The Ritz-Carlton Almaty has a spectacular panorama of the Tien Shan mountains

Why should I go now?

It’s mid-winter in Kazakhstan, a spectacular time to see the biggest and most historic city in this huge and dynamic former Soviet republic straddling Siberia and the Tien Shan mountains – effectively the northernmost edge of the Himalayas.

What’s the lowdown?

Arrive at night, like we did, and you are ushered effortlessly to your room by the staff – they behave as welcomingly as Ritz Carlton staff anywhere in the world, but if it’s a first visit to the country, the Kazakhs looks impossibly exotic, beautifully coiffed, tall, slim, a striking blend of Slavic and Asiatic.

In the morning, draw the curtains expecting to see just another big Asian city, and you are blown backwards by the view from the picture windows in the bedroom. Before you stretch a vast array of peaks, rising to more than 5000m – higher than the Alps, deep frozen in snow, dwarfing any view from Milan, Geneva or Munich. Right in front of the hotel is an Olympic-style ski jump.

Dinner with a view at the VISTA restaurant

You could spend all your time in the Ritz and the uber-luxe Esentai Mall that adjoins it; the lobby, bar and restaurants are all on the 28th floor, with an excellent sushi bar. The aptly-named VISTA hosts a Sunday jazz brunch, with live band, straight out of the Upper West Side: we dined here with old friends, a sad and poignant occasion for very private reasons. The food was pure Manhattan bar & grill, with a little Osteria thrown in (particularly in the wine list, which was a heaven for Italophiles).

It would be a shame, though, not to go and explore Almaty: we enjoyed a night time trudge through deep snow to a couple of luxury fashion boutiques, including gorgeous MaxMara and Armani stores, with staff and clientele seemingly lifted directly from the Via Montenapoleone. And in contrast, in winter, a short drive takes you to the high-altitude ski resort of Shymbulak; skiing at nearly 4000m on the northernmost edge of the Himalayas is one of the world’s more spectacular experiences, and the snow is usually cold and dry (and the runs well groomed, and quite easy).

Getting Horizontal

There’s a beautiful pool and a Six Senses spa to revive yourself ahead of your next round of business conversations. Kazakhstan is a country on the go, and we found its leaders very open to inspiring conversations about developing its future. As for the bedroom, think Ritz modern luxury, with that matchless view thrown in.

An executive suite with a breathtaking view to the south

Nitpicking

This has to be the best luxury spot between Moscow and Beijing. If we had to be critical, we’d say we’re mystified as to why Kazakhstan doesn’t do a better job of selling itself. President Nazarbayev – call on LUX if you need inspiration, because your country is too much of a secret.

Rates: From 90 000 kzt ( approx. £200 / $300 /€250)

Darius Sanai

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Dwarika’s Dhulikhel is designed like a village, nestled into the hillside overlooking the Himalayas

Since the devasting 2015 earthquake, Nepal has slowly been rebuilding itself as a travel destination. Until now, visitors tended to be Everest summiteers and those seeking other, though slightly less extreme, high altitude adventures, but slowly luxury is finding a place in the Himalayan foothills for travellers who seek to immerse themselves in mountain life without the hike. In the second part of her Himalayan journey, Digital Editor Millie Walton crosses the border from North East India to the remote Nepalese mountain retreat, Dwarika’s Dhulikhel in search of a slower pace of life.

Unsurprisingly, the Himalayas are difficult to navigate. It’s not until you’re actually eye to eye with the mountains that you can even begin to appreciate their enormity, not just in terms of height, but length too. The range stretches through Nepal, India, Bhutan, China and Pakistan with over fifty mountains exceeding 7,200 metres (including ten of the fourteen 8000 metre peaks). So making the journey from Darjeeling to Kathmandu isn’t impossible, but it’s not easy. Firstly there’s the drive to the border, which even in one of Glenburn Tea Estate‘s hardy Land Rovers is likely to make the strongest of stomachs queasy. The land border itself is a breeze, the Nepalese border control are easily the most friendly security officials I’ve ever met, but then there’s the flight. The weather systems over the mountains are unpredictable – on a good day it’s a bumpy ride – that said, the views of the world’s highest peaks rising majestically through the clouds makes it more than worth it.

Day beds dotted round the resort provide a perfect viewpoint of the Himalayas

Sitting in the Zero Gravity lounge at Dwarika’s Dhulikhel that’s all far behind us. We’re here for the sunset, which, we’ve been told, illuminates a view of panoramic peaks in soft pinks and golds. The lounge is a rectangular glass box with an alfresco roof top seating area, but the winds are blowing and it looks dangerously like rain so we’re nestled into one of the day beds, playing Bagh-Chal (Nepal’s national game, also known as tigers and goats), hoping that nature will change its mind. Of course, it doesn’t. The storm when it hits is fast and ferocious. Sheets of rain slice into the glass, forks of lightning stab the ground and the wind shakes the sides so violently, we almost expect it to shatter. It’s over in less than ten minutes. The clouds have been ripped apart leaving smudgy outlines of the giants that surround us. There’s no rosy tint, but even these sultry shadows are impressive.

