tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40785823662909004342024-03-05T23:27:32.234+00:00Travel Tazzels.."You are Only Given a Little Spark of Madness , you musn't lose that spark.."Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.comBlogger139125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-40067785395942902072016-11-08T11:15:00.001+00:002016-11-08T11:17:32.186+00:00Lisbon..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<b>23rd March</b><br />
<br />
The morning could not have been longer. We arrived at the airport early, with a very excited toddler in tow. The concept of a holiday is still something he is discovering, But it's being out and about well before we usually do that's got him all excited. We lounge around the airport and breakfast in one of the restaurants. Everything seems to be going well, until a delay with the take off hits us.<br />
An hour and a half later, we are in our seats ready for take off.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5hQVKXC6bWUJgI3Q4nWMdolay4NxaYoP2vRn6uDe8Qto3nFJBN86aCxqcfmXinloH6dJOMicnG9B-iJpPHtn6dljfdnd8ahR9FrUaPDVGvmrd9neIGCClyl5ZA0ykX_G-of97VgSeRcY/s1600/image.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5hQVKXC6bWUJgI3Q4nWMdolay4NxaYoP2vRn6uDe8Qto3nFJBN86aCxqcfmXinloH6dJOMicnG9B-iJpPHtn6dljfdnd8ahR9FrUaPDVGvmrd9neIGCClyl5ZA0ykX_G-of97VgSeRcY/s640/image.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right after take off, blue skies, wispy white clouds and the jagged coastline cutting into the ocean</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6eXF5Rf6KqNY4ckmTgCEPpANQSOSfQDNf9d2a9Xg_5cRNR2oT2GMdgBY4nJu3vLY8W7vjsEv-nVv2ZX3la-erod1QB8yS39Nw0ziQyP582PnltYRFYCYUWqFskPiWeuLlZoJZds_Be18/s1600/image_1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6eXF5Rf6KqNY4ckmTgCEPpANQSOSfQDNf9d2a9Xg_5cRNR2oT2GMdgBY4nJu3vLY8W7vjsEv-nVv2ZX3la-erod1QB8yS39Nw0ziQyP582PnltYRFYCYUWqFskPiWeuLlZoJZds_Be18/s640/image_1.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The contours of human development observed from the air<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We fly into Lisbon tired and hungry, but the aerial view of the city are stunning and make up for the unforeseen delays.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih8fIJknBZEULM-3vBoWqVURhYQm2Nk1nvZYlL7JsvvHw-FWM0-2Zts1Ayr2RLg4WpNTH4Gv3ECU4tSEgju4DjZQ6K4xvxXKMDTogrJo3xb6mQHlwQ3ZHiApa4bZ0CiNy0qvTsfFlvcg8/s1600/image_2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih8fIJknBZEULM-3vBoWqVURhYQm2Nk1nvZYlL7JsvvHw-FWM0-2Zts1Ayr2RLg4WpNTH4Gv3ECU4tSEgju4DjZQ6K4xvxXKMDTogrJo3xb6mQHlwQ3ZHiApa4bZ0CiNy0qvTsfFlvcg8/s640/image_2.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First sights of Lisbon as we land<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi63iRv_Ft1OaKMv1Zjrq6oFgbR1NqnyIgdR-2DxYK0X_zsSB-bV0RLYyGYKoNPCav0LnQFLPhCJGrD6pimLM4qEE78ygD7aLQ6DxLKuIS6z0A0M6HyNdxq3SQEb38uDvOGP8EYGHRGWbA/s1600/image_3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi63iRv_Ft1OaKMv1Zjrq6oFgbR1NqnyIgdR-2DxYK0X_zsSB-bV0RLYyGYKoNPCav0LnQFLPhCJGrD6pimLM4qEE78ygD7aLQ6DxLKuIS6z0A0M6HyNdxq3SQEb38uDvOGP8EYGHRGWbA/s320/image_3.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The city reveals itself..</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEUc12DWwMy11d_xKmOSVTgtwRsZQL1feAAwbbF4u9YCFE7XnnshvpFxowFtrMvWxDjU-T0j6qvJtEDLyWFvcmO3AhZMy11LESJWPGFNnQwMxZR71Lxf9hg4dEjBhY3BWZ6SHdqkWBgvA/s1600/image_4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEUc12DWwMy11d_xKmOSVTgtwRsZQL1feAAwbbF4u9YCFE7XnnshvpFxowFtrMvWxDjU-T0j6qvJtEDLyWFvcmO3AhZMy11LESJWPGFNnQwMxZR71Lxf9hg4dEjBhY3BWZ6SHdqkWBgvA/s640/image_4.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvALKRfhcMun1J6MECJAE5WNg-Ng-TbZet8bgvpAKK2X__ShBADGh0mBOH_LQxwpz-H61FHdrjj_OE558yYfKgtrBis81GBlA38y-y_eTpkRy6skY6GtRQf3v-XC4UTK8lDScyL-t0Hn0/s1600/image_5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvALKRfhcMun1J6MECJAE5WNg-Ng-TbZet8bgvpAKK2X__ShBADGh0mBOH_LQxwpz-H61FHdrjj_OE558yYfKgtrBis81GBlA38y-y_eTpkRy6skY6GtRQf3v-XC4UTK8lDScyL-t0Hn0/s640/image_5.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
When we are finally past security, we get our cab to Ciado where our Air B&B apartment awaits, our home for the next 4 days.It is beautiful and out wilful toddler immediately sets about exploring it, The views are spectacular and from where we stand in the balcony we can see the bells of Santa Catalina.<br />
<br />
Dinner is a light affair and we wait to explore Lisboa tomorrow.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-65190581556976998112016-06-04T14:58:00.002+01:002023-06-20T17:38:10.560+01:00Rainham Marshes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is a place we've been wanting to visit for a long time now. From hearing about it since we first moved to Kent 6 years ago to making the 15 min journey across the tunnel into Essex, we now have on our hands a spirited toddler who loves the outdoors and has a few ideas on the kinds of wildlife he wants to see. A while ago we were on a safari in a zoo, and as we pointed in the direction of giraffes walking in a distance, his little face lit up as he pointed to something he has spotted - "A Crow"!<br />
<br />
<br />
It's a beautiful morning. Blue skies and gentle sunshine all around. We drive into Rainham marshes and walk into the visitors center. The helpful staff tell us about routes as we stroll off along the circular 3.8 km stretch that takes us around the parts of the reserve which have been developed. The reserve itself stretches far beyond with the high speed rail line drawing a boundary across it. <br />
<br /><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/YoD-eISGsjWWGx9Hh80L4iDqyykRJ2w73EUXdbwydYk?feat=embedwebsite"><br /><img height="431" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-oETvyxbFxUQ/V0HQIXNkVSI/AAAAAAAAIAs/4iAlIalMTJoMmYvjCjbqvnGN1mC6iXaHQCCo/s640/IMG_0058.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
The marshes are part of the Thames estuary and was used by the ministry of defense for more than a 100 years. The M25 hugs the periphery and is a constant reminder of how close the city is as we walk through this beautiful stretch with golden reeds sticking out of the water. Migratory birds traveling along the estuary are often sighted here and we see lots of people with serious looking cameras scanning the waters to catch sight of some of them.<br />
<br /><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/W2s4u-n4PCHbf7DgcejoXSDqyykRJ2w73EUXdbwydYk?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="330" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-NaG6nXZu6aM/V0HQJbahnTI/AAAAAAAAIAs/mkkda-qxXF8JG6EsoeqXd7WIFpyi2qvXgCCo/s640/IMG_0063.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/fOEaBYdFuRCxaIcgUdgV-CDqyykRJ2w73EUXdbwydYk?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-KFm6PxzZNVY/V0HQJjTiYtI/AAAAAAAAIAs/uxtzKj5gzxQjBkP4hoxv-lGrHGp_wpQEQCCo/s640/IMG_0064.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
Signposts indicate what we should be looking out for and are both entertaining and informative.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/RaQeZblBS3_tBPe19bWAAiDqyykRJ2w73EUXdbwydYk?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-h71cWtLXpXw/V0HQKDgAGzI/AAAAAAAAIAs/bfUvqzxk7vkDOCeNb_qoIZzVK6YL619cQCCo/s640/IMG_0067.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
Walkways make the entire route buggy friendly and we stop periodically to look out for water voles and birds. We see coots, mallards and geese and it's wonderful to be able to listen to bird song in the middle of the city.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/k8gTmmCMa97TLmnLjJR17yDqyykRJ2w73EUXdbwydYk?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-yG5BV1x7Ts0/V0HQK7lmYqI/AAAAAAAAIAs/RxiPpXCCcPkTwKo5B-XWnxF2yLNoLfigACCo/s640/IMG_0071.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/moC4DO7BSrbqbTxfZMfYfSDqyykRJ2w73EUXdbwydYk?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-pRhEdT-97G0/V0HQLGvhkXI/AAAAAAAAIAs/gqOD_u5OZ8IA3GsC_W6KQYl7NXtEdtWbwCCo/s640/IMG_0072.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
Cows graze in the fields beyond and we occasionally see Eurostar trains zip past on the high speed rail track.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/MnipR6vQUblsjM2ihlnI6yDqyykRJ2w73EUXdbwydYk?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9K99FHL-dio/V0HQMv_7kCI/AAAAAAAAIAs/Sa3zXlVnDBgiKj-djJWIvn9KQQDZoMIvACCo/s640/IMG_0080.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/pD2SmG0_T7jQp78HK5ZatyDqyykRJ2w73EUXdbwydYk?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-IYUpeKBTQN0/V0HQM6qfWTI/AAAAAAAAIAs/RS0wCcCuHTY8c4ih-KoeZuRLu6ScYjRJwCCo/s640/IMG_0081.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/kxmLRsGPe-TQpJRptcxgRyDqyykRJ2w73EUXdbwydYk?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-si4IhJQ8MGE/V0HQO9C98iI/AAAAAAAAIAs/a8VGuBDGKzkAJOaKJHRm4Lsh5qwovFutQCCo/s640/IMG_0091.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
We pass a wall with numbers, which is supposed to be a firing range built in 1906. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Tjb98eidhOM9ac7Z1GOneiDqyykRJ2w73EUXdbwydYk?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Gh4Fcciz8WE/V0HQPIAcDpI/AAAAAAAAIAs/DAnIk4E5mSgKY4f5NYoGUwM-jKQ9levhwCCo/s640/IMG_0092.JPG" width="427" /></a><br />
<br />
We can see windmills in a distance against a backdrop of beautiful grey skies. Seeing the city at the fringes of the reserve is a reminder that these marshes have some how managed survived the onslaught of human development inspite of it arriving at it's door step. The RSPB now owns and maintains the site.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/aR9nNAmqbsVxkFVQUB5jfiDqyykRJ2w73EUXdbwydYk?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-p_4t710ig_w/V0HQQPDAILI/AAAAAAAAIAs/fO_88EPdE8gsZKuxcpM0lkVI_qiSRI0zQCCo/s640/IMG_0097.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/blT2u_2VIwbU2HLsVklM-SDqyykRJ2w73EUXdbwydYk?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-OAuFL51K04E/V0HQQvxDsII/AAAAAAAAIAs/D6GeEHdfIkwtqwv_IUIQ_uTUYtWm_DN5wCCo/s640/IMG_0100.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/2D0OwD4tyRCN30OaWrIziyDqyykRJ2w73EUXdbwydYk?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-8nRKarI8uGI/V0HQQzQtb3I/AAAAAAAAIAs/KbGiNd_V-Z8H5_x8lUy6NRLBh-Bxieg0gCCo/s640/IMG_0102.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
The walk takes us right to the C2C tracks and we can hear the hum of electricity from the power cables ahead. Petrified remains of tree trunks stand carefully preserved and are from a neolithic forest believed to be more than 6000 years old.<br />
<br /><br />
<br />
We are nearly at the end of our walk when we spot a frog beautiful camouflaged in the emerald green water, it's rhythmic breathing giving it away.<br />
Also in the picture is what could be a water vole, but I can't be entirely sure.<br />
<br /><br /></div>
<br />
When we finish the walk we spend some time in the very well maintained cafe and enjoy lunch of hot jacket potatoes and tea. <br />
This has been a lovely walk and given how close it is to where we live , we will be sure to visit again.</div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com0Rainham, Greater London, UK51.519193896813363 0.1742820627987384851.499431896813363 0.13394156279873848 51.538955896813363 0.21462256279873848tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-71307884706939616092015-10-16T11:28:00.001+01:002015-10-16T11:28:58.700+01:00The great big family holiday..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></em></strong><br />
After two years of thinking about it and about eight months of planning it, the great big family holiday to Yellowstone National Park finally happened. <br />
Apart from the awe inspiring experience of actually being on top of an active volcano which I must add is due to erupt anytime *Shudder*, this was the first big adventure with our little traveller who coped admirably.<br />
We must admit travelling takes on a different meaning as a parent. But sometimes a child's innocent comments and questions can unmask a journey of discovery like no other.<br />
<br />
Two and a half weeks took us from London to Boston , Boston to Yellowstone , a drive to the Grand Tetons and all the way back to London </div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-22085865642338689972014-02-06T19:02:00.002+00:002014-02-06T19:02:42.176+00:00The tale of the two storks atop the temple of Artemis..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
After visiting Ephesus, we stopped to visit the <i>Temple of Artemis </i>, one of the wonders of the ancient world. What can you say when all that is left of one of the marvels of the ancient world is reduced to one tall column standing in the middle of what looks like a swamp. It is only history that marks this place as important and what stands is a sad tale of how an important monument sits in a museum while the site itself stands frozen in time mourning it's loss<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Y4FuelKRX36rUTmemLhNQc7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-W5UJNM1c6Go/UWsHr8zXbtI/AAAAAAAAHFM/nKoTQOhSq3U/s640/IMG_0728.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The site of the temple of Artemis..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After it's discovery by John Turtle Wood in 1869, Extensive excavations followed for the next few decades and the relics and sculptures discovered now sit in the <i>Ephesus</i> room of the <i>British museum.</i><br />
Compared to the spectacular ruins of <i>Ephesus,</i> there is only so much to see here and we stand enveloped in a strange sort of silence. However the most arresting sight in this whole place is not made of stone, but of features and a beak and two longs. Two beautiful storks sit atop their large capacious nest and from their vantage point I can see how clearly they must be able to see the worlds beyond.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/mcLCDlpidZLy3ukr64b-Xc7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="443" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/--MAd6EZ-xBM/UWsHuznHxvI/AAAAAAAAHF0/077IoDjZRik/s640/IMG_0733.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The next atop the remains of the temple of Artemis..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In this dull April afternoon, they sit preening their feathers and in an unhurried way that suggests the confidence that only comes from practise they tend to their hatchlings.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/xx9As74kHKWNowTd8T4_Ks7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-lG8NmZnlFrU/UWsHw8pkYEI/AAAAAAAAHGM/LxsbDZw95qs/s640/IMG_0736.JPG" width="460" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The nesting storks..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
They are gorgeous birds and the last thing I expected to see in this barren desolate landscape and their presence breathes life into the dead past.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/V9rLT8c2Vw_9ZKRzHbOv3s7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="469" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-c3Kv_Grti50/UWsHxzmCrqI/AAAAAAAAHGY/_1vqc7TtsdU/s640/IMG_0738.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A closer picture of the nesting storks..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/cWU3iqUZ85jabItp29yals7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Lc5gUWaF148/UWsH0I33KRI/AAAAAAAAHGs/6JKy5bI9vxI/s640/IMG_0740.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A parting glance at the nesting storks..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
</div>
<br />
When we walk way I look back every now and then as if to make sure they are still there and so we say goodbye to Ephesus with a smile on our faces.</div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-16671386007352933662014-01-27T19:45:00.002+00:002014-01-27T19:45:40.107+00:00Ephesus, Where the past and the present collide..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Visiting Ephesus was definitely the biggest wow moment of our entire stay in Turkey. We have visited ruins, but in no place did the stones come alive as they did in Ephesus. We arrive at Seluck, rested and ready to explore.<br />
<br />
Our bus journey was filled with ancient tales, myths and legends. As we listen our guide tells us that Ephesus is believed to be the <b><i>city of the seven sleepers.</i></b> I am not going to bother about dates, may google take you to them, but the tale goes such. To escape Roman persecution, a group of seven christians hid in a cave in which they fell asleep only to awake from their slumber 180 years later. This cave is believed to be somewhere close to Ephesus and the tale also find mention in the Quran.<br />
Ephesus is where the apostles <i><b>Paul and John</b></i> are said to have lived. The testament of St John is also believed to have originated from here.<br />
<br />
When we finally get to Ephesus, we see clumps of tourists standing around guides , like trees in a thicket. The place is no doubt busy.<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/oTrx3BxIUb6vl6Yfy2p7_87ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-y2Io3xP8L5M/UWsFp1Byc-I/AAAAAAAAGtg/oBafQ-MP-Dk/s640/IMG_0538.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Entering Ephesus</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/OSR4nt3jyFgeP7Xwh6nWJs7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-RkrNZ4SnfdY/UWsFtTEBL5I/AAAAAAAAGuA/5rkSDH5Dkdk/s640/IMG_0542.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>First Sights..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
