National Geographic Traveller India August 2015

AUGUST 2015 • `150 • VOL. 4

ISSUE 2

10 THRILLING DRIVES AROUND THE WORLD JAPAN EXPLORING BLUE COUNTRY

Seeking Paradise JOURNEYS OF AWE, BELONGING, AND TRANSCENDENT PEACE BOTSWANA LIFE IN THE BUSH | ROMANIA MYTH-FILLED TRANSYLVANIA | ITALY ON LAKE COMO

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

august 2015

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Contents Vol 4 Issue 2

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P arad i se

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At Home in...

Transylvania?

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Love Story

The Rebirth of Awe

She wants one last journey, to a place of peace and beauty. He brings her to Italy, to Lake Como

By Lorenzo Carcaterra Photographs by Massimo Bassano

Travelling through this mythfilled land, a house-hunting couple looks for their dream home—and finds much more

By Amy Alipio Photographs by Catherine Karnow

Just when he’s seen it all and lost his sense of wonder, Botswana happens

By Todd Pitock Photographs by Raymond Patrick

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Japan’s Past Perfect

Worlds away from fast-forward Tokyo, the island of Shikoku preserves time-honoured traditions and country hospitality

By Don George Photographs by Macduff Everton

AUGUST 2015 • `150 • VOL. 4

v o i ces

J o u r n e y s

ISSUE 2

Coconut hot chocolate and other traditional breakfast drinks

16 Crew Cut

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The lure of the big cat amidst Corbett National Park’s treasure chest

Licence to Thrill

18 Slow Travel

The open road leads to the strengthening of bonds

Jaw-dropping, hair-raising, even gravity-defying, these 10 drives from around the world bring out all the clichés

By Freda Moon

20 Guest Column

Tales of camaraderie born in airport waiting rooms

n a v i gate

22 The Comeback

The Ming-era city of Datong reveals many Chinese treasures

24 Quiet Places

Insights into the Aboriginal world in Australia’s Daintree Rainforest

28 Into the Wild

Plan a safari: Africa’s animals need us

30 Super Structures

38 Around the World The Connection

10 THRILLING DRIVES AROUND THE WORLD

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JAPAN EXPLORING BLUE COUNTRY

Seeking Paradise JOURNEYS OF AWE, BELONGING, AND TRANSCENDENT PEACE BOTSWANA LIFE IN THE BUSH | ROMANIA MYTH-FILLED TRANSYLVANIA | ITALY ON LAKE COMO

On The Cover National Geographic photographer Catherine Karnow captured this image of shepherds wearing thick sheepskin coats, near Bran in Romania’s Transylvania region. Local shepherds still follow centuries-old methods of sheep rearing and cheesemaking.

Visitors can go on farm excursions to watch the crumbly, soft, flavourful cheeses being made.

Visiting the tomb of India’s last Mughal in Yangon, Myanmar

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A taste of India in the wines of Bordeaux

S M A R T T R AV E L L E R

45 Money Manager

Beyond Angkor Wat in the cheerful Cambodian city of Siem Reap

50 Checking In

Eco-friendly National Geographic-approved lodges

G et G o i n g

108 Volunteering

Spending time with rescued bears and elephants in an Agra sanctuary

111 Adventure

Birmingham Library embraces change

Navigating Costa Rica’s dazzling and deadly Osa Peninsula

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Culture

S h o rt B reaks

Mumbai’s new textile gallery spins a colourful yarn

52 Transylvania, Romania

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national Geographic Traveller INDIA | august 2015

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Go Now

114 From Mangalore

Ziro Festival of Music and bloom-spotting in the Kaas Plateau

34 Bookshelf

From Antarctica to the dunes of Africa, books on extreme lands

36 Tech Travel

Long-distance bus journeys in India get an entertaining upgrade

Exploring the forests, beaches, and coconutty cuisine of coastal Karnataka

reg u lars 10 Editor’s Note 12 Notebook 122 Inspire 128 Dire Straits

Stay

119 The healing powers of a spectacular view in Uttarakhand 120 Love for the desert and comfort coalesce in a luxury hotel near Jaisalmer august 2015 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA

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Photo courtesy: Petit St. Vincent Island Resort (room), dean conger/corbis/imagelibrary (statue), catherine karnow/national geographic image collection/alamy/indiapicture (cover)

S eek i n g

Notebook |

n i lou f e r v en katra m a n

FAMILIAR UNKNOWNS

A

our mission

zerbaijan wasn’t on my travel wish list. To be completely honest, until a few months ago, I wasn’t even sure where exactly on the map it was or who its neighbours were. If I’d been playing the World Capitals game of my childhood, I dare say I’d have barely managed to correctly identify the capital city as Baku.

Yet, here I was on a warm July evening two weeks ago, visiting Azerbaijan on the invitation of our National Geographic partners in that country. It was 9.30 p.m. as we drove down the smooth highway connecting Baku’s glittering airport to the city centre. Being summer, the sun had only just set. As we rode along, a surreal city unfolded in front of us, lit up like none other I’d ever seen. Against the lingering deep indigo of the sky, massive modern buildings were all aglow. The polished facades of the oil-boom architecture of Baku left me more than a little stunned. This isn’t at all what I had imagined I’d see.

By the time I landed in Azerbaijan I had

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read that over 90 per cent of its population is Muslim by religion, and that its neighbour to the south is Iran. I had, without really thinking about it, developed an image of this land in my mind. In which I wasn’t expecting to see locals drinking alcohol in al fresco restaurants or spot vineyards covering Caucasus hillsides as far as the eye could see. I wasn’t expecting to see women everywhere in short bob cuts and stylish sleeveless dresses, and men with ready smiles and friendly handshakes.

I found myself in a country where the

I found myself in a country where the local fresh produce market is called Taaza Bazaar

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Heritage Walk

national fruit is the pomegranate, where almost everyone has watched at least one Raj Kapoor film, and where the word for city is pronounced “sheher”, and the local fresh produce market is called Taaza Bazaar. So much of it, including the bazaar, seemed at once familiar and yet so different.

At the market an elderly lady beckoned me to her stall and tried to convince me to buy lavashana, a thin sheet of dried sour cherry that reminded me of Indian aam papad.

Delicious, she smacked her lips making that almost universal gesture for excellent, with thumb and forefinger coming together in a circle. When I tasted it however, I almost spat it out—it was so intensely sour. But I pretended to like it. And I lingered, tasting all kinds of other things, listening for a word I could recognise as she rattled off in Azeri. I bought her sumac and “zaffaran,” and a few unfamiliar ingredients from various other shops that all appeared so very familiar.

At another stall, a vendor was hawking bunches of a dried medicinal herb called uzerlik. I learnt that when a mother lights a bunch of this and waves its smoke above her crying baby, it will be calmed almost instantly.

