Near Fountains Hall, the early Jacobean house in the grounds of Fountains Abbey, a new garden has recently been opened. The Quiet Garden. It is indeed a peaceful haven. My favourite feature is this bench, made from the wood of now-fallen trees in Studley Royal’s deer park.
And in case you’ve not seen it before, here is Fountains Hall.
For Jude’s Bench Challenge.
In my opinion, storms are best appreciated from behind closed curtains, when I’m curled up with a good book. If a roaring fire can be arranged, so much the better.
Nevertheless, there’s something thrilling and energising about the power and drama of a storm, whether it’s by being hurled sideways by a potent and tyrannical wind; half-drowned by an unrelenting downpour; or by experiencing ocean waves careening coastwards. Unless you’re on board a ship, as I once was, enduring a six hour crossing that should have taken an hour and a half. That was NOT thrilling at all.
But because of my preference outlined above, I can only offer pictures of the precursors to, or aftermaths of storms. Oh, and a few rainstorms.
Just a few rainy images in monochrome: two are naturally (almost) monochrome – that’s rain for you. The other one is processed from colour.
And here’s more aftermath: flooded fields near York, spotted from a train window: and trees at Studley Royal, broken by Storm Otto in 2023.
And, just as my header photo celebrates a storm about to arrive, my final photo shows its aftermath, and the promise of finer weather ahead.
‘Stormy’ is Beth of Wandering Dawgs’ first challenge as a member of the Lens-Artists Photo Challenge team. Welcome Beth!
My diary, revived from my trip to India back in 2007. This second part details my solo travels during the last three weeks or so.
Wednesday 21st November.
Time to say goodbye to everyone: people are off to all points north, south, east and west.
I took a rick to the station, and didn’t manage to change my ticket (Jobsworth in charge) But there was good internet access and I caught up a bit.
The market, if colourful, was a lot of hassle. Touts everywhere. Of unbelievable persistence. A youth selling flutes came down from Rs 280 to Rs 50, unable to take ‘no’ for an answer. And STILL I didn’t buy (This market remains one of my worst memories of India. I couldn’t enjoy a single second in peace). Later though, in a side street, I found a tailor and bought fabric , so that for Rs 600 (not much more than £5.00) I’ll have a custom made salwar kameez by 7.30 this evening.
Lunch was fun, at a local cafe where all the locals were, like me, enjoying the ‘small’ veg thali served on a banana leaf. A guy with a big canister kept doing the rounds, topping up the already big portions of all the diners. I declined sugar on my yoghourt-for-pudding, but my table mates didn’t, and sugar equal to the amount of yoghourt was spooned into their bowls.
I got quite comprehensively lost after lunch (easy to do. No street signs. Stop to look, and a rick driver is on your tail, or a vendor. Ask the way, and you’ll pick one of the few inhabitants who speaks no English).
But here I am at the Art Gallery. There’s supposed to be an Indian Dance Festival, and I’ve been here for about 40 minutes now, with lots of audience, mainly women, sitting patiently waiting … but … nothing.
And that was how it went really. A ‘warm up’ singer came along, and I quite enjoyed that, as well as watching the stage being set up with plush seating and flower garlands. I thought I’d leave at one point, but a man implored me to stay, saying it was starting in 10 minutes – which it did … But after the presentation of garlands to the Great and the Good, they moved onto – I dunno – soliloquies, perhaps poetry, impenetrable – to me anyway – so I did go.
And got a rickshaw to FabIndia which has lovely simply styled stuff, so I got a salwar kameez, a blouse, and a kurta for Malcolm.
Rick back to Om Shanti – my driver looked as though he’d just got a place at Oxford: all preppy glasses and smart casual shirt and trousers – perhaps he has! Anway, he was the first person who knew where Harding’s Circus was. Where I had my first disappointing meal: cabbage vadi with some trimmings and a lassi. Expensive for what it was. The last time I use Lonely Planet!
Ran into a young man, Samir, a teacher. We got ito conversation and he took me to the funfair. ‘I no try funny business. You – old lady – like my mother. Me – like your son’ That went down well. But we were in a public place and it was indeed fine. He took me round the funfair because it I’d noticed all the lights – it was quite fun. Then a rick to the market to collect my salwar kameez. Then, inevitably, to his friend’s uncle, and Ayurvedic practitioner, where I did indeed buy some oils (they were brilliant and lasted me ages). A rick home was produced and we said our goodbyes. Market salwar inevitably disappointing: FabIndia’s – not.
My featured photo was taken at the station. Those schoolgirls have just dismounted from that autorickshaw to hurry off to school. You might be able to see the rickshaw still has several passengers within. The schoolchildren I saw were always smartly dressed. Definitely no customisation of uniforms, with rolled-over skirt waistbands or heavily-adjusted ties, as here in the UK.
