Kelimutu is more than its famed crater lakes. Travel with RMC Detusoko and immerse yourself in the agricultural heritage of Flores’ Ende-Lio highlands, and its role in the founding of modern Indonesia. 

MEET THE LIO PEOPLE

“The house is our mother. The mother has an esteemed position in our society,” says Aloysius Leta, a Wologai village elder, as he shows me into his traditional house in the village.

Known for its traditional houses with its distinctive thatched roofs, Wologai is one of the oldest Lio villages in Flores’s Ende-Lio highlands. Lio people profess to be descendants of one mother and one father from Mount Lepembusu, and the Lio traditional house reflects this “one mother” narrative. 

Though predominantly Catholic, much of the Lio people’s daily life are still governed by their pre-Christian customs. As such, rituals such as agricultural ceremonies, prayer offerings to ancestors, and the annual Kelimutu festival honouring ancestors are commonplace. 

An invitation to enter a traditional Lio house is a sacred and intimate gesture. The veranda through which guests enter symbolises the mother’s open hands and heart, says Aloysius. 

Next to the entrance is a carving of a pair of female breasts, which guests are to touch with quiet reverence upon entering. The interior of the house symbolises the mother’s womb and a communion of brotherhood.

Striking as they are, all of Wologai’s houses are reproductions of the originals — fires are a recurrent plague, and Aloysius has witnessed four Wologai fires in his lifetime. The last one in 2012 took just 15 minutes to consume every single house in the village. 

“Despite these trials, we don’t run away. We remain here to guard our mother,” says Aloysius. 

And it is this sense of pride and guardianship over Lio heritage that Ferdinandus “Nando” Watu seeks to preserve and share with the world through RMC Detusoko.  

ONE HEARTH, ONE MOTHER, ONE HOUSE 

RMC Detusoko is a collective founded by Nando and a group of young Lio farmers from Detusoko district, which encompasses Wologai, as well as Detusoko Barat, Nando’s village. 

Deeply grounded in their agricultural and spiritual traditions but aware of the need to tap economic opportunities beyond their home, RMC develops the capacity of local farmers for ventures into hospitality and artisan food production — fields beyond traditional farming, but within reach with the proper support.

In 2017, RMC founded Decotourism to manage RMC’s travel venture, taking advantage of the Lio villages’ proximity to one of Ende regency’s prime attractions: Mount Kelimutu and its famed tri-coloured lakes. 

With Decotourism, you take in not only the wonder of the lakes, but also the diverse ways in which young Lio farmers interpret the spirit of Kelimutu.

Revered as the final resting place of Lio ancestors, Kelimutu was once restricted as a Lio prayer ground. In the 1930s, an exiled Sukarno (also spelled Soekarno) —  who later became Indonesia’s first president — used to trek here to meditate. During his exile in Ende, Sukarno became influenced by Lio philosophy, which he tapped for his vision of a decolonised, multicultural republic. 

“Our Lio identity can be summed up as lika, iné and oné: we are a people of one hearth, one mother and one house.”

Nando Watu, founder, RMC Detusoko

Our visit began at 4am, where, dressed in layers to ward off the chill, we set off on a drive in pitch dark for our Kelimutu sunrise walk. Halfway through, our car pulls over. Nando steps out with a cigarette and a preparation of areca nuts, betel peppers and ground limestone. 

But this isn’t a cigarette break; we are at Kelimutu’s ritual gate, the Konde Ratu prayer rock. Presenting these offerings to his ancestors, Nando prays for our travels.

We then commenced the 30-minute light trek. Initially, I needed a headlamp to light my way. But soon, the first glimmers of daylight came piercing through the velvety violet skies, and the cold receded. 

A Kelimutu sunrise is like watching nature’s orchestra — the wind conducts blankets of clouds in waves over the three lakes as the landscapes change colours, accompanied by a choir of rare garugiwa, the Bahasa Indonesia name for the bare-throated whistler.

The three lakes in Kelimutu’s craters are known for changing colours, possibly due to the chemical reactions between the minerals and volcanic gases. Locals believe changes in the lakes’ colours present certain omens, and that each lake is designated different spirits: the spirits of those who died young, those who died in old age, or those who used supernatural powers for evil when they were living.

These spiritual landscapes are the foundation of RMC’s work: drawing on the philosophies of Lio identity to develop opportunities relevant to today’s world.  

A FUTURE AT STAKE 

A former journalist, Nando had long been interested in developing the Ende highlands’ tourism potential. In 2014, he was awarded a scholarship to an ecotourism management study programme in the United States. 

On his return home, he worked as a facilitator for community-based tourism and solid waste management projects in the Ende highlands. One of his projects was Waturaka village, which won a national award in 2017 for Best Rural Ecotourism in Indonesia. 

Drawing on his lessons with Waturaka, Nando, who was recently elected village head of Detusoko Barat, hopes that RMC can persuade young locals to stay home instead of venturing abroad for jobs. 

“Indonesia loses up to a million farmers each year because young adults shun the farm. Although it’s good that farmers’ kids are getting higher education, it is a problem when parents establish the mindset that farmers are a low social class not worth joining.” says Nando, who is in his 30s.

“Our farmers are now typically over 45 years old, and we wonder why we’re suffering labour shortages for harvesting our otherwise profitable cloves, cocoa, rice and coffee,” he adds. 

RMC seeks to show young Ende-Lio highlanders the kind of future in store for them if they choose home. 

Its achievements include a partnership with Javara, a premium indigenous artisanal food brand, and participation in the British Council’s Active Citizens programme, the annual Kelimutu Festival, and exhibitions in Thailand and South Korea. 

It also provides scholarship opportunities ranging from half-year tourism programmes in Bali to bachelor degrees in agriculture. 

Decotourism now  sees steady bookings from around the world, as well as support from Wonderful Indonesia — the state tourism authority — for participating homestays.  

During our trip, we visit Waturaka, where we meet one of its ecotourism pioneers, Blasius “Sius” Leta Oja, a farmer who owns Sius Homestay. The homestay is also the rehearsal space for Nuwa Nai, a music group that handcrafts Lio instruments similar to the mandolin, flute, and violin.

Nuwa Nai performs a Lio song about the spirits of Kelimutu and for the community to stay united in a changing world, moving our driver Igen to tears. 

“We are proud to preserve our culture,” says Sius. He adds that economic opportunities from performances and tour packages at Nuwa Nai keep young Waturakans home, who otherwise would migrate to work in East Malaysia’s oil palm fields.

FROM FARM TO TABLE

Back in Detusoko, we go on a scenic half-day hike, consisting of an uphill walk through vast swathes of rice fields, panoramic views at farmers’ resting huts, and moments of peaceful silence at megalithic gravesites. 

The destination is Nando’s coffee plantation, where Igen and a crew of interning university students have prepared a picnic over the bonfire. After lunch, we picked ripe robusta coffee cherries and drive back with Igen.  

At Nando’s house, RMC members are busy sorting the harvest with members of Universitas Flores’ agricultural faculty. Sorting is a social event filled with chatter and hot drinks, during which I learn about the different grades of robusta coffee.

Later, we taste the coffee in RMC’s Lepa Lio café, a hangout spot for Decotourism guests decorated with classic Flores details such as bamboo furnishings and palm leaf weavings. 

