Kamal's Karela: The Last Goodbye....

(Kamal is my friend Cherryl's chef in Delhi, India. He had cooked and packed his most fabulous stuffed "karelas" (bitter melons; I LOVE bitter melon!!! - yumm!) for me to bring to NYC in January. There were 5 of them which I have consumed over the past 4 months, the last one this past weekend.)

The last of Kamal's karelas was consumed this past weekend.

The moment was poignant and passionate.

As I pulled it out of the freezer, I stared at its frozen form.

It sat there in the container, hard and lifeless, trapping the pungent aroma it was soon to release.

I held its hardened, gnarled, crusty, expectant 6.5 inches in my hand, gingerly.

The warmth of my hand moistened its frozen skin.

A wave of anticipation swept my senses and a sigh escaped my quivering lips.

My (gastric) juices gushed.

It was gastronomical lust. My mouth watered.

My eyes sparkled through the haze of desire.

The heart ached at the thought of the inevitable last kiss.

I consigned it to the microwave.

Within seconds it was alive and breathing again.

The thin string that bound it, strained as its body swelled.

It was hot. Oil oozed from the corners.

There was that intoxicating aroma.

I took it in my hands and slowly placed it in my mouth.

Melting on my tongue as the teeth sank in.

The palate caved as it swirled in a pool of raging saliva.

And then,.....it disappeared down the esophagus.

It was over.

It was gone.

Will we ever meet again?

The heartache lingers.....

Rumble in Rome

March 2010

The two balloons rose up into the morning sky and bobbed against the rugged backdrop of the aged, aloof and imposing Colosseo. A haze of thrill and anticipation enveloped me. I stood there, one among the surging multitudes, under the crisp morning skies, surrounded by glorious vestiges of ancient history - edifices of bygone eras, pictures of which I used to pore over growing up as a kid in junior high school back in India. Announcements in Italian and English bellowed through loud speakers, multi-lingual chatter bounced off my ears from all around me, the ground was an omnium gatherum of running footwear from around the world and my pair of New Balance 850 were there among the rest, laced and ready to get my feet cover the formidable 42.195 kilometers all around the visually stunning city of Rome.

It twitched and then it happened again. It stung like a long needle slowly finding its way into my toe and making its way up through my leg. The wart was awake. Both of them, in fact. My heart was calm in my chest but my mind was racing. Employing the breathing I learned in yoga classes (“let it out slowly, it brings down the heart rate!”, my yoga teachers roar in the hot room, themselves sounding out of breath as they recite the sometimes turbulent 90-minute Bikram Yoga dialogue), I kept the heart placid but my mind processed every conceivable circumstance that I could possibly encounter over the next few hours.

Three months ago, I visited Bologna, Italy. I was there during the New Year’s Eve weekend and fell in love with the country. I decided to return and make Rome as my next destination for my first marathon of 2010. “Roma Maratona” is one of the premier races in Europe and thousands participate in it, drawing home-grown runners and a rapidly growing international interest in the race. Any avid runner would be seduced by the charms of this strikingly gorgeous city. The course was easy, flat and fast and it covered most landmarks of the city. I was sold to the idea. I registered for the race, booked my hotel and air travel and dreamed of running those 26.1 miles in the middle of spring season in Rome, while snow, sleet, icy rain lashed against the windowpanes of my apartment in New York, which endured one of the harshest winters in recent times. The dreadful weather made it harder to train outdoors with most windswept weekends ended up buried in several inches of snow.

A few weeks prior to the race, I encountered a rather peculiar discomfort in my left leg. It erupted in one of my yoga classes and never quite left. A long distance run or the mere act of stretching would trigger it and characteristically, it mirrored the much-feared sciatica pain, but not in severity. I sought counsel and began acupuncture and massage therapy. It is a very tight, rigid muscle which apparently pressed a nerve at certain times, causing the pain which originated in my gluteous maximus (“minimus”, in my case!) and escaped all the way down to my feet. Treatment had barely begun for it, when I began to suffer a sharp pain in my right foot. Inspection made me believe it was a callus. All athletes suffer from them, a collateral gain from the endless hours of running, and they are a regular occurrence on my feet. I ignored it and thought it would go away with further neglect. It did not. The pain persisted with a steadfast determination to make my right foot its permanent home. Mulishly, I subjected it to further neglect. Maybe it is the male psychology or maybe it is just me. I tend to ignore any unpleasant occurrence as if it is not happening to the point that I become oblivious to it and, almost always, it suffers a premature demise much to my relief. I thought the same of the foot discomfort until one fateful morning commuting to work. I stepped out of the apartment and my foot experienced such excruciating pain that I was shaken out of my blissfully oblivious reverie, barely able to take the next step before me. I reached office somehow and pounded (not pressed) on the panic button. An emergency appointment with a podiatrist delivered the news that what housed in my foot was a nasty gremlin of a “wart”. I could do nothing with it because I was traveling to New Orleans for a half marathon that weekend. Any treatment would require a minimum 2-week recovery period. My New Orleans plans could not be altered. The weekend following the New Orleans race was slated for travel to San Diego where I was hoping to run a long “training run” of 20-plus miles by myself, all in preparation for the Rome race. I have to confess that both trips were also my escape from New York’s glacial weather. I faced the predicament of treating the foot and scrapping travel plans or live with the pain and proceed as scheduled. I opted for the latter, hoping it would miraculously go away. It did not. Rome was scheduled 2 weeks after San Diego, again the foot could not be touched or I risked opting out of the race in Rome - something I was dreaming of since early January. Daily I limped my way as the tiny black spotted gremlin continued to make merry in my foot. Then, out of no where, I contracted Strep Throat barely two weeks prior to Rome, and my physician prescribed a 10-day dose of 1000mg penicillin daily, which rendered my body weakened. Suddenly things were going wrong, my plans was falling apart. I boarded the flight to Rome this past Friday......

