Published in India Today Travel Plus, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Vegetarian in Thailand
"Don’t forget to pack snack sachets. Else you’ll have to survive on fresh fruit and fresh air! They don’t know what ‘vegetarian’ means in Thailand,”
warned a friend well-vers
ed with the sun and sand country. This was my maiden trip and I duly adhered, even as more mock commiserations poured in. Considering I was off for a food convention, suitably titled ‘Amazing Taste of Thailand’, I wondered what was on my plate, quite literally so.
The concept was to showcase Thailand through its cuisine, a relatively new tourism initiative. About 22 countries were invited and each was exposed to a particular province. The Indian contingent got an essence of the southern region by way of its vacationer island Koh Samui, a jewel in the Gulf of Thailand, besides which was getting up close with the capital charms of bustling Bangkok, where the official finale was held.
On trawling both destinations, I pleasantly discovered that away from shopping malls, beaches and massages there indeed existed a stimulating culinary realm—equally on view in uber Thai kitchens as well as on street carts—bursting with colour, fragrance, flavour, aesthetics and above all with the unrestrained joys of preparing, serving and partaking. Herein lay an assortment of robust and refined menus way beyond the globally-recognised staples of green and red curry pastes, the Tom Yam, Sa Tae etc. Each of Thailand’s five regions had a distinct taste to boast off and getting acquainted with it redefined what ‘Thai cuisine’ had meant all these years. That apart, the prime revelation for me was getting terrific meatless food, far more astonishingly diverse than I could have ever expected.
Koh Samui is ringed by a 57-km road and a drive through provides a charming glimpse of its touristy spots, the pick being the striking ‘Grandma-Grandpa rocks’ that beckon from the middle of an oceanic cobalt. Samui has six powder-sand beaches and their shallow continental shelf, typical of a gulf, allows you to stroll a length into the tepid waters or just laze in them without a tab on time. Chaweng Beach is where the rage is and that’s sufficiently underscored by its sprightly markets open late into the night, modish restaurants and cabaret shows.
Thailand has managed to interestingly package food tourism, which entails visits to grocery markets and cooking lessons at hotels you stay, in addition to savouring a host of flavours. So amid hours of relaxation and enjoying a cruise, we spent time at Samui’s local bazaars getting familiar with herbs/spices like Prik Kee Noo or ‘bird chilli’—the tiny dynamite that fires Thai cuisine—and essentials as Prik Nam Pla (fish sauce), while tropical fruits like rambutan, langsard and durian made for succulent sampling. Beach-side cooking demonstrations competed for eyeballs with displays of fruit-vegetable carving (a Central region tradition that flourished under royal patronage) done by skilled hands that unbelievably used nothing but rudimentary knives. Epicurean applause, however, undoubtedly lay in tempting multi-course fare we were treated to at the typical Southern-décor Samui Seafood Grill & Restaurant, which had an added ingredient of graceful Thai dance in the backdrop; and at fabulous sea-side places as Zazen Boutique Resort & Spa, and the celebrated Six Senses Hideaway where every villa alluringly faced the ocean and heaven appeared to be a doorstep away.
Southern Thailand is known for its spontaneity and this reflects in its cuisine that engagingly asserts a distinct spiciness and sourness. While the rest of the group went into raptures over duck, snails, grasshoppers, minced pork, mussels etc I relished the textures of silken tofu, water cress, bean sprouts, zucchini et al, delicately flavoured with kha (galangal), lemon grass, green pepper sprigs, makrut (kafir lime) or horapha (sweet basil), in salads and soups, curries and stir-fries which are always served with a portion of fragrant jasmine rice. Deciphering whimsical names on the menu like Kaeng Khieo Wan Nuea (Green curry with beef), Thod Man Pla (fish cakes) or Pad Pak Ruam (fried mixed vegetables) added to gourmet pleasures. Though desserts are limited in Thai cuisine I found a few lip-smacking and recommend a visitor to taste Mango-sticky rice; Sangkhaya Fakthong (coconut-milk custard steamed in pumpkin) and Khnom Krok (the inimitable bite-size rice pancakes).
Bangkok, an hour’s flight away from Koh Samui, expectedly had lots to offer: from its amply-discussed down-town shopping profusion at Siam Square, Central World and MBK; the exciting weekend bazaar of Chatuchak; to its heritage zone that included the capricious Grand Palace complex, the serene Reclining Buddha at Wat Po, and the beautiful Temple of Dawn or Wat Arun, that’s a short boat ride away. I managed to pack it all in a day courtesy an efficient transport network of sky-train, taxis and tuk-tuks. Another spectacular illustration of grace and grandeur was the Siam Niramit musical stage show (www.siamniramit.com) that traced the history of Thailand, and is a definite must-watch.
