I'm back

Really....I'm back. A little over a year has passed since my last chronicled adventures in London. A lot has happened. A lot. As I look over my new living quarters, I wonder where I should start. The lingering smell of stale beer hangs about the place as it did three days earlier when I first moved in. I look towards the door of my room as somebody enters the house. The front door slams.The makeshift plywood wall separating my room from the hall does nothing to filter the all too loud noise. Heavy work-boots tramp about in the hall making their way to the kitchen. Drawers open and slam. I wince slightly as steel cutlery scrape against each other and over the wooden floors of the drawer. I stare at the plywood wall for the umpteenth time, wondering if there is a way to make this room sound-poof. The six inch gap in between the wall and the ceiling does nothing to ease my growing sense of annoyance at what I now officially consider a complete rip off of a room rental deal. Voices resound in the hall again. I sigh deeply....... Oh wait..that's right....I wonder where I should start.
When I got back from London, I dove into my thesis. In truth it was one of the most enjoyable periods of my life. Independent problem solving probably gives me the most satisfaction. I was finished (read: burnt out) with my thesis in August, but by then I had compiled all my work into a one-hundred page report all ready for submission. Now, with August being the time of summer vacation and what not, the professors responsible for grading my thesis were absent and I was left twiddling my thumbs for about forty days. The most upsetting part of this ordeal was the shelling out of a nasty seven hundred and fifty quid as tuition fee....for the distinct pleasure of twiddling my thumbs. This was a bitter pill to swallow, chaps, especially considering the fact that I fall in the strata of society known as "starving university student". The icing on the cake was of course my final grade. After all the work I put in, all I got was a lackluster 7 (out of 10). A bit harsh according to me, but heck, what's done is done. I was just glad to be done. Just in time too, because I had run out of living space in Delft.
Of course, it wasn't like all problems were solved when I left University. In fact...they had only just begun. You see, it was job hunting season...and the jobs weren't biting. The most notable highlights of that period were interview trips, one to Germany for a gig in a blade testing facility and another to Denmark for an industrial PhD. Pity none of them materialized. With funds dangerously low I moved to the East of the country where I took up a three month internship. The pay wasn't great but the best part was that I got to go to Bangalore for a month during Christmas. Nothing like meeting up with long lost family and friends to recharge the ol' batteries.
I came back and then ... hey presto.. the internship got converted to six month job contract. I was pretty damn happy, to say the least...what with funds dangerously low and the ol' body surviving on peanut butter sandwiches for most of the day.
And now here we are, me compressing one year of my life in four paragraphs and you wondering whether it was worth the wait. Heh heh...not to worry lads. I shall draw out these paragraphs to separate posts. I hear blogging is therapeutic. I guess I shall churn the stuff out and see if it does my soul any good.
Cheers!!

The London Arc: Fare ye well, mateys

Well, this is it I suppose. The end of the London Arc. After all the fancy stuff, the end was surprisingly quiet. New Years Eve was spent viewing the fireworks at the London Eye. The fireworks by themselves were good, but all that accompanied...well, what can I say. Apparently, London's finest decided to close all roads and have only one path from the Eye to the nearest subway. "Crowd control," the Sleeper explained to me. "Some of these people look like they're itching to cause problems. See? See?", he said, pointing pointing to some boisterous kids on the street. The end result (after the fireworks) was jam-packed streets, hapless cops on horses lunging this way and that, people peeing in the streets for want of a toilet(women, too; you should have seen the look on the F.W. Kid's face when this happened, heh heh), unflushed toilets (when you found one) and other nasty stuff. Still, an experience is an experience.
I left a couple of days later. As usual, nutty stuff happened at the airport. The security guy was suspicious of my thermal underwear. "What is that? What is that", he went, trying to sneak a peek. I wasn't strip-searched, so I suppose I can't complain. The Ryan Air people went nuts with their baggage restrictions (not with my baggage), which I think happens on every flight. An otherwise uneventful flight and there I was back in the Netherlands. And that was it.
Before all the questions start, let me explain that all this while, I was bogged down with my thesis. Loads and loads of work.....and then some more. But thankfully its all over now. Perhaps my later posts will detail the agony and torture of the whole thing. Perhaps.
All right lads, I'm off.

