P.S.: The End

Note that the time-stamp below is on Central European Time while my system clock is on Indian Standard Time. That's an apt indicator of two different worlds and two different lives, the European one which now feels like a distant but vivid dream, and then the real one here back in Bangalore. The twain shall meet again: and then I shall write more, with a lot more joie de vivre. Till then, adios.

Update - Pictures from The European Diaries on Facebook here.

This week, that month

December 4th, Munich
Early snow has come and almost gone. While the streets are all clear, the vast English gardens are still covered in dirty white freckles. The three squares of Karlsplatz, Odeonsplatz and Mariensplatz form a Bermuda triangle of sorts, captivating locals and tourists alike with their charms. The holiday season is on – shops and stalls in Marienplatz are bedecked with holly and lights, the young and the old skate to peppy music on the rink at Karlsplatz, the ubiquitous European street artist makes his puppet dance to the tune of Yellow Lemon Tree, and Munich rids me of a feeling of dislike for Germans and Germany born out of movies like Life is Beautiful.

December 5th, Innsbruck
Alpine Zoo, Tirol is a 20 minute walk uphill from the west bank of River Inn. The snow covered hills higher up are barely visible through the clouds. A hill stream with clear, cold water trickles past purposefully on ground covered with leaves from the autumn gone by. The zoo is home to all kinds of fascinating creatures, from the big brown bear to the small harvest mouse, from exotic wild cats to common domestic cattle, from the blasé reindeer to the awesome but pitiable European wolf.

1400 hrs. Shere-e-Punjab is run by a middle-aged couple from where else but Punjab. Both the man and the lady are as large about the waist as they are frosty. The wall is adorned with not less than thirty pictures of the couple posing grimly with actors from Bollywood, Mollywood, and other Indianwoods, either on location in Austria or at the restaurant. But the food served more than makes up for the lack of civilities and pleasantries

December 6th, Vienna
No snow even in Vienna but it drizzles bitingly cold, rendering woollen gloves soggy and useless. Vienna is another capital with art, architecture and museums galore. I walk around all afternoon, covered head to toe in black, striving to keep my hands warm and taking in the city as best as I can on a wet day like this. No Before Sunrise happening, but how can you lose your spirits in an alien land? It may be commonplace, and you may risk creating parallel cities that exist only in the mind, but if it doesn’t look novel and beautiful now, then when will it ever?

December 7th, Titisee
Lake Titisee lies to the south-east of Freiburg in the Black Forest region of Germany. Outside the Titisee station, snow floats down in specks too small to be called flakes. The roads are clear of snow which has been shovelled into untidy little heaps at regular intervals. Ducks numbering in dozens wade over hungrily to the edge of the Lake towards an old woman. The walk around the lake is 6 km long, provides several new wallpapers and finishes just beyond the youth hostel which is set in the most scenic of locations but offers only a bunch of 10 year olds for company for the night.

December 10th, Berlin
Dusk at 1630 hours. The grounds of the Sachsenhausen concentration camp have nary a light but the gloomy darkness is just the perfect setting to go around the place. Four hours later, the streets disappear quickly underfoot as siblings J and C lead the way and K and Chan follow. A motley crowd of about twenty-five English speakers from 5 continents gathers around at Hackescher Markt for Insider Tour's second show. K is quick to make introductions; Chan just watches from a distance. Soon Nate starts with his opening spiel and off the group goes to the first pub for the night. The deal is simple: hang your coats, buy your poison, and 'get to know' 'interersting people', all in 45 minutes with free shots on the house.

Chan is almost hysterical with silent laughter: what's a guy who neither drinks nor speaks doing on a Berlin pub-crawl? Nevertheless he lives in the moment and slips roles from awkward observer to earnest conversationalist. Apart from a minor overdose of Aussie high spirits, things are definitely looking up. Pub Number 2 is reached by walking across Oranienburger Strasse, as C talks to a Croatian girl and her Yankee friend. K, J, the Croatian and other unexplored entities hit the small dance floor while her brother keeps C busy with talk about Indian women wearing bindis and Croatian tennis players kicking ass. South African John soon joins the party and speaks of Sachin's 35th completed just a few hours ago. More interesting company beckons but Chan bides his time - the night is young and the crawl is a five hour thing: four pubs and a club. Time's up again, coats are grabbed, and Chan and John make for the exit speaking, of all the dumb things in the world, about Pietermaritzburg and Gandhi, about Johannesburg and Zaheer's first over.

To go straight or right? That is the question and a diagonally striped sweater points the way. But crossing the road leads to a gang from Berlin Walks. Chan retraces, John reconnoitres, but Nate and the group are nowhere to be seen. Frustration gives way to anger, desperation and resignation in quick succession as the young Berlin night dies a sudden death, like a flower bud crushed before it could bloom.

