John's Journal

Above: John Robshaw Shop in Falls Village Fifteen years ago, I purchased a 1870’s house in Sharon, Connecticut. Years later, I opened a store in nearby Falls Village. My wife and I wanted to spend more time at home with our daughter - it all made sense. The area has transformed into a designer hub, with notable names like Bunny Williams, Hendricks Churchill and Michael Trapp nearby. Below is a list of some of my favorite spots, as well as some that I have on my list to discover. The team made a Google map for you for convenience. I invite you to visit and say hello — I'm usually in the shop on Fridays. — John VIEW JOHN ROBSHAW’S GOOGLE MAP SHOP John Robshaw Shop - Falls Village, CTOne of a kind vintage Indian furniture, bedding, textiles & more. 100 Main Street - Falls Village, CTExplore Bunny Williams collection and other local artisans at this centrally located shop. Adobe Home Goods - Millerton, NYTerrific home goods - got some beautiful wine glasses here recently! Marche - Falls Village, CTJust opened home goods shop. Michael Trapp - West Cornwall, CTAntiques and gardens galore! Montage Antiques - Millerton, NYGreat finds await! Harney Teas - Millerton, NYEveryone’s favorite tea emporium. Hammertown Barn - Pine Plains, NYWonderful antiques and home goods. Lawrence Jeffrey - Litchfield, CTGreat estate jewelry. Milton Market - Litchfield, CTModern day general store. Orangerie - Millbrook, CTAn interior design and home store that doubles as a greenhouse. Plain Goods - New Preston, CTA home goods store that will make you want to refurbish an antique farmhouse. Pergola - New Preston, CTAn uncommon collection of indoor and outdoor decor. Privet House - New Preston, CTAn emporium of antiques that’s good for the soul. RT Facts - Kent, CTCool vintage furniture and one of a kind pieces. Montage - Millerton, NYA massive collection of antiques, browse for hours. Black Sheep Mercantile - Millbrook, NYVintage menswear. Millbrook Antique Mall - Millbrook, NYOver 30 vendors under one roof. EAT Mountainside Cafe - Falls Village, CTGreat sandwiches and soups. John’s favorite is the Southwest Salad. Don’t forget to get a cookie, they’re incredible! And the sales team is addicted to The Magic Bars. It’s a problem! Whitehart Inn - Salisbury, CTHistoric inn with a beautiful lawn and wraparound porch. No better spot to grab a drink. Fern - Lakeville, CTNew hotspot that took over the Fire Department Building with delicious pizza and everything else. Falls Village Inn - Falls Village, CTThe tap room is open for dinner 7 days a week, John loves eating calamari on their patio in the summer. Stissing House - Pine Plains, NYOne of John’s favorites for dinner or Sunday brunch. This is where he goes for his birthday. Petraroia Deli - Litchfield, CTBreakfast and lunch with a great porch. Arethusa Farm - Bantam, CTHomemade cheese and ice cream, what more could you want! Irving Farm - Millerton, NYHip local coffee shop with tasty pastries. Le Gamin - Sharon, CTClassic french food. Paley’s Farm Market - Sharon, CTDelicious farm sourced food. Sweet William’s Coffee Shop & Bakery - Salisbury, CTBaked goods & coffee. Babette’s Kitchen - Millbrook, NYCoffee shop & bakery. STAY Falls Village Inn - Falls Village, CTSleep on John Robshaw bedding! Whitehart Inn - Salisbury, CTClassic Connecticut Inn with wonderful ambiance. TroutbeckEstate hotel right on the border of New York and Connecticut. Great amenities including a farm to table restaurant. Mayflower Inn - Washington, CTCelerie Kimble decorated this New England spot with lots of fun bright colors. DO The Center on Main Arts and community hub. Great Falls Falls Village is named for these 200 foot waterfalls - part of the Appalachian Trail. Lime Rock Park - Salisbury, CTThis road racing track is home to the Skip Barber Racing School and hosts action packed events for the whole family. Clarke Outdoors - West Cornwall, CTSpend the day kayaking down the Housatonic River. No cars for hours, just trees and birds. Harlem Valley Rail Trail - Millerton, NYSpend the day biking. Wassaic Project - Wassaic, NYArtist run gallery and education center. MASS MOCA - North Adams, MAA bit of a drive from Falls Village, but a great day trip. Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art is one of the largest centers in the world for contemporary and performing arts. HOW Best to drive, but if you wanted to take the train and uber or taxi to the main Falls Village hub, it is possible. Take the Harlem bound Metro North train from Grand Central to Southwest and transfer to the Wassaic train. Wassaic is about 30 minutes from downtown Falls Village, it’s best to schedule an Uber or Taxi ahead of time. VIEW JOHN ROBSHAW’S GOOGLE MAP

1) Landaa Giraavaru, Maldives Photo: The Silver Spoon Landaa Giraavaru is an island in the Baa Atoll in the Maldives (UNESCO World Biosphere Reserve). Frankly, any of the beaches in the Maldives are incredible! 2) Krabi, Thailand Photo: Nina R Krabi is on the west coast of southern Thailand at the mouth of the Krabi River where it flows into Phang Nga Bay. There are great Thai houses close to the beach to rent and nice sleepy beaches (except for long tail boats of course). 3) Koh Yao Noi, Thailand John taking a walk on the beach. Photo: Chris WiseClose to Phuket, but without the crowds. 4) Desroches Island, Seychelles Photo: TripAdvisor Desroches Island in Seychelles is the main island of the Amirante Islands in Seychelles. 5) Tangalle, Sri Lanka Photo: Anantara Hotels, Resorts, & SpasTangalle in the southern province of Sri Lanka boasts untouched beaches with azure waters. Don't forget your towel! Photo: Rachel Robshaw

