Deutscheland - Hamburg

I don't like being told, which might explain why I work for a state owned, strictly hierarchical, German government bank. However, when I was told that I was to travel to Hamburg, the headquarters and be there for three weeks, I let them know that despite my busy life and elaborate plans of taking the train to work every day, working 8 hours, going to gym once a week to loose 10 pounds in one month and taking the train back to eat my piping hot Stouffer's ready meals over a riveting episode of Law and Order followed by CSI, I would readily defer, as always, to their wishes of sending me to leafy, watery, historic, dreamy Hamburg for three weeks.

Initial Shock
I landed in Hamburg on May 12th 2010, and realized- surprise, surprise - everything was in German-menus, instructions, directions,computer keyboards, Seinfeld,Friends, Everybody Loves Raymond - everything, except for music videos on MTV and CNN. Being accustomed to surroundings that have almost always been bilingual, one of the languages in use being English, and my last trip to Europe being at 4, I totally looked forward to being in this tower of babel with more than a million Deutschen Volk. I quickly realized few other fun things, which were mostly the result of me being the bumpkin that I am :

1. Power supply in Germany (and most of Europe I think) is 220V, its 110V in the US. The hotel did not have a converter and I of course did not either. Which meant that I couldn't use my hair straightener that I had painstakingly remembered to pack for fear of walking around all day looking like I had just rolled out of bed (since no one ever told me that I look stunningly beautiful even when I get out of bed in the morning, I assume it isn't true). I ended up going to work on the first day looking exactly as if.. I had just rolled out of bed. Who said scraggly, frizzy hair in a business suit isn't cool ? Believe me, it isn't.

2. Many retail businesses, including many restaurants, grocery stores, general phramaceuticals etc. don't take credit cards. At all. And I pay by credit card for a bottle of water worth $1.00 in the US. People carry wads of cash all around, or have a special card with "EC" logo which is basically a debit card. I was told using my debit card to withdraw money from an ATM would cost me an arm and a leg. So, there I was, a day old in Hamburg, clearly a city much too advanced for me, without any cash to buy a reasonable bottle of water. And worse, on a holiday. Read on.

3. The Germans are as serious about their holidays as they are about their cars, their beer, being on time and their Bratwurst (or even the unremarkable Curry Wurst). All retail establishments except restaurants, public transport and bars are shut on public holidays and Sundays. So no duane reade like pharmacies, grocery stores, liquor stores, malls on holidays. So you're left with pretty, cobble-stoned streets full of locals and tourists sipping beer and idling away outdoors under restaurant umbrellas wrapped in fleece blankets kept ready by the restaurant to fend off the gentle spring. Too idyllic and peaceful for you, the harried New Yorker ? Get used to it. I know I did, too easily.

4. You ask water at a store or at a restaurant, they'll ask you if you want still water. To which I replied "No, I want bumping water from a river rushing down a hill. What did you think, punk?" The right answer : "I want NATURAL water, no soda." By still water, with or without soda, the Germans mean sparkling water, and they survive on this. In restaurants when you ask for water they often assume you want still water with soda. Even if you ask for still water without soda, it sort of tastes weird, like water with a little bit tonic in it.

After the initial shock wore off, I finally let Hamburg sink in.

An old port city, Hamburg is full of little surprises. I will leave Wikipedia fill in most of the details about Hamburg's hanseatic history and will fill you in any other trivia I come across. But it would suffice to say that Hamburg is one of wealthiest cities in Germany. Instead of the massive castles that usually come to mind when you think of Germany (most castles are in Southern Germany which is also the more touristy part of DE), old world charm is captured in the perfectly maintained 18th century houses that once belonged to wealthy merchants and were bequeathed to future generations. I stayed in one such house, the only one of its kind that was converted into a hotel/inn in the neighborhood I stayed in (Hotel Mittelweg, Hamburg). All the art owned by the merchant was preserved - most of which were portraits of the family. As enchanting as the house was, since I am such a valued employee and was there for three weeks, I had the privilege of staying in what was definitely the closet of the mistress of the house. It was narrow room with a bed, a couch and a desk laid out lengthwise; minibar, closet, TV along the breadth. Charming, pink wall paper with ornate prints lined the walls. Oh and there was loads of still water, free.

