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If it all sounds a little too scary then here's our potted guide to how you can avoid it all:
LOCK YOURSELF AWAY IN A MONASTERY in Bhutan. Many people overlook Bhutan at this time of year, but it's a great time to visit; crisp, dry, clear air, wood burning stoves, hot stone baths. Visit Bhutan’s most famous dzong Taktsang and discover a place where phallic symbols aren't rude (or funny)
HEAD FOR THE HILLS in Morocco. Disappear for a few days, with your own private tented camp in the High Atlas and a camels to carry the kit. Then kick back in a Kasbah afterwards for a night or two.
PULL UP THE DRAWBRIDGE in India. Take the chance to explore Rajasthan and the stunning hill forts of Amber, Chittorgarh, Gangron, Jaisalmer, Kumbhalgarh and Ranthamborethat which make up UNESCO's first ever serial cultural property listing
SPEND YOUR MONEY ON CONSERVATION NOT CRACKERS - in Laikipia by visiting Borana or Lewa Downs and supporting their Lion and Rhino conservation efforts
BURY YOUR HEAD IN THE SAND in Namibia. If you're looking for total solitude then head into the thousands of square miles of stunning dunes above Sandwich Bay and discover gemstones beneath your feet and sleep on bedrolls beneath the stars
They were there, waiting patiently for us under a clump of trees, our leathery steeds already saddled with cradle-like howdahs and bare-footed mahouts sporting neatly groomed moustaches. While the mahout effortlessly shimmied onto the neck of our wrinkly vehicle I was glad of the rustic wooden ladder provided. Once on board, as we lurched off into the grassland I began to wonder at the wisdom of this expedition - it’s only when you’re on top of an elephant you realise quite how enormous they are. Although the Indian pachyderm is smaller than its African cousin they can still reach up to 3.5m high at the shoulder and weigh 5000kg. Quite impressive for a vegetarian.
It’s hardly Mark Shand’s epic 600 mile journey across India on his elephant Tara but even an hour or so of travelling this way gives you a completely different perspective of the jungle on a wildlife safari. While you can cover more ground by jeep the elephant is without doubt the best all-terrain vehicle there is; gullies and streams present no barrier and are effortlessly crossed in just a stride or two, sturdy branches are dexterously pushed aside, and dense tangles of greenery seem to magically open as if someone had whispered ‘open sesame’. Just hold on to your hat and get ready to duck on your mahout’s command.
We plodded close to deer, monkeys, a variety of birds and an incredible abundance of butterflies none of which seemed to even notice we were there, our placid 22 year old elephant Pawan, born in Kanha, the perfect mobile hide. Pug marks in the dust set our hearts racing and though we didn’t spot a tiger this time, I’m sure he wouldn’t have blinked an eye if we’d ambled by.
For more India safari ideas take a look at our website or get in touch to plan and book your trip.
I looked uncertainly at the steep swoop down, like the neck of a brontosaurus, but the children needed no further encouragement, shoes discarded they ran with abandon to the broad base which hung over the glossy green pools of the seasonal river. They peered over the edge looking for catfish and pirouetted with joy at the setting and the moment of being. They then ran back up and down again until they collapsed at the top, exhausted. The bond with Tony, first met at 6.30 that morning, was now firmly established and the children’s enthusiasm for all that he said and told them was unquenchable.
This was a bush breakfast on our first morning out from Kwihala Tented Camp deep in southern Tanzania’s Ruaha National Park. Mangoes, papaya, pineapple, boiled eggs, bacon and sausages, cereals, toast, passionfruit jam, and coffee were laid out on the bonnet of our open-topped Land Cruiser. Piling plates high, we returned to sit on the top of the rock and scanned the river. Herds of elephant, with many young, were making their way down the river bed towards us, to places where they knew they could dig for fresh water. Male impala sparred with each other among their herds and suddenly a cacophony of noise erupted with their snorting and blowing as other males locked horns and chased off pretenders. Beyond the river bed, we could see giraffe and birdlife abounded. We soaked in the scene for nearly an hour.