Lepa Lio is also the production hub for RMC’s house brand, From the Fernandos’ Family Farm. Products — developed in collaboration with Javara’s food artisan academy — include peanut butter, marmalade, koro degalai (Lio for chilli-tomato relish), coffee, black rice, and sorghum.

Imelda Ndimbu, one of Lepa Lio’s employees, demonstrates how to create peanut butter — roasting the peanuts to perfection, weighing the right amounts of other locally-sourced ingredients such as sea salt and virgin coconut oil, and sterilising the jars in a hot bath. 

Naturally, I bought all the jars of peanut butter we made, and then some.

Nando also makes it a point to bring his guests to shop at other social enterprises in the Ende-Lio highlands, including the Wologai coffee shop and the Sokoria farmers’ collective. 

This rings true to the Lio philosophy of equal opportunity and interdependency in business; good fortune is shared with the folks of one hearth.

We end our trip with a tour of Ende city, visiting the historic sites where Sukarno drew influence from Catholic priests and Ende-Lio communities for the nation he would later found in 1945 — Indonesia. 

Months later, I am still processing and learning from the memories of this eclectic trip. What lingers is the sincerity of the relationships that make the Lio identity, how these relationships promise a bright future for its young farmers, and how, not too long ago, they served as inspiration for the nation I call home.

“Come as a guest, leave as family.”

Nando Watu, founder, RMC Detusoko

In Timor’s Mollo highlands, life-giving waters, rocks and trees — and their devoted guardian clans — flourish. Lakoat.Kujawas rekindles intimate knowledge of this land through creative arts and food.

MEET DICKY AND LAKOAT.KUJAWAS

“We, Orang Mollo, are a people of gatherings,” says Christianto “Dicky” Senda. “We called our gatherings elaf. It’s a moment where people meet and hear the spoken word, tales, and genealogies.”

Elaf came to life before my eyes, writ large in the form of a celebration marking Indonesia’s Independence Day, where, with the state’s blessing, North Mollo residents dressed up and performed traditional songs and dances at a talent show in Kapan Square, the district’s centre.

But nearby, another celebration was taking place: an exhibition of photography by 11- to 15-year-olds; and the launch of a book of poems by To The Lighthouse, a writing club at Kapan’s St Yoseph Freinademetz Catholic Middle School. Under a flowering tree by the bonfire, a youth choir harmonised. 

“These teenagers are making contributions to this village,” observes Father Jeremias “Romo Jimmy” Kewohon, principal of St Yoseph, with pride. He credits this creative revival among his students to Lakoat.Kujawas, a Timorese literacy centre and social enterprise founded by Dicky. 

Now, Lakoat.Kujawas also welcomes travellers to explore this corner of South Central Timor, in Indonesia’s East Nusa Tenggara (NTT) province.

CELEBRATING TRADITIONS

A former student guidance counsellor in Yogyakarta and Kupang, Dicky started writing stories inspired by Timorese fairy tales from his childhood. The need to conduct research for his books, and care for his ailing father compelled Dicky to move home to North Mollo’s Taiftob village in 2016.

Upon his return, Dicky saw that Mollo hadn’t changed much since his childhood. Children still had little access to educational playtime. Meanwhile, knowledge of Timorese oral tradition, indigenous spirituality, guardianship of natural resources, Timorese cuisine, and tenun (handwoven textiles) was dwindling. 

“Lately, festivities, rituals, and harvest thanksgivings are not happening anymore,” says Dicky. “Without elaf, we’re deprived of spaces for telling our stories.”

So Dicky opened a library — a little elaf space for North Mollo children. It has since hosted English classes, a writing club, dance workshops, photography projects, music rehearsals, and a residency for visiting creative professionals.

Eventually, adults who miss their elaf joined in too. Working with local schools and creative youth communities, Lakoat.Kujawas now brings back the arts into everyday life for Orang Mollo (Bahasa Indonesia for the Mollo people), while recording them for future generations. 

CELEBRATING HERITAGE

“We are our world. Soil cover our land like our skin. 
Water flows through the land like our blood
The stones holding the land together are our bones
The forest moving with the wind is our hair.
We are our world.”

A Mollo philosophy

Dubbed “the heart of Timor,” North Mollo’s Mount Mutis is the source of four major Timorese rivers, with diverse ecosystems like bonsai forests, eucalyptus woodlands and horse-grazed meadows.

Travel experiences to Mollo were not on Dicky’s mind when he started Lakoat.Kujawas. The venture into tourism — focusing on heritage trails, culinary products, and tenun textiles — happened in response to outsiders’ appreciation for his community’s creative revival. 

Hence, once a month, from January to August, Lakoat.Kujawas runs the M’nahat Fe’u Heritage Trail, which are guided trips introducing travellers to North Mollo’s natural landscapes, culture, and food.  

M’nahat fe’u, which means “new food” in Dawan language, is a harvest elaf, and each trip varies according to the harvest of the season. 

I was lucky enough to join the last trip of the year, which kicked off with a satisfying breakfast prepared by Lakoat.Kujawas members: black beans, steamed yams and coconut sweetened with palm sugar syrup, and pumpkin cake with marmalade. This was served with coffee (including a robusta blended with pumpkinseed), sweet fruity cascara tea made from coffee cherries husks, and loquat leaf tea.

Guiding this tour is Willy Oematan, who takes us to the Oematan wellsprings, introducing native plants and related rituals along the way. The Oematans are a revered Mollo clan traditionally designated as guardians of water sources, with their rituals being passed down through strict protocols. 

From there, we hiked up Napjam Rock, where Lakoat.Kujawas members were cooking jagung bose maize porridge and broadbean stew over bonfires. Banana leaves became a picnic blanket set with palm leaf trays and claypots of Timorese dishes: smoked beef (seʼi), sweet-spicy chili-tomato relish (sambal lu’at), baked purple yams, cassava leaves in roasted pumpkinseed sauce, and a vegetable flower stir-fry.

Members of music collective Forum Soe Peduli lead a communal singalong as a prelude to lunch, and Dicky served consenting guests sopi lakoat: loquat-infused Timorese palm wine garnished with dried fruit. 

Sopi, he shares, has cultural importance as a gesture of peace and camaraderie, and economic importance as a commodity that affords some Timorese families an education.

CELEBRATING LIVELIHOODS

Homegrown Mollo cuisine is a major component of the Lakoat.Kujawas brand. On the day before I joined the heritage trail, Marlinda Nau, a farmer and member of Lakoat.Kujawas, welcomes me with a bountiful display of fresh produce.  

With a basket in hand, I follow the cooks to a pink flowering tree called gamal (Gliricidia sepium). At a distance, they could be mistaken for cherry blossoms.

Whack! Someone climbs the tree and chops off a branch. Petals fall like confetti. The flowers, I learn, were a seasonal Timorese vegetable before it fell out of favour to commercially-grown vegetables. 

“Lakoat.Kujawas gives us the space to revive our traditional agricultural knowledge and innovate our homegrown food,” says Marlinda. 

Her husband Willy adds that Taiftob produces more carrots than people can eat, so they sell some to middlemen at unfairly low prices. “Now, we make carrot noodles and carrot-based snacks. Our produce gets consumed, and we save money otherwise spent on children’s snacks,” says Willy.

