Tears for Hutchins:
Only recently I learned that Christopher Hitchens was dying of cancer. His photographs confirmed this. Last week when he died, he was only 62. This is no old age in this day and age.
I have not read everything Hitchens has written but I did read "God is not Great" cover to cover. His is a powerful mind. He can construct or deconstruct anything. Many think that he says there is no God (not that anyone has proven that there is a God) but the message I take from him is there is no need to get bogged down by this debate. Regardless of if there is a God or not, all creatures (of course, Hitchens spoke mainly about humans) are still supposed to carry on with his/her duty. After all, isn’t this what ultimately gives us a sense of satisfaction even as we wonder about life’s meaning?
Like many humans, I too do not understand God even if I am aware of a power much bigger than I. In fact, even with my inclination toward believing in the theory of karma and reincarnation, I still cannot fathom life’s random tragedies. Sure, the seers call what the rest of us label reality and life as mere illusion. Even fiction explores this dream within a dream concept though a bit messily mostly. But things that are in our past do feel like a dream that "REMMED" by in the blink of an eye. Since one person's dreams are different from another person’s, the concept of God too may be real (i.e. in the dream that they are dreaming) for some people and not for others.
Hitchens rubbed many folks the wrong way to the point that believers in a God felt that Hitchens’s cancer was god’s punishment meted out on Hitchens for being a non-believer. The corollary to this should be no believer would be afflicted with any kind of pain because God, pleased with their belief in Him, protects them at all times. It’s nice to have this kind of faith but such faith is not immune to doubt. I do know people whose faith in God is unsinkable and indeed, they seem totally accepting of everything as God’s will. Including the questioning minds like Hitchens’s.
I look at God as genius went wild and this universe is still a work in progress. God the artist chooses as He goes along to prune his creation the universe any which way He pleases. While making a film the director, that is the artist in this case, chooses to keep certain footage while leaving the rest on the cutting floor. Surely one must feel sorry for the abandoned footage but according to the director, on this particular day, this footage did not serve his grand vision of the film he wants to make on that particular day. The abandoned footage must itself accept that in its own discarded way, it served its purpose. Death too, probably, is the same as the footage on the editing floor. Its purpose to hold the other scenes together is over because the other scenes on the rest of the footage can stand on their own now. Does this however, mean a permanent end? Maybe not, if one follows the path of the abandoned footage the rest of its journey.
In the plant kingdom, renewal is obvious. It happens right before our eyes. Dead vegetation turns into nourishment for the new growth. In this context of constant death and constant renewal how does it matter if there is a God or not? I guess Hitchens too was making the same point. Through his writing Hitchens will live forever though not in the same form (even an artist’s creation leaves a different form/impression in different people’s minds) just like every one of us will live forever in this never-ending cycle of renewal.
Ciao!
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Palermo, Executions, Sightseeing buses
Post 6 of 6. Note: Begin with Post 1 and move forward.
Since I covered Athens in Post 1, I shall skip to Palermo on Sicily’s northwestern tip, our last stop before heading back to Barcelona for our return trip to New York. Here we decided to take the Hop On-Hop Off double-decker tourist bus for 20 euros each. We had done this in Barcelona 2010 and it was fun.
While one can quite easily see Palermo on foot although with a height and limited vista disadvantage, a tourist’s curse—limited time—makes a tourist consider faster alternatives. However, we still hopped off and on only twice before hopping back on to return to the ship. In other words, one still needs to walk a lot to cover all you want. But, still to maximize the bus advantage, we did almost a full round and got off at the last stop (no. 9 on Via Roma: Mercato Vucciria in front of the San Domenico Church) and then began hitting landmark numbers 3 (the famous Quatrro Conti and the stunning Piazza Pretoria and its splendid fountain and I think at one point, we also wandered into a lovely church whose name I don’t know, and no, it was not Cappella Palatina or any of the other famous ones that dot Palermo every few meters; I’ll try to match the pics we took with the pics on the Web and eventually get it) 8 (Cattedrale), 7 (Palazzo Reale a.k.a. the Palazzo dei Normanni with a quick side trip to the Villa Bonanno across from the Reale and the nearby San Giovanni degli Eremiti) and then walked back to 4 (the early 14th century Norman Gothic Palazzo Steri: In the 17th century it was the seat of the Tribunal of the Spanish Inquisition, a function it performed until 1782) south of 3, all on Via Viottorio Emanuele.
Nearby was the park (Garibaldi Garden) with its massive banyan and other trees and bushes and flower beds where at one time common criminals were hanged and aristocrats (e.g. In 1397, Baron Andrea Chiaramonte, whose ancestors had built the palace, by the King of Aragon, Spain) were executed. Here prisoners, apparently, were interrogated, tortured, and sometimes burned at the stake for heresies both real and imagined. On this beautiful bright sunny day, however, I saw a young pleasant-looking mother pushing a stroller and her son in it trying to communicate his distress over whatever through loud crying. After they moved past a few feet from me, I approached them with a large freshly baked chocolate cookie I had carried with me from the ship. The mother protested with the gesture that suggested to me that the kid had no teeth yet. I looked at him and he looked old enough to have teeth. But anyway, I still insisted she take the cookie and additionally, gave her a muffin as well, as I gestured to her that this was soft fare. She took them both and went her merry way. I visualized the joy the boy would feel when he tasted those goodies.
After covering number 4 we hopped on the bus again after waiting for the bus for about 20 minutes and taking in the sights and sounds of the neighborhood. Once again, we went around town, taking in the sights and the audio explanations pouring into my ears from ear phones given to all tourists when they board the bus. The audio explanations punctuated by Bach's Brandenburg Concerto numebr 3, one of my favorite musical pieces. What are the odds? I should hear a favorite piece on this short bus ride I thought.
Passing number 2, the famous Teatro Massimo again, we were back at number 1, our first and last stop. Off the bus, we walked back to the ship and did a little souvenir shopping along the way.
Oh, what a glorious experience the whole trip was! How fast even the horse carriages traverse those narrow roads! Oh, yes, one small sidebar: In Sicily, unlike some other Italian cities, one can use the toilet in coffee shops for free. One does not have to buy anything.
At the end of our dinner that night, we bid adieu to our dinner table friends Gil and Lily and Ann and Colin, with whom I am in touch, and the restaurant staff Edin and Paes who waited on us for 12 nights straight.
On my way back from Barcelona to New York I read, and saw two movies: The Tree of Life and Midnight in Paris, which I really, really liked. I’m a Woody Allen fan anyway, and have liked most of his films, including Vicky, Christina, Barcelona, which I saw last November after my return from Barcelona, a city I had fallen in love with. Had I planned it right I could have finished watching Patiala House, a Hindi movie mishmash set in London, though I doubt it would have ever ended. Bollywood has a very long way to go before it can make a crisp and engaging film. Sorry, Bollywood!
Home Coming felt good as well.
Ciao!
Since I covered Athens in Post 1, I shall skip to Palermo on Sicily’s northwestern tip, our last stop before heading back to Barcelona for our return trip to New York. Here we decided to take the Hop On-Hop Off double-decker tourist bus for 20 euros each. We had done this in Barcelona 2010 and it was fun.
While one can quite easily see Palermo on foot although with a height and limited vista disadvantage, a tourist’s curse—limited time—makes a tourist consider faster alternatives. However, we still hopped off and on only twice before hopping back on to return to the ship. In other words, one still needs to walk a lot to cover all you want. But, still to maximize the bus advantage, we did almost a full round and got off at the last stop (no. 9 on Via Roma: Mercato Vucciria in front of the San Domenico Church) and then began hitting landmark numbers 3 (the famous Quatrro Conti and the stunning Piazza Pretoria and its splendid fountain and I think at one point, we also wandered into a lovely church whose name I don’t know, and no, it was not Cappella Palatina or any of the other famous ones that dot Palermo every few meters; I’ll try to match the pics we took with the pics on the Web and eventually get it) 8 (Cattedrale), 7 (Palazzo Reale a.k.a. the Palazzo dei Normanni with a quick side trip to the Villa Bonanno across from the Reale and the nearby San Giovanni degli Eremiti) and then walked back to 4 (the early 14th century Norman Gothic Palazzo Steri: In the 17th century it was the seat of the Tribunal of the Spanish Inquisition, a function it performed until 1782) south of 3, all on Via Viottorio Emanuele.
Nearby was the park (Garibaldi Garden) with its massive banyan and other trees and bushes and flower beds where at one time common criminals were hanged and aristocrats (e.g. In 1397, Baron Andrea Chiaramonte, whose ancestors had built the palace, by the King of Aragon, Spain) were executed. Here prisoners, apparently, were interrogated, tortured, and sometimes burned at the stake for heresies both real and imagined. On this beautiful bright sunny day, however, I saw a young pleasant-looking mother pushing a stroller and her son in it trying to communicate his distress over whatever through loud crying. After they moved past a few feet from me, I approached them with a large freshly baked chocolate cookie I had carried with me from the ship. The mother protested with the gesture that suggested to me that the kid had no teeth yet. I looked at him and he looked old enough to have teeth. But anyway, I still insisted she take the cookie and additionally, gave her a muffin as well, as I gestured to her that this was soft fare. She took them both and went her merry way. I visualized the joy the boy would feel when he tasted those goodies.
After covering number 4 we hopped on the bus again after waiting for the bus for about 20 minutes and taking in the sights and sounds of the neighborhood. Once again, we went around town, taking in the sights and the audio explanations pouring into my ears from ear phones given to all tourists when they board the bus. The audio explanations punctuated by Bach's Brandenburg Concerto numebr 3, one of my favorite musical pieces. What are the odds? I should hear a favorite piece on this short bus ride I thought.
Passing number 2, the famous Teatro Massimo again, we were back at number 1, our first and last stop. Off the bus, we walked back to the ship and did a little souvenir shopping along the way.
Oh, what a glorious experience the whole trip was! How fast even the horse carriages traverse those narrow roads! Oh, yes, one small sidebar: In Sicily, unlike some other Italian cities, one can use the toilet in coffee shops for free. One does not have to buy anything.
At the end of our dinner that night, we bid adieu to our dinner table friends Gil and Lily and Ann and Colin, with whom I am in touch, and the restaurant staff Edin and Paes who waited on us for 12 nights straight.
On my way back from Barcelona to New York I read, and saw two movies: The Tree of Life and Midnight in Paris, which I really, really liked. I’m a Woody Allen fan anyway, and have liked most of his films, including Vicky, Christina, Barcelona, which I saw last November after my return from Barcelona, a city I had fallen in love with. Had I planned it right I could have finished watching Patiala House, a Hindi movie mishmash set in London, though I doubt it would have ever ended. Bollywood has a very long way to go before it can make a crisp and engaging film. Sorry, Bollywood!
Home Coming felt good as well.
Ciao!
Friday, October 28, 2011
Istanbul
Post 5 of . . . Note: Best to begin with Post 1 of . . . and move forward
What with the Golden Horn, the Sea of Marmara, the Strait of Bosphorus connecting the Marmara to the Black Sea, and the city straddling the two continents--Europe and Asia--more than any other place, it’s important to keep a map in Istanbul (old Constantinople) handy. On the second day, we did, as, on the first day, we spent most of our time in the company of our tour guide Sait, a short, soft-spoken yet feisty, baby-faced fellow.
