This did not happen at some particular instance of the trip. Rather, they were observations and lessons learned over the course of the trip as a part of various experiences.
European cities hold a very prestigious position in world history since European countries were the first economic and trade centres of the world before the American and the Japanese sub continents took over in mid-twentieth century. As such, these cities hold a very rich tradition and in most cases, these cities can be dated back a couple of centuries. Walking along a European avenue enables one to relive the times when the world was taking the economic shape that it has now transformed to. Yet in these times of the twenty-first century, these cities retain their old world charm.
This is not entirely unlike the situation back in the Indian sub-continent. Most Indian cities can find rich traditions dating back to the colonial British times and as such, one can see traits of the same in areas like South Bombay, Pune, Bangalore, Calcutta and the various other cantonments and hill stations set up during the colonial rule. As a result, both the Indian cities as well as the old European cities share attributes like mid-nineteenth century architectures, narrow streets and old-style eateries for grabbing that snack. However, its the European cities that have managed to hold onto this identity of theirs and even allowing them to thrive while the cities in India are losing their old world charm because of which the edifices are now being replaced by sky rising vanilla glass structures, the streets are crammed with endless traffic jams of slow moving traffic and the sense of life itself is of commotion as against the leisurely European paced life. So where did the plot go awry?
One must back up the European situation with a couple of advantages before one rolls on: The economies are backed up by a very powerful currency, they do not possess problems prevalent such as large scale illiteracy, infant mortality, population boom and access to health care.
Though these problems address the problems at grass roots, one cannot turn a blind eye to the chaotic situation one encounters in the Indian cities and blame the presence of the above mentioned factors as the sole causes. The biggest problems in the Indian cities can be attributed to causes like complete lack of public transport, unchecked growth in ownership of vehicles and the absence of a green culture.
Europe has, en masse, accepted the green way of life to such an extent that in cities like Amsterdam, the primary mode of personal travel is the bicycle. That is not to mention the presence of quite a comprehensive metro link in all major cities supported by regular bus/land routes for areas that are not covered by the metro. The cost effectiveness of a metro in an Indian city can and will be a topic of a separate post.
All said and done, the sheer pleasure of talking a walk down the cobbled streets made me realize what it is that one misses back in the daily traffic jams in India. But there is something that we share a lot in common with the Europeans: the civic attitude. One feels in India among the sidewalks littered with cola cans, cigarette butts and in the flowing river filled with refuse and rubble. Even though the levels might not match the levels we see in India, rampant dirtying of the type we observed in what are considered as the tourist capitals of the world quite shocked us.
I know what you are thinking: nope.. its not the (Indian) tourists responsible for the large scale despoiling of the European landscape.. Not yet, at least...
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Chapter One.Eight: Au Revoir Paris.. for now..
The next day dawned too early for us. The hostel was a dark and a quiet corner of the earth when we hurriedly got ready to catch the train for our trip to Rome. The greatest tragedy of the entire affair was not that we were leaving Paris without spending much time there; it was that the hostel had not yet opened up their breakfast counter which is usually functional from 0700 hours.
We cast a hopeful eye towards the cafétaria before heading out of the door to the cold Sunday morning. A short walk back to the metro and changing the lines a couple of times before we came to Gare de Lyon eventually. The geographic convenience of housing the metro and the Eurail lines in the same complex helped the cause considerably and we commended the wise and the natural choice of such a construction. The Eurail lines can easily be found by chasing the escalators to the highest level possible till you reach what can be described ground level and you come across the terminal bank.
The next task is a bit tricky but can be surmounted by some quick observatory practices. First, find which terminal platform your train leaves from. This is combined exercise of scanning your boarding card (which is assigned to you when a reservation has been confirmed) for your train number from among the other undecipherable jargon printed therein and then matching that against a similar number printed on one of the innumerable screens displaying the schedule. If you could do that much, finding the platform number is a matter of child's play.
We were travelling to Roma via Milano as there were no direct trains available from Paris. Bags laden, hungry stomachs non-withstanding, we boarded onto the assigned coach on our way to further unknowns. The train was, as expected, more punctual than Mr.X ever was...
We cast a hopeful eye towards the cafétaria before heading out of the door to the cold Sunday morning. A short walk back to the metro and changing the lines a couple of times before we came to Gare de Lyon eventually. The geographic convenience of housing the metro and the Eurail lines in the same complex helped the cause considerably and we commended the wise and the natural choice of such a construction. The Eurail lines can easily be found by chasing the escalators to the highest level possible till you reach what can be described ground level and you come across the terminal bank.
The next task is a bit tricky but can be surmounted by some quick observatory practices. First, find which terminal platform your train leaves from. This is combined exercise of scanning your boarding card (which is assigned to you when a reservation has been confirmed) for your train number from among the other undecipherable jargon printed therein and then matching that against a similar number printed on one of the innumerable screens displaying the schedule. If you could do that much, finding the platform number is a matter of child's play.
We were travelling to Roma via Milano as there were no direct trains available from Paris. Bags laden, hungry stomachs non-withstanding, we boarded onto the assigned coach on our way to further unknowns. The train was, as expected, more punctual than Mr.X ever was...
Friday, September 14, 2007
Chapter One.Seven: rue Rivoli, Our Lady and a good bye..
Walking down from the Louvre on rue Rivoli, we decided that the next historical monument to visit would have to be the Cathédrale de Notre Dame (Kaa-they-dhraal the Nau-thr Dhaam). Rue Rivoli is magnificent, to say the least, and is a pleasure to any Paris first timer. As with any other quaint European street, it is lined by old stone monuments, some downright absurd in architecture, but you would find any of the modern era business establishments, especially the ubiquitous haute couture establishments and the some more affordable ones.
At one of the street corners, a steel band was performing a percussionist number and there were some accompanying gestures directed towards the legal guardians. They were very clear in their general like of the keepers and the keepers were kind enough to smile back in mock from their horses. Some shouting followed after which the band disbanded and started to march across the street, banging away at all times against their instruments. The vehicles respectfully waited while the members crossed amidst cheerful clapping and encouragement from the mustering of tourists which included us as well.
Crossing the Seine to the Île de la Cité (Eel the laa Si-they), the tiring mass of us came upon the Cathedral of Our Lady of Paris. It is markedly different in its Gothic architecture as compared to the other monuments that we had come across and were spellbound in its magnificence. That we were to encounter an even better exhibition of the said architecture in the near future was as yet an mystery to us.
Tired that we were of the cross city walk that we had executed and in keeping with the body clock that was still adjusting, we decided to call it a day and head back to the hostel. An additional pressing reason being that we had to catch the early morning express to Rome at 0745 from Gare de Lyon.
