Game of the Year

19th Mar '13
Some MPs are crying foul over the names of some fellow parliamentarians: their last names sound Serbian. Never mind that they may not be Serbs. Nationalism is on a high, said Vjeko. I told him it reminded me of a wedding party I saw in Split last year: the couple was being cheered on at the steps of the main cathedral, their relatives and friends were dancing, and in the background, someone was waving the Croatian flag. I was told people are asserting their patriotism at any given opportunity. People need to be sure of who you are, your allegiances. Loyalties cannot be suspect.

Especially not at this time, when there's going to be a football match between Croatia and Serbia in a matter of days. The game, a World Cup qualifier, is the first between the two sides in at least 10 years. It is to be held in Zagreb, and Ognjen told me Serb supporters would not be allowed to enter Croation territory to attend the match. There's no guarantee for their safety, especially if Croatia loses the match. As it is, matches between rival clubs within the country have often triggered violence, so one with the (former?) enemy would not be spared, he pointed out. I was reminded of the soccer war between El Salvador and Honduras in 1969.

The day of the match
The game between Croatia and Serbia took place while I was in Belgrade. Walking back to the hostel, I passed bars and pubs with flat screen TVs mounted on walls and scores of eyes glued to them. The same was true of the hostel, where I found one of the receptionists standing behind his counter.  The other one, however, had his back to the TV and was surfing the web.
'I'm back in time it seems.'
'Yes!' the first one said to me. I looked at Max, the one on the computer, and asked why he wasn't watching.
'Why bother? Serbia is going to lose.'
'How can you be so sure?' I asked.
He turns towards me, 'The Croatian team is ranked way higher than the Serbian one. The stadium is filled with Croatians, and there are no Serb supporters. So what do you think?'
'Yea but who knows? Things can happen, no? Maybe the lack of supporters might spur them on, you know, reverse psychology and all..'
'Uh huh.'
'What do you think?' I ask the first receptionist (whose name I've forgotten).
'I think there's no saying what would happen. Serbia might win.'
'That's such a typically Serb position. We're always hoping against hope,' Max countered. 'Don't get me wrong, I love my country. But I know when to call a spade a spade.'
'OK, but I'm not Serb..what do you have to say about that?' We waited for a response. Max went back to what he was doing.

After the first half, Serbia was down 0-1. Sometime into the 60th minute, Croatia gave the Serbs what they were waiting for: a guaranteed exit. I could not watch anymore. That night, the streets of Belgrade were quiet.

The next night..
I met Nikolai in his pub behind Novi Sad's famous Cathedral. At some point the game took centrestage in our conversation.
'Did you watch it?' I asked.
'Yes, we lost 2-0.'
'Oh well.'
'Too much attention was given to it anyway. You know Serbs weren't allowed to attend the match?'
'Yes, security concerns and all. I also heard that the Croatian side had a lot of media attention while the Serbs conducted their training under tight security and a media blackout.'
'I don't understand..why does a football match have to be politicised? I have Croatian friends, I have Bosnian friends. Why does it always have to be 'us' against 'them'?'
'I heard similar rumblings in Zagreb. Nobody wants another war.'
'The politicians do. The other thing is this: Serbia has talent in other sports, but they never get as much attention. Everything is focused on football even though we don't do well in it.'
'Sounds familiar,' I offered.

Towards the end of my trip two weeks later..
I was walking down from Ognjen's apartment to the main square. Nothing much has changed here from the last time I was in the city. The same cafes, the same pubs. I went past a chocolaterie, and made a mental note to drop by before flying back to Singapore. A few doors down is a pub, whose tables outside were empty. I caught sight of a blackboard stuck to a wall close to the door. On it were the words 'Hrvatska i Srbija', and under it, 'GAME OF THE YEAR!'

Ognjen was probably right. It could have been very ugly, if Croatia had lost the match.
 

Spring on a break

I returned to Zagreb for the second time in mid-March. Strangely it felt like I'd come back to a city I know very well. I walked around without the curiosity of a first-time traveller. I knew which corners to turn to get to a destination in the shortest time possible. Heck, I'm sure I could have given directions to a lost tourist as well.

