The Franschhoek Valley Food Safari

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We drive past quiet vineyards, gleaming horses and Hansel ‘n Gretel cottages. Watched over by towering mountains, idyllic Franschhoek Valley (about an hour away from Cape Town, South Africa) seems to be the land where time stands still.

More than 300 years ago, when Protestantism was outlawed in France, hundred of Huguenots were forced to flee their homeland. When a group of them arrived at the Cape of Good Hope by ship, the Dutch government gave them land in this valley. It was then home to wild elephants and called Oliphantshoek, or Elephant’s Corner. In a delightfully appropriate twist of phonetics, it became Franschhoek — French Corner.

We kick off our day of culinary tourism at Graham-Beck wineries, where cellar master Pieter Ferreira walks us through the elegant tasting room, lined with lustrous bottles from floor to ceiling. Upstairs, in the private dining area we gather around a table bearing a tray of smoked salmon and an array of wine glasses filled with the most curious ingredients. There’s a glass of bright yellow butter. Apples, oranges and strawberries. Crumbly brioche, thick honey, roasted almonds.

There’s even one filled with what smells like instant soup mix. “It’s got umami — which is the flavour that you also get in tomato and parmesan cheese,” says Ferreira, opening a bottle of Brut NV, a sparkling wine made with Chardonnay and Pinot Noir. He then gets us to match the flavours in the wine with the ingredients in the glasses. It makes the usually airy-fairy exercise, so loved by the connoisseurs, far easier to understand.

We’re understandably a very cheery group by the time we get to their Cuvée Clive, a sophisticated bubbly that tastes of spring. Ferreira explains that they wait for six years, till the carbon di-oxide gets more integrated, “it becomes finer; the bubbles feel softer, rounder, like feathers on the tongue”.

We’re plied with more bubbly as we enter the sprawling grounds of Le Quartier Français, a restaurant so distinctive it’s practically become a local institution. Owner Susan Huxtur’s got all sorts of stories about guests, ranging from petulant celebrities to Russian businessmen accompanied by a flood of gun-toting bodyguards. Listed on the San Pellegrino’s influential list of the world’s top 50 restaurants, it’s even managed to edge ahead of Thomas Keller’s iconic French Laundry.

It’s surprising because unlike the restaurants of chefs such as Keller, Heston Blumenthal and Ferran Adrià — all acknowledged to be culinary revolutionaries — Le Quartier Français is defiantly laidback. You almost expect to see people in scruffy Bermudas lounging by the pool, beside the resident cat.

However, the moment the starters arrive it’s clear why this restaurant is special. The food is simple, focusing on maximising flavours by using the best local ingredients and intelligent techniques. And then there’s the tongue-in-cheek presentation.

Fluffy corn bread is served in a dented sardine tin besides crisp sheet bread peppered generously with fennel seeds. All accompanied by the most deliciously nutty butter. “You allow butter to clarify, and then whip it into fresh butter to get that caramelly taste,” explains Chef Margot Janse, adding with a grin, “All the butter and milk here comes from a cow called Daisy who lives nearby.”

That morning, when she was jogging Janse found wood sorrel, which turned up for lunch. It’s set on a salty jelly of porcine, in the form of foam that tastes like sour grass. We also eat a coffee roasted warthog loin served with potato fondant, garlic puree and currant vinaigrette. (It helps that I don’t know it’s warthog till well after the meal.) And there’s lamb, from the Karoo region of South Africa, served with chakalaka marmalade, inspired by the spicy chakalaka made in the townships of Johannesburg.

This is food that is rooted, and that’s its greatest strength. Today’s gourmands don’t want to travel halfway across the world to eat the expected, no matter how smothered it is in time-honoured exotica like truffles or caviar. They’re in search of the unexpected and irreproducible.

Which is why Janse’s approach works: she leans on the strength of local ingredients and is constantly inspired by traditional recipes and flavour pairings. Then, she reinvents it all for a global audience.

Cape Town: City of Faith

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This is a city that’s been rescued by faith. Time and time again. The wandering Khoisan and Khoikhoi were drawn here by the benevolence of Table Mountain, which provides the city with water through its porous sandstone structure. They called it Camissa, or ‘place of sweet water’.

Framed by mountains and fringed by beaches, Cape Town proved irresistible to the ships of traders and merchants who docked here — Portuguese, Dutch, British… Eventually, the slave trade was rampant, drawing labour from all over the world to build the city. You know the rest of the story — after all, it’s unnervingly recent history. Apartheid. Rebellion. Freedom. Forgiveness.

As the old order changed, it was faith — in their country, leaders and themselves — that kept the South Africans from plunging into anarchy. Of course, there were, and still are, massive problems — unemployment, poverty and crime. Post-freedom, the country’s biggest cities became recklessly dangerous. Today, this intimidating reputation for violence lingers. A reputation they’re working hard on changing.

Cape Town’s now a playground for the rich. Yet, for a long time, its inner city suffocated under a deluge of graffiti, theft and violence. Till the Cape Town Partnership stepped in. Since 1999, it’s been bringing together corporates, citizens and the Government, to rejuvenate the historic downtown area.

They have faith in the city, believing it’s worth saving for its remarkable beauty as well as history, containing lessons for the world. The partnership has repaired street lights, cleaned graffiti, and worked on crime prevention. Now, they’re inviting businesses, tourists and locals into the inner city to enjoy its public spaces together, with art exhibits, concerts and markets.

“We want to get the locals to come here. Get them out of their cars, high-security buildings and shopping malls…” says Andrew Boraine, chief executive of The Cape Town Partnership. “We run walking tours to teach people the history of our city, which is the history of our country… This is the oldest area of modern human settlement on the planet. People have lived here for 75,000 years.”

