tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87421707931401494432024-03-14T10:26:31.616+05:30Abode of SnowBob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.comBlogger99125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-69404466585064039242011-12-27T16:33:00.000+05:302011-12-27T16:33:59.202+05:30Highlights and Lowlights - looking back on an amazing journey<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The trip ran away with me in the end. We reached Goa - former hippy colony in the 70s, former Portuguese colony much earlier. It was the end of a long road across India and back not to mention Nepal and Bhutan. It was, as I had been warned, a different Goa to the one I had read about. Russians and "their nieces" (all very good looking, funnily enough . . . ). I have met many Russians in my time and they were all perfectly nice - but this brand was loud, and brash, and brandishing tattoos. Hmmm.<br />
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Concluding our group trip, we escaped to southern Goa for a few days pampering in a property recommended by a friend of a friend. Wonderful. A beautiful beach nearby provided perfect R&R (including a 25 mile stretch for running - no, I did not do a marathon but a long run proved very relaxing).<br />
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Back in Ireland now and I have been reflecting on how people inquire about the break. Responding to the entreaty "DO, tell all about your holiday" usually commands the attention (even with the most engaging storytelling) for, at most, 2 minutes. (Might start a separate blog to explore the implications of that!)<br />
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Anyway, in less than 2 minutes, the highs and lows:<br />
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<b>Highs </b><br />
- meeting the Boss after 7 weeks' away<br />
- the Taj (just unbeatable)<br />
- Sister Cyril in Loreto Sealdah<br />
- Himalayas (breathtaking)<br />
- the food (especially the cookery course, Bhutanese chilies and so much more)<br />
- the people (especially the cheerfulness of the kids - even in the worst of circumstances)<br />
- the variety (weather, food, activities, monuments, religions, people, transportation, stories. . . )<br />
- the hope (and real change) brought by NGOs to so many<br />
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<b>Lows</b><br />
- the poverty (especially the lack of any chance of any education for so many)<br />
- corruption at all levels<br />
- rubbish and dirt - everywhere<br />
- Indian trains (sorry! great system but grisly conditions)<br />
- roads<br />
- the scarcity of Indian Tonic for that most wonderful of sundowners a Gin and Tonic. . .<br />
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If you are in any doubt about trying India, just do it! You won't regret the great adventure that is India.</div>Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-61261292887726241852011-12-02T12:25:00.003+05:302011-12-02T12:25:43.812+05:30More train journeys. . .I don't travel enough by train. That was the unlikely conclusion I reached after a 14 hour trip from Mumbai to Goa. Not because it was luxurious - far from it. No, it was because of a conversation with a remarkable lady.<br /><br />(For those who read 'Menagerie Express', the story of the 20 hour trip to Kolkata, this is a Pauline conversion. . . )<br /><br />We boarded from a busy, 30 degree plus, platform at 9.45pm and claimed our berths in the 'air conditioned' coach. The pungent odour of disinfectant was suffocating. I consoled myself that the odour it displaced was probably worse.<br /><br />Lying on the upper bunk bed, I realised that the air conditioning was to operate only while the train was moving. In the meantime, a small fan provided scant relief from the oppressive heat. Oh well, only an hour and a quarter to go. In no time, the coach took on an uncanny resemblance of a sauna.<br /><br />No reason, so far, ever to want to do this again.<br /><br />At the appointed hour, the train jerked into life and began the long, twelve hour journey to Goa (well, that was the promise). A blast of cold air burst forth from the ventilation panel. I wanted to kiss it. Soon, though, I was crawling under the flimsy blanket trying to avoid the relentless icy blast. Why does India insist so vehemently on such contrasts? <br /><br />Carefully enclosed in my blanket, the gentle rocking of the train and a relaxation exercise quickly released me into the arms of Morpheus.<br /><br />I awoke around 5am and contemplated my options. Jump down from the top bunk, don my sandals and confidently seek out the loo - or clench my face (and more besides) and hope for a second date with Morpheus Man.<br /><br />Morpheus had done a runner.<br /><br />The less said about the trip the better. That, also, is what India is about.<br /><br />I settled back into the bunk and dozed fitfully for the next couple of hours. Around 8am I conducted a furtive reccy, scanning the passengers who had taken residence below us. An Indian couple, in their 60s, I estimated. She detected my surveillance - "Would you like to sit down here?" she said, beckoning to the lower level. I demurred as politely as I could.<br /><br />After an hour or so, I clambered down from the upper bunk and smiled the awkward smile of introduction. She was delightful. I got her life story in jig-time, in that wonderfully educated-Indian, English accent. Late sixties, widowed, two children (one in New York, one in Toronto), late husband a senior government official, herself now a dyed in the wool traveller, after suffering a stroke a few years earlier (husband and mother having died within a week of each other). Ah, stern stuff here - no doubt about it.