Resort review: Aamod at Shoghi

Have you ever aspired for a little place nestled in the hills? Till you pocket it, check into Aamod at Shoghi for a prelude.    

Picture this: A forest in the hills... the elegant oak racing up to the skies, a burst of shy rhododendrons somewhere in between, a poker straight deodar commanding attention and the ubiquitous pine preening unstoppably. Step on the edge and what greets the eye is a panoramic view of rolling green hills, happy flowers of the untamed kind, a few hamlets yonder, terraced fields tip-toeing up the slopes, lots of squinting blue skies, and oh! the sparkling sound of silence. So capturing are the environs it almost seems someone's pressed the pause button. It's a feeling so typical to the hills. It's a feeling Aamod at Shoghi induces. 

Aamod's USP is its location. On the NH 22, at Shoghi, a few km short of Shimla, and deep inside a reserved forest. Yes, you read that right. It's a lovely woody forest and not a tree was chopped to make place for the cottages which are quirkily placed at varying levels, most of them requiring you to hike and catch a breath as you make your way up towards them. The reason, this is not a place for wobbly-kneed elders or unfit juniors. On the flip side, should you decide to come here you are bound to feel a whole lot agile at the end of your stay. Nature has a way of cajoling you to do the dare and feel triumphant.    

Aamod offers a lot and does so with a large heart. It's got a spry courtyard restaurant right at the entrance which in a way sets the ball rolling. Adjoining it is the dining hall where a live kitchen whips up a range of cuisine. If the way to a guest's heart is through the stomach, Aamod strongly believes in that dictum and pulls out all stops to cater to your whims, even if that means baking a cake at night for your special occasion, which they did for a guest during my stay. The breakfast buffet has quite a choice and at dinner they pleasantly surprised me with guchhi soup. My pick would be its authentic Himachali spread, something you'll rarely find on the menu in these parts. Ever tasted the combination of sweet malpua served with savoury pumpkin? It's a traditional starter in the hills here, which I felt was very gourmet, and a clear winner.   

You're endearingly enveloped by nature at this true-blue eco-resort and you needn't step away for an up close green experience. Should you be in a mood to lazily unwind, you can do just that on a cosy chair outside your cottage. Else you could make your way to the charming machhan-like deck, a perfect spot to coil up with a book or just gaze into the forest and tune into its stillness or the song of the bird. Topping it all, however, is indulgence at the hilltop spa with a view, and its irresistible open-air jacuzzi. 

For those with an adventure bone there are easy trekking trails and hikes in the vicinity, mountain-biking, rock-climbing and rappelling, besides a host of team-building games. I opted for the railway trek which was literally round the corner and provided the thrill of walking along the century-old meter gauge track of the Kalka-Shimla toy train and seeing it whistle past me as it entered the tunnel. Quite fairytale like, that. The trek also gave me an insight into forest wealth besides clear morning views of the hills and its picturesque homes. 

I challenged myself to a bit more off-roading and joined my group on a cycling outing. Not having sat astride a bike in years I thought I'd be all rusted. That was not the case, though, and I covered the 6-km distance quite alright. To be true it was all downhill, thus! The reward at the end of the pedal-pushing was lunch at the Nal Thalak village home of Roshni Devi and Hemanand. It was food prepared with dollops of passion and regard and was delicious in its simplicity. What further sent the tastebuds soaring was the 24-kt liquid gold a.k.a. home-made cow-milk ghee, which Roshni Devi streamed onto our thalis. Fragrant and bursting with flavours, it got most of us asking for repeats.  

My tryst with adventure did not end there. Aamod has a comprehensive in-house 10-obstacle course, which includes flying fox. I would put this down as an absolute must-do. Considering my bulky profile I didn't think I would be able to go past the first rung of the hurdle. The fact that I could do it all and quite effortlessly goes to the credit of the two instructors Ravi and Jeetinder whose faith in their abilities and the equipment inspired confidence.  

All's good at Aamod, however, the cottages, I felt, required a little TLC. They are basic  -- yes, they have comfortable beds, running hot water, electric blanket, room heater, telly, de rigueur tea tray -- but lack a certain snugness associated with a place in the hills. The interiors on the whole are a tad monotonous (Pray tell me, why does one have to view the same set of black and white prints on every wall, be it in the rooms or dining, where in fact one wall has repeats?!). My experience is based on my stay in one section of the family suite. I had the desire to see other cottages to be able to present a fairer view but somehow that did not materialise. That apart, service at Aamod is with a smile, the locally-drawn staff being an enthusiastic lot, which irons out all glitches. 

