The rain is lashing,
the wind swishing,
for just one night take care,
oh, take rest dear,
morning we'll find you a mare.

Oh, let the rain rush down,
or the skies open,
the earth part,
or souls depart,
I got to go, a long way.

Steaming food and a warm bed,
hot water and soft bread,
they're all your's,
if stay you may.

Tempted as I was,
more by the bed than the bread,
I stood hesitating.
No, I'll be on my way,
a long way.

Beautiful hands shall serve you,
and sweet lips shall kiss you goodnight,
stay for a night,
leave tomorrow you might.

Oh, don't tempt me,
I may give in,
but I've a long way to go,
staying would be a sin.

Wherefore you care for sin,
in this bustle and din,
we are all but sinners,
victims of our own desire,
you might as well commit your share.

Will the actions go unpunished,
when I've got a long way to go?
Shan't forces of nature conspire
I be condemned and perished?

Take heart o' dear,
not that is true,
letting go of reason,
sure is no treason,
for the greatest sin,
is to possess a muddy heart,
unclear and unjust.
Let it be a mirror reflecting your mind,
then only will you be true,
your actions governed not by thought,
but by feel.
And that is redemption,
so I feel.

If were it so,
you'd be long killed,
for your bread and bed,
those lovely hands and sweet lips,
stolen away from you,
for if I'd listened to my heart and
not ruled by thought,
with grave danger,
you'd've been fraught.

I smiled and said so,
and made my way out,
for I'd a long way to go.

________________________________________________________________

Anyway, the technologies are improving dramatically and it brought many 'funky' contents for us. Well, I really need to check the updated news and technologies more often.

Our Beautiful Morris Traveller has found a new home we took ownership from a man who ran a Cheese shop in Market Harborough and we have just sold it to a lovely lady who runs a bookshop in County Derry, Ireland.

We don't have a Bulb Studios shop yet but if we did you can rest assured we wouldn't be dabblin' in cheesey books.

Medieval, Village, Gorean Furniture, Fantasy Furniture, Gorean Slave, Kajira, Panther, Gypsy, Gothic, Steampunk, Pirate, peasant, fairytale, fairy, traveller, hobo, castle furniture, blacksmith, Prefab, horse stables, hunters camp, drawbridge, camping, gypsy caravan, tumbleweed, fishing, hunting, tent, cottage, mushrooms, gardening, greenhouse, rope swing, wagon, tarot, plants, fireflies, servery, scrub buckets, cages, slave posts, bondage, BDSM, dungeon, slave racks, bakery, kitchen, servery, food, butter churning, lighting, fireplace, camp fire, oven, dining sets, bread baskets, rugs, chess set, bath tubs, wishing wells, outhouse, serving tray, apple picking tree, water carrier, slave cushions, torture rack, capture bindings, desks, weapons, windmill

http://slurl.com/secondlife/Crooked%20Earth/184/81/38

Quando chegar ao centro da cidade, procure um banco para fazer a conversão da moeda e evite as casinhas de câmbio "la garantía soy yo". Sempre trocamos no Banco Piano, que nos parece oferecer a melhor cotação - mas não deixe de pesquisar. ATENÇÃO: esteja munido de seu passaporte ou da carteira de identidade com o papel e carimbo de entrada no país. Sem isso, você não consegue trocar o dinheiro.

OS BANCOS DAQUI E OS BANCOS DE LÁ

Não pense que porque você tem conta no Santander, Itaú ou Banco do Brasil, vai poder sacar seu dinheiro nas agências destes mesmo bancos lá em Buenos Aires. Os sistemas bancários de países diferentes não "conversam" diretamente. Existe todo um trâmite para tranferência de dinheiro entre países e você vai acabar pagando taxas altíssimas para isso - e ainda vai perder um tempo danado em filas. Alguns bancos até oferecem essa opção, mas cobram taxas altas. No banco Real, por exemplo, eu tenho a opção de sacar diretamente da minha conta, utilizando meu cartão em qualquer caixa vinculado à rede conveniada, mas pago R$13,50 por saque.

