The indication was clear - I am an idiot when it comes to packing. We were in Switzerland and I did not possess a single jacket. I showed up that morning on my thin T-shirt and after laughing her head off VA got me and SR a couple of jackets. SS had packed appropriate clothes as usual and finally with warm idlis in our bellies we were set for the Swiss mountains.
Large water bodies, picture postcard small towns, acres and acres of green lawns continued on. How hopeful greenery makes one feel!
My vague recollections from Geography books told me almost 60% of Switzerland was covered by the mountains. We arrived in Engleberg to a fantastic view of the towering snow covered mountain ranges. Clearly all the tour operators from India brought their brood here - the multi language welcome board had its hindi representation and there were a lot of Kesari travel buses in the bus port. We got a ticket and spend the next hour or so in the cable car admiring the snow covered mountain side as we slowly went up and up and away. The three part ride lived up to its expectation and we arrived in the Glacier park. We wandered about for a while and then decided to take the Ice Flyer trip.
Four of us were seated in one chairlift and within seconds of us moving out, the belt like handle flew up in the air. Perched perilously on the edge of the long chair, I realized with a jolt that if I stumbled I would meet a snowy death. What should have been a simple ride, due to the high winds and lack of handle turned to be more thrilling than necessary. It gave a feeling of being open to the elements with no protection whatsoever and the thick snow sparkled mocking my insignificance. It was a beautiful ride in an awe-inspiring way. One day I will learn skiing I told myself..
After the flyer we wandered into the Glacier park and tumbled about in the snow simply enjoying the rare scene. There was a tube ride which seemed to involve sitting in a tire like thing and hurtling down in great gathering speed towards the edge of abyss. SS went first before I could even think followed by everyone else. They were closing down and there was no time to think so
I hopped into one the predominant thought in mind being if the wind is slightly higher I am going to fly over the edge. Incongruently the only image that was in mind was of Calvin and Hobbes in their little snow vehicle. The rush and thrill was awesome and I felt thoroughly accomplished. The words of DH Lawrence [post title] kept echoing in my mind.
I vaguely remembered Byron and Shelly living in Switzerland and tried to recollect some work of Byron mentioning the mountains but couldn't.
The quite evening was spent in the park and I went to bed thinking of the beauty, but more than the beauty the reverence nature inspires in oneself. Sleep didn't come easily that night as the images of snow and grasslands and mountains and cows kept flashing in a montage beneath my lids.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Day 8 : Nien, nien
According to my original plan we were supposed to have started from Amsterdam late night on Day 7 and arrived half way in Germany. But we were tired and were now behind in our itinerary. We had two choices, skip Germany and take on Italy or skip Italy and spend time in Germany. There was a unanimous vote for Italy and so we caught an early train towards Zurich.
I persuaded everyone to take a short detour to Koln first just to get a feel for the city and then we hopped on a slow moving train to Koblenz. The Rhine river I had read had a lot of interesting sites from Koblenz so we decided to catch another slow train from Koblenz to Mainz or Frankfurt. We sat merrily chatting in the train observing the passing scenes. It seemed more industrial staying true to the stereotype images except when the train passed small towns with beautiful churches.
In the compartment was a lady who asked us where all we have been, where we were from etc., and a gentleman who was sitting in a corner not talking to us. I thought he looked very stern, sort of didn't like us brown skinned people invading his quiet compartment. A station flashed past and I told everyone next stop was Koblenz. We all moved near the door and stood there chatting as the train rolled into a small station. We all got down in a hurry and I had a strange feeling - the station was too small and really no one else got down. I tried to look for some sort of a sign when the man from the compartment came running to the door and said in broken English - "Thiz iz not Koblenz, Nien, Nien". He held out his hand as we stared appalled that the train was going to move. He urged us to get back on pointing to the guard who was still watching us. I understood the train wont move half way when we were boarding back and we clambered in, much relieved. We thanked him of course, I am sure he went home to tell the story shaking his head all the time.
