Sunshine in Whitby..

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.



We linger on and watch gulls squeak and fight, noisy in their claims. They seem perfectly comfortable with the people frequenting this place.  


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.



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 :).



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.

St Mary's Church

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.

The ruins of St Hinlda Abbey..

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



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




In what looks like a courtyard we see something we have seen before. It is a replica of the Borghese gladiator statue which we had seen a month ago at the Louvere  in Paris.
After walking around for ages, we finally stroll down stopping to take pictures.



When we decide to go exploring again its in the opposite direction, all the way along the beach to where the cliffs stand.

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.

Tomorrow we decide to explore the Yorkshire Moors!

Olympic Glory..

The Olympics are close at hand and London has more reminders than one.
Some of them you read in the papers and plan to see, some are completely unexpected
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.

When we walked in I did not expect to see the Olympic medals of London 2012 on display.
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.
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.

Outside the British Museum..

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.
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)

The designs were put to vote before a jury of experts. The winning jewelers were David Walkins and Liu Cheng.

The medals on display..

The Rio Tinto mines are the suppliers of metal used in the games.

The medals for London 2012 Olympic games - the front

The maker of the design had this to say about the symbolism in his work

"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"

The medals for London 2012 Olympic medal - The Front

The medals for London 2012 Olympic Games - The back

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 .
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.
 I wanted to reach out and touch the medal to get a feel of the beautiful texturing inlaid in metail.
It flowed from end to end all across the circle and reminded me in some strange way of molten lava.

The medals for London Para Olympic games 2012 - The front

The medals for the London  Para Olympic games 2012

Besides this there was a lot about the history of the games and how the modern Olympics came to be.
As early as 1850,  a  surgeon William Penny-Brookes, introduced physical education into British schools and started the tradition of the Olympian games in the town of  Shropshire.
Inspired by the idea the Frenchman  Pierre de Coubertin 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.

The para Olympics took off from a similar British event too, one that was held in 1948 at Stoke Mandeville Hospital, Buckinghamshire, for people injured in the Second World War.


The words of Shakespeare on display on the walls remind of the glory that awaits the winners of the games

‘And, if we thrive,
promise them such rewards
As victors wear at the
Olympian games’

William Shakespeare
Henry VI, Part 3 – Act II Scene iii

The history of the games..

The medals used in the games of 1948

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.

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


More details on the exhibition can be found at the website of the British museum

And the moon shines down..

I double check if I've locked the doors. Just as the door slams shut, I turn to face the bluish black darkness.
Street lights stand like loyal friends and greet me at regular intervals. The cold wind is relentless.
I rub my hands and walk a little faster. As I walk past the car park, the bright face of the moon greets me, full in the morning sky. I have a couple of mins before the bus gets here. And thats enough to get a few pictures.
They say the sun never sets on the British empire , or so I remember reading in history somewhere...
But this is the season, when it feels like the sun never rises here. The wind blows again as if to punish me for such cheekiness. Move on it seems to say. I smile to myself.
It;s dark when I leave home and it will be dark when I get here again.

Oxford, one weekend..

It was one of those rare weekends that had slipped through the sieve plan-less. So what does the forecast say I wonder . Sunny!
Everybody else has plans. London seems to be on an exodus to the coasts and other bright places spilling with the sun! This is going to be the last bank holiday for a long time yet. So we head out...
Its amazing how last minute plans work like a charm. Oxford is not too far off. Perfect for a one day excursion. So we catch the bus from Victoria in the morning and drive into this perfect university town...

First sights..

First sights, and am in love. The architecture is exquisite. Every building standing tall with its head in the sky. Clouds of impending grey hover around the horizon and the teasing sun seems to effortlessly slip through careless cracks in the canopy. We walk along Queen's street. The town comes alive as the sun is out. At the very end is Bonn Square, pretty and quaint. Named after the German city of Bonn, on the square stands Carfax tower. Am immediately drawn to the clock piece that adorns its face. Two tin soldiers stand attentive , as the keepers of time.

View from Carfax tower..

