Nat Geo Traveller India December 2012

Food Culture With Penny De Los Santos

Featuring • Kalimpong’s Haat • Cooking in Kerala • Café Culture • Cashew Feni • Fiery Fenghuang

• Cheese-Loving Countries • Penang’s Fusion Cuisine

• Froth from Heaven

Tsavo On fOOt thrOugh Kenya’s elephant

cOuntry

PiedmonTfamily time in the

italian wine lands

Taste ofReal Food ExperiencesTravel

december 2012 • `120 VOL. 1 ISSUE 6

18 Editor’s Note | 138 Inspire

Voices

22 Tread SoftlyGraffiti on monuments is destroying

our heritage

24 Paper TrailsLove and tragedy stain

Venetian novels

26 Frontier TalesSome small nations deliver big

conservation results

28 The InsiderProviders and customers on opposite

sides of a growing divide

naVigate

32 Take 5Quirky Indian museums

34 The IconQutub Minar, Delhi’s first skyscraper

36 Fringe VisitsKumaon’s bell temple

38 ExperienceSnorting chocolate in Belgium

40 Smart TravellerHow to plan a camping holiday in

New Zealand

46 National ParkIndia’s only sloth bear sanctuary

48-54 Taste of Travel Fenghuang’s fiery cuisine

Three cheese-loving countries Nimish triggers childhood memories

Goa’s favourite cashew liquor Classic cafés around the globe

get going

112 Learning HolidaySnowboarding in Gulmarg

115 AdventureSnow sports for the winter months

116 Record Journey Goa to Mumbai, before the big sail

short breaks

122 From MumbaiThe salty desert of Kutch

126 From Delhi Alwar’s hidden heritage

On The Cover This photograph was taken at the food market in Fenghuang, China. Intrigued by this old man meticulously grinding chillies, outside his spice store, Vladimr Popov, the photogra-pher, called him the “Spicy Food Guru”.

Food Culture

With Penny De Los Santos

Featuring • Kalimpong’s Haat

• Cooking in Kerala • Café Culture

• Cashew Feni • Fiery Fenghuang

• Cheese-Loving Countries

• Penang’s Fusion Cuisine

• Froth from Heaven

Tsavo On fOOt thrOugh

Kenya’s elephant

cOuntry

PiedmonTfamily time in the

italian wine lands

Taste ofReal Food ExperiencesTravel

december 2012 • `120

VOL. 1 ISSUE 6

www.facebook.com/natgeotraveller.india

www.natgeotraveller.in

130 From BengaluruWaterfall-hopping in Courtallam

interactiVe

134 Photo WorkshopFood culture with Penny De Los Santos

136 Big ShotThe best of reader’s photoss

last page

144 Dire StraitsThe Himalayan Red Panda lives

in treetops

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126

N a t i O N a l G e O G R a p h i c t R a V e l l e R i N d i a

In focus

58Haat and Food For tHe Soul

The biweekly Kalimpong farmers’ market is a smorgasbord of flavours

68God’S own CuiSine

Learning the symphony of flavours and textures in the traditional

cooking of Kerala

74ConFluenCe CuiSine

Penang’s fusion food links many countries and cultures

Journeys

82tHe Slow liFe in italY

A mother and son break bread in the hills of Piedmont

92wHat aM i doinG Here?

The author wrestles with his fear ofthe unknown—and then leaves it inthe dust—from Spain to Singapore,

the Amazon, and Sudan

98trail BlaZerS

On foot through through Kenya’s Tsavo National Park, exploring the heart of Africa’s elephant country

VOl. 1 issUe 6

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NOvember 2012 | NATiONAL GeOGrAPhic TrAveLLer iNDiA 13

51

Editor-in-Chief Niloufer VeNkatramaNDeputy Editor Neha DaraSenior Features Writer Natasha sahgalFeatures Writer azeem BaNatwalla

Art Director DiViya mehraPhoto Editor ashima NaraiNSenior Graphic Designer & Digital Imaging DeVaNg h. makwaNaSenior Graphic Designer omNa wiNstoN

Consulting Editor Naresh ferNaNDes

Publishing Director maNas mohaN

AD SAlESVice President eric D’souza (98200 56421/[email protected])MuMbAIAssociate Account Director chitra Bhagwat ([email protected])Key Account Executive rahul siNghaNia ([email protected])DElHIConsultant JaswiNDer gill ([email protected])Deputy Account Director raJmaNi Patel ([email protected])Key Account Manager saloNi Verma ([email protected])bEnGAluruKey Account Manager (SOuTH) s.m. meeNakshi ([email protected])CHEnnAIConsultant shaNkar JayaramaN ([email protected])

ACK MEDIAChief Executive Officer ViJay samPath

Chief Operating Officer maNas mohaNChief Financial Officer VishwaNath kotiaNVice President (Operations) saNDeeP PaDoshibusiness Head (Digital) shuBhaDeeP Bhattacharyabrand Manager ritika BasuSubscriptions Manager swati guPtaSenior Manager (legal) lalit sharmaManager (Print Production) sagar sawaNt

IbH bOOKS & MAGAZInES PVT. lTD.Director aBizar shaikh

Senior Vice President m. krishNa kiraNnational Sales Manager fazal h. khaN regional Sales muralikrishNaN

EDITOrIAl EnquIrIES NatioNal geograPhic traVeller iNDiakrishna house, 3rd floor, raghuvanshi mills compound, senapati Bapat marg, lower Parel (w), mumbai-400013, india. tel: +91 22 6629 6859 email: [email protected] EnquIrIES [email protected] EnquIrIES [email protected]

nATIOnAl GEOGrAPHIC TrAVElEr u.S. Editor & Vice President keith BellowsExecutive Editor Norie QuiNtosCreative Director Jerry sealySenior Photo Editor DaNiel r. westergreNDeputy Art Director leigh V. BorghesaNiPhoto Editor carol eNQuistChief researcher marilyN terrellManaging Editor, E-Publishing kathie gartrellGeotourism Editor JoNathaN B. tourtellotEditors-at-large sheila f. Buckmaster, costas christ, christoPher elliot, DoN george, Paul mar-tiN, BoDy matsoN, aNDrew mccarthy, DaisaNN mclaNe, scottstuckeyDigital nomad aNDrew eVaNs

InTErnATIOnAl MAGAZInE PublISHInG

Vice President yulia P. Boyle

business Manager ariel Deiaco-lohr

nATIOnAl GEOGrAPHIC SOCIETYChairman & Chief Executive Officer JohN m. fahey, JrPresident timothy t. kellyExecutive Vice President, law, business and Government Affairs tereNce B. aDamsoNExecutive Vice President & President, Publishing and Digital Media DeclaN mooreExecutive Vice President & Worldwide Publisher, Global Media clauDia malleyChairman Emeritus gilBert m. grosVeNorExplorers-in-residence roBert BallarD, James cameroN, waDe DaVis, JareD DiamoND, sylVia earle, J. michael fay, BeVerly JouBert, Dereck JouBert, louise leakey, meaVe leakey, JohaN reiNharD, eNric sala, Paul sereNo, sPeNcer wells

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Editor’s NotENiloufer Venkatraman

I first met abhilash tomy in october, two weeks

before he began his attempt to circumnavigate

the world nonstop, in a sailboat, solo and un-

assisted. when i realised he was going to be com-

pletely alone at sea for six months, the first thought

that came to my mind was that it was going to be

very, very lonely. i asked him what he would miss

the most while at sea, half expecting him to reply,

human company. instead, i was surprised when he

turned the question on its head; he said what he

was looking forward to the most was the solitude.

i was sceptical. i wondered if he was trying to be

cool or flippant. Days before he took off on his expedition on the

1st of November, i got to sail with abhilash for a few

hours just off the coast of mumbai. about an hour

into the sail, Dilip Donde the Mhadei’s previous

skipper suggested i sit at the boat’s bow for a few

minutes. i stepped over the railing of the deck at

the prow (the pointy front-end), and sat on a metal

spool, my feet dangling two feet from the water.

it took less than five minutes of sailing in that

spot, the gentle breeze blowing, the serene ex-

panse of water all around, for me to completely

shut out and forget that there were ten other peo-

ple on the boat that day. Because i was in front, i

heard nothing of what was going on. i had stepped

out of the clutter of life and begun to absorb the

tranquillity; i was immersed in a sense of complete

calm. at some point it dawned on me that i was ex-

periencing a small fraction of the beauty of solitude

that abhilash had spoken about. i did not get off my

perch for the rest of the sailing, spending a medita-

tive hour in that spot. when we returned to land, i

felt i had had a short experience of freedom, a les-

son on being disconnected from excessive thought.

a few days later when Deputy editor Neha Dara

wrote about her sail from goa to mumbai with ab-

hilash, published in this issue, i was struck by one

quote from him. when talking of how sailing al-

lowed him to live in and absorb the moment, he had

said to her: “once you start wishing for things to

be different, there’s no stopping. first it’s the heat,

then it’s the weather, the wind, the food, and soon

everything will fall apart”. i found in it, another deep

life lesson.

it made me think of other such moments, when

travel has allowed me the opportunity to reflect,

to absorb, to accept, or forced me to a different

mental space. one of my favourite ways to escape

the world is trekking in the Nepal himalayas. with

one backpack for 15 days, i have found that, among

many other things, it is an incredibly important

lesson in how little one can actually get by on; the

richness of simplicity.