We caught the metro to Porte de Bagnolet, bid goodbyes to our visitors from London and then made our short walk back to the hostel. The last essentials of the day: food to fill our stomachs and rations for our travel the next day on the train.
We debated various options of restaurants based primarily on the economical damage that they would cause and the relative ease that we could adjust to the food. We finally settled on a Chinese restaurant at the junction of rue Davout, short walk from the hostel. Mr. X was in an extremely bad biological shape with an sharp pain in his legs caused by the long walks that we had undertaken that day.
Chinese restaurants, outside of India, typically serve the food along with chopsticks and steel cutlery is provided solely upon request. I challenged the devastated Mr.X to a trial by chopsticks which he refused unenthusiastically. Must say that Mr.X was winding down way too quickly and his very survival for the remnant of the trip seemed suspect. Having staffed ourselves with the basic fruits, breads and beverages for the next day, we wound down very late in hopes of waking up on time the next morning.
At one of the street corners, a steel band was performing a percussionist number and there were some accompanying gestures directed towards the legal guardians. They were very clear in their general like of the keepers and the keepers were kind enough to smile back in mock from their horses. Some shouting followed after which the band disbanded and started to march across the street, banging away at all times against their instruments. The vehicles respectfully waited while the members crossed amidst cheerful clapping and encouragement from the mustering of tourists which included us as well.
Crossing the Seine to the Île de la Cité (Eel the laa Si-they), the tiring mass of us came upon the Cathedral of Our Lady of Paris. It is markedly different in its Gothic architecture as compared to the other monuments that we had come across and were spellbound in its magnificence. That we were to encounter an even better exhibition of the said architecture in the near future was as yet an mystery to us.
Tired that we were of the cross city walk that we had executed and in keeping with the body clock that was still adjusting, we decided to call it a day and head back to the hostel. An additional pressing reason being that we had to catch the early morning express to Rome at 0745 from Gare de Lyon.
We caught the metro to Porte de Bagnolet, bid goodbyes to our visitors from London and then made our short walk back to the hostel. The last essentials of the day: food to fill our stomachs and rations for our travel the next day on the train.
We debated various options of restaurants based primarily on the economical damage that they would cause and the relative ease that we could adjust to the food. We finally settled on a Chinese restaurant at the junction of rue Davout, short walk from the hostel. Mr. X was in an extremely bad biological shape with an sharp pain in his legs caused by the long walks that we had undertaken that day.
Chinese restaurants, outside of India, typically serve the food along with chopsticks and steel cutlery is provided solely upon request. I challenged the devastated Mr.X to a trial by chopsticks which he refused unenthusiastically. Must say that Mr.X was winding down way too quickly and his very survival for the remnant of the trip seemed suspect. Having staffed ourselves with the basic fruits, breads and beverages for the next day, we wound down very late in hopes of waking up on time the next morning.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Chapter One.Six: To the Louvre
The metro ride to the place de l'Opera (plaa-s the lope-ay-raa) was ridden by multiple hub points being closed (for maintenance) due to which we spent close to an hour getting to a place which we could walked over from the Eiffel Tower in a lesser time. What gives eh?
Having eventually taken a circuitous route to the place de l'Opera, we met up with the acquaintances and exchanges the necessary pleasantries before we set out on out first marathon walk. Destination one: Musée du Louvre (myoo-say dyoo loo-vre). It was close to 4PM when we decided to walk the walk. Kindly note the time; its relevance will be enlightened later.
Getting to the Louvre from place de l'Opera is just a matter of walking down the mammoth avenue de l'Opera. The avenue is lined by structures depicting some awesome baroque architectural influences and offers plenty of opportunities to capture them into frames like the fountain with the angelic fountainhead depicted here.
Walking on cobblestonened paths can be an extremely painful experience especially if you are wearing footwear with soles that boast of widths next to nothing. And I was one of the exponents of the said experience which made the situations about to follow that much more difficult to swallow.
A cursory glance over the leaf of the map we were carrying spoke about the visitor timings
for the Louvre. Taking special interest in the same (since we were aware that Louvre grants free access to tourists for a certain number of hours on certain weekdays), we realized that the museum closes entry at 5:15 PM. That when we were approaching the rue de Rivoli (roo the Ree-vo-lee), the intersection at which the Louvre is located.
We staggered into the Louvre grounds through the impressive arched gates and were confronted with the enormously grafted, thoroughly architected Louvre palace which now serves as the home to the museum. The palace is grand in the real sense of the word and is shaped as a rectangle with one of its sides knocked off in its plan view. The ugly beauty spot in the scheme of things therein is the glass pyramid that serves as the entrance to the museum.
The structure has come in for a lot of flak from purists who argue that a modern artifact has no place among things so serene and artistic. All said, it does add a contradictory notion of beauty the way rightly placed moles seem to make some faces that much more desirable!
With entry denied to the Dan Brown-made-populous monument, we continued our walk after some necessary levels of photo-capturing.
Having eventually taken a circuitous route to the place de l'Opera, we met up with the acquaintances and exchanges the necessary pleasantries before we set out on out first marathon walk. Destination one: Musée du Louvre (myoo-say dyoo loo-vre). It was close to 4PM when we decided to walk the walk. Kindly note the time; its relevance will be enlightened later.
Getting to the Louvre from place de l'Opera is just a matter of walking down the mammoth avenue de l'Opera. The avenue is lined by structures depicting some awesome baroque architectural influences and offers plenty of opportunities to capture them into frames like the fountain with the angelic fountainhead depicted here.Walking on cobblestonened paths can be an extremely painful experience especially if you are wearing footwear with soles that boast of widths next to nothing. And I was one of the exponents of the said experience which made the situations about to follow that much more difficult to swallow.
A cursory glance over the leaf of the map we were carrying spoke about the visitor timings
for the Louvre. Taking special interest in the same (since we were aware that Louvre grants free access to tourists for a certain number of hours on certain weekdays), we realized that the museum closes entry at 5:15 PM. That when we were approaching the rue de Rivoli (roo the Ree-vo-lee), the intersection at which the Louvre is located.
We staggered into the Louvre grounds through the impressive arched gates and were confronted with the enormously grafted, thoroughly architected Louvre palace which now serves as the home to the museum. The palace is grand in the real sense of the word and is shaped as a rectangle with one of its sides knocked off in its plan view. The ugly beauty spot in the scheme of things therein is the glass pyramid that serves as the entrance to the museum.
The structure has come in for a lot of flak from purists who argue that a modern artifact has no place among things so serene and artistic. All said, it does add a contradictory notion of beauty the way rightly placed moles seem to make some faces that much more desirable!With entry denied to the Dan Brown-made-populous monument, we continued our walk after some necessary levels of photo-capturing.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Coconut Grove, Samarkand and Queens..
