Aoraki Mt Cook

The two days following the Catlins, I went to Aoraki Mount Cook.
To the uninitiated, Mt Cook is the tallest mountain in New Zealand, standing at some 12800 odd ft tall. It may not be among the highest peaks in the world (I do believe the Rockies in Colorado are taller), but it is certainly one of the most treacherous. Climbers routinely lose directions, their way, and even their lives on this mountain. The weather is one of the most unpredictable ones in the world. There might be clouds in the morning, and clear by afternoon. At the time I went there, two climbers had lost their lives there, one Australian and one Japanese, parts of different climbing groups, and their bodies had still not been found. Because the approach to the top greatly resembles the ascent to Mt Everest from base camp, mountaineers attempting to climb the Everest use Mt Cook as their training camp.
It was to this Mt Cook that I went -- or, more accurately, to the Mt Cook Alpine Village, a little village of maybe four or five houses and the Hermitage Hotel, right at the base of Mt Cook. I was to take the Dunedin-Mt Cook bus operated by Citibus Newton, Dunedin's largest bus service from the Octagon. It was here that I waited early Monday morning to be picked up.
The bus came right on time at 7:15am, and I met my fellow passengers -- a dark-haired fellow from somewhere in Europe, a tiny, bent old lady carrying bags and bags of stuff, and an American gentleman called Lee from Missouri. He was delighted to know I was from the States as well, and started telling me his adventures in New Zealand. He'd been to Australia first, then to Auckland, then Wellington and then Christchurch. He had already seen Milford Sound, Queenstown, Doubtful Sound, Fraz Josef -- in other words, all of New Zealand's best attractions. I felt rather envious, but thinking back on the fantastic time I had over the past few days changed my mind. But we chatted all the way to Mt Cook. I, too, was glad to find another American, since understanding the Kiwi accent takes a wee bit of concentration, since I'm not used to it.
The bus driver's name was Mike, and he was a wonderful guide. He provided commentary all the way to Mt Cook. We stopped first at Moeraki Beach, where the famous spherical Moeraki boulders are found (though I couldn't see any of them -- they were further along the coast). The little old lady, who couldn't have been a day under 90, got off and lit up a cigarette. Lee and I stared at her in amazement. She was a great source of amusement to Lee, for she looked so frail but still got off at every stop we made in the 5-hour journey to have a smoke!
Our next stop was the town of Oamaru, which is halfway between Christchurch and Invercargill. It has lovely historical buildings made of sandstone, and beautiful architecture. I explored a little bit of the main street, and had a wonderful cup of cappucino from a local cafe. When we started off again, we were joined by a young man named Scott Preston, who worked in some capacity for the New Zealand Basketball team (though I didn't quite get how). He knew more about American sports than Lee and me combined, and proceeded, for the rest of the journey to discuss sports with Lee. A good portion of this was about cricket, a game that I follow passionately, but the prospect of describing the rules makes me cringe. It is probably one of the most convoluted mainstream sports ever played, not made easy by the fact that there are three main versions of it, but Scott managed it wonderfully. In the meantime, I stared out of the window, enjoying the lovely scenery passing by. One thing that amazes me about New Zealand is how little you have to travel for the landscape to change dramatically. We passed green fields and lakes, and three of the dams in the Waitaki valley, Aevimore, Benmore and Waitaki. After this, we came to a stop in a little town whose name I cannot recall at this point -- Kurow, I believe it was called? Here, Scott got off, and we set off again. Now the landscape changed again. There were still fields, but now, instead of hills, we could see snow-capped mountains in the distance -- the Southern Alps. We passed some of the strange but interesting irrigation devices on the fields, the ones that look like bridges. One of them was over a mile long. The mountains kept getting closer and closer, and we finally stopped at Twizel.
Twizel is a little Alpine town at the base of the Southern Alps. Here, we let off the little old lady, where she waited at the bus stop for her daughter to pick her up. By now, the scenery outside was fabulous. The mountains we were passing were huge, and breathtaking. The driver drove up and stopped at a lookout point above Lake Pukaki.
When we got off, my breath almost stopped. Lake Pukaki is a glacial lake that is a stunning turquoise color, and right behind it is Mt Cook. "This is where most of the commercial photos you see of Mt Cook are shot," explained Mike, the driver. We all took photographs, but honestly, photographs just couldn't capture the sheer beauty of that place. One of my favorite pictures that actually turned out well shows the green water of Lake Pukaki, the pine forest behind it, and the towering Mt Cook behind that.
We got on the bus again and set off again, this time for the alpine village. We passed through the valley, a narrow road winding between enormous mountains. It is so humbling to be at the base of a mountain -- you feel truly insignificant next to such a magnificient spectacle. We finally pulled up at the carpark of the hotel, and here, I bade goodbye to Lee and the other guy -- with not little sorrow, for they had been great traveling companions.
I checked in at the hotel. It was a nice hotel, quite a modern place at the base of the largest mountain in the country! I felt pleasantly surprised. I was given a room on the eighth floor, and accordingly went there. The most heart-stopping moment came when I entered my room. The view from the window was breathtaking. It looked out onto the three peaks of Mt Sefton, Mt Cook and Mt Wakefield, of which Mt Wakefield was the smallest one, and Mt Cook, the furthest. The sun shone hotly onto the snowy slopes of Mt Sefton, whose ice glistened in the sun, as though it were melting. Perhaps it was.
I skipped out again to go for the Glacier Explorers tour, a tour where they'd put you on a MAC boat and go around the glacial lake, scouting around icebergs. We were picked up at the hotel by a young man who looked remarkably like the Australian fast bowler Brett Lee, and went to the Mt Cook National Park. We walked through the park all the way to the lake, which was a good mile away. We got onto the boat, and were off with the other tour guide, a cute Australian called Alan :) We whizzed past the icebergs, the frigid spray from the water hitting me in the face. The wind was chilly, but the sun was blazing overhead, so it overall felt very pleasant.
We found an iceberg which had rolled over recently, because the top of it was white, but the base was turquoise, same color as the mineral found in Lake Pukaki that gives it its characteristic color. This is because, explained Alan, an iceberg imbues the minerals from the lake it is immersed in. When an iceberg is exposed to the sun, the ice crystals in it expand, and lose their crystal-like transparency and become an opaque white, the color of the tops of the icebergs. Some of the icebergs had been out of the water long enough for dirt to collect on them. These formed an interesting combination of black and white.
We zoomed around the lake some more on the boat, and it was a very pleasant sensation to have the cold wind and the freezing spray from the water hit us, only to be warmed immediately by the blazing sun overhead. We went right up to the glacier itself, but not too close, explained Alan, because bits from the glacier keep falling off, and they cause mini-tsunamis on the lake that could capsize the boat. And it would certainly not be pleasant going for a swim in the 2 deg C water of the lake! Not at all, I agreed silently, especially since I'm terrified of water anyway -- swimming in this lake is certainly not going to endear the activity of swimming to me.