We spent a few minutes in Koblenz sitting by a fountain having ice cream and then eventually caught the next train. From Koblenz to Frankfurt was spent spotting castles. Rick Steves's company has these number signs along the river which makes it easy to turn around and look for the castle on the hills. I had read through the history behind most of the castles and though I didn't remember the bulk of it, we all had a lot of fun with everyone else pulling my leg. 'This one must be the feuding brothers and this one the robber baron etc. etc.'
We arrived in Zurich, ate dinner and crashed to sleep. I vaguely was uneasy about booking hotels in Italy but the breeze from the open window and the occasional sound of the tram lulled me to sleep.
I persuaded everyone to take a short detour to Koln first just to get a feel for the city and then we hopped on a slow moving train to Koblenz. The Rhine river I had read had a lot of interesting sites from Koblenz so we decided to catch another slow train from Koblenz to Mainz or Frankfurt. We sat merrily chatting in the train observing the passing scenes. It seemed more industrial staying true to the stereotype images except when the train passed small towns with beautiful churches.
In the compartment was a lady who asked us where all we have been, where we were from etc., and a gentleman who was sitting in a corner not talking to us. I thought he looked very stern, sort of didn't like us brown skinned people invading his quiet compartment. A station flashed past and I told everyone next stop was Koblenz. We all moved near the door and stood there chatting as the train rolled into a small station. We all got down in a hurry and I had a strange feeling - the station was too small and really no one else got down. I tried to look for some sort of a sign when the man from the compartment came running to the door and said in broken English - "Thiz iz not Koblenz, Nien, Nien". He held out his hand as we stared appalled that the train was going to move. He urged us to get back on pointing to the guard who was still watching us. I understood the train wont move half way when we were boarding back and we clambered in, much relieved. We thanked him of course, I am sure he went home to tell the story shaking his head all the time.
We spent a few minutes in Koblenz sitting by a fountain having ice cream and then eventually caught the next train. From Koblenz to Frankfurt was spent spotting castles. Rick Steves's company has these number signs along the river which makes it easy to turn around and look for the castle on the hills. I had read through the history behind most of the castles and though I didn't remember the bulk of it, we all had a lot of fun with everyone else pulling my leg. 'This one must be the feuding brothers and this one the robber baron etc. etc.'
We arrived in Zurich, ate dinner and crashed to sleep. I vaguely was uneasy about booking hotels in Italy but the breeze from the open window and the occasional sound of the tram lulled me to sleep.
Day 7 : Too much sugar
I wanted a break. I was not feeling up to sightseeing that day and my brain wanted a rest. But of course, it was simply not done when you have limited time and money. Dutifully pulling myself I got ready for the day. By now, we had found a Pizza place which sold some sort of breakfast breads with cheese and veggies in it and we predictably went there.
We were going to go to Keukenhof that day. Kilometeres of walking paths, millions of tulips, beautiful colors I had read again and again in the brochures. But I must admit I was only mildly curious. It was the same person who designed Vondelpark that designed Keukenhof, I vaguely remembered. The girls in the traditional dress at the entrance and the large wooden shoes were naturally a photo-op.
We wandered in and while the rest of the party oohed and aahed about the flowers I was only mildly impressed. It felt like the feeling one gets after eating too much sugar. It was all a blur of multi colored flowers with only two things standing out - one, I was besieged by yawns and two the straw bale seats with the nice headrest. It is intriguing how we had spent such a long time in the park and everyone else in our party enjoyed it much but I don't have much to write. I really tried hard to whip up some enthusiasm about the varieties of tulip flowers but failed miserably. If I knew the details about how many people worked, what they exported where, what happens during the rest of the year, I might have liked it better.
We wandered for a long time in the gardens, bought knickknacks in the shops and then post lunch decided to go to Zaanse Schans. We lost the way somewhere in between causing some concern about if the attraction had any closing time, but came back to Hoorn and managed to get to Koog Zandijk with lots of time to spare.
