Sent: Dec 9, 2008 8:17 AM
It is 4:30pm here. The sun is slowly sliding into oblivion but its intensity continues to be felt on my affected skin.
I am sitting by the beach, in a ramshackled "canteen". My second cup of Turkish coffee sits on the table unattended before me, its contents emptied. The waves of the Red Sea crash gently against the rocks where I sit. I can see kids frollicking in the waters from a distance. The occassional stillness and quietude is suddenly shattered by speeding boats spilling out Arabic music. A pair of camels stroll on the beach. A dusty mist envelopes the distant mountains around us. Further away in the waters are ships and boats, seemingly motionless but deceptively purposeful. Seagulls are dancing over the calm sea waters. The sun continues to slide behind the mountains while I quell the desire to jump into the water and swim into the sunset.
So many civilizations have been here before me. History has been written and re-written repeatedly, right here by the shores of the Red Sea. I can almost see Saudi Arabia from here. Israel is next door. I just arrived from there. This part of the world is rife with conflict, none of which is evident in the atmosphere I inhabit at this moment. Humanity mills around me, lazily. It is so peaceful here.
This is a world so apart from the one I will return to next week, affording an experience so unusual and once more, filed away in my album of cherished memories. A group of denim and Nike clad teenage boys sit in the distance, engaged in lazy confabulations, both over and away from their cell phones. At another table I see a woman with a headscarf and dark glasses staring into the sunset but enjoying a sheesha (the "hookah"). At every turn I witness an awkward yet peaceful marriage of tradition with the contemporary. The middle-east continues to fascinate and engage me. In a couple of days I will depart from here with a promise to return to the rocking cradle of humanity.
The sea breeze has turned more determined to catch my attention. This time it brings a little chill with it as the sun settles behind the quiet but imposing mountains. I must return to the hotel.
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Baptism of yore
Sent: Nov 24, 2008 8:41 AM
I am staring at the murky waters of the Jordan River, at the site where Jesus was supposedly baptised by John the Baptist. A group of people clad in white overalls are down by the river, as each one individually steps forward, covers the face with hands and is immersed in the water via a backbend, assisted by a priest. I am in Tiberias, Israel. Just a few yards away from the site where the baptisms are being performed, Coke, Pepsi, potato chips, Orbit chewing gum, etc are being sold. Conventional Christian belief dictates that Jesus will return. Well, if he plans to re-visit this site, he better have enough cash on him because a bag of chips at the baptism site today costs 10 NIS (New Israeli Shekels)!! I bought an Orbit chewing gum as a souvenir. And from the odors hovering over the murky green waters, Orbit was probably the most practical purchase.
Shalom!
D.
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T
By the seaside....
Sent: Nov 26, 2008 6:35 AM
The sun is baking me as I run on the beach in Tel Aviv. I am soaked in sweat. The light Mediterranean Sea breeze keeps me cool. I am running on the wet sandy beach with the waves making every attempt to touch my sneakers - an attempt I thwart each time. With the sea waves inches away from me, I am listening to Lata croon away "Saagar Kinare, dil yeh pukare....." ("By the seaside, my heart yearns.....") on my iPod. One of my favorite songs. Hot Israeli guys lay on the beach in their "birthday suits" as I run past them. They smile at me seductively. This must be heaven.....*giggles*
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&TThose 26.2 miles of my life......
The New York City Marathon
Sunday, November 09, 2008 7:57 PM
It was 10:20am. The sun was bright and the November morning air chilly and brisk. The gun went off and hundreds of us in the second to last wave of runners took off to run over the bridge. The two towers of the bridge inched closer with each step and its suspension cables appeared enormous in width from up close, as they fell and blended with the edges of the bridge on either side.
Some of you are wondering, what is this? I am writing about the dream I had for many years which realized before my eyes on the morning of Sunday November 2nd – my dream of running those formidable 26.2 miles that make up a marathon. My athletic goal for this year was to run a full marathon. For the past couple of years, I had gradually worked my way up to garner enough confidence to set this goal for myself. I chose the NYC Marathon as my first marathon. The reasons were obvious. It is my hometown marathon, the world's largest marathon event and the most exciting marathon staged in the world. I decided to gain entry into the race through Team For Kids (TFK), a charitable wing of the New York Road Runners Club. I had to raise funds for TFK which would earn me entry into the race. My dream was on its way to become a reality. But that was just the beginning. I had to train my body to endure those 26.2 miles which requires a disciplined training regimen. As soon as I wrapped up my NYC Triathlon in late July, I began working on my marathon training in mid-August. Weekends were set aside for training runs and cross-training. Weekday workout schedules would be set a week in advance after consulting the local weather forecast, which as some of you know, can be fairly unpredictable. I embarked on the grueling training program which was completely chartered by me. No one was consulted. I know my body and its limits more than anyone else. My primary goal was to train myself to finish the marathon without injuring myself. I was completely agreeable to run slow but steady. I trained on rainy days, hot and humid days and frigid mornings. I had to condition my body for all elements because of the unpredictability of race day weather. Preparation for a weekend training schedule would commence mid-week. I would focus on the hours of sleep I would need, the fuel my body required for each long training run and the amount and type of cross-training required to balance the long training runs. No alcohol on Friday and Saturday nights, early bedtimes were enforced and social events were kept to the minimum. I remember abruptly canceling all of my weekend social engagements for some days in September and all of October. Success doesn't come without sacrifice. It also doesn't come without the support of one's loved ones, who in my case, are my friends. Each one of them supported me along my journey to the Finish Line. I must take this opportunity right here to thank each one of you – you know who you are – for your love and support.
It wasn't easy. I had to finish all of my long training runs by the first Sunday of October – a month prior to race day. That was my goal. So, the Sundays in September were each allotted a 20-miler, a 22-miler, a 24-miler and finally a 26-miler. Conventional coaching wisdom does not recommend running the entire 26 miles during the training period but those who know me well enough know that I am not the one to follow popular convention. I wanted to endure the 26 miles prior to the race. I did. Oh dear! Those training runs were an intense test of grit and determination. Running alone without an iPod blasting music in my ears was not just a test in endurance but also a test of focus. Running a marathon, to me is all about covering the distance and overcoming the odds that come before you. "Keep moving, no matter what happens. Don't give up." Quite like a lesson of life. It teaches patience, sharpens one's focus and in the process, strengthens your mind and body. Well, I was unprepared for it. Since I was training alone without the watchful eye of a coach, I had to not merely cover those distances but also motivate myself into doing so and, often push myself harder to step out of my comfort zones.
Training was wrapped up by the first Sunday of October and then began the taper. After running the longest training run, we taper the training by shortening the distances as we get closer to race day. Cross training via biking, swimming and running continued along side.
As we got closer to race day, I fretted over all things that could go wrong. I stopped biking for the fear that I might crash and injure myself. Instead I took to swimming and yoga. Kept myself away from anyone who even remotely displayed symptoms of flu or any other viruses which could potentially pin me to the bed, ultimately rendering me weakened. All went well. Then it happened. A week prior to the race, on a Friday evening, I went grocery shopping. I emerged from the store laden with four brimming Whole Foods shopping bags, plus my yoga mat and a super stuffed office bag slung over my shoulders. Donning the beast of burden image, I lugged the burden from Manhattan to Staten Island, completely unconscious of the abuse I was inflicting upon my back. The back was severely compromised. Next morning I threw out my back. Typically it takes 4 to 5 days to recover. That was cutting too close to race day Sunday. I panicked. When I throw my back out, I allow it to heal on its own. I don't allow anyone to touch it. And it heals just fine. Popping pills is not in my nature. I will avoid it all costs, if it is avoidable. I must suffer through the pain which ultimately diminishes and dies away. This time, however, I panicked. Carissa, who sits next to me at work couldn't take anymore of my moaning and lamenting and scheduled an appointment with her physical therapist. I was on the physical therapist's table the next morning. Electric charges were discharged into my lower back and traction rollers pushed my body up and down. The therapist stretched me out in every way possible. Only two days left for race day. I felt slightly better.
