Racing against time

Dhaval's tenure here in France gets over when his work permit expires in March. We booked tickets to fly back home on the 28th of Feb. Two freaking, wonderful years of the adventure in France are coming to an end.

I have been trying to think of ways to make this last month the liveliest. I had told myself I will head out everyday, rain or shine. But I am not a fan of fighting cold rains and gusty winds. I'll think up of something.

I have no idea how to start the process of wind-up. I am calling people and setting dates to see them one last time over tea or coffee.

I remember the day we arrived and even before that...I remember the post I wrote when we were packing up THAT house in B'lore to come here. All I know is you leave bit and pieces of yourself wherever you go.

Happy New Year's Eve

I have managed to ignore the blog lately. For the coming year, I hope for a consistency in the things I do!

I saw the sun go down and managed to get a blind spot that lasted a while.

Hope you have a glorious 2015.

It's October already!

I love this month! Not only is it the month of birth of all 3 of us siblings, which really isn't the only reason behind my fondness for it. But the change in weather is beautiful. In France, apart from temperatures dropping and going up, other seasonal changes are also so visible. People on the streets, the colour of their clothes, the vegetables in the market, the skies. I am pretty sure that even if I were born during one of those hot summer months, I would have loved October.

I have let a couple of months pass by without blogging about it. July was different this year. The summer wasn't as intense as last year. And I feel these past few months have really flown by. I remember vignettes, but feel like it all occurred ages ago.

In August, my sister and her little family visited. I went to Paris to look after my niece so that my sister and her husband can roam around the beautiful city on their own time. It was a lovely and different experience, looking at Paris through a toddler's eyes. Short trips to Barcelona and Madrid followed. Barcelona is a very lively city, very youthful and colourful. Madrid is a sophisticated, charming city. My sister and I had the best experience one day in Madrid, when we treated ourselves to an evening of Flamenco. It is such a rustic yet classic style, with live music and singing. The style of singing reminded me of Raï.

A couple of friends we made last year moved to another city. In September, I had the pleasure of having them over for dinner. They are from Romania and their former flat mate, who attends drum class with me, is from Latvia. I cannot begin to tell you the amount and openness of our political conversations. For some reason, they are well aware of India’s continued issues of control with her many neighbours. And we draw similarities from across the world, especially from across Europe.

Yesterday, at Claudio's place for Hindi class, we had just finished reading an extremely formal letter of application asking for leave of absence. I told him nobody speaks so formally like that anymore. Perhaps, they still write like that in the government where you have to sound like you will remain forever obliged to your superior if they grant you leave!

This led us to talk about 'monsieur' and 'madame', which literally is 'my-sir' and 'my-dame'. He said in the great old times, the royalty used to address their queens and kings like this. So, you are 'my-sir' or 'my-dame'. And that continued as it is.

THAT led us to talk about the origin of the word ‘ciao’. In Italy it is ‘hello’. In France, it is ‘bye’, although I feel it is more an outside influence than an original term in French. It turns out the Latin for ‘I am your slave’ (used during the Roman Empire) lends itself to ‘schiavo’, which is Italian for ‘slave’. ‘Ciao’ is a version of that.

Imagine!

Get a hang!

I was only recently introduced to this instrument when a street artist was playing it in Venice. The 'hang' or 'spacedrum' was developed in as recently as 2000 in Switzerland. Can you tell that it is partially influenced by the 'ghatam', among other idiophones? I was transfixed by the sound when I first heard it, mostly because I couldn't figure out how it plays. You'd think someone is playing a string instrument!

My World Cup Fever

After the FIFA WC ended in 2010, I remember updating my status on FB to say that I am relieved it's over. Life can go back to normal and my page will have some meaningful posts once again. We were living in Bangalore then and I was surprised by my countrymen's interest in a game they had no stake in, at least not a national one like we see for cricket.

This year, I have been humbled by my own curiosity and have been shown my place, rightly so. I don't follow any sport religiously. But decent doses of patriotism and display of loyalty by the various teams put me in the chair in front of screens across the city showing WC matches. I don't claim to have seen them all. But the few that I saw were enough to seal the deal!

