Monday, June 7, 2010

Dax, France

Where to go from Armagnac? It was an interesting dilemma. Sadly, getting to Barcelona or Madrid was nearly impossible. I was without a phone, and without a positive response from my friends of a friend in Madrid as to whether or not they were at home or if they had a place to stay. I tried to arrange some couch surfing and a van ride to barcelona to no avail. So what to do?

Step 1) Open up a big-ass map.
Step 2) Locate yourself
Step 3) Locate all the "resaonably close" places (athens is not reasonably close to gascony)
Step 4) Check Train/plane/bus schedules
Step 5) Go somewhere.

After this short amount of debate (in my head) the decision was clear.
San Sebastian, Spain is next up on my crazy euro tour.

How to I get there? Well, it turns out Dax, France has a car rental return and the train to San Sebastian is not far or expensive. Moreover, the train to San Sebastian runs nearly every 30 minutes. So down to Dax I go. I see that the next train leaves in a few minutes. Go to buy the tickets, success. Off to San Sebastian.

One small problem... The car rental return is not open. I forgot about that whole two hour lunch thing. So I go inquire about using my ticket for a later train. The guy says, no problem. I say excellent. But now I have to wait for several hours to return the car. Well, what should I do? Simple solution: Walk around Dax for a few hours.

What I found: Dax is a charming little town in southwest france. They love rugby and taking long lunch breaks. Beer, wine, and all manner of other french beverages are readily available. In addition, there are several beautiful little grocery stores selling fresh fruits, cheeses, and quality meats. Not realizing that the train was truly only 90 minutes to the border, a store got some business from me. I think the whole purchase was inspired by Jenlain Amber Biere de Garde. I FINALLY found my Biere de Garde. So off with my Biere de Garde, some camembert, some fresh greens, some bread, tomatoes, and some meat. Also had to buy a small knife. My total bill came to something like 15 euros. Not bad at all. The single sandwich + beer lunch at the local pub was about half that. So, I got to eat most of a loaf of bread and double the beer (not available at pub) etc. Had a nice lunch waiting on the car rental to reopen.

I decided I could live in Dax if a job became available. It's really close to Spain, really close to Armagnac, and on the ocean. Beautiful little town, in which life does not seem in any way rushed. My guess is that it's the sleepy little sister town to Bayonne or Biaritz which are just a little further down the coast toward spain.

A night with the kids

It is possible that God was amused with my timing for my vacation. It seems that everywhere I went, the local place was on holiday. While it is certainly true that Europeans take vacations more liberally than Americans (which is a good thing), I didn't realize that everyone staggered their vacations in such a way. I have no way of knowing for certain (other than intuition, and mine is very bad) that Europe scheduled their vacations just to spite me. So it is. France has holiday until May 1. When was I in France? Until April 29... Labastide D'Armagnac was already quiet and sleepy, but I went when no one was there. No visitors, no locals, no one. Luckily, the Bouglons WERE there so I had a place to sleep. The single fortunate thing about being at Chateau du Prada during those days was the fact that the children (early 20 somethings) were there doing some maintenance on the estate along with several of their friends. So, on the second night in Armagnac I found all the kids sitting in the parlor directly adjacent to the room in which I was sleeping, listening to music, smoking, and generally having a gay time. So I joined them.

What ensued was an excellent evening. The oldest son speaks a touch of english. More than I speak French, so we got on just fine. He asked me, "Do you like Armagnac?" I wasn't sure if he meant the geographical place or the drink of the same moniker produced therein. So I asked which he meant, and he said, "the drink, of course." I told him, my whole reason for showing up was to drink some brandy. So he went and fetched a couple bottles that were "just sitting around." When he returned he was carrying two bottles, one a 1992 Colombard and a 1994 Folle Blanche. I was amazed at these bottles that were just sitting around. I'd already consumed way too many armagnacs that day, and here he was with two more amazing bottles. So, what to do? That's right, drink up. In the meantime, I'd collected on my travels, some brandy from Lebanon, and was also carrying around some of my own moonshine. So I made a paltry offer in return. What struck me as extremely odd was the fact that the kids living in a chateau famous for its distilled product were shocked that I knew how to distill on my own. So I let them taste and smell my 70%+ concoction. The consensus, "It's too strong." Well I KNEW that...

After we all got a little more tipsy and they kids all smoked a pack more of cigarettes the piano playing began. That's when I think I impressed them the most. Again, strangely, in a house with several beautiful old pianos, no one had taken much time to learn beyond that of a novice. Well, it was fine. In one sense I wish I'd stayed an extra night so I could hang with the kids once more, but alas, they were working, and returning back to school and other duties on May 1, and I was on vacation enjoying their hospitality.

Final, interesting thought. The eldest son of Baron Phillipe Bouglon does NOT speak his native Gascogne. I figured in a family as prominent as such that the language tradition would actually be carried down. But no. In Labastide D'Armagnac, Gascogne is a dying language. Therefore, I didn't get to learn any gascogne words or funny phrases involving drinking.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

A Conversation with Martinne Lafitte

Domaine Boigneres. I may have mentioned it (54 times). To my mind, it is clearly one of the finest brandy houses in all the world. It's offices... Right in the quaint village of Labastide D'Armagnac. Nice! I had the Bouglons call Martinne Lafitte and ask if I could stop by. She had some schedule to keep, which confused me, because nothing seems to go very fast in that part of the world. Nonetheless, she said I could come by at 4:30 PM. So I did. Funny enough, I showed up directly after visiting Chateau Briat. I had already had a few full servings of brandy and maybe a small glass (or two) of wine. Luckily for me, I made it safely back to Prada and was within a short walk (everything is within a short walk in labastide d'armagnac) from Boigneres. It turns out the vineyards are some 9km away from the actual office, which is simply Martinne Lafitte's house. I showed up and there was a gardener outside who pointed me to the front door. When Martinne showed up, she said in her extremely thick French accent "Ah, you want to taste!" Oh boy... It could have turned into a really rough time if I weren't concentrating so hard on trying to fumble my way through french and english as she did the same. Her english is stronger than my french. Thank God.

Out comes bottle #1, 1989. Oh my god, fantastic. We sit and chat, and I ask her everything I can possibly think of about brandy, whiskey, wine, beer, france, spain, her football interests, etc... It turns out, she actually doesn't know THAT much about brandy. What she knows is how to make a supremely good one. I suppose, when you have at your disposal (literally) hundreds upon hundreds of bottles of the finest ever made you don't need to worry about knowing everything about everyone else's brandies. No worries, she knows armagnac and cognac pretty damn well, and has favorable opinions about Spanish brandy. Good enough for me.

Second taste, 1984. Five years better than 1989.
Third tast, 1981. My birthyear. Apparently 1981 was a better year than I remembered...
Fourth taste, 1979. This was the disappointment of the lot. Basically, that was a really bad year for grapes in Armagnac. They only had a good yield of ugni blanc grapes. In case you don't know, Ugni Blanc are the grapes from which Cognac is primarly made. It is part of the big difference in the styles. Ugni Blanc are mostly boring, flat grapes, that distill well in pot stills. In column stills they are used to fill in gaps in other grapes. But to throw them into a column still alone, and allow that to be 1979's brandy. Well, it wasn't as good as 1981.

Fifth Taste, 1976. Complete obliteration is upon me, but I'm still hanging in there letting my taste buds have the ride of their life and making my brain work to keep up my french. At this point, Martinne started telling me a story about a man who'd grown folle blanche (armagnac's pride of grape varietals) in california and had made an armagnac style brandy. She said it tasted good, but there was no terroir. I was amused, sort of. I do NOT have the sophistication to taste the difference between distilled grapes on the basis of location. Varietal, sometimes, location, definitely not. This brandy, however, might be the single best beverage that has ever run across my lips. That's saying a lot. It could be that I was actually getting toward inebriation, or the fact that I'd just tasted a "disappointing" brandy, but my god it was good.

Sixth taste, 1975. Good by cruel world. Thirty four years in a barrel. That's a lot of dedication! Well, it shows. Apparently 1975 was NEARLY as good a year as 1976 for boigneres' grapes. I still think the 1976 was slightly better, but perhaps Domaine Boigneres 1975 is the SECOND best beverage that has ever run across my lips.

At the end, Martinne, told me she had an appointment with the vet at 6. She has a very old, very cute cat, with cancer. Poor baby! She's a cat lover too. Totally awesome. Thanks Martinne for the chat and the brandy. The effect was not lost on me!

Chateau Briat

In my running around in Armagnac I had contacted a man by the name of Jean du Mareil. He works at Chateau Briat and is the original source of sending me the way of M. et Mme. Bouglon over in Labastide D'Armagnac. He has also informed me that I'd be able to sample some of the armagnacs at the estate. I definitely wanted to visit.

With the rental car I went over to Briat. It's about 10km away from Prada and not too difficult to find. It's a little out of the way, but then again, so is everything in Armagnac.

Before I had arrived, Stephane De Luze (the proprietor) had told me he'd be available and that I'd meet with him. He in fact is the sole heir to the company and the estate. Luckily for me, he speaks English since he did his university studies in the United States. A sad fact about him is that he came into the business by force. A little more than 5 years ago his parents died in a car accident and he, being the eldest son, immediately assumed the role of owner proprietor. Intrestingly enough, he doesn't do any of the distillation himself, but in fact ONLY takes care of the cellar and barrels. Someone else tends to the vines, makes the wine, bottles, etc, etc. I should also mention, that Briat is a tiny estate. Only 8 acres of vineyards. Basically each job requires one person only. There is one lady who bottles all the bottles BY HAND. I had no idea that distilleries still did that. I guess this is a small time operation and there is no need for huge automated machines performing every duty 1000 times a minute.

During my little visit, I got to tour the vineyards. In late April, grapes are beginning to grow and therefore I didn't get to eat any off the vines. I did, however, get to drink some of the finest brandy on this planet.

Quick aside: If you're really into brandy, might I suggest the following Armagnac houses...
Briat
Boigneres
Lacquy
Darroze
Prada
Tariquet

So, since stephane takes care of the cellars, we went through and he siphoned out a little brandy and wine from barrels. Apparently, not everything can be distilled, and so he keeps a few barrels of wine around as well. He's also interested in making a fortified wine, but I doubt that type of product will pick up much steam. Perhaps, for personal use. Amongst the things I got to taste were a glass of 2009 that had spent only 4 months in the barrel, a 2004 for straight from the barrel, and a 1987 (Baco grape only) straight from the barrel. The 2009 was shockingly mature. I think the grapes came out well, and the brandy took the correct mix of grapes from last year's harvest. In addition, the barrel is brand-spanking new, and so the coloration is happening rather more quickly. Forget all that though.