The London Arc: One Fateful Evening

It was one of them normal days. A nice late brunch and we were off looking at this place and that. Diving into this tube station, emerging from that. The usual stuff. Evening came and off we went to a watering hole for the standard issue thirst quenching and stimulating conversation. This particular place was nice and cozy and we sunk into our seats. The barkeep was a little weird though. When I asked for ice she loaded the glass with ice, I mean, there wasn't place for the drink. Luckily Joe Cynic gave lip. "Hey," he quipped to me, "That's too much ice. Stand up for your rights. Remember, the customer is always right." So, I step up and deliver the message. The barkeep let out the longest, deepest sigh ever and said (with a exasperated face and Australian accent), "But you asked for ice!" I suppose the barkeep probably went back home to her list of "Why I hate Indians." and penned down the incident there. Ach, well, can't be helped I suppose.
Anyway, the evening went on nicely. Until two shady guys walked in. And stood behind the F.W. Kid's and Joe Cynic's chairs, that is, facing the Sleeper and self. Unfortunately, my spidey senses were on vacation that day. So there was no tingling sensation. Or anything. The Shady Guys hung around until we stopped noticing them. They blended into immediate background,so to speak. Time went on and the conversations intensified to the point where physical demonstrations became necessary. On this note the F.W. Kid twisted in her chair and her hands dove into her bag, or rather, where her bag should have been. Hanging on the back of her chair. "Where's my bag?" she said, "You guys! Stop fooling around. Give it back." The three of us smiled like dorks, each one suspecting the hand of the other two in the ol' sneak-the-bag-away-when-the-person-wasn't-looking gag. "Where is it? Give it back," she continued. The three of us exchanged fading (aforementioned) dork like smiles and then we all looked at the F.W. Kid.
And in the same instant of eye-widening, jaw-dropping, heart-double-flipping horror the four of us came to the same conclusion. The bag had vanished. Soon after that Reason returned to her throne and then we had another of those simultaneous eye-widening, jaw-dropping, heart-double-flipping horror moments. Somebody whacked the bag. And it didn't take another revelation to realize that it was them Shady Guys who'd done this. T'was them damn Shady Guys.
In the ensuing panic I'm not really sure what happened. But at the end of it we were politely informed by the staff that if we wanted to view footage from the pub's CCTV cameras we'd have to file a complaint with the cops and then head back here. So, we headed to the nearest police station and tried to make a complaint. Tried, because apparently there's only one cop from the entire building at the reception desk. Anyway after all that, the F.W. Kid insisted that we continue with the plan and head to the the Lebanese place. Gallant, I must admit. Which we did. In retrospect, I wonder if it was a smart move.
We got to the place and the Sleeper decided he needed some money. So while the rest of us parked ourselves at the spot and set about ordering hookah's and what not, the Sleeper took off to find an ATM. We'd settled down, when the Sleeper came back, his eye's bulging and a V shaped frown marring his features. "What the fudge is wrong with this place", he blurted out as he collapsed into a chair. It didn't take much to coax the story out of him. Apparently, when he was trying a make a transaction, a lad with a newspaper approached him. "Newspaper?" went Newspaper Lad. The Sleeper politely declined. Newspaper Lad became pushy. Placing the newspaper over the ATM keypad he continued pestering the Sleeper. The Sleeper politely declined. Again. But by this time his Spidey senses were tingling (I guess) and he shoved Newspaper Lad away. And ,lo and behold, there was a solid two hundred pounds emerging from the ATM. Apparently Newspaper Lad was waited till the Sleeper had punched in his ATM code before moving in with his newspaper technique. Covering the keypad with the newspaper and punching in a random number was the next step. If it weren't for the Sleeper's vigilance *cough, cough* Newspaper Lad would have made it. So, next time you're at an ATM ...... watch out.
Anyway, the rest of the evening was pretty decent. Fruit flavored hookah, Lebanese food and tea was good for our shaky systems. Well, it calmed down the F.W. Kid and the Sleeper and soon they were back to normal.
That's it for now. With the next post, I close the London Arc. (Finally!!)