When we were on our way back, there was a terrific 'crack!' and we whipped our heads around to see an iceberg break apart. It broke into small bits, some of them miniature icebergs themselves, some of them the kind of crushed ice you'd see in a margarita. The wave that was caused by the iceberg breaking apart almost threw us in the lake. We went closer to the collapsed iceberg, and were hit by bits of ice floating about in the water. It was thrilling!
After some more viewing, it was time to go back. We reluctantly went back ashore, and back through the national park to the bus, which drove us back to the hotel.
When I got back, I felt a little too tired to go walking down the walk to Kea Point, which I'd spotted when we were driving into the hotel, so I decided to go to the Hillary Alpine Center. It has a movie theater and a planetarium -- the southernmost planetarium in the world, they said -- and since I've always had a fondness for astronomy, I decided to enter. The first movie (which I ended up watching twice) was the 3-D feature about Mt Cook -- very breathtaking indeed, and gave me enough vertigo to convince me that mountaineering is just not my thing. The next feature was about space, a planetarium feature, which I enjoyed thoroughly. The one after that, though, was the one I enjoyed the most, a feature about black holes. Since I've always been fascinated by black holes, right from the time I was studying physics in high school, I was thoroughly enchanted by the show. And the planetarium was excellent, so it really enhanced my enjoyment. I loved it. I even met some interesting people, a lady from Oamaru and her friend from Switzerland, and the gentleman operating the theater and planetarium, Lee.
After a thoroughly enjoyable experience, I decided to hit the sack -- I was exhausted! When I went to my room, the sun had all but set, throwing its last light on the imposing peak of Mt Cook.
When I woke the next morning, clouds had covered most of Mt Cook and Mt Sefton. But there was a tiny gap in the clouds, through which the snow brilliantly reflected the sun on Mt Sefton. I was thoroughly charmed. And slowly, as the clouds dissipated, Mt Cook proved once again why it's called Aoraki -- its peak being the only one piercing the clouds and standing out.
I checked out after breakfast, and decided to go for a walk down Kea Point. After wisely checking my baggage in at the baggage counter (for it weighed over 10 lb), I walked down to where I'd seen the entry to Kea Point. It's supposed to be the easiest walk in the region, and it was easy too, for most of it was flat. But It was a long walk! A very long walk indeed, and I was panting by the time I reached anywhere near the end. And my legs were starting to ache, for I'd easily walked 5 miles over rather rough terrain (it certainly was no paved road, and I was wearing Converse sneakers -- not exactly renowned for mountain climbing), and that's where the climb started. The road branched, one path leading to the much more arduous Sealy Tarns walk, the other going to Kea Point. I briefly debated, but the debate was very brief indeed. I would die for sure before I reached the end of Sealy Tarns, so I decided to go to Kea Point. I was a little daunted for this part of it was uphill -- and there were no guardrails. Since I'm terrified of heights (along with water, fire and closed spaces :P), I went up very, very cautiously indeed. So cautiously that a turtle might have overtaken me, not that a turtle would've ever wanted to climb up Mt Cook. But when I reached the end, I was so overcome with a lot of emotions, the primary one being relief, that I almost sank to the ground. But I decided to go to the lookout point -- and my jaw dropped. It looked out onto the glacier (I'm not sure whether that was Mueller Glacier or Tasman Glacier, though), and Mt Cook beyond. On the other side, it looked straight out onto Mt Sefton. And looking at the enormity of the mountains made me feel very humble -- very humble indeed. I almost got a crick in my neck just trying to look to the top of Mt Sefton (since it was closer, it looked a lot larger). After a few dazed photos, I sat on the bench at the lookout point, looking at the stunning (but harsh) beauty of the mountains. A plump baby boy, who belonged to the couple sitting next to me, came over and pawed at my sweater which was lying on the bench next to me. I smiled at him, and he returned a toothless (and adorable) grin.
I sat there for a while, and soon the couple left (with the baby of course). A young girl came up and sat next to me, and I asked her to take a photo of me. "Sure," she acquisced with a smile. Her name was Catherine, it turned out, and she was from Auckland, and she'd come there with her boyfriend Rory. "Quite a thick jersey you have there," Rory said, pointing at the thick sweater I was carrying. No kidding, I thought, wondering WHY on earth had I brought the damn thing, as it only increased the number of things I had to carry. It was so hot up there, a tank top would've sufficed. We chatted a bit more, and then they left. And then there was a loud rumble, and a mini-avalance on Mt Sefton -- I could see small bits of snow roll down. It was really small, and the snow didn't even cross the snowline, but still -- my first avalanche! I was quite impressed, and felt rather important.
After that I walked back, and for some reason, the walk felt much shorter. I almost started singing the song I'd been listening to the most on my iPod, Arigatou from the soundtrack of the anime show Kyou Kara Maou, or alternatively, God! Save Our King. It's a catchy song, and though I don't understand the lyrics except for the word "arigatou" (it means 'thank you' in Japanese), I sang it anyway -- mentally of course, because I didn't want to be ridiculed by the numerous Japanese tourists passing by. I hummed it, though. I hummed it all the way, feeling the cooling breeze brush my hair, which I've decided to leave open, because it's more cooling that way, trust me. I love the feel of breeze through my hair. Keas called out, and there were so many birds! Fat bees hummed, and I exhorted them to sing along with me. I was practically dancing by the time I reached the end of the track, and miraculously I hadn't twisted an ankle or sprained a knee, or had any kind of mishaps happen to me! Whatever people may say, Converse sneakers are pretty okay on the mountainside too.
It was almost time for the bus back, and I made my way to the car park with haste (after collecting my bag, of course). The driver was the gentleman who had driven the bus on the Dunedin First City Tour, and he smiled at me with recognition. His name was Roger, and we picked up another passenger, who turned out to be Roger's son in law from Perth, Australia, named Neville. Neville had been to India many times and Mumbai once, too, so we started discussing the ideosyncracies of the country. And of course, when an Indian and an Australian get together, can the talk of cricket be far behind? He was pleased to know I like Test cricket (that's almost a 'test' of how true a fan you are -- only people who really love the game can like Test cricket). We discussed cricket for some time, and then he gave me tips on what all I could see in Dunedin, that I still hadn't seen. He and Roger were the most delightful fellow passengers I've ever had in New Zealand, and the long 5-hour drive to Dunedin seemed to be very short indeed.
And, in fact, Roger decided to show me the dams in the Waitaki valley. There are three dams, Aevimore, Benmore and Waitaki. He showed us all three in turn, and even stopped so Neville and I could take pictures. He then stopped at Elephant Rocks, which is where Lord of the Rings and Narnia have been filmed, and sure enough, I could recognize what I thought for sure was Cair Paravel from Narnia. It was all so charming!
We arrived in Dunedin at about 7:30pm, which was our arrival time anyway. Roger let me off in front of my hotel, LivingSpace, and I retired to bed with a sigh. It had been a most fantastic, memorable trip to Aoraki Mt Cook!

