An Italian Dhaba in Catalunya

Sant Cougat.

There is really no reason for me to know this leafy, affluent suburb of Barcelona located about 20km north of the city, but for the fact that a dear friend lives there. Having run an errand nearby, we were wondering where to get dinner.

"There is a very small Italian place nearby", he said. "They are very good but they don't take credit cards". We called to check if they could seat us and went over.

Small was a good way to put it. In India we would call it a dhaba (a roadside restaurant typically serving truckers). Built in the garage of a house, it had 4 tables with 20 chairs and we had no idea what we would get to eat.

The owner came in and asked us if there was something we did not like. "No vongole please", the wife said. The only thing close to that was anchovy paste that he could skip in one of the dishes. We said that was fine.

And so the trip down Italy began. We quickly had six starters on the table to share. There was burrata with tomatoes, soft cheese and a tomato/olive ragout on one plate. On th other was aubergine, white fava beans and orichietti. Each item was magnificent, especially the fava and the orichietti. Vittorio left some truffle salt and some vinegar salt (interesting!) on the table just in case!

Have you ever heard of the movie Amarcord? Well we had, but not the beer! Dark and delicious, it was a great way to launch the meal!

What followed was three pasta courses - bolognese bianco, aubergine lasagna and boar sausage. I thought the lasagna was too tomato-ey, but these were all small sharing portions and we polished them off quickly!

A copa di vino and espresso rounded off the meal, and we went home satisfied!

P.S. The meal for three including drinks and tips set us back Eur 100.

Fish and chips - NOT!

There is a parallel universe that I live in - the London food blog universe. Thanks to the Swindian and her band of followers, I often indulge in the vicarious pleasures of "great British food", a phrase that not so long ago was considered an oxymoron.

So the opportunity to dine with her Monday night at the top rated Michelin starred seafood restaurant Angler was the perfect way to travel into this parallel universe and enjoy an evening of fine dining while preserving the Swindian's vegetarian month and my own (recently initiated) meatless Monday.

A series of pleasant surprises set the tone to the evening - free bubbly to start with, special tasting menu at the same price as the regular menu and top quality wine at the Monday discount of 50%!

There were a couple of items in addition to the menu and our request to include an octopus course was acquiesced to without hesitation. We did not regret this request one bit! In fact, as we went through the courses and were asked what we thought of them, we got tired of saying "excellent" and asked our waiter Niño to pass on a blanket message of satisfaction to the chef!

Having said that, the main course of monkfish was a tad bland to the taste and the soup at the bottom too salty, making it the only dish where both the Swindian and I raised an eyebrow.

Yes, this is an expensive restaurant and is unlikely to create any consumer surplus, but it's an indulgence I thoroughly recommend.

Ashok Unplugged

Saturday 09.30 AM

Boarding call. Swipe to set the phone on airplane mode. Have already called home to say that my phone would be switched off and that I would find my way home - no need for a ride or anything - and had given an ETA estimate.

Touchdown. Zurich airport. Reached for the phone. Swiped upwards from the bottom of the screen to turn off airplane mode.

Stopped. Rolling to the airport building. Get off. Need to check when the next train home is and buy a ticket. Go to the SBB app.

Oops. It doesn't work on airplane mode! Search for the blue signboard with train timings. Ah. Have enough time. Queue up (impatiently - typisch schwyzer) behind tourists at a ticket machine and buy a paper ticket using real plastic.

All set and on the train. Grab my iPad to continue reading Krishna Key. Yes, dear reader, it's on airplane mode as well. Nice mild day so the walk home from the train station was no hardship.

You know, this was surprisingly easier than I had imagined.

Perhaps because it was Saturday. The Swiss tend not to make spontaneous calls.

Perhaps because I had dealt with the work email before I left the hotel in the morning. No nagging thoughts of missing something.

Perhaps because I just lazed around home for the day watching TV and reading. Alright, there were a couple of occasions when I reached for the phone wanting to look up a character on screen. Settled back when I did not find the phone next to me.

Oh, the phantom vibration - like a missing limb feeling itchy. It happened. Left back jeans pocket.

Remembered at one stage that I hadn't checked in for my Sunday flight. Ignored the temptation.

Moulu had said she would call, and I had said : try home phone. It didn't ring.

No phone on my bedside table to check the time at night. Replaced by the Omega.

Sunday morning. Wake up. Get outa bed. Drag a comb across my head - not :)

Set aside clothes for next trip. Breakfast. Call mother using landline. Gym.

10 AM. Turned off airplane mode. All is well.

Confessions:

1. Had the iMac turned on since we need it to watch Apple TV.
2. This blog written on the iPhone but while in airplane mode.