Though the specific plant and its use was new to me, the thought behind it was something I could relate to from Indian culture.

And so it went in my travels through this unique Eurasian country: The sights and sounds of the foreign and the recognisable, the well-known and the obscure, always dancing together. It felt like I was sitting on a bridge between East and West. And I sensed that no matter where I go or how far I feel I’ve been, almost everywhere I can see some connections to home, while simultaneously discovering whole new worlds. That’s the amazing thing about visiting a new place of which you know very little, and surely the fascinating thing about our planet in general: Wherever you travel, there are always new spheres of the unknown sitting side by side with the commonplace, waiting to greet you.

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 | august 2015

@natgeotravellerindia

Mumbai’s iconic Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus received its UNESCO World Heritage status 11 years ago. We give you an insider’s peek into the architectural marvels of this Gothic railway station. See Web Exclusives>Get Local

The Taste of Travel our last Meetup on Food trails was the most delicious one yet. on the panel, we had food and travel writer roshni bajaj sanghvi, Bombay canteen’s chef thomas Zacharias, and nGt india’s perpetually hungry senior editor, neha sumitran. here are some tips from the experts and the audience.

note to self

travel hacks

authentic experience

nGt staff sent missives about travel to our younger selves.

Expect humour and other vain attempts to change the past.

From playing charades at restaurants to following hipsters, we’ve got 10 tried-and-tested hacks for the vegetarian traveller.

Columnist abhijit dutta writes about searching for an “authentic” travel experience and the perils of obsessing about keeping it real.

See Web Exclusives>Guides

See Web Exclusives>Columnists

See Web Exclusives> Experiences

Go to natGeotraveller.in for more web-exclusive stories and travel ideas

Wonders before the Taj thank you for your brilliant issue on “little-Known india” (July 2015). the article, “a taj Mahal near you,” reminded me of two monuments that i have encountered on my travels, which lay claim to being the inspiration behind the marble wonder. they both predate the taj. the first is the tomb of itimad-uddaulah in agra constructed by empress nur Jahan for her father. the second is the tomb of ibrahim adil shah ii of Bijapur, Karnataka, christened the “taj Mahal of the south” by art historian henry cousens.

—Dr. Kinjal Suratwala

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■ spend time on research: read those guide books, tap into your social networks and connect with the locals.

■ hit the weekly markets. they’re a wonderful source of information and recipes.

■ choose homestays over hotels for authentic regional food. ask your hosts, drivers, and guides where they eat.

■ the restaurant or food truck with the longest queue is most likely to serve the best food.

letter of the month

chirodeep chaudhuri

Taaza Bazaar, Baku, Azerbaijan

connect

Ibrahim Rauza, Bijapur

■ locate a farm stay, and pick the produce you will later cook.

■ Food walks are a great way to find the best eats in cities. next meetup: 14 august 2015. 7-8.30 p.m. venue: title waves bookstore, bandra (west), mumbai.

august 2015 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA

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athul prasad (railway station), dr. Kinjal suratwala (monument)

Editor’s Note |

Navigate |

Quie t pl ac es

The Enchanted Forest Dreamtime and other insights into the Aboriginal world in the Daintree Rainforest | By diviya mehra

am walking around a bonfire of burning wood and herbs. Smoke permeates the surroundings and I have to squint to see our Aboriginal guide Mooka’s blurred face. He murmurs a prayer as he performs a smoking ceremony “to drive away evil spirits,” an important tradition of the Kuku Yalanji tribe to which he belongs. This is our initiation into Daintree National Park in Queensland, Australia. It is only after our group of five vows to respect the terrain and its inhabitants that we gain entry to one of the oldest tropical rainforests on the planet.

We arrived at Mossman Gorge Centre earlier this morning after a 45-minute scenic drive from the seaside Palm Cove in Cairns, Northern Queensland.

A mishmash of blue and wet green hues flashed past as I pressed my nose against the window to see the only

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place in the world where two UNESCO World Heritage sites merge: the Daintree Rainforest and the Great Barrier Reef.

Initiation done, our guide takes us on a walk to discover the flora and fauna of this region, and also to learn about the indigenous people that have lived here for centuries. As we hop over snaking vines and ancient exposed roots, Mooka starts to unravel its secrets. In Daintree’s lush jungles, fauna like the endangered Thornton Peak melomys, Bennett’s tree-kangaroo, and the stunning Ulysses butterfly thrive. We spot a shy cassowary bird popping its electric blue head out of a bush while trying to hide its enormous body.

Mooka is a traditional medicine man. He was brought up in the forest by his grandparents who gave him the knowledge of healing. “This forest is a

national Geographic Traveller INDIA | august 2015

pharmacy,” he says. “It has the power to heal and destroy.”

He shows us plants that can soothe insect bites, a stalk that cures muscular pain and smells surprisingly like Tiger balm, and beans that can be used to ATLAS

SLOVAKIA IA

BANGLADE ADESH

COLOMBIA

LESOTHO

Daintree National Park, Australia Daintree forest is approximately 180 million years old. It has some endemic plant families that date back to prehistoric times.

Holger Leue/ Lonely Planet Images/GETTY IMAGES

I

Roots of the giant buttress tree (left) spread outwards creating support for the trunk in shallow soil; A variety of birds, frogs (bottom right), and crocodiles can be spotted while cruising the mangrove-lined Daintree River (top right); Unique to Australia, the flightless cassowary bird (bottom) lives a solitary existence for most of its life. It is integral to the survival of many of the plants of this rainforest.

start a fire. We see vines that store potable drinking water and the sticky sap of a plant that can be used as an adhesive. He warns us of beautifullooking seeds and berries that weep white, poisonous sap and thorns that can paralyse at touch. “My tribe has lived here for thousands of years,” he explains, watching our bewildered faces. “This is my home.” In addition to practicing local medicine, Mooka is also a tracker and is occasionally called upon to find people who lose their way in the forest.

As we hike deeper into the wild, we are introduced to the Aboriginal concept of Dreamtime. It is a spiritual philosophy that encompasses the past and present, one in which our world, Mother Nature, and the spirits and ancestors of the indigenous coexist. It’s a complex but fascinating idea that explains the deep connection Mooka shares with his environment and ancestors.

We also learn about Kuku Yalanji customs. “The wedding day marks the

last time the groom communicates with the bride’s father,” he tells us.

All further communication is relayed through a family member. Newlyweds, Mooka says shaking his head, are encouraged to marry within the tribe but, as with most traditional societies, things are changing.

An hour and many stories later, we arrive at the gushing Mossman River.

