Skip to main content

Blistering Barnacles!


Did you hear about ero-tourism? It isn’t as bad as it sounds. Its etymological root is a combination of the Greek god of love, Eros and tourism – the idea is to discover love while traveling. It’s a new fad in experimental tourism, advocated by Joel Henry.


It’s all about two people going to a destination separately and using their love/knowledge of the other as a GPS to find each other.

I discovered this concept in an in-flight magazine and was thoroughly excited by it (oops, pun unintended!). And last weekend, I synthesized the concept and pushed it to a new level.

My travel plan went something like this:
Destination: Chicago
Knowledge of city: Almost none
Bio-compass: Non-existent
Ability to read maps: Laughable
Travel companion: A new friend
Plan: Explore
Budget: Shoestring

Well, it was a thrilling experience, to say the least.

We randomly got down from the CTA train somewhere in downtown and ran into a Halloween Day parade, complete with several bands, hundreds of tiny tots and parents in costumes, trick-or-treaters, cheerleaders, and horse-driven carriages.

After we parted ways with the parade, we ran into the Cadillac Theater and Sears (now Willis) Tower, left them also behind and got completely lost in our quest to board the loop train. We walked around streets for almost an hour and because we didn’t know where we were, didn’t know which bus to board and in which direction. We eventually found our way and the loop station.

At the Art Institute later that day, we decided to split and meet again at an appointed hour at an appointed place. We were living dangerously because we didn’t have cell phones and hence no means of communication, in case we couldn’t find each other. Fancy, this was how people lived for 5000 years before wireless telephony!

Encouraged by our success in finding each other, we went on a wild goose chase to get the best view of the Chicago skyline from the lakeshore. It was a bloody long walk and by the time we reached the pier near Adler Planetarium, we were too exhausted to enjoy the sight.

That night, we drowned our fatigue in glasses of Sangria at an Italian restaurant near our hotel at O’Hare. I had blisters on my feet but my mood was upbeat.

The next day, we stumbled on to the river walk along Wacker Street. It was a great day to do that walk – fall colors were setting in, the sun was bright but not warm and Chicago River was charming. We discovered a nice restaurant to have lunch, which served us chocolate martini and iced tea, along with several “healthy” meal options.

We did the regulation visit to Magnificent Mile, visited a few shops selling clothes too small for me, and then fell into a bus, whose driver was so sweet that she made an unscheduled stop near the station we had to go to. And watched over us after we got down. When we (of course) turned in the wrong direction, she honked and put us gently on the right path.

Oh, by the way, did I mention the conversation we had with a cab driver, who theorized that American men like Indian women because they’re usually virgins?

Comments

asrek said…
So....your ero-tourist experiment didnt work? either with the friend or the cab driver?
asrek said…
So....your ero-tourist experiment didnt work? either with the friend or the cab driver?
Unknown said…
If the cabbie sounds dodgy, what's worse is Sangria at an Italian joint! Reminds me of Dominos' Chinese pizza.
PaRaDoX said…
how foolish of that cabbie to think like that.. all i wanna knw is, is he still in the same perception or some one has enlightened him on that ...???

Popular posts from this blog

Priya’s Must Watch Movies List

(Warning: a long post) “Why don’t you write a blog post on Tamil movies that non-Tamil people can enjoy?” Arif asked me the other day, perhaps in a bid to stop me from going on and on about a recent Tamil movie I watched. It was a capital idea. I decided to take out couple of hours from a week that is killing in its work load to write the post. I knew I was going to have fun. Thank you Anup and Anil for helping me come up with the list! The Tamil Milieu “Frank passions of Tamil cinema”, said Nisha Susan in a recent article. How true! Hot headed, vocal, simple, loyal Tamils with centuries of unbroken performing arts tradition embraced cinema as early as 1897. It was the beginning of a long, passionate, earthy love story, making cinema an extension of our identity, a part of our popular culture, intermingling with politics and daily life. 50-feet cut outs are but a small expression of our love. We make countless stars and worship them with pure hearts. Our whole hearted approval of the f

Catharsis

How relevant can a play that was first staged in 458 BC and won a goat as a prize in the Festival of Dionysius be to our lives now? I was cynical. Damn it, the hole burnt by the 75 USD I wasted on that completely puerile, award-winning musical on Broadway with a far shorter history still smoked in my purse. But it was a beautiful day outside – sunny and warm after 10 days of gloomy, cold, and wet weather. The play was happening practically next door and was priced at an affordable 14 USD. I’d never watched a Greek tragedy in my life and I had promised Geetha that I would come back and bore him with it. So off I went to watch what I thought was an ambitious presentation of the entire trilogy of Oresteia by Aeschylus by the Bradley University Theater group. Of course I had my reservations: I wondered how were they going to make me care about a story so bloody and unrelatable – hell, the plot outline sounded like a handbook on “How to kill your family and come up with convincin

Sundarbans – The Mystic Vastness

You need to be in a state of preparedness to visit the Sundarbans. I suggest that you wait until you are over 30 and have experienced a few knocks, some heartbreak, and a little disappointment in life. It would help if you had ever searched for anything—God, happiness, truth, yourself. It might also be useful to believe that it is necessary to get lost to find your way. If you are the sort of person who finds music in the sound of the quiet lap of water against the tarred hull of the boat or the metaphor of life in drifting along endless waters on a little vessel, then you are ready for the magnificent mangroves. Because the Sundarbans is not for the weekend holidayers, the types who would want to drink beer, scratch their bum/crotch/head/something, throw plastic and Styrofoam into the water with impunity, and hope to get laid. I only hope that the crocodiles that eat them would not develop indigestion. It is important to find the right tour guide for the Sundarbans, as we did. Bi

The Messy, Boozy, Bro-y, Funny World of Tamil Movie Heartbreak

Season of Love It seems like every young person in the 16 – 22 age group in Tamil Nadu is in love—with someone unacceptable to their parents. They are expressing their feelings vocally and dramatically, through TV music channels, FM channels, friends, WhatsApp and other social media. They are shaking up the very fundamentals of societal structures and hoary traditions. They are eloping or standing up to opposition; they are marrying in police stations, registrar offices and temples. Some end tragically, but a lot of them seem to be thriving, as parents are resigning to the new order. Sociologists might talk in terms of social mobility, aspirations, westernization, urbanization et al. Be that as it may, every time I call home, I hear one more story. Of clandestine actions, dramatic proclamations, and cinematic gestures. And Tamil movies—that bastion of “ energetic physicality and frank passions ”—supply the voice, plot, lyrics and music for these micro-epics unfolding in

"Low Life Fictions" of Sadat Hasan Manto

My auto came to a halt atone of the dusty, grimy, grey traffic signals that dots the Mumbai suburban landscape. It was just another Mumbai road moment, the air vibrating with the restless thrum of the million engines carrying a million impatient people to their various destinations.  A dusty, grimy, grey street child was making the rounds of the waiting vehicles, begging. He was so small that any smaller, he would have been mistaken for the million bandicoots that live under the pavements and sewers. He was begging the way street children are perhaps taught in their Fagin’s academy—touching the passengers, knocking on the raised car windows, his tone whining and pitiful. He approached an auto containing two teenage girls. As he tried to touch them, one of the girls shrieked in a tone colored by disgust and fear, “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” The little child, as like some of us around, was taken aback by the violence of her words. Just then the signal turned green

Labels

Show more