The London Arc: The Good Life

Like I said earlier, Christmas was when everyone took a week off and things began to happen. The original plan with regard to food was to stay at home and cook. That was a sound plan...until Joe Cynic introduced me to Weatherspoons. If you're thinking of some old butler looking chap serving tea and crumpets on a silver tray, let me stop you right there. The Weatherspoons chain of pubs probably serves the cheapest food in London's pubs. Relatively cheaper anyway. This was the place where I dug into the English food stuffs. The infamous English Breakfast lived up to its reputation. Bacon, sausages, eggs, hash browns, toast, baked beans-the whole works washed down with a nice cup of coffee. All artery clogging stuff I admit, but...whaddya gonna do? Their all day specials were just as inviting. Chops, steaks roasts and what not. Of course, the desserts were the best. I don't know who invented sticky toffee pudding, but the chappie deserves an award. (On a related note, I'm pretty sure my sweet tooth is going to take over my mind and after that the whole world.)
The week almost ended up like a hunt-for-the-Weatherspoons-in-this-area game. Almost.
Here are some facts which I think everyone ought to know before they head to London (and its pubs):
# Pudding is sometimes served with breakfast.
# Pudding isn't gooey and served in a bowl. At least the ones accompanying meals aren't. They're solid food and you need a knife and fork to deal with 'em. So why are they called pudding? Beats the hell out of me.
# Mince pies don't contain mince. Actually they don't contain meat at all. Just sweet stuffing. And they don't come in (pizza) pie size. Sure, they're pie shaped, but they fit on the palm of your hand.
# Alcoholic ginger beer is not a sissy drink. Its refreshingly delicious. (Try it, ya big sissy!)
Apart from all the pub hopping, there were the standard issue weird guys I seem to attract on all my adventures. This post wouldn't be complete without a mention of them.
One evening we were at Joe Cynic's favourite pub. A nifty place, with plenty of metal themed ornaments all over the place. (Would a coffin with a skeleton bride propped up next to it qualify as an ornament? Hmmmm...). To complete the picture, there were tattoo encrusted, earlobe pierced dudes and dudettes all over the place. Dudes with long hair and dudettes with short hair. Joe Cynic told me to keep me eyes peeled when I was on my way to the loo. I did and it was interesting. The narrow stairway to the loos in the basement were covered with metal themed posters. Some really fancy artwork . Take a gander whilst you're there. The name of the pub you ask? Ah yes, silly me. Its called the Intrepid Fox.
So, on one of my trips to the loo, while I'm at the works, this goth chap pulls up next to me. The skinny, long haired variety. Since (as you probably already know) I'm used to life's onslaughts, I kinda anticipate weird stuff before it actually happens. I steeled myself and continued with my business. The Goth Chap didn't disappoint. A couple of seconds after he'd pulled in he started moaning.
"Oh, Yeah!!", "C'mon", "Oooh", "Aaaah" went the Goth Chap taking an occasional gander at me. At this point I'm thinking "What am I? Flypaper for freaks?" (Hahaha...sorry couldn't resist. I love that line. My due apologies to the copyright holder). Anyway, I finish up, zipper up and make a break for it. The Goth Chap breaks into a sheepish smile. "Heh heh..sorry man, was just trying to freak you out". Ohh!! Reeaaaaally?? Almost worked, bub. Almost.
Another evening at the Weatherspoons. Some old chap at the adjoining table suddenly strikes up a conversation with us. "So, enjoying your food? Eh? Eh?" My spidey senses were tingling. I leaned towards my plate and concentrated on cramming my face with the chow. Joe Cynic on the other hand dove right into the conversation. Just experimenting, he always says. Too each his own, I always say. Anyway, the Old Chap didn't disappoint either. "Can I have the last bit of your meal? Well, can I?" My mouth is full so I don't reply. For the next few minutes I concentrate of shoveling in forkfuls of food to maintain the status quo. Joe Cynic catches on fast. The fists on his fork and spoon tighten and he begins shoveling too, saying stuff like, "No no no. C'mon. We've got to eat." "Where's your Christian Sprit? Where is it? I'm a Catholic, you know", goes the Old Chap. We get a break when another chap comes along and reclaims his laptop bag (from the looks of it) which the Old Chap apparently 'took' from him. The newcomer pauses to eyeball the Old Chap. It doesn't work of course. The Old Chap just brazens it out. "Oh? What? Its yours?" or some such stuff. The good part is we're done with the meal. And then, off we went.
On one occasion we went to a pantomime, courtesy of the Financial Whiz Kid. It was a nicely done play on Alladin. Remember good ol' Al? The pantomime involved active audience participation. Something which I'd never seen before. Anyway, while us chaps enjoyed the play in a stoic, chap-like manner, The Whiz Kid was on the edge of her seat, beaming and chuckling and clapping her hands with girlish glee. Ah, to be young again.
Oh yeah, there was one cooking episode at Joe Cynic's place when he cooked up some fancy stuff. Amidst all this the the fire alarm went off. It was one of those heat detector thingy's. As usual, everyone panicked, heads snapped upwards and eyes darted around trying to locate the fire. Joe Cynic rushed up with a cloth and flapped away like mad at the detector (to cool it obviously). What did I do? Well...I snickered. Quite reminiscent of my living quarters, you see. Aw, c'mon, I'm only human. What did you expect me to do? Quit my chuckling and flap along?
Night long arguments were a common feature. This was something I'd missed from the old days. Evolution, creation, religion, politics, work, cruddy bosses....everything. We diced it all up. Crawling into bed at 4 am was the inevitable end result. Ach, what the heck. I can't remember the last time I bit into a juicy argument.
Anyway, the days passed nicely. Everyone was content and the laughs flowed freely. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to us, dark clouds loomed over the horizon and an ominous wind blew lightly.
But, we didn't notice.
Alas.

The London Arc: Sights and Sounds

I got to Joe Cynic's place with no further hassles. The day before I arrived was his thesis defense and apparently it went off well because the chappie was pleased as punch. His eyes gleamed, his teeth shone, his ear stud twinkled and a general feeling of benevolence radiated out toward all his fellowmen. Ah, wonder when I'll finish with studies. So, this place of his...its a frigging palace. No, seriously! It is. Anyway, we discussed the old times, the present times and the times in between. Information was exchanged and hearty laughs were traded. The usual stuff. After that we headed out to Waterloo station (Ha! The Jason Bourne tour continues), to meet The Sleeper. He hadn't changed a bit. We pranced about a little and general backslapping bonhomie ensued. After which we trooped out to get us a drink. Not that we were thirsty, it just was the thing to do. Besides there was one heck of a snowstorm outside. (Ok, ok..no storm, but you know what I mean.)
Then we were off again, this time to The Sleeper's place where I was to spend the next few days and generally sponge off the chappie. After which I would shift to Joe Cynic's place and sponge off him. And since this was the week where everyone was busy before the holidays , I was doing the typical bus-hopping/ train-hopping (the stuff I normally do when I'm off exploring by myself). Ah, the lure of public transportation. Will I ever tire of it? If you're gonna travel around London, best if you use an Oyster card. Thirty pounds for one weeks worth of travel. This includes the metro...err..the tube as well as the bus. For chappies like me with lots of time on their hands this is a nifty deal. I prefer traveling by bus because that makes it easier to see the general direction I am heading (also helpful if you want to take in the sights, unless of course the bus is packed). And when the frostbite came and I couldn't feel my toes anymore, I'd duck into a tube station and take a ride.
So, anyway, what with the Sleepers fried-snack-eating-habits, I discovered...wait for it...Papadams, or as the British refer to it: Poppadoms. They package it in regular foil packets and hey presto: Ready to eat Papadams on supermarket shelves. Why do I bring this up? Well, some time back a certain Indian actress appeared on a certain British reality show and a certain British participant referred to her as '[Actress's first name] Poppadom'. There was the typical hue and cry, the media jumped in and everybody wanted to shovel in their two bits. The only thing that bugged me back then was this: How the deuce did this British participant hear of Papadams. And why the heck were the media getting the spelling of Papadams all wrong. Maybe this British participant had traveled far and wide, I reasoned (a tad dubiously). And the media is never right (no doubts here), I mused. Quite perplexing, if you follow me. Well...the mystery was all solved once the the Sleeper picked up a packet and waved it around enthusiastically. "You're going to love this stuff, Snoosey-man". Ha, sure. And I'll have some experience points as well, thank you very much. Heh heh...
So, this was what I did till Christmas (not the Poppodams, not the Poppodams...jeez....the other touristy stuff). After which, everyone ditched work and finally the fun did start. But those gory details will follow in another post. On Christmas day The Sleeper cooked some funky stuff, a rare display of his culinary skills. The house didn't burn down and everything went smoothly. Also, let me give you some friendly advice: Whiskey and wine don't go well together. Got that? Excellent! All righty, here come the pics. I'm gonna lump 'em all together , so feast thine eyes. This is two weeks of touristic effort.