DESVANTAGEM DO CARTÃO DE CRÉDITO

Sacar do cartão de crédito, só em caso de emergência. Se for sacar, saque um alto valor, porque você paga por cada saque feito, além de uma porcentagem sobre o valor sacado (no caso do meu cartão, REAL VISA, eu pago US$2,50, por saque, mais 1% sobre o valor sacado). Para compras pagas diretamente com o cartão, você paga 2,38% de IOF, mas a conversão para reais é feita com um câmbio bem atrativo, pois apenas ligeiramente pior que o câmbio comercial. Pelo site do banco Central, o dólar comercial em 02/07/2008 fechou em 1,59 para a venda, e na fatura do meu cartão a conversão foi feita com uma cotação de 1,62. Só que para despesas feitas em pesos, na sua fatura primeiro é feita uma conversão para dólares (a uma cotação bem mais desvantajosa do que aquela que você consegue trocando dólares por pesos na própria Argentina), para depois ser feita a conversão para reais. Ou seja, a aparente vantagem do câmbio de sua fatura de cartão de crédito é reduzida drasticamente. Além disso, muitos estabelecimentos na Argentina dão descontos para compras em dinheiro. E se você sair dos grandes centros, é claro que o número de estabelecimentos que aceitam cartão reduz-se drasticamente. Ainda assim, é claro que o cartão de crédito é um ótimo companheiro, mas não dá para viajar só com ele. É preciso ter dólares no bolso.

OPÇÕES SEGURAS

Agora, se você tem medo de andar com dólares, leve os ditos travellers cheques. Essa é a opção mais segura. A desvantagem é que são poucos os estabelecimentos que aceitam diretamente o traveller. Você tem que trocá-los por dinheiro vivo em agências, ou seja, encarar filas, e ainda a taxa paga para descontar cada cheque (além da cotação não ser a mesma da transação com papel-moeda, alguns bancos cobram comissões para descontar os travellers). Uma opção nova é o VISA Money. A vantagem é que é um cartão já pré-carregado com o valor que você preferir. E para sacar não precisa ir até uma agência. Você saca diretamente de qualquer caixa vinculado à rede conveniada. Não paga taxa alguma para o saque. A única desvantagem é que a taxa de câmbio usada para carregar o cartão é bem abaixo da taxa praticada no caso de compra de dólares em espécie. Mas para quem pretende levar muito dinheiro, com certeza é a forma mais segura.

TROCANDO REAIS POR PESOS

Você também pode levar Reais e trocar por Pesos, mas não é tão vantajoso quanto levar dólares, você vai perder no câmbio. Digamos, por exemplo, que você queira levar US$ 2 mil em dinheiro. Aqui no Brasil, pela cotação do Banco Real (1,70, no começo de julho de 2008), você teria que desembolsar R$3400 para comprar essa quantia de dólares. Em Buenos Aires, US$ 2 mil viram P$6060, numa cotação média. Mas se você levar os R$3400, na hora de vender esses reais você conseguirá apenas P$5746. Além disso, não vejo diferença entre carregar R$ 3 mil ou US$ 2 mil. O risco de ser assaltado é o mesmo.

On the authority of Abdullah ibn Umar (May Allah be pleased with them both), he relates that the Prophet (Peace be upon him) once held my shoulders and said:

“Live in this world as (if you are) a wayfarer or a stranger.” And Abdullah ibn Umar (May Allah be pleased with them both) used to say: “If you live till night, then do not wait for the next day (i.e. do not have hopes that you will live to the next day), and if you wake up in the morning do not have hope that you will live till the night. And take (advantage) from your health before your sickness and take advantage of your life before your death (i.e. do every possible obedience in your life before death comes to you for then no deeds can be performed.)”

[Bukhari and Tirmidhi]

Explanation

The similitude of ‘Living in this world as a wayfarer’ is like that of a traveller in this world who undertakes a journey and then stops to rest under the shade of a tree in a particular place. So the traveller ties his mount, lays down his luggage and retires for a moment under the shade in the midday heat, reclining against the tree. Then after having rested a while, he gathers his belongings, unties his mount and resumes his journey moving away from the temporary resting place, where he had sheltered for a short time. Such is the similitude of man in this world, who resides in this temporary abode of the world for a short time, and then he must thereafter continue his journey towards his real destination, which is the hereafter.

