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Brussels.

2009-04-27T18:59:00.005+02:00

Monday. Paris.

Brussels was my first stop during spring break, and the only thing for which I found the city truly memorable was its food. My diet in Brussels consisted for the most part of fries, waffles, beer and chocolate. Certainly not the most healthy, but definitely very satisfying and tasty.
Food places worth mentioning are: Maison Antoine and Mama Roma's in Place Jourdain for fries and pizza, respectively; and any waffle stand for "gaufres liègois."

A picturesque town with random (but aesthetically pleasing) murals painted on building walls, Art-Nouveau and Art-Deco houses, there's nothing much to the city otherwise. The Manneken Pis is Brussels' Mona Lisa — overhyped, tiny and surrounded by tourists. The Atomium, which may look like an eyesore from afar, tends to make for some interesting viewing if you sit right beneath it. The Musée des Beaux Arts disappointed me, to say the least (I have, after all, been to the Prado, Louvre and Uffizi). Among the other highlights of my trip was the chance to catch up with an old friend from Bombay, and reminisce about home a bit.

I also got a chance to meet some Belgians thanks to Paige (who was couchsurfing at someone's house). Her host graciously invited us over to partake in some chocolate fondue. Simple, yet delicious. It sure was interesting hearing our host and her friend, both natives of Flanders (the Dutch speaking part of Belgium) talk about how it was to be a young adult in Belgium. What struck me as mildly amusing was the fact that our host's friend said that if you were young and Belgian, then there's nothing left in this country for you and that one should emigrate to Switzerland or Brazil. Why Switzerland? I don't know. It certainly doesn't have too much more happening than Belgium, I'd say.

A Gallery and Chocolate fondue

Art Nouveau buildings in Brussels

Murals and the Atomium

Beer, beer, beer.

2009-04-27T18:28:00.005+02:00

Monday. Paris.

I've come back from my two-week whirlwind tour of four European cities, and there's much to say about each. You'll read more about them in subsequent posts, however. This post is devoted to the various beers I've tried while traveling through Belgium, the Netherlands and the Czech Republic, given that these countries are fairly well known for their beers (Belgium, especially). So check out the pictures below of some the various beers I've tried. (Keep in mind though that I'm no expert when it comes to beer, so this isn't really a critique of the beers I've tried)

Kozel and Gambrinus (CZ)

Staropramen (CZ) and Bavaria Pilsner (NL)

Floris Honey and Satan's Gold (B) — I just wanted to try the latter for its name.

Kwak and Floris Framboise (B)

Chimay and Trappiste Rochefort (B)

Vive le printemps!

2009-04-09T17:22:00.002+02:00

Thursday. Paris.

As I said earlier, spring time is here! Which means I'm off. It's my turn to be touristy in various northern locales - Brussels, Amsterdam, Prague and Berlin. I'm not entirely sure about how accessible I'll be during the next two weeks, but will try and post now and then as I get the time.
Hopefully I don't annoy any local (or pseudo-local for that matter) enough to make them want to punch me.

An American Invasion / A Venting Session

2009-03-30T15:09:00.005+02:00

Monday. Paris.

Paris has been overflowing with tourists of all kind this whole month - especially Americans. Or they seem to be the most conspicuous group of tourists at least (though I think the Italians give them decent competition).

March being spring break season across the Atlantic is probably why I'm suddenly hearing more English in the Metro than French; why I suddenly see an invasion of Coach bags and college sweatshirts; and why I always get stuck in the middle of such crowds.

Perhaps this is the inner Parisian in me coming out, but I have a strong urge to punch some of more exuberant breed of tourists, especially when I hear them complain about how the Mona Lisa should have been bigger so that the entire Metro car can hear them, or that "Noterdaim (Notre Dame for those uninitiated to the wonders of the American accent) was like so cool."

I do admit, however, that I was one of those unbearable tourists too. But after having lived here for almost a year I can thankfully say that this is no longer the case, which gives me at least some licence to vent. J'en ai marre.

Springtime in France

2009-03-23T10:33:00.008+01:00

Monday. Paris.

So the sun's finally come out here, and Paris has never been lovelier (or more overridden with tourists since my arrival). I've spent many a day lazing around in the Jardin du Luxembourg, Parc des Buttes-Chaumont or just walking around on the rive gauche. It's somewhat ironic that as I'm writing this, typical Parisian weather is back with a vengeance and it's been cold, windy and rainy for the past few days. Strange and fickle thing, this weather.

We did have some good sunshine in Provence on the Sweet Briar weekend trip, in spite of the bitterly cold Mistral which blows through the Rhone valley. The whirlwind tour consisted of visits to Arles, the Pont du Gard (a Roman aqueduct), les Baux de Provence (where Bauxite was discovered...hence the name) and Avignon (yes, with the bridge too).

There's not too much to say about these places, but I did manage to take a few pretty pictures (I'm a sucker for alliteration at times), so here you go.

Spring comes to Paris.

Les Baux and the Pont du Gard.

The Amphitheâtre in Arles and a garden in Avignon.

The Ponts du Gard and d'Avignon, respectively.

Yes, Prime Minister

2009-03-10T21:20:00.000+01:00

Tuesday. Paris.

Students from the program were invited to a private guided tour of the Hôtel de Matignon, which is the Prime Minister's residence in Paris. The residence isn't usually open to guided visits, and you need to be invited personally by the Prime Minister to visit, so we did luck out.

A bit of French politics 101: the Prime Minister is the chief of the government, whereas the President (everyone's favorite little man, Monsieur Sarkozy) is the chief of state. The Prime Minister has no real executive power, and only carries out the directives of the President. Given that, he's not the most important political figure in the country, but he still is le Premier Ministre nonetheless.

The property is set in the heart of the 7th arrondissement, which makes for prime real estate (hobnobbing with the Eiffel Tower, Musée d'Orsay and the Hôtel des Invalides among others), and apparently has the largest private garden in the city, even bigger than that of the Palais d'Elysée itself. The Elysée is the President's official residence on the other side of the Seine.

