This week’s Monochrome Madness, hosted by Elke of Pictures Imperfect, takes pets as its subject. We don’t have one of those, though we are required to provide daily chats and cuddles to Newt, the dog next door on one side, and catering services when her owner is away to MiMi, the cat next door on the other side.
So I’m taking you to Bamburgh in Northumbria, where we were walking recently on the best sort of afternoon at an English seaside, with bright sun, breeze and gentle warmth. It was an afternoon for beach strolls and games … and for taking the dog out to play.
Walking through the orchard at Fountains Abbey early yesterday, I came upon this heron, not 10 feet away. He was unconcerned about me, and spent his time alert for a breakfast meal. He found three courses during the time I watched him – about 20 minutes. This video shows him enjoying just one of them.
A heron out hunting along the river bank for breakfast.
It’s my last (and first) video of the month. My last shot of the month is also one of the heron, and is my featured photo. I was quite fed up that I only had my bargain-basement phone with me, rather than my camera. Never mind.
Last Sunday, my Spanish grandaughters went to fairyland. Actually, they went to Mother Shipton’s Cave. This long-established tourist site is where, back in the 1500s, a woman we now know as Mother Shipton apparently prophesied many things which came to pass, such as the Great Fire of London, and the invention of the iron ship. It’s also where you’ll find a source of water which petrifies into stone any objects left long enough beneath the roof of the cave from whence the water drips: calcified teddy bear anyone?
These days the paying public expects more, so this season, the woodland surrounding the cave has been transformed into a fairyland of exactly the kind beloved by small children. Anaïs and Olivia were entranced, especially when they met a real live fairy, all the way from Greece.
My featured photo is of a bench much favoured for sitting on by would-be fairies. The remaining shots are from other parts of the site.
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.From now on, increasingly exhausted, my entries become terser and frustratingly light on detail.
Sightseeing in Chennai
Saturday 1st December.
Got up. What else could I do? Pounded the area looking unsuccessfully for hotels. Went over to Y’s house – she was out at a school meeting, but we eventually set off at about 10.30. Every few minutes she would stop the car at ‘point of view’ and commanded me and my camera to ‘Take this!’ So we saw the English Church of the Naval Base – surprisingly early – the 1600s.
And at various points on the seashore where we’d stop for half a minute ‘Take this! Take this!’
We ended up in an Indian vegetarian cafe, the expensive bit upstairs, where I bought her a – quite nice – lunch.
Then ever onwards. Various sights on the beach again, then the Theosophical Society Gardens which was a wonderful green lung. It was interesting to see the 400 year old Banyan tree whose main trunk had gone but which had endless ‘babies’ spread over a very wide area.
And back to base at 4.30. I’d hoped to take a nap (though I don’t ‘do’ daytime sleep) but it was impossible – noise again. So I got up and rang and emailed loads of hotel – none with vacancies.
Then at 8.30, over to Y’s for a dry and pretty nasty mac cheese, and so to bed, perchance not to sleep. Y had rung the hotel who promised me a room away from the road tomorrow.
The building in my featured photo is I think the Ice House, which we didn’t visit. What interested me was the group of boys playing cricket. Such groups were everywhere, but not once was I instructed to take a shot of them. So it was quite hard to steal a moment to do so.
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.
The Bus to Chennai, and Hello Chennai!
Friday 30th November, and just a little bit of Saturday 1st December.
Today I couldn’t face an Indian breakfast, which is unusual for me, so I went to buy the jacket I’d been looking at for a couple of days and then to Hot Bread for breakfast. Final packing, and another massage from Lakshmi, who is of course very beautiful. She says she can say the days of the week, and times, and ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, so our communication was limited. A flurry of ‘Goodbyes’- Pascale it seems can speak Italian so we had a chat and he said how much better my Italian was than my French (Unsurprising. At that point we’d been living in France for a month). Balu got me a rick to the station and negotiated the price – RS. 30.
The bus was the sort you see in all the pictures. Unglazed windows with bars across, and an engine that had probably been put together c.1953. If the coach were a human body, you’d probably call it ‘lived in’. As it was in fact a bus, I’d say it had demonstrated a long history of near misses. Oh, and it may not have been cleaned since 1953 either. But the big excitement was a motorway. Well, perhaps not a motorway, but a toll road anyway, with dual carriageway, a hard shoulder and a central reservation. The road surface was indifferent, but so superior to anything I’ve previously met here that I can understand why everyone told me it was a fast road to Chennai. Anyway.
2 lanes doesn’t mean slow and fast. Everyone uses both lanes indiscriminately and over or undertakes at will.
Goats use the ‘fast’ lane.
Cows use the central reservation.
Bicycles going the opposite way to the prevailing traffic use the hard shoulder. As do pedestrians,
Men pushing handcarts use the main highway.
The hard shoulder is also for bus stops.
There are zebra crossings. God knows why, nobody ever uses them.
Pedestrians cross whenever they want to. Not at the zebras, obviously.
