Tenerife - My holiday home

Flowers grow wildly here, creating a colorful tapestry on the edges of the road; the dividers on the express highway have different shades of green dotted with colorful specks of tiny flowers. One side of the motorway runs parallel to the bluish sea while other side slopes upwards towards the green and brown hills. I have lived in the North of the island of Tenerife for ten years, and during those years all I have dreamt about is to come back to Mumbai, I could never adopt that place, although I cannot deny that it is one of most beautiful cities in the world but still, Mumbai has a special place in my heart and staying in any other part of the world does not hold my fascination. Whenever I had expressed my desire to my guest of moving back to Mumbai, they would always lecture me about my foolishness and implore me to change my mind and live comfortably there forever, but I just couldn’t. I found my peace only when I moved back to Mumbai.

Tenerife is now my holiday home and I visit it whenever I need to relax.

The day I reach the island, I take a walk down the street where my brother owns a store. People are very friendly here and I have known them for many years. Whenever they see me, they come out from their shops to have a friendly chat with me, they try to talk to me in broken English and I in broken Spanish, its fun when some of them will even cross the road from the other side of the road to just plant a peck on my cheeks and a big warm hug, a great feeling! yeah!

This is a small town called Icod de Los Vinos, My brother has a tourist business very close to 1000-years-old tree called ‘Drago Millinario’ (a dragon tree). Just opposite my shop is a plaza which has beautiful plants and trees with the botanical name printed under each tree. There is a small church and also a small cafeteria where they sell cortado, a strong coffee. During my regular walks in this plaza, I am always fascinated by this tree.

While in Mumbai, I suffer the most during the month of May, when not even the AC  can bring me any solace and it is during such moments that I miss Tenerife the most, its’ mild, spring climate with an average temperature of 20degrees centigrade throughout the year. Outside my balcony in Spain, I can see the mount Teide on one side that rises to more than three thousand meters and remains snow-covered for most part of the year and on other side of my house are the grapes and cabbage plantations that slope down gradually towards the ocean. Every evening I watch beautiful sunsets behind my kitchen windows, inbetween my daily chores of cooking and washing dishes.

Tenerife is the city of siestas and fiestas. Our shop opens at 9am then closes for snooze and lunch from 1pm to 5pm and then work a bit more, the day is done by 8pm. This sleepy town comes alive only during festivals which occur throughout the year. Spanish people just need a reason to celebrate, to dress up in their traditional clothes, carry their musical instruments, sing their folk song and dance till late nights.

Tenerife has more than 30 different festivals with Carnivals being the biggest event. The streets come alive during carnival season which lasts for more than 20 days, moving from one pueblo to another within the island. There are parades on the streets, with children and adults, all in festive mood enjoying during the selection of carnival queen in every suburb, drinking, dancing and partying at every lane. Another big festival that we all look forward to is Reye, when people go crazy shopping, and children are made to believe that three wise men had dropped their gifts for them on their way to bless baby Jesus. It fall on 5^th of January and the business that we do on these days can cover our yearly expenses. Besides these there are many more festivals like Corpus Christi, when the streets are decorated with colorful sands and flowers creating a carpets on the road, San Andres, when every slope is occupied with youngsters sliding down on wooden planks, ´Dia de Candelaria´ when pilgrims all over Tenerife walk or trek to a shrine of Virgin Mary at Candelaria and many more festivals celebrated in different suburbs of the city. Cristo de calvario is the festival celebrated in my pueblo.

When in Tenerife, I would enjoy the most when my family would visit me. Many evenings we would walk down Puerto de la Cruz, near the portside and have hot chocolate, Sometimes I would take them to Santa Cruz de Tenerife for shopping and sight seeing and sometimes to South of Tenerife to enjoy the marine sports and night life.

There are many places of interest where one can enjoy with family and friends all day. Many holidays, we would get together in a bigger group and spend all day at the beach or at the park.

Yes, we did have fun and life was good. But then I wasn’t born there, so for me Tenerife will always be a holiday home.

