A Travelogue from a Travel Agnost
The spelling nazis will point out that there is a typo in the headline.
The purists will point out that there is no such word in the English language.
I agree. But …
‘A Travelogue from a Travel Agnostic’ sounded abrupt.
‘A Travelogue from a Travel Agnostic Person’ sounded a little ho-hum.
So I settled for what I felt was a better (and cooler) way to describe me.
The more I thought about it, it felt right. Agnostic is primarily associated with neutrality. However, agnost, I felt, sounded a little more visceral in what my feelings toward travel are, which are primarily a lack of belief about travel. I am not travel agnostic. I am a travel agnost.
I abhor the very concept of travel – prepping for it, the packing for it, the transportation that is involved in the travel, the ungodly hours of travel, the discomfort in even the most comfortable means of transport, the packing and unpacking, the sightseeing, the touristy things that one has to do, etc etc. The only kind of travel I like is the one where I get to determine and control how I travel and having reached the destination I get to determine and control what I do, when I do and how I do things over there. Which makes Goa my all-time favourite place to go to. Decide on a lark, stuff a few things in a couple of bags, fill up the tank of the car, drive down and then just … chilllll.
This post, though, is not about how I see myself or what my my favourite destination is.
This post is about the first time I ever traveled to a foreign destination for the purposes of a shoot.
All firsts tend to leave a special feeling in you. You tend to remember the exact dates and many specifics of each one of them – like what clothes you were wearing, the specific table in the restaurant you sat on, the food you ordered, etc etc. Let’s admit (at least to ourselves) that when it comes to ‘firsts’ we all tend to become a little bit like Subodh from Dil Chahta Hai. The degrees may vary, but we all have a little bit of Subodh in us. See clip below.
A brief backgrounder to why this shoot meant so much to me.
It had been almost a year since I had joined Lintas working on the Bajaj Auto account. It was only after I got to work on the account that I came to realise that one of the perks of working on that account was the opportunity to travel overseas on shoots. Why overseas? Because the topography (be it urban or exotic) and facilities available for shooting were far superior to the ones available at home. Besides, having not-seen-before locations for an aspirational product like a motorcycle only raised its coolness quotient. A bit like how love songs in Indian films are invariably shot in exotic foreign locales to amp up their dream sequence quotient.
The sequel to the bike company brand’s monster-hit ‘Feel Like God’ campaign (one of the reasons I took up the job at Lintas) was finalised.
Like all sequels this one had to be bigger than the first installment. So while the first one was shot in picturesque Ladakh, for the second one it was decided to check out a virgin location like the ones that Morocco had to offer. It also helped that just a few of months prior to this shoot, we had another shoot in a different part of Morocco for the company’s another legendary campaign (Hamara Bajaj). That was a shoot I couldn’t go to primarily because I had not yet proven my credentials as someone who could shoulder the responsibility of a mega shoot in a foreign location. By the time the Avenger shoot came to be I had more than proved my mettle.
My inner Subodh got invoked when I realized that this week was the time way back in 2007 that I had the opportunity to go for my first ever international shoot. And I remembered that I had penned a diary of sorts on my return which I had shared with a few friends. It was also my first piece written with a specific topic instead of the rambling (or randomgiri as I used to call it) that I used to do on mail with groups of friends. Here goes … hope you like it.
Morocco - a country which all of us know about and yet don't know. In a way it's a bit like Yeotmal or Jalgaon or Akola - everyone knows about them thanks to the Geography textbooks but no one knows where they are or what happens there. The only difference is that almost everyone knows that Morocco is some exotic place while Akola & Gang are not. It was thanks to a film shoot on one of my brands that I got a chance to go to a place that I am sure no one has been to nor is making any plans to go to in the near future.
Here is a blow-by-blow account of my journey there. The model for the film and an engineer from Bajaj were my company.