<br /><br />She regaled me with stories of India: economics, politics, foreign direct investment, tourism, food, flea markets and more. All she needed was the slightest encouragement and the next topic was seized upon with enthusiasm:<br /><br />- how she had discovered Spanish roots after her husband died (land he owned without title deeds prompted her to unearth the family tree back to a quintessentially Spanish Grandee) in her efforts to secure title and sell the property<br /><br />- how most politicians were corrupt - salting government money, bribes and more to Swiss and other off-shore accounts<br /> <br />- how she had found a cure in Kerala for symptoms of her stroke (especially for slight paralysis on the left side) <br /><br />- how to bargain in Goa: take the suggested price and offer one third, settling (reluctantly) for one half<br /><br /> - how to understand the relative purchasing power in India versus New York and the chasm between the two (treat each Rupee as a dollar. . . a bit extreme, I thought, since the current exchange rate is about R50 to $1)<br /><br />- how she had bought a property in Goa in 1971 for R14,000 and how it was now worth 4.5m crore (an increase of about 300 times)<br /><br />and lots more besides.<br /><br />Even when I learned our train was running nearly two hours late it still didn't give me enough time to talk to this remarkable lady.<br /><br />No two ways about it - I need more train journeys.<br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br />Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-54151106625238917902011-12-02T12:25:00.001+05:302011-12-02T12:25:28.802+05:30This Indian City (and many like it) is brought to you by the letter . . . . HLeaving Mumbai, my memories of it are forever linked to the letter H:<br /><br />Heat - 30 degrees plus at 9.40pm? Yep! That's hot.<br /><br />Humidity - to open long forgotten sweat glands and sink the heat deep into your bones, humidity of over 70% does the trick . . .<br /><br />Honking - everywhere in India, honking is the default (watch out Dublin! I may exhibit aggressive tendencies on my return!)<br /><br />'Have's - the 50 plus private jets parked on the apron as we landed (God knows how many more are stashed away in private hangars) is ample evidence of the affluence in Mombai<br /><br />'Have not's - the shanty town at the edge of the runway (within sight of all those private jets) is an immediate reminder of the opposite end of the spectrum. Apparently it's the biggest slum in Asia (Slum Dog Millionaire was filmed there)<br /><br />Haa! - the eternal 'Yes!' offered in response to every question: the culture stoutly resists saying "No" to any question ("Excuse me, can you tell me the way to XYZ?" "Haa!" (clueless! Delightful, but clueless!)<br /><br />Henna - you may like it, I think it's ghastly - but very fashionable for women to stamp their bodies with ornate patterns using henna dye<br /><br />Hairdryer - the feeling on your legs in the taxi - the same feeling when you stick your arm out the window to cool down (not!)<br /><br />Hopeful - the look from every beggar asking for money or chipatis or rice - just to survive<br /><br />Hilarious - sitting in the back of a speeding Classic Ambassador taxi with no lights, no side mirror, no reason for surviving the mayhem of the city - and living to tell the tale<br /><br />Hawking - the inevitable body response to omnipresent pollution. India has to have the worst incidence of pulmonary disease in the world?<br /><br />H(B)ollywood (ok I am cheating a little with this H) - well, Bollywood! What can I say?<br /><br />Hindu - the ancient religion that boasts 33,000 or three million Gods depending on your personal preference<br /><br />Hysterical - the feeling you get wondering how you ended up visiting this country of such contradictions<br /><br />Helpless - the occasional sense of despair you feel when you consider all the poor, starving, illiterate people who simply don't have a chance (as we would think of 'a chance')<br /><br />Happy - The crazy sense you get that, notwithstanding all the deprivation, people are remarkably resilient and, perhaps, even happy?<br /><br />What a country!<br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br />Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-66928781109045643202011-11-28T10:30:00.000+05:302011-11-28T10:32:00.089+05:30Photos - 10<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Buick 8 in one of the old palaces we visited. . .</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">. . . where the Raj granted private audiences and considered petitions</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, not her bus but a coincidence of intent!</td></tr>
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</div>Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-3363208771728381332011-11-28T10:29:00.000+05:302011-11-28T10:29:57.328+05:30There is no God!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Khushwant Singh starts with a quotation from GB Shaw and promptly embarks on a trail through all the major religions in his cogitation of the best and worst of religions - and the need for a new religion 'without a God'.<br />
<br />
A confirmed agnostic and scholar of comparative religions, he provides much food for thought., taking in all the major religions, the holiest of books from each of them and his accounts of current themes and issues.<br />
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A different read - worthwhile.</div>Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-68848822827653300962011-11-28T10:26:00.000+05:302011-11-28T10:32:51.898+05:30Photos - 9<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of our stops - near Udaipur - beautiful setting for a hotel</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Maharaja throne for hearing public petitions - might just catch?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A prize catch (Tiger looks rightly scared?)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">9 meters of cloths makes a turban - no wonder he's happy he managed to get it all tied up again after demonstrating to us!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">School in local village</td></tr>
