4 tips for a great birding experience

If you take the trouble to look around you, chances are you might spot more wildlife than you were aware of. I discovered this on my last trip to Mumbai. From our sixth floor window, we looked down upon green tops of trees. We've done this a zillion times; nothing special there. Until we stopped to look, stare, watch.

We discovered a whole new ecosystem right under our noses. Yellow-beaked mynahs, noisy bulbuls in pairs, crows furtively guarding their nests and beautiful green parrots, disappearing effortlessly into the foliage or streaking across the sky.

It gets even better in Goa (and Mangalore, for sure). Here, not only have the sparrows made a comeback (yay), but we've seen birds that we have noticed only on pages of books or magazines. Spotting these common birds is now such an everyday occurrence that we now know the names of most species we've seen. These include kingfishers in some stunning colours, fluffy green bee-eaters, red wattled lapwings, weaver birds, egrets, drongos, Brahmani kites and orioles.

Spotting these birds doesn't require any special equipment or training. Everybody can be an excellent birder, if you follow these tips:

1. Be quiet. Be very quiet. Common sense should tell you that any kind of noise or distraction will scare away birds. Stay still if you spot one. Or stay in one place and the birds will soon get used to you - you'll see a lot more as well.

2. Wear quiet clothes and accessories: This includes dull colours, quiet shoes, bags with no bells attached, and cameras with the shutter sound off, if possible.

3. Be excited: Enthusiasm for birding can take you a long way on trips when you often won't spot anything or cannot spot a bird among the trees.

4. Be prepared to be disappointed: You may hear the birds making a racket all around you, yet you may not be able to spot any in the foliage. Be grateful for the pleasure of birdsong and move along when it is time. Don't pester birds or chase after them - that ruins the pleasure both for you and for the birds. Remember, you are the intruder here.

The next time you are looking out of your window or walking along the street, take a moment to be aware of the bird-sounds around you. You'll be very surprised at what you find.

A different Goa : are you game?

If you ignored my advice and still booked a ticket for Goa, at least try and have a good time while you are here. If you are a regular reader of this blog, I expect that you are different from the average tourist to the Sunshine State. If all you plan to do is sit on the beach (be warned: it's 38 degrees C today), eating, drinking and complaining that there's nothing to do, then here are a few recommendations to make your holiday a memorable one :

1. Soak in some culture : Goa's cultural offerings go beyond the ghastly evening cruises on the Mandovi. The idea of the cruises is a good one, but the execution poor. With no sign of traditional Goan music (Bollywood's interpretations of what Goans sing and dance do not count), don't get conned into hurting your ear-drums with the latest Hindi theme songs (current hot favourite is the title song of Golmaal II - or whatever it's called).

Instead, look up the local paper for listings of events that you won't get elsewhere. Take in a tiatr performance (traditional Konkani/ English theatre) at the Kala Academy, Panaji or listen to a classical (Indian/Western) music concert (also at the Kala, often free).

2. Go Museum hopping: Whether you are a history buff or not, take some time out to visit one or many of Goa's fascinating museums. From the highly recommended ship-shaped Houses of Goa museum, the Goa State Museum to the Museum of Christian Art, there's something for everyone.

3. Sample the local cuisine : Goan food is world famous for its spicy coconut curries, extensive fish menus and mouth-watering Hindu and Christian Goan cooking. Leave the Dal Makhani behind on your next trip and sample some Xacuti (try the Mushroom Xacuti if you prefer a vegetarian option), Cafreal or good ol' prawn-curry rice. You'll not reach for the palak paneer again, promise.

While you're at it, don't ignore the signs of evident signs of destruction around you. Remember that the barges floating down the river make a pretty snapshot, but they take with them endless refills of Goan soil bound for foreign shores, leaving a denuded land behind. That lovely holiday home you're staying in was probably built in violation of CRZ regulations, on forest land or on land forcibly grabbed from unsuspecting villagers. And if you see a snake or another reptile, please don't beat it to death. Call one of these numbers and they'll take care of it for free.

Lastly, no matter what you do, please take your garbage home with you. The state is grappling with a major problem and literally drowning in garbage. Buy a lovely Goa cloth carry bag and use it for all your purchases, if you must, but say no to plastic. And when you're done with your water bottles, don't chuck them on the beach. Get them to a bin - there will be one in your hotel, if not elsewhere.