Of the parts of Matignon that we did get to see (the official meeting and dining rooms), I wasn't surprised to find them resplendently decorated a Baroque/Roccoco stye. Walls were adorned with tapestries depicting scenes from Don Quixote and marble inlays. We also happened to see a table laid for the Conseil d'État's breakfast the next day along with a tiny menu of what each Minister takes in the morning. Monsieur le Premier Ministre, it seems, is content with just an espresso.

The visit was a short one, as the council was scheduled to meet right after we were supposed to leave. Now you can't have 30 foreign students roaming around the Prime Minister's residence while affairs of the state are being put into action, can you?

PS We weren't allowed to take pictures inside the building.

Al-Andalous

2009-03-05T19:06:00.004+01:00

Paris. Thursday.

The main reason why I wanted to go to Cordoba was to see the Cathedral (La Mezquita), and I think that's the only reason why I would. A very tiny town about two hours south of Madrid by train, Cordoba makes for a perfect day trip.

The Cathedral was fantastic — I'm very glad that I got to see it. For those who don't know what's so special about the Mezquita (the names can be used interchangeably) is the fact that it used to be a church before the Moors came to Andalucia, then was made into a mosque by the Moors, and once again converted back into a cathedral after the Moors were expelled from Andalucia. So you have a large mosque with characteristic Islamic architecture with a large cathedral right in the middle of it all. It makes for interesting viewing, that's for sure. Check out pictures below.
It was also an interesting experience walking around the small and narrow streets, some of which would go on and on without being intersected by any other streets. It would get mildly frustrating if we wanted to get some place, but we did stumble upon a few interesting windows, houses and restaurants because of that.

Other than the Cathedral, Cordoba was mildly disappointing - especially the nightlife. Everything, and I mean everything, was shut by 10 p.m. In Madrid, we'd go out for dinner at that time, and that would still be on the earlier side. Marissa and I thought Cordoba would be the same, but were sorely mistaken, and barely managed to find dinner before everything closed.
I don't have much to say about Seville other than that I would like to go back there. I only spent 12 hours there (it being my transit between Cordoba and Paris), and would definitely want to spend more time there. It seems to be a very vibrant and lively city (especially after the bore that was Cordoba) and I also really want to visit the Cathedral there considering it was shut by the time I got there and I only got to walk around it.

And there you have it, my trip to Iberia. I think I much preferred it to my week in Italy - far more enjoyable.

Tapas, Museos y mas Tapas.

2009-03-01T17:49:00.011+01:00

Sunday. Paris.

And now we've crossed the border back into España, spending a few days in Madrid. If this city were by the sea, it would be perfect. I've never quite been to a city like Madrid — it's probably the most different from Paris than any of the other European capitals I've visited. Large, busy and bustling, and yet the same time an epitome of that Spanish laissez-faire laid back attitude, Madrid is a very pleasant city and I could easily see myself spending a semester there. What struck me is the fact that even though the city's fairly spread out and massive, it's very walkable; especially the city centre. You have a relatively impressive metro system as well (only Paris and New York could outshine it in terms of complexity and accessibility).

Cody and I stayed at a hotel just minutes away from the Plaza Mayor and the Puerta del Sol; and about a 20-minute walk from El Retiro (Madrid's version of Central Park) and that trinity of museums - El Prado, La Reina Sofia and the Thyssen-Bornemisza. The Retiro, whose avenues and walkways are named after Spain's former colonies, is the perfect to spend a Sunday afternoon. Most Madrileños, however feel the same way, and that also makes it unbearably crowded — it wouldn't be surprising if you were mowed down by the amateur rollerblader, biker or the occasional baby pram. We did end up picnicking on sandwiches and wine with Marissa (one of Cody's and my colleagues at work who is studying in Madrid this semester) one afternoon during the week, and it was far more relaxed.

In addition to the Retiro, Madrid has a host of parks all over the place, including the Parque del Oeste, which is huge, hilly, far more relaxed and far less touristy. You can witness a spectacular sunset from the Ancient Egyptian temple (photos below) on one end of the park. It's funny indeed how most major European cities have their share of Ancient Egyptian artefacts and treasures.

You can't go to Madrid without visiting the Reina Sofia and the Prado, and sure enough, we did. We were treated to Picasso's obra-maestra, Guernica, and several works by Dali at the Reina Sofia; and a wealth of Bosch and El Greco at the Prado. The Thyssen, however, was my favourite. It's the world's largest private collection of art, spanning 700 years of painting and arranged in chronological order. You start with mediaeval Christian triptychs and end with Modigliani and O'Keefe with some Titian and Monet on the way.

Abhinay's culinary discoveries in Madrid included "montaditos" or tiny sandwiches whose fillings you choose; and patatas bravas — crispy potatoes cooked in a garlicky sauce. What also amazed me about Madrid's food and bar scene was how cheap it was; and furthermore, the fact that these tapas bars are ridiculously crowded 10 pm onwards, and it's a battle between finding place to stand, holding your plate of tapas in your hand along with your drink without letting either of the two fall on the floor and eventually eating said tapas. And if you think I went to Spain without having my fill of churros y chocolate, you are mistaken — I sure did.

Vinho Verde in the Bairro Alto

2009-03-01T17:21:00.006+01:00

Sunday. Paris.

I'm back from my winter vacation in the Iberian Peninsula - Lisbon, Madrid, Cordoba and Seville (for just a short while). I'm sure you've been wanting to hear about my trip, so I'll be writing about each place in a separate post (to avoid making one VERY long post). Let's start with Lisboa.

Lisbon is one of those cities which is past its zenith and where one can see echoes of this former grandeur throughout — the large cobbled footpaths; massive churches, building façades laden with ceramic tiles; and those ubiquitous trams that take you back to the early 1900s. The city is relatively hilly, and hence you have a maze of narrow winding streets lined with rundown buildings. Two of Lisbon's neighbourhoods, the Bairro Alto and the Alfama are situated on such hilly areas, making for some interesting walking. Cody and I were staying in the Baixa neighbourhood right in between the two — the historic city center. The Bairro Alto is a somewhat chic area with tiny shops and scores of restaurants, whereas the Alfama is a little more classic, and is dominated by the Castel São Jorge (which provides you with some magnificent views of the city, by the way).