So I was vastly cheered to reach the outskirts of Chennai a whole hour ahead of schedule. I was immediately seized upon by a rick driver who suggested RS. 250. Ha! Mind you, I never got him below Rs. 150. He said he was helping me, which meant that he took the wheelie case, me the rucksac.
I didn’t realise what a chaotic city Chennai is. It makes Bangalore look like a market town. Busy busy busy with chaotic housing and business districts jumbled together with shanty towns and piles of uncollected rubbish. I thought I’d got used to all that, but this was in a different league, especially after Pondicherry.
My CouchSurfing host (‘Call me Y…y’) plans to spend the weekend with me, but said she can’t after all put me up. So she booked me into a local hotel, the only one in the area. The Manager and I immediately fell out when he first of all denied the booking, then I declined to pay 3 days’ money up front, and it’s gone on from there really. I rang Y and walked to her house which is very close and met her sister and parents. She said there were no other hotels and she would ring and sort it out. So I reluctantly agreed to go back.
After a short rest I went over to Y’s. I’m not sure why I can’t stay, especially as I’m obviously unhappy. The excuses seem a bit specious. Anyway, I helped her make supper, masala dhosa, chatted a bit, then came back to the hotel. I had to get up at 2 a.m to ask the manager to turn down his Bollywood DVD he was whiling away the night with, and the traffic and hotel clamour began well before 5.00 a.m. Men loudly throat-clearing and spitting. Bring back the Call to Prayer! I complained about the shower, because I’ve stopped being nice (Response: ‘Well, is there water there or not? Yes? Well then!’).
I’ve been stomping round the area looking for another hotel, but it’s true, there isn’t one, good, bad or indifferent (indifferent would do). We’re meeting at 10 ish, to spend the day exploring Chennai, and tomorrow is action packed too. Monday shopping, then hit the airport early for a 4.00 a.m. flight home. Think I’ll go and see what I can find for breakfast: it’s only 8.30, but I’ve been around a long time today already.
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.
The Many Faces of Pondicherry
Thursday 29th November.
I was very greedy today! Up early to get the cool of the day, and found myself passing ‘Just Bread’. I thought I couldn’t leave Pondicherry without having a continental breakfast, so I did. Orange juice, pain au chocolat and coffee. Good actually. The only problem was that I’d ordered the hotel breakfast the night before, so I made an attempt at the (very good) potato-stuffed paratha and sambal, but didn’t finish it. Which didn’t go down well. Hence no lunch.
I walked up to the Botanical Gardens. Sheffield they’re not, but they’re not bad either and I had a pleasant wander. Coming away, boy it was hot, and I tried to cut corners and go down side streets to get to MG Road (Mahatma Gandhi Road). I kept on going down dead ends, and while it was interesting, it was also embarrassing to be down the Gip (a then down-trodden area of Leeds). I hated seeming like a voyeur.
In consequence, I got totally lost – I was well outside the French Quarter. When I finally fetched up on a main road I had no idea where I was and decided to get a rick. Just as well, I was miles off route. I asked him to take me to Mission Street/Nehru Road cross, and once there, I spotted some bag shops, so I got a wheelie suitcase! Hooray! Hooray! (My large rucksack had been getting increasingly stuffed and unwieldy). He was a nice guy, and measured it to see if it fitted hand luggage regs, and it did. By the way, I forgot. I went to the market early this morning and it as so different from Mysore – just people getting on with life and not a tout in sight – mind you, it was only just after 8.00 o’clock. Just one incident, pictured below.
The buffalo who peed over my feet in the market.
The fish market, like so many parts of the market here in India, was often people selling just a few small fish- a bucketful. Not really the same as France I think, where you might choose instead to have a small corner to sell your strings of garlic, and your small amount of tomatoes or onions.
Anyway, after the suitcase, I also bought a salwar kameez – I am so hot! And back for a break, and a chat with the chain-smoking French woman who has my original room. I really couldn’t share a car with her to Chennai, which is where, like me, she’s off to next.
A few random sightings whilst out and about.
I wandered off after non-lunch to change money. Ha! ‘No, we are not changing money after 2.00 p.m.’ So I went to an agent and did it – a good rate actually. Best yet. Suddenly I couldn’t face walking home, rickshawing home – anything. I asked a posse of rickshaw drivers how much to the beach, and we struck a deal. After we’d set off, I asked my driver which beach he recommended and he turned round and headed about 8km. north, near Auroville. The beach was indeed lovely – not crowded. Very sandy and palm-tree-ish, and I really wished I’d bought a cozzie with me. I settled for sitting on a dead boat, and gazing out to sea. Oh, and collecting a few shells (I still have them on the chest of drawers at home).
After an hour, the driver, who had waited for me, brought me home and I packed quite a lot in the wheelie suitcase (Yes! Yes!). Further chat with the French woman wanting to go with me to Chennai (No! No!) and also to one of Cristelle’s staff. He speaks French and says there are no longer any French-medium schools in Pondicherry. He – and I guess he’s 40-ish – is the last generation not to be educated in English. What a shame.