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Homely touches in the suites

An hour’s drive outside of Kathmandu, Dhulikhel is an ancient Newari hillside town where tourists flock in the promise of panoramic views from Langtang Lirung in the east, through Dorje Lakpa to the huge bulk of Gauri Shankar and as far as Numbur. Of course, for the true thrill seekers, you can venture by foot into the depths of the Himalayas to a base camp or perhaps even to a peak, but if its luxury you’re after, you won’t find any beyond this point. Just outside of town, Dwarika’s sprawls up the side of a slope, hidden behind thick forest. Built in 2013, as the more subdued sister of the Dwarika’s hotel in the city, its a place of indulgent solitude, where guests are invited to embrace a slower pace of life in search of a more mindful and creative existence. There’s a daily schedule of complimentary activities led by resident gurus and artists including yoga, meditation, pottery and painting all held within little mud huts tucked into the dense foliage. Most beautiful is the Himalayan pink salt room, with walls and floors made from glistening rock crystals. It’s the purest form of salt on earth and is thought to be beneficial for the respiratory system – sitting on the arm chairs with a soundtrack of spiritual chanting, it feels almost otherworldly. Time within these walls loses all meaning.

The resort’s infinity pool

We begin our stay with an Ayurvedic consultation with an enthusiastic doctor who asks us to fill out a form to determine our body type. Most of the Ayurvedic teachings are based on common sense, and whilst sceptics may be turning away at this point, at the very least its an important reminder to prioritise health and mental wellbeing with early nights, mindful eating and exercise. Essentially it’s about learning or re-learning to listen to your body. In urban landscapes, every space is filled with sound (traffic, voices, building sites) – even when we get home, there’s rarely a moment of true silence – and so somewhere along the way, we’ve forgotten how to listen to our bodies. The mountain setting of Dwarika’s then isn’t just about pretty views, but about reconnecting to a more traditional way of living, a way of life which still exists within the Himalayan villages.

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The Art Studio at Dwarika’s Dhulikhel. Image by James Houston

The resort takes its inspiration from that simplicity and whilst it is certainly luxurious, it is designed to blend seamlessly in with the natural surroundings. The suites are all bright and spacious with rustic furnishings, cream linens, smooth natural woods and pebble stoned bathroom floor. To be truly of nature, there probably shouldn’t be wifi access or televisions, but since most guests fill their days with chakra meditation or ink painting, there’s really very little opportunity to pull out a device. Our junior suite is centred around the views with floor to ceiling windows allowing the space to fill with natural light and a large terrace where we curl up on the daybed in the afternoons with a cup of herbal tea and homemade cookies, gazing out at the mountains. There are homely touches like a bowl of walnuts for cracking, a pot of honey as a natural sweetener for tea, homemade soaps and a ceramic pot of lemongrass bath salts on the edge of the tub. Each evening coloured cotton scarves are placed on the bedside table, to wear on the following day reflecting a certain energy along with a small silver dish of soaked almonds to promote peace of mind. It’s a world of indulgence, in which every detail has been carefully considered to create an atmosphere of complete calm, and it’s not long before we feel ourselves unraveling.

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The Spa. Image by James Houston

The food adheres to Ayurvedic principles too; ingredients are locally sourced, and vegetables are plucked straight from Dwarika’s own organic farm. At Mako’s Zen, the Japanese restaurant, which offers set menus of six or eight courses, the cuisine is based on the diet that was originally followed by monks in training (it’s not nearly as intensive as it sounds) and dishes are all vegetarian and light on sodium, designed specifically for easy digestion. The vegetable tempura and maki are the highlights, and although we leave craving a little something more, it is refreshing to go to bed feeling light. For Nepalese traditional cuisine, Nature’s Flavours restaurant serves up by far the best momos (dumplings) I’ve ever tasted, and they look pretty too, dyed (naturally, of course) in bright colours.

Sunset over the mountains. Image by James Houston

On our last morning, before sunrise, we wander to the top of the hill – it’s quite a breathless climb for those unused to altitude (at 1,550metres it’s well above the UK’s highest peak) – to the meditation maze, a winding walled path of sculptures on the grass with hidden speakers playing a continuous track of OM chanting, which has an almost soporific effect as we drift from side to side. The air is fresh and light, not yet saturated with the heavy heat of the day, the grass is damp beneath our feet and the birds are only just beginning to sing. The Himalayas surround us, rising like giant waves into the ice blue sky. It’s a powerful image of stillness and stability, that’s more poignantly therapeutic than any level of luxury ever will be.

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Breakfast is served alfresco at Glenburn Tea Estate on the terrace. Image by James Houston

The Himalayas are one of the few corners of the earth that remain unconquerable by humans. Many of the world’s highest peaks are yet to be summitted and much of the range is still a mystery. In the first leg of a journey from North East India to Nepal, Digital Editor Millie Walton ascends to the colonial city of Darjeeling to experience life at high altitude from the luxurious view point of Glenburn Tea Estate.