The scenery of Ruaha is breathtaking; improbably shaped Baobabs punctuate the landscape, tall golden grasses give way to salt bush and groves of sweet smelling wild lavender. The wide sand Mwagusi River, which flows fast and wide in the wet season, attracts the wildlife each morning and evening to drink from the pools the elephant dig. The wildlife is prolific but it’s the elephant that steal the show. Indeed, there was seldom a scene in which large herds of elephant, frequently with their young, were not visible and they had a cool disregard for us, allowing eyelash-counting closeness.
It seems ridiculous to travel all the way to Delhi just for the shopping - and this is the only place that I'll ever admit to it - but if you find yourself in India and happen to be passing through Delhi, pile into a rickshaw, squeeze onto the metro, hail an Ambassador - just get to the Dilli Haat.
Haat, the name for markets held in most rural areas, are usually weekly affairs. The one in Dehli is permanent, on a 6 acre site, with each stall devoted to a specific area of India. With 62 stalls, a 15 day change-over so that different sellers get a chance to showcase their wares and, although some looked rather more established and there was talk of a pashmina stranglehold on the western edge, there's enough rotation and more than enough variety to feel everything that's good and authentic to buy in India has come to you.
Sequinned slippers, silver bangles, palmleaf fish, embroidered shirts, chilli chutney, saris, terracotta hooks, lamp shades, hand bags, table cloths, masala tea, sandalwood elephants, cushion covers, bile cures, pyramids of spices – everything dazzling in fantastic blues, pinks, oranges, greens and reds. Chilled coconut water after the first 3 acres makes all the difference for the next 3 and the smells and sizzles rising in clouds of corriander, chilli, fenugreek, cardamom from the food stalls is reward at the end.
We stayed for hours and could easily have stayed for days, only our driver was keen that we see the Red Fort. Apparently there's more to Delhi than shopping.
Sometimes a crowd of spectators will have gathered, pointing and shouting garbled instructions. On closer inspection, you will make out the object of all this excitement – a flat wooden board punctured by 32 little round holes and lot of brown polished seeds. This is Bao – Zanzibar’s favourite pastime.
The Bao games – the name means ‘wood’ in Swahili – can last for hours or even days at a time. Players develop little flourishes, scattering the counters (known as kete – usually seeds or pebbles or shells) expertly into holes or slapping handfuls down triumphantly at the end of a turn. Bao is played, under various different names and with many rule variations across Africa, western India and the Caribbean. Swahili people are proud of their version, known as ‘King’ Bao and claim it as the original and purest form of the game. Tournaments are held periodically in Zanzibar and on the coast of the mainland.
The object of the game is simple: to secure as many of your opponent’s counters as possible. Bao masters (usually older men) are said to be able to think strategically five to seven moves ahead, a level comparable with professional chess players. Children learn Bao as soon as they can count, scratching holes in the ground in lieu of a board and using chips of wood or stones as counters.
The African love of carving has produced Bao boards of many different sizes, shapes and forms. The board can be represented as resting on the back of a mythical beast, grows human heads from either end or is smoothed into the shape of a fish.
The road to the hamlet is a dirt track that weaves in and out of the forest and through paddy fields dotted with mango trees on the fringes of Kanha national park in central India. A veritable Aladdin’s cave the Indian village shop stocks the essentials and little luxuries that you can’t grow yourself or barter for in the weekly market. Stretched across the shop’s open ‘window’ brightly coloured packets of goodies invite you to draw near, but dare to try and step inside and the hinged wooden counter comes slamming down. Shoppers have to wait outside and ask for what they want; look but don’t touch – whether he’s 8 or 80 it’s the shopkeeper’s prerogative to handle the precious goods and pass them to you as he or she sees fit.