Did the guide's company stop one of us from getting lost? NO! At Topkapi palace, the crowds were maddening, there was a lot to cover, and we had very limited time. We were supposed to get back with the group at 11:45 a.m. B was engrossed in his photo shoots of the palace, and I decided to let him follow me than lingering with him, and so I ran back to the center of the Ottoman Empire marked by a football-sized rock on the ground to meet up with my group. It was 11:50 and it was too late. I got hold of another tour guide (no. 26) and asked him if he had seen tour guide number 10 anywhere. All the guides carry an orange umbrella with their number displayed on it. It was a rainy day (next day our last day in Istanbul also it rained--the one true bummer on this trip). I wondered how they displayed their number when it did not rain.
Number 26, who looked more European (?Greek ancestors possibly?) than Turkish, spoke English with an accent I couldn’t place, and said that he’d take me to the front of the palace where someone who helps lost people will help me. Lost people helper, a slightly built fellow with an orange vest, didn’t speak English, but the panic in my voice communicated to him all that needed to be communicated. Of course, number 26 also translated my words to the orange vest guy and I was directed to go to the fountain outside the palace which is where Sait supposedly was waiting for me and B. I ran like mad, in no time, connecting up with Sait. I was relieved to see him. Seeing that B was not with me he called his connections inside the palace and described B to them. I knew only a miracle could materialize B in a timely way. Sait himself went back inside but soon returned without B. He assured me that the security folks inside would find B and eventually bring him back to us. I was tempted to get out and wait for B but folks on the bus advised against this. Except for one woman, the rest were all very sympathetic to my situation. Sait asked the driver to get going. At this point, I requested him to leave B’s name with the security, which he resisted. I couldn’t understand this. I insisted and he finally did. It didn't look like Turks have a paging system. The bus began to roll and one of the fellow tourists told me hat I could always find another husband in Istanbul and another one added that by now B probably had another wife and how lucky for her.
Our next stop was the famous Grand Bazaar. Here, I chose to stay with Sait while the fellow tourists went shopping. Sait and I walked a block or so and met up with a woman in an orange vest at a desk on the wide sidewalk outside a corner coffee shop. She spoke no English but was very friendly. She had sheaves of paper on her desktop and was going over some kind of a list. I kind of figured out that all the orange vested men and women were part of an efficient Turkish Tourism department network. We had to wait quite a while before B rejoined us. I kept saying thank you to the woman, as she seemed like the head honcho in that particular hub. She seeemd to be directing all the tourist-related activities over an intercom and she was delighted to see B and I get back together as if we were two long-lost lovers.
Having lost quite a bit of time (I actually felt guilty about having inconvenienced others on the bus), B and I spent very little time at the Bazaar but still enough time to be blown away by the glitter and the shimmer of the place. I did feel that this is what heaven must be like. It was that fairy tale-like. Next morning, when we had a map with us, before we resumed the tour again in the afternoon, I realized that all the places we went to on the tour were walking distance from the ship. But next day, the Bazaar was closed, though the famous spice market was open and B and I visited it for the second time the next morning on our own when we decided to cross the Galata Bridge with its neatly laid-out restaurants on its lower level parapets across the Golden Horn. They all had outdoor seating as well, one of them sporting bean bag seats with graphics and logos of many American consumer product companies like Coca Cola and others.
Visiting these markets is one thing but actual shopping could be challenging, as one, at least in the case of big-ticket items, never knows what’s fake, what’s genuine, what’s the right price and what’s overly inflated. A tourist’s ignorance and limited time are a deadly combination. So we just bought some packed Turkish Delight (unpacked loose pieces are not allowed onboard, which we did get to taste; the quality varies from shop to shop) and a few souvenirs for friends. Though I told B that we got Turkish Delight, probably the better export quality, in New York and we ourselves have bought it several times, he insisted on carrying an "authentic" one from Turkey for his office folks.
I try to pack light these days. So I try to keep away from anything that weighs more than a feather although I almost got bamboozled into buying an attractive 20-pound runner from a bunch of smooth-talking salesmen in a carpet showroom where refreshments flowed and stunning carpets almost blinded you. Of course, trying to be overly careful is a silly goal while on a trip. Even when I go to the next state, or even county, I try to buy something that is indigenous, so standing in the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul and not buying something local might be the height of idiocy, but still we kept our shopping to the minimum.
When we returned to New York and B got to taste the delights he reported that there were hardly any nuts in them. The box itself sported nuts galore and it also claimed to have nuts in the delights. The delights I buy in New York are laden with nuts and taste amazing. It’s a common saying by New Yorkers that if you don’t find something in New York, it probably doesn’t exist anywhere. To this, I add that, probably, you don’t need such a thing.
Quickening the pace of my blog, on the tour, in addition to the above mentioned places, we saw the other usual must-see tourist spots, namely, the amazing Blue Mosque, the Hagia Sophia, and the Hippodrome, where just a handful of ruins graces the spot that used to feature chariot races and other entertainment during the Roman times. So, one really has to use one's imagination to visualize what existed here at one time—the thundering hoofs of he horses and the roaring crowds. For some reason, I saw many stray cats in Istanbul.
I didn’t want the 85-minute, 10-mile up-and-down boat ride on the Bosphorus to ever end. Everything around me seemed perfect even as I kept thinking how much more beautiful the sights would have been had the sun too had made its appearance that day. So I just imagined a sun-drenched fairyland. The strait between Europe and Asia with its two bridges—the Bosphorus and the Fatih (two more engineering marvels) is a massive sweep yet all the landmarks on the both banks: the city's pagan, Roman, Byzantine, Ottoman history, the majestic palaces, the endless mosques, the commanding minarets, the Rumeli Hisari fortress, the layered homes, the Silimeya Barracks that houses Florence Nightingales' home during the Crimean War, all look as if they are at an arm's length.
During the tour, one thing that irritated me a bit was some fellow tourists’ trying to learn all about Islam from Sait. I think this irritated Sait too at one point. He gently suggested that we read the Koran so we’d understand why at Hagia Sophia still so many of the Christian symbols were left in tact.
On the second day, we also saw the mind-boggling, underground cistern a.k.a the Basilica Cistern (http://www.istanbultravelguide.net/undergroundcistern.htm. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Basilica_Cistern). No wonder that to this day, we revere Roman engineering.
On the first night, we also went to a restaurant in Taksim Square where food and entertainment in the form of live orchestra (I loved the music; a lot of it was melancholy and I could trace Indian raagaas in it), belly dancing by female bodies that defied all laws of physics, acrobatics by three young men, regional folk dancing (?Karsilamas) by trained men and women in local costumes and crooning by a middle-aged man who was probably British or some other Western European nationality defined the evening. The crooner "thrilled" the audience by singing a few lines of hit songs from countries of almost all the audience members. The U.S. won out with New York, New York and India by the badly sung "Aawaara Hoon," an old Bollywood hit
There was considerable audience participation, whereby, toward the end, a middle-aged Japanese male sang Sakura, Sakura (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sakura_Sakura) with much soul. A couple of men in the audience joined a belly dancer on the stage and following instructions by the pro on stage, wiggled their bellies and their non-existent boobs with much gusto. At the very end, a lot more men and women, upon their urging, joined the folk dancers.
People could not get enough photos of the fare. We had forgot our camera, which allowed us to enjoy the evening and the company at our table more fully.
The dessert sekerpare (my first time tasting this) at the end of a four-course meal was amazing. Next day was at sea when, once again, we could enjoy all that a luxury ship offers. My personal first stop the next morning was the gym. How else could I justify eating all those desserts
onboard?
Onward to Athens. I have already written about it. So I may skip to Palermo, our last stop.
Ciao!
What with the Golden Horn, the Sea of Marmara, the Strait of Bosphorus connecting the Marmara to the Black Sea, and the city straddling the two continents--Europe and Asia--more than any other place, it’s important to keep a map in Istanbul (old Constantinople) handy. On the second day, we did, as, on the first day, we spent most of our time in the company of our tour guide Sait, a short, soft-spoken yet feisty, baby-faced fellow.
Did the guide's company stop one of us from getting lost? NO! At Topkapi palace, the crowds were maddening, there was a lot to cover, and we had very limited time. We were supposed to get back with the group at 11:45 a.m. B was engrossed in his photo shoots of the palace, and I decided to let him follow me than lingering with him, and so I ran back to the center of the Ottoman Empire marked by a football-sized rock on the ground to meet up with my group. It was 11:50 and it was too late. I got hold of another tour guide (no. 26) and asked him if he had seen tour guide number 10 anywhere. All the guides carry an orange umbrella with their number displayed on it. It was a rainy day (next day our last day in Istanbul also it rained--the one true bummer on this trip). I wondered how they displayed their number when it did not rain.
Number 26, who looked more European (?Greek ancestors possibly?) than Turkish, spoke English with an accent I couldn’t place, and said that he’d take me to the front of the palace where someone who helps lost people will help me. Lost people helper, a slightly built fellow with an orange vest, didn’t speak English, but the panic in my voice communicated to him all that needed to be communicated. Of course, number 26 also translated my words to the orange vest guy and I was directed to go to the fountain outside the palace which is where Sait supposedly was waiting for me and B. I ran like mad, in no time, connecting up with Sait. I was relieved to see him. Seeing that B was not with me he called his connections inside the palace and described B to them. I knew only a miracle could materialize B in a timely way. Sait himself went back inside but soon returned without B. He assured me that the security folks inside would find B and eventually bring him back to us. I was tempted to get out and wait for B but folks on the bus advised against this. Except for one woman, the rest were all very sympathetic to my situation. Sait asked the driver to get going. At this point, I requested him to leave B’s name with the security, which he resisted. I couldn’t understand this. I insisted and he finally did. It didn't look like Turks have a paging system. The bus began to roll and one of the fellow tourists told me hat I could always find another husband in Istanbul and another one added that by now B probably had another wife and how lucky for her.
Our next stop was the famous Grand Bazaar. Here, I chose to stay with Sait while the fellow tourists went shopping. Sait and I walked a block or so and met up with a woman in an orange vest at a desk on the wide sidewalk outside a corner coffee shop. She spoke no English but was very friendly. She had sheaves of paper on her desktop and was going over some kind of a list. I kind of figured out that all the orange vested men and women were part of an efficient Turkish Tourism department network. We had to wait quite a while before B rejoined us. I kept saying thank you to the woman, as she seemed like the head honcho in that particular hub. She seeemd to be directing all the tourist-related activities over an intercom and she was delighted to see B and I get back together as if we were two long-lost lovers.
Having lost quite a bit of time (I actually felt guilty about having inconvenienced others on the bus), B and I spent very little time at the Bazaar but still enough time to be blown away by the glitter and the shimmer of the place. I did feel that this is what heaven must be like. It was that fairy tale-like. Next morning, when we had a map with us, before we resumed the tour again in the afternoon, I realized that all the places we went to on the tour were walking distance from the ship. But next day, the Bazaar was closed, though the famous spice market was open and B and I visited it for the second time the next morning on our own when we decided to cross the Galata Bridge with its neatly laid-out restaurants on its lower level parapets across the Golden Horn. They all had outdoor seating as well, one of them sporting bean bag seats with graphics and logos of many American consumer product companies like Coca Cola and others.