Inside the square we walk up a flight of circular stairs and from on top  we see Oxford spread out in front of us. In a distance is the circular grey dome of the Radcliffe camera, built in 1737 by James Gibbs and which houses the Radcliffe science library. We would around the library later in the day and stand amazing by the perfect symmetry. I read much later that the camera finds reference in popular culture and was refereed to by TRR Tolkein  as resembling Suron's temple to Mugroth and Numenor in the Lord of the Rings.  There are other buildings dotting the skyline , each distinct and beautiful , markers of the landscape here.

A different perspective..

The clock face..

After a quarter of an hour we find ourself walking through the many lanes, past Radcliffe camera and then we stop in front of something it seems we;ve seen before at another place , another time!
The Bridge of Sighs,  so named cause it resembles its more famous cousin in Venice and is a skyway over New college lane.  Its hard to spot the similarity unless told so minus the gondolas and the water and Venetien colour.

The bridge of sighs..

Turning into a narrow alley, we find ourselves in one of the oldest pubs here. The Turf Tavern , an education in intoxication reads the sign and we follow. Its a beautifully quaint place with exquisite chalk drawings on the outside. All that walking has made us hungry and we lunch here before heading out again

The Turf Tavern, one of the oldest pubs in Oxford...

The exquisite chalk drawing..

We walk down the street and ask for directions. Its still the season for punting and we would like to try our hand. We hire boats at the Magdalen River Boat House. We could punt by ourselves, looks simple enough. But we are not so sure and ask for a chauffeur.

Let the Punting begin..

We are on River Charwall, a tributary of the Thames.  It has the same green serene waters that we saw in Redding. Once built for angling , a punt is nothing more than a small flat bottomed boat, propelled by a long pole by pushing it against the river bed. We ask for a quick lesson. And we are told theres nothing much to learn. The pole doubles up as a rudder and S tries his hand.

Punting...

That look of concentration..

We go past the beautiful Botanic gardens and Christ college meadows. The river gets busy. The setting is beautiful and was the inspiration for Lewis Carrol's Through the Looking Glass. We pass the Magdelene college tower.

The very beautiful bridge..

Watching scores of rowers punt..

Off...

The market square..

Happy after all the sun and punt, we take the road across and take a walk inside one of the oxford colleges. Its so incredibly pretty. Its spring everywhere and everything is green and young and full of life. We sit here a while. The sun is setting and it gets a little chilly.

A piece of history, walking inside one of the university campuses..

We decide to head back safe in the knowledge that Oxford is only an hour away..! I would never have known

 Meena Venkataraman

The joys of summer..

For a while now I've been spying on garden activity. Officially summer is here and it has become a whole lot warmer. So warm that I can venture out without a coat and nothing can really beat that feeling. When I spy on my garden visitors its normally with a cup of tea in my hand , my mobile lying carelessly on the kitchen counter at which I gaze every now and then to make sure am doing okay on time. Of late my morning ritual has been super entertaining.
So the bird feeder is frequented by the likes of pigeons, magpies, sometimes even seagulls..
But I was pleasently surprsed when one day I found one of my furry friends stealthily make his way through the garden.

As I watched wondering what he was upto, he jumped across and got onto the bird feeder. :). You shouldn't be doing that Mr Squirril I though :).



My cheeky little friend then used his tail  as a grasp and swung himself upside down getting hold of all the seeds he could :). It was wonderful to watch.

When he was done, I left with a little chuckle. Ahh... The joys of summer!

-Meena Venkataraman

A Game of Cricket in the English Countryside..

At some point, I reach for a cap. The sun can look innocuous, beguiling even, the temptation to feel the warm tingle on my skin overriding any caution of sitting out in the open for too long. We are here to watch a game of cricket. But for me cricket is only a backdrop (Shame on me , I can see the spouse frown :)). Don't blame me , look how beautiful it is around. When we entered Eynsford, we had to stop by the little river 'Darent', teeming with people, kids playing in the water, swans and duck merrily wading about, people picnicking on the Grass. Summer ravished, Eynsford had the prettiest pubs. We would enter one only to leave as it was too posh and not nearly as pub like as we would have liked it to be. Soon we were seated outside on the wooden benches so characteristic of this country. The
gentle breeze cool against the sun kissed afternoon. The boys didn't want to eat too heavy cause of the game at hand, but what was that to us:). To fore go a pub lunch would be a cardinal sin. I savor the Ravioli, but have to admit that I can't finish my portion inspite of a bet with S that I would. In my defence the portions were deceptively large!