Lined with graceful heritage buildings, each with a chequered past, the centre of South Africa’s ‘Mother City’ certainly has atmosphere. History leaves its mark. Especially, when it’s turbulent.

Take the Purple Rain revolt, for instance. In 1989, thousands of anti-apartheid protestors were on the streets with banners stating ‘The People Shall Govern.’ When the police turned a water cannon filled with purple paint on them, intending to mark and arrest, a student swung it around, showering the police. The next day walls were scrawled with triumphant graffiti declaring: ‘The purple shall govern’.

Today, the event is celebrated by stories, public artwork, and the ‘Purple Turtle,’ a club that calls itself ‘the cornerstone of eccentricity and culture in the South African music scene’. As Cape Town has discovered, history stays relevant when it keeps pace with the lives of its people. Hence, reinvention is essential. This way buildings and stories continue to serve a purpose, instead of merely becoming empty repositories for stories and fading memories.

Taj Cape Town, a joint partnership between Tata’s Taj Hotels Resorts and Palaces and Eurocape (an Irish property investment company), for instance, is housed within the historic South African Reserve Bank and Temple Chambers buildings located in the downtown area. Significant to Capetonians, it not just gives a fillip to inner city rejuvenation, but is also a tribute to the rainbow people.

After all, Cape Town’s first Indians, among many other nationalities, first arrived in on filthy slave ships in chains between the 17th and 18th Centuries. The Slave Lodge down the road from the hotel, once a dilapidated, filthy prison, locked in about 9,000 slaves between 1697 and 1811. Today, it’s a glossy museum endeavouring to convey the horror of its past. South Africa has discovered that air-brushing its tumultuous history does nobody any favours. Over here, healing comes with truth, no matter how painful, and reconciliation, no matter how difficult.

Groote Kerk, next door to the Slave Lodge, offered little comfort in those days. The site of the oldest Christian congregation in South Africa, it was open only to the whites. On the other hand, St George’s Cathedral, just down the road, surmounted its inevitable colonial beginnings to become a symbol of protest for the anti-apartheid regime, led by Archbishop Desmond Tutu. Once home to vigils and high drama, it’s now peacefully hushed, lit by the candles flickering around a striking black Madonna and vivid stained-glass windows.

Today, the inner city is still speckled with barbed wire. Houses and stores bristle with menacing grills, locks and posters promising an ‘Armed Response’ to break-ins. Yet, the streets feel non-threatening.

South Africa’s current focus on tourism has involved locals and traders, explaining how important it is for tourists to feel safe. It helps that everyone we meet is fiercely proud of the country. The bargaining at Greenmarket square, once a place to sell slaves, and now the site of a bustling flea market, is cheerfully spirited. One charming woman selling quirky hand-made jewellery even seals the deal by enveloping me in an unexpected hug.

Healing comes in many ways. Perhaps, Cape Town’s performance poet Malika Ndlovu said it best — “In the light of memory and remembering / Through the streams of ourselves / reconnecting / recollecting / we find our way home.”

***

(Jet Airways recently inaugurated non-stop flights from Mumbai to Johannesburg, six days a week. Return Economy fares start at Rs. 35,595, while return Premiere (Business Class) fares start at Rs. 1,16,020. Jet Airways’ new Airbus 330-200 aircraft departs from Mumbai at 0205 hours, and arrives in Johannesburg at 0735 hrs. From there, it’s a two-hour flight to Cape Town)

Faluknama: My Princess Diaries

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I tend to get a little silly when it comes to palaces.

All that history and romance, gilt and glamour. It’s the ideal setting to pretend I’m royalty, with all accompanying affectations and theatrics. So I’m delighted when our prosaic car is replaced with a carriage pulled by neighing, stamping black horses at the gates of Taj Falaknuma palace.

As we gallop up the hill, it looms above us in an appropriately intimidating fashion.

Falaknuma, or ‘‘Mirror of the sky’ is built in the shape of a scorpion, at the crest of a 32 acre compound. As we descend grandly from the carriage, I gawk in a most un-princess-like fashion. A line of glittering guards escort us to the door in a ceremonial welcome, while rose petals softly rain down.

It’s quite a view. The palace blends so dramatically into the evening sky it almost looks like it’s a part of the heavens. And all it took was ten years of restoration, and 30 coats of paint to get the colour just right.

This story begins in 1884. Nawab Vikar-ul-Umra, then Prime Minister of Hyderabad was determined to create a palace of dreams. With foreign architects, luxury products shipped from all over the world and challenging design, Faluknama ended up taking him 10 years to build, and 22 years to decorate. Then, the 6th Nizam of Hyderabad, dropped by for a visit and expressed admiration. And Nawab Vikar-ul-Umra immediately gave it to him as a gift. He moved out the next day with his family, taking nothing.

We glide in over a carpet of red rose petals. In princess mode I sweep through the foyer, featuring images of nubile angels cavorting all over the high ceiling. To the left is the Gossip Room, where Queen Ujala Begum and her girls caught up on the daily news. Under a lustrous chandelier the furniture sparkles with nifty mirrors flaked by shelves for cosmetics. I grab some champagne, and teeter across to the study, where the last Nizam famously used the hefty Jacob’s diamond as a paperweight.

Wandering around, it becomes easier to understand why restoration by The Taj overseen by Princess Esra (who was married to the last Nizam’s son) has taken a decade to complete. Unabashedly ostentatious, the palace is lush with luxury. Even light comes from myriad sources: vivid glass lanterns from Bohemia, Belgian chandeliers dripping stars and sunshine pouring through glass stained windows.

It’s all very over the top – but then restraint was hardly a virtue in those days. Restoration’s been so meticulous we hear Princess Esra got a single carpet dyed 300 times before she was satisfied with the colour.

