Amsterdamned

I was not in Amsterdam for a bachelor party. It was a part of this Eurotrip-thing that I am currently vagabonding on. This bit of the adventure was supposed to be intentionally different. I was not completely on my own but instead, with a set of friends from Texas. Together, we were six and that's six times more than my original crew. The whole ambition of this holiday was tenporarily rearranged. There is a stark contrast between traveling alone and traveling with a group. Traveling alone is more about doing things, quantity, where as travelling a group is more about spending time with close friends, quality. When I am alone, I cannot fathom the idea of doing nothing but when I am in a group, it's more lax-ed. It's more about conversations, laughter and company, with this fancy country thrown in the background. It's a healthy combination of lethargy and excitement that has its own sense of smile. But, for optimal enjoyment, it's crucial to be with close friends. If you're not comfortably close to your group than the double dose of discomfort dis-configures your sense of fun. While I was with a delightful group of people, I didn't know them as well as they knew each other. And then, I felt I was intruding. That doesn't help, now does it?

I am not a believer in this 'love at first sight' business, but the tingling I felt when I first glimpsed Amsterdam was serenely pleasing. There was this signature about it. And it had nothing to do with Red Light fantasies or with excessive freedoms of intoxication. It was just that Amsterdam seemed so proper, so defined, so precise. There was this beautiful combination of water, roads and bikes. The openness of Dutch culture echoed through the city with a stamp of  "highly progressive". The mass reliance on the greenest means of transport - bicycles - is refreshing and so well, practical. The arrangement of canals and stone-streets, and the minimalistic commercialization of the city is pride-worthy. There were not too many touristy sites and sounds. As a group, we explored the city on foot and bike, did the pub crawl, 'visited' the 'coffeeshops,' tried to pronounce Dutch street names and also drove into the country-side. We tasted Holland's cheese, went "window shopping," tried to comprehend the logic behind wooden shoes, and ate a ton of hot dogs. We learnt how beer is made, and why Heineken is the best beer in the world. I will be back in Amsterdam sooner than later. I want more of it. I want to live here and really get immersed.

The most betwixting part of Amsterdam was the languge. It seriously sounds complicated and hard to speak. The street names are bombastically, harrypotter-esquely epic. Vondelstraat. Vossiusstrat. Paulus Potterstraat. Utrechstse. Domselaerstraat. It sounds so baldardash-ly brash and is probably my least favorite part of the city. But, they also speak excellent English. They are friendly (besides the bike rages - I was more scared of the ripping bicycles than the modest cars). I attempted indulging in one of the multiple museums. The Van Gogh Museum, despite my lack of sobriety, was a complete waste of time. I even spent 5 extra Euros on an audio guide to get a deeper understanding of Van Gogh's paintings but I still found it all a little too pretentious. Maybe, I am just not tuned to that kind of art.

All in all, Amsterdam is definitely more of a bachelor-party paradise, but it also has a distinct Dutch culture to offer. Every city has its own way of doing things and I love how Amsterdam does its thing. Kudos kudos.

P.S. Local Beer = Heineken = truly awesome.

 

by Anish Malpani

Oh Barcelona

All great experiences follow with some not-so-great experiences. Barcelona was a topsy-turvy ride with contrasting emotions, family-sized Texas bonding, inexplicable stench, some trippy architecture and a whole lot of touristy tourists.

My sister, the true Madrid-ite that she is, left me with minimum expectations from Barcelona. Almost everyone else I met said exactly the opposite. Barcelona is known for its glamarous, explicit beaches, it's Modernist architecture and some solid nightlife. Let me highlight some highlights that lit my little trip:

1. The Stench: The first thing I noticed about Barcelona was this lingering drainage-inspired stench that filled most of Old Town. Coming from this country called India that is also known for its stench, Barcelona was a little less worse. Apparently, the general slope of the land in Barcelona tilts towards the ocean and thus, all the drains seem to flow towards old town, hence the stench. According to a tour-guide, a lot of chemicals are used to nullify this stench, but alas, to minimal effect.

2. The Thieves: Barcelona is full of silly pick-pockets, cunniving theives and annoying people who love to ruin things by stealing things. My dormmate's camera was stolen. My other dormmate's 600 Euros were stolen. A friend I met in Amsterdam had his wallet stolen, and almost had his phone stolen too. The Texas friend I met in Barcelona dodged an attempted con that would have had his money and passports stolen. Also, my phone was stolen. So, perhaps my negative bias towards Barcelona is somehow born out of this personal catastrophe. It was wiffed away from right in front of me. I was watching the oh-so-incredible England v Italy game. I had placed my super-precious phone in front of me on the bar, and in literally two minutes, it was gone. It just disappeared. Oh, the agony. It was so difficult to fathom that it had just disappeared. I have always been paranoid about my personal belongings, and it took me little less than a minute to realize it was missing. Oh how I looked at every one around trying to figure out who this dastardly culprit was, but staring doesn't solve things. It was gone. I don't know what I am more upset about - losing my phone or being affected by the loss of my phone. Attachment to lifeless objects is pretty pathetic.

