This is it.

I fall in love with the name. Coaraze. I look into some images in Google and just know in my heart that I have to visit the place. The name pops up while I am doing a customary search on ‘Day trips from Cannes’. The usual suspects come first – Nice, St. Tropez, Monaco, St. Paul’s Vence. Then come the unusual ones. Most of which could only be accessed if you have a car at your disposal. I, on the other hand, who can neither afford a car, nor would know how to drive in France, prefer public transport to go around. Yes, I do miss a lot of picturesque country roads and charming villages in the bargain, but have learnt to live with it.

I dig deeper and figure out that Coaraze can be reached by a bus from Nice – the only hindrance being there’s only one bus that leaves Nice and only another bus that passes through Coaraze for Nice in a day. So it is going to be a do or die situation – miss the bus and you are stranded in a remote village up in the mountains, with a handful of houses, an hour away from Nice. But it is doable. And do I will, I decide.

I have to reassure A that I will be back by 4 in the afternoon. I don’t tell him about the one-bus-a-day scenario – it will surely freak him out. I kiss him goodbye and wish him another productive day at the Cannes Congress, where he will get to see the heavy weights of the industry throwing their weights around.

I take the train from Cannes at 09.05 am and reach Nice in 30 minutes. I hop into the Office de Tourisme next to Gare de Nice but figure out that I know more about Coaraze than the lady at the counter. She, however, gives me direction to Nice Gare Routière, from where I need to catch my bus to Coaraze. I pick my breakfast from a boulangerie on the way and walk down to the bus terminal. It takes me around 20 minutes, but when in Europe, I don’t mind walking. It takes me a while to find Bus No. 303, since apart from me, there are only 3 more passengers queuing up for it. None of them look like tourists and they stare at me suspiciously as I look very much like one, with a knapsack and camera slung around my neck.

The bus starts exactly at 10.30 am. The first half of the journey is a bit boring as the bus makes its way through the city, picking up locals, all of whom seem to know everyone else on the bus. Once we leave Contes, however, the scenery takes a dramatic turn. The road starts winding uphill, through the Paillon river valley. Soon we are zigging and zagging through a treacherously narrow mountain road, each turn taking me further and further away from the civilization.

The bus drops me at the entrance of the village precisely in an hour’s time. Yes, I am the only one to get off. I take a moment to survey the scene around. I am some 650 m high up in the mountain, about to enter a tiny village that nestles peacefully among thick woods and deep ravines. It is classified as one of the most beautiful villages of France and I already get a sense why it is called so. I cross the road and start climbing the pebbled pathway that leads to the village.

There is not a soul around, it seems – the only sound I can hear are birds chirping and a stream running somewhere nearby. As I make my way through the terraced cobbled street, I stop every now and then to admire the stone houses that are painted in brilliant hues of blues and oranges. The Office de Tourisme is shut of course and with no help around, I decide to consult my notes and explore on my own.

The vaulted passageways keep me away from the sun. I pass through backyards of houses which are adorned with summer flowers. I catch a dog napping in the shades of the tunneled street and try to make friends with it. It seems completely disinterested in me and rolls back to sleep. I notice the interesting looking sundials at almost every house entrance and start clicking photographs. Coaraze is called the sun village or the village of sundials and is famous for having artists like Jean Cocteau, Georges Douking and Mona Christi leaving their work behind in this petite sun drenched village. There are also a few very curious lizard motifs around the village. I look for someone who will explain them to me, but I find none.


As I make my way through cobbled streets punctuated by flower-decked little squares, I meet a few locals. Ah, so this is not a haunted village or a movie set after all, people do live here. I come across an old lady sitting in her garden, crocheting. As I stop by to admire her little garden, she invites me in. I guess they don’t see much tourists here – that too an Indian one. She starts speaking in French and all I can manage is ‘Parlez-vous anglais?’ – thanks to my Lonely Planet ‘useful terms and phrases’ section. Obviously she does not but that does not deter her from carrying on the conversation with me. I give polite-verging-on-stupid smiles to all her questions and thank her for offering me some water. I ask her if I can click her picture which she fervently declines. I ask her for the way to the village church and what I gather from her animated gestures is that there’s only one way that leads to the church and that is straight up ahead.

I get repeatedly lost in the labyrinth of the vaulted passageways but find my way back to the open squares. After a few attempts, I manage to find the village church. Coaraze is also known as the village of fêtes and apparently there is always something or the other happening here. I find almost the entire village gathered around the huge open space in front of the church. No wonder the streets were so deserted. Some celebration must have just got over and the villagers are kissing and shaking hands and bidding each other good bye. I feel like an intruder amidst all this festivity as I can feel the looks I am getting from all around me. Not in a bad way, because all of them seem to be smiling at me.

I try to find out in my broken French what is going on, but either my French is too bad or they don’t want to share their little secret – I walk away from the scene without knowing much about what the merriment was all about. From the bits and pieces of French words I pick up, I have a feeling they are celebrating the advent of summer - but then according to my research, these Coaraziens celebrate everything. Today, they might just be celebrating life.

I follow the steps from the corner of the church that lead up to a large square shaded by Acacias, Cypress, Pine and Mimosa trees. The view from here is of deep valleys and high forested hills to the north and south of the village. I am rendered speechless and I just sit down at the edge, appreciating the beauty around me and eating my picnic lunch. I gaze at the vistas in front of me and soak in my solitude. I wish I could share this with A – but I know he is having a nice time back in Cannes, probably consuming lobsters by kilos for lunch, right at this very moment. The thought brings me back to reality – time to head home. The only bus back to Nice is at 01.10 pm and it is already past noon now. I pick up my things and walk back to the village. I cannot hurry even if I want to – the serene ambiance compels one to lose the sense of time. The village of sun dials seems to be time warped in a century when life was hard but straightforward, when machines were a distant dream and people still believed in the art of simple living.

I find my way through the winding street, stop by to capture a few more memories in my camera and soon arrive at the bus stop. I still have 20 minutes to spare. I take a last look at this mountain hideaway as I wait for the bus to arrive. I am joined by a couple of villagers who are all going down to the city. An old man finds me very intriguing and strikes up a conversation with me. He can speak a few words of broken English and we carry on fine. He asks me about India and seems genuinely interested. He has never travelled anywhere – not even to Paris and wonders why a girl would come all the way across the oceans to visit his part of the world. I ask him if the legend about the devil cutting off his tail, in order to get away from the Coaraziens who had caught him, was true. He answers in affirmative. Apparently, the village was called Caude Rase in medieval times, which means ‘cut tail’. The lizard motif becomes clear now - the devil had surrendered his tail like a lizard, hence the lizard motifs to commemorate the legend.

A woman joins our conversation – though she does not speak English. After knowing that I speak English, she starts a long conversation with me in French. She looks a bit distraught as she is trying to make me understand something. I pick up a few words – Michael Jackson, mort, ce matin. I get a sense of what she is saying but I don’t want to believe it. How can it be possible – I watched him giving a press conference a couple of days back on BBC about his upcoming world tour! I keep on asking her for details – but our conversation obviously gets lost in translation.

The bus arrives dot on time and as before, it seems like every passenger is known to the other. They are all, of course, discussing only one thing now – Michael Jackson. I curse myself for not knowing French. I am also amazed by the fact that people who don’t understand a word of English are mourning his death. Music, surely, transcends all boundaries.

By the time I reach Nice, it is past 2. I almost start running towards the station as soon as I reach Nice but decide to take the tram instead. I guess some of that dawdling effect of Coaraze has rubbed off on me. And then, for € 2, which is the cost of the return bus ticket from Nice to Coaraze, I can avail the tram as well, both being part of the TAM network - so why shouldn't I? I swing by the Office de Tourisme to pick up some information about my day trip for the next day. I have to wait for a train to take me back to Cannes for another 20 minutes or so and by the time I reach Cannes, it is almost 04.00 pm. I rush back to the hotel and find A glued to the TV set. Yes, I am back to civilization all right.

As the images flash before my eyes on the TV screen, the contrast hits me. The better part of the day was spent celebrating life and here I am, ending the day with death and disbelief.

I wonder how it would be if we could all live in places like Coaraze – unaffected and untouched by this very distressing time that we survive today. Life has its own rhythm back in Coaraze – unhurried, deliberate - it has its own definition. The Coaraziens still smile at strangers, take the time out to talk to their neighbours or to celebrate nature. I am sure they will once more banish the devil if he ever sets his foot in their terrain. They are happy in their little village, some working in bigger cities like Nice or Contes, but coming back every night to their humble homes – far away from the civilization. They may not have travelled beyond Nice but their little world is fulfilling and has adventures of its own. They don’t just exist like we the city people do – they live life. Yes, MJ would agree with them – ‘Make a little space, to make a better place’.