There are no special offers, extra large economy sizes or two for the price of one deals, just strips of tiny affordable sachets hooked over strings between rafters and dangling just out of reach – one application of shampoo, a lone sweet (German caramel or otherwise), a single serving of mouth freshener or chewing tobacco. In the gloom at the back of the shop plastic screw top jars of sugar can be opened to weigh a few grams in ancient scales and take away in a home-made newspaper bag, or if your chickens aren’t laying well an egg or two can be wrapped in a used and discarded page from an old exercise book for safe transport home. On the top shelf a couple of light bulbs jostle for space side by side with hair slides, a mouse trap and miniature bars of soap decorated with impeccably groomed beauties.
But don’t be fooled into thinking rural life is completely without mod-cons. You may still only have a few hours of electricity a day, or get your water from the village pump, but if like the vast majority of people in India you have a mobile phone, you can get your top up here for just 10 pence.
Get in touch if you're interested in exploring rural India and we'll be happy to plan and book your trip.
The origin of weaving in India dates back more than 5000 years; a fragment of faded pink madder-dyed cloth was found in Indus Valley excavations and in Roman times Indian cottons and silks were exported in massive quantities. The trend continued for centuries until industrialisation and demand for cheap mass-produced goods meant weaving skills were almost lost until a timely revival in ethnic and ethical products.
At a FabIndia unit in central India cotton from the region arrives in trucks covered with bulging hessian sacking, like loaves rising uncontrollably out of their baking tins. Cool rooms for spinning, dying and weaving fan out from a gated central courtyard where during the last 50 years the share holding work force has been producing fabrics for Habitat and EAST and are now highly sought after in its own shops in Indian cities.
The clickety clack, ching-ching of the looms become temporarily silent as people disappear for lunch leaving me the chance to browse the shelves piled high with colourful neatly folded fabrics that will be turned into table cloths, bed covers and curtains.
A day’s drive away in a handful of rural villages a charitable trust works with artisans who would otherwise have just two months weaving work a year and need to seek other employment elsewhere. The project is headed by Vijesh who, after graduating with an MA, decided to forgo a promising career in fashion and move instead to this remote part of central India.
Setting out on a moped to hill villages practising shifting agriculture his bobbin winding and sewing machines taken to demonstrate at local markets were initially viewed in horror and fear. Now, following training, they are skilfully used in dozens of homes, to create beautiful cotton khadi scarves, shawls and stoles that are exported worldwide.
In Bajag a weaver sits on his shaded mud veranda at a simple wooden loom constructed in a variety of ingenious ways (no two looms are ever the same) his legs dangling in a pit below and gets to work. The rhythmic clacking of bamboo and chiming of metal rings is absolutely timeless and the future of the handloom, for now, looks secure.
If you're interested in discovering local arts and crafts on your travels, get in touch and we'll be happy to plan your tailor-made trip to India.
The flowers don’t remain on the tree for long; they bloom at night and fall to the forest floor at dawn, creating a cream carpet around their parent. At first light tribal villagers make their way through the forests to the trees dressed with new red leaves where the waxy blooms keep coming till the leaves turn green, and carefully collect each fallen flower. Simply distilled in earthenware pots, fiery mahua liquor is drunk in copious amounts but the entire tree is vital to tribal body, mind and spirit, from cradle to grave.
Mahua leaves are woven into cups and plates used for festivals, sticks of the tree are placed on the bride and groom’s hands during weddings and a corpse is anointed with mahua oil. The flowers can be eaten raw, boiled, or fried and eaten with salt and chillies. In south India Tamils use the flowers when no sugar cane is available, though with caution as an excess is said to result in unbalanced thought and even complete lunacy.
Mahua fruit is eaten as a vegetable, while oil from the seeds is used as everything from a hair fixer, for cooking and lighting lamps, to making soap. The crushed leftover matter then becomes a seedcake used as fertiliser.
Both the flowers and the oil have long been used in traditional medicine as a cure for a myriad of ills. The oil is taken as a laxative and to cure piles, while the flowers in various forms are used for heart, bronchial and eye problems, to treat TB, asthma, blood diseases, tonsillitis and to get rid of parasitical internal worms. The bark is used to relieve itching, to heal wounds, fractures and snake bites. Both the flowers and the bark are believed to be aphrodisiacs.
