Nat Geo Traveller India November 2012

RECORD JOURNEY AROUND THE WORLD IN 180 DAYS

NOVEMBER 2012 • `120 VOL. 1 ISSUE 5

HEART of the CITY Urban Essence & Energy

CHEATING DEATH

“HOW TRAVEL KEEPS ME ALIVE”

BROOKLYN

CONNECTING DIFFERENT WORLDS

MELBOURNE ON A VINYL TRACK | PULAU UBIN | VISA-FREE TO OVER 50 COUNTRIES

In focus

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G eog r a p h i c

T r a velle r

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Brooklyn Bridges

in d i a

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Riding into a New York state of mind

Melbourne by the (rock) numbers

Journeys to the emotional cores of cities

Journeys

The Island Next DOor

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82

Cover Story

WHERE CITIES thrive

Experiencing the urban energy rush

Cheating DEath

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Walking the vinyl track

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12 Editor’s Note | 138 Inspire

Voices

Off track in Singapore, to the city before the malls

14 Tread Softly Caring for water bodies

On the adventurous road, against all medical advice

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16 Paper Trails Unknown locations in fiction

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18 Frontier Tales Going green in Las Vegas

30 Detour Migrating cranes and a ghost town in Khichan, Rajasthan

21 The Insider Web 2.0’s great expectations

32 Take 5 Fountains sway to music

navigate

34 Travel Butler Travel without worrying about a visa

24 Fringe Visit January joy in Alcoy

Trafalgar Square

38 National Park Feral horses at Dibru Saikhowa

26 The Opening The Louvre’s new Islamic wing 28 48 Hours History lessons in the Greek capital

44 The Icon Golden Gate Bridge

get going

128 From Hyderabad Art and architecture in Warangal

interactive 132 Photo Workshop Conservation photography with Michael “Nick” Nichols 136 Big Shot A photo contest and the best of readers’ photos

last page 144 Dire Straits Bright and beautiful otters

108 Record Journey Around the world in 180 days 112 Learning Holiday Sketching in Italy 116 Adventure Swimming with sea lions xxxxxxxxxx JON CARTWRIGHT/FLICKR/GETTYIMAGES (Description)

N a t ion a l

VOL. 1 ISSUE 5

short breaks 120 From Mumbai Guhagar’s quiet beaches

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124 From Delhi The two sides of Rajgarh

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november 2012 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA 5

tom soper (PULAU UBIN), OBSTANDO IMAGES/ALAMY/INDIAPICTURE (burj khalifa fountain in dubai), SHAMSHAD KHAN (FOOD), OLIVER BLUM/LOOK/GETTY IMAGES (COVER)

November 2012

On The Cover Every evening, crowds gather on Piazza del Campo, the medieval town square in Siena, Italy. Palazzo Pubblico, the town hall, towers over the square as people linger in restaurants, cafés or on the paving until well past midnight.

Editor-in-Chief Niloufer Venkatraman Deputy Editor Neha Dara Senior Features Writer Natasha Sahgal Features Writer Azeem Banatwalla

Editor’s Note Niloufer Venkatraman

Art Director Diviya Mehra Photo Editor Ashima Narain Senior Graphic Designer & Digital Imaging Devang H. Makwana Senior Graphic Designer Omna Winston Consulting Editor naresh fernandes Publishing Director Manas Mohan Ad Sales Vice President Eric D’souza (98200 56421) Mum bai Associate Account Director Chitra Bhagwat Key Account Executive Rahul Singhania DELH I Consultant Jaswinder Gill Deputy Account Director Rajmani Patel Key Account Manager Saloni Verma Che n n ai Consultant Shankar Jayaraman Bengaluru Key Account Manager S.M. Meenakshi

IBH BOOKS & MAGAZINES PVT. LTD. Director Abizar Shaikh Senior Vice President M. Krishna Kiran National Sales Manager Fazal H. Khan Regional Sales Muralikrishnan Editorial Enquiries NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELLER INDIA Krishna House, 3rd Floor, Raghuvanshi Mills Compound, Senapati Bapat Marg, Lower Parel (W), Mumbai-400013, India. Tel: +91 22 6629 6859 Email: mail@natgeotraveller.in Advertising Enquiries advertise@natgeotraveller.in Subscription Enquiries subscribe@natgeotraveller.in NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC TRAVELER U.S. Editor & Vice President Keith Bellows Executive Editor Norie Quintos Creative Director Jerry Sealy Senior Photo Editor Daniel R. Westergren Deputy Art Director Leigh V. Borghesani Photo Editor Carol Enquist Chief Researcher Marilyn Terrell Managing Editor, E-Publishing Kathie Gartrell Geotourism Editor Jonathan B. Tourtellot Editors-at-Large Sheila F. Buckmaster, Costas Christ, Christopher Elliot, Don George, Paul Mar-

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J. Michael Fay, Beverly Joubert, Dereck Joubert, Louise Leakey, Meave Leakey, Johan Reinhard, Enric Sala, Paul Sereno, Spencer Wells Printed and published by Mr. Vijay Sampath on behalf of Amar Chitra Katha Pvt. Ltd. Printed at Manipal Technologies Ltd., Plot no 2/a, Shivalli Village, Industrial Area, Manipal-576104 and Published at Amar Chitra Katha Private Ltd., 3rd Floor, Krishna House, Raghuvanshi Mills Compound, Lower Parel, Mumbai-400013.

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Disclaimer All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or part without written permission is strictly prohibited. We do our best to research and fact-check all articles but errors may creep in inadvertently. All prices, phone numbers and addresses are correct at the time of going to press but are subject to change. All opinions expressed by columnists and freelance writers are their own and not necessarily those of National Geographic Traveller India. We do not allow

A summer day in Philadelphia can start with a few children and a spray from a hydrant, which quickly turns into a community street party.

Heartbeat of a city

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oon after I moved from Mumbai to Philadelphia to go to college aged 21, I developed a fascination for exploring a city by walking its streets. It was the 1990s and much of Philadelphia was a mess of abandoned buildings, factories, residences. I would walk alone, somewhat aimlessly, in every direction I thought safe. Even though it was in a state of urban decay, I grew to love Philadelphia’s nebulous tones, its intense textures, its dishevelled character. However run-down it was, its strong history was visible in its architecture, streets and neighbourhoods—the Italian Market area, Chinatown, West Philly. In the summer, families sat out on their stoops, musicians played in parks, children rode bikes, some even opened water hydrants for a grand public shower. The more I travelled, the more my love of exploring a city on foot grew; I liked the way it allowed me to feel the city’s heartbeat.

A few years later when I returned to Mumbai, I felt I had hardly explored the city in which I had lived most of my life. I had by then a good friend who shared the same passion. When she started working in the Lalbaug area, we would meet at lunchtime and walk that neighbourhood. We met the priest of the Parsi fire temple and listened to his woes, ate Malwani fish at Shri Datta Boarding House, and explored backstreets selling pickles, flowers, chivda, and mounds of red chillies. For the sheer sensory adventure of it, I still like to go to Lalbaug’s masala galli, where the spice pounding machines are at work. The air is always thick with the aroma of grinding spice blends, and I have to

However run-down it was, its strong history was visible in its architecture, streets and neighbourhoods

watch at a safe distance or it’s difficult to breathe.

Winter is perfect for exploring Mumbai’s bylanes and when I can, I like to experience life there. At night, nothing beats the Minara Masjid area’s street food stalls, especially during Ramzan, though it is active all year round. The kebabs, desserts and throngs make for a fantastic experience of local life, even if you eat nothing. Another favourite is Chor Bazaar’s (thieves’ market) Mutton Street in the day time. It is lined with shops selling antiques and restored old furniture. When I manage to rise at dawn, I also like a trip to the Dadar wholesale flower market with its mountains of marigold, jasmine, roses, and all the accompanying colour and cacophony of an Indian bazaar.

Two years ago I visited Philadelphia after a decade, and was in for a surprise. Urban renewal projects had turned this city of police sirens and broken glass into an arts and tourist hub. The Mural Arts Project had converted random graffiti into an art form with 3,000 fabulous murals adorning city walls. East Passyunk Avenue, once a mostly abandoned street, was lined with cafés, gourmet food stores, and lively restaurants. South Broad Street, where years ago my friends and I would run several blocks because it was so deserted and derelict, is now part of Avenue of the Arts. Beautiful historic buildings, theatres, and performance spaces have been restored. My old favourite, an abandoned Parthenon-like structure covered in black graffiti is now the University of the Arts building. I was excited to be back in a city whose streets I’d walked for years, but the excitement was compounded now that I could rediscover it all over again. n

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ACK MEDIA Chief Executive Officer Vijay Sampath Chief Operating Officer Manas Mohan Chief Financial Officer VISHWANATH KOTIAN Vice President (Operations) Sandeep Padoshi Business Head (Digital) Shubhadeep Bhattacharya Brand Manager Ritika Basu Subscriptions Manager Swati Gupta Senior Manager (Legal) Lalit sharma Manager (Print Production) Sagar Sawant

Blank Spaces on the Map Our obsession with unknown places, manifested in fiction

T

here’s an oft-quoted section at the beginning of Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness in which the narrator describes his childhood fascination with the unexplored places of the world, represented on maps as “blank spaces … white patch[es] to dream gloriously over”.

