And Outside The Rain Fell...

Streets. There was something about those Parisian sidewalks that I miss so much. It took me a movie to remember them – “Before Sunset”. What was it about those streets?

Was it those poles lining the streets? Or those unblinking eyes that walked those streets? Maybe the cigarette butts lining them. Or that entire anticipation of finding what comes at the end of this street? And that one. And the one after that. Paris is one city where I have walked alone more than anywhere else, where I have picked up a golden brown maple leaf from the streets and crunched it in my hand, smelling it. It was never the wide boulevards and avenues that interested me. No, it was the little streets where the treasures of Paris were to be found. It might have been stumbling across monolith Obelisks never to see them again, or getting lost and yet continuing on, knowing well that I might be late to reach home. It was sometimes just a friendly smile from a wrinkled old monk outside a long forgotten church. I remember it now. It was so easily forgotten then.

It was those cafes we never had enough money to enter. And those windows above. Who was staring at me? There must be many. People. With not much to do. Looking for something interesting in the next random stranger walking the road. Their road.

I am sure I did not excite too many people. Nor did I bother to look up too often. I should have, in retrospect.

Sometimes, what I enjoyed most was just the fact that I was the only person walking that road. That sense of achievement. It’s hard to describe, really. Those streets gave me time to think. To discover those people I have loved, those I have wronged. There was this pervading charm about the city. It was just there. You might have stayed in Paris all your life and not felt it. May be. But I did.

It was those afternoon streets. Looking up at those Blue and Green boards. You can’t help but wonder – who Turgot was? Or whether Rue Royale ever had any loyalty living by it? Of whether Rue Papillon was named after a horse that drew King Louis XIV. Maybe it was his Admiral. Even a mathematician. At that point, it really didn’t matter. I could make Papillon whoever I wanted him to be. It was sometimes nothing but the pleasure of having discover a street names after someone you know. Or had at least heard about.

I miss those streets now. I miss the pleasure of walking them, and doing nothing really. But think.

I know I should be studying. And not colouring up my presentation slides.

There was a strange music to this day. To the sound of snow crunching underneath my feet. The sound of the dog growling at the sight of an outsider trespassing its farm. The sound of turquoise-blue water lapping the shore. Of ducks paddling. Of a strange man whistling. Of the occasional camera clicking timed self-portraits. Of the swish of a para-glider landing. And the chirp of a lone bird looking at the onset of winter. The vibration of an unanswered phone call. To even hear the wisp of a cloud passing over my head. And the music of silence itself.

Today was a day I felt perfect staying in silence. A repelling thought to most people i know ("itna chup rahungi toh peth dukhega"), today, silence seemed more beautiful than anything else. I was in love. More with myself than anything else.

It was just one of those days.

Interlaken had left me speechless. For no reason in particular, really. It was a feeling of being at home, amongst the water, the mountains, the cold and the snow.

I cannot think of a more perfect way to end my Eurotrip. Interlaken was dressed, and dressed well in everything that was Christmas. Santa's peeked out from the rooftops. MLTR and George Michael's music filled the streets. There was snow. And Christmas trees. Stockings and bells, glittering balls and stars. Streets were lined with makeshift stalls, selling traditional Swiss handcrafted trinkets (and vegetable samosas) and Swiss hot beer. There was a certain joy in the faces of the people here, one that said Christmas is here. I couldn't have chosen a better time for this little visit.

We stopped over on our way back at the little village of Breinz. Completely nestled in a small valley, it had the lake flanking it on one side. The sun shone through the mountain peaks on the lake, and it glimmered, like a spotless blue mirror. Eyes that never tired gazing at the turquoise colour of the water. This was as little a Swiss village as there could possibly be. Tiny, one storeyed wooden houses, cow bells hanging on the window sills. Roofs completely covered in last night's snow. And even a black steed galloping across on the snow. The roads narrowed as I moved inwards from the station, with almost no person visible for stretches, only the occasional car drifting by breaking the silence of the day. The jagged peaks rising above far above the valley, with the sun shining down on the village only for a couple of hours around noon. Winter had blanketed this place in snow. All the way downhill to Luzern, I gaped in awe at feet of snow lying in the very same field that was a vivid green the last time I did this journey. The Golden Panorama. There was a time when I did not know what NOT to photograph. And that's when I stopped. And let my eyes capture what was to come. It was enchanting. In every sense of the word.

Switzerland.

Changed plans no longer surprise me that much. Not after 3 month of travelling. Bern became Zurich in seconds, and I was glad. Playing train-train no longer excited me that much.

And therefore Zurich.

It is still a surprise, the way people work here. The Sabbath is taken really seriously here, the sunset too. Everything, absolutely everything remains closed on Sunday, even the best of the Supermarkets and convenience stores. A weekday is no better, shutters start closing just a few minutes after dusk. The lights remain on though. All of them. All night. This is really sharply in contrast to India. People seem to work harder back home. Maybe I'm wrong. But three months of Europe has left that impression. Do they work smarter? That's probably unanswered.

The lake. The towering church spires. Bells going agong in harmonious cacophony, apparently trying to outdo each other. And after 3 months of nearly every European city, I knew I had had enough. Finally. For this trip. A flower clock. Cobbled streets. Lanes narrow enough for no more than two people walking hand in hand. Beautiful benches, seagulls and swans. The Alps hanging far in the horizon. It's snow glistering in the morning sun. The weather was amazing. To just pull your cap down on your face. And sleep by the lake, the sound of paddling water your lullaby. Christmas trees. In all its finery. McDonald's that served vegetarian burgers. And a shopping mall that masqueraded as the Central Station.

I liked Zurich.

Now if only I could have found that cheese fondue and Rosti i was looking for...

Playing train-train to reach home. Just 4 switches.

PS. I noticed how huge the train windows here are. You save on precious metal. And us travellers have a sprawling view of the countryside.

It is the period just before dawn that is perhaps the most spectacular part of the day. With the earth bathed in pale blue light, snow capped mountains stretching all the way to a horizon, and little towns, with little huts, their chimneys whispering wisps of steam, shining bright against the lights reflected by hundreds of little christmas trees. This was my first impression of Switzerland. It was beautiful. And virgin perfect.

As the train winded down the beautiful Interlaken valley, i struck up conversation again. This time with a lady from Atlanta, USA. It's delightful, when you can talk to people without inhibitions, when you know that your friend later will not be taunting you about an otherwise stupid remark made, when you just find company in strangers. And we spoke and spoke and spoke. The journey down was absolutely surreal, and both of us let out involuntary "wow's" several times enroute. A village in the valley completely shrouded by a cloud several feet high, like a blanket shielding a child from the cold. A solitary church spire the only thing visible from between the clouds- the child peering from the blanket out of curiosity. The village dead still as our train travelled down to the valley- the child merrily asleep.

This analogy was not drawn by him, it was my fellow stranger who did so. Her imagination ran vivid, and she identified faces in the mountains, colours in the lake (I quote "Even Crayola does not make a blue that vivid"). The water indeed was almost turquoise, and my 35+ stranger friend almost had a child in her while she spoke. Eager to travel home for Christmas, uncommonly curious about my education, fascinated by Diwali and Holi, describing herself to be a bad photographer, she was fascinating. And we hit it off well.

Bidding goodbyes, I took off for my next leg of the journey, Mt. Titlus, and spent half an hour in this beautiful little village called Stanz (recommended by the ticket checker), as i waited to join my friends. Stanz was beautiful, made even more beautiful by the call of one lady, I thank her now. Sprawling meadows with steep snow clad mountains serving as the backdrop, dew covering everything, from windshields to barbed wire, bells hanging from christmas trees to the coffee vending machine outside the station. I was loving Switzerland. Every bit of it so far.

Boarding the train again, this time to Engelberg, i realized I was sitting in a coach that would be delinked with the rest of the train soon. The train manager smiled at me, saying, "no stress, you get off at the next station. No stress at all. This is Swiss land". Ha ha. You cannot help but smile then.

Joining PritS and Patwa soon, who treated me to sakkath khakra, I was rather surprised to see the coach full of Indians. I later, in the evening, cracked a rather sad joke to PritS- "Simran must be the most famous Swiss girl". It's funny now, isn't it? Sad, but funny?

I think I was in one of those quirky moods of mine where I was cracking sad jokes throughout the day- judging by the number of indians of board, it seemed the train was going to Lokhandwala. Ha ha. I am funny. I know. PritS and Patwa are probably the only known exceptions who believe otherwise. I know, i know.

So, the train pulled into Engelberg after a surprisingly steep side, and there we were, blue icy mountains everywhere. I don't know how to describe Titlus. I've seen snow before, yes. I'm seen fresh snow. But this was different. To see scores and scores of skiers(?) fly down the steep mountain peak, that was amazing. To have an almost 60 minute cable car ride up, with three different legs, with drastically changing landscapes, that was amazing. From bright green meadows, onto dead grass, frost covered ground, dead blight afflicted ground, and finally, miles and miles of soft snow all around. Titlus. 3000 metres above sea level. 2000 ascended in an hour. And -9 degrees to the thermometer. Wow. Our hands numb as soon as we were out in the open, the icy cold wind blasting loose snow across our uncovered faces, a snowball flying here, another there, this was ruddy brilliant! Freezing, trudging along, skidding, watching the reason skiers(?) in awe, and worrying about "chillblitz(!)" this was amazing. Totally. Completely. I don't remember how many hours we spent at the top, on the glacier, on the peak, basking in the bright sunlight, icy blasts of wind blowing across our faces, writing names on the snow, or clicking photographs, but after a trip down and up again, I suddenly was so thoroughly exhausted even as I climbed an ascent less than 200metres high. My cough did me no good either, and i was continuing with my paste of honey and turmeric solely for the taste.

It was only when we were back down did I realize that it was almost 4. A futile hunt for food later, we were off to Luzern. The train, well, apologies, but might as well have been called the Gujarat Mail. So full was it of us. It's a nice feeling, in a way, to have so many of my fellow nationals in my midst. Also surprising, in a way. Of how one family of directors could sell an entire country to a billion people. The messages in Hindi everywhere were testimony to the fact. Indians love Switzerland, and rightly so. It's every bit as beautiful, as amazing, as good.

The next 5 hours now seem hazy, Pizzas, a supermarket whose name i forget, Zurich, a brilliantly lighted street, and St. Gallens. It didn't matter. I had enough memories already for the day today.