Otago Peninsula and the Catlins

Over the last two days, I have had a chance to get up close and personal with some of New Zealand's famous wildlife -- on the Otago Peninsula, just south of Dunedin, as well as in the Catlins, a stretch of land consisting of rainforests and beautiful coastline stretching from south of Dunedin to north of Bluff (the southernmost point of South Island). It mostly stretches along the Catlin River, hence the name. Both areas are rich in wildlife, and I got to see some yellow-eyed penguins (the rarest species of penguins in the world), sea lions and fur seals.
I went to the Otago Peninsula first. It was on the Elm Wildlife Tour, a nationally acclaimed wildlife tour, and very highly regarded. I waited for pick-up at the Dunedin Visitor Center at the Octagon, and the small van with 'Elm Wildlife Tours' printed on the side pulled up. A very cute guy with long hair got out and took our tickets, and allowed us on board. He then introduced himself -- he was Tom and the man driving the van was Shaun. They'd be our guides for the day.
The van pulled out of the city center, and went to the northern bypass connecting the two ends of Dunedin around the harbor. We drove past the harbor, the blue waters glittering, even though it was a terribly overcast day.
We passed Anderson's Bay, and moved onto Highcliff Road. It was, as the name suggested, extremely steep and on a high cliff. The sharp drop to the harbor provided some extremely stunning views. We even actually passed 27 McKerrow St, where I had unwittingly based Brendon McCarthy (the protagonist in my book), without even knowing whether the address actually existed. Eerily enough, the view from the neighborhood of the house was exactly as I'd envisioned it. However, the house was not as I'd created it (that would've been really creepy!).
As we drove along, the rain started pelting down. It looked dark and stormy outside as we passed the last inhabited part of Dunedin, and onto Otago Peninsula. We went past green hills dotted all over with sheep. Tom pointed out various plants and animals and birds to us as the van drove through the landscape. "You might notice a strange woolly animal bouncing along the slopes," he said, with a straight face. "It's called a sheep. There are 40 million of them right now in New Zealand -- 10 sheep to a person. But there were more last month -- 90 million." They were slaughtered for the upcoming Christmas, he explained. He also said that if the sheep had an uprising, they could easily overpower the people. "But no worries there," he said, "They have bred themselves into stupidity. They are extremely dumb animals."
After this little discourse on sheep, we reached the Royal Albatross Center, driving along fantastic coastlines and past Port Chalmers, the deep-water port of Dunedin. We got off, and waited for a long time, shivering in the cold and the rain, waiting for an albatross to appear. But none did -- they can't fly without the assistance of wind, and that day was particularly windless. While we waited, Shaun told us something about albatrosses. They live to an age of approximately 40 years, he explained. They tend to mate for life, and take care of their chicks for a whole year. They then spend years at sea, and then come back to raise more chicks. If one parent dies, the chick tends to die too, for albatrosses have to go to sea at least once in two days, and they do this in turns. However, if one parent is dead, then there is no one to take care of the chick for a day, and it dies too.
When no albatrosses appeared, we returned to our van, and drove to another place on the Peninsula. It was a deserted stretch of land, and Tom explained that it belongs to a farmer who lets the folks at Elm conduct tours there. The cliffs there, said Tom, are a haven for yellow-eyed penguins and fur seals, and sometimes some sea lions appear too.
Our group separated into two, and our halved group followed Shaun down the first hill. It was the most desolate, deserted and beautiful stretch of land I've ever seen. The cliffs sloped down sharply to the ocean, and while on one stretch there was a bit of a beach, the other led down to rocks. It was to this cliff that we made our way.
The climb down was treacherous, made even more so by the slippery grass because of the rain. But we made it down in one piece (I wouldn't say safely because some people slipped and fell). And that was when we saw the fur seals. There were scores of them, lounging in the rocks, playing with their pups, fighting over territory, swimming in the rock pools, bouncing on the waves, or just sleeping. They were adorable, and there were so many of them! We looked at them from a wooden hide, and took photographs while Shaun explained their habits and lifestyle. It was amazing.
Next, he took us back up the cliffside -- a climb that nearly made me collapse from lack of oxygen -- and down the next cliffside. This one had a longer path, and halfway down, we spotted -- yellow-eyed penguins! There was one, basking on a rock. He didn't seem unduly nervous to see us, something that Shaun told us was quite rare. There were two more a littel further down, one of which was a young penguin, and one seemed to be its mother. We watched the two for a while -- the mother was preening her feathers with wax, while the child lay on a rock -- and moved on to the beach at the bottom of the cliff.
The beach was made of clean, pristine white sand with ribbons of kelp draped across occasional rocks. It was hard to see in the howling wind and the pouring rain, but the beauty took my breath away nevertheless.
We saw a sea lion make its way to the sea. It would move a bit, stop, then move a bit again till it reached the water. Shaun explained that this was because it got overheated while moving along, and would stop to cool down. We watched it for a while and then moved on to another
cliff, to go to another wooden hide. From here, we watched the first yellow-eyed penguin come ashore. One minute it wasn't there, the next it was, rising from the waters like Venus. It waddled forward, stopped for a while, then waddled forward again until it reached the bushes on the cliffs. From here on, it hopped forward and upward till it disappeared into the bushes. While this was happening, two more penguins came ashore, but these didn't seem to be in any sort of hurry
to go to their nests.
Shaun took us further ahead to another hide, and here we saw furry brown baby penguins, which hadn't molted even once. They were adorable (although they were almost as big as their parents). When their two parents met, they squawked loudly. That's why they're called 'hoiho',
explained Shaun -- 'hoiho' means 'noise shouter' in Maori. The birds always screech when they meet their partners at the end of a day of fishing. We watched the penguins for a while more, and then turned back. It had been a most magical day.
The sun was still up by the time we were on our way back -- almost 9:45pm -- and I could feel myself start to drift off on the way back. It had been a long day! But one that I would remember forever and ever. It was a magical day.
The next day, I was headed off to the Catlins. The Catlins is a stretch of unspoilt beauty of rainforests and wild bush stretching roughly between the Otago Peninsula and Bluff. For the tour, a small van with 'Catlins Coaster' written on it pulled up next to my hotel, and a man
called Jamie picked me up. There were a total of 9 passengers in the van. We were headed to Invercargill, where most of the passengers would depart for a ferry to Stewart Island, and the rest of us would head off to the Catlins.
Invercargill is the southernmost city in New Zealand. It is a small city, fairly easy to navigate with small buildings and straight roads. We pulled up next to the SOuthland Museum, where I saw that the famous 125-year-old Tuatara, Henry, was on display. I went in immediately to
see him.
He was there, sure enough, basking on a rock inside a large glass tank. He looks like an ugly lizard -- all tuataras do -- but they are actually direct descendants of the dinosaurs. They are not lizards at all. Neither are they reptiles, apparently. I read Henry's history with great interest. Apparently he had been very ferocious when he'd first been brought in, but after he had a cancerous tumor removed in 2002, he has calmed down a lot. There was a mate next to him in the tank, and I read that she has laid eggs, and the museum officials are very hopeful of having Henry's progeny. I stared at Henry. He stared right back, unimpressed. In fact, if I hadn't read that he's alive, I would've thought it was a statue. He was still throughout, not blinking, not even breathing. Only a wobble of his throat gave him away. I also read that tuatara are capable of breathing upto only once an hour! I was fascinated, but had to leave.
We picked up three Swiss girls, and left. There were the girls, me, and a Canadian photographer called Jeff left on the tour. We headed off to Waipapa Point in hopes of seeing some wildlife. Waipapa Point is famous (or rather, infamous) as the place of New Zealand's biggest maritime disaster. There's a large reef there, and it was here that a large ship (I forget the name) crashed onto. 10 men were sent ashore to fetch help, as evacuation was impossible due to the rising storm. One of the men made it to the nearby town of Fortrose, and sent off a telegram asking for help, but it was disregarded, and except for those 10 men, everyone on the ship died.
The beach itself was lovely, with pristine white sands liberally covered in drying and hardened kelp and other seaweed. There was also a lighthouse, a stark reminder of the disaster. When we went down to the beach, we saw a large male sea-lion making its way to the sea. It got there and frolicked about in the water for some time, before finally pulling out to sea. We left, too.
From there, we went to Curio Bay, a beautiful bay famous for dolphin sightings. We dropped off one of the girls there, and headed off for lunch, which consisted of a ham-eggs-tomato-lettuce sandwich, an orange, a blueberry muffin and an energy bar. We ate sitting in the bright sun, with the cool breeze from the ocean washing over us, and seagulls squawking around begging for food. It felt wonderful. I got talking with the two Swiss girls, Rachel and Sandra. They told me about their experiences on Stewart Island, while we all fed the gulls. We even got a huge ice cream from the nearby shop. It was wonderful. We didn't spot any dolphins though.
After lunch, we headed off to the famous Fossilized Forest, a petrified forest on the beach. It was wonderful, for it looked exactly like wood, but Jamie assured us it was volcanic rock, which it actually was. It was fantastic. We also spotted some bladder kelp on the rocks, as well as a young yellow-eyed penguin drying itself on the rocks. When we were about to leave, we also spotted a female sea-lion, which is pretty rare in south New Zealand, as there are only about 15 of them.
We left and headed off to the rainforests. We passed the lovely beach of Papatowai, and passed 'Niagara Falls' -- a tiny 1-inch white water rapid. We all laughed.
We finally got to McLean Falls, a wonderful waterfall in the wild bush. We climbed through a sometimes steep trail through the bush, spotting New Zealand's famous ferns growing prolifically in the wild. Some of them even had baby fronds, the thing that's given rise to the term 'Koru'. When we finally reached the falls, we stopped to catch our breath and stare at the beauty of the falls. It thundered down from a height onto rocks below, past beautiful ferns and bushes and trees, forming a little stream that gurgled away into the distance. Birds twittered in the distance, and I felt serene.
We left the falls, and went to Nugget Point. It's a lighthouse on a high, high cliff. We climbed all the way to the lighthouse, and when I got there, my breath caught in my throat. Down far, far below us the sea crashed violently onto the rocks, forming white foam and spray that flew out for miles. Seagulls and cormorants screamed and flew about. A sea lion frolicked in the sea far below (or was it a fur seal?). There were about seven rocks in the sea below us which looked like nuggets, which is probably how the place got its name. The wind howled around us, and I felt like I might be blown off into the sea. It was absolutely stunning.
After that, we headed off to Roaring Bay, a place so called because the sea made a roaring sound when it crashed onto the rocks. It was a small stretch of beach and rocks between two high cliffs. We waited in a wooden hide for yellow-eyed penguins to come ashore, because that's one of the best places for spotting yellow-eyed penguins. But that was not our lucky day, and after waiting for over 30 minutes, we gave up and returned to the van.
After that, Jamie drove us back to Dunedin via the little river city of Balclutha, and dropped us off at our respective hotels. I was exhausted when I got back to my room. But it had been so worth it! Two days of encounters with the wild.

Finally in Dunedin!

