TALK WECOMEONE

History, culture, divisions, unity… ohh and did I forget freedom? I really don’t know where to start with this place. Its huge (around 6 times the size of Paris!), theres loads of places to visit and sites to see.

I arrived at my hostel late on Monday evening and without a moment to spare I was told to go to Unter den Linden. It’s an amazing place at night.

The fall of Berlin wall was a sign of a federal yet reformed Germany. Places such as “Checkpoint Charlie” really give an insight of what it was like in a divided Berlin after the war. I have never seen so many nice yet big buildings before. German Parliament for example is a good touist spot. Even the Soviet memorial point was quite emotional yet cool.

I wish I could stay here longer. There’s culture, arts and the Buddy Bears!

Check out more cool stuff in the links below.

Auf Wiedersehen!

http://www.buddy-baer.com/

http://www.berlin-tourist-information.de/index.en.php

http://www.berlinerfernsehturm.de/home_en.asp

So… where do I start? The part where I’m supposed to be in Moscow but I’m happily on my way to Berlin, or meeting Miss Belgium 2005 in a Brussels train station?

 At the airport in Brussels my visa was not valid to board a plane to Domodedovo Airport. Yes, it was a “school boy” error. Luck has been a word I can use to describe my journey so far. Security were very nice. Nice enough to say “Namaste” when I was collecting my luggage.

So I stopped over in Brussels for a few days. Tried to obtain a Russian visa. Failed dramatically. As bizzare as it was, I met a girl who lived a few hundred metres away from the Russian Embassy. She was a model. Ohh… and Miss Belgium in 2005! Yes I’m very modest.

It was pretty cool living with her for a few days. Needing to re-plan a route, I chose Amterdam and Berlin to visit.

I have a few hours left in Amsterdam before a long 6 hour train journey to Berlin. Who knows what may happen.

Being an ‘asylum’ in Brussels, getting shouted at in Amsterdam for walking in the cycle lane (something which is free to do in the UK!) and now to boarding a train to Berlin.

Lets just hope its a safe journey to Germany and an even safer journey back home.

Well where do I start… I arrived in Amsterdam on Thursday night. Tired, in need of a cheap hotel and people to talk to.

I eventually found a place to stay after hours of searching (trust me some places are very expensive!).

So what was my first impression? A lot of bicycles! With flat land and canals pretty much everywhere, I guess its an efficient mode of transport.

The Van Gogh museum was inspiring. Any enthusiastic artists out there should check it out. If you’ve already seen it then you’ll know what I mean.

So where does the freedom come into it? Ok… theres cannabis available in practically every cafe, The Anne Frank House has a message all about freedom and the relaxed laws out here provide a lot of space for the people of Amsterdam.

The locals are easy going, it’s easy to walk from place to place and I’m never going to see a city in europe with so many bikes! 

As much as I would like to write a blog in french, its probably not a wise thing to do. I’m in Brussels at the moment. A very multi cultural city. The languages are torn between French and Flemish. A few speak english which is good for me. The people here are very nice and very welcoming.

It was just a surprise that there is no real government in Belgium due to the divide between french and flemish culture but theres a sense of freedom in the air.

In terms of the environment it’s a case of saying what environment? 

I’m enjoying the real european experience and really wished I paid a little more attention in my french class!

At the time I had no care in the world about what route the bus took, as long as it took me home. Usual journey right? Well… not exactly.

Just got off the train and dashing for the bus. It was a trip out of the city centre. 15 minutes on the bus and I’ll be home. It was dark, it was a saturday night. Didn’t see anyone or any bars on the streets? Hmmm…must be the scenic route.

I recognised a view buildings but the names of the roads were peculiar. Glancing over to my friend, she looked patient. At least she knows where we are. People came on and off the bus. It is a Saturday night, I’m sure people have things to do.

It was the moment when my friend didn’t know where we were that I was worried. Tried asking people if they knew my area. The amount of blank faces was priceless. What do I do? If I stay on the bus it will take me all night to get home. If I get off, how do I get home? The M1 sign appeared. Ohh dear, I think now is the right time to ask the bus driver where we were.

