The Exquisite Jispa Valley

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The beauty of Jispa Valley was a welcome sight after a harrowing day that started at Manali and escalated at Rothang Pass.  As I swung my legs off the bike, I wondered how we managed to reach this place in one piece. The route we took before we descended to the valley were interspersed with breathtaking sceneries and horrific road conditions where my death flashed before my eyes a thousand ways; hurled to the bottom of the cliff, crushed under a truck, dragged by a raging stream and all other horrors my mind could conjure.

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My nerves were soothed momentarily as I gaped at the splendour before me though when I closed my eyes to sleep all the horrors of the day came back to me scrambling on top of each other giving me a panic attack. My heart raced, and I felt the onset of altitude sickness, good that we packed all the recommended medicine. Sandeep gave me a pill, and I went into a dreamless slumber.

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I woke up to a beautiful morning in the valley, feeling refreshed and optimistic. The worst must be over. Or so I hoped.

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After tea and breakfast, Sandeep, Nadeem and I walked towards the stream at the foot of the majestic mountains barricading the vale. There it dawned on me how incredibly beautiful this world is, how exquisite these hidden gems were.

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Nadeen then told us it was time for our acclimatisation exercise, an activity essential to our survival once we drive higher later on towards Leh. So we scaled one of the pretty hills in the valley. I lagged behind as usual. Sandeep tried to motivate me as much as he could, but I often get distracted with the breathtaking view below us.

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It was a pity that we could not stay longer in Jispa; this beauty was just one of the pitstops to our final destination, so before the morning was over we continued our journey towards our next stopping place, Pang La. But I was glad that we also stopped for a while in a pretty village in Darcha though it was just 7 kilometres away from Jispa.

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I enjoyed the hot lemon tea in the dhaba where we took a break. It was a nice change from the usual Indian tea with milk. The locals, I noticed, seemed to look more like myself than my Indian companions.

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As we leave Jispa Valley behind, the feeling of terror mixed with amazement I felt on the way there was multiplied a thousand times on our way to Pang La.  Still unaware of the perils that lay before us, I felt ecstatic as I ride behind Sandeep, enjoying the crisp cold wind on my face, and the sight before me which was indescribable in its awesomeness and magnificence.

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The World’s Best Gelato at San Gimignano, Tuscany

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“Remember guys, the world’s best gelato is at Gelateria Dondoli. I repeat,  Gelateria Dondoli. The gelateria across them claims that they have the “the world’s best gelato”, but Dandoli had won the title back to back since 2006.  Also, Dandoli has been making homemade gelato with the freshest ingredients for generations and is the favourite of the locals, so make sure you get your gelato from them.”  Alice, one of the tour guides, was saying over the megaphone as our tour bus was approaching the parking lot in San Gimignano.  A little later, while we were leisurely licking our gelato from Gelateria Dondoli , we saw a couple walking towards that gelateria from across the street, the one Alice said was falsely claiming they sell the best gelato in the world.  The couple looked confused and unsure. The gelateria also had a sign that says, “ The World’s Best Gelato” on their door.  After the couple read the sign, they entered the shop and ordered a gelato.

“Look at who didn’t get the memo,”  I remarked. Sandeep chuckled and nearly choked on his gelato.

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Earlier, after having our breakfast at the Machiavelli Palace, where we were staying in Florence, we proceeded towards Firenze Santa Maria Novella railway station to meet with our tour organizer. It was drizzling a little when we went out of the hotel, but fortunately, it was just a short walk (340 meters) to the train station. The other tourists that belong to our group were already there. After sticking blue stickers on our tops, and a blue flag on his backpack, the tour organizer, led our group towards our bus. Our double-decker tour bus was scheduled to leave  Florence at 8 am and then return at 8 pm.

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The sight of the parked trains as we walked past it on our way to the bus parking lot evoked the thrill of adventure in me. I thought of all exotic and exciting places it could take me.  I skipped a little to catch up with Sandeep and held his hand. He looked at me, squeezed my hand and smiled. He understood. My heartbeat accelerated at the realisation that I was finally going to see the Tuscan countryside!  A life long dream.