So, go on, get that sunscreen and put on that silly tourist hat. Catch that train or bus (flights are a bit unpredictable these days - you might not have cabin crew on board) and head south. Make the most of your trip and when you go back home, remind yourself of how lucky we are to have such natural beauty in India. And how little of it is left for us to enjoy.

Belgium - Day 4

The trip ended well, except for a rainy last day. Which was okay, because we came prepared for wet weather. Our last morning was a musical one. We saw an exhibition on the life of Eugene Ysaye at the Royal Library, then visited the Musical Instruments Museum (MIM), which was intriguing. There's a lot to see (for a mere 5 euros), so keep some time aside for it if you want to do it justice.

We headed back to the airport for our 20:45 BA flight to Heathrow. We reached Brussels airport at the stipulated two hours before departure only to find the flight delayed to 22:00. We checked in and were offered complimentary drink coupons to keep us occupied. After wandering around the airport (no change on the screens), we decided to try Duty Free and got through Passport Control. Duty Free was the same old, boring and semi-expensive. We had our drinks and read our paper. I checked the screens frequently; no change. It was going to be a long night, but at least the flight wasn't delayed any further.

At about 8 pm, I checked the screen again. This time, next to our flight number was the word 'Afgelast' in Dutch. Not knowing the language, we grabbed the nearest waiter and asked him. His translation : Cancelled.

In a panic, we looked around for someone to help us. Except for shop assistants, there was no one else. On one side was Passport Control, the other side Security.

The Duty Free area by that time was rapidly emptying as the last flights of the night were boarding. Soon, the airport would close for the night. In the absence of any announcements or instructions, what were we to do?

We headed back to Passport Control and explained our situation to the Police there. They asked us to go back to the Airline, which meant leaving the airport and re-entering it again through Departures. Our passports were already stamped and the stamp had to be cancelled. It was very stressful.

The clock was ticking by then. We made our way out, then in again. Found the BA staff sitting around chatting unconcerned. We were directed to ticketing who said they had made announcements (no true, as you will see) and all other passengers of the flight had been put on another airline. We were offered two seats on the last BMI flight to Heathrow. In the meantime, our bags were heading to the now cancelled BA flight. This had to be traced and redirected to the BMI plane.

We caught the BMI flight with a few minutes to spare. Our bag got on as well, thankfully. The flight landed at Tml 1; we were supposed to be at Tml 5. Our car parking attendant had to be told of the change and pick us up at Tml 1 instead of 5.

My question:
- Why weren't the BA ground staff concerned about missing passengers? We had checked in, got our boarding passes etc so we were on the system. Shouldn't they have been worried if we had not reported to them (if announcements were made)?

I believe that at the time of checking in, the staff didn't know that the flight was cancelled. We were checked in as normal assuming a delayed flight. Everybody else, who came in late, were told of the cancellation and put on a replacement flight. They forgot about the early birds.

Moral of the story: If you check in early and learn that the flight is delayed, hang around for a while. You're safer if you're outside. Especially in Europe, where airports close for the night and you have to go back to the city (similar experiences in Granada). The sheer lack of airline personnel in all areas of the airport means that you have to deal with the police or other security staff, not all of whom speak English.

And if you're going to Belgium, carry a Dutch/French dictionary.

Of Tigers and other beasts (on the road)

The next two days were spent in a flurry. We went to see the famous IoW Zoo - home to ITV's Tiger Island. The tigers were lovely, mostly hand-reared. Zoo's are always depressing, though. No matter how well the animals are cared for, you'd think they would be happier in the wild. Lots of Indian tigers here.

We went cycling on the morning of our return. Having reached the shop as soon as it was open, the bikes were, unfortunately available. I could see Mr.R's joy. I haven't cycled *properly* in years (well, if you count that time in Cambridge in 2005...) so my apprehension was natural. We decided to follow the 'Sunshine Route' a pre-planned path for cycling and walking. It took us out of Sandown (watch out for that car!)and onto the main road. At one point, my concern about getting back in time to pick up our bags took the fun out of the ride. We decided to stick by the sea - it made for a more picturesque ride and we'd have our bearings as well.

Riding a cycle with a hard seat is no fun. But at that time, it wasn't an issue. The gears, however, took some getting used to. We cycled all the way upto the cliff, past the zoo and onto the flower filled meadow where I gave my bike a break (on the pretext of taking pictures) while Mr R explored on.

