In an interview, Amy Sedaris, also known as Jerri Blank, said she invented a new style of acting, where you say how you feel instead of acting it. In every episode of Strangers with Candy she would look at the camera and tell us what's going on deep inside: "Sad", "Humiliated", or, my all time favorite, "Shame, it's just more shame".
My least favorite radio station, the classical top-40 WCRB, decided to adopt the same approach. Instead of playing quality music, they pause every 10 min to tell you (in a deep baritone) that they are "the best classical music station". Listen, morons. There's nothing less relaxing than someone hammering into your head "W-C-R-B, the most relaxing music on radio". And you cannot make up for a minuscule collection of music, dominated by fringe boring baroque composers (William Boise? Who the hell is he?) by repeating the mantra "best music on radio". And, by the way, interrupting the music every 5 minutes to tell us you're continuing with your long sets of uninterrupted music is, how shall we say it, kind of dumb.
WCRB, I hate you.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Dudamel!
I've just returned from one of the most exhilarating musical experiences of my life.
The Simón Bolívar Youth Orchestra of Venezuela and its 26 yo conductor, Gustavo Dudamel, were in Boston, playing to a full house in Symphony Hall. They started with a superb performance of Bartok's concerto for orchestra. After the intermission they continued with Beethoven's 7th symphony, with such energy and accuracy you rarely hear from mature orchestras, and this is an orchestra with some 12 and 14 year old kids (the age range is 12 to 26). The audience was roaring with appreciation and, for lack of a better word, love. And then they almost brought the house down with their rendition of Bernstein's West Side Story - with almost 200 players on stage, this is a huge orchestra, but with the vitality and agility of a single-minded daemon.
The official part of the programs ends after 2.5 hours, and the audience doesn't let them leave. Dudamel returns for an encore. The lights go out for a few seconds, and when they're back the players have taken off the black jackets and are wearing light rain jackets in Venezuelan flag colors: red, blue and yellow.
Three anchors later, the audience is in ecstasy, the players are walking around the stage waving their instruments (while continuing to play them, god knows how), Dudamel is lost in the orchestra, cellos and double-basses fly in the air, some players walk around the stage, climb on the conductor stand, jokingly conducting the riot, stumping with their feet, doing "the wave", grinning from ear to ear... and the music keeps flowing.
Absolutely amazing. I've never seen such an explosion of talent. I'm still smiling and shaking. Read more about it in the Globe or the LA Times.
As Simon Rattle said, "The Simón Bolívar Youth Orchestra of Venezuela conducted by Gustavo Dudamel is the greatest show on Earth." I'm happy I was there.
The Simón Bolívar Youth Orchestra of Venezuela and its 26 yo conductor, Gustavo Dudamel, were in Boston, playing to a full house in Symphony Hall. They started with a superb performance of Bartok's concerto for orchestra. After the intermission they continued with Beethoven's 7th symphony, with such energy and accuracy you rarely hear from mature orchestras, and this is an orchestra with some 12 and 14 year old kids (the age range is 12 to 26). The audience was roaring with appreciation and, for lack of a better word, love. And then they almost brought the house down with their rendition of Bernstein's West Side Story - with almost 200 players on stage, this is a huge orchestra, but with the vitality and agility of a single-minded daemon.
The official part of the programs ends after 2.5 hours, and the audience doesn't let them leave. Dudamel returns for an encore. The lights go out for a few seconds, and when they're back the players have taken off the black jackets and are wearing light rain jackets in Venezuelan flag colors: red, blue and yellow.
Three anchors later, the audience is in ecstasy, the players are walking around the stage waving their instruments (while continuing to play them, god knows how), Dudamel is lost in the orchestra, cellos and double-basses fly in the air, some players walk around the stage, climb on the conductor stand, jokingly conducting the riot, stumping with their feet, doing "the wave", grinning from ear to ear... and the music keeps flowing.
Absolutely amazing. I've never seen such an explosion of talent. I'm still smiling and shaking. Read more about it in the Globe or the LA Times.
As Simon Rattle said, "The Simón Bolívar Youth Orchestra of Venezuela conducted by Gustavo Dudamel is the greatest show on Earth." I'm happy I was there.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
3 things I didn't know I needed
My friends Danny and Tao Kai always complain that they can't get me anything, since I have everything I can possibly need. For my 1/3-life crisis I threw a big party, and even though I specifically asked for no presents, I ended up with a few highly useful items I never knew I needed!
And the top 3 are:
1. Lips. You can always use a pair of red lips.
2. A set of 6 self-adhesive mustaches. Don't be caught in public with a naked upper lip!
And my personal favorite...
3. A wine bottle cozy. You've probably seen bottle coolers - used to chill a bottle of white wine, or to keep it chilled while it's not refrigerated. But what about red wine? How can you keep it in room temperature when it's too cold outside, or if you've just brought it up from your cold wine cellar? The hand-made wine cozy comes to your rescue!
And the top 3 are:
1. Lips. You can always use a pair of red lips.
2. A set of 6 self-adhesive mustaches. Don't be caught in public with a naked upper lip!
And my personal favorite...
3. A wine bottle cozy. You've probably seen bottle coolers - used to chill a bottle of white wine, or to keep it chilled while it's not refrigerated. But what about red wine? How can you keep it in room temperature when it's too cold outside, or if you've just brought it up from your cold wine cellar? The hand-made wine cozy comes to your rescue!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Hindsight is Always 50-50
I'm still looking for a title for this blog. In the meantime, I decided to borrow one from Joey. I don't remember if he was a bit under the influence when he came up with it, but I always thought it's a brilliant summary of the impossibility of looking backward and reliving your life. Even if we did know everything that was going to happen, every result of every possible action, would we make the right choice? Joey gives it a 50-50 chance, and he's probably generous. Oh well. We'll burn that bridge when we cross it! (another one from Joey's).
Thursday, July 05, 2007
What makes me switch to a different radio station
Here they are, the top things you don't want to hear on your radio:
- "You have had some horrible surgeries. Tell us about them." -- heard in a WBUR interview with polio survivors. I was not fast enough, and heard a bit about having all your foot bones broken before I switched the station.
