Smo(S)kiingggg, somebody stop me!

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 --

Smo(S)kiingggg, somebody stop me!

Dusseldorf

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…

Dusseldorf

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

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.

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

Kochi: by night

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 :)

Kochi: by night

Alappuzha and its backwaters

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 :)

Alappuzha and its backwaters

Zurich

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????

Zurich

One life to Ride: Book review

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

One life to Ride: Book review

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

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 :)

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

Spicy tales from Junagadh

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.

Spicy tales from Junagadh

Ahmadabad – An evening spent at the Kankaria lake

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 :)

Ahmadabad – An evening spent at the Kankaria lake

Ramnagar hills - Sholay

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.

Ramnagar hills - Sholay

Connyland!

"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!

Connyland!

Lemon Icecream

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

1. a lot of people buy the three falvors i.e. it moves fast or
   
2. they make too much of it, and hence the sale price is low, but the profit margins are high or
   
3. old stock, never moves so he has a lot of it which he is trying to dump or
   
4. 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

Lemon Icecream

Braille on drugs

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 :)

Braille on drugs