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!

When all you want is a cup of Tea..

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.

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 Snowdon this time or the next, but we will do it.

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 Showdon, leave our car parked at the quaint little rail station, haul up our backpacks, we are off..




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.
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.

Snowdon, at 1065m (3560ft) is the highest mountain in Wales. 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.




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.

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.

The railway line going all the way up to the top of Snowdon..

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.
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.

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.

Looking back..

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.

Almost there..

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 Neil Amstrong 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.

View from the top..

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.
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.
We were not too far form the car park. Recharged form the welcome break we ended our little adventure on a high.

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 Snowdon. 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.
Snowdon crossed 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

The Welsh Rabbit and Other tales

First there is no such thing as a Welsh Rabbit, a discovery that left me hugely disappointed.
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!

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.

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.

Bridge across forever..

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.
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.
We also found that when they said 3-4 miles it could easily mean 6-8 :).
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.

Betsy - e -coyd 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.
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.

Mountains and more mountains..

We were never too far from water. The mountains silent and passive, all around.
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.
And at home in a distant far away I think of the magic of the monsoons and remember Roy in her God of Small Things

"It was raining when Rahel came back to Ayemenem. Slanting silver ropes slammed into loose earth, plowing it up like gunfire."

 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

Mallards swim in icy streams..

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.

Bere Berth, a close relative of the Welsh rabbit :)

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.

Sheep..

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.

Along the way somewhere..

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

The woods are lovely dark and deep..

Did we climb Snowdown? That remains a story for a different day.

Meena

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

Exploring Borough Market..

A guest post on Indian Bazaars..here!

..and the link on Lonely Planet- here

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.

The Bridge of the five arches..

The air wears the colours of autumn. I take a small diversion to walk to the beat of the crunch of crisp autumn leaves. Am pleased with the effect. We are thankful for the sun, Days like these a rarity in Autumn. Our mission to walk London has seen us discover many hidden treasures.  We follow the jagged course of this merry river , Cray - A tributary of Darent. Am still amazed at how close his beautiful walk into the heart of Footscray meadows is  from where we stay. The trail is busy with amblers.

We first catch sight of Cray but she soon meanders off and we need to walk around a bit to actually catch up with her, Her waters thick with floes of autumn leaves.  There is still a lot of green. But we can see the yellows and golds pushing through. Before long it will be winter.
Autumn never ceases to amaze me. I come from a country of two seasons - Summer and Winter , or rather Summer and mild summer :). The vegetation back home heavily deciduous, our trees let their leaves go every summer.  The festive colours of Autumn always holds me in a trance.

First sights of River Cray..

We don't think the river is very deep from where we stand. I tentatively touch the water. Its cold as expected. Just ahead a dog jumps in , in pursuit of a stick thrown by the owner. He doesn't seem to mind the cold and paddles back eager to resume the game.

Walking along..

Sun Kissed, and Autumn ravished the path stretches invitingly ahead to the accompaniment of a gentle breeze. Its beautiful. We walk into this rolling woodland, our pace gently and unhurried.

The path stretches ahead..

Markers of Autumn..

Walking along..

The Footscray meadows have long since been designated  as a nature reserve.  If I had known I would have got some bread along.  Slowly we see others of the more striking plumage, native to the habitat here- Swans, Coots, Gulls, Mallards and Moorhens.

Moorhen..

We first discern black shapes. They are not blackbirds we decide. They seem too big and their beaks too bright. We later discover they are Moorhen. We cautiously approach as not to scare them away. They oblige and we get the pictures we are looking for.

A swan preens itself..

Not too far a swan preens itself , resplendent in the sun, the whites of its feathers bright and its beak beautiful in its orange, every movement full of grace. I know better from previous episodes along the Thames that these are birds not to be messed with and content myself with the pictures I get..

A swan sails gracefully past..

A mooorhen...

As we walk down the bridge of the five arches emerges into view, charming and quaint, sitting on the river fussed about by trees and birds and people along the banks.

The renovated structure of the Bridge of five arches..

First built in 1781, this structure was renovated later to what it stands today. We stand on the bridge and survey the flowing river. Do still waters really run deep? The river doesn't seem to give any aura of deception rather it seems plain faced and honest and content with the way things are going..

The Lake

The Local flora and fauna..

The bridge of the five arches..

A different view..

The view is beautiful. As always bridges seem to capture the drama of life. Rather they become a backdrop against which things are played out- people strolling, families happy in the moment, picknicking on the grass, owners with their dogs and dogs with their owners.
We watch as one sunny black lab looses sight of the stick that has been thrown into the water, trashes about wild and happy in the cold waters, refusing to give up chase. And so his owner in an attempt to get him out throws another one in. Very easily pleased he clambers out, with the trophy in his mouth, proud of himself and seeking approval from his master standing a little away from the bank.

I have to find that stick..

Dog days..

The bridge seems to divide the river in half, one lower than the other, Its waters cascading through the arches.

View of the waters from on top..

The waters cascade through the bridge...

Time flies when you are having a good time. We realize we have been standing here a while. Its a  gorgeous day, the sun still high. Under the cool shade of a neighboring tree we can feel the constant chill that seems to be hovering around London, banished only by the presence of a yellow sun. It wont last long we know.  Visions of a busy week momentarily surface and we remind ourselves that we can't linger on any longer and we walk back turning every now and then to catch sight of the bridge of five arches.