Paris Je Taime

The UK’s August bank holiday always falls between C’s and my birthdays, giving us reason to do something interesting every year. For the 2015 one, we planned Paris. It was the first trip C and I made together after our wedding. There were two primary reasons for doing that – C really liked the city (after his two previous trip there) and France was a relatively easier embassy when it came to granting the Schengen visa. This was before the attacks last November. 

I was not particularly fascinated by the fascinating Paris and agreed to go if C managed the visa process. I had obviously not recovered from the mammoth UK visa process from early in the year. 

And so he did everything – visas, Eurostar tickets, Airbnb, and the works. I took on two responsibilities – planning an evening to watch cabaret and a day out in the Champagne area. The first one wasn’t bad. Moulin Rouge was very clearly an expensive deal. And they know they are expensive, so they recommend another cabaret in the Moulin Rouge Group, called La Nouvelle Eve on the same website. It is more affordable and I conveniently booked a table for the both of us. 

Read on to know more about Champagne.

We arrived in Paris on the night of Friday, August 28th. The city was quite filthy. My I’m-in-Europe-for-the-first-time eyes were surprised. But Paris is known for it. Next step: finding young English-speaking kids employed by the transport authority to help tourists navigate the train system. It was a bit sad, but I was happy that at least they had some kind of a job. 

St. Pancras, London

Because C thinks I'm like those in the background

I had a disappointing goat cheese wrap at McDonald’s for dinner and we retired at our beautiful Airbnb for the night. 

The next day was dedicated to Reims to see the wonderful, romantic world of Champagne. We took a high speed TGV train which got us to Reims within two hours. The moment we reached there I realised I had made a huge blunder. Reims is a small town with various champagne brands having their original war-time cellars located in the area. For a real, green tour through vineyards (what I had in mind), you need to be able to drive a few miles into the countryside from Reims. C hated what I had done. I hated what I had done. We’d spent a significant amount of money on those trains. But we swallowed the stupid emotions and started walking. It was a hot day. I really didn’t want to walk. On the side I was still trying to check on my phone if there was a way to get to a vineyard somehow. But it wasn’t going to be. We landed at Taittinger’s champagne house and decided that we should, at the very least, take a tour of their cave cellars. That didn’t disappoint. We bought a couple of bottles for friends, tasted some of our own, and came out a couple of hours later wondering again what to do in that place. 

We managed first class tickets on our TGV

Various available bottle sizes

Clearly, this happens everywhere!

We whiled away some more time, took a late afternoon train back to Paris, went home to change and get set for our evening in Monmartre for the cabaret. 

Reims remains, and will remain, a sore point in our relationship for times to come.

The cabaret venue, La Nouvelle Eve initially looked a bit sketchy, especially the entrance to the halls, but I was comfortable soon after. C wasn’t. Unbelievably, he enjoyed the filler acts more than the actual show. I thought that the beginning was slow and bumpy, but it only got better with time and the closing was superb. It’s a shame photography wasn’t allowed, but I guess it’s good so people can actually enjoy being there.

One did have to visit and click this picture!

The next day of our trip was dedicated to typical, touristy Parisian things. Notre dame, the Louvre, the Seine, crepes, Champs Elysees and the Eiffel Tower. The day was scorching hot at nearly 35 degrees. I hated it that C was making me walk. I felt like shite and behaved like shite too. There was nothing romantic about the trip and we couldn’t believe we were upset with each other on this first, supposedly fancy trip. Of course, it didn’t help that I couldn’t find decent vegetarian food anywhere. Yes, I could have punched someone in the face and come back to London if I could!

But I clicked a few pictures and took breaks every 30 minutes like an old woman. 

And then arrived the evening. My head and my nerves calmed. I could finally begin to see the romanticised side of the city. We decided it was a good time to buy my birthday dress (ala the annual tradition of wearing something new on the birthday). C picked a dress I never would have, but I tried it and loved it. Unsurprisingly, the mood improved. 

Clicking photos of Arc de Triomphe was fun. I was happy. 

We then took a boat tour which was another one of the disappointments of the trip. It wasn’t an open top boat, the commentary was very dry, and there were way too many people around us. Now I was grumpy. 