One aspect of the game that had me glued was sheer athleticism. A player it reported to run nearly 7 miles in the course of a single match! Add to that the shock the body takes when players collide, fall or simply break their run to kick the ball around. It's one thing to marvel at the human body's capacity to absorb this shock (as seen in the Finals when Christoph Kramer was struck in the head) and it's another to actually go through it and come out fine and dandy!

The other vital thing that helped me form an interest was my drum group. The afro-brazilian drum association is run by a fantastic percussionist from Salvador in Brazil and the form of art is Brazilian too. On opening night, when Brazil played Cameroon, we got together to play and lend beats to a local samba group. Before and after the match and during the break, we played as if consumed by the indigenous gods! The ambiance was nothing short of the much acclaimed carnivals of Rio.

Other than Brazil, I found myself supporting France, which is currently my country of residence and Algeria, because a large majority of my fellow citizens are Algerians (When none of these played, the underdog got my support.) In fact, the French team has a lot of players of Algerian origin. And I am sure the security officials heaved a sigh of relief when France did not meet Algeria in what would have been an extremely aggressive face-off! Violent fans are a part of any game and this one match would have met with its fair share, without doubt. Whenever Algeria played, the roads would be lined up with police cars and officials would be found patrolling by-lanes and streets to make sure things are peaceful. When they qualified for the Cup, riots broke out in Lyon, Marseilles and Paris.

Any major sporting event is organised on the weak and marginalized shoulders of labourers and sometime, at the cost of national interest, as we saw from the 2013 protests across Brazil. And already, the Qatar World Cup 2022 is in news for allegations of ongoing corruption and the plight of labourers who have immigrated from poorer countries for construction jobs. A number of them have lost their lives under pathetic living conditions meted out by the officials. To all of this, FIFA has turned a blind eye.

I love a good event, where displays of inspiring sportsmanship and camaraderie make it worth the time. But when fanaticism, violence and reports of prejudice, discrimination and unequal treatment become abound, it's vital to remember that it's just a game. And that there are more urgent matters at hand that require global attention.

What is happening to restaurant food?!

‘If only I could find a nice, warm plate of good food to comfort my tired bones…’ These were my thoughts as I was walking around Venice, in May 2014, during a particularly wet and chilly evening. It was the 6^th day of our budget trip that consisted of walking from mid morning till late night, exploring beautiful cities and monuments, running to catch buses and trains to take us across Italy. So far, food had consisted of rice and ready-to-eat packets of chole, sandwiches, and Haldiram savories. The high that comes from being in a new place was wearing off and the body had begun to demand comfort food and rest.

A few weeks before I embarked upon this trip, I was spending an afternoon at my friend’s place. I teach him Hindi. He, who speaks 12 other languages and teaches Spanish in high school, gives me a chance to spend two glorious hours learning more than I can teach him! On this particular afternoon, we were in the mood to exchange recipes. I often describe, on demand, how to make Indian subjis and, on occasion, have even demonstrated the same in his tiny kitchen. I happened to ask him about ‘spaghetti, aglio, olio e peperoncino’ and he cooked it for me and we had a good Hindi lesson over spicy, warm yet simple spaghetti. He insisted I try to find and have some when in Italy.

So on that chilly evening in Venice, I found myself pining for some warm, fulfilling ‘spaghetti, aglio, olio e peperoncino.’ It’s not too much to ask when you are in the heart of one of Italy’s most famous tourist destinations, right? Turns out it is! After settling into a cozy and well-established restaurant, I had to settle for watery spaghetti that remained warm only for the first two bites. So you can tell that, while it was a fresh preparation, the pasta was pre-cooked and then heated in a microwave, perhaps? I was not alone as my husband too felt that his ‘spaghetti pomodoro e basilico’ could have been better. We paid through the nose and remained unsatisfied. This dissatisfaction was in continuation of a long quest to find good, heartwarming food that is worth its penny.

