WINE DINE & TRAVEL MAGAZINE SPRING 2014

WINE DINE& 

TRAVEL 

APRIL-JUNE 2014 

INCREDIBLE INDIA 

LIFE & DEATH ON THE GANGES 

PUSHKAR CAMEL FAIR 

BACKWATERS OF KERALA 

FOCUS ON RANCHO SANTA FE 

RENEWAL IN UTAH 

SIMPLY SCILLY 

Wine Dine & Travel Spring 2014 1

Wine, Dine & Travel 

with Authors 

Connect with authors and their books on an intimate basis 

through unique, interesting & adventurous travels & events 

Join Us On Our Next Great Adventure. 

www.AdventuresBytheBook.com 

“Adventure Under the Tuscan Sun” 

with authors Frances Mayes & Dario Castagno 

2 Wine Dine & Travel Spring 2014

COVER PHOTO: I took this shot of a group of Buddhist monks at sunrise on the Ganges using my Olympus EPL 5 

with a 20mm fixed lens. All of my photos in this issue were taken with this camera. ~ Ron James 

NEXT EDITION | SUMMER 2014 

canada /mexico 

LEAF PEEPER CRUISE TO NEW ENGLAND 

Normandy: A Visit to Omaha Beach 

A Photographer’s Guide to Bruges, Belguim 

NYC Dinner and a Broadway Show 

COMING IN FALL 2014 

THE LEFT COAST 

SAN DIEGO TO VANCOUVER 

Wine Dine & Travel will explore one of the most beautiful and exciting 

coasts in the world. We’ll visit the fascinating cities of North America’s 

West Coast, discovering new destinations and enjoying world-class 

wine, dining and resorts . 


Join award-winning author 

and acclaimed 

Lilian J. Rice biographer 

for the Diane Welch 

Celebrity Walking Tour 

of the historic village 

of Rancho Santa Fe 

Visit www.lilianjrice.com 

Up to a party of 16 people may book an exclusive two hour afternoon 

walking tour of the romantic village of the ranch, followed by a lecture 

and video presentation at the historic 

Rancho Santa Fe Senior Center where light refreshments will be served 

Contact Diane at dianeywelch@gmail.com 

for more information or to book an appointment 

Group discounts for ten or more people 


RON JAMES 

publisher/executive editor 

Ron James is the "wine, food and travel guy." He 

is a nationally award-winning print and online 

journalist, designer., television producer and radio 

personality. The native Californian's nationally 

syndicated wine and food columns have appeared 

in newspapers and magazines around 

the world. He is passionate about great wine and 

food and enthusiastically enjoys them every day! 

MARY JAMES 

publisher/editor 

Mary Hellman James is an award-winning San 

Diego journalist and editor. After a 29-yearcareer 

with the San Diego Union-Tribune. She 

currently is a freelance garden writer and a 

columnist for San Diego Home-Garden/Lifestyles 

magazine. Mary and her husband, Ron James, 

travel extensively. Upcoming this year is a 

visit to the Holy Land, Istanbul, Morocco and a 

transatlantic cruise from Rome to Florida. 

NAMASTE 

Joy, wonder, fear, confusion, anger, disgust, amusement, and 

curiosity – all are among the emotions travelers experience at 

one time or another. By definition, travel forces us out of routines 

and comfort zones. Strange cultures, customs, languages, 

foods, and situations contribute to our unease – and excitement. 

That’s why travel is an adventure, challenging the mind, 

exercising the body, and stimulating the soul. We feel vividly 

alive and part of something much larger and complex. 

This issue features stories that illustrate that range of emotions. From 

death on the Ganges River to the joy of renewal in Utah, the stories in 

this issue are entertaining and thought provoking. 

WDT takes great pride in 

our wonderful writers and 

gives them the rare opportunity 

these days to write 

in-depth length stores rich 

with information, detail 

and personality. Our many 

thousands of our readers 

have come to expect this 

kind of travel journalism 

and if you’re reading this, 

you probably do too. 

We’ve grown again with 

this issue, publishing more than 90 pages of solid editorial content. 

We’ve grown because WDT is fortunate enough to attract some of 

the very best travel and food writers in the industry. In this issue, the 

talented writers who have contributed since our inaugural issue last 

year are joined by some veteran talent making their WDT debut. Among 

them are two Brits, Mark Moxon and Amy Laughinghouse, evocative 

writers who can make you laugh out loud or move you with reporting 

on travels with a darker side. 

Another veteran writer, Lynn Barnett, offers her first perspective on 

family vacations in paradise in Costa Rica where the trick is to find 

something for everyone. And television celebrity Kathi Diamant offers 

a fascinating look into the world of themed vacations with her experiences 

at a literary festival in the wonderful Mexican town of San Miguel 

de Allende. 

New in this issue you’ll find a fascinating story on the history of Rancho 

Santa Fe by historian-journalist Diane Welch. And Susan McBeth offers 

us the beginning of a unique series on literary books you should read 

that will make your travels even more special. 

Stories in this issue showcase extreme contrasts in destinations, with 

special reports on exotic India and kick-backed Rancho Santa Fe, 

California. As you read through this issue we hope you’ll experience the 

wide range of emotions the authors felt as they traveled and perhaps 

feel as if you’ve been on a great adventure - even if it’s from the comfort 

of your favorite chair. 

We wish you safe and memorable travels. 

Ron and Mary James 


THIS MONTH’S CONTRIBUTORS 

Alison DaRosa 

Alison DaRosa is a six-time winner of the Lowell Thomas Gold Award for travel writing, the most prestigious prize in 

travel journalism. She served 15 years as Travel Editor of the San Diego Union-Tribune. She was the award-winning 

editor of the San Diego News Network Travel Page. She produces and edits the San Diego Essential Guide, a highly 

rated and continually updated travel app for mobile devices. Alison is a regular freelance contributor to the travel 

sections of U-T San Diego, the Los Angeles Times and USA Today. 

Sharon Whitley Larsen 

Sharon Whitley Larsen’s work has appeared in numerous publications, including Los Angeles Times Magazine, U-T 

San Diego, Reader’s Digest (and 19 international editions), Creators Syndicate, and several “Chicken Soup for the 

Soul” editions. Although she enjoys writing essays, op-ed, and people features, her favorite topic is travel (favorite 

destination London). She’s been lucky to attend a private evening champagne reception in Buckingham Palace 

to celebrate Queen Elizabeth II’s Diamond Jubilee, to dine with best-selling author Diana Gabaldon in the Scottish 

Highlands, and hike with a barefoot Aborigine in the Australian Outback. Exploring sites from exotic travels in the 

Arctic Circle to ritzy Rio, with passport in hand, she’s always ready for the next adventure! 

Carl H. Larsen 

Carl H. Larsen is a veteran journalist based in San Diego. He now focuses on travel writing, and is summoned to pull 

out his notebook whenever there’s the plaintive cry of a steam locomotive nearby. In San Diego, he is a collegeextension 

instructor who has led courses on the Titanic and the popular TV series “Downton Abbey.” 

Mark Moxon 

Mark Moxon is an avid traveler and freelance journalist who spent the first four years of his working life as a print 

journalist on various computer magazines. During the dot-com boom he had the job title of Editor of The Hitchhiker’s 

Guide to the Galaxy, Earth Edition, and that probably sums up his career more than anything else – a mix of writing, 

humour, technology and travel. His extensive website, Mark Moxon’s Travel Writing ( www.moxon.net/ ) is a must 

read for any fun loving traveler or wannabe. 

Susan McBeth 

Susan McBeth is the founder and owner of Adventures by the Book ( www.adventuresbythebook.com ) which 

brings literature to life for readers through events and travels with authors. She is the founder of the SoCal 

Author Academy, providing workshops and training to help authors better connect with readers. She is a current 

member of the One Book One San Diego committee, and a former board member with the Southern California 

Booksellers Association. 

Priscilla Lister 

Priscilla Lister is a longtime journalist in her native San Diego. She has covered a many subjects over the years, 

but travel is her favorite. Her work, including photography, has appeared in the U-T San Diego, Los Angeles Times, 

Alaska Airlines magazine and numerous other publications throughout the U.S. and Canada. She currently writes 

a weekly hiking column for the U-T, photographing every trail and its many wonders. But when the distant road 

beckons, she can’t wait to pack her bags. 

Kathi Diamant 

Kathi Diamant is an actor, writer, broadcast professional and the author of the Geisel Award-winning biography, 

Kafka’s Last Love. An adjunct professor at SDSU, she serves as Director of SDSU Kafka Project, (www.kafkaproject. 

com ) the official international search for a missing literary treasure. This September she leads her “Magical Mystery 

Literary History Tour” to Prague, Krakow and Berlin. 

Diane Welch 

An award-winning author, feature journalist and public speaker, Diane Welch is recognized as the world’s expert 

on master architect Lilian Rice who is credited with the design and development of much of historic Rancho Santa 

Fe and San Diego County landmark buildings. Last year Diane received Save Our Heritage Organization’s People In 

Preservation Award for her work on Rice. You’ll find her leading Diane Welch Celebrity Walking Tours of the village 

of Rancho Santa Fe on the last Sunday of the month. ( dianeywelch@gmail.com ) 


WINE DINE& 

PUBLISHERS 

Ron & Mary James 

EXECUTIVE EDITOR /LAYOUT & DESIGN 

Ron James 

Photo by Ron James 

EDITOR 

Mary James 

FEATURE WRITERS 

Sharon Whitley Larsen 

Carl Larsen 

Alison DaRosa 

Robert Whitley 

Maribeth Mellin 


Nancy Carol Carter 

Kathi Diamant 

John Muncie 

Jody Jaffe 

Susan McBeth 

Amy Laughinghouse 

Mark Moxon 

Diane Welch 

WINEDINEANDTRAVEL.COM 

CONTACT 

editor@winedineandtravel.com 

WDT respects the intellectual property rights of others, and we ask that our readers do the same. We have 

adopted a policy in accordance with the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (“DMCA”) and other applicable laws. 

The only tiger we saw on our tiger photo safari in Ranthambore was this 

postcard I found in the local gift shop. My thumb, on the other hand so to 

speak, is real. ~ Ron James 

Wine Dine & Travel Magazine is a Wine Country Interactive Inc. company @ 2014 


FEATURED STORIES 

PUSHKAR CAMEL FAIR 

10 

Camels, camels and 

more camels rule at 

the world-famous 

Pushkar Camel 

Festival. The fair is 

exotic and exciting; 

the accommodations 

however, can 

be challenging. 

LIFE AND DEATH ON THE GANGES 

22 44 50 

Mark Moxon offers 

a frank view of the 

city Varanasi and 

the sacred Ganges 

river. 

INCREDIBLE INDI 

34 

Visiting India isn’t 

for the faint of 

heart. Ron and Mary 

James share their 

recent month-long 

trip and give frank 

advice for future 

travelers to this chaotic 

and amazing 

country. 

BACKWATERS OF KERELA 


explores the more 

tranquil area of 

India. The state of 

Kerela in southwest 

India is worlds apart 

from the teeming 

cities of that 

country’s northern 

regions. 

RANCHO SANTA FE 

A special threepart 

feature on the 

historic community 

of Rancho Santa Fe 

-- the home of the 

rich and famous 

in the heart of San 

Diego county. 


SIMPLY SCILLY 

66 72 84 

Sharon Whitley 

Larsen is charmed 

by St. Mary’s, the 

largest of five 

inhabited islands 

among more than 

200 remote islands 

and rocks southwest 

of the English 

mainland. 

RENEWAL IN UTAH 

Spring is the season 

for renewal – a 

time to blossom. 

It’s what brought 

Alison DaRosa to 

Utah. That and the 

promise that skiing 

is a heck of a lot 

easier these days 

than it was 20 years 

ago, when she last 

hit the slopes. 

SLATED FOR WORK 

Carl Larsen offers a 

look into the world 

of slate production 

and tourism in 

Wales. Today there’s 

little slate mining 

but for visitors, the 

relics of the past 

provides a fascinating 

destination. 

HEAVEN FOR BOOK LOVERS 

89 

People are traveling 

with a theme, often 

with like-minded 

friends. Kathi Diamant 

takes part in a 

magical literary festival 

in historic San 

Miguel de Allende 

in Mexico. 

WHEN IN BEAUNE 

92 

Wine and travel 

writer Robert 

Whitley always 

knows where to 

find a great hotel, 

a delicious meal 

and a fine bottle of 

wine. In his visit to 

Beaune, France, he 

had so many great 

choices. 


PUSHKAR 

CAMEL FAIR 

Story & Photos by Ron James 


O 

ur trusted Indian driver 

expertly navigated 

the twisty road taking 

us toward the final 

destination on our 17-day fall odyssey 

through India and Nepal. After 

experiencing such wonders as the Himalayas 

at dawn and the Taj Mahjal, 

our stop in the small town of Pushkar 

on the edge of the Thar Desert in Rajasthan 

would likely be anti-climatic. 

During any other time of the year, that 

may have been the case. But in November 

when the moon is just right, 

Pushkar hosts an unusual, but notable 

fair - one that celebrates camels - lots 

of them. Some 200,000 festival goers 

from around the world flock here, along 

with 50,000 groomed and decorated Indian 

camels sporting an equal number of 

humps since this is dromedary country. 

Before leaving the nearby city of Ajmer, 

we stopped for a few supplies, including 

a small bottle of vodka. Pushkar is a 

sacred Hindu town and booze is technically 

prohibited. The lack of affordable 

and palatable wine in India had changed 

our evening happy hour from wine time 

into martini time, a mandatory antidote 

to India’s insane traffic, noise and scenes 

of poverty and suffering. 

The drive from Ajmer through the Pushkar 

Pass was by most standards scary, but 

Gorgeous camels, groomed and decorated, waiting 

for a patrons wanting a ride through the dunes of 

the Pushkar Camel Fair. 


we took it in stride. Nothing competed 

with nightmarish rides up Nepal’s onelane 

mountain roads or through Mumbai’s 

narrow streets in a three-wheeled 

deathtrap called a tuk tuk. Nonetheless, 

we were relieved as the road flattened out 

at the outskirts of Pushkar. 

Just when you think things are going 

fine in India, you should know better. 

A barricade manned by a dozen or so 

young men stopped us from entering 

the town. Our driver argued with the 

grim young leader and then handed over 

a small wad of rupees. The barricade was 

lifted and we continued on our way. Welcome 

to Pushkar. 

Pushkar’s population explodes during 

the camel fair and prices increase accordingly. 

Accommodations include 

simple guest houses, desert tents, some 

tiny and very scruffy looking hotels 

in the town center, a few heritage hotels, 

and farm stays. If you plan to go, 

it’s best to line up reservations several 

months in advance or risk paying a high 

tariff for less than stellar accommodations. 

We didn’t book until a couple of 

months before the festival and paid the 

consequences. 

As we skirted the festival grounds we got 

a preview of coming attractions before 

turning down a dirt road that passed 

brightly painted concrete buildings before 

depositing us into a dirt driveway. 

Ahead we glimpsed a cluster of white 

tents amid a grove of small trees. 

We had arrived at Royal Rajasthan 

Camp where we would spend the next 

three days in a deluxe tent with its own 

bathroom facilities and dine at the camp 

restaurant, The Wild Rose (which would 

prove that a rose is not always a rose). 

The “front desk” was in a open large tent, 

where a less-than cheerful guy handled 

check-in and perfunctorily presented us 

with a lei of fragrant marigolds. 

Roughing it in a tent was appealing after 

two weeks of luxury hotel stays. Pushkar 

has several of these camps set up just for 

the festival, but this one came with a caveat 

from our tour master Sabu Ram of 

Icon Tours: “About Pushkar accommodation, 

it’s not so highly praised and just 

known as an OK accommodation.” “OK” 

ended up to be a quite a stretch. 

Despite beautiful 80-degree days during 

our stay, the desert nights are cold. 

Even with a small portable electric heater 

Sabu had arranged, we froze on both 

nights. Festival and campground noise 

kept us awake, as did our uncomfortable, 

short bed whose hard support rails 

seemed to push its way through the thin 

foam mattress that was covered with a 

velveteen blanket and 12-count sheets 

made from pig bristle. At least that’s 

what it felt like. 

Capping off our restless night, we had 

a perfectly awful breakfast at the Rose, 

which sported food-stained vinyl tablecloths 

coated with a fine layer of grit. 

You might think our accommodations 

at Camp Royal Gotcha-stan ruined our 

time in Pushkar – but they didn’t. In fact 

Pushkar was a highlight of our trip. 

The Pushkar Camel Fair was organized 

many years ago for local camel and cattle 

traders to do business during the holy 

Kartik Purnima festival, held around 


Opposite top: Mary sits in front of our new digs while we 

explore the Pushkar Camel Fair. 

Opposite bottom: Royal Rajasthan’s Wild Rose dining room 

proved you can’t trust everything you read in Trip Advisor. 

Above: A trained monkey act draws a large crowd. It’s one of 

many street entertainers performing at the Camel Fair. 

Bottom: Mary sitting on the camp beds. They looked OK then 

but proved uncomfortable as the night wore on. 


the full moon during the Hindu lunar 

month of Kartika. In the last decade or 

so, the event has become a major tourist 

attraction -- a kaleidoscopic camel–filled 

extravaganza that boggles the mind and 

assaults the senses. 

For us, the this traditional Indian event 

was like an exotic county fair with 

brightly painted people in colorful 

robes, vendors hawking strange-looking 

food and drink, and dusty fields roamed 

by camels, regal race horses and motorcycles. 

Amusement rides and evening 

entertainment competed for attention 

with hundreds of booths that line the 

streets, selling everything from wooden 

pitch forks in use in the region for thousand 

years to colorful horse and camel 

gear, rhinestone-studded bangles, traditional 

Indian dress and housewares. 

Music and motorcycle horns blared 

above it all. 

In the surging crowds, different clans 

could be identified by their dress. Men 

wore turbans in fluorescent greens, oranges 

and other hues that linked them 

to a religion or geographical area. Women 

strolled by in elegant, rainbow-colored 

saris – a look I love. 

Like county fairs everywhere, the festival 

shows off the region’s agriculture 

and husbandry. Here camels are painted, 

dressed in colorful, fringed gear and decorated 

with geometric designs shaved 

into their fur. Then they are paraded in 

beauty contests, raced around an arena 

and, of course, traded. Interspersed are 

exotic acts out of Indiana Jones movies 

including snake charmers, dancing 

monkeys, magicians and acrobats. Anywhere 

a crowd circles, some street entertainment 

is underway. 

Rolling sand dunes abutting the fair 

grounds are dotted with tents and an 

assortment of RVs where herders, traders 

and their families camp during the 

fair. For some, the journey there has 

taken over three weeks. Kids play while 

women tend campfire and cook or wash 

clothes in large pots of water filled at 

the troughs for livestock. In addition to 

camels and a few sheep and goats, the 

fair is a showcase for the stunning white 

and black Merwari horses native to India. 

