Archive for North America

Cuba Diary – Day 1

April 18, 2012 / Backpacking Ninja / 3 comments
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People who have begun anything on April 1 are called great fools. When I think about it, I´ve done pretty crazy things on April 1 as well. I joined my current job last year April 1. I told one of my previous bosses who had his birthday a day before April fools that he shouldve been born a day late and by the time he understood, I fled. Anyway, its the day to do stupid things. But, we did one of the most sensible things this April 1. We left cold and dull London for warm and colourful Cuba.

Early Sunday morning (I don´t think I´d seen 6 am Sunday in ages… early Sunday anyway sounds like an oxymoron), we left for Heathrow with our backpacks and looked like the only eager beavers on the Tube. Till 2 days before, I had no idea whether I was heading to Cuba or not. As normal Indians would have it, I had visa issues till Friday. Cuba was easy. In a day, we had our tourist cards with us. Cuban embassy do not put a stamp on your passport as you can have issues traveling to the United States with a Cuban visa stamp. Instead, they give you a tourist card separately (valid for 30 days). Getting this tourist card was a piece of cake. But, guess where the trouble was? As usual, Europe. We had our flights via Madrid and Spain wanted us to pay 80 Euros for Transit Visa, to spend 2 hours in their lousy airport. With very little time in hand, I had still applied to the Spanish Embassy. (I initially thought about taking the risk and asking for deportation to Cuba incase Spain did not want me in their airport, but then decided to play it safe). Nick of time, Spain gave me a transit visa for exactly the day of travel… stingy bastards.

Landing in Madrid, we were driven from Terminal 4 to 4S by a driver who thought he was Alonso and straight to the gate where our flight to La Habana was. Damn! After all that trouble for transit visa, Immigration didn´t even check it. So much for 80 euros terribly spent. The April fool was on us.

In the few hours in Madrid Airport, with the Iberia flight delayed by an hour or so (we were expecting worse), I just spent the time checking out the kind of people traveling to Cuba. There was a herd of French and Germans (I can sense them from a distance), really old British (a few), huge Spanish families and a lot of Latino looking people from assorted countries. We did not have our boarding passes for the onward flight and we went over to the Iberia counter only to be given a hand written boarding card. Something very rustic about it, isn´t it.

All the wait is worth it when you leave for a holiday. But, when you return, you hate every minute. Once we boarded the flight, I was delighted to find a Cuban guy sitting right next to me. It made up for the fact that there was hardly any in flight entertainment (not like it was a cheap flight). This guy´s mother had moved to Spain as a political refugee ages ago and he had been been living there as long as he could remember. He was traveling back to Cuba with his Spanish passport, as there are many restrictions about Cubans getting back to Cuba. As a fight attendant for LAN airways, he anyways had the opportunity to visit Latin America quite a bit. I loved how chatty he was and the fact that he was multitasking, watching ´We bought a zoo´at the same time :)

More than reading the lonely planet, the chat with him gave me such a fantastic insight into the Havana culture. He was headed to Havana for just a day, to meet his boyfriend. Yes, he is gay. And, that´s still quite a closed topic in Cuba. It´s funny how the neighbourhood for Gays in San Fransisco is called Castro Street. Often referred to by Cubans. He mentioned how his boyfriend and he planned to adopt a child with Down Syndrome, as this is common in Cuba. It would be pretty difficult for his boyfriend to leave Cuba and getting married (gay marriage) was a big question. However, he was a theatre artist and very active in the cultural scene in Havana. His story already got me thinking about the situation there and how people think. I couldn´t wait to talk to more people and find out about what was going on. Everything a book tells you about Cuba, outside of Cuba, is only half truth. Anyway, bidding a quick farewell to our Cuban friend, I couldn´t help but remember one of those romantic flicks where Julia Roberts flies all the way to spend just 24 hours with her son. Very romantic indeed. Cubans were already winning my heart.

Reaching Havana, I was giddy with excitement in the hot airport. It looked like a mix between Calcutta Airport (in size) and some other tiny airport (in aesthetics). All in all, the smell of Cuba was quite overpowering. Difficult to describe this smell, but it was a mix of some excited tourist, shrewd immigration, eager taxi drivers and the classic gringos as well. Anyone who looked non gringo was given a suspicious look by the blue t shirt and jeans clad secutrity officer. He had an official badge and that was the only reason I trusted him when he asked to look at our passports. A couple of questions about where we from, what we did for a living, why we were visiting Cuba,, I figured out that there were two reasons he pulled us out of the crowd to question us. Reason 1 – maybe, he´d never seen Indian passports and wanted to just probe. Reason 2 – We looked like Cubans returning to Cuba. For now, I´d love to live with the fact that he took us for locals.