And then we finally went to the Eiffel Tower. Yes, we had actually saved it till our second night in the city. Don’t ask why. I was over the moon at the sight of the glittering tower. I distinctly remember being excited like a child. The shimmering lights at every hour added a 100 times to my excitement. I think I almost danced. I definitely jumped. It was also a full moon night (or maybe a day short) and the moon sat symmetrically by the tower. I changed lenses on my camera. I had ice cream. I kissed C. I did everything one does when they see the Eiffel Tower for the first time. I didn’t care to go to the top. I just didn’t want to give up the view of the Tower! So I walked back and forth, left and right, just to make sure I didn’t miss the best views of it. We later lay by the river, with the Eiffel towering over us, until all the shops shut down and it was time to take a late train home.   

On our final day in the city, as we typically do, we took it easy. We strolled in any direction we liked. We focused on getting some good food. I did want to see the Statue of Liberty, so we went in its direction. The weather had either improved or I had begun to get used to it but I was definitely more comfortable. I got a drink or two. We got a dessert or three. I chanced upon the Wall of Love. I refused to do a steep walk and C made his peace with it. We were okay. 

A rather awful font for train station names

For the love of breads!

We reached Gare du Nord and figured something was wrong. Trains were delayed. There was no sign of our train. But we had cleared immigration and there was no way of turning back. We sat. We waited. We learned it was because refugees had blocked the tracks in Calais. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. The number of people piling up at the station platforms was increasing with every train that wasn’t showing up for its return. We were almost certain we won’t be able to get back when suddenly there was an announcement. The last few trains of the night were being combined to go back to London and we had a chance there after over four hours of wait. We returned without further delay and Eurostar offered to compensate us by giving us a set of free tickets for a similar journey in the coming months. We were certainly not going back to Paris. Belgium, maybe. 

It took nearly a year before we did. Details to follow. 

Catching up

I have had no inspiration or mind space to write in several months now. My blog has been at the back of my mind, but that is all that it has been. If there is one thing that I feel rather bad about, it is the memories of various trips taken in the past year that I’m letting fade. 

The past few months have been extraordinarily busy with work and social obligations and that has finally taken its toll. I’ve been home, sick for over a week now. And so today I hope to write a bit and clear some pending words out. 

E is for Enormous*

City. Social circle. Cake sizes. Cultural differences. Physical distance. Cold (yes, I know it doesn’t fit). Trains. Job hunt. Grocery stores. Price tags. Extended family. History. Envy. Waist. 

*for the lack of a creative thought

C is for Chalk Board

We I am a confused romantic. Or let’s say I like being ‘classy’ with my romantic initiatives. Yes, the clumsy me. I would never go for a heart-shaped photo frame, card, souvenir, or anything else. But I am likely to use html hearts rather freely. I don’t know when that happened, because I remember being a prude about virtual hearts too, but what’s done is done. I even have a photo with a massive heart-shaped balloon from my pre-wedding party. So I don’t even know who I try to fool with this notion but I do try.

Coming to the point: soon after I moved to London we discussed having a board outside our home which isn’t the standard door name plate but something we could change as we liked. We didn’t do anything about it until we walked past the neighbourhood Waitrose’s garden section with a chalkboard.  We loved the idea! But it was a heart-shaped board and there was no way I was going to let it become a part of my identity. In the following weeks I sighed every time I passed by that Waitrose, just wishing somebody understood that there should be another option. And then there was one! Just before his birthday last year. 

We don’t have it outdoors, but we have been pretty wild with our ‘art’ ever since we go it. From love notes (yes, they fall in my ‘classy’ category) to countdowns to travel destinations – we use it to express just about everything. Take a look:

Bday countdown

Marathon wishes

Much improved skills

This has it all - the sun, swimming, sun decks, umbrella, drinks, palm trees

D is for Dosa

I love dosas. I loved them when it meant a family outing to Sagar Ratna in Defence Colony for their red chutney, I loved them when I had a long period of extreme stomach situations and the only thing I could eat out was a…dosa(!), I loved them when I had two Arab Udupis equidistant from my house in Abu Dhabi and I could just order a quick one for dinner every week, and I love them just as much now with frequent visits to Sarvanaa Bhavan, which includes the historic first karva chauth’s only meal. 

