#kundun

#kundun

In The Last of Earth, she points her writerly compass towards the mountains of mid-19th-century Tibet a region then closed off to European imperialists to meditate on the chequered history of colonial exploration, cartography and the impermanence of human existence. It's in the nature of white men to believe they own the world, that no door should be shut to them.

High above the Naggar valley in Himachal Pradesh, Eila reveals itself slowly. It is not the kind of resort that announces its presence with grand façades or rigid terraces. Instead, it feels as if the architecture has quietly grown out of the mountainside. Soft, organic forms follow the contours of the land, echoing the rhythms of the terrain rather than resisting them.

Tucked away in the Wat Ket area, a quiet pocket of Chiang Mai well clear of the chaos of the Old Town, at 137 Pillars House you're close enough to dip in when you want to, but far enough out that the noise never follows you back. It's the kind of neighbourhood where mornings start slowly, perhaps with a quick trip to the nearby Lung Khajohn Wat Ket, one of the city's best rice roll spots, or a plate of Neng's Clay Pot Roast Pork (insanely delish!), before retreating back to the calm of the hotel gardens.