Quickly: 

What: Eco-resort 

Where: On NH 22, at Shoghi, 13 km short of Shimla 

Tariff: Rs 5,600 onwards  

Resort-o-meter 

Location: 5

Ambience: 4.5

Cottages: 3 

Food: 4 

Activities: 4.5 

The visit was on the invitation of Aamod at Shoghi via Escape Route.

Snowtime in Simla

She was Grandpa’s premier amour. He was smitten by her when a teenager and that was the beginning of an enduring romance. Even after he married Grandma, with whom he had a long innings, he never did forget her. For him she was an eternal beauty who always responded the way he chose: as a companion, refuge or elixir, sometimes all rolled into one. The years trotted on but nothing ever diminished his commitment towards her; not her wrinkles, not her tatters. She remained his Queen. Grandma had resigned herself to that fact and never resisted nor forbade any rendezvous he ever planned. When we queried her on it she would all-knowingly say, “First love is not easy to forget.”

The maiden in question is Shimla! Her affect on old-timers like Grandpa has to be seen to be convinced off. There’s the classic case of a friend’s NRI relative who visits India annually to avoid the cold European months. While here, the moment he hears ‘snow’ he rushes off to Shimla, defying all logic of having come to spend time in a cheerfully-mellow winter sun. “I’ve been from Alaska to Switzerland, but nowhere do you feel the magnetism of Shimla,” he always explains.

Shimla attired in her white winter ensemble holds particular charm for them. I had never been drawn to snow destinations so the only portrait I was acquainted with was Shimla in summers with its perennial rush-hour feel. Thus Grandpa and I could never agree on her status of beauty. He had seen her heydays when The Mall was a ramp for connoisseurs of elegance and concrete structures were few and far between.

It was a particularly cold morning in the winter of 2008. This was the effect of snowfall in the higher reaches, and happily for all local newspapers Shimla wrapped in snow took care of the editions’ lead picture. “You’ve never seen her in winters, why don’t you make a trip,” Grandpa proposed. I knew he would have liked to dash off but arthritic knees prevented that luxury. His suggestion was tempting and the next morning I was in Shimla. No sooner had I arrived than I looked around in disbelief. There was not a square inch of snow! I was 24 hours late. The previous day’s bright sunshine had made sure the season’s first snow-carpet did the disappearing act.

I rued missing my date with white floss as I trudged up to The Mall. Sprightly elders zipped past me even as I huffed and puffed, halting every few moments to catch my breath. At one such pit stop a local clad in the traditional coat and pahari topi began chatting. After a while as I took his leave he said, “Don’t fret. It will snow by late evening. I can smell it.” My olfactories smelt nothing; and I was certain his too had failed him when it was way past sundown and no sign of snow. It had been an exhausting, disappointing day and I retired early.

Despite the layers I was clad in, the night had been uncomfortably cold and I was up early. An inky blue dawn sky was peeping through the window and as I walked up to the balcony I noticed that quite bizarrely the colour was being reflected from the entire township. It took me a while comprehending the visual imagery and then my eyes stayed peeled. It had snowed!

Apparently snowfall began late last evening. Never again would I doubt a local. They know the scent of snow.

I stood in the balcony till the sky wore some blush-on. It was no picture postcard I had been looking at. It was real and the experience was sublime. What heightened the affect was the contrast; the myriad hues of yesterday’s muck and mundane had disappeared and all that was visible were the shades of purity. Now I know why the many who courted the Snow Maiden did. Attired in a sinuous robe of pristine white she appeared breathtakingly beautiful. One stellar stroke from nature’s brush had magically transformed her.

I stepped out of the motel for my maiden walk in the snow. The town was waking up and only once in a while did someone appear adding colour to the whitescape. As I strolled past its landmarks —the Scottish Church and State Library on the Ridge, Gaiety Theatre and gabled-roof shops on The Mall— Shimla looked a painter’s canvas. From trees to trails to buildings, they all wore a new expression. Snow had brought in a dimension where bare was beautiful. It felt God belonged to the school of surrealism. What I was witnessing was the annual presentation of his art-work. And each composition was a masterpiece.

As I approached Scandal Point tiny cottony balls began flying in my direction and I wondered what that was. Snowfall? Ah! It was my day. Within minutes snowflakes began melting on my hands and eyelashes. The flakes barely embraced before they disappeared. If rain is a resounding raga, snow is silence in motion and quite spectacular. I walked some miles in the snowfall and in those few hours savoured a lifetime.

For the return journey I opted for the narrow gauge railway route and travelling through snow by train was the perfect cherry on the top.

On arrival I showed Grandpa digi-shots of Shimla. For me these were mere images. For him they were frames of nostalgia. He beamed when I told him she was majestic. “I’ve always maintained that,” he said triumphantly.

It’s fortunate my trip materialised. Grandpa passed away shortly after. I’m sure his Queen shed a tear.

Published in The New Indian Express, January 2010