Wer hat Wasser?

Who ordered the water?

As the keen Swiss-o-phile knows, this country is well renowned for its tourism, hotels and hospitality. Young men and women come from all over the world and join their Swiss compatriots in learning about the hospitality trade in schools in Chur, Luzern, Lausanne and possibly other places.

What may be less known is that Swiss dining is equally high quality and it's pretty hard to find bad food in this country. Whether it's a Döner from a shop or a sit down meal, food is always wholesome and tasty.

Service on the other hand - ah well, let's just say that it depends. It varies. It can be unpredictable. Like most of Europe, service charges or tips are included in the price, and arguably this gives little incentive to the service staff to go above and beyond a minimum standard to please the customer. There is the practice of "trinkgeld" where the customer leaves some coins on the table but I think this is mostly a reflex rather then a decision based on the service received.

Honestly, I have nothing against this custom. What upsets me is the way the whole drama unfolds in most restaurant (top end fine dining excepted) when you place your order. I have become accustomed to it, even though it annoys me. But this past week I was upset enough to take fingers to keyboard.

This is how it usually goes, translating from Schwiizer Tüütsch. It's a true lunchtime incident in a reasonably high end Chinese restaurant in downtown Zurich, but is representative. We are a party of 8. Business lunch.

"Greetings, all together!" (goes the waiter/waitress)
"Greetings!"
Menus are handed over.
"What can I get you to drink?"
"Give us a minute please"
Exit waitress, and back in a few (or many) minutes.
"So, what would you like to drink?"
"We are ready to order our food"
"Ja, but what would you like to drink first?"

So we order drinks. Then we start to order the food only to find that the waitress has disappeared.
She re-emerges 10 minutes later with the drinks.
"Who ordered the ice tea?"
Three of us raise hands.
"Who ordered the water with carbon dioxide?"
Three more.
The last two get the "water without"
"So what would you like to eat?"
We order our meals. There is a mix of Menu 1, Menu 2, Menu 3 and some a la carte dishes. She goes around the table one by one and writes down the orders.

15 or so minutes later, she and a waiter are back with the food.
"Who has Menu 1?"
One hand raised.
"Who has dimsums?"

Do I need to go on?

She did write the orders for our large group in a logical way - going clockwise around the table. Why then could she not follow the same simple logic in delivering the orders? Some of us were chatting and did not see the order come in or hear her - these people had to be poked in the ribs or otherwise disturbed to concentrate on the task at hand. Which was? Raising your hand like a student in a classroom to repeat what it was that you ordered. We all have to hear one more time - loudly - what the others have ordered.

This is nuts, and not unique to a large group. The same thing would happen if there were just two of us. I have not tested it when dining alone, simply because I never dine alone in a restaurant.

This is the way they must be trained at these elite institutes in Switzerland. It's the same in all restaurants. Why oh why can they not lose this annoying custom? I suppose that, in following Swiss custom, change is not welcome.

P.S. : By now, the keen reader must also have discerned that water is not automatic at a Swiss restaurant

The Siege

Tears threatened to fill my eyes. My throat constricted. More than once.

I had just finished reading the book "The Siege", a link to it's Wikipedia page is here.

Shangrila hotel in Pudong, China is where I had switched on the TV on the evening of November 26, 2008 and watched the attack on the Taj in horror. All other thoughts were replaced by sheer incredulity - how could this happen? Crime is not unknown in Mumbai and neither are bombings, but a group of men walking around with guns just shooting down people? In South Bombay? Never.

I had spent the first three years of my life living in that area (not that I remember much!) and visited frequently before returning to work in the city in 1982. The memories of living in Badhwar Park for four years are indelible as was my life in and around South Bombay.

So many memories. Movies at Regal. Shopping on Colaba Causeway. Beer at Gokul, even on dry days when it was served in steel tumblers. Singdana and masala papad. Bade Miyan's kababs. Chicken Malai Tikka at Santoor. I could go on endlessly.

As a young couple, we often visited the Taj Coffee Shop (Shamiana) and strolled around the Gateway of India. Visiting the Sea Lounge was a special treat, as was dining at Golden Dragon. The Oberoi coffee shop was where we discussed Charu's wedding and were surprised to see our photo in the Times of India the next morning!

Having moved away from India for close on 30 years now and not visiting South Bombay often enough had dulled some of my memories, but everything came back as I raced through this book. I could visualize the places described in the book with vivid emotion. The book's focus is on the events that occured at the Taj while touching on (but not detailing) the attacks on Leopold Cafe, Bombay VT, The Oberoi and Chabad House. Thank God they were stopped before they got to Malabar Hill.