Team lunches, in the recent past, have turned out to be à la carte affairs as against the famous buffets that Bangalore is really famous for. An à la carte experience just goes to show you how much you end up missing out on when you treat yourself to a buffet. And the magnitude is a notch up if you are in a city like Bangalore where luncheon affairs tend to buffets thanks to the no-brainer experience [in terms of choosing from the menu] and the time-based factors.
Coconut Grove (no relation to the Pune based eatery of the same name) is located on Church Street and primarily caters to the Keralite, Mangalorean and Coorgi cuisine. Keralite cuisine tends to be very generous in its coconut base while Coorgi cuisine is pork-based and tinged with various spices. Paying heed to the specialty that the restaurant boasted of, we feasted on Mangalorean fried prawns and Kodagu Pandi Masala for starters. Kodagu Pandi Masala, which translates to Coorgi Pork Masala, is a preparation of marinated pork in various spices. The preparation is essentially dry and the meat is extremely well cooked and tender, which is a feature of the Coorgi cuisine.
Entrées were a sea-food and pork affair as well, with Karimeen Vevichathu and Kodagu Pandi Curry. While the pork curry shares qualities with the starter in terms of the cuisine that it represents, Karimeen Vevichathu is a Keralite preparation which is, surprisingly, not prepared on a coconut base. The gravy is a thin onion tinged, tamarind-based gravy with the fish being baked/boiled while the gravy is being soaked into the fish. Coming from Kerala, this was a welcome change personally and I highly recommend the same to be sampled with some plain steamed rice.
Samarkand is located on Infantry Road and caters more to the Awadhi and Moghlai taste buds. An interesting conceptual theme encouraged here, eating with one's own hands! Cutlery is available solely upon request. That set the tone for the lunch to follow. Samarkand does not boast of a very comprehensive menu but one must sample the choice of the day that is the chef's specialty. That said, the meal consisted of Galawati Kebabs, Moghlai Dum Biryani and a Gosth Rann preparation which was the chef's specialty. Galawati kebab consists of minced lamb meat served on top of a fried cake, probably wheat based. The kebab is spruced up with a range of chutneys ranging from spicy onion to mayonnaise. Once sampled, the cake melts in your mouth forming a spicy paste with the chutney and the minced meat. Highly recommended!!
Dum Biryani was interestingly served on a pan covered with a coating of atta which keeps the dum warm ultimately leading to the hardening of the atta covering. Serving the biryani requires one to break open the pan covering. The biryani and the gosht rann (lamb served with yogurt and spice-based gravy) combination was plentiful in spices like cloves leaving us wanting for more.
Queens' is again located on Church Street and for once, is known more for its North-Indian vegetarian options than the non vegetarian ones. This was reflected in practice as well wherein we sampled the some heavenly stuffed capsicum with murg palak (Chicken served in a spinach based gravy). The stuffed capsicum beat the meat hands down making sure that a recall was definitely on the cards.
Coconut Grove (no relation to the Pune based eatery of the same name) is located on Church Street and primarily caters to the Keralite, Mangalorean and Coorgi cuisine. Keralite cuisine tends to be very generous in its coconut base while Coorgi cuisine is pork-based and tinged with various spices. Paying heed to the specialty that the restaurant boasted of, we feasted on Mangalorean fried prawns and Kodagu Pandi Masala for starters. Kodagu Pandi Masala, which translates to Coorgi Pork Masala, is a preparation of marinated pork in various spices. The preparation is essentially dry and the meat is extremely well cooked and tender, which is a feature of the Coorgi cuisine.
Entrées were a sea-food and pork affair as well, with Karimeen Vevichathu and Kodagu Pandi Curry. While the pork curry shares qualities with the starter in terms of the cuisine that it represents, Karimeen Vevichathu is a Keralite preparation which is, surprisingly, not prepared on a coconut base. The gravy is a thin onion tinged, tamarind-based gravy with the fish being baked/boiled while the gravy is being soaked into the fish. Coming from Kerala, this was a welcome change personally and I highly recommend the same to be sampled with some plain steamed rice.
Samarkand is located on Infantry Road and caters more to the Awadhi and Moghlai taste buds. An interesting conceptual theme encouraged here, eating with one's own hands! Cutlery is available solely upon request. That set the tone for the lunch to follow. Samarkand does not boast of a very comprehensive menu but one must sample the choice of the day that is the chef's specialty. That said, the meal consisted of Galawati Kebabs, Moghlai Dum Biryani and a Gosth Rann preparation which was the chef's specialty. Galawati kebab consists of minced lamb meat served on top of a fried cake, probably wheat based. The kebab is spruced up with a range of chutneys ranging from spicy onion to mayonnaise. Once sampled, the cake melts in your mouth forming a spicy paste with the chutney and the minced meat. Highly recommended!!
Dum Biryani was interestingly served on a pan covered with a coating of atta which keeps the dum warm ultimately leading to the hardening of the atta covering. Serving the biryani requires one to break open the pan covering. The biryani and the gosht rann (lamb served with yogurt and spice-based gravy) combination was plentiful in spices like cloves leaving us wanting for more.
Queens' is again located on Church Street and for once, is known more for its North-Indian vegetarian options than the non vegetarian ones. This was reflected in practice as well wherein we sampled the some heavenly stuffed capsicum with murg palak (Chicken served in a spinach based gravy). The stuffed capsicum beat the meat hands down making sure that a recall was definitely on the cards.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Chapter One.Five: At the Eiffel Tower
Rounding a couple of street corners from the public scene, we chanced upon the monument of steel that has now become the face of Paris on any travel brochure or Bollywood flick. People were roller blading and jogging around on that calm May day. Families were smiling their brilliant smiles which were in turn being captured by the multitudinous point and shooters.
The monument is perfect in its symmetry and foolish in its sheer size. One can't begin to fathom what could possibly have possessed Gustave Eiffel to design something so mammoth and beautiful. Standing under the extremely gigantic structure is when you begin to realize that there is absolutely no way a human hand can touch the surface.
The bases of the tower are a consortium of your friendly souvenir stores and ticket counters. Long snaking lines filled with chattering humans waiting to get onto the lift that will carry them to the top so that they can see what they could have seen up close at ground level. Boards claim information that the average waiting time in the queue is 20 minutes. I do not suspect that estimate at all.
Lunch was an Eiffel-side affair of cold sandwiches. The meaning of a cold sandwich took an entirely different meaning for me that day when I was chewing into my cold beef sandwich. My tortured mandibles were losing a battle against my screaming tummy when I realized that in Europe, cold sandwiches had every aspect of the raw materials cold, including the bread. Sitting on the lawn, gnawing on the bread and looking up at the looming steely beauty, noon passed us by and laziness crept upon us.
