Friday, 28 December 2012
Monday, 22 October 2012
'"Our coming to ITB-Asia today is a journey for "Friendship Tourism" focusing on South Asia. We would like to have more meaningful travellers from South Asia visiting Pakistan. Considering the fact that three-fourth of the 130 million Outbound travellers from Asia is travelling Intra-Region, any decision to promote tourism between countries within South Asia has to be supported both in Private and Government levels."
"We are keen to provide support to "The Green Circuit" to facilitate Cross Border Tourism between India and Pakistan. Even though the oil well and such resources will deplete one day, possibilities of wealth creation through tourism will only increase. We believe that the future of Pakistan lies in Cross Border Tourism. There is no other better alternative to build better understanding between people and culture. Bhutan, Nepal, Sri Lanka, India Afghanistan and Bangladesh will benefit tremendously out of this initiative."
"As a first step, We would like to work with like-minded partners in India and Pakistan to bring together multiple stakeholders in tourism for a consultative engagement on Cross Border Tourism through a series of events in November in India followed by a consultation in December in Pakistan."
Raj Basu, Co-Founder of HELP Tourism said in the meeting, "In our individual capacities, we have been promoting cross border tourism between India, Nepal, Bhutan and Bangladesh for a while. It's time to scale this up and work towards promoting peace, bringing in more cultural exchange and livelihood options for the people in the region."
"Possibilities of Tourism as a key driver for peace and stability in the region is grossly under-estimated. Support from the Ministry of Tourism in Pakistan will hopefully influence many others in the region to take a positive stand to achieve equitable growth in the region and facilitate more meaningful 'People to People contact." said, Gopinath Parayil, founder of The Blue Yonder.
The Green Circuit is a network of five Tour Operators from India and Nepal (Social Tours, Ecosphere, Grass Routes, Help Tourism and The Blue Yonder) who believes that tourism can be used as a tool for sustainable development of destinations.
Saturday, 30 June 2012
"It is a sound most beloved to me. The sound of rain in the night. A sound that makes me glad that I am where I am ─ In my little cottage in Mundakotukurussi hearing the rains fall─ That I have a roof over my bed and bedclothes to snuggle into. It brings to mind wellbeing while lost in meandering thoughts.
For days now I have waited for the rain as each summer day emerged wrapped by the heat. A woolen shroud that held within it the legs of time, stilling all movement, hindering every thought and breath.
The cicadas vent their fury. All day from all around. At times the vigour subsides but the music of the trees do not cease. It is a dry sound like the rasping hiss of tinders rubbing against each other. The sound of summer.
The fields lie brown and baked. Tufts of paddy stand. Brown flowers that crackle even as you look at it. Wells dry. Sweat prickles every brow and rushes down the temple. Exhaustion lines every face and dogs every step. Most evenings the clouds gather; a herd of grey cows bearing rain in their udders. Sometimes they consent to being milked and allow the rain to flow…
Sometimes they wander away leaving a restless parched land in their wake.The thunderstorms seldom last long. The land sizzles and splutters under the impact of the rain. Every drop is lapped up by the thirsty land. A puddle is rare. Wetness even rarer.The nights are still. The fireflies have gone into hiding.
In the morning you know the heat will reappear. A daytime ghoul strangling the breath of the hour. Harder and harder. In your heart you know a fear then. The worst fear of all: Will this ever end? And then what next?
Everyone starts talking about the monsoon then. Everyone I know and meet. Our conversations weave around the monsoon. It perhaps becomes the only way to live the summer through….All through May, newspapers are scanned for meteorological reports on the monsoon sightings…’When the monsoon arrives’ becomes the mantra of survival. And sanity.
Late in the afternoon the heat seems to hit an absolute crescendo. The whirring fan circulates the warm air. Around and around. There never will be respite, one sighs.
Then it begins. One day the listless air begins to move. Clouds gather and move up the coast. Leaves rustle and the skies darken. Lightening and thunder. The bars of heat loosen and with its first drops, the rain snap apart the inert month. The earth feeds of this rain. A greedy baby devouring the colostrum of fecundity. More, more, more, the earth craves for this thin watery rain. Then sated for the moment, it belches. A deep dank fragrance. Moist earth laden with the memories of sun-baked days and crumbling surfaces.
