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Wildlife experts have opened a new eco-lodge in India that offers comfort and calm, as well as a chance to spot big cats
The early morning sun is bright on the long grass, the shadows are shortening and my wife Anne-Sophie, and our 10-month-old son Victor are sitting beside me on a small sandy spur above the placid river Ken. We are at a new eco-lodge, the Sarai at Toria, 400 miles east of Delhi, near the Panna national park and the Panna Tiger Reserve in Madhya Pradesh. The journey overnight on the train from the capital to the town of Khajuraho (famous for its 11th century temple complex) and the taxi trip through 15 miles of deep rural India, were smooth. We are relieved to be away from the traffic-choked, polluted, often angry city where we live. Breakfast is being served, there are birds in the trees and buffalo in the river. In the background I can hear that classic sound of rural India: the soft repetitive hoot of an irrigation pump in the fields behind us.
The lodge opened last year and is the creation of wildlife photographer Joanna Van Gruisen, originally from Northumberland, and Raghudandan Singh Chundawat, one of India's best-known wildlife biologists.
"We chose the place because of our 10-year association with the area," says Joanna. "It had immediate potential as a lodge site because it is in an under-recognised but tourist-destination-rich beautiful part of the country; besides this there is plenty of potential for research – on wildlife and on climate change – and great need for development and economic stimulation." Profits from the venture are being channelled into local projects.
Six spacious cottages with thatched roofs and open verandas have been built just behind the small spur. Trees, a few paths, a small creek and enthusiastic and conscientious local staff make the nine-acre plot seem larger than it is and homely.
Many of the "eco-lodges" springing up around India are nothing of the sort. In cut-throat competition for foreign tourists, hoteliers soon worked out that a bit of green marketing works wonders. So dozens of establishments claim that, because they are in rural settings, have a lot of local textiles draped over the beds and offer trekking, they are "ecologically responsible".
Joanna and Raghu, however, are very serious about conservation and the environment. Both have devoted much of their lives to the study and preservation of India's wildlife, and they are not the sort to slap a green label on anything that does not deserve it, however much it might help with marketing.
Solar panels are planned for next season, water comes from a well, heating is designed to minimise consumption, biogas is used for cooking and the thick mud walls of the cottages mean there is no need for air-con. The Sarai shuts for the hottest part of the year – April to early autumn, when temperatures climb well above 40C – and reopens on 1 October, two weeks before the Panna Tiger Reserve.
Joanna has sourced the soap from a women's cooperative in neighbouring Bihar state. Only local ingredients are used for the excellent food, mainly variations of the classic north Indian dishes of spiced, boiled vegetables but using, for example, a wild herb that grows only in these parts.
Almost every evening we take a short walk, baby strapped to my chest, through villages near the lodge. This is a dirt-poor part of India, with worse poverty than in much of sub-saharan Africa, but the men and women squatting to cut the chickpea plants offer them to us with a smile. Victor, as ever in India, is quickly surrounded by curious crowds.
If you want to understand what is happening on the ground, nothing beats walking in rural India. We pass a ruined fort, a more prosperous village, with houses of brick, the all-important "tank" or reservoir, then the settlement where the lowest castes live, away from the others, in homes of mud.
On the other side of the river from the lodge is the national park, a long forested ridge that rises in stepped plateaux. Indian national parks are not very visitor-friendly: there are few of the activities you find in their European or US equivalents. The infrastructure just isn't there – and anyway, much of the Panna national park is unreachable or off limits to tourists, to allow the wildlife space to roam without disturbance. Visitors can take jeep or elephant rides into the north-east of the park, starting from the villages of Madla or Hinouta.
Raghu is the author of one of the most detailed investigations of tigers recently published in India and knows the story of the park's big cats better than anyone. His opinion of the local forestry department officials is largely unprintable. Only seven years ago, there were around 40 tigers living in the park, fewer than in the past but a sustainable population. Since then they have all died, many poached, in one of the worst local examples of the continuing failure of India's tiger preservation policies. More recently, a pair of tigers have been reintroduced, one of which we miss by minutes on our first morning in the park.
No matter. The focus on tigers distracts from everything else there is to see. From my perch atop a jeep, protected by a blanket against the chill of early morning, the forest is spectacular in itself. Then there are the long-tailed langur monkeys, deer, antelopes, mongoose and boars. And the birds: shockingly blue rollers, majestic vultures, peregrine falcons and more – all pointed out with enthusiasm by guides armed with binoculars, books and tea in a Thermos.
But the place where the birds are most impressive is not in the park at all. I've never been much of an ornithologist – too distracted by the easy excitement of bigger game – but here I am converted. When my son is sleeping and the surface of the river at dusk is as smooth as the pebbles by its banks, I am paddled between the rocks and the storks, the herons, the pair of giant owls, the cormorants, the snake-necked darters and the kingfishers in their coats of colours that would put a Punjabi pop star to shame.
It is a moment of tranquillity that is rare in the chaotic country that I cover for the Guardian. Even the horns of the country buses rattling through the villages along the bank of the river seem to have fallen silent.