Over time, as we have learnt more about the world, those white patches have been filled in almost completely, leaving little of the Earth still unknown.

Still, for most of us, there are at least two big white patches on the globe: the polar regions, both Arctic and Antarctic, are usually depicted this way on physical maps as well as the maps in our heads. Few of us are familiar with the physical geography of these regions, except the fact that they have a lot of ice and snow. We continue to be gripped by stories of explorers in the far north or far south because they carry the sense of going off into virgin territories.

For centuries, European sailors travelled north in the hope of finding “the Northwest passage”, a shortcut to the other side of the world. Among them was Robert Walton, in Mary Shelley’s novel Frankenstein. Walton’s ship rescues the stranded scientist Victor Frankenstein, as it attempts to navigate the ice of the far north. Through a series of let-

aishwarya s ubramanian

ters to his sister, he tells the story not only of his own frustrated quest but of Frankenstein and the creature he has brought into the world.

Exploring the far north had a practical advantage: the commercial possibilities of the Northwest Passage were end enough in themselves. The farthest south was a different matter. When Captain James Cook crossed the Antarctic Circle and reached the island of South Georgia in the late eighteenth century, he does not appear to have been impressed with his discovery. He described the land as “doomed by nature to perpetual frigidness” and concluded that if there was land further south “the world will not be benefited by it”.

Cook was probably right about the impracticality of exploring the Antarctic. But pragmatism had little to do with the fascination the polar regions held for Europeans. Shelley’s Robert Walton may have been on an eminently sensible mission, but when he spoke of the far north, it was in terms of sheer romance: “What may not be expected in a country of eternal light?”

In large part, this fascination was aesthetic. The eighteenth century was also the time when philosophers like Edmund Burke were discussing the quality of the sublime in nature, a quality not necessarily beautiful, but inspiring awe or disquiet. The bleak frigidity and extreme climate of the polar regions were a wonderful example of this. And so we have the horrors of Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, about a nightmarish voyage to the south.

The young heroine

14 national Geographic Traveller INDIA | NOVEMBER 2012

of Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre never leaves her own country, but she dreams of the “death-white realms” of the Arctic.

Then there are the writers who focus more on the potential for fright in these desolate regions than on their beauty.

Edgar Allan Poe’s 1838 novel The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket puts its titular character through all sorts of scary ordeals, including ghost ships, cannibalism, and an island of evil savages.

But the final fear is left unspoken. In the dreamlike conclusion of the book, Pym and his companions sail further south towards what appears to be an immense cataract.

They see before them “a shrouded human figure, very far larger in its proportions than any dweller among men”—and there the novel ends.

Rather less restrained than Poe is the horror writer H.P. Lovecraft. It’s obvious in Lovecraft’s 1931 novella At the Mountains of Madness that he’s familiar with Poe’s novel—his story makes more than one reference to it. Lovecraft’s characters are on an exploratory mission to the Antarctic, where they not only find evidence of a city much older than any humanity can claim, but discover that some elements of this civilisation still live. Lovecraft often describes the landscape of Antarctica by making reference to the weird beauty of Nicholas Roerich’s Asian paintings. Unlike Poe, he describes his monsters in detail—and they are no less alarming even though they are slightly ridiculous. Like Poe, though, he chooses not to describe the final horror. As the men leave the area by plane, one of them looks back and sees something behind the mountains that drives him insane. The one hint we’re given is that whatever this was, the powerful inhabitants of the city feared it too. Now that men are exploring the continent, Lovecraft implies, it’s only a matter of time before this terror is unleashed.

I recently discovered the English writer Francis Spufford’s I May Be Some Time, a history of his country’s fascination with the two vast frozen regions. Spufford ends the main part of his wonderful, scholarly account with the death of Captain Scott in 1912. But as long as the Antarctic remains part-mystery, and as long as we continue to be awed by white patches on a map, I suspect the poles will enthral us, in life and in fiction. n Aishwarya Subramanian is a writer and editor. She lives in New Delhi, surrounded by piles of books.

michael defreitas/robert harding world imagery/alamy/indiapicture

VOICES Paper Trails

NOVEMBER 2012 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA 15

NAVIGATE Take Five

Dancing Waters

related to Peruvian culture and history; the Water Tunnel creates a “tunnel” of water that visitors can walk through and take memorable photographs in; and there’s even a pyramid shaped display and a teapot fountain. The interactive Labyrinth of Dreams Fountain ranks high for fun. Water spurts out of the ground in circles and the aim is to get to the centre without getting caught in the crossfire. Visitors may think that they’ve figured out the pattern, but the truth is that no one can escape dry. Visit after dark to really enjoy the laser lights.

By Mihika Pai

F

ountains captivate little kids, inspire romance, are great for photo-ops and may even change a person’s luck with the toss of a coin. These graceful fountains with their accompanying music and laser lights charm travellers of all ages and are musts in any itinerary to these cities.

1

Fountains of Bellagio Las Vegas, USA

A far cry from the city’s flashy neon signs and bright lights, the Fountains of Bellagio are an elegant play of water, music, and lights on an 8.5-acre lake. It’s hard to turn your gaze away as the jets of water sway in tandem to musical compositions and songs by everyone from Elvis to

Pavarotti (“Time to Say Goodbye” is the most popular) creating a Vegas experience that stays with visitors long after they leave.

A whopping 5,000 lights illuminate 208 fountains that shoot water 450 feet into the air. The fountains have been the backdrop for countless proposals, and even made the Ocean’s Eleven gang stop and stare in the iconic closing sequence of the film.

2

The Dubai Fountain Dubai, UAE

The Dubai Fountain took a leaf out of Bellagio’s book, but unsurprisingly made the experience even more over-the-top.

The show that’s set on a 30-acre lake at the foot of the world’s tallest building, the Burj

Khalifa, shoots 22,000 gallons of water 500 feet into the air and uses over 6,000 lights to create a glow that can be seen 30 kilometres away. But jaw-dropping logistics and technology aside, watching the majestic and graceful jets of water is a goosebumpinducing experience. Earlier this year, when pop sensation Whitney Houston passed away, the aqua show was choreographed to one of her most famous songs “I Will Always Love You”, in a soul-stirring tribute.

Views of the fountain are great from anywhere you stand—including the Dubai Mall or the Souk Al Bahar. But for a real birds’ eye view consider experiencing it from At.mosphere Lounge on the 122nd floor of Burj Khalifa.

5

An evening performance of the Dubai Fountain (left) under the towering Burj Khalifa; The Water Tunnel (right) is amongst Magic Water Circuit’s most popular attractions.

3

The Banpo Bridge may not be as pretty as New York’s Brooklyn Bridge or as statuesque as Sydney’s Harbour Bridge, but it is special in its own way—an array of 380 fountains line its sides. Driving down this bridge across the River Han is a unique experience, as the fountains erupt in a dazzling display every 20 minutes. The reflections of colourful rainbow lights on the river’s surface after dark are a stunning sight, as is the resemblance the fountains have to weeping willow trees during the

Gavin Hellier/Robert Harding World Imagery/GETTY IMAGES

The Fountains of Bellagio can be seen from various vantage points on the Strip and also from neighbouring hotels.

32 national Geographic Traveller INDIA | NOVEMBER 2012

Moonlight Rainbow Fountain Seoul, Korea

day. The nozzles shoot water 43 m across horizontally using water from the river.

The display provides the perfect respite from Seoul’s hectic pace, lending the city a romantic quality.

4

Magic Water Circuit Lima, Peru

The Magic Water Circuit in Lima’s Parque de la Reserva interacts with visitors, drenching anybody who ventures a little too close. It’s hard to pick a favourite from the 13 different fountains here: the Fantasy Fountain features audiovisual projections

Fountain Of Wealth Singapore

Singapore’s Merlion statue with its cascading waters is famous the world over.

But located in a busy area of the Suntec City Complex, lies the massive Fountain of Wealth. The circular fountain has the 12 signs of the Chinese zodiac inscribed along its outer ring, and is said to bring visitors good tidings. The trick, apparently, is to toss a coin in and walk around the fountain three times. Another suggested strategy involves walking around the fountain with your hand immersed in the water throughout. The water from the fountain shoots up almost 100 feet into the air, forming the backdrop for a dazzling laser light and music show. Visitors can share messages that are beamed onto the “wall” created by the fountain’s water and request song dedications. From good wishes to sweet nothings and even break-up messages; the wall has seen it all. n

Seoul’s Banpo Bridge (above) is just one of the 27 bridges that cross the Han River; The Fountain of Wealth (right) is a welcome sight in the midst of Singapore’s shopping sprawl.

