Warm January

It's a warm January afternoon and I am half way through a novel on racing. The description of the race course,the imagery of the place are all so wonderful and calming and for a moment I thought I must try and describe my surroundings. Of course compared to English country side,the dusty descriptions of an Indian city can hardly compare but this is my home and my life and perhaps,just perhaps,it may be interesting to those who live amongst beauty and don't quiet appreciate it.

It's meant to be the coldest month in this part of the world but the temperature hovers around thirty degrees centigrade,the sun shines brightly. The room is full of furniture of a bygone past,all scavenged from ansestors long gone or from parents still a around. Clothes pile up for ironing but the ironing man doesn't come (we hardly iron our own clothes nowadays,this is a land of pelenty of people and everyone needs a job).

The air is thick with traffic sounds,an ambulance with sirens blaring comes around almost every hour. The trees are heavy with dust and the only birds one hears are the crows. Silence is unheard of in this town. Houses are stark all concrete and glass adding to the insufferable heat. My thick red curtains keep out most of the light in an attempt to keep cool. The fans whirl non stop and the house is filled with the aroma of a thousand spices. Food is served piping hot and it induces a sense of lethargy which invariably means afternoon naps are the order of the day. The sound of water trickling isn't from any brook or stream ,it's from a tap, a car being washed of the grime of a journey or two. Dogs are being cooled down by warm tepid water. Hot water runs in our taps,boiled by the sun,plants wilt in the heat and it's not even summer.

I walk in the afternoon heat (with dust rising with every footstep) to a swimming pool to exercise and cool off. The water is hot but a few laps and one is happy. Desert like flora offer some shade and the afternoon calm is only broken by the pigeons dipping into the pool to drink of the water. It's all silence here and I can only hear my feet and arms trashing through the water.

This is a day in a hot tropical city where cold in unheard of,where the heat rises each year making it hotter and hotter. There is no respite but in its own way this is what I've lived with all my life and if rolling hills and horses were what I was offered ,yes I would like that too but sooner than later I would want to come back to the familiar heat and dust of an Indian city.

Goodbye Germany

Finally the holiday ends. A mixture of seeing places,living like locals and generally doing nothing. I have experienced extreme heat and cold and must admit that there is something very alluring about temperatures in single digits. A part of my heart lies in Germany simply because it's a beautiful place unspoilt by tourism. If there are any tourist they are Germans exploring thei own country. Difficult to find English speaking tours here. Most people wonder why I make my trips to Germany.  Friends apart,it is a beautiful place for many reasons. It's cities have some old building,it's weather is mild to cold everything one imagines of Europe. The people are conservative,thrifty,hardworking and practical. I rarely have come across a stylish German. Sold footwear and well wearing coats are more their thing. Contrast this with France or Italy and one has only to look at the woman. All high heels and high fashion they are a treat to the eye. The style can be intimidating but in Germany it's fine to be unstylish.

The landscape again is almost like England,with lush green fields,cows,horses and farms. Farmers markets abound and the fruits and vegetables are fresh. Small farmers sell local produce,and are proud of being local. The food unlike Italy and France is nothing to write home about. It's solid meat ,potato and salad and of course the pickled cabbage and some others. The beer is splendid in its variety. Even in the cold they can drink chilled beer and be happy. One doesn't have to worry about wine etiquette,unless one wants to or would like to be a snob. 

Quaint little dolls and garden gnomes do every garden,the forests which inspired the brothers grim ,continue to bring fairy tales alive. Many a tradition is unique to Germany.

Germans have no problem acknowledging their religion. They are Christian and proud to be so. I was surprised to see an entire story on immigrants based on the bible at the airport,but in now way does this belief infringe on another's freedom. For a history that cannot be forgotten,this belief comes as welcome fact. 

Being green is not an alien concept for the average German ,as is obeying rules. Does it ever occur to them to break a rule?. Perhaps but not too often. Trust is another big thing here. They actually trust the government and their people. They will faithfully bag garbage in to organic,plastic and paper waste. Bottles are recycled into green blue and white bottles. No one makes a mistake on the colours. In my country to get people to bag garbage is a huge task leave alone asking them to segregate it ,unless one is a snob or the foreign returned rich Indian who likes to think they are different from others and who live is gated communities where it is easy or the in thing to do.

I have learnt to wipe kitchen surfaces and keep it all sparkling something I find difficult to do in ,y own house

Of course like in all countries they have their issues but a German would be shocked if a system in his country didn't work. Efficiency is a given and for me it's amazing how everything run like clockwork. Never have I had to wait for a bus beyond the time mentioned. Trains have come to the same platform that they were promised to arrive on six months ahead. The order in contrast to ,my chaos is what brings me back. In small towns women and girls walk home late at night,run in parks any time of day and despite being deserted,they have no fear. I loved walking here in the sure knowledge that I was safe. Never in all my life have I felt so safe,not even in the suburb wher I have lived all my life. Why do I take the car out even to go a short distance in the night? I have to constantly look over my shoulder if I walk alone in a deserted street and fear is always around the corner. I know there is crime in this country as no country is perfect but one is almost certain that atleast eight percent will be punished for their crimes. Isn't that a great way to live. Yes life isn't easy. No servants,no gardeners even if you have a garden. All the work to be done besides holding full time jobs. Shops close at six thirty in the evenings. No one to iron ones clothes,or wash ones dishes.....yet for all those luxuries in my country I would happily trade it for a hard but efficient life the German way.

The past and the present

All it was ,was a memory of forty odd years ago ,of childhood summers spent in a house many miles from the place I call home. A large six bedroom house its gates heaved under the weight of colourful bougainvillea in a riot of colours. This was where we would swing to and fro just for the fun of it. The main door had four panels with wooden stoppers,those doors have long passed their prime but the old houses keep them. The garden between house and gate was filled with fine pebbles that crumched as you walked up to the front door. No one could come in unannounced you were heard before you were seen. A veranda skirted the house on all sides and this was filled with potted plants of roses,poppies,strange colourful leafy varieties of croutons. The living room had a red carpet running all the way to the back of the house. Walk through the door and one enters a room that had no real purpose except to serve as a meeting place for all the family. The dinning room was a long corridor and behind it on the outside ther was a chicken coup . Fresh eggs had to be collected everyday for breakfast.

Childhood was spent roaming the grounds behind the house where all manner of fruit and vegetables grew. Menus were decided on what was in season and children like us had the pleasure of plucking anything that was in season.