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And I was not disappointed. Our seats at the top of the double-decker bus gave us a great vantage point of the rolling hillside as we traversed the winding roads towards San Gimignano. I felt like I was inside an Italian oil painting with yellow glazing. It was autumn then, so the trees had pastel yellow leaves. And yes, I could see Tuscan villas atop the hills flanked by cypress trees, surrounded by sprawling olive orchards. I marvelled at the rows and rows of olive trees carpeting the small hills with gentle slopes that extend a long way into the distance.  I’ve must have eaten thousands of olives by now, but it was the first time I saw an olive tree. The sunlight itself that hits the foliage has a natural filter that turns everything golden.  The images of Tuscany I saw from photographs and painting, it seems, do not look that way because of a camera filter nor because of an Impressionist interpretation, the whole place glows golden naturally especially a few minutes before sunset.

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I remarked to Sandeep over and over how soft the sunlight in Europe is, and wondered how there are no harsh shadows captured in the photos. Sandeep then explained to me how Europe is angled away from the Sun slightly, thus casting subtler rays as opposed to Asia and the Middle East, where the sun rays fall directly with intense fury.  Sandeep loves to do physical demonstrations while he is explaining something and he loved for me to listen attentively. He made two balls with his fist to illustrate the sun and the earth, and their movements. I nodded hurriedly as not to miss any scenery from my bus window. Though, I was half-listening also as a quiz might be imminent after the lecture.

We disembarked from the bus once it was adequately parked at San Gimignano.  I saw one modern supermarket near the parking lot, which was looking a bit out of place in that medieval-themed town.

Before we entered the fortified medieval town of San Gimignano, Alice reminded us where our meeting place was and at what time we have to come back.

“There are public restrooms inside, but better use the toilets in the cafes. You have to order something though before they will let you use the washroom.” Alice advised.

I began to wonder how much commission Alice gets from this “helpful advisory”.

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Sandeep and I are fond of Alice, though. She was pleasant and charming in her black flower printed summer dress, which kept billowing in the wind. She did look flustered as she tied a black puffer jacket around her waist to prevent the wind from lifting her skirt, and exposing herself to us.  She disappeared while we were getting off the bus then the next time we saw her she was already wearing a black stocking under the dress. She stopped fussing over her skirt after that.

 

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Once we entered San Gimignano, we were transported in time. Save for the modern shops along the streets the town looked properly medieval, with its cobbled stone streets, brick walls and terracotta rooftops. In between the shops were romantic looking cafes, with ornate street lamps, outdoor sitting areas and tables covered in a damask tablecloth. Pinocchio seems to be the town mascot probably because the author of The Adventures of Pinocchio, Carlo Collodi, was from Florence. I saw little Pinocchio souvenirs in most of the shops. One shop was especially stern, warning curious tourists with a sign that says, “Do not take photos if you are not buying anything.”  The lavender dolls inside the shop were quite cute though, but the sign intimidated me so much that I was scared to even check them out.

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We climbed uphill to reach the town centre, passing by the church and the towers. A mass was being held in the church and tourists were only welcome to go inside if they are going to attend the mass.

 As we climb up to Piazza della Cisterna, I panicked suddenly looking at a medieval pedestal in the very middle of the area. It has two wooden posts supporting a massive stone beam in the middle. The raised stone-table-like platform under it looked especially sinister to me, and the thought of what it could have been sent a chill down my spine.

“ I can’t go there, honey. That looks like a guillotine.” My imagination went on an overdrive.

I remembered how scared I felt inside an old church in Vigan where lots of people died because of an epidemic. I could feel the darkness in there even before I knew what happened there, which I learned later. While inside that church, I suddenly felt I could not breathe, and I had panic attacks. I started to feel the same dread as I looked at what I thought was a guillotine.  My mind started wondering how many people would have died there.

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Sandeep approached the structure and laughed once he saw what it was.  He waved for me to come. I hesitated, then I looked. Well, it was only a medieval well. That’s what I get for watching too many violent medieval films. Did they even use a guillotine in Italy? Wrong country, wrong century.

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The “Historic Centre of San Gimignano” is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and also where Dandoli gelateria is located. Sandeep and I decided that finally, it was time to taste the real world-class gelato.  I fought my way in to get inside the gelateria where the other tourists from our groups were ordering on top of each other heaps of gelato.

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My one regret was that I did not experiment with the choices of gelato. I was intimidated with how exotic the ice cream looked. The names as well were mostly in Italian, I was not sure what I would be getting so I got the safest choice; a tiramisu for Sandeep and I.  The gelato did taste divine, so much better than the gelato we had in Florence.