Nantucket is one of my favorite places to visit in the US. The island is littered with my cousins. I love to go up to sail, but also to shop the sophisticated stores along the main drag. They have everything from woven sandals from Morocco to blankets from Maine. The shop Bodega does a fantastic job with our prints. My favorite hotel there is Greydon House, a lovely 20 room boutique hotel. Designed by Roman and Williams, Greydon House features our bedding in every room. As Nantucket is known for the nautical blue and white color combination, we thought it would be fun to create a blue and white room using our spring collection. Everything from the bedding to the pillows to the art to the robe is part of our new line.  See below for more about the room, Greydon House, and a cheat sheet of all my favorite spots. Hope you all can get out to this very special space soon! John Robshaw Spring 22 collection featured at Greydon House includes Aasira Duvet, Kesar Indigo Sheets, Layla Indigo Quilt, Edo Decorative Euros and Haseen Decorative Pillow on bed, Vintage Stripe Rug on Floor. Photo: Daniel Schwartz Cyanotypes made by John and Rachel on the walls and Isbah Decorative Pillow on side chair. Blue & White Salina Robe STAY: Greydon House My favorite hotel on the island. Stylishly classic, centrally located, wonderful art & gardens. And only 2 mins from the ferry. 17 Broad Street, (508) 228-2468, greydonhouse.com EAT/DRINK: Sushi Sean’s Shop for tuna nachos A graduate of the Tokyo Sushi Academy in Tsukiji, Tokyo, Japan, the eponymous Sean has been serving his signature selection on Nantucket for nine years. Don't skip the tuna nachos! 21 S Water St, (508) 901-5871, sushisean1111.com Chanticleer This elegant restaurant in dreamy Sconset is a favorite. Request a table in their pub room if it's chilly or in the rose garden on a warm summer night. 9 New St, Siaconset, (508) 257-4499, chanticleernantucket.com Roastd General Store for matcha Nantucket's premier spot for wellness and specialty food also has an extensive and creative coffee offering. I get my matcha here. They roast their own milk. 159 Orange St, (508) 228-8400, roastdgeneralstore.com  GO: Whaling Museum for culture and history "Nantucket has a fascinating history, which many people don't know about," says John. He recommends starting at the Whaling Museum, located one block from Greydon House. Discover over 1,000 works of art, a 46-foot sperm whale skeleton, a massive Fresnel lens, and a restored 1847 candle factory across nine galleries that offer a glimpse into Nantucket's past. 13 Broad Street, (508) 228-1894, nha.org Linda Loring Nature Center for Nantucket’s wild side Several organizations ensure the preservation of Nantucket, and nearly half of the island is open space. John recommends visiting the Linda Loring Nature Center, which conducts research, education, and stewardship of 275 acres. "I love to take my daughter, Regina, on the Story Walk." 110 Eel Point Rd, (508) 325-0873, llnf.org

Years (and years) ago, I was planning to shoot a new season of prints in Jaipur and needed a local photographer.  I had heard rumors about a Belgium fellow who was fluent in Hindi, a brilliant photographer, and he lived in Jaipur. My connection with Jonas Spinoy was fortunately made. From Goa to Kashmir, Jonas has shot many of our collection photos, and we have had many adventures together. I could not think of a better companion… or photographer. Jonas captures the unexpected, quirky, and charming world of India in his own work. I’m happy to share his world with you here, in addition to some of the photos he has taken for me throughout the years.  If you can’t get to India, Jonas will take you there. John waiting for a train in India. Photo by Jonas Spinoy. Models wear sunglasses from the John Robshaw x Mondelliani collaboration. Photo by Jonas Spinoy. Tell us a bit about yourself and how you came to live in India. I grew up and studied fine arts photography in Brussels, Belgium while working with my father in the field of interiors & furniture. Needing to see new places, I moved to Spain, worked in a friend’s restaurant in Andalusia, and learned a lot about food. I then moved to Morocco, where I worked with architects developing decorative elements to restore old Riads in Marrakech, and that's where I met my future wife who was from India. We were both working on textile & interiors projects. When her project ended, she went back, and I joined her there. We got married in New Delhi, moved to Jaipur, and have been happily living there with our family ever since. A striking natural landscape. Photo by Jonas Spinoy. A moment of a man looking out his window is captured beautifully. Photo by Jonas Spinoy. When did you become interested in photography? I have always liked to travel, and growing up without social media, looking at photo books was the most exciting thing! My dad had an old analog camera.  When I was 16 I learned to print and process my own rolls with a friend who had a dark room. I still prefer film photography. Jonas captures the historic architecture of India. Photo by Jonas Spinoy. A car in a custom John Robshaw fabric slipcover. Photo by Jonas Spinoy. How did you choose your subject matter? Tell us about your work. If I like a place or certain people, I most definitely would like to photograph them. Sometimes I go back to places I have seen or people I have met months later to take one photograph. Otherwise I don’t normally plan images very much. I love to shoot places and people that I connect with. A performer poses for a portrait. Photo by Jonas Spinoy. A motorcycle rider carries a stack of pillows as cargo. Photo by Jonas Spinoy. Any funny stories about shooting with John? A camel eating John's hair? Or pillow-covered donkeys running away from the frame? Most of the time we arrive on location with a plan, but we get inspired by other places and elements. The process is always very fluid to allow space for improvisation, the constant element being a car full of pillows and bed linens, those are the real prima donnas of our shows! I think we both really enjoyed travelling around this incredible country to make those shoots happen over the years. We’ve travelled so much together it's hard to pick one funny story. John on a boat. Photo by Jonas Spinoy. Portraits of John. Photo by Jonas Spinoy. John sits on a dock. Photo by Jonas Spinoy. What other photographers or artists inspire you? There are so many it's hard to choose a few. I love the portraits of the Malian photographer Seydou Keita. He’s self-taught, and his portraits are so sophisticated, a rare combination. Dayanita Singh is known for her intimate portraits of unusual spaces and Indian families. I also love the extensive coverage of India by Raghu Rai. Portrait of a man riding his bike. Photo by Jonas Spinoy. Beach landscape. Photo by Jonas Spinoy. A rickshaw driver carries a load of textiles. Photo by Jonas Spinoy. Do you have a favorite photograph? No, but I have a favorite photo book, “A Way into India“ by Raghubir Singh. It's pure street style photography centered around the Iconic Ambassador Car. A band plays to celebrate the launch of new pillows. Photo by Jonas Spinoy. Portrait of a well-dressed merchant. Photo by Jonas Spinoy. Jonas with his wife. You can follow Jonas on Instagram at @jonas.spinoy, and on Flickr at @fatafatphoto.

Ikats, Ikats, Ikats My first visit to Uzbekistan was ten years ago, arranged by Raisa, a local travel agent who helped Aid to Artisans set up a network of weavers in the Fergana valley.  It’s a great story: Aid to Artisans gave these talented weavers small grants of $500-1000. The money enabled them to attend textile shows in Santa Fe, where they sold everything they’d made! Ten years later, I’m back to see these weavers again, some of whom now have boutique hotels, restaurants or thriving textile businesses. How Ikats are Made Margilan is the place for hand-made Fergana valley ikats. With the help of some local artisans, I got to witness all the various stages in their production. First the silk thread is made, then washed, then warped. A pattern is drawn on the silk, bound, then dyed. Next comes the shafting, then the weaving, finishing and calendaring! I was exhausted just watching all of the steps needed to produce this magical fabric. Basically, the town of Margilan functions as a collective of sorts. One workshop sets up the looms, weaves the silks, then dip dyes the tied silk threads. Another workshop just calendars the fabrics, another one sews finished goods. All of the workshops rely on each other; no one workshop could effectively manage all of the steps needed to produce these textiles. My Travel Tips When you visit Margilan, don’t miss the Kunstepa bazaar. Vendors sell cotton ikats by the meter, the prices are quite reasonable and the range of designs, from traditional to modern, is breathtaking. The men’s quilted robes and sashes are remarkable. For antique textiles, I found a lot more in Bukhara and Samarkand which I am not mentioning here but of course you must visit some of the largest cities on the famed silk route. Have fun and bring an extra suitcase or two.   “Verboseness is a load, even for a donkey” Uzbek proverb Photos by Rachel Robshaw