Landed in Rome on Saturday morning at 7am with minimal sleep. Reached the hotel, dropped my luggage and made my way to the Maratona Expo to secure my race packet with the race bib and other goodies. The Italians did a marvelous job of race organization. The goodie bag included a nice t-shirt and a cool backpack. The energy and enthusiasm at the Expo brightened my dimmed spirits. At the Expo, I felt a rumbling in my belly. I had to use to the restroom and that was the first of several restroom visits I made on Saturday. Perhaps it was anxiety that caused it. My fatigued body was rapidly getting depleted of the last remaining traces of energy. I felt dehydrated and began consuming hydration pills, sports drinks and gels but, consuming solids was tough.

I counseled myself that I will be able to do it, that all will be well, that “it will be a-l-r-i-g-h-t”, as a dear friend once used to croon soothingly in my ears when the going got tougher. At the hotel after a shower, I felt something new in another part of the same foot. I looked at it and there it was - another black spot on one of my toes encircled by white, dead skin. Another wart???? This can’t be happening to me. Now I have two to contend with on the eve of the race! After an early dinner I was in bed at 10pm. My body was tired. My mind raced several marathons of its own all night, leaving me to toss and turn in bed.

The horn blew and the crowds surged forward. Initially we walked and then the pace accelerated. My strides turned from calm to rapid. I obliterated the negative thoughts in one swipe and moved forward. Running is like meditation in motion. It requires one focus and unshakeable determination to get from the start line to the finish line. I have always considered running to be analogous to life in general. Life begins at its “Start Line” and ends at its “Finish Line”. The distance we cover in between is the journey of life. We are all running, we are all trying to get somewhere, we are all constantly moving and while that is happening, we encounter challenges and obstacles which we must overcome to get ahead in life. If we trip or fall, we must get back up on our feet. A running race, to me, is representative of this journey. As I moved forward, I motivated myself with the words, “You can do it. Keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t think about the foot. Keep moving.” The 2-kilometer sign went by and the foot burned with discomfort. I struggled to remain calm and in that battle my breath cycle went awry. Keeping calm is essential in all adversity. I was losing grip over it. The pain shot up through both points in the foot. It seared through the leg. The 4-kilometer sign approached and my mind wondered, “Is it over yet??? 38.195 kilometers more to go???? Oh crap!!”. It was then I adopted a new approach, thinking of the entire race as a multiple of 5-kilometer races. My objective at all times was simply to cover the next 5 kilometer mark. Thats all I was thinking about. 5-10-15-20-25-....... Those of you who are not long-distance runners perhaps are unaware that while running long distances, the blood supply increases in the legs and feet and, during the course of the run, the feet swell up and, as a consequence, the friction between the toes and the running shoes is heightened. Well, that certainly did not bode well for my condition. By the way, I must mention here that large sections of the race route was cobblestoned. When the foot pounded on that uneven surface repeatedly,....well, you can use your imagination here.

At every 5 kilometers, there was a hydration/refreshment stop where they gave out drinks and after 15 kilometers they began giving out cut oranges, fruits, sports gels and cookies. Halfway through every 5 kilometers were positioned “wet sponge spots” where they handed out soaking wet sponges to help us cool down. These stops helped me split the entire distance into tiny smaller races. Essentially, I was running a 2.5 kilometer race at any given point.

At several points I could not run anymore. I forced myself to stop and when I did, I struggled to walk because my legs felt like pillars of stone. The injury in the left leg began to throb as well. I would throw myself forward in an attempt to simulate (and stimulate) a run. This cycle continued. Seven more kilometers left. The twinge numbed my legs. A lump originated from somewhere deep in my chest and lodged itself in my throat. I could not believe I had come this far. Six more kilometers to go. My temples throbbed, my eyes attempted to well up, my heart raced. I was walking at this time, more like limping. A fellow runner was walking alongside. Then he began to run. I saw him slowly get farther and farther away from me. At that point, I decided to give it my all. I lunged forward, threw my head down and ran. Five more kilometers to go. All sensation below my waist was gone by then. I was blinded. Those were the longest 5 kilometers I ever ran. I crossed the finish line. It was over. 5 hours and 33 minutes. I stood there stunned. I felt like a small child with an overwhelming desire to be hugged. Then, suddenly someone came up to me, congratulated me in Italian and a beautiful finisher’s medal adorned my heaving chest. I was back at the Colosseo and had to walk another 500 meters to the closest Metro Stop to take the Subway to Roma Termini (the main train hub of Rome). My hotel was six blocks from the Termini. I made my way to the hotel, entered the room, took two painkillers and sat down on the edge of the bed. Untied the laces of my running shoes. Slid the shoe off my right foot, slowly peeled the sock off to stare at it.......