To be brief, Levy and Scott-Clerk have written a masterpiece. This is a racy action thriller which is non-fiction. It feels for the people who were involved in this tragedy and made me a part of their stories. It is based on deep research and conversations with many of the people who were affected. It is a story of heroism, tragedy, bravery, tears and stupidity. It also exposes the incompetence of the authorities in dealing with the situation.

I am glad I read this book.

You don't like Turkish people?

My last business trip in 2014 is to Connecticut and New York offices. Holiday parties and other year-end stuff.

I wander into Macy's in Stamford one evening. Looking for a briefcase to replace my current one. I find a choice in the luggage section. Seriously? A lady's bag is not luggage and a man's is?

I am poking around in the collection and a salesman with a foreign accent asks if I need help. Yes, I can't find a price on these, I say. He shows me how and I continue my poking. I narrow my choice to two, and know which one of these I want - but I don't buy it straightaway because I need re-affirmation. So I ask Mr. Foreign Accent for permission, take pictures and email them to Smita. About an hour later she confirms my choice, and I go back to the shop.

A different salesman is there. In a Connecticut accent, he tells me he is the only one there and is overworked. He makes an effort to find a boxed copy of the briefcase and fails. I leave. But I am persistent and back the next evening.

Again, there is only one salesman present but its Mr. F. A. and he acknowledges me with eye contact while serving another customer. I wait patiently (living in Switzerland teaches you that). A lady comes with some shopping and flops on a display bed saying "I know I should not do this." FA does not care. I smile.

She wants a lot, but finally the customer in front of me is done.

"Did you decide?" he asks.

I decided yesterday already, but when I came back you were not there and your colleague was not very helpful.

"I could have helped you while I was there"

I know, but I needed my wife's advice.

"What does she know about briefcases?"

She knows about fashion.

At this stage, Ms. Lady-flopped-on-bed joins in and chirps "all my husband wants is a tie. He does not want to win, just a tie would make him happy". We all chuckle. FA brings a box to the cash register.

"You have a Macy's card?"

No.

"You want a Macy's card?"

No.

"You get 15% discount, and I will give you an extra 10%"

No. By the way, may I ask if you are originally from Turkey?

"Why, you don't like Turkish people?"

Smart guy.

I love Turkish people. I was in Istanbul two weeks ago. I have a lot of Turkish friends.

"What's the most famous monument to love in the world?"

Ahem, the Taj Mahal?

"Who was it built for?"

Mumtaz?

"Who built it?"

Shahjahan?

"Who was the architect?"

Err ..

"It was Mir something from Persia"

Ah, you are from Iran? You also have a famous bridge of love in Esfahan.

"You have been to Iran?"

Many times. Tehran, Qom, Esfahan, Bandar Imam, Assaluyeh.

"Ah, a world traveler!"

That's why I want a briefcase!

(P.S. I notice when I pay that I got the 15% Macy's discount anyway.

P.P.S. Wikipedia says that the architect was Ustad Ahmad Lahauri. He was a Persian (Tajik) from Badakhshan in modern-day Afghanistan)

Sichuan Hotpot!

A link to the Swindian post on my experience can be found here

Himalayas - Almost Tibet

A few days ago, I was at a conference in Chengdu, which is the fourth largest city in China and the largest in Sichuan Province. It has a population of 7m people in the city and 14m in the suburban area. At the end of the conference, I managed to squeeze out some time to take a short flight up to Song Pan county, Which houses the fabulous Huanglong and Juizhaoguo Parks.

We stayed at the Intercontinental Hotel in Juizhao which was quite a unique property. A large greenhouse type structure welcomed you as you walked in the main doors - this housed the restaurants and shops in the hotel - before you entered the main building with the lobby and rooms. Public areas were super cold!

Jiuzhao Huanglong

Day 1 - Huanglong (Yellow Dragon)

Landed after a 40 min flight. Temp change from 19C to -2C. As I walk up the airbridge, I feel the lack of oxygen at 3600 m. Lily and Hongtao are with me.

We drive about an hour and a half to Huanglong cable car station, picking up water bottles and oxygen canisters on the way. The station is at 3100 m and takes a quick 4 mins to drop us at 3500 m. Form here we have to walk (one way only) to where the colored mineral pools are first visible and then walk back to the base station.

Our guide tells us that he has a dodgy knee and will not walk with us. We set off on a very well designed wooden platform in the forest. One way only. No turning back. We are told that the distance is about 11 km and will take us 4+ hours. Right.