I was left comparing the two versions of spaghetti I had had. The first was cooked right in front of me, using fresh ingredients. The second was cooked in the kitchen of a good restaurant. Was that the only difference? Then why, when eating out is so normal, are food standards coming down? Why must the average Joe not be able to afford an enjoyable evening in a restaurant that serves ‘good’ food? And from the looks of it, why is it becoming so easy for restaurant owners to serve mediocre food? Should we be scared? Personally, this only strengthens my desire to invest in good kitchen ware to be able to dish out delicious food from the comforts of my own kitchen.

‘Good’ food for me isn’t that what comes in 3-4 bite-size morsels, decorated with green sprigs and a few ribbons of colourful sauce, served on a mile-long platter. It is that which is true to its origin and gives satisfaction, all caps. Even something as basic as daal-chawal and roti-subji can go wrong when the rice in even slightly undercooked and the roti arrives ten minutes before the subji.

With such essential things going wrong for restaurateurs and clients demanding food to match their developing tastes as their exposure expands, I will not be surprised when a new legion of critics arises. This time however, the critical point of review will not be whether one should have chicken tikka or chicken kolhapuri, but whether the chicken was cooked at all!

[PS: Soon after I wrote this, a bunch of people I know started www.ahmedabadfoodcritics.com, as if to make my wishes come true! Public service takes place in many forms. And they serve by guiding you through the millions of upcoming fancy eateries in Ahmedabad! :)]

4th time and counting

D and I just got back from a visit to Paris, this time accompanying D's parents who are visiting. Paris doesn't leave your system.You fall hard for it every time you visit, till a point arrives where it becomes unattainable. You cannot break through that invisible wall of je ne sais qoui. You are not a Parisien. You are only a tourist. And you cannot come to terms with the city until you live in it. You can only remain in awe.

On Day 1, we took the train to Giverny in Vernon, where the Monet Foundation is situated. Except for the fact that it was chilly and raining, the day was great and we got to see the region of Normandy pass us by.

Since we'd already been to the tick-mark places in our past 3 visits and the mood this time was really not to spend a lot of money, we walked. The day after we visited Giverny was a bright, sunny day. Perfect for my in-laws to go up the tower. We waited in line in their place till the ticket windows opened and saw them in. We had about 3 hours to kill. And we ended up walking about 5 kms from the tower to Alexandre and Rene Parodi Square. Took the bus back, which took us along the periphery. This was a more open area of Paris, less congested, equally beautiful.

The next day, after helping parents take the train to Louvre and going to deposit our bags at the cloak room at Gare de Lyon, we took the metro back to Cite, where we had French onion soup by the Notre Dame and I bought a book from Shakespeare and Co. And we walked aimlessly in the Latin Quarter district, along some academic institutes to Jussieu. It was a beautiful, gloomy day. Not a lot of crowd because it was Saturday.

This visit afforded us the time to really walk around and take in the sights and sounds of the city. Ever so grateful...

Under the iron lattice, you could hear a dozen languages and a million dreams coming true.

May Day Tradition

I don't remember seeing little flowers last year, but this year on May Day, people were seen selling little sprigs of flowers on streets. Buses and trains weren't working, offices were closed, but streets were full of tourists and restaurants were making good business. In the midst of it all, I'd see people holding these little flowers. I was wondering what tradition it was to give flowers on Labour Day.

This morning, I went to the regular guy to buy some vegetables. At check out, the lady at the counter gave me this familiar looking sprig with little white flowers. Aah! I asked her what it was and she said it's a May Day tradition.

Still not satisfied, I came home and looked up the internet and found some interesting story behind this lovely tradition.

"SHOPS are shut, buses are not running, and unions are marching for workers’ rights, as France marks the Fête du Travail today. 

But, as well as work and workers, May 1 - which became a public holiday in France in 1947 - is associated with an older tradition. It is the Fête du Muguet, when thousands of roadside stalls selling lily of the valley spring up. The flower only became associated with workers’ rights in the 20th century. 

