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. 

Explore Lombok’s natural beauty and laid back charm with a former shark fisherman who has hung up his nets in favour of guiding tourists, instead of hunting down the dwindling shark population. When you book an eco-tour, you support his new livelihood.

After we first told their story a few years ago, many like Eunice were inspired to go on these eco-tours. We also made a journey with The Dorsal Effect to take in the natural wonders of Lombok - and find out how it has changed lives.

MEET SUHARDI

He dives into the clear blue waters of Lombok, proudly guiding snorkellers as they take in the vibrant coral reefs.

It is a long way from his previous trade - shark fishing. Born and bred in Lombok, Suhardi became a shark fisherman when he was 10 years old.

He would go out to sea two to three weeks at a time, cut off from his wife and two children. As the relentless demand for sharks decimated their numbers, his income dwindled.

Fishermen have had to venture further to hunt sharks, which meant that each expedition cost more. Depending on the catch, Suhardi would take home around S$50 to S$200, notwithstanding the inherent dangers of being out at sea.

Now, working for The Dorsal Effect, “I can sleep at home every night with my wife and kids,” he shares. He has also saved enough from his four years as a guide to buy a second boat, which he uses to run a local boat taxi service for extra income.

And he loves meeting new people, and showing off the beautiful and pristine islands of Lombok.

DIVE INTO THE DREAM

A trip with The Dorsal Effect is both a venture into a dreamscape and stark reality.

As a guest, you will be taken on a boat to pristine snorkel sites and secluded beaches far away from the touristy areas, where you can swim in crystal clear waters amid healthy reefs. If you’re lucky, you may even spot sharks swimming in their natural habitat.

And you can choose to trek around scenic rice paddy fields and visit beautiful waterfalls in Lombok’s luxuriant rainforests. Meals consist of local delicacies such as nasi campur (mixed rice with vegetables) and yummy curries.

But you also visit Tanjong Luar market to see firsthand the shark trade, and learn how precarious it is for both the sharks and the men who hunt them, as the trade is increasingly unsustainable.

And you see the pitfalls of tourism, when you see how little care other tourists take when traipsing through the islands. During our trip, we saw some guides and tourists on other tours picking up corals from the sea floor, to pose for pictures.

You also learn how to not just enjoy, but also respect the environment - Suhardi, unlike other boat operators, only lands his anchor on sand, to ensure that the coral reefs are not damaged from the boat tours.

THE ONE WHO STARTED IT ALL – KATHY

An ex-secondary school teacher from Singapore, Kathy’s passion for the environment and dismay over shark trade spurred her to start The Dorsal Effect. Her solution? Persuade shark fishermen to earn their livelihoods as eco-tour guides, and save sharks from being hunted down for their fins.

“When you see sharks in their natural habitat, I think there is a point where something would change in you and you really want your future generations to able to experience that as well.”

Kathy Xu, Founder, The Dorsal Effect 

A treehouse getaway...on a durian farm? Fear not, you don’t have to love the stinky, divisive fruit to fall in love with the lush, eco-conscious surroundings of Green Acres Orchard and Ecolodge. This 16-acre orchard will show you why a sustainable life is a good life.

MEET THE CHONGS

With their galoshes, wide-brimmed farmer's hats, and glowing, tanned skin, Eric and Kim Chong are unlikely to be mistaken for corporate shills.

But the cushy office life was what this couple left behind, when they returned to their hometown of Penang in search of a more environmentally-conscious future for their son.

"We wanted [our son] Aldric to grow up in a place where he could run around in the great outdoors,” says Kim.

The answer came in the form of the stinky, spiky “king of fruits” — durians. A 16-acre orchard in Penang, to be exact, painstakingly cultivated by the Chongs into Green Acres Orchard and Ecolodge, a haven for durians to thrive as nature intended.

MORE THAN JUST A DURIAN FARM

Balik Pulau, literally “back of the island” in Bahasa Melayu, is Penang’s rural side, famed for cultivating different varieties of durian.