Back to Lisboa

Saturday, December 17th

As it began, so it shall end – the last trip reunites Chief and Chan for the first time since that fateful morning in Malaga. And nothing much has changed. Madrid sees Chief still marching ahead effortlessly while I huff and puff behind under the load of the laptop. I spend an hour drinking in the sunlight at the large urban park Parque del Buen Retiro, and then ignore the claims of Museo del Prado in favour of Museo Thyssen Bornemisza, which LP says should be a comprehensive lesson in art-history.

Paintings of Piazza San Marco of Venice from the 15^th century show the same structures which still stand there today and remind one of all the history behind the cities visited. While lack of time prevents delving into the details using an audio-guide, the visit is fulfilling – at least I’ve now seen works of all these artists through the ages though I know zilch about art.

Next up is another form of art – Roman Polanski’s Oliver Twist. It is impressive in how convincing it is – both the setting (Dickensian if one who has read exactly one-and-a-half works of his may say so) and the acting.

Sunday, December 18^th

Lisbon is a tale of two cities, almost. The old part and the new part are epitomized by the two stations – Santa Apolonia and Gare do Oriente respectively. One is derelict, has the air of a station out of an R.K.Narayan, and opens out to a view of Rio Tejo while the other is a futuristic metal edifice at the centre of modern Lisbon – structures built for Expo ’98 are within a five minute walk while a huge commercial complex called Vasco da Gama sits opposite the station. Vasco da Gama is the venue for another movie later that night – King Kong. (Read this review – my thoughts on the movie have been articulated well!)

But the day begins with a walk around the medieval alleys in the Alfama region before we offload our luggage at a youth hostel for one last time. Lunch is Indian, and probably the most authentic one I’ve had in Europe, at Gandhi Palace at the centre of the city.

Electric trams are found in most European cities but Lisbon seems to have a particularly fond relationship with them. Tiny old trams busily lumber up and down steep cobbled streets, coexisting with their modern versions. One such tram takes us to the Belém area where we spend the rest of the afternoon. First stop is for architecture – Mosteiro dos Jeronimos, second stop on the waterfront, then the ‘tourist icon’ of Portugal: Torre de Belém followed by some lazing on sprawling lawns under a bright evening sun.

Monday, December 19^th

Another sunny day - a typical breakfast at the hostel, backpacks are stowed in pay-per-hour lockers at Gare do Oriente and we are off for another session in old Lisbon. One gets a feeling here of time standing still; the clocks seem to have forgotten to tick into the 21^st century.

Most of the morning is spent exploring the Castelo de Sao Jorge and the surrounding area. For some reason, the castle features donkeys as its primary attraction. Apart from the animals in all their corporeal glory, the grounds contain life-sized posters of several fine specimens, and boards which proclaim hardware + software = burros.

There isn’t much left to see in Lisbon and post lunch it is siesta in the Jardim Botanico. G continues his practice of sending home picture postcards while I try in vain to identify trees and plants learnt about in botany class half-a-dozen years ago. A few more hours of ‘general time-pass’ and we are ready for the train back to Madrid.

And thus ended the last trip, not on a heady high but on a tranquil tone – ignoring the impending submission back at school in Barcelona.

A li'l more joie de vivre

Hello and welcome aboard Flight RJ 108 from Barcelona to Amman. Take off was scheduled for 1835 Central European Time. Six minutes past already and passengers are still boarding. All in good time I suppose...

Sweet Irony
In over a month of travelling across Western Europe, I lose exactly one pen, one comb and one belt. Congenitally unpunctual as I am, I miss exactly zero trains and seven classes over a whole term. The more I travel, the more I pat myself on the back for being a schemer and scheduler nonpareil.

And then right at the end, my keys to our swanky penthouse flat on Calle Pavia vanish into thin air somewhere between the master bedroom and the kitchen. Another delightful meeting with gracious Landlord, I think.

But it gets better. I get back home at 1530 after desperate last minute shopping to find that Evil Landlord has acted Mr.Punctual and made away with Xxx Euros in lieu of the other sets of keys in my possession. It was either the money or the passport and Rohit has played the valiant knight in shining armour.

Destiny
As Arjuna makes his way back after the Ashvamedha Yagna, he comes across a city being looted by bandits. He, the wielder of the Gandiva, conqueror of Bheeshma, Karna and other stalwarts is reduced to another common archer as all the astras and powers obtained prior to the War desert him at this juncture. Sage Vyasa explains that the astras had fulfilled their purpose and would no longer be at his command. As with Arjuna’s astras, so with my astras: the keys get lost right at the end. The three month TMB pass obtained at a 15% discount under the guise of an under-21 student, after serving diligently on tram, bus and metro fails to work for that one last time, as I insert it into the turnstile at Catalunya.

