A life altering Travelogue from the distant past -
When the sweat was sweet...!
The recollections
of crisp Mediterranean August are as fresh as the morning dew - the year was
1969. My dear Bhisham Uncle walked into my room with his usual panache and announced that he
had got me a scholarship for a ‘Study & Training’ program in Michigan,
Detroit, where I would get trained in one of the best and busiest restaurant in
America - thanks to his American friend Smiggie. Indeed I was excited and happy.
Alas! The feeling was not to last long, for the very next day, Uncle Raj called
Bhisham Uncle to inform that the family restaurant ‘Sirena’ in London was
in a miserable state, and that it urgently needed to be salvaged. Uncle Bhisham
then came to me and asked me to choose between my career and saving the
family restaurant from withering away. It was indeed a ‘Hobson’s Choice’ - I
chose to restore ‘Sirena’ and family prestige, the rest is history.
This is the story of a young lad “Virat Varma”
and his rather audacious escapades of early life, when his joys were
substituted by challenges, trials and tribulations. It is Indeed a quaint
paradox that it all started with the most thrilling drives of his life which
was at the threshold of a turning point – Now imagine ‘Virat’
driving from Beirut to London when he was just Nineteen - given the fact that
‘This Guy’ had never traveled alone -
leave alone staying in a hotel in a foreign land or back home in India. But he had
the support of his dear Uncle (Chacha) his ‘Guardian Angle’ –who always very reassuring
with words like he said, “that in case of any problem remember I will be just a phone call away”. Thus began his maiden
journey of life full of outlandish ironies – As they say each of us is peculiar,
that in turn means unique in every sense – So be it.
The Preparation
Preparations for London started on a low key.
To reach this coveted destination, I was to drive through eight countries over
seven days - today it may sound like a motivating chronicle. Transit visas were
applied for all the countries on the way, road maps were carefully studied, some
clothes were bought for London winter. My Chachaji (Uncle) gave me a book
called ‘Road Map of Europe’ in which the recommended route was to drive through
Beirut-Syria-Turkey-Bulgaria-Yugoslavia-Italy-Switzerland – France and finally
London U. K. (6000 miles flat). My ‘Chariot of Fire’ was a Red Convertible Fiat
1500 cc with manual gear shift, hard top, duly fitted with record player with four
speakers. Thus began the biggest adventure of my life. It was Tuesday – A day
when I go to a temple – even today.
In this blog I try to elucidate how life changes its course without our knowing and when the moment presents itself or by the time you realize, it’s a little too late as you are in the thick of dealing with the cardinal aspects of life and the comedy of human existence. But all said and done, I like to submit in all humility, that I have no regrets to have answered the clarion call of destiny in a positive manner at that point in time and would also like to believe that it was ordained. Even today I am humbled at the thought of HIS GRACE who gave me the courage to accomplish the challenge hurled at me by fate and considers myself truly blessed – Such is the dichotomy of life.
DAY ONE
Tuesday, 28th October 1969
To my surprise, I found a travel companion who was also our old Chef Pratap Singh- wearing my uncle’s old suit and felt cap. (He was trying to run away because some people were forcing him to marry a girl against his wishes, and he had come the previous night to ask my uncle for help). Chef Pratap couldn’t speak English, couldn’t read map or navigate and slept through the trip. To cut the long story short, I started my journey early next morning at 6 A.M. The drive from Beirut to Tripoli and from Tripoli to Syrian Border was a breath of fresh air. On one side there was the Mediterranean Sea with valleys and mountains on the other. In a couple of hours I was out of Lebanon plowing the road through Syria on way to Turkey.
In 1969 compared to Lebanon, Syria was not as developed, the roads were bad throughout and we could not find one good restaurant for a meal. We stopped at a petrol pump for a refill and thats all we could get. Before crossing into Syria, on the Turkey border there were few shops selling Coke & Cream Biscuits, we helped ourselves with these small eats and some very special Arabic bread which was made more like a shell with a loop.
First Episode – Mother’s Grace
A small incident that has not left me even today, and must be recorded as it relate to my mother’s blessings - to who I was so very dear. When I came from India I brought with me my mother’s comb, it has been with me in my briefcase all along. I always used it to comb my hair. While getting into the car my hair got ruffled, to groom them back for my ‘Cool Killer Look’, I took it out from my briefcase and sloppily left it on the bonnet of the car. When we stopped at another petrol pump after 220 kilometers drive, I was surprised to see that this comb was still on the bonnet - as though a part of my mother was with me for my protection. Years have passed but, I still use my mother’s comb even today, It is symbol of my mother’s protection .More importantly, it The Comb still makes me feel like a young Casanova as I comb my graying hair. Although time & tide waits for none, but in the minds we remain young - as if it was only yesterday.