Visiting these markets is one thing but actual shopping could be challenging, as one, at least in the case of big-ticket items, never knows what’s fake, what’s genuine, what’s the right price and what’s overly inflated. A tourist’s ignorance and limited time are a deadly combination. So we just bought some packed Turkish Delight (unpacked loose pieces are not allowed onboard, which we did get to taste; the quality varies from shop to shop) and a few souvenirs for friends. Though I told B that we got Turkish Delight, probably the better export quality, in New York and we ourselves have bought it several times, he insisted on carrying an "authentic" one from Turkey for his office folks.
I try to pack light these days. So I try to keep away from anything that weighs more than a feather although I almost got bamboozled into buying an attractive 20-pound runner from a bunch of smooth-talking salesmen in a carpet showroom where refreshments flowed and stunning carpets almost blinded you. Of course, trying to be overly careful is a silly goal while on a trip. Even when I go to the next state, or even county, I try to buy something that is indigenous, so standing in the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul and not buying something local might be the height of idiocy, but still we kept our shopping to the minimum.
When we returned to New York and B got to taste the delights he reported that there were hardly any nuts in them. The box itself sported nuts galore and it also claimed to have nuts in the delights. The delights I buy in New York are laden with nuts and taste amazing. It’s a common saying by New Yorkers that if you don’t find something in New York, it probably doesn’t exist anywhere. To this, I add that, probably, you don’t need such a thing.
Quickening the pace of my blog, on the tour, in addition to the above mentioned places, we saw the other usual must-see tourist spots, namely, the amazing Blue Mosque, the Hagia Sophia, and the Hippodrome, where just a handful of ruins graces the spot that used to feature chariot races and other entertainment during the Roman times. So, one really has to use one's imagination to visualize what existed here at one time—the thundering hoofs of he horses and the roaring crowds. For some reason, I saw many stray cats in Istanbul.
I didn’t want the 85-minute, 10-mile up-and-down boat ride on the Bosphorus to ever end. Everything around me seemed perfect even as I kept thinking how much more beautiful the sights would have been had the sun too had made its appearance that day. So I just imagined a sun-drenched fairyland. The strait between Europe and Asia with its two bridges—the Bosphorus and the Fatih (two more engineering marvels) is a massive sweep yet all the landmarks on the both banks: the city's pagan, Roman, Byzantine, Ottoman history, the majestic palaces, the endless mosques, the commanding minarets, the Rumeli Hisari fortress, the layered homes, the Silimeya Barracks that houses Florence Nightingales' home during the Crimean War, all look as if they are at an arm's length.
During the tour, one thing that irritated me a bit was some fellow tourists’ trying to learn all about Islam from Sait. I think this irritated Sait too at one point. He gently suggested that we read the Koran so we’d understand why at Hagia Sophia still so many of the Christian symbols were left in tact.
On the second day, we also saw the mind-boggling, underground cistern a.k.a the Basilica Cistern (http://www.istanbultravelguide.net/undergroundcistern.htm. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Basilica_Cistern). No wonder that to this day, we revere Roman engineering.
On the first night, we also went to a restaurant in Taksim Square where food and entertainment in the form of live orchestra (I loved the music; a lot of it was melancholy and I could trace Indian raagaas in it), belly dancing by female bodies that defied all laws of physics, acrobatics by three young men, regional folk dancing (?Karsilamas) by trained men and women in local costumes and crooning by a middle-aged man who was probably British or some other Western European nationality defined the evening. The crooner "thrilled" the audience by singing a few lines of hit songs from countries of almost all the audience members. The U.S. won out with New York, New York and India by the badly sung "Aawaara Hoon," an old Bollywood hit
There was considerable audience participation, whereby, toward the end, a middle-aged Japanese male sang Sakura, Sakura (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sakura_Sakura) with much soul. A couple of men in the audience joined a belly dancer on the stage and following instructions by the pro on stage, wiggled their bellies and their non-existent boobs with much gusto. At the very end, a lot more men and women, upon their urging, joined the folk dancers.
People could not get enough photos of the fare. We had forgot our camera, which allowed us to enjoy the evening and the company at our table more fully.
The dessert sekerpare (my first time tasting this) at the end of a four-course meal was amazing. Next day was at sea when, once again, we could enjoy all that a luxury ship offers. My personal first stop the next morning was the gym. How else could I justify eating all those desserts
onboard?
Onward to Athens. I have already written about it. So I may skip to Palermo, our last stop.
Ciao!
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Cruising
Post 4 of . . .
Happy Diwali! I continue to wake up at the wee hours of the morning and this has helped me blog regularly in the last few days. Ain't this wonderful?:)
Today, I’ll switch gears and talk about people I met on the cruise and beyond instead of going on with the places. Let’s assume today is a sea day and that after crossing the Ionian Sea we are merging into the Aegean Sea as we move toward the narrow Dardennels and the Sea of Marmara where Istanbul is located.
On our previous cruises, mealtime was free style, meaning one had no set time to dine. On this cruise our travel agent asked us if we wanted to eat at 6 or 9. Six was too early and nine was a bit late but I picked six anyway. I was also asked if I ‘d like to sit by ourselves or sit with more folks. I said that four more people would be fine. This resulted in sitting with Gil and Lily and Ann and Colin, folks from England. When I first met them, I wondered how much I might have to strain my ears--though BBC-TV and -Radio trained--to understand their British accent. Luckily, it didn’t take too long and by the third day, I felt that my own accent was drifting back toward British, which at one time, coming from India, it used to border on. At least, my American friends told me that it did.
Our conversations flowed easily and touched upon any number of subjects. Me a liberated career woman (though not on the "fast track" anymore), and Gil a retired nuclear engineer, tended to lay many of the world’s problems to the breakdown of the traditional family, which we mostly attributed to the career aspirations of a woman. Gil was afraid he might labeled a sexist and I assured him that we were all just throwing a few opinions around and nothing more. Gil, a father of two successful career women, suggested that women these days wanted "everything" and this was the problem, while his charming and sweet wife Lily, a homemaker, smiled sheepishly. I couldn’t tell if she agreed with him or quietly mocked him: so what’s so wrong about that? She had this quiet personality and a disarming smile that could probably help her get away with murder so to speak. I think she thought with her hands because often when she had something profound to say, her hands would come together and her fingertips would tap each other softly. This action reminded me of Mr. Burns on the popular TV Show: The Simpsons. But he is a mean guy. I could tell Lily was a deep thinker and I was pleasantly surprised that we both shared the same zodiac sign.
Ann, an English teacher in a non-traditional college where it seemed the students were all foreigners (she herself at one time was married to an Iranian; her job gave access to some interesting cultural stories--some hilarious and some sad), sounded a bit defensive on the subject. She said that not all women had a choice. Overall, it was a civil exchange and it was concluded that it was a complex subject.
In light of the discovery of billions of dollars of worth of treasures in a temple in southern India run by the local royal family, I ribbed the British that thank God that they were all hidden from their eyes when they ruled India. Gil "pleaded" with me to show him up as the rightful owner and promised me a 10% commission:)
We spent a solid twelve evenings with these two couples and I think we have becomes friends for life. I even think that Gil "sized up my personality" to the nth degree. I think that we actually shared some common traits. Some have called me a black mustard seed and others a peppercorn, apparently for the punch these spices pack. Even B feels I pack a lot of punch which I’m not sure is necessarily good or bad.
Talking of personalities, our waiter was quite a character. A big guy with a big smile and high energy who I think took offense that I thought that he was south American. I think he said that his mother was German and his father Romanian (?). He took great pleasure in recommending, particularly to me a vegetarian, what to order from the menu. The food in the restuarant was mediocre at best. But for the company at the table and the conversation, I’d have preferred eating free style at Windjammer the main cafeteria where the variety and the quality of the fare was much better.
It was a delight to watch Ann and Colin dance on the dance floor. She wore the most excquisite dance dresses, a different color each day. Colin seemed like a perfectionist. I think he was. He even dressed impeccably and every slicked back hair on his head was in place.
Others we met were usually during breakfast in the Windjammer (on the final day a couple from Sweden that had moved to southern France near Toulouse 12 years ago to avoid the cold and damp Swedish climate; at one time, he was a ship captain himself ,and his wife’s uncle was an ambassador to many countries, one of them, India) or at lunch or at the hot tub or the Trivia games played three times a day or at the one-time late night buffet.
The Trivia game players split ourselves up into teams and usually we did not switch teams. On our team Stella and Liz were from Cork (so our team took the name: Corkonians), Ireland, perennial-cruisers Joyce and her sister were from near Dallas,Texas. Heavy-set Joyce with her fluffed out silver white short curly hair, probably in her late 60’s, possibly as a Trivia aficionado, was a walking encyclopedia and fiercely competitive and a bit domineering and even a bit conceited at times and thus a little intimidating. I don't think she believed in spelling corrrectly, though, unless waiste for waist was just an oversight. Of the dozen teams that competed, our team ended up being number 2 overall. The winning team was ahead of us just by three points and they got all the prizes.
On the ship, I even met an Irish priest. I opened my conversation with my watching a few years back the very funny movie, Waking Ned Devine (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waking_Ned), set in Ireland. He had not heard of it, but when I told him the story, he cracked up. Particularly the character of Lizzy the misanthrope made him throw his head back and laugh out loud with a show of recognition.
Later, he tried to comfort me when I told him about my missing my recently deceased dad (When a loved one is alive and well, we're afraid of losing him/her, and, eventually, when, we do lose him/her, how much we wish we could have stopped death through some miracle or at least had a chance to know what was the last thing on their mind!; apparently, Steve Jobs's last words: Oh, wow uttered three times). He explained that because we live an imperfect world pain is inevitable. I brought up how Steve Jobs (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/30/opinion/mona-simpsons-eulogy-for-steve-jobs.html?pagewanted=all) had called "death life’s best invention," and the priest releasing a laugh agreed wholeheartedly. We talked about after life and he insisted that my dad as a human will come back only as a human and not as a tree or an insect and so on like some might believe, but not back to this world as he’d have moved on to that perfect world, which is where all who died went. I said to him that my dad might return to his family as a member of the next generation. The Father sitting before me disagreed.
I brought up the atheist and British writer, Christopher Hitchens’s (whom I do admire am truly sorry to see him dying of cancer) name and commented, how for an atheist he obsessed over God’s existence so much, and the priest laughed in agreement. My English dinner companions, who were not particularly religious, had no knowldge of Hitchens and I was surprised.
B met more people because he regularly played table tennis (TT) with a bunch of TT fanatics. One evening, B and I played chess and guess who won? You guessed right:) And yes, I'm known for my modesty! At the Trivia games I learned that a group of owls are called a parliament of owls! Go figure.