Among our culinary discoveries in Lisbon were "vinho verde" or green wine, which is a refreshingly light and crisp white wine, in fact. We had fun opening a bottle in our room one evening without any corkscrew. I also tried the "pasteix de nata" (sp.) or custard tartlets, which made for a delicious breakfast one morning. They can be found in any bakery in the city.
The only thing about Lisbon that disappointed me was its lack of waterfront, inspite of it being along the Tejo, which is quite a large river (if at all, it feels more like a bay). Barring a tiny kilometre-long stretch with a few cafés, most of Lisbon's waterfront is dockland. From the looks of it, Belem which is further down the Tejo may have had a better developed waterfront, but I'll need to visit that the next time I'm in Portugal.

On a final but separate note, I'm glad I finally visited Portugal because I've now visited all the Romance countries, the others being France, Spain and Italy. It sure is interesting comparing the language and the way it's used in each country — I've had quite the time drawing parallels between all four.
Check out some Lisboa photos below.

Winter Vacay

2009-02-17T17:27:00.003+01:00

Tuesday. Paris.

This Thursday I'll be heading to the (warmer) Iberian peninsula to spend 10 days of winter vacation. Here's a short itinerary of the trip (most of it being done with Cody and Marissa, another friend of ours who is currently studying in Madrid).

Lisbon
Madrid
Cordoba
Seville

I'll be spending but a handful of hours in Seville. Something, however, is better than nothing, so I'm better off even getting a brief glimpse of the place.
And once I get back to Paris, you will have a few posts to look forward to, and I two tests and a presentation. Thank god for Europeans and their "winter" break.

Some Icy Champagne

2009-02-08T17:45:00.010+01:00

Sunday. Paris.

We just got back from a day trip to Reims (which, by the way, is extremely difficult to pronounce: "rh-ain-ss" in a very nasal manner) in Champagne. About two hours to the north-east of Paris, Reims is the largest city in the Champagne-Ardennes province of France, which gives its name to the sparkling wine produced in the region — as we all know, Champagne.

Our first stop was the Pommery cellars. Pommery's one of the many brands belonging to LVMH, along with Veuve-Clicquot et al. Definitely a pleasant experience, the tour of the Pommery cellars was also made more interesting by a series of random contemporary art installations (see pictures below). These included a large whirring propeller, an inflatable army tank which would inflate and deflate periodically and several audio-visual installations. And sure enough, it ended with a tasting session (dare I say, the part most of us looked forward to).

Next stop, Reims Cathedral. Supposedly one of the most beautiful in France, this cathedral has seen the coronation of every French king since that of Clovis in 496 C.E., including that of Charles VII (better known for being put on the throne by Joan of Arc). There's your little bit of French history. I do think it is a fairly stunning cathedral, especially the stained glass windows whose origins and creators range from the 13th century right till the present, including Marc Chagall (again, see pictures below). Our tour guide was very good — by far one the best and most engrossing I've had. Not once was I bored in the hour and 30 minutes we walked around that church, which is by any means, a lot. It didn't help, however, that the cathedral was absolutely freezing and that it was raining outside. We had awful weather that day.

And so, the day trip to Reims was a fairly enjoyable one, barring the bad weather. We ran into a blizzard on our way home as well. Thank god for heating in the bus.

PS: The grève universitaire is still going on, and playing havoc with my classes. I don't know what's happening and there have been several more manifestations. They say this may go on indefinitely (which means, around a month or two at least).

PPS: For all of Cody's readers, he has been having internet problems. He will return soon with a slew of posts from his travels.

Strike!

2009-01-29T16:26:00.005+01:00

Thursday. Paris.

And France finally goes on strike. We've been here since the beginning of September 2008 and this has been the first major strike since our arrival. Today, the 29th of January 2009, teachers, postal workers, railway and airport workers figured among the millions participating in a "manifestation" or demonstration going all the way from the Bastille, down the Grands Boulevards via République, to St. Augustin in the 9th arrondissement. These workers are protesting the general economic climate and several reforms made by the government, which were supposedly made without their consultation. The protest march marks the beginning of a much longer strike in some areas, the universities especially.

Thanks to the grève, I'm sitting at home. My professors at the Sorbonne are both on strike, and I don't know how long this will last. Perhaps two to three weeks, perhaps a month or two. I sincerely hope, however, that it gets over soon. Strikes, in my opinion, are not the best way of protesting something. The reason being the inconvenience caused to everyone else — selfish as this may sound, me included. A protest march like the one today is quite the manner of expressing one's opinion, but a strike over an elongated period of time? Not really.

Bidonvilles, Bombay and Back to Blogging.

2009-01-22T18:16:00.004+01:00

Thursday. Paris.

I've just come back from watching Slumdog Millionaire, and felt that I should finally get out of my blogging hibernation and make my first post for 2009.

You've probably been wondering where I've disappeared to since our return from Italy. I was indeed in Paris for a week, playing host and tour guide to my friends Paige (from USC, about to start her semester abroad in Galway, Ireland) and Courtney (from USC as well, just wrapping up her semester in Athens). And then I returned home to Bombay for two weeks. There you go. I also haven't had a chance to write on Bombay post-26/11 (the terrorist attacks), especially after having returned there earlier this month. So here we go.

Going back home after the attacks, I thought it would feel strange, but it really wasn't. It did however feel a bit odd when I walked into the Taj's lobby (one of the hotels under seige during the attacks) to go to one of its restaurants for dinner. It was eerily quiet, and I couldn't help but feel but for a moment that "there could be another terrorist attack tonight." That fleeting thought aside, it seemed as if everything was back to normal. The spectre of the attacks still remains, however, though not so blatantly. Building gates are permanent closed, the security around hotels is akin to that of government buildings, if not tighter.

As for Slumdog Millionaire — I did indeed thoroughly enjoy the movie. It does show the underbelly of Bombay, the part of Bombay which I don't come from and I'm probably ashamed to say that this is as close as I've gotten to these parts of the city as any of you reading it right now. Some critics argue that this portrays the city in a bad light, but I disagree. This is all very much a part of Bombay and an integral facet without which the city cannot exist. This is similar to the favelas of Rio de Janeiro in Cidade de Deus. I do agree at the same time that is very much a crowd-pleaser, so I am a tad surprised it's bagged 10 Oscar nominations. Not that it doesn't deserve a single one either.

