3
seeking rhythms
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Dancing to a Forgotten Tune
Amidst the sculpted temples of Khajuraho, a dance festival inspires the pursuit of lost threads By Rumela Basu
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Cuba is Music
In streets and dance salons, unlocking the rhythm of a Caribbean nation through a shared love for dance Text & Photographs by Britt Basel
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Waltzing Vienna
Sway, rise, fall: Dancing into the heart of the Austrian capital and its European classical culture Text by Neha Dara Photographs by Anshika Varma
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Happy Feet
From learning the sensual tango in Argentina to belly dancing in Istanbul, eight holidays to shimmy, shake, and roll around the world By Rumela Basu, Kareena Gianani, and Diya Kohli
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Escape to a Place Called Home
Nostalgia and adventure on a road trip through India’s Northeast By Kalki Koechlin
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What Lies Beneath
96 Bali, Indonesia
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national Geographic Traveller INDIA | september 2016
The Nile and Egypt’s documented treasures form just a fraction of the heritage of this country By Niloufer Venkatraman
ignacio palacios/lonely planet images/getty images
Journeys
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SEPTEMBER 2016 • `150 • VOL. 5
WATCH Kalki’s Great Escape on Fox Life this month
I S S U E 3 • N AT G E O T R AV E L L E R . I N
Discovering cowboy culture and cowhand tricks on a Colorado ranch
22 Crew Cut
54 National Park
Dealing with the dissonance of landing in a new place
24 Inside Out
A stroll through New York’s Central Park brings hope in terrible times
n av i ga t e
26 My City
Reykjavík has the charm of the old, and the edge of the new
32 Power of Place
Rediscovering poetry and flower power in the Kumaoni village of Kasar Devi
38 Off Track
Reed upon reed supports life on Peru’s Uros floating islands
40 Road Trip
50 Experience
CUBA
HAVANA NIGHTS
KHAJURAHO
A DIVINE TEMPO
VIENNA
IN FULL SWING
Seeking Rhythms AROUND THE WORLD IN DANCING SHOES
On The Cover In this image, photographer Hugh Sitton captures the duende or “soul” that defines flamenco dancing. In it, the dancers use a combination of poise, gestures, footwork, and rhythmic clapping to create what is undoubtedly one of the most iconic performing arts of Spain.
A decade after they were wiped out, tigers return to Rajasthan’s Sariska Tiger Reserve
62 Super Structures
Marine creatures big and small inhabit The Blue Planet aquarium in Denmark
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Revving up at 90, America’s historic Route 66 still has plenty of kicks
42 Urban Explorer
Stay away from the royal groupies with these unusual London experiences
44 Lit Trip
Marvels and magic at Portugal’s top indie bookstore
46 Geotourism
Handy tips for the thoughtful wildlife photographer
48 The Insider
A resident expert offers a glimpse of Morocco’s cultural capital Fez
regulars 16 Editor’s Note 18 Notebook 124 Inspire 128 Travel Quiz september 2016 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA
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ROUTE 66/ALAMY STOCK PHOTO (installation), saiko3p/shutterstock (woman), radius images/dinodia photo library (owl), Hugh Sitton/corbis/getty images (cover)
voices
Editor’s Note |
n i lou f e r v en katra m a n
Breath of Fresh Air
our mission
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In recent years, Tasmania has done a good job of putting itself on the traveller’s map by promoting itself as a place with the cleanest air. And my friend looking for clean air could well head there. But really, we don’t need to travel to Antarctica or a remote Pacific island to find a breath of fresh air, there’s no reason why we can’t find it almost anywhere. My husband firmly believes that if you have a cold or flu in the city and you head to the hills of the Western Ghats, you will get better quicker. And often enough I’ve experienced just that. I’ve heard a mother talk of her
We need to find time to occasionally explore a forest, a mountain, a clean beach away from the city: anywhere really, where the outdoors will refresh our lungs and with that our bodies and souls
child’s acute asthma where he hadn’t gone a day in ten years without using his inhaler pump. She was shocked that while on an activity-filled outdoor camping trip not a wheeze had afflicted him for four whole days. Knowledge of the health benefits of travelling to places with fresh, clean air is not new. While I was travelling through Colorado’s Rocky Mountain National Park in August, my guide spoke of the high quality of mountain air and how people have come to this region since the 1800s seeking its invigorating effects. In the town of Estes Park where we spent a night, we heard stories of the inventor and businessman F. O. Stanley who built the region’s most famous colonial hotel, The Stanley Hotel. Incidentally, it inspired the fictional Overlook Hotel in Stephen King’s bestseller The Shining. But instead of ghosts and haunted buildings, what I found most interesting was the tale of how Stanley, who was suffering from tuberculosis, came here in 1903. Like thousands of others from the east, he’d arrived on the advice of a doctor who’d told him he had only six months to live. The story goes that the clean, dry atmosphere of the Rocky Mountains and time spent outdoors helped Stanley’s ailment, and he continued to visit every summer for the next 40 years. My time in this U.S. national park though all too short was uplifting. Fresh air has that easy ability to put a smile on my face. On a pleasant summer’s day a few months ago, travelling along the Irish coast, we’d stopped for a day at the village of Waterville, which sits right on the seafront on the Iveragh Peninsula. There’s nothing here I’d thought when I surveyed the quiet town; it wasn’t even bustling with pubs or great restaurants. However, the locals like to point out that Charlie Chaplin loved it and brought his family to vacation here every year for ten years from 1959. That’s hardly reason to visit, I’d mused, surveying his bronze statue. Later that evening, walking along the ocean-front promenade I stopped at a bench. Sitting there enjoying the crisp sea breeze, not a cloud in the sky, I gulped fresh Atlantic air. Unanticipatedly, I understood why Chaplin came to Waterville over and over again. Sometimes a revelation rides on a breath of fresh air.
National Geographic Traveller India is about immersive travel and authentic storytelling, inspiring readers to create their own journeys and return with amazing stories. Our distinctive yellow rectangle is a window into a world of unparalleled discovery.
national Geographic Traveller INDIA | september 2016
kiran mehta
W
hile discussing potential places for a short vacation, a friend declared that all she was looking for was a place with clean, fresh air. I suggested she go to the car-free hill station of Matheran near Mumbai. One of my favourite travel memories is of sitting with friends on an end-of-summer night at Matheran’s Echo Point. Pulling my jacket’s hood over my head I recall the joy of feeling the wind lifting up the valley, and smelling the sweet scent of the earth as the first drops of rain hit the hill station’s red soil. I’ve often heard that vast numbers of urban Indians are deficient in Vitamin D—which we should in the normal course of life get from sunshine. Increasingly we have forgotten that the simplest of health benefits can come from spending time outdoors. On a vacation, what many of us often need most is not an exotic locale or five-star amenities. Instead, perhaps we need to find time to occasionally explore a forest, a mountain, a clean beach away from the city: anywhere really, where the outdoors will refresh our lungs and with that our bodies and souls.
