One of the few things I had done as way of preparation was to do some research about a global rail pass. As a result, KS had bought the passes for us from US which meant we could pretty much travel to any city within the 15 countries with a simple reservation charge for the fast tracks. So there we were on day 2, scrambling early in the morning to catch the train to Paris.
We all got ready faster than I had anticipated. I have never seen KS and ST lethargic so the two of them getting ready was no surprise. SS and AS also got ready fast. SR grumbled a little but the rest of the party was so enthusiastic that it didn’t matter.
By now we were veterans of the Zurich tram system that we arrived without any trouble at Zurich HB. Hauptbahnoff was an impressive building and could pass off as a tourist attraction in itself. As we hurried along to catch the Zurich-Paris high speed TGV, I caught a statue in the front and a quick glance revealed the name to be Escher. I paused mid-stride causing a minor collision, then recovered - THE Escher was not from Zurich nor was his name Alfred. Alfred Escher's statue though was at the right place as I later found out he was a railway entrepreneur.
We got in with about 5 minutes to spare and SR vanished for a few moments and reappeared with breakfast and lunch - sandwiches, bread and juices.
My first time in an European train; actually in any non-Indian train. The clean, well cushioned airplane style seats with proper hand-rests, tray table, cup rests etc. bode well. We walked around a bit and after a while settled in our various seats and got ourselves comfortable. KS, ST and PS were from the US and I could see jetlag hitting them. SS and AS also went to sleep on and off. SR was so wired - he didn’t sleep, walked about and was in general sharing observations about people and places. I sat by the window and watched the country side flash past. At a speed of 180 miles an hour at times, the TGV Lyria bullet train ride was remarkable.
Swiss landscape gave way to small towns and wide fields dotted with small churches and cottages. The German sounding town names slowly became more French without any indication of when I crossed the border. The land was tilled but I could not discern what was sown. It did not look like my idea of vineyards. Graffiti adorned almost every wall. I was repeatedly stuck by the lack of crowded big towns on the way - I realized after a while it was because I was coming from India and that the rest of the world is most likely like this.
I enjoyed a huge sandwich feeling slightly guilty since others were still asleep and let my mind indulge in a romantic ramble of facts and fiction - Goethe in Strasbourg, D'Artagnan journeying to Paris, Napoleon's retreat from Russia..
We arrived in Paris Gare De L'East around noon. I have this theory that you should never approach your dream city by road or train – An approach by air gives a majestic view of any city whereas when you approach by road or train you get exposed to the underbelly and gut too fast. But then I was not sure what I was expecting in a metropolitan city metro station.
The station was crowded and we got into the long queue and bought visit paris passes. I was delighted I could use a few French words I remembered from my high school and could make out most of the sign boards. We all had our backpacks and I lobbied to start sight seeing immediately. SR was vehemently opposed, rest were neutral. I persuaded everyone that we should try and see if we can go to the city. So, we caught the tube to the Musee station. I climbed out of the underground to a sunny afternoon.
I have this click in my head when my imagination and a scene in front of me connects. The click I heard when I stood in an almost empty LA business district surrounded by the silent looming skyscrapers, the click I heard when I went down hill in a cable car in San Francisco, the click I heard when I came upon the grand canyon all of a sudden, the click when I saw the buildings in Bath... I heard that click when I climbed up the stairs and saw the signboards. The understated metallic board that announced that we were standing in front of the Musee De Louvre.
We walked about gaping at the grand buildings – it was less crowded than I expected it to be and there was a certain leisure, quietude and lethargy about it that was unexpected. My imagination ran riot and waves of all the words I had read about the city's history and culture overwhelmed me.
We walked around and stopped in a small street near the Rue De Rivoli to have lunch. The young owner got us the vegetarian ware we wanted and we all sat down to eat our pasta. I was fascinated with the older well dressed man who was having his lunch. The glass of red wine next to him and the air of joie de vivre was unmistakable. The young man and old man talked and were joined by another young woman and the three of them continued on with their slow meal, enjoying their wine, as the quiet afternoon passed us by.
I was done! Forget the museums and art galleries! This was the experience of Paris - right there the vision of a lethargic enjoyable afternoon lunch with fine wine.
After the meal we walked about a little more on the various small streets just drinking in the atmosphere. I must admit our walking was also due to my inept guidance towards the right metro station.
