Tell something about your home town/village
WHAT A NICE THREAD!!!
I live in Getxo, old fishermen’s little (before) town with a long tradition in sailing and sea matters. It stands on the north-east coast of Bizkaia (North of Spain), and has ten kilometres of spectacular cliffs and beaches. I am very lucky because I live right next to the see, and during the summer it is just amazing
Getxo, is just a few minutes away from the city of Bilbao, home of the Bilbao Guggenheim Museum which stands on the beautifull and newly renewed bank of the River Nervión. This unique, spectacular building, designed by US architect Frank Gehry, is practically a sculpture in itself! and we are very proud of it.
But besides our Gugghie, in Bilbao, in Getxo we also have our own "hanging bridge", the Puente Bizkaia, the world’s oldest transporter bridge. Built of iron girders, it stands as a symbol of the progress and history of Bizkaia.
Everybody very welcome!!!
I live in Getxo, old fishermen’s little (before) town with a long tradition in sailing and sea matters. It stands on the north-east coast of Bizkaia (North of Spain), and has ten kilometres of spectacular cliffs and beaches. I am very lucky because I live right next to the see, and during the summer it is just amazing
Getxo, is just a few minutes away from the city of Bilbao, home of the Bilbao Guggenheim Museum which stands on the beautifull and newly renewed bank of the River Nervión. This unique, spectacular building, designed by US architect Frank Gehry, is practically a sculpture in itself! and we are very proud of it.
But besides our Gugghie, in Bilbao, in Getxo we also have our own "hanging bridge", the Puente Bizkaia, the world’s oldest transporter bridge. Built of iron girders, it stands as a symbol of the progress and history of Bizkaia.
Everybody very welcome!!!
#32 
Jan 27th, 2006, 20:11 Senior Member
- Join Date:
- Oct 2004
- Location:
- Victoria, Seychelles
- Posts:
- 222
Awesome thread! Interesting to read and know abt the roots and villages of fellow im-ers! Here's my story.... from what I have heard and known from my dad
My family originally is from village KHAMARBARIA in West Bengal under Police Station Onda. The nearest railway station from our village is ONDAGRAM in the Adra - Kharagpur section of the South Eastern Railway. I have yet to visit the village, but Dad has visited it last in the year 1973. However, our family moved and had been staying in Patna since 1911 when my great great grandfather Babu Abinash Chandra Nag, a member of the Bengal Judicial Service and posted in Buxer constructed a house in Jamal Road, Patna. My father grew up there, joined the Indian Foreign Service and in 1980 is when "yours truly" was born in Patna. My paternal grandparents had moved to Kolkata and maternal grandparents to New Delhi. Since 1982 I grew up in countries Dad got posted to. In 1998, I graduated from high school and came to the US for higher studies in 1999. Since then I have been here mainly in the northeast and now in the southwest for work.
Anyone coming this way, let me know!
My family originally is from village KHAMARBARIA in West Bengal under Police Station Onda. The nearest railway station from our village is ONDAGRAM in the Adra - Kharagpur section of the South Eastern Railway. I have yet to visit the village, but Dad has visited it last in the year 1973. However, our family moved and had been staying in Patna since 1911 when my great great grandfather Babu Abinash Chandra Nag, a member of the Bengal Judicial Service and posted in Buxer constructed a house in Jamal Road, Patna. My father grew up there, joined the Indian Foreign Service and in 1980 is when "yours truly" was born in Patna. My paternal grandparents had moved to Kolkata and maternal grandparents to New Delhi. Since 1982 I grew up in countries Dad got posted to. In 1998, I graduated from high school and came to the US for higher studies in 1999. Since then I have been here mainly in the northeast and now in the southwest for work.
Anyone coming this way, let me know!
This rates up there with book/ novel threads among my all time favorites -- thanks Mahmud!
I was raised in a tiny town in central New Jersey. When we moved there, the entire township was covered in bean, corn and potato fields. There was/ is an old quarry for swimming and a pond for ice skating and fishing. Very pretty, and yes, I am talking about New Jersey. A spur of the railway had originally brought the town into existence, but the RR station had closed long ago.
Our housing development was the first suburban incursion into what had been part of the traditional "Garden State." A harbinger of things to come, as by the time I graduated high school, the main byways were flanked by suburbia, and now, even the parts of the township far from the state highway are filled with manicured lawns and office complexes.