Though I’m too busy bouncing excitedly around my room to care about interior decorating details. The bathroom’s humongous, featuring marble bowls brimming with delicious scrubs and creams. At night, a tray bearing silky cardamom infused moisturiser is placed on my bed, along with an array of decadently dark chocolates. If I need anything else, there’s a button I can press for ‘palace services.’ I briefly considering trying to order a palanquin or royal elephant to take me to Charminar, 15 minutes away, but am so happy slathering myself in velvety creams I can’t bear to leave the room.

As the morning sunshine filters in through billowing Turkish curtains, I’m finally drawn out by the sound of a flute. It leads me down the garden, and then mysteriously disappears.

So I head to the imposing Jade Room’s graceful balcony for warm sweet pineapple Danishes served with powerfully aromatic coffee. Downstairs, the begum’s bedroom’s open so guests can admire her specially-designed Doulton bathtub, equipped with pipes for hot water, cold water and perfume. I’d be jealous if not for the languid spa treatment lined up at Jiva, featuring frankincense and sandalwood infused sesame oil.

Finally, like the princess in the fairy tale, I climb into my carriage – drawn by white horses this time – and gallop away. As I settle down in my cramped aircraft seat, I wonder why I’m drawing strange glances. Then I realize my skin’s still redolent with the scent of spices. Perhaps I should have called for the palanquin after all.

Splashing about in Champagne

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Apparently you never forget your first taste of champagne.

Mine was at a bustling bar in Singapore, renowned for its easygoing attitude towards customers dancing on their tables. A blackboard announced ‘champagne on the house for babes.’ (Quite flattering, till I realised it was a blanket term for all women.)

Nevertheless, it was a good start, shattering the illusion that drinking it on a yacht in the Cote d’Azure was the only way to go. Except, I now realise it was probably sparkling wine.

What’s the difference? Thousands of kilometres for starters.

Over a chilled glass of Laurent Perrier Rose Champagne at the dramatic Taj Falaknuma Palace in Hyderabad, Rajiv Singhal Ambassador to Champagne in India discusses the fact that Champagne (the drink) can come only from Champagne (the geographical location). He represents the Comité Interprofessionnel du Vin de Champagne (CIVC), an interprofessional body that brings together all the Houses and Growers in Champagne, defining policy, quality control and protection of the Champagne appellation.

With 15,000 growers, 300 houses and 12,000 brands to oversee, they really have their work cut out for them! Especially considering the term ‘champagne’ has become so synonymous with luxury that it’s indiscriminately used to justify anything with a hefty price tag. So far, besides a variety of sparkling wines masquerading as Champagne, Rajiv’s found mangoes, biscuits and — yes — pantyhose bearing the label.

In reality, if it’s not grown in the production zone, delimited in 1927, it’s not the real thing. The area, 150 km to the east of Paris covers roughly 34,000 hectares of vineyards spread across 319 villages.

Thanks to CIVC you’re guaranteed a quality bottle if it originates here since there are strict rules at every stage: only 8,000 vines can be planted per hectare with a 1.5 mt distance between rows, only bunches bearing 12 to 15 grapes can be picked, and then only 102 litres of juice can be pressed out of 160 kg of grapes.

The results are evident when we settle down for a ‘Prestige Cuvee’ dinner at the suitably flamboyant Durbar Hall of the palace, glittering with spangled chandeliers and rows of long stemmed, delicate champagne glasses.

Seared scallops on smoked salmon are served with Ayala Cuvee Perle, 2002, blending ripe citrus fruit with feisty bubbles. It’s followed by the iconic Krug, Grand Cuvee. Rich and toasty it stands up bravely to aromatic lamb shikampuri kebab and spicy king prawns.

More champagne, more courses — each demonstrating that the drink can hold it’s own in any company. As we reach dessert, we’re tipsy enough to find the murmur of bubbles neck lacing up to the surface great theatre. After a dessert of strawberry mousse truffles served with Armand de Brignac Rose (a bottle so delightfully pink I consider using it as an accessory), we’re rambunctiously cheery and dive into the Nawab’s grand dining room, featuring his gleaming table for 101 people, and attempt conversations from both ends.

Of course, gilt and glamour are purely optional. Rajiv says one of the most memorable bottles he drank was in Paris, after he cooled it on a snowy window ledge in winter, teamed with Chicken Mc Nuggets.

The point of this ‘Champagne Experience’ is to prove the drink’s versatility. Rajiv even laughingly offers to send some to our rooms to brush our teeth with. However, after drinking till 1 a.m., all I want is a cup of coffee when I wake up, bleary and hoarse.

Clearly, I’m a lightweight. As I stagger to breakfast at 8 a.m., I find everyone in high spirits drinking champagne with warm croissants and fluffy omelettes. Too early? Apparently not. I stick to coffee and toast. But unbend enough to sip some Louis Roederer by the swimming pool a little later. It’s chilled, complex and fruity — ideal for the gentle sunshine. This is the life.



Soaking in sunshine and history at Taj Cape Town

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T he lobby’s an unusual shade of gold. Sure it has the usual five-star accoutrements — majestic chandeliers, plush sofas and a bar tinkling with expensive crystal. But, what makes Taj Cape Town’s lobby so instantly soothing is a lot more basic — structure.

A cathedral-like space with high ceilings, a barrel-vaulted skylight and dramatic lines, it’s clearly been created with a passion that borders on the obsessive.

So, it’s hardly surprising to learn the original architect James Morris, who designed the grand old Reserve Bank that now houses the Taj lobby, was an exasperatingly pernickety man. Intent on glittering Capetonian sunshine in the main banking room through the year, he bullied the Astronomer Royal into measuring the position of shadows in the skylight for every month of 1929 so he could design the skylight appropriately. He then imported Portuguese marble columns, commissioned a sculptor to create four medallions of lions for the façade and even organised special tiles, complete with spares “in case an aircraft crashed into the building”.