The highlight, though, were our lessons at Blue Elephant Restaurant and Cooking School—housed in a period building, a rare occurrence in the steel and glass city. The schedule involved going vegetable shopping by sky-train to Bangrak market and coming back to prepare Green curry vegetables/chicken and Som Tam (raw papaya salad) at individual work-stations, after having been tutored by master chefs. As we constantly saw, Thai food was as much about subtle tastes as it was about presentation. The chef was an artist and the platter his canvas. The final outcome was nothing short of culinary magic, accentuated by the presence of the bashful orchid that appeared on mocktails, starters, desserts…everywhere.
In between learning to say sawasdee kha (hello)and khawp khun kha (thank you), I managed to successfully convey my food preference, sawirat (vegetarian), praise a chef with a-roi (delicious) and address vendors with gee baht (how much). However, the Thai language has soft syllables and a musical intonation. Until you get these nuances right, you may have spoken sawirat but it could well have been Timbuktu. So usually it’s best to continue with English, which ultimately does get translated, by the ever-smiling and willing-to-help Thai citizen.
The snack packs I had taken remained untouched. I presented them to a local resident as a taste from my country. In Thailand I always had a lot on my plate!
Factfile:
Getting there: Thai Airways flies daily to Bangkok from all metro cities, including Chennai.
Accommodation: Easily available for all budgets. Some centrally-located option are:
The Imperial Boat House, Koh Samui
Siam City Hotel, Bangkok
For further details contact:
Tourism Authority of Thailand, New Delhi
www.amazingthailand.co.in
Phone: 011-4674 1111, 41663567-69
PUBLISHED in The New Indian Express, Chennai, November 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Destination called Leh Road
Ladakh@Rs 924 If you thought the humble paisa can’t buy you nothing, think again. For the 1,026-km bus journey from Delhi to Leh, I paid 90 paisa per km. My entire expense, including fare, lodging and food en route, was a princely Rs 924. On a road journey that’s acquired cult status among travellers globally, it appears almost embarrassing to be paying such pittance for incredible views of a lifetime.
To begin with, the decision to board the bus had to be made immediately. All other options of travel had failed and if I was to meet my target of reaching Leh by September 1, to be in time for the Ladakh Festival’s opening cultural pageant, I needed to be on the bus right away, notwithstanding the long miles of a three-day, two-night journey and my being prone to motion sickness.
By 4 pm I was seated in a packed carrier, its overhead racks stuffed with luggage waiting to fall at the slightest jerk. All passengers aboard were proceeding ‘home’ or ‘on work’, as I discovered 17 hours later at Manali, having slept through Chandigarh, Mandi, Kullu. The bus emptied out here and when we took off after a short halt at Manali bazaar, I was one of the two women on board, the other being an elderly Ladakhi. My co-passenger now was a soldier, who enquired whether I was a duty-bound government official or school teacher. When I replied in the negative he said, “So, what are you doing on the bus?” My being a curious wayfarer bemused him. “Who in this age of cheap air tickets travels by bus to Leh,” he asked. “Only foreigners do. And, of course, helpless soldiers like us who don’t manage a warrant air-ticket.”
The journey up till Manali had been along the sprightly River Beas, on a relatively smooth highway racing past verdant hills. It was all set to change as we hit the onward trail. Short of Marhi, the popular breakfast halt before Rohtang Pass (12, 723 ft), kiosks advertising fur coats on hire had begun lining the road and a few hapless tourists, unaware that the Pass in end-August is a sunny meadow of green and not a carpet of snow, were seen haggling rates! “Anything for a fast buck,” grinned the soldier, a veteran of this route, who turned out to be a delightfully well-informed guide. 
Beyond Rohtang it was a descent into the singular landscape of Lahaul district. Mountains that had appeared in soft shades were now handsomely rugged. Each seemed sculpted by the Master. Each spoke the story of creation that millions have been witness to. Within me, they evoked awe and anxiety almost in the same gasp as the bus rolled past, dwarfed by their might. The River Chandra often meandered into the canvas, sometimes as a gushing unruly brown and on occasions like an elegant silver ribbon. Its boisterous form had managed to chew the tarmac in many sections between Gramphoo and Sissu and the tyres would daringly cross such impromptu water beds. I had taken an air-pillow along which proved to be my sole luxury equipment that I would prop as a head-rest or use as a seat-cushion. Sometimes it was effectively employed as an ear muff to block the entertainment our driver insisted on providing, by playing non-stop hits of craggy Himachali music. So mandatory is such score in subcontinent buses, I’m surprised it still hasn’t been recognised as an honourable genre of music.