The
journey from Turkey was rather harsh. This stretch of the journey was bad and
the roads were very poor, going up and down through the mountains. I even had a
flat just after 30-40 kilometers of driving into Turkey, but after that I did
not have any problem till I reached London.
The
first day of the journey was very tiring but we reached Antakya - our
destination for the day by 5 pm. Back in 1969 Antakya was a small town with a kind
of village high street on a higher altitude overlooking the rest of the village
or town. There were about 15 odd restaurants, along with other shops all around
the street selling ‘Shish Kebabs’. We checked into a small hotel and came down to
one of the restaurants where, as a
vegetarian I could only get a very limited choice- bread and hummus with salad while Pratap
Singh relished those lovely sheesh kebab .We slept early as we had to start in
the morning. The night in Antakya Hotel was uncomfortable and scary as the
hotel was not at all comfortable.
Second Episode - Nightmare at Antakya
Imagine
the thrills of this young lad staying in a hotel- in a foreign land-for the first
time in his life with over £1000 in his pocket given by his rich uncle for
expenses on the way back in 1969.Must be feeling rich – In sixties it was hell
of a lot of money.
We had checked in a small hotel
overlooking the high street, the room was on first floor with no
air-conditioner. All I can still recall is the nauseating stench of kebabs in
the air; we had to keep the windows open as it was quite suffocating. My travel
mate Pratap Singh was snoring away to glory. The bed bugs and stench kept me
company through the night. It was indeed a nightmare at Antakya. This was also the
night that changed the way I was to live in hotels in the future.
Throughout
the journey then and even today, I always make it a point to choose the best
hotels in the town for my stay and have not compromised ever since.
DAY
TWO
Wednesday, 29th October 1969
The
morning was nice, a bit chilly yet bright and we started for our next
destination Ankara, the capital of Turkey. This part of the drive was scary yet
memorable, I remember going down the hill into the valley, and I spotted a tea
shop, a comforting sight indeed. The temperature must have been close to 3 or 4°
C, the strong winds whistled past our eardrums. We stopped at the tea shop, and
were served tea without milk and some buttered bread. Famished as we were, this
was the best snack we had after a long time. I was surprised at myself to think
that here was a man who had never had tea in his life was enjoying his tea even
without milk. This was one place where I can never think of spending the night.
The rest of the journey was typically a high way ride and we were able to cover
the stretch rather quickly as the traffic was also very scant. We were able to
reach Ankara by 11 AM. Ankara was a clean looking town with few smart buildings.
The place reminded me of Chandigarh of the seventies, in many ways, very green
and spread out. I don’t remember the name but it was the best looking hotel, we
decided to have breakfast. The menu was limited, clean toilets very clean
environment. We spent an hour or so to relish their courtesy and then decided
to move on to our next stop - Istanbul. Although I don’t remember the name of
the hotel where we had our breakfast but I would love to go back and look for
on my next visit to Ankara.
The
journey from Ankara to Istanbul was all about driving up and down the hill, but
we reached comfortably as it was a double carriage well made highway. Rest of
the ride was quite smooth and the road was straight. It was here for the first
time, I saw the illusion of ‘Horizon’ the LINE where road meets the sky- it was
a breath taking sight. Traffic on this road was quite intense and we drove at
top speed. One scary part of the journey was, when I was trying to overtake a
cart, a big truck was coming from the opposite side, this fellow got so annoyed
seeing me moving into his lane, he chased me out of the road into the green
fields. Fortunately there was no damage and we continued the journey. As
imagined Istanbul was beautiful, there was a distinct difference between
European and the Asian part of Istanbul. The Asian part had a skyline of old
14-15 century buildings, while the European side was more modern, with wide
roads and to top it all it had the look and feel of entering Europe. Both the
parts of this city were equally beautiful, with a unique charm of their own.
DAY
THREE
Thursday, 30th October 1969
As always, I woke up early in the morning, got ready, and loaded some food which we might require while driving past Eastern Europe. On entering Bulgaria, we could feel that we were passing through an under developed country. The Russian architecture was predominant all around, most of the buildings looked similar to the USSR Embassy in Delhi - cold and strong.