How to get there:


Spain’s national airlines ‘IBERIA’ have regular services to Tenerife. Charter services are also available, any reputed agent can advice you. There are two airports in Tenerife. ‘Los Rodeos in the North and ‘Reina Sophia’ in the south of the island. Frequent buses ply from airport to different parts of the island. Tenerife is also linked to the other six Canary Islands by jetfoil services.

Post card from Darjeeling

I looked out of the bus window. We had arrived after five hours journey. Different shades of green glistened under sunlight. The small wooden cottages behind the lush greenery looked so cozy and inviting. I envied the people who lived so close to nature away from heat and dust of Mumbai. The air was cool and crisp. I wrapped myself with my woolen shawl and got off the bus. I needed to walk, to stretch my limbs. It’s awfully tiring to be travelling in the bus for so long. The scenery was breath-taking and we had passed many tea gardens down the winding road. I made a mental note of visiting those tea gardens later during the day. But first we had to check into a hotel and freshen up. Hotel was closer, just few minutes away but driver had decided to stop for a while.

“Hurry up” said the driver “If you want, you can take a short walk up the hill to see the war memorial, that stands as a reminiscence of the Gurkha martyrs of Darjeeling, who sacrificed their lives for their country in the wars and operations that have taken place since independence." he said, adding, "In 1976, Manish Gupta, the then Deputy Commissioner of Darjeeling, had taken the initiative to construct a War Memorial, to pay homage to the 76 brave sons of Darjeeling who had sacrificed of their life, for the cause of their nation.” explained the driver pointing towards the monument.

We started to walk up the narrow path, and had almost reached the steps leading towards the monument when we were distracted by the train whistle. The toy train came chugging and we stood to watch it roll by, excited like kids even though we saw this train many times, as it kept turning, making several u-turns and passing us from different attitudes of this park, we stood there, stationed at one position, turning our heads in the direction of the train and following it with our gaze.

Some of the other people walked up to the war memorial to get a closer look, but for me train was a novelty and I stood there, leaning against the railings till the train disappeared behind the hills and the whistle faded in the air.

CSAAM April 2011- 'Unsafe World'.

“Don’t ever get married, Maria” said Annie to her sister after her first wedding night, “All men are dogs, a real crazy dogs! They suck the life off you. I feel dirty all over and I have taken bath twice since morning.”

Maria glared at her, letting the words seep in, she had never wanted to get married, not then, for she was quite young. In fact, she had decided long ago that she would never ever get married. But listening to her sister talk about her lawful husband like that seemed so wierd. Were men so violent with their wives too? She had been afraid of men for many years now. Each time, any boy/men had tried to talk to her, her heart would skip a beat, she would feel the heat under her ear-lobes, on her cheeks and a current of chill pass through her bones, she would try to find some ways to escape, making an excuse to walk out, or else shift his attention to some other interesting stuff. She could never take a compliment in her stride, especially not from men; she knew men had only one thought in their mind and that all the conversations would finally lead to sex.

During her school years too, she was a loner and had a very low self esteem, she hated long lunch breaks during which while her school friends laughed and played, she would prefer to sneak down to the nursery section of the school and watch the tiny tots in their activities. Children were real time-pass and they gave her all the pleasure and happiness, she believed that only children’s smiles were innocent and pure; the adult world was too cruel for her to adjust.

Nobody had told her about good/ bad touch when she was barely five years old. With father always in and out of hospitals, mother was too occupied nursing and taking care of the house. “Go out and play, there is too much work to do, you are making too much noise at home, go to the stairway and play out there.” Her mom would scream each time she took out her dolls to play.

So, most of her time she played on the stairway which had long veranda, enough space to run and scream and came home only to eat meals or to sleep, there were four more girls of her age in the same building, with whom she would play and they were her friends. They would play hide-n-seek, or slide down the railings of the stairway or walk down to the building compound to play some out-door games. The building had many men visitors. They were dhobis, watchmen, postmen, plumbers, hawkers, electrician, etc. with whom they often inter-acted. Some of them would offer lollipops to them and then sit with them on the staircase and relate to some expressive fairy tales or songs. The five-years-old never understood that good touch from a bad touch and thought it was the part of the game.

