Road Tripper

Book review: “River of Smoke” – Amitav Ghosh

2011-07-24T22:44:00.004+02:00

Why do we call sugar “chinee” in Hindi? How did we ever land up with “post-cards” and ketchup? Did you know that we Desis were called “Achhas”? Achha, so the origin of the word chinee is because in the late 1700 and early 1800 the Dominion of India imported sugar exclusively from China. Ketchup, brace for this, is apparently a Chinese export from the 1800’s. At least the concept of Ketchup. And well, post cards were more or less a manifestation of Europe’s questionable obsession with “authentic” Chinese porcelain. Mr. Ghosh peppers his vivid description of the events in Canton (now Guangzhou, China) leading to the opium war in China with these pearls of “wisdom”. Speaking of pearls, do you want to know why the murky and definitely pearl-less river flowing through Guangzhou is called Pearl river? Haha, I won’t tell.

Mr. Ghosh starts his narration on the islands of Mauritius, which, if you’ve read the Sea of Poppies will recall was the final destination of the Ibis. The scene rapidly shifts to the South China sea where the script erupts into apparently disconnected, yet gripping threads of parallel narration. Very Pulp-fictionsque. The vivid narration effortlessly transports the impressionable reader back in time to Canton of 1838 and lets him experience the unraveling of the story as an active participant.

One thread features Neel, disguised as a Munshi of an Indian Tai-pan. One takes the form of the colourful correspondence of a gifted and seemingly gay Anglo-Indian artist looking to step out of the shadow of his famous father. Yet another takes the form the Indian Tai-pan stumbling in an opium laced haze of his own creation, or perhaps he attempts to navigate through his own river of smoke. The threads converge towards an event which sows the seeds of the opium war, and in this convergence I suspect Mr. Ghosh has planted the seeds of the next volume. Perhaps cricket and theater. Perhaps.

Mr. Ghosh makes a statement which could as well reflect today’s state of the economy:

That is correct, Your Majesty. Since the middle years of the last century, the demand for Chinese tea has grown at such a pace in Britain and America that it is now the principal source of profit for the East India Company. The taxes on it account for fully one tenth of Britain’s revenues. If one adds to this such goods as silk, porcelain and lacquerware it becomes clear that the European demand for Chinese products is insatiable. In China on the other hand, there is little interest in European exports – the Chinese are a people who believe that their own products, like their food and their own customs, are superior to all others.

Except that these days the Chinese people have an insatiable appetite for all that is remotely European.

If you have read James Clavell’s Tai-Pan, then I must urge you to read the River of Smoke. As an impressionable teenager I read Tai-Pan, and fell instantly in love with Hong Kong. And the two times I’ve been to Hong Kong, those feelings clouded my judgment and yours truly could not help but warming up to the place. (Forget that it is humid and hot like my other beloved city – Bombay) I confess, I don’t remember the story anymore, but this book reminded me why I was fascinated by Hong Kong. Tai-Pan narrated the story of the south china sea territories post the opium wars, and the river of smoke the story before.

I have never waited so eagerly for a book as I have for this one, that I was surprised by my own behaviour when I was presented with the opportunity of picking up a copy in Hong Kong earlier this year. I must admit, I was caught unawares of its publication, until I accidentally saw it on the book shelf. Having seen it on the bookshelf, I resisted temptation with the logic that I could pick up a copy as easily on my return to Bangalore. It was at best misplaced prudence, for on returning to Bangalore, I discovered to my utter dismay that the book was yet to be released in India and that the bookshops were very cleverly allowing eager readers to “pre-order” the novel. What is with that? huh? Anyways, I got lucky, and could finally lay my hands on the much awaited book a couple of weeks ago. The other book I was reading was unceremoniously retired to my ever increasing backlog of “to-read” books and this book received my undivided attention. I swear, I didn’t keep it down unless I absolutely had to. My one regret, is that now in hind sight I wished I had picked up this book in Hong Kong. It would have been a little bit more special than it it is now. However, now I eagerly await the last of the trilogy, whenever it is published – my bet sometime in 2014 or late 2013.

Agashiye, Ahmedabad: Restaurant Review

2011-06-25T11:13:00.009+02:00

Ahemadabad is situated on the banks of the river Sabarmati, and every time i set foot in Ahemdabad I am reminded that I am but a lesser soul treading this earth. But then, remembering Gandhi and his legendary Sabarmati ashram can be quite humbling. The abject poverty of his countrymen made the man embrace austerity and urge the rest of the privileged “class” to do the same. Today’s Ahemdabad is a spectacular contradiction to his ideas, and Agashiye is the perfect example of the excess he preached against. Not that we are complaining. No. Never.

The restaurant is located on the top floor of the heritage hotel - “The house of MG”, bang opposite the exquisite Sidi Saiyad Jali, definitely worth a visit, near Lal Darwaja in the heart of the old city. Now do not be confused by the “MG” in the name, it has nothing to do with Mahatma Gandhi. By some coincidence the late owner of this “haveli” was a one Mangaldas Giridhardas. Not that the present management is trying to milk the other “MG” “brand value”. No sir. Never.

There are around 10 parking spots in the hotel – i mean the ones that I could see, may be there are others hidden somewhere else. I don’t know. The hotel also offers a valet parking service, so you really do not have to worry about parking – but you could worry about your valet parked vehicle in between dhoklas and khichidi. I mean that in a general anywhere in the world context, not just in an Ahemdabadi context. That said, as I was in Ahemdabad, the newspapers reported this curious case of a certain bank manager (or some non banking financial executive, what do I know about such things other than that he was, well, a suave conman like the rest of his ilk) stealing an Audi Q7 from the Ahemdabad Audi showroom. And, and, he used it for 3 months before he got caught. So, so, so, you know what i mean, right?

Once you are past the parking, you get to the cashier and request to be seated – ahem, yes, the cashier. You pay upfront. Before eating. I know! Like I was going to change my mind about paying after eating. No man. I am only known to walk out of restaurants after I see the menu, and before I order anything. How the hell did my reputation get ahead of me! dang. Anyways, after having confirmed to the clean shaven grinning face under the sparkling white Gandhi cap, that one would indeed dine at this fine restaurant, one is escorted in a lift to the upperest (I just invented that. We, upperest and me, will see you in the abridged Cambridge dictionary of the English language. Soon.) floor. I must admit, I was feeling like an out of place buffoon – I mean shorts, chappals, an old supersize and nearly torn t-shirt, no wonder they asked me to pay first. I was the perfect villager in a diamond shop.

At the top floor, one steps out into a terrace peppered with young palm trees and other greenery. The summer heat hit me. And then I realized that the hotel, obviously, is air conditioned. It did not feel like it was “chilled 15°C” air cooling, like it should be, but it was a very pleasant 24°C. This area is where the guests are entertained in the evenings (No. Not customers. Please. They are guests.) It was how the Indian National Congress met all those years ago, and how the Congress (Indira) meets today I guess. One is quickly ushered into another smaller, but air conditioned, room where the waiters in green kurtas, spotless white dhotis and smiling faces adorned sometimes with handlebar mustaches outnumber the tables and chairs put together. You do realize, that I did not have to navigate all by myself through the self explanatory maze. There was a staff member guiding me to my table all the time, least I get lost. I know.

We was handed over to a portly “Harisingh ji”, who took it upon himself to ensure that I would put on 5 kilograms in 20 minutes. First, “welcome ji” he said and presented me with a rose. I know. What the efff. Bali ka barka. I was waiting for the tikka ana arrati, but that did not happen. Thank god. Then the Aam ka panna and jal jera followed. The lunch comprised of unlimited helpings of “kadi”, “dal fry”, “avial” (yes avial, no kidding), and one more vegi dish which i do not know the name of, kachoris, rotis, parantas, kichdi, ghee, kulcha and jera rice. Every dish was promptly refilled the second you finished it. Even though there were more waiters than chairs, I never felt like they were waiting over my shoulder to refill my plate. I was reluctant to apply makkan to my kulchas, but Harisinghji insisted, “It is the only way to eat it sir. Belive me. Try it once.” and went on to empty one quarters of a cup on my kulcha. And boy. Was it heavenly or what?

After gorging on the yummy food for 20 minutes like a person from a famished land (attempting to do full paisa vasoolee yaar, come on!) my stomach was at its elastic limit, and just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, Harisinghji offered icecream – locally made mango icecream. “Totally organic sir. We make it here only sir. Very little sugar. Try a little bit”. I mean, really, you forgot that you paid money to be treated like a guest.

A very sleepy me then staggered to the overpriced handicraft shop on the ground floor to see anything caught my fancy. And they did. Overpriced. But still, the whole afternoon was one paisa vasool.

This is also a good place for those interested in the Ahemdabad night walk.

Ambience	10/10
Service	10/10
Food quality	8/10
Buffet price	Rs 450 + taxes

Website: http://www.houseofmg.com/agashiye.php?topid=Mg==

Ahemdabad night walk: http://www.houseofmg.com/nightwalk.htm

As the discerning reader would have no doubt deduced, yours truly is now diversifying his pointless blog to include restaurant reviews. Yay. How thrilling. Now let us all open a bottle of bubbly to celebrate this momentous occasion. As if sleep inducing accounts of his boring travels down the beaten path and book reviews of books which no one but him would dare to touch were not reason enough to… hmmm… well… you know, hurl a couple of rotten eggs his way while cursing him for wasting your valuable time. Well, now you have reason to collect some rotten tomatoes as well. Wow. How cool is that? Ha ha ha!

Pre flight check list

2011-01-02T22:14:00.002+01:00

After a rather long break from "travelling" the road tripper returns with a new episode of travel stupidity. He spends 3 months "planning" a trip, buys the "rough guide", gets the visa, buys the rather expensive airplane tickets, buys the new language phrase book, and generally spreads the word around in the facebook world that he is off on a rather exotic destination. The works huh? Yeah, but then, he conveniently forgets to read the rough guide, knows not a word of the new language, and wait for the almost epic fail - manages to misplace his only camera on the eve of the journey. Gaddamn.

Hey mister, it could have been worse. So typical of you to overreact. Have you forgotten already the short trips you made in the meanwhile? You could have lost your passport, or worse - the dog could have eaten it. Get a life man. Look at the positive side.

Yeah, don't worry peeps, the boy is sulking in the deep recess of this empty cranium. He'll be alright after his vacation. He'll be back. Soon. Promise.

Book Review: From Heaven Lake – Vikram Seth

2010-09-17T05:27:00.001+02:00

Twenty nine years ago is long time back. A whole life time ago. The world was divided into two major camps – The Capitalistic West and the Communist East. It was a crime to be communist in a capitalist world, and enterprising free markets were smothered in the communistic world. It was the last few heady years of the Cold War, when countries were recklessly boycotting Olympic games; shooting down each others passenger planes; training and arming people who would come back and haunt us twenty years later; and generally being spectacularly infantile.

In the midst of this mayhem, an Indian student travelled from Delhi (in India, a Non-Aligned Movement nation) to Stanford (in Capitalistic America) to study economics, and then rather incongruously chose to spend 2 years at Nanjing University (in Communistic China). If the China of then was a closed nation, then Tibet was an impregnable fortress. Fortified by the high walls of Chinese bureaucracy on one side and the dizzying Himalayan mountain range one the other side. That this Indian student hitch hiked and scaled his way through this treacherous terrain; stayed alive, took photographs and kept notes; and a couple of years later went on to write a book about this improbable journey; a book which won the “Thomas Cook Travel Book award” is an incredulous plot worthy of a Bollywood movie.

The first novel by Vikram Seth, which I read, was “An equal music”. A book so riveting, that I read it in the middle of my final year Engineering Examinations. It was my escape from reality. It touched on human emotions at a very raw and basic level. I loved the book. I could, for some unfathomable reason, connect with the characters. I wanted to feel their pain. They were to me more real than the equations and circuit diagrams flying around me. Surely a man who wrote such a book had to be a cocktail sipping pansy psychoanalyst.

Really. That is how I thought of him. That is, until I read “From heaven lake”. The characters are real. So is the story. For it is a narrative of what really transpired. Vikarm Seth transformed from that silk scarf wearing, pince-nez totting, cold psychoanalyst into a free spirited wild adventurer. My judgmental eyes pleaded guilty and begged for forgiveness.

The book in parts took me back to my days in China – I could relate again to the character. But I tell you, I was not brave enough to eat dog meat. His journey from Liuyan to Lhasa, in the driver’s cabin of a rickety old truck with a chain smoking driver, his nephew and a Tibetian hitch hiker for company, is regularly interrupted by floods, unplanned stopovers, stolen luggage picked up by unscrupulous truck drivers, altitude sickness, and passersby who stop and laugh at you, but not help, when you are hopelessly trying to fix your broken vehicle. This too reminded me of a rather strange holiday I had a few years ago. On which involved doing almost the same things, but on motorcycles, with a bunch of colleagues from University, on the Indian side of Tibet – in Leh. And of course that omnipresent Tibetian chant, “Om mani padme hun”.

How lucky he was, that he had a chance to see Tibet. At a time when it was still more of less forbidden for any foreigner to be there. How lucky we are that he was (and still is) also a gifted writer - we get to share his experience. In the grand scheme of things, a lot remains the same after 29 years in the Himalayas.

On a personal level, to learn about another great culture is to enrich one's life, to understand one's own country better, to feel more at home in the world, and indirectly to add to that reservoir of individual goodwill that may, generations from now, temper the cynical use of national power.

Amen to that Mr. Seth. Amen.

Goodbye Germany

2010-08-25T14:41:00.003+02:00

Panoramic view of the Bodensee, Konstanz

Before I came to Germany my expectations were not that high. I imagined I would make a clinical entry and an equally easy clinical exit. Focus on work, travel around a bit on the weekends, and indulge myself in the culinary delights of this part of the world. Period. It has been a year and half to the date since I first came here, and now that I am all set to leave, I can’t but help looking back to those early days and say, “You were so wrong!”

Unsurprisingly, the better part of the master plan was consigned to the rubbish bin. The weekend trips never really materialized, bar a few - one long weekend in Munich, one in Heidelberg, one spent camping at Belfort in France during FIMO, one too many in Zurich, an interesting one in Amsterdam, one in Ravensburg, a couple of day trips, a couple of hikes in the black forest and one little cycle ride around the Lake of Constance. Not bad, but I think I could’ve done more. If only. If only.

My friends tell me that I’ve seen only the “Disneyland” part of Germany, which is probably true, for Konstanz is a favorite tourist destination for many. The mesmerizing azure blue waters of the Bodensee can lure you into wasting sunny days at its banks, inviting you to take a dip in its pristine clear waters and stare at the Alps marking the boundary between heaven and earth. White in winter and dark bluish in summer. Why the hell did I ever work here? I will miss the view sorely.

The old quarters of Konstanz escaped the brutal Allied bombing raids of the second world war by keeping its lights on. The pilots confused it with a neighbouring Swiss town of Kreuzlingen, and so the homes from the 1300s survived here, while those in other German cities turned to rubble.

If I had a penny for every time someone asked me “What are the three things that come to your mind when you think of Germany”, I’d be a rich man. “Boris Becker, Schumacher and BMW” is I believe an unusual answer. The 2nd world war scarred not just the landscape of Germany, but continues to scar the German population. Yes. Even to this day. It is an emotion called guilt. On pavements you will find these little bronze cobblestones, with the names of people who lived on that street. The people who were sent to dreaded prison camps to meet a gruesome death. These recent installations are a symbolic gesture - a sober reminder of a gruesome past, for which the current generation is genuinely sorry. Even though it was (and is) in no way their fault.

Reminders of the past

Street protests in Stuttgart against German involvement in Afghanistan

The German language, I’ve been told, is a very exact language. It is supremely frustrating to learn. After months, you believe you have kind of sort of gotten a hang of it, and then bham, you are blown away with a new, until now unknown rule. And each rule of sentence construction is inevitably followed by a million exceptions to the same rule. Mark Twain found himself in the same conundrum about a 150 years ago, and wrote a comical account of his struggle with the language - “The Awful German language”. Still true. Still true today.

One of the low points in the life of an expatriate, is the feeling of loneliness. Far from home, family and friends, evenings can get melancholy and weekends utterly boring. Skype or Facebook offer but only a temporary escape from isolation. Been there, felt that, so I was expecting it, and totally not looking forward to it. However, in the course of these 18 months, I’ve seldom had those expected bouts of melancholy. I guess I got lucky, for I met some of the sweetest people I’ve known. They’ve taught me that there is more to Germany than fast cars, cuckoo clocks and good beer. I know I will miss them as much, if not more, as I have missed my friends from Bangalore. Thank you folks!

No matter how far we trudge along,
The world is small and our lives are long,
I know not, if again ever we will together break bread,
That hope alive in my heart, in this life I continue to tread.

Book review: Love Thy Neighbor – Peter Maass

2010-08-09T00:38:00.001+02:00

War is ugly. Period. This is one of those rare books which leave you with a bad taste in the mouth. Not because it is war porn (which it isn’t), it is because of the hypocritical nature in which the rest of the world responded to these events. Peter Mass spent 3 years reporting for the Washington Post a particularly ugly war – the Bosnian war. Those three years left over 200,000 people dead and brought “ethnic cleansing” to the living room – via TV.

He interviews refugees fleeing a marauding Serbian army and militia - they tell gut wrenching stories of abuse and torture. He talks to people on both sides of the “conflict”, and it is so easy to see who the bad guys were. If he saw it, and all the other reporters saw it then why did the governments not see it? He talks about the toothless UN force, how they unwittingly encouraged the Serbs to continue their atrocities. He talks about task force commanders not willing to see the truth, fabricating stories, and stonewalling the media. Sadly among those commanders is our own Lt. Gen. Satish Nambiar.

He visits detention centers comparable if not worse than Auschwitz. He talks to Serbs who have the guts to speak out against what their leader was doing, the talks to Serb soldiers who didn’t kill or rape and to those who did with unapologetic pleasure. He talks to a young doctor who performed surgery without sterilized tools or any anesthetic. He talks about how liberal Bosnians turned to more conservative strains of their religion. He discovers the reason why a husband and wife never step out of their apartment together, why they go to different churches on Christmas, why they are delighted to receive oranges as gifts. He befriends people only to lose them to the war.

He also interviews Slobodan Milosevic, the slick power hungry goon of a President who singlehandedly triggered the collapse of Yugoslavia. He pokes holes and points out the absurdity of the Serbian propaganda that Bosnians were the ones who were bombing themselves as well as the Serbs. He tells the stories of high ranking US officials who resigned in disgust, of young French soldiers who do not understand why they must stop and turn back children, women and old men who are trying to cross a thin strip of land into the safer territory. After confiscating their food and supplies.

Any notions that Maass is biased faded away rather quickly, as I read through the cases pending and decided by the ICTY - International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia. The cases of War Crimes pending trial, completed or pending appeal are available at website of the ICTY - http://www.icty.org/action/cases/4. After reading these cases you realize the absurdity of Lt. Gen. Satish Nambiar’s insistence that “he did not witness any genocide beyond killings and massacres on all sides that are typical of such conflict conditions”. He must have been truly blind. And we awarded him the Padma Bhushan on the 26th of January 2009. Another lesson in Hypocrisy.

Lt. Gen. Staish Nambair’s interview on BBC Hardtalk

After reading this book, I realize why it is so easy for the Taliban to recruit people. Maass hoped that his reporting could make a difference i.e. persuade the US/NATO to intervene or the UN to act as its should. They didn’t until it was too late, and when they did it was a half hearted attempt. Would there have been no Taliban had the US attacked and suppressed the Serbian aggression?

By telling the story of Bosnia, Maass, doesn’t want to take us on a guilt trip called introspection, he merely reminds us that within resides a wild beast capable of inflicting the worst on its own kind.

Book review: Maximum City by Suketu Mehta

2010-07-29T22:31:00.002+02:00

It stinks, yet everybody wants to be there. It is a place where one can arrive with nothing but the clothes on ones back, and within a lifetime amass enough wealth to last several generations. It is also a city which can shatter a runaway’s dream in a heartbeat. It is the city of glitz and glamour, of filth and grime. It is also a city which I remember mostly as the place where I learned to write and read, to fly kites, to play hockey, to ride bus, to cross streets, to walk so fast that it feels like running but isn’t, to catch tadpoles in the deluge that monsoon was sure to bring, and learned quite early on that men can and will kill in the name of religion.

So, when an opportunity comes up to read about my first “hometown” I don’t let it go by. A couple of years ago, an Australian by the pen name Gergory Roberts captured the minds (and hearts too?) of us Indians with his largely fictional, yet loosely-based-on-my-experiences-as-a-mafia-“money-runner” account of the Bombay of the 1980’s. The book left us thirsty for more. We were hungry for more stories about the horrid slums. Yes sir, poverty sells. A sequel was planned but never materialized. Or did it? Anyhoo, the next book that I read about Bombay, is completely non-fictional, i.e. 99.99% true, and is set in the early 1990’s. In my mind this is as good a sequel to Shantaram as can get.

Suketu Mehta, what is the right word…, embeds, no, not really, but almost embeds himself in the Mumbai underworld scene. He interviews a top cop – Ajay Sharma. And the cop tells him about the brutal methods the Mumbai cops use to extract confessions from dangerous men. Methods, which as you read, screams human rights abuse.

He interviews men who killed their neighours in the madness of 1992. Men who drenched men in gasoline, lit cigarettes and then casually threw those cigarettes on the gasoline drenched men, and let them burn. Not in some movie. In real life. Men who show no remorse in killing other human beings.

He tells us the truth behind encounter killings, the power of money, the power of the gun, the power that the cops had to do what the pleased, and of that none of these so called “sharp-shooters” were really that effective if the target was running or if the target was more than an arm’s length away. State sanctioned cold blooded murder.

He speaks to the certifiable nut case who called himself the supremo a.k.a. remote control. I need not say more about that lunatic pussy cat in the guise of a tiger. The author covers all the angles of the deranged, dysfunctional world of the Mumbai underworld, and he does so without prejudice, and without passing judgment.

He collaborates on movies, speaks to Sanjay Dutt who in turn speaks quite freely of his troubles with the law, and how he feels justified that his “drug fuelled” desire to protect his family resulted in keeping a couple of assault rifles handy.

The author also chronicles the life cycle of a dance bar girl (or is it a boy) and finds that where ever he goes he finds a magical Gujrathi connection. He chronicles the short stay of dreamy young poet from Bihar, and the bizarre journey of a family to attain spiritual enlightenment.

To sum up, it is a great book to read. I had no expectations, and was pleasantly surprised. I seem to pick the right books to read ;) Although, I admit, the book did not make me nostalgic or homesick. But, it drove home the point that, home is a place where you can go again, and you can also leave again. Thank you sir.

Reichenau and Back

2010-05-29T17:05:00.004+02:00

Bike route 514137 - powered by Bikemap

I have been a little lazy since the last bout of rebellion, and so, also conformed with the doc's orders i.e. no sport for 6 weeks. Lets makes that 8 for good measure :) And today, I wanted to get back with a big bang, not the post-beans kind of big bang, but the symbolic types - telling the body that the hibernating season is officially over.

If only I did all that I plan to do. If only... :P

What I wanted to do was start at Konstanz, go to Radolfzell, and from there head towards Stein am Rhein, and then head back to Konstanz. But some where within the first 2 kilometers I got distracted. Well, what to say, pretty young things are pretty young things :) I was perhaps a few meters behind these aforementioned PYTs, and well, there was no motivation to overtake them. At the 7 kilometer mark I think I took the wrong turn.

Right-ho, because these PYTs turned left towards Reichenau while I should have continued straight towards Radolfzell. It was only after I lost the PYTs that I realized I was on the wrong route. I stopped to click a few snaps to commemorate the monumental fail I had just committed. Then I remembered that I had left the memory card on my desk at home. So now I had space for only 6 more snaps. I am sure I would have been seething mad if I had discovered the lack of a memory card at the 50 km mark. Am I a believer in signs and destiny? I honestly do not know how to answer that anymore.

Anyhoo, this Reichenau island thingybob is one funky place. Glasshouses everywhere. And rows of salad greens growing all over the place. It is said that people living in glass houses should not throw stones, well these guys apparently can't throw even a tennis ball around. It is also a UNESCO heritage site because of three really really old churches (from the Roman era). Did I go in? no. Why? why not? What people do not know is that there is also a ghost toilet at Reichenau. No. Really. The locals say they can hear the toilets flush themselves at night. And of course, the haunting sounds of a constipated soul attempting to pass stool. Which is why they grow greens in the hope that one day the ghost will be cured....

WC beim Freidhof - i.e. Toilet at Cemetery

The rows of salad greens

The wrong side

A fantastic summer's interlude: le Festival International de Musique Universitaire

2010-05-25T21:04:00.008+02:00

For a fleeting four days the Kackwetter we've been experiencing for the past few weeks gave way to clear blue skies. Yeah, its going to !@#$ing rain again tomorrow. Thunderbolts of lightning, very very frightning me, Galelio galelio, figaroooooooo.

In this very brief summer interlude, when men could roam the world in shorts without having their nuts frozen, a very French town called Belfort hosted 2500 musicians. And they performed at 14 different venues over three days. It is called the le Festival International de Musique Universitaire. It is held every year in May, and next year will be the 25th edition. The musicians are usually music students, but that does not mean they play like amateurs ;)

Picking from across genres should in theory have been simple. But it wasn't, because most of what we heard was good. And this festival lets you do exactly that, pick a venue, see if you like the music, if not, move on to another one. Simple.

If, if only if I had to pick the best band from what I heard, then I'd have to pick Sunergy. Sunergy, I learned later via the internet, is a group of four music students from Campus Notre-Dame-de-Foy Canada. They played Mike Stern's Chromazone, and boy they kicked some serious ass. These guys had the crowd on their feet. They were enjoying themselves on stage and their state of mind manifested itself in their music. It was downright infectious. I hope these guys don't stop playing. Heck, I even found them on facebook! They sounded better at the venue than on this video though.

These three pics are not by me! Pulled them off Flickr.

Then there was this group performing Jean-Baptiste Lully's Armide, where the actor's faces are ghoulishly painted white. It was well, Opera. Yeah. WTF? And I did ask myself for a moment - WTF? But once, I went past the WTF stage, it was smooth sailing.

There was also an Indian duo on the Sitar and Tabla. It has been a while since I have been at an Indian classical concert - I think the last one was by Pt. Shivakumar Sharma on the Santoor in 2008. Anyhoo, they were not too bad. I have no idea what ragas they played though.

The other bands which did the trick for me were the Jazz band from Zurich - ETH Big band, a group from Morocco, and of course - Somogo with their didjeridoo and percussion inspired collective madness at the L'Arsenel on Saturday night. And I did see a David Hasselhoff wannabe - blinking lights and everything :)

Not every band we heard was good, not every genre moved the soul. For example a Chilean group dealing in Chamber music played such somber pieces that you could be forgiven for thinking you were at a funereal. Doesn't work for me. Sorry.

And then, there was this new music. One would expect new music to be different, something so profound that we ordinary mortals cannot conceive. But what if we cannot even appreciate it? One such artist was this guy making weird sounds - like the clearing of a blocked nose or the gargling noise one makes when using Listerine in the morning, or the rumble of an empty stomach reverberating in a hollow chamber. In my humble opinion this is exactly what parents tell their children not to do. And this guy was professing such hogwash as music. Sorry, but village idiots like me just fail to appreciate you. Or maybe, it was all just a choreography stunt. I hope.

Allegro con brios typically can not put you to sleep, but voilà, a guitar ensemble did exactly that with Mozart's Symphony number 25. They killed it! Ok, it was like 11.30 at night and I was on my feet for the better part of the day, so sleep came very naturally to me, but I have no doubt that these guys did play their part!

Three days of camping and good music. Merci beaucoup! (the ones who shall not be named) :)))

Stein am Rhein

2010-04-03T11:03:00.006+02:00

Radroute 436098 - powered by Bikemap

So, the doc said no sports for 6 weeks, but he did not say anything about cycling :) And hence I went for a little spin to a village called Stein Am Rhine. It was a 56 km round trip from Konstanz. The cycle track follows the Bodensee, so no inclines, err… hmm… there were a few minor one near Stein Am Rhine, but really – it was (and is) a no sweat ride.

The skies were ominously gray all morning but at cleared up by afternoon, which is when i started from home anyways. The blue held up for the whole day, the temperature was about 11 degrees, so it wasn’t a bad day to cycle at all. Or to motorcycle. I saw so many kickass motorcycles on the road. Sigh. My heart ached. Again ;) And no, it wasn’t the darn ribs.

Stein Am Rhine felt like an extremely touristy village. There were too many camera totting people for it not to be. The shops were open, not just the ice cream joints. Maybe it was a very Swiss thing. But what the heck, I got my ice cream. It was everything you’d expect of a European village – One stream flowing in the center (check, stream here is the Rhine), one big towering church (check), one or more bridges across the stream (check) and a fountain for good measure (check)

Keeping Guard

The Church

The fountain

The dragon…

… the slayer

F650 + GS1200 (i suspect, lady + man)

The bridge

The clear waters of the Bodensee

Rathaus (or Council house?)

Phew… cartwheels finally! Ribbing it in, ain’t I?

2010-03-28T23:09:00.008+02:00

Yeah, so what the duce huh? After last time’s futile attempt to do something worth writing about, I was kinda sorta hoping to get some juicy stuff to write about this week. And boy, I lived up to my own expectations, and how.

First I had a late night yesterday at the Casba with some friends, and then today was the day when the clocks goes from 1.59 am to 3.00 am i.e. we lost an hour (so I effectively slept for about 3 hours), and then I missed the first of five trains which I must take to get my fat ass to Feldberg. Carried the camera, but not the memory card. Darn. Enough of whining.

Missing the train gave me an interesting diversion. It was classic Googie, train starts to pull away as you make a hurried last minute filmy entry onto to the platform. Anyhoo, since I was hungry (hey! it was 6.39 am) and since the next train was just waiting to leave, I took it to and got off at a random station to grab breakfast. Breakfast in hand… err… partly in mouth too, the ruminating commenced - about what kind of an idiot wakes up so early and other sundry uninteresting things which occupy any given reasonable person’s mind.

The delirious early morning ruminations were interrupted by the sight of a slight bespectacled man hobbling towards me. “Zuuureesh. René”, he drawled in a French accent. He was obviously drunk. The only way I knew to Zurich, was via Konstanz, so I helped him along, “Sie mussen nach Konstanz fahren, und vom da Sie kann weiter nach Zurich fahren..”. “Merci monsieur”, he thanked me and started hopping towards the ticket vending machine. Yes. Hopping. Right-ho, like a rabbit. It was a scene straight out of Alice in wonderland. And no, I was not high on pot, or magic cake.

A few minutes later, he was back on the platform, bathroom-singing at the top of his voice, “Zureeessssh, Rene..”, and dancing around the few available pillars. Think bollywood movies of the 80s, the ugly songs, and dancing around trees. Now you get the picture. The poor guy got into trouble with the cops, who wanted him to shut the F*** up, which he promptly did and thus ended the morning show. Oh boy, I must say, travelling Deutsche Bahn can be very entertaining.