Driving to Sophia the Capital of Bulgaria was
tough. Out of 650 kilometer 550 roads were not tarred and were made of stone-
it was one bumpy ride. My cousin in Beirut had described these roads as
‘dug-dug’ roads. We were rather tense and kept on praying for my car to stay intact
and not collapse on the road. We did not stop anywhere and were able to reach
Sophia by 7.30 in the evening. In the city, traffic was quiet and scanty and the
best hotel was Sophia International. This hotel was very good and fully
occupied, the reception staff was courteous and friendly they offered
assistance for all what we required. We went to our room, freshened up and came
down to the dining hall. They had a fix menu. We ate what we could. Staff
serving food was polite. They all look well fed and were happy to know that we
are Indians. In sixties Indians were favorite of communist world because of our
relationship with Moscow. We decided to call it early night as next day we had
to reach Belgrade, Yugoslavia.
Third Episode – The Beautiful Bait
At about 10 P.M. somebody knocked at
the door. By this time Chef Pratap Singh was snoring away, so I went up to the
door, I opened the door and saw a very pretty and well fed girl who was
speaking in broken English she asked “can I come into the room?” Thinking she
is a hotel staff I let her come in. Only after she got inside the room I
realized that it was a mistake. She offered to spend night with me if I gave
her 20 Dollars and she also offered to call her friend for my sleeping friend (Chef
Pratap Singh) on the second bed. I remember my uncle’s lecture on growing up
where he had told me never to pay for such things. I politely offered her some
chocolates and requested her to go - What a Dumb Ass I was!
DAY
FOUR
Friday-31st October 1969
For
any Indian, Belgrade the capital of Yugoslavia was a very important destination.
Marshal Tito was the President of Yugoslavia and was a close friend of our country;
we had grown up listening Tito and Nehru stories. The a small part of journey
next day again was on the Dug Dug road, but once we entered Yugoslavia roads
were good, beautiful Landscape. The feel of the area was much liberal and
relaxed as we comfortably reached Belgrade in the afternoon. Total journey was
about 400 kms thus far. We stop at a highway restaurant and had something to
eat and when we were close to Belgrade we realized that Zagreb was only 350km away and we decided to
drive past. The road was good and we
reach Zagreb at 8 pm and checked in a hotel called International hotel. This
was a nice hotel with modern facilities and we could see people moving around
within the hotel and outside on the road.
For the first time since we started a journey from
Beirut we were enjoying ourselves. After a wash and change we came down, went
around the city, had a nice meal in their restaurant it was a great evening
spent. We were also excited, because tomorrow we were going to cross over to
Italy.
DAY FIVE
Saturday,
1st November 1969
Zagreb looked progressive and a well planned
city from the 7th floor of the hotel room. I could see many modern buildings,
people were smartly dressed, and few of them could even speak English. It was
6AM, I was in two minds, whether to move on or spend another night. I guess the
duty called and by seven in the morning we were back on the road to Venice -
Italy.
It
was a pleasant drive, the roads were smooth, this was a stretch of over 50 Km
road running parallel to the sea, the weather was pleasant and sunny and so was
the journey. It did not surprise me when I reached the out skirts of Venice by
10 AM., in minutes we entered Italy and were on Motor Ways going all the way to
Milan and Turin. Without wasting any time after entering the city we decided
move on to Milan. Driving on the 3 lane motor ways was something what I had
only read about but never experienced. First time I could step on my
accelerator to touch the speed of 150 /160 km, promising myself to visit again I said good bye to Venice.
Italy as
a country always used to excite me, may be because my favorite Italian cuisine,
specially Pizza and Ravioli besides the best brands of clothing in Beirut were
all Italian.
I
used to imagine that every nook and corner in Italy would be serving Pizzas and
Pasta and designer clothes. Unfortunately, I did not see any such thing, but
still what I saw did impress me. Most impressive were their drive-in
restaurants. I remember visiting one particular restaurant built like an overhead
bridge across the road. The Bridge Part was a proper restaurant, we had lunch
there. Restaurant was properly laid out with table clothes, wine glasses and
smart waiters. As I perused excitedly through the menu I had no luck with the
pizza, but they did have chicken curry and rice. Finally we had to do with soup
and a sandwich. Driving on Italian Motorways was pure luxury and by 2o’clock we
were on the outskirts of Milan and once again I decided to move on to Turin
which was approximately 150 km from Milan. Journey from Milan to Turin was
uphill and the weather was getting pleasant and nippy. We decided to spend the
night in a motel on outskirts of Turin.