Frankly, I'm not crying. I used to play with plenty of kids living in shambly old homes with rotted cars in the front yard - jobs left when the railroad did. And the farm kids? They had no intention of leading the fraught lives their parents did. All those office complexes and light industry now mean lots and lots of jobs, some of which have been taken by my old classmates. The suburban commuters have insisted on taking the public school district up to the level of being one of the best in the state.
My ancestral village (desh) on my father's side is in Nadia District, West Bengal. It, too, underwent economic decline due to loss of transport and trade. First, a Scotsman bought up much of the land around to plant indigo. Bad stories about him still circulate, 200+ years later. When the market fell out from under indigo, he left, but the jamindars took his place. The roots of my family are in one of these jamindar families, but we broke away from the main house at least four or more generations ago. By my grandfather's childhood, our family was long on gentlemanly airs but short on cash!
During my father's childhood, the Ganges shifted its course away from town, and the traders who plied their wares on the river stopped coming. Trade dried up. The British decided to bypass town when they built the railway - a second death blow. Still, the freedom fighters' generation agitated for and won a sewage system and public library, both of which still work.
After independence, my father's generation of middle and upper class teens left town for further schooling and never returned, except for occasional family visits, some with New Jersey-bred kids in tow. They took their families' capital with them. Unlike my New Jersey home, the village is still waiting for its economic renewal.
This renewal will be trickier than in NJ, as the dirt road connecting the village to the district town is regularly washed out, and the government has not invested in decent drainage, let alone gravel or tarmac. Government hasn't invested in the village school either, but graduates made good have kept it afloat and have managed to increase the enrollment of girls in the upper grades, by building separate classrooms and a lavatory for them. These old boys are also trying to get a microcredit program off the ground, in our village and throughout the district.
My father and his friends worry a lot about the village. They are old - who will advocate for their desh when they are gone? The pastoralists who remain there know how to keep their heads down and duck often. Their leaders are content with the status quo. Tough lives leave little imagination for planting hard wood tree stands or developing fish farms or export-oriented flower nurseries. And if you want government, banks, or commercial interests to do anything for you (i.e. invest resources), it helps to have those gentlemanly airs - Bengal's Achilles heel, this.
Beyond my father's cohort's dreams for their village is the kind of economic growth my home town in New Jersey has seen over the past thirty years, without the need of any philanthropy, whatever name NGOs give it, and certainly without its people having the deep sense of rootedness and belonging that Indian villagers do. Well, this post is long enough, so I'll cut my musings short here, before I launch into an immigrant's inevitable praise for American can-do values (rah-rah).
Thanks for the opportunity to share - GM
I was raised in a tiny town in central New Jersey. When we moved there, the entire township was covered in bean, corn and potato fields. There was/ is an old quarry for swimming and a pond for ice skating and fishing. Very pretty, and yes, I am talking about New Jersey. A spur of the railway had originally brought the town into existence, but the RR station had closed long ago.
Our housing development was the first suburban incursion into what had been part of the traditional "Garden State." A harbinger of things to come, as by the time I graduated high school, the main byways were flanked by suburbia, and now, even the parts of the township far from the state highway are filled with manicured lawns and office complexes.
Frankly, I'm not crying. I used to play with plenty of kids living in shambly old homes with rotted cars in the front yard - jobs left when the railroad did. And the farm kids? They had no intention of leading the fraught lives their parents did. All those office complexes and light industry now mean lots and lots of jobs, some of which have been taken by my old classmates. The suburban commuters have insisted on taking the public school district up to the level of being one of the best in the state.
My ancestral village (desh) on my father's side is in Nadia District, West Bengal. It, too, underwent economic decline due to loss of transport and trade. First, a Scotsman bought up much of the land around to plant indigo. Bad stories about him still circulate, 200+ years later. When the market fell out from under indigo, he left, but the jamindars took his place. The roots of my family are in one of these jamindar families, but we broke away from the main house at least four or more generations ago. By my grandfather's childhood, our family was long on gentlemanly airs but short on cash!
During my father's childhood, the Ganges shifted its course away from town, and the traders who plied their wares on the river stopped coming. Trade dried up. The British decided to bypass town when they built the railway - a second death blow. Still, the freedom fighters' generation agitated for and won a sewage system and public library, both of which still work.