I tasted the 1987 straight from the barrel. If there has ever been a treat for anyone as great as that... I do not know what it might be. I was able to drink 23+ year old armagnac straight from a barrel. I should also mention that Stephane does not mix brandies often and almost never "tops up" (fill up one barrel once some liquor has evaporated). He's extremely dedicated to the quality of his beverage and it shows. He pumps air through an old barnhouse to let the armagnac breathe and has a particular way of stacking barrels to make sure certain brandies get more air than others. I was totally impressed. So, this brandy was sitting at around 44% ABV which means it's been sitting in a barrel long enough to lose about 13% alcohol to evaporation and pick up a really deep color (naturally, not by coloring additive).

Brandy nerds, you are officially allowed to be jealous!
All in all, I'd say it was a good day.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Labastide D'Armagnac and St. Justin

The entire region of Armagnac is a subregion is Gascony. The local language there is Gascon and none of the younger generation speaks it really. However, I'm told that if you attend sunday services at the single church in the miniature town then you'll hear it spoken by the older generations. There is some debate about where this language and group of languages (occitan, aranese, etc) as to whether it is a romanace language (primarily) or a language developed from Basque and Latin. In any case, the younger generation is allowing it to die slowly.

Labastide D'Armagnac is a booming metropolis of about 700 folks. There is one bar, 2 restaurants, a church, and a bunch of distilleries! Included in Labastide's populus are The Bouglons (of chateau du prada) as well as Martinne Lafitte (of Domaine Boigneres). If you don't follow the brandy world much, Martinne Lafitte is the proprietor of what some consider the finest brandy house in all the world. I don't know if it's the single best house ever, but it's in the top 10 without any question and little thought.

The problem for my stay there is that I was there at the end of April. Apparently the French are on Holiday until May 1. Apparently everything comes back to life after May 1. So I walked around the streets for some time, found THE bar, and the restaurants which were closed and realized there wasn't much else happening in that town. Luckily the Bouglons told me about another restaurant in the next town over of St. Justin. Hotel France. An original and inventive name for a hotel in france I thought. It turns out that they have an exceptional prix fix 4 course menu every night. Wandering around St. Justin, you'll find a carbon copy of Labastide except that at the end of town there is a fire station and a school and a library. Otherwise not much is happening there either. It's an interesting place. It's like a ghost town when everyone is on holiday, but I suspect I'll make another trip back as soon as possible.

Chateau Du Prada

My temporary house in Armagnac. It's an old, old mansion that has housed the same family for several hundred years. Currently the home to M. et Mme. Bouglon. That is Baron Phillipe de Bouglon.

The house is simply gorgeous. It's set in the smack middle of Labastide D'Armagnac (a booming town of nearly 700 residents) just behind the public park and the big catholic church. At the Chateau, Mme. Bouglon cooks breakfast for all the visitors (not so many during my stay, just a few others kids, mostly helping with farmhouse repairs and whatever else). The breakfast is fresh orange juice, freshly baked bread, eggs from her hens, and bacon from her pigs, cooked by her, in the kitchen. Oh my many many many many gods, what a treat! The rooms of course were stunning, several old pianos and old busts of old dead family members, oh and did I mention... Housemade Armagnac!?!?!?

I HIGHLY recommend anyone going there if you have the availability!
Here's the link: Check it out, awesome stuff!

Le Chateau du Prada

Cliff beaches of Varkala

Kollam was boring. The house boat was beautiful, but boring. The people were friendly, but boring. Also, they have no sense of real customer service. So, Yvonne and I set off to Varkala. Lonely Planet had some good suggestions, and we decided to take them up on their suggestions. Despite being mildly anti-taj, we stayed in a Taj hotel in Varkala. The room wasn't that cheap, but wasn't really that expensive either.

Varkala is famous for one thing, and one thing only. The cliff. Since Varkala is so far south in India (on the west coast) the water is much cleaner. It's crystal blue. All the industrial crap from mumbai and pune and the other big cities which dump filth into rivers and tributaries leading into the ocean are far enough away that varkala hasn't YET been ruined. (However, I don't put is past the Indian people to completely trash it too.)

So, the cliff... The Arabian Sea is gorgeous, and the beach is only about 100 meters deep before you hit a big cliff. By a big cliff, I mean something like 200 meters straight up. Directly on top of the cliff, right to the very edge are hundreds of little shops and restaurants. Varkala is overcrowded with european tourists (many of them russian) and the cafes and restaurants TRY to cater to that. They fail, but at least they try. I was so sick of curry I went to an italian restaurant that claimed to serve "authentic" italian food, so I ordered the Penne. Oops. I should have known better after having been in India over 5 months not to order "authentic" italian food. What an Idiot. Oh well. We strolled up and down the cliff several times jumping in and out of shops, using internet cafes and catching some time in the shade. From the top, the view of the beach is fantastic. It's really an incredible sight. No two ways about it.

From the beach though, the view is entirely different. Looking up at the cliff which is completely composed of red clay and strong roots that have been brave enough to grow on the side of a precarious cliff one can see throngs of tourists haggling with tibetans and kashmiris from afar. There is a little yelling that makes it way all the way to the beach. Looking just below all the shops and restaurants you'll see something that reminds you that you're in India. No matter how nice and pristine a place is, if you're in India, you cannot escape India. The gorgeous cliff is completely covered in trash. Thousands upon thousands of water bottles litter it, along with newspapers, unwanted magazines, wasted food, umbrellas and anything else people have "dropped" over the side. A f*ckin' mess. One would expect that something so beautiful might garner at least a little more respect, but then again, I'm an anal retentive American. I believe we should handle our garbage correctly. I think we should hire people and services to collect, compress and recycle our garbage and NOT THROW IT ON THE SIDE OF A BEAUTIFUL CLIFF at an otherwise beautiful beach. Ugh.

Well, all told, go to the top of the cliff and look down and you won't be so disappointed. Just try to avoid anything called "italian" food while there. I highly recommend the seafood.

Paris street food

Who loves crepes? I for one, certainly do. What about sugar waffles? I like those too. How about Doner Kebabs? Count me in. Street side cafes with any manner of delicious coffee, wine, beer, and artisinal lemonade? Often serving beef tartar, shell fish, and small sandwiches, graced at times with offal? Oh yes, can I have more?

India and the rest of Asia have quite an excellent tradition of street food. They have some extremely tasty morsels to be had, whereas the west generally frowns upon "street food." I'm here to say, SHAME ON US ALL for thinking that way. I remember one of the best things about Philadelphia was the abundance of food trucks. Those delicious greasy feast halls which are kitchens on wheels and covering every square inch of university campuses in the philly area are nothing at which to scoff!

So it is in Paris. Not everything mentioned above is actually "Street food" as we might classify it, but to be completely and utterly fair, most of it is, and I'll count the street side cafe.

In my attempts to see a more authentic paris and be away from tourists (when possible) I went to the Les Halles. Apparently the Les Halles were formerly a series and huge market stands selling anything that could be bought in Paris at the time. Also, because of all the food sold there, I'm to understand it was teeming with rats.

Well, now, it is no longer teeming with rats. Not visible ones anyone. That's right, invisible rats! Or at least a plethora of them have moved back underground. The les halles is currently a large shopping area with a beautiful fountain in the center. It is fairly close to the Notre Dame and also houses a few monuments which are odd in shape, and odder in location. In any case, amongst the shops, monuments, and lovers hanging out at the Les Halles, you'll also find some DAMN good street food. Les Crepes du jambon, fromage, et l'ouef. Oh my many gods, I haven't had a crepe that good since I lived in Philly. Ham, egg, and cheese. How can you go wrong? (Vegetarians excluded from this portion of the conversation). After one crepe, I decided is was good enough to have a second for dessert. I went with Nutella and banana for the second offering. Good stuff. What's that? Waffles for second dessert? Alright!

So, after stuffing my face full of goodness I take a little tour around the Les halles and allow myself ample time to get ready for more food. Well, I failed a little. In no more than 15 minutes I ran across a wine bar serving beef tartar. It was all over. That was the end of that afternoon. Lunch, then second lunch. I felt like a little hobit. I had to wait for dinner for hours and hours just to make sure I didn't eat myself into a frenzy (dangerously close).

A few days later... That's right Doner Kebab crepes. Oh my, if there were ever anything so devilishly good in the world, it would be truly hard to beat the idea of shawarma IN A CREPE! That is a disturbingly good idea.

Motorcycle Ride in Kerala

Kollam, not the most interesting town in the world. The nightlife is lacking. In fact, the daytime life is lacking as well. In fact, the only thing around is the big hotel conference center at which we were staying. So, one night we took the bus down to the next restaurant. The food there was mostly terrible, but at least we weren't trapped eating dinner at our hotel. The food probably would have been better, but we wanted to get the hell out of the hotel. All day sitting around is fun, except for the fact that it's not.

So: off we are to the local "restaurants" on the local bus. We eat, drink a little terrible beer, and decide after watching chennai get crushed in cricket that we should leave. Back to the local bus stop. Waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting. A young man comes along on a motorcycle and drops his friend off at our bus station. He asks what the hell we two white people are doing at a bus station in kollam at that hour without anyone else. We tell him we're just going back to the hotel. He says he'll take us.
Yvonne is quite vociferous. "No, I'm not getting on that thing, especially without a helmet." I was for it from the beginning. After a little persuasion I finally convince yvonne that we should get our asses on a motorcycle and go with the flow. The guy turns out to be an excellent pilot. Swerving in and around big buses and trucks, small cars. All the three of us on a motorcycle built for two and no one wearing a helmet. We made it all two miles back to the hotel safely, and then got some terribly peculiar looks from the hotel guards and staff. Our motorcycle guy seeing that he will get in trouble if he stays too long, jets off into the Kerala night and we never see him again. If only our parents knew how crazy and irresponsible we were...