Recklessly flamboyant architecture of this sort creates memorable spaces. It’s also notoriously difficult to replicate. The Taj didn’t even try.

Instead, Tata’s Taj Hotels Resorts and Palaces, along with Eurocape (an Irish property investment company) spent two years and over $69 million, meticulously restoring the old South African Reserve Bank and neighbouring Temple Chambers buildings for their new 177-room luxury hotel. A ponderous clock from 1932, balconies for the mistrals that once entertained the public during banking hours, gates of detailed bronze… they’ve all been retained, giving the building a depth, character and gravitas that could never have been achieved by any contemporary structure, no matter how extravagant.

Recently inaugurated, this is Cape Town’s ‘oldest new hotel’. Set in the heart of the city’s historic downtown area, it’s surrounded by monuments representing much of South Africa’s turbulent history — from the Slave Lodge (now a museum) to St George’s Cathedral, from where Archbishop Desmond Tutu rallied the masses and demanded equality.

In tune with contemporary South Africa, the hotel is designed to be welcoming to one and all — hence the two main entrances, the Temple Chambers’ doors on Wale Street, and the South African Reserve Bank entry off St. George’s Mall, a pedestrian road that bustles with street artists, cafes and colour. There’s also street access to its coffee shop Mint and The Twankey, a seafood, champagne and oyster bar.

Of course, two buildings, no matter how steeped in history, aren’t ever big enough for the kind of full-scale, decadent luxury Taj hotels concentrate on. Hence, a more modern tower rises from the fabric of the heritage buildings, culminating in the gargantuan Presidential suite.

We watch the sun spilling a thousand shades of red and orange over Table Mountain, as it sinks away from the terrace of the suite, over glasses of chilled champagne and succulent smoked salmon. Then it’s time for dinner at Bombay Brasserie, where the menu balances tradition and plucky experimentation. Roasted corn soup served with fluffy turmeric popcorn. Tandoori Norwegian salmon flavoured with Bishop’s weed. Baked Alphonso mango yoghurt.

After a few days of incessant pampering, we’re getting dangerously spoilt. Our rooms, set in the heritage suite are luxuriously charming, with dignified pastel furnishing, chocolates and pillow menus.

Our 24-hour butler, who — to our delight — is called ‘Lovemore’ plies us with chamomile tea and gossip, in the Business Lounge every evening, when we stagger back after yet another party or dinner bristling with heady South African wine.

We hear Paris Hilton and her entourage occupied our rooms during the World Cup. But, don’t let that put you off. Especially if, like us, you have a fondness for drinking creamy Amarula cocktails in a lobby that glitters with cheerful South African sunshine, amid echoes of a colourful history.

Inside a male fantasy in Bangkok

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Raising the bar in Bangkok. Take 1.

Shoot in session at The Witches Tavern

 

I’m in the centre of a male fantasy. And I’m not quite sure about the appropriate etiquette. Hah. Grabbed your attention, haven’t I? Now, let’s start at the beginning.
Bangkok. But of course. It’s the perfect place to play out the wild and wicked, right? The day starts at the Renaissance Bangkok Ratchaprasong Hotel, where we free fall into theatrical decadence. The lobby, covered in mirrors and crystal, is outfitted with fur couches and velvet sofas so brazenly funky you could be forgiven for assuming they recently escaped from Lady Gaga’s boudoir. Very MTV.
Which could explain why the channel, which brought us here, chose this as our base.
The MTV girls, in hip gladiator sandals and shorts, join us for dim sum in the coffee shop to bring us up to speed on the issue of male fantasies. For, there’s serious work afoot amid all the talk of partying in Pattaya and shooters in Patpong. MTV India is introducing the country to a whole new genre of reality programming: Fantasy reality TV. And we’re here to watch it unfold.
A few hours later we’re in the ‘Eristoff MTV Male Fantasy 101Villa,’ which makes even our flashy hotel look tame. Sprawling between a rolling emerald golf course and serene artificial lake, this souped up party pad has everything MTV assumes a man could possibly want.
We walk into the living room, equipped with a bar, snooker table and – yes – PSP (that’s a play station for the non-gamers among us.) There’s an indoor basket ball court. And one huge room features a pool, flanked by a swing on which three pretty young things sit applying mascara. Beside the pool, inexplicably, there’s a bathtub.
No pretty frills, lace curtains or dainty vases. Instead there are giant speakers, flat screen TVs and martini glasses everywhere. This is clearly a villa designed by a man. Which brings me back to my original dilemma. What’s a woman to do in a masculine dream villa, tended to by 4 sizzling hot women playing chauffer, gardener, cook and maid. I try some snooker, some bar stool swivelling, some paddling in the pool.
Then it’s time to meet Aditya Swamy, Senior Vice President, MTV India. He sits cross-legged on a gigantic leather couch while explaining the concept of the show over Diet cokes. “Its heightened reality crossing over into fantasy: super models, fast cars, super bikes…” The show’s targeted at India’s young ‘gimme more’ generation, intent on being cutting edge. “Four buddies coming and living together in a pad like this – you’ll have a good time. We also looked for people who embody the spirit of young India.”
More dignified than your typical reality show, fests of obsessive back-biting, grotesque bitching and petty fights, MF 101 is more about allowing viewers to live vicariously than appealing to their inner soap opera demons.
“Typically reality shows are all about who gets out – here there’s no elimination, no tasks, no fighting. We’re moving away from the mainstay of reality TV, which is conflict,” says Aditya.
Instead there are challenges. “You want to date a supermodel? Go ahead. But can you really handle a high maintenance woman? Can you really ride a souped up bike? You want to throw a big ass bash – can you take a night club and make it the most rocking?”
We meet the four lucky men at the Witches’ Tavern, a bustling pub dominated by a large rectangular bar, which is, predictably enough, seething with skimpily clad women. They turn out to be grounded,
articulate and charming, a relief given the fact that most reality TV
contestants can be outmanoeuvred by an orangutan. They also keep trying to distract us with tequila shots. Fortunately, we’re too bust with our bright pink cocktails, stirred with miniature brooms, to get sidetracked.
So here’s the dope on them. Chatty Ankit Vengurlekar’s an anchor on a popular news channel. Harpreet Baweja is an outspoken, ambitious entrepreneur who already heads a chain of spas. There’s a model, Sahil Salathia, who’s disarmingly friendly as he tells us about his secret weapon – a software degree. Rohan Sapra, the shyest, ironically has the most rock star lifestyle, since he’s a DJ in a trendy Delhi club.
When asked to define the best part of the experience, they’re unanimous – it’s the camaraderie. And the super bikes. We gasp. Not the women? “They’re just a part of the picture,” says Sahil. But what about your sexy staff? They nod, “Yeah yeah, they’re there. But man –
you should have seen those bikes… They were awesome.”
Adrenalin junkie Harpreet, adds, “I did an incredible flat out drag race against a professional Thai racer. I hit 185. It was exhilarating.” Over the month they’ve also partied on a yacht. Relaxed on a deserted Island. Dived into the warm blue sea in the middle of nowhere and raced each other to shore. Taken over a nightclub to run it for one evening.
“Each time all four of us are taken on a journey. That’s what I like about the show. It’s Entourage, not Desperate Housewives,” grins Harpreet. “And at the end of the show we can all party,” laughs Rohan.
A dream job? Well. Apparently, it’s not always easy. “Dating a diva was tough,” says Ankit, rolling his eyes. “Here I am trying to talk to her and she’s reading Vogue. Then I suggested a boat ride? And she was like ‘Dude, I’m wearing a dress!’”
What they really enjoy, they say, is the ability to try everything. “These are experiences that you can’t have in normal life,” says Sahil. Ankit adds, “Yeah, reality will feel very bland after 30 days of such high notes.” Harpreet adds, “Waking up each morning there is a sense of adventure…”
“This is living life king size,” says Rohan. “To chill out, enjoy… do
whatever you want, try whatever you want — every single day.”
(Eristoff MTV Male Fantasy 101 airs on MTV India every Saturday at 10 p.m.)