Last year the French forked out €31.8m to buy a sprig of lily of the valley (“muguet”) as a token of affection for family and loved ones. 

The tradition of giving lily of the valley flowers on May 1 is said to have begun in 1560, when knight Louis Girard presented King Charles IX with a bunch of lily-of-the-valley flowers as a token of luck and prosperity for the coming year. 

It is said that he took a shine to the idea and began the custom of presenting lily-of-the-valley flowers to the ladies of his court each year on the same day. 

Growers, particularly in the Loire-Atlantique, where 80% of cultivated plants will come from this year, have said that the recent mild conditions mean a bumper crop."

Solidarity

I spent this afternoon with my friend whom I met in drum class. She was planting some things in her garden and had given a shout out to anyone who was keen to help.

Naturally, I went to her place and to help her plant some tomatoes, strawberries, aubergines, and courgettes. On her terrace, there is a heightened platform of about a feet high, and about 4 by 4 in size. The earth in it had to be turned, pebbles removed, little weeds pulled out. A bunch of her other female friends had turned up too.

It turned out to be an afternoon of fun. I was meeting a few women for the first time. But over snacks and tales, we became acquainted and I found solidarity in this group which spanned across different ages and nationalities.

I know I am right when I smile at a stranger. I know it's the right foot forward when I say 'yes' to almost everything and 'no' almost never crosses my mind. I know I am right when I ask a question and am answered back in kind. And that's how a conversation begins.

That's all one needs to do to live a life filled with a colourful bouquet of experiences.

Silence

This morning, I found myself reading the newspaper without any surrounding noise and interruption. I looked up, checked myself and realized this was the first time since I arrived in India in early January that I had some time to myself.

Coming to Ahmedabad to visit my parents and siblings, whether from Bangalore or elsewhere, means a few days of peace and quiet and zero plans and commitments. It ALWAYS turns out to be the opposite.

This time around, there were a few events we had specifically wanted to be a part of. We welcomed a baby girl born to my sister-in-law in Bangalore. The 3 weeks preceding that saw me running around and lending a helping hand to anyone who asked. Besides, I was in Bangalore, my second home. I didn't want to miss out to reliving some past moments either. So meeting friends and driving alone at night along the inner ring road were high on the agenda.

My stay in Ahmedabad so far has been about eating out, eating in, managing and helping around the house and baby-sitting my niece and taking her out. My parents are busy people (!!) and I am often found wishing for some time away with just them for company. That way I can have undivided attention and some exclusive time with them.

I just returned from a wedding late last night. Weddings can be such an emotional time! It starts really high and ends with a really bad low. I was meeting some cousins after a long time, some for the first time.I was left wishing we'd meet more often, or at least be able to spend some more time together for some more fun and frolic. The older relatives looked older and I wished for their health. For some, I was left wondering if I'll be able to see them again. This entire gamut of emotions hits you within a short period....some 24 hours. And you are left alone to nurse the hangover...heavy-lid eyes, memories of laughter, separation pangs, heavy hearts, etc.

So a quiet morning seems meditative. I feel like for the first time in a long time, I was able to concentrate on the food in my plate and taste the daal and rice over lunch with my 87 year old, highly intellectual uncle who is missing the sense of speech and sound since he was 6 months old. Lunch felt like a meditation exercise. And I realized I had finally achieved the tall speeches 'life coaches' make about the power of silence.

Time

Time is endless in Your hands, O God. There is none to count Your minutes.

Days and nights pass, and ages bloom and face like flowers. You know how to wait.

Your centuries follow one another in perfecting a small wildflower.

We have no time to lose, and having no time, we must scramble for our chances. We are too poor to be late.

Thus it is that time goes by, while I give it to every querulous person who claims it, and Your altar is empty of all offerings to the last.

At the end of the day, I hasten in fear lest the gate be shut, but I find that there is yet time.

- 'The Heart of God' - Prayers of Rabindranath Tagore, 

Selected and edited by Herbert F. Vetter

Tranquil

I am learning how to use Photoshop for Rasadhwani.

