Nikita Garia is a blogger and contributes articles for The Wall Street Journal

At first glance, members of India’s business community may not appear to be mad about fitness, but a new survey of Asian business travelers says Indians are the most likely to seek out fitness centers and spas while on the road for work.

French hotel operator Accor carried out an  online survey between the end of June and early July of business travelers from seven Asia-Pacific countries that included Australia, China, Indonesia, Singapore, New Zealand, Thailand and India. Hong Kong, though part of China, was surveyed as a separate region. About 10, 000 people responded to the survey, which asked them about their travel habits in the first half of 2011.

Of the roughly 500 Indians who took the survey, 85 % claimed they went to the fitness centers in the hotels they stayed in and 64% said they utilized the spa facilities in those hotels. This was way above the average for the Asia Pacific region  as a whole – 76 % and 53 % respectively. Overall Asian road warriors seem to care about working out – Thai travelers were the least likely to use hotel gyms, but even 71% of them said they used the fitness centers.

The survey also found that India was second only to China when it came to the frequency of business travel. In India, executives across all levels made an average of 7.3 business trips each in the first half of the year, while in China, the average number of trips was 8.7.

Among Indian respondents, the overwhelming majority — 93% — of travelers were male. India had the lowest share of female respondents of the countries surveyed.  This was rather low considering that “one out of four business travelers in Asia were female, ” said Evan Lewis, Accor’s Asia-Pacific spokesman, while talking about the findings in New Delhi on Wednesday.

A fifth of Indian respondents belonged to the manufacturing sector, compared to 15% for the survey as a whole, followed by retail and finance. “Surprisingly, the travelers belonging to the manufacturing sector in India was more than the average in Asia, ” said Mr. Lewis.

When it came to choosing a hotel, 27% of Indians preferred to stay in those hotels where they had previously stayed, while 22% cared about the hotel’s brand name. “Indians are less brand-conscious and give more importance to their past experience, ” said Mr. Lewis.

Singapore and Thailand were the top destinations for Indian business travelers. According to the survey, 51 % of Indian travelers visited Singapore at least once in the previous six months and 38 % traveled to Thailand for work.

Nikita Garia

25 Aug 2011

http://blogs.wsj.com/indiarealtime/2011/08/25/what-the-indian-business-traveler-wants/

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Taumata­whakatangihanga­koauau­o­tamatea­turi­pukakapiki­maunga­horo­nuku­pokai­whenua­kitanatahu is the M?ori name for a hill, 305 metres (1, 001 ft) high, close to Porangahau, south of Waipukurau in southern Hawke’s Bay, New Zealand.

The name is often shortened to Taumata by the locals for ease of conversation. The New Zealand Geographic Placenames Database, maintained by Land Information New Zealand (LINZ), records the name as “Taumata­whakatangihanga­koauau­o­tamatea­pokai­whenua­ki­tana­tahu”. It has gained a measure of fame as it is the longest place-name found in any English-speaking country, and it is the second longest place-name in the world, according to Wises New Zealand Guide and reported in the New Zealand Herald.

Meaning

The name on the sign that marks the hill is “Taumata­whakatangihanga­koauau­o­tamatea­turi­pukakapiki­maunga­horo­nuku­pokai­whenua­kitanatahu”, which translates roughly as “The summit where Tamatea, the man with the big knees, the climber of mountains, the land-swallower who travelled about, played his nose flute to his loved one”. At 85 letters, it has been listed in the Guinness World Records as one of the longest place names in the world.

Oher versions

Other forms of the name are longer still: “Taumata­whakatangihanga­koauau­o­tamatea­ure­haea­turi­pukaka­piki­maunga­horo­nuku­pokai­whenua­ki­tana­tahu” has 92 letters. An even longer version, Taumata-whakatangihanga-koauau-o-Tamatea-haumai-tawhiti-ure-haea-turi-pukaka-piki-maunga-horo-nuku-pokai-whenua-ki-tana-tahu, has 105 letters and means The hill of the flute playing by Tamatea — who was blown hither from afar, had a slit penis, grazed his knees climbing mountains, fell on the earth, and encircled the land — to his beloved.

