Róisín Inglehas been to India before, once for a journey of self-discovery that involved a Buddhist retreat and several million hungry mosquitoes, and once with a leprosy charity, to see another side of the country. This time she is adding some luxury to the spiritual mix
FINDING YOURSELF IN India is not a straightforward pursuit. I spent almost three months in the country a few years ago, with "Find myself!!!" at the top of a lengthy to-do list. If I couldn't find myself there, or a bit of me at least, I figured I had no hope
Back in 2004 I threw myself into the search. In the pilgrimage town of Tiruvannamalai, in the southern state of Tamil Nadu, I quizzed local gurus on the meaning of life, prayed at the famous Ramana ashram and trudged around the holy mountain of Arunachala for the ritual of pradakshina, only stopping by the side of the dusty road to sip water straight from a freshly beheaded coconut. (I cheated for the last few kilometres, but I felt holy even while breathing petrol fumes and circumambulating the mountain in the back of an autorickshaw.)
At Auroville, a would-be Utopia set up by westerners near the former French colony of Pondicherry, I meditated in the Matrimandir. This spherical structure is covered in glistening gold discs and sits like a Bond-movie prop beside a show-stopping banyan tree. (This was four years ago, and since then the centre has been the subject of an investigation by the BBC amid allegations of child exploitation, which Auroville has staunchly denied.)
In those days I wore Indian clothes, turned vegetarian and made friends with a local teenager called Viji who had more guru-like qualities in her little finger than the bearded Texan dude giving darshan, or blessing, in an ashram down the road.
Find myself in India? Easy! My inner GPS had my true essence located in no time.
I was lucky. On that trip a long-time India wallah, who also happened to be my older brother, provided me with the softest of soft landings in a country that assaults the senses like few others. He picked me up at the airport in Madras, aka Chennai, provided a bed in his apartment, offered a running analysis of the multiple culture shocks I was experiencing - the smells! The sounds! The hole-in-the-floor toilets! - and gave me the benefit of his India, all that knowledge and those friendships accrued over 15 years.
After I'd found myself he offered to put me on the back of his Enfield Bullet and drive us to the beaches of Goa to see another, more conventionally touristy side of India.
And then he changed his mind. After a horrendous and interminable train journey ("you are very fat", the Indian man on the bunk opposite kept saying as I wondered how long you got for assault in this part of the world) he brought me to poor Bihar, India's most maligned state, for a 10-day Buddhist meditation retreat.
Our destination was Bodhgaya, where the Buddha sat down under a tree and refused to get up until he became enlightened. The night before we were due to move to the local Thai temple, where the retreat was taking place, my brother booked us into a hotel. I was transfixed by several million hungry mosquitoes and suspiciously stained bed linen.
One humongous foot-stamping hissy fit later I was sipping cold beer in a new five-star hotel reflecting that maybe I hadn't found myself after all. Perhaps, just perhaps, that was going to take more than a bout of spiritual shopping and a few cups of chai. The next day the retreat, along with the real learning - the kind that never stops - began.
I've been lucky enough to go back to India since, for work. The following year I travelled with the Leprosy Mission charity to a different part of Tamil Nadu and met people with the disease, along with doctors committed to restoring dignity and health to that stigmatised community. It was an opportunity to see another side of a country that I can't get enough of.
So last month, when the boss wondered aloud if I fancied a trip to southern India, with the caveat that it was the tail end of monsoon season, it was a bit of a no-brainer. And that was before she uttered those sacred words "luxury trip".
Bombay-born, Dublin-based Roshan Patheria of Indian Dreams has been bringing groups and individuals back to her country on tailor-made holidays, from culinary tours to safaris, for the past few years.
One of her latest ideas is to cater for travellers who want to explore the ancient Ayurvedic, spiritual or yogic elements of India but have passed the point when backpacking sounds like fun. These people also want to experience the luxury the country has to offer.
Guided by Patheria's carefully crafted itinerary, my boyfriend and I flew to Bombay, aka Mumbai, with British Airways and were picked up by an Indian Dreams representative. After a night at the very flash Intercontinental we were on a flight south to Mangalore.