The wetness of rain. The wetness of release.Rain falls. On the skin it feels as if it were a thousand arrows shot by a god. A tingling, a ringing, a singing that punctured pores and raked the senses.
Sheets of rain that made islands of houses. A haze of water that dispersed people and sound, trapping colour and light and refracting reprieve.
Life exhales. The relief of having got past the summer.
In my little cottage, I lie on the bed staring at the roof. As the thunder roll and heave, I cock an ear. For that first plop. I hear it then. All over the cottage are plastic cans. Old paint buckets to capture every errant drop that escapes through the roofing tiles. Plop. Plop. Plop. The rain make its presence known.
Ever since I built the cottage, the onset of the monsoon causes a nervous flittering in the pit of my stomach. I do not know what it is I can do to stop the leaks.
Then someone suggests we toss hay on the roof. “It is only a temporary measure but it should work for a while,” he says. “The poor do it all the time. But, tell me, why did you get a tile roof put in instead of a concrete one?
For the rain, I think. I hoped to lie in bed and hear that beloved sound. The soft magical music of rain on tile roofs. The drip and drop from the eaves.
The power goes off. It comes back in a minute and then goes off again. On and off, on and off. In affluent homes, the emergency light or the inverter comes on. I light a candle and place it in a saucer. There are no harsh surprises, none of the not-knowing-what-to-do. With this I will make do till morning or whatever time the power chooses to return.
I get up and go to sit in the verandah and watch the rain fall. A frog leaps joyous with wetness. A world washed in rain is entertainment by itself…"
Anita Nair is the bestselling author of The Better Man, Ladies Coupe, Mistress and Lessons in Forgetting. Her books have been translated into over 30 languages around the world. Her new novel Cut Like Wound will be published in August 2012.
Thursday, 7 June 2012
“I don’t know.” I replied. And that was the truth.
In my mid-teens when my peers were experimenting with various substances ranging from pan parag to cigarettes to marijuana, I rode buses instead. I would take a local bus to its final stop – the bus depot. And take a bus back home. That was my idea of a rush. For about ninety minutes, I sat watching life and feeling the breeze in my face, and a journey was all I needed to distance myself from reality.
The tea arrived in glass tumblers. Hot, strong and with the just right amount of sugar. He also brought a plate of Papada vada (papadums coated in a batter of rice flour, chilli powder and a hint of asafoetida).
© Anita Nair
Anita Nair is the author of five works of fiction: Satyr of the Subway & Eleven Other Stories, The Better Man, Ladies Coupé, Mistress and Lessons in Forgetting; a collection of essays: Goodnight & God Bless; a collection of poems: Malabar Mind; and has edited Where the Rain is Born: Writings about Kerala. Nair has also written four books for children and two plays Nine Faces of Being and A Twist of Lime. She has also translated Thakazhi Sivasankara Pillai’s Chemmeen into English.