My eye is drawn in every which direction. There are boulders strewn and crumbling columns standing here and there. I spy an amphitheater in the distance.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/D6W8DGuByHFbl0BmTYJ2Hc7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-LbHaUh_35Zg/UWsFuRu-YyI/AAAAAAAAGuM/DAxxHuzKPlI/s640/IMG_0543.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Walking down the reconstructed street..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We finally stand at the entrance of a reconstructed street, a column of pillars stand on either side. <i>Ephesus</i> like most old cities has seen rulers come and go, chief among them the Greeks and the Romans. The architecture here is a legacy of their rule.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/wqwE83QIh4BUTUv2mX2IPs7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-UkyczyGWZd0/UWsFzjKHi_I/AAAAAAAAGvI/me2N7lVVXSA/s640/IMG_0551.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Entrance..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A fleet of stairs takes us to the Odeon. With a seating capacity of 1500, the odeon served two purposes. It not only was the place where concerts where staged but also where the senate met. With Grey stones neatly stacked drawing the eye to the center I can only imagine what this place must have looked like when the city was at its zenith.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/OLegm5kKjO-4FpGbwQ-3Xc7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-ofhlBLhEoZU/UWsF1VDoQGI/AAAAAAAAGvc/yNd4E0unxao/s640/IMG_0553.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Odeion - The small theater..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Several pictures later , we walk along admiring the views the unfold. In a distance we can just begin to see the outline of the Celusus library. Built by <i>Galius Julius Aquila, </i>the library stands in memory of his father <i>Gaius Julius Celsus Polemaeanus.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/2mI7TcVZjWu7Y9ndPgHRec7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-DWuf6CUL2RU/UWsF-I2Qy3I/AAAAAAAAGw4/WpNFPEZztCA/s640/IMG_0565.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Celsus Library in the background..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As we walk along Ephesus's streets, the city is now ruled by cats. They seem to be everywhere, basking in the sun and brushing past our legs playfully as they walk by.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/_o9dEf_bEwIZwyvWfmit3c7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-aOnMPqU01S4/UWsGEPBM2KI/AAAAAAAAGx4/0blV3Hr9kMc/s640/IMG_0573.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The cats that rule Ephesus..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The street leading up to the library is absolutely beautiful. Lined with columns, the Curetes street once had shops and buildings the remains of which stand in a heap of rubble.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/CEq1BcX6jFPvnAHSZSsEnM7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-qExYQOn93L4/UWsGTRRD6xI/AAAAAAAAG0s/Zjiq2kRweuU/s640/IMG_0595.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Walking down to the Library of Celsus..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/x9dOStVALFup3wXZK9e0d87ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-Lb2dvX9_ugE/UWsGYZopTII/AAAAAAAAG1k/4AKx7wG3iWo/s640/IMG_0602.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Some sort of an urn..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/vcwi568OWao5oMbwrx0auM7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-GH3XkKuoczo/UWsGdOauiLI/AAAAAAAAG2Y/uGGGXbwUqY0/s640/IMG_0609.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Engravings on Curates street..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Intricate patterns in mosaic line the street, the colours still bright inspite of withstanding the ravages of time. The street is absolutely gorgeous. The gate stretches all the way from the Gate of Hercules to the Celsus library and gets it's name form priests who were called Curetes.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/xqMnW8MF8sA1RaKAlWCJ087ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-f_9Z9WB-KSw/UWsGexfOecI/AAAAAAAAG2s/hbi5tHMWnUo/s640/IMG_0611.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Curetes street..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Off the street, are the public toilets of the time.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/JJArp698IAC8B3BSO7PXAs7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-ik1SXJ3QLDg/UWsGilYPjaI/AAAAAAAAG3c/5L02soYfPcM/s640/IMG_0617.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Entrance to the public toilets..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/IhpjmJqdkdkMUq1UdVAlq87ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-zfHoq7zvLrI/UWsGm9eW9II/AAAAAAAAG4I/Kicx8i2LVb0/s640/IMG_0623.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Latriana - Public toilets of the time..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We walk by <i>'The Latriana', </i> public toilets of the time, neatly arranged with a square pool in the middle. Two cats sit basking in the gentle April sun, blinking at us as we pass by as if to say , we are tired of you nosy tourists.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/ED2HdYE7CHtqLFDjlYozd87ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-BOBEbc0ztdg/UWsGnkDMcpI/AAAAAAAAG4U/lmyYnkfPXU0/s640/IMG_0624.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The square pool..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/xGoRK7XFOLb6B0Gp4qAmQ87ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-4D6mcyVZCmc/UWsGpsYaR7I/AAAAAAAAG4s/6gzX1OPQwZs/s640/IMG_0627.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cats..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We finally arrive at the library, spilling over with people, clearly the main attraction of Ephesus. This library is believed to have once held 12000 scrolls and is two storeys high. It is even more beautiful seen up front and though even though in ruin has a fragile beauty to it that makes me feel it might disappear any moment.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Y1eD_XLQbHSCdSFgxJ7tMs7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-4R9oSuDkSHM/UWsGvp-H4DI/AAAAAAAAG50/vjH4jfKB1hQ/s640/IMG_0636.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The library of Celsus..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We walk into the library. I am amazed at how beautifully this place has been preserved. We are at this moment standing in a monument which was built in 117 AD. It gives me goose bumps to think , that once this was the seat of knowledge, of books. If only some of them had survived.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/na7n9OQXKXrxiTDwwT4i1c7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-zvaTRP2P0hU/UWsG5cthKEI/AAAAAAAAG7s/TA2HHBW0QOU/s640/IMG_0652.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Harbour Street..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Harbour street isn't as pretty as the one we just saw, but is no less interesting. One of the best things we saw there was a map indicating the location of the harbour, the brothel and the baths.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Z_p3AQtXJQIqU40yEtAPoc7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-WJrAHNdCIWg/UWsG8ackx9I/AAAAAAAAG8Q/86xAiWqcHZs/s640/IMG_0657.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Map on Harbour Street..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Finally, finally we come to what I will always remember Ephesus by, the mighty amphitheater which is believed to have a eating capacity of 25000! It is absolutely gorgeous, beautifully preserved and stands there today a picture of peace , in complete contradiction to the blood and gore that was once spilled inside these walls<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/wu676jj-Wakq2-fvPOeYJ87ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-0IIz1Crfzqs/UWsG_wmtbxI/AAAAAAAAG84/RNWG9rkuJMw/s640/IMG_0662.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Theater..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It is incredible that the theater built in the 3rd century BC still stands today, a gory reminder of times gone past. Three storied, Excavations even uncovered the emperor's box!<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/QyHfDK4Oz1BaOX1TeZdUqs7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-Q_SSv0qzPNc/UWsHHObWO-I/AAAAAAAAG-Q/SpmYPYK0fis/s640/IMG_0673.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Where the gladiators were housed before their fights..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/1iPsPogGzf6WrZE-wFRyMM7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-JaHAF4I4Uv8/UWsHLePxMGI/AAAAAAAAG_E/FciKJNBarXk/s640/IMG_0679.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
We walk away turning back every few minuted to see the amphitheater , like an artist stepping away to see his masterpiece. Someone mentions that a gladiator's graveyard was unearthed here.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/KbCMZXEgtrYw7yG4pzwtY87ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="640" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-lvtaw-QGa3U/UWsHPWvrr9I/AAAAAAAAG_s/IVXfoR1m788/s640/IMG_0684.JPG" width="427" /></a><br />
<br />
It is only at Ephesus that I begin to understand how much effort goes into archeological excavations. To see something that is brought alive from the dead and preserved for all to see is remarkable and is a tribute to all the archeologists who have painstakingly uncovered stone by living stone in this amazing place!</div>
</div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-73991816198732923542014-01-01T16:49:00.004+00:002014-01-01T16:49:42.095+00:00The ancient ruins at Pergamon...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
What is left of the once great city of <i>Pergamon,</i> are now the ruins . We rolled into the sleepy town , past rows of houses, their rooftops peeping up along the sides to watch us go. The rains threatened to spill over any moment as we stepped out of our tour bus and beneath the canopy of grey we took the cable car to this beautiful archaeological site .</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
I hadn't read enough and even if I had I don't think I would remember , as this place had history spilling over from every corner of this arresting ruin . For a while I just shut off , as our guide spoke on and let myself soak up the incredible sights and sounds around me .</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/dE3RiUHQxRSCZlQ8VHkCps7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-Z5B8jgNN6Gw/UWsE61ySuvI/AAAAAAAAGk4/cwYiO7F5E40/s640/IMG_0467.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The cable car to the site..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
A sea of daisies , an ocean of white rises and falls with the blowing winds. Beyond we see the village of <i>Bergama</i> as it is now and the two images stand side by side as if to remind us that all cities transition into nothingness as the relentless wheel of time soldiers on.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/CHazil4FD9p1IBrD1buNWs7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-dF1SJKfg9E0/UWsE_IJHNRI/AAAAAAAAGl0/D51E9XwFVhc/s640/IMG_0474.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>First sights...</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The landscape is draped in white, stone peeping out and breaking the surface in stubborn defiance of being buried and forgotten. <i>"We still remain"</i>, they seem to say though we are not what we were once.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/JekUrol_2jSdWWevkrSZh87ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-K32Z_nY1zQc/UWsFARBLAjI/AAAAAAAAGmA/VlZMH_-GaAM/s640/IMG_0476.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The archeological site of Pergamon</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/eM0Z0_OnkEuLMu3evOmpVs7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-4JCqQAz6oWs/UWsFFiWxUbI/AAAAAAAAGm4/cxECQHIdRI0/s640/IMG_0483.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Exploring the ruins..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>History</b><br />
<br />
History has a long arm, reaching out towards time itself. Only parts of stories that make up this place are known, some fact and some legend. At its Zenith, <i>Pergamon</i> stood capital to the <i>Attilad kings</i> of the <i>Pergamon </i>empire somewhere in the 2nd century BC and later in the Roman period was the capital of the Asian province. From then the site has seen a succession of kings and princes, rulers and dynasties, its influence waxed and waned and finally went into steady decline with the arrival of Christianity when the site was considered home of the Pagan Gods.<br />
<br />
<b>Pergamon and the Bible..</b><br />
<br />
Pergamon finds mention in the Book of Revelations as one of the seven churches of Asia. We pass what is a white stone with inscriptions of what we are told are the words of Jesus Christ.<br />
I stare at the letters and imagine a world where we still had some of these beautiful characters as part of our alphabet, though some like the As and Ps tempt me to read them out loud. What come out of my mouth are alien sounding words , clearly wrong :)<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/WGF4v5HcdRq3q4dA7hPNw87ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-PvcvrhlgHQE/UWsFIafXllI/AAAAAAAAGnY/LJ3B-PpL2SQ/s640/IMG_0487.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The white stone at Pergamon<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">with inscriptions of Chris</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">t - </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">"And to the angel of the church in Pergamos write.He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches; To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna, and will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth <i>it</i>" (Rev 2:12, 17).</span></span></i><br />
<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<b>The Altar of Pergamon</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
In the middle of the site stands what was once the great altar of <i>Pergamon</i>, built by the Greeks in the 2nd century BC in honour of the Greek god Zeus. Excavated by German archaeologist <i>Carl Humann </i>in the 19th century, All that remains now is the base. The altar was shipped out by his team and sits in a museum in the <i>Pergamon</i> museum in Berlin.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Our guide talks about the countless instances such as this , when historical artifacts were stolen and poached and now sit in museums in Germany, France and Britain . While it is great that museums preserve important relics for posterity, this need cannot justify acts such as these. What would be a better way to see them than in the midst of these incredible ruins, their rightful home?<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Almost in parallel, I also remember reading about a Banksy painting , bought in an auction .</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
The people of the town campaigned against the painting being moved as hey felt it was part of their heritage . Now how different is this from the requests of other counties asking for part of their heritage to be returned, like for instance the Kohinoor (One of the largest diamond in the world , now part of the crown jewels, shipped out of India during the British colonial rule ) ? Colonialism lives on even if through these ruins</div>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/LayLkhfAfA_B3qQs8IHFmc7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-h5IWeo7p23Y/UWsFJK-UCfI/AAAAAAAAGng/qog9R0fuQkY/s640/IMG_0488.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The remains of the great altar of Pergamon..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>The Amphitheater</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
When the guide said vertigo inducing, I thought this was just another word that becomes part of the cliched trousseau of adjectives that describe a breathtaking sight. But staring down at this beautiful BEAUTIFUL structure I could imagine the roar of the 10000 strong crowd it could house and it did make my head spin. Built during the hellenistic period, it was altered by the Romans. Stones lay strewn along the hillside where the theater grows and over the years the grass seems to have silently grown over the proud structure<br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/grJ4wUZrsNg1b60GfNaVkM7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-E3RMwF3opLs/UWsFUOPA9yI/AAAAAAAAGpw/IMYgQKr9EhU/s640/IMG_0507.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
We finally walk through a maze of alleyways , when the rain beings to pour.<br />
They look like damp cells, but this was once some sort of market place.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/blDKdph0LmUylQBD14DA4M7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-BSMxxd1WKFE/UWsFXA37SDI/AAAAAAAAGqY/077GtwE0JMI/s640/IMG_0512.JPG" width="427" /></a><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Like an old man well past his prime , whose eyes shine in memory of a life well lived, <i>Pergamon</i> sits quietly proud atop its hill top perch. As we walk away from this place of a thousand stories, we wave goodbye to the history that still lingers on.<br />
<br />
Meena<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-7918147815576159032013-12-21T17:22:00.003+00:002013-12-21T17:23:09.255+00:00Where there is Sunshine..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTC24xKd3-urEx3O_LEFESl-A3CaxYCxIQOEFXs8_hEqf9GXK6reaBROxskzggzOUi7kfkbmt5-tUx3kfZuor4gf8eUDlgM98BCcBxy5k5MEbhzVDYZwvT44Ak7QAaF8R03f5_XxzWXJM/s1600/IMG_0096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTC24xKd3-urEx3O_LEFESl-A3CaxYCxIQOEFXs8_hEqf9GXK6reaBROxskzggzOUi7kfkbmt5-tUx3kfZuor4gf8eUDlgM98BCcBxy5k5MEbhzVDYZwvT44Ak7QAaF8R03f5_XxzWXJM/s640/IMG_0096.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Real Food market , Covent Garden, London</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Where there is Sun and Rain , we see rainbows :)</div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-35485863714168163272013-08-12T19:44:00.001+01:002013-08-12T19:44:07.210+01:00A Crossing and a very interesting Conversation..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It might seem inconsequential to write about a crossing such as this, a large part of our time spent waiting for the ferry to arrive, walking up and down the not so busy street and slipping into a cafe to have some apple tea. The ferry is late. We keep a watchful eye .<br />
Most of our co-passengers have settled down into chairs. It is a cold grey day. The winds are relentless, the sea an indifferent blue.<br />
<br />
As the warmth of the tea tickles and teases my throat we talk. All the others on the bus are from Australia, save the two of us. We talk about Gallipoli, the place we have left behind.<br />
Our friends tell us it's the single most important event in Australian history. <br />
Coming from a country like India where history is older than itself, where we learn about kings and queens, ancient civilizations, warriors and writers, administrators, Colonialism, The war of ideas, the triumph of what is good and decent through Gandhi and his non violent struggle against British rule, we listen amazed at the singularity of this particular event.<br />
The conversation drifts to the education system. My friend tells me about the focus Australian focus on sport and we in turn tell her about the Indian obsession with learning and degrees. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/320FDmhhb4t14tyw-9Gthc7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-vUAOxt_dwnM/UWsEG_wUx0I/AAAAAAAAGaY/mnMpqviRuRc/s640/IMG_0371.JPG" width="427" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Finally we spy the ferry approaching. We pay up and walk down to the bus. We get into the bus and we are driven into the ferry. Our driver sits flipping over a newspaper and we wait. <br />
<br />
I have always found the act of crossing a river fascinating. As we
leave one bank, our large boat whips the waters frothy white. People,
and buildings shift and emerge as we bob up and down and the horizon
spits and crackles. White clouds watch from up above, unconcerned with
the events unfolding beneath their roofs. Seagulls hover, settle on the
deck and take off on a whim. We talk...<br />
And this is about one such conversation.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/NtobF9bBePibv--o_U-Gwc7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-qt81ZfyyW44/UWsEHZUvXqI/AAAAAAAAGak/SzEJDRXE-lg/s640/IMG_0372.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
We talk some more. Some friends of ours on the back have just been to Israel. Their daughter works there and they tell us about what they have seen. <br />
They hand us a little book and it is here that we hear of <a href="http://www.breakingthesilence.org.il/about/organization">breakingthesilence.org </a>for the first time.<br />
<br />
Quoting from the site itself,<br />
"<span style="color: #660000;"><i><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><strong><span class="bluetext">Breaking the Silence</span></strong>
is an organization of veteran combatants who have served in the Israeli
military since the start of the Second Intifada and have taken it upon
themselves to expose the Israeli public to the reality of everyday life
in the Occupied Territories. We endeavor to stimulate public debate
about the price paid for a reality in which young soldiers face a
civilian population on a daily basis, and are engaged in the control of
that population’s everyday life.</span></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i>Soldiers who serve in the Territories witness and participate in
military actions which change them immensely. Cases of abuse towards
Palestinians, looting, and destruction of property have been the norm
for years, but are still explained as extreme and unique cases. Our
testimonies portray a different, and much grimmer picture in which
deterioration of moral standards finds expression in the character of
orders and the rules of engagement, and are justified in the name of
Israel's security. While this reality is known to Israeli soldiers and
commanders, Israeli society continues to turn a blind eye, and to deny
that what is done in its name. Discharged soldiers returning to
civilian life discover the gap between the reality they encountered in
the Territories, and the silence about this reality they encounter at
home. In order to become civilians again, soldiers are forced to ignore
what they have seen and done. We strive to make heard the voices of
these soldiers, pushing Israeli society to face the reality whose
creation it has enabled.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i>
</i></span><span style="color: #660000;"><i>We collect and publish testimonies from soldiers who, like us, have
served in the West Bank, Gaza and East Jerusalem since September 2000,
and hold lectures, house meetings, and other public events which bring
to light the reality in the Territories through the voice of former