The mills were obviously the first attraction - no doubt it is my romantic view point, but I love seeing old mechanical inventions at work. Like the astronomical observations that human beings of yester-eras excelled in, each mechanical marvel such as these windmills never ceases to amaze me. These were original windmills from all over Netherlands that had worked hard for men harnessing the power of nature to make oil and paint and many things more - I wish we had continued down that path than the detour with petroleum.
The museum or was it a craft shop of shoes and then another one with cheese was thoroughly interesting. There were hundreds of clogs from a giant size to miniatures. I was wondering if it was possible to actually walk in those clogs - sort of reminded me of the Indian style wooden sandals. The cheese shop had a live demonstration and a variety of cheese for sales.
The buildings restored and 'displayed' as a tourist attraction was a great idea - I wished they would think of something like that for all the old bungalows in south India. We do not have a great respect for old buildings in our country.
I chose a delft [imitation no doubt] souvenir. The rich doctor heroes of Betty Neels stories invariably had original delftware in their houses. Many of them came from Friesland too I thought looking about.
After a while we strolled out, I was interviewed by some kids for a school project - an American with an unmistakable southern accent told them 'Be cool, stay in school'. I laughed and complimented him on his rhyming skills.
We traveled back to the hotel, tired.
I was reflecting on the town of Haarlem and other names that many American cities originally had , colonial times and those seafaring men of those bygone years as I lay in bed. My dreams were full of ships and battles.
We were going to go to Keukenhof that day. Kilometeres of walking paths, millions of tulips, beautiful colors I had read again and again in the brochures. But I must admit I was only mildly curious. It was the same person who designed Vondelpark that designed Keukenhof, I vaguely remembered. The girls in the traditional dress at the entrance and the large wooden shoes were naturally a photo-op.
We wandered in and while the rest of the party oohed and aahed about the flowers I was only mildly impressed. It felt like the feeling one gets after eating too much sugar. It was all a blur of multi colored flowers with only two things standing out - one, I was besieged by yawns and two the straw bale seats with the nice headrest. It is intriguing how we had spent such a long time in the park and everyone else in our party enjoyed it much but I don't have much to write. I really tried hard to whip up some enthusiasm about the varieties of tulip flowers but failed miserably. If I knew the details about how many people worked, what they exported where, what happens during the rest of the year, I might have liked it better.
We wandered for a long time in the gardens, bought knickknacks in the shops and then post lunch decided to go to Zaanse Schans. We lost the way somewhere in between causing some concern about if the attraction had any closing time, but came back to Hoorn and managed to get to Koog Zandijk with lots of time to spare.
The mills were obviously the first attraction - no doubt it is my romantic view point, but I love seeing old mechanical inventions at work. Like the astronomical observations that human beings of yester-eras excelled in, each mechanical marvel such as these windmills never ceases to amaze me. These were original windmills from all over Netherlands that had worked hard for men harnessing the power of nature to make oil and paint and many things more - I wish we had continued down that path than the detour with petroleum.
The museum or was it a craft shop of shoes and then another one with cheese was thoroughly interesting. There were hundreds of clogs from a giant size to miniatures. I was wondering if it was possible to actually walk in those clogs - sort of reminded me of the Indian style wooden sandals. The cheese shop had a live demonstration and a variety of cheese for sales.
The buildings restored and 'displayed' as a tourist attraction was a great idea - I wished they would think of something like that for all the old bungalows in south India. We do not have a great respect for old buildings in our country.
I chose a delft [imitation no doubt] souvenir. The rich doctor heroes of Betty Neels stories invariably had original delftware in their houses. Many of them came from Friesland too I thought looking about.
After a while we strolled out, I was interviewed by some kids for a school project - an American with an unmistakable southern accent told them 'Be cool, stay in school'. I laughed and complimented him on his rhyming skills.
We traveled back to the hotel, tired.
I was reflecting on the town of Haarlem and other names that many American cities originally had , colonial times and those seafaring men of those bygone years as I lay in bed. My dreams were full of ships and battles.