NOVEMBER 2012 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA 33

Obstando Images/Alamy/INDIAPICTURE (DUBAI), Paul Kennedy/Lonely Planet Images/GETTY IMAGES (LiMA), Daniel Cheong/Flickr/GETTY IMAGES (SINGAPORE), Matt MacDonald/Flickr/GETTY IMAGES (SEOUL)

Lights, music, and powerful jets of flowing water create a winning combination

NAVIGATE Detour

NAVIGATE The Icon

Golden Gate Bridge SAN francisco's famous bridge recently turned 75

Demoiselle cranes in Khichan are fed by the villagers. Large flocks can consume close to 5,000 kg of birdseed in a single day.

Crane Spotting

By Iswar Srikumar

Early the next morning, we started off on our own for the chuggaghar at the far end of the village. We took a wrong turn and all of a sudden, we were on an empty street in the middle of a ghost town. There were rows of beautiful sandstone havelis (some 300 years old), with intricately carved wooden doors and windows. Some havelis were grand, some small, some well looked after, others crumbling, but every single one of them was locked up. It was a curious thrill to walk through empty streets, peeking in the windows to catch a glimpse of winding staircases and large courtyards.

We finally found a solitary construction worker making repairs to a haveli. He asked us where we were from. “Madras,” I said, using my city's old name. We asked him where the owners of these beautiful houses had gone. “Madras,” he said. We thought he was mocking us. But it turned out that the owners of these houses are Marwari Jain businessmen who moved to Chennai decades ago. They return only occasionally,

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for a festival, wedding, or the annual spring cleaning and repair of the haveli. They also send money for the cranes—to run the chuggaghar, the worker said.

Suddenly, we heard the familiar scratching sounds and looked up to see a perfect V-formation of cranes flying overhead, kissing the tops of the havelis. We’d missed the morning feed too. n

THE VITALS route The 260-km journey from Jodhpur to Jaisalmer, snakes through a desert landscape of sand and brush. detour Khichan is a small village on a road leading right from Phalodi, 150 km north of Jodhpur. Phalodi has accommodation and is the nearest train station.

Distraction From Aug-Mar around 10,000 demoiselle cranes migrate to Khichan. Villagers feed and nurse those injured from getting caught in power lines.

E Winfried wisniewski/foto natura/minden pictures/getty images (cranes)

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etween November and March, most buses plying between Jodhpur and Jaisalmer make a brief stop at Khichan so that tourists can take a quick photograph of the migratory demoiselle cranes that stop there each year. But most cars travelling along the route don’t even bother. When we halted in Khichan, we were told that the best experience was to be had at dawn or dusk when locals feed the birds at the chuggaghar or feeding house.

We’d arrived too late for the evening session and decided to stay overnight. There was no hotel. The headmaster of a newlyconstructed school allowed us to spend the night in a classroom and instructed some students to take us to the lake. The cranes were huddled together, like sunflowers, all pointing in the same direction. A few of them were drinking from the lake, but most just stood and stared. They made a sound like a few thousand people ripping up cardboard. Every now and then, a group took off and circled around.

ngineering wonder or colossal work of art? For many who drive or bike across, or simply admire it from afar, the Golden Gate Bridge is both. Vaulting across the milewide strait for which it’s named, joining San Francisco Bay with the Pacific Ocean, the bridge opened on 28 May, 1937, after four-plus years of construction. Though the bridge links San Francisco’s urban skyline with the hills of Marin County, it is far more than just functional.

Mysterious when shrouded in fog, vivid when bathed in the supple light of the bay, it remains a timeless symbol of a city.

—christopher hall Depression-era workers on a break

Length

best spot for a photo

2.7 kilometres, including approaches. The main suspension span (1.3 kilometres) is currently the world’s ninth longest.

The Marin Headlands above the northern end, where the view includes San Francisco’s skyline.

Height

International orange, selected to complement the natural setting. The U.S. Navy had wanted black with yellow stripes.

Cool hue

746 feet, about 100 feet shorter than San Francisco’s Transamerica Pyramid.

Average Daily use

110,113 vehicles, 10,000 pedestrians, and 6,000 bicycles per day. lucky rider

On 22 February, 1985, the one billionth driver crossed the bridge. Dentist Arthur Molinari, received a bridgeconstruction hard hat and a case of champagne.

Closures

Six total—three for high winds, one for a 50th anniversary walk, and one each during visits of FDR and Charles de Gaulle.

Most pedestrians at one time

3,00,000 during the anniversary walk, which flat-

tened the roadway’s normal arc from the weight. construction fatalities

Eleven. In addition, 19 workers became members of the “Halfway-to-Hell Club” when a net stopped their falls.

Biggest myth

That it’s regularly repainted end-to-end. In fact, continuous touch-ups maintain the 83,000 tons of structural steel.

75th Birthday bash

The bridge celebrated its 75th birthday on Sunday, 27 May 2012, with the Golden Gate Festival that ended with a fireworks display over the bridge. n

NOVEMBER 2012 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA 31

george steinmetz/corbis (view from top of bridge), underwood & Underwood/corbis (men on bridge)

Big birds and grand old havelis off the tourist map

IN FOCUS Urban Spirit

Cover Story

City

Connections When you find the heart of a city, you suddenly realise what makes it tick

All cities have a soul, a quiet site or a unique phenomenon that leaves visitors awestruck and which animates the daily rhythms of its residents. Perhaps you’ll find it on a busy food street when the cries of vendors reach a crescendo, on a ferry boat looking out as the shore lights come on at dusk, or in the midst of a crowd at an elaborate religious festival. It might be by a lake where people walk, exchange stories, play with children, or in the shadow of an old shrine, with two

48 national Geographic Traveller INDIA | November 2012

men playing chess. When we discover this sweet focus of energy, we feel connected with the whole urban organism, plugged into something that is larger, and more permanent, than we are. In that moment, we instinctively understand the giddy joyfulness of that city or the sedate sense of well-being of another.

November 2012 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA 49

Ip-Black/indiapicture

DELHI Heritage Revival: A heritage walk through Humayun’s Tomb Complex in Nizamuddin, Delhi gives visitors an understanding of the history and importance of the site. Youth play football outside the Asfarwala mosque within the complex, while in another area, groups listen to traditional qawwalis or Sufi music.

IN FOCUS Urban Spirit

Cover Story

KO C H I

PATNA

Burning Desires

A Civil Display

By Tanya Abraham

By Gyan Prakash

52 national Geographic Traveller INDIA | November 2012

or most people, Patna is the poster child for all that is wrong with Bihar—corruption, crime, urban sprawl and civic dysfunction. But for those brave enough to look beyond the foreboding headlines, the city can offer unexpected delights, none more than Quila House. Locally known as Jalan Palace after the family that owns it. It is a private museum housed in a mansion in the old Patna city. It is a little hard to reach and you have to call ahead to make an appointment, but it is well worth the effort.

As the narrow street snakes up to Quila House, you are unprepared for the sight ahead. Suddenly, you leave behind the city’s congestion and cacophony and stand before a stately, two-storey art deco residence, set in a well-kept garden on the banks of the Ganges.

A member of the Jalan family escorts you in, and leads you through the display rooms. The collection is eclectic—Chinese porcelain and jade, Mughal silverware, Louis XV and Louis XVI furniture, Tipu Sultan’s ivory palanquin, and many other priceless pieces.

Interesting and valuable as the collection is, so is the house. Taking its name from the fact that it stands on the site of Sher Shah’s fort, it was built by the Jalan family patriarch, Radha Krishna Jalan (1882-1954). He belonged to a Marwari family that had long lived in Patna. A wealthy merchant, he worked closely with the British and

was honoured with the title of Dewan Bahadur after World War II. In 1919, Radha Krishna bought a bungalow, attracted by its majestic location on the river. When it was damaged by the 1934 earthquake, he built a new house. Designed in the art deco style by British architects, the new residence was created to house his family and his collection of antiques, which had steadily grown through purchases at European auction houses during his extensive travels.

Today, as always, Quila House doubles as the Jalan family residence and a museum. Once admitted inside (after a recommended expression of interest in art and antiques), what you will find on display are not just ancient artefacts, but Patna’s past and present.

You encounter a time going back to Sher Shah, and to the city’s history as an important trading post in the years before and during the East India Company’s rule. The city’s life as a magnet for different communities is revealed along the road leadig to the Marwari Jalan palace, as you come across the Patna Sahib gurdwara, and vibrant Muslim neighbourhoods. Above all, you encounter a family that generously opened its doors to strangers interested in its collection of antiques then, and continues to do so now. This, in itself, opens your eyes to a facet of what Patna was and still is, at least in Quila House. Here, the price of entry is interest, not caste or community (www.quilahouse.com).

