Home sweet home (?)

My corner

Nine months. This has been the longest period I’ve been away from home*.

And while in the past years I had managed somehow (or other) to pass by Milan shortly but regularly, and thus changes - that surely happened - appeared to me almost unperceivable, this time the changes of the past months appeared to me quite drastic - and I had almost to rediscover my own hometown.

Traffic lights and crossroads have been substituted by roundabouts. One-way-only have changed directions. The grocery store of my neighborhood changed name. In the garden of my school a tree (the tree that we used as post when we played football during lunch-breaks) has been cut. A cinema where I used to go (the Mediolanum) closed. New buildings are being built, old buildings have been knocked down…

At home changes have been not less (emotionally) drastic. At first sight, my room is almost as I left it. But looking carefully I could see that where I used to keep my CDs, there are now plenty of toys. Where I used to store my shoes, there are now diapers. And my frames have been removed and the scissors that I kept in my desk-drawer hidden, as the new ‘owner’ of the room can break them or hurt himself if he plays with them.

Returning home for the first time in a long time has provoked mix feelings. On the one hand the usual feeling of peace, comfort. The feeling of being at home. On the other hand the inconvenient sensation that time passes.

When we live abroad we tend to unconsciously (or presumptuously) believe that time passes for us only: we think our experiences make us change and grow, while what we leave behind gets frozen and preserved as it was.

This time my transit through Milan put me in front of this inconvenient truth: time passes everywhere. And changes may appear less drastic and dramatic than the ones I have been experiencing for the past years, since I left Milan (Geneva, Rome, Bogota, Addis, Brussels, London, Paris, Washington, Delhi) - but they do happen and keep on happening inexorably and irreversibly.

And while there is no place where I feel more relaxed, more in peace than my home, I wonder whether I should still call my home ‘home’…

My room

(*) And 12 years: one third of my life.

Il Metro che avanza (The Metro that continues advancing)

I still remember as it was today my first conversation with an Indian here in India: it was with the taxi driver that brought me from the airport to the hotel*.

During the ride to the hotel we discussed a bit about all the things you can’t avoid discussing with a taxi driver the first time you arrive in Delhi: the traffic, the Commonwealth Games in Delhi in 2010, and the metro under construction.

Particularly with regard to the metro under construction, the taxi driver kept on proudly pointing at something in the middle of nothing during the whole trip, repeating “Delhi Metro, Delhi Metro. Commonwealth Games, Commonwealth Games” - which I interpreted as ‘That’s where the Delhi Metro is being built; it will be ready by the Commonwealth Games’. However, despite all my efforts, I couldn’t see anything beside a few half-finished cement pillars here and there.

For a person that grew up in Milan in the 80s and 90s under the refrain of ‘la linea 3 che avanza’, to see three cement pillars still under construction and to think that a metro system should be ready and functioning in less than one year seemed the usual example of political propaganda. You (politician) commit to build a physical infrastructure (a metro in this case) and present a plan and a budget. The plan is approved, and thanks to this your city gets the ‘big international event’ (the Commonwealth Games in this case) assigned. Public funds are allocated and you start the works. However, after a while, for a reason or another, the works get delayed, the budget turns out to be insufficient, people start realizing that the metro will never be ready for the due date, and, in short, the works are stopped (or procrastinated forever), blame is given to nobody, and public opinion ends up accepting this failure as another case of bad politics (but in the meantime funds have been allocated - and spent, the city got the Games assigned, and perhaps the politician has also managed to be re-elected).

Anyway. During the weeks that followed my arrival it happened to me a few times to discuss the issue with my Indian colleagues. But every time I expressed my doubts on the fact that the metro would have ever been finished on time, my colleagues answered back, almost offended, that I didn’t know the Indians, that it is always like this, that things seem always late but in the end everything is completed on time.

Whatever. I didn’t mean to open a debate on this. It was just to chat about something. And certainly we, Italians, have nothing to teach to the rest of the world on this subject.

Weeks and then months went by without anything, apparently, happening. To the point that I completely forgot it.

And then, suddenly, almost overnight, the various cement platforms that for months had remained perched on the pillars scattered over Delhi began to connect each other - and the idea of metro to finally take shape, as the image of a jigsaw puzzle that is finally being completed.