- "This is our spring fund raiser." -- is there really a difference between a commercial based radio station like WCRB and a sponsorship-loaded fundraising-every-other-week NPR station?
- "My name is Laura Carlo, and I want to tell you about my wonderful new Bose radio." -- turns out there is a difference after all. How come a voice so sweet and full of high-fructose corn syrup just makes me want to puke? (WCRB)
- "And now, a symphony by William Boise" -- WCRB has approximately 12 classical CD's. This seems to be one of their favorites. I had never heard of this composer before WCRB, and its main talent seems to be having written 5-minutes symphonies, that fit right in between commercial breaks. Oh well, maybe he sounds much better on a Bose radio.
- Anything to do with Lake Wobegon. -- Prarie Home Companion's host Garrison Keillor is the male equivalent of Laura Carlo - hearing his voice creates an allergic reaction in my body. And regarding the so called "humor" of the program, I'm in one mind with Homer Simpsons on that: in one of the episodes Homer and family find themselves watching A Prairie Home Companion with increasing frustration. Homer is finally reduced to pounding the television and yelling "Be funny! Be funny!"
- "With us is Dr Montross, a psychiatrist in Brown University, who has released a poetry book about her love of cadavers." -- heard on WBUR On Point.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Secrets
I'm a big fan of PostSecret. Secrets of other people can make me laugh, or cringe, or feel sad, or see something in myself that I knew was there and wasn't let out. I collected my favorite secrets in my website. You're welcome to try to guess which of them are actually mine. The one I did intend to send is still in the top drawer of my desk.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
The Last Straw
America is obsessed with food cleanliness. You order a happy meal (not that you should), and the straw that comes with your coke arrives wrapped in thin white paper. Why? Do the kitchen staff have a habit of licking straws? And what's the deal with straws that have only a small piece of paper left, covering their tip? How can we be sure that nobody nibbled on the lower end? Or even - god forbid - nibbled on the top end of the straw, and then placed the paper right back on? And while we're at it, why wrap only the straw in paper? Why not the cup itself? Or the fork, knife and plate? What about the hamburger we're being served, isn't it more hygienic to wrap it in paper while handling it? or wrap the cow that produced it?
Where I'm coming from, people are not afraid of a little dirt in their food. It's part of the culture - you can call it the "secret sauce" of middle-eastern food. The last time I went to the local falafel shop in Central Square, I asked the guy to get me 10 falafel balls. I know how these shops work and I don't expect their kitchen to be clean, but hey, any bacteria that survives deep frying will be killed by the hot sauce - the schug. He used tongs to remove the falafel balls from the oil, and then used them again to move the balls to a plastic take-out container. So far no hands! I was totally amazed by his adaptation of the American standards. The guy was about to hand them to me, but something stopped him. He looked at the box with a frown and one by one, he poked his index finger into each of them, counting from 1 to 10. Yup, 10 balls mister, as you asked. Bon Apetite.
The falafel was delicious :-)
Where I'm coming from, people are not afraid of a little dirt in their food. It's part of the culture - you can call it the "secret sauce" of middle-eastern food. The last time I went to the local falafel shop in Central Square, I asked the guy to get me 10 falafel balls. I know how these shops work and I don't expect their kitchen to be clean, but hey, any bacteria that survives deep frying will be killed by the hot sauce - the schug. He used tongs to remove the falafel balls from the oil, and then used them again to move the balls to a plastic take-out container. So far no hands! I was totally amazed by his adaptation of the American standards. The guy was about to hand them to me, but something stopped him. He looked at the box with a frown and one by one, he poked his index finger into each of them, counting from 1 to 10. Yup, 10 balls mister, as you asked. Bon Apetite.
The falafel was delicious :-)
Thursday, March 29, 2007
A Year of Bach
As much as I love modern and contemporary music, I always go back to the basics, and for it is the music of Bach. Many "top 10" lists of classical music include his B minor Mass at the top of the list, and having listened to it last week in a concert in Jordan Hall (with the Cantata Singers), I would concur. After the concert I went to the web to take another look at that complete Bach edition I always coveted, a $2,400 172 CD box from Hanssler. Good performances by well known artists, but a bit pricey. And then, I found another complete edition, with lesser known performers but good reviews. At $107 it was too tempting to pass on, and 2 days later I got it in the mail.
And I've been listening to Bach ever since. 5 CDs a week, or one CD every day on the way to work and back (and a bit over the weekend) - it should just be a year before I finish listening to all of it. I'm so excited! It is an amazing deal, and I never expected to be able to listen to all of Bach's music, but it's going to happen this year.
The performances are pretty good so far. The box is sorted by genre: orchestral music, harpsichord, chamber music, cantatas, organ music, etc. I decided not to listen to them in order - I don't think I would be able to survive 60 CD's or religious cantatas. Instead, I've started with every 10th disk (1, 11, 21, etc.), and when I finish these I'll move to 2, 12, 22, etc. Surprisingly, the first batch of 5 CDs included some of the most amazing music ever written (IMHO): the Well-Tempered Klavier, Goldberg Variations, Brandenburg Concertos, "Ich Habe Genug" cantata, Sonatas and Partitas for solo violin... and this is just a random sample! I can't wait to see what surprises I'll find along the way.
And when I'm done, there's always the $110 complete Mozart edition!
And I've been listening to Bach ever since. 5 CDs a week, or one CD every day on the way to work and back (and a bit over the weekend) - it should just be a year before I finish listening to all of it. I'm so excited! It is an amazing deal, and I never expected to be able to listen to all of Bach's music, but it's going to happen this year.
The performances are pretty good so far. The box is sorted by genre: orchestral music, harpsichord, chamber music, cantatas, organ music, etc. I decided not to listen to them in order - I don't think I would be able to survive 60 CD's or religious cantatas. Instead, I've started with every 10th disk (1, 11, 21, etc.), and when I finish these I'll move to 2, 12, 22, etc. Surprisingly, the first batch of 5 CDs included some of the most amazing music ever written (IMHO): the Well-Tempered Klavier, Goldberg Variations, Brandenburg Concertos, "Ich Habe Genug" cantata, Sonatas and Partitas for solo violin... and this is just a random sample! I can't wait to see what surprises I'll find along the way.