Without further entertainment, I was at Hebelhof/Feldberg, to be told by the ski-school that there were no classes for the day, and since I was so “good” the last time, I could try doing my own thing. Yeah. What are the chances of that? Dang.

The thing is, it was very foggy, visibility was around 50 meters. The snow – white, the air – white. Bewitching. No wonder there was hardly a soul around. At the ski lift, another skier offered to share the ride, and I accepted. It takes about 10 odd minutes to reach the top (990 meters, and elevation gain of 124 meters) so we got talking. He was there on vacation with his family. They had rented a Ski hut, which he showed when we passed it. Then I told him I was from India, and that 3 hours of train journey to find a place to ski was better than travelling a whole day changing two planes to do the same, which is why I was doing this again and again. And, hold your breath, his sister in law is an Engineer working in Pune. What are the chances of that? Then I told he I went to school in Pune, and we were both like – what a small world. We guys kept talking until we reached the top.

The whole day was pretty uneventful. Almost. I could still do all the things I had previously learnt. I was sniggering when I saw beginners struggling to stop. Ain’t life grand? Then on my last run for the day – after about 12 runs, I also learnt something new. Skiing hurts.

First, it was quite wet, and then my ski got stuck in the snow while was speeding down the slope. Don’t ask me how. It just happened. The stuck ski became the pivot and I was tossed up in the air. I did a couple of cartwheels – one of them I distinctly remember was completely airborne, the two on the slope. And sometime while my limbs were flying around, one of the ski poles (thankfully not the pointed end) kissed my chest. There was only one other person on the slope (within visible range), a kid – perhaps 7 or 8 years old. He had fallen too, and he had just finished picking himself up when Circus Sushil started its act. And I could hear, “Oh oh!” echo across as I was doing ma thang for the day. It was painfully hilarious.

I didn’t feel much pain until I had returned the ski equipment, and was on the bus to Titisee. And now the ribs on my right side hurt. It hurts to laugh, to cough, to get up if I am sitting, to sit if I am standing, to bend, or to even lift up my arms. Not like I will die type hurts, but an irritating kind of hurt which you can tolerate, but wish you didn’t have. Arrgh.

In anycase, if I ever get to ski again - it won't be without a helmet. I now know why one needs it.

At Titisee I met a whole bunch of Indians. And a few were from Bangalore, so I got to speak in Kanada. “Yen magga”, and everything. And they work for the same firm as the man’s sister-in-law. And they knew someone, who I knew who worked at that firm. Small world indeed.

Ouch. @#$%^&@@!! Can’t a man yawn in peace?

31-03-2010 Update: The doc says I have fractured 3 of my ribs. I am not supposed to do any sports for 6 weeks. The darn ribs still hurt. I cannot sleep well, etc etc. So, so this experiment must not be tried at home and everything else....

I can stop! Damit!

2010-03-11T23:59:00.004+01:00

What can I say? Sometimes, I disappoint myself. Like this post’s title. What the eff was I thinking? Anyhoo, this weekend’s ski trip was dull compared to the last one. I could stop. When I wanted to. And no, not with a “controlled” fall. I could turn left, or right. At will. Going up with the ski lift, was however, a different story. But hey, we ain’t livin’ in no perfect world! In the grand scheme of things*, it couldn’t have been a better day.

Get yer pillows out. Put yer peejamas on. Damit! Don’t you have anything better to do? Sigh. Oh well. I told you so.

We reached Feldberg at around 9 or 9.15 ish, after the mandatory 5 train/bus changes. The ladies went Snowboarding at the Hof, and I trudged down to the other side – to the On Snow Ski school, to rent my equipment and continue where I left off last time. I must say, the guys at the school weren’t terribly thrilled to see me again. I wouldn’t have been either, if I were them, and if they had to undergo what they had to with me the last time I was there. But, customer service and everything, they put up a brave and friendly face, and said, “Hey! how are you doing man?”

The last time, I remember, I requested for UK size 10 shoes, and by the end of the day my feet were ready to grow hands and strangulate me. So, this time I requested for European size 45 shoes. But I said - “Size 45 – US please”. Damit!

The guy at the counter, who kinda sorta reminded me Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, you know – brown hair, lanky, long bearded face, semi curly mop, sweat shirt wearing kinda guy, grinned, and mentally asked me, “What the *.*.*.*.*.”. This is what happens when someone interrupts my labored effort to speak German, by posing a question in English. Anyway, I assured him I was no Yeti, and that I meant to ask for the European size 45.

Suitably kitted out, I headed out. The weather was perfect to learn skiing. It was snowing, it was windy, and it was freezing freaking cold and what that meant was, less people on the slopes. Bingo! Larzro, our instructor for the day, was getting the group together. The minor minor blizzard like conditions had everybody hooded and ski glassed – like Kenny from Southpark. I swear I cannot recognize any from my group if I were to see them again. Unfortunately, that also includes the instructor.

The only spectacular incident of the morning session, apart from the minor miracle that I could stop and turn at will, was the very late addition of a certain Mr. Kamikaze to the group. Ironically, he was Chinese**. He reminded me a lot of myself on my first day***. The guy could not stop. Period. He fell more often than the nine pins put together in a high scoring bowling game. I felt sorry for him. And the instructor instantly christened him “Kamikaze”. The rest, I must report, suffered no falls in the morning – thanks to the instructor’s super insistence that we all get the basics of balance right.

The afternoon session was when we guys learnt to use the ski lifts. Sounds easy, but I managed to fall out three times. Only once, was it my fault, the other two, was thanks to the other guy (or so I assume, because the next time we went alone, I got to the top just fine and he fell out of the lift.) Anyhoo, now I was a nervous wreck. I had singlehandedly managed to muck up the rest of the queue. There were people waiting, I was falling, I was getting psyched, and the cycle was spiraling out of control. Until, the instructor came with me. The guy was like aVipasana teacher#. A calm, collected and soothing presence which in a jiffy puts a mind, as troubled as mine, at ease.

And up we went, “Look, what a beautiful day it is”, he said, while asking me to see the islands of blue in the sea of gray overhead.

“Look, at the pervert wind playing with the snow”, he said while pointing to the giant whorls of snow strewn all over the hill as the wind gently lifted a fine layer of snow on its journey over the slopes.

“See, how calm it is to climb up with the lift”, he said, interrupting only the sound of two pairs of skis.

And, just like that, going up a ski lift became enjoyable.

It could easily have been the monotonous drone of, "Breath in, breath out. Feel the air passing your nostrils, and in your nose and in the wind pipe. Feel the air go out as it hits your upper lip. In and out", numbing the brain into a coma. But it wasn't and this was way better.

Really, I wish I could regale you with stories of me tumbling down the hill, crashing into trees, breaking a limb or two, or whatever other morbid scenario you may want to imagine. Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be. Don’t blame me man, it was the freaking universe.

But then, there was that thing on the train… Yes, something on a train. Again…

One of the 3 trains we took on the return leg, was a two car train between Neustadt and Donaueshingen. The train is too small for the number of people travelling, so one has to rush, wade in, and grab whatever seats are available. And when 3 people are travelling together, one can hardly be picky about where one sits. We found ourselves in this pickle too, and yours truly spotted these two rows of seats facing each other, the ones which makes train journeys interesting. The old man sitting in one of the four seats really didn’t matter. So, then now we were four.

After sitting down, I looked at the old man a bit more carefully. He was old alright, withered round face; white hair; long flowing uneven unkempt beard; a walrus moustache which i am sure doubled up as a tea strainer as well – guessing by the faint tinge of brown at the edges; and mischievous eyes peering through rimless, alas not circular, pair of spectacles sitting on a round short nose; He was a bit on the plumper side and the white reindeers running along the border of his red woolen cap made it difficult not to imagine him as Santa Claus.

He was working diligently at a word jumble puzzle, and by the pace at which he was filling up the blank spaces, one could safely assume that the top story was still sharp, alert and often worked overtime, or that he was really good at making up his own answers. In anycase, I was impressed. I was hardly finished being impressed that he fished out a tiny bottle of alcohol from the depths of his jacket and took a swig. With panache. A swig which would have made the badest scallywag look like an innocent kindergarten kid. And then he let out a small burp.

After a while of getting bored looking at the black forest rush us by, the old man causally lifted the lid of the garbage bin between our seats. The open lid revealed the necks of two open beer bottles. Earlier in the day, I had seen an old lady fish out bottles from similar garbage bins, presumably to return them to a supermarket for 10 cents. So, that image was still floating around in my mind, when Santa Claus pulls out one of the beer bottles from the garbage bin, holds it up to the light (now the whole compartment can see the bottle), then peers at it with his old eyes to take stock of how much beer is still available. Satisfied, he took a quick sip of the stale flat beer. Replaced the bottle back in the garbage bin, and closed the lid.

Eyes met, smirks were exchanged and eyes were rolled, eyebrows were pointed, but we did not laugh.

Then we started talking. In English. The old man’s ears perked up, his curiosity was certainly tingled - “But this was an alien tongue these people were talking in, Or?”. Then the two ladies switched to German, and now he was positively confused. What was he hearing? Could it be? He could understand English! What the duce? He hurriedly brought out the remaining stash of whiskey and took a giant swig. Crap! He could still understand English. What the!

He had to join the conversation! This is so exciting! and he made his grand opening statement, “Abbaa baaa hmpf”. Damit!

And he went real silent. So did we. After a while he slowly lifted the lid of the garbage bin and gradually retrieved the beer bottle. He held it up again against the light. It was supposed to be beer. Damit!

I need a prize for not laughing! Really!

Und damit mache ich schloss :)

*Can’t seem to rid myself of this phrase. Damit!

**The Chinese hate the Japanese people. Damit!

*** Damit! This is your SECOND day! Stop being so patronizing!

# Loooonnggg story. Me dad had forced me as a child to attend this meditation course. Scarred me for life.

Smo(S)kiingggg, somebody stop me!

2010-02-28T19:25:00.002+01:00

Last Sunday, someone tried his hand (shouldn’t it be legs?) at skiing. Someone went to Feldberg in the black forest, a good beginners slope. Someone went to On-snow skischool. Someone couldn’t stop. Someone. Someone…

Earlier in the day, I changed 4 trains and one bus to get me fat lazy self to Feldberg. As always it was a fairly uneventful journey. Almost. Remember it is me. So, there has to be this one freaking stupid incident, where the 0-watt candle hiding in the remote recess of my cranium shines so bright, that it could illuminate 300,000 homes for a whole nano-second. Right? Yeah. I had my moment(s). But, on the way back. What happened on the way to Feldberg is something else more mundane, but nevertheless something which I would like to chronicle for the sake of chronicling.

At Singen (about 30 minutes into my journey) these two guys get into the train, and take a seat. One of the guys – about 30 ish - close crop of blond hair, ram-rod straight seating position, polished leather shoes clashing with blue jeans and a green bomber jacket. I could swear he was ex-mil. Ex-mil because, to me, the two silver loop earrings prominently hanging from his ear lobes seemed out character for a current military bloke. The other guy seemed more relaxed – a slight hint of a paunch, sneakers, hoodie sweatshirt, a backpack and a thick beard which would have made Bud Spenser proud. The two sat across each other and started talking in a tone and manner which one would associate with a couple normal blokes nursing a manageable hangover from a jovial und gemütlich night out the previous evening.

As the train started moving, these two guys got up and headed to the other end of the bogie to a co-passenger. The relaxed cop sat beside the passenger, while the ex-mil guy sat on the hand rest. Text book good cop, bad cop routine huh? Dang, I must be reading too much pulp fiction. Anyhoo, they started asking the passenger some questions. In German of course, and out of ear-shot, so I didn’t quite get what was happening. But I could see that they were frisking this guy and rummaging through his backpack. And I was thinking – are these two thugs? Are they stealing from this passenger? Freaky. Overdrive, my 0-watt brain went into.

They made their way through the train doing the same with every passenger, and especially hard on teenagers. They flipped out some sort of official ID when they approached my seat. They claimed to be cops.

“Ah cool, Polizei!”, I exclaimed and gave them a nod of approval, and then like a smart ass**, “Fahrkarte, oder?”

The relaxed cop nodded a no, and said - “No, Passport please” (In English!)

“Ach so, naturalisch, ein moment bitte. Miene Deutsch ist nicht so gut, aber ich probiere”, I said while extracting my passport from my backpack and handing it over to him.

“Oh! Indisch!”, said the cop with unconcealed glee as he saw the shiny gold Republic of India lettering on the weathered blue passport. “Aber besser dann meine Indisch”, he added. I was flummoxed. What did he mean? It took a while for the wick to heat and illuminate. The man thought we all spoke Indian in India, hehe, just as Indians think Gobi Manchurian is a Chinese dish :) So, I let out a delayed forced laugh “Har har har”.

Then he said very slowly, “Wohin Fahrest du jetzt?”.

“Ich Fahre nach Feldberg. Ich werde gerne Skifahren lernen”

“Feldberg, gut gut. Huete es ist schones wetter, a… bis 2011, gut gut”, he said while looking at my visa.

And then he asked to see my backpack. The cover of Malclom Gladwell’s – “What the dog saw”, which I was reading to kill time, had him in splits. “Ha ha, Der Hund, ha ha”, he kept doing the Muttle laugh while pointing at the cover.

“Super, viel spass!”, he said, and it was over just like that. No frisking, nothing, none of the drama my other co-passengers were subjected to. It pays to act retarded, OR? But, the German classes seems to be working in my favor. However, this was not my “smartest” moment of the trip.

Anyways, I reached Feldberg – Barenthal, without further entertaining intermissions. There was only one bus to ferry almost a whole train load of passengers to Feldberg-Hof. Needless to say, if you are slow enough, you will get left behind. Darwin at work. So I got ready to rush, and reminded myself that queues are not naturally formed in these parts.

There were like a billion people already at Feldberg Hof. The place has innumerable number of ski schools, and ski equipment stores, so you can rent/buy almost everything you need at any of the places. Perhaps at a “discount” too, because it was towards the end of the season?

Since, I had already registered with On-Snow skischool for a one day course, I started hunting around for this place. It is not at Feldberg – Hof, but is a bit out of the way but easily approachable by foot in a little under 5 minutes. On-Snow charges 30 euros for a one day course. And 20 euros for the next day, and 15 for the next and so on so forth. You can also rent the skis and boots or snowboards and helmets here for 15 euros a day. If you do not know how to ski, take the course, it is the best way to learn. They have two two hour sessions. One in the morning from 1000 to 1200 and another from 1315 to 1515. The learning groups can be as small as three, which works to your advantage.

Errrr, hmm, embarrassing as it is, it wasn’t only Toyota Motors who had problems stopping runaway and out of control locomotive equipment. Yours truly could not stop while hurtling* down the slopes. It took some luck and some unfathomable instinct to avoid crashing right into my fellow skiers – big or small, red or blue, men or women, experts or beginners.

I really was petrified of crashing into a bunch of kids practicing downhill, but these cheeky little kids have no fear. They don’t have to worry about tomorrow, something which sadly burdens an adult’s mind. These kids will go ultra fast and are not afraid of falling down. Anyways, these kids made sure I am now an expert at “preemptive roll overs”, err… well… actually some people call it falling down, but I, I beg to differ.

Late in the evening the instructor took us, the “langsam Anfänger” group for a “langsam pflug” down the slope. When he said pflug, my nascent Deutsch neural net recognized it as flug – i.e. to fly. So we were suppose to fly slowly? I was perplexed. Apparently it means to slowly plough down the slope i.e. by making a V with your skis – the way one is supposed to stop. Anyways, I messed up this part – fell twice doing this, and the instructor had to babysit me through this. Yeah. Sucks. In either case the instructor was a dedicated chap, with infinite patience. And we both agreed that I was by far the worst student he ever had!

I wish I could find an easy and not crowded slope to practice the slow decent. I wish. I wish. Unless I can buy my own private slope***. Sigh. Who ever said skiing is easy. I want my money back! Hmmm… nah… I think will go again and get it right this time. I must learn to stop. Aarrggghhhh.

Anyways, coming to the bright 0-watt incident. On my way back to Titisee from Feldberg-Barenthal, the train was running late, and I had to change trains at Titisee towards Nuestadt. At Titisee, as I got off the train, I heard some announcement – pretty garbled in my defense. I understood that the train headed towards Nuestadt was about to leave from platform 3, so I ran towards platform number 3 and jumped into the train hardly 10 seconds before it started moving (without reading the signage displayed prominently besides the dorr). Five minutes later I realized we were headed back towards Barenthal! What a freaking dufus man! I could do nothing but laugh at myself.

So I had to wait for an extra hour at Barenthal for the next train to Titisee. And on a cold evening, like the one last sunday, waiting at an open railway station can be a lot of fun****. It takes a smart guy to do that. I give myself that much :)

* or it felt like that, I am sure I was slower than I imagine

** tendency to piss cops off, where did this come from?

*** Little evil red Satan sitting on my shoulder whispers into my ears in a slow hellish drawl, “Dream on brother. Dream on. Muhuhahahahahahahahaha”

**** Prescribed dose of sarcasm!! Yippee!!

-- The end --

Dusseldorf

2010-02-10T02:22:00.001+01:00

When work takes you to a new place for only a day and a half, there is nothing much that you can do. Nothing more than strolling in the city by night, and clicking some random photographs. Which is what I did at Dusseldorf.

The film museum

The long bar (?)

There are a few point to note, The Lonely Planet Guide – Europe edition suggests that one must try the Altbier (or old beer) at a very notable place, so crowded, that it is easier for the waiter(es) to carry around a tray full of beer glasses (please note, i use the word glasses) and simply replace the ones which they find empty. Sadly, for me, this fabled den of alcohol remained elusive. But, what I did find, was a very helpful bartenderess (does that word even exist?) in a near desolate old fashioned pub. The lighting was dark, the furniture so worn out that it looked like a relic from the American Wild West, and funky posters all around with a total of 6 people drinking Altbier. It was indeed a very early exit for me. Not before I asked the (now pretty) bartenderess, directions to the fabled Hafen (i.e. Port area.) The “Long Bar” stretch lives up to its name, with a million bars dotting the whole street.

The Dusseldorf tower

The Hafen was another place recommended by the Lonely Planet, so I had to do it. Talk about boring people. More specifically, the Lonely Planet recommends visiting the Dusseldorf Tower. As I was meandering along the general direction suggested by the (now distant but still pretty) bartenderess, I spotted a man with a walky-talky. Curiosity got the better of me, and I got into my routine. So I approached the bespectacled man.

“Entschudligung, Wei komme ich bei der/das/die ganz grosses tower in Dusseldorf?”, I asked, even I could clearly spot it. Followed by a quick, “Sprechen Sie English?” At which he quickly took offence, “Of course! You can talk to me in English” he replied. The water vapor escaping his mouth through the cold 10’o clock night condensed on the outside of his glass, while he pointed out the clearly visible and only candidate for the Dusseldorf tower. He then asked me, “So, where do you come from?”

I was now bordering on German, it is a switch that I cannot turn off and on as will. Mostly because it takes so much effort to turn it on ;) But, “India” managed to tumble out before the man could make up his mind on how retarded I must be. “I thought so”, he said, and his eyes lit up. I thought, “Oh no! Not another Osho moron!”, but before I could completely connect the dots, he said, “I used to work for an Indian company - Engineering Export Council of India”

The thought train quickly switched to a “Holy-cock-a-moly” mode, and I was like “Respect man! respect!”. Then he went into a bit of the details, apparently he was part of three man show in Germany, which canvassed for Indian companies in Europe. Helping them with marketing, sourcing, and setting up booths at trade shows. Kinda reminded of what Grate-Dane was doing for his country in India. Then he asked, “Have you heard of HAM?”

Now HAM was a minor glitch in my otherwise smooth career as a student. I was interested. Deeply. However I am severely tone deaf, i.e., I couldn’t (even with a gun put to my head) differentiate between a dot and a dash in Morse. I had failed my HAM exam. Twice. I received “The Zebra and the monkey went up the tree, to fetch a pile of ice cold cotton candy…”, while the examiner had transmitted, “Long years ago we made a tryst with destiny, and now the time comes when we shall redeem our pledge…” So, well, me and HAM were good old buddies.

Anyway, he updated me on the latest in HAM technology – internet repeaters, and commented on the oldest problem ever – flaky radio reception. So apparently he receives the signal at near one specific lamp post (along the river Rhine), and doesn’t at the adjacent ones. Talk about multi path fading huh?

View from the observation deck

Anyways, the gentleman recommended the trip up the Dusseldorf tower, and that coupled with the excellent weather we were having in Dusseldorf, it was a no brainer that the tower top would be a good place to shoot the city. However, one must factor in the reflective glass, which some one else did not do, or did not think of :S

The observation balcony is 168 meters from the base, and it elevator travels at a top speed of 4 m/s. Impressively fast. And the ear actually pops as one rides up or rides down. The view from the top, on a cloudless, fogless night, like the night I visited is incredible. For as far as you can see, you can see a sea of light, giving you a hint as to how big the city really is. The ride up costs 3.60 euros. And if you can visit during the day, fogless, cloudless, etc etc, the elevator guy informed me that you can actually see the Dom at Colone. Impressive. Apparently it gets even better during the firework show, which takes place some time in May.

The city’s public transport system has enough and more connections and at suitable times too. It costs about 5.60 euros for the whole day.

The Carnival starts tomorrow in Dusseldorf, but I will not be there, since I am already back home in Konstanz! Crap! But, hey, we have a Carnival here too… muhuhahahaha…

Book Review: The diary of an unreasonable man - “Madhav Mathur”

2010-02-07T16:22:00.018+01:00

Ever wondered, “Now what the fuck am I going to do?” while staring blankly at your work station?

Did your boss ever tell you, “… I somehow get the impression that you’re not… happy”, and you wanted to flip him the middle finger? (Hey, that happened to me a few years back!)

Have you written shit loads of “intelligent stories” which never made it to the printing press*?

How many times has someone told you, “.. maybe you’ve done something that would lend a greater degree of credibility to your theories and ideas.” and you’ve wondered, “What the fuck?”

And this one was the freaky statement - “You hit the ultimate stage of this cycle after a few years of work, when you’re a few years away from thirty. That’s when you become a cynic, a pseudo-pacifist, not easily moved, not affected by anyone but yourself, looking out for no one else but yourself”. Freaky!

Doesn’t that sound a lot like you? Hehe! It is as if Madhav Mathur has drilled a hole to the very bottom of our soul, painstakingly searched for that mostly elusive inner core, extracted it with the clarity of a gypsy reading from a crystal ball, and then with carefully used words painted a picture more vivid than reality itself.

The book has too many deja-vu moments, to be not true. It takes effort to convince yourself that this is a work of fiction. Pure fiction. Nothing more. A lot of effort. And no, how much ever you think he is talking about you, he is still not talking about you, because hey, you are not an unreasonable man. You only wished you could do what Mr. Anarchist does ;) Only wish.

And the Ayn Rand references, yappa, can't believe that so many people actually swallow that bull crap written by this demented woman so deep that it actually effects their inner soul**. This book makes references to Ms Rand, and after that one does get a feeling that it is quite Foutainheadish, but I am willing to overlook that discrepancy. I loved his Idea of the Anarchists of Mumbai! I hope the man does not stop writing. Ever. The ending is a bit filmy, but hey, it IS fiction.

* Most of what I write borders on unconnected, and occasionally, caustic drivel and I wouldn't expect anyone to read what I write anyway. So, this doesn't apply to me.

**Unconnected caustic drivel warning. Was making a generic observation, not finger pointing or anything.

Kochi: by night

2010-01-31T21:10:00.007+01:00

What do Kochi and Bangalore have in common? Other than the same country, mallu population, etc etc? Think maadi.

Anyhoo, have you played Wolfeinstien 3D? That one kickass game which ruined many a summer day when we were kids? Well if you have played and remember the UI, with BJ running around the claustrophobic labyrinth in a Nazi encampment in search of Ammo, Medicine and one big bad ass to kill. Remember? Remember? Freak man, that could as well have been Old Kochi. These guys (at ID software, which i am told no longer exists by that name, god bless their bank accounts) were surely sitting in Old Kochi when they conceptualized the UI. Narrow walled roads, about one and a half car’s width across (yes width, not length) snake around the city in a elaborate pattern ensuring that you travel 10 kms by road to be displaced by only 1km. No footpath. None. Wall – Road – Wall. That's it. Apparently people don’t need to walk in Kochi. While we are on the topic, let me not forget to mention the odd telephone or electricity pole planted in the middle of the road :) Yes, it is not just Subsaharan Africa (or Bangalore) which can lay claim to ingenious road widening/narrowing projects worthy of an Ig Nobel prize.

So, did you guess already? The freaking Traffic is a nightmare! Serious competition to Bangalore. In everything. Traffic, infrastructure, Software companies, underwear ads and the insane number of cubbyholed malls fueling consumer excess. Serious competition. Or maybe, just maybe, we guys were always at the wrong place at the wrong time?

But you know what? Even in the middle of all the madness there are pockets of serenity and bliss. Like the Kochi port. Gardens line the M.G. Road area, from where you can see the cargo ships berthing at the port. Here are few photos of Kochi by night. The first two are of the Kochi Port. In the second photo the tiny building to the left is the Taj. The last one was shot from the roof top of a friend’s house.

And you know what? The food is freaking amazing :) The Puttum Kadalayum is to be eaten. The Appam Stew (Not to be mistaken for Appam Chuthiya, who apparently also stays here), the Idiappam. Finger licking good. Daimn, my mouth is watering already.

Oh ya, don’t forget the Chinese fishing nets :)

Alappuzha and its backwaters

2010-01-30T12:42:00.005+01:00

First of all, it is not pronounced the way you’d imagine it to be. That is correct, is it not Ah-la-poo-sa. It is Aha-la-poo-rla, or some such weird tongue contorting thing. Ask Shenoy, and he’ll tell you the tongue gymnastics we had to perform to ask for directions. First we used Ah-la-poo-sa, and all we got were blank looks, and then we used the Marathi equivalent of la, rolling tongue and everything, and all we received were bouts of laughter, and then if the askee could tear himself away from LHFAO (Laughing his freaking ass off), then we’d be pointed along in the right direction. I can now sympathize with the British fellas for choosing to call this place Alleppey.

After two hours of providing entertainment to the locals, we found ourselves on a bridge. Yeah, right, not just any bridge, but a bridge in the town of Alappuzha. Believe me, it was the most disappointing sight of my life (given that my life is akin to a goldfish, 5 second memory and everything, that statement is no surprise). I had expectations of this place man. Expectations. Close your eyes and imagine “Houseboat + Kerala”. Does it involve water ways clogged with water hyacinth? Stinking of shit? Dingy motor boats, without a house boat in sight? Wild pigs running around? It doesn’t, now does it? Well, that is exactly what we got. I was in half a mind to turn around and go away and drown myself in the Arabian Sea (G.O.L.D.F.I.S.H.), but then wiser counsel prevailed and we parked the car near the tourist office to fish around for a suitable boat.

The tourist office informed us that the only way to traverse the waterways is to hire a motorboat. Available for only Rs.500 per hour. And that it would take us about 3 hours to visit the village to Kuttanad and back. According to lonely planet, the revered – I am only for idiotic f*cking clueless travelers – guide book, it was some sort of cultural village to be seen. Those of you who know me, also know that I religiously follow this book, even though it ALWAYS falls way short of expectation. But, but, Katpad it was for us, and we haggled around and found a PINK, yes PINK, boat for Rs 2000 for a 4 hour trip around the backwaters.

With a disguised disappointed look, I got into the boat and resigned myself to 4 four hours of stink, water hyacinth, and boredom. But then, like the proverbial (really? which proverb?) goldfish, in about 2 minutes i had my camera out and shooting at will. I shot the pig, I shot the dilapidated boat, I shot the car on the road, I shot the sheriff… err… no. But you get the picture. Shenoy and me were commenting - “So, this is how they put chuna to the foreign tourists”. Falsers words had not entirely tumbled out of our blasphemous mouths, that lo, behold we were in the real backwaters. Houseboats. Gazzilions of them. In mind blowingly beautiful settings. Even after a month of this revelation, I find it particularly difficult to write about that moment. I think “I was bowled over” is a gross understatement.

There were so many of these house boats, and not one was available to us! It was apparently the tourist season. Not too hot, not too humid, and hardly any rains, so all in all perfect weather to hole up in one of these house boats and err… well.. do nothing. Absolutely nothing. What bliss (sigh)

The going rate for one of these boats was Rs 10000 a night. I know, WTF? But well, I think we got the inflated prices, perhaps haggling can get it down. A bit. According to Reju, our friendly boatsman, it costs upto Rs 10,00,000 to build one of these houseboats. The are all equipped with a kitchen, library, a lounge, and all modern gadgets that you’d really have wanted to leave behind on a vacation. Yeah, like who would want to see the idiot box on a vacation? Huh? Apparently, a lot of people (Not everybody is like you Mr. Me). These boats are equipped with DTH service and big ass plasma Televisions. No kidding. Check out the guy with the My-toddy-strongest pose ;)

We, were still reeling from the after effects of the colossal house boats (colossal is err… well… you know… exaggeration) when we meandered into this section of the backwaters, where there was no one but us. The homes were so beautiful. But with only waterways connecting them. If in the urban setting a family has two cars, one for the husband and one for the wife, then here they just substitute that with boats. These guys live off the water. Literally.

I particularly was blown away by the house on the extreme left.It looked like it was inspired by Laurie Baker, and to be honest, it is quite similar to the fantasy home that i have built for myself in my head.

For about an hour and a half we were just meandering the backwaters, soaking in the scenery, the greenery, the water, the little fishes in the water, the ducks, the billions of ducks, the different methods of fishing, and then a freaking phone rang. It was Reju. Our enterprising boatsman, had a tie up with this little restaurant in the middle of the backwaters, where lunch was awaiting us. So he brings in the fish (i.e. us) and they cook it (i.e. fleece us). Wow.

Anyway, hungry we were, so we agreed to lunch. The fish was fresh, straight from the river. The owner seemed a bit disappointed that I was a vegi. But I must agree on one point – it was finger licking good. It wasn’t too heavy on the pocket either – Rs 400 for three people and plate of shrimp pepper fry or something.

After the finger licking good lunch, we headed back to Alappuzha, but hey.. we didn’t need that extra hour, so we forced Reju to give us an extended tour of the Vembanad lake :) Boy, this lake is huge. Colossal (no exaggeration this time!)