It was certainly interesting watching a movie about Bombay in Paris among 50 or so other viewers who have probably neither ever been to the city, nor understand a lot of the language used in the film ("Bambaiya" to be precise – a mélange of Hindi, Marathi, Gujarati and English and a little bit of other languages thrown in; our own version of Parisian argot if you could call it that ). I felt a little closer to the the content of the movie than any of my fellow viewers, even though I'm far removed from said content in reality. It did, however, remind me that no matter where in the world I may be, I will always have this special connection with the city I love, cheesy as that may sound.

Abhinay's blogging resolve: try to be more regular this semester round.

Up and down the Arno

2008-12-31T16:46:00.007+01:00

Paris. Wednesday.

And now for Florence. We much preferred this Tuscan city to Rome for a number of reasons, its size being one of them. Florence's concentrated historic center was far more navigable than Rome's sporadically located monuments. Furthermore, The Arno (the river running through the city) seemed to be more dynamic and in the middle of things, unlike its uninteresting Roman counterpart. We also found better food in Florence, but would put that more to chance, better research and the timing of our trip rather than hold the respective cities responsible.

Among the sights that stood out during our visit here was the Uffizi Gallery — even though we waited in line for more than an hour and a half. The gallery's corridors were adorned with portraits of various members of the church and the Medici family among others; as were the ceilings. Also, the Duomo was fairly impressive, especially the view from the top. The climb, however, was peppered with breathless tourists who seemed like they'd faint any second.

Another highlight was our meal at this restaurant (if you can call it that), Teatro del Sale. By far the best meal we had in Italy, the lunch buffet here consisted of cinnamon polenta (outstanding), three types of lentils, spinach and tomato salads, boiled cauliflower, pasta pomodoro (excellent once again), frankfurters, and a Florentine specialty — lampredotto. This was followed by another (nameless) meat dish, brownies, and coffee; a welcome cap to a lunch accompanied by unlimited trips to the cask of wine they'd tapped just for the occasion. Once begun, our lunch was punctuated by the excited yells of the chefs calling out to the diners with the arrival of each new dish. At the announcement, everyone would rush to the table to get a look and (hopefully) a taste of the newcomer while still hot from the kitchen. Quite an amusing concept, which we both rather liked.

While we didn't get to see David at the Accademia, we did get to these Donatello's version at the Museo del Bargello. All in all, Florence was far more pleasant than the Italian capital, and we're more likely to return there than to Rome. We weren't allowed to take pictures in the Uffizi, nor the Teatro del Sale, so here are a few of the Duomo and its surroundings.

The Duomo from up close, and afar.

Inside the Duomo.

A turret on the Arno, and the Arno by night.

On top of the Duomo, and the Uffizi by night.

Ponte Vecchio by night, and day.

A Roman Holiday

2008-12-30T13:10:00.010+01:00

Paris. Tuesday.

First of all, apologies for our relative absence from the blog. December brought with it a slew of final papers, exams and perhaps the most important of all, our much-anticipated Christmas trip to Italy. We decided to head to the central part of the country, visiting Rome and Florence.

I've been to Rome once before, but that was just for a day and hence it barely counts as a proper visit. This time around, however, Cody and I walked around the city like no other. We yet didn't manage to see everything the city had on offer, but I think we'd need a month or so to cover all that. Furthermore, Italy around Christmas is far more subdued, and a lot of the places we did want to visit were closed.

During our various promenades around the city, we discovered that Rome is decentralized, not the easiest to navigate and imbued with far more history than it can handle. That said, highlights from our Roman sojourn include : Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve at the Vatican City — beautifully lit up with a massive Christmas tree in the middle of St. Peter's Square; the Parco Borghese — while we didn't get to visit the Villa Borghese, it was easily one of the nicer parks I've walked around; the Trevi fountain — impressive and larger than life; and Santa Maria della Vittoria —a tiny church near the main station with two stunning sculptures by Bernini as well as an impressive church organ.

My experience at the Parco Borghese merits a side-note: Cody decides that we need to enter the park from another entrance, not knowing that said entrance actually exists. Therefore, getting into the Parco Borghese required us to cross a freeway, jump over two sets of dividers, jump over another wall, climb up a flight of stairs, and walk through a hippodrome and back.

That little adventure aside, Rome disappointed me a little. I think my expectations for the Eternal City were higher than they should have been. Even the food wasn't outstanding. It was good, yes, but nothing to write home about. It also didn't help that every restaurant that was recommended to us was shut for the holidays. And lastly, I have to say the Tiber was one the most pathetic city-rivers I've laid my eyes on — slow, muggy and utterly unexciting. Check out pictures below, and read about Florence in the next post.

By the Tiber (l) and a statue on one of the bridges crossing it (r).

Parco Borghese (l) and St. Peter's at night (r).

In front of the Trevi (l) and in Santa Maria della Vittoria (r)

Monument to Vittorio Emmanuele II (l) and the Parco Borghese (r).

Santa Cecilia in Trastevere (l) and Cody in Piazza della Repubblica (r).

Nächster Halt, Bremen

2008-12-01T19:44:00.018+01:00

Monday. Paris.

Located in the northern part of Germany, between Hanover and Hamburg, Bremen is a what most would expect to be a quaint German town. You may wonder why I visited this seemingly random town up North, when I could have easily gone to Munich, Frankfurt or Berlin to experience Europe's largest and most populous country. The answer — a simple (rather obvious) one — was to visit a friend from high school, Mitul, who goes to university there.

This weekend wasn't an easy one by any standard — both Mitul and I were glued to the news at any given instant, watching uneasily and anxiously as that 60-hour saga unfolded (read 'A Black Wednesday,' November 2008, for my immediate thoughts regarding that). It felt good to be with someone from Bombay during that time.