combatants. We also conduct tours in Hebron and the South Hebron Hills
region, with the aim of giving the Israeli public access to the reality
which exists minutes from their own homes, yet is rarely portrayed in
the media.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><i>
Founded in March 2004 by a group of soldiers who served in Hebron,
Breaking the Silence has since acquired a special standing in the eyes
of the Israeli public and in the media, as it is unique in giving voice
to the experience of soldiers. To date, the organization has collected
more than 700 testimonies from soldiers who represent all strata of
Israeli society and cover nearly all units that operate in the
Territories. All the testimonies we publish are meticulously researched,
and all facts are cross-checked with additional eye-witnesses and/or
the archives of other human rights organizations also active in the
field. Every soldier who gives a testimony to Breaking the Silence knows
the aims of the organization and the interview. Most soldiers choose
to remain anonymous, due to various pressures from official military
persons and society at large. Our first priority is to the soldiers who
choose to testify to the public about their service.</i></span><span style="color: #660000;"><i><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"> </span>"</i></span><span style="color: #660000;"></span><br />
The book they give us, has fascinating accounts of Israeli soldiers who have been on duty and what they did or saw others do as part of serving in Palestine. The book is disturbing and leaves us deep in thought. But the honesty and insight each one of these accounts has brings with them a glimmer of world in an otherwise bleak world that bandies around mundane words like world peace.<br />
There are lessons in it for every country, countries such as mine (India) where strife is a part of life whether its in Kashmir, or the North East or the Maoist uprising caused due to the displacement of people in the relentless quest to corporotize (if there is such a word) every natural resource available. It seems that as long as we have well developed roads and figures to back development, the state machinery can absolve itself of murder!<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Etuc0e0Q1ndlbusM21YuSs7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="640" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-zdU7NEXSLwk/UWsEHzlNLjI/AAAAAAAAGas/jXwB-rd4x8o/s640/IMG_0373.JPG" width="427" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
We get across to the other shore and our bus is driven out of the ferry. In that one crossing, we really did feel like we crossed an ocean of thought. I really do hope everyone reading this piece takes some time to have a look at the site <a href="http://www.breakingthesilence.org.il/">Breaking The Silence </a>and think about what they have to say. It would definitely help Break the Silence!<br />
<br />
Meena<br />
</div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-48398691024335050652013-07-21T17:56:00.002+01:002013-07-21T17:56:16.364+01:00What Summer looks like in London..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/PWDB4u1Ddx0IYj_YwRoCwdZJZ9Z36rlJMEWSRmRcCt0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-KgEAORuDuR8/UewLtZb6LFI/AAAAAAAAHn4/1mfL6gPGVGc/s640/IMG_0067.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The hordes descend on Trafalgar Square as the lions look on...There can be no city as pretty as this when the sun in shining...Truely Gorgeous!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
</div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-70939591328266731632013-07-13T10:18:00.004+01:002013-07-13T10:19:00.242+01:00Winds of Troy..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
I cannot think about Troy without thinking of Achilles. The ancient city swirling in myths and legends, has been the one place I've always wanted to visit.<br />
<br />
So as we crossed over last night after our visit to <i>Gallipoli</i> to <i>Canakkale</i>. We step out into bright sunshine though the forecast says rain. A one hour drive and we find ourselves in Troy.<br />
We huddle around our guide<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/6lm2suVwyV4cec43QGW0ls7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-myjRm64kowM/UWsEK-EQdaI/AAAAAAAAGbY/a6-pXOqVo5w/s640/IMG_0379.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Dates around when the city was built..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A model of the legendary wooden horse is under renovation, the black form that hangs over its form cloaking our imagination. With most things that are this old, the line between that really happened and what we choose to believe is blurred. As <i>Tolkien </i>says in his <i>'Lord of the Rings',</i> <i>"History becomes Legend and Legend becomes Myth."</i></blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/vOGLKvs7nLUXrHFuRadXbc7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-tJBDYIFygpg/UWsEMr6wNDI/AAAAAAAAGbs/NDb4FBz2Yew/s640/IMG_0381.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
Did the Trojan War really happen? Did the battle cries of the heroes of my imagination really fill this land. Well disappointingly I learn that the answer to this is No. Troy might have been immortalized in the doomed love of <i>Helen and Paris<b> </b></i>in<i> Homer's Illiad, </i>but research has not backed this as fact and the story stays largely as just that a story.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/nalcpidpSA4G-pJsrHm7Hs7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-6Xy9j2BH2xk/UWsEOfI6uxI/AAAAAAAAGcA/E3-Jncea214/s640/IMG_0384.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The remains of a Greek Theater..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Ruins, ruins everywhere. We pass the remains of a Greek Theater, beautiful in white stained by the onslaught of time. Majestic columns lie strewn on the grass, grand fallen as they may be.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/3hgHni2plNG-to8hg-AADc7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-zCulANgiwNo/UWsEQRAxwJI/AAAAAAAAGcc/jH1peVpJYek/s640/IMG_0387.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
As with most ancient cities, Troy is made up of many layers, 9 to be precise.<br />
When one layer of the city crumbled, another was built on it and that's precisely what we see as we move around the ruins of the city. A city like this is called a <i>'Tell'</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/K4W1zioMNZ4vpymxP99g9M7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-XhVcgZtvUtw/UWsEWLGjClI/AAAAAAAAGdo/WP_lY-lrqFc/s640/IMG_0397.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Runis of Troy..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/AtfI-zHawoUBt_UR0MZcmM7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-rIz2fwhCyOc/UWsEiXhS0OI/AAAAAAAAGf0/TL1j5Zs3dnw/s640/IMG_0414.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The view from the site..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There are some great view from the site. A white tree stands as beautiful as a silent sentinel watching the progress of the years run past in haste and hurry.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/mhxAQqKXYrrYvzMMkud_qM7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-r0BOw7BSksk/UWsErmCsOYI/AAAAAAAAGhg/-HZDZDYDhdc/s640/IMG_0429.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
When we finally leave Troy the sun is right overhead. We hurry onwards to the bus. There are other places to see and more history to catch up with<br />
<br /></div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-39643725658724111792013-06-15T07:59:00.001+01:002013-06-15T07:59:07.807+01:00On the road to Gallipoli..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
We are in a bus full of Australian tourists. We are on the road to Gallipolli and there is a buzz in the air.<br />
For some reason I have never been very interested in this bit of history, the first world war and the events surrounding it. Even though I know fully well it set the stage for the second world war. But today as the bus rolls through dense green pine forests, the voice of our guide brings the story of Gallipoli alive.<br />
<br />
My Australian friend tells me that Gallipoli is considered one of the most important chapters of their history . It's the one thing they grow up learning about and the one place that they make a point to visit.<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/109059827880147921574/Turkey?authkey=Gv1sRgCP_HwNPlib-4Rg&feat=embedwebsite#5866786724111675010" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-77Cs9pdD_yc/UWsDcSenboI/AAAAAAAAGQ8/XNYmFmQH83k/s640/IMG_0291.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Driving to Gallipoli..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On one side is the sea and it is some kilometers from here that the first boats carrying ANZAC (Australia and New Zealand Navy Corps ) arrived. But the story started much before that and had its roots in the colonial aspirations of the European powers Britain, France and Germany.<br />
<br />
Today has been cold and rainy in distinct contrast to our previous day in Sunny Istanbul, and its wonderful watching the trees fly past from the warm confines of our bus. <br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/WIMN6Xx3WfRqX1WzxfzQZs7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-w2s-3vwqYlY/UWsDczRkFfI/AAAAAAAAGRE/v1sAX7O8bso/s640/IMG_0292.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The innocous looking sea and its shores, once the site of fierce fighting..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Britain, Spain and France were at the height of their colonial days in the events leading up to the first world war. This meant that they had a huge source of resources and wealth, things that went into building their armies and their nations. When Germany began asserting itself as a power in Europe, it turned to Turkey to bolster it's military might. This in a nutshell are the events leading up to the operation in Gallipoli our guide explains.<br />
<br />
Between 25th April 1915 and 9th Jan 1916, a joint operation between Britain and France was launched to take control of Constantinople , the Ottoman capital. This would ensure that the allies (Britain, France and Russia) had the sea route to Russia open. To the operation were recruited men from the common wealth, largely from the Australia and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC) who were then posted in Egypt. They were mostly young boys and as a co-passenger put it, they were out on an adventure , not knowing the difficulty of the task that lay ahead in Gallipoli. The events that unfolded would end in tragedy for most of them.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/zI2EVB5Oj1673QeKbmH75c7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-gv-NKfeojsY/UWsDd2gJ6vI/AAAAAAAAGRU/lY8BpU4okEo/s640/IMG_0294.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
We walk across to the beach and from where we stand we can see the ANZAC cove where 27,000 Australian, New Zealand landed between 25 April and 1 May 1915. The intended destination was Brighton beach further South and take control of the Ottomon straits. Due to an error in judgement, they landed here under direct fire from the Turkish forces. Most of the leadership perished and what was originally intended to be a swift operation , turned into a long bloody one spanning many months and at the expense of many young lives.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/ZKVgUu_CDrayaocWPjGzqM7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Rk0XBSrVBLk/UWsDgDDHF6I/AAAAAAAAGR0/Ay6A9xe55n4/s640/IMG_0298.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Anzac Cove..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Today the beach is a picture of calm. The waves gently roll up and down and pebbles glisten through the clear waters. What must have been the bloody scene , filled with the sound of guns and fighting , today stands silent.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/n4XwwXm10P5_IUm5WHfe1M7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-LYwjdJVqDyU/UWsDkZBL9oI/AAAAAAAAGS0/bOyKIQ_fNUU/s640/IMG_0308.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
We walk around the graves. Some in our group are on a mission , to find the tombstones of friends or relatives who they knew or heard that fought in Gallipoli.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/qEOn8hOqyH4kk7o7-KnYpc7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-TgUlI8YXtNs/UWsDo7spcPI/AAAAAAAAGTo/Qr_22ZtUZCQ/s640/IMG_0316.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/WrqJAZ4mM29O55gu5_eBs87ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-rPJnTN4Bs30/UWsDqIkFuUI/AAAAAAAAGT4/kOSLffVTD6Y/s640/IMG_0318.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Azmak cemetry..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/buRNADazrQtvHyrbU8tEcs7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-26qo9vyrp8E/UWsDttDZ95I/AAAAAAAAGUk/y-_mAnxUOP4/s640/IMG_0324.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Kemal attatuk Memorial to the Anzacs..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Outside stands a memorial, a touching tribute by Attatuk, the founder of Turkey to the Anzac and Turkish soldiers who lost their lives in the fighting. When Gallipoli happened he was a lieutenant colonel who commanded the Turkish 19th infantry division.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/EkY9_dGbBegcnxKAxpgnbM7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-AFkLQ0iAEdE/UWsDuu_TIcI/AAAAAAAAGU0/eA7wnRNWDus/s640/IMG_0326.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sign posts..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/3ymc9e1cSelOqokNHdZy487ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-TEF2rcdjnv8/UWsDwHTaPzI/AAAAAAAAGVM/KvjR2tTQth8/s640/IMG_0329.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In all the tragedy and destruction, there were also stories of courage. Of soldiers crossing boundaries to save lives. And some of them stand frozen in stone , and we hear of the story of a Turkish soldier who hearing the wounded cries coming from somewhere in the field, waved a white flag asking for shooting to stop. And when it did he picked up and safely saw across the other, a commonwealth soldier, in need of help after which the fighting resumed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/DTR4UV8NrnL4HYVAlYcuec7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-dl2D4u1BNCo/UWsDxPqwpkI/AAAAAAAAGVY/wtP0o0YNqx8/s640/IMG_0331.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>In memoriam..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our next stop is the Lone Pine memorial, so called because at the time the site was discovered , all that survived was a lone pine tree in the midst of carnage.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/2J4C2u8lxYISQfo2MBgRlc7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-U0WHaCwLDJM/UWsDxiwSlkI/AAAAAAAAGVk/cEgKDqYg-5g/s640/IMG_0332.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lone pine memorial..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The memorial honours 4000 odd ANZAC soldiers who have no graves.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/AM000L5g3o7Gha6xzPCnVc7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-RjUaND5bZLo/UWsD9K63y8I/AAAAAAAAGYM/pz5YtyUj76U/s640/IMG_0353.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Statue of Hüseyin Kaçmaz, the oldest living member of the 57th Regiment..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div id="meta">
<div class="photo-desc" id="description_div">
<div id="yui_3_7_3_3_1370848462482_894">
At the entrance to the graves in memory of the Turkish soldiers stands the statue of Hüseyin Kaçmaz, the oldest living member of the 57th Regiment. He died in 1994. In his old withered hands are the hands of his great-granddaughter , and here they stand , him telling her about the battle.</div>
The 57th Regiment that he was part of was led by Mustafa Kemal. This regiment held back the original invasion long enough for reinforcements to arrive.Most of them were killed in action but Hüseyin Kaçmaz lived to tell the harrowing tale..</div>
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/iBmkHeyhzpN5qVWFIyFMmM7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-hG9SxXd0TGQ/UWsEDEAzWzI/AAAAAAAAGZk/Ufvwu77N5_o/s640/IMG_0364.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Trenches..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There are many more sites we see that day. In some places the actual trenches at the site of fighting have been carefully preserved.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/mfDk1er9fcdQ7k3kSy48Kc7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-R8ECMhfVfV4/UWsEEKYdK4I/AAAAAAAAGZw/o4Z56qxpXHw/s640/IMG_0366.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Gallipoli is about the tragedy of war. It's about how countries and ideas and big schemes can consume ordinary people, boys in this case who thought they were off on an adventure in an unknown land.<br />
It's about mindless bloodshed and in it are lessons that everybody can learn from.<br />
<br /></div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-9176764087058503042013-06-09T12:44:00.003+01:002013-06-09T12:44:15.408+01:00How to meet locals while travelling..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My article on Women's web<div>
http://www.womensweb.in/articles/meet-locals-while-travelling/</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-24387587616429127692013-05-05T20:21:00.002+01:002013-05-05T20:22:21.125+01:00Istanbul, Down the rabbit hole..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<blockquote style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="color: #660000;">“Alice came to a fork in the road. 'Which road do I take?' she asked.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #660000;">'Where do you want to go?' responded the Cheshire Cat.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #660000;">'I don't know,' Alice answered.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #660000;">'Then,' said the Cat, 'it doesn't matter.”</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #660000;">― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland </span></i></blockquote>
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
City of Tulips</h4>
A fork in the road does not just offer two paths, it also has the option of stopping. And so we did stop, to take pictures. In this city, where the Tulips first arrived the morning comes alive in a splash of colour.<br />
In a month all of them will be abloom, and Istanbul awash in reds, yellows and pinks.<br />
The famed tulip gardens of Netherlands might coat themselves in flower glory, but here is where it all began. First cultivated by the Ottomans, the word Tulip comes from the Turkish word<b> <i>'tulbent' </i></b>.<br />
Time has a way of forgetting things, even some as beautiful as this flower and so somewhere this rich floral legacy faded away, only to see a revival recently. Istanbul, now has a bulb planting program taking it back to the days of the sultan when the Tulips adorned the palaces and the streets of this beautiful capital of the <i>Ottomon empire</i>.<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/lICdWbFmJROS6_wWujKOQs7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-SSDBOu6-86Q/UWsArMa1NDI/AAAAAAAAFvY/fqgY9dP9A30/s640/IMG_0007.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Tulips planted along the city squares..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We laud ourselves on our choice of hotel.Staying in <i>Sultanmhet </i>means we are in the heart of the city.<br />
We explore at will and relax when we please. We have heard so much about the Blue mosque and The Hagia Sophia. But there is plenty to see as we stroll along this pretty part of the city on out way there. Trams glide gracefully across busy roads and the traffic seems unceasing.<br />
<br />
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
The Obelisk of Theodosius</h4>
Our guide, is an encyclopedia of information. Our first stop is the Ancient Egyptian Obelisk of Pharaoh Tutmoses iii, re -erected by the Roman emperor Theodosius in Constantinople(now Istanbul) and now called The Obelisk of Theodosius. Not so apparent until we are told is that the obelisk is made from red granite. What draws the eye to it are are beautiful carvings along the length of the obelisk, towering26m above us. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/twWlwTmczDDSz3FtdpaRVc7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-RtpNZkQtEn8/UWsAxFSQGkI/AAAAAAAAFwY/WrIuM8JUuSg/s640/IMG_0015.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Obelisk of Theodosius</i> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