But i do forget. Back from a family trip to goa last

week, i realised that i had touched less than half the

things i had packed in my luggage. i definitely need

another trek into the mountains, to remind me that

there is another pace to life, and to spring on me

new tastes, new flavours, new life lessons. n

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Sitting at the prow of the Mhadei, days before the boat left Mumbai

on an expedition around the globe, editor Niloufer Venkatraman

experiences the joy of solitude.

Life lessons from a boat

“Once you start wishing for things to be different, there’s no stopping. First it’s the heat, then it’s the weather, the wind, the food, and soon everything will fall apart.” I found in this, another deep life lesson

DECEMBER 2012 | national GEoGRaphiC tRavEllER inDia 17

VOICESThe Insider

28 national GeoGraphic traveller inDia | DeceMBer 2012

christopher elliott

inconvenience—passengers feel entitled to compensation for the half day of their missed vacation, and they want it now.

how did it come to this? You can blame the economy, or terrorists, or inept manage-ment. think about it. layoffs translate into cuts in service and more work per em-ployee, both resulting in shorter fuses. the threat of terrorism has made everyone more afraid to travel and has turned airports into virtual prisons. and please, show me just one well-run travel company, and i’ll show you a hundred more that aren’t. it’s as if this industry rewards incompetence.

But the internet may be the biggest cul-prit; it mostly replaced the ranks of travel agents and turned every travel experience except the super-luxurious into a com-modity. in this new world, service takes a backseat to price. When asked why airlines treat their customers worse than overnight parcels—at least packages are delivered on time—executives say their surveys show that price is what matters most to the consumer. perhaps. and perhaps we asked for it. But that doesn’t necessarily mean we don’t want any service.

there is a two-part fix. one: the travel industry needs to stop thinking of its cus-tomers as either walking atMs, as cargo, or in extreme cases, as the enemy. it can start by answering its phones instead of sending us through a labyrinth of voice-prompts. it can publish a fair contract on its websites that’s written in english, not legalese. its agents can use niceties such as “please” and “thank you” when they deal with customers. it can halt the myriad ridiculous fees and surcharges it has dreamt up in recent years.

two: as my mother always used to say, “two wrongs don’t make a right.” that ap-plies to travellers who have been delayed, put on hold, inconvenienced, or ignored. Just because you’ve been disrespected doesn’t give you license to be a jerk. com-plain? Yes. complain loudly? Sure. But don’t be rude.

the key is to know your rights. if you carry the fine print (contract, car rental agreement, frequent-flyer statement) with you, you have an important tool to getting good service. it’s easier to disarm rudeness when you’ve got the facts at your fingertips.

Both providers and consumers of travel can do better. “oh, behave!” austin powers said. Yes, let’s. n

Christopher Elliott is Editor-at-Large of National Geographic Traveler (U.S.). He writes about readers’ travel problems.

They call it the hospitality business, so why does it feel so hostile? it wasn’t always like this. a generation ago, “travel” and “customer service”

were practically synonymous (free meals served by fawning flight attendants, liberal refunds, and hardly a surcharge). But a deregulated airline industry, a couple dozen terrorist events, and a recession or two, and here we are: Welcome to the unfriendly skies, car rental counters, and hotel lobbies.

My inbox is stuffed with complaints from mistreated customers. a cruiseline that carelessly drops a customer’s bag overboard. a driver charged for a crack on the windshield he didn’t put there and then threatened with a collection agency if he doesn’t pay up. a flight attendant who blocks a new mother from using the

rest–room—and then laughs when the incontinent woman can’t hold it in. hard to believe, but this stuff is for real. in 2009, a shocking video made the rounds: it showed a valet at the hyatt hotel in St. louis tak-ing guests’ cars for joyrides—peeling out, revving the engines, doing doughnuts.

these incidents are more common than you think. travel companies’ mistreatment of the very people who keep them afloat is reflected in their plummeting customer-service scores. and yet, the industry can’t take a hint. travel companies continue to bleed customers dry. Mandatory “resort” fees for hotel guests are now the norm. car rental companies push incomprehensibly dense contracts at drivers and persuade them to buy unnecessary options. ryanair even said it wanted to charge passengers for using—i’m not making this up, folks—the restroom. that’s right: a fee to pee.

customers aren’t exactly model citizens, however. they lash out at flight attend-ants and make fake bomb threats. they break hotel furniture and trash rental cars. the prevailing customer attitude is rude, entitled, and occasionally, abusive. it’s an attitude i encounter more and more. So what if the ticket is non-refundable—i want my money back! Who cares if i paid

for a courtyard room—i deserve an ocean view! Don’t you dare charge me for the dent i put in my rental car—it’s the cost of doing business!

it isn’t just that we want more; we want more than we deserve. the most common request is from airline passengers who are delayed because of bad weather or faulty equip-ment. it’s not enough that the airline offers meal and hotel vouchers for the G

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The Internet replaced the travel agent and turned every travel experience except the superluxurious into a commodity. In this new world, service takes a backseat to price

Providers and customers are on oPPosite sides of a growing divide

Where’s the Service?

DeceMBer 2012 | national GeoGraphic traveller inDia 29

NAVIGATEThe Icon


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Standing tall in its red and buff sandstone glory, the Qutub Minar is symbolic of the biggest power shift in Delhi’s history. in the 12th century,

Mohammad Ghori ousted the rajputs and his successor, Qutub-ud-din aibak laid the foundation for the Delhi Sultan-ate. this victory reshaped the city’s culture and architecture and this sky-scraping minaret was soon built to commemorate it. Whether it was used as a watchtower, or by the muezzin to summon the faithful to the Quwwat-ul-islam mosque next-door, the Qutub Minar remains one of Delhi’s most treasured monuments, receiving close to three million visitors a year.

How HigH it is 72.5 m tall, with a base diameter of 14.3m. it tapers to about 2.7 m at the top.

Name game Some believe it was named after Qutub-ud-

din aibak, who started its construction in 1202. others claim it is named for Qutb-ud-din Bakhtiar Kaki, a Sufi saint greatly respected by aibak’s successor iltutmish.

LeaNiNg the Qutub Minar has gradually developed a tilt of approximately 25 inches southwest.

TaLL SToReY the Qutub Minar originally had five levels. Firoz Shah tughlaq added a cupola on top, which was destroyed by an earthquake in 1803. there are 379 steps leading to the top. each storey has a balcony that encir-cles the tower. however, because of a fatal stampede in 1981, visitors are not allowed inside anymore.

iNScRibed the outer walls of the structure are in-scribed with arabic and nagori characters. Some of these are verses from the Quran,

while others tell of the tower’s history, and describe the changes and renovations made through the ages.

ambiTioN in the early 13th century, alauddin Khilji planned to build a tower nearby called the alai Minar, twice as high as the existing minaret. however, only about 25 m had been constructed, when he died. With nobody else sharing his ambition, the alai Minar ascended no further.

wiSHfuL THiNkiNg there is a seven-metre-tall pure iron pil-lar in the courtyard of the mosque next door to the Qutub Minar. it hasn’t rusted in the slightest, mystifying scientists and metallurgists. although it has now been cordoned off, it is believed that any wish you make will be fulfilled if you rest your back against the pillar and wrap your arms around it. n

Qutub MinarNiNe ceNturies later, Delhi’s first skyscraper remaiNs as popular as ever

By Azeem BAnAtwAllA

NAVIGATEexperience

Chocolate without the calories—four magic words that egged the foolhar-dy traveller in me to snort chocolate on a whim. Geert cumptich of the

chocolate line, a handmade chocolate shop in the romantic city of Bruges, con-vinced me that snorting chocolate is the panacea for all ills, including the cold that had been plaguing me for two days. and when there are no calories, no reasonable person should have grounds to refuse.

cumptich explained that the idea of the chocolate shooter (which i was yet to see), came up when chocolatier Dominique per-soone was asked to create some fun choco-late elements for a party that the band rolling Stones were throwing in Brussels.

