Showing posts with label backpacking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label backpacking. Show all posts

Thursday, May 23, 2013

Kutna Hora: Feel It In Your Bones


Yonder, the Prague castle

It is easy to be mesmerised by the beautiful setting of Prague… the historical Old Town with its astronomical clock, churches, castles, cobbled pathways, Charles Bridge and the quite flowing Vltava River. Just around the corner, is the Jewish Quarter and here sits the holocaust memorial alongside the Old Jewish Cemetery. The Cemetery has 12,000 tombstones, with bodies piled 15 people high. The varying size and the positioning of the tombstones reflect the urgency of the situation and the chaos that must have prevailed. The Jewish memorial is close by, and the walls record the name of every single person who died during the Nazi era. There in the eyes of a silent visitor, I saw reflected the pain of the past. The Spanish Synagogue is a less forlorn structure. With its Moorish design it looks more like a mosque, and is by far the most ornate and beautiful synagogue I've walked into.

Tombstones, Moorish interiors and the wall memorial 

My partner and I wandered through the alleys and the lanes of Prague for a whole day, and as night fell reluctantly made our way back to the hotel. Our accommodation was further away from the city center and we had to take both the subway and the tram to get there. The whole exercise took nearly half an hour, and because we weren't sure about the frequency of trams along that line, we decided to settle in early.

Bohemia - of vineyards, churches and cottages

Kostnice Sedlec Ossuary
Travel brochures at the hotel advertised day trips to Kutna Hora for € 35 per person, and though a group tour was an easier thing to do, we decided to figure it out on our own. At 10 am the next day, from the main station Hlavní nádraží, we took a train to Kutná Hora hl.n. The ride was a little over an hour and getting there early would ensure that we have more time at Kutna Hora before taking the 6 pm back. At Kutná Hora hl.n we stopped to grab a cup of coffee at the only shop in the station, but this delay cost us our connecting ride into town. The next one would take 45 minutes. Of course we blamed each other for the mistake and started on a silent long walk along the now empty road. But nature has its way, and when we saw a tree laden with apples we forgot our differences and ran towards it like children in a park.

Boney grail 
Kutna Hora, the small town just outside Prague is known for two things. Kostnice Sedlec Ossuary, a chapel which was to become the highlight of my trip and Saint Barbara's Church, a Gothic structure which is on the UNESCO world heritage list. There is nothing pleasant about the Czech sun, but after a long walk we found ourselves in the shady grove of the Ossuary. In ancient times when burial grounds were scarce, especially after a catastrophe like plague (Black Death) or war, dead bodies were buried in temporary graves and the skeletal remains later moved to an Ossuary. There are bone chapels in other parts of Europe (Paris, Austria or Portugal) but none can beat the might of the Kostnice Sedlec Ossuary.

At the gate we were given a printed document, with statistics, history and other details associated with this chapel. In the 19th century the aristocratic family of Schwarzenberg entrusted the upkeep of the Ossuary to František Rint, a woodcarver. I suspect this talented man was fascinated by death, because it was he who used the excavated bones to create décor pieces. At the entrance sits a giant bone-made chalice – a rather imaginative replica of the Holy Grail. The Schwarzenberg family’s coat of arms is on the right and behind is a heap of skulls and bones, arranged to form a large pyramid. According to the pamphlet, the artist hasn't used any wires or strings to hold these in place. They are simply piled in a certain angle. An intimidating bone chandelier, which is said to include every bone in the human body, forms the centerpiece of the Ossuary. 

Centerpiece Chandelier

Crucifix, Coat of Arms and bone pyramid
The crucifix is in the far corner, but I couldn't imagine someone sitting down for a prayer. Surprisingly, I didn't find the place spooky either; it felt more like the insides of a museum. Little boys ran amongst the skull structures making lots of noise and sometimes tugging impatiently at their mother’s skirts. The loud clicks of the cameras and the hushed whispers of the visitors broke the silence of the room. I was fascinated by the macabre, and I think, it is by far the most crazy, surreal thing I've laid eyes on - the fleeting nature of life, expressed through bone art.  