Stress began to gnaw at me. My confidence swung in all directions like the Dow Jones Index. Many of my friends had indicated they would come cheer for me along the route and, also see me at the Finish Line which required some organization. I took care of that and locked myself in my apartment on Saturday – the day before the race. Monica called from Jordan for a pep talk. Those of you who don't know her, she caused this madness in my life. We spoke on the phone for almost 2 hours and she asked several questions about my training and race running strategy. She seemed quite satisfied with my answers. The pep talk really helped! Her words echoed in my mind as I ran the next day. Saturday also witnessed some stressed induced digestive issues but that is also the day when one is required to stuff calories into the body – the eagerly awaited "carbo-load". It is akin to fattening the cow before slaughtering it. Tiffany was in charge of my pre- and post- race calories. She prepared pasta with a delicious tomato-mushroom sauce which I consumed and retired early to bed. Could not sleep all night. I was awake on Sunday morning at 5am. Marc and Tiffany were to pick me up at 8:45am and deposit me at Fort Wadsworth by 9am. Loretta called me dutifully at 7am. We chatted for half hour. Her race day call always brings me luck; yes, it is weird, but hey, if it works so be it. I was deposited at Fort Wadsworth by 9am. I found my corral and waited for the moment to arrive when we move on to the Bridge and start the race.
The gun went off and we lunged forward as a wave. Our strides took us over the Verrazano Bridge which afforded us the most spectacular vistas of the NY Harbor and New York City. Runners ran to the edges of the bridge and began taking photographs. The race start is incredibly thrilling quite like a panoramic aerial opening sequence of an action-packed Hollywood blockbuster. The first mile over the bridge is an incline, more like a ramp that we all run over. Although it is uphill, I didn't feel any stress on my body perhaps because it is a gradual climb and I had trained hard running up and down steep hills in Staten Island. One is so taken by the views from the bridge that before I knew it, I was at the other end of the bridge in Brooklyn. The first part is so thrilling that one is fueled by the adrenalin rush and could be tempted to run really fast. I was determined not to do so. Monica and I had discussed this on Saturday. I started slow and allowed others to run past me. As we entered Brooklyn, we were greeted by large, loud cheering crowds. The cacophony infuses such energy that instead of running, one rides over the surge of the loud cheers that greet you as a runner along the route. It is the most incredible and amazing feeling. We were greeted by thousands of people everywhere we went who cheered for us at the top of their voices, employing their full lung capacity. New Yorkers are truly amazing in this respect which makes the entire experience so energy-charged. The cheering never ends along the 26.2-mile route. It only intensifies. Music on loud speakers is played everywhere and the entire race route is sprinkled with live band performances. It is truly a 26.2 mile party! I can not take you mile-by-mile through the entire race here in my write-up (because it could take you 4 hours to read it!) but I will encapsulate the experience as profound, stunning, exhilarating and spectacular.
The NYC Marathon is a very well organized event. The large scale magnitude of the running event is shouldered by an army of volunteers who make sure that all goes well at the start, along the course and at the end of the race. Water and Gatorade stations, toilets and medical tents are located every mile or every two miles all along the route. I made two toilet stops along the way and one very brief stop to peel off a layer of clothing and toss it away on the Queensboro Bridge. Prior to the race I was certain that I would walk some distance but I didn't. Even at the worst moments when my legs, ankles, feet, knees and hips were collectively protesting, I was disinclined to walk. I feared that if I stopped or walked I wouldn't be able to pick up the pace and run again. So, I kept running, even if it was at the slowest pace. We started in Staten Island, ran over the Verrazano Bridge into Brooklyn, ran through Brooklyn into Queens over the Pulaski Bridge and then entered Manhattan via the Queensboro Bridge, exited Manhattan via the Willis Avenue Bridge into Bronx and then re-entered Manhattan via the Madison Avenue bridge and finished the race in Central Park. I ran through the NYC neighborhoods I hadn't visited in the 13 years of my residency and fell in love with NYC all over again. As I ran through the neighborhoods, I saw the world unfold before me. Smiling faces of different parts of the globe lined up to spectate. It was a remarkable display and reaffirmation of what this City is all about – a melting pot. I am so happy I live here and this is my home.
I didn't look at my watch until I crossed mile 20. I didn't want to know how fast or slow I was going. When I crossed mile 20, I checked my watch and couldn't believe my eyes. I was almost certain that my watch was malfunctioning. I was running almost 30 minutes faster than my estimated running time. I pulled out my Blackberry phone and checked the time which confirmed that my watch was indeed correct. I was thrilled beyond words. I also saw that I had a voicemail from my friend Heather who I had missed at the base of the Madison Avenue Bridge. I dialed her number as I was running and in between halting gasps of breath I informed her of my exact location. She informed everyone else that I was running faster than expected and would likely finish the race sooner.
Along the route I searched for familiar faces but saw none. Only three miles to go and I was about to turn into Central Park. It was somewhere here I was to find my friend Heidi. I searched really hard but there was no sign of her. Multitudes lined up on either side of the street and the roar of cheers greeted us everywhere. The noise was deafening. I searched for Heidi's face among those multitudes. I was desperate to see a familiar face. At this point I was running on very low fuel. A familiar face would have helped enormously. I was approaching mile 24 and my legs began to buckle. Pain ripped through my hips which felt dislocated from the rest of my body. My feet were swollen and knees and ankles were in great distress but my heart rate was just fine and breathing was normal. I was now in Central Park with slightly less than 2 miles to go and suddenly I spotted Heidi standing across the street with a banner "GO DEEPAK G GO". I lunged across with all my might in her direction and managed to yell her name. She looked at me and screamed! That scream sent a bolt of energy through my limp body and I darted ahead. It was amazing how suddenly my lifeless body was super-charged. I just allowed myself to roll with the momentum. There were more bends ahead in the last mile and the noise factor was even higher by a few decibels. My eyes searched for the Finish Line and then I saw it…….it was right there about 300 yards from me. My dream was no longer a dream. It was ready to be a reality in a few moments. A groan escaped me, my eyes were peeled at the Finish Line as it inched closer and closer with every step I took. This was the moment I had envisioned for months. It was just then I crossed over the finish line sensors and I heard the beep as my electronic chip was read and recorded. I can still hear that beep in my head. That was the sweetest sound I have heard in recent times. It was over. I checked my watch - I finished the race in 4 hours 36 minutes and 45 seconds.
