Backpacking Ninja

Archive for Europe

What the hell do you actually mean?

February 15, 2012 / Backpacking Ninja / One comment

The English are so polite that it sometimes takes them 2 minutes to ask for something – ‘would you be kind enough to pass the salt’ vs. ‘pass the salt’. One can easily code that as the ‘politest’ way of asking for salt. I just feel they were exposed to elaborate vocabulary since they were in kindergarten and they can make the most derogatory things sound charming.

Either that or they are just good at masking the reality well and confusing the hell out of others. The translation guide below serves as a reference point for anyone visiting England.

So, I was wondering if there could have been parallels to this in India and I decided to attempt this for the Indian corporate world. In general, an Indian boss would never mince words and exactly say what he wants to say. But, there are days when he tries to play nice, because there is some foreigner in the office and he cannot be seen as a typical Indian boss. In any case, an Indian subordinate always knows when he is being tricked.

What do you think?

Category: Asia, England, Europe, India, London, Mumbai, New Language, Travel Tips, Work / Tags: British English, English Language, Indian English

Pilgrim of life

February 11, 2012 / Backpacking Ninja / No comments

So, what’s the point if you live in London and can’t do something cultural every once in a while. I don’t know what really prompted me to go exploring on a cold Friday evening, instead of curling up on my couch with a cup of tea. Maybe, the fact that the British museum is just 20 minutes from home and I’d never set foot was reason enough. Within 5 minutes of entering the museum, I was already inspired to sign up for the annual membership. It just felt like buying a cheap air ticket. Free trip to different continents and civilizations, even though its all inside a museum.

Walking around, the first thing that strikes you is the vast central hall. Can’t really put it in words but it felt absolutely theatrical or dramatic. Like a story would unfold in front of your eyes any second.

As much as I wanted to go and see the Rosetta Stone, I decided to save it for another day when I had tons of time. For those of you who are wondering why the language training software is named Rosetta stone, it’s not named after a fat lady who speaks all the languages of the world. The Rosetta Stone is one of the most important historical finds that has been housed at the British Museum since 1802. The stone bore decrees inscribed in 3 scripts (hieroglyphics, demotic and Greek) and has been key to decoding Egyptian hieroglyphics. For any linguist or aspiring linguist, this is the Mecca.

With just about 2 hours in hand (guess what! the museum stays open until 20:30 Fridays), I decided to go and check out the two exhibitions Time out was raving about all these days.The first one was on the Hajj, the journey to the heart of Islam.

Year before last, one of my colleagues had undertaken the Hajj and I remember the preparation he went through and the life changing experience it was for him. Well, I took his word for it. But, I could feel it just through the way he spoke about it. That made me very very curious about the Hajj. I guess many people look at it just from the religious perspective – something every one of the 1.6 billion muslims around the world dream of going to. A once in a lifetime journey.

The exhibition showcased the work of contemporary artists who have attempted to bring to life this amazing journey to a non-Muslim audience. What was stunning was the journey that people took from different continents to reach Mecca and Medina and the simple principles that they try to live by during this time. It’s like going back to the basics.

One of the Islamic rituals of the pilgrimage is called the Tawaf. During the Hajj, Muslims walk around the Kaaba seven times, in a counterclockwise direction. The circling is believed to demonstrate the unity of the believers in the worship of the One God, as they move in harmony together around the Kaaba, while supplicating to Allah. The Kaaba is a huge black cube shaped structure and is the most sacred Islamic site. All Muslims around the world face the Kaaba during, no matter where they are. This circulation of the Kaaba is something that visually looks stunning in any video or photograph, like the one below. Can you imagine the energy there?

This has inspired many artists to create their tribute and that’s what stood out for me in the entire exhibition. One work of art by Ahmed Mater is 1000 little magnets bending towards a cube, symbolifying the attraction or the pull this divine structure has. Pilgrims who wait their whole life to reach this place feel this unexplainable pull I guess.

Funnily, the second exhibit at the British Museum was by Grayson Perry, a famous British artist known for his ceramic vases and cross dressing. He had spent two years almost creating this exhibition which was inspired by various works within the museum and contemporary life. He admits that he has traveled the world mostly through the British Museum. Grayson’s funny modern sculptures and ceramic vases would have charmed a history buff as much as it would have amused the average passerby.