In an area chock-a-block with durian farms offering guided tours, durian parties and homestays, Green Acres has quietly emerged as a preferred destination for durian lovers looking for an escape from the crowd.

Eric and Kim keep visiting groups small because they want to keep things personal as they share their knowledge and experience in organic fruit farming, composting, building sustainable homes, and the heritage of Balik Pulau orchards.

Exploring the farm in their company, the Chongs' passion is palpable, and it’s not hard to see why. Many of their durian trees, inherited from the previous owner when they took over in 2009, are over 50 years old, and still productive.

For each tasting session, the Chongs pick durians on the morning of each group’s arrival to ensure they get the freshest fruits.

Don't worry if you're not a durian lover; there are plenty of other tropical fruits to sample — rambutans, cempedak, pineapples, and bananas, to name a few — as well as rare herbs and spices that many urbanites may have never seen.

Moreover, a stay at the farm’s eco-lodges is, despite the durian’s pungent reputation, a relief for the senses. Breezes roll in from the forest across gleaming wood floors and all is quiet, save for the soft thump of durians hitting the ground, ready for harvesting.

Guests can also relax in a pool that draws its water from a spring, and dine on the freshly-laid eggs of 70 chickens and ducks, which roam in a 10,000 sq ft coop, and supply, ahem, fertiliser for the trees.

"Here, the air is cleaned by the leaves. The water is filtered by the sand...We had a medical check-up recently and the doctor said, ‘Whatever you're doing, keep doing it!’"

Eric Chong 

Co-founder, Green Acres 

GREEN DREAMS

Staunch advocates of the slow food movement, Eric and Kim went on a three-year search before they found their hidden gem at 250m above sea level — ideal for growing durian trees, and accessible only via a steep, gravelly road punctuated by hairpin turns.

The farm already boasted a whopping 450-plus trees from 35 cultivars. More importantly, it had been chemical-free for three generations.

In the Chongs, they found the perfect torchbearers to carry on their all-natural legacy. No gentlemen farmers, the couple threw themselves into nursing the land back to health — the previous owners, then in their 80s, had been unable to keep the farm as productive as it could have been.

"In the early days, we had to put one bag of organic fertiliser next to each tree. Imagine doing this for 500 trees,” says Eric.

On any given day, there were fruits to be wrapped, heavy equipment to be carried, trees and animals to feed. Slowly but surely, the Chongs began to notice changes. "Our caretaker, who is from the original owner's family, told us the trees haven't been this healthy for years. During one bumper year, we harvested over 500 durians a day!" Kim shares elatedly.

A CUT ABOVE THE REST

Anchored to the forest floor by an 80-year-old durian tree, the Musang Loft Treehouse is one of the Chongs’ most striking additions to the property.

For one, there are no walls between your bed and the trees around you — just wooden railings and bamboo screens that can be unrolled for privacy.

Standing in the treehouse, the wow effect is almost enough to make you forget the durian party you probably just had. Almost.

To minimise environmental impact, solar panels are used to generate electricity. The water pump relies on kinetic energy, instead of electricity, to pump fresh spring water uphill from the foot of the farm.

For raw material, abandoned old kampong (Bahasa Melayu for “village”) houses were disassembled, transported to their current location plank by plank, and repurposed into the lodges.

Opening their orchard to strangers was not part of the initial plan. "Green Acres was intended to be a holiday home for us and we built the lodge as a resting place after working the farm," says Kim.

They made the foray into hospitality when they realised it could be a viable stream of income during the months when durians aren’t in season.

"Durian season is only about three months a year. There's little income for the rest of the year. That's why a lot of farmers have quit. We thought, what if you could create a business model that brings in additional revenue? Maybe we could get young people who have traditionally shunned farming to reconsider farming as a profitable vocation," says Eric.