The Blue Mosque</h4>
I am distracted by the sun, the luxurious feeling of warmth on my skin. It has been a long winter back home in London this year and this is such a welcome change. The square we are in is teeming with tourists. Like ants on a hot day we scurry about, almost in line behind our guide, loosing scent, scattering and forming ranks again :).<br />
<br />
And so we get to the Blue Mosque, an exquisite structure with an underlying blue that shines through the stone, its minarates standing tall, towering into the skies above. Built during the rule of the Sultan Ahmed I, during the period from 1606 to 1616, is is still being used as a mosque.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/7w13Ydwoy-42uYcmOTrWQM7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-66NCTM27Cas/UWsBBultRAI/AAAAAAAAFzU/kCrXSrVhUL4/s640/IMG_0038.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The entrance to the Blue mosque</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We walk around the court yard and pass what looks like a row of ornate taps.<br />
I marvel at how similar this is to the taps I have seen in some of the temples in the South of India from where I come. Before we enter the mosque, we are given plastic bags in which to put our shoes in. And Out of respect we cover our heads <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/kYKcgoYtTo2lpSCR3yE2I87ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-Hmovf2B7kRA/UWsBEUSznFI/AAAAAAAAFzw/Lwa32QKza-Y/s640/IMG_0042.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Inside the Blue Mosque..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/I0cWZQJrqM2Oe2pNKeLCCs7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="640" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-ccFbdrWOhOM/UWsBFVwMZDI/AAAAAAAAFz8/umZ7Ik3_XOM/s640/IMG_0043.JPG" width="427" /></a><br />
<br />
Stepping inside is an experience. I am struck by the sight of the beautiful stained glass windows, stacked neatly one above another encircling us , as we walk around the dome like structure.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/T6Gtr-E9qcNGdRdCEuNfq87ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-uzBP3wFLxg0/UWsBFygKJrI/AAAAAAAAF0E/axa-XDnG6Uk/s640/IMG_0044.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Stained glass windows in the Blue Mosque..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Q_QnsG2XO6WDrQC7VtLV-c7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-9daI8IwGKC0/UWsBJtTEA1I/AAAAAAAAF0o/wuwj75QAmQM/s640/IMG_0049.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A different view., the prayer area and the main dome..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/F01dWRS2aqe71PAyNZHZcM7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-VeEx1ell4Mg/UWsBMgcpqoI/AAAAAAAAF1I/hb0ULLRP1vU/s640/IMG_0053.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Let there be light..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We wander around the mosque. Women sit at the windows, heads covered praying. There is a sense of peace in the midst of all the noise. The pillars are entirely made of marble.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/aZGuF1c47tlhWwlzvPcoc87ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-uv3mqDqSfvQ/UWsBa-_ODpI/AAAAAAAAF3U/PGpX8HSeksc/s640/IMG_0072.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The ceramic tiles , inside the blue mosque..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The interior of the mosque is laid out with Ceramic tiles from the region Iznik. These blue tiles, with intricate designs of tulips are a beautiful foil to the stained glass windows through which light filters in.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/S-tDX-zVe8zbhuiez6h2cs7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-eymsphG_OYU/UWsBmuM8-wI/AAAAAAAAF5k/ZaJ28Oa8Hro/s640/IMG_0092.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the Blue mosque as we walk towards the hippodrome..</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our eyes quickly adjust to the sun as we step outside. At the entrance we throw away the plastic covers that held our foot wear and walk towards the hippodrome. It is from here that we get the best shots of the blue mosque.<br />
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
Hagia Sophia</h4>
What do I say about Hagia Sophia, that hasn't already been said. It's a beautiful fascinating place, an intersection of two great religions standing together side by side. Walking in I was struck by the atmospheric calm, the beautiful chandeliers hanging off the ceilings washed in gold, high windows and intricate paintings..<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/-CJmV2kyb8fJuVa1nEdwxM7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-xRbLuU0WYhQ/UWsB0q1BzsI/AAAAAAAAF78/rF2VdJF2ekA/s640/IMG_0111.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Chandileres indside Hagia Sophia..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/gOxfYdZHyCjbk9Aoi5zTN87ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-Hpwl889qH0A/UWsB4FQ9DeI/AAAAAAAAF8o/9G7Kdl-K8Zs/s640/IMG_0117.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ceilings washed in gold..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We step into the interior and I am awestruck by the immense great hall, ending in stained glass windows with a beautiful painting of the Virgin Mary at the other end..<br />
Hagia Sophia was once a church, an eastern Orthodox cathedral and the seat of the orthodox patriarchy in Constantinople the ancient capital of Turkey. When Constantinople was invaded by the Ottomon Turks in 1453 under Sultan Mehmed II, it was converted to a mosque.<br />
Today it houses elements of both religions, something I have never seen before.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/VbBQMTlDvOQwSy07UXxMps7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-wxgx-gjNTzU/UWsB82fbARI/AAAAAAAAF9s/oSVogMgNv-I/s640/IMG_0125.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The chandeliers inside Hagia Sophia..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The Dome is magnificent, an example of the celebrated byzantine architecture of the era in which it was built. Our guide points out that others like the Blue Mosque that we first visited were actually built as replicas of Hagia Sophia..<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/bSEoqRSR3krLmvKgvZucKs7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-adgOj1rwy3E/UWsB-hpFegI/AAAAAAAAF-E/u1fCUb_AGV8/s640/IMG_0128.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Dome..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At the far end of the hall and above the many stained glass windows is the mosaic of the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus. On both sides are circular discs in Green declaring the basic tenets of Islam, the names of Allah and the Prophet Mohammed.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/VXSFv7x4r0VixYXS_HPq0M7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-1VbK6IwcLYY/UWsCCYtwPTI/AAAAAAAAF-w/7ZH4fKNVeEw/s640/IMG_0134.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The end of the hall, A painting of the Virgin Mary right on top, with circular discs declaring important people of the Islamic faith</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This is a fascinating, fascinating place. Over the years religions have come and gone, but seeing them stand together like this is a surreal feeling.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/_3pqrO68MbqAEQca12SBL87ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-j2vh9BWwDJ0/UWsCMouHQGI/AAAAAAAAGA8/0vCoXaqRXMk/s640/IMG_0152.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We walk up to the upper floor, where there are more mosaics. We also get a better view of the mosaic of Mary from a balcony very close to the ceiling.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/NUAoI1oOqHNSo6Y6rmBVR87ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="433" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-ulECKjfNJC0/UWsCO43fgtI/AAAAAAAAGBc/FNCk6r1XnFY/s640/IMG_0156.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Virgin Mary with child..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/NtXGpDj9N4cnczhneF8Bnc7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-vGJ5zyqydf8/UWsCZov5rEI/AAAAAAAAGDo/vH42_zMh9H0/s640/IMG_0175.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The hall from the top level..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/LESk5j48Lr1pAAcUDF0Mdc7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-0u5SjG5iGEw/UWsChRkp_QI/AAAAAAAAGFM/2BzRPmT8NGo/s640/IMG_0187.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
Of all the places I've seen so far in Istanbul, Hagia Sophia is my favourite. We walk around for a bit before we run out of time. The heat is making me tired, but it really is lovely being out in the sun and I won't complain.<br />
<br />
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
Topkapi Palace</h4>
When we get to the Topkapi palace it's teeming with people. This was once the seat of the sultans of the Ottomon Empire and in 1921 , by official decree was converted into a museum.<br />
Our guide likens it to the Forbidden City in Beijing, the seat of power of the emperors in China.<br />
The palace still houses several important relics and we look woefully at the long queues stretching out into the sun :).<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/BqxGoCPJAdkh-k928rcUO87ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="640" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-ui7lzuOnD1k/UWsCuDKxqdI/AAAAAAAAGHk/rKbm3-O1_DI/s640/IMG_0206.JPG" width="427" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
There is a lot to see here. We are on a mission to see the most important ones and get in queue.<br />
Right ahead we meet some co- travellers from Karachi. We get talking. Questions on Pakistan and questions on India :). This is my favourite bit about travelling. Meeting someone from somewhere you wouldn't normally get the opportunity to meet. He doubles up as a guide with his knowledge of Arabic translating as we walk along, pointing at exhibits of interest. Inside we see a model of a Kaba, which stands in Mecca. One of the many keys to the Kaba is housed here. We also see personal belongings of the Prophet, hair from his beard preserved over the years and the stick used by Moses.<br />
<br />
The museum has one of the largest diamonds, which was in the possession of the Sultan.<br />
<br />
It's past lunch time and we eat at a restaurant that faces the coast<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/wn1FYQlEM7xW0X5Nh6vsUs7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-TsHbDUOyl8Y/UWsC4YdKnlI/AAAAAAAAGJo/hGlmD_di3CM/s640/IMG_0223.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Asian side of Istanbul...</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
The Basillica Cistern</h4>
Our final stop was the Basillica Cisteren, one of several hundred ancient cisterns lying under the city.<br />
The floors are wet and we watch our step as we walk in the dark. As our eyes adjust to the darkness, we are told this place was once surrounded by gardens and overlooked the Hagia Sophia.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/1ig-uyZLbAtImsW8BOuWBM7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-PPppjfym84k/UWsDFhfqjMI/AAAAAAAAGMI/QZzM4f3fNdk/s640/IMG_0244.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Basillica Cistern..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At the very end are two stone pillars supported by Medusa heads. Roman in origin, how they came to be in this place is still unknown.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/EYQh62phhwNPlNTRmYWT7M7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-5M47htzkjpA/UWsDJPP8-RI/AAAAAAAAGM8/1G-RkaU2QRs/s640/IMG_0251.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Medusa heads..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/5LTdZRSDe3TpSTzpTMFvas7ZZ4tHu84mQRVLxPxiBA0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-e7S4hG9oS5Q/UWsDJtH3-5I/AAAAAAAAGNA/iGShgHAGTq4/s640/IMG_0252.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Medusa Heads..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The heads have a eerie look to them in the near darkness :). We take a lot of pictures and finally head out again into the sun...<br />
That rounds up a lovely day at <i>Sultanmhet</i>, though our journey through Istanbul had only just begun.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com6Istanbul, Turkey41.00527 28.97695999999996340.621817500000006 28.331512999999962 41.3887225 29.622406999999964tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-20116258019565472272013-04-06T12:12:00.002+01:002013-04-06T12:12:57.098+01:00Turkey and our great big easter break..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
In keeping with tradition, Easter called for travel.<br />
A couple of days off and we landed ourselves a good ten days. Between Turkey, Jordan and Morocco, after much deliberation we decided Turkey. The other two we put away for a different time.<br />
<br />
Turkey was a revelation. There is probably not that much I could say that hasn't been said already.<br />
But the food, the culture, its people, its history and everything in between took our breath away.<br />
So my next series of posts will touch on what we did there and what I think were the highlights of our trip. Stay tuned people!<br />
<br />
Meena </div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-85548666504810930282013-03-17T16:22:00.002+00:002013-03-17T17:39:07.772+00:00The Mylapore Festival..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Colour mingled with colour until we felt that we were peering through an endless Kaleidoscope of wonder. It is hard to imagine a busier place than Mylapore, the way it is at this very moment and yet we seem to walk at a pace that suggests leisure, in direct contradiction to the frenzied activity we see all around us. The harvests are here. The newspaper tell a different tale, of little rain and endless hardship; Of farmers who toil in the field; Of the need for wiser water management. But irrespective ,thanks is given and the festival of Pongal lands on our door step.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/o3LfureaQ3KVl7RN4OdJsxxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="640" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-USiUSgMrVEM/UQV89bt7L2I/AAAAAAAAEn4/fHnRLvfmX-k/s640/IMG_0002.JPG" width="427" /></a><br />
<br />
Pongal , when the sight of tall strong sugarcane, purple and streaked with white standing tall like sentries at a festive affair is such a welcome sight; When we hurry off to buy turmeric, root , stem, leaves and all fresh with the earth dug up from; And the ritual affiar of boiling milk , jaggery, rice and having steaming hot sweet pongal as a marker of the occasion!<br />
Happy gods and definitely happy people this one festival does make..<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/PqKgra3WfBmO13axuz775BxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="543" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-WJfREOX_3Wk/UQV892b9IzI/AAAAAAAAEoE/ahrGcnCj9EA/s640/IMG_0003.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Mylapore is alive, pulsating with the life blood of the city itself. A rickshaw sits in nonchalance in the middle of the busy thoroughfare. Pedestrians, motorists and everyone else step around the yellow rickshaw, it's flaps flying in the gentle breeze, the owner barely discernable from where I stand. <br />
The Kabaleehwar temple is at the center of all festivity. My earliest memories of the city are intrinsically linked to this temple, of squished bus rides of holding on tight to my mum's soft hands.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/mnlh7xWmk2cH-ZCOIqNvsRxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-Y55VWZPRURU/UQV8-4acwWI/AAAAAAAAEoM/UjZdFRpEQZ8/s640/IMG_0005.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
We walk closer to the walls and I see the familiar steps of row of steps making their way downwards to gently touch the sparkling waters of the temples 'Kulam'. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/VCjsoInKhTIPnaH-2Ry33BxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="640" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-8At4_uTrDHM/UQV9BSO_vuI/AAAAAAAAEos/2_VMW9TUw20/s640/IMG_0009.JPG" width="427" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/vxkZ0b1TVQYkaWA6cXNibxxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-xq5tlLZQ-Rw/UQV9B5JW7oI/AAAAAAAAEo4/M_DMAd-2xBQ/s640/IMG_0010.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
Rows of shops selling antiques, handicrafts and other wondrous things stand. I am immediately drawn to one selling little baskets made from bamboo, incredibly pretty and so beautifully made. I can't decide which one to buy. The choice is made by the need for space in my suitcase, and so I part with a little one all white with purple bands.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/IXV5xPSwGgj-iJuoAcJhSBxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-2YbAraY2iK0/UQV9Fi3hghI/AAAAAAAAEpg/-VxO2RhBCsk/s640/IMG_0016.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
The streets are a splash of colour. We walk on stopping every now and then, asking questions, savouring the moments of being part of this beautiful throng of humanity.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/BzjFWgyA4PCsdoJcEzCLKRxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-iZzOdnxxqaU/UQV9Gmu-e8I/AAAAAAAAEp0/E5tPQIyDFe8/s640/IMG_0018.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
I have to smile when I see the Sonpapdi seller and I can almost imagine the flaky sweetness, the burst of flavour as it dissolves on the tongue. Today I resist and instead take a photograph.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/5L6eM5jyUZTmM6e-y5XR5xxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-XfvoPvLko9Y/UQV9IXg0syI/AAAAAAAAEqA/hIw1gHeBjJU/s640/IMG_0020.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
And then there are the beads, strung on chains, shining in the sun, their brightness drawing the eye in every which way you look.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/kHvhNJLldhseEeLF1tNIkhxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="640" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-wVtxEOArV2k/UQV9LpnU2hI/AAAAAAAAEqc/Auk26yhAimo/s640/IMG_0022.JPG" width="427" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
We stop to buy some bracelets. They are beautifully made, strewn unmatched on thinly laid cloth on stone pavements, an invitation to put my hands into the heap and draw a twosome out , so perfectly unique. A rough and tumble of colour and I try again, with a sort of a childish pleasure in the activity itself rather than the adult obsession with results.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/IqDo5JpR2WVXw2m7-eXqvhxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-aV1ua4-Gf-g/UQV9ORb1j4I/AAAAAAAAEq0/-Mw8c3b6WH8/s640/IMG_0026.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
We finally pick a few pairs, neatly packed in newspapers. And in the corner sits a lady of chocolate skin and midnight black hair selling banana leaves. She peers at me through her all knowing glasses and decides I am no worthy customer, just someone walking the streets. She looks past me and calls out to someone else in a voice that could tell a thousand stories.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/PA7wbDVf3J-K-d7ZzOYzgRxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Y7dAJM14CHQ/UQV9O-2mlEI/AAAAAAAAEq8/BYcliqu2rNQ/s640/IMG_0027.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
We stop. We walk. We talk..There are things to see and things to do.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/SRnv4PyVDonZM6_KqJ8qnRxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-noKWa7pjTIg/UQV9VK-GOtI/AAAAAAAAEsg/kaBkKoJQ2ps/s640/IMG_0038.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
When we finally arrive at the entrance of the temple the evening lengthens into dusk's shadows.<br />