Two hours of cycling was more fun than I thought it would be (don't tell Mr.R I said that, though). We returned the bikes about noon, had an early lunch and headed back. Transfers back were as smooth as before.

So, our recommendation?

The IoW is good for walks, cycling and other leisurely activities. Read up on it before you go, though, so you can explore a bit more. There was a walking festival on when we were there, but we found out too late. The island is pretty small and if you've got a car, great. Public transport, as usual, is a little tricky, especially the buses. Take the island train instead and explore.

Next stop, Brussels.

I want to be bee-side the sea-side

Google is our best friend. Not knowing anything about the Isle of Wight, a quick search revealed that it is a favourite holiday destination and easy to get to.

So, for a change, we took the train. From home to London Waterloo (1 hour), then a South-West train to Portsmouth (2 hours), then a FastCat ferry from Portsmouth to Ryde on the IoW (18 minutes), then a train from Ryde to Sandown (20 minutes) where we had a B&B booking.

It was a lovely journey.

The transfers were smooth, no hassles, no delays, no stress of driving on the motorway at the break of dawn. It's expensive, what with all those tickets, but I still think it made a better experience than the motorway.

Once at Sandown, we walked toward the beach to find our B&B. Sandown is on a bit of a slope - no escaping hills in England - and we were grateful to find a friendly postman who dropped us to the doorstep of the hotel. Once there, we rang the bell and waited. And waited. Then waited some more. Did they forget we were coming?

Tired and a little bit irritated (check in was 2 pm, it was now 1:45), we went next door to the little restaurant with the intention of having a meal. With the rotten luck that was starting to stick to us like sand, they had closed for lunch and were laying the tables for a school dinner party later that night. Like school-boys on hearing the bell, we beat a retreat and lugged our luggage downhill to the High Street, where (thank God) there was a Chinese place open. After a hearty meal (the only other customers were a noisy Keralite family) we called the B&B and were glad to find the owners home. They were out stocking up on groceries, apparently ("We have to go out when we can make the time.")

Grumbling under our breath, we were shown to our room, which was nice, but smaller than what I'd expected.

Anyway, you could see the sea - although it was just a patch above the neighbours rooftop.

A weekend by the sea-side. Surely life couldn't get more exciting?

Rewind

Hello!

It's been a while since the last post. We've returned from India one recent weekend in April, barely unpacked, then re-packed and headed to the Isle of Wight for the first bank holiday of May.

IoW was an unusual choice for us for many reasons. The biggest was that we've run out of a Schengen visa and no appointments were available at short notice. Switzerland was the other choice (the only country an Indian pp holder on a UK residence permit can go to without a visa). We've already been to Zürich and Mr. R has seen Geneva. Plus, the prices for this time of year are mad. It just didn't seem so appealing.

So, we looked once again, to the UK. I was looking at the map trying to figure out if the Channel islands was an option (you need a visa), when out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the IoW. It looked lovely - sitting in the middle of the sea with nothing to the south of it except water.

Islands are always good for an escape - this one would do for now.

Did you miss me?

It's my first morning back in England after an almost 4 week holiday in India. Jet-lag and a nap on the flight meant that we woke at 5 am. Mr.R managed to go back to sleep. Having tossed and turned for some time, I reluctantly gave up the warmth of the duvet and walked into the living room in time to see a quiet, crisp morning taking shape.

This morning reminds me of my first few days in England. It has that same quality of new-ness. The cherry trees have a handful of leaves, now orange and gold, struggling in the wind. The rest line the pavement in a stream of yellow. The skies are overcast and the temperature is around 9 degrees. It's a bit chilly, but not unduly cold. After a month of 80% humidity levels, this is like walking around in a slightly colder AC bubble.

It's a Wednesday morning. The rush hour traffic has not yet picked up. It's quiet, except for the hum of an occasional bus or car and the keyboard going tap-tap. I've missed this silence. In Goa, we often woke up to horns blaring and people chatting downstairs. In Mumbai, it was the sound of children playing cricket or football on the playground opposite or school buses honking loudly to remind their charges to hurry up.

There's a lot of things that one misses about England when in India. What we didn't miss was having to go to work and all the stresses that accompanies that. Now, if we could only find a way to live a life without bosses and Monday mornings...

