If I have to be anywhere this summer, it will be Nagarparkar in the Thar Desert. Centuries ago when trading caravans from Kathiawar and Cutch routinely passed through this wonderful little way station en route to Shikarpur in Upper Sindh, travellers called it the Nagar (city) across the Gulf of Cutch (paar). And so time made it Nagarparkar.

When the monsoon builds up in the month of Bhadon (mid-August to mid-September), Nagar transforms into that wondrous place where the sky is piled up with thunderheads, where a brisk wind whips around the streets, cool and wet, and where unexpected showers of misty drizzle reminds you of mountain villages in Tuscany. Peacocks, totally unafraid of humans, cut across your path and frolic in the thickets of neem and acacia rending the air with their cries of 'pfau, pfau!' (which is probably where they get their German name).

Indeed this is the sound that one wakes to in the drowsy dawns of Bhadon in Nagar. Unwilling to let the peacocks carry the show, koels hiding in the leafy neem trees, keep up a veritable chorus of their own mellifluous calls. The clouds, the cool gusting breeze, and the bird song make Nagarparkar, in the heart of the Thar Desert, almost unreal. It seems less a village surrounded by mile after mile of sand dunes, more one located in a little-known mountain valley.

To complete the picture, the main street of Nagarparkar as well as the central square where everyone converges for tea and a bit of kacheri, as they call the gossip gathering, too does not belong in a desert village. The pitched roofs of the buildings with the tubular inter-linking tiles to keep the rain out that were introduced by the British to places like Mumbai and Karachi were soon preferred in Nagar too. While keeping the monsoon showers out, these tiles lend a picturesque and distinctly non-desert aspect to Nagar.

Sweeping around the town to the east and south lie the pink hills of Karonjhar. My friend, the venerable Ali Nawaz Khoso (look up this remarkable man while in Nagar), tells me that the name means Sprinkled with Black. Look closely and you will notice that the pink granite is indeed peppered with dark flecks. Scarcely higher than a couple of hundred metres, the hills yet possess a breath-taking beauty. In the folds of this range sits the temple of Sardhara where the annual Shivratri (Shiva's Night) festival takes place. But this sadly does not coincide with Bhadon when I would like to be in Nagar.

My favourite place in the Karonjhar hills has long been Turwutt jo Thulo, a wind-scoured pedestal on a peak overlooking Nagarparkar. Here, so the legend goes, did George Tyrwhitt retire every evening to survey his domain and perhaps enjoy his whisky and soda. As Political Superintendent of Thar district back in the 1860s, this enigmatic Welshman earned a reputation of half-angel-half-demon. Dear old Ali Nawaz Khoso is the last keeper of Tyrwhitt's lore.

The 30-minute walk from the centre of town to the pedestal leads through a wild and narrow gorge that teems with singing white-cheeked bulbuls. With the monsoon winds at their strongest in Bhadon, the Thulo must be the windiest place for miles around. Whisky may be hard to come by at the Thulo, but a flask of tea (no scones either) and some melons from the local bazaar serve just as well.

The new, and surprisingly good, black-top road connecting Nagar with Hyderabad makes it possible to motor all the way through 200 km of desert. And if PTDC get it right, their new motel might be functional by August. If that happens, come Bhadon I'll willingly take the bus from Hyderabad for a few days of bliss at Nagarparkar.

Hackneyed as it may sound but Murree remains my favourite destination for the summer.

Alas, the luxury of spending months at the alluring foothills of Himalayas is no longer available with the day-jobs, and other commitments. But there was a time, over a decade ago, when I lived in Murree for three glorious years. It was May when I moved there with a wild rose bush joyously waving with the summer breeze and dahlias smiling at the mellow sun. For the next three years, despite the rigmarole of work and banal matters, Murree kept me happy as if I had been adopted by the place.

This is not to say that the loveable hill station of yore is an idyll any more. It is treeless in many parts, stinks when overflows of callous tourists who throw garbage here and there; and which the little municipality can barely manage. It is now cursed with the menace of ugly construction everywhere -- tasteless concrete blocks with an aesthetic that makes the little British-era cottages ashamed of their incongruity.