While we weren't keeping ourselves abreast of the events in Bombay, I did get a chance to visit the main town of Bremen. I was fortunate enough to witness the Christmas markets all around the Old Town, which are reminiscent of carnivals right out of the Brothers Grimm (interestingly enough, Bremen's mascots, the four musicians or Die Stadtmusikanten, are taken from a Grimm fairy tale). The Böttcherstraße and Schnoorstraße, two narrow albeit awfully touristy streets are lined with houses built any time between the the 1700s (Schnoorstraße) and the 1920s (Böttcherstraße - a blend of Art Nouveau and Gothic). Both, oddly enough, have a very similar air about them.

I also got to try some Christmas and winter specialties including feuerzangenbowle — warm spiced wine with burnt sugar; and caramelized almonds. Both were delicious.

Although the attacks back home proved to be a dampener, I thoroughly enjoyed my weekend in Germany, and hope I make it back there once again

The Weser River (l) and the Goethe Theatre (r)

Bötcherstraße (l) and off Schnoorstraße (r)

The town cathedral (l) and Cold War-era propaganda (r)

Die Stadtmusikanten (l) and the town cathedral (r)

The Schnoor (l) and feuerzangenbowle (r)

The Christmas markets

A Black Wednesday

2008-11-27T09:14:00.003+01:00

Thursday. Paris.

Twelve hours ago, Bombay was once again assailed by a spate of terrorist attacks. I don't know what to say, and even if I do, I don't know how to say it. This is abominable. There's no other word for it. There's this anger bubbling inside of me - why do they keep on repeatedly targeting my city. In my lifetime alone, there have four instances of serial bomb blasts or terrorist attacks, which have altogether killed 500-1,000 people, and injured twice as many. Three of those have been in the last five years. And now I wonder, how many more?

How many more till these so called warriors of whatever religion they profess to follow (frankly, to do such things in the name of God is an oxymoron, because you need to be godless to be able to do such a thing) eventually destroy our city —MY city? I'm sure people from New York, London and Madrid might feel the same way.

People talk about the spirit of Bombay — one that's never truly broken. The spirit of Bombay which allows people to return to their normal everyday lives after such terrorist attacks. How many more attacks can the spirit of Bombay endure till it's eventually crushed? I'm not sure. While I'm a firm believer in the city I call home, and its resilience, part of me wonders if Bombay can withstand this without even a tiny bit of suffering. Bombay is perhaps the only city in the world that I will truly call home. People may argue that I'm not a true Indian; that my heart belongs to Paris (as I've heard much too often since coming here); that I'm Americanized and will never move back to India. Maybe they're correct. Maybe not. But one thing remains true : that no other city in the world — be it Paris, be it Sydney, be it Los Angeles — will ever occupy the same place in my heart as Bombay does.

I've already mentioned that this is the third set of terrorist attacks in the past five years. Why vent now? Shouldn't I be numb to it by now? Maybe. This time, however, the attacks hit close to home. They struck in South Bombay, my part of town. They occurred in places where anyone among my family and friends could very well be at, or have been at, that evening. Local trains, in which the 2006 blasts occurred, are less likely to stir a chord in me as I or anyone I know rarely use them. The Taj, Oberoi, Metro and Leo's however, are all places I go to at least once a month if not more often. If I were in Bombay right now, I could have very well been in any of those places at the time of the attacks.

I'm angry. Scared even. But what can I do about it? Take justice into my own hands and avenge the deaths of my fellow citizens? Not the most practical idea, but then what else could I do? Nothing. And I don't want to end on a pessimistic note, so cheesy as this may sound, people need to have hope, so here I go:
As someone who to goes to USC, I'm used to hearing "Fight On's" from people, occasionally using it myself. but not until now have I meant it with all my heart. Fight On, Bombay.

Post-scriptum (3 December 2008)

Wednesday. Paris.

One week after the attacks:
The attacks lasted 60 hours. Between 170-180 people were killed depending on the whims of the police. Among them, my high school chemistry and biology teacher and parents of several people I knew from school. The Taj's and Oberoi's interiors are gutted beyond recognition.
India's Home Minister, Maharashtra's Chief Minister and Deputy Chief Minister have all resigned amid the ensuing political brouhaha. People are angry and want decisive action. I sincerely hope that something is done about it.

The Family Bonnet

2008-11-15T10:13:00.011+01:00

Saturday. Paris.

Having been in Paris for more than two months, I think it's time to give you a more detailed account (visual and written) of my host family and where I live. The family Bonnet, as mentioned in passing in one of the first few posts of this blog ("Papaparis," September 2008), lives in the 5th arrondissement, also known as the Latin Quarter.

Christian, the father and professor of philosophy at Paris 1 specializes in German and Austrian philosophy. A slightly eccentric character whose jokes don't necessarily come across the way he intends them to (be it in German, French or English), Christian is always in a good mood. He also considers it a personal triumph when he mentions some French word/concept that I don't know.

Cécile, the mother and researcher of Ancient Greek is currently translating the Alexandrian Bible from Ancient Greek into French. Not an easy job, with 26 volumes of said Bible. Like any mother, she frets and fumes over the three kids, and sometimes myself included. If you hear anything being whistled off-key around the house, you know it's her.

Grégoire, eldest son (28) and music composer, is the most grounded of the three Bonnet siblings. He's a musical genius of sorts — or so I thought when he showed me a 20 minute-long original composition using six different instruments.

Pierre, middle child (25) and journalist, is what I'd call a Parisian hipster — with his thick-rimmed glasses, skinny jeans and popped Lacoste polo shirts. He loves to hate Segolene Royal (like most of the family), as well as Christine Lagarde, the French finance minister; and he lets me know of that each time they're on the news.

Marie, the youngest (18) and aspiring doctor, is your typical baby of the family. She gets what she wants, when she wants. She likes watching MTV shows dubbed in French (which can be absolute torture at times) when she's not studying (which seems to be 24/7).

All said and done, I love my host family, and couldn't be happier. Check out the pictures below (not taken by me, as Cécile insisted that she give me some of their own pictures). You'll also find pictures of their apartment. Notice the shelves and shelves of books. Could it get any better?

The Family Bonnet

4, rue de Bazeilles, 75005 Paris.

(l-r) Marie, Pierre, Grégoire; Christian, Cécile

The dining room and sofa (where I'm currently writing this post).

My room.

Cécile and Christian's room.

Dans Paris À Velo..