Travelling alone gives you that one pleasure you never get to have when you're travelling with company, to interact with the world.

To skip Geneva this morning with a terrible cough, I was truly disappointed. As in almost shattered. I could not leave Europe without visiting Switzerland, sans all the Bollywood cliches about the place. It still was Switzerland. The snow. The mountains. And my cold. They just wouldn't go along.

The disappointed was hard to shoo away, and having failed to figure out the rather decrepit French Medical system, I knew it was time for some action. The earliest appointment i could get for my common cold and cough was almost a week later! Honey, a little of crushed onion juice (errr.grated, crushed, chopped) and a little too much of turmeric, whipped into a paste, and I had a tasty placebo ready. Some expensive Strepsils too, a ticket bought, assignment slides mailed, vacation mail reminders put in for a selected target, and there, I was off. Running. Backpack in tow. To Interlaken. Taking a circumvent route all across Europe. I had to see Switzerland.

Alone, this time I chatted up with totally unknown people. And it's weird how you establish connections with the strangest of people. An Indian couple kept me company for most of my first leg of the journey, and we discussed everything, from backpacking (they paid 300€ for my 5€ journey), to economics, to the health care system in India, to entrepreneurship, cranes, Switzerland, education, even Professors at IIM-Ahmedabad. It was really a most delightful conversation.

The second conversation was with a fellow cat lover, this girl who lived in Ulm and study Philosophy for a living, whose cat took an acute liking for me, jabbing it's paw at my muffler (or was it my throat? *in alarm!), with embarrassed smiles from it's owner. And we discussed Nietzsche, (something I've been reading for my tormential pleasures of late). Thus Spake Zarathustra. And we discussed the Rhine, Mark Anthony, Goethe, No Country for Old Men and even Nanu-Nina. Apparently, we are not its only fans. She was a delightful conversationist, and her English was flawless.

This is one of the few things I can never do, strike up conversations with random people when I'm with someone else. Probably it's because I'm rather content with the things I have, probably it's in some parts shyness, i would never know. And i do not like exchange cards, email ids. It is somehow nice, to leave it this way. To leave it as one amazing conversation in my memory, rather than trying hard to make conversation when we are a million miles apart. It's just not me. Maybe I'm losing a great friend this way, but that's that, i'm content. Weirdly, the philosopher girl agreed to me. Weirdly, we did not ask each others names. Weirdly, if i ever need to find her, i'll need to find a cat called Mimo in Ulm. Many of course wouldn't agree to leaving things hanging like that, and I respect that. But for me, a perfect conversation sometimes needs to be just a memory that would one day fade off.

Onwards to Interlaken. SwissLand, here I come.

To spend an outstanding day with dear friends. To watch the Eiffel, lights et al., in sync with the crescent moon in the backdrop and an accordion played on the metro.

And that's when you realize in love.

PS. Yeah Pritesh, laugh on.

Well. It gets hard. I really cannot think of a single word to describe today that I haven't (ab)used enough already. Marvellous? Brilliant? Excellent? Superb? Wonderful? Fantastic? Fabulous? Terrific? Awesome?

Well. Today was everything above. And add some magic to this, and you have Annecy.

It didn't start this way. No. The beginning was bad. Reaching at 6.15, we played train-train and came back on time to Annecy at a comfortable 8.30. The "we" here was just Patwa and me. Another first. To our disappointment, Annecy was wet. And as much as I love rain, cause I absolutely love it, bicycles and rain just don't go along well with each other.

A little town on the South Eastern part of France, surrounded by the Alps, Annecy was beautiful, uncrowded, plain and simple. The hallmark of the town, if I can call it that, was an absolutely serene lake, with the town on one side, the Alps on the other. And except the mountains immediately flanking the lake, every other peak was snow covered.

Our sole intention of coming to town was to cycle, and it was terribly disappointing to have everything so dreary and wet. Except the lake. Water so clear, we could see the 5 foot deep bottom as if there was nothing in between. A few yachts by the lake, mountains on one side, this lake was long, and narrow. Very long, very narrow. And that made it an absolutely divine place to cycle on.

Well, the weather gods (are you listening Q?) had other plans. And there we were, sheltered under a shed by the lake, watching everything just stand there, calm, serene, untouched, pristine, in heavy rain.

Finally bored, we came back to the station by bus, and this time decided to play bus-bus by picking up the next bus to an unknown destination. After convincing the non-English speaking driver that we indeed could travel on the bus for free (which just for the record went to this forsaken place called Grenoble), there we were, all set to leave by 11.10.

I saw the first glimmer of hope, and sunlight, at 11.09. A speck of sunlight peeking through the clouds. As though it was almost mocking at us. Hell, no. Nobody mocks at us and gets away with it. And so we ran. Out of the bus. The expression of the bus driver, well, it was absolutely hilarious. A look of shock, disbelief, a look that said, "you-bl***y-geezers! What-were-you-thinking-when -you made-me-run-all-around-the station-asking¬-my-buddies-if-you-travel-free-on-MY-bus, and-now-you-buggers-suddenly-run-out-like-that. With-those-silly-grins-of-yours!"

Sunlight. And no rain. All of a sudden. The rain god(dess) did smile upon us at last.

We needed bicycles. And food.

The first pitstop was at Subway. Yes, I loved Amy, for speaking wonderful english and so gladly, in France. And being curious about the world.

Walking on, the cycle rental. 10 Euros for half a day, per person. We could get a half a cycle in India for that amount! The deal closed completely, he had my passport, and I, his cycles.

Jet Black. A blue biker's helmet. A bottle of orange juice. And smell of fresh earth. And the cold, cold weather. Suited up, we were set.

And then it began. Amongst the most memorable cycle rides ever. The cycle track was perfect. Deserted, strewn with autumn leaves, many offshoots every now and then, and even a few stunt platforms! And Scenic. It passed by the lake for the most part, and whenever we didn't, we just went off road.

Passing through carpets of red leaves, passing by pony farms, passing by acres of bright green meadows, crystal clear wave, a few smiling pedestrians (see France, you can do better!), dirt tracks, numerous wooden and metal bridges passing over rivulets. Europe was alive. The countryside. And here I was, on a cycle. Just one deep breath said it all, air so pure, so full of scents, of leaves once, of flowers the next, of baked bread, of the rain the next, of mud the next, and the ever lingering smell of fresh grass.

Needless to say, we stopped often. And so did our cameras. Podiums going far into the water, there we were, listening to Dil Chahta Hai and Yeh Haseen Wadiyaan, going absolutely crazy. We were enjoying it all like never before. And were cycling.

The countryside changed drastically, and often, in spans of minutes. We often cut into the littlest French villages, riding through them. The smell of fresh bread still lingers as I write this.

And at the background all through was this pristine lake. Azure blue water guiding us. And snow capped peaks in the far back drop. We drove on, and on. And on.

Through a cycle only tunnel. Through tracks that were little more than a feet wide. Through dense trees. Through the most romantic of fall enveloped through ways. Through meadows. Through an apple grove even. Through villages. So engrossed were we in the ride, little did we realize it was raining again.

Having had begun at 12,
We’d set 3.30 as the point we would start pedalling backwards.

En route, before I forget, there were several remarkable incidents. A WC (European for a loo) that completely washed itself everytime someone used it, including the room! Patwa ji falling off the cycle while trying a stunt podium. My cycle stand breaking off (poor baby), which I then wrapped splendidly in tissue paper. Some pro cyclists going "zooooop" past us. A meadow where we had doves flying all over our heads as we cycled through it. A pair of ferocious dogs snarling at us. Several intentional wheel skids. Two races, one of which Patwa won. A lady who gifted us two apples. A crazy brilliant tunnel solely for cyclists.

By the time we finally did decide to turn around, we had menacing clouds all around us, and the rain grew steadily heavier. And we cycled back. With just one pit stop. Legs, mind, and the jacket doing an okay-ish job of protecting me from rain, all working towards getting me back.

The rain had got heavy by then, but this was undoubtedly the part I loved most. Riding alone now (for Patwa ji chose to race ahead, while I preferred to go slowly, minimal gear changes and a steady ride), it gave me enough time to ponder over several things. And in the midst of the most scenic routes I've witnessed. Just one pit stop later, we were back.

My jacket drenched completely on the outside. Numb, cold hands. Wet gloves. And hurting calves. Yet, given more time, I would have gone ahead. Far ahead.

It was funny when I presented the broken stand to the shop owner, almost as a gift, neatly wrapped in tissue paper. He laughed himself, and said, well, 1000 Euros. A few stupid explanations later, he decided not to charge us for it. Phew.

And the result.

35 kms of cycling for the day. Through fairly uneven terrain. One stop on the way back. Rain. And the most beautiful part of France yet.

It tested the limits of our endurance on our way back, but wow, never had I enjoyed so much. Even with just one other person. Brilliant. Especially with the pace we set. Many thousands of laughs. Many "wows". Tour de France next, who knows?

And finally. Subway again, a full meal, some brilliant coffee. A change of clothes. Our cold feet warm again. It all happened there.

Walking the streets of Annecy, the constant rain and the cold convinced us to do a little train-train. Well, finally, we screwed up. Going to this place called Remilly, 15 minutes away, we searched for a non-existent supermarket for kicks, and realized our immediate return train was cancelled. An hours wait, brilliant music giving me company (I bow to you, O Ozzy Osbourne and Rahman), we were back to Annecy.

Yay! A lazy day. A day when I get to do nothing at all. And in Paris. Taking a well deserved break from our travels; today was the Sabbath. And why not, we deserved it. Replying to infinite mails, catching up with many friends, this was long due.

Noon brought me to why I'm posting up this blog today.

Notre Dame.

A tour of this centre of Paris. Nestled between an island on the River Siene, this cathedral of gigantic proportions always inspired a sense of awe in me. Ever since Victor Hugo wrote that book.

Guided by a volunteer who "also" spoke Anglais (English), the tour was frightfully uninteresting. After being guided by native speakers in other cities so far, this was bound to happen. Well, it was still good. But not the best.

And that again is not the reason why this blog is up.

It's because of this cemetery at Pere Lachaise.

Reaching a few minutes before Paris fell into darkness, this cemetery was grand. The who's who of the dead; this was the place everyone in Paris seemed to love to be in their afterlife.