As a result of a journey to no where, we got the wrong line for the bus. Lets just say it was a one of those ”mastercard moment”.

Train tickets:  £5 Return

Student price on the bus home: 50p

Finding out that my bus was going in the wrong direction and I was completely lost: Priceless

I’m just glad my friends saw the funny side of it when I got home.

The Publisher rang me late last night, “Sachin, how are you”, he asked, in his usual up beat, slightly condescending manner.  “How’s the book coming?” The truth was since my ten days sprint in book writing, I just haven’t found the time to get on with it.  He’s not happy - but hey - it’s hard writing a book on philosophy thats meant to reflect ones own life! A few of you guys have asked for an update so here it is: Chapter 4 called “Angels come in all sizes”, and this is from a sub-section called “Luck comes in Gangs”.  Bear in mind that this is still only the 1st draft…so ignore the grammatical mistakes - there are plenty!

“What the fuck are you all playing at”, I yelled.  “Look at what shirt you’ve got on, we’re Rangers, not bunch of pussy footing minnows”, I went on.  “Now we have two choices in front of us.  One is this, we go on that field half hearted, embarrassed and weaker than the opposition.  If we go out like this we’ll get beat.  Fuck it, we’ll get hammered.  We’ve been played off the park by these, and I’m sorry to say that I think coach is wrong, it’s not about tactics; it’s about fucking spirit; the spirit to fight and to do what it takes to win.”  Now while I was in the middle of this war cry, the opposition coach was carefully listening to what I was saying, I was completely unaware.  “The second choice” I carried on, “is that we play like Rangers, we play to win, we fucking fight till we bleed and we don’t stop running till our legs fall off.  If we do this for forty-five minutes, we’ll walk away with pride.  So what do you want?  In forty-five minutes you can become men or we can leave here as a bunch of pussies.”  At the top of my voice, I yelled “What are we?”  “Rangers” came the proud call back.  The lads were awake and fired up for the fight.  “Who are we?” I yelled again.  The name “Rangers”, echoed across the field. 

The team played like champions, we won the game by four to their two.  It was an incredible performance.  After the game, we went to shake hands with the opposition.  Their coach came directly over to me.  He shook my hand, firmly but with respect.  His eyes told me that he was proud, of his team but also, of me.  “Amazing come back”, he said.  “Thanks”, I acknowledged looking down.  “Don’t know if I like being called a bunch of pussy footing minnows”, he came back.  I immediately looked to gauge his facial expressions.  He was smiling and relaxed.  “Sorry I didn’t mean for you to hear that”, I said rather meekly.  “You have quite a character, I’ve never seen a coloured boy like you” he blurted out.  His face showed no sign that he acknowledged that what he had said was racist and deeply offensive.  He said it innocently; there was no malice in his voice or on his facial expression.  As we walked in the direction of the changing rooms, he spoke again, “have you thought about what you want to do with your life”, he asked.  “No, not really”, I replied.  “Well, from what I’ve seen today, I think you’d make a great officer in her Majesty’s Royal Air Force.  Why don’t you come to the recruitment offices on Rutland Street in town, and I’ll personally take you through what the RAF can offer someone like you.” 
It took a while for it to sink in.  The sound of “Her Majesty’s Royal Air Force” echoed in my head all day.  

It’s day 6 on my trip to Holland, Den Haag, its political centre.

Today is Friday and the sun is shining.  About 100 yards from the flat in which i have isolated myself to write my book, I can see a central square.  The square is filled with people meeting one another, sharing a drink and catching up with what life has shown them the previous week.

The point worth noting is that one half of the square is full of people sitting outside drinking coffee or a glass of red wine, while the other half is full of bikes that people have rode to get there!  To ride a bike here is liking using your phone back home.  Its just normal to cycle every where.

Another point worth noting is that people aren’t just meeting their friends or colleagues, far from it, people are here with their families.  The kids cycle after school, the parents leave their work and cycle down at the designated cafe to meet them.  I saw tables where kids, their parents and grand parents were catching up.