These hardy creatures can be identified 

by the distinctive curve of their ears. 

Left: A handsome camel surveys the scene at the fair. 

Top: A vendor roasting peanuts. Opposite top left: An 

ancient tea vendor takes a break in the shadows. Right 

top: Women in tribal colors look for bargains. Opposite 

bottom left: Turbaned desert tribesmen enjoy the 

fair with their families. Bottom right: Vendors sell 

hand-crafted pitch forks that were similar to ones used 

in ancient times. 



As we strolled the fairgrounds, we were 

assaulted with offers for camel rides 

on one of the extravagantly outfitted 

dromedaries – a bargain at less than 

10 dollars for a 30-minute escorted 

walk. Contrary to popular belief, camels 

– especially females - are pretty 

docile beasts. Mary and I settled on our 

saddles with the camels in the kneeling 

position. The hardest part of riding a 

camel is getting on and off. As the camel 

rises or kneels on its front legs, the passenger 

is jerked back or forward; but 

with a firm grip on the saddle horn we 

did just fine, taking in the sights as the 

camels gently swayed walking into the 

dunes and back 

After the camel ride, we made our way 

through narrow crowded streets to the 

adjacent town center, the commercial 

and religious hub of the festival. With 

exception of horn-honking motorcyclists 

dangerously zooming through the 

throngs of people, the scene was exciting 

and stimulating to senses… about as 

foreign and exotic as travel abroad gets. 

Brightly dressed and painted “holy men” 

seemed to compete with each other for 

the most outlandish look hoping to at- 


tract photographers and the money they 

would pay for the privilege of taking their 

picture. 

A river of pilgrims in their best dress 

streamed through the streets to the 

temples and to bathe in the holy waters 

of Pushkar Lake, which borders the 

town. Bathing in the lake during the days 

around the full moon would absolve their 

sins. Street vendors sold religious trinkets 

and flowers to honor the gods. 

A young man who spoke English eagerly 

tried to involve us in the religious goings 

on and led us through the streets to steps 

to the lake. He was a little too eager and 

got agitated when we told him we wanted 

to get something to eat. We escaped 

not knowing his motive, but it probably 

Left: Young camels getting topped off before going to 

work at the fair. Right: The authors enjoying the amusement 

rides at the Pushkar Camel Fair. Much better than 

the Tilt-a-Whirl any day. 



included a fist full of rupees for something. 

We were honestly hungry, so we began searching 

the streets for a likely place to grab a bite. One 

thing you learn quickly in India is to be very, very 

selective about dining. We settled on a small outdoor 

café with four or five tables. It was clean and three tables 

were filled with western tourists who seem very 

happy with the offerings, including pizza that looked 

good to us after weeks of Indian food. We ordered the 

pepperoni pizza, surprised to see it offered since most 

dining spots in town are vegetarian. 

The young man who took our order smiled when I 

wistfully mentioned my wish to wash it down with a 

beer. We settled for a bottle of water. About 15 minutes 

later our cheese pizza arrived topped not by circles 

of pepperoni, but round slices of green peppers. 

Two large coffee mugs followed. I was about to object 

when our server smiled again and pointed into the 

mugs. The contents were cold, refreshing and tasted 

very much like beer. 

The pizza was terrific and after another round of “coffee,” 

things were looking up at the Pushkar Fair. 

Opposite top: The sacred lake of Pushkar with the holy ghats in 

the background. Opposite bottom left: Color dress and turbans 

are the look of the day during the camel fair. Bottom right: The 

girl from Pushkar keeps on walking, sways so slowly and gracefully 

with a basket of veggies on her head. Top right: The dark smoky 

alleys lined with street food vendors cooking their dishes for the 

fair goers. Center: Ron and Mary James enjoying a cup of coffee 

that tastes curiously like cold beer while waiting on their faux 

pepperoni pizza shown below. Above Left: Vendors sell all varieties 

of fruits to fairgoers. 


CAMEL: ONE PREVIOUS OWNER 

BY MARK MOXON 

‘Ello there sir. 

You look like the sort of man who knows 

what he’s looking for, if I may say so. Let 

me be the first to say that you’ve come 

to the right place; here at Old Nick’s New 

and Second-Hand Camel Emporium we’ve 

20 Wine Dine & Travel Spring 2014 

got ‘em all, from super-charged top-of-therange 

ships of the desert to more affordable 

economy models. 

Now what sort of camel were you looking 

for, sir? A new one perhaps? Let’s see, your 

baby camel starts at 3 ft tall, and all you 

have to do is to feed him cow’s milk until 

he turns into one of the strapping young 

lads we’ve got over there. If you’re looking 

for a nice adult camel, we’ve got ‘em starting 

at Rs7000 and going all the way up 

to Rs20,000, depending on the strength 

and age of the model; I’m sure we can find 

something to suit your needs...

What’s that? Running costs? Well, 

you’ll get about 50km per day out of 

your average model, and all it requires 

in terms of daily consumables is 20kg 

of grass, which will cost you in the 

region of Rs100, and between 30 and 

40 litres of water, depending on the 

weather. The beauty of your camel is 

his ability to go for a week without 

any water at all, so he’s great for the 

desert; if you don’t put any water into 

him for more than a week, the oneyear 

guarantee’s null and void, but 

even the driest desert will have filling 

oases dotted about that you can get 

to in a week, believe you me. 

Maintenance is simple; as 

long as you put in the food 

and water he’ll look after 

himself, chewing the cud at 

any available moment and parking 

himself for the night without a problem. 

We recommend you tie your camel 

up for the night, just as a precaution, but 

if you do decide to let him wander then 

he won’t run off, especially if you’re good 

and regular with the feeding. I know what 

you’re thinking: how on earth can something 

with all those joints and spindly legs 

not go wrong? Well, we get an average of 

24 years out of each model, and I’m sure 

if you treat yours well he’ll give you even 

more years of satisfactory motoring. 

See those legs? Two joints and three parts 

to each one, a brilliant bit of engineering, 

I must say. Looking from the side you’ve 

got your front legs on the left that bend in 

a Z-shape, and you’ve got your back legs 

on the right that bend in an S-shape, and 

there are specially hardened pads of skin 

in the right places, especially the bits that 

rub against the ground when the camel’s 

sitting. Give the ‘sit’ command and they 

fold up in a beautiful way, one that you 

wouldn’t believe possible; the camel kneels 

on its front knees, then folds its back legs 

up, and finally tucks the rest of its front 

legs under its belly. You won’t find a system 

so well designed outside of a Swiss 

Army knife, but try to explain it in a brochure 

and it’s like trying to explain how 

a compact umbrella works to someone 

who’s never seen rain. 

At the bottom of your legs you’ve got your 

foot pads. No, they don’t need replacing 

either, or shoeing like your horse, and 

they’re good for all sorts of terrain. Look at 

him walking; they squash out like silicone 

breast implants, know what I mean sir? 

Beautiful work. 

Not as beautiful as the face, though. Look 

at those lines, with the sleek, aerodynamic 

head and long neck for reaching all those 

tasty neem leaves; did I mention that you 

can fill up for free by letting your camel find 

his own food? A nice optional extra is the 

set of long eyelashes that give your camel 

that extra bit of appeal, and along with the 

flapping ears I have to say that almost everyone 

chooses this option; a camel without 

pretty eyes is like a donkey without a 

tail, wouldn’t you say so sir? What’s that? 

No, you don’t have to worry about your 

camel looking like a female; we only sell 

male camels for transport, because if you 

take a mixture of females and males out 

into the desert, the males will fight over 

the females, so we leave the females back 

at home, just like you do in your life, sir, 

if you’ll pardon my mentioning your wife. 

And on that subject, you don’t want to involve 

your camel with females without expert 

supervision, sir; with those legs, mating 

is a sight to behold, I can tell you! You 

just bring him in for his regular servicing 

as per usual and we’ll look after the rest... 

No, he’s not in a bad mood, he just looks 

like it. Your average camel is a happy, docile 

beast; he just looks like he’s in a permanent 

sulk. It’s the lower lip, sir, hanging 

down like that all the time, as if something’s 

wrong. You look at the thing and 

all you can think of is Marvin the Paranoid 

Android or Eeyore the Donkey, 

but Terry Pratchett reckoned camels 

were the best mathematicians in the 

world, and Johnny Morris just loved 

them, so don’t judge a book by his 

cover, sir. Besides, if your camel does 

develop a bit of an attitude, tie a rope 

between his two front legs and let him 

go off into the desert with a friend, 

and they’ll wrestle it out of their systems. 

Yes, wrestle. Has to be seen to be 

believed! There they are like two lanky 

diplodocuses, wrestling. They start by 

crossing their necks, just like swords 

in a sword fight, and then the fight’s 

on. The idea is to hook your neck behind 

your opponent’s front legs, forcing 

him to kneel down. There’s lots of 

playful biting of foot pads, necks and 

tails, and a heck of a lot of noise, but 

don’t let that worry you sir, it’s quite 

harmless. If you don’t let them have 

a wrestle every now and then they might 

end up picking on someone else; I saw a 

camel try to pick up a goat in its mouth as 

a joke, but the goat didn’t see the funny 

side, if you see what I mean. 

Did I mention night-time? That’s 

when your camel gets a lot of his 

cud chewing in; camels eat their 

food plenty of times, so don’t be 

put off by the night-time noise. You’ll 

hear farts, burps, rumbles and the regular 

clock-like side-to-side chewing of his huge 

teeth, and if you’re sleeping close by it’ll 

stink like a dodgy food disposal unit in a 

blocked sink. But after a while you’ll find 

it comforting, and it’ll be the nights that 

you’re not with your camel that you’ll have 

trouble sleeping. 

So, can I put you down for one? Or would 

you like to take a test ride? There’s no manual, 

but it’s simplicity itself; steer with the 

nose-rope, and learn the commands for 

‘stop’, ‘sit’, ‘stand’ and the speed controls. 

Easy, isn’t it sir? I just know you’re going 

to love it. 

In fact, I’ve got one here that’s just perfect 

for you. One previous owner, low mileage 

and a personality that makes John Major 

look positively hyperactive. Would you 

care to make a deposit now, or would you 

like to pay cash...? 



LIFE & DEATH ON THE GANGES 

The incredible ghats of Varanasi 

BY MARK MOXON | PHOTOS BY RON JAMES 

If you had to choose one city 

to represent everything 

that is really Indian, you 

would probably choose Varanasi. 

This means it is a fascinating 

place; it also means 

it's almost impossible to 

describe on paper. 

The first area of Varanasi is the main 

business district, known as the Cantonment 

area. Almost every city has 

a Cantonment area; this was the 

Raj-era term for the administrative 

and military area of a city, and most 

cities retain the Cantonment name 

for the central part. Varanasi's core is 

also its least interesting area, so let's 

dispense with it quickly; if you want 

a train ticket or a bank, go to the Cantonment, 

otherwise you're better off 

hanging out in the two other main 

areas of town. 

Varanasi is built along the west bank 

of the Ganges, which, in an attempt 

to avoid the hills to the east in Bihar, 

turns north towards the Ghaghara 

River; this means that the river flows 

north at Varanasi, against all intuition, 

and Varanasi is perched on the 

west bank, facing into the sunrise. 

All along this bank is the second area 

of town, a long line of ghats stretching 

for some six or seven kilometres 

between the famous Benares Hindu 

University in the south and the large 

railway bridge in the north. Inland 

from the ghats, to the west, is the 

third area, the old town, where things 

start to get really interesting. It's the 

ghats and the old town that make Varanasi 

what it is. 

Arriving in Varanasi after a long train 

journey, your first experience is one 

of total confusion and disorientation. 

It is a guarantee that your rickshaw 

driver will totally ignore your instructions 

to take you to the hotel you've 

told him, and will instead stop outside 

a hotel that gives him a healthy 

Left: The faithful bathe and pray in the Ganges. 


commission; we just sat there and refused 

to budge until he started his motor up 

again and took us where we wanted to go. 

This infuriated the hotel owner who pretended 

to take our snub as a comment on his 

hotel (“Rooms very nice sir, just five minutes' 

walk to the river, very clean”) but I'm not going 

to fall for a rickshaw driver's trick this 

far into my Indian experience... so eventually 

we found ourselves dropped somewhere 

else entirely, though exactly where, we 

couldn't work out; the rickshaw driver told 

us he couldn't drive right down to the ghats 

(a lie, I later found out, as rickshaws ran over 

my toes right at the top of the steps) so we 

were left to fend for ourselves. It took us a 

long time to find what we wanted, but it was 

well worth the effort. 

The guest house I chose, Ajay's Guest House 

overlooking Rana ghat, was right on the river, 

and from its roof I got a bird's eye view of 

the banks of the Ganges (Chris and Martina 

chose a slightly more luxurious hotel away 

from the river). What surprised me most 

was how one-sided Varanasi is; the east bank 

of the river is totally untouched by buildings, 

and the few shacks built by the water's edge 

are temporary to say the least. 

The river is perhaps 200m wide in this, the 

pre-monsoon season, but there's a very wide 

silt strip on the east bank that gets totally 

flooded in the monsoon, more than doubling 

the width of the river. It's no wonder 

the east bank is unpopulated if every year 

you lose your house, but it still surprised 

me that even on the permanent part of the 

eastern bank, where scrubby trees line the 

horizon, there were no houses at all. I would 

soon discover why Varanasi is perched on 

just one bank of the river... 

Ghats are central to life in India. As part of 

their religion Hindus wash regularly – the 

Indian version of “cleanliness is next to godliness” 

– and the ghats are the place to wash 

bodies, clothes, crockery and anything else 

that gets dirty. But as I discovered in Hampi 

during the tika-scrubbing of Holi, the ghats 

are not just communal baths, they're the In- 


Top: Buddhist monks enjoying a sunrise 

boat ride. Opposite top: An inspiring experience 

for pilgrims and visitors - sunrise 

on the Ganges . Below: The ghats of Varanasi 

early in the morning.. 

dian equivalent of the local pub. Watching 

ghats through the day is instructive; they 

start to liven up before the sun rises, when 

those with early starts mingle with the particularly 

pious in a morning scrub to wake 

up the senses and rub off the smell of another 

hot, sweaty tropical night. 

The busiest time is after sunrise when everyone 

turns up for their morning ablutions 

and absolutions; kids frolic in the river, 

playing games with the tourist boats while 

their mothers start on the clothes washing 

and old men ponder how long it will be before 

they'll be floating down the river permanently. 

This is the essence of India. While the kids 

splash more water out of the Ganges than 

the monsoon puts in, a solitary man prays 

towards the sun, chanting Hindu prayers 

and scooping water up in his cupped hands, 

pouring the holy river out in a parabola in 

front of him and repeating the slow movement 

five or six times before he slowly 

turns round, holding his hands together in 


prayer and immersing himself fully, all the 

while continuing his prayers, barely audible 

in their monotonic whisper. Suddenly his 

prayer is finished, and it is as if for the first 

time he notices the cacophony around him, 

the beginning of a whole new day in India. 

While the old man prays the women are 

bathing at another end of the ghat; in some 

ghats the division of men and women is so 

obvious it hurts the morning-sensitive eyes. 

One end of the ghat is covered in brown 

bodies, scantily clad in tightly tucked cloths 

tied round the midriff and leaping around 

like lizards on a hot tile floor, and at the 

other end is the shock of colourful sarees 

and dresses that Indian women have made 

their own. 

The reason for the division is the patriarchal 

society; men can strip down to briefs that 

would make tourists on a Thai beach do a 

double take, but the women have to bathe 

in full attire, showing nothing more than 

a bit of ankle and a strip round the waist. I 

watched women having full soapy baths 

without removing a stitch, the expert slipping 

of soap under the layers a result of ritual 

and acceptance of the status quo. I can't 

imagine having a bath with my clothes on, 

and I doubt Indian men can either, but they 

make their women put up with it; it's an indication 

of the strength of the female spirit 

in India that, even during the morning wash, 

the women manage to retain their radiance 

and beauty to the shame of the dawdling 

and gangly men. It's also a poignant reminder 

that the men don't deserve their chauvinist 

domination. 

After the morning rush hour the ghats calm 

down, for the sun has come up over the horizon 

and is starting to make sure that everyone 

knows it's summer. The stone steps 

begin to heat up, the hotel rooms overlooking 

the river flood with sunlight, forcing the 

occupants to get up and open their windows, 

and the boats start to return their sightseeing 

punters back to shore. The men and 

some of the women disappear off to their 

jobs in town, and the remaining women settle 

down to another day of cooking, cleaning, 

washing, looking after the kids and catching 

up with the gossip from next door. People 

still come and wash at the ghats, and pilgrims 

still turn up to bathe in the healing 

waters of the Ganges, but until the sun has 

crossed the sky the biggest activity on the 

ghats involves catching and conning tourists, 

and the burning of bodies at the two 

burning ghats. 

Come late evening the men start to drift 


ack towards the river, now shaded from 

the sun by the buildings at the edge of the 

old city. Sitting on the steps with their portable 

stoves and socks stuffed with cheap 

tea leaves, the chai vendors make a killing 

as men come back from work and tarry 

a while before the evening meal, which 

is being slaved over by a hard-worked 

wife somewhere in the bowels of the city. 

At this time many people take another dip to 

remove the scum layer gained in the searing 

heat of the day, the kids jumping around as 

if to prove that even a long, hot day in the 

dusty atmosphere of the city streets isn't 

enough to dent their enthusiasm for life. 

Finally, as the sun goes down, the ghats have 

their last wind, and people come out to stroll 

along the promenade, to catch up on any 

Top and opposite top: Thousands of Indians crowd the 

ghats on the Ganges river celebrating life and death 

from dawn to dusk. Opposite bottom: Holy man praying 

as the sun rises over the Ganges river. Right: Rowers 

transport pilgrims and visitors for early morning 

rides up and down the Ganges. 


A celebration of life and death taking place on the burning 

ghats on the Ganges river. It’s expensive to be cremated in 

these ghats. Wood in India is an expensive and rare commodity. 

The dead are laid out wrapped in bright fabrics on 

bamboo litters waiting their turn for the fire. 

gossip they may have missed, to have another 

wash and just to sit and watch the world 

go by. Darkness falls, the lights come on, and 

slowly people drift off to bed – a lot of them 

sleeping on the ghats themselves – before 

Varanasi finally falls silent, if you ignore the 

thousands of noisily territorial dogs that 

plague urban India. 