Years later with the grandparents dead the house went to rack and ruin. It's silence was defending at times,no children played on the lawns,no adults had heated discussions and slowly the flowers died of neglect and the fruit trees turned to birds to keep them alive.

I return with my memory intact to try and re create the memory that is so fresh in my mind. I remember the steep road that led to the house and I recognise the bus stop but for the life of me I cannot find the road. There is no address ,for in those days we had only to name our grandfather to find our house but finding someone of that generation is difficult. The main road is packed bumper to bumper with cars ( in our days a bus was a rare occurrence). We have to call a cousin to get directions only to find that we have gone on the road twice but haven't found the house.

Forty years and development has taken its toll. The road has been widened to accommodate all ever increasing traffic and our beautiful pebbled lawn has now become road. The wide sweep to our front door is gone. My cousins have sold part of the garden and in the place of mulberry bushes and cashew nut trees,we now have an ugly tin building. Finally thanks to a frail uncle ( the purpose of the visit besides the memories) sitting in his easy chair watching the world go by,we find the other house in the same compound. It's more modern than I remember I bu it holds no memories. I rush back to the old house to take some pictures. The backyard remains the same wild and overgrown and I recognise some vegetables of my childhood. The side road is still the narrow country parth it was those many years ago and the front door hasn't changed but it has that sad depleted look of a country house once a glorious landmark ,now stripped of its grand status or does one as a small child see things much larger than I now see it as an adult? Whatever the reason I decide to hold on to my childhood memory. It's a lot more real,a lot more colourful and no fancy photography is required to hold it safe in my mind.

The brave walk

I have been afflicted by this strange European hangover and the symptoms are quiet disturbing. Having spent twenty five days walking at all hours of the day and night -in the relative safety of knowing that crime is not as rampant as it is in India-,in Europe, I came home to a life that requires me to take the car out for even short distances. Blistering heat prevents one from walking but when it rained and the temperature dropped,I decided rather foolishly to walk some two kilometres to the library and to do some shopping. Full of enthusiasm and ready to take on the world I donned my walking shoes,took a shopping bag and ventured forth. Little did I realise that not only was it treacherous,dangerous and a totally wrong decision. For one I didn't contend with the state of our roads.  The rain had left large pools of water and the slush was engineered to make even the most sure footed to slip.Bravely I trod on the footpath only to find that most of it was overtaken by hawkers and there I had to tred back on the road,only to be met by on coming traffic which as in all of India doesn't follow any rules. By the time I dodged out of the way of two wheelers,cars and all manner of dizzying traffic I had reached the main road and unscathed may I add. The challenge was to cross to the other side. Now in India it's always the survival of the fittest. Politely waiting for the traffic light to turn green ( there are no traffic light here on this road) is silly. Waiting for vehicles to stop for pedestrians as they do in other countries is to delude oneself of ones own importance. So I straighten my shoulders,take a deep breath and plunge into the traffic as if to the road born. I make it safely to the other side having been cursed by many a driver for having the audacity to cross when they were coming at full speed but like I said what has to be done must be done and walking on Indian roads in peak traffic in the absence of footpaths is not for the faint hearted.

I reach the road where forty years ago we walked every evening stopping to talk to friends on the way. Not a car would be in sight and both sides of the road were lined with houses. Today the houses,(all but a few remain) have given way to commercial establishments,and the crowds have swelled. By the time I reached my destination,survival skills that were lying dormant (thanks in part to have taken to driving for many years now) had kicked in. The return home was a lot easier. I walked with a swagger my Europe hangover almost gone but lesson learnt not to be forgotten ,I discovered the footpath that no self respecting pedestrian in India will use,but I did use it at the risk of falling or slipping thanks to undulations,but was forced to give up in many places. 

As I braved the slush,the traffic and the maniac drivers,I felt proud of myself for taking the risk of walking in peak traffic and in the process I discovered many things about my country,the first being that pedestrians are not a respected lot. This is a country for drivers and not walkers. Will I venture out again.?....well who knows when the spirit of adventure takes over. Until then I think I shall just drive.

My travel companion

Travelling with the husband is like a walk in the park. Overly cautious and always on high alert he is my navigator ,expert map reader,accountant ,personal shopper and travel planner. The kind of person who will plan most details of trips so we have a jolly good time. He wil scan price tags and remember them do quick calculations in his head so we get the best deals and all I have to do is make shopping lists,decide what to eat,read up on enough history and follow him around. The down side(there always is one) is that we will be in bed by ten every night even in the cities with the most happening night life. We won't take very early morning flights and will always get our beauty sleep unless economy dictates otherwise. I am the kind who can depend on a mobile aap to do most of my work. I will happily use gps to find my way in strange cities as physical maps have such fine print it's guaranteed to give me a headache in minutes. I am a wanderer ,it means I can go around in circles and eventually find my way and not get too bothered,while the husband can find the shortest way to any place and get anxious if we get lost. But we make a good travelling pair with a bit of give and take and frankly I can't imagine traveling with anyone else.

The sofa diary

It's three thirty in the afternoon and as is usual for me ,I am lying on a sofa . The big difference is that this is a large roomy sofa and super comfortable,the temperature is 18 degrees c, there are dark clouds outside with a threat of rain and the defending silence is broken only by the sound of a lawn mower in the distance,children's voices in the park ,my stomach grumbles and the sound of my breathing. In my ordinary life I would be lying on the sofa,the fan at full speed,sweating despite it,wondering if silence was a sound and contemplating what to make for dinner. How different.

Morning wa spent walking down many a cobbled street up and down ,curved and hilly and then down to the river to watch swans and ducks swim by peacefully. The walk took us through a tree lined park. The trees in perfect symmetry,the paths full of fallen autumn leaves,birds singing in the branches. People browsing in shops. From one park to another to a sudden spate of shops,we ambled for hours,huddled in coats enjoying the chill air on our skin. In my other life my mornings would mean a one hour walk after which the clothes would have to be peeled off thanks to sweat. The morning would then mean watering some wilting plants ,cooking breakfast while the heat continues to a increase to uncomfortable levels....such is life ...what can't be overcome must be endured.

It's the differences that I embrace.....the present is for memories to be relived in a series of pictures. The regular must be endured and that is life. Each with its own ups and downs. Holidays are all about the ups but real life is a mixture of joy,sorrow and living. Harder yes but also to be enjoyed. The collage of my holiday memories keeps me going. Someone asks why I laze around on a sofa when on holiday. Don't I want to see places and take photos and shop. Yes I've done that too but for me it has to be a mixture. Nature in all its beauty must be appreciated in silence,unbroken and peaceful and for someone who lives in a city this is almost like seeing a place ,it's a new experience. To be in sync with all that's beautiful and wild that for me is pure joy.