Thursday, October 25th, 2007
At the airport at 9 to catch an Etihad flight to Abu Dhabi. Whiled away time at the airport catching up on some reading and a Bud for which I paid 440 rupees. The model and the engineer from Bajaj took their own sweet time to reach. We were all going business class thanks to last minute screw ups in booking our tickets. None of us complained. And sure enough it spoilt us. Reached Abu Dhabi and got a transit visa. Were dropped to a 4 star hotel by a Mercedes limo service. The model and I were too excited to go to sleep immediately. So we decided to explore a bit. Walked across to go to Le Royal Meridien. Swung a deal with the club to allow 2 stags to go in. Once in, we realized that we were the only Indians there. The place was swarming with Arabs, Orientals, Blacks and Whites of different nationalities and a whole lot of Russian and Egyptian/Moroccan hookers. Never saw so much bare skin and such deep cleavages anywhere - let alone in an Arab country with strict rules. Just goes to show the hypocrisy of the Arabs - one set of rules for their women, another set for the men. The sex starved men were quite busy feeling up the hookers. Short of actually performing the act, everything else was going on. The model accompanying me was the archetypal model types - tall, dark, good looking and extremely flirty. Pretty soon, he got himself hooked. We left the place at 3.30 after it shut down. But the model had already done his deed - he left behind his room number with two Moroccan girls who were giving him come-hither vibes.
Friday, October 26th, 2007
The model comes down for breakfast cursing away to glory. He had missed out on his orgy. Reason - laziness. What happened is that about 45 minutes after we came back to our hotel, the model heard knocks outside his door. He thought that it must be some neighbour or the hotel repairmen mending something. So he didn't get up to check. He also thought that the door must be having a bell, so he discounted the persistent knocking on his door for the next 15 minutes. Next morning he calls up room service and asks for a toothbrush. 5 minutes later he hears the same knocks. This time he rushes to open the door and finds the room service guy at the door with his toothbrush. He enquires why he didn't ring the bell. He is told there is none. Then it all came back to him. Hence the cursing. We all had a hearty breakfast. Then packed up and left in another Mercedes limo that took us to airport. The cabbie tells us that the night club we had gone to is always full of hookers. The best ones are from Morocco. He dismisses Morocco as a country that only produces whores. Not a good positioning for the country. It was going to be a long flight. 8 hours. But once again we were business class. So it didn't hurt as much. For the first time in my entire life of traveling a HOT Moroccan girl sits next to me. We get chatting. Turns out she flies Etihad and is going back home for holidays. We chat up quite a bit. She tells me that all the middle aged men on this flight are going to Morocco only for a weekend fling. She puts it very matter of factly - 'Poor country, beautiful girls.' The model gets jealous. We catch up for drinks in the service area and he goes down on his knees to let him sit next to her. I relent. I end up sitting next to an Arab who is burping away to glory with real smelly ones. I almost die of suffocation holding my breath for 5 minutes every time I get the first whiff of his smelly ones. We land up in Casablanca at about 8. For the first time I am faced with a situation where no one understands English. The airport signages are all in Arabic and French. We somehow make it to the immigration counter. There I get the first taste of the power of Bollywood and Shah Rukh Khan. The immigration officer sees my passport and blurts out 'Indian'. I nod. The next thing he says is Sharukkhaaan!!! I nod. He gives me a broad smile, stamps my passport and lets me pass. We wait in the lounge. Our producer joins us there. He has just done a via Milan journey to Casablanca. We grab a bite of some sandwiches. Then on to our next flight to Ouzazarte (pronounced Wa-za-zarth). The flight is delayed by 2 hours. Reason - there are no buses to take us from the waiting hall to the plane. I say chaps! This is a first - the plane is there but there are no buses to take us to it. It doesn't happen only in India as we all think. It happens in Casablanca as well. The waiting hall is full of beautiful women - French, Moroccan, Spanish. So the wait is not all that bad.