While we work on that quandary, we'll turn our attention to the mountain of mail piled up on the doorstep, 600+ emails waiting to be read (not including junk mail), blog posts and pics to be uploaded, the fridge to be stocked and lunch to think of.

And yes, the clocks have turned back while we were away, so that has to be adjusted before we get everywhere an hour later than scheduled.

Lots to do. Lots to tell. Be back soon.

Thinking of Shoefie

Not Manalo, but close

The Salvatore Ferragamo store in Florence

An afternoon in Pisa

An over-view of the Campo dei Miracoli

Lean on me...

All in the shadow - Rescue from the searing 36c sun

Close up

What To Do in Florence

A weekend in Florence was like making a quick trip back home - it was hot (36C), crowded and dirty. But it was also full of history, art and amazing architecture.

Often called the birthplace of the Renaissance movement, Florence's most famous attraction is arguably the Uffizi Gallery. Spread over two long buildings overlooking the Arno river, this magnificent gallery has hundreds of works by the best known artists ever. You name it, they are here : Michelangelo, Botticelli, Titian, Raphael, Mantegna, Caravaggio, Leonardo da Vinci, Vasari - the list goes on.

The queues to get into the Uffizi are a mile long, especially on holidays. We booked online, and walked straight in. It is (a lot) more expensive online, with ridiculous fees, but it will save you at least an hour or two of precious holiday time waiting in line.

The Accademia Gallery has Michelangelo's David. It was a lot easier to get in here, although guides do recommend prior booking. Try going in the afternoon (as we did) and the queues are almost non-existent. The sculpture towers over everything else in the space . The corridors leading to David are lined with Michelangelo's 'Prisoners' and other works of art.

The lovely church of Santa Croce has the tombs of Galileo, Michelangelo, Machiavelli, Rossini and many others. There is a cenotaph to Dante as well.

Our flight was from Pisa, about 80 km from Florence and we spent the last day there. Getting to Pisa is easiest by the Terravision buses from the railway station direct to Pisa airport. We left our luggage in the left-luggage section and took a bus to Pisa central. The airport tells you to get your tickets from them, but you can save a lot of time (long queues, again) by getting them direct on the bus in Pisa (not so in Florence where you have to buy them from a tobacconist; Florence is a walking city, don't bother with buses).

Pisa's main attraction, of course, is the Leaning Tower. And boy, does it lean! A marvellous sight indeed. We couldn't get up into the Tower as the next available tour was not for five pm and we needed to get back to the airport. Again, if you're planning a trip to Pisa, consider booking the tour in advance.

Shopping
Florence is famous for its leather. Bags, shoes, leather accessories. The city is the birth place of Salvatore Ferragamo - his house is now a museum (visits by appointment only), but the ground floor is a shop (closed on Sundays).

Ola!

I'd probably be a hopeless travel writer on commission.

Our Venice trip concluded in the first week of April and I'm still blogging Day one of the trip. That will have to wait. Perhaps a quick re-cap instead of a travelogue...

In the meantime, we've just returned from Granada, Spain. This was my first trip to Spain. The warm and sunny days were a blessing. I believe we missed "torrential rains" in the UK over the weekend. We were lucky.

Or maybe not.

While I'll tell you about this fabulous trip in a post (soon!), let me end now by saying that our return flight last night was cancelled. Bird hit, apparently. So there we were, stranded at Granada airport close to midnight with a plane load of passengers with nowhere to go. The airport shut at midnight and we had to go back to Granada (with no help from the airline), find a place to stay and come back to the airport the next morning!

Is 'bird-hit-engine-flight-cancelled' a good enough excuse for not turning up to work after a bank holiday weekend? Depends on who you work for, I guess.

Anyway, the flight finally took off at noon today and we got back home after 4, a full fourteen hours late.

Ryanair is going to be inundated with compensation letters. I hope.

While you mull over crazy airport procedures and uncaring airlines, here are a few pictures...

What makes Granada the second most visited city in Europe...The Alhambra

The Alhambra with the fantastic Sierra Nevada mountains in the background

A peek into the beautiful formal gardens of the Generalife

Venice - Day 1

My first impressions of Venice is that the water level looked dangerously high.

Arriving at Marco Polo Airport, we picked up our pre-paid Venice Cards and followed signs to the water boats that would take us to our hotel on the island of Lido.