A word about internal flights. From the moment you arrive at the airport, where staff assist you in checking your bag, to the flight itself, flying in India is a joy. Kingfisher Airlines gives you a tasty, hot Indian meal even on a 40-minute flight, as well as dinky pens and notebooks - and don't get us started on the exceptionally beautiful stewards. Neither Kingfisher nor Jet Airways, the other main carrier, seems to have heard of the no-frills concept. I just hope the owners never meet Michael O'Leary.
In Mangalore we were picked up and driven south for three hours to Kerala, which in a country as vast as India means it is pretty much just down the road. Kerala is a bit like Kerry (well, three letters of it, anyway), and just like Kerry this beautiful state, famous for its backwaters, where Bibi Baskin has a hotel, is known as God's own country.
We drove along roads lined with palm trees and lush green paddy fields, across bridges, through busy villages, around traffic-stopping sacred cows and - holding our breath when it seemed that a truck was going to crash into us, which happens often in India - made it safely to Neeleshwar Hermitage resort, where a sign on the gate says, rather promisingly, "For the rest of your life".
We were greeted by smiling staff bearing fragrant flower necklaces, but even their eagerness couldn't hide the fact that the resort was still a building site. Only a few of the traditional-style thatched villas dotted around the gorgeous coconut-grove setting were habitable, and the Priya (it means beloved in Sanskrit) Ayurvedic centre was not yet finished.
Quickly abandoning plans for that pre-dinner health-giving massage, we checked into our thatched cottage, a spacious and stunning room with a bathroom open to the elements and a front deck overlooking an infinity pool and the Arabian Sea.
In the room, candles glowed and incense burned and a little bar of Cadbury Dairy Milk nestled on the pillow, all of which nearly, but not quite, made up for the fact that the air conditioning hadn't been installed yet. It can get humid at monsoon time.
At dinner in the outdoor fish restaurant the sweet waiter poured us Indian wine and over the soft rumble of the sea explained that monsoon season meant we were alone in the resort except for a trio of "philosophers", at which revelation the boyfriend rushed back to the villa to put on a shirt.
Philosophers? The reality, when it materialised, was far more interesting - and intimidating. A Russian nuclear physicist, an eminent art historian and a British diplomat were our dining companions for the next few days. The food at Neeleshwar was exceptional - fish curries, Tibetan momo dumplings, delicate home-made chapattis - but even if it hadn't been we would have been sated by the conversation.
The following day we hired a kettuvallam, one of the famous rice barges, now houseboats, once used to transport grain along India's backwaters. These days they are a tourist attraction. Southern Kerala may be busier and even more famous for its meandering narrow waterways, but the watery expanse around Bekal and Neeleshwar, endless, elegant coconut trees lining the shore, is every bit as impressive.
A bit like Dublin, Neeleshwar Hermitage will be only gorgeous when it's finished, probably at the end of this month. For now we can't say exactly what it will be like - although that hasn't stopped the likes of Condé Nastprematurely gushing about the facilities.
Back to Mangalore, then, where we had another pleasant flight to Goa and another scenic, if in parts extremely bumpy, drive to our next deluxe destination - which lived up to its billing.
The state of Karnataka, sandwiched between ever-popular Goa and famous Kerala, is home to the silk and sandalwood city of Mysore and Nagarhole National Park, where you'll find tigers, leopards and Indian bison, should that kind of thing float your kettuvallam.
Part of the CGH Earth chain of resorts, SwaSwara sits on 12 hectares of coconut groves behind Gokarna's Om Beach, a haven for westerners in peak season, when makeshift shacks are erected as cheap accommodation along the shore.
SwaSwara's manager Anjali gave us an introductory talk. SwaSwara, she said, was not a hotel or a resort but an experience. She also warned us about the lack of televisions, the no-meat menu and the fact that alcohol was limited to local wines. "SwaSwara means the sound of your inner being. It's a place where you can come home to yourself," she said, which sounded good to us.
After delicate shell bracelets were tied to our wrists, any post-building-site concerns about the impending "experience" melted away as we were shown around the property. Clustered around a clear-as-crystal pool, a blue meditation dome, an Ayurvedic treatment centre and an airy, elevated yoga studio were 24 villas designed in the local Konkan style.
Our villa took our breath away. The only fully enclosed and air-conditioned space was the bedroom; the rest of the accommodation was open, with lush grass and smooth pebbles decorating the back-to-nature reception area. A few steps down took us to a restful outside sitting room. Above the bedroom was a yoga or reading deck with a view of the sea below. Gorgeous.
