In 2006, I lived in Italy. I had taken a university work placement in a small village just south of Turin, in a valley nestled between the stunning Langhe hills. Upon arrival, 'fresh out of Bristol', I knew no-one but, with a breath fearlessness, I was not shy of going out alone. At that time, the Italians would often regard this, when participating as onlookers, as something a little tragic. Even at home, one must never dine alone! Fortunately, my onward experience has found me with a recurring seat at the table of friends and strangers alike, and this has remained a theme for both work, and play. In recent weeks, an invitation from a similarly beautiful but nevertheless very British part of the world arrived, requesting my company for lunch at Beaverbrook, that luxury hotel in the Surrey Hills – an Area of Outstanding Beauty. An hour or so from London, under utopian skies, we piled out of cars that had tugged us up the long, and picturesque drive to this charming Victor
The squire from Tikli Bottom
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April 16, 2021 12:32 IST
Remembering Martin Howard, naval pilot, raconteur and buffalo farmer, who hosted everyone from backpackers to retired prime ministers at his Gurgaon haveli
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Remembering Martin Howard, naval pilot, raconteur and buffalo farmer, who hosted everyone from backpackers to retired prime ministers at his Gurgaon haveli
There is nothing more poignant in a faraway land than stumbling across a remnant of your native culture, marooned thousands of miles away. I first encountered this sensation as a budding young travel writer one foggy Christmas outside Delhi. Turning up the drive, lined with Traveller Palms and pecking Guinea Fowl, a rose-pink bungalow came into view. Under the pillared portico stood a tall Englishman with a polka-dot cravat and twinkling eyes. My host, Martin Howard, was an ‘exuberant, Kipling-quoting, salty-humored old India hand’, who, with his elegant wife, Annie, lived here, at