Day 6 : Sun washed landscapes
The day was unexpectedly cool and we walked out of the hotel looking for something to eat. We had to settle for a warm cheese bread of sorts enough to fortify us in our quest for the bus stop. The funniest moment was when a south asian looking man couldn't respond to us in English (obviously he spoke dutch) but was able to give us the direction in broken Hindi.
After some discussion, due to the weather we decided someplace indoors was a good idea. We arrived at Van Gogh museum as the lines were beginning to form outside. We were ushered in, on time to hear the announcements there was a special show of some select paintings that had come from New York.
The way Van Gogh's name is pronounced is very different from what I was used to and became an amusing pastime to practice the guttural sounds until we got the tickets and walked in.
I had read some where Van Gogh's paintings on starry nights invoked a sense of peace - on the contrary I felt (more so of the starry night above the sleepy town than the starry night over the Rhone) to be disturbing. I found the twirls and circles more indicative of a sleepless turmoil filled night than peace. There must be something wrong with me. Kandinsky's supposedly depressing picture makes me feel better and this one makes me disturbed.
It was not the colors of the night that attracted me, it was the sun washed fields that had me spellbound. The golden sun sometimes bright in its late afternoon might, sometimes casting long shadows over the wheat fields, sometimes behind a mild cloudy screen - I could simply not move away. The light and the warmth of the colors!
It was quite draining to go to any other place after the morning in the museum. We wandered a while and then came to the canal cruise and decided to take it. Amsterdam had more canals than Venice they announced on the system and stopped at a view point of multiple bridges and everyone dutifully clicked pictures. Tourists!
The Canal ride had many worthy sights including Anne Frank's house but it was the maritime museum that caught my attention. Circa 1750, I thought as the cruise brought us to the sea, this would have been filled with ships from the Dutch East India Company. Did they talk over a drink talk about the Dutch defeat in the hands of Marthanda Varma? I idly wondered the whatif scenarios - would I be blogging in Dutch if not for Robert Clive. I figured not, it would have been French.
It was a cool day and I could only think of Betty Neels sitting on that boat, remembering the various cliched scenes from her romance novels of the heroine walking on one of these small alleys comes upon a magnificent house or should I simply say mansion and finds that the hero lives there.
After the cruise we went looking for lunch and came upon a square with many shops. A giant chess board painted on the floor with many life size pieces caught our attention and we watched a game for sometime. Afterwards we dragged ourselves to a noodle bar and had leisurely lunch.
It was getting somewhat cold by then but not wanting to miss a stroll in the park we went to Vondelpark. We spent a leisurely hour strolling about, sitting by the pond, listening to a guitarist play, taking pictures. I vaguely felt I ought to retire stay in a place like this and paint pictures and day dream.
We had burgers and juice and spent some time shopping for books and music. I spied a shop that said magic mushroom and considered the idea for a couple of minutes but decided the rest of the party was too straitlaced for that. I made a mental note to look up the effects of such a permissible society. Prostitutes will have to undergo a psychiatric consultation before they get the license the morning paper had had a news item. Does the ability to monitor and regulate control or bring down illegal trafficking? I am sure there is enough debate in the internet.
Tired by now, we came back to the hotel. NT my colleague invited us for dinner and we went with much alacrity thrilled that GT, his wife had made us Rice, Sambar and all other Indian goodies. On the way we stopped by the lake, calm and peaceful.
I bemoaned the loss of such wide open spaces with so much water in my part of the world as I slept fitfully that evening.
After some discussion, due to the weather we decided someplace indoors was a good idea. We arrived at Van Gogh museum as the lines were beginning to form outside. We were ushered in, on time to hear the announcements there was a special show of some select paintings that had come from New York.
The way Van Gogh's name is pronounced is very different from what I was used to and became an amusing pastime to practice the guttural sounds until we got the tickets and walked in.
I had read some where Van Gogh's paintings on starry nights invoked a sense of peace - on the contrary I felt (more so of the starry night above the sleepy town than the starry night over the Rhone) to be disturbing. I found the twirls and circles more indicative of a sleepless turmoil filled night than peace. There must be something wrong with me. Kandinsky's supposedly depressing picture makes me feel better and this one makes me disturbed.