And we also learnt an important lesson. You can use the State transport ferry service to do the same route, well almost the same route, for a little under Rs 60 per head :) I like it when I am told such things! On the whole, I’d say it was the highlight of the trip to Kerala. These four hours were by far the best. Not that the rest of the trip was crappy or anything, yet – these were the backwaters man! Lazing on a boat. Now if only I got to see the Nehru Cup like that lucky pig Googie got to see ;)

P.S. Whatever on earth happened to the Kuttanad thingy? Even we forgot :)

Zurich

2010-01-28T23:49:00.010+01:00

After several months of lost opportunity and after 7 transits and a day spent at its zoo, I finally got to eat authentic classic Swiss Fondue and Raclette... oh yes, and also spend an entire night in Zürich last weekend. My cousin, the same one I was trying to call in the Heathrow incident, was visiting Zürich with his friend, so it was quite logical that I got my fat ass to Zürich :)

If you have seen the Bangalore International Airport, then you have pretty much know what to expect at the Zürich Airport. Zürich Airport is part of the consortium running BIAL. And like namma bengaluru airport the public transport connectivity from Zürich Airport to the city is funkastic. You have a choice of the train (SBB), which will take you to the main railway station (no prizes for guessing! its called Zürich Haputbhanhof) for 6 CHF, or the tram line number 10 which will also get you to the main railway station in a few extra minutes. You can also buy a 24 hrs pass for 8 CHF. Pssst... I did not know this.

Anyways, a trip to the information center at the main railway station is worth the 10 odd calories spent. You can find out just about every thing you need to know for your short visit from the friendly people manning (O.K. Womanning) the center. We spotted a brochure advertising an interesting city walk here – The Ghost walk of Zurich. You are promised goosebumps and hair raising stories. Alas it was only available in spring or fall. It is something I would like to try the next time I am in Zürich.

By the time we guys reached Zürich it was 6 pm in the evening. Time for dinner you'd say huh, but we were a bit full with some junk food we had had, a little stroll in the city was in order to build up an appetite. So, we walked around the city, nearly froze in temperatures of below -4°C; soaked in the magnificent and charming sights of a city by night, which European cities seem so adept at exuding; and occasionally broke our zombie state walk to click some photographs.

What you see above is a view of the river Limmat, with the Zürich main railway station in the left edge and the Zürich Museum of something something. There are way too many museums to remember in this city!

The above is a view of the Grossmunster (i.e. big church) across the river Limmat.

The above the view of the city library (Zentralbibliothek)

And this is the view of the Kantonsrat (or Canton advice?? must be some sarkari office)

Oh well, so we were semi frozen, and had built up an appetite, so we headed to the world famous in Zürich restaurant for Original Swiss Fondue and raclette – Restaurant Swiss Chuchi. A cloud of aromatic cheese overwhelms the vicinity of the restaurant, so you cannot miss it. Apparently this is some sort of dandy place where folks need to make a reservation, so the waiter gave us some serious attitude for not making one in advance and warned us that nothing was available until 10.30 in the night. But Fondue we wanted, so we put our names on the list and made our way to the bar with the propeller. I remembered this place on the corner of Zähringerplatz from a previous trip.

It really was funky visiting this place with my cousin (a PhD) his two friends, both PhDs. hehe. It sure was fun. Oh, btw, for all the gay people out there, Zurich has a mind boggling number of gay bars and pubs, and not to mention exotic dance bars (you know what I euphemistically mean)

Anyhoo, the food at the Swiss Chuchi was not all that great. First they force you to buy one dish per person (??), first time i ever saw that on a menu by the way, and then the service was.. hmmm.. well.. flaky at best. I think it was because we got a waiter from the neighbourhood of our motherland, who was intent on getting his revenge for an imaginary crime we had committed by feeding us some “desi” Reisling. Yes, he said - “Original Desi”. I am no wine expert, but I have my doubts about “Original desi” ;)

Now, I was a 110% certain that we had trains every hour to Konstanz, even at night. Before someone gets all ecstatic, no. That is far, far, far away from the truth. The last train is at 1, there is another at 3 to Kreuzlingen, and the first train in the morning is at 6am. Or so the oracle of the TV schedule bespoke. Crap! so I had to spend the night at Zurich. God bless the poor souls\ of my cousins friend, for having given shelter to an almost homeless guy that night :P

Anyways, the next morning, we had a nice stroll near the Zurich lake; got aquainted with the ka-ka-ka-kawah-ing gulls; and then walked up to the Grossmunster for a splendid view of the whole city.

A hazy morning at the Zurich lake.

It costs 4 CHF to climb up the 70 meters and 187 steps up to see this view. Unfortunately for us, it was a rather hazy morning, but not too hazy :)

We spent the rest of the afternoon lazing around the city buying some swiss army knives at Teddy's souvenir shop, and in the evening we made our way to Sihl city and to Vapiano’s for a super duper dinner. I realized later that Vapiano’s is a franchise operation, but the setting was spectacular, the food was good, and light on the wallet by Zurich standards. The most interesting part of the setting was the bonsai tree around which we ate. We could garnish the dish with fresh mint, basilikum, petersilie straight from the bonsai garden.

P.S. And then I took the 8.30pm train home ;)

P.P.S. The seeds of a new adventure have been sown - The Santiago de Compostella. Will I do it? Won't I do it? Will it be like the millions of other plans that i make? Muhuhahahaha....

P.P.P.S Did you notice that every shop has a website????

One life to Ride: Book review

2010-01-25T18:51:00.003+01:00

Have you ever ridden a RE motorcycle from Manali to Leh? Are looking for a quick trip down memory lane? Have you not ridden in a while? Then “One life to ride” by Ajit Harisinghani will compel you to look at your old photographs or even better - clean the dust off your bike, top up the engine oil and hit the road again.

The book itself is void of any photographs, yet as one reads, the characters and the landscape jump out of the book with remarkable clarity. One is magically transported to the hills, and old memories of that one kickass ride flood the mind...

This book is not just about an old guy riding a bullet to the hills. You've probably heard those stories a large number of times. This book is also about what goes on in the author's head as he rides across India. It is a cheerful collection of short stories, a few not related to the cross Indian ride, but all well within context.

I made the mistake of reading this book on a flight taking me away from India. Why did I ever have to leave, when I could have rather been in Ladakh? The hills, the friendly people, the Indus river, the crazy nallahs, the glaciers, the ever present threat of High Altitude Mountain Sickness, the feeling of peace, utter peace. Why? Sallaaa paapi pet #$%^&*@

Statutory warning: If you are not a motorcycle travel enthusiast as the author is, or as I fancy myself to be, then this book may just about make you one :)

http://www.onelifetoride.com/index.html

My lucky day - Thank you Heathrow, and BA ground staff

2010-01-19T22:40:00.005+01:00

So, apparently I am supposed to be the world's luckiest man. Why? Ha ha. First I must let you know that I am probably the world's most stupid man first and then maybe today was my lucky day.

Background info: I was flying from Bangalore to Zurich via London. My cousin lives in London, and he had just earned his PhD, so I thought I'd save some cash by calling him from London rather than from Konstanz.

I deposited 2 pounds in a payphone and dialed my cousin's number. Absent minded me also deposited the wallet on the payphone. As luck would have it, my cuz was unreachable on phone. Disappointed I walked away. Wait. Rewind a bit. There was also that wallet on the phone. Yes. But I just walked away. The wallet contained my EC card – i.e. direct access to all my money; the walled also contained my rail pass, Swiss francs for my ticket to germany, my insurance card and god alone knows what else.

I walked across the terminal found a secluded spot, fired up the laptop, and started writing about “One life to ride”. That done, I felt thirsty. Don't ask why. To quench the thirst I decided to gulp some liquid, then as I stood in queue to buy a hot chocolate, I realized that I was missing something. Yeah. Right. Ich bin eine tooblight!

Then started my crazed run through Heathrow airport in search of the wallet, and when that turned to be a no show, for the security people. One directed me to another and then to another, and then finally one man directed me to the team lead of security at Terminal 5. I spoke to the man, and he was like, “So you left it on the phone?” with a distinct tone of incredulity. I confessed my stupidity, at which point he delicately told me not to get my hopes up. “In all probability it is all gone by now”, he said, a point which was already bouncing around wildly in my head.

He did give me two numbers and told me that the cops would not register a case for two days, which is the window they adhere to in the case of stupid people losing their belongings. As usual I kept laughing. At my own stupidity.

I thought I'd try the lost and found department right away. I asked for directions at the currency exchange counter. On hearing my situation they advised me to get in touch with the customer service. The customer service desk was maned by a man in his late twenties, blond spiked hair and the attitude of a teenager not bothered about the rest of the world. He directed me to the other customer service counter, where I saw a very familiar looking object on the desk.

This desk was manned, errr womanned by three blond middle aged ladies. And they were jubilant to find me! “What was in it?”, one asked, while another chimed in, “Can you show us your passport?” followed by “I think we got him! We were just about to page you, you must be the luckiest man on earth today.”

I was so relieved, that I kept mumbling my inadequate “thank you”'s like a stuck record.

“It was just luck, we were walking by on our break and someone handed this to us. You truly are a very lucky man”, said one of the kind ladies. What are the chances of that happening? Daimn.

Thank you unknown good Samaritan. Thank you wonderful ladies at the BA customer service. Sometimes one does feel quite lucky and very very stupid at the same time too.

B.T.W. The wallet also contained two expired and non existent credit cards – a decoy method some one once advised me about :)

Spicy tales from Junagadh

2010-01-13T20:16:00.006+01:00

I have always thought of the Nawab of Junagadh in rather unfavorable terms, because of what I learned in my high school history classes. According to the present day locals of Junagadh my misgivings are misplaced. Here are two very interesting stories about the Nawab narrated to me by the locals.

For a while, just skip back to high school and more specifically to the history classes dealing with Indian independence. Recall that at independence, there were 400 odd princely states. Of these more than 300 were in Gujrat. All the princely states had the freedom to remain independent or join Indian or Pakistan. Out of the 300 in Gujrat, only one was a troublesome state, which refused to join the Indian Union. That is Junagadh. The Nawab of Gujrat was Muslim and he wanted to join Pakistan, but the majority population of Junagadh was Hindu and they wanted to join India. Things untangled itself and eventually Junagadh joined the Indian Union.

Now, this is the account of events which the people of Junagadh gave. The Nawab of Junagadh was a very good man. He was a just ruler, forward thinking, implemented several developmental projects etc etc. (But I think the "good" was used by my source because of the following..) Even though he was Muslim, he did not force his religion on his subjects. On the contrary, he made sure that the Hindu places of worship were protected, sufficiently funded. He even ordered that mosques be kept out of the Girnar hills, given that these hills are sacred to the Hindus. The Dewan, or prime minister, of this Nawab was a man of questionable morals and ambitions. The Dewan's progeny would later go on to rule Pakistan. Anyway, he instigated the Nawab to join Pakistan, so the Nawab signed the declaration to join Pakistan. What was signed was signed, so Junagadh was all set to join the Union of Pakistan, but then the citizens of Junagadh were appalled at the Nawab's decision. At this point, there was nothing much that India, or Sardar Patel could do. The people of Junagadh were on their own. So they formed a militia, and fought the Nawab's forces. After three months of revolt they overthrew the Nawab's forces, and installed a new King – Mr Samaldas Gandhi. Mr Gandhi, promptly singed a declaration joining the Union of India. And that is how Junagadh became a part of India. Quite an interesting tale, and something which even the source of eternal truth (Wikipedia) seems to partially corroborate.

Illustration 1: Bahauddin Arts and Science College

The Nawab's interesting life does not stop there. According to folk lore (or “ facts”), Girnar hills is considered to be the abode of holy men. Each having meditated enough to have visions and interactions with the meta-physical world. So, once upon a time, a long long time ago, there lived a widow in Junagadh. She had two young kids – a girl and a boy. She would go into the Girnar forest every day to collect firewood. She would sell this firewood and with that money, she would buy food for her children. It was a hand and mouth existence for her family.

One day as she was returning from the forest with her stash of firewood, a yogi met her on the forest trail. He needed some firewood, so he asked her if she could give him some. She gave the yogi all her firewood, without even thinking of how she would feed her children that day. The yogi was impressed. It was a test, which the widow had passed, and so the yogi blessed the widow and said – you will one day become royalty. A lot many years later the Nawab of Junagad was passing by the village of the widow and chanced upon her daughter. The daughter had grown up to be a beautiful lass – one imagines with a hour glass figure, a face to die for, and a smile that could light up a dark room. The Nawab made her his queen. So the widow became the queen mother, and the brother became the Vazir. (I am not sure if this is the same Vazir who is supposed to have “ poisoned” the Nawab's mind to join Pakistan).

Thanks to the abject poverty in which the new Queen and Vazir had grown up, school was luxury their mother could ill afford. The Vazir, though uneducated, was a worldly wise man and knew the importance of good education, so one of the first things he did was to start an arts and science college in Junagadh. That college is today known by his name – Bahauddin Arts and Science college. Further, legend has it that, during the design of the college, the Vazir wanted a pillar less auditorium, and apparently no architect (i.e. British architect) could come up with a viable design. A local carpenter eventually came up with an innovative slotted and pillar less design which keeps the structure erect even today, even withstanding the several earthquakes which have rocked the region.

A word of caution – these are uncorroborated stories, i.e. no documentary proof. But I kinda sorta see the Nawab of Junagadh in a different and slightly more kinder shade of light than I did before.

Ahmadabad – An evening spent at the Kankaria lake

2010-01-06T04:17:00.004+01:00

The first impression of Ahmadabad was that of a modern city with wide roads and low traffic density despite a practically non-existent public transport system. For a person coming from Bangalore or Cochin, this is a welcome relief. Not the poor public transport system, but the low traffic density.

The next thing which struck me as different from Bangalore, is the presence of a river (Yeah, I know - tubelight bugger wonlee). Ahmadabad is built on the banks of the river Sabarmati. The same river which lent its name to the iconic Sabarmati Ashram of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. A thermal power plant provides uninterrupted good quality power to the city. The only glitch – the power plant is well within the city limits. How much of the fog / smog problems of Ahmadabad can be attributed to this proximity is anyone's guess.

Architecturally, I would rate Ahmadabad as several notches higher than Bangalore or Cochin. Not that I am any expert on the matter, but to my untrained eyes, the buildings appear aesthetic. I saw quite a few ceramic mosaic art on the underpasses and building walls. Perhaps, these appeal to my sensibilities more than some crude works of art painted on the Bangalore walls, not to mention the jarring building colors apparently recommended by Vastu-Pasthu gurus. Maybe one can thank the National Institute of Design for the aesthetic city?

While Bangalore has been trying to build multi storied roads – like the elevated flyover, and the sometimes above ground metro and sometimes below ground metro, Ahmadabad has quietly implemented a rapid transport system – a dedicated bus corridor where only buses can ply. This is called the Bus Rapid Transport system, abbreviated as BRTS. The BRTS to me looks like a dedicated ring road for Buses. I did not travel by this system, so I am not aware of the frequency of service. But they do not have a service to the airport, if that is what you want to know.

The Kankaria lake is a good place to spend the evening if one also lugs along a pair of good ear plugs. Not that the people are noisy. The authorities in charge of the lake have installed speakers every 10 meters along the shore, which belts out “music”. Maybe they are vehicles for a hidden subconscious message to be transmitted by a devious government. Maybe the radio station paid a copious sum to the renovation project. Every single light bulb at the lake seems to be paid for by Max New York Life Insurance. Or so one would assume when one sees that name glowing from every light. Nevertheless, the lake is a good place to spend a lazy evening. The musical fountain and laser show is worth the extra 10 rupees. Also, do not forget to eat the corn samosa here.

Hey, I almost forgot to mention the lack of potholes on the city roads :)

Ramnagar hills - Sholay

2010-01-04T00:34:00.001+01:00

Today / Yesterday we've had the smallest announce ride group in a long while. There were 6 main listers - KD, Goop, Toothpick, Rajeev, ADK and KML; and 1 newbie - Arvind T.
KD and Prakash Pai were going towards Ramanagar for the Jan 10th announce ride, and the Jan 3rd announce ride guys were heading towards Kunigal, Nagamanagala, Huliyurdurga and Ramanagar as per the "plan". We were supposed to start at 6 am so we waited till 6.35 am. But there were only 6 bikes. So, the two rides merged into one :)

A cold, misty morning and beltabale roads greeted us once we crossed the NICE ring road. If any of us hadn't woken up, then the short twists, curves, banks and the odd psycho bus drivers made sure we had (woken up). I hadn't ridden a motorcycle in almost 10 months (not counting the last two weeks), so this was joy. The Mysore road trip a couple of days back was nowhere near as good. The roads were good and the "old bridge" was not as scenic as it felt a few years back, perhaps why the point - Mr. Broadband, just kept going. Which ment we missed the first regroup point.

So, the new first regroup point was a chai stop a few kilometers before Magadi. A familiar looking Thunderbird went past, with the rider looking here, and there and front and back, but completely ignoring the line of 5 bullets. We were now 5, because Prakash Pai's ride was not behaving itself, so he pulled out a few kilometers after we started. We waved, yelled and whislted, but this guy turned off towards Savandurga and went off. Shortly, another Thunderbird rolled in. It was tooth pick. After another round of Chai, an aqua marine classic joined the party - ADK.

We stopped at the world famous in Kunigal breakfast point - Siddalingeshwara Tiffen Center for some finger licking good Thatay Idly, Vada, Pulao and Chai Kappee.
Then we proceeded towards Huliyurdurga fort on the same Bangalore Bypass route which we "discovered" for RM9. Some people.... errr one people, went back towards Kunigal instead. So we were waiting for a while near Huliyurdurga. Then we were playing around with ADK's new Classic, when this wrong turn macha appears.
The road from Huliyurdurga to somewere between Madur and Channapatana on the SH-17 is still good to ride, but a bit bumpy. A village lady was enthralled by the aqua marine Classic that she ran in front of it, ADK did the almost skidding and all thing.

30 odd kms later, Broadband, Arvind and I were having some Mazza and waiting for the rest of the guys at a roadside shack at the SH-17 junction. We were jabbering away in Kannada, which apparently impressed the shopkeeper. I know, WTF? We waited for a while, before wondering if something went wrong for the other guys. Apparently the overturned truck which we ignored caught the fancy of our motographing junta. Any way as the other junta arrive, a yellow Alto stopped by for its occupants to take a sutta break. Again the aqua marine Classic exercised its magnetic charm and pulled the PYT driving the Alto towards itself. The poor young thing kissed the silencer with her bare legs while possing for a snap. The pain she will be feeling right now... Sigh.

Rajeev P, the one who we have forgotten to nick, said he needed to download really really fast. Some where out of public view. So we rushed to the closest Highway Highspeed internet cafe with a clean download center, where the cache is flushed i.e. Cafe Coffee Day. So we sat in the AC. Rajeev P did the downloading and flushing (or so we presume) which is why he is now called Broadband ;)

From there we pushed off to Ramanagar in search of the famous Sholay hills. After a few Autorikshaw walla GPS consultations, we were in the right place. A guide, rather the only guide, was booked for next week. And then a few of us trekked up the Ramanagar hill.

Once we came down, Rajeev P a.k.a. Broadband, Goop and KD went off to KD's place for a chill beverage, while Arvind, Toothpick, ADK and I went off to Hotel Taj international and world famous in Ramanagar for Biryani - which btw we didn't get. The Vegis of the world have no hope in this cruel Biryani world. Crap.

After some hajjar Kerala Parotas we left the lunch place and proceeded towards Blr. We seldom crossed 70 kph after this point. Hehe. But we were not sleepy. No sir. Then we split at the University Gates. I was back home at 4.10 pm after 245 kms of riding in one day, and 380 steps up a hill. Boy it felt good.

Thanks guys for turning up for the announce ride and for clubbing the reccee ride with it too. I sure had fun.

Connyland!

2009-07-19T23:46:00.002+02:00

"Seekeram va ma", shouted someone behind me. The ears perked up. What was it that I heard? Could it be right? Were my ears playing tricks on me again? Then the nose perked up. What was that odour?

Ah... that was "Dabur Amla Kesh taila". Where had it last encountered that smell? And why was I petrified? Mentally the offending odour me teleported back to the early 1990's - when that smell meant a forced head bath! And how I hated it ;)

But, what the heck? Where was I? Connyland. So the mind did a quick double take. Something didn't quite match. But after a while it kinda did. There is a sizeable Sri Lankan population in Switzerland after all. But today, in Connyland, it seemed as is all of them had congregated by design. Every second face was Sri Lankan, or south Asian :) It looked like a take over!

Anyways, the dope on Conney Land - the dolphin shows are interesting and are definately watchable. The sea lions shows are good too. They have a couple of sea lions which are supposed to be over 40 years. It also has a few rides - starting from the toy train, you can graduate to the wasserbhan - which threatens to get you wet, but not quite. Then there is the Dino attack which emulates Jurisic park on a microscopic and not quite as dramtic a scale. And don't forget to pose for the picture at the end! Then there is Star Trip - which, yes, it is supposed to be Star Trek. It feels like a flight simulator gone out of control - so be careful about that weak back and whiplash prone neck. And if you are less than 120 centimeters forget it - they don't like you in Star Trip :) If you fancy an adrenaline rush - you have the swinging ship where you swing like a pendulum, the only difference being the scary 190 degree of SHM! And there was one more ride - the name eludes me though - maybe "Free fall" or something similar.

I never thought I'd have a Eureka moment in an amusement park, but that is exactly what happened - maybe material for my other blog. muhuhahaha!!!

And food - a pizzeria, a cafe and a resteraunt provide sufficient variety, and you can also find an enclosure where you can eat your picnic.

Getting there - We took a train from Konstanz to Ermatingen and from there the bus to Conneyland. Trip time: approximately 30 minutes. The Day ticket for bus and train, Tageskarte, cost us 12.80 CHF, the tickets for Conneyland 28CHF. And we spent around 4 and a 1/2 hours there. A fun day trip, and oh for the record - I did think that it was rather cruel for those dolphins to be confined to only 13 million liters of water, ditto for those sea lions.

No pics were clicked on this trip - und das ist egal!

Lemon Icecream

2009-07-14T21:49:00.003+02:00

Amul had this policy of one new flavour a week or something like that*, so you'd think you've tasted all the possible ice creams flavours by now huh? Ever tasted Lemon Ice cream? Not me. Heck I can't even remember ever seeing that falvour available at that Gellato place in Indranagar or Corner house or even Naturals**.

And it seems to the a common flavour, in the Vanilla bracket, in Germany. It is called Zitrone Eis i.e. (Lemon Ice cream). And what is my sample space huh? Oh well not that scientific, but I've been tracking the menu on the Eis Van for the past couple of weeks. Each day the Eis Man plays around with the menu, but Lemon, Strawberry and Vanilla don't change. So

a lot of people buy the three falvors i.e. it moves fast or
they make too much of it, and hence the sale price is low, but the profit margins are high or
old stock, never moves so he has a lot of it which he is trying to dump or
it is the personal favorite of the Eis man

And the Gellato shops which are all over the place. You know - that stumble and you'll find one saying - yeah that applies to these Gellato shops. Every second shop in the city seems to be selling icecream.

Even there I seem to find this Zitarone Eis staring down at me from the menu, and the it does look like it sells, so maybe the Eis Man is not an exception.

The taste is quite interesting - lemony, a bit bitter etc and I wonder why it doesn't sell in India? Maybe the focus group didn't like it or something, but in anycase hese Ice cream companies have denied us the Lime Ice for way too long! I even got the mandatory corny name for it - Thanda Sherbath, just in case Amul, Kwality walls, Arun Ice cream are listening ;)

*Unverified hearsay.
**All references to Bangalore

Braille on drugs

2009-07-09T23:00:00.006+02:00

Some time last month the common cold doing the rounds caught up with me and kept me company for the mandatory week. To aliviate my "suffering" I picked up some over the counter drugs from the local pharmacy (Apotheke in German).

The packaging for the drugs was rather unique, thanks to the braille inscription (see pic above) . Normally, I'd have thought, "Ah! how thoughtful of the pharma company, looking out for the visually challenged". But then, the inherent goodness of man invariably vaporizes the minute he starts looking at bottom lines and profit margins, so why the eff would a pharma company take a hit on the packaging to benefit a minuscule percentage of its customers?

The curiosity suitably piqued, I started searching the European Laws for an answer, and in no time the reason for this seemingly altruistic act was staring back at me - Directive 2004/27/EC of the European Parliament and of the Council of 31 March 2004. The relevant excerpt -

The name of the medicinal product, as referred to in Article 54, point (a) must also be expressed in Braille format on the packaging. The marketing authorisation holder shall ensure that the package information leaflet is made available on request from patients' organisations in formats appropriate for the blind and partially-sighted

Entire text of the directive is available here

This instance of the inherent goodness of man was a result of some wicked arm twisting by some kind soul(s) in the EU parliament! Long live the "inherent" goodness of man :)

We-Gay!

2009-07-08T22:07:00.009+02:00

Woha! Now where did that come from huh? That's exactly what I thought. At first. Hmm...

But then, think about it - two guys; sharing an apartment; cooking food etc etc etc... hmm...

Well actually if you live in Germany it is sooo "we-gay". You see in Deutschland they call a flat sharing arrangement as Wohngemeinschaft. The popular abbreviation being - WG. Folks from the English speaking world would pronounce WG as Doubl-you-gee and be happy and dandy about it. But the German pronunciation is wee bit different. "W" is we and "G" is gay and "H" is haa. So, and so, WG is we-gay! Aren't we all so happy now ;)

And since I live in a WG it's such a We-gay situation! Yahahaha...

Disclaimer: They author is not a homophobe or heterophobe or any kinda ph(r)obe. The author does not personally know gay people, maybe this is why they don't tell him ;)
And no, he is not making fun of the German pronunciation. He is so glad Germans can pronounce his name the way it is supposed to be pronounced, he is just a full-of-himself-insensitive-f$@%^&*-b@$%^&#!!!

Germinating an idea - step 1

2009-07-07T00:07:00.004+02:00

Caution: Random rant! The only palce you'll read about - the inside of my cranium!

The phrase, "The plan, my friend, is to have no plan", has bounced around in my rather empty head for so long that it is now truly etched in my cranium. My travel plans are, at best erratic, and have been bordering on non existent. The cycle trip around the Bodensee - was a last minute impulse; ditto the walk along the Lägren; and ditto the trip to Munich. I spent more money than I should've on the first two ;) and missed out some very interesting thing too. But the Munich trip took the cake - I went on the weekend of an AC-DC concert and missed it. Sucker!

Don't get me wrong - having no plan works well , sometimes very well that you are tempted to give up planning altogether. For example - the numerous road side halts, to sip some tender coconut water or eat some finger licking dal fry - who the hell plans those? And they turn out well don't they? Or the unplannable pee stop. I can't do that man! Or not having any plans on a Saturday night and randomly hitting it off with someone intersting you've bumped into at a random location. Nah.. you can't plan those - but vacations are a wee bit different aren't they?

And at other times you just keep kicking yourself in the ass for having been so callous - like not having had the foresight to apply deo the morning of when you hit if off with the interesting person ;) which in hindsight is pretty daft.

So I got to make some sort of plan - even vauge one will do at this point, and do some homework if I want to get lucky or have a good vacation!

There are a couple of things I'd like to do on a vacation - climb mountains or ride a motorcycle. The former I can do in my new found "backyard" and the later I can do when I go back home in winter.

For climbing there are the Alps - apparently there are a few short ones where I don't need to be a technical climber to scale - so I need to find out those names, places, nearest rail head, prices, weather etc etc.

For winter I have my mind set on riding to the North East - more specifically Arunachal Pradesh A couple of weeks. And spend the remaining time in Banglaore. In the North East I'd like to see the Tawang monastery and cross the Sela pass. For both these I'd need an inner line permit from the Govt of India. So the next step to find out more about these innerline permits, and how to transport my motorcycle from Bangalore to Guwahati.

There you go - The seeds of an idea have been sown. Now the water needs to be poured!

Some retrospective posts...

2009-05-30T22:55:00.002+02:00

I am back to my old ways... I have missed blogging some trips :( How callous. How does the sun rise in the east every day! Daimn! :)

Anyhoo... just so that I do not forget to chronicle the stories this is what I must blog about - on the next holiday :)

1) The 160 kms bicycle ride around the Bodensee
2) Visit to the temple in Munich i.e. the BMW museum
3) Solo trek to the highest "peak" in the Black forest

Apart from these I must also chronicle these before they fade away from my mind
1) Dus kahanieyain - 10 blokes climb up Kumara parvatha - also the day of hiking innovation: 20-20
2) Rider Mania 2009 - the story of 600+ enfields thumping in the middle of the night in hills of ooty and the satisfaction of a job well done

Hopefully I can do all this before Alzheimer kicks in, then one day a long long time from now.... i can read about it and feel happy that I once had a life :)

Feldberg - Black forest´s highest peak.

2009-05-24T21:31:00.008+02:00

Schwarzwald i.e. the Black Forest is a wonderful place to trek. And this weekend I trekked for two days in Süd-Schwarzwald. I spent the night at a Youth hostel or Jungendherberge and inflicted my nascent German on the some more locals and also my two-word limited edition Japanese on a very sweet Japanese woman.

Almost three months in Germany now, huh, and I couldn't not have trekked for so long, and so I had to trek through a forest, and I was told they don't come any better than the Black Forest :) But first things first, I needed some maps, so I went around Konstanz hunting for a map of Schwarzwald on the day before the trek. Here is a hint - look in any book store, you will find maps from here to Timbaktu. I picked up a Wander-und-Radkarte #771 Schwarzwald Südblatt (www.kompass.at) The resolution was 1:75000. It was the first time I was using a map while treking :) so I thought 1:75000 would be good enough. But while treking I realized that I needed something better than that! Oh yeah - to answer the usual desi question - I paid 7€ for the map.

The scoop about Feldberg - if you need it - It is the highest peak in the Schwarzwald - approximately 1550 meters above MSL according to my GPS unit. It had some good places to ski - begininers slopes - so it is a good place to visit in winters. You can get here from Barenthal by Bus - and to Barenthal by train, haha. There are plenty of hotels over here, so you can stay overnight etc, etc. If you are trekking - plan on getting to Feldberg by afternoon - so you can have something to eat at the numerous eateries. The view from Feldberg wasn't exactly breathtaking, but you do get some - gasp, wow - sorta points along the way while trekking.