Venice is made up of a little over 120 tiny islands floating magnificently on vivid green emerald green water. Lido used to be a very popular destination for the hoi-polloi at one time, on the likes of Cannes. The island still hosts its own film festival every September and has a sandy beach to boot.

Anyway, the ride from the airport to Lido was memorable. The boats (vaporetto) are the main mode of transport in this water logged city. I was delighted to see 'lanes' marked with speed limits - 7km/hr - at one point, for the vaporettos. It was good to see the drivers slowing down every time they spotted a marker.

The ride from the airport to Lido takes about an hour, with one stop at Murano and then Lido.

Our hotel was right on the sea-front *, a stone's throw away from the vaporetto stops which makes all the difference when you want to stay out late. Our room offered us a lovely view across the lagoon. On a clear morning, we could see Venice clearly a short distance away. Perfect.

View from our hotel window *

We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening exploring Venice proper. A quick chakkar around San Marco (St.Mark's) verified what the travel books tell us - San Marco is a busy, bustling beehive of tourists at any time.

Our Venice cards gave us entry into the Doge's Palace and the opportunity to view some amazing art. If you like the whole Art thing, then Venice would be paradise, or close to it. Throughout our trip we were accosted with Titians, Tintorettos, Bellinis and other big, big names. Every little church you go to has a famous name on its wall - hung without ceremony, with no concessions made to sunlight, pollution or the damage of centuries. It's there, in your face and close enough to touch. There is no security whatsoever for most of these paintings; each of them would be worth thousands of pounds, if not in the hundreds of thousands or more.

The Doge's Palace leads to Prisons linked by the famous Bridge of Sighs (a replica of which you can find in Oxford). The bridge links the prisons to the interrogation rooms in the palace. We did the touristy thing and walked across, taking pictures from within the famous structure.

View from inside the Bridge of Sighs

We ended the day with a fabulous 'Sargent in Venice' exhibition at the Museo Correr showcasing the amazing watercolors and oils of John Singer Sargent (1856-1925), an American artist who spent a lot of time in Venice. The paintings are incredibly life-life and make you want to grab an easel or sketchbook and get painting right away. That's the best kind of art, I think - one that inspires you to do something more...

-----------------------

<>

Note: We travelled to Venice over the Easter bank holiday : April 6,7,8,9 2007

*Click on this link for a good shot of Lido taken from the lagoon. You can see Hotel Panorama (where we stayed) right below the big green dome of the Military Memorial. Up close, you can even see the lamp post as shown in my picture above. Our room was on the second floor.

Venezia è molto bella

Mr. R and I are back from four lovely days in Venice. The weather held (sunny for the most part except Easter morning when it poured), we walked our feet off and had an overdose of art and architecture.

An onslaught of pictures and posts coming up. It might just convince you to take a trip...

An update on August and September

There are some days when you can just not be bothered with blogging. The last few weeks have been full of days like these. Too many things happening, too many demands on your time - and the words stay relegated to little notebooks and neurons bending under the weight.

It's 10:22 pm as I write now, waiting for Mr R to come back from a meeting/dinner. I've just finished reading a book in one breathless gulp - devoured it like I do with a bar of Bounty. I should be tidying the house instead, tucking away clothes and putting papers into neat piles. For Baby brother comes to visit tomorrow.

But I can't be bothered. This is one of those fluffy books which has turned out to be a I-want-to-know-what-happens-on-the-next-page kind of books. And I feel sad that I've already finished it. Surely it can't end yet?

August and September have been a whirlwind of sorts. Summer's faded away fast. The leaves are still on the trees, holding on as if they are not sure if they want to fall. The neighbor's have put their barbecue back in ages ago, safely tucked in till next July - that, really, was the first sign that summer was on its way out.

Mr R and I made a 3 day trip to Verona over the bank holiday. That was a lovely trip, unhurried, relaxed. Trips to small cities are great - you can see a lot more at a more even pace.

What else has been happening?

Mmm. Things are busy at work as the charity is suddenly called upon to comment on developments in Eastenders as two characters have a baby with Down's syndrome. I almost did a radio interview on Thursday but was relieved to find a parent who could talk instead. Then there's talk of a pay raise if I can get some grants in by the year end. No better motivation required!

I've read SO many books in the past few weeks that my head spins if I stop to take stock. Right now, I've got about 10 books from the library on the TBR pile, plus about a dozen more of our own. There's not enough hours in the day...

