Pompeii*

He sat in a crouched position. With his palms he covered his face, contorted in terror and disbelief. Two thousand years hence, from beyond the iron bars of a dusty locked storage room, we stared at him arrested by the frozen expression.

We, Dani, Cinthia and I got out from the Pompeii Scavi metro station into a burning sun. Cold drink and souvenir shops lined the street outside and vendors urged the tourists pouring out of the station to buy bottles of frozen water for double the usual price. The heat beating down upon us was so intense that we could hardly refuse their bid. Our backpacks heavy with water bottles we left behind the clamour and chaos outside and entered the gates of Pompeii and then the world changed

Wind of Change

I am leaving the chronological order of my narration now. For certain stories need to be told in the present.

Out of the Monastiraki train station Athens looks like any other city. Much more vibrant of course than an average European one.The Monastiraki square is always full. The colours and noises from the nearby Athens flea market spill out into the street.

If you look distinctly foreign, and moreover confused, you are invariably accosted by a trickle of peddlers and help-mongers.Each city has a rhythm of its own- a pattern amidst the chaos, that it slowly reveals to you as you pace its streets. And nothing seemed amiss in Athens.

A swig of Rome: Part II

It gets increasingly difficult to talk of a trip as the days pass. Impressions fade and emotions grow dusty. But as I stepped out of the train at Roma Termini almost two months after my first visit it was all different. Despite the sweltering heat I could still feel the slight chill in the wind that evening, see the bright colours the balloon man's cart halted at the traffic light and even the drop of ice cream falling on the pavement beside my feet from the strawberry- vanilla cone of a passerby. I never got to finish the story of that walk.

'Il vittoriano' was not in my plans for that day.

London II

I would give all my fame for a pot of ale- Henry the Fifth, Act 3: Scene 2

Day two in London was rain drenched and gray. It was almost noon when I finally ventured out into the cold streets from the warmth of Priyam's room. The moment I stepped out of Charing Cross, it began to rain in earnest! The unpredictable London rains. Clutching my soggy map,and dripping wet I half walked half ran across the embankment bridge, chancing another glance more at the West minister now shrouded by a veil of rain.

The Thames winds through central London touching many a famed landmark and familiar bridge names like the Waterloo and the London Bridge. Incidentally,the London Bridge has not fallen down yet (not that it would be a great architectural loss).I stood slightly shivering under the Waterloo bridge. A bunch on noisy school children dressed in blue blazers were drying themselves dancing to the rhythm of the music played on a tape recorder as refugees from the rain formed a scanty crowd around them cheering and clapping.

London I

I stood between platforms nine and ten in indecision. Piled in front of the barrier was rubble from the ongoing renovation work. The platforms were overcrowded by work men and women in blue uniforms and yellow helmets and the regular evening commuters. There was no way to get pass all those muggle eyes and get onto platform 9 3/4.

When Priyam told me that the way to get to her place was to take the train from London's Luton airport to King's Cross station, I swear my heart gave a loud whoop and jumped up and down a couple of times. For King's cross is where it all begins, where awaits the gleaming red steam engine of the Hogwarts express, that will wind its way into the hidden world of magic, often more real for us 'Pottermaniacs' than the world we (seemingly) occupy.

Marseille

As the bus took the winding road to Mação, the ghost of a familiar panic gripped me. I felt it each time I returned to Mação in the past two years- the urge to turn back. For ways out of the village were far and few.But this is a different trip altogether. In the next few days I will pack my bags and say good bye to the little village.Macao has not changed a bit since I left more than three months ago. Except that one of its handful of coffee shops has closed down. But hang on.. Macao is at the tail end of the trip. There was a thesis defense, an excavation and quite bit of of tourism sandwiched between. I met long distant friends,slept at many an airport lounges and hostels.