It was 9 pm and we took a taxi straight to the house of Juanita and her son Roberto, who were our hosts in Havana Vieja.

Colourful bedsheet. Fan (London doesn´t have fans). A fantastic welcome from Roberto plus coffee. And, the faint sound of music coming through the slits on the doors. We had reached Cuba. Sleep was the last thing on my mind.

…… but, wait for the next few days. Cuba was a place to spend every minute awake. More to follow in this Cuban diary.

Category: Cuba, North America / Tags: ,

Of fire escapes and fiery escapes

February 1, 2012 / Backpacking Ninja / No comments
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It is not in every city in the world that you can fall in love looking at a fire escape. Of course, there has been much debate about whether fire escapes are actually emergency exits or romantic balconies. Maybe the use of a fire escape in ‘West Side Story’, inspired by William Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet resulted in this. Who knows?

I was in New York last week on business. I don’t know where the energy came from, but I landed up spending close to 66 hours awake out of the 72 I was there for. It’s definitely the city that burns with spirit. It is infectious and for someone who is already hyperactive, it is a drug. I won’t go on and on about Manhattan’s dizzy effect, the psychedelic billboards on Time Square, the never ending nightlife (even during the day I suppose) and the energy that comes with New York. It was a work trip after all, where did I have the time for that?

In between all the work, I took time out to escape just for one thing. A tour of the city’s fire escapes. I noticed it for the first time when I was walking back to my hotel at 4 am, after one of those spontaneous nights. If I get around to that story, it will take me a few blog posts. Let’s just say I landed up meeting someone who is supposedly family after a few years of Facebook messaging, in New York, only to discover that every crazy thing I’ve done traveling is nothing compared to his adventures. We discovered that we never met before because we probably avoided all the family get-togethers where there was a possible chance of meeting.  Someone I am so glad to have met, even if it was for a few cocktails and a greasy breakfast and I am certain I am likely to meet in some unsafe corner of the world in the future. I am pretty undecided on whether to call him family as there can only be one black sheep per family and I’ve taken that spot.

Anyway, from the fiery escape to the fire escape, here is a snippet from the New York Times on Fire escapes and my iPhonography discovering them.

Officially, of course, the urban fire escape is primarily an emergency exit, but in New York, this prosaic adornment of countless five- and six-story apartment houses has assumed myriad other functions: faux backyards, platforms for criminal getaways, oases for marginalized smokers and makeshift bedrooms popular during an age before air-conditioning. And they are often visual knockouts, too. Strikingly designed fire escapes have complemented some of the city’s grandest structures, like the Puck Building on Lafayette Street, and enhanced even the dreariest structures.

First built in New York well over a century ago, mandated by the 1867 tenement law, fire escapes soon became a canvas for the virtuosity of local foundry workers, including recently arrived European immigrants. Throughout the city, these artisans created ornate objets d’art constructed and molded from wrought and cast iron. The designs that resulted present a decorative smorgasbord, and include such rich details as arabesques, filigree lacework and rosettes.

Aesthetics, though, are only skin deep. In the case of the Lower East Side in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the fire escape ornamentation on scores of tenement blocks hardly masked the poverty within. Notable photographers like Weegee took pictures of fire escapes to help demonstrate both the hurly-burly and inhumanity of immigrant life. Even the film version of the musical “West Side Story,” a retelling of “Romeo and Juliet” in Hell’s Kitchen, substituted a fire escape on a cheerless tenement for the Shakespearean balcony in the famous love scene.

Although many of the fire escapes built during New York’s second wave of immigration still exist, these well-worn structures have been lamentably overlooked. Even the venerable Encyclopedia of New York City neglects to give them a separate entry. Perhaps it’s time for New Yorkers to give these old cultural symbols a second look.

 

 

 

 

 

I don’t know if New Yorkers want to give this a second look, but I’m surely headed back to New York for another look.

Category: New York, North America, USA / Tags: ,

Anthropomorphic image of Mumbai – Figure this one out!

May 31, 2011 / admin / 6 comments

I’m reading this book by John Malathronas. – Brazil – Life, Blood & Soul. No guesses why I would buy a book with Brazil on the title. Anyway, within the first chapter itself, I find myself closing the book and getting into a very deep thinking exercise. John says ‘every city has an anthropomorphic image’. Firstly, I had to go and look up anthropomorphic. Wikipedia – Thank you! Anthropomorphism is a term coined in the mid 1700s to refer to any attribution of human characteristics (or characteristics assumed to belong only to humans) to non-human animals or non-living things, phenomena, material states and objects or abstract concepts, such as god(s). I guess the definition really doesn’t matter. The author has written statements about 4 cities – London, New York, Paris and Rio. Here they are –

London is a City gent in a striped double-breasted suit, holding his chin up as he rushes by without an umbrella in spitting rain.