Artefacts at Quila House range from Louis XV furniture, to 17th-century French tapestries and 12th-century Tibetan woodwork.

November 2012 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA 53

sanjay ramchandran

For citizens of Fort Kochi, the pedestrian-only walkway of Marine Drive is a place to hang out and eat fresh fish, cooked to order, while looking out at the Chinese fishing nets that have come to symbolise the city.

F

hay, or swooshed back and forth in cardboard cars fixed with homemade pulleys. As night falls, the streets begin to echo with the sound of trumpets, drums and the cacophony of car-horns. Music by local bands and blaring stereos drive the good cheer to a crescendo.

Minutes before midnight, torches are lit and the countdown begins. When the clock strikes 12, the papanchi are set on fire and the crowd goes into a frenzy of celebration. At the Fort Kochi beach, a 10-foot-tall figure is set ablaze.

This nostalgic ritual is a reminder that Kochi hasn’t completely forgotten its European past. New Year’s Eve is the occasion for all barriers to be broken, for people of all walks of life to stroll together in the streets. It is when all Kochi dissolves its differences in the currents of history.

CBW/alamy/indiapicture

F

or centuries, Kochi residents have been gathering to commemorate the end of the old year and the beginning of the new. On New Year’s Eve, hundreds of people congregate in the ancient town of Fort Kochi to witness the burning of the papanchi—a hay-stuffed figure representing the destruction of the old and the possibility of fresh beginnings. This tradition is said to have been introduced by the Portuguese who ruled the region in the 16th century and a similar tradition (known as burning the Old Man) persists in Goa and Mumbai.

On the evening of 31st December, Fort Kochi’s two main streets are lined with an array of these flammable figures, some fashioned to resemble Santa Clauses, others dressed as comic-book super heroes.

Papanchi are perched on motorbikes, made to canoe in a river of

IN FOCUS Urban Spirit

Cover Story

C H AND I G AR H

Checkmate at Iqbal Maidan

Water Therapy

By Alankrita Shrivastava

By Brinda Suri

Besides playing chess, Bhopal residents come to the grand square of Iqbal Maidan to meet and greet, to exchange views, thoughts and ideas.

54 national Geographic Traveller INDIA | November 2012

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pyjama, looks up at me, and then gets back to the game.

A couple of men stop by, to make small talk and watch. The game shows no sign of ending. As I sit quietly, a sense of leisure and legacy assail me. I wonder how many years people have been playing chess here for, out in the open, in the middle of the day.

The structures that surround me reek of history. Hidden in the ramparts of palaces, now turned into hotels, and buried in the lanes of old bazaars are stories of valour, love and revenge. The men at play are unperturbed by the motley traffic passing through the arches on the other side of the maidan. Strangely, so am I. I suddenly question the mindless frenzy of my life. I envy the chess players their small joy.

At sunset, the bright signboards in the market start blinking. The ancient and modern rub shoulders. Hungry, I drift towards Chowk, the old city bazaar, thinking of delectable biryani, mouth-watering kebabs, and irresistible mithai. Bhopal residents crowd these popular food stalls till the wee hours of the morning. It is well past midnight. I amble along, chewing my paan in the moonlight, stopping to buy some fragrant flowers for my hair. I can see the begums smiling in approval.

n the canvas of Chandigarh, Sukhna Lake is the masterstroke. Over the years, I’ve seen its gentle waters soothe, enthral, enliven, and delight residents in myriad different ways. If the word “picturesque” needed a pictorial representation, Sukhna Lake would be a worthy choice. Its composition is utterly painterly, with the rolling foothills of the Shivalik and a dense forest providing a panoramic backdrop. The lake’s curving promenade is hemmed by manicured greens and bursts of flowers.

The air is filled with heady fragrances and sonorous twitters.

This is my preferred spot in Chandigarh to breathe in the ecstasy of nature. The lake’s finest hours are at dawn or dusk, when the environs are tremendously tranquil. Each month brings on a new mood.

The nip of winter, the colours of spring, the severity of summer, the glorious-grey of the monsoon and the bareness of autumn all acquire a different dimension when experienced by the shores of the Sukhna.

The lake rejuvenates everyone who visits it. When I’m there, I encounter a motley mix of visitors, from fitness freaks sprinting on

asit jain

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s I walk by Bhojtal Lake, I imagine the brave begums who once ruled these parts walking the same path, dressed in beautifully embroidered ghararas, with maidservants trailing behind them. Tourists take rides on motorboats, but the lake is unexpectedly quiet and so is the green forest that has survived amidst all the development of Bhopal city.

I stroll along the waterfront, enjoying the breeze, going where my feet take me. I turn into a part of the old city that dates back to Mughal times. Up the steps, I pass by Gauhar Mahal and enter Iqbal Maidan, a public ground named after the famous Urdu poet Allama Iqbal. I see two men seated on a ledge, in the shadow of the charming Shaukat Mahal, engrossed in a game of chess. It is the middle of the day. The world seems to be busy with its business. But here, time seems to have stood still.

The afternoon sunlight makes patterns on the crumbling walls of the ornate pink mahal. The bust of the great poet hovers above, almost like an interested referee, as the game of chess progresses.

I find myself a corner and watch the game as unobtrusively as possible. One of the shatranj players, dressed in a crisp white kurta-

target-oriented tracks to silver-haired regulars sharing notes every morning under everyone’s favourite spot: the grand old peepul tree with its languorous branches running into the water. There are twosomes looking for private time and dandies dressed to the nines. Artists set up easels or tripods to capture their muse and birders arrive with binoculars to spot migratory creatures. Seekers meditate in the Garden of Silence, while camera-toting tourists hurriedly scout for the perfect shot for the family album.

I’m always amazed by how the sounds of quietude co-exist with the energetic buzz of the crowds. This is where Chandigarh collects to be completely entertained. There’s boating, both paddle and rowing, a rope trampoline and toy train to excite kids, souvenir shopping to lighten the wallet, and numerous food stalls (with average offerings) to flavour the outing.

Chandigarh is cosmopolitan within a feisty Punjabi matrix. By the Sukhna, this is abundantly clear, as tashan (cool-dude attitude), tamasha (spectacle), and beauty meld into a joyous mosaic.

Chandigarh’s residents come to placid Sukhna Lake both for serenity, and the buzz and energy of a Sunday evening outing.

November 2012 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA 55

ajay sood

B H O PAL

Journeys Perspective

World

Every time his doctors tell him to stay put, he heads out—because travelling may be the only thing keeping him alive

by Edward Readicker-Henderson

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De at h 82 national Geographic Traveller INDIA | November 2012

• All of American Samoa is pausing for sa, sacred time, when I carry my supper down to the beach in Pago Pago, the territory’s capital.

A hiker on Maui’s Haleakala Volcano approaches a silversword, the plant that caught the author’s eye when he visited the crater.

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Diane Cook and Len Jenshel/Getty Images

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hen I finally got back to the car, I telephoned Rach. “I’m still alive,” I said to my best friend.

Which was a bit surprising; I hadn’t fully expected to survive the trip. Four months after getting out of a wheelchair, a couple of weeks after I’d ceased fainting when I did something ambitious, like stand up, I had decided to hike into the crater of Haleakala Volcano, on the island of Maui.

I’ve been traveling against all medical advice since 1990, when I collapsed down the stairs of a Japanese train station—and began my first conversations with medical professionals wearing serious expressions. Twenty-plus years later, I have a medical chart that comes with its own forklift. Details aren’t really important, and besides, everyone has something; mine just includes lots of surgeries and repeated suggestions about the importance of funeral planning.

“The hike took seven hours,” I told Rach, my hand a little shaky holding the phone. “Slipped and almost fell a few times. But there’s this plant down in the crater, like a yucca dipped in silver. And it’s so quiet there, you can’t tell if you’re hearing your heart beat or the sound of ocean waves moving up through all those miles of Earth.”

My friend was not having a good year. Fifteen months earlier—when doctors told me I probably didn’t need to plan for my next birthday—a different batch of doctors told my friend her husband wasn’t likely to last a lot longer than I. So, from the rim of Haleakala, feeling considerably better than I had in a very long time, I did the only thing I could think of to help my friend. I told her the story I wished somebody had told me. The story that would have made my life—and the lives of the people who cared about me—easier.

The story about how every place I travel to comes down to how I’m going to live. Forget the bucket list. It’s the travel that, very literally, keeps me alive.

Journeys Perspective

World Which is what got me into that volcano when I could barely walk.

Which is what got me on that plane to Pago Pago.