When an invention has been made for an audience

known for inhaling powdered substanc-es, it’s right to be suspicious. When it was offered to me, it was probably

sensible to refuse. But the scent of rich

chocolate was already

in the air and had taken over my ability to reason. So i agreed.

a gadget came out of cumptich’s drawer: a shiny glass machine with two protrud-ing arms and several levers. With the grace of a seasoned user, he positioned it on the table, caressed the apparatus with a clean cloth and then brought out a small box of the stuff. the stuff in question was a box of cocoa ginger powder. “i will give you the stronger one, the raspberry one is for the uninitiated,” he said.

i was uninitiated, i thought feebly. and by now, i was worried.

“When i say three, inhale deep and let the chocolate go straight up to your brain,” he said with a smile. i was unconvinced, but wasn’t quite sure how to back out or protest. i positioned my nostrils next to

the shooter. on the count of three, he hit the button and the shooter sent a shower of chocolate powder up my nose. on cue, i inhaled so it would go in deeper.

the next few seconds were a blur. there was a sweet scent about my brain. My nose felt warm, my head felt light, and i was smiling. the pure cocoa powder, mixed with a hint of menthol and ginger warmed my brain. My sinus headache started to clear up. every breath i took felt sweet. Suddenly, i felt that the world around me was made of chocolate.

Since much of our sensation of taste comes from smell, this experience gave me as much pleasure as eating chocolate, and since the smell stayed in my nostrils for quite a while, i felt like i was on a real chocolate high. cumptich explained that the feel-good hormones that chocolate normally releases take time to go from your stomach to the brain. But this process gave the chocolate instant access to the brain, making the snorter (me) an extremely happy person. it wasn’t psychological, it wasn’t the power of suggestion, he insisted.

Whatever the truth, i had just snorted chocolate. and it felt good. n

Snorting CocoachasiNg a chocolate high

By nAtAshA sAhgAl

Many chocolate shops that surround the main square of Bruges allow visitors to watch chocolate being made.


IN FOCUSTaste of Travel Kalimpong

Haatfoodsoul

and

for the

The biweekly Kalimpong farmers’ market is bursting

with fresh, local produce. From cubes of dried chhurpi cheese to oyster mushrooms, from organic

watercress to pink, crunchy radish, the author delights in the

market’s delicious offerings

By ArUNdhAtI rAy

PhOtOGrAPhS By dhrItIMAN MUKhErJEE

IN FOCUSTaste of Travel


For my husband and me, the year is one long countdown to that magical moment, sometime between october and December, when we leave Kol-kata for Kalimpong, our home in the

hills. From the glass panes in front of the house on a gentle hillside, we can see the entire snow-clad Kanchenjunga range. towering above the other peaks is the majestic “Five treasures of the Great Snows”—the name by which Kanchenjunga is revered by the original inhabitants of this region, the lepchas.

We crave this month-long break: the lazy golden hours sitting out in the garden, the long walks on which we regain our “hill legs”, evenings in soft lamp-lit indoors looking out into inky darkness to the faraway lights of town, the incredible meals produced by Dolma, our feisty Sherpa housekeep-er, using the lightest of touches to transform local ingredients into gourmet dishes. the pleasures of being far from the madding crowd are immense. But twice a week, we break our peaceful routine for the excitement of the biweekly market or haat.

on Wednesdays and Saturdays, Kalimpong’s sleepy main street is choked with crowds and cars, many bearing number plates from distant Sikkim, nepal and Bhutan. people gather to buy the sea-

sonal produce and meats brought down from the tiny basti (village) farms, along with the area’s nu-merous artisanal products—cheese, pickles, but-ter, noodles. everything is fresh and most things are organic.

our first haat is always a bit of an event. Dolma accompanies us so that she can stock the larder with all the greens, grains, and foodstuff that we’ve missed for a whole year. that inaugural haat marks the first “chhaang and momo” night of our stay. it’s a deliciously long evening that begins with Dolma ceremoniously placing the thumba, or bamboo container, filled with warm, ambrosial millet beer in front of us, followed by a round of pork-stuffed steamed dumplings, the wrappers so thin you can actually glimpse the moist mince in-side. through the course of the evening, she will keep topping up the chhaang and replenishing the momos till we reach a state of impossibly sweet satiation. it’s essential to stock up on supplies for this, especially since it’s our tradition to order this meal not just for ourselves but for Dolma’s entire family. By the end of the evening, over a hundred momos will have been eaten and several litres of chhaang drunk.

haat mornings have a unique rhythm. there is no dawdling over early-morning coffee, no luxury

The area has a rich tradition of making pickles (top). Everything

from pork to chicken, to tofu, soya bean, chillies, dried fish

and prawn, is preserved as rich, chilli-hot, flavoursome delicacies.

Facing page: A vendor displays a rainbow of spices. Also on sale are separate mixes for Nepali fish and meat dishes. Powdered mustard is a particular favourite because it’s

used for pickles and also sprinkled on as a last-minute seasoning.

Previous page: (clockwise from top left) Hard cubes of dried

chhurpi, a Tibetan cheese; The round and fragrant dollo khorsani

chillies; Dried fish; A heap of young, tangy bi; Fresh oyster

mushrooms; The pretty nakema (ground orchid); Cubes of fampi,

made from the residue left after making phing (glass noodles);

Dried prawns; Bunches of fresh watercress (simrai) and pink

crunchy radish; Hard, wiry phing made from mung, along with

thukpa noodles, for the ubiquitious local soup.

Kalimpong


as we wave goodbye, we can hear her imperious instructions to the driver to hurry: “Chheeto! Chheeto!”, a completely unnecessary command since the default pace of the hill drivers would give Schumacher an inferiority complex

of a long breakfast, no wasting time in the garden with the dogs. Dolma is transformed into a Marine sergeant, hurrying us through breakfast and baths. She wants to have her pick of the best items and be back soon to prepare the evening feast. She is dressed for a morning in town: bright lungi, neat-ly-pressed shirt, and a dash of red lipstick. She sets the pace at a brisk trot, and has only the briefest of greetings to spare for the many who hail her. once in town, we begin running into local residents—old friends en route to the haat themselves, who we are meeting for the first time this trip. But Dolma stands with such ill-concealed impatience that we cut short our exchanges with promises to drop in soon.

as we step off the main road to take the broad flights of steps down to the marketplace, we join the throng and are swallowed into a vortex of col-ours and sounds. even after 20 years, Dolma has no faith in my judgement in buying fresh produce and hovers protectively, afraid that i’ll be cheated. on this first haat of our holiday, we’re more than content to let her make the choices while we sim-ply take in all those fascinating items that are spilling out of baskets, spread out on woven mats, plumping out of leaf packets.

there are big bunches of watercress freshly

picked at daybreak from stream shallows, ready to be served with lunchtime soup. nettles still stud-ded with tiny white blossoms will be transformed by Dolma into a warming nutritious broth in the evenings. Dried greens of various vegetables will be added to stews to provide depth and leafy good-ness. posies of ningro, the local fiddle-headed fern, will be combined with cottage cheese and slivered garlic to make a divine stir-fry. the pale white bi, resembling miniature eggplants, have a taste that’s all their own. the pretty lavender-hued edible orchid nakema is the main ingredient for a crunchy, bitter-toned side dish. the fire-engine red dollo khorsani are small, round chillies whose fragrant heat is essential for hill-cooking. hessian sacks bulging with various kinds of mushroom have travelled down that morning from the mist-clad mountainsides of lava and alagarah. We make our purchases from Kanchi didi, a dignified old lady wearing the traditional nepali half-sari and shirt.

nearby, the pungent scent emanating from piles of mysterious leaf packages trussed up with string make their contents apparent: kinema, or ferment-ed bean paste. While Dolma makes her selection of this miso-like sludge, the sassy young woman who runs the stall gives us a helping of delicious fampi




Kalimpong

Mounds of freshly-churned butter (top), deliciously creamy, brought down from the villages high up in

the misty hills of Lava.Facing page: From her home in Kalimpong, the author can see

the entire Kanchenjunga range, and the peak of Mt. Kanchenjunga

rearing above the rest.



to snack on. these gelatinous squares covered in a splatter of hot red sauce are made with the liquid residue left over from the preparation of phing, or glass noodles.

then there’s chhurpi to be bought from the wizened old lady from lava. We buy a generous amount of this local soft cheese with its distinctive sharp odour and strong taste, for it will be enjoyed in a variety of ways: crumbled in salad, mixed with herbs from the garden and spread on toast, or used as the base for ema dashi (Bhutanese cheese-and-red-chilli stew).

