Chotu and Motu go to Peak District (Part 1)

With the monkey of course. If monkey is going to be standard fixture in Chotu - Motu household, then we reckon that it might as well get used to the travel. Ten weeks seems like a good starting point. Especially since it will have to go to three different continents by end of year. We picked a relatively harmless national park to make its life easier. It ended up not being such a big deal. Monkeys are just like backpacks except that once in a while, you have to nourish them instead of the other way around.

Anyway. So on what was the hottest weekend of the year, we drove up from the fens through the midlands to the Peak District.

"Hey. According to guidebooks, there are a number of English homes in the park"

"Yeah, it always surprises me all national parks within this country are inhabited and are privately owned. Though one understands why"

"Yeah but that is not what I was referring to"

"What were you referring to then?"

"Large English country homes"

"Like Henry James types?"

"Think so. Like the seat of the Duke of Devonshire or something"

"Ah. Prime American tourists territory. Is that how they make money?"

"Must be only. There is this place called Chatsworth Hall which seems to be the most famous of them all. Major gardens and a maze and stuff"

"Hmm. Interesting"

"Should we go?"

"Have you gone mad?"

"Well, you do realise we might only be able to do one walk, say 4-5 hours a day. The monkey will create ruckus otherwise"

"Hmm. It has been unusually quiet for a while now"

"You have gone deaf. It has been growling like some tiger for a while now"

"Oh. And here I thought it was exhibiting more human characteristics lately"

"That it has. I have no doubt it will one day be a humanitarian monkey"

"Or a simian human, you never know"

"Is there a difference?"

"Who the fuck cares?"

"True enough. About these houses..."

"Dude, this sounds like some proper tourist trap"

"I know but there's this other house that's not that famous and won't be crowded at all. Maybe we can go there"

"What house is this?"

"Place called Lyme Hall. On the Cheshire side of the park. Nice and all"

"Who used to live there?"

"Nobody we know. Some Venetian architect did some work on it in the 18th century. Seems worth going to"

"Really?"

"If we have time, why not?"

"What is the catch?"

"What catch?"

"Dude, monkey or not, you don't ever want to go visit some English country home. What is the deal?"

"Nothing really. There is one other place called Haddon Hall. But it doesn't sound like family entertainment place"

"How come?"

"This weekend, there is a special programme in the Lord and Ladyship's chambers"

"You are kidding"

"No. True"

"These English!"

"I know. So Lyme Hall it is then?"

"Dude. You do want to go to this place, don't you?"

"Well.."

"Hang on, let me guess. Which Henry James was shot there?"

"I have no idea. And Henry James heroes? Come on now"

"Hmm. Newland Archer didn't go to England, did he?"

"I don't think he did. But why are you thinking Americans when talking of England?"

"Oh wait. Of course. Austen?"

"Yeah. Darcy's home"

"I didn't think you like Mr Darcy very much"

"I don't. But you don't remember this scene in the BBC version where a brooding, most delicious Colin Firth jumps into this lake which has a reflection of the house and then dripping wet, he walks towards the house"

"I can assure you that I am absolutely certain that I do not remember this particular scene"

"I know you don't. So shall we go there?"

"You do realise that there will be no delicious Colin Firth around?"

"Yeah, but one can't have everything, you know"

No, we didn't go to Lyme house. Turned out that monkey can handle long walks pretty well. More in Chotu and Motu get lost in the Derbyshire Dales.


Bonus:

Chotu, Motu, BM in Beijing: Olympic Glory

Still Day 2. This time we are on a taxi (Day One was all about public transport; Day 2 we had just discovered that taxi drivers understand maps, so we were taking full advantage of this discovery) to the Olympic stadias. Our driver proudly pointed out the Bird's Nest to us as we got off the highway. We were all suitably impressed. Little did we know about the Kafkaesque adventure that was awaiting us here.

BM: "Bill, you know the drill. Here's the camera"

BM poses and Bill plays cameraman while I walk ahead to what looks like the entrance.

"I am so hungry. You think we will get food inside?"

"I am hungry too. I can see some food stalls already"

"Cool. You think we should go in and get a tour?"

"Why not?"

"Okay, there are people inside. Let me see where the entrance is"

"There are no directions anywhere but it says Entrance E"

"Yeah, but I see no open gate"

"There are security guards there. That must be the entrance"

"No, nothing open here. I think we have to go to the next gate. Maybe this is the VIP entrance"

So we start walking. This Bird's Nest thingy might look like a small thing on TV but trust me, it is not. It takes a while to get from one gate to another. The weather and the wind wasn't helping either.

"Man, I am so hungry"

"Hey, there's the Water Cube"



"Oh cool, we should go there also"

"Of course, of course, Phelps ki jai" (BM)

"Alright. Lets do this then - lets go inside the Bird's Nest first and come out and get food and then head to the Water Cube"

"Ya ok"

Bill: "This gate isn't open either"

"You've got to be kidding me"

"Serious. Look for yourself"

"Shoot. Next gate then"

"I guess so"

Ten minutes later we were in front of the third gate. By this time we have gone halfway around the building. Closed.

"Maybe there is no way in"

"There are people inside"

"Hmm"

"Maybe they get there on a chopper. Sure there's a pad inside"

"Could be"

"What's the plan people? I am so hungry"

"Why don't we go to the food stalls and get some food and then come back?"

"I am not coming back. I am happy just seeing the Water Cube"

"Actually so am I. I got some good shots, good enough"

So our tired and thirsty travellers headed to the broad avenue between the two stadiums which seem to have a few booths. BM takes her time as she is shooting Water Cube in every angle possible and every lamp post in sight.

"These are selling phones"

"Oh fuck"

"Why can't they have food here? This is like the middle of nowhere"

"That seems to have some food, lets go see"

The one food stall has instant noodle boxes and what looks like baguettes with cholocate sauce inside.

