To Hans Zimmer, With Love

Dear Hans,

I feel like I've known you my whole life. We've never met, but you speak in the language of music - and I've been listening closely, for about a decade. Consider this letter as a long overdue reply.

I have been watching movies for the last 15 years or so, but I started paying attention to the background score after I watched Batman Begins, a movie that has since remained my favorite of all time. It brought out a side in me I had not known before; a side that came alive to the sound of music. When tears followed some of those times, I knew it wasn't a sign of weakness, but of the delight in complete vulnerability to music. The track 'Eptesicus' could evoke this feeling more strongly than any else. I know that feeling so well today, yet find it hard to explain.

It's like a force that sleeps deep within all of us most of the time, which wakes and responds only to the right notes. Tiny surges of electricity are felt from head to limb, and the body seems to elate on finding something to resonate with. Somehow I think Harry Potter felt it when he first held his wand; or what Erik (Magneto) felt it when he's able to move the antenna. A sense of infinite power engulfs your mind.

Since then, my mind automatically paid attention to the score of every movie I saw, and I made it a habit to collect them, and listen to them on my mp3 player. I reserved 'Eptesicus' for the moments of particular despair. And it worked every single time. I sailed through countless storms, and your music weathered them all.

With time, I learned to understand what the music was about as well. The score for the Batman trilogy always had a reinvigorating effect, and seemed to tell me to hold on, and stand resolute in the face of everything. Man of Steel, as I'm sure you intended it to be, was about Hope. In fact when I went jogging with that score playing, I felt like I could fly, with the confidence only Superman can emanate. And speaking of jogging, 'Injection' & 'Bare Island', made me run that extra lap. When I was in a hurry, there was nothing like 'Mombasa' for a spring in my step.

The story of how you came up with the Interstellar score is so apt, as the father-daughter relationship is the part I remember most fondly - exactly what Christopher Nolan wanted.

The single biggest influence recently was that of 'Why do we fall?', which empowered me during a crucial time in business school.

 So you see, it's not just that I love your music. With every passing day, more facets of my life have Hans Zimmer written all over them.

Last November when I was in Wroclaw, Poland - I thought I'd woken up to the greatest day of my life, because I thought I was attending a live concert of yours. Unfortunately it turned out to be only the name of the concert, with someone else attempting (and failing) to perform your great work. I'm still gathering pieces of my broken heart since then.

But I have not given up hope. Who knows, you might come to India one day, or nearby? Regardless, I just want to thank you from the bottom of my heart, Sir. I don't believe in God, but I believe in you and your music.

Love,
Someone more than just a fan

EuroStory 4: Granada & Me

“I’m going to Granada tomorrow, and I’ll join you guys in Seville day after.”

The response was just silent nodding, and nothing else. There were no explanations sought, which frankly was a relief.

Next morning, we headed to the Madrid railway station to buy our respective tickets. One thing you should know about Spain, France and Italy, is that in these countries the Eurail pass doesn’t entitle you to hop on any train like the swing in your playground. You need a reservation for almost every train, and we were hoping to get them at the last minute. Unfortunately, we couldn’t; and after a few drowsy minutes of walking and talking around, we realized that buses are still an option.

After confirming that bus tickets were readily available to both Seville and Granada, it was time for us to part ways. Up till that moment I was excited; finally some freedom! But when my one of my friends hugged me goodbye, I honestly felt a little scared, like I was a soldier going to war, with misery lying ahead. One might argue it isn’t a big deal, as I was joining them back in a couple of days, but it was. My day out in Malmo was just a day out – I always knew that I was going back to my friends by evening. This was me venturing out into a new city, making my own hostel reservation, and sleeping in a dorm full of people I don’t know. I was by no means a seasoned traveler – this was just the second week in Europe for me - and this took some courage I admit.

It was around 7.35 am, and the bus was scheduled to depart at 8 am. There was a restaurant at the bus station, and I could only groan at the menu again. There was no time to lose, and the boccadilo came to mind. To my surprise and dismay, it took me ten minutes to get the waiter’s attention. He was absorbed in catering to the ladies sitting to my either sides. I paid and waited for my sandwich, and the clock ticked faster. At 7.50, I made attempts at telling him that my bus leaves in 10 mins, give me my goddamn sandwich. But as Murphy’s Law would have it, he didn’t understand English – and my sign language wasn’t effective enough. This time I didn’t wait for anyone to come forth and take pity – I asked one of the ladies. And by 7.58 I grabbed my sandwich and ran like the wind, because it’s not India, and 8 am means 8 am. Huffing and panting, but more importantly with my sandwich – I boarded.