3. The Young Americans/Australians: I met a LOT of Americans and Ozzies in Barcelona. A LOT. It was like going to Barcelona was a fad that everyone just had to embrace, so Facebook and the world could embrace the craziness that had just been unleashed on them. Young Americans/Australians love Barcelona because Barcelona knows how to party, and all Young Americans/Australians want to do is party, and talk about how hungover they are the next day, and how much alcohol they've consumed over the past few days. And, if that's their definition of fun, sure. Don't get me wrong, I am pretty much a "young American." But, I feel what I want from this holiday is more than just partying, alcohol and hangovers. I have had enough of that in Austin, TX. I didn't suck enough culture out of Barcelona, or I didn't seem to find enough.

4. The Architecture: This entire post makes my experience in Barcelona seem more negative than it actually was. Amidst all the drama, there was some serenity. Gaudi's architecture in Barcelona is so intriguing. It's daring and extravagant and his magnum opus, the Sagrada Familia is breathtaking. The attention-to-detail, the passion and life that something so stationary and inanimate can exude is definitely worth checking out. I biked around Barcelona and saw most of his buildings. I think the most interesting part about Gaudi is that he seemed so ahead of his time, and so bold in his designs. There is this general theme that distinguishes geniuses from the rest - they can see the future like no one else.

5. The Rebellion: The concept of a country within a country is fascinating. Catalunya, where Barcelona is, craves to NOT be a part of Spain. Catalan desperately wants its independence and pretty much functions like its own country with distinctly different traditions and culture. This notion of desiring independence seemed fairly obvious to me, and I was in Barcelona only for two days. Small things like giving precedence to the language Catalan over Spanish, and big things like not supporting Spain in the Euros make the local dynamic so unhealthy. The current economic crises is not really helping the situation either. Blaming the Spanish government for the current unemployment madness becomes oh-so-easy. Behind all the glory and beauty of Barcelona, there is a lot of trouble and pockets of rebellion. Maybe, "rebellion" is a more exaggerated expression, but there is definitely some unrest.

The whole purpose of this Eurotrip is  introspection. Corny as it sounds, I want to get out of my comfort zone because I feel that handling discomfort teaches me a lot about myself. The ups and downs that came with Barcelona exemplified this. This city also gave me some incredible conversations with daring people. I met an accomplished individual who had just quit his lucrative job to travel and do some soul-searching. And our semi-intoxicated, sublimley genuine conversation about the ambition behind life was extremely refreshing. I also got to spend some quality time with a friend from Texas I really admire, and his father. We bonded over the reason we first became friends - football.

Amsterdam is next.

P.S. Local beer = Estrella = nice.  Forgive the aggresion in this post.

by Anish Malpani

A Tad Bit of Madrid & A Little More of Porto

A revisit is refreshing, literally and metaphorically. I had a few extra hours in Madrid before flying out to Porto. Not taking advantage of this would be plain lethargy. But, lethargy is non-existent at the beginning of exciting trips and I headed into the heart of Madrid.

My first visit to Madrid some four years ago was quite a milestone. Under the supervision of my sister, I had my first ever beer. What followed after were all possible extremes of alcohol-induced behavior, largely inspired by "college". And now having graduated, there is no real excuse to let alcohol take control. So, to come back to Madrid, actually enjoy a beer and not drink it just to lose my wits is refreshing. The other interesting part of Madrid was eating some typical spanish garlic prawns that my dad was obsessed about and spent a whopping three days trying to explain to mum how to cook it. Three tries later, mum nailed it and I now know exactly why my dad was so adamant about it all.

Porto is the most offbeat city on my extremely conventional euro trip. And that's not saying much. The irony of evaluating the first destination is that there is nothing to compare it with. And, the joy of holidaying makes everything seem more dandy than it is. One thing I can affirm through experience is that the hostel I lived at in Porto, Yes! Porto is the best hostel I've ever stayed in. And that's saying a lot. Besides being friendly, socially encouraging, party-promoting and tours-providing, they offered a 10 Euro home cooked Portuguese meal which included a soup, a starter, a main course, some desert and 5 alcoholic beverages. Not only was it cheap, but they also got the whole hostel together and gave us a taste of some local food. Brilliant. And I could go on and on about the hostel. I really could.