Kundalini questing by the Ganga

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It’s a chilly 3 a.m. Dark. Windy. Quiet. Yet, somehow, I find myself racing through a garden grouchily brandishing a frightfully pink yoga mat. I’m accompanied by nauseatingly cheerful people: A fiesta of track pants, tattoos and chic jeweled turbans.
Spiritual Rishikesh’s is not easy to love. Certainly not at first sight. Not if your mantra is materialism, at any rate. Or if your idea of a holiday involves croissants in bed at 11 a.m.
Yet, by 4 a.m. we’re meditating in cross legged silence on a stony floor, ‘awakening our chakras’. Well, some of us are. My chakras only respond to mochaccinos. Fortunately, no-one frowns on Shavasana, that deliciously languid yoga posture. So I lie down and sneakily nap till breakfast.
And a good thing too.
We’re at Parmarth Niketan, set in Rishikesh’s Swarg Ashram area on the east bank of the Ganga. Where the action never stops.
Signing up with Connect With Himalaya (see box) for a healthy holistic holiday I had pictured spa-styled rooms, languid river cafes and quirky boutiques. I quickly learnt that Gaurav Punj’s idea of rejuvenation differed vastly from mine. (In hindsight, I should have got suspicious when his packing list included an LED torch, Electral packets and running shoes, instead of eyelash curlers, body shimmer and stilettos.)
Our power-holiday begins at Parmath, where Rishikesh’s annual International Yoga Festival is in full swing. Resting at the foothills of the Himalayas, beside India’s most holy river, Rishikesh has drawn the spiritually inclined for centuries: powerful mystics seeking solitude, yogis training their bodies into lithe time-capsules, troubled truth seekers desperate for redemption.
They came quietly, setting up kutirs in caves and rocks, living lives dedicated to silence. Then in 1968, The Beatles visited Maharishi Mahesh Yogi’s ashram (now closed), and introduced Rishikesh to the Western world. Suddenly India, specifically this sleepy town, was the cure to disenchantment. Everyone from hippies, high on marijuana and music, to health junkies, touting veganism and six packs, flooded Rishikesh. And Rishikesh absorbed them all.
Today, in addition to being a serious centre for yoga and spirituality, has grown into a refuge for an eclectic collection of karma chameleons, soul searchers and bendy yogis from across the world. They arrive in droves for the festival, all impossibly toned, enviably flexible and inevitably festooned with the usual Kundalini-questing paraphernalia: jingling silver lockets, lotus tattoos and chunky rudraksha malas. Religious songs sung with nasal American twangs and guitars blare on the streets from bookstores abounding with titles such as ‘The soul of love’ and ‘Death must die.’
All this on rustic Swarg Ashram road, crammed with fiercely bearded swamis in saffron, tea stalls fragrant with ginger and beatifically rambling cows.
To be in Rishikesh is to be far away. Cut away from your world, and all its trappings. It’s both disconcerting and vaguely thrilling. Like discovering a secret garden in your backyard.
The festival brings together brilliant and quirky teachers from across the world, demonstrating how incredibly plaint yoga can be — translated into so many powerful, and relevant, versions. While there’s plenty of kooky dancing, cheerleader-style whooping and running around the garden, the most satisfying (and difficult) classes are the ones taught by yogis determined to stay true to the principles of their school – even if they do jazz things up with music and fluidly choreographed movement.
Mohan Bhandhari, for instance, co-founder of YogiYoga in China, takes classes in Hatha Yoga, aimed at strengthening the core and spine. Then there’s LA-based Marla Apt who demonstrates restorative postures using the props of Iyengar yoga. And Kishen Shah, adjunct professor at UCLA, leads students though active and static meditation, demonstrating that stillness can be just as challenging as intense movement.
Yet, it wasn’t all flexing, sweating and downward dogs. Rishikesh is the gateway to the Himalayas, about1360 feet above sea level, and Gaurav ensured we explored it, luring us out of the cafes (abounding with gooey chocolate crepes, bright mezze platters and elegant pizzas) with promises of hills carpeted in flowers and glimpses of mountains draped in snow.
Our walks take us over the delightfully wobbly Ram Jhula bridge and into the Lakshman Jhoola area, crammed with pretty handicraft stores, twinkling tea stalls and quirky cafes. We squeal across the Ganga in a boat, flashing silver with fish. We pant and gasp 2 kms uphill to Kunjapuri temple, majestically overlooking the Gangotri range.
Back at Parmath, it’s time for our last Ganga Arti, an hour filled with singing, music and lamps. As the prayers reach a crescendo, people release bobbing diyas into the inky river, where they rush away in warm circles of light.
Further upstream at Shivpuri, the final leg of our trip, the Ganga changes character, roaring impatiently at the many muddling white water rafters. The first rapid grabs and tosses us playfully, the second has us clinging to the slippery boat in terrified delight, the third forces us to dive in, screaming with the shock of icy water. In half an hour we’re ‘body surfing’ blissfully, holding a rope dangling from the boat and thinking deep thoughts. Like what’s for tea.
Crisp onion pakodas and frothy coffee, in case you’re wondering – intensely satisfying in the way only comfort food can be when you’re tired and hungry. We’re now at Ganga Riviera, run by Anil Bisht of Adventure Trails. A former mountaineer still in the midst of a love affair with the Himalayas, Anil has set his camp right by the river, but well away from the madding crowd. Access involves a half an hour walk, followed by luggage-bearing mules.
Our trek from here is on the old – and startlingly scenic – Badrinath paidal marg, cut into the cool mountains for shade. It’s so silent you can practically hear the mountains breath. Till you hear the tinkle of a rambling horse’s collar. Or run into a shepherd, carrying an adorably cuddly lamb amidst a roadblock of wooly sheep supervised seriously by shaggy sheepdogs.
At night, the sky practically bursts with stars, as we curl up by the crackling bonfire at camp and listen to chilling stories about mountain spirits. As the fire dies, we stumble towards our welcoming canvas tents, lit with flickering lanterns. Then, comfortably exhausted, we fall asleep listening to the languidly hushed murmur of the Ganga.