"You think that's chocolate?"

"What else can it be?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"No, but lets get it anyway. I am going to faint if I don't have something soon"

We eat. It is chocolate sauce but as to be expected, not good chocolate sauce but were too hungry to complain. BM notices a mermaid sculpture and runs to take picture. She poses and asks Bill to do his thing. As is usual, a few locals want picture of mermaid + BM + themselves. BM obliges. Once this is over, we walk to the Water Cube.

"Yes, the entrance is open! yippee!"

"Yeah there's even security check and stuff. This place is more guarded than Tiannamen dude"

"Looks like it only"

We get closer to the Cube. Visitors (all local) are queueing up to get through the security check. I suddenly notice two young men on my right, they seem to have come from nowhere. I look closely. It might be more than ten years since I have gone to a movie theatre in India, but I have spent enough time at KG and Central and Karpagam (all Coimbatore establishments) to recognise black ticket vendors. I turn to one.

"Tickets lady, how many?" One whispers.

"They are actually selling black"

"In front of these scary looking guards, yes"

"Yeah man. Lets just go get proper tickets. Who knows these might not even be real"

"True" (Huge mistake, needless to say)

We turned left and walked towards the direction where people with tickets were coming from.

"You cannot buy tickets here. Far away" One of the black ticket men said. We said No thanks and continued walking. After about ten minutes, we realised what was going on. It is like the queues at amusement parks. You think you are there but no, once you make a turn you realise you have another turn to go. So we walked for another twenty minutes.

"We should have bought tickets from those chaps"

"Yeah. What's the point now?"

"Hmm. I don't even want to go inside anymore. If we don't see a ticket booth in the next five minutes, I am out of here"

"Yeah? Which way will you go? Do you see any taxis or buses here?"

I look around. No. Nothing. Just these buildings. Which look nice and all but we were trapped.

BM: "You can check out any time you please..."

"There's a reason why everyone here looks so pained"

"Hey, hey there. I see it"

BM ran. Bill followed. I stayed put. They can go get tickets. Since we have to walk back this way I wasn't going anywhere. Two minutes. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Where the hell were these people? I started walking towards the booths. More scary secuity guards with huge rifles. Something is wrong. No. They are on their way back.

"What happened? Long queue?"

"No ya. There were more secutiry guards than people"

"What took so long?"

"They didn't let us go buy tickets without checking us thoroughly"

"What nonsense?"

"Dude, by now nothing about this place surprises me"

We walked back. Half hour later we were at the entrance to the Cube. We showed our tickets and went through the security check. Yes, again. Five cartoon men in front of the Cube.

"Hey look at these cartoon things" BM started shooting. "Bill here take picture of me with one no?" She handed Bill her camera.

Moi: "You want pictures with these things? Where do you think you are Disneyland?"

"30 RMB. We have to make it pay" She went towards the charaters. The cartoons were just saying good bye to the people in front of us and were turning our way. They all walked towards us, excitedly. What we (in our determination to get value for 30 RMB + plus all the pain we had to endure) hadn't thought of was that we were more of an attraction for them than they were to us. One of then came and shook and hand. Another one shook Bill's hand and said "Hello". Mine hugged me. Bill's hugged him. He smiled and tried to take picture of BM.

"Hey, where is she?"

"There, behind that one. Its dancing with her" Orange cartoon was twirling BM around.

Bill took picture.

"Guys, this guy is not letting me go"

We laugh.

"I am serious. I am trying to get out of its grip"

"Turn around this way. This angle is good"

"Bill, enough of picture. Come save me!"

Bill to the rescue. Knight-in-Slacknerny-tshirt walks over to BM and the cartoon (in the process of molesting her). Cartoon sees Bill and lets her go. However, wait, twist in plot. Cartoon next to me has caught hold of me by now. It tries to twirl me around.

"People....." Knight turns around. Laughs. I break free and run into the Water Cube. BM had already taken this course a few seconds ago. Bill joins us a minute later.

"What the hell was that?"

"I hope we aren't going that way on our way back"

"You forget, we aren't going back. This is it. We can't leave"

"True enough"

Oh, there was nothing much inside. You are better off seeing the pool on your TV. Our ticket also promised us a restaurant and a bar which was a popcorn stall and well, vendor selling water. Also, in the restrooms, the stall I went to had no toilet paper and BM had to pass some under the stall from the adjacent booth. That's when realisation struck. We were in real China. This place wasn't ready for foreign tourism yet; by the summer it would be but for now, our experience is all very authentic. We are one among the billion.

BM: Good time to put up 798 Art post / pictures. Together, they will make so much sense. Really.

Oh, before I go, bonus picture: You should be able to see more than one nest if you enlarge.

Chotu, Motu, BM in Beijing: Red Sunrise

I am conflicted between going about this in a chronological manner and just posting about random events. Bill is convinced that I will never have the enthu to complete this if I start from Day 1, so he thinks I should just do random days. The dutiful spouse that I am, I shall listen to him and do short, random snippets which are more manageable. So here people, flag hoisting in Beijing (Day 2).

Day before we are supposed to leave for Xian. We woke up at the crack of dawn, actually, before the crack of dawn to see...hold your breath...the flag hoisting at Tiananmen Square. Whose brilliant idea was this, you ask? BM's of course. Because she was so totally jetlagged and couldn't sleep after 3 in the morning, she made us wake up at 4 to go see this flag thingy. By the time we got a taxi to the Square, there were already busloads of people there. There was also some military presence as to be expected in the form of a few yawning men in proper outfits standing around the flag pole. The section was roped off and us spectators have to stand about 30-40 metres away.



"You think we blend in?"

"Do you see anyone other than Han Chinese people in the crowd?"

"But still..."