The Gopuram is beautiful, a tumble of Gods and goddesses looking down on the mortal from their lofty heights. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/BNmRWrrKsKMH1mdzHwztgBxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-NwOaEVPRTcM/UQV9YIPIr_I/AAAAAAAAEtA/8Uma2b6Xlj4/s640/IMG_0044.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
Flowers as offering? Theres plenty on offer, mingled with the sweet scent of incense - Roses, jasmines still not a bloom tightly garlanded in bunches of white.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/yGXD0I6sxFNTKNYI5KHpYRxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-MvUEGkO8u6M/UQV9ZFoy64I/AAAAAAAAEtQ/UtyJTFsPSts/s640/IMG_0046.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/xBwjCEAWcjgWz5dldPiDaxxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="640" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-DgBkykmuGAM/UQV9a8-lNVI/AAAAAAAAEtk/4n-bPYSs6H0/s640/IMG_0049.JPG" width="427" /></a><br />
<br />
A balloon seller sits lost in a reverie, his ware still unclaimed. Business isn't always as brisk.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/3Qm_ObUpQfNxmJe9-_n63hxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-UGzRmQEBtmk/UQV9br7hg7I/AAAAAAAAEt0/cGlaeYoKDpU/s640/IMG_0050.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
We walk past a stage, lit up and see the prettiest Bharatnatyam dancers in the middle of a performance. We rest our feet for a while and then walk towards the food stands.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/ga-lZEq_uXtVja3wzm_SwhxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-uPl1DNJRGiM/UQV9e3cGJKI/AAAAAAAAEug/Am3rXP4rg_A/s640/IMG_0056.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
And then there is the little jackfruit seller, her kurta in complementary colour to the fruit she seeks to sell. Her waif like frame, propped up on tiptoes looks at something in a distance, her little hands holding onto the cart, her pigtails tightly coiled , braided and pulled back. She is who I will remember most when we are back home, dwarfed by the mighty jackfruit on offer to the willing buyer.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/UuEVSJA3G0OIGu4X7zUw0hxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="452" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-apm4_Lwi21E/UQV9fmtR04I/AAAAAAAAEuw/gNf1q3ud1NU/s640/IMG_0058.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
When we enter the street, full of food we are spoilt for choice. Definitely South Indian for me I decide. And so of all the nouth watering delicacies on offer we try the mangalore bonda, the vazhaipoo vadai and bits and pieces of other things. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/BGtABsJ9wTEZkKZ-OtiiUxxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="640" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-c_e1XIyseHo/UQV9nOwPS4I/AAAAAAAAEwU/VV4vW9zEuGU/s640/IMG_0071.JPG" width="427" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/qe1HDhi48XC9TFOqIcgzCBxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-brCGM4l63wA/UQV9ptsShFI/AAAAAAAAExA/9V6PtC4zCWc/s640/IMG_0076.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/093N8Vog5IDUaTBou11WYhxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-OJyg9-t5HTk/UQV9tDAfcgI/AAAAAAAAExs/GfrPQ230Rzw/s640/IMG_0083.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/8zf0CDI_uFq8mnPIllOmBBxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="640" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-eG10dygrYAg/UQV9uv9WxNI/AAAAAAAAEyI/OeZjnEMmeS8/s640/IMG_0088.JPG" width="427" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/sJQsURFwlIJXNiM8uJ8q8xxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-TzrgznoTZIw/UQV9wILzN3I/AAAAAAAAEyg/MTa4U-exu7E/s640/IMG_0092.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
There are more vendors doing the rounds here. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/mcAae7GtRYDZs74461vn5BxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-YeijS7no4P4/UQV9yqm6OsI/AAAAAAAAEzE/hGhrpTTmPB8/s640/IMG_0097.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
And then we walk back home . On our way we run into a procession. The Gods are restless just as men are I think to myself and so man made god in his image :)<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/y_ByMG0cy7O3WL1HM-SUehxCgvq8GiSsEBTOEEIlKVc?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-4Pj7ZAltH6k/UQV90caJ46I/AAAAAAAAEzc/X0c5Q2eght8/s640/IMG_0100.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
This has been a festival to remember...<br />
<br />
Meena<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>More information </b>on the Mylapore festival can be found <a href="http://www.mylaporefestival.com/2013/">here</a>. It is an annual event that marks Pongal and if you happen to be in Chennai around this time, its an event worth going to.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com1Chennai, Tamil Nadu, India13.032990082670969 80.26920318603515613.002051082670969 80.228862686035157 13.063929082670969 80.309543686035155tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-37150648025488312492013-01-05T10:56:00.003+00:002013-01-05T11:03:48.741+00:00Sunshine in Whitby..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
When the wind blows in Whitby it smells of fish and chips. The Sun is up and the beach is teeming with people. From where we stand we can see the Whitby Abbey standing way above this quaint little seaside town . My eyes are drawn to the sea and we walk along the pier gazing into the distance. The sand looks lovely. In a distance we see a little ship, Captain Cook's tours they seem to call themselves. The horizon is speckled with colour. At the end of the pier is a light house and we walk all the way up and look down into the waters of the swirling ocean.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/oQlcwvljeXfYzGt9V_C1dwc67o6OCuCSH_kPX8IpPLA?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-FVSV9qOS7TU/UEsJLRqaaBI/AAAAAAAACN0/9vHewbYd7xI/s640/IMG_1143.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
We linger on and watch gulls squeak and fight, noisy in their claims. They seem perfectly comfortable with the people frequenting this place. <br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/qQfsNzfS9uLzpTYVphvVcwc67o6OCuCSH_kPX8IpPLA?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-ukFANXhDjM8/UEsJWsy7ZEI/AAAAAAAACQk/YTI0L1_D7KQ/s640/IMG_1168.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
It is hard deciding what to do, Every direction an invitation to explore. As always I am drawn to the sight of boats, the colours they make on the waters below them. We cross shops selling trinkets , restaurants, eateries and in the end spy a maze of little streets running away into the heart of the town.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/aiGAGhU-xa4jwH4ibKDwVAc67o6OCuCSH_kPX8IpPLA?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-55q8Szyur8c/UEsJXtWdCvI/AAAAAAAACQw/AQpi3T31NDk/s640/IMG_1170.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
The labyrinth of streets is all colour. There are cakes and cream teas on offer and beautiful old pubs dotting this place. The Union Jack flies proudly and you can tell who the tourists are by the pace they are walking at :).<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/m1mTb4J0zzrSQToAXHhXzAc67o6OCuCSH_kPX8IpPLA?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9W9YUROojWM/UEsJaPSDfyI/AAAAAAAACRc/d3iyQmw44Ug/s640/IMG_1176.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
When we finally decide to visit the Whitby Abbey it is almost evening. It is summer and we will still have light for a few more hours. We decide to go see the inspiration behind Bam Stoker's Dracula, climbing 199 steps to the top, an easy climb, with great views of Whitby unfolding as we walk up.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/fPAlf2X6Vxu9tQIVLwsmCQc67o6OCuCSH_kPX8IpPLA?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-0Lh4pHAqGFE/UEsJojHz6CI/AAAAAAAACTs/j5fpnrQyChw/s640/IMG_1200.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>St Mary's Church</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Right on top is the Church of St Mary's. Grey tombstones stand solemnly lining the path. The church is beautiful. Brownish grey with elegant windows, we walk around. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Ph335UiHe2-zcnKoeLEDkgc67o6OCuCSH_kPX8IpPLA?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-WBO7i61GiVg/UEsJrtApgiI/AAAAAAAACUY/UMQWEbTgzK4/s640/IMG_1208.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The ruins of St Hinlda Abbey..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And then there is the abbey, strikingly beautiful against the blue blue sky. As old as 657 AD it was built by the Saxon king of Northumbria and his niece Lady Hilda was appointed Abbess. The abbey has a long history of weathering conflict and as most structures of its time has seen kings come and go. But whats truly amazing is that it still stands today, maybe in ruins but every bit as beautiful as when it was first built<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/W36swBgvXAKssoukRRb6bQc67o6OCuCSH_kPX8IpPLA?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-46wHJwnsfTU/UEsJylMZ_xI/AAAAAAAACWI/LR9fu4T5BwM/s640/IMG_1225.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
Stone columns seem stuck firmly in the grass and through the columns we can see the blue of the sea and the slight swell and rise of the green hills beyond. Compared to the noise and activity in Whitby right below us, this place is a picture of calm<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/b4PUVaVGfb8f7sun7f9VTwc67o6OCuCSH_kPX8IpPLA?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-M3FccghcarY/UEsKAaaZ1BI/AAAAAAAACZY/4UB1dYXqH6I/s640/IMG_1264.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
In what looks like a courtyard we see something we have seen before. It is a replica of the <i>Borghese </i>gladiator statue which we had seen a month ago at the <i>Louvere </i>in <i>Paris</i>.<br />
After walking around for ages, we finally stroll down stopping to take pictures. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/n0ymTSI2XEPxAO-uEO67-Ac67o6OCuCSH_kPX8IpPLA?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-8GHbpcIRVGI/UEsLGoweKrI/AAAAAAAACo8/EPLctCa6dEQ/s640/IMG_1411.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
When we decide to go exploring again its in the opposite direction, all the way along the beach to where the cliffs stand.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/UzN30DvSAN5YJLEv00zZAAc67o6OCuCSH_kPX8IpPLA?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-SuVa_w-HRf4/UEsLLi9Ub-I/AAAAAAAACqA/ujpkpM-z5qA/s640/IMG_1420.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Multi coloured cottages dot the shore line, as people sit outside soaking up the sun. The wind seems happy and we gladly walk along. It is a long walk to the end and back. Having grown up in two coastal cities, I always am drawn to the sea shore.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow we decide to explore the Yorkshire Moors!<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-75603343490879358262012-12-29T16:33:00.000+00:002013-01-05T10:58:33.778+00:00The Old and the New..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI5ZtqEHEe1WbiCFbepdtJbRxhY7BwzNTHyA-2iwjkEGsGhsAixxjlDT1uOzDfXUrlsQ2MyQDS4f30lHpRQRnSXGjvywE0bzihvPcXjmOP6GYSqSRPpmU1-QD1aW149aOsijwfXPcNIkY/s1600/IMG_0017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI5ZtqEHEe1WbiCFbepdtJbRxhY7BwzNTHyA-2iwjkEGsGhsAixxjlDT1uOzDfXUrlsQ2MyQDS4f30lHpRQRnSXGjvywE0bzihvPcXjmOP6GYSqSRPpmU1-QD1aW149aOsijwfXPcNIkY/s640/IMG_0017.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It was still Autumn, clear and cold, the sun just about shining through the clouds.<br />
It was a beautiful day. We were out in London, walking through the maze of streets when something caught my eye. London is full of beautiful buildings and the old and new come together in wonderful ways. This was one of them, the Roman relic on a building against the backdrop of newly erected glass belonging to one of the city's skyscrapers. Truly beautiful!</div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-61224805252384331602012-12-08T18:02:00.002+00:002012-12-08T18:05:35.084+00:00Visiting Caernarfon..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
I have had my fair share of castles. They dot the landscape around here. Most are pretty, and doing the rounds we often discover reasons for why they have been built in a certain place. <br />
But none I have seen are as impressive and robust as <i>Caernarfon</i>. Tall polygonal structures tower towards the sky, alert and watchful. The waters around <i>Carnaforn </i>are strewn with boats <br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/VxcLjyu33FMc5lZxGGQ2ABVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-8maN8SmwBhE/T4GMEXUaifI/AAAAAAAAFGs/fRJ4uccfe-8/s640/IMG_0140.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Inside Caernarfon</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The River Seiont is bustling with activity. Shops selling curios sit prettily on the shores.<br />
Seagulls sit at their favourite spots , I guess observing people.<br />
<br />
We walk aimlessly on the green grass inside. There is an exhibition to be seen. The lock on the door catches my eye, a big black iron structure which seems to say, What's locked in stays locked in.<br />
The doors are solid iron. Everything around here exudes power. This castle an undertaking of Edward I, was as much a mission in symbolism as it was a quest for him to stamp his supremacy on all of Wales. The stones around the castle are carefully colour coded, arranged in bands, throwing up the corners of the towers in sharp relief.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/qXL7--qBSeGuwFwPrZxpYBVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="640" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-TBsR5Koa6To/T4GL-2pzuvI/AAAAAAAAFF0/GLk2WxcwugU/s640/IMG_0133.JPG" width="427" /></a><br />
<br />
Around <i>Caernarfon</i>, stand majestic blue mountains, snow on the mountain tops. They give me goose bumps. Black clouds loom large holding out the threat to spill rain. The sun looks on meekly, at a seemingly superior opponent.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/6TsEFPoKBQP2mzt68cDmYRVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-IQa9rBOyH-M/T4GMJ56kk9I/AAAAAAAAFHo/QG6YV07PJsE/s640/IMG_0148.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
The river is beautiful. It probably looked different when the castle was first built and has scene war and peace through its time here. <i>Caernaforn</i>. When Wales fell into the hands of the English, <i>Carnoforn </i>was one of the targets of the <i>Glyndwr uprising or The last war of Independence.</i><br />
Today it is a picture of calm, tranquil and blue, with bright boats on its cool waters.<i> </i><br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/kSS8U2oeo_A9aB_xb4OhYBVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-BMBMrMqzH78/T4GMDJY3mRI/AAAAAAAAFGU/-stAcYJ73H0/s640/IMG_0138.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<i>Caernaforn </i>played host to the investiture of Prince Charles , Prince of Wales in 1969<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/yKVBEYLyZejLZCqXp93nVRVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-TsbbwUsWIJg/T4GL-uE_kKI/AAAAAAAAFFs/JmafbuTEhoQ/s640/IMG_0132.JPG" width="427" /></a><br />
<br />
We walk past the moat and across the bridge. The Welsh flag flutters in the breeze, the dragon on it proud and strong.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/lhZ70AcXT_eYvvcOf1EwvRVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-2GcmGaSBRw8/T4GMd1QkPpI/AAAAAAAAFKw/8BfhTsZgMRQ/s640/IMG_0175.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
From across the road we see the castle in all her glory. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/t25mm5akWe-XAR6vbVc-hRVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-yh7KAvlKs8A/T4GMYTXyMcI/AAAAAAAAFJ4/mwDAGUDETlE/s640/IMG_0167.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Caernaforn from across the river</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
</div>
<br />
It is a cold April morning. Two hours after walking the breadth of <i>Caernaforn </i>we head for tea.<br />
I came thinking I would see another castle, but this was a castle like none I have seen before.<br />
Maybe if I had to pick favourites I would choose the romance of the <i>Urqhart </i>, or the splendours of some that I have seen back home like the ones in Jaipur and Udaipur. But if I wanted to be safe locked behind walls, then I would pick <i>Caernaforn </i>. :)<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-33007844970941084262012-10-07T17:18:00.001+01:002013-01-05T11:02:52.210+00:00When all you want is a cup of Tea..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Patience is a virtue. I can't remember the exact moment when I yelled at the other half , completely frustrated with the weather. It was capitulation. Maybe even worse. We had come to climb this mountain and we were being thwarted even before the journey began. Through rain and ice I sit glum, as songs stream in through the radio, the FM as crackly and temperamental as the weather. I have become the tempestuous child, resorting to monosyllables as a protest against authority. Somewhere the person holding the wheel and the monstrous white weather have all morphed into one. Talk about shooting the messenger of bad news.<br />
<br />
When we get to Bets-y-coed, it is a sheet of white. We talk a few walks around the gorgeous village and my mood eases up, the determination hold fort though. I tell myself, we shall do <i>Snowdon</i> this time or the next, but we will do it.<br />
<br />
We wait and watch and decide to give it a go the second day. The rain has come down in sheets and it is cold. We drive down to the base of <i>Showdon</i>, leave our car parked at the quaint little rail station, haul up our backpacks, we are off..<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/s8En3HNprPyEA3tzsy4A4BVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-ws10sQaqKJ0/T4GLEttYSvI/AAAAAAAAE8Q/yoQBJDvALZg/s640/IMG_0053.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Under a shy tentative sun, the ground beneath our feet melts from white to green. It is term time and we don't seem to be the only ones here. In fact the numbers climbing surprises me given the bad weather.<br />
We start off with a large group climbing for charity, all dressed as sunflowers. We exchange pleasentaries and as we pass I wonder how uncomfortable it would be to climb in a suit as hot as that.<br />
<br />
<i>Snowdon</i>, at 1065m (3560ft) is the highest mountain in <i>Wales</i>. Small in terms of some of the others I have climbed like the Himalayas where we got to 5029m (16500ft). But as with most mountains, it defies comparisons. The arresting white and the contrasts of brown greet us as we do the first mile upward. In total we would climb 15kms that day, no easy task in the snow. I regret not having worn boots, preferring lighter footwear for long climbs.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/FQZBnnRGfN9FLgtu9WGHixVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-11khgiqcNE4/T4GLKMxus1I/AAAAAAAAE9E/UGOb8_a32d0/s640/IMG_0060.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
The railway line that ferrys passengers to the top is not operational. We pass the little bridge and walk along the tracks. I love railways tracks, I love the neat lines, the symmetry of the pair of them in the jagged landscape, the purpose with which they run away into a distance and disappear at the point where the eye can no longer see.<br />
<br />
Midway, we stop for a little break at what is supposed to be a tea room. Today its doors are not open and we huddle in a corner and shield ourselves against the howling wind. I give myself a pat on the back for the foresight in bringing along peanut butter and jam sandwiches. We split one. By now we have established the need for rationing water and supplies. We might not get anything to eat of drink when until we climb down. I could kill for a cup of tea. But putting those thoughts aside we start walking.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/PGr7ugcHggIP0mqIk62cARVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-bF39GxcEkv4/T4GLMDztUGI/AAAAAAAAE9k/Nm1voptmqTs/s640/IMG_0065.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The railway line going all the way up to the top of Snowdon..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
