Itchy Feet And Painted Shoes

Every six months or so, the travel bug bites us.

We get this sudden, strong desire to travel.We feel a strange restlessness, an irresistible impulse to get out of our house and see some new places. Even when we go away for a short weekend trip, we come back to Mumbai recharged and refreshed.

The summer holidays, which are longer, are reserved for international travel. We have been to a lot of countries in Europe, renting apartments and staying like locals. Which means doing the grocery, getting the laundry done, travelling by local trains and buses, cooking our own dinner.We walk a lot, travel by trams and trains. The kids love the experience, and so do we. The shorter Diwali breaks are meant for India. We just choose a city or a state and experience the marvel that is India. The food, the customs, the markets...we can never have enough of it.

My kids, who have been travelling since they were knee high, are seasoned travellers. They never complain about the pace, the food, the journey. Like us, they too have itchy feet.

Every year, they also do something different. Like when we went to Austria, they made a scrap book. They collected every scraps of paper, their entry tickets to various museums, the information booklets, the maps. They collected things like fallen leaves and pine cones. They beautifully stuck these things in a small notebook and wrote their memories of the places they visited. Along the margins, they drew pictures of the things they saw and stuck the relevant photos. One day, when they are all grown up, these scrap books will bring them happy memories.

This time,my daughter Ayushi, who is the artist in the family, has painted the shoes she plans to wear. Ordinary Bata canvas shoes, now look exciting. She coated them with acrylic paint, drew flowers, painstakingly filled them with her favourite colours and gave her cheap shoes that special touch. She is happy knowing wherever she goes, people are going to stare at her shoes and admire them. The shoes look so stunning that now she plans to gift her younger cousins shoes painted by her. Inspired,the older sister, also plans to make her own pair. And so does the mother, some day.

After all, itchy feet deserve beautiful shoes, don't they?

I wish all of you a sparkling and happy Diwali. And if you intend to travel this holiday season, do post about your experiences. I love to read itchy time tales...

Firenze

Or Florence, as the world knows it, seriously overwhelms you the first time. You start thinking how could this small city turn out to be the cradle of Renaissance?


Slowly as you breathe in the city a little more, you understand it's magnetism and natural beauty a little more, you begin to comprehend what inspired Michelangelo or Dante or Leonardo or Botticelli or any other dreamer who resided here at that time to produce such magical work.


Our apartment,

aptly called "the yellow apartment" was truly beautiful. No scope for hubby to complain this time.The view outside was very pretty and the interiors were tastefully done. The landlady had in fact also stocked the kitchen with everything that was needed to make some sumptuous pasta, so thankfully we did not have to do any grocery shopping the evening we reached Florence. Close to the railway station, the apartment was conveniently located to all the landmarks of the city.


The most majestic landmark of the city was the Duomo.This cathedral took almost 150 years to complete. The Duomo,


that dominated the Florence skyline was actually two domes built from red bricks. It was an engineering feat of that time. Coming from Rome, fresh after seeing the Vatican,the structure was not as impressive to me as I had hoped, but still it was spectacular.


Florence was all about art. Considering some great artists were born there, it was hardly surprising. The best known piece of the city was perhaps the statue of David which was kept in the Galleria dell'Accademia. Carved from a single block of marble, David impressed us with its sheer size and detailed work. The bulging veins, the slight twist of the body, the innocence of the face... you could see the dedication and the skill of the artist from the work. To think he was below thirty when he crafted it. Made me feel I had just one youth and how I wasted it!

(This one is a fake, kept where David originally stood)

Seemed the world could not get enough of the Florentine artists. The museums had serpentine queues outside and it took us almost 2 hours to get into Uffizi, where most of the world-famous masterpieces were kept. After we did the obligatory museum trips which I must say my kids hated, we just sat on one of the numerous sidewalk cafes of Florence . It was my children's idea of paradise, huge slices of pizza with some unusual toppings (brinjal for instance) and scoops and scoops of gelatto. Against the setting sun, the city was a visual feast.



On our last day, we crossed the oldest bridge in Florence called Ponte Vecchio. This 14th century bridge used to house the town butchers. They would throw the unwanted leftovers into the river Arno. The ruler of Florence then closed down their shops and ordered the jewellers to showcase their wares. Since then, world famous Italian jewellers have had their shops on the bridge. The quaint little bridge was the only bridge in Florence spared by the Germans during the Second World War. All the other bridges including some medieval quarters were destroyed in the bombing.