Mooka picks up a couple of stones and starts to rub them on a larger rock until they bleed tones of ochre and orange. He rubs this bush paint over his arms, then plucks a few wild ferns and rubs them together to make them lather. This soapy solution is used to wash off the pigment. The forest seems to provision for every need.

Later we enjoy fragrant bush tea and gorge on traditional soda bread called damper. Nearby, a giant golden orb spider, as large as a golf ball, weaves its shiny web, to the music of the didgeridoo playing in the background.

the vitals Mossman Gorge Centre (77 km/1.5 hr north of Cairns) is one of the many entry points to the Daintree National Park, which is spread over 1,200 square kilometres. The Dreamtime Legend walk starts daily at 1 p.m. (AUD75/`3,500; mossmangorge.com.au).

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Paul Dymond / Lonely Planet Images /GETTY IMAGES (TREE), Thomas Marent/ Minden Pictures/GETTY IMAGES (FROG), CCOphotostockBS/ DINODIA (BIRD), DAVID WALL/DINODIA (DAINTREE RIVER)

The Mossman River flows through a narrow gorge, over smooth granite boulders. Water collects in small spaces creating shallow swimming holes.

Smart Traveller |

Arou n d the Wo r l d

Move Over Coffee

Secluded Hideaways

breakfast drinks from other lands to tackle the morning blues | By Rumela Basu

exclusive, eco-friendly national GeoGraphic-approved lodGes | By Gina Tanik

Before the rise of tea and coffee culture, a fragrant, creamy breakfast beverage called salep or sahleb was popular in the Ottoman Empire.

Dried orchid root flour (sahleb) was added to hot water, sometimes milk, to make a thick potion. This was sweetened and often laced with orange flower or rose water, and sprinkled with cinnamon. Cafés across Istanbul still make it in the traditional way.

Api morado, Bolivia

Grape-coloured, thick, and creamy api morado is Bolivia’s most popular breakfast drink, most often served hot. This smoothie-like beverage is made with purple corn flour, sugar, and water, and spiced with cinnamon and cloves. Api blanco the white corn version is just as sweetly delicious.

In Colombia, traditional hot chocolate is made in a special metal pot called the chocolatera. While chocolate caliente con agua and chocolate santafereño, made with water and milk, are classics, the chocolate caliente con leche made with coconut milk is pure indulgence. Colombians take the decadence one level higher by dunking cubes of white cheese into the frothy concoction and eating them partially melted.

Agua dulce, Costa Rica

Hot soy milk, China

In China youtiao or doughnuts make the perfect breakfast accompaniment to a large bowl of hot soy milk. In the 1800s this mildly flavoured, protein-rich milk became a popular beverage in China and continues to be sold in every shop and street-side stall from the early hours of the morning.

Chocolate en Leche de Coco, Colombia

Wattlecino, Australia

Wattle seeds from the native acacia tree have long been used by Australia’s Aboriginal communities. Of late, its coffee-chocolate-hazelnut flavour has caught the attention of dessert chefs and café owners too. Like coffee, the ground seeds are steeped in hot water, and added to milk creating an aromatic morning drink.

national Geographic Traveller INDIA | august 2015

Costa Ricans love to begin the day on a sweet note with sugary agua dulce, instead of coffee.

Scrapings of tapa de dulce, brown cane sugar blocks that look like jaggery, are dissolved in boiling water to make the honey-like agua dulce or “sweet water.”

gogarden/alamy/indiapicture (orchid root), pixfly/shutterstock (corn), africa studio/shutterstock (coconut), glow cuisine/getty images (soya), owen smith/cultura/corbis/imagelibraty (coffee), image from scott gibbons/getty images (wattle seeds), joat/shutterstock (jaggery)

Salep or Sahleb, Turkey

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C heC k in g in

Tutka Lodge has a cooking school located in a repurposed crabbing boat. The boat is moored to shore, and has a two-storey cabin on its deck that can accommodate 12 guests for cooking classes.

INkaterra HacIeNda coNcepcIóN

petIt St. VINceNt ISLaNd reSort

tUtka Bay LodGe

a 45-minute boat ride on the Madre de Dios river leads to this lodge in peru, where a veil of amazonian rainforest hides visitors from prying eyes. travellers can explore the surrounding 2,000 acres of jungle on short hikes, canoe on nearby lake sandoval, sip pisco sours as the sun goes down, and fall asleep listening to the sounds of the jungle. it’s a chance to experience the region’s biodiversity first-hand, while enjoying good food and service.

Guests on this 115-acre private caribbean island communicate with staff using flags. the rooms are without phones and Wi-Fi, so visitors hoist a yellow flag for service, and a red one to ensure no interruptions. to reach petit st. vincent, travellers fly in via Barbados. a short, second flight to union island and a 20-minute boat ride later, they arrive at this paradisal getaway. recommended activities include yoga, spa treatments, snorkelling, and beachside dinners.

this lodge located at the tip of an 11-kilometre fjord in southern alaska is open for only four and a half months a year. it’s surrounded by old forests, deep fjords, looming mountains, and peaceful beaches. the lodge is reached by a 25-minute boat ride, during which guests spot orcas and humpback whales. punctuate bear-viewing hikes and deep-sea fishing adventures with relaxing soaks in the hot tub and massages in the spa.



INkaterra HacIeNda coNcepcIóN;



petIt St. VINceNt ISLaNd reSort;



tUtka Bay LodGe; +1-907-274-2710;

+51-1610-0400; inkaterra.com; doubles peN

+1-800-654-9326; www.petitstvincent.com;

withinthewild.com/lodges/tutka-bay; from

1,257/`25,114 for two nights, including meals.

doubles $1,100/`69,855, including meals.

$1,300/`82,620 per person, including meals.

For the complete list of National Geographic Unique Lodges of the World, see www.nationalgeographiclodges.com

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Photo courtesy: TuTka Bay Lodge (boat, room interior), InkaTerra HacIenda concepcIón (lawn), peTIT ST. VIncenT ISLand reSorT (hammock)

Navigate |

In Focus |

■ Botswan a

Seek i n g Pa ra d i s e

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Just when he’s seen it all and lost HIS sense of wonder, Botswana happens august 2015 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA

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Awe

The R e b i rt h of

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Vast and otherworldly, the salt pans of Botswana’s Kalahari Desert dwarf a bush plane’s shadow.

In Focus |

■ Botswan a

Seek i n g Pa ra d i s e

by Todd Pitock

P h o t o g r a p h s b y r a y m o n d pa t r i c k

The Makgadikgadi,

a vast salt pan deep in Botswana, must be what the planet looked like before humanity appeared, and what it will look like after we’re gone. This is what I think as I try to wrap my head around the sight in front of me. The immensity is hard to take in. An urban dweller’s mind needs signs, or trees, something to give the world measurable parts. But here, horizon to horizon, lies an undifferentiated landscape, an ancient desiccated sea of salt and other minerals without any reference points other than the mottled shadows from clouds. “Now you understand that no matter what anyone ever tells you, the world really is flat,” says Ralph Bousfield, the guy who led me here.