In the medieval town 
We then walked towards Saint Barbara's Church. Kutna Hora is a medieval town in the Central Bohemian Region, and in most parts time stands perfectly still. Winding paved roads, red tile roofs, neatly planted vineyards and in the centre of it all the tall steeple of the church. It is only natural that this town of silver mines would pay their tributes to Saint Barbara - the patron saint of miners. The Gothic exteriors of the church seemed far more appealing than the stain-glass interiors, or maybe the lure of fine Bohemian wine (sold just outside) got the better of me.

Still buzzing from its impact, we waited patiently for the bus to take us back to the station. At the end of the day, arguments, long walks and tired legs can be justified if the adventure you've had is worth it. At Kutna Hora, for half the money advertised on the hotel pamphlet, we managed to have the time of our lives. 

You will too. I can feel it in my bones! 


 
Saint Barbara's Church  


Monday, November 19, 2012

Roughin' it up with the gals!


My grandmother, is in her late 70s’, but every other month she looks for reasons to travel, making plans that fit her limited budget and medical conditions. My parents are no different. I distinctly remember Amma, heavily pregnant with my brother then, holding a steady smile, while Achan adjusted the focus on his SLR camera. Our last holiday before the baby's grand entry. What I am trying to say is that travel, is in my blood. It doesn't matter when, where, with whom or how I travel – the end, justifies the means.

Not long ago, a friend of mine, Archana, visited Delhi on work. She extended her stay to spend some time with Gowri and me, and that is how the three of us woke up to the view of snow-capped mountains some 2,800 meters above sea level.

It is a good morning @2,875 meters above sea level

But that’s the last part of the story; let me start at the beginning.

The three of us, Gowri, Archana and me, boarded the HRTC bus at Kashmiri Gate ISBT in Delhi, and settled in for an uneventful, rickety ride up hill. The bus took us to Dharamshala, from where we traveled further up to Mcleod Gunj. We had not prebooked our hotel, and most hoteliers were reluctant to give rooms to ‘unchaperoned’ Indian women. The willing ones asked for exorbitant dollar rates. We eventually managed to get a neat and clean space at Kunga Guest House, and after breakfast, made an impromptu decision to trek to Triund, a place recommended by my Belgian friend Katrin. We hired a cab that took us to the foot of the hill and from there, our trek began.

We had done some asking around, and knew that Triund was a three hour trek with a magnificent view at the top. This said, I must add that we were largely unprepared for what awaited us. I had chosen to wear a sleeveless cotton top with baggy pants and flip flops, and we were carrying two water bottles, a few biscuits and cash in a small backpack. Five minutes on that dirt and gravel track up hill, we figured that this whole trekking business was not really meant for people who hail autorickshaws for the smallest of distances. This was serious, labour intensive business.

Virgin trekker, we struggled with each step
"Triund is just a 9 km trek," Katrin had said. The enormity of a 9 km uphill walk hit me only after the first hour. I was puffing and panting like an old steam engine and had to stop to catch my breath every few minutes. To make matters worse, I could see that we hadn't done any real climbing at all. We were pretty much where we started - a mere 15 mins uphill for expert trekkers. Thankfully, Gowri who was far more athletic than the two of us, offered to carry the backpack the whole way up.

We had just crossed the first of the three milestone cafes, when we were nearly over taken by a group of Israeli women travelers and their dog. They decided to walk with us, and soon we were taking pictures and exchanging stories. In Israel, two years of military services is compulsory for both male and female citizens (with a few exceptions). After the said time, they can choose to continue with the defense forces or take an alternative career. This bunch was taking a year off to see the world before deciding their future, and they were full of questions about India. Emma, the dog, belonged to the owner of the hotel they were staying in, and she had chosen to follow them that morning.

One of the girls, Noa, was feeling a little under the weather and frequently reached for her tissue-roll. She’d blow her nose and carefully pack away the used paper in a packet she carried for this purpose. By 12 noon, the sun was uncomfortably warm and Emma stuck out her tongue. We passed around a bottle of water, and when it was nearly empty, Yale took out her military knife and carefully sliced the bottle into two, before placing one part of it on the ground for Emma to drink. Once Emma had had her fill, the bottle halves were packed away - one kept for later use and the other for when she’d find a waste bin.

Sharing our worlds with the Israeli backpackers

Soon they continued on their way, and we promised to meet them at the top. Others, who passed us slowpokes by, encouraged us to keep going. You’re nearly there, they said. With every step the view got better, the air colder and my non-exercised muscles groaned louder in pain. There were times when we debated about turning back. At the second milestone, also known as Best View Café, we flipped a coin to decide. 