Deepak

Roma, Italia

http://gallery.me.com/deepakghosh#100612&view=carouseljs&sel=0

Roma, by sun down.....

http://gallery.me.com/deepakghosh#100597&bgcolor=black&view=carouseljs&sel=0

Roma Maratona

http://gallery.me.com/deepakghosh#100588&bgcolor=black&view=carouseljs&sel=0

The Upgrade

Why I rued my upgrade to business class today.......

They give us too much food to eat and it looks delicious, but alas, not vegan. Never a good idea to stuff one’s belly at 35,000 feet. The seat is way too comfortable, in fact, it is so comfortable that it never gets in a position where one can sit up straight while eating. My mom always said, “Sit up straight, when eating. Don’t slouch!”. Too much food and bad posture for consuming a sumptuous repast??? Hmmm.......

One needs to know how to use the three forks and knives. One can’t afford to be uncouth like me who is petrified at the idea of a formal dinner due to lack of familiarity with silverware. Yes, I wasn’t paying attention when my mom implored me to learn. She had the foresight, I didn’t. After all, I am the kind of dude who sometimes drinks wine in a coffee mug at home. I can’t even remember the last time I sat at a formal dinner table where an elaborate array of forks and knives wrapped in a pretty, crisp napkin waited patiently for me to release them from the delicate, yet firm grasp of the napkin ring. By the way, who invented the custom of multiple knives, forks and spoons and why should one care? Why should eating - an intimate exercise which nourishes the mind, body and soul - be suffocated by such formality and ceremony to the extent that the boundless joys of placing food in your mouth should be stymied by the anxieties of “Oh shucks! am I doing this right????”. I grew up in India where people use hands instead of cutlery and, let me inform those who have never tried it, eating with naked fingers lends a unique, more appealing taste to the food. Before the food is placed in the mouth, the body makes contact with it and that “touch”, via sensory signals to the brain, lends an enhanced degree of intimacy to the process of dining and the food actually tastes better. Frank Bruni, are you listening??? One is consumed by abject horror at the sight of the smug silverware, laying right there before you, waiting to be picked as tremulous cold fingers inch closer to what is doomed to be the wrong choice. Yep, that first wrong choice, seals the reputation as one lacking sophistication. Thats it! It is over! Now, for the rest of the 8.5 hours one is doomed to that patronizing stare from the business class frequent flyer sunk deep in the next seat.

The next blow to an already dwarfed self worth comes when they deliver the wine list with a condescending smile. It is a further test of one’s refinement. They hand the wine list, float down the aisle and return with a determined look for the choice answer. Will it be the 2005 Masciarelli - Marina Svetic Montepulciano D’Abruzzo or the 2008 Masciarelli Villa Gemma or should it be the Illuminati Brut.....with my vegan meal??? Argh! “Ummm, just water please, thank you” and one is saved from embarrassment. However, today I was sitting in business class, after all. I am suddenly overcome with the compelling urge to order wine and it doesn’t matter that it is 10 in the morning in Italy. I chose the most aged red wine on the list and won the “smartest choice award” from the very pleased crew member who beamed a sparkling smile and muttered, “good choice”. It rendered me pink and giddy.

Oh! Yes, and that plush seat they plop us in - a misbegotten engineering marvel with a mind of its own. I think one should earn valuable school credits just for learning how to work that seat. Every section of the seat has a button assigned to it. The trick is to learn how to make all the buttons work in unison so one can be in that much envied “flat bed” position which every hapless soul at the back of the aircraft covets, while their tangled skeleton is trapped in the acutely claustrophobic confines of the economy class sarcophagus.

Okay, so now I find myself seated in business class after a last-minute unsolicited upgrade, the initial aura of euphoria faded and was replaced with trepidation of operating the engineering marvel without exhibiting the stresses of revealing that you are not a NASA scientist and have never before traveled aboard the Space Shuttle. Stealing glances at your neighbor and after several abortive attempts, my head is dangling backwards, my midsection is raised upwards and the legs are flailing lifelessly below. Ooops, that is not how it is supposed to be. Too late! I am a target already for a few smirky, one-raised eyebrow “first time in business class, eh?”-looks, but there is always that solitary “I get your pain, bro”-stare from the far corner wallowing in similar misery.

I missed my economy class seat back there, where food choices are limited and if they forget my vegan meal request (which happens often), then there are no food choices at all and fasting is recommended by a harried, underpaid, over-worked crew member who really wouldn’t give a crap whether I ate or not for 10 long hours. The cutlery is disposable and stress-free. The napkins are paper, not crisp, clean white cotton. The rickety food tray is bare, not covered with cloth. The seat is tiny and stiff and makes you sit erect throughout the 8.5-hour hop over the Atlantic (splendid for the back and digestion!) with no grueling multiple position options to battle with. Actually, for some unfortunate souls the seats are so small that once they get in, they are locked in! They have to be exhumed out of the seats to exit the aircraft. Only one red wine and white wine is served, not in glass bottles but in cartons these days, which appear very similar to juice cartons. Your inner sommelier in the arms of Morpheus is never rudely awakened and put to work.