Notebook |
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FooD For THougHT
Nawabi Treasure FIlFora MurgH rEZala Ingredients ½ kg chicken pieces, 150 gm chopped onion (fry one half and grind the other to paste), 1 tsp ginger paste 2 tsp garlic paste, 4-5 black peppercorns, ½-inch stick of cinnamon, 1 black cardamom, 1 bay leaf, 100 gm deseeded green chillies, 50 gm chopped coriander, 50 gm sweet yogurt, juice of two lemons, 5 tbsp oil, salt to taste. For dry masala: 1 tsp coriander powder, ½ tsp red chilli powder, ½ tsp turmeric powder. For wet mix (to be ground): 1 cup milk, 1 tsp keora water, ½ tsp of equal quantities of nutmeg, mace (javitri), clove, and cardamom, all powdered. Method 1. Heat oil in a pan. Add black peppercorns, cinnamon, black cardamom, bay leaf, and ginger-garlic paste. Sauté for 2-3 minutes. 2. Add onion paste, coriander, chilli, and turmeric powder, and cook for 4-5 minutes. 3. Add chicken and yogurt, and cook for 2 minutes. 4. Then add green chillies, chopped coriander, lemon juice, and salt. Cook on a slow flame for 5 minutes. 5. Add fried onion and the wet masala mixture, and cook 5-7 minutes, until the chicken is cooked. (Recipe courtesy Asif Rasheed, Filfora restaurant)
PICTurE PoSTCarD
BEHIND THE SCENES
Tuning In
Time Machine
on my last day in the austrian capital vienna, i was sauntering around the old town looking for souvenirs to take home that didn’t have “tourist trap” written all over them. Just past hofburg palace, i came across a shop that sold art prints and postcards organised by artists’ names. i fell in love with this collection of music-themed postcards—vienna was after all known as europe’s music capital for the longest time. i adored their quirky and playful tone, with drawings that highlight the music of the people and the streets rather than of grand orchestras and ballrooms. they became even more valuable to me when the shop attendant told me they were drawn by the artist moriz Jung, who was part of the Wiener Werkstätte or vienna Workshop, a collective for artists started in 1903. it began publishing postcards in 1907 and continued until the start of World War i. —Deputy Editor, Neha Dara
While exploring Cuba, writer Britt Basel’s favorite form of transportation was getting around in maquinas, literally “machines.” In Cuba this refers to the classic American cars that have been mechanically maintained through sheer creativity since the 1960s; an extraordinary feat given the lack of replacement automobile parts resulting from the U.S. embargo on Cuba. Running set routes, a potential passenger flags down the car, asks the driver where they’re heading, and if the two agree on the direction, climbs in. The reward is usually a car packed full of Cubans and blaring reggaeton as it cruises through Havana’s streets. (Turn to “Cuba is Music” on page 74.)
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september 2016 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA
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SImon Reddy/AlAmy/IndIApICTURe (food), neHA dARA (postcard), BRITT BASel (car)
the nawabs don’t rule bhopal anymore, but the city still offers feasts fit for kings. my first breakfast in the city was paya and mutton biryani, wolfed down at a street stall in an old bazaar.
it was there that i heard about murgh rezala, a local nawabi delicacy of chicken cooked in yogurt and spices. some locals claimed that Filfora, a 20-yearold city restaurant is the only one that prepares it according to a 100-year-old recipe. it was almost 11 p.m. by the time i made it to Filfora in the Kohefiza neighbourhood. interestingly, no cook is allowed to prepare murgh rezala except 66-year-old owner, asif rasheed. the recipe is indeed a family heirloom, which she mastered with her grandmother’s help when she was a teenager. For me it was love at first bite. the delicate sweetness of the yogurt-based gravy mingled with the lingering fragrance of nutmeg, clove, and cardamom making murgh rezala my favourite bhopal memory. —Associate Editor, Kareena Gianani
crew cu t
Beyond the Unrest A traveller deals with the initial disconnect she often feels after landing in a new place
I
t was a cold day in Arunachal Pradesh. I was surrounded by lush mountains, rising up to kiss the clouds. Beside me, a skyblue river gushed happily, putting the crayons of childhood to shame. The sun warmed my face even as I pushed my fingers further into my pockets. It was a lovely day, but I had a nagging, uncomfortable feeling that wasn’t allowing me to appreciate the moment. My head was reeling with questions about why I had agreed to be here, in a corner of the country so very far from my home in Mumbai. This wasn’t a completely unknown feeling. Last year, when I travelled solo for the first time I’d felt the same stifling sensation. I’d visited Goa on numerous other occasions and knew my way around Panjim fairly well. But soon after checking into my homestay, I felt my stomach coil. It was similar to the gutwrenching feeling that comes knocking with heartbreak or disappointment. But in Goa I couldn’t put my finger on it. There seemed to be no reason at all for me to be feeling this way. Yet all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball, call home, and be in a familiar place I knew inside out. My dissonant feeling was confusing and it prevented me from enjoying and making the most of my first day. And yet, two days later, over a hearty, home-cooked lunch with new-found friends, I’d forgotten all about it. It was only much later, while reading British Airways pilot Mark Vanhoenacker’s book, Skyfaring: A Journey with a Pilot that I found the term I felt suited what I was experiencing. He proposes “place lag,” a cross between jet lag and culture shock, to explain the overwhelming feeling of disconnectedness with a place we might have newly arrived in. Though Vanhoenacker finds positivity and wondrousness in place lag, my experience is invariably a negative, disconcerting one. He speaks of places that are a long flight away, but my sense of imbalance can appear even when I’m an hour away from my city. Just like skewed circadian rhythms are to jet lag, could it be that the discomfort in my stomach was a symptom of what Vanhoenacker named “place lag?” Discussing this concept with a friend, I found he had had a similar experience while on a solo backpacking trip across Europe. He’d just reached Amsterdam and along with the highs of the city, he discovered he was uneasy with being there. His solution? To draw a calendar and cross off the days until he reached home again. He crossed out the dates faithfully for three days, and only found that calendar again while packing up at the end of his delightful month-long trip. I wondered if the symptoms I was feeling were most acute while travelling alone, but discovered they are not. This summer I was with some of my closest friends in Hampi, when I was blanketed by a strong wave of apathy for the new place. Why was I here? I kept asking myself. Did I want to be here? Was I
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national Geographic Traveller INDIA | september 2016
Fabiola Monteiro Fabiola Monteiro is National Geographic Traveller India’s Online Features Writer. She loves beaches, blue skies, and baking, and is most centred while trying a new cake recipe.