A game that affected their performance at school and they were listed as ‘duffers’ and ignored by teachers who had no patience with them. The teachers punished them for their stupidity and their inability to understand simple explanations during school lessons.

When Marie’s father passed away, they moved away from that neighborhood and migrated to another town. She never went back to meet those friends, never had an opportunity to keep in contact with them. But the fear of strangers clung on in the Meta of her life and subconsciously, she developed the hatred for men.

“All men are like that only” she said to her sister, Annie.

PS:

World is unsafe, especially for girls who are little and don’t understand good/bad touch which comes to haunt them later in life as it shapes their life to adjust in the ‘perfect’ world. Read the bloggers’ stories, survivor’s stories and advice from experts who have come together under one umbrella to talk openly during this Child sexual abuse Awareness month.

more resources on Child abuse at
Sexual abuse in India
Enfold Proactive health trust 
Child protection in India
Practical advice to parents
Centre for prevention and healing of sexually abused child

Wordless Wednesdays

A child understands it naught but participates........ to be in the groove!

So this 'World Cup' is ours to keep for next four years.

Throughout the day we sat, nail-biting, although there was lots of food in the house, a special meal to suit everybody’s taste but still, nails are tastier in the times of stress.

This was the Day of Judgment, there was question on everybody’d mind - "Who will win the world cup?"

Actually speaking, I don’t understand this game of Cricket and find it a sheer waste of my time, seems so silly to follow every ball around the screen (I mean field). I am always awed by people who get super-excited as they follow the balls’ movements zigzagging its way in different directions after being whacked by a hard wooden bat, the batsmen running up and down between two ends of the stumps, hundreds of spectators announcing the same score, and all this while I am thinking, "What game is this, that keeps the people’s passion so alive that they scream and hoot as though their life depends on that score". Duh!

“I have better things to do” I mumble, tuk-tuking my head at this madness, until the day arrives when the cricket fever is so high that the temperature in my environment rises beyond my ignorance value. I realize that this is neither one of those 1000 odd ODI matches that are playing on TV 365 days a year, nor those IPL matches that people keep betting on.

I am distracted and slightly interested.

This is the most important ‘The World Cup’ match (I am told) and I learn about it only after I see the excitement in everybody’s faces when they talk about that war-like-match between India/Pakistan. Whenever Indians talk about Pakistan, their antenna always shoots upwards into the nether zones, there is some kind of love-hate relationship between these enstranged neighbors which is never going to be resolved. Everybody was talking about this match, so I googled a bit but the real tutorials came from some kids in my building who updated me about it during my evening walks, they educated me on its importance for India, and then there was also TV, Twitter, social media, all breathed cricket who spoke nothing but cricket and my interest had sowed its seed.

I learnt about the passion of cricket in India, when I saw the crowd outside every electronic store. Walking down the streets of Bandra, saw hundreds of people crowded around a store. "What can the matter be?" I wondered as I approached to investigate. I discovered that all were glued to the TV in the store watching a cricket match. "Oh dear!!! What a craze!!!"

On the day of ‘The World cup match’ my friends came over. (This was one more excuse to spend the Saturdays with my friends) We chatted, we played cards and watched the match munching on snacks and drinks. My cousins were in contact with me on Blackberry and their conversation/ comments added zing to our party. At regular intervals they forwarded the messages which I would share with my friends at home. This was an added advantage as a stress buster (not for me, but for my friends).