Check out her new online writing Heavenly Bliss Salon for Men
Monday, 23 April 2012
|The Blue Yonder blog|
If you are interested in participating in this quick and short survey, please see this link. Any questions on the survey, please get in touch with Kamran Marwah
Tuesday, 27 March 2012
|Missing an opportunity to preserve this historic marvel, private owners have left only this piece of the old tile factory. Icons linked to it's historical importance were removed by owners to impress upon a court enquiry that the place had nothing to do with Kerala history!|
I had been hearing about the Mamaankam festival and the rich history behind it all my life, but visiting some of the newly renovated sites like Changamballi Kalari, Nilapaadu Thara, Manikkinar, Pazhukka Mandapam, and Marunnara, which were closely associated with Mamankam festival was something else. Thanks to some recent restoration work by the archeology department and a lot of background work done by responsible tourism players like The Blue Yonder, one gets to know these places exist. But what was really enriching for me was to hear stories from Gopinath Parayil, the soul behind The Blue Yonder, about what makes these places truly special and be the inspiration for us to live our lives today knowing that so many amazing incidents and experiences happened in the past that we could learn from. Some that stay fresh in my memory even after many weeks of making that trip. The Changamballi Kalari, the only one with an entrance from the right side, keeping with the Muslim traditions even though Kalari was essentially a Hindu dominated martial art form stands testimony to how communities could hold traditions together despite religious diversity. The 'Changamballi family', who manages this Kalari has an interesting history as well. Tulu Brahmins from Mangalore who settled in this part of the world were forced to convert into Islam during the invasion of Tipu Sultan in the Malabar region. They agreed to the conversion with a few conditions that the Sultan agreed. They continue to be unique in the sense that they are perhaps the only “vegetarian” Muslim community in Kerala with customs and traditions from their Tulu lineage followed while they practice Islam. What a beautiful story of amalgamation in society. Perhaps the closest is the one on how the Parsi community blended with the Gujarati Hindus upon their arrival on the Indian shores. Funnily enough, the local school kids who were following us curiously had no idea on why these sites were preserved or their historical significance, even though their school was next door! Perhaps the archaeology department needs to invest some effort in sharing why they have taken the pains to restore and revive something with the local population. And the local schools and teachers definitely have the onus on them to ensure the new generation understands the mantle they need to be proud of and preserve
|Nila flowing through Desamangalam region. Pandavas are believed to have bathed in these erstwhile ghats before their journey to the heaven. |
Shared by Meena Vaidyanathan. Published earlier on 'Welcome Kerala' Magazine.
Wednesday, 15 February 2012
Therefore, I would like to invite you to participate in the research that I am undertaking to understand travelers expectations and perceptions about destinations and experiences. I will be interviewing travelers from Europe who travel to South Asian and African countries with tour operators with a focus on responsible tourism. I will be conducting in-depth interviews with travelers from the Netherlands, Germany, France, Great Britain, Austria, and Sweden.
If you are a traveller based in any of the above countries, feel free to get in touch with me on mariska (at) theblueyonder (dot) com to be part of this interesting initiative. I speak English, German and Dutch, so feel free to converse with me in any of these languages. Please contact me to make an appointment to do an interview with you in the coming months.
Monday, 13 February 2012
As we traversed the length and breadth of Gujarat, our feet ached and our spirits were slightly weary. So on the last day, when we were supposed to visit Champaner, all of us had second thoughts about actually making the trip.
I had first heard of Champaner through a friend who was studying in Ahmedabad and would make a quick weekend trip to Champaner when he wanted to escape the chaotic clutches of city life. I remember him telling me about the mounted heritage structures scattered across the dusty little town. I had immediately then drawn a picture of it in my head and it certainly did seem like place I would have liked to experience.
Out first stopover was at the Sahar ki Masjid which is a sandstone mosque with towering minarets etched with the most intense designs. My fellow travelers and I were the only ones in the mosque. That allowed me to seek my own space and as I walked pass the sturdy columns, the mosque took me back hundreds of years. The guide’s voice echoed in my head and his words brought forth an army of Jains, Muslims and Hindus who congregated at the mosque. The influence of all the three communities was starkly visible in the sculpted ceilings and doors.
The wind was chilly and as my fingers traced the shivering marble centerpiece, the artwork narrated tales of the skill and time which must have gone into creating the momentous structure. The guide says that there exists no documented evidence of this place ever having been used as a mosque. And the geography of the structure complies as one sees the wide open space where conversations must have nurtured between columns.
Our next stop was the Jami Masjid, another stupendous testimonial of the Mahmud Begada’s rule on Champaner when he made the city the capital of Gujarat. We were fortunate to have reached this Mosque just as a bunch of tourists were stepping out. As we paved our way through the stoned arch laced in lattice, the mosque came into view. It was lined by balconies and minarets and several local children who were perhaps on a school trip. Their buzzing bickering and colored outfits contrasted with the 15th century structure which rebelled with its symmetry and even use of sandstone.
The afternoon sun played hide and seek with the latticed windows and balconies and drew pretty patterns on the floor. Pigeons cooed away in corners of the murky mosque. Two men discussed employment options sitting inside the cool carved space before the window. Children streaked pass the columns leaving their shadows behind. The large dome with intricate carvings offered protection from the heady sunrays. Time passed slowly and quickly, all at once.