arm-wrestled into this? I don’t remember very much about that first day. But after a good night’s rest, the remainder of my Hampi holiday turned out to be fantastic. We climbed boulders to watch the sun rise, fell in love with coracle rides, hiked up to Hanuman’s alleged birthplace, and saw the sun set over endless fields of banana plantations. The looming cloud of place lag quickly disappeared from sight. Is time the only cure for the dissonant feelings travellers like me encounter when we land in a new place? Not for me. I’ve also found that interacting with people helps settle my sense of disorientation. In Arunachal, for instance, I made friends I’ll probably never see again. But because we exchanged intimate stories about our lives, families and hopes for the future, I found my connect. To counter the negative effects of place lag when I travel, I try to plan one of two things. Either I budget extra time for settling into a new space, or I ensure I have a packed itinerary with barely any time to spare. In the former I accept that I will feel disconnected and work to make the moment pass. In the latter scenario, place lag’s wispy waves of gloom are shooed away before they can appear. On a vacation in Varkala, this feeling was averted with an intense surfing class on day one. On short weekend trips out of town, I focus on packing in as much fun as I can, rarely mulling over my new surroundings. Turns out, days brimming with activity leave no room for place lag. And since coping with place lag usually means more thrilling experiences and new adventures, I’m ready to sign up. Every time.
eastnine inc./getty images
Voices |
i nside ou t
From This Moment On a stRoll thRough CentRal PaRk bRings a sense of hoPe in teRRible times
I
t was just two days after terrorists massacred 20 people at the holey artisan bakery and restaurant in the Dhaka neighbourhood where i live. among those killed were three young students, alumni of the school where my daughter studies. i was at the time in the U.s. on vacation with my family, but the event was still too close to home. it seemed too shocking, too brutal, too cruel and unfair to be true. the pall of fear, suspicion, and horror that hung over Dhaka covered my family too. the bright lights of times square and the cheerful throngs of tourists, eating, laughing, and clicking selfies with people in superhero costumes seemed bizarre, almost preposterous. i wanted answers to the questions that rattled around in my head. What is the way to live in these troubled times? how do we react to random acts of terror and violence perpetrated by humans against each other? there was only one place that i felt would offer me some explanations: the national september 11 memorial, a tribute to the people who were killed in terror attacks on 11 september 2001 and in February 1993 at the World trade center site in new York. Fifteen years ago, two tall towers stood in that very spot. the memorial consists of two great square pools of water, falling and flowing endlessly across the walls into a dark empty block, bordered by polished granite slabs that proclaim the names of the dead. i saw fresh flowers, red and purple poesies, laid along the inscribed name of robert michael murach, still remembered and missed. the nearby memorial museum told the personal stories of people who had died. through artefacts, photographs, and narratives from those who knew them, they were remembered by the way they lived, not by the manner of their death. never Forget, urged the memorial. What is the use of memory? i wondered, still numb and bitter after the visit. it does not offer any salve to those who lost their loved ones, nor hope to those who live in the shadow of terror. my husband, daughter, and i left for central park. the weather was perfect, the sky a clear blue with a glittering lozenge sun that warmed our skin without burning it. We wandered aimlessly through the park, our hearts too full for maps and logical plans. i stopped to buy a churro from one of the fast food stands—yellow carts shaded by green and white umbrellas managed by bangladeshi immigrants who do a brisk business selling hot dogs and ice creams. children squealed with laughter and small fluffy dogs sniffed out hidden treasures in the long grass. Fit men and women pounded the paths in running gear while others were content to sprawl on the grass, doing nothing. We found ourselves walking through a broad pathway flanked by arching trees,
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national GeoGraphic traveller inDia | september 2016
Nirupama Subramanian is a columnist and author of two novels, Keep The Change and Intermission. She has also won the Commonwealth Short Story Competition prize in 2006 for her short fiction.
the towering american elms. a statue of sir Walter scott looked benevolently upon us as we strolled through the literary Walk. i bought a painting of a yellow cab threading its way through a new York street from a bulgarian artist. Just below a large statue of christopher columbus, stood musician susan Kesner, slender, white-haired and aristocratic, playing classical melodies on her violin and selling her music on cDs and Usb sticks for $15 a pop. the fading strains of bach gave way to an aggressive african beat from a pair of bongo drums which inspired a fiery brown woman to shake and sway her body in what looked like an ancient rhythmic dance. a group of athletic african-american men, probably street dancers, enthralled a crowd with their acrobatic moves and light-hearted banter. We sat on the benches by a calm pool known as the conservatory Water and watched the world go by. it was hard to believe that a few hours ago we had been in a sombre memorial to the dead. i was unnerved by the events that had happened in Dhaka, yet soothed by the vibrancy, the teeming sense of wellbeing and tranquillity that imbued the air, the trees and people in central park. i felt the meaning in that old cliché “life goes on.” What i saw in the park reminded me that the only sane response to an act of cowardice is courage. to face the world with resilience, to accept our vulnerability and not cower in fear. to be cautious, but not be governed by distrust. to find our sweet oasis of peace amidst the chaos. i will never be able to make sense of these tragedies, but from walking through central park that day i understood that one of the ways to counter senseless death is to live a meaningful life, honouring those who are no longer with us, by making every moment count.
Rajesh RamakRishnan
Voices |
september 2016 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA
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navigate 32
power of place Rediscovering poetry and flower power in Kasar Devi
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off track Reed upon reed supports life on Peru’s floating islands
50
experience Cowboy culture and cowhand tricks on a Colorado ranch
Locals soak in the long outdoor hot tub at Nauthólsvík Geothermal Beach in Reykjavík.
Tale of Two Reykjavíks
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e can talk about two Reykjavíks. The wonderful one and the awful one, the one we love and the one we love less. The tourists come to Iceland for the first one, but sometimes you see them stuck in the latter: stranded on a traffic island, in their tip-top winter gear, with only their noses poking out, trying hard to eye Google maps on their smartphones through the raging blizzard, on their way to see the Northern Lights.