This wasn’t the post I intended to make. But an accident turned into an opportunity..
Yesterday morning saw me with a friend, completing our tour of duty as volunteer Roaming Rangers in the Deer Park at Studley Royal. This involves doing a low-key census of the deer, looking out for noteworthy wildlife, answering questions from the public, and occasionally asking dog-owners to put their pets on a short lead, especially now, when female deer are busy giving birth. And I took my camera. Accidentally, I left it on black and white setting. But I find I don’t mind. I’ll share some of my images with you.
The featured photo shows the first scene we saw: red deer stags all sitting resting beneath the trees. This is their languid time of year, when they eat and rest, building up their strength for the autumn rut.
And here’s a stag; a young calf; and a hind with her calf.
We’re just about to change terminology, because we’re leaving red deer behind, and joining the fallow deer. The male is a buck, the female is a doe, and the youngster a fawn.
As we spotted fallow deer ahead of us, we all but walked into the youngest of young fawns, left sleeping by its mum far too near an – admittedly little-used – path. I snatched this photo, but we hurried away, not wanting to cause distress to the little creature’s mother.
Then we had a wonderful twenty minutes or so, staring across a deep dry valley much loved by the deer because of its relative inaccessibility, and watching a young fawn gambolling through the long grass, dashing back from time to time to see its mum.
And here are two typical does: one looks ‘normal’, but the white one is too. She’s not albino, but leucistic: she has reduced pigentation in her coat: it’s a pretty common variation – as is melanistic, where the opposite is true, and over-production of melanin leads to a black coat.
But I’ll leave you with a further set of silhouettes from those utterly relaxed stags.
For Leanne’s Monochrome Madness …
… and Jo’s Monday Walk
I have chosen to stay in Premià this morning, perhaps because here it is grey and gloomy, even though warm enough. A beachside path leads all the way from Barcelona, through Badalona, Montgat, El Masnou, Premià and beyond – all the way to Mataró. Between the beach and the path is scattered a series of benches- wherever there’s a tree or two to offer welcome shade. Here are a few.
For Jude’s Bench Challenge.
El Masnou is the nearest town to Premià de Mar, and somewhat nearer to Barcelona. Probably because of this, it has a slightly grander recent past. In the 19th century, wealthy families looked from Barcelona to its wide sandy beaches and the hilly countryside beyond, and commissioned Modernista architects to build them a residence away from the bustle of the Big City. Over in Premià they just got on with fishing and a spot of market gardening as usual.
One day last week, during my Spanish stay which was emphatically NOT a holiday, but Granny as housekeeper, au-pair and what’s the next job? I nevertheless awarded myself a day off, and walked the 6.5 km. there along the seaside path.
I wanted to track down a few neo-classical and modernista buildings, and I did. but they were hard to photograph, being – often – in narrow streets.
Click on the images to reveal the captions.
I wanted to track down street art. It’s often assertively political here, defending Catalan independence, the rights of the dispossessed, and celebrating female pioneers of the last couple of centuries.
Click on the images to read the captions (on some of them).
Then there are the charming details every town must have: the mosaic of St. George, Catalonia’s patron saint (and also of England; Aragon; Georgia; Lithuania; Palestine; Portugal; Bulgaria; Ukraine; Malta; Ethiopia; Russia; Bosnia; Kosovo & Serbia. To name but a few). The little cats painted at pavement level. The gaping mouth letter box (but how to get a letter in?). The door knockers.
Then there are the ordinary streets, with ordinary houses. Or not so ordinary houses.
And my favourite. The house with the matching car parked outside. In this image, they don’t seem quite to match. Trust me, they did.
I left the town, walking through its industrial quarter. Even industry seems pleasant enough when every street is lined with jacaranda trees in flower.
After that, it was a drink in the quiet square I showed ten days ago, and a walk home inland through the market gardening area. A morning well spent.
PS. The featured photo of the busy port wasn’t taken last week, but on a greyer day last spring. My walk was on a strictly bright blue sky day.
For Natalie’s Public Art Challenge.
Time in London, time in Spain. One way or another, I’ve neglected Indian Friday for several weeks. Time to take over where I left off, reproducing verbatim the diary I kept during a month in India – rather a long time ago.
Tuesday 20th November.
