We planned to go to Italy. We planned and planned again. And planned over again. And then, we ended up in France. Normandy to be exact, with a small detour to Brittany. Nevertheless,the holidays were lovely, as they always are. Normandy has a lot to offer - from sun kissed beaches to historical D-Day monuments to marvellous cathedrals and châteaus (more on them later). But after 2327 kilometres on the road in a span of 10 days, it feels good to be back home. Good to come back to the unfailingly gloomy Dutch weather, which almost always surprises you with a glint of sunshine, just at the moment when you have completely given up on it.

And its really good because I have five more days before I start work again - one more glorious week of doing what I may please. I woke up today morning to a lovely cup of coffee (the French make terrible coffee, BTW, and for one week, my caffeine thirsty soul have just about been hanging in there) and a audio rendition of Naranath Brandhan - if you are not from Kerala, chances are you have no clue what that is - it is a famous poem by V. Madhusoodanan Nair, and literally means the mad man of Naranath.

Now, lets not really read too much into why I am attracted to mad men the first thing on my free Monday morning (free Monday morning!yoo hoo! Sorry, I can’t seem to get over it). Be that as it may, Naranath Brandhan is a very interesting character in Kerala folklore (and if you understand Malayalam, I would highly recommend the poem).

He was one of the twelve sons of Vararuchi, one of the nine wise men (Navaratnas) of Vikramaditya’s court. To make a very interesting story short ( I will hopefully get to the long version sometime), Vararuchi married a Parachi, one of the low castes of the time. They went on a trip (the ancient version of honeymoon, I presume), during which they had 12 children (I wonder at which stupid period in our history we decided to shorten honeymoons), whom Vararuchi insisted they abandon on the banks of Nila river. The 12 children, subsequently, grew up in 12 different home, in 12 stratas of the society, from the highest to the lowest. And every year they came together for annual family gatherings and such(so much for the caste system, really). And all 12 of them have their own stories, but Naranath Brandhan remains my all time favourite.

If you are in Kerala and would like to trod the untrodden path and not just the backwaters and the beaches and the tea resorts, make a day trip to visit the places of the 12 kids of Vararuchi - the amazing thing is you still find vestiges to most of the stories when you go back to the places where Vararuchi’s wife abandoned them. And the locals and the direct descendants of these families would be happy (or they were, several years back) to regale you with very interesting stories and tales of family traditions.

Well, enough of France and Kerala. Amsterdam is where I am. With this filler post, I leave you till I get some time to sort through the pictures and write some travel notes (if intentions ever come to fruition).