Fourth
Episode – Italian Motor Ways, Maserati and Adrenaline rush
My
Fiat 1500 with five gears was a very good sport car of that time and could
touch about 160-165 km on Italian Motor ways. I remember driving from Venice to
Milan at a speed of 140 km an hour. I was holding on to hard top of my car
because the buckle which holds the hard top roof was loose. Driving at high
speeds against the wind, with adrenaline flowing through my blood, the music
from my record player was not audible because of the roaring sound of engine
and the wind. I was in the 2nd lane and wanted to overtake a car in front, I
gave the indicator to get into the third lane and try to drive faster so to
overtake the car in front. When I crossed that car there was a flash from back
indicating that I was off the lane to 2nd lane. With my all effort when I came
to 2nd lane I saw a beautiful sport car with man and woman talking to each
other and next second they zoom passed me. Only thing I could notice about car
was W. I have never seen a car being driven at that speed with driver and a
companion sitting and talking. As though they were moving around marine drive,
later on when I found that car was Maserati. For me even today the best car in
the world is Maserati.
Fifth Episode- Chef Pratap Cooks Indian
Meal in Turin
The
Motel at Turin on the road to Mont Blanc tunnel was rather quiet. We got a room
on the first floor, once we checked in; Chef Pratap almost had a nervous
breakdown. He begged me to go to the manager and request, if he could cook some
Indian food for both of us. With slight hesitation, I walked in the manager’s office;
luckily he could speak and understand good English. After listening to my
request he smiled and asked me again if Pratap was a genuine chef or just an
Indian wanting to eat Indian food, when I told him Pratap was a very good Indian
chef, and has been managing our restaurants. He put his condition, he said this
time of evening we are 7-8 of us working in the hotel, I will give you
permission to cook but he will have to cook for all of us. It was memorable
evening as Pratap cooked nice chicken curry, some pulao and vegetables for
them. They were kind enough to make a pizza for me. We all sat together and had
a great meal and mind you, they did not charge us a penny for the dinner and for
breakfast next morning.
DAY SIX
Sunday
2nd November 1969
Next morning was
cloudy, allowing sun to feast on snow Clad Mountains in the north. The Motel
being next to highway, we were able to get on the motorway quickly. Just after
a few kilometers we came on the regular mountain road. In 2 hours we were at
the entry point of the longest man made tunnel in the world,
The Mont Blanc Tunnel, it is a highway tunnel in Europe,
under the Mont
Blanc mountain in the Alps. The passageway is one of the major trans-Alpine
transport routes, cutting through Mont Blanc Mountain with entry from
Italy and exiting in France. Immigration for Italy and
France both were cleared before entering the tunnel. There were two lanes on
each side and there was a speed limit of about of 60kms an hour. Next half an
hour was amazing journey, as though I was making a history. We came out on the
other side of the mountains overlooking the beautiful valley - we were in
France. Little further down we could see Geneva.
Being a Lebanese driver fast and rash when I tried to move onto the main road without stopping, the French policeman stopped me and gave me a spot lesson on how to enter the main road for next 20 minutes. And then he asked me if I have any foreign coins. I took out a handful of them from my pocket; he selected quiet few and let me go. In the next half an hour we were in Geneva. A beautiful town with a lake in the middle and as usual my hunt for a good hotel started. I spotted a nice big hotel close to the lake, it was called Hotel D’Angleterre. I checked into this hotel in Autumn of 1969 they charged me approximately 30$. Even till today I have never stayed in better hotel in my life. Rooms were very spacious and fantastic view overlooking lake. In the middle of lake I could see fountains shooting jet of water to about 150 feet high. I had my bath, got ready and put on a suit as I was going to meet one of my old girl friends who had moved to Geneva- I guess not was another my story.
The Lunch at d'Angleterre was memorable, being a
vegetarian I found it to be very satisfying there was a large variety
vegetarian Hor’devours and other salads spread over the buffet counters. I
still remember relishing vinaigrette Artichoke, asparagus, baby peas, sautéed
mushroom, along with that they serve me spinach and cheese cannelloni. Food was
just divine. After lunch we decided to visit the city centre which was just
round the corner. I think we were the only two Indians in the whole wide world
of Geneva. We ordered Dinner in the room as Chef Partap was very uncomfortable
eating with fork and knife in the restaurant. Service of the hotel was courteous
and efficient. I still remember in 1969 housekeeping staff giving us a night
service asking me whether I require soft or hard pillow. Although there was
central heating, we were provided feather quilts. They were really light and
warm. We had one of the best sleep of the trip.