Spooky. Eerie. Especially in autumn. With little sun. Frightfully cloudy, the cemetery's cobbled paths were neatly carpeted with golden leaves. Tombs that were uniquely grand, many gothic, many baroque. Dazzling marbles and granites. Several of the crypts had house like towers of the exact same floor size, but enormously tall. Few epitaphs. And crowded. Not with people. With the dead.

But i would have let this post pass if this were all to it.

Cause there was more.

PritS and I were the only ones going. No one else seemed interested enough. Suits me, I enjoyed my time with him. I did not feel the need to talk, to make my presence felt with him around. I could walk silently. You can do that with very few. One was he.

Branching off our different ways once into this huge cemetery, I chose to walk the oft walked, cobbled path. The strewn leaves, the pretty tombstones, they fascinated me. I loved it. I walked on, to the very heart of the cemetery. Totally lost, really. I had some directional sense to the way out, but there was quite some time until it would get completely dark. I was good.

And it was then that it happened.

To look back, I still don't have an explanation as to what happened. Or whether it happened at all.

Wandering through the streets in the cemetery, I suddenly stopped. I still do not know why.

I chose to walk in the midst of the graves, which had little more than a few centimeters of distance between each other. Treading carefully, as i did not want to step on the graves themselves, i walked in the heavily soggy and leaved little path. Wandering between many hundreds of graves. Looking around, I suddenly realized I truly was in the middle of rows and rows of the dead.

It was sad. Beautiful. Melancholic. In a wonderful way. In a supernatural way.

As I stood there, watching in silent contentment, a certain grave caught my attention. I still do not know why. I really don't know why this particular grave. It was amongst the simplest of them all. Something I would have just looked over otherwise.

Drawing close, I was surprised. The slab covering the grave was partially open. Curiosity. That mother of all dangers.

I peered in.

I actually peered into an open grave.

And I had the fright of my life.

Roughly 6-7 feet deep. And I was peering in intently from up close. A minute later, all I remember is backing away suddenly. Running away from the graves. On to the nearest cobbled track. It's suddenly so hazy as I write this. Why was I running? Why was my heart pacing?

I saw something move.

Looking back, I have several unanswered questions.
Why was I at that grave in particular? What attracted me there? What did I see in it? Why was I running away even before my mind registered the fact that I was running? Why did I walk briskly all the way back to the entrance? What made my legs carry me away from that grave?

There were too many unanswered questions. Too spectral. Too other-worldly. I still don't know whether it happened at all? Had I fallen asleep somewhere in between? Or did it all happen.

It was almost dark and raining by the time PritS came back.

I was ready for another walk through it. Oscar Wilde was buried in here. I wanted to see his grave.
PritS said another day. Thank god for that. I had had enough for a day.

Still. Did it happen? I can never say.

Waking up lazily at my convenience hasn't happened at all on this Eurotrip. Waking up fresh, like I've slept forever, especially while travelling, hasn't happened either. Well, finally it did.

In the most peaceful, almost subconscious sleep so far, we woke in the hotel, having cup noodles (yummy) for breakfast, and hopping out rather quickly to be greeted by an Indian sun, warming, bright and blinding.

We had the enormous Roma Forum and Palantine Hill for the day. To imagine Palantine Hill and the Forum in its heydays, it the era of Trajan, was a bewildering experience. The huge pillars and arches that remain are testimony to how massive the place was. The heart of Roman Civilization, Palantine Hill was where, as legend has it; Romulus and Remus were brought up. Where successive generations built the foundations of Rome. Where the kings and nobility erected magnificent villas, banquet halls, temples to Jupiter, baths, private arenas and courtrooms. Each of them, as their foundation reveals, was enormous in their entirety.

Today, alas, most of it lies in ruins. Yet, it isn't difficult to imagine the place in its heydays, to imagine filled courtrooms and the neighbourhood Colosseum teeming with people cheering, to imagine the enormous white marble and granite pillars and kings and generals walking the very roads we were walking now.

Spread over a huge bread, we hardly had time to see it all. And having spent four hours there already, E moved on to the city, looking for the Holy Grail - food.

Finding no pizzeria that was affordable and good, we all settled for shakes at McDonald's, and walking on, soon did find rolled Margaritas.

And then the Pantheon.

A 2000 year old structure. A 40 metre perfectly spherical dome. A dome that was free standing. No one really knows how such a massive, immensely massive dome can remain standing with absolutely no reinforcements, just plain concrete created some 2000 years ago.

Initially a temple to all the pagan gods (and hence the name - Pan and Theo), it was later consecrated by the Church to be a church for St. Joseph. What this did do was save it from pillage and destruction. And thus it still stands. A beautiful example of early Roman architecture, the huge dome and the mighty pillars are an example of how advanced the engineering of those days was.

As I stood there, feeling little, gazing in awe at the pillars, the open dome (the dome has a circular opening from where sunlight streams in), I couldn't help but want to stay there forever. A live choir played there at the back, probably because it was a Sunday. The earthy, eerie tones of the choir echoed in the interiors, with Tards and Bansi and I chatting away about Roman history, of the Papacy, of the church and pagan gods. We spent almost an hour there, in what might appear to be nothing more than a massive room.

Almost time to leave Rome, we walked around the old Pantheon area, which is scattered with several relics of the past. En Route, outside a certain McDonald's, I saw a wonderful street artist, using nothing but cardboard and spray paint to create starkly beautiful, supernatural paintings out of nowhere. Using a few moulds to cover earlier work, she worked with fantastic speed, and amazing, almost careless accuracy. And the paintings never came to life until the very last moment. Brilliant. I wanted one so badly, but we were running out of time and had to rush forth. Some other day. For in my mind, I knew that if there was one city that I was coming back to, if ever, this was it.

Rome. Forever.

In Rome. What can I say more?

For a city so replete with history, we created a little bit of personal history ourselves. For starters, we finally would be staying over in a hotel. This was due. Having survived, and successfully, Europe for over a month and a half without staying in a hotel or hostel (the colloquial term for a hotel where you can share a room, like a dormitory, but fully furnished) is quite extraordinary. And tired of train travel out of my senses, I really wanted this to happen.

Early morning, and we had another train joy ride to a nearby station, having our breakfast and freshening up in a totally random station, which we realized is also the entrance of a little used airport in Rome.

Our train joy rides are immense fun, where we run all permutations to find a station which would give us enough time to catch up on some sleep, freshen up and have our breakfast. 2 hour joy rides, often back in the same train again.

Back to Roma Termini, we dumped our bags in the hostel lobby and set out to see Rome. We had 2 days to 2000 years of history.

The Colosseum. Magnificent, huge, and surprisingly intact, all of us simultaneously went 'wowwww' at first sight. Home to Merciless animal fights and gladiatorial duels, the Colosseum once had 25000 beasts killed in a span of a few days! Huge travertine arches cover most of the arena, which once could seat 50000 Romans.

Paying an outrageous sum for entry, the Colosseum on the inside was every bit as splendid, but the authorities could have done a lot more to make it more visitor friendly. Nevertheless, the inside had the arena, a huge oval platform where the fights once took. It really is difficult not to imagine 50000 Romans screaming in joy at the sight of their favourite gladiator winning a duel, with the king looking on. Splendid and a fantastic, this was a testimony to how Roman architecture was (for it is vastly different from the Baroque and Gothic sites I've seen).

Having spent almost half our day there, we had to move on. Hungry, we picked up delightful pizzas and proceeded to the Vatican.

It is indeed funny when you're crossing a country on foot. Even more when you're standing on no-man's land. Even, even more when the country is an all-male little country housed entirely within another city.

And there stood undoubtedly the most amazing, massive church I've witnessed. I wouldn't call St. Peter's Basilica a church at all in fact. A monument to the Popes, or the Papas, as the Italians call them. Celebrating them rather. St. Peter occupied the centre stage, quite obviously, and around him, in much opulence were sculptures of more Popes, often shrouded in controversy.

The dome was hard to miss, it was simply massive. And surprisingly, there was no full statue of Jesus at all! The crypts below were grand, and I loved the moment when I was passing by the tombs of each of the Pope, recalling history I'd read in Wikipedia years back.

Rome was fast becoming my favourite city in Europe (too, yes Nyx, I join your gang). The whole aura around the city just grew and grew. And there I was, sitting under the huge obelisk opposite the Basilica, admiring what the Roman Catholic Church is, what it was at once. At the splendour of it all.

Walking out, we went on to the city centre. En route, a certain call made me miss home immensely, but soon enough, I was laughing in splits. Thanks. To the caller. You rock.

The River Tiber, the castle upon it, and the best place in town for pizzas. The first time we were in a full blown restaurant, Pizzeria da Baffetto. One of Italy's best Pizzeria, we were almost shoved in by the owner into a little, serpentine staircase up to the attic-like dining hall. The ambience immediately reminded me of Vidyarathi Bhavan. What a place! We waited for almost an hour as our Margaritas came along.

The delicious smell of tomatoes and cheese hit our noses almost seductively. The charred wood burnt edges of the Pizza, a thin crust that melted in my mouth, cheese that smelt fresh out of the diary, expanding in our mouth as the tang and spice of the pizza burst almost simultaneously. It really was the true Italiano pizza experience. Walking out, very, very content, I was rather surprised to see a huge queue of people outside, waiting to get into that little place in the heart of the old town.

Walking home, final a hostel, we came across many historic monuments, some in ruins, and many intact. Every turn, every single road had something dating from almost 2000 years back, and it mingled so, so well with its neighbourhood. Rome was captivating.

Our hostels. I was quite looking forward to a comfortable sleep, and I was rewarded rather handsomely. The hotel rooms were amazing, a little too bright for my eyes, but the bunker bed quintuplexes had everything we could want, and a quick shower later, and a week long shave after, I drifted off to sleep. Sooner than ever. Probably in milliseconds. It felt so good. A cosy bed that didn't rock, and no evil ticket checkers and polizei knocking doors at 3.

I miss home so much, and the people back home, but Rome. It was amazing. Roma. So, so easy to fall in love with this city.

What can be said of Venice that hasn't been said already? Venezia. Romance. Gondolas. Murano glass. Laces. And the masks. Pure, unadultered charm.

From point 0, there was surprisingly little to see in the town. Except for the huge Roman church, Venice was all about the experience. Amongst the most romantic and picturesque ones. Very nearly utopian.