The story of my trek isn't compelling enough to blog about - so this is what I shall do. I shall copy paste from an e-mail I sent out after the trek ;)

caught train (changed three trains in 2 hours)
reached Barentahl
start climb with enthusiasm
back at railway station in one hour
realized i went around in a circle
decide to inflict my german on the locals
locals use sign language to get me on the right direction
walk
walk some more
and some more
am hungry
out of water
walk some more
see a hotel! yay!
eat and drink!
choose to climb a 70 degree gradient over the cable car... (its supposed to be walk remember)
curse myself
curse some more
sleep for 10 minutes
see dude and dudette cycling up the gradient
go into "i am not a wuss" mode
start climb again
see crazy signs
click snaps
realize i am late for the 6 pm deadline at youth hostel
so break into a brisk walk
doesn't last long
keep walking (or try to)
see the town after 2 hours
takes another 45 mins to reach hostel...
hostel run by a German gent and his Japanese wife, so I do the Nihao routine.
get asked - your name like Japanese dish? I nod yes like a car doll.
take bath.. eat.. read the book and sleep
wake up... find a lot of people at breakfast.. where were they yesterday??
eat... and eat and eat...
leave for brandenburg after saying Arigatho to Mrs. Sumiko of the Youth hostel
climb down..
inflict german on more locals
hear motorbikes roar down in the valley... heart breaks into zillion peices...
hear more motorbikes... heart breaks somemore..
see sign saying beware of stray german shepards... wtf?
keep climbing down...
and down
spot wild deer and wild rabbits...rather they spot me... they bolt... foliage rustel... i look... i catch a fleeting glimpse types
mr. newton kicks in... what goes down must come up... (or maybe that was the other way around) so start climbing up...
still climbing...
out of water
reach a section which i did yesterday... wtf?
curse the route for 4 extra hours of climbing down and climbing ups
see a hotel...
drink 1.5 liters of apple juice... (what was i thinking???)
walk some more...
and more...
after 8 hours of walking/climbing i am still 5 kms away from the nearest railway station...
spot a bus spot
give up and wait
catch bus
catch train
walk home
upload photos
and bore you with my account...

This is a retrospective post. Almost a month old.

The Lägern

2009-05-10T22:45:00.012+02:00

So, I did some trekking (or maybe just walking) today near Zurich. A place called the the Lägern. I started in a village called Stienmaur in Switzerland - where i met a some friendly Swiss people who understood my German and replied in English :) and was done with the trek at Baden - a decent sized city.

Approximately 11 kilometers in around 3.5 hours. Hardly stopped in between and no 20-20 either :P The best part - I seemed to have stumbled on a non-touristy kinda thing! Unlike the last trip, hardly had any traffic on my route :)

Unfortunately I do not have the GPS tracks for this trek, as the GPS unit gaveup on me at little after Rengensburg, about an hour before the Lägern. The route is fairly easy though. Take a train on the S5 line from Zurich HB (Main railway station) towards Oberglatt and Niederweningen. Get off at Stienmaur - approximately 25 minutes from Zurich HB. You will find
Lägernstrasse towards the left of the station. Climb up the Lägernstrasse and about 200 meters or so, you'll see a main road. Across the main road, you will find a gravel road with a fairly steep gradient. A few boards around this road should advertise a certain Sculpture joint. Now carefully cross the road and yippee!!! you are on you way to the Lägern. So, my trek started at 1325.

The Sculpture joint is about 50 meters from the main road, don't know what goes on here, but looked like an interesting place. A few hundred meters from the Sculpture place, you will be accosted but three Yaks. Ahem! Ahem! Yes sir. Yaks. Ok I will repeat this one more time. Y.A.K.S. The kinds you find roaming around in Tibet. (ah ha)

Apprently this dude, Manuel Bauer, imported some Yak from Tibet in 1998 and well the rest, as they say, is history. I wonder if the Yak cheese tastes better in Switzerland than it does in Leh... hmmm... hmmm....

Anyways, these Yak seemed quite surprised to see me. I don't know why? I could see the curiosity oozing from those twinking bovine eyes. Maybe something in their genes told them that we were from the same land. What-e-nice... Su's theory of genetic geographic recognition. wah wah. I was obvoisuly thrilled. And right next to this kutti farm where these poor citters were fenced was the Kindergarten of Rengensburg. (btw.. did you know Kindergarten is a German word which we have hijacked??)

After Rengensburg, there is a potential for confusion, but remember - the Lägern is a climb, so take the steepest route. When ever in confusion take the steepest road/path :) I tried my pathetic German on many people today.

"Entschuldigung..... Welcher richtung ist Lägern??" - Excuse me... what is the direction to Lägern?

The younger ladies, rather strangely, thought I was trying to hit on them. The elder ones would reply with "Ja ja.. theses richtung" with a rather bemused smile. The outsiders would be like "Keine Ahnung!". And some replied in English - "It is five minutes down this path, then take a right turn, it is difficult to miss". Yay! God bless their souls!

The whole time it seemed like it would rain the next second, but then that dew point - current temperature caluclation prooved to be more than trustworthy. Caught some drizzle at the end of the trek at Baden.

I crossed a handful of people returning from the Lägern at 1420 pm - two men hurtling down the slopes on their mountain bikes, three women leading their horses down the slope, five or six families with their dogs, some with prams etc etc... but no one going up. Wtf? I know.

At the Lägern you will find this Alien artifact - even worse than MIT's portal to hell in Manipal - a round, maybe footballish shaped thingy which humans have converted into a radar station for the Zurich Airport. A few cafes below the radar station serve as the boundary between those you walked across the Lägern and those who didn't. I was rather tempeted to sit, drink some hot coffee, and eat some Spetzle, but then it did seem like it would rain any minute, so I plodded on.

The next stretch is the part to remember - soon you are walking along a ledge - with just vegitation on either side preventing you from rolling down 100 feet at 75 degrees. I must say, if these trees weren't there then vertigo may have just kicked in. But there were trees, so no vertigo or any such shit. For nearly an 1/2 hour of walking it was like this. At the top of the ridge types, and you can see these ancient walls - crumbling at some palces; and not crumbling at others... hehe... owersmarat blogger kaun?

Any historical significance? I still do not know the cultural or historical significance of the Lägern, but it looked like a fort from the Middle Ages. Google unfortunately has been least bit helpful - mostly in part because a search for "Lägern + history" returns "Lager - Beeripedia the Beer Wiki" and other such links :)

At the end of the Lägern began the decent down to Baden for nearly 1 hour and 30 minutes, you kept climbing down and climbing down and climbing down. Under the canopy of the protective trees there was a hidden medow of white flowers. What-e-nice it was. There were plenty of camp sites - imagine a night party... aie aie aye ya! I like. Must do it some time.

At 1700 hrs I was out of the woods and in the city of Baden! Baden is another 25 minutes by train from Zurich, and there is a train every 1/2 hour heading towards Zurich, so it really is easy come - easy go, with easy climb thrown in for free.

The trek in so many ways reminded me of the slopes of Coorg and Chickmagalur. Compared to Kumara Parvatha, this was a piece of cake. If you are arthritic it isn't easy either!

I also realized how much i miss the big city! all because of Zurich! I was there for a fleeting moment, but heck I was bowled over. If only there was a cheaper way to get there and back :D If only... if only...

anyways... I learnt of this trek at 1800 on Saturday from this website - http://www.theswitzerlandtraveler.com/walks-near-zrich-the-lgern/. The day tickets to Steinmaur and back from Baden to Konstanz was 68 Franks. The perils of last minute travel. I must reform myself to save some moolah... (imagine how many bar-lee juice that money could have bought huh... now makes sense no... bladdeee)

Switzerland, so far, seems to be a cultural melting pot. Why? I saw people from different ethnicities here - who seemed to be living here, as opposed to just visiing. Much more than I've ever seen before. You see, some of us have never been to New York before ;) But then some of us have never been to Zurich either! Wtf... most of us never went to Timmies either.

18 BHP to 1 HP

2009-04-09T22:39:00.005+02:00

Once upon a time, not so very long long ago, I used to ride a 18 Brake horsepower motorcycle - the Royal Enfield Thunderbird 350cc. I too used to be a biker boy. Once upon a time...

Work is just under a kilometer away from home, and so I have been walking to work. The best part of the walk is around 100 m before work. There is this garrage, and the mechanic happens to repair and sell old motorcycles. So everyday, before and after work, I salivate, drool, ogle at these bikes. Recently I've seen this bike with a side car, and well... I've just been drooling some more, and missing my motorcycle some more.

The past one week has seen some exceptionally pleasant weather - the road side daffodils have bloomed, the walkways are flush with yellow, and I am told Mainau is ready to explode with colors; the sky is blue - sky blue, like Bangalore during February; the biker boys are out with their bikes; and the hem lines... hmm... have gone UP - God I love spring!

Last weekend I spent my time ruminating about life, quarter life crisis??. Anyways, I was thinking that when I have the time - I have no bike, nor the means to acquire one over-night, and when I had no time (or acted as if I have no time) - I had a kickass bike. What-a-strange no?? Either I could keep thinking... ahem ahem.. brooding, or I could do something about the shit-u-a-shan... It is a no brainer, that by the time I convert my Indian Drivers License, and save up enough money for a bike, it will be the end of the biking season in Europe. And I am not daft enough to ride during winters - no sir, I am crazy, but not that insane. So what's the other option?

If I have learnt anything about myself, then it is that I have an incurable affliction. I must be able to travel when ever I please, and I don't mean a train ride or a car ride. I must be in charge of the vehicle - and I must feel the wind in my hair*, bugs in my nose, and the pebbles hitting my legs. These are the small pleasures of life which I have missed in the past 6 weeks. Perhaps another hobby could keep me interested? I've tried cooking, and i've given stained glass a shot. I like them both, but I'd rather eat than cook, and stained glass is hard work. I don't enjoy doing it, but the end result is something which makes me feel proud. So I am back to square one.

You see these gazillion number of people cycling around in Konstanz. And a decent new bicycle costs upwards of €400 - and remember what it costs in India?? This is insane!!! I am not sure I want to buy one, especially if I am not going to live here long enough - so I have rented one. (pssst... this is the bhp to human power** i.e. 1 HP)

I have gotten my hand on a rental bike for three days for €25. A lake, the Bodensee - 300 kms to circumnavigate through 3 countries - presents itself as a very tasty route. I need no visa. What else could I ask for? But the last time I peddled was in 1999 - ten years ago! Can I do 300 kms in 3 days? Questions, questions, questions!!! Heck, I haven't even made hotel reservations - and it is a long Easter vacation! All the best to me!

* Always ride a bike i.e. motorcycle with a helmet. Always!
** thanks to jishnu for the analogy.

Born to be wild...

2009-04-08T23:51:00.001+02:00

I must, I must post this video..

This is the one we made on that "famous" trip from Kalkaji in New Delhi to Khardung La in Leh via Manali and Chamkari-pul during July-August 2007 on 5 rented motorcycles from a friendly scamster who participates in the raid-de-himalaya every year. We thank him everyday for this very interesting and adventure filled motorcycle ride - without his rotten bikes we would've never had fun, nor the time to make our crazy videos , nor would we have learned how to fix broken motorcycles at dizzing altitudes!
I tend to feel all fuzzy and warm every time I watch it, and with me that can be several times in a loop, bordering on OCD :) Oh yeah, in case you didn't know, Khardung La - 18380 feet above MSL, is supposed to be the world's highest motorable road.

It is called Leh ने ले ली... i.e. Leh whopped our butt :) Because it really did!

Germany: Thinking like a traveler - part 1

2009-02-27T23:28:00.008+01:00

Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I stepped onto European soil omitting the time I roamed around Frankfurt airport during transit a couple of years ago.
Tom Kelley from IDEO, in his lecture at Stanford titled "Young at Heart: How to Be an Innovator for Life" says in one section the one must - "Think Like a traveler". He says, when you travel you are in a state of hyper awareness, and you notice every small detail which is different from your "natural" habitat. And that is what I did, a little deliberately, and are my observations from my first evening in Germany:

1) Thoughtful design - On the S-Bhan on the ICE connection from the Frankfurt Airport to Stuttgart I noticed the following things. I think this train is equivalent of the Shatabi of the IR*.
a) Motion sickness bags prominently visible and available in good quantity.
b) Separate and private cabins for people traveling with kids - so cranky kids will disturb only their parents and not the other travelers
c) Ceiling mounted sensor driven automatic opening and closing of doors connecting bogies of the train.
d) Multiple escape routes in the event of an accident. Instructions in German, English, French and Spanish.
e) There is more leg room in the second class seating area.
f) People were busy all the while - I saw people reading at any given opportunity - novels, research papers, newspapers etc etc.
g) The rail was very smooth - no abrupt changes in speed, no jerks or sounds when the tracks are changed, and ya, never heard the engine hoot its horns
h) The seats were moulded plastic.

2) On the train from Stuttgart to Singen I observed
a) The train was not as good as the ICE train, but it did the job well. The flooring was like an ordinary IR train. But the seats were more spacious and were in a 2+2 configuration. Each seat had a head rest in the shape of an "L" i.e. if you slept while sitting, and if your head rolled to one side, then your head would rest on the shorter end of the "L". Why should only the window seat guys have all the fun :)
b) Each compartment had a dustbin - and again, the production quality was something I was impressed with. The gauge of metal used was thick, the pivot or hinge to close the lid was noiseless - and it was of a fair size, not too small and not too big.
c) Each station was announced over a speaker system.

On the train from Singen to Konstanz was like the Volvo bus in Bangalore. But they also had these collapsible seats, maybe they are not used in case the passenger load is too much - but then who would evict those already sitting?
They had a fire extinguisher stowed under one of the seats in a reachable, yet unobtrusive manner. Also they had these travel magazines hung all over the compartment. One corner of the magazine was tied to one end of a string and the other end was tied to a metal loop. Wonder if anyone uses it that way.

At the Konstanz station I had to cross platforms to head out of the station. There are no porters, so it is self help all the way. When you have three pieces of luggage that can become a problem. But not to worry - they have this conveyor belt which will transport your luggage down the stairs! The power of use cases!

Unfortunately there were no signs which indicated where I could get a taxi, but some people on the street were good enough to give me directions in english!

There were no problems at the immigration control lines either - but was stopped by the cops on two occasions. The first time, at the customs, I was singled out from the crowd - maybe because I looked different. But as soon as the cop saw the Indian passport he lost interest in me :) It also helped that he was looking at my Chinese Visa the same time. hahaha..

The second time, the cops were looking for someone on the train to Singen, and I made the mistake of getting up and heading to the exit just as they entered the compartment from the other end... hehe.. I was trying to check if the station was mine as they called out "Engen" and I was too sleepy to realize that. But then again, the two cops saw the Indian passport, and the visa and flight stickers and they lost interest. They even told me that Singen was the last stop on the line, so I could go back to sleep :)

* IR = Indian Railways

Somanathpur

2008-12-26T12:51:00.005+01:00

Somnathpur at EveryTrail

Map created by EveryTrail:GPS Geotagging

Somanathpur is a small village about 17 kms from Bannur in Karnataka. The roads from Bannur to Somanathpura are in a state of disrepair (as of dec ’08). Private and State transport buses run from Bannur to Somanathpura with a semblance of regularity. Private transport or taxis are a more convenient mode of transport. Motorcycles are even better ;) If you are traveling from Bangalore, the best way to get there is from Mandya. The Mandya to Somanathpur is approximately 29 kms of which 22kms are good roads.

At Mandya ask for the road to Bannur. At the end of 20 kms from Mandya this road meets the Bannur – Malavalli road at a “T” junction. Take a right turn here. About a kilometer ahead you will find yet another T junction. You are now about 7 kms from Somanathpura - take a left turn here.

As one approaches Somanathpur from “T” junction mentioned above the road curves to the left at the entrance of Somanathpur. On the right you will find a colorful temple complex and a large peepal tree offering much needed shade. This is also serves as the village bus stop. It will be a good idea to park your vehicle here – unless you want to pay Rs 10 or Rs 5 for a non-existent parking lot. The Keshava temple “ruins” is less than 100 meters from the bus stop. One must buy tickets to enter the temple – the usual ASI issue tickets priced at Rs 5 for Indian Citizens and Rs 10 for “others”.

Do not expect to find the temple in ruins; the ASI has done a commendable job maintaining the complex in near pristine condition. The lawn is very well maintained too, although the palm trees look a little out of place. No prayers are offered at this temple since the idol is/was broken, or so my grandmother says. The idol, we found, isn’t broken, but seems to have been reconstructed, so must have been broken at some time. Despite the no prayers status of the temple, one is supposed to take off one’s footware outside the Mahadwara. There is one unmanned shoe rack, and no charges for utilizing this facility. I guess the uniformed and stern looking policeman at the Mahadwara severs as a deterrent to wanna-be footware thieves. I didn’t spot any monkeys here.

Architecturally, the temple is similar to those at Belur and Halebid – built on a platform, star shaped, circular pillars – no two being alike, elephants at the bottom of the temple, horsemen, musicians, dancers, different avatars of Vishnu, the incomprehensible ability to consistently sculpt a straight line across stones etc etc. The construction material is similar - soap stone.

The Keshava temple at Somanathpur was constructed by a high ranking officer in the Hoysala dynasty (named Somanatha), unlike the Belur and Halebid temples which were constructed by the kings themselves. The temple was constructed sometime during the 13th century. The architecture is similar to the Hoysala temples of Belur and Halebid. Among the three, Somanathpur is the smallest – but that in no way diminishes the beauty of the temple.

Halebid boasts of housing one of the largest and most beautiful Nandi’s and Belur boasts of the once upon a time revolving pillar. Somanathpur however has no such apparent claim to fame. There was only one guide at work, unlike the numerous that one finds elsewhere. He was busy with another group, so had to be content with our own interpretations of the sculptures. I am sure some vital information is missing thanks to this “un-guided” nature of my visit.

The single guide on duty is perhaps indicative of the lack of tourist interest in this particular temple. Also indicative of this misfortune is the sole tender coconut water vendor and a solitary beggar outside the complex.

Is it worth going to? Yes. It most certainly is.
If I could choose only one of the three complexes to visit then which one would I choose? Halebid.
Time taken from Bangalore: 3 hrs

The Great Bangalore Bypass

2008-12-26T12:50:00.001+01:00

Riders riding from up north for Rider Mania 09 can heave a sigh of relief. You can bypass Bangalore without thinking twice - that is unless you really really want to see Bangalore traffic at its worst in Nellamangala a.k.a. Hellamangala. Without beating around the bush…

For your riding pleasure, we had been on a reccee ride yesterday to verify if Tumkur-Kunigal-Maddur was rippable / partrang-able. The answer, as you may have guessed by now, is “oh yeah!”

Distance : 90 kms
Road Quality : Kicka$$ compared to what we were expecting. I’d rate it 8/10.
Traffic : Negligible
Time Taken : 2 hours 30 minutes (including two sutta stops - 1st to fix Jishnu’s seepdo cable and 2nd to contemplate whether it was worthwhile climbing the Hulidurga fort)

The usual riders apply - beware of
a) occasional potholes (especially one, which is “large enough to capture an elephant”-Jishnu)
b) very cleverly camoflaged speed breakers and
c) a new invention called the ulta speed breaker
d) random animals (and humans) crossing the road
e) the occasional psycho bus driver who will try to mow you down

Other than that - totally rippable.

I’d like to thank all the riders for joining at such a short notice - Krishna Chandra, Jishnu, Praveen, Krishna Prasad, V Reddy and Shabareesh It was a super delux ride.

More importantly a very special thanks to our writerray* - Praveen Shankara (Krishna’s pillion) for carefully noting down the visual cues, and for the writeup which needed very little editing and additions Thank you very much!

—————————————–
The Great Bangalore Bypass! - by Praveen Shankara
—————————————–

Land marks for route through Tumkur town to Maddur.

As the NH4 nears Tumkur (coming from Sira), notice

1. A chimney with “SLNT” written on it on the right side.
2. A brick chimney on the right side.
3. Pass under the foot over bridge.
4. Sri Sangama Agro Food Industries on right side.
5. Notice a petrol pump on the left side - IOC
6. Notice two high tension towers on the right side.

Soon after Sai Sangama Agro industries you have to take right turn to the service road on the right side and take left turn.

In the next fork take the left turn and proceed parallel to the high way.

You know you have missed a turn if you see “User Fee road ends here”

Take the first right turn you get, you should be able to see “TATA” on a chimney on your left before taking a right. Notice

1. ASMA MOTORS on the left side.

Proceed straight and take left turn when you reach a “T” junction. As you turn left, notice

1. RIMA Hospital on your right side.
2. Karnataka State Warehouse on the left side.

As you proceed straight on this road, notice

1. TOMLINSON Church on right side.
2. HYUNDAI Trident Showroom on right side.
3. IBP Petrol Bunk on right side.
4. Indian Oil Petrol Bunk on right side.
5. A big Hanuman statue on the right side.

Go straight near Hanuman statue. (Don’t take left turn). You reach a circle where you have to go straight. As you proceed, notice

1. GUBBI VEERANNA CHITRA MANDIR (Theatre) on the right side.

You will now reach a signal at a “T” junction. Take a right turn here and proceed.

1. District Hospital on the right side.
2. Hero Honda showroom on left side.
3. Traffic Signal with mark “KUNIGAL ".

Take left turn here on to the KUNIGAL ROAD. Proceed straight and notice

1. Railway track overhead.
2. State Bank of Mysore on the right side.

In the next intersection proceed straight. The fork here joins and forms a single road later. Notice

1. KUNIGAL 34 Kms board.

You are now on the way to Kunigal.
You know you have reached Kunigal when you see a fenced park and a yellow/cream colored house on the left.

When you reach Kunigal Junction take right turn on to Bangalore-Mangalore Highway. Proceed and take the first left turn to “MADDUR” (Before turning left, notice the Bharath Petroleum Bunk on the right side). Maddur is 51 Kms from Kunigal.

———————————————-

Tumkur-Kunigal-Maddur

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*Person who writes things down - a very popular term in Police stations

Pearl Valley / Chickatirupati - RTMC announce ride Dec 08

2008-12-09T10:08:00.005+01:00

Chickatirupathi to Muthalya Madavu (pearl valley) at EveryTrail

Map created by EveryTrail:GPS Geotagging

Pearl Valley is a not so famous seasonal waterfall south of Bangalore near Anekal. It is hardly 30 odd kilometers from South Bangalore. The environs are pleasant. The lone hotel run by the Govt. of Karnataka is clean, serves edible food, and reasonably priced. I am sure the view of the water fall must be stunning, when the water level is sufficient.

One needs to descend almost 200 odd meters from the parking lot to view the waterfall. The curious ones from our group found a trickling stream. What else could one expect in December?

Chickatrupati is in the Kolar district - we took a dirt road from some where outside of Varatur to reach this place. We didn't visit the temple, had some food at a road side joint. Some crazy bunch of riders we are :)

A funny incident transpired earlier in the day. We had assembled just outside the HAL airport. We as in 38 bikes. On a cold December morning. Barely a week after 20-something year olds had unleashed terror in the streets of Bombay. Needless to say our cops were edgy. Apparently there was a security threat to Bangalore. Two cops came up and asked us all kinds of questions - "Who are you?", "Where are you going?", "Are you all together?", "Do you have permission for a road rally?", "Where is your road permit?", "Did you take permission from the Police commissioner?". I couldn't help howling like a hyena :) :)

None of their questions made sense, but we do appreciate their concern. I hope they remain vigilant, if only for a few days.

A big thanks to the ride organizers and all the junta who showed up. Xie Xie.

Searching for a castle - Naggar

2008-10-31T22:00:00.002+01:00

Naggar is a sleepy little village located across the river Beas, half way between Manali and Kulu. A village, well known Russian painter Nickolai Reorich called home. For nearly 1500 years it served as the capital of the Kullu valley. The current “castle” is almost 500 years old. The Lonely Planet describes Naggar as “one of the nicest places in the Kullu valley”. On reading those nine words, I made up my mind. I had to see Naggar.

“An idle mind is a devil’s workshop” goes the proverb. In my case, it is more like the devil’s canvas. The devil in my mind, I must regrettably report, is a very creative artist. An artist hell bent on painting the mundane as grand, and the moderately novel as opulently exotic. The same tragedy befell Naggar, and in the depths of my mind a remote hill kingdom took shape.

A large crumbling castle surrounded by a deep desolate moat - a moat, once full of crocodiles, now overflowing with weeds and garbage. A portion of the castle had been refurbished as a modern hotel, warm water 24x7, warm bed and courteous hotel staff. At night they chose to use torch light flames instead of electric lights. A friendly ghost or two wandered the corridors greeting the guests with goose bumps. Doesn’t that sound like a cross between the Mysore palace, the Ripley Castle and Tuglak’s fort at Aurangabad?

Naggar, the village that it is, isn’t really large, a kilometer in length at the most. Naggar and Kullu / Manali are on opposite banks of the river Beas, and hence a river crossing is necessary if one travels from Kullu towards Naggar. The Beas, at this stage, isn’t exactly meandering, nor is it raging, hence the sound of the river can be best described as a gentle gurgling. The gentle gurgling fades away into the background as one climbs the hair pin bends towards Naggar, and a few kilometers after one has forgotten the existence of the river, one is accosted by a rash of dwellings. The dwellings quickly disappear and give way to a dead end. And as one inspects the dead end, one can spot a parking lot to the right; a couple of desolate eateries to the left; and a very prominent sign proclaiming the existence of the Roerich gallery. Hmmm… So where is Naggar? And where is the castle?

We reached the dead end at around 0930 am or thereabouts, don’t remember the exact time. In any case, we were a wee bit early for the gallery. The friendly shopkeepers at the desolate eateries beckoned. We were sufficiently tempted by the local apple and litchi juice, and bought a couple of cold bottles. While killing time, sipping some fresh litchi juice, and also out of curiosity, I asked the shopkeeper, “Where is this Naggar Castle?”

She pointed in the general direction of where we came from, and said, “Down there”.

Disbelief. Then Confusion.

“But, we just came from there! Didn’t see a castle anywhere…”, I clarified while hinting that she was probably not in her senses.

“Udhar deko…. Vho havayli dik rahi hai? Bahar bahut lakdi raki hai.. Vho hi hai”, she said – See there… can you see that big house there, the one with a lot of wood piled outside, that’s the one.

“And where is Naggar?”, I persisted.

“Surrounding the castle, silly”, she replied with a toothy grin.

Oh yeah! Gone were the illusions of a partially dilapidated grand stone castle surrounded by a deep mote, and in came the reality of a “wooden havayli”.

Pause. Sink in. React.

“And that was the castle I so desperately wanted to see? I came all the way to see a havayli?”, I thought dejectedly.

Dejection soon gave way to disgust, followed by a round expletives aimed at the author. I tell you what? I think the author, of that portion of The Lonely Planet guide, was smoking pot – lots of it. Or maybe the author’s diction was poor. Or maybe he was hung up on the proverb - “An Englishman’s home is his castle”. To clarify – a) this is not an Englishman’s home – it was the home of an Indian King, and b) a Kings abode isn’t always called a castle. So, what the heck was he thinking? Arrggghhhh…..

“Castle” is way too grand and strong; “house” is way too ordinary. “Manor” would have been more appropriate. The Lonely Planet is very shrewd – it said “one of the nicest places in the Kullu valley”. Which means it isn’t better when compared to Manali/Vhashist. This puts to rest any speculation about the author’s diction. Then why castle? Did he not know what a castle is supposed to look like? Must be an inside joke. But, I was not laughing!

Did I equate my writing skills with those of Shakespeare? It just wouldn’t be right! And that was the quantum of difference between my illusion of a castle and that thing the shopkeeper was gesturing at.

The Manor, as you’ve no doubt figured, is fairly easy to miss. To its credit it’s a handsome wood and stone structure. You’ll seldom find anything equivalent to it in India. But one must temper ones expectations. By no means is it as opulent as a castle in Jaipur, no sir, such a comparison is unwarranted. The view is breathtaking, it is Himachal after all. The wood work is magnificent, and an architect’s paradise. The manor also houses an overrated museum, nothing much will be missed if you don’t visit.

There is an entrance fee to be paid – I think Rs 60, but it is worth it. The inner courtyard houses the Jagatapatti temple, which was closed when we visited. Legend has it that a chief of the village married a beautiful girl from a village on a distant hill. On arriving in Naggar, the bride cried her heart out at the thought of being away from her village. To pacify her, a swarm of wild bees transported a mega granite slab from her village to the chief’s home – i.e. the “castle”. Over time, the miracle entrenched itself in popular folk lore. Long after the crying bride, a British Burra Sahaib arrived at the “castle”. He pho-phoed the legend, and was promptly afflicted with a mysterious fever. He died a few weeks later – the perfect Egyptian curse. One must hear this story from a local guide. I believed it; didn’t want to die of a mysterious fever so soon. For the record, oh protecting spirit, I still believe it.

The best part about Naggar is that it is comparatively sparse as far as tourists are concerned. Not that there are none, but significantly lower than what I noticed in Manali / Kullu. As the Lonely Planet Guide will tell you, there are plenty of hotels in Naggar, cheaper than the ones at Manali and Kullu. If you must stay in Naggar, I wouldn’t hesitate in suggesting the “Castle” – the views are breath taking; comparable and at times even better than the view from the Dragon in Manali.

Roerich Gallery

If you are the artsy types, then you’d enjoy this place. If you are interested in Roerich Sr. then you wouldn’t be disappointed. Roerich Sr’s residence has been converted into a museum. The house, as expected, is quite old. A well maintained garden literally envelopes the house - you can hardly glimpse the house from outside the compound. You feel as if you are on the sets of Hansel and Gretel – a garden full of candies; a house made up of chocolate fudge and ice cream; and the friendly cat loitering around.

The art gallery and art school is located around 500 meters away from the museum. They teach dance, pottery, weaving besides painting here. We saw a lot of children at school. To be honest, felt a bit jealous. Learning art at a place like this, lucky bas$%^&*, I hope they know it!

Perhaps i'd have enjoyed it more if I had spent some more time there. Let it grow on me types. I got the feeling that I'd love to trek these hills or lounge in a balcony, literary marvel in one hand and a searing cup of hot chocolate in the other. Some day. Some day.

Lunching in Old Manali

2008-10-22T16:35:00.006+02:00

Naggar had been an utter disappointment. I had expected something more grand, more opulent, and certainly more derelict. Naggar was supposed to be home to a haunted castle, and hence the expectation, however, all that we found was a rather well kept bungalow being passed off as a castle - forget haunted. The Roereich estate was a damp squib too. To lift up the spirits, I was looking forward to a good lunch. Didn't want anything too fancy, just some paranta and curd/dhahi. Some butter would do fine too. And so, with thoughts of good food occupying our minds, Vatsa and I made it back to Old Manali a little after noon.

Old Manali can be a very depressing place. It is over crowded. Tourists here, tourists there, tourists every where, and my pet peeve - one ways! Manali beats Bangalore in the number of one ways. I was reminded of Bangalore. Hmm....

If you search for food - your eyes will catch South-Indian meals advertised all over. What the..? You didn't travel from South-India to Himachal Pradesh to eat Taai-Sadam or Idly vada and Masala Dosa. You need your Parantha's and stuffed Shimla mirch.

Vatsa was also of the same opinion. No south Indian idly-vada-dosa for us. So, our first quest of the afternoon was to find a Non-south Indian restaurant. We were probably the few desi tourists who openly referred to the Lonely Planet - India guide. Don't get me wrong, it is a fantastic guide, but most desi's would consider it an affront to use it ;) "Its my country, who are these firangs to tell me about it?" will be the first response, which will be soon followed by "You paid 1000 rupees for that book??? What?? Are you out of your mind??". So, to avoid the risk of being ridiculed by my country men, I discretely opened my copy of the guide, and looked under "Eating - Manali"....