The sofa takes it all.

It's a faded pink must have been red at one time. It's the centrepiece of the living room and is about ten years old. I dream about it every so often . It's kind of a premium place to rest oneself ad it's everyone's favourite. A three seater sofa it is and in terms of comfort it's the intimate. One can sink into its comfortable cushions and I don't mean sit,I mean sink. It's relaxes you instantly . Getting out is always a problem,because one never wants to. No one spends much time sitting on it. Most often than not its occupied by someone lounging on it whoever made this piece of furniture was either a pretty lazy person who imagined spending most of his days lounging or it was someone who knew the meaning of comfort and that luxurious feeling. Now don't get me wrong,it's not those designer ones with soft cushions et al. It's cushions are made of canvas,it's colour is faded and in terms of looks it's just another sofa. It wouldn't get a second glance,it wouldn't get rave reviews in the looks departments either. But like a well worn piece of furniture it's not something one would give up easily. It's everyone's favourite seat in the house and when the present owner who has no intentions of giving it up,ever decides to do so I will be standing in line for it. Never mind that I don't have space in the flat. This is one piece of sofa that I have my heart set on.

It's a little bit special

The Italy holiday is over and we are back in Germany to our friends home. This is the last leg of the journey and it's a time to spend with friends and to simply chill ,enjoy the weather and not worry about a thing. We have spent our time in the town square mixing with locals ,enjoying three market days when Italian and French farmers showcased their produce in stalls selling cheese,meat,oil and fresh food. It's a time to eat and drink and browse. Staying at home involves barbecue in the garden,eating fresh apples and plums from trees,watching hilarious French movies and talking non stop with friends. What more can one ask for.

The sun shines and the temperature is around 18 degrees. It's warm in the sun and cool in the shade. I spend my time ogling at the shops. Kitchen stuff is my weakness and I can't believe my eyes at all the beautiful things that are available. The possibilities of decorating things the little art pieces etc are so lovely and simple I want to take it all back home. But of course I can't and will it stick out like a sore thumb in my city's flat. Of course it will so I look and am happy.

Lunch is eaten is and we continue to stroll. Plenty of grape wines in the neighbourhood and I eat them with juice running down my throat. Reminds me of the poem " the goblin men" . The beauty of living in a small town in Europe is are the quaint shops,the cafes,the people and the dogs. It's a laid back life but everyone is productive in their own way. There are no idlers around,no one is wasting time. It's clean and it bright and beautiful. It's another two days and I will be back home to India and I need these memories to keep me going until the next holiday. 

The silence as usual is so unusual I can hear myself breath. This is the kind of peace one craves for. Do I every get this silence back home. Perhaps in the hills but certainly not when houses have common walls and one can literally peak into the other house. Lovely is such a sad word to describe this place because it more than lovely....it's just so special

Heat waves

If there is one thing I dislike it's heat. I have lived all my life in a hot country where the temperature can go up to 42 degrees c and will only drop to aroun 28 c at the best of times. The few times I get a chance to go on holiday I choose cool or cold countries in a bid to escape the relentless heat. Unfortunately even though he cold countries get into heat wave mode when I get there. Our fist holiday in Europe was so hot that I had to fill bath tubs with cold water to sit in. Paris,Berlin and Amsterdam were all at 35 degrees. Our next holiday in England. A land which is always suffering from rain but the moment I landed there was a heatwave. Last holiday in Austria and Germany and Budapest and Prague were everything I hoped for. Cold,cool but never hot. I enjoyed every minute of it so here I am back in Europe in autumn or so I imagined and the heat is killing me. Italy has been in the late twenties and the heat unrelenting. Germany was lovely but not cold but I hope by the time I get back it becomes freezing.

The problem with the heat is that it tires me out. In my hometown I don't have to go out and see places. I stay at home with the fans on or in extreme hear I have the option of air conditioning but when one is visiting new countries there is som much to see that one is forced to move out. Today in Rome I had decided to stay in the hotel but guilt propelled me outside. How could I spend an entire afternoon in the hotel room after spending so much to travel to this place. So I stepped out and stayed out. Soon I was drenched in sweat,add to that the amount one has to walk in the heat,and then to get on a crowded bus packed like sardines. In my hometown I don't need to get into crowded buses here one simply has to. By the end of the evening I am in a foul mood. I think a cold shower should help but it only makes me feel hotter. The air conditioning remains at 25 degrees and it's not helping. I am taking out my frustration on the husband and he is stressing and getting me stressed also. It doesn't make for a happy situation. The times when I travelled in June I was told that it was summer in Europe from June to August. September I was told was was a good time to travel . In Rome and in Florence we were told that this heat is unusual. So am I a global warming machine on my own. Honestly my next holiday will not be in Europe . Next time I am spending my holidays with the polar bears and that's a promise.

Pisa and Luca

It's our last day of touring and we are off to Pisa and Luca but as the Italians would say,we are off to peesa and looka. Our friendly tour company is used to us by now having taken a few tours with them. This time our guide is Sara a diminutive thing but with a voice that s strong enough to get everyone going. She starts our tour introducing herself first in English and then in Spanish. The husband for the life of him can't figure out when the English stops and the Spanish begins. To be fair to him it's a pretty task,I have to leesen very carefully to understand what she says. Of course I am getting the hang of it.

It takes us an hour and a half to reach peesa (in keeping with the Italian way of speaking English some words will have to be read the way they are written....I know my spellings aren't good but this is deliberate). It's a small town with a few houses dominated by the leaning tower,the Pisa cathedral and the baptistery.

