I just realised that I have, several times, told readers to "watch this space" for follow-ups. And never followed through. Hmmm... food for thought.
Not, of course, that I'm going to do anything about it.
Friday, June 30, 2006
In Passing...
Writing about China on the basis of seeing two cities would be like judging all of India on the basis of Delhi and Bombay. Not that there's much of a comparison between Delhi / Bombay and Shanghai / Beijing. And of course, where language is a constraint, travel can't open up new vistas to the extent one would like: one can see other people going about their lives, but not really understand what they're all about - what they want, what they think about, what they really think about the cultural revolution and Chairman Mao and the world and their place in it.
Still, a story about the trip will be posted soon.
For the moment, more travel is on the cards. I'm off to London tomorrow. A week with family and friends, time to think and recharge my batteries and figure out my life a little, and hopefully when I come back, I'll know in which direction I need to start hacking to clear the undergrowth a little.
It's 1:30 in the morning. Dylan's birthday tribute plays, yellow lamplight sets everything aglow.
Outside, it's thundering and lightning-ing, and there's that old feeling of excitement creeping in. Tomorrow promises a great quarter-final too, the kind that needs to be watched with friends, with copious amounts of beer and raucous cheering.
And ultimately, who cares what happens tomorrow? In the final count, may the best team (Brazil) win. :)
Update:
These @*%#-ing Brazilians. Now I'm seriously depressed.
Still, a story about the trip will be posted soon.
For the moment, more travel is on the cards. I'm off to London tomorrow. A week with family and friends, time to think and recharge my batteries and figure out my life a little, and hopefully when I come back, I'll know in which direction I need to start hacking to clear the undergrowth a little.
It's 1:30 in the morning. Dylan's birthday tribute plays, yellow lamplight sets everything aglow.
Outside, it's thundering and lightning-ing, and there's that old feeling of excitement creeping in. Tomorrow promises a great quarter-final too, the kind that needs to be watched with friends, with copious amounts of beer and raucous cheering. And ultimately, who cares what happens tomorrow? In the final count, may the best team (Brazil) win. :)
Update:
These @*%#-ing Brazilians. Now I'm seriously depressed.
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