Having had our fill of the tower, we decided to move onto other eyefills. We had to meet a couple of acquaintances who were coming down to Paris for the evening which meant having to spend some time with them. The rendezvous was set up at the Paris Opera house from where a number of landmarks were walkable. Back to the dear Paris metro terminal where again I had a minor embarrassing moment when I could not find my metro pass while exiting the terminal. Mr.X again to the rescue and he found the pass conveniently lodged between the pages of my passport. Mr.X could not stop smirking at the prospective score: 2 - 0 to his advantage.
The monument is perfect in its symmetry and foolish in its sheer size. One can't begin to fathom what could possibly have possessed Gustave Eiffel to design something so mammoth and beautiful. Standing under the extremely gigantic structure is when you begin to realize that there is absolutely no way a human hand can touch the surface.The bases of the tower are a consortium of your friendly souvenir stores and ticket counters. Long snaking lines filled with chattering humans waiting to get onto the lift that will carry them to the top so that they can see what they could have seen up close at ground level. Boards claim information that the average waiting time in the queue is 20 minutes. I do not suspect that estimate at all.
Lunch was an Eiffel-side affair of cold sandwiches. The meaning of a cold sandwich took an entirely different meaning for me that day when I was chewing into my cold beef sandwich. My tortured mandibles were losing a battle against my screaming tummy when I realized that in Europe, cold sandwiches had every aspect of the raw materials cold, including the bread. Sitting on the lawn, gnawing on the bread and looking up at the looming steely beauty, noon passed us by and laziness crept upon us.
Having had our fill of the tower, we decided to move onto other eyefills. We had to meet a couple of acquaintances who were coming down to Paris for the evening which meant having to spend some time with them. The rendezvous was set up at the Paris Opera house from where a number of landmarks were walkable. Back to the dear Paris metro terminal where again I had a minor embarrassing moment when I could not find my metro pass while exiting the terminal. Mr.X again to the rescue and he found the pass conveniently lodged between the pages of my passport. Mr.X could not stop smirking at the prospective score: 2 - 0 to his advantage.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Chapter One.Four: A public embarrassment
Le Metropolitan, true to its word, stays underground unlike many of its pseudo-cousins around the world which cover only partial routes under the abovegroud. It rises occasionally to habitable geographies only to cross the river Seine; all such occasions are a welcome opportunity to feast one's sights on visions that are, subjectively, a lot better than those of dark and dreary tunnels.
It was such a sight that confronted and presented us with our first full-length view of the Eiffel Tower; which was looming besides when the metro taxi emerged and banked into the terminal serving the Eiffel Tower. We alighted to hostile conditions of threatening clouds and biting cold; all necessary conditions that, consequently, lead to a heavy bladder. Which eventually caused me/us our first public embarrassment.
Warning: A public restroom, the kind that we are used to back in India, is a myth in Europe. All such services requires one to part with at least a €uro.
Fact: Parisian sidewalks are dotted, at large, with free restrooms, which may be recognized by the boards stating Toilettes - Accès Gratuit (tuah-lai-th aa-ksai graa-tyoo-ee). One such board was sighted by me in the symptomatic condition that I described above. An added bonus was the complete absence of a queue, which was definitely an invitation considering the premium that is usually set on devices of such welcome nature.
Putting the fact and the warning together, I took the most natural action any sane human wanting to take a leak would. I ventured into it.
Having figured out a way of getting into the contraption, I relieved myself and came face to face with my predicament. The rest room showed no indication of a flushing mechanism save for a lever and a button. The lever yielded nothing. Then came the epochal moment when I depressed the button.
No flush responded but the door began sliding open. My willful attempts to halt its progress was all in vain and the door, purposefully, followed its tracked path. My concern at the opening door was circumvented by the immense relief I derived from my knowledge that the restroom was not being waited upon by other tourists. When the door slid open completely, I was presented with a long queue of French tourists, all exchanging friendly French exchanges. The lady at the head of the line smiled at me and waited expectantly for me to vacate, while I was at wits end; both at the sudden formation of the queue and the realization that the rest room was in an unflushed state.
Stupidity followed and I tried my anglicized French on the lady, asking her the needful procedure to perform a complete cleanup. She appeared confused and irritated now that I was blocking her entry. My master stroke: I called out to my friend, Mr. X, who also wanted to take a leak but was not among the queued people. He came forth and I explained the problem to him. I asked him to use the rest room so that at least he could figure out the flushing mechanism.
With that, I vacated and the rest room was then occupied by Mr. X. This was not welcomed by the enqueued tourists who exchanged glances of disbelief and annoyance. Mr. X seemed to take an eternity while the tourists were getting more and more pissed (pun intended) with incident. I was twitching nervously since my neck was only fingers away from the queuing members. Voices began rising and soon, someone began kicking on the door of the rest room. Eventually, the door slid open and Mr. X stepped out calmly with an amused look on his face.
We walked away purposefully while the kindly lady, who had smiled at me, eventually got to use the rest room. Walking away, I inquired of Mr.X as to the flushing mechanism to be followed. He calmly claimed that he, too, failed to flush the loo.
Walking away hurriedly to avoid any legal actions, my heart went out to that old lady who was presented the loo in that condition.....
P.S. - I still claim ignorance of the mechanism to be followed.
Note: The image of the free public toilets has been sourced from Master_Raik's Flickr profile.
It was such a sight that confronted and presented us with our first full-length view of the Eiffel Tower; which was looming besides when the metro taxi emerged and banked into the terminal serving the Eiffel Tower. We alighted to hostile conditions of threatening clouds and biting cold; all necessary conditions that, consequently, lead to a heavy bladder. Which eventually caused me/us our first public embarrassment.
Warning: A public restroom, the kind that we are used to back in India, is a myth in Europe. All such services requires one to part with at least a €uro.
Fact: Parisian sidewalks are dotted, at large, with free restrooms, which may be recognized by the boards stating Toilettes - Accès Gratuit (tuah-lai-th aa-ksai graa-tyoo-ee). One such board was sighted by me in the symptomatic condition that I described above. An added bonus was the complete absence of a queue, which was definitely an invitation considering the premium that is usually set on devices of such welcome nature.
Putting the fact and the warning together, I took the most natural action any sane human wanting to take a leak would. I ventured into it.Having figured out a way of getting into the contraption, I relieved myself and came face to face with my predicament. The rest room showed no indication of a flushing mechanism save for a lever and a button. The lever yielded nothing. Then came the epochal moment when I depressed the button.
No flush responded but the door began sliding open. My willful attempts to halt its progress was all in vain and the door, purposefully, followed its tracked path. My concern at the opening door was circumvented by the immense relief I derived from my knowledge that the restroom was not being waited upon by other tourists. When the door slid open completely, I was presented with a long queue of French tourists, all exchanging friendly French exchanges. The lady at the head of the line smiled at me and waited expectantly for me to vacate, while I was at wits end; both at the sudden formation of the queue and the realization that the rest room was in an unflushed state.