Our free day. Laura and I had decided to go to the sandalwood and silk factories, but then it turned out so had Mark and Peter, and they had already engaged Snake, the driver who had brought them home the night before. Naturally, Snake soon produced his brother Kumar for our use, and we set off, insisting on the ride being metered. Once we arrived at the factory the brothers had of course come up with A Plan. Rs 500, and we were theirs for the day. Not a bad idea, considering all we wanted to do. So …after they’d warned us not to use the official shop – too expensive, they knew better places – in we went. Mark had to sign us in (Being tall, fair and a Good Sort of Chap he was obviously in charge.) with all the contact details we could think of.
Then we were taken in by a Government Guide. He had his spiel and by gum he was going to stick to it. Questions were invariably met with ‘I will speak later’, and if we wandered away from some imaginary blue line we were instantly shepherded back: ‘Please!’
The factory was barely functioning because it’s just pre-season. Sadly, we weren’t allowed to take photos of the Dickensian scenes of clerks at desks in impossibly large dusty offices. The only real action was in a roomful of elderly men bundling up sticks of incense for marketing. Our officious guide warned us – and we believed correctly – that we shouldn’t be taken in by rickshaw drivers as anything not sold through Goverment agencies was likely to be highly diluted. So we went to the official shop. Verdict: it’s so bad it’s good.
Off to the Silk Emporium – not the factory as we had wanted: but after our last experience we didn’t care.
Then it was Chamundi Hill and the Sri Chamundeswari Temple. It’s about 12 km. from Mysore, and the theory is to walk with the faithful up the 1000 steps to the top. Kumar and Snake poo-pooed this idea and said we would do only the last 300. It turned out they were right. They dropped us off at Shiva’s bull, where like it or not you had to buy a flower garland to present, and receive a white bindi forehead marking. Laura and I declined the yellow holy oil. On the way up, we were beseiged by children, some of whom were beggars, but others just wanted to practice their English. At the top, there were massive queues for the temple, so we declined, and juggled with the usual bazaar which is an ever-present feature of tourist and holy sites. A funeral in progresss would in any case have limited our ability to sightsee.
Down we went, and Snake took Mark and Peter for lunch. Laura and I had asked to go to FabIndia. The clothes shop Kumar took us to wasn’t it, but it was excellent and we were sorry not to buy.
Lunch was at the Viceroy, which looked quite posh, much to Laura’s and my disappointment – we prefer spit and sawdust, But it was excellent, and cheap too. We only spent Rs. 250 a head on a variety of fresh and tasty chicken and veg. dishes and beer for the lads.
Then the Maharaja’s Palace. We engaged the services of yet another bossy guide, and I was fined RS. 20 (that’s about 25p) for smuggling my camera in. Peter paid it for me, but then Peter had smuggled his camera in and not been spotted. I did get to keep my camera though.
The guide regaled us with tales of past Maharajas, and the palace itself, and compared the many C-grade pictures with the Mona Lisa: ‘Look! The eyes follow you everywhere!’ Apparently the palace is the most beautiful place in the universe. Well, pretty good, but let’s not exaggerate here. He busily kept us in line, shooed away any tourists who had the temerity to listen in. Later, when allowed to use our cameras, he instructed us exactly where to stand to get the best shots.
Then the market. We found ourselves taken to a house where incense sticks were being made, and where we found Christine and Cindy too. We didn’t buy, and suddenly Mark and I had had enough, so Snake took us home, and Laura and Peter on for further shopping.
Dinner was a surprise for Simon. Cindy had booked a private upstairs room and we had a jolly evening sharing a final meal before we all went our separate ways the following morning.
PS. WP’s AI Assistant, in its wisdom, suggests the following tags for this post: photography; YouTube; diabetes; Detroit; Maldives …
For Monochrome Madness this week, Elke, of Pictures Imperfect, asks us for images which are naturally monochrome. Or in my case, accidentally monochrome. So it’s all about winter then ….
Not necessarily. Statuary answers very well. Here are two chaps seen at English Heritage’s archaeology store in Helmsley, North Yorkshire: and another at Rievaulx Abbey, all in North Yorkshire.
Or these, from door frames at the Modernista Casa Coll i Regàs in Mataró, Catalonia.
And birds against a reliably grey English sky:
Finally, an all too typical scene from a corner of an English farmyard. I make no apology for not removing the splashes of colour in this, or in my header shot.
I haven’t offered a Monday Portrait in a while. But when I met this distinguished sow yesterday, I knew I had to give her 5 minutes of fame. She’s had a long life, mothering many piglets. Happily, she won’t end up on anyone’s dinner plate.
Passing Premià de Mar’s Museum of Textile Printing the other day, this is what I saw. Two benches: three people. Three readers: two on their phones, one with a good old fashioned book. Only the young woman, I think, was waiting for the museum to open.
Maybe you’d prefer it in colour?
For Jude’s Bench Challenge.
From Pyrenees to Pennines 
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