Broad counters display buttercup-yellow pyra-mids of freshly-churned butter ready to be scooped on to weighing scales, before being packed in a leaf. on raised platforms, there are mounds of dif-ferent types of flour sold by women sitting in a gos-siping group. We head straight for the red-tinged buckwheat flour—phapar ki pitho—so that we can indulge in a favourite breakfast treat of buckwheat crêpes stuffed with herb-seasoned chhurpi.

Despite Dolma’s grumbles, it is slow progress because pleasantries need to be exchanged with the vendors and questions answered on the state of our health, when we arrived, and how long we plan to stay. But eventually, she’s bought the pork for the momos that night, and also for the rest of the week

when she’ll be using this excellent meat of home-reared pigs for stir fries with squash tendrils, roasts flavoured with sage, rosemary and thyme growing in the garden, and hot, spicy curries. We see her to a taxi, heaving in the shopping bags that are now bursting at the seams. as we wave goodbye, we can hear her imperious instructions to the driver to hurry: “Chheeto! Chheeto!”, a completely unnecessary command since the default pace of the hill drivers would give Schumacher an inferi-ority complex.

With the serious business of stocking up the lar-der done, we return to the haat for a slow mooch around. But first, it’s time to fuel up. We head for the centre, where a slight, young woman is deftly shaping and filling momos before putting them into a gigantic moktu, or steamer, balanced on a makeshift stove. this is Meena, the momo lady of the Kalimpong haat and our special friend. the moment she sees us, her beautiful features light up with a smile and, ignoring our protests, she seats us on the wooden bench, puts a large leaf in our palms and piles a fresh batch of steaming veg-etable dumplings on to them. We’ve just jumped a hungry queue but incredibly, no one seems to mind. instead, there is undisguised interest in our conversation—conducted in a mix of hindi

The haat is a microcosm of the town, and reflects the steady tide of change. Traditionally-dressed vendors with their straw baskets

work side by side with chic young women using smartphones (top).

Facing page: Warm, sweet chhaang made from fermented millet is

served in bamboo containers, and sipped slowly through wooden straws. Refilled with hot water

again and again through long cold evenings, the wonderful flavour

lasts for hours.

Kalimpong


Haat mornings have a unique rhythm. There is no dawdling over early-morning coffee, no luxury of a long breakfast, no wasting time in the garden with the dogs

and nepali—and much laughter when Meena, eyeing me critically, pronounces that i have put on weight. Despite this verdict, she is satisfied only when we’ve polished off some 20 momos between us. We take our leave, promising to be back for the Wednesday haat. on that day, we know from experience that once we’ve had our momos, Meena’s husband will press on us a gift from their tiny homestead near the Sikkim border: a sweet-fleshed halloween-orange pumpkin or a basket of brown eggs carefully cushioned in leaves.

We move on for a quick recce of the garments line—a row that would give Mumbai’s Fashion Street serious competition. the clothes are mostly smuggled in from Bangladesh and china and of dodgy provenance but there’s everything from fleece jackets to wispy shrugs, and bargaining fetches you phenomenal deals. on the other side, a shrewd old tibetan lady wearing the traditional bakku is perched on the broad counter in the mid-dle of her wares—an array of fascinating items in-cluding wooden votive bowls, bamboo thumbas, and delicate wooden straws, and tablets of yeast with fern imprints. We buy some dried chhurpi from her (our mutt in Kolkata loves to chew on them) and her wide toothless grin tells us that like every time, she’s overcharged us to her satisfaction.

She’s helped by her chic granddaughter in skinny jeans and tee, who would be equally at home on the ramp as she is in this busy marketplace. on the ground beside their stall, a wild-looking tibetan youth has laid out old coins, semi-precious stones, and a marvellous range of knives and cleavers. We walk off quickly, before we give in to temptation. climbing out of the haat square, we stop off at lark’s to collect a fresh roundel of Kalimpong cheese that would have been delivered in the morning by one of the many small producers in the area.

our last stop before we leave town to start the uphill walk home is himalayan Stores. We peek in for newspapers and a quick chat with the owner, to update ourselves on the latest political and cultural happenings in the area.

it’s been a wonderfully satisfying morning but as we leave the busy little town behind and enter the coolness of the tree-shaded road, we can’t wait to reach the steep stone stairs that serve as a short-cut to the peace of the garden, the cool quietness of home. We gaze at the snows of Kanchenjunga, savouring the knowledge that we are still at the beginning of our visit, and that the golden days in the hills we’ve longed for all year, stretch out before us. n

Kalimpong

DeceMBer 2012 | national GeoGraphic traveller inDia 6766 national GeoGraphic traveller inDia | DeceMBer 2012


The ViTals

OrienTaTiOnKalimpong is a hill station in the Darjeeling district of West Bengal, at an elevation of around 4,000 ft. Kalimpong is 50 km east of Darjeeling, the nearest city, 72 km south of Gangtok and 630 km north of Kolkata.

GeTTinG ThereAir The nearest airport is at Bagdogra, around 76 km/3 hours away, which has direct flights from Delhi and Kolkata. A taxi from the airport costs around `2,000.Rail Siliguri (66 km away) and New Jalpaiguri (77 km away) are the closest major railheads and are well connected to Delhi and Kolkata. Both are part of the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway circuit with trains to Darjeeling every morning.Buses to Kalimpong are avail-able from Darjeeling, Siliguri and Gangtok.

seasOnsKalimpong has mild, pleas-ant summers (Mar-May) with maximum temperatures of around 25°C. There is heavy rainfall between Jun-Sep. Win-ters (Dec-Feb) are rather cold but invigorating, with sub-zero minimums.

sTayOrchid Retreat is a family-run establishment with cottages and home-cooked local food (03552-274517; www.theo-rchidretreat.com; doubles from `2,700).Himalayan Hotel has airy rooms with fireplaces, and lush lawns and courtyards (03552-255248; www.himalayanhotel.com; doubles from `3,000).Elgin Silver Oaks is a colonial home from the 1930s that was converted to a hotel around 20 years ago (03552-255296; www.elginhotels.com; doubles `7,000).

The row of clothes stalls (top) features the latest styles and

designs, often smuggled in from Bangladesh and China.

Facing page: (clockwise from top left) A bunch of fiddle-headed fern or ningro that are used

in a dish made with soft, local cheese, sliced garlic and chilli; Lark’s, on 10th Mile Road, is a

Kalimpong institution. It is the place where everyone goes to stock up on provisions and Kalimpong

specialities like Kalimpong cheese, chocolate lollipops, chilled

containers of homemade sweet yogurt, pickles and noodles; Iskus

is the local variety of squash that is rather bland. Even so, every

bit of it—roots, shoots, leaves and tendrils—is put to use.

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KenyaOff TrackJourneys

Trail Blazers

On foot through Kenya’s Tsavo national parks—the Great Walk of Africa explores the heart of Africa’s largest elephant wilderness

By Vandana Mohindra

Crossing the Galana River—the Great Walk of Africa entails no less than 18 river crossings. Though the water is usually thigh-high, during one crossing it came up till the writer’s waist.

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iain allan said by way of greeting. it was our first morning on safari in Kenya. over the next 11 days, iain would lead our group of five, on foot, 160 km across two national parks, tsavo east and tsavo West.

We’d taken a small plane and then driven to our first campsite. it lay under the craggy shadow of ngulia peak, which towers over the muddy waters of the tsavo river. We were warned to desist from going down to the river because the crocodiles might mistake us for monkeys.

as the evening shadows lengthened, we sat by the river, watching a pair of orange-rumped geese on the far bank, when i heard the groan of a diesel engine. a snorting, grunting blob floated downriver, 20 feet away from us. in the fading light, we sighted a two-tonne hippopota-mus. it stayed a long while before wading away. Just four hours in tsavo, we’d already encountered one of the largest land animals in the world.

at daybreak, our group of five joined iain, tioko and lejore. they instructed us to walk quietly, as that was the only way we’d see any

game, and in single file, so as to give our three guides a clear view of what was ahead.

tioko, a six-foot-three Samburu tribesman, and lejore, his shorter clansman, were expert trackers who could read the land as easily as i could read a book. they carried rifles, spears, and broadswords. lejore flashed us a grin and set off, spear-tip bobbing. iain went next, fol-lowed by the five of us, and tioko sealed the line.