Bangkok Burning

It’s a battle zone out there. I shudder as I see the images on CNN of the Red-Shirts hurling petrol bombs, tyres burning at every street corner, black smoke covering the skyscrapers and the horizon, armored tanks and gun toting commandos running through the empty streets of a ghost city. This is a Bangkok I never thought I will ever see. Always bustling with life – any time of the day or night, Bangkok is like Bombay – it assaults all your senses. There’s pollution, corruption, traffic jam, chaos – yet the city beckons you to return to her, time and again. It is sad that a political crisis had to take shape of a civil war but of course, the issues are intense and we, as outsiders, perhaps, cannot comprehend what pushed these Red-Shirt protestors to hold a city hostage to get their demands met. Also coming from Thai people, who are otherwise, so chilled out, with a typically ‘sab chalta hein’ attitude – very much like us Indians - this battle comes as a shock.

But I am not here to discuss the political scenario in Thailand. Having been there a few times, I thought I would share some travel tips with those who are either stuck in Bangkok right now or have plans to be in Bangkok in the next few days, but don’t know what to do.

Of course, if you can, try and bypass Bangkok on your holiday to Thailand this time. The other parts of the country are still as inviting as ever and with the Army in action, I hope the Bangkok International Airport will be spared this time. Those who have already been booked in Bangkok and can’t cancel, try and stay near the airport. And instead of taking the Bangkok city tour, head out of the city. Believe me, there’s as much to do around Bangkok as is in the city.

Here are some options:

a) Bridge on the River Kwai: If you have watched the 1950’s movie by David Lean by the same name and liked it, here’s your chance to be a part of it. One of the most popular day trips from Bangkok is to visit the Death Railway and the famous bridge over the River Kwai in Kanchanaburi, and it can take between 2-3 hours to reach from Bangkok, depending on the method of transportation you choose.
If you know your history, you are probably aware of the fact that Thailand was under the Japanese control during World War II. It was here in Kanchanburi, which is near the Myanmar border, that Allied POWs, building the infamous Burma Railway, constructed a bridge. More than half of the prisoners working on the project died from disease, maltreatment and accidents.

Not a very appeasing piece of history, but history none-the-less. And a better option than trying to explore Bangkok amongst gun shells and being history yourself.
You can either negotiate the famous bridge on foot or via a little tourist train which runs a 15-minute round-trip across the bridge and back. It's aptly called the Death Railway.
While you’re out visiting the bridge over the River Kwai, be sure to also check out the nearby War Museum, which contains pieces from the original iron bridge which was destroyed by the Allies.

b)Taweechai Elephant Camp: Thailand is the land of elephants. There are several elephant camps in Thailand and the one present in the Kanchanaburi district is called the Taweechai Elephant Camp. Home to nearly 30 elephants including one born in late 2009, Taweechai offers elephant rides, bathing with elephants, bamboo rafting and special elephant training mahout courses.
Taweechai is conveniently located halfway along the route from Kanchanaburi to Erawan waterfall and so can be included in a day trip to the falls.

c) Erawan waterfall: Erawan National Park is a 550-square-kilometer park in western Thailand located in Kanchanaburi Province. The major attraction of the park is Erawan Falls, a waterfall named after the erawan, the three-headed white elephant of Hindu mythology. The seven-tiered falls are said to resemble the erawan. Needless to say, a cool break from all the heat that is consuming Bangkok right now.

d) The Tiger Temple: One of the most famous attractions in Kanchanburi is the visit to the Tiger Temple. A monk who started looking after abandoned and injured tiger cubs started this sanctuary, which now charges 500 baht to tourists to take a look at the tigers. If you want to pet them, be prepared to shell out 1000 baht more. Yes, you read it right – you can pet the tigers. If you ask me, I think the tigers are drugged – but still, touching the mighty beast is an experience to cherish for a life time. The monks say that the tigers are habituated to having humans around them, but you can make out that there’s something more to that story. Otherwise, a 300 kg fully grown tiger, letting you touch it and click pictures with it, is really inconceivable.

More than the mighty beasts (which scared the shit out of me – drugged or otherwise); however, the fun part of the trip was getting to play with a couple of 3 weeks old tiger cubs. That the cubs were not drugged was evident from the way they made sure that they’d chew on anything that came their way, including my shoe lace. They were like little pups - playful and full of beans. I so wanted to smuggle one out in my back pack - only if they'd stay still for a minute.

All these trips could be arranged by any tour operator – your hotel should have one. And looking at the situation around, it is perhaps prudent to go through a tour operator, than by yourself.
Try to break up the trip in 2 days – with one night spent on a river house in Mekong River. The cost should come to around 3900 baht per person – for a full-board 2 days 1 night stay.

And then, there’s Ayuthhaya, an ancient city near Bangkok, which I haven’t visited but have heard many tales about. Founded around 1350, Ayutthaya became the second capital of Siam (Thailand) after Sukhothai. Throughout the centuries, the strategic location between China, India and the Malay Archipelago made Ayutthaya the trading capital of Asia and even the world. Today, the remains of the once-impressive ancient city make it an ideal destination for history buffs. In 1991, the historic city became an UNESCO World Heritage Site. Its proximity to Bangkok makes it a popular day-trip destination for travellers from Bangkok. You can take a train or a bus, but the best way to go now would be to get in touch with a tour operator.

If nothing else works, stay put in your hotel and indulge in Thai Massages and Thai cuisine. Stay safe, stay cautious and try look at the brighter side – you would have never bathed with an elephant or petted a tiger, had the Red Shirts and the Army not taken over Bangkok.

Of Dark Knights and Twilight Zones

The lone vigilante stands tall over the city. It is dark and the rain falls hard from the heaven above. It is hell below – the city, now engulfed in a fog, has claimed her nights. It sleeps peacefully knowing it has someone to watch over it - the silent guardian, the watchful protector. She is a creature of the night and her day starts when the sun goes down. Her devoted cohorts – the colonies of bats - hang around her, ready to follow her whenever she takes flight. But she waits. And she broods. She has been afraid for the very first time in her life – she has walked away from darkness when she should have plunged right into it. She contemplates her actions and makes up her mind. It is time to charge into the underworld, pitch into the shadows and set things right. But she waits….

…and she waits. She, as in, me. And no, I don’t feel like Bat Woman right now, though I try to spin a story in my head to make me feel all right. To be honest, I feel rather stupid. I should have not been a coward and gone right ahead. What could have happened? And anyway, anything is better than waiting here in the sun, and waiting for A to enjoy an adventure all by himself and then having to hear about it for the rest of my life.

I am getting ahead of my story. We are in Taman Negara - one of the world's oldest tropical rainforests. It is estimated to be about 130 million years old. We are here for an extended weekend. Having done the usual touristic trail – like hiking the jungles and walking across the longest canopy walkway and swimming in the waterfalls and visiting the orang asli villages – we have been promised something off the beaten track for the afternoon. We are visiting Gua Telinga, one of the many caves in Taman Negara that houses colonies of bat. Not the vampire kind but the kind that survives on fruits and hence aptly called the Fruit Bats. Personally, I would have liked a close encounter with the vampire kind, but - ah well, you can’t have it all! A 20 minutes boat ride from where we are staying and a further walk into the forest, this cave promises to be an adventure of lifetime.

I am all charged up as I approach the cave. I get in also. But then I start to lose my footing on the lime deposit on the floor and panic. What if I fall down? Once inside, there is only one way out – to go forward. It is dark inside, it is constricted and what if I can’t make it out. You must realize that this is pre aspiring-to-be-a-marathon-runner days – so my confidence level on my own physical capability is not really high up on the radar. Of course, I make up with enthusiasm what I lack in energy – but this is a very different proposition. It requires going underground through treacherous passageways in complete darkness. I step back and walk away. A goes ahead with our guide. And I am left pondering whether I just let go of a unique opportunity to experience an once-in-a-lifetime adventure.

30 excruciating minutes later, A comes out. Looks at me and says “You have to do it!” That does it. What possibly can go wrong? People are doing it, aren’t they? A did it. If he can do something, I can do it better. I look at our guide. We have been supplying him with cigarettes since yesterday – now it’s time for him to pay back. A offers him another cigarette and asks him if he can take us back to the cave again. I conjure up all my charm and give him a pathetic smile. The guide looks at my face, thinks for a minute and says “datang” – I hop, skip and jump behind him.