I walked to the Bay of Bengal to say ‘Goodbye’and off to the Rendezvous for a meal. I’m here now.
Later, I added this:I’m beginning to lose momentum, mainly through extreme tiredness, and the heat combined with dripping humidity. I’m greatly looking forward to another CouchSurfing weekend in Chennai this time. I think the experience will be very different from last time, if only because my host is much nearer to me in age, and born and bred in India.
Now I’ve always hated funfairs, even as a child. Too noisy! Too crowded! Too scary! But I’ve always loved markets – local markets I mean, full (ideally)of stalls selling freshly picked lettuce and spinach, earth-covered newly-pulled potatoes or carrots. Local cheeses. Local fish. Local anything really.
But … I haven’t got time this week to curate photos from dozens of irresistible markets in France, in Spain, in Germany for this week’s Lens-Artists Challenge, Found at the Fair or Market, hosted by Anne-Christine. Most of my Spanish family is coming over for a fortnight. Hooray! So I’ll use this opportunity to present just one photo, taken when they were with us last year, and we visited Beamish and its properly old fashioned fairground. It can serve for Leanne’s Monochrome Madness too.
I’m off duty now. No posts (apart from Indian Friday, which I’ve scheduled). No comments. No visits to all the blogs I enjoy reading. My daughter will usually be working remotely: so we’ll be i/c the children, now 4 years old and 20 months. So … a different kind of duty, even more pleasurable than the world of blogging.
Just because you can barely see them doesn’t mean the benches aren’t there. Morris dancers at Ripon Theatre Festival needed to take the weight off their feet from time to time, and their dresses and general Festival clutter seem to cover from view the benches they used pretty effectively.
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.
A Lazy yet Busy Day in Pondicherry
Wednesday 28th November.
Well, up early, but not bright and early. I wrote cards and had breakfast on the balcony, then waited to talk to Cristelle and ask her advice about shopping and a masseuse. She offered to help, and together with another French guest we sped off on her motorcycle.
This isn’t us on Cristelle’s motorcycle of course, but some schoolgirls spotted earlier. The featured photo shows the scene outside their school gates before morning school.
In a shop with bedspreads, she knocked the owner’s price down a bit but was still quite critical of it. She took me on to somewhere else where I also ended up buying things. By the way, I’ve changed to a downstairs room now.
Bilingual street signs.
A quick lunch at @ Coffee.com (slice of cake and a lime soda) and then back for a massage with Lakshmi, whom Cristelle had booked for me at a price of Rs. 200. Cristelle had forgotten to tell me to supply oils, so my precious supply of sandalwood oil from Mysore is all gone. Still, it was interesting and I enjoyed it. Then off to arrange postage home of my purchases, buy massage oil, and find somewhere to eat.
France in India. Once, the Public Works Department; a high school; and policemen sporting képis.
Before that though, I went to the beach. Le tout Pondicherry was out walking there, so there was a convivial atmosphere – families, couples, old, young.
Beach near Auroville
But the restaurant mentioned in the Rough Guide, La Coromandale, was horrible. Dirty- you needed wellies in the toilets, and the fact that only Europeans and not one local eating there was, I thought, telling. I really couldn’t be bothered to trail over to the Indian part of town, so I thought I would have to settle for European. But Rendez-vous was wonderful! Flunkeys at the door, certainly, but a busy happy atmosphere of the roof terrace, and a good mix of locals and Europeans. There was a big menu, but the Indian choices looked good, and my meal was sensationally good. A simple lentil and spinach curry, but so fresh and zingy. It may well be one of the best curries I’ve ever eaten. And I had my first alcohol in India – a beer, which really hit the spot.
I finished the day, as ever, at the great Internet point round the corner with the lovely geeky guy who helps me upload my CD with the pictures on.
Nowhere in my diary did I seem to mention my visiting the Catholic Church of the Sacred Heart, very near where I was staying. I don’t know why, as I was impressed. It was like a rather superior English Gothic Revival parish church, but in Glorious Technicolor.
Oooh. For Monochrome Madness this week, Brian Bushboy has set a challenge and a half. Backlighting. What? I hear non-photographers ask. Here’s what Brian says: ‘Backlighting in photography is a way for photographers to create dramatic lighting. This involves positioning the main light source for a photograph behind the primary subject’. In other words, do what you spend your photographic life trying NOT to do. Take shots direct into the sun, or the light source, anyway. It’s easier in a sunny country, so let’s take the ferry to Spain.
I have no idea who this couple are. But they were enjoying a meal, a glass of wine, with the sun shining over the coast we were heading for.
And here we are in Premià, staying with daughter and family.
We won’t outstay our welcome, but nip down to Valencia. To l’Albufera.
After, we’ll come back to the UK. To Pembrokeshire:
The featured photo is from the UK too. No idea where.
From Pyrenees to Pennines 
You must be logged in to post a comment.