I remember one vase talk about religion and how it may be difficult for a new God to establish himself without a Facebook profile. Another vase was dedicated to his really old childhood teddy bear Alan Measles. He relates it to Egyptian civilization and states that Alan, had he existed then, would have been a good friend of Bes, the Egyptian deity who was considered the protector of everything good and the enemy of everything bad. Just grayson’s imaginatiin makes you chuckle. (Check out his bike with Alan’s seat below)

Another one was a curious odd Japanese hand towel, which had two hello kitty characters (modern cartoons) dressed as pilgrims from the ninth century (ancient ritual), an image found these days in women’s handbags. To Grayson, this embodied the spirit of the exhibition. The past and the present and the future all together. I noted down what he had to say about the exhibit and here it is -

Do not look too hard for meaning here. I am not a historian. I am an artist. That is all you need to know. When I was young I had an imaginary civilization. I became an artist and my civilization traded with the world and all its history. Now I am not sure where my imagination stops and where the works world starts. Deep in the mountains of my mind there is a sacred place where there is a monument to skill. The tomb of the unknown craftsman Is just as real as everything in this museum. The ideas and beliefs behind it are real. You are the pilgrims. Reality can be new as well as old, poetic as well as factual and funny as well as grim. The tomb could be another name for the british museum itself.

I guess you are wondering why I put the Hajj and the Grayson Perry exhibit both together in this one post. Interesting enough, the Hajj is a pilgrimage undertaken once in a lifetime and Grayson perry’s exhibition is one where you see that you are pilgrim of everyday life.

Category: Asia, Egypt, England, Europe, London, Saudi Arabia / Tags: British Museum, Egypt, Grayson Perry, Hajj, London, Saudi Arabia

Curry and cultural learning

February 3, 2012 / Backpacking Ninja / One comment

So, before all my Indian friends read this and ask me ‘when did you turn British?’, let me clarify that I do know that ‘curry’ is a short term for vegetable in South India (karigai) and ‘any Indian dish with gravy’ in North India (otherwise also referred to as x masala, y masala, z curry and so on). Ideally, that is how it is defined in the dictionary as well – ‘a spicy dish of oriental, esp Indian, origin that is made in many ways but usually consists of meat or fish prepared in with curry seasoning or sauce’.

So, if I were to randomly suggest ‘let’s go for a curry’ in India, someone may misconstrue this as vegetable shopping and wonder why I invited them for the same. Or, they may ask ‘which curry do you want’. But, the answer I doubt would be ‘which curry place should we go to?’.

In London however, if I were to suggest curry, I’d be whisked off to Brick lane before I knew it. We may land up ordering Tandoori chicken or chicken tikka masala with naan and definitely, going by what I grew up with, this is in no means curry.

All this just made me wonder how on earth curry became the National dish of Britian. So, I looked up the history of curry in Britain and found this interesting article. Some snippets here.

As reported in the BBC News, the British have fancied Curry for more than 200 years now. “Indian dishes, in the highest perfection… unequalled to any curries ever made in England.” So ran the 1809 newspaper advert for a new eating establishment in an upmarket London square popular with colonial returnees. Diners at the Hindostanee Coffee House could smoke hookah pipes and recline on bamboo-cane sofas as they tucked into spicy meat and vegetable dishes. This was the country’s first dedicated Indian restaurant, opened by an entrepreneurial migrant by the name of Dean Mahomed.

Peter Groves, co-founder of National Curry Week, which started on Sunday, says the Western taste for spicy foods developed centuries earlier. “All the spices of the East came back with the people who fought in the Crusades.” The lucrative spice trade prompted various European powers to establish their presence in India, either through trading companies or colonisation. This “masala” of cultures, and the Mughal conquest of India, resulted in hybrid creations, including Persian-inspired biryani and vindaloo, a Goan version of a Portuguese meat dish.

Indians tend to label dishes by specific names like korma and dopiaza. “Curry is a catch-all term,” says Dr Lizzie Collingham, author of Curry: A Tale of Cooks and Conquerors. “It’s easy shorthand for ‘what Indians eat’.”

Thanks to the British, the rest of the world or atleast Europe refers to any Indian food as Curry. Anyway, what does all this have to do with cultural learning. Going back and forth between Austria and London, I can’t tell you how much I miss the simple home cooked Indian curry. Far from the greasy, partially sweet, cashew gravy stuff they call Curry in London and the oily, fake garam masala heavy Curry I tried once in Austria.