"Do you see any Beijinger? They are all from the provinces"

"I am a provincial too. I am not like you cosmopolitan people from Bombay and Bangalore"

"Maybe you should go mingle with your provincial friends and see if you blend in"

"Sure" I said and left the other two and walked off by myself to join the provincials. This was Beijing in March, so it wasn't exactly warm and after a few minutes, my teeth started chattering. But still, I was right behind the rope and had an unobstructed view of the flagpole. My provincial friends were all around me, at times pushing me against the barrier that I was sure that the yawning soldier staring intently at me was going to pull out his rifle and shoot but thankfully did not happen.



Then I saw Bill pushing his way through the crowd.

"What is the idea?"

"I just thought I would come meet your provincial friends"

"Right...dude"

"What?"

"Did you see who? Someone touched my hair"

"Don't be silly"

"I am serious. They touched my hair"

"If I were BM, I would say that they are all jealous of your wavy hair and want to touch it to see if its real"

"And since you are not BM..."

"I think you are imagining things...dude, here they are"

Sure enough, there were about a dozen soldiers coming out of the main gate of the Forbidden City (this is the one with the Chairman's picture that we are used to seeing in the news) and walking towards the flag pole. They marched this way and that way for a few minutes before going up to hoist the flag.




"This is what she wanted to see?"

"Jetlag. Don't blame her"

"If you say so"

The flag starts climbing up.

"What?"

"Hmm"

"What are you mumbling?"

"Nothing"

"Quiet. Everyone is quiet"

"You don't find that strange?"

"Why would I find that strange?"

"The flag hoisting!"

"So?"

"Don't you feel like singing Jana Gana Mana?"

"No, as strange as it may seem, I don't feel like singing Jana Gana Mana when I see the Chinese flag go up. Maybe those of us from certain states..."

"Says the Bong"

"Not the point"

"Agree. The point is nobody is singing national anthem or waving flag. Something is wrong"

"Nothing is wrong. They are not used to it"

"How can they not be used to it? Its their national flag being hoisted"

"Yeah, why don't you teach them to sing their national anthem?"

"Oh shut up. You are useless"

"That I am"

By this time, the flag was all the way up to where it was supposed to be.


The crowd was slowly dispersing. We looked for BM and found her posing for someone else's family album. This obviously would be a recurring theme. The way back to out hostel was uneventful except for the fact that we discovered why we lost a War.

"This long jacket these military men are wearing - it sort of looks funny on them"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't think so? Probably some Russian influence. Because the Russians have long jackets doesn't mean these people should have"

"Why not? It is winter"

"Yeah, but this is not Moscow. It is not that cold here"

"But this is a big country, you know"

"The US of A is a big country too. The point is it does not get colder than this in this country"

"Right. Up there in some of the tallest mountains in the world, it absolutely does not get colder than this"

"Oh, there"

"Yeah, there"

BM now: "Why do you think we lost the war?"

Bill being helpful: "Because we did not have long uniforms"

"Exactly"

Poor me: "Never heard that one before"

"Its true. Its also why my mother fasts on Fridays"

"Wait, where did that come from?"

"Shastri was then PM and he said on radio that our soldiers need socks. He then requested everyone to eat one less meal on Fridays to help the troops. My mother started fasting then and even now, she fasts on Fridays"

"She knitted socks too, I am guessing"

"Of course. But we did not have long jackets. So we lost"

"Shastri wasn't PM in 62"

"He was PM and he came on radio"

"Different war with a different country"

"Perhaps. But why do you think we lost the war?"

"It must have been the long jackets only"

"Of course it was"

The rest of the way back to our hutong was spent in thoughtful silence.

Coming up next: How we got molested by cartoon characters in front of the Water Cube

Looking for dead people in snowy Paris (Paris Part 2)

Morning in Paris. Chotu steps out of shower all set to conquer whatever it is that he wants to conquer. Motu is playing with remote.

"Its going to snow today"

"It doesn't snow in Paris"

"You said that of London the day before it snowed"

"How do you know its going to snow today?"

"There's thing called TV. A chap inside it tells you about weather forecast"

"You are watching TV nowadays?"

"Yeah, I am beginning to get the hang of it"

"Yeah? Do they have English channels?"

"BBC World but its all boring. I also got sick of the French channels after a while. So not I am watching DW TV"

"DW TV told you it will snow in Paris today?"

"Yes"

"In German?"

"What language do they speak in DW TV?"

"Whatever. Lets go"

"You think I got it wrong?"

"I did not say anything of the sort"

"You think I can't understand German?"

"I know you can't"

"Well, how about this? Right now, they have this programme called Quadriga which is like this debate. They are debating the Vatican and the holocaust denier priest controversy"

"You are making that up"

"You watch it while I get ready and tell me if I am wrong. Make sure you use all that two semesters of German you supposedly learnt"

"Why are trying to pick a fight early in the morning?"

"Me picking a fight? Yeah, my fault trying to keep you informed about the weather. Won't do that anymore"

Chotu Motu were walking up and down back streets of Montmartre (after visiting three Boulangeries) when the flurries started coming down. Chotu ignored the little white thingies and kept walking.



"Hey, look, windmill"

"Moulin, yes"

"Are you now trying to prove that you know as much French as I do German?"

"Do you have an umbrella?"

"I am a Londoner. What did you expect?"

So we put up the umbrella and walked for another half hour in the snow (while not talking about it) until we found another cosy bakery to ride out the snow in. We bought another load of exotic French things and polished them off while watching the (unspeakable) snow fall all around us.



"What a lovely Parisian afternoon!"

Chotu choked on his coffee.

"Chill. Just for effect"

"What next? Oh, what a romantic city!"

"Ask me same time next week and I will say it and mean it" [1]

"Of course. Dude, there's some big cemetery five minutes from here. You think we should go?"

"Who is there?"

"Its Paris na? Bunch of people must be there"

"Like who?"

"I don't know. Sartre. Proust. Degas. Picasso. Camus. Truffaut. Godard"

"I don't think he is dead"

"Oh ok. But they must be all buried here only"

"Hey, isn't Wilde buried in Paris?"

