Up in the Alps

Day Two: A visit to the Ice Caves – the largest in the world.

This was summer and closest I could get to see ice. I went with Panorama Tours. This was a tour I had to take the previous day. The scheduled time was two and I was still on London time. So, when I arrived with warm clothes and an adventurous heart, they told me I was one hour late but were good enough to reschedule the tour. Should always remember to set the watch right.

Cable car to take us half way through

Eisriesenwelt – The largest ice caves in the world. It is close to Werfen, a picturesque Austrian village an hour away from Salzburg which has some nice houses and a castle on top of a hill. It's potential was discovered by a Doctor Oedl and set up as a tourist attraction over the years. No idea how he managed to get so high up the Alps. I was huffing and puffing up hill after we were dropped off at the base; also avoided looking down as the mountains gained height, the lows were so scary. What if I slipped on the pebbles and fell? Go on up, up, don’t look down, don’t look down.

The Alps

The ice caves were magnificent! As I entered a gust of icy cold wind hit my face. Holding little carbide lamps we trudged long the wooden planks, taking in huge icy stalactites and stalagmites forming shapes which with some help from imagination one could call – polar bears, elephants (which was now melting into a camel), an ice palace. It was very very dark inside and huge ice structures loomed over. Deathly silence and heartbeats. Flickers of lamp and awe. Never seen anything like this before.

The perks of traveling alone? You meet interesting people you would have otherwise ignored. This woman from New Zealand now staying near London – traveling alone like me. I could sense sadness in her while she talked of home. Recently divorced after 25 years of marriage; husband preferred someone younger. She has been traveling like crazy to forget her pain. They say every sad change brings something good with it. She said she was learning to travel and live on her own and had made some very good friends. But the pain was still there, still hurting.

It was raining as I left to get the train to Freiberg. Another day, another adventure.

Salzburg – Simply Beautiful

The pitfalls of traveling alone - At times like these you want to turn to someone and say, “Isn’t it beautiful?”. Salzburg was overwhelming. It was so so beautiful!

There is the Salzach River running through it; sparkling clear waters right through the middle. At the south bank is the Aldstadt or the Old Town. I stood at the North Bank, taking in sunlit ripples, the baroque domes interspersed with sloping roofs and the magnificent Alps behind. It was sunny, cool, buzzy; the kind of day when you want to sit in the sun (Now I am talking like the sun starved European!) sip coffee and take in the world as it goes by. And soon I think my adjectives will run dry ;)

Salzburg was where Mozart was born. And they don’t let you forget that for a minute. Every shop has its posters; each café sells Mozart choc balls, the streets resound with live musicians rendering his works, and believe me this is the most spectacular feeling – to walk through the pastel, whitewashed, Spartan streets, with strains of Mozart’s following you everyplace. Ah! Heaven!


It is a small city with not much to see. In the south there are MirabellPlatz, Gardens and residences – the new town. In the North there is the Old Town – with the Schloss (Main Castle – a great vantage point too!), Cathedral (Dom), Residenz, Mozart’s house, Alstadt Garagen. Very picturesque and can be covered in few hours.


Getreidegasse – A shopper’s dream. It’s not the wares alone, the colours, the smells, the narrow alleyways with the Christmas accessories strewn on either side, Saleswomen with smiles and frilly green Austrian skirts, wines, softies, footsteps and clinking coins. Since I love shopping so much, I spent most of my time here among the painted eggs, shiny stars and dried flowers.



It surprised me when the man at the fast food counter said, “But you are Indian no? You eat beef?” when I ordered a burger. I did not expect the beef to come along, I was thinking more in the lines of an Indian burger. But he knew about Indians quirks! Then the charming café I had my breakfast in. They were followers of an Indian Guru living in America. They must visit India I told her. As a bonus for an Indian conversation, she fed me good Masala Chai.