There are more people walking now and the snow turns slushy under their boots and shoes. 15 kms is a hard climb, but I am amazed at the number of children climbing. What a fantastic way to spend a vacation, their parents must be proud of how well these little ones cope.<br />
The sun is shining down now. It is hard to keep walking when the surroundings are so beautiful. I want to stop every few moments, just to look back at the scenes unfolding, to take it all in, to imprint it in memory.<br />
<br />
The dogs make for a cheerful sight. They are so much quicker than their owners and they keep making their way back when they think they have gone far too ahead. I love the sight of the black lab just ahead frolicking in the snow. He dives in and gets some ice on his nose. His shiny skin is a perfect foil to the radiant snow. I bet he has done the double the distance his owner has by all that jumping around.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/fDqdTtItw5nnwDxodt35SxVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-CQaLpc8S1kE/T4GLSUyzoGI/AAAAAAAAE-k/zNtYqf6eIpI/s640/IMG_0073.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Looking back..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Somewhere midway, we spy the little toy train chugging up. They don't let it go all the way. It stops at the half way point. I look at the train and hope for that elusive cup of tea. Maybe just maybe, we would get some right on top.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4078582366290900434" hrehttpsf="://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/åMhn055IpabbJQ9vNomeEQxVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZZmAMuhUq60/T4GLhmTjnqI/AAAAAAAAFBI/7U3qgHrUC94/s640/IMG_0091.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Almost there..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The snow is beginning to harden into ice. We watch our steps. When we finally get there, we are surrounded by white. There are distant lakes. In some strange way it all looks like that vision of the Earth that <i>Neil Amstrong</i> first saw standing on the moon. We are starving. We share another sandwich, the last one we have. It is cold. The minute we stop walking we feel the cold, like a stalker who follows silently, waiting for the right moment to pounce.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/NDO2t5DShZzujvWdAZXfMhVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-9L4NcPCMh_g/T4GLmV5HGzI/AAAAAAAAFBs/t_s5eREGpxk/s640/IMG_0097.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>View from the top..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The climb down is tricky, the hardening ice slippery. We watch our steps. There are more people on the slopes now. It slows us down considerably. My shoes feel wet and uncomfortable.<br />
When we get to the half way point, the tea room is open. I smile a big smile. We sit down with our cuppas and savour the taste. How accustomed are we to the small pleasures of life.<br />
We were not too far form the car park. Recharged form the welcome break we ended our little adventure on a high.<br />
<br />
Some days later, we got chatting with a couple at a restaurant. Between the where and hows of the conversation between travelers, we told them about <i>Snowdon</i>. There are many we were told who are not so luck in their first attempt. Some times it's the weather, some times it is something else. They said they had managed to climb it on their second attempt.<br />
<i>Snowdon c</i>rossed off, we felt a sense of achievement. Well I would put it all down to that elusive cup of hot steaming tea. Nothing tasted better in the middle of a cold mountain<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com4Snowdon, Snowdonia National Park, Caernarfon, Gwynedd LL55, UK53.068504 -4.076276653.0494225 -4.1157585999999995 53.087585499999996 -4.0367946tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-80496683664050538152012-08-26T18:30:00.002+01:002012-08-26T18:31:31.156+01:00The Welsh Rabbit and Other tales<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
First there is no such thing as a Welsh Rabbit, a discovery that left me hugely disappointed.<br />
Second wonderful speller that I am , It was always a Welsh RAREBIT, a kind of bread , definitely not the four legged kind who hops around!<br />
<br />
Among other things on this rain lashed afternoon, we face the bleak prospect that it might be difficult to climb Snowdown. My spirits sink. We have slowed down considerable, the roads are narrower, the visibility poor. It rains hail and snow, and we plod our way to Betsy-e coed.<br />
<br />
Wales is one of those places I've grown up reading about. The prospect that it was one of those places I could get to without the formalities of a visa made the prospect very appealing. And that was how the adventure first began. Sitting in our car I hope for better weather. I can cope with rain, but snow and hail would mean we would have to abandon our first trek here in the United Kingdom.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/gP2Ep-i0StDtaRSD_P_FmRVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-UwwKs0kmZBc/T4GK4HP3LOI/AAAAAAAAE6M/mVDa-2FK2XM/s640/IMG_0029.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bridge across forever..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Our little B&B had the nicest two hosts. Every morning over breakfast, we would quiz them on walking routes and they would point us out in the right direction. Sometimes with tattered maps we would head out, and when maps become futile our instincts would assume radar and take us places.<br />
We have never been as lost, so willingly. Who would complain about roaming around in such loveliness. For Wales is a place where, the journey matters more so than the destination.<br />
We also found that when they said 3-4 miles it could easily mean 6-8 :).<br />
While we were there we walked a healthy 10 miles a day. It was when we got back that I realized how tired my feet really where, a few toes swollen and some others a bit sore. <br />
<br />
<i>Betsy - e -coyd</i> could not have been a more perfect choice as anchor for our stay. In the middle of Snowdown national park, there was plenty to do and a great choice of pubs and eateries to pick from.<br />
A little path through wide green fields took us to the heart of the village. We stop to watch lambs play. The fields take us to a hanging bridge and the rivers waters run swift and cold. We stood by the bridge countless times. The views were wonderful. There is something romantic about staring out at the water from the confines of a bridge. It is almost as if I was looking at a picture frame of steel.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/zWZ1gkynQa2PXn4JjUc6qRVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-kGTI01vRwIQ/T4GK9Oc4aRI/AAAAAAAAE64/pNFS0AdBSaY/s640/IMG_0041.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mountains and more mountains..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We were never too far from water. The mountains silent and passive, all around.<br />
We walked by rivers, sat by streams listening to the sound of water gurgling past. As I write this I try to recollect specifics and realize there weren't that many. You could quiet literally pick a direction and discover a walk. We follow the river, gently tumbling along and suddenly the pace quickens, the water changes complexion. The old friendliness is gone. I think twice before wading into the stream as I had done just ten minutes ago. And there it starts to rain. We brave it. The rain drops hit the surface forming perfectly round circles before sinking in. The water dips as if to catch them.<br />
And at home in a distant far away I think of the magic of the monsoons and remember <i>Roy </i>in her <i>God of Small Things</i><br />
<br />
<i>"It was raining when Rahel came back to Ayemenem. Slanting silver ropes slammed into loose earth, plowing it up like gunfire."</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> We were witness to water in continuity with itself. Mallards swim on unconcerned, the rocks beneath them showing up in shades of brown. Trees grow along the side reaching out to the river at their sides<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/BtxX0_FVSmzyPt_iKerd3RVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-FsRtwXefyaY/T4GLHFeolPI/AAAAAAAAE8o/-uP9ABZnbA8/s640/IMG_0056.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mallards swim in icy streams..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Between walks, we had tea. We never did have the Rarebit, but feasted on Berra Berth, a wonderfully fruity bread, lightly toasted and generously spread with butter. <br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/oQuWGCzLqaUlHsH43FFMAhVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-CLUjaaAwo7s/T4GMPBlxq5I/AAAAAAAAFIc/stO_uYzAzBs/s640/IMG_0155.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bere Berth, a close relative of the Welsh rabbit :)</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i><br />
</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I realize sheep have lives. I have no doubts why they are being reared, but I am certain that the fresh air and green fields is a great way to grow up. Lambs run around. They have their own games, quick and light on their feet. The mums keep a close watch.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/HpOGDMo2zEfqvt2FAHATLxVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-7CKgtelvUIs/T4GOUW01fVI/AAAAAAAAFbA/BsuYI88AUQQ/s640/IMG_0308.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sheep.. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have never had so much fresh air in a long time. There are walks and more walks. Water gently cascades through moss covered rocks , the ground is slippery in places. The air smells green.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/WjYOmKgTytN04iLbAYjBLhVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-bEyxdD6p7HU/T4GOXg-TrlI/AAAAAAAAFbg/SCxI4IVf348/s640/IMG_0312.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Along the way somewhere..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The woods are lovely dark and deep. The sunlight barely manages to trickle through small openings in the green canopy. Dark bark gently sway with the cool breeze. Roots surface and form hard lines along the muddy path. Leaves remain strewn<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/uEFW8Ez1OCPOKJDsr3VTcRVvCqJH0Ynj1fp2yN4wNIQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-RF4ihgxfKoI/T4GOa-Og5uI/AAAAAAAAFb4/5fL83ONUh7U/s640/IMG_0317.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The woods are lovely dark and deep..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Did we climb Snowdown? That remains a story for a different day.<br />
<br />
Meena</div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-60853955084300694202012-08-18T20:07:00.001+01:002012-08-19T17:49:45.556+01:00Paris Baby!..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In two minutes I have polished off breakfast. All that remains of the Pain Au Rasin are the crumbs on my mouth and the picture I remembered to take before I pounced on it with all the gusto of a hungry sumo wrestler. I sit back contented as a cat. It is the beginning of what is going to be a long day.<br />
<br />
I was wary of Paris. For a city that is always described in glowing superlatives I braced myself for heartbreak. High expectations almost always end in disappointing travel experiences.<br />
<br />
But after that sort of breakfast I am in some sort of a sugar trance. I suspend all judgement and happily walk along. It is a brilliant summers day, 30 degrees. For once I can swap my umbrella which we carry around in London for a cool pair of shades, for once I actually feel like it is summer and don't have to think twice before venturing outside without a coat.<br />
<br />
Much later having done countless rides up and down Paris's underground, the three day travel card we bought is worn around the edges and has been really good value for money. What makes a good city is it's public transport, the nerves that pulsate around the core , zipping us up and down as we discover places and things. The ability to get on and off gave us the flexibility to see things at our pace and change plans without worrying about fares.<br />
<br />
And so Paris was a journey of discovery. For the art lover, Paris is paradise. Every turn, every little bridge every street and there is always something that catches your eye. It seems like right out of an impressionist painting, alive and merry. On this warm summer's day we make our way up <em>Sacre-Cour</em> , the basilica a radiant white against the clear blue sky. Every few steps I stop to stare at the city spreading itself outwards, vast and boundless. Stepping into the interior my eyes are drawn to the roof, and in blue and gold is the sacred hear of Jesus Christ in whose honour this beautiful monument stands.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/ZlG9HjCjPnaK-AKGVYrrJO0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-R05kA7FhXwY/UCaYtoNAiMI/AAAAAAAABdQ/MvNTCv2iD2o/s640/IMG_0040.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Climbing up to see the basillica of Sacre- Coeur.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/0YbAPchYNU1kxZ8SWk93be0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-2H4hLv84M8s/UCaYWYZCIZI/AAAAAAAABdA/n8-6N0VjWMI/s640/IMG_0058.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The city stretches out below into the jagged line of the horizon and maybe beyond...</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/40zAhHUNtyDq3rbK6Hn8xO0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-5gfhBB--GzI/UCaXcQc6heI/AAAAAAAABWY/GV9t9t7Uoeo/s640/IMG_0107.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A different view , Sacre- Ceour as seen from the Eiffel Tower</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We would see the city once again, climbing up from different vantage points. For later in the day we found ourselves atop the <i>Arch De Triomphe, </i>at the intersection of 13 roads. From every landmark we see others, like giants surveying one another from great heights.<br />
An emperor at the height of his prowess, and an idea to honour those unnamed soldiers who died serving him, saw the arch take shape on the banks of the river Seine.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Bv2ihXIAA8dh9jlN3TjUvO0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-YGZfjMkgxEY/UCaYG1g1hlI/AAAAAAAABZU/8ZMLDdUNCJ4/s640/IMG_0083.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Arche de Triumphe, constructed by emperor Napolean to honor the unknown soldier who died in the heat of battle</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/RyBKKqCAFbN2tKn_qonqne0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ERNoUAQB958/UCaU2YgzU2I/AAAAAAAAA9k/WvXbqkzbcW8/s640/IMG_0308.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>View of the Arche De Triumphe, standing at the intersection of 13 roads form atop Eiffel tower..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span></span> And again we stood queuing in the morning to get to the dizzying heights up <i>Eiffel Tower</i>. This time much higher, we let the winds blow as we watched the rough and tumble of the beautiful city 320m below us. Ships sailed past on the emerald green waters of the <i>Seine </i>and there beneath us stood the Statue of liberty. The Roman goddess Libertas, bearing the date of the American war of independence was originally a gift from the French and in reciprocation of this a replica of the same was given back and now stands on the waters of the <em>Seine</em>. The emerald green waters of the river , on whose banks this city now stands, snakes its way through the heart of the capital, graceful as a ballerina.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/0nsAig-Jmemq7RH8vAOT0e0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-7WBX-Y0dqUY/UCaXRaz4oDI/AAAAAAAABSg/U0l14WZ6eiQ/s640/IMG_0125.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Eiffel Tower from the Arche de Triumphe, flanked by the city of Paris on either side</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/7kgxxmUD5FnNl_t9Mud0eO0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-E25h008atZE/UCaPY2L8uEI/AAAAAAAAAMI/xfRVKVFACSI/s640/IMG_0763.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The tower lit up at night, as a full moon watches the proceesding</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/BGPnpZN53dQxA6Fv9FTF9-0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-huPVr3yKLnY/UCaO9kk5moI/AAAAAAAAAIY/1UZbsMVEU7Q/s640/IMG_0766.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The moon in all her splendour..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
There were many many more monuments. Between visits we lounged in cafes. Sipping on hot chocolate and trying out flavours of crepes on offer. The tables in the sun were most sought after. The French cafe is ubiquitous a celebration of sunshine and colour, chairs neatly turned facing outwards like in a cinema hall , the drama of life playing out on the streets as giant screens. <br />
One night we watched the Eiffel tower lit, counting it down with the hordes of people standing there. Once the glittering diamonds faded, we drifted to one of the cafes, still open, bright and welcoming.<br />