Tamatea, explorer of the land

Tamatea-p?kai-whenua (Tamatea the explorer of the land) was the father of Kahungunu, ancestor of the Ng?ti Kahungunu iwi. Mention of Tamatea’s explorations of the land occur not only in Ng?ti Kahungunu legends, but also in the traditions of iwi from Northland, where he is said to have explored the Hokianga and Kaipara harbours. In traditions from the Bay of Plenty region, he left a son, Ranginui, who is the ancestor of Ng?ti Ranginui of Tauranga. Legends from the East Coast of the North Island tell of his explorations in T?ranga-nui (Gisborne), M?hia, Wairoa, Ahuriri (Napier), Heretaunga (near Hastings) and P?rangahau. He travelled via the Mangakopikopiko River, over the T?t?-o-kura saddle via Pohokura to Lake Taupo. The ?tamatea River and swamp is named after him. Tamatea is also the name of a place in Napier. Early South Island legends say that Tamatea sailed down the east coast. His canoe was wrecked in the far south, and transformed into T?kitimu mountain range. Tamatea then returned to the North Island, and travelled via the Whanganui River.

In popular culture

The name is featured in a Mountain Dew jingle, and it also appears in the 1979 single “Lone Ranger” by British band Quantum Jump. Kenny Everett used a padded out version of the name as the introduction to the weekly aired “Kenny Everett Video Show” featuring an animated cartoon native speaking the words. It is the subject of a 1960 song by the New Zealand balladeer Peter Cape.

Czech group Mako!Mako playing Run’n’Be style composed a song Taumata where the full name is the only word used in lyrics. Tennis star Martina Navratilova learned to say the word when she was ten years old.

Source: Wikipedia

Average Rating: 4.5 out of 5 based on 270 user reviews.

This article is written by Farah Bode. When she gets time from travelling (or getting people to travel), Farah enjoys music, interior designing, dancing and shopping in the bustling streets of Crawford Market, Mumbai.

A home away from home…is what my stay at the quaint little home in Rangiora, Christchurch-Canterbury was all about.

A  pretty ordinary day…dotted with simple pleasures that was enough to put a smile on my lips…leave me with a warm toasty feeling. A day which leaves you with a feeling of being complete. A day which, whilst I write this blog post, makes me realize that it is indeed simple pleasures – being in the warm folds of a family, going about routine chores – that makes life a treat!

My day kick  started with a big smile from Margaret who met me at  Christchurch International Airport. A grandmotherly like figure – warm smiles and hugs, she opened her arms and welcomed me into her home and her heart with a single smile.

Forty minutes later,   we were at her lovely home in a small town called Rangiora (approx. population 11, 000).

The town hall at Rangiora

(Rangiora Township is small but has all the conveniences of a town without the crowds and traffic jams. The rest of the town is only homes and farmlands. A picture perfect little town which is every Wanderers dream destination…)

Stepping into her warm abode was a  treat to every gourmand’s senses. Freshly baked cakes and cookies welcomed me…and well, just when you think you can get away with a nibble here and there…a nibble turns into a bite…a bite turns into a big bite and before you know it – the decadent delights are polished off the table – which earns me a big smile from my hostess.

A cuppa tea later, we set out in her SUV to the milking station, and en route picked up Bob, her husband.

The milking station was nothing like I imagined it to be. Sure, it smelt like a cow stable back in India, but it was completely mechanized as far as the operations were concerned

All the cows get herded into a staging area feeding into the rotary milking platform which holds around 50 cows at a time. The machine spins and loads/unloads cows at a pretty brisk pace. One time around is the amount of time needed to finish milking each cow. So once they reach the end, the milking cups automatically fall off and the cow steps out, heading back to a pasture. Farms have as many as 800 cows so it is a lot of planning & hard work, in spite of all the automation.

Wow…Impressive is the adjective I use for want of any better word. A world removed from the cow sheds of India!

And a little later after exploring their farm and basking  in the lush verdant beauty, we headed out to one of  their son’s homes.

Margaret & Bob have a huge family (17 grand children!) The family tree is chronicled through the many pictures Margaret has put up in their home (much like my wall at home). It was interesting to be a part of their routine and listen to the children talk about their day. At which point, it really made me realize that life is full of simple pleasures – the pitter patter of children running about, the warm hearth, the soft tinkling laughter of Margaret, the warm smiles from Bob and his son and  how, in their own way, they enveloped me so easily into their fold.