We rested, flipped coins and marveled at the view

Heads we carry on, Tails we go back. Flip. Heads – thrice! So up we went. Walk. Pant. Drink. Climb. Stretch. Walk on fours. Pant again. Climb. Repeat exercise. Until finally, six hours and 15 minutes later, we set the record for the slowest climb ever. No, I am not ashamed; on the contrary, I’m rather proud that I didn't give up.

We were now 2,875 meters above sea level, and the climb had brought us to a level ground from where we got a 365 degree view of the world around – civilization far below that looked like lego toys at a distance, a range of snow-capped mountains, sharp cold winds and a beautiful silence. From one of the three makeshift shops set up in the area, we hired a tent and some blankets for the night.

Life in the great outdoors                       
Soon it was dark and someone lit a bonfire. The three of us and our Israeli friends dined on a simple meal of rice, dal and roti, freshly prepared by the shopkeepers. The cold was becoming unbearable, my flimsy cotton attire did not help and neither did the warmth of the fire. The winds grew in strength; somewhere far away I heard the clasp of thunder. We snuggled inside the tent, it was compact and comfortable but an hour later we woke up to the sound of howling winds and loud rain as it beat against the roof of our tent.

This was our first experience in the great outdoors, and our understanding about survival in such situations (even though we had all seen Man vs. Wild on Discovery Channel) was limited. Are tents waterproof? Can it stay put if the wind is strong? Wasn't it tied to some pegs on the ground, and didn't water make the soil loose and soggy? Would it therefore fly away, leaving us at the mercy of the elements? Our phones lay mute and reception-less near us. If anything went wrong, help would reach us only in the morning. It was a cold, scary night and my prayers were no longer whispers. (The girls have not stopping teasing me about this since)

I heard someone call my name at a distance and I snapped awake. There was silence. I unzipped the tent, and peeped out. The fury of the previous night had given way to the most beautiful day. Fresh mountain air pricked my nostrils, the grass was green and wet and there were puddles here and there. Eden stood impatiently outside. “It is nearly sunrise, you want to see it or not?” she asked. We crawled out, one at a time. Our traveler friends had with them a camp stove bought in Nepal, and they offered us delicious cups of honeyed tea. Together we watched as the faint rays of the sun gently woke up the mountains.


A fresh morning in the mountains

Once again, tissues, tea bags and covers were collected and put away in the carry bag. This time, I asked them why they bothered, especially because no one else in India seemed to think along those lines. “It’s a habit; we always carry an extra bag to collect waste. Back home, everyone goes camping with their family or from school and we are taught to never throw anything out in the wild,” Roni explained. I picked up the biscuit packed I’d dropped and shoved it into my pocket.

The walk down was easier and uneventful. It took us four hours this time, and whenever we passed slow trekkers on their way up, we told them that the memories are sure to last longer than the ache in their legs.


Returning to civilization

A trip like this with the girls, can also be liberating. You watch out for one another, stand guard when one has to pee, talk you heart out, share your dream, fears and sins, push yourself forward, encourage each other, learn, share and together experience the magnificent. Now that is a bond you don't form everyday.

Nature's beauty cannot really be explained in words, and I'm no Wordsworth to try. So leaving you with images of Triund.


View from the top


The sun between the mountains


Lead me, kind marker



The walk uphill



WE MADE IT!! Mixed emotions after 6 hours and 15 mins of climbing






Sunday, October 14, 2012

Hungary - An eclectic mix of realities



I have been on Couchsurfing since 2008, but my first CS experience was in July 2012, a little before my Europe trip. The reason for this newfound interest was pretty straightforward - I wanted to meet travellers who either belonged to or had been to these places. 

Paharganj - A backpacker's haven
At Paharganj, Delhi’s backpacker’s paradise, I met a Couchsurfing Hungarian couple - Juhász Németh and Tímea Farkas. They were dressed in comfortable harams and loose tops, and they fit perfectly into the Pahargunj scene. Juhász had long dreadlocks and a beard and Timea wore her hair short, preferred beads and had on earrings made using dyed pigeon feathers. They had journeyed from Budapest to Istanbul via road, and from there had flown to Delhi, and had plans of backpacking around India, till their visa expired. They were on a very tight budget and shared an Aloo Paratha which cost just Rs 25 (36 cents) at Khosla Cafe. Timea had heard about Bollywood’s fixation with blondes and wanted to know if I had any connections with the film industry and if I could get her a role as an extra, in one of the song sequences. A few days shoot could fund their travels, she said. That was my first meeting with travellers looking at working their way around India. I was under the impression that Europeans found India cheap, because of their stronger currency. 

