O n a balmy, late December afternoon, in the gardens of a family estate in the village of Nurpur Noon in Pakistan, blossoming rose bushes frame an expansive lawn. Peach-hued hoopoes dart amid the undergrowth, while a flock of athletic-looking chickens cluster in their own garden chamber. After sunset, midwinter mist and woodsmoke blanket the ground, accompanied by a chorus of howls from jackals on the jungly fringes of the neighbourhood.
Here, in a brazier-warmed courtyard, a sporting party — a mixture of experienced riders and adventurous travellers — has gathered after an inaugural chukka of polo (my first, inept attempt at the sport) followed by a late afternoon horseback ramble through orange groves. Although we only arrived at midday (less than two hours after leaving Islamabad), our minds are already enriched with vivid sensory impressions, from a drummed and danced ceremonial welcome, to a horseback parade through showers of rose petals in the heart of the village..