Since not everbody on the ship spoke English, we could not make more friends. Others we met included Madeline from Puerto Rico who communicated in English quite well, a Scottish couple who revealed to us that the Welsh couple they met spoke only in Welsh and possibly they gossiped about the Scottish couple, Jenny and Tony pushing 70 from New Mexico who have gone on so many cruises they have lost count, another Tony and his wife Julie both from England and the German couple Andrea (?sp) and her husband Madfred. He apparently, biked to work. Their daughter was away in France as part of the German educational system where a student spent half a year every year in another country of his/her choice. It was hard to udnerstadn their Englsih quite clearly.
In Istanbul, at the Turkish Dinner in Taksim Square we met Nick (a Hungarian who grew up in Austria and now lives in Los Angeles) and his Mexican-born wife Celia, both probably in their early 70's, and two other couples from Canada (Steve and Pam, and Marie and ?). At lunch on our tour in Istanbul we also met Vivek and his pregnant wife Karen from Switzerland and Caitlin and Mark possibly in their late 20's married for just a week and on their honeymoon from North Carolina. The two of them who had known each other for nearly a decade, but Mark apparently proposed to Caitlin just a week before the marriage! During lunch, Mark's thumb kept rubbing his wedding ring and Mark joked that he was still getting used to the ring.
I had trouble distinguishing between the various accents of the non-American English speaking groups onboard. Apparently, the British were the most in number (close to 500) followed by Americans, Spanish and the rest. I even met a few from a town close to where I live. And another interesting couple Consuela and Alexander from Colombia who now live in Beijing. He works for the oil industry.
Tomorrow Istanbul.
Ciao!
Happy Diwali! I continue to wake up at the wee hours of the morning and this has helped me blog regularly in the last few days. Ain't this wonderful?:)
Today, I’ll switch gears and talk about people I met on the cruise and beyond instead of going on with the places. Let’s assume today is a sea day and that after crossing the Ionian Sea we are merging into the Aegean Sea as we move toward the narrow Dardennels and the Sea of Marmara where Istanbul is located.
On our previous cruises, mealtime was free style, meaning one had no set time to dine. On this cruise our travel agent asked us if we wanted to eat at 6 or 9. Six was too early and nine was a bit late but I picked six anyway. I was also asked if I ‘d like to sit by ourselves or sit with more folks. I said that four more people would be fine. This resulted in sitting with Gil and Lily and Ann and Colin, folks from England. When I first met them, I wondered how much I might have to strain my ears--though BBC-TV and -Radio trained--to understand their British accent. Luckily, it didn’t take too long and by the third day, I felt that my own accent was drifting back toward British, which at one time, coming from India, it used to border on. At least, my American friends told me that it did.
Our conversations flowed easily and touched upon any number of subjects. Me a liberated career woman (though not on the "fast track" anymore), and Gil a retired nuclear engineer, tended to lay many of the world’s problems to the breakdown of the traditional family, which we mostly attributed to the career aspirations of a woman. Gil was afraid he might labeled a sexist and I assured him that we were all just throwing a few opinions around and nothing more. Gil, a father of two successful career women, suggested that women these days wanted "everything" and this was the problem, while his charming and sweet wife Lily, a homemaker, smiled sheepishly. I couldn’t tell if she agreed with him or quietly mocked him: so what’s so wrong about that? She had this quiet personality and a disarming smile that could probably help her get away with murder so to speak. I think she thought with her hands because often when she had something profound to say, her hands would come together and her fingertips would tap each other softly. This action reminded me of Mr. Burns on the popular TV Show: The Simpsons. But he is a mean guy. I could tell Lily was a deep thinker and I was pleasantly surprised that we both shared the same zodiac sign.
Ann, an English teacher in a non-traditional college where it seemed the students were all foreigners (she herself at one time was married to an Iranian; her job gave access to some interesting cultural stories--some hilarious and some sad), sounded a bit defensive on the subject. She said that not all women had a choice. Overall, it was a civil exchange and it was concluded that it was a complex subject.
In light of the discovery of billions of dollars of worth of treasures in a temple in southern India run by the local royal family, I ribbed the British that thank God that they were all hidden from their eyes when they ruled India. Gil "pleaded" with me to show him up as the rightful owner and promised me a 10% commission:)
We spent a solid twelve evenings with these two couples and I think we have becomes friends for life. I even think that Gil "sized up my personality" to the nth degree. I think that we actually shared some common traits. Some have called me a black mustard seed and others a peppercorn, apparently for the punch these spices pack. Even B feels I pack a lot of punch which I’m not sure is necessarily good or bad.
Talking of personalities, our waiter was quite a character. A big guy with a big smile and high energy who I think took offense that I thought that he was south American. I think he said that his mother was German and his father Romanian (?). He took great pleasure in recommending, particularly to me a vegetarian, what to order from the menu. The food in the restuarant was mediocre at best. But for the company at the table and the conversation, I’d have preferred eating free style at Windjammer the main cafeteria where the variety and the quality of the fare was much better.
It was a delight to watch Ann and Colin dance on the dance floor. She wore the most excquisite dance dresses, a different color each day. Colin seemed like a perfectionist. I think he was. He even dressed impeccably and every slicked back hair on his head was in place.
Others we met were usually during breakfast in the Windjammer (on the final day a couple from Sweden that had moved to southern France near Toulouse 12 years ago to avoid the cold and damp Swedish climate; at one time, he was a ship captain himself ,and his wife’s uncle was an ambassador to many countries, one of them, India) or at lunch or at the hot tub or the Trivia games played three times a day or at the one-time late night buffet.
The Trivia game players split ourselves up into teams and usually we did not switch teams. On our team Stella and Liz were from Cork (so our team took the name: Corkonians), Ireland, perennial-cruisers Joyce and her sister were from near Dallas,Texas. Heavy-set Joyce with her fluffed out silver white short curly hair, probably in her late 60’s, possibly as a Trivia aficionado, was a walking encyclopedia and fiercely competitive and a bit domineering and even a bit conceited at times and thus a little intimidating. I don't think she believed in spelling corrrectly, though, unless waiste for waist was just an oversight. Of the dozen teams that competed, our team ended up being number 2 overall. The winning team was ahead of us just by three points and they got all the prizes.
On the ship, I even met an Irish priest. I opened my conversation with my watching a few years back the very funny movie, Waking Ned Devine (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waking_Ned), set in Ireland. He had not heard of it, but when I told him the story, he cracked up. Particularly the character of Lizzy the misanthrope made him throw his head back and laugh out loud with a show of recognition.
Later, he tried to comfort me when I told him about my missing my recently deceased dad (When a loved one is alive and well, we're afraid of losing him/her, and, eventually, when, we do lose him/her, how much we wish we could have stopped death through some miracle or at least had a chance to know what was the last thing on their mind!; apparently, Steve Jobs's last words: Oh, wow uttered three times). He explained that because we live an imperfect world pain is inevitable. I brought up how Steve Jobs (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/30/opinion/mona-simpsons-eulogy-for-steve-jobs.html?pagewanted=all) had called "death life’s best invention," and the priest releasing a laugh agreed wholeheartedly. We talked about after life and he insisted that my dad as a human will come back only as a human and not as a tree or an insect and so on like some might believe, but not back to this world as he’d have moved on to that perfect world, which is where all who died went. I said to him that my dad might return to his family as a member of the next generation. The Father sitting before me disagreed.
I brought up the atheist and British writer, Christopher Hitchens’s (whom I do admire am truly sorry to see him dying of cancer) name and commented, how for an atheist he obsessed over God’s existence so much, and the priest laughed in agreement. My English dinner companions, who were not particularly religious, had no knowldge of Hitchens and I was surprised.
B met more people because he regularly played table tennis (TT) with a bunch of TT fanatics. One evening, B and I played chess and guess who won? You guessed right:) And yes, I'm known for my modesty! At the Trivia games I learned that a group of owls are called a parliament of owls! Go figure.
Since not everbody on the ship spoke English, we could not make more friends. Others we met included Madeline from Puerto Rico who communicated in English quite well, a Scottish couple who revealed to us that the Welsh couple they met spoke only in Welsh and possibly they gossiped about the Scottish couple, Jenny and Tony pushing 70 from New Mexico who have gone on so many cruises they have lost count, another Tony and his wife Julie both from England and the German couple Andrea (?sp) and her husband Madfred. He apparently, biked to work. Their daughter was away in France as part of the German educational system where a student spent half a year every year in another country of his/her choice. It was hard to udnerstadn their Englsih quite clearly.
In Istanbul, at the Turkish Dinner in Taksim Square we met Nick (a Hungarian who grew up in Austria and now lives in Los Angeles) and his Mexican-born wife Celia, both probably in their early 70's, and two other couples from Canada (Steve and Pam, and Marie and ?). At lunch on our tour in Istanbul we also met Vivek and his pregnant wife Karen from Switzerland and Caitlin and Mark possibly in their late 20's married for just a week and on their honeymoon from North Carolina. The two of them who had known each other for nearly a decade, but Mark apparently proposed to Caitlin just a week before the marriage! During lunch, Mark's thumb kept rubbing his wedding ring and Mark joked that he was still getting used to the ring.
I had trouble distinguishing between the various accents of the non-American English speaking groups onboard. Apparently, the British were the most in number (close to 500) followed by Americans, Spanish and the rest. I even met a few from a town close to where I live. And another interesting couple Consuela and Alexander from Colombia who now live in Beijing. He works for the oil industry.
Tomorrow Istanbul.
Ciao!
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Corfu, Shopping
Post 3 of . . .
On October 12 evening, mighty Messina, where we made sure to check out the famous bell tower with its famous astronomical clock, the 12th century cathedral rebuilt after the devastating earthquake of 1908 and again in 1943 after the Allied bombing triggered a fire, and the majestic 16th century Fountain of Orion behind us, we maneuvered through the narrow strait of Messina, at its narrowest, just two miles from Italy’s mainland at its southern tip the boot, toward Corfu, Greece. In Corfu, we had purchased a tour offered by the ship. We were just a handful of us on this tour and it, after a short bus ride, involved hours of walking discovering the island. And every step was worth it. I even ran into a friend at the palace, my all-time favorite flower jasmine. Soon I discovered that jasmine was the most common flower in Corfu. We covered many Roman ruins in this historic island and let our imagination fly. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corfu.
Corfu’s eastern side faces both southern Albania and southern Greek mainland. Our tour included the Old Town mainly. We had the option to return to the ship on our own and so this gave us some time to shop and I did find a compact (no more than 5"x6"), black leather, zipper-equipped, multi-compartment, accordion pocket book with adjustable strap that could hold all my stuff. In that labyrinth of a shopping mecca called Liston across from the Splianada Square (Esplanade) and the 19th century Palace of St. Michael and St. George or the Museum of Asian Art, I was thrilled to find this bag hanging right outside a leather goods shop as if it was waiting for me and for a reasonable price. It was time to retire my very old nifty black pocket book. I will post a picture of my new acquisition--a perfect blend of form, function and aesthetics. When it comes to buying stuff, I am very selective and so when I find something I love I do cherish it just like I value the special relationships in my life.