“In Mollo, we joke that we sell our organic fruits and vegetables, and buy instant noodles and cookies instead. We used to think what we have at home isn’t important. But now we know better and we laugh because it’s ridiculous.”

Dicky Senda Co-founder, Lakoat.Kujawas

Tenun handwoven textiles is another aspect of Timorese culture Lakoat.Kujawas strives to preserve. This ancient craft involves the weaving of coloured threads into complex motifs, requiring imagination, meticulous hand-eye coordination, and patience. 

In Nusa Tenggara society, tenun is a marker of a person’s social status, clan kinship and geographical origin. Today, tenun is also a profitable commodity marketed to travellers, fashionistas and collectors.

A prominent Lakoat.Kujawas weaver is Amelia Koi, who runs a family collective comprising her six daughters. “It’s hard to find young ones interested in tenun, so I teach mine,” says Amelia, who has them fully trained by age 11. 

The girls stay in school until they graduate their final year of secondary school, around age 18 or 19. Although none attended university, her elder daughters are financially independent and experienced weavers.

Months earlier, I ordered a tenun backpack from a Yogyakarta-based brand that partners with Lakoat.Kujawas. The tenun is Amelia’s. “The work of my hand has returned ,” says Amelia, recognising the bag (pictured below). “My textiles travel further than I do. It feels that a piece of me travels along.”

My trip culminates in a march with thousands of North Mollo residents in Kapan’s Independence Eve Parade, many dressed in tenun as a statement of their local identity. But even as the most festive occasion of the year comes to an end, elaf is never over at Lakoat.Kujawas. 

Says Dicky: “At Lakoat.Kujawas, we continue to grow and nurture… Our spirit is not project-based — it’s an elaf spirit that restores our cultural spaces with dignity.”

With Langit Collective, farm-to-table is no mere fashionable dining concept — it is a movement that empowers one of the world’s most remote farming communities. Travel with Langit to beautiful Long Semadoh for a taste of not only some of the world’s most amazing rice, but also the culture behind every bite. 

MEET AUNTY RIBED

Only half an hour in, and my back is screaming. 

Wiping away the sweat dribbling down my face, I cast an admiring glance at Aunty Ribed’s fast, steady movements. She has been working at the rice field since dawn, yet she’s barely breaking a sweat. And she’s 20 years my senior.

Ruefully, I return my attention to the bunch of seedlings in my hands, only to lose balance and fall backwards into the quicksand-like mud — for the third time. My clothes (as well as my face) are completely soiled. I know I am a comical sight, but I am reluctant to get up. Wrapped in the cooling thick mud, surrounded by sweeping paddy fields and the most amazing mountain views, this feels like a mud spa, only a million times nicer. 

Maybe being a rice farmer isn’t my life calling. But for a spell, it sure is fun.

LONG SEMADOH - LOST TO THE WORLD

Hapless visitors like myself can now try their hand at rice farming thanks to Langit Collective, a social enterprise that partners with communities in Long Semadoh to offer an experiential tour and homestay.

Never heard of Long Semadoh? You’re not alone. The forest-covered East Malaysian state of Sarawak is full of unexplored raw gems and Long Semadoh valley is unknown even to seasoned travellers like myself.

Snaking across the Lawas Highlands at 3,000ft above sea level, Long Semadoh valley is a strip of seven quaint villages populated predominantly by Lun Bawang, an indigenous tribe of hunter-gatherers turned agrarians. Nourished by crisp mountain air, pristine streams and a temperate climate, Long Semadoh is home to some of the world’s best produce, notably heirloom rice varietals unique to this region.

“I was told that some of the herbs that grow wild here are much sought after by top chefs in Kuala Lumpur. That's why I said to my siblings in the city, ‘balik kampung’ (going home). The land here is fertile and bountiful.”

Aunty Ribed Rice farmer and Langit Collective homestay host

While ideal for agriculture and country life, Long Semadoh’s remoteness leaves the community disadvantaged in other ways. Out of seven villages in the valley, only three have electricity. The main form of communication is walkie-talkie because phone connectivity is spotty. Internet is practically non-existent.

Getting to Long Semadoh from Kuala Lumpur involves two plane rides and a bumpy four-hour 4WD drive up a landslide-prone logging trail that once prompted a visitor to ask: “Is it a road or buffalo trail?”

ENTER LANGIT COLLECTIVE

Langit’s story began when Lilian Chen, Chan Zi Xiang, Melisa Lim and Chia Yong Ling — a chiropractor, actuary, media producer and designer respectively — were building gravity-fed water systems in rural Sarawak. They got to know the folks of Long Semadoh — as well as their amazing rice.

“With its bold earthy flavours and distinctive bite, it was the best rice we’d eaten in our lives!” exclaims Lilian. “When we told them we couldn’t finish all that rice, they said, ‘Never mind, we will feed it to our chickens and dogs.’ 

“We were horrified! Digging deeper, we realised the farmers couldn’t convert their excess rice into income because of their remote location.”

Long Semadoh farmers have to fork out large sums of money to transport both themselves as well as their rice to Lawas, the nearest town. “Once we get there, we have to compete with other rice producers, for a pittance in return,” says Aunty Ribed. “And the road to Lawas was teruk (terrible). If it rains, the 4WD vehicle gets stuck in the mud and passengers have to get down and push it.”  

With dismal economic prospects, the younger generation have been forced to abandon their homes to work in the cities, leaving the farms to the care of their elders, but this leads to a catch-22. “Youths from rural villages do not necessarily have the social capital or competitiveness of an urban person, so they end up working odd jobs,” observes Lilian.

To break this vicious cycle, the four friends created Langit Collective. The social enterprise buys the Long Semadoh farmers’ excess rice at a fair price and sells it on their online platform, and to retailers and chefs in Peninsular Malaysia. 

Thirty-five per cent of the retail proceeds go to the farmers. After deducting costs, the remainder  is re-invested into capacity-building courses for the farmers, especially in sustainable farming, to meet the demand for organic rice.

Additional jobs are created along the supply chain. Once the rice is harvested, local transporters hired by Langit pick up the rice from the farmers’ doorsteps and bring the produce to town, where local women vacuum-pack the products before they are shipped to Peninsular Malaysia.

Langit’s work has seen success. But the founders thought the enterprise could go further —  through an experiential tour providing curiosity-seekers the opportunity to shadow traditional rice farmers in an authentic community, while instilling a sense of pride in the Long Semadoh folks. 

And so, Langit Experience was born.

A FORGOTTEN CULTURE

Depending on the time of the year, you can sign up to experience rice planting or rice harvesting (and of course eating it together with delicious home-cooked Lun Bawang meals) with the Langit team as your guides.

Though rice farming is a significant part of the trips, you will also be able to explore the village and get to know Long Semadoh’s history while basking in its natural beauty.

In the wake of British colonisation at the turn of the 20th century, Christianity brought gentrification and town planning into the Lun Bawang community, who had already moved out of traditional longhouses into concrete and wooden houses.

But in the process, many Lun Bawang beliefs and traditions became lost. “Some of the older generation see pre-Christianity activities such as head-hunting as something to be ashamed of. I feel it’s a pity, because it’s part of their history,” says Zi, one of the Langit founders. 