Italians take art pretty seriously and you can see that not just from their architecture and paintings, but also from the attention they pay to their own physical beauty. You will not find shabbily dressed Italians on the streets. The men in their dapper suits and gorgeous women in their killer heels with matching bags almost glide on the streets.How they manage that with those heels, that too on cobbled stone roads still remain a mystery to me. As I am a bags and shoes person myself, the city was just my kind of place. I generally surveyed all the shops selling bags (there were plenty, Florence is famous for its hand crafted leather bags and shoes) while my kids and husband happily dug into their gelattos. The beautifully decorated shop fronts did give some serious competition to all the Botticellis and Michelangelos.



Of all the places we saw in Italy, Florence was my husband's favourite. A place where you can sit under the sun and drink some classic Chianti and see the world pass by. A place where you get the most delicious cuisine cooked in rich Tuscan olive oil, with fruits, vegetables and meat. A place where bankers, traders, religious leaders, thinkers and artists came together as if solely to create the most beautiful city on earth.

A city where even if you never enter into a museum, can still come across works of art in every street corner. A city with a beautiful name and with even more beautiful people where all of us lost a part of our hearts.

Roman Holiday

I am off to the bel paese for my summer break tonight.
It was a country I always wanted to see since my childhood. A country where personalities like Leonardo Da Vinci, Michelangelo, Dante, and Galileo changed the meaning art, literature and science forever. A country that was once the centre of European culture.
My first stop is going to be Rome. A city that, legend has it, was founded by two brothers who claimed to be the sons of war god Mars and were raised by a she-wolf. It is a city whose influence on language, religion, law, philosophy.... last around the world even today. And most importantly for me, a city where an incognito princess, bored with her sheltered life found romance.
My husband's busy schedule means we can only spend a measly twelve days in Italy. It will not be possible to exhaust all that the country has to offer in so little time. After all how can you cram a treasure cove of are, history, cuisine and natural beauty in just twelve days? But we are definitely going to try.
As dear hubby has banned me from carrying the laptop, I will not be able to share my journey with you. So readers, there will not be any blogging for me for some time.
I hope each one of you also take a journey this summer that will change your perspective of the world for ever. So cheers every body and arrivederci.
BTW do you think if I stare at that hunk David for long enough, he will come to life? I guess there's no harm in trying!

The Summer Of Joy

It's that time of the year again.

The school is finally over and we are all preparing for our annual break. Looking at the all the travel preparation, I can't help thinking about my own childhood. Summer holidays those days did not mean seeing a strange place. It meant going to Calcutta, to be with my extended family.It meant lazy idyllic days bonding with cousins, watching movies and playing football on the terrace of our ancestral home.

The journey to Calcutta itself was a big adventure. We would reach the station and the fun would start from there. After much haggling we would appoint a coolie to carry all our luggage to our compartment. The coupe would be our home for the next 24 hours. My brother and I would pretend to climb mountains. The top most berth would be our summit. We would camp there and eat roasted peanuts, puree-sabzi, potato cutlets and everything else the vendors sold. The snacks would be washed down with lukewarm Campa-Cola.

The next 24 hours would be spent chatting with our fellow travellers. We would exchange life stories and food. Play cards and antakshari. Tell jokes and discuss the latest Bengali flicks running in theaters.

My mother never thought any stranger would molest her girl in the train washroom. She never thought her son could get into the company of ruffians . She never hesitated to accept food from our fellow passengers. Never saw the danger of food poisoning or any other illness.
My brother would get off at every station to fill up ours and every body else's water bottles.Standing in a queue to fill up the bottles from a tap and then running back to get into the train itself was a huge adventure. I would anxiously wait for him and he would laugh at my silliness.

The temperature would soar beyond 40 degrees C. Hot dry wind would dry up our lips but two of us would still sit next to the windows almost devouring the passing scene. My mother would hang two big wet towels over the window grill and we would get some respite from that heat.
As Calcutta approached, the train would invariably stop between Liluah and Howrah junction.My father jokingly referred to it as Halwa. After an unbearable -so -near -yet- so -far wait, which could mean anything between five minutes to five hours, we would stare awestruck at the majestic Howrah bridge dwarfing the Calcutta skyline. The excitement then would change to anticipation. Who would be coming to receive us at the station? The joy of spotting a familiar face at the platform was so huge.

This summer, we are taking our children to Italy. We will reach the air conditioned comfort of the airport. We will wordlessly load our baggage to the trolleys and check in. My children will spend the next nine hours strapped in their cramped seats. They will eat the cardboard like airline food and try to keep quiet so the other passengers do no get disturbed. Like a paranoid mom, I will accompany them to washrooms. They will not be allowed to talk to any strangers and exchange life stories. There will not be any fight for the window seat as the view outside would hardly be enchanting. There certainly will not be any familiar faces to receive them at their destination.

They will see the famous ruins of a civilisation that shaped the world but there definitely will not be any football matches played on a terrace.

Do you think they will enjoy their summer break?