But, this couple was from Hungary, and according to them, the present economic situation in their country had left many jobless and sometimes homeless. Juhász and Tímea, both artists, could not afford to keep a home in Budapest anymore. So they had decided to leave behind everything they owned, and travel until things changed for the better in their country. I found it had to believe, and even Google’s inputs did not match up to the gravity of the situation they painted. 

I was soon to discover the truth in their statement. Our bus from Vienna to Budapest stopped at Népliget Bus station. Compared to Vienna, Népliget looked neglected, the man at the info desk refused to smile, his behaviour bordered near rude, and he suggested we take a cab - all things wikitravel had warned us would happen in Hungary. 

Zeros have no particular value 

Though part of the Eurozone, Hungary uses its own currency, and the exchange rate is 282 Hungarian Forints for one Euro. To purchase our subway ticket we had to first convert money, and the exchange office at the bus station gave us only 230 HUF for a euro. Later, we did see places that advertised 256, 262 and 273 HUFs per euro, but no one gave the exact exchange rate. 

Lily Furedi's 1934 art piece depicts the then fashionable Hungarian subway

The subway station was dimly lit, with graffiti on the wall and people sleeping in and lurking around dark corners. I was starting to feel scared. I had seen this sort of a setting in movies, and none of them had a happy ending. I held on to my bags, and tried to stand where the lights were the brightest. We then heard a rumbling noise, like the creaking ghost of an old soviet tank, and slowly the train rolled in. It was a lot like the tram in Kolkata, but with air conditioning.

Shoes for a bargain
When we surfaced, the scene around us had changed drastically, for we were now in the touristy part of Pest, with buildings and street signs and branded shops, but almost all of them were on sale. Shoes which were originally priced at 17,900 HUF was now available for 7,900 HUF. Lemonade was priced at 640 HUF. When inflation stares you in the face, zeros have no particular value. 

To explore the city, we took a walking tour that worked for tips. After the expedition, you can pay the guide what you can afford to spare, but the silent rule is always 10 euros, in this case something around 2,800 HUF. In Hungary bank notes come in the 1,000 HUF denominations and a girl in my group handed out a 20,000 HUF bank note in the place of 2,000! Thankfully, our guide was a decent chap, and he handed it back to her with a fair warning. 

‘Goulash communism’ and other histories

Religious freedom - a cherished right
The Soviets ruled Hungary for a long time, and after the Stalin era, the country developed its own kind of Communism. ‘Goulashcommunism’ mixed ideologies like Hungary’s popular culinary dish ‘Goulash’ mixes ingredients. Under the communists, every individual had a part to play in the running of the State. They were all required to hold jobs, and those out of work, were locked up. A family was guaranteed a steady flow of income, though minimal. Schools, health care and travel were subsidised. Practise of religion in public was banned and children were not allowed to be baptised. 

With the fall of communism in 1989, things changed. Education came at a price. Travel involved tickets – but even today you will find ticketless travellers on trams and buses, a habit they refuse to give up. The ‘compulsory work’ rule was removed, and the State took responsibility of providing for those out of work, but with families. And that’s how a section of society decided to get married and reproduce and forget about earning an honest day’s living – the gypsy population was never higher. 

What's visible of the silent rebellion

But Fodor, our guide, gave us both sides of the story. Most of his countrymen were thankful for the freedom that they had, after all, a man could become a millionaire or an achiever if he had the will and the talent. Even then, they were also worried about what the future holds, especially when the per person average income in the country was at 1,57,000 HUF and a rented house came for 70,000 HUF. Inflation has made life miserable, and though the rebellion is silent, it manifests itself in unexpected ways – like the unhappy info desk personal, a man peeing on the streets in broad day light and vandalism at some of the most iconic buildings. 