In Pago, I say yes to a smaller plane to a smaller island, yes to people who offer me a ride to that island’s far side, yes to the captain who then takes me across the sea in a boat with an engine barely powerful enough for a model car, yes to the dot of jungle we reach, where the flowers are bigger than Frisbees and fairy terns swirl the air like smoke rings.

Say no, and all you’re doing is waiting for time to finish. Say yes, yes, and it’s the spell that opens Ali Baba’s cave. The riches never run out.

Although exactly what those riches are, has rather changed for me over the years. In my 20s, I trekked the Himalayas and watched prayer flags flutter in the heat from a single candle. In my 30s, I camped in the Arctic and ate squirrels we’d trapped, because the elders I was with were getting sick from store-bought meat. In recent years, my cane has travelled more miles than my hiking boots. Which can be really frustrating. If I were healthy, where couldn’t I go? Do a Buddhist kora—pilgrimage—around Tibet’s revered Mount Kailash.

Ride camels across the desert. Even in my shape, why can’t I still trek the elf-haunted backcountry of Iceland—besides the fact that I’d prob-

Every place I travel to comes down bucket list. It’s the travel

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A swimmer explores coral reefs in American Samoa. “Travelling,” the author says, “teaches us to dare.”

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hich is the second way travel keeps me alive.

I am, my doctors tell me, what my friend’s husband has decided he is: somebody who probably should stay home. And I’ve had times when I’ve done that. At home, I have my books and my comfy chair, and in my yard is a lake where bald eagles cast their shadows, where bats pull twilight down with each flap of their wings. Not a bad place to be, even if all I’m doing is popping pain pills like Pez and watching lousy movies and gasping for breath. Even if all I’m doing is waiting for the days to go away, saying “No, not again” to every sunrise.

Saying no is the easiest thing in the world. But who loves no? If you’re going to fight for what you love, don’t you have to say yes?

ably keel over from a heart attack if I did, and elves are not known for their paramedic skills? Still …

Which is exactly when I run into the fact that Daz, my travel companion of choice, is a beautiful, highly trained psychologist and Buddhist meditator. “You’re thinking that how things used to be is normal,” she says. “But they’re just how things used to be. What does that have to do with now?” Impossible to argue with. The late jazz guitarist Django Reinhardt reinvented his technique when two burned fingers gave him no other choice, while Claude Monet depicted flowers in a way no one had before when he had to peer at them through cataracts.

I may suck at playing musical instruments, and I can’t paint even a crooked line well, but I can travel. By doing so, I meet the world on its terms, which teaches me how to be honest with what the day is, instead of what I think it should be. And by doing so I find the best way to make now work no matter what then used to be.

This, then, is reason three: I learn it’s not a matter of better or worse, but simply this or that.

Imagine your house is on fire, somebody said to the artist Jean Cocteau. What’s the one thing you’d take out?

The fire, Cocteau said.

Every time I board a plane, I’m taking out the fire, all that noise of daily life, and keeping only what’s necessary: hope, amazement, love. When I’m home, I want to be that person who travels, the one who smiles at a stranger rather than retreats into a very familiar shell of distraction and pain and “No.” He’s a much, much better version of me than the one who picks up the pain pills and TV remote at the same time, the one who wouldn’t leave the house for days if the dog didn’t need to be walked.

Which means that, to make the travel possible, I do all of the things my doctors wish I’d do because they tell me to—though, frankly, their advice doesn’t have nearly the same pull as, say, the possibility of swimming above a Samoan reef, its coral like fireworks. Where I’ll float and look until I have the entire seascape memorised, from the octopus turning invisible in the sands to the way fish the size of birthday candles dart and pause, dart and pause. As if, like me, they don’t want to risk missing anything.

Because how many genuinely undistracted moments do we really manage as adults? I mean the kind of complete being that, except in odd instances like floating over a coral reef, we left behind upon forsaking childhood, when we’d ride our rocking horse, needing no world farther away than where the front hooves reached.

to how I’m going to live. Forget the that, very literally, keeps me alive.

T

he fourth way that travel keeps me alive takes me back to Japan. When I lived there—and before that whole train station pratfall—my friend Atsuko would perform the tea ceremony at the Daitoku Temple in Kyoto every summer. The temple’s worship halls were huge and lovely and held the scent of 700 years of prayers and candles.

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Randy Olson/National Geographic Stock

Green turtles bob up, as if asking for a bite. And why not? Savour every sandwich, live each day as if it’s your last.

My problem with that idea, good as it seems at first glance, is that I long ago lost track of how many days were supposed to be my last. And do you even get a last day? Or just a last smile, a last touch? Science says the smallest meaningful measure of time is 10-43 of a second, and Buddhists will tell you the snap of a finger holds at least 60 separate moments. Which one of those should I aim my life for?

Or, looking at the turtles, should I go for the other extreme measure of time, a kalpa? As illustration, picture a turtle that surfaces to breathe only once every thousand years.

Next, picture a small wooden ring floating on the ocean. A kalpa is how long it will take for the turtle to surface with its head through the ring.

Kalpa is closer to the understanding of time that I got from a hero of mine, Francis Cowan, whom I met once on Moorea. In 1956, Cowan and a friend built a boat and, using traditional Polynesian navigational techniques of observing stars and wave patterns, sailed toward Chile. Took “200 days exactly,” he said, as his puppy barked either at me or at the waves that splashed dragon’s-eye blue. Over those 200 days, the two adventurers never knew for sure what they were sailing into. But it was okay. Because when you feel lost, Cowan told me, when all reference points have disappeared, “the ocean is great, and you can wait for another day.”

That is the first way travel keeps me alive. Because the world is great and incredibly generous with time.

I can’t worry about my days being numbered when I know I’ve already lived forever over a lingering breakfast in Venice with the woman who keeps my heart beating as I stare at her, framed by a view of gondolas bobbing in the Grand Canal and sextons rattling keys in front of the grey dome of the Church of Santa Maria della Salute.

When I saw him, Cowan was more than 80 years old and not healthy, yet he was working on a new canoe.

As the poet Frank O’Hara said, “We fight for what we love, not are.”

Journeys Perspective amount of time to figure out for myself.

I was on my way to Inuvik, a town on the northwest edge of Canada’s remote Northwest Territories. Like everyone who drives the Dempster Highway, I pulled my truck over at the big sign that announced the Arctic Circle, an arc of wood reading “LAT 66° 33’N.” I lined myself up with the sign and walked into the autumn tundra.

Willows smaller than pencils hugged the ground for warmth, spreading around reindeer lichen, saxifrage, and Arctic blueberries as sweet as my mom’s cure-all kiss when I was a kid staying home sick from school. I walked until I found a little patch of flowers. Picked two, pressed them in my notebook. Pieces of the world.

A couple of weeks later, visiting Rach in Arizona, I fanned back the pages to offer her this moment when I was far away, yet thinking of her. And somehow, in the dark, closed notebook, those Arctic flowers had gone to seed like dandelions. As I brought them out, the fluff blew across the Arizona desert, looking for a new home—that incredible optimism of life that it can adapt and thrive in more places, in more ways, than we ever usually bother to realise. Even when it’s our own lives. Maybe especially when it’s our own lives.

My friend laughed at her disappearing flowers, confirming to me that the only reason to go anywhere, do anything, bother being alive at all, is to bring pleasure to those who are dear.

Which is exactly why I’ve been so mad at her The scenic Dempster Highway goes through rolling tundra, crosses the Arctic Circle, and husband. Write that bucket list, live as if it’s ends at Inuvik in Canada’s Northwest Territories. your last day, and what you’re really doing is concentrating on yourself—the easiest, most logical thing to do when you’re seriously sick.

And oh, I did that. I’m pretty sure that every sentence I uttered in the late 1990s—the time between surgeries three and four—was subject-verb-profanity.

How I made the people who loved me suffer because I was lost in my anger. My days were numbered, dammit … never bothering to think it was our days.

All I really did was waste an incredible amount of time and energy paying attention to how crappy I felt when I should have been noticing how wonderful it is, after startling awake in the night, to be soothed back to sleep by someone who is snoring peacefully as a lullaby.

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ooking out from the tiny island of Ofu, the tag end of American Samoa, into the ocean where Apollo astronauts splashed down after a trip into the spheres of heaven, I realise maybe the truest thing I’ve ever written is “Whoever created the world went to a lot of trouble. It would be downright rude not to go out and see as much of it as possible.”

Whoever created the world went to a lot of trouble. It would be downright rude not to go out and see as much of it as possible 86 national Geographic Traveller INDIA | November 2012

Tony Waltham/ Robert Harding World Imagery/Getty images

I would sit enraptured as Atsuko, her kimono folded round her like brightly curved origami, worked through the most drawn-out way to make a simple cup of tea: turning the cup just so, taking the split bamboo whisk and churning the matcha into froth. Full attention to every single breath and motion, as if she were on her rocking horse again.