It’s June 2^nd today, there are still four months to go before the Commonwealth Games start - which can be a lot of time or very little. Anyway, whatever it will happen, either that the metro is completed on time or not, Delhi earned my admiration: here the Metro continues advancing.

(*) http://www.matteoandmathilde.org/2009/10/first-contact-with-indian-taxis.html

22 May 2010 - Inter-Bayern 2-0*

In Delhi**

In Milan***

(*) Apologizes, this has been posted a bit late, but was absolutely due: who knows when this will happen again (hopefully not in 45 years again)

(**) Thanks to Paolo for the hospitality

(***) Tutto suo zio J

Pictures of our trip to Amritsar available on line

We posted the pictures of our week-end in Amritsar at: http://picasaweb.google.com/mmmarchisio.

Have a look, and vote your favourite one!

The Indo-Pakistan flag-lowering and border-closing ceremony

Cheering public at the Indo-Pakistan border

We conclude the brief reportage of our week-end in Amritsar by describing the event that entertained us the most: the flag-lowering and border-closing ceremony at the Indo-Pakistan border.

About 30 Km from Amritsar, at the border between India and Pakistan, every late afternoon soldiers of the Indian and Pakistan armies liven up a military ceremony to close the border between the two countries, something that - with all due differences - can remind the change of the guard at Buckingham Palace (I repeat: with all due differences).

The event fulfils so much the patriotism of both countries that thousands of people, on each side of the border, flock every day to be present at it.

And the ceremony has become a real happening, something in between a concert and a sport event. Already a few hours before the event, the stands that have been constructed to accommodate this crowd are packed with people that, in a crescendo of enthusiasm, sing patriotic songs¹ , wave Indian flags, and rhythmically cheer “Hindustan, Zindabad” (Long live Hindustan)² - to which the Pakistani crowd on the other side of the border respond by singing “Pakistan, Pakistan!”.

It’s a competition between who makes more noise - until when a squad of soldiers, preceded by a long bellow from a soldier appointed for this task only, steps in and, in a mix of pompous colonial and funny goose-step styles, parades up and down in front of the cheering public³.

Then, one by one, each soldier marches aggressively (or comically, it depends on the point of view) towards the border, likely with the intention of intimidating the Pakistani soldiers that - from the other side of the border - are doing exactly the same, i.e. aggressively marching towards the Indian border one by one to scare the Indian soldiers⁴. Once the two soldiers meet face to face on the border, they spend a few instants threateningly looking at each other: chest out, fists clenched, and eyebrows knit - but without ever crossing the invisible line that divides India from Pakistan.

The ceremony concludes with the lowering of the Indian and Pakistani flags. The flags are simultaneously lowered and the process takes forever, as the soldiers responsible for this task have to be extremely careful that either of the two flags is at any point in time lower than the other⁵.

Once the flags are lowered, the most intense moment of the whole ceremony: the commanding officers of the two countries shake their hands before the gates are shut (but this happens so quickly that it’s easier to miss it than to notice it⁶).

Then the gates are shut, and the border is closed for the night.

¹ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQDsSDwwHiQ

² http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKGVzaHUJZY

³ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=No2gw9hrsJk and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DBBdpThjfCs

⁴ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=de02slkhouY

⁵ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p36lBMGjxnY

⁶ And in fact I missed it, but luckily I found this extract from a BBC documentary which shows the hand-shaking pretty well: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LZ0ue-XGl9c&feature=related (to be watched!)

Cheering public at the Indo-Pakistan border (detail)

The funny story of the Crystal restaurants in Amritsar

From Cain and Abel to Romulus and Remus, from Claudius and his brother, the king of Denmark, to Noel and Liam Gallangher, history has plenty of stories of disputes among brothers. And, small as it is, Amritsar has its own story as well.

Dilpreet and Gurinder Singh owned the Crystal restaurant, considered one of the best restaurants in Amritsar. Apparently, owing to a quarrel, they decided to split the restaurant: Dilpreet got the ground floor while Gurinder got the first and second floors.

Well, guess how they called their respective restaurant? ...