After independence, my father's generation of middle and upper class teens left town for further schooling and never returned, except for occasional family visits, some with New Jersey-bred kids in tow. They took their families' capital with them. Unlike my New Jersey home, the village is still waiting for its economic renewal.
This renewal will be trickier than in NJ, as the dirt road connecting the village to the district town is regularly washed out, and the government has not invested in decent drainage, let alone gravel or tarmac. Government hasn't invested in the village school either, but graduates made good have kept it afloat and have managed to increase the enrollment of girls in the upper grades, by building separate classrooms and a lavatory for them. These old boys are also trying to get a microcredit program off the ground, in our village and throughout the district.
My father and his friends worry a lot about the village. They are old - who will advocate for their desh when they are gone? The pastoralists who remain there know how to keep their heads down and duck often. Their leaders are content with the status quo. Tough lives leave little imagination for planting hard wood tree stands or developing fish farms or export-oriented flower nurseries. And if you want government, banks, or commercial interests to do anything for you (i.e. invest resources), it helps to have those gentlemanly airs - Bengal's Achilles heel, this.
Beyond my father's cohort's dreams for their village is the kind of economic growth my home town in New Jersey has seen over the past thirty years, without the need of any philanthropy, whatever name NGOs give it, and certainly without its people having the deep sense of rootedness and belonging that Indian villagers do. Well, this post is long enough, so I'll cut my musings short here, before I launch into an immigrant's inevitable praise for American can-do values (rah-rah).
Thanks for the opportunity to share - GM
I originally grew up in a Warwickshire lane that had nothing but a few small houses, a railway station, and lots of fields. Early in my life the fileds got amalgamated into bigger fields (OK, USA and OZ folk, still tiny in your terms!). The nearest shop was a mile or so away. It was rural, peaceful and lovely. One day the local council said they would put street lighting and thsi was ludly refused by us all! Many a time my small torch lit my way home from the station on my way back from school, or, with no torch, the vaggue looming shapes of the big trees were my guides. We didn't need to be met by our parents in a 4*4 (SUV) then! Now there is a motorway accross the lane which (at least when I past saw it nearly 20 years ago) has made it even more rural as it is no longer a through route to anywhere.
This thread makes me feel like crying! 
Growing up in a fast developing country where rapid modernisation is the buzz word and where scarcity of land makes every inch counts, rural places where we call "kampung" (Malay word for villages or small towns) were virtually non existent during my growing up years in the 70s! In its place are the 10, 20 and 30-storey government-built housing board flats where the majority of our people live.
So no hometown or villages to talk about because I am living in a concrete jungle! :
Growing up in a fast developing country where rapid modernisation is the buzz word and where scarcity of land makes every inch counts, rural places where we call "kampung" (Malay word for villages or small towns) were virtually non existent during my growing up years in the 70s! In its place are the 10, 20 and 30-storey government-built housing board flats where the majority of our people live.
So no hometown or villages to talk about because I am living in a concrete jungle! :
I Was Born And Grew Up In A Town Called Framingham Located About 1/2 Hour From Boston ,massachusetts . Not To Big At The Time But Now Shopping Malls Galore... I Loved Growing Up There But Alas It Was A Kinder Gentler Time !!
(re posting from one of my earlier posts, as i thought a mere link to the post would cut the flow)
Many people asked me to suggest ‘nice’ beaches. I thought my username is a bit misleading! I’m not a beach addict. I chose the name for its simplicity (no one needs to cut & paste!).
But if you twist my arm and ask me …. I’d say it’s Varkala. But not the present one what you see. My nostalgia takes me back to the 80’s.Varkala was not in the tourist map. Or at least it was only in the secret destination list shared by people.
A very silent sleepy village.
a two-platform railway station,
a village market,
a small bus station,
a local pilgrimage center,
a local hospital,
a junior college and a few schools,
a very old temple with a steped pond,
endless paddy fields,
large coconut plantations,
a backwater lake at one corner
and of course the seashore.
This was Varkala.
The occasional trains pass through the hill was the only noise, but even that was having a romantic touch. No tourists could be spotted around. Almost everyone knew everyone in the village. The only time the village become a town was during the annual pilgrimage season and the festival at the temple.
The whole village was so quite that we could hear the arrival of the local bus even when it was crossing the next hill. People had been using the roads to spread and dry the hay under sun.