Anyone unconvinced need only look at the Chongs’ glowing good health for proof. "Here, the air is cleaned by the leaves. The water is filtered by the sand. So now we only need to worry about the food we eat," says Eric. "We had a medical check-up recently and the doctor said, ‘Whatever you're doing, keep doing it!’"

After years of poaching, it didn’t look good for the birds in Mangalajodi. Then locals, realising the harm of their actions, reversed course. Let Mangalajodi Ecotourism Trust show you how they brought the birds back to this wetlands paradise — and travellers with them.

Meet Subhash

“When we didn’t know better, we’d kill and eat bird meat. On some occasions, we sold it to earn some money,” says Subhash Behera, a fisherman.

Two decades earlier, sentiments like Subhash’s were not unusual. Thanks to poaching, Mangalajodi’s bird population had dwindled to 5,000.

But today, Mangalajodi is a village transformed. Locals proudly show off the rich biodiversity of the area, and virtually all of them can rattle off the names of every bird species there in English, despite the language being foreign to them.

And every year, from October to March, the sleepy village is transformed by a flurry of activity.

Coming from as far as Siberia and Mongolia, migratory birds make Mangalajodi’s Chilika Lake — the second largest coastal lagoon in the world — their temporary haven. In turn, they draw flocks of passionate bird-watchers.

Hitting bottom, rising up 

Mangalajodi, located in the state of Odisha, entered the spotlight in the 1990s when environmentalists began sounding the alarm over the plummeting native and migratory bird population numbers.

Then, fishermen like Subhash thought nothing of eating the various birds that had somehow gotten entangled in their nets. Others poached the birds, in the hopes of selling them for money.

A solution was desperately needed, and it wasn’t long before eco-tourism emerged as the prime candidate: perched on the edge of the serene Chilika Lake and its vast wetlands of swaying reeds, Mangalajodi is perfectly situated as a base for bird-lovers.

Thus, Mangalajodi Ecotourism Trust (MET) was established in 2010, uniting various ongoing efforts in the area into a community-managed and community-owned enterprise.

Guided by RBS Foundation India and its implementing partner Indian Grameen Services (IGS), MET succeeded by placing locals like Subhash at the front and centre of its efforts.

“The phenomenal knowledge of birdlife that the community had, was seen as a skill that an enterprise could use,” says Abhinav Sen from RBS Foundation, who helps manage the programme with the villagers.

Interested members of the fishing community have been trained as boatmen — including Subhash — while former poachers who once used their keen eyes and ears to hunt for the birds, now use them to complement their new roles as guides.

All bookings are made through the Trust and every member is paid their fee on a per diem basis, depending on the type of services delivered (e.g. Rs300 per boat ride).

The Trust runs also four earth-friendly cottages and one dormitory for large groups, and can accommodate up to 25 to 30 people at a time. Meals comprise items sourced from local fisherfolk and farmers.

Once down to just a few thousand, today, the bird population has rebounded to 300,000 at its peak.

 A day in birder’s paradise

Armed with only oars and binoculars to help them spot as well as identify birds, the boatmen and guides are the eyes and ears of the guests, as they accompany them into the wetlands.

During bird-watching season, a typical day starts with an early morning boat ride where guests spend around two-and-a-half hours on a boat, quietly lapping through the waters to spot birds like glossy ibises, swamphens and godwits.

After breaking for lunch, one can relax for the day, before heading out in the evening to spot more prized birds, while being embraced in a glorious sunset.

“It feels good to have people come visit our village and stay here for a couple of days. It is a matter of pride and honour for us,” says Purna Chandra Behera, a guide.

One of the first to take to guiding, Purna Chandra was sent for training at the Indian Institute of Tourism and Travel Management in Bhubaneshwar, after he joined MET.

He now works as a guide during bird-watching season. “Today, my son, who is also a guide, has attended the same training programme and has been taught by my teacher,” he shares with pride.