But all of this cannot take away the curious Murree 'season' as is known in the local parlance. The season to make money, to serve and sometimes fleece the tourists and to be hospitable as well. The season for outsiders entails half finished love stories, casual strolls along the Mall among other things.

For me the colours of a summer day are enchanting and I remain in search of them. The golden-red hues of pre-dusk sky and the crimson at the sunset remain unforgettable. A sunroom has lived with me as a constant companion, of beauty, of friends and of solitude. The only tribute I could pay to this memory is a painting that I made when I had to live abroad for a few years, far away from the clouds that flirt with Himalayas. The little makeshift sunroom that was once a verandah in the Raj days, is now covered with windows caressed by creepers and comforted by the changing light.

I want to return to my sunroom this summer. After a few hours of solitude, I want to walk in the nearby woods, breath the air that has just filtered through the pine trees and is crisp after an unexpected shower.

When we think about taking a vacation, most of us want to jet-off to a far off exotic location without any care in the world. We tend to overlook the fact that in going to and fro halfway across the globe, we are contributing to the release of carbon dioxide (CO2) usually around 50 times our body weight. Well for all you environmentally conscious people (somewhere) out there, my ideal vacation this summer shall hopefully be a completely carbon-free one.

How you may ask that I almost circumvent the planet without the release of my share of CO2. Well, I wish that there were aircraft that achieved their high speeds due to energy sources other than fossil fuels. But for now, I shall have to settle for the next best thing. A way to offset the amount of carbon released into the atmosphere as a result of my vacationing. And the Paradise Bay Resort in Grenada has pioneered a way to do just that.

Located on the Island nation of Grenada in the Caribbean Sea between the continents of North and South America, the Paradise Bay Resort offers its visitors a chance to enjoy their holidays in full eco style. The resort has installed its own wind turbine electricity generator that produces 80 Kilowatts of power that actually provides more power than the facilities require. However, according to the owner James Post, the management goes all out in ensuring carbon neutrality by planting around 50 trees in Ethiopia for every return flight across the Atlantic. The resort has especially constructed underground channels to collect rainwater that can even be used for drinking. Hell, there is even a system for using the excess heat of ACs to warming up water.

But this unique resort is not just about being environmentally considerate but smoothly blends together a fabulous experience for the visitors as well. Of course, being a coastal locale, beach-based activities are its forte. For me, everything would be a first; snorkelling and scuba diving in the sparkling blue waters, lobster fishing and ocean canoeing. And a special gazebo for getting massages right on the beach, that too with all-natural Aloe vera and seaweed, with a bubbling brook flowing underneath you, ahhhh… incredible! The cuisine that its restaurants, bars and grills have to offer is all based on the local sea and land produce. And eating the food here is more worthwhile as is all prepared with organic meats and vegetables that are grown right in the resort's own garden.

Surprisingly, this "green" holiday spot is quite affordable, with an all-inclusive daily package deal coming to around $ 150. So, next time you want to take some time off and have some fun, let nature in on it too!

Being one of the 9 to 5 slaves, I was thinking of planning for the few days of freedom that I am going to get in the coming summer. After consulting half a dozen backpacker friends and dropping their usual suggestions for the mainstream destinations, a veteran hiker cum tourist guide and young documentary filmmaker suggested a corner deep in the North West that -- contrary to my fantasies -- did not have any nymphs (but yet) sounded full of mysteries and even some myths.

It is Yurkhun valley in Upper Chitral, and branches out on passes of Qarumber, Chilingi, Darkut and the historic Boruhgul Pass. The altitude of these passes ranges between 4000 meters to 5000 meters, and host more than 30 nameless alpine lakes, including the famous Qarumber and mythical Sirkhun. These pastures are mostly wetlands and are usually accessible by horses or otherwise on foot. There are a few hot sulphur springs for those who love bathing au naturel under the heavens with snow-capped mountains all around.

Apart from its boundless inanimate beauty, this region is home to some of the rarest wildlife like golden marmot, ibex, Marco Polo sheep, yak, and the legendary snow leopard.