Our hotel was in the outskirts at Velizy partly deliberate choice to experience life outside the town, partly because of the long weekend crowd. We caught the metro and then a bus – the driver obligingly showed us where our hotel was. It was still only four and the sun was shining that we decided to do more sight seeing starting with the Eiffel tower.
So far I had not caught a glimpse of the tower much to my surprise and even as the metro approached the stop I still could not. We got down and walked following the map and I was straining my neck to catch a glimpse all the while. And then we came upon it quite suddenly.
I had read of all the famous personalities who hated the tower including Maupassant and Dumas and how some Parisians thought of it as an eyesore. But one wouldn't believe that looking at the queue snaking all over the base. I stood patiently in the hour long queue, watching the loads of Indian tourist buses and hawkers, thinking all this might not have been there if the tower had been dismantled as it was originally planned or had been destroyed during WWII. Robert Langdon in Da Vinci Code calls it an apt emblem for France 'renowned for its diminutive insecure leaders'.
The intricacy of the iron structure was amazing. When I stood in the queue down, when I went up the elevator on the pylon to level two and when I went all the way up the top, the fluidity of it never ceased to beguile me. How could someone envision these rusty brown metallic lines crocheted together to a stunning structure such as this? Especially about a hundred and twenty years ago. What a fresh perspective it must have been then! It appeals to the mind not just for the aesthetics but for the science too with the material of choice and the wind considerations.
The view from the top was predictably marvelous. The sun shone and its rays bounced off of the river Seine and highlighted the tree lined boulevards and the monuments on both the right and left banks. The bridges across Seine brought me back memories of London.
The family in front of me was coughing quite a bit giving me some moments of anxiety about swine flu.
We got down, wandered a bit and caught the train and probably the last bus back to our hotel. I remarked how the streets were looking deserted and SR smilingly told me the time. It was already 9 p.m, the sky was still not dark reminding me of summer in lands much north to mine.
Channa Masala and Baguette is a great combination, I decided as sleep overcame me.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Day 1 : "A happy day because its the first of May"
When I woke up puffy clouds billowed outside and the plane was ready to land in Frankfurt. The best part about this trip was the timing. I did not have to worry about snow and rain and early sunsets. This was the beginning of summer. And I could see that a bright day was dawning.
I landed and cleared a very unfriendly immigration. Why is it that every country treats you like you are about to drop the big one on them? In this economy even my meager spending ought to be welcome. I walked hazily on towards a lounge, feeling quite cross.
The first jolt was the “Achtung Bitte” posters with sundry terrorists and warnings of swine flu. How many times have I heard the word ‘Achtung’ – in the numerous world war II movies and books. The haze lifted and I looked around somewhat wonderingly. This was the second airport I have ever been to where the signs and announcements were all in a language I didn’t know. Clearly though it was better than Hongkong, since I knew the family.
I freshened up in the lounge, the warm shower and cereal making me feel a lot better finally. The fatigue - both mental and physical was ebbing away. And my brain slowly registered the fact that this was the town where Goethe had lived. No, the Frankfurt airport was not named after him but there certainly was a bar named Goethe. As I sat contemplating on Goethe's Italian Journey - 'Slipped out at 3 in the morning, arriving early with just a suitcase looking forward to enjoying a fine summer after a wretched work filled spring' - I realized I am going to keep encountering many more such illustrious characters. The journey has truly begun.
Zurich was to be the first stop. Mainly because of the convenience of VA’s house. The Swiss Air flight to Zurich was shorter than the time the plane spent on the tarmac. It was May first, not just the labor day, but also I had read, in pagan cultures a traditional summer holiday. The beautiful summer morning outside held promises of a lovely time. We flew over unbroken picture-post card scenery of low hills and greenery and landed in Zurich late morning. I had expected to see towering mountain ranges with snow peaks instead and this was oddly like dessert before the meal.
KS, ST and PS had arrived from the US and our party was all set. AS and SS were too pumped up. I asked for “buttermilk rice” for lunch with such feeling that it elicited a round of laughter. VA's house was right on a main tram thoroughfare that still managed to have beautiful trees lining them. There was even a convenient Indian restaurant right below the apartment. Not that we were in need of it. SA and VA had made great food and after a nice lunch deciding not to waste a single moment, we all got out and decided to explore.