Adds Subhash, now a boatman and conservationist: “It’s because of these birds that people from different parts of the country, and even the world, come to stay in our tiny village.

“In turn, this helps us earn a better income for five to six months of the year and take better care of our families.”

Looking at the future

Awarded “Innovation in Tourism Enterprise” at the United Nations World Tourism Organization Awards in Spain in 2018, MET is gaining traction.

Recognition has brought visibility and in turn an increase in not just the number of tourists, but also the number of stakeholders: governmental, corporate and individuals.

Purna Chandra, for example, has been seeing more boatmen ferrying travellers around, although they are not part of the trust.

But as they reap benefits from the tourism boom, MET is also asking itself: how much is too much?

“At an operational level, it means understanding how many boating trips can be offered per day without crowding Chilika and disturbing the birds in their habitat. It also means identifying ways in which we can accommodate tourists,” says Sanjib K Sarangi from IGS, who has been advising MET.

A village that rose to infamy as one of bird poachers has managed to rewrite its narrative, and demonstrate the power of collective action and reform.

Now it must decide how to chart its course, as it straddles the dilemma of economics and ecology.

If waking up to birds chirping, enjoying fresh home-cooked meals and being surrounded by nature is your thing, then explore a homestay with SaveAGram in Kerala. Your visit will leave you feeling rejuvenated, and your stay will help empower the villagers hosting you.

MEET THE NAMBIAR FAMILY

“These are villages that God created in the best way possible.”

Amala Menon, Founder, SaveAGram

Kesavan Nambiar lives in his ancestral home in Wayanad, Kerala, with his wife Sumathi, their son Rijesh and daughter-in-law Sowmya, and granddaughter Niranjana. A forward thinking man, Kesavan grows all his produce organically. Working with the SaveAGram initiative, he has opened up his home and farm as a homestay, so that he and his family can preserve and share their peaceful way of life, while earning an income to better run their farm.

SaveAGram (gram is Hindi for village) was founded by Amala Menon to offer rural homestay experiences in India, thus keeping traditional village culture alive while providing host families with a source of income.

NATURE, CULTURE, FOOD

Awaken to the sounds of nature and step out for a leisurely walk in the morning mist. Explore the village and its surrounding forests, and you may even find a waterfall only locals know about. Learn about or even take part in local customs, or visit ancient temples. Come back home to a freshly-cooked meal by Sumathi, who uses organic produce picked from their farm to create mouth-watering dishes cooked over a wood-fired stove. Around the house, Kesavan cultivates rice, beans, pepper and other crops using organic methods.

You will live in Kesavan’s ancestral home, built traditionally and maintained with great care and attention. The simple but cozy house has two bedrooms for guests and a refurbished bathroom.

IMMERSE YOURSELF IN THE COMMUNITY

Wayanad is home to the largest population of indigenous people in Kerala, and a school was founded to provide free education to some 250 children, who might not otherwise go to school at all. Visits to the school can be arranged for you to spend time with them.

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.

In Walvanda, a verdant hamlet inhabited by the Warli, a rustic way of life has quietly survived amidst the pressures of modernisation. Spend a day there taking in their distinctive art and the joys of rural life, and help the Warli preserve their traditions.

MEET THE WARLIS

As you trundle into sleepy Walvanda, you can’t miss the fifty and more shades of green — a mesmerising landscape created by a sea of paddy fields, lush and green after the monsoon rains. 

Located in the state of Maharashtra, it’s just 130 km from the hectic metropolis that is Mumbai, but it feels like a world away. 

Literally, for Walvanda is home to the indigenous Warli tribe, who have managed to hold on to some of their beliefs, customs and language,  despite the pressures of urbanisation. 

It is also one of the few places in India where you can watch them create their distinctive art, with which the tribe shares its name. 

This sense of being enveloped into a new world and a different culture is evident from your arrival in the village. 

Waman, a guide from the village welcomes you, not just to his home, but to the village — because you are the guest of the entire community. 