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</div>Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-86143973904628209462011-11-28T10:14:00.000+05:302011-11-28T10:14:49.534+05:30Flourishing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IE">Flourishing. That’s the new term Martin Seligman, father of positive psychology, has crafted to supersede ‘Happiness’. You can read all about it in his book of the same title. In a nutshell, the five elemnent s to cultivate are as follows: <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IE">Positive emotion – the pleasant life is what we instinctively think of when asked about increasing happiness. It is a cornerstone of well-being theory but only one of five separate elements.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IE">Engagement – also known as ‘Flow’, the feeling of time stopping, so engaged are we in what we are doing.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IE">Meaning – belonging to and serving something you believe is bigger than yourself. This can be religious or secular, really big or just a stretch beyond yourself.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IE">Accomplishment – pursuit of achievement and mastery for its own sake<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IE">Positive relationships – other people turn out to be the best antidote to the downs of life and the single most reliable up.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IE"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-IE">I recommend his book - this is backed by hard science not pop psychology.</span></div></div>Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-55449093708354514112011-11-27T18:43:00.002+05:302011-11-27T18:43:19.885+05:30Photos - 8<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amber Fort at Jaipur</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elephant rides to the Fort</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoe8Ci8IIj8lO1YKT26GT80UoU_28i6x8fys93-27vAlmC2ENJuuy_FEMRe0H6dvfOImDlMkNG5XGijWlN8yekTIYN6mXn_xJAdMtmnbghZBZp2Ia7EmyGaT0wT_OWTJQ6RAzE141oo02u/s1600/sihk.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoe8Ci8IIj8lO1YKT26GT80UoU_28i6x8fys93-27vAlmC2ENJuuy_FEMRe0H6dvfOImDlMkNG5XGijWlN8yekTIYN6mXn_xJAdMtmnbghZBZp2Ia7EmyGaT0wT_OWTJQ6RAzE141oo02u/s320/sihk.JPG" width="155" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sikh Saddhu</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx77vlXhSbtnxbepBbCDv4Wx1zm71WJ1IlSF9Uc-zDJjQq4e7d-T7W1XT9VKtim_7ZyTnfVPSQElaxnrVuW_uTT7uYlDeV1aAe0DcDO86zNa5nbo696PLHB0iRXAn6CMJMNKh7N1XhJ1OM/s1600/temple.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx77vlXhSbtnxbepBbCDv4Wx1zm71WJ1IlSF9Uc-zDJjQq4e7d-T7W1XT9VKtim_7ZyTnfVPSQElaxnrVuW_uTT7uYlDeV1aAe0DcDO86zNa5nbo696PLHB0iRXAn6CMJMNKh7N1XhJ1OM/s320/temple.JPG" width="174" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Other Saddhus </td></tr>
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</div>Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-35783526119054250742011-11-27T18:37:00.004+05:302011-11-28T10:33:53.614+05:30Infidel<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">A life story of a Somali woman who rejected Islam and made a life for herself in harrowing circumstances - only to outrage those she criticised to the point of her life being threatened.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>For those who know little of the circumstances of women in Islam (as in my case) this is a fascinating and sometimes shocking read.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Recommended.</div></div>Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-75923658915193432012011-11-27T18:37:00.000+05:302011-11-27T18:37:31.997+05:30Photos - 7<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Bx1tVO8wHgA5Lio1YjyNYprlZT2ZxBYB3ILxzlkB5vkcFO1-_FNp69J7iLVGo-rGwgsjEBi8hpvA2f6EWnLDnQaOnPhhM8Hm4NHEkvCNhRD98pbmLbcMz269UgL3hLSmJJ6rwy7ZdmuQ/s1600/PB260648.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Bx1tVO8wHgA5Lio1YjyNYprlZT2ZxBYB3ILxzlkB5vkcFO1-_FNp69J7iLVGo-rGwgsjEBi8hpvA2f6EWnLDnQaOnPhhM8Hm4NHEkvCNhRD98pbmLbcMz269UgL3hLSmJJ6rwy7ZdmuQ/s320/PB260648.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Udaipur Palace</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvULruwjL7YyRJu_jcudyFBMsn8GVScGh8lVawG-USfzdNQqj5XRU6erwJXdfHDEM6vPPlxfM4ZzkqFofNJFgPxgoguDXiM9mlt4NKfMxTEiO3YGgnevzoz1TvJAaZvxn1CGdCVXFbgbM5/s1600/PB260650.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvULruwjL7YyRJu_jcudyFBMsn8GVScGh8lVawG-USfzdNQqj5XRU6erwJXdfHDEM6vPPlxfM4ZzkqFofNJFgPxgoguDXiM9mlt4NKfMxTEiO3YGgnevzoz1TvJAaZvxn1CGdCVXFbgbM5/s1600/PB260650.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvULruwjL7YyRJu_jcudyFBMsn8GVScGh8lVawG-USfzdNQqj5XRU6erwJXdfHDEM6vPPlxfM4ZzkqFofNJFgPxgoguDXiM9mlt4NKfMxTEiO3YGgnevzoz1TvJAaZvxn1CGdCVXFbgbM5/s320/PB260650.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taj Palace Hotel - ultra exclusive and a price to match</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVo8_vOw3V9iNQLkmeIIrSTu34hOHW-mxMqCoN9cGgx9jc5yHYrn4vLhZWz3XYe6_FHXpsbkanTO_sMAYZUEFE9e55jZgB74QCmXOEYSbxfqmQOP4BvF-gMYyZjzSOLssZ3nGm2JBjLpO5/s1600/PB260660.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVo8_vOw3V9iNQLkmeIIrSTu34hOHW-mxMqCoN9cGgx9jc5yHYrn4vLhZWz3XYe6_FHXpsbkanTO_sMAYZUEFE9e55jZgB74QCmXOEYSbxfqmQOP4BvF-gMYyZjzSOLssZ3nGm2JBjLpO5/s320/PB260660.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset Cruise </td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2mQw9z5B5SJIyDFlog8rNsiHpsNF2ysNXzqHf5wH7AnhKF0Cvfo9WBbYzY75t35HC45ic4lbQ0bFLB1H_Qm20Rh-2p9idip-Eu1PQMGlomLbjXejmSWQe6k8Cb4ca-6F2NFULnurtnyf5/s1600/PB260662.