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But you can also spot, inside their heads, the bright image of a sunny midnight hour on the hotel roof, with a view out on the spectacular harbour and surroundings, the ocean a shiny mirror reflecting the sunset, while the downtown area is filled with bearded hipsters in suspenders making out with elfin beauties to the beat of the latest post-Björk band. We used to be an isolated village with an attitude, but now we’ve become the must-do western Europe stopover. The Northern Lights have become a thriving
national Geographic Traveller INDIA | september 2016
business. Every morning thousands of foreigners come rushing through the airport arrival gates, eager to see the celestial fireworks. Only half of them will get lucky. Either they land in the good Reykjavík or the bad one. The bars of Reykjavík constantly fill up with international crowds, in town for the Secret Solstice music festival or Airwaves or Reykjavík International Film Festival, the biennial Reykjavík Literature Festival, or Design March in spring. The most popular is New Year’s Eve, when locals put on one of the
Nanna Dís
Split personalities reign in Iceland’s capital: cosmopolitan with a village feel, isolated but bustling By hallgrímur Helgason
It has the power of the outpost, the lure of the exotic, the charm of the old, and the edge of the new. If New York is an old (Big) Apple computer, then Reykjavík is an Oculus Rift Smith is singing in the garden, while that young guy taking a selfie at the gas station is actually Justin Bieber. Loving Reykjavík is easy. It’s very user-friendly, with no six-laned traffic or sweaty crowds at subway stations (there is no metro). Every commute is ten minutes max. And even though the city has become more international, it still preserves that village feel. You’re required to say “Hi!” at least five times as you head for brunch at fresh new Bergsson Mathús café, next to the parliament, or walk over to the
Eymundsson bookstore for your afterlunch coffee and a browse through all the latest releases (the most well-known exports of Iceland seem to be fish and novels). For the more ambitious, a stroll through the stacks of old books at Bókin bookstore is a must. Then head for one of the many geothermally heated outdoor swimming pools and “hot pots,” the true pride of Reykjavík. (Besides the Hungarians and Japanese, Icelanders are the only people on Earth who go to the pool without taking a swim.) Night time takes you for a ride down Sæbraut, our Sunset Boulevard, where you can inhale all the surrounding islands and mountains and get a glimpse of Höfði House, an old wooden charmer among all the pre-crash banks and glass-clad buildings on Borgartún Street (now nicknamed “Boulevard of Broken Dreams”). From there on to Harpa, our new and glassy concert hall, or to an
On grey days, buildings in the heart of Reykjavík bring the rainbow (left); Grillmarkaðurinn’s (right) menu features local products like trout and skyr. september 2016 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA
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Cocoy and Pops Nabua (rainbow building), Slawek Kozdras (restaurant)
biggest displays of fireworks on Earth. For over an hour the city becomes the war zone it has never been. Best time to visit, though, is summer. This is the time of magical Reykjavík, when the city doesn’t sleep, when it’s party time for trees, birds, and people, when the sun hides only for an hour and comes up again in a new spot. You never know where you’ll see it the next time, and this is the core of Reykjavík’s soul: You never know what’s next. You never know what kind of city awaits you in the morning. It might have been spring last night, but today it’s winter. (“Autumn is early this year,” is a favourite survival joke in May and June.) And this rule of nature affects other things. Suddenly your bank has become a hotel, the supermarket a vinyl store. The parking garage has been turned into a hospital overnight, the slow traffic you’re honking at is actually a funeral procession, and by the way, Patti
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My C i ty
Where the Locals Go
You can see my city best from the Hallgrímskirkja church. Locals know to skip the Blue Lagoon and check out the heated outdoor swimming pools instead. 12 Tónar music store is the place to buy local souvenirs. My city's best museum is the 19th-century National Museum of Iceland because you never know what awaits you. July is the best time to visit my city because the light is on 24 hours a day. The dish that represents my city best is a hot dog “with everything” at Bæjarins Beztu, and the Kaffitár latte is my city’s
opening at the uber-cool i8 Gallery. The most acclaimed international indie films can be enjoyed at wonderful Bíó Paradís. Happy hour is happiest at lively Snaps or Kaldi Bar, named after the best local beer. Dinner is perfect at Fiskmarkaðurinn, owned by genius chef Hrefna Sætran, or the recently opened Matur og Drykkur, where another genius, Gísli Matthías Auðunsson, is experimenting with old-school Icelandic cuisine. For nightlife, head for Kaffibarinn if you think you’re young, or Ölstofan if you know your age. The day after, you might awake to the less lovely Reykjavík. It rains up your nose, and the radio is talking about the resignation of the prime minister or yet another Ponzi scheme dreamed up by our infamous greed-
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masters, and you ask yourself if this is really your favourite town. And after another moment you have to answer, “I guess so,” because Reykjavík is unlike any other city. There is no other capital this far from it all, yet this close to the action. It has the power of the outpost, the lure of the exotic, the charm of the old, and the edge of the new. If New York is an old (Big) Apple computer, then Reykjavík is an Oculus Rift. Plus it’s the only city I know of that shuts down because of both a blizzard and the best day of summer. Hallgrímur Helgason is the author of 101 Reykjavík and The Hitman’s Guide to Housecleaning. His latest novel, The Woman at 1000°, will soon be available in English.
national Geographic Traveller INDIA | september 2016
signature drink. Sample it at Kaffitár café. To find out what’s going on at night and on the weekends, read the Reykjavík Grapevine. Notable people who have called my city home include the writer and Nobel laureate Halldór Laxness. My city is known for being cool but it’s really warm. —Hallgrímur Helgason
Gerald Haenel/laif/Redux (concert hall), Tamer Koseli (illustrations)
Talents as varied as pianist Víkingur Ólafsson and comic Russell Brand perform at Harpa concert hall.
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P ow e r o f Pl ac e
The snow-capped peaks of Nanda kot, Nanda Devi, and Trishul form the perfect backdrop to mystical Crank’s ridge.