Each ghat has its function beyond being a 

social centre. There are over one hundred 

ghats in Varanasi, and while some of them 

are crumbling and obviously not much use, 

most have a specific function. Five of the 

ghats – Asi, Dasaswamedh, Barnasangam, 

Panchganga and Maikarnika – are the special 

ghats where Hindu pilgrims must bathe 

each day, in that order; other ghats are where 

the Muslims hang out with their little skull 

caps; others are used by the dhobi-wallahs to 

thrash the clothes they've got to wash, made 

easier by the flat rocks positioned at regular 

intervals just in the water; yet another is for 

Jain worshippers, while the ascetics hang 

out at the Dandi ghat, no doubt discussing 

how long it is since they had a good meal; 

the Mir ghat leads to a temple for Nepalese 

worshippers; and others have special powers, 

such as the Somewar ghat, which is particularly 

good at healing diseases. 

Easily the most infamous ghats are Jalsain 

and Harishchandra, at least as far as 

westerners are concerned, for these are the 

burning ghats where cremations take place. 

Varanasi isn't just a city with lots of ghats 

and temples, it's a seriously holy place, so 

holy in fact that dying and having your body 

dumped in the Ganges here is so auspicious 


that it's a guaranteed way of getting to 

heaven. This strikes me as one of the more 

bizarre aspects of Hinduism; if you can get 

to heaven simply by dying in Varanasi and 

making the correct arrangements, then why 

care about karma and caste and working 

hard all your life, why not just enjoy life and 

make sure you die in Varanasi? 

But not everybody can afford to die in Varanasi. 

The wood for the cremation costs 

money, quite a lot of it, and I was told that if 

someone dies in the street, the authorities 

wait until people have thrown enough money 

onto the body before they burn it; on 

the other hand, I was also told that there's 

a dump truck that goes around collecting 

dead bodies, but whatever the truth, the 

sleeping beggars probably get a swift kick in 

the ribs every now and then, just to make 

sure they're still with us. 

I was rather paranoid about approaching 

the burning ghats, not so much because of 

the many travellers' tales I'd heard about 

cons, hassles and rip-offs there, but because 

I felt it was none of my business. What 

would you think if, just as you were standing 

in the graveyard watching your dearly 

beloved being lowered into the frozen winter 

soil, a bunch of yelping tourists came up 

and started taking pictures, saying things 

like, 'That's sick, man, check out that guy's 

burning hair!' and 'This place stinks worse 

than a butcher's shop!' I didn't want to get 

involved. 

But it's impossible to avoid the whole scene, 

and despite my misgivings, I wasn't going 


A family makes a fiery offering on 

the steps of the ghat. Opposite top: 

Scavengers look for anything of value 

left over from the cremations. Opposite 

bottom: For the living, washing 

clothes is still necessary and, in this 

case, a business in the Ganges. 

to miss out on seeing such a strange sight. 

Jalsain is the main burning ghat, and as the 

bodies are brought in by relatives on stretchers, 

entirely covered in garish red and gold 

fabrics, the clockwork efficiency of the system 

seems at odds with the importance of 

the occasion, for being cremated and scattered 

in the Ganges is the Hindu equivalent 

of being buried in Westminster Abbey. 

After the relatives wash the body in the 

Ganges for the last time, simply by dipping 

the covered body in the river, it is placed on 

top of an orderly pile of logs by the workers 

(untouchables, the lowest caste of all) who 

neatly stack more logs on top before lighting 

the pyre. It doesn't take long for the fire to 

catch, and at any one time you can see two 

or three bodies burning steadily in the river 

breeze, giving off a smell that's disturbingly 

reminiscent of a barbecue. 

A typical body takes three to four hours to 

burn, but there's always something left; for 

a woman it's the hips, and for a man the 

lower back (don't ask me why), and these are 

just chucked into the river for the dogs to 

fight over. Meanwhile the ashes are sifted by 

a man called the Watchman for gold and silver, 

which he gets to keep, and then they're 

scattered on the water (or, rather, shovelled 

in for the river to wash away later, as there's 

so much ash). The whole process is surprisingly 

efficient and hygienic; after all, cremation 

is the cleanest way to dispose of a body. 

But there's a bit of Indian logic that makes 

all this cleanliness irrelevant. Not everyone 

is burned at the ghats, oh no. Holy cows, 

children less than twelve years old and pregnant 

women are not burned because they 

are already considered pure (in the latter 

case it's the baby who is pure) and the whole 

point of the fire is to cleanse the soul on its 

way to heaven, so cremation isn't needed; 

also, lepers and people suffering from other 

diseases ('People with poisons in their body' 

was how one chap referred to it) are not 

burned, so along with the cows, children 

and pregnant women they're tied to a rock, 

rowed out into the middle of the river and 

dumped overboard. 

That sounds just fine, but Indian ropes being 

Indian ropes, these bodies soon find their 

way to the surface, and due to the gentleness 

of the current in the non-monsoon Ganges, 

they can hang around for quite some time 

before the birds and dogs finally get to them. 

During this time they tend to drift over to 

the east bank, which probably explains why 

there isn't a great deal of housing there, daily 

dead body delivery not being up there in the 

estate agent's list of desirable attributes. 

It doesn't seem to bother the locals, though. 

Despite the regular parade of dead humans 

and bloated cows floating past, everyone 

still bathes and drinks at their local ghat. 

On top of the obvious health issues raised 

by bathing with the dead, there are plenty 

of other hygienic faux pas, such as the man 


athing ten feet from another man who's 

pissing in the river, all of which is enough 

to make you more wary of the Ganges than 

you are about strangers calling you 'friend' 

and salesmen who offer you their 'best price'. 

This is a shame, because the Ganges in Varanasi 

isn't the mud-slicked quagmire you 

might expect from a river that has had to 

struggle its way through thousands of miles 

of Indians using it as a moving rubbishdump-cum-sewer; 

in fact it's a pleasant deep 

blue, and it's only on closer inspection you 

see all the rubbish collected on the banks 

and the human detritus piled up on the 

eastern side. 

Closer inspection was what I had in mind on 

my penultimate day in Varanasi. I've wanted 

to take a walk along the Ganges for some 

time, and not just because the Ganges is so 

famous; it's surprisingly elusive for such a 

long river, and most of the well-known cities 

in India have nothing to do with it. 

Setting out from my hotel, I walked south 

down the west bank to the rickety pontoon 

bridge that spans the Ganges during the dry 

season. One glance and you can see why it 

isn't used in the monsoon; it's got enough 

holes and leaks to make it a scary proposition 

even if the Ganges dries up. On the other 

side of the bridge, over on the east bank, 

is the Ram Nagar Fort, and being a sucker 

for forts, I made straight for it as the sun began 

to get serious. 

I fell into conversation with a well-spoken 

man called Ram who hailed from Andhra 

Pradesh. With his shaved head (apart from a 

tuft at the back) and tika mark he was obviously 

a Hindu, and he began to explain why 

he was in Varanasi. 

'I have just committed the bones of my 

mother to the Ganges,' he said. 'That is why 

I have my head shaved; the eldest son has it 

done as a mark of respect.' 

I offered my condolences, and asked him if 

being buried in the Ganges meant his mother 

was now in heaven. 

'Yes,' he replied. 'If a person's bones are buried 

in the Ganges at Varanasi or Allahabad 

then, as long as the bones remain in the river, 

that person will be in heaven. And with 

bones, they do not float, so he or she will 

remain in heaven forever. 

'Many American Hindus come here to be 

cremated,' he added. 'I suppose they can 

easily afford the wood, but I do wonder why 

so many western tourists come to Varanasi. 

What is the attraction for them? They are 

not Hindus, so it can't be for the pilgrimage.' 

I didn't tell him that it was probably the 

sick attraction of watching people like his 

mother burn, and instead waffled on about 

the amazing streets of the old city, the serenity 

of the Ganges and the multitude of cheap 

hotels. The only drawback was the heat, I 

said, which is why the number of tourists is 

far less in the summer. 

The east bank of the Ganges is a false one; 

dry, cracked mud stretches for a couple of 

hundred metres back from the water's edge, 

until it reaches a gradual rise where the vegetation 

can survive the monsoon without 

being washed out. I spent the first part of 

my walk in this scrubland of trees, grass and 

severe heat, a beautiful environment that is 

a total anathema to anything living. 

The sun beat down on my bush hat, pushing 

sweat out through my clothes, down the 

back of my daypack and into my eyes, and 

it wasn't long before I wistfully thought of 


Noel Coward and his uncanny accuracy. I 

enjoyed it though, not having had a good 

dry scrub walk since Australia, and when I 

spotted the plume of blue smoke from the 

main burning ghat in the distance on the 

other side of the Ganges, I headed towards 

the water to get a view of the city on the opposite 

bank. 

I soon reached the east bank, which slides 

into the murky water without ceremony or 

embankment, and the first thing I noticed 

was the smell, the familiar stench of rotting 

garbage and sewage, but this time with 

an added twinge, a sour odour of burned 

meat; the burning ghats were in full swing, 

and the wind wasn't doing me any favours. 

I remembered a body that I'd seen from a 

morning boat trip on the river a couple of 

days before – an upper half of the torso only, 

body still swathed and the face nothing but 

a cleaned skull, not hollow but not covered 

in flesh either – and prepared myself for the 

worst. I wasn't to be disappointed. 

Unlike the dogs, the people on the east bank, 

though few in number, were markedly 

friendlier than the inhabitants of the city. I 

suppose when you're surrounded by dead 

rich people who have been washed up from 

heaven, you lose a lot of your bigotries; every 

day you're reminded that we are all dust 

in the end, whatever our status in life. 

Every one of them said hello, and lots of 

them tried to start a conversation in Hindi 

(though with little success); in the city all I 

ever got was the usual chanting of 'Hello 

friend, you want cold drink/cigarettes/hotel/massage 

(delete as applicable)?' 'Hello 

friend' is an especially irritating phrase; 

'Hello mister' is simply inane and faintly 

amusing, and the normal 'Hello sir' the Indians 

use is polite and fine by me, but 'Hello 

friend'? 

Yes, the ghats are quite stunning, and make 

for some interesting walks. But behind every 

great man is a great woman, and behind 

the craziness of the ghats is the even more 

intense insanity of the old city. Like all cities 

that grow up steadily and totally unplanned, 

the old city is chaos, but it's a different sort 

of chaos from the more normal traffic and 

population clash of India's cities; in the old 

city of Varanasi the streets are seldom wider 

than eight feet, so there are no cars or rickshaws, 

and there aren't so many people. It 

sounds like heaven. 

But of course it's not. You can take the cars 

off the streets but you can't do anything 

about the cows, and with Varanasi being 

such a holy city, it's packed with wandering 

bovines. Cows, being docile beasts and 

fairly slow-moving, are not much of a problem 

as you can slide past them pretty easily, 

but 'slide' is the operative word; if you take 


the number of cows in Varanasi and think 

how many pats they drop in your average 

day, you can understand why the streets of 

Varanasi are coated in the stuff. It helps to 

keep the dust down, but it means you have 

to keep your head down when you're walking, 

especially at night. 

At night the place is transformed, and not 

just because nobody can tell what they are 

treading in. Frequent power cuts notwithstanding, 

the ill-lit arteries of the heart 

of the city provide you with plenty to see: 

peering in through a half-closed door you 

can see a father teaching his son the tools of 

his pan-making trade, the child's eyes wide 

with wonder in the flickering candlelight; 

smoke billows out of a dull red glow where 

large pots of milk boil and men manufacture 

trays of sweets, silhouetted demons sweating 

in a man-made inferno; a man stands in 

front of a statue of Ganesh, the stonework 

almost invisible under the thick layers of 

red paint smeared on it, chanting a mantra 

and holding smouldering incense sticks 

in his outstretched hands; on the steps 

around a chai shop men sit and chat away, 

their sticky glasses filled with sickly tea and 

their plates smeared with the remains of yet 

another dangerous-looking Indian snack; a 

shopkeeper squints through his half-moon 

glasses at his books by the light of a kerosene 

lamp, adding up figures in his head and 

writing down totals and stock levels with an 

old pen; and all the time the atmosphere of 

Varanasi, an indefinable feeling that permeates 

these ancient lanes, makes it all seem 

worthwhile and strangely seductive, despite 

the obvious squalor, smell and suffering. 

I challenge anybody to come to Varanasi 

and not be moved. 

As for what I actually did in Varanasi, well 

that's the funny thing. I did almost nothing, 

at least as far as traditional tourism goes. 

Varanasi is not a tourist haven in terms of 

specific sights, it's a tourist haven in terms 

of sitting and watching, and I did a lot of 

that. I wandered up and down the ghats 

staring at the scenes before me, and I visited 

temples, mosques, forts and all the other 

buildings that appealed. 

In the end, I sat amazed as the Varanasi sky 

burned around me, and in the morning realised 

that if I had to pick one place in India 

to recommend to people to visit, this would 

be it. 

Top: The bustling streets of Varanasi just off the 

Ganges river. Opposite: Hindus flock to the Ganges 

with fresh-cut sugarcane to celebrate Ganga 

Mahotsav, a major local festival celebrated in 

November. 



INCREDIBLE INDIA 

A PERSONAL TRAVEL PRIMER & PHOTOS 

by Ron & Mary James

India isn’t for the faint of heart. Even experienced 

travelers and the country’s ardent fans admit that 

it’s a challenging destination - bustling, colorful 

and exotic, but also polluted, rife with corruption 

and even a bit dangerous. 

Still our month-long visit was by far our greatest 

and most interesting travel adventure – one that 

we wouldn’t change one iota. We spent two weeks 

in Mumbai visiting family. The other 17 days were 

devoted to travel in Northern India and Nepal. 

Here are some tips for a visit to India based on our experiences. 


Is India a destination for you? Most experienced travelers 

will be able to cope – and even enjoy – the chaos 

that is India. But no matter how luxurious you make 

the trip, you’ll be exposed to all the ills there - heartbreaking 

poverty, extreme pollution, unsanitary 

conditions, trash, crumbling infrastructure, vile odors, 

animal cruelty, persistent beggars and hawkers, crazy 

driving, corruption, deception, Delhi Belly, Indian food 

and worst of all – it can be a 

wine lover’s hell. 

On the other hand, India offers 

true adventure, Indian 

food, caring friendly people, 

and fascinating destinations, 

and cultural traditions. For 

us the good far outweighed 

the bad. But if you break 

into a cold sweat when venturing 

outside your comfort 

zone, you may want to take 

your next vacation in Switzerland. 

Research and plan your adventure 

As we do for any travel, we did extensive research about India 

and Nepal using guidebooks, advice from friends and mostly 

online user-generated review communities like Trip Advisor. 

From there we decided where we want to go. 

We didn’t rough it on our odyssey. For better or worse, we opted 

for comfort when we could. And unless you’re young and 

invincible, India requires the 

support of a good tour company 

– or at the very least a great 

deal of planning and execution. 

Trusted guides and drivers also 

are essential given the traffic 

and chaotic cities. 

After extensive online research 

and contact with former clients 

we settled on a small company, 

Icon Tours based in Jaipur. 

(iconindiatours@hotmail.com) 

The feedback confirmed the 

company was affordable, professional, 

and exceptionally reliable. 

Icon arranged for drivers, 


guides, accommodations and transportation for the tour for 

less than we could have ourselves. Owner Sabu Ram, it seemed, 

never sleeps and answered our countless e-mail almost instantly. 

We adjusted the itinerary several times - a benefit of designing 

your own private tour. 

You will need a visa, which can be obtained easily online through 

the government Web site. Fees depend on your length of stay. 

TIP: Using Trip Advisor or other 

user-generated review sites. 

Trip Advisor can be one of the 

best resources for travelers but 

a little common sense makes 

it even more valuable and reliable. 

A top 10 rank or four stars 

doesn’t necessarily make it so. 

For instance, the Wild Rose, our 

camp restaurant in Pushkar, was 

touted as one of the top 10 restaurants 

in town in Trip Advisor. 

A close look at the reviews revealed 

that all the commentators 

were one shot wonders (only had 

given one review on Trip Advisor), lived in Pushkar and wrote 

in very poor English. There were no veteran reviewers or any 

from Europe or America. So most likely the reviews were posted 

by the young guys at the camp carrying our bags or working 

in the restaurant – hardly an unbiased group. 

So analyze the reviews, looking for a broad group from many 

locales with a consistent message. Then there’s a good chance 

you’re getting worthwhile 

information. Also as a rule 

throw out the very worst 

and sometimes best reviews. 

There’s always someone who 

dislikes most everything or a 

competitor pulling a fast one. 

Be Prepared 

If you’ve done your homework 

you’ll have a checklist of things 

to do and take. Here are a few 

that need attention. 

Opposite The teaming streets of New Delhi’s 

spice market streets. Opposite lower: The authors 

with Icon Travel’s Sabu Ram. 

Top: Muslim women washing in the pool of 

the The Great Mosque of Delhi, shown below. 


Health: Fortunately we didn’t have any 

significant ills on our trip other than an 

occasional GI upset due more to changes 

in diet and rigors of travel. But it’s good 

to be prepared. Obviously make sure you 

have prescriptions enough for the trip. 

Check with the CDC ( http://wwwnc.cdc. 

gov/ ) and talk with your doctor about 

necessary shots. Take over the counter 

products for the standard traveler ills. 

Chances are that any medicine you’ll 

need can be had in India, but it may not 

be convenient to find when you really 

need it. We also each carry an antibiotic 

in case we picked up something nasty. 

Use common sense when eating and 

drinking. Drink only bottled water and 

make sure the caps are sealed when 

you purchase or obtain them. We often 

asked for sparkling water, which pretty 

much assured there wasn’t tap water in 

the bottles. Don’t drink anything with 

ice; the exception is some of the nicer 

hotels that use sterile water for ice and 

food preparation. Also don’t open your 

mouth in the shower and don’t use tap 

water when brushing your teeth. 

Sunscreen and mosquito repellent are 

essential. We were in India during the 

dry season, which has a reduced mosquito 

population, but the disease-carrying 

pests were still abuzz in rural and 

urban areas, particularly in slums. An 

excellent Indian product, Odomos skin 

cream (www.odomoscream.com) smells 

good, is easy on the skin and effective. 

Find it at almost any Indian shop or 

store selling health care products or order 

online before you leave. 

Money: The national currency is the 

Indian Rupee (Rs), which is divided into 

100 paise. The Rupee exchange rate has 

been volatile recently, dropping significantly 

against the Euro, Pound and 

Dollar. Visit www.xe.com for up-to-date 

currency conversions. 

Plan to use cash when shopping in the 

markets and bazaars. Keep small denom- 


inations of Rs20, 50 and 100 on hand for 

purchases and cab and rickshaw fares. 

Many drivers and merchants are unable 

or unwilling to change Rs500 bills. Tourist 

hotels are good places to get change 

for larger bills. Credit cards are accepted 

in big outlets and most restaurants and 

hotels. There are ATM machines in the 

main shopping areas, but they are not always 

reliable. 

Shopping: Shopping is a joy in India 

where all manner of locally made crafts 

and goods are available and inexpensive. 