I'm here. Finally. I'm in Dunedin!! I've plotted and planned of coming here since I was a teenager, and here I am finally! And right from the time the airplane broke the cloud cover and swooped down to land, I knew I had made the right decision in coming over. We flew over lush green mountains and then equally green fields, and I saw innumberable fat white sheep dotted over the landscape. The whole landscape looked idyllic and timeless. When we finally landed, I was charmed. The airport is on a thin strip of land between two towering mountains, both of which were wreathed in clouds. It looked heavenly.
The ride to the city was equally beautiful, winding through meadows and over streams. Immensely fat sheep looked with mild curiosity at the passing vehicle. Plump cows full of milk grazed peacefully. It was so beautiful, it looked like a painting. We passed through the suburb of Mosgiel before arriving in Dunedin. It's a beautiful city. It's kind of U-shaped, built on the slopes of hills, around a beuatiful harbor. The crystal clear, sparkling blue waters of the Otago Harbor drew my eyes, as did the red-roofed buildings all around. We passed Carisbrook, the rugby and formerly cricket stadium of Dunedin on the way to the hotel.
The hotel, LivingSpace, is a neat little place on Castle Street. I parked my bags there (no check-ins till 2pm, and it was only 9:30am) and went on a stroll. I walked down Castle Street, with mountains looming at the other end, toward Frederick St. No matter where I looked, I found green mountains, huge trees, colorful flowers and leaves, and little paths that climbed up into the hills and disappeared mysteriously into the bushes and woods. I was so charmed, I almost crossed the streets without looking.
Ah, the streets. They almost got me killed, because I looked left, then right, whereas New Zealand works the British way -- right then left. I was almost run over by a car. Thereafter, I looked BOTH ways before even starting to cross. Still, whenever I come to a road, my head swings left almost automatically.
I found the University Book Shop almost immediately. My senses are finely attuned to finding bookstores :) and I found this one very quickly. I made my way to it, and loved it. It was built like a book shop, small and cozy, but it had an impressive array of titles. I found plenty of books I'd like to buy, but settled on a children's thriller by a New Zealand author, because that is something I'm sure I'd never find in Barnes and Noble. After that I walked down George Street to see what else I could find.
It is one of the prettiest streets I have ever seen. It slopes, of course, and walking up and down it is quite a task! I got one of the best workouts I've had since this year began. There were wreaths hanging above the street for Christmas. Shops played carols, and it was just all-out lovely. There were loads of interesting stores. Many were just regular apparel or shoe stores, but some were antique stores, some were curio stores, some were souvenir stores -- and some stores, I couldn't even classify. There were loads of Indian restaurants, and general Asian cuisine. I found a Starbucks and stopped to eat a thai green curry chicken roll and a latte. It had to be the most charming Starbucks I've ever eaten at.
I walked all the way to the city center, the Octagon. It's called that way because it is shaped like an octagon. It's lovely, with a church and historic buildings around it, surrounding a park in the center, with a statue of the poet Robert Burns in the middle. Some seagulls flew around, and some were content to roost on the head of Robbie Burns.
I went to the visitor center and booked a whole bunch of trips I could go on with the help of Izumi, the Japanese employee. In her charming accent, she helped me book a trip to the beautiful Catlins (Cato-rins, she pronounced it as), moved my Dec 21st Taieri Gorge trip to the 26th, and booked me a ride on the First City Tour, a tour of Dunedin on a blue double-decker bus. After that was done, I walked around to kill time till 1pm, when the tour would start.
I started walking up a street -- I forget the name -- right next to the Visitor Center building. It sloped crazily, and I could feel my calves pumping as I walked up. My backpack weighed a ton, too, for it was still full of clothes and books and whatnot, from the trip from Austin. After I crossed maybe three blocks, I decided to turn back and go back to the city center. As I turned for the first time, my breath caught in my throat and I stared. I was so high up, I could see over the tops of buildings, and straight into the sparkling turquoise waters of Otago Harbor. Past that, there rose another set of hills, covered with little houses with red rooftops. I stared and stared. I don't think I've ever seen anything so breathtaking, in the middle of a city. The long, tiring walk up to this point was SO worth it! All of a sudden, I wished with sudden longing that I lived in this city!
I walked back to the Visitor Center for the city tour. The large blue double-decker bus pulled up, and we all boarded it (there were quite a few of us). It then wound down the narrow, charming streets of Dunedin, past buildings, cafes and shops. I've noticed, in general, no matter how beautiful a city, some part of it is invariable seedy. But even the seediest part of Dunedin is beautiful. We went to a lookout point, from where we got a stunning view of the city and the harbor. We saw the greenbelt, which was made specifically to distinguish the residential part of the city from the commercial -- and very beautiful it was, too. We passed Otago Boys High School, a lovely, old-worldly school, the first school ever in the southern hemisphere, I belive. It's a place I've always planned on sending my son to, if I ever have one, so I looked at it with great interest. It looks slightly forbidding, but it's beautiful. Past that, we stopped at Olveston House. Three of us got off for a tour of the house, while the driver went off with the other tourists.
The couple that got off with me was a lovely old couple from Auckland, Ken and Beverly. They were delighted to talk to me and we formed an informal group as we went to the Olveston tourism center. Olveston is an old, old house built for a merchant named David Theomin. He and his wife and daughter lived there several years and entertained guests in parties. There was an internal phone system built in, and anyone could ring for the maid from anywhere. There was also a service lift for all four floors of the house (of which we saw only two). It's been beautifully restored after the daughter, Dorothy, passed it on to the city of Dunedin when she died. Her bedroom, sitting room, the living room, the dining room, the game room, the dressing rooms -- everything was beautifully preserved, and oh-so-charming. On the tour, other than us three, was a family from Sydney. The mother, coincidentally enough, had studied in the business school at UT! We bonded, of course. Her older son played the piano beautifully on the grand Steinway piano in the women's entertaining room, and her younger son reminded me very strongly of my little sister, for some reason. There was also a wealth of Japanese art, ceramics and weapons in the house, of which, a few katanas from the Tokugawa era interested me greatly, especially since I've been watching the anime show, Samurai Deeper Kyo, based right after the fight of Sekigahara and during the Tokugawa shogunate's rise to power. The tour guide was a lovely young lady named Harriet, with a charming New Zealand accent. She thought I was a history major when I nodded my head knowledgeably when she mentioned the Tokugawas. I was forced to admit, with a blush coloring my face that I only knew of it because of reading too many mangas.
The tour was beautiful, and ended when Ken, Beverly and I went to the garage to see the old car driven by David Theomin. I don't know much about cars, but this one dated from the 1920's, and was beuatifully preserved, still shining. After the tour was done, we were picked up again by the double-decker bus and driven away.
We saw the steepest street in the world, Baldwin Street, Otago University, the historic Dunedin Railway Station, and were just thorougly charmed by the time the tour ended at 3:30pm. After that, I walked about a bit more, and returned to the hotel to check in. I thought I'd check in, rest a bit and maybe go out for dinner, but when I sank down on the bed of the tiny but cute hotel room, I felt the exhaustion of the last 30+ hours steep into me. I talked to my Mum, but was feeling too exhausted to go out. Then, as if to make my decision for me, it started raining outside. I somehow changed into sleeping clothes, and fell asleep at 6:30pm -- and woke at 5:30am today! I still haven't eaten, though, so maybe I'll head out now to the closest Subway. Till then, sayonara!

On my way!

I am on my way! On my way to New Zealand, for my well-deserved vacation and a dream come true. Even when I woke up this morning, I found it hard to believe after years of waiting for it, I was finally on my way to New Zealand! It was with some excitement that the thought rose to my mind that when I woke up today, that I'd be going, not to the bus stop to catch the 8:10am bus to Dell, but to Austin Bergstrom International Airport to make my way to New Zealand!
And here I am now, in LAX -- Los Angeles International Airport. I've already checked in, and gotten my boarding passes ready to go all the way to Dunedin, and I'm waiting now at Gate 27 of Terminal 2, where Air New Zealand operates its flights from. I hope it's on time! I don't have a lot of connection time in Auckland, and after Customs and Immigration, I hope there's adequate time left to grab my connecting flight to Dunedin.
One of the things I was nervous about, when I planned this trip, was whether I'd be able to understand the New Zealand accent. I guess it's overexaggerated in movies, but I didn't know for sure. Of course, I've listened to plenty of Kiwi commentators during cricket matches, and never had a problem understanding what they were saying, but still. However, I needn't have worried. If the accents of the Kiwi family of 5 standing in front of me in the line was anything to go by, I'll be having no problems whatsoever. It's just a drawling version of the English accent, so I don't anticipate any major problems.
The family of 5 in front of me consisted of the two parents and their three children (I presume) -- two girls, who looked enough like each other to pass off as twins, and a boy. It was the boy who made me stare, for he bore a startling resemblance to the New Zealand wicketkeeper, Brendon McCullum. He had the same messy blond hair, the same jawline, even the same height (from what I can tell from TV). It was amazing -- I felt compelled to ask him for his autograph! But logic and reason told me that the vice captain of the New Zealand cricket team would not be gallivanting around in Los Angeles when there's an international series in progress against West Indies in New Zealand.
It's been an interesting day so far. I've come from the freezing weather in Austin (how hilarious does that sound?!) to the (relatively) mild weather of Los Angeles. I could actually manage in LA in just 3 layers of clothing, whereas Austin currently requires at least 4 -- one of which is a thick woollen coat. I lucked out in carrying tiny pieces of luggage -- I've been able to carry on my stuff in every flight so far. That saves a TON of time at baggage claim!
Well, I guess I'll end this post here. I'm running out of battery, and I don't really want my laptop to die out on me. I hope my cellphone finishes recharging before my laptop dies. This is it then! I'm off to Dunedin!

Waiting for New Zealand!

It's almost here! The day when I fulfil one of my childhood dreams, and go to New Zealand -- it's almost here! I'm so excited. I've wanted to go to New Zealand ever since I was a teenager. I'm not exactly sure what excited my imagination so about the little country in the southern hemisphere -- a mix of documentaries on Discovery Channnel, a couple of books about the country, and the cricket team (it's one of my favorite teams in cricket), all conspired to get me interested in the little nation of three islands. I've plotted and planned of my visit there for years -- and now, the day is almost here!
I'm at home right now, typing away at my laptop, lying stretched out across my futon, listening to my iPod plugged into my iHome, and following the scores of New Zealand in the first Test match against West Indies at, coincidentally, Dunedin (the place that I'm set to visit in a few days). Daniel Vettori, the captain, just fell for 30 runs. They've really had it now -- they're at a not-so-great 328-8 against a West Indies team that was lacking quality bowlers. I don't think they're gonna do so well. Then again, this is the third day of the match, and with West Indies to play two more innings, and New Zealand to play one more, maybe the match will be drawn instead of New Zealand having to bear the ignominy of losing it.
I recently made a booking at the Hermitage, a hotel in the remote village of Mount Cook Village at the base of Aoraki/Mount Cook, the tallest peak in New Zealand. I don't know quite what caught my fantasy about that place -- something to do with how lonely and desolate and utterly beautiful the place was, I suppose. I can't wait to go there. Maybe I'll be struck by inspiration to continue my second Brendon McCarthy story which has stalled on Chapter 15 for over a year now. I'm hoping that sitting in the warm hotel lobby, next to a roaring fire, under the watchful gaze of Aoraki (Cloud-Piercer) Mt Cook will get the creative juices flowing again. There really is nothing else to do in the little village. There's a small observatory, I believe; but nothing else of note. It will be interesting for sure!
I can't wait for the trip!