Oye vey iz mir!

I hate it when they upgrade me to Business Class!

Seasons Greetings from The Grinch

I am sick of.....

the (tired) holiday cheer;
the syrupy holiday music blaring everywhere (even in men’s rooms! Don’t wanna hear Hark the Angels while I pee!);

the color RED everywhere;
all things grotesquely candied;
the gingerbread house fuss;
the frosty filigree;
the furbelowed show-windows;
the garish frill, flounce and festooning;
that exhausted little holiday doodad staring at me at the pharmacy checkout counter;
the swarms of “tree-people” clicking pics of THAT DARN TREE;
the Sequined & Spangled Starbucks and the comeback of the much-revered Gingerbread Latte (sic!);
the Madness of Macy's;
the smelly, sweaty, “ and very suspect” SANTAs trolling everywhere;
the LOUD bells and DESPERATE cries of Salvation Army “demanding” money;
the mad dash for thoughtless gifts (followed by the mad dash to return them);
the icy, over-in-a-second, snappy, unaffecting “Happy Holidays!” wishes,….....
(DEEP SIGH)
Is January 2nd here yet????

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!
Love,
Me

Laws We Must Obey.....

Dear Gay-Marriage Opponents,

Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from you and understand why you would propose and support a constitutional amendment banning same sex marriage. As you state, "in the eyes of God marriage is based between a man a woman. I try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination... end of debate. However, I do need some advice from you regarding some other elements of God's Laws and how to follow them.

1. Leviticus 25:44 states that I may possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Canadians, but not Mexicans. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Mexicans?

2. I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

3. I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanness - Lev.15: 19-24. The problem is how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.

4. When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord - Lev.1:9. The problem is, my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

5. I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2. clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself, or should I ask the police to do it?

6. A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination - Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this? Are there 'degrees' of abomination?

7. Lev.21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle- room here?

8. Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev. 19:27. How should they die?

9. I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

10. My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev.19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? Lev. 24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair, like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14) I know you have studied these things extensively and thus enjoy considerable expertise in such matters, so I am confident you can help.

My First Half Ironman Triathlon

Sunday October 4, 2009
Montauk, New York

For the last 3 months I have fretted over this race which was my athletic goal for this year and I am so glad it is finally over and behind me. Yesterday, I participated in my first half ironman triathlon in Montauk, NY - the Mightyman Half Ironman. The race begins with a 1.2 mile swim in a lake, followed by a 56-mile bike over rolling hills, and then wrapped up with a half marathon (13.1 mile) run. I had never raced this distance before. I finished the race in 7 hours and 22 minutes, which came a surprise to me as I was not sure if I had the ability to finish within the (enforced) race time limit of 8 hours.

My friends Marc and Tiffany (who is 4 months into her pregnancy) drove me over to Montauk, NY on Saturday afternoon. It is a 3-hour car ride from Staten Island. We reached there by 3:45pm and after checking into our respective hotel accommodations, we had an early dinner at 5:30pm. I opted to go to bed early at 9pm as I had to rise at 3:30am and had to report to race site by 5:30am.

The weather in this part of the world had been somewhat cold, cloudy, dreary and wet for several days prior to the race. That was a cause of worry to me. Since I had never raced this distance before, I didn't want any additional weather-related challenges to face that day. Surprisingly, although it did rain on Saturday afternoon, on Sunday the clouds dissipated and the weather was mild and sunny. I was delighted.

I woke up at 3am but rolled out of the bed at 3:30am. After coffee and a bagel with peanut butter and jam, I biked over to the race site at 5:30am. The ground was wet and muddy. It was pitch dark. Thankfully I brought my flashlight with me. I set up my bike and my transition area and then climbed into my new wet suit. My wave of athletes were to jump into the lake at 6:48am. It was humid. My turn came to step into the lake, I felt the water and it was cold. It stung my body as I immersed myself into it. They blew the horn and off we went. I began swimming but something was not right. The cold water was distracting. It crept into my wet suit. I was unable to focus on my breathing and just then I lost control over my breathing completely. I struggled in the water. I fought the distraction and tried to re-adjust the focus. The systematic breathing pattern, essential for swimming especially in a race, went awry and I knew it right away something was going to go very wrong. I began to swallow water. Panic began to set in. I flipped over. It did not help. I flipped back and continued to swim very slowly and that too did not help. I felt "tightness" in my chest. Just then I saw a chap on the kayak close-by. I motioned to him and he came to my rescue. I held on to the kayak for about 4 long minutes. He and I chatted briefly. My breathing settled down and I felt better. Good enough to resume the swim. I swam the remaining portion of the entire distance (1.2 miles) but at a very slow, cautious pace because I didn't want to take any chances with a reoccurrence of the incident that had just occurred. I finished the swim in 59 minutes. I emerged from the water slightly fatigued and dizzy. I ran to my bike and struggled to get out of my wet suit. One of the officials helped me out of it. Jumped on my bike and off I went on a 56-mile ride.