The entrance to the tour

There was no liquid courage, and I kept to myself for the whole journey. The first thing I saw once I got off the bus at the Granada station, was a tourism counter with bright Apple monitors. In my quest for randomness, I had done close to zero research before setting out.  The Alhambra, a palace and a fortress, was the most popular point in the city. The guy at the counter was good at what he did, and I found out the fortress was off limits but there was a tour close to the palace. Panoramic colorful shots of this tour were on display on the screens. When I asked if I could go on my own, he went – “You could, but see these roads?” A series of insanely fast clicking and zooming later, he continues – “How they twist and turn? It’s very easy to get lost in there.” Two minutes later he was taking down my reservation for a cycling tour worth 30 euros, because tourist and gullibility equal cha-ching.

After checking into my hostel and taking a nap, I left for my grandiose cycling tour. I missed the right stop and was already getting late, so I ran the last half mile or so, enthused and excited. But the cycling tour had only one applicant, so I was forced to switch to the walking tour.  And to my shock, they didn’t return any euros: it cost the same. Walking tours all over Europe are mostly free. But time was running out, and the sun was beginning to set, so in the earnestness to make my trip to Granada worthwhile, I took it.

 

There was only one English speaking person in my group, a French woman whose English speaking pace could give the Sloths from Zootopia a run for their money. The guide smiled more than the average Air hostess, as she droned on about the origin of the city, relation to pomegranates, and how the architecture of the city culminated from the Arab-Christian animosity. It was interesting to a certain extent – about 20 minutes, maybe. The roads weren’t as labyrinthine as I was led to believe. But the walk is definitely one of a kind, and the sunset view of the Alhambra was beautiful.

Before starting the descent back to the city, I saw another tour guide, just standing in her blue-outlined shades, short blonde hair with pinkish streaks – just lost in herself. My tour guide came to her with the slow French woman and made a joke on Italy (which meant the cool guide was Italian), to which she continued giving her impassive, indifferent look. So obviously I ditched my original guide, introduced myself to the other, and walked back with her. We conveniently put the history of Granada aside and talked about ourselves.

Later I walked around the city, which turned out to be more posh than I imagined. The Italian guide had given me directions to a value-for-money tapas bar. Tapas, simply put – is chakhna in Spanish – i.e. food you eat while drinking. The food and wine were delicious, but I can’t say it didn’t feel odd to be the only guy sitting alone at a table. It was time to call it a day, and I went back to my hostel. The room was twin-sharing, unlike most dorms throughout Europe which have 8 to 10 beds on average. The other bed remained vacant, and so did most of the rooms in my corridor. There was no sound or sign of life. That night I missed my friends. If you want to travel alone, there is a way to go about it, as I discovered later with practice.

There is nothing of note from Seville I want to write about, where I spent my next couple of days, back with my friends. But I’ll remember it for introducing me to the best pizza I’ve ever had. (Italy couldn’t compete since I couldn’t visit)

We headed back to Barcelona to board our much awaited flight to Ibiza. I didn’t think the biggest party place on the planet would have much in store for someone who doesn’t like parties, but my friend sold it to me by showing pictures of the beaches during the day. So we reached Barcelona airport before midnight, waiting for our early morning flight, and planned to sleep in the airport itself.

After dozing off somehow in the uncomfortable seats, with dreams of sunshine and beaches in our heads, it was finally time to fly! People were clad in beachwear already, at the airport itself. Goodbye grogginess, hello excitement!

Only while getting in line for boarding, I discovered that my wallet was gone. Goodbye wallet.

EuroStory 3: From Copenhagen to Madrid

After an eventful first week in Copenhagen that included a day out in Malmo, it was time to pack and leave; the rest of Europe was waiting. Having attended a total of one and a half lectures, we figured we had learnt enough for the next three months.

My travel buddy is quite fond of supermarkets, especially before any Eurail journey. She introduced me to all kinds of energy bars, and gave me the idea of picking up a delightfully affordable bottle of wine with bread, cheese and chips. A few hours into the journey, the train stopped and there was an announcement that we all need to empty the train, and go onto the deck. Deck?

Me - Relaxation level 99

As it turns out, the Danish-German border crossing is quite fascinating. The Baltic Sea lies between the two borders, between which a ferry shuttles. The entirety of the train moves onto the ferry, and comes out back on the track when the ferry reaches the other border. And while this happens, the passengers of the train have the fortunate luxury to be on the deck of the ferry. The cherry on top for us was that these 45 minutes coincided with the sunset. It was at this sunset, with a little liquid courage from my wine, that I mustered the guts to talk to another passenger for the first time. My friend was away having a smoke, and there was this girl gazing at the sinking sun alone. To my delight she was interested in books, and narrated bits and pieces about Swedish Fantasy fiction.