Yet if you look closely, there's nothing remarkable about the city. A few miles of canals that replace roads almost entirely. Hundreds of bridges, often providing direct access to houses, crossing the many canals.
Jet black Gondolas, lazily wading through the canals, complete with a man in striped t-shirt and black trousers navigating the Gondola through, complete with his hat and red ribbon, a long wooden oar and a couple sitting cosily in the middle. Oh, yeah, a labyrinth like city, with a hundred million roads branching off everywhere, leading to high arched roofs, dead ends and seldom used canals. It was impossible to not get lost in Venice. And I know very people who wouldn't want to get lost here.

Morning brought us to Venice, with lots and lots of sunlight finally.

Treating ourselves to the biggest pizza I've ever seen (it was one helluva large pizza), and doing some hilarious jugad, tapping Venice's underground water supply for our drinking water needs, we were off. Criss crossing many shops, hundreds of charming bridges, many gondolas and houses, houses that seemed to be falling off their foundations, peering precariously close to the water's edge, often having doors that directly opened to the water. Venice had me smitten completely. Thoroughly. I could sit there for hours by a little used bridge, doing random bakar on everything from history to college, and just spending the day thus.

Needless to say, soon enough, we were lost. Hopelessly. Fun. With only a very vague set of direction. Evening brought out the best in Venice, for we had almost passed off the entire day doing little but walk around, exploring pretty little souvenir shops that sold fantastic Venetian masks, thoroughly enjoying the moment. Rounding up with Pizza for dinner too, and walking around some more (much to the chagrin of PritS who complained we hadn't 'seen' everything that Venice had to offer).

I think somewhere around, everyone made a little promise in the corner of their hearts, a promise that promised to be back some day. Some day. The Gondola ride remains. The memory remains.

A long, long day of travel. Due south, from almost the tip of Eastern Europe to Italy.

Our Trains journeys so far have been rather legendary. Comfortable, racing through scenic country sides, with beautiful trains that offered us just enough rest to go on backpacking the next day.

This one was all of that, except for one small detail. The Authorities. Being knocked at our cabin at all hours of the day, all hours of the night was not funny. First, the German Police. Then the French ones come along. And then, even the Italian ones. Sigh. Although uneventful, just the arduous task of waking up from a tired sleep to show passports and visas and passes can get often annoying.

Nevertheless, our train reached Milano early morning. Pacing the station for a short while, we knew we wouldn't be staying in Milan for too long. It was a great cosmopolitan town, but had terribly little to offer budget tourists like us. Except for a few, many luxury branded stores. The heart of World fashion. The Armani's were everywhere. We did however take a tram ride through the city.
Relics of I-do-not-what-era trams, these actually had old lanterns hanging from the ceilings, were bone-jarring rickety and super fun. Riding through the city, passing through swerving Vespa's and narrow lanes, Italy was immediately enchanting. And uniquely non-European. It was chaos, charming and beautiful. The weather perfectly Indian. Out went our jackets. We actually were enjoying the sun this way after long. And the girls here...

En route, we actually got down to see the Piazza del Duomo, one of the world's largest gothic cathedrals, with a seating capacity of 40,000 people. Flanked by tall spires, gargoyles and bishop statuettes, this occupied pride of place in the heart of the city.

Late, we now caught the metro back to Central Station, and sipping on our lavazza's, boarded the next train of ours to Firenze, or as we know it, Florence. A bread-cheese-spread breakfast later, we were nearing Florence around 2ish, and almost immediately took off for Pisa.

The train journeys were already getting long, and reaching Pisa at 5 meant that we would see the sun setting at the tower. I was initially hardly enthusiastic about travelling 2 hours one way to see just this one tower, for the city had nothing else to offer.

However, the actually tower easily made the journey worth it. Inclined alarmingly steeply, this seven storey tower was beautiful. And along with the cathedral flanking it, easily stood out in the landscape.

PritS and I both concluded that not just the tower but the nearby cathedral and the cupola seemed funnily inclined. Maybe it was just distortion. Maybe they are.

A lot many "sugar" poses later, with many amongst us saving the day by comically "holding Pisa up", we were back again. To the train. To Florence. Late night, there was little chance of us going out. So, feeding on Pizzas and Milkshake, we sat about chatting till late, and at 11.30 took another train to a subway of Florence. Our next train was at 1.48! I got out my pillow, draped myself in the jacket and comfortably wore off to sleep, to be awoken only by, and again, the polizei checking our passports.
Sleeping in the stations too came was like second nature now.

Occupying cabins in the train now came easy. And when morning came, I found a bag missing. Poor thief though, he found absolutely nothing in the bag except bread and gloves, and left it discarded in the toilet.

I had never realized the threat of theft in Italy was this real, but experiencing it first hand, from a closed cabin in a train, I was almost surreal. Need to be more cautious. But heck, it's a beautiful country and well worth it.

28.10
It's a funny city, Berlin.
It's citizens seem to love their traffic lights only if it has this cartoon character called AmpelMann. The site that was once Checkpoint Charlie is now a famous tourist trap. And the "American Side" is lined with signs of Capitalism - Subways, McD's and Burger Kings. The first sight that greets you as you crossover to the "Eastern Side" is probably Starbucks.

The city is absolutely beautiful. Remarkable. Extraordinary. One of the only cities today whose "history" is as early as the 90s. A city that seems to resurge every single time it has fallen. And beautifully so.

In Berlin again today, the fourth time this Eurotrip, we finally visited the Reichstag, the German Parliament. The entire building seems to echo that one thought - "our democracy is transparent for all". The free tour inside the Parliament building, under the enormous dome seems to epitomise this thought. As you circle feets above the floor along the starkly contemporary glass and steel dome, you get a clear view of everything happening inside the Parliament. And again, for the Members of the Parliament, the clear cue, "no matter what, the hundreds of people walking above you are the people for who you sit here".

Meeting a really quirky Indian "uncle" on the way up had PritS and me in fits of laughter. This bloke, a self-styled Swami, was self-obsessed, enormously pompous and lecturing about almost everything on earth. Rustic in a way, he kept cursing Indian Politicians, referring to his firm belief in the youth for tomorrow's future (yeah, like whatever man) and wanted us to take a video of him walking up the dome.

It got funnier when he gave a running commentary about what he was seeing, mixing up rivers, Berlins and even people. He kept referring to us throughout his commentary, and was almost evil in his attempt to not stare at the camera while he spoke. Imagine PritS' expression when the bloke asked him to give a commentary as well. He was one of those typical guys who seemed to love the Western world, and was quite embarrassed at us seeing him in a cowboy hat, and white overalls, jeans et al. I assume, by his uneasy smile, that he was to be at some ashram in a european city in dhotis and had conveniently found himself the time to visit Berlin. Whose money, I dare not think of it.

Funnier still when he got into a gang of schoolboys to get his photograph taken, a gang of girls next, his funny hat et al. We almost roared in laughter at his antics. Finding a fellow brother who could speak Kannada only made him happier, and finding two more in our group had him almost bursting at his seams.

An impromptu discourse on the Gitanjali later, we had to finally, with an almost heavy heart bid adieu to this guy. He was worth a big smile. Crazy, awesomely.

Having left the Holocaust museum half way yesterday, we headed there while Patwa ji visited the Deutsche History museum.

Having already seen the museum yesterday, I wasted no time absolutely in drifting off to sleep on a coffin shaped ledge there, waking up many minutes later to be woken up by someone in that dimly lit room. Embarrassed for having fallen asleep (cause the museum really was amazing and very interesting), I quickly moved to the next room, thinking I'd lost my mates.

I hadn't.

3 of them had fallen asleep in the exact same way as I.

And it was one of us who'd woken me up!

Nevertheless, the museum was brilliant, recollecting stories from long gone Jews who had suffered the worst of the atrocities during the war. 6 million jews dead. It's a number you, atleast I Can't even imagine. 6 million humans, even more difficult. The all brutally killed. It's touching, even for those who fall asleep midway.

Falafels next, and a weird Stasi exhibition, who were the then secret East Germany Police, we again branched off with 3 of us going off the other way to Checkpoint Charlie.

I liked Berlin today, one for it reminded me so much of Bangalore. The weather, gentle rain that was cold and absolutely the exact same Bangalore one. It felt like I was meeting a long lost friend again. Walking alone often gives you time to think, and today I had plenty of it.

Of late, I've been doing a lot of things I'd lost out on of late. Scaring Bansi from behind huge concrete blocks, jumping out suddenly at her, or trying to be more of a stoic again, or even just making random "monkey-faces" (did I finally get this right?) at will. It's like the old times again. More quirky almost.

Italy next. Italy. Woo-hoo-ness-ess, no?

27.10
The Fourth Incarnation. The Third Reich. SS. Bundelstag. Stasi. GDR. Checkpoint Charlie. The Wall.

Berlin again. Berlin finally. Having been in and out of Berlin twice without having seen the city, this time we were finally here. Berlin. A sea of new. Trying to forget its horrific past. And yet keep it preserved for the future. Berlin was amazing.

At the city only at 12.30, we headed straight for our walking tour. Jack. Irish. In Berlin for 8 years. Our tour guide for today. Walking down Berlin, listening to almost 800 years of enigmatic history. The little quirks in East Berlin that remained. Including the signal lights. Ampelmann.

The Bradenburger Tor, once the symbol separating East and West Germany, continued to stand imposing, with its top surmounted with a four-horse driven chariot with Victoria (the winged goddess of victory) . The gate Overlooked many embassies, including my personal favourite, the Indian. Imagine a long road, flanked with the embassies of the best of the World, the most prestigious hotels and the most revered brands along it. This majestically ended in the Bradenburger Tor. A tour kick started off from there.

We moved on to The Memorial for the Murdered Jews of Europe was a set of 2711 concrete slabs. Symbolising everything. Yet nothing at all. It could be anything I wanted it to be. Beautiful and stark, I could see a hoard of graves for varying sizes, steps representing the increasing magnitude of torture inflicted upon them, a vastness that told many stories. Walking between these imposing blocks of concrete was cold and eerie at the same time, yet deep in the kind of emotions it brought about.

It would be impossible to write everything about the city the way I heard it. From one of only surviving Nazi building that was massive, called the Ministry of Ministries under the Soviets to the (or in)significance of Charlie's Point, the wealth of information we learnt about the city was immense, and inexplicable.

I particularly loved the Gendarmenmarkt, with the church built by French immigrants almost standing neck in neck to the Deutsche Dom. Identical yet different, these structures flanked an almost Greek neo-classic Concert Hall. It was easy to feel insignificant in the enormity of the square.