The moods of the mountains continued to inspire as the bus trundled past Tandi—famous with overland voyagers as the last place to tank up before Leh—and few two-shop hamlets before reaching the only major town en route, Keylong, the district headquarters of Lahaul-Spiti, famous for the Khardong Monastery. The sun was fast dipping and I needed to look for night accommodation. My single-woman status had help pouring in from all ends, and genuinely so, unlike the touts of Bombay or Delhi. The nice-looking tourism hotel was 500 meters away but my weary mind preferred something closer. I opted for a homestay a stone-throw away and hit the sack almost immediately.
At 3.30 am I was back in the bus as were some new passengers, among them a bunch of European backpackers. Sleep-deprived, I lost no time in escaping to slumberland. A monstrous bump awoke me and how providential that proved to be! Dawn’s inky blue shades were gingerly lighting up the sky even as we drove past enormous ranges of barren rock mountains in the valley of the beautiful River Bhaga, its waters reflecting silver and bronze. It was a stunning moonscape and here onwards it grew more awesome. The steady speed of the bus ensured the camera produced creditable images but to be true a lensperson has to do nothing, each frame is so perfect.
By forenoon we had summited the rocky Baralachala (16,049 ft), the second highest Pass we would cross. Soon after we hit the Sarchu plains (a favourite camping site), where ends Himachal and begins Jammu & Kashmir territory. All vehicles report at its checkpost, which allowed me to stretch my legs in starkly beautiful surroundings. The rocky face prior to Baralachala had given way to dramatically barren mud mountains. The whispers of the wind, by way of erosion, had made the mountains a playfield for creativity and carved on its face the most spectacular expressions ranging from castles to crowned monarchs.The short break at Sarchu, though, stretched to an agonising few hours as the bridge ahead had collapsed, which meant we crossed Nakki la (16, 765 ft) and Lachung la (16, 600 ft) in the afternoon and arrived at Pang, the lunch halt, close to the evening. The menu was typical to the hills and included the ubiquitous Maggi noodles, parantha, omelette and soup, all of which manage to taste quite excellent in such surroundings. For the roadies bedding priced between Rs 80-Rs 120 was available at all tented ‘restaurant-cum-hotels’.
Up next was the fascinating Morey Plains, a 40-km flat strip, the land of the nomadic Changpa tribe. What captivated my imagination here was the way cottony white clouds speckled across the backdrop of a brilliant blue sky formed shadows over austere brown hills. The contrasting colours coalesced pleasingly and the swift movement of the clouds added fluent grace to the drama unfolding in this cold desert theatre.
The scheduled time of arrival in Leh was 5 pm and at that hour we were more than 100 km away traversing the highest pass en route, Tanglang la (17,582 ft) that fluttered with prayer flags. Its ascent had been gentle but by this time my mind had grown restless. The journey seemed never-ending and the other factor was I hadn’t booked accommodation in Leh, having hoped to walk around the pocket-size town and hunt for a suitable place.
Just before the sky wore its night cloak we reached Rumtse, where the first signs of civilization appeared after about 350 km. By 10 pm we finally reached Leh bus station. It was quiet and dark, but thankfully my cell-phone came alive. I rung up a friend’s decade-old contact, who materialised within minutes and in true tradition of Ladakhi hospitality escorted me to a cosy guest house.
The scheduled time of arrival in Leh was 5 pm and at that hour we were more than 100 km away traversing the highest pass en route, Tanglang la (17,582 ft) that fluttered with prayer flags. Its ascent had been gentle but by this time my mind had grown restless. The journey seemed never-ending and the other factor was I hadn’t booked accommodation in Leh, having hoped to walk around the pocket-size town and hunt for a suitable place.
Just before the sky wore its night cloak we reached Rumtse, where the first signs of civilization appeared after about 350 km. By 10 pm we finally reached Leh bus station. It was quiet and dark, but thankfully my cell-phone came alive. I rung up a friend’s decade-old contact, who materialised within minutes and in true tradition of Ladakhi hospitality escorted me to a cosy guest house.
It’s said 24 hours acclimatisation is a must before venturing out in Leh. I didn’t have a chance and early next morning I was on the streets capturing images of the Ladakh Festival. The road journey had naturally acclimatised me. And its magic still overwhelms.