He advises me to sit on my back and drag myself if I find my feet slipping. But this time, my determination sees me through the first phase – I make it through the entrance without sliding down. The sunlight gradually fades away and the walls cave in and suddenly we are inside the cave and below the ground. It is pitch dark, it is cold and our guide shines his flashlight. By now, we are on our knees and we crawl through the cavity. The guide switches off his flashlight after a while, since the only way forward is the way forward through this tunnel as we proceed to go deeper into the cave. We are, as the cliché goes, blind as bats – but we know we will not fall off anywhere and hence safe. Now, if a snake also decides to join us in our expedition or cross our path – then that will become a different story. I can hear my heart pounding but A, the veteran, who’s already been there and done that, keeps on reassuring me. After what seemed like eternity, the guide flashes his light again and we get ourselves into sitting position and then jump down.

We are inside a bigger cavity now but we can at least stand on our feet. As my eyes try to adjust themselves to the faint light that emits from our guide, I find myself in a magical world. Stalactites – of bizarre shapes and sizes adorn the ceiling of the cave. A stream runs down through the middle. It is a sight I have imagined every time I have read ‘The Adventures of Tom Sawyer’. Or nothing remotely close to what I have ever imagined it to be. The flashlight casts weird shadows on the rocky walls, the crystals hanging from the ceiling glow in its beam. Alice has finally arrived in the wonderland.

A further walk down the cave and we duck our heads to enter another chamber. The guide warns me not to touch the walls to feel my way through. Before I can ask why – he shines his torch on the walls. The wall seems to be moving. It takes a moment for me to realize that what I thought to be moving is actually colonies of bat – hundreds and thousands of them - clustered together – hanging from the walls. An eerie sight indeed, but a thoroughly thrilling one, none the less. If you have an active imagination like me, which has been fuelled with adventure stories since childhood, you would know what I mean. It is pitch dark otherwise and our vision is only limited to the beam of light that shines on the wall. We take in a few minutes here – marveled at the sight we just saw. A few bats, disturbed by the light, start flying around. A few of them swoop down upon us. Time to move on.

We make our way through some more treacherous and tricky paths, sometimes crawling on our fours. Then we suddenly see a ray of sunlight. We follow the guide and the sunlight and find ourselves in a chamber – with a hole on the ceiling. That is our way out. I panic again. How am I supposed to climb up that hole? Sure there’s a rope hanging and a few stones arranged in a very precarious manner to give you support. But no way am I going to manage to climb that up.

A goes up first. I watch him carefully as he steadily, if not too comfortably, maneuvers his way up. The guide asks me to follow. I am still dilly-dallying - should I put my right foot first and then haul myself up or the left will make the climb easy. And then a bat lunges down upon me from nowhere and I scream as I feel its wet wings touch my skin. I have to get out of this place. I take a deep breath and with a prayer on my lips, just aim for the rope. A foot here, a step there – I haul myself up rather awkwardly and if I may say so, desperately – out of the situation. My mind is blank as I am doing this and all I can think of is trying to touch A’s hand. I reach it finally and A pulls me up. I breathe again.

Would I go for such cave explorations again? I surely will. Was it worth all the physical and emotional strain? Hell, yes! I have gone exploring caves twice after that in Thailand. Plan to do a few more in Borneo in the near future. Not for the faint hearted but definitely an experience of a lifetime. None of my other cave expeditions seemed as hard as this one, though. On the hindsight, it was fun. It was more an “Indiana Jones” adventure than a “Caped Crusader” escapade. A hidden trunk of treasure unearthed during the jaunt would have made it just perfect.

Let me tell you how this adventure ends. I take a deep breath as I straighten myself up on the surface of the earth. I take in the sunlight and the fresh air. I am all sweaty and dirty - my palms and knees are covered in bat poop and all kinds of slime. But I just can’t stop smiling. A gives his "I-told-you-so" smile and asks me how I feel. Ecstatic is an understatement to describe how I feel. The guide comes out and I look at him, bat my eyelids and say “Can we go again?”

Monkey Business

“How about witnessing the miraculous event of someone giving birth!” I say, as dramatically as I can. A chokes on his coffee.
“Or seeing some young ones running wild.” I add breezily. The colour has now drained out of his face and he has stopped breathing.
A looks at me suspiciously. Maybe, I have finally lost it. Or maybe, I am serious and it’s time to rein in all unnecessary expenses and start thinking about college funds.
I toy with the idea of torturing him for a little while. But I can feel his blood pressure rising – so I come to his rescue.
“I was only talking about our Merdaka weekend getaway, you fool. I have found this amazing island, in Sabah state…..” As I fill him in on my latest research, A starts smiling. A smile that means “Whatever you say. As long as I don’t have to see wild kids running around in my house!”

East Malaysia is the best part of Malaysia. Uninhabited islands, virgin rainforests, some of the world’s best diving sites – east Malaysia has everything that one looks for in a wildlife adventure. And in this pristine landscape, lies Selingan Island, one of a group of uninhabited islands situated between the Malaysian and Philippine boundaries lying within the Sulu Seas. This archipelago is the home to the Green and Hawksbill Turtles, who live in and around the water of the Sulu Seas and hatch their eggs on the white sands of these desolate landmasses. The three main nesting islands - Pulau Selingan, Pulau Bakkungan Kechil and Pulau Gulisan, covering an area of 1,740 hectares, are protected for the sole purpose of conservation and preservation of turtles and other marine animals inhabiting the area and are called The Turtle Islands Park or Pulau Penyu National Park. Pulau Selingan is the only island of these three that has a small resort, which accommodates guests who would like to see a turtle lay eggs.

Our journey starts from Sandakan – a small port town in the north eastern coast of Borneo. If the name sounds familiar, let me remind you of the TV series we used to watch late night in the black and white era of Doordarshan about a pirate named Sandokan who used to terrorize the jungles of Borneo. A series that made me fall in love with Kabir Bedi and a wild land called Malaya. Somerset Maugham came later in my life and cemented my wonder for the Malaya land. I always used to fantasize about the feral rainforests of Malaya. For many years, as a child, I have visualized myself exploring the Malaya jungles, à la Phantom style. Now that I am finally here, I consider it destiny. Before A panics again, let me clarify that I don’t intend to straddle a horse and roam wild in the jungles, though I would, if I could. But I do want to explore every nook and cranny of this wonderful land and compare notes with my mind's eye.

Back to reality, Sandakan is neither wild, nor unexplored – but a proper small town, with some really good sea food. And an airport, which is why it is the gateway to some of the wild adventures in Borneo. A night’s stop in Sandakan, we start early the morning after, for our destination – Pulau Selingan. About 3 hours of boat ride through the bluest water I have ever seen, we see the first speck of land in the horizon. I start feeling like Christopher Columbus. A starts feeling hungry.

We are off loaded in the white sands of Pulau Selingan soon - we, as in, the two of us, and 6 other couple. August being an off season in this part, we got lucky not to be straddled with 60 people, which is the maximum number of heads this island can accommodate. Okay, so we will not be able to witness up to 50 turtles coming ashore at night to lay eggs. But we were assured that we will definitely get to witness a couple, if the weather is nice.

And the weather is nice. We spend the rest of the morning getting wasted in the sun and the sand. We find our own private spot in the deserted beach and while A, now happily fed, snoozes, I go snorkeling. The island is surrounded by coral reefs and the moment I dive into the water, I am greeted by colours – of every hue and palette ever imaginable. It is like swimming in a vast aquarium – schools of fish – of all colours and shapes swim past me and along with me. A joins me soon and after splashing around for a while, goes away in search of some chilled beer. But me, I just can’t seem to have enough. I keep going back, enamored by the crystal clear blue and the scene it has to offer. By the time I am called back by an again-hungry A, I have a bad case of sun burn, but I feel like a mermaid.

The afternoon is spent snoozing and then later, catching the sun go down. One is not supposed to walk in the beach after sun down without a guide, so we make the most of the daylight available and explore the island. Apart from a basic resort, which accommodates visitors, there is a small restaurant, which doubles up as a visitor’s centre to give an idea about the Green Turtles that populate these parts of the ocean. Needless to say, the Green Turtles also fall in the list of endangered species. There is a hatchery where the eggs are collected from the beach and looked after till they hatch. There is a pier where we landed in the morning and then there is the vast expanse of pure white sand and azure blue waters. The island is so small that one can circumnavigate it in 30 minutes flat. We walk down the beach, taking in the sunset and looking for adventure. We spot a couple of geckos. We shoot pictures aimlessly, knowing that whatever we click, will come out looking magical. Such is the ambiance.