The temperature on the day of my arrival was 15 deg C, the warmest it had been in days, as I was told. Little wonder then that Vjeko was most amused seeing me in a leather jacket when we met in the late afternoon.
"How often do you wear it in Singapore?"
"Never, of course."
"Ah. It's your journey jacket then."
I liked the sound of that.

The mercury dipped the very next day, as I left for Belgrade. Coupled with days drenched in rain or speckled with snow, the temperature hovered between -2 and 6 deg C for the most part of my journey around the region. Everywhere I went it was the same lament:
"This is nasty weather!"
"We're not supposed to still be getting this much snow now!"
"There were days in February when we had sun. Who knew it was because this was coming?!"
"What are you doing here?"
"I feel sorry for you."

It was the same routine everyday: rub sleep off the eyes, turn on wifi, check the latest temperature, peek outside the window for a confirmation.

Zagreb's main square, 3rd Apr '13

I have to admit I was not really perturbed by Europe's meteorological problem. Granted, the most annoying thing about the weather was the fact that I had to spend a few minutes putting on a few layers before stepping out (returning to Singapore and walking around in just jeans and a tee left me feeling naked for some days). Otherwise it was yet another experience for me. One morning in Novi Sad, someone marvelled at the fact that a marathon was to take place in the city. A check on a mobile phone revealed that it was -1 deg C at that moment. So this is what going below zero feels like, I thought quietly to myself. I could have said it out loud to perhaps elicit a few chuckles. After all, I was the only foreigner around from the tropics in the distant East. But judging by the company I was keeping, it was a better idea not to try my luck. The other thing I discovered was how blood quickly rushes back into exposed palms once the slightest hint of heat envelopes it. This observation was more palatable, and whoever I said this to usually responded positively: "You learn something new about your body everyday."

St Mark's Church in Zagreb, 4th Apr '13

I returned to Zagreb on the 3rd of April. On one day while I was away, I was told the city received 15 centimetres of snow (didn't sound too bad to me) and I was forewarned to expect some as well. I suppose the snow got tired of falling by the time I got back. Zagreb was on edge, trying as quickly as possible to melt remnants of the white stuff (get lost! Spring is due any minute!). You could still see big lumps gathered around parts of the city, much like mounds of rubbish in some other part of the world. And as it turned out, the 4th of April woke up to a crisp 11 deg C, inching up at some point to 12 or 13. What a difference a day makes! You could actually see the relief on their faces, and the spring in the steps people took was conspicuous. I even spotted some cyclists in just T-shirts and jeans -- such was the desperation to shed the extra layers as soon as they could.

While we sat down for an afternoon coffee, I remarked to Ognjen how my arrival in and departure from Zagreb had been characterised by sunny days. He agreed and smiled. 'Looks like your city and I have established a peculiar relationship,' I said.

Quite possibly. The very next day, as I was flying out of the city to return to Singapore, the clouds burst forth once again.
 

Everything is free!

At a museum in Novi Sad, Serbia...

Me:         Hi, I'd like a ticket please?
Curator:  Oh, it's free. (Shows me the way into the exhibition space) Please, enjoy the artworks.
Me:         Thanks!

After I'm done with the exhibits, I return to the main lobby and browse postcards at the information desk.

Curator:   (Appears from another room) Please take them, they're free.
Me:          Really?
Curator:   Yes. (smiles)

I pick the cards I want. Then I turn towards the curator..

Me:          OK, so the exhibition was free, and the cards were free..are the paintings in there free too? Can I take one too?
Curator:   (Roars with laughter) Of course! Help yourself!

Collection of Rajko Mamuzić
 It represents works of post-World War II Serbian/Yugoslav painters. it was presented to the city of Novi Sad as a gift in 1972.

In Pictures: Mumbai

Formerly (and still) known as Bombay.

Gateway of India

Capital city of Maharashtra.
A population bursting at its seams.
My images (I might add that I fell sick during the trip so the photographs here are only a very tiny slice of what Mumbai has to offer a visitor).