Our visit included the brightly colored Venetian quarters from the 17th century, the Roman baths from 200 A.D. across the crumbled 5th century Basilica of Paleopolis, the Mon Repos palace (birth place of Queen Elizabeth II’s husband Phillip) turned museum overlooking the Ionaina Sea, the rebuilt 17th century Town Hall (originally a theater and an opera house and also rebuilt after WW II)), and the church both across from each other, a hand-made soap factory, where I bought some olive oil soap and met the owner who gave an interesting lecture on soap making and on his 100-year-old factory. Such soap is available in many stores lining the crowded sidewalks next to the narrow winding streets heaving with traffic. Milling around on the sidewalks and across town were also a few Greek Orthodox priests sporting briefcases and looking serious and even a bit lost. Was Greek's faltering economy on their minds?
Since I take my smart phone with me only for emergency purposes, we use the local Internet cafes to check non-emergency e-mail from family, In Corfu, we found a great deal: One espresso coffee and fifteen minutes Net access for 1,50 euros! B is the coffee lover the moment he leaves home and so we took advantage of this deal. The owner spoke no English but was very pleasant.
The short return bus trip along the coast was marvelous, too. Onward to Istanbul!
Ciao!
On October 12 evening, mighty Messina, where we made sure to check out the famous bell tower with its famous astronomical clock, the 12th century cathedral rebuilt after the devastating earthquake of 1908 and again in 1943 after the Allied bombing triggered a fire, and the majestic 16th century Fountain of Orion behind us, we maneuvered through the narrow strait of Messina, at its narrowest, just two miles from Italy’s mainland at its southern tip the boot, toward Corfu, Greece. In Corfu, we had purchased a tour offered by the ship. We were just a handful of us on this tour and it, after a short bus ride, involved hours of walking discovering the island. And every step was worth it. I even ran into a friend at the palace, my all-time favorite flower jasmine. Soon I discovered that jasmine was the most common flower in Corfu. We covered many Roman ruins in this historic island and let our imagination fly. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corfu.
Corfu’s eastern side faces both southern Albania and southern Greek mainland. Our tour included the Old Town mainly. We had the option to return to the ship on our own and so this gave us some time to shop and I did find a compact (no more than 5"x6"), black leather, zipper-equipped, multi-compartment, accordion pocket book with adjustable strap that could hold all my stuff. In that labyrinth of a shopping mecca called Liston across from the Splianada Square (Esplanade) and the 19th century Palace of St. Michael and St. George or the Museum of Asian Art, I was thrilled to find this bag hanging right outside a leather goods shop as if it was waiting for me and for a reasonable price. It was time to retire my very old nifty black pocket book. I will post a picture of my new acquisition--a perfect blend of form, function and aesthetics. When it comes to buying stuff, I am very selective and so when I find something I love I do cherish it just like I value the special relationships in my life.
Our visit included the brightly colored Venetian quarters from the 17th century, the Roman baths from 200 A.D. across the crumbled 5th century Basilica of Paleopolis, the Mon Repos palace (birth place of Queen Elizabeth II’s husband Phillip) turned museum overlooking the Ionaina Sea, the rebuilt 17th century Town Hall (originally a theater and an opera house and also rebuilt after WW II)), and the church both across from each other, a hand-made soap factory, where I bought some olive oil soap and met the owner who gave an interesting lecture on soap making and on his 100-year-old factory. Such soap is available in many stores lining the crowded sidewalks next to the narrow winding streets heaving with traffic. Milling around on the sidewalks and across town were also a few Greek Orthodox priests sporting briefcases and looking serious and even a bit lost. Was Greek's faltering economy on their minds?
Since I take my smart phone with me only for emergency purposes, we use the local Internet cafes to check non-emergency e-mail from family, In Corfu, we found a great deal: One espresso coffee and fifteen minutes Net access for 1,50 euros! B is the coffee lover the moment he leaves home and so we took advantage of this deal. The owner spoke no English but was very pleasant.
The short return bus trip along the coast was marvelous, too. Onward to Istanbul!
Ciao!
Monday, October 24, 2011
Taormina, Cannoli, Corso Umberto
Post 2 of . . .
Of the four new places we visited this time, I fell in love with Taormina (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taormina) in Sicily. Its hilly terrain with white washed and colorful homes perched at different levels like on a staircase with smoky Mt. Etna towering over at a distance and the Tyrrhenian Sea hugging at the town’s edge is like in a fairy tale. We did not have time to visit its famous Greek Theater. We spent our time checking out the lovely public garden (http://carols-cruise-port-itineraries.com/ITALY-Taormina-VillaComunalePublicGarden.htm) that in the late 19th century was the private garden of the English aristocrat Florence Trevelyan, a woman who was a botany and ornithology lover and walking the town’s meandering streets lined with charming boutiques and other shops filled with fine ceramic items and other well-crafted goods stamped with that world renowned Italian eye for quality and detail. We had also seen several such theaters in Greece on our previous trip and also by the time we were ready to check out the theater, the line was too long.
The busy restaurants lining the stepped streets off the Corso Umberto, the town’s main artery, along with regular grocery stores brimming with local spices and herbs and other items (will post some of these pictures) were also a cornucopia of smells and sights. Taormina was a feast for one’s senses. Our palate was duly rewarded as well thanks to the freshly made cannoli (my choice) and pistachio gelato (B’s choice) from a corner specialty joint. And the history of the place makes the place only more interesting. Here is a site that has lovely photos of Taormina just in case my collection is not as comprehensive. Obviously, I haven’t looked at our pics yet. Also, check out http://www.independenttraveler.com/tripreports/tripreports.cfm?ID=2372.
From the ship docked at Messina, we traveled by tour bus to Taormina and from the bus terminal walked to the center of town and took in its sights, sounds and smells. One interesting thing that caught our attention was how one is let into a building. The door is electronically operated. You press a button and a semi-circular door slides around and you’re in the middle of a small holding circle and then another semi-circular door slides around and you are inside the building. Will post a picture soon. Another aspect that caught my attention was the indifference of the drivers be they motorbikes, cars or any other vehicle toward pedestrians. Luckily no vehicle is allowed between the two gates that bracket the main square and Corso Umberto.
We returned to Sicily on our way back to Barcelona as well--this time to Palermo (unfortunately, couldn’t find a good cannoli place) on the northwest coast. On our way back to the bus, our tour guide said how expensive and prestigious it was to own a place in Taormina. Because I have posted some links, I haven’t described everything in great detail. Why reinvent the wheel?
More later. Next stop Corfu, Greece.
Ciao.
Of the four new places we visited this time, I fell in love with Taormina (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taormina) in Sicily. Its hilly terrain with white washed and colorful homes perched at different levels like on a staircase with smoky Mt. Etna towering over at a distance and the Tyrrhenian Sea hugging at the town’s edge is like in a fairy tale. We did not have time to visit its famous Greek Theater. We spent our time checking out the lovely public garden (http://carols-cruise-port-itineraries.com/ITALY-Taormina-VillaComunalePublicGarden.htm) that in the late 19th century was the private garden of the English aristocrat Florence Trevelyan, a woman who was a botany and ornithology lover and walking the town’s meandering streets lined with charming boutiques and other shops filled with fine ceramic items and other well-crafted goods stamped with that world renowned Italian eye for quality and detail. We had also seen several such theaters in Greece on our previous trip and also by the time we were ready to check out the theater, the line was too long.
The busy restaurants lining the stepped streets off the Corso Umberto, the town’s main artery, along with regular grocery stores brimming with local spices and herbs and other items (will post some of these pictures) were also a cornucopia of smells and sights. Taormina was a feast for one’s senses. Our palate was duly rewarded as well thanks to the freshly made cannoli (my choice) and pistachio gelato (B’s choice) from a corner specialty joint. And the history of the place makes the place only more interesting. Here is a site that has lovely photos of Taormina just in case my collection is not as comprehensive. Obviously, I haven’t looked at our pics yet. Also, check out http://www.independenttraveler.com/tripreports/tripreports.cfm?ID=2372.
From the ship docked at Messina, we traveled by tour bus to Taormina and from the bus terminal walked to the center of town and took in its sights, sounds and smells. One interesting thing that caught our attention was how one is let into a building. The door is electronically operated. You press a button and a semi-circular door slides around and you’re in the middle of a small holding circle and then another semi-circular door slides around and you are inside the building. Will post a picture soon. Another aspect that caught my attention was the indifference of the drivers be they motorbikes, cars or any other vehicle toward pedestrians. Luckily no vehicle is allowed between the two gates that bracket the main square and Corso Umberto.
We returned to Sicily on our way back to Barcelona as well--this time to Palermo (unfortunately, couldn’t find a good cannoli place) on the northwest coast. On our way back to the bus, our tour guide said how expensive and prestigious it was to own a place in Taormina. Because I have posted some links, I haven’t described everything in great detail. Why reinvent the wheel?
More later. Next stop Corfu, Greece.
Ciao.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Greece, Cruising
Post 1 of . . .
Just got back on the 22nd from a fabulous 12-night round trip cruise from Barcelona to Messina, Sicily to Corfu, Greece to Istanbul, Turkey to Athens, Greece to Palermo, Sicilty. It’s 3 a.m. Sunday morning, and I am naturally, still on Europe time. This was my second trip to Athens, and so we were able to stay clear of most tourist spots and be more adventurous. The best way to rub shoulders with the local population is to do the things they do, which in our case included riding the local trains, walking the back alleys and discovering interesting places on our own. We did this in Barcelona as well where, in fact, in the fall of 2010, we stayed in a rented apartment (in one instance along with friends) for a week split in two parts. I wrote about this experience soon after I returned. The highlight of such an adventure this time was climbing to the highest point in Athens, the Lycabettus Hill (http://www.virtualtourist.com/travel/Europe/Greece/Prefecture_of_Attica/Athens-426812/Things_To_Do-Athens-Lycabettus_Hill-BR-1.html), where the tiny 19th century St. George’s church holds the most spectacular 360 degree panoramic view of Athens. At a distance, you can look down on the dwarfed Parthenon. Your hands get tired from photographing the breathtaking view. It’s one stop east on the train (the blue line) from Syntagma Square station near the parliament. Don’t try to walk it because the distance could be considerable if you’re pressed for time.
Rumors about the threat of strike flew about. But, we followed our instincts, bought a day pass for 4 euros each and took the train (green line) from the pier in Piraeus, went to the Plaka (Monistiraki Metro stop), walked around a bit, visited the well-tended (no sign of any economic distress was evident) National Garden next to the Parliament dotted with several school children shepherded by an adult presumably their teacher and then went to Lycabettus (station name: Evengelismos). Really a rewarding experience. Walking the back alleys of this hilly area to get to the hill top, we also heard the most amazing soulful accordion music which sounded inspired by the beauty of the leafy shady streets. I followed the sound and found the player. He was a young soulful looking guy who seemed to be enjoying himself playing the accordion. I gave him some change as most street musicians expect this of the passers by.
This solitary tranquility was contrasted by Greece’s present angry mood illustrated by its mounting uncollected garbage in every street corner. The scenes we saw on TV the next day made us realize how lucky we were that the one day we were in town Greece was open for business. It shut down the next day.