Jason Burke is the Guardian's south Asia correspondent
IndiaAsiaGreen travelConservationEndangered speciesWildlifeJason Burkeguardian.co.ukIf you’re inspired by the London marathon…
A new holiday for runners in Kenya's Rift Valley offers top-notch facilities and a schedule that will leave you breathless
Iten is an unlikely runners' paradise. High up in Kenya's Rift Valley, it's a small, chaotic town, typical of the region. The mitumba (secondhand clothes market) spills out by the side of the only tarmac road, as matatus (small buses) drive by day and night, beeping and touting for passengers. Donkeys and cyclists struggle by piled high with crates of chickens or sacks of charcoal, and sheep, goats and cows roam freely.
The surrounding countryside is dotted with round mud huts; in hand-ploughed fields, children in torn clothes stand and stare, and dusty roads crisscross the fertile land in every direction. It is along these roads, usually early in the morning, that you will find the runners. One after the other after the other they shoot by, dressed in Lycra, the latest Nike running shoes and Gore-Tex jackets. It's an incongruous sight, but to an athletics fan, it makes perfect sense. Because from this tiny corner of Kenya hail most of the world's greatest distance runners.
Lacing up your trainers and heading out for a run in Iten is a daunting experience. There don't appear to be any joggers. Every single person is fast. Even the other foreign runners who gather here are all international athletes. Luckily, I'm staying in Iten as part of a group – the only one, it seems – of non-elite runners. There are seven of us, ranging from someone hoping to run a half-marathon in two hours, to someone hoping to run a full marathon in precisely two hours, 24 minutes.
We're in Iten as part of the Kenya Experience, a holiday for runners recently set up by English couple Gavin and Lauren Smith. A budding coach, Gavin knows the town and the Kenyan runners well. He regularly points out the various Olympic champions and world record holders we pass as we're running or walking around.
"That's the steeplechase world record holder," says Gavin, as a group of runners, including Saif Saaeed Shaheen, charge past. "The one with the yellow shoes." There goes the women's world half-marathon record holder, Mary Keitany, on the other side of the road.
Gavin gives us all a personal training plan when we arrive and offers to take us out for runs, or – if we're brave enough – to find Kenyan athletes for us to run with. Although I like to think of myself as a fairly decent runner (my half-marathon time is one hour, 26 minutes), heading out with the Kenyans is a hair-raising experience.
With another member of our group (the two-hour, 24-minute marathon hopeful), I join up for a Kenyan fartlek session – which is basically a long run with fast bits and slow bits. From our base at the High Altitude Training Camp (HATC), owned by former world half-marathon record holder Lornah Kiplagat, it's a 20-minute jog just to the starting point. At the bottom of a long hill, by a bridge over a stream, we find a group of about 200 athletes, milling around and stretching. One man stands up on a mound like a preacher and explains what happens in the session. Spotting us in the crowd, he repeats the instructions in English. I give him the thumbs-up, to much mirth and giggling among the other runners.
The plan is to run gently for one minute and then hard for two minutes. And then to repeat that pattern 17 times. I don't have a watch, but after a minute of jogging, a swarm of beeping watches tells me it's time to go hard. It's uphill, hot and we're running at 2,400m – those are my excuses anyway, because almost instantly I'm drifting backwards, like something heavy falling through water.
People ping by on both sides until I'm watching the main group disappear into the distance. Fortunately, though, I'm not the only straggler, and I manage to keep pace with the backmarkers until the end. The final stretch takes us up a ridiculous hill that has me almost walking.
Afterwards, the Kenyans are smiling and friendly, telling me I did well. All the runners here are welcoming, with no one apparently concerned that I'm like a tortoise to their hares.
When we're not running, we lounge around the upmarket facilities at the HATC. The place is crawling with international athletes, including six top British middle-distance runners. The camp has a lovely swimming pool, although as it's the rainy season, the air temperature is a little too cool to make the water irresistible.
One day we get to visit a typical Kenyan training camp, which is more than a few notches down on the comfort stakes. Here, the athletes sleep in tiny dormitories, and their food is cooked over a wood fire in a kitchen that's a corrugated iron shack. The camp houses about 10 Kenyan athletes and top British marathon runner Tom Payn. He seems to be enjoying life in the camp, despite the basic conditions, although he does say that the one thing he misses is a sit-down toilet.
Gavin and Lauren have arranged a packed schedule of visits and activities for us, some of which work better than others. We visit Iten's famous St Patrick's High School, which has produced dozens of Olympic and world champions and world record holders. Along one wall in the dining room, where beans are being dished out of huge vats for lunch, is the school's wall of fame. Among the star names are the former world 800m record holder and three times world champion Wilson Kipketer, and the 2010 IAAF world athlete of the year, David Rudisha, who still lives and trains on the school campus. Unfortunately, he's away competing in Australia when we visit.
One famous runner we do meet is former world 10,000m champion Moses Tanui, who comes to give us a talk. He spends most of the time telling us why Kenyan runners are not as good as they should be, as torrents of rain batter the tin roof outside, making it hard to hear his soft spoken voice.
By the end of two weeks, we have had a taste of life in Kenya's cradle of champions. It's a mad, bustling place, full of warm, welcoming smiles. Everyone is sad to leave, but thanks to Gavin's training programme and the high altitude, we're all going home fitter than we arrived.
Read Adharanand Finn's running blog at guardian.co.uk
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