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

The train to Armagnac

I like trains. I took them enough in India, but in Europe they are nice. Somehow a 750km train ride in India take 12 hours while in Europe it takes about 6. Depending on how many stops, it can be much faster.

So, on my itinerary was a visit to Armagnac. You might have heard that I'm a brandy fanatic, and well, going to France without visiting a few of my favorite brandy chateaux would be simply an insult to all the is good in this world. Ok, maybe not to EVERYTHING. But I'd certainly be remiss to neglect such an opportunity. Off I go. It's a tricky thing getting to Armagnac. You may have never heard of armagnac because it is completely overshadowed by it more commercial relative Cognac. Everyone has heard of cognac. Of course, rap music has something to do with that. Hennessey, Remy-Martin, Martell, and Couvoisier are the four well known major houses and they have gained some notoriety. Why, I can't tell you exactly, because the brandy they make is, generally speaking, far inferior to the really good cognac houses. I guess it's all a matter of marketing and branding. Look at Jack Daniel's... In any case, there is another reason Cognac is much more popular. It's because there is a major river in Cognac. Armagnac is essentially landlocked. Cognac had a much easier time distributing its product, and therefore it gained more popularity. But mind you, Armagnac just celebrated its 700th year of making grape brandy. So, the tradition and the quality are far superior in armagnac (that's an opinion, but I think a well founded one).

What does all that have to do with getting a train to armagnac? Well, the point is that you CAN'T actually get a train to armagnac. You have to catch a train to bordeaux or to mont de marsan and then rent a car, or hire an expensive taxi. Mont de Marsan is significantly closer to Labistide D'Armagnac, so I decided taking the train there would be a better call. Then to rent a car... Avis was the only place that had car rental, so that made the decision quite a bit easier. It was perhaps too expensive, but once I saw Labastide D'Armagnac, well, let's just say, renting a car was the best course of action...

A fun little navigation through southwest france, and 25 miles later was Chateau du Prada.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Chennai Super Kings: BRING IT

I called it! I called it from day one. Chennai Super Kings win the Indian Premiere League! I called that from day one. I also said that they'd beat the Mumbai Indians. Turns out, that was the championship match.

I have had the serious good fortune of being in cities when a bat and ball championship has occurred. For example 2005 Chicago White Sox! Also, 2008 Phillies! Now 2010 Chennai Super Kings! Of course I was not in chennai for the game or the celebrations, but I did support the team for the whole tournament.

I have this thing about supporting sporting. Somehow, sports are one thing that can really unite people locally (or regionally or nationally) across religion and politics.
Example: most right thinking americans will cheer for an american in the olympics. Of course we have the disease of having TOO MANY revisionists who wish to see the United States do poorly in everything (until of course it comes to their own personal finances), but in general, I think Americans cheer for Americans. Chicagoans cheer for Chicago teams (Cubs/Sox is an exception), Philladelphians cheer for Philly teams, Chennaikers cheer for the Chennai Super Kings (there are no other teams).

For what it's worth, I, myself, needed something for which to cheer concerning my time in Chennai and I actually like cricket. My close Indian friend doesn't like it, but that's because he's bitter about the fact that academics get paid shit while cricketers make more money each year than he will in a lifetime working in India. To be fair, I have the same gripes with professional athletes in the United States, but I got over it. They simply make more money, that's life. Life is unfair, cricket is awesome.

After a grueling regular season in which the super kings (what a shitty name!) were relegated to next to last in the standings after an abysmal 5 match losing streak, things began to look up. They won 3 in a row. Lost 1, then proceeding to kick ass and take names all the way to the semifinals and then crush sachin tendulkar and his elite batsmanship all the way to the tune of IPL champs! BOO YA! Go Super Kings. Also, Matthew Hayden is my boy!

Vietnamese Food in Paris

Bahn Mi. It is among the best thing that has ever been concocted and simultaneously called a sandwich. But I didn't eat it in Paris. I did, however, seek out (like an eagle hunting an injured bird) a small vietnamese section in town to find pho.

I had COMPLETELY forgotten that Vietnam was a French colony not so long ago. Actually, I hadn't forgotten, but merely missed the connection when I got to Paris. I guess I was just so relieved to get to europe after months in the much further east. Paris surprised me with how well mixed the culture is. But the idea that I should find french speaking vietnamese resteraunteurs shouldn't have surprised me at all. Anyway, I was told there was "something like chinatown, except from vietnam." I knew what that meant. It meant I'd found a place where my nose would be happy. So, of course I went.

Funny thing: I have a hard enough time ordering vietnamese food in english... French just flabbergasted me. But somehow I managed to order pho. Basically the point and smile technique works everywhere. Sadly, I didn't get my pho with tendon and brisket, but I got whatever "normal" thing they serve. Oh, did I enjoy it.

What was more important to me, was trying to remember all the places that the french colonizers had gone. I came up with a long list of them and realized that there is a long list of ethnic tastiness to be had in Paris. Bistros, fine, beef tartar, completely delicious, but pho, tabbouleh, west african specialties, south indian things, etc. Paris offers a lot of tasty treats which are NOT french. I like that. I could be happy with that for a long time.

The Hidden Nieghborhoods or Paris

I don't know how much I can claim to have visited the "hidden" neighborhoods of Paris, but I certainly made it into neighborhoods with very few tourists, and a much SMALLER proportion of english speakers. By the way, Thank you Parisians for putting up with my English. Thank you even more for putting up with my insultingly horrid C+ first semester level French! That helped me out a lot.

First Stop: Canal St. Martin.
If you've seen the film Amelie, and remember it... There is a scene in which she in skipping stones on a canal. This scene also offers perhaps some of the BEST filmwork of the early 2000's. It's a really fluid shot that goes from behind her, over her head and in front of her to just above the stone that seems as if it will hit the camera.
THAT:
That is Canal St. Martin. It is really lovely. The only tourists around are on canal cruise boats and so they aren't walking around bothering the normal crowd. Had a "Kebab" from a nearby turkish restaurant and somehow managed to plop my ass down to eat it right next to the canal flanked on all sides by lesbians enjoying the hell out of their sunday afternoons and girlfriends. Saw a guy with a remote control motorboat causing havoc with some of the canal's geese. Great amusement. The "kebab" or what we lebanese know as shawarma was decent. I do have to say, the donner kebabs all over Europe are TOTALLY subpar to those in Lebanon. If Turkey's Kebabs are really done that way, then I should make a habit of inviting people to Lebanon just for eating. Seriously, I know Turkey has a great culinary tradition (or has at least stolen many great culinary traditions from those it has conquered), but their Donner Kebabs as just not that good! Anyway, it was still delicious on a Sunday afternoon in Paris. I was still on the look out for Biere de Garde and when I spotted a group of kids with a bottle I immediately went to them and asked where they got it. They pointed me in some direction and I went.

On the way to the beer store, I got sidetracked again.

Second Stop: Little Jafna (or Little Sri Lanka).
As I mentioned before, I got REALLY excited about visiting a Tamil speaking Sri Lankan neighborhood in Paris. I really like Sri Lankan food, and I can even ask for it in Tamil. This will SURELY get me superb service and instant friends. What I found instead of Sri Lankans were Indians who don't speak Tamil, and an influx of Chinese. There were a few stores that sold Indian clothing, but were closed on Sunday Afternoon. I had no idea that Indians would ever close a shop if they had opportunity to make money. I was totally shocked. So in fact, I got to speak no Tamil, read no Tamil, and show off to no one with my limited Tamil skill. That's ok, because I came across a Lebanese restaurant with good hummus and tabbouleh. I sat around and did the common people watching thing that Parisians do. Eventually I made my way a little further and found the bar waiter who suggested Parc Des Buttes Chaumont.

About that time I got a craving for Vietnamese food. I have been without good pho for FAR FAR FAR too long, and went in search of it. In case you're wondering... Yes, I went in search of the Vietnamese Niehgborhood (which is near the Belleville stop on the Paris metro) and found it. However, I was supposed to meet my host at another restaurant in another part of town for "Persian" food. I enjoyed it quite a lot, but I suspect (always a sneaking suspicion) that Lebanese people had something to do with the particular preparation of food. All in all, a most successful day of running around the capital of france.

The Elusive 961

As per current records, the oldest cultivators of wine in history are those in the Bekaa Valley. By the way, that's in Lebanon. So, yes, I AM saying that Lebanon has a longer wine tradition than any other country. According to modern scholarship this is still true. I'd bet you with the stupid hummus wars in place, Israel will find some reason to say that wine is originally from Israel. Fact of the matter is this: Lebanon makes great wine. Even after war, even with a heavy islamic influence, even with an economy that went to shit, even with (insert other thing here that makes wine production difficult) Lebanon still makes great wine. One more remark on how awesome lebanon is for making this stuff...

One of the best vintages is 1978 Chateau Musar. Fine whatever, it's some year, some winery, somewhere. But 1978 was in the middle of a gruesome civil war. Absolutely horrible war, absolutely fantastic wine!

So, when you go to Lebanon looking for something other than wine or Arak it's a little difficult to find. Strangely finding lebanese brandy is a task. I'd expect that to be a no-brainer, but apparently, they simply like grape juice and anise too much. Oh well... But beer... Good luck buddy. Almaza is the king of Lebanese beer. If you're looking for something else, chances are you'll get Heineken (Almaza'a parent company) or Corona (for what reason I have no idea). But the new kid on the block, 961... Fat Chance. Lebanon's first microbrew.

I found a bottle way up in the mountains. I didn't even have to go to Beirut to find it. Moreoever, I didn't have to search for the brewery that apparently no longer exists. I found a bottle in the mountains. Tired of drinking the bland german and turkish products that actually make it to Lebanon I finally went for the 961. Problem was, I was looking for IPA, and they only had traditional lager. Why the hell is this such a popular style? If traditional lager were a varietal of grape it would be ugni blanc. Who makes WINE out of ugni blanc? Basically no one. Why? Quite simply, it's kinda of bland and boring. It doesn't have much flavor and it basically pissy alcoholic water... making it the wine equivalent of traditional euro-style piss lager which is the model for Budweiser, Miller, and all other evil breweries.

But, I wanted a real beer, and this was my best shot...
So I gave it a go.