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2mQw9z5B5SJIyDFlog8rNsiHpsNF2ysNXzqHf5wH7AnhKF0Cvfo9WBbYzY75t35HC45ic4lbQ0bFLB1H_Qm20Rh-2p9idip-Eu1PQMGlomLbjXejmSWQe6k8Cb4ca-6F2NFULnurtnyf5/s320/PB260662.JPG" width="240" /></a></div></div>Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-15422884848821822432011-11-27T18:17:00.001+05:302011-11-27T18:54:09.488+05:30Miniature Painting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Udaipur is famous for its miniature painting. Here a local master concentrates on the finer detail:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzEdoXwplPiDebfLRGYogb88nGJSfELW-cCdwVC22uNfdj4b8seRbhJ8hG8MM6owG5tzJhwIiBBJXVOlVFiEOj_7P36lIYCLFQYvxoM9BHH8a-34qsY9ex8o99WoDv6TEaQBEIlh9SdLnS/s1600/PB260646.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzEdoXwplPiDebfLRGYogb88nGJSfELW-cCdwVC22uNfdj4b8seRbhJ8hG8MM6owG5tzJhwIiBBJXVOlVFiEOj_7P36lIYCLFQYvxoM9BHH8a-34qsY9ex8o99WoDv6TEaQBEIlh9SdLnS/s400/PB260646.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Check out the Tiger he painted on my fingernail!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAGqmykrM50uC-N0yn5OaykvuuLcMhngrReOwFHQx-Jor34u7FmWk1MX4B1vG8G64vt8MMeN_rtL3YKgR9vKVaWr16S70NUw03KlCI0NiKn6WnMszGtl3ep9saQdeHKs_QuU3T9gMB1IF/s1600/PB270670.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAGqmykrM50uC-N0yn5OaykvuuLcMhngrReOwFHQx-Jor34u7FmWk1MX4B1vG8G64vt8MMeN_rtL3YKgR9vKVaWr16S70NUw03KlCI0NiKn6WnMszGtl3ep9saQdeHKs_QuU3T9gMB1IF/s320/PB270670.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">I decided I had better take a lesson – here is the first output (I know - stick to the day job, Bob!):<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO1HvxPQf4LitqHpO1xFsY7iPBwTbCOmI6YX0CMNu2wBfGBmMgsVkCXNlBUIhclQ2flvfYvXvmuoSaC1qKpNTmiZVWpS7RBpFNNReOVOvg4M_Q6ek8QWARgNWfQIs5eTyHTQcsiBS6hrNi/s1600/PB270679.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO1HvxPQf4LitqHpO1xFsY7iPBwTbCOmI6YX0CMNu2wBfGBmMgsVkCXNlBUIhclQ2flvfYvXvmuoSaC1qKpNTmiZVWpS7RBpFNNReOVOvg4M_Q6ek8QWARgNWfQIs5eTyHTQcsiBS6hrNi/s320/PB270679.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-5966857577781542422011-11-27T18:06:00.000+05:302011-11-27T18:06:26.039+05:30Cooking up a storm . . .<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">You couldn't come to India and not take a cookery class?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUD3RNRVGYZMLupspzGxfzMwYhOITdx_GYW5fcZx65Nm8vFp_y1q1kqw4qoCKIYKOmjshN8LoWwVhUJZRcj06GC_SijCQTUYNL00J85O-gPS-YYqTrJhNCTRCOTIaXDMdyrVdQp7TaejpS/s1600/PB270673.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUD3RNRVGYZMLupspzGxfzMwYhOITdx_GYW5fcZx65Nm8vFp_y1q1kqw4qoCKIYKOmjshN8LoWwVhUJZRcj06GC_SijCQTUYNL00J85O-gPS-YYqTrJhNCTRCOTIaXDMdyrVdQp7TaejpS/s320/PB270673.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starting with the basics - making Chai!</td></tr>
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</div>Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-30768475883915676492011-11-27T16:51:00.004+05:302011-11-28T10:18:55.656+05:30Old fashioned hospitality<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">A ride in a US Army 1948 Jeep took us on a 'safari' this morning. Turning off the main (tarmacadam) road we adjusted uncomfortably to the dirt track for a few kilometres before arriving at the nearest local village. <br />
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The stone work reminded me of Connemara; everything else was resolutely local: one storey houses, some of concrete, many of mud; dirt roads throughout the village; inevitably shy at first and then smiling locals who stared with genuine curiosity; smiles that revealed mostly misshapen and gappy mouthfuls of betel-stained teeth.<br />
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We drove on to the local temple (to Lord Krishna) where a prayer service had just started. Locals were crowded in the small structure, barefoot, hands in supplication, silently mouthing the words of the priest. <br />
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Bizarrely, a little motor drove a drum unit comprising a main drum, two cymbals and two smaller drums: Bomp! Bom-Bom! Bomp! while the priest rang a hand bell (like the one we used at school to resume class) chanting loudly from sacred scriptures. All at a deafening level. The pungent smell of burning incense completed the sensory immersion. <br />
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We emerged ten minutes later, motor now resting, tinnitus a real possibility.<br />
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Beside the temple, a small group of young boys gathered and responded predictably to the Flip video I took of them. They were joined by some turban-clad men who offered themselves for photographs. One of them even demonstrated how to wind a turban from the 9 metre long cloth. Friendly. Smiling their toothy smiles with bad teeth. Welcoming.<br />
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Driving back to the village we parked to explore by foot. To our surprise, we were invited into one of the houses. Chai was immediately produced followed quickly by an offer to visit the various parts of their house. We had to graciously decline an offer of lunch before taking our leave, slightly embarrassed at the spontaneous hospitality - especially amidst such obvious poverty.<br />
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Food for thought, you might say.</div>Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-70401055675512976512011-11-22T17:35:00.007+05:302011-11-27T17:52:36.978+05:30Headed for the Taj - misty eyed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">5am departure for the 0615 Super Express train to Agra (195 km).<br />
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What first appeared as early morning mist has turned into pea-soup fog, the likes of which I have not seen for decades. A one hour 57 minute journey expands to over four hours, our Super Express reduced to tentative rumbling. <br />
