The President of the High Asia Habitat Fund on AI-powered interspecies communication and scaling regenerative tourism for the masses. Robbie Hodges reports

Purpose. It’s a term that’s been subject to much scrutiny of late. In business jargon, it refers to the drive and motivation to do good in the world. But as brands rollback their DEI and sustainability programmes, it’s being reframed as nonessential – simply a ‘nice-to-have’ – even as the world grows more inhospitable by the second.

Journeys With Purpose (JWP) isn’t succumbing to the whims of the moment. Since being founded in 2019, the luxury tour provider has been committed to filling travellers’ lives with truly meaningful opportunities to explore the world’s lesser-trodden destinations in ways that give back to people and planet. 

But the brand is more future-forward than that. As anyone familiar with Joe Pine’s now seminal text The Transformation Economy will know: while the travellers of yesterday sought experiences, tomorrow’s seek inner transformations. And JWP’s latest trip through India’s Ladakh region is as forward-thinking as it comes. Over 11 nights in December, camera-toting guests will learn how to capture the region’s elusive snow leopards while crunching through the Hemis National Park.

After days spent snapping, they’ll bed down at the LUNGMĀR Remote Camp, a warm haven in the trans-Himalayan mountains, operated by Behzad J. Larry, who is not only a a Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society (FRGS) and a Fellow of the Royal Asiatic Society (FRAS), but also the President of the High Asia Wildlife Fund.

The camp might be hemmed by jagged ridge lines and dominated by ice-capped peaks, but this is no spartan research camp. Larry has spent years refining a model of regenerative tourism that balances home comforts with intrepid exploration; drawing upon decades of experience spent arduously navigating the region’s many terrains.

Globetrender was fortunate enough to catch him between trips; seizing the opportunity to pin him down on the future of conservation in an increasingly turbulent and unstable world.

Image by Behzad J. Larry

In recent years, the ravages of the climate crisis have started more seriously affecting  those in the Global North. What impact do you see this having on the future of  conservation tourism?

For communities like ours in Ladakh, the climate crisis has never been abstract. South-facing glaciers have been retreating at a staggering rate. Traditional irrigation systems that depend on glacial meltwater are collapsing. Seasonal predictability has disappeared. But only recently has the Global North started experiencing climate impacts in ways that feel urgent and deeply personal – through wildfires, droughts, and heatwaves that touch daily life. 

This shift is changing the way many travelers approach conservation tourism. Increasingly,  people are not just seeking beauty and remoteness, but clarity and connection. They want to  understand how climate change is impacting other parts of the world, and they want to be part of efforts that are actively doing something about it. 

Conservation tourism becomes not just a leisure activity but a form of engaged response. We see this with guests who travel with Journeys With Purpose. They are curious, committed, and increasingly aware that the health of faraway ecosystems is intimately tied to their own future.

Which are the key markets or demographics of travellers visiting LUNGMĀR Remote Camp, and why?

What defines our guests more than any demographic category is their mindset. They are  intellectually curious, patient, and deeply respectful of the fact that wildlife operates on its own terms. They do not come to check a snow leopard off a list. They come to understand how its survival is intricately connected to local herders, spiritual traditions, grazing patterns, and the broader climate crisis. This makes for an incredible exchange of ideas in camp, and many guests leave having formed lasting relationships with both the team as well as fellow travelers they meet here. 

What lessons can hospitality providers across the globe learn or borrow from LUNGMĀR Remote Camp’s approach?

Whether in a remote Himalayan valley or in a city hotel, hospitality providers can learn that the most powerful experience a guest can have is one that is grounded in authenticity. That means acknowledging the land you occupy, the people whose histories shape it, and the ecosystems that sustain it. 

It also means building systems that are regenerative rather than extractive. That could mean designing a property in a way that is mindful of your surroundings. You don’t need to make croissants at 4,000 meters, or figure out how to get cheeses that someone eats in their own  home country to a remote camp in the Himalayas. Sourcing from nearby producers, integrating local recipes (with modifications to Western palettes), and telling the story of the land through your meals and services is a lot more meaningful. The scale and setting may differ, but the philosophy can remain consistent: hospitality must nourish the place it inhabits.