The Italians like I mentioned earlier are quiet unlike the Germans,time keeping isn't their finest virtue so the guide ees late. Sara is on her phone for a while and we are handed over to our new guide ( a doctor Spock lookalike). He arrives in blue jeans,tight t shirt,muscles bulging ,flat stomach and all . Rather a fit man one would imagine and then he tells us his name is Roberto (big emphasis on the r). He is obviously a veteran tour guide,quickly sizes up the group,talks in Japanese ,German,French and English with a bit of double Dutch thrown in. When it's our turn he tells us of all the places he's visited in the south of India ( did he read it off a brochure we will never know ) and we are suitably impressed. Roberto is hilarious he keeps us in splits and also has enough knowledge to explain it all. Most cathedrals in Italy have three elements,the cathedral,the bell tower and the baptistery. I didn't bother seeing previous guides what the baptistery was for but Roberts tells us that in the olden days,people who were not baptised and hence considered non Christian couldn't enter the church. So during the festivals they would have group baptisms in a large font kept in the baptistery after which they were free to walk into church. Roberto has a word with all the security personal,hugs all the women on duty and is generally in the know. Even the security guards with guns have to break into smiles when he is around....his favourite phrase is ....'I beg of you". By far the best guide we have had. We move on to the leaning tower of Pisa which I must admit is a wonderful sight. To think that an architectural mistake can bring people all over the world to see it is truly amazing.the tower itself is worth a climb. 296 steps to climb and I am determined to huff and puff my way to the top and we do it. A good photo at the top and we get a 360 degree view of the city.  We are told that the tower was a watchtower in the old days as all the provinces in Italy were at war with each other and they had to see the enemy coming. We have climbed many such monuments but this ones marble steps are worn out with the millions walking on it. Half way down we can feel the tilt of the tower and are wondering why we are tilting but realise soon enough the lay of the land. Back on the ground and we are off  to Luca.

Luca is a walled city and is called the city of a hundred churches but actually has only some seventy odd churches. It's a quaint place but by the time we reach the husband is tired and refuses to walk. He is done with walking and here I am all ready to go all over the place. My map reader then issues an ultimatum. He is planning to sit it out and I can be off with a map and do whatever it is that I have to do. Good plan indeed except that if you leave me with a map and all the time in the world then it's no problem I will find my way but expecting me to come back in an hour is all too much. Quick action is required and after years of practise I know the ropes. A quick salty bite from a nice little cafe where the English speaking Italian who quickly figures my dilemma ,and a gelato kind of puts some energy into the husband. There is one pLce he wants to visit so we walk at a real slow pace to reach it. An espresso and objective achieved. We reach the walls of Luca and the sight is so beautiful,the husband forgets his fatigue. Thank god for patience ( was in danger of loosing my cool). We take the mandatory pictures find a nice park bench for the husband and I am on my way walking on the walls. The sight is serenity itself . Large expanses of green lawns below the walls. Trees that stand like sentries on the horizon and ancient walls that protect a city within. Who ever thought up all this. And how well they preserve it. I am sure we have beautiful places like this in our country but we don't even have clean public toilets so when will we learn? Our trip is over and we are back in Florence . Our Tuscany adventure is all but over and the decision to visit this beautiful part of Italy was well worth it.

People watching

It's almost ten days since we arrived  in Italy and am beginning to speak English like them. It's amazing how a little drag on the words can make a difference or a strong emphasis on the R s. It's all about a big smile,greeting everyone with a Bon journo in the morning till noon,a bona Serra in the evening.  We have learnt to compliment chefs on the quality of their food with a fantastico and everyone is happy. 

 We meet so many people along the way and everyone is a story waiting to be told. We loose track of so many of these memories as each day is filled with new ones. So let's start at the very beginning.

Our hotel in Rome ,the two girls at the reception.one a twenty something fresh to work with all the exuberance of youth. Gets a joke when cracked,gives good advice on places to eat on shoe strings and always has a smile. The older girl probably in her early thirties is all busy and efficient. She won't get too friendly but will keep professional distance. She is always in a rush,smartly dressed,does about two jobs in a day and is responsible for all that happens in the hotel. 

Our tour guide in Rome on our first tour. She looke like an ageing Sofia Loren all nutty brown tan ,skinny but with the confidence of one who has been a tour guide in ages. Ofcourse her strong Italian accent made the English next to impossible to understand and at the end of the day all that concentration to understand what she was saying took its toll. If the pope had any intentions of making saints of anyone that day I would have stood a very good chance.

The nuns and fathers in Rome. Coming from a country where we expect priests to be  godly( not all but we like to delude ourselves that they don't drink or smoke and that makes them good) and nuns to sty in the cloisters it's may come as a shock to us to see Nuns wander the streets of Rome taking in the sights,checking the directions on iPhones ( what ever happened to vows of poverty),priests who can drink many of us under the table. One in particular started with beer,went on to wine and sampled quiet a few. Members of his parish seemed more than happy to stand him a few drinks and everyone was all jolly and happy at the end of it all. Some of the priests are so good looking it might be a sin to just look at them. I saw many a nun and priest stroll down the streets in animated conversations and if a picture of them were sent to my mother she may have plenty to say on the subject of church and morality. In the interest of peace I refrained from using my camera.

Tuscany has a lot more atmosphere than Rome. There is a certain vibrancy in the air and people look a lot more relaxed. 

We are creatures of habit and will find a place like it and stick to it so tarratoria corneliius was home for the next few days for food. The place is manned by a surly twenty something with an attitude to match. He flicks his gelled hair at regular intervals speaks or rather mutters under his breadth and will shrug nonchalantly if he doesn't want to answer. Like twenty something's all over the world he is true to character but not rude and very decent,does a good job too. Once in a while he will pull our legs with some joke said with such seriousness that the husband took him seriously and we ended up laughing . But not our boy,a gleam in his eye was the only indication of any emotion. Our others well built tattooed waiter is the very opposite of our twenty something. He is all charm and passion. Practises his English on all the guests and is ready with a smile a greeting and something to chat about.  An overweight American arrived and ordered a pepperoni pizza and our boy just couldn't help himself,he laughed charmingly and told the shocked American that in Italy pepperoni meant green peppers and not salami but all done with such charm that one couldn't fault him on anything. Of course after some six or seven meals in the same place he was our friend. Told me the panzanella was not his favourite food in face he disliked it and wanted to make sure I knew what I was ordering. Was terribly amused when I asked for a recipe and since thee chef couldn't speak English he got the Indian pizza maker to give me thee recipe (not that the boys English was any better) but the recipe is with me now though I was warned that the taste was all down to good Italian tomatoes and cheese.