I was humbled by this feat of beauty which offered very limited utility in our current times but overwhelmed me with its powerful aesthetic composition. I am usually skeptical of history books and especially great rulers like Mahmud Begada. I always wonder about the lives lost, the struggle for power and the very need for a ruler to indulge in an extravagant expense of building a structure of this size and beauty when it could be used for the benefit of the proletariat.
However, in that moment, I thanked Mahmud Begada for commissioning this mosque and creating a structure which has stood the test of time and empires. I was indeed grateful for this piece of history which could remind us of a time and world that was. I smiled as I thought about the employment this structure must have generated, the art which has been preserved and the hub that it acts like for the existing community.
I sighed deeply as I felt my spirits rise and began walking towards the exit.
Saturday, 11 February 2012
I spied him through a corner of my camera lens, a bundle of nervous enthusiasm. He was clutching at the crisp white kites being handed over to him. He was off in a flash, tightly gripping the kites and the spindle of cord. I ran after him and caught up to ask, “Can I fly kites with you?” There was a shy nod and a gesture to follow him.
We dashed through the warren of dark and narrow alleys of Ahmedabad's old walled city. We traipsed over mounds of fresh dung, deposited by the old city's most numerous denizens – cattle. Very soon I was deep in the belly of another world. He gestured me to follow him into a barely perceptible doorway, while informing someone of a visitor at the same time. I had to keep watch to avoid slamming my forehead into the low-slung door frame, while my little new-found friend was already slithering up makeshift wooden ladder-staircases that connected the different vertical levels of this tiny household. He yelled a “hello” to his mother and summed up my visit in a breath, all the while climbing. In a few seconds we were in fresh air, looking out over the roofs of old Ahmedabad, in time to fly kites to celebrate Uttarayan.
The roof was host to a gaggle of kids and was alive with preparations to launch the first kites, and my friend was completely absorbed. It took only a few more minutes for the first kites to lift away against the backdrop of Ahmedabad's heritage monuments, and on cue, rooftop DJs who had dragged massive audio gear to the roofs got the mood going. Predictably, bowing to popular demand, this was a 'Kolaveri'-themed event, and humming away my little friend got to grips with his kite. Amidst yells from his mother to be careful on the roof, he tried to get his kite aloft.
But alas, his efforts only managed to break the kite's spine. The smile was gone and the enthusiasm went flat as he watched his peers regale themselves in grand aerial battles fought with 'enemy' kites flown from other other rooftops. An uncle quickly rigged up another kite for him, while his cousin got it aloft, but it clearly wasn't enough. My friend dashed downstairs. While I was pondering the consequences of this crushing childhood disappointment, I was served warm tea and breakfast including the Uttarayan kichchdi by the mother who assured me the boy would be back soon. And on cue he was back, fresh from a bath, dressed in his Sunday best, and his mojo – his favorite hat.
The smile was radiant on his face as he ditched his white kites for a sleek back one. He was onto to something, he had figured out how to get a kite aloft. It was now time for me to fade away, as I watched him get his kite in the air humming: “ooh lala, ooh lala, tu hi meri fantasy!”
Friday, 10 February 2012
Next day, ‘Z’ and I made our way to catch the sunrise. Our driver overslept, so we decided to walk at least a couple of miles to the Rann. The horizon, a mirage many a moments was still as a lake. The cold and distance played on my arthritic knees but ‘Z’ gently edged me on. I did not want to disappoint and kept up slowly giving us both space to enjoy the moments alone but together. Unlike the previous night, the land was enjoying its peace as well and so was I. We were the only ones around within miles.
As we made our way into the villages surrounding the Rann, my thoughts seemed to be echoed in ‘Z’. As we walked ahead of the group, we encountered kids running towards us. We were not comfortable with little children holding their hand out for a pen or some money. Uncomfortable, we made some quick purchases for things I am sure we really did not need but wanted. ‘Z’ and I were very proud of our acquisitions. As we lay them in the room the colors of the Kutch reflected in those patchwork bed covers. Today, they adorn my urban space, remind me when I least expect a glimpse of the simple beautiful people who live surrounded by the vast plains.