And when I'm done, there's always the $110 complete Mozart edition!
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Monday, March 12, 2007
When Free Markets Don't Work
Economists on the right say that the market knows best, and left alone will produce optimal results. I'm not an economist, but this assertion cannot be true, and I see it every day on my commute back from work. I'm an avid NPR listener, and Boston is fortunate to have two great public radio stations, WBUR and WGBH. Most of the time they have different shows, and usually I listen to one of the two (anything to avoid the horrible WCRB, I'll leave that to another post). But on weekdays between 4pm and 7pm they have the same exact lineup: 2.5 hours of news followed by Marketplace. Surely, listeners would be better served if they could, say, choose between news on WBUR and music on WGBH. And surely, with the rival station having the exact same programs at the exact same time, listeners choose more or less randomly between the two - there's no reason to prefer one over the other (unless it's fund raising time, which is a different story altogether.)
This makes perfect sense in an unregulated market. Suppose that 70% of the people prefer to listen to news, while 30% prefer music. If both stations broadcast the news, they'll get 35% rating each. If one of them switches to music, its rating will go down to 30%. Hence, neither station is motivated to change their programs. The end result is that the consumers lose.
A similar example happens with the location of shops. Have you noticed that once there's a tailor shop or a grocery shop in a city block, another one will pop right next to it? Imagine a sandy beach, mile long, and imagine you're the sole ice cream vendor on the beach. Assume that the sunbathers are equally spread along the beach, and want to walk the shortest distance possible to get their ice cream. The optimal place for your booth will be right in the middle. When a second vendor comes, the optimal place for him is just next to you! This way he'll get half the beach (for instance, if he's on your right, all the people in the right side of the beach will prefer to go to his booth). Once you're both in the middle of the beach, none of you is motivated to move your booth - moving it will only decrease your sales. But with regulation, the city can force both of you to space your booths. If they are located at the 1/3 and 2/3 milestones on the beach, you'll still divide the space equally between the two of you, but shorten the average distance that a sunbather needs to walk to get ice cream by almost 50%.
I heard this example once on the radio... probably on an NPR station :-) A quick search in Wikipedia found out this is actually called Hotelling's law.
This makes perfect sense in an unregulated market. Suppose that 70% of the people prefer to listen to news, while 30% prefer music. If both stations broadcast the news, they'll get 35% rating each. If one of them switches to music, its rating will go down to 30%. Hence, neither station is motivated to change their programs. The end result is that the consumers lose.
A similar example happens with the location of shops. Have you noticed that once there's a tailor shop or a grocery shop in a city block, another one will pop right next to it? Imagine a sandy beach, mile long, and imagine you're the sole ice cream vendor on the beach. Assume that the sunbathers are equally spread along the beach, and want to walk the shortest distance possible to get their ice cream. The optimal place for your booth will be right in the middle. When a second vendor comes, the optimal place for him is just next to you! This way he'll get half the beach (for instance, if he's on your right, all the people in the right side of the beach will prefer to go to his booth). Once you're both in the middle of the beach, none of you is motivated to move your booth - moving it will only decrease your sales. But with regulation, the city can force both of you to space your booths. If they are located at the 1/3 and 2/3 milestones on the beach, you'll still divide the space equally between the two of you, but shorten the average distance that a sunbather needs to walk to get ice cream by almost 50%.
I heard this example once on the radio... probably on an NPR station :-) A quick search in Wikipedia found out this is actually called Hotelling's law.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
The Dangers of Life in India
It's not all roses and pineapples in India. Having dinner one night in a charming restaurant in Arambol, tucked inside a coconut grove, I looked up and saw that there is a net hanging over the entire restaurant area. It didn't look like a mosquito net, but somebody did go through the trouble of carefully installing it over the tables and the kitchen. I asked my sister Deva about it, and it turned out that the net is indeed for catching something much bigger than mosquitoes - coconuts. Every year dozens of people are injured by falling coconuts. The fruit is pretty heavy, and dropping from 20-30 meters above ground can crack your head open.
Having escaped the coconuts, the next danger comes from monkeys. The roads are hazardous enough without them, but when they jump on you from a tree while you're riding your motorcycle, it can end up pretty badly - a couple of friends of Deva ended up with major injuries this way (it's unclear if the monkey survived - after the two riders fell off the bike the monkey was left riding it by himself.)
One of the online guides I read listed 13 other dangers in India. For the full list, check http://www.goacom.com/ad.php?aid=23. Turns out that it's not good to be sick. Check for instance the 11th entry, regarding the hospitals in the region:
... the former Santa Casa de Misericordia Hospital in Ribandar as well as the Asilo Hospitals in Margao and Mapuça are sub-standard. In short : Do not cause yourself to be ill in Goa - anywhere, for that matter.
But the best part is left to the end, and I'll quote #13 in full:
Paedophilia : Of late, Goa has received some attention, albeit unwelcome, relating to this totally abhorrent crime by tourists against children. Almost every single paedophile identified so far, has been from Europe. If you are a paedophile, please do not practice it in Goa or on Goans . . . or anywhere, for that matter. They are virulently opposed to it and have been sensitized to this offence.
Having escaped the coconuts, the next danger comes from monkeys. The roads are hazardous enough without them, but when they jump on you from a tree while you're riding your motorcycle, it can end up pretty badly - a couple of friends of Deva ended up with major injuries this way (it's unclear if the monkey survived - after the two riders fell off the bike the monkey was left riding it by himself.)
One of the online guides I read listed 13 other dangers in India. For the full list, check http://www.goacom.com/ad.php?aid=23. Turns out that it's not good to be sick. Check for instance the 11th entry, regarding the hospitals in the region:
... the former Santa Casa de Misericordia Hospital in Ribandar as well as the Asilo Hospitals in Margao and Mapuça are sub-standard. In short : Do not cause yourself to be ill in Goa - anywhere, for that matter.
But the best part is left to the end, and I'll quote #13 in full:
Paedophilia : Of late, Goa has received some attention, albeit unwelcome, relating to this totally abhorrent crime by tourists against children. Almost every single paedophile identified so far, has been from Europe. If you are a paedophile, please do not practice it in Goa or on Goans . . . or anywhere, for that matter. They are virulently opposed to it and have been sensitized to this offence.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Why 666?