In general, I cannot cook to save my life. Well, that’s what people at home (Mumbai) always told me. If anything can drive me to the kitchen, to cook a simple Indian curry, its the food in this part of the world. And, that has brought about a miraculous change in my cooking skills. I am not saying this. My Czech and German friends, who sampled my Indian cooking in Austria, think I’m the Jamie Oliver of India. True. That was one session a couple of months ago. It gave me hope that there would be other Austrians, happy to lend their kitchen for an experimental cooking session. That way, I get my home cooked meal and they get a taste of the real curry.

Photo credit: vegetarianzest.blogspot.com

After 3 months of constant search, I’ve managed that finally. But wait, here is the surprise. 2 British. 1 Australian. 1 Malaysian. 1 Venezuelan. 1 Czech. Confirmed. Funny that I couldn’t get 1 Austrian to confirm for a ‘Curry night’.

When I mentioned this to my friends back home, they said ‘what the hell is a curry night? Get the hell out of Austria and come home for some good food.’

When I mentioned this to a friend in London, he asked me innocently ‘Why? Don’t the Austrians like Curry?’. And, I thought to myself ‘Well, I don’t think the issue is with Curry. I just think the Austrians don’t like socializing’.

But hey! I think if I make a beer flavoured curry, I’ll have a few Austrians signing up for sure.

Category: Asia, Austria, England, Europe, Food & Drinks, India, London / Tags: Curry in London, Indian cooking, Indian Food

Snow monsters

February 2, 2012 / Backpacking Ninja / 2 comments

This is a true story of 2 girls, from seriously tropical countries (India and Brazil) who decide to try their luck with winter sports. All characters are for real and any mishaps depicted in this story happened and are not figments of their imagination. While they may look like victims of domestic crime, majority of the injuries are attributable to a snowboard. This story may be comical for a pro, inspirational for a beginner and dramatic for someone who has never been in snow. What it does have throughout is an adventurous streak combined with romantic hope.

So, it all began when my friend Luiza from Brazil decided to visit me in Austria. We were both born and raised in cities which had an average temperature of 30 degrees centigrade. So, the idea of being in snow covered Austria was as frightening as it was exciting. For novices like us, the first step is to overcome the childlike excitement that comes with snow. The crazy feeling of running out of the door everytime it snows and to throw yourself on the ground, even if it is in the middle of the road. Once we overcome that, we can think about productive activities in the snow.

So, the first question was whether to go skiing or snowboarding? Having one hour experience with the snowboard (the receptionist from my hotel had been kind enough to give me baby snowboarding lessons) and 1/2 a day on skis (with a patient teacher who politely told me I am not cut out for skiing), I had pretty much come to a conclusion that I looked sporty even when I was not moving on a snowboard. However, with skis, I had a very awkward stance like I couldn’t decide whether I was going fencing or learning to walk on stilts worn the wrong way. Purely based on look & feel, we decided on snowboarding.

Next thing that we had on our list was to figure out our clothing. I heard we could always rent a snowboard and the shoes, but they atleast expect you to land up wearing the right clothes. Roy’s cousin came to my rescue and lent me her ski clothing (which looks like it has been used just once). It just goes to prove that Indians don’t particularly last too long with winter sports. Either way, I bundled up and Luiza followed the Onion principle and wore enough layers till she looked my size. Together, we rented bright ugly helmets and looked the part. This is the part I love about winter. Everyone looks equally fat, non-stylish and ridiculous. The only thing that differentiates you end of the day is if you spend the time on your ass or feet.

Sport decided. Clothes done. Next was to figure out where we could actually go and learn snowboarding. It wasn’t in the backyard. We researched what was the nearest location we could get to from Fuschl, at the lowest cost and effort. Our backpacking instinct led us to discover a free bus called the Ski bus (not kidding) from Fuschl or Salzburg to Hintersee. Going at 8:38 am or 11:16 am and returning at 4:15 pm, it seemed fairly simple with a quick switch at Hof, a village in between. So, we were all set. Sound simple right. However, we woke up after 9, but got ready before 11. So, we said there would be no harm in taking the 10:15 bus afterall. We get to Hof, only to figure out there is no connection for the next 1 hour.