I hate Sarvanaa’s sambar, but I’ve made a rare kind of peace with the fact and just rely on the coconut chutney every time. Honestly, I never liked Sarvanaa when I was in Delhi. There I graduated from Sagar Ratna to Coco Palm (SEVERAL trips with work friends to this lovely place in Gurgaon!) to Naivedyam in the end which was a class act in the business. In parallel, Mom had mastered the art of making dosas thanks to our old neighbours who made it every single day. And she’s taken my love for dosas so literally that I have been greeted with it on the first day of every visit home I have made in the last two years. I even got it on my final day in Delhi before moving to London. It’s a special kind of love. :) 

And before you ask the question, I can make reasonably good dosas if you supply me with the MTR/Gits mix. And my sambar is pretty kickass. So is my coconut chutney. Yip. Okthanksbye.

PS - I haven't forgotten the C. It's in progress; I just got really excited about the D!

B is for Bus

While there are several things that I dislike without a reason, there are some that I feel a kind of eternal love for. Locomotives and double decker buses are on that short list. And what better than living in London to get your heart’s content of the red beauties! 

If it wasn’t for the traffic I’d sit on the top deck of the bus for every ride in the city. But I have a rough rule – anything that takes more than 30 minutes on the bus isn’t probably worth it. Except when I was unemployed and had all the time in the world. 

An empty top deck on an empty afternoon

I have been lucky in that my current office falls within the 30 minute bus ride mark from home. So I take the “t-h-i-r-t-e-e-n to Golders Green or Aldwych” each way every day. It also means I don’t need to make the long, uphill walk to the nearest tube station. It also means I can talk to Mom in the mornings. Of course, there are days when I am running so totally late that I have to take the tube, but I try so so hard to avoid it. :P

The apt first shot from my 10-22mm

C loves his “driver’s seat” which is basically the front seat of the top deck. So it’s a double win if we get to take a bus AND get the much-coveted front seat. Oh, the small joys of life. 

Front seat love!

  

♥

A is for Amsterdam

I have decided that an A-Z blogging challenge will help me get back in the rhythm of writing. And so, let’s begin with Amsterdam. 

From our chalk board at home =)

It was on C’s wish list for a while and I was looking forward to it for the windmills and tulips. A plan for the extended Easter weekend (the UK’s only real festival apart from Christmas) meant I could see tulips for real. Spring, after all!

Yellow flowers and sunshine can do this

Over time we have become Airbnb pros and just find it more convenient to stay by ourselves, especially because finding vegetarian food can be a challenge in most part of Europe. Having our own kitchen means we can fix meals for ourselves if we need to and a private apartment/house also means we get to stay away from the sterile, standard world of hotels and get a better feel of local lifestyle. So we booked one for this trip too. It was a cosy studio with a garden by one of the hundreds of canals in the city. 

We left on the afternoon of Friday, 25th from London Heathrow with a lot of time at hand for security given the Brussels attacks the same week and all airports in the city being on alert that travel weekend.

It was a sunny, warm day – the first of its kind in a long time - and I felt funny leaving the city on such a day. Particularly because Amsterdam had rain forecasts. 

It was a short flight to the enormous Schiphol airport in Amsterdam. E-N-O-R-M-O-U-S. With the irony of four immigration counters for those entering the country. Even though C tried to reason it by saying that the airport is largely for transits I could not understand how it could be so random. Hordes of people were literally sweating it out in the unorganised queues to get a stamp on their passports. I have to note at this point how much I feel for India and the criticisms we are used to making every time I see such inefficiencies in other parts of the world (which has been often in my rather short period of travelling in Europe and the Middle East). Some episodes worse than others, but shit happens everywhere and all the time. India is not unique even though its challenges are often more unique than others’. 