Camden Town. A delightful place even more so because I wasn't really expecting something like this in London. Its good for all sorts of stuff: Asian food, Gothic clothing, old books, records and any other thing you could possibly think of. Moving through these alleys, past mystical Oriental shops, digging for some junk (which you know you're never gonna use) adds to the fun.


The food here is on deliberate display. While steam wafts up from the hot food, the distinctly Asian (read: Chinese, Japanese, Indonesian, Taiwanese, Vietnamese) girls behind the counter, would hold a piece of meat (or fish or broccoli or whatever) with large chopsticks and call out to anyone passing by: "Hey Meester, dis good food, verry cheap. The first piece is foor frree." As tempting as it was, I didn't have any. For some reason we always went there after a meal. Dang!!


Benches and tables conveniently line some of the eateries. All the more reason to have sunk my teeth in some delectable food. Double Dang!!!


The Horse Tunnel market and the Stables market make up part of this large maze of alleys and twisting side streets. Apparently, the stables from the old days were converted and became a part of present day Camden Town. If you want more details you should wiki Camdenlock.

Victoria Park. Where fish torture takes place. No, really. Hear me out. Apparently you're allowed to fish here but if you catch one, you've got to chuck it back. Now, if that isn't some form of deviant fish mental torture, you tell me what it is.

Little Venice. (No, I don't get it either. It ain't sinking, by the way.)

Didn't see too many of these chaps around.

London Eye. There it is. La de dah. No, I didn't ride it. Pointless apparently, if the weather doesn't let you have a look over the whole city. Also, Joe Cynic says the best time to do it is late evening, when London's lights are just switching on. Makes sense don't it?

Westminster Abbey. I was there.

Big Ben. I was there as well.

Fancy looking pond outside Buckingham Palace. Plenty of coins in the water there. Not that I took any.

One of them (statue??) guards at the Palace.

London's skyline from Greenwich park. Looks better in real life, though. Also, that green line passing through is not a camera glitch...or whatever you though it was.

The Greenwich meridian.

The observatory at Greenwich is a nifty place. Plenty of cool things to see and its all free. So there you go. No excuse to sit at home now.

Greenwich Village. Very quaint place.

Typical heart-of-London street view. Although, sometimes its even more packed.

Ze red phone booth, ze red bus and ze red Underground sign. Chessy pic? Well, I couldn't resist.

Hyde Park

After all these years, I finally get to see a Zamboni.

The night views in London are brilliant.

Food stuff and drink stuff. I should have devoted an entire post to this, but then I realized I didn't have enough pictures. So I guess I'll just describe them in the posts to follow. And just in case you didn't get it, the pics are (top to bottom) ze English Breakfast, ze Fish and Chips and ze Ale.

Hookah stuff. Keep this picture at the back of thine mind for I shall tell thee a tale which shall chill thine blood to the marrow and cause thine hair to stand on end like the quills on a fretful porpentine.
Ahem. And till the next time....

London, Ho!