Cafe Amigos, hmmm.. Spanish?? Nah... it is a German bakery! Defies logic if you ask me, but that is besides the point. I am not critiquing Hotel names, I am merely trying to find a nice North Indian place to eat. So, no German/Spanish bakeries please. Next.

Chopsticks - Chinese place, specializes in Tibetian... hmm... no good, will taste that in Leh. Not now.

Mayur - waiters fussing over napkins. What the efff?? Nothing pansy for us... (Not to mention too expensive...)

Mom's Kitchen - "tastes like Mom used to make back home". Hmm... "Back home", as in Mangalore or as in England?? My guess was England, something the next sentence confirmed - "tasty mashed potato". The only place for mashed potato is inside a paratha or pani puri or Masala Dosa.

I'd almost given up by now, and next one in the list irked me some more - Swamiji's Madras Cafe. Aaarggh! I wouldn't go to a hotel which advertised itself so blatantly as a Idly-Vada-Samabar place. Even if it were the only surviving hotel during a nuclear winter. "Why O' God why? What sin did I do that you make me eat Idly-Vada-Sambar in North India?", I thought.

Now you know why any self respecting, normal, desi dude would look down on The Lonely Planet. It just wasn't written for us! The target market is totally different. You have to be an Idly or continental cuisine fanatic, and I qualified as neither.

The next two restaurants in the list saved the book form being consigned to the closest garbage bin. And of course, the paucity of the aforementioned garbage bins in public places coupled with my misplaced civic sense would have prevented me from throwing garbage in public anyways.

By a method of elimination (i.e. lack of other alternatives) we zeroed in on Kwality Sher-e-Punjab and Original Sher-e-Punjab. The names themselves inspired confidence of being able to provide quality Dal Fry and Alu-dhay-paranthay. "These two restaurants abut each other, one on the left, one on the right, perhaps even share a common kitchen", said the guide. I think the author of the guide was just trying to get done with the "Indian" section in a hurry. Can you think of any other explanation?

My mind began chanting the words "Sher-e-Punjab. Sher-e-Punjab. Sher-e-Punjab....", and in its echoes it effortlessly drifted to a roadside dhaba run by a friendly Sardarji welcoming me with a glass of tall cool lassi, and that is exactly what I began searching for. The concept of being in the middle of a bustling town was lost on me. I yearned for the open roads, and the roadside shacks which routinely serve hot rotis and lip smacking dal fry. The reality was... hmm.. well... quite disappointing. Sher-e-Punjab turned out to be this hole in the wall, and definitely adjacent to Original Sher-e-Punjab. Kwality was more gaudy, and both were equally choc-a-bloc with people.

Waiting outside gave us a sense of what to expect on the inside. Honeymooning couples coo-chi-cooing, while feeding each other Bhel puri; hyper active kids demanding ice cream before their full course meal of - soup, starter, masala papad, one butter naan and one sabji. It was the suburbia that we all thought we had left behind.

Back to the first detail - Honeymooning couples... nah forget them, they seem to be everywhere. And so does Bhel Puri, even in Sher-e-Punjab! Yup, serving Bhel Puri in a hotel called Sher-e-Punjab. Blasphemous! You might as well serve masala papad in an Italian restaurant.

Our expectations from Sher-e-Punjab considerably lowered as we entered, for we were struck by uncanny resemblance it had to the "Darshini" from down south. Exact look and feel, minus the standing crowd. Square bathroom white tiles on the walls; a picture of Balaji adorning the cashier's desk. The works! Continuous parallel mirrors lined facing walls from waist height and above. It gave a sense of being at a barber's shop. Maybe it was really a barber's shop before the Original decided it could do with some expansion and bought out the barber, with a wicked ransom. Someone must have told them about mirrors making the place look larger. Yes, that must be it. Sigh. The waiter was in no hurry to reverse our assessment either. He explained very politely, "We do not make Alu-de-paranthe. "

Yes. I repeat. Sher-e-Punjab no Alu Parantha. It took us a while to make our peace with this cruel joke and settle for at least roti and Baingan Bhartha. Incredulously, the waiter replied, "Sir, we do not make Baingan Bhartha either".

"How can you not have Alu parantha and Baingan Bhartha in a hotel claiming to the pride of Punjab?", we indignantly asked the waiter.

"What to do sir, most of the crowd wants Pani puri and Mysore Masala Dosa these days", the waiter lamented.

Market economics... sigh... what a crappy situation. But then we got to got deal with it, so we just ordered for some Naan, some paneer and some dal fry. The usual ghantan gopal that you order at the around-the-corner-restaurant in your home town. Is that why you traveled all the way across the country? To eat Masala Dosa? Who are you? Campus Man*?

It is with regret that I must inform you, that you really cannot get authentic north Indian food in the hotels of Manali. Chinese - yes, Korean - holy cow - yes, Israeli - what the? - yes, Greek - who visits from Greece? - yes!!! No kidding, you can get pita bread, falafal, pasta and vegetable balls in all the hot garlic sauce in the world. More easily than Dhahi and Alu Paranta.

If you really must eat foods of north India, either you befriend a local cook or you cook it yourself. The only edible Himachali thing you can easily get your hands on, are the apples and pears which still abundantly line the roads and streets! Thank god for small mercies.

P.S. If anybody does know where I could get authentic North Indian food in Manali, please do write to me! I would like to try it the next time I go visiting.

Just for the record - the author is not anti-south Indian or anti-European or anti-Indian or other anti-blah blah person. The author loves eating Masala dosa, Vada sambar and Uttapam - as long as it is made in a Mumbai Udupi Restaurant or at home :) The author has no issues with European/Mediterranean cuisine either - he is know to have soft corner for Pita bread and Au-Gratin. The author also loves authentic Chinese food, and is know to have a soft corner for delicacies from the Hunan province.

* A mythical superhero from Manipal, who dared to eat the Masala Dosa of the MIT Cafeteria. A Cafeteria, which sadly doesn't exist anymore.

Mysore Dassara '08 - Fairy Queen

2008-10-06T10:35:00.008+02:00

One of the star attractions at this year's Dassara celebrations is the vintage/heritage steam Locomotive "Fairy Queen" - the world's oldest running steam locomotive.

It was built in 1855 by Kitson, Thompson & Hewitson. Forty years later it was imported into India by the erstwhile East India Railway. It still retains its old East India Railway service number - EIR 22. It saw active service hauling light mail trains between Howrah and Raniganj. It retired from service in 1909, and spent the next 34 years on a pedestal outside the Howrah railway station. In 1943 the Railways shifted (relegated) it to Chandausi Railway Zonal Training School as a curiosity item (ouch!)

In 1972, a century after it was built the Indian Government declared it to be a piece of heritage, and a national treasure. This eleveated status saw it being shifted to the National Rail Museum, where it was the first exhibit. In 1997 it was overhauled and revived for working on the mainline.

In the same year, it saw its first commerical trip in 88 years ferrying tourists from New Delhi to Alwar as the Fairy Queen Express. The Guinness book of records recognized it as the world's oldest running steam locomotive in 1998.

Ten years later, it still runs. Although the railways consider it prudent enough to send a diesel locomotive at a discreet distance behind the Fairy Queen Express to lend a helping hand if required ;)

An old gentleman commented - "Just like I have come with my grandson, this engine has come with its grandchild. To help if we oldies trip and fall down... hahaha..."

This year it ran on the Mysore - Nanjangud sector for three days as part of the Dassara Celebrations. It ferried two coaches full of VIPs and Gold Pass holders. Others queued the stations and the railway crossings to get a glimpse of the ancient engine. The engine drivers were enjoying themselves, despite being constantly fogged and steamed by the ancient boiler. The jolly fellows were seen waving and egging the spectators to cheer and wave some more ;)

Seeing this little and ancient engine roll by evoked memories of a childhood almost forgotten, those carefree and wonder filled days!

Mysore - Dassara '08 - pre trip

2008-10-04T08:26:00.006+02:00

Dassara and Mysore are synonymous. One cannot imagine one with out the other. There are other blogs and links which would've covered the subject to death, so I am not going to delve into those details.

Even though Mysore is my dad's native place I haven't seen the fabled Dassara procession even once in all these years. I remember going to the exhibition when I was a small kid. Mirchi Bhajjis is all that I remember though. The place was lit everyday as it usually was every Sunday evening. And that itself added to the festive spirit.

Anyways, this post is neither about Dassara, nor is it about what to do in Mysore during Dassara. How would I know? All I do during Dassara, if I am in Mysore, is sleep on the sofa at my granny's home! I hope to make amends to that anomaly this year. So, I am heading out to Mysore this afternoon.

The bike fuel tank had a hole, the same one that sprung a leak during the Cloud Valley ride. Had that gas welded this morning. The Ramzan and Roza holidays meant that my tank was held captive at the mechanic's garrage for the past three days. It is with a little trepidation that I will set out - what if the hole springs a leak again? I am carrying MSeal to mitigate that risk. But what if the bugger has not cleaned the tank properly? What if I have allowed moisture into the engine? What if... what if....

Tenshan nahi leneka. What ever will be, will be. Deal with it! Hopefully, I will have something worthwhile to write about once I get back!

P.S. A little birdy told me that our Olympics heroes are also headed to mysore today. Maybe they left early in the morning... Maybe I will bump into them en route, who know man!

Bababudangiri - A Stay that wasn't meant to be

2008-09-27T07:29:00.013+02:00

Bababudangiri at EveryTrail

Map created by EveryTrail:GPS Geotagging

At the very edge of the Western Ghats, in the district of Chikmagalur is a place holy to both Muslims and Hindus. Some call it Bababudangiri, others Dattapeeta. It screams "Up yours" to all the divisive forces which have been trying to split our tolerant and multicultural country on religious lines. It is perhaps the most beautiful place in that section of the Western Ghats.

Please note, I said - the most beautiful place in that section of the Western Ghats. Not the entire world. Just the Western Ghats. But if you know the Western Ghats, you'd probably say, "Every section of the Ghats is beautiful! You are a jackass to single out just Bababudangiri. You %$#@$%!!!". Point taken. But seriously man, go check out Bababudangiri. It appealed to this "average Indian biker", so I guess it will appeal to a lot other people as well :P

And so, without further ado, I shall dive right into the boring details ;)

We got to Chikmagalur at around 4 pm. We being - Jishnu, Kudz, Vance and yours truly. We had stopped earlier in the day at Halebeed and Belur, so we were pretty much already done for the day. Riding through the narrow roads of Chikmagalur is a little surreal. You see so many many Fiat Unos on the road. As if all the Unos of the world decided to congregate here. If you ever feel like buying a Fiat Uno, you know where to look! And if you thought Bangalore was a one-way traffic mess, you got to look at Chikmagalur.

But then, we saw that sign board on IG Road. Hang on. Lets rewind a bit, IG road? Before you remind me to fix an appointment with my optometrist, I did say IG road, and no, I did not mistake MG road for IG road. IG stands for Indra Gandhi. She was elected MP from the Chikmagalur constituency in 1978, and the folks here, they adore her, nay, love her. Of course! They even renamed their most important road, which incidentally is now a one way, in memory of their "Dear Leader". Freaky huh? Must be the only town to have its best road called IG road. Come one man, we are talking modern Indian tradition here. The best road in town has to be MG Road. Didn't they teach you that stuff in 6th Std. Civics?

And yes, Karkala was a part of that constituency back then. Something we like to remind Kudz every time we talk politics.

Back to the sign board. It said - "Kemmangundi - 40 kms". Just 40 kms away. Very tempting. But Kudz was, "Array yaar, ruk jathe hain yaar. Chai vai pee kay chalthay hain...". So, we halted at a road side joint just outside Chikmagalur.

40 kms, at the rate we were traveling, was doable in hmm.... well... half an hour. You see, we were between 100kmph - 110 kmph most of the time.... but well, thats another story... :)

You really don't feel like you are in the hills in Chikmagalur. Just FYI, it can get really hot in the summers. You can see the Western Ghats rising a little beyond the edge of the town. And we hurried on the plain smooth tarmac towards the rising range without a care in the world. The first zig-zag section on the road heralds the beginning of the ghats and the coffee estates.

A section where someone's bike would run out of fuel at 11.45 pm later that night. Muhuhaha.

A little after that is an almost unnoticeable fork in the road. You go straight ahead and you'll be in Shimoga sooner than you can list all the Indian Prime Ministers. That is not where you want to go. You want to go to Bababudangiri, so take that left turn and into the dark green canopy topped road. We visited this region in July, a month traditionally know for copious quantities of precipitation. Ignorance is indeed bliss.

At any clearing you could see these cloud covered hills, and a slight hint of drizzle. The sight was mesmerizing, as always. I have stopped carrying my camera with me on these trips. Don't ask why. And I am beginning to regret that decision. For what it is worth I take a few snapshots with my phone camera. Anyways, this section reminded me of the ride from Kalka to Shimla.

We almost got run over by this crazy mo-fo in a black Indica. This bass-gital was taking blind curves like he was Louis Hamilton himself. Jackass drivers make life difficult, but one learns to live with such incidents ;) One better learn! hehe..

We stopped to take photos and put on the rain gear. As everywhere, the local people got interested in these bikers with strange riding gear. They milled around, and the questioning session began, "Where are you going?", "Where are you coming from?", "Why didn't you take the bus?"

These are hard working, simple folk from rural India. Picking coffee for a living. They are the backbone of the Indian Coffee industry. Picking coffee is back breaking work. Most coffee workers in Chikmagalur are migrant workers from North Karnataka and Andra Pradesh. They live in a world so different from ours. It is difficult for us to comprehend their life, and for them, ours. Yet in a weird way our lives are interdependent. We love our coffee, and they help grow and pick that coffee.

We asked them, if there was some place to stay nearby and they said, if you are headed towards Bababudangiri, then you'll find rooms there. For free. And that is when we decided to halt at Bababudangiri.

A few hundreds of meters later, the road deteriorated. First more gravel than asphalt. And then more mud than gravel, and then just mud with the odd hint of asphalt hidden a few millimeters under the mud. The heavy precipitation makes this region prone to mudslides.
We found that perfect spot where you can see the plains below. For as far as the eye can see. The silver oak hid in the late afternoon shadow of the hills we were climbing. They covered acres of coffee estates. It was the just the place where if you peed, then your pee would probably not touch the ground below. I think at least a 50 feet vertical drop, and then sloping at almost 70 degrees for god knows how many more 100's of feet below! Jishnu, the motographer in the group had a gala time. See image below.

The ride upto this point is fairly sedate, nothing too exotic that you'd want to write home about. What transpires next is what really makes this ride worthwhile. The road snakes up the hill. 500 meters of straight roads a hair pin bend and another 500 meters of straights and another hair pin and some more. You get into this mental rhythm, only to have it disturbed almost instantaneously by this 10 meter pass. You go through and bham, you see the other side of the hill, the valley, and more hills rising in the distance. The mind takes a snapshot to preserve and remember. I can still remember that scene. Very vividly. Any attempts, by me, to describe that one fraction of a moment in time will fall flat. I felt like I was riding on the clouds, not through, not with but, on them.

The roads on this side of the hills were considerably more narrow, more muddy and more damp, and consequently more slushy. It didn't help that the cow herds were getting back home, and the road was the natural thoroughfare for even our bovine friends, so we had no option by to drive through these herds. Around 10 kms from that breathtaking entry into the hills, we arrived at yet another fork in the road. One leading to Dattapeeta and other to Kemmangundi. If we thought that the roads couldn't possible get more narrow, we were in for a surprise. The road got more narrow and it more slushy. Perfecto! The incessant climb up Dattapeeta was the most scenic section of that day. The clouds below, the hint of precipitation and the steady drop in temperature.

Before we knew what was happening we were at the gates of Bababudangiri/Dattapeeta. The gate proclaimed "No alcohol. No meat." Possibly keeping in mind the religious sentiments of both the believing communities. There is a parking fee to enter the gates. We got in and asked for the caretaker. The caretaker politely told us we were not welcome to stay there.

"The rooms are old. There is no bedding. There is no water. There is no rug. There is no pillow. If that is ok, I can show you the rooms. Food is at this canteen."

We stayed a while at Bababudangiri. The road doesn't end here. There are higher places one can go. But the caretaker warned us that it was getting late and there was no point going up these places when it is dark, plus if it rains then we are on our own.

We were so bummed, we didn't even take a snap at this place. I don't recall what made us turn back so fast, but we did. The ride back to Chikmagalur was the best ghat ride ever. We were quite slow to climb, but on our way down - we flew! No kidding! We were in that 80-90 range at most points bar the hair pins. Narrow or wide, tar or mud, it didn't matter. But in our defense, we were always in control. There was no rash riding, and well... alls well that ends well!

It was almost 7pm by the time we got back to Chikmagalur and settled in at the hotel. Different story that we checked out in less than 3 hours. :P But, that story is not for this blog.

So, is Bababudangiri worth riding to? Yes! I know I will return some day, but with proper camping equipment :)

Belur - Halebeed : Ancient Engineering

2008-09-24T08:05:00.011+02:00

In the past 4 years I have visited Belur and Halebeed more number of times than any other place. Except Mysore. And every time I've been there, I've learned something new. Fascinating place. One could spend days, nay, years studying the two temples and still be enthralled.

My most recent visit was in July ;08 (12th-13th), during the bike ride to Chikmagalur with Vance, Kudz and Jishnu.

For those who came in late : Halebeed and Belur are two temple towns (~ 16kms apart) near Hasan. The temples built by the Hoysala Dynasty in the 12th Century. The temples took more than a 100 years to build. The sculptures are magnificent and painfully elaborate. Knowledge of Indian mythology is required to understand the meaning of the carved figurines. It is rumored that when the Muslim invaders came pillaging in the 16th century, the local rulers covered the entire Belur temple in huge mound of sand to protect it. For those of you who are vastu inclined, the temple is built in accordance to the rules of vatsu, complete with water body in the North-West. The works.

I am no historian, so my versions may be a little skewed. I am not a gifted writer either, so my accounts may not be as vivid as I hope they will be. I advice you to make time and visit these places. That is the only way you can remotely comprehend this splendor from ancient India.

Slip and slide
The figurines that adorn the exterior walls of the temple are not carved into the walls. Neither are they carved on the structural elements directly. Instead, they are carved onto a panel, and this panel fits into the wall. Like a LEGO brick!

Of course, it isn't exactly like a LEGO brick, maybe wall hanging is a better description. The front of the panels were sculpted and the rear had two hooks. The wall had receptacles where these hooks could fit in. Sounds like a very configurable temple! Wonder if they placed the statues at different locations for different occasions...

In the ancient days, people were not keen on stealing from a temple. You know, face the wrath of God was not what you wanted to do those days. Ever since the figurines started fetching a handsome price in the auction homes of Europe, perhaps the God's wrath idea started sounding like an old wives' tale. And pieces started disappearing with alarming regularity. Such was the severity of the problem, that the Archaeological Survey of India stepped in and cemented the remaining figurines into place.

Take a look at this image. They have connected two slabs of stone, as a carpenter would, using something similar to a sliding dove tail joint. Those slabs must have been heavy. They must have used elephants / mules to do the lifting or pushing. This totally impressed me.

Placement
Again, the placement idea was quite a hit those days. They even took a huge pillar and placed it. Yeah! Placed it. No mortar, no binding agent, just placement. Now, take a pen, and place it vertical on the table. Like that.

The temple vicinity doesn't experience high winds it seems, and even at the winds the temple experiences, the pillar has been stationary for the past 1000 years. How cool is that! Our guide informed us, that the only thing capable of felling this pillar is an earthquake. Hmm... point to ponder about.

Turning and the lathe.
A lathe is a machine tool which spins a block of material so that when abrasive, cutting, or deformation tools are applied to the block, it can be shaped to produce an object which has rotational symmetry about an axis of rotation. It is a bigger and badder version of the pottery wheel. In pottery you place the clay at the center of a wheel. Turn the wheel, and the blob of clay at the center also turns, now while the wheel is turning, you can shape the clay with your fingers into a symmetrical vase or pot or anything else you fancy.

The temple interiors are adorned with several load bearing pillars. No two pillars being alike. In Belur especially, the pillars are cylindrical, i.e. circular in cross section. The surface of these pillars is so smooth, you could be excused for mistaking it for polished metal. Even after all these years you can see your reflection in the dark stone. How did they do that? How did they get that perfect circular cross section? No one had a lathe back then.

The guide informed us that they used an elaborate contraption consisting of a giant pottery wheel, some horses to pull/rotate the wheels and an abrasive. Now let loose your imagination. I can almost drift back in time....

The clamor of chisel on stone fills the hot summer afternoon. Bare chested sculptors sitting in line, leaning over a section. A section they have worked on for more than ten years. Somewhere in the background you hear an elephant trumpet. The sound of protest as he pulls and heaves a massive block of stone. A little closer, you can hear the stomping hooves of an angry horse.

He should have been out in the field, training with the rest of the army. If only he hadn't thrown his rider off during the army selection. Luckily for him, he was still alive. They said hard work would break him in. But what kind of a life was this? All he did was pull. He pulled all day, and he pulled in circles. His life literally revolved around that black stone. When he had started a year and a half back the stone was a mere block. Now, under the watchful eyes of the temple architects, it was slowly taking a circular shape....

Ah... how idyllic life must have been back then. Simpler times, but one must remember the average life span was no more than 35, so i'd be over middle aged by now. :P Anyways, imagine how long it must have taken to get that 10 feet high 3 feet dia pillar into shape. Imagine the amount of coolant that must have been used. Did they use water? did they use some vegetable/animal oil? Questions, questions, and more questions. I can only wonder and speculate. Perhaps one day, some one will show me a blog with the answers, for I am too lazy to read an ancient history book ;) Or, for that matter, even search on google for the answers :)

Ball bearings
As if having cylindrical pillars was not enough, they decided to have a rotating pillar inside the temple as well. Like those revolving book shelf/tower that most book stores seem to sport these days. What did that thing have to do with the temple? For what joy did they install this revolving pillar? Was it a Tibetian Buddhist prayer wheel rip off? I can't even imagine, neither could the guide.

And guess how those things revolved? Its ok. Take a wild guess. Yes sir. Ball bearings. The pillar doesn't turn anymore. Why? Because the ASI damaged the top of the pillar during renovations some time in the early 20th century. So now all that remains is an old story, passed down from one generation to the next, of the revolving pillar. A story you'd want to believe when you see the pillar.

More tid-bits as an when I remember them.... I need some pictures of the circular pillar and the revolving pillar.

The grit and foresight of the Hoysala rulers is something a lot of us can do well to learn. ( I hate to sound preachy! ) It took them three generations to complete these temples, (well, one is still incomplete). The first generation most likely never lived to see the completion of the work they commenced. What motivates one to do such things? I don't know, but it most certainly isn't greed.

The ancient engineering techniques all seem so simple, uncomplicated, yet they have endured a thousand years. A thousand years which has seen the region plunging in and out of chaos, and these structures have seen them all. They will see the future unravel, for longer then any of us will. Humbling thought.

Magadi - Savandurga - Ramnagara

2008-09-21T15:21:00.003+02:00

Waiting of ages at endless traffic signals, or weaving through slow trucks, inhaling their toxic spew isn't exactly what I like. But, that is exactly what I have had to go through, every time I've taken the Nellamangala route towards Hassan. I don't favour potholes either!

That's why, last November, Kudz and me decided to "explore" other options. This was on the Diwali ride to Mangalore. And we "discovered" the Kunigal-Magadi-Ramanagara section. In July '08, we "discovered" the Bangalore-Magadi route. It was perfect announce ride material. Short, beautiful, and well laid.

So, when someone on the RTMC forum wanted to know if we would have an announce ride this September, and if yes, then where to, I had no hesitation in suggesting our "discovered" route. And, that is the route we took today.

We started from ISKON at 0630, with the almost customary 30 minute delay.

Took the Chord road - Modi Road - 1st/9th Cross Road route to join Magadi Road.
Since we were moving that early in the morning, we did not face the usual hustle bustle that one normally associates with the narrow Magadi Road. The road opens up after the intersection with the NICE road. A few patchy stretches here and there, but nothing one feels like complaining about. The road has enough and more turns, blind curves and even one hair pin bend! The environs were green and the cool air added to the feeling of being somewhere in the western ghats :) Ok, now maybe that was a bit too much...

The first regroup point was the old bridge on a right hand turn. The photographers got out their equipment and did their thing. The people who had to pee peed. Those who wanted to smoke smoked. Those who did not want to do anything did just that. Those who spotted the chai-shack had the chai. One micro-mini cup of chai for Rs 2. I remembered that "singular" event involving a similarly priced coffee while riding back from Belum, and the subsequent refund.. hehe... Anyways, we resumed after the Kutti chai break.

The 2nd regroup point was the at the left turn off towards Savandurga and the 3rd at Savandurga. At Savandurga, we didn't trek or do anything very Savandurga specific. It was just another regroup point. We found a clearing a couple of hundred meters away from the temple at the base and had our announce ride intro session.

What happens at these sessions, is that a regular RTMC rider introduces RTMC, gives the usual gyan about how we are a non-profit, non-affiliated, non-political, only-for-fun biking group. The two step eligibility criteria etc. etc. Then all the riders introduce themselves, after which the new riders ask their questions which range from who is the best mechanic to where do I get that riding gear :) Ditto for this ride. The other highlight was the distribution of - "Bharat Parikrama" DVD (A journey around India). Kart got a bag full of these DVDs to give away.

We decided to have breakfast at Kamath Loka ruchi, so headed towards Ramanagara on some more kickass windy roads. We halted before the Ramanagara - SH13 junction to allow everybody to regroup. We reached Kamath at 10.30 am. Breakfast was nothing out of the ordinary. A couple of glasses of watermelon juice, puri bhajji and some gup shup.

We left Kamath Loka Ruchi at around 11.30 am, and regrouped at The NICE road-SH 13 intersection. We were waiting in the boiling heat (in our boiler suit) when we recieved an SMS from Menon- "Vijay's bike tyre punctured. you guys proceed." So, we took a group snap, Ok! a couple of group snaps (Will post that up once I get it), shook hands and thanked each other for the safe ride, and went our separate ways.

The route -
Start: Bangalore, ISKON temple 0630 hrs
Via Point 1: Old bridge on Magadi Main Road (38kms)
Via Point 2: left turn off to Savandurga on Magadi Main Road
Via Point 3: Savandurga
Via Point 4: 500m before merge onto SH-13 at Ramanagara
Via Point 5: Kamath Loka Ruchi on SH-13 CAUTION: Turn right towards Mysore!
Via Point 6/End: SH-13 - NICE intersection (Kengeri)

The route was a little over 150 kms, including the city riding.
The good things - no one rode dangerously. No one belted the usual patrang way. One rider had a minor fall. But, we all got home safe. And that, is very important!

Leh - the bare necessities

2008-06-24T18:22:00.006+02:00

I could be accused of reinventing the wheel with this post. There are probably a million websites and blogs, telling you that you need to take sanitary napkins, 4 sets of undies, a tooth brush, shaving cream/foam, toothpaste and other mundane items on your visit to Leh and Ladakh. I won't repeat that same list here, I will however tell you about other Leh - exclusive ordinary little items and the rationale behind packing those little items. These little things came to our rescue at various points in time on our bike trip (Delhi-Manali-Leh) last year.

Chap stick / lip balm - Yes, sir. Chap sticks. The air is so dry up there at 14000+ feet, that your lips will start cracking as soon as you leave Manali and cross Keylong. Some people also like using
Borosil / Vico turmeric, but then I think I rather liked the taste of strawberry on my lips.

Cough drops - Dry throat can be an early symptom of Acute Mountain Sickness, and do not ignore it, at the same time you may want to relieve your discomfort by sucking on some cough drops.

Chocolates, and peppermints - Instant source of energy, consume on every break, and ration it well :)

Electral or Rehydrating Salts - May be mixed with water and consumed. At the higher altitudes, you tend to lose a lot of water, i.e. dehydrate faster. This happens usually via expiration (breathing out) , and for some people like me you just pee a lot more often. Electral or the rehydrating salts help reduce the frequency of your pee-stops, but they also contain some manganese salts which may increase the blood pressure, so kindly consult your doctor/physician on this one.

Toilet paper - If you feel like taking a crap, this is your best companion. The water is quite cold and your butt will thank your for not freezing it.

Baraclava - If you are going by bike, this fella is going to protect your neck from the piercing sun, your throat from the chilly winds and keep your ears warm inside the helmet.

Jerry Cans - To carry 10 liters of extra petrol, since the last petrol pump will be at Tandi on the route from Manali to Leh. A good 400 odd kms away from the next petrol pump, and the mileage can plummet at those altitudes.

Toothpowder - Haha caught ya. I told you I wouldn't mention toothpaste, so you have tooth powder, the reason being at these higher altitudes, the toothpaste tube will burst at its seems. so carry a 1/2 empty tube. The same holds for canisters of deo or whatever that you use. I resorted to deo sticks, not even roll-ons. Any thing that may be impacted by the low pressure.

Minimal Clothes - Carry only minimal clothes, in the 5 days that we took to go from Manali to Leh (yeah.. we really went slow, and enjoyed every bit of it) we never once took a bath, may be not even change of clothes, but what you wear must keep you warm. Recommend wearing three or four tee-shirts over a thermal. :)

Oxygen cans - Yeah, one of the fellow travellers we met, Amey, recommends carrying small O2 bottles. He said, you can get a 2L bottle for Rs2,000 in Mumbai. Not sure, but it is quite useful. We had to take Vatsa to the Military Hospital at Sarachu to inhale the magic gas.

Diesel - In case you want to camp out and cook on your own, then do not rely on petrol, use diesel, it is less explosive. Also you may not get dry wood every where, so think about it - a diesel stove or something like that. Do not attempt to boil eggs at these altitudes. It is futile and a definite waste of time. Also ensure that you have plenty of clean water before you start. Spoons and plates are best if they are paper ones.

Water - Bottled water is expensive on the mountain, but you'd rather drink that than get a tummy upset. We had an allocation of 2 liters per person per day. you have to have to drink that much, other wise it is an open invitation to dehydration and AMS. Drink more it you want to ;) Drinking water during riding can be a pain, so you may want to buy a rehydration pack, but i guess it is too expensive for one off biking trips.

Harddisk / HDD Handycams - Read the user manual / tech specs very carefully. Some models of HDD Handycams carry a warning that the Hard disk may not function at altitudes exceeding 11900 feet, and you will consistently be over 13000 feet, and if you visit Khardung La even reaching 18700 feet.

And yes! If you are planning on riding, then you'd do well to ensure that you cover yourself up, otherwise the dry air and the UV rays of the piercing sun, will give you a fair dose of sun burn and raw skin. The same goes for the eyes, get yourself a UV 400+ sunglasses, preferably ones which cover the entire eye, even from the sides. For this I prefer a riding jacket + gloves + baraclava + UV 400 sun glasses.