Langit has tried to bring what little cultural information they have unearthed into the experiential tour. A day before we hit the fields, we go on a leisurely “kampung (village) tour” that includes a trek past an old airport field leading to a former buaya tanah (crocodile mound), where Lun Bawang warriors celebrated for seven days and nights after a successful headhunting expedition. 

A scenic hanging bridge takes us to possibly the only existing Lun Bawang animistic cemetery, where a pile of human skulls and ancestral jars lies under a giant tree.

Along the way, Zi and Lilian entertain us with tales of Lun Bawang mythical figures such as Upai Semaring, a giant who could cross a nearby river in a single bound. From their passion and enthusiasm, it is clear to me how Langit’s investment in Long Semadoh is more than just business. In fact, the founders have their own Lun Bawang names: Gituen (Lilian), Aco (Zi), Bulan (Melisa) and Udan (Yong Ling).

PLAYING FARMER

After the history lesson, it’s time to get down and dirty.

From the back of Aunty Ribed’s house, we make our way to the fields dressed in long-sleeved shirts, long pants tucked into football socks, rubber shoes and wide-brimmed hats. The coverage is necessary to avoid sunburn and chafing from tall rushes.

Following Aunty’s lead, we wade into the muddy paddock and pull out the seedlings that were planted here. We transport the seedlings on a wheelbarrow to another field, where the real work begins: bending at the waist to stick the seedlings into the muddy earth. 

The fields have been “fertilised” by buffaloes: After each harvest, water buffaloes are released to the paddy fields to graze on rice stumps and weeds and clear it for the next planting season. They also help to fertilise the fields – by pooping.

Unlike us, the buffalo have done their job, and have ambled off to escape the sun. “Buffaloes have the best life in Long Semadoh. They literally just poop, eat and siesta!” exclaims Lilian.

As we work side by side, Aunty shares her knowledge of birds and insects which control pest invasions and diseases, stresses the importance of fallow periods — letting land recover between cultivation — and crop rotation to continue the fertility of the land, and shows us a primitive yet efficient irrigation system that connects all the paddy fields. 

She may not use any high-tech equipment or fancy terms, but in my opinion, she is as good as any scientist.

It is twilight by the time we get back to the house for dinner. A true farm-to-table feast whipped up by resident chef Zi awaits us: kung pow “escargot” from snails caught from the paddy fields, scrambled eggs with brinjals from the forest, curry chicken made from birds that Aunty reared herself, and for dessert, “sorbet” made from blended local pineapples. 

They are all delicious, but our unanimous favourite is the humble rice that has transformed our perspective forever.

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

I opt out of paddy planting the next day, leaving my fitter compatriots to contribute their brawn. This is not a boot camp; you’re free to experience the activities at your own pace. 

Finding a cool spot under a tree, I take a moment to contemplate the misty mountains in the distance, and the fertile fields all around me. The poetic setting would make a great yoga or writer’s retreat, but there are no tourists here other than us.

My eyes fall on Aunty Ribed. Spending time with her has taught me that to grow things that nourish, one needs patience; nothing comes easy. She understands the frailty of life, the rewards of hard work and the humility to accept what she cannot control.

There is so much we can learn from the farmers of Long Semadoh — rice is only the beginning.

Langit Collective is among the alumni of the Young Social Entrepreneur (YSE) programme by Singapore International Foundation, which provides mentorship, networking opportunities and a grant. In 2019, it landed the DBSF x SIF Social Impact Prize which is given out to YSE alumni who have shown sustained achievements after the programme.

Dotted with ornate palaces, forts and tombs, Orchha is a laid-back town rich in royal history. Explore its majestic past, and let your stay help rural communities nearby build fresh livelihoods through tourism.  

MEET KUSUM AND HAVI  

For Kusum and Havi Kushwaha, rain — or its absence — once had great significance. 

“We are a family that survives on farming. We consume what we grow. If there is a surplus, we sell it in the market, but that’s quite rare,” says Kusum.

“It is tough because our survival depends on rainfall and Orchha is a drought-prone area.” 

These days, the couple, who have three grown children, breathe a little easier even when the weather doesn’t favour the crops.  

As part of travel enterprise Friends of Orchha, they’ve added a sustainable source of income by opening their home to travellers who are drawn to Orchha by its stunning palaces and temples — away from the crowds that throng more famous towns.

TOURISM DONE RIGHT 

If you don’t want to be hustled around in a robotic manner while checking off a bucket list, then Orchha is the place for you. 

If you crave being able to time travel to an era when kings and queens strode through majestic halls, and vicariously relive their myths and history, then Orchha is the place for you.

Realising Orchha’s potential to draw intrepid travellers, sociologist Asha D’Souza set up Friends of Orchha in 2009 to ride on these charms to improve the livelihoods of locals. 

A well-travelled native of  Madhya Pradesh — Orchha’s home state — Asha had seen the devastating poverty and famine unleashed upon the villages that dot the drought-prone parts of the state.

Beginning with just two families in the village of Ganj, Friends of Orchha provided seed investment to them to construct a room and an external bathroom for travellers in their courtyards. 

Today, the non-profit has six host families in their network, including the Kushwahas. “When Asha met and spoke to us some years ago suggesting the idea of a homestay, it made sense, though we were a little sceptical,” says Kusum.  

“But some other families had already been hosting tourists and it seemed like it was helping them — financially, at least. And it has for us too.”

Friends of Orchha’s seed investment is repaid through a revenue-share model for income earned from providing accommodation. The host families keep all of the income earned from providing meals and other services. 

In total, Friends of Orchha can accommodate up to 25 guests at a time across eight rooms offered by the six host families. 

Romi Samele, who took over the management and operations from Asha, maintains, “Though we are not opposed to it, we don’t want to increase the number of host families for the sake of scaling up.

“We would rather ensure that every family earns sufficiently every month all year through rather than only during the peak season.” 

OFF THE BEATEN PATH, INTO THE 16TH CENTURY 

Though rich in history and conveniently sandwiched between the tourist-thronged cities of Agra and Khajuraho, Orchha has remained largely off the tourist radar.

But it has gradually gone from being a mere lunch stop to a destination in its own right, with more visitors now choosing to spend the night to savour the sights at their own pace. 

Among them is the Orchha Fort Complex,  which houses three palaces — Raja Mahal, Jahangir Mahal and Rai Parveen Mahal — and two temples.  Each monument is a story.

The ornate Jahangir Mahal, combining Rajput and Mughal architecture, was built by King Bir Singh Deo as a gesture of solidarity towards the Mughal ruler Jahangir — who is believed to have stayed at the palace for only one night. The Raja Mahal, once the official residence of the Bundeli kings, took 30 years to build, and takes on a different mood by night, lit by a sound-and-light show.  

Outside the fort walls, cenotaphs stand along the banks of the Betwa river, a glorious sight at sunset. Travellers can also spend a day exploring the countryside on foot, and Friends of Orchha can organise picnics along the banks of the river. 

FRIENDSHIPS THAT CHANGE LIVES 

Despite the appearance of 4G connectivity and a fresh crop of hotels, Orchha retains its well-deserved spot in the hearts of slow travellers, with none of the overtourism seen in other destinations. 