With so much to see and eat in Istanbul, I was lucky to spend a full week there, but still only touched the surface! The dollar is strong, so why not stay at the Soho House? You don’t have to be a member. Right across the street, the old US embassy is now a swinging club with a great hammam. Don't pass a hammam by - they’re in every corner of the city, and they're the perfect way to end the day, lost in steam and marble chambers.   I like to jump between old and new. After a lot of dusty mosques, it’s fun to visit the modern art museum, which has a great collection, and a lovely spot for lunch on a terrace right on the Bosporus. The Pera Art Museum is another small gem of a place focused on Orientalism in 19th century art and some great temporary exhibitions.    Save at least one day for Sultanahmet and the bazaar quarter. Walk across Galatea bridge past hundreds of men fishing. Some of my favorite museums on that side are the Museum of Calligraphy, Museum of Turkish and Islamic Arts, The Mosaic Museum and, of course, Topkapi palace. Some of my favorite mosques are Mehmet mosque, built by Sinan, and Rustem Pasha mosque because of the Iznik ceramic tiles. In the 15th century, the town of Iznik began producing bowls, jars and tiles in brilliant blue and white. Cobalt blue is my favorite - keep an eye out for them in the mosques. After you see the greatest hits, it’s time to get on a boat and head to other parts to get a real feel for modern day Istanbul. One day I went to Uskudar to see the fish market and try one of the pleasant fish restaurants. As you get off the boat, there’s a great view of the Antik mosque and the Cinili Cami mosque. After lunch, a few streets over are antique shops, a bit more down and out than Beyoglu, but I found some fun ceramics. Another day, I took a boat to the Fener and Balat neighborhoods, cute cobblestone streets lined with antique shops, ceramics studios and lots of hipsterish cafes to while away the afternoon. Also lots of local restaurants serving excellent food for pennies. Of course you’ll want to return to Beyoglu and wander its more overpriced antiques for the full Aladdin cave effect. I also found a glass gallery, Glasst, selling local made glass art. Keep your eyes peeled as there are some great artists’ studios down steps and around corners.   A friend also recommended Fatih. Another ferry took me there and I hiked up to a large Syrian market where my pal bought ostrich ointments, olive soaps and pomegranate syrup. Right around the corner is an amazing mosque at the top of the hill—-not to be missed.    Istanbul never seems to end and that is the joy of this layered city: you can keep discovering, eating and Mosque-hopping to your hearts content. Food Asmali Cavti, A restaurant in Beyoglu Grand Hotel du Londres - Old school charm, a perfect martini, and a grey parrot that says "Merhaba" (Good day).  Keto and Kote, restaurant Zubeyir, A restaurant in Beyoglu Payidar, A restaurant in Galata  Shops Tombak Antika, An antique shop in Beyoglu  Uskudar Antik Tombak Antik Glasst, Glass studio 

  Bohemians, forget Berlin; Mexico City is the place for you now. I booked my trip with Maricarmen at International Travel Group in Mexico City, who helped me with my flights and where to stay. I started at the Camino Real Hotel. A mysterious Noguchi fountain spouts endless streams of water in front of pink and yellow buildings designed by Ricardo Legorreta for a soothing dose of vitality after a long flight. Located in the prestigious Polanco district, the wonderful Chapultepec Park and its many museums are within walking distance. My first stop is always the National Museum of Anthropology, designed by a modern master, Pedro Ramirez Vazquez, a perfect setting for their premiere collection of Pre-Columbian artifacts. One of the greatest museums in the world, not only for its collections but for the way they are displayed. Go early and wander, marvel in peace before the school kids get there and stir things up. It’s a short walk to the Modern Art Museum, home to many famous Mexican 20th century paintings and sculptures. ‘The Two Fridas’ greet you sternly as you enter the main gallery.  When you’ve had enough art, hop downtown to Carlotta, a groovy hotel inside a car park. There’s a killer restaurant overlooking the pool. Before the food, spend a few minutes at the trendy lobby shop Taxonomia, for ceramics, fashion, gorgeous little things. Nearby is the Museum De Arte Popular. Four floors of pure color, Mexican handcrafts from textiles and pottery to quirky piñatas, also an ace gift shop. Keep walking towards Alameda Park and check out Su Barrio Alameda, three floors of shops and bars. I debated buying a Mexican wrestler cape and hood, so many records, and vintage clothes. For dinner book Rosetta, THE place to be, with a subtle menu and a massive tree growing inside the elegant dining room. Warning: if you are going in December, book the smaller museums and restaurants way ahead of time; the city gets busy. I tried to see the Luis Barragán house, but it was sold out. So was the Diego museum, but right next to Barragán house is the cool Archivo Diseño Y Arquitectura, classic Mexican industrial design with a trippy courtyard instillation, which may possibly lead to a parallel universe. I managed to squeeze into the Frida Kahlo Museum and gardens, packed and hard to absorb, but definitely worth the visit. I headed to the beautiful neighborhood La Condesa for lunch at Lardo. The food is heavenly. Museo Tamayo, partially designed by Tamayo himself, is another modern masterpiece not to be missed, for the building itself, but also for the various installations inside. If you can’t bear to leave, there’s a rocking restaurant attached. Not far from the museums is Onora Casa, a fun home store with a modern take on Mexican crafts. I set out early next morning to see the Teotihuacan pyramids, forty minutes outside the city. Founded before the Christian Era, at one time 125,000 people lived there. Later it became a sacred place for the Aztecs. Hike the pyramids, take in the energy of the site—-I had to sit and draw as the sun rose. It was back to the city for lunch at Lalo, recommended by a friend who is never wrong. I found myself in Roma North, the perfect neighborhood for wandering tree-lined streets. Mexicans love their dogs and hang out in the many parks. I found Fabrica, a cool fashion shop with local Mexican designers focused on textiles. Also Camino, another men’s lifestyle shop with fun fashion and travel items. I stumbled into one of the many street fares that pop up in December and got some modern monoprints from the printmaker himself, organic charcoal toothpaste and facemasks and some cool jewelry made by a photographer, all at incredible prices. The next day my friend Claudia, a local jewelry designer, took me to Le Cardinal for a traditional Mexican breakfast with hot chocolate and fresh conchas, a sugary pastry that you smear with cream. We headed to the flea market in Plaza del Angel which happens every Saturday morning. We picked through the treasures spread out on blankets. I had to control my impulse to buy everything, but did manage to leave with a charm bracelet from the 1950’s jingling with sombreros, a wrestler-shaped piggy bank you’d win at a fair, and a hand-woven shawl. For my last lunch I managed to get into Tetetlán Pedregal, an incredible restaurant in the old stables of a Barragán house. A tiered gift shop offers a superb collection of textiles and crafts. I bought some noisy huarache sandals and of course more indigo textiles. The owner was kind enough to let me sneak into the Barragán house itself, where I wanted to pray. If you are in the architecture field, you can write for permission to visit this house; it was one of the highlights of my trip. I went to the Saturday market in San Angel, a bit much for me after all of my shopping, but well worth a visit for the variety of crafts in an open market. I walked down to Coyoacán along the Arenal, cobbled streets filled with shady trees, churches and amazing old houses. The pleasures of Mexico City are never-ending. I will be back. John Robshaw