He applies a tikka  along the length of your forehead as a sign of a good omen, and you are handed a flower and a “Gandhi cap” to don on for the rest of your time in the village — just like the locals do. 

THE LIVES BEHIND THE ART 

Look up “Warli” on the Internet, and you are likely to be inundated by images of their richly-detailed art. A form of pictorial storytelling, the paintings are an avenue for the tribe to impart their way of life —  from important traditions and beliefs to the minutiae everyday life — through the generations.   

A visit to Walvanda, organised by social enterprise Grassroutes, is an invitation to look at the lives behind the art. 

Leaving behind your shoes at the main entrance of the house, your host family readies you to start the day right — with breakfast. 

Poha —  dry flakes of flattened rice — served with roasted groundnuts and a lemon wedge, is the staple breakfast in most parts of Maharashtra and Walvanda is no exception. Over a cup of piping hot tea (another favourite of the locals), Waman outlines the activities of the day, while the host family chimes in with tips on what to watch out for. 

After breakfast, a local artisan adept in Warli painting guides you through its creation process. 

Traditionally, rice-paste, gum and water would be mixed together to make the paint, and a chewed bamboo stick served as the paint brush. For centuries,  the red-ochre walls of the houses — built from cow-dung and mud — served as the canvas. 

But modern life has chipped away at this practice: acrylic paint and actual canvas are used today, as mud houses have been replaced by their brick-and-mortar counterparts. 

In the past, Warli painting was an important ritual of village life, undertaken during important ceremonies like marriage or harvest time. The distinctive geometric patterns and brushstrokes served as the medium through which Warli culture was passed down through generations.

But now, Warli art is only practised by a few in Walvanda and other villages in the region, with pieces created mainly for exhibition or for sale. 

A walk through the village with the host reveals more nuances of the Warli way of life. Agriculture is the main source of livelihood for the tribe, and rice — so integral to Warli painting — is the staple kharif (monsoon) crop. 

The gentle rhythms of working the land and gathering this precious crop fill the village, from the sway of the lush green fields, to the swish of rice being husked, to pounding of rice being milled by hand in rooms found in every Warli home.

For city-bred folk like us, who are used to seeing polished rice in its final form in shops, witnessing the effort involved in growing and harvesting the rice can be eye opening. 

Another plant cultivated is bamboo, which can be used to make ghungda — a mesh that serves as a protective covering for farmers during monsoon season.

Waman explains that the villagers had started using plastic sheets a few years ago, but have once again returned to tradition: “We’re slowly making a return to the ghungda after we saw how it has remained a practice in Purushwadi (another village working with Grassroutes). We realise plastic isn’t a sustainable option.”

A WAY OF LIFE, A WAY FORWARD 

Like many indigenous communities, the Warlis are caught between maintaining their authentic ways and adapting to the ever-changing macro-environment. 

Learning to speak English, picking up basic computer skills and working 9-to-6 shifts have come at the cost of letting go of their inherent way of life. Some have chosen the “practical” course, by taking up government jobs that guarantee employment, for example. 

Enter Grassroutes: a social enterprise that promotes rural tourism to create livelihood opportunities for rural communities such as Walvanda.

“While many tourism initiatives are trying to create a market for the locals in a particular region, it is the outsiders who end up taking control, (while) the locals are left to do the menial jobs,” says Richa Williams of Grassroutes.

Grassroutes emphasises community involvement, by building a rapport with the gram panchayatsthat govern rural villages.  

A village tourism committee is formed to ensure maximum involvement from all households, and locals are trained in hospitality skills, thereby giving them a source of livelihood without having to renounce their indigenous ways.

It currently works with close to 600 rural families across four states in India. These households have seen their incomes go up, while fewer have chosen to migrate to urban areas for work. 

“All our projects have been self sustainable within two years of functioning.”