We have an early dinner and a tour through the gallery, to get some knowledge about these very vulnerable sea creatures. Green turtles are the largest of all the hard-shelled sea turtles. While hatchlings are just 2 inches long, adults can grow to more than 3 feet long and weigh around 160 kg. Adult green turtles are unique among sea turtles in that they are herbivorous, feeding primarily on sea grasses and algae. This diet is thought to give them greenish colored fat, from which they take their name. A green turtle's top shell is smooth and can be shades of black, gray, green, brown, and yellow.

They may sport a hard shell as an exterior but that plaster is not hard enough to protect themselves from a vicious species called the homo sapiens. As we humans have successfully demonstrated over the last 4.4 million years, no matter what species you are, if we humans find you, we will make sure you become extinct. The Sea Turtles have existed for over 100 million years but suddenly, they are struggling to survive because of things we humans are doing to the planet's oceans and beaches. Not only that, we hunt these turtles for their meat, for their oil to be used in cosmetic industries, for their skin to make bags and belts. If for nothing else, we run over these turtles with our fishing trawlers.

We wait in the dark while we ponder about the dark side of humanity. And we wait and wait for the Mother Turtle to come ashore to lay eggs. It being a clear moonless night, we gaze at the stars and hear the ocean lashing at the rocks. We don’t mind waiting. We exchange stories about our wild life and diving adventures, we discuss our future holidays with the fellow enthusiasts. I could have spent an eternity there, but then the Mother Turtle finally shows up.

The Ranger guides us through the rocks and takes us to where the action is. And there she is, a huge green turtle, nestled in the sands, laying her clutch. It is only safe for the ranger to invite visitors for the watch once the female has comfortably settled in motion; otherwise she may get scared and dump her clutch in the water on exit. We surround her and watch in awe as she goes through the motion. It is as if she is in a trance, oblivious of the human chain around her. She will lay around 100 – 110 eggs of which only 1% may survive to adulthood.


For us, it is an overwhelming experience – a scene we never have and will never experience ever. We show her the respect she deserves - we try and click pictures without using flash; we contain our excitements to ourselves and don’t create a racket; we don’t clamor over each other, but give up our space so that the others can also catch this ethereal sight. The entire session could well take up to 4 hours and after the process is over, she will rest a while and then head for her home in the ocean.

Meanwhile, the Rangers will collect the eggs, label them and bury them in a pit of the same depth, among the sands in the hatchery. A protective cylindrical wire meshing is placed around each pit so that when the hatchlings burst out from their nest in around 2 months’ time, they will be restricted in the area until the Rangers collect them in a basket to be released on the beach. Like the crocodiles, the sex of the hatchling is determined by the temperature of the nest. Essentially, the hotter the sand surrounding the nest, the faster the embryos will develop. Cooler sand has a tendency to produce more males, with warmer sand producing a higher ratio of females. Of the 100 eggs laid, only 5% will make it to the ocean and 1% will ultimately survive to adulthood. For turtles to achieve sexual maturity, it usually takes anywhere from 20 to 50 years and hence there is an urgent need to protect and ensure as many eggs hatch as possible.

After watching the action for a good one hour and wanting more, we are taken to the ocean, where a batch of newly hatched turtles are being set free. Tiny as they are, they struggle through the waves to head out for freedom. A few keep coming back, confused and dazed, not knowing what is expected of them. But finally, primal instinct takes over – the little ones scuttle towards the open sea. A few will die on the way, a few will fall prey to the birds. The ones who make it to the ocean will have to struggle to survive. But the ones that finally will prevail against all odds and attain adulthood will keep the cycle going. The females will swim miles to come back to the same place where they were born. And hatch eggs – to spawn a new cohort of sea turtles.

We leave the island the morning after and head for the mainland, ready for some monkey business. 25 km away from Sandakan, is the Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre. Started in 1964 and covering an area of 40 square km, it is one of only four orangutan sanctuaries in the world and one of Sabah's top tourist attractions. The centre deals with injured, orphaned and dislodged orangutans. Orangutans, which are exclusive to Malaysia and Indonesia, have been categorically hunted down by humans over the years to make them feature in the endangered species list. Just ten years ago the estimated population was around 27,000, today it could be as low as 15,000. At the Sepilok Centre, a dedicated group of environmentalist work hard to rescue and train these doomed apes – so that they can finally be freed to where they belong – the jungles of Borneo and Sumatra. Run by a British NGO called The Orangutan Appeal UK, with the help of the Wildlife Department of Sabah – this centre is doing a good job. It has so far, successfully rehabilitated around 80 orangutans to the wild.

We arrive just in time for lunch and position ourselves in the enclosure to watch in bewilderment as these almost human like apes come sweeping from trees and bush and sit themselves properly to have lunch.
The word "orangutan" comes from the Malay words "orang" (man) and "(h) utan" (forest); hence it means "man of the forest". Well, true to its etymon, in its mannerisms, an orangutan apes man. It’s the other way round, actually – since they came first and were somehow, somewhere related to our forefathers. According to a study, orangutans and not chimpanzees are the closest living relatives to humans. Humans share at least 28 unique physical characteristics with orangutans but only 2 with chimps and 7 with gorillas. Now that is some food for thought.

We walk through the centre, see the work that is being done here and are impressed. It needs a lot of compassion and devotion to dedicate oneself to a cause like this. The orphaned babies are reared by the staff as if they are their own. Once they are old enough, they are trained such that they become independent to find their own food and survive without any human contact. The babies are so sweet - almost like human babies - inquisitive, affectionate, hankering for attention. It breaks your heart to think that these vulnerable creatures are being persecuted by humans and kept captive or injured, for no fault of theirs. It dawns on you that we, the humans, are the beasts in reality – who for their own selfish motive are steadfastly destroying all that is good in this world.

We fall in love with one of babies and end up adopting him. His name is Sogo-Sogo and he will be 3 next March. This year, we have adopted another girl – Michelle, who is 7 months old. We are told that both are making good progress and Sogo-Sogo may soon be skilled enough to be set free in the wild.

So yes, we did end up having kids, as A had suspected before we started this sojourn. Ah well, what can I say - he's the wise one. It’s only that the kids don’t run wild in our backyard – but hopefully, will soon be running wild among the lush greens of the rain forest, living and surviving in the wilderness with dignity, as they justly deserve.

PS: If you want to adopt one, please visit www.orangutan-appeal.org.uk. It does not take much on your part, but does make a lot of difference for this conservation effort.

On the Rocks

As I sit here, sweltering in the heat and listening to Joplin crooning “Summer time and living is easy”, I try to do a projection technique on myself. You know that stuff where you concentrate enough to separate your mind from your body, making your conscious awareness travel 'out' of the body and be in anyplace you like. Well, I do that all the time. In common parlance it is called day dreaming. We, in the advertising business, who like to complicate simple things, use some fancy term like ‘couch travelling’. Whatever it is called, I have mastered it. Some mind-numbing never-ending meeting happening and I sit there with a smile on my face – my mind transported to some far far away land. A telling me about how Sachin uses a set square for his straight drives and I am at Lord’s, watching him in action. That happens to me a lot. Right now, my mind is hovering from the Himalayas to the Arctic Circle. Aha, now I see it settling down in the Nigard Glacier in the Jostedalen Valley in Norway. That was easy. The mercury has instantly scrambled down, the birds are chirping again and the world seems to be a pleasant place.

However, when I physically went there last summer, the journey was not that poetic.
First, I had to take the Flåm Railway from Oslo which starts quite early in the morning. Flåm Railway is supposedly one of the most scenic railway journeys in the world. I haven’t been to too many scenic railway journeys but this one surely tops my list. The journey takes place through twisting tunnels spiraling in and out of snow capped mountains, which are adorned with gushing waterfalls. An hour of ride, with the train stopping at the most picturesque sections, leaves you yearning for more.


So God grants your wish. You get off at Myrdal Station which is 865 metres above the sea level and the scene from the station is breathtaking. Then you change train and head for Flåm. In between the train stops at Kjosfoss waterfall, where there is a dilapidated fortress – ruins really - by the side of the gushing waterfall. As you stop by to click pictures and get drenched in the cascading waters, you suddenly hear a chant and then you see a mysterious figure swaying to the music above the waterfall, by the side of the ruins.

You stop in your tracks and try to grasp what’s happening. Where did this mystifying maiden with music come from? You are immediately transported back to the 18th Century – watching a nymphet trying to entice a handsome prince riding a black horse, passing her way. She disappears as suddenly as she had materialized. You are back to the reality – realizing the performance was for your pleasure only, a part of the experience called Flåm Railways. What’s more endearing is, nowhere in your research you did before the journey, was this part – this distant blue figure swaying to some ancient Nordic music - mentioned. You were expecting virgin nature, cascading waterfalls, winding tunnels – but this – no way. It takes you by surprise, bamboozles you and leaves you with goose bumps.