Quite a few people asked me "why 666".
What 666 is: 666 is an abundant number. It is the sum of the first 36 natural numbers (i.e. 1 + 2 + 3... + 34 + 35 + 36 = 666), and thus a triangular number. Since 36 is both square and triangular, 666 is the sixth number of the form n2(n2 + 1) /2 (triangular squares) and the eighth number of the form n(n + 1)(n2 + n + 2) /8 (doubly triangular numbers.)
666 is the sum of the squares of the first seven prime numbers (i.e. 22 + 32 + 52 + 72 + 112 + 132 + 172 = 666).
The Roman numeral representation of the number 666 (DCLXVI) uses once each the Roman numeral symbols with values under 1,000, occurring in descending order of their respective values.
What 666 is not: 666 is not the number of the beast. A newly discovered fragment of the oldest surviving copy of the New Testament indicates that, as far as the Antichrist goes, theologians, scholars, heavy metal groups, and television evangelists have got the wrong number. Instead of 666, it's actually the far less ominous 616. Google "616" and you'll find the details.
So, why 666? will you believe me if I said that David-1, David-2, ...., David-665 were all taken? I thought so :-( oh well, I didn't really check all of them. 666 just sounded catchy, and it helps deterring any superstitious people.
What 666 is: 666 is an abundant number. It is the sum of the first 36 natural numbers (i.e. 1 + 2 + 3... + 34 + 35 + 36 = 666), and thus a triangular number. Since 36 is both square and triangular, 666 is the sixth number of the form n2(n2 + 1) /2 (triangular squares) and the eighth number of the form n(n + 1)(n2 + n + 2) /8 (doubly triangular numbers.)
666 is the sum of the squares of the first seven prime numbers (i.e. 22 + 32 + 52 + 72 + 112 + 132 + 172 = 666).
The Roman numeral representation of the number 666 (DCLXVI) uses once each the Roman numeral symbols with values under 1,000, occurring in descending order of their respective values.
What 666 is not: 666 is not the number of the beast. A newly discovered fragment of the oldest surviving copy of the New Testament indicates that, as far as the Antichrist goes, theologians, scholars, heavy metal groups, and television evangelists have got the wrong number. Instead of 666, it's actually the far less ominous 616. Google "616" and you'll find the details.
So, why 666? will you believe me if I said that David-1, David-2, ...., David-665 were all taken? I thought so :-( oh well, I didn't really check all of them. 666 just sounded catchy, and it helps deterring any superstitious people.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
India Travelog
I - Feb 5, 2007
I am on the beach (sort of), breaking my solemn promise not to touch the internet until I'm back - but hey, I did manage to stay 10 days offline, I think it's a good step forward (or maybe backward?).
The flights were long: BOS to LON to BOM. But when I finally got to Bombay and went into the terminal, the familiar smell of India suddenly hit me - 15 years later - and I had a big smile on my face. A lot has changed here since my last visit, but the smell of the city is the same - a combination of spices, heat, and the 20 million people who live there. "The best worst smell", as a book I'm reading (Shantaram – highly recommended!) describes it. For me it brought back fond memories.
Six hours at the airport, an hour flight to Panjim, 2 hours in a taxi to cover the 40 miles to my sister's place, and I finally met my family here - Orly (whose name here is Deva) and her charming and animated two years old daughter Luna. I completely forgot about not sleeping for the last 40 hours - it was so great to see them. Since then I am getting a lot of rest. I've spent the last week in Goa. Life is easy, hot, slow and fun. I spend most of the day on the beach, which is very relaxing - as long as you manage to deflect the steady line of local salespeople who, if they're kind, try to sell you saris, fruit, drums, necklaces or shirts, and if they're less kind, try to poke sticks in your ears and convince you they pulled a rock out of it. On the busy beaches you're stopped around once a minute; I try to go to more isolate locations. Still, I can't say no to a fresh pineapple or papaya, and I was tempted to buy an oversize drum for about double its market price - but who cares - I'm a tourist, I don't expect to pay "local price!".
Other than that, people are really nice, and Goa has a different feel than anywhere else in India. There are so many foreigners, the entire atmosphere is international rather than Indian. For instance, you can find within a few miles 3 gourmet French restaurants, a weekly designers market with hundreds of shops selling clothes from $1 shirts to $500 dresses, a nightly open-air disco, and alcohol everywhere. On the other hand, riding over the pot holes will remind you that you are still in the 3rd world - the infrastructure is still very bad and water, sewage, public transportation etc. are definitely in grave need of improvement. But things are still much better than what I remember from 15 years ago - there are cellphones everywhere, internet connections at every shack, and the food is much safer (hey, I haven't gotten sick yet!)
One thing that hasn't changed is that the place is flooded with Israelis. The one BIG improvement is that we're not considered the worse people here any more! Yes, we lost our Enemy of the Public #1 place to an influx of Russians, who scare the s**t out of people here. They come loaded (mafia money so I've heard), and either pay asking price for everything without haggling (which has the effect of doubling the price for everyone else), or don't pay at all (with some of these people, one look is enough to convince you not to argue). In comparison, Israelis seem kind and gentle, isn't that nice?
Besides the beach, I took a day trip to Old Goa, which was mildly interesting, and plan a longer 7-10 day trip into the central parts of India (Karnataka) - hopefully leaving on Thursday. I'm pretty excited about it. Beaches are great, but after a week on the beach it will be nice to do something else.
Don't be surprised if I return with a thick Indian accent... it seems that my English is deteriorating quickly here! I am healthy and happy otherwise, so I guess I can't complain too much :-)
II - Feb 12, 2007
I finally left Goa a few days ago - it was surprisingly difficult to leave behind the sunny beaches, pineapples and the party scene, but I wanted to see some more of India before I head back home. My first stop was Hampi, a few hundred miles west of Goa, in the state of Karnataka. Theoretically it’s a short 12 hours bus ride. In practice, 3 hours into the trip we were already 2 hours behind. We took a night bus that left at 7pm and was supposed to arrive the following morning. Around midnight it hit traffic jams, and we were in a standstill for the next 5-6 hours, together with other tourist buses, and about 17,000 trucks carrying mostly sand. It turns out that the road has two lanes, and the smallest disturbance (like a truck getting stuck - something that happens too often) - will stop traffic for miles in both directions. Eventually we arrived around 4pm - not too bad, considering that other travelers on the same route arrived 5 hours later. Still, a 22h bus ride with a baby is no fun.