Shockingly, it was really tasty! It was the same style, except with a nice hoppy backbone. I guess if I'd come from the states or Canada and tried it, I would have been terribly disappointed in how bland and boring it is, just like everything else. But I was coming from India, where the common "beer" can only be described as having imitation beer flavor. So if you go and read comments about 961traditional lager on ratebeer or beeradvocate you'll probably find more complaints than complements. I can't offer any other comment, but I definitely want to try their other beers. At least they are bold enough to add hops to their eurostyle piss beer.

But, all things considered, if you're going to Lebanon to drink, best bet is wine (or arak).

Kollam Beach

Between the boredom of the out-of-town part of Kollam where we were and the need for some activity in the day (which is the same feeling really) we had decided to go into nearby Kollam Beach. A whole 12 km bus journey. Which means it only occupied an hour of our time (each way). We'd heard the waters were rough and the tides had serious undertows and therefore people didn't usually go in the water. I suspect there are other reasons that people don't go into the water. Part of it has to do with the fact that Indians generally use waters for BATHING, not swimming. Even in Pondicherry I saw people in the water essentially for bathing purposes. No one would be crazy enough to SWIM in the water. So it was with Kollam Beach.

What should be an otherwise beautiful tourist spot is basically an Indian hideout completely littered with garbage. Literally littered with litter. Disgusting!
After sitting on the beach for a while and watching a couple of kids get about 3 feet deep into the water with all their clothes the wind started up. Part of Kollam's tide comes from the fact that the beach itself is steep. The water doesn't gently come to shore, but rather hits a shore with a serious incline. The wind therefore picks up sand in a funny way and threw it against us in a stinging manner. Ugh. Well, we kept sitting after that first blast of sand (what was considered a cool breeze is as my friend says "a searing wind") we watched these kids playing in the shallow water. Then we watched them throwing litter and more shit right into the water.

That did it. I went down and started grabbing shit out of the water and collecting it. I walked all the way to the sidewalk to grab a huge trash can and carry it about 50 m in toward the water. I demanded that people throw away their garbage. F*cking trash. I hate India! Why do you just litter everything? Destroying your beautiful beaches... Bastards!

Anyway, I actually managed to get about 4 people to pick up a piece of garbage close by and toss it into the bin. I figured if every person took away one more piece of trash than they left, the beach would be clean in about a week. This belief is actually two combined statements.
1) There is a lot of trash
2) There are so many more indians visiting that beach.

Anyway, a little sun, a little sand, picking up a little trash, attempting to go to bar. Oh wait, they have a full menu, but aren't carrying ANY of the drinks on it. What is this place. Ugh. Ok, back to the bus to our hotel with a bar carrying no drinks and walking toward the closest restaurant a mile away and listening to the loud "devotions" playing 20 hours a day right into our room. Gotta Love India.

Parc des Buttes Chaumont

I bet I spelled the park name terribly wrong. My apologies to all my parisian readers (if there are any, and probably there are not).

I spent a Sunday afternoon in Paris touring around some less well known neighborhoods and found an alley with a few pubs, cafes, and restaurants, near a section I believed to be called "Little Jafna" in Paris. I had been on a mission to find this sri lankan neighborhood because according to some sources it's a Tamil speaking neighborhood or Paris. I figured between my broken french, tamil, and my well versed english I'd have no problem getting across the point I needed.

Well, I got sidetracked. I sat down for a beer (shock) and the bar waiter sat down and started chatting. I freaking LOVE paris. He sat down with a map and told me where basically everything was that he finds cool in paris. Amongst the highest recommendations was the parc des buttes chaumont. So on Monday I set out to find it. Armed only with a map with a few circles on it and limited french I figured it would happen. Luckily, Paris is geographically VERY small. The suburbs stretch out forever, but Paris itself... not so big.

In order to get to the park you have to walk up a rather large hill. I didn't know Paris had such a hill, but it does. You'll pass by the canal where Amelie skipped stones, and past a small chinese and vietnamese nieghborhood into a residential area where all the beautiful american stereotypes placed on paris are true. The only difference is that Paris is still more awesome than the sterotypes portray it to be.

Quick disclaimer: These are my opinions about Paris, but I think they are widely held opinions.

I step into a little wine shop right next to the local butcher. Why the hell not, I'm in France right? What's this? Really good wine for how much? TWO EUROS? THREE EUROS? A bottle of Cote Du Rhone 2004 for SEVEN EUROS!? OH MY GOD, I am SO MOVING HERE! So I splurged about bought two bottles of wine to take back to my host. I spent a whopping 7.35 euros (~$11) on two nice (not amazing, but very nice) bottles of wine. Walked along toward the park. Aha! There's a sign pointing me exactly where I want to go. MMM sushi. Don't stop now, go to the park. Oh, another liquor store, but with microbrewed french beer... Well, there goes more of my money. It was worth it, I found some exceptional beers of which I'd never heard and paid another 3 euros for a couple of bottles. Not a big spending day in fact.

Finally I make it to the park. It is absolutely gorgeous. Despite the fact that it was far too cold to really enjoy it, I sat up at the top of the first hill and watched people for a while. I got to play with a small dog running around chasing birds while his owner was studying something. There was a group of kids picnicking at the top of the same hill, so I busted out one of my beers. Not only, no complaints, but I found signs that say, don't litter, and they have pics of wine bottles on them. Drinking in the park, how novel! So I enjoy two of the finest french beers of my life and watch people for quite some time. A group of "alternative life style" women doing some very old school calisthenics, a group of teens playing guitar and singing crappy songs. I'm transported directly back to my youth for a moment. Then on the recommendation of the same waiter from sunday as before, I set off looking for a restaurant called Rosa Bonheur. It turns out, that restaurant is IN the park. The park is quite a bit larger than I'd expected. It contains miles of running tracks and several restaurants (including a mexican restaurant which I did not visit). I finally found Rosa Bonheur, but it was closed for renovation. Oh well.

Hey what's that? It's some look out or something... Nice!
Checking it out... Good place to sit, excellent view of paris, get to see the sunset from here... Sitting down right about now.

Eventually it occurred to me that the park closes AT sunset and I had quite a way to go down to get out. In order to avoid being
a) Trapped in the park all night
b) arrested
I decided it was best to leave BEFORE the park closed. Good call by the way.
But I did find something that to which I will immediately return upon arrival in Paris the next trip. There WILL be a next trip.

An odd weather traveler

This spring in Europe has been exceptionally cold. I've been told how cold and rainy it is here in France, Spain, Holland, and even in Poland. It's just been a miserably cold spring. For me, it's ok, but it's interesting that I'm getting uncommon weather because I have a history of this. Perhaps I noted this once while I was in Delhi earlier this year, but let me just give a short recap of my unusual weather experiences with travel.

3 days of 5 raining in Denver,
3 days of 5 raining in San Diego,

both of which are 330+ days of sunshine per year.

Rain in the summer in Lebanon,
Beautiful springtime weather at christmas in Lebanon,

Coldest day in 7 years in Delhi,

Amazing sunshine and warm weather at easter in england,

and now a brutally cold spring in europe.
It has been amusing to me that most of my trip has been spent with temperatures in the 40s and 50s (F) and even a few nights of frost (in MAY!!) which qualifies as colder than the coldest temperature in recorded history in chennai! Weird.

Here's hoping Philly Beer Week is nicer!

Monday, May 17, 2010

The HouseBoats of Kerala

I know it's a tourist pitch. It is completely and utterly a tourist pitch. But I'll still go for it. In Goa, if you don't drink Fenny, your trip is incomplete. In Kerala, if you don't see the backwaters on a houseboat, your trip is incomplete.

Fine, let's do it. Actually, I've got to say, for all the terrible shit going down in Kerala, it's really a beautiful place. So we trotted around looking at a couple of houseboats in Kollam and Kollam Beach. All about the same. Fortunately, the best boat was owned by our hotel. So we rented it for a night. I have to say, for the price, it's damn hard to beat it. But if you're into excitement or socializing, you'd better make sure you've got a lively group going with you, otherwise your trip will bore you to sleep and it won't take long.

Our negotiations landed us with a one-night cruise up the backwaters from out hotel. We thought we'd dock at some village north of our starting point and begin again early in the morning and land back at the hotel by about noon. Oops. The boat actually docked at the hotel's "island" about 300m away from the hotel. Quite boring. We'd asked for other people to join us and the hotel insisted that we didn't have to have anyone with us if we didn't want. It was not about the price! For one night with boatride, beautiful room, all meals included for two people the cost was around $150, maybe a touch less. I didn't care about splitting the cost. Going to bed at sunset is just a little boring...

So my suggestions to myself are these. Make sure you have at least 4 people and some entertainment with you. Also make sure that you're taking a two night cruise and that you can dock somewhere else on the first night.

Things that went well.
The food at least was excellent. Actually, some of the best I'd had in India. In addition I'd been asking everyone in the whole state of Kerala for Toddy (fermented coconut wine) and the guy organizing the boat house said he could get some "fresh" toddy. I was excited about that. Turned out, it was basically coconut sap. It hadn't really fermented much yet, but there was yeast present. That basically meant the whole glass of milky sap tasted like bread. A little weird, but I knew what was going on. In addition, somewhere in the middle of a big lake, we decided that it would be a good idea to go swimming. I jumped off the roof of the houseboat and into the lake. It appeared that the lake had a really soft bottom which was only about 2 meters down. So it's rather lucky that I didn't dive into the water, but rather just jumped in. Totally fun time. The water was a bit strong in current, so we decided after about 20 minutes we were done swimming. Funny thing: the boat had no ladder. I don't think they are accustomed to crazy americans actually ENJOYING SWIMMING. So they had to pull us each into the boat by hand. THAT was amusing.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Like Beer? Give Paris a shot.

After a short delay in my travel plans in which I had to skip over Amsterdam and Antwerp I flew into Paris. What to do? What to do? Luckily I was staying with a friend of a friend who happens to be a physicist and had a decent internet connection. So, after I get set up briefly I scour the web for some fun info on Paris.

First things first. No Eiffel Tower, no Louvre, no Notre Dame. In fact I saw all those things before when I was a teenager traveling around with my parents and sister. Fine and well, you can't totally miss all that if you're in central Paris. So, what did I search for? Of course. "Forgotten Neighborhoods of Paris." I also looked for lesser known neighborhoods, hidden gems, etc. I went around to most of the suggested neighborhoods, but what I thought was best was an article I found about a guy who'd toured Paris looking for good beer. Turns out, Parisians drink a LOT of beer. Like as much as coffee, tea, or wine. Basically, on every corner there is at least one Brasserie. In older days, a brasserie was ACTUALLY a brewery. Now, most of them function as cafes and beer bars. The selection isn't always that great, but most of the time there is really great food being served, excellent coffee, and of course french beer.