New York is a loudmouthed, overweight baseball fan, cap and all, who pushes you away from the salt beef deli queue as you fumble for your change.

Paris is a chic grand-dame, ex-model, ex-actress, her make-up dextrously applied, who walks her Pekinese in the Jardin de Luxembourg.

And Rio is a calliphygian (refers to shapely buttocks) copper-coloured beauty, as naked as Eve, dancing in stiletto shoes to the blast of beating drums.

All this got me thinking. Just got me thinking about what is Mumbai’s line. And, I wrote this on the tube ride back home. And, I’m not very happy with it.

To me, Mumbai is the Rickshaw driver who tells you his life story and is certain that he is going to make it big. Mumbai is also the Taxi driver who refuses to take you a short distance. Mumbai is the lady who worries about whether her son would complain about the cauliflower she plans to cook that night, the one that she chops as she is riding the local train back home, after a long day at work. Mumbai is also the bunch of rich women, who spend more time on manicures and designer shopping than with their kids. Mumbai is the dancer who doesn’t want to give up her dreams of Bollywood. Mumbai is also a group of 19 year olds who sneak into a club, drink and smoke and spend more money than what a Bollywood extra dancer would make the entire month. Mumbai is the serious business graduate in a pin-striped shirt, burning the midnight oil trying to make his variable pay. Mumbai is also the lucky son, who inherited his dad’s business, without knowing much about it. Mumbai is the young college graduate, who is working on his American accent to answer customer service calls from God knows where. Mumbai is also the lost artist, who blends into galleries even better than the champagne glasses. Mumbai is the girl who runs away from home, because her parents want her to marry someone she can’t imagine even spending 5 minutes with. Mumbai is the crazy lover, who would marry the guy and then find a boyfriend. Mumbai is the helpful uncle, who gives you directions, when you are completely lost in a new city. Mumbai is the painful shopkeeper who refuses to budge from his original price, when you pride yourself on bargaining. Mumbai is the kid who never gets tired, rain or sunshine, selling books in the traffic signal and making just enough money to afford one meal. Mumbai is everything and nothing.

If you can think of what could be Mumbai’s line, let me know. If you have a picture for Mumbai, send it to me. I’ll just keep adding it here and hopefully, I’ll get back to finishing that book.

Category: Asia, Brazil, England, Europe, France, India, London, Mumbai, New York, North America, South America, USA / Tags: , , , ,

Around the world in many Cups

February 13, 2011 / admin / 10 comments

People are clearly coffee people or tea people. Just like you find Dog people or Cat people. Just last week, a good friend of mine made a remark about how I had changed in 2 years. Apparently, when he met me 2 years ago, I would drink nothing but black coffee. Agree. About a year ago, I was overworked and I would drink nothing but Red Bull. Partly agree. Recently, he mentioned that my preference has changed to tea. Disagree. All this hype about Coffee, Tea and Red Bull, I decided to think about my life, my travels and really figure out who I am. So, here are plenty of coffee moments, some tea moments and many life lessons.

Nothing inspires me to write more than coffee – Coffee has been the savior. When I blog. When I write in my travel diary. More than anything, when I had to write innumerable mails at work. When I had to especially frame politically correct emails. When I had to apply for a job. When I had to write my resignation. You get the drift. (Infact, right now, that’s what I’m drinking)

Starbucks should not even be your last resort – If you are anywhere near North America, they sell you brown liquid in the name of Starbucks Coffee. I detest Starbucks. I avoid it all costs. Whoever came up with Tall, Grande and whatever? I know Americans like everything ‘supersize’ but it is ridiculous making anyone drink that amount of bad coffee. (I know my sister is probably going to kill me for this, but to save humanity from bad coffee, I had to write this). If they worry so much about the coffee farmers and so on and so forth (as it reads in their promotional material in store), they would stop spending so much money on real estate and give it back to society.

The best coffee can be brewed with socks – Honest to God. In Brazil, they have this coffee maker called a Cuador, which is nothing but a sock like cloth attached to a metal ring and handle. You put the coffee powder in this and Voila, you have a hot cup of awesome coffee. This makes a fabulous travel companion. All you need to do is buy the local coffee from a supermarket and boil water and you can make your own coffee, about 10 times cheaper than drinking coffee outside. If you do not get a cuador, fresh clean ankle socks works.