Luckily, this is where our troubles ended. Hampi is one of the most amazing places in India, and I was totally surprised and taken by the place. Having been to India before, traveling extensively, I didn't expect to find such a gem. Geographically, it is located in a desert area where a river supplies an abundance of water. The entire region is covered with palm trees, banana plantations and rice fields. You can hear all day the trickling of water flooding the fields, and if that's not enough water for you, you can hike to the near dam and swim in a cool sweet-water lake. The other stunning feature of the place is the weird lunar-like geological formations, with boulders stuck up in impossible configurations. It's hard to explain - I hope you'll get a glimpse of it when I publish the pictures.
And then there are the temples and the remains of the ancient kingdom of Vijayanagar. Dozens of temples, colonnades, ornate palaces, bazaars, and even elephant stables, all dating from the 10th to 16th century. I've just returned from a long bike ride to the royal palace – it was hot, with a lot of steep inclines along the way (not too easy on a single-gear bike), and I ran out of water mid-way. There were no shops in the site, but luckily a friendly coconutwallah was available and I had my first taste of coconut juice. And then my second :-)
Most travelers spend their time more leisurely, enjoying the quiet atmosphere of the place. Westerners come here from all over India to relax in nature, hike, bike, have good food, and recharge. The guesthouse where I'm staying is a great place to do all of that. Speaking Hebrew is definitely a plus, as 80% of the people there (guests and staff alike) seem to speak the language. We try to spend at least half of the day just sitting outside in the lounge on the comfy mattresses, chatting with other travelers, ordering food (way too much since it's way too cheap and way too good!), reading, playing chess (4 games last night), or playing with Luna.
The most adventurous thing I've done so far was riding a motorcycle. Yeah, I know it doesn't sound so fierce, but it was my first time, the roads here are one big pot hole patched with cow manure, the bike I got was from hell, I ran out of gas after 5 minutes (the guy promised it had 1 liter - I guess he meant 1 milliliter), the keys fell from the bike while I was riding it and I had to backtrack in the wrong direction against traffic to find them, the lights didn't work (I found it out only when it got dark), and I didn't have glasses - meaning I had to bike through a thick layers of bugs and mosquitoes that insisted on getting into my eyes and mouth. In short, towards the end of the trip I was biking in the dark, with no lights, with my eyes closed - I feel pretty brave!
III - Feb 15th, 2007
It was difficult to leave Hampi, but I wanted to see a bit more of India before my return. Orly and Luna went back to Goa, and I headed south by myself. The way in and out of the village includes crossing a river on a tiny boat manned by kids, overcrowded with tourists and locals, and an occasional motorcycle. Crossing the river, I wondered once again how many Enfields and Hondas are rusting below my feet - the boats are not more than glorified buckets, and the poor biker needs to stand on his bike the entire way, hoping to make it against all odds.
My next stop was Bangalore. I took a night train, and woke up the following morning in the hi-tech capital of India. Personally, I didn't like the place too much - it's highly polluted, and the only reason I stopped there was my hope to get together with Paaras, a work pal who moved back to India to work for EMC here. Paaras was pretty enthusiastic about the meeting, but it didn't work out - the hi-tech area is too far from the center, the traffic is as hectic as any other big city in India, and the whole thing fell through. Plan B was to utilize the abundance of internet cafes to finally find a decent internet connection - my guidebook claims there are more than 700 of them in the city. I spent an hour looking for them . Found only 2, both non-working. This was pretty surprising, considering that every second hut in Hampi bazaar had an internet connection (on the right). After an excellent cup of Illy coffee (a rare experience in India) I took the train to Mysore, the ancient capital of the region and home of the Maharajah.
Oh, Mysore! The Maharajah palace! The scenic location of E. M. Forester's Passage to India! And my first hot shower in 2 weeks!! (Turns out that my new brownish color was not all tan after all.)
If you've ever watched a Hollywood oriental fantasy, you should have a pretty good idea of the palace. It's an extravagant and magnificent creation, straight from "1001 Nights", complete with an elephant chariot (80Kg of gold) and the Maharajah throne (280Kg of gold). The royal family stills lives there today, although they lost the battle to keep the palace and it belongs to the government now. Part of me wished they melted the gold and used it for something better - judging by the look of the state, there's not too much excess of resources to pay for all this extravagance. Still, for us tourists it's a one-in-a-lifetime experience to walk through the halls and feel like a king for one day (just don't forget to give a rupee to the armless beggar outside).
I also spent a couple of splendid hours in the market - one of the most colorful and photogenic I've seen, with abundance of flowers, sold by weight to street vendors who in turn sell it to pilgrims; spices (Mysore is a source of sandal wood); silk; and my favorite - piles of pineapples, watermelons and endless heaps of bananas.
Talking about pineapples, I love the food here. It's difficult not to indulge when you can get a fresh pineapple on the street for $0.20, then stop for a full vegetarian Thali meal for $0.75 (the Idli and Sambar are almost as good as Sarav's), get ice cream for $0.30, etc. etc. I'm eating like a pig, and the "India effect" of last time hasn't appeared yet - in my previous visit with Hagai 15 years ago we both got horribly sick and lost a lot of weight. So far I'm healthy, and if at all, I'll return a lazy fat bum.
Coming to think of it, 6 days from now I'm flying back to Boston - suddenly it looks so short! I keep running into travelers who’ve come here for 6-7 months or more... wish I could do it as well. Maybe next time...
IV - Feb 17th, 2007
It's 6am and Julie is crying helplessly. Her mom is dragging her from a baby, "no mom, please mom" she cries and shouts, returning occasionally to kiss the infant, who is being held by a nun. I think that it’s her baby and the father is this hunky bare chested guy she was fooling with around 5:30am. It's hard to tell what's going on - I'm sleepy, and Julie speaks mostly Kannada, switching to English when she gets excited. I'm relieved to see that poor Julie's mood is improving - now she's smiling, dancing and singing. Maybe she's not that heart broken after all.
