A welcome, and a blessing

A stay here is never sold — not to strangers, and not even to you. In place of money, we simply keep the ritual the village has always kept for whoever comes to a home. There's no fixed hour to it; it just happens, the way it always has, as you arrive and as you leave.

You come with a little something for the house — anything at all. We meet you the way these hills always have, a guest as a blessing — a hot cup of chai and, in spring, a glass of buransh, the crimson rhododendron juice Uttarakhand is known for. We feed you well too: every meal is ours to give, never charged for, because we simply don't keep a guest hungry.

That little something doesn't stay with us — in that moment, we share it round the houses nearby. More than anything else, that's how word travels that you've arrived: it's how the families close by come to know you, and how you come to know them.

And on your way out, we press a red teeka and a few grains of rice to your forehead, and a dry coconut — the shriphal, 'god's fruit' — into your hands: the old blessing for a safe road, for prosperity, and a sure return. In return, you press a little something into the hands of those you pass: the children, the elders, whoever's around. Not a payment — a blessing, passed on.