Earthdawn (by FASA) - My initial interest in Earthdawn was probably due to it's pseudo-relationship with Shadowrun. It took balls for FASA to try and link their cyberpunk game with a high fantasy game, but then again, Shadowrun has it's fair share of fantasy elements, so maybe it wasn't that much of a stretch. I always liked the magic system in Earthdawn, and thought it's world was far more unique than some of the more generic D&D games out there -- the fact that dwarves were the predominant race instead of humans (and that dwarven language was this world's 'common' language), that orks and trolls were playable races instead of stereotypical monsters, and the highly charged political situation amongst the city states of Barsaive were among many of the draws of Earthdawn. Sadly, I was a poor kid, and blew all the money I did manage to scrounge up on other games. I hated me as a kid.

Bureau 13 (by Tic Tac Games) - I knew people who played this, and it always seemed like great fun, but I had my head stuck up my ass with AD&D 2nd edition at the time and couldn't part company with my precious Player's Handbook. It seemed to me to be the tongue in cheek version of Call of Cthulhu, which although I like CoC, it can get a bit heavy-handed and downright depressing at times.

Tunnels and Trolls (by Flying Buffalo) - I mentioned this in a reply to a previous post here, but I always wanted to get involved with T&T, because it was suitable for solo play. Not only that, but having read some of the various editions, I have to say T&T is one of the most simple rule systems ever devised. The game has character, and while it may seem at first glance to be a less serious D&D ripoff, it's not. It seems to me that this game is Tolkien turned up to 11 with all manner of comic book zest inserted. I really have to buy a copy of the rules sometime.

RuneQuest (by Chaosium) - This game is a little bit different from the others on the list, because I did actually have the materials required to play this game, I just either never got around to it, or never found anyone interested. The book I had was the Avalon Hill edition pictured here, a battered library copy that somehow found it's way to me. Why didn't I get around to playing it? I can't really say. The setting appeals to me nowadays, but maybe back in my youth I didn't really understand it all, or why characters would want to join cults, or why there was little to no information about non-human characters in the game. Combat was also pretty difficult to pick up at first, although in retrospect, I believe it to be a pretty amazing system. Sure, a fight in RuneQuest is pretty slow moving, and often quite deadly to all parties involved... but I believe that's the point. RuneQuest doesn't seem like it was designed to be a combat heavy game at all. It seemed to encourage players to think of alternate ways to get out of tricky situations, and if they did have to get involved in a fight, they would absolutely have to work together and plan out a sound strategy, or the enemies would tear them apart.

Traveller (by Game Designers' Workshop) - How can I have missed Traveller for this long?! Dammit! This game is to science-fiction what D&D is to medieval fantasy. I would love to participate in a grande old space opera campaign that didn't include any Sith or Wookies in it. Again, I knew someone who played this, one of my cousins, and I never followed up on it. I should have, because I later learned he just gave all his books away for nothing to a used book shop. Argh!

If anyone reading this has played one of the above games, feel free to let me know what I've been missing!

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During the first to fifth century Paris was called Lutetia but after this period it adopted its actual name. Paris is sometimes called 'The City of Light' because its cultural life and intellectual preeminance and also for its beautiful appearance. The French capital is one of the most wonderful cities around the world, a metropolis that satisfied all tourist's expectation and more, Paris has a seductive atmosphere.

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(This is a long post. But it has to do with my travel experience, my blog, and my feelings and I ain't bloody well gonna let some darn reader's perceptions on its length come in my way.)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mukurthi

