Archive for Brazil

Around the world in many Cups

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.

Wild affair with Travel God

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.

Postbox hugger

You’ve heard of tree huggers.

You’ve heard of free huggers.

But, have you heard of a postbox hugger? That’s me.

A self proclaimed deltiologist, I’ve been fascinated by postcards since god knows when. When I was a kid, my uncle used to send snail mail regularly to my grandparents and I used to rip off the stamps even before they laid hands on the important letter. Snail mail started fascinating me. Then, a couple of my friends from school traveled outside India and I pleaded them to send me letters or postcards. The day I received my first postcard from Germany (Thanks to a dear friend who moved there) and soon after, a post card from the USA (my best friend traveled there), I was addicted. The email age came and I was still writing letters and postcards to people. For those who still did not get it, deltiology is the official name for postcard collecting and is thought to be one of the three greatest hobbies apart from stamp and coin collecting.

So, these are reasons why I am / am not a deltiologist, in no particular order -

1. The first thing I do apart from finding a tourist information office in any city is finding the post office.

2. I’ve spent more time selecting postcards for friends than eating breakfast, lunch, dinner in every trip. My husband will certify this.

3. I can spot a mail van / post box from a mile but I cannot spot a Mc Donalds.

4. I went into a 2 week depression when 1 set of postcards of mine from Argentina did not reach my best friends.

5. I live in this imaginary romantic world where I think that you can explain your life’s purpose on postcards. (If you were to explain this in corporate language, why make a power point presentation, that too a lengthy one when you can make your point in one page)

6. There is nothing more exciting to me than receiving a postcard. For every 100 or so that I send, I receive one. So, obviously it is exciting.

7. Postcards are great bribes when you want to ask your boss for leave.

8. You can break up or make up on a post card. Its the closest to being face to face. Forget the mobile phone, chat, blackberry, etc of the world.

9. The one thing I treasure most in my life is the 40 odd postcards I have received from my Grandfather when I was in college. Old yellow postcards. Written with all the love and care in the world. I just hope I had replied to every one of them. I know I did not. He probably got one letter from me for every 10 he sent. I’m making up by sending cards to the whole world now.

10. Postcards make me cry. More than onions and lovers quarrel.

11. They say a deltiologist can track history with postcards. Well, I know one thing for sure. If I were to read the postcards I sent to myself (I started doing that since others dont), it would make a historical diary

So, I’ll leave you with my favourite images of postcards, postboxes and all things beautiful. The thing I spend more time in when I am traveling. Even more than sightseeing.

This was taken in Windsor, England and this is one of the oldest postboxes of England. It has a vertical opening instead of a horizontal one and this is how postboxes used to be till they discovered water used to go in during rainy season. Then, they changed it to a horizontal opening with a cap :) This is one of the postboxes I hugged.

The lady in the post office in Antigua, Guatemala assuring me that these cards would reach in 3 to 4 weeks. I did not let go till then. Remember that moment vividly.

Stuck in the middle of the jungle trekking for 4 days in Chapada Diamantina, Brazil. There were no postcards. So, I wrote postcard length notes and later, pasted them onto cards and mailed them. The strong black coffee (Brazilian coffee) – Oooooh, I would kill for that.

God bless people who built post offices. Check out the brass work in the post office in Mexico city. ‘Estampillas’ sound as enticing as ‘Enchiladas’.

Hope I have given you enough reason to send a postcard instead of an email. If you are inspired, send one to the Ninja. Shoot me a comment and I’ll send you my address.

Stamped with love. This is Ninja signing out.

Traveling Toilet Trauma

Lately, I have been getting a lot of mails from Women travelers asking me for travel tips. The questions have ranged from – Is it safe to take overnight bus journeys alone? Do you think its ok to stay in a Dorm in a Backpacker hostel or will you meet wierdos? How do you carry your money? I’ve been able to give confident advice on everything except one question. I should say I’ve been stumped when it comes to the most popular question. So, what are we talking about here – “How do you manage with toilets?”. “How did you manage peeing in the open?” kind of questions.

Simply put, women are shit scared when it comes to this particular topic while traveling. No pun intended on shit. So, to give confidence to all women travelers about traveling and the toilet experience, I’d like to share 3 of my travel toilet memories here.

The Rio De Janeiro Pee in Public experience - It was February 2009 and I spent my first Brazilian Carnival in the streets of Rio. Rio Carnival is not just known for the almost naked Samba dancers parade. It is known for the street parties or “Blocos da ruas”. With a party in every corner and bands leading mad costume parades through every street in Rio, you can say I lived on the streets for almost a week. Spending days and nights in the streets, wearing ridiculous costumes, drinking beer and dancing was the order of the day. All the beer drinking just leads to one outcome – what goes in needs to come out. With all the bars overflowing with people, overused toilets, peeing in restaurants / bars was just not an option (And I hate hovering over dirty toilets). Going all the way home to pee was just plain stupid. With no choice but to pee in the streets of Rio, I joined the crazy Brazilians and learnt the art of peeing in public. Introducing miracle product ‘Xixi Feliz’ – which means ‘Happy Pee’. It is a paper funnel, made out of 300 GSM art card and printed in 2 colour. Given away by this wonderful lady (who happens to be the mother of my dear friend Lola) in exchange for free beer, this product came to the rescue of most women in the streets of Rio. It even has simple instructions on how to place it between your legs and pee standing up. Well… I did it!

Only one advice – If you are slightly shy, just drink enough beer and get high.

Street Parties in Rio …

The more ridiculous the costume, the easier it is to blend in….

Xixi Feliz crew..  Lola’s mom, Thiago and Lola

Check out these Videos on how Xixi Feliz works -


Its 2 years since this experience and now, there are  experts on this topic on the internet. Check out Stand2Pee, run by Stacy Kwan, who is the expert on standing and peeing. She even has an instructional DVD on this.

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Food ticket to Brazil

Woke up this morning and did some cupboard cleaning. Opened one of my travel diaries and it landed on a page, where I had stapled an empty carton of 3 Corazon coffee from Brazil – the strongest coffee I had tried in the Minas region of Brazil. Memories of Brazil flooded my mind… or should I say taste buds. The pangs started in the morning and has lasted all day. Today is definitely one of those days I wish I could indulge in some Comida Ultima (Ultimate Food in Portuguese).

Tough luck! Except for Agua de Coco (Coconut Water), Bandra (though a lovely ex-Portuguese colony) has no little nook serving anything close to Brazilian food. Anyway, here I am, revisiting all the good ole pictures of my favourite food from Brazil and wishing Cindrella’s Fairy God Mother would convert a pumpkin into a Brazilian buffet in my house.

What I want in the morning-Cafezinho. Not just any coffee. I want Brazilian coffee. And Cafezinho means little coffee, like Ronaldinho means little Ronaldo. Get the drift.

A perfect breakfast would be – Pao de queijo (Bread with cheese) and Coxinha (almost like an Indian Samosa) stuffed with chicken.  Top it off with a Bolo Chocolat (Chocolate cake) and it would be incredible.

For a super rich lunch, nothing beats a traditional Brazilian meal. Check out the spread that we had at Cafe Edgar, in Rio de Janeiro. Our friends Ronaldo and Renata introduced us to the thoroughfare – Arroz (Rice), Feijoada (Beans cooked with lots of meat), Farofa (That’s Mandoica fruit powdered and panfried) and the green vegetable which almost tastes like Spring Onion meets Seaweed. If you don’t want Feijoada (with meat), you can ask for Feijao (Just beans). Then, you will be served something very close to Rajma Chawal (Indian rice and beans).

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