Stupidity followed and I tried my anglicized French on the lady, asking her the needful procedure to perform a complete cleanup. She appeared confused and irritated now that I was blocking her entry. My master stroke: I called out to my friend, Mr. X, who also wanted to take a leak but was not among the queued people. He came forth and I explained the problem to him. I asked him to use the rest room so that at least he could figure out the flushing mechanism.
With that, I vacated and the rest room was then occupied by Mr. X. This was not welcomed by the enqueued tourists who exchanged glances of disbelief and annoyance. Mr. X seemed to take an eternity while the tourists were getting more and more pissed (pun intended) with incident. I was twitching nervously since my neck was only fingers away from the queuing members. Voices began rising and soon, someone began kicking on the door of the rest room. Eventually, the door slid open and Mr. X stepped out calmly with an amused look on his face.
We walked away purposefully while the kindly lady, who had smiled at me, eventually got to use the rest room. Walking away, I inquired of Mr.X as to the flushing mechanism to be followed. He calmly claimed that he, too, failed to flush the loo.
Walking away hurriedly to avoid any legal actions, my heart went out to that old lady who was presented the loo in that condition.....
P.S. - I still claim ignorance of the mechanism to be followed.
Note: The image of the free public toilets has been sourced from Master_Raik's Flickr profile.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Chapter One.Three: Arc de Triomphe and Champs Elysées
The next day dawned a little too early as they do in the areas so close to the polar regions. Breakfast was a cereal, bread and juicy affair in the hostel. Primary task for the day was to make arrangements for our way out of Paris. Onwards to Gare de Lyon to make the rail reservations. We planned to make all our travel by night trains to save on accomodations costs for the night. Bright idea huh?
Fortunately, the reservation windows mentioned which windows were being served by English speaking representatives. Our plans hit the first roadblock when we were told that the
nightly services to Rome (which was out next destination) from Paris passes through Switzerland as a result of which we could not be allotted reservations on the service. This, due, to the fact that Schenghen visas do not cover the Swiss state. This left us with the only option of using the day service to Rome, reaching a night earlier in Rome. Dreams of smart economy by nightly transits vapourizing... With the reservations for the next morning done, we left for our continued exploration of Paris. Onto L'Arc de Triomphe..
Arc de Triomphe is a memorial for the unknown soldier in lines with the India Gate in Delhi. Besides being remarkable in its architecture, it also forms one end of the famed Champs Elysées. The avenue is one of the landmarks of Paris and is lined with cafés, theatres and designer labels showing off their wares for mortals practicing window shopping. The other end of the Champs Elysées is marked by Place de la Concorde, which eventually gives way to some other famed Dan Browned landmarks.
Our spirited walk down the famed avenue was short lived with tidbits of window shopping thrown in, including a choicy Renault showroom and a ripoff Adidas sports-zone. Partly down the avenue, practicality got the better of us and we decided to do something more fruitful than walking the walk. Onto the metro 500 metres away to make our way to the metallic Eiffel Tower that was rising just to the south, across the Seine.
Fortunately, the reservation windows mentioned which windows were being served by English speaking representatives. Our plans hit the first roadblock when we were told that the
nightly services to Rome (which was out next destination) from Paris passes through Switzerland as a result of which we could not be allotted reservations on the service. This, due, to the fact that Schenghen visas do not cover the Swiss state. This left us with the only option of using the day service to Rome, reaching a night earlier in Rome. Dreams of smart economy by nightly transits vapourizing... With the reservations for the next morning done, we left for our continued exploration of Paris. Onto L'Arc de Triomphe..
Arc de Triomphe is a memorial for the unknown soldier in lines with the India Gate in Delhi. Besides being remarkable in its architecture, it also forms one end of the famed Champs Elysées. The avenue is one of the landmarks of Paris and is lined with cafés, theatres and designer labels showing off their wares for mortals practicing window shopping. The other end of the Champs Elysées is marked by Place de la Concorde, which eventually gives way to some other famed Dan Browned landmarks.
Our spirited walk down the famed avenue was short lived with tidbits of window shopping thrown in, including a choicy Renault showroom and a ripoff Adidas sports-zone. Partly down the avenue, practicality got the better of us and we decided to do something more fruitful than walking the walk. Onto the metro 500 metres away to make our way to the metallic Eiffel Tower that was rising just to the south, across the Seine.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
At Barbecue Nation..
Bangalore presents innumerable choices for any hungry stomach to wolf down huge quantities of more than edible stuff with a host of restaurants offering sumptuous lunch buffet spreads. This is probably an offshoot of the executive culture that has inbred itself in Bangalore as a result of which, one can find multiple "team outings" and business lunches being carried out.
One such happenstance last week was the lunch outing at Barbecue Nation. It is located at 100ft road in Indiranagar and it boasts of an unlimited supply of barbecued contents throughout the buffet. The restaurant is awfully short on parking space so valet parking is a necessity. The shortfall therein is compensated by the decor and the layout.
The interiors are tastefully done with low key lights throwing soft shadows across. Each table has a centrally located grill which allows for the slow cooking of the barbecued contents that I spoke about.
The course for the day of the allowed for Garlic chicken and Chicken Tandoori among the meats and some Paneer and other roasted vegetables for the greener variety, which were immediately ignored. The steal for the day were the Mutton Kebabs served with just a hint of yogurt which were melt-in-your-mouth fare.
In the face of such an onslaught, the actual buffet spread is easily ignored till its too late. But the buffet is as impressive to say the least. The spread for the day consisted of Dum Biryani, a variety of salads including sea-food salad and Caesar Salad, pastas and traditional Indian spicy curries serving the Chicken-, Mutton- and Fish-hearted.
Note:- I apologize for not taking a peek at the vegetarian section. Please do not count it as an oversight; it was pretty much intentional.
Dessert was a choice of 6; from traditional fare like Gulab Jamuns to stuff like pastries, pineapple pudding to the evergreen vanilla ice cream with sauces ranging from chocolate to mint. All in all, a truly memorable buffet and certainly ranks as one of the better contributors to your round tummy...
One such happenstance last week was the lunch outing at Barbecue Nation. It is located at 100ft road in Indiranagar and it boasts of an unlimited supply of barbecued contents throughout the buffet. The restaurant is awfully short on parking space so valet parking is a necessity. The shortfall therein is compensated by the decor and the layout.
The interiors are tastefully done with low key lights throwing soft shadows across. Each table has a centrally located grill which allows for the slow cooking of the barbecued contents that I spoke about.