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After licking the last drop of the delectable creamy goodness on my lips we went on exploring the rest of the area until we reached an archway,  that seems to be the exit of the walled town. Sandeep was especially awed by a group of elderly gentlemen chatting idly on a bench nearby.  Sandeep remarked how well dressed they were in their caps, jackets and suits.

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There was still some time to kill before our appointed meeting time, so we wandered inside a souvenir shop on our way back. The store was manned by a Geppetto look-alike, who blushed profusely when I asked if I could take a photo of him.

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Sandeep got a miniature yellow tractor, and I got a vintage-styled olive oil cruet. Happy with our loot we stopped by for a cappuccino in one of the cafes.

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We almost missed a lookout with the most scenic panoramic viewpoint in the world had we not seen the sign in a narrow alleyway that says ” the most beautiful panoramic viewpoint in the world this way”.  The four-story building that Alice mentioned earlier on the bus was alongside it. Alice mentioned before that in these homes, the kitchen often caught fire, so the kitchen was eventually placed on top of the building to prevent the whole house from burning down.

The panoramic view of the Tuscan countryside viewed from that lookout point was postcard perfect.  Exactly how one expects Tuscany would look like. I think I have seen that scenery in a variety of images before, the villa, the cypress trees, and the olive orchards but to see them in life is an image I will cherish for the rest of my life.

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Babar The Lifeguard: Pondicherry

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“Babar’s been playing the lifeguard, honey,” Sandeep called out to me as I walked towards them. He sounded worried.

“He’s been running towards the sea every time someone would dip their heads under the water. He thinks they are drowning and he keeps trying to rescue them.”

Babar greeted me cheerfully with his wagging tail as I came near him. He was completely drenched.

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“He did the same thing with me when we were in Goa. Whenever I go underwater, Babar would swim towards me to rescue me. I am anxious these strong waves would carry him to the middle of the sea, and he might not be able to swim back to shore.” Sandeep added.

I looked at the waves. It did look extra violent that evening.

“Let’s walk further away from these people,” Sandeep suggested. I saw a group of five people half-submerged in the water, holding hands to brace themselves from the onslaught of the thundering waves. It seemed to thrill them each time the waves assaulted them. A little girl kept shrieking whenever the waves hit them. In turn, we kept urging  Babar to move on when we see him turning his head towards them every time she screams.

It was then our second evening in Pondicherry, well in Tamil Nadu technically, since the pet-friendly resort where we were staying at was located almost outside the border of Pondicherry.

We were staying in an eco-resort and spa of sorts. That was our second time there. We chose to stay in this place again because they allow dogs in their property and they have a nice enough private beach. It is located about 20 km away from the main town of Pondicherry though.

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The sprawling property is vast; we have to take a short ride in their resort cab to reach our cottage. The cottages are expensive during peak season at 7500 rupees per night for nature cooled bamboo hut but drops to 5000 rupees on the lean season. The air-conditioned private bungalows could be as costly as 15000 rupees to 30000 rupees per night. If you feel like splurging, you can book the most expensive ones with private swimming pools. The most popular accommodation is the tower suite which offers gorgeous panoramic views of the sea. Breakfast buffet is included in the room rates. ( Be sure to read reviews from travel websites like Tripadvisors or Booking.com before booking your rooms to have realistic expectations of your accommodation and browse travelers photos instead of the professional ones taken by the resorts themselves.)

 

 

The resort ambiance is quaint in its rural village appeal. It has glimpses of some artistic concept, but overall, the grounds lack proper maintenance. The landscaping looks too wild, unkempt, semi-desert, semi-tropical beach-inspired. Towering coconut trees lining the pathways and giant cactuses serving as fences in between bamboo bungalows. While roaming around, I felt like a castaway in an abandoned resort where wilderness crept in and swallowed it.

 

 

 

 

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It is the nearest beach from Bangalore and the only resort allowing dogs we did not have many choices if we want to go on a quick drive to a coastal town. And the city of Pondicherry is always lovely to visit especially the French town area, though parking is often a problem. We spent our Christmas holiday there thinking that, Pondicherry is a former French colony,  the Christians in Pondicherry would be celebrating the Christmas festival more earnestly that they would in Bangalore. I saw a couple of churches with some Christmas lanterns on them, but there was none of the Christmas cheer I was expecting. The resort itself did not have any Christmas decorations. There was a magician who performed in the resort restaurant on Christmas eve, but that was it.