Somehow, I'm looking forward to the leaves changing color - russet, brown, plum. Then slowly they will begin to fall, dusting pavements with streaks of brown, often slimy in the constant drizzle. I look forward to seeing the machines back on the pavements, gulping down fallen leaves effortlessly, leaving the sidewalks spotless for a brief moment, before the next leaf falls.

Every season has its own magic. Autumn and Spring are my favorites.

It's time to hibernate.

Trafalgar Square pictures

The crowd watching the screen

Before the telecast...picnic baskets and cool drinks

Nelson's column shrouded in mysterious underwater images. Almost 2D against the twilight sky

All that baggage...

Somewhere between Rome, India and Salzburg, I lost my will to blog. It's a pity, because I was really enjoying it at one time. Maybe it's just all that travelling - all those images, sounds and sights clutter my brain leaving no energy for the internet. I've lagged behind in my writing. Copious notes from my travels crowd my little notebooks, waiting to be sent to editors who I dream, are checking their inboxes impatiently just for my query letters.

Leading a life out of a suitcase is not as wonderful as it seems. There's always the unpacking to consider!

In 7 weeks, we've been to three countries - 4 days in Rome, 3 weeks in India (Mumbai, Goa, Tarkarli) and now 3 days in Salzburg, Austria. Bank holidays take their toll.

Not that I'm complaining.

This is the opportunity of a lifetime to be a traveller, not just a tourist. Never again will I be so young, energetic and a willing party to Mr R's wish-list. These are the days to backpack and walk a million miles in a weekend.

With the holidays behind us for now (temporarily), it's time to get back to sorting out the mountain of paperwork, junk mail and laundry that has taken over. Winter wear has been put into storage (for how long - 4 months?!) . The sun is shining brightly and 4 weeks remain till my race.

In two weeks time, my friend AR comes to stay with us for a fortnight. Her hubby AR joins us at the end of June. The World Cup will soon gain momentum with England's first match in June and the Proms will take over our lives starting 14th July.

It is a busy life and I'm very grateful to have my days so full. Even on the days when I have nothing to do.

Who knows, I may even feel like writing again.

Roman Holiday

They say Rome was not built in a day. Walking through the cobbled stones of the Eternal City made me realise how really true that old proverb was.

Mr R and I were in Rome for the bank holiday. We spent Good Friday, Holy Saturday, Easter Sunday and Easter Monday basking in the glorious Roman sun, walking endless miles to make every moment matter and eating endless gelato's to cool down.

To make a long story short, we did the usual sights - The Colosseum, breathtaking in its scale; The Pantheon, remarkable for its engineering, the Roman Forum and the Palatine Hill - unbelievably beautiful, even centuries later. We walked so many miles, we lost count of the cobblestones beneath our feet that have stood the test of centuries. The fountains dazzled, the sculptures were enormous and so life-like in their detail. Soft waves of clothing seemed of silk and not stone.

We were lucky enough to manage to get in for the Easter Mass celebrated by the Pope at St Peter's. That was probably a once-in-a-lifetime experience, as was visiting the Sistine Chapel and ooh-ing and aah-ing over Michaelangelo's genius and the grandeur of St Peters.

My most memorable memories of the trip, however, are of the places that we encountered unexpectedly. Rome is so full of hidden treasures not on the tourist map. Possibly because there is so MUCH history in the city, it may be impossible to fit everything on a map. Serendipitous discoveries made our day. Turning a corner and finding the almost Spanish St Silvester's church was one such discovery. The orange colored walls (not SS bright orange, but a more subdued Mediterranean wash) enclosed a quiet courtyard. You forget that there's a busy road right outside. A noticeboard at the entrance told you about the services. And there was a poster of Samaritans which reminded me of Bombay and my friends there. Being Good Friday, a quiet Way of the Cross was taking place inside. Mr R and I joined in, feeling remarkably soothed afterward.

One of my favorite places to visit was the church of San Giovanni in Laterno, the mother church of the world. This fantastic church is built on the site of the first ever church, and is even older than St Peters. The sheer weight of history stays squarely on your shoulders as you marvel at the larger than life marble statues, intricate in their detail; the fabulously ornate ceiling makes you gasp in wonder. The altar reputedly contains the heads of St Peter and Paul - thankfully those were not visible to the eye. It's a glorious piece of architecture, made even more spectacular by the history and significance of the place.