And Ganj, four years after my first visit, has not degenerated into a destination overrun by touts and pandering to tourists. 

Locals, too, enjoy the interaction across borders. “Some tourists who stayed with us have helped my kids with their homework, especially in English and Math,” says Kiran, another host under Friends of Orchha. 

She quips, “My children speak more comfortably in English.” 

Besides developing livelihoods through tourism, Friends of Orchha has invested in the education of the children from the host families. 

The children attend private English- or Hindi-medium schools and their language skills have proven to be a bonus to their families, breaking down communication barriers with guests.   

Returning to Ganj had filled me with trepidation over whether it would have changed for the worse. But Friends of Orchha has shown that it can manage tourism in a way that positively impacts local stakeholders, while enriching travellers’ with a truly cross-cultural experience.

I am glad I returned.

With its powder sand beaches and crystalline seas, Palawan’s charms need no introduction. But sail away with Tao on a journey of empowerment and adventure, and see paradise in a whole new light.

MEET BONG AND THE LOST BOYS

When expedition leader Bong gives a command, his crewmen spring into action, running our bangka (a common term for boats in the Philippines) with skill and efficiency.

Hardly the Lost Boys of Peter Pan, but that’s what the crew is affectionately called, a reference to their ragtag beginnings. Coming from the many different islands that make up Palawan, they were youth fresh out of school, in need of purpose and livelihoods. 

Along came Tao, which wanted to offer travellers the chance to see Palawan’s unspoilt side, and discovered it could provide opportunities to the impoverished communities that call these islands home. 

Bong, for example, was 24 and working as a fisherman and farmer in Puerto Princesa, when he was recruited by his cousin to join Tao. Beginning as a runner and cook, he eventually became in charge of his own ship, bringing in the values that he learned as a neophyte. 

“I learnt a lot here, especially in handling guests that I never knew before,” says Bong, now 30. “My life was way harder than before. Tao gave me a sustainable means of earning. They gave me health and employment benefits, which I am grateful.”  

WILD CHARMS, WARM HEARTS 

Palawan’s island beauty is world-famous, but right from the start, Tao wanted to offer guests a different experience away from the standard resorts found in tourist towns like Coron and El Nido. 

The founders, inspired by a free-spirited expedition they made around Palawan guided by the weather and their instincts — “with mosquito nets for walls, stars for a roof” — sought to recreate that experience for other travellers by setting up Tao in 2006.

Guests could sign up for sailing expeditions to Palawan’s more remote islands, sleeping in custom-built camps on the beaches. The raw, carefree experience was a runaway success and Tao’s reputation spread like wildfire — from a handful of guests, it now has hundreds each week. 

But as we were to discover, another reason Tao has prevailed for almost 13 years is its connection to the local communities they work with. 

Believing that a business only thrives if it also benefits the communities on the islands visited, Tao channels part of its revenue to its community development projects. 

It builds a relationship with each community by engaging them to find out what their needs are. Tao then helps each community develop skills, such as training locals to give massages, make soap and massage oil, ferment fruits and raise livestock like poultry and pigs. 

Finally, they secure their incomes by becoming the communities’ customers, such as by buying produce and soaps from them, and engaging them to provide Tao guests with massages — one I can say was the most relaxing experience I’d ever had.

The communities can also sell their products to other businesses in Palawan, a process that Tao is happy to facilitate. 

WANDER WITH PURPOSE

Visit Tao’s website, you’ll be reminded throughout that the journey “is not meant for everyone”, and I was eager to find out whether I was up to the challenge of a different experience. 

Our trip would start in Coron and end in El Nido. Once aboard, I immediately felt as though I was living the life of a pirate (minus the robbing). You experience what it means to live in the present, with whatever is available — what the boat carries, what the sea gives for food, where the weather takes you. Unlike hotels and resorts, you interact closely with the crew every day as they go about their work. 

One of the highlights is the Tuka huts, the simple yet elegant bamboo structures that have become Tao’s signature lodging. Tuka is Tagalog for “beak”, and as its name implies, the Tuka huts have roofs shaped like a bird’s beak, curving gracefully into the air. 

Not everyone wants to give up air-conditioned comforts, but for us, going to sleep beneath the open, airy Tukas sent off by the sound of waves, and waking up to the sight of the sea, was paradise. 

And behind the Tukas’ rustic coziness is a great story. Each of the islands we camped on has 10 or more Tukas. Each Tuka is built by three to five locals, using three materials: nipa palm leaves, nylon and bamboo; in particular, a species of bamboo called bayog because of its sturdiness and abundance in Palawan.

“It is typhoon-ready. The bamboos are bent because the more it exerts force against each other, the stronger and sturdier it gets. It will just tumble over strong winds [but] the structure will remain,” Bong explains. 

The Tukas provide one-of-a kind lodging to the guest, and support local employment and business. The furnishings in each Tuka — bed linens and tote bags for the guests — are produced locally, and the women’s association making these products has formed a cooperative to manage its earning activities. 

Knowing the source and purpose behind the materials that surrounded us made the experience truly unforgettable. 

Guests can also stay on the Tao Farm, which serves as the nexus of all things Tao: its administrative office, the Tao Foundation which provides livelihood training, Tuka lodges for guests, and the Kantina, where the magic of food preparation happens. 

At dinnertime, the Kantina lights up as skilled chefs fire up the burners and cook before the guests, and the aroma of fresh meat and produce cooking fills the air — a true feast for the senses. As a seven-course meal is served, staff explain what each dish is and how they are prepared, and share about the farm at the Kantina where the food comes from. 

LIVES CHANGED

To ensure that livelihoods are sustained, Tao has added other projects over the years, such as daycare centres. “Because if we are going to ask the women to work or manufacture, they need someone to look after the kids,” says Alejandro Pirela, who is in charge of outreach and product development at Tao. 

Partnering with the Philippines’ Department of Social Welfare and Development, Tao sent women to be trained as childcare teachers, and built the centres.  

Among the women trained is Maricris (pictured above), who joined Tao in 2016 as a masseuse, and is now a teacher at the daycare center on Papachelin, one of Tao’s island bases. 

Says Maricris: “We used to loiter before. We sleep when the night comes, without even thinking about getting a job. When we started training for Tao Philippines, we woke up with a purpose. We became excited to get our job done.” 

During the rainy season when there are no trips, Tao sends its staff for training. It has also supported employees with the potential to further their studies, such as Jimmy, who is now a biologist.

A former “lost boy”, Jimmy (pictured above) joined as a crew member on the expedition boats, and left to attend university in 2009. But every semester break, he returned to Tao Farm and helped with its construction until it was completed — the same year he graduated. 

Now, he is Tao’s resident biologist, and is in charge of securing food supply across the entire enterprise — a challenge as Palawan suffers from overfishing and the negative impact of slash-and-burn farming. Jimmy is now studying how to farm in a way that complements nature. 

Asked why he chose to return to Tao Philippines, Jimmy says, “What I liked about our company is that they are sincere in helping. They give livelihood for the people, they also build foundations.  On remote islands, they construct learning centres. That’s what I like about Tao, they help others and these communities help them, too.” 