"Along with certain other rock stars, yes"

"Lets go then. We can go and randomly find graves in the snow. What fun!"

"Maybe they will be totally covered by the snow and we have to dig them out. Cool"

"I know. Can you think of anything more interesting to do on a snowy Parisian afternoon?"

"Strange as it may see, no"

So thats the story of how Chotu Motu found themselves at the Cimetière de Montmartre on the one day of the year it snows in Paris. They were the only ones in the cemetery as obviously, Parisians seemed to have other interesting things to do. The guard at the gate looked strangely at Chotu and Motu before giving them a tattered map.

"Dude, wrong graveyard"

"What?"

"Apparently most people are buried in this other cemetery"

"That Pantheon thingy? That I thought was meant for men of the revolution types"

"No, some other place. Pere-Lachiase Cemetery. This has only a few"

"Hello? This sign says there are more than a million people buried here"

"But not many we know"

"Oh. So now we are claiming to know these people"

"Thats there. Then how does it matter whose grave it is? Lets go around and find a few"

"Exactly. There's so many of them that we may know some of them"

"Truffaut. He is here"

"Oh good. Lets go find his grave. Then we can even give SB some story about how we took all pain and came here in the snow to see his grave"

"Does she even like him?"

"Does it matter?"

"I guess not"

"At this point, since that's the only person we know, lets go find the damn thing"

No, we didn't find it despite the map. But we did spend an hour walking up and down other graves.





We ended up liking this idea of visiting random dead people so much that the next day, we ended up at Pere Lachaise cemetery. Where Chotu claimed that we didn't need a map as he had it all memorised. Turned out to be a tragedy as after an hour, he had to go back out and buy a map. Not only that, we had to run all the way from Paris Nord metro teminal through French immigration, UK immigration, and security to make the train. But no worries. Getting lost in a cemetery has its advantages. In addition to rock stars, we found a few interesting graves - Chopin where a group of Polish school kids had a full orchestra going, some PLO types, and just as we were about to leave, this.



[1] So what if its 20 F and one is totally jetlagged? Its still so romantic to see the sun come up over the lake. Even if the lake is barely visible. No silly French city is going to beat my Hog-butcher.

Chotu Motu in Paris I: At the Pantheon

Chotu Motu walking in Latin Quarter somewhere.

"Oh there you see it"

"What do I see?"

"That dome"

"What about it?"

"We are going there"

"Don't think its on our way"

"Just a few minutes off"

"But its uphill and we are carrying stuff. Can't we do this later?"

"No, I have missed it so many times already. This time I have to go see it. I will carry your bag if you want"

"Are you offering to carrying my backpack?"

"Its not that heavy"

"You are serious!"

"Of course I am. Give na"

"Dude, what is this place?"

"What place?"

"That dome place. Some church type thing no"

"Oh, I see. That explains the indifference. That's the Pantheon"

"Which I thought we saw in Rome like ages ago. Wasn't that when you started crying?"

"What nonsense?"

"I remember this very clearly. You started swearing and crying because you read somewhere that Bernini melted the bronze at the Pantheon for that altar piece at the Vatican"

"The bastards! That still makes my blood boil"

"Bill darling, anything that makes your blood boil is serious entertainment for me. Is there anything similar in this Pantheon? Then we will surely go see"

"Dude, you really don't know"

"Don't know what?"

"About this Paris ka Pantheon"

"I know its like the Abbey where everyone is buried and all. So what? I have no intention of paying good money to see junta ka graves all over the city[1]"

"Who wants to see graves? We are nearly there now. Chal"

"This is slightly scary. I have never seen you so enthu about anything"

"Don't be scared. Come, lets go in"

"Dude, its like some 8 euros. At current exchange rate, that's 8 quid. I don't want to see graves and I have seen way too many basilicas to last me a lifetime. I see a Boulangerie right here. Maybe I will wait here"

"Will you shut up and come up?"

At this point, I was too curious to give up. So I trudged up the stairs to the basilica. Pantheon. Whatever. Chotu bought tickets. This obviously is a totally new experience for me - Chotu buying anything. I was speechless. I followed him inside. He stopped and I promptly bumped into his backpack.

"Can't you like..?" It was evident that he couldn't really hear anything. He was staring at something at the centre of the cathedral. Intently. I stared at him for a moment and then turned to look at what he was looking at.



Dang! Enlightenment! Totally forgotten this thing was at the Pantheon. Anyway, might as well make full capital out of it.

"What is it?"

"Hello?"

"Can you hear me?"

"What is that contraption doing in a cathedral?"

Chotu heard me this time.

"What do you think it is?"

"Its like a giant well, let me think now..."

"Don't go there. Not the time for profanity"

"Profanity? I was going to say pendulum. What's profane about that?"

"The hell you were"

"Of course I was"

"Don't you think its time you shut up?"

"Are you going to wait for an entire hour?"

"Half an hour at the least"

"Okay, I might as well go see some graves"

"I can't believe you don't want to see this"

"Who said I don't want to see it?"

"You are going to see some silly graves you just said"

"But I am seeing this. I will come back and see it on the same plane once the earth rotates around itself for a while. What I don't want is to sit around and worship it"

"Whatever"

So I went off and saw some graves. Funny things they have done - like putting Voltaire and Rousseau right across from each other. After death do us part types. And obviously, first (only?) woman resident.



When I came back from the crypt, Chotu was still sitting there staring at the pendulum.

"We can go now"

"If you want to do puja and all, go ahead"

"Its only a pendulum", Chotu said and walked towards the door.

"I wouldn't have known. For a while, I thought you had gotten religion"

"Come on now"

"Seriously dude. Next I know, you would start reading the book"

"I don't read books where I need Google for every line. Its not like the Name of the Rose or anything"

"I know"

"But this is about middle school physics. This kind of religion is what we need, don't you see?"