The first stage is just walking through the forest until we get to a clearing. We have two options: cut across a flat or walk up to the top - that's about 430 m long and a vertical height of about 150m. We are not pussies, but I do feel the lack of oxygen. We have not had time to acclimatize, having landed at 7.15 AM and taking the cable car at 09.15.

(An interesting story about the flights into this airport - legend has it that 9 of 10 flights here are delayed, and one is sent back. Bad weather. We were lucky - a clear day and on time arrival)

So this is a waterfall which has managed to form colorful, mirror like pools as it flows down the mountain. There is a series of these pools of different shapes and sizes as we walk down. No doubt the colors come from the minerals in the rocks.

There is no end to the number of photo opps. But the walk down is a long 3 hours or so. We have not had breakfast and I buy a Snickers bar for energy. In sequence my knees, thighs and then my feet hurt. Fortunately not all together.

By now the park is very crowded and we are dodging people for the photos as well as the walk itself. We are out at about 2 pm and the wait to get the cable car is now 2 hours. Good thing we got here early! Many people are walking up the path that we are walking down. I doubt they will walk all the way to the top.

As we come to the bottom, the sound of traffic has never been so welcome.

We stop at a dhaba for lunch and then the drive to the hotel is about three hours. I sleep, as do my companions.

I have a monster headache as I walk into my room. Must be altitude sickness. A bad dinner buffet is followed by a long foot massage. Time to go to bed.

You can find the Wikipedia link to the park here and one of my 150 photos below.

Day 2 - Juizhaoguo (Valley of nine villages)

Lily tells me this morning that her iPhone suggests we walked 17 km yesterday. I guess that's possible in 4.5 hours.

We have to leave at 9 am for Juizhaoguo but delay it to 9.40 due to heavy traffic.

This park is quite different. It's located between 2300 & 2600 m with abundant forests, lakes and waterfalls. The nine villages refer to the nine Tibetan villages contained in the park, all of which are now commercialized.

The park is huge enough that we have to take the park bus to travel between the scenic viewpoints but not big enough for China. I am told that there are 60,000 visitors at the park today since it's such a nice Saturday (we really got lucky yesterday and today - I was told multiple times that people come here again and again and don't get such nice weather!). I spot one western person the whole day.

The crowd behaviour manifests itself in fighting for photo opps and getting into the bus - the latter reminds me of Calcutta buses! 450 buses don't seem to be enough.

We are in the park for about six hours before heading home. I have seen plenty of lakes and waterfalls. Autumn colours blanket the hillsides and we even see snowy peaks as cotton candy clouds lazily drift past.

Lily tells me that we have walked 11 km. I am bone tired but it's been a terrific two days.

We round off with dinner comprising of Sichuan hotpot. An experience to remember. It's my second hotpot on this trip. Details of the first one are on the Swindian blog.

8 PM and I am back in my room. Some random work including writing this and I will soon be in bed. Long day ahead tomorrow - four flights to get home. Hopefully the first one is not delayed.

Once again, the Wikipedia link is here and one of the photos I took is added below. Neither this or the earlier photo was touched up. The colours are natural.

2 Days in London

Trringgg. The alarm goes off. It's 05.15 on Thursday, September 25th.

I crawl out of bed and start getting ready for my 08.45 flight from Zurich to London. It's a short, 2 day trip and for once, not business.

My first destination after arrival is the Village Underground at Shoreditch at 11.30 which I rush to after leaving my bags at the Hyatt at Portman Square. Slightly breathless, slightly late, the first talk at the Telefonica TedX event has already been underway for a few minutes.

But I am not here for the first talk, interesting as it was, or for any of the other talks that morning. What I am here for is to listen to our daughter Kiran, who is due in at 15.50 with a talk titled "Dancing with digital". I am one of the 3 honored guests together with Moulsari and Dasha.

Waiting for her to begin was not interminable. Other speakers (as is often the case with TED talks) were at times fun, at times fascinating and always interesting. The person who left the biggest impression was Nando Parrado, one of the survivors of the 1972 plane crash in the Andes (http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nando_Parrado) who left the stage to an emotional audience and a standing?
JS ovation.

Finally it was time for Kiran to come on. She was scheduled post the afternoon coffee break, the audience was fresh and she captivated them with her words, music and dance. She was funny, she was interactive (the audience got on their feet and danced with her) and she finished with her older sister Srishti's favorite song! It was wonderful to watch and listen to her - our baby has grown up so well!

Later that evening we met friends and went for dinner to Trishna, ostensibly a Michelin star restaurant near the hotel where the food was excellent but the service was lacking.