Beef goulash, with pink soup in the cup
For the eclectic traveller

If you are willing to ignore these, Budapest has much to offer an eclectic traveller. When I am away from home I look forward to eating in restaurants or cafes where the locals frequent, for a taste of what is authentic. I definitely wanted to give the Goulash a try. Yes, the same dish which gave their politics its name. Our walking tour came to an end at the Buda side and after our goodbyes; Fodor informed us that he was going for lunch before his next tour. So we joined him at a small workers mess, in the upper story of a building. There were no name boards announcing its existence, and it was a no-frills-attached eating place where local shop keepers and vendors sat around for a quick, silent meal. The menu was in Hungarian, and no one in the restaurant spoke English. If it wasn’t for Fodor, I doubt we’d have known what to order. 

The beef goulash was served with dumplings and this I had with some fruit and vegetable soup. The broth was pink in colour, light, mildly spiced and orangey. The steamed dumplings were bland, but the goulash, to borrow popular lingua, was sharp! The meat was tender, the dish not as spicy as it looked (at least for an Indian used to Mughali food) and it was comfort food at its best, for very less! 

Kürtőskalács - Transylvanian Chimney cake

After a full meal when we walked back to the Pest side, we heard street musicians singing church music – a post-soviet era right. Gypsies on the other hand played their kind of music, while couples and children danced the evening away. At a small stall in the open market, I tried the Kürtőskalács, also known as Chimney cake, another one of Hungary’s iconic delicacies. It’s from the Transylvania region (the Dracula state) and it tastes like smoked, soft bread dipped in caramelised sugar and flavoured with vanilla, chocolate or coconut. 

The weeping willow
A man with many secrets

Budapest is like a man with many secrets and only a skilled lover can get him to reveal those that he beholds. Our Jewish walk, helped us peel back some of these layers. Analee, our guide was a pagan – Christian (non-baptised because the Soviet government did not allow it) and she had a Jewish grandmother who was a holocaust survivor. Before the communists, the Nazis were in Hungary for a few months, and the death toll of Jews in that period ran into 4,00,000. In what was once the Jew part of town, they now have a memorial for Hungarian Jewish Martyrs this is shaped like a weeping willow, and the leaves have the names of victims embedded on them along with some inscriptions. 

One of the many rundown buildings

We walked further in, leaving behind the Jewish district, and in this part of Pest, time stood still. The city was attacked during WW-II, and even today buildings here look like they took a shelling last evening. Communist who ruled after WW-II took little interest in reconstruction or conservation. And now with Buda and Pest included in the UNESCO World Heritage list, these shell hit buildings cannot be torn down and rebuilt, unless it is in accordance with the construction guidelines laid out by UNESCO. This is of course an investment oriented initiative, and the Government or the families living in these buildings have no money to spare. 

But that hasn’t stopped many enterprising Hungarians from making the most of it. These abandoned, run down and shelled buildings, today house creators of alternative fashion, art, animation, film and music. Like a phoenix, from these ruins have emerged a new identity and culture, and today, it is the hidden soul of urban Budapest. Most travellers, bored of the European neo-classical churches and buildings, are drawn to this part of town, like moth to fire.  

Discarded but artistic - Szimpla Kert

Party animals and those looking for an early morning cuppa to treat their hangover, can find their poison or cure, in one of the many watering holes and cafes in this region. One such living WW II relic is the Szimpla Kert (Simple Garden), the first ruinpub in Budapest, voted as the 3rd best bar in the world by Lonely Planet. Discarded things added to the décor here, ups the distressed look. 

I was there, and I loved the vibes, but beyond that, pardon me sir, I have no recollection.  

Now in case you are interested, I do have interesting photographs of Budapest, before I got to Szimpla Kert.  

 

An open air evening market in Pest



Nightlight at the modern bridge near Margit Island
Cast iron bars hold this 1849 Chain Bridge in its place 

Friday, October 5, 2012

Before and After… Europe!


Without coming across as obnoxious, I must confess that I divide the life of an upper middle class Indian, (someone who prides himself/herself as a politically aware, socially polite and morally correct citizen), into two - Before Europe (BE) and After Europe (AE).  I can see a few eyes roll, and I can almost hear some of you go, “Oh come on now... Please!” But do hear me out. And maybe towards the end, even when you don’t completely agree with what I say, you might be able to see where it comes from.