"If you say so. Dude, look, Rue laplace!"

"What? Place is a square. There is no rue called la Place"

"Not La Place. Laplace. Rue Laplace. We are in the univ area now"

"Why does that name seem vaguely familiar?"

"Vaguely familiar. The man who just had an orgasm just by looking at Foucault's pendulum is asking me who Laplace is. Do I have to remind you of Fourier and Laplace transforms now?"

"Oh that chap. That's what you EE people do. Not us"

"Right"

"We don't do much with Laplace. Anyway, now that you have proved your geekery...."

"My geekery?! I don't remember anything other than the names. And if I may remind you, I wasn't the one who was worshipping Foucault's Pendulum like a moment ago!"

"You don't understand. This is not about geekery"

"No?"

"No. This is about what you can do with these big places of worship which do not serve any ostensible purpose. Its about how a secular outlook can transform even the most useless of places to be centres of scientific learning. Every kid who goes into that building will have an understanding, a real one, of the world around him. That is cool. Whatever you think of it"

Yes, that's one of the longest Chotu has ever spoken. So I am speechless again for a moment.

"You do realise that what you arguing for and are so happy about is the Revolution?"

"If it takes a revolution, it takes a revolution. I have no issues with that"

Ah. Finally, the Bong speaks. And all I had to do was to get him to Paris.

Bonus picture: Chotu Motu on stilts in Paris. (Feanor: That is NOT romantic, just tall)




[1] Famous last words. That is precisely what we ended up doing. More grave stories coming up soon.

Postcard from Plzeň

Because nobody wanted it. And I am too lazy to re-write it to make anyone want it. Plus I promised you all that I would furnish details of moi's many alcohol adventures. And because someone needs to convince Cat that the place exists.

The Czech Republic holds the interesting distinction of being the country with the highest per capita consumption of beer in the world. Wikipedia informs me that at 157 litres / year, the Czechs are way ahead of the Irish who come in second with 131 litres. Most of what the Czechs drink is a pale lager or rather the mother of all pale lagers, the Pilsner Urquell. The city of Pilsen (Czech: Plzeň) in western Bohemia is home to the brewery which invented the pale lager. Car aficionados no doubt recognize Pilsen as being the home of the much-seen cars on desi highways in recent years, the Skoda. As LP informed me, car and beer don’t usually mix, but don’t mention that when you are in Pilsen.

We took the bus to Pilsen from Prague, arguably the most beautiful city in Bohemia if not in all of Europe. For the casual visitor, Prague is all about the Castle’s amazing gargoyles, lovely church steeples and gold-tipped Hussite spires. For the culturally inclined, there is no dearth of intellectual tradition - this is after all the city of Kafka and Kundera, of Hrabal and of a young Forman, and of the playwright-President Vaclav Havel. Pilsen, on the other hand, seemed gritty, more an industrial town than a cultural centre, and the people not as friendly; in a sense closer to their German neighbours than their fellow countrymen in the east. It took all the German we knew and a bit of luck in the form of a Pilsner Urquell truck that we ran after to find our way to the brewery.

There were three Swedes (I am actually not making this up) in addition to the two of us in the English tour that was just starting. As we were waiting for the last two people in our tour to arrive Jan, our tour guide told us the history of how at the end of WW2, the American soldiers had already liberated Pilsen a couple of days before the Red Army reached Prague. However, they waited in Pilsen instead of continuing on to Prague in deference to their Soviet Allies who were making their way to Prague from the east. This is why Pilsen celebrates Liberation Day two days before the rest of the country. Jan explained that since then, the Americans had never turned up on time for anything just as the last two people on our tour, the American couple, joined us.

The tour began with a video of the history of the brewery – in the 1800s, every building in the city centre had a brewing license. However, the citizens were not happy with top-fermented beers because of their low quality and short storage life and decided to incorporate a brewery to produce bottom-fermenting beer. The Bavarian brewers were considered the masters in bottom fermentation and therefore they hired Josef Groll, a brewer from Bavaria. In 1842, Groll produced the first batch of Urquell beer, but distinct from the Bavarian ones because of the use of soft Bohemian water, pale malt local to the region, and bitter hops from Saaz. From such humble beginnings, Pilsner Urquell has gone on to become the signature lager, the flagship brand today for the SABMiller brewery group with many copycat products trying to cash in to the Pilsner name[1].

We visited the new, state-of-the-art bottling plant (latest German technology we were told) where thousands of bottles and cans were making their way through conveyor belts. The capacity was 60,000 bottles an hour and they work around the clock. In addition to cans and bottles, kegs are filled with unpasteurised beer to supply to the local pubs. We were then taken to the brewing plants – the old brewery has been converted into an exhibition hall and a new plant built next to it. Jan walked us through the process of making the lager – malt, water, hops and yeast are all that goes into it. Both barley for the pale malt and hops is local to the region and there were samples for us to taste. The hops were bitter, way bitter than any bitter-gourd I’ve been made to have but the after taste makes it worth the effort.

We then walked to the new brewing plant to see the mashing process - the malted grain is mixed with water and heated to break down the starch in the grains to sugars. The malt extract, called wort is boiled, and hops added at this stage to give the beer its bitterness and aroma. Once the wort is whirl pooled and cooled, the yeast is added and the fermentation process begins. For the lager, bottom fermenting yeasts are used, and these eat less sugar, produce a cleaner taste and have a longer storage life. When the sugars have been completely digested, the beer is cooled to freezing, and conditioned for 5 or 6 weeks. This beer is then filtered to remove any yeast and hops before it is sent to the packaging plant for pasteurisation and bottling.