We did encounter reminders of the country’s mood through a few demonstrations and loud angry music blaring from the Finance Ministry across from the Parliament. The Plaka was lined with security personnel on the ready, guns and rifles in hand. On two separate instances, I saw at least a couple of women each, Madonna-like, with a child sitting on the sidewalk with stretched out hands hoping for some coins from passers by and even one young couple looking emaciated asking for handout from passers by. This felt like a true Greek tragedy. By the same token, some con artists also roamed the streets. For instance, while we waited for our order at a restaurant, four well-dressed guys showed up with musical instruments and one burly guy among them with handsome face, purportedly the leader, belted out a few lines of Never on a Sunday in Greek and then within seconds with a sense of entitlement came around with a hat and extended it to the patrons with a sense of entitlement. Without blinking an eyelid, I parted with an euro but soon kicked myself because the bandits moved on to the next set of suckers without finishing the song which was my expectation as I myself was midway along with them. Later, I felt better when an Internet cafe operator who would sell me only half hour time for 2 euros but not fifteen minutes for one euro, which is all the time I could spare, within seconds changed his mind and let me use his free time when he realized that I needed to check just my e-mail needing no more than three minutes max. And he spoke excellent English.
Next, a better experience awaited me at the train station. Monistiraki Metro stop is a busy station. It’s like a hub. We had to take the train station. Signs were not clearly marked and everything was in Greek. As we tried figuring out which way to go, I decided to ask someone who might understand English. I got lucky right away. I went up to a young man (he turned out to be just fifteen) with virgin facial hair coming up the stairs and he said, "follow me." We did. We had to walk quite a bit and then at the platform not only was it very crowded (it was around three p.m.) but the train we had to take was supposed to be on the track on the other side. It turned out that only one set of tracks was operating. So when the train on our tracks arrived, the young man spoke to another person on the platform and came back and informed us that the train would return after the next and last stop and then it would go to Piraeus, our destination. So we waited for this to happen but when the train returned it did not stop at our station.
The young man (Jim; real name, Dimitris) was very apologetic saying he had misunderstood. Anyway, another train packed with people and going in the opposite direction arrived soon enough and all three of us managed to get in. After it went up to the terminus it changed direction toward Piraeus. We even managed to get seats. I remarked to Jim that we were lucky to get seats. Calmly he said that we were alert. I was impressed with this take.
During the next twenty-minute ride I asked Jim many questions and he asked me some, too, and when he heard we were from New York, his eyes lit up and he said that this is one place he dreams of visiting one day. I retorted that Greece was such a lovely place where I found excellent workmanship. No, I was not referring to their Parthenon. I took out a pair of comfortable suede pumps I had bought that morning at the Plaka and showed them off to him. He said Greeks liked American things very much. He sported a nice horizontal-striped stylish water-resistant jacket over his denim trousers and I asked about the jacket and he said it was the Fox Brand and I think he had Adidas sneakers. At one point, he wanted to see a dollar bill. B had one and he showed it to Jim and also asked to keep it as good luck. Jim refused but B insisted and then Jim took it, examined it, looked happy and put it away. A perceptive guy, Jim asked me why I insisted that he take the money with his right hand. Without going into any cultural angle to it, B said that right hand was supposed to bring good luck. Jim smiled.
At one point, Jim in his halted English asked if young men were big and muscled in the U.S. He himself was of a slight built. As a mother of two sons, I could relate to his interest in this subject. He also thought they were all gangsters, which I just didn’t get. Anyway, we corrected his misperception and Jim smiled again. I gave him my e-mail id and he said he’d like to "facebook" me and so I gave him my correct name. When we parted company, it felt sad. We gave each other a hug and in the European style, Jim planted a kiss on both my cheeks and shook hands with B. I saw him on the 18th and on the 22nd when I opened my e-mail since the 18th, I found Jim’s Facebook invite. Of course, I accepted. The best part of travel in bumping into interesting strangers like Jim and, on a cruise, actually making some long-time friends.
More later, starting with Messina the home of Mt. Etna and Taormina, a place that I really loved.
Ciao!
Just got back on the 22nd from a fabulous 12-night round trip cruise from Barcelona to Messina, Sicily to Corfu, Greece to Istanbul, Turkey to Athens, Greece to Palermo, Sicilty. It’s 3 a.m. Sunday morning, and I am naturally, still on Europe time. This was my second trip to Athens, and so we were able to stay clear of most tourist spots and be more adventurous. The best way to rub shoulders with the local population is to do the things they do, which in our case included riding the local trains, walking the back alleys and discovering interesting places on our own. We did this in Barcelona as well where, in fact, in the fall of 2010, we stayed in a rented apartment (in one instance along with friends) for a week split in two parts. I wrote about this experience soon after I returned. The highlight of such an adventure this time was climbing to the highest point in Athens, the Lycabettus Hill (http://www.virtualtourist.com/travel/Europe/Greece/Prefecture_of_Attica/Athens-426812/Things_To_Do-Athens-Lycabettus_Hill-BR-1.html), where the tiny 19th century St. George’s church holds the most spectacular 360 degree panoramic view of Athens. At a distance, you can look down on the dwarfed Parthenon. Your hands get tired from photographing the breathtaking view. It’s one stop east on the train (the blue line) from Syntagma Square station near the parliament. Don’t try to walk it because the distance could be considerable if you’re pressed for time.
Rumors about the threat of strike flew about. But, we followed our instincts, bought a day pass for 4 euros each and took the train (green line) from the pier in Piraeus, went to the Plaka (Monistiraki Metro stop), walked around a bit, visited the well-tended (no sign of any economic distress was evident) National Garden next to the Parliament dotted with several school children shepherded by an adult presumably their teacher and then went to Lycabettus (station name: Evengelismos). Really a rewarding experience. Walking the back alleys of this hilly area to get to the hill top, we also heard the most amazing soulful accordion music which sounded inspired by the beauty of the leafy shady streets. I followed the sound and found the player. He was a young soulful looking guy who seemed to be enjoying himself playing the accordion. I gave him some change as most street musicians expect this of the passers by.
This solitary tranquility was contrasted by Greece’s present angry mood illustrated by its mounting uncollected garbage in every street corner. The scenes we saw on TV the next day made us realize how lucky we were that the one day we were in town Greece was open for business. It shut down the next day.
We did encounter reminders of the country’s mood through a few demonstrations and loud angry music blaring from the Finance Ministry across from the Parliament. The Plaka was lined with security personnel on the ready, guns and rifles in hand. On two separate instances, I saw at least a couple of women each, Madonna-like, with a child sitting on the sidewalk with stretched out hands hoping for some coins from passers by and even one young couple looking emaciated asking for handout from passers by. This felt like a true Greek tragedy. By the same token, some con artists also roamed the streets. For instance, while we waited for our order at a restaurant, four well-dressed guys showed up with musical instruments and one burly guy among them with handsome face, purportedly the leader, belted out a few lines of Never on a Sunday in Greek and then within seconds with a sense of entitlement came around with a hat and extended it to the patrons with a sense of entitlement. Without blinking an eyelid, I parted with an euro but soon kicked myself because the bandits moved on to the next set of suckers without finishing the song which was my expectation as I myself was midway along with them. Later, I felt better when an Internet cafe operator who would sell me only half hour time for 2 euros but not fifteen minutes for one euro, which is all the time I could spare, within seconds changed his mind and let me use his free time when he realized that I needed to check just my e-mail needing no more than three minutes max. And he spoke excellent English.
Next, a better experience awaited me at the train station. Monistiraki Metro stop is a busy station. It’s like a hub. We had to take the train station. Signs were not clearly marked and everything was in Greek. As we tried figuring out which way to go, I decided to ask someone who might understand English. I got lucky right away. I went up to a young man (he turned out to be just fifteen) with virgin facial hair coming up the stairs and he said, "follow me." We did. We had to walk quite a bit and then at the platform not only was it very crowded (it was around three p.m.) but the train we had to take was supposed to be on the track on the other side. It turned out that only one set of tracks was operating. So when the train on our tracks arrived, the young man spoke to another person on the platform and came back and informed us that the train would return after the next and last stop and then it would go to Piraeus, our destination. So we waited for this to happen but when the train returned it did not stop at our station.
The young man (Jim; real name, Dimitris) was very apologetic saying he had misunderstood. Anyway, another train packed with people and going in the opposite direction arrived soon enough and all three of us managed to get in. After it went up to the terminus it changed direction toward Piraeus. We even managed to get seats. I remarked to Jim that we were lucky to get seats. Calmly he said that we were alert. I was impressed with this take.
During the next twenty-minute ride I asked Jim many questions and he asked me some, too, and when he heard we were from New York, his eyes lit up and he said that this is one place he dreams of visiting one day. I retorted that Greece was such a lovely place where I found excellent workmanship. No, I was not referring to their Parthenon. I took out a pair of comfortable suede pumps I had bought that morning at the Plaka and showed them off to him. He said Greeks liked American things very much. He sported a nice horizontal-striped stylish water-resistant jacket over his denim trousers and I asked about the jacket and he said it was the Fox Brand and I think he had Adidas sneakers. At one point, he wanted to see a dollar bill. B had one and he showed it to Jim and also asked to keep it as good luck. Jim refused but B insisted and then Jim took it, examined it, looked happy and put it away. A perceptive guy, Jim asked me why I insisted that he take the money with his right hand. Without going into any cultural angle to it, B said that right hand was supposed to bring good luck. Jim smiled.
At one point, Jim in his halted English asked if young men were big and muscled in the U.S. He himself was of a slight built. As a mother of two sons, I could relate to his interest in this subject. He also thought they were all gangsters, which I just didn’t get. Anyway, we corrected his misperception and Jim smiled again. I gave him my e-mail id and he said he’d like to "facebook" me and so I gave him my correct name. When we parted company, it felt sad. We gave each other a hug and in the European style, Jim planted a kiss on both my cheeks and shook hands with B. I saw him on the 18th and on the 22nd when I opened my e-mail since the 18th, I found Jim’s Facebook invite. Of course, I accepted. The best part of travel in bumping into interesting strangers like Jim and, on a cruise, actually making some long-time friends.
More later, starting with Messina the home of Mt. Etna and Taormina, a place that I really loved.
Ciao!
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Steve Jobs, Death
What a loss! For whatever reason, I don't use Apple products, but the sadness I feel today is way too real. Here is Steve's fantastic 2005 Stanford Commencement speech:
http://www.foxnews.com/scitech/2011/10/06/in-2005-speech-steve-jobs-muses-on-death/ (text)
Exactly what every seer has said over the milllennia.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1R-jKKp3NA (longer vide0) of the speech: 15 minutes.
Ciao!
http://www.foxnews.com/scitech/2011/10/06/in-2005-speech-steve-jobs-muses-on-death/ (text)
Exactly what every seer has said over the milllennia.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1R-jKKp3NA (longer vide0) of the speech: 15 minutes.
Ciao!
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Pompeii the Exhibit, New York City
Lobor Day Weekend, 2011
On Saturday, we left home around 8:15, took the 8:36 train to the city, walked ten blocks to the Times Square Exhibitions, and entered the Pompeii the Exhibit around 9:40 on 44th between 7th and 8th Avenues. Along the way, I took several pictures--something I had been planning to do forever but never did.