Turn on, Tune in, Drop Out
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n a clear day, a panoramic view of the himalayas— from nanda Devi to the five snow-capped peaks of panchachuli—unfurls above Kasar Devi, a small hilltop village near almora in Uttarakhand. a single road runs along the top of the ridge, with about 200 homes dotting the slopes on either side. i first went there on a school picnic nearly 15 years ago. everything beyond Kasar Devi temple was deemed out of bounds and we were especially warned to steer clear of “hippie hill.” over time i learned that the area, also known as crank’s ridge, used to be a pulsing hub of art, poetry, mysticism, and hippie subculture. this history still brings backpackers to the village where
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homestays, old general stores, and new cake shops cater to their needs. i couldn’t wait to discover more, especially once i moved to binsar, just 30 minutes away. From swami vivekananda to timothy leary and bob Dylan, Kasar Devi’s roster of stars and their goings-on was the stuff of legend. a band of hippies populated this tiny ridge during the 1960s. among them was psychologist timothy leary who was fired from harvard University for advocating the use of psychedelic drugs. president richard nixon called him the “most dangerous man in america.” While leary is most famous for his experiments with lsD and the catchphrase “turn on, tune in, drop out,” he was also a believer in the theory
national GeoGraphic traveller inDia | september 2016
that gaps in the bands of radiation that surround the earth (called the van allen belt) endow certain spots such as machu picchu and stonehenge with a special cosmic energy. he believed Kasar Devi was one such place. Whatever the merits of this theory, the region has certainly drawn many extraordinary poets, philosophers, and spiritual leaders. one of the earliest pilgrims was swami vivekananda, who wrote in his diaries about meditating near Kasar Devi in 1890. German philosopher ernst lothar hoffmann, later known as lama anagarika Govinda, who was the first european to be ordained a buddhist monk, also lived here. he had met renowned tibetan buddhism scholar Walter evans-Wentz
september 2016 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA
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Jaimitra Singh BiSht
RediscoveRing poetRy and floweR poweR in the Kumaoni village of KasaR devi By Shikha TripaThi
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Urba n E xplo r e r
Go Local or Go Home Stay away from the royal groupies with these offbeat London experiences By Larry Porges Thames treasure hunt
When the tide is out on the river, “mudlarkers” rummage along the exposed bed of the Thames in search of bits of pottery, buttons, and other artefacts from bygone days. Give it a go—try the river’s north bank near St. Paul’s or around the Southwark and Blackfriars Bridges, though anywhere with waterfront access has a chance for some finds. Word to the wise: The tips on the Port of London Authority’s website (www.pla. co.uk) about slippery stone stairs and fast-moving tides are important reading. You’ll thank us later.
A basket of fresh peas (right) on Maltby Street; Artwork for sale (left) at Sotheby’s.
Cruise to the zoo
The London Zoo receives over 13 lakh visitors a year, but only a few know they can skip the lines and come in via the back door. London Waterbus is one of several companies that run cruises along Regent’s Canal— connecting leafy Little Venice with Camden Town—but it’s the only one that can let you off (right by the monkeys, sloths, and lemurs) at a private canal-side zoo gate (www.londonwaterbus.com; adults £25/`2,200, children upto 16 £18/`1,580; includes entry to the zoo). Sold on Sotheby’s
Socialize with the elite at one of Sotheby’s regular public sales in Mayfair by registering
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online or at the auction house. If you purchase an item (say, by playing with the paddle too enthusiastically), make arrangements to take it home—atop Sotheby’s front door is an Egyptian statue from 1320 B.C. that was sold in the 1800s but never picked up by the buyer (www. sothebys.com). Toast the telly Opened in 1949, Bar Italia on
Soho’s Frith Street is popular for its friendliness, coffees, and celebrity patrons—look around for Kylie Minogue and Francis Ford Coppola. What’s not well known about this institution is that just upstairs from where you’re dipping biscotti into your cappuccino, a new invention
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called television was shown for the very first time in 1926 by Scotsman John Logie Baird (www.baritaliasoho. co.uk). Hard night’s sleep
Starting in 1962, when they first moved to the English capital, the Beatles stayed on and off for more than a year at the President Hotel in Bloomsbury’s Russell Square. (This is before they were “bigger than Jesus”—the tuneful teens were sometimes escorted by their parents.) The hotel is still in business, so die-hard fans can sleep in the same spot where the Fab Four laid their famous moptopped heads (www.imperialhotels.co.uk; doubles from £117/`10,290).
Everyone knows of the speciality food stalls at Southwark’s Borough Market, but shoppers looking for a local vibe should walk a kilometre east to Bermondsey’s Maltby Street. Some of the market’s original vendors relocated here to regain a sense of community. It’s not as large as Borough Market, but you can nosh on Scotch eggs and sip traditional mead (www.maltby.st). Murder mystery
Jack the Ripper hogs all the press when it comes to East London’s prostitute murders of 1888. Discover more about the victims by visiting The Ten Bells pub on Whitechapel’s Commercial Street—some of the unfortunates used to drink and drum up trade here. Then pay your respects a few kilometres east at the City of London Cemetery, the final resting place of two victims (www.tenbells.com).
Dan Kitwood/Getty Images (peas), Camera Press/Redux (painting)
Out to lunch
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Geotou r i s m
Law of the Jungle Handy tips for tHe tHougHtful wildlife pHotograpHer By Kareena Gianani | illustration By rohan ChaKravarty
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great photograph doubles the joy of a wonderful sighting in the wild. it stays on as evidence of a memorable encounter, when the tiger turned back to look straight at you as it sauntered regally across the track, or adorable baby wild boars tumbled over one another in their eagerness to follow their mama. sometimes, in the pursuit of that picture, our enthusiasm can get the better of us. in the interest of acting thoughtfully towards the wildlife we love so much, wildlife photographer ramki sreenivasan and filmmaker shekar Dattatri have put together a little booklet, which has a helpful list of things to watch out for. peppered with colourful illustrations by rohan chakravarty and sumit sen, Stop! Don’t Shoot Like That—A Simple Guide to Ethical Wildlife Photography alerts travellers to the potential harm of their actions. We extracted a few handy tips:
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CROWDING ANIMALS most of us have seen safari jeeps crowding around a spot, as visitors clamour to take pictures. this either drives the animal off or can even aggravate it. it’s best to maintain a safe distance and drive away when more visitors approach the spot. HANDLING CRITTERS picking up or
touching amphibians and reptiles to get close-up shots startles them and exposes them to infections. click them in their natural habitat, it’s less harmful and the resulting photos are more honest.
and lorises, travellers frequently end up using flash or external lights, harming the animals’ sensitive eyes. a more empathetic approach would be to use a night vision camera. MOBILE MENACE any loud
conversations in a sanctuary are a no-no. and nothing is worse than the alien sound of a ringing phone. put that mobile on silent and enjoy the sounds of the jungle.
MIMICKING BIRDCALL photographers sometimes play a recording of bird call to draw out an elusive winged creature. this can be very disruptive, especially during breeding season when it distracts birds from their courtship and nest guarding.