The tour went through the city, to Babel Square where the Nazi book burning once happened. It's a different experience, to walk through a city and listen to its history at the same time, it gives you a feeling that you are travelling through time.

The tour soon done, Berlin Hauptbaunoff beckoned, and we travelled to Leipzig for the night. And that's when we had amongst the most sumptuous meal of our European tour, comparable, probably to only the one at Prague. Amazing Naans, an assortment of sabzis cooked in real Punjabi style, it just made so content, so happy. And at "isspecial" student price for students from "apna desh". We couldn't ask for more.

Trip planning, a long message conversation, and hot coffee, I couldn't have asked for a better day.

Finally. A day that actually had me bored. Terribly, terribly exhausted, walking through the city of Vienna as if in a trance. Actually falling asleep once while walking (and not the other way around). Missing a train. Getting cold in the rain. Throngs of people everywhere. The museums closed. Getting separated from the rest of the gang. A broken handbag. And a sea of tiredness.

I'm writing this a whole day. And looking back, it wasn't that bad a day after all. Even i only removed the exhaustion from the picture, it was a rather great day.

The Austrian Republic Day. Army exhibitions with a great deal of fanfare. Sleeping on cool grass in the middle of the busiest town square for over a i-don't-remember-how long. An almost eerie cathedral. Beautiful a la Bangalore pitter-pattering rain in spurts throughout the day. A grandiose museum square. The absolute yummiest chocolate wrapped wafers I've eaten. A museum for films and impressionism. A long, long walk with PritS, silent for the most half, anecdotes for the rest. Pretty cups. Deep sleep once in train, almost surreal, with the effect that at one point i wasn't sure if i was dreaming about such a day in Vienna or was it for real.

See, now that I think of it, now that i remember it, the day was beautiful. Absolutely. Yet add a week's tiredness to it and everything gets so bleak, distorted and dark.

Well rested, I can recollect massive Gothic Cathedrals, a blend of the old and new in the museums. Immensely awesome Royal Palaces. The Blue Danube which I never saw. A train missed, as we travelled all across Vienna.

I think things were just not meant to be when it came to Vienna. Not this time. Another time? Another year? Another person? Probably. I'll leave that hanging.

Oh. And we saw apna India wala Cafe Coffee Day in Vienna. Occupying prime property. At prime prices.

25.10
Prague was different.
Different in what we did. In what we saw. In the way we saw it.

Just different.

So, we started off the day, rather night, in a totally absurd fashion. 4a.m. The conductor comes knocking. Prague time!
Voice in my head-
"Wait. Prague. Already? 4a.m.". No way in hell!
"Yeah boy, now get your a** out of my train (sorry parents)".
"Oh. Well, I might as well do that"

4a.m. in a cold city. No way. Opposite station. Some train leaving in 4 minutes. To some random place called Desin. Like the hell I care. Arrival at destination? Sometime 6.
Good enough.

Catch entire compartments for ourselves. There were few others to complain on this train. In fact, none at all. Woo-hoo. Just the 7 on a train, to a random place, in a random country.

Anything for dear sleep. Almost.

I don't even remember getting down at Desin. Or whatever that place was. A few minutes later, we were catching a train back to Prague. Right opposite again. Reaches at 8. Woo-hoo. Time to brush my teeth and go back to sleep.

Alright. We like making the most of our Eurail passes. Including travelling trains just to catch sleep. Like i said, anything for precious sleep.

Prague again, this time at a more sane 8-ish. And then we did the usual. You know, walking the walk (a few kilometres around the city square), talking the talk (food, supermarkets, food, India, sweets, dosas and Paris), doing the stuff every other backpacker does.

Or did we?

Take a wild guess.

You're right, we did.

Actually, nah, we didn't!

Currency conversions. Pizzas for breakfast. And off we were to town square.

Voice in my head
"But hey Gustav, you haven't described the city yet"

"Like whatever, take that you (shows an absurdly explicit sign) European conscience"

Oh, well, so the city.

Astonishing. Beautiful. Amazing buildings everywhere. If there's one city you'd want to visit in Europe, you cannot possibly miss Prague.

Okay. History time.

So, this like city. In this little country. How the hell did it possibly not get flattened out during the War? Like every other major city in the Europe we'd seen? To an extent, by letting the Nazi Germany occupy Czech during the war. And then, at the end, letting them out peacefully. See, no bloodshed. No rampage. No pyromania leaving the city burning. Of course, the Russians were waiting outside for the retreating Nazis, but the city was safe.

What that left was a beautifully intact city, with a splendid town square, replete with its own elaborate Astronomical clock, huge Goth church and a more modern Protestant church. Again, everything beautifully intact. I do not want to talk too much about the city, it really is amongst the most beautiful cities I've seen here, and must be experienced first hand. We took one of Sandeman's Free Walking Tour of the city, and by the end, richer with a lot more history and the most laughs so far, we were extremely happy, content.
Our guide, Isaac, was flamboyant, knowledgeable, an amazing story teller, and a killer wit. And a Jew. Who could ridicule and laugh at almost everything. Including his beloved Prague. Never did we enjoy touring a city so much, thanks to him. It really couldn't get better.

Only it got better.

Way better.

As in, way, way better.

A restaurant. An early Dinner.

One of the best so far.

A vegetarian restaurant. Gets better. Hold your breath.

An Indian Vegetarian Restaurant! Yeah baby!

Gets even better. An Indian Vegetarian Restaurant that charges by the weight.

Inexpensive, and downright delicious pulavs, rice, dals, rajma, salads, curds, pickle. The meal was absolutely yummy.

It really couldn't get better.

But it had to.

The kind hostess offered us free lassi since she was closing and we were the last customers.
The food really was as good as any in India. And we had the widest smiles yet on our trip.

We rounded off the day with a lazy walk across the castle and St. Charles Bridge.

I had to come back to this city. Period. Soon.
I wanted to see it all over again, and see the parts we had skipped.

One helluva day. This day. Today. Douche Bag.

24.10 Rubbing my eyes this morning, I woke up to sound of the train attendant “the seats aren't for sleeping" and that of a door sliding shut. Sigh. I went back to sleep a few minutes later, waking up only much later to the sight of a city suburb that almost reminded me of India.

The station had an old, rustic feel to it. Far from the futuristic, halogen lit stations of Germany, the deserted, almost entirely automated stations in Scandinavia; this one was old, small and quite unclean. We landed to several touts offering taxis and accommodation, and they surprisingly didn't press at all when we said no.

An excellent currency conversion rate brought out our wide smiles, immediately followed with shock- a conversion spread of 20% between the bid and the ask. It was outrageous!

Guided by the tourist information centre to better rates downtown, we headed out, heavy backpacks on us, to find food, money and some history.

A long walk late, we got some fabulous currency rate with a spread of less than .8%. Man, I could survive this country only with arbitrage, buying and selling currency between the station and downtown market. Delicious veggie burgers and coffee at Burger King, we were all set to explore the city on foot.

The beautiful white Elizabeth bridge into Buda, we immediately were greeted by the statue of an old monk set high up in hill, surrounded by a semi-circular archway of Greek pillars. The walk up was rather arduous, our bags not helping us much. And rather dirty. The city could have been much, much cleaner. Yet, the view of the gleaming white bridge from up there, with the monk who supposedly introduced the Christian faith into Hungary behind us, the walk now seemed worthwhile. Yet, our climb further continued to the Citadella, an old fortress that was now a wax WWII museum and a huge statue of the lady holding the palm frond. The view of the city from up there was absolutely mesmerizing. The only dilution of this view was a scam played out on Patwaji, with him losing 50 Euros. There really isn't easy money anywhere, not even in the cheapest city we've visited so far.

Some souvenir shopping later, and hungry, we plodded down slowly to the nearest Subway. A Sub after so long simply tasted delicious. Absolutely perfectly toasted, lots of olives, honey mustard and ketchup with extra capsicum, this Sub couldn't have got better. At all.

Forking off here to pursue our several interests, the two couples with us went off shopping in the rather cheekily named fashion street, while the other 3 proceeding to see the rest of the city on foot. Walking along the bank of the Danube (note to John Strauss II - it's more green than blue, but nevertheless, respect.), we came across the most fabulous, opulent and grand parliamentary building yet. Fantastic spires overlooking the Danube, this enormous building had 700 rooms. Too bad we were too tired for a guided tour of the place. As dusk fell, I also realized I missed the famed spring baths in Budapest. I'll leave it for another trip to this city, for another year. Forking off again, PritS and me quickly passed by the fashion street, finding it thoroughly uninteresting. Burgers again, we walked the god-knows how many kilometres to the station, boarding our train to Vienna, enroute to Prague. Or Praha. Yoo-hoo.

Conspiracy arose in the train as a couple of suspicious men checked our passports. Bansi seemed to thrive off it, throwing up all possible speculations. Joking about it, we had a super meal of bread/jam/cheese/ketchup/garlic paste/chilli sauce. And we were off to bed. Deep sleep for tired souls. Nothing better.

Jolting up to a wake, with PritS nudging me awake, I felt terribly tired. 5 hours' sleep in 48 hours. WAC nights packed more sympathy.

The concept of dressing up was now alien; we slept in what we would be wearing the next day, which more often than not was what we'd worn the previous day. Out of home and taking a painfully long walk to the Haupbaunhof (Central Train stations in Germany, as they are called) that early morning (for we feared missing our train), we reached Munchen station, panting and grasping for breath. And seconds later, we were deeply asleep in the train, almost all at once. Salzburg arrived before I knew it, and in what seemed a trance, I was already boarding my next train to Werfen, home to the ice caves.

Finally, it took some jaw dropping landscape to jolt me to awake-dom. Our “Regio-train” had suddenly pulled into an astonishing vista of snow capped mountains, with dense fog hugging the bottom of the cliff, pale green trees and river streams appearing pale in the morning sun.

We stopped at Werfen, and a scenic bus drive later, we were already at the foot of the ice caves. The ice caves then were a mere 2 hour climb away, a steep mountainous track climbing some few thousand feet skywards.

The states we were in, we dropped the hike for a 3 minute ropeway ride up. And a 40 minute walk all the way to the final stretch.