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Concerns that we might not see the Taj unless it was within touching distance dissolved as the sun burned through the fog. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuuco0-9qFRSjhTFaAdAlla74Oy18hfqzsBAsXZ76Xk1f7YdjeCUPxu4KwOvLAi_n3gTY_oYpn7APbQ_SUvyrbZ-QS0QMThUnFQAI0dl5nNAtf3v2Rztc2HHUrtcRrO-HO3QWD5dKhYlCQ/s1600/PB200570.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuuco0-9qFRSjhTFaAdAlla74Oy18hfqzsBAsXZ76Xk1f7YdjeCUPxu4KwOvLAi_n3gTY_oYpn7APbQ_SUvyrbZ-QS0QMThUnFQAI0dl5nNAtf3v2Rztc2HHUrtcRrO-HO3QWD5dKhYlCQ/s320/PB200570.JPG" width="320" /></a>Simply breathtaking. <br />
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Perfectly proportioned.<br />
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Glittering in the bright sunshine.<br />
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It is simply stunningly beautiful. <br />
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Just like the last time we were here, 27 years ago.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMvvPpYkgApUcLpVplJiCqb5izFAhw-OUEbV3kdCKG_kiqIavIOESH24d3FuCIJt3kRZ2F4hy5kiURZ7T8yWZum7-WJNkcTplH9yDMlhuc5x2IjLOuESBQvHoiqx-qKR__BRS4D5FrqCd/s1600/PB200567.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMvvPpYkgApUcLpVplJiCqb5izFAhw-OUEbV3kdCKG_kiqIavIOESH24d3FuCIJt3kRZ2F4hy5kiURZ7T8yWZum7-WJNkcTplH9yDMlhuc5x2IjLOuESBQvHoiqx-qKR__BRS4D5FrqCd/s320/PB200567.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhAlLLaNO69GeV9nHoZdYsnxAupuIJybFSX0XU1tvwmRiyCtfJJYbZtmz5tM4jQnlq586zuw-ZuGpcihM8TjVzRfVvDbQro7iPKmAM4KO6WL6gJaV8Y7vo0PBlsPxoRth6cNfch_YewqsN/s1600/PB200575.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhAlLLaNO69GeV9nHoZdYsnxAupuIJybFSX0XU1tvwmRiyCtfJJYbZtmz5tM4jQnlq586zuw-ZuGpcihM8TjVzRfVvDbQro7iPKmAM4KO6WL6gJaV8Y7vo0PBlsPxoRth6cNfch_YewqsN/s320/PB200575.JPG" width="240" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> Not exactly a Lady Di pose, Siobhan? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad</div>Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-56931916200839164252011-11-22T17:35:00.006+05:302011-11-27T17:34:09.278+05:30Cosy touring<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Joining a new tour group is always filled with apprehensive excitement: how many people? what ages are they? what sort of background do they come from? who's quiet and who's loud? how will we get on together on the trip?<br />
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6pm. Friday 18th. The appointed time had arrived.<br />
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Mia - the corporate finance paralegal, from Toronto.<br />
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Suzanne - the train driver from the Hunter Valley, Australia.<br />
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And us.<br />
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Mayank, a 27 year old native, was to be our guide.<br />
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Cosy!<br />
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- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad</div>Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-20283281722355289632011-11-22T17:35:00.005+05:302011-11-22T17:35:33.668+05:30Palatial surroundingsKaurali. Never heard of it before. But there's a palace there belonging to the Maharajah. And we stayed there.<br /><br />Apparently all the Maharajahs and Rajahs (Kings in their kingdoms) had to give up their lands and palaces at the time of independence (1947). Our Maharajah was no different. But he inherited the property at a relatively young age and decided he head better convert it to a "Heritage Property" to make a few bob.<br /><br />We met the "Queen" who, it turns out, is also the local Mayor. She is a formidable lady. Apart from running the Palace as a Heritage Property and running the local Council, she also manages an extraordinary amount of charitable work including a mobile hospital and an amazing 96 local schools. She was hugely critical of corruption in Indian politics and said that was why she concentrated on helping the local people.<br /><br />Only the palace we stayed in was only the new palace. We also visited the grand palace. Wow! Not an exclamation I use lightly - in it's time (the oldest part of the palace is 700 years old) it must have been spectacular - its features included:<br /><br />- separate winter and summer palace sections<br />- elaborate wall paintings<br />- a Royal Temlple<br />- a swimming pool<br />- ornate gardens with fountains<br />- a Royal Hamam<br />- a dance theatre<br />- a grand hall for public audience and an interior one for private audiences<br />- and much much more<br /><br />India keeps surprising.<br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br />Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-74611593412880246342011-11-22T17:35:00.001+05:302011-11-22T17:35:02.903+05:30Delhi BelhiThe last time I was in Delhi, she left me a little legacy for the plane trip home - the dreaded Delhi Belhi. I had arrived at the airport very early, checked in and proceeded to the departure lounge. Whereupon I realised that certain medication that would be particularly (and urgently) welcome was now, of course, in my checked in baggage. I had no choice but to become intimately familiar with the Gentlemen's facilities.<br /><br />Once on board, I enquired as quietly as I could of the stewardess if she had a first aid kit. She was understandably preoccupied with boarding passengers but her loud protestations that she had "Nothing at all for diarrhoea!" was neither the answer I wanted, nor the discretion I had hoped for.<br /><br />I slumped back in my seat, mentally calculating how many steps were required to the nearest toilet for later emergencies when a passenger in row ahead of me leaned over and said "You must be taking this, Sir!"<br /><br />The foil wrapped tablet could have been anything. I looked at this kind Indian gentleman and made my decision instantly. I ripped the foil open and swallowed the unrecognisable capsule without another thought. It was the answer to my prayers.