Anyway. We took a train from the airport to the city and walked around 20 minutes through the by-lanes before reaching our apartment in Zeeburgerdijk. The hosts had kindly provided information about the surrounding area along with recommendations on places to eat. It was around 2130 then and we decided to go out for a short walk. To our delight, we found an old windmill close to the house (we could literally see it from our backyard) which had a brewery in its yard, along with a warm, hip bar & restaurant next door. We settled there after a short stroll to get some food and drinks. C noticed cute women around (apparently Europe does better than the UK) and I appreciated a cute dog around. Our priorities are pretty clear. 

The next day, the only one with clear skies, was dedicated to Keukenhof. But before heading back to Schiphol to get our bus to Keukenhof, we went to the highly recommended, Netherlands’ first omelettery (I didn’t know that was a thing), Omelegg. We waited about 30 minutes to get in but it was worth the wait. The place had a great menu, warm ambience and the food was good! From there we walked to the Amsterdam Centraal station and took a train to Schiphol. 

It is a busy city. Its roads look very busy because of trams, cycles, buses, cars and people – everyone fighting for a pie of their own. And I feel like the Easter weekend saw many tourists like us as well. 

Schiphol’s parking lot gave a clear sense of the number of visitors. It had hundreds of people queueing up for a bus to Keukenhof. I wasn’t too excited about it but could not be bothered. They had buses leaving every five minutes so the wait wasn’t too long. The 30 minute bus ride also brought more windmill views. :D 

The park was packed – with people and bulbs. A little too commercial for my liking but I was happy to see the colours and click my pictures. We were a few weeks too early to see the fields blooming and missed that sight. Maybe for next time. Maybe for Kashmir.

Blurry happiness!

We came back home to freshen up and go out for Indonesian food which somehow is popular in Amsterdam. But we didn’t have the greatest experience, i.e., I was still hungry after that and ended up eating at McDonald’s. We randomly strolled around the centre of the city. I bought a few souvenirs. A drunk man pushed C. We went to buy a brownie but returned with a muffin which was neither tasty nor had the effect it was meant to have. 

Over the next couple of days we rode trams, we ate waffles (Metropolitan!), we didn’t ride bikes because it was too cold and windy and a bit on the dangerous side. We ate more desserts and the speciality fries which are sold all around the city, looked for more specific souvenirs and walked so much that my pedometer crossed all previous records.

Chocolate madness!

I couldn't resist this one!

That Sunday we started the day with an open boat canal tour of the city. We had a lesson in finding an open top boat for such tours which otherwise can be boring. We found a perfect, small boat with no headsets for standard commentary. Instead we had a local old lady talking us through Amsterdam’s history – how the wealthy came to Amsterdam from all around the world, how places got their names, how they have over 150 nationalities living there, and so on. Most fascinating for me was how the houses in the city had tree trunk foundations which lasted over a hundred years but many are now getting weak and several houses have a tilt. I mean move over leaning tower of Pisa. These houses are serious business. 

TILTED

One other tradition we now have (it started with Kronotrop in Istanbul) is of visiting authentic artisan coffee shops whenever we visit a new city. Amsterdam’s Screaming Beans was on our list of recommendations from friends and it did not let down. Well, I didn’t have coffee. C did. It’s his thing. 

We also found a different brownie shop and made sure we found something that had more power. I had a bit of the brownie and had a short fit of laughter. While it was funny it was also scary because it felt like it took over all my brain cells and drove me into complete hysteria. It was mighty scary. C was unaffected. He claims he slept well because of it.

That same evening we also did a tour of the red light district. C still manages to surprise me at times - this time with a map he managed to find online with 12-13 landmarks of the district. Before we knew it I was navigating and leading our tour group of two. But this is ideally a night time activity (duh). I was very fascinated by the windows which I knew were occupied by women at night and made sure to take C back there after dinner. It was obviously nothing like anything I had ever seen before. And in the spirit of being there I even bought myself a conservative souvenir from a shop. 