“It is completely flat—an undeniable fact, as you can see.” We are steering quad bikes along a single set of tracks that trace a line into the far horizon, like a seam stitching together the primordial and the post-apocalyptic.

“Columbus didn’t know what he was talking about,” I say, “because he never came here.”

“Exactly.”

I travel to see places of epic scale and numinous beauty, to leave the world I’m used to for the chance to look through the sclera of the everyday and be reminded of much bigger things.

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But travelling for that feeling of wonder has become ever more elusive. Consider how travel has changed. When French writer Gustave Flaubert first glimpsed the Sphinx, he was so overcome that he trembled. If anyone trembles at the Sphinx now, it’s on seeing the many purveyors of souvenirs and camel rides. We’re dulled by curated experiences. We have access to too many photos and paintings of the world’s special places; we’re overexposed before we’ve even arrived. We’ve already seen it all.

We know vaguely what we are supposed to feel. And in some ways that also is a problem. On a visit to the Taj Mahal last year, I heard people exclaim, “Just wait till you experience it

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Home to native San, or Bushmen.

A baobab branches out above a camp in the Makgadikgadi Pans. august 2015 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA

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In Focus |

â– Botswan a

Seek i n g Pa ra d i s e

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Meerkats thrive in the dry climate of the Makgadikgadi.

A San woman wearing traditional bead adornments. august 2015 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA

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in person.” Just wait. Oh, the anticipation! “Pictures can’t do it justice,” they’d add.

For me, photos of the Taj Mahal were better than reality. They were taken at times of day when the light brought out resplendent colour in the mausoleum’s white marble masonry, when tour guides weren’t herding people eager to take the photos that could never do it justice. The one thing I couldn’t feel at the Taj Mahal was a sense of wonder, a failing symptomatic of this modern affliction. A certain spirit is slipping out of our grasp.

I call it the death of awe, and I’m intent on not surrendering to it. The question is, where on Earth can we still experience that sense of transcendent wonder?

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Bundled for protection, visitors race across the Makgadikgadi to outrun a brewing sandstorm.

“This country fills my heart.” My friend Staci was Skyping from Botswana. “I don’t want to leave.”

The more she talked, the more this Texas-size nation in southern Africa seemed the place to turn me around. So I’ve come to Botswana with the hope—tentative—that awe awaits.

I’ve craved its exhilaration and discombobulation.

Exhilaration quickly takes hold of me on the Makgadikgadi (meh-CAH-dee-CAH-dee), one of the bleakest landscapes at what feels like the end of the world. It looks like the Great Nothing.

In fact, this 15,500-square-kilometre wedge of the Kalahari— Earth’s fifth largest desert—was covered by an immense lake ten million years ago. From this area, according to ancestral DNA markers, our human ancestors may have emerged.

Nor is the apparently bleak expanse barren. Within the great pan grow grasslands; palm and baobab trees reach for the sky.

Through them an unexpected variety of animals roam, meerkats to big cats. The pan experiences two seasons: dry and rainy. As the rainy season ends, thousands of zebras migrate across the flats. Then there are the indigenous San, or Bushmen, nomadic once but mostly subsistence farmers now, who know how to find what they need to survive. The entire chain of life is playing out here.

Awe isn’t limited to landscapes; it also is sparked by people, especially people who connect to the essence, the wisdom, of a place. People of awe perceive shapes and stories in stone mountains, hear animals speak, and gaze up to the stars for personal messages from their ancestors.

One afternoon Bousfield introduces me to some Bushmen; their ancestors have crisscrossed the desert for millennia. The men wear beaded headbands, are girded in antelope skins, and carry sticks. Bousfield notes they don’t always dress like this— the modern world has reached here too—but it’s their heritage.

The sticks, used to clear pathways and pull up buried roots, seem also to keep them in touch with their cultural roots.

The elder, Kgamxoo Tixhao, has a bulbous belly suspended over a thong. It is evident his authority comes from his advanced age and his knowledge of traditional customs. He speaks only Taa, the Khoisan language of clicks, so a young woman named Xushe translates for us. I learn that Kgamxoo doesn’t know how old he is because Bushmen don’t mark time in years. He figures he’s pretty old, though his skin is smooth and the others still admire his hunting prowess. With each question I pose, he and Xushe volley a few exchanges, laughing. She then gives me very brief, sober translations that leave me thinking something is lost in transmission. Or, maybe, that I’m not yet worthy of fuller answers. august 2015 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA

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■ Botswan a

Seek i n g Pa ra d i s e

So we walk on. Xushe grabs a plant she believes is an aphrodisiac.

“If you like a boy and want him to like you, do this!” she says, and playfully blows the plant on a man named Cobra, who appears to be twice her age and speaks English. His grey hair is arranged in miniature dreadlocks.

Cobra stops and points. “House of a scorpion,” he says. “It is sleeping now. We make a fire, and it will come out.”

“I think they want to stop and have a smoke,” Bousfield confides.

Kgamxoo, whose brother starred in the award-winning 1980s film The Gods Must Be Crazy, squats and begins twisting a stick between his palms over a nest of twigs. In seconds the nest is smoking. It wasn’t so long ago that people gasped when the throw of a switch lit up a city; I have the same reaction now as I watch a fire come into being the way it has for most of human history.

Cobra picks up the smoking twigs and blows. The fire ignites, and soon some hand-rolled cigarettes are being lit. Smoking is one of the few pleasures for Bushmen; they and their people are poor. This reality has made them vulnerable to the intrusions of modern life, threatening their ancient ways, animistic beliefs, and hunting skills. The Bushmen population of 55,000 is a tiny

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fraction of Botswana’s two million citizens. Only a slim minority of that minority retains a connection to life in the bush.

“The Gods Must Be Crazy is not this country today,” Jeff Ramsay, an adviser to Botswana’s president, Ian Khama, told me.

“That really doesn’t exist anymore.”

Cobra returns to the scorpion “house” and digs out a dustcovered creature the length of his palm with pincers and a tail curled to strike. He subdues it, then stuffs it into his mouth and works his mandibles as if chewing. I hardly know what to say.

However, he isn’t eating the scorpion; he is rinsing it with his saliva so we can see it better. When he pulls it out, the scorpion is bright yellow, with black eyes on a tiny, eerily expressive black face.

Cobra lets it pinch his finger.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” I ask.