Richa Williams, Grassroutes

And there is a sense of pride felt by the community too, in seeing their traditions in the spotlight. 

Shares Waman: “A few years ago, a journalist had visited our village with his wife, who unfortunately happened to get stung by a bee. She was both scared and in pain. It was a paste of two medicinal leaves which when applied to the inflamed area provided her with immediate relief. He (the husband) went on to write about it for the newspaper he was working with!” Leaving  Walvanda and watching the emerald green fields disappear in the rear-view mirror, one may be struck by the intriguing lesson on sustainability the village offers. 

Their farming processes may appear “inefficient” to modern eyes, but they produce enough for their needs, let nothing go to waste, and do minimal harm to the land. 

They own little by way of material possessions, but they are the masters of the land they live on. 

Time takes on a different quality in Walvanda, and it is tempting to write it off as a “throwback” and a relic of a bygone era. 

But even as the Warli adapt modernity into their lives, perhaps they still have a few lessons in store for modern world, after all. 

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!

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.

Famed for their elaborate rituals honouring the dead, a trip to Toraja is an adventure set in the highlands of South Sulawesi. Now through Torajamelo, you can stay in the homes of locals to experience the community’s heart and soul, while supporting their fledgling livelihoods in tourism.

MEET MERI AND THE TORAJANS

When Meri is able to bring a pig to every ceremony in the community nestled in the mountains of Toraja, her hallowed dream will be fulfilled. 

One of many weavers living in this region, Meri’s dream echoes that of many in her unusual community, whose culture would strike even seasoned travellers as a world apart. 

Elaborate funerals, amongst other rites and rituals, have become the way of life for the 450,000 inhabitants — an indigenous ethnic group also called Toraja — on this land in South Sulawesi, Indonesia. 

Pig and water buffalo offerings are the main currency of exchange during these events and a stern label of your social prestige in the community.

The community blends Christian beliefs, as brought in by the Dutch missionaries in the early 1900s, with local religion known as Aluk to Dolo or “Way of the Ancestors”. Living 14,000 feet above ground, this mountain tribe has stuck firmly to its ancient roots, spanning generations.

But in a place where the dead are exalted in grand ceremonies, female empowerment, which has long taken a backseat, has been quietly making inroads. And I was here to see this for myself, even as I took in Toraja’s colourful culture. 

#SOULFULTRAVEL

Toraja has long been a magnet for adventurous travellers, but the benefits of tourism has not always trickled down to the community as a whole. 

“Most of the tour guides and agents were coming from outside the region, like Bali and Makassar, and the money was not coming back to the community. And with that, the special traditions and stories of this community were also being diluted,” shares Dinny Jusuf, founder of social enterprise Torajamelo.  

Determined to do it differently, Dinny, who was already successful in helping women weavers in the Sa’adan region find an international market for their handcrafted products, joined hands with the local Tourism Village Association in Suloara’. Together, they ventured into community-based tourism.

Under this initiative, dubbed #SoulfulTravel, Torajamelo’s weavers and participating villagers earn additional income by renting out their homes and offering tours that may include traditional home cooking and learning the local dance. 

Arriving at the village, I am greeted by stunning views of the green, hilly landscape, and the sound of rooster crows and chuckling children in the background. I felt as though I was on the cusp of an adventure in a strange new land, yet in a welcoming embrace that felt like home.

The homestays are simple but cozy, and some are fitted with amenities like western-style toilets. Those seeking a less rustic experience can choose to stay with Dinny at her house, Banua Sarira, at Batutumonga, a villa hugging the mountainsides of Toraja amidst sweeping rice fields. 

Less than a year since the venture was made official, Torajamelo is seeing results, with participating Torajans gaining a sense of agency through improved economic circumstances and sense of dignity, especially among the women. 

Arriving for my weaving workshop, I was greeted by weavers who were initially reticent, their reserve only dissolving when they demonstrated their skills. 