Came home to a dinner of succulent roast lamb & vegetables (beans, carrot & cauliflower) and spent some time chatting after dinner. By 7:45 pm I was ready to call it a day!

The quaint little heaven they call home is just perfect – the heater making the room warm and toasty…and my bed was inviting.

A long but lovely day that reminded me of simpler childhood holidays (Bob & Margaret are the quintessential grandparents – they pampered me to bits!)

I’ve always believed that every Wandering has its own feel – but a homestay is something that I definitely recommend  in New Zealand for those who want to experience the peace & quiet of the local life here and leave with a warm, fuzzy feeling!

Farah Bode

23 May 2011

http://www.thewanderers.travel/blog/index.php/diary-of-a-wanderer-homestay-at-rangiora-christchurch-canterbury/

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A night view of The Sky Tower, Auckland

My suitcase stands in the hallway and I am reluctant to empty its contents. I have returned from my journey to the Land of the Long White Cloud, and the children clamour around me asking what I have brought back for them.

What does one carry back with them as one returns from long journeys to unfamiliar places? Souvenirs? Yes, but not the bits and pieces of representative keepsakes of buildings, cast in miniature size, or the glossy post cards which make you wonder if you ever saw the place like that, but souvenirs…memories, remembrances… people and images, smells and sounds…and a certain intangible something, indescribable but with a sure recognition when one encounters it again.

It’s the smells I want to keep trapped and protected in the suitcase, a scent that will tug at my heart and soul and make me wish that I had never returned.

Does the soul make a journey of its own? Or is it my Hindu upbringing that leads me to believe that? How then does one explain the sense of belonging that one instantly feels in strange lands, so far away from where you dwell? Why does it seem more like home than the one you left?I

t was a strange and perhaps karmic connection that spurred me on this voyage. But that is another story, one that I will reserve for when we speak of the encounters of the heart.

New Zealand, Aotearoa. I had to look up the country in the atlas. A brush stroke, a comma, a mere whisper and a wisp of a long white cloud. A slice of paradise. God’s own country.

The plane landed in Auckland and the minute I stepped out of the airport, my hair stood on end. It’s just the cold, I told myself. Travelling from 40 degrees to 14, the body needs time to make the transition. But what about the heart that sang, and the soul that soared? You haven’t been abroad for a long time, the mind rationalized.

Warm arms and golden roses greeted me. And I fell in love.

Auckland, New Zealand. Commercial Capital. Harbour city. City of Sails. Population, approximately 1 million. Climate: Temperate. Named after the Earl of Auckland, who sailed to New Zealand in 1837 from England. Official language: English.

Encyclopedia details. A page from travel guides. Spots to see, places to eat, where to stay, distances, the entire travel rigmarole.

There is the tourist and there is the traveller. The tourist views ten cities in fifteen days. “If it is Tuesday, it must be Belgium.” Having returned home, there are the photo albums to display, the videotapes to inflict and the proud declaration to neighbours and friends, “I have just returned from Europe.” And pray tell, how is Madrid different from Paris? Well, the tourist muses, in Paris they speak French and in Madrid, Spanish. And that is about as much difference that is perceived. No, not even perceived. Even that comes from prior knowledge. But meet the traveller, and he would have savoured half a city in ten days. Ten days in just one city, the tourist asks disparagingly. And what did you do in one place for so long? The traveller smiles and says, well, I smelt the sea.

Auckland, by the tourist, will be seen in one day. Auckland to the traveller, holds infinite possibilities, an unending treasure trove of images and sensations.

Who is the Aucklander, I wondered as I went on the Saturday morning to the Otara market? There were the generous-hipped Tongans, the big-busted Samoans, the large-boned Maoris, the kohl-eyed Indians, the long-legged Fijians, the blonde-haired European, and the mongrels, yes, the beautiful mongrels, as my friend affectionately called those of mixed race. A mixture of the colonial Pakeha and the native Maori, she herself embodied and mirrored the fabric of Aotearoa. I watched in amazement, not knowing whether to look at this tapestry of culture and colour or to draw my gaze to the hundred varieties of kumara, the ordinary sweet potato that spilled from the carts of the vendors. I smiled at the uncanny similarity.