First Love
1830, 22^nd September, Barcelona welcomed us with a pleasant evening breeze. The city beckoned to be explored and lived. 1600, 22^nd December. Back at the airport and just a feeling that I am as much an outsider as I was three months back. Just another visitor who came, stayed and left.

Nevertheless a long distance has been travelled – from MTR and margheritas to sabji and sambhar, from Lisbon to Vienna and from Amsterdam to Rome, from blank hard disk to fifteen ripped DVDs, and from hola brownie to adios amigos. A little more purpose (less surfing and more listening in class), a little more intimacy (with other ESADE students, Barcelona, and fellow backpackers) and Europe would have been even fonder a memory.

But these have been the days, 23, alive and footloose on the Continent. There’ll be other times, and there’ll be more fun, but like a first love (I imagine), the days chronicled in these Diaries will remain close to heart, forever.

Extras
DVDs come with all kinds of extra content: trailers, interviews, computer games, music, outtakes, commentaries, the works. With a movie that connects with you, the extra content is a treasure trove. With other movies, the extras are just so much more trash.

Well, the analogy is so flawed it isn't one, but like so much more trash after the real thing, the last few entries in the Diaries will fill in the missing pieces – accounts of the Austria-Germany trip, the Madrid-Lisbon trip and other sundry ramblings.

Boring, because the lights of Barca fade away even as I write and life back at B awaits impatiently, but it’s got to be done, ya know, just for the completeness of the thing. In the meanwhile Bye, Bye Barca...

For want of a paper...

... peace was lost.

Final fling happened. Not a ski-trip to snow-clad Andorra but capital hopping to sunny Madrid and sunnier Lisbon. International Economics, Second Edition, Sawyer and Sprinkle, Prentice Hall was carried in backpack. So was laptop. Book was read on trains. Further reading in Lisbon was avoided by engaging in more honourable pursuits. Laptop remained powered off throughout. Still two-and-a-half chapters to read and a whole paper to write before this term is officially over. An hour shy of 48 left for take off from Barcelona on Royal Jordanian Flight 714.

Travel weariness, unfinished travel accounts, withdrawal symptoms, unfinished souvenir shopping...

Ich bin ein Berliner

It's a Friday today and it was a Friday a week ago when I took the train out of Barcelona. Six of the seven nights in between have been spent on dorm beds in youth hostels: in Montpelier, Munich, Innsbruck, Vienna, Freiburg and Berlin. The Orient Express served as sleeping quarters on the fifth night, en route to Freiburg from Vienna.

Blogging on the go hasn't quite worked... composing posts against the clock isn't my favourite activity on the Net. But there are enough things to write about: the places and the backpackers, the cuisine and the freezing cold, drunk Aussies, Alpine Zoos and Nazi stories - all in this space very soon!!

Another night in Odyssey Globetrotter's tonight, and then back home... or maybe I'll stay on for a bit longer... the class is only on Tuesday...

* * * * * * * * * * *

Q: What do you call a chicken, plucked, skinned and roasted over a slow fire?

A: Value for money, at €3.50 for half the bird, first discovered at München Hauptbahnhof.

Q: What do you call a stop at McDonald's when you order nothing and eat nothing?

A: A toilet break.

Allo...

In the immortal words of a mere mortal called ID, "this trip has been as much a Eurail trip as a Europe trip". I 've spent another 12 hours on the tracks, finding my way from Montpelier to Munich, through Lyon Part Dieu and Strasbourg. The journey is more scenic than usual, with traces of snow on the fields bordering the tracks.

On either side of the train journey were another essential feature of the Euro trip - nights spent at youth hostels. The one at Montpelier put me in the company of a Yorkshire lad and a Vancouver girl, both students of English literature, the former in France teaching English and the latter holidaying before heading out to Korea for a teaching job. Both spoke fluent French, and thanks to them, I had my first real European dinner at a French restaurant.

Touring cities with other B junta is not bad, but alone, one has a more authentic foreign experience - especially if one cares to interact with fellow tourists from all over the world.

Hmmn.. off to walk around München now, and a night train to Innsbruck.

Live from Montpelier

Because I'll get back to Barca only on 11th December and because I'll be busy with an exam, a presentation, a report and a paper, I'd planned to blog on the move on this Austria-Germany tour. And now because the train from Barca reached Montpelier half an hour late for my connexion and because the only way out of here today is by 1st class train and 44 €, I am stuck for the rest of the day and the night in this mid-sized French city. And thus I sit here surfing and plotting my next move...

Au revoir, hasta mañana.

p.s.: Is the use of 'because' at the beginning of a sentence grammatical?