Sipping on wine, and between idle chit chat we made plans for the next day.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/thajdIeS3mHYg1xcj-UnT-0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-UJct68Yvbj0/UCaWZuGE-RI/AAAAAAAABLw/Ogbr_FS1rak/s640/IMG_0167.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A heavenly crepe , filled with chocolate :)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We could never tire of the museums. Of the many on offer we only saw three and that not to our satisfaction. Even though we got to the gagantuan <em>Musse Du Louvre,</em> early one morning, we drifted between the many rooms stacked with things of wonder and paintings that made us stare only to acknowledge midway though the day that seeing it all was a herculean task. Of course we did see the Most famous <em>Mona Lisa,</em> smiling enigmatically at the many people who stood jostling for her attention and an opportunity to take pictures with her. We had to be content with what we got. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/OMFhxN1-sPP_CQ450JNcBe0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-syOkhhqf8dY/UCaQAySodRI/AAAAAAAAASo/lKqFprDE11U/s640/IMG_0713.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The entrance to the Louvre, made famous by references to its pyramid shaped structure in Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/vjQQ5-iOLvvXV7QM01YYKu0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-wk52okCC6dE/UCaRctcvDPI/AAAAAAAAAgs/63lEzuGlqws/s640/IMG_0572.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Exploring the Louvre, walking through the labyrinth of rooms..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/fB_GfanMJwBoSsXSDbvH1O0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-niZH-H7iho4/UCaRT5YvsTI/AAAAAAAAAiA/JYyVmx4tNLY/s640/IMG_0587.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Feast</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/IUMtIilNJtGMhq8Yy-66Qu0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-j9fVsbKu10Q/UCaRDKbO2MI/AAAAAAAAAck/nrlraBGn6bA/s640/IMG_0600.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Monalisa.. (completely annoyed with the crowds around her me thinks :))</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And then we had an afternoon with the impressionists at the <em>Musse De Orsay, </em>a railway station now converted into a museum. After an entire 15 minutes standing in front of Van Gough's haystacks, completely in awe with the the flaming fields of yellow leaping out from the picture frame and the two tired souls resting in the center of it all, I felt like in a trance. And there was Monet and Gaugain and many many others in this collection which boasts of being the largest of the impressionists.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/j47gQxl1NZhRiB0ZPS1coO0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-bFsbVP1Vw4M/UCaP0KJiaDI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/Bi2YzMuuw0I/s640/IMG_0729.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The clock face in the Musse De Orsy, which was once a railway station</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Art imitates life they say. But I got to see the handsome structures of Nottre Dame many years after I first heard of the art inspired from it of the famed Hunchback. The structures were magnificient and right in front were the apostles engraved on the walls in front. The dark interiors, beautifully atmospheric with tall semi circular stain glass windows hovering high above us who walked past are reminders of an brilliant era of gothic art.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/q4oox054NG5u84zdlOas9-0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-7PIXtkQwHVo/UCaTTIJnKoI/AAAAAAAAAvs/0NUMeHXabXc/s640/IMG_0428.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The beautiful gothic structures of Nottre Dame</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/b6mxHrfq93NltEjomqkaZu0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-T_IGqub1foo/UCaTVwxru3I/AAAAAAAAAwc/49aKo7_eVWc/s640/IMG_0432.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The entrance to Nottre Dame..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/np_C3czmc6-OZvu2VTNcsO0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-oHsDmy4vO-E/UCaSrbtXRDI/AAAAAAAAApY/cZtt9zDsBjU/s640/IMG_0477.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>High celiings and Stained glass windows, inside Nottre Dame..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/WUyuI0l-K0k4f1GjFon00O0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-ybIrOlueh5s/UCaSwDUFlAI/AAAAAAAAAqQ/K5FMOLdJhoI/s640/IMG_0485.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i> Beautiful sepulchar interiors of Nottre Dame, the candles and the chandeliers throw up mysterious light</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/xyeP8ddVWoI3usegTVCmi-0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-l8SQWLK63n0/UCaSwiu9pmI/AAAAAAAAAqY/QWVtJZ3sUY4/s640/IMG_0486.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Joan of Arc, who was burnt on the stake as a witch..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And just arcoss the roads with the bustiling cafes is the Latin quarter teeming with restaurants and shops. Street Performers come and go and the whole area wears a festive air. There were shops and more shops, restaurants and more restaurants. The cafes got fuller, the music louder as evening came and went. We enjoyed our meal before wandering off and catching the train back home.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/BBL9caAB_yGAqiOq32Hz3-0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-ggn9VrcbaKA/UCaSpgiQNRI/AAAAAAAAApM/BYGU8Qvvi4w/s640/IMG_0510.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The latin Quarter adjacent Nottre Dame, full of fubs and restaurants. The place full of cheap deals and some of the set menus were at mouth watering prices (3 courses for less 10-12 Euros!)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/AUYAuLbmLbfi1tuEu3Is2u0UzJzeCVTINZVyGwSqJD8?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-WsXdqqvtP_c/UCaSgxgYPpI/AAAAAAAAAro/R5Z-m86BZdU/s640/IMG_0527.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Street Performances in the Latin Quarter. The cafes heaving with people play an willing audience..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And on the final day, I tell the receptionist a young French girl that I would love to come and live here sometime. I rue my complete absence of French and rant about the education system in India...<br />
And she says she wants to come down and live in London and wishes she had taken her English more seriously.<br />
Well the grass does seem greener on the other side of the Fence, but as long as we can get to the other side every now and then, even if it is just for a couple of days I decide it should be okay..<br />
<br />
So muaaah Paris and Thanks for having us around..<br />
<br />
Meena<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com6Paris, France48.856614 2.352221948.773036 2.1942934 48.940192 2.5101504tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-88743052338015054592012-07-10T20:41:00.002+01:002012-07-10T21:08:28.572+01:00The Shadow of Bhopal...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/suuNG7bOnx03osSLJN-4Nw4P1RNIercWV15YCrsdxmo?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-2ZCkm4P-kWc/T_nMc3nc_WI/AAAAAAAAGmc/avc2dfoLvHM/s600/IMG_0225.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Tower Bridge</i><br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The Olympics are closing in. The opportunity to live in a city hosting it is a once in a life time experience. I have mixed feelings about the Olympics.<br />
On one hand I love London, the city that welcomed me with open arms and made me feel at home.<br />
I am amazed by the diverse , multicultural experience that London has to offer. <br />
And then there is <a href="http://www.ndtv.com/convergence/ndtv/new/Ndtv-Show-Special.aspx?ID=553">Bhopal</a> and Dow Chemicals association with the Olympics, which deeply saddens me.<br />
<br />
And so I thought I would blog about the whole experience of being here in London and watching the Olympics unfurl., both about what's good and whats bad and all that's in between.<br />
**************************************************************************<br />
<br />
Over the weekend we walked around London Bridge and standing on the bridge itself, under overcast skies and the rain threatening to pour down, a trickle of sunshine momentarily brightened up the scene. It was as if they were spot lights on tower bridge itself and the huge Olympic rings that had been placed there to make one month to the Olympic games. In the background HMS Belfast stood out in gorgeous steely greys against the beautiful Thames.<br />
<br />
The massive rings measuring - 82 feet (25 m) wide and 38 feet (11.5 m) tall look spectacular against the London skyline. The gold rimmed tips of Tower Bridge seem to be reaching up to touch the sky.<br />
Around me people walk, some with cameras in hand , some others with children, everyone taking in the beautiful sight of the Thames and the hustle and bustle of London around it.<br />
<br />
***************************************************************************<br />
<br />
And then my thoughts return to Bhopal. I feel a little guilty for enjoying it all .<br />
What does puzzle me sometimes is that I hardly find mention about the worst industrial disaster in human memory mentioned in the press or as part of conversation itself. If we pride ourselves on human rights shouldn't a stronger protest be marked somehow?<br />
A colleague very casually told me that , Dow didn't own the company at that point in time and so shouldn't be held accountable. I find this apathy shocking. I have family/ friends who are activists and while they hold strong views with regard to certain things, the death of 15000 people in a beautiful city does not feature highly in their areas of concern.Most people know about Chernobyl but have never heard about Bhopal!<br />
<br />
Have we become so blind, that we can condone an action that cost the lives of 15000 living, breathing souls. Were they worth anything at all?<br />
<br />
<img height="640" id="il_fi" src="http://www.catalogs.com/info/bestof/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/bhopal-disaster-1.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="630" /><br />
<br />
Why do I write this then? Because I am torn.<br />
On one hand I love this city and I have always held London as a model of tolerance, and so I feel let down by Dows association with the games.<br />
<br />
But I do believe people can do what governments around the world can't and I really do hope that this city tolerant as it is , somewhere finds the voice to stand up for what happened to th<a href="http://www.ndtv.com/album/listing/news/bhopal-gas-tragedy-verdict-and-after-7520">e thousands who died at Bhopal.</a><br />
<br />
<br />
Meena<br />
<br /></div>Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-86366153076497790392012-07-02T19:31:00.001+01:002012-07-02T19:38:50.157+01:00Olympic Glory..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
The Olympics are close at hand and London has more reminders than one.<br />
Some of them you read in the papers and plan to see, some are completely unexpected<br />
We had planned to visit the British museum earlier this week. For those who have never visited London , the British museum is a carefully preserved record of human history. Every culture and their journey through the ages has been beautifully laid out for us to see. And the best part is all of this is FREE! No admission charges, which is something incredible.<br />
<br />
When we walked in I did not expect to see the Olympic medals of London 2012 on display. <br />
The last time the games were held in London was in the year 1948, not long after the war and probably a cause for celebration among the people who has seen so much in the preceding years.<br />
The medals used in the games of 1948 were on display as well. And between then and now they provide a valuable insights into how the games have changed. For one the medals certainly are bigger. <br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/f-Y2-nQ62v-u48imHVGgtD9Lqan4DtfsqzWe4j5DHBQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-UhTm94tu6-8/T-85hXb1MFI/AAAAAAAAF8A/TGAgvWx2h7s/s640/IMG_0066.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Outside the British Museum..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Below the medals were descriptions of how they were made and what their designs sought to represent. I was blown away by the artistic vision. I've not seen an Olympic medal up close before and I don't know a great deal about other designs elsewhere.<br />
But the artists who finally had their work imprinted on metal to crown the champions of the London 2012 Olympics came through a careful process of selection by the LOGOPG (The London Organizing Committee of the Olympic and Para Olympic games)<br />
<br />
The designs were put to vote before a jury of experts. The winning jewelers were <i>David Walkins</i> and <i>Liu Cheng. </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/dRrUIlcvLOQ8iubEYp0EnT9Lqan4DtfsqzWe4j5DHBQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-cgW7qpzo2Jg/T-85Z_zT-5I/AAAAAAAAF5Y/q_AphPxhpe0/s640/IMG_0045.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The medals on display..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The Rio Tinto mines are the suppliers of metal used in the games.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/B8eAG_GoDMruM748miGM-z9Lqan4DtfsqzWe4j5DHBQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-HWzvQPkjoUA/T-85dN_UX8I/AAAAAAAAF6g/kwDKGbY4vqw/s640/IMG_0054.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The medals for London 2012 Olympic games - the front</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The maker of the design had this to say about the symbolism in his work<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"It's key symbols juxtapose, front and back, the goddess Nike for the spirit and tradition of the games, the River Thames for the city of London"</i></blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/TcXb_C9TASFPziA5Oy4WmT9Lqan4DtfsqzWe4j5DHBQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-I1Ug1DK-VAM/T-85bgO_SgI/AAAAAAAAF54/NfJbLRyHuCY/s640/IMG_0049.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The medals for London 2012 Olympic medal - The Front</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/GU4LIL-U9vvZOteyytY_Oz9Lqan4DtfsqzWe4j5DHBQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-HSZ0y1HRAbs/T-85bA914tI/AAAAAAAAF5w/K5QArKxItpE/s640/IMG_0048.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The medals for London 2012 Olympic Games - The back</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I found the textures on the para Olympic games beautiful. If I was to fault the exhibition of one thing it was that it lacked an explanation of the symbolism in the design of the medal .<br />
In the absence of it though I game my mind free reign to create its own. Right on top is writing in what I think is Braille.<br />
I wanted to reach out and touch the medal to get a feel of the beautiful texturing inlaid in metail.<br />
It flowed from end to end all across the circle and reminded me in some strange way of molten lava.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/if8U55mrVzFR0aY0MG7Htj9Lqan4DtfsqzWe4j5DHBQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-yNaly2514UE/T-85a_aZ46I/AAAAAAAAF5o/ME8XUkhbHl4/s640/IMG_0047.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The medals for London Para Olympic games 2012 - The front</i><br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/vX0pe5PASQ3ztO4mwI12Fz9Lqan4DtfsqzWe4j5DHBQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-07w0QrzbDYE/T-85aTLkuhI/AAAAAAAAF5g/amJQStYwFUc/s640/IMG_0046.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The medals for the London Para Olympic games 2012</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Besides this there was a lot about the history of the games and how the modern Olympics came to be.<br />
As early as 1850, a surgeon <i>William Penny-Brookes</i>, introduced physical education into British schools and started the tradition of the Olympian games in the town of Shropshire.<br />
Inspired by the idea the Frenchman <i>Pierre de Coubertin </i>started the effort to hold the event on a global scale and that was the beginning of the Olympics as we know it, the first of which was held in 1896.<br />
<br />
The para Olympics took off from a similar British event too, one that was held in 1948 at Stoke <i>Mandeville Hospital, Buckinghamshire</i>, for people injured in the Second World War.<br />
<br />
<br />
The words of Shakespeare on display on the walls remind of the glory that awaits the winners of the games<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="pullOut">
<i>‘And, if we thrive, <br />
promise them such rewards<br />
As victors wear at the <br />
Olympian games’</i></div>
<div class="pullOut">
<i>William Shakespeare<br />
<i>Henry VI</i>, Part 3 – Act II Scene iii</i> </div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/EpGWp_pIR14MWWJy_CpZFj9Lqan4DtfsqzWe4j5DHBQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="640" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-eRGZA-tQKn4/T-85b3m75vI/AAAAAAAAF6A/gibWsS0wiTs/s640/IMG_0050.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The history of the games..</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/z0rhLbwQh1klFO1Haz9KKz9Lqan4DtfsqzWe4j5DHBQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-BKrCpd5Dnww/T-85cFp8x6I/AAAAAAAAF6I/5ue9QzAxbh8/s640/IMG_0051.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The medals used in the games of 1948</i><br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/uOgB7EWdKeGjLVtybhnU1T9Lqan4DtfsqzWe4j5DHBQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-hQPsMSa5AAk/T-85cgqaknI/AAAAAAAAF6Q/6DEMaEyQTgg/s640/IMG_0052.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
The medals of the 1948 games were smaller in size but they matched the ones of 2012 in the grandeur of their designs. The symbolism seems to be heavily greek possible because of their long standing tradition in having the games even before the rest of the world decided to have it in this scale.<br />
<br />
This exhibition was packed with people, no surprises by the amount of interest surrounding the coveted objects every champion at the games will want to take home with them <br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/AnKhdsnGRnTVcKQcVahPPj9Lqan4DtfsqzWe4j5DHBQ?feat=embedwebsite" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>More details on the exhibition can be found at the website of the <a href="http://www.britishmuseum.org/whats_on/exhibitions/london_2012_games_medals.aspx">British museum</a></div>
</div>
</div>Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-70999623923120477302012-05-19T18:09:00.002+01:002023-06-20T17:39:23.434+01:00In Search of the Truth and the Great Banyan..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin: 0px;">
It is a hot day. Sitting in the little rickety yellow auto, my hair takes on a life of its own. I try to hold it back with both hands as I catch glimpses of the beautiful city flying past.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin: 0px;">
It is the best part of the day. The sun is warming up, still warm and yellow and not yet the giant blaze it gets to be in the afternoon.I am on my favourite road in the whole of Madras.I remember stubbornly calling it that even after it was officially renamed Chennai.The road leads on, and then turns to meet the Ocean.Today it is not the beach we are going to. It is a place where I have always wanted to go, but until recently did not know how. For the Theosophical society is now open to the public and after living in Chennai for more than a decade it is now that opportunity comes knocking, although at only certain times of the day. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
Before I knew it as the Theosophical Society I knew it by a different name, <i>'The Adyar Alaamaram'.</i><br />
Older than the city itself, the <i>'Aalamaram', </i> is the 450 year old Banyan, rooted and stretching out in the center of this 200 acre woodland, which was acquired by <i>Annie Besant </i>in 1908, after she took over as president of the Theosophical Society. Flanked by the <i>Adyar</i> estuary on one side and the sea on the other, this area of green is a veritable oasis in the midst of a busy city in a hurry to get ahead of itself.<br />
It is a beautiful day. There are not many people around. We wait for the fellowship to assemble and then walk in.<br />Annie Besant is a woman I deeply admire. A reformer and an activist, she established the Theosophical Society in India, a movement in search of the <i>truth, </i>The ultimate truth being god as we know the idea.<br />
A stromg advocate of democracy and recognizing the right to self determination, once in India she joined the Indian National Congress and launched the home rule movement.<br />
<br />The estate is full of trees and flowers form all over the world. Different shades of green come together in perfect harmony, and I feel a sense of calm as we drift through the path on our way to see the Banyan.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/JO3QdEv3moFdYNlWUBfKAyq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-b5Ki7fbbIJY/T1zHHTtUF-I/AAAAAAAAEZY/obtNAO4aSzg/s640/IMG_0612.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The creeping money plant..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When Annie Besant first got the estate, all meetings of the society were held under this Banyan. The <i>Aalamaram</i> is thus a local legend, with a place in history for its role as host of many great speeches, with the likes of Gandhi addressing people from under its giant canopy. The Dalai Lama also took stage here in 1959. For Tibet and Buddhists, it was under a banyan that the Buddha attained enlightenment in Bodh Gaya and it was a banyan which again welcomed the Dalai Lama into the gathering and played gracious host!<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/GEBOdkhCKz4g-AmRpnuceCq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-9BSgaj6Tj-g/T1zHJo93cPI/AAAAAAAAEZw/BdlgXhFe2xM/s640/IMG_0615.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The nucleus of the Big Banyan..or is it?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The banyan seemed like a forest, a copse of many trees all linked back to its heart. Everywhere we looked we could see roots gently reaching to ground, <i>'propping' </i>up green leaves strongly growing in all directions. From cracks in the green we could see the blue sky.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/GxUNQKqSxzxZ9mieR-uZPSq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-w0lvWwQJEGA/T1zHK7l5ZKI/AAAAAAAAEZ8/qB5po-kznWU/s640/IMG_0617.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The truth of the center and the center of the truth..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sometime back a cyclone destroyed the center in 1989. With the nucleus of the tree , the giant trunk gone the other roots took over and have held the great banyan like a giant umbrella.<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/t0Kkxj5QnPRGJmdbmcRi7Sq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-x44954upCu0/T1zHLLeXoXI/AAAAAAAAEaM/nkwWPc9DKKM/s640/IMG_0618.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Q9v05G3uZdD7bwwNuTBewSq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-jngNs1aIj9c/T1zHRwaV4iI/AAAAAAAAEbk/T8xoZJpeZ7I/s640/IMG_0630.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