If the people of Auckland seemed an eclectic mix, then the cuisine of this mosaic city seemed even more so. As we deliberated on whether to go Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Indian, Vietnamese, Middle-Eastern, Italian, French or Turkish that afternoon, my friend drove me to a restaurant by the waterfront.

Bright tables. Cheerful service. We chose a corner by the window. The afternoon sunlight streamed in, casting rainbow whirlpools on our table and as a bit of golden ray caught my friend’s green eyes, I saw the Pacific reflected in them. Oh, deja vu! I wished to catch the returned moment, that elusive instant, freeze it and save it for that ‘forever’ time, but just as quickly as it came, it vanished. I blinked, the camera shutter had clicked, and my moment slipped to the edge of my memory.

I turned my attention to the menu. Encounter with the sweet potato again. Cooked and served only in a hundred different ways, I finally chose one baked in its jacket and stuffed with vegetables, garnished with cumin and corriander. ‘Indian?’ I asked. ‘No, ’ my friend smiled. I was introduced to the term ‘Pacific Rim cuisine’, a superb fusion of world cuisines, one that could easily titillate the palate and in itself keep the traveller engaged for a lifetime.

We strolled out of the restaurant, my tongue tingling with the aftertaste of the kiwi-lemon tart, my heart exulting with a familiar memory, and headed towards Waitamata, the Auckland harbour. Waitamata, Maori for sparkling waters.

A Pohutukawa Tree

It was the season of the pohutukawas. The huge native trees that lined Tamaki Drive along the harbour burst with the streaming, crimson flowers. Have you seen the gulmohurs on a summer afternoon in Delhi? The pohutukawas must be their native cousins. ‘Splashed by spray’ as their name alluded, these radiant blossoms that prefer the shoreline, danced and swung and blushed in the balmy afternoon. I ran to gather the few that lay strewn in dazzling disarray on the street.

Standing at the Waitamata harbour, my gaze was drawn to Rangitoto. Forming the harbour entrance this dormant-island volcano dominated the view from the waterfront. There is something mystical and spiritual about these volcanic mountains. Auckland abounds in them. Still and silent, they reflected the quietness and yet the fierceness of the indigenous Maori.

These conical mountains studded the landscape of the city with as much profusion as the lush parks, the native trees, the oaks, the elms, the willows and the sparkling waters that surrounded it.

Beyond Rangitoto, the sky dipped into the Pacific. The colour of this beautiful ocean left me mesmerised. It was not the turquoise of the Atlantic, or the azure of the Indian Ocean. But a clear cerulean, shining a brilliant sapphire on bright afternoons, a peacock-blue when it rushed to meet the twilight, and turning dark like the lapis lazuli, at nights. Waters that invited you to dip your feet in, to see if a little of their colour would rub onto your skin.

I stood there, the strange but now familiar feeling tugging at my heart again, and wondered if this was where my spirit had led me in a quest of its old home.

And as I pressed a fallen pohutukawa between the pages of the small book of New Zealand poetry that I had just bought, I knew that its colours would not be mine to see when I reached home. I walked the street, my brown hand ensconced in my friend’s white one, wrapped in the dazzle of colour and the warmth of friendship, and the beauty of that instant became an integral part of me. The pressed pohutukawa would surely fade, but not its iridescence, and not my memory of that sunlit moment.

From Waitamata, to Manukau harbour on the other side of Auckland, we walked. Was it our seeming unawareness of time, or had we reached the other side of Auckland within the blink of an eye? Throwing her head back laughing, my friend explained, ‘Auckland fills the narrow isthmus that separates the Waitamato and the Manakau harbours. At its narrowest it is just one kilometer. You can return to India and claim to have walked from across the Pacific Ocean to the Tasman in just ten minutes!’

We drove home as the sun went down and I watched the moon rise above the masts. A gull fell away in the vanishing twilight and the horizon dropped and vanished into the dark.

Night. The restaurant spun me across the black antipodean sky. On top of the Sky Tower, sipping my Chardonnay, the firmament looked like something I had never ever seen before. ‘Look at the iron pot, ’ pointed my friend and I followed her hand and eye across the star spangled sky. It took me a few minutes to recognize the familiar constellation. ‘Oh, you mean the Big Dipper?’ I asked, ‘but it is upside down, ’ I said. The night sky over the Southern Hemisphere was a new discovery.