There had been travel warnings around rallies in Germany and the year before there had been major riots by left-wing activists in Zurich. SA mentioned that they had burned a few BMWs - no doubt a newer way of bonfire from the pagan reminders. I briefly wondered if it was probably a saner idea to stay home but my limited vacation blinked like red alert in my mind that I quashed that thought ruthlessly.
The rest of my party joked about what 'Radhika travels' was going to show them first. After some quick instructions from SA we got into the tram at Guuggachstrasse and after a short ride arrived past Hauptbahnhof at Bahnhofplatz. The idea was to walk as much as we could in the area and see the sights. The street was deserted and all shops closed. What would have been a meaningless window shopping exercise with jostling crowds instead became a leisurely evening stroll. I could see why Bahnofstrasse was one of the most expensive shopping avenues in the world as we walked past showrooms - Louis Vuitton, Giorgio Armani, Cartier, Bvlgari, Dior... I wondered how I would have felt if I had been to this avenue ten years ago. Somehow the designer shops were not as awe inspiring as it would have been - after all most of them do business in India and I was anyway not smart enough to appreciate the better collection they were sure to have in Switzerland.
Besides the shops there were more sights to see including the welcome green lawns. Past the statue of education reformist Pestalozzi I noticed a clock on the upper part of a store front surrounded by bells. This being Zurich and my brain remembering all the great Swiss watchmakers, I was convinced and I also persuaded everyone it was some interesting contraption which would play some strange music at the top of the hour. We waited but nothing really happened and I think everyone wondered but were too polite to remark about the level of research I had done before. Kurz watchmaker and jeweler had not really advertised anywhere how the clock would perform.
I paused for a few moments near the Granite sculpture by Max Bill. The sculpture gave a feeling of rest and relaxation though I had no idea what was the intended effect. I could almost philosophically interpret it as a series of doors to the inner sanctum of something within yourself. It was slightly colder and I was probably beginning to get jet lagged that I was thinking such pseudo-profound thoughts. I made a mental note to look it up later - I was sure it would be quite the opposite of what I thought. Max Bill had studied under Kandinsky and I have a print of a Kandinsky composition which evoked joyous feelings in me but was in reality about the deluge. Le Corbusier of the Chandigarh connection was from Switzerland, but I had decided to not go looking for a house designed by him this trip.
Strassencafe, straddling the street was quite full with patrons staring at each other across the street. We wandered on past the sights, the spires of the churches, past Paradeplatz and the famous swiss banks and arrived at the lake front to see a man relieving himself on the lake water and a cross dresser in a pink tutu.
From there we walked some more crossing the bridge to the other side. Ability to stroll on a wide street enjoying the sights is such a rare pleasure for me and I took a deep breath and simply let the wind and the evening sun and the views of the marvelous towers of Grossmünster and Fraumünster wash over me.
We joked about opening a Swiss bank account - seeing all the names of the premier financial institutions lining the street and concluded that with our unmade up faces and t-shirts and jeans we will probably not even be allowed inside.
A huge thin crust pizza that we shared sitting on the banks, was deliciously balmy. People milled about relaxing on the lake front. I did more couples than families. I was surprised to see the level of intimacy most couples were displaying - in various levels of embrace from affectionate to borderline obscene. SS sniggered and from thereon AS and SS decided to nudge each other of PDA alert.
Sun's rays reflected off the lake and the ice-cream was wonderful. We walked back after a while and caught the tram home. SS and AS went to a park nearby to feed pigeons while I packed my backpack.
It was past 9 and it was just beginning to get dark. I went to bed realizing it was Mayday and whether the witches were going to wander in to cast a spell or not, Europe was beginning to cast its spell on me.
I landed and cleared a very unfriendly immigration. Why is it that every country treats you like you are about to drop the big one on them? In this economy even my meager spending ought to be welcome. I walked hazily on towards a lounge, feeling quite cross.
The first jolt was the “Achtung Bitte” posters with sundry terrorists and warnings of swine flu. How many times have I heard the word ‘Achtung’ – in the numerous world war II movies and books. The haze lifted and I looked around somewhat wonderingly. This was the second airport I have ever been to where the signs and announcements were all in a language I didn’t know. Clearly though it was better than Hongkong, since I knew the family.