The course for the day of the allowed for Garlic chicken and Chicken Tandoori among the meats and some Paneer and other roasted vegetables for the greener variety, which were immediately ignored. The steal for the day were the Mutton Kebabs served with just a hint of yogurt which were melt-in-your-mouth fare.In the face of such an onslaught, the actual buffet spread is easily ignored till its too late. But the buffet is as impressive to say the least. The spread for the day consisted of Dum Biryani, a variety of salads including sea-food salad and Caesar Salad, pastas and traditional Indian spicy curries serving the Chicken-, Mutton- and Fish-hearted.
Note:- I apologize for not taking a peek at the vegetarian section. Please do not count it as an oversight; it was pretty much intentional.
Dessert was a choice of 6; from traditional fare like Gulab Jamuns to stuff like pastries, pineapple pudding to the evergreen vanilla ice cream with sauces ranging from chocolate to mint. All in all, a truly memorable buffet and certainly ranks as one of the better contributors to your round tummy...
Friday, July 13, 2007
Chapter One.Two: à place de la Bastille..
Our first tourist venture was a nightly affair at a very significant Parisian monument that no longer exists. Since by now, we had gotten our hands dirty with the metro, travelling around Paris seemed like second nature for us. The only task that ever remained at any point of time was to locate the nearest terminal and lo, we are off!
A Parisian metro terminal is indicated by a showy board announcing itself or by a circled M sign. Locating the nearest metro terminal involves a peculiar mix of intuition, mobility, keen eyesight and common sense. Keen eyesight and mobility as attributes as pretty much self-explanatory and I won't delve into the common sense aspect of it; a keen sense of direction can help you get yourself to a metro terminal that is closer to your eventual destination that require hopping over numerous hubs.
Some painful hubs like Châtelet-Les-Halles and the main thoroughfares like Gare du Nord sometimes require you to travel as much from one track to the other as you might from a point to point walk. Avoiding the main hubs as much as possible is highly advised. Be prepared with your metro pass while entering one; the ticket barriers are thankfully electronics enabled doing away with any manual intervention.
We stepped out of the metro à la place de la Bastille at about 9 pm into bright daylight. Latitudinally, Paris is probably the northmost I had ever been to; even with the knowledge of
curvatures and daylight savings, it really did seem extremely weird seeing so much light around at a time that is but naturally night!
The place de la Bastille is the site of the famous prison that was stormed and razed (on what is now celebrated as the Bastille Day) and is now commemorated by a July Column in its place. We soaked in the scene for a brief moment of historical nostalgia before we proceeded to the side streets adjoining the square to munch on some local fare. The thumb rule to follow: the more you go away from the main square, the cheaper the fare gets... Of course, the equation is compensated by the quality of the food-stuffs and the ambiance you are presented with..
We, thus, made our first forays into the famed European cobbled and narrow streets. We followed up each narrow street with a narrower one.
The streets adjoining la Place de la Bastille is quite lively at nights, in particular rue de Lappe which is lined with a number of pubs and smoky restaurants. We made our way to one of the pubs and signed-languaged our way to a couple of drinks. Warning: The moment you have decided to sample on a place that is pretty much low scale, plastic money loses all relevance and you better be all pursed up with paper dough.
Dinner was a stand-up affair with crêpes. My choice was a ham- and egg-filled crêpe. The crêpe bears a startling resemblance to the local Indian Dosas; the batter is, however, expertly spread across using a T-shaped apparatus with one end of the lateral T end affixed at the center of the crêpe. No rocket science that. The T, however, allows for a planar crêpe as against a Dosa that assumes layered, concentric circular patterns.
The crêpe is, then, filled with anything that is only limited by the imagination of the chef, as one of us rudely learnt. Sample this on a menu: crêpe à la noix de coco.. Sounds exotic? Trust me, its just dry chapati with dry coconut power...
Note: The image of the Metro board has been sourced from Marta Likes Art-Uh.
A Parisian metro terminal is indicated by a showy board announcing itself or by a circled M sign. Locating the nearest metro terminal involves a peculiar mix of intuition, mobility, keen eyesight and common sense. Keen eyesight and mobility as attributes as pretty much self-explanatory and I won't delve into the common sense aspect of it; a keen sense of direction can help you get yourself to a metro terminal that is closer to your eventual destination that require hopping over numerous hubs.Some painful hubs like Châtelet-Les-Halles and the main thoroughfares like Gare du Nord sometimes require you to travel as much from one track to the other as you might from a point to point walk. Avoiding the main hubs as much as possible is highly advised. Be prepared with your metro pass while entering one; the ticket barriers are thankfully electronics enabled doing away with any manual intervention.
We stepped out of the metro à la place de la Bastille at about 9 pm into bright daylight. Latitudinally, Paris is probably the northmost I had ever been to; even with the knowledge of
curvatures and daylight savings, it really did seem extremely weird seeing so much light around at a time that is but naturally night!
The place de la Bastille is the site of the famous prison that was stormed and razed (on what is now celebrated as the Bastille Day) and is now commemorated by a July Column in its place. We soaked in the scene for a brief moment of historical nostalgia before we proceeded to the side streets adjoining the square to munch on some local fare. The thumb rule to follow: the more you go away from the main square, the cheaper the fare gets... Of course, the equation is compensated by the quality of the food-stuffs and the ambiance you are presented with..
We, thus, made our first forays into the famed European cobbled and narrow streets. We followed up each narrow street with a narrower one.The streets adjoining la Place de la Bastille is quite lively at nights, in particular rue de Lappe which is lined with a number of pubs and smoky restaurants. We made our way to one of the pubs and signed-languaged our way to a couple of drinks. Warning: The moment you have decided to sample on a place that is pretty much low scale, plastic money loses all relevance and you better be all pursed up with paper dough.
Dinner was a stand-up affair with crêpes. My choice was a ham- and egg-filled crêpe. The crêpe bears a startling resemblance to the local Indian Dosas; the batter is, however, expertly spread across using a T-shaped apparatus with one end of the lateral T end affixed at the center of the crêpe. No rocket science that. The T, however, allows for a planar crêpe as against a Dosa that assumes layered, concentric circular patterns.
The crêpe is, then, filled with anything that is only limited by the imagination of the chef, as one of us rudely learnt. Sample this on a menu: crêpe à la noix de coco.. Sounds exotic? Trust me, its just dry chapati with dry coconut power...
Note: The image of the Metro board has been sourced from Marta Likes Art-Uh.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Chapter One.One: Daunting Paris..
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Friday, July 6, 2007
Chapter One: à Paris, finally!
The flight from Colombo to Paris passed of without any significant happenings, except for the periodical beggings for non-green food stuffs, which were thankfully answered by the kind stewards and air-hostesses assisting on board the flight. I must say the fish with the meat sauce tastes way lot better once the efforts that went into procuring the item onto my tray table are factored in.