The bike portion involved two loops of a 28-mile route. It meandered over hills, highways, residential areas, narrow streets and sections next to the ocean. It is a visually arresting route but very challenging. Biking is new to me. I learned biking here in the US about 4-5 years ago and I am still not completely comfortable on a bike. When I bike, I am always on the edge and slightly nervous. Recently, I had "aero bars" installed on my bike and had the gears moved to the front of the bars. I did this to help me rest my arms on the bike when I go for long bike rides. However, I didn't quite realize that "aero bars" require some adjusting and with the race merely 2 months away, I had the twin challenge of adjusting to the bars and training for riding 56 miles. I would wake up early weekend mornings and go biking in Staten Island to develop a level of comfort with the new contraption. As I completed the first loop yesterday morning, I got familiar with the terrain and knew what I had to encounter when I ride it again to complete the second 28-mile loop. Some of the hills were rather challenging but I was rewarded with vistas of the glistening ocean water under the bright sun, after overcoming those hills. We rode through some of the most expensive neighborhoods of Long Island, NY, lined with mansions and properties which were eye-poppingly stunning, often leaving me awestruck as I peddled past them like a maniac. I finished the bike portion in 3 hours and 55 minutes, much faster than the 4.5 hours I had anticipated.

Getting off the bike was a huge relief because then began my favorite portion of the race which I am most comfortable with - running. We were required to run 13.1 miles. After briskly changing into my running shoes and cap, I darted out of the transition area to commence the half marathon. The run portion was two loops of approximately 6.5 miles. I began running and was very happy to have the swim and bike sections of the race behind me. I had no idea how tough the run portion was going to be. They made us climb every hill in that region! I managed to sprint through the first loop, climbing the hills with ease, but struggled in the second loop. The sun was shining bright upon us and I was beginning to feel dehydrated. Energy levels dipped at times. I kept running, never stopped, however, did slow down considerably when it became excruciatingly laborious to place one foot in front of the other. Pain shot through my feet, thighs, glutes, calves, hamstrings. Now I knew why they call it the "Mightyman" - it requires all your might to finish it. As I crossed every mile of the second loop, my heart leapt with joy because I knew every stride was getting me closer to the finish line and the attainment of my goal for 2009. I kept going and then I saw the finish line a few hundred feet away from me. A groan escaped my lips. I threw my body forward and pushed hard and just then I saw a very pregnant Tiffany waving at me. I was so happy to see her. A familiar, smiling face, waving at me joyously - I was over the moon at the sight. I ran past the finish, my name and race number was announced over the loud speakers and almost instantly a feeling of calm began to set in. I ran the 13.1 miles in 2 hours and 18 minutes. I had done it! It was over. I was engulfed with euphoria. I had covered a distance (a total of 70.3 miles) in one day - a feet I could never have imagined possible just a few years ago. Warm hugs, smiles, words of praise and encouragement flowed profusely from Marc and Tiff....sounds which came together and blended into this one sublime feeling of joy.

This has been a tough year for many of us but we have and continue to, push hard through it, just as I did those last few miles of this race. As I struggled on the route, I thought of the challenges we face in life and as I overcame the challenges along the race route, it made me dwell upon life and its own struggles. I wanted to end this strife-riddled year with a race that would be challenging for me. Crossing the finish line brought me hope.

I have many more distances to cover and you all will be there with me, I hope.....

Cheers!
Deepak

bohemian in Bohemia

Friday May 8th - Sunday May 10th

I felt nostalgic and I can’t fathom why but that is the feeling which came upon me from the moment I first set foot in this city of “a 100 spires” - Praha, or more commonly known, Prague - the sprawling, visually fascinating capital of the Czech Republic, much of which was once known as Bohemia, the historic country of Central Europe.

I have never been here before and nor do I have something Czech that checkers my past, so why the nostalgia, I wondered.

I could pen tomes about Prague’s beauty and charm but you have heard that before, haven’t you? If you Google Prague, you will encounter several essays in flattering prose about the City’s magical beauty, and yes, all that is very true. Its beauty is arresting, indeed. As I walked the streets, my feet seem to sink into the muddy vestiges of the past. From a distance Prague appears to be a city where the past seems to reside harmoniously in the warm coffers of the present. As they stand next to each other, the young is respectful of the old. This “respect” appears to melt off the structural facade of the past and manifests itself into its people. As I rode the trains, buses and the trams, I noticed an eager and ready display of honor by the youth of their seniors. It appeared to flow effortlessly, without being demanded. I was impressed.

Last month I visited its neighbor Austria. Vienna offers a similar charm and all elements artistically, culturally and historically engaging, however, the two possess different personalities, quite like a pair of twins who grew up to be different but never stopped to look alike in the mirror. Prague appears to be more energetic when compared to Vienna’s more staid persona.