Divinities at the Mata Temple

The Mata Temple

Apologizes in advance if we may appear blasphemous in this post (the Hindus don’t hold it against us), but the Mata Temple in Amritsar is certainly the funniest temple we have ever visited!

Colourful, kitsch, full of people that enter, go out, sit, prey, chat… far from the serious and solemn atmosphere of our cathedrals, the first impression we had as we entered this temple was to be in a ‘neighbourhood club’ rather than in a worship place. But perhaps that’s the concept of ‘temple’ for the followers of Vaishno Devi.

But the most bizarre part of the temple had yet to come.

A few meters after the entrance, on the left, we noticed a staircase with a sign saying ‘Vaishno Devi cave’. Intrigued, we started mounting the stairs. We ended up in what could easily be the ‘fright circuit’ in an amusement park: a labyrinth of steep staircases, narrow passages, and low tunnels leading to the shrine of the main deity. To reach the shrine, we had to go through a series of ‘tasks’, including going through a tunnel where the ceiling was so low that we needed to crawl on all four to pass, or through a cave with ankle-deep water.

When we finally reached the shrine of the Vaishno Devi, Mathilde and I had the same feeling: we never enjoyed so much visiting a temple!

Harmandir Sahib, or the Golden Temple

You say Amritsar and you cannot not think about the Golden Temple, literally ‘golden’ as entirely covered with (750 kilos of) golden layers.

Breathtaking, particularly when you suddenly and unexpectedly see it for the first time entering in the gurdwara* complex from one of the narrow doors of the surrounding buildings. And at night, it appears as a ‘One thousand and one nights’ vision…

What we enjoyed the most visiting this complex though was the sense of peace and spirituality that we could breathe within the walls of this gurdwara. An oasis of peace within the rowdy Amritsar, where thousands of devotees piously repeat their rituals, like plunging into the holy waters of the ‘Sarovar’ (Pool of Nectar) that surrounds the temple.

No worries: we didn’t convert to Sikhism, but we were definitively impressed by the seemingly pure devotion of these believers…

(*) http://www.matteoandmathilde.org/2010/03/visit-to-gurdwara-sis-ganj-sahib.html

Back from Amritsar

Les M&M’s are back from Amritsar.

We’ll post our stories and our pictures in the next few days.

Good night and... sogni d'oro! ('golden' dreams J)

Resuming India's exploration

Mathilde is back and les M&M’s begin exploring India again.

This evening we leave to Amritsar, the city of the Golden Temple, the Mecca of the Sikh.

We will be back on Sunday, hopefully with a few good stories to tell and pictures to show.

Mississippi Masala

With ‘Mississippi Masala’ we concluded the quadriology of the controversial (for the Indians) and pluri-awarded director Mira Nair (Monsoon Wedding, Salam Bombay, Kama Sutra, and, precisely, Mississippi Masala).

And out of the four movies, Mississippi Masala was the one that I liked the most - perhaps because it touched on various themes (and places) to which I feel particularly attached: Africa, India and the United States; the ideal and the difficulties in pursuing a multi-ethnic society; the love for the different; the feeling of being a stranger in the country where you live; the romantic homesick for your own country...

Recommended to all those that, a bit like me, choose to be (or end up being) strangers in foreign lands...

È arrivato Andreone!

Benvenuto!

Sarà anche ‘one’, ma a me sembra proprio piccino piccino*…

(C’è qualcosa di commuovente nell'osservare la sorpresa e lo stupore di questi occhioni che vedono per la prima volta il mondo)

(*) foto credit: Chiara

Italiani, popolo di poeti, artisti, eroi, pensatori, scienziati, navigatori...

Ps: a me la parola ‘curtura’ me fá ‘na certa mpressione…

Do not pay bribes! (continues...)

(Continues from previous post*)

In one of our past posts, one of our good readers told us that he learnt more about India in the past three months reading our blog than in his entire life.

While certainly flattered, I have to say I feel quite the opposite, i.e. I have the feeling that three lives would not be enough for me to really understand India.