First, the background. My husband and I have always wanted to visit Europe, and I admit that we considered a Euro-trip as our official entry into the travel scene. Traveling to Thailand or Malaysia from India, does not really amount to going anywhere at all. In fact a ticket to Bangkok is a lot cheaper than a ticket to Calicut, my home town. After our initial years of travelling around the said places, we felt that the time had come to cross the Arabian sea. We had heated arguments over where to go and what to do. We changed dates, budgets and locations so many times; that this friend I was to meet in Berlin, decided it was best to make her own plans and not wait for me. So when we finally got there, we had the key to her room, a warm bed and a well-stocked pantry – minus her.

It doesn’t cost much to save 
Backpack of memories
Ours was a backpacking trip. We travelled on foot, by trains, in buses and boats and all through our journey came in contact with travellers and locals, with whom we enjoyed long conversations. 
Wind turbines a common sight
Most often, after the initial exchange of pleasantries, they’d ask us if we were in Delhi during the three day black out. This lone incident had catapulted Delhi into the front page of newspapers in countries as far away as Germany and as small as Slovakia. How the Capital of one of the world’s fastest growing economy together with cities around it, could have a blackout was beyond them. It so happened, that one such person worked in the field of renewable energy. According to him 25% of energy used in Germany comes from renewable sources of which 16% comes from wind power. 

A single wind turbine can light up as many as 2,000 homes, he said. And even though it is high on investment, the returns are quick and sustainable. In India, solar and wave energy can be used to power cities and if every consumer is cautious about their electricity usage, shameful blackouts like this can be avoided. His words, not mine. What he told me were all lessons I had learnt in school and practised at home for a while at the insistence of the missionary nuns. But like most us, these lessons were soon forgotten and light and TV switches left on, until I found time to reach over and switch them off. When he put it in perspective with the Delhi episode and in the context of many wind turbines I had seen all across Germany, I wondered why I had stopped doing my bit. And why we left things half done, like the Vizhinjam wave plant project.

The level of awareness of a European citizen extends beyond engineering. For instance, they have organised car share agencies for travellers. www.mitfahrgelegenheit.de is one such website, where registered and verified users update their travel plans with maps, and in case you are looking to traveling in the same direction, you can connect with them and share a ride, for a nominal fee. People who have used these services have told me that it is perfectly safe, but not the best means of travel in case you have a flight to catch. The point I am trying to make is that, apart from saving money, most Europeans are also worried about leaving carbon footprints, and so intense is this fear of damaging the eco-system, that almost all of them use the public transport (reliable and frequent) or car shares while going on vacation or even while going to work.  

Another growing trend in these cities is the use of bicycles. Every road, in every city has designated cycle paths, and traffic lights are applicable to cyclists. Trains and trams have special sections reserved for people traveling with their cycles. Helmet wearing is more a habit than a rule, and it is a beautiful sight to see families riding together one behind the other, the youngest trailing far behind on their smaller bikes. 

Cycle your way to good health
Recycle, Reuse
It is common knowledge that tap water in Europe is drinkable, but we did not want to take any chances, so we bought one, every couple of hours. A 250ml bottle of water cost us between 2 euros to 2.75 euros, and this went on, until a fellow traveller, suggested we buy at supermarkets and not from small stores. In the super market, we were again faced with a problem. Most of them stock three kinds of water - sparkling, mildly sparking and still, and they are colour coded for better understanding. In Germany the pink one is sparkling and the blue, still. In Hungary, it’s vice versa. We were now able to buy a litre of water for 50 or 70 cents, and if we returned these recyclable bottles we were paid back 25 cents!  If I am repaid half the price of a water bottle, (Rs 7 in an Indian scenario) why would I ever dump one on the streets? 

The Politics of Public Behaviour

Did I mention that our entry point was Munich, Germany? As we walked around the airport we wondered why an international terminal was this tiny. It was only towards the end of our journey, when we met up with a common friend, that we found the answer. While political parties and airlines had campaigned for a third runway and a larger terminal for this Bavarian capital, the residents had voted against it, citing ecological reasons. When we were walking in Munich’s Englischer garten, volunteers were gathering votes, this time on the issue of garten expansion. 