Contrasts in coconut

Bombay is a city of many contrasts. The rich and the poor, kind and indifferent, and....well, I could go on forever with the cliches. But one example of this that remained on my mind was -- coconut! I know, it's a strange object to be even talking about, but it's one of those things that just stick to your mind.
I love drinking coconut water -- or, to be more specific, fresh tender coconut water. It's available at any roadseller in India (at least in Bombay), a pile of green tender coconut on display. If you ask for one, the seller whittles away at the top of the coconut till he gets to the tender flesh inside, and then breaks through to get to the water, which can range from bland to sweet. But no matter what, it's always refreshing. I love tender coconut.
When I was at Vashi, which is the suburb of Bombay where my family lives, I found such a coconut seller in the little vegetable market at the edge of town. The vegetable market lies under the highway, and is small, close and secluded. I love going there. It's bright and colorful, with lovely contrasts displayed to the passers-by. I don't really like vegetables, but I can't resist being tempted by how good they look. And if you wander to the fruit section, it even smells heavenly. I really love it.
It was in this vegetable market that I found a coconut seller. He had a small mound of green tender coconut on display. I went to him and asked for one.
"Do you want it with or without malai (the flesh)?" he asked.
"Without -- I just want the water," I told him.
He went to work. He took out a little knife, and whittled away at the body of the coconut till he revealed the white husk inside. He poked at it with his knife, and a couple of drops of water on the inside spilled out. He put a straw into the hole and offered the fruit to me. "Here you go," he said.
I sipped it. It was delicious, sweet, cool and refreshing. No matter how hot it is outside, coconut water is always cool. I sipped at it, and was almost amazed to find how quickly I'd finished it off. It felt like I'd just drunk energy water, only better and more pure. I can't even describe how wonderful fresh coconut water tastes like. It was just amazing. I paid the seller -- it was a mere 15 rupees -- and left.
Next, my Mum and sister and I went to the nearby mall. The mall represents all that I've come to resent about the 'new' Vashi -- bright, loud, modern. I'm not saying I'm against development, and I of course admit that the malls have improved the lives of Vashi residents hugely. But I'm an old-fashioned person, and I rather preferred the quiet, sleepy little suburb where I grew up. But I digress.
We went to the mall, and on the third floor (2nd floor by Indian/British standards), is an outlet of an ice cream chain called Naturals. It's a local Bombay chain, and they sell ice cream in rather exotic flavors. I of course ordered my favorite -- tender coconut.
The ice cream was served in a tiny cup, a tiny scoop, about half the size of a cricket ball. I tasted it. It was good, quite good, and is, in fact, my favorite flavor at Naturals. As I sat under the bright lights of the food court of the mall and ate the ice cream, I couldn't help but compare it with the fresh coconut water I'd just had standing in the sun and the dirt. And you know what? I infinitely preferred the water. There was just something good about standing in the heat, sipping that cool water, served by that simple man under the trees.
And the ice cream cost 30 rupees.
Bombay is a city of many contrasts. And the contrast in the coconut proved to me that I like the old-fashioned way far, far more.

Barnes & Noble

When I first moved to Austin, one of the must-see places on my list was the Barnes & Noble in Arboretum. I've been a sucker for bookstores ever since I learned to read, and such a big one was a major attraction. When I saw it first, I knew immediately what part of Austin I wanted to live in forever and ever. So, two years later, when I graduated from grad school, and it came time for me to select a place to stay in which did not need to be within 1 mile of Taylor Hall, the Computer Sciences building in the University of Texas at Austin campus, I of course decided on Arboretum. Now I'd be close to my beloved bookstore.
I was slightly worried about the novelty wearing off -- that since I lived so close to Barnes & Noble now, I wouldn't want to visit it as much. I needn't have worried. I spend more of my waking hours there than I do in my own home, and the staff there knows me by sight. If anything, I think I go there a little too much. I know every crack in the wall, every spot on the carpet -- and pretty much the location of every genre of books. I think I could write an encyclopedia on the geography of Barnes & Noble Arboretum now. I can navigate the store blindfolded.
It's a wonderful store to go to. It resembles a library more than a bookstore. Tall stacks of books are neatly arranged all around the store, with people silently browsing through them. I know it's okay to talk on the phone, but I feel like a criminal, the library sense prevails so strongly. I don't have a specific favorite section, though I tend to mostly be in the manga section, or the mystery section.
When you enter, to the right is what I call the "oldies" section -- full of reference books, from the commonplace to the arcane, from the ordinary to the esoteric, from art to computer science to cooking and beyond. I love the travel section, and ever since I've booked tickets to visit Dunedin, New Zealand later this year, I've been regularly haunting the travel section. But my favorite section, by far, is the one on the left.
The left side of the store contains the entire fiction section -- my favorite. I don't really care what kind of fiction it is, I love to read it (except romance -- I hate romantic novels). It could be as gentle as Jane Austen, or as adrenaline-pumping as Matt Reilly, I read it all. My favorite genre is probably mystery, though, for I can resist anything but I can't resist a good whodunit. (That's followed closely by spy thrillers -- I love spy thrillers).
The literature section lies to the far left of the store, and is the section where most books are found. A few (like mystery or science fiction) are in their own specified section, which lies to the edge of the store, close to the window. Running at an angle to all these sections, and parallel to the window, is one of my favorite sections in the store -- Japanese manga. I can race through a manga in less an 30 minutes, even if I take time to savor the gorgeous drawings.
Upstairs is another reference section -- it is actually this section that contains the art books. I'd know, because for two years I stared at them with silent longing, but without the money to buy them. There are fantastic books on painting landscapes in watercolors, on developing your own manga characters, on layering shades in oil paintings to give them a "glow", on using various acrylic techniques.
To the right of this section is the DVD section, as I call it -- it contains an impressive array of CDs and DVDs. I haven't been there much, though, for I just watch all my movies online and not from a DVD.
On the lower level, right at the back of the store is the children's section. Bright and colorful, it contains a lot many books that I love to read even now -- every now and then I get tired of reading "adult" novels and revert to all that is magical and fantastical, and just a break from the grimness of "real" novels, and back into the wonderful world of children's fiction. I love children's books (maybe that's why the only book I've ever written was a children's book), and even though I feel faintly embarassed to be going into the children's section at the old age of 24, I do it anyway. Besides, most people seem to think I'm a teenager, so it's not too bad!
There's usually a lot of people at Barnes & Noble, but I like it best when there's no one around. Well -- that's not very common -- but even if the store is relatively empty, I love it. I love having an entire section to myself, feeling the soft soundtrack played in the store melt into my consciousness, and feeling like I'm the only one there. I like to curl up in a corner, picking up a volume of Trinity Blood or Black Cat and lose myself in the plot. Even better, I like it if I can lose myself in a new mystery novel, though there aren't too many left in the store that I haven't read, unfortunately. I'll always remember a day, last year, during the summer when it rained so much. It was raining hard outside, and the skies were dark and grey. There was hardly anybody in the store, and I felt myself losing myself in the feeling that I was the only person left in the world. It felt comforting, as I slipped into a comfortable slouch on the floor, curled up with a Dick Francis novel. I love Dick Francis novels, they combine mystery with British horseracing, and I could just feel myself immerse in the world of rich owners, cruel trainers and hapless jockeys. Meanwhile, it was getting darker and darker outside, and thunder growled in the distance. Suddenly, there was a bright flash of lightning, startling me, followed by a roar of thunder. Water lashed against the glass windows, and visibility outside was obliterated. It really felt like I was the only one in the world. I loved it.
Yes, indeed, no matter how many times I visit Barnes & Noble, it will remain my favorite bookstore. And for some reason, no other bookstore appeals to me quite as much, not even Borders which is at least as extensive -- or even another Barnes & Noble, such as the one I visited in Denver. No, this one has become my second home, and nothing can quite measure up to it. The staff knows me too, but now -- including the funny cashier who calls me "little troublemaker", but is always delighted to see me, his booming laughter echoing through the store. I love Barnes & Noble.