Watery Tales

Rivers Alster and Elbe - Hamburg lives and breathes (figuratively and literally) in and around their patient, perennial waters. The beautiful Binnealster (Inner Alster) is lined by the heart of Hamburg's (Germany's) trade and commercial centers. Along the banks of the Outer Alster are some of the city's best neighborhoods, restaurants, parks (Alster park) and houses, which, according to Hamburger's, can either be inherited or make for some rich dowry. These houses never go on sale. Getting rich is so over-rated. I always said so.

Kicking your little kayak into the water for the Hamburg-ers is like getting your bike out on a sunny day and riding it along the park (which they also do actually). And then they wonder why I quiz them about ever bothering to leave the city.

This is an average sunny day in Hamburg.







The Caribbean this is not. Hamburg has a thriving "beach culture", along its rivers. This just means that when they are not physically on the beach, they recreate the beach for themselves in the several beach bars that line the Elbe. This one called the Strand Pauli, is named after Hamburg's favorite sports team. No trip to Hamburg can possibly be complete, without an evening spent idling over a few mojitos slumped on a bean bag on beach sand that layers this special patch of land (specially bought and layered on by the bar's hipster owners), watching the sun set over the Hamburger's as they talk, drink, read and wave to the world that passes them by on the Elbe.

Yoga,Ashram, The cosmos and other such mumbo-jumbo...

After my yoga retreat in Maine last year, even the husband (who wasn't on that trip with me) decided that a mini yoga trip within a few hours of where we live might be worth a shot. The weekend of April 3rd-4th seemed especially promising - beautiful, sunny WEEKENDS (there is no need for the sun to shine so gracefully during the weekdays) are so hard to come by in this part of the world at this time of the year that letting your skin bathe in the sun is like stocking up on precious food while it lasts at a refugee camp. You never know how many days it will be before you are fed sunlight again if you live and work in New York, thanks to an evil conspiracy between rain bearing clouds and harried corporate clients.

We were off to Ananda Ashram in Monroe, New York, an hour's drive from Greenwich, CT. The entrance to the ashram had a sign on the wall, off to the side, in medium sized,subdued green letters which could be easily missed in the dark "Yoga Society of New York, Est. 1958". A couple walking up the pathway pointed us to the main office which was fairly dilapidated, old'ish building with a small,white creaky door. A caucasian lady with cropped hair and glasses sat in a little office which had pictures of Ganesha, Shri Krishna, Shri Brahmananda (The Guru) on the walls, and a small bench with brocade cushions for visitors to sit on while the lady checked them in and gave them instructions on how to get around the Ashram. The office had windows overlooking a small private lake and undulating green patches of land, that were not carefully manicured but not overgrown. Deers roamed about freely on the premises and the lady reacted to my excitement at seeing them by letting us know that the deers have lyme disease. Rooms are usually dorm style (with bunk beds) or semi private (two people to a room). The husband and I got a semi private room in one of the many similarly slightly creaky, somewhat dilapidated but clean buildings owned by the Ashram all within 100-150 yards of the main office building.
Rooms are spartan - two standing lamps, a basic dresser, two twin beds, two windows and a closet with additional blankets.
The establishment is basically run by volunteers - who were all under 25 and hipsters from Brooklyn, and broke into songs and played the guitar between chores.

All meals were preceeded by a little shloka recited by an oldi'sh volunteer who assumed that the husband and I would obviously chime in (being the only Indians around)- these american hindus who have never been to India don't realize that we don't start mouthing shlokas at birth(or sometimes ever).

Meals are served in a separate kitchen area and are american vegetarian (maybe even aspiring to be Indian, as their version of the palak paneer will have you believe) and no, I, the carnivore did not complain - maybe because as we piled the food on to our plates, the chef who looked like another one of 'dem hipsters, remarked that he was (or maybe had been) the assistant chef at David Bouley and Resto in Manhattan and was volunteering at the Ashram for a few months. I think this was meant to be a pick up line for the pretty young volunteer he was speaking with, but unfortunately for him the pretty young girl didn't know of either of the establishments, and turned away with a polite smile. The chef looked around expectantly, and found that the "unpickable" husband and me to be the only ones suitably impressed.