2008-11-02T02:58:00.003+01:00

Sunday. Paris.

I finally got a bike. Check back for some better pics and details. It's a fixie (pignon fixe), a track frame (cadre de piste) no less, light (léger), and fast (rapide). A no-name frame (marque inconnue), in yellow and blue (jaune et bleu), with stars on the handlebars (guideron étoilé)..superb. Ever heard of Joe Dassin? - www.youtube.com/watch?v=NPyOWMTRA8

Bombay Calling

2008-10-30T09:13:00.005+01:00

Thursday. Paris.

We're almost halfway through our semester, as unbelievable as that may sound. And my university, Université Paris III - Sorbonne Nouvelle, has kindly given us a week off for Toussaint, or All Saints. So, I will be heading back home to Bombay for a week, and hence will be on a brief hiatus from this blog. Be prepared for further chronicles of my Parisian adventures and experiences once I get back.

Till then, please keep on reading, commenting (and criticizing, if need be).

Score One for Cody: Obstinate Blogger Interface Vanquished Against All Odds

2008-10-29T01:49:00.005+01:00

Wednesday. Paris.

I win.

It's 2AM here, but I've finally finished uploading pictures for my two most recent blog posts. Happy days. Go, examine my handiwork. It may intrigue you. For reference, 'City of Light and Speed' and 'Of Shoes, and Ships, and Sealing Wax' are the now powerfully visual, newly published posts on my behalf. Enjoy.

Marseille, A Provençal Wild Child

2008-10-20T17:36:00.020+02:00

Monday. Paris.

And so I return from a second sojourn down to the south of France. Consensus? I think you could call Marseille the bastard child of Provence - not as prim and pretty as Nice, nor as flashy and extravagant as Cannes, but wilder and meaner with a bit of a sting. Marseille is defined by the large immigrant population there, given its position as the gateway to France from North Africa, and perhaps the rest of the Mediterranean. Hence, one enounters an atmosphere vastly different from either Paris or Nice. I still can't say whether I like the city or not.

Among our stops on the tourist trail: Notre Dame de la Garde — a cathedral overlooking the city, with some stunning mosaics and views of the city (perhaps among my top five favourite churches of all time); the Calanques — grottos to the east of the city, which I thought too cold to swim in, but in which my friend Luke happily frolicked around; and the Old Port and Town — in which we saw a burnt motorcycle and some political graffitti amid the narrow streets (reminiscent of Tours, but with a Mediterranean feel).

I also had my first encounter with the flics or French police, while sitting with Luke near the Old Port at night. I was asked to produce my papers, had my bag searched and was frisked. The same happened to Luke, but he was also asked if he had any shit or hash. On the whole, they were reasonably friendly and once it was established we were clean, they bade us a bonne soirée. A charming highlight of our trip there.

Bienvenue à Marseille.

Notre Dame de la Garde; A Calanque

The Friouls; Notre Dame de la Garde

Vieux Marseille

Vieux Port

City of Light and Speed

2008-10-17T17:04:00.042+02:00

Thursday. Paris.

Lucky I am. At age 18, my host brother Etienne is about to begin four long years of law school chez l'Université Panthéon-Assas - Paris II. Having worked at TF1 (the most popular domestic television network in France) for the summer, he happened upon another job as I started my first two weeks of classes. Money being more important than vacation time for this newest breed of French professionals-to-be, he spent the ides of October alternately oggling the Lamborghini display, chatting-up the attendant "hôtesses," and guiding the clueless towards brightly labeled restrooms at the Paris Mondial de l'Auto 2008.

What does this have to do with anything, you ask? Why, none other than free entrance for yours truly. Ah, I love it when fortune smiles in my favor. Anyways, once inside I found an assortment of vehicles (looking like a colorful pack of dinosaurs) and their respective makers (whose advertising campaigns suggested they'd just glimpsed an earthbound comet) situated comfortably in a space similar to that of the L.A. Convention Center. Everything was "green." Sarkozy came and spoke about alternative fuels, and each of the French automakers had some sort of solution to the impending fuel dilemma. The new Mini concept made its world debut, the aforementioned Lamborghini showed off a four-door, and David Guetta was supposed to show up at the Seat stand but his wife showed up in his place. Dommage.

Lastly, there was one bicycle present at the show (see below, fixed-gear no less..) Now that's foresight.

White Nights

2008-10-07T15:47:00.025+02:00

Tuesday. Paris.

Imagine around one million people on the streets of Paris from dusk till dawn, trying to catch a glimpse of a several dozen art installations, sound and light shows, concerts and performances. That's Nuit Blanche 2008 for you ("nuit blanche" being "all nighter" in French).

I was among those hordes darting all over Paris on foot, by Métro and eventually, by vélib'. While some of the items on my itinerary made for interesting viewing (pictures below), others definitely looked far more enticing in the brochure than they actually were; or they had absurdly long lines to get in, so I didn't even bother. By the end of it all, I was tired, hungry, thirsty and wondering whether all that running around was worth it.

Places in pictures below:
Écho: An electrochorale performance (75012)
Monnaie de Paris: A sound and light installation (75006)
Tour Montparnasse: Ryoji Ikeda light installation (75014)
Église Saint-Roch: Meditative art installation (75001)
Tour Saint-Jacques: Gu Dexin projection (75001)
Église Saint-Merri: Exhibition and mini-concert (75004)

Of Shoes, and Ships, and Sealing Wax

2008-10-06T21:45:00.049+02:00

A long long time ago (I can still remember)...

Voila. After a few weeks of trying sporadically to upload pictures for this post and others, victory is mine. So, let's travel back in time a bit, shall we? It's weeks ago and in the name of forgetting whatever it was we had to learn/read/write (huh, guess it worked better than I thought..) about at the beginning of another onerous year of formal education Abhinay, Luke, and I decide to lose ourselves in twists and turns of Paris' famous Marché aux Puces Saint-Ouen de Clignancourt. I was far more fascinated than the other two at the array of socks, buttons, headphones, clockhands, books, chandeliers, and random monsters spread throughout, a fact evinced by the absolutely riveting photographs below.