Dhobi Ghat at Mahalaxmi (below left). I doubt visitors are allowed within the grounds so one has to see it from a bridge across the railway tracks near the Mahalaxmi train station.
On the right is Mount Mary Church in Bandra. It was closed at the time of my visit.





The causeway that leads to Haji Ali Dargah (left), and a glimpse of the shrine from Lala LajpatRai Marg (right).



Games of cricket at the Oval Maidan. The High Court and Rajabai Clock Tower are in the background in the 'Gothic section'.
On the right is a block of apartments in the 'Art Deco district', which also faces the Oval Maidan. Mumbai is second only to Miami in the number of Art Deco buildings. Some famous structures in this style include the Eros cinema.


The Watson (left). I was told this was the hotel that industrialist J N Tata was denied entry on account of being 'a native'. He later built the Taj Mahal Palace and Tower as a form of protest. At the time of my visit (2011), there were plans to restore this building.

Bandra-Worli Sea Link (right). It's officially known as Rajiv Gandhi Sea Link. It links Bandra in the Western Suburbs with Worli in South Mumbai. The bridge is a part of the proposed Western Freeway that will link the Western Suburbs to Nariman Point in Mumbai's main business district.


Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST), or Victoria Terminus (VT), a UNESCO World Heritage Site (bottom left). It is both historic and the country's busiest railway station. 

Recommended duration of stay
I'd give it 4-5 days (in that time you could include a trip to Elephanta Island, which is home to the Elephanta Caves -- another UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Get in/out
Mumbai has one of India's busiest airports and one of the main international gateways to the country. Many international airlines such as British Airways, Malaysia Airlines, Lufthansa, Qantas and Singapore Airlines fly into the city. You can also reach the city with low-cost carriers such as Air Asia and Indigo.

Trains arrive in Mumbai from all over the country.

Read!
A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry (highly recommended)
Maximum City by Suketu Mehta (highly recommended)
Black Friday: The True Story of the Bombay Bomb Blasts by S Hussain Zaidi


 

Amritsar

As the van pulled out of the Amritsar train station to take us to my grandfather's village, an unease quickly started growing from within. What would we say to relatives we had not seen in over 10 years? More importantly, did we really want to have our every movement controlled by their overzealous hospitality?

the Golden Temple at night

A quick check with my mum revealed similar sentiments, and I scrambled to the driver to have him take us back to the city. He was far from amused of course, since we had agreed to pay him a decent sum, but dropped us off at the hotel where I had originally made a booking. It was not anything fancy, but its biggest draw was that it was situated, quite literally, just around the corner from the Harmandir Sahib, or Golden Temple, the holiest shrine for Sikhs. It was originally built in 1574 and rebuilt in the 1760s following an attack by the Afghans. The temple has four entrances, symbolising the openness of Sikhs towards all people and religions. It is undeniably the biggest attraction for visitors to the city. I would suggest visiting it twice, sometime in the day and after dark when the temple is bathed in light.

the entrance to Jalianwala Bagh

Close by is Jalianwala Bagh, a public park where in April 1919 a massacre had taken place. What started out as a peaceful demonstration was seen to be an act of defiance against a ban on all public meetings. Those gathered in the park (some estimates say up to 20,000) were shot at on the orders of British Brigadier-General Reginald E H Dyer. Official sources said 379 people were killed. Other figures run up to at least a thousand. Historians consider the episode as a decisive step towards the end of British rule in India. The park now commemorates those who died in the massacre. Personally though, I didn't quite like what I saw of this historical site (even if the intentions were noble) because it looks too made-up. Some of the surrounding buildings still bear bullet holes from the incident. A well into which people jumped in an attempt to save their lives is also standing; it is a protected monument and mostly meshed up.

the crowd during the border-closing
ceremony

The other must-have experience while you're in Amritsar is to make your way to Attari-Wagah for the border closing ceremony which takes place every day. The atmosphere is nothing short of carnivalesque, what with the loud music and stalls selling snacks, flags and other trinkets for a fifteen minute display of jingoism on both sides of the border (although I did notice that the Pakistani side was a lot more subdued). When the show ends though, you're likely to see people rush to the gates to meet friends or relatives stuck on the other side.