He shrugs as if to say, no, not really. I wince, but one measure of a Bushman is his ability to take pain. It’s through suffering that the ancestors decide whether a person is worthy of crossing into other worlds and visiting them. Cobra is an elevated individual. He is also, I think, a bit of a performer, despite being dressed in ordinary work clothes, not bush skins.

The sun sits on the edge of the horizon, spraying saffron and pink light, then rolls off into the night, dropping us into

raymond patrick/national geographic creative/corbis/imagelibrary

Tented safari camps at Makgadikgadi Salt Pans offer visitors a chance to observe elephants, hippos, and zebra from the comfort of their tents.

sound tears the curtain of the dark: a pride of lions roaring into darkness. What comes next is either a mystery or an astonishing the night. bit of performance art; as an outsider, it’s hard for me to know.

Tonight the Bushmen are preparing to visit their ancestors.

The following day finds me deep in the Great Nothing.

Piling up pieces of dry wood, they make a fire. The women sit Bousfield and I navigate our quad bikes across dunes shaped like and begin to clap and sing; I sit with the women. The men tie horseshoes and past ancient riverbeds and lakes at the bottom of rattles around their legs and march in short, hard steps, stompthe Okavango Rift, an incipient fault in the landscape. We coning the ground, circling the seated women. At first the mood tinue on to a broad savannah. Then the salt pan begins. A light is light-hearted. Everyone laughs, the singing is cheerful. Then wind kicks up. In the distance, little white cones of dust are gaththe singing, clapping, stomping, and rattling rise in intensity, ering into a big sandstorm that dims the wattage of the sun. My turning the song into what sounds like a lamentation, layers of head is swaddled in a cotton kikoi and I wear sunglasses, but singing and pleading that I feel through my whole being. The sand invades me anyway. I taste dirty salt, ingesting what must be fire’s intensity also is growing, the flames crackling in a kind of a multiple of the recommended daily allowance, and my eyes feel dance of their own. I can feel the heat on my hands and face. as if someone is trying to strike a sulphur match on them. The Kgamxoo’s body glistens with sweat. His face, etched and storm sails over us. I want furrowed now, like an ironto close my eyes and stop, wood carving, has changed. but we need to get through His eyes appear distant and it, so I squint at the ground haunted. I reassure myself and keep rolling, hot tears there is a rational explanapouring down my cheeks. tion. Maybe it’s the exerThe world is coming to tion of the dance, or the an end. heat. Whatever, Kgamxoo Bousfield and I push on, is here yet not here. He and finally the storm is staggers, listing forward. gone or we have escaped it.

He steps toward the fire.

We find our way to a grove It’s not quite right to say of baobab trees, their elhe walks on the burning ephantine trunks topped embers because he moves by gnarled branches. Baoso slowly; it almost is as if babs, iconic of southern he is standing on them. He Africa, can live more than is not tolerating pain; he a thousand years. After doesn’t even notice it. they die, they will leave no Back in the bush, I’d sign they were here except asked Kgamxoo if coma patch in the ground. municating with ancesWe settle in among tors was through words or the trees. A profusion of something one just understars perforates the black stood. Were the ancestors cosmos. The Milky Way, people one knew, such as a Guests gather to eat set meals in the camps’ large dining tents where the cuisine is international, to cater to visitors from around the world. visible through baobab mother or a father, or peobranches, spills across the ple from a general past? heavens. I look to my right, to my left. Everywhere, I see stars.

The only part of his answer I’d been able to make sense of was Bushmen say when you die you become part of the stars. that ancestors sent pain and sickness to test a person’s worthiness to enter their realm.

Eventually I fall asleep. When I awake, I gaze at the The desert has become so profoundly quiet that when there’s dawn sky—and it occurs to me that there may be a reason why sound, it seems to bounce back off walls of surrounding darkKgamxoo, the elder, didn’t really answer my question about ness. Suddenly, Kgamxoo bends down, gathers dust, and wipes communicating across worlds. Maybe this is what awe is—a it on his face. Then he walks behind us, puts his hands on our portal to revelation, coming into landscapes that are peculiar heads, and recites an incantation. I feel the grit of dirt on my and vast, where the absence of external barriers breaks down scalp. All I can think is that here, awe—that blend of astonishthe internal ones, and we feel something universal. Awe points ment and reverence—is the true quest. us back into ourselves.

Slowly, the fire flickers out. Soon, the night-time air feels like “If you gaze for long into an abyss,” wrote philosopher cold breath.

Friedrich Nietzsche, “the abyss gazes also into you.” I grasp for As I walk back to the camp, stars shoot across the dark horisome intimation of meaning, but it stays just beyond the reach zon. At first, after the high energy of the ceremony, everything of words. seems absolutely silent. I hear only the sounds of my footsteps on the crusty desert floor. But as my senses adjust, I realise the atmosphere is vibrating. It is a rising hum of insects. Whereas Writer Todd Pitock lived in South Africa during the 1990s. we diurnal creatures perceive the night as inactive, here nocturPhotographer Raymond Patrick found baobab trees magical; nal creatures are taking over the landscape. Then an awesome “they seemed to protect us.” august 2015 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA

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In Focus |

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Road Tr i ps

Licence to Thrill

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Jaw-dropping, hair-raising, even gravity-defying. These 10 drives from around the world bring out all the clichés

by Freda Moon

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Road-trippers view Peyto Lake from a scenic overlook off Canada’s Icefields Parkway.

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Sight lines extend indefinitely along the Blue Ridge Parkway (facing page and bottom) in Virginia and North Carolina; Bolivia’s infamous North Yungas Road (right) pairs steep drop-offs with sharp turns.

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U.S.A.

Tangled up in Blue

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panning two states and 755 kilometres without a single stop sign or traffic light, the winding Blue Ridge Parkway unspools along ridgetops, into fertile valleys, and past the highest peak east of the Mississippi (Mount Mitchell). It links Waynesboro, Virginia, in the Shenandoah Mountains to Cherokee, North Carolina, in the Great Smoky Mountains. “If your bladder could hold out and you have enough gas, you could drive the entire length of it without ever stopping,” says Dan Brown, a retired superintendent of the popular parkway.

Of course, farms, fields, and small towns offer plenty of diversions worth braking for, and most people linger longer than one day. They climb Sharp Top Mountain in Virginia, as Thomas Jefferson once did, eat cornmeal cakes at the historic Mabry Mill, or wander beneath the white oaks, red maples, mountain magnolias, black cherries, and tulip poplars at Flat Top Manor, gorging themselves on bluegrass music and Americana. Backstory: The ridge’s name comes from the soft blue haze that seems to wrap the mountains from a distance. Inside track: Famous for the high drama of its fall foliage, the route inspires no less awe the rest of the year, insists Brown—from spring’s blooming blankets of wild ginger, trout lily, and jack-in-the-pulpit wildflowers, and budding trees to the summer’s “plush southern Appalachian landscape” of verdant green, as well as the “bleak,” beautiful winter.