The wisdom of the tribal peoples is now being taken seriously and scientists are checking out mahua properties. One study has shown that mahua oil has more free radicals than extra-virgin olive oil and it’s also being tested for its potential as biodiesel. Watch out for mahua products coming to your neck of the woods soon.
Take a look at our website to discover more about the jungles of India on a tailor-made safari.
Like his father before him, after working in the fields he sits on the floor of his home and takes out his brushes to paint dancing peacocks, holy trees and the greatest of gods, Badadev who created the earth and every creature on it.
Santosh is a Gond, a member of one of central India’s largest indigenous communities who for centuries inhabited the region’s deeply forested hills, worshipped nature and the gods of trees, rivers, hills and lakes who protected them. Gond folk-lore and tribal stories were passed from generation to generation in song and the songs transcribed into art.
During weddings and other festive occasions, using vegetable and mineral dyes collected from the forests and a twig from a neem tree tied with a rag as a brush, village houses were painted with geometric patterns, animals and plants for good luck.
Though the Gonds were gradually deprived of their kingdoms and land, and young men in search of work left in droves for the cities their ancient tribal culture clung to survival through festivals and rituals, songs and dances.
When Gondi art was finally discovered by the outside world the artists transposed their work from mud walls to paper and canvas. Myths and folklore, images of daily life and dreams, pictures from the memory and imagination fill the canvas, their outlines crammed with tiny fine lines, dense dots and dashes of multi-coloured intricate designs in acrylic paint.
Each artist has his or her own unique patterns or way of detailing - fish scales and drops of water, a line of creeping spiders, the mark of a plough on a field, the crescent moon, young shoots in a paddy field. That pattern becomes their signature and reveals the Gonds’ continuing bond with nature, a reflection of their culture where life and spirituality are inseparable from the forest and its inhabitants.
From simple beginnings Gond art is now highly in demand and has encouraged the Gonds to take up painting stories once again. Santosh is just one of them and though he now lives on the edge of Bhopal his heart remains in the forest.
If you're interested in visiting rural India take a look at our website or get in touch to book your tailor-made trip.
Satpura National Park in central India has five working elephants. After a morning patrolling the jungle or taking visitors on safari, and following a rest, in the late afternoon their mahouts and helpers take them to a stream for a bath.
Dappled light sparkles on the water and the reflections of trees on the surface turn into rippled patterns as the first elephant wades happily in. The sinewy mahout riding on Geeta’s prickly haired neck deftly manoeuvres as she slowly kneels down and then rolls on to her side on the stony riverbed. You could almost hear her sigh of pleasure.
60 year old Geeta came to Satpura from the southern state of Kerala during the days when logging was allowed and has been at the reserve for over 40 years. Though she's the oldest elephant in the camp, according to her mahout Gannu, who's been with her for seven years, she’s more hard working than the others. Soon the pair is joined by the impressive tusker, Sidhnath, and Priya with their little calf Laxmi and the bathing ritual begins.
TOP TIPS FOR BATHING YOUR ELEPHANT
While your elephant lies on its side in the shallows, splash the top side with water.
Take a strong bristled brush (or large stone or coconut shell) and scrub hard.
Bathe every part as you would a human and pay special attention to dirty knees, hidden spots and hard to reach areas; don’t forget behind the ears, between the wrinkles, around the nails and the full length of the spine. And under the base of the tail.
Rinse, scrub and rinse again.
Ask your elephant to turn over and repeat the above.
Throughout the process allow your elephant to stretch and relax in the water. The head may go down while the end of the trunk remains above water or bubbles blown if the trunk is in the water.
Climb on to your elephant and hold tight when you ask him or her to stand up.
Be prepared for a shower yourself should your elephant decide to suck up water in its trunk and spray its back.
Mahout's note: A clean elephant is a happy elephant