The beach was a lonely place. No one used to go there except the small kids for playing and a small group of fishermen living nearby. The beach was about 200ft down the steep cliff. Only the brave boys used to venture close the edge of the cliff. On top was the large coconut plantations with houses far in between. At one end of the cliff was a downhill pavement leading the to the seashore.
The only sound we could hear was that of the sea roaring. The sea wind made the coconut trees dance like a million tireless dancers. During the monsoon season the sea looked dark and ferocious. The waves attacked the base of the cliff. At times the edge of the cliff used to landslide with thundering sound.
Post monsoon the sea recede far backward creating a wide self-made beach next to the cliff. In no time creeper plants used to grow at the beach. I still remember chasing the rabbits at the beach that used to come there to eat the creeper. There was no one at sight except a few boys playing and a small group of fishermen pulling the fishing net out of the sea. The song they sung was special when pulling the net. There was noting at sight along the coastline except a few catamarans covered with dry palm leaf mats.
Standing there alone, as a small boy was both fascinating and fearful.
The brilliantly red huge sun slowly went down the edge of the sea. Scattering glittering gold all around. I could see inch by inch the sun sink in to the sea. The fishermen went home with their catch. A big folk of white cranes headed gracefully to the shore. The loneliness of the place injected a sort of unknown fear into me. I climbed the uphill pavement and ran back home.
Yes. I loved that beach!!!
beach
Many people asked me to suggest ‘nice’ beaches. I thought my username is a bit misleading! I’m not a beach addict. I chose the name for its simplicity (no one needs to cut & paste!).
But if you twist my arm and ask me …. I’d say it’s Varkala. But not the present one what you see. My nostalgia takes me back to the 80’s.Varkala was not in the tourist map. Or at least it was only in the secret destination list shared by people.
A very silent sleepy village.
a two-platform railway station,
a village market,
a small bus station,
a local pilgrimage center,
a local hospital,
a junior college and a few schools,
a very old temple with a steped pond,
endless paddy fields,
large coconut plantations,
a backwater lake at one corner
and of course the seashore.
This was Varkala.
The occasional trains pass through the hill was the only noise, but even that was having a romantic touch. No tourists could be spotted around. Almost everyone knew everyone in the village. The only time the village become a town was during the annual pilgrimage season and the festival at the temple.
The whole village was so quite that we could hear the arrival of the local bus even when it was crossing the next hill. People had been using the roads to spread and dry the hay under sun.
The beach was a lonely place. No one used to go there except the small kids for playing and a small group of fishermen living nearby. The beach was about 200ft down the steep cliff. Only the brave boys used to venture close the edge of the cliff. On top was the large coconut plantations with houses far in between. At one end of the cliff was a downhill pavement leading the to the seashore.
The only sound we could hear was that of the sea roaring. The sea wind made the coconut trees dance like a million tireless dancers. During the monsoon season the sea looked dark and ferocious. The waves attacked the base of the cliff. At times the edge of the cliff used to landslide with thundering sound.
Post monsoon the sea recede far backward creating a wide self-made beach next to the cliff. In no time creeper plants used to grow at the beach. I still remember chasing the rabbits at the beach that used to come there to eat the creeper. There was no one at sight except a few boys playing and a small group of fishermen pulling the fishing net out of the sea. The song they sung was special when pulling the net. There was noting at sight along the coastline except a few catamarans covered with dry palm leaf mats.
Standing there alone, as a small boy was both fascinating and fearful.
The brilliantly red huge sun slowly went down the edge of the sea. Scattering glittering gold all around. I could see inch by inch the sun sink in to the sea. The fishermen went home with their catch. A big folk of white cranes headed gracefully to the shore. The loneliness of the place injected a sort of unknown fear into me. I climbed the uphill pavement and ran back home.
Yes. I loved that beach!!!
beach 
What do mean by the home town/village...
I never did got a clear answer on that; is it the place you born in or the place you grew up or the place close to your heart or the place you ultimately chose to settle at old age.
I was born in a remote tea garden of Duars in West Bengal, split my childhood between Duars, remote villages of Orissa and Delhi, found my means of livelihood in Rann of Kachchh, Konkan and now Mumbai.
So, in a way I guess I'm lucky to have so many places that I can call my previous hometowns. So coming back to the point...