The meditation session was led by this German woman who called herself Bharti, wore a white cotton sari, played the harmonium, and seemed apalled that the husband and I spoke less Sanskrit (no Sanskrit in my case) than her. And that we hadn't read the Upanishads. She also teaches Sanskrit at the ashram, and read to us from the Vedas. Heavy duty stuff.

I don't know- what is it with ashrams being full of artists, musicians, writers, academics and hipsters? Since I am an aspiring artist-musician-writer-academic-hipster, I did not mind being out of place at all. Its the money, I think- going to the Ashram is cheaper than going to, I don't know, the hamptons maybe (which is too tacky for these sorts anyway) or flying away somewhere for the weekend. Several sessions of Yoga and meditation, three meals and the accomodation are all included in the price at the Ashram which is a fairly pretty place - alcohol is not allowed but feel free smoke up. And sing, by the lake or anywhere else you please. I think I see why they like it. I loved it.

On why I abandaoned my blog for all these months...

The whole concept of blogging came about when I was in grad school, like almost 7 years ago (wow, I am THAT old!) - and I remember that my then boy freind, who was a self confessed and amply acknowledged geek said to me "Wow, isn't this cool ? You can post your thoughts, articles whatever you like online!! Like a diary, except online..". Now, non-gadgety as I am , my engineering degree notwithstanding, I didn't quite relate to his excitement about having my whole life online and didn't grasp why this was supposed to be so much fun- not that I had ever been much of diary writer either. I shrugged his enthusiasm away..But now, I will tell you - despite my apparent reticence on my blog, I LOVE my blog. Mostly because I feel like its mine. A space I have created for myself, where I write, I live and for now, for the most part, only I read - I dont mind that very much, although it wouldn't be so bad to share my virtual space with freinds. Actually I guess I am a bit undecided about sharing this space, at this point sharing my presence here with everyone is allowing people to intrude into what has come to be my personal space. To me, my little corner here is different from my facebook presence where I am up there for everyone to see, supposedly. My facebook presence is within the facebook framework, where I am available to people and they are available to me according to FB's rules. On my blog though, its ALL me.

So why do I periodically abandon it ? Because I tend to take all that I love for granted - all that I love and all that makes me feel loved. I miss them, I think about them but because I know that they will always be there I dont make an effort to be in touch with them.

So there- that is my sentimental ode to my home online. I think about you, I love you, you make me feel special - and your punishment for all of that is that I dont stop by often enough.

Fall Fridays

I love 'em. I hate 'em. I hate to love 'em. Mostly it is miserable sitting indoors on a lovely fall friday - especially if most of it is spent thinking about another lovely day this season that was spent doing Yoga on an upward protruding ledge on the Mattawamkeag lake, in Maine. Since when did financial statements replace fragrant, blissful fall breeze...

Secret hideouts, untold pleasures...

The good thing about having very few (read: no) readers for your blog is that I can talk all I want about these little known fun things to do/see/eat (because I need to talk about them to someone, anyone) and still have them be my little secrets. Yay!
So

Secret Fun thing #1 : I have indulged myself in this all summer - my saturday morning jaunt to the small french deli right across from where we live in Greenwich. They are a less expensive sister establishment of a larger french restaurant two streets down. Their menu changes every week. Theirs is, I reckon, a triumph of few but perfect ingredients. Among their many goodies I love the perfectly crunchy baguettes straight out of the oven generously layered with freshly made raspberry/strawberry/blueberry jams - demolished within seconds of being within reach or the omlet with ham, comte cheese and caramelized onions sprinkled with herbs and served with a side of baby arugula, or their decadent, creamy, deliciously flavoured Quiches that ooze with goodness as you crunch into variously colored veggies that top it, or their apple strudels, danishes, rich and dark chocolate mousses - delicacies to be savored with coffee over the weekend edition of New York Times, and to be remembered until next Saturday(when I get to savour them again). That's my corner deli that serves, amongst everything else, as a reminder that all is well with the world.