Of course, what's a visit to Amritsar without good Punjabi food! I found out about Bhrawan da Dhaba (right) from a friend's sister, who recommended it and spoke of (among other things) rotis dipped in generous amounts of ghee. She wasn't far from the truth, but I'm happy to report that my heart stood strong as the butter slid menacingly into my body. My mum and I had two rotis each and a bowl of daal makhni between us, much to the surprise of the guy serving our table. The other patrons were constantly calling him and his colleagues over for more bread, more this or that. My mum and I, on the other hand, sat in our quiet corner struggling with one bowl of daal. When we finally called the guy over, it was only for the bill. Where are these guys from, he must have wondered.
Anyway, the story goes that the brothers who set up Bhrawan da Dhaba had a falling out and one of them broke away and opened another restaurant right next door. I did not go to the other one, so if you do, let me know which is better (if at all). Another well-known restaurant worth checking out is Crystal on Cooper Road. Here you'll find both vegetarian and non-vegatarian options. I personally loved the tandoori fish.

Recommended duration of stay
2 days, 1 night. Enter in the afternoon and leave the next afternoon. This would be most suitable if you're coming from and returning to Delhi.

Getting in and away
Trains for Amritsar Junction leave from New Delhi Railway Station and take about 6-7 hours on the Shatabdi Express.
Flights are mostly to Delhi, though Jet Airways flies to London, Air India to Toronto and Qatar Airways to Doha. There are connections to Central Asia as well.
Buses run from Amritsar to several Punjabi cities, as well as Delhi.

Read!
The Butcher of Amritsar: General Reginald Dyer by Nigel Collett
Amritsar: Mrs Gandhi's Last Battle by Mark Tully
A History of the Sikhs by Khushwant Singh

Scratching the surface of Southeast India

In early 2009, a group of us travelled to Nagapattinam, Tamil Nadu, India, for a friend's wedding. After giving her our blessings, four of us hung around a little longer to see a bit of this part of India. This is some of what we did:

beach cafe

overlooking the Bay of Bengal at The Blue Line

The first stop was the Union Territory of Pondicherry, or Puducherry. It's very tiny on the Indian map, but this enclave was the largest French colony in India! Not surprisingly then, there's a strong French influence in the city, especially in the old quarter. Lose yourself in the rues and boulevards lined with Mediterranean style houses and bakeries.


Sri Manakula Vinayagar Temple

Sacred Heart Church

But don't be expecting something right out of France though--the city remains very much Indian. The central canal splits Pondicherry between east and west, giving the city a dual personality.

Try renting bikes (if possible) to explore Pondicherry. There's very little traffic so cycling around should be quite a breeze.




Next up was Mamallapuram, or better known as Mahabalipuram. This town dates back to as far as the 7th century, and the structures here (mostly carved straight out of granite) are among the oldest existing examples of Dravidian architecture. One of the highlights here is the Shore Temple (right), part of the group of monuments that has been listed as a UNESCO heritage site. Other sites to consider include:

Five Rathas: This site contains five rathas, literally chariots, dating from the 7th century. The sculptures are complemented by some enormous stone animals, including a large elephant.


motorcycle diaries


Arjuna's Penance (left). A giant bas-relief filled with detailed carvings.

Krishna's Butterball is a giant natural rock perched precariously on a hillside. We saw people posing under it as if carrying the rock, or simply sitting under it. We preferred not to take chances.


 

Krishna's Butterball

Getting around: we rented mopeds to take in the sights. Quite thrilling, personally, considering the only vehicle I can confidently control is a bicycle. I'm happy to report though that I caused no accidents (and my pillion was most impressed until she found out I don't have a driving/riding licence).

The final stop for this trip was Chennai, formally known as Madras, which was the departure point for most of us. For that reason, I shall leave the city for another in-depth post if or when I visit it again.

Recommended duration of stay

Pondicherry and Mamallapuram are good for 2D1N each. Of course, if you want to hang around the ashram(s) and see more of Pondicherry, then more time would be required.