In some stores, especially official state 

souvenir stores, prices are fixed and 

higher. In general, if items don’t have 

price tags, shopkeepers expect to bar- 

Opposite: Colorfully dressed farm women taking a 

break and greeting us from the roadside. 

Top: Typical street food stop in the slums of Mumbai. 

Right: The enormous and infamous Dharavi slums 

where parts of the movie Slumdog Millionaire were 

filmed. 


gain. Do some comparison shopping first to assess 

going prices. When you start bargaining, offer 50 to 

75 percent below the asking price. You may have to 

walk away to pull prices down. As a rule, don’t begin 

bargaining unless you’re really interested in buying; 

it’s bad form to waste a shopkeeper’s time and effort. 

As part of a tour, your driver or guide may take you 

to certain merchants. Be aware that he or she may 

get a commission for bringing you there. Let them 

know in advance if you’re not interested in shopping 

or would like to see specific goods. 

Communication: India has a relatively sophisticated 

telephone and Internet system and most hotels 

have decent WIFI systems. T-Mobile offers a monthto-month 

program that allows unlimited web access 

and reasonable phone rates for $50 a month. Most 

hotels also have business centers and executive 

lounges with Internet connectivity. 

Accommodations: From opulent suites fit for Sultans 

to spare hostiles for the back packers– all are 

available in India. Icon Tours booked us into mostly 

five-star which equal the best hotels in the States 


and are a better value. The Nahargarht, our hotel in 

Ranthambohr, our base camp for tiger watching in 

vain, was particularly stunning, resembling a sultan’s 

palace. It also served the best food, with the 

outdoor BBQ dinner being the most spectacular. 

Check to see if your hotel offers an executive upgrade 

for an extra $25 to $30 nightly. The program usually 

includes an upgraded room, shuttle service, special 

meal service and a happy hour with complementary 

food and drinks. Given the high cost of wines, this 

easily pays for itself after a couple drinks. 

The Loo: Let’s face it, one of the top issues on every 

traveler’s mind is the facilities - the men’s and 

ladies’ rooms. And deservedly so. Public facilities in 

this country are challenging and in many cases disgusting. 

Most Indians lack indoor plumbing, which 

explains the countless men you’ll see pissing in the 

Opposite top: Shopping for stunning India textiles in Jaipur. 

Opposite bottom: All kinds of fascinating treasures to be found 

in Mumbai’s Thieve’s Market. Top: The amazing palatial resort 

Nahargarht in Ranthambore. Right: Mary shows off our humble 

room at Nahargarht. 


wind along the roadside. 

Of course, hotels and airports will have the most modern facilities. 

If you’re on the road, rely on your experienced guide 

and driver to know which stops will offer western toilets, 

whether gas stations, restaurants (including chains like Mc- 

Donalds, Starbucks or KFC) or souvenir shops. When exploring 

urban area, hotels are a good choice for bathroom breaks. 

These facilities, as well as those in some airports, have a full 

time tender. A tip of five or 10 rupees is appreciated and even 

expected. 

Food & Drink: 

We loved the Indian food for the most part, but after a couple 

of weeks, I would have traded my sunscreen for a taco. Vegetarian 

food is the norm here; if there is meat in the dish, it’s 

usually chicken or mutton. Beef is rare in India since cows are 

sacred. But you’ll be able to find a steak or pork chop in most 

hotel dining rooms. 

Chicken tikka masala proved to be one of our favorites. We 

also loved the fresh grilled flat bread called nan. Masala, we 

learned, is not a sauce or preparation. Instead it’s a ground 

spice mix that varies with the dish. Countless variations of 

packaged masala mixes are sold in spice shops in every neighborhood. 

To avoid Delhi Belly, stay away from street food and cut 

fresh fruits and vegetables. We usually enjoyed breakfast at 

our hotel, which included western favorites. Dinner was often 

snacks at the hotel’s executive club or restaurant, since 

we were too exhausted from touring for more exploring. In 

Mumbai, we discovered some superb fine dining restaurants 

and buffets with menus ranging from French to Asian that 

satisfied Western tastes. Before dining out, check with the 

hotel concierge or Trip Advisor. India also has a version of 

Yelp that can be helpful in your search. 

Wine, beer and spirits: 

Beer lovers rejoice. Beer is the alcoholic drink of choice in 

India and is available almost anywhere – even in areas with 

bans on alcohol. Kingfisher is a popular brand, but Heineken 

and even some America brands were available in many cities. 

Hard liquor also is for sale throughout India in hotels and tiny 

shops in almost every little town where it is legal. To avoid 

bootlegged liquor being sold in brand-name bottles, make 

sure the cap hasn’t been tampered with and is sealed when 

you buy. 

Wine, our drink of choice, was a real challenge to enjoy in In- 


The authors trying to keep their balance after a 

ride on a cute elephant at Amber Fort in Jaipur. 

Opposite An amazing outdoor feast at the Nahargarht 

in Ranthambohr.. 

dia. We found wine to be very expensive and often undrinkable. 

A local wine like Sula, for example, tasted like Two Buck 

Chuck, but cost around $40 a bottle ( due to high-government 

tarrifs). Buying wine in small beverage shops is problematic, 

since most don’t have air conditioning and wine suffers in the 

extreme heat. That’s why our wine time turned into martini 

time in India. 

Traffic: 

Traffic is a disaster in most Indian cities, with Mumbai taking 

the prize for road insanity. Indian drivers communicate with 

their horns – all the time. Stop signs, traffic lanes and stop 

lights are mere suggestions unless there’s a policeman in view. 

Indians drive on the right side of the road and don’t stop for 

pedestrians as much as weave around them. If you’re going 

to cross the street a good tip is to look for locals crossing the 

road and walk with them. 

Beggars and Cons: 

People hustling or begging for money are unfortunate facts of 

life in this country with its extreme poverty. In Mumbai, they 

were especially prevalent around the tourist-favorite Gateway 

of India. In general, don’t give in, even if a beggar with infant 

in arms follows you for blocks. The best strategy is to ignore 

them in silence and walk on. 

Rapes and worse in India have grabbed headlines recently. 

While we found India to be safe, we had a driver and guide to 

help keep us out of trouble. Use common sense while traveling 

anywhere. Avoid walking alone and keep valuables secure 

in the hotel safe. 

End of the road: 

The advice and observations in this feature come from not 

only our India experiences but our many other travels around 

the globe. We hope they are helpful. As we noted in the beginning, 

India is not for the faint of heart. But despite the challenges 

and deep emotions travel here will engender, the trip is 

worth it. If you plan your trip and know what to expect, a visit 

to this crazy, exotic land will be the highlight of your travels as 

well. Namaste, my friend. 

Namaste: an ancient Sanskrit greeting still in everyday 

use in India and Nepal. Roughly, it means “I bow to the 

God within you”, or “The Spirit within me salutes the Spirit 

in you” - a knowing that we are all made from the same 

One Divine Consciousness. 


THE BACKWATERS OF 

KERALA 

Easing into India on the M.V. Vrinda 

photo courtesy Kerala Tourism 

Story & Photos by Priscilla Lister 

We eased our way into India by cruising 

slowly on the backwaters of Kerala. 

This state in southwest India is another world from the teeming 

cities of that country’s northern regions. It remains a 

rich agricultural region that earned early fame on the Spice 

Trail, attracting traders from the West as long ago as the third 

century B.C. Its commercial 

capital, Cochin, known as 

the Queen of the Arabian 

Sea, possesses one of the 

finest natural harbors in the 

world. And its scenic backwaters 

have been one of the 

nation’s favorite getaways, 

which Indians call “God’s 

own country.” 

Surely there’s no better way 

to ease out of jet lag and begin 

the journey to this fabled 

subcontinent than on a rice boat, a popular vacation pastime 

in these southern waters. So we chose the finest rendition 

available, the Motor Vessel Vrinda, operated by Oberoi Hotels, 

which brings a new level of luxury to cruising these canals. 

Traditional teak rice boats ply these waters to carry crops like 

basmati rice, coconuts and spices. Some of these boats simply 

harvest the empty oyster-like shells that cover the bottoms 

of lakes, which are then used to make local cement and 

gravel products. And increasingly these days, their distinctive 

woven-reed roofs made from coconut palms now commonly 

shelter floating inns. 

The M.V. Vrinda is modeled after 

these traditional rice boats, 

but adds significant elegance. 

It houses eight commodious 

staterooms on one level, with 

dining and patio facilities on 

the second level. On the outdoor 

third level, the Vrinda’s 

roof, we sat on cushions or 

chairs and simply watched this 

quiet tropical world drift by. 

Every staff member on the intimate 

Vrinda was exceptionally 

caring yet unobtrusive. And the meals created in the galley 

kitchen by an amazingly gifted crew began our adventure 

with Indian cuisine. The cuisine of Southern India is distinctive 

from that in the north, and naturally features abundant 

fish, coconut and those famed spices. 


Kerala specialties include prawns cooked 

in a coconut curry sauce; searfish (a local 

freshwater fish) cooked in coconut sauce 

with turmeric, ginger and curry leaves; 

fried pearlspot, another local freshwater 

fish, marinated in ginger and chilies; and 

raw bananas sauteed with garlic, onions 

and crushed chilies. Appam, a traditional 

rice pancake, is a common accompaniment. 

Masala dosa, a crisp rice pancake filled with 

mildly spiced potatoes and served with coconut 

chutney, is a favorite breakfast dish. 

Our first night on the Vrinda gave us a 

spectacular sunset. And just before dinner, 

we were given a Mohiniattam recital in the 

open-air lounge. 

Mohiniattam is a classical dance distinctive 

to Kerala. Also called the “Dance of the 

Enchantress,” this performance featured a 

trio of musicians and a narrator describing 

the stories behind the dances performed 

by two beautifully costumed young women. 

Even though we didn’t understand the language, 

the exaggerated expressions on the 

dancers’ faces left no doubt as to the meaning 

of the stories -- love and loss are indeed 

universal. 

The next day we transferred into a smaller 

rice boat, also built by Oberoi for this activity, 

so we could enter even narrower 

waterways. A local guide, Joyce, joined us 

onboard that day to tell us about life in this 

region. As we’d meander through the narrow 

waterways, viewing the brightly painted, 

tidy homes, children would run along 

the paths as our boat cruised by, smiling 

and waving with gusto. 

The most exciting thing we saw was a snake 

boat. Manned by 100 oarsmen, four helmsmen 

and several singers who yell out the 

pace, these traditional 130-foot-long snake 

boats are raced today in what’s called the 

largest team sport in the world. We didn’t 

see a race, but we did see the amazing sight 

of a fully manned snake boat. 

When we landed back in Cochin (also 

known as Kochi), we spent the day sightseeing 

with Ajitha, an excellent Cox & Kings 

guide, who told us that since the 15th century, 

the Portuguese, Dutch, French and 

British have all left their marks on Cochin. 

Cox & Kings is the world’s largest-running 

travel company that has been designing 

and leading luxurious worldwide journeys 

since 1759. The company began in India 

and its guides are easily among the best 

you can find throughout that entire country. 

Local experts provide insights and experiences 

that are simply illuminating in a 

way that you couldn’t achieve on your own. 

In the 1500s, Ajitha told us, Cochin became 

home and a safe harbor to Jews, especially 

after the Iberian inquisition. In Jew Town, 

we visited the Jewish synagogue, the oldest 

synagogue in Asia, which was built in 

1568. Sadly, its roster today is down to 11 

people, dwindling each year as the population 

of Jews decreases. We also saw the St. 

Francis Church, the oldest church in the 

country, built in 1510. The Dutch palace at 

Mattancherry was built here in 1555. 

Another fascinating fact about Kerala, 

Ajitha told us, is that many of its industries 

were nationalized in the last 25 years by a 

democratically elected communist government, 

which has resulted in one of the largest 

middle classes in India. 

She said proudly that virtually everyone in 

Opposite top: The people of Southern India’s Kerala 

region still practice traditional forms of agriculture and 

fishing. Opposite bottom: The M.V. Vrinda is an elegant 

vessel owned and operated by the Oberoi Hotels to ply 

the fascinating waters of Kerala in southern India. 

Top: Traditional dancers backed by a trio of musicians 

entertained us onboard the M.V.Vrinda in Kerala. 

Bottom: The food aboard M.V. Vrinda during our cruise 

in Kerala was consistently excellent. Even the finger 

bowls were works of art. 


Kerala has a cell phone and Internet connection, 

and its literacy rate (90.92 percent 

for all people there) and life expectancies 

(68.23 for males and 73.62 for females) are 

well above all India levels. 

We stayed at the Trident Hilton in Cochin, 

an excellent hotel with beautifully 

landscaped gardens on Willingdon Island, 

about 20 minutes from the city center. 

One of its finest features is its Ayurveda 

Centre that offers many single or multipleday 

treatments. 

Ayurveda is an ancient healing tradition 

that began in India about 600 B.C. It seeks 

to achieve an optimum balance between 

mind, body and spirit. Ayurvedic procedures 

are done either to detoxify the body 

or to help strengthen its immune system. 

I experienced the rejuvenation massage 

and steam bath wherein two masseurs 

massaged my body with special medicated 

oils before securing me in an herbal steam 

bath. It was a unique massage experience. 

The Kerala experience was surely the most 

relaxing way to begin a journey to India. 

IF YOU GO 

Check availability at Oberoi Hotels’ 

web site for its M.V.Vrinda: http://www. 

oberoihotels.com/oberoi_vrinda/. A 

two-night, three-day cruise is about 

$750 for two people, all meals and excursions 

included. 

The Trident Hotel, Cochin: http://www. 

tridenthotels.com/cochin/hotel.asp. A 

single night begins at about $100 in 

this elegant, contemporary hotel with 

77 rooms and eight suites. 

To hire local guides throughout India, 

including Cochin, go to http://www. 

coxandkingsusa.com and find the best 

local experts available. 

Top: We transferred to a smaller vessel to cruise the 

narrow canals of Kerala, where we got really close 

observations of the traditional ways of life there. 

Middle: The 100-man crew in a snakeboat gets 

ready to race on the waters of Kerala in southern 

India. Bottom: Traditional rice boats are common 

sights on the waters of Kerala in southern India. 


Susan McBeth’s 

TRAVEL BY THE BOOK 

Oleander Girl by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni 

You may not be familiar with the Bengali word for oleander, 

but the sub-tropical korobi is instantly recognizable 

for its fragrant and showy pink blossoms enveloped 

in long, leathery, dark-green leaves. 

Believed to be native to India, the korobi is known for its 

three legendary characteristics: hardiness, beauty, and toxicity. 

Tough enough to withstand extreme heat and tolerant of 

drought and poor soil, it seems ironic that this toxic shrub 

was the first floral to bloom after the decimation of Hiroshima. 

Not surprisingly, it quickly became a symbol of hope and 

beauty, symbolism which is deftly utilized by bestselling author 

Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni in her most recent book, Oleander 

Girl (Simon & Schuster: March 2013) 

Korobi’s confusion, betrayal, and anger at her grandparents 

for lying to her for seventeen years is compounded when Korobi 

has a particularly disturbing dream in which her dead 

mother appears as an apparition and points at something beyond 

the horizon. Korobi interprets this as a message that she 

must travel to the United States in search of her true roots. 

Korobi explains to her fiancé why she must delay the wedding 

to travel to America. However, Rajat and his family are not 

as understanding as she hoped they would be, which makes 

her second-guess her decision to marry at all. Determined 

more than ever to make the trip unchaperoned, her plans are 

thwarted when her grandfather dies unexpectedly, revealing 

another secret about the state of the family’s finances. Compounding 

Korobi’s grief is her guilt that she caused her grandfather 

to suffer a fatal heart attack. 

We are introduced to Divakaruni’s eponymous 

protagonist Korobi Roy at age seventeen 

as she is about to celebrate her engagement 

to the handsome Rajat. As the sole 

heir to his family’s seemingly successful art 

gallery business, he is the ideal match according 

to the tradition-bound grandparents who 

raised the orphaned Korobi. 

An only child being reared by her grandparents 

in a distinguished Kolkata household 

after her father was killed in an automobile 

crash and her mother died in childbirth, Korobi 

nevertheless enjoys a relatively carefree 

life until she stumbles upon an unfinished 

love letter written by her mother to her father 

that was hidden inside a book of poetry. 

Although Korobi is anxious to marry, she senses the letter 

holds the key to the secrets she has always sensed that her 

protective grandparents have not disclosed to her, and she 

is hesitant to marry before she discovers the truth. Korobi 

questions her grandparents and, unable to withstand her guilt 

any longer, Korobi’s grandmother divulges to Korobi that her 

father, an American, is actually still alive. 

The love letter, together with this shocking new development, 

awaken in Korobi the drive to finally unveil the toxic secrets 

being kept from her. She dreams of one day sharing the pure 

love expressed in the letter her mother wrote to her father, 

but doesn’t feel she will be able to achieve that without discovering 

her true identity. 

Meanwhile, Rajat’s family-owned business 

is struggling with its share of wildcat 

strikes, picket lines, violence, and 

fear of bankruptcy. Without an investor 

to help them ride out these challenges, 

they may lose everything, but they believe 

an investor they are courting will 

be more inclined to help if Rajat and Korobi 

marry. They thus place undue pressure 

on Korobi to abandon her trip to 

America and immediately wed their son. 

Utilizing the strong roots inherent in 

the botanical for which she was named, 

Korobi makes the difficult decision to 

undertake the trip despite objections 

from all her loved ones. She will need 

much courage when her search quickly 

uncovers more poisonous secrets, challenges, and will ultimately 

require her to make the most difficult decision of her 

life. 

Divkaruni’s trademark lyrical prose paints a beautiful backdrop 

of Indian culture through which the reader explores one 

young woman’s coming-of-age journey through secrets, love, 

betrayal, the caste system, religion, and ultimately the understanding 

of who she is and why her mother named her after 

the beautiful, strong korobi. 

Whether you are planning a trip to India, or perhaps just 

dreaming of one, Oleander Girl will provide an enjoyable read 

that melds the past and present of this fascinating culture. 

~ By Susan McBeth 


THE ENLIGHTENED TRAVELER 

WHY YOU SHOULD SAY NO TO BEGGARS 


Anyone who’s taken a Caribbean 

cruise or visited one of the 

world’s less affluent countries 

has been approached – sometimes 

even mobbed – by children begging for 

money. Many are dirty and obviously hungry. 

Some are disabled and/or disfigured. 

It’s hard to resist dropping a few coins into 

their small hands, but Pakistan native and 

child advocate Zulfiqar Rashid says we 

must. 

“Crime rings around the world traffic in 

children for use as beggars, and they will 

starve or maim the children to elicit more 

sympathy – and money,” says Rashid, who 

writes about a particularly cruel form of 

this in “The Rat-boys of Karalabad,” (www. 

zulfiqarrashid.com). The title refers to 

children in Indo Asian countries whose 

heads are tightly bound when they’re very 

young resulting in stunted brains and terrible 

disfigurement. The children are then 

put to work as beggars. 