This is how it's done

Our final day in the city was relaxed. The weather was confused – extreme winds and some rain were followed by a surprisingly pleasant sunny spell. We did not have much of an agenda except to get a good, filling meal – it happens towards the end of every trip. So we found an Indian restaurant with Pakistani staff and really good food! Koh-i-Noor restaurant was a good find after landing at several closed places across the city. But before that we chanced upon the Coster Diamonds factory for a free tour and a walk through their collection of some fine stones. The other (original) Kohinoor story of theirs wasn’t fun. It never is. But pestering C for diamonds (which I’m not even particularly crazy about) was super fun. *grins*

Central to this trip was Spui, the station we invariantly landed at to access anything we wanted to see. So this post was originally going to be titled, “Chalo Spui”. But then I got more creative. 

The one-hour flight back was delayed by an hour. It reinforced my hatred for airports but then it gave us a chance to discuss our next trip.

People

I talked about valuing relationships today. And I admitted giving up on some relationships - of those that once thrived and those that barely ever were. And while this happened, I realised I'm also making some kind of a subconscious effort to keep my end of the deal of some relationships that do not have much bearing on my life today. Simply because I feel I should. It is an effort, but humbling in a way for my rather sensitive ego. 

India

I miss India. I miss its pulse. I miss its vibe. Living it vicariously through Facebook doesn’t do much for the senses. I wanted to run away from that maddening pace, and run I did. But I also ended up running away from people. So many people. From the Himalayas. I never thought I’d miss those mountains so much. From revelling in the celebration of a festival every other month. From the colour. From the food. From Hindi. From all that comfort. 

Rushing Through

I took the last flight out of Abu Dhabi so I could wrap up work in peace. By the time I reached home in Delhi it was nearly 5 am. Our appointment with the lawyer was for 10 am and the courts were nearly an hour away from home. That left me four hours to catch up with family, eat, sleep and get dressed on that cold, foggy morning. Not a lot of time if I had to convincingly look like a bride. Yeah, no way that was going to happen. So I just wrapped a pretty red net saree (in 5 degree Celsius you also wear not-so-pretty legwarmers underneath and hope nobody spots them) and put on a matching bindi to go with it. Dark circles and undone hair along....I was set to get married.

I could not feel the magnitude of the situation right then. To be fair, I rarely ever feel anything while something important or life-changing is happening. It is always in retrospect. So I was just bothered about the paperwork involved, the office work and my team back in Abu Dhabi, the traffic and so on. Everything was in place.

My mom and dad, Chetak's mom and dad, the respective bade bhaiyas and us. Eight of us in the lawyer's 4x4 chamber. Some small talk and old tales later, the lawyer's sidekick came to get things started. After the first round of paperwork we were called for the religious ceremony in the temple nearby. All of us went. The priest looked like he hadn't showered in a week. The first floor temple looked like a workshop. But we weren't complaining. And we weren't the only ones there. Everyone who cares to get a visa to join a spouse in another country in time for the bigger ceremony goes through the same process. And a civil registration through the simplest (of a few) legal routes involves going to this temple to solemnise a marriage. Of course, it's valid only if both parties subscribe to Hinduism (legalities). So there we were with used headgear and garlands that were provided at the venue. We took everyone's blessings, overpaid for one wedding photo (after all, it had to go with my visa application and NEVER to be shared with anyone else) and signed on the first of two marriage certificates.

My mom had carried kaju barfi for this moment. We stepped out of the temple and she shared the sweets with everyone. Because technically, her daughter had just got married.

Following that we went through the slow process of legal registration and showing our faces to the registrar before we got the legal paper that certified our marriage. But wait, there has to be a screw up. I pulled this one off. Through that entire morning we must have signed in at least 20 places. The final of these signatures was on the main certificate which we were made to check and proofread at least thrice before it was finalised.

Now. I used to have two signatures - a full signature that was on my passport and tax papers. The other that I started using later because my full name is too long to keep signing everywhere. This second one was on all other official papers including bank accounts. So after consciously signing the full signature everywhere I ended up using the abbreviated one on the main certificate. I realised it the moment I did it but I was too scared of Chetak's dad, who was standing beside me, to say anything. Yes, Chetak lost his top when I told him later - when nothing could be done about it.