Well, here we are again. Time to chronicle the London Adventure before I forget all the murky details. For all you avid fans, I guess you know how my last attempt to reach the island fared. So this was the last attempt. For me anyway. No way I was going to sit through another painful three hours at the British embassy and fork out another eighty Euro's for a tourist visa.
The day dawned bright and....no, no..wait, the day didn't dawn at all. I was up at three am and at the train station at three thirty to get to Eindhoven Airport which is a good one and a half hours from Delft. Of course, that was the day the snow came, a harbinger of one of the coldest winters to hit Europe. I mean, this is my life, right? It wouldn't be fitting if it happened any other day. So trains were delayed, exasperated sighs were collectively released, fingers and toes froze and the ol' forehead vein started doing its dance. Only two words resonated in my mind. Thwarted. Again. I didn't fall to my knees and didn't look skywards and didn't yell, "Why? Why me?", although I was seriously tempted to do just that. By now I was used to the meanderings of (my) life. Besides, I didn't want to make a scene at Delft Station.
Surprisingly, there were quite a number of us at the station. I learned later that a large group was traveling to Barcelona and their flight was earlier than mine. Announcement after announcement sounded via the station's public announcement system informing us hapless travelers that due to bad weather there would fewer trains running. Smiling cynically, I shifted my bag from one hand to the other and my weight from one foot to the other. "Just a normal day" I muttered through gritted teeth and clenched jaw.
Eventually the train did arrive and we all clambered aboard, luggage and all. Getting to Eindhoven was uneventful. Of course at Eindhoven station there was a mad scramble to grab the shuttle to the airport. Chinese people ran to the shuttle as it pulled into the station, shouting to their comrades. Not that I could understand anything, but it was still funny. I got into the bus as well and off we went to the airport. From the bus station to the airport another mad scramble ensued especially through those nutty revolving doors. I mean, who builds these things for airports? Yeesh!! Anyway, I successfully navigated these obstacles before making my way to my super cheap airline counter. Boards plastered everywhere warned me that if my luggage was bigger than the allowed size it would not be allowed on the plane. And there were these weird cage type containers which apparently "match" the luggage size you're allowed on board. Of course even a nut job can tell that those dimensions are nothing like the ones described on the website and there's no way anything bigger than a backpack will fit in there. I wasn't hassled about this, fortunately. My security check was kinda interesting as well. I was thoroughly frisked by a security chappie. He even frisked my armpits. Really now, do I look like I'd carry weed to another country?
But all said and done, I did make it to the aircraft, snagged a window seat and finally breathed a sigh of relief. Now the only way I wasn't getting to the U.K. was if the plane skidded off the icy runway. Ha ha ha ... gulp .. ha ha...umm.
Finally the plane did take off and there I was, en route to the UK. I paused to let that realization completely sink in and allowed myself a smug smile. That was when the chappie sitting in the aisle seat tapped me on the shoulder. "Hey, is it ok if I put my jacket in this seat?" he said motioning to the empty seat between us. "Sure", I mumbled. Jeez, can't I have one moment of self satisfaction?
Anyway, landing at Stanstead was hassle free. Getting my visa checked and my passport stamped went off without a hitch. Surprising, eh? So, I relaxed my tense muscles and walked on to official UK soil. I shouldn't have. (Not the UK soil bit, just the relaxing muscles bit). Some nut in a suit sprang out of nowhere, waved his badge at me, said something about the Statistics bureau and started asking me about my country of origin and some such stuff. I just stared blankly at him for a moment. I guess he noticed, because he started enunciating his words and made his sentences really short. That kinda annoyed me. I mean, my English isn't that bad, its just that I wasn't expecting government johnnies to jump out of nowhere and launch off into twenty questions. But it was just two questions before he withdrew. Thankfully.
I made my way to the coach stop. (London is just an hour away from Stanstead by coach). The coach driver looked at my ticket, looked at me and exclaimed heartily "Ah, you're finally on time!!" (Yes. It is possible to exclaim heartily. Take my word for it). I guess this guy had heard about our legendary (Indian) sense of time. Heh...can't hold that against him, now can I?
So there I was, on my way to London, to hang out with (and sponge off) good ol' buddies I hadn't seen in ages. Joe Cynic was an old friend from the school days. He'd taken off to London soon after he picked up his degree and was steadily climbing up the university ladder. "Why Joe Cynic?" you ask, with that perplexed look on your face. That's easy. Joe Dripping-Sarcasm is too long and Joe Pragmatic is too formal. But I have to admit the sarcasm had been tempered to no small extent and the pragmatism came out only when it needed to.
The Sleeper was an old chum from college. After snagging his degree he'd retained his workaholic ways and was now plowing through the corporate world, business suit and all. "So why The Sleeper?" you ask (with that same perplexed look). Heh, you should've seen him in class in the old days. "He slept his way though class", an experienced observer would have said after...err..observing him for four years. The fun bits occurred when our no good lecturers caught him off guard. "OIE!!," they'd bellow, "What's this? Its only nine in the morning. Go wash your face, I say". Ah, that brings back back memories.
As, for the Financial Whizz Kid, she was working at some fancy company doing economics and other..umm..financial stuff. (I'm an engineer, so I don't get all that money talk. Cut me some slack here, lads).
Well, that's that. There's more to follow though, so stay tuned.

Before we move on......

There's something I totally forgot to do after the Madrid narrative. The souvenir board!! So here it is.

The two things I did collect. First, the Madrid metro map. Since I'm a fan, its on the board. The second is a Real Madrid mascot thingy. I'm not a fan really, but since I went to the Santiago Bernabeu stadium it was a small matter to nip into the Real Madrid store and pick up the furry little guy. One last thing about El Tigre..When I said ample portions of food are served, I meant ample portions for me. Why do I bring this up? Well, when the Europeans were describing the place to me, it was a little comical.

The French: When you buy a drink its very filling, man. You get a large beer (using both hands to symbolize a tall glass) and lots of food (using both hands to symbolize a wide plate). Very filling.
The Germans/Austrians/Belgians: Its a tiny glass, man (using two fingers to symbolize a shot glass) and you get some food (using fingers of one hand to symbolize a morsel of food).