That night we went for a consultation with Dr Dayananda and Dr Shobha, a husband-and-wife Ayurvedic team. Kind of like the way we've been known to tick everything on a hotel's room-service breakfast card, we greedily opted for two treatments a day, including lots of massage and natural-beauty treatments. To clear the mind my boyfriend tried shirodhara, which involved medicated oil being poured over his forehead. To boost the circulation I went for patra pinda sweda, a massage using pouches of medicated leaves heated in oil.
If you haven't tried Ayurveda and have issues with nudity, the all-natural experience at SwaSwara might throw you initially. For a start, you take every stitch of clothing off. Every. Stitch. The therapist protects what modesty you have left at that stage with a cotton loincloth.
After the treatment, having been slathered in natural oils or pummelled by piping-hot pouches containing garlic and lemon grass, you are led to a gorgeous private outdoor shower room, at which point the therapist helps you wash yourself. "I felt like a king, a very embarrassed king," said my boyfriend after being attended to by three male therapists.
Apart from the pampering, there were plenty of other activities to divert us. The local nature is stunning and a haven for birds, so a birdwatching session led by the staff naturist was a must. An ecotour of SwaSwara was equally impressive. The grounds are planted with trees named for guests who celebrated special moments at the resort. The small lakes dotted around turned out to be rainwater harvesters, and their water is used in the showers and in the laundry. Much of the kitchen's exceptional menu was grown in the fruit and vegetable plots and paddy fields around the property, and the fish - ah, the fish - was caught in the sea below. Every Monday staff volunteer to go down to Om Beach to clear up after the weekend daytrippers. It's that kind of place.
If you are a yoga fiend, or want to try it for the first time, the two resident teachers, Ruchir and Kirit, provide one-to-one or group sessions in everything from laughter yoga to the very wonderful sleep yoga. We did the latter almost every day to great restorative effect. (Kirit also led me through an "intestinal wash", which involved drinking salty water. Without going into too much detail, it left me feeling clean inside and out.)
In the interactive kitchen - guests are encouraged to come and learn recipes at any time - we made curries and salivated over the five-course meals prepared each night. It being monsoon season, we were lucky not to get a drop of rain, but it also meant at one point that we were the only guests in the resort. The staff felt more like friends, and single travellers would never be short of company, which explains why they get such a lot of them at SwaSwara.
But when we just wanted to retreat, between treatments and trips to the local market or temple, our villa was a haven. Each afternoon our bed was decorated with petals from exotic flowers grown in the garden, and at night an inspirational quote was left on the pillow in lieu of chocolate. These ranged from words of the great sages to, er, George Michael lyrics, and they always gave us something to think about before bed.
I'm not sure if I found myself on this trip, but I stayed still enough to hear the rumbling of my inner being, especially during the saltwater cleansing process. And with my backpacking days pretty much behind me, I know I will be heading back to the quiet luxury of SwaSwara to continue the search.
How to get there and how much it costs
Airlines that fly to Bombay include British Airways (via Heathrow, www.ba.com), Lufthansa (via Frankfurt, www.lufthansa.com), KLM (via Amsterdam, www.klm.com) and Virgin (via Heathrow, www.virgin-atlantic.com). From October 27th Scandinavian Airlines (www.flysas.com) will fly from Dublin to Delhi via Copenhagen, starting at €480.
Once you land you can take an overnight train to SwaSwara or spend the night in the city and fly to Dabolim Airport, in Goa, the next day, with Jet Airways (www.jetairways.com) or Kingfisher (www.flykingfisher.com). SwaSwara (www.swaswara.com) is a three-hour drive from the airport.
From next month Monarch Airways will charter flights to Goa via Gatwick and Manchester.
International flights cost about €800; domestic flights work out at about €200.
A five-night stay at SwaSwara, in Karnataka, through Indian Dreams (www.indiandreams.ie) costs €750 for a twin-share villa, which includes transfers from Goa airport, all meals, taxes and activities, including yoga, cooking and birdwatching. The price does not include Aryurveda treatments. These prices are valid for the 12 months from October 1st. The single supplement is €575.
Neeleshwar Hermitage (www.neeleshwarhermitage.com), in Kerala, costs from €950 per person for eight nights' accommodation (seven at the resort and one in transit from Bombay) with breakfast and leisure activities.