The current Cricket World Cup situation  between India versus Sri Lanka is this.... India (Ram) married World Cup (Sita) in 1983 and in 1996 SriLanka (Raavan) took away Sita (WoldCup). Now after 14 years of Vanvaas, they meet again and you know the results..! One of the forwards posted on my BB

But the stress was there throughout the game, my friend who is a cricket fan didn’t want to see the match till it was ‘safe to watch’, she wanted the game to end before the 50-overs, saying - "playing till the last ball is very stressful". She cursed the players who got out and cheered the ones who scored well. “Hit four! Hit four!” she kept scolding the cricketers, showing her fist to the TV whenever there was no score. When the wickets fell, she covered her face with regrets.

After eight hours of viewing this match, finally there was ‘The Six-er’ a brownie point that spelled ‘Victory’. There was hugging sessions in my room, with my friends laughing loudly, congratulating each other. We watched, we celebrated with billions of images with equal euphoria and merriment.

We decided that it would be fun to go to Carter road for the celebration, we dressed up to go to a coffee shop by the sea-shore and was surprised to see that there was a midnight party in every lane, with sweetest traffic jam and the processions of dancers and singers, all waving India flag, screaming and hooting till their throat crackled. There were small children, old people, young and middle-age, all came out of their homes to be on the streets, to greet each other, to see and to be seen.

Everybody had Indian flag to wave showing their National pride in their victory

All the people were seen sitting on the bonnet, n the roof and on their car windows with their body protuding out from the window (there were some serious accidents too I learnt abour it later)

Some people were quite creative, painted their faces and body to show their happiness.Those people expert in body-painting had world cup painted on their backs, they drove through lanes of Bandra on a scooty, congratulating each other.

This was one big street party and this was day they didn't complain of being stuck in a traffic jam

Yes I was glad that my interest had been aroused and I understood what this excitement was all about. I celebrated the victory with the cup of vanilla crush........ Jai Ho!!

Papas Bonitas

When in Tenerife, Spain, ‘Papa Bonitas’ is the tapa that I have always enjoyed. This is the potato snack served in bars. With a small dainty toothpick, you pick up the small potato and dip into the spicy ‘Mojo’ and munch it slowly savouring the hot and sour taste.

How to make ‘Papas Bonitas’

You take 1 kilo of small round potatoes, prick them with fork and boil them in 2 glasses of water and 6 tablespoons of rock salt. Discard the water.

How to make ‘Mojo’

You have to grind together 1 big green capsicum, 10 green chillies, and 10-12 pods of garlic to make coarse paste. Add 1 teaspoon salt and 1 tablespoon lime juice. For extra flavor, I add herbs like basil leaves and  spice powder.Heat 4 tablespoons of mustard oil and pour the steaming oil over the coarse paste.

While you enjoy your drinks, dip the boiled, salted potato in the mojo and masticate on pungent taste. When you are not concentrating on the conversation, it is natural. The snack is too distracting and tasty too.

ps: I used Snapin's Basil Flakes and Marks&Spencer's Mixed Spice

The week that was……mid March 2011 and my 'FB Status'

Much too much happened during this week, a fierce earthquake that ruined the town of sushi and whales and bombed their proud nuclear plants. Many lives were lost, houses crumbling like match boxes, sea animals suffered too. It didn’t affect me, because I have no one in Japan whose pain I could feel…

You would think that life in Japan came to standstill?. Nah! There you are wrong! It affected few people who lived near the shores, but for others life went on as usual.

I continued to update what was on my mind at FB status regularly. “Life goes on if it doesn't affect us....sensitive are those who ponder over solutions and meditate on how they could help and act accordingly without any expectations for recognitions”. I wrote.

Those who have powers to help were extending their support and if Starbucks was in India, I would have happily had few extra cups of coffee too.