“When you give money to child beggars, 

it may well help fund the perpetuation 

of this industry – more kidnapping, 

more children starved and maimed,” says 

Rashid. “Even if the children are not working 

for mafia types, giving them money or 

gifts gives them incentive to stay on the 

streets instead of going to school, which is 

the only way out of poverty.” 

Instead, consider helping those children 

with a gift that can truly save their lives 

through one of these charities. Each has 

a four-star rating – the highest possible – 

from Charity Navigator, a non-profit that 

provides objective evaluations of charities: 

• Save the Children helps children and 

their families help themselves by fighting 

poverty, hunger, illiteracy and disease in 

the United States and around the world on 

a daily basis. It also responds to disasters, 

providing food, medical care and education, 

and staying in ravaged communities 

to help rebuild. This charity spent more 

than 91 percent of its revenues on its 

programs and services in 2011. (Charity 

Navigator finds most charities spend 65 to 

75 percent on the programs they exist to 

provide.) 

• Kids Around the World provides safe play 

equipment for children in areas where, because 

of war, natural disasters and poverty, 

it’s hard to be a kid. The faith-based charity 

also trains and equips churches and Sunday 

school teachers around the world to visually 

share the Bible with the children in their 

communities. More than 90 percent of its 

budget went to its programs and services 

in 2011. 

• Invisible Children, Inc. rescues and rehabilitates 

children who have been kidnapped 

and used as soldiers or sex slaves for the 

rebel Lord’s Resistance Army, led by Joseph 

Kony, in Central Africa. By Invisible Children’s 

count, more than 30,000 children 

have been abducted. Many are forced to 

commit brutal atrocities, including killing 

their parents with machetes. Invisible Children 

says it “exists to bring a permanent 

end to LRA atrocities.” In the 2011-12 fiscal 

year, it spent more than 81 percent of its 

budget on programs and services. 

• Feed My Starving Children provides 

MannaPack meal formulas, developed 

by food scientists to reverse and prevent 

malnutrition, to missions and humanitarian 

organizations in more than 55 

countries. The food is then distributed 

to orphanages, schools, clinics and feeding 

programs. In 2012-13, the faith-based 

charity delivered 163 million meals with 

the help of more than 657,000 volunteers. 

Countries served include Haiti, Nicaragua, 

the Philippines and North Korea. More 

than 87 percent of revenues go toward 

programs and services. 

About Zulfiqar Rashid 

Zulfiqar Rashid was born in Pakistan and 

now resides in southern California. As 

a regular contributor to various newspapers, 

Rashid has written extensively, 

recounting his travels to Pakistan, and 

about major figures in the Pakistani artistic 

and cultural scene. 


GREAT AMERICAN COMMUNITIES 

rancho santa fe 

The Covenant at 92067 

Story and Photos by Ron James 

What do Mary Pickford, 

Douglas Fairbanks Jr., 

Sean White, Bill Gates, Janet Jackson, 

Phil Mickelson and Beach Boy Mike 

Love have in common, other than 

wealth? The answer is all are a part of a 

very select gang who live or have lived in 

one of the 1,700 households in ZIP code 

92067 – Rancho Santa Fe. 

The countryfied community fills 6,200 

acres just six miles from the Pacific 

Ocean in San Diego’s north county. In 

2011, Forbes magazine named it the 

fourteenth most expensive ZIP code 

in the United States with a median 

home sale price of $2,585,000. Locals 

have their own name for the enclave, 

including, “The Ranch” and “The Covenant”; 

those who wish they could 

live there dub it “Rancho Smancho.” 

The core of Rancho Santa Fe is governed 

by The Covenant, kind of a high-end 

homeowners association that also rules 

the golf course, tennis facility, riding 

club, garden club, library guild, book 

club and 50 miles of riding trails that are 

available to members. “The Covenant” 

of Rancho Santa Fe is registered as a 

California Historical Landmark for its 

status as a historic planned community. 

Visitors driving in to see how the rich 

and famous live usually are disappointed. 

Mansions on minimum two-acre es- 


Photo courtesy of Rancho Santa Fe Polo Club 

Photo courtesy of Rancho Santa Fe Country Club 

tates are tucked away behind trees, tall 

walls and gates. The few you can see are 

simple ranch or Spanish-style homes, 

many reflecting the style instituted by 

architect Lilian Rice during the Ranch’s 

development in the 1920s. What nonresidents 

can enjoy is the charming 

village in the center of the community 

that serves residents and those who 

want to be a part of it. 

The centerpiece of Rancho Santa Fe is 

The Inn at Rancho Santa Fe, also designed 

by Lilian Rice. The landmark hotel 

sits atop a gently sloping lawn that 

connects it with the main street of the 

village. At one time, shops there offered 

a wide array of merchandise for visitors 

and the locals. Today the village is dominated 

by real estate offices of every 

stripe, banks and financial services, a 

couple of small galleries, jewelry stores, 

styling salons and several restaurants. 

If like me, you like to explore real es- 

Opposite top: The sloping garden pathway from 

the Inn at Rancho Santa Fe leads to the heart of 

the Village. Top: Polo players from the Rancho 

Santa Fe Polo Club get ready for a match. Above: 

The greens of the exclusive Rancho Santa Fe 

Country Club. 


tate opportunities everywhere you go, 

you’ll be greatly entertained by photos 

of grand estates covering storefronts 

throughout the village. 

If you’re in town from May through October, 

you can catch the jet-set action at 

the San Diego Polo Club situated on 60 

acres of land in Rancho Santa Fe. The organization 

even offers a free polo lesson 

for aspiring players. Polo matches are 

presented to the public every Sunday, 

beginning at 1 p.m. ( www.sandiegopolo. 

com. ) 

History buffs will want to stop by the 

Rancho Santa Fe Historical Society located 

in the historic La Flecha house, 

one of Rice’s first designs. The society 

offers a free walking tour map of historic 

buildings around the village. (www.ranchosantafehistoricalsociety.org 

) 

A drugstore/liquor store carries low-to 

mid-level mostly domestic wines while 

a fair-sized gourmet market displays 

$100-plus wines on aisle ends, instead 

of Pepsi. There are about a half-dozen 

first-class eateries in town that cater to 

locals and tourists alike. 

As the heart of the community, the village 

draws locals who come to pick up 

mail, gather at Thyme in the Ranch for 

breakfast or lunch or enjoy happy hour 

cocktails and dinner at the local dining 

spots. For visitors it’s a great place 

stretch your legs and people watch, or 

try one of the fine restaurants in town. 

If you have a really fat wallet and like 

the looks of the ranch, you may want 

to check into the Inn for a week or two. 

There’s no shortage of realtors to show 

you around. 

Top: The Rancho Santa Fe Historical Society located in 

the historic La Flecha house. Center: Colorful flower 

pots line the window at Thyme in the Ranch. Right: 

The village of Rancho Santa Fe dominated by real 

estate and financial offices. Opposite top: Mille Fleurs 

Executive Chef Martin Woesle and Tom Chino, owner 

of Chino Farms tasting strawberries. Opposite bottom: 

The elegant dining room at Mille Fleurs. 


anch food & drink 

While the community 

of Rancho 

Santa Fe 

certainly has a high profile 

in Southern California, 

its restaurant scene 

is pretty much under the 

radar. 

That’s too bad, because from my experiences 

the eateries in the Village and immediate 

surrounding area rank in the top 

tier of dining clusters in California. The 

Rancho Santa Fe residents know what 

they have. They are successful, know 

value and are pretty restaurant savvy, 

and you can find them filling the dining 


ooms here almost every night. Talented 

chefs, beautiful restaurants and incredibly 

fresh source ingredients make for a 

food lover’s paradise. 

During our recent stay at the Inn at Rancho 

Santa Fe we had an opportunity to 

experience three of the highest profile 

dining spots in the area. Each was terrific 

and each had its personality and 

highlights. We had a grand prix fix lunch 

at Mille Fleur, a stunning dinner at the 

Inn at Rancho Santa Fe’s Morada and 

a fun and tasty happy hour evening at 

Delicias. You can’t beat this happy hour, 

great finger food and drinks, including 

martinis for five bucks. 

One thing they all have in common is 

sourcing their produce and protein from 

local sustainable farms and ranches. 

And most go down the road a mile or so 

to world famous Chino Farms for justpicked 

produce for their daily menus. 

Here’s a short list of restaurants we 

would recommend in the Village. 

Mille Fleurs Restaurant 

$$$$ French 

6009 Paseo Delicias 

Phone (858) 756-3085 

Morada 

$$$ American (Traditional) 

5951 Linea Del Cielo 

(858) 381-8289 

Delicias Restaurant 

$$$ American (New) 

6106 Paseo Delicias 

(858) 756-8000 

Veladora 

$$$$ American (New), Italian 

5921 Valencia Circle 

(858) 759-6216 

Dolce Pane E Vino 

$$ Italian, Wine Bars 

16081 San Dieguito Rd. 

(858) 832-1518 

Thyme In The Ranch 

$$ Breakfast & Brunch, Sandwiches, 

Bakery 

16905 Avenida De Acacias 

(858) 759-0747 


Opposite top: The dining room at Delicias restaurant. 

Opposite bottom: Delicious chicken wings at Delicias’ 

happy hour. Top center: Country sophisticated dining 

area at Thyme In the Ranch. Top right: Deviled 

eggs with blue cheese at Thyme in the Ranch. Left: 

The Bistro at Rancho Santa Fe. 


Comfort & Character 

The inn at rancho santa fe 

By Ron & Mary James 

We love a hotel with character. 

When we travel, we 

avoid the ubiquitous chain, whether it’s 

five-star or not. So we were very excited 

as we drove the winding, eucalyptuslined, 

two-lane road into Rancho Santa 

Fe to check into The Inn at Rancho Santa 

Fe, a Southern California icon with character 

to spare. Our destination was just 

30 minutes north of San Diego International 

Airport and minutes from the 

beaches and the upscale seaside towns 

of Del Mar, Solana Beach, and La Jolla. 

Everything about this fabled hotel was 

fascinating, from its architect, Lilian 

Rice, to the rich and famous who walked 

its grounds and resided there over the 

course of 90-plus years. This was the 

temporary home for hundreds of stars 

and celebrities such as Bing Crosby, 

America's Sweetheart Mary Pickford, 

Hollywood hero Douglas Fairbanks Jr., 

and even Bill Gates and architect Frank 

Lloyd Wright. The stories the walls could 


“...The Inn at Rancho Santa 

Fe, a Southern California icon 

with character to spare. 

” 

tell – and now we would be a part of the 

hotel’s history. 

The newly restored Inn at Rancho Santa 

Fe is located on 21 acres of landscaped 

grounds including flowering gardens, 

lush lawns and winding pathways between 

cottages, guest rooms and suites. 

Although it’s a luxury hotel with all of 

Opposite top: A row of the Inn’s Spanish-style cottages. 

Bottom: Cocktails at The Inn’s pool. Above: 

Country casual and cozy living area of one of the 

Inn’s suites. Right: The dramatic entrance to the 

Morada restaurant. 



Top: One of the elegant but comfortable 

rooms at The Inn . Left: The peaceful courtyard 

of the Inn’s spa. Right: A couple begins 

an evening of celebration at the original 

entrance to The Inn.

the trimmings, it has an unpretentious 

and easy-going character that instantly 

made us feel at home. Cottages scattered 

through the gardens made it feel 

like a peaceful enchanted village rather 

than a hotel. 

After a quick and friendly welcome, we 

settled into our home for the next three 

days. The spare Spanish-influenced architecture 

of the exterior of our room 

belied the country-inspired sophistication 

of our large suite, complete with a 

full-sized kitchen, a large bedroom, two 

desks and a spacious living room highlighted 

by a working, wood-burning 

fireplace and balcony. We also enjoyed 

speedy WIFI that worked without a 

password, two large, flat-screen TVs, 

and a professional-looking espresso 

machine that needed a professional to 

figure it out. Complimentary wine and 

cheese fortified us before we set out to 

explore the hotel and grounds. 

The interior design of public areas of the 

hotel is impressive, reflecting the same 

casual ranch elegance as the room with 

a little more contemporary feel. A giant 

fireplace with a roaring fire and impressive 

paintings anchored the main lobby 

and entrance to the Morada restaurant, 

a hidden culinary gem. The recent major 

renovation included enhancing The 

Inn’s arrival experience at the front 

parking area, constructing a new meeting 

space, adding new private dining 

rooms and planting event lawns, herb 

and produce gardens. 

Mary enjoyed a treatment at the recently 

opened The Spa at The Inn, a new 

3,000 square-foot full-service spa and 

relaxation courtyard that offers guests 

and residents a place to relax and be 

pampered. Private walking tours of the 

village, with Lilian Rice biographer Diane 

Welch, may be booked through the 

Spa. 

One highlight of our stay was our leisurely 

dinner at Morada. Its elegant, 

softly lit interior further embraces the 

Inn's past with historic photos of famous 

guests featured on one great wall. 

The dining room is large but cozy, with 

comfortable seating and acoustics. Patio 

dining, perfect for warm days, fronts 

the wide green lawn and village. 

Executive Chef Todd Allison’s take on 

California cuisine was fresh and inspired. 

His signature sea bass dish blew 


60 Wine Dine & Travel Spring 2014 Photos courtesy of The Inn at Ranchos Santa Fe

me away. The plate included local honey 

and white soy glazed fresh sea bass, 

braised pak choy, ruby grapefruit and 

kaffir lime polenta. All of the dishes we 

sampled reflected the seasonally fresh 

ingredients from local sustainable farms 

and farmers markets as well as from an 

edibles and herb garden on Inn property. 

The wine and food service was professional 

and friendly and the wine selections 

for each course were spot on. Allison 

and Morada should be on everyone’s 

list, for visitors here during Del Mar racing 

season or locals seeking a relaxing 

night out. We can’t stay every month at 

the Inn but we sure plan a return to enjoy 

the restaurant. 

Our three days at The Inn didn’t disappoint. 

Accommodations were infused 

with charm and character. The staff 

was friendly, professional and kickback 

ranch. And Morada restaurant was 

world class. But it was the feeling that 

we were there in spirit with giants of another 

era that made this experience one 

to remember and savor. 

Opposite : Honey and soy glazed sea bass with grapefruit 

and kaffir lime polenta. 

Top: Wall of the Morada dining room covered with 

historic photos of celebrity guests and events. 

Left: Flat-bread pizza with just-picked veggies and pepperoni. 

Above: Morada Executive Chef Todd Allison. 


“THE ranch” 

By Diane Welch 

The Star-Studded History of Rancho Santa Fe 

Ma j e s t i c a l l y 

a p p o i n t e d 

The Inn at Rancho Santa Fe 

represents the gateway to 

the Ranch. Constructed on 

a gently sloping knoll, the 

sole hotel in Rancho Santa 

Fe was once the nerve center 

for prospective buyers 

to purchase large lots of 

land in the newly forming 

community. Marketed as 

“gentlemen ranchos” these 

large acre lots attracted 

visitors, who traveled from 

distant locations like New 

York, Chicago and Pennsylvania, 

into investing their 

fortunes in the former 

Spanish Land Grant rancho. 

Visitors were comfortably 

accommodated at the newly 

constructed Guest House as 

The Inn was first known in 1923 when it 

officially opened for business in March. 

Less a hotel, more a home-away-fromhome, 

the hotel was tastefully decorated 

in a restrained Spanish style to create 

an ambiance of casual elegance that 

was reminiscent of a European hostelry 

or bed and breakfast, a far cry from the 

luxurious, often ostentatious hotels 

usually associated with an affluent and 

fastidious clientele. 

Leone G. Sinnard, the engineer who 

designed the initial concepts for the 

civic center, or the downtown area of 

the Rancho Santa Fe village and who 

engineered the winding roads that run 

like veins through the ranch, also wore 

the hat of salesman and manager of the 

Guest House. He was aided by a hostess, 

Florence Cheyne, who greeted guests 

and acted as concierge, as noted in early 

publications of the Endless Miracle, the 

community newspaper. 

The marketing was successful. The ranch 

attracted corporate millionaires like 

bank barron George A. C. Christiancy 

from Massachusetts, and movie stars 

like Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford 

who fell in love with Rancho Santa 

Fe. They purchased several 

hundred acres in the ranch 

and over 2,000 acres of the 

adjoining Lusardi Ranch to 

create Rancho Zorro. That 

area is now known as Fairbanks 

Ranch. 

Other stars would make 

Rancho Santa Fe their home, 

choosing to leave the hustle 

and bustle of Hollywood for 

the quietude of rancho life. 

Silent movie star Pauline 

Neff and her aviator husband 

Frank Coffyn purchased a 

prime hillside lot on Linea del 

Cielo; movie director Joseph 

Schenck and his wife actress 

Norma Talmadge owned an 

estate home and acreage 

on Las Colinas; Bing Crosby 

purchased the former Osuna 

hacienda on Via de la Valle in 

1933. It served as a summer home and 

a safe haven for his four young children 

during the fearful period when Charles 

Lindberg’s son was kidnapped. 

Other notables residing in the ranch 

included movie directors King Vidor 

and John Robertson, actor Victor Mature, 

opera diva Amelita Galli-Curci, and 

Howard Hughes who rented a home 

with his wife actress Jean Peters. A 

story is retold that they were so enamored 

with the ranch that when the lease 

was up Hughes paid his landlords large 

amounts of money to travel more. 


With an advertising campaign through 

AAA’s Touring Topics magazine that 

reached coast-to-coast, prospective buyers 

came from points afar. On arrival 

the long-distance travelers were initially 

housed in the Guest House, which was 

renamed Hotel La Morada during this 

initial selling phase to suggest a Spanish 

character. There were 12 guest rooms 

arranged in a side wing to the north of 

the main structure. Through the entry 

door an impressive room designed to 

create an old-world Spanish ambiance, 

with massive exposed wood roof beams, 

archways at one end and a large fireplace 

at the other, welcomed guests. The area 

was known as the Living Room, and had 

comfortable furnishings that created a 

relaxed, informal atmosphere. This concept 

is still in place today. 

Comfort and hospitality were paramount. 

Hotel guests would be chauffeured 

through the winding roads of the 

ranch in a state-of-the-art Cadillac opentop 

touring car to view prime locations 

strategically located on hillside lots with 

panoramic vistas of the ocean to the 

Left to right: Famous stars who have lived in 

Rancho Santa Fe include Mary Pickford , Douglas 

Fairbanks , Robert Young, Bing Crosby, and Milford 

Stone who played Doc in Gunsmoke. 


west and the mountains and canyons to the east. The approach 

worked seamlessly and sales were brisk; many deals were cemented 

inside those simple walls that were constructed using 

adobe bricks, manufactured on site, to recreate an authentic 

rustic look. Glenn A. Moore, resident landscape architect developed 

the lush gardens and Lilian J Rice resident architect 

designed the building and supervised the construction. 