When, at last, the tea ceremony ended, I’d bow to Atsuko and leave along dark boards polished by generations of shuffling monks. Just outside the tearoom was a small Zen rock garden known as Totekiko. In it were five rocks set in gravel. Around three of the rocks, the gravel was raked in a circle, like water reacting to dropped pebbles. Totekiko offered no single point where I could see everything at once. I had to move around to get it all in—an illustration of the fourth reason I leave home: So often travel confers the gift of a perfect day in a perfect place solely because we moved a little to the side. Depart crowded Venice for the quiet hill town of Asolo, where the hills trill birdsong like a music box. Share sunscreen with a stranger by the Dead Sea and make a friend for life.

Descend into a volcano and realise that I’ve missed the most obvious point of all.

“So here is what I want you to know,” I say to Rach. After 20 years of hearing doctors say that I’m about to drop dead, this is the one thing I really want her husband to grasp. Because it took me a stupidly long

In my case, sometimes what’s possible is making it to my porch, where I can spot a kingfisher or a great blue heron, or maybe even a dragonfly with zebra stripes. And sometimes what’s possible is standing on a remote atoll in the Marshall Islands, the land so thin that when a storm hits, I can hear the different sounds of lagoon waves and waves in the wide ocean. I will even eat a little bwiro—fermented breadfruit—in the morning, which is not a bad thing as long as the people I’m hanging out with have stories to share.

“The first time I flew over the United States,” islander Ben Chutaro is telling me as the last of the storm carries spume across fallen coconuts, “I wondered why all the islands were so close together.” He was reading rivers—he’d never seen a river before—as ocean, and the North American continent between as islands.

Isn’t it wonderful to know, beyond any doubt and with infinite, unearned grace, that the world holds so much, that what we take most for granted in our lives—even the very shape of the land beneath us or the sky above—can change according to how we’re willing to see it, to greet it?

“And that,” I tell Rach from the volcano’s edge, “is what I learned playing peekaboo with you.” Back after surgery number six, after I’d acquired a whole new batch of doctors who had a whole new reason to announce my days were numbered, she’d come to visit me in the hospital. I was so drugged that I only managed to Hiking the Pipiwal Trail and bathing in the Sacred Pools are some of activity options open my eyes for a peek to see her and be hapavailable at Haleakala State Park in Oheo Gulch on Maui, Hawaii’s second largest island. py. A minute later, I woke again, saw her again, and was just as happy. And a third time. Like waking up to a boundless shape I wish them to be. horizon over and over—the joy of peekaboo, of opening your eyes and Life, the world, are not buckets to fill; they are bedtime stories to seeing absolutely everything you need. tell. The excited whispers of two people saying, “Yes, and then we’ll …”

Now, telling her this, that under the fine face of heaven only one and the answer “Yes, and then we’ll …” thing remains truly important, I realise that there is a second converSo I will go home, put the seashell in lovely Daz’s hand, and tell her sation I need to have, with an incredibly beautiful woman I’ve loved this bedtime story. I won’t try to protect her from what is happening so much that I’ve been trying to protect her from me, from my imto me anymore. I will share that world with her just as we will share pending end and the messes it will bring—when all she wants is a the vast Earth when we wake up and walk into some city unknown. chance for us to play peekaboo together with the world, see whatever it We will cross the great ocean again and again, knowing there offers us when we open our eyes wide in wonder. To say yes even to the is time. bad stuff.

Rainer Maria Rilke, in what may be the most beautiful lines in I could have saved a lot of people a lot of trouble if I’d been smart poetry, wrote: enough to learn this sooner: Your only moral obligation in life is to make the people you love smile, which you do by being the best version “Ah the ball that we dared, that we hurled into infinite space, of you that you can possibly be. Not the scared, sick, distracted you doesn’t it fill our hands differently with its return: rushing through the world and trying to get it all in before it’s too late, heavier by the weight of where it has been.” but the you that says yes. The you that helps them say yes.

That is why I travel. How travel keeps me alive. Travelling teaches us to dare, again and again, to say yes to the moments of wonder, so nd so, because there is someone else I want to make many of them, blown across the landscape with the generous weight smile, I say yes. of seeded flowers—and to share them with the people we hold dear.

In the deep night, I step outside my room on Ofu. I I travel to live in the answered prayer that is a smile line. n pick up a seashell, a piece of the world, on the beach lapped by water so clear that the sand beneath glitters moonlight like the inside of a prism. Above me arc Edward Readicker-Henderson has been to more than 50 countries stars in shapes I can’t name, which means I can wish them into any since doctors first told him he’d have to scale back on travelling.

A

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Greg Elms/ Lonely Planet Images/Getty Images

World

GET GOING Record Journey

Nonstop Solo Circumnavigation

Cape Crusader Lt. Commander Abhilash Tomy gets ready to spend six months alone at sea—attempting a record-setting sail around the globe | By NEHA DARA | Photographs by sohini maitra The Sailor

Lieutenant Commander Abhilash Tomy is 33 years old. He is a maritime reconnaissance pilot in the Indian Navy and is from Kerala. His family includes his parents and younger brother. He loves sailing as much as he does flying. He is a converted vegetarian but makes an exception with fish when out at sea. He loves reading, dabbles with photography, and carries around a guitar, which he hopes to learn to play someday. At the beginning of his sailing career, sometime in 2001, he got lost at sea twice and had to be rescued. He hopes those days are behind him.

The Boat

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The INSV Mhadei is a 56-foot boat named after the goddess of the River Mandovi. She was built entirely in Goa by Ratnakar Dandekar, of Aquarius Fibreglass Pvt Ltd from a Dutch design. She’s the first yacht of her kind made in the country and cost a little under a million dollars (nearly `4.25 crore).

The Mhadei has already sailed around the world on another expedition with Commander Dilip Donde, in 2009-2010.

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The Background

This is Sagar Parikrama 2. During the first voyage, concluded in May 2010, Cdr Dilip Donde, a clearance diver with the navy, sailed the Mhadei around the world (with four stops) in 273 days, becoming the first Indian to do so. He was at sea for a total of 157 days.

Fast Facts Water Most people in cities use at least 130

litres of water every day for bathing, washing etc. Tomy has reduced his daily usage to two litres. He is carrying 600 litres of fresh water for the entire trip (to be supplemented with rain water and water made from sea water using the onboard watermaker).

He has lived on the boat for most of the

recent monsoon months without taking any fresh water from land, learning to rely on using rain water for all his requirements.

Food Mhadei has been stocked with about 150 kg of food. Abhilash will consume about 500 grams per day (3,500-4,500 kcal). During the first month, he may lose 10 kg (that’s a kilo every three days) after which his weight is likely to stabilise. Some of the preserved food has been provided by the defence food research lab in Mysore.

Waves and Wind Around the Cape of Good Hope, the waves can be upto 30 metres high (that’s as much as a ten-storey building). Around Cape Horn, the temperature falls to about 5°C, with winds exceeding 40 knots adding to the chill.

Connectivity The Mhadei is equipped to use internet via satellite, no matter which part of the globe she is in. It costs about `800 per MB or `2,500 per minute to use this service.

Energy The boat has been made very energy-efficient. She has solar panels and a wind generator, to augment the diesel generator. On a recent 2,000 nm journey from Thailand to Kochi, only 30 litres of diesel were consumed. Tomy will be carrying around 1,800 litres of diesel, which should be sufficient for the entire voyage.

The Mhadei is a 56-foot-long yacht that was custom-made in Goa at a cost of nearly `4.25 crore.

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The Expedition

The aim of this expedition is to sail around the world non-stop, solo and unassisted, in a yacht. More people have climbed Mount Everest (about 4,000) or gone into space (534) than have accomplished this mission (approximately 80). The Sagar Parikrama sail begins in Mumbai on the 1st of November, 2012. It will cover 21,600 nautical miles (about 40,000 km) which is the circumference of the earth.

The route involves sailing south of the Great Capes—Cape Leeuwin, Cape Horn and Cape of Good Hope—before returning to Mumbai. Depending on weather conditions, the trip may take anything from four to six months. All the food, fresh water, fuel and other supplies required for the journey will be carried on board from the start point. The engine cannot be used except while leaving and entering the port, or in case of a life-threatening emergency.

GET GOING Record Journey

Nonstop Solo Circumnavigation and abilities, you alone have to live with the consequences. That’s not so different from being at sea all alone.

So while you might say that from cockpit to tiller has been a tremendous change, to me it doesn’t seem all that different. Interestingly, I learnt to sail before I learnt to fly, and to fly before I learnt to drive.

Though 33-year-old Lt. Cdr. Abhilash Tomy has been lost at sea twice, but hopes to finish this around-the-world journey without any such mishaps.

Q & A with Abhilash Tomy Everyone wants to ask this question.

Why do you want to sail around the world on a tiny little boat?