Friday morning. Dropped off Kiran's winter clothes at her flat. Went for a run in Hyde Park. Met Moulsari for a coffee and then Sunder (an old college friend) for lunch at the Mint Leaf. A simpler Indian restaurant at Bank, with good food and better service.

Then the highlight of the week was up - at least for Kiran, having put the TedX talk behind her. The iTunes festival. Camden Town. What a happening neighbourhood! We got there just after six and found our way to the front of the hall, right by the stage and waited for the pre-act to begin at eight. Oh, did I mention that the main act due at 9 PM (and the reason we were here) was Lenny Kravitz? To get in the mood, I had spent a few hours recently and today to listen to his songs. I knew the most famous ones now - American Woman and Fly Away.

To cut a long story short, it was a great act. Not just the singing, it was the band which was absolutely amazing. The guy with the saxophone and the gal at the drums were awesome. Legendary. The music blew our minds.

The crowning glory? Yes, right. It was when Lenny Kravitz slid off the stage and came right up to us singing - close enough for Kiran to hug him. If I had not seen it myself, I could not have imagined someone so absolutely delirious with joy! It was a wonderful moment.

Saturday morning - heading back home after possibly the best and most unique 2 days away. I am so glad that I made the trip. It was an honour to be at the TedX event and a joy the rest of the time.

And then there were none

As a teenager, I used to love reading Agatha Christie's mystery stories. The unraveling of each plot kept me enthralled and riveted all the way to the end.

But this is not a mystery story, and with Dame Agatha's permission for using one of her titles, let me get on with this little anecdote.

I love the occasional tipple, and enjoy my small collection of whiskey. Given my memory, I did not remember where I picked up a bottle of Glenmorangie's Cellar 13 single malt.

When I opened the box and saw the light golden coloured liquid, I was not terribly impressed. It has recently become trendy to enjoy the stronger tasting, dark coloured single malts, especially the ones from Islay. This single malt was almost transparent, it was so light in colour. But one sip and I was in heaven.



My taste buds are not developed enough to distinguish between the different elements of the whiskey, but the overall effect was so good that I hid the bottle from the prying eyes of guests and only ever partook of it when I was alone. This goes against my generous nature for sharing my cabinet, but I could not afford to finish the bottle before I found another. Notice that there is no age on the label, but a quick search told me that the whiskeys used in this single malt were between 10 & 12 years old. In scotch terms, this makes the whiskey 10 years old. As the name suggests, it comes from a single cellar.

So the hunt started. Over a period of the last 3-4 years, I looked for this whiskey in all the places in the world that I traveled to, but without luck. As I neared the half way mark in the bottle, I stopped drinking it. In my mind, it needed to be treasured.

About a year or so ago, I saw a Glenmorangie exhibit at Edinburgh airport and rushed over to ask the comely young lady about their Cellar 13. "The cellar is empty", she said, "we sold the last bottles two years ago". Disappointment spread through me, much like the warmth of that golden liquid. That half bottle hidden in my cabinet had just become even more precious. I hid it away even deeper.

A few months later, a close friend of ours, who is a great fan of malts, was moving back from Zurich to Texas, and we walked into Eddie's Whiskies in Horgen to buy him a bottle of single malt. This is an amazing store, by the way, and one that you should visit if you are in the area and a fan of single malts. Being web obsessed, we looked up the list of bottles in the shop before we drove up.

I guess the alert reader knows what's coming next. You are right, the catalogue listed Glenmorangie Cellar 13 amongst it's contents! This made me leave home immediately and drive faster.

"Yes, we still have that label", said Eddie, pointing to the shelf where there were three boxes stacked unobtrusively.

"I'll take them all. Do you have any more at the back?"

"Those are all that I have."

They are now in my cabinet, and the next guest we had at home was allowed to see the box and choose to have a wee dram if he so desired.

http://www.thewhiskyexchange.com/P-2453.aspx

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/And_Then_There_Were_None

http://www.eddies.ch

Kya kaha aapne?

I dislike early morning flights.

Those who know me are fully aware that I seem to spend half my time on the move, but they also know that I do not like the redeyes. Sure, there was a time when I always took those 7 AM flights, just like there was also a time when I worked on planes.

I guess I am old enough to make my rules. At least some of the time.

What I could not get away from was the early morning flight via Frankfurt to Houston. There was just no other option. This trip involved waking up at 04.30 AM and getting a taxi at 05.30 AM. Why do I need an hour to get ready? It's because I still feel that I have forgotten to take something and so I scurry around my bag worrying about what I have forgotten. I also tend to sleep badly if I know that I have to be up early to catch a plane.