I'm trying to doze off again, but the sound of the TV is overwhelming. Julie’s father is having another fit. I wake up and realize I'm still in the night bus, going from Shimoga to Sagar, two places of absolutely no interest to me except that they are on the way from Mysore, where I left you my dear readers, and my next destination - Jog falls. I make a mental note not to go ever again on a video-equipped bus, and prepare to take my 3rd bus tonight. I also make a mental note to avoid restaurants with free vomit bags - yes, this is what the menu cover promised in the last establishment I visited. I feel nauseated - was it the restaurant or the winding road combined with the on-the-edge drive-like-there-is-no-tomorrow attitude of our bus driver?
Mysore is not visited by a lot of westerners, but once I left it I was the only non-Indian on the bus. The four bus stations I visited today where all operated with the same method - drivers stand outside their buses, shouting the destinations. It's actually a good idea, considering many people (including myself) cannot read the signs (posted only in the local language). Problem is, when somebody shouts at you karnagokarnagokarnagokarnagokarnagokarna very rapidly, it's difficult to make out what he means, especially if your hearing (and other mental faculties) seem to have been permanently damaged by that damn video. Somehow I made all the connections on time, and 3 buses later arrived at the falls.
My guidebook says that the falls are pretty disappointing, but the scenery is great. Like many other things in this book, it's totally wrong - the falls are spectacular, a drop of 200m (the highest in India). The scenery is 1000 steps you need to go down and then climb for a close view. I'm joined by a group of college students - they're really sweet. We soon learn each other names - Rafiq, Sadiq, Kumar... seems to be a mixed group of Hindus and Muslims - nice to know they can get along together (what you read in the papers suggests this is not always the case.) We get a lot of pictures together, and I have 45 min to run back up the stairs to pick up my next bus.
* * *
On the bus from Jog Falls I take a seat in an empty row, but soon a young man gets on the bus and sits next to me. He smells as if he hasn't taken a shower since his Bar Mitzva, with a stench of concentrated sweat and cardamom. I stop breathing, then open the window next to me. A minute later he reaches his hand and closes it. I look at him questioningly, and he smiles and points his finger at a lady in a sari two rows ahead of us. She is coughing loudly, and indeed within a minute or so pokes her head out of the window and spits out a huge, yellowish ball of phlegm, flying straight to the window my friend has just shut, leaving a big oozy paddle. This was a close call.
* * *
One more bus and I’m on my way to the holy village of Gokarna. It is holy to 3 religions: Hindus, Buddhists - both have temples here, and Hippies, who flock to the sandy beaches. This weekend the atmosphere is definitely Hindu. It is Shivratri (Shiva's birthday), and thousands of people have come to celebrate it here. It's a great spectacle - the tiny village is packed with pilgrims, and the lines to the temples are huge. In fact, the lines wind along the narrow streets and eventually cover half the village. Many pilgrims go first to the beach to wash in the holy water before getting the priest's blessing (it's supposed to increase the power of the blessing, as is shaving your head.) One of the temples contains a pranalingam - a phallic sacred object, stolen from Shiva and retrieved by Ganesh, the beloved elephant-headed god. The entire story is depicted on the wall of a local restaurant, just in case you need it in a comics version. In any case, the lingam is considered to be so auspicious that even without washing in the sea, one look at it will pardon 100 sins, including murdering a Brahmin. Might come in handy, except that they don't let foreigners into the temples these days. I should be more careful with those Brahmins from now on.
Outside the temples I feel surrounded by pilgrims of all kinds - the rich, the poor, the very poor, priests, sadduhs, the beggars... many beggars line the streets sitting in front of a straw mat, and the occasional passerby throws rice onto the mats as charity. I wonder if the beggars later eat the rice or sell it. The sadduhs, on the other hand, take only cash.
* * *
Tonight is my last night in Gokarna, and I'm preparing to return to Goa tomorrow. Thank you for the many comments I got, and sorry I couldn't respond personally to all. Usually the opening line was "I'm so jealous"... don't be! India is not that far, and traveling here is so much fun and wonder. If I injected you with the travel bug, and if you went to check your vacation balance at work, then my job is done. Go get the "rough guide" to India, and start packing!
For more pictures, visit my website, at taalul.com. The pictures are in the 2007 album.
I am on the beach (sort of), breaking my solemn promise not to touch the internet until I'm back - but hey, I did manage to stay 10 days offline, I think it's a good step forward (or maybe backward?).
The flights were long: BOS to LON to BOM. But when I finally got to Bombay and went into the terminal, the familiar smell of India suddenly hit me - 15 years later - and I had a big smile on my face. A lot has changed here since my last visit, but the smell of the city is the same - a combination of spices, heat, and the 20 million people who live there. "The best worst smell", as a book I'm reading (Shantaram – highly recommended!) describes it. For me it brought back fond memories.
Six hours at the airport, an hour flight to Panjim, 2 hours in a taxi to cover the 40 miles to my sister's place, and I finally met my family here - Orly (whose name here is Deva) and her charming and animated two years old daughter Luna. I completely forgot about not sleeping for the last 40 hours - it was so great to see them. Since then I am getting a lot of rest. I've spent the last week in Goa. Life is easy, hot, slow and fun. I spend most of the day on the beach, which is very relaxing - as long as you manage to deflect the steady line of local salespeople who, if they're kind, try to sell you saris, fruit, drums, necklaces or shirts, and if they're less kind, try to poke sticks in your ears and convince you they pulled a rock out of it. On the busy beaches you're stopped around once a minute; I try to go to more isolate locations. Still, I can't say no to a fresh pineapple or papaya, and I was tempted to buy an oversize drum for about double its market price - but who cares - I'm a tourist, I don't expect to pay "local price!".