Angelina our in house nona (she owns the hotel) is a class act. This hotel is run by a fairly typical Italian family. The parents do the afternoon shifts which means the father stays in his room watching tv,the mother talks to gues and boy can she talk. Of course half the time she forgets what she was about to do but a few exchange of recipes and she's won over. She thinks I need to stay back and make a curry and tandoori chicken as her beefy,English speaking son wants to eat it. He obviously is the apple of her eye. She tells me every day to look after the husband. According to her I know what I have,may it know what you willl get so look after him. She can talk endlessly about the TV serials and shopping and prices. Honestly how can I miss my mother when I have found a very similar one in Florence. She is very disappointing we are leaving because after a week she s now involved in our lives and waits to hear about our day when we get back in the evenings. Her husband is a smart Italian hotelier who looks like he is not all there but that's just a farce. He knows exactly what's going on. The son is a nice friendly chap ready to give advice on all things to look out for in Italy and his English is so good one could imagine he was English. The daughter in law like most of them world over is long suffering,does the breakfast in the morning,doesn't speak a word of English and is a bit of a mouse. The husband thinks she can get a bit mad if pushed but she seems to be in the shadows all the time.

Our little Cupid was the cutest of the lot. Lesson learnt in Italy. If one is standing in never ending lines to get into places,the most amusing way to pass time is to watch babies and play with dogs. The baby in question was a smart cookie. All of some one and a half years he had chubby cheeks and could understand every thing that was said to him. He could pull a happy face by shutting his eyes and grinning from ear to ear,then pull his mouth down to tell us he is sad. Adept at using the iPhone he would watch videos of him self and gurgle with glee. He watch the husband doing his stretches ( the husband was hungry and tired and had nothing better to do) and promptly started imitating him. He did this for quiet a while enough to keep us busy. Then the mother started her song...." The wheels of the bus go round and round".... The song stuck in our heads for the rest of the day as did the image of rosy cheeks,dimpled chin and all.

Self absorption

Our last but one evening in Florence and we decide to walk around the city seeing its sights and watching the sights and sounds. After an afternoon spent resting we walk down the narrow streets to the duomo cathedral. Here we decide to take a break,sit on its marble steps and watch the world go by. After all the piazza is the place to do just that. The Bangladesh vendors are all out selling selfie sticks and paintings or even roses for the romantically inclined. We then spot two Indian groups and we sit up and take notice of our country men and women. This is a mixed bunch. One young man got down on his knees,kissed the ground and crossed himself.....Goan catholic we decide. His wife is I address so suspicion confirmed. The others are probably from Bombay. The young women are fashionably dressed by indian standards but the men are all talking Hindi and without exception,have pot bellies. This is the one distinguishing feature of most Indian men. Shirts tucked into jeans,they pose with arms around their significant other,the photos ,proof of having visited a foreign country. One young woman with a child in a stroller is determined to take selfies. I watch fascinated as she spends time tossing her hair this way and that,posing to the right angle,her selfie stick is working overtime and in a space of a few seconds she has taken atleast ten selfies. Never mind that not a single one of her photos are of the duomo cathedral. I am enthralled by such self absorption,not having seen it thus far though a few Japanese woman can put the Indian ones to shame on the selfie scale. Finished with her selfies she starts to work on her young daughter who must be a little over two perhaps three or even less. She is obviously well trained and poses dutifully to all instructions from the mother. The group in the meanwhile has moved on but nothing can come in the way of a selfie and time and tide can wait for all she cares. We marvel at the fact that we care so little for time and discipline. The tours we go on are all about being on time ,staying with the group etc and when will we indians ever learn such simp,e etiquette?. The tour guide looks at the end of her patience but a job has to be done. Now our attention moves to the other Indian group. This time a group of young men mainly from the north with a few women thrown in. The husband eavesdrop s on their conversation which is all in Hindi. Again the self absorption is evident. It's alla out the photos. There are two guides,one Indian and one Italian. The young men pay no attention to either and carry on with their own agenda. Soon the group is fragmented but we are indian and chaos is all part of our DNA .the husband and I have spent a delightful evening watching the people and understanding differences between cultures . A lesson learnt in a very interesting manner.

Day trippers

After a long trip out of Florence yesterday we are tired enough to take it easy today but food beckons. The local market is a stones throw away and a must visit. All around the coved market are shops selling belts,jackets handbags and all manner of leather goods. Some of the handbags are well both a buy but the husband has me on a tight budget and considering I don't use handbags all that much I do not protest too much but as ogling is free I indulge happily. The market inside opens at eight thirty in the morning and we have our shopping lists at the ready. The first thing we do is to take a quick walk around the place,the husband makes a quick calculation of the prices ,converts it into Indian currency and decided if it's a good buy or not. I simply indulge my sense of taste and visual appeal. I drool over the fish. The anchovies and sardines and shinning their eyes bright,I want to pick them up and cook them but move on. There are many cheese shops but our hotel owne ( a nice Italian nona) has told us that the age of the cheese will be displayed and we must ask for a taste. There is one shop which does exactly this. It's surprising how I can understand perfectly well what the man is telling me in rapid fire Italian when the subject is food. Is it greed or some inner communication between lovers of food. I trust my instincts on this. He cuts thin slices for me to taste and I eat and enjoy. The husband meanwhile is busy doing the maths in his head. Ready to move on to the next store he cannot understand my need to chat with the Italian shopkeepers in sign language. Mercifully for him the owners son arrives and actually speaks English. All the cheese bought,we move over to the mushroom shop. Recommended by the cheese seller this shop is full of porcini mushrooms fresh and dried,the prices come in ranges but is decided on the bases of stems,caps or mixed. The husband would like to understand the science and economics behind such classifications but for me porcini mushrooms have stolen my taste buds,I want them caps or stems or roots. How does it matter when I can't get them in India. It's a taste for which I will happily travel the world so after much talking we get ourselves a mix just to be on the safe side. Next stop for spices. Spices in Italy when we come from the land of spices you may well ask but these are interesting. Mixed spices for pasta. Now that's something I can see much use for considering our love of all things Italian. Picante is an useful word I have learnt so when the word combined with my brown skin gets the message across perfectly. The shopkeeper happy at the business I give him offers truffle in oil on a cracker. I eat happily,the husband refuses politely. He offers us amaretto biscuits but that I refuse to eat. I simply can't stand it but with our bags now full we are ready to leave. The lovely tomato sauce called passata has to be left behind as the bottle is too heavy....well you win some you loose some. We head back to the hotel and I tell the husband that we simply have to see Michelangelo s David . What I don't tell him is that the lines can be punishing. Now unfortunately I have three things on my wish list and not enough time to do it. I want to clime the 400 steps to the dome of the duomo cathedral,I also want to climb the bell tower and go the the piazza Michelangelo but if I have to choose I need to see David. Our hotel manager tells us it's next to impossible to go there t such short notice but the husband loves a challenge and for that I am greatful . So we set off and find the lines snaking into the streets. The husband does a quick calculation ( it's all about numbers with him) and decided that based on the movement of the lines,it should take us an hour to get a ticket.he then suggests we have lunch. Determined not to miss out on David ( the husband can imagine what the fuss is all about,left to himself he would rather see the only David in our family expected later in the month at our home...a grand nephew) . I use all the charm at my disposal and some logic to let him know that the lines can only get longer so better sense prevails and we wait. The wait goes on for two hours in the noon sun. It's hot it's humid but we wait,and finally we are in. David stand right at the end of a corridor a majestic figure in marble. His hands are those of a young man though he is a boy in the bible. I am near certain he was clothed in the bible after all shepherd boys don't roam around the countryside naked do they ?. But this is a masterpiece,this is Michelangelo s interpretation of David so I put aside all those thought of mine and concentrate instead of the piece itself. How he sculpted the veins and the nails and every muscle of the body from a piece of marble is what makes so many. Ill ion people gape in wonder. To think that such creativity existed in times when one had to crave every little bit with ones hands. I have a good look and move on to all the other paintings in the gallery. It was well worth the wait for me and we exit quickly for lunch and after a good meal we get back to the hotel so my excellent map reader can get a good rest,ready to face the evening ahead. I am still working on ways to get him to agree on the other two things on my list....time will tell