I suppose there are some things that I am just not gonna get used to.

So here I am at Zurich airport at 06.10 and there is just one checkin counter open, even though three of them have warm bodies behind them. I wait patiently. Suddenly I am beckoned to a counter which still has the sign "closed" above it.

I know the drill, as one of my previous blog posts suggested ... but I am in for a surprise.

"Namaste", says Marcelo Alejandro. I come out of my sleepwalk and return the greeting. No big deal, plenty of people know this common Indian greeting.

"Kahan ja rahen hain aap?"

Now I am wide awake. "Houston via Frankfurt", I say, and add "You have been living in Delhi?"

"I have never been to India." I am dumbstruck. "I am part of a cross-culture club and we learn about all different cultures". I am impressed. Not only can he string together a few sentences, he actually understands what I am saying and responds correctly.

"That's a Milgauss", he suddenly says, and I nod affirmatively. This guy knows his stuff. He is also a member of a Rolex club.

"Does it sing to you?"; and then noticing my raised eyebrows goes on to add "Unless a watch sings to you, it's not the right one for you. When you put it on your wrist it should start to communicate with you."

I get it. "Yes, of all the watches I own, this one probably sings to me."

Switching subjects, I have an issue of wanting an aisle seat in the middle section of my long distance flight, whereas the pre-assigned seat is a window seat. "Khidki nahi chahiye?", he asks and I explain that I don't want to climb over anybody and nor do I want to climb over anyone else. He'll fix me up, but only when I get to the gate.

There is a strike in Frankfurt airport and some flights have been cancelled, so he is a bit rushed. "But I will be at the gate, so I will get you the seat you want". True to his word, he is at the gate and gets me my seat.

I am truly impressed. Marcelo has turned a dreary and routine checkin for a sleep walking passenger into a very pleasant experience. He has also shown how a routine job can be made interesting.

I walk to the gate and into the plane with a smile on my face.

A very Swiss lunch experience

It was all Anil's fault.

I think by now my colleagues in the Zurich office are fully aware of my lunch idiosyncrasies. Despite being a self-professed foodie, I am not a fussy eater when the situation is a working day lunch. The only thing I do not want is bad food (yeah, you have heard me say that life is too short to eat bad food) or, ahem, a certain kind of service.

"Anybody want to go eat?"

I get two positive responses. Jasmin & Anil. Cool. Jasmin has just joined us and it would be interesting - nah, that's such a boring word, let's say educative - to have her join for lunch.

When Anil reminds us that the Renaissance hotel next door has granted our company a 20% discount for lunch there, it seems like a good idea to go there. As we set out, I ask Jasmin if she has been there. She did grow up in the area, but the hotel is a recent addition to the landscape. No, she says. It's a strange hotel, I say. Why, she asks? It just is, I say, unable to expand on the subject. As people who know me well can appreciate, I am often at a loss for words.

The street that connects the office building to the hotel has been closed for months to allow for construction activity. (The Swiss and construction ... ah well, that's another story.) Replacing it is a narrow, precarious pedestrian path / platform that has become unfriendly because of the planks and screws used and the heavy snow that covers it. It reminds me of the mountain paths that one drives on in the snow. Everyone knows who has right of way, until someone does not.

But I digress. This is a story about lunch.

We get to the Equinox and ask for a table for 3. Anil flashes his business card and tells the waiter that he expects a 20% discount on his meal. We get a table in a dark corner, and do the Swiss thing of ordering a drink first.

Then things start to go to all hell fast.

I am happy with the Linguini with Tiger Prawns (knowing fully well that the tigers will turn out to be pussycats) and no starter. Perhaps I set the wrong example. The others follow suit. The waiter asks us twice if we want an appetizer, and we say no. Not just that, we later say no to dessert and coffee as well. By now, I can see tendrils of smoke escaping his ears. Here we are, at what might be considered a posh restaurant, and all we order is a drink and a main course. And a 20% discount.

I ask Anil to pay and we get the check. No discount included. He asks for one. The waiter disclaims all knowledge of it. We ask him to check with his supervisor. He comes back 5 minutes later and says that his supervisor is not available. We insist. More scowls. More delays.

But we do finally get the discount, and leave with the distinct impression that we have been blacklisted. We walk back the perilous path to the office fearing occasionally for our health. The pasta was ok but the rest of the experience was ... well, let's just say that we would have kissed the Thai girls at the Asian takeaway next door in preference.

It was all Anil's fault.

Snow shoe walking - A first

OK, I lie.