Vishnu and Shiva, Islam and Sikhism, the British and the Mughals, Ghandi and Kashmir, the ‘biggest democracy of the world’ and the cast system, 9% GDP growth and 50% of the population below poverty line, the world’s first woman prime minister and the widow’s ashrams, thousands and thousands of students sent to study in top universities worldwide and arranged marriages... as soon as you have the feeling to have finally understood something, there is suddenly something else that contradict your belief, and you end up as confused as before**...

Bribing. Bribing is another of those things that it is impossible to understand if you are not Indian. Officially punishable by law, socially accepted: it is very difficult to understand when it is a social norm, necessary to 'speed up' things (a ‘shadow cost’, as an economist would define it), and when on the contrary it is a real abuse of power.

An example. We were about to purchase a train ticket from Jasailmer to Delhi, where we spent a week end with our friends Riccardo and Patricia. Unfortunately there were not four seats close to each other anymore, and the only available option was to purchase two tickets in second class and two tickets in third class. No problem, we thought: once we are on the train, we’ll ask Riccardo and Patricia's neighbours in third class if they mind to exchange their seats with our two seats in second class. Who would refuse a free upgrade?

And that’s what we did: we asked the two neighbours in third class if they wanted to exchange their seats with ours in second class, and of course they were very happy to do so.

However, after some time, they came back to their original seats telling us that the ticket inspector didn’t allow them to sit on our seats. No problem, we thought: we’ll go altogether to explain the ticket inspector that we deliberately exchange seats to sit close to our friends.

With our great surprise, the inspector didn’t want to hear us, keeping on repeating that it was not possible to exchange seats in two different classes. Despite our insistence, he was inflexible. With great disappointment we thus returned to our second class seats.

The interesting thing is that Mathilde and I gave two opposite interpretations on the inspector’ stubbornness. In my opinion the ticket inspector was playing hard expecting a little bribe to allow the exchange - bribe that of course we didn’t give. For Mathilde on the contrary the inspector was afraid of being unjustly suspected and accused of having received a bribe to have allowed two passengers moving from the third to the second class - bribe for which he could be liable to prosecution.

Of course we’ll never know what the truth was, but this episode gives you a good example of how difficult is to understand the unwritten rules of this country, to penetrate into the social norms of this society, to behave correctly according to the situation in this mishmash...

And you, just for curiosity, how would you have interpreted the inspector’ stubbornness?

(*) http://www.matteoandmathilde.org/2010/02/do-not-pay-bribes.html

(**) I take this opportunity to signal an article that was recommended to me by Emanuele some time ago, and which well describes this strange feeling of ‘everything and its contrary’ that I am experiencing here in India... (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/15/opinion/15iht-edsebastian.html?scp=1&sq=tim%20sebastian%20&st=cse)

Welcome to Martin

... welcome among our ‘official’ followers!

Pros and cons of being a bachelor

With Mathilde travelling like a spinning top lately*, I have spent quite some time by myself in the past weeks. And considering the ‘pros’ and ‘cons’ of being a bachelor again...

(1) I can cook pasta every evening (but don’t get my weekly amount of veggies and vitamins)

(2) I can sleep diagonally in the bed (but don’t get my ‘good-morning kiss’ when I wake up)

(3) I am not forced to speak with anyone before 9 am (but need to wait until 6.30 pm if I want to speak with Mathilde)

(4) I can wander half-naked round our home without running the risk of being caught by the webcam while Mathilde is having a Skype-conference with her boss - or, worst, with her parents! (but in the end a bit of sound exhibitionism is not the end of the world!)

(5) I can switch the A/C off when I sleep (but need to turn it on and wait ten minutes sweating before the house cools down when I go back from work and nobody is home)

(6) I can go directly to the pool without spending two hours shopping before during the week-end (but being at the pool by myself is not that fun)

(7) I don’t run the risk of not finding ‘my’ apples in the fridge because 'someone else' ate them (but cannot blame anyone if I forget to buy them)

(8) I can let my goaty grow (but have nobody who purchases the ‘hair fall therapy shampoo’ for me)

(*) http://www.matteoandmathilde.org/2010/03/times-in-washington-with-me-travelling.html

The Nomadic Orchestra of the World in Delhi – and other thoughts

A few years ago a friend of mine asked me “if you could choose, would you be a farmer or a herder?”.

