Archive for Austria

Curry and cultural learning

Cauliflower Curry

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.

Snow monsters

IMG_0777

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.

….. and always conserve some energy to take ‘happy shots’ end of the day just to live with the satisfaction that you survived.

There is no such thing as bad weather…

tree

Till recently, I never believed the person who said ‘there is no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong jacket’. Having spent most of my life in a city where the weather band is 20 – 40 degrees, things like snow, sweaters, scarves and such is as alien to me as wearing a bikini is to an Eskimo. But, I’ve surprised myself. Having taken my baby steps on snow just a couple of weeks back and not turned into a frozen Indian snow woman was enough encouragement to keep me excited through the first few days of the much awaited winter in Europe. I’m living the seasons. I’m loving it.

So, here is my take on winter and things I love about it so far…

Natural black and white pictures… it feels like the entire scenery has turned black and white. Ofcourse, some people call this grey and depressing. I am still too excited about the landscape.

I used to think that footprints in the sand was the best thing ever. Till I stomped around Fuschl making bootprints on snow. Love the soft crunching sound everytime you step on the snow.

In normal circumstances, having a beer is an excuse to meet a friend. I guess with winter, meeting a friend is an excuse to have another cup of hot chocolate or mulled wine. Either way, warm things and friends go well together.

The fact that half the world things these ‘Ugg’ boots are a fashion statement. Or not. It cracks me up either way to think that surfers in Australia wore these boots to keep their feet warm and now, they are a winter rage all over the world. Everytime I see someone wearing this, I automatically have a mental image of a hot Aussie surfer with just these boots on. Anyway, I am not spending the money I saved for an air ticket to Cuba on a pair of shoes. Thank you, but no Thank you. Since we are in the topic of clothing and shoes, I have to say that I am huge fan of winter because everyone looks equally thin or fat and you can hide your face behind those furry hats and make funny expressions.

Snow makes you do foolish things. If you notice the copious amounts of snow on the board and the fake balancing act, you would have figured that I spent half the time with my ass on the snow. Blame it on first snowboarding lesson or just on the fact that I wasn’t born Austrian. If I can’t figure out this sport, atleast I’ll master the art of falling.  

Ok. If you haven’t figured it out yet, most of the above pictures were taken in Austria….. It’s a white fairytale land. When I find out things I like about the London winter, I’ll let you know. Don’t wait for the post!

My first Autumn

Till 2010 – Life in India – All year one season – Summer.

February – What’s the weather like Ninja?
Ninja – Hot

June – What’s the weather like Ninja?
Ninja – Hot as hell

October – What’s the weather like Ninja?
Ninja – Sultry and hot

2011 – Life between London and Austria – Slowly getting into the seasons.

March – What’s the weather like Ninja?
Ninja – Bloody Cold. I even saw snow.

June – What’s the weather like Ninja?
Ninja – Still cold for me. A bit of rain every once in a while. Do something about the wind in London please.

September – What’s the weather like Ninja?
Ninja – I took the day off. I saw the sun today.

Irrespective of the cold, I’m actually living in a country where ‘hot, hotter and hottest’ isn’t the only weather. You get the drift. I was also given the advice that there is no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes. I eagerly wait for the winter.

Anyway, today, I collected my first autumn leaves. Anyone from home wants letters with pressed autumn leaves, let me know. Fresh from Fuschl press.

The guest who never leaves

Irrespective of whether you stay in five star hotels or budget hotels or really cheap hotels, a hotel is a hotel. That is what I believed in till recently. Somehow, I’ve never been a fan of hotels. I’ve always tried to stay with families or friends or even people I have met on the internet. No, they are not crazy internet stalkers waiting to kill Indian travelers.

Having spent the last few months in a hotel in Austria, I changed my mind. One can feel very much at home in a hotel and it depends on these few golden rules that I have come up with.

1. Known every nook and corner. If its your home, you would know where the kitchen is or the storage room is. It is no different in a hotel.

2. If you feel that its weird to have your bed made when you come back to the room, tell the housekeeping guys to skip making your bed. They get a day off and you get to feel at home.

3. Offer to walk the dog. If your hotel has a dog (in Austria, most of them do as they are family run hotels and its normal to have a pet), that is the sweet deal.

4. Do 10 minute reception duty every once in a while. Answer the phone and say, Good morning ‘you have reached ….’. It makes you feel like you own the place and that helps.

5. Ask for things which are not available in the menu. If they manage to whip that for you, its an amazing feeling. Don’t try to be a pain about it…. do it with a smile.

6. Fall asleep in common areas, like the terrace or the bar. When any one of the staff wake you up, they stop being strangers.

7. Finally, get to know everyone. Receptionist, Chef, Bartender, Housekeeping. Even the guy who rakes the leaves. Not just their names. Talk to them and genuinely care about them as people. They are people doing their daily jobs. Don’t make it more difficult for them.

Once you do that, you’ll realise you can never be a ‘guest’ in a hotel. You are someone who never leaves. Even if you leave the hotel to go back to your city, you will manage to stay there forever. A guest they will miss. A friend. Sometimes, even family. And that’s what you want to be.