Having been to Pompeii in October 2010 and climbed Mt. Vesuvius, seeing the exhibit was like being in Pompeii all over again but even more educational and palpable because of the videos that recreated the actual eruption hour by hour on that fateful August day in 70 A.D. Until that day, the Italians did not have a word for volcano. Then it was named after the Vulcan, the Roman fire god. Learned all about lararium, a Roman shrine at homes for their gods. Around 11:40, we left 44th Street and moseyed over to 46 and Madison where according to the New York Times the Brazilian Parade scheduled for Sunday had its pre-parade preparations under way. It was a lively experience with east-west traffic suspended and the north-south traffic was stop even at the green light and then go. Took some shots of the participants.
Then we moved to the 52nd Street Fair between Lexington and 7th. We moved westward from Madison and took in the sights and sounds of the fair. It was all very festive and food and wares from various parts of the world were being hawked. We went to a vegetarian stall and had falafel at $8 apiece. B got himself (I was surprised) and consumed zero calorie coke for the first time and didn’t mind it at all. This was a small victory for me because sometimes when I share his coke, it was always the sugary one. Now it can be my kind.
I did some shopping. A waterproof tote bag that folds into a three-inch by six-inch zip-able purse-like bundle from a Chinese. I also bought a made-in-India Magic Skirt from a Tibetan, which I have had my eye on for a while, but not being a religious shopper but only accidental, until now I didn’t "run" into one. In the next couple of minutes I saw the same thing (?) being sold for $5 less. I felt bad that I paid moreL The skirt can be worn in a myriad ways and comes with a full-page instruction sheet.
From 52nd we walked all the way on Broadway via Columbus Circle to watch the 3:20 p.m. screening of the French movie, "I am glad my mother is alive" at the Lincoln Center’s Elinor Bunin Munroe Film Center on 65th between Broadway and Amsterdam. After making sure the movie had English subtitles, we bought the tickets, walked around the area for a few minutes and then went into the theater. It was a nice theater but only a handful of patrons. It was a film based on true story. I learned about the movie only that morning while flipping through the Times on the train. In the city, one can find so many things to do spontaneously. The movie had been reviewed well and I made a mental note that when it came to Malverne Theater near home that shows foreign films, I’d catch it. Never thought that I ‘d see it the same day. I am a planner but I also like nice surprises.
After a cuppa Joe (Hazel Nut for me) and a good size pumpkin cake topped with sunflower seeds--a first of its kind for me--from a deli run by very friendly Afghans on 7th Ave. and at a table in the promenade, we walked back to Penn Station. On the way we returned to the Time Warner-CNN Building across from Columbus Circle, I changed back into my pants from my Magic Skirt, which I had changed into on way to the movie. After enjoying the US Open on a big screen at the Samsung showroom, we caught the 6:45 back home. We had walked a total of more than 90 blocks that day. On the train I wrote a pretty long e-mail reply to a friend and at the end of it, I was completely exhausted. At home had a nice dinner and called it a day.
It was a full and rich day of simple pleasures that set me back about $150 for the two of us--every transaction coincidentally a $26 or $26 and change chunk--but well worth every penny.
On Saturday, we left home around 8:15, took the 8:36 train to the city, walked ten blocks to the Times Square Exhibitions, and entered the Pompeii the Exhibit around 9:40 on 44th between 7th and 8th Avenues. Along the way, I took several pictures--something I had been planning to do forever but never did.
Having been to Pompeii in October 2010 and climbed Mt. Vesuvius, seeing the exhibit was like being in Pompeii all over again but even more educational and palpable because of the videos that recreated the actual eruption hour by hour on that fateful August day in 70 A.D. Until that day, the Italians did not have a word for volcano. Then it was named after the Vulcan, the Roman fire god. Learned all about lararium, a Roman shrine at homes for their gods. Around 11:40, we left 44th Street and moseyed over to 46 and Madison where according to the New York Times the Brazilian Parade scheduled for Sunday had its pre-parade preparations under way. It was a lively experience with east-west traffic suspended and the north-south traffic was stop even at the green light and then go. Took some shots of the participants.
Then we moved to the 52nd Street Fair between Lexington and 7th. We moved westward from Madison and took in the sights and sounds of the fair. It was all very festive and food and wares from various parts of the world were being hawked. We went to a vegetarian stall and had falafel at $8 apiece. B got himself (I was surprised) and consumed zero calorie coke for the first time and didn’t mind it at all. This was a small victory for me because sometimes when I share his coke, it was always the sugary one. Now it can be my kind.
I did some shopping. A waterproof tote bag that folds into a three-inch by six-inch zip-able purse-like bundle from a Chinese. I also bought a made-in-India Magic Skirt from a Tibetan, which I have had my eye on for a while, but not being a religious shopper but only accidental, until now I didn’t "run" into one. In the next couple of minutes I saw the same thing (?) being sold for $5 less. I felt bad that I paid moreL The skirt can be worn in a myriad ways and comes with a full-page instruction sheet.
From 52nd we walked all the way on Broadway via Columbus Circle to watch the 3:20 p.m. screening of the French movie, "I am glad my mother is alive" at the Lincoln Center’s Elinor Bunin Munroe Film Center on 65th between Broadway and Amsterdam. After making sure the movie had English subtitles, we bought the tickets, walked around the area for a few minutes and then went into the theater. It was a nice theater but only a handful of patrons. It was a film based on true story. I learned about the movie only that morning while flipping through the Times on the train. In the city, one can find so many things to do spontaneously. The movie had been reviewed well and I made a mental note that when it came to Malverne Theater near home that shows foreign films, I’d catch it. Never thought that I ‘d see it the same day. I am a planner but I also like nice surprises.
After a cuppa Joe (Hazel Nut for me) and a good size pumpkin cake topped with sunflower seeds--a first of its kind for me--from a deli run by very friendly Afghans on 7th Ave. and at a table in the promenade, we walked back to Penn Station. On the way we returned to the Time Warner-CNN Building across from Columbus Circle, I changed back into my pants from my Magic Skirt, which I had changed into on way to the movie. After enjoying the US Open on a big screen at the Samsung showroom, we caught the 6:45 back home. We had walked a total of more than 90 blocks that day. On the train I wrote a pretty long e-mail reply to a friend and at the end of it, I was completely exhausted. At home had a nice dinner and called it a day.
It was a full and rich day of simple pleasures that set me back about $150 for the two of us--every transaction coincidentally a $26 or $26 and change chunk--but well worth every penny.
Vive la New York City!
Ciao.
P.S. Will try to post the photos later.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Summer 2011, The Earthquake, Hurricane Irene
Summer 2011.
How quickly the months between May through September flew by! I missed my father tremendously, my first summer without him. He used to go with us to the boardwalk every evening. We used to share news stories. Now I see myself reporting to my father the news events that have taken place since he passed away. I often recall his smile and his sense of humor. Often get emotional thinking about him. He loved life and wanted to live longer but this was not to be. Still I mustn’t complain because how lucky for me that he did live as long as he did. But greed is human nature.
My Labor Day Weekend was a grand finale to my summer that was filled with many nice moments in the company of many lovely friends and engaged in several fun activities and even two eventful weeks. First the earthquake on August 23 that I felt around 1:55 pm while I was on a Webinar. The doors to my computer unit rattled and even when I tried stilling them the doors still kept moving. I got a bit spooked, went upstairs only to see my floor-to-ceiling gooseneck lamp in the living room sway, and hear the chimes and the chandelier in the foyer making music. I opened the front door with the intent to flee if things got worse. I saw people across the house on their front lawn but it didn’t look like they had felt the earth move like I had. Within seconds all movement stopped and I cautiously returned to my Webinar only to hear that a few people signed off because of an earthquake in Virginia. I sent a quick note myself saying how I was happy the earthquake wasn’t a figment of my imagination.
On August 26, came dire warning about Hurricane Irene. We were ordered to evacuate. The water across from the house is an inlet from the Atlantic Ocean. Friends called offering shelter. We chose to stay home. My main reason was, if things went wrong around the house I’d be there to correct things that could be corrected to avoid major damage. Secondly, no place on the East Coast was foolproof safe on August 27-28 and finally, the news images of damage in places where Irene that has been downgraded to a category 1 were not catastrophic.
Category 1 downgraded even further Irene still howled on Saturday night and the trees shook violently and I slept very little but prayed a lot. Sunday morning, when I got out of bed, and went into the bathroom and turned on the light, I realized that the power was out. My husband said that it went out at 2 a.m. So, it was about six hours now. I was hopeful that it would return soon. Rarely have we lost power for more than a short while. There was no flooding on the street but soon, the water from the inlet rose and invaded the streets. We wondered if we must block our garage door but with what? Lo, and behold, pretty soon the water receded, too. We have had this situation before too, in the 1980’s during Gloria I think.
We got dressed and went out to check out the damage in the neighborhood. A large tree between our home and the next house had tilted quite a bit pulling the cables with it and a corner piece of our siding, which dangled precariously, but still, stayed attached to the cables. As we walked the streets we ran into others who also had no power. Some broken off tree limbs looked like art work. I picked one interesting-looking piece to decorate my front lawn. On the way, we also used this utilitarian art piece to push the leaves away from the gutters so water could drain. A couple of young mothers pushing their children in strollers informed that we won’t get power back till possibly Friday. This sounded ridiculous. Six days without power? The informer elaborated further that because we did not evacuate as per instruction we were to get power back later than sooner. This just didn’t make any sense. We knocked on our friends’ door to commiserate and gossip-- things we rarely get to do in this fast-paced world. It was fun.
When we returned home, I hoisted my un-commissioned, Irene-provided art work on my lawn and it does look pretty. But one of the worst weather-related experiences I have had was on March 13, 2010. On that day, a heavy thunderstorm knocked down two of my evergreens—one really large and old and the other fairly young and not too large—blew a few shingles off my siding and the basket ball hoop toppled over just missing my cars in the drive way. I don’t recall any serious weather warnings for that one.
In the afternoon we went out looking for lunch. Quite a few eateries were open. We went to Mitchell’s Diner in town. It was a mob scene there. I ran into folks I had not seen in years.
Once I got home I got busy with my editing which I ended just as the sun went down. Still no power, I lit a few candles and after a light dinner, we played Scrabble. Next morning, I decided to take my fridge-borne stuff over to a friend’s in the neighborhood and used her computer to work on my document. Later during my lunch at home, another friend came over to check on me and took me over to her place for a shower. I also transferred some frozen veges to her freezer. Later, I returned home to rescue my home made yogurt in the fridge. Having been locked out unintentionally, of course, by my computer-owning friend, I went o another friend in the next town looking for a home for my yogurt. She also invited me in for dinner later. By now, a nomad, I had several homes willing to shelter me. I was touched.
When I stopped by the house to pick up something, a neighbor informed me that power would be back only on Thursday. Her camper sister-in-law from a nearby town was setting her up with a large ice chest lined with home-made ice packs. I also learned how to make an ice pack and my neighbor loaned me a bunch of large zip lock bags. I brought the demo bag back with me to my friend’s place and left it in her freezer.