Sixth Episode- Virat the ‘Prince’
Wanting to find out the best route to get into
France I walked up to the concierge desk and he politely explained that the
shortest route was through Lausanne. Thereafter he asked me if I was a Prince
of some Middle Eastern country. I smiled and asked him what made him think that
I was a Prince. He replied you are well dressed; you have a very beautiful
sport car with Arabic number plate and most of all you have a body guard who
does not leave you even when you are having lunch and so in all probability you
have to be a prince. I laughed and cleared his ‘judgment’, and explained that I
was an Indian and I live in Lebanon and was going to London and my body guard
was actually my Indian chef. Isn’t it an irony that our appearances sometime
attract different reactions in different countries? Partap’s appearance in my
uncle’s suit and felt hat (which he never removed even while eating his lunch)
most probably made everyone from Syria to Yugoslavia was that of a boss and I
was a driver. But the minute I entered Western Europe the world of money,
power, influence he became my body guard.
DAY SEVEN
Monday, 3rd November 1969
Next day, after a deep sound sleep – the best in last six days of the journey – and a hearty breakfast we left Geneva at 7.30 in the morning, for Lausanne, the 70 km journey took over an hour and half and this is where we started our journey toward Dijon in France. From Dijon we got onto the motorway and were on the way to Paris, Switzerland. Motorway to Paris was really very smooth, modern and nice, 500 km journey made us reach Paris at 2 o’clock in afternoon.
On the way to Dijon from Lausanne we
came across beautiful green valleys, bright sun and breath-taking scenic beauty.
[Although I lived in England for many
years later in life but the only thing which comes close, to this is the welsh countryside]. On Paris Motor
Way, Drive-Inn was very modern, sleek. It is there for first time I had a beef
burger. I was really impressed by the modern kitchen layout and service style.
In Paris, only thing I remember was is the
Eiffel Tower. A magnificent monument – one that takes your breath away, it was
like miracle and I saw this humongous wonder, it was very
hard to believe, something of that magnitude could be built in 18th centaury
.We spend about an hour looking around Paris and then resumed our journey
towards Ferry Port, Calais, then for the next one hour we went around Paris
trying to find our way to Calais. Each and every person we met just refused to
answer in English and said No-Parle’
English , finally we met an Armenian guy, he was kind enough to guide us and
said” my friend they all know English
but they will not answer because French always looked down at English and they
have never forgiven them for murdering Joan of Arch”. We reached Calais by 4
o’clock, took a ferry and sailed for England.
For
any Indian Sea Ferry journey from France to England with few 100 cars on the
board along with the passenger was quite an eye opener. It took about 3 hours
to cross the English Channel; boat was well designed with Restaurants, Cafes and
Gift shops. They even had immigration office. Where immigration officers were
securitizing passports for visa and entry permit. While I had a visa to get
into England but Chef Partap did not have one. When we reach the immigration
officer’s desk, with lot of persuasions he agreed to give Partap 3 month’s
visa. Most amazing thing was that out of 100s of cars on the ferry, he knew
that I was driving Red Sports Convertible Fiat and being a car buff he discussed with me my
journey from Beirut to France and wished me luck.
Reaching England after sun set was a tricky
situation but as we were one hour away from London, we were not worried as we
had already reached our destination. After reaching Hounslow we kept on looking
for Sirena Restaurant and finally when we were really fed up of looking around for
it we saw a police car (I had heard great things about British–Bobbys’-all
good). 
Little frustrated I went over to him and asked him the location of the
address. He smiled and looked at me and said are you joking, shockingly I asked
him what made him think so. He smiled confidently and said the restaurant you
looking for is right behind you. When I turned around I finally saw Sirena
Indian Restaurant.
Thus
ended this long and tiring journey, I never considered this an achievement of
the sorts, but with the passage of time, as I look back I realize that for a boy just 19 years old it
was indeed, quite an accomplishment to
start with. Today the memories are alive and fresh as the morning dew when I reflect.
Deep down somewhere – someone tells me to go back and do a repeat of the same journey,
traverse the same trail with friends and record the changes between1969 and
now. I am sure the world has changed - so have I. I feel it is important to
record Europe of sixties and compare it with Europe of 2014/ 2015.
Written By : Anil Chak & Virat Varma
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