It was the summer after my eleventh standard. And I, unfortunately, was an IIT aspirant. That meant that the eleventh standard summer was the toughest phase of my academic life. There were classes in small cramped up rooms with a capacity of 40 people seating well over a hundred people (I am of course referring to Satyamurthy school near Sun theatre), classes in far-off uncivilized parts of the city (Adyar, ie.Raghavan) and classes in shady Alwarpet starting at 6 am in the morning every alternate day (with KSR ofc). There were more tests in a week than the number of days and you were never adequately prepared for even a single test. (That was the most sad part. The problems were all so beautiful, but you had no time to appreciate them because you had no idea what was going on.) All this coupled with the heat, the fact that I had to drive a TVS Excel to the places, the fact that I was a lazy ass who wouldn't do ANY work unless it was totally necessary, meant that I was having a most hellish time. My health and peace of mind started to deteriorate. I was having health problems because of the extremely sultry environment, my large frame, the extremely crowded classes, and the wooden benches which never had enough space for more than one of my bums. And once, when I was traveling in Sarangapani street in T.Nagar, I met a few of my non-IIT classmates who were just returning from Eliots Beach where they had played footie, for one of the few times in my life, I felt a surge of jealousy. The classes would only end a week before my 12th standard began. I decided that if I intended on living through my last year in school, I had to take a holiday. This was just about the first time in my life that I actually wanted a holiday to soothe my nerves.

I told my parents about it. They agreed whole-heartedly. After all, this was the first thing that their son had asked them willingly ever since he had come out of kindergarten. Since I was still only 16, and not too experienced at traveling, it was decided my father would accompany me. The rest of my family had already gone on a tour of the north (Simla, Punjab, Kulu and Manali) without me and my mother and sisters were not interested in accompanying me. This suited me fine, because I considered them a completely unnecessary baggage. I was not really interested in doing these conventional trips. I wanted to do something like a trekking routine and my mother and sisters, being good tamil women, hated to exert themselves physically in any way. My father on the other hand, was an experienced traveler and also extremely fit for his age (close to 50). In fact, his stamina exceeded my own, and I am a sportsman. So his company was very welcome, in a way.

My father, to say the least, is a strange man. He really likes only 2 people who are alive in this world and they are not me or the rest of my immediate family. Even this fact can only be discerned from observing him as he walks much faster than normal to attend a phone-call from these people. He never shares his life with any of these people even and not even with my mother. He is always seen lying in the bed reading some cheap western by Louis L'amour, for which he has some kind of strange affliction. And he is arrogant to a fault. In fact, I am the only sane person I have seen who is more arrogant than him. (Maybe I will write about my father some time later.) This clash of egos was very visible in our house. Me and my father hardly shared anything except the food. He had his own life, his own room and his own time, and I had mine. We almost never involved each other in our work. We never spoke to each other of anything that need not be spoken of. In a certain way, I am slightly jealous of my classmates, most of whom had talkative parents. Not that I secretly wished to have more responsive parents or anything, but I love hearing those paati kadhais (grandmama's stories), which I only get to hear from my single living paati who visits my house very rarely. In fact, very few relatives visit our house despite my father having 7 siblings. The reason is quite obvious. I mean, with characters like my father and myself in the house, who would want to? I personally am thankful we had very little of this relative thollai in our house. But my mother, being a woman and all, constantly accuses my father for the aura of complete quietness in our house which she intensely dislikes. The point to this rather dwindling paragraph being, I was actually quite apprehensive as to whether our ego-clash would spoil the trip.

The next thing to do was to decide on a place. I did not want to visit the north, simply because my frame of mind had not sufficiently deteriorated to consider such options. So it was decided that we visit the mountains in either TN or Kerala. One of my closer friends, who travels regularly to far flung places, suggested I visit Mukurthi National Park. He suggested it was far better than even the mountains of Coorg, which I had visited the previous summer. I did some wiki and google stuff and was immediately hooked. The choice had been between Thekkady, Top Slip and Mukurthi and we decided to take Mukurthi. Primarily because there was little information about the trekking opportunities available in Thekkady while my friend had assured me that Mukurthi forest officer would allow us to trek. Top Slip was discarded as there were many unresolved questions about our ability to even perform the basic functions of life there. My father then went ahead and prepared an itenary and made all the arrangements for the trip. (Of course he would, him being the experienced traveler and me being the spoilt stay at home brat.) A trip to Mudumalai was thrown into our 7 day tour as well.