OFF-ROADING to stretch their stay in the wild, visitors often linger till the last minute and then drive pell-mell to reach the exit in time to avoid being fined. speeding, off-roading, or taking shortcuts in the forest can frighten animals and damage delicate habitats like salt flats and grasslands.
NIGHT PHOTOGRAPHY to shoot nocturnal creatures like nightjars, owls,
read the booklet on www. conservationindia.org/resources/ethics
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Supe r Structu r es
Northern Europe's largest aquarium, The Blue Planet, has 450 marine species living in cold, fresh, or saline water aquariums.
Waves, Whirlpools, and Hammerhead Sharks MARINE creatures big and small inhabit Denmark’s shiny nautical swirl By Rumela Basu
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North Atlantic. They house a variety of sea creatures from tiny molluscs, poison dart frogs, and graceful sea horses to cave-dwelling elephant fish that communicate using electricity. There is a group of waddling puffins and even a pair of furry sea otters. Hammerhead sharks, the largest of the aquarium’s inhabitants, can be seen swimming along manta rays from inside an underwater tunnel. Apart from the tunnel, there are touch pools where you can feel crabs and starfish. After a long day of exploration stop at eatery ØST to sample Nordic cuisine while soaking in the blues of the Øresund Strait. The 10,000-square-metre space completely imbibes the character of water in its design. Even the exterior is the colour of shining surf, the outdoor pools and its location surrounded by
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water—all echoing the ethos of a breathtaking underwater world (denblaaplanet. dk/en; Mon 10 a.m-9 p.m., Tue-Sat 10 a.m.-5 p.m.; adults DKK170/`1,720, children aged 3-11 DKK95/`960.) ATLAS
SLOVAKIA IA
BANGLADE ADESH
COLOMBIA
LESOTHO
Copenhagen, Denmark The Blue Planet holds 7 million litres of water in 53 aquariums and exhibits.
hufton and crow/view pictures/dinodia photo library
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s it a building floating in a pool? Or a structure shaped like a glittering whirlpool? The Blue Planet aquarium (Den Blå Planet) in Denmark is both of these. Here, visitors can meet over 20,000 creatures from the world’s oceans inside an architectural landmark building. Located on the island of Amager, overlooking Øresund Strait in Copenhagen’s Kastrup suburb, the structure’s magnificent design is inspired by the shape of a giant whirlpool, when looked at from above. From street level however, it appears to be submerged in water and the path leading to the round, indoor lobby sucks you into the vortex of a whirlpool. From the central lobby, the curving arms of the swirl lead to eight exhibit zones showcasing the depths and shores of ocean waters from the tropics to the
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austria Waltzing into the heart of Vienna
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world Eight dance holidays around the globe
Javier Pierini/Stone/getty imageS
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madhya pradesh The Khajuraho Dance Festival stirs old memories
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The illuminated facade of the 11th-century Chitragupta Temple enhances the experience of watching a graceful Indian classical dance performance.
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Dancing to a
Forgotten Tune pep rolg/alamy/indiapicture
Amidst the sculpted temples of Khajuraho, a dance festival inspires the pursuit of lost threads by Rumela Basu
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In Focus | seeki n g r hy thm s
As the Manipuri dancers spun on stage,
the music of their ghungroos made me a little wistful. My own
ghungroos have not seen the light of day for about six years. Stored away in a large wooden trunk with my dance costume and jewellery, they represent a now neglected part of my life. The 11th-century Chitragupta temple, dedicated to the sun god, provided a brilliant backdrop, much as it might have hundreds of years ago. The courtyard-like stage with pillars, doorways, and steps carved with motifs, became an added element in the dance piece, with soft light illuminating the intricate work. The dancers could indeed be devdasis, and all of us the enthralled townsfolk. Khajuraho’s golden sandstone temples, built by the Chandela kings between the 9th and 12th centuries, are its crowning
hritu pawar facing page: satish parashar/dinodia photo rf/dinodia photo library (sculptures), marco brivio/age fotostock/dinodia photo library (temple)
I was among a crowd of hundreds, at the week-long Khajuraho Dance Festival, which takes place annually in February in this little town in Madhya Pradesh. We watched the troupe from the Shadhona dance academy in Dhaka on an open-air stage, designed to look like a sprawling temple courtyard. The classical dance ballad they performed was set to the music of Manipuri instruments and the familiar words of a Bengali kirtan. Gentle but nimble, the dancers moved in sync with the drumbeats of the barrel-shaped pakhawaj—nothing short of art in motion.
The dancers on stage at the Khajuraho Dance Festival are like live versions of the carved figurines that adorn the pillars, walls, and inner sanctums of the town’s temples.
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■ m a dh ya prades h glory, and a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Of the city’s 20odd temples, the western complex has the most remarkable set, enclosed in a gated, sprawling garden with bougainvillea bushes all around. The stones and sculptures of these medieval temples are held together in an interlocking system, without any mortar or adhesive. They are dedicated mainly to Vishnu and Shiva, and every last inch of their walls is filled with intricate carvings. God, man, woman, beast, and nature are all depicted in different aspects. Soldiers prepare for war, teachers take classes under the shade of a tree, birds and beasts roam the forest, gods and goddesses are seen in august poses, men and women embrace, a king and queen make love. Of all of Khajuraho’s temple carvings, the most famous are of course the erotic sculptures. I was rather surprised to find that these actually form only a small fraction of the artwork there. My guide told me that the philosophy behind the carvings was to depict the engagements of everyday life, then gradually progress toward spiritual enlightenment as one enters the inner chambers of the temples. Indeed, as I walked deeper in, the figures change from human to divine. Outside, from love and family, to war, death, and learning, every carved panel tells the story of ordinary life. Once you step inside the temple, there is
not a single erotic sculpture or depiction of war. I found myself drawing a parallel between the temple’s sculptures and a lesson from my training in classical dance, when my teacher explained the form of a complete Odissi dance recital. It begins with a prayer or mangalacharan, goes on to a piece of pure dance or pallavi where the performer showcases all of their knowledge of the dance form—it’s rhythms, music and style. Then comes abhinaya, a piece of storytelling or dance drama, where a dancer explores feelings—of love, anger, grief, and jubilation—truly celebrating the spectrum of human emotions. Finally, the recital ends with moksh, or a hymn to the gods, a dance piece that is set in the style of the genre, but is freeflowing in rhythm and explores the concept of transcendence, being united with god, and the cycle of life. One evening, I watched a young Kuchipudi dancer from Bengaluru perform both an abhinaya and a piece of pure dance, much like a pallavi. As with the jugalbandi between an Odissi dancer and a young Kathak exponent I had watched the previous evening, this performance made it look like the carved walls of the temple had been set in motion. In fact, I clearly recognised one of the dancer’s poses from a sandstone figurine souvenir I’d bought at the market that morning.