<br /><br />When Mayank, our guide, suggested we would be trying food from street vendors, my cheeks clenched involuntarily.<br /><br />Lentil patties, deep fried.<br /><br />Freshly brewed Indian Chai.<br /><br />Paranatha (a type of bread) cooked with a filling of your choice in front of you.<br /><br />The temptations went on and on.<br /><br />And were all consumed.<br /><br />Delicious.<br /><br />Not a piece of foil to be seen anywhere.<br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br />Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-84228555638864080252011-11-22T17:34:00.010+05:302011-11-28T10:02:49.682+05:30Delhi Delicacies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Claridges boasted three excellent restaurants but the best eating was in nearby restaurants/hotels.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhznFOPESCoRfv1GQbn-Oeyg6jd-1UG7j9Vdij1YAuQ5j_LJvC6AgwaYCnNQb1DOQSzZiQF3WJEAnrUS3BBPBYveg8lbgDTn0PLPslH5HuIh-YdRSTl0pzgY-KF-CosghsZj79iVKJJPDa7/s1600/PB180552.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhznFOPESCoRfv1GQbn-Oeyg6jd-1UG7j9Vdij1YAuQ5j_LJvC6AgwaYCnNQb1DOQSzZiQF3WJEAnrUS3BBPBYveg8lbgDTn0PLPslH5HuIh-YdRSTl0pzgY-KF-CosghsZj79iVKJJPDa7/s200/PB180552.JPG" width="200" /></a>The Imperial is the best example of Colonial Glory you could find anywhere and their High Tea is to die for: Gazpacho and other liquid temptations, tasty morsels on croissants (from smoked salmon to Parma ham), sandwiches of every description (from mandatory cucumber to Ementhal with chutney, and others too many to mention), and a range of sweeties designed to test (and defeat) your self control (dark chocolate dominating the agenda).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9hDuskDJP_NS0qAZuNtDi9dMLw8cW72GcJ9DqbpsyWwyiuJceZQUg952syp2Mh3Gy8XT_urL6cr64sZ1QDzN0ZLCpHjiEqvW3PIeKfYQLuITwumdp0pGaiXJgeTlavHKMb1qX30-8qfrJ/s1600/PB170540.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9hDuskDJP_NS0qAZuNtDi9dMLw8cW72GcJ9DqbpsyWwyiuJceZQUg952syp2Mh3Gy8XT_urL6cr64sZ1QDzN0ZLCpHjiEqvW3PIeKfYQLuITwumdp0pGaiXJgeTlavHKMb1qX30-8qfrJ/s200/PB170540.JPG" width="150" /></a>Bukhara (in the Marauli Sheraton) offers North West fare (stronger flavours) and the novelty of no cutlery. Lamb kebabs, Dahl (lentils and other beans slowly cooked overnight), delicious breads (roti, naan, parnatha and more) - the list went on and on.<br />
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The Taj Mahal has five restaurants and the Indian one we tried was spectacular. Not only was the food wonderful, it was presented with artistic flair. The Taj also boasted a wine list that would challenge a Michelin starred restaurant in Dublin.<br />
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So much fine dining, so little time!<br />
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- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad</div>Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-62419390958042943772011-11-22T17:34:00.009+05:302011-11-28T09:59:44.799+05:30Sharma-ing the fish from the sea. . .<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Sharma was our Auto driver and he smelled business. <br />
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"When did you arrive?" Friendly smile flashes in the rear view mirror.<br />
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"How long you stay in Delhi?" (No messing around.)<br />
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"How much you pay?" (This in response to our deflecting comment that we had already booked a bus tour for the next day (a bare-faced lie but our way of saying "Stop hustling us!"))<br />
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"I will charge you only 500 Rupees (about 7 euro) for the whole day. I will take you to the best places. You can come and go as you please?" (Entreating.)<br />
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His English was excellent, his driving good (by Indian standards), his Auto clean, and his logic unassailable. We agreed.<br />
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Old Delhi, old mosques, temples, museums - we saw the lot. At our leisure. Delhi was shown off at her best.<br />
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- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad</div>Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-78887536002163141922011-11-22T17:34:00.003+05:302011-11-22T17:34:21.868+05:30The Eagle landsEY218. Expected arrival time 0310. Indira Gandhi International airport.<br /><br />Who booked that ticket? (Me.)<br /><br />The airport is far from quiet when I arrive shortly after 2.30am (the journey out took far less time than expected).<br /><br />80 Rupees visitor ticket! I tried to explain that my wife was the visitor, I was the dutiful husband collecting her. <br /><br />A nod of the head from side to side. "And you must be buying a ticket, Sir"<br /><br />I paid up, smiled and nearly nodded my own head from side to side.<br /><br />The plane arrived on time but got misdirected on the apron. Too long a story to tell. Arrived back to the hotel at 5am.<br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br />Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-24286609786311326282011-11-22T17:34:00.001+05:302011-11-22T17:34:09.896+05:30Shocking Impressions of New DelhiBig modern airport. Air conditioned. Meaningful signs. Systems for taxis.<br /><br />Smooth tarmacadam. Street lights. Road markings. Green and White street signs. Grand boulevards. <br /><br />Later: temples, monuments, museums, galleries, heritage, history.<br /><br />Chalk. And Cheese. I realise now how shocking Kolkata really was.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br />Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-5562495665442116452011-11-22T17:33:00.001+05:302011-11-22T17:33:57.732+05:30Signs of insecurityIf there is one thing worse than no security, it's a false sense of security. The airport at Kolkata reminded me. Everything about security was a nonsense:<br /><br />- shortly after entering the airport, I had to put my main bag through a scanner (but not my backpack). Claiming the bag on the other side, the airport operative attached a little sticker (the bag wasn't locked, I had control of it, my daypack wasn't checked, oh! how utterly inconclusive!)