Good question. On the one hand I strongly feel I need roots, a house, a land, the security of the cyclic succession of the seasons. And I highly value the value of waiting: waiting winter to pass before spring comes again, waiting years before a plant grows and gives its fruits...

But on the other hand every time I observe the nomadic life of the herders, the harshness and yet the beauty of their lands, the neverending horizons and the sense of freedom of their rangelands, and the sense of uncertainty and yet the opportunities that the constant search of new grazing areas offer them, I cannot not be fascinated by their lifestyle. Perhaps because, in a way, I feel a bit nomadic myself. A modern nomad...

Last week-end we went to a concert of the Nomadic Orchestra of the World, a group of nomadic musicians from Rajasthan that plays a fusion of traditional and folk Rajasthan music. The group has been created through an initiative to promote music as an alternative livelihood opportunity among nomadic communities.

The Orchestra played with contagious enthusiasm. I post here a couple of short videos that I took during the concert (sorry, the quality is not up to much and my memory card filled up during the concert - but still, they give a good idea of the rhythms and the kind of music they played):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pJkKfL2XDKs and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aqmsQc_J4_o

Within this context, we met Andrea, the leader of ‘Le Nuove Tribù Zulu’, a bohemian street-group from Rome that plays a fusion of gipsy, folk, rock, punk, ska, polka and tarantella music. One of the projects of this group aims at bringing together various nomadic groups from all around the world and blending their rhythms and music. Andrea was here in Delhi to formalize the collaboration with the Nomadic Orchestra, with whom Le Nuove Tribù Zulu already played a couple of years ago.

Below a few videos of the group:

- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KLu-LGEaCJs&feature=related (‘Zingara’ with Chejá Celen)

- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=__D8wp-dwTE&feature=related (Concert with the NOW in Villa Ada in 2008)

- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SN7Fcb2iTCs&feature=related (videoclip of ‘Da domani cambio vita’)

As time passes and as my musical tastes evolve, I realize how much I am intrigued by these gypsy rhythms. Perhaps because, as I said above, in the end, deeply inside, I am a bit nomadic as well…

And by the way, you, if you could choose, would you be a farmer or a herder (or a fisherman)?

A lesson of ‘Indlish’...

I had already shared some reflections on the ‘Indian’ English some posts ago (http://www.matteoandmathilde.org/2010/02/indian-dialogues.html). Since then I kept on paying attention and trying to remember those sentences and expressions that sounded ‘different’ or ‘original’.

Here below some that I noted:

- “What is your good name?” means “What is your name?” (as if you have a ‘good’ name and a ‘bad’ name, and the interlocutor is interested to know your ‘good’ name only...)

- ‘Too good’ means ‘very good’. In a way I discovered Indians have a hyperbolic way of expressing themselves...

- ‘Hundred percent’ (often nodding the way Indians nod) means ‘absolutely!

- ‘Updation’ or ‘Upgradation’ is the processes of bringing up-to-date (or upgrading). ‘To prepone’ (as opposed to postpone) means ‘to place before’. Don’t be surprised then if an Indian asks you to prepone a meeting...

- ‘One’ is often used instead of the indefinite article ‘a’ (“Let me tell you one story”). ‘Today morning’ (or afternoon, or evening) is often used instead of ‘this morning’ (or afternoon, or evening)

- ‘Off’ has been transformed into a verb (“Off the fan, please”)

- ‘Hill station’ means ‘mountain resort’, and in general ‘hills’ are ‘mountains’. Good to know, as I thought that in a country with peaks above 7,000 m, it was normal to consider mountains of 4,000 m ‘hills’...

- And finally a word that can save several men from embarrassing questions: ‘healthy’. So, when your wife/partner/girlfriend asks you how you do find her, you can vaguely answer “healthy”...

The 'Wallas'

In Ethiopia I used to be woken up by the morning birds that loudly chirped at my windows (at 5 am!!!). When I moved to Paris I gained half-hour: my alarm clock was the sound of the garbage trucks that collected the garbage at 5.30 am. In DC it was the first bus on 16th Street at 6 am that woke me up. Here in Delhi our wake-up call is given by the ‘Wallas’...