In the port city of Mandvi, we made our way into the ship building yards. ‘Z’ had been here before, writing and photographing the area. I had a heads up on what to expect and let the enthusiasm of a sailor returning to his favorite port take over my time. As I walked in the old town admiring the doors which gave me a glimpse of the people behind, I heard stories from ‘Z’ about the sailors who camehere, the land that absorbed the traveler, assimilated with the strangers making them their own. ‘Z’ has an infectious enthusiasm that rubs off on you, though a little loud at times but adorable nonetheless. As we meandered through the old fishing town, he found his passion. Now every cat in that town knows ‘Z’ and am sure the cats and their owners will remember us for the longest time to come.
I did have a chance to wander about on my own, leaving ‘Z’ wandering on to the boats making conversations with Zanzibarian’s who had made Mandvi home. I heard a familiar sound of my mother tongue and there was Ramesh perched on a ledge, taking a break from hammering some cotton between the wooden planks. He said I looked like somebody from Hyderabad. That was uncanny but true and the commonality of language led the conversation further. Away from home for the last decade he said he worked on these mighty boats. A boy from the interiors of Andhra farmland, he was happy working on boats that sailed the trade winds to Africa. I still wonder how he knew that I was from Hyderabad, had ‘Z’ mentioned it?
As we walked about in town buying some gifts for our host for the afternoon, ‘Z’ and I lost the others in the group. We knew our destination but not the path. But not to worry, seemed everybody in the town knew who we were and led us through the alleyways to our destination. While trying to navigate through town, randomly dropping into beautiful mansions one of which was a Jain dharamsala, which faintly had reminders of architecture from down south.
In the old market, I finally found someone who helped me buy this lovely vivid scarf that many of the Muslim men wore. I approached the colorful old man who insisted we stay in the background while he bargained for us. It turns out they the scarves come all the way from Karachi and one does not need imagination to know how it comes. ‘Z’ later learnt how to tie it around his head during a highway break. We seemed to have provided some much needed entertainment for the truckers.
Mandvi had more in store for us. ‘Z’ was originally from Mandvi. Family had moved to Mumbai in their grandfather’s time. Having tracked the current owners of the old ancestral home, ‘Z’ was invited and so were we by default to an afternoon meal. ‘Z’ perhaps was controlling her emotions as we all sat in the living room fringed by the original woodwork. Imagine discovering the house where your ancestors left traces, perhaps messages etched in the wood. We shared her connections and in that we will always be connected with her to the house. Her memories of discovery linked with us.
A Bohri ‘dastar khanna’ awaited us. Laid in the room next to the family kitchen, we all sat on the floor trying very hard to fold those unexercised knees and muscles. Famished after traveling through predominantly vegetarian land, we devoured the fresh fish and prawns. If the catch were any fresher it would have walked off our plates! The fish marinated in local spices, pan fried just fell off the bones. There was my ever-favorite Pomfret that kept me busy for a while. The prawns were cooked to perfection in rice, moist and succulent with the perfect burani to complete it.
‘Z’ was in heaven. You could see in the silence, a satiated smile that a teleportation had taken place. All it took was some fish in the meal to bring that joyous silent laughter and shine in the eyes. A thief caught in the orchard. As ‘Z’ enjoyed, oblivious to all of us like cat with a fish, we exchanged stories. The family of five brothers all lived together; from farmers to lawyers between them they had covered all occupations. There were children everywhere all around the same age. What joy to grow up with cousins, who are your first friends? As we made our way to see the house which in another 9 years will be considered a heritage house, the women of the house sat down to eat. We carried the babies, keeping them busy as the mothers ate in peace.
After a spent afternoon, we said our goodbyes to our newfound friends who will always be a part of the journey. In this new age, I know we will meet again, if not anything virtually exchange the changes in our lives. Through time perhaps our paths will cross again, their children grown and my shoes worn a bit more.
The land as intriguing as it was provided a backdrop to my experience. It was my interactions with ‘Z’ that made the trip. What I will remember from this trip are these human interactions that I hope I can maintain for years to come.
(Image taken by a studio photographer in Pavagargh)
Traveling with ‘Z’ is a story of who traveled with me. It’s a collective of a person, their traits and my adventures with them. ‘Z’ is not just one person but a part of all my four travel companions and what they shared with me. My memories intertwined with people who started off being semi strangers and ended as friends.