Here, we meet the other 2 characters of the story – Olga and Kamila. 2 very lost girls in the bus stop with a lot of equipment. Originally Polish, they had a distinct advantage. They have spent their entire lives in snow.That obviously meant they had learnt to ski before they had learnt to walk. But, we Indians and Brazilians are good at one thing, if not winter sports. That is at talking. We quickly broke the ice and figured out that they had a season pass, they spent all their time outside university skiing and that it was their first time at Hintersee however. They had miscalculated bus timings as well and had missed the connection. So, that leaves 2 pros and 2 beginners, at one bus stop, headed to the mountains. What are the chances?

4 girls and it would be a shame if we couldn’t stop one car. That’s exactly what we did in under 5 minutes. You would think Austrians wouldn’t stop the car for Marilyn Monroe. True. They wouldn’t. They would stop it for a woman with Skis. That’s what Luiza and I figured out. Either way, to our rescue, came Stefan, a computer engineer working in another small village called Faistenau, near Hintersee. He was more than happy to lug all of us and the skis to Hintersee.

So, we got there, rented our stuff at a small rental shop and headed to the baby slopes, while our 2 polish friends hopped onto the ski lift to head up the mountain.We agreed to meet for lunch, however it never happened.By the time they went up and down the mountains and did god knows how many runs, I think Luiza and I lost a few kilos walking up the baby slopes, falling, trying to get up, falling, trying to move, falling, turn, falling, skidding and falling. With this, we also managed to get snow inside our jackets and pants and gloves and managed to question the fundamentals of snow proof clothing.

When we tried to wear the board and stand up, we felt like a cross between a sumo wrestler (who couldn’t lift his weight and stand) and a terribly uncoordinated dancer. While in theory ‘move your body weight here and there’ and ‘use your shoulders’ seemed right, in reality, before you can move, you slip and fall. If you do manage to move, you go ahead a bit and fall. If you move and try to stop, you break and fall. So, we were quite a sight on the slopes.

All in all, the only people who spoke to us were slightly older people who stopped to check if we had a bad fall. I mean, we really couldn’t have been going that fast to have fallen and hurt ourselves, but the way in which we were sprawled on the ground looked as though we were trying some stunts and fell down. You get the drift. Most of the others (starting from 4 year olds) generally whizzed past us with such ease, that we had to be very careful about not falling in their way. Actually, coming to think of it, they were hardly our concern. They were advanced enough to turn or swerve just incase they saw us in their way. However, we were worried more about each other. We had absolutely no control over ourselves and crashed into anything, including each other. All in all, no broken bones. So, in retrospect, we can surely say it was fun.

The photographs below will do justice to our (mis)adventures. Picture speak louder than words and you can use the ones below as an Idiot’s guide to snowboarding (or falling).

When you fall, don’t forget your board and don’t bury one of your legs in the snow. It does give a Tom & Jerry effect, but doesn’t help with body pain.

When you fall, don’t rest your face on the snow. It seems nice for a few seconds, but then it freezes. So, along with the pain of not succeeding, you are stuck with a blue face. No amount of warm punch can bring back the colour.

When sliding on your ass towards the trees seem scarier than going downhill on a snowboard, pause and take a photo. It calms your nerves.

The photo below is one of the the many types of lifts available and it generally takes you to places slightly high and beyond reach. That basically means you cannot come down unless you know how to snowboard all the way down or get back on the lift. I am seriously contemplating making tutorial videos on how to get on a lift (if I manage to learn). Especially for those with snowboards, you have to fix one leg and jump in with the board hanging and jump out without falling. If you don’t do that and send your board in the next chair, you have to be super quick to jump out and grab your board. Unlike genius me, who jumped out, couldn’t grab the board and had to walk and skid down on my ass the whole way. And remember two things – Never trust a friend (who has never been on a lift) when she asks you to get off the lift. And, open when you get off, bend low, if not the chair can knock you unconscious.

And, the only rule you are allowed to break is ‘open the bar before just before exit’. For beginners who don’t know how to get off the lift, you need a few seconds extra preparation time to pretend to leap and jump off the lift. So, you can open it a bit before.

This is a baby lift. Its not even a lift. Its something that drags you up a conveyor belt by hanging on to it. 3 year or 4 year olds with very low centre of gravity manage this with ease. When I tried it, I was dragged a few feet, dropped and knocked out cold. It is lethal. Trust me. Do not take this.

Between the chair lift and this little dragging device, there is something called a T lift. Reminded me of the hook from the movie scream. I don’t know why. I saw this guy (who looked pretty comfortable in the slopes) falling a few times trying to take the lift. And, that’s when I decided not to go anywhere near it.