Bus journey coordinates and suggestions:
Delhi-Leh bus (Himachal tourism)
Departure: daily (till Sept 15) from ISBT, Counter 7
Time: 3.45 pm
Fare: Rs 482 Delhi-Keylong; plus Rs 460 Keylong-Leh (The latter tkt is purchased in Keylong...the fares have gone up 15 pc since I travelled). Total: Rs 942
Tele contacts:
ISBT Delhi: 011- 23868694
ISBT Chandigarh (Himachal counter): 0172-2668943
Manali bus stand: 01902-252323
Keylong bus station: 01900-222245
Some options for bus travel are:
1. Take the morning train from Delhi to Chandigarh (Shatabadi Express), do a city tour and catch the Leh bus that departs at 9.40 pm.
2. Else, take the Delhi bus up to Manali, and stop over for two days or a day. Then take the bus till Keylong. Break journey as there is enough to occupy you around here for a day or more, and it's worth it to explore if you have come up all this way.
3. Take the morning bus from Keylong to Leh which will be around 15 hrs journey.
Delhi-Leh bus (Himachal tourism)
Departure: daily (till Sept 15) from ISBT, Counter 7
Time: 3.45 pm
Fare: Rs 482 Delhi-Keylong; plus Rs 460 Keylong-Leh (The latter tkt is purchased in Keylong...the fares have gone up 15 pc since I travelled). Total: Rs 942
Tele contacts:
ISBT Delhi: 011- 23868694
ISBT Chandigarh (Himachal counter): 0172-2668943
Manali bus stand: 01902-252323
Keylong bus station: 01900-222245
Some options for bus travel are:
1. Take the morning train from Delhi to Chandigarh (Shatabadi Express), do a city tour and catch the Leh bus that departs at 9.40 pm.
2. Else, take the Delhi bus up to Manali, and stop over for two days or a day. Then take the bus till Keylong. Break journey as there is enough to occupy you around here for a day or more, and it's worth it to explore if you have come up all this way.
3. Take the morning bus from Keylong to Leh which will be around 15 hrs journey.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
All Kosher
Synagogues of Calcutta
http://traveller.outlookindia.com/issuecontent.aspx?id=1800&type=45&flag=issuehome
Published in Outlook Traveller, July 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Craft from Bihar
One of the oldest seats of learning in the world is here. So is the place where Buddha gained enlightenment. It is the cradle of two of
Every state in
Sikki
Sikki is a common riverside reed found in abundance across the northern Gangetic plains. A plant of high tensile strength, people down the ages have creatively used it to mould items of daily use. The coarse reed is dried in the sun till it turns supple and glossy golden. Its strands are then secured into a rope which is coiled into various shapes, ranging from boxes, animals, pencil holders, planters, serving-bowl casings etc. The natural-hued products are further bedecked with colourful dyed strands that are woven into arresting geometrical patterns, converting ordinary grass into a piece of art.
Sujuni (or soojini)
This form of embroidery, which is simple running stitch, is currently making waves globally enthusing fashionistas and folk art collectors alike. Nowadays done on a single fabric and found on bedspreads, wall hangings cushion/bolster covers and also on apparel like saris, dupattas, stoles, jackets and skirts, traditionally women stitched together layers of muslin cloth and decorated it with motifs transforming it into a quilt or mat for home use. Similar in appearance to the kantha of
Madhubani paintings
The Madhubani style of art is
Lacquerware
If you are attending a Bihari marriage, notice the hands of the bride; they would be adorned with red or turmeric-coloured bangles that have been embellished with sequins and mirrors. Ritualistically worn for a year or forty days, these are made with lac, a resin found in the forests of the region. Lac bangle-making is a cottage industry that churns out conventional and myriad contemporary designs in a collection of colours. A pair can begin at Rs 20 and go up to Rs 1,000 for a set of 12. Another attractive range of items are painted woodenware varnished with lacquer and this includes toys, beds, stools, keychains, bowls etc besides a traditional wedding item called the kiya or sindoora, which is a lacquer-finished red wooden vermillion box shaped like a temple spire.
Papier Maiche
According to legend, the art of papier machie took root in
Tussar silk
At handloom fairs the ‘
Nalanda weaves
Originating in looms of Nalanda, the typical weave of an elephant or duck motif panel on red or lilac handspun cotton fabric, caught the fancy of people a few decades back and continues to reign. Also called BCI or Bihar Cottage Industry pattern it’s immensely popular as a chaadar or bedcover, curtain and tablecloth.
Stoneware
The blackish-green stone found in abundance around Bodh Gaya has lead to a stone carving industry. Figures of Lord Buddha and Ganesha have the highest demand among tourists besides which a host of tableware items like coasters, stem glasses, platters and decorative bric-a-brac in glossy finish grab eyeballs.
Terracotta
Every region has a terracotta tradition. In
Published in Jetwings, December 2008
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