At this point, Bill and I reckoned that we were nearly at the end of the tour and as we had a train to catch (to the next beer town actually), we told Jan that we would be leaving and promised him that we would have Pilsner Urquell in the next pub we are at. Jan asked us to wait a few minutes more. So we walked down with him to the old and dank fermentation cellars. Temperature controlled rooms and tanks are used for this purpose nowadays but these hand-built cellars are still used to make a few barrels of beer the old way just for the tour groups and for the brewery museum. This beer comes straight off the barrel, and is unfiltered and unpasteurised and more importantly, is not available anywhere else in the world. In Jan’s words, “this is the real thing”. We immediately took the largest glass possible, got it filled, raised the glasses with a “Skol” to the Swedes, and promptly drank it all up. We missed the train to Cesky Budejovice that day and had to wait a couple of hours for the next train but I wasn’t complaining. The tiny bits of hops along with the heavenly pale lager were definitely worth missing a couple of trains.

[1] I know. It is intentional alright? I have been told that this can count as relationship building. If I manage to sell work, I reckon I can expense my Czech trip. So yeah, no snarkiness on this one. Be nice.

In which Chotu Motu go see Stalin's boots in Budapest

People, another Bill post. Well, I had to rewrite parts but its mostly Bill.

Budapest. Day Two. Bill is diligently reading city guide.

"Ha, this guidebook is funny"

"I will let the LP people know"

"I mean seriously. They have these random things that they claim we have to see. Something about the relics of communism in a field somewhere"

"What is funny about that?"

"Apparently they took all big big "monuments" from their Communist days and stuck them all somewhere outside town and now people go there and pay to see these things"

"What, where? Let's go!"

"It's too far. And doesn't sound like there's much to see"

"Okay, lets not go then"

"Why not? There is a special tourist bus that will take us there"

"I thought you said there's nothing much to see"

"Yeah. Well. Not like we have hajjar other things to do. Besides don't you want to see this?"

"I do. But just wanted to make sure you do too. Because I know how you will spin this later"

"I am not evil like you"

"Yeah right. Where is this bus?"

The one tourist bus had already left from Deak Ter. But as you all know it takes a lot more than a silly tourist bus to make our intrepid travellers give up on Communist relics.

"We can take public transport. Lets go ask the bus station"

"How good is your Magyar?"

***

"So the place is an hour away, and requires three changes of bus to get there. Why are we going there again?"

"People's transport to see the peoples' relics. It's so appropriate."

"Yeah, yeah, you card-carrier. I'm sure this is some kind of pilgrimage to you."

"Yeah, Sabarimala only this is for me. And who you calling card-carrier?"

"You only. You and your family card-carrier"

"I come from a family of large land owners. Trust me, if anyone's family is Communist here, its surely not mine"

"Yeah yeah"

"Well, I am not the one here who is related to Olof Palme"

"Olof Palme is no Communist"

"I know. But how are you related to Olof Palme?"

"I am not related to Olof Palme"

"If you say so. Anyway, my grandfather did not head the Communist part of Britain"

"Mine neither. Rajani Palme is from some long lost branch of family that no one knows about"

"Nonsense. Your aunt in Stockholm told me all about your family's past. Come on Billster, embrace your roots"

"Go away"

"I will. Here's the bus"

***

Which is how we ended up trudging up the hill to Memento park. (Chotu Motu being Chotu Motu promptly got down one stop before the Park and had to walk) Sort of like going to Tirupati, except there are no crowds. Only some picnickers, enthusiastic American tourists, and of course card-carrying people from Bamse's own land.

The top of the hill is an enclosed park, with cars whizzing by outside. Next to the motorway are the imposing boots of Stalin, announcing the beginning of the park. These tower over the onlookers, giving a sense of how big the entire statue would have been, before the students took an axe to it in 1956.



Next to a statue of Lenin looking very solemn and wise is the ticket seller. There's also a souvenir shop, selling T-shirts advertising the "3 terrors" (Mao, Stalin and Lenin). All very capitalist, making money off communist relics by converting it to a show.



As we enter, there's a Trabant standing alone in a field. Looks remarkably well-preserved, for a people's car that was synonymous with cheap and unreliable construction.



Then there are statues of workers announcing victory, and some farmers standing tall with pride. There's a whole section of forgotten men, Russian and Hungarian party workers and leaders. And of course, some who are not forgotten, at least in some parts of the world.










(Aside. Feanor: Doesn't this last but one picture remind you of the one you shot near Temple? Connected, you reckon?)

"Hey look, there's the bearded men! Both Marx and Engels, together. Quick, take a photo"

"For when you are standing for elections? That picture is worth a thousand votes"

"Exactly. Don't you want one too, when you are standing in Bengal elections?"

"I don't plan to stand for elections in Bengal. Or anywhere"

"But we need picture of you with this big, strong chap here"

"Why?"

"How will I win election then? If you are not there to show support"

"Bill showing support actually doesn't work that well. Ask Hillary"

"It works in Malluland. Especially when Bill is from Bengal"

"Yeah yeah, we know that's why you married me"

"Of course"

***

No, not the End yet. It does not end until a couple of shots are downed. All pictures taken, red stars on the garden duly noted, we took the buses back to the city. We stepped out of the last bus back on Deak.

"Dude, look at that: Festival of the Hungarian Spirit"

"Hmm, sounds like something that would have been home in the Memento Park. Workers of Hungary, unite"

"Maybe they will have some good folk dance and music. Let's go!"

Turned out they meant Hungarian spirit in the literal sense, being Palinka, the local schnapps. Our workers from Kerala and Bengal had appropriately heady shots. Viva Liberty!

In which Motu (nearly) causes an international incident by breaking into the German embassy

(SB, will you talk to me now? Please.)

Prague. Across from the lovely Grand Hotel Europa building on Vaclavske Sq.


"We have to go in here"

"Its a shopping mall"

"I know"

"We are shopping?"

"Not as far as I know"

"So what are we doing in a shopping arcade?"

"The guidebook says there's some cool stuff in there"

"Wow, you actually read the guidebook?"