Most people are reluctant to leave their comfort zones and do things out of the ordinary, so it’ may be a little difficult to understand why anyone would forsake a comfortable, secure life on land to attempt something this difficult.

George Mallory was asked why he wants to climb Everest and his response was, “Because it’s there.” That is what I would say too—I do this because it is there to be done.

Many seafaring nations have undertaken such great adventures, but India has stayed on the side-lines despite its vast coastline, coastal population and contribution to the

seafaring traditions of the country. That changed in 2010, when Cdr. Dilip Donde successfully completed India’s first solo circumnavigation. Attempting a non-stop solo circumnavigation was the next step, the best way to take forward the hard-earned experience and interest. While working with Cdr. Donde during his attempt, I acquired extensive sailing experience and knowledge of the boat, making me his logical successor.

It helps that I love being at sea. I love the experience of solitude; it gives me a sense of freedom and I always look forward to more.

How did a pilot end up on the water?

A pilot manages a fixed, horizontal and symmetrical wing, while a sailor handles one that is shifting, vertical, and asymmet-

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ric—it’s not all that different! So I am flying a boat these days.

My interest in sailing is older than that in flying. I used to sail as a cadet and it was during that time that I had chanced upon a magazine article about a round the world solo race. It was called “Around Alone” and a woman sailor from France called Isabelle Autissier was leading the pack. She’s been my biggest inspiration.

Being a pilot is not just about flying planes, it is also about an attitude that reflects in your life. When you fly, you do not have various people doing different jobs for you. In that sense you are your own engineer, navigator, communicator, electrician and anything else you need. You take all decisions and live with them. If something is lacking in your preparations

National Geographic Traveller India is the official magazine partner for Sagar Parikrama 2. We will cover Lt. Cdr. Abhilash Tomy’s nonstop solo circumnavigation around the world in a monthly series in the magazine, and on our website www.natgeotraveller.in. We will receive 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 the record-setting voyage progresses.

tal systems that can churn the sea into a seething cauldron. A famous adage reflects the fury of the southern oceans: There are no rules below 40° south, no laws below 50° south, and no god below 60° south.

The winds in these three belts are described as the Roaring Forties, the Furious Fifties and the Screaming Sixties. Rounding the Horn (Cape Horn) is one of the toughest challenges faced by a sailor, so much so, that anyone who crosses it successfully, traditionally wears a earring on the side on which they passed the Cape. The treacherous Cape of Good Hope is known as the Graveyard of Ships. There are times when the conditions are so extreme that there are waves nearly 30 metres (100 feet) high.

I’m going to be on my own through all of this, so I have to sail, keep lookout, cook food, make sure I stay hydrated and well fed, no matter how bad the weather. I will have to deal with severe lack of sleep when the weather is rough. There will undoubtedly be some damage to the boat as I sail and I will need to be prepared to make some repairs.

To conserve fresh water, I will bathe, brush, and wash clothes in seawater, even cook with it when I can, like when boiling potatoes. But while these things seem like a big deal to those who hear about them, they are the least of my concerns.

I replaced the generator with a newer, more fuel efficient one. We also fitted a wind generator and solar panels to make the boat more fuel efficient.

The other big concern was the sail, the engine for the boat. I sat with the owner of the North Sails factory in Cape Town to make a solid, “bullet proof ” main sail.

That’s what will power me on this voyage.

There is a new pumping arrangement that will make it easy to pump out bilge water (water that collects in the lowest compartment of the boat), making the boat lighter and faster. We made some other small changes that will make life more comfortable, like adding a bimini, which is a sunshade that has proven to be very useful while dealing with the tropical sun.

What sort of modifications have you made to the boat to make her suitable for six months on water?

I made several changes keeping in mind the requirements of a long, nonstop sail.

My first concern was endurance. Several of the gadgets on board require electricity, so

What are you looking forward to the most and dreading the most?

I’m looking forward to the solitude the most. I would much rather not talk about what I’m dreading. Losing the rudder or mast would definitely make for one of the worst days of my life. n

What sort of training have you put yourself through to prepare yourself for six months on the water?

I have been with the boat since 2009, assisting Cdr. Donde. During this period, I got to know the boat well and learnt a lot about maintenance and repairs. I’ve sailed the boat to places like Colombo, Mauritius, Rio and Cape Town, notching up about 27,000 nm, sailing as crew, first mate, skipper and solo. In fact, I’ve been living on the Mhadei for the last few months, so I’m pretty comfortable on board.

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omna winston (MAP)

What are the hurdles along the way?

Too many to count! As far as I know only 16 amateurs have successfully undertaken a nonstop solo circumnavigation (if you include professionals, the number swells to about 80). This is because of the strict conditions formalised by the World Sailing Speed Record Council that define a circumnavigation and the many difficulties along the way. For a successful circumnavigation one must sail a distance of 21,600 nm, sailing south of all the great capes, without using any canals (because that would require the use of engines), crossing the equator twice, and all the meridians in a single direction. If I take outside assistance at any point, even in terms of food or water, my journey is disqualified.

What makes all this particularly tough is the variety of weather conditions I will encounter. Crossing the equator two times means sailing twice through the doldrums, where the weather is fickle and there are frequent squalls that push winds up to 40 knots (enough to tear a sail if you are not prepared) followed by a sudden calm, when the heat is unbearable.

Next, I’ll head into the Tropics, where there are frequent, destructive cyclones.

South of the Tropics, I will encounter fron-

Short break From Hyderabad

Warangal

Magical 3 History Tour

+ AYS D

Art and architecture make the past come alive in Warangal | By ARUNA CHANDARAJU

The Thousand Pillar Temple was constructed by Rani Rudramadevi, the daughter of the Kakatiya king Ganapati Deva. Since the king had no heirs, she was officially designated as her father's son and conferred the male title of Rudra Deva.

W

arangal’s Medaram Jatara is the festival of South India.

Attended by over five million devotees from Jharkhand, Orissa, Maharashtra, Karnataka and Uttar Pradesh, the biennial festival is a grand celebration. The government of Andhra Pradesh claims that it is the largest tribal gathering in the world. It’s definitely worth a trip, but the Jatara isn’t the only time to soak in the wealth of history that Warangal has to offer. In the winter. the weather is perfect for a visit.

Located 140 km northeast of Hyderabad, the name Warangal is often used as a collective term for three towns: Hanamkonda (named after Hanuman), Kazipet, and Warangal, all

128 national Geographic Traveller INDIA | NOVEMBER 2012

of which were ruled over by the Kakatiya dynasty between the 11th and 14th centuries.

The temple towns of Palampet, Kolanupaka and Ghanpur, the majestic Warangal Fort and artisanal hubs like Pembarthi (known for its intricate brassware) and Cherial (famous for its hand-painted, storytelling scrolls) allow you to imagine the grandeur of the region during the golden age of the Kakatiyas. But there’s more to Warangal than the regal remains of the past. It also boasts serene lakes and a wildlife sanctuary—reason enough to extend your weekend getaway to a longer break.

Until a few years ago, there was much-publicised Naxalite activity in the area, but tourists need not have apprehensions any more.

History Lives Here Waking early may be the last thing you want to do on holiday, but the effort is worthwhile to catch daybreak over Ramappa Lake in Palampet, 75 km northeast of Warangal. The spectacular 13th-century Ramappa Temple adjacent to the lake was built by Recharla Rudra Senani, a general in the army of Kakatiya king Ganapati Deva, and named after its dynasty.

The living Shiva temple is built on a starshaped platform and represents the pinnacle of Kakatiya art. Intricate carvings cover the walls and pillars, exquisitely-sculpted female forms support the temple, and the sculptures on the ceiling depict episodes from the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. Dance was an important component of Kakatiya culture, so figures of men and women in various dance poses cover the walls and doorways.

The mudras are similar to descriptions found in the Nritta Rathnavali, the authoritative text on Indian classical dance written by Jayappa Senani, a general of King Ganapati Deva. In fact, dance-guru Nataraja Ramakrishna used these representations, together with relevant sections of the text, to reconstruct and revive Perini Siva Thandavam, a vigorous dance form that existed in Kakatiya times.

The delicate carvings of this temple are made on jet-black, fine-grained, dolerite rock. The Kakatiya Heritage Trust is lobbying

to have this temple as well as the Thousand Pillar Temple and Warangal Fort, some 70 km southwest, declared UNESCO World Heritage sites.

Ironically, while much of the fort is in ruins, the magnificent Keerthi Thoranam, one of its original four gateways is Warangal’s bestknown icon, well-advertised in hotel lobbies and tourist brochures. The gateways enclose something of an archaeological complex, which includes the ruins of the Swayambhu Temple, adorned with massive dolerite nandis and intricately arranged fragments of ceilings, brackets and pillars. Rows of yalis (mythical beasts that appear as guardians in many south Indian temples) and elephants hint at past glory. The Thousand Pillar temple was built by Rani Rudrama Devi in A.D. 1163. The star-shaped temple with three shrines (trikutalayam) is famous for its carved pillars, rock-cut elephants, a large nandi and perforated screens. A fabulous wedding hall of the same era faces the temple. The large monolithic hill, Orukallu, crowned by a beautiful bastion, provides a stunning 360-degree view of the city and its ruins.