Connect With Himalaya
Trek to Miyar valley, land of the blue poppy. Though quaint mountain villages, lush pastures and up a theatrically coloured glacier. Get initiated into the mysteries of Ladakh. Stay with the locals in snow leopard country, mountain bike across the area’s moonscape and raft on the Indus.
Or head to the valleys of Rupin and Supin, where you traverse spectacularly high ridges, to discover a mysterious forgotten lake, Baradsaar, revered by the locals.
‘Connect With Himalaya’ (CWH) is all about exploration. The travel outfit introduces city slickers to new travel experiences by following the old rules. Run by Gaurav Punj and Rujuta Diwekar, both passionate about these mountains and their people, Two-year-old CWH encourage trekkers to experience the Himalayas the way the locals always have: Taking on the challenges of the terrain by foot, following the paths of the shepherds and sleeping under the stars. And, most importantly, by moving away from the well-trod paths of the big operators.
“Right now the tour operators show a very limited area, and it’s thoroughly exploited,” says Gaurav, explaining why his routes are refreshing. “Manali, for example, has become a hub of adventure activities and there are now more travel agents than tourists there.” He adds, “You can’t ever know everything about the Himalaya. It’s so diverse — regions, people, culture, geology.” After travelling extensively for many years, he finally realized the best information came from the locals. “I got to know, for example, whom to trust for arranging my trek in Ladakh, or my stay in Munsiyari, or my transportation in Spiti. This is when the idea of CWH was born.”
Focused on sustainable tourism, CWH works with local guides, porters and drivers, in an attempt to inject money into the poor villages. “We believe in responsible tourism, and work on understanding the culture and lifestyle of the Himalaya’s people,” he says, talking of how every trek involves them, with homestays and adventure activities.
CWH offers about 25 trips a year, of which about 60 per cent are completely new, born out of exploratory treks. Their focus is on discovering the unusual, whether it’s a café tucked into a stony cliff or a valley of flowers.
Gaurav insists that evading the coaches and finding fresh destinations is not as tough as you would imagine. “About 90 per cent of the Himalaya tourism is in 10 per cent of the region,” he says, adding with a grin, “I have trips planned for the three years, all new places.”
For these are mountains you can explore your whole life, and still not completely discover.

Talking stilletoes with Louboutin

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Sure, Christian Louboutin’s a shoe maker. But to call him one seems like a gross understatement. After all, he’s turned shoes into objects of desire, symbols of empowerment and works of art. Which makes him more of a creator of fantasies. A dealer in seduction. A seller of dreams.

The individuality of his work — unapologetically sassy, flamboyantly sexy and intricately engineered — have enabled his shoes to travel the world, and in style. His client list includes practically every Hollywood A lister, from Elizabeth Taylor to Madonna. His daring designs incorporate silver python and spikes, red fishnet and black lace, bling and shiny patent leather, tempting even conservative women to take a walk on the wild side. He’s managed the seemingly impossible — creating a luxury brand that connects with rock stars and executives, WAGS and housewives, princesses and prostitutes.