Streets are Strasse. I lost my way again. And since language is a very big problem in these countries, I moved around with my map so that I could point to my place and ask directions to where I had to go. There was this mother daughter duo - There was more embarrassed laughter than words when they tried to bring out English words to explain where I had to go. Ultimately, they kept repeating, “Zentrum” which is the centre of the city and pointed me towards it. This was close to the youth hostel I was staying for the night.

Clean, Spartan and charming. Cool, breezy and peaceful. I recommend everyone visits Salzburg at least once in their lifetime. It is simply beautiful!

Leaving behind what I loved

Everything is either sour or cold. Yoghurt, smoothie, sandwiches. The first time I had coffee it was so bitter I balked.

Now I know how to operate the machine. The coffee is not bitter anymore.

People here are not rude. They are not warm either. They are somewhere in between - eyes look through, smiles indifferent. Why ask how I am when you don’t care what I say?

With lovers it’s not the same. Nuzzling noses, pecking lips, stroking necks. Embarrassing and exhilarating. Fascinating when sixty year olds walk holding hands.

It’s a very cold country. One day you forget the coat, prepare to shiver till death.

I miss the warmth – in people, food and weather. But cold is different and sometimes, different can be nice.

I am already hooked to the soaps on TV. Channel 4 Big Brother (I HATE it but still watch it) and BBC. The advertisements are so uncreative (is there such a word?). The Virgin mobile ones are great though.

London Lite and thelondonpaper. I didn’t know why these people – mostly Asians - in purple jumpsuits stand by the sidewalk handing out free paper. I talked to one - It pays 6 pounds an hour to stand there. I would do it for that kind of money for sure:) This is a VERY expensive city.

Women wear sneakers to work and then change to working sandals – long heeled, narrow, and constricting. If so many do it, it should be made the legal formal dress. Why is norm uncomfortable?

Sometimes when it gets stuffy, I feel like getting up and switching on the fan. But there are’t any!

Buskers Underground - a perennial fixture

The workplace is half women. Men on roads, alone with baby carriages and milk bottles.

There is the good and the bad. The more I see, the more I learn.

I am leaving London for now. I loved this city. Of old buildings, beautiful people and drizzly nights.

I will be back soon.

Scotland – Tripping along

Trossachs National Park

I love the Scot accent. It goes ‘aaeee’ for everything. And sometimes with an ‘Eh’ in the end. So it’s Aemericen, Baerdah (Bird), paeestel (Pistol), haaeard (heard) – the word start in a downtone, goes up and tilts. It’s very cute!

I love the people. Except the driver of 44, “I am just the driver missy. I cannot tell you how to get to Woodlands road”. But there was the Norwegian mother daughter pair who searched their bags frantically for the adapter I needed to charge my mobile, the little boy who looked at every bus which came to see if it was 44, the traffic policeman who told me to go to the right place to catch the right 44, the cute guy who was working late and took time out to find on google map where SHYA was, the people at SHYA which by the way is a fab place, each guest who smiled at me and said Hello, Maxwell’s who arranged a great tour and remembered to drop me on time, every person on the road who showed me the way, never grumpy, always willing.

SYHA

Tartans everywhere – on the umbrellas, on the caps, on the rugs and the skirts. Every shop assistant, every guide, every curtain has the many hued Tartan checks. The pens, the mugs, the scarves, the bags, it goes on and on, ad nauseam.

Tartan Loom

Scotland has Trossachs which means crossing the border from the lowlands to highlands. It has many many castles, lochs and nevis. Among the castles I visited Stirling – which is where the story William Wallace or Braveheart happened. The castle reflects the splendour of royalty (King James), the bravery of warriors (William Wallace), the proud history of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders (The Royal regiment of Scotland). The view is spectacular too.

The castle

It’s a country you are sure to fall in love with. They warrant it – the trees, the clear water lakes, the mist, and the smiley people – it is a happy country. It knows how to be happy.

Scotland – In Passing

The Bloody Tale

of Soldiers Brave

While the King walked

and his queen lazed.

Some random pictures from Scotland. And a feeble attempt to weave in some relevance. :)

Scotland – Slainte Mhath

And he said unto me,

“You are much too young to drink”

And I blushed.