I received my Finisher's medal at 72nd street but had to walk over five streets to exit the park at 77th street. That stretch was packed with runners. We were inching our way to the exit. Every part of my body ached. The pain was often unbearable. I wanted to sit but it is highly recommended that we keep walking or remain on our feet for at least 20 minutes after finishing the race. It took us almost 30 minutes to walk from 72nd street to 77th street exit. There the electronic chip was removed from my sneakers and suddenly I heard my name called out. It was Helga! Monica's mom! It was a miracle that she was able to recognize me. I was absolutely thrilled to see her. Helga was one of the race volunteers helping out the finishers. When I met her I was in great agony and my left foot was experiencing severe cramps. Walking was unspeakably laborious. My heart leapt with joy and I hugged Helga with all my might. She attended to me and helped me be comfortable. After finishing the race, I felt my body was in shock. The sun was dying away and it was cold and windy. I was freezing!! My sweat-soaked clothes made it worse. From my position in the crowds, I searched for my group of friends who were also looking for me. Just then I spotted my ex-boyfriend. His 6 feet 4 inch stature was most helpful as he towered over the rest of the crowds. Next to him was Carissa, who rose up to his hips only but held a huge banner with "Congratulations!!! Deepak Ghosh!!! Marathoner!!!". Later I learned the banner was Loretta's handiwork. All of my friends who had arrived to greet me found me and hugs, kisses, screams of joyous words spilled everywhere. My joy was boundless. Three months of hard training had culminated to this moment. My athletic goal of the year was attained. 26.2 miles covered and many more 26.2 miles await me. A milestone of my life was covered. That grossly obese asthmatic kid of yore was today a marathoner. I felt it at that moment, somewhere far, far away, I had done my dad proud.
Deepak
The Buenos Aires Journal......
Hola!
Buenos Dias....
Unfortunately that is the extent of my command over Spanish. That can not be helpful, as I learned upon my arrival here in Buenos Aires, Argentina....the land of beef, soccer and Eva Peron. But there is so much more to Argentina than just that. This is a land that has witnessed such political strife and struggle over several decades that its people deserve kudos for their fortitude and patience. Argentina recently hopped onto my radar when I was looking for the next destination for my travels away from New York. And I am so glad I made this trip. It is invigorating to visit a new land and interact with its people despite the language handicap.
So, I departed from New York on Friday June 13th. I was to fly to Houston at 4:35pm, land in Houston at 7:30pm and hop on the 9pm flight to Buenos Aires. All went smoothly at Newark airport and we were all seated in our seats by 4:15pm, however, the only people not in their seats were the two pilots. The clock ticked away, the environs within the aircraft turned stuffy and the lack of airconditioning rendered the interiors rather uncomfortable to bear. We were sweating! Finally, one of the co-passengers who perhaps was also a pilot himself, stood up, walked into the cockpit and switched on something which blasted off the airconditioning, much to the relief of the rest of us. However, the pilots remained absent. We were informed that they had landed at gate no. 72 and were on their way to gate 218 (where we waited for them).
The flight finally departed at 6:30pm and landed in Houston at 8:57pm. My earlier connection time of 1.5 hours now had shrunk to several seconds only. I have never before sprinted that fast to catch my flight. The Buenos Aires flight was from terminal E which appeared to be the farthest terminal from where we landed. It was just awful. I was sweating buckets and utterly breathless as I landed at the gate. Once on board, all was well and I even managed to sleep during most of the flight.
Sailed through the immigrations at Buenos Aires airport on Saturday morning and off I went in a "Remise" (Taxi) to the Apart-Hotel in Ricoleta on Avenue Callao. It was a beautiful, bright, sunny Saturday morning. The cab pulled up in front of my hotel and I, with my sunglasses on and nose up in the air soaking the bright sun, looking everywhere but at the ground, stepped out of the cab, my bags in hand. After exchanging some polite words with the cab driver in what sounded the most unpalatable blend of English and Spanish, I graciously disengaged myself from him and stepped forward and ---- SPLAAATTT!! I tripped, fell and landed face down, spread-eagled right in front of the main glass door entrance of the apart-hotel, my bags tossed away from me - all this as the cab driver and building security guard stared at me incredulously! I neglected to notice the solitary step and tripped over it. Suffering from acute embarrassment, I collected myself and stumbled into the hotel, gone was my initial poise and style. The rest of the day was spent getting myself familiarized with the premises, the city, the neighborhood, and finding food.
Then came Sunday morning. I woke up late and went looking for a nice tall cuppa caffe from the Cafe across the street. I think, coffee everywhere in the world except America is just divine! They don't treat it as a mere chore, to them it is almost sacred. I returned to the room and began planning my first official day in Buenos Aires. I laid out the various maps, my guide book, Meneca's email, and other material to chalk out my activities for the day. The door bell rang at 9:30am. It was the maid service. It was an interesting conversation with neither party comprehending the words of the other. I managed to communicate that they should come after 1pm. An hour later, the door bell rang again, and once again similar indiscernible confabulations ensued. This time they made it clear that "uno" o'clock is not acceptable. They will return at noon. I agreed reluctantly. I returned to the desk. The door bell rang again. It was 11:15am. Maid Service once again! This time I cried out from my post at the desk - "Later! Not now! 12pm!!!". There was silence. Then the key turned in the key hole. I froze. The three of them walked in. I leapt! Made a dash for the bed linen but it was too late. You see, I was "au naturel". There I stood in all of my birthday suit regalia in front of these 3 Argentine women. Exclamations in Spanish ensued. I grabbed the bed sheet to cover myself. They bumped into each other as they hurriedly exited the room. The three latin women now possessed the unique and rare distinction, that only a handful other women do, of gaining such "intimate familiarity of me". Recovering from the experience, I picked up the phone, called the management and firmly advised them that I don't want to be disturbed before 1pm during my stay with them. They were quick to oblige.
That day, after stepping out for a run and hitting the gym, I called Meneca, Susannah's Argentine friend. Meneca and Susannah were together at Yale. Meneca possesses a sociology and journalism background. To my pleasant surprise, Meneca wanted to meet rightaway. "Let's meet in half hour in front of the Ricoleta Cemetary", she said. We met at the gate and then we embarked on our tour of the cemetary. This is where Eva Peron lays in rest. Real estate prices in this area of the City are untouchable. The cemetary is huge, almost akin to a neighborhood. The most influential Argentinians are buried here and among them is the Duarte family - Eva's maiden name. Some of the graves (or mausoleums) are simply spectacular, eye popping pieces of masonry dating back to hundreds of years. The Duarte family mausoleum, where Eva's body lies, is (and surprisingly to me) quite unremarkable. Very plain in comparison to others. It is adorned in black stone with a very simple facade. It took some searching before Meneca and I found the Duarte tomb. In the meanwhile, Meneca gave me a tour of the cemetary which unfolded into a history lesson spanning several decades or centuries. The woman possesses an encyclopediac knowledge of Argentine history and I tried to soak in as much as I could. We would walk over to a grave and she would begin "and this son of a bitch......". I would burst out laughing and so would she as we stood in front of the chap's tomb. The cemetary that day was fairly deserted, much to M's surprise, which made the tour quite enjoyable for me. Our laughter and loud cackles boomed and bounced off the tombs of the "SOBs" (quoting Meneca, that is). Did you know that Eva's casket was exhumed and it traveled the world, first to Italy where it was buried under a false name and then to other places before returning to its current resting place? It was away from Argentina for about 25 long years during the time the country was under several military regimes and Peron himself was in exile.
After the cemetary, we stepped out and walked around the Ricoleta crafts market where local artisans display their wares. Quite enchanting it was to inspect their craft. The crafts market is only held on weekends, however, this was a long weekend in Argentina with Monday being a holiday (Flag Day).
Then Meneca and I sped off in a taxi to "San Telmo" - a neighborhood of Buenos Aires mostly known for its bohemian character. Artists and craftsmen congregate there to display their wares and talents on the street, stores, art galleries and shops line on either side of cobblestoned streets. It was here that we witnessed a delightful tango performance by one of the very well respected tango artists of Buenos Aires. It was utterly enchanting and still remains etched in my memory for its raw, rustic, passionate appeal. The chap is personally known to Meneca.