 

 

 

 

Ten kilometers away from the resort, we discovered a nice pizzeria serving delicious woodfired pizzas at a reasonable price. They allowed Babar to sit with us on their outdoor table, so that was a plus. 

 

 

One good thing about Babar in this kind of trips, he’ll be so exhausted playing outdoors and would snooze away while we have our meal. We never have to worry about him bothering anybody. Before coming in with Babar in any restaurant, I would always ask the owner’s permission. Babar usually slept so quietly that the manager or owner would often ask me where is the dog that came with us. They would laugh upon seeing him sleeping so sedately under the table.

The restaurant in the resort prohibited us from taking Babar there while we eat. Sandeep and I have to eat separately, one at a time. One has to stay with Babar in the cottage while the other eats at the restaurant. It’s not an unusual practice for us whenever we visit in places offering breakfast buffet meals. In our six years of travelling with Babar, we have developed an efficient routine in reducing the chances of Babar being a nuisance to other holidayers.

 

 

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In the balcony of the cottage we rented for this Christmas weekend, a fraction of the sea was visible framed by overgrown hibiscus and bougainvillaea shrubs. From a distance, the whiteness of the surf merges with the sky. If not for the movement of the waves, you would not be able to tell where the sky and sea meet.

 

 

It made me sad to see a bit of debris on the beach. It would be nice if they can keep the place litter-free. Although the sea itself does the job of cleaning the shores each push, the waves as it come and go keep the coast clean. The rubbish retreats to where the water could not reach it. It was a pity since it is a lovely beach.

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On our last day on the beach Babar, the self-appointed lifeguard of Kalapet beach, suddenly needed some rescuing himself but not from the tumultous waves. Aside from playing in the water, Babar’s enjoyment comes from meeting other dogs. The resort has a couple of resident dogs, and Babar has wanted to meet them. Sandeep, thinking the dogs were friendly, let Babar approached them. One of the dogs started growling, menacingly, as he came nearer then lunged towards Babar’s leg all of a sudden. Sandeep bolted to where they were to rescue Babar from getting bitten. Babar let out a pained whine. He felt hurt that his friendly gesture was reciprocated with violence. We examined his body thoroughly. Thankfully we did not find any bite wounds, only wounded pride.

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I was glad the unfortunate incident did not dampen Babar’s happiness.  He forgot about the mean dog as soon as he started playing in the water again, flirting with the waves as it advanced and retreated.

 

 

 

Grilled Chicken and The Hangry Hulk at De Pijp, Amsterdam

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“It’s just somewhere around here, honey. Let’s walk a bit more. You’ll love it, I promise you. “ Sandeep reassured me once more as we walk the length of Albert Cuyp Market. I could hear the tension in his voice. I knew he could see me slowly metamorphosing into THE HANGRY HULK and he has to get some food in me as soon as possible. (That was not a typo. If you don’t already know, hangry is the combination of the two words hungry and angry. A common condition in women like myself who lose our shit when starving.)

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It was then three in the afternoon already, and we still haven’t eaten anything yet besides our measly airport breakfast. We were underslept and exhausted. We needed a comforting meal, but Sandeep was dragging it on and on to find this magical food stall that he loves. I told him I would be happy with a burger from McDonalds when we passed it earlier on the way there, but he insisted on finding this gastronomical wonder. He probably thought it would change my life or something once I tasted it. I did understand even then though, that he wanted to share this special treat with me, but during that desperate moment, the sweetness of his gesture was lost on me.

“I think this is it!’ Sandeep announced triumphantly in front of a food truck serving grilled chicken, meatballs and sandwich rolls.

The tall guy wearing a black apron behind the counter was very animated and was calling the women ladies, almost theatrically.

To me, he said, “Are you ready, lady?” as he handed me the enormous burger I ordered.

The stall seemed like a popular spot and was the most crowded food stall among the area. The tables next to it were constantly full. Customers came and went in rapid rotation while we were eating there. Some people were even fine with just standing while they eat their grilled chicken sandwiches and meatballs. Others also came to buy some takeaway.