(photo credit: Anand Sankar)
Tuesday, 7 February 2012
Responsible tourism clinics:
These are series of clinics where you interact with practitioners who run social businesses in tourism. Pose your questions on related topics and find solutions from experts.
Social Media for destination promotion: How to increase business through social media marketing?
- Helena Egan, Director of Destination Marketing, TripAdvisor, will give tips and tricks on how best to utilise the power of reviews - for Hotels and tour operators alike on TripAdvisor
08. Mar. 2012
Power of Story Telling : How to use stories to promote your business?
- Zainab Kakal - Chief Enthusiasm Officer at The Blue Yonder
08. Mar. 2012
3) Moving beyond conventional tourism - How to develop innovative experiences ?
- Monk for a month
- Ethical Travel Portal
- Cape Town tourism
Experiences shared by suppliers in India, Thailand, Nepal and South Africa
4) Power of networking: How collaboration can bring more business ?
- Raj Gyawali - The Green Circuit
**All the clinics will be at stand Hall 4.1/201(The Blue Yonder)
09. Mar. 2012 Friday
Venue: Stage of the Exhibition Area: Experience Adventure, ECOtourism & Expeditions in hall 4.1
Inspiring stories from destinations.
Listen to inspiring and innovative stories from destinations that are chosen from a collection of applications from around the world.
ITB-Berlin responsible tourism networking
Partnering : The Blue Yonder, The Green Circuit and Tripbod
Supported by: Pocket village
Media partner: Vision Travel Mole
- Rika Jean-Francoise CSR commissioner ITB-Berlin
1810-2030 : RT pitches and networking
- listen to 2 minutes pitches from responsible tourism initiatives around the world and interact with those involved in sustainable tourism
'Monk for a month': last years winner at ITB-Berlin 'inspiring stories from destination'
Let the world know what you’ve been up to in your local destination.
Share your inspirational story about the destination you work in and have the opportunity to present at the 4th ITB Responsible Tourism Networking in Berlin. This is your chance to WOW industry associates and potential buyers with real life examples of how responsible tourism is powering positive change in your destinations. This is our attempt to unite dedicated initiatives around the world to propel the Responsible Tourism movement forward.
This year, the event is organized by The Green Circuit, The Blue Yonder and Tripbod with support from Pocket Village. Our media partner will be VISION travelmole. For the second year, ITB Responsible Tourism Networking is inviting inspirational stories direct from destinations. Story submissions are open to anyone with an amazing tale to tell where they used tourism as a tool to find solution to local issues. Successful selections will be based on innovation and the stories power to inspire responsible tourism in respective destinations.
Last year’s successful entries included, Monk for a Month an initiative started by Ben Bowler: He says "to be able to present our programmes at the ITB fringe event Inspiring Stories was a brilliant way to get exposure to just the right crowd for our unique products. From that evening we have formed several highly valuable relationships, it was certainly a significant step in the World Weavers story."
Three successful entries will be selected to present their ten-minute story of local inspiration to kick off this years Responsible Tourism Networking Event at ITB Berlin on the 9th of March 2012 at 17:30 at Hall 4.11. In addition to presenting your story at the world’s leading travel trade show, selected applicants will be featured on the PocketVillage website; an intuitive search engine to find and enjoy exceptional travel experiences.
Entries are requested to reach us in either of the following formats by 29th Feb 2012 by email to stories (at) thegreencircuit (dot) net:
In words; no more than 1,500 words
Video; no more than 5 minutes
Slideshow; no more 20 slides
Podcast; no more than 5 minutes
Successful applicants will be notified by email by the 3rd of March 2011. Please mention the following information at the beginning of your story: Your Name, Email, Organisation and Destination. For more information, please get in touch with info (at) thegreencircuit (dot) net.
The Responsible Tourism Networking event will continue from 1800 till 2030 at Hall 4.1. This year ITB Berlin will also feature RT Clinics during the three trade visitors days , where experts will share their experiences relevant to building sustainable tourism businesses. This is structured in a way were attendees can pose questions and find solutions from peers. More information on this here.