Year of Travel

2008 was certainly a significant year in my life. I've graduated from grad school, and started working -- this year marked what was possibly my last year as a student (though, with my penchant for studying I wouldn't rule out a return to academia). I also started working at Dell Inc as a software developer, a job that I've enjoyed so much since the day I started, it's sinful. I absolutely adore my teammates, and I love delving into the code and understanding how it works. And I actually get paid to do that -- life's just great!
After the obligatory bill-paying and buying all those things I lusted after when I was a poverty-stricken grad student and didn't have the money to buy them (one of those was, for some strange reason, a flimsy bookshelf at Barnes & Noble), I finally decided that I would indulge in another thing that I wanted to do forever -- travel.
After deciding that, my first destination was fixed -- New Zealand. I've wanted to go there since forever, I even wrote a book based in New Zealand! I had to see it. So I booked tickets to Dunedin, in South Island. I can't wait for that trip!
Next on that list was India, of course. In November is my parents' 25th wedding anniversary, and there's no way I could miss that! So after weeks of stalking travel websites for a decent ticket to India, I finally got the right one -- and I'm going to Bombay from Nov 15th to 29th.
And then, everyone was going away for Labor Day weekend, and I felt like an idiot for having no plans but to lie about the house reading books and surfing useless websites on the internet, so I've booked another getaway, to Denver. I'm going to Denver for the Labor Day weekend, and I'm sure it's gonna be fun! I love getaways too, where you don't know a soul in the other place -- you just roam there by yourself with no one to judge you or anything.
So by the end of this year, I would've been to: Anaheim, Los Angeles, San Antonio, Denver, Bombay and Dunedin. Not bad!! I aim to increase the length of that list next year, but let's see. I've always wondered what I'd do with so much money -- I'm a pretty frugal person, and I don't go on shopping binges at all, not even in Barnes & Noble, my favorite store. But now, I've found a way to spend that money and indulge in my passion -- traveling!
I bet 2009's gonna be an even more interesting year.....

Nostalgia

Yes, I know, it's been ages since I last wrote (blogged?). It's been a trifle hectic, what with my long-awaited graduation from grad school, and my parents and my sister paying me a visit here in Austin, and sheer laziness following that, I somehow never sat down to write. But a few days ago I discovered that the writing juices in me were intact, and so here I am.
Yes, I've graduated from the hallowed halls of the University of Texas at Austin. And it's still taking time to sink in. I haven't left UT cold turkey -- I enrolled for French classes over the summer, so I could keep myself busy, and also get smaller doses of UT, like a smoker winds down from a million cigarettes a day to maybe ten. The classes are only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, for 90 minutes, but I thought, hey! As long as I get to see UT, it'll be all right. Right?
Wrong. I hate UT the way it is now. It wasn't just UT that made it so precious to me -- it was my friends inhabiting it alongside me that made it what it was. I used to love sitting in TAY 5.142, technically Ruchica's office, but pretty much well-claimed by me. I think toward the end I spent more time there than she did. I used to love walking into the GRACS lounge, and checking my mail in the mailbox, and watching boys play foosball at the table, and people taking printouts, people checking mail, and people sleeping even through the din. I used to love sitting my myself in the reading room in TAY 5.110.
No more. I come now to GRACS lounge, and it looks like a ghost town. It's silent and deserted. the computer terminals are cool, the printers are in the sleep mode. The foosball table is still, with one ball lying forlornly on the table. I can almost see ghosts from the past -- people laughing, joking, playing, talking....and then the image is gone, and I'm all alone in the large room. I went to Ruchica's office today, and it seemed to be just a shell. I could almost see her and me, sitting opposite each other, watching videos on YouTube, or playing around on Facebook, and telling each other what we were doing. I could almost see the tension in the last few days as we both scrambled to complete our pending assignments, and get done with the Network Security project which we worked on together along with Vaibhav. And then I looked again, and there was nothing in the room, except for tables and chairs, and some loose papers lying around, and the chalkboard filled with Japanese, where I had practiced it after each class.
I don't like returning to these rooms when they are so empty. It feels desolate. I know it's just an illusion, and they'll be filled with life once the Fall semester starts again in August; but right now, it just feels like a ghost town, and I'm more than eager to leave. Right now, I'm sitting in the reading room, and only it feels the same, because I would often sit here alone. I've left this institution. I guess it's still taking time to sink in. And soon, there will be no trace of me having ever been here. For some reason, that disturbs me. I mean, what could I expect to do, right? But still, it hurts me that the next batch won't even have an idea that I was here. The last remaining sign of my presence is the Japanese written on the whiteboard in the reading room, and soon, at the start of the new term, that will be gone as well.
Maybe I should just say goodbye.

Tim Southee

I'm all excited about the newly-introduced New Zealand cricketer.
I've always been a fan of New Zealand Cricket. It probably started off with my fascination with the country, and escalated because my favorite cricketer, Shane Bond, was a Black Cap. So it's always been with keen interest that I've followed the fortunes of the New Zealand cricket team, or the Black Caps, as they're called. And it interested me when, in the third Test match between New Zealand and England, the name of Tim Southee was being thrown about.
Timothy Grant Southee is a player who's been in the pipeline for quite some time. I've been reading about him, first as an excellent schoolboy cricketer, and then as a very, very good player in the U-19 team of New Zealand. He played a massive part in NZ U-19's win against Ireland in the ICC U-19 Cricket World Cup in 2006 -- when he was just seventeen. He played again in the 2008 U-19 World Cup, and this time, was the Player of the Tournament, with an amazing 11 wickets, in spite of playing one match lesser than his closest contender for the title. I was all eager to see the young boy play.
When he was selected for the third Test, I doubt anyone thought initially he would be actually used -- with Kyle Mills present, there was very little chance of a 19-year-old rookie being offered the new ball. But Mills pulled out of the match, Southee was given the new ball, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Southee was excellent. I couldn't see every ball he bowled, but I managed to see a few overs in between -- and he bowls impeccably. He's not Shane Bond -- I doubt there will ever be another -- but Richard Hadlee? Yes, perhaps. He bowled with control, and swung the ball beautifully. His first wicket was a beauty -- four balls dished out to English captain Michael Vaughan, all outswingers. When Vaughan was expecting a fifth, Southee bowled a straight one, and trapped Vaughan leg before. Beautiful. His second over in Test cricket, and Southee had a wicket -- that of Michael Vaughan!
He went on to capture four more, two of them being Andrew Strauss and Kevin Pieterson, two of the most dangerous men in the English batting line-up. Wonderful, wonderful bowling. Kid, I thought to myself, consider me impressed. His final figures? 23.1-8.55-5.
He was out for 5 batting, and didn't get a wicket in the second innings, though he bowled quite well, in my opinion (not that I got to see a large part of the innings). But he was scintillating in the final innings of the match! He smashed 77 runs off 40 balls, which was studded with 9 sixes -- the most by any number 10 batsman. He hit his fifty off just 29 balls, the fastest ever by a New Zealander, and the sixth fastest ever. He was a revelation, in every sense of the word.
Tim Southee seems to be here to stay.