I look outside to see dense fog and rain at 4:30 PM.

There is a bad cold in my head, threatening to spoil the first few days of a short trip we are embarking upon tomorrow.

Last night, at the party announcing Xmas break at drum class, I realized I might be heart broken when we finally have to move back home to India.

Pi's lullaby is on repeat.

There is a soft glow in the room from the lamp besides me.

Another year is coming to an end and I don't mind going down on my knees to say thanks to the powers that are.

I know 2014 is bringing me loads of positiveness and contentment, and I hope you find yours.

Too much on my plate is a good thing.

I have yet to write the 3rd and final part of our September trip. It is will be about Paris, the city I have been to once more since the trip, and the French Riviera. I will write about it all soon.

I have been caught up with some stuff. As you might know, my mum and sister run a dance school in Ahmedabad. Rasadhwani is celebrating 25 years and we are planning to celebrate in style. I maintain a blog for Rasadhwani. The idea is to invite people from different backgrounds to talk about art. If you or anyone you know is interested, please send an e-mail to rasadhwani.info@gmail.com.

I started a travel blog about 6 months ago. But it hasn't seen much activity, not for lack of action on the travel front but for the lack of time to maintain 3 blogs. I think I am going to delete it.

Since the beginning of October, I have started teaching Hindi once a week to a 55 year-old Argentinean who is a high-school Spanish teacher, knows 12 different languages including Greek, Hebrew and Yiddish and has written a book on tango. He already knows quite a bit of Hindi. I think I help him revise and get comfortable with the language. He lives in a small apartment , sort of like a loft. All four walls, from ceiling to floor are filled with racks of books. He must easily have close to 2000 books in different languages. It reminds me of Sean Connery's apartment in Finding Forrester. I say I go to teach but one can safely say I come back learning more!

I also take a private dance lesson once a week for an Indian lady. And, D and I go learn afro-brazilian percussion! This has been such a great find!! We absolutely love going there. There are about 5 different types of percussion and we picked the one we liked in the first class and continue to learn on that. It's like playing in a band. If you want to see what I mean, go see this video.

It's cold and windy as I speak. Because of the time of the year, combined with the end of day lights saving, it gets dark earlier. I have been told to watch out for Jan and Feb when it gets really bad. We'll have to wait and see!

Germanized!

(Part 1 of the trip is here. Part 3 is here.)

We felt like we had stepped into heaven when we visited Switzerland. And for some reason, Germany felt a notch lower. The border between the two countries is nothing grand. One minute you are in Switzerland, the next in Germany. The only marker was a guard who stopped us to ask if we were tourists.

The moment you drive into Germany, the house structure changes. This felt very unique because the landscape is still the same but the houses are now Bavarian in structure. The weather had started to change. And at around 3, when we reached Triberg, on our way to Baden-Baden, it was a little dark and chilly.

Triberg lies in the middle of the Black Forest. It's a little town but we still had difficulty finding parking. The only tourist place on offer was a nature park. I decided not to go hike in the park and I didn't miss much. Instead, I walked around the little town square, checked out the traditional dresses on sale and had a large cup of coffee. And packed for us a slice of the best black forest cake we've ever had! Forget anything remotely close to a black forest cake that you think you've had! Because I can tell you right now that whatever you have had will NEVER be close to the real thing! (That's Triberg town centre in the picture below.)

From here, we headed to Baden-Baden. We reached in the evening when it was already dark. But after a long day of driving, the wooden cottage just outside town was a sight much welcomed! After a quick meal of bread and palak-paneer, which was heated in the basin full of hot water, we called it a day. I remember this evening particularly because I found myself in the serene, quiet and chilly surroundings in the middle of Black Forest in Germany, reading a chick book based on Irish folk-lore. It was an aha moment!