The nice thing about Paris, which everyone talks about, is the fact that lunch is not rushed. For me, the most enjoyable thing about being in Paris is going to a brasserie and sitting. Just sitting. There is no rush. Start with Ricard or Pernod. Have a small salad or a soup. Have a beer, a glass of wine, whatever you like. No rush whatsoever. I somehow think that if you rush through this sort of thing you'll end up spending most of your money much faster than you'd expected. For me... Salad, beer, and perhaps a little beef tartar if it's available. Perhaps another beer. I should also point out that beers in Paris are not served like beers in America or Germany of India. They are served in little 8 oz servings, half pints. I love the half pint!
Also, French beers are mostly belgian style blonde ales. It's a good thing. I do however, recommend that if you're going for beef tartar, go for a belgian style brown ale or a nice glass of red table wine. (Note, this means french table wine, not yellow tail...)

So, if you happen to find yourself in Paris, go sit at a brasserie and waste away the day talking to random people and watching folks skate,bike, and stroll in front of you. Have yourself a beer, have another, then walk with no rush to the next "item on your agenda" (If you're in such a rush as to have one).

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

More Polish Misadventures

Before all the ass painting and fire-breathing tuba madness I had been speaking with my host at the mathematics institute about how sorry a mathematician I am. I'm kind of ok with that. At least I'm a good speaker. Well, with that rousing recommendation of my mathematical abilities I decided to set out and see some more warsaw.

I went to the nearest metro station, bought a 24 hour ticket and set out for old town. I accidentally overshot it and first went to the neighborhood immediately north of old town known as new town. Stare Miasto and Nowy Miasto. I navigated on instinct alone. I'd looked at a map earlier and was carrying a badly detailed tourist pocket map just for reference and just set out in the right direction. First thing, I saw a huge monument. Again, since my Polish language skills are close to nonexistent, I discerned that I was at a monument for World War II casualties and veterans. It was surrounded by an enormous building, super duper big (in area, not height) and I thought perhaps it was a museum, but that didn't make too much sense. I found out later (from a chilean consulate) that it is the ministry of justice. Go figure. I strolled through the new town neighborhood and realized I was slightly in the wrong spot and just turned south for a bit and wandered directly into a beautiful part of the city.

Stare Miasto is prototypical as an eastern european city. Colorful buildings, lots of big beautiful churches, lots of people eating at pubs and drinking copious amounts of beer. Walking around the not so big neighborhood I ran into lots of small things with big charm. Old town is also on the west side of the river that runs through the middle of warsaw. I walked down close to the river, and found some nice "forests" on either side. I guess they used to be forests, but there are still lots of trees adorning each side of the river, it's just that now they aren't the thick forests that they once were. Human settlement and a little thing called war took care of the forest density. I sat down at a small pub for a pint. I saw on the TV that some football match (soccer game) was happening.

Quick Aside: Football (as a sport's name) is even more confusing here than elsewhere since Warsaw has two soccer teams and an American Football team (called the Eagles, GO PHILLY! E-A-G-L-E-S). I didn't bust out any e-a-g-l-e-s here, because I didn't think they'd understand what the hell I was doing. Besides, the match was between the two warsaw soccer teams. Turns out it was the Polish first league and a fairly important match. But to my understanding it was sort of a yankees-mets or cubs-sox or rangers-islanders or jets-giants or galaxy-cd chivas type rivalry. That is to say (for the less sports educated readers) they don't like each other very much. But to me, polish first league soccer isn't terribly interesting. I'm gearing up for USA-England on June 12.

I finished my (first) pint and wandered around. I walked through a very residential area of nowy miasto and saw two kids on bikes. They weren't really kids so much as people my age, but they WERE on bikes and they WERE speaking english. Turns out, one is from the states and the other from chile. The american had something to do and so split immediately, but I asked the chilean (who speaks rather good english) if he wanted to go for a beer.

First things first. We heard loud cheering and wanted to go see what it was. Turns out, it was the same soccer game (football match) that was airing in the pub. Some kids across the street from the stadium had a nice half stair-case from which we could look into the stadium. So with my new found chilean friend and a crowd of random people we watched about 20 minutes of the big game.

So, now with a traveling companion we set out to see some warsaw. It turns out this guy from chile has been living in Poland for close to a year and is a consulate. He works with the embassy here. He also told me that there are 50 Chileans living in all of Poland. I guess his job is not REALLY taxing when it comes to visa issues and such. Don't get me wrong, he works harder than I do, but it seems the amount of travel from Poland to Chile is rather minimal, and looking after Chile's citizens in Poland is probably not as difficult as say, looking after tibetans in india...

So we went for some food and drink. Stopping along the way to eat Shawarma and sausage and drink a beer across the street from the mourning place for Poland's recently passed president. We paused to pay homage, and then drank. I'll drink one more for the president before I leave.

He told me he had to go to the gym since it closes early. And we agreed to meet close by at 10 PM. That gave me more time to wander around. By the way, I'm not getting very good use of my 24 hour pass. But it's ok, I saw about 6 neighborhood of warsaw that were new to me.

At 10 we met again and wandered around. He shared with me some fantastic chilean pisco (he was shocked that I knew what it was and liked it) as well as some really fantastic mexican mezcal. Didn't think I'd see either of THOSE in poland, but then again, I didn't expect to see a fire-breathing tuba either. The rest of the night BASICALLY went as usual. A little pub crawl, talking to random folks in languages I don't really speak, drinking beer I don't really like, and walking home after the train stops running. Off fore more misadventuring!

Polish Misadventures

ASS PAINTING. Wait. What? Does that shop door say "ASS PAINTING?" It can't possibly be right. I step closer to find out what's going on. OH!

GLASS PAINTING!

That seems much more appropriate for old town warsaw. Although, I'm still not sure why the sign was in English. Either way I got a huge laugh out of it. But the shop keep still needs to replace the 'GL' lettering on the door. For now the door actually says "ASS PAINTING." Mind you, I'm not in any way against the idea of a business whose main goal is indeed livening up certain sets of buttocks with colorful ardor and panache, but I simply can't see the sustainability of such an enterprise, maybe in Warsaw...

I turn around and in my 360 degree view I see three gorgeous old catholic churches, a sort of fortress protecting Stare Miasto (the neighborhood of old town) a momument to someone I don't know for doing something I never learned in a language I can't read, a big open public space filled with restaurants and bars, plentiful youth with skateboards, guitars, and ice creams, and somewhere not so far off I hear polka. It sounds live. I gravitate toward the polka.

Open admission... I like Polka music. I especially love it when beer is involved, or when I'm in the former eastern block.

This polka sounds mildly strange, like only the tuba is live. When I find it around the corner I see that indeed it's only a tuba. He's got a boombox with him. Although, something else is strange about this guy...

FIRE IS COMING OUT OF HIS TUBA! What the hell is going on? Fire breathing Tuba. I'm pretty sure that sealed the deal. I love Warsaw.

I had to sit and watch for a little while. It turns out that I was in a slightly touristy area, but the locals hang out there too. This fire-breathing tuba guy doesn't seem to be run of the mill. A lot of people were looking at him. I was sitting and wondering what sort of contraption he rigged to make his tuba breathe fire. I also wondered how he'd tuned his tuba to keep it from being incredibly sharp. I took another walk around the block and came back to see the fire-breathing tuba from the other side. I walked very close behind him and found that he welded a contraption onto the bell of his tuba so that when he presses a small button with his left hand it releases some gas and flame. He was pressing the button when he was playing notes to give the impression that he was breathing fire. But it really looked awesome! Fire freakin breathing freakin tuba!

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

A walk on Beirut's seaboard at night

After getting "stuck" in Lebanon for five days before heading on to Paris I finally got a ticket to to fly. For a brief moment I considered an overland trip from Beirut to Belgium, but that would have been
a) expensive
b) timely
c) less fun than my fantasies may have suggested.

So I waited to get a plane ticket. It turns out, that to get a "cheap" plane ticket you have to fly at painful o'clock. So I did. Thing is, that my flight was at 4:50 AM. That meant I needed to be at the airport by about 3:00 AM. So I decided that I'd go into Beirut with my cousin(s) and we'd hang out until a late hour, then he'd take me to the airport. We left the village at about 9PM and got into beirut about 9:45PM. We picked up another friend (who also happens to be a cousin) and the three of us set out for a shopping mall. I had nothing to do with this decision. However, my one cousin who was driving had a girl to go see. She works in said shopping mall. So now the four of us are out in Beirut with no mission. This, I should point out, is not the lebanese way. Usually there is some place or some activity in mind. I guess for my cousin, picking up a girl and dropping me off at the airport were the objectives. Somehow we missed that whole 5 hour span in the middle.

In any case, we drove around gemayze (beirut's party district) and didn't stop. We almost drove up to Jounieh (definitely my vote, I love jounieh) but didn't. In the end, we drove down the coastline a short way past the american university of beirut, past some old rundown buildings, past the old ramada inn and found a nice arguilleh bar and restaurant by the sea.

Quick Aside, I know I've mentioned it before, but the old ramada inn in downtown beirut is amazing. It's completely riddled bull of old mortar shells and bullet holes. And it's sitting amidst some of the most beautifully rebuilt pieces of downtown. It's really something to see. It reminds me of how horrible war is, but somehow it's a real piece of hope since it's STILL standing. If you can't knock down a major chain hotel over the course of nearly 20 years, you can't defeat the city in which it stands. Anyway, enough romanticizing.

We get to a restaurant and I immediately see Kibbeh Naye (raw meat) on the menu and jump on it. My cousins and random girl joining us were surprised that I'd eat such a thing. Come on people, it was on the damn menu. It's not like I asked for something illicit that no one would ever eat... Anyway, the common practice in Lebanon is to drink Arak with kibbeh naye to, you know, "kill the germs." So I ordered that. What!? No alcohol here? Isn't this an overpriced smoking lounge on the sea? It is? And you don't carry the national beverage? Not even if I ask for it "off the menu?" W. T. and F? So I sat and ate my raw meat which of course was delicious and drank a 7up. I felt like a kid. Here ibn ghazi, have your sandwich and your 7up while the adults smoke from pipes. A bit lame. BUT, there is a bright spot just ahead.