Experience Thailand’s high life beyond the paradiscal beaches and glossy skyscrapers. Known for its notorious opium trade in the late 1960s, the hill tribes of northern Thailand are working hard to recover from their dark past with the help of Local Alike, a community-based tourism enterprise.

Meet Achai

“The jungle is my supermarket,” jokes Phetcharat Wiboonsrisakul, during his daily walk along the hilly jungle trails close to Suan Pa, a village in the Chiang Rai district.

Achai, as he is affectionately known, prepares every meal from scratch using fresh vegetables, spices and fruits from his “backyard” —  the rolling green hills that extend as far as the eye can see.

The tourism community leader of his village, Achai is from the Akha tribe — one of the six main indigenous communities that reside in the hills of northern Thailand.

He is part of a recent influx of locals who have returned to the hills looking to make a living in a region once plagued by border disputes, opium cultivation and addiction.

With support from initiatives by the Thai royal family, the villagers are geared up for a revival, and community-based tourism is the region’s new beacon of hope.

An elevated experience

Shopping in the “supermarket” with Achai was the start of my three-day journey organised by Local Alike, during which I would visit Suan Pa and Pha Mee, two of the Akha villages that dot northern Thailand’s imposing mountains.

Achai earnestly shared some of the secrets of the Akha, pointing out to me different medicinal herbs for muscle pains and insect bites, and continually thanking the spirit birds for replenishing the flora in the jungle.

The trek — which can be customised according to guests’ fitness levels — culminated in lunch prepared and served in a raised bamboo hut, where I witnessed “lam pla”, a traditional way of cooking in bamboo over an open fire.

With its gorgeous surroundings and vibrant cottage industries like coffee, weaving and pottery, the future of Suan Pa’s determined community looks rosy.

Responsible tourism

The seed for Local Alike’s involvement in Suan Pa was planted when its CEO, Somsak Bookam, and Achai first met and discovered a mutual desire to preserve culture and nature by working hand in hand to provide meaningful travel experiences.

Founded in 2012, Local Alike assesses each community’s needs and their readiness for tourism. Those selected receive support in creating unique experiences for travellers that Local Alike then features on its website, which also manages the booking and payments.

Prices are determined by each community, which keeps 70 per cent of revenue generated from each booking.

Akha homestays are not uncommon, but Suan Pa is not ready to offer them yet, and I was glad to see that they did not feel compelled to open their houses for tourism’s sake. There is a disturbing trend of commercial tour agencies compelling villagers to be fully decked out in traditional Akha dresses and vibrant headgear — something I too, expected to see, only to have this perception debunked.

“Many of the tribal people now prefer to wear more modern western clothes as they are lighter and more comfortable. The culture has evolved and we respect that — rather than forcing them to wear their traditional clothes all day just for gawking tourists,” shares Krishna Manowang, nicknamed Bic, my Suan Pa guide.

As for concerns that tourism may dilute the Akha tribal culture, Phakakan Rungpracharat, the tourism community leader at my next stop, Pha Mee, allays this fear.

“When we share our traditional ways with people from outside, they show appreciation. It makes us feel proud when they share our photos and videos. It encourages the younger generation to continue holding on to their roots,” says Phakakan, who goes by Maew.

Ethical travelling, lasting impact

Pha Mee, named after the famous “Bear Mountain”, is home to one of the latest communities to join Local Alike’s network. More bustling than Suan Pa, new homestays, coffee shops and souvenir stores have emerged to add a bustling vibe to the gentle charms of the village.

With its stunning mountain vistas, Pha Mee seemed ripe for tourism but Maew’s efforts were not fruitful until she joined hands with Local Alike, whose expertise helped bridge the gap between the community and tourists.

A stay at Pha Mee is a chance to work alongside locals trying your hand at making traditional coffee, picking oranges in the orchard and painting dried gourds, which are smaller versions of ones that were once used by villagers as water vessels.

“When I was working in the capital, I had some pretty awful tasting coffee. That is when I realised how tasty our home brew is. Why not share it with a wider community?” says Maew, as she demonstrates making coffee with a bamboo “drip machine”.

Akha tribes still practice their ancient rituals and all entrances to the villages have protective “spirit gates” — marking the division between man and the spirit life. Sacred sites are off limits to visitors, who must content themselves with viewing replicas at the village’s cultural centre.

The centre also features an iconic giant Akha swing, part of an ancient tradition that takes centre stage during the annual harvest thanksgiving celebration in August. Bachelors show off their swing skills to impress those they are courting.

Inspired by the success of Suan Pa and Pha Mee through partnership with Local Alike, Bic hopes to someday bring positive impact to his own hometown, guided by his belief that we are all “same same but different”. “Only upon venturing out, and appreciating other cultures, will one have the perspective to look into your own and appreciate the true value of home.”

Local Alike was one of the winners of Singapore International Foundation’s Young Social Entrepreneurs programme https://www.sif.org.sg/our-work/gb/yse/about in 2014. Through mentorships, study visits, and opportunities to pitch for funding, the programme nurtures social entrepreneurs of different nationalities, to drive positive change for the world.

In the early 18th century, wealthy merchants built sumptuously-decorated mansions in Nawalgarh, filling the streets with colour. Those days are gone, but the mansions and artisans remain. Make Apani Dhani your base for exploring the town, and support the preservation of its dazzling history. 

MEET RAMESH

Walking into Apani Dhani feels like entering a different dimension — a hush falls, the air cools, and you immediately feel at home amid the bougainvilleas that spill onto the circular yard, flanked by a lodge with soothing earthen-hued walls. 

Welcoming me was Ramesh Jangid, the founder and owner of Apani Dhani, the homestay he started in the town of Nawalgarh as a response — and a retreat — from the ills of the world. 

Nawalgarh — famed for its colourfully frescoed mansions — was becoming increasingly popular with travellers, and Ramesh wanted to create a space that would see some of the benefits flow to the local community.   

“In the mid-1980s, I’d observed how tourism was leaning towards being increasingly exclusive,” says Ramesh, who was born in Nawalgarh. “I wanted to localise the experience for the tourist while working towards better distribution of income from tourism among locals.”

As such, at Apani Dhani, careful attention is paid to respecting the host community, from growing native produce and supporting local livelihoods, to using earth-friendly materials to construct the lodge, to installing solar power to minimise its carbon footprint. 

FLOURISHING LEGACY — AND LIVES

Sitting pretty in the heart of the Shekhawati region, Nawalgarh is a compact yet culturally- rich base for exploring the northern Indian state of Rajasthan. 

Dating back to the early 18th century, the town was founded by merchant families, who built havelis (mansions) adorned with murals on the walls, depicting everyday life, folk legends and religious themes. 

Many of the murals have been lost to the passage of time, but thanks to restoration efforts, a stroll through Nawalgarh’s streets is still akin to making your way through an open-air museum, flanked by intricate, colour artwork on the walls.

Preserving the cultural heritage and helping it thrive is part of Apani Dhani’s work — the enterprise leads the Shekhawati chapter of the Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage. 

Guests can take a guided walk designed by Apani Dhani through Nawalgarh, which are led by local guides, allowing them to earn an income while sharing their cultural heritage. 

One can also take part in workshops on wood carving, tie-dyeing, bangle-making led by local artisans.