Bungee chords, tyre inflation unit, spare tubes are essential. Do not carry a clutch plate or what ever, since even if you break down there will be no mechanic to fix it for you. Figure out what spares you need, and only carry the essentials. Carry minimal luggage, so that the next friendly cab driver or bus driver does not think twice before inviting you on board.

Cloud Valley

2008-06-01T20:46:00.002+02:00

One kickass weekend to remember! Will give the updates slowly, the usual style :) But in the mean while here are the GPS tracks from the Bangalore University to Cloud Valley in coorg. The points are truncated for your viewing pleasure, but if you need the entire set, feel free to ask me ;)

Here is the link to the website maintained by the owners. The pictures are in no way reflective of the true beauty of the place... very green... very quite... and extra extra super trooper onlee!

To Cloud Valley in Coorg at EveryTrailMap created by EveryTrail:GPS Geotagging

Madhugiri - RTMC Announce ride

2008-05-25T12:57:00.016+02:00

For many reasons, yesterday's ride to Madhugiri will be one that I will not forget too soon. It was perhaps one of the best one day rides I've ever been on.

I reached the designated start point 20 minutes late, and with barely enough petrol in the tank. Felt lousy, making the entire group (31 other bikes) to wait for me to tank up. This is the first and last time that my tank was/will be empty before I head out.

Madhugiri - RTMC Announce ride at EveryTrailMap created by EveryTrail:Share GPS tracks

The traffic jam from Yeshwanthpur to Dasarahalli was hellish, it took us almost an hour and half to negotiate that stretch. Mostly in first gear. We were, I am certain, the center of attention for other similarly disgusted and stuck occupants of the road. One couple were heading towards Goa - and they made sure they told me about it. Weird, how suiting up, makes utter strangers roll down their windows and chit chat genially at traffic signals. "I wish I could swap places with you"; "I hate these jams"; "Are you all together?"; "Where are you guys headed?", being the usual theme. More often then not, it'll be an older gent or a young girl, initiating such an across-the-window-conversation.

May isn't exactly pleasant to ride, and worse to be stuck in a traffic jam. I was cursing all those buffoons who didn't fill fuel or arrived late - including myself. I just hoped that it'd all be worth the wait.

We regrouped outside A1, just before Nellamangala the toll gate on NH-4, only to realize that we should've regrouped after the tollgate, an error which was quickly resolved.

Breakfast was at Kamath's near Dobspet. Nothing spectacular about the place - it could accommodate all of us; and at the same time, that was the biggest plus point. But service, was a little slow.

From Kamath's we headed towards Kortagere, bypassing Tumkur. The route was scenic and fairly engrossing - you never knew when a pothole or a muddy patch would catch you off guard. Things improved after Kortagere, and in no time we were at Madhugiri. Soup, had arranged for a very interesting reception party for us - full flower, garland and the works! Undi got the Kuthagie mele Flowers treatment, the rest of us were offered a red rose - Chacha Nehru style. One band-baja troupe was missing onlee :P

The next stop was the black buck sanctuary. A place, one assumes, relegated to an obscure appendix of a neglected register placed in a forgotten corner of a dusty government office. Many of us got to spot a black buck, some of us... ahem ahem.. a few of us got to trek through the park with a guide, who showed us some more black buck - brown though and a wild boar. A naturalist ( Krishna's pillion) among us also pointed out the presence of the brain fever bird. Very interesting bird, called the hawk cuckoo chirps "brain fever". Didn't spot it, but certainly heard it. Learn't something new!

Lunch was arranged at "Bakkar Saab ka Bangla", a structure from the Raj era nestled in the midst of a forest, approachable by a muddy road from a non descript turn off on the Madhugiri-Sira state highway. Seldom you'll find off-roading part of an announce ride, but this one sure included it :) The guys loved it. The food was fantastic. Soup did a fantastic job of organizing the whole thing.

Madhugiri - RTMC Announce ride at EveryTrailMap created by EveryTrail:Share GPS tracks

After the usual round of introductions, we started back by 5 pm. The return leg was fairly uneventful. We did have one bike with a broken accelerator cable, something I had no clue how to fix. But then stepped in Shayam and the KA-18 and KA-19 bike dudes, who did a great job sorting out the mess. On the way back, after Kamath's, Kudz and I clipped in the dark, and whatafun it was! I must say, Kudz rode great, kept sufficient distance and yet didn't lose me!

Caman the more rides onlee!

P.S. GPS tracks from my blue tooth GPS unit + E51 :) and pics from the lousy cam on the E51

Coincidence - Almost 3 years ago, I burnt my shoe on Deverayana Durga, and this time I burnt my jacket on Madhugiri... and never in between - both in the same vicinity...
http://su-on-the-road.blogspot.com/2005/09/burnt-rubber-loose-rivet-and-docile.html

Gopalswamy betta - route map

2008-05-21T10:23:00.005+02:00

Here is the route map to Gopalswamy betta. I see a lot of people getting to this blog hoping to find the route to gopalswamy betta. I hope this helps. This will take you from Gopalswamy betta to Mysore.

Gopalswamy betta to Mysore at EveryTrailMap created by EveryTrail:Share GPS tracks

25000 views for the Football plane

2008-04-23T10:06:00.007+02:00

Last year, on my way back via the Bangalore express*, I noticed that the plane in which I'd be traveling had its nose painted like a football#. Plus it was raining at SFO, so puddles everywhere. Puddles + jet exhaust = ripples and, I took a video and posted it on youtube. Surprise, surprise a year hence, its had 25000 views! A vid like that and 23,584 views - wtf? Strange indeed are the ways of the world, but what the heck, looking forward to the day when it crosses 25000, which I suspect is not far away. Muhuhaha...

* Lufthansa - SFO to Bangalore, 23 hrs with one pit stop at Frankfurt :)
# yaya... soccer ball onlee, just that some viewers @ youtube got confused
An article (with a cheesy title - "Making Money, the How-To Way") in the nytimes talks about people raking in the moolah by posting their how-to videos online... hmm.... now thats a thought :P

May 2nd '08 - views is 25,463. Don't know when it crossed 25K, but then one milestone achieved - now caman the 50K

Lion Bullet

2008-03-30T13:41:00.003+02:00

Came across this funky brass worked 350 Std Royal Enfield outside the Power Grid office, on race course road today. I hadn't seen anything like it before, so I thought I'd click a few snaps and post it. Lioness in the front, and a lion at the bottom :) Sher-Khan's bike...

Wonder it is was just brass paint....

Again, pics from the Nokia E51, so quality is so-so

The Big Banyan Tree

2008-03-29T08:04:00.024+01:00

I had been to the Dodda Aladha Mara a.k.a. Big Banyan Tree this morning. It is 8 kms North from the Rajrajeshwari Dental college on the Bangalore - Mysore State highway #17

To the Big Banyan Tree at EveryTrailMap created by EveryTrail:Share GPS tracks

As the name suggests, it is just a big banyan tree. Just standing there. Doing nothing. Harming no one. But civilization seems to have been a bit harsh on it. Men have erected a compound wall around it, as if to tell the poor thing that it shouldn't grow beyond those confines. To make things more clear to the old tree, they've built a road around it, abutting that compound wall. Lakshman rekha pei ek aur lakshman rekha. And, when the time comes to widen the road, they may even contemplate cutting the majestic thing down.

As I approached the tree, I spotted plenty of nurseries and plant shops along the road. I told myself that I'd stop on the way back, but never kept that promise - I thought it was pointless to stop. Me on a bike. What if I like a plant, how can I possibly get it back to Bangalore. So, can't say much about the quality... so if you are a plant kinda person, go by car, not by bike.

Back to the tree - as one enters the banyan enclave, and if one is lucky enough not to have a noisy bus or honking jeep go past, one can hear the mynas singing, the squirrels whistling, and the wind murmuring. Stereophonic.. nah... surround sound style - 1001.1 channel. At night, I am sure this would be one scary place. No wonder you find a temple smack in the center, to do what it is supposed to do - ward of any evil spirits :) On the garbage front, the place was fairly clean, couldn't spot any plastic or garbage anyplace, maybe it had to do with the time - 9.30 am.

Sitting on the abundant benches within the "park", one cannot help but imagine oneself as hair lice, infesting the roots and branches of the majestic tree. Think about it... the roots look like hair (Hello?? Remember Dreadlocks?), and I didn't belong there... And no, I sure was't high on crack or grass... Anyways, I could also imagine myself sitting there in the cool shade, reading a novella, or perhaps a novel, if it were that gripping. However, I was currently handicapped - by not possessing either of them, so I chose to just sit down, and do nothing for a while. Which by the way, proved to be quite difficult and being alone didn't help either. If only I was the contemplative kinda guy...

My advice to people going here, or planning to go here - Take a book, an interesting book. Plenty of water and some snacks to munch. Food per se may not be available close by, but you'll find plenty of shops selling biskoots and the likes just outside the park. That said, beware of the rouge monkeys that infest the rootwork.

How to get there? As I had mentioned earlier, there are buses plying this route, and plenty of them. You could get here from either the Mysore road side or via the Magadi road side. Your own vehicle, is what I'd recommend as it'll let you be flexible vis-a-vis timing and other things.

Pics from my Nokia E51. Quality of pics is pathetic, but looks good at this size:)

What Caves?

2008-02-24T17:51:00.013+01:00

It has been more than four months since my last bike ride. Didn't even go to Mysore! But then, that doesn't mean I haven't gone anywhere since Nov' 07! Had been on a Kumara Parvatha / Pushpagiri trek. Then for a Goan X'mas, which turned out to be a tragic trip. I intend to chronicle the KP trek, someday.

To fill in the blanks - a lot has changed in these past few months, professionally that is. As a direct consequence, I can see myself riding or traveling a lot less, compared to last year. But then, fingers crossed!

Anyways, four months is a long abstinence from riding. Looking at the RTMC mailing list just makes me feel J. All over the place. So, this time, when the guys posted a ride to Belum Caves, I just had to, had to say yes. Can't explain that feeling.

The little bit of Googling and Wikipedia has revealed

Belum is 100 kms from Kurnool and 270 kms from Bangalore
It is a 3 km long underground cavern, with stalactite formation.
The only acco, is a 32 bed dormitory run by AP-Tourism Development Corp.
Must see the musical cave, where the seven notes can be produced by striking the stalactites.
Don't know if we can camp nearby.
These caves have been discovered, ok rediscovered, as recently as 1982 and thrown open to public view only in 2002.
The nearest towns are Banganpalli and Tadipatri.

My favourite map site - mapmyindia, sorry Google Maps - you are no. 2 now, has revealed that Belum is 297.6 kms from Bangalore, which is what the RTMC mailing list claimed. The site, unfortunately doesn't let me display the route on my blog, so it will suffice to say that we head north on NH-7 towards Hyderabad, and then take a right on the Anathapur bypass to travel 84.7 kms on inside roads to Belum via Tadipatri. Unfortunately, I will be getting the GPS unit only in the week following the ride :(

Yennyways! Can't wait till the new weekend.... Itching to go onlee! Caman the rides! Caman the enjaiment!

Update -
Route map with google maps

View Map on Google Maps - Did you know blogger has a bug with google maps?

A murky sunset at Agumbe

2007-11-14T18:55:00.001+01:00

Diwali Road Trip - Part II

Last year was Part I - the Coorg Waynad ride, and I couldn't let that glorious tradition die, now could I? So, I embarked on another ride this year that took me to Tumkur, Lakkavalli Dam, Agumbe, Karkal, Kudraemukh, Hanuman Gundi, Belur, Savan Durga and back.

The entire ride distance (home to home) of 920.8 kilometers was covered over two days with Kudz on his brand new Thunderbirde for company...

View a larger map on google maps

Day I - distance 428.3 kms, travel time - 8 hrs
Bangalore - Nellamangala - Tumkur (breakfast at Pavitra's Tatte Idly is yummmy) - Gubbi - Tiptur - Kadur - Berur - Tarrikere - Lakkavalli (281 kms) - Kuvempu University - Shimoga - Teertahalli - Agumbe - Hebri

The Lakkavalli dam looks tiny, but the reservoir is absolutely enormous! A sight worth seeing.
We were at Agumbe in time for the sunset (which was the plan), but some erratic stupid clouds messed up the otherwise spectacular sunset. Again, a sight not worth missing for all the gold in the world.

The roads to Mangalore were excellent, bar for a few kilometeres (around 50 kms totally) near Tarrikere and Shimoga.

Day II, III and IV was spent at Mangalore (via Hebri - Karkala - Moodabidri - Bajpe; travel time = 2hrs; distance = 80 kms) at my parents home (and Diwali)

Day V - distance 492.5 kms, travel time = 13 hrs
Hebri - Karkala - Kudremukha - Kalasa - Magundi - Balur - Bidarahalli - Gonibeedu - Belur - Hasan - Kunigal - Magadi - Savan Durga - Ramanagara - Bidadi - NICE Road - Kankapura Road - Bangalore

The Western Ghats are absolutely fantastic! The greenery, the early morning mist, the coffee estates, the tea gardens, the sheer silence, the hair pin bends... what else could one ask for!

On the way back only the roads near Mudigere on NH - 13 were sad. Real sad. A total of 10 kms out of 492.5 kms was sad. The rest were excellent.

If you want to enter south Bangalore from Hasan side, you must take the Kunigal - Magadi - Kengeri route over the Nellamangala route. The roads are empty for one and recently laid (as of nov 11th '07), so they are excellent. We took a wrong turn at Magadi and reached Ramanagara instead of Kengeri, which meant we traveled 50 kms and 1 hr more than we should have.

Since, I have given up on ever completing a post... I'll leave this one right here... I shall attempt to finish the Kodachadri night trek and then get back to this ;)

20th Nov 2007 -
Kudz is doin' his write up on this ride on his blog....
Part I - Dream: the journey - the beginning

Part II - 2

Part III - 3

Photos

Sounds of a moonless night

2007-10-28T17:41:00.003+01:00

The violent rocking of the bus, though unlike the gentle sway of a cradle, had put me to a rather, hmm... whats the word... ah right - "deep" sleep, last night. So, when I woke up this morning, I half expected to be in Mangalore. But wait, it was a little too dark to be 6:00 am! The pre dawn deep blue sky rose over the silhouette of a distant mountain range. "Crap!", I thought, "we are still in the western ghats. This does not look good. Not good at all."

Sitting in a bus, where the acronym AC expands to Air Chilling and not Air conditioning can be quite a strain on the delicate urinary system of most mortals. Why would anybody maintain 18 deg Celsius in a bus? Wouldn't 24 be more comfortable? The violent rocking hadn't subsided either. It had only gotten worse. "Looks like I'll be sea sick on land", I fretted as I drifted back to an uneasy morning sleep.

Last night, Googie, Vivek* and I set out from Gandhinagar on two different buses for Mangalore at 2300 hrs. The weird booking was thanks to the Eid and Dassera double whammy weekend and our last minute booking. Googie and Vivek were on the Ideal travels Volvo and I, on the Manjunath Road Lines Volvo. Googie, VMK a.k.a WeeWake a.k.a. Vivek, Paddy and I were to proceed to Kodachadri from Mangalore. Dynamic plan i.e. no plan was the plan!

The usual route involves negotiating the Shiradi ghats on the Hasan - Sakleshpur - Upinagadi route. However, oil laden multi-axel vehicles and an unrelenting monsoon has mauled it to Swiss Cheese. The road literally has holes in it, not potholes, just enormous gaping pits strewn with rocks. Even the roads to Leh would score higher on the motorable quotient! Understandably, the bus operators use the longer Mysore - Hunsur - Madikeri - Sulia - Puttur route to Mangalore these days.

The road upto Madikeri is a dream. Dual carriageways for most part, make the 250 kilometer ride possible in a little under 3 hours in the Volvos. Then comes the bone shattering, and bladder bursting 200 kilometeres, which took nearly 8 hours. Yes sir. Eight freaking hours. Anyways. The roads, although better than Swiss Cheese, are threatening to surpass the raggedness of the lunar landscape anytime soon. Every rain drop is like a prehistoric meteor crashing into the moon - the birth of a crater or a pothole in our case.

My biological clock sends me a call from the commode at 0630 hrs on most days, and today wasn't an exception. I could feel the pressure build up inside me. Not the urinary type! So I tried moving my legs around.... ah avoided the seat in front of me; reclined a bit further, spread my knees... and viola! the pressure subsided! Subsided immensly! But hell, my posture was that of a pregnant woman about to deliver... hehehe... I was confident I could wait for an hour or so, yet the thick green foliage of the passing country side was tempting my bladder to empty itself. The driver, on the other hand, was in no mood to stop the vehicle, and so, the shake fest continued unabated.

After two long, really long hours of self control, I asked the driver, "Yelladaru cha - coffee ge nillasi saar." ("Why don't we halt someplace for tea/coffee?").
"Mangalore is only an hour away", he tried to bluff.
"There are women and children on board", I countered.
That got him. "I think I remember seeing a hotel somewhere near Puttur. I'll see what I can do...", he promised.

At around 0900 hrs, he spotted a road side hotel near Puttur, where he mercifully stopped the bus. And I gleefully took the opportunity to unload a lot of things into their septic tank. Here is also where I received two SMS's - one from Paddy and the other from Googie. Paddy wanted to know the program for the day and Googie wanted to know my whereabouts. After appropriately messaging them, I got onto the cold bus. Googie, had reached Mangalore at 07:30 am, and had finished two rounds of breakfast, or so he claimed. "That bugger", I muttered under my breath, "...aaarrgghhh... No way I am going back to Bangalore by road. Dimaag ka falluda ho jayega"

Without any more problems, or adventures, the driver took us through Puttur and onto B.C. Road and Pump-well, which they call "Pumpaile", onto Jyotis, and towards PBS. At PBS, all the Udupi/Manipal bound passengers were asked to change buses. All but one got out. Yeah, right - that one was me.

"How strange, how very strange magga", I thought, "If this was four years ago, I'd have been switching buses too... hehe... Phew!"
At this point, the driver came up and told me, "Saar, I will take you to Lalbagh by Qualis. This bus is leaking A/C fluid".
"That is what you get for freezing my balls", I muttered under my breath.

In the short ride from PBS to Lalbagh, the driver gave me a non-stop briefing about all that ails the transport industry, the contents of which I shall reserve for another blog.

Alighting from the Quallis, and standing before the familiar Pabbas Ice cream parlor I felt, I had reached my destination. But, we had miles to go, and hills to climb before we could call it a day. And so, I trudged over the short distance to Lady Hill and my parents' apartment.

It was only at my folks place, that I realized how tired I was. I was too tired even before the trek. How cool was that. Anyways, from 10am to almost 2pm I was generally chatting with Mum and Dad.

At 2 pm, Paddy and Googie informed me that they were waiting outside the apartment complex, and we were to hurry to the airport to pick up WeeWake, who was arriving from Mumbai at 2:20 pm. And true to their word, they were waiting outside the apartment in a white Indica.

As we sped towards the airport, Paddy launched his commentary on the quirks of the car -
"This car has bald tyres man!"; "Sala! Keechtha hi nahi hai yaar"; "Hold on ok... I am putting turbo charge", while switching off the AC. And this is when we named it - "The White Monster". God knows what got into Paddy then, for he dived into a brief history of dents.

"अरे, पता है इस गाडी मी पुरा डेंट ही डेंट है. Mostly, my contribution.", as he over took an auto.
"The one at the front", he said while point at someplace beyond the windshield, "that one was near Kochi. There was this auto fellow ....". Very entertaining story Paddy, but seriously, while driving, थोडा scary लगता है.
".... उस दिन थो just miss हो गया यार"#, he concluded... hehe...

Almost, as if on cue, at that time, WeeWake informs us via SMS that he has landed. "Where are you?" he asked, which was soon followed by another SMS, "Ticket to Hollywood". Yeah... I know... WTF???

So, we picked up, His Holy Highness Sri Sri Gandeshwari Baba WeeWakeji from the airport. Parked there for free too. The great Baba decreed that the food served on Air Deccan was shitty. It happens, sometimes these Babas blabber too much. And so started the continuous onslaught of chatar mattar from the Baba. For the entire distance. Jai Baba ki.

Baba could not contain himself, when he saw us - the same धुस्ट पापीस, who had "dropped" his old S3-IS somewhere between Jispa and Baralach La. He had to ask, "Any body brought their cameras?"
"Ya da, just my old P-72", I said.
"देखो. देखो. देखो. मेरा नया S3-IS", he gleamed. Then he remembered, "कमीनौ".**

We zoomed from the Airport to Mulki via the inner roads, while reminiscing the Leh trip ; the much older college days spent in the current neighbourhood; and debating where to have lunch.
Lunch, we decided would be at Kapu... err.. Kaup as some idoit misspelled it. The same beach side joint. By the time Kaup approached, it changed to - Karavalli.

After a long drive, which pothole strewn roads, we settled in at Karavalli with our plates of oily Goli Bajje. The roads were a mess we agreed and Paddy warned us, "Just wait till you see the roads near Kundapur".

If I ever complained about the roads leading to Leh, I take back all my complaints. One must be happy with what one gets. Those roads were heaven compared to what we saw from Udupi to Marvanthe. What used to be a 45 minute drive has stretched into a neat 2 hr ordeal. Those manganese and iron ore laden over loaded bloody trucks ought to be taken off these roads!

I compared the Shirdai ghats to the Swiss Cheese, and I wouldn't be too far from reality if were to extend the same honor to NH-17 (Udupi to Marvanthe). What tickled us more was that everybody on a motorcycle would turn, look at our car, and laugh. WTF?? Puzzling behaviour of our fellow countrymen, what to say... sigh.

By this time, a little red dot was blinking furiously on the dashboard. Yes, yes. That was the low Fuel indicator. And we were so close to Kundapur. Err... no, we were actually getting the car autographed. NH-17 was leaving its mark on the underbelly of the poor ol' Indica. Ok. Ok. Enough already about that darn road. I promise. No more bad road sentences. Focus. Focus Sushil focus, this is why you never complete any blog.

It was almost 5:30 pm. We were hungry, goli bajjes not withstanding. The car was thirsty. It was almost sunset. And, we were so close, so very very close to Marvanthe. How could be let this opportunity pass us by? Absolutely right. No way we'd let some "good" road get in our way. We were going to see the sun set at Marvanthe. Yippee!!

Marvanthe beach is a few kilometers North of Kundapur on NH-17. It stretches for nearly a kilometer and a half by the road side. On the left you have the beach and the Arabian sea, and on the right you have the backwaters/lagoon. For about a kilometer, its water on both sides of the road. Road - mind you, not a bridge, not a bund, but a road. It isn't half as barren as this image on google maps would have you to believe.

View Larger Map

Once upon a time, long long ago, when were in college, we used to visit this beach with astonishing regularity... those days... hehe... Well, we were back. Big deal! So, we did what we did then. Well a little bit, for a very small amount of time. Started the setting sun. Just slept on the beach. Wow! Now that was something I hadn't done - at Marvanthe. You know it isn't just the eagles which fly so high, we saw some crows struggling to maintain their bearings. and these were just tiny minuscule specks in the sky right above our heads. Remember Brownian motion? Thats what it looked like. Hehe... thankfully none of them shat.

Soon, we were headed back towards Kollur and the roads after the turn off at Kundapur, were fabulous. I had never seen anything that smooth, that un-potholed in two whole days! Of course, it was also getting dark, sunset and everything... By 7 pm were were at Kollur. And visited the famous Mookambike temple. During Navrathri, so things were special at the temple. Dance programs - not the disco types, but the Bharathnatyam, Mohiniattam types. Which well, was Oo-la-la. Seriously.

The queue to the inner temple snaked around so much, that if uncoiled, would reach Mangalore. The guy at the middle of the queue told us, this was for the 4:00am darshan. What the?? Well, we ain't that pious. Whom am I kidding, there ain't a single pious bone in our body. i.e. we just went around the temple; bought the prasadam; sat awhile swatting the mosquitoes, who, by the way, were having a party! and then headed back to the car.

We were a torch of two short, and we weren't about to enter a jungle without correcting this anomaly. Kollur is a temple town, with plenty of our pious Mallu brethren visiting. Ya!! You got it! WeeWake was full happy happy wonlee, "Eh chetta", he would start... We managed to gather a torch, four bananas, four 1L water bottles, Tapioca chips, Chaklees, one flute and one drum. Yes dear, you read right, one flute and one drum. One baja and one band. The amused shopkeeper asked us in half Kannada - half Malayalam, "Where are you guys going?"
"Kodachadari", we answered nonchalantly.
"Tomorrow morning, climb will be excellent", he offered.
"Yes, tomorrow morning we will be climbing down.. we plan to trek up tonight", we said rather arrogantly.

He was stumped. I am sure, if Kollur had a mental asylum, he would have mistaken us for escapees, but since Kollur was only a temple town and not a loony bin, he was compelled to believe that we were indeed sane.

"Are you sure?", he asked.
"Yes, why?", we countered.
"You know, nobody does anything like that. Its night. The place is infested with wild animals. Not advisable".
We lost him when he said wild animals. Come on! How many "wild animals", would he have seen in his entire life time of selling bottled water, camphor, the odd torch or two and Masala Lays chips on a busy temple town street?
"But if you do have to go, be a careful and exercise caution.", he advised.

"Wild animals, now wouldn't that be cool", we all thought anticipating an encounter with a tiger, or a panther perhaps.... But our immediate concern was dinner. We were all hungry. A quick plate of Kerala parota with peas curry took care of that problem.

Stomachs full, we were confident that nothing would stop us reaching the top that night. Only, we didn't count on the broken bridge just outside of Kollur. There was a makeshift bridge to the side, and it was so narrow, only a small car would fit. And just about fit! It took an exprienced driver like Paddy and an able cleaner/navigator like Googie to slowing inch the car across the rickety contraption. We were wondering how things would be the next day, when things were bound to get more busy. Only one way traffic on this bridge, and our countrymen are famous for their road sense. Hehe. Anyways, thats the next day. Kal ka kal deka jayega... By 8.oo pm we were back on the road and towards that turn that would take us to the Mallu shack.

View Larger Map

If you look at the map that I have attached above, you will notice that there are two turn offs from the main road towards the Mallu shack. WeeWake and Paddy are four times veterans of the Kodachadri summit. The first turn off is full of small ups and downs. The road, rather path, rises up a couple of 100 meteres, then, as quickly, slopes down. Each successive incline at a greater gradient than the other. Paddy knew about the second more easier approach to the Mallu shack, where the roads were more flat with a relatively constant gradient.

We were on the lookout for the second turn off, and reached the first one at around 9 pm. Only Paddy had seen the second turn off, but he was not sure about its exact location. Hence, without further ado, Paddy turned into the dark boulder ridden steep gradient into the thick jungles. Look at the map! The car had only gone 20 meters, when we heard the clunk clunk clunk of a boulder scrape against the under body. To add to our concern, it didn't look the car had any grip of the surface. The damn thing was groaning to move an inch forward.

We exited the first turn off as quickly as we entered it. If we could find the second turn off, we were going to take it. Paddy knew that it would be on the right hand side, and that it would be a similar terrain, but the gradient would be a little more easy. So we persisted, peering into the darkness in the hope of spotting a continuous path into the jungle. When it is night, especially a moonless night, you'd be lucky to see the tip of your nose. Well, we had headlights. But all they illuminate is a few tens of meters in front of the vehicle. And here we were trying to find a path into a jungle in less than a fraction of a second. Our mind told us that every dark patch by the road was a path, but these just turned out to be small gaps in the trees.

A couple of kilometers down the road, we spotted an asphalted stretch. Could that be it? Paddy was very doubtful, he couldn't remember. The rest of us didn't know. And so continued our quest for that elusive happy road to the Mallu shack. Another couple of kilometers passed by and all we could see were roads leading into homes, and compounds. Nothing though triggered any recollection in Paddy. Realizing that searching any further was no more than a futile exercise, Paddy turned the car around and headed back to the first turn off.

This time around though Paddy was a little more cautious in his attempt at entering the thick jungle canopy. It was a fairly steep climb, up to the first turn, which was less than a 100 feet from the main road. Then the road evened out, but the whole dark jungle, thick canopy situation was spooking us out a bit. And Paddy was driving. He was spooked most!

"Ok. Roll up the windows everybody", he said, "If we see anything moving, we turn off the lights, and wait for it to go away".
"What if we see a woman in a white sari?", WeeWake wanted to know.
"Then just run!"
"Man, there will be king cobras and every thing".
"Arre, that is the least of our worries. There are even Panthers running around here."

Then Paddy started his discourse on how Shakaracharya decided to start a peeta here in the middle of the jungle and how he felt the the wild animals did no one any harm, if they weren't harmed in the first place. That is called a morale booster!

There were a couple occasions that night when we had to get out of the car and push the vehicle up the slope. And boy did we run or what when the vehicle move forward. Nobody wanted to be too far away from the door of the vehicle. It was our safe place. No thing, we thought, could harm us if we were in the car. WTF?? what were we thinking?? hehe... so much for mocking that storekeeper uh??

It took us a good hour to reach the clearing with the Mallu shack. We parked beside the dark and seemingly empty shack and began to make preparations to commence our night trek, when we heard a movement from inside the shack.

Horray! The guy was inside and our noise had woken him up. He enquired about our plans and confirmed that it was just a two hour trek up to the top. We could see a distant single yellow light on the top. That was the guest house light, and was to serve as our reference point.

The dark sky was a treat! There were so many stars that I could see, and ofcourse the milky way. It looked so beautiful. It was like Deja-Vu. The old days were back, when all I had to do was go up to End-point to see these familiar sights. I remembered the shooting stars that I used to see so much and wondered if I'd see any tonight.

After a couple of pre-trek snaps - "I'm in" with the foot etc etc... we began our climb. No flute, no drum, just us, the torches, a bottle of diesel (a lesson from Jispa), and of course water. We agreed that we'd keep talking to each other, and no one would be more than an arms distance at any time. We picked up a few branches to serve as walking sticks along the way, after making sure there were no leaches on them. We terked and treked. On a few occasions I peered up, to see if we could see the night sky, and we seldom did. We were always under the thick jungle canopy. And our field of vision was just 2 feet to the front, illuminated by the torch light. The thrill of a night trek.

The trail was fairly easy to follow. That is until we reached a clearing 30 minutes into our trek. Strangely, we couldn't see the Guest house lights from here. There seemed to be only two paths from it. One was a half chance path - where you'd have to clear the undergrowth in front of you to plod ahead, and the other was the path from the Mallu shack. Well - Mard-ko-dard-nahi, right? so, we decided to go ahead. We were two steps into that undergrowth and no more and we heard a strange noise. What was that? A panther? A dog? What the hell was that? There was no place to turn!

It was dark. If we extinguished our torches, all we could see were the odd fireflies. And the noise would become more eerie, more sinster. Shit, we were spooked. If only the path was more wide , if only we had a machete instead of a measly 4 inch swiss army knife. We didn't want to head back, and couldn't move ahead. Were we lost? There was no definitive trail into the thick undergrowth. Could we take that chance? Or should we just camp out the night, and resume, when there was sunlight and we could see things more clearly?