I don't recall much else leading up the trip. We were going to Mettupalayam and from there taking a bus up to Ooty. We landed up at the Central Station, me full of anticipation, and my father, characteristically emotionless. The train journey was uneventful. We had the company of a quiet tamil family and a not so quiet North Indian father-daughter duo who were intent on doing the we-fair n' rare-you-all-black-full-of-flak routine and I watched them go on about for entertainment. We reached Mettupalayam early morn. The station is simply beautiful. Especially on a foggy chill morning with the blue-tinted Nilgiri peaks in the distant horizon. Makes you invariably think about all those english-school books that you read. We proceeded soon to the bus-stand to board a dinghy bus to Ooty.

Successful so far. We had reached Ooty in one piece. I was actually appalled by what I saw in Ooty. It was simply ghastly. Not at all the place I visited a few years back. There was this gigantic kaava (canal), with stagnant black liquid (water+lotsof-i-dunno-what) and plastic rubbish. There was not a single tree in sight except on the distant hills and the place was filled with really ugly buildings, bad roads and polluting vehicles. And unfortunately, the place we were going to stay in was very near this dump. Our accommodation was actually right opposite the race-course. It was the CPWD hotel (mother is a c.g. employee).The architecture (!) was really bad with angles jutting out everywhere and the entire structure not appearing very harmonious. It was also painted an ugly blue color. However, it was just out of view of the ugly town-centre. Also, the interiors were neat, the staff friendly, the prices cheap, the food acceptable and the location was quite convenient. So, on the whole, it was a very good deal.

After having parked ourselves, we went out for lunch at a small homely eatery in a back alley in the town. The place was rustic, run by a matronly lady and the food was suitably homely too. We had some mutton biriyani, then for dessert, some homemade chocolate from a nearby sweet shop. The homemade chocolates in Ooty are simply lovely. I had them at least twice a day. The weather was great. We decided to wile away the rest of the day. My father took up a L'amour (I imagine) and I, a Wodehouse in the balcony soaking in the sights from the nearby stable. Then a simple dinner and bed.

Next day we decided to approach the forest ranger for permission to visit Mukurthi. The ranger was out and we were asked to visit the next day. We had this whole day ahead of us and did not know what to do. My father asked me what whether we should go back. I of course said no. I had come here to see the place. Not to bloody read Wodehouses and L'amours! I looked around, pointed out the tallest mountain that I could spot and told my father we'll go to the top of it. My father was game. So we walked and walked. Through tea gardens, through mini-bazaars, through settlements of garden workers, past stately (and very British) houses of retired government officers, through small scrubs and patches of woods etc.. etc.. and we finally reached the foot of the hill. My father decided to wait for me while I went up to get a better view. I went up close to the peak. But some locals came rushing and told me that the slopes were slippery and it was illegal to climb to the top. So much for that idea. But it was great fun while we did it. I met my father back at the foot. He was chatting with some old lady talking to her about real estate (thats where conversations with my pater invariably lead). We decided to return by bus as it was already getting dark and we were rather hungry. Dinner was a simple meal of barotta, biriyani and mutton curry (My father is a mutton purist. Rarely takes chicken willingly.) and we headed to our rooms for rest. My father's age was telling as he was a bit sore from our walk.

Day 2 and we were off to the ranger's office. This time we got to meet him. He was a large, sombre looking man. In fact, he looked like a Chennai maama. We requested permission to visit Mukurthi. He simply said the park was closed at this time and visitors will not be allowed. When pressed for a reason, he said they had closed the park for public ever since a gabtun film was shot in the place where they set off dynamite sticks and afflicted mental damage on the residents of the park. Damn the Vijayakanth (wiki him to find out more). This was something unexpected. I told him how my friend had visited the place earlier and how he had spoken in high regard of the forest department people (he didn't of course). The officer appeared mollified and asked us to come back the next day to see if he could arrange something.