It was not the first time, but the second time. The first time was when Kiran & I went to Ilgau about a year ago. I had remembered that walk and wanted to do it again. My lovely wife presented me with snow shoes this Christmas and they debuted today since we finally got beaucoup snow!

Being an extreme novice, I spent quite some time at home figuring out how the shoes would work before driving to Einsiedeln. Once there, I fumbled a fair bit before I got them on. (I actually continued to fumble after I started walking, but got it right after a couple of adjustments!)

As I started walking from the car, some people stopped me (it's always me, right?) and asked which way they could go SSW. I told them that it was my first time and one of them was also a debutant, so I asked if I could tag along with them. I have found taht this is one of the real nice things about being in the mountains ... you can engage people and they respond. Everybody is so friendly!

So we all set out together and started creating paths in virgin snow. It was fantastic. The sun was out. It was warm. I did not use gloves or a scarf. I could have done with a sweater rather than the heavy jacket I was wearing. Ah well.

Along the way, I saw cross country skiers, old couples (some with their grand children), young couples (with or without kids), single people, people walking dogs, children playing in the snow, siblings building snowmen, throwing snowballs, people sledding ... oh all kinds of activities.

What a great way to spend an afternoon in winter, even if at the end I have burning thighs and feet and sore hands! 2 hours and 5.8 km (thank you Fitbit) later, I was satisfied and looking forward to the next time.

Couple of pictures worth sharing. The first pictures shows that I was walking in fresh snow, and in the second you see a nice view of Einsiedeln with the Kolster on the left and the ski jumping area on the right. In the foreground are little kids playing in the snow.

A day in the Life (not of Pi)

Sunday in Mumbai often involves a movie. Talaash was on top of the list, but like the best laid plans of mice and men, we ended up in a different place for a different movie. The Life of Pi.

Now this is not the first time I have seen a movie in Mumbai, but there were some parts of the whole experience that are worth remembering and making those few hours, well, different.

First, standing in line to pick up the prepaid tickets results in a guy behind me constantly jostling me, ostensibly to push me into the person in front of me to make the line shorter. Unfortunately the law of physics fails in such cases, but a glare from me did absolutely nothing to him.

Second, the movie is due to start at 14.45 and at 14.42 the doors are not yet open. So we hang back from the crowd a bit saying that if we are at the back, its not gonna make much of a difference. Unfortunately, when we walk in at 14.48, the movie has already started.

Third, kids. Kids. More kids. Constantly asking their parents what's happening on the screen. Occasionally bawling. Since parents feel compelled to talk to them, there is a constant buzz of conversation while the movie plays out.

Fourth, the intermission. American movies, as we all know, are not designed for a half-way break. But hey, popcorn and stuff needs to be sold, so we have a break. The break is followed by the movie restarting from a point about 5 mins earlier than the place where it broke up.

Fifth, because of all the kids in front of us, we move back (during the intermission which we think has now served a purpose) a couple of rows to (what we think) is a quieter place. Lo and behold, there is a carpenter right above us. A nail is being worried at by a hammer.

Oh, did I mention the occasional cell phone going off?

First visit to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia

I found it easier to write this on evernote as I went along and post the link here. This is a long post as I was trying to capture as much as I could of a place that I had not visited before.

https://www.evernote.com/shard/s5/sh/5eb8666e-c167-450b-90ee-3ee862c68af9/c52cce741d89af8028db3daf79676357

The Ring

Ah yes, the ring. Been meaning to write about it for days, but haven’t got around to it (obviously!). This is not about the Naomi Watts (she’s pretty, isn’t she?) starring movie, but about the real thing. A simple solitaire diamond ring.

Alert readers who caught up with my story “Toll” will remember that I was in the US this summer. Even more alert readers will remember that Smita was due to join me later (as was Kiran).

Apart from the usual touristy stuff that we do, the wife loves to shop. This involves extensive (albeit pointed) research on the web on malls, stores, locations, prices and so on. Once the research is done, we go on to these hand picked places and do what needs to be done.

Cut to the King of Prussia mall in PA. This one is a biggy and attracts people from all over the world. There are also a bunch of hotels that ring the mall, and we picked the Best Western to spend the night in between the 2 days of shopping. Naturally after doing intensive, focussed research.

All goes well. We have a reasonable room, kind staff (its 11 PM by the time we check in) and it is literally a minute from the mall. We calculate carefully, add in the paranoia factor for the drive to JFK and set about our day. Just because it never rains when you take an umbrella, we get to the airport 3 hours before the flight. But that’s OK.