While we were battling with the daemons of the night, we could still hear that sinister growl/howl intensify. We moved back to the clearing to a) clear our minds and b) to make a fire - this is why we took the diesel. Long live Hindustan petroleum - "Kyonki bahut duur jaana hai"

The Clearing

The four of us had traveled from Mangalore to Kollur and were on our way to Kodachadari after parking the car the Mallu shack, when we lost our way and reached a dead end after nearly an hour of trekking.

We lit a fire and camped for the night at the clearing. The eerie sound drifted away from us as quickly as we decided to stay put. Quite anti-climactic, huh? With sleep evading us, we had nothing much to do but to talk. We had one sleeping bag for the four of us. Now, now don't you get no dirty ideas... Plus the place was infested with leaches... not a pretty site ;)

We decided to get moving with the first rays of the sun. And we all know how that works out!

For a change, we guys were up and about chasing imaginary peacocks by 6 am the next day. Dawn also infused some extra spunk in our balls and we plunged into the thick undergrowth determined to make a new trail through the forest. After a few hundred yards through the wild undergrowth we found ourselves, rather miraculously at a well trod path. Not lost anymore were we now?

The jubilant jungle quartet began belting popular tunes to egg themselves on, not mention scare away all wild life - panther, bear, snake, butterflies from their surroundings. What! You say this is bull shite? Then how do you explain us not spotting a single wild animal? Give us some credit man... :P We were in tune with nature, such a splendid feeling.

People with my physique - blubber, will find the ascent ( ~ 2000 odd feet over 5 kms) fairly difficult. I kept pausing every 100 meters or so to catch my breath. And of course the Glue-Gand-Dee that Sri Sri Gandeshwari Baba had so thoughtfully carried along was very handy. Can't say much about following Sri Sri Gandeshwari Baba while trekking though... keeps playing peek-a-boo with you all the time :P

The first break from the think folliage was around 1/3rd the way up. The clearing is very small and the first thing that catches the eye is this tree in the middle.

From there it is back into a thicker canopy and out into a clearing along the slopes of the hill. Monsoon had spawned a rash of elephant grass and we had to wade through a narrow beaten track into yet another Canopy and out into a clearing just 150 meters below the Kodachadari temple.

At the Kodachadari temple you will find a huge iron pole, said to the "trishul", with which the Goddess had nailed down a mooka (dumb) demon. Scientific studies claim that this "trishul" is not a product of modern iron making processes as the carbon content is less than 0.05%. Which would make this very very old. However, no archaeological studies seems to have been performed to determine its age. Sad, that no one done anything about it. If were an archaeologist, I'd have jumped at the first opportunity to do some Carbon dating or something like that...

At this point, you can ask the local caretaker to arrange for food, lassi, fresh lime juice etc etc. If we had arrived at night, we probably would have crashed here too. But after a wash in the cold stream behind the caretaker's home and a couple of shots of lime juice we guys moved on to the Shanakaracharya peeta.

The distance of around 2 kms was easily achievable in 1 hour, the canopy had disappeared and the open hill top was awash with colour full butterfiles; dragon files; bumble bees and other interesting insects darting around the wild flower fields collecting necter.

It is rumored that from the top of Kodachadri, on a clear day, you can see the Arabian Sea, Linganmakki Dam and Shimoga. Fortunately we weren't given a chance to verify that claim! But I tell you what, being up there, on top, engulfed by clouds meant much more. Words fail me in describing that experience. The clouds just drifted in from the north-east; gently enveloped us; lingered around for a while; made us feel a little cold; then retreated, ever so gently, lifting the white mist; revealing once again the depths of the valley, over which we had just trekked. Surreal. Very surreal.

Why don't moments like that last forever? May they shouldn't, what the heck... philosophy and all... too much ok... After a while, we climbed down back to the caretaker's home. Lunch was all laid out and we did what we do best. Eat. Then started our rather uneventful trek down the hill. And this is where we also spotted the place where we took the wrong turn at night. That confounded path looked like the small stream, but dried small stream. Very very possible to get confused, and not take that path. We took a little over 5 hrs to trek up but only 2 hrs to trek down.

We quickly got to the Mallu shack, changed into something that didn't stink ;) and were on our way back to civilization. This time through that "easier" road, which by the way, was quite steep and peppered with boulders large enough to scrape all the metal away from the under carriage. We also encountered a variant of the Pagal nalla, which turned out to be a damp squib just like its more notorious cousin from the north. Maybe we guys are just plain lucky! Touch wood.

It was that asphalted insignificant stretch of road, the one we had rejected last night, to which this alternate road was connected. Something to remember for next time. There is always a next time ;)

Off all things we got stuck at the broken bridge. Took quite a while for the mess to clear up. First of all a rookie driver was trying to navigate a car width wide bridge, with no shoulder to guide the car, what did they expect? Gammon was the contractor, yessir the same one responsible for that flyover in Hyd, which collapsed.... What to say... strange are the ways in which we work.

We reached Udupi by 6:30 pm, and then we stopped by at Seaworld, Kapu for a quick bite at nearly 7 :15pm. Rushed as quickly as possible to Mangalore. Googie had a 9:30 pm bus to catch and two spare tickets to sell. And we know how "punctual" he is when it comes to catching buses, or trains, and even planes!

*Not to be confused with WeeWake a.k.a. VMK
#whole story will not be told to protect the privacy of the said auto driver and a few other truck drivers।
**Conversations might have extra मसाला added to them.

Back to the hills - Kodachadri

2007-10-11T18:35:00.000+02:00

I still haven't finished my blog on the RTMC 6A and I am all set for the next trip. So typical that it ceases to worry me :D

So the plan a.k.a hope is to reach Mangalore on Saturday morning, Kollur by afternoon and from there trek to Kodachadri. Spend the night at Kodachadri, and return to Mangalore by Sunday afternoon. Probably stay the night and get back to Bangalore by the morning flight on Monday. Tentative plans, but leaving for Mangalore on Friday night is certain.

Sometime earlier this year, I had blogged about red tape on the internet - courtesy the Great Indian Railways. And it happened again! This time thanks to the KSRTC website.

To quote from the website. Yes dear, KSRTC has a website!

KSRTC has reached yet another mile stone in its IT field by introducing a new system named as AWATAR (Any Where Any Time Advance Reservation), by which any passenger can reserve tickets well in advance on-line from any part of the world through internet, to travel from any place to any place on the routes on which the Corporation operates its services. The passengers can reserve their seats using debit or credit card also. KSRTC is the first transport Corporation in India to implement the software of this kind.

Which, in my opinion means, that anybody a.k.a. you and I, can book a bus ticket online. Yippe!! No more visits to 4th Block to book tickets to Mangalore.

But, where - o - where is that convenient link. As you might have guessed, it points to "http://ksrtc.in/#", i.e. No where! No link, no convenience, no ticket. However, if you are an operator or a franchise, you have a live and working link - "http://ksrtc.in/AWATARWeb/login.jsp". Something fishy. Very very fishy. I wonder how many people got paid to "delink" the customer login page...

The reasons are quite clear. Crystal clear. Net savvy customers, like you and me, were booking tickets online. A loss of revenue to travel agents. And also, making the jobs of those reservations counter fellows redundant. Not just that, even private bus operators would have felt the heat. Insider information is that they are struggling to break even. Very apparent by the recent move to switch all buses to a combination of sitting on level 1 and sleeping on level 2. These guys are trying every possible trick to maximize, no! stay, profitable. Conspiracy theories can be aplenty, but the ground reality is that, an excellent opportunity is being throw away! For no reason, no reason at all. Sabotage, plain simple sabotage. They are the best state run transport corporation, they could have set the bar just a bit higher, but the great Indian Babudom got the better of them. Shame on them.

This discovery necessitated a trip to 4th Block. And that is where I witnessed the scam these KSRTC employees are attempting on unsuspecting cutomers, like you and I. A big board was propped up on the reservation counter - "Internet problems". Printed in Red paint on white background. All capitals. "Yeenteernet konecksion hoog bit aithe saar. Booking aagak illa...", the pan chewing reservation counter fellow stated unapologetically.

It didn't strike me as sinister at first. Then, it looked hilarious. "They have connectivity problems so often, they actually have a board painted with an excuse", I chuckled to myself as I walked to the nearest private tour operator to book tickets on a private bus to Mangalore.

After booking with the private operator, I couldn't help speculating the possibility of the ticket counter fellow being bribed by the private operators to divert KSRTC business to them. Possible. Anything is possible. Jai Karnataka. Jai Bharath!

Anyways, I have confirmed that even the private buses will take the Madikeri route. So nothing much to worry on that front. I have picked up a couple of interesting things for the trek ;) All excited... plus the met department predicts no rain till oct 14th... hehe... we know how that works out!

12/10, 2030 hrs.
Update : Heading out now... and orkut has an eerie warning for me - "Serious trouble will bypass you"... wooo... now that would be interesting ;)

6A - Pardeee time at Coorg

2007-09-30T17:40:00.001+02:00

29th Sept
Almost couldn't sleep the whole of last night, the excitement was way too much for me to handle. Darn! I didn't feel that excited even the night before we left for Khardung La.. All I could keep thinking, while asleep (is that possible?), was - "Pardee! pardee! pardee!" or "100 bikes, 100 bikes", with the characteristic bullet "thump thump thump" echoing in the background.

The initial insomniac tendency was soon overshadowed by Kumbakarnatites, and I "Snoozed" my alarm (set for 5:30 am) at least five times before I realized I was running late. Off late, I seem to have been bitten by Shenoy's time bug - i.e. my time management skills have stepped into a bottomless abyss, achieving newer depths every passing day. 5 minutes magically stretches to 20, and 20 becomes an hour and so on, so forth... Anyways, I tried to redeem myself by hurriedly getting ready. Did things like never pealing my eyes off the 100m water proof wrist watch while in the shower, reading only one article while on the throne, giving each molar just two quick swipes etc, etc, etc...

At 6:30 I left my hall, hoping to be at town hall by 6:35; cursing Puttanchetti for having donated so much of his wealth to build a structure, where I, of all people, would arrive late; wondering whether the folks would take the NICE road or Mysore road to reach SH-17, if I didn't find them where they would have been 5 minutes earlier. With this mental trauma raging in his orange juice fed brain, his highness ties his gloves to his jacket and sets off at 80kph to town hall.

I was elated to see so many bikers still at town hall. Long live IST. Sim-simply and all I had taken off tension, very much against my "Tension leneka nahi, khali dene ka" motto. After a brief round of hellos, I decided that it was time to zip up. The jacket. Zip up the jacket and glove the hands.

The glove retrieve function was returning error. Nah, some thing wrong with function call I decided. Checked again. Shoot! I was one glove short. I was 110 percent sure I had Velcro-ed both the gloves to the jacket before leaving home. Tooblight! I had dropped one glove on the road. Somewhere. The loss of a glove woke up the dormant miser in me, inspired by recent readings of "The Undercover Economist" and "Blink". One glove wouldn't do anybody any good, unless they had only one arm. That too only the left arm - it was the left glove that had un-Velcroed itself. The finder of my fallen glove would have to
1) be a right arm amputee (good left arm)
2) know a person who was a right arm amputee in need of a glove, or confident of selling to a right arm amputee
3) have a single (matching) right glove,
to be compelled to keep it. Very slim probability, the orange juice fed brain concluded was blitzkrieg speed. Go get it!

So, I went looking for my lost glove. Should I retrace my path all the way home? or should I make educated guesses? Educated guess was the gut feel. Now, should I check after Canara Bank, or after Minerva Circle or after Krumbigal Road, or after RV teachers college? The gut spoke again. More like screamed out loud! "RV teachers college, RV teachers college". So I went with the flow, RV teacher's college it was. And, and, ya, ok you win. I am predictable, I did find that darn glove near Lalbagh. It was on the road, waiting patiently to be reunited with its beloved hand and yada yada yada. Yeh janam janam ka bandhan hai.. Bladdy saved 800 smakaroos, my gut feel and ultra smart thinking. Oops forgot ultra quick.

I headed back towards town hall. Late, but hand firmly in the glove. I reach, only to see that there are only a hand full left. Mahesh a.k.a. "Bra"*, was looking for an elastic a.k.a. bungee chord, to hold his bags firmly in place. I was sure I was carrying a spare bungee, so I momentarily got his hopes up. Only "chur chur ho gaya"...

* RTMC guys have funny nicknames

Nothing spectacular happened till Kamath's, the first regroup point. I took the customary Pee stop after Bidadi. Didn't pee though, just sipped on some Litchi twirl, waved at a few passing bikes, blew kisses at all the girls waving at me and waited for a train to pass me by. Then, chased it till Chennapatna, where it unfortunately stopped.

At Kamath's I met Toothpick, Sai, Lokesh, Manan, Sajan and Jispa. A few rounds of Tottu, Vada, Chai/Coffee and Rava masala dosa later, we left for the 2nd regroup point - the U - a couple of kilometers ahead of Srirangapatna towards Hunsur. And, this is where things picked up on the interesting scale. I tagged along with my new breakfast buddies, and we set, what I thought was, a blistering pace on the busy dual carriageway. Somewhere near Maddur, I spotted a very familiar figure walking away from a bike - it was Conrad a.k.a. Con-Rod and slightly ahead was Sushil Mishra. "Cool! More people from the Bheemeshwari ride!", I thought as I rode on.

After a boring and rather surprisingly quick passage of 2 hours, during which a bus tried to run me over, which culminated in me giving him the biker salute, we reached the next via point - the U-turn Mysore bypass. Here, I was reunited with my dear old friend - the train.

I also met the other guys from the Ealagiri ride (not chronicled) - Biscuit, Bhupinder and Haren. We were one of the last guys to arrive at this spot, and we made a habit of it ;)

From then on the narrow bypass road was full of surprises - a pothole here, a pothole there; a little bit of loose sand strewn on the road; the odd cyclist attempting to emulate Johnny Walker; the bewildered dog; and the paddy spread on the road in the hope that some passing vehicle will de-husk it. The good times unfortunately didn't last long enough, for we were soon on yet another dual carriage way - the new Mysore - Madikeri state highway.

I had at some point separated from the group and was coasting along at 80kph on the sparsely populated road, quite contently. Then, somewhere in the distance, far far behind me I spotted a yellow dot in my rear view mirror. We ride with the head lights on, so that we can differentiate who is riding with us and who isn't. So, I figured it was some body just chilling on the road like me, so I throttled up and found a new rhythm at 90kph. The single yellow dot became bigger, and two more appeared. A giant sun and two planets. Then I heard them. Yoops! I was about to be overtaken. Its fun riding in a group, so I decided to keep pace with these folks and maxed the throttle. My thunderbird reached its vibrating crescendo at 110 kph and insisted that I just wouldn't go any faster. Fair enough, because I wasn't lagging behind this time ;)

The vibrating reverie didn't last long. Mechanical limitations of our bikes hooted it. Literally. Jispa's horn detached itself and did a few cartwheels on the road. That is, till I ran over it! hehehe... I slowed down to inspect any possible damages, luckily nothing much had occurred. What am I talking! Nothing had happened. So I started back again, and sighted them ahead halting for a pee + sutta break. I slowed down to appraise Jispa of his missing hooter :P, he was in the know and also in the process of disposing his rear crash guard which was threatening to unfasten itself any moment. So much for the "continuous high speed" that RE insists we will enjoy with our bikes. hehehe... Quite a few bikes passed us, plenty of TN bikes - Mad Bulls passed us by. These guys ride hard, real hard...

After the slight elevation, at the base of which we stopped was the third via point. So again, we were one of the last fellas to arrive :D

And the estori will continue I say... break ke baad...

Back to the Koorgee!! PardeeMC's 6A meet

2007-09-28T19:02:00.000+02:00

The discerning reader will remember that Paapi Yak, Howda Tatti, Super Fast Charger and Shaart Cirkit had painted the southern tip of Coorg yellow (the color of you know what) around the same time last year, on their yet to be chronicled, super duper ass numbing ride through Coorg and Kerala.

This time one of the four... a.k.a. me (no.. no... don't do that enky pinky ponky to figure what i call myself) is heading back to Coorg!! Woohoo... ain't I lucky? Sadly, neither of my other three comrades are joining me, rather willingly not joining perhaps... muhuhaha. evil weevil ;)

But, what the heck. This will be my first big ride with the RTMC guys... Yipee! The well informed will know that RTMC, also known as PardeeeMC thanks to their superior party arranging abilities and even more extraordinary partying skills, is having its sixth anniversary (6A) celebrations at a classified top secret location in Coorg this weekend.

To indulge in the aforementioned kickass festivities we are all heading out to Coorg very very early tomorrow morning.... err 6:30 am to be precise... looking forward to a pleasant ride and a rocking pardee!!! In the pardeeMC parlance - Caman the pardee, caman the enjaiment!

Snaps from Leh on picasa....

2007-08-19T18:40:00.000+02:00

The Leh snaps..

Leh 2007 - part II - Of leaking vents and a bored freshie...

2007-08-14T19:52:00.000+02:00

Day 2 - 13th July 2007 (Friday the thirteenth)

Nothing much to report about this day... we sat in the train, and sat in the train, and sat in the train - while Googie was in Bangalore, enjoying I guess. Lemme get my hands around his neck...

Paddy had sent an SMS the previous day - "Dude if u r awake at 5 am and ther is range gimme a call". Paddy had to catch the Rajdhani from Mangalore at 6 am, so I assumed that was supposed to be reminder of sorts. Being a man down already, I took this task seriously (like everything else hehe) and set a alarm for 5 am. So, I woke up at 5 am. But, no range! I just prayed that Paddy would be up and at the station... A little later, I did get range and called up Paddy, who confirmed that he was indeed up and about and on the way to the railway station.

At 6.07 am, I sighed a huge sigh of relief when I read another of Paddy status update SMS's - "Gulz the trains the boards! Clap clap! Kini nahi hu main!"

So, the next questionable characters were Kinimaam and V-the-M-the-K, lovingly called - Pyscho or weew-a-a-ake (depending on Ojha's frame of mind)

Rajdhani trains, have a habit of waking up people at 6 am to feed them some butt ugly tea and so, the entire compartment was up and running to the loo. Early early in the morning 60 odd people vying for 4 loos, hehehe..... This was one time, when I wondered how long Kookee would have lasted. Anyways, Paddy's alarm was good enough pressure for me, so I used the fabled Rajdhani loos. Luckily for me there was toilet paper. Yes, toilet paper on an Indian railways train! So, I did not have to worry about the mug not reaching the right place and you know... hehe...

That done, and waiting for breakfast while approaching the Hussian Sagar Lake, I got talking to the other "youngster" in our compartment. Shamboo was traveling to Delhi after attending his counseling at Manipal. Small world.

In the mean while Googie, after some amount of detective work, sent out an SMS - "Clap clap! Clap clap! Ojha's cell got stolen. Contact him through .... or at his home number ....". Things got more interesting huh...

We spent most of the day, boring the daylights out of the freshie from our Alma matter. We were doling out advice by the bucket loads, something I am sure he had enough and more of.
During the afternoon, we noticed a huge Indian Ocean near the toilet. Yes boys, we had named this one the Indian Ocean, days before we encountered them again :D... Apparently the AC of our bogie had developed a leak, and there was nothing the on board maintainence crew could do about it, so much for the Rajdhani tag. The train was so freaking rotten, I have not seen a more dilapidated and F-ed up train than this one.

Anyways after lunch, comprised of rubber rotis and uncooked paneer, we tried visiting la la land. But, our assault on the unsuspecting freshie was relentless... hehe...

Some time around 2.30 pm we received a message from Googie - "Oj's addr - .... Kalkaji he said he'll be coming to pick you yo at the stn". Reassuring. Ojha had left Bangalore in one piece and was in New Delhi, again in one piece... "Phew! The trip is still on", I thought to myself.

By evening, I think even Paddy was bored of the Rajdhani. We got a message from him - "Inside maharashtra, ratnagiri, jai konkan rly ! But rajdhani is sad , tea also we ve to only make !". The never ending train journey was getting on my nerves as was the infinite loop conversations making the rounds in the compartment. Then I guess, the loneliness of the journey got to Paddy. I got a concerned SMS from him - "Sus , oj in dilli or blore ? Did u speak to him ? Is he pickin u guys ?" After answering all his queries, we readied our selves for the gastronomical delight called dinner that is served by the great IRCTC, in Agri Gold sponsored trays on board the Rajdhani express.

Dinner, or whatever it is called, commences when a waiter in red uniform brings you a Styrofoam cup fillied with red liquid - soup. If you notice something spongy floating in the liquid, then you know you do not need to wait for the bread sticks and butter to arrive. After the soup, comes the main course - one sabji, invariably with Panner as an ingredient; one container of dal, which is half cooked; two rubbery roties; some dirty sliced vegetables pass off as salad; and some very very hard rice; and a bowl of very sour curd. All placed on a tray, that won't sit on you lap even if you join you legs at the knees. So, of course, things tend to jump about and fall on the floor, where it dilutes in the vast Indian Ocean... Anways, after a day and a half in this environment, I was an expert at eating, so this dinner was quite uneventful, except that I didn't get my spoons.

The first time I noticed I was without a spoon, I called out to our food guy... "Bhaiya... spoon dena"
"Ji... deta hun", he cried out from the other end of the bogie.
After what seemed like an eternity he returned with a bottle of water, "Saab aapne paani manga tha..."
I corrected him, "Tch tch... spoon boss spoon... chamach, vaise paani bhi de do.. lagega.:
"Acha ji.. abhi le aatha hun..."
Again, he disappeared for another eternity. When he did return, he had a packet of rubbry roties. "Yeh lejiye... do roti", he said thriumpantly.
As much as I hate to dampn peoples spirits, I had to remind my self that I had some rice to eat, so I gently broke the news to the waiter - I had asked for a chamach and not roties. The dejected waiter dejectedly agreed to bring me a spoon.
When I did get the spoon, the guy sheepishly said, "Ji, khatam ho gaye thae. Aap ke liye naya wala laya hun..."
True to his word, it look all new - with sticker and everything. Of course by this time, I was in no mood to eat any rice or curd or dal, but to stick to the code I accepted the spoon and took a courteous dig at the rice plate. The significance of the gesture was not lost on the waiter, who promptly asked, "Saab.... chai paani".
"Nahi nahi... abhi nahi chahiye".
"Nahi saab... khane ka chai paani".
"Han han.... vohi.. nahi chahiye".
"Jo maan mei aaye, de dijye saab", he said. And thats when it sank in my thick skull, the dude wanted tips!
"Kal subhe aa jao...", I said.
"Nahi saab, hum log abhi collect kar lethe hain..."
"Teek hai", I said (grumbling internally, why the F should I tip this lousy waiter...) and gave him 10 rupees.

We did some math, if these fellows made 3 trips in a week, then in a month, they'd make 12 trips a month. If in each trip he colleceted an average of 5 rupees from 60 passengers (in one bogie), then he'd make 3600 rupees per month over and above his salary from the railways...

Shortly later, at 10 pm, we were in Bhopal, and I calld up my parents to let them know that I could have been home, if they hadn't moved... hehe...

I decided to stay up a bit, and charge the cell phone... yes they have an outlet near the sink where only one phone may be charged at a time, that too trickle charged. So charging cell phones was like the Indian govt's 5 year plan... at around two am, I received two messages. The first from Paddy - "Kini vmk boarded"; the second from Kini - "We guys on de train..... sooparaashile"

"Cool... six birdies in the hand one to go", I thought and as curled as much as I could on the middle berth and drifted off to sleep all excited about the adventure we were about to embark upon. Paddy words - "Jai Khardung La!" was echoing in the sleepy brain....

Leh 2007 - Part I - Of missed trains

2007-08-11T07:06:00.002+02:00

Day 1 - 12th July 2007

"The big day is here. I am going to go away for three, maybe four weeks!", I thought gleefully, "But first, get all the packing done, buy a camera bag for the handycam, get some money out for the trip, and...."

Anyways, all the small forest fires were put out rather smoothly and my bags were packed - one huge bag to hold the saddle bag, the riding jacket and my clothes and a smaller bag to hold the helmet. I was all set to go.

At around 4 in the afternoon I called up Googie, and reminded him that the train would leave from the Bangalore Main Railway station at 8.20 in the night. He said, "Cool, no problem. That is near Majestic, isn't it?"
"Ooops", I thought and said, "Yeah. yeah. Thats the one."
"But, where do we meet dude?"
"Why don't you come over to my place by around 6 - 6.30, and we can leave for the station by 7.15?"
"Hey, thats a good idea. I'll do that", Googie said.

One in the basket, one more to go. In the mean while, I get a call from Vatsa -
"Namaskara! finished packing?", he asked.
"Yeah dude. All done. Thanks for that Camera Point tip, I got the bag after a little bit of bargaining for 600."
"Cool... that is that original price anyway!"
"So, you done with your packing?", I asked, changing the topic.
"No, not yet, I'll go home and then do it. Are you taking a big bag?"
"Yes, I am taking a big bag."
"Do you have space for a big helmet?"
"Nah dude, no space of another helmet..."
"Hmm ok... so what time is the train?"
"The train leaves at 8.20 pm, but be there at the station by 7.45"
"Ok, which platfrom?"
"The Rajdhani leaves from platform number 8, so you can enter from the old entrance".
"Ok, see you at the station then", and he rang off.

Both birdies in the basket, Papa Bear was a relieved man. Not for long. It was 6 pm and there was no sign of Googie, so I called him up.
"Dude, where are you?"
"Man I am still at home, I still have to clean up."
"What? Clean up? what it iz?"
"You won't understand dude... I really really have to clean up this place before leaving. It won't look good otherwise", he whined. Yeah Googie really really whined.
"Ok, so whats the plan?"
"I'll meet you at the station directly", he said.
"Hmm.. fine... but remember, the train leaves at 8.20 from platfrom number 8, so plan to be at the station by 7.45".
"Ok dude, it is near majestic right?"
"Yes yes... it is the station near majestic", I confirmed.
"Ok dude, I'll see you there."

Papa Bear, feels a little uncomfortable, but dismisses it as mere speculation.
I just left home, and I get a call from Paddax - "Namaskara! Hortra saar?" "Hello, did you leave?"
"Yes boss! just left", I said.
"So, you have taken everything right?", he queried.
"Yes, yes, everything is all packed in the bags!!!"
"Drivers License, Identity card etc....?"
"Yes, yes... everything... I have my company id card... I hope that is ok.."
"No voters ID or something..."
"No yaar... why take all that chuma?"
"RighRight.. So I am leaving for Mangalore now, I have some shopping to do there and then I'll catch the train next morning... "
"Yeggzalento...!!"
"See you in Delhi then... Jai Khardung La!", he said and rang off.

I reached the station as per my plan i.e. by 7.45 and dragged my 25 kg luggage for almost a kilometer on platfrom 8 to find my elusive bogie - AS5. I found an old couple sitting in our compartment. "This is going to be fun", I thought and stuffed my bags under the lower berth. One birdy in the hand, two more to go!

I called up Vathsa - no response. Then I called up Googie - "Dude where are you?" I asked.
"On my way dude, on my way. How much time do you think it will take to get from Lifestyle to the railway station?"
"In this traffic... hmmm around three quarters of a hour... why?"
"I am just outside Lifestyle... I don't think i can make it...."
"Haha... just pray Kookeeee", I chuckled.

Then Vathsa called up, "Hey where are you?"
"I am at the station, where are you?", I asked.
"Almost there man.. sure, we don't have to go to the new entrance right?"
"Yes boss... platform number 8."
"Ok, I'll be there"

By 8.10 Vatsha was at the station, closely follwed by his friends and Rommies, who had come to see him off. Was to make sure that he really really did board the train to New Delhi? hehe... only Vathsa knows :D

There was no sign of Googie still, and we received a message from him, "Dude delay the train somehow... I'm sure I'm not making it. But the trip is definitely on.I'll catch a flight and come".
So we called him up again - "Dude! Where are you?"
"Man I don't think I can make it... We are stuck.. the traffic isn't moving an inch...", he whined. Yes, yes... our Googie actually whined.
"Dude, just try maadi... maybe you'll make it in time..."
"Hey dude... try talking to the TC, he may stop the train..."
"Hehe... magga I'll tell him, he can expect a reward from Googie if he delays the train... hehe", I chuckled.
"Man, pull the chain! Do something dude... ", he said desperately.
"Relax dude, try to make to the station." I tried to smoothen he frayed nerves.
"Ok dude", he sighed and cut the call.

It was 8.12 and there was no hope, so I told Vathsa... "Looks like its going to be just you and me on this train to Delhi".

At exactly 8.20 the train began to roll from the platfrom, and no sign of Googie. Yet. The bogie had just rolled out of sight from the platfrom, when I got an sms from him- "Has it left yet?"

So I called him again - "We just left... where are you?"
"I am just outside the station... did it leave?"
"Ya dude, it just left..."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes... it really really left..."
"Can't you pull the chain?"
"Nah... that I can't do... you are good fella... but I won't go to jail for you...". Poor Googie... I felt for him. But really, when you have friends like me, who needs enemies... :D
"Ok dude... I'll ask the auto walla to go to take me home...... man he is laughing at me dude!!!"
"Sigh... what it is to be done dude... what it is to be done..."
"Can you cancel my tickets with the TC??"
"Yes dude... you don't worry about that... we'll take care of that.. Tension nahi leneka..."

I was pretty peeved, it was for Googie's sake that we had booked train tickets. So that, in case of a cancellation we would get full refund. And now the moron was flying, while I would be cooking in a train... tchk tchk... tchk tchk... and would be like James Bond's drink when I get off at Delhi - shaken, but not stirred. Hehe... Pretty pretty peeved.

Equally strange, was that Ojha was not answering his phone. There were a million questions in our minds - "Did he leave Bangalore?"; "Did he get leave?"; "What about the bikes?"; "What will we do once we reach Nizzamuddin station early on Saturday morning?"

That pretty much sums up the first day of our, as the Ancient Chinese would put it - interesting trip. Full of action, suspense and drama.

Skull caps / Balaclava

2007-06-30T20:21:00.001+02:00

Another on the list of essentials for a biker... again, something I've been trying to lay my hands on from a very long time, but was too lazy to go search :)

The Skull cap, is something that you wear over your head, before putting on a helmet. Think of a monkey cap.... right... the exact same thing, but in cotton. Balaclava is the term....

The plus points of this underestimated fella are

It absorbs all the perspiration, keeping the helmet a little cleaner
The back of the neck, which is exposed in most helmets gets covered, so no more nasty sun burns there ;)
If you are riding in the cold, it keeps the face a little bit warm

As usual, they are available in a few shops on Lalbagh Rd. Click here to see the location on google maps.

