Unforgettable in India: the hammock, the infinity pool and the swing

On a recent five-week journey to that incomparable sub-continent, India, I stayed at fourteen different accommodations.

Many were marbled mausoleums; some were undistinguished a place to put a toothbrush for the night; then there were those both unique and unforgettable.

Here are three of those.

THE HAMMOCK

In Kovalam, a beach town in southern Kerala, sits the circular thatched-roof hut. It doesn’t stand alone, as it is surrounded by others of its kin, discreetly placed so as to give some privacy but not too far away from one another as to feel lonely. All these little thatched huts are perched on a parcel of land overlooking the Arabian Sea. The bare simplicity of furnishings inside my hut was softened by the white and airy mosquito netting covering my bed, like a cocoon. The louvered windows allowed in the warm breezes, and the overhead fan air-conditioned on stifling nights. I would lie in my bed and gaze at the sea. The sweet smell of bougainvillea and a variety of scented flowers wafted into my little home. The sun was hot and the mood was lazy. It was mid-March and memories of freezing weather back home were vague.

I had arrived at Somatheeram Ayurvedic Health Resort and stayed for five days. Each day was soothingly the same with slight variations: a yoga class led by a young man with a mesmerizing voice; breakfast of southern India fare filled the air with aromatic scents of cardamom, ginger and coconut. Ayurvedic massages are the specialty of this spa and I was slathered, on several occasions, with oil potions, and pummeled with cotton-covered pommels. The tiny tailor shop, its shelves filled with the natural cottons and lustrous silks for which Indian weavers are renowned, did catch my eye, and for $100 I had two personally designed outfits made. The tailor had a great sense of humor and had a keen eye not only for needle and thread, but he could size up his international array of customers in a stitch of time.

Down several flights of stone steps and alongside the wide sandy beach, is a thriving fishing village. I spent a morning there, with the women dressed in their colorful saris buying and selling fresh fish that their husbands had caught the night before, and trading in luscious fruits and other produce. Several groups of men sat on the ground playing cards, while the older boys played football in the sand, narrowly missing the loitering cows and goats. The younger children were all smiles and happily posed for pictures, which they clamored to see.

At the end of each day, sipping sweet masala chai tea, I would relax in my woven hammock a fixture on the lawn in front of my hut and sigh with pleasure as the red ball of the sun deferred to the horizon.

THE INFINITY POOL

Pink rose petals falling from the sky signaled our arrival at the Oberoi Udaivilas, Udaipur. A sleight of no hands began what, for a mere two days, turned out to be pure magic. Before I left for India, I had read “A Princess Remembers: Memoirs of the Maharani of Jaipur.” She recounted her privileged life as the granddaughter and then wife of legendary Maharajas of India: the unimaginable wealth, the splendor of her palace and its 500 servants, her exquisite taste. To live that life for a moment, I thought, might be rather appealing. The Oberoi turned out to be gifted to me by a fairy godmother. A modern day palace in the grand style of those of Rajashtani legend. The best of Indian Moghul architecture with its graceful arches, golden domes and gardens dotted with fountains and sculptures, married to the restrained style of the British legacy.

As I entered the main rotunda area with its black and white diamond-shaped marble floor, and gold dome, an elegant woman in a traditional Rajasthan sari served me a cold lime drink and a cool towel. Her male counterpart, in his crisp kurta and turban, escorted me to my suite. He introduced me to my new home and what a home it was! Both elegant and cozy: rich Rajasthan colors and playful pillows on the bed and plush window seat that overlooked Lake Pichola. A deep- soaking English claw-footed tub in the spacious bathroom was craftily positioned to overlook the lake as well. I thought this all heavenly, but there was more to come. Another door was opened to reveal a private patio framed in cascading bougainvillea and shaded by a traditional Indian umbrella. An infinity pool, 275 feet in length and almost 16 in width was waiting, but I dipped into the spa first for a treatment. Each of several spacious suites has its own bathing area and steam room. A scented foot bath and luxurious chaise-lounge bracketed the Balinese massage that was administered by a masseuse with miraculous hands.

Dinner by the lake was served with such quiet attentiveness, as to almost mimic the flower petals falling. I got up from my seat for a moment, and on my return, my napkin, which had fallen unnoticed by me, had been lifted from the ground, refolded and placed over the arm of my chair.

The next morning, as the sun was rising over the grand City Palace and Lake Pichola, I went for a long swim in the infinity pool. All was quiet just the gentle rippling of the water and bird calls. This proved to be the tranquil respite that this weary but grateful traveler needed before plunging back from my maharani idyll into the real world that is India.

THE SWING

My expert driver navigated the bad roads, the shepherds and their sheep, the crowded villages and never ending array of cows, to arrive at the grand hilltop fort of Sardargarh. The imposing facade harbors an intimate, 21-room boutique hotel.

This heritage property is owned and personally managed by royal descendants of a powerful Rajasthan Dhodhia, Sardar Singh, who masterminded the fort in the mid-18th century. In front of each suite, sits an antique wooden swing, made for two, and fastened by ornate brass chains to the arched ceiling of the porch entry. The suites, which were the original homes of Dhodhia’s wives and children, cluster around a landscaped garden and pergola. The intriguing nooks and crannies of the old fort are filled with artfully placed antiquities, bowls filled with floral designs made from the petals of innumerable flowering trees and bushes.

A pool, with water-lily ponds surrounding it, provided a refreshing dip from the heat of the day. Each meal was served in various open-aired spaces, sometimes on the ramparts overlooking the gentle valley, or in the garden, and on several occasions the owner and his charming wife, regaled us with stories of their colorful ancestry.

One of the highlights happened by chance: A master-class of Indian music was being given to two young staff, by one of the best known tabla players in India. It turns out that the Sardargarh’s owners not only want to preserve the fort, but also its vibrant cultural inheritance.

Distributed by MCT Information Services