<br /><br />- at check-in, the bag weighed in at 24kg. Big financial penalty, apparently, but I could transfer some items to my daypack (latter neither scanned not weighed). Oh, now re-scan your big bag please. I walked back to the big scanner (about 100m) did the business and promptly transferred a heavy book from my daypack back to the bag. It could have been C4. <br /><br />- bag finally deposited (no problem!), I lined up at the metal detector. The alarm promptly sounded and after a perfunctory search (cause of alarm undiagnosed) I continued to the departure gate. I was not asked to go through the scanner again. <br /><br />What a waste of effort. And completely ineffective, to boot. <br /><br />Grrr! I hate bad design.<br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br />Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-3493446607460502712011-11-14T15:11:00.001+05:302011-11-14T15:11:31.886+05:30Whodunnit?Everyone loves a whodunnit. And what better territory than figuring out why people behave as they do?<br /><br />Harold Klawans is a brain detective - trained as a neurologist, he is also a gifted writer. As a storyteller, he draws on decades of clinical experience to inform and challenge.<br /><br />His book "Strange behaviour - tales of evolutionary biology" is a gem. The 'Aha' moments for me include the following:<br /><br />- the critical importance of the 'window of learning' (up to the age of about 14) after which the brain 'prunes' its own pathways, abandoning those it reckons are superfluous. If you don't acquire language by that age, you will never acquire proficiency thereafter. Similarly, it is vastly easier to acquire a second language (or third or fourth) or a motor skill (such as playing an instrument) if you start before 14. It's not impossible afterwards, just much harder (having taken up the piano some years ago, I now realise why I had to practice so much!)<br /><br />- how handedness (right or left) is basically inherited but also acquired. About 90 per cent of people are right handed (left brain dominant) based on an inherited bias; the other 10 per cent inherit a non-bias (thus becoming either right or left handed) or are pathologically left handed (they have a problem in the brain that stops them becoming right handed). (I can see my better half and my son arguing in future that they are neurologically non-biased. . .)<br /><br />- how symptoms of Parkinson's Disease manifest in related but separate conditions. Klawans is especially good at explaining the process of differential diagnosis (a skill, based on my experience, evident only in the best doctors).<br /><br />- why are brains are simply not designed to read subtitles while watching a movie (two very different parts of the brain required, apparently)<br /><br />- how literacy changes the brain (he describes a case where a neurologist diagnosed severe neurological damage but Klawans' examination concluded the opposite. This has to do with the way oral cultures, with no knowledge or use of writing, handle information and knowledge completely differently from those where literacy, especially writing, is deeply embedded. The first neurologist failed to take into account the illiteracy of his patient)<br /><br />- how identifying an unbalanced diet (in this case excessive consumption of leafy vegetables!) explained why a rare recessive gene triggered Refsum's disease (I never heard of it either!). Brings a new perspective to "Eat your greens!"<br /><br />- how the development of CJD was identified (particularly from insights into a disease called kuru in Papua New Guinea (due to cannibalism)).<br /><br />Klawans is the author of six other non fiction books (I can recommend them all!)<br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br />Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-67201853595562563222011-11-13T15:40:00.000+05:302011-11-13T15:40:18.161+05:30Trading - Kolkata style<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">A selection of traders plying their wares:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1w4LKdsA8qPa2F_1IDe__2rWRngjuNe3lFj7RFEJ92jUdHq6tynukAVwGOsGm-lSxDJzhqFJVykPi3aMAh_nsEUA08ELMZ7l3fjJPh1HnwxyvEwcYCp1kX-Zt3iNm7RC0ZYBzmBCTVLY_/s1600/PB110503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1w4LKdsA8qPa2F_1IDe__2rWRngjuNe3lFj7RFEJ92jUdHq6tynukAVwGOsGm-lSxDJzhqFJVykPi3aMAh_nsEUA08ELMZ7l3fjJPh1HnwxyvEwcYCp1kX-Zt3iNm7RC0ZYBzmBCTVLY_/s640/PB110503.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fish left to dry in the sun </td></tr>
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</div>Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742170793140149443.post-36879485452887150762011-11-13T15:27:00.000+05:302011-11-13T15:27:29.967+05:30Dead interesting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAtd8wdKTb6_Znbhp11-WDE3_PyeoCngp0YsT5ujrHW2T791mYadwuAx66OTLXdi6w1EFp4ZAHIyUJXXSTZL_4NcwJxRAv1uupfV4ss9q9hImBgxKJkKk6OBcZRUv-xSjznbCQvDQB8L9k/s1600/PB130519.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAtd8wdKTb6_Znbhp11-WDE3_PyeoCngp0YsT5ujrHW2T791mYadwuAx66OTLXdi6w1EFp4ZAHIyUJXXSTZL_4NcwJxRAv1uupfV4ss9q9hImBgxKJkKk6OBcZRUv-xSjznbCQvDQB8L9k/s320/PB130519.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Funny how a cemetery can be such an interesting place? I had the same experience last year in Buenos Aires where an old cemetery kept me entertained for a few hours (Irish connections, naturally). After a long walk in hot, hot weather, I arrived at the South Park cemetery located in the heart of the city to search out another Irish connection: Charles 'Hindoo' Stewart.<br />