It was not the colors of the night that attracted me, it was the sun washed fields that had me spellbound. The golden sun sometimes bright in its late afternoon might, sometimes casting long shadows over the wheat fields, sometimes behind a mild cloudy screen - I could simply not move away. The light and the warmth of the colors!
It was quite draining to go to any other place after the morning in the museum. We wandered a while and then came to the canal cruise and decided to take it. Amsterdam had more canals than Venice they announced on the system and stopped at a view point of multiple bridges and everyone dutifully clicked pictures. Tourists!
The Canal ride had many worthy sights including Anne Frank's house but it was the maritime museum that caught my attention. Circa 1750, I thought as the cruise brought us to the sea, this would have been filled with ships from the Dutch East India Company. Did they talk over a drink talk about the Dutch defeat in the hands of Marthanda Varma? I idly wondered the whatif scenarios - would I be blogging in Dutch if not for Robert Clive. I figured not, it would have been French.
It was a cool day and I could only think of Betty Neels sitting on that boat, remembering the various cliched scenes from her romance novels of the heroine walking on one of these small alleys comes upon a magnificent house or should I simply say mansion and finds that the hero lives there.
After the cruise we went looking for lunch and came upon a square with many shops. A giant chess board painted on the floor with many life size pieces caught our attention and we watched a game for sometime. Afterwards we dragged ourselves to a noodle bar and had leisurely lunch.
It was getting somewhat cold by then but not wanting to miss a stroll in the park we went to Vondelpark. We spent a leisurely hour strolling about, sitting by the pond, listening to a guitarist play, taking pictures. I vaguely felt I ought to retire stay in a place like this and paint pictures and day dream.
We had burgers and juice and spent some time shopping for books and music. I spied a shop that said magic mushroom and considered the idea for a couple of minutes but decided the rest of the party was too straitlaced for that. I made a mental note to look up the effects of such a permissible society. Prostitutes will have to undergo a psychiatric consultation before they get the license the morning paper had had a news item. Does the ability to monitor and regulate control or bring down illegal trafficking? I am sure there is enough debate in the internet.
Tired by now, we came back to the hotel. NT my colleague invited us for dinner and we went with much alacrity thrilled that GT, his wife had made us Rice, Sambar and all other Indian goodies. On the way we stopped by the lake, calm and peaceful.
I bemoaned the loss of such wide open spaces with so much water in my part of the world as I slept fitfully that evening.
Day 5: Waffles, Hercule?
We bid au revoir to Paris the next morning and headed for Amsterdam with a stop over in Belgium.
An old man walking in stilts oddly with a broom greeted us at the station after our fast Thalys journey across the border to Brussels. We deposited our luggage in a locker and ventured out to a fine morning.
SR prefers to walk whenever he goes to a new city and armed with my map I declared I had found a way to walk down to the Grand Place. However as we continued on I noticed the shops mostly selling electric spare parts and halal meat, the street had a distinct Arabic feel to it. Through the interesting, rather circuitous route we arrived at our first destination. Waffles!
Being a vegetarian whenever I am travelling, I can only read up on the local gourmet food and not really get to enjoy it. From time to time there are exceptions - like the Gingerbread in the lake district, the Baguette in France and the Waffles in Belgium. I settled against a shutter with a lot of graffiti, the warm Belgian waffles from the waffle factory in my hand. The thick waffle oozing with strawberry and whipped cream was delicious to the last spoon. I got reminded of the crepe like pancake a Bosnian colleague's mother made long time ago.
I can't remember if my first introduction to Belgium is through Tin Tin or Hercule Poirot. While I have read a few Tin Tin, my favorite of the two by a very very long shot is Poirot. I believe I must have read 90% of the books with the Belgian detective with the egg shaped head. Much to my disappointment I saw more Tin Tin references than Poirot. The best was the building with a painted fire escape down which life size Tin Tin and Captain Haddock came rushing down.