We walked in silence, listening to lejore’s blade hacking through the thick Acacia mellifera. We went gingerly past the hooked thorns of the wait-a-bit bush, stepping carefully around the glistening rocks. i marvelled at the ease with which our guides strode on. they knew the land intimately: every bend in the river, every rock and tree. i felt reassured but couldn’t help being startled when a flock of pheasants shot out of the scrub.

in 1978, iain started to guide climbing trips up Mount Kenya and Kilimanjaro. he dreamt of organising walks styled on the hunting sa-faris of the early 20th century, where small groups looked for big game

“The question is, how lucky do you feel today?”

Most of the walking is along narrow game trails. Here, the group follows one along the Galana River, led by their spear-toting guide, Lejore.

Two reticulated giraffes watch as the group walks past. The word “reticu-lated” refers to their evenly-shaped po-lygonal markings. In males, the brown colour darkens with age.

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I marvelled at the ease with which our guides strode on. They knew the land intimately: every bend in

the river, every rock and tree.

Zebras are social animals that live in herds. They can often be seen grazing together, playing, and even grooming

each other on the plains of Tsavo.

JourneysOff Track


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KenyaJourneys

on foot, led by experienced trackers and safari guides. the next year, he did his first successful walk along the tsavo river, and over the next 15 years led several small groups along shorter sections of the tsavo and Galana. that idea turned into the 11-day walking safari along the tsavo and Galana rivers, called the Great Walk of africa, that i’m now on.

iain’s genius lies in his ability to combine a once-in-a-lifetime bush experience with 21st-century luxury. after a 16-km hike, calves pat-terned with welts from thorny acacia, i was in a unique position to appreciate that talent.

as we turned into camp, Matinda, the camp manager, informed us that our baths were ready. after rummaging in the icebox for tusker beer and marvellous Stoney tangawizi ginger beer, we stepped into our portable showers. Steaming hot water cascaded through shower-heads mounted on canvas buckets. a pile of laundered towels greeted us in our tents, which were equipped with a washbasin, a hanging mir-ror, a table, a chair and a footstool. inside, twin camp cots were lined with downy pillows and hot water bottles for our toes.

But it was the meals that were the real highpoint. Kahiu, a Kikuyu tribesman, has been iain’s head chef for 25 years. Sipping chilean wine around the campfire, swaddled in cotton kikois, as Kenyan lun-gis are known, we wound our way to the dining tent. it became clear why Kahiu’s cooking had made a full-length feature in a 1994 issue of Australian Gourmet Traveller. in the middle of the bush, we tucked

into stuffed avocados, freshwater perch in a Swahili sauce, potatoes and carrots from iain’s garden, freshly-baked dinner rolls from the coal-fired oven, and sticky date pudding with ice cream.

By day five, we’d settled into a comfortable walking rhythm, weav-ing in and out along the river’s edge, scattering herds of impala and tiny dik-diks. the scrub was thinning, and in its place, umbrella thorn trees fringed the wide, saltbush plains. Most of the walking was flat and we stopped to rest every 45 minutes. i now appreciated iain’s pre-trip fitness advice (30 minutes of aerobic activity a day for at least one month).

“a journey through tsavo is really a journey into the heart of the african elephant,” iain said, noting that this region is home to some of east africa’s biggest elephant herds. “the elephant is the keeper of the land. take the elephant out and the whole ecosystem will collapse.”

lejore spied something around a tall escarpment and mimed, “let’s go around this way.” We clambered up and peered over the edge. Bare-ly 40 feet below us, two female elephants and a baby walked past. the wind changed direction. “in exactly 30 seconds, they’ll get our scent,” predicted iain. he’d barely finished his sentence when the matriarch stopped, lifted her trunk, turned tail and ran, the others scurrying be-hind her.

they were terrified of us and with good reason. Kenya’s poaching wars had nearly wiped out tsavo’s herds in the 1980s, when Somali bandits slaughtered elephants in the thousands. Many of the survivors Tsavo’s lions (top left)

are different from those elsewhere in the world—

they are larger and males are maneless; The

Ngulia Rhino Sanctu-ary in Tsavo West is a haven for black rhinos (top right); As the group

nears, this matriarch (bottom left) lifts her

trunk, periscope-like, to smell the visitors; Male impalas (botttom right)

form bachelor herds and often challenge the

dominant male in jousts that often end in death.

With powerful jaws that hold 16-inch incisors and 20-inch canines, hippos are regarded as one of Africa’s most dangerous animals, charging instinctively at speeds up to 30 km/hr. The writer saw pods of hippos all along the Tsavo and Galana rivers.


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had witnessed terrible things.i marvelled at tsavo’s vastness: at 20,812 sq km, the combined area

of tsavo West and east made it one of the largest national parks in the world. it’s the size of Mizoram and five times bigger than hemis, in ladakh, one of india’s largest national parks.

a faint pugmark and lion droppings told us we were entering lion country. “in fact, we’re very close to tsavo Bridge and the lions here are the direct descendants of the man-eaters of old,” said iain. he was referring to the man-eaters of tsavo, a pair of lions who stalked and ate 135 indian workers while they were building a bridge over the river tsavo in 1898. the story is told in the films, Bwana Devil (1952) and The Ghost and the Darkness (1996).

For six months that year, all anyone in the British parliament seemed to talk about was the two lions from tsavo. together, the li-ons managed to halt the expansion of the British empire. it took nine months for the chief engineer, lt. col. John henry patterson, to track down and shoot the lions, later chronicling his exploits in the book, The Man-Eaters of Tsavo. For their troubles, the lions were stuffed and are now on display at the chicago Field Museum.

every evening, iain would drive us along the Galana river in the land rover, looking for game. on one such evening, iain announced quietly, “lion at 9 o’clock.” on the riverbank, less than 20 feet away, was a young maneless lion, snout stained bright red as it gnawed on the remains of a dead zebra. a female joined him, and looking up,

we spied three more lions near the water’s edge. the young male kept looking up from his zebra and stared, unblinking, in our direction. he was fascinated by us, and we stared back. i realised that it is impos-sible to outstare a lion, whose eyes are like warm treacle and cold steel both at once.

We spent our days sneaking up on elephant herds, and over time, got better at responding to tioko’s hand signals: “that way”, “behind those rocks”, “quick quick”. We were alert and watchful, alive in every pore. We mimicked iain, kicking up mud and watching which way it blew to test the wind direction.

When the wind was right, we could get to within 30 feet of elephant herds, following them undetected for over half a kilometre. it was magical to walk beside them; for a brief, glorious moment i felt a part of the landscape.

creeping up on a matriarch, we watched from a promontory as she led her family to the river. While the younger females sucked up water in their trunks, she fell asleep standing in knee-high water. the babies, barely three or four months old, stayed close to her, hiding behind her girth. From my vantage point, i suddenly noticed two young males heading straight for where we stood. Before i could warn the others, the youngsters spotted us, trumpeting in alarm. in a heart-stopping burst of speed, the matriarch, now wide-awake, ran forward a few yards, making a noise like a train. iain grabbed me by my backpack and we scattered. even though she was just making sure we cleared


An old bull elephant crossing the Galana River, Tsavo East National Park. As their last set of teeth start wearing down (elephants have six sets in their lifetime), older males move closer to the river as the vegetation there is softer and easier to chew.

Leopards are incredibly powerful predators that are able to drag animals much heavier

than themselves up into trees.