The Wallas (literally ‘carriers’) are pedlars that roam about the streets of our neighbourhoods in Delhi, by bike or pulling a handcart, selling a bit of everything (mainly fruits and vegetables, but also brooms, gas cylinders, etc.), and providing a variety of services: grinding knives, copying keys, and - hard to believe but true - cleaning ears!!! Armed with gigantic ‘cotton fioc’ (cotton swabs) they remove the cerumen from your ears... iiihhhh, disgusting!!!!

They roam about our streets emitting an unmistakable call (a bit like the ‘cocco, cocco-bello’ in our beaches). The first wave passes below our windows around 7 am. When the second wave passes around 8 am it is time to wake-up...

One year ago

Indian breakfast

In the middle of Madhya Pradesh (2)

Certainly one of the things that surprised me the most when I arrived in India was to realize how little Indians actually speak English. Probably deceived by the fact that India has been for long time a British colony, and that English is one of the two official languages of the Republic (the other being Hindi), I expected Indians to be fluent in English.

However, this has soon proved to be a false myth. It’s true, educated Indians can be extremely articulated and refined in English. But the majority of Indians do not speak (or speak very poorly) English. And I am not (only) talking about the taxi driver, the petrol station attendant, or the shopkeeper in Old Delhi. I am also talking about several middle-management Government officials, hotel owners, and other categories of people you would expect must speak English for their day-to-day business.

One of the questions I always had thinking to the fact that English is the official language in India was how it was possible that in a country so rich culturally and linguistically, and at the same time so nationalist, a foreign language (the language of the colonizers!) became the official language. Interestingly enough, it was exactly because of such richness, diversity, and nationalist pride that English became (or, better, remained) India's official language.

In 1950 in fact, after the independence, the Indian Constitution declared Hindi, widely spoken in the Northern part of India, to be the official language of the Republic, and envisaged the gradual phasing-out of English (which was still used for most official purposes) over a fifteen-year period. However, towards the end of this interim period, several non-Hindi-speaking states, particularly from the South, strongly opposed to the end of the use of English. Basically, these states feared that the consequent adoption of Hindi as sole official language would have sanctioned the political supremacy of the North over the South, and progressively undermined their cultures and autonomy. As a result, the central Government decided that the use of English as official language of the Republic would have continued, and at the same time it allowed each state government to choose its own official language(s).

Today there are 22 'official' languages in use in the 35 states and territories. English has remained one of the two official languages of the Republic, mainly for political reasons, even if it is not one of the 22 official languages used in the Indian states, and even if no-one (or just a minority) actually speaks it.

Bizarre.

In the middle of Madhya Pradesh...

How to fly from Delhi to DC avoiding the effects of the volcanic eruption in Iceland

In the era of globalization, even a volcano eruption in Iceland, almost 8,000 km faraway from Delhi, somehow ends up affecting our lives.

Mathilde was supposed to leave tonight to DC to attend the CI Center for Conservation and Government’s Annual Meeting on the Lufthansa flight DEL-FRA-IAD. However, as you all know, all the airports in Europe are temporarily closed because of the ashes of this volcanic eruption, and all the flights from India to Europe are cancelled until at least Monday.

For those who well know Mathilde, you can easily imagine how she reacted this morning when she was informed that her flight was cancelled (‘no panic, no panic... ok: panic’*).

However, arguably one of the qualities of Mathilde is that she never gives up. And so, after three hours at the phone with the poor Sanjay, one of the operators of www.makemytrip.com, during which they went through all the possible routes that could possibly link Delhi to DC (with the poor Sanjay that was repeating ‘no possible, no possible’), she finally found probably the only itinerary to DC that is not affected by the effects of the eruption of the Eyjafjallajokull: Delhi-Dubai-Manama-Kuwait City-Washington DC (with three different carriers: Emirates, Jet Airways, and United).

Mathilde will be leaving on Monday and will land in DC on Tuesday morning, right on time to attend the second day of the annual meetings. Hoping that in the mean time the ashes of the Eyjajallajokull will not reach the little Kingdom of Bahrain as well...

(*) Does anyone recognize the 'erudite' quotation?