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Lunch for 2 with cola about 9 Euros

Sandeep loved his grilled chicken wings and chicken sandwich rolls, costing him 2 euros each. My 150 grams burger at 3 euros was a bit dry and had a flavour I am not very fond of, so I did not ‘love it’. I could taste cumin in the patty quite strongly mixed with some other spices I often taste in Indian Kebabs. It was the wrong thing to order I thought later on, and if not for my sour mood, I would have liked the food too, I ‘m sure.

Though I did not enjoy the meal, my energy was replenished. I began to appreciate the quaintness of the market as we strolled back towards the main street.

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Albert Cuyp market offers a variety of items for sale at a fair price. There are stalls for all kinds of souvenirs, clothing and accessories, flowers, meat, cheese, seafood, even CDs, books and vintage records.

We also passed by a huge dried fruit and nuts stall. There were peanuts, walnuts, figs, chocolate balls and the tastiest nougat I’ve eaten so far. It was not so sweet and almost as soft as a marshmallow. We got 200 grams for 2 euros if I remember correctly.

By the time we exited the market, my mood has improved considerably. We sat down for a cup of coffee (6 euros for a cappuccino and latte) enjoying the outdoors devoid of pollution, chaos and jarring noises. That part of De Pijp seemed almost idyllic; filled with people just enjoying their evening, some hanging out with their friends, some passing by on bicycles, a few patiently waiting for the trams that occasionally pass by.

I heard laughter coming from a group of youngsters farther away. The faint laughter sounded dream-like, adding a tone of cheer in the scenery. I leaned back on the chair, relaxing while I sipped my coffee, taking it all in. It was a wonder to witness a peaceful and orderly scene not often seen in modern and bustling cities. I knew right away that Amsterdam is an extraordinary city, very, very special, and that I would love being there.

 

Cappuccino and Cheesecake at Piazza Del Campo, Siena Italy

 

“Honey, you look like Michelle Yeoh in this photo,” Sandeep remarked while reviewing the photos he took of me at San Gimignano. “I look like an inflated Michelle Yeoh,” I replied after glancing at the photo. “Michelin Yeoh,” I added.

Sandeep immediately understood that I was referring to the Michelin man. He laughed heartily as he is always amused at my self-deprecating jokes. Among the things I like about him is that he always gets the most obscure references I use in the jokes I make. It is a relief that I don’t have to explain anything to him, and the punchlines always hit home.

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We were then on our way to Siena on a double-decker bus. I chose our seat on the top part of the bus earlier when we left Florence. I wanted a full view of the Tuscan countryside as we pass it by.

“Siena used to be a very wealthy city before the Black Death killed a large part of its population and before the Medici conquered the city.” Our German tour guide narrated in halting English over the microphone. She took over for Alice, the pretty olive-skinned Italian who initially led the tour.

It was a good thing we got the Tuscan day tour package from Florence itself. The walk-in booking was cheaper at 40.60 euros each. When we were booking it online, the website was charging us 90 USD each for the same tour. The package includes a visit to San Gimignano, Monteriggioni Castle, lunch at a winery in Chianti and then finally a walking tour in Siena. It’s a 12 hour day tour that starts at 8:30 am from the Santa Maria Novella train station.

I was not really excited about Siena when we book the tour, I have not heard of that city before. I thought it was just one of those minor cities they add to the pad the tours. We chose it over the leaning tower of Pisa because the meeting time starts at 8 am rather than 6:30 am.

It turned out Siena was a pleasant surprise for me, and the visit to the city quickly became my favourite part of the trip.

Part of what drew me to India was the intrigue shrouding its historical monuments. Siena has the same appeal to me. As we explored its historical centre, walking on the cobbled streets in between imposing gothic structures really take you back in time. You’ll begin to wonder how the place would have looked like during its Golden Age.

Our tour guide led us to Piazza Salimbeni, in front of the statue of a scowling Sallustio Bandini standing guard in between the first banking houses in Europe. He was a Sienese priest and one of the first Italian economists.

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While standing in the middle of the square, I can’t help but be intimidated as I gazed upwards and saw the marble heads of famous Italian men, poking from under the roof of Palazzo Spannocchi, all glaring down on me. I felt so small and insignificant. It disturbed me to see Leonardo Da Vinci and Dante Alighieri looking so pissed at me. If I were a peasant there in those times, I would be terrified and trembling in my boots every time I am made to stand in that square.