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off, there is nothing as terrifying as an angry matriarch.on another morning, we spied seven bull elephants along the

Galana. a magnificent tusker ambled across the river towards another male, who was spending a quiet afternoon under a clump of palms on the opposite shore. they touched trunks in greeting. Just two old guys hanging out, probably saying to each other, “it isn’t like the old days, is it George?”

around the next bend, we saw an elephant in the river, lying on its side. it was dead, and the water around it was thick with crocodiles. in his role as honorary park warden, iain needed to ensure that a poacher hadn’t shot it. lejore and tioko stabbed at the water with the ends of their spears to check for crocodiles, waded in and peered at the crea-ture. its tusks were intact, which meant it had died naturally. they returned to shore making gagging sounds. “is it because the air smells so bad?” i asked. Said iain, “no, no. that’s the sound they make to scare away crocodiles!”

iain informed the park authorities about the elephant via satellite phone. on their next trip, they would remove the tusks and deposit them with the Kenya Wildlife Service, a protocol they follow strictly because ivory poaching has reached catastrophic proportions across africa.

on our last evening in tsavo, Kahiu served us hot samosas, Kenyan style. i was glad to i had been able to go off-road in tsavo to not only see it, but smell it and live it as well.

our last day dawned misty and overcast. Undeterred, we walked in a sodden line, relishing the breeze, the fat raindrops, and the smell of wet earth. Black glistening rocks formed footbridges across the river, where a crocodile imitated a log of wood, mouth open. eventually, the grey clouds parted, the sun shone and we spied a rainbow. tsavo was putting on one last grand show.

iain led us through dense saltbush to the river’s edge. not 20 feet away were a pair of cape buffalo grazing quietly. the next instant, the bull closest to us spun around, knees bent, head lowered, horns at the ready. transfixed, we waited. the buffaloes turned, running up the bank away from river—and us. cape buffalo have excellent eyesight, formidable horns, great hearing and incredible speed. at 900 kg, they are frighteningly dangerous. i knew then, that lejore’s eyes and iain’s experience had protected us more than any rifle or spear.

Up ahead was a triangular volcanic crater that marked the park boundary and our journey’s end—Sala hill. the light was beautiful, the pink and orange sky casting long shadows. a female elephant and tiny baby stood just yards from Sala Gate, as if waiting to say goodbye. they turned and in that slow, sure elephantine gait, walked back into tsavo’s limitless reaches. n

Writer Vandana Mohindra fell in love with the wild outdoors on an assignment about snow leopard conservancy in Ladakh and has writ-ten on wildlife conservation and travel ever since.The breakfast table is

set (top left) at the camp at Durusirkale, prettily located under a stand of doum palms (top right)

along the Galana River; Iain reads the bones (bottom left) of an old tusker—its last set of

teeth still had years of use left in them, indicat-ing it had probably died of an illness; Standing under a soaring, 55-ft

baobab tree (bottom right) gives the author a sense of their majesty.

Lejore, the group’s Samburu tracker, surveys the arid wilderness of Tsavo East, looking for game.

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The Right TackSailing from Goa to Mumbai with Abhilash Tomy, days before he left

for a solo, nonstop circumnavigation of the EarthBy NEHA DARA | Photographs by AsHimA NARAiN

Both the INSV Mhadei and her skipper whistle as they work. One, as the wind rustles through her sails, making them billow out

and thrum with life. The other, as he sits in front of the instrument panel below deck, plotting his current position for the daily 8 a.m. update.

It’s a beautiful morning. The rising sun is mild, the swell is gentle, and a pleasant breeze drives the Mhadei toward Mumbai, from where she will leave for her record-setting journey around the globe. Strains of song flow out of the cabin, but the only music skipper Abhilash Tomy has ears for is that of his yacht. Detecting some subtle change in her rhythm that I am deaf to,

he comes above deck to announce that the wind is shifting and it’s time to tack.

Tack is one of the new words I’ve learnt. It means I should sit tight in one corner and stay out of the way as Abhilash goes through a routine of loosening, pulling and tightening ropes so that the Genoa sail at the front of the boat shifts from left to right. The boat that was tilting to the left, shifts as well, now heeling about 30 degrees toward starboard (another new word, it means “right”; port is “left”). Thanks to some strong headwinds, the journey from Goa to Mumbai has been a series of jagged zigzags, never quite heading straight for where we want to go. There are five people aboard the 56-foot-yacht, accompanying Abhilash on

the last voyage before the big trip. It takes a while to get used to always

being at an angle as you go about the day, reading, cooking, washing dishes, and sleeping. So does adjusting to changing clothes in the tiny loo, with its fresh water and sea water pumps, and a hand-operated flush system. But Abhilash is at home here, making his way about surely even in the dark, stepping lightly on the deck as he checks this rope or that knot, falling asleep in an instant, the moment he gets a chance.

He has been living on the Mhadei for the past year, moored at a small jetty near INS Mandovi in Verem, Goa, sleeping, and even eating most meals there, as he prepared himself and the boat for their six-month

Nonstop solo CircumnavigationGET GOING

Record Journey

During rough weather when the swell is many metres high, Abhilash needs to

wear a harness while walking around the boat, so that he does not fall off.

116 NATIONAl GeOGrApHIc TrAVeller INDIA | DeceMBer 2012 DeceMBer 2012 | NATIONAl GeOGrApHIc TrAVeller INDIA 117

Two weeks into his expedition Abhilash celebrated Diwali at sea, with a breakfast of pre-cooked, packaged halwa. At the time of this issue of National Geographic Traveller India going to print, he had just sailed past Sri Lanka and crossed the Equator.

During the first two weeks of this journey Abhilash has had his fair share of ups and downs. For close to a week, the Mhadei was stuck in a “windless hole”, barely moving a few miles a day. Abhilash wrote that the “sea was so calm in the evening that there were stars in the ocean, and you couldn’t tell which way was up and which was down”. Making the most of the opportunity, he caught up on lost sleep; the last few days on land had been hectic with preparations, people to meet, and interviews to give. Once he was well rested, he organised the boat to minimise

surprises on bad weather days, and to make certain everything was properly secured.

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS Away from the rest of the world, social niceties slowly fall away. The first casualty for Abhilash has been regular baths, the next, proper clothing. “It’s no longer necessary,” he says gleefully. He’s getting used to the sailor’s “polyphasic" sleep cycle. “I can only sleep about 30 minutes at a time, and then I get up to check if things are okay, make adjustments to the course, etc. There’s no continuous sleep. I try to sleep more during the day, so I can look out for small boats, fishing vessels and nets through the night,” he says. Though the boat has a radar, and Automatic Identification System that sets off an alarm, both are not very helpful in detecting smaller crafts

at sea.At night, Abhilash stays awake

with the help of movies or books, frequent snacks, and sipping an energy drink. “I watch a movie every evening. One that was very relevant and that I really enjoyed was a documentary of the Kon Tiki expedition, a journey across the Pacific on a raft,” he says. When he first set sail, he didn’t feel like reading a book so the first things that came handy were Tinkle comics and old issues of National Geographic Magazine. In one issue, an article about Yemen brought back memories of being stuck in a sailboat near Aden for a month in 2009. That’s where he’d celebrated his 30th birthday. His 34th, on the 5th of February 2013, will also be at sea. THE WAY AHEAD At 5 a.m. on 16th November, Abhilash crossed the Equator.

A few hours later he told us: “Crossing the Equator has meant a big change in weather and wind patterns. But since this is my sixth crossing, I know what to expect. By the end of November, I will encounter cold fronts once I cross the Tropic of Capricorn. These are intersections of dif-ferent air masses colliding to form areas of violent weather. Generally, the best day in these latitudes is worse than the worst monsoon day”.

What Abhilash is not looking forward to, is his supply of fresh fruits and vegetables running out. “It’s all I’ve been eating until now, since I know they won’t last long, and then I’ll have to go with-out for many months,” he says. His favourite meal so far, how-ever, has been potatoes boiled in sea water and eaten with a fish pickle made and bottled by his grandfather in Kerala.

PasT ThE EquaTOr, TO OPEN sEa

DeceMBer 2012 | NATIONAl GeOGrApHIc TrAVeller INDIA 119

Nonstop Solo Circumnavigation

On November 1, Lieutenant Commander Abhilash Tomy set sail from Mumbai aboard the Mhadei, a 56-foot sail boat. The 33-year-old naval officer is on an expedition to sail around the world non-stop, alone and unassisted. More people have climbed Mt. Everest (about 4,000) or gone into space (534) than have ac-complished this mission (about 80). The Sagar Parikrama 2 journey will cover a distance of 21,600 nautical miles (about 40,000 km), equal to the circumference of the Earth.

National Geographic Traveller India is the official magazine partner for this potentially record-setting journey. We will cover the circumnavigation in a monthly series in the magazine, and on our web-site www.natgeotraveller.in. We will re-ceive exclusive, real-time updates, posts, and photographs via satellite phone from Lt. Cdr. Tomy, as he sails around the world. National Geographic Traveller India will provide readers with exclusive reportage on the details of the expedition, straight from the deck of the Mhadei, as this fascinating voyage progresses.

expedition at sea. A sheaf of menus is tacked to one side of the instrument panel, oregano and chilli sachets from Domino’s are stacked in a corner of the spice shelf. In Goa, for lunch and dinner the day before we leave, he seeks out the quietest restaurants. I would imagine that a 33-year-old about to spend six months alone might want to party a bit and find some lively places to go to. But Abhilash is used to his own company. Over dessert, I ask him what he thinks about when he’s alone at sea. But there’s no answer and the conversation moves on. I think he hasn’t heard me.