I walked around the first day breathing in all the localness I could. Porto is so beautifully tiny that it didn't take long to get an idea about the pretty city. Porto is officially the only place in the world where port wine is made, much like champagne and France. So, I undertook a day trip into the port-wine-producing paradise that is the Douro Valley. Not only was the valley stunning, but the vintage wine that we tasted was absolutely sinful. I've never had any form of alcohol that was as smooth as the vintage wines I tried there. It's only for the best that I cannot currently afford it. This day also included trips to smaller towns close to Porto including Aramante and Larego. This port-wine tour was slightly expensive so I was the only backpacker among some older, well-to-do people. But, the fellow tour-members were a fascinating bunch and included beer/restaurant owners, and a technologist who was traveling with his family in a mobile home across Europe. Someday, I will dare to do the same. Someday.

The second day left me Porto-ed out. I did two city tours back to back, one was a walking tour and the other was on a Segway. Yes, a Segway. While the former was more insightful, the latter was more fun. Segways look awkward for sure but the concept is pure genius. The ease with which you can maneuver yourself uphill, downhill, left and right is so delightful. It's effortless, fast-paced and so bloody fun. I'd buy one as soon as I have excess amounts of money. Or, maybe I'll just stick to doing tours, that seems a little less socially awkward.

I had to switch hostels my last night in Porto. The super hostel I was in was booked because of a music festival that SXSW and ACL would laugh at. So, I moved further out close to the beach to this other hostel called Peste. I didn't expect much because it was a whopping 30km away from the center, but it was a delightful little house which was more of a friendly home than a paid-for hostel. Again, the people I met there were so wonderfully nice and so eclectic. They included animators, PHDstudents, film-makers and students. But, what brought us all together was that we were all travelers and well the fact that we could all also speak English. We drank and dined in Portuguese style which seemed not that different from what everyone does. The steak we had after was heavenly. It was rare and moist, dipped in some serenely delicious garlic cream sauce. The meat was tender and the whole experience was superme, despite being my second dinner of the day. Now, that's a sign of some good food. Once we were all buzzing, a bunch of us headed to the city to enjoy the nightlife. Like most European cities, the night didn't get started till 1am. Plus, you can drink on the streets so everything was Vegas/Nola style. We were actually buying beer (illegally) from these aunties on the street for a Euro that our host knew oh so well. There is this added advantage of partying with locals - they know so much more. But, the worst part of Porto was the nightlife. Yes, it was buzzing and lively and the crowd was great, but there was just way too much smoke. Everyone smokes in Porto. And when everyone is drunk and out, everyone smokes even more. Additionally, smoking indoors is allowed so that didn't help. I must have consumed over twenty cigarettes worth of passive smoke. My clothes, considering the slightly larger surface area, must have consumed several more. Everything on me smelt of smoke, even my underwear. There was a point when I found it kind of hard to breathe. Yes, it was bad. Worse than Dubai and Dubai is bad when it comes to smoking. I remember one of my tour guides was complaining about the same thing. Apparently 2020 is when they're going to ban smoking in Portugal. Right, I'll make a trip after that.

All in all, go to Porto. It´s not too touristy which is a massive positive and has some delightful sights to offer. The people are not too bad either.

P.S. Portuguese Beer = Super Bock = Super Indeed.

by Anish Malpani

Europe Bound

Apparently, traveling makes you live longer. I am hoping to extend my life a little by backpacking around Europe for a solid 27 days, before unleashing myself into the big bad corporate circus. The 55cm x 40cm x 20cm bag is almost packed. Any piece of luggage bigger or additional to that costs an average of 25 Euros more. My average internal flight cost is 20 Euros. God bless Ryanair.

The sister has already warned me about how everything I take to Europe has a good chance of getting stolen. So, I am keeping it simple. No laptop and no shades, but I am wrapping my left wrist with a semi-decent watch. 7 tees/shirts, a pair of jeans, a couple of shorts, some flip-flops and a pair of shoes and I am all packed for my exciting yet intense journey ahead. Laundry should be a regular expense. It better be.

The urge to do this trip has been two fold. Firstly, traveling is a mind-enchantingly eye-opening experience. And secondly, I cannot claim to be a traveler without experiencing the historic beginnings of mankind that have manifested themselves in the form of this continent known to most of us as Europe. Porto, Barcelona, Amsterdam, Florence, Rome, Prague and Paris should keep me historically satisfied for a while.