“I am here to flatter women,” he smiles, pausing work to discuss the universality of stilettos. In Chennai to collaborate with Jean Francois Lesage (whose intricate embroidery adorns everything from the Louvre to scenes in the new Sex And The City movie), Louboutin is startlingly friendly. For a fashion icon, he’s even more startlingly casual, in pink Lacoste, shorts and shoes that look like – dare we say it – Crocs. “They’re Clark’s desert boots,” he grins. “I made holes in them – it makes such a difference. You get ventilation. And it’s much cooler.”

Although it’s been 28 years since he visited India last, Louboutin and
Lesage go back a long time. Just like his link with India. “I first came in 1979. Although I was born and raised in Paris, I used to watch a lot of Indian movies. Bollywood and also Guru Dutt, Satyajit Ray, Mrinal Sen… They made me love India.”

So he finally decided to travel here with a friend when he was 15 years old. “We went to Mumbai, then Goa. After that I came back every year for a while, till I was in my twenties.”

Louboutin also found an innovative way to sneak into Mumbai and Chennai’s film studios. “I would pretend to be a journalist. I wanted access and by posing as a writer I managed to get in and meet producers and actors.” Did he ever write about them? He chuckles, “Alors! No. But they were very nice!”

Though Louboutin dropped out of school when he was 17 years old, he learnt how to construct a perfect high heel by bouncing between music halls (where he ran errands for the high-heeled, feather-clad show girls) and internships.

When he opened his first store in Paris in 1991, his popularity exploded. Wickedly high and slashed with a distinctive red sole, Louboutin’s heels are now credited with bringing stilettos back into fashion, recreating them as a symbol of empowerment. Jennifer Lopez even released a song on Louboutin liberation. “I’m throwing on my Louboutins/ Watch these Red bottoms/ And the back of my jeans/ Watch me go, bye baby.”

“High heels gives you a body language. Your back becomes more curved. It forces a bit of attitude. It makes you feel more body conscious. To feel like a woman,” he says.

The shoes have a reputation for being flattering by making their wearer’s legs look practically endless. Louboutin says he’s overheard women in his store calling them “cheaper than a facelift,” he laughs.

This could explain why so many women scrimp and save for his shoes (They cost anything between Rs 20,000 to almost a lakh), making them far more than just the prerogative of pop stars.

“Very very high heels make a woman both fragile and sexy. In them, you almost can’t stand by yourself. You almost need support.” Yet, he states they’re empowering. “They raise women to the eye level of men. Women tell me this changes their relationships, with boyfriends. With bosses. I see it myself. I look at girls my height differently. When you’re looking down at a woman, You’re almost condescending.”

However, Louboutins are best known for being sexy. Underlining this, in 2007 he collaborated with filmmaker David Lynch for a show in Paris titled ‘Fetish.’ “I usually do the very high heels with a double platform. Because a shoe should never be more than 5 inches high. After that you can’t walk,” he says. “I did do some super super high heels for David Lynch. But they were not to be worn at all.” He shrugs, “Then Lady Gaga saw the exhibition and wanted the shoes for her video. I said, ‘Fine. But you cannot walk in them.’ So they told me, ‘She’s not intending to walk.’” He laughs and imitates an unsteady  totter, ‘She ended up trying to, though.”

Louboutin says he’s thinking of opening in India now. “India has been a huge influence on me. The jewellery, the colour, the detailing on every piece of work… You have incredible things here, all so well made.” He says his travels have had a profound impact on him. “I look at everything. Then one day it surfaces in my drawings.”

After Mika, the Lebanese American singer, asked Louboutin to design him shoes, he began thinking of a men’s line. “Right now, I’m working on something for Prince,” he states. Meanwhile Jean-Francois Lesage directs his team of artisans, all carefully constructing a line inspired by the Maharaja of Gwalior.

With their frills and fastidious detailing, Louboutin’s are special because they’re wearable art. “I don’t want to see my shoes in a museum. I want to see them being worn. I want to see them being loved. I want to see men loving them on women.” He adds with laugh. “And I know a lot of men love my shoes!”

Kylie Kwong’s China

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Kylie makes cabbage look alluring. Kylie works saucepans like she’s at a DJ console. Kylie makes chopping carrots look glamorous.

Not surprisingly, her show, “Kylie Kwong: Cooking with Heart And Soul” has succeeded in inspiring couch-potatoes around the world to get their aprons on. It has deepened the all-pervasive fascination for Chinese food. And, triggered vociferously friendly Internet discussions on everything from her recipes to her chipper personality.

Reassuringly, she sounds just as chirpy over the phone, calling from Sydney, in a conversation with MetroPlus about her show “My China”, on Discovery Travel and Living.

“We wanted to create much more than a cooking show,” she says, “People respond to raw emotion.” Kylie adds that it’s easy for her to connect with the audience since she really believes in what she’s talking about. “I’m not an actor. I can’t pretend,” she says. “What I can do is get in front of the TV and tell the world how much I love Chinese food…”

Besides, she states she’s inspired when she discusses subjects she loves: “I never stop. I’d drive you mad,” she laughs.

Since most of the world has had an enduring affair with Chinese food, “My China” is a logical follow-up to “Cooking With Heart And Soul”, which showed Kylie recreating classical Chinese recipes, many learnt from her mother, in her slick kitchen. But because, she is a professional chef, her techniques are more sophisticated than rustic, and her results look like glossy advertisements from a gourmet magazine.