Bungee cords in Bangalore

2007-06-27T15:52:00.001+02:00

So, I had been looking all over the world for bungee cords... I confess, my search was quite myopic :-(

All I had to do, was search on Lalbagh road. The first shop I got into, had these cords. How convinent! My goldfish memory has ensured that I have forgotten the name within 2 hours of visiting the shop, so the only useful information is

a) The shop is opposite Urvashi... Look at the google maps link.
b) It sells for Rs 50. Haggle a bit and it will magically come down to Rs 30. I didn't haggle much, so I paid Rs 160 for four chords
c) They are available as in mesh, single or double cord variety.
d) The shop keeper will not understand bungee, he'll use the word "elastic" ;)

Happy shoppin..

Bheemeshwari - My 1st RTMC announce ride

2007-06-24T20:38:00.004+02:00

Bheemeshwari is a sweet little place nestled in the hills bordering Cauvery, or what ever is left of her, as she meanders downstream from Shivanasamudra. There are quite a few trekking trails to explore, if one has the inclination. I am quite certain, camping is possible here, given the proximity to water and blah blah. Alternately, one could book with the Jungle Lodges. Catch the Masheer, or get snapped at by a Maggar. Not that we did either, but we could have, but we didn't... get the drift? ;) Anyways...

Route - Bangalore - Kanakpura (NH 202) - Sathnur - Muthathi - Bheemeshwari
Distance : <100 kms
Road Quality Index : 6 on a scale of 1-10, 10 being the Mumbai-Pune express way and 1 being the Shiradi Ghats - Sakleshpur to Uppinaangadi

View Larger Map

Vatsa and I were planning a short ride before the Leh trip. At around the same time I received a mail from the RTMC announce list about their ride to Bheemeshwari. In the few years that I have been doing my trips, I have never been on one with a club. So, I did the 1 + 1 = 3 calculation and we joined the RTMC folks. First time with these folks, and hopefully not going to be the last :)

Although, bumpy and windy, the route is quite scenic. Water tanks abut the road at many sections. Where there are no tanks, the road is lined with Gulmohar tree. They were in bloom! The red petals were strewn alongside all along. As if nature had rolled out a red carpet welcome to all those who cared to travel. A very Royal treatment indeed for the RTMC riders! There is something with red that makes me... hmm... well... feel good... must be the red carpet... hahaha...

Then, there were the assortment of fauna that crossed our paths. Swooping kites, rummaging dumping grounds near Kanakpura. Green parrots darting from one Gulmohar to another. Mongoose scampering across the road. Confused looking jungle quail scurrying into the sanctuary of thick bushes. Herds of cattle and sheep. We actually drove through at least three different herds of Hallikar Cows. Imagine floating amongst a sea of horns - each 2 feet long, and quite capable of disemboweling you with a quick flick. Hehehe...

The forest department, or whoever, has done a neat job by erecting watch towers - which incidentally, are not accessible to the general public. We were trespassing. We weren't aware of this transgression until a few weeks later, where one from the group was chased away by forest guards.

To reach the watch tower we had to do some off-road riding :) It is actually quite a (short) trek from the main road. Once up in the watch tower, we could see the rains lashing Shivanasamudra, upstream. A constant reminder of the wretched ride back from Badravathi. That apart, the watch tower provided a 360 degree view of the surrounding hillocks - which anyways isn't much of a deviation from the purpose for which it was built!

After a round of intros etc etc... we headed back to Kanakpura for lunch... then to good ol Bengaluru...

At 198 kms, this has to be the shortest weekend trip ever. Nobody was complaining though, except for the pillion riders... lolz... The Thunderbird pillion seat is just not designed to carry an adult body!

Time out!

2007-02-02T00:34:00.001+01:00

For the past few months, I have been meaning to update my blog, about the trip to ooty and the one to coorg/wynad... Too darn lazy... too darn busy... take your pick...

Yennyways... I had been to this bike show last weekend... and didn't take my camera! How daft. How typical. Took a few shots with the cell phone camera. Have to download it and then... blah blah...

I felt sorry for myself and all others who ride toys... saw an ancient 1950 Triumph. Had the exact same engine as our Enfield! I must ride one of these Harley Davidsons before coming back...

Whimsical bunch of fools (Work in progress.... )

2006-10-30T16:42:00.001+01:00

Bangalore - Balmuri - Nagarhole - Gonikoppal - Irupu - Kalpetta - Banasura Dam - Edakkal - Sultan Bathery - Muthanga - Gundulpet - Chamrajnagar - B.R. Hills - Chamrajnagar - Mysore - Bangalore

Distance: 847 kms

Duration : 4 days and 3 nights

Bikes
One Royal Enfield Thunderbird
One Bajaj Discover

How To? and the what to...
If you take a map and plot our progress you'll notice that we have moved in a lollipop like fashion. Such a plan is actually quite fun, there is no onward leg and there is no return leg, well almost. The only part where we felt this onward and return leg fatigue was on the Bangalore - Mysore state highway.

Balmuri - Just after Srirangapatinam (if you are heading towards Mysore) take a right turn, towards KRS. This turn is almost 20 kms before the Mysore outer ring road. On this road at the Belagola village take another right turn and 3 kms on you will be at Balmuri.

Balmuri is 7 kms downstream from the Krishna Raja Sagara Dam( built by the legendary Sir M. Vishveshwariyah). It is the perfect location to relax, swim or take a boat ride for a few hours, especially in the mornings, when the place isn't crowded. The place doesn't start seeing the usual tourist action till 11:30 am. There are plenty of places to eat, which open only at noon.

Nagarhole - At Hunsur (on the way to Madikiri from Mysore) you'll need to take the road towards H.D. Kote. Nagarhole, 50 kms from Hunsur, is a beautiful national park infested with rouge elephants and man eating tigers, or so the forest guard claimed when he turned us back from the national park gates. Sadly this mistake cost us 100 kms and 3 hours of riding time and set the mood for a melancholy trip. No bikes are allowed!

Gonikoppal - Nothing much to see around this place, a good place to take a break for lunch though.

Irupu - Around 27 kms from Gonikoppal, Irupu is an idyllic village nestled between scenic coffee estates. It is the perfect weekend getaway from Bangalore. There are plenty coffee estates offering "home stay" facility. The Laskhmantheerta waterfall is a must see. So is the trekking trail to the nearby peak.

Kalpetta - Is the popular tourist hub in Waynad district. It is centrally located, with respect to the tourist spots. All types of accomodation is avialable, right form the 5 star resorts to dingy lodges. Waynad has "shitloads" of places to be seen, including
* Banasura Sagar Dam - Great views. Absolutely no sound. Perfect to meditate. Built with stones.
* Edakkal Caves - Imagine an enormous boulder wedged between two other equally enormous boulders. Now imagine 3000 year old paintings and carvings. One the result of an earthquake almost 30000 years ago and the other thanks to a bright caveman. The trek is next to treacherous, especially if you want to summit the peak. Not suited for children below 10 nor old people. You can see the entire Waynad district from the top of this peak, well almost!!
*Muthanga wild life santuary - If you seen one, you've seen them all... haha... not here. Worth a visit, in the season during the early mornings and late afternoon/early evening times.
*Pookode Lake - Boating etc etc. Ideal for kids.
*Chembra Peak - At 2100m above mean sea level, it is the highest peak in Waynad.

Sulthan Batheri - An alternative to staying at Kalpetta. Plenty of places to stay and a tad bit cheaper than Kalpetta. We'd recomend the food at Hotel Regency.

B.R. Hills - Another national park in the Chamrajnagar district of Karntaka. It is 90kms from Mysore. The ideal time to reach here is either early in the morning (after 0600) or in the evening (1700) the park closes to vehicular traffic at 1800 hrs and there is no place to stay once to reach the top, unless you have a prior booking with Jungle Lodges. Most of the wildlife make themselves visible only late in the evening, so it is adviseable to stay at Jungle lodges for a night. The roads are in a pathetic state, though.

What about us?
I shall, try to, chronicle the trip from the night of 19th to the night of 23rd with as much impartiality as is humanly possible.

Proluge
"Lets go some where guys", said Yak.
"Ya man. Lets go some where", chimed in Tatti.
"Hmm... How about Coorg during Diwali ?", Shart Circuit asked.

The humdrum of life in Bangalore had evidently taken its toll. As most techies do, we sought relief in an escape to the "country side". Only that, nobody usually escaped during Diwali, that too with friends. Diwali, like all other Indian festivals, is meant to be celebrated with family. So what, if you have been doing just that for your entire life.

"Chal, Ultra Fast Charger ko phone lagathe hain. Vaise bhi, I have to talk to him about his bike", said Yak as soon as the last syllables had slipped from my mouth.

Ultra Fast Charger is our friend from Mumbai, the heart and soul of all mirth and entertainment and a master of BS. His famous RX100 was rotting away in Bangalore, waiting to be sold at a pittance to the local thug of a mechanic. Yak was in charge of the bike till it met its sad demise. Yak, we must say, had very cleverly parked the bike at his acquaintance's home. So, that it wouldn't be a case of out of sight, out of mind.

Sitting on the steps of Shart Circuits'* home on a cool September evening Short Circuit, Houdaaaa Tatti and Paapi Yak called up Ultra Fast Charger on his fishy network. The fishy network (which, if you are not aware really stinks) - keeps sending the signals out to the Ratnakar Sea# instead to sending them inland. Yet Paapi Yak persisted, believing in the inherent goodness of his Kutta network.

After a while, an exasperated Yak muttered, "Kya yaar, iska number lagtha hi nahi hai!". Something very fishy, we all concurred. Again.

On the twentieth try, yes that is how much we all value Ultra Fast Chargermaam, we caught hold of the man. "Encha ollare", greeted Yak.

Yak proceeded to ask Charger, "Apun log Coorg jarela hai... Atta kya tu??" (Us dawgeies Coorg going be... Coming what you?) Charger was looking for this opportunity from a long time, the big bad city lacking in decent charging points and his own charge having been depleted by overexposure to a certain sections of society, lost no milliseconds to confirm his participation in the vile act be being away from home during Deepawali.

As a rule of thumb, it doesn't take much to convince any of us, to partake in hair brained schemes. Especially, if it is hatched at the drop of a hat. Accordingly, it didn't take much convincing. Ultra Fast Charger was ready to get onto the next plane to Bangalore. We had to remind him that Diwali was a few weeks away!

The details of the plan were sketchy at best at that instant, but Ultra Fast Charger had a very important question for me, "Abbe, hamare gaand ki suraksha ke bare mei sooch!" - Please, do think of a way to save our butts.

The roots of a statement as controversial, can be traced back to the earlier, similarly hair brained trip to Gopalswamy Betta in March. My bike's shocks had softened to a point, where riding pillion would propel the stocks of Amrutanjan and Iodex to the circuit breaker limit. The riders of that trip carried numb butts for a week. In that context, Ultra Fast Charger raised a very pertinent and emotional point.

I attempted to allay his fears, "Tension nako leneka re bhidu. Naya Gas shocks install kiyela hai apun. Ek dam rap chik ho gayela hai apun ka bird. Gaand ko malayee pe bhitaya hai, aisa lagtha hai" - Don't take too much tension dude. I have installed new Gas filled shock absorbers. You'll feel as if you are sliding on whipped cream.

"Bhagwan thera lakh lakh shukr kare, re baba" - God will bless you a million times over, dude.

We were four of us and just one butt-killer bike. Tatti, was all charged up that we weren't even considering his bike - a Bajaj Discoverer. "I did 100 kmph on the Mysore road man", he claimed. Knowing Tatti, there was no point arguing. Plus, the other alternative was Yak's TVS - Centra. Not much of a choice, so the Discoverer it was.

So, I revealed to Ultra Fast Charger, "The other bike will be Tatti's".

Over the next few days, Yak did some research on Coorg. Well, he researched a lot more than some! On a lot more than just Coorg. Yak claimed to have a friend in the hills. So, we would apparently have some "inside" help. How nice. The Coorg - RX100 link was finally making sense.

Day One Assemble at Short Circuit's home

Day Two Balmuri and Dinner

Day Three Rain rain go away

Day Four Banasura and Edakkal

Day Five B.R. Hils and back home

Epilouge
I was sitting on a plane the next day to New Delhi, thinking of past five days, wondering why we tortured ourselves by embarking on a bone shattering, arse numbing ride. I was quite sure the rest of the gang were thinking the same. I was also quite sure that we'd all agree that it had been worth it. No Pain No Gain!

This is how we make a whirlpool.... hehehe...

At Edakkal --->
Kini, Googs(back), Me and Kates after the trek
*Names changed so that only the four characters know whats going on... hehehe...
#Hahaha... Thanks HP for letting me on this secret!

And it rained... really? where?

2006-10-07T14:40:00.001+02:00

As promised, here is the installment of words and pictures which will describe how four nuts set out to reach Yercaud and only three reached Ottacamund...

Paddy, as I have mentioned earlier, was the instigator of this ride. We were scheduled to get four days of holidays on account of Independence day and a days CL on Monday. As the marked day to depart crept on us, Ketva (K)realized that his bike papers were not in order. Surprisingly, he did not vacilate on the idea of a trip! Paddy though had become non-committal for the past few days. That left five people and two bikes. In the meanwhile Dinga, after being appraised of the monsoonal plans opted out, which suited us fine (Hopefully Dinga never gets to read this!). The location though, was not certain.

As luck would have it, Gurubhai, from the Cyanide factory up north, was visiting the nether regions. Googendra was back in town after his tryst with the Himalayan Yaks and Yetis. Sufficient enough to call for a party, which sadly never happened, unless you call dinner at Nagarjuna followed by ice cream at Corner house a party. Nevertheless the entire gang met up for the first time since we departed from the hallowed portals of Manipal and that was more important. That it also served as a venue to recruit more bakras for the trip is a different story! While Googendra regaled us with his stories which involved a Yak, a Kraut, and a rickety Jeep, the food was served. Paddy, unfortunately had had an accident (minor) earlier in the evening, so he ruled himself out. And no one else displayed enthusiasm in getting sore butts, leaving only four people and two bikes on a trip to where? God knows!

Over ice cream, we debated about the sanity of even going on a ride given the weather forecasts. It was settled that we would proceed only so far as there was no rains. The minute we encounter a sheet or rain, that shows no signs of subsiding, we'd turn back. (Hello! Doesn't matter if we turn back, we'd still be stuck in rain) Our convoluted logic is evidence enough of the mental torture a "conventional" IT job puts us through! We were that desperate to get out of Bangalore and smell the unpolluted air of the countryside.

Nowhere near the destination are we? I told ya so! I wanted to go to Ooty, but I had promised the guys Yercaud. Baburao opined that there was pretty much nothing to do there. "You wont like it. I bet!", he exclaimed. Then Oodies, my ex-roomie, volunteered, "The roads suck big time man". We were now really not sure. Then he gives us the missing piece in the jig-saw puzzle, "But that was when RG died". Which led to another heated debate, about the exact date and time of Mr. Banana-man's assassination. God bless his soul. All said and done, we decided to stick to Yercaud. The rendezvous point was decided upon as Airport road, outside Leela and we went our ways back home. I took a slightly longer route though, having a long chat with Gurubhai and riding on Bannerghata road for the first time in my life! Got back home, packed the saddle bags and then hit the sack.

I am little hazy about what happened in the early hours of Saturday, it certainly comprised of a visit to the local petrol pump (only Shell will do for his highness), a partial breakfast at home (courtesy Grandma) and being present at the Leela Palace with Kates as the pillion a good hour later than decided. Vatsa, poor bloke, was already there. And after the initial "Hey macha. Haven't seen you since college" moments we set out to pick up VSK from his abode near Kids Kemp. That done a few minutes later, we tackled the first problem of the day. Breakfast. Where do we halt to breakfast? Kates, as usual, knew the perfect place. It was off the outer ring road, near Googendra's ex-home. Some where en-route, it started drizzling. I kept thinking, "This isn't good. No. Certainly not good". I sensed a similar unease wafting the in air, at the breakfast table. Someone, don't know who, suggested, "Why not Ooty?", I could have danced all night, I could have danced. Danced all night... Well you get the picture, I was elated and seconded the idea without hesitation. Then came the inevitable, choosing the correct route and reorienting ourselves for a trip to the misty Nilgiris. The easiest route, we determined, was via Mysore and Nanjangud. Thus we set out, to Ootacamund at the proverbial drop of a hat riding an extra 40 kms in bad Bangalore traffic.

The best part of leaving a busy bustling city teeming with traffic, is that you never realize where the city ends and where the countryside begins. In our case, this phenomenon was accentuated by not taking the more nondescript national highway and taking the more modern state highway to Mysore. The state highway is the state government's gambit to undermine the work undertaken by the NICE group. Whether the move pays off politically or not, only time will tell but the commuters benefit immensely. I will not digress into a political discourse on the merits of government-industry competition, but surely we the citizens have a lot to gain, provided the competition is healthy. There isn't much that I can add about the charming stretch of tarmac that lies between Kengeri near Bangalore and the Mysore outer ring road. The only updates I can provide is that the roads have been redone in the towns of Chennapatana and Ramnagaram, which had borne the brunt of last year's treacherous rainfall. The road is more or less complete, baring a few diversions near a couple of bridges. The bridge on the river Cauvery to the east of Srirangapatinam has been thrown open to traffic towards Bangalore. The old bridge still services the traffic towards Mysore and should suffice for some time to come.

As usual we halted at two places, whenever Kates and I travel this road, we invariably take a halt at these two spots! One near a desolate stretch adjacent to the railway track a little outside of Ramnagaram. This is the first stop, while our butts get accustomed to the uncomfortable seats of the Thunderbird. If is a good point and we left our biological marks by the railway track. After a little readjustment to the distribution of luggage, we set off onwards towards Mysore. This was Vatsa's first time on a long ride on his Thunderbird, so we kept a more manageable speed or 80kpmh. It was quite tempting to let the throttle go where it loves to go, but economy and sense prevailed. 80, I believe is a good speed for any vehicle on our roads. The rider is more at peace at this pace, our bikes are stable and muted thump of the Thunderbird is music to the ears.

Someplace before Mandya our reverie was broken by a red scooter, which zipped by. Overtook a Royal Enfield! The bikes were insulted and we took off behind that rouge scooter, which had broken the shackles of bike hierarchy, to investigate. I confess, I went behind that scooter to ascertain its make, since I had not seen it on our roads before. It is an entirely different story that the pillion was a chick and I'd like to believe that I am not that desperate! After a few kilometers I did manage to catch up with the red scooter, it was the new Kinetic Blaze. What a beauty! The scooter, not the chick, she was wearing a helmet. If anyone asks me what I think of the Kinetic Blaze, I will congratulate the bugger on making a fine choice for a scooter. It looks sturdy, and apparently handles quite well at high speeds (for which I can vouch). But not ideal for the nifty zip and zap that city traffic requires. Just before Mandya we halted at the other usual spot. This halt let us catch our breath after being beaten fair and square by a scooter and take stock of our physical conditions.

A few months back, I made the blunder of going on a similar long trip, with beat shock absorbers and a prerequisite for this trip was the new gas shocks. The gas shocks were good as far as performance was concerned, but a sad side effect an increase in the height. This resulted in an anticipated shift in the center of gravity and the consequent imbalance that the bike displayed, especially at high speeds. We discussed this issue at length at this halt apart from the our own physical status. VSK was having a tough time sitting on my bike. He was complaining of a backache and I suspected that the new shocks were effective enough. He agreed to sit with Vatsa, while Kates sat behind me and we set off on the last leg of the trip towards Mysore.

A little ahead of Mandya we saw, for the very first time, a pileup. Four cars were involved, thankfully there were no injuries. A cursory observation revealed that there was a speed breaker ahead and all the four drivers had missed noticing the speed breaker ahead sign, which is entirely possible, given that it was camouflaged behind a plethora of political banners. The first one would have braked hard when he saw the impending travel to outer space only to be nudged hard in his posterior by the trailing car. From then on, it was a perfect example of car concatenation. Three cars , two Honda cities, suffered major damages in the engine and boot regions, while two cars got away with broken bumpers and a dented boot. The first car “responsible” for the pileup was no where to be seen, and we caught up with it near Srirangapatinam, the boot region was a mess! I have a sinking feeling that we'll see more of these pileups as the roads improve.

Without further ado, we reached the Mysore ring road, and took a short break to decide the future course of action. VSK, as you recall, had complained of a bad back, which was thanks to the late night “party” at Corner house, and the early morning wake up call. He was emphatic about being unable to go any further in this condition. He volunteered to go back to Bangalore by bus, and the cold hearted people that we were, we agreed to that proposition. At that instant of time, it looked quite practical, he couldn't sit on the bike, and there was no point in going back to Bangalore behind a bus. The other factor, that was to be considered was, that Dana, VSK's ex-rommie from Manipal, was working at Infosys, Mysore and VSK called him up and Dana invited VSK to stay over. So the next stop was the Infosys campus at Mysore. It is around 12 kilometers from the ring road, towards the North. We did not go inside the campus, but the view from the outside revealed a contemporary architect gone berserk!

Dana, was waiting at the gate to receive VSK and after the usual “Hey macha, long time no see. You have put on weight since college”, we went our way. Towards the ominous looking gray clouds that seemed to envelop the Nilgiris, reduced to three people on two bikes.

Why not Waynad?* (August 12th - 13th) Ooty instead!

2006-08-19T14:41:00.001+02:00

* To be pronounced with a thick Mallu accent

It had been quite some time, since I had exercised the bike. Plus, I was out of ideas at work, so I knew I had to unwind. And what better way than on the good ol' bike!

Prolouge
Paddy, of the "Gopalswamy Betta" trip fame, set the pace for this trip. A few weeks back, he suggested that we go on a ride some place. Kinimaam and Kets were all excited. Googendra decided to a Ladakh on us with some Kraut. We thought of all possible places, including Hampi, Yercaud and Coorg. But, a few weeks is a long time, so by the night of 11th, it was Kets, Satish, Vatsa and me, on two bikes, headed off to Yercaud.

Route map
Banglore - Mandya - Mysore - Gundulpet - Waynad (Kerala-Karnataka border) - Gundulpet - Bandipur - Mudumalai - Kotagiri - Ooty - Kotagiri - Gundulpet - Mysore - Kadamane Coffee shop

Vatsa, Kets and I at Doddabetta (2600+ meters above sea level) -->

Distance
700 kms

Time
36 hrs

How to?
Ooty is approximately 300 kms south-west from Bangalore.
To get there, take the Mysore-Bangalore State highway number 17. Mysore is 135 kms away. En-route I'd advice you to take a halt at either Kamat, Coffee Day, MTR or Maddur Tiffanies.

Mysore city has a good outer ring road and SH-17 joins it. There is a big Via - duct after which you need to take a left turn. At the end of the ring road (ironic, I know), take a right turn. This road will take you towards the Mysore Palace, ask someone for directions towards Ooty, and you'll be onto NH-212.

End of ring road!

NH-212 will take you through Nanjangud to Gundulpet. Just ahead of Gundulpet, there is fork in the road, one towards, Sultan Bateri and the other towards, Bandipur. There is also a huge board mentioning Ooty, but you'd be lucky for it not to be obscured by a big lorry standing in front of it! Anyways take the left fork (the same path towards Gopalswamy betta) and you are onto NH-66 (or is it NH-67, the map I have is conflicting!) A few villages ahead, you'll get a right turn towards Gopalswamy betta. You could go there, like we did in March.

Bandipur is 31 kms from Gundulpet. There should be no charge to enter this wildlife santuary. It is a straight road towards Mudumalai National Park, abutting Bandipur, in Tamilnad. At the border you'll need to pay up some. Perfectly legal, though!

At Mudumalai, there are two routes to Ooty, one 60 kms via Gudulur and the other, 39 kms via Kotagiri. Kotagiri is quite steep, and most cars take that route.

What to do?
* Doddabetta, from where you should get a panaromic view of the vallies (if weather permits)
* Botanical Garden, a treat to go with ones girlfriend/wife/kids.
* Train ride to Mettupalyam, the same route on which SRK danced on "Chaiya, Chaiya, Chaiya" in "Dil Se"
* Wellingdon Army Training center (if you've seen "Roja", you've seen Wellingdon!)
* Boating in the hycinth ridden, stinky, lake.

What to buy?
* Homemade chocolates (I suffed from an overdose!)
* Varieties of Tea, right from dust to leaves and from plain to flavoured!
* Eucalyptus Oil

Where to stay?
There are plenty of hotels in Ooty, but make sure you have confirmed bookings!
There are dingy places, there are 5 star places. We stayed at "Hotel Hill Palace" (which has a tie up with Manipal Sikkim University! Small world huh?). We were quite lucky to get a room, on a long weekend, with out booking in advance. And we got it only for the night! Had to vacate by 8 am!

What is the right season?
* Summer is best, if you want to sightsee.
* Monsoon is the best, if you want to see beasts in the National Parks.
* December is best for you know what :D

How the hell did we reach Waynad, and not Ooty? And how did we reach Ooty and not Yercaud in the first place?
More on this and pics later :-D

Elephants at Mulehole

2006-08-14T19:27:00.002+02:00

So, we went to Ooty... hehehe... and not Yercaud... Last minute change of plans, more on the why when and what in the next post, tentatively titled "Whynot Waynad", to be pronounced with a Mallu accent :-)

In the mean while here is a video of some elephants we spotted near Mulehole in the Bandipur wildlife santuary.

Where.... O... Where... will we go

2006-08-11T20:46:00.000+02:00

Another weekend's here... And me is taking off again on the dear old bike...

The other actors are Vatsa, Ketan, Satish and two thunderbirds...

And this is how the satellite image looks like

According to the CNN weather report, it shouldn't rain in interior TN this weekend.
And we could expect to see a lot of rain in coastal Karnataka and in the western ghats.

Yercaud is the place that we are planing on going to escape the rains.
Perhaps we could go to the Satyamangalam ghats instead... we might be catching the perimeter of the so called "rain ring".... Don't know...

We are off at 0700 from my home... lets see how things work out...

Badravati - The Steel city (April15th,16th 2006)

2006-07-26T19:59:00.001+02:00

The only reason I went to Badravati was to meet my cousins, uncle and aunty... And it being a two day (inclusive of journey time) trip ... obviously, I didn't have time to explore the place...

The how to...
Badravati is a small town, taluk HQ, 274 kms north west off Bangalore. To get here (from Bangalore), one must proceed towards Tumkur (via Yeshwantpur, Dasarahalli, Nellamangala) on NH-4. Tumkur is around 60 odd kms from Bangalore, the highway is clogged till Nellamangala, but frees up considerably on the 4-lane toll way to Tumkur. The travel time to Tumkur should be approximately 1hr. At Tumkur, take the Tumkur bypass. Follow this bypass (a little bumpy) and proceed towards Gubbi. This should put you onto NH-206. The next big town is Tiptur (again a relatives infested area for me... luckily, I know none of them... hehehe...). This should be approximately 180 kms from Bangalore. Thre are a few good hotels, in case you wish to take a break. From there proceed towards Arsikere (You need to take a right at a fork in the middle of Tiptur). Arsikere is around 40 kms from Tiptur. Arsikere is, again, a taluk HQ by a lake, hence the suffix kere. Next in line is Birur (70 kms from Arsikere). My Great-Great-grandpa was a native of this town. Anyways, from Birur proceed towards Tarikere (20 kms) and then to Badravati (36 kms). After Tarikere, there is a fork (again!) One takes you towards Shimoga and the other towards Badravati. The Badravati road is a state highway, and hence is in bad shape. There are a few railway crossing on this route, with the railways and the road laid almost parallel to each other on most sectors. You'll be quite lucky to spot a train, or maybe even chase it :-)))

As for me...
I rode (RE Thunderbird) non-stop, well... almost, from Blr to Badravati. The two stops were...
1) to take a picture of a tractor and
2) to answer the stupid cell phone.
The luxuries of travelling solo.

The Tumkur road was a treat :-). But NH-206 was better! The roads were narrow, empty and well maintained. I found a lot of street side vendors selling enormous grapes, tasty tender coconut water and a lot of mallige huva. As I approached Birur, the roads were lined with beautiful homes, colourful boganvillas and flowering trees. Spring was in the air. I left Blr at 7:45 am and reached Badravati at 12:15pm. The next day I left Badravati at 2pm, with ominous black clouds on the horizon. I raced the clouds till Arsikere, and then all hell broke loose!

It poured and poured and poured all the way till Tumkur. I couldn't turn back, nor could I proceed. I had to ride on, come what may, to make it back to Blr before nightfall, since, I abhor riding at night, and am quite capable of falling asleep!

I changed clothes at the outskirts of Ghandinagar, yes a village by that name in Karnataka! And yes, I did strip on the highway... luckily it was an isolated spot :-) (figure out, who is lucky... me or the potential witnesses) Put on a jacket (not water proof) changed into dry socks, (my boots had more water than Kadakwasla and KRS combined) and set out in the light drizzle, which was, as always, a mirrage. I was soon engulfed in a wall of water droplets, hurting whereever and whenever they made contact with my "protected" body. I was shivering, cold, wet, needed to pee badly and riding at a minimum of 70 kmph. I stopped the bike at some isolated spot after Tiptur and before Gubbi. Gingerly relieved myself at some stump, in full view of any passing vehicle. By this time, I did not care. The thought of Bangalore (100 kms away) was as distant as the last rays of sunhine. It was almost 5 pm.

I just kept riding from that moment, almost mechanical, with my brain switched off. Quite a wierd feeling. I was happy when I reached Tumkur! The thought of having the option of halting the night, and sleeping in a dry bed was extremly tempting. Don't know what came over me, perhaps it was the abrupt dry spell, or the sight of a realtively lesser shade of gray (that seemed to hover over a distant Bangalore), but I puttered on forward. That, I was riding a RE, gave a large doze of confidence. After all Bangalore, was only 60kms away, and it was just 6 pm. I still needed to wear some dry clothing, if I were to aviod falling sick. And so with all frontal lobe activity comming to a halt, I stripped, yet again, by the road side (NH-4 this time) and changed into some dry cloths. I wonder, why I was carrying 5 sets of clothes in the first place for a three day trip (that got cut down to two)

My initial baravdo was soon watered down, with another doze of rain. I had stopped caring a long time back. I reached Nellamangala by 6:30 pm... and subsequently did the rest of the 20 odd kms (to home) in the next two hours. By 9 pm I was back home, taking a hot shower and was off to la-la land by 9:30... What a weekend it had been...

Addu-ella saku bladeu... Badravati mein kya karaun???
Good question... A few options...
1) Go to Jog falls (200kms)
2) There is some Tiger park some where... quite like Bannergatta I hear...
3) Visit the steel plant.
4) There is lot of good green grass in this part of town. Nah... like Lendel once said, "Grass is ment for cows".
5) Halebelur is quite close (60kms) from Birur
6) Hosadurga is also quite close (compared to Jog)

Where do I stay???
There must be some lodge, somewhere in Badravati... nothing spectacular, but surely some place to sleep... It isn't as if people don't live here...