Among them is tie-dye artist Usman Ali, who teaches workshops at Apani Dhani with his daughter, Sonu.

“Tie and dye is not an easy craft. It’s a long and arduous process. And in today’s day and age of factory produced goods that are identical, handmade arts and crafts have begun to take the fall,” laments Usman.

“The experience of coming here and teaching guests about the art offers an opportunity to not only keep the art alive but also have an exchange with the guests. It also provides me with income to take back to my family,” he adds. 

Sher Bano, who conducts bangle-making workshops, agrees. “Besides being an additional source of income, coming here to teach women from different parts of the world about the process of bangle-making is also an opportunity for me to know something about nationalities and cultures that are different than my own,” she adds. 

The workshop fees go entirely to the artisans — Apani Dhani does not take a cut.

GREEN, PEACE 

Ramesh recalls how when he first bought the land Apani Dhani sits on, it was barren. “What you see today has been built bit by bit, in accordance with our means and inspired by the trips I made within Rajasthan to better understand the details of rural architecture,” he says. 

On the Apani Dhani compound, this care is evident, from decorative touches inspired by Rajasthani traditions, to the buildings constructed from natural materials like adobe (mud bricks) and thatched straw. Solar power provides electricity and hot running water, and Apani Dhani meticulously recycles its waste where possible. 

Stroll through the organic garden to admire the bountiful plots of grains, vegetables, fruits and flowers, a stark contrast to the bare plots seen elsewhere, and a marker of how much Apani Dhani has transformed its turf. 

Pride is taken in the house-baked bread, and any food items that aren’t grown locally — such as rice or tea — are sourced directly, be it from other producers in Rajasthan or elsewhere in India.

Meals at Apani Dhani are experiences in themselves, especially dinners, which are communal, offering guests a chance to interact. The meal typically features a soup, traditional Indian vegetarian food that is specific to the Shekhawati region, followed by dessert and a cup of tea.

Love the food? Try cooking classes conducted by Ramesh’s son and daughter-in-law.

RESILIENCE FOR THE FUTURE

Aside from supporting local trades and crafts, Apani Dhani directs 5 per cent of its revenue from rooms towards supporting local initiatives, such as the READS Public School in the neighbouring town of Dundlod, which caters to students from low-income families. At the time of my visit, Apani Dhani was helping the school upgrade its computer lab, and providing benches and desks. 

To ensure it maintains true to its principles, Apani Dhani previously complied with standards under the French Association for Fair and Solidarity Tourism. In 2013, it won a Wild Asia Responsible Tourism Award. 

Despite seeing the flow of travellers slow down in recent years, Ramesh is determined to remain true to Apani Dhani’s founding values. 

“We have proven our integrity and continue to stand by it, striving to be the difference we want to see in the world,” says Ramesh. 

Adventure sports and a chance to spot the world’s biggest flower are Ulu Geroh’s calling cards. But the indigenous Semai people who fend off threats to their forest are the real stars. Stay with them to experience the magic of the forest, and support their efforts to preserve their traditions and the environment.

MEET INSAN

For Bah Insan, protecting the forest is a way of life.

His people, the Semai, inhabited the forest for centuries as hunter-gatherers and are legendary for their affinity with nature: children as young as six are taught about the importance of the trees and can interpret animal behaviours to tell the presence of a predator.

“Our diet consists of fish that we catch from the river and ferns from the forest. We rely on rotan (rattan) and bamboo to build our houses,” he says. “Our very livelihood depends on the forest.”

Insan takes none of this for granted. That’s why he works as a guide for visitors to Ulu Geroh, his village in the northwestern state of Perak. “By creating greater awareness of the biodiversity of our forest, we can have a stronger voice to oppose activities that are harmful to the forest,” he explains.

Insan should know – just a few years ago, he joined forces with the locals to petition against illegal logging, and won.

BLOOM TIMES

Thousands of tourists have made their way to the Semai settlement of Ulu Geroh for one reason — to see the elusive Rafflesia, the world’s biggest flower.

Notoriously ephemeral, the Rafflesia grows only in the rainforests of Malaysia, Indonesia and the Philippines, and take nine months to grow before opening into a striking bloom that lasts only a few days. Sixty per cent of buds die before maturing.

While there are other locations in Malaysia to catch the fabled flower, your odds are best in Ulu Geroh, where researchers say the concentration of the flower is highest.

And while most Rafflesia sites are located hours or even days away from civilisation, the nearest Rafflesia site is a mere 30 minutes’ walk away from Kampung Batu, one of the five villages that make up Ulu Geroh.

Eco-tourism found its way to Ulu Geroh in the early 2000s when conservation group Malaysia Nature Society began working with the Semai to translate local knowledge into opportunities. For decades, the Semai had lived off the grid, marginalised by a lack of infrastructure.

Realising the potential of eco-tourism to create sustainable livelihoods, they formed Sahabat Eko-Pelancongan Memuliharaan Alam Indah (SEMAI), or Friends of Ecotourism and Conservation of Beautiful Nature, to oversee the efforts.

Proximity to the Rafflesia is not all Ulu Geroh has to offer. Over the years, the Semai have expanded offerings from Rafflesia day trips to include more immersive homestays for visitors to experience a centuries-old lifestyle deeply intertwined with nature.

COME FOR THE RAFFLESIA, STAY FOR THE LIFESTYLE

Kampung Batu is spread out over undulating emerald-green grassland thick with tropical fruit trees, herbal plants and flowering bushes, and giant boulders.

Amid this picturesque landscape stand the traditional Semai dwellings. Their simple structure belies their architectural ingenuity: assembled from bertam palm leaves and bamboo stems, these natural eco-lodges are sturdy and waterproof, able to shield against even heavy rain. Inside, bamboo stems form space-spacing shelves and compartments that would give Ikea a run for its money.

Through sponsorship from a CSR programme, five bamboo chalets were built for travellers next to the hillside, where all manner of fruit trees lie at your doorstep (I spotted duku langsat, mango, durian, coconut) and the temperature is deliciously cool at night.

The caveat? There is no electricity (you can charge your phone in your host’s home) and you answer the call of nature in an outhouse with a squat toilet.

Can’t live without your urban comforts? You can always opt for a host of eco-villas downstream that employ locals on their properties and hire locals as day trip guides. “When a visitor opts for these activities, my people also get to work and earn,” says Insan.

The Semai may live in permanent dwellings now, but aside from that, their lives have changed little from their peripatetic ancestors.

The traditional lifestyle demonstration during the tour may feel like its most touristy segment, but stands as living proof that the old ways are no less creative. I could barely keep up with the women’s lightning-fast fingers as they showed me the art of basket weaving using coconut leaves. Visitors can also learn how to set traps that snare animals in a way that kills them as painlessly as possible.

GREEN HAVEN

Surrounded by rivers and forests, Ulu Geroh is a haven for nature lovers, as my group would discover on our Rafflesia hike.

The rigorous trek took us up the Leech Trail (which lived up to its name, in case you’re wondering), where we lucked out: we saw three Rafflesia blooms and an unopened bud. Most people only succeed in seeing the Rafflesia in full bloom after multiple attempts.

Yes, totally worth it, even with the leeches. We celebrated with a proper feast back at the village: at least three kinds of river fish, several types of wild ferns and an array of spicy sambal paste laid out neatly in bowls on the floor.