I freshened up in the lounge, the warm shower and cereal making me feel a lot better finally. The fatigue - both mental and physical was ebbing away. And my brain slowly registered the fact that this was the town where Goethe had lived. No, the Frankfurt airport was not named after him but there certainly was a bar named Goethe. As I sat contemplating on Goethe's Italian Journey - 'Slipped out at 3 in the morning, arriving early with just a suitcase looking forward to enjoying a fine summer after a wretched work filled spring' - I realized I am going to keep encountering many more such illustrious characters. The journey has truly begun.
Zurich was to be the first stop. Mainly because of the convenience of VA’s house. The Swiss Air flight to Zurich was shorter than the time the plane spent on the tarmac. It was May first, not just the labor day, but also I had read, in pagan cultures a traditional summer holiday. The beautiful summer morning outside held promises of a lovely time. We flew over unbroken picture-post card scenery of low hills and greenery and landed in Zurich late morning. I had expected to see towering mountain ranges with snow peaks instead and this was oddly like dessert before the meal.
KS, ST and PS had arrived from the US and our party was all set. AS and SS were too pumped up. I asked for “buttermilk rice” for lunch with such feeling that it elicited a round of laughter. VA's house was right on a main tram thoroughfare that still managed to have beautiful trees lining them. There was even a convenient Indian restaurant right below the apartment. Not that we were in need of it. SA and VA had made great food and after a nice lunch deciding not to waste a single moment, we all got out and decided to explore.
There had been travel warnings around rallies in Germany and the year before there had been major riots by left-wing activists in Zurich. SA mentioned that they had burned a few BMWs - no doubt a newer way of bonfire from the pagan reminders. I briefly wondered if it was probably a saner idea to stay home but my limited vacation blinked like red alert in my mind that I quashed that thought ruthlessly.
The rest of my party joked about what 'Radhika travels' was going to show them first. After some quick instructions from SA we got into the tram at Guuggachstrasse and after a short ride arrived past Hauptbahnhof at Bahnhofplatz. The idea was to walk as much as we could in the area and see the sights. The street was deserted and all shops closed. What would have been a meaningless window shopping exercise with jostling crowds instead became a leisurely evening stroll. I could see why Bahnofstrasse was one of the most expensive shopping avenues in the world as we walked past showrooms - Louis Vuitton, Giorgio Armani, Cartier, Bvlgari, Dior... I wondered how I would have felt if I had been to this avenue ten years ago. Somehow the designer shops were not as awe inspiring as it would have been - after all most of them do business in India and I was anyway not smart enough to appreciate the better collection they were sure to have in Switzerland.
Besides the shops there were more sights to see including the welcome green lawns. Past the statue of education reformist Pestalozzi I noticed a clock on the upper part of a store front surrounded by bells. This being Zurich and my brain remembering all the great Swiss watchmakers, I was convinced and I also persuaded everyone it was some interesting contraption which would play some strange music at the top of the hour. We waited but nothing really happened and I think everyone wondered but were too polite to remark about the level of research I had done before. Kurz watchmaker and jeweler had not really advertised anywhere how the clock would perform.
I paused for a few moments near the Granite sculpture by Max Bill. The sculpture gave a feeling of rest and relaxation though I had no idea what was the intended effect. I could almost philosophically interpret it as a series of doors to the inner sanctum of something within yourself. It was slightly colder and I was probably beginning to get jet lagged that I was thinking such pseudo-profound thoughts. I made a mental note to look it up later - I was sure it would be quite the opposite of what I thought. Max Bill had studied under Kandinsky and I have a print of a Kandinsky composition which evoked joyous feelings in me but was in reality about the deluge. Le Corbusier of the Chandigarh connection was from Switzerland, but I had decided to not go looking for a house designed by him this trip.
Strassencafe, straddling the street was quite full with patrons staring at each other across the street. We wandered on past the sights, the spires of the churches, past Paradeplatz and the famous swiss banks and arrived at the lake front to see a man relieving himself on the lake water and a cross dresser in a pink tutu.
From there we walked some more crossing the bridge to the other side. Ability to stroll on a wide street enjoying the sights is such a rare pleasure for me and I took a deep breath and simply let the wind and the evening sun and the views of the marvelous towers of Grossmünster and Fraumünster wash over me.