Getting around

Pondicherry and Mamallapuram are accessible by road via the East Coast Road. All three destinations are easily accessible via the East Coast Road. It also helps that they are separated by bus rides of a maximum of about 2 hours so you won't be wasting very much time on the road. Buses run between both towns several times a day, likewise to Chennai.

Lviv and its mixed heritage

There’s something peculiar about Lviv. I sensed it from the time I entered the town. It almost felt as if for good measure, Cyrillic alphabets had been stuck onto the board of a building which houses a McDonald’s restaurant along Shevchenko Prospekt, where my hostel is located. A walk around the city over the 4 days I spent there returned me to Poland, Austria, and to a much lesser extent, Kyiv. In fact, I would go as far as to say that Lviv felt less Ukrainian, or even Russian, than Kyiv. It almost seemed as if I had slipped into some other territory without passing through immigration.

Take the city’s historic heart for example. This part of Lviv survived the bombings of the Second World War and the ensuing occupations by the Nazis and Soviets. It has since been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The many arteries reveal several architectural styles that embellish Lviv. Neglect has however raised concerns, as I found out at an outdoor exhibition. Having read the detailed text and walked around the smaller alleys I came face to face with a city whose facades have grown wrinkly, windows peeled, and courtyards pimpled by loose stones. But awareness is growing and the people are making the effort to reverse this trend.

Before I reached Lviv, I was told that the town is a bite-sized version of Krakow in Poland. This should not come as a surprise, considering Lviv breathed Polish air for much of its history up till the mid-1940s. A stroll in the Lychakiv Cemetery confirms this, as one would find many Polish graves (on a related note, this cemetery is part of the tourist trail and is worth your while if you have time to spare). In the early 1940s, Lviv, which is also known as Lwów in Polish, fell under Nazi control. In 1944 it was captured by the Soviet Red Army. Subsequently, it was subsumed into Ukraine following the Yalta Conference. Poles living in Lviv were relocated, and Lviv was populated by Ukrainians with a Russian minority.  

It is little wonder then that pro-Ukrainian sentiments are the strongest in this part of the country. But this doesn’t mean to say that Lviv has totally shed its Soviet past. Look around and you will find Ladas plying the roads; hidden in some small street on the outskirt of the centre is that Stalinist building; there on another street you find a Soviet-style cafe (e.g. Kabinet Cafe) – perhaps for the tourists, or simply the nostalgic. Yet another reminder of the Soviet past is the absence of some houses on Chornomorska Street. In 1956, as Soviet tanks rumbled through the area, several houses came tumbling down. That space is now a playground.

Nevertheless, while Kyiv seems to turn east towards Moscow, Lviv prefers to assert its own identity and, if at all, lean West. The city claims to be the least Soviet in Ukraine, and its cafe culture is but one testament of its Central European credentials. I had firsthand experience in the form of the Lviv Coffee Festival. It was perhaps the highest form of tribute I have witnessed to a beverage that courses through tens of millions of veins every morning and indeed throughout the day. But how did coffee become synonymous with Lviv? Some say it was during its time under the Habsburg Empire that coffee made its debut in Lviv. Other sources say that it was in fact a son of Lviv who opened one of the first coffeehouses in Europe, even if his version of the drink was referred to as ‘coffee, Vienna style’ (with sugar and milk).

As I was winding up my visit to the city, I met a fellow tourist who arrived from Kyiv: a Russian from the city of St Petersburg who was visiting for the weekend. Several times he lamented the fact that the people refused to speak Russian even though they probably could. ‘They’re different from the Ukrainians in Kyiv’, he swore, ’they won’t even speak English!’ I listened and took his observation into account. My own experience suggested otherwise, because the Ukrainians were more than happy to accommodate an outsider (except Russians, perhaps?). Still, I couldn’t understand why the Ukrainians should be speaking anything other than their own mother tongue. I read somewhere that the Cold War ended over 20 years ago...


p/s I'd like to add that the entire Rus (including a much younger Moscow) originated from Kyiv. This is in relation to my point that Kyiv seems to look east to Moscow -- which refers to the Cold War/post-Cold War era.