Saturday, October 27th, 2007
We finally board the flight at 12.30. Reach Ouzazarte at 1.30. There a cab is waiting for us to take us to a place called Boumalene Dades (pronounced Bowmen Da-des) which is a good 100 odd kilometers away. We reach the hotel Xaluca Dades (Shaluka) at 4. It is raining throughout our journey. But the first thing that hits us is the quality of roads even in a remote small town in a remote country called Morocco. We say to ourselves - 'What goes of our fathers to make good roads?'. The answers don't seem to be forthcoming. At 4 in the morning we come to know that the crew is leaving at 6. So I catch 40 winks, literally. Then a quick shit, no shave, no shag, a good shower and I am off. The hotel has been done up Moroccan style. Brilliant. We have breakfast. Basically a whole lot of bread, some cereals, some olives, some butter. It is still raining. Instead of 6 the shoot starts at about 9. We go further into the interiors of Boumalene Dades to where the scenic locations are. It is another 45 minute drive. The beauty of Morocco hits us right outside our hotel. In the distance we can see snow-capped peaks. Snow in Africa?? This was yet another first. It is bloody cold. And there is no sun. As the day progresses, it gets colder and windier. Approx temperature is about 3 degrees celcius. We start off our shoot. The model is freezing his balls off in a tight vest, jeans and a helmet. All of us are freezing our balls off in jackets. We get some damn good shots. Lunch is served, or rather handed out. It is dry sandwiches of frommage or chicken. Moroccans don't believe in masala, looks like. We gulp them down simply because we are hungry. The day passes by. We hardly get any sunlight. We travel about 100 odd kms going from one location to another. We wind up by about 6. We chat up with some locals. And the same thing as the airport happens - Indian? Sharukkhaaan? It is dark around us. Back at the hotel, we flop down on our beds. Then it is time for dinner. One look at the dinner and my appetite goes away. It's got a weird stench. Most of it is beef. One dish of chicken, which a crew member tells me is not good. So what do I eat - some more bread and a little wine. I start feeling like Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar studying in England on a diet of bread and water. The director announces that we leave at 4.30 the next morning. We quickly retire to our rooms.
Sunday, October 28th, 2007
We check out of our hotel. The rest of the crew has left. My creative director, the producer and me are the last ones to leave at about 7.30. Ohh the luxuries of not being part of the crew. We travel towards Ouzazarte. The shoot is happening along the highway. Forgot to tell you that our creative director who had been in Morocco since 23rd hasn't got his bag as yet. They still have not been able to figure out where it is. So everyone ribs him on how much he stinks. It is bright and sunny today. We get some brilliant shots. When in the sun one feels the risk of dying of sunburn. You take 2 steps into the shade of a van's shadow and within minutes you start freezing. Guess that is what makes the location exciting and exotic. A crew member who had been to Ladakh for the last shoot of this same brand says 'This is just like Ladakh.' Lunch is served this time, not handed out. We plant ourselves in a makeshift open air restaurant by the highway. Finally we get to see some rice and kaali daal. We eat like we have never eaten before. The masala is still lacking. We shoot till about 6. Then on to a new hotel in main city Ouzazarte. Nice place called Ametis Club Karam. We have a decent dinner.
Monday, October 29th, 2007
The poor crew and the model have to be at location at 4.30 to catch the morning light. The other not so lowly mortals like me make it to the sets by 7. Once again lots of shots are taken. I get on to a tracking vehicle to check out some shots. Tracking vehicle is basically an open truck with a low platform on both sides of the driver's cabin. The camera is perched on it and that is how we get moving shots. If the vehicle has an even lower platform it is called a low loader. In this we place the bike on the vehicle, the rider sits on the bike and the camera is alongside it. The bike is static, the low loader moves. The effect it generates is that of the bike actually moving. In this, we don't take shots of the wheels since they don't move. So if you see some Hindi movies and see Mr. Bachchan on a bike doing all sorts of stunts while riding, and if you feel that he is actually doing them, rest assured he is not. He is on a low loader and you are only getting a feeling of him riding a bike. They will never show the bike in its entirety. Anyway, we take lots of shots along the highway. And with every passing local, we are subjected to the same 'Indian? Sharukkhaaan?’ episode. We try to get some magic hour shots in the evening but are lost in translation. We go in one direction, the crew goes in another. Doesn't matter. We have canned enough shots to make a brilliant 60 sec commercial. We pack up. Back to the hotel. We finally drink a little. But not much as most of the crew, save for the 3 of us (me, model and technician) have to get up at 4 to go to the airport for the return flights. We are lucky - our flight to Casablanca is at 12.40.