We joked about opening a Swiss bank account - seeing all the names of the premier financial institutions lining the street and concluded that with our unmade up faces and t-shirts and jeans we will probably not even be allowed inside.
A huge thin crust pizza that we shared sitting on the banks, was deliciously balmy. People milled about relaxing on the lake front. I did more couples than families. I was surprised to see the level of intimacy most couples were displaying - in various levels of embrace from affectionate to borderline obscene. SS sniggered and from thereon AS and SS decided to nudge each other of PDA alert.
Sun's rays reflected off the lake and the ice-cream was wonderful. We walked back after a while and caught the tram home. SS and AS went to a park nearby to feed pigeons while I packed my backpack.
It was past 9 and it was just beginning to get dark. I went to bed realizing it was Mayday and whether the witches were going to wander in to cast a spell or not, Europe was beginning to cast its spell on me.
Day 0 - "But I'll bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel."
I ought to have been excited – granted it was not my first trip abroad, but this was THE grand tour. One could hardly call me an English nobleman from three hundred years ago with unlimited funding but one could certainly still expect me to look forward to expanding my cultural horizons with the same zeal.
I was sitting on a chair amidst a lot of business travelers in the crowded lounge. The new Bangalore airport was glitzy and all I could contemplate staring at the café was how steaming and not baking was the more prominent technique for cooking most of the southern food varieties. I must admit it may not turn out to quite be the grand tour since I only had a loose idea of my itinerary and hardly any reservations. Be that as it may, it was quite unlike me to be as bland as I was on the eve of my vacation.
A minor crisis at work, business visitors who landed at the last minute, some strong suggestions that I re-plan my vacation - all made it seem like I might not embark on the trip after all. There were a few colleagues who were recovering from chicken pox and I had this strange conviction that I was going to get it. And then two days before I left came the swine flu news. I was flying to Europe where there were already known cases. The year before, I had cancelled my tickets due to a death in the family. And with all the other factors, it was probably my brain gearing up for the possibility of not making this trip.
Whatever the reasons may be I found it disconcerting that I was heading out on this trip without an ounce of thrill. It was completely opposite to the way I had felt before my UK trip. I had done my cursory browsing and I did have a single map of western Europe with lines criss-crossing. My visa allowed me to visit multiple countries and I had about two weeks worth of holidays and a mind willing to brush economic concerns aside for later.
The fifteen minutes I had spent on the map, as soon as I had booked my tickets had lines from Austria to Portugal to Norway with everything in between. To paraphrase Emperor Joseph from "Amadeus", I just had to cut a few lines and it would be perfect.
When they announced the flight was ready for departure it finally seemed to sink in a bit. I was really inside the plane - no over booking, nothing wrong with my ticket or passport.
I boarded, ate the airplane food and promptly went to sleep with some vague appreciation about the legroom available. Europe here I come.
I was sitting on a chair amidst a lot of business travelers in the crowded lounge. The new Bangalore airport was glitzy and all I could contemplate staring at the café was how steaming and not baking was the more prominent technique for cooking most of the southern food varieties. I must admit it may not turn out to quite be the grand tour since I only had a loose idea of my itinerary and hardly any reservations. Be that as it may, it was quite unlike me to be as bland as I was on the eve of my vacation.
A minor crisis at work, business visitors who landed at the last minute, some strong suggestions that I re-plan my vacation - all made it seem like I might not embark on the trip after all. There were a few colleagues who were recovering from chicken pox and I had this strange conviction that I was going to get it. And then two days before I left came the swine flu news. I was flying to Europe where there were already known cases. The year before, I had cancelled my tickets due to a death in the family. And with all the other factors, it was probably my brain gearing up for the possibility of not making this trip.
Whatever the reasons may be I found it disconcerting that I was heading out on this trip without an ounce of thrill. It was completely opposite to the way I had felt before my UK trip. I had done my cursory browsing and I did have a single map of western Europe with lines criss-crossing. My visa allowed me to visit multiple countries and I had about two weeks worth of holidays and a mind willing to brush economic concerns aside for later.
The fifteen minutes I had spent on the map, as soon as I had booked my tickets had lines from Austria to Portugal to Norway with everything in between. To paraphrase Emperor Joseph from "Amadeus", I just had to cut a few lines and it would be perfect.