Until the next night, around 2 a.m., somewhere off the Konkan coast. I’m on the middle watch (midnight to 4 a.m.) with Abhilash, looking out for boats and fish-ing nets—I should be sleepy but I’m wide awake, enjoying the rocking of the boat, the sound of the waves, the star-lit night sky and the cool breeze. My mind is pleasantly blank, absorbing the moment and its sensa-tions, concentrating on the task at hand. Out of the blue, Abhilash asks me what I’m thinking about. I shake my head diffidently. Just the stars and the sea, I say. exactly, he tells me. “When I’m sailing, I only absorb all that I see and experience, and focus on what I am doing,” he says. “There is no time, or need, to think.” He then points to the phosphorescence in the wake of the

boat, and tells me the story of when he was sailing from Goa to cape Town and two dolphins swam along the boat one night, leaving glowing, crisscrossing trails.

It could also be dangerous, too much thinking, when you’re alone at sea. I dis-cover that the next afternoon, when I idly wish that the sun was milder so that the day would be perfect. Abhilash goes King lear on me, pointing out “that way madness lies”. “You just have to take it as it is,” he says. “Once you start wishing for things to be different, there’s no stopping.” First it’s the heat, then it’s the weather, the wind, the food, and soon everything will fall apart, he warns me.

commander Dilip Donde looks on in-dulgently as Abhilash schools me. In 2010, Dilip became the first Indian to have sailed around the world. He stopped at four ports along the way where Abhilash would join him, to help with restocking and repairs. The Mhadei is his baby, and Abhilash, his crewman and protégé, so he has a lot invested in this trip. As Mhadei’s former skipper, he’s known the boat from when she was merely a plan on paper, and his knowl-edge of it is deep and intimate. Abhilash acknowledges this, turning to him for advice and suggestions. At the same time, Dilip accepts that new blood brings its own way of functioning and cedes to Abhilash’s

Clockwise from top left: A large portion of the long-lasting food was provided by the Defence Research Food Lab in Mysore; The engine controls—hope-

fully Abhilash will not need to use these during his trip; No two ropes

used on the boat are alike, so that they are easier to identify in a hurry; The five who sailed from Goa to Mumbai pose for a photograph after the mid-morning chai and carrot cake snack; There’s a whole workshop on board,

with spanners, screwdrivers, a drill, and anything else Abhilash may need to make repairs; Along with essentials

like rice and dal, Abhilash has also stocked up on his favourite snacks like

chips and popcorn; Ratnakar Dan-dekar’s Goa-based company Aquarius

Fibreglas built the INSV Mhadei; An old-fashioned magnetic compass, for

when all else fails.

When the sails fill, the boat tilts at an odd angle, but that doesn’t bother Abhilash or his mentor Cdr. Dilip Donde, the Mhadei’s former skipper.

GET GOINGRecord Journey

short breakHIGHLIGHTS | mumbaI The salty desert of Kutch | P. 122

deLHI Alwar’s hidden heritage | P. 126

benGaLuru Waterfall-hopping in Courtallam | P. 130

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decisions as the Mhadei’s new captain. The relationship they share is warm, friendly and respectful.

Dilip’s mother, the veteran of one around-the-world sail, is preparing dehy-drated foods for Abhilash to carry on his trip. Abhilash’s mother, with whom he talks for nearly half-an-hour every day, thinks the trip is just her son’s way of postponing marriage plans. His father, a former Navy officer, says little, Abhilash says, “but I know he’s proud”.

It is evening, and the sun has dropped low on the horizon. Abhilash disappears below deck to emerge with a giant bowl of hot buttered popcorn, an unexpected mid-sea treat for us. He’s trying to distract our co-traveller, who’s feeling a little seasick and embarrassed because of it. “I was hor-ribly seasick the first time I sailed, and look at me now,” Abhilash says, gobbling down a fistful of popcorn. He loves watching a movie on his laptop and eating popcorn at sea, and is carrying a collection of old classics like Doctor Zhivago and Lawrence of Arabia. But such moments are rare. “At times the weather is so rough, with waves

many metres high, that I’m too sick to bear the thought of food. But you have to move past it, eat, drink, do what you need

to, and snatch moments of

sleep when you can.”

Abhilash’s three worst-case scenarios at sea are damage to the rudder (his steering mechanism), or mast (which holds the sails that propels the Mhadei), and injury to himself. referring to the last, he laughs and says, “But I carry spares. I have two hands and two legs.” I must have looked a little shocked, because he quickly reassures me: “No, no, I plan to be very careful.”

I already know that about him. I was told so by ratnakar Dandekar, the man whose little boatbuilding company Aquarius Fibreglas, in Goa, built the Mhadei for the navy, the first time such a yacht was made in the country. Dilip, Abhilash and the Mhadei are like family for him, and he’s gone beyond the call of duty to work with them on repairs and improvements even after the first project was over. “I worry far less about him than I did about Dilip,” he told me. A cargo train rumbled past on the bridge behind him, rows of laden trucks on its trailers, making their way along the Konkan railway. ratnakar’s boatyard by the Mandovi river has grown a great deal since I saw it last three years ago. There are two new sheds, a lot more boats being built, and a new office. ratnakar himself, though still modest and quiet, is a more confident version of his earlier self. “Abhilash is a more conservative sailor than Dilip. I think it’s because we know the boat more now. earlier we did crazy stuff because we didn’t know better.” ratnakar was at the pier to see the Mhadei off the next morning, bear-ing bags of fresh fruit and a box of dodol, a traditional Goan sweet.

Nearly 44 hours later, our second morning on the Mhadei has dawned, even lovelier than the previous one. Over

breakfast, we finish the last of the bananas and oranges ratnakar had brought us. I’ve decided that sailing is the way to travel over sea; an engine-driven boat doesn’t allow you to experience the elements as much. The radar shows we’re close to Mumbai, but the wind is playing spoilsport, blowing from the wrong direction. No one seems to be in a hurry to get back though. Dilip fiddles with a few knobs on the instrument panel and suddenly we’re listening to the morning show on All India radio. As we sail past a large tanker, close enough to make their lookout start waving at us to ensure we’ve seen them, the theme song from Titanic comes on. everybody dissolves into laughter. “Top Gun” is next, seem-ingly inspiring Ashima, NGT India’s photo editor, to ask Abhilash if she can go up the mast to get some top shots of the Mhadei. even as she’s stepping into the harness, what else but the theme song from Mission Impossible comes on.

As we get close to the harbour and Abhilash takes the wheel, I begin to see beyond the boy-man to the skipper of the boat. He handles himself with confidence as he acknowledges salutes from the boats sent out to escort us. He has the self-assur-edness of youth and the wisdom of experi-ence, and it seems to me that the combina-tion will serve him well. His cheekiness and sense of humour, which often leads to cringe-worthy quips, will be useful com-panions on the journey. It is evident that he loves sailing, and being at sea, and his eagerness to be off on this grand adventure is endearing. perhaps all he really needs is the traditional sailor’s farewell, “Fair winds and following seas”. n

GET GOINGRecord Journey

120 NATIONAl GeOGrApHIc TrAVeller INDIA | DeceMBer 2012

While sailing close to the coast during the first fortnight, Abhilash has to be

extremely alert and on a constant look out for fishing boats and nets.

Short breakFrom Mumbai

122 national GeoGraphic traveller inDia | December 2012 December 2012 | national GeoGraphic traveller inDia 123

Considering that it sprawls out over

5,000 sq km, the Little Rann of Kutch

seems inaccurately named. Its name

makes sense only in comparison with

the salt desert next door: the Greater Rann of

Kutch, which stretches out across 7,500 sq

km. The word rann means “salty desert” and

while driving through the Little Rann of Kutch,

a salty desert is all you see. The first drive into

the terrain feels a little surreal. The ground is

cracked, the air is dry, mirages abound, and

the parched earth unfolds endlessly in all

directions. The Little Rann contains one of the

country’s largest wildlife reserves, the Wild

Ass Sanctuary, where the topography varies

from large marshlands to brown-grey patches

of soil with a few small thorny shrubs.