Magically however, the sweeping panoramas of the countryside quickly took away all my tiredness, and the first sight of snow (old, but snow nevertheless), got the widest smile on my face for days. Soon at the base of the cable car, now boarding, now climbing the incredibly steep ropeway. Mist all around. Snow all around. A little bit of the sun streaming through. It was over before we knew it. 3 minutes and we had climbed the 90 minute stretch.

And stepping out, we literally had our jaws drop. The panorama was incredibly, incredibly beautiful. Snow crusted mountains, clouds far below, tucking away at the mighty Tennengebridge Mountains, slippery gravel tracks and little "stream-lets" of water all around, it was here that we caught our first glimpse of the opening of the Eisriesenwelt, the ice caves.

The world's longest accessible ice caves, these stretched to an astonishing labyrinth of 42 kms of claustrophobia inducing tunnels. The rather large entry crater quickly narrowed to a mere crevice as we crawled in to the mountain, as a gust of icy, cold wind at subzero temperatures hit us hard.
This was the nexus. The place where the cold air from the other end of the cave, 42 kilometres away, quickly flowed out to meet the warm air outside the cave(or is it the other way?). This was the reason the caves existed, and probably this why they had an astonishing set of ice caves.

Armed with Davy's Safety Lamps to light our way through the pitch dark caves, the cold air was unmistakable moist. Climbing several steps to the first step of the guided tour, the guide had an awesomely "draggy" English accent, who seemed to love the thought of us climbing 700 steep feet up and 700 down in our 1 km long tour, an equivalent of a 42 storey building apparently. Okay. Whatever made him happy.

The carbide lamps cast off an eerie blue glow along the walls of the cave. It was only when the Guide set up a dazzling white magnesium flare did we realize what an enormous cavern had we already climbed. Steep, densely packed ice filled up a pillar-less auditorium like grand hall, larger than any i had ever seen. And all naturally formed. The climb was steep, on wooden stairs glittering with slippery remnants of now trodden ice.

The caves reminded me of my childhood favourite, A Journey to the Centre of the Earth almost immediately. I dreaded the thought of being struck here someday with (or without) a light someday. The thought was horrifying, nausea inducing, to starve to death in a cold, damp cave in pitch black darkness.

Thankfully, i had light. Wooden stairs to guide me. And a guide. And the entire contingent of tourists. (But what if ... Beyond the 1km?)

The caves themselves, though one enormous stretch with just two openings along its entire length, branched off into several smaller paths along the way, each with its own distinctive icicle formations. From enormous blue tinged stalactites hanging as pillars across the caves, to whole sheaths of ice forming an icy wall of many layers, the water trickling down its surface still freezing to form ice. To mounds of stalagmite formed from limestone precipitations of the hill towering above it, to steep 73 degree slopes of ice formed many thousands of years ago. This place was enormous, ethereal and magnificent. The guide was a delightful chap called Lucas, who skidded across the hard, icy ground lighting flares, creating wonder out of darkness almost. We also saw Frigga, a polar bear like ice mass formed by intersecting stalactite and stalagmites. And an elephant that now looked like a camel, with a new hump slowly crystallizing on its back. Odin. This place let our fantasies run wild, to picturize huge waves halted midway at the crest or painful deaths by slipping down one of the icy interior, the possibilities were limitless.

An hour later, we were out. Blessed daylight again.and a clear, sunlit view of the mountain range awaited us outside. A prologue to Switzerland. Clouds flowing many feet below, the peaks were now bathing in sunlight, jagged and glacier rich.

Down far below in the valley soon, we wanted to go Hallein, a place enroute back to Salzburg. Here, we would spend some 8 Euros for a 2.3 km bob sledge ride down the hill at a breakneck speed. Alas, when Hallein did come some half an hour, the 5 of us were so deeply immersed in sleep that it was a unanimous decision to go straight back to Salzburg, and make the most of the one hour additional sleep we'd be getting.

Falafels at Salzburg, we walked across the city. To be honest, the city was disappointing. A few baroque buildings here and there, an over exposure to Mozart (whose birthplace this was) who hr branded on everything, selling chocolates to light bulbs to handkerchiefs. The cathedral here with its three large bronze doors was fantastically lit up in lights to commemorate world peace. The others intended to sit from 7 to 12 inside! Terribly bored soon enough, I took a long, long walk across the city, with its light drizzle and cold air. It's one of those things I enjoyed a lot, to take some time out thinking about nothing in particular; just I. Burger King, The Lost Symbol, an Austrian Army chap and a Pakistani gave me good company till 12, when Burger King finally closed.

It was fun watching the others shiver and crib about the cold. Poor them, they were wet and therefore, tired. Finally boarding the train at 2ish, we fell asleep quick, sharing seats to stretch ourselves and relax. Budapest tomorrow.

22.10 There were few parts of Europe that held my fascination more than the Eastern countries, the formerly Communist countries, then under the Iron Curtain. A 10 day stretch now at my hand, there was much I could now see. East Europe, especially the former Prussian and Austria-Hungary empires beckoned - its history, the grandiose empires that once stretched its landmass.

Today, however, had to be different. Black Forest. The heart of it. Schwarzwald. This part of Germany had always fascinated me, mostly due to the fact that one of the most testing tracks in Need for Speed Porsche Unleashed was located here, and I absolutely love that track.

Schwarzwald was different. Tall, towering trees, so dense, little light streamed through. Icy, cold streams gushing downhill amidst fallen tree trunks covered green in moss. Walking trails with the floor so densely packed with dried leaves and acorn, it felt like you were walking on a soft bed of straw.

A change in plans at Karlsruhe station. We had planned to visit the city of Freiburg for the day, a little town that was at the edge of the Black Forest. On second thoughts, we did not want to visit another city. And thus, we picked up a little town completely off the radar, Triberg.

The heart of Schwarzwald, this place was home to Germany's highest waterfall, the world's biggest cuckoo clocks and nothing else at all. Hell, we did not come here for this. We were here to experience Black Forest at its best, and wow, we loved it.

The countryside changed quickly, with densely covered hills transpiring out of nowhere. Logging mills, little rivulets, and leaves were now everywhere.

The only ones to alight at the station, probably for the first time ever, it was the kind of place you'd fall in love with immediately. The kind of place you'd just want to stand and admire, without saying much. A hill flanked one side of the station, complete with rock climbing stubs and safety nets. The other side, as you might guess, had a stream on the other side. And the station and the avenue by it had leaves strewn all over and completely deserted.

Walking down the road, we came across a winding highway and little shops all around, selling handcrafted wooden artefacts that were both intricate and attractive (did I mention expensive? Did I? Did I?)

The area around the waterfall was dense forest, dark, cloudy and black. A nature trail snaked around to the waterfall, which although hardly a cascade, was impressive, with an icy, cold shower of water spraying across the rocks, some of it on us, as we stood on the guard rail.

As we wound up the hill, along the waterfall, the forest only got denser, until the road forked into several smaller ones. We picked up one marked the "nature trail", and Patwa and I quickly found ourselves hiking our way up the steep hill amidst fallen branches and trees. The forest floor was cushioned with leaves, so thick; it appeared we would have to dig several feet through them if we were to strike hard ground. Rocks around were covered almost entirely in bright green moss and the trees were daubed in lichen. The air around was cold, moist and very, very fresh. The forest smelled off fallen autumn leaves and of moss, the smells mingling together to leave a slight tinge in the nose! The roar of the fall quickly fused into the background, with the sound being broken only by breaking branches and an occasional bird flying across (and of course Patwa ji spewing fundae about everything). The forest floor had acorns strewn all over, bent and broken branches, and slippery pebble. This was Schwazwald of my dreams - beautiful, scenic and untouched.

We walked around the hill, a mile or so, taking our time, stopping often for photographs. We even had our little picnic on a bench near the fall, taking our time. We had much time.

Out of the hill, we rummaged through the cuckoo clock shops, for Triberg is home to the Black Forest cuckoo clocks, including the largest one existing which is in fact an entire building! We rounded off all this delicious, sumptuous Italian pizzas. Sau should have been here, he would have loved it!

Boarding a two coach train, we changed three trains to reach München, sleepy eyed, to meet DJ, PritS' delight of a friend. He took us out to Marienplatz, and we chilled out outside (quite literally) till almost 3 in the night, including being treated to McDonald's Kit-Kat ice-cream, and talking randomly about everything on earth, including beloved Bangalore. By the time we returned, we found the S-Bahn metro closed, and walked all along the city back home.

I actually worked on our presentation for college, finally hitting the sack at around 5. We had to wake up at 6.30 again, to probably experience our most fascinating days yet.

Sleeping with the thoughts of heavy blanket of leaves, tall trees overhead and the sound of water gushing forth, I quickly fell asleep.

The train has now almost become my second home. And it's always comfortable. Well, anything is, to tired souls who have walked miles and miles, exploring fascinating cities day after day until exhaustion drove us to an all consuming sleep every night.

That said, our love for trains today grew almost ridiculous. We were to do 5 trips up and down on the same rail track, from Stuttgart to Munich, a 200 mile (?) journey, within a span of 24 hours. Yeah, laugh on. It was that ridiculous.

Early morning at Munich, we took a train to Stuttgart, I forget the times. All I do remember is reaching Stuttgart around 10, deeply in sleep, eyes opening only when the cold, icy wind blew into my face.

This trip was unlike any other, all we wanted to do was relax, (without predeciding of course), do the things we did only at a much slower pace, and yet do nothing at all. As complicated as that might sound, we were thoroughly enjoying this trip, with hardly any physical exertion at all.

The only thing on our agenda today - Mercedes Benz.

Visiting the Neckarpark area of Stuttgart, an area riddled with Mercedes Buildings all over, the museum and its neo-modern circular building loomed over large. Fascinating technology was everywhere here, with capsule like elevators that had huge projectors showing the Daimler and Benz's history on the staid cement walls, audio guides that were packed with information enough to spend an entire day at the museum, and also Souvenirs to keep.

We walked along the museum's 8 opulently designed floors, retracing the history and the birth of the Benz Motor Company and the Daimler Company. The numerous displays of cars right from the late 1800's was a treat for every automobile lover. Navigating through the miles of circular exhibitions, each depicting a particular aspect of the era in which the companies existed, and how it played a vital role in its times.

The numerous audio guides were a treat, which entirely retraced the history of almost all of Europe. And to see a car that we’ve all dreamed of, and heard so much since our childhood, it indeed was a dream coming true. Seeing those historical cars, transitioning from the era of three wheels to the pre-war bulky designs, the post war sleek and Supercharged cars and finally the cutting edge technology that we see today, Mercedes Diamler Benz was history in itself.