Cinque terre

Our third tour in Florence will take us out of town to cinque terre this is and unesco world heritage site. The tour tells us clearly that the trek is not for the faint hearted so we choose a less strenuous one . The drive out of Florence takes two hours and along the way we pass beautiful countryside with miles and miles of garden shops growing all manner of Christmas trees ready for the season. Tomatoes and other vegetables are also grown but all this on a massive scale.

Our guide like mentioned earlier is a girl and a very professional one at that. Her English and Spanish is flawless and she points us towards the ugliest building in Florence and I must admit it's an eyesore among all the beauty.

As we climb the hills to cinque terre the landscape changes. Breathtaking mountains descend into the Mediterranean. The air is fresh with the aromas of fresh pine. The cactus has flowers on it and the sea shimmers in the mid afternoon sun. It's picture postcard perfect.

As we get off at our parking lot,we are told that there are only three thousand people on that island. Cinque terre as the name suggests is a collection of five fishing villages along the Mediterranean coast of Italy. Life here isn't easy,floods have destroyed this area in the past,there are no medical facilities and the local people have had to toil on the harsh and dangerous terrain to farm the land. In winter it can become intolerable to live but as in all things beautiful it has its downside too. We climb down narrow steps and reach the first island of riomaggiore a small fishing village. We walk many steps down to the sea where fishing boats of all sizes are either bobbing on the water or drawn ashore. There is nothing much to see besides the Mediterranean but that is enough. In the sunshine the sea is in three shades of blue,pounding relentlessly on the rocks in a cascade of foam. The water is cool,the way to go down to the water is steal,the rocks slippery but the beauty is well worth it. I have seen the Mediterranean from many sides but it never fails to amaze me and hold me in its spell. Our next stop is to the next island and unfortunately because of rough seas we have to take a train instead of a boat. I am deeply disappointed. A sea ride was something I was looking forward to but it is not to be. The trains are packed with tourists and we are told to be very careful with our belongings as pick pockets abound. Used as we are to all the rouges in india it's not a big deal with us but the unsuspecting American is in danger. The rail tracks run along the sea and as we cross each tunnel the sea comes into view again. We are skipping one island as it involves climbing some tree hundred odd steps and our group doesn't look like they can handle it I am disappointed again as I was a.l ready to push myself.

Lunch is in a costal place with fish and pasta and it's homemade so great. Along the way we meet two women one judge and one attorney from the states. They are full of fun and have a great sense of humour but like most Americans they are not used to rough and tumble and are pretty shocked when our guide takes us off the railway platform into the tunnel to board the train. Of course in this small island it is actually the platform that goes into the tunnel but they take all the jokes on them like good sports and they are so much fun I am willing to change my view on the well travelled American a little bit.

At the end of a long day our feet are killing us with all the climbing but the sea is so calming and beautiful that I can gaze and gaze and like the poem,say I gaze and gaze and little thought what wealth the shore to me had brought. I am a great lover of the sea and can stay for hours near the water and not get tired of it. It was a great trip despite the train running late by twenty minutes,the boat ride not happening,the guid getting us into the wrong train and all but the guides are such nice girls we can stay mad at them for two long. A day well spent.

Strolling around Florence

Our day begins with a walking tour of Florence. Asked to be there fifteen minutes in advance the husband decided it had to be half an hour in advance so we hang around waiting while I fume and the husband is calm and collected. The guide is late so we start the tour late. This is Italy I am getting used to their ways. A few minutes into the walk and I am convinced the guide hasn't a clue what he is talking about. Thankfully I speed read Rick steins book on Florence so was up to scratch on its famous landmarks. If all this wasn't enough it started to pour. Suddenly the streets are filled with umbrellas and milling crowds. The duomo is packed,and with pickpockets in anudance I have to be on high alert and clutching my handbag while dodging the umbrellas not the finest way to see the city. In the meanwhile the guide drones on and on. A tedious two hours later we are rid of him but are waiting for our next tour which is the uffizi gallery.

The sky is grey and heavy with clouds so we start our walk away from the crowds towards the piazza Michelangelo. It's a stunning walk towards this square but our tour begins at three in the afternoon and the husband is a,ready anxious that we will miss it never mind that we have at least half an hour to go. We head back to wait for our guide at the gallery and the rain pours. My spirits are dipping at all the time we waste waiting for people because we are over anxious but one must weigh the highs and lows and decided what outweighs what. Unfortunately the guide on this tour is no better than the one of the morning. He spends a full fifteen minutes giving us an art lesson on three paintings ,and none of it interesting. I am beginning to think he is some failed artist and soon many others are getting restless too. We decide to leave the man to his lecture and get ahead And see all the Italian masterpieces T our own pace. The only reason we took the tour was that the crowds at the entry was frightening. All in all the men guides are a big disappointment and have no sense of humour either. Too caught up in their own history they forget to see the lighter side of life. Though I must admit the same can't be said of the other women guides on the tours out of Florence. The girls Re fluent in at least five languages,have very pleasant attitude and know what they are talking about,besides which they are efficient.

We end the day with a meal in our favourite place and chat up two women one from Cape Town and the other from Perth and end the night with plenty of laughter. The highlight was an earthquake at three the previous night which the husband work up to but I told him to stop being paranoid and slept through it. Since earthquakes seem common in Florence no one was making a fuss and for that I am glad.