In addition to its most famous flower, the forest teems with exotic wildlife, notably the Rajah Brooke’s Birdwing butterfly, a metallic-green-and-black beauty that stands out in an environment where the default mode is incognito.

Don’t miss the night walk that takes place after dinner. The leisurely one-hour stroll will open your eyes to a whole new world of nocturnal fauna and if you are lucky, glowing mushrooms.

My most memorable moment happened late afternoon on my first day.

Waiting for our blowpipe demonstration after lunch, I sat on the steps of my chalet observing a group of children playing nearby. They danced and sang traditional Semai songs, while darting occasional glances at us, the newcomers.

Suddenly, one of the older girls broke away from the group and plucked something from a nearby plant. Minutes later, she ran up to me with a big smile and placed something in my hand. It was a delicate necklace, strung out of the leaves of a tapioca plant — my welcome gift from the children of Ulu Geroh.

I knew then that a piece of my heart was lost forever.

Sumba’s unexplored beaches and quaint villages are set for a tourism boom, and your relaxing getaway in this island resort will help enthusiastic locals like Jeffry meet the demand – funds go towards training programmes to hone their hospitality skills.

MEET JEFFRY 

Curious, cheery and always ready with a smile, Jeffry is more than happy to show you around the place he calls home - the beautiful island of Sumba! Located near Bali, in the province of East Nusa Tenggara, Indonesia, Sumba’s stunning coastline and lush greenery makes it an appealing attraction for travellers looking to get away from the crowds. He’s the proud graduate of a training programme by Sumba Hospitality Foundation, which provides Jeffry and the local farming community the opportunity to gain the skills needed to reap the economic benefits of tourism.

“To see economic hope for the future, you have to teach local people, so they will have the opportunity to work on their island.”

Redempta TetaBato, Director, Sumba Hospitality Foundation

FUN IN THE SUN

Who doesn't love relaxing on the beach? Or how about visiting a Sumbanese village to learn about their culture and traditions? For something a little more adventurous, you can also explore the Blue Waterfall, named for its unbelievably blue waters. These are just a few of the possible itineraries – there’s much more to explore, depending on your tastes and how much time you have.

DOWN TIME ON THE ISLAND

During your stay, you can also spend some time getting to know the students to learn more about Sumba, or share any valuable experiences that may deepen the students' knowledge or thirst for learning. If you feel like it, you can even participate in their community English classes, or sit in a culinary class!

Amid high-altitude alpine beauty, rest and relax in this rural retreat run with pride by residents working to ensure their way of life survives into the future.

MEET THE GOAT VILLAGE

As I neared the end of a scenic, six-and-a-half-hour car ride from the airport, the anticipation level was high.

I was at Raithal, a village nestled at 1,800m above sea level in the cradle of the Himalayas. At last.

Well, almost. The ride was followed by a 400m uphill walk to the destination (an off-the-grid farmstay) — a walk guaranteed to be a wake-up call for anyone leading a sedentary lifestyle.

Upon arrival at the Goat Village (Dayara Bugyal), Priyanka, a Raithal native, supervisor of the farmstay, welcomes the weary and breathless with a fragrant glass of warm water brewed with local herbs and spices.

The cool, alpine air is bracing for the spirit. Located in the north Indian state of Uttarakhand, Raithal is typically a base for trekkers making their way to Dayara Bugyal, a meadow at an elevation of 3,000m to 4,000m, where seasonal and wild flowers bloom year round.

But the village itself deserves more than a passing mention. Crisp, clear, postcard-perfect views of the snow-capped Himalayas allow even non-trekkers to take in their majesty. And it is here that the Goat Village has set up base to help the locals tap the potential of agro-tourism — agricultural tourism — while preserving the region’s pristine beauty and long history.

ALL OR NOTHING

For the active travellers, a day hike to Dayara Bugyal (elevation: 3,200m) is the obvious way to pass time at Raithal. Hikers cover 18km there and back, and the hike is a (heart-pumping) window into the natural world and a chance to learn about local herbs, plants and birds. You are also encouraged to pick up trash along the route, which can be disposed of properly upon returning to the village.

Those preferring a gentler pace can enjoy the peaceful grounds of the Goat Village, or explore Raithal’s stepped lanes, which hold a trove of local lore. Lined on either side with traditional houses made from deodar – cedars native to the Himalayas – and punctuated by newer dwellings of brick and mortar, the streets tell a revealing story of a village caught between tradition and modernity.

Less strenuous walks can be taken around the village, where you can take in glorious views of millet fields cut into steep-sided hills wreathed in mist.

Different lodgings are available to suit various tastes. There are elegantly cozy cottages for those who crave privacy, with dormitories for budget travellers, and the whole farm accommodates just 20 to 25 people at a time. Rooms come with double beds and bathrooms with direct water supply.

Designed and built for low energy consumption, only the dining area and kitchen are powered by electricity, while rooms have solar lamps and candles.

In recent years, the serenity is punctuated by a buzzy romance: a grand mass wedding ceremony of goats (yes, goats) from more than 30 villages in Uttarakhand.

Known as Bakri Swayamwar by the locals, a female goat chooses the “most eligible” male goat from a group of prospective “grooms”, in a nod to women’s empowerment.

The event is meant to instill pride in goat farming, and to educate farmers about improving the gene pool of mountain goats for healthier offspring and milk.

The next goat wedding takes place in late March 2020.

THE GREEN PEOPLE

The Goat Village (Dayara Bugyal) is one of several boutique farm-stays initiated by The Green People, a volunteer-driven enterprise that supports agro-tourism in rural Uttarakhand. Their goal? To encourage non-locals and locals to lead more sustainable lifestyles, while arresting the flow of migration to the cities, which has decimated rural villages.

Locals like Priyanka are provided with training in hospitality, and The Green People lease the land from local landowners like Harbeer, who is now also part of Priyanka’s team.

Sustainable tourism offers village youth an alternative to taking up odd, unskilled jobs in cities like Dehradrun (home to the nearest airport) and New Delhi, where they typically live in squalid conditions.

The Goat Village works by getting locals to feel invested in the project. For example, the community at Raithal has only been growing potatoes, soy, wheat and kidney beans, but now they’re reviving the cultivation of medicinal plants, flowers, vegetables and fruits that are native to the terrain and climate.

The locally-grown and locally-sourced grains, millets and pulses, as well as preserves such as honey are then sold as indigenous superfoods under the brand of Bakri Chaap, providing farmers with a direct link to their market.

STANDING TALL

Walking through Raithal, one would be hard-pressed to miss Panchpura, a 500-year-old ancestral house in the middle of the village. No longer able to accommodate the family that owns it — incidentally, the family Priyanka is descended from — the house now stands empty.

But it has withstood earthquakes as well as changing times, remaining a proud witness to the village’s history, and its people’s determination to keep their traditions alive and relevant. High above the madding crowd in the lofty arms of the Himalayas, its honey-hued walls stand waiting, for new generations of visitors — and whatever the future brings. 

“For us the city is an attractive place to be. Through the Goat Village, the idea that villages can be attractive and lucrative too is starting to take root.”

Priyanka Rana Farm supervisor, the Goat Village (Dayara Bugyal)