Meet the people behind the scenes and hear the coffee stories – Whether it is in the Guatemalan coffee farms or the Bali coffee estates, you’ll find coffee farmers to be warm and loving and ready to make the 100th cup of the day just to share with you. I remember sitting and chatting with this lady who was roasting the ‘Luwak’ beans in Bali and telling me the history of coffee. Known as Kopi Luwak, it is among the most expensive coffee in the world. The process of making this coffee will disgust you – they make the little Asian Palm Civet’s eat the berries and excrete the same. Then, the beans having gone through the intestines and out, are separated, cleaned and roasted and so on and so forth, till the most amazing coffee is made.

Sometimes, the only thing that can get you through bad coffee is good company – I love black coffee. Hanging around a bus station in Brazil with a friend, I was deeply disappointed to find only coffee chains with milky coffee and not the usual Cafezinho (small black coffee). Remember cribbing a lot. Then, the adaptable calm friend of mine picked up the coffee and literally thrust it on my face. One coffee slap was good to get me slurping out of the cup. And surprisingly, I enjoyed it as she cracked jokes about bus stations, travel, losing weight and all that. So, it is true. Bad Coffee + Good Company = Great memories.

The one thing on top of my sightseeing list in every city is the oldest café – Whether it is Café Sperl in Vienna or Café Tortoni in Buenos Aires, it was top priority for me to visit these cafes. All the museums and palaces of the world came next. Old world charm, black and white photographs, the history adds to the nostalgia.  Imagine sitting in the room where the King of Spain sipped coffee. I’ve landed up spending a bomb across such cafes but you never think money when you think coffee. These are far stronger memories than seeing a hundred paintings in a museum and not remembering one.

When in trouble, find an Illy - For those who take their black coffee seriously, visiting a new country and not finding the perfect blend can be worrisome. I’ve had terrible terrible coffee in Malaysia, North India and Egypt. A wise woman I met in Mexico told me that the easiest way to find good coffee in a country is to find the Italian Embassy or Italian Cultural Centre and hope they have a cafeteria. Illy rocks. (Now, I can’t help but remember the day my Italian neighbour in Chennai taught me how to make an Italian espresso – Read more here)

Never make the mistake of ordering coffee in Tea land – Was in Egypt last year and craving for coffee one day. Made the terrible mistake of ordering a coffee in the old markets of Cairo. With tons of Elachi and a terrible fragrance, one sip made me cry out Allah. I had the impression it would be close to Turkish coffee or Arabic coffee, dark and strong. Had no idea it came with spices. Prompty, I switched to Tea. It is not about the drink at all. It is about lounging around in a Sheesha place with a glass of tea for hours.

When you in the wilderness, coffee or tea, have it hot – After a long day bushwhacking or trekking or hiking or whatever you do in the wild, the only thing I yearn for is a hot cup of whatever. (This is obviously second to a cold beer, but I generally don’t carry a mini fridge when I go hiking). So, for a change, its not about coffee or not about tea but about hot water. As the kettle gently sways over the camp fire, you have this warm feeling within you that doesn’t go away. (Tried and tested in many places around the world – Special moment was in Swansea in Wales and Smoky Mountains in the USA).

While coffee goes with backpacking, tea goes with luxury – Unless you are backpacking in the Middle East or roughing it out in a guesthouse in Varanasi, I would suggest the best companion to backpacking is coffee. Anyway, coming back to tea, why tea and luxury? Recently, I was invited to a Champagne Afternoon Tea at the Dorchester hotel in London. No, I’m not kidding. With scones and jam, champagne and perfect little sandwiches, they served a whole bunch of us tea in fine china. I was so worried I was going to knock down something or break something. It was like being in the Titanic, with all the cutlery. Rated as one of the best Tea experiences in all of Britain, this was something way out of my league. (Ok.. someone else was paying.. Haha) Anyway, I’m not bad at role playing. I promptly held the cup like most of them do, with the little pinkie finger sticking out, pursed my lips and slurped away. And, I felt like the perfect lady when the waiter actually asked me, ‘Would you like some more teaaaaa?’. And, that is the London experience I worry about.

Saving the best for last, nothing beats South Indian Filter coffee – Yes, I’m that South Indian girl who grew up drinking filter coffee from a tumbler. So, now you know why the obsession to find coffee everywhere I go. This was just a few moments before my wedding (early in the morning), drinking a strong cup of filter coffee, freshly brewed at home. (My aunt was hyperventilating that I would spill the coffee on my Sari, but I managed). I absolutely needed to clear my head before taking that big step towards marriage. Like I said, nothing beats South Indian Filter coffee.