After the restaurant we went for late night coffee and tea (always a good thing) and parked right on the seaboard. Beirut has really done a nice job with the oceanfront recently. So we took a stroll for the remaining few hours. My cousin and his girl took off way ahead so they could "talk" (which apparently is exactly what they did...) and my other cousin and I walked far behind telling dirty jokes and talking about Lebanon's future developments. It's a beautiful stroll. IF you get a chance to be in Beirut at about 2AM go for a walk down on the seaboard and catch a glimpse of all the young folks smoking the arguilleh, drinking tea, and playing backgammon with fiendish intensity uncharacteristic of all the other activities taking place. I almost decided to get into a backgammon game, but I don't trust the guys who play every day for money and have a far greater knowledge of good cheats than I.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Regant Lake Palace Hotel in Kollam

Ok, back to India again. I never really finished blogging about my trip with Yvonne down India's west coast. I'm still missing the entire Kerala portion. So, after the bomb on the plane from kingfisher airlines (still bitter that they have an airline by the way) on the plane from bangalore, we made it to Trivandrum (thiruvananthupuram) and had booked a hotel in Kollam. Kollam is only about 80km north of trivandrum, but the bus takes a long time to get there. Somehow, everything is really slow in India, even on good roads.

So we get out of the airport, find a cab to the bus station, and find the bus to kollam. Luckily these buses go every few minutes. So, for a matter of $2 or something small like that, we were on our way to the Regant Lake Palace Hotel on a small bus with all our luggage. Fast forward 2 hours later and there we were.

Regant Lake Palace Hotel, somehow evokes everything that a tourist should expect from India. It's a beautiful hotel in the middle of nowhere (actuall between the arabian sea and a lake) which is horribly decorated and has a staff full of people who WANT to be helpful, but simply aren't. They really were sweet people, but simply not a clue about anything. Quick example: It was the Malayalam New Year or maybe the Kerala New Year (I can't keep them straight) and this meant 10 days of blaring devotional music playing at ear splitting level. We were put on the side of the hotel where the music was. The speaker blaring this annoyance was hoisted way into a tree that was approximately 40 ft high (ie the level of the hotel room). We asked to be moved to the other side (as there were no other guests in our hotel) and the bellhop said the music was coming from the other side and it would be louder there. What a f'ing idiot. He didn't even check, he just called the front desk and described (incorrectly) where our room was. Did I mention this music starts at 5AM and ends at 1AM? Did I mention that most of it isn't really music, but more high pitched wailing and drums? Did I mention that I hate high pitched indian singing? Did I mention that they didn't change our side of the hotel? Did I mention that this was the second new year this year? Bizarre.

Anyway, the hotel was really lovely, great breakfast (included in the room price) and was on a lake. Did I mention they have their own private island (about 5000 m^2 which is to say extremely tiny for an island)?

Warsaw

Hello readers! I apologize for the inordinately long delay in my blogging. I've been bouncing around western europe and arrived recently in warsaw where I'm staying at the Institute of Mathematics of the Polish National Academy (IMPAN).

I took an overnight train from Utrecht, Netherlands to Warsaw Central station. I was shocked that the train came directly. In fact, I think the train went all the way to Moscow, but I decided that since my entire euro vacation was built on the premise that I'd be giving a talk in Warsaw and attending a conference later, that I'd better not miss it... That would really be signing my mathematical death warrant. As it is I'm on pretty thin ice.

So, Warsaw... I got here on Sunday morning. Noone here at the institute, no internet, no phone, no map... I asked around for a long time just to find the institute. Found it. Checked in, set down my bags, went exploring.

So it Warsaw, what is the first thing I find? Why yes, a shawarma place owned by a jordanian where I had to order my food in arabic. Of course, that screams Poland to me.
Although I was really happy with that, because it turns out that Jordanian Arabic sounds really similar to Lebanese Arabic except that Jordanians sound a lot angrier. I ate my shawarma (with no tomato!!!!) and chatted with a guy who loves the united states more than any self respecting jordanian should. That also made me happy. Then he gave me a true jordanian show. He told me about a nightclub close by that he really loves because of "the bitches." Oh warsaw, you excite me.

Ok, back to work on my talk. Done with work, what's next? Vietnamese food of course! I found a vietnamese place very close by. They were out of Pho! (clark then exudes a long cry) and finds an english speaker who tells me chmielna street (about 20 minutes walking) has a lot of vietnamese restaurants. Off I go! Ask away, ask away. How to I get to Chmielna street? Oh, you don't speak english either...

Finally I made it. Funny thing, lots of bars, no vietnamese places. What I did find however, was that chmielna was back in what looked like some alley from the main road. It turns out that there are lots of "it looks like an alley" streets in warsaw. I decided to spend about 4 hours last night going up and down them seeing what I could find.

Interesting finds so far:
1) Winairnia Tblisi.
I recognized the first word meant winery or something related to wine. The second word is the capital city of Georgia (not the Atlanta one, the eastern european country). Sure enough, a store, and wine bar full of nothing but wines from georgia... Didn't know they had 100 wineries.

2) Beautifully conserved catholic churches next to stalin era statues of workers. Industrial workers promoting the well fare of society (clearly).

3) Warsaw is an eastern block city which is modernizing very quickly. I actually really like it, and am excited to see what I find this week.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Guns and Explosives Under My Bed

Perhaps it was naive of me to think I could go to Lebanon a third time in 5 months and not see something terribly shocking. I sort of figured I'd seen a lot of things in Lebanon. My family is a bunch of mountain folks. They go down into the city a lot, but know how to survive. Hunting is a big sport, but the scarred psychology that remains after a civil that rocked the nation for two decades is a fragile one. "Defense" is still in the front of the minds of many people. One of my cousins that I hadn't seen in nearly 7 years is back from working in the gulf and he likes guns. I'll just leave it at that. He likes guns. The first morning after I awoke, he showed me a pistol. He said "it's good quality, German." Upon further examination he revealed it to be a 1918 german pistol. I don't really know anything about guns (turning my back somewhat on both of my heritages...) but it looked and felt like a really nice piece of machinery. I can't condone it, but I try to appreciate something that is done with real quality. Besides, this pistol had some old cloth wrapped up and stuck in the barrel. Also, the bullets were not in the gun. So I let that one go as a nice machine. What I saw next really shocked me.

My cousin asked if I liked it. I honestly answered "yes, it's a high quality gun." So, essentially given the green light, he asked if I liked hunting. Again I answered honestly (gotta stop doing that around lebanese family...) "I don't like it myself, but I appreciate people who hunt and eat what they kill." So he pulls out a high powered gun. I don't mean a hunting rifle, I mean a military grade weapon. It was the most imposing gun I've ever been able to touch. BIG rifle. Not something I would think to use as a "deer hunting weapon" more like a Samual Jackson from Jackie Brown style "for when you absolutely got to kill ever motherf*cker in the room" style weapon. Any deer that comes up against that thing... Well...

Ok, two weapons, high caliber. Third gun! WHAT. THE. F*CK!? is that thing? I has a shoulder brace and is a much higher powered gun than either of the first two. I was almost afraid to hold it. This was an assassin's gun. Scary shit. I'm not kidding. It was scary shit. Of course, it wasn't loaded and the ammo wasn't even in the room. But holding that kind of potential destructive power is not something with which I can yet consider myself comfortable. Oh MY GOD. I think my tour of guns is finished for the day.

Ok, guns, enough. Later that morning after a beautiful breakfast in perfect weather on a perfect veranda overlooking some of the world's most gorgeous scenery, my (78 year old) aunt comes out and says something to her son and grandson. Her son begins explaining to me that they found some leftover explosives in the old wood shed. He said during the war they had to be ready to defend themselves at a moment's notice. He also explained to me that these explosives can simply be lit on fire and they do so sometimes just to light fires in the stove or whatever other common household chose is necessary. Explosives (plastic explosives) don't explode from fire alone. They require a chain reaction, and generally a powerful force to hit them first. Some my younger cousin (who'd been showing me the guns) goes to the wood shed and brings out some plastic explosives onto the deck... WHAT. THE. F*CK!?
He plays with them a little, and I tell him not to throw them or else invite disaster. He said, if these explode we'd find the stones of the house in beirut. He's right. There were some big explosives leftover. I don't know how much firepower was there, but certainly enough to knock down the house in which they currently reside (and it's a big house). My older cousin finally explains to me that during the war he had a whole stockpile of weapons including but not limited to grenades, mortars, 2000 lbs TNT, TWO bazookas (not just one bazooka, but two bazookas...), smaller explosives, and a small militia's worth of guns. After that war was end he took most of the illegal stuff (I guess it wasn't illegal in the war, because there were no laws) to the local army storage base and said he'd found it somewhere. Whatever kind of story is sufficient to get that stuff off your hands. What was leftover were some guns for "hunting" and a few forgotten plastic explosives.

Spice Plantation in Goa

Goa really does have some wonderfully touristy things. I don't know how you can go to one of the world's premiere spice growing regions and ignore the spice markets and spice plantations totally. So off we go to the spice plantation. Cab far, non Indian resident fare, pre-paid lunch, more nickel and diming, and we're there!

One of the many things I picked up in India is a real love for cardamom. I liked it before, but it's a potent spice. Bite into one of those little capsules and it's a strong flavor. Perhaps too strong. I love it. It shows up in a lot of Indian dishes and in north india in chai and I get a huge kick out of chomping right into one of those powerful spice pods! One thing I didn't know (learned on the tour, I'm such a crappy tourist sometimes) is that cardamom is one of the world's most expensive spices. I can't remember where it ranks, and I'm not sure who's ranking it, but the tour guide had said something about.