Sam Hamill, who later designed and built the Del Mar 

Fairgrounds and the San Diego County Administration 

Building, helped Rice with the drafting of the architectural 

drawings. In his recollections with historian Harriet Rochlin, 

Hamill noted that the exterior of the guest house originally 

reflected a Southwestern style favored by Sinnard who had a 

fine collection of rare southwestern potteries and for that reason 

some of the initial buildings were “quite the type of New 

Mexico,” said Hamill. The earth-toned adobe was repainted an 

off-white color years later to harmonize with the majority of 

the buildings in the village. 

The name of La Morada also changed over the years. In the late 

1930s it was known briefly as the Hacienda Hotel, when it was 

in the ownership of George Roslington and Paul Avery, then it 

was renamed The Inn at Rancho Santa Fe by the Richardson 

family who purchased it in 1940. Alterations were also made 

over the decades. In 1939, a swimming pool was built, as was a 

cocktail lounge, and tile porches were added to the front of the 

building, “for the purpose of dignifying the structure,” according 

to archives at the Rancho Santa Fe Association offices. From 

the 1960s through to today improvements have been made, but 

The Inn’s original character remains intact. 

Perhaps a lesser known factoid about The Inn was when worldrenowned 

architect Frank Lloyd Wright secretly arranged to be 

married to his beloved Olgivanna Lazovich in the hotel grounds 

at midnight, August 25, 1928, exactly a year to the minute 

following his divorce from Miriam Noel Wright. Rev. Charles 

Leonard Knight presided over the ceremony by the light of the 

moon. Unable to find childcare for his only daughter, Evelyn, 

she was taken along with Mrs. Knight for the occasion. They 

were the only witnesses to the ceremony along with Iovanna, 

the Wright’s three-year-old daughter and the hotel’s hostess, 

she said. 

In 1958, The Inn changed hands again. Stephen Wheeler Royce, 

who formerly owned the Huntington Hotel in Pasadena, became 

its innkeeper. The Royce family owned The Inn at Rancho 

Santa for more than 50 years then sold it in 2012 to JMI Realty, 

the current owner. After a multi-million dollar make-over The 

Inn at Rancho Santa Fe stands as gracious and as proud as it did 

over 90 years ago, attracting guests from around the world, and 

still commanding a noble presence as the fitting portal into the 

historic village of Rancho Santa Fe. 


Top: Early photo of the entrance to The Inn at Rancho 

Santa Fe, then called Morada. Right: Lilian Rice (left) 

poses with three young women who worked on selling 

lots and homes. Opposite top: Movie star Victor Mature 

lived on the Ranch. Opposite center: Howard Hughes 

rented a home in the Ranch for several months. Opposite 

bottom: Frank Lloyd Wright married Olgivanna Lazovich 

at the Morada in 1928. 


SIMPLY SCILLY 

Visiting England’s Charming Isles of Scilly 

By Sharon Whitley Larsen 

been in the 

dungeon for 

24 years! 

“I’ve 

” 

Thus proclaimed Briton Dave 

Huddy, explaining to me how he 

came to live on tiny St. Mary’s (pop. 1,600) 

on the Isles of Scilly, inhabited since the 

Stone Age. 

Known as “Dungeon Dave,” his first visit 

to Scilly (pronounced “silly,” which means 

“blessed” or “holy”) was for his sister’s wedding 

in 1986. 

Hailing from Liverpool, Huddy recalls spotting 

the island’s beauty as he arrived by ferry 

“for just the weekend.” Now he bartends at 

the popular, 400-year-old Star Castle hotel’s 

Dungeon Bar, which once housed prisoners. 

The unique, walled Star Castle, built in 1593 

for Scilly’s defense during Queen Elizabeth I’s 

reign, has been a hotel since 1933. 

Barely three miles long and two miles wide, 

St. Mary’s is the largest of five inhabited islands 

(with a total pop. about 2,000) among 

more than 200 remote islands and rocks 

southwest of the English mainland, 28 miles 

off the coast of Land’s End. 


Photo by Peter Kiss 

It’s hard not to be charmed by this gorgeous, 

green area with flowers, vivid blue seas, colorful 

sunsets and fresh air. The islands thrive 

on a temperate climate, the warmest spot in 

Britain. 

I had just arrived for my first visit--after taking 

a relaxing 5-hour train ride from London 

to Penzance, then 20-min. taxi ride to the 

Land’s End Airport. Joining Day Trippers 

and those staying several days, I hopped 

a 16-passenger Skybus prop plane for the 

15-minute flight to St. Mary’s. (Flights from 

several other cities in England are also available.) 

It was a perfect day—a magic carpet ride as 

we left the mainland, flew over the dramatic 

sea, then arrived on St. Mary’s: lush, green 

farmland and meadows with bright yellow 

daffodils. I even spotted rainbows. 

“It’s a very different life here,” pointed out Robert 

Francis, managing director of the familyrun, 

luxurious Star Castle hotel, as he drove 

me from the airport. “We don’t lock our 

houses, we leave keys in the car, children can 

run around.” 

Sounds like paradise to me! 


Photos courtesy of Scilly Visitor’s 

“Scillonians are fiercely independent,” he continued. 

“Most of life here revolves around 

boats rather than cars. Everybody gets 

around by boats and walking—we just love 

the peace and tranquility. Visitors from 

overseas tend to do London; this end of England—Cornwall, 

Scilly—really is unknown. 

It’s a special place. There’s no pollution here 

at all; the water and air are so clear.” 

As we drove through the narrow streets 

of Hugh Town, the capital and city center 

(which boasts some dozen shops, a post office, 

museum, one co-op grocery store, two 

hairdressers, two banks, three police, three 

churches, four pubs, several restaurants)—I 

noticed some older men lined up on a street 

corner, wearing jackets, hands in pockets, 

patiently waiting for the news agent to open. 

They were there to buy newspapers--which 

arrive from the mainland every day but Sunday, 

when there are no flights. (There’s also 

no ferry service during the winter months— 

which, prior to regular air service and the 

Internet, could make the islands especially 

isolated.) 

In 2011 a new primary-secondary school 

was opened here by Queen Elizabeth II. It 

has some 200 children, ages 3-16, including 

secondary students who come by boat from 

the other islands (and board here during the 

Photo by Rachel Lewin 

Top: Kayakers at Tresco beach. 

Opposite top: Bird’s eye view of St. Mary’s looking 

towards St. Martin’s. 

Right: Father and son walking on beach. 

Above: Local Scilly lobster. 


Photo by Rob Lea 

Photo by Bob Berry 


Photo by George Torrode 

Top: Scenic view of St. Mary’s. Above: “Katie” the tour 

bus. Opposite top right: The Peninnis lighthouse at 

St. Mary’s. Opposite middle: The Star Castle Hotel 

overlooks the bay at sundown. Opposite lower right: A 

duo of puffins. 

week; there are three primary schools on 

three other islands. Those ages 16-18 attend 

school on the mainland, where they board). 

There’s also a health center, three doctors, 

one dentist, one vet. 

But no McDonald’s, no shopping malls, no 

cinema! 

St. Mary’s is dotted with artists’ studios, 

vacation homes, B & Bs, and guest houses. 

Tourists can’t rent cars here—but “Scilly 

cars”—golf carts—and bikes are available to 

traverse the nine miles of narrow country 

roads. Walking trails are also a popular way 

to get around. 

I rode on colorful character Fred Elms’s 1948 

school bus dubbed “Katie”—which is available 

for an hour-long tour around the island. 

“I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else,” said 

fast-talking guide Elms, occasionally stopping 

the bus so we could jump off to take 

photos of the postcard-perfect views. 

Originally from London, he’s lived here 35 

years. “I was fed up with traffic jams on the 

mainland!” 

We passed by several cars, a Royal Mail van— 

and people walking their dogs. 

“A pair of walking boots is all that is needed to 

savor the essence of St. Mary’s,” wrote Glynis 

Cooper in her book, “St. Mary’s—History 

and Legends.” 

Photo by Amy Laughinghouse 

“Part of the St. Mary’s magic is the successful 

blending of past and present.” 

Here visitors can relax, sunbathe and read— 

or engage in various activities, including 

camping, bird-watching, fishing, golfing, 

snorkeling. Gig-racing (six-oared boats developed 

in the 19th century) is a popular sport. 

Tourism comprises 85 percent of the economy; 

more than 125,000 visit between March 

and Oct. and, since island accommodations 

are limited, it’s important to book ahead. 

Scilly celebs over the centuries have included 

various royal family members, including 

Queen Victoria—and John Wesley (who 

preached here); Alfred, Lord Tennyson; 

Prime Minister Harold Wilson (who’s buried 

here) and, more recently, actor Jude Law, 

who described it as “the best place on earth.” 

Since the 14th century the Duchy of Cornwall 

has owned most of the land, and Prince 

Charles occasionally visits. 

Nearby inhabited islands—visited via interisland 

boat service--are St. Agnes (and the 

connected Gugh, accessed by foot when low 

tide), Bryher, Tresco, St. Martin’s. Visitors 

can also do day trips to the uninhabited islands—such 

as the largest, Sampson--for a 

Robinson Crusoe experience. 

We took a bumpy (but fun!) boat ride to St. 

Agnes: “It’s really going back in time,” noted 

Francis. “Fewer than 100 people live here.” 

After a morning walk around the area, we 


Photo by Peter Kiss 

stopped for lunch at the Turks Head pub (try 

the local pasty), filled with locals on a Sunday 

afternoon. Then we hopped aboard another 

boat to Tresco. 

This island, the second largest—with 150 full 

time residents—is especially unique, with 

its world-famous sub-tropical Tresco Abbey 

Garden, started in 1835, featuring an array 

of flowers, plants and trees from all over the 

world—which thrive here due to the warmer 

climate. I did a double-take, seeing palm trees 

in England! Even Queen Elizabeth II has visited. 

“There’s no other garden like it anywhere in 

Britain,” proudly said Mike Nelhams, Garden 

Curator, as he showed us around. 

“This is a fantastic place to live,” he added. “I’ve 

never locked my house in 20 years. If I’m out 

for a walk I can pop into a neighbor’s house 

and make a cuppa tea.” 

One evening before a delicious dinner at Star 

Castle (with fresh ingredients grown here, seafood 

locally caught), I chatted in the Dungeon 

Bar with Pippa and Henry Creed of Sussex. 

“This is our sixth time here,” Pippa told me. 

“We first came here 25 years ago. We love the 

hotel, the islands, the people—everyone is so 

friendly. We like to take it all in: walk, relax, 

enjoy the peace and quiet, get away from everything.” 

I agreed—I didn’t want to leave. But I knew 

I’d be back! 

Photo by Pender 

If you go: 

For more information on the Isles 

of Scilly: 

www.visitislesofscilly.com 

www.islesofscilly-travel.co.uk 

www.ios-travel.co.uk/ 

Star Castle Hotel: 

www.star-castle.co.uk/ 

Tresco Abbey Gardens: 

www.tresco.co.uk/enjoying/ 

abbey-garden 

Duchy of Cornwall: 

www.duchyofcornwall.org 

www.visitengland.com 

www.visitbritain.com 

Photos courtesy of Scilly Visitors 

Bureau 


Renewal in Utah 

By Alison DaRosa 

Spring is the season for 

renewal – a time to blossom. 

It’s what led me to Utah. That and the 

promise that skiing is a heck of a lot easier 

these days than it was 20 years ago, when 

I’d last hit the slopes. 

Shorter, fatter parabolic skis make a world 

of difference, skier friends promised. Boots 

aren’t the torture tools they used to be; today 

they’re custom molded to fit your feet 

– and even can be equipped with battery 

powered heaters. Ski instruction is better 

too, pals pledged: kinder, gentler and not 

taught exclusively by teen-age dare devils. 

There are 11 ski resorts within an hour’s 

drive of the Salt Lake City airport – and 

they get an average of 500 inches of snow 

annually, plenty for good spring skiing. I 

planned a couple of nights at three different 

resorts – Alta, Deer Valley and Sundance 

– figuring I’d have plenty to keep me 

happy if skiing didn’t work out. 


High on Alta 

“If you’re going to re-learn to ski, why not 

go to Alta, where all they do is ski?” said 

Joe Johnson, a social media friend and 

expert skier. “It’s been that way for 75 

years.” 

Alta is old school – a skiers’ classic. 

No glitz. No snowboarders. There are 

no chain hotels or mega resorts here – 

just a few condos and five lodges that 

include breakfast and dinner in accommodations 

packages. Room amenities 

include humidifiers and boot warmers. 

The place is about skiing – not nightlife. 

With its base at 8,530 feet elevation at 

the head of Little Cottonwood Canyon, 

Alta is high and ultra-dry. When the sun 

blazes here, snow doesn’t turn to slush; 

it evaporates. Visitors get 2,200 skiable 

acres of what locals boast is “the greatest 

snow on Earth.” 



Above: Skier near the top of the Deer 

Valley slopes. Left: Deer Valley chairlift. 

Below: Skier crashes and burns. 

Photos courtesy: Dear Valley Lodge & Alison DaRosa 

It's the ideal place for a born-again 

skier. 

The snow was perfect on 

the sunny spring morning I 

skittishly hit the slopes. Instructor 

Art McNeally was 

gentle. And friends had 

been right about the changes 

in skis. 

“Imagine carrying a 12-footlong 

2-by-4 down the road, “ 

said Carson Wolfe, who fit 

my rental skis. “Now imagine 

carrying a yardstick. 

Which one would you have 

more control over?” 

Wolfe gave me a pair of skis 

only 142 centimeters long – 

about 4 feet, 8 inches, a halffoot 

shorter than I am. “With a lot less 

underfoot, you’ll have a lot more control,” 

he promised. 

McNeally started me out on the rope tow. 

At the top of our bunny hill, I watched 

5-year-old Aubrey Peterson practicing 

her “pizza” (my generation called it a 

snow plow) and her “french fries” (parallel 

skiing). 

“Let’s go,” McNeally smiled, taking off. 

With no time to think, I followed. It was 

easier than I’d expected. After a couple 

more rope tow runs, we headed off to a 

chair lift. (Alta is for serious skiers, but 

65 percent of runs are designed for beginners 

and intermediates.) 

The snow was even better 

up top – and before long 

I was gaining confidence, 

carving tighter turns, feeling 

great about my progress. 

By the time I traded my 

ski boots for a pair of 

warm, fuzzy slippers provided 

at the mid-mountain 

Collins Grill, I was 

giddy with exhaustion. 

So was Marybeth Bond, 

a Bay Area visitor savoring 

her first day on skis in 

two years. “Oh, I’m such 

a good skier,” she giggled. 

“It’s the snow. It’s perfect.” 

Lunch was perfect, too: fresh local trout 

sautéed in lemon dill butter. Dessert 

was another glorious run down the hill. 


Next stop: Deer Valley 

What Alta is to the serious skier, Deer 

Valley is to the skier who wants to be 

spoiled rotten. 

Seriously. They’ve got ski valets here – 

strapping men who ferry visitors’ skis 

between the drive-up drop-off area and 

the main lodge. There’s hand lotion in all 

public restrooms; heated floors in most 

resort bathrooms. Tissue boxes are stationed 

everywhere, including at chairlifts. 

There’s free overnight ski storage 

at the main lodge – and four times a day, 

guides offer free mountain tours for intermediate 

and expert skiers. Deer Valley 

has one employee for every three guests. 

With a base elevation of 6,570 feet, Deer 

Valley doesn’t get as much snow as Alta 

– only about 300 inches a year. On a typical 

day, it gets about 6,000 skiers. (Lift 

ticket sales are limited to 7,500 a day, but 

the resort seldom sells out.) Lifts can 

transport more than 50,000 skiers per 

hour; their playground covers more than 

2,000 skiable acres. Beginners can ski 

five of the six peaks here. And, like Alta, 

it’s one of only three U.S. ski resorts that 

does not allow snowboarders. (The other 

is Mad River Glen in Vermont.) 

Deer Valley’s ski school has 560 instructors; 

classes sold out during the spring 

break week I visited. 

Luckily, I’d been forewarned and reserved 

early. I had a date with 62-year-old Rex 

Frasier, who was in his 23rd season of 

teaching wannabe Bode Millers. 

“Skiing is a game of stance and balance, 

much more than strength and agility,” he 

told me. “If you can dance, you can ski.” 


He had me. I was ready to rock. 

I love dancing – but I don’t do it with 4½ 

-foot boards strapped to my feet. Pretty 

soon I was gyrating out of control. Instead 

of smooth, rhythmic moves, I was a 

60-something lunatic diving into a mosh 

pit. Others on our snowy dance floor 

gracefully whirled around me. My confidence 

melted like summer snow. 

Frasier had seen it before. Often. 

“Half of what we do as instructors is work 

to give you the confidence that you can 

slow down and stop,” he said. “Surmounting 

the fear factor is just repetition.” 

Fear had made me a fan of slow dancing. 

Frasier was patient. Encouraging. “The 

two most important tips for having a 

great day on the slopes,” he finally said: 

“Know when to stop – and know where to 

eat.” 

Knowing when to stop was the easy part. 

Gold medal dining 

Deer Valley has revolutionized ski resort 

dining. There are 11 restaurants 

here – and they range from really good 

to superb. Readers of Ski magazine rank 

Deer Valley the best ski resort in North 

America for dining (also best for service, 

grooming, lodging and family programs.) 

Zagat rates Deer Valley’s Mariposa the 

best restaurant in Utah. 

Twenty years ago, ski resort meals meant 

overcooked pre-fabbed burgers, limp 

greasy fries and canned chili. At Deer 

Valley, fries are hand-cut and burgers are 

made to order with prime Niman Ranch 

organic beef. Skiers can get chili – but it’ll 

be wild game chili, made with bison, boar, 

elk -- coffee and beer; locals call it the 

protein bomb. 

The Skiers Brunch at Stein Eriksen Lodge 

is a foodie’s fantasy – a belt-busting feast 

of locally sourced, highest-quality, allyou-can-eat 

cuisine. There’s a stunning 

buffet of fresh salads, abundant shellfish, 

numerous carving stations, endless 

selections of made-to-order dishes and a 

14-foot-long display of desserts to die for. 

But if I could return to only one Deer Valley 

restaurant, it would be Fireside Din- 

Above: A perfectly seared scallop at the Mariposa restaurant 

at Deer Valley. Top right: A quartet of lamb legs cooking the 

old-fashioned way. Top left: The dining room at the Mariposa. 