Under the Tuscan sun

It's our first full day in Tuscany. For me Tuscany represents all that is good about Italian good. We set off on our trip to the wine yards of San giimignano,Siena and monteriggiono. The bus is full of tourists from England,Canada,America and many others. Different nationalities,religions and cultures but joined by one common goal. To enjoy the beauty of Italy's most beautiful region.

As we leave Florence behind we pass ancient crumbling walls set in the Roman age and then on to wide countryside. After a few minutes,we encounter the sun drenched landscapes of Tuscany. Rolling hills dotted with villas typical of the region. In the relentless sun we see miles upon miles of rolling hills most of it covered in wines all ripe for the picking. The sky is a deep blue,the clouds in waves of fluff. It's sunshine and wine all the way. Our first stop is San giimignano a place for wine and olive oil. The place itself is small,cobbled streets wind their way up and down the town. The town has two squares and like in all of Italy it's full of churches,medieval building housing cafes,pizzeria and shops. Countless shops sell everything from wine to cheese,olive oil in a deep green colour,crafts,leather goods and all manner of temptations.

It's all vey laid back and happy. We stop for coffee and for someone like me who dislikes coffee I must admit that I have fallen in love with the bitterness of espresso. It's come in one sip but a heady one at that.

We move on to th Chianti wine region for a lesson in wine tasting. It's a large wine yard run for generations by an Italian family and it's full of cousins all doing their jobs rather well. We start with a lesson on how to hold the glass the science behind it,how to twirl it ,sniff it and drink it ,all the time looking out for aromas and flavours . For one as unschooled as me I must admit I know a lot about the technique but must admit my abject failure when it comes to sniffing out flavours. She tells us that the the wine has the aroma of peppers. Now for a person like me peppers are the heady black peppers which have no place in the Italian countryside so I have no clue what she is talking about. Suffice to say that all the wines are excellent,the desert wine being pretty strong and we are all a happy bunch at the end of the meal.

We move on to Siena,another medieval town set among narrow cobbled streets,high ancient building which throw their shadows in the mid afternoon sun. We get a guided tour and taste the famous pan forte a sweet made in this place and one which I promised myself I would try. It heavy with honey and dried fruits and nuts but I give it a miss. It's a bit too sinful for my taste. Siena is also home to the famous Palio where the horse races took place. A wide arena is currently full of tourists basking under a Tuscan sun. It's roads are lined with shops with designer labels to local craft. The churches are beautiful and full of history. The sent of many burning candles are pretty heady. We soon have to move on to monteriggiono a very small town with a castle to a it's credit though to me it looks more like a fort. We are told that this was a strategic location with one end looking out to Florence and the other to Siena both sworn enemies. It's takes about half and hour to see it and then as the sun sets on another day and the wine yards and rolling hills sink into the shadows it's back to Florence and dinner at our new found local. The husband is exhausted with the long day,I am too busy chatting to every Italian who knows even a smattering of English. Dinner is ravioli in meat sauce ,wine and a Parma ham pissa. Need I say more. The temperature has dipped to twenty one degrees but I choose to miss the night life in Florence and to the sound of contented snores of the husband I bid this day good night.

An Italian impression

It's back to the road again,this time a train ride to Florence. We will be back in Rome despite not having thrown a coin in the Trevino fountain,but having said that I have mixed feeling about Rome. I was told by many that it's a beautiful place,it certainly is if you like ancient ruins,but for someone like me more in love with nature,the Alps and meadows of Austria hold more charm. Not to say that Rome isn't a nice place.

I was told to look out for pick pockets and thugs but am glad to say I encountered neither on the first trip. I face I found the Italians more laid back than most Europeans ,they are far more friendly,ready to share their lives with us. One question can set off a volley of rapid fire chatter and before you know it one is familiar with the family history. I have had women share their meals with me simply because I have eaten their food. At Florence after a five minute conversation with the hotel owner (which involved some shopping tips and exchange of recipes) she was willing to give me a whole bag of bread from Naples which is used to make panzanella the salad they have here. It was only my polite refusal that has me back in the room with two slices of this famed bread. I already know that she has two daughters,that one of her sons works for the police,the hotel is named after one of the daughters and her grandson doesn't think she is posh because she doesn't like truffles. I also discovers she has a friend in Delhi who makes excellent curry,that the lady of the hotel attempts to make curry but it doesn't taste quiet the same as Indian original. Phew would I have ever got such a mine of information from Germans or the English or French. I think more than their country I am liking the people and the food more.

The landscape is not very dissimilar to India too. So used to seeing lush green meadows and wholly sheep and cloudy skies,the Tuscan sky is a clear vibrant blue,not a cloud in sight. The earth is brown with occasional burst of green but a rugged Mediterranean green. It's a long time since I have been in a Mediterranean country and the contrast to the north of Europe cannot be more stark. Olives and grapes turn into wine,oil and vinegar,there are plenty of vegetables,simple dishes and many a grandmother in sight. The Italian nona is very much at the forefront of this busy country.

When in Rome

Rome has been part of our childhood learning experience ,if we were told that Rome wasn't built in a day ,we were also told that all roads lead to Rome and that when in Rome do as the Romans do. For us it was a distant reference to julius Caesar or some Roman god but beyond that they just remains maximums to live by.

Today we decided to try out a few new things as we had finished with all the touristy things.  A long walk to find another hotel we need to see so we try and do some word association to remember the names of streets. Maps are in such fine print its next to impossible to read and as we are not on any local data plan the smartphones have to stay not so smart. We walk for a good thirty minutes through some scary downtown areas and find the place only to find that there are three other ways to reach the place and far less scary roads.....so all roads do lead to Rome. We ask for directions to a place we want to see and misunderstand the instructions thanks to still getting used to European s driving on the wrong side of the road according to us. We get into a bus and after an hour realise that we have gone totally in the wrong direction,but in the process we have seen many residential areas,have travelled the length and breadth of the Rome that people stay in as opposed to the touristy parts. Our journey is interesting in many ways,the Italians gossip non stop,talk loudly and are always greeting each other over someone's heard. The bus is crowded and we are packed like sardines and there are plenty of families,small children,mothers,old people all out and about. The buses unlike other European cities don't seem to have wheelchair access,nor does anyone get up for old people though we do as it seems only decent to do. The old ladies don't have any problem asking the husband to help them with baggage or ticket buying,so very much like India. We finally reach our destination and are trilled to bits as we have used the 100 minutes of our ticket validity thanks to getting lost.  Lunch is in a market called camp do fiori and it's an interesting place. All manner of things are sold her. The Italian street markets are place to be in. All kinds of tomatoes,garlic,cheese,vegetables are up for sale along with shoes,clothes and what not . All around the market there are cafes selling food. Everyone asks us to come to their place but the husband tires of looking at menus and we decide on one place. Striking up conversations is not difficult and when the food comes it's so outstanding we stop talking altogether. Osscobusco which was on my list of must eat foods was everything and more. I haven't a clue what they put in it but it was so full of flavour I licked my plate clean.