You arrive in Flåm to board the ferry that takes you through the alluring Sognefjord with unspoilt nature and dramatic scenery to appreciate. The ferry goes right up to Bergen, but people do get off on the way, to little villages with charming names like Balestrand and Lærdal and Årdal.

Our terminus is Balestrand, a sleepy hamlet with a population of 1850, overlooking snow peaked mountains on one side and the fjord on the other side. A few wooden houses here and there, the famous Kviknes Hotel, which is usually occupied by celebrities escaping paparazzi and multi billionaires with their yachts harbored at the pier, spending a quiet weekend, and a Stave church. You also find solitude – away from the civilization and the “Norway-in-a nutshell” crowd. We are booked at the Midtnes Hotel – a quaint bed and breakfast with a panorama-view of the Sognefjord. It is run by Mr. Jon Britt, who inherited the lodge from his father and who obviously takes immense pride for keeping such a breathtaking property.

Balestrand also happens to be one of the bases from which the Nigardsbreen arm of Jostedal Glacier is accessible. Jostedalsbreen or Jostedal Glacier is the biggest glacier in Europe, with a total area of 487 square km. The Jostedal is noted for its glacial "arms," sometimes called "tongues," which shoot out into valleys, flowing from the plateau glacier. The most famous of these glacial tongues is Nigardsbreen - a remnant of the ice sheet that covered Norway 10,000 years ago. And that’s where we are headed for a hike the day after.

Like I said, it is a strenuous journey. First we take a ferry from Balestrand to Hella. Then a bus takes us from Hella to Sogndal. From there, we change a bus to Breheimsenteret. There is a Glacier Museum at Breheimsenteret, where you take a brief tour to refresh your old geography lessons – how the Glaciers were formed and such things. Finally from Breheimsenteret, we get into the final leg of the journey – the glacier bus to Nigardsbreen. The tickets were all bought at Balestrand – and each leg of the journey is perfectly timed such that we have minimum layovers in between. The journey is not over yet. We arrive at the pier in Jostedal River, where we are introduced to our team mates and our guide and given boots and crampons and ice axes. There are two more couple in our team – so that makes six of us. Our guide is a 24 year old girl called Eva, who has the most enviable life I have ever heard. She is a teacher in Oslo, who spends 4 months of summer in Jostedal, working as a guide and trekking and climbing the glacier.

We are debriefed about the dos and don’ts and then hauled into a boat that takes us to the mouth of the glacier. During the debriefing, I keep on thinking “What the heck – all you have to do is walk with crampons tied to your boots and pitch the ice axe while climbing. C’mon, we are not ascending the Everest – get on with it!” More on that later.


The point where we disembark used to be the original glacier foot hills. However, thanks to global warming, from around 1934 the glacier started to retreat. We walk through some rough stony patches and cautiously approach the Nigardsbreen – a gigantic cascading white slope. It looks like a frozen river, stopped in its track. To think this massive chunk of ice has inhabited earth for tens and thousands of years makes you realise how insignificant we, human beings, are in the grand scheme of things.

We put on our gears, harness ourselves to each other and start the hike. Did I not tell you I was smirking when Eva was instructing us? Ah well, let me tell you – the smirk is gone, the knees begin to wobble and the boots, with the crampons, hang heavy on my feet. The first 5 minutes are a nightmare. I am out of my wits and out of my breath. I want to turn around and stop right then. To think I have to do this for the next 4 hours make me want to cry. I distinctly remember while planning for this adventure, I had double checked the level of intensity and it said moderate. To think that a moderate level of outdoor activity is making me sweat so much make me realise how woefully unfit I am. It is not that I am a couchaholic. I do try to maintain an active lifestyle with at least an hour of exercise 3-4 days a week. But when you are climbing ice, with boots and crampons adding 8-10 kilos to your body weight, with each step painstakingly taken such that the crampons dig into the ice, and also have to keep in mind to use the ice axe to haul yourself up over tricky terrains, you do find yourself at your wit’s end. But I chose to be here, doing just that and there is no turning back.

After the initial panic, however, once I get into the rhythm, I start enjoying the walk. Corn flower blue sky above and unending vistas of white ice sheet reflecting off the sunlight, giving it a silvery feel, bizarre and breathtaking formation of ice all around – the ambience and the experience is so divine that you transcend to a different spiritual level. The physical pain and discomfort doesnot matter anymore, you become one with the nature. My mind starts wandering again. This is how it must be feeling if you climb the Everest. Or go on an expedition to the Arctic. Maybe ten thousand times difficult – but somewhat similar. My mind does come back to my body every time I have to jump from one tip to the other, or crawl on my knees to get across a difficult ridge. But we do it – with a smile on our face and lots of courage in our hearts.



Eva proves to be great guide. She keeps on pushing and encouraging us, telling us stories about the glacier and the people of this part of the world and the puppy she had adopted. She stops when any one of us are short on breath or want to click pictures. She eggs us on and tells us about her adventures – the mountains she has climbed and the glaciers she has conquered.

We make it to our destination finally – which is only one third of the total length of Nigardsbreen. Those with braver hearts and stronger knees go further beyond – but for us mortals – the Blue Ice Walk ends here. We have our lunch, manage to smile while clicking pictures (A even manages to give me some James-Bondish poses with his ice axe), take in the beauty and the solitude around, breathe in the fresh air, touch the ice, replenish our sapping energy and reboot our system.

A 30 minutes stop later, the descent starts. And I now know why more mountaineers lose their lives while descending the Everest. Compared to the descent, the climb up was a cat walk. But we manage it none the less. We jump, we crawl, and we pull each other down. Finally after 4 grueling hours, our Blue Ice Walk concludes, without any major mishap. I am exhilarated but too exhausted to even do a victory dance.

The journey back seems never ending as our aching bodies are craving for the bed. When we reach Hella to take our ferry back to Balestrand, we are told that the ferry is cancelled since it had only 2 passengers – me & A. We look at each other in dismay and I start trying to figure out Plan B. But I have no Plan B. A looks at me with that ‘Ha-ha-the-perfect-travel-planner-has-finally-got-it-wrong’ look. The old man at the pier is on my side, though - he smiles at me kindly and assures me that I have nothing to worry – a taxi is waiting for us to take us back to Balestrand, all paid for, of course. The journey will be a bit longer than the ferry ride and he profusely apologizes for the inconvenience caused. I am wondering whether I should tell him that we come from a country where the public transport never takes off on time; if it is cancelled, you are on your own - forget apologies and explanations and refunds. I am too tired or too embarrassed to say all that and luckily that kind old man will never know anything about the juggernaut called The Great Indian Public Transportation System.

The next day is spent recovering from our heroic hike and exploring Balestrand. We laze around the pier and watch fishing boats go by. We take leisurely walks around the village, chasing the clouds that drift in and out and have beers at the local pub. We treat us to the gala buffet spread at the famous Kviknes Hotel, hoping to catch a glimpse of some celebrity. We are lucky that there are none. The buffet spread cost us quite a bit but we figure we deserved it. After all, you don’t climb a glacier everyday.

Balestrand - this little hamlet, tucked away in the heart of Sognefjord, will always feature way up on my list of favourite places. And the Glacier experience has somehow changed me. A has been trying to figure out since a year now what’s wrong with me - as if there wasn’t enough wrong with me to start with. When I talk about my aspiration to climb Mt. Kinabalu and then go on to other mountains like the Kilimanjaro perhaps, he gives me a bewildered look. But I really want to train myself to climb a mountain, and not in my couch traveler mode. I am a fitter person today than I was a year back. I know if I go back climbing today, I’d do so without any doubts about myself. I know if I am thrown any challenge, I will push myself to the limits and come out unscathed. Did I tell you I am training to run the marathon?

In search of Moby Dick - coordinates 69°19′N 16°08′E

It happened last summer. Many many moons ago. Or should I say many suns ago - in the land of the midnight sun.

I am one of those lucky blokes who get to plan one’s own birthday. I plan it such that I don’t have to blow out the candles on my birthday cake and be reminded, in the process, how old I have become. Or be woken up at 3 in the morning with a phone call from an aunt wishing me a happy birthday and thus ruining the sleep that I so need at this age. Or be stuck with gifts from friends and colleagues that suspiciously look recycled and will be subsequently recycled, as well.

We usually take our annual fortnightly holiday during end June - early July. My birthday being on the 1st of July, I get to choose where I want to spend it. Away from the madness, with my phone switched off. Last year, since I was officially losing the right to ever utter the words – ‘in my ‘early 30’s’, I thought to myself, what the heck, let me make it exciting. I chose to spend my birthday in the land of the midnight sun.