  The Tree of Life It was fun to re-visit the city where my career first began. Twenty years ago, I attended the National Institute of Design in Ahmedabad, India. I met three lovely students, remarkably cool in the March heat, which was rising daily. They were amused that a foreigner would come to Ahmedabad at such a time. I told them of my interest in Indian textiles. They offered a room at NID in exchange for a liquor license and some whiskey for a party they were throwing. I agreed at once-—my first Indian deal!  The school put me in touch with a block printer. Soon I was at his studio, marvelous worn woodblocks stamping away, natural dyes bubbling in huge copper pots, goats wandering over finished textiles as they lay drying on the ground in the scorching sun. Since then I have created my own studio and I’m still traveling the world in search of textiles, printing techniques and just a good time in general. According to the legend, Ahmedabad was founded in 1411 when Sultan Ahmed Shah witnessed a hare chasing a hound and decided to build a walled city on that very spot. The old gates are still there, keeping in the many treasures of the city. Domes, minarets and intricately carved wooden havelis dazzle the eye. There are really too many places to see but here are a few of my favorites. The Sanskar Kendra museum designed by Le Corbusier is in quite a state of disrepair, but walking the galleries can still be mesmerizing. Everyone from the guards to the dogs are asleep; the quiet makes it easier to absorb the grand vaulted spaces. One of the loveliest mosques I’ve ever seen is Sarkhej Roza, just outside the city, built around a stepped water tank. The mosque is still in use with students studying in the Madrasa and families having lunch on the shady steps under perforated stone windows. Right nearby is the charming gardens of the open-air Utensil Museum, truly unique and not to be missed. Stay at the House of MG, built in 1924 for a wealthy textile merchant and the perfect jumping off point for an early morning tour of the old city.  The Unesco heritage designation has saved a lot of the old Havelis, some of which have been turned into guest houses whose inner courtyards hide swings, deep wells and some spellbinding carvings of local gods and animals in dark teak. If you find yourself thus enchanted, be careful of the cows on their morning walks as its easy enough to bump into one or step in their leavings! Close by you’ll find the Jami mosque, where the enthrallingly large calligraphy murals remind me of Brice Martin’s loopy abstractions set on stone. Further along is Hutheesing Jain Temple. The main temple contains fifty-two mini shrines of intricate design, every inch filled with incredible carvings of gods, goddesses and animals rivaling Angkor Watt with an exquisitely carved central dome. The stones seem to be creasing and folding in midair yet perfectly balance whole crowds of figures in motion like the elegant dance of life.  Jump in a car to see the Stepwell of Adalaj. Found mostly in arid regions, stepwells collect rain during monsoon season, provide water for drinking, washing and bathing and are also used for festivals and sacred rituals. Built in 1498, Adalaj is like a subterranean palace. Air and light work their magic as you descend amongst chiseled elephants frolicking, lovely women adorning themselves and dancing while musicians play. Back in town, I get to see the Mill Owners Association Building, built by Le Corbusier. The grumpy manager lets us wander around the serene and well-preserved space. A gentle ramp draws you up, with terraced gardens built into each floor, reminding me of Le Corbusier’s statement that “space, light and order… are the things that men need just as much as they need bread or a place to sleep.” I didn’t want to leave. I end my trip where it all started: the Calico Textile Museum. The same fiery guide who took me around twenty years ago is still in power and she has not mellowed! As we wander the lush gardens, her discourses on life and art did not always make sense to me, but were entertaining and the collection itself is spectacular. South Indian bronzes, Jain manuscripts and of course some of the finest Indian textiles in the world.  I am so lucky - it was this amazing city that started me on my crazy textile odyssey that has kept me entertained, fed and happy for so many years.   John Robshaw

Hop off the plane and Uber straight to the Taj Hotel. If you have the dough, go for the old wing; if not, the new tower is not so bad, but make sure to request an ocean view.  Right outside the hotel, in pomp and failed circumstance, sits The Gateway of India-—lovely to walk around morning, noon and night, as the light dramatically shifts. Just around the corner you’ll spot the pricey antique store Phillips, a good place to check out the real deal before heading over to Chor Bazaar on Mutton street. The prices are high but some of the things they have are quite hard to find. They’ll ship them for you—-and they will actually arrive! Keep walking to V.B. Ghandi Marg, where you’ll find cool art galleries and design shops. A few of my favorites are Filter and Dag for nicely edited selections of framed photographs, old labels and stationery items. Across the street is the DAG collection itself, one of India’s largest contemporary art galleries housed in a lovely old building. Nearby is one of my favorite Zoroastrian temples, Maneckji Nowroji Sett Agiary, one of Mumbai’s oldest fire temples, built by the Parsi community. The entrance is guarded by two magnificent iamassi figures, kingly bearded human heads atop powerful bull bodies. Continue down the main avenue to see all of the incredible buildings. I snuck into the Asiatic Society and wandered through the grand halls. Nearby is the Bombay High Court, General Post Office, and the former Victoria Terminus—-architectural gems all—-well worth the heat and crowds. Of course, you are hungry by now. Don’t worry—-the incredible Burmese place Burma Burma is right here. Don’t miss the tea leaf salad and their Khaosay, an outstanding noodle specialty. While strolling about, be sure to check out the old paperback vendors along the way. They sell great old book covers at 30 Rp. Now you are finally acclimatized and can hit up the Chor bazaar, one of my favorite spots in Mumbai. Grab a taxi and in about twenty minutes you’ll be on Mutton street where, true to its name, you’ll see a lot of sheep milling about, sitting on scooters and giving you quizzical looks. The street is packed with antique dealers of all shapes and sizes. I bought an old English watch for 5000 Rp and some old British ad posters, inlaid boxes, and a few wooden heads from Karnataka. Bargain hard, of course, but there’s lots of fun loot to be found here. Since you’ve been fighting crowds all day, have dinner at The Table, just around the corner from the Taj, where you’ll find a refreshing range of farm to table dishes and one of the best burgers in India. It’s always packed, so book ahead or ask the Taj to book for you.  The next day I decide to visit some museums. One of my favorites is right nearby. Formerly known as the Prince of Wales Museum, it’s been cleaned up and reorganized and is now a pleasure to wander. I love the stone carvings, Indian miniatures and, of course, the textiles. The former Victoria and Albert Museum is a also a quick cab ride away. There you’ll find wonderful examples of the craftwork that once filled ships departing for the West, charmingly displayed in the gilded interiors of this restored Victorian gem. Not far away is a Parsi sweet shop, The Regal Bakery. Sit and try some of their tasty biscuits while admiring the unchanged signage proclaiming ‘all kinds of provisions at market rates, ice cream and Faluda served on order only.’  Also nearby is Le Mill, a fancy shopping area in reclaimed mill buildings. Le Mill itself is a modern clothing store. Other shops like Good Earth are also in the neighborhood. I hope nighttime finds you at the racetrack hotspot Keiba at the Royal Western India Turf Club. You can have drinks or eat dinner looking out on the stables themselves as horses stare back, eating their own dinners.  If you want something quite spectacular, head to Masque for an intriguing tasting menu in another refurbished historic mill. I was lucky enough to visit Mumbai during the Ganesh festival, a weeklong birthday celebration for the god himself. Parades wind through the streets at full speed, bands playing, marchers chanting, as statues of Ganesh are given to the river—-150,000 statues are immersed! But really there’s never a wrong time to be in Mumbai. 