Harris Park Horror

To those who live near the North Campus area of UT, Harris Park needs no introduction. It's that green stretch of land between San Jacinto and Red River streets, that looks refreshing in the daylight and terrifying at night. Many a tale I've heard of murderers lurking in the undergrowth, waiting to slice through the throats of hapless passers-by. The leaves rustle at night, sounding downright creepy, more so than ever when you're returning home at 3am after a session of heavy-duty coding. Yes, Harris Park's an interesting place.
In the daylight, it's pretty innocuous. There are some swings and picnic tables there, and I've seen families there, having fun. It's usually inhabited in the mornings by joggers and people taking their dogs for walks. All-in-all, it looks like a very nice place in the morning. I've spent time with friends on those swings. Another reason I like the place is because it's a short-cut from my apartment to my department (hey, that rhymed!). Going down Dean Keeton takes a good ten minutes more than it would take to cut through Harris Park.
With this in mind, my friend Archana and I decided to take Harris Park when we were returning from a satisfying dinner at Thai Kitchen on 30th St. We looked at the park before entering it. It looked sinister, with large dark patches. There were a couple of lights shining bleakly, giving pale blobs of yellow light. Most of the park was shrouded in darkness. There was not a single soul there. A light wind blew through the trees, rustling the leaves. Archana and I looked at each other.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked Archana.
"Sure," I said, exuding bravado, though I was quaking inside. It looked creepy, and it didn't help matters any that we'd been discussing ghost stories on the way, with Archana telling me how she thought her apartment was haunted, and how she and her roommate heard random sounds at night that had given them the creeps. All this raced through my mind as we entered the park.
We walked through the lighted patch, my breath quickening. I gave a nervous laugh. "You wouldn't want to have a go on the swings, would you?" I asked Archana.
"NO!" Archana returned firmly. She probably thought I was eccentric enough to do that!
"No, of course not," I said, and we moved on ahead, till we reached the end of the lighted area. Then we stopped.
The part ahead was darker than black (borrowing the phrase from a favorite anime series of mine!), and looked like something out of a horror movie. Large trees barred our way, and made funny noises (wind whistling through the branches, but my overactive imagination thought otherwise). Strange shadows flitted across the area. It agonized me that the apartment was just across the "twilight zone" as I dubbed it, but it was too much for my limited stock of courage to try to make my way across the area.
"Er....." I asked. "Are we making our way across that?"
"No," said Archana, firmly. "I don't think so."
"It's a short cut," I told her. Just then, something seemed to move in the shadows, and it seemed to move at superhuman speed. I jumped, and grabbed Archana's arm in a vice-like grip, probably making her jump as well.
"What was that all about?" she asked.
"S-something moved," I told her fearfully. We took another step into the darkness, with me literally quaking. My breath was coming fast now -- I was close to hyperventilating.
"That's it," said Archana. "We're not going through there." She led me back to the lighted area.
As soon as we came out into the light, I let out a huge breath, my heart fluttering. For some reason, that had shook me up a lot more than usual! We started walking back toward the entrance to the park, when a shadowy figure ran by us. I jumped violently again, and the state of our minds wasn't eased by the fact that it was a large-ish black dog that had passed us.
"Meh," I said, not sure what to do or say any more.
"Let's get out of there," said Archana.
"I agree," I said, and we practically ran out of there.
"That black dog reminds me of something," I told her.
"Yeah, me too," she said.
"Shall I tell you what it reminds me of?"
"No!" said Archana sharply. "Not here. Let's get out first."
We were practically running when we reached the entrance. It was then that I noticed the leash around the dog's neck. I almost stopped.
"Hey, it's someone's pet," I said, almost stopping.
Archana pulled me along. "Sure, whatever," she said, and with a few more steps, we were out on the road. We stopped to catch our breaths. It was then that we looked inside, and saw a man walk over to the dog and pick up the leash. We stared.
"So it was a pet!" I said, vindicated.
Archana laughed. "We were so terrified!" she said.
I laughed too, feeling much braver now out on the road. "Wanna do that again?" I asked, with a devilish gleam in my eye.
"No, thanks!" said Archana. "Let's walk back along Dean Keeton."
"Okay," I said. "By the way, what did that dog remind you of?"
"The black dog from Omen," said Archana. "What did it remind you of?"
"The hound of Baskervilles," I said. "The black dog of death."
We looked at each other for a minute, and then shivered. "Let's just get out of here," said Archana.
So we did just that, and walked back home. All the way we discussed the incident, almost laughing at our cowardice. But it sure was spooky when we walked through that park!

GRACS Game Night

Did I ever mention that I've been elected an officer of GRACS this semester? No, I don't believe I did. Well, I have -- and it's a fact I'm inordinately proud of. I've been going about the place broadcasting the fact that I'm a GRACS officer (a fact that makes me extremely proud, and makes it hard to avoid strutting). I take my duties very seriously -- representing the grad student population of the University of Texas at Austin Department of Computer Sciences, to give it its full name. GRACS stands for the Graduate Representative Association of Computer Sciences, and I'm a member.
GRACS is the body that represents us poor graduate students, and makes sure that people remember that we're alive, we're human, and we exist for purposes other than researching for professors. GRACS currently consists of six members -- Sudipta Chatterjee, Thomas Finsterbusch, Joel Hestness, Christian Miller, Donald Nguyen -- and me of course. Awesome people, all of them. But more about them later. This post is to describe the game night.
I believe the game night was Christian's idea. He basically put together a huge array of gaming machines and consoles, and a mind-boggling array of games, and told grad students to go out and have fun. My part of it was to arrange for the pizzas to feed the hungry army that I was sure would invade the food. Who would turn up to actually play was the real question. We were unsure about whether the event would interest grad students -- a special species characterized by their non-existent social life. So it was with some trepidation that we waited for 6:30pm on Wednesday, 27 February 2008.
At first, we were pleasantly surprised to find quite an impressive number of people accumulated in the room -- but that was rapidly abolished on learning the fact that almost 75% of them were there for the food. When the food arrived, there was a stampede. When the dust cleared, only about 15 or 20 people were left, and all that was left of the food was a pile of empty pizza boxes from Pizza Hut, and some crumbs lying on the floor. Poor Christian didn't even get any pizza.
I tried to clear up the boxes, but after pushing aside the pile of boxes listlessly to one side of the grad lounge, I felt too bored to do any more, and besides, I was curious about how game night was progressing. So I made my way to ACES 2.402, where the event was happening.
When I walked in, the room was in darkness, the only illumination coming from the large projection screens on the walls. Games were in progress, and there were people playing them. Loud rock music blared out, from Guitar Hero. There were random battle cries flying in the air from the various games in progress. I made my way to the back of the room, and perched myself on the top of the table (it's useful at times being tiny -- I can pretty much fit myself anywhere I want!) -- and watched the Wii being set up. At that, my eyes lit up. I hate to admit this, but I'm not a gaming freak. In fact, I don't even know the difference between a Gameboy, a PS2/3 and an Xbox, physically. I don't know what games people play on them either, except for Super Mario or some such derivative. I know pitifully little about the world of games, which always manages to stun people, because I'm an artist and they automatically assume that I'd be good at gaming as well (If you haven't gotten the association between the two, welcome to the club). It doesn't help matters that I'd taken the graduate level Graphics course last semester -- from the way some people announce the fact, you'd think I was the numero uno student in the class! Not so. I suffered badly in the course -- something that's been chronicled with plenty of heartbreak on this blog. But I digress. I was saying that I don't know much about games. Security, yes. Web development, yes. Networking, yes. But gaming -- no. Which was why I wasn't sure what I'd do in the room -- until the Wii came up.
Wii is something I can play -- and pretty decently too, at that. I'd been coached by my teammates while I was an intern at Dell, and considered myself pretty decent at Wii Sports (though I've only played tennis, bowling and boxing). The Wii is intuitive (man, gotta give it to the Japanese!) and I love playing. I looked on as Donald and Thomas played on it. When the game ended, Donald offered me his controller. With enormous eyes, I jumped into the game.
I put all my energy into the game. I must admit, I'm a very violent Wii player. I don't content myself with only moving my hand -- if I don't throw my entire body into the game, I feel as though I'd lose. I swung my controller like a pro tennis player, and threw myself wholeheartedly into the game. I think I banged my wildly flailing arm onto Thomas a couple of times. By the time the game ended -- and I lost, by the way -- my arm was already sore.
But that was just the beginning! I watched as my friends also threw themselves into the game. Some of my friends were there -- Ruchica Behl, Harshdeep Singh, Aditya Saurabh and Hari Jayaraman. Hari played the Wii the entire time were there -- I was surprised he had the stamina! Then again, except for me, no one exerts themselves as though they were playing pro tennis. After some rounds of the Wii, Ruchica, Harsh and I decided to try Mario Kart. We spent a hilarious 15 minutes trying to figure out how it worked, and then finally got it going. After I got annoyed banging into walls, I turned my console over to Aditya -- who was ragged to death by Harsh about his lack of knowledge about the game. It didn't help that Aditya kept making critical comments about the game.
"I discovered a bug," he announced, and proceeded to demonstrate it. "Look, when the car hits the wall, it goes through it instead of crashing against it!" and he banged his car repeatedly against the wall until it did go through.
"Saale, tu yahaan testing karne aaya hai ki game khelne? (Are you here for testing or for playing the game?)" demanded Harsh, his eyes glued to the projector screen.
I laughed and laughed. They kept jibing each other good-naturedly throughout the game, and I laughed till I almost lost my balance off my precarious perch. Ruchica, all this while, kept her cool, and managed to win the games simply by coasting through the maze.
In between listening to the two bicker, I looked around the room as well. People were playing all kinds of games. Christian was busy with some anime-looking game, and Donald and another Graphics student, Peter Djeu, were playing another anime-looking game. I think I'd die of humiliation if those guys ever found out I called the games "that anime-looking game"; but I really don't know one of them from the other. On another end of the room, Thomas and Joel were also playing some game. Guitar Hero was still in full flow, and at some point, I heard someone switch to a Muse song. The mood in the room was very exciting, very upbeat.
We played all the way till 10pm. We had thought that we might need to pack up by 8:30, if no one showed up -- but game night was an official success! I don't think the people wanted to leave at 10. I was exhausted, for it had been a long day, and my right arm was sore from playing Wii Tennis as though my life depended on it. Finally, at 10pm, we all ended game night, and returned back to our dreary lives.
I returned to my "office" -- it's actually Ruchica's office, but I've claimed it as my own :) and plonked myself on the chair I've claimed as well (I've claimed an unusually large number of things in that room), and felt my life force seeping out of me. Well, not really -- but I was seriously exhausted. When I returned home that night, I couldn't lift my right arm to wash my face, and the next day, I seriously thought about getting a sling, my right arm was so stiff with pain. But it was worth every moment of Game Night!! Game Night was an official success, and I sure hope we have more of them!