Great attention to detail is visible in the temples’ sandstone sculptures—from distinctive hairstyles and intricately designed jewellery, to the careful carving of human anatomy. september 2016 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA
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Vienna has a vibrant annual calendar of balls. The Viennese put great effort into brushing up their dance skills and getting the right outfits in time for ball season.
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Waltzing Vienna
photo courtesy: WienTourismus
Sway, Rise, Fall: Dancing into the heart of Vienna and its European classical culture
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{By Neha Dara • Photographs by Anshika Varma}
ucking my arm in his elbow, Bernd opens the door with a little bow and ushers me into the ballroom. Our reflections seem to sparkle in the tall mirrors embedded in the wood panelled walls. I curtsy and take my position for the waltz. The music begins and we start spinning around the room in a wide circle. I keep my chin up, and my eyes focused on a point two inches off Bernd’s left shoulder, trying hard not to get giddy as the tempo picks up. Our feet seem to fly in time with the music. Then he says something that makes me look at him and smile, and snap, I lose my step and stomp on his foot. That’s only the first time. Over eight hours of lessons during the week, I will find myself apologising profusely to Bernd time and again. One of the first things I did while planning my week-long trip to the Austrian capital Vienna was sign up for waltz lessons at Elmayer Dance School, the best in the city. I’m super excited to learn the waltz. It is a part of European classical culture I have read about and been fascinated with since my days at college,
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when I studied English literature. Our antiquated curriculum was populated with British and European writing describing a culture that was completely unfamiliar. With each tome read, I built a mental image of a place where erudite men and women, dressed to the hilt, were moved to tears by grand operas. They danced at enormous balls, discussed philosophy in coffee shops, and changed the world as they walked down cobbled lanes, their footsteps echoing in the annals of history long after they were gone. I had devoured descriptions of elaborate ballrooms with sparkling chandeliers, sculptures and fountains, and beautiful attire with intricate embellishments and embroidery. I’d read paeans to elegant arms encased in elbow-long satin gloves and listened to “The Blue Danube,” Johann Strauss II’s most famous composition. He was among the many composers and musicians drawn to Vienna, which was known as Europe’s music capital. Coming here, I wondered if I would get to partake of the European classical culture that I had read about and seen in movies, but never experienced. As it turned out, the week in April when my colleague, photographer Anshika Varma, and I landed in Vienna, the temperature plunged to 10°C and a biting cold wind hectored the city’s streets. The Viennese we met, from the check-in clerk to our guide Alexa, didn’t fail to point out our bad luck, recounting the bright skies of the previous week and rueing the unexpected weather. Gaily, they’d add: “But that’s why we have a proverb about it—Spring does what he wants.”
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The streets of Vienna’s inner districts are a delightful conflation of the old and new. Classical architecture and modern art thrive side by side along with old-style cafés with brightly painted exteriors. Facing page: Vienna State Opera hosts great productions like the recent Don Giovanni that draw viewers from around Europe. The best seats are often sold out months in advance. september 2016 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA
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road tr i p
In the town of Tawang in Arunachal Pradesh, Kalki and Joel Koechlin spend an afternoon playing music and singing for the locals. Facing page: The two bikers make their way across the varied terrain of the Northeast on a pair of sturdy Enfield Himalayan motorbikes.
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photo courtesy: Fox life
Journeys |
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Escape to a Place called Home
Nostalgia and adventure on the photo courtesy: Fox life
long road through India’s northeast BY Kalki Koechlin as told to Diya Kohli
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road tr i p
We
are a father and daughter team. A legendary biker and a Bollywood actor.
Ahead of us lies the long road through Northeast India. Behind us a collection of shared memories and nostalgia for the many road trips we’ve taken together since I was a child. Kalki’s Great Escape, a new TV show that will air on Fox Life from mid-September, is about a grand motorbike adventure in which my father, biker and photographer Joel Koechlin, and I embark on an odyssey across the northeastern states of India. It is a journey that lasts 14 days, traversing 4,000 kilometres across three states. Is life all about getting from one point to another or is it about what lies on those bridges of time in between? Is it in the journey? Or is it about the destination? These are a few of the questions that arise in my mind as Dad and I undertake a road trip far away from the everyday routines we know so well. I have been riding pillion on my father’s bike since I was a little girl. Occasionally I’ve ridden a bike of my own. It’s been ten years since we took a road trip together. Yet, once we are out on the road with nothing but the sky as canopy, Dad represents all that is home. Together we traverse everchanging terrain, encountering various challenges and making friends along the way. Once we are on our bikes, riding with the sun on our backs, time falls away. Just like that, I am a young girl again, taking my father’s lead as we travel across a never-ending highway. With two Royal Enfield Himalayans as our trusty steeds, we travel the long, hard route across the states of Assam, Arunachal Pradesh, and Meghalaya. We explore the land, navigating treacherous turns of weather, participating in impromptu football games, learning how to make the perfect momo, getting drunk on potent rice wine, singing, dancing, and enjoying the simple pleasures of life on the road. The breathtaking landscape of the Northeast changes dramatically from lush villages in the plains of Assam to little hamlets in the mountains of Arunachal. Along the way, we stop by towns and villages meeting a variety of folk, from local fashion gurus to shy village girls. Sometimes we stop by an old bridge to take in a magnificent view. Hundreds of Buddhist prayer flags flutter in the wind and a river flows swiftly below us. At other times we banter and giggle over the silliest things. Dad always grumbles about everything. Once we went caving and he kept cribbing about how he didn’t understand why anyone would want to go underground unless they were going to their grave. Then, when he really got into the spirit of caving, he ended up
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having the best time among all of us. This really is how my Dad is about everything. He has an infallible spirit and zest for life. On this journey we get the great opportunity to rekindle our bond. It is a journey that harks back to simpler times when Dad and I would ride across the country, spending up to eight hours a day on the bike, stopping at nondescript dhabas, sharing tea and gossip with truckers. This was our thing. And it still is the backdrop of some of my best family memories. Days segue into each other as we take on the road and all that it presents us with, good and bad. With Dad as my travel buddy things are definitely much easier and way more fun. He is the best companion one could ask for, especially on a maiden long-distance ride in which I have my own grown-up bike. He has a quick fix for everything, from teaching me how to siphon fuel from one bike to another, to fixing a major puncture with a Band-Aid. From negotiating tough potholes to avoiding puddles, his practical solutions not only keep me going, but also turn me into what he calls an “Iron Butt Lady’ in the space of two weeks. Through this journey we’ve managed to also explore the lives of ordinary people of the villages of the Northeast and gain an insight into their world. Food for them is often foraged from the forest, homes are an extension of the Earth. Natural rhythms and an organic way of life are protected. As we ride from one place to the next, we see that the excitement of the people at meeting an actor and TV crew goes hand in hand with their genuine warmth and hospitality. The key to a life well lived is in the simple and sustainable lifestyle of those we meet. After one exceptionally tough day’s ride Dad puts it quite succinctly: “I would rather be here in bad weather, stranded without any fuel in my bike than back home comfortable in my sofa, for here I am active and alert and looking for a solution to the problem at hand.” It is this sensation of being alive that pervades our days even when we’ve had an incredibly rough time tackling icy or snowy conditions and high mountain passes. Frozen, with fingers like jelly and bone-tired, a simple plate of steaming momos tastes like the best thing we’ve ever eaten. It is a thing to be grateful for. And that was the essence of this road trip I undertook with Dad—the beauty of small things and a newfound appreciation for old relationships. Kalki’s Great Escape airs on Fox Life on 17 September 2016.