I sipped the vintage New Zealand wine and listened to the musical description of its taste. Subtle, delicate, elegant, graceful, golden, tantalising, velvety, intriguing. ‘Excuse me, ’ I interrupted, ‘are we talking of a wine or a woman?’ I asked. My friend’s green eyes twinkled in the flicker of the candle lights as she softly whispered, ‘Is there a difference?’

Under my feet, spread Auckland. The city by night pumped with life. Thirty seconds down the long elevator, and we were soon in K-Road. Karangahape road truncated. Neon signs, flashing streetlights. Down the road, I was led into a bar that screamed Caluzzi in blinking lights. I was lost in the small crowded smoke-filled room, music in full blast, people dancing. I laughed. The spirit of the party was contagious.

Out of the smoke and din rose an off-key Hotel California. I turned to find a tall, lean figure. Red velvet, gold sequins, lips that squealed bright pink, gold stilettos, false eyelashes, dark curls, and badly waxed arms. She took me by the waist, fluttered her eyelashes, and swung me into a dance. I looked at her in wonder. She was vibrant, joyful, and affectionate. I am Courtney; she introduced herself in a deep baritone.

I am later introduced to the expression ‘drag queen’.

It was a ‘Come back again to New Zealand’ party. And as I stood in my friend’s hallway, in my silk sari and sparkling bindi I felt as though I belonged completely. Among the guests, were a cross-dresser, a transvestite, a drag queen, gay actors, fading stars, evangelists and lawyers. Warm, welcoming and generous, it was like I knew them all from eons before. The night swept on with music, dance and an easy camaraderie; and as I lazed in the deck under the liquid yellow moon, I felt my soul settle into an easy warmth.

Auckland, New Zealand. It held everything. Museums, zoos, aquariums, art galleries, theatres. Great shopping, amazing restaurants, beckoning sidewalk cafes. Queen Street invited you with its hustle and bustle, Parnell enticed you with its quaint Victorian charm and fine galleries, the hip Ponsonby lured you with its pubs and bars and clubs, and K-Road tempted you with its alternative life-styles. The indoor and the outdoors, Auckland offered it all.

Shobha Vishwanath

2010

http://www.indiatravelogue.com/trav/trav54.html


Average Rating: 4.6 out of 5 based on 274 user reviews.

An entertainer dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow from Pirates of the Caribbean poses for a photo with an Indian tourist outside the Kodak Theatre in Los Angeles

In India, May is the cruelest month. The short spring is already a distant memory, and the heat- and dust-quelling monsoon rains are still weeks away. There’s no better time for Indians to take to the road.

All told, some 550 million Indians travel to other parts of the country each year. Once school lets out for the summer, many families set off on annual visits to grandparents in their native town or village. Another 12 million Indians choose to fly overseas. Wealthy families from Punjab and Gujarat, in the north and west of India, respectively, flock to cosmopolitan meccas like Switzerland or Dubai, where women can indulge in brand-name shopping and don the revealing, Western-style fashions they don’t dare flaunt back home.

But while more than half a billion Indians take a holiday each year, the appeal of travel has traditionally been less about exploring someplace new than about simply getting out of town. Many Bengali families in the eastern corner of the country, for instance, escape north in the summer to the cooler Himalayas — an unfamiliar land and landscape. But they typically join large tour groups, interacting almost exclusively with other Bengalis and eating only Bengali-style meals.

There is, however, a quickly growing segment of Indian travelers — mostly young, rich and hailing from India’s larger cities — who are decidedly more adventure-seeking. Unlike their parents, they visit uncommon places and pursue unconventional activities — a safari in Tanzania, a ruins tour of Turkey, an F1 race in Singapore — with an interest and curiosity about other cultures that previous generations may not have had.

It is still a small proportion of Indian travelers who are so venturesome — but, by the numbers, even a small proportion qualifies as a mass movement, globally speaking. So it is no surprise that the travel industry has taken note. From New Zealand to Namibia, government tourist boards have designed campaigns specifically to woo Indian travelers, and luxury-tour purveyors like Cox & Kings and Kuoni, both based in Britain, advertise hard for Indian rupees. Kuoni, for instance, has joined hands with fabled Bollywood production house Yash Raj Films to offer the “Enchanted Journey” tour of movie locations, letting travelers ski the Alps or boat on Lake Zurich in the footsteps of their favorite stars.