“We are all of us pilgrims that struggle along different paths towards the same destination.” - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry Years ago, I wandered the streets and back alleys of Varanasi, not sure where I had landed and not really old enough to process it all. I warn people not to go there on their first trip to India- it’s too raw, too intense. Having turned fifty, I feel ready to go back and see the city at the midpoint of my life. I arrive late in the day and check into the famous Ganges View Guest House, the ‘must stay’ in Varanasi. I hire a boat and a guide for a night tour of the Ghats (temples) to watch the cremation fires.  As we chug against the current, the noisy diesel engine keeps a steady beat with water lapping on the sides of the boat. My overly eager guide can’t stop explaining irrelevant details about the town. His phrase “the place where people come to learn and burn” stays stuck in my mind. Tourists from all over India—-and the world—-snap pictures of the cremation fires on the shores, the men tending the blazes in constant motion, family members sit quietly talking: life and death go on hand in hand. This is Varanasi.   The next morning I walk up the river seeing all of the incredible temples from the shore. I snap pictures of the graffiti and chalk drawings on the ground, noting colors for new prints. Centuries old temples line the waterway, endless steps trail down to the river, filled with devotees alongside cows, goats and water buffalo. The steps end in amphitheaters, where women in bright pink and yellow saris, shirtless men in white dhotis, all zestfully dip into the dark churning waters of the river. Cows attempt to eat offerings, shooed away by the priests. Monkeys dance along the perimeter of the Hanuman temple, sadhus covered in ash pray and request tea money for their offerings. Walking along with Indian tourists, young couples pose for pictures along the river, everyone’s in some way at peace, having a grand time. I start to understand what the river means to the Indians. Mother Ganges is a sacred town like so many things in India that are sacred; it is filled with life and fills your life too. My days start in Varanasi, on the river, and end at the chill Ganges View hotel. The owner lounges in the lobby, clad in all white. He blithely directs his own ship, ordering fellows to change up the rooms, get this guest a tea, take that guest to the antique shop down the lane by the sweet shop. This last guest is myself, and I meet the owner of an old Haveli who leads me up and up through small dark hallways to a sitting room where he unpacks antique textiles, photos and tantric drawings. I try to conceal my excitement so as to negotiate somewhat. Stumbling out into the blazing sunlight I get lost going back to my hotel. Tiny lanes meander on, pilgrims make offerings; flower sellers display jumbled baskets of flowers in pinks, yellows and reds—-a drawing waiting to happen. I take note, buy some offerings, and lay them down on the little shrines all along the way.   The road is a source of treasure, I am transformed and still tempted by people unmet and places unseen.  I hope to bring this curiosity to my work, my prints, my designs.   Best,   John Robshaw

One does not travel any more than one falls in love, to collect material. It is simply part of one's life. - Evelyn Waugh   My Kenyan safari starts in Nairobi. Don’t miss the house of Karen Blixen of “Out of Africa” fame, a modest bungalow surrounded by unruly gardens. Some of the clothes worn in the movie are on display and will help you get into the spirit of a safari.   From Nairobi a small plane takes us to a dirt runway close to the camp. A pal recommended this place, called “Cottars,” set up by a feisty American in the 1920’s. I especially like that the camp operates in cooperation with the Masai tribes that own the land. In other parts of Kenya you might end up in a whole area full of camps and find yourself in a jeep surrounded by eight other jeeps, all staring at a single yawning lion. Our guide is a jovial Masai named Enoch. His tricked out Toyota Land cruiser has raised seats and a brief canvas roof so nothing obstructs your view of the animals. Of course the animals can also view you, which can be a bit unnerving at times. We are on our way next morning at a brisk 5:30 am. A spotter pokes his binoculars through the roof of the jeep, looking for game. I have my own binoculars (highly recommended) but the spotter can tell that a small moving speck way off in the distance is a group of hyenas. I thought it was dust on my lenses. We are instructed to walk single file, wear no bright colors or make any quick movements. Always watch the guide: he will tell you what to do if the situation gets sticky. Safaris mix the element of danger with heavy pampering by experienced guides. Lunches are set up in the park with near white glove service. Beyond infinite blue skies, the brush spreads over the red earth framed by mountains all around us.  The guide named Mara proudly points out the alternating grasslands and thickets, all part of the Masai reserve, 1500 km total. The soft breezes and late afternoon sun relax us but the fearsome thorn bushes scare us awake.  Sand castle sized termite mounds surround perfectly flat-topped acacia trees, round nests of weaver birds hanging decoratively from their branches. We spot rhinos, giraffes looking like moving streetlights, Thompson gazelle, Impala, wildebeests, vultures, elephants in the soft sandy earth. We watch mesmerized as two cheetahs hunt a baby zebra closely guarded by its mother. The cheetahs patiently wait for the baby to graze far enough away from the mother to catch it. Luckily the cheetah's’ sprint for dinner ends with a only few swift kicks from the mother zebra. The guide explains more about how to stay out of the animals way—-now I am really paying attention: stay downwind of the animals so they can’t find you; elephants will chase you and step on you if they smell you; rhinos climb trees; fast jaguars will eat your brain first, but don’t worry about the hyenas, they are cowards.   Our smiling guide breaks off into stories of his youth, camped out on the plains when his sleeping friend kicked a lion thinking it was a stray dog. Half the fun is just hanging out with the Masai, who elegantly straddle their tribal world and the worlds of modern Africa and of tourists from all over. We get glimpses of a disappearing way of life and they make their livelihood by preserving parts of it. The day's end at the camp where waiters serve curries and other English favorites. As soon as we return we’re given a “sundowner” of gin and tonic. We have dinner with our guide and hear more about his fascinating life and stories of wildlife. We sleep in tents and the sound of elephants tramping down nearby trees occasionally wakes me. We visit a nearby Maasai village and stop in to see the chief’s first wife in a small cool mud and thatch hut with a smoky fire burning to keep the flies out. This Masai village site lasts five years and then they move on. The men have multiple wives. The more livestock they have the more wives are needed to help tend the animals and children. Some men have twenty children and five wives. The Maasai are the only Kenyan tribe still in existence in Kenya.   One morning we come upon a group of lions taking a nap with full stomachs, lounging about with blood on their paws. The female is in a cave but we can peer inside and see her newborn cubs. I’m amazed the animals don’t attack the jeeps as we creep by only five yards away, but the guide says they are used to the jeeps, they cause no trouble and the animals see it as another big animal, like an elephant, and don’t bother with it. These elegant animals have me inspired for many new prints. Despite the long bumpy rides I am happy to have made the journey to this magical landscape and learned something about the Maasai way of life.