A town called Hamiltonganj bordering the tea gardens in north of west Bengal (called North Bengal by some!) is on the edge of flat land before it leaps to form the mountains of Bhutan. The rains are heavy and floods are common annual ritual there. After every bout of rain in the mountains water comes gushing throuh rivers, drains and roads. Along with come pebbles of every shape, size and Colour, after the water drains off the pebbles form intricate mosaic and during childhood I would often arrange and rearrange them to try to decipher the natures pattern.
Another village town called Malkangiri in Koraput district of Orissa, its covered by hilly forest on three sides and the soil is deep red in Colour. The temperature here exceeds 40 deg C most of the days and the canal running outside the town becomes hub of life. Children splashing in water, buffaloes looking sedate in neck-high water, women bathing and chatting noisily.
I never did got a clear answer on that; is it the place you born in or the place you grew up or the place close to your heart or the place you ultimately chose to settle at old age.
I was born in a remote tea garden of Duars in West Bengal, split my childhood between Duars, remote villages of Orissa and Delhi, found my means of livelihood in Rann of Kachchh, Konkan and now Mumbai.
So, in a way I guess I'm lucky to have so many places that I can call my previous hometowns. So coming back to the point...
A town called Hamiltonganj bordering the tea gardens in north of west Bengal (called North Bengal by some!) is on the edge of flat land before it leaps to form the mountains of Bhutan. The rains are heavy and floods are common annual ritual there. After every bout of rain in the mountains water comes gushing throuh rivers, drains and roads. Along with come pebbles of every shape, size and Colour, after the water drains off the pebbles form intricate mosaic and during childhood I would often arrange and rearrange them to try to decipher the natures pattern.
Another village town called Malkangiri in Koraput district of Orissa, its covered by hilly forest on three sides and the soil is deep red in Colour. The temperature here exceeds 40 deg C most of the days and the canal running outside the town becomes hub of life. Children splashing in water, buffaloes looking sedate in neck-high water, women bathing and chatting noisily.
Let Your mind roam ...
and the body will follow!
and the body will follow!
WOW What a great thread!
I grew up in a suburb of Stockholm, about 4000 people living there. Only houses, no apartments and the majority living there are families. 16 years ago I moved into the city and I live on the nicest island. Stockholm is built on 7 islands so you're surrounded by water and I've heard that Stockholm is the only capital in the world where the water is so clean that you can actually swim in the middle of the city. And that's what people do in the summertime, specially at night when you've been out partying. We also have lots of nature, some years ago o wolf(!) got lost in the middle of the city. He was actually on my island
They thought he was looking for a female wolf
They had to put him to sleep and bring him out in the forest. And some years ago we had a brown bear that got lost in a suburb.
If any IM'ers are going to Stockholm please contact me!
I grew up in a suburb of Stockholm, about 4000 people living there. Only houses, no apartments and the majority living there are families. 16 years ago I moved into the city and I live on the nicest island. Stockholm is built on 7 islands so you're surrounded by water and I've heard that Stockholm is the only capital in the world where the water is so clean that you can actually swim in the middle of the city. And that's what people do in the summertime, specially at night when you've been out partying. We also have lots of nature, some years ago o wolf(!) got lost in the middle of the city. He was actually on my island
They thought he was looking for a female wolf
They had to put him to sleep and bring him out in the forest. And some years ago we had a brown bear that got lost in a suburb.
If any IM'ers are going to Stockholm please contact me!
I forgot to tell you about the weather in Stockholm. In the summertime (june-august) we have lots of light. When you go out in the evening you'll have to remember to bring sunglasses because when you get out from bars/clubs the sun will be up 
It doesn't get hot in Stockholm, what we call a nice day is about 25 degrees.
And the winters....they suck! In october the darkness starts and it doesn't get better until april march-april. Even tough Stockholm is in the southern part of Sweden it can get quite cold and lots of snow. Last winter set a record in Stockholm when we had 100 days in a row with snow on the ground. Many people get depressed in the winter and even though I'm born there I hate the cold. So for the last 15 years I've only spent 3winters back home
It doesn't get hot in Stockholm, what we call a nice day is about 25 degrees.
And the winters....they suck! In october the darkness starts and it doesn't get better until april march-april. Even tough Stockholm is in the southern part of Sweden it can get quite cold and lots of snow. Last winter set a record in Stockholm when we had 100 days in a row with snow on the ground. Many people get depressed in the winter and even though I'm born there I hate the cold. So for the last 15 years I've only spent 3winters back home
Let me dive in
Hi IMers,
I was born in a town called Rohtak (State Haryana, India) 80 Kms from Delhi and raised in Gurgaon, another sleepy town (until early 90's), but now its major industrial hub in India.