The next day, we headed to the place that started it all! It was the picture of Lichtenstein Castle on a cousin's FB page that had played a pivotal role in helping us decide where to travel! The castle is about 2 hours from Baden-Baden. So after a hearty breakfast, we drove through the Forest and arrived at the castle at around noon. It is situated on a cliff and on a clear day, as was the case for us, you could see the castle as you drive up to it. Although the current owner who is a duke does not live in the castle, it is still private property. Cameras were not allowed inside the castle and only the castle grounds and the first two floors of the castle are open to public. We took a guided tour of the castle. It is still restored every 30 years; repaint the walls, polish the furniture, etc. More than the interiors, the placement of the castle and its grand structure was what really fascinated me.

After a couple of hours at the castle and no concrete plan, we headed to the nearest town and stopped of some grub. The city of Stuttgart was on the way to Baden-Baden. Stuttgart is home to the Mercedes-Benz brand. We thought we'll go take a look. But we disregarded a couple of things. 1.) Stuttgart is a city and like any city, it has parking woes and traffic woes. 2.) We didn't do our homework properly and got confused between the Benz museum and the Benz Arena. hence, we reached a place we weren't supposed to go in the first place. And we reached so late in the evening that heading back to the right place didn't stand a chance. So after a few pictures around the Arena, we knew it was time to head back to Baden-Baden. We didn't want to risk driving in the night on a foreign highway. Little did we know!

The drive back to BB, which was supposed to take a little over an hour, took more than 4 hours because we got stuck in a bumper-to-bumper jam caused by some stormy type rains which must have lasted about 5 minutes. At one point, it was raining so heavily, visibility was next to zero and we really were on the edge of our seats. After what seemed like hours in the close to 11 km jam, we reached BB so late that we couldn't find a place to eat. After a bit of tired driving around. we chanced upon a biker's bar that served beer and pizza. Anything would have worked at that hour so this smoky, noisy bar was more than welcomed. The place turned out to be so lively we decided to come back the next day.

The following day was dedicated to seeing the beautiful town of Baden-Baden. It seemed like a wealthy place and very classy. We took a ride in the petit-train and shopped for excellent salads from the local market. Back to the rooms for a very late but memorable lunch, some rest and back to town to soak in the early summer evening. Dinner was, as planned, at the bar.

It had been a memorable few days in Germany. Both the guys had gotten very comfortable driving the car and we were looking forward to heading towards Paris the next day. We were already half way through the trip. Time flies when you are having fun when all you want to do in capture each moment in a bottle and never let it escape.

Swiss Pass-ed!

Paris is Paris, Marseille is rough around the edges, Lyon is the settled and calm, older sibling and Geneva is sophisticated and important. With the UN headquarters and over 130 banks, Geneva exuded a sense of decorum and an air of seriousness that we basked in for a few hours before we took the train to meet my brother and SIL in Interlaken. We were able to go see the UN and UNHCR buildings, picnic around the big lake and take the petit train to go see the Old Town before heading back to the gare, collect our luggage from the locker and catch the train to our final destination for the day.

We bought our Swiss Pass before we started out since we'd be needing it for every means of transportation we took till we left Switzerland. I can't begin to list the advantages of the Pass, but fewer hassles about tickets and waiting lines would be it! We changed trains at Berne and passed by the beautiful towns of Thun and Spiez before the train started bordering Lake Thun to reach Interlaken. We were tired, the evening was setting upon us but the view along the way was to die for! It made for a warm welcome into Interlaken. The long trip had finally started and the inevitable excitement made me giddy.

We had booked rooms in Hotel Burgseeli, run by a fashionable and extremely warm and friendly lady in her mid 50s. We had for company a lake right across the road, the mountains and the accompanying silence. That evening, we had the first of the few warm meals we'd be having for the next few weeks and got ready to head to Jungfraujoch the next day.

Jungfraujoch is a mountain pass which leads to the Jungfrau summit, in the Bernese Alps. (Wiki-ed) We reached Kleine Scheidegg by local train and stopped to take pictures, drink coffee and eat the lovely, hot apple strudel! From here, we took the Jungfrau railway to go to the top of Europe. They built it more than a century ago and it is an engineering marvel! The weather was perfect. The peaks were snowed in but the sky was clear, and the hills around us were green and dotted with chalets, as we gained height in the cog-wheel train.