Side splitting stuff, chaps, side splitting stuff. Pity I didn't get any opinions from the Italians and the Spanish. All these folk live on the same continent but are so incredibly different. Kinda like the situation back home in India, except that here I'm the outsider, so I see the funny side.
Anyway, I'm back. After two and a half unforgettably brilliant weeks in London. So the next few posts are going to be all about that. I've been moping around ever since I got back. Blame it on Vacation Withdrawal Symptoms or whatever. But things are getting back to normal. The weather is very very wintery. The frost remains on the streets and sidewalks (because the temperature is still below zero) which makes it fun to watch everyone walk gingerly around the place as though the spikes from Price of Persia are going to slice upwards through the ground. Of course when they slip everyone just goes "Whoa!!!" with a silly expression on their face. The frost also leads to all new fantastic ways of braking the ol' bicycle. Interestingly its only the guys who put their feet on the ground to brake. Haven't seen a woman brake...yet. (For the uninformed, ice on the streets=brakes are useless. Sure, they work and the wheels lock up and all that. Here's the nub: Locked wheels still skate freely on ice. Its a ghastly feeling when you're on the bike, but its real fun to watch). By the way, I took a toss last night. No bones broken, so I'm counting myself lucky. Maybe I should stop laughing at other people. Maybe.....

The Week that Was

Otherwise known as the week of the CFD. So, why did I take CFD? The only reason was to get to Madrid and take in the city. Which I did, by the way. The added bonus was all the cool folk I met in class. Lets see if I got the tally right, three Germans, four Belgians, one Austrian, two Frenchmen, a Czech guy and a girl from Morocco. And then of course there was me. The solitary Indian. (What did you say? No, no...I'm not smiling. Honest.)

Anyway, let me first say that the German stereotype I had, etched in my head is all gone. Blown away to bits. Teeny tiny bits. Germans are friendly. Well, friendlier than all the Belgians...put together. Or maybe its just that, these particular mix of Germans and Belgians were a strange batch. Quite possible. But wait, lets just focus on this crowd here. Other hypothetical situations for another time. One of the German guys had a super thick accent. Golly, it was thick. Just like that learn English advertisement with the German coastguard. The Austrian guy also had a thick accent. He was cool too. Been there, done that kinda guy. One of the Belgians hung out with us. One of those serious chaps. He told his jokes in a grave manner and a straight face. That added to the humour. Heh...but you should have been there to actually experience that. The other Belgian guys didn't bother integrating. They kept to themselves and getting into conversation with them was impossible. For me anyway. The Czech guy also kept to himself but I think that was because he was ill. And near the end at the farewell party he asked me questions about India and how we couldn't drink beer and party there. Now, I didn't exactly roll about on the floor and laugh my guts out but I did manage to correct his view. He in turn corrected some myths I had been harboring about beer. Apparently they have a city in the Czech Republic called Pilsen and that's where pils originated. I had a hard time believing that, what with my recent Belgian trip and all, but Wikipedia confirms it all so.....As for the French, they kept to themselves too, but I suspect that was because of the language thing. Yeah, they love their language. But the Moroccan girl probably influenced them and therefore they didn't have a problem with group integration. Cool, eh? An unlikely mix, but a good mix nonetheless.
On day two, we began our cooking escapades. The first time it was just the two German guys without the thick accent, the Planner and me. It was simple stuff, just pasta bolognese, but incredibly well made. And there was enough leftover so we asked around at the crowded hostel kitchen and a French group took it of our hands. That kinda started a buzz. The next day, the Austrian, the Belgian and the thick accented German joined us. More fancy cooking, full stomachs and leftovers (which were gladly accepted by the French) later it was official. The CFD lads could cook. And cook well. This continued for the whole week.
For lunch of course we were at the faculty cafeteria. Have I mentioned how much Spanish folk eat? No? Well, they eat a lot. And everything they eat is soaked in oil. I guess, all that dancing helps keep the weight in check. At one time I was separated from the German/Austrian/Belgian clique and was eating by myself when.....surprise, surprise...I was joined by the French group. Of course, I was glad of it. Always a pleasure to talk with people with different mindsets. The conversations were interesting.
"Hey, I just saw Slumdog Millionaire. Does that stuff really happen in your country?"
Umm.....yep.
"How are you finding the Netherlands? Good? You need to visit the South European countries like France, Italy and Spain......more"
Hahahaha.....they just couldn't resist saying that.
"You're in Spain. You need to drink more wine rather than beer"
You said it dude.
"You need to hang out with the South European people more. Otherwise wherever you go you will see large beer mugs" (I am not making this up.)
At this point I was laughing and pretty much choking on my food. Trust the Frenchies to come up with something like that. Maybe the French translation makes more sense. The lunch and the conversation ended with them urging me to drink more wine, eat paella and indulge in other Spanish delicacies.
This is one of the nifty parts of the EU. They're small as it is, but the differences they have are phenomenally large which makes life all the more interesting. Hope I get to meet all the EU folk before I leave here.
Now, for the Chueca episode. When we first got there, we were all gung ho about wanting to try Spanish food. So we made some inquiries at the hostel reception and the guy told us that the best place for food is Chueca. On our way to the Metro, one of us was looking at the map, when a Spanish man just walked up and asked if he could help. He then proceeded to tell us that Chueca was the best place for food and very kindly pointed it to us on the map. Now this was kind of weird for me, because ...well...I've never seen it been done elsewhere. But apparently, this was normal behavior in Madrid, helping tourists and all. (By the way, all conversations were in Spanish, so t'was only the Spanish speaking folk doing the talking). Ok, so that was two thumbs up for Chueca. So we made it there, stumbled out of the metro station and hunted for a good eating place..of which there were plenty. However, in addition to the numerous tapas joints, there were also an equal number of porno rental shops, sex shops, clubs and other such establishments. Mostly with pictures of semi-nude,big-muscled and well-oiled men on the front. The realization that Chueca was Madrid's gay district wasn't like a hammer blow to the head or anything. More like a mild electric shock. Not that I'm against these chaps or anything, but the sight of men tongue kissing at street corners and penis shaped door knobs shakes the unprepared soul to no small extent. Just wish somebody had warned us. Oh, by the way, food at Cheuca is top notch stuff. Delicious and all, but rather meager in quantity for the amount we paid. That was my only grouse, but perhaps it was only me.
As for the other delicacies we tried in Madrid: First there were churo's. Incredibly sweet, incredibly filling, incredibly tasty. Sadly, the ensuing brain freeze prevents you from ordering more of it. Then there was an deadly mixture of eggs and bacon/fish and oil. Yep, oil. It was like the third ingredient. I forget what this was called, but this was a traditional dish. The eggs and meat were delicious, but the oil killed all appetite. Perhaps it was intentional. Finally, there was Stomach of Cow. Again, I forget the Spanish name, but this was also a traditional dish. It was ok. Pretty bland. And it felt spongy and rubbery on the teeth. Ah, well, an experience is an experience, eh?
The last evening in town was spent with good ol' Loudmouth Lad. Lots of beer and lots of Sangria went down the hatch that night. The good old days were discussed with great back-slapping and hi-fiving. Of course, I must say, that the present days were also discussed with equal camaraderie. I mean, these are good times, aren't they? On this note let me introduce El Tigre to you. Its where we were for the first part of the evening. El Tigre is a tapas bar where you order a beer and you get a plate of free food. How cool is that? Apparently this is common here, but El Tigre was the only place I had been to which actually did this. And just a little heads up, lads. El Tigre was packed with foreigners/tourists.
And that chaps, was The Week that Was. And thus my Madrid narrative comes to an end. Of course, if I remember anything more, I shall pack it in here. So until then.......