The sun had set and it became very chilly. We decided to find a place to get some dinner. I almost froze. I wasn't properly attired to keep myself warm. I didn't bring warm clothes with me. The weather in Buenos Aires, during my stay, was cold and breezy. The sun did shine brightly which tempered the nip in the air during the day, however, at night it would be fairly cold. I froze to the bone that evening but was too unwilling to admit it to Meneca. So cold was I that articulating my thoughts in a conversation became arduous with my teeth making music of their own. Meneca stopped in front of a restaurant and rattled off the menu to me in English and midway of her recital, I darted inside desperate to embrace the warm interiors. Took me a while to defrost but enjoyed a delightful meal of a certain kind of steaming hot pasta I have never eaten before, topped with a yummy, hot tomato sauce. Sizzling hot potato fries and mashed squash accompanied our meal with beer and coffee. By the way, this was my first meal of the day. We sat down to eat at 6:30pm and the restaurant was completely empty. In Latin countries, people sit down to eat around 11pm, that is when restaurants get busy. My dinner time has always been 6:30pm-7pm. So that was another thing I had to adjust to. During my trip, I was often the only customer in a restaurant at 8pm! Once I appeared at the doorstep of a vegan restaurant at 7:45pm and the chef exclaimed "what??? We have a customer???". He later confessed that the earliest he could serve me anything was 8:30pm.
I dreaded the thought to step out and endure the glacial weather that awaited me but had no choice. Meneca and I parted that evening with fervent promises to meet again on Tuesday.
The next day, Monday, most of the city was closed and so I revisited the arts and crafts market and made some purchases. Most of my day was spent there and then I headed to the vegan restaurant - Bio - which I made a mention of herein above. The food was quite delicious. They were observing "Brazilian night" and the food, though veggie and vegan, had Brazilian flavors to it.
On Tuesday I began my day with a visit to the Evita Museo - a museum dedicated to Eva Peron's memory. Some of her possessions and dresses are on display there. It details her life - her childhood and all the way to her funeral. I saw a movie of her funeral procession which dwarfed any funeral I have ever witnessed before of a celebrity. A sea of humanity descended upon the streets, miles and miles of walls of flowers adorned either sides of the street. It was of a magnitude and proportions I have never witnessed before. She died of cancer at the age of 36.
After the visit to the museum, I met Meneca at "La Violetas" - a popular afternoon "high tea" place frequented by well-heeled Portenos. A charming place with an impressive display of mouth-watering confections, none of which I could consume. By the way, Argentines are big on "Helados" (ice cream). Every other place is an Helados outlet. M and I chatted extensively at La Violetas and then jumped into a remise and sped off to "La Boca" - another eclectic neighborhood resembling the west village of Manhattan. Here we bumped into "Bruno" - a cute, friendly Argentine chap. He was standing outside his restaurant and overheard Meneca talk to me and soon the three of us were chatting. He had lived in Seattle, Miami and San Francisco for sometime of his life. He was still very young. He took us into his restaurant and showed us around. The decor was splashed with bright colors and a section of the restaurant was reserved for a tango performance during the afternoon and evening hours.
The La Boca neighborhood is known for tango, arts and crafts and its main attraction - the Club Athletico Boca Juniors - the soccer stadium. Soccer flows in the veins of the Portenos - they are enormously passionate about the sport. They are most at peace watching soccer and drinking their Mate (yerba mate, an herbal tea from South America). Like we in America socialize over a cup of coffee, they meet over a cup of Mate.
Argentines love to socialize but they prefer to socialize at home instead of heading out. Get-togethers and parties are mostly held at home. By the way, the Argentines are very good looking people. Men and women possess arresting beauty. Despite their eating habits, they are generally fit. I rarely came across a grossly over-weight person as one commonly does in the US.
Cristina Kirchner is Argentina's current President. She assumed power in January and already faces stiff opposition from the masses. The country is currently swept by a socio-economic and political strife. The masses are disgruntled over the Government's agricultural policies. Argentina is the world's leading exporter of soy. Majority of Argentina's agricultural land is employed towards harvesting soy - a crop, I am informed, which causes damage to the land it is harvested upon. It is not the best crop to grow, agriculturally. However, the government views soy as gold and increasingly employs most of its land in the cultivation of soy crop. The other main crop grown here is corn. Between soy and corn, there is very little land available to grow anything else. So much so, there is hardly any land available for the cattle to graze upon and you know what cattle means to Argentinians - beef!! On top of it, due to the enormous demand of soy, the government has opted to levy sliding scale duties on grain exports. Now, to be noted here is one little but very important detail. Who owns the land soy is cultivated upon? American companies such as Cargill. Past inept military governments basically sold off Argentina to foreign investors. It was an outright sell out, I believe. Most of Argentina's land and infrastructure is owned and operated by foreign companies. These profit oriented foreign companies don't care for the erosion of Argentinian land and its poor farmers and people in general. They care for their profit margins only. The poor farmers feel the deathly squeeze. This has cultivated intense discontent among the Argentines and they came out on the streets in protest over the government policies. It was rumored that the Cristina Kirchner might resign any day due to the growing disapproval of her policies. The days I was in Buenos Aires, the situation was somewhat tense. Arrests were being made, anti-government supporters were holding rallies, shops were closed in protest, some "Subte" (the subway) stations were closed too, there was shortage of food and gas due to the truckers union on strike. I left Buenos Aires on Wednesday night and that was deemed to be a crucial day marking countrywide strong and intense anti-goverment protests.
I am back in New York after an exhilarating trip to Buenos Aires. It is always so enriching to immerse oneself in a different culture, place and people. I returned richer indeed - richer by gaining Meneca's friendship. Her warmth, hospitality, generosity, concern, care and love overwhelmed me. (Thanks Susannah for bringing us together!) Our last meal together was at "La Americana" - an eatery known for its delicious pizzas and Italian food. Due to early Italian immigration, Italian food and culture has a strong presence in Argentina. I ate a cheeseless pizza which was quite delicious indeed. The eatery was close to the Congress building. Meneca got me to admire it from a distance. It is indeed a magnificent piece of imposing architecture. Peron, during his rule, patronized architecture which is evident from the buildings that stand today as a testament to his passion. Many such pieces of architecture are currently being renovated and have been assigned the title of national heritage monuments.
As I mentioned above, there is a lot more to see and experience in Argentina. Argentina is also home to the Igauzu Falls - the largest in the world and the only glacier that is not diminishing in size....yet. Prohibitive last-minute travel package costs and paucity of time prevented me from visiting these places but I do intend to return to Argentina sometime soon to continue the journey that began with this short trip. Until then I wish the Portenos - "Salud dinero y amor" - a toast in Spanish that Meneca taught me which translates into - "health, wealth and love".
Cheers!
Deepak
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T
Buenos Dias....
Unfortunately that is the extent of my command over Spanish. That can not be helpful, as I learned upon my arrival here in Buenos Aires, Argentina....the land of beef, soccer and Eva Peron. But there is so much more to Argentina than just that. This is a land that has witnessed such political strife and struggle over several decades that its people deserve kudos for their fortitude and patience. Argentina recently hopped onto my radar when I was looking for the next destination for my travels away from New York. And I am so glad I made this trip. It is invigorating to visit a new land and interact with its people despite the language handicap.
So, I departed from New York on Friday June 13th. I was to fly to Houston at 4:35pm, land in Houston at 7:30pm and hop on the 9pm flight to Buenos Aires. All went smoothly at Newark airport and we were all seated in our seats by 4:15pm, however, the only people not in their seats were the two pilots. The clock ticked away, the environs within the aircraft turned stuffy and the lack of airconditioning rendered the interiors rather uncomfortable to bear. We were sweating! Finally, one of the co-passengers who perhaps was also a pilot himself, stood up, walked into the cockpit and switched on something which blasted off the airconditioning, much to the relief of the rest of us. However, the pilots remained absent. We were informed that they had landed at gate no. 72 and were on their way to gate 218 (where we waited for them).