Lunch over,the husband decided to go to the gallery borghese which is actually a park but we don't know that do we. Searching for a bus is next to impossible here as they don't have many signpost s not are the instructions very clear. Everyone will wave their hands and tell you that it's all down the road and it may well be but for us it's not easy. The husband thank god is an excellent map reader. He can find the shortest route to any place and thanks to him map reading skills we can finds ways to places easily. When our feet scream in protest we set off on our long walk back home. In effect we have walked the length and breadth of Rome in our short stay here and like I told myself before the trip,roaming in Rome is a wonderful pastime. The good thing about the Romans is that they are friendly people. We have dinner at the place we went to two days ago and finally we get a spicy pasta which they call picante and the husband thought it was too spicy,we chatted with some locals in English and actually had a conversation and all in all our last day was more interesting than we imagined it would be

Yet another touristy day

On our third day it's time for the hop on hop off bus. This is probably a far more economic way to see Rome and we set off after breakfast. It's pretty hot despite it being September and the sun continues to beat down,but we brave it and go off to see the colosseum. It's a pile of ruins but with ages of history behind it and as in all of Europe the history coupled with restoration and some very good guides,makes for an interesting event. To think that Christians were killed here while the Romans watched,and then to be told that almost all of the construction material had been taken away to build the basilica in the Vatican seems like sweet revenge. The Roman forum is also a pile of ruins but what remains is beautiful craftsmanship. Marble in all sizes lies around some with beautiful carvings. The old fountains,the gardens and all the buildings have a certain cemetery and to have buildings standing up after thousands of years even if they are in ruins,goes to show how meticulous the eye for detail and good construction was in those days.

Our walk takes us to the village of trastevera far from the touristy places and we are greeted by a real fat little man who is a good advertisement for his restaurant. The food has to be good. He is also one for the ladies as he kisses our hands and hugs almost all of the women there and does a little good natured flirting. Not offensive in any way in fact rated endearing. We meet a Dutch couple on our walk who very kindly pointed us to the right place. Yesterday one of the local ladies insisted I taste her food simply because I asked her what she was eating. A few choice phrases in Italian can make people smile.

We see the trevi fountain but sadly it's under renovation ,though that doesn't stop hundreds of visitors from throwing coins into its dry base. I go inside one of the many churches and am surprised to find many people on their knees praying. In a world that is so ashamed to acknowledge God,the Italians have no  problems with their God. The fragrance of many burning candles gives the whole church a quiet reverence.

We climb the many steps of the Spanish steps and if it wasn't for all the hype built up over the years it's just a lot of steps crowded with tourists.

Our list of places to see are all 

Wandering in Rome

Our second day in Rome starts early. Out at 7.30 am we are off on a tour to the Vatican museums,the Raphael rooms, St. Peter's basilica and the Sistine chapel. The place is teaming with people and guides and it's a long walk. We have to pass through security and the place is strangely modern. The walls outside are ancient befitting the place but the inside is not something I bargained for. The paintings and frescos are beautiful but it's too rushed a tour. I would need more than a day to see all of it . The Italian guide s accent is so strong we are having trouble following her but thanks to some basic knowledge of the bible and it's stories all is not lost.

The Sistine chapel has been on my bucket list for ages. What did I expect ...well this was certainly not what I expected,the ceiling was crowded with works and the crowds so dense it was a wonder we saw it all. It didn't impress me ,even at the risk of sounding like a philistine. It lacked atmosphere. Having said that I must admit to a wonder at the detailing of the paintings. Every muscle and vein seems to have been painted on. The depth of it all ,the almost real pictures can only point to a genius T work and if it took him nine years to do it it also required patience and dedication to the craft. To that I bow in admiration.

Raphael s frescos are also interesting for technique and the colours are all so vibrant. The mosaic on the wall is truly impressive and the ones on the floors even more so.

St. Peter's basilica was by far the most impressive. It's size and grandeur was not something I have seen anywhere on my travels. All very befitting of being the centre of the Catholic Church. My only disappointment was not hearing mass in the church. The square was everything that I imagined it to be  and the Vatican didn't disappoint in any way though a glimpse of Pope Francis would have been the icing on the cake .

We are told that St. Peter is buried under the altar of the basilica and if that's true then I have followed St. Peter and St. John and for that I am happy. 

We leave the Vatican and wander around Rome. It's streets are cobbled and narrow each one looking very much like the next. Ask for directions and they will throw their arms out and gesture wildly and talk in rapid fire Italian and be sure to not understand or find the place. Directions to place,maps of where one is etc ,all things one takes for granted in European cities is sadly lacking in Rome. We walk for miles and search for the pantheon and after many misses and having worn out our feet and digested our food,we chance upon it. Old ancient and crowded it nevertheless does impress. Brides drag their beautiful grows across the street to the many churches. In Rome if one trips,be certain you will fall into a church. The place is full of churches. Narrow lanes with high buildings create a certain charm and we loose ourselves happily in this very interesting city.

Pretty tired after walking for nine hours we decide to take a bus back. Only to be told that the tickets have to be bought in a shop and not on the bus,so we do that,and get on,but as no one seems to be punching their tickets we wait,until I spot someone doing it and having informed the husband of the procedure he insists I punch the tickets. My protests that to move in a moving bus where I can't reach the holding bars is next to impossible,fall on deaf years. He is more concerned of the embarrassment of being caught in  foreign country,with a misunderstanding that we may have been cheating. Finally not sure if I should put him through the stress I ask someone how the machine is to be used and get the job done.

Thankfully I belong to a generation that grew up without smart phone s and other electronic devices so human contact doesn't embarrass me. I am more than happy to strike up a conversation or ask someone to take a picture for me. The selfie stick is a new device that has further isolated people. Too many people are on their own with just the phone for company and that is the sad part of travel I have noticed so far. For now I am happy to wander my way.