facing page: photo courtesy: Fox life
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Kalki and Joel stop for a short break at the picturesque riverside town of Bhalukpong at the Arunachal-Assam border (top left); The bikers take some time off from the road to try their hand at canoeing on the Umngot river near Shillong (top right); Joel and Kalki try on colourful traditional outfits (bottom left) at their homestay in Sangti village near Tawang; The high-altitude Sela Pass Gate (bottom right) provides the perfect opportunity for a quick photograph.
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WHAT LIES
Beneath THE NILE AND EGYPT’S DOCUMENTED TREASURES FORM JUST A FRACTION OF THE HERITAGE OF THIS COUNTRY
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Tutankhamen’s gold mask at Cairo’s Museum of Egyptian Antiquities.
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D AY O N E
C AIRO
8 am BLESSED L AND
From my ninth-floor hotel room in Cairo I look down at the Nile, still digesting what my guide had said the previous day. All of inhabited Egypt is but a thin strip, some three kilometres on either bank of the Nile, and a little more on its delta. Only 3.5 per cent of its land is occupied—all the rest is inhospitable desert. I’ve been in Cairo a day. It reminds me of my own city, Mumbai. Bustling, crowded, traffic jams everywhere and business as usual. Egypt is one of the world’s oldest civilizations, repository of well-preserved ancient temples, colossal statues, monoliths and mummies, teeming with captivating sites I can’t wait to explore.
9.30 am Half a day is all I have and it seems grossly inadequate to explore Cairo’s Museum of Egyptian Antiquities, heaving with statues, artefacts, mummies—a remarkable storehouse of Egypt’s history. Luckily I head inside with my guide Maged Michel, else I would’ve been lost in the monumental collections. I am enthralled by the replica of the Rosetta Stone, stunned by the beauty of the statues and colossi, gobsmacked by the mummies and paraphernalia used to ensure a pharaoh’s smooth passage to the afterlife. The centrepiece of the museum is Tutankhamen’s treasures—most of
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the artefacts found in his undisturbed tomb in 1922 are displayed here. Looking at them I wonder at the wealth and riches of this ancient civilization. Tutankhamen was only a 19-year-old king when he died. I cannot imagine what the tombs of more important pharaohs like Ramses II or Akhenaten would have been like originally.
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Museum of Egyptian Antiquities, Cairo
1 pm LUNCH WITH A VIE W At lunchtime, we arrive at the Pyramids of Giza, just 20 kilometres from downtown Cairo, and head straight opposite to Christo restaurant. On a pleasant rooftop terrace I enjoy lunch with my host Mostafa Abdo and his family, while looking out at the pyramids. For about 3,000 years, a number of dynasties led by pharaohs ruled ancient Egypt. They believed that when they died their spirit or soul could survive forever if the body was kept from decomposing. So began the ancient science of mummification and the building of elaborate tombs for royalty and the elite. Ever since I figured out that the tombs and temples of the pharaohs I’d read about in history and geography class were potential places to travel to, I’ve held Egypt firmly in my imagination. And underlying the monuments and artefacts are mysteries, deep and complex sets of beliefs and rituals, and an obsession with the afterlife.
Blaine Harrington III/Corbis Documentary/getty images (museum), Jose Lucas/alamy/indiapicture (artefact)
Treasure Chest
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Stairway to Heaven On the desert plateau of Giza, the Great Pyramid of Khufu towers 450 feet into the sky. It was constructed of an estimated two million blocks of stone, each weighing about 2.5 tonnes. The scale of what this means hits me only later when I venture inside it via steep, narrow passageways and stairs. This is certainly not for the claustrophobic, but I find it fascinating to be in the bowel of the only standing structure from the seven wonders of the ancient world. The tunnel ends in a chamber
with an empty sarcophagus. Looking up at the ceiling I see enormous blocks of stone that weigh over eight tonnes each. Just how great a feat of engineering balancing these gigantic blocks of stone and creating these pyramids was nearly 5,000 years ago becomes even more evident. Khufu’s son, the pharaoh Khafre, built his own smaller pyramid beside his father and next to that is Egypt’s largest statue, the Sphinx. The third pyramid, only a tenth the size of Khafre’s, is that of his successor Menkaure.
8 pm ARABIAN RHYTHMS I hear “Strangers in the Night” playing as I enter the boat. It’s followed by Elvis crooning “It’s Now or Never.” Before long a troupe of Egyptian folk artistes and belly dancers arrive and the music switches to the soothing rhythms of Arabian music. On this dinner cruise on the Nile Maxim, I can barely take my eyes off the Tanoura folk dancer who whirls madly in a colourful outfit strung up with LED lights. The belly dancer shimmies and twists effortlessly. Later, I step out of the restaurant onto the narrow balcony that rings the hall. There is no one else outside. I enjoy a few moments of quiet as I watch the lights of the shoreline reflected in the Nile. The slow pace of the barge makes it a very soothing ride. We pass other boats lit up for celebrations. I can see people dancing, partying, and their shrill laughter wafts over the gently rippling waters. september 2016 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA
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nik wheeler/Corbis Documentary/getty images
2.30 pm