Around the banyan, there are loads of benches. We walk around and try and figure out where the tree starts and where it ends.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/BMUR2Ep4kRHFuwMkKp8OKCq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="427" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-INP0PBHrF6k/T1zHUgrfEbI/AAAAAAAAEcI/oI9hitNfQ_c/s640/IMG_0634.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Brightly coloured Bougainvillea flowers..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Brightly coloured flowers light up the path. Pink Bougainvilleas merrily whisper secrets and the wind seems in the know of everything that happens around this place<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/TMmWzdOjL8tiJcVn1KwtqSq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-RS5F_g1i2Ew/T1zHaZ9KONI/AAAAAAAAEdM/kxr3emK8nv0/s640/IMG_0643.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Beobab Tree </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At a distance is the Beobab tree. It is a beautiful tree. It looks like a strong , stout man standing with his hands reaching up to the sky. A native of South Africa, the diameter of the tree can get to be almost 30m. Considering the dry condition the tree usually grows in, its no wonder that it doubles up as a natural reservoir of water and can store upto 4000 liters maybe more in it's porous bark<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/ZR-fLZZmHpfiIQonq7XQUSq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-VYKoDurz3CQ/T1zHiI8AFjI/AAAAAAAAEek/qJtxSQdpMhg/s640/IMG_0656.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
Other trees stare out at us in all corners, some full of fruit, some merry with flowers.<br />
We see every shape and every colour. Brightly coloured insects crawl through the undergrowth.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Ot6qvrEIHB0VcL0b5lKxMyq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-KaeYmS2_5bY/T1zHk-ZM2iI/AAAAAAAAEfE/dUOYSs6n2NQ/s640/IMG_0659.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>One of the millions of tiny inhabitants of this place..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The way stretches on.<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/E9954CiXjYAnB-NjBfUjFyq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-iPgXNh0QkeI/T1zHl-ujA9I/AAAAAAAAEfM/GxHCmJwF4Bg/s640/IMG_0661.JPG" /></a><br />
<br /><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/111932843606424099221/India2012?authkey=Gv1sRgCObp5q-QrqCM6QE&feat=embedwebsite#5718665479863681074" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-uDMg42pAxX8/T1zH9ISQQDI/AAAAAAAAEjE/HozUlYtTHJ0/s640/IMG_0692.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Seeds..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/yy0oEsCqJ1bN29Z4I7i6Tiq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-phvjpWU5BQk/T1zHuDk1KUI/AAAAAAAAEgc/hXiPh6lVtes/s640/IMG_0671.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The great banyan..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And we keep passing different parts of the great big banyan. In the 450 years it has watched over the city, it's roots have spread out like giant tentacles and it seems to have walked several miles from where it all started. I read somewhere that it was under the tree that loudspeakers were used for the very first time in India and 3000 men and women could stand under its able gaze, until in the interest of the tree, the venue of the meetings of the theosophical society were shifted.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/xZeP-VeAR3elWM3MEwrG8Sq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-gQzKPIT4vOY/T1zHoT75vbI/AAAAAAAAEfs/eJZAgeQcf-U/s640/IMG_0665.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Test the roots..</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/XYYesryFRoR7_hEJE59O0Cq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-RSGUlYG4q-k/T1zHwqcD99I/AAAAAAAAEg0/f1E1ZH5hOQs/s640/IMG_0674.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The winding coconut</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Man has for so long asserted his identity through symbols. We build monuments, towering buildings and long after their time has come and gone these symbols still stay on as living testimonies to those who built him. But what of trees like <i>the Aalamaram, </i> who come from an age before the city itself exists and have stayed on amidst the chaos of change and the rubble of development? It looks like the banyan took root and the city built itself around it, stretching outwards while always looking in.</div>
Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com5Chennai, Tamil Nadu, India13.060422 80.24958312.936679000000002 80.0916545 13.184165 80.4075115tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078582366290900434.post-9625910080169195302012-05-07T18:54:00.002+01:002012-05-08T19:20:50.716+01:00In Matters of Faith..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
In matters of faith I have fought intimate personal battles; Battles of raging tongues and explosive ideas.<br />
But these have been different. Battles require that you choose a side, you win or loose. But what if you stand at the borderline, a confluence of thought and are torn between exploring either side....<br />
A year or two ago we were told that marriages , special occasions and other markers of happy times should always be followed by a visit to honor local deities.<br />
<br />
I am not a big fan of pilgrimages. I don't just find them boring, I find them annoying. To be bundled up in a car or bus only to arrive completely exhausted in a place, with only one thing in mind which is a temple some of which are heaving with people, and then go through the motions of praying is something I detest. I learn nothing, see nothing. Agnostic as I am, I am drawn to temples for other reasons.I often experience some sort of out of body experience. Not in the literal sense. But I feel like I am a story teller in my own life . I see myself watching things go by, taking everything in, spinning yarns real and otherwise in my head. <br />
.....And so we agreed to the request.<br />
<br />
Hinduism ancient as it is, is from a time we did not know exists. It is this ancient vastness reaching into the depths of time that completely fascinates me. So we find ourselves one Feb evening , waiting to board the train to the ancient city of Tirunelveli. We discuss history, family roots, legends and ghosts!<br />
We finally retire for the night only to be woken up by attacking bed bugs. Sleep stays elusive.<br />
When we get off am already craving a strong cup of coffee.<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/jwMZNPi9EKaA8qbZ_5MYpSq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-8KEwJf0-xiw/T1zFy0YAHbI/AAAAAAAAEJQ/oPr05SWCPQE/s640/IMG_0347.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
We have one whole day in the heart of the South. Showered and dressed, I get my coffee, strong and hot like the sun outside. In those days, each family had a deity they worshiped - <i>'Kula Deivam'</i> they called it. What's interesting is that the deity is not part of the regular pantheon of hindu Gods and Goddesses. Rather its an idea , an image of what our ancestors from long ago had worshiped, passed on from one generation to the next along the <i>kulam</i> or family<br />
<br />
Soon we are flying past green paddy fields. Women mostly are hard at work, tiling the soil to sustenance. The roads are narrow, the traffic high. Our first stop is at the temple of <i>Sastha </i>in my ancestral village of <i>Tharuvai.</i><br />
The street looks desolate, depeopled because of the blazing sun. At a distance woman carry brightly coloured pots of water from the village tap. The houses stare back at us like old people. Most of them wear fresh coats of paint. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/e7KTDKL9X60o4aRAO3LnhCq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-rC8cZaqGgE0/T1zF3qixxeI/AAAAAAAAEJ8/E6Hw43WiDbU/s640/IMG_0353.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
The temple is beautiful, aging gracefully and still standing tall. The ancient courtyard is full of interesting things. One corner stands the idol to Naga the snake god, decorated with bright yellows and reds of turmeric and vermilion<i> kumkum</i>, The stark black of the idol in beautiful contrast to the colours it wears. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/QwOpyo1XnpafG46gXulwpSq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-_SoO7TEHNdk/T1zF7rAyd5I/AAAAAAAAELA/ZTu--qBroI8/s640/IMG_0363.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
The <i>gopuram </i>is white against the white sky, simplistic when compared to those with grander designs.<br />
The symmetry of a gopuram always amazes me- Its perfect geometical shapes , the beautiful carvings, The intricacy of the craftmanship. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/OSWJg3FEckmNutMshkzb5yq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-WPaIRkUSkUw/T1zGAQ4fDAI/AAAAAAAAEXI/K3QenmI4TPA/s640/IMG_0370.JPG" /> </a><br />
<br />
The priest does the aarti, honouring the gods with camphor and incense. The bright yellow flame lights up the otherwise dark sanctum sanctorum. The brass relics are exquisite<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/goLVX5KNv6mc_DWkJG6tqSq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-DZGwWCRdzqU/T1zGLo1YEFI/AAAAAAAAEOQ/8gKwSGvAYPk/s640/IMG_0391.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
Hanging from the celiling is a lamp also made of brass, grease stained and heavy. But it has an aura of the ancient and seems proud as the bearer of light. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/cu_m__k49K29GjFGS6FPASq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="427" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-gdwVdFw65bY/T1zGNItbB4I/AAAAAAAAEOo/CdEZ1T0ubT4/s640/IMG_0394.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
We stay a while and talk to everyone. The priest tells us about how hard it is to educate his children, the financial burdens of life in a small place. I am too distracted by the scenary outside.<br />
As we walk, we spy a dilapidated house of two. A bullock cart stands idle, looks lost without its master and servant both of whom seem to have disappeared somewhere into the field.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/O1BtG2pAghdHQz617gdM9iq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-urLB9TWXPgU/T1zGR9BfArI/AAAAAAAAEPc/Eu33rio-qsg/s640/IMG_0401.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/HdEG4N6NogpDaZidCshhCSq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-5D6FN2T8sKM/T1zGSnqV2PI/AAAAAAAAEPw/ntqk6-KFjWc/s640/IMG_0403.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
The place is strewn with temples. We find one a stones throw away from the one we have just been to. I stand behind <i>Nandi the bull</i> to see what he is seeing. Again everything about how things have been placed in respect to everything else fascinates me. As the gatekeeper of Lord Shiva and Parvati he stands guard , facing the main shrine. He sees all who enter..<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/70VFwCygIglpcrOSrotG_Cq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-mBtuj0CimZM/T1zGXm1wX5I/AAAAAAAAEQg/np8d4-1SivA/s640/IMG_0410.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
Green fields race away to meet the horizon. The grass flaps wildly in the summer breeze. The sun turns up the heat. We hurry along. The red and white walls of a temple call out to us from a distance.<br />
This gopuram is colourful. I have never seen a prettier sight than this.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/x7Gueo1D5XQTuPto1Gp3cyq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-gOftvYwwsbI/T1zGfICjpFI/AAAAAAAAER0/O3kYojAmS38/s640/IMG_0421.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
A curious woman walks past, a water pot balanced on her hip like a troublesome child. She eyes my camera. I smile a little. She ignore me.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Life is hard for these trivial niceties. I don't take offence.</div>
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/a0M9bA3TkiKvXO8AUrG84iq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-jGUtOcdlFYM/T1zGn9KAGdI/AAAAAAAAETg/Erxx-EUeoVc/s640/IMG_0434.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
Just outside the temple a river runs, hugging the sides of the bank. The beautiful banyan spreads its arm outward, a natural canopy of green over the dark waters of the green river. Women bathe silhouted in the shade of the strong banyan and its roots reach downwards as if to touch the water with its tips.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/-eagrGZwu9cZ4scHMuYujSq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-9OFIS9Dx1G4/T1zGolmdteI/AAAAAAAAETo/DUNuGQhU-CU/s640/IMG_0435.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
Inside the temple, we find no one . The courtyard is strewn with dolls of different shapes and sizes.They are offerings to the gods I learn.<br />
The sun climbs higher. We tire easily and decide that it is time to head back to the confines of our car. We say goodbye and leave <i>Tharuvai </i>behind in pursuit of <i>Thenkasi. </i><br />
Tall strong men walk dusty roads, dwarfed by even taller coconut trees. Their frond like leaves shine in the bright afternoon, their barks tall and slender against the dusky earth.<i> </i><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/y3Dj0Hl6MT2yiyUslV47qSq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-jCjJfmUKyXo/T1zGsOBp89I/AAAAAAAAEUg/Jcl34A_QLcs/s640/IMG_0476.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
The family diety of my husband's ancestors is the boy god <i>Murugar</i>. As I gaze upwards at the beautiful gopuram I remember Sharanya Manivannan's very beautiful piece on the <a href="http://sharanyamanivannan.wordpress.com/2010/06/26/the-venus-flytrap-is-there-a-holy-text-as-hardcore-as-the-kavasam/"><i>Kavasam</i></a> a few years ago and it is her I quote..<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"Is there a holy text as hardcore as the Kavasam? Maybe some old Hebrew
stuff – but then, the god of the Old Testament is generally seen as
curmudgeonly and cantankerous. Unlike the adorable little Muruga,
sweet-smiling with bells around his ankles and flowers behind his ears…
who will <i>eviscerate your enemies"</i></i></blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/JBMlv1Tmx9ItxbL_d6uvDyq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-pJwRJe25-yE/T1zGtOA7TdI/AAAAAAAAEVA/bXE9Q4MwtRE/s640/IMG_0478.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
This temple is bigger than the previous one. It is beautiful. Ancient relics are placed here and there and nobody seems to know what they really are. That seems to add to the mystery of it all.<br />
Outside the temple <i>'Kulam'</i> or pond is full of grey water. People bathe , an act of purification perhaps. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/NIapiPX1lk6aJqkGcYnD-Sq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-l1CaBJc3hU4/T1zGy3yWeiI/AAAAAAAAEV4/EdqzQt7Md5Y/s640/IMG_0487.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
This temple has a special ceremony attached to it, one we are about to witness.Legend has it that the Lord Murugar in search of sweet things , had some <i>Payasam( A sweet South Indian dessert)</i> which was on the steps leading to the <i>Kulam</i>. Ever since it has been ritual for people to do as he did. The recipe is ages old and has been preserved and passed along.<br />
<div>
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/lFW4Cxb6tJrre5mfDqQWRiq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-aFb7xVlVePo/T1zG4wExW0I/AAAAAAAAEWw/-7ZxfFCUWAM/s640/IMG_0494.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
As I watch people eat the sugary sweet liquid off the steps leading to the waters , I do not know what to think of the whole episode. They gently wash what is left into the waters of the pond. My husband decides that he wants a piece of the action and has some himself. I take a step backwards indicating that am not as adventerous. Finally when the ritual is done we head indoors. We have some of <i>payasam</i>, in plastic cups this time. It is delicious.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/YFYeqZ8j6nfluFszL2qMxiq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-PDbj0Y8ZQds/T1zG8q2iZvI/AAAAAAAAEXM/YfeybJerCI4/s640/IMG_0497.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
The gods visited , it is time for lunch, a simple wholesome affair served on Banana leaves. The banana plant is one of those of which every part is put to use. The flower, fruit and stem is eaten and the leaves are used as plates.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/2eejlFDT-waa5wy4ArgGoyq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-eprPJ5P5LhE/T1zIkQYtJwI/AAAAAAAAErE/0VpBb0-YweM/s640/IMG_0521.JPG" /></a></div>
<br />
There is no power; for eight hours today we are told. In Chennai where we come from, load shedding is confined to two hours, and has the city constantly in complains over how difficult it is. Over here people face the absence of power stoically, a reality of life.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/UTKtyhzmVdVtz9MfROLHPSq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Pb87byACgtM/T1zIloFsM7I/AAAAAAAAErM/xvGavlf2iFw/s640/IMG_0523.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
Outside the street is beautiful. I wonder how long it has been this way. The architecture definitely is from a long time ago. The houses here are long rather than broad and stretch from one street to the other a little apart. Most have dishevelled gardens and tiny wells , now parched in the dry heat.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/t5YI-BumdPVc2LEPdBdO_Cq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-y3Bzpkeq8Z4/T1zImJxM0uI/AAAAAAAAErY/dpv0QgQGkAc/s640/IMG_0524.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
Outside I spy a fruit vendor selling exotic fruit. What sort I don't know. I am told a Tamil name but I cant seem to get an English variant. Maybe none exists. Why should it. Word makes the world and the world the word itself...<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/XiCXZ8xELMHktkVVeNdQCCq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-UVRMidGvwuQ/T1zIr4Q5MZI/AAAAAAAAEsg/_6Yppu1xAwI/s640/IMG_0538.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
We drive down to Kutralam, the waterfall reduced to a trickle makes me sad. I decide not to put up any pictures. When we head back we are surrounded by local astrologers, asking to read our palms. One is more honest and tells my Dad she needs money to buy some food. He has his palm read <br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/LhLXvF2A5Sccnj9HKrjGRyq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0sJnajbgUwQ/T1zIw8IXzHI/AAAAAAAAEto/6hzGi4zyEfs/s640/IMG_0549.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
We then buy some local fruit, from some kind of palm. I have had this before but not quite in the same way. The fruit is scooped out and sugary cool liquid , sap from the same tree poured over it. We drink it all up from the criss cross leaves of the palm which has been adroitly weaved into a container. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/41RH8aGAG9CoB5o_cjtTsiq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-kI4YtagWG1Y/T1zIxHexZWI/AAAAAAAAEt4/T2mCzUbXcKU/s640/IMG_0550.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
We catch the train tonight. So we hurry back and stand waiting for it to arrive in the station. The sky turns red and purple as the sun leaves this part of the world on its journey to the next.<br />
The moon is out beaming down through the rosy streaks of blue red sky.<br />
We say goodbye to <i>Tirunelveli.</i><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/uTdAD920amMKsGofOcftDiq-6FwYGDSkznIzErs82I0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-fc9VKeQ7b5c/T1zI4_WrNMI/AAAAAAAAEvY/wSxiRjIuWHQ/s640/IMG_0562.JPG" /></a></div>
</div>
</div>Meena Venkataramanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04389946736560941286noreply@blogger.com1