Over coffee and kue, we overcame the language barrier to learn more about each other. I was amazed at how delicately they managed both technique and artistic flair, and how earnestly they passed on these skills to their daughters — who in turn skillfully balance their school work with this traditional art of weaving.  

Says Dinny, “The weavers are proud to share their culture with guests from abroad. They find it useful to transfer their skills in communication, financial literacy and leadership skills in this new context. Plus, they can now sell directly to the tourists and earn additional income.”

An ex-banker from Bandung, Dinny’s connection to Toraja is a personal one — her husband is Torajan nobility, whom she met and fell in love with during one of her trips. 

Staying with Dinny is akin to staying with a friend: she is happy to engage in conversations under the stars of her second floor verandah, sharing intimate insights into the traditions of the Toraja community.

The key to Torajamelo’s success has been keeping the community at the heart of its mission. “As long as the community remains at the core of this venture, and we keep them involved in all our programmes, we can stay authentic,” says Dinny. 

HEAD IN THE CLOUDS

The Toraja landscape boasts scenic mountain views and wobbly roads opening up to rice fields and boat-shaped roofed ancestral houses called tongkonan. 

There are no postal codes. Clans still live together in compounds. These houses are built with bamboo and raised from the ground to reduce the impact of frequently-occurring earthquakes in the area. 

Rice is the subsistence crop, and the harvested rice is stored in special “rice barns” — carved and painted with traditional motifs like the buffalo or the sun, telling a story through the symbols.

Travelling on an itinerary planned by Torajamelo, I dove into diverse facets of the community.  Cultural music and dance performances. Visits to the workshops of the traditional weavers, woodcarvers and coffee planters. 

Soft spoken by nature, every person greeted me with a smile and a friendly handshake, locking my attention with gentle gazes as they shared their unique practices. Unlike many other places I have travelled through, there was no touting at any point of the tour — which I was told stems from the proud Toraja culture. 

Torajamelo also designs tours according to individual preferences, catering to its diverse spectrum of tourists. The tours have attracted the likes of Indonesia’s Master Chef, William Wongso and film actress, Christine Hakim. 

Dinny is working closely with the newly reorganised local tourism board, which has recently set up the Tourism Information Center dedicated to boosting tourism in Toraja in a healthy and harmonious way. 

The last thing they want is to attract travellers who are just in Toraja to “tick boxes on their tourist trails, and have no interest in understanding the community or nature”, says Dinny. 

AT DEATH’S DOOR

No visit to Toraja is complete without a visit to the local market, and the many graves sites that dot the region and form the centrehold of the community.

Toraja’s death rites are a big draw for travellers, who feverishly take photos as the Torajan go about their business, unperturbed by the attention. 

Tipped by Dinny on a funeral gathering nearby, I venture to see this for myself, though not before I am given a primer on the significance behind the elaborate rituals, which can cost anything between  US$50,000 to US$500,000. 

When a Torajan dies, the body is embalmed as funeral preparations can span months as the family saves enough money for the rituals. The funeral, when it happens, can go on for days,  with sacrifices of pigs and water buffalos, processions, chanting, dancing and feasting. 

The meat from the animals sacrificed is divided among the guests to take home, and the government receives taxes on the animal offerings.

After the funeral, the bodies are buried in stone graves carved into cliff sides, and marked with wooden effigies meant to protect the deceased. 

Every few years, families gather to clean the graves, where the dead are taken out of the coffins, washed, and dressed in fresh garb.

After the ceremony, when the sensory overload wore off, I could not help but feel slightly envious. While I grapple with urban existentialist tendencies, here is a community deeply in tune with their ancestors, holding firmly to their belief and values, celebrating  life and death in perfect unison.

Not every traveller gets the chance to attend a funeral here, and I consider myself very fortunate. All I can say is, be respectful, be mindful. And always carry a black shirt whilst travelling in Toraja, in case you are invited to a pesta orang mati — a party for the dead.