Opposite top: A seafood mini-feast at the Mariposa. 


ing at the Empire Canyon Lodge. Various 

European-Alpine-style courses are 

offered from five blazing hearths. For 

guests, it’s a deliriously delicious adventure: 

Start at the fireplace where huge wheels 

of melting Swiss raclette ooze nutty 

cheese wonderfulness for spreading on 

thin slices of fresh baguette; accessorize 

your plate with house-made accompaniments 

such as strawberry-tarragon jam, 

zippy pickled onions and house-cured 

salami. Move on to another fireplace to 

choose from stews simmering in heavy 

cast iron cauldrons hung from oversized 

hooks in the hearth – or perhaps try a 

little grilled local trout or spit-roasted 

quail, and don’t forget the crisp, buttery 

potato rosti. 

At the next fireplace, find slow-roasting 

whole legs of lamb, ready to be carved to 

order – and served with Dutch oven specialties 

such as Vidalia onion bread pudding. 

Dessert? Swiss fondue, of course: 

Pots of bubbling dark chocolate, caramel 

and white chocolate hang in the lobby 

fireplace beside a table laden with fresh 

fruits, cinnamon-spiced pound cake and 

airy meringues for dipping. Bliss. 

The downside of Deer Valley dining: 

There’s a scale in every lodging unit. 

Savoring Sundance 

With only 450 acres for skiing and snowboarding 

and about half the snowfall of 

Alta, carving down hill runs isn’t the endall, 

be-all here – especially in spring when 

daytime temps average 50+ and snow 

turns to slush and melts into bare spots. 

This Robert Redford-owned resort is as 

much about arts and culture as anything. 

I could learn to make pottery, jewelry, 

prints or soap here – or learn painting, 

photography or glass blowing. I could 

go winter flyfishing, see a movie in Robert 

Redford’s own screening room, get a 

massage – or take another ski lesson. 

Instructor Bruce Giffen, who has been 

teaching skiing for 40 years, was my early 

morning taskmaster. 

“You’re skiing so ladylike,” he scolded. 


“Get out there and grit your teeth like a man. 

Be mean with the hill.” 

I was more concerned about the hill being 

mean with me. Even short, fat skis snag 

on bare spots – and anticipating those 

spots ate at my confidence. 

Still, I reasoned, I was more confident 

and having way more fun than I would 

have had 20 years ago using less forgiving 

equipment – and besides, it would soon 

be afternoon. I’d signed up for a printmaking 

class and then a late-afternoon 

“sage and sweet grass ritual” that promised 

a 90-minute trifecta of indulgence: dry 

brush exfoliation, followed by a Great Salt 

Lake organic mudpack and then a sage-oil 

massage. 

In the meantime, there was just no way I 

could grit my teeth. 

IF YOU GO 

Equipment: Rent at Ski ‘N See, which has 

locations near most major Utah ski resorts. 

Premier packages run about $25 a day if 

booked in advance online: www.skinsee. 

com; (800) 722-3685. 

Alta: Check out lodging packages at Alta 

Lodge: www.altalodge.com. Learn more 

about skiing Alta at www.alta.com. 

Deer Valley: Learn more about Deer Valley 

Resort at www.deervalley.com. 

Sundance: Learn more at www.sundanceresort.com. 

More info: www.skiutah.com; (800) 754- 

8824. 

Above: Skier having fun on the Deer Valley slopes. Left: 

Deer Valley ski instructor Rex Frazier demonstrating 

the flexibility of today’s skis. Opposite top: The Empire 

Canyon Lodge at Deer Valley. Opposite lower: Aubrey 

Peterson, 5, from Phoenix, getting her skis adjusted by 

Alta instructor Matt Frieda. 


Eco Exotica 

Costa Rica’s got it all 

By Lynn Barnett 

Give me a good book, a lounge chair by the pool and 

a tall gin and tonic and I’ve got all the vacation I 

need. Trouble is, that doesn’t fly as a vacation with 

my son Jack or my daughter Chelsea. They seem to need a little more 

excitement than that. And my husband Joe, well, all he needs is surf 

and he’s a happy chappy. 

What to do when the family can’t 

agree on how to spend a week off 

together? Fly to Costa Rica, like we 

did, and discover a world of adventure, 

waves to ride and poolside 

peace. 

We chose a one-week stay at Fiesta 

Resort & Casino in the little village 

of Puntarenas, a two-hour drive 

from the San Jose airport. Here, 

Joe could surf with his buddies at 

Boca Barranca (a left-point break 

in front of a river mouth where 

200-yard-long rides are a possibility), I could lounge around my choice 

of three pools, and the kids could play in the game room or join club 

activities. 

There were plenty of other amusing things to do, too. At the top of the 

adventure list (apart from gawking at 

the crocodiles while tourists fed them 

chickens from the hotel’s adjacent river 

bridge) was a Tarzan-like ride through 

the jungles of the rain forest. With my 

fear of heights, I was surprised that 

I was able to stand on platforms as 

high as the treetops and whiz above 

the forest canopy, rigged into a harness 

that attaches to a clothesline-like 

1 1/2-inch steel cable. Guides caught 

us at each tree platform, then pushed 

us off several hundred feet above the 

tundra where we found ourselves gliding 

through the air for a hundred yards 

or more before reaching the next tree. 


By the third tree I was flying through the air with the 

ease of, well, Jane. 

The kids had a blast and the platform tour was fun for 

all, but it’s not a learning experience. If you’d rather 

see the animals than act like the animals you can take 

a canopy tour by tram or sky-walk the suspension 

bridges and platforms while learning about nature. 

Another way to see the rain forest’s flora, meet the 

monkeys and three-toed sloths is on horseback. Our 

trail guide, a French ex-pat named Dominic, was an 

accomplished rider who selected specific horses to 

meet each of our needs. Chelsea got a little painted 

Indian pony with short legs and albino blue eyes. 

Jack rode a huge stud of a horse, and Joe got the 

bolter. As a non-rider (and a little scared of horses, to 

boot) I got the gentlest horse of the bunch, but still 

got a little hysterical at the first open run. 

The horse trail took us to a grove of little creatures 

called white-nosed coatis, long-tailed members of 

the raccoon family, who were happy to run around 

between the horse’s legs and beg for food. The kids 

were thrilled to feed them bits of fruit provided by 

Dominic. We also saw some white-throated capuchin 

monkeys, cute little guys shaking the treetops and 

unafraid to show us their sharp teeth. 

When the horses were at slow pace, Dominic told 

us interesting facts that made Costa Rica sound like 

Central America’s jewel: 27 percent of Costa Rica is 

conserved through a national park system; there are 

850 bird species, 220 reptile species, 1,000 butterfly 

species, 9,000 plant species, 34,000 insect species 

(which I tried not to think about); elevations go from 

sea level to 12,529 feet; and there are 112 volcanic 

craters. She said that Costa Rica is so diverse, we 

could hike a smoking volcano, raft the rivers, surf the 

ocean waves, visit a butterfly sanctuary or go on a 

jungle safari during our week there. 

We passed up the volcano and the butterfly park but 

Opposite: Lush Costa Rican tropical rainforest waterfalls. Top:”Roca 

Bruja”, Santa Rosa National Park and Boca Barranca beach. Middle: 

Rainbow beaked Tucan . 


opted for another jungle safari — this time on foot to 

Manuel Antonio National Park’s Punta Catedral trail. 

The forest here is thick with massive ficus trees but the 

path is well groomed — except for the occasional iguana, 

which likes to sun itself right where you are walking. 

It’s about a 30-minute round-trip hike that gets a little 

steep in places and has a stop-off at a 1/2-mile-long 

pristine, white-sand beach called Playa Manuel Antonio. 

We wished we had brought our snorkeling equipment, 

but instead took a leisurely dip in the warm water 

of this tropical paradise, tucked into a deep cove, and 

bordered by palm and mango trees. 

On our last night in Costa Rica we watched the sunset’s 

orange hues settle over the ocean while sipping Guaro 

y Fresca. Hmmm, think I’ll pour a shot or two of that 

Guaro rum into a glass of Fresca and ice right now and 

do a little vacation reminiscing. 

If you go 

Costa Rica has a tropical climate with average annual temperatures 

between 71 and 81 degrees F. The dry season runs 

from January through May; wet season from May to December. 

The wettest months are July and November with a dry 

spell in August or September. Unless you are a surfer, you 

probably want to visit during the dry season. Trails can be 

muddy when it’s wet. If you are taking a canopy tour, take it 

on a sunny day. If it’s cloudy you won’t see anything and tour 

operators may not refund your money because of weather. 

Costa Rica is bordered to the north by Nicaragua and to the 

southeast by Panama. It is mostly coastline and has a Caribbean 

coast that is characterized by sandy beaches, mangroves 

and swamps, and a Pacific coast that has more rugged, 

rocky terrain. 

Costa Rica has an abundance of plant and animal species. 

Among the best places for tourists to see the diversity of 

wildlife are Corcovado National Park, Tortuguero National 

Park and the Monteverde Cloud Forest. 

Fiesta Resort & Casino: Agoda.com is an online hotel discount 

site that offers bookings for Fiesta Resort & Casino. 

Visit: www.agoda.com/fiesta-resort-and-casino/hotel/puntarenas-cr.html 

Top: The fabled Quetzal bird found in the rainforests of Costa Rica. 

Middle: Crocodiles lazing in the heat. Bottom: The pool at the Fiesta 

Resort. 

Photos courtesy Costa Rica Tourism 


AMY LAUGHINGHOUSE 

Fear and Loathing in the Sky 

--and Why You Should Marry the Girl in the Middle Seat 

I 

have a confession to make. I don’t like to fly. I love going places. 

It’s just the getting there I’m not that fond of. 

That might seem like a strange admission for a travel writer— 

but then again, maybe not. I mean, the more often you're required 

to shoehorn yourself into a seat that wouldn’t comfortably 

accommodate a malnourished 

hamster, the less likely you are 

to look forward to it. If I actually 

enjoyed crumpling my body into 

a defeated wad of human origami, 

I'd take yoga, and at least I'd have 

the skull-cracking thighs and sixpack 

abs to show for it. 

You’re not even awarded the 

privilege of painful bodily contortion 

until you’ve already been 

through the soul-sapping process 

of submitting to airport security. 

Shuffling sock-footed through the 

metal detector, grasping at your 

unbelted trousers to keep them 

from falling down around your 

ankles, you still have to run the gauntlet of heaven-knows-wherethose-hands-have-been 

rubber-gloved officers who might randomly 

pull you aside for a pat-down. Every time this happens, I’m tempted 

to ask them to at least treat me to dinner and a movie first...but 

somehow, I doubt they would be amused. 

I think you can tell a lot about a person by where they like to sit on 

an airplane. The obvious answer, of course, is “at the front. In First 

Class.” 

But given the intolerable lack of a winning lottery ticket, you'll usually 

find me in cattle class, which can be just about bearable when I 

snag an aisle seat. 

Why do I prefer the aisle? Because I have a very optimistic bladder. 

That is to say, it’s always half-full, and I like to be able to make a 

quick escape to the (tin can-sized) loo without having to give a lap 

dance to the other folks in my row. (Although, come to think of it, 

there might be a few bucks to be made there). 

More unfortunately still, I seem to have some perverse Pavlovian 

response to the "fasten seatbelt" sign. No sooner does that dreaded 

light go on than my bladder pings my brain, signaling that it would 

quite like to have a wee. RIGHT. NOW. This makes me very popular 

with flight attendants, as you can imagine, who seem to regard me 

jettisoning from my seat as a sign of civil disobedience--or worse, 

terrorism. 

Personally, I would sell both my ovaries to avoid being stuck in the 

middle, sandwiched like the creamy, compact filling in an Oreo 

cookie. You can’t lean against the window, checking the condition 

of the engines and marveling at clouds that look like Jerry Garcia 

or Carrot Top or penguins on pogo sticks. (Did I mention I take 

full advantage of free booze offered on international flights?) Nor 

can you stretch your legs out in 

the aisle, thereby incurring the 

wrath of whomever is piloting the 

drinks cart. It’s very likely you will 

be denied even the small solace 

of an armrest, as the people who 

requested the aisle and window 

seats are almost certainly far more 

selfish than you and have already 

claimed them with pointy-elbowed 

defiance. 

This is based on my observation 

that only the nicest people end up 

in the middle—a conclusion supported 

by a highly scientific survey 

of one. That is to say, I’ve only ever 

met one girl who actually likes the middle seat, because she says it 

makes her feel safe and cozy. 

Miss Middle Seat is also among the sweetest people I know, which 

makes me wonder if perhaps this should be a standard question in 

Match.com profiles. If you happen to spot someone with a preference 

for the middle, don’t even wait to arrange a first date. Just 

bang out an e-mail asking them to marry you and order the wedding 

invitations. They’ll probably be too concerned about hurting 

your feelings to turn you down. 

Only once in my life have I boarded a plane and thought, “You know, 

14 hours just isn’t going to be long enough.” This was while flying 

in business class on Singapore Airlines. The lay-flat “seat” was approximately 

the size of a football field. The alcohol flowed like an IV 

drip, and the food was superb—although I was surprised that they 

served us chicken satay on wooden skewers. (One unexpected air 

pocket, and you’ll put your eye out). 

I have no idea what blessed nirvana must await their first class 

passengers. Probably a 90-minute hot stone massage, caviar facial, 

complimentary bag of gold and diamonds, and a lovely flight attendant 

to read you a bedtime story, stroke your hair and sing you to 

sleep as you wing your way to the Land of Nod. 

Hey, we can all dream. Until then, I’ll see you in the back, in line 

for the loo. 

Other people prefer to be ensconced beside the window, of course- 

-presumably so that they’ll be the first to spot an engine fire. Fair 

enough. But can we all agree that the middle seat is basically Dante’s 

seventh level of hell? 

You can find Amy at WWW.AMYLAUGH- 

INGHOUSE.COM and on Twitter @A_ 

LAUGHINGHOUSE. 


SLATEd for work 

Discovering The Rich Story Of Slate Mining In Wales 

By Carl H. Larsen 

In the shadows of Mount Snowdon, 

the highest peak in Wales, 

there’s a perplexing and disturbing 

aspect to the outstanding 

countryside that is so popular among 

hikers, climbers and anglers. 

In some places, you can find a plundered 

landscape. Mountainsides are 

ripped open, with flat landings or 

deep galleries carved into the jagged 

rock face every few feet. At the base, 

massive heaps of slag create a barren 

landscape. The contrast is startling. 

Author Peter Sager was unprepared 

for the sudden change. “There I was, 

fresh from the nature trail of Snowdonia 

National Park, and suddenly, 

Photo by Iain Robinson 

at the end of the Ice Age valley…I 

was confronted with the mighty slag 

heaps deposited by the Industrial 

Age,” he wrote in a guide to Wales. 

Men toiled and died here in a quest 

for a commodity that once was nearly 

as important to Wales as were its rich 

deposits of coal. Here, in northwest 

Wales, it was slate they were after. 


The miners are nearly all gone now. 

In the foothills, their equipment 

rusts while roofless stone barracks 

and work sheds testify to the scope 

of the abandoned operations. But the 

story of their industry lives on in the 

National Slate Museum in Llanberis 

and at palatial homes that once were 

the refuges of their bosses -- the 

“slate kings.” The most extravagant is 

Penrhyn Castle, a grandiose confection 

overlooking the Irish Sea near 

Bangor. 

“The importance of the slate industry 

has been generally underestimated,” 

noted Sager. At one time, Wales led 

the world in slate production, bringing 

immense wealth to the mine owners. 

Much of that fortune ended up 

with two English families that held 

vast landholdings in North Wales 

-- the Pennants of Penrhyn and the 

Assheton-Smiths of Dinorwig. 

The slate industry was focused in 

locales near formerly hard-to-reach 

towns: Bethesda, Blaenau Ffestiniog 

and Llanberis. There, in deep quarries 

and in mines, thousands were 

employed (and went on to suffer 

from lung diseases) and vast damage 

ultimately was done to the environment 

by an industry that helped define 

Wales. To expand their market, 

quarry operators opened the remote 

mining areas by building rail lines to 

bring the finished slate to ports on 

the Welsh coast. 

When you think of slate--but who 

does--you realize how important a 

product it once was. Output from the 

quarries of Wales roofed the homes 

of Britain and other countries. Billiard 

tables relied on slate for a 

smooth surface. And what schoolhouse 

in years past didn’t have a slate 

blackboard? While slate was used in 

everyday life, it also defined in death 

thousands whose burial headstones 

are made of the rock. 

Opposite page: Looking out of the abandoned Pen-y-Brynmine 

tunnel. Top: Remains of the slate quarry at Dinorwig. 

Center: Penhryn Quarry . Bottom: Early photo of slate workers . 

Photo courtesy: WIKI commons 


Photos courtesy: WIKI commons 

Today, slate production is just a blip 

in Wales’ overall economy. A few firms 

still produce the “best in the world,” 

but in a much more responsible way. 

The home of the National Slate Museum 

is Llanberis, a town known more as 

a holiday resort and a place to start the 

hike to the top of 3,560-foot Mount 

Snowdon. There’s an easier way to the 

top: the Mount Snowdon cog railway 

starts here as well. Within walking 

distance of the museum are two other 

notable attractions, the Llanberis Lake 

Railway, one of the “Great Little Trains 

of Wales,” and Electric Mountain, a visitors’ 

center for one of the largest hydroelectric 

plants in Europe. Tours take 

visitors deep into Elidir Fawr Mountain 

to see the massive turbines and pumps. 

At the base of Elidir, the museum 

couldn’t be better placed. It occupies 

the Victorian workshops of the former 

Dinorwig Quarry. Along with its nearby 

twin, the Penrhyn Quarry, the two 

quarries were the largest in the world, 

and employed approximately 6,000 

workers. For many years, the better 

part of slate produced in Wales came 

from these two “bookend” quarries. 

Dinorwig opened in 1787 and by the 

1870s it employed more than 3,000 

men, working jobs that ranged from 

blasting open the slate seams to manually 

cutting each roofing tile to size. In 

July 1969, Prince Charles was invested 

as Prince of Wales in nearby Caernarfon 

Castle on a dais made of Dinorwig 

slate. A month later the quarry closed 

down, a victim of competition and 

non-slate roofing products. 

After viewing a video entitled “To Steal 

a Mountain” about the quarry operation, 

visitors can take a short walk 

to the nearby base of the mountain, 

where they can see how it all worked. 

As author Sager described, “When the 

rockmen had finished the blasting, the 

rubbishers brought out the slate and 

the slag, and then the splitters and 

dressers went into action. The former 

split the blocks of slate, and the latter 

broke them up into standard sizes.” 

Demonstrations at the museum show 

how the slate was sized. “The splitter 

sits cross-legged on a low stool, the 

block propped up by his knee, and with 

a miner’s hammer and chisel he chips 

over very thin slices. Out of a good 

quality piece two inches thick, an expert 

could conjure up to sixteen slates.” 