Art Mart The rustle of the wind in the palm trees, the tap-tap of mallets beating brasssheets, and Telugu film songs playing on radio are customary greetings at the artisans’ village of Pembarthi, 65 km southwest of Warangal.

Here, brass is fashioned into works of art: wall-plaques, Kakatiya gates, lamps, animal

figures—particularly the peacock and the nandi—idols and pitchers with the eight forms of Lakshmi or Dashavataram (Vishnu’s ten avatars) embossed on them. About 100 km west of Warangal is Cherial, home to richlydetailed, hand-painted scrolls that draw their subjects from the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. Because these goods aren’t marketed well, the income artisans earn from them has been dwindling, as has the number of families practicing this art.

Temples Galore Warangal is home to one of the oldest Bhadrakali temples in India, dedicated to the fiery form of the goddess Durga. The seventh-century Bhadrakali Temple is

UNIQUE EXPERIENCE

Make a wish at the famed Kazipet Dargah. Situated near Kazipet railway junction, 15 km from Warangal, it is associated with the Sufi saint Hazrath Syed Shah Afzal Biabani and renowned as a place where sincere prayers from people of all faiths are answered. Even if you are not a believer, you can witness the heartwarming spectacle of communal harmony as Hindus, Christians, Sikhs and Muslims pray together.

NOVEMBER 2012 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA 129

swasti verma

It is believed that a secret underground tunnel connects the Thousand Pillar Temple to Warangal Fort. It allowed members of the royal family members to offer their prayers privately.

swasti verma

EXPLORE

Short break From Hyderabad

Warangal ganic produce figures on the menu at Ovation, its coffee shop (0870-2454587/88/89; www. citygrandhotel.com; doubles from `990).

Suprabha Hotel in Hanamkonda is more business-oriented, with internet access and a helpful travel desk (0870-2574888; www. suprabhahotel.in; doubles from `1,800).

Hotel Ashoka is located conveniently close to Hanamkonda Bus Station (0870-2578 491; www.hotelashoka.in; doubles from `1,350).

Hotel Ratna is 3 km from Warangal Railway Station (0870-2500645; doubles from `945).

Haritha Hotel run by Andhra Pradesh Tourism Development Corporation was slated to open by the end of October and will have dormitory-style accommodation (99516 35522/33; www.aptdc.in).

EAT Wholesome, multi-cuisine meals are available at restaurants in the hotels mentioned above.

Kavya, in Hotel Ratna, is especially noted for its vegetarian thalis. For inexpensive options, try Kalinga Dhaba and Kakatiya Dhaba (both near NIT, Kazipet), Surabhi Restaurant (Nakkalagutta, Hanamkonda), Bharat Mess and Hotel Dolphin (both in Warangal Chowrasta). Pembarthi has Haritha Wayside Amenity (on NH 202) for meals and restrooms.

Try Hyderabadi-style biryani and authen-

Ghanpur village has around 22 temples of varying sizes though most of them are in ruins, as they were damaged by Tughlaq invaders in the late 13th century. tic—and fiery—Andhra food including local staples sakinalu and sarvapindi (both fried snacks) at the better restaurants. Sweet shops offer the state’s delicacies like chakkalu (a crisp savoury), palliladdoos (peanut ladoos), kajjikayalu (fried sweet-dumplings), minapasunnundalu (urad-dal ladoos), putharekulu (sweets made with delicate strips of rice-pa-

per), ariselu (pancakes studded with sesameseeds) and madathakajas (sweet rolls). The famed pickles of Andhra Pradesh like avakaya, maagai (both made of raw mango), chintakayapachchadi (raw tamarind), gongurapachchadi (made of gongura, a tangy, green leaf), and allam-bellamuragai (ginger-jaggery), can also be procured in leak-proof packing. n

THE GUIDE Spread across 110 sq km, Warangal is 140 km northeast of Hyderabad, close to Andhra Pradesh’s border with Chhattisgarh.

(dedicated to Vishnu) and Someswara Temple (dedicated to Shiva) still receive devout visitors every day. The Andhra Pradesh State Archaeology Department Museum in Kolanupaka has impressive exhibits relating to temple architecture, but there is little by way of information.

Literature and classical music lovers may like to head to the sleepy village of Bammera, 45 km southwest of Warangal, where the great 16th-century Telugu poet Bammera Pothana lived. His Telugu translation of Veda Vyasa’s Bhagavatham was acknowledged as an inspiration by legendary saint-composer Thyagaraja (1767-1847), whose exquisite Telugu lyrics are considered the high point of Carnatic music.

Waters and Wildlife After the hectic rounds of history, the beautiful Lakhnavaram Lake (85 km east of Warangal) is perfect for

130 national Geographic Traveller INDIA | NOVEMBER 2012

some R&R. Ecotourism cottages set up by the Andhra Pradesh Tourism Development Corporation are expected to be operational here by end-October. Some 50 km east of Warangal are the Kakatiya-era Pakhal Lake and the 860 sq km Pakhal Wildlife Sanctuary. The latter offers the chance of sighting spotted deer, sambar, Indian gaur, nilgai, wild boar, sloth bear, jackal, fox, hyena, civet-cat, mongoose, leopard, tiger, python, in addition to birds like ducks, storks, teals, cormorants, raptors, kingfishers, ibises and egrets.

Getting there

STAY Warangal has no hotels in the four- or five-star category.

City Grand Hotel is among the better establishments. The power breakfast at its signature restaurant Sun + Moon is popular. Local or-

daniel schwabe

believed to have been built by King Pulakesi II of the Chalukyan dynasty. About 65 km away is the Ghanpur group of temples, a cluster of historically important yet virtually forgotten temples that showcase 13th-century architectural splendour. Once a Kakatiya military bastion, Ghanpur was the target of invading forces led by Uluf Khan of the Tughlaq dynasty.

The temples took some damage, but the porches and carved ceiling of the mandapam still remain. There also figures of a half-lion and half-elephant (gajakesari) and a horse-headed god (hayagriva), illustrating the impressiveness of Kakatiya architecture.

About 90 km from Warangal is Kolanupaka, where Jainism and Veerasaivism (also known as Lingayatism, a distinct Shaivite denomination) flourished centuries ago. The magnificent five-foot-tall jade statue of Mahavir, the big draw in the Jain temple, is said to be at least 2,000 years old. The Veeranarayana Temple

Air Hyderabad, 140 km/3-4 hours away, is the nearest airport.

Rail Kazipet and Warangal are the major railway stations.

Trains from Hyderabad take about 2 hours and tickets cost `100-250.

Road If driving from Hyderabad, recommended stops are Pembarthi and Kolanupaka.

The Haritha Wayside Amenity at Pembarthi is well-located for meals and the use of restrooms.

Deluxe buses frequently ply to and from Hyderabad down NH 202 to one of the two major bus stations at Warangal and Han-

amkonda (bus ticket `100-200; taxis charge `2,000-4,000).

Getting Around Autorickshaws are plentiful, but you have to haggle with drivers and check average fares to your destination with locals before taking one. Taxis are also available and charge `1,500 for the day. It is recommended to have a car/cab at your disposal since Ramappa Temple, Ghanpur, Lakhnavaram Lake and some other sites are in outlying areas.

APSRTC buses are available for local transport but get crowded during peak hours.

plan for early morning visits.

Temperatures range from 25- 45°C during summer and 13-32°C during winter.

in Warangal (0870-2431546, 94408 10094; chukkagangareddy@gmail.com; or the local range officer 94408 10386).

Need to know Warangal city is the ideal base from which to explore the surrounding sites as it has the best accommodation and transport facilities.

Casual visits to Pakhal

Ramappa Temple Ramappa Lake

Lakhnavaram Lake

WARANGAL

Warangal Fort

Pakhal Wildlife Sanctuary

Seasons Although Warangal can be a year-round destination, winters are most pleasant. Monsoons mean slushy grounds at the temples and fort but no crowds.

Summers can be quite hot so

Sanctuary don’t Thousand Pillared Temple need permission but to venture deep into the forest, approval is needed from the DFO (Wildlife)

NOVEMBER 2012 | national Geographic Traveller INDIA 131

satish lal (temples), URMIMALA NAG (map)

Orientation The Bhadrakali temple (left) was constructed in the early seventh century to celebrate the Chalukya King Pulakesi II’s conquest of Vengi; Warangal Fort (right) was constructed with three levels of fortification. The outermost was a mud wall, while the inner ramparts were made from granite and intricately carved stone.