Tanti auguri Silvietta

Mt. Everest-Washington DC via Delhi

Delhi is like a seaport: hard to believe it, but it seems that everyone, sooner or later, passes by here.

On Saturday we hosted Paola, on her way back from Nepal to DC. For once not on an official World Bank mission, Paola was in Nepal to unofficially participate to the ‘Epopeya Everest sin Limites’, a Colombian expedition led by her husband Juan Pablo whose main objective is to bring for the first time a man with an artificial leg on the top of the Everest (without oxigen)*.

The story of Nelson Cardona, the man with the artificial leg, is quite impressive. He had a mountaineering accident four years ago, while he was training to climb the Everest. His leg was so seriously injured that the doctors gave him two options: to either keep it, but without the possibility of bending it and therefore of climbing anymore, or to amputate it, but keeping the possibility of climbing with an artificial prosthesis. Nelson was extremely divided, but he finally made his choice, and today he’s trying to fulfil his old dream.

Paola (and Simon Pietro and Antonia, her six-year-old child and eleven-year-old stepdaughter) reached the Base Camp (5,100 m) before taking leave of the rest of the group and returning to Kathmandu, and then to DC, via Delhi.

Their stories and pictures tickled my fantasy: who knows if one day...

(*) Have a look at their blog: http://www.epopeyaeverestsinlimites2010.org/

Mathilde enters in her thirty

Sorry, we haven’t updated the Blog for a while. But a few events worth being mentioned have happened in the past days, and, as good bloggers, we are going to duly report them.

Last week we celebrated Mathilde’s thirtieth birthday. And as you are thirty only once in your life, we celebrated the event properly.

On Sunday evening, our hosts in Bandhavgarh surprised us with a proper Indian birthday celebration, complete with Indian birthday cake and Indian ‘happy birthday’ jingle.

On Monday evening we treated ourselves by going to what is considered the best Indian restaurant in Delhi. Apparently Clinton had a four-course dinner here during his official visit in 2000, and the four-course meal he ordered is now presented in the menu as the ‘Presidential meal’. For the records, Clinton had a heart attack in 2004 (and,if I am not wrong, another one more recently). We thus limited ourselves to one-course only.

The evening concluded with a surprise party at our home, during which Mathilde had her chocolate cake and her thirty candles to blow out.

Ah, there is no better way to conclude your first thirty (or to begin your next thirty) than with a chocolate cake!

We saw the tigers. And so did they...

Pictures of our trip to Bandhavgarh National Park now available on: http://picasaweb.google.com/mmmarchisio (please, be indulgent if the tigers look small in our pictures: we only had my portable camera with us. But be assured they were pretty close!).

Do also have a look at two short videos we took: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UfSAvAkpJU0 and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DNy-N-sA8FE. They are not Discovery Channel’s documentaries, but still they give you an idea of our close encounters with those - as an Indian mama defined them - "big orange cats with stripes"...

Mission accomplished: seen them!

Eleven tigers (two cubs) in two days, some of which so close that we could almost stroke them.

The two topical moments on Saturday late in the afternoon. First, when four tigers coming from four different points converged almost where we were. One of them passed just aside our four wheel drive, not further than four/five meters from us - we could feel its stomach's grumbling (and Mathilde’ shaking knees)... Thrilling!

The second one when, on our way out of the park, we saw by chance two cubs hanging on a rock just above us. We could have literally touched them! The two cubs didn’t seem overawed at all by us. On the contrary, they seemed enjoying to pose for us... Divas!

In search of tigers

One of the dreams that we had when we decided to come to India was to see a tiger. We already failed in Periyar in January*, and in Ranthambore in February**.

We have therefore decided to risk everything on a single throw, and today, armed with tuna***, we leave to Bandhavgarh National Park, in Madhya Pradesh, the park with the highest density of tigers in India. O la va o la spacca (It's do or die).

We’ll be back on Monday, and we will let you know then if we’ll have succeeded in fulfilling our little dream…

(*) http://www.matteoandmathilde.org/2010/01/periyar-wildlife-sanctuary.html

(**) http://www.matteoandmathilde.org/2010/02/how-to-spot-tiger.html

(***) http://www.matteoandmathilde.org/2010/02/tigers-would-do-anything-for-tuna.html