Paris was eventually reached at roughly 1600 hours and we were greeted by some very welcoming anorexic ladies, in cohorts with the multiple business houses that are strewn around Paris. We realized we were in Paris when full length advertisements of fashion houses ranging from Gucci, Yves Saint-Laurent and Pierre Cardin were thrown at our face.
A couple of immediate Parisian know-hows..
1] All incoming passengers are warned that piracy and counterfeits [of any sort] is a punishable crime in Paris with terms upto rigorous imprisonment. A case in point for all travellers alighting with Aeroboks and Adibas' (and any other phonetic or visual substitutes). Try to sport something more covert or else Paris might not look too beautiful from a small rectangular window
2] English is literally non existent. All boards and signs are in French. Thank God for sign language and intuitive UI!
3] One thumbs up for backpacker and travellers alike: luggage trolleys are free unlike in the US where one must part with a quarter.
Immigration hassles were non-existent and we were soon out facing French (both the language and otherwise). Charles de Gaulle Airport (CDG), which is one of the airports that serves Paris and which is the one we landed at, is an important hub for travellers who want branch off from CDG to other parts of Europe and the world. As a result, the terminals boast of a direct link to the TGV (which when translated to English-speak mean Train of Great Speed) and the metro which is a direct link to the heart of the city. For that matter, all airports servicing the European capital cities boast of direct train links with the city heart since they are usually situated miles out of the city.
All that is fine on paper. When you actually get to putting the knowledge to practice, you are welcomed with a language that only you seem not to speak and with people who would not speak the language that you do. Subsequently, we went around the terminal, prompting "Parlez-vous Anglais?" [Do you speak English? Pronounced as "paar-lay vooze aang-lai"] till some kind souls relented and pointed us to the terminal station where we could avail of the metro link to Paris.
The Parisian metro is called Le Metropolitan. It is a complex marriage of SNCF, RATP and RER which are individual rail services servicing different routes with different tariffs. To make life a living heaven, the services can be availed of using a single ticket. Again, that sounds good on paper but put it into practice and things are not so rosy. Le Metropolitan is divided zone-wise and as a result, the tariffs are, also, zone-wise. Hence, procuring a ticket requires you to know the zone-wise architecture, at least of your destination, which is severely handicapped by the language barrier between you and the helpful assistant at the window-counter.
We knew we were in for some fun just getting our way to the hostel.
Paris was eventually reached at roughly 1600 hours and we were greeted by some very welcoming anorexic ladies, in cohorts with the multiple business houses that are strewn around Paris. We realized we were in Paris when full length advertisements of fashion houses ranging from Gucci, Yves Saint-Laurent and Pierre Cardin were thrown at our face.
A couple of immediate Parisian know-hows..
1] All incoming passengers are warned that piracy and counterfeits [of any sort] is a punishable crime in Paris with terms upto rigorous imprisonment. A case in point for all travellers alighting with Aeroboks and Adibas' (and any other phonetic or visual substitutes). Try to sport something more covert or else Paris might not look too beautiful from a small rectangular window
2] English is literally non existent. All boards and signs are in French. Thank God for sign language and intuitive UI!
3] One thumbs up for backpacker and travellers alike: luggage trolleys are free unlike in the US where one must part with a quarter.
Immigration hassles were non-existent and we were soon out facing French (both the language and otherwise). Charles de Gaulle Airport (CDG), which is one of the airports that serves Paris and which is the one we landed at, is an important hub for travellers who want branch off from CDG to other parts of Europe and the world. As a result, the terminals boast of a direct link to the TGV (which when translated to English-speak mean Train of Great Speed) and the metro which is a direct link to the heart of the city. For that matter, all airports servicing the European capital cities boast of direct train links with the city heart since they are usually situated miles out of the city.
All that is fine on paper. When you actually get to putting the knowledge to practice, you are welcomed with a language that only you seem not to speak and with people who would not speak the language that you do. Subsequently, we went around the terminal, prompting "Parlez-vous Anglais?" [Do you speak English? Pronounced as "paar-lay vooze aang-lai"] till some kind souls relented and pointed us to the terminal station where we could avail of the metro link to Paris.
The Parisian metro is called Le Metropolitan. It is a complex marriage of SNCF, RATP and RER which are individual rail services servicing different routes with different tariffs. To make life a living heaven, the services can be availed of using a single ticket. Again, that sounds good on paper but put it into practice and things are not so rosy. Le Metropolitan is divided zone-wise and as a result, the tariffs are, also, zone-wise. Hence, procuring a ticket requires you to know the zone-wise architecture, at least of your destination, which is severely handicapped by the language barrier between you and the helpful assistant at the window-counter.
We knew we were in for some fun just getting our way to the hostel.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Chapter Zero.Two: In transit in Srilanka
We were put up for the night at the Tamarind Tree resorts which is hardly 5 km from the airport. The onward flight to Paris was scheduled for 5:30 AM the next day. The route from the airport to the resorts were very deserted and manned at frequent intervals by security personnel with automatic arms on account of the recent militant activities.
The Tamarind Tree, however, painted a very impressive picture. The rooms were in effect arranged into cottages and we were welcomed to a dinner buffet spread that boasted of a wide variety of the ubiquitous South Indian preparations (like Dosas and Chutneys) and other ethnic preparations like the spicy vegetable curry sprinkled with pineapples. The dish starts off fiery till the pineapples sink in to effect.
We were welcomed into our rooms by an enthusiastic bellhop who spoke broken English. He, unfortunately, led us to the wrong rooms which were also thankfully unoccupied. When asked why we could not occupy the rooms that he showed us, he whole-heartedly agreed with us and excused himself so that he could get the keys to the actual rooms. The thankless job of waking us up the next morning in time for the flight was also left to him and he excelled in that as well by repeatedly knocking on the glass door at 4 AM and screaming "Wake up call!".
Even though our Srilankan detour was extremely brief, the resorts were very impressive and I daresay I would like to head there for a full blown trip sometime. Till then, its the spicy pineapples and the hyperactive bellhop who serve the purpose.
Note: The image of the Tamarind Tree resorts has been sourced from India Travelite.
The Tamarind Tree, however, painted a very impressive picture. The rooms were in effect arranged into cottages and we were welcomed to a dinner buffet spread that boasted of a wide variety of the ubiquitous South Indian preparations (like Dosas and Chutneys) and other ethnic preparations like the spicy vegetable curry sprinkled with pineapples. The dish starts off fiery till the pineapples sink in to effect.We were welcomed into our rooms by an enthusiastic bellhop who spoke broken English. He, unfortunately, led us to the wrong rooms which were also thankfully unoccupied. When asked why we could not occupy the rooms that he showed us, he whole-heartedly agreed with us and excused himself so that he could get the keys to the actual rooms. The thankless job of waking us up the next morning in time for the flight was also left to him and he excelled in that as well by repeatedly knocking on the glass door at 4 AM and screaming "Wake up call!".