Also, I've kindly included some possibilities for future adult-life vehicles in amongst the visual profusion. Indeed, rocket-ship, blue truck, ice-cream cart, and two-person rocket-ship seem to round out my list of newly-preferred transportation possibilities. There's something for everyone at this veritable bazaar; I came away with a pair of fingerless gloves and, almost, a penny-farthing. Nonetheless, being surrounded by so much stuff (there is no better word, the place was weird like a pawn shop and packed more densely than my suitcases) can lead one to fatigue. Some passed out on comfortable prospective purchases, but I made it onto the subway headed home before giving over to my drowsiness. Enjoy.

(And yes, I was disturbed by the strange child-in-a-cage display. No, I didn't dare ask about its origins. French antiques dealers are a strange, strange breed.)

Space Invaders

2008-09-28T18:22:00.016+02:00

Sunday. Paris.

Like most big cities around the world, Paris has its fair share of random occurrences. Turn around the corner, and you see something you least expect in front of you - or above you, for that matter. I've come across such similar random sightings in my walks around one or the other of the city's arrondissements.

Among those which have particularly caught my attention to me have been a series of mosaics found all over the city - a rather unique kind of street art by someone called Space Invader. Any kind of street art is illegal in France, and this isn't your stereotypical graffiti either, so I find it somewhat interesting that someone goes through all this trouble to put up little pixelated monster mosaics up around the city.

Lots of buildings around the city tend to have large murals painted on their sides - another (more legal, I think?) take on street art. I've come across a few which piqued my curiosity - including those with faux windows which at first glance mislead you into thinking they're actually a part of the building. But they're not. Evidently.

As for other random sights: Saturday, for example, while walking from a Japanese patisserie - a new favourite of mine, by the way - with Cody and his friends, we saw a group of about fifteen unicyclists speeding down the footpath. Surprisingly (and impressively) not all of them were adults - a number of our unicyclists being between 10-15 years old. Two of them happened to be carrying a bench as well. What else can I say? While I don't have pictures of this budding circus troupe (they were too fast for me and my camera), do check out others below, because they truly do speak for themselves (the last one especially).

P.S. Cody will eventually have a more expansive treatise on other Parisian street artists - of whom I'm slowly learning, and to some extent appreciating a bit more.

Sailing in the Rain

2008-09-25T11:42:00.032+02:00

Thursday. Paris.

We had lots of rain in Nice. Coming from the desert, it wasn't a bad thing. Last time I was in Nice, I saw the Ironman Triathlon. This time, I was fortunate to catch a regatta with my morning drizzle.

Nice, an Agreeable City

2008-09-23T17:46:00.014+02:00

Tuesday. Paris.

Turquoise waters, stony grey beaches and abundant sunshine - these three essentials make up what is known as the Côte d'Azur. During our weekend in Nice, we got two out of three - abundant sunshine being replaced by intermittent patches of rain. The rain, however, didn't faze us in our wanderings around Old Nice - with a ton of cafés and restaurants; or up and down the Promenade des Anglais - walking, while everyone else ran, biked, or bladed past.

Nice is a very agreeable city with its fair share of the unbelievably wealthy (not overshadowed in the least by neighbouring Monaco), hordes of tourists (mainly from cruise ships), fitness freaks (rain or shine, there was always someone jogging up and down the promenade) and dog-lovers (Niçois like their dogs, it seems - and they like them small).

Sunday, half the city came seaside to watch the Regatta. A parade of beautiful sailboats dotted the marina and the Baie des Anges for a good part of the morning. It also happened to be "give your dog a bath-day" on the Promenade des Anglais. Clearly, two important events on Nice's calendar.

And so our visit to Nice mainly comprised of promenading and puttering about the city, visits to the Villa Rothschild, Matisse and Chagall museums, and a few large and tasty meals with Mr. and Mrs. Jhaveri.

Papaparis

2008-09-15T19:15:00.004+02:00

Monday. Paris.

And here we are, finally in Paris. I'm in the 5th arrondissement, home to the city's Latin Quarter, a bunch of universities, hospitals and schools. I'm within walking distance from both the places at which I need to take classes, not to mention this street lined with restaurants and cafés called Rue Mouffetard, Notre Dame and Jardin du Luxembourg. It's definitely one of more centrally located neighbourhoods by far, and I'm really happy about that.

The Pope himself, who paid his first visit to France over the weekend, made two stops in the area. I went over to Notre Dame with Cody and two other friends to try and catch a glimpse of him — along with 250,000 other Parisians. Definitely an interesting experience with Vatican flags flying about and "Benedicto" being chanted all evening. Not so easy, trying to see the Papa. (Check out Cody's post below for a more detailed account)

My host family, the family Bonnet, consists of Christian, a professor of philosophy; Cécile, who researches Ancient Greek; their kids Grégoire (28), Pierre (25) and Marie (18). Grégoire's a music composer/jazz pianist, Pierre a journalist, and Marie studies medicine. An academically inclined family, but very interesting all the same. Perfect, dare I say, for me.

The apartment is a bit small - nothing like your sprawling mansions in the 16th arrondissement - but it's cozy (in a non-euphemistic sense) and is lined with tons of books. French classics, Shakespeare (in French, of course), volumes of German and French philosophy - a veritable library. Things look good on the host family front. Paris is off to a promising start.

Be-ne-dic-to!

2008-09-15T11:22:00.007+02:00

Monday. Paris.

It's been a busy weekend here in Paris.

I arrived late Thursday just in time to dine with my Parisian hosts Christine Menegaux and her son Etienne (18). Friday, I took a walk around my neighborhood to get my bearings: just North of Parc-des-Princes (home of FC Paris St. Germain), just East of the Bois-de-Boulogne, and two minutes south of Roland Garros. Friday night, I went to see the Pope.

After evening ceremonies inside Notre Dame, Benedict XVI came out and spoke to the youth. His message: N'ayez pas peur! Ayez le courage de vivre l'évangile et l'audace de le proclamer. L'Eglise vous fait confiance, je tiens à vous le dire! - in other words, "Never fear, the Church is here! Give it up for Christ!" To which he received chants of "Be-ne-dic-to! Be-ne-dic-to!" amid much general applause.