I should take some time here to mention the tour. Our tour guide was a little Indian girl (probably about 30, but she looked 15 or 16) and gave us an over rehearsed under enthused tour. Most of the tour was about herbal remedies for things rather than cook this delicious dish with this spice, but still kind of interesting. However, it was monotone, flat, too fast to retain any useful info, and jokes were thrown in there, but totally deadpan. It was a shame because I actually liked a couple of them...
For example:
Concerning Peri Peri chillies, which are amongst the hottest chillies in the world. (I think they rank just below habeneros on the scoville scale) She said "These chillies are a cure for people you don't like. Just put two in any sandwich."
No laughter. Come one people, that wasn't so terrible for a joke. It's just that our girl didn't deliver it as if she meant it.
Second example: Concerning Fenny...
"The fruit of the cashews is left to ferment, then distilled twice. And if you people drink it you will be ready for take-off."
Ok, that one is not so funny, but I like the idea that she's making a jet fuel joke about homemade rotgut!

Anyway, I got to pet an elephant, eat some love apples (about which a british woman said "I'm not feeling the love..."), eat some raw coffee beans which was a fairly bizarre experience, and see some spice I'm not accustomed to seeing grow. We were fed lunch which was quite tasty and at the end of the tour the "brave people" were allowed to try the homemade fenny. Of course both Yvonne and I wanted to try more rotgut! Actually, it wasn't bad at all. It wasn't jet fuel, it didn't smell bad, and we weren't ready for take-off. It was essentially cashew flavored vodka. I've had much worse. Also, I didn't go blind, or lose any sight (not even from blackout).

Monday, April 19, 2010

Making a Still (limoncello part 3)

I have no idea about the legal regulations in India, but as the saying goes...

"In India, the answer is always 'no'... unless it's 'yes.'"
I'm just assuming that perhaps I did something mildly illegal. Oh well, tons of bootleggers all around and a black market that can provide 50 bottles of whiskey at 3AM with hoards and hoards (and hordes) of drugs (and drug smugglers) I figure they won't even realize there is a moonshiner (the term is probably something else) producing liquor very quietly for personal consumption. So, how does one do this?

I have to ask for a still. "The fixer had promised the ability to get one." I couldn't get ahold of him in time (or rather he couldn't get ahold of his guy on my schedule) so I had to take matters into my own hands.
It turns out the things that are easier to get in India than a still include:

1) GUNS
2) DRUGS (any variety)
3) Sex (again, any variety).

My sister points out that this can be said to be true in the united states as well. I guess I'd contend that you can legally BUY a still in the united states too, but these items are easier to get on the black market than a still. Who knew?

So, off to MAKE a still. I have very little idea what I'm going to do or the challenges facing this particular endeavor, but this is definitely all for the sake of science! (I have no other intention than to produce high quality alcohol for scientific purposes. Definitely not for consumption, no definitely not that.)

Pressure cooker, high grade plastic tubing (copper is nearly impossible to find, plus I'd need welding equipment...) and something to affix the tubing to the pressure release valve. Pressure cooker... Expensive. Oh wait, how about the second hand store(s). We found a nice 10L cooker for Rs 700. The usual price is 750 for 5L.
Tubing... Rs 14/meter... And a nice perfectly sized affixing tool for Rs 9. Ok, we're in business. Now, how does this thing work?

Attempt one: Run the tubing up through the ceiling fixtures and across the room into a small bucket with a hole in the bottom. Put water in the bucket to cool the tube (condenser) and allow goodness to come out.
EVERYTHING IS WORKING! OH SWEET SASSY MOLASSY! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! IT'S WORKING. OH SHIT! IT'S NOT CONDENSING! F*&^ this is hot! all the alcohol is vaporizing... SHIT SHIT SHIT. Well I collected what I could. It worked.
Over the course of the week I played with ways of condensing alcohol and finally figured out what to do...

In the end I need to run the tubing actually a very short distance from the still, put as much ice as my poor freezer could make in a big bucket and put as much tubing as possible in the water. Collect the alcohol into a carboy. That ended up working. I distilled 30 L of alcohol into 3. If I'd gotten my still right the first time I might have pushed that number to 4.5 or even 5... Oh well, I distilled it.

The trick was the second distillation.

Stranded in Dubai

My flight out of India to Amsterdam was to take the following route:

Chennai to Dubai
Dubai to Bucharest
Bucharest to Amsterdam

I went like this
Chennai to Dubai no problems whatsoever (except for excess baggage charges, what are you going to do?).

I landed in Dubai at 12:25 AM. Romania closed their air space at 12:00 AM. Oops.
When I left India, my flight to bucharest was still on and expecting to depart with no problems. So I land in Dubai. I collect my bags, transfer flights, and oh...
I end up talking to a lebanese lady in the airport at "information desk." I knew she was lebanese by the way she approached my problem.

"information": There is no flight. Why you are trying to check in?
exasperated traveler: I know, but where is the airline?
info: the flight is canceled.
me: I KNOW that. I can read. I want to talk to the airline.
info: but the flight is canceled, why will you talk to them?
me: Ok, let's just say hypothetically speaking... that the flight were NOT canceled.
info: (interrupting) but it is canceled, so why do you care?
me: You didn't let me finish. Where WOULD I check in, if the flight WEREN'T canceled?
info: But it is canceled, there is no flight.
me: Are you lebanese?
info: Yes, why?
me: You talk like you're lebanese.
info: (confused look).

So I go to 20 other people asking about what I can. I was told to "go to my hotel" by "information" I told her, I'm trying, but my hotel is in amsterdam. That relit the fire of "you can't get to amsterdam." THAT LADY, was an idiot... But she was also definitely lebanese in being so bound to immediate practicality that the longer term solution to the problem was of negligible importance. A bit annoying for me. I actually ratted her out later. A man going around the airport talking to stranded passengers was trying to save face for customer service. He asked me if people were helpful. I told him truthfully "yes, except for a lebanese lady at information. She was the only one who didn't give me any information." HA, take that "information." Truthfully, all the airline attendants were really friendly and helpful. I speak about dubai as sort of a crappy place because it's just one big shopping mall with a couple indian neighborhoods and a building that looks like a big phallus (the biggest phallus in the world), but one thing they know IS CUSTOMER SERVICE! Well done, dubai on the customer service!

So I slept in the airport. A couple of really lovely french ladies/girls and a tunisian guy were sitting with me and the tunisian guy had no problem getting home. The french ladies booked the last two tickets to tunisia. Their plan was to boat to marseille and then train to paris. I thought it would have been fun to travel with them, but I had a shitload of luggage (my life's possessions basically) and didn't want to drag it around too much. Everything to Europe was closed. Dead, caput, nada, zero, zilch, zippo, nothing, no dice, fat chance.
So I saw that Beirut had some open flights. SURPRISE! I'm going to Beirut! I slept in the airport in dubai, got up about 10 AM (after 3 hours sleep) and bought a ticket on the 12:45 to beirut. I took Middle East Airlines (lebanon's carrier) and only had to pay $25 for baggage overages! A good result after Emirates $202 from chennai to dubai... So I went to beirut. Once there, I bought a phone card, called the only numbers I know and said I'm catching a cab to Btekhnay. Of COURSE, no one had read my email and so were all completely taken by surprise that I showed up. So, in the end I'm stranded in Btekhnay rather than Dubai. Things could DEFINITELY be worse. My third trip to Lebanon in 6 months. Not bad if I do say so myself. But I'm still on a mission for good beer and brandy. I WILL make it to belgium and gascony. I'm all over it like white on rice. Stay tuned.

Anjuna Flea Market

If you happen to be in Goa on a Wednesday and are looking to buy an incredible amount of cheap goods, or looking for some hippies to smoke up with, well have I got the place for YOU! Anjuna flea market! It's famous and rightly so. Lots of sit down snack joints (lots of joints for snacks...) Basically it's full of Russian and eastern european tourists and other white folk buying goods from kashmiris (shock) and tibetans (shock) and everyone else who wants to make a buck (or a few rupees) selling essentially useless crap.

We rented a cab to take us up and back, but part of the negotiation included stopping into some "coupon shops." This is a term that at first I didn't mind, but it grew ever more irritating as the trip wore on because more of our time got eaten up seeing shops selling things we didn't want to buy. But hey, we get a discount for stopping in, and the driver makes his Rs. 20 or whatever. Eventually we learned how to say, "We'll just pay you 60 more if you DON'T take us to the coupon shops." That worked a little, but the cab drivers are sort of indentured servants. If the shop owners find out that they've been driving people around and don't stop in to THEIR stores the cab driver has a harder time saving face. This is my guess. I can think of no other reason why they would be reluctant to take more money and NOT stop... Shorter time, more money...

Anyway, we got to the market. I got the driver's cell number and we set off.

Hey! Look at those shirts! Cool bags. Is that a shop selling old jimmy hendrix vinyls? No, just T-shirts. Is it just me or is Che Guevara REALLY popular here? Do they actually realize he was part of the Cuban revolution? Maybe he's just some counter-cultural icon. Hey! Look over there! They're selling trumpets!

I go to look at the trumpets, and they guy selling them tells me to pick any one and play it. I do so. It's broken. He says "1000 Rupees." I say sadly "it's broken."
He says "no problem, you pay thousand." I don't think he understands what I'm saying. I set it down and walk away looking dejected. He wonders what the problem is and chases me. "Sir, how much you give me?" I tell him again, "it doesn't work." I try to tell him "right now, it's not a trumpet." No success. "No problem sir, you give me 800." I finally walk off. He realizes that I'm actually NOT interested. I still don't think he understands that it's because the trumpet was broken. one of the tubes was pinched and it needed about $100 repair to play it. Add to that, I have no REAL desire to relearn the trumpet if it means carrying one from goa through kerala through chennai through wherever the hell else I'll go just to get it repaired before I can play it.

Hey! Look at that? What are they selling? Rocks? Yes, I think they are selling rocks. Wait, no, those are unpolished gemstones. Ah, no, they are selling jewelery and that is part of their demo. Wow, an BIG jewelery tent. Lots of Tibetans (shock). Funny thing about the Tibetans, they don't give much of a discount. I think Russell Peters (Canadian-Indian comedian) Says it best. (Concerning Chinese-Indian business relations) "You know why Chinese and Indians can't get along? It's because Chinese want to take every penny from you, and Indians don't want to spend a dime."

While I am terribly reticent to call tibetans "chinese" I think their business mentality is still similar. I think at one point (I didn't witness this directly) Yvonne asked for a discount on some bracelet and the seller acted insulted that she suggest a discount. The dealer hurriedly took back his bracelet and said, "you go now." WOW! No counter offer, nothing. Anyway, that episode over. I wandered further into the market and saw all kinds of scantily clad old hippies. I didn't expect to see women in their 50's and 60's wearing midriffs and tube tops with low rise jeans and thongs sticking out. The sight was rather unsettling to be honest. There was a restaurant WAY in the back (about a mile from the entrance) with a LIVE BAND. I hadn't seen a live in house band in India. These guys are pretty good.