Bolivia

Driving by a Thread

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or some 105 kilometres in the Bolivian highlands, little more than a lane separates drivers from skydivers. North Yungas Road, including a 40-kilometre pass marked with memorial crosses known as the Death Road, leads from the outskirts of La Paz— the world’s highest capital—to the small town of Coroico. A nearby paved bypass completed in recent years provides a safer alternative, but mountain bikers and others who dare to take the old Death Road begin their white-knuckled adventure through the pass of La Cumbre on a barren 15,255foot ridge. Glimpses across the valley offer vivid reminders of their precarious position up a vertical wall. Finally, the path descends into a humiditychoked haze of enormous palm fronds and wild coca bushes, teeming insects, and farms cultivating coffee and citrus. Backstory: In the mid-1990s, the unprotected precipice earned notoriety as the most dangerous road in the world. Inside track: “It’s extremely narrow,” says Dan Grec, a Canadian traveller who recently road-tripped from Alaska to Argentina. “There are plenty of places where, if you came across an oncoming car, you would have to reverse and figure out how far back to go until you could fit past each other.” august 2015 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA

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John Coletti/Getty Images (cliff), Harrison Shull/Aurora Photos (hikers)

Journeys |

Journeys |

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China

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n 1972, after centuries of isolation, the villagers of Guoliang decided to forge their own route to the outside world. Deep in the Taihang Mountains in northeastern China, they had long relied on a steep mountain trail sometimes referred to as a “heaven ladder.”

Then 12 local men hand-carved a rough recess through the mountain. The Guoliang Tunnel Road (officially known as the Precipice Long Corridor) is that marvel of human will. To drive through the corridor requires a similar level of resolve. Tucked away in a remote corner of the country, west of Beijing, the passageway is hard to find. But those who have made the journey describe it as an exceptional sight. Just 19 feet wide and 13 feet high, the twisting tunnel has rough, open “windows” peering out from the cliff ’s smooth rock face and down hundreds of feet to the gorge below. Backstory: According to a plaque at its entrance, the 1.2 kilometre-long tunnel took six years to dig, the only tools being heavy hammers and steel drill rods. Inside track: “While I traversed the tunnel, I had an uneasy feeling it might collapse,” says Darren Crawford, a traveller from Nottingham, England. The rock walls are badly cracked, with chicken wire at the entrance. Drivers are wise to turn on their headlights and honk their horns as they pass through.

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China’s Guoliang Tunnel cuts through the rocky Taihang Mountains (left), with jagged openings (right) fronting a steep gorge. august 2015 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA

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Mission Impossible

Travellers on Austria’s Grossglockner High Alpine Road (top) head for its highest vantage point, Edelweiss-Spitze.

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Austria

Vertical Playground

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lassic BMWs and roadsters zoom around 36 curves—which climb nearly 3,000 feet to a dizzying 8,215-foot vantage in just under 48 kilometres—on the Grossglockner High Alpine Road between the Austrian states of Salzburg and Carinthia. Overhead, griffon vultures and golden eagles circle the Alpine peaks, where rare ibex and pudgy marmots scurry among brown bears and wolves.

“If you have blue sky, it’s just out of this world,” says Johannes P. Hofer, an Austrian native who has lived in New York for decades but returns to Salzburg’s Zell am See district each year. “There’s never a visit when I don’t go up on this road”—if he can arrange it, behind the steering wheel of a borrowed convertible. The icing on top (other than the actual glacial glaze)? The joyride delivers drivers to the wilds of Hohe Tauern National Park, the

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largest nature reserve in the Alps and a magnet for hikers and cyclists. Backstory: Named for the 12,460-foot Grossglockner, highest in the Austrian Alps, the serpentine road was completed in 1935 and built on the traces of bridle paths and ancient Celtic and Roman trails. Inside track: The Grossglockner charges a toll (around €34.50/`2,415).

Between May and November, the road accesses the Kaiser-Franz-Josefs-Höhe visitors centre, where a funicular shuttles passengers to an overlook of the colossal Pasterze Glacier.

New Zealand

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need for speed

he southwest corner of New Zealand’s South Island poses the best kind of driver’s dilemma: Wide-open roads, most famously the Milford Road (aka Highway 94), beg for velocity but also demand constant rubbernecking. From Queenstown, on Lake

Wakatipu, a circuitous journey on state highways proves a worthy prelude to the glacier-carved Milford Sound. Like a drumroll, the final 120 kilometres on 94 travel through rainforests, around the perpetually white-capped Ailsa mountains, along the shores of Lake Te Anau, to the mirror-like, teacoloured water of the fjord. There, 150 or so residents live among a marine reserve for penguins, dolphins, and New Zealand fur seals. But for all the region’s eye-widening allure, it’s hard not to let your inner drag racer out to play. Exceeding the speed limit (100 kilometres an hour) is tempting, says Melissa Antonelli, a Seattleite who lived in New Zealand and learned so first-hand. It was “just me and the mountains and a beautiful running river,” says Antonelli of the largely unpopulated rural Fiordland region. “Then the cops came and gave me a speeding ticket, and I thought, ‘Where were you? There’s nobody else around.’ ” Backstory: Rudyard Kipling once described Milford Sound as the “eighth wonder of the world.”

The Maori named it for the piopio, a native bird

that’s now extinct. Inside track: The Milford Road eventually meets the Avenue of the Disappearing Mountain, where an optical illusion makes the peak appear to shrink as people approach it. Drivers stop at Lake Gunn for a short nature loop.

Near Queenstown, on the South Island of New Zealand, the highway traces Lake Wakatipu in the shape of a lightning bolt (bottom).

Giovanni Simeone/SIME (snowy road), Palani Mohan (coastal road)

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volunteering Spend time with rescued animals at a sanctuary in Agra

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Intensity The chores volunteers perform are not particularly taxing. The only difficult part is getting over your inhibitions about facing and touching a massive elephant.

Easy

Moderate

demanding

adventure Wading across treacherous rivers and lush jungles in Costa Rica

volunteering

Laxmi is the gentlest of the centre’s elephants, and may allow volunteers to pet her as she chomps down her breakfast.

​Early morning walks are the best time for volunteers to get acquainted with the sanctuary’s elephants.

Soul Therapy Volunteering with rescued animals combines the joys of learning with an enriching holiday Text & Photographs by Debarpita Banerjee

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’ve always thought of travel as therapy, a kind of exfoliator that erases greasy deposits of the mundane from my consciousness. Can there be anything better than finishing a trip feeling renewed and refreshed, I wondered.