The flight finally departed at 6:30pm and landed in Houston at 8:57pm. My earlier connection time of 1.5 hours now had shrunk to several seconds only. I have never before sprinted that fast to catch my flight. The Buenos Aires flight was from terminal E which appeared to be the farthest terminal from where we landed. It was just awful. I was sweating buckets and utterly breathless as I landed at the gate. Once on board, all was well and I even managed to sleep during most of the flight.
Sailed through the immigrations at Buenos Aires airport on Saturday morning and off I went in a "Remise" (Taxi) to the Apart-Hotel in Ricoleta on Avenue Callao. It was a beautiful, bright, sunny Saturday morning. The cab pulled up in front of my hotel and I, with my sunglasses on and nose up in the air soaking the bright sun, looking everywhere but at the ground, stepped out of the cab, my bags in hand. After exchanging some polite words with the cab driver in what sounded the most unpalatable blend of English and Spanish, I graciously disengaged myself from him and stepped forward and ---- SPLAAATTT!! I tripped, fell and landed face down, spread-eagled right in front of the main glass door entrance of the apart-hotel, my bags tossed away from me - all this as the cab driver and building security guard stared at me incredulously! I neglected to notice the solitary step and tripped over it. Suffering from acute embarrassment, I collected myself and stumbled into the hotel, gone was my initial poise and style. The rest of the day was spent getting myself familiarized with the premises, the city, the neighborhood, and finding food.
Then came Sunday morning. I woke up late and went looking for a nice tall cuppa caffe from the Cafe across the street. I think, coffee everywhere in the world except America is just divine! They don't treat it as a mere chore, to them it is almost sacred. I returned to the room and began planning my first official day in Buenos Aires. I laid out the various maps, my guide book, Meneca's email, and other material to chalk out my activities for the day. The door bell rang at 9:30am. It was the maid service. It was an interesting conversation with neither party comprehending the words of the other. I managed to communicate that they should come after 1pm. An hour later, the door bell rang again, and once again similar indiscernible confabulations ensued. This time they made it clear that "uno" o'clock is not acceptable. They will return at noon. I agreed reluctantly. I returned to the desk. The door bell rang again. It was 11:15am. Maid Service once again! This time I cried out from my post at the desk - "Later! Not now! 12pm!!!". There was silence. Then the key turned in the key hole. I froze. The three of them walked in. I leapt! Made a dash for the bed linen but it was too late. You see, I was "au naturel". There I stood in all of my birthday suit regalia in front of these 3 Argentine women. Exclamations in Spanish ensued. I grabbed the bed sheet to cover myself. They bumped into each other as they hurriedly exited the room. The three latin women now possessed the unique and rare distinction, that only a handful other women do, of gaining such "intimate familiarity of me". Recovering from the experience, I picked up the phone, called the management and firmly advised them that I don't want to be disturbed before 1pm during my stay with them. They were quick to oblige.
That day, after stepping out for a run and hitting the gym, I called Meneca, Susannah's Argentine friend. Meneca and Susannah were together at Yale. Meneca possesses a sociology and journalism background. To my pleasant surprise, Meneca wanted to meet rightaway. "Let's meet in half hour in front of the Ricoleta Cemetary", she said. We met at the gate and then we embarked on our tour of the cemetary. This is where Eva Peron lays in rest. Real estate prices in this area of the City are untouchable. The cemetary is huge, almost akin to a neighborhood. The most influential Argentinians are buried here and among them is the Duarte family - Eva's maiden name. Some of the graves (or mausoleums) are simply spectacular, eye popping pieces of masonry dating back to hundreds of years. The Duarte family mausoleum, where Eva's body lies, is (and surprisingly to me) quite unremarkable. Very plain in comparison to others. It is adorned in black stone with a very simple facade. It took some searching before Meneca and I found the Duarte tomb. In the meanwhile, Meneca gave me a tour of the cemetary which unfolded into a history lesson spanning several decades or centuries. The woman possesses an encyclopediac knowledge of Argentine history and I tried to soak in as much as I could. We would walk over to a grave and she would begin "and this son of a bitch......". I would burst out laughing and so would she as we stood in front of the chap's tomb. The cemetary that day was fairly deserted, much to M's surprise, which made the tour quite enjoyable for me. Our laughter and loud cackles boomed and bounced off the tombs of the "SOBs" (quoting Meneca, that is). Did you know that Eva's casket was exhumed and it traveled the world, first to Italy where it was buried under a false name and then to other places before returning to its current resting place? It was away from Argentina for about 25 long years during the time the country was under several military regimes and Peron himself was in exile.
After the cemetary, we stepped out and walked around the Ricoleta crafts market where local artisans display their wares. Quite enchanting it was to inspect their craft. The crafts market is only held on weekends, however, this was a long weekend in Argentina with Monday being a holiday (Flag Day).
Then Meneca and I sped off in a taxi to "San Telmo" - a neighborhood of Buenos Aires mostly known for its bohemian character. Artists and craftsmen congregate there to display their wares and talents on the street, stores, art galleries and shops line on either side of cobblestoned streets. It was here that we witnessed a delightful tango performance by one of the very well respected tango artists of Buenos Aires. It was utterly enchanting and still remains etched in my memory for its raw, rustic, passionate appeal. The chap is personally known to Meneca.
The sun had set and it became very chilly. We decided to find a place to get some dinner. I almost froze. I wasn't properly attired to keep myself warm. I didn't bring warm clothes with me. The weather in Buenos Aires, during my stay, was cold and breezy. The sun did shine brightly which tempered the nip in the air during the day, however, at night it would be fairly cold. I froze to the bone that evening but was too unwilling to admit it to Meneca. So cold was I that articulating my thoughts in a conversation became arduous with my teeth making music of their own. Meneca stopped in front of a restaurant and rattled off the menu to me in English and midway of her recital, I darted inside desperate to embrace the warm interiors. Took me a while to defrost but enjoyed a delightful meal of a certain kind of steaming hot pasta I have never eaten before, topped with a yummy, hot tomato sauce. Sizzling hot potato fries and mashed squash accompanied our meal with beer and coffee. By the way, this was my first meal of the day. We sat down to eat at 6:30pm and the restaurant was completely empty. In Latin countries, people sit down to eat around 11pm, that is when restaurants get busy. My dinner time has always been 6:30pm-7pm. So that was another thing I had to adjust to. During my trip, I was often the only customer in a restaurant at 8pm! Once I appeared at the doorstep of a vegan restaurant at 7:45pm and the chef exclaimed "what??? We have a customer???". He later confessed that the earliest he could serve me anything was 8:30pm.
I dreaded the thought to step out and endure the glacial weather that awaited me but had no choice. Meneca and I parted that evening with fervent promises to meet again on Tuesday.
The next day, Monday, most of the city was closed and so I revisited the arts and crafts market and made some purchases. Most of my day was spent there and then I headed to the vegan restaurant - Bio - which I made a mention of herein above. The food was quite delicious. They were observing "Brazilian night" and the food, though veggie and vegan, had Brazilian flavors to it.
On Tuesday I began my day with a visit to the Evita Museo - a museum dedicated to Eva Peron's memory. Some of her possessions and dresses are on display there. It details her life - her childhood and all the way to her funeral. I saw a movie of her funeral procession which dwarfed any funeral I have ever witnessed before of a celebrity. A sea of humanity descended upon the streets, miles and miles of walls of flowers adorned either sides of the street. It was of a magnitude and proportions I have never witnessed before. She died of cancer at the age of 36.