Norway has always fascinated me ever since I had read about the midnight sun and aurora borealis in my geography lessons. If I could manage an itinerary within our budget and make a pitch exciting enough to sell to A, why not give it a try? Once I started my research, I also started getting confused. Norway is such an incredible place – with so much to do – that it really boggles your mind. Should we go glacier climbing, do dog sledging, go kayaking or take a hike in the Norwegian woods? Also, there’s the budget to consider, the country being a bit expensive than the rest of Europe. It is also very spaced out, in all senses and one needs to plan out the journey very meticulously. From point A to point B, there may not be an easy route. I turned to my travel forum buddies, I did extensive research, asked questions, read up everything I could get my hands and eyes on. Planning the itinerary for Norway was, perhaps, my most challenging one so far. Just to let you know, I did such a good job that I have been patting my back ever since.

Back to the birthday celebration, since I was already beginning to feel old, I thought I’d keep aside the physically challenging activities for the time being and go for a more relaxed itinerary. Like watching the whales in action while enjoying the midnight sun. That sounded ideal for my old bones.

There is this tiny fishing village north of Norway – 300 km north of the Arctic Circle – called Andenes, off the Lofoten Islands, which is supposedly the best place in the whole world to go whale watching. That’s what my travel forum buddies said – and I believe them. So what if it took us almost half a day to reach Andenes from Stockholm, via Oslo and Tromsø. So what if the flight from Oslo to Tromsø got cancelled and we were put on another flight, which made it just in time to enable us to catch the tiny twin-piston airplane that took us to Andenes. So what if there were only 10 people headed to Andenes. The journey itself was an adventure and when you are on the other side of 30’s, you need all the excitement that you can get.

A few words about Lofoten Islands and the whales in the Arctic Ocean. The Lofoten Islands are a chain of islands above the Arctic Circle in the Arctic Ocean. The waters of the Arctic Ocean here are the ideal ground for watching whales. The continental shelf drops to depths of 3,000 feet near these islands and massive Sperm Whales can be found in these nutrient-rich deep waters between May and September. The Sperm Whales found here is a bachelor's society - all male. The females remain in warmer seas further south, around the Azores and Canary Islands, with their young ones while the males swim out to the colder waters up north during summer to chill out and do some male bonding. Much like the males in human species chilling out during summer months with their buddies over some cold beers. The Lofoten Islands have always been a prime hunting ground for Norwegian whalers. However, these days, cameras are replacing harpoons. And that’s where we were going to be for my birthday.

As for Andenes, the moment we landed in this almost empty, tiny airport, we knew we were about to experience something novel. Away from the civilization, in a world of its own, Andenes is a petite fishing port with a population of 4,200. You can imagine how quiet it is. As for the backdrop, I don’t think I can do justice to it with my limited vocabulary. Red, blue and green wooden houses stacked together, the endless horizon of the Arctic waters and a red lighthouse. Stuff dreams are made of.

Or stuff eerie movies are made of. We reached quite late in the evening – around 8-ish. The sun does not go down the horizon above the Arctic Circle during the summer months, so though it was sunny, there was not a soul in the street, it being so late in the night. It was cold, it was windy and there were sea gulls swooping above our heads, welcoming us to the land of the midnight sun. It was a scene straight from some horror movie where a couple arrives in a small ghost town, to be eventually hacked to death. I, being the braver of the two, with a penchant for everything that’s weird and surreal, absolutely loved the setting.

We had booked ourselves at Groennbua, which was formally a rorbu or fisherman's quarter, now turned into a bed and breakfast. Since it was late in the night and my birthday eve, we decided to try out the restaurant attached to our B&B. Okay, here, I have a confession to make. I did something that I am not proud of and till today, can’t get over. I tried whale meat. To my defense, my research on Norway said Norway's whaling is limited to the non-endangered Minke whale. But I know, I know, that’s no excuse. In the debate between my left and right brain over whether to experience whale meat, my taste buds won. Hey, don't judge me, I am only human - that too, one who loves her food.

We will skip the dinner bit and go straight over to the next day – my birthday. We woke up to a gloomy cloudy day. By the time the breakfast was over, it started to pour. At the Whale Centre, which is a part of the Whale and Dolphin Conservation Society, we were told that due to the rough weather and choppy sea, the tour may not happen. We had already booked our tour through the internet and we were flying back to Oslo the next day. So it was today or never. I knew it was bad karma – God was punishing us for eating whale steak the night before. I cursed A for inciting me to try it out and I cursed the Rain God for deciding to show off his power, today of all days. To while away the idle hours while it rained incessantly, we took a tour of the Whale Centre and learnt about different species of whales.


The Sperm Whale lives up to 80 years and a male grows up to 20 meters and weighs up to 75 tonnes while a female is 12 meters long and weighs around 20 tonnes. It has the largest brain in any animal - the brain weighing about 9 kg. It feeds on giant squid and fish. The name comes from the milky-white waxy substance, spermaceti, found in the animal's head, which looks like, you guessed it, semen. As a result of whaling, the Sperm Whale is currently listed as vulnerable by the International Union for Conservation of Nature. Sperm Whales, along with Bottlenose Whales and Elephant Seals, are the deepest-diving mammals. Sperm whales can dive up to 1,300 ft and stay submerged for 35-45 minutes without breathing. Between dives, it surfaces to breathe for about 8-10 minutes. That’s when you get to see it.

The morning excursion was definitely cancelled. We were asked to come back around noon to enquire if the afternoon excursion was happening. We went around the village and had lunch. This time, however, I made sure I was nowhere near whale steaks. I cribbed the whole time and sulked and vowed never to touch meat, if only I get to watch the Sperm Whales in action. The rain, meanwhile, had calmed down a bit. We returned to the Whale Centre at the stipulated time and were told, though the sea was choppy, we would, after all, have our adventure.

And off we went. With our old bones shaking in the cold, we got onto the catamaran waiting for us in the harbour. The excursion is conducted by biologists who have been researching on these mysterious animals for years. I got talking to one of them, trying to figure out if there’s any way I could join the group as a volunteer. Looking at my shaking hands and hearing my chattering teeth, she said one needs to be a scientist in order to do so. I didn’t quite believe her – if they are into whale conservation, surely they need people to block whaling ships and protest against commercial whaling. Something I am a pro at. I have a doubt she had seen me savoring the whale steak the night before – she didn’t take me seriously.

It was cold. It was drizzling. An hour into the sea seemed like a lifetime. The journey was made exciting by some fellow passengers falling sea sick. It was so cold that I couldn’t even click pictures – my camera didn’t have an 'anti-shake mode'. I am not sure, but the temperature must have been 1°C - it was so cold. After what seemed like an eternity, albeit an exciting one, we reached the part of the sea where the whales are usually found. The whales are tracked through sonar system attached to the catamaran – it picks up signals if a whale is around and gives the coordinates. We were told that there were a couple of whales around and we had to wait for them to surface. Everyone grew quiet and looked around in anticipation. The shaking and chattering stopped – calm descended onboard.

And suddenly there it was. The majestic Sperm Whale. Our Moby Dick. First we saw the head, which forms one-third of its body length, surface slowly. After a minute or two, a sudden burst of water spouted from the blow hole. The spouting continued for a while. And then the grand finale – the tail up in the air as the whale slowly headed out to the depths of the ocean, as if it had had enough of us.








What a sight! You catch your breath and gasp when it spouts; you applause instinctively when it makes that final dive. We caught 3 more in action after that – each one more grandiose than the one before. Each gave us around 10 minutes of demonstration – but it was worth all the cold, all the rain, all the wait – it was truly an experience never to be forgotten.

The weather had cleared up by then and we followed a flock of sea gulls who guided us back to the fishing harbour in Andenes. I could have stayed in that water for ever – damn the cold. We were headed to Oslo the next day and from there to another remote part of Norway to do some glacier climbing. We were tired from a long day in the cold sea – but still spent the last evening basking in the midnight sun, exploring the nooks and crannies of this picturesque village. A quaint church, an old lighthouse, a tiny grocery shop, a local pub – that is all that is there to this village. And the midnight sun - it is almost dreamlike, surreal. A perfect birthday spent in the most amazing way.