“No refusal” is written on all the egg yolk-colored cabs of Kolkata, a pledge sometimes kept by the cabdrivers, but always fulfilled by the city itself. From the first time I had a chance to wander the decaying colonial city, Kolkata's been a mysterious yet open city for me, its wide sidewalks like something out of Italo Calvino’s “Invisible Cities.” I’ve always wanted to come back to dig deeper, not to mention savor the spicy Bengali food once again. Gavin, my trusty guide to all things Indian, awaits me at the Fairlawn Hotel. A quirky Armenian couple have run this hotel for some time, the years manifested in the steady accumulation of knick knacks and eccentric rooms like the one painted entirely green from the floor up the chairs onto the walls and ceiling. After a crazy cab ride we make it to Cima Art School, host to a network of art shows spread out across the city in various buildings. The show has great energy; one set up in an old burned out cinema is especially inspiring. Next on to Chamba Lama, Gavin’s favorite jewelry shop in New Market, run by a lovely Tibetan brother and sister—-very jolly and friendly once you warm them up. Don’t miss the funny cookie shops in the market with fellows elaborately icing cakes and biscuits. Finally, it’s time for lunch at a small Bengali restaurant, jackfruit and fish in banana leaves, not to mention a massive shrimp curry. We spend the next day snooping around the auction houses on Russell Street finding odd assortments of things like old stereos, glass chockas and Bollywood movie posters. Auctions take place weekly but they will happily sell you anything on the spot. Nearby is a tiny old bookshop featuring hand-screened children’s books. We stop in at the Punjabi Government Emporium - I try not to miss the emporiums, you never know what you will find. I’m rewarded with some lovely vintage Bagh Phulkari wedding dowry blankets, hand embroidered flowers on a rusty hand-woven fabric. We end the day at the end of life: The South Park Street Cemetery, an old British remnant. Remarkable mausoleums from the 1780s display sad yet chatty eulogies hand carved in lovely scripts, detailing the short lives of the expats succumbing to all sorts of maladies and battles such as Col. Charles Russell “who was killed by a cannon ball while commanding the storming of Tippoo Sultan’s stronghold at Santinungulam”. Our last day we hit the museums. First the vast Crystal Palace, former mad mansion of a wealthy industrialist. Our guide makes some false claims about a so-called Caravaggio and leads us past massive bird cages, covered upholstery, a colossal statues of Queen Victoria. I especially fall for the pieta of Dura marble. Afterwards we wander the surrounding neighborhood taking in the amazing old mansions falling into ruin. Then on to the National Museum to see an incredible collection of old stone Chola period carvings of the gods and goddesses the devoted locals love to touch as a sign of their respect and devotion. We barely scratch the surface of Kolkata, but please skip some other cities and spend some time there, you won’t be disappointed.

This season I went down to Mysore via Bangalore with my trusted travel companion Gavin, a local expat and professional collector. Just as we were heading down South from Delhi we learned the two states we were travelling through were having water disputes; roads were shut down, trucks were being set on fire. In India one never knows how bad these situations really are—there is always something going on—so we figured we might as well give it a try. In Bangalore the airport was filled with families sitting in relaxed clusters, snacking, chatting, not in the least bit harried despite being stuck at the airport. Taxis would not go into town since goons were blocking the roads. We managed to find a feisty taxi driver who (for double the normal fare) would get us to Mysore, skirting the protesters through deft switchbacks and side roads. Mysore is known as one of the cleanest cities in India, which is quite incredible. Other assets are the perfect weather, large local markets, loads of schools teaching Mysore yoga, and a slew of temples on the outskirts of town—all of the ingredients for a fun trip with yoga too. We started the day hunting for old brass containers in the main market, one of Gavin’s addictions, but of course I ended up buying some beautiful copper cups and containers. After touring some of the local shops we ended up in the busy main square for thali on a palm leaf at one of the best local joints. The grandiose Mysore Palace presides nearby, filled with collections of kings, everything from stuffed elephant heads to Delft china. The palace gardens are not to be missed, especially all lit up at night, filled with locals strolling about and vendors selling food.  Next I visited the Flower Market—pure pandemonium, even by Indian standards. Stalls jam together under striped or burlap awnings, packs of people hurry through lanes barely fit for two. The vendors themselves rush about setting down wide baskets of flowers, then whisking them away once they’re purchased. People veer out of the way at the very last moment—a miracle there aren’t more head-on collisions! To entice the shoppers even more, garlands of marigolds and roses are tossed back and forth between the massive baskets. It worked with me—I wanted to buy a whole basket, but instead snapped a few quick pictures and video of the exploding colors.  After a sweaty day in Mysore it was back to the Green Hotel, a lovely old colonial house, always fun places to stay in India. They run on their own peculiar logic: funky rooms with curtains that might be from the 1950’s, laundry hanging, but grand hallways with old teak furnishing, sitting rooms, a lovely garden for your meals, and always an animated staff. I took ‘the Bollywood room,’ filled with film posters, Gavin took ‘the writers room,’ which had a tiny desk. The next morning I had a private yoga class at the hotel. So many yoga teachers around with so many different perspectives to enjoy!   Mine focused on my breathing, which got me revved up for a day of temples. We set out to pay homage to the Kesheva Temple. En route, we drove through an old market town, marveling at a World of Interiors worthy crumbling mansion by the side of the road, its brightly painted facade belying a faded grandeur. A fellow sat on the porch, quietly mending heaps of old gunnysacks. We had to stop and have a look. He let us open some of the sacks to find they were all printed with fun, quirky logos and brands. Of course we begged to buy a load of them, much to his amusement. Lovely faded linen pillows sprang to my mind, while Gavin proposed a book project.  We finally made it to the deep granite Kesheva temples, with their incredibly detailed gods carved into every wall—even the ceilings! Carved elephants support the entire structure. Overstimulated by all this flamboyance, my camera ended up dashed on the granite walkways. Instead of taking the easy way, snapping countless pics, I was forced to absorb the temple in real time: always a good exercise to get at the true essence of a place. After the temple we headed back to town, ending the day with a South Indian must: an oily Ayurveda massage. Our final day started out with a visit to the house of RK Narayan, one of my favorite Indian authors. Narayan created an entire fictional town, peopled with a charming cast of characters, each with their own particular history. Some of his most famous quotes now cover the walls of his simple art deco bungalow. Our driver took us to antique row, a string of shops near the local museum. I bargained hard for a worn Ganesh, while Gavin bounced between some Murano glass and some other idols, but ended up with a needlepoint lion? It was time to head back to Delhi, new colors in my head, ideas sketched in my journal, and a bag full of treasures or, as they say at the airport, excess baggage! I hope you enjoy this season’s offerings and, as always, thank you for your support. Of course, big thanks also go out to my team in NYC for letting me disappear for a few weeks to India to make it all happen.