A few minutes before midnight, candles were then distributed to the crowd (some 200,000 people) and everyone processed from Notre Dame through Paris to Les Invalides. (See pics below) Once there, most bedded down for the night in order to have a good spot for mass the next morning. I walked home.

Also, as mentioned above, I live quite close to Parc-des-Princes and Sundays are match days for French Ligue 1. Results for week 5 of league competition:

Paris St. Germain 1 / FC Nantes 0

Girondins de Bordeaux 1 / Olympique Marseille 1

In Paris, everyone hates Marseille but me. PSG is third in the league right now, Marseille is second. (Lyon is first, but nobody cares.) Marseille and PSG play each other October 25. It's the French equivalent of Trojans v. Bruins. Allez l'OM!

P.S. 'SC, that was nice work against Ohio State. Fight on!

(and for those of you still wondering about the state of the châteaux, see Abhinay's post below)

Châteaux Country

2008-09-12T09:24:00.004+02:00

Friday. Paris.

Pictures from our châteaux-filled weekend in Tours.

Villandry and its gardens.

Cody in the maze at Villandry (l) and its vegetable gardens (r).

Chenonceaux (l) and the Caryatids there (r)

Chenonceaux gardens

Vélo City

2008-09-07T19:37:00.004+02:00

Wednesday. Tours.

Tours, as some of you may know, is in châteaux country. These grandoise houses dot the Loire and a host of other rivers criss-crossing the region, and we got the chance to visit two of them this weekend. Chenonceaux, with its well-known arches spanning the Cher, and Villandry, with some stunning gardens. Once again, I'll let the pictures do the talking.

While Chenonceaux is better known than Villandry, I much prefer the latter. It's more livable, less ostentatious, and I could spend days on end walking around those gardens. Chenonceaux is by all means an interesting piece of architecture, but it didn't leave as memorable an impression on me, the jaded traveller that I am.

Another plus for Villandry is that we got to bike there from Tours. Chenonceaux — by train. Biking there — and around Tours — is a rather enjoyable experience, as compared to driving around anywhere. Tours is also built to cater to those riding vélos with a network of bike lanes dotting the city. Paris has its fleet of vélibes, which I'm looking forward to take advantage of. It'll be somewhat of an experience traversing a city like that by bicycle.

Wanderings

2008-09-05T19:27:00.014+02:00

Friday. Tours.

It's been a week since I've arrived in the Loire valley, and I definitely have more to say this time around. Let's start with my family, or "famille d'accueil," rather. The family Gendron-Bulot consists of Michel and Martine, the parents, and three kids — Mathieu (27, lives elsewhere), Mélanie (25, lives in Paris) and Maxime (18, the one whose room I'm living in). There you have it, the five MGBs.

Tours, as I said earlier, is your stereotypical quaint European town. I've walked beyond the Cher and the Loire, the two rivers sandwiching the main city, and everything in between. There's not much else to do here otherwise besides walking. You have Place Plumereau, a square with a multitude of bars and cafés, but there's a limit to how often one can go there. I think I've crossed that limit.

I have, however, stumbled upon some very interesting parks in the process of my wanderings — a large number of them done with Cody — and they include la Place François Sicard, le Jardin de Prébendes d'Oè and l'île Honoré de Balzac. I'll let the pictures do the talking.

While it isn't necessarily the most boring, I can see myself tiring of Tours after the second week (which is why I'm glad that we're here for only two weeks instead of a whole month). I guess you can view this as testing the waters, before you make the big splash in Paris. Now that's going to be another experience altogether.

A random square in Old Tours (l) and Place François Sicard (r)

An entrance to some house we came across (l), at the Expo Calder (r).

Le Pont Wilson (l), and the front of my house on Rue d'Entraigues (r).

"La Pata" on île Simon (l) and an alley way in Old Tours (r).

Small Town Monsters

2008-09-05T11:58:00.011+02:00

Friday. Tours.

Tours is a small place bounded by the rivers Loire and Cher. There is little to do in Tours, however the fertile soil on the banks of the Loire seems to have sprouted an abundance of typically ostentatious châteaux. Lest your curiosity be piqued, the state of the chateaux will be addressed after certain visits this weekend.

The town itself has proven to be much like a muddy sandbox. Wet, bland, and safe if uninteresting. For lack of better entertainment, yesterday Abhinay and I and a guy named Luke walked to a small island in the middle of the Loire. There we found a skatepark, a coupla benches, and some monster graffiti under the bridge. (See my awesome pictures below)

These two weeks in Tours I'm living with a family of 7. That is to say I have host parents Sophie and Hugues, host brothers Benoît (17), Antoine (14), François (12), and Louis (9), and a host sister Marylise (10). The parents are pharmacists, and the kids all participate in obscure sports like Fencing, Equestrian Competition, Karate, Polo, and Tennis.

Enfin

2008-08-29T19:39:00.011+02:00

Friday. Tours.

In France. Finally. We've just reached Tours. The family I live with consists of a couple and their 18-year old, med-school-going son, who seems obsessed with Star Wars, Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter. They have this lovely garden, reportedly the biggest backyard in Tours (or something like that), with a hammock, pool and two cats (Darrieu and Niko). It's pretty big, anyhow. I like it. Having been here for only a few hours, there's not much else to say.
I've taken a short walk around the town already, and it's definitely your quaint European town - not that it's anything bad. Pictures and more experiences in Tours will come up in the next few weeks.

The MGBs: Michel, Martine & Maxime

Been there, done that.

2008-08-27T06:06:00.013+02:00

Wednesday. Washington D.C.

Washington D.C. is a nice city - 'nice' being the key word. Los Angeles has Hollywood; Paris is, well, Paris; Rome has the Colosseum and its history; and Washington D.C. is simply very plain. The monuments are good to see once. The Holocaust Museum was impressive. Nothing I'd go back to see again. It doesn't have anything spectacular about it. Georgetown was enjoyable. It's in a relatively affluent area of the city, and makes for a good walk. I could see myself studying there. In short, it's a place I'd cross off my "Been there, done that" list.

At Georgetown (l) and Cody's aunt's in Bethesda (r).

Bonjour!

2008-08-27T02:18:00.009+02:00

Tuesday. Washington D.C.

The journey begins.