Tuesday, October 30th, 2007
Am rudely woken up at 4 thanks to a call from the client. I mumble something about being abroad and keep the phone down. But my slumber is broken intermittently after that with sms's from other clients and colleagues. The only day in a week when I could have slept till 9, I am up and about from 4. We have a good breakfast, while about our time and then are off to Ouzazarte Airport. The model finally gets to score with the only woman in the crew who he hasn't spoken to till then. She is the coordinator and she has gone to remind him to his room that he has to be ready by 11.30. But the model is ready for something else. He invites her in aur baaton baaton mein uss coordinator ko pata hi nahi chala ki hamare smooth operator ne kab uske kapde utar diye (for the non-Hindi readers – basically the model seduced the coordinator). I am blissfully unaware of this tryst happening. At 11.15 I go to tell the model that we cannot afford to be late. He doesn't open the door. He shouts from inside in Hindi that he is nearing the climax and that he will be at the reception in 15. At 11.30, sure enough he is there. The coordinator walks some 10 secs after him. She is looking all coy and all that. And from there, till the time we were together till the Mumbai airport, she must have bombarded our stud with at least 20 sms's. We board a Fokker aircraft to go to Casablanca. On landing, the passengers start clapping for having made it in one piece. We have about 6 hours to kill in Casablanca. We decide to explore the city. We catch a train from the airport to go where the beach area is. On board the train the model conveniently finds a place next to a rather nice girl. She is nice in a nice, homely sort of way. We do our play acting. And once again, she says the magic words - Sharukkhaaan!! She thinks the model is Indian, but I am from Britanny (go figure!). I have to show her my passport for her to believe. She tells us where exactly to get down. Before getting down she gives us a nice peck on the cheek. We bargain hard with a cabbie to take us around the city. He finally gives up and agrees to our price only because we come from the land of Sharukkhaaan. So off we go. We grab a bite at McDonalds. There are four well-endowed Moroccan nymphets who are giving the look to our model. While leaving, the model waves out at the them, a la Sharukkhaaan style. They promptly come over to take his autograph. We get chatting. They accompany us on a short walk. Turns out the model has told them he is a film star and a distant cousin of Sharukkhaaan. I am supposed to be the writer of the new film he is acting in. So the girls scream saying they are with stars. We bask in the glory. The key take out of this short stint in Casablanca is that the girls seem to have no hang-ups about talking to complete strangers. I cannot imagine a liberal Mumbaiya girl doing that with anyone in Mumbai. We come back to the airport by a return train. Seems like no flights take off from Casablanca on time. Our connection to Abu Dhabi is delayed by 2.5 hours. We strike a conversation with some Pakistani docs who have come to Casablanca for a conference. They are also ‘starstruck’ on meeting us Indians. Only difference is that they know more Indian actors besides Sharukkhaaan.
Wednesday, October 31st, 2007
We just about make it to Abu Dhabi in time to catch the next flight to Mumbai. We have 10 mins of time in which we rush to the duty free and pick up booze and chocolates. We land in Mumbai only to find that our luggage hasn't made it. So we fill some forms and are out in our homeland. All in all a very eventful trip came to an end. We were subjected to the same bad roads - it is now claimed that the roads in Mumbai are much better now. Trust me they aren't. For better roads go to Ouzazarte. For by far the best roads, go to Abu Dhabi. You can actually write a letter while going in a car that is cruising at 180 kmph.
But Mumbai is Mumbai. We are kings here. We don't have to play act every sentence we say. We take Sharukkhaaan for granted - come to think of it we actually criticize him for his non-acting. And in spite of our fascination with white people, we still don't go woozy on hearing someone is from the U.S. of A and we don't go 'American? Tom Cruise?'. I think we have grown up.
Be braver. Be kinder.
P.S.: Below are some select pics from the trip and a poor resolution video of the ad that finally got made. Enjoy.
A poor resolution video of the ad that finally got made a couple of months down the line. Not exactly what we had envisaged, but not too bad either. It suffered from the curse of sequels.
For Keep Watching I am sharing the review of a recent series on Apple TV+ called Hijack. It’s about travel gone horribly wrong. Touted as one of the best series to come out of the UK in recent times, I felt it was underwhelming.
Idris Elba who plays a corporate negotiator is a passenger on the Dubai-London flight that’s hijacked by a few Britishers who want the release of two prisoners from a high security prison. What ensues is high drama that has a few thrills, but mostly is a lot of talking. Idris Elba’s character, and his ambiguous expressions, are meant to add a layer of intrigue as to the real reason behind his behaviour, but they end up making him look confused more than the man in charge. This high altitude thriller that’s touted as one of the best British shows in recent times turns out to be a downer.
Hijack | 7 episodes | Apple TV+
Reading this itself was a thrilling experience, so can estimate that this must have been an experience of lifetime for you . And hats off to the team which identified the location and no compromise attitude of client. Despite the video of Ad being old , I felt the location gave a huge uplift to the Advertisement.