The flight to Prague

My Czech Airlines flight no. 51 from JFK landed in Prague at 6 am on Friday. Prior to landing, an announcement “Passengers suffering from swine flu and requiring assistance, please contact ground crew once we land in Prague” struck to me as odd. Announcements on board made during flight were heavily accented, so I wasn’t particularly stricken by its odd grammar or fluency. It was more about its subject. Well, it soon became clear. A young man aboard was allegedly suffering from swine flu. Perhaps the presence of an ailing passenger was kept under wraps to prevent panic during the 8-hour flight. His identity was revealed upon landing. Masked personnel entered the aircraft and went directly to him. He was removed with a mask over his mouth. No one seemed fazed except the woman who was sitting next to the lad. The crew members took down the contact information of the passengers sitting in close proximity to him and then the rest of us disembarked once he was out of sight.

Swine Flu - absence of paranoia

Throughout my stay in Prague I did not detect any heightened paranoia over the spread of the flu virus. People appeared calm and composed in trams, buses, trains and at all other public places. The news media itself seemed indifferent to what had consumed us all so fiercely in the US. Perhaps, fear is the virus we need to be most fearful of.

Commute to Hotel

My commute from the airport to the hotel lasted for an hour and included all three modes of public transportation the city has to offer. I took the bus number 119 from the airport to city center. It cost me 30 Czech Crowns (US$1 is approximately Kr 20). The bus deposited me at the Metro stop - Dejvika - where, a very helpful metro station officer, patiently explained to me how to get to my hotel. I was directed to take the “A” train to Metro station “Mustek” and then change to the tram number 9 at “Vaklavske Namesti” and step off at “Husinecka”. I followed the instructions and managed to get to the hotel by 8am. Since check-in time was 2pm, and there were no available rooms so early in the day, I was asked to return around noon to check availability. I deposited my baggage, freshened up, ate breakfast at the hotel restaurant (free of charge) and decided to visit the marathon expo to pick up my race packet. Oh, I forgot to mention, I was in Prague to run the Prague marathon on Sunday morning.

The Hotel

I stayed at the Three Crowns Hotel which is located in Zizkov (Praha 3), an eclectic, artsy, working class neighborhood - a little rough around the edges. A nice hotel it was but lacked in service, especially, housekeeping! I stayed there three nights and two days and my room wasn’t cleaned even once. I reported the lack of housekeeping on Saturday morning to the front desk, an apology was furnished to me but with a grim face and shrugged shoulders. Two fresh towels were handed to me as a consolation. On Sunday evening, my complaint about lack of housekeeping for two consecutive days received a smile and shrugged shoulders. Two fresh towels were handed to me with regret. I was informed that the entire hotel was serviced by one housekeeping maid and there is only so much she can do in one day. I was flummoxed by the response. Was I required to sympathize with the maid’s misfortune? I conveyed my annoyance sternly which was lost in translation and seemingly fell on deaf ears - very apparent, because the smile gave way to a giggle. I was too disinclined to exert myself any further and abandoned further pursuit of the matter.

Praha

“A City of a Hundred Spires”
“The Golden City”
“The City of Bridges”
“The Mother of all Cities”
............. is the flattering phraseology attributed to Prague by some.
Absolutely bewitching!, such is the dark, haunting beauty of Prague. Gold-tipped domes, sprawling majestic cathedrals, imposing towers and spires grace the city’s skyline. The stunning Romanesque architecture and gothic structures lend the City’s facade a romantic but foreboding allure. Cobble-stoned streets and alleyways run helter-skelter about the city alongside their more contemporary wider versions which make up the major streets and highways. The narrow passages and medieval lanes playfully disappear into each other, especially in the Old Town which houses a dense cluster of architectural gems, deservingly dubbed as the “Prague Pompeii”. Everywhere one turns, imposing vestiges of the gilded age of the 19th century, when Prague sparkled in wealth and culture, meet the eye. You can’t help but slow down in this city. It compels you to stop, stare and gawk.

The city has an unhurried pace. Even during rush hour, no one brushes past you with a doomsday cometh fiery trail. Large sunlit courtyards and squares dot the city where cozy sidewalk cafes lend opportunity for a late afternoon tea, coffee or a frothy pint of beer and lazy chatter.

The Vltava River runs through Prague and is the longest river in the Czech Republic. A number of bridges hover over the river adding further to the City’s mesmerizingly romantic charm, the oldest among them is the Charles Bridge which is akin to an outdoor museum lined up with marvelous statues on either side of the bridge.

Today Prague is rapidly gaining popularity as a tourist destination in Europe. Alongside the splendid architectural marvels from the medieval era, Prague offers the very best of all things contemporary. It is a virtual playground for the shopaholics with large glittering malls housing the best, the chic and the popular. Prague is also known for its pulsating nightlife boasting of some of the hottest clubs in Europe. It is a city that must be experienced.

The Currency

The Czech Crown continues to be the primary currency most businesses prefer to conduct business with, however, the country is expected to fully embrace the Euro sometime in 2010. Most establishments I visited accepted my American Express card which was surprising to me because, from my personal travel experience, Amex does not appear to be the preferred card of choice in Europe. As mentioned before, one US Dollar approximately fetches twenty Czech Crowns.

The Czechs

Attitude, yes, they have it. Overall friendly, polite, helpful and kind but there exists an icy layer underneath the warm, welcoming veneer. Most were eager to help me with directions, even engage in casual confab and impart advice when solicited. I did not face any language handicap anywhere in Prague. Almost everyone spoke English, however, Czech and Slovak are the official languages of Prague.