"I am not that useless"

"Yeah right"

"Shh. Here, look"


"Hmm..what is this supposed to mean?"

"David Černý. He doesn't really explain. This particular one is supposed to the current Vaclav dude on an upside-down horse. As opposed to the original Vaclav on his proper horse outside"

"Interesting"

"Yeah. There's more stuff by this chap. Like crawling babies on TV tower. And there is one inside the German embassy"

"Inside the German embassy?"

"Yeah. In the gardens. Its a Trabant on four legs signifying the East Germans who took refuge in the embassy in 1989"

"Can we see this thing?"

"I guess we can go there and find out"

"I guess. How far is it?"

"Mala Strana. Far. But walkable"

"Lets go"

Obviously, we got sidetracked. A hidden garden and a cubist lampost just off the Sq which no one was interested in, a Japanese restaurant tucked away in a side street, alleys with teeny views of the buildings of Old Town Sq, the very crowded and touristy Old Town Square, the very very crowded Charles Bridge, a quiet cafe with breathtaking views of the bridge and the Castle not to mention the friendly Czech at our adjacent table who gave us restaurant recommendations in Jewish town, the water-wheel, the Lennon wall all happened before we found ourselves climbing up this quiet, hilly road in Mala Strana.







"You sure its here?"

"Yeah, see all the flags. We are in the diplomatic quarter"

"If you say so"

"There, the German flag"

"Huge building"

"Yeah"

"How do we get to the garden?"

"How do I know?"

"Dude, we are here to see this Trabant"

"I know but wait...hang on. I think we keep climbing"

"But the embassy is here"

"Yeah but the garden is right behind up the hill. Here, see the map. So if we climb up and look down we should be able to see it"

"You sure about this?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

A few minutes later we cross the embassy building and find ourselves next to a childrens' park. We double back through the park to the the hedges that go around the embassy building.

"There, there it is"

"Hang on, let me take a picture"

"You can't take a picture"

"Of course I can"

I drop my backpack, put the camera around my neck and start climbing.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to take a picture"

"These are hedges. They can't hold your weight and anyway there is no grip"

"You know what? I am short and you are Bong. Unless you can drink up some magic portion and get to what the world considers normal height, this is my best bet. So give me a hand and shut up"

"Whatever you say darling"

"It is working. I got two decent pictures"



"Cool"

"Dude, there's a woman walking towards us"

"What?"

"She is waving and saying something"

"What is she saying?"

"You are the one who knows German, not me. I think she means no photos"

"Get down now"

"She might just be saying hello"

"She is German for God's sake. How many friendly Germans have you met in your life?"

"Okay I am coming down"

Scramble down. Pick up backpack. Run for five minutes. In rush, forget that we actually have to go downhill and run uphill instead. Which ended up being just as well as we got the most picture perfect view of the city on a hill that we (mostly) had all to ourselves. End of story.




Coming up in this series: Chotu Motu go to see Mayor of Adrspach

Back and not off again (for now)

Yep, back. The trip was great. Ten sunny days and got back to find that sun's been visiting this part of the world too. Miracle alright! Was supposed to be off to Chicago today for firm meeting but client intervened so shall spend the rest of the week in London. Can't complain as I need some time to recover from vacation though Dan Ariely talk (and needless to mention, Chicago in spring) would have been fun. But anyway, the news is I am back. And not going anywhere for another week.

Quick notes from travels:

1. Czech R was great. Hungary was nice. Prague was beautiful and crowded. Budapest was pretty and crowded. Fell in love with the Bohemian countryside both North and South. The Hungarian countryside reminded me of the plains of India.

2. Prague is beautiful. Its hyped and crowded and touristy but it is beautiful. Did I say it is beautiful? I have not seen a more beautiful city. (Only Berlin comes close but that's a different kind of beauty, the Chicago type)

3. All of you who informed me that Prague is super touristy, yep, you were right. If you stick to the three most popular destinations in Prague. If you could not take the time to veer off the tourist trail and lets admit it, all you had to do was to walk three minutes in any direction from the crowd, you deserve the tourists and everything that comes with . Obviously this is true of most cities and it bugs me everytime people go on an on about how touristy cities are while all they have done is jump on a tour bus or train from one square to another. What do you expect anyway? And its not like its difficult - any halfway decent guidebook would give you enough options and if you don't like them, just take the road that has the least number of people. In most cities, it works. It worked beautifully in Prague.

4. People are damn friendly in both Czech R and Hungary, especially in the former. For some reason, we weren't expecting them to be and were pleasantly surprised. Especially when you make an effort to say something in their language. Or the language of their neighboring lands. Even if the neighbour in question invaded said country all the time.

5. When they said that Hungarian is different from the Indo-European languages, they were right. It is not like once you know what it means, you can get back to its root. You can't. So do not try.

6. When you actually understand what they are saying, do not jump up and down with joy. You do not understand Magyar. They were speaking in German so that you could understand. (You can already see a long Chotu - Motu post, no?)

7. In hindsight, a car might have helped in both countries. I mean when was the last time you visited national parks without own transportation? Also, we overestimated the frequency of buses / trains, so had to make some compromises such as skip Bratislava and the Sedlec ossuary at Kutna Hora. On the other hand, there is that thing about public transportation - of seeing trains and engines in foreign lands; of figuring out the differences between CD (Czech R), OBB (Austria) and the one-and-only Deutsche Bahn all within the span of a day; of meeting people who don't have a thing in common with you and trying to speak to them; of waking up at half past five to stroll around the town and thus having the picture-perfect tourist haven of Český Krumlov all to yourself because it is Liberation Day and the only bus out of town leaves at 8 am; and last but not least, an unexpected, stolen couple of hours in a cafe outside Wien Westbahnhof exactly six years after you first fell in love with the city[1][2] that makes the prospect of public transportation a little too alluring for some of us.

