Even and odd
Urban planning in India is patchy. Nowhere is this more evident than the way houses are numbered. Whenever we’d visit friends or relatives living in a part of city we hadn’t been to before, the instructions for finding the house would have nothing to do with the house number. They’d be something on the lines of - turn left near a petrol station, take the third turn after so and so temple, walk to the fifth house on the right side of the street, yes, the one next to the one with a green façade and white gate.
Our own house in Delhi used to be on a plot of land that was once divvied up and sold to three different owners. Same house number, three different houses and owners. Confusion with mail and food delivery was common.
The real estate boom of the past two decades or so must’ve only made this worse. Where I lived in Bangalore, I saw old colonial bungalows torn down and multistoried apartments come up on the same patch of land. What they did to the numbering scheme of a street is anybody’s guess.
Naturally, the orderliness of house numbering here has taken a little getting used to. I didn’t realize it till recently that all houses on one side of a street are numbered even and the ones on the other sides odd (something the wife drew my attention to). It’s not something most people will make much of, but I am still quite fascinated by the thought and planning that must’ve gone into it.
p.s. The Dutch word for even is, well, even. The Dutch word for odd is oneven.
p.p.s. Don’t even get me started about postal codes.
Engelberg, Switzerland (Aug 2012)
When your upbringing includes a steady dose of Bollywood, especially the Yash Raj films kind, you associate Switzerland not with cheese and chocolate but with snow covered mountains, rolling hills, verdant valleys and pristine lakes. The dark air-conditioned movie theatre and that imagery on the big screen help you escape the hot, dusty reality of life in a big city in India. Living in Europe means that the imagery doesn’t hold as much sway as it one did, but that doesn’t mean that either the wife or me were going to pass an opportunity to vacation in Switzerland.
We realised, merely two days into our trip, that August isn’t the best time to visit Switzerland. The days were hot. Temperatures routinely crossed 30ºC, which the hotel rooms with their propensity to hold on to warmth made utterly unbearable. With our unlimited access Swiss Rail Pass (wisest purchase ever) we travelled an awful lot in the wonderful, air-conditioned Swiss trains — mostly to escape the heat than to get anywhere particular. The snow-capped mountains in the distance, mocked more than they reassured.
Given this backdrop, we were naturally excited to visit Mt. Titlis in Engelberg. The early morning train ride from Lucerne to Engelberg was quite picturesque. A short bus ride from the Engelberg station got us to the Titlis cable car.
After doing the usual touristy things near the summit of Mt. Titlis - like riding in an open ski lift, tobogganing down the snow, avoiding being clicked with a life-sized cutout of Kajol and Sharukh Khan - we headed back down. Instead of going all the way to the base station in the cable car, we decided to cover the rest of the way on foot. We knew the route was going to be very scenic and since a friend of the wife had done it recently with her husband and their 3 year-old in tow, we figured it couldn’t be all that hard. Sure, I was nursing a wound in my knee from a recent fall from the bicycle, and the wife had been told to rest her left foot but we weren’t going to let such trivial matters come between Mother Nature and us.
If the Gods in Roman mythology were real, at this juncture in our journey you would see Fortuna pointing at us from a window in her abode in heaven and cackle with laughter at our naiveté.
For a long time the breathtaking views of the mountains shrouded in low clouds kept us going. The green valleys echoed with the chiming of the cowbells.
We probably were so busy soaking it all in that we took a wrong turn or two and after two hours of walking began to wonder if we were on the right track at all. We came across road signs every now and then, but instead of mentioning distance to Engelberg, they would mention the minutes it would take to get there. After following a couple of those signs, it became very evident to us that the times were not only loosely indicative, but also meant for people much fitter than us. Several times it occurred to us to turn back but we kept pressing on. The skies were overcast and we were beginning to get worried about being caught in the rain. The wife, being the more paranoid of us set a brisk pace and I limped meters behind her not wanting to miss any opportunity to take pictures.
We ran into people who were clearly more adept at going downhill on rocky paths than us. They’d come bolting down, and lose us behind before we’d say hello. After another hour or so we reached a small restaurant where we caught our breath and treated ourselves to ice-cream. There was a well-paved winding road outside the restaurant that seemed to be leading directly to the Engelberg station so we started walking along it. Several people whooshed passed us on their trotti bikes (basically a Razor scooter with bicycle wheels) making us miss our bicycles sorely. Overhead, in the distance, we could see the cable cars gliding down effortlessly, making us question our choice to walk.
The road eventually led us onto another very ragged, rocky, downhill path. This time we came across many small groups of tourists attempting the same little trek, which was comforting. We were quite relieved to finally reach the cable car station where the bus had dropped us in the morning.
Despite this little adventure, I wish we had stayed somewhere in Engelberg and explored the area a bit more. I hope, one day this post will guide the travel plans of future us.