But how could I have helped? I have always been afraid of earthquake and my fear is deep rooted. The fear was instilled in me when earthquake happened during my school days. The earth shook slightly, all children ran down the stair, shouting, screaming, some of them sliding down the railings, some rushing and pushing past me. I had missed my step and had fallen down on my knees, nobody cared nor saw me curled up on floor, they just ran amok in all directions, few children had walked over me, their shoes piercing through my ribs, the pain was intense at that time, my body ached, but I was too proud to cry. I sat still, curled up, till all the children had walked away towards the open ground. Senior nun had helped me walk and join the crowd. Nothing much happened after the earthquake (not that I know of) but the screams and fear had coated me with this emotion of fear, I was not afraid of earthquake but I was afraid of falling down once again and people walking over me,. “For many days after that, I tied my little finger to my mom’s pallu and followed her wherever she went”. wrote I on my FB status remembering that incident. It was the security I felt being close to my mom. Every time mom went to loo, she untied my finger, but I continued to wait outside, waited to hold on to her pallu again.

Now as I sit here, I feel the same fear for those children who will know the pain the first time, although I have not yet seen any pitiful faces of Japanese people. World is awed by nation’s quiet dignity.

"Yet, it is also the response of the Japanese to catastrophe, told to us in shards of stories of shared blankets, patient calm and decorous lines of waiting people, that has stirred us.

A petrol pump attendant apologises profusely for not having fuel to long waiting lines of motorists where no one cuts in or bellows in frustrated anger. Those in food queues take just enough so as to leave some for others. In everyday life this is nice, in distress it is astonishing."

Had it happened in India, we would see everybody breast beating, self-pitying “Why us?” cries openly on all TV channels. “Shame: an ornament of virtue to remain within boundaries, without which one stands bare of all its glory” was my FB status to express that feeling.

After the earthquake, many NRIs returned to India. Why didn’t they stay back and help the people in the best of their ability and show their moral support for people in need? Why run back to India? “How far can we run away from our problems? They have this cunning habit of clinging to us and following us wherever we go. It is only when we stand still, face it, snarl back, catch it by its tail and dust them off, that they decide to walk away...” said my FB status..

Life goes on…There is more political drama back home…but then that is another story.

Till then FB status continues to wonder what's on my mind “The little terrorists are back again with their fiercely looking water guns”…holi hai!!!

Pass me the paper bag!!

I said 'NO' to polythene.

Today plastic bag stares at me,

"take me"

I say "No"

 disappointed, it crumbles,

Wrinkled,

Walks back into in another plastic bag...

Youth For Seva Environment Week - One Step a Day

'The F Word' by Mita Kapur. (book review)

The

'The F-Word' by Mita Kapur is the book I am reading during my weekly bus trips from Bandra to CBD, Belapur (at home I am too obsessed with twitter n facebook, visiting links and blogs which hardly leaves me any time to read the printed hard bound book, Alas!) and Mita takes us through her food journey with memoirs that are delightful to read.

Excerpt

*"You are greying at the temples. Shouldn't you color your hair?"

"No. I want my age to show. It's about growing old gracefully"

I looked at him. "that quite an bulge in your middle" I saw the picture in his eyes- a girl in a floral white skirt and a flimsy blouse, waiting on the steps of her house. He would arrive the moment Ma left for the hospital.*

Memoirs like these and those of her trips through Lucknow/Jaipur streets savoring the kababs or her trips to Amsterdam, talking about her experience during her travels and their signature cuisine is what makes this book interesting.

*A warm aroma of cocoa beckoned to us from the cocoa-making factory, along with sink-into-the-mouth cream puffs at the charming local bakery. We saw different types of cheeses with their odours and overpowering tastes, and a live show on how wooden clogs are made. We tried them all, the cheese and the shoes. The cheese won, obviously.*

There are many recipes that I have book marked for future use and am planning to try some day, when I have some guests, or maybe when I am invited for 'Share a plate' party.

One another blogger, Monika Manchanda, who is now my friend after our Lavasa trip, also wrote a review at her blog, saying that she heard about this book from her friend Kiran, she quotes

“The first time I heard of this book was from Kiran who said that this book got her into kitchen she was all praises of the book and being a foodie having cooking as one of the hobbies it promptly went into my must reading list…”

But Kiran responded on twitter by saying “I was very upset because I mailed mita kapur a gushy gushy letter about how it had inspired me to try cooking & got no reply”

I had met Mita Kapur during the Jaipur lit fest and knew that she is quite busy woman and she must have recieved lots of fan mails after her book was launched but not replying to her fan mail is quite rude. I think so too.