It has no rivers, no hills, no historical monument, no greenery. Summer temp ranging max. 40 to 48 degree celsius and winter min. 0-1 (yes this winter temp fell upto 0 degree in Haryana)
Now it has developed into a concrete jungle with vast expanse of shopping malls, apartments and buildings covering the horizon and property rates soaring the sky with apartments and houses ranging Rs 3 Million to 30 million . Gurgaon was always town of working class people , sometimes i wonder who can buy and live in houses, such expensive.
We've got hot water spring containing sulphur in Arawali Hills in Sohna (30 Kms). A lake at Sultanpur, which have water only in Monsoon, migratory birds visit the lake in winter, alongwith foreigners from embassies in Delhi.
You are welcome to my place anytime.
-Mk-
I was born in a town called Rohtak (State Haryana, India) 80 Kms from Delhi and raised in Gurgaon, another sleepy town (until early 90's), but now its major industrial hub in India.
It has no rivers, no hills, no historical monument, no greenery. Summer temp ranging max. 40 to 48 degree celsius and winter min. 0-1 (yes this winter temp fell upto 0 degree in Haryana)
Now it has developed into a concrete jungle with vast expanse of shopping malls, apartments and buildings covering the horizon and property rates soaring the sky with apartments and houses ranging Rs 3 Million to 30 million . Gurgaon was always town of working class people , sometimes i wonder who can buy and live in houses, such expensive.
We've got hot water spring containing sulphur in Arawali Hills in Sohna (30 Kms). A lake at Sultanpur, which have water only in Monsoon, migratory birds visit the lake in winter, alongwith foreigners from embassies in Delhi.
You are welcome to my place anytime.
-Mk-
New Zealander here. Born on a farm in Waitoa. No memory of it.
Raised from the age of 3 in a seaside/tourist town called Mount Maunganui. Translation of that is Mount Big Hill. When I was a kid there there was a farm just down the road and a pony club and barn over the fence. We used to hop over the fence to pick mushrooms. Now there's a shopping mall where my house and section once was.
Then went downt the South Island for 2 years. A beautiful place full of variety - Southern Alps, glaciers, etc. Wonderful old-world hospitalty down there.
Then moved to Whakatane in the "Bay of Plenty". A place on the plains, but with live volcanoes in front and behind, also by the sea. Experienced a large earthquake there. Not recommended for the fainthearted. Funnily enough, the whole house and everything in it got wrecked, except for a couple of crates of beer. Turned out we had several visitors in the next few days. Till the beer ran out anyway.
After that, travelled NZ in a bus with 3 kids, 2 dogs and a parrot. Became even madder than usual - survival tactic. Very condusive to wine tasting, beer tasting, bourbon tasting, gin..........
Then spent 1.5 years in a place called Whangarei up north. Ever been trapped in a town where nobody wants to know what's going on in the rest of the country, let alone the rest of the world? Too many rednecks, not enough bullets. Don't go there.
Travelled NZ a little more in the bus, then ended up in Whangamata. Another seaside/tourist town.
Moved back to Tauranga, a city next to a Mount Maunganui. Did a graphic design course, in which most of the students became alchoholic divorcees. Worked in the Polytech there for another year.
Have now come to my senses and moved to Waihi - 20 minutes drive from Whangamata. A little town of 4000 people. NO traffic lights, NO parking metres. Every man for himself. It's nice to be able to walk on the road and the traffic goes around you as opposed to making a beeline for you hoping to collect points. Being able to walk to the pub (inn) and stagger home again safely. Where it takes you 5 minutes to walk to the Post Office, 20 minutes to chat with the locals and do your business and 5 minutes to walk home again. Where you wander into the local travel agents to be greeted by name and already they know where you want to go. India, of course. And they're ready for you with the latest on airline specials, etc. Ahhh, small towns....
We have a varied climate here - wind, rain, cold, or all of the above. Not far from here is a beautiful gorge with a fabulous rockery and an impressive river. When it rains a lot (meaning slightly more than usual) the river is very sociable. It just climbs right on up its banks, across the road and joins you in the local pub. There are photos in there of locals slugging back tankards with the water up to their waists. Well, when one is stuck in such a situation, what to do?.......