The valleys do not have any significant human settlements but some scattered mudstone houses that are inhabited by three major ethnic groups i.e. Tajik, Uzbek, and Kyrgyz. The common language among these groups is Wakhi, along with Kyrgyz, Kwar, and Uzbek.

These scattered inhabitants of the highlands heavily rely on dairy products obtained from the nutritious yak milk; rice, bread and yak meat.

Apart from the constant struggle for survival, which gives them a high level of endurance, they play buzkashi, yak polo, and horse polo for pastime. And if you are a windsurfer, then do not forget to pack your gear, as this is no less than ideal a place for windsurfing.

After getting an extensive briefing on such a prepossessing region from such a reliable source, one is not left with many options but to start exercising and begin collecting the stuff.

I would like to spend my summer, ideally speaking, in Murtaza Abad, a small village in central Hunza valley. Murtaza Abad, consisting of Upper and Lower settlements, has only about 300 houses combined and a rough estimate of 2500 people. There are cherry and apricot orchards on both sides of the main road and the Rakaposhi Range is visible on the eastern side.

The days in this quiet village are short even in summer because the sun disappears behind lofty mountains quite early so everyday activities are discussed in detail at the breakfast table with the host. Every event is planned and time is allocated precisely if you are not staying long but if you are staying on your own in an empty house then you are on your own. That is my plan. My friend, Wafi Ahmed, has moved with his family to Gilgit and now I plan to stay in his Hunza home for a month without anyone to guide me or cajole me out of my lazy lounging. There are about two shops on the main road which can provide everyday food supplies. I hope to find some handmade cow cheese from the neighbours. The entire region is very peaceful and has many walking treks and jeepable roads for spending the day. I have travelled before to Khunjerab National Park but I did not have enough time to explore the shepherd shelters, called harayi in Brushaski. These are often roofless stone structures for the nomadic shepherds who need cook a meal and warm themselves near the temporary hearth, protected from the lashing winds coming through the northern passes.

Even if it is an illusion, I hope to gain some serenity away from the pollution of Lahore. The city has been too much with me for last couple of years. The noise and smoke of rickshaws has polluted the regenerative source of inner calm for me. I hope to recuperate some Zen-like calm after staying there.

For me, no place equals Baltistan's beauty, adventure, indigenous culture and heritage. So the choice this summer is easy. The place has a lot to offer, in fact everything that a tourist to Pakistan can hope for. Its centuries-old Tibetan-style rural settlements, majestic palaces and forts belonging to different ruling families, picturesque valleys, snaking ravines, Buddhist remnants, intricate wood carvings, green pastures, trees laden with fruits, calm lakes, loud waterfalls, foaming and roaring rivers especially the mighty Indus, rare wildlife and friendly people welcome you to the valley.

And while you are here, you can also avail the chance to explore the Balti culture predominantly in Skardu, the capital of the region. Both air and road routes are available to Skardu. The hometown of the game of the kings', Polo, the people of Baltistan claim that the sport originated here proved by the rugged and old free-style version in which it is played. And last but not least, it is one of the very few places in the country where you need a sweater during the summers under the star-blazed sky.

The scenic flight from Islamabad to Skardu takes 40 minutes. For the first 20 minutes you can view green valleys and mountains after which start the endless frozen peaks till you reaches the Skardu valley. The air route also passes over Nanga Parbat whose peak is higher than the altitude of the aircraft. These flights, however, are subject to weather and can be delayed by several days, hence my preference for the road via Karakoram highway.

By road it takes 14 to 16 hours from Islamabad to reach Gilgit, from where you leave the highway for a newly-built road that leads to Skardu to follow the dark, gushing Indus.

Economical is the word of the day. I would prefer to stay at the PTDC's K2 motel situated in the heart of Gilgit. Another option can be the famous Shangrila resort. Built on the Lower Kachaura Lake, this 80-acre Chinese-styled resort has a restaurant by the lake. It's more than an experience to dine at this restaurant. One can spot trout swimming in the lake while devouring the fried ones.