But this seemingly dead piece of land sup-

ports extremely rare wildlife. The Wild Ass

Sanctuary is one of the few places to spot the

ghudkar, or Indian wild ass. Other species here

include the desert fox, jungle cat, jackal and

several birds. Since there are no bushes or

trees for animals to hide behind, they are easy

to spot while driving around.

EXPLORE

In the LIttLe RAnn

Desert Safaris A jeep safari is the best way to

explore this enormous salty desert. It usually

lasts three hours and the sections of the

sanctuary visited depends on the interests of

patrons. Birdwatchers opt for the marshlands

but those who want to see mammals opt for

Little Rann of Kutch

Water bodies in the Little Rann of Kutch turn light pink every winter as lesser flamingos collect here to lay eggs and bring up their chicks.

the dry desert. To meet locals, the safaris head

to the salt pans. The marshlands and Nava

Talao (lake) are crowded with water birds.

Flamingos and demoiselle cranes can usually

be spotted in hundreds at some water bodies.

The Indian wild ass and white-footed fox can

be sighted on vast areas of golden ground.

Look out for the rare hoopoe lark, which has

brown plumage that allows it to camouflage

itself perfectly in the ground. Since there are

no trees or shrubs to act as a buffer between

the vehicles and the wildlife, it is not pos-

sible to get too close to the animals. Though

visitors are allowed to drive their own vehicles

into the sanctuary, this is not recommended.

There are no roads or landmarks in this vast

and desolate area so it is easy to get lost (jeep

safaris are organised by most hotels; `2,000 for

three hours).

Salt pans and bullock carts Speckled across

the desert are white patches that look like piles

of snow. Come closer, and a group of salt pan

workers, known as Agarias, will be drying out

or transporting huge piles of salt. The crystals

are not for sale here but can be bought at most

provision stores around Kutch. Salt panning

is the main source of livelihood for many locals

for a large part of the year.

Most hotels can organise bullock cart rides

through the villages around the area. These

are not joy rides for tourists but actual carts

that the villagers use for their daily commute.

They bring them to the hotels and are happy

to share a part of their life with visitors. For

visitors not used to this form of transport,

the ride can feel slightly uncomfortable and

slow in the beginning. But after a few minutes,

passengers get accustomed to the movement

and pace and start to enjoy the ride (`200 for

30 minutes).

ARound the LIttLe RAnnModhera Sun Temple The sun temple at

Modhera is a grand sandstone monument

built by the Solanki dynasty in the year 1026

A.D. and is dedicated to Surya, the sun god.

The complex is filled with elaborate carvings

and the resident priest enjoys explaining the

legends they depict. A step tank in front of the

temple has 108 shrines that lead down to the

water. Though the garbhagriha, or main shrine,

was demolished in the 13th century by Allaud-

din Khilji, most other sculptures are intact (55

km/1 hour; `1,000 for a return taxi journey

from the Rann).

Bahuchara Mata Temple This temple in

Becharaji town is dedicated to Bahuchara

Mata, a goddess who sits on a rooster, which is

believed to be the symbol of innocence. She is

also a patron of the eunuch community. Wor-

UNIQUE LOCAL EXPERIENCE

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horse riding is an interesting way to ex-plore the area. muzahid malik, the own-er of rann riders, has several horses on his property, including local breeds like marwari and Kathiawadi. these breeds are known to have great stamina to with-stand the hot weather and the shortage of water in the area. While short rides and day trips can be organised, muzahid recommends a two- or three-day trip filled with long rides through the rann, bird watching near the lake, galloping to nearby villages and camping at night. muzahid is open to training new riders and doing an easy route but says that visitors should ideally have a little riding experience to take full advantage of all the activities on the trip.

The white-footed fox (left) is a small, shy animal that lives in the Rann; Large groups of the endangered Indian wild ass (top) can be spotted grazing at dawn and dusk.

Sandstone monuments and a wildlife safari in the Little Rann of Kutch | By NATASHA SAHGAL

Salt and Stone +DAYS

3

Short breakFrom Mumbai

124 national GeoGraphic traveller inDia | December 2012 December 2012 | national GeoGraphic traveller inDia 125

OrientationThe Little Rann of Kutch is

located in the north of Gujarat,

around 130 kilometres northwest

of Ahmedabad.

Getting thereAir Ahmedabad is the closest

airport (130 km/3hours; `2,000

for a taxi from the airport). Direct

flights are available from most

major Indian cities.

Rail Dhrangadhra is the nearest

railway station, with daily trains

to Mumbai. Rickshaws and

taxis to Dhrangadhra town are

available at the railway station

(`150). Taxis also go to Dasada

and Zainabad (`600).

Road Dhrangadhra is one of the

access points to the sanctuary.

It is located on the Ahmedabad

highway and all buses from

Ahmedabad to Kutch stop here.

Dasada and Zainabad are other

access points. The road from

Ahmedabad is smooth and well

maintained for the entire three-

hour drive.

SeasonsThe Little Rann

gets flooded

and inacces-

sible during the

monsoon (june

to August).

The pe-

riod from

Septem-

ber to February is cool and is

the best time to visit and spot

migratory birds. The sanctu-

ary is open during the summer

months of April and May but

the weather is hot and it may be

quite difficult to step out during

the day.

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Rann Riders has a large dining area (top left) where guests meet at meals and share their wildlife-spotting stories; Pyramid-shaped steps (top right) lead to a large tank in front the Sun Temple in Modhera; Carvings of Vishnu, his incarnations, and several apsaras (bottom left) adorn the walls of Rani ki Vav; Local women (bottom right) sell handcrafted jewellery and embroidered fabric to tourists.

THE GUIDEshippers come here to seek the blessings of

the hijras who live near the shrine (30 km/30

minutes from the Rann).

Rani ki Vav This extravagant stepwell is one

of the biggest in Gujarat. It consists of a multi-

storey pavilion, a dug well and a large tank for

surplus water. A walk down the stairs takes

you past hundreds of delicate carvings and

statues. It is quite evident that this well was

constructed not just to store water but also

to provide a site for worship and socialising.

The walls are covered with carvings of parvati,

Shiva, vishnu, and other gods. Though it is

believed to have been built between 1022 and

1063 A.D., the structure was excavated only

in 1958 and is now very well preserved. Right

next to the well is a big lawn, a great spot for a

picnic lunch. A small museum stands outside

the entrance and has a nice display on the

history of the area’s architecture (70 km/1.5

hours from the Rann).

Patola Saris Saris that cost two lakh rupees

may not be on everyone’s shopping list, but are

certainly fun to window shop for. The patola

saris of patan have a history that goes back a

thousand years. Only two families are known

to still produce this double ikat style of hand

woven saris. The Salvi family in patan have a

workshop, part of which has been converted

to a mini museum. Someone from the family is

usually on hand to explain the process to visi-

tors. each sari takes an average of six months

to weave (80 km/2 hours from the Rann).

STAY

BudgetDhrangadhra is the closest train station to

the Little Rann (18 km). It is possible to stay in

this small town and take a day trip to the Wild

Ass Sanctuary. devjibhai dhamecha offers

homestays with small, clean rooms. They serve

authentic Gujarati food and organise trips to

the sanctuary (www.littlerann.com; 98255

48090; doubles `1,000 including all meals).

There is an eco-camp near the village of Kidi,

on the fringe of the sanctuary. The huts are not

air-conditioned but well decorated and com-

fortable (www.littlerann.com; 98255 48090;

doubles `2,000 including all meals).

ComfortRann Riders, a resort in Dasada, on the

outskirts of the Wild Ass Sanctuary, aims to

recreate a village experience while providing

amenities like air-conditioning, modern bath-

rooms, and even a swimming pool. The rooms

are spacious and decorated with mirrors and

local artwork. The safari guides here are well

informed and friendly (www.rannriders.com;

99252 36014; doubles `4,500 including meals).

Desert Coursers is a camp at Zainabad, next

to the sanctuary, with ethnic huts around a

lake. The owner Dhanraj Malik takes guests

on safaris whenever he’s around. he is a great

guide and knows the mammals and birds of

the sanctuary well (www.desertcoursers.net;

027572 41333; doubles `2,500). n

Salt panning is the main source of income for most for the Agaria community who live and work in the Rann for eight months a year.

LITTLE RANN OF KUTCH

Patan

Modhera

Dasada

Zainabad

DhrangadhraTO MUMBAI

••

••

•

Little Rann of Kutch

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