Earlier this year, I was exploring the Internet for a new kind of travel experience. I was looking, not just for a destination or great journey, but for an engagement that would surprise me. That’s when I came across an article written by a woman who had spent a week volunteering with the non-governmental organisation Wildlife SOS, at its Agra Bear Rescue Facility and Elephant Conservation and Care Centre, on the AgraMathura road. She described walking with elephants, helping the staff, and doing chores like preparing the animals’ feed—all while living near a jungle next to a

river—and I knew immediately that this was what I had been seeking, even if just for a few days.

Soon after writing to Wildlife SOS to inquire about volunteering possibilities, I received an itinerary that seemed perfect for an immersive weekend. The Wildlife SOS guesthouse is a half-hour’s drive from Agra, three kilometres outside Sur Sarovar Bird Sanctuary where the Elephant Care and Conservation Centre is located. Driving down from Delhi through drizzly weather at the end of winter, I reached late in the day.

The team made me feel welcome, showing me the fully-stocked kitchen where I could fix myself breakfast the next morning. I quickly settled in to rest before the big day.

I woke up early and excited, and headed to the centre. I didn’t want to be late for the sunrise walk with the elephants, which the staff told me was an experience not to be missed. There were butterflies in my stomach, and vague childhood memories of elephant stories from the Jataka Tales flitted through my head.

A mist hung in the air and from it five elephants emerged. They seemed to churn the air with their

atlas

Agra, Uttar Pradesh

Sur Sarovar Bird Sanctuary hosts over 165 species of resident and migratory birds.

It has a 2.5 sq km man-made lake that is said to have inspired poet Surdas to write his Bhakti Kavya.

graceful, slow motion. They were accompanied by their caretaker, a former mahout, and a couple of staff members. I gingerly approached, and tried to walk alongside them. But Laxmi, the beautiful female elephant, instantly stopped, perhaps objecting to the intrusion by a stranger.

Following the staff ’s instructions, I gathered some courage and stretched my hand up to her trunk. She calmly took my petting and we broke the ice. As soon as I was comfortable, one of the two staff members returned to the sanctuary, and I took his place. It was fascinating to walk with the elephants as they took their morning exercise. Whenever they stopped, instead of the poking or prodding they might have faced previously, the mahout lured them on with glucose biscuits. The elephants finished their walk, one treat at a time, and I spent the rest of the morning chopping bucketfuls of fruits to feed the centre’s 15 elephants.

How daintily the elephants grabbed tiny pieces of melon with their trunks before tucking them into their mouths. If only my dog was this well behaved, I thought, as I watched the group eating, playing in the mud, and visibly smiling through it all. august 2015 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA

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Utta r P Pra ra d es h

The bear rescue centre, which I visited the next day, was a 15-minute drive away, a bit closer to Agra. Here, 224 performing bears rescued from around the country have found a loving home. I watched the documentary that described the conditions from which they were saved. Some of the bears are so conditioned by their past that they still stand up to dance at the sight of a camera (which is why photography is mostly prohibited). Some have been so traumatised, that they shy away at the sight of humans, while others cannot bear loud noises. Many bears have lost their eyesight from constant blows to the head they were subjected to as cubs.

But this is a sanctuary, a place of hope, where the horrid past the bears survived is far behind. Now, living in a place of immense greenery, the bears spend their days snoozing peacefully in caves or comfortable pits full of hay, climbing trees, playing, and looking forward to wholesome meals.

628 The number of sloth bears that Wildlife SOS has rescued and rehabilitated so far.

!

If I were to chronicle each of my experiences with the animals, the descriptions would spiral into a gushing rhapsody. I spent two days at Wildlife SOS’s bear and elephant centres, in a beautiful jungle, in the company of people who firmly believe in the peaceful cohabitation of humans and animals.

I watched bears hang from trees and play little games as I crossed the section of the Yamuna that runs through the centre on a boat. Many rescue stories and anecdotes I heard, moved me deeply. And in between all the learning, I also gained a restful respite from my hectic, smog-filled city life. Driving back home, I realised that this short trip was as much a journey on the road as it was within my soul. I also discovered that choosing a holiday away from the ordinary can be much more than a break from routine or a few days of bliss. It can give you goosebumps and leave you with a long-lasting feeling of warmth.

dire st ra i ts h e l p sav e t h es e e n Da n g e r e D s p ec i es. v i s i t t h e m .

Famous British ornithologist Stuart Baker, whose career work was done in India, summed up the playful male lesser florican’s love life best when he said the bird “is indiscriminate in his love affairs”.

To nourish the bears at the Agra Bear Rescue Facility (left), volunteers prepare food according to a weekly diet chart, which incorporates fruits and honey; In some parts of the rescue centre, volunteers have dug pits and filled them with hay for the bears to loll about (right)​.

THE malE lEssEr florican puts on a flamboyant show during mating season. he leaps two metres in the air with a guttural croak, and at the peak of the jump, flirtatiously arches his back, folds his legs, and shows off his plumage. these members of the bustard family are known to jump over 500 times a day to woo the mottled, sand-coloured females that are larger than their male counterparts. locally known as tan mor, likh or khar mor, lesser floricans are endemic to grasslands in the indian subcontinent and can be seen in maharashtra, rajasthan, gujarat, madhya pradesh, and andhra pradesh. For all their amorous behavior, the birds are shy, nomadic creatures.

The Vitals Volunteers can visit Wildlife SOS’s elephant and bear sanctuaries for a day or a week.

A night’s stay, including accommodation, three vegetarian meals, volunteering, forest department admission fees, and transfers, costs `4,500. A week-long stay with similar inclusions is `20,000 (for foreigners $100 a day and $500 for a week). Booking in advance is mandatory.

Typically, volunteers go on sunrise and sunset walks with the elephants, help

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prepare the animals’ meals and bathe them. They also build hammocks for the bears and help distribute their food. They may also get to assist experts during special rescue projects, brainstorm about fundraising and animal wellbeing, and do other odd jobs. The volunteer’s duties can be modified based on individual interests.

For example, zoology students or aspiring vets can also help with medical services.

More information is available on the

national Geographic Traveller INDIA | august 2015

organisation’s website (www.wildlifesos. org; 97562 05080). The sanctuary spends a large sum of money every day on feeding its animals, providing medical facilities, funding rescue operations, and helping with rehabilitation of the Kalandar families who used to earn a living by making bears dance. A board outside Wildlife SOS’s gift shop says “Buy a t-shirt, feed a bear”. But buying yourself a holiday while helping to fund the centre is even better.