When they announced the flight was ready for departure it finally seemed to sink in a bit. I was really inside the plane - no over booking, nothing wrong with my ticket or passport.
I boarded, ate the airplane food and promptly went to sleep with some vague appreciation about the legroom available. Europe here I come.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Jay ho
Now that the manic coverage of Slumdog Millionnaire is over I at last feel I can say a word or two about the movie and ofcourse ARR - Rahman continues to surprise me with his humility.
Of course almost all commentators went on to say this was not his best work - I was surprised about the vehemence and uniformity of the comment. Granted 'Jai ho' may not be the most pleasing song of Rahman's composition - but isn't that irrelevant? Oscars are given for a particular subset of movies - and in that subset perhaps this song was the best - I find it strange that instead of judging the song within that frame most people were talking about his compositions from ten years ago. It was also extremely unfair to write-off the beautiful background score as the children flee the policaman, during the riots etc..
And we also had our Shobha De and other commentators who felt Slumdog was not an Indian movie and there was no need for us to feel thrilled but went on to say we should be happy about 'Smile Pinky' winning. That logic did stump me quite a bit.
Slumdog is often clever, sometimes irritating, once disgusting, at times disturbing and occassionally boring - there is the clever premise, brilliant screenplay and great direction but somehow it is quite forgettable. In that sense it is in good company with other big oscar winners.
Of course almost all commentators went on to say this was not his best work - I was surprised about the vehemence and uniformity of the comment. Granted 'Jai ho' may not be the most pleasing song of Rahman's composition - but isn't that irrelevant? Oscars are given for a particular subset of movies - and in that subset perhaps this song was the best - I find it strange that instead of judging the song within that frame most people were talking about his compositions from ten years ago. It was also extremely unfair to write-off the beautiful background score as the children flee the policaman, during the riots etc..
And we also had our Shobha De and other commentators who felt Slumdog was not an Indian movie and there was no need for us to feel thrilled but went on to say we should be happy about 'Smile Pinky' winning. That logic did stump me quite a bit.
Slumdog is often clever, sometimes irritating, once disgusting, at times disturbing and occassionally boring - there is the clever premise, brilliant screenplay and great direction but somehow it is quite forgettable. In that sense it is in good company with other big oscar winners.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Women characters of Sujatha
When I read that novel by Sujatha with that hotshot business tycoon Vairavan, I thought 'nice, but unlikely to happen in real life'. And here we have the Satyam saga.
That novel is only one of the many where I ended up disappointed with the female character. Most of the women characters of Sujatha are either slightly dumb or worthy of pity. No doubt one feels extremely sorry for his 'Renuka' or his 'Vidya' from 'Pen yendiram'. But those are few and far between. Most of the female characters are instead irritating and oddly too idiotic.
Take for example lawyer Gannesh - the intellectual dimension that Sujatha brings to that character or that charming rogue Vasanth, who can forget dashing JK - lovable and impressive characterization.
I am unable to reconcile that to the complete lack of similarly strong women. An avid Sujatha reader might point out 'Nithya' of 'Vaiymaye vellum' or 'Nirupama' of 'Edayum orumurai'. But I personally think both characters are quite one-dimensional. They don't have the depth of thought and extensiveness that his strong male characters have. The only two female characters that show minor shades of intellect are both dead before we meet them.
I wonder why.
That novel is only one of the many where I ended up disappointed with the female character. Most of the women characters of Sujatha are either slightly dumb or worthy of pity. No doubt one feels extremely sorry for his 'Renuka' or his 'Vidya' from 'Pen yendiram'. But those are few and far between. Most of the female characters are instead irritating and oddly too idiotic.
Take for example lawyer Gannesh - the intellectual dimension that Sujatha brings to that character or that charming rogue Vasanth, who can forget dashing JK - lovable and impressive characterization.
I am unable to reconcile that to the complete lack of similarly strong women. An avid Sujatha reader might point out 'Nithya' of 'Vaiymaye vellum' or 'Nirupama' of 'Edayum orumurai'. But I personally think both characters are quite one-dimensional. They don't have the depth of thought and extensiveness that his strong male characters have. The only two female characters that show minor shades of intellect are both dead before we meet them.
I wonder why.
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