Yes, I am traveling by myself and I have no qualms about it. I will be running into at least one familiar person in each of these cities, which is refreshing because that will allow for company in just the right dosage. Most of me is bloody excited but a part of me is moderately petrified. Am I doing too many cities in too little a time? This seems way too intense. Nothing teaches me more than jumping out of my comfort zone. Let’s see how uncomfortable this gets.

P.S. Traveling is a great excuse to blog. It generates quality content. But, it’s time I start hunting for time.

by Anish Malpani

The Jordis Unga Phenomenon

I am in love. Jordis Unga came into my life some five years ago through an eleventh-grade television obsession in the form of Rockstar INXS. The show was a drop from heaven for my friends and me. It was a version of American Idol, but filtered to only rock artists. The winner would front the kinda-legendary band, INXS. Jordis was 22 then and noticeable, but not the best. Marty Casey took that owner. JD Fortune won it in the end though, along with the award for the biggest douchebag. He no longer fronts INXS.

At 22, all those years ago, Jordis was the youngest competitor on Rockstar INXS. But, corny as this sounds, she had this twinkle in her eye, and this sense of genuine likability that made her one of those contestants that nobody could hate. She thrived on real emotion, not the over-the-top-oh-my-god-I-am-so-fake kind of drama.  I remember her rendition of “Imagine” was so serene that I still have it on my iPod today, a solid five years later. She placed fifth overall and I thought that was the end of that. Not quite.

Five years later, a week or so ago, I happened to stop skipping channels whilst I was on NBC. An episode of “The Voice,” NBC’s throw-of-the-dice against ABC’s flailing “American Idol”, was coming to an end. The host reviewed all the contestants that had made it past the first round, and BOOM, Jordis was back. This girl whose voice had played a decent role in my high-school days was back on the grid. She was a little older now and hopefully a little wiser. I had to see what she was all about. I rushed on to the Internet to hear her audition, and she literally destroyed the bejeezus out of it. It was an incredible rendition of Paul McCartney’s “Maybe I Am Amazed” and I was not only amazed, I was engaged, enthralled and in love.

I guess the fact that I once had a connection of sorts with this singer made me a lot more excited about her come back. But besides this connection, what really sold me was the pure passion oozing out from every inch of her. Clichéd as it sounds, hear me out. She started off a little nervous, but as soon as Blake hit his button, her performance was transformed. And this transformation was beautiful. Her face erupted into this magnificent smile and her eyes cringed at the pure joy of guaranteed progress. And then she just let go. She sang her lungs out, and rasped like a true rocker on those high notes, which sent a tingly quiver down my gut. What I find special about her is that she does not try to be someone she is not. In a television world marred by commercialism and sensationalism, it’s hard to find true expression of emotion. This makes her absolutely fantastic. Add some badass tattoos, some deep soothing eyes and a thundering smile, and you have my love.

On some level, my love for Jordis stems off of my current conundrum with women. When you’re looking for Mrs Right, there is this look/personality payoff. When the latter leads to attraction, it’s extremely refreshing because you know that your infatuation is not superficial. Sometimes, that is so hard to find. I found that with Jordis, and yes however farfetched it sounds, I am enjoying it. Currently, I am watching that performance of hers at least seven times a day, and that’s borderline unhealthy. But, I enjoy it every single time. Yes, I am never going to meet her, but I find this obsession really joyous. I hope more people see that genuineness in her. I hope she makes one hell of a career with her avocation.  Good luck, Jordis.

P.S. At my current rate of writing, it takes some real inspiration to get me to blog. Sad, but true.

by Anish Malpani

India Bindaas - Blogging the NRI Mind

500 People + 3 Days + 2 Families + 4 Dress Changes + 18 Dances + Lots of Money + A Phantasmagorical Quantity of Food = Our Cousin’s Medium-Sized Desi Destination Wedding. India Bindaas was conceived somehow after this sweaty, tiring yet immensely memorable experience. While recovering back home in Dubai, through a somewhat-clichéd epiphany, we (my sister and I) realized that we had something to say that was a step aside from the perceived conventions of modern Indian thinking. Also, both of our blogs were not functioning anyway. So, we decided to invest our creative energy on a new patriotic escapade. Now, we are a couple of non-resident, cynical-yet-proud Indians ranting and raving, recollecting, reproving and rationalizing everything that remotely resonates with our rat-infested yet ravishing India. We hope you can relate, at least a little. Check our new blog out at http://indiabindaas.in.

P.S. Yes, we succumbed to the super Desi .in top-level domain.

by Anish Malpani