We strolled along towards Grote Market. No wonder it is a UNESCO heritage site I saw with awe at the buildings surrounding the square. The buildings I had read were of different architectural style yet, there was harmony and a romantic, renaissance feel to it. I walked by the Guildhalls clicking pictures here and there fascinated by the different guild names. I clicked more pictures of the statues of what I presumed to be assorted angels and saints and then the gilded statue of St.Michael.
I tried to lecture about the history of Belgian revolution and the connection between Queen Victoria and the Belgium but the rest of the party was more interested in seeing the Manneken Pis. The statue did not have any costume on the day we went and was at his irreverent best. Forgetting the many stories around why the statue was there, I wondered why people still flock to take pictures of the statue of little naked boy urinating into the fountain. I am sure there is some Freudian psychological significance.
All the way to Belgium and how can we leave without buying chocolates. We spent the next few minutes in a Godiva shop buying and then immediately eating chocolates.
We walked back to the station, settled for a subway sandwich for lunch and caught the train to Amsterdam.
The train slowly moved out and with complete shock I saw the red light district with the window girls in their skimpy dresses. I was not sure what the emotion was - anger, pity?
We arrived in Amsterdam later that day. Rain clouds and unexpected chillness in the air greeted us. We ambled on, figured the bus out for slotermeerlan and called it a day.
I contemplated the permissive society and its impacts as I yawned.
An old man walking in stilts oddly with a broom greeted us at the station after our fast Thalys journey across the border to Brussels. We deposited our luggage in a locker and ventured out to a fine morning.
SR prefers to walk whenever he goes to a new city and armed with my map I declared I had found a way to walk down to the Grand Place. However as we continued on I noticed the shops mostly selling electric spare parts and halal meat, the street had a distinct Arabic feel to it. Through the interesting, rather circuitous route we arrived at our first destination. Waffles!
Being a vegetarian whenever I am travelling, I can only read up on the local gourmet food and not really get to enjoy it. From time to time there are exceptions - like the Gingerbread in the lake district, the Baguette in France and the Waffles in Belgium. I settled against a shutter with a lot of graffiti, the warm Belgian waffles from the waffle factory in my hand. The thick waffle oozing with strawberry and whipped cream was delicious to the last spoon. I got reminded of the crepe like pancake a Bosnian colleague's mother made long time ago.
I can't remember if my first introduction to Belgium is through Tin Tin or Hercule Poirot. While I have read a few Tin Tin, my favorite of the two by a very very long shot is Poirot. I believe I must have read 90% of the books with the Belgian detective with the egg shaped head. Much to my disappointment I saw more Tin Tin references than Poirot. The best was the building with a painted fire escape down which life size Tin Tin and Captain Haddock came rushing down.
We strolled along towards Grote Market. No wonder it is a UNESCO heritage site I saw with awe at the buildings surrounding the square. The buildings I had read were of different architectural style yet, there was harmony and a romantic, renaissance feel to it. I walked by the Guildhalls clicking pictures here and there fascinated by the different guild names. I clicked more pictures of the statues of what I presumed to be assorted angels and saints and then the gilded statue of St.Michael.
I tried to lecture about the history of Belgian revolution and the connection between Queen Victoria and the Belgium but the rest of the party was more interested in seeing the Manneken Pis. The statue did not have any costume on the day we went and was at his irreverent best. Forgetting the many stories around why the statue was there, I wondered why people still flock to take pictures of the statue of little naked boy urinating into the fountain. I am sure there is some Freudian psychological significance.
All the way to Belgium and how can we leave without buying chocolates. We spent the next few minutes in a Godiva shop buying and then immediately eating chocolates.
We walked back to the station, settled for a subway sandwich for lunch and caught the train to Amsterdam.
The train slowly moved out and with complete shock I saw the red light district with the window girls in their skimpy dresses. I was not sure what the emotion was - anger, pity?
We arrived in Amsterdam later that day. Rain clouds and unexpected chillness in the air greeted us. We ambled on, figured the bus out for slotermeerlan and called it a day.
I contemplated the permissive society and its impacts as I yawned.
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