A short list of things the house has, in case the absence of any of them would change your mind. Nothing showy; nothing missing.
Stoked at sunset, banked overnight. Logs are cedar and oak from a coppice an hour's walk south. Children may add a log if a member of staff is in the room.
Two seats, eucalyptus on demand, a cold-water bucket outside. Book at the front desk in the morning for an evening slot. No charge.
Roughly four hundred books, replenished by departing guests as often as we buy them. Borrow any volume; return it when you leave, or post it back.
A 200 Mbps line, two routers, on a backup. Two desks in the library set up for laptop work. A landline in the office for calls that won't carry over wifi.
The gravel yard takes eight cars; in winter the road occasionally closes and we run a 4×4 down to the village to collect you. Tell us your arrival time the night before.
We do not run a tour desk. We do keep a rolodex of people we'd send our own family to, and we'll book any of them on a phone call. Most have stayed at the house themselves.
Greens, herbs, root vegetables, soft fruit. Apple trees on the upper terrace. The chef walks it before sunrise; you may walk it whenever you like, with a basket if you'd like to help.
Wood-fired, stone-walled, two seats. Heated to 38°C. Robes and towels brought up, hot water on tap. The view is the valley and, if the moon is right, the Dhauladhar.
No televisions in the rooms. No swimming pool. No casino, no nightclub, no spa with a brochure. If any of these matter to you, it might be the wrong house.