Life on the mountains begins at sunrise. The curtains of our suite are drawn at 6am with the delivery of “bed tea” ( a china teapot of the estate’s finest brew) and biscuits. The room glows pale yellow, a light which will soon turn bright and icy. We have been told that this is when the Himalayas are at their most magnificent as the sun slides down the edges of the mountains, and the snow blushes pink, then gold. This morning, however, nature won’t oblige voyeuristic eyes and the mountains are concealed by layers of puffy, white clouds. Set against, the vibrant green of Glenburn’s surrounding tea plantations, it’s still beautiful, but not quite Kanchenjunga.

Kanchenjunga, the third highest mountain in the world, sits opposite Glenburn

“You may need umbrellas. It rains almost every day here,” Jemima, our Scottish hostess warns us as we set off on a morning walk down to the Sikkim river. In the hot sun, it’s hard to believe, but the weather at high altitude is volatile and necessarily so for the healthy growth of tea. “Most people don’t realise that there are only two types of tea: Chinese and Assam. We grow both here at Glenburn,” our guide explains to us, as we stroll through the neatly combed lines of tea plants. Today is Sunday so there are no pickers at work, but there are over 1,000 employees on the estate who contribute in some way to the production of the tea. The estate, originally established by a Scottish family hence the Celtic name, is now owned and run by one of the most respected tea families in India, The Prakashes, not just as a business, but as a community. There are five villages, five schools, shops, hospitals, mosques, churches, Hindu and Buddhist temples on Glenburn’s hillsides. Lives are created and lived on the same soil from which the tea grows. It’s not something you tend to think about when you sit down for a cup of afternoon tea, but of course, most of the brands we are familiar with don’t have that kind of heritage, in fact, we’re told, a large percentage of the tea bags we dip into boiling water are stuffed with the leftover scrapings of leaves, the bad, cheap stuff. Unwittingly, our tastebuds have been dulled into acceptance of mediocre.

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The Glenburn estate isn’t actually in the town of Darjeeling, and whilst it’s only 6 km away (as the crow flies), it’s a painful hour’s jeep ride along mountain roads and down dirt tracks to reach the pretty green and white cottages that sit on a well kept, mountainside shelf (each morning the postman makes the journey to deliver the daily newspaper). So it’s remote enough not to see or hear the deafening horns of India’s jostling traffic, which somehow still manages to infiltrate the lower parts of Darjeeling. Walking down an increasingly steep track to the river, the only sound is the singing of birds. The lower we descend, the more jungle like the landscape becomes – the mountains here are so vast that they support multiple ecosystems – and we arrive at the riverside campsite glistening. Here more adventurous guests can camp for a night in the basic, comfortable lodge, but compared to the four poster bed in our bright and spacious floral suite, we decide lunch will suffice.

Tea pickers on the estate

The river, flowing fast with ice cold, glacial mountain water, is the border between West Bengal and Sikkim, and whilst Indians can move freely between the two states (we meet two men returning to a Glenburn village later on with baskets of beer hanging from their foreheads, as alcohol is cheaper across the water), foreigners require a permit to cross the bridge so all we can do is peer through the distant trees. The journey back is by jeep – luxury travel gives guests the option to choose the intensity of their adventure – and the clouds are still stubbornly blocking our view, smouldering with coming rain. Come nightfall though, the mountains around us are blinking with thousands of lights revealing the isolated communities that are hidden during the day. At a higher level, the sky seems even more black and endless filled with the vibrations of cicadas.

The Singalila Suite

Views from the bathtub. Image by James Houston

Dinner is served formally at 8pm, following colonial tradition, round a communal dining table after drinks in the drawing room. On the first night, guests timidly trot round the edge to find their place name, smiling shyly at their neighbour, but conversation flows freely after a few glasses of wine; the remoteness of Glenburn appears to attract a more worldly and relaxed type of traveller in comparison to city smart hotels. The menu is themed each night according to the produce the estate has been able to source, and whilst it’s not quite Michelin star quality gastronomy, the chefs do well with the limited resources, often incorporating tea into dishes in innovative ways. It’s a languid, indulgent and homely evening. The very charm of Glenburn lies in its unpretentiousness and eccentricity; each room is furnished with beautiful, “lived-in” antiques, battered board games are stuffed onto shelves amongst well read books, there are no locks on any doors and guests are free to wander without butlers pouncing on them to ask if they’d like another drink. It’s a nostalgic world that could not exist anywhere else, but the foothills of the Himalayas.

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That night, I’m awoken by the reverberating drumming of an insect calling out hopelessly into the darkness for a female. It’s almost 2am, hours from sunrise and yet… I draw back the curtains and in the silvery light of the moon glimpse the jagged edge of a luminous mountain, just visible for a moment before a shadow moves across the sky. There’s something reassuringly calming though, just knowing that the mountains are and always will be there.

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