So, brought up in coffee land (South India) and obsessed with coffee land (Brazil), moving to tea land (Britain) is a bit of a worry. Especially after I read this quote. “Coffee in England always tastes like a chemistry experiment.” – Agatha Christie

And, such is life. No fear. What lays ahead is a path of discovery. I cannot wait to begin my coffee crawl of London and add to these stories here.

Category: Africa, Argentina, Asia, Brazil, Egypt, England, Europe, Food & Drinks, Guatemala, Indonesia, Italy, London, North America, South America, Travel Tips, USA / Tags: , , , , ,

Wild affair with Travel God

February 9, 2011 / admin / 11 comments

I’ve never been religious. I’ve personally hated going to crowded temples and waiting in long queue’s to pray to God, when the first thing I was taught when I was a child was “God is one and everywhere”. But, I still went to temples to please my grandparents. And then, as I grew up, I saw random bullshit happening around the world over “which God is better” et all. It drove me nuts. I stopped going to temples when I moved out of home. The only time I visited a temple since then, was for my wedding, that too since the venue itself was a temple.

And its been more than a decade, temple free. But, I realised I’ve been making up by visiting all these sacred places around the world in the name of traveling and forgotten they are houses of prayer. Did I go there for God? God no. I’m trying to remember why I went – Architecture maybe. Unesco World Heritage site I guess. History for sure. Wonder of the World, who knows? Either way, I never prayed when I went anywhere. But, looks like there is one God hanging around across all these places and that is the Travel God. He loves me, chases me and makes sure I find him in the next destination or he finds me in the next destination. I’m having this wild affair with him and no one seems to mind. It is for him that I climbed those ridiculously steep steps in the Guatemalan temples or walked through claustrophobic passages in Egyptian temples. It is for him that I kept silent in the serene cathedrals across Europe or danced with no inhibition on the streets of Salvador. And, the beauty of it is that we keep discovering each other all the time.

So, here are the memorable moments from across the world in sacred places, where I found the one God to love. He made me fall in love with him and he taught me a lesson or two.

At Christ the Redeemer in Rio De Janeiro, Brazil – Where Travel God tested my patience with the crowds and the unbearable sun (not being favourable to my photography).

At the Cathedral in Cusco, Peru, just outside which my wallet got stolen. This was the first test of travel – Can a solo woman backpacker manage without money in a strange land. He was just putting me in a situation to see how tough I can be.

At the Bonfim Church in Salvador Brazil, on the day of Bonfim festival, the first house of prayer I went to after having beer and dancing. A strange new concept to me. But, he seemed to derive joy from the mad parade and I just went along.


At Westminster Abbey in London, where he showed me two sides of a coin. The place were union and separation exists under one roof. The place where so many people marry. The place where so many lay buried. I had goosebumps thinking about Grand Royal weddings. I felt more moved when I saw the graves of those Great poets, authors, scientists, nobles… The poets corner and so on.

At a beautiful Hindu temple in Bali, devoid of the loud chattering Pujaris that you often see in India or the crowds or the Aarti’s or the flowers or the fire. He showed me that religion is incidental. It doesn’t have to follow norms. The same Hindu temple in Bali was more Buddhist than anything else. Buddhism. Hinduism. Doesn’t matter. It was silent and beautiful.

At the Duomo in Florence, Italy where I found the Artist in him. The artistic cathedral itself. The artists outside the cathedral wanting to make portraits of you. The artist within.

At the Alhambra in Granada, Spain where he showed me that God is in the detail. The less said, the better.

At Chichen Itza in Mexico where I discovered that God doesn’t mind an evil side. All those skulls. All those demons. All those you see oh so often across the world. If we did not know what evil was, how are we supposed to identify what’s good.

At Abu Simbel in Egypt, where he taught me that nothing comes easy. Getting up at 2 30 am and taking a convoy to reach there to see the majestic idols at sunrise. What’s tougher. This whole temple was moved from one place to another and built piece by piece. Nothing comes easy, my dear.

At the monastery in Ladakh in India, where he showed me that God is as much in energy and restlessness as much as he is in calmness and patience. Check out the young monk and old monk and you’ll know what I’m talking about.

That’s the only spiritual discourse I have for the traveler’s soul. Tell you more when I meet him next.

Category: Africa, Asia, Brazil, Egypt, England, Europe, India, Italy, Life, London, Mexico, North America, Not Just Travel, Peru, South America, Spain / Tags: , , ,
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