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Major-General <b>Charles Stuart</b> (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Circa" title="Circa">c.</a> 1758 – 31 March 1828) was an officer in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/East_India_Company" title="East India Company">East India Company</a> Army and is well known for being one of the few British officers to embrace <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hindu" title="Hindu">Hindu</a> culture while stationed there, earning the nickname <b>Hindoo Stuart</b>. He was allegedly the son of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thomas_Smyth_%28politician%29" title="Thomas Smyth (politician)">Thomas Smyth</a> (eldest son of Charles Smyth (1694–1783), MP for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limerick" title="Limerick">Limerick</a>, and Elizabeth, daughter of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sir_Thomas_Prendergast,_1st_Baronet" title="Sir Thomas Prendergast, 1st Baronet">Sir Thomas Prendergast, 1st Baronet</a>). In his teens, Stuart left <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ireland" title="Ireland">Ireland</a> for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/India" title="India">India</a>, where he remained for the rest of his life, embracing the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hindu" title="Hindu">Hindu</a> culture<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-1"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Stuart_%28East_India_Company_officer%29#cite_note-1"><span> </span><span></span></a></sup>and eventually earning his nickname. Starting as a cadet, he rose through the ranks to become a Major-General. <br />
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Major V. C. P. Hodson's biography of Stuart mentions that he "had studied the language, manners and customs of the natives of this country with so much enthusiasm, his intimacy with them ... obtained for him the name of Hindoo Stuart".<br />
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Stuart adopted several Hindu customs, including bathing in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ganges" title="Ganges">Ganges</a> at <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calcutta" title="Calcutta">Calcutta</a> every morning, amassing a collection of deities as well as Indian clothes. He even encouraged European ladies in India to adopt the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sari" title="Sari">sari</a> (through "frequent and vigorous" contributions to the <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daily_newspaper" title="Daily newspaper">daily</a> <i>Calcutta Telegraph</i> in the year 1800) and Indian <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sepoys" title="Sepoys">sepoys</a> to wear full mustaches on parade. His commander-in-chief "ticked him off" due to his partiality towards <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sepoys" title="Sepoys">sepoys</a> sporting "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rajput" title="Rajput">Rajput</a> mustaches or brightly colored caste marks on their foreheads".<br />
<h2><span class="editsection"></span><span class="mw-headline" id="Published_works"></span></h2><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr52VODOCG6qoq4ULAqzVZVXHdBzyGcZ6c6UV4R6OOqcFsesMoSzaQ5RQ78Msk31KQMCuiiEqmWNbEdx04_JE1QTsDFId_rbaoxWhny2wgXMAKhtNxrpXqo45dP4slwGAD0qlG8b5Ty_v8/s1600/PB130516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr52VODOCG6qoq4ULAqzVZVXHdBzyGcZ6c6UV4R6OOqcFsesMoSzaQ5RQ78Msk31KQMCuiiEqmWNbEdx04_JE1QTsDFId_rbaoxWhny2wgXMAKhtNxrpXqo45dP4slwGAD0qlG8b5Ty_v8/s320/PB130516.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hindoo Stewart's Tomb</td></tr>
</tbody></table>He published his letters extolling the virtues of "elegant, simple, sensible, and sensual" Indian saris vis-a-vis "the prodigious structural engineering Europeon (sic) women strapped themselves into in order to hold their bellies in, project their breasts out and allow their dresses to balloon grandly up and over towards the floor" along with some replies by "outraged" white women in a "deliciously silly volume" entitled <i>The Ladies Monitor, Being A Series of Letters First published in Bengal On the Subject of Female Apparel Tending to Favour a regulated adoption of Indian Costume And a rejection of Superfluous Vesture By the Ladies of this country With Incidental remarks on Hindoo Beauty, Whale-Bone Stays, Iron Busks, Indian Corsets, Man-Milliners, Idle Bachelors, Hair-Powder, Waiting Maids, And Footmen</i>. Some of the reasons he cites for European women to give up iron busks are: Firstly wearing iron busks makes women highly susceptible to lighting strikes (exhorting them with sentences such as "This is no laughing matter ladies for I am absolutely serious"). Secondly by discarding iron busks from their wardrobes, European women would immensely enhance the supply of iron in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bengal" title="Bengal">Bengal</a> for farmers who desperately need new wagon wheels.<br />
<h2><span class="editsection"></span><span class="mw-headline" id="Legacy"></span></h2><br />
Stuart died on 31 March 1828 and was buried with his idols at the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/South_Park_Street_Cemetery" title="South Park Street Cemetery">South Park Street Cemetery</a> in Calcutta<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-3"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Stuart_%28East_India_Company_officer%29#cite_note-3"><span>[</span>4<span>]</span></a></sup>, in a tomb which took the form of a Hindu temple.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Don't you just love the Irish?!<br />
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Two other epitaphs typical of the cemetery: <br />
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</div>Bob Semplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12868081310281580123noreply@blogger.com0