When words such as these make you happy, you know for sure age is catching on!

I went for the Whisky tour at Glengoyne; at the end of which I realized, how much of man’s creativity has been employed in fashioning intoxication out of the mundane. Who would have even thought stuff like barley and potatoes could be turned into something without which most of mankind could not live!?

For those at Glengoyne, whisky making is an art. They speak condescendingly of the blended whisky makers in the big bad western world (read the US) - they pollute the environment, do not ferment long enough, mass produce, buy cheap ingredients and their stuff smells bad. In Glengoyne, they say proudly, it’s not the same. The water which makes the whiskey comes down the hill of Dumgoyne carrying the scent of heather along with it. The malted barley is dried naturally, so it has no smell of peat. A master brewer carefully determines the taste and colour of each stock. To be sold, whisky is kept in the finest Spanish wooden casks (which previously held Sherry) for a minimum of no less than three years and one day. The cask is used only three times. And out of all this, is created, one of the finest single malt highland whiskies.

The ingredients - though the Peat on the left is not used

The Distillery - The design is unique

After all, we drink not the liquor, but the spirit of the place it is brewed in. The spirit of Scotland.

The waters which go into it

P.S. – In case you are wondering what is Slainte Mhath, it is pronounced Slanzh'va and loosely means in Celtic 'Lets Drink to good health! ' (Ok I added the Lets drink bit :) )

Scotland - The Rain is good for you

I pressed my face against the window and watched the highlands race past, sparkling lochs through a tapestry of spiny boughs, a lush carpet of fresh ferns, dewy thistles, fat sheep scattered on the green plains, bagpipe strains, grand and melancholic – and I thought, how could so many forms blend together with such little effort, and look so beautiful?

Effortlessly beautiful. I was to know in my two days at Scotland.

They know what they want – A simple life and a bottle of whisky. In fact their love of whisky explains how they remain happy even in a summer which has hardly seen any sun. (They should, logically, have no season called summer. Even in the hottest day, the sun is out for just few minutes). But as one of them explained to me,

“It is good that it rains. More rain means more whisky. And that is good!”

The whisky redeems it all!

Men in skirts! Now that might offend the proud Scot – it is called the Kilt. It surprised me to see just how many men actually wear it in Scotland – proudly so. And my! Do they look cute?! Many of their warrior ancestors sported them – and you should check them swagger in their Tartan skirts – delicious.

Through the voyeur's eyes :)

When I landed in Edinburgh on Saturday, it was drizzling throughout. But that did not dampen any of the enthusiasm around me. It was the FRINGE festival! It reminded me of OASIS a bit, but only (a little) bigger and more international. There were people in all corners of the Royal Mile handing out pamphlets for their shows, impromptu staging of plays, music, magic shows, bagpipers. It is surprising how this tiny capital gets any other work done. There were tourists for miles and miles around.

Music at every corner

I walked up and down the Royal Mile several times. Edinburgh is a very compact city – all the objects of sightseeing are next to each other. The Royal Mile is all one needs to see, starting from the Edinburgh Castle at one end to the Palace of Holyrood at the other. There are beautiful churches you may scamper into if the weather gets worse. At one point, I was so hungry and tired, I was praying fervently for a place with some hot food and washroom, and lo behold! I spotted Café Fospa, and St Giles, Hot soup, bread and a cleaned face later I thought to myself - God really does exist!

The Royal Mile

I must have just seen the longest queue in the world – that to the Edinburgh Military Tattoo. I meant to get the tickets to this grand martial display, but tickets were sold out many months in advance. There were busloads of people who came to perform and an even larger number who came to watch. As I walked down, wading through the scores of patiently waiting people, there were pitying glances. If only you had come a bit earlier, my dear, you would have been standing tight in front of the queue. With us.