After the visit to the museum, I met Meneca at "La Violetas" - a popular afternoon "high tea" place frequented by well-heeled Portenos. A charming place with an impressive display of mouth-watering confections, none of which I could consume. By the way, Argentines are big on "Helados" (ice cream). Every other place is an Helados outlet. M and I chatted extensively at La Violetas and then jumped into a remise and sped off to "La Boca" - another eclectic neighborhood resembling the west village of Manhattan. Here we bumped into "Bruno" - a cute, friendly Argentine chap. He was standing outside his restaurant and overheard Meneca talk to me and soon the three of us were chatting. He had lived in Seattle, Miami and San Francisco for sometime of his life. He was still very young. He took us into his restaurant and showed us around. The decor was splashed with bright colors and a section of the restaurant was reserved for a tango performance during the afternoon and evening hours.
The La Boca neighborhood is known for tango, arts and crafts and its main attraction - the Club Athletico Boca Juniors - the soccer stadium. Soccer flows in the veins of the Portenos - they are enormously passionate about the sport. They are most at peace watching soccer and drinking their Mate (yerba mate, an herbal tea from South America). Like we in America socialize over a cup of coffee, they meet over a cup of Mate.
Argentines love to socialize but they prefer to socialize at home instead of heading out. Get-togethers and parties are mostly held at home. By the way, the Argentines are very good looking people. Men and women possess arresting beauty. Despite their eating habits, they are generally fit. I rarely came across a grossly over-weight person as one commonly does in the US.
Cristina Kirchner is Argentina's current President. She assumed power in January and already faces stiff opposition from the masses. The country is currently swept by a socio-economic and political strife. The masses are disgruntled over the Government's agricultural policies. Argentina is the world's leading exporter of soy. Majority of Argentina's agricultural land is employed towards harvesting soy - a crop, I am informed, which causes damage to the land it is harvested upon. It is not the best crop to grow, agriculturally. However, the government views soy as gold and increasingly employs most of its land in the cultivation of soy crop. The other main crop grown here is corn. Between soy and corn, there is very little land available to grow anything else. So much so, there is hardly any land available for the cattle to graze upon and you know what cattle means to Argentinians - beef!! On top of it, due to the enormous demand of soy, the government has opted to levy sliding scale duties on grain exports. Now, to be noted here is one little but very important detail. Who owns the land soy is cultivated upon? American companies such as Cargill. Past inept military governments basically sold off Argentina to foreign investors. It was an outright sell out, I believe. Most of Argentina's land and infrastructure is owned and operated by foreign companies. These profit oriented foreign companies don't care for the erosion of Argentinian land and its poor farmers and people in general. They care for their profit margins only. The poor farmers feel the deathly squeeze. This has cultivated intense discontent among the Argentines and they came out on the streets in protest over the government policies. It was rumored that the Cristina Kirchner might resign any day due to the growing disapproval of her policies. The days I was in Buenos Aires, the situation was somewhat tense. Arrests were being made, anti-government supporters were holding rallies, shops were closed in protest, some "Subte" (the subway) stations were closed too, there was shortage of food and gas due to the truckers union on strike. I left Buenos Aires on Wednesday night and that was deemed to be a crucial day marking countrywide strong and intense anti-goverment protests.
I am back in New York after an exhilarating trip to Buenos Aires. It is always so enriching to immerse oneself in a different culture, place and people. I returned richer indeed - richer by gaining Meneca's friendship. Her warmth, hospitality, generosity, concern, care and love overwhelmed me. (Thanks Susannah for bringing us together!) Our last meal together was at "La Americana" - an eatery known for its delicious pizzas and Italian food. Due to early Italian immigration, Italian food and culture has a strong presence in Argentina. I ate a cheeseless pizza which was quite delicious indeed. The eatery was close to the Congress building. Meneca got me to admire it from a distance. It is indeed a magnificent piece of imposing architecture. Peron, during his rule, patronized architecture which is evident from the buildings that stand today as a testament to his passion. Many such pieces of architecture are currently being renovated and have been assigned the title of national heritage monuments.
As I mentioned above, there is a lot more to see and experience in Argentina. Argentina is also home to the Igauzu Falls - the largest in the world and the only glacier that is not diminishing in size....yet. Prohibitive last-minute travel package costs and paucity of time prevented me from visiting these places but I do intend to return to Argentina sometime soon to continue the journey that began with this short trip. Until then I wish the Portenos - "Salud dinero y amor" - a toast in Spanish that Meneca taught me which translates into - "health, wealth and love".
Cheers!
Deepak
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T
The Paris Journals.....
Date: Tue, 20 Mar 2007 13:57:56
Subject: Fw: Bonjour from Le Petite Legume, Paree....
I am sitting in Le Petite Legume - a vegan restaurant around the block from my hotel. It is so small and quaint. Standing on the side of a sloping cobbled stone street awashed by morning rain, it is utterly delightful! I placed an order of Tofu with hot veggie platter with pain. The place is run by a very cute and friendly couple. The woman just placed a steaming plate of grub in front of me. Yumm.....I am hungry!
I arrived here in the morning. The flight was on time. It is a grey, wet day in Paris. After some investigations and several queries to cute French dudes, bought tickets for train to Paris from Charles de Gaulle and arrived at the hotel around 11:30am. People are very friendly so far. The ones I have met are really nice!!! The hotel staff is great! Very nice and helpful. I bombarded them with questions and they have been very patient with me. It is a very small hotel. The rooms are smaller. You have to see the elevator! I just fit in it. It is that tiny! I walked in with my luggage the staff had to push the door shut behind me. Tiny room! But I like it. It is homey. (The restaurant is playing Punjabi music! I am the only one in the restaurant. )
There is a "Naturalia" store bang opposite my hotel. Naturalia is a chain of stores selling organic, healthy, veggie and vegan foods. I went there and staff was incredibly helpful. I have tried to use whatever French I could muster, sometimes much to their amusement. Especially, when I asked a French women in French whether she spoke French! (I meant to ask if she spoke English. She responded in English, with naughty smile "Yes, I speak French very well!". We both laughed. I made friends with the woman at Naturalia. Bought a vegan ginger cake, some cookies and vegan chocolate! Yumm! I have been speaking in English with people and they are so far very accommodating and are responding in broken English.
Finished with my lunch and now I am heading out. Possibly to Marais or anywhere my legs can take me. Okay, just gulped down my last sip of Roobois tea and now I am off.....more later.....
Cheers! D.
Subject: Fw: Bonjour from Le Petite Legume, Paree....
I am sitting in Le Petite Legume - a vegan restaurant around the block from my hotel. It is so small and quaint. Standing on the side of a sloping cobbled stone street awashed by morning rain, it is utterly delightful! I placed an order of Tofu with hot veggie platter with pain. The place is run by a very cute and friendly couple. The woman just placed a steaming plate of grub in front of me. Yumm.....I am hungry!
I arrived here in the morning. The flight was on time. It is a grey, wet day in Paris. After some investigations and several queries to cute French dudes, bought tickets for train to Paris from Charles de Gaulle and arrived at the hotel around 11:30am. People are very friendly so far. The ones I have met are really nice!!! The hotel staff is great! Very nice and helpful. I bombarded them with questions and they have been very patient with me. It is a very small hotel. The rooms are smaller. You have to see the elevator! I just fit in it. It is that tiny! I walked in with my luggage the staff had to push the door shut behind me. Tiny room! But I like it. It is homey. (The restaurant is playing Punjabi music! I am the only one in the restaurant. )
There is a "Naturalia" store bang opposite my hotel. Naturalia is a chain of stores selling organic, healthy, veggie and vegan foods. I went there and staff was incredibly helpful. I have tried to use whatever French I could muster, sometimes much to their amusement. Especially, when I asked a French women in French whether she spoke French! (I meant to ask if she spoke English. She responded in English, with naughty smile "Yes, I speak French very well!". We both laughed. I made friends with the woman at Naturalia. Bought a vegan ginger cake, some cookies and vegan chocolate! Yumm! I have been speaking in English with people and they are so far very accommodating and are responding in broken English.