I would recommend Andenes to anyone going up north in the Viking country. There are whale watching trips leaving from Tromsø as well – Tromsø, being a bigger town, compared to Andenes, and more accessible. But if you are a bit crazy like me, and would rather be away from the usual tourist hangouts and don’t mind being the only alien in the local pub and be ready to brave a 30 minutes flight in a wobbly twin-piston aircraft, Andenes it is for you. It’s not that out-of-the-way either – budget airline Widerøe flies from Tromsø and Bodø on certain days of the week to Andenes and if you plan well and plan ahead, you do get good deals.

I will go back to Andenes again someday – for the Aurora Borealis. Andenes sits directly below the aurora oval; the northern lights are visible here most winter nights. What a sight that would be! Maybe, I should plan that for our anniversary, which falls in January. But knowing A – who hates cold, it may be a very difficult sales pitch. I can already visualize his frosty stares. And lately I have been hauling him to all cold places – something, I have a doubt, he’s not too happy about.

And then there’s another Andenes I want to visit, this one with coordinates 13°09′S 72°32′W. The Andenes in the Sacred Valley in Perú. Another place steeped with mystery that has enticed me for years now. Here, andenes mean terraces dug into the slopes of mountains for agricultural purposes in the Andean Mountain between Perú and Bolivia. The itinerary is all ready – I just need to match the dates.

Post Script: I have not given up eating meat. I, however, have given up eating sushi and sashimi. That happened after I watched this documentary called ‘The Cove’ two months back. The only deserving Oscar winner this year, I think everyone should watch this film. The film describes the annual killing of dolphins in a National Park at Taiji, Wakayama, in Japan and tries to create awareness about this annual practice, which the Japanese government justifies as a part of their culture. Watch it and you will never visit a Sushi King or a SeaWorld ever again.

In the Hot Pot

Immigration Officer: Come to China…wein?
Me: Just now. I just landed.
IO: No no….weil?
Me: Oh – I will be here only, not going anywhere else. Will go back to Kuala Lumpur after 4 days.
IO: No no…pleeeeeeeeeese to tell me….wei, wei.
Me: Pardon?
IO:(holding up my passport): Indiea….wei sei Paddo?
Me: Oh…why? Well, on a holiday – a short break.
IO: Wei?

The conversation continues….

This is usually the scene every time I arrive in China. While all other foreign tourists, including A, are cleared by immigration in 13 seconds flat, I am always interrogated for 13 minutes. It happened to me in Hangzhou. It happened to me in Hong Kong. A says I must have a “Save Tibet” beeper installed in me some where; hence I get caught every time. In Hong Kong, which is one of those few countries where an Indian Passport holder is privileged enough to get off the plane and walk into the country without a visa or immigration control, I was spotted and stopped and questioned for a good 20 minutes. The fact that it was the week when the Olympic torch was passing through Hong Kong and that Mia Farrow had just been denied entry in Hong Kong and that I was secretly planning to join any demonstration I could find while I was there to douse the Olympic torch to mark my protest, is a different story.

So this time I have a strategy to fool the immigration officials into thinking that I love China. And I could see it failing already. The flight to Chengdu is 2.5 hours late. I am slowly but surely losing my patience. I am hungry and grumpy. To keep me in spirits, while A takes his customary nap in the flight, I keep Groucho Marx for company. When we land at 12.30 am in a cold, windy Chengdu, I have Mr. Groucho himself for company. I can’t blame him. The poor guy had to have flight food for dinner instead of the steaming hot pot he had been dreaming of for the last two weeks. But that did not deter me. I put my strategy to action. I keep thinking of succulent butter pork and scrummy siew yok and luscious char siew and piquant pan mee. That does the trick. I have this look of content and absolute bliss plastered all over my face – my immigration clearing takes 10 seconds. Mr. Groucho, however, takes 15 minutes to clear immigration this time.

Why then, you ask me, I keep going back to China. The food is mind blowing, to start with. And the people, contrary to the popular belief, are really friendly. They don’t understand your language, but they are willing to help you out. They are always smiling, willing to get photographed and are generally very curious when they see an Indian couple walking down the streets. Then there’s the culture bit – in spite of the Cultural Revolution. There’s so much of history in that country, like India. And unlike India, it’s clean and organized. Trains run on time, roads are spotlessly clean (the same could not be said about the air though).


To get back to this China trip, we had some 3 days of leave carried forward from last year. How I don’t know. Signs that we are not travelling enough. A, please take note. Any way, since those 3 days had to be used up by March or else forgone, we decided on Chengdu. The land of Giant Pandas and Giant Buddha. And Sichuan hot pot. And also because the Air Asia tickets were a real deal when we booked them 5 months back. And I got this terrific bargain at Traffic Inn over the internet. It is located right at the heart of things, has a clean bed, en suite bathroom, a warm shower and an English speaking staff. Just the things we look for when we travel. All for RMB 120 per night.

It would be a rushed trip, yes – but we don’t mind rushing through, do we? This is what I keep telling myself when I get up at 6 next morning, all groggy eyed and cold and hungry, after some 4 hours of sleep. And it is cold. The temperature hovered between 5°C to 15°C while we were there in Chengdu and as always, though we had carried warm clothes, it was not enough. Lesson learnt – if you ever travel to China during spring or autumn, treat it as winter and carry your heaviest jacket.

A warm shower made sure I was fully awake. A hurried breakfast of toast and eggs and we get into the van waiting for us to take us to the Panda Breeding and Research Centre. The fact that the Chinese have undertaken the task to save an endangered species is a miracle on its own. The fact that one of the world’s most endangered species is from China is not so surprising, though. There is an old saying “The Chinese eat everything that has four legs, except for a table and everything that flies, except for an aero plane”. The Giant Panda also has four legs – and I am sure a couple of them were barbequed by some enterprising Chinese many B.Cs ago. They must have not tasted that great – hence they are still around.

The Giant Panda is native to central-western and south western China. Due to farming, deforestation, and other developments in the name of civilization, the Giant Panda has been driven out of the lowland areas where it once lived. And although it belongs to the order Carnivore, the Giant Panda's diet is 99% bamboo. It also eats fruits. So basically, because of its priorities in life – which is to eat and sleep the whole day, it is getting extinct. An adult Panda weighs up to 150 kgs and eats up to 14 kgs of bamboo shoots on a daily basis.

Though it’s not ideal for any wild animal to live in captivity, given the fact that the population is dwindling to less than 2,500 mature in the wild, may be it is a good thing to keep a few of them in captivity to facilitate breeding. It also gives an opportunity to people like us, who would never go to a zoo and could never climb the remote mountains of Sichuan to catch a glimpse of the elusive Giant Panda, to observe them from close quarters. Not much to observe, though – because all it does is eat shoots and leaves. But it is such an endearing sight that you don’t get bored. And you pray that this docile, cute Giant stays around for your great great grandchildren to see and admire. And not become a mythical creature like a dragon is or a tiger is soon going to be.

A morning with the Giant Pandas is enough to get our spirits soaring. A hurried lunch of spicy sausages and buns at the bus stop, right next to our Hostel (hot pot given a miss again), we team up with this Austrian girl from Singapore who is staying with us at the same hostel, to board a bus to see the Giant Buddha at Leshan. Our guide from the Panda tour, a Chinese girl with the English name of Loretta, helps us get the tickets for Leshan from Xinnanmen Tourist bus station. It costs us RMB 52 each.

A 2 hour bus ride later, where we caught up on our sleep, we find ourselves at the entrance of the Giant Buddha complex. We buy the entrance ticket of RMB 150 each, and start our adventure. The entire complex is so picturesque and surreal that it reminds me of all those Chinese movies I have watched with flying monks. The rain only adds to the mysticism. We walk up the mountain and down, get lost, follow several other group tours and consult our LP, show pictures taken to make people understand where we come from and where we want to go to – and finally we get to see the head of the Giant Buddha.

And giant it is. It is the largest carved stone Buddha in the world and at the time of its construction, was the tallest statue in the world. The statue is 233 feet tall and it depicts a seated Maitreya Buddha with his hands resting on his knees. His shoulders are 28 meters wide and his smallest toenail is large enough to easily accommodate a seated person. And it is old. The construction started in 713, led by a Chinese monk named Haithong, and was completed by Haitong's disciples in 803. It is an UNESCO World Heritage Site and the Chinese Government has undertaken the task of restoration of the Giant Buddha.


We start from the head and tentatively make our way down the narrow steps. It’s raining, it’s cold and it’s teaming with people, stopping every 2 seconds to take a picture with the Buddha. By the time we get down to the feet of the Buddha, I have wobbly knees but I am thankful that I have not slipped or fallen down (as A says, I am a bit unbalanced and most of the time, even in dry surface, find myself pulled down by gravity).