Even though our Srilankan detour was extremely brief, the resorts were very impressive and I daresay I would like to head there for a full blown trip sometime. Till then, its the spicy pineapples and the hyperactive bellhop who serve the purpose.
Note: The image of the Tamarind Tree resorts has been sourced from India Travelite.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Chapter Zero.One: Onwards to Colombo
The onward flight from Bangalore to Colombo was pretty uneventful, except for a couple of interesting minutes. The immigration officer in Bangalore seemed to be pretty surprised that someone connected with infotech might want to carry out a trip to Europe. And that too, a personal one. We were eventually let through after it was realized that we were neither high on the threat meter, nor did we possess a high entertainment value. Surprising?
One interesting aspect aboard the Sri Lankan flight was the presence of a frontal camera that was being fed into the vanilla airshow, thus rendering us a live take-off and landing view.
Snacks served on the plane were at best commonplace. We were only served sandwiches because the ensuing trip lasted for only an hour. I was served a vegetarian cheese/mint chutney sandwich when there were non-vegetarian options available. This mishap occurred due to the grevious mistake of selecting "Indian-Hindu" cuisine for the reservation. This misfortune was to continue for the remainder of the trip and was to be the cause of many a heated and repeated requests for meatier cuisines.
The pilot announced the landing at Colombo and promptly landed without carrying out the necessary spiral exercises for losing altitude. On arrival, we were pleasantly surprised to notice that the Bandaranaike International Airport was styled on the lines of international transit-based airports like Charles-de-Gaulle and Schiphol, divided into multiple terminals, departure gates and comprehensive television displays of flight schedules.
We were granted transit visas for Srilanka and the airlines put us up for the night. Must say that the first mark that was entrenced upon us of Srilankan was pretty impressive.
One interesting aspect aboard the Sri Lankan flight was the presence of a frontal camera that was being fed into the vanilla airshow, thus rendering us a live take-off and landing view.
Snacks served on the plane were at best commonplace. We were only served sandwiches because the ensuing trip lasted for only an hour. I was served a vegetarian cheese/mint chutney sandwich when there were non-vegetarian options available. This mishap occurred due to the grevious mistake of selecting "Indian-Hindu" cuisine for the reservation. This misfortune was to continue for the remainder of the trip and was to be the cause of many a heated and repeated requests for meatier cuisines.
The pilot announced the landing at Colombo and promptly landed without carrying out the necessary spiral exercises for losing altitude. On arrival, we were pleasantly surprised to notice that the Bandaranaike International Airport was styled on the lines of international transit-based airports like Charles-de-Gaulle and Schiphol, divided into multiple terminals, departure gates and comprehensive television displays of flight schedules.
We were granted transit visas for Srilanka and the airlines put us up for the night. Must say that the first mark that was entrenced upon us of Srilankan was pretty impressive.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Chapter Zero: Getting our asses off
All journeys, before that single step, begin with the extreme activity of getting off one's ass and taking the walk..
Thus, we got our collective asses off the block and headed to the Bangalore International airport on our way to Europe via Colombo as we were travelling Sri Lankan for the trip.
Unfortunately, the trip happened to coincide with the closure of night operations at the Bandaranaike International Airport. This only caused the trip's launch to be preponed by 2 hours with our connection to Paris being scheduled for the next day. In effect, this meant a night's halt at Colombo.
The implications of the matter were not so bad considering that some other carriers transiting via Colombo cancelled their operations during the duration. The prospect of visiting another country, albeit only in nightly transit and for a maximum duration of 8 hours, was pretty satisfying.
Just for the record, Srilanka now happens to be the only Asian country I have 'visited'. I guess one can always look at the brighter side of unfortunate events.
Thus, we got our collective asses off the block and headed to the Bangalore International airport on our way to Europe via Colombo as we were travelling Sri Lankan for the trip.Unfortunately, the trip happened to coincide with the closure of night operations at the Bandaranaike International Airport. This only caused the trip's launch to be preponed by 2 hours with our connection to Paris being scheduled for the next day. In effect, this meant a night's halt at Colombo.
The implications of the matter were not so bad considering that some other carriers transiting via Colombo cancelled their operations during the duration. The prospect of visiting another country, albeit only in nightly transit and for a maximum duration of 8 hours, was pretty satisfying.
Just for the record, Srilanka now happens to be the only Asian country I have 'visited'. I guess one can always look at the brighter side of unfortunate events.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Backpacking in Europe anyone?
Thence, let me start an account of my escapades with my recent backpacking trip to Europe... The trip lasted from the 10th of May 2007 till the 28th of May 2007...
Europe is the chosen destination for backpackers simply because it is the easiest place in the world for any first-time backpacker as everyone in our group was. Because of the following reasons
Europe is the chosen destination for backpackers simply because it is the easiest place in the world for any first-time backpacker as everyone in our group was. Because of the following reasons
- Europe offers seamless travel under a single visa (Schengen) and currency (Euro). As a result, you and me are saved from endless legal hassles and border controls
- Europe offers the maximum density of places to see within a small area to be covered
- The European cities are extremely well covered by maps (both online and otherwise) and travelling around could not more intuitive
- Travelling within European countries is extremely easy with high speed trains connecting all the major cities.
- Accommodate for at least three days in each city; this helps explore the city in its entirety and factor in any delays of any sort
- Divide Europe into Western, Central, Eastern and Scandinavian regions and maximise travel within one particular region.This helps comprehensive coverage of at least one region and leaves the other regions for a future trip (as there is a very high chance that one will re-visit Europe)
- Travelling by cabs is strictly not allowed and will be treated as a blasphemy. Only public means of transport will be tolerated.
- Only local cuisine will be consumed and any visits to McDonalds and any of its insipid variants will be quickly frowned upon.
- Yes.. We will need to walk a lot..
Monday, June 25, 2007
The road unwinds...
and it speaketh innumerable tongues... narrating stories some long lost and forgotten and some
truly cherished...
Oh the road.. snaking away to eternity carrying with it the destinies of many... the laughters and tears of you and me...
And so commences this blog in which I wish to reminiscence my travel experiences near and far... to speak about all those spices that tingled me and all those cholesterols that fattened me..
Hop in and I hope to provide you with some wholesome experience..
truly cherished...
Oh the road.. snaking away to eternity carrying with it the destinies of many... the laughters and tears of you and me...
And so commences this blog in which I wish to reminiscence my travel experiences near and far... to speak about all those spices that tingled me and all those cholesterols that fattened me..
Hop in and I hope to provide you with some wholesome experience..
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