Madrid: Sights and Sounds

Well, the first weekend in Madrid was devoted to mostly the sightseeing stuff. The whole thing was organized by the University. They split us up into groups, assigned a couple of Spanish students to each group and off we went. But before that they gave us a lunch. My gosh! I stuffed myself with so much ham sandwiches and the tortilla stuff, that I'm pretty sure I presented a ghastly spectacle of myself. I would have felt bad, but my fellow students kept 1-uping me, so by the end of the whole ordeal we were sprawled all over the place finding it difficult to move. In retrospect it was a good move because the tramping-about-the-city thing lasted quite a while.
So, about this walking thing....they gave us a piece of paper in which there were a bunch of locations and a bunch of questions relating to the locations, the general idea being that once we got to the location we would prance around, looking for Spanish folk to help us with the questions. The Spanish students of course weren't allowed to help. They just stared with a bemused expression on their faces. I'm not sure what the object of the exercise was but I learnt that most Spanish folk don't speak English. Darn frustrating it was. After a while, I pretty much gave up and let things be. The penalty for not finishing the exercise led to some weird activities (including me dancing the Macarena in the street along with some other chaps), but the Spanish students with us ensured that a fun time was had by all. On one occasion though, an old lady lost it and started yelling about how university students were ruining her life and what not. So, while the rest of us foreigners were huddled together, the Spanish students swung into action and placated her and sent her off. Apart from this, they were super enthusiastic and also were incredibly helpful.
"Hands on your wallets in this part of town. There's thieving afoot"
"In this area too"
"Also, in this area"
and other such information. After I heard reports of various student folk getting their pockets picked (during the course of the week), I was pretty glad that these guys were assigned to us.
They also taught us the alcol song, in Spanish. I don't remember the Spanish words but the gist of it was "Alcol, alcol, alcol. We're here to get drunk. we don't care about the outcome. Alcol, alcol, alcol....". We sounded it out in one of the city squares, and then sang it again as we were walking around. The locals gave us some strange looks, but that was it. None of the "Cease that infernal racket!" stuff.

Typical scene in downtown Madrid. Old buildings, busy streets, the works...

King Neptune. Why? Probably roman heritage stuff.

Madrid's coat of arms. Bear helping himself to strawberries. (I don't know. So before you ask...don't ask.)

The center of Madrid, also probably Spain, from the looks of it. (Yep, that's my shoe.)

The scene as we were leaving Sol. Sol means sun, and the name was given to the gate that used to be there. The gate apparently faced east and you could see the sun as it rose (in the old days, in the old days!!). But as you have cleverly figured out, this view faces the west. Quite a good view actually.

One of the fancier (and probably the oldest) squares in Madrid. It had seven entrances which for some reason was a big deal back in the old days. Also, I think its still a big deal. Hmmm...perhaps I should have payed more attention during the explanation.

This sort of thing is common everywhere. This and street musicians. Wonder if they make enough.

Mercado san Miguel. A market place/drinking place/eating place. Don't know if all mercado's are like this.

Old fancy cathedral. While we had to pay one Euro to enter, the interior was dimly lit. Paintings and sculptures could be lit up on deposit of additional Euro's in conveniently placed boxes. Good idea, sure. Only I ain't that well off. And by the looks of it, neither were the other tourists with me. The other cool thing inside was the occasional voice booming through the speakers, in response to the buzz of the rabble. "SILENCIO.....por favor." That would silence then for a while, but then the muted conversations would start again. Heh heh heh...