8. If there was one recurring theme on this trip, it was alcohol. We missed trains and buses because of Pilsner Urquell in Plzen, Pallinka in Budapest and Bull's Blood in Eger. Your alcohol correspondent will furnish details sometime.

9. Oh, something from Bill. A special note from one bong to another: TR, go to place called Horgasztanya near the Buda embankment and have one of their special fish soups.

10. BM, MR, I missed you. Really. I absolutely hate being the one taking photographs. It is one of the things I hate in trips. For me, everytime I pick up the camera, it takes away from the experience of the place. I hate it. And yet, in this trip, I was compelled to as Bill wouldn't come anywhere near the camera and someone had to take pictures. It sucks. Yeah, the pictures were okay but that is NOT the point.

11. Bill and I managed to spend a whooping six days with each other all the time for the first time since we have known each other. After that, we did a fair bit of seeing cities alone and meeting up here and there but we survived.

12. If you have to be anyone in Czech R, you have to be called Vaclav. If you have to be anyone in Hungary, you have to be called István.

13. Lastly, what is the point of new places if it does not remind you of familiar things or people? So here are a few for those of you in the blog world:

Picture A: Post office at Budapest. I couldn't go to the central one where all of Space Bar's letters to István Gaál went to but every time I passed a post office in the city, I could only think of SB and István.


Picture B: SB, no, it has California in it so it had to be BM, no?


Picture C: Tough one as I know there are a few people who will be pissed off if I do not mention them but I will take my chances. For SB, BM, Ludwig and KM.



Picture D: Bad picture. But still, need I say anything? Really?



[1] Yeah Anoop, yeah BM, same place. And before you correct me, I know its not exactly six years but just a week off no? Please to excuse.

[2] Yeah yeah, if we had missed the train to Budapest, that would have meant we would have had to spend the night walking the streets of Vienna. Maybe six years ago this might have been not a very bad option but with current company, especially when you can play the entire night ka conversation in your head without saying a word, we both preferred to catch the train and get a good night' sleep in Budapest.

From Baker Street to Bohemia

In search of Irene Adler obviously. So no need to plan Bill says. She will miraculously just appear to him, I guess.

Anyway, yes, off again. Nope, not just Bohemia. Some Slovakia and a decent bit of Hungary thrown in too. See you in a few days.

Count, we found her!

Or the street that had Bill jumping up and down with joy.

Because the woman apparently is our man's second ever fictional crush. Where is the first, you ask? Come on now, you skipped the post above this, didn't you?

Chotu Motu in Barcelona - Part 2

Long overdue. This been sitting in draft for a few days but no time right now, so sort of half baked.

"What in the world is that contraption?"

"Sagrada Familia. Church of Sacred Family"

"I have never seen a church like this one"

"Yeah, its the most visited attraction in this city apparently"

"I wouldn't call it an attraction but yes, I can see why people want to see this"

"You reckon this guy must have been a little off?"

"A little? Way off man"

"Wonder how they let him get away with it"

"Anything in the name of the Lord I guess. Though to be fair to them, they did get him killed by pushing him under a tram or something so that he wouldn't build the thing"

"Didn't quite work no? They are still building it"

"Where were the anarchists? Weren't they supposed to be against this sort of nonsense?"

"Good point. No idea why they didn't strip this"

"They probably did and Franco put it all back. Who knows?"

"Dude, what's that green thingy at the top?"

"What green..yeah, I see it"

"You don't want to know. Guidebook claims its a cypress tree. Look at it!"



"Yikes"

"And all those things hanging all over the place - they are all supposed to be trees and leaves"

"No. You know what this looks like with all stuff coming out here and there? You remember those Bactrian camels in Lincoln Park Zoo? When they in the process of shed their skin or whatever"

"Gross"

"Exactly"

"I know. I wonder what all these people are admiring. They all seem entranced"

"Nonsense. They are all thinking the same thing just can't voice it in front of their guides"

"Could be"

"Guidebook says the other side is cleaner"

"This thing could do with some cleaning alright. Lets go check it out"

Chotu Motu start walking around to the other side.

"Coach tour territory"

"Coach in Barcelona. These Americans are crazy"

"Well, those people look very Gujju to me"

"Same thing"

"No its not"

"It is only. Dude, check this out!"

"Wow, I like this"

"I know. Is this the same structure?"

"Yes but Gaudy man had nothing to with it apparently. New chap still building stuff. Controversial design, they say"

"I can see why. But I love it"



"It is quite cool. I love the Giant Robot Jesus"

"Of course! Giant Robot. That's what it is"

"Yeah"

"But I like the soldiers better. Look at them! Too cool, no?"



"Obviously a certain Mr Lucas thought so too"

"I guess"

"Hey, listen. That guide is talking in Hindi!"

"Not surprising, is it?"

"No, shh. I want to listen"

"I don't actually"

"We know why. Because you will think its Spanish. Shut up now"

Chotu walks with the Gujju-looking Amru group while Motu walks up and down shooting pictures. A few minutes later.

"Ah, you are back. I was beginning to think they are going to adopt you or something"

"Enough. You have no idea what that chap is saying"

"What chap?"

"The guide"

"What is he saying?"

"Well, its not his fault. Poor chap. All aunties asking him why the things on this facade is so different from the other one"

"Okay?"

"Chap tells them its because nobody knows how this new facade is getting built. Apparently apna hero died under the tram without finishing it. So he comes back from the dead when no is around and carves up these things"

"Stop making things up. That's my job"

"I am not making things up"

"You don't know Hindi or I don't know Hindi?"

"I am telling you that's what he said. Not lying. You come and listen to him"

"And that would help because?"

"What can I do if you don't know the language?"

"For one, you can stop talking nonsense"

"If you say so. But its true"

Oh, before you go, bonus: the original Gaudi where the helmet people first appeared. You will have a look a little hard to find them but they are there alright