Ok, time for a cold beer. What do you have? "KF sir." Oh my GOD! I'm swearing off KF. It is officially no longer considered beer! I'll have a coke. You things are bad when...

Ok, cold coke. I feel a little better. Time to go. I went away with some nice shirts, and a few too many eyefulls of women wearing things that maybe they should have thought twice about. And WAY too many eyefulls of men not wearing enough...
If you're in Goa on a Wednesday, go give it a shot.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Iceland's Volcano

Iceland's Volcano... It's officially messed up my travel plans too. I'm en route to Amsterdam. My route: Chennai to Dubai to Bucharest to Amsterdam. Funny thing, I thought Romania would be free from volcanic ash. Wrong. The volcano sent a second plume of smoke up into the atmosphere. I'm not really upset. It's a bit annoying, because it's gonna cost me a lot of money to get the hell out of Dubai. Funny thing, Romania shut its air space at midnight and my flight was supposed to be at 4:00 AM. Oh well. Now I've gotta figure out where I'm going next. I guess Beirut's looking good again.

So to all you travelers out there who are stranded just like myself. Fret not, the volcano probably won't erupt for more than a year straight (cf 1821). But hey, it really, really could be worse. So far, I've met a tunisian, a couple of french ladies traveling my way (sort of) and I was just chatting with a lovely older lady from Alabama on her way back to Atlanta for medical treatment. I got to talk about wine, lebanese food, and pork barbeque and the intricacies of red beans and rice. All while here in lovely dubai airport. Oh yeah, also, I got another stamp in my passport! Woo! But getting on to amsterdam... Well, that looks relatively unlikely. But hey, I've also got a nice liter of homemade hooch traveling with me somewhere... (I received a handshake for this announcement from my new alabamastani friend). Dubai's not SO bad, and also, I'll probably make an impromptu trip to beirut. Could be worse.

Friday, April 16, 2010

A Bomb on the Plane

Getting from Goa to Kerala... Not as easy as I'd envisioned. No direct flights, and trains take 100 hours. So we had to fly through Bangalore. Bangalore, once again impresses! Nice airport! Free wifi! Good Dosas at the airport! I thought airport food was supposed to be crappy! Not in Bangalore, totally good dosas.

Well, the second leg of our trip was from Bangalore to Trivandrum. In fact, Trivandrum got one of the stupidest renamings in India's massive identity crisis a few years back.
The official name of trivandrum is now

Thiruvananthupuram. WT and F!? Why would you change it from a name that barely fit on signs to a name that not only doesn't fit on signs, but can't even be used in a thesis title because it's so long!? Give me a freaking break. And to top if all off, the difference in the way it's spoken is only one extra syllable, that 'an' in the middle. Give me a freakin' break. Anyway, none of this is the point. The point is that we flew on a little hopper flight on Kingfisher Air. (Yes, that same piece of shit brewery got big enough to have an airline!) Well, as soon as we reached Trivandrum we had to catch a bus up to Kollam, which is only 50 km, but 90 minutes on a bus (express bus that is). We got to our hotel a bit late, but made it nonetheless. No sooner than we'd gotten there than did we see a news ticker notice (on Kingfisher News btw) about a bomb on a kingfisher airlines plane from bangalore to trivandrum (yes they use bangalore and trivandrum in the news instead of bengaluru and thiruvananthapuram). HOLY HELL! Was it on OUR plane? Surely not? Maybe so. They reported no passengers were hurt as the bomb wasn't detonated.

As soon as I let that shock sink in, I realize that this will mean hell in a few days when we have to fly OUT of trivandrum. They are going to be extra careful with their screening. Oh man, that's not good. They are going to go forward with the same reactionary screening for which airport security is so notorious. React to something that ALREADY happened, and give no credence to what other bad things might happen. Yeesh! But for as much "screening" as they do at every indian airport, one would expect that a bomb wouldn't make it on a plane from india's 4th biggest airport. Oh India, how I love all your rules that do nothing more than aggravate honest citizens.

The "Best" Rickshaw Driver in Chennai

I was heading up to Zara in Nungambakam. It was Tuesday night. Nungambakam is far from here. I had to catch a mosquito taxi. Damn! Here's one. "You want how much?"
"That's way too much!" "How about 100?" He's not going for it. Argument ensues. I win. He's still not dropping the price. "Ni Naiy ("you dog")!" He laughs "Ni naiy." Ok, fine, I'm done debating this stupid price and there is no other mosquito taxi coming by right now. Ugh. I can't believe I gave into that price. Piss. More inner expletives...

Ok, we're going. It's not that far. What's this? He likes my Tamil? That's cool. What's he doing now? Is he RACING the other rickshaws? Am I going to die? Is he making the sound of a car peeling out? This guy is hilarious. He's asking me something in tamil... "How long have I been here?" I respond? "Yes" he repeats in Tamil and then in English "how long you are staying here?" "Five months, aingee." "Oh your Tamil so good." He starts counting in Tamil. He starts singing in Tamil, asks me something else I have know idea. I ask him if he speaks English "Englisha Teriamaa?" "Little little, konjum sir." We pull up to a stop light. Apparently there are two young women in the back of the next rickshaw over. He looks over. No, scratch that, he very obviously leans over to stare at them. I catch him in the mirror. He smiles, and then pulls the rickshaw forward so I can see too! I take a quick glance, nothing special. But just to acknowledge the whole ordeal I look at him in the mirror and we are both nodding as if to say "Look! Single Women! NICE!" Of course I'm not thinking this at the time. I've now begun thinking, this dude is hilarious. I'm kind of ok overpaying him for this one ride, because he's a totally f'ing nut job. Also, I dig his sense of humor.

The ride finishes rather quickly, and I'm happy about it, because I still have an overwhelming feeling of disdain for mosquito taxis. However, this guy was at least fun to ride with. He kind of acted like a kid happy to have ripped off another westerner enough so that he can buy his petrol for the night. It was amongst the very few times I felt like I got my money's worth out of a mosquito taxi ride. So, for now, I'll dub this crazy dude, "Best Rickshaw driver in Chennai." Well done, sir, well done.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

How many New Year's?

Just two days ago I was wished by some faculty and staff members a happy Tamil and Malayalam New Year. WHAT!? This is the new year!? What's going on here? Let me review the situation briefly.

January 14, Pongal = Tamil New Year. It's the only Hindu Holiday on the Solar Calendar. There were many big celebrations here and lots of very nice Kolam on the ground. Brilliant stuff. I'm told this holiday has a different name in North India, but still represents the new year. In fact, I think it sort of goes along with the Republic Day (January 26) which is the day of drafting India's constitution. I figure that in some way marks a new year. It wouldn't surprise me if the two are tied together somehow. But as it is, January 14 is the New Year holiday, and January 26 is NOT a new year holiday.

March 16-25 Some New Year's celebration which lasts ten days. I know that this is the new year because Yvonne and I were in Kerala during this time. The music started every morning at 5:00 AM and went all the way until 1:00 AM. It was the most annoying thing ever. It's not that they were playing music so much, but that it was so loud. We were on the 4th floor of a hotel which was near a temple. Through our closed windows the temple's music was louder than the television. I could even hear it in the bathroom. Give me a break! I was ready to go cut the wire to the speaker in the middle of the night! I may have also made it known how much I hate the way Indian women sing. It's god awful. High pitched squealing, basically. OH MY MANY MANY MANY GODS! If this is pleasing to you, will you please send me another god with good taste?
Pardon that interuption... Anyway, there can be no doubt, that was a new year celebration. I asked many people why the music was so loud and the response was, it is a big holiday, new year. Which still didn't answer the question of "WHY THE HELL IS THIS SO ANNOYING FOR 20 HOURS A DAY!?" But it did reinforce the idea that it was indeed a new year celebration...

April 14, Happy Tamil and Malayalam new year? Wait a minute, um what? Excuse me, did you say "new year?" I'm not quite sure I'm hearing this correctly. I don't see any sign of celebration, no new year's signs, nothing of the sort. But yet, we get an institutional holiday because it's the NEW YEAR? Someone help me out here! New year was a month ago, or wait, was it three months ago? I'm now more confused than ever.

My only good guess is that Hinduism is actually the NEWEST religion on the block and their calendar is in the year 27000 because they celebrate the new year ever 6-8 weeks.
I guess when there are only two seasons, a)hot and b)hell then you gotta find some time to celebrate something...

As it is, I'm terribly, terribly confused as to how this calendar works now.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

The Beaches in Goa

Somehow, we failed to get up to Panjim for too much time. Panjim happens to be the capital of Goa. It's a quaint village of about 50,000 people. On a quick aside, I really do love that about Goa, there is no megacity in this tiny little portugese haven within india.

In Goa, however, the northern end of the state is the party place. Panjim is sort of central, but slightly north. It's where the nightclubs are and very close to the popular beaches. I got no problem with popular beaches, but one will find that they are quite a bit more polluted than the "unpopular" beaches. Like I said before, the beaches in Goa are not as utterly pristine as all the guidebooks claim them to be. They are just pristine in comparison with the rest of India's beaches. HOWEVER, they are clean enough that you can swim in them, and swim in them I did. Also, they are clean enough (being 700 km south of mumbai) that you can eat the seafood.

The beaches in the south are covered with party joints. Many, many seafood shacks serving "beer" and spirits and fresh (right out of the ocean fresh) seafood. In many cases you can find a decent breakfast at any hour of the day on the cheap too. At night, the beaches are quiet, except for the few party shacks that stay open until about 1 in the morning. The only problem on the southern end of the state is that the beaches are not well lit where there are no party shacks. Somehow, this is a bit more ominous than it should be. But the Goans assured me people in Goa are much more laid back and friendly than in other states. I think they're right. Luckily, no ill fortune befell us as we strolled up toward the rock'n'roll sounds and fried fish smells that naturally attracted our attention.

So there's my recommandation. Go to Goa, go the the south of Goa. Drink Fenny on the beach and enjoy ACTUALLY SWIMMING.