Before the advent of electric energy, 

the shops were powered by a huge water 

wheel still in working order that was 

attached to machinery by a system of 

shafts and belts. Pattern makers working 

in a foundry could fashion any part 

used by the quarrymen that may be 

needed, including the bell on a tower 

clock. 

Just 12 miles away from the jagged 

slate outcrops of Elidir Fawr Mountain 

stands the coastal retreat of Penrhyn 

Castle, the ancestral home of the Pennant 

family, who owned the massive 

Penrhyn Quarry. 

Operated today by The National Trust, 

the home was designed in the Norman 

Revival style by architect Thomas Hopper 

and was constructed from 1820-1832. 

The Pennants, owners of the estate, became 

rich from sugar plantations in Ja- 


maica worked by slaves. Their profits 

were reinvested closer to home in the 

booming slate industry nearby and the 

family became even wealthier. 

The interior resembles a cathedral in the 

Grand Hall with vaulted ceilings and a 

grand staircase of limestone and grey 

sandstone The house was designed to 

impress, and indeed it does, even if it‘s 

considered the best example of a “fantasy 

home“ in Britain. Beyond the architectural 

pedigree, the castle estate includes 

a lavish garden, a major art collection, 

doll museum and a railway exhibit. 

Though slate is used extensively in the 

house for decoration, one visitor was not 

impressed. It’s said that Queen Victoria, 

on a visit in 1859, refused to sleep in a 

four-poster bed made of the rock. 

Opposite: The Welsh National Slate Museum. Above: 

Penrhyn Castle, the ancestral home of the Pennant 

family, who owned the massive Penrhyn Quarry. 

If You Go 

For information on travel by rail 

through Wales and the rest of the 

United Kingdom: www.britrail.co 

Guide Amanda Whitehead: 

walesguide@gmail.com 

Getting around North Wales 

can be tricky. It’s best to stay in 

a larger town and hire a guide, 

such as Amanda Whitehead, 

with a car who can shepherd 

you through the back roads and 

explain the sights. I took a highspeed 

train from London and 

stayed in Llandudno, a Victorian 

seaside resort on the coast. One 

of the better hotels is The Imperial 

(www.theimperial.co.uk). 

Whitehead took me 

on the short drive to Penrhyn 

Castle and on to Llanberis, the 

heart of slate country. 

Electric Mountain, Llanberis. Tour 

one of Europe’s largest hydroelectric 

power stations. www.fhc. 

co.uk 

National Slate Museum, Llanberis. 

Free admission. www.museum. 

wales.ac.uk/en/slate 

Penrhyn Castle, Bangor, A National 

Trust property, admission is 

charged for entry to the grounds 

or castle. www.nationaltrust.org. 

uk. Search “Penrhyn Castle.” 

The Welsh government’s tourism 

site, the place to start for travels 

to Wales: www.visitwales.com 

For additional information touring 

Britain: www.visitbritain.com 


THEMED TRAVEL 

Heaven For Book Lovers 

SAN MIGUEL DE ALLENDE 

by Kathi Diamant 

People are traveling with a theme, 

often with like-minded friends. 

Theatre tours are offered to New 

York and London. Anthropology, archeology, 

and geology buffs participate at in situ digs 

in remote locales. Celebrity chefs lead international 

culinary adventures, and eco-tours 

offer alternatives for environmentalists and 

those who wish to tread lightly. 

Book lovers have it best of all. Literary festivals 

and writers conferences are held around 

the world, in sparkling international capitals 


Byron LaDue and Kathi Diamant enjoying free-flowing 

tequila. Top: Bird’s-eye view of San Miguel de 

Allende. Opposite: Attendees getting to know each 

other at the festival reception. 

like Berlin, London and Prague to quaint 

out-of-the way places, like Hay-on-Wye in 

Wales, where the “Woodstock of the Mind” 

is held annually. These literary festivals are 

designed for readers who love to travel, writers 

who wish to improve, and for those who 

simply want cultural enrichment. 

Try this: Google “literary festival” and the 

city you want to visit next. From Shanghai 

to Spoleto to Stockholm, literary festivals 

are populating exotic landscapes. Booking 

a trip during a literary festival or writing

Photo courtesy WIKI commons 

conference offers benefits. If the festival or 

conference is headquartered at a hotel, it’s 

often an iconic one, comfortable, safe, and 

perfectly situated to enjoy the city, with 

room discounts, tickets to events, and meal 

plans that can offset the cost of registering 

for the festival. 

My first literary festival experience was 

in 2003, in Paris, hosted by the legendary 

bookstore, Shakespeare & Company. My 

biography, “Kafka’s Last Love” had just 

been published in the US, and I was invited 

to speak. Two friends from San Diego decided 

it sounded like fun, and came with 

me. Talking about my passion for solving 

the mysteries surrounding Franz Kafka 

was rewarding, but the highlight for me 

was the intellectual stimulation, the feast 

of fascinating people, international authors, 

playwrights and poets. It was an immediate 

inclusion into a cultural community, 

and allowed me to absorb the charms 

of Paris in an authentic Parisian milieu. It 

was the best ten days of my adult life. 

So it was with that impossibly high expectation 

that I accepted an invitation to 

speak at the 9th Annual San Miguel de 

Allende Literary Festival and Writers Conference, 

held in February 2014. I had every 

reason to believe this would be an even 

more dazzling peak experience. This time, 

Byron LaDue, my husband and the father 

of my book, could join me. I spread the 

word via social media, and a dozen friends 

and fellow San Diegans signed up for the 

conference package. It was already a party. 

Located in Guanajuato, in the high desert 

mountains north of Mexico City, San 

Miguel de Allende is the new must-visit 

destination. Chosen 

by Condé Nast 

Traveler as the 

number one city 

in the world for 

2013, San Miguel 

is a UNESCO World 

Heritage City, a 

harmonious community 

comprised 

of Mexicans, native 

Indians, and 

expat Americans 

and Canadians, who comprise about ten 

percent of their adopted city. Blessed with 

near perfect weather, SMA (as the locals 

call it) is a thriving center of art, culture, 

and history. As early as the mid-1500s, 

San Miguel de Allende was an important 

stop on the road between the silver mines 

in the north and Mexico City. Today, it’s 

more out of the way. 

From Mexico City, it’s a 4-hour drive. 

The closest airports are Leon, Guanajuato 

and Querataro, which require a 

1- to 2-hour drive to SMA. Shuttles cost 

around $50-$60 roundtrip. But once you 

arrive, you won’t want to leave. 

The steep, narrow winding cobblestone 

streets are bathed in color, lined with 

well-preserved colonial-era buildings that 

house private homes, restaurants, shops, 

art institutions and galleries. Solitary 

burros, laden with bags of grain or straw, 

stand motionless for hours, apparently 

untended. According to readers of Conde 

Nast Traveler, San Miguel de Allende 

boasts “great atmosphere, excellent restaurants, 

culture and ambiance galore. The 

lack of street lights and billboards make 

the region romantically and historically 

beautiful,” and “offers a traditional feeling 

of a small town in the heart of Mexico.” It 

is a magical place. 

Billed as the “Creative Crossroads of the 

Americas,” the San Miguel Writers Conference 

and Literary Festival grew from 

humble origins in 2006 to the largest bilingual 

and bicultural writer’s conference 

in Latin America. My favorite writers had 

preceded me. Tom Robbins wrote that if 

“Dante had spent more time in San Miguel, 

he would have written more about heaven 

and less about hell.” After the legendary 

Friday night Fiesta, 

Barbara Kingsolver 

said, “it’s one of the 

ten best parties I 

have ever attended, 

and I don’t remember 

the other nine.” 

The Festival is headquartered 

at the 

lovely Hotel Real de 

Minas, where the 

extensive grounds 

provide a peaceful respite from the hubbub 

of activities. The sparkling pool and 

shaded green lawn, dotted with pillows 

and blankets, present inviting spots to 

lounge, sip margaritas, nap and read 

between the seven keynote and general 

session speakers, workshops and classes, 

open mic sessions, and individual consultations 

with agents, editors and other 

seasoned experts. Inside the cool lobby, 

people meet and compare notes. As Susan 

Page, executive director of the Festival 

says, “Above all, it is the conversations 

between sessions that are sometimes the 

most important part of all.” 


Party animal and cowboy join the fiesta. Below: 

Salsas for the feast. Opposite top: Poet David Whyte 

presented an afternoon keynote address and taught a 

half-day workshop. Here he chats with fans and writing 

students. Opposite below: Author Yann Martel (“Life of 

Pi”) meets young readers after his keynote address. 

Millie McCoo, a writing student at the 

SDSU Osher Institute for Lifelong 

Learning, encountered “many creative 

minds at the conference.” She 

was “inspired and encouraged to 

continue writing, especially by the 

women who were so generous in sharing 

their knowledge and experiences. 

“We are keeping in touch," she reports. 

Nikki Symington, who accompanied 

me to Paris and San Miguel, also 

took advantage of the full conference 

package. She is working on a book of 

short stories and wanted advice about 

prompts for creativity, writing techniques 

and publishing advice. "I was 

hoping for help with character development 

and dialogue. I got more than I 

asked for, more than I realized I needed. 

The workshop leaders were fabulous and 

I left armed with tons of information.” 

Mary Katherine Wainwright and I 

rubbed elbows in Paris in 2003, and we 

stayed in touch. In 2009, she moved to 

SMA, and joined the San Miguel Literary 

Sala, the umbrella organization that 

runs the festival. A retired professor of 

creative writing, she helped the conference 

grow from one keynote speaker and 

67 registrants to its current dimensions 

of almost 300 registered conference attendees, 

with 64 faculty members and 

63 workshops, and more than 5,000 

people in attendance for the keynote 

speakers and panels. A veteran of many 

national and international literary festivals, 

workshops and conferences, Mary 

Katherine lends her expertise as one of 

more than five dozen local volunteers 

who run the SMA festival and lend the 

conference a personal touch. While 

clearly a group effort, everyone I spoke 

to praised one woman, the executive director, 

Susan Page, for her “boundless 

energy and enthusiasm for driving this 

conference forward.” 

The February 2014 keynote speakers 

included Yann Martel (Life of Pi), Calvin 

Trillin, New Yorker columnist and author 

of almost three dozen books, Laura Esquivel 

(Like Water for Chocolate), PEN 

Faulkner Award winner Benjamin Alire 

Saenz, and Ellen Bass, an exquisitely 


lovely poet whose work is frequently 

read by Garrison Keillor on “The Writers 

Almanac” on NPR. I attended every 

talk, and each gave grist for inspiration 

for years to come. My talk on Valentine’s 

Day went well, and that night we partied 

at the legendary Fiesta. 

The Friday night Fiesta is appropriately 

legendary. My friends had great fun, some 

even more than others. The locals, used 

to an annual schedule of parties for which 

SMA is famous, take advantage of this shindig, 

buying up individual tickets, which sell 

Festival photos by Charlotte Bell 

out quickly. Set in the historic plaza of one 

of San Miguel’s grand colonial buildings, 

revelers are greeted by dashing mustachioed 

caballeros and floral-bedecked 

burros. The tequila is free and free flowing. 

Exhilarating singers, Folklorico and 

Aztec dancers entertain on the stage, as 

towering papier-mâché puppets dance 

through the crowd. Fresh abundant local 

dishes are grilled and served in several 

locations. Fireworks cap the evening. 

Outside of the festival, there’s much 

to do and see. Mexican arts and crafts, 

blown glass and silver jewelry can be 

found at bargain prices in the connecting 

alleys of the Mercado de Artesanias. 

The El Charco del Ingenio Botanical Garden 

extends over 167 acres, featuring remarkable 

biodiversity. Benches await the weary in 

the El Jardin, San Miguel’s central square, in 

the shadow of the soaring cathedral, La Parroquia. 

At night, fireworks, dancers, singers 

and strolling families fill the Jardin, making 

it the place to be. 

Excursions and special events are organized 

for festival-goers, with guided tours of San 

Miguel’s elegant homes, visits to neighboring 

villages, mining ghost towns, and recently 

uncovered ancient pyramids. Byron and I 

spent a heavenly morning at La Gruta Hot 

Springs, about 10 km from SMA, soaking in 

a series of increasingly hotter pools, culminating 

with a man-made grotto featuring a 

powerful waterspout. Poet Sandra Cisneros, 

a keynote speaker in 2012, told me the waterfall 

“will slap you silly.” She was right, and 

it was wonderful. 

On the Beat Afternoon Cantina Crawl, we 

watched the bartender at La Cucaracha Bar 

make the best margarita I’ve ever tasted. It 

was a masterpiece of simplicity: a tall narrow 

glass filled with ice, rimmed with salt, 

consisting only of tequila, Cointreau and one 

squeezed lime. A special event organized for 

the festival, the Cantina Crawl will return 

for the third time in 2015. For $15, you 

visit three of the oldest cantinas in town and 

learn the history of the old taverns and writers 

who frequented them. 

The afternoon culminates at La Cucaracha, 

the new location of the seedy joint where 

Neal Cassady and Jack Kerouac once drank. 

The bar comes to life with actors portraying 

the Beat stars, including William Burroughs 

and Allen Ginsberg, reading their poetry in 

a performance cleverly written and directed 

by another of the SMA Literary Sala volunteers, 

screenwriter Frank Gaydos. On our 

last night in SMA, Byron and I returned to 

La Cucaracha to dance to the weathered 

juke box and drink one last perfect margarita. 

Looking back, we agree. It was the best 

ten days of our lives. 


WHITLEY ON WINE 

When In Beaune 

BY ROBERT WHITLEY 

Inside the largely intact ramparts of 

this relatively sleepy village of 20,000, 

there are four restaurants with at least 

one Michelin star. Outside the city 

walls there are several more. 

The center of the village, around 

Place Carnot, is lined with 

shops pedaling gourmet food 

products, as well as the latest 

fashions from Paris, a couple of 

hours to the north. 

From early spring through the 

annual Hospices de Beaune 

wine auction in late November, 

the cobblestone streets 

are clogged with tourists, particularly 

on Saturday, which 

is market day. On most weekends 

in the high season, hotel 

and restaurant reservations are a must. 

Once the bastion of the Dukes of Burgundy, 

Beaune is now the center of the wine universe 

for some, particularly wine aficionados with 

a taste for the most sought-after chardonnay 

and pinot noir in the world. 

Surrounded by some of the most famous wine 

villages in France, Beaune is more than the 

commercial center of Burgundy; it is its heart 

and soul. 

When in Beaune, this is what I do. 

I arrive at Hotel le Cep, a four-star hotel near 

the village center, and immediately celebrate 

with a glass of Cremant de Bourgogne or Laurent-Perrier 

brut rose Champagne, usually by 

the grand fireplace just off the lobby, especially 

if there is a chill in the air. 

Beaune has other superb 

hotels, including the elegant 

and relatively new Le Cedre 

and the conveniently located 

Hotel de la Poste. Le 

Cep, however, is eclectic and 

charming, an Old World period 

piece, with a warm and 

friendly staff; and it's an easy 

walk to my favorite haunts. 

None easier than the few 

steps to Loiseau des Vignes, 

a Michelin one-star next 

door to Le Cep. A diner could 

easily spend $300 in one sitting 

at Loiseau, but on a recent visit I ordered 

the four-course menu decouverte for 59 euros, 

which is about $80, including tax and tip. 

Dinner was, as expected, innovative and spec- 


tacular, but the greatest attraction for me is 

the Loiseau approach to wine. It is one of the 

few restaurants or wine bars in France where 

it is possible to enjoy grand cru Burgundy by 

the glass. I indulged and ordered a magnificent 

2009 Armand Rousseau Charmes Chambertin 

Grand Cru for 20 euros. I also took the 

wine pairings for each course, chosen by the 

sommelier, for an additional 45 euros. 

On the same visit, I had dinner one evening at 

Le Beneton, another Michelin one-star, and ordered 

a la carte. Le Beneton was equally innovative 

and dazzling, but twice the price. 

Michelin stars aside, my favorite restaurant in 

Beaune is Caveau des Arches. It is listed in the 

Michelin guide without a star, but the cuisine, 

perhaps a bit more traditional than Loiseau 

and Le Beneton, is exceptional and the wine 

list one of the finest in the village (though that 

distinction may be held by the small, charming 

Ma Cuisine). 

Caveau des Arches recently added a casual dining 

space upstairs from the main dining room 

in the "cave." The menu is limited, and reservations 

are not required, but it is well worth a visit. 

If budget is of concern, the modest but well 

appointed La Grilladine, a half-block from 

Le Cep, offers several menu options that are 

attractive. I recently chose its 23-euro dinner 

that included salmon tartare, beef bourguignon 

and a cheese plate. With a half-bottle of 

Pernand Vergelesses Premier Cru I got out for 

less than 50 euros, including tax and tip. 

I've also had similar experiences at the modest 

Le Conty, which, like the others, is mere steps 

from Place Carnot in the center of the village. 

And a bit further from the center of the village 

on Rue Faubourg Madelaine is Cave Madelaine, 

serving up the ultimate in Burgundian 

comfort food paired with an extensive selection 

of wines from Burgundy and the rest of 

France. 

Of course, no visit to Beaune would be complete 

without a stop at one of its better wine 

bars. 

My favorite for lo these many years has been 

Le Bistrot Bourguignon, near Place Carnot. 

This homey wine bar, which serves excellent 

bistro faire, offers more than 20 Burgundies 

by the glass, most of them village wines, ranging 

anywhere from 4 to 12 euros per glass, 

which is a four-to-five ounce pour. On a recent 

visit I also enjoyed a 1972 Armagnac for 10 

euros. 

On the other side of Place Carnot you will 

find the hip, modern La Part des Anges (the 

Angel's share) with equally good prices on the 

wines by the glass, and an array of tapas that 

pair nicely with the wines. La Part des Anges 

also steps outside the Burgundy box occasionally. 

The bar was pouring a South African Sauvignon 

Blanc and a dry red blend from Portugal 

on my last visit. 

So, when in Beaune, do as I do, and you will 

neither starve nor go thirsty. 

Top: The restaurant Caveau des Arches housed in 

ancient walls. Opposite top: The Hôtel-Dieu, with 

flamboyant glazed roofs, lined with geometric 

figures. Opposite below: Hotel Le Cep dining room. 


J O I N U S F O R T H E 2 0 1 4 

SeptemBer 

5 - 14, 

2014 

An Eastern European Adventure. Be a Part of Literary History. Help Solve a Literary Mystery. 

A K A F K A P R O J E c T T O U R 

Led by the author of Kafka’s Last Love 

And Kafka Project Director, Kathi Diamant 

10-DAY TOUR 

P R A G U E • K R A K O W • B E R L I N 


http://tour.kafkaproject.com

WINE DINE & TRAVEL MAGAZINE SPRING 2014

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