The customary pics taken, we make our way back to where we came from. We walk up and down again, admiring the scenic surroundings, taking pictures, following the tour groups, getting lost, showing pictures to make people understand where we came from and where we want to go to and finally find ourselves at the entrance of a fishing village. We try sign language to make the few curious men, who have gathered around two Indians and one Austrian, understand that we are looking for a bus to take us to Chengdu. They find a guy who speaks a few words of English and after much bargaining, we strike a deal of RMB 45 each to take us back to Chengdu. 1 hour and a bowl of hot egg noodles later, we find ourselves driven by a van from point A to point B to point C and finally put onboard a bus. Even 2 hours later, we find ourselves at a bus stand in Chengdu where we are not supposed to be dropped off. We again find a man who speaks a few words of English and decide to share a cab ride with him to Xinnanmen Tourist bus station, which is some 100 meters away from our hostel.

It is only 8:30 in the evening and we are not tired. So we decide to try out Jinli Street or Jinli Gu Jie, as it is locally known. It is an ancient street, done up in traditional Chinese way, with shops and food stalls catering to locals and tourists alike. There’s one such street in every Chinese city, I guess.


A walk around these ‘ancient streets’ is as interesting for the architecture as it is for the opportunity to just mingle with local Chinese and get a taste of traditional street food. We drift from stall to stall, taking in the aroma and colours and textures of the food on display. Most of the time, we do not know what we are eating – but we go by our maxim, coined by the great food columnist, culinary expert and host of the travel show “Bizarre Food”, Andrew Zimmern, which is “if it looks good, eat it.” Our new friend looks at us with much awe and apprehension as we try out pig ears and pig snouts and other such weird fares.


Sichuan cuisine is known for its spices, liberal use of garlic and chili peppers, as well as the unique flavour of the Sichuan peppercorn. As if that is not enough, there is a bowl of chili powder kept aside in every stall, to be dusted on your food, according to your palette. A, being a hard core hot person, takes generous helping of the free chili powder on offer. The locals look at him with admiration, while I look at him with trepidation – I do not want an upset tummy to ruin our next 2 days of stay. My fears are, luckily, unfounded.

A 5 o’ clock wake up call and we have another long day lined up. Today is going to be the Dujiangyan Irrigation Project and Mount Qingcheng. It is cold, to say the least. By the time we reach the Dujiangyan Irrigation Project and realize that we have been grouped with a Chinese party, with a Chinese guide who speaks only 2 words of English – yes and no – we are livid. But there is little we can do by then. So the alternative is to form our own group – the two of us, our Austrian friend and two elderly Korean gentlemen who are more comfortable with English than with Mandarin – and find an English speaking guide. We find one – for RMB 20 per person. And thank God we do. Otherwise the entire trip would have been a complete let down. There’s so much history behind the sites that we are about to see that without a proper explanation and context, it would be just a walk around in the park. While we are negotiating with our guide, A goes looking for breakfast. He’s back with sausages, covered with peppercorn. His eyes are set on some red spicy noodles he has spotted, but he has to give it a miss as our group is waiting for him. I wish we could explore on our own but when you are in a country like China, it makes sense to take a guide to take you around. Otherwise, you can feel completely lost.


Construction of the Dujiangyan irrigation system began in the 3rd century B.C and this ancient water management system has survived till the present day. This system still controls the waters of the Minjiang River and distributes it to the fertile farmland of the Chengdu plains. The provincial Qin governor Li Bing set up this irrigation scheme to counter the devastating flooding caused by the Min River. His system makes subtle use of the local topography. It splits the Min into an inner flow for irrigation and an outer channel for flood control. The original system has been preserved, but modern building materials and technology have been utilized to enable this ancient system to conform to the requirements of the present day. The South Bridge, a main landscape at the Dujiangyan Scenic Area, was seriously damaged in the May 12th, 2008 Earthquake and restoration work is still being carried out. The dam, however, was left unharmed – otherwise, it would have added to the disaster.

Next on the list is an organized lunch which consists of bean curds and vegetables and makes A even more livid. I am happy that he got to have those spicy noodles from the road side stall on a brief stopover en route – otherwise I could see a few flying daggers and some airborne Chinese – my Kungfu Panda gets violent when he is denied his food.

The climb to Mount Qing Cheng starts at the old town of Qin An. Mount Qing Cheng is one of the most famous Taoist mountains in China. The mountain, which is surrounded by numerous peaks and is shaped like a city, is dubbed 'the most peaceful and secluded mountain under heaven' and combines perfectly with its evergreen scenery. In 21st Century, the scenic beauty remains unaltered but peace, like any other place on planet earth, has definitely departed. There are trails – abrupt and arduous – that does little to dissuade the bus load of tourists who arrive everyday to climb the mountain. We make most of the 3 hours that are given to explore the area and we climb as high as the Tianshi Cave. But there are just too much of noise around, too many people around to enjoy the nature.

We get back to Chengdu at around 7 and have a quick espresso – for the evening is already lined up. We get into the waiting van that takes us to watch the famous Sichuan Opera. Sichuan Opera (Chuan Ju) originated at the end of the Ming (1368-1644) and the beginning of the Qing Dynasty (1644-1911). With immigrants flooding into Sichuan, different dramas were brought in to blend with the local dialect, customs, folk music and dances. Today it is famous for its varied performances, such as Bianlian (Changing faces), Gundeng (Rolling lamps) and Tuhuo (Spitting fire). The 1.5 hours show is not to be missed if you are in Chengdu. It is worth the RMB 100 you pay for your ticket.

After the show, armed with the chit that has the name of a restaurant serving hot pot frequented by the locals, we head out on our mission to finally taste the famous "má là" hot pot.

Here’s a little history about hot pot that I have dug out of the internet.
‘The Chinese hot pot boasts a history of more than 1000 years. While often called "Mongolian hot pot", it is unclear if the dish actually originates in Mongolia. Mongol warriors had been known to cook with their helmets, which they used to boil food. Hot pot cooking seems to have spread to northern China during the Tang Dynasty (A.D. 618-906). In time, regional variations developed with different ingredients such as seafood. By the Qing Dynasty, the hot pot became popular throughout most of China.
One of the most famous variations is the Sichuan "má là" (Chinese: 麻辣 — "numb and spicy") hot pot, to which a special spice known as huā jiāo (Chinese: 花椒 — "flower pepper" or Sichuan Pepper) is added. It creates a sensation on the tongue that is both spicy and burns and numbs slightly, almost like carbonated beverages. It was usual to use a variety of different meats as well as sliced mutton fillet. A Sichuan hotpot is markedly different from the types eaten in other parts of China. Quite often the differences lie in the meats used, the type of soup base, and the sauces and condiments used to flavor the meat.’

We pick our meat and ask for the soup. They get us a white base with veggies floating - the one that's meant for tourists and kids. We look at them in disbelief. We point at the red soup steaming in the next table and ask for the same. Now they stare at us in disbelief. After a few minutes of 'are-you-kidding-me' looks from either side, they give up. And get us the real thing.

Spicy it definitely is - and hot as well. But the heat is more from the spices than the chilies and hence bearable. I was envisaging scenes of me breathing fire, with tears welled up in my eyes – but the hot pot turns out to be not as scary as it is made out to be. But then again, we eat hot and spicy food all the time – so maybe, our taste buds are ready for any challenge.

A peaceful night of resting, after having finally tasted the hot pot, we get out of our room at around 9 am. Our destination for the morning is the Tibetan quarter of Chengdu. Chengdu is adjacent to the Tibetan Autonomous Prefectures (TAPs) of Kardze and Ngaba, which form the easternmost parts of the Tibetan areas known traditionally to Tibetans as Kham and Amdo. Hence a lot of immigration has happened in Chengdu from Tibet and a little neighborhood with Tibetan shops and eateries thrive in the heart of Chengdu today. We have our breakfast of hot momos in a small shop, with a Tibetan lama as our fellow diner.


We walk up and down Ximianqiao Heng Jie and Wuhouci Heng Jie, watching the young lamas and budhhist monks, clicking pictures and exploring the shops. This is the closest to Tibet I will probably ever get (knowing my stance about China’s stand in Tibet and my interaction with the immigration officials so far) – but this is definitely not the Tibet I have visualized. May be, this is the Chinese Tibet – the real Tibet is still the Shangri la I have read about and I believe it to be.

As I catch my plane late in the afternoon that day, my mind has already started working on the next itinerary. If I can manage a week’s leave, then we can fly to Chengdu and from there to Lhasa. And do the holy lakes. And visit the only paradise that hopefully still exists on earth. Maybe it won’t be that tough to get a permit. I could think of many more Chinese delicacies to fool the Chinese authority. The roast pig snouts and pig ears just got added to the list.