Not even the deep exhaustion caused by walking endless miles on cobblestones prepared me for the experience at Santa Scala (Holy Stairs).

Right opposite San Giovanni in Laterno, is the church of Santa Scala. Legend has it that in c.326 AD, St Helena, mother of Emperor Constantine brought to Rome the 28 steps that are traditionally the steps walked up by Christ on his way to trial before Pontius Pilate.

Devout pilgrims still mount the steps on their knees, praying. Mr R and I, in a fit of devotion followed suit.The rate of progress is very slow and is, to put it mildly, suitably punishing. Although the stairs are nowadays protected by wood, there are holes cut through above marks which are supposed to be Jesus' blood. By the time we reached the top, both Mr R and I had suffered enough to compensate for any recent sins. It just put into perspective what Christ must have gone through prior to his Crucifixion. If this was intolerable, what must that have been like?

We finished the exhilarating weekend with an attempt at shopping, not realising that Italy shuts down on public holidays, including Easter Monday. Well, lesson learned for next time.

We spent our last few hours tracking the secret of the keyhole in the door of Knights of Malta. The guide book told us of this mysterious place at the top of the Aventino hill. Apparently, a looking through a keyhole would reveal something surprising. So we huffed and puffed our way up, having got off the right bus stop thanks to the help of an elderly Italian gentleman with whom Mr R conversed in his fledgling Italian. We found the keyhole easily enough - there was a queue waiting to have a dekko. A couple of carbineri stood alongside, enjoying the pleasant afternoon sun.

The guidebook was right. At the keyhole, I looked into a wonderfully formal garden, tall hedges, resplendent in dark green, beautifully framed. And right at the end, as if God made this happen, was an unexpected sight. The sheer ingenuity of it all made me laugh. Brilliant!

Go take a look yourself. If you've been there, don't tell anybody and spoil the surprise!!

Even after four full dawn-to-dusk days, we still haven't had our fill of this wonderful city. Rome is certainly one of the best places I have ever seen. They say throwing a coin into the Trevi Fountain guarantees a return back. We threw three. That should be surety enough.

Arrivederci!

'Leed' the way

One hundred and ninety miles.

Or three hundred and six kilometers. Each way.

That's the distance Mr R and I traveled to spend the weekend with A&S, right up north in Leeds. We drove. Rather Mr R did and I navigated through the M40 and the neverending M1.

It took us about five hours each way and that's no mean feat. I'm exhausted just thinking of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We set out on Friday evening, maps and directions in hand, overnight bags in the boot, warm clothes stocked up along with emergency supplies in case we get stranded. Enduring five hours of never ending motorways, fog, pile-ups due to roadworks and accidents, we finally enter Leeds around 2300. The very very confusing City Centre Loop takes us for a spin and we have to call A&S for directions, but finally we make it, very pleased with ourselves for having done it.
Leeds is an unremarkable city, like many others I guess. It might have its features, but there were none that I could see out of the sixth floor apartment where we were. It's an industrial city and all you can see is brownstone buildings, skyscrapers and chimney stacks. There is no clue that we are only some miles away from the lovely Yorkshire Dales.

We decided to spend Saturday in York, which was about 20 minutes away by road. After a late breakfast (we went to sleep after 2, what did we expect?!), the four of us piled into our car and wound our way out of the city heading North.

York is a breath of fresh air after the grimness of Leeds. The city reminds me at times, of Zurich. The cobblestones, narrow alleyways and tiny buildings all leaning into each other transport us back into medieval times. It's the Japanese and Indian tourists who give away the century.

I had heard so much about the York Minster that it was the only item on my agenda. I was not disappointed. Mr R and I took a guided tour while A&S, who had been there already, wandered about in The Shambles.

The cathedral is immense and is the second seat of power after Canterbury. The new Archbishop of York is England's first African born Archbishop and we were told of how his recent inauguration had traditional African dances and music. That must have been quite a change for the pomp and splendor loving English. Times are a'changing.

The tour took us through the splendid hall, now devoid of chairs for a few weeks. The chairs are stored under the floor at such times! The stained glass windows date back to the 1300s , as do some of the other work. It is an incredible piece of ornate Gothic architecture.