Other than that, people are really nice, and Goa has a different feel than anywhere else in India. There are so many foreigners, the entire atmosphere is international rather than Indian. For instance, you can find within a few miles 3 gourmet French restaurants, a weekly designers market with hundreds of shops selling clothes from $1 shirts to $500 dresses, a nightly open-air disco, and alcohol everywhere. On the other hand, riding over the pot holes will remind you that you are still in the 3rd world - the infrastructure is still very bad and water, sewage, public transportation etc. are definitely in grave need of improvement. But things are still much better than what I remember from 15 years ago - there are cellphones everywhere, internet connections at every shack, and the food is much safer (hey, I haven't gotten sick yet!)
One thing that hasn't changed is that the place is flooded with Israelis. The one BIG improvement is that we're not considered the worse people here any more! Yes, we lost our Enemy of the Public #1 place to an influx of Russians, who scare the s**t out of people here. They come loaded (mafia money so I've heard), and either pay asking price for everything without haggling (which has the effect of doubling the price for everyone else), or don't pay at all (with some of these people, one look is enough to convince you not to argue). In comparison, Israelis seem kind and gentle, isn't that nice?
Besides the beach, I took a day trip to Old Goa, which was mildly interesting, and plan a longer 7-10 day trip into the central parts of India (Karnataka) - hopefully leaving on Thursday. I'm pretty excited about it. Beaches are great, but after a week on the beach it will be nice to do something else.
Don't be surprised if I return with a thick Indian accent... it seems that my English is deteriorating quickly here! I am healthy and happy otherwise, so I guess I can't complain too much :-)
II - Feb 12, 2007
I finally left Goa a few days ago - it was surprisingly difficult to leave behind the sunny beaches, pineapples and the party scene, but I wanted to see some more of India before I head back home. My first stop was Hampi, a few hundred miles west of Goa, in the state of Karnataka. Theoretically it’s a short 12 hours bus ride. In practice, 3 hours into the trip we were already 2 hours behind. We took a night bus that left at 7pm and was supposed to arrive the following morning. Around midnight it hit traffic jams, and we were in a standstill for the next 5-6 hours, together with other tourist buses, and about 17,000 trucks carrying mostly sand. It turns out that the road has two lanes, and the smallest disturbance (like a truck getting stuck - something that happens too often) - will stop traffic for miles in both directions. Eventually we arrived around 4pm - not too bad, considering that other travelers on the same route arrived 5 hours later. Still, a 22h bus ride with a baby is no fun.
Luckily, this is where our troubles ended. Hampi is one of the most amazing places in India, and I was totally surprised and taken by the place. Having been to India before, traveling extensively, I didn't expect to find such a gem. Geographically, it is located in a desert area where a river supplies an abundance of water. The entire region is covered with palm trees, banana plantations and rice fields. You can hear all day the trickling of water flooding the fields, and if that's not enough water for you, you can hike to the near dam and swim in a cool sweet-water lake. The other stunning feature of the place is the weird lunar-like geological formations, with boulders stuck up in impossible configurations. It's hard to explain - I hope you'll get a glimpse of it when I publish the pictures.
And then there are the temples and the remains of the ancient kingdom of Vijayanagar. Dozens of temples, colonnades, ornate palaces, bazaars, and even elephant stables, all dating from the 10th to 16th century. I've just returned from a long bike ride to the royal palace – it was hot, with a lot of steep inclines along the way (not too easy on a single-gear bike), and I ran out of water mid-way. There were no shops in the site, but luckily a friendly coconutwallah was available and I had my first taste of coconut juice. And then my second :-)
Most travelers spend their time more leisurely, enjoying the quiet atmosphere of the place. Westerners come here from all over India to relax in nature, hike, bike, have good food, and recharge. The guesthouse where I'm staying is a great place to do all of that. Speaking Hebrew is definitely a plus, as 80% of the people there (guests and staff alike) seem to speak the language. We try to spend at least half of the day just sitting outside in the lounge on the comfy mattresses, chatting with other travelers, ordering food (way too much since it's way too cheap and way too good!), reading, playing chess (4 games last night), or playing with Luna.
The most adventurous thing I've done so far was riding a motorcycle. Yeah, I know it doesn't sound so fierce, but it was my first time, the roads here are one big pot hole patched with cow manure, the bike I got was from hell, I ran out of gas after 5 minutes (the guy promised it had 1 liter - I guess he meant 1 milliliter), the keys fell from the bike while I was riding it and I had to backtrack in the wrong direction against traffic to find them, the lights didn't work (I found it out only when it got dark), and I didn't have glasses - meaning I had to bike through a thick layers of bugs and mosquitoes that insisted on getting into my eyes and mouth. In short, towards the end of the trip I was biking in the dark, with no lights, with my eyes closed - I feel pretty brave!
III - Feb 15th, 2007
It was difficult to leave Hampi, but I wanted to see a bit more of India before my return. Orly and Luna went back to Goa, and I headed south by myself. The way in and out of the village includes crossing a river on a tiny boat manned by kids, overcrowded with tourists and locals, and an occasional motorcycle. Crossing the river, I wondered once again how many Enfields and Hondas are rusting below my feet - the boats are not more than glorified buckets, and the poor biker needs to stand on his bike the entire way, hoping to make it against all odds.
My next stop was Bangalore. I took a night train, and woke up the following morning in the hi-tech capital of India. Personally, I didn't like the place too much - it's highly polluted, and the only reason I stopped there was my hope to get together with Paaras, a work pal who moved back to India to work for EMC here. Paaras was pretty enthusiastic about the meeting, but it didn't work out - the hi-tech area is too far from the center, the traffic is as hectic as any other big city in India, and the whole thing fell through. Plan B was to utilize the abundance of internet cafes to finally find a decent internet connection - my guidebook claims there are more than 700 of them in the city. I spent an hour looking for them . Found only 2, both non-working. This was pretty surprising, considering that every second hut in Hampi bazaar had an internet connection (on the right). After an excellent cup of Illy coffee (a rare experience in India) I took the train to Mysore, the ancient capital of the region and home of the Maharajah.
Oh, Mysore! The Maharajah palace! The scenic location of E. M. Forester's Passage to India! And my first hot shower in 2 weeks!! (Turns out that my new brownish color was not all tan after all.)