The Marathon

The Prague marathon is one of the more popular marathons in Europe and it had caught my attention last year when one of my friends participated in it and spoke well of it. After a heated contest which occurred mostly in my head, I opted for this over another race, as my first marathon of 2009, however, that wasn’t to be after my last minute change-of-heart and I ended up running the Vienna Marathon instead of the previously intended Vienna “Half Marathon”. That was three weeks prior to the Prague race. Still recovering from the Vienna race, I found myself at the start line on Sunday morning, somewhat weary and wary.

My iPhone alarm chimed at 5am and I was out of the bed at 5:30am, when the third and final reminder boomed in my ears and I could no longer convince myself to remain in bed. The hotel decided to open its breakfast room an hour earlier at 6am to offer hot coffee to its guest athletes. I was down there sipping away at my expressos at 6am sharp and departed from the hotel at 7:30am to be at the starting lineup by 8:30am. Bleary eyed runners wearing their running gears and “morning faces” spilled out from all corners of the city and pilled up on trains, trams and buses to descend upon the Old Town Square where the race began and eventually ended.

Race mornings are quaintly unifying wherein strangers suddenly bond and connect through the sport. Personal information is exchanged without restraint and for a few fleeting moments we exist in a bubble of fuzzy communal camaraderie which, in many ways, is comforting and often gratifying because, it is good to know that there are many other “crazy people” who relish running 26.2 miles on a crisp Sunday morning and enjoy the pain that the human body endures in the process. Some of us also travel across continents and oceans to subject our bodies to the grueling task of covering that distance on foot.

So, there I was, standing alone but not quite, among a few thousand others, ready to run another 26.2 miles in a new city far away from home. I looked around and faces represented different parts of the globe, all brought together to this one place with one objective. Stories exchanged, words of encouragement and cheer lavished in ample measure dutifully by their supporters and personal cheering squads, last minute gear checks performed, some pre-race stretching maneuvers employed, iPod playlists reworked, pre-race photographs snapped with bright (sometimes nervous) smiles and warm hugs...... I witnessed it all from my quiet vantage point squatting on the ground without any accoutrements to amuse and engage me, but the sights and sounds of the environs I suddenly found myself to be a part of, proved as sufficient divertissement.

The race began. We all surged ahead. It was a gorgeous, crisp, bright sunny day in Prague. Perfect for a long run but some found it rather too warm for running a marathon. I was one of the last ones to cross the start line and trailed behind for a considerable length of time until a sudden electric charge sparked in me and I found myself sprinting ahead, much to my own surprise.

The race route is visually engaging. We ran through the Old Town and its small lanes and alleyways, then veered off onto the main city streets, ran along the Vltava River and over many of its bridges which afforded us scenic views of the City and the route meandered through many of Prague’s landmarks. The race route was comfortable and flat, however, sections of it required running on cobble-stoned streets which I found somewhat unnerving. I feared tripping and falling but all went well.

It is a very well organized race and I recommend it to anyone who might be considering an international (overseas) race for next year. Water stations and toilet facilities were available every three or four kilometers, however, one foible (at least in my personal opinion) plagued the race organization - bananas! Why would they offer bananas at water stations??? The fruit ends up gracing the very ground we sprint over. Now, what do they say about running over banana peels, eh??? Hmmm...

All was going well, at least so I believed. When I crossed the 34 Kilometer marker, I looked at my watch and discovered that it had only been 3 hours and 46 minutes. Just 8 more kilometers to go. Yay! I was doing rather well, I discovered, much to my amazement. Some quick math led me to believe that I could finish the race under 4 hours 30 minutes, which would be better than my 2008 NYC Marathon (my first marathon) time of 4 hours 36 minutes. I ran for another 15 minutes and stopped at the next the water station for some refreshment. So far, I had not stopped anywhere. Running past water stations I would slowed down, pick up a cup of water and kept running but this time I decided to stop. By now, my hips, lower back, gluteus maximus, knees and ankles protested acutely. I saw fresh cut oranges on the table and grabbed a couple. Some water, some sport drink and after only a few pieces of oranges, I decided to get back to running but......I found to my horror, I couldn’t run anymore. I must be imagining, I wondered. I attempted to push my body forward, it just wouldn’t launch into a jog. In the interim, the pain grew exponentially. Reclaiming my calm, I decided to walk a bit and I did but repeated attempts to relaunch into a jog or run failed. I still had 4 more kilometers ahead of me. With no other options, I resigned to walking as much as I could, despite the rising discomfort. Too ashamed of walking past the finish line, I somehow brought myself to run the last kilometer. I did. It was over, finally. 5 hours and 4 minutes - far from what I had envisioned, but hey, I did it and thats what matters to me.

“I (don’t) see fat people”

My eyes did not register obesity anywhere. The Czechs, notwithstanding their high-caloried carnivorous diet, appeared fairly fit people. I was intrigued. Despite a seemingly more relaxed lifestyle compared to NY, the Prague denizens appeared lithe, fit, agile and active. My curiosity drove me to confront a Prague native about it and the response was - “We are active in Prague. We like to eat healthy and play hard.”. “Eat healthy”???? Hmm.....

