And Outside The Rain Fell...

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.