Finished with my lunch and now I am heading out. Possibly to Marais or anywhere my legs can take me. Okay, just gulped down my last sip of Roobois tea and now I am off.....more later.....
Cheers! D.
_________________________________________________________________
Date: Tue, 20 Mar 2007 13:58:04
Subject: Fw: Bonjour from La Victoire Supreme du Coeur.....
Having my first meal of the day at close to 5pm. Argh! Finally found this vegan place run by the followers of Sri Chinmoy. Very nice place. Ordered Pakoras, a seitan dish with basmati rice and mushroom sauce. Yumm! Empty right now. Quiet. Which is nice because it is peaceful. My soy latte just arrived with a frothy soy milk foam flowing off the mug. Yumm!
Paris has quite a few vegan places. Been to a few and so far they have been nice. Also they have this chain of Maoz falafel fast food restaurants across Europe (also found them in Barcelona). They also come in handy for us vegans. So exciting to find veganism gaining a stronghold. I mean, who would have thought that the French would develop a taste for something without conventional butter and creme, eh?
Oooh! The pakoras are yummmy!!!! If you don't know what pakoras are, google them.
Sent via BlackBerry from Cingular Wireless
___________________________________________________________________
Date: Tue, 20 Mar 2007 13:58:10
Subject: Fw: Bonjour....aboard the Les Vedettes du Point-Neuf.....
The waters of the Seine flow less than 3 feet away from me as this boat sails around Paree. The sun is setting and the Seine waters are colored by the saffron colors of the setting sun. Beautiful to the naked eye. The lights are coming on in this city of lights. The river breeze is fragrant and moist, laced with a slight chill.
As the boat moves, it affords us a glorious vantage to Paris' architectural past and present. Fabulous buildings stand tall as foreboding shrines to French history. Barren trees line up the street running parallel to us as our boat ducks below bridge after bridge over the Seine. The E tower is coming up now. Erect before a background splashed a saffron-grey by the setting sun. As our boat careens past it, right before our eyes, the E Tower slowly becomes aglow and lights sparkle all over it. Oh, it is simply a remarkable and profoundly romantic sight!!!! All bridges over the Seine are getting lit before our eyes. The lamps are a treat to the eye.
As the sun sleeps, Paris is waking up. Mute statuettes are aglow with concealed lights donning a veil of queer sadness as we float by. Yes, I notice a strange muted sadness to Paris' persona. Which I find obliquely romantic. Hmmm........
The chill in the air is getting intense. My cotton tan Uniqlo jacket is proving insuffient to sheild me from the penetrating nip of the breeze. I have it wrapped around me tightly. The cacophonic babel of a caboodle of tourists around me rises above the roar of the boat engines and drowns the already indiscernible narative of the French tour guide. The Seine waters shimmer with sparkling lights falling over it. The sublime natural saffron glow is gone. The transient man-made shimmer replaces it.
The boat is docking. I must end here.....au revoir!
Sent via BlackBerry from Cingular Wireless
_________________________________________________________________
Date: Tue, 20 Mar 2007 13:58:15
Subject: Fw: Bonjour from under the Tour Eiffel........
I am standing under the Eiffel Tower and I have to say that upclose and during the day it is quite unremarkable. Scores of people mill around me. All trying to admire this jumble of cast iron rising into the sky. There is a long queue for tickets to climb into an elevator for a ride to the top. Definitely not for me. I just got here and now I am getting out of here. The sights of the Tour Eiffel I enjoyed last evening are definitely the ones to savor. Not this. This is quite hideous. I think certain things require distance to truly admire their beauty.
Earlier today I visited Arc de Triomphe (sp?) and then walked down the Champs-Elysees. C-E was singularly the most unappealing street I have visited in Paris. I didn't even walk the entire length. I told myself that I have to leave this place rightaway. Reminded me of NY, and when, to my horror, I spotted a MacDonalds, I ran for my life to the nearest Metro station before my blissful bubble of now beloved Paree evaporated before my eyes! My best moments were sitting in roadside cafes on obscure streets, bathing in warm glorious sun and sipping a cuppa caffe. Strolling up and down the local neighborhoods and enjoying quiet pensive meals...and of course, the race this morning which was my worst todate. I clocked a dismal 2:04:16 but I don't care. It was still loads of fun to run through Paree. I was out till 1am last nite and my legs were tired from yesterday's activities. It was a tough run but did it. Besides, Loretta never called to wish me good luck for the race and that too contributed to my dismal performance. She called me in Barcelona which was my best todate.
Armed French guards stand around watching us. Okay, I am leaving here......
Sent via BlackBerry from Cingular Wireless
___________________________________________________________________
Date: Tue, 20 Mar 2007 13:58:18
Subject: Fw: Bonsoir from La Grenier De Notre Dame........
I am sitting in this delightful vegetaliene restaurant next to the Notre Dame cathedral. Sipping a heavenly Champagne with Bluecurrent cream with a piping hot vegetable soup. Aaah! What joys! There are bars of soft French music floating around me. So far the vegan food here in this restaurant is quite good. My last meal in Paree. By the way I drank quite a bit of Champagne in Paris, also in the flight to Paris. I know, sounds tacky but oh well........I will definitely return to Paris. A charming, gorgeous,.......and truly fabulous city! Every young woman looks like Audrey Tatou darting in and out of sinewy cobble stone streets of Paree on her bike with a strawberry colored coat and hair flowing in the breeze. The images of Paris from movies come alive suddenly at a certain turn or bend.
Okay, signing off.......
Sent via BlackBerry from Cingular Wireless
____________________________________________________________________
Date: Tue, 20 Mar 2007 13:58:21
Subject: Fw: Bonjour! From Charles de Gaulle.......
Settled in the aircraft and soon will be flying to Delhi. My friends Gopal and Vinod are coming to get me at the airport. I am dreading Delhi. My independence is robbed from me. Everyone wants a piece of me. It gets ugly. Tons of emotional blackmail. Tug of war ensues. I get pulled in all directions. This is not going to be fun.
I loved Paris! So incredibly relaxing! I felt FREE!! Now I see why Glenn was stuck with the expression - "Free Man in Paris". It is very liberating.
Everything I heard about the French was wrong. Oh my! They were so good to me!! I spoke in broken French and they were incredibly nice and polite and very helpful to me. I'll tell you what happened today. I boarded the train to the airport and I boarded the wrong train. It was going half way on that route and then off on another track. Midway a chap boarded the train. He himself looked confused (by the way, he was very cute!!!). I noticed him immediately and lodged him in my peripheral vision. He sought help from other passengers and then sat down. When the train took a turn to the other direction, and stopped at the wrong station, I panicked. I got off the train. Began running around with my luggage and thought I was doomed. I ran down the stairs and bumped into him (he also got off the same station). He smiled at me and I approached him with my question of how do I get to CDG. He didn't know a word of English and in my panicked state, my French evaporated in a ball of smoke. It was hilarious as we both communicated.....and understood each other!! He was telling me that he too got on the wrong train and had to take the same train as me but he was getting off earlier than me. He asked me to follow him. I did. Then he began looking confused and then this woman looked at us (thinking we are together) and asked if we were going to cDG. We both cried out - YES!!! She offered to help and took us to the platform where the train was to come. We were both so relieved. At the platform, he and I chatted - yep, he in French and I in English (and some French). Neither knew the language the other spoke, but made ourselves understood. It was fun. He was soooo nice to me (and had the cutest smile!). I did not have a single bad experience in Paris. Everywhere I went people were very helpful and sweet. The woman in the duty free shop was so sweet. She gave me her telephone number in Paris and also her email address!!! Asked me to keep in touch. Can't wait to return!! I have to take French lessons now.