So another day of not knowing what to do. We found a local and asked him if there was a small walk that we could take to anywhere. He suggested Cairn Hill. This is a small hillock which an old Britisher named Cairn Whatever had owned and used probably as a hunting ground. He had also planted many trees native to Britain such as oaks and birches on this hill and it looked rather pleasant. There was a small path and we walked up. There was really nothing much to do except take in the sights and sounds. On top, there was this look out tower which gave us a good view of Ooty and also a small tribal temple where we, being atheists, did not pray of course. We managed to make our way down after losing our way twice. We spotted another group of people on the way down. They suggested that we visit the Dodabetta mountain (tallest in South India) which was quite nearby. We then took a jeep upto the base of Dodabetta. Then we managed to fit ourselves into the last batch of people allowed up the hill. There was nothing spectacular in the top. It was like a regular tourist spot with even a few eateries. Worse, the place was sullied with rubbish strewn all over. Nothing makes my blood boil more I tell you. It is so irritating that people do not see the beauty of the place. They simply had to build hotels, pathways, watch towers, throw rubbish etc..etc.. with complete disregard for the sanctity of the place. Continuing (I could go on fuming, but it wouldn't be nice to read), it was late evening and the place was relatively empty. Then suddenly, we were asked to clear out by the officials. There was going to be a cloudburst (a rather dangerous phenomenon of sudden, heavy rains) and we were to be evacuated using jeeps and vans. However we could not find a ride back (all full). Our own driver had left, probably because someone had offered more money. We then decided to walk back. It was the twilight of the day and the sky was turning orange. There was a light drizzle. The trees were the lightest shade of green and brown (sounds of oohs and aahs expected). The roads were empty except for the occasional wild animal (monkeys). And me and my father were walking down for almost an hour. After this great walk, we reached the base where we asked the locals how we could get back. They directed us to the nearest bus stop in Kotagiri (I think) and told us to wait for a while as the bus would be late. While we were waiting, this lorry came up and offered us a lift back. So we rode in the darkness on the lorry's open back through the winding forest roads. Best motorized journey of my life. When we reached Ooty, it was the dinner-at-dhaba-and-back-to-bed routine again.

The next day, again at the Forest Department office, we met the ranger for Mukurthi Park. He agreed to let us visit the place. He said he would send us with another ranger, who we were expected to compensate suitably. I am not very emotional, but I was almost happy at this turn of events. At last, we were going to do what we came for! So we went off to the taxi stand to hire a jeep to take us there. It was difficult as most of the drivers didn't want to drive that long for the amount we were willing to pay. We finally found one and set off. The drive was simply SPECTACULAR. The whole place, as soon as we left town, appeared enchanted. We made small talk, stopped for a small tea and vadai (superb) break in a quaint local eatery and it was I guess 3 hours before we reached the place.The entrance to the park was manned by a group of forest officers who were hard men living a hard life with a tin shack to call home. I felt a surge of envy. They were living the life I always wanted to but could not afford thanks to the rather restrictive society I grew up in. At this place, we collected our guide, Mookaiah, (he did have a big nose) and we entered the grasslands of the national park.

We got out and it was raining and freezing cold. The place appeared exotically wild but c-o-l-d was the only thing on our minds. We decided to eat the dosai we had packed from the eatery earlier (the intense cold left us little choice). We walked up to a metal shelter on a small hillock. We did not have warm gear and we found we couldn't open the food packets. Our fingers wouldn't move! So we bit it open and ate like dogs. (Right then, I got a new-found respect for the animal and its ways.) By the time we finished, the weather had cleared somehow and we found our fingers could now move. I took in the sights. Simbly Bootiful. The mountains all around were covered with a light green cover of grass and there were occasional clusters of trees. Around half of the mountain range was covered with thick mist and only the remaining half was visible. All around you there were this misty shola mountains and we four were the only people in sight! It was quite a surreal feeling. Must be experienced to be comprehendable. We decided to set off in a random direction. We walked for about 3 hours up and down the mountain slopes making conversation with the ranger, Krishnamurthy, and Mookiah. We had by then given up on the idea of climbing Mukurthi peak and decided to visit the Western Catchment reservoir instead. We reached there about an hour later. It is simply the most beautiful, pristine body of water I have seen (I understand I am overusing the word 'beautiful', but if any of you visit Mukurthi, you'll understand why.) It was a sparkling silver and appeared almost like a mirage. It reminded me of the beautiful scenes from the LOTR movies for some reason. We wallowed in the water and drank lots of it. It was sweet. We also spotted some rainbow trout (I think) which was introduced by the British here for fishing purposes. Then my father, who was already too tired to even say "superstar is god", decided to head back with the ranger while me and Mookaiah decided to walk further and to try to climb one of the taller peaks nearby. We reached the top all right. But I started developing cramps by then and couldn't take much more of the physical battery. (It was with some surprise and envy that I noted that the shrew-like Mookaiah was hardly tiring. Where do these villagers get there strength from anyway?) Because of my reduced physical state, and because it was approaching night-time, we decided to head back. We joined Krishnamurthy and my dad on the way back. We also spotted some tahr in the distance and a jackrabbit on the way. These were the only animals we spotted if you do not count elephant dung and tracks as "sighting animals". The lack of fauna in this overwhelming amount of flora was indeed my only disappointment. We had a long walk back to the entrance where the driver was waiting. Along the way, I was trying to fill my mind with pictures with which I could cherish this unforgettable experience. This was because, I do not like to rape such experiences by clicking away photos incessantly. So no camera meant that all the pictures had to be stored in the mind. We then boarded the jeep and returned along another beautiful route back to Ooty. I could tell my father was pleased with the whole trip just from the amount he doled out to the driver, Krishnamurthy and Mookaiah. Then of course, dinner->room->sleep.

