My four days in Macau felt like a mix between a school fieldtrip and a beautiful surreal dream. Our tour guide's name was Alorino, or "Aloo" for short (which means "potato" in Hindi). Aloo grew up in India but moved to Macau 24 years ago for love. Even though this city is now his home, over lunch after some glasses of Portuguese wine, he'll tell you that his heart belongs to India and he'll regale you with stories about the year, way back when, that he spent traveling around Punjab.
There were 12 of us Indian journalists on this journey, each with our own story: a garrulous author of a book called "Surviving Women", a soft-spoken spiritualist with sayings like "Put a green bough in your heart and a song will come", a tone-deaf photojournalist who'd covered Iraq and liked to break into Hindi song at random moments, an elderly travel writer who looked like a little gnome with her big glasses and tiny sari-clad frame...
Each morning, Aloo would meet us at the hotel lobby and we'd roam around Macau in a small white bus with a clock that only showed time between 1 and 3:20 p.m., after which it would rotate back and start all over again.
In the evenings, we'd return to "The Grand Emperor" hotel, a chandelier-filled paradise with a casino on the second floor, 81 real gold bricks laid into the entrance, and stern looking British guards out front-- although, after careful observation and some discreet conversation, we found out that the guards were actually Romanian and had a habit of following with their eyes every pretty girl who walked by.
1 comment:
Hi!
I found your blog through your article at ABCD lady. Its so wonderful that you are taking the time to spend with your Naniji. I was very close to my dear Dadaji and he passed away earlier this year. I was really greatful for the time I was able to spend with him!
Look forward to reading about your adventures!
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