Anyways, everybody have their own reasons for not replying to fan mails. *Pinching myself to reality*

Where was I?

Ah..this book on cuisine…I was impressed....

Just few more pages to go and then I shall be in the kitchen trying some of those recipes…..come over if you wanna try..I intend to follow the recipe and cook those Mita’s words that skip out from her book into the hot pot….of tasty meals

Potato chipstixs

My co-bloggers and I, we walked on Lavasa promenade, whiling away the evening hours, watching the sun set, clicking pictures in Bollywood styles, freezing the smiles under Sayadhri hills when suddenly we were distracted by the lady at the far end, leaning against the railing facing the lake. She was eating spiral potato twister.

“Hey… What is that”

“let’s go there to have a closer look”

“I think it some kind of kabab on skewers”

“I dare you to go and try her stuff” I said thinking it would be fun if she dared. We were in crazy mood and R went halfway, had a closer look and came back.

“Nah!” she said, “Let’s go and buy it, I am sure it might be available some where on the promenade, there are some kiosks down there.”

And so we walked back towards the kiosk ‘Twisteez’, ah there it was. We watched in amazement as the chef took one large potato, poked a skewer through its belly and put it in the chopper. The potato auto-rolled on its skewer chopped by a sharp knife into a spiral shape. He submerged the spirally chopped potato into the fryer and voila.

A chipstix - fried potato with a twist.

“What flavor you want?” said the chef.

“Dried mango flavor”

“No, let’s try mint powder”

“How about mixing all the different flavors”

Confused, we decided on just salt and pepper

The aroma of the potato heightened the hunger pangs. Potato has a universal admiration from young and old alike. There is no reason to watch the clock or the diet when a lone potato stares at you. I plucked a tiny piece from the skewer and dropped into my mouth.

Hhhmmm! Yuummmmm!! Always the best!!

The crunchy piece melted in the mouth after a soft bite, coating the tongue with salt and peppery taste.

“I wanted more of that chipstik, actually all of it, maybe I should order one more? Huh?”

But the diet clock whispered at the back of my mind “Stop, you just had your lunch one hour ago, beware!”

‘Lavasa Women’s drive’ I was there too..but for a different reason...

Without women, this world wuld be a boring place

When I got an invitation from ‘Lavasa Women’s Drive organized by Lavasa in collaboration with the Times of India’ to celebrate the spirit of modern woman, telling me that my opinion counts, that people care to read what I write, and that there is someone out there listening to me, many random thoughts flooded my mind quizzing my position in cyber arena. I was elated with a false sense of pride for this achievement, thinking that I was filtered out from million of bloggers for some unique reason unknown to me and I happily debated with a bloated mind….thinking.. .. I am a strong woman, I am good blogger, I occupy the popular position in the social world, my writing has weight, bla, bla, bla....duh!.... My ego was in the fourth gear, speeding shamelessly. I wanted to share this news with all the people I knew. I was bragging near everyone who cared to listen, till I discovered the real reason behind this event and the seriousness of this ‘Social Cause’

This event was not about me or my ability to write......

‘Lavasa Women’s drive’ was about the creating awareness for early detection of breast cancer in women….

A message with responsibility……

“OVERTAKE BREAST CANCER”

I was bribed into this event with the perks to cover this event as chroniclers of Lavasa Women’s Drive.  (Which I could easily have blogged for free,) since this is the ‘social cause’ very close to my heart, having lost my 3 aunts in a row and missing them terribly even now. But this bribe was no ordinary one. Besides giving me an opportunity to get free screening for Breast, Cervical and Oral cancers at Tata Memorial Hospital, it would also allow me to enjoy the new city called ‘Lavasa’ free of cost. (a place that I was planning to visit since a long time, and had neatly tucked aside twenty grand for this purpose).