Portugal, just a quick jump from New York City, has the same cracking glaze of history as Italy but the shorter distances between regions makes it easier to see more in less time. Fly into Lisbon and take it all in: eat, hunt and see all of the quirky museums. I stayed at the York House, a boutique hotel on the cobblestone streets of Alfama. A block away is the old mansion housing the Museum Nacional Arte Antique, filled with marvellous Anglo Indian Portuguese furniture and porcelains from all over. Take a break in the museum’s leafy garden café overlooking the bay. Also right nearby is the amusing Museum da Marinetti. Grab an espresso and make your way farther along the bay to the Oriente Museum, where you will find a truly incredible collection of crafts from former Portugese colonies, including my favorite, Indonesian Warung puppets. For dinner or lunch hit the Time Out Market, lined with food stalls from Lisbon’s best restaurants. Catch a soccer match on a huge screen as you sample hams and creamy cheeses accompanied by some light Portuguese wines. The next day I wandered the Castelo De Sao Jorge. Get there early or you will be swamped with tourists. I took a taxi to what is of course my favorite museum in Portugal, The Tile Museum. A whole museum devoted to the history of tiles in Portugal and how they are made. If you still have some steam don’t miss The Calouste Gulbenkein Museum for Oriental rugs, textiles and Iznik tiles. The next day I visited the Coach Museum: 50 historical carriages from the 16th -18th centuries. The stark modern building is the perfect foil to the baroque carriages. A few blocks away is the Jeronimos Monastery. Again, go in the morning or the end of the day, as it is a very busy attraction but worth a spin around. The next day I drove to Six Senses in Duoro Valley to chill out and see the small towns, vineyards and, of course, to drink lots of the region’s famous wines. The hotel is an old vineyard updated with a modern spa and rooms still surrounded by vines. I drove to the charming old town of Pinhao to wander and take pictures, then lunch at DOC Douro, a fancy restaurant on the river, never a bad place to eat. Then on to the town of Lamego. Make sure you Google this one as I literally drove up a goat track to find Chapel San Pedro, a 7th century monastery. It was well worth the harrowing drive, but there is an easier way to do it. Lots of beautiful churches and a famous museum, so give yourself a good part of a day for this town. After days of spa treatments and hiking I drove the few hours to Porto, an up and coming town with buildings being restored on almost every corner. I recommend the Rose et Al Townhouse Hotel, a renovated townhouse with breakfasts I still dream about.  I wandered the old parts of the city and down to the waterfront. Sao Bento station, Santa Clara church and Rua das Flores Sao Francisco Cais da Ribeiro. Take pictures of the lovely decay before they fix them all and the town loses its crumbling charm.  The Serralves Museum and gardens was a highlight, with an intriguing modern art collection and rambling gardens that were out of this world.

   "Better the spear that missed an elephant than the arrow that killed a hare." - Indian proverb Gavin, my pal in Delhi, tells me about a remote town in the deep South of India with rows and rows of antique shops filled with castoffs of wealthy Indian merchants. I am always on the hunt for new ideas and old markets and I jump at the chance to tag along with him. Every season I hit the road to find new ideas in painted monastaries atop soaring mountains or local bazaars down sweltering warrens. Either way, it usually works.     First stop is the temples of Madurai. One can’t help gawking at the amazing pyramid temples in the South of India. The technicolor facade on the Meenakahi temple consists of countless gods and animals endlessly piled on top of each other rising straight up to the heavens. One thousand columns support the temple. It is more than one thousand years old and the city itself is twenty five hundred years old. Fifteen thousand visitors queue up daily to rush in and pray to the Shiva. These numbers make my head spin. At one of the four main gates Gavin and I check our shoes and buy offerings in the form of piles of lotus petals, rosewater and heavenly smelling frangipani. I hang back as the crowds literally run into the temple in religious fervor bordering on a rugby match. Offerings are made as bare chested priests in saffron saturated lungis change the clothing of the god. I wander the deserted edges of the temple complex, monks smiling as I pass. Small idols are sheltered from the sun by massive banyan trees, scraps of fabrics tied to their branches as offerings. Rumor has it there is a tank of water at the temple that judges the merit of poetry thrown into it. If the poems float they are worth reading if they sink they are not—I am tempted to come back with my latest swatches and give it a shot! Next my intrepid friend points us in the direction of a local market found in an old temple. As we enter the temple, the stalls are just opening: gaily painted wooden cabinets stuffed full of wonders. Gavin is searching for old copper pots, instead we find a stall for sari trimmings filled with dazzling embroidered parrots, peacocks and all sorts of geometric figures for fancying up sarongs. Like crows sighting sparkling baubles, we both dive in, politely elbowing each other aside. The good thing about shopping with a pal is you can play good cop/bad cop when the shopkeeper throws out ridiculous prices. The bad thing is sometimes you are snatching at the same items! Finally we make our way out of the temple market only to land in another market selling spiritual accessories. I’m mesmerized by two feet high mounds of sandalwood paste the faithful smear on their bodies. These odd shapes of dazzling honeybee yellow seem like pure sculpture. Gavin haggles over purple loops of cane representing earrings of the gods but looking more like mod light fixtures. All this shopping takes its toll and we pause for a fresh green coconut from a serious looking street vendor. I think he overcharges us but I have learned not to argue with a man with a machete. Warmed up with the temple and market shopping, we jump into a car and head south. A quick roadside thali on a bright banana leaf always hits the spot. I happily knead the rice and curry, following it up with a local south Indian coffee dramatically aerated by a fellow who pours the coffee from a height of three feet, never spilling a drop. We head to the hinterland and Konchipuram. For years I’ve heard tell of this place-—its hundreds of deserted mansions once home to the Chettiars, moneylenders to the Raj from 1850-1930. Changing times dried up their fortunes and antique shops soon sprang up to contain their detritus. The shops and warehouses, or godowns, are filled with Burma teak columns, Italian marble, glassware from Bohemia. Shop after shop contains dowries of the grand old days in Karaikudi where families would show off their international flare with items from around the world: glass bibs and bobs, Swedish enamelware by Cockum in sea greens and orange yellows mixed with dusty low-fired ceramic figurines of police officers or gods made for pujas, their haphazard painting bestowing a relaxed charm. Making my way down the street, I survey piles of vintage Burmese laquerware painted with the finest brush in beetle juice reds and golds, their original paper labels still affixed. Raja Ravi prints of gods look down from the top of the stores, embroidered upon and embellished with sequins—-lively companions for any house! Gavin and I dash ahead of each other in a fevered frenzy. I find some two feet high clay replicas of the Madurai temple. We decide since there are four, we will each take two but bequeath them to each other so the four pillars will be reunited when one of us dies—seems fitting. We couldn’t leave without seeing some of the eccentric mansions scattered about the surrounding hills. A hybrid of Tamil and Western design, these once-stately homes still display extravagent facades. Grand entrances lead to teak pillared hallways with hand-made tile floors of gentle reds and pinks. Belgian chandeliers cast their delicate light on egg tempura walls as soft as skin and doors depicting scenes of the gods so intricatly carved they took three years to make. No less than five courtyards in every house, mostly of Indo-Saracenci design, where you might see Lakshmi, the Hindu goddess of wealth alongside King George V. Paintings along the walls tell more stories of the gods, family portraits look down at an angle as you walk the long empty corridors. Vast halls built for balls and weddings now contain only dry fountains overgrown with grass: real grey gardens. Even these few days of hopping around the South are enough to get me revved up about a new set of designs. My bags can bear no more and I’m sure to pay excess baggage for all my treasures. We head back north, charmed by another fascinating corner of India alive with history, culture, food and design. Once again I am amazed that after all of these years and trips to India there are always new adventures around the corner. That’s the wonder of India I try to bring into my collections. Best, John Robshaw

