Last evening I climbed a set of stairs into another world. A circle of murhas surrounded a brightly burning fire, gentle candles twinkled around. Beyond the parapet spread a silvered sheet of water, reflecting the almost full moon.
We were on the baand of an old dam. To my left was a graciously twinkling dining pavilion and on my left spread a tastefully separated row of supremely luxurious tents. As I sat there sipping a smoky malt with gracious hosts, I pondered afresh the magic in my life.
But it did not stop there. After a perfectly cooked and presented dinner, I had to walk grumblingly up a hill because the only tent free was the honeymoon one, set by itself on a burj overlooking the lake. My grumbles turned into full blown appreciation of the gently raised stair treads that wound through the trees to open onto an Arabian nights vista of a glowing tent, rose petals on the towels and all the enchantment of a spectacular moonlit night over water.
One night I would have happily shared with some like minded soul. But how I savoured it – even all alone.