The palace. Since, there was some sort of (large) entry fee, we didn't go in. The Planner was livid. "In my country its free, completely free" he said, shaking his head sadly. Ach well....

The temple of Debod. Very fancy stuff this. 'Twas donated by the Egyptian government to Spain for help received during the construction of the Aswan dam. Look up Wikipedia for more details. Also visit this place when you get to Madrid.

The highlight of the weekend was, of course, meeting up with Loudmouth Lad. Why Loudmouth? Well, if you'd met him, you wouldn't be asking the question. Suffice to say he had a reputation for vociferousness right back from the old days. I hadn't met this chappie in a long, long time. Lets see now. We graduated in 2005 after which he took off to Canada. Then, there was this one meeting in Bangalore, sometime before I came to Holland with the usual beer quaffing. Apart from that....nothing. So, now, here he was for some fancy MBA program. Had he changed? Hahaha...not a chance. Sure, we'd ribbed him back then about the Canadian accent, but now that was slowly giving way to a normal one and before soon, probably, a Spanglish accent. Heh. Anyway, bear-hugs were exchanged, general craziness ensued, comments were made about my weight, the usual stuff. And then we hung out at Mercado san Miguel with his clique. Quite an interesting crowd. Folk from all over the world and all that. Guess that's the cool part about an MBA program. Some wine, a little beer, plenty of good conversation and heaps of tortilla later it was time to go. (Metro service shuts down at 1:30. Unfortunate, yes, but what are you gonna do?)
On Sunday, us student folk went to the Prado and Reine Sofia museums. The Prado had all the fancy stuff, colourful masterpieces and all that while the Reine Sofia has modern art. Now, I'm not a fan of this modern art stuff, so if you ask me I'd say skip this one and go straight to the Prado. That way, you'll have more time there. I could stick some pictures here but really, there would be no end to it. Best if you did the trip yourself.
That's it for now lads. Till later.

Maximum City (Dos)

Well, I wouldn't want to call Madrid Maximum city, the original title being taken and all, but I must say the city is alive, pulsing with life and bursting at the seams with all sorts of activity. But, before all that, let me start at the beginning. The flight was uneventful, no mishaps, nothing. I expected the typical crap, so I did the usual split-underwear-between-bags trick. But...nothing. I was traveling with one of my friends, the Planner, but blow me down if there weren't a whole bunch of characters from Delft. All of 'em heading to Madrid, some for the exchange program and others for vacation. A nice little reunion was had before we boarded the craft.
The landing at Madrid was smooth. Have I ever mentioned how much I like smooth landings? Our hostel was situated in downtown Madrid. The old historical downtown, not the new downtown with all fancy buildings. And the best way to travel in Madrid? Metro, baby. Sheer pleasure, if you ask me. That was officially the best metro network I've seen. Criss-crossed the whole city and made every location accessible. We bought the one week tourist pass which means you can use the metro innumerable times for one week. A pretty nifty deal if you plan to do plenty of touristy stuff. But since we were here for a course it would have made more sense (economically) to pick up the ten-rides ticket. But heck, not that I'm complaining. Just telling you.
With all the pickpocket stories I heard before I got here, I went into India mode as soon as I stepped out the airport. My wallet was in my front pocket of my scraggly jeans and the thumb of my hand was hooked nonchalantly into the same pocket. Of course, a professional would have ripped out my pockets without me knowing it. Still, we all gotta do what we all gotta do.
At the hostel we got to our room and it was occupied...by a Greek girl no less. One of those 'holy-moly' moments. The worst part was the rooms had some sort of annoying electronic lock system so we were trying to open the door for a good five minutes before we finally got in. Making a ruckus the whole "what's-wrong-with-this-door?" time, I might add. Wonder what she was thinking, on the inside. Because she sure didn't come and open the door for us. Anyway after we popped in, we all adopted the customary shocked-frozen-statue pose, then we exchanged mutually confused looks before we launched into introductions. Of course we didn't stay long there. The Planner and me took off to explore the surroundings. Before you all die of curiosity, let me tell you, we were moved from that room to another room. Presumably the girl told the hostel chappie about the situation and everything was resolved. Darn awkward it would have been otherwise.
The first night out in Madrid was pretty interesting, mostly because the place was bustling with activity. Buildings were lit up and city squares were chock full with middle aged diners.
We tried the fancy Spanish wines. Brilliant stuff, absolutely brilliant. You've got to do it. Don't leave Spain without trying them wines.
With the wines we also had Jamon Serrano, which is a sort of ham, typical of Spain. Apparently the pigs are fed one specific type of nut the whole time. No normal pig food, just this nut. Ay caramba!! To be honest I wasn't so gung-ho on the ham. It had large bits of fat on it and I don't like fat. Uuugh!!! To top it off we had Tortilla Espanola, which is a pie type thingy with potatoes and egg. (Yeah, yeah, I know its called a Spanish omlette, but I still can't get myself to call it that.)I was instantly hooked and over the coming days I would be shoveling large chunks of the stuff down the hatch with nary a care for my arteries.
After all that, we strolled here and there but nothing else blog-worthy happened except of course for the bikes being hauled to impound. Heh heh....whaddya know, it happens here as well.
That's it for now. Adios!