To my surprise, power returned on Tuesday around 5 p.m. and over the next two days I retrieved all my stuff and got back on track slowly. Tomorrow: the Labor Day weekend outing.
Ciao!
How quickly the months between May through September flew by! I missed my father tremendously, my first summer without him. He used to go with us to the boardwalk every evening. We used to share news stories. Now I see myself reporting to my father the news events that have taken place since he passed away. I often recall his smile and his sense of humor. Often get emotional thinking about him. He loved life and wanted to live longer but this was not to be. Still I mustn’t complain because how lucky for me that he did live as long as he did. But greed is human nature.
My Labor Day Weekend was a grand finale to my summer that was filled with many nice moments in the company of many lovely friends and engaged in several fun activities and even two eventful weeks. First the earthquake on August 23 that I felt around 1:55 pm while I was on a Webinar. The doors to my computer unit rattled and even when I tried stilling them the doors still kept moving. I got a bit spooked, went upstairs only to see my floor-to-ceiling gooseneck lamp in the living room sway, and hear the chimes and the chandelier in the foyer making music. I opened the front door with the intent to flee if things got worse. I saw people across the house on their front lawn but it didn’t look like they had felt the earth move like I had. Within seconds all movement stopped and I cautiously returned to my Webinar only to hear that a few people signed off because of an earthquake in Virginia. I sent a quick note myself saying how I was happy the earthquake wasn’t a figment of my imagination.
On August 26, came dire warning about Hurricane Irene. We were ordered to evacuate. The water across from the house is an inlet from the Atlantic Ocean. Friends called offering shelter. We chose to stay home. My main reason was, if things went wrong around the house I’d be there to correct things that could be corrected to avoid major damage. Secondly, no place on the East Coast was foolproof safe on August 27-28 and finally, the news images of damage in places where Irene that has been downgraded to a category 1 were not catastrophic.
Category 1 downgraded even further Irene still howled on Saturday night and the trees shook violently and I slept very little but prayed a lot. Sunday morning, when I got out of bed, and went into the bathroom and turned on the light, I realized that the power was out. My husband said that it went out at 2 a.m. So, it was about six hours now. I was hopeful that it would return soon. Rarely have we lost power for more than a short while. There was no flooding on the street but soon, the water from the inlet rose and invaded the streets. We wondered if we must block our garage door but with what? Lo, and behold, pretty soon the water receded, too. We have had this situation before too, in the 1980’s during Gloria I think.
We got dressed and went out to check out the damage in the neighborhood. A large tree between our home and the next house had tilted quite a bit pulling the cables with it and a corner piece of our siding, which dangled precariously, but still, stayed attached to the cables. As we walked the streets we ran into others who also had no power. Some broken off tree limbs looked like art work. I picked one interesting-looking piece to decorate my front lawn. On the way, we also used this utilitarian art piece to push the leaves away from the gutters so water could drain. A couple of young mothers pushing their children in strollers informed that we won’t get power back till possibly Friday. This sounded ridiculous. Six days without power? The informer elaborated further that because we did not evacuate as per instruction we were to get power back later than sooner. This just didn’t make any sense. We knocked on our friends’ door to commiserate and gossip-- things we rarely get to do in this fast-paced world. It was fun.
When we returned home, I hoisted my un-commissioned, Irene-provided art work on my lawn and it does look pretty. But one of the worst weather-related experiences I have had was on March 13, 2010. On that day, a heavy thunderstorm knocked down two of my evergreens—one really large and old and the other fairly young and not too large—blew a few shingles off my siding and the basket ball hoop toppled over just missing my cars in the drive way. I don’t recall any serious weather warnings for that one.
In the afternoon we went out looking for lunch. Quite a few eateries were open. We went to Mitchell’s Diner in town. It was a mob scene there. I ran into folks I had not seen in years.
Once I got home I got busy with my editing which I ended just as the sun went down. Still no power, I lit a few candles and after a light dinner, we played Scrabble. Next morning, I decided to take my fridge-borne stuff over to a friend’s in the neighborhood and used her computer to work on my document. Later during my lunch at home, another friend came over to check on me and took me over to her place for a shower. I also transferred some frozen veges to her freezer. Later, I returned home to rescue my home made yogurt in the fridge. Having been locked out unintentionally, of course, by my computer-owning friend, I went o another friend in the next town looking for a home for my yogurt. She also invited me in for dinner later. By now, a nomad, I had several homes willing to shelter me. I was touched.
When I stopped by the house to pick up something, a neighbor informed me that power would be back only on Thursday. Her camper sister-in-law from a nearby town was setting her up with a large ice chest lined with home-made ice packs. I also learned how to make an ice pack and my neighbor loaned me a bunch of large zip lock bags. I brought the demo bag back with me to my friend’s place and left it in her freezer.
To my surprise, power returned on Tuesday around 5 p.m. and over the next two days I retrieved all my stuff and got back on track slowly. Tomorrow: the Labor Day weekend outing.
Ciao!
Monday, January 24, 2011
A Tribute, Death, Mourning, Grief
My dad Mayuram V. Subramanian.Indefatigable; Dogged; Determined; Perseverant; Curious: These are some of the words that could describe my late father (12/25/1929-12/25/2010). If he took up a task, he would not rest till he completed it to his satisfaction. Maybe this is why he stayed alive to complete just one more year on this earth. 12/25/2010 was his 82nd birthday.
According to the United Nations, the male life expectancy in the U.S. (ranked 36 tying with Cuba) is 75.6. My dad was probably an Icelander! Yes, I would have loved my dad to live forever, but, unfortunately nobody is immortal; only our legacy is. But my consolation is my father went out on a high note thinking he was returning home for lunch from the ER. By the same token, he also wanted to die in his motherland.
The death was instantaneous and the cause: Sudden Cardiac Arrest. The original reason for going into ER was his trouble breathing, which most likely had been initiated by the rise in his potassium level caused by eating a "wrong" vegetable. Until recently, I too had no idea that certain foods were an absolute no-no for people who went for dialysis, which dad had been going for, for the last three years. When he was under my care and my sister's, oh, how often we had taken away the "unacceptable" foods that sometimes, unknowingly dad would go for.While my sis and I feel that dad’s death was preventable, many console us that when it’s time to go it just is!
My parents were visiting India and after close to three months, because dad, in my opinion, "spoilt" by all the love and affection he received from his extended family in India, got overconfident, he also became careless. Oh, well, again this is my way of trying to find a neat cause for everything, my inability to accept that some things just defy explanation.
Older of two sons, dad lost his father—a successful lawyer in Tanjore District, Tamil Nadu, India—when he was 3 ½ years old. Raised by a single mother and an extended family, dad moved to New Delhi when he was 19 and made a successful career for himself in the Indian Government retiring as deputy comptroller from the Energy Ministry. An old hand in the U.S., thanks to a 1971-’76 stint in D.C., since his retirement at age 58, he had lived in the U.S. and even worked here several years. Thanks to his exceptional ability in math, accounting background and ability to learn and apply new skills, including hardware and software.
Those of you who knew him well might have also experienced his wit and charm like I did. He had an uncanny sense of humor, which I thought he used to cope with life’s adversities. What a neat way to deal with life!
Well, my sis and I lost the man who gave us much and helped us out in every crisis and we will miss him dearly, dearly. Will probably never stop missing him. In fact, right now, my inside feels hollowed out.
Never for a moment take for granted your loved ones. I’m happy I didn’t take for granted my dad’s love and caring despite our different take on some things. Now my mother will be getting a double dose of her family’s love and affection.
Addendum: The weekend of December 18 he had eaten some high-potassium vegetable at a cousin's home, and in the next few days, the reading was 8.1!!! Literally a deadly level. He still got better after being admitted to ER on the 24th though I was alerted and the same night I flew out by business class because no other seat was available. Two hours from the time I left JFK, he passed away. On the 26th early morning after a 17-hour journey, I saw his body and believe you me he looked healthy! Overall, he had become careless which he tended to be even in New York, but I kept a close eye on his diet as did my sis when he was with her. Well, ultimately, as he himself used to say, we assist fate and nobody can stop the hand of destiny from playing out its dominant part. One of his favorite quotes was: Vinaasha Kale Vipareetha buddhihi. Rough translation: When doom awaits you, you usually hasten its arrival.
Till later,
Ro.
According to the United Nations, the male life expectancy in the U.S. (ranked 36 tying with Cuba) is 75.6. My dad was probably an Icelander! Yes, I would have loved my dad to live forever, but, unfortunately nobody is immortal; only our legacy is. But my consolation is my father went out on a high note thinking he was returning home for lunch from the ER. By the same token, he also wanted to die in his motherland.
The death was instantaneous and the cause: Sudden Cardiac Arrest. The original reason for going into ER was his trouble breathing, which most likely had been initiated by the rise in his potassium level caused by eating a "wrong" vegetable. Until recently, I too had no idea that certain foods were an absolute no-no for people who went for dialysis, which dad had been going for, for the last three years. When he was under my care and my sister's, oh, how often we had taken away the "unacceptable" foods that sometimes, unknowingly dad would go for.While my sis and I feel that dad’s death was preventable, many console us that when it’s time to go it just is!
My parents were visiting India and after close to three months, because dad, in my opinion, "spoilt" by all the love and affection he received from his extended family in India, got overconfident, he also became careless. Oh, well, again this is my way of trying to find a neat cause for everything, my inability to accept that some things just defy explanation.
Older of two sons, dad lost his father—a successful lawyer in Tanjore District, Tamil Nadu, India—when he was 3 ½ years old. Raised by a single mother and an extended family, dad moved to New Delhi when he was 19 and made a successful career for himself in the Indian Government retiring as deputy comptroller from the Energy Ministry. An old hand in the U.S., thanks to a 1971-’76 stint in D.C., since his retirement at age 58, he had lived in the U.S. and even worked here several years. Thanks to his exceptional ability in math, accounting background and ability to learn and apply new skills, including hardware and software.
Those of you who knew him well might have also experienced his wit and charm like I did. He had an uncanny sense of humor, which I thought he used to cope with life’s adversities. What a neat way to deal with life!
Well, my sis and I lost the man who gave us much and helped us out in every crisis and we will miss him dearly, dearly. Will probably never stop missing him. In fact, right now, my inside feels hollowed out.
Never for a moment take for granted your loved ones. I’m happy I didn’t take for granted my dad’s love and caring despite our different take on some things. Now my mother will be getting a double dose of her family’s love and affection.
Addendum: The weekend of December 18 he had eaten some high-potassium vegetable at a cousin's home, and in the next few days, the reading was 8.1!!! Literally a deadly level. He still got better after being admitted to ER on the 24th though I was alerted and the same night I flew out by business class because no other seat was available. Two hours from the time I left JFK, he passed away. On the 26th early morning after a 17-hour journey, I saw his body and believe you me he looked healthy! Overall, he had become careless which he tended to be even in New York, but I kept a close eye on his diet as did my sis when he was with her. Well, ultimately, as he himself used to say, we assist fate and nobody can stop the hand of destiny from playing out its dominant part. One of his favorite quotes was: Vinaasha Kale Vipareetha buddhihi. Rough translation: When doom awaits you, you usually hasten its arrival.
Till later,
Ro.
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