Regenerative tourism models that proclaim to give back to the people and planet have  been popular for several years now. Most regenerative tourism initiatives target wealthy  travellers. Is it feasible for regenerative tourism models to scale?

Wealthy travelers have, in many ways, funded the early stages of regenerative tourism. That is not a bad thing. It has allowed for experimentation, capacity building and long-term investment in landscapes and communities that need more than quick fixes. But if regenerative tourism is to move beyond a niche category and have real impact on the systems that govern global travel, it needs to scale.

That means adapting the model without diluting its core values. We should be exploring how  national park systems can integrate regenerative practices into mainstream tourism. It’s not only about who pays but also who owns and who decides. The key is to protect the integrity of the model while making its benefits accessible. This will take public-private partnerships, funding for local entrepreneurship and regulatory frameworks that prioritize long term ecological and social outcomes. It is not easy, but it is absolutely necessary.

What do you consider the key obstacles to making regenerative tourism widespread?

The biggest obstacle is the dominance of short-term thinking. Too many tourism ventures are  built on the idea of maximizing revenue quickly, with little regard for what happens to the land or community ten years down the line. Investors want returns within three years. Governments measure success by how many people passed through an airport, not by the wellbeing of the ecosystems those people visited.

Regenerative tourism asks a very different set of questions. It is about carrying capacity,  ecosystem restoration, cultural resilience and intergenerational equity. These are not metrics that fit easily on a quarterly report. Another barrier is that the knowledge required to build  regenerative systems is often undervalued. Traditional ecological knowledge, community  decision-making and spiritual relationships with nature are rarely given the same legitimacy as scientific or financial expertise.

Early experiments have demonstrated generative AI’s potential for facilitating  interspecies communication. What’s your stance on generative AI?

I think we are in a very early stage of understanding what generative AI can truly offer in the  realm of conservation. There is undeniable potential in using it to analyze complex vocalizations, patterns and behaviors across species. If used wisely, it could deepen our understanding of animal communication and give us tools to protect species more effectively. 

Imagine being able to anticipate the stress signals of a herd, or understand migration triggers in real time. That could transform how we manage human wildlife coexistence. 

At the same time, I am wary of the tendency to rush into techno-centric solutions without  considering their ethical and ecological implications. We must remember that Indigenous  herders, pastoralists, and trackers have been engaging in what we could call interspecies  communication for centuries – through observation, intuition and deep relationship with the  land. Generative AI should not replace that. It should support and expand it. 

The danger is that we treat AI as the authority and forget that it is only as valuable as the data it is trained on and the values it is programmed to serve. Used well, it could be a powerful ally in conservation. But it must remain a tool – not the master.

Image by Behzad J. Larry

How do you see interspecies communication impacting conservation tourism?

If approached with humility and care, it could fundamentally change the way we engage with  wildlife. 

Right now, the dominant model of wildlife tourism is based on proximity and visibility.  How close did you get? How sharp was the photo? But if we begin to understand animals not just  as subjects to observe but as beings with intelligible communication, it changes the dynamic  entirely. It becomes a relationship rather than a spectacle. 

For conservation tourism, this could mean deeper guest experiences rooted in empathy and  awareness. It could help guests understand why a snow leopard avoids a valley for weeks, or  what an ibex herd is signaling before a storm. 

But we need to ensure that this does not become entertainment. Interspecies communication is not a gimmick. It is a responsibility. We are being invited into a dialogue that has been going on far longer than we have been listening. Our role is to learn, to respect and to adapt – not to dominate the conversation.

If time, money and resources were limitless, which projects would you launch to further the High Asia Habitat Fund’s vision?

I would start by scaling our model of conservation focused tourism across the entire snow  leopard range – from the Pamirs in Tajikistan to the Altai in Mongolia, and all the way across the  trans-Himalaya. Each region should have its own amazing camps, staffed by locals, operating as a node for ecological monitoring, cultural preservation and community development. These camps would not only support tourism but would serve as hubs for education, research and ecosystem restoration. 

I would love to build out an advanced camera trap network that could provide real-time data  across these landscapes. That data would not sit on a server in a foreign university, but be usable in the field to make quicker and better-informed decisions about grazing, predator conflict, and land use. 

With unlimited resources, our goal would not be to build monuments. It would be to build  systems – living, adaptive, locally managed systems that can carry the work forward for generations.