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adult birds are 45-60 cm tall and weigh up to a kilogram. lesser floricans were popular game birds in the 1800s. their dazzling courtship display still makes them vulnerable to capture but the major cause for the species’ dwindling numbers is habitat loss. asad rahmani, director of the Bombay natural history society, says the “locals in the town of sailana in madhya pradesh and the pali district in rajasthan have taken it upon themselves to conserve grasslands to protect the lesser florican.” their help has been invaluable but still, only 2,500-3,000 remain. to observe the lesser floricans during breeding season, visit the sailana sanctuary or the sardarpur Wildlife sanctuary in madhya Pradesh. —Kareena Gianani august 2015 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA

Dhritiman mukherjee

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stay

Golden Promise

Suryagarh Jaisalmer

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rajasthan

at suryagarh, love for the desert and comfort coalesce | By Niloufer Venkatraman One of the many enigmas of the Thar is the town of Kuldhara, which along with 83 other villages, was apparently abandoned overnight in 1825.

the vitals

The central courtyard (top) is the venue for a heart-stopping Halwaii breakfast (bottom), as well as for musical evenings with the hotel’s Manganiyar musicians, and various other events.

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luxury hotels. I appreciated that the flowers in my room were flaming orange Indian marigold grown in the garden outside, not orchids from Bangkok or tulips from Holland. The second arrangement, in an earthen pot, was a bunch of dried white desert flowers. The bedroom wall was adorned with a hand-block print design. Best of all, the dessert treat left in my room each night was a heavenly Rajasthani halwa or mithai, not Belgian chocolate.

Over the next two days I took a series of Suryagarh’s curated trips through the desert. The khadeens were a big surprise—these massive, green oases punctured the beige of the landscape challenging the image of the desert I had. The vast tracts of low-lying aagor land capture rainwater and are used as community-owned and operated farms. As we drove deeper into the desert we saw other, smaller oases with goats or sheep grazing, age-old khejri trees, watering holes, and wells. My preconceived notions about the scorched Thar started evaporating in the desert sun.

I watched as an antelope raced past us, clearing a four-foot bush with a graceful leap. In the distance, as heat waves rose off the desert floor, I blinked to focus on a train of camels. We edged nearer and stopped to observe the hardy soldiers,

`` luxury

romantic

culture

jeremy sutton-hibbert/alamy/indiapicture

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’d never been to the Thar Desert before, but I had a picture of it in my mind. A stereotypical image of a stark, sandy land with barely a blade of grass in sight. A place with only the occasional flicker of life or movement. And hot, furiously hot.

Driving from Jodhpur to Jaisalmer on a February morning, much of the countryside appeared just as I’d pictured it: parched, yellow-brown earth whizzing past the car window. Mostly it was desolate, dotted with occasional bursts of green acacia scrub. At some point on the 3.5-hour ride I nodded off. When I awoke, I saw a citadel in the distance, looming out of the haze of dust and flat nothingness. It was a majestic fort of gold sandstone.

Entering the grand fortress of the Suryagarh hotel, we were welcomed with a shower of rose petals. The lobby and its anteroom are dressed like a royal residence, with traditional shields and swords decorating the walls. The decor is full of design elements incorporating the most-loved of Rajasthani aesthetics. Rooms are large and handsomely decorated in earthy tones using handwoven fabrics. The bathroom of my suite was the size of a Mumbai studio apartment and over-thetop luxurious. Amid the grandeur, it was the little touches that made Suryagarh stand out over other

graceful long-time residents of this difficult terrain. To avoid us, the camels very subtly changed their route. Through my camera lens I could see the black hair on their necks bristling in the noonday sun. Later we stopped at a Bhil settlement and chatted with a young lad and played with his goats.

We also encountered the Langhas who have lived in the Thar for generations.

On another excursion, we heard bone-chilling tales at the deserted town of Kuldhara, and examined unique cenotaphs of the Paliwals at their cemetery on an ancient trade route. Our guide pointed out a carved stone pillar (govardhan), a water marker usually aligned with the constellations, that helped ancient travellers find their way. The Thar’s hardy residents and rich history melted my assumptions about its emptiness.

Back at Suryagarh, I feasted on meals of both Marwadi and Western classics. The hotel earnestly embraces the old adage that the way to a guest’s heart is through her stomach. The kitchen belted out startlingly good fare, all served with unaffected flair and genuine pride. In fact, great attention is paid to the dining experience. Besides eating in the restaurants, I enjoyed breakfast at dawn with peacocks at the old Khaba fort in the desert, and dined in the various gardens on the property. I particularly enjoyed dinner on a stunning secluded sand dune.

As spirited folk singers crooned and swayed, chefs brought out delight after delight. Beyond our little camp was a vast, hypnotising darkness. The buzz of hotel guests enjoying their dinner faded into a

dream-like swirl behind me, as I spotted a faraway campfire. What a thriving land of depth and variety—it really was unlike anything I’d envisioned.

Another memorable meal at Suryagarh was the Halwaii breakfast served in the middle of the cosy, central courtyard. As I entered the courtyard the sweet sound of a flute floated around. Emanating from one of the jharokhas above, it made me look up and admire the carved jali windows and other classic Rajathani elements of the structure.

The meal itself was a sensational variety of local dishes both savoury and sweet and freshlysqueezed juices. Its colourful presentation was as pleasing to the eye as the flavours were to my palate.

The sumptuous meals inspired me to examine the Bageecha, the hotel’s kitchen garden. Opposite it I noticed another, smaller, but just as pretty fortress. Perhaps it was the exclusive residence of owner Manavendra Singh Shekhawat. To my surprise, it was the staff housing quarters. I was happy to note that the hotel takes care of its staff. The Residences, the exclusive guest accommodations are close to the main building. Each has a private pool and exudes luxury. The icing on top is that they overlook a sweeping panorama of the desert.

Every hotel strives to be different, but few actually are. Suryagarh manages to achieve that distinctiveness by offering guests a rare cultural experience. What was also amply clear was that the owners and staff of this hotel embrace and are in love with this desert, and very quickly, they made me fall in love as well.

Accommodation There is a touch of opulence in every room at Suryagarh, right from the 77 elegant palace rooms to the four stand alone accommodation of The Residences. Local, traditional elements in the construction and décor blend perfectly with modern amenities.

Dining options are numerous; The Legend of Marwad restaurant serves cuisine born in the kitchens of the royal households of Marwar.

(02992-269269; www. suryagarh.com; doubles from `8,000 during off season from Apr-Sept and `12,000 during peak season from Oct-Mar).

Getting there Suryagarh is located on the outskirts of Jaisalmer, Rajasthan.

It is 760 km/12 hr southwest of Delhi.

The city of Jodhpur lies 280 km/5 hr to the southeast, and is the closest airport and railway junction.

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photo courtesy: Suryagarh (courtyard), Niloufer Venkatraman (food)

Short Breaks |