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Our tour guide asked us to follow a blue flag held by a tall guy from our group, so we don’t get separated and lose our way. There were several tour groups along with us. We even got mixed up with a group of Japanese tourists with a Japanese tour guide. Their flag was red. We also came across a group of university students who made fun of us. One of the students raised the bottle of beer in his hands, walked ahead of his friends and shouted, “Follow me if you wanna have a good time.” Everybody laughed and cheered. I told Sandeep jokingly that it would be more fun to follow that group.

What really captured my heart, though, was Piazza Del Campo. I was bewildered, then awestruck after immerging from a dark alley and seeing the medieval square with its lofty clock tower dominating the bright blue sky. It’s difficult to capture its immenseness in the photos. You have to be standing there to witness its splendour.

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I had an intense desire to cross the enormous shell-shaped piazza to reach the coffee shop at the opposite side of where we were standing.

“Twice a year horse races are held here.” Our guide’s voice crackled in the headphones in my ears, interrupting my thoughts.

In the restaurant next to where we were gathered, there was a television where the video of the race was playing in a loop. It seemed like a grand affair. The shell shape area in the middle of the piazza was filled with people cheering as the horses race around them.

After 15 minutes, the guide moved on, and we followed, but I was getting impatient. I wanted the walking tour to end already so we can linger leisurely at Piazza Del Campo. We even skipped climbing up the tower of that beautiful gothic cathedral so we can return right away to Piazza Del Campo. I was glad Sandeep did not mind.

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Sandeep indulged my wish and ordered us a cappuccino and a latte on that café that I was looking at earlier. I wanted to stay longer, so I ordered a cheesecake, which was quite delectable with a hint of citrus on the after taste. We paid 6 euros for the cappuccino and latte, 7 euros for the cheesecake.

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I sighed while I sipped my cappuccino. Ahhh…it was like being in a delicious dream that you did not want to wake up from.

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A cold wind blew a few minutes later, knocking down the wine glasses of the two young girls in front of us. The glasses shattered into pieces as it hit the ground, snapping me out of my reverie. As Sandeep paid for the bill, I felt a twinge in my heart at the thought of leaving Siena so soon. I wanted to stay for a day or two or for the rest of my life.

I left a piece of my heart there at Piazza Del Campo, and the longing to go back haunts me constantly.

 

Breakfast in Paris

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It was a wet Tuesday morning, our second day in Paris. There has been no respite from rain since the day before. It was past 8 am yet the cafe near our hotel, a few blocks away from Jardin du Palais Royal, looked like it opened just then. A guy in an all-black uniform, who I presumed was the manager because of his demeanour, was standing on a chair turning on the outdoor heater hanging under the awning like a lamp. A pretty black waitress in black long sleeves shirt, shorts, stockings and high heels was fooling around with him, pretending to push him off the chair and then laughing. The guy didn’t seem to mind though he did not laugh with her. Her hair was pulled up in a big bun on top of her head accentuating her high cheekbones and elegant forehead. I was amazed at how chic she looked. She greeted us with a cheery “Bonjour!” as we sat down in front of one of the tables lined up outside the cafe. All the chairs were turned towards the street, and I felt like being in front of a theatrical stage where the performers were the passersby who were rushing to work. Continue reading

Born Into Brothels

Two kids from the 8 kids that Zana Briski, an American Photographer, tried to rescue from their hellish life made it good. Avijit, a very talented boy who understood the nuances of photography even at his young age and without proper training studied film making at New York University and is set or maybe already working as an assistant director in Hollywood. Kochi, the girl who was the most determined not to become like everyone around her by getting a good education, persevered and was able to study in the US aided by the profits made from the film’s success.  (Check what eventually happened to these kids here)

I can understand the photographer’s inability not to get involved with her subjects. Her main task was to document what was going on in the brothels but to see these kids’ laughter, aspirations and hopes despite their desperate situation can break anyone’s heart and you have to be totally inhuman to not try to help but I am in awe with how much she gave of herself to help them. It must have been so painful for her to see the other kids not able to make the best of the opportunity she gave them.

A truly heartbreaking documentary which leaves you wondering why any kid has to grow up in such circumstances. My tears turned into sobs when I reached the part where the kids saw the sea for the first time. The joy in their faces at seeing something so beautiful was wonderful to behold.

You can watch the whole film at ‪#‎netflixindia‬