At 2.30 pm, bells rang to announce a minute of prayer. A priest came up to the pulpit and spoke to the visitors reminding us that this was a place of prayer and worship and we should remind ourselves of that fact always. How true that was! As tourists and history-gatherers we often tend to look at a place from a different eye. We look at windows and carvings and gilded ceilings, forgetting that this is where God is worshipped. This was a living place of prayer and I was glad to be reminded of the fact. I wish more churches and cathedrals did that. The priest also prayed for the victims of the Egyptian ferry disaster. It was touching to have a moment like that, in a remarkable setting .

We cut our tour short and joined A&S in a French restaurant - Cafe Rouge - in the Shambles for a very satisfying lunch. Post lunch we wandered back to the car, picking up crepes to munch on. The crepes are dosas impersonating as French food. The only difference is in the filling. Mr R had apple & cinnamon while A&S chose chocolate-cream and bananofee (banana and toffee) fillings. I bet if they tried our potato recipe, they would have a riot at the stall.

Back home, S had a brainwave and took us out in the freezing evening, to ice-skate! The open air rink is a temporary setting kept alive until March. Long queues waited patiently to buy the £7 tickets and collect our skates. Except for S, the three of us had never skated before and we were nervous yet looking forward to it, not knowing what to expect. It looked easy enough :)

Easy?! The moment I stepped onto the ice, I held onto the rail for dear life. It's very hard to keep your balance the first time. Balancing on those boots and picking up the motion is not easy. I was the first to fall and gave up soon after. Mr R and the rest kept on bravely though, crawling their way around the perimeter of the rink, artfully dodging the 450 odd people who were on the rink at the same time. It was a good experience, no doubt and I know Mr R is raring to go for another time. This, according to him, was the highlight of the trip and worth the long drive.

We were on our way back on Sunday afternoon after a late brunch of aloo parathas and raita. Yummy!

In all, except for the long drive, it was a good weekend. Next time (if there is one!) we go by train!

Week 2 - Mumbai/Goa

With Mr R safely in Goa enjoying a week's respite from me, I set off rediscovering the life I had left behind - autorickshaws, walking on half dug roads, Christmas lights on trees lining the road, catching up with friends and family, jumping in and out of trains and running at breakneck speed to get to the airport on a deadline (a story for another post).

Christmas eve dawned and I set off for my 12 pm Kingfisher flight to Goa to spend Xmas/NY with Mr R and the family. Eight hours later, I was still at the airport, waiting for an aircraft that never took off from Delhi because of the fog. A passenger revolt later, the Goa bound passengers were put on a Bangalore bound aircraft that was unceremoniously diverted for us. The furious passengers were slightly mollified by Vijay Mallaya's appearance on board to apologize for the delay. The damage was done though. After spending eight hours or more in a crowded terminal with no facilities and no information from the airports/airline, all the passengers wanted to do was get to Goa and pick up the pieces of their Xmas Eve plans. We landed in Goa at about 9.30 pm - 8 1/2 hours behind schedule. A fine start to the festivities.

The rest of the Christmas week went by in a blur - weddings, guests, quick trips to nearby beaches (Bambolim/Uttorda) for a swim, a visit to a restored Portuguese house, a delightful book reading by William Dalrymple at an interesting bookshop in Calangute, two movies at the Inox in Panjim (Ek Ajnabee : A fine performance by AB, but too violent in places; and Chicken Little - definitely a kids film all the way.), a new year's eve party preceded by a sail, where we bid adieu to the year along with a school of dolphins...

The Beach at Uttorda...






The last sunset of 2005...

Diary of an Indian holiday: Mangaloo-ru beckons

It's a month since we set out on our 3 week Christmas/NY break to India. No point in saying 'How time flies!'....

Week 1 - London-Mumbai-Mangalore-Mumbai
Twenty four hours after landing in Mumbai we set out once again for the airport, this time on our way to Mangalore to visit my grandmother and aunts. Our three day trip was a real break from the hustle of everyday life. In our bit of Mangalore, you can lose yourself in a wilderness that is hard to come by these days.

We spent our three days feasting on coconuts and yummy home-cooked food. Mr R treated his camera to birds, trees, butterflies and nature in one her finest, quietest avatars. It was a feast for all senses.

A quick day trip to Karkal - to see St Lawrence's Church and then to Gomateshwara - the 42' high monolith of Bahubali, temples at Kateel and Udipi and our trip was at an end.