I realized that I had a responsibility of posting my message across that screamed loud and clear that ‘Cancer is curable if detected early’. It was an event to help promote women empowerment.

So, on 27th February 2011, when I reached the venue.....

I discovered that there were very large crowd of women who, like me, cared.

I woke up early at 5:30am (which is quite rare) to be at Bandra reclamation grounds that was bustling with positive energies. There were 350 cars participating in the Rally from Mumbai and (I was told) 150 more from Pune. Every car had a message to share.

It was all about saving the girl child and promoting women empowerment.

Comfortably, we drove for 5 hours, in a specious Inova, following the participating cars, cheering the women drivers and their girl-co-passengers on route whenever we overtook their vehicle (they had a map and certain rules to follow. Later, eavesdropping at the promenade, I heard one woman speak about her fright at speeding at 140) We drove through express highway, some 211 kilometers, via Lonavala, Hinjewadi, Pirangut, driving up through western Ghats, behind the majestic Sahyadri Mountains, along the contours of the Warasgoan Lake to reach a complete new world, a planned city of Lavasa, a city with an European crown.
 

Warasgoan Lake

Once there, the atmosphere was emotive.

Women, women, everywhere.

A carnival of music and dance.

Many of the women enjoyed one day carnival and headed back home but me and five other bloggers (two bloggers went back the same day) along with the members of windchimers, discovered the blogging world as we exchanging our stories of the virtual world in the luxurious service apartments where we spend the night as room-mates. Twenty fours hours ago, we were strangers but forty eight hours later, we were blogger buddies who had exchanged stories worth more than thousands of words.......

On the first day, we walked down the promenade, meeting participants and asking about their experiences

All the women were having fun, dancing and singing.......

And bloggers were communicating in their tweeting world. The virtual world were kept abreast with all the events and happening by live tweets of @shaaqT, @anushankaran, @ideasmithy, @monikamanchanda @kiranmanral and @Cemonde

When they were not tweeting, the enthusiastic bloggers would go yakkiti yakkiti yak yak, making interesting comments, sharing their views of their blogging world, it was the best time ever for me. Thank you girls….you were sooooo very adorable.

Although there was much to see, our one-day-stay limited our tourism. We did drive up to Ekkant retreat which allowed me to commute with nature and we visited a bamboo factory called Bamboosa where I purchased a hand crafted walking stick. But apart from that, we just walked up and down the Dasve town, discovering the European architecture and the scenic natural waterfront. (I was told that there is Nature Trail, Christel House, Xthrill, Boating, plant Nursery, convention hall, and adventure tourism which offer camping grounds, rock-climbing, para-surfing, and other water related sports like jet skis, catamarans, motor and peddle boats, fishing and pool volleyballs.

The city was clean and refreshing, steps and potted plants everywhere, with hundred of steps to climb up and down the hills but unfortunately there were no railings anywhere, (I think they forgot that senior citizens and handicaps need support during climbing up/down the stairs) Being hilly city and easily accessible by road, many would also like to cycle around but there were no lanes for cycling, all the paths lining the driveway were filled with flora and fauna (which looked pretty, no doubt about that) but a thought for a lane for mountain bikers would be appreciated (anybody listening?)

And surprisingly, being an Indian town, there were no beggars! Strange!! But that must be because there were no traffic signals. Not as yet! Hahaa!

It is hard to believe that it’s an Indian city, easily accessible to every Indian, with no visa requirement. All one needs is just a desire to stay with the nature, away from the maddening crowd and screeching horns of busy streets.

Just few hours away by road from Mumbai,

A city of dreams where there is sound of music in the air...

I am motivated to go once again.

Maybe I will,

if travel bug bites……..under my tapping feet.

))))))000000)))))))000000))))))))000000))))))))))0000000)))))))))

Co-bloggers who also travelled with me and then blogged
Anuradha one more and more
Kiran
Nisha, one more
Idea Smith, one more
Shakshi
Monika
Shakti
Lavasa Blog