We dumped our luggage in Frankfurt and began the herculean task of packing for the next two weeks into the limited space of our backpacks. We were to leave for Spain in Vueling, and had another flight scheduled within Spain with RyanAir, an airline that makes up for its cheap prices by charging a penalty for as much as a sneeze inside the flight. Trust me, a 10 kg limit is far from comfortable, and more so if you’re a guy. Some of the clothes packed by the girls in our group could be folded to a point like a tissue, at which we could only longingly gaze. One of us actually ended up packing a hand towel instead of a normal one, to save space. My own compromise was on the gifts/souvenirs I carried, and I hope others don’t make the same mistake.

Eventually, we all made it through the flight and successfully sidestepped the penalty traps, and we checked into a hostel for the first time in Madrid. There aren’t many moments that stand out from the rest and are firmly imbibed into my memory, for two reasons: One, traveling in a group was not working out for me very well. And two, finding good food was quite a struggle for me, and isn’t good food the cornerstone of a great day? It is for me. Then again, the bright and shining moments of my time in Spain are also credit to my compadres.

Utterly famished, when we walked towards the nearest plaza on our first day in Madrid to fill our stomachs, reality hit me in the face. As my friends comfortably settled into one of the food joints, my vegetarian eyes could only look at the menu, squirm, and walk away. From what I saw, the prominence of meat in Spain is more visible than anywhere else I’ve been too. They all decorate almost every restaurant by hanging a countless carcasses like they’re Christmas lights, and every day is Christmas in Spain. But hey, you gotta eat to live. So after a fruitless exploration of the rest of the plaza, I chose a cozy looking café, and decided to get one of those long-thin bread sandwiches on display, called baguettes, or bocadillos in Spanish. The task turned out to be much harder than I thought, as the barista didn’t speak English.

I always thought that the capital city of a country would be the most metropolitan and hence well versed with English – however this isn’t the case with Madrid, as Barcelona pips it in this regard. Anyway, coming back to the café – I was vehemently shaking my head at every kind of meat she was picking out, and muttering ‘no meat’ ‘no meat’. In the end, a woman from a nearby table took pity on my predicament and offered to translate, and voila – I had a bocadillo with tomatoes and cheese. It wasn’t much, and I couldn’t help thinking – two more weeks of this.

Besides the food, Madrid was beautiful. You can be walking across the narrow twisting and turning roads that are a feature of Spain, and next minute you could be on a highway lined with majestic pristine structures and trees. And the cultural combination of sangria and Flamenco was courtesy of my friends, who made the enquiries and plans around it, and we were all left quite awestruck by the passion and energy radiated by the tap-dancers.

Flamenco!

In contrast to the Danish and German folk, the Spanish are a little less bothered about fitness. My own curvilinear paunch is giving me a ‘really, Kishore?’ look, so I’ll explain. It is not an uncommon sight to see an aged woman running through gales and snow in Europe, generally. They could put an average Indian youth to shame on a trek. So at first glance, these Flamenco dancers would appear a bit heavyset. But when the music starts, it’s poetry in motion.

Football was one of the things I was really excited about before going to Spain. If the mere sight of a football stadium gave me goose bumps in Malmo, you can imagine what I was going through on our way to Santiago Bernabeu, home to Real Madrid football club for a stadium tour. From the breathtaking panorama view of the stadium from the top, through the interactive audio-visual halls to the hallowed dressing room of the one and only Cristiano Ronaldo – it was just magical. You cannot help but feel overwhelmed when you realize; this is where the likes of Ronaldo, Zidane and Cristiano have made history. Easily the best 18 euros ever spent.

And yet, despite all this, I felt I was missing out on something. Not that my company was intolerable, but it was evident that whatever the group (and for that matter - any group) decides as a whole, I’m not going to be happy about it every time. And there is little room for randomness when you’re traveling in a group, because you have to stick together. Sure you could say that nobody needs to stick together 24x7, and I am always free to do what I want – it isn’t quite so. This is largely because, our time in Spain was completely tied up beforehand. We had to take flights in and out of Spain from Frankfurt, because the trains for the same routes are both long and expensive. And even within these two weeks, we had a RyanAir flight to Ibiza and back to the Spanish mainland, and three of us had tickets to watch a football match in Barcelona.

This tight schedule greatly undermined the mystique Europe held in the near future for me, as I don’t plan that long ahead for anything. So why did I agree to this? I was hit by a whirlwind of tasks together while this part was being planned, and I just agreed to whatever everyone else had decided.

However, I did see a window of opportunity. While the others had Seville as their next stop, I decided to go on my own to Granada for a day, a city couple of hours away from Seville.