Deodorant

I suspect that some Central Europeans haven’t quite discovered the fragrant benefits of deodorants, or maybe, they are just opposed to the idea. I encountered this in Vienna too, but some Czechs seemed particularly agreeable to dispense with deodorants and wear their individual redolence much to the disillusionment of my schnozzle. Often in public places the “spicy whiff” would catch me unawares and I would be rendered temporarily numbed. Can you imagine the “sulphuric cloud” that hung over the Old Town Square on race morning with multitudes milling in one location? I feared, if someone lit a match, there would be an explosion!

Thai massage

Quite like the pre-recessionary presence of Starbucks at every other block in Manhattan, I noticed Thai massage parlors everywhere in Prague. I enquired and was advised that spas and massage facilities were quite popular in Prague and Thai massage was particularly so. No particular reason was presented to me when enquired. It has been around for a long time and the Czechs tend to patronize wellness and spa establishments. In fact, Czech Republic has numerous “Spa Cities” which are located in picturesque locales in close proximity to hot water springs, brimming with healthful minerals and salts.

Public Transportation

The city has a very modern, efficient and clean public transportation system which is serviced by trains (Metro), trams and buses. Since I stayed for three days, I bought a 3-day pass for Kr 330, which gave me unlimited access to all three modes of transportation. Quite like in Vienna, one is not required to swipe or present the ticket to anyone, however, spot checks are conducted by the cops and if caught without a ticket or a ticket which is not validated, you are in trouble. The service is frequent and everything operates by the schedule, almost down to the minute. What a relief!

Sausage, Goulash, Pizza, Beer and.....Becherovka

I am vegan and once again, here I was, determinedly determined to survive in “sausage country”. Czech gastronomy is dense in calories and fatty. It could not be any more contrary to my dietary preferences. Prague is a haven for meat lovers, however, Italian food seemed to gain good favor with the natives. Pizzerias and Italian restaurants were spotted everywhere. I ate at a couple of Italian restaurants and the food was very agreeable. Surprisingly, everywhere I went, the servers were knowledgeable about vegan lifestyle and very willing to cater to my dietary preference. There are several vegan eateries in Prague and I visited a couple of them .......

“Country Life”, run by Seventh Day Adventists. It is primarily a health food store but one of its four branches in the City (the one located in the Old Town Square) also has a restaurant which has both indoor and outdoor seating. Both hot and cold food is served in cafeteria style and the furniture was reminiscent of a wooden lodge. I purchased some vegan cookies from the store and ate at the restaurant next door.

“VegFood” - an Asian restaurant with an international vegan soul. It is located in a predominantly residential neighborhood. I ordered vegan cutlets and a Beijing faux meat specialty which came with rice (the name escapes me). Fresh, wholesome, and agreeable to the palate and to the wallet!

“Dahab”, a middle-eastern eatery, which gained favor with some online veggie reviewers and therefore, caught my attention. It is located on Dlouha street in the Old Town. Here, I wolfed down a falafel sandwich which was quite satisfying.

Beer, considered as “liquid gold”, is regarded as the national drink of Czech Republic. The Czechs have brewed beer since early 10th century. The Czech agricultural conditions are considered ideal for growing hops, which contributes to the country’s large scale beer production and consumption. It tastes great and is very cheap. The world’s first clear golden lager - Pilsner - is their gift to the world. The nation has the highest per capita consumption of the beverage anywhere in the world. I believe some Czechs even consume beer at breakfast! I searched for “Staropramen”, a beer brand made in Prague, but it seemed to be in short supply and so, at the suggestion of the server, I tried “Krusovice” (the darker ale) and loved it. It had a smooth, full-bodied, roasted character to it and settled rather delicately on the palate. I found it very refreshing. By the way, I had no idea that Budweiser (in German, “Budvar” in Czech) is a Czech beer. Needless to mention here, I drank more beer in Prague than I ever do in NYC.

Prior to arriving in Prague, my research afforded me some familiarity of a curious Czech liquor - “Becherovka” - this is a traditional Czech liquor which I learned is very popular and must be had when in Prague. I was glad to oblige. It had an unmistakable, unique taste - floral and herbal - with strong notes of aniseed. The bartender emphasized by running her hands over her belly that the liqueur is a unique “secret” herbal blend possessing medicinal qualities and deemed very beneficial for digestion and digestive issues. I am not sure its “unusual” floral taste blossomed well on my taste buds but it is definitely worth umm....a shot.

After three glorious days of sunny weather, the heavens opened up on Monday and it poured heavily lending a luxurious and sensual wetness to the City’s lush visage. Quite like the way I reached the hotel upon my arrival, I retraced my footsteps back to the airport on that damp Monday morning - with each retraced step bidding farewell to a very satisfying visit.

I boarded my Czech Airlines flight back to NYC and once again, the airline messed up my special meal request for a vegan meal. It also happened to me when I was returning from Vienna last month after running the full marathon the previous day. Nine-hour flight and no food. I am getting accustomed to the idea of running marathons and fasting the next day. Oh well,....c’est la vie!

Here I am, returned from my travels with my senses awashed by the aqueous footprints of Bohemia.