This is a mining town from way back - they build 'em tough around here.
We had a hill here once. But then they shifted it to the other side of town on a conveyor belt to look for gold. As you do. Heck, what do we need hills for anyway? They just get in the way of your view...
Looking forward to getting back to India and feeling what real heat is like again. Where you argue with the monkeys over your washing, as opposed to the council (travelling experiences, NZ style), where you share chai with the shopkeeper and show him photos of your family BEFORE arguing over the price, NOT seeing OSH (Occupational Safety and Health) signs saying obvious things like "Danger - crumbling edge" or "Careful - don't bang your head on our sign", etc. NOT having to put 3 extra layers on just to go out to the letterbox 3 metres away. Aaahhh, India. Looking forward to seeing you in June.
Raised from the age of 3 in a seaside/tourist town called Mount Maunganui. Translation of that is Mount Big Hill. When I was a kid there there was a farm just down the road and a pony club and barn over the fence. We used to hop over the fence to pick mushrooms. Now there's a shopping mall where my house and section once was.
Then went downt the South Island for 2 years. A beautiful place full of variety - Southern Alps, glaciers, etc. Wonderful old-world hospitalty down there.
Then moved to Whakatane in the "Bay of Plenty". A place on the plains, but with live volcanoes in front and behind, also by the sea. Experienced a large earthquake there. Not recommended for the fainthearted. Funnily enough, the whole house and everything in it got wrecked, except for a couple of crates of beer. Turned out we had several visitors in the next few days. Till the beer ran out anyway.
After that, travelled NZ in a bus with 3 kids, 2 dogs and a parrot. Became even madder than usual - survival tactic. Very condusive to wine tasting, beer tasting, bourbon tasting, gin..........
Then spent 1.5 years in a place called Whangarei up north. Ever been trapped in a town where nobody wants to know what's going on in the rest of the country, let alone the rest of the world? Too many rednecks, not enough bullets. Don't go there.
Travelled NZ a little more in the bus, then ended up in Whangamata. Another seaside/tourist town.
Moved back to Tauranga, a city next to a Mount Maunganui. Did a graphic design course, in which most of the students became alchoholic divorcees. Worked in the Polytech there for another year.
Have now come to my senses and moved to Waihi - 20 minutes drive from Whangamata. A little town of 4000 people. NO traffic lights, NO parking metres. Every man for himself. It's nice to be able to walk on the road and the traffic goes around you as opposed to making a beeline for you hoping to collect points. Being able to walk to the pub (inn) and stagger home again safely. Where it takes you 5 minutes to walk to the Post Office, 20 minutes to chat with the locals and do your business and 5 minutes to walk home again. Where you wander into the local travel agents to be greeted by name and already they know where you want to go. India, of course. And they're ready for you with the latest on airline specials, etc. Ahhh, small towns....
We have a varied climate here - wind, rain, cold, or all of the above. Not far from here is a beautiful gorge with a fabulous rockery and an impressive river. When it rains a lot (meaning slightly more than usual) the river is very sociable. It just climbs right on up its banks, across the road and joins you in the local pub. There are photos in there of locals slugging back tankards with the water up to their waists. Well, when one is stuck in such a situation, what to do?.......
This is a mining town from way back - they build 'em tough around here.
We had a hill here once. But then they shifted it to the other side of town on a conveyor belt to look for gold. As you do. Heck, what do we need hills for anyway? They just get in the way of your view...
Looking forward to getting back to India and feeling what real heat is like again. Where you argue with the monkeys over your washing, as opposed to the council (travelling experiences, NZ style), where you share chai with the shopkeeper and show him photos of your family BEFORE arguing over the price, NOT seeing OSH (Occupational Safety and Health) signs saying obvious things like "Danger - crumbling edge" or "Careful - don't bang your head on our sign", etc. NOT having to put 3 extra layers on just to go out to the letterbox 3 metres away. Aaahhh, India. Looking forward to seeing you in June.
Quote:
Well Mahmud, I agree on the 3rd & 4th one there. But the first two beats me again...As far as I know my forefathers lived (& lived well!) in the now called Bangladesh, and now its a alien country for me, which requires a passport for me to visit.
And the root, well I could only trace it back to Homo erectus raoming around the asia and then I lost the trail...
Never mind, its a great thread and people out there are enjoying it....
Thats what matters!
Anindya
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