It got me thinking…in England, we’d probably have been with mates, having an early p**s up! I wouldn’t have seen grandparents with their grand children in a fancy cafe drinking coffee or sharing a glass of wine.  It occured to me that here family is important, it is more central in everyones lives - as it should be! 

It got me thinking, when was the last time, i said to my granny, “hey come on, cycle down to town, and we’ll have coffee after I finish work”? 

Maybe I should.  Sure, people will look at me funny, but who cares!!  

In 2005, I traveled across North West India. I landed in the historical city of Amritsar and swiftly made my way to Dharmashala. This is where the Dalai Lama now lives since being forced to leave Tibet by the Chinese.
From Dharmashala I made my way across the shallow tips of the Himalayas to a small isolated village located 2200m above sea level called Gangotri. A steep 48km from this remote location is a peak called Tapovan. It took me the best part of 2 days to trek to this peak. Its icy glaciers give life to the Great River Ganga which sustains over 120 million people along its way to the sea.
On my way to this peak, I had barely seen another person.  The occasional villager carrying a sack full of fire sticks, who would politely nod as he walked by, was all the human contact I had.  The air was thin.  The days were crispy, and the nights were freezing. This had been the longest I had ever gone without speaking to anyone and the silence brought about a unique appreciation for the stunning landscape around me. The dusty trail was surrounded by steep banks on either side, covered with long ever greens.  The landscape drastically changed as I approached the peak. It became dry and even dustier. Every time the wind blew I was forced to cover my face and close my eyes.
At the peak, when I finally reached it, with a sore back and a devastated pair of legs, I saw something truly fictional. I saw men, old men and young men alike wearing nothing but a piece of cloth covering their ‘delicate’ bits. There I was, in my trekking boots, two thermals, sweater and thick jacket with a wooly hat.  And I was still not that warm! And here before my very eyes were men, skinny, malnourished men, wearing hardly anything at 3500m above sea level. I was astonished.  These men were no ordinary men. They had huge thick dreadlocks accompanied by thick long beards and eyes that could pierce walls.  I saw these men meditating on ice, balancing their entire bodies on one finger and men that hadn’t sat down in 30 years.
This was no ordinary place. Few ‘normal’ people ever visit here.  The trek is treacherous. The men I had seen were Sadhu’s (holy men) who had renounced the world. 
This was a truly incredible journey and the highlight of my adventure in India.   
 

It’s another Thursday, and the snow is swirling around my office window. Its great, I have the heating on, got my Weco hoddie on and here I am typing away.

Then I get this email from one of the Guys in the office (Kay), and here is the link he sent over called Africa’s children. It quickly changed my mindset.

After watching this short video, it puts in perspective the prison ‘crisis’ we’re having in the UK.

Africa’s Children

I was in Tanzania, at the Serengeti National Park. I was ignorant of what Hippos are. I went in close to take a picture of what appeared to be baby Hippo submerged in the muddy waters.

Suddenly out of nowhere, it rose out of its watery pit and literally blocked every last bit of sunlight. Let’s just say that it wasn’t a baby hippo. It was the Grand-daddy! Instinct kicked in. I turned and ran towards the dried bank. As I ran, I could hear this huge mammoth streaming out of the water and coming after me. Clearly it wasn’t in the mood to model for me. I wanted to turn around and say “I was sorry”, but I knew that wasn’t going to help.

I scampered up the dried dusty banks and out of the river bank on all fours. I could smell it right behind me. It stank. Then I knew why it spent most of its time in the water. Our guide grabbed my hand in the nick of time and pulled me up to safety.

Later, I found out these facts about Hippos.
•Hippos kill more people every year than Sharks
•Crocs don’t mess with Hippos
•Hippos can crush the front of a car in one snap of its jaw
•Hippos stink
•Hippos are 99% muscle (that just looks like blubber)
•They can outrun most humans over 100 metres

From Tim (one of our customers)