As evening drew on ,we found ourselves back in Munich, walking along Marienplatz. Having been here earlier, I already felt nostalgic seeing it again. I would miss Europe. The night getting colder, and not having much to do in the one hour before our train was to leave, we returned to the station, reading, dozing off, finally boarding the train to Paris. And enjoying the rare treat of sleeping completely stretched out in the train. Sigh. Drowsy.

Life seems good. Europe, brilliant. Berlin again, awesome. Getting a free tram in Leipzig, super.

Early morning deep sleep in the train, breakfast on the platform, a walk to the metro, connecting train transits in under a minute, and idyllic walks in villages so small, they wouldn't be larger than a street in India. German Shepherds and Alsatians, staring out at curious visitors(and as Tards and I observed, barking at Patwa), trees in multiple colours, leaves everywhere, little houses with their chimneys bellowing out smoke, little gardens with huge kennels overlooking the houses, zero traffic and long boulevards.

Scenic, eh?

Not so much for the 200,000 people who once lived here.

Starvation, subzeros, Gas chambers, Extermination camps, overfilled bunkers, torturous labour camps, burial grounds, the putrid smell of death everywhere, execution trenches and mass graves, Station Z, Turreted gun towers, an Iron Gustav who burst into orgies of violence at will, humiliation, disease and the cold. Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp was pure hell then.

Located very close to Berlin, the Imperial Capital, at Oranienburg, this first meticulously "planned" concentration camp was a key site in the persecution of political oppositions initially, slowly evolving into genocidal crypts where the Nazis exterminated those they considered to be racially inferior. Over time, as the war ended, the camp continued to be used for the same purposes as it did earlier, this time the Soviet Special Camp for the undesirables.

It was difficult not to imagine all the deaths and suffering thousands went through on the same grounds that I now stood, shivering in the mid October cold. December was already unimaginable, even with clothing that was manufactured for sub freezing temperatures. How prisoners here survived the cold then in little more than a cloth wrapped around their bodies was frightfully unimaginable.

Sachsenhausen eventually involved into this mighty "model" concentration camp on which later camps were modelled, with its famous invested triangle structure to achieve its objectives. The SS played out its propaganda here with little mercy, killing at will, sadistically torturing the many thousands of inhabitants. Merciless. As I walked along alone in the camp, listening along on the audio guide, the stories of the survivors sent chills down my spine. The cold and the rain notwithstanding, I couldn't help but feel sympathy for the hardships many thousands before me had gone through here. What made men like this, one thought that echoed through my mind time and again. The brutality of the war, made immemorial through hundreds of movies, was far far more inhuman in real life, from so close and from the centre of it all.

There's little to describe what I saw and felt, All I feel is this is one place everyone needs visiting someday, and spending time at it.

Out of here, we went on a shopping spree at LIDL, now armed with chocolate spreads, grape jam, ketchup, chilli sauce, garlic paste, cheese, bread, cakes, waffle chocolates and milk. We realized it was Diwali, and a feast was due. Cold, but hell, yummy. Train journeys, many laughs, a one hour dinner in a cosy cabin in a fabulously extravagant train, we ate sandwiches with "cheers" and "Happy Diwali's" going through and through as we satisfied our taste buds. Damn. It almost felt sinful. I missed being back home, back at Ahmedabad, but barring that, this was closest to where it came.

Now sleeping all stretched in a cabin, a German opposite me who seems to be enjoying the beer and listening to heavy metal in a high volume. Life is great. And peace to those who were once at Sachsenhausen.

Watching rain drops trickle across the window screen, on a train running over 250 km/hr, meant they were defying gravity and moving horizontally across the huge, wide windows. Like slivers of mercury in a race, leaving a blazing trail behind which quickly caught up. I just fell more and more in love with rain.

An extremely sleepy ride that got us to Berlin at 4 pm. The weather outside was frigid, with light rain and heavy fog interplaying menacingly.



We had to get out of Berlin soon. Realizing the overnight train to Munich turned out to be extremely expensive, and walking around in the cold, we either looked for accommodation in Berlin, take the train or move elsewhere. Plan C – move to a friends' house at a place 200 kilometres away. Our accommodation for the night now secured (for we surely could not spend the night in the station in this cold), we did what we do best, explore a city on foot. And Berlin took our breaths away with what it had to offer.

Once we had crossed the wonderfully lit Brandenburg Gate, where the East once separated the West, I realized how beautifully lit the city was getting to be. There were lights everywhere, including a sign that said Berlin Festival of Lights. Oh, well, thank you very much. A very Happy Diwali to you too.

We had little time before we had to leave for the night, and we made the most of it by entering this mall that was exclusively for cars. Bentley and mighty Bugati flanked the entrance. To see a Bugati from a distance of 2 metres was absolutely ecstasy. The sleek lines, the colour tones and sheer power this baby packed were enough for us to give it absolute reverence.

Realizing we wouldn't be able to see Berlin this way, we walked along randomly, the 384 metre TV tower staring into the night sky, with lights and the clouds putting on a fabulous show for us in the night.

We got pseudo-lost on our way back, and navigating along the river, we finally saw the DB sign shining across the station. Smiles all around, we treated ourselves to falafels that tasted yum, occupied a cabin in the super luxurious ICE train, relaxing, on the way to Leipzig.

Leipzig. East Germany. Cheap. And small. The best thing about Europe is that most cities (except maybe the supermetros) are entirely walkable. And we do a lot of that.

Dumping our bags at Cobra's house, we were all set to club. I really didn't know what 3 teetotallers would want to do in a club, but Leipzig offered a good crowd, cheap entry and Cobra's company.

And how we loved it! European parties. Phew. Decent music, a nice atmosphere, a great crowd and a tad crowded, it felt good. If only I had the right company, I would have loved to dance!

Finally so exhausted that the three of us were almost falling asleep in the club, we took the walk home, in eerily deserted roads, hitting the sack.

Hurriedly waking up, feeling a little cold. A quick look at my watch. Hazy, it looks like its 5.40 a.m. Maybe it’s it is just 4.40 a.m. yet, I’m not sure. I’ve woken up early. I check my mobile. Damn. Why can’t I open my eyes? Is it 5.40 or 4.40? Is it morning yet? Yawn. I’m so, so tired. 2 more minutes of sleep wouldn’t matter. I change the clock on my phone from Analog to Digital.

Shucks. 5.42 am! Train leaves at 6.18 am. Alone, I need to find the way to the Metro, catch a tube, meet the gang at the station and catch my train to Luxembourg. And I need to pack too. Rubbing my eyes, I get up. Need to brush. Shower. Pack my blanket. Pick up wallet, passport pouch, coins (2.1 Euros), my two phones, camera, back pack. Need to wake up Vipul. And run like hell. Catch the metro. And get to station.

Needless to say, all I managed to do was to pick my stuff up and run. Like crazy. Got into the wrong station too. Ran all the way down. Now up. The tube worked automatically, no drivers. But I was too late to admire it. 6.10. Station. Long corridors to the main station. Lille Flanders. 10 minutes left. Woo-hoo. I’m good. Now only to find my station and the guys (and Bansi). Tard calls. Yay. There they are.

A day that begins like that can’t possibly go wrong. And it didn’t. I slept like a baby, crouched on two seats in a packed train, oblivious to the world. Two hours. Absolute serenity. Changing trains at a station, all of which I almost walked with my eyes closed, I suddenly felt awake as soon as I boarded the train. Luxembourg.

Maps. Lockers. Out of water. Tickets back to Paris. The usual stuff done, we walked along Luxembourg city,looking for food. Covering the entire city in the 4 hours that we had would be easy. A Subway spotted. Yippee.

Outrageously expensive. This Subway was a rip-off. Thoughts of hot parathas and sabzi 7 hours later haunted me. Settling for bread. And ketchup. Well. I can wait for the parathas. And the sabzi.

The city wasn’t too different from any other European city we had seen, except for some fantastic views over a huge arching bridge. Panoramic. We walked along, laughing, talking, pulling each others’ legs. That the best part, in many ways. We are all the time teasing each other about everything on Earth.

The city was heavily fortified, with remnants of ancient walls with long tunnels all over the city. The “Casemats”, as this tunnels were called, were very, very long, damp, cold and claustrophobic. Descending into the eerily lit caves reminded of The Descent. It was amazing, especially the photographs that we took. Everyone looks evil in red, yellow and blue light, even little kids grinning away in black.

Inside the caverns for at least 3 hours, by the time we came out, it was time to leave to Paris. Paris. Yay!
Arriving at the Gare du Nord or Gare l’est station now indeed feels like I have arrived home. The homecoming is always pleasant, where we have access to good (great) food, internet and Paris city itself.

We finally did have parathas for dinner. Along with paneer mattar and some yummy tamarind rice. Sigh. Food. Always so great.

Belgium. Antwerp & Bruges. And Subways.

Famous for its diamond industry, Antwerp on Sunday was as laid back as you can imagine. Dreary, sleepy and pleasantly cold, I wanted to do as little as possible, enjoying my Sunday morning relaxing by the river. And post a heavy Subway brunch, I guess the feeling was unanimous.

The city offered little to tourists except for an exceptionally relaxed atmosphere, a river that flowed gently, a kilometre and a half long underground tunnel across the river that provided a fantastic photography point. A Gothic Cathedral, a fountain depicting the legend of the Flying Dutchman, a town hall masqueraded by flags of almost every country, and great chocolate stores.

The light rain, good food, great company and the atmosphere of the city, it all set the right tone for what was to come next.

Boarding the train from Antwerp, we met this kind Belgian person who spoke Hindi, had visited India 13 times and seemed to be absolutely in love with the country. India was a cheap option to spend time in the cruel winters here, he pointed out. And was as vast and as diverse as the European countries, from Norway to Italy, much like Kashmir to Kerala.

And then, Bruges.

Easily the most romantic city we had been to. This little town exuded charm all over. The light rain, autumn colours, delightful little canals meandering amidst bridges and little houses, the waft of waffles filling the air, many beautiful, beautiful swans lining the canals, and a completely medieval feel to it, I hadn't seen a city so full of old world romance yet. Every road was neatly cobbled, there were tasteful cafes- lit with old fireplaces and candles on the table, and time-worn tapestry hanging on the walls. Even the buildings here looked like remnants of old road side inns. A huge convent that was enclosed by tall trees, church in the middle of Sunday mass and silence all around except for the whistling of trees, everything here was perfect. It was like time had forgotten this place.