The rain was a bit of mood dampener but the sweet woman at St Giles told me,

“There is nothing in Scotland called bad weather; only bad clothing”

Greenwich – Where the East meets the West

“Temps? What is that?” I asked
“Damps? Did you say Damps?” That was my guide
“Nope, Temps you just said it. What does it mean?”
“Can you put that in context?”
“Yes, like you said, we can’t go fishing in the Temps”
“No, I said we cannot go fishing in the Temps”
“Yes, right what is that?”
“What? “
“Temps?”
“Damps?”
“Noo, we cannot go fishing in?”
“Temps”
“Yes, what is that?”

And it went on and on till I gathered that it was the Thames River she was talking about. Embarrassments galore!

We had a short ferry ride through Thames to Greenwich. It was a very, very hot day and though everyone else thought it was glorious, I was positively running for cover and was the most clad on the boat.

Wich means a port. England used to be a great maritime nation and Greenwich reflects that prowess. It has this very beautiful palace built mostly by Christopher Wren – a dry run before he built the spectacular St. Paul’s Cathedral. One tower has a clock, and the other has a weather vane. It has a very beautifully painted ceiling inside as well. This palace has now been turned into a university building.

Another edifice close to it is called the Queen Ann’s palace. It’s a curious structure because it has the old royal road running right through it. Lore has it that her husband James could not stand her (apparently because they both fought over the same men ;D). So, he banished her to be as far away from him as possible. She made this palace at Greenwich - but funnily had the main road running through her palace. Some say, she intended to charge toll tax for people who passed by in order to fund her luxurious lifestyle. Royal madness!

There is this ship in Greenwich called Cutty Sark which used to be a tea clipper. The ship was used to bring back tea (from China I think) the fastest, that would mean the freshest tea which in turn would fetch the highest price in the market. The ship is under renovation now. The station and bus stop in Greenwich are also called Cutty Sark.

Whats left of the Sark

And the best part of the tour – I got to see the zero line – where east meets the west, the centre of the world. The Royal observatory at the top of the hill has a ball rising at one in the afternoon and then falling soon after that as a visual time signal. Does not sound particularly thrilling I know, but do consider - this place decides time for the world over.

Can you spot the ball - on the tower?

I paid eight pounds for one of my worst lunch ever at Pistachios – lasagna – my otherwise favourite Italian. It had what tasted like boiled carrots in tomato puree. What’s wrong with food in the western world? Or have I just been unlucky again?

Greenwich has a very colorful and eclectic weekend market, much like Portobello. Some had Chinese lanterns, Greek pottery, and Hindu figurines!

The Lion King – One dream down

One of life’s greatest dreams accomplished. I watched a musical at Westend!

I almost did not. I (as always) moved round and round from Covent Garden to Holborn to Drury Lane and back to Covent Garden, when a mother and daughter duo came to my rescue. Seemed that they were going for the Lion King Musical as well and I tagged along.

The Lyceum theatre is indeed impressive, and I sat in what they called the Grand Circle. This was the umpteenth year it was running, and the theatre was packed.

The musical was GRAND - a sensual delight. The stage and backdrop did so many stunts, so many twists and turns, colours changed, people flew, monkeys danced, powerful voices, graceful bodies, dancing and swirling, sometimes swaying as trees, sometimes fighting as lions, sun rising, rivers flowing, not knowing what comes next.

The most amazing was men doing animals – and you may think it does not take much to do that – but on stage it does take effort to play a Lion, a hyena, a dodo, elephants and giraffes. If you can spot the giraffes, look at the long things on the pictures I managed to take.

Nottinghill and Portobello – Colours and Romance

It’s like having an empty handgun. You spend all the bullets on the henchmen and when it is time to hit the villain, the gun clicks and there is no bullet. My phone shut down by the time I arrived at Portobello market, and this market was just so vibrant, antique, bohemian, so full of life and people – it warrants so many snaps and aaargh I could not take any!

I made up by buying few of the eclectic wares. Anyone wishing to take memorabilia from London, visit Portobello. This market is next to Nottinghill tube and comes to life only on Saturdays. There will be an ocean of people who will walk with you towards the market – so finding your way to it will not be a predicament. Here you will find antiques, maps, magnets, laces, dolls, horns, balls, spoons, paintings, silver it’s crazy!