The implications. UK home office could have rejected my application on the grounds that there was a mismatch of signatures. The photo on this certificate was so lame that that would never have served as proof of my identity. It could mean Chetak married some other Richa Bhardwaj. Paranoia levels were crossing the maximum limit for both of us. And the solution was just more unwanted paperwork. 

So on my next and final trip to Delhi, I went straight to the passport office to get my signature updated (along with other changes such as marital status). It was another long days of drama. I unwillingly realised that several government processes are managed at whim. But it wasn’t the day to complain. My work got done with limited hassle. I had the right spouse name and the right signature – ready to move to visa paperwork – within a week. Yes, I was officially my Mr’s Mrs. However, I was still one step short of becoming Mrs. Gandhi. The paperwork and government's whim won that one. 

Special Friends

A lot is said and written about relationships. Several stories and articles are shared online. Many of them are heartfelt and well-meant. Most often, I read, appreciate and move on. But this one article I read a few days ago has stayed with me. The words resonated, the feelings seemed genuine and most importantly, I think it articulated my thoughts way better than I ever could have managed. So I am copying the words here just so that I can keep coming back to them.

___

Why we’ll always be closest to the people who knew us when we were young and reckless

In our youth, friendships are much more like love affairs.

They come on passionately, intensely, strong. We meet someone whose mind matches ours and get lost in a world of our own making. We speak a different language with our friends when we are young – made up of our histories, our stories, our inside jokes and our greatest hopes. We get swept away in friendships in a way that is rivaled only by our greatest loves.

And yet something changes as we get older. It’s not that we can’t still confide in one another – we can and we frequently do. It’s just that our youth has worn off: all its melodrama, all its pain, all its ecstasy. We don’t need our friends like the air in our lungs anymore. We are able to take care of ourselves, suddenly and unexpectedly. We are no longer co-dependent and obsessed.

It’s a healthy, productive transition. And yet there’s a certain intimacy that gets lost.

Adult friendships are a calmer affair. They’re simpler and cleaner and much more straight-forward. They’re relationships of mutual support but no longer relationships of mutual chaos. And no matter how brilliant and strong they can be, there’s something about the frantic, desperate friendships we form when we’re young that can simply never be reconstructed.

The people you meet as adults meet you at your best. They know the polished you, the grown-up you, the you who is capable and put-together and strong.

They know the you that you have spent years perfecting, but they don’t know the you who came first.

They don’t know who you were before you knew any better. They don’t know the you who was still figuring it out. They weren’t there for every night you spent wasted or foolish or crying on the bathroom floor. They don’t know the times when you needed real help – when you were too out of control of yourself or too at the mercy of others. They weren’t there to pick you up when everything fell apart. They weren’t there to catch your first real falls.

No matter who we meet and fall platonically in love with as adults, there will always be a special place in our hearts for the people who knew us at our most vulnerable. For the people who helped us grow, who coached us into ourselves, who caught all our mistakes and misgivings. Those people know us in a way that nobody else ever truly can again. They know the raw parts of us, the messy parts. They know the intimacies that we spent years learning to cover up afterwards. They know all of the parts we later learned to push down.

There is a rawness to the friendships we form when we are young that can never be rivalled.

There’s an honesty that comes from knowing someone when they had not yet constructed the persona of who they’d like to be and how they want the world to see them. The friends that we acquire in our youth see us with x-ray goggles no matter how successful and respectful we become. To them, we aren’t the award-winning professional or the responsible mother of three.

To them, we will forever be that teenage girl who had her heartbroken. We’re the lost and reeling college dropout, struggling to find their direction. We’re the person they helped put back together when we were in a thousand pieces and in many ways, that is a relief.

It’s a relief to know that no matter where we go in life or who we find ourselves holding onto, there are people out there who we will forever be unable to fool.

There are people who can meet us decades down the road and instantly know the parts of us that we’ve learned to keep hidden for so long.

Because the truth is, other people may know our history, but those people know our core.

And no matter how much changes, no matter how much time passes, and no matter how much even we ourselves forget it – you can’t replace the core.

It lives on inside of every person we’ve loved and trusted fully – back when we were just young and reckless enough to let ourselves.

Here is a link to the author, Heidi Priebe's profile.