Okay, the aircraft has begun to taxi. Got to go! Au revoir!
Sent via BlackBerry from Cingular Wireless
My Brush With Jellyfish
Tuesday, July 22, 2008 6:16 AM
The very idea of swimming in the Hudson almost always brings a grimace to the visage of one's audience but the bragging rights won after the 1.1 mile swim are priceless. Yesterday, it was my second opportunity to dive into the Hudson and swim that distance as part of the annual NYC Triathlon.
All went well up to the point we began our swim. I checked into the cheap Days Hotel ($186 per night; cheap by NYC standards!) on 94th and Broadway on Saturday afternoon, conveniently located near the event site. After a hectic Friday and Saturday playing host to a friend from overseas, I found myself unconscious in my hotel room at 5:30pm. I was utterly exhausted and Saturday's heat index also contributed amply to the exhaustion. I woke up at 2:45am on Sunday morning and was as at the event site by 4:30am. After setting up my transition area (those who don't know what that means: this is where our bikes are located. Here we set up our gear, nutrition etc. for the 3 legs of the race) and inspecting the condition of my bike, I began walking towards the "swim start" at 5:10am. My wave of athletes was to jump into the Hudson at 6:02am. The transition area is located more than a mile away from the "swim start" (where we jump into the Hudson). I was more than half way through when I realized I had left behind my swim goggles. Cursing myself with the most colorful vocabulary at my disposal, I ran back, retrieved the swim goggles and then briskly began walking back to the swim start.
By now I was sweating profusely. It was an incredibly humid morning, even at that early hour. I arrived at the swim start, received my "timer chip" and after inspecting the brisk current of the Hudson below I began climbing into my sleeveless wet suit - and this is where (unofficially!) the triathlon begins. Climbing into a wet suit can burn as much calories as perhaps running a couple of miles, especially if the suit doesn't fit. Well, in my case, having lost some pounds, I had less of a struggle getting into the suit.
The clock ticked away and soon my wave of athletes was called upon to step down on to the floating platform. I walked over, looked at the waters below me and jumped into it. The sensation of being in the river is unique. Immediately one feels the pull and push of the current. From the protective screen of my swim goggles, I could see the murky waters of the Hudson, slight sunlight breaking the river surface and illuminating the area around me underwater. Twigs and some curious objects floated around. I broke the surface and saw others jump in. We were holding on to this rope which prevents the swimmers from being swept away by the ferocious early morning current. The gun went off and off we went, arms and legs flailing, water splashing all around us, heads bobbing everywhere. As I do always, I stayed clear of others and initially, maintained a safe distance from other swimmers in front of me. This gives me the opportunity to regulate my breathing and pace and then, once I am comfortable, I gradually increase my pace.
Helicopters hovered in the skies above us. Lifeguards on boats and canoes kept a watchful vigil over us. As I would turn my face up for air exposing my ear, I could hear the cheering crowds from the river wall and the event announcer's voice booming over the loudspeakers. A minute or two elapsed. I grew comfortable almost to the point of enjoying the swim and then it happened. A slight pain in my arm. It felt like a sting, akin to a sharp prick. I ignored it. At that initial point of the swim, it is never a good idea to allow disturbing thoughts to enter your mind. My hands grabbed some floating twigs of various sizes (well, I chose to think that they were twigs!) which I kept pushing aside as I forged ahead. The pain intensified. Suddenly my exposed arm, hands and face experienced multiple stings. This is barely three minutes into the swim portion of the race. I felt as if I was being attacked by a creature underwater. I tried to determine what it was by running my hand over my face and arm but it was unable to grab the mysterious offender. I remained calm. There was no point in freaking out. It would have worsened the situation for me. The attack on me ensued and it became more "determined". I felt the sharp stings all over. It was a strange sensation. The effect of the sting appeared to clasp me. There was a numbing effect in my arm. This is when I felt the need to get out of the water. I forged ahead with extra long arm strokes. I had more than half the distance to cover at this point. Keeping my breathing under control (very essential while swimming), I began swimming as rapidly as possible. I noticed that swimmers around me appeared to be battling more than just the idea of swimming in the Hudson. There is no time or opportunity to engage in a conference at that juncture. Other waves of swimmers came over from behind us. I was pushed around as people frantically made their way to the "swim exit platform". I passed by someone who was clearly struggling to swim. Still suffering from the stings and mild numbing feeling, I rapidly tried to get to the swim exit. This year, there was a barge jutting out into the water from the river wall and we had to swim around it. We were informed about it prior to the race but they made that barge less pronounced than initially announced. Here many of us knocked into each other. I kept sighting the swim exit and tried to ignore the pain. Every stroke bringing me closer to the end of my ordeal. Finally I reached the platform, an event staffer took my hand and pulled me out. As I ran barefoot to the bike (about a quarter mile distance from the swim exit), I stripped off the wet suit and the pain rapidly diminished. I jumped on the bike and off we went on the Henry Hudson Parkway. On my way, I happened to share my story with a fellow biker who confirmed that the Hudson water was infested by jellyfish. This was certainly a unique experience for me which I shall treasure for sometime.
The 25-mile bike portion of the race was uneventful other than the fact that my hands turned numb. It has nothing to do with the jellyfish attack. This happens to me often on long rides. I need to do something about it. Maybe I will consult a coach or an experienced athlete. As I ride, my hands lose sensation and turn numb. This encumbers my ability to hold the bike steady and change gears effectively. I have to slow down and then let my hands loose for the numbness to dissipate. I realize this can be fairly dangerous, especially during a race but I will find a remedy for it.
The running leg of the race was fine for me. Running is my strongest skill in a triathlon. Swimming and biking are very new to me. I finished the 6.1 mile run in close to 50 minutes despite the heat and humidity. As I crossed the finish line, I was greeted by a race volunteer who placed a cold, wet towel in my hands, next was someone who placed the "finisher's medal" around my neck and then I heard someone say to me "where is your timer chip?". I looked at my legs and Lo Behold! it was gone. I lost it somewhere and didn't realize until he drew my attention to it. I came home and logged on to the website to see if any of my time was recorded and found my record to be completely empty. I suspect that it came off during the swim because I remember vividly placing the chip band around my ankle. I was miffed! Thankfully, I had turned on the stop clock on my triathlon watch when the gun went off at swim start and as I raced through the finish line, I noticed that I had finished the race in 3 hours, 10 minutes and 24 seconds - 4 minutes slower than last year. At home I chanced upon this NYT report on the race and learned that an athlete died during the race yesterday. http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/21/sports/othersports/21triathlon.html?hp
So this was the account of my Sunday morning. It is an exhilarating event and I wish my friends would consider being a spectator to it. The air is redolent with amazing energy, anticipation and anxiety. It is heartening to witness fellow participants being greeted by friends and family at the finish line. The hugs, embraces and kisses, the cheers and words of encouragement and congratulations. The chatter and stories that spill out almost immediately upon crossing the finish line. There will be new experiences next year, different tales to tell....and yes, I will be there once again.
Cheers!
Deepak
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)