Secret Fun thing #2 : The Long Islang City bar on Summer/Fall Sundays. Not that I am complaining, but I have no idea why so little is known about this. Few open air bars in the city have drink specials, live bands through the afternoon, an unspoilt 1880's saloon look AND a beautiful, lady like willow tree that stands tall as its several long, lazy branches arch over each and every window of the bar while the rays of the afternoon sun and gentle fall breeze collectively create a dance of leafy shadows on the yellow pages of your book. Peace is this. And a tall glass of chilled beer.

Secret Fun thing #3 : Watching the first rays of the sun at the eastern most point of the United States. It feels like you're at the edge of the earth : The vast forests extending all over the earth give in to steep cliffs before the vast expanse of the Atlantic engulfs you in its overwhleming beauty and enormous power of being the be-all and end-all of life - until, ofcourse, the sun rises over the horizon - assured of its might, permanent in its being. The buck stops here - in this small, quiet, sleepy little town of Lubec, Maine.

The Truth about Racial Stereotyping..

Is that it aint gonna stop. Not anytime soon. Regardless of the number of African Amercian scholar freinds of the President(Henry Louis Gates Jr.) getting treated to beer at the white house in the company of the cops who pissed off the President for putting his learned freind in handcuffs; regardless of a wise latina supreme court justice who successfully defended herself against accusations of being racist in her confirmation hearings.

You see, its all in the numbers. If 8 out of 10 prison inmates and more than half the bums in New York City or most other places in the US are black, and ALL the help in restaurants and homes are latinos/latinas - racial stereotypes will remain. Racism is a reality in this country. News reports say the President will not reveal details of the beer-talk with Mr. Gates and Mr. Crowley. Good. Why bother? I am not interested in the conversation as much as I am in the Mr. President's reasons to have this conversation at all. Is one conversation going make me less jittery about moping around in the Bronx at midnight (yes, this was attempted with consequences that were not fun)? Its nice of Mr. President to get all worked up about his bud being shackled- but what about this kid ? She was supposedly yanked out of undergraduate studies, from Harvard no less, for allegedly abetting a crime. No proof has been provided to support the assertion of the police. Mr Gates is atleast an established professor/scholar (in African American studies- may have been more interesting if his choice of subject was a tad less predictable, just a tad), this kid's future is potentially in the gutter. Beer pong any one ?

The truth is that until a sizable portion of the colored folk are uplifted in America negative/potentially deterimental stereotyping on the basis of race will persist even in ways that cannot be overlooked. Unfortunately until then, all conversations to address racial stereotyping - with or without beer- are rhetorical too.

"Away we went"

When a movie review in a respectable paper such as the New York Times comes off like its a bit on the fence, you end up feeling like the critics are just trying too hard to do their job.

Atleast, in this case, the review that seems to try too hard to dislike Sam Mendes's latest movie "Away we Go", said enough to convince me to go watch it. Besides, I guess I am something of a Mendesophile. Especially after his star-studded play "The Cherry Orchard" (originally by Anton Chekov, edited by Tom Stoppard) earlier this year.

The set up is simple- a pregnant couple sets out to visit freinds in search of the perfect environment in which to raise their child. Why? Because they are socially conditioned to think that there is such a thing as a perfect setting in which to raise a child. They are shown to run into everything from obscenity mouthing parental horror stories to zen loving, organic-food-eating self absorbed New Age drivelers to those that suffer in the quiet dissapointment of not being parents.

The movie is as unassuming and seeking as its lead characters, if a bit deliberately funny and cloying in some of its frames. You have to love the honest modesty of the characters who wonder if its a cause of worry that they have outgrown the get-a-home-and-a-mortgage stage of their life. I dig the unpretentious indie feel of the movie that among other things encourages idyllic fantasies of a free form life where you first choose the city and the freinds and then the job, and not the other way round - no discussion of this movie is complete without cubicle talk such as this. I know that was part of the movie's plan...

The point is- to me, as the one who pays to see the movie at the theater - this movie reaches its audience. When you tell stories for a living, its all about how well you tell them. So regardless of Mr. Mendes's personal opinion about the perils of living the American suburban dream or about being a New Age driveler, this is a very well made movie. That's all I care about. And the fact that it reaffirms my faith in an imperfect world.