A typical tourist attraction awaited us at the top. Ice tunnels that depicted the history, ice caves, ice carvings, a roof top to experience the snow and of course a restaurant. Some parents, when their kids are visiting destinations they themselves couldn't, give money to them as offering at a temple or such. Our parents, who had visited Jungfrau 2 years ago, advised us to celebrate with champagne. There we were, in nature's lap, marveling at world class engineering, raising a toast to it all with champagne!

At the fun arena up the mountain, after much debate, we decided to buy tickets for an hour of tubing down the snow hill. Fortunately, they'd built at escalator to climb up so we could do about 5-6  rounds of tumbling down and screaming our heads off before we decided that was enough play for the day. By late afternoon, it was time to head back home. The weather had played perfect companion and the fun we'd had up in the mountain wouldn't have been possible if it were raining and stormy.

The next day, after spending the morning walking around the beautiful town of Interlaken, we headed towards Lucerne. We timed ourselves in a way to be able to catch a boat across lake Brienz to go to town Brienz from where we took the train to Lucerne. We bought sandwiches and had lunch on the boat. About half an hour into the ride, we realized were headed straight for some dense fog and rain. It was a memorable ride and we arrived a bit soaked and more than ready to sit inside the heated train compartments. .

Lucerne turned out to be an affluent city with fancy cars, a intricate transport system and beautiful people. It spoke rich money and we loved the very feel of it. Our place here was Villa Marie, a dorm style accommodation with 4 rooms on a floor that had a common bathroom. Again, a different experience, one we embraced with wide, open arms. After a bit of asking around and waiting it out under a bus-stop for the rain to subside, we reached the rooms, left our bags and headed out to walk the path along the lake right behind the villa. We were in for a surprise are the skies were just opening up and we saw not one, but TWO rainbows form and disperse over the lake right in front of our eyes! Swans in the lake, hills around it, people running along the lake, quiet sounds of the evening as flora and fauna settled in for the night; these accompanied us as we walked about, taking pictures and thinking of way to stay back forever!

Mt. Titlis beckoned the following day. Upon reaching Engelberg by train, we took the short walk to the base of the mountain and took cable cars and the 360-degree Rotair ride to head up the mountain. The ride up gave us views of Swiss cows working the pastures below, streams and surrounding mountains. This day could have been the same as our day in Jungfrau. Except, it was snowing and we walked in the snow and tried to make angels in the snow and stuck our tongues out before heading inside to the restaurants for warm cups of noodles. We didn't forget to hug the life-size cardboard cutouts of Kajol and Shahrukh Khan from DDLJ!

We wanted to spend some time in the beautiful city of Lucerne. So, as soon as we reached the base of Titlis and had a cup of tea from the Indian vendor there (!!), we rushed to catch the train to Lucerne and were met with, once again, rain! It didn't dampen our spirits and we walked around the city, peaked into windows of beautiful shops and went and saw the mourning lion at the Lion Monument.

The next day, as on all days before, we had our fill of breakfast which included, fruit, cereals, coffee and cheese. We were renting a car today to drive to the Rhine Falls. It was the first time any of us was driving in Europe. While we had been observing traffic rules all this while, I wouldn't be lying when I say there was a nervous edge to our breakfast that morning!

About an hour after 9:00 AM, we had ourselves a Volkswagen Touran, stuffed with bags, food and 4 excited adults headed to the town of Schaffhausen in northern Switzerland. We walked down the hill to the river falls, got swept in by the thunderous sound it made and took the boat ride that went to an island in the middle of the falls!

We had a quick lunch in a restaurant across the river, headed back to the car and sped off in the general direction of Germany. Switzerland had been kind. And in the middle of EU fiascoes like France, Italy and Germany, the country and its people stand proud in not having joined the EU. There was this sense everywhere we went and I guess that's what resulted in the affluence and the sense of ease in its people.

(Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here.)