We saunter back to the ground. I have a book, which remained unopened for most of the afternoon. The car is parked close enough. We sit in front of a tree , which seems to have come alive with spring, white petals rain down and I collect a few to accentuate my idleness :).



The game is about to begin and the ground where the action is about to unfold has been around since the 18 hundreds. The river hugs the ground , and beautiful weeping willows stand around and I remember Virginia Wolf - "On the further bank the willows wept in perpetual lamentation, their hair about their shoulders. The river reflected whatever it chose of sky and bridge and burning tree, and when the undergraduate had oared his boat through the reflections they closed again, completely, as if he had
never been"...

The Church spire stands tall , magnificently brown in a blur of green. As we watch a pair of mallards fly over the grounds. We discuss the mechanics of mallard flight. They could not have flown too far, probably just over the ground, we decide ; cause the mallards are relatively big birds and flying is an energy expensive operation...

Wickets fall and the game proceeds at a steady pace. The sun climbs further up. The boys join us having batted and we take a walk around the ground. This time we get a little more adventurous and jump into the river. The river is shallow , and we are fooled by the happy children fishing for tadpoles in its merry waters. We step in and the cold water is electric against my warm feet. I stay in just long enough to get pictures. Once outside I can feel the rush of blood, the invigorating cold waters sending tingles up my feet. We walk on the grass. Its soon time for tea and cakes and the boys take the field.



We decide to take a walk. The town itself is not very big. Big brown cows graze on the verdant green grass. They look happy. They turn into tiny specks as we walk up a small hill and then altogether disappear. More dramatic greens and yellows emerge into view. But first we must cross the railways tracks, where only moments ago A train seemed to have whizzed past. We approach cautiously. There really is nothing worth stopping for in sight. And we hop across quickly into the fields of gold. The horizon is a pale blue and theres not a cloud in sight. The Rape seed fields are gloriously yellow. I stop to smell them, and get some pollen on my nose and my friend laughs in amusement.
Rape Seeds are 'break crops' (rotational crops) and the name comes from the Latin word 'rapum' meaning turnip. We stroll over to the other side and then try to find our way round the hill, only to be thwarted in the attempt by a steep drop onto the motorway.



We walk right back along and take a differnt route down, as we discuss the absence of potential slythering threats in the English countryside. We have both travelled in the subcontinent, where snakes abound and the chances of provoking one of them into a bite in self defence by encroaching into their territory(like paddy fields) are plenty. This time around we are lucky and can find our way down.



We pass a Roman Bridge, a truely beautiful piece of architecture providing semi circular frames for the scenary beyond.



Between discussing the choice of being vegetarian (which can be sometimes hard to explain)
and other things of extraordinary importance we find our way to the grounds again. There still 20 odd overs for the game to get done and we begin to count it down.



Every now and then the ball would fall into the river and would have to be ferried out resulting in frequent interruptions of play. A bunch from the fielding team stand around the water, and then someone is brave enough to get into the icy cold river :). Some stand and watch from afar. It starts to get chilly as evening approaches and we get out coats..

When its finally done, we drive back home and enjoy a nice cup of english tea , a perfect end to a beautiful summer's day. :)

Meena Venkataraman

Women of the War..

War is cruel. Many die defending ideas, and nations. And so it's only natural that all civilizations have ways to honour their dead. London is full of Cenotaph's , tombs in honour of those who died elsewhere , who perished in alien lands, mostly during World Wars 1 and 2. Most boroughs (neighbourhoods) have one for the locals who served during the war.
Among the ones I've seen here, my favourite would be the one erected in honour of the women who fought in World War 2. A 22 feet poignant reminder in Whitehall of the hardships of the time and those who rose in response to it. What I so loved about this , was not just that it honoured the brave soldier, but also women who soldiered on in other aspects of life.. Doctors, Factory workers, emergency services; The little Handbags left dangling says it could have been any one of us.. The statuettes are attired in Working women's clothes, bronze metaphors to the 7 million odd women who worked in service of the country then. It was unveiled in 2005 , to mark the 60th anniversary of the end of the war

The Cenotaph @Whitehall

- Meena Venkataraman