A German Adventure - Part III

(continued from last time)

The next morning, I woke to see the sun filtering in gently through the filmy curtains. I yawned, stretched, wondered vaguely why I had filmy curtains on my window -- and sat up with a jerk when I remembered the adventures of last night. I looked around the room. Yep, the whole thing hadn't been a dream -- I was still very much in Frankfurt. However, something had cooled my temper and anxiety -- probably the fact that I had, for the first time in three months, slept for more than 5 hours at a stretch. I felt relaxed, and ready to face whatever the world threw at me. With this resolve in mind, I freshened up, and went downstairs for breakfast.
I went with Anita, the girl from San Jose I'd met the previous day. She was accompanied by a hell-like woman who insisted on making her order for everything, claiming she didn't know English (Bull. How would she have made it to the United States otherwise?) The three of us went downstairs to the French restaurant. It was adorable, and I felt like spending the rest of the day there. We were seated next to a glass wall, where we could see out onto the cobble-stoned street outside. People dressed warmly walked past, breath misting in the cold air. There was a sprig of beautiful wild pink flowers just outside the restaurant window, and lent a touch of color to the gray scene outside. In the distance were some tall buildings, which reminded me of Bombay. I loved it. The scene looked very much like my imagery of "Europe".
After the meal was over, we wondered what to do. I went over to the reception, and asked for a pin converter. I had discovered, the previous night, that there was a 110V outlet in my room, but unfortunately, it needed a pin converter. I got that, and went upstairs to my room to leave my laptop to charge up, and went downstairs again.
There were a bunch of people accumulated there, all from Air India, all hollering at each other, rumors floating in the air. Some people said that the flight would leave later that night. Some said we were stuck there till December 26th. Some said we'd be sent back to Chicago. It was crazy, and I made a face and tried exploring the hotel. It was pretty, no doubt about that. The reception was tastefully decorated, and there was Christmas decoration all over the place. I loved the two Christmas trees, and the gingerbread house, complete with a gingerbread crow on the chimney!
Before I knew it, it was time for lunch. A bunch of us decided to eat lunch together, and searched for a place to eat. We finally decided on the quaint Italian bistro in the hotel, and accordingly, went there. I looked over the menu, and finally decided on a turkey wrap and a cup of mandarin oranges with yogurt. The German waitress asked me anxiously, "Iss goot?" I smiled at her. "It's good," I assured her, and she went away, pleased. I felt myself laze, and even managed to forget the fact that I was stuck in a foreign country, where English was not the main language, for God knew how long, and in a way that was cutting into my vacation time at home. I felt at peace after the meal. I even managed to order a huge chunk of blackforest cake and an enormous cup of latte, and a bottle of water to finish it all off, while the other passengers looked at me, astonished. One of them even asked me, "How do you eat all that and still remain so tiny?" But my hurt look made him hurriedly change the topic!
Outside, the street was busy. There was a tram station right outside on the street, and green trams arrived every five minutes, so so it seemed to me. People thronged the street, Hamburger Allee. Cars drove past -- cars! Sleek, elegant German cars that made me drool. Every fourth car seemed to be an Audi. The light changed over the scene as the sun made its way across the horizon. I watched the scene, entranced, until the waitress came over the clear our table. Some of the people suggested a quick tour of the town, but I had to turn down the proposition, as I didn't want to catch pneumonia traveling in the cold Frankfurt night with nothing warmer than a hooded sweatshirt. I, instead, decided to go back to my room.
I exited the bistro, and saw a huge crowd at the reception -- all passengers from Air India. I went over and joined the crowd, and at the center of it all, discovered one of the Air India crew, trying to be heard over the noise. Finally, I got the gist of what he was saying: Air India had been unable to fix the busted engines of the airplane we had arrived in, so a relief aircraft was being flown in from Calcutta. It would arrive in Frankfurt early tomorrow morning, and we would set off sometime around 8:30am. In the meantime, to keep us busy, we had 10 minutes to talk to anyone anywhere in the world over the phone, and two hours of free internet access. The second option was what uplifted me.
I went to the elevator, and pressed the button for the 38th floor. Also inside the elevator was a pilot in uniform, a tall, rangy blond man. He kept looking at me, and after we'd gone up some ten floors, he pointed at me, and said: "Longhorn?"
My jaw dropped, and I gave him a grin of pure delight, while making the hook-em sign with my hand. He grinned at me, made the same sign, and got off at the 35th floor, while I continued on to the 38th. I retired to my room, and with something resembling a yell of joy, went to my favorite website -- Google. The internet! I realized for the first time how much I relied on it. I checked everything I could, trying to make sure I spent every minute of the two hours wisely. I checked my mail in every mail server I have an account on -- Gmail, Yahoo, Hotmail, AOL, even the UT server. I checked my Facebook page and wrote back to some people who had scribbled on my wall. I looked up my grades on UT Direct, and emailed a professor about them. I checked my bank account, and was delighted to discover that the call to India the day before had cost me only $10, and I had moreover just received my paycheck for December, so I had nothing to worry about, financially. I felt relaxed after the bout of internet-surfing, and called my parents to let them know of the updates about the flight situation. After all that, I packed up my backpack, and went down for dinner.
Dinner was again at the Champions Bar. This time, I actually felt a little sad that I would never see the place again. I'd grown fond of Frankfurt, for in spite of the incompetence of Air India, I had spent a good two days here. I had a hearty dinner, finished it off with apple strudel, and went up to my room. Grad school has given me the ability to doze of anywhere, anytime, for any number of hours, and wake up not feeling like a zombie, so I woke after three hours, feeling reasonably refreshed. I went downstairs, and saw all the other passengers accumulated in the lobby. I checked out, had a last cup of coffee, returned the pin converter, bid the cheerful receptionist goodbye, and went out to the bus for the trip to the airport. When it was full, the bus glided through the dark, empty streets, with a gaslight-like glow from the street lamps, giving it a surreal look. I bade a mental goodbye to Germany, and we left the city of Frankfurt, and landed back at Frankfurt Flughafen.
Again, there was Air India incompetence at work. Although they'd summoned us at 6am, there was no one manning the counters, but we had grown so used to it, we didn't even complain. We stood in an enormously serpentine queue, waiting for it to dissipate. Finally, the check-in counters opened, and people started checking in. I went through check-in and security, losing my bottle of water in the process. An old security guard at the security check remarked on the number of books in my backpack, "You like to read!" I gave him a grin, and went through.
Finally, feeling as though it were all a dream, I was on the plane. It was a smaller one than the one we'd come on -- it was a 777 -- and much nicer than the 747 we'd arrived in. As I watched, it started snowing outside, and the world grew white. Finally, unable to keep my eyes open, I dozed off. I woke up at 10:30, to the announcement that we were about to take off, so please fasten your seatbelts. Mine was already fastened, so I sat back, and felt the engine purr outside. The plane started moving. It moved faster and faster, till it was gliding over the runway, and then suddenly, with a little bump, it was in the air. A great whoop of joy went up from all the passengers, and the atmosphere in the plane lightened considerably. I gave a grin that stretched my mouth from ear to ear, and opened up my manga -- I could read it now!
The two movies running were the irritating Bratz, and an obscure The Last Legion, so I closed my eyes, and dreamed of home. I guess I must've fallen fast asleep, for when I woke up, it was 4:00pm German time -- we'd be landing in under two hours! I cleared the cobwebs from my brain, shook off my sleep, and resumed reading my manga, the iPod in my ears, the battery dangerously low by now. The stewardess came over with food, which I gobbled down somehow, suddenly caring for nothing more than to meet my parents and my sister. The plane droned on through the night, with faint patches of light far below the only indications that we were passing over civilization.
Finally -- finally! -- the pilot announced that we were about to land in Mumbai -- at which a cheer went up from the crowd again. The crew started bringing over customs forms, which I filled with alacrity. My breath actually shortened when the plane started losing altitude, and I strained to look out of the window. And there it was! The bright yellow and white lighting of Bombay! Well, of any other city, but I knew it was Bombay. We flew over the ocean, and then swooped back over the mainland, the ground approaching us at breakneck speed. The ground came closer and closer, there was a little thump -- and we were on ground! The engines strained to slow us down, and the plane coasted over to the airbridge -- and we had landed! The doors opened, and I was one of the first ones out, flying out of the aircraft as though it were on fire. I practically ran through the airport, noting immediately, the warmth, humidity, and the smell -- I knew I was back home! I had to wait for ages at Customs, and then again at the baggage check, but finally, with baggage in hand, I made my way out, and saw my parents and my sister! My joy was unbounded, and I fear I scared quite a few people waiting there -- they probably thought I was some species of a wild animal. But I was delighted -- after the long -- loooong! -- trip from Austin to Chicago to Frankfurt to Mumbai, I had finally made it back home!! And, it might have delayed me a lot, but thanks to Air India's incompetence, I got to see a beautiful new city!