I’ve just returned from Leh, the Indian town on a perfectly blue, high-altitude desert bordering China and Pakistan. Set at the crossroads of the Punjab and central Asia, Kashmir and Tibet, it was once the hub of 17th century caravan trade. I warn you there is a lot to do here, so plan your trip with a generous amount of time. I wish I had. I was there shooting so only stayed a few days, gorging myself on the ancient Buddhist monasteries and the delights of the town itself. Close by are lakes and other mountains that deserve weeks to explore, such as the Nubra Valley and Pangong Lake, which I will have to hit next time. Watch out for the altitude---a mere 12,000 feet.  The first day just rest and hang out at your hotel.  STAY We landed at the Oriental Guest House at the end of the hippy mile. The upper rooms offer panoramic views of the mountain ranges. Everything in Leh moves slowly...but it does move, so just try to relax.  EAT Chopstick has everything from Thai to Japanese to Tibetan and Ladaak; it’s clean and fast---something that cannot be said of a lot of the eateries in town. Great for Moo-Moos and Thukpa, a local Tibetan soup. Yama Coffee has excellent breakfasts and serves the only coffee my difficult Belgian photographer would drink.   SHOP Down an alleyway near Chopstick in the Fort Road complex, we found a great shop called Mandala Tibetan Art. A laughing Tibetan lady showed us deep handmade seven-metal monks’ bowls. She rang them and placed each one up to my head. I was sold. They rang deep and sonorous; the world and its cares faded away. She guaranteed me eternal peace and the avoidance of some of my next few disagreeable lives. Of course I bought the largest one I could carry.  Main market is a fun place to buy some Ladaak shawls, scarves and hand-knitted mittens in deep mountain colors. Check out the whole street before you buy and bargain, of course.  At one of the many Tibetan markets I bought a prayer wheel with prayers inside, prayer flags of the female deity for my officemates, and some nice hippy jewelry. A lot of these markets have the same products; my advice is to grab unusual things when you see them, as you may not find them again.  ABSORB Leh Palace, built in the 1630’s, does not have much inside, but offers a grand view over the city. It’s a tough hike from behind the main mosque, Jami Majid, or you can hire a car to drive you. LAMO (Ladakh Arts and Media Organization) makes it worth the trip. Found right below the palace, LAMO was showing some incredible early Ladaak photos displayed in renovated traditional mud buildings. The Cultural Museum behind Jami Majid is now being renovated but looks fantastic. Stop in when you are in town and see if they are done. Wander the Main Bazaar. Right now it’s under construction but the shops are still open. Look for the back streets called Old Town, full of charming flat-roof houses constructed of mud bricks.  A DAY OF MONASTERIES Huge dog statues greet you at Thiksay, a 15th century monastery full of hyper-colorful murals of guardian saints and demons: lots of skull headdresses, wicked fans and flames bursting out of heads. See all of the halls for the paintings and immense gold buddhas, then go to the roof for the best view of the whole valley.   On the way to Thiksay, stop at Shey, a vast plain filled with hundreds of stupas, burial mounds housing Buddhist relics.  A very magical and mystical, whatever-you-want-it-to-be kind of place. We went towards the end of the day when the light hits the hills and the stupas are framed against vibrant green poplars and snowcapped mountains. At the old 8th century monastery of Tak Tok we meet a grumpy old monk who shows us an odd room with money pasted onto the ceiling as offerings. Centuries of soot from yak candles have gently covered the murals.  Chemre is a hilltop monastery with an interesting museum and some fantastic murals.   Hemis is nearby, the largest of the great temples, where every once in awhile they unfurl a three-story thangka, a beautiful multi-media work of religious art. My advice is wander the back staircases; the monks seem pretty relaxed and there are some amazing hallways and balconies.  All around Leh are small hand-carved prayer stones, spread out on the tops of the walls. In Tibetan script they say “Om mani padme hum” or  “hail to the Jewel in the Lotus.” Their raw abstract qualities make them seem particularly modern and artistic, almost as if Donald Judd had visited at some point. Prayer wheels are also ubiquitous; I love how people walk by and turn them as they go about their day.   The perfect 6 AM morning hike: right next to the hotel is the Shanti Stupa. Daunting stone steps up the side of the mountain reward you with a panting view of the whole town and valley. INFO Oriental Guest house: www.orientalhotel-ladakh.com/ Drivers: the Oriental Guest house had good drivers they can arrange for the day. Infinite travel to organize adventure tours like biking, hiking, etc. adventureinfinite@gmail.com Mandala Tibetan Art Fort Road Raku near Chopsticks restaurant  Chopsticks Fort Road  Leh Heritage walk info@tibetheritagefund.org