In Munich and later in Berlin, we noticed that the trains, buses and people were all part of a well- timed and oiled machinery, which worked without screeches and halts. If the time printed on the timetable read 11.10 am, it meant that the train leaves at the said time, not arrives like it is supposed to in India. On trains, people sit respectably apart. The 'packed-like sardines' concept is alien here. Of course you might bring up the population count argument, but wonder who is to blame for that? Would you rather have a Hitler or the Soviets go on a killing spree or will it be easier on you if you followed the single child or no child concept that is now gaining prominence in inflation struck Hungary? 
Canine friends
No one, absolutely no one, talks on the cellular phone while traveling. So you can forget about eavesdropping into never ending mother-in-law battle stories or the giggles and cooings’ of new found love. Families talk amongst themselves quietly, single travellers either take in the sights outside or read, some listen to music – their headphones firmly plugged in, puppies sleep peacefully in the baskets kept on the owners lap, bigger dogs sit obediently at the heel - barking is unheard of. After we had had an overdose of irritatingly well-mannered dogs, my husband joked that the dogs here were better behaved and smarter than most kids back home. 

Now this reminds me of another incident. My husband and I were sitting near the entrance of a subway, drinking in the European sights. A young boy of about nine walked out, sipping from a juice take -away glass. When he finished it, he dropped his school bag, and stuffed the used glass into its right side pocket. He mounted the bag again, and continued his walk. This action had caught my attention; my eyes followed him as he continued his walk. A few meters ahead, when he came across a dustbin, his right hand reached for the glass, dumped it into the bin and continued walking. A long forgotten nursery rhyme played in the back of my mind. “Bits of paper, lying on the floor, make the place untidy, pick them up!”
Look who is eating
Another time in a park, a woman sat reading a book while her 1 ½ year old toddler played at her side. After a while, the little one walked up to mom and said something that I did not catch. Mommy took out a coloured tiffin box from her bag, opened it and wordlessly handed it over to the boy. He sat there on the grass, box in hand, and with tiny plastic forks, ate his fill before handing it back to her. I was in shock. Image of desi-mothers running after their children with steel plates filled with their favourite dishes and that of grandmothers sitting them down and telling them wondrous stories just to get them to open their mouths, flashed in my memory like a film in fast motion, complete with intercuts and expressions and background scores and noise. 

A whole new world out there 

In Central Europe, beer is a social drink, much like wine is in Italy. It was first brewed by religious monks and it is part of their culture. Canned beer is also cheaper than water. So they drink beer during lunch, after dinner, when you feel like it, as they walk past by or when they want to have long conversations. I am used to looking at beer as this alcoholic drink, to be consumed in dimly lit pubs or bars, with loud music that will drown the sound of my drinking or in moving cars with tinted glass windows, which is sometimes referred as ‘karobar’, and almost always without adult supervision. Here, children as young as 12 and 13, drink beer with their parents. The quantity of their intake is of course monitored, but it goes without saying that all of them can hold their drink, so no drunken slurring’s and lewd comments from anyone here. 
Biergarten (beer garden) in Munich, where families get together
I did meet a drunkard though. We were on an overnight train from Budapest to Munich; in the compartment with us was David, a model turned fashion co-ordinator and another chap with a never ending supply of canned beer. While the former engaged us in conversation about the world of fashion and styling, the latter just kept chugging beer. When, after a while, he decided that he had had enough, he switched on his phone and played some music - minus the headphones. Though I am used such anti-social behaviour in the DTC buses here in India, I found this man’s behaviour offensive. And I guess so did David. He fished into his bag, brought out a headphone, and smilingly handed it over to the man, who quickly realised his mistake and switched off the music. Without exchanging a foul word, David had shamed him into obedience. Something definitely unheard of, where I come from, though Mahatma Gandhi had tried this trick before - but then again, he was dealing with the Brits. 

Mahatma Gandhi with the Brits
So the point I am trying to make here is just this. We, according to many of us, are a country of Gandhi’s, Vivekanandas’ and other philosophers. We, discovered the ‘zero’ and we export our ‘brains’ into Europe and America, thereby playing a key role in the development of these countries. But honestly, who are we trying to fool? Most of these countries have suffered greatly; their past is dotted with genocides, manslaughters, inflation, mind games and what not. And even then, these countries and their middle class have emerged as individuals who respect each other and the eco system that they live in.


Do you now agree that the joke might be on us?