In February came another nod to the Indian traveler’s increasing clout: international travel-guide leader Lonely Planet launched an Indian version of its eponymous monthly travel magazine (other editions of the magazine are published in the U.K. and Brazil). And in October, the bible of luxury travel, Condé Nast Traveler, has plans to follow with an Indian edition, building on the established successes of the publisher’s Indian versions of Vogue and GQ.

The target readers of the new magazines are Indians who are traveling more and traveling differently — many as singles or couples without children or parents in tow. “You’ll be surprised by how many married women there are traveling without husbands and single women traveling with girlfriends, ” says Sumitra Senapaty, 49, a travel writer who has run Women on Wanderlust, a travel club for women, since 2005 and has watched her business grow many times over. “I quite struggled with it initially, ” she says. “I didn’t have the pocket to advertise, so everybody’s mother, friend, aunt and sister spread the word. I just wanted women to come onboard.” Today, Senapaty’s tours — which usher female travelers to hard-to-reach places like Ladakh, a high mountain desert in the Himalayan foothills — are usually sold out.

In addition to seeking girlfriend globetrotters, the industry is going after the growing number of travelers who embark on longer, activity-driven trips and seek novel experiences, rather than just another jaunt to the hotel pool. More and more, Indian travelers are going deep-sea diving in Australia, for instance, and booking yoga retreats in the Himalayas. “There are more people choosing adventure travel over conventional holidays, ” says Vaibhav Kala, who runs Delhi-based Aquaterra Adventures and arranges trips for more than 3, 000 customers per year. “Since four or five years ago, our clientele has turned on its head. From catering to largely inbound foreign tourists, we’re now catering to mostly Indian travelers.”

But catering to Indian travelers means catering to certain Indian preferences and peculiarities, no matter how far-flung or exotic the vacation. Lonely Planet Magazine India always gives readers the requisite practical information about obtaining visas and finding consulates overseas, but it also has a section called Fancy a Curry? that locates Indian restaurants and vegetarian options in foreign cities. “Indians are getting a bit more adventurous, but we still need a little hand-holding, ” says Vardhan Kondvikar, editor of Lonely Planet Magazine India. “We’re a bit like Nemo right now — the big world outside is very exciting, but we still need the anemones nearby for security.”

The worldview of the Indian traveler strongly influences the editorial choices that the magazine’s staff make, Kondvikar says. For instance, the magazine tends to highlight mainstream tourist destinations — which are perhaps familiar to world-weary travelers but new to the Indian populace. The tone of the magazine is also much more introductory, friendly and informative than that of its British and Brazilian counterparts. Recent feature stories introduced readers to Rome, Vietnam, Los Angeles and Puducherry in peninsular India; another popular article covered five weekend getaways from several major Indian cities. “[The U.K.] magazine was designed for experienced travelers who want to see the unexplored sides of places they’ve already been. So it has a lot of stories that bypass traditional tourist sites and find hidden alleys and restaurants, ” says Kondvikar. “We couldn’t do too much of that — many Indians are only going to the major destinations for the first time, and we didn’t want to ignore them.”

The travel lust of this budding demographic has largely survived the global recession, which has otherwise diminished international travel overall. In fact, a stronger rupee has seen more Indians traveling abroad, especially to long-haul destinations. The U.N.’s Madrid-based World Tourism Organization estimates that by 2020, some 50 million Indians will be taking foreign holidays each year.

So while Lonely Planet and Condé Nast may be wading into a shaky market already cluttered with dozens of travel titles, they have high expectations for success. “[In terms of] advertising revenues, not only have we dominated market share in the categories we operate in but also we are growing at an exponential rate, ” says Alex Kuruvilla, managing director of Condé Nast India. “So we are very bullish on the opportunity.” If the rupee continues to rise, this May might not end up being so cruel after all.

Madhur Singh
2010
http://www.time.com/time/travel/article/0, 31542, 1989633, 00.html

Average Rating: 4.8 out of 5 based on 218 user reviews.