Soon after we are back home, a question pops up.

“Where is my ring?”

“Which ring?”

“The solitaire.”

“I don’t know. I suppose it will turn up by the time you are done unpacking.”

“No, I have looked everywhere. It’s not there.”

“Think carefully. It must be in one of your handbags or in your jewellery pouches or somewhere.”

“No, it’s not!” The voice has gone up a few octaves.

A slow panic starts to envelope the room. I begin to feel that it must be my fault somehow.

“Think hard. You might have just misplaced it.”

So starts the process of reconstructing what we did that day. Step by step. Spoken as well as visual memories are pulled out of the recesses of our minds. After a few minutes, the penny drops.

“I left it on the bedside table in the hotel.” The panic has gone up another notch. “I’ll never get it back.”

“Hotel staff don’t steal things. Let’s call the hotel and check.”

So starts the process of calling the hotel, asking questions, getting requests to call back when Housekeeping is in for the day, calling again, describing the object and so on.

“Yes, we found something like what you are describing in Room no. 231.” A wave of relief replaces the panic.

We call Jim who lives nearby, and he goes and picks up the ring. Sends us a photo. It’s THE one.

He gives it to Richard at the office, who brings it with him to Budapest and gives it to me. I bring it home.

The ring is united with the owner 6 weeks later. Three cheers for the (honesty of the) hotel staff and (the kindness of) our courier friends.

7-Nov-12

Chinese Dinner in Seoul

October 18, 2012

Place: Palace Hotel, Seoul; Sooh Goong Chinese Restaurant
Occasion: Customer dinner

Menu
Buldojang (Monk jumps over the Wall)
Braised Shark's Fin soup
Lobster
Abalone
Sea Cucumber
Peking Duck (Pancake)
Peking Duck (Meat)
Dim Sum (Prawn)
Noodles (in sweet onion sauce)
Fruit

(This restaurant was said to be the best Korean Chinese restaurant in Seoul)

Blink Moment

October 14, 2012

Flying to Shanghai today soon after a trip to Budapest and recovering from a cold. My mind is not quite with it. A drug induced 9 hour sleep at least had me rested last night, but I feel a bit bogged down and tired.

I go through the airport in a semi daze. It's all pretty standard really. Get off train, go up elevator, check in luggage, get boarding card, clear security.

See a pretty young lady pushing Lindor kugelis (the DF shop is now located at the exit of security and there is no way to avoid walking through it) so buy 2 boxes of assorted flavors for the Shanghai office, then get a cup of tea in a very crowded Senator lounge. There are no people in the airport, because they are all in the lounge.

I look at my watch, pick up my bags and proceed to the gate. Immigration, train ride and up the escalator again. See a long line of orientals so walk up to the business line and present my boarding card.

BEEP.

Oooh ... maybe I am gonna be upgraded! I start to come out of my automated robotic state.

The lady puts her arm on mine and says "You are flying to Shanghai, this flight is to Tokyo"

Oops. I apologize and leave the gate. Just because they were Orientals. Blink.

A night at the Oscars

This was not my first visit since the award, but I had somehow never gotten around to popping the question. We are all movie buffs, and the first time I saw the statuette was at the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam, encased in a glass box. (Shelley Winters won the Oscar in 1960 for Best Supporting Actress for her role as Mrs van Pels in “The Diary of Anne Frank”.)

The Ray residence was always a special place to visit and I did make the trip every time I went to Calcutta. The occasion this time for the trip to Calcutta was the celebration of our 25th wedding anniversary which also coincided with the silver jubilee of my graduation from IIMC.

December 2007 to be precise.

After chit-chatting with Sandeep dada, Sourodeep and Monku Ma; I sprung the question.

"Where is the Oscar? I want to see it."

The words were immediately followed by a commotion. Several people started speaking at once and a babble of voices broke out. Soon it became obvious that nobody present there knew where it was. Oh my God, have I opened a Pandora's box here?

But they knew the person who knew. Buni knew but she was out running some errands. Before I could say Uncle Oscar, frantic phone calls were being made to her to determine where it was kept, when she would be home and a multitude of other things. My feeble protests ("don't worry", "not a problem") were completely ignored.

We had the customary cups of tea and gossip, and Buni soon walked in. As it transpired, she not only knew exactly where it was, she also was the only person who knew anything that happened in that house! It only took a few seconds for her to fish it out of it's secret hiding place.

It was afternoon in Calcutta, but surely it was night time somewhere.

AK 09-Sep-2012

To my Audience (whoever you are)

I would really like it if you would leave some evidence of having read any of my posts. Thank You.