If you've ever watched a Hollywood oriental fantasy, you should have a pretty good idea of the palace. It's an extravagant and magnificent creation, straight from "1001 Nights", complete with an elephant chariot (80Kg of gold) and the Maharajah throne (280Kg of gold). The royal family stills lives there today, although they lost the battle to keep the palace and it belongs to the government now. Part of me wished they melted the gold and used it for something better - judging by the look of the state, there's not too much excess of resources to pay for all this extravagance. Still, for us tourists it's a one-in-a-lifetime experience to walk through the halls and feel like a king for one day (just don't forget to give a rupee to the armless beggar outside).
I also spent a couple of splendid hours in the market - one of the most colorful and photogenic I've seen, with abundance of flowers, sold by weight to street vendors who in turn sell it to pilgrims; spices (Mysore is a source of sandal wood); silk; and my favorite - piles of pineapples, watermelons and endless heaps of bananas.
Talking about pineapples, I love the food here. It's difficult not to indulge when you can get a fresh pineapple on the street for $0.20, then stop for a full vegetarian Thali meal for $0.75 (the Idli and Sambar are almost as good as Sarav's), get ice cream for $0.30, etc. etc. I'm eating like a pig, and the "India effect" of last time hasn't appeared yet - in my previous visit with Hagai 15 years ago we both got horribly sick and lost a lot of weight. So far I'm healthy, and if at all, I'll return a lazy fat bum.
Coming to think of it, 6 days from now I'm flying back to Boston - suddenly it looks so short! I keep running into travelers who’ve come here for 6-7 months or more... wish I could do it as well. Maybe next time...
IV - Feb 17th, 2007
It's 6am and Julie is crying helplessly. Her mom is dragging her from a baby, "no mom, please mom" she cries and shouts, returning occasionally to kiss the infant, who is being held by a nun. I think that it’s her baby and the father is this hunky bare chested guy she was fooling with around 5:30am. It's hard to tell what's going on - I'm sleepy, and Julie speaks mostly Kannada, switching to English when she gets excited. I'm relieved to see that poor Julie's mood is improving - now she's smiling, dancing and singing. Maybe she's not that heart broken after all.
I'm trying to doze off again, but the sound of the TV is overwhelming. Julie’s father is having another fit. I wake up and realize I'm still in the night bus, going from Shimoga to Sagar, two places of absolutely no interest to me except that they are on the way from Mysore, where I left you my dear readers, and my next destination - Jog falls. I make a mental note not to go ever again on a video-equipped bus, and prepare to take my 3rd bus tonight. I also make a mental note to avoid restaurants with free vomit bags - yes, this is what the menu cover promised in the last establishment I visited. I feel nauseated - was it the restaurant or the winding road combined with the on-the-edge drive-like-there-is-no-tomorrow attitude of our bus driver?
Mysore is not visited by a lot of westerners, but once I left it I was the only non-Indian on the bus. The four bus stations I visited today where all operated with the same method - drivers stand outside their buses, shouting the destinations. It's actually a good idea, considering many people (including myself) cannot read the signs (posted only in the local language). Problem is, when somebody shouts at you karnagokarnagokarnagokarnagokarnagokarna very rapidly, it's difficult to make out what he means, especially if your hearing (and other mental faculties) seem to have been permanently damaged by that damn video. Somehow I made all the connections on time, and 3 buses later arrived at the falls.
My guidebook says that the falls are pretty disappointing, but the scenery is great. Like many other things in this book, it's totally wrong - the falls are spectacular, a drop of 200m (the highest in India). The scenery is 1000 steps you need to go down and then climb for a close view. I'm joined by a group of college students - they're really sweet. We soon learn each other names - Rafiq, Sadiq, Kumar... seems to be a mixed group of Hindus and Muslims - nice to know they can get along together (what you read in the papers suggests this is not always the case.) We get a lot of pictures together, and I have 45 min to run back up the stairs to pick up my next bus.
* * *
On the bus from Jog Falls I take a seat in an empty row, but soon a young man gets on the bus and sits next to me. He smells as if he hasn't taken a shower since his Bar Mitzva, with a stench of concentrated sweat and cardamom. I stop breathing, then open the window next to me. A minute later he reaches his hand and closes it. I look at him questioningly, and he smiles and points his finger at a lady in a sari two rows ahead of us. She is coughing loudly, and indeed within a minute or so pokes her head out of the window and spits out a huge, yellowish ball of phlegm, flying straight to the window my friend has just shut, leaving a big oozy paddle. This was a close call.
* * *
One more bus and I’m on my way to the holy village of Gokarna. It is holy to 3 religions: Hindus, Buddhists - both have temples here, and Hippies, who flock to the sandy beaches. This weekend the atmosphere is definitely Hindu. It is Shivratri (Shiva's birthday), and thousands of people have come to celebrate it here. It's a great spectacle - the tiny village is packed with pilgrims, and the lines to the temples are huge. In fact, the lines wind along the narrow streets and eventually cover half the village. Many pilgrims go first to the beach to wash in the holy water before getting the priest's blessing (it's supposed to increase the power of the blessing, as is shaving your head.) One of the temples contains a pranalingam - a phallic sacred object, stolen from Shiva and retrieved by Ganesh, the beloved elephant-headed god. The entire story is depicted on the wall of a local restaurant, just in case you need it in a comics version. In any case, the lingam is considered to be so auspicious that even without washing in the sea, one look at it will pardon 100 sins, including murdering a Brahmin. Might come in handy, except that they don't let foreigners into the temples these days. I should be more careful with those Brahmins from now on.
Outside the temples I feel surrounded by pilgrims of all kinds - the rich, the poor, the very poor, priests, sadduhs, the beggars... many beggars line the streets sitting in front of a straw mat, and the occasional passerby throws rice onto the mats as charity. I wonder if the beggars later eat the rice or sell it. The sadduhs, on the other hand, take only cash.
* * *
Tonight is my last night in Gokarna, and I'm preparing to return to Goa tomorrow. Thank you for the many comments I got, and sorry I couldn't respond personally to all. Usually the opening line was "I'm so jealous"... don't be! India is not that far, and traveling here is so much fun and wonder. If I injected you with the travel bug, and if you went to check your vacation balance at work, then my job is done. Go get the "rough guide" to India, and start packing!
For more pictures, visit my website, at taalul.com. The pictures are in the 2007 album.
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