I walked around the town as the light rain lapped down on my umbrella, stopping ever so often to admire the canals, the little homes or the cobbled road branching out into cafes and chocolate shops.

As dusk fell, the rain subsided and the city was wonderfully lit, as if out of a fantasy book. All we did here was to do nothing, and we were so happy doing that.

It seemed it was PritS' lucky day; he had several generous sponsorship offers made to him to come back here someday. Haha. The rascal only asked for more.

We were to spend the night at Lille, and I would have gladly spent another day here if I were not travelling with a bunch of guys and a committed girl!

Back at Lille, the only way we could spend the night was to stay with friends in different parts of the city, we went our separate ways, promising to meet at 6.18am again. Ah. Tired. But awesomely happy. Happy. Very happy.

Amsterdam by day, Amsterdam by night, we were in two different cities, yet at the same.

Another fairly early morning (I don't remember any other time when I woke up often, so early and so ungrudgingly), we had little plans, and much to do. A sumptuous breakfast of bread and marmalade, I often wonder how my definition of a delicious meal has changed so dramatically in the past month. I guess I've hit the bottom of Maslow's hierarchy, the quest for satisfying our most basic need of hunger always a question on our minds. Well, almost.

We shopped for souvenirs first, going totally crazy. I wouldn't describe what I've bought now. It'll be a picture for later. Souvenirs in Amsterdam were full of vices and debauchery, outrageously funny and not very expensive.

The only thing that probably topped this was our next visit, a museum dedicated to gratifying another of Maslow's basic need. I shall leave the description aside, and just say it was very, very interesting.

The city was a maze of canals, as someone calls it, a Venice without its gondolas, and a city of bridges. Several hundreds of them. And apparently, of a million cycles. Amsterdam was full of cycles everywhere. I assume it’s to reach the narrow streets where the cars couldn't reach, or just to make the most of the beautiful cycle lanes the city is full of. The tourist cycles were vividly coloured, yellow and bright reds and oranges. And the more local cycles were much akin to the good ol’ Atlas Gold cycles, skeletal and a bunch of rods put together. Uniquely, at Brussels, the cycles were small, with tall seats and short handles. Europe is a collage of oddities. Sigh.

Hopping across roads, we passed by Anne Frank's museum. The place where she hid during the Holocaust, I would have almost missed the building had it not been for a serpentine queue for entry. Bansi and Tardi were keen to visit it, so we left them there and went on to the station, taking our time, walking by abstract wooden elephants and rows and rows of souvenir shops.

Split second decisions later, almost suddenly, the five of us were travelling to Rotterdam. Truly backpacking, this decision was made in no time and for no specific reason. Rotterdam was the Netherlands' second largest city and apparently EUROPE'S largest port.

I often run the sin of diluting the meaning of the word beautiful because I'm using it so often, but few other words can fill in the same way as beautiful does. Rotterdam was beautiful from the moment go. As opposed to an archaic Amsterdam, with its ancient buildings and narrow streets, this city was almost completely modern. A single canal ran through the city into the harbour, and we followed its trail to Euromast- a 185 metre high tower that provided a fantastic view of the city from the top. The cold air and rain playing spoilsport but not stopping us, Patwa, PritS and me went right up the tower. The last 100 metres or so were covered in a circular saucer like buggy that rotated around the tower while climbing up. And it was up there that we realized what a fantastic city this was. The unique Erasmus Bridge standing out in the panorama below, Rotterdam had a harbour that stretched on for miles. The air up there was very, very chilly, and Patwa and I got into this crazy photo-shoot mode, especially as dusk fell and the city lit up. The landing platform of the buggy even had a suite that offered a beautiful view of the city. Almost like the penthouse of a skyscraper, only with walls of glass, this place was one of my dreams.

Staying there for many minutes, I enjoyed the feel of the cold air running through my body and the sight of the city sprawling before my eyes. Tiny cars metres below, and the harbour stretching far out to the horizon as dusk set on, all captured forever.

Amsterdam. And the night. A perfect tour guide. And mild rain. 5 guys and a girl. And the famous red lights.

Now Amsterdam's prime tourist hotspot, the Red Light District is famous for rows and rows of "windows" with scantily clad women doing business. Very little open solicitation, it was almost like you are walking surreally along street after street, bounded by Venice like canals on one side, and draped in red and ultraviolet light, colouring the world with lust, little passion and a lot of dope. Scores of men satisfying every concupiscence fantasy, but more than that, many more curious tourists, mostly couples, coming over to see what the fuss is all about. We were them. I was that.

Our fantastic tour guide knew everything about the street, notorious for offering something to every carnal desire. Apparently now completely standardized (can I use the word commodotized?), with strong unions and police protection, Amsterdam’s Red Light District had tax payers, was self governed and almost completely commoditized. All it invoked really was a curiosity. A giant museum gone wrong. The roads branched into several arterial roads, narrow roads with enough walking distance only for two, with the windows on both sides, many with their curtains down. Made more interesting with stories, titbits and the experience of others, this was Amsterdam, liberty and freedom at its finest. And craziest. Phew. Glad to get out of the streets. And glad I got down to write this. It is crazy. And I would never want to describe it the way I saw it here.

Brussels. My first impression of the station was an explosion of smells. Chocolates and croissants, room fresheners and perfumes, I could smell so, so much here.

Chinese lanterns, zodiac symbols on the floor, figurines of unknown important looking leaders and the opulent entrance of Le Meridian, the Central Station had it all. Except maps, that is.

Venturing into this pleasantly cold city without our customary map, walking about the streets, we came across a little morning market, set up under tents and selling curios. A Notre Dame look alike in the distant and the towering spire of Hotel de Ville, this city seemed extremely likeable almost immediately. Each European city I've visited so far has had so much to offer, cities so different from one another - in the kind of people I’ve met, in the transport systems, the sheer variety of trains, the attractions they have had to offer, the architecture, the girls, the food, the smells in the air (and can I mention the costs?). So far, in spite of what I’ve heard, Brussels had not disappointed at all.

The Notre Dame look-alike was a massive Cathedral, with beautiful stained glass windows. PritS, ever the observant chap, pointed out the depiction of depth in the windows using deeper colours, with the foreground depicting Biblical scenes and those from the days of the royalty. Brussels, probably the whole of Belgium, also seemed to love their Monarchy, with photographs of the royalty at several places all over the city. Impressive for a city that has been revolutionary in its ideas (the centre of the European bank and the entire Art Nouveau culture here explains much). This Cathedral also had ornate sculptures of Bishops all along the walls, each pointing in a specific direction, sometimes to each other. If I were Langdon, I’d probably figure why.

Everywhere we walked in Brussels, we could see new age abstract artwork and sculptures placed in gardens, whether it was a shimmering crumpled up blob of metal, or an almost two dimensional wooden cow that encouraged lovers of freedom to doodle on it, Brussels seems to be in the middle of an art revolution.

One particular pseudo street, the Galeries Saint Hubert, particularly caught our attention. it was apparently the first true shopping arcade in Europe, and even today, it was simply splendid. A huge frosty glass ceiling above, Art Nouveau sculptures below and the famous Belgian chocolate stores below (some dating as far back as 150 years), this place was fascinating.
Today also seemed to be school kids’-day-out, because we could see several hundreds of kids running about, wearing radium green jackets, enjoying their day out.
We next visited Grand Place- which was the city center and the town hall, a gothic spire towering over the clear sky; this building was small but beautiful. Apparently, it was the only building that missed getting bombed in Brussels during the war, which is weird considering it was the target in every attack.

Catching up on what I felt was the most delicious Sub yet, we walked around further, navigating around our new found map. An interesting, again Art Nouveau building fascinated us, the Old English Building, which had music notes on its exterior wall. Apparently, this was the biggest museum dedicated to musical instruments in the world, and it was pure genius.

This is one of the museums I have enjoyed the most as of yet. Sporting musical instruments from hundreds of countries, this museum housed a most esoteric and brilliant collection of musical instruments. To top it all, the audio guide was infrared activated, meaning all we had to be in proximity to a musical instrument to hear specifically created compositions play on it.

Beginning from traditional Belgian instruments, this museum had instruments from India, China, Italy, France, Japan and a huge collection from Africa – truly an astonishing collection. It almost seemed the aim of the museum was completeness with respect to the instruments they possessed, and they seemed to have done a fine job.

The collection had some fascinating instruments - from Dulcimers that had strings that need to be hit with hammers, to the Hurdy Gurdy - played in ancient times by beggars and the blind; quirky single and double barrelled Accordions; at least a 100 different kind of flutes (so many shapes, so many sizes!), amazing bagpipes from the shepherds and dancers and even Jews’ harps - key like instruments that need to be clicked together to produce a rickety noise that was music to the ears.
This museum was astonishing, with the ability to listen to nearly every type of sound produced, and a handsome guide book telling the story behind the instruments, I loved every bit of it. Amongst the more exotic instruments, I saw ancient Arab violins, which was accompanied by guttural singing, the forerunner to western stringed instruments, super Balalaika and lutes, complicated Tekeros, really long wind pipes called the Midwinterhoorn from Holland and Swiss Alphornspeiers, these instruments, then just modes of entertainment, today, it was almost a science.

Spending at least 3 hours there, Tards had to leave and the rest of us proceeded to the Atomium. But not before visiting the "SuSu boy", icon of Brussels, the Mannekan Pis. We visited many souvenir shops too, including one completely dedicated to horror.

Realizing the Atomium was far too far to walk, we bought tickets. On first sight, the Atomium was, well not too big. But from up front and close, this thing was enormous, and starkly beautiful. I'd go so far to say that I liked it more than the Eiffel, which is a mighty difficult task for any building. The huge globes, joined together with shafts of metal depicting a giant molecule had some kind of celestial beauty to it, and it was difficult not to far in love with it.

Sitting under it for several minutes and having a supper of bread and ketchup, I just sat there quiet, admiring the structure, with the thoughts that someday, I need to be here again.

Waiting until 7 pm there when it got even more beautiful, with the flashing lights on, catching a fleeting glimpse at the Atomium before we left, we boarded a metro and then an international intercity to Amsterdam. Amsterdam! Woo-Hoo-Ness-All-Over-Again!