I went for a walk on Nottinghill Saturday morning. I had the worst hangover ever, but time was short and I had to see this. It’s another rich and famous haunt with the houses of Annie Lenox, Robbie Williams, Jimi Hendrix (and his misadventure with drugs) and Geri Haliwell. The movie Notinghill has made this area famous. Although most of the movie was recreated as sets, the bookstore where Hugh Grant (mmmwwaaah) worked still stands on Portobello road. It is actually a very quaint old specialty bookstore which was already popular around the area. Richard Curtis, the director, lived here, so he knew.

Nottinghill wasn’t always so posh. It used to be stinky and dirty centuries back; the reason being piggery and pottery. Pigs were slaughtered and their carcasses lay around, as were bricks kilned and their mess reeked. This is a street which is no longer such a mess but remnants of its infamous past still remain.

In earlier days, building a church was the best way to persuade people to stay around the area. Here is the top of the (Notting) Hill church. What would be the best way to lure people now? Maybe a shopping mall, or an office square, or enough parking space?

Friday night at Oxo Towers – More Fluid than Food

When tongue tied and not sure what to say, DRINK. At the end, I was giggling uncontrollably and gushing about every dish that came my way. In reality, they were all quite ordinary. Portions served were really measly, taste bland. My starter had two small fish balls. TWO! As small as dice - with a lot of lettuce generously fluffed around it. I am not surprised people here manage to be so bony.

Maybe the taste needs developing. Or maybe I don’t know the right places yet.

And as they say, never drink on an empty stomach.

To make up, the view from Oxo Towers was amazing.

South Kensington – The Royal Village

Natural History among the greens

Here is an interesting story. The husband of a Queen feels neglected, comes up with a brilliant idea to increase his popularity, buys and sets up an entire region to set up his dream and indeed, tales of his accomplishments are recounted till today. Margaret, a Blue Badge guide from London Walks, led this walk on Sunday afternoon.

South Kensington is Albertopolis. What Queen Victoria was to most of the colonial world, Prince consort Albert was to SK. (One up for the feminists!). He built what was called the Crystal palace at Hyde Park which hosted a worldwide Science and Art exhibition to basically show off to the world (like always) what England could do. Where Soho was steamy, lively and sinful, SK is stately, elegant and well heeled. The Royal Albert Hall and Albert Memorial are both here. It also houses the Imperial college of London, Natural History Museum, Victoria and Albert Museum, among others. There is also a Russian Cathedral – a lot of rich Russians immigrants live around the area. We were shouted at by one of their wives from her apartment balcony, “Stop talking about this apartment. Get away from here.” followed by our embarrassed laughter and quick beating of retreat.


SK is calm affluence, beautifully laid out and has loads of luxury apartments – almost a royal village. It’s the preferred abode of the newly rich. Look at the apartment above. This whole perpendicular structure is ONE apartment.

And London without architecture? This is SK special – the red and white. This is the Rector’s house next to the Imperial College.

The Imperial college story. Well, Albert returned to Bonn with young Victoria to show her the place where he had studied. His room was occupied by this eccentric student called Haufman who was too busy to even lift his head and greet the royal couple. When he was informed later that he has just been visited by the royal couple, he just mumbled, “whatever” (or something like that). Years later, when Price Albert built the Imperial College, he was racing his brain to think of someone to lead the Royal College of Chemistry. And guess who he called? Yes, right!

Another story. Prince Albert died young, of Cholera from the palace drains (!). Queen Victoria commissioned the Albert memorial. Henry Cole, a close friend of Albert, suggested they build Albert hall, which was the Prince’s long time dream. But the Queen had already paid up for the memorial. So, Cole built the Hall himself and how did he raise the money for the hall? By selling seats for 30 pounds each. Queen Victoria purchased a few herself. This is the hall where the royal box is ACTUALLY royal.

Not sure though if these stories are made up later or actually did happen. Makes the walks more interesting anyway.