Was it the lack of oxygen or the serene beauty of the surroundings that was making me feel a little giddy as I made my way to the tent that was to be our home for the next three nights? We had been fair warned, and not just by the myriad in-flight announcements, on acclimatisation at 3,500 metres in Leh, Ladakh. But as I looked around the luxurious tent, with its four-poster bed positioned in front of a gorgeous embroidered tapestry, flanked by camping tables and plush armchairs, it wasn’t altitude sickness that was the culprit. No, the light-headedness came from this splendorous shelter that was ours for a brief while.
With expansive views of the 15th century Thiksey monastery, with the snow-capped Karakoram mountains as a backdrop, this was the kind of glamorous camping, or glamping, for which Africa is widely celebrated. In fact, the tents are from South Africa and the entire feel of The Ultimate Traveling Camp (TUTC) was plush and luxurious in a superior safari way — minus the wild animals.
My girlfriend and I had bid and won a three-night stay at the camp at a charity auction a few years ago and when our husbands found out, they wanted to muscle in on the action. We faced significant hurdles in making two couples’ schedules align and it took two years to make it to Leh. Thank God we did.
It was spectacularly special and chic, making me yearn for a vintage “Saharienne”, the safari jacket that Yves Saint Laurent created in the late 1960s. YSL, of course, was born in North Africa, in Oran, and was one of the most notable Pied-Noirs (black foot) from Algeria, a most beautiful country with fabulous beaches, where I idled a few summers 25 years ago (another story for another column).
The tent’s bathroom was especially swish, with a large copper basin and a shower that would shame most urban 5-star hotels. I recalled a recent article I read — about a Dubai villa development at the Palm Jumeirah where the world’s most expensive bathrooms are being built. The developer, a Russian obviously, is installing $1 million bathtubs, each made of a single piece of rock crystal from the Amazon jungle, which are then fashioned in Italy into bathing baths for billionaires. More than half the villas are already sold. Clearly, when it comes to bathrooms, price is no object. I was thrilled that our glamp owners in Leh had gone the extra mile in that department.
It was a splendid setting, one that would put even the most hardened city dweller, who can’t bear to leave the bright lights for Fear of Missing Out, at ease. From New York to Mumbai, such people exist in droves and are so caught up that even a few days away from the action causes them to panic. They jump on planes (preferably private) to attend a soiree half a world away. Presumably, they are also the ones buying the million-dollar bathrooms.
Which leads me to the crux of this column, which is meant to focus on the life-styles of the rich (and sometimes famous). And which is meant to be light-hearted and fun. Sometimes, it intersects with the news of the day. So I read with admiration some of the snarky comments that came my way (via my kind editor) over the past few weeks. Like the irritated reader who summed up the whole premise of one column as a series of personal pronouns. A most brilliant analysis! But all this incessant social media noise soon ebbed away in Leh, where my mind was occupied visiting monasteries and listening to early morning prayers, surrounded by nature in all her glory. Ladakh should be a must-visit for every sceptic and cynic.
I am now back at my desk in the wet climes of western India, researching this column. Given that wealth concentration is at an all-time high in the world, and as Asia overtakes North America in this regard, I have my work cut out for me. Luckily, much of this involves swilling a chilled glass of Veuve Cliquot while chit-chatting with a superbly-coiffed social grandee or a newly-minted, transforming-the-terabyte-tech-type. Not a bad way to spend a few hours, is it?
This fortnightly column tracks the indulgent pursuits of the one-percenters.