Her restaurant, Billy Kwong, has 60 dishes on the menu, all of which are based on traditional Chinese recipes. “The difference is in the quality of the produce I use. I use organic vegetables. No chemicals. No MSG, or oyster sauce out of a bottle. If I want plum sauce, I make it out of fresh plums.” (Following Kylie’s beliefs, Billy Kwong aims to “to leave as small and light an environmental footprint as possible, to give back to the community whenever and wherever we can, and to think globally and act locally.”)

This show includes, what Kylie calls, “travel, history and raw emotion…” since it covers her travelling through China, reconnecting with her roots. A fourth generation Australian, she’s calls herself a 29th generation Kwong. “But, I felt connected with China when I visited.”

The series opens with her visiting her family’s ancestral village in Toishan. “I’m nearly 40 now…, she says, talking of how important the homecoming was to her. “It was amazing, very emotional. I felt like I was returning to the clan… It was very primeval.”

For additional colour, there’s Kylie’s great grandfather, who seems like quite an interesting character. “My great grandfather moved to Australia during the gold rush. He had four Chinese wives, and 24 children.” Kylie’s grand return included a visit to her grandfather’s house (It’s still there!) and spending quality time with her long lost Chinese relatives. “They spoke no English, and I speak no Cantonese or Mandarin.” But, they communicated. “We cooked for each other. We laughed. We ate.”

This show’s about more than making a perfect bowl of noodles. “You can call it a cooking and travelling show. Nine episodes. Nine different provinces,” she says talking of how they have tried to show how the physical landscape and geography of each place. “The physical look of the local fare. The local market — because that is really what says everything about the local community… It’s very textured. Far more than just a pretty cooking show.”

Bourdain on Cooking and Cobras

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He’s eaten the live, still beating heart of a cobra in Saigon. After munching through a handful of crisp fried tree worms he likened them to “a deep-fried Twinkie. Only wormier.” He travels the world with an astonishingly open mind: whether he’s in a gun club in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, where the menu includes a sampling of firearms, or a secret Russian fight club, where diamond draped blondes sip vodka and watch men beat each other senseless. He’s executive Chef of Les Halles, a traditional French restaurant in Manhattan. Oh, and, he’s pretty hot, with his bad boy leather jacket and attitude.

Forget delicate creativity, starchy linens and artistic flair – Anthony Bourdain’s more about kitchen machismo, fiery opinions and flamboyant food making him a sort of a culinary rock star.

With his travel show, featuring extreme cuisine, and action packed books, the chef-turned-author-turned-TV presenter, has been tripping around the world years, followed intently by a large brigade of foodies, travel buffs and – let’s be honest – breathless women.

In a telephonic interview, organised to promote his show No Reservations on Discovery Travel and Living, he seems thrilled with his life, cobra hearts and all. “I am very aware of what a great job I have,” he says, “With the freedom to go where I want, when I want and say what I want. I’ve been given free reign to discover the world… It’s an extraordinary and amazing job.”

Bourdain talks of discovering India, wandering through Rajasthan, Kolkata, the Sunderbans and Mumbai. “My first impression was that India is both beautiful and frustrating. It is so big that you can’t rid yourself of the sense that you’re missing most of it.” Saying that although he and the TV crew tried to see as much as they could, he adds, “I could easily spend the rest of my life making television in just India.”

While his travels threw up a number of surprises (“Royal food in Rajasthan, and the fact that though I’m a vocal proponent of the carnivorous diet, India is possibly the only place I can eat a vegetarian meal”), he seems most excited about eating vada pav on the Mumbai streets. “I’m a big fan of the Bombay burger — potato in a bun.”

Unfortunately, Bourdain was forced to leave out south India, as another TV show was recently shot there and the producers felt it would be repetitive. “I was very frustrated about that,” he says, “I haven’t ever been there. It was one of my first choices. I’ve heard so much about the seafood…”

On his quest for the perfect meal (“I wanted the perfect meal… I wanted adventure. I wanted kicks… I wanted to see the world. And I wanted the world to be just like the movies”) Bourdain tends to concentrate on everyday food because “people are proud of their local food; it’s the purest expression of a culture”.

Categorically stating he’s not interested in fine dining (“The world is so globalised now. Fine dining chefs tend to cook like fine dining chefs, irrespective of where they live… fusion food in Mumbai isn’t too different from fusion food in Melbourne”), he says, “People from all income levels are beginning to crave the authentic. They’re less snobby about fine dining.”

Meanwhile, his forays into extreme cuisines, he insists, certainly aren’t for shock value. “People eat very differently around the world. What someone in America finds shocking is everyday food for people in Thailand. I’m interested in whatever is good.” He also believes that food and travel are inseparable. “I don’t think you can enjoy or even experience a country without a willingness to sit with the local people and eat and drink.”

His writing is equally down-to-earth. “I don’t try to be an authority or an expert. It’s not a priority for me to describe the entire history of the food. I come from an oral storytelling experience in the kitchen… I try to give people a sense of what things looked like and smelt like at the time.”

And when he’s not describing a desert feast with Blue-clad Berbers in Morocco, or bodysurfing beside a fishing village in Vietnam, he writes crime novels to escape. “I write about me and what happens to me all the time. So, it’s a relief to escape to a world of imagination from time to time.”

But food is clearly his first love. Discussing the world’s best chefs, he names “Thomas Keller in California and the chefs at French Laundry in Napa Valley”, and then adds “every chef who shows up at work every day and cooks well… Anybody’s mother who cooks well. I think cooking’s a noble activity.”

As for that perfect meal he’s been chasing for so long? “I’ve had so many,” he says thoughtfully. “You can’t look for the perfect meal: it finds you. It might be a simple bowl of noodles soup in Vietnam, or a plate of roast bone marrow in London. It’s not about the food. It’s context that’s important. Like who’s cooking it… A Bombay burger is as much a perfect meal as dinner in Paris.”