Next day, we took a bus to Masinagudi and from there to Mudumalai. There was nothing special about the drive (it was very pretty, but in a place like Nilgiris, beauty is a very relative concept). Except that we spotted far more animals including a leopard, a mouse deer, some wild boar and spotted deer along the way. Mudumalai was actually unspoilt and pristine. Unfortunately, no one was allowed to trek into the forest. A guide offered to take us for 1000Rs. around the place, but my father refused saying it could be too dangerous. I was a bit young then and did not have the courage to oppose my father. So we were basically stuck up in the hotel. I had to bide my time by taking small walks around the place, observing the monkeys which thronged the hotel's premises, doing some fishing in the river with local boys, eating at local eateries, watching some peacocks as they came by our room, listening to a forest officer recount his exploits in the wild, watching some wild elephants as they ambled across the road in front of the hotel etc..etc.. Time passed quickly and we were soon on the bus back to Ooty. This bus, had to take 32 hairpin bends and I was allergic to buses. Without avomine that day, I would have nastied the bus, the people in it and left a trail on the road as if I were Hansel n Gretel's elder brother. We reached Ooty in one piece, had dinner, went around the market and had our last night in the place.

In the morning, we packed our bags and took the town bus to Mettupalayam. Then the train to Chennai. Me and my father had our only fight of the trip before boarding the train. It was because of misplaced tickets. My father became extremely annoyed and abused me with a few peasant bad words. To show him I was older now and that I resented such step-fatherly treatment, I shouted a few swear words back at him. End Result: We didn't speak to each other all the way back home and even sometime after. But I didn't care. In fact, it felt a whole lot more familiar than having to share the bed with him and having to take meals with him in a hotel. And besides, I had my mother doting over me and feeding me with her choicest preparations and some fine Nilgiri tea. Even my sisters had gone off to my cousin's place and the weather in the city wasn't so bad. What more could I expect? It was from a Heaven to another Heaven.

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Belgium dialing code: +32
Brussels area code: 2

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Sights Guide:
Brussels centre is divided into the Lower Town and the Upper Town [known collectively as the 'petit ring'] and the obvious starting point for any tourist is between the two at the Grand-Place. This spectacular square [pictured above] is the hub of the city, enclosed by superb 18th century guildhouses, the gothic Hotel de Ville, and is always buzzing with life.
A few yards south sprays the little pisser, aka Manneken Pis, eternally surrounded by admirers. Further south leads to Quartier Marolles, the place for good value eats and shopping at the daily flea market.

Steeply upwards and eastwards from Grand-Place the roads travel into stately Upper Town, the posh sector, where boulevards and buildings are on a royal scale and mere mortals feel small.
The Royal Palace, open free to the public in summer months, and the House of Parliament are two of the more significant structures. Near that grand pair is Place du Grand Sablon, a zone of pricey restaurants and shops, and a clutch of the city's best museums and galleries.
East of the petit ring is the European Union complex of modern concrete and glass, including the EU Parliament that offers free tours, with guide, at limited times.

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