In the hide and seek game between the sun and the clouds that evening, the rain won. But, fortunately, I had already set sail on the Snaefell from Liverpool to Douglas on the Isle of Man. Incidentally, this was my first ferry ride on the high seas. In an age where flights and, for nearer distances, trains have dominated the transport routes, travel by water to reach another country was an amusing change.
Snaefell is a reasonably comfortable ferry with a bar (a quintessential English hangout), games arcade and a cafe. My favourite part of the Snaefell, though, was its upper deck from where the vast sea and the relatively small city towards the end of it could be enjoyed.
The ferry moves to the rhythm of the splashing waves, the gushing of its own engines and the unruly wind. The scenery is astounding! Far away mountains turn away their faces, as if in irk. The windmills relentlessly turn in the backdrop of the blue-grey skies and the larks fly in glee. The only person I would have missed in this terribly romantic set-up, had he not been there, would have been Mehdi Hassan. Thank god for iPods! Only later did I realise that I had spent more than three hours listening to his ghazals and enjoying the nature. The journey on the Snaefell is supposed to be for 3 hours. It turns out that the Snaefell rarely keeps to its schedule. That is not a matter of regret, I suppose.
The Isle of Man is an independent country to the north west of England. As the name suggests it is an island nation in the Irish Sea. The United Kingdom has been endowed with immense amounts of natural beauty and the Isle of Man has its fair share to boast of. However, what is interesting to know is that this island of about 80,000 has the oldest continuously existing parliamentary democracy.
The lonely planet gives a rather true perspective of the Isle. It says “the number one industry (on the Isle) is tax avoidance- wealthy Brits can shelter their loot here without having to move to Monte Carlo or the Cayman islands”. The Isle’s proximity to Britain is probably its biggest boon and its worst curse. Its economy is run pretty much by the weathy Brits, but its culture is almost dead under the close influence of the English and Scottish cultures.
Kevin, was pleasant enough to agree to go to the Manx museum with me the following day. The Isle of Man is simply known as Mann and has its own almost extinct language called Manx. The museum, however, has an audio sample in Manx for one to hear. It also, interestingly, has a few Manx proverbs. Reading those, I was wondering if all languages have the same things to say in their proverbs. I have certainly heard ‘Help poor, help God’ in Hindi, Kannada and even English. Most of them reflected ideas that proverbs in any language would.
The highlight of my stay in Mann, though, was the first ever facial of my life! Kevin’s wife, Seana, a delightful lady, happens to be a beautician who runs a beauty clinic. The immensely sweet and hospitable, Kevin and Seana invited me to a complimentary facial. And after making some noises of polite rejection, I finally braced myself to lie down on a masseuse’s table. Travelling, I told myself, should involve new experiences, what is the point if it didn’t?
Anne, was a charming Slovakian who readied herself with oils and other products that were meant for my face. Anne and I began to speak, while she was busy at her work. She was curious to know if I were 17 or 18 years in age. I, no doubt felt thrilled at her wrong presumption, but felt compelled to correct her instantly. Seana was right, the facial felt great. Very relaxing and very fresh. I thank her for introducing me to a nice experience, I hope to repeat in the future.
After a quick lunch, driving on the lovely roads amidst beautiful greenery, we reached Castletown. The country is not more than 24 kilometers in breath and only about 48 kilometers in its length. So, reaching another town took us about 15 minutes. Our destination was Castle Rushen which housed all the kings of Mann. The view from atop the castle is quite scenic. The Calf of Man, the southern tip of the island nation is visible from here.
When it was time to leave the island, I casually checked the boarding pass of the ferry. I clearly remembered having spelt out my name at the ticket counter when I bought my tickets. But the name on the boarding pass was printed – REKSHE! I wonder if this is because of the ‘f-u-ni-ny’ Irish pronunciations where ‘A’s possibly become ‘E’s .
Anyway, another uneventful three hours on the Snaefell brought me to Liverpool. England is a different world altogher. Mann is so close to it, yet, so far.
Raksha Kumar
Monday, July 26, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
York View
Dedicated to Ashim and Sindhu.
Climbing the York Minister Tower, I kept thinking why not our education system be redone in such a way that a major part of it involved travelling? After all, that is the best way to combine education with fun. In the past three hours that I had arrived in York, I had perhaps, enjoyed myself more than Columbus had when he first set foot on the American soil. And, I had learnt about stone coffins in the Roman period, box pews in chapels and ‘Shambles’ that was house to 24 butcher shops!
York is a small historical town in the north of Britain. History oozes out of every corner of York. Every street, every building has a story to tell. Like Paul said, the building that now houses a Pizza Hut was where George Cadbury (whose name is synonymous with chocolates all over the world) learnt how to make chocolates!
Paul, a very delightful Englishman of about sixty or so, was the guide of the walking tour we took from the Exhibition Square. He belongs to the Association of Voluntary Guides, a bunch of spirited individuals who conduct walking tours across the town because they are very proud of his history and heritage. Makes me wonder how, we Indians, view our history. Sadly, our pride is more often than not, jingoistic or nonexistent.
The tour begins with a visit to a part of the City Walls where there are reusable stone coffins dating back to the Roman period. A short distance from there is St Mary’s Abbey that was plundered by Henry the VIII. It was a 50 acre Abbey that was unceremoniously brought down.
York has narrow streets that suit commuters by foot or bicycles. Walking on one such narrow street Paul, the group and I reached the 1st house in York to be constructed by brick. The design is very Dutch, said Paul. Houses, before that, were constructed with wood.
The ‘Shambles’ are an intricate set of extremely narrow roads, not very far off from the Minster. These can be a shopaholic’s delight. However, since I am not one, I took some photographs of enthusiastic shoppers and walked away. At this point, the group disbanded and I headed to the Minster.
An overpowering structure, the York Minster can leave you spellbound for a long time. I must have spent a few moments just gaping at the gigantic structure. Once inside, I decided to first climb the 275 steps of the York Minster Tower. I have had this strange fascination for steps, which has been made fun of by many-a-friend. But, I guess, stairs to me mean moving ahead in life, reaching the heights. At the same time, you are reminded that you have to climb them down at some point. Notwithstanding my fascination towards steps, the York Minster Tower is a fascinating climb. Anyone familiar with the Tere Ghar Ke Saamne song ‘Dil ka bhanwar’ cannot miss the obvious resemblance to it. Except, the flight of stairs of the York Tower is so narrow that it can accommodate only one person at a time. So, perhaps, Dev Anand and Nutan would have found it tough to sing a romantic song climbing down this tower hand-in-hand.
At the top of the tower, chilly winds cut through my jacket. But the view of the entire town was worth the climb and the chill. After a view from the top of the Minster, I visited the basement where the crypts and the Treasury House give a detailed view of the Minster’s history.
Talking of detailing history, the Castle Museum in York is one of the most excellent museums ever. It gives a chronological detail of the common man of York through the ages. Right in front of the museum is Clifford’s Tower, beautifully perched on a very small hill.
The one thing I had planned to do in York and was looking forward to, was to walk on the City Walls. Crossing the Ouse bridge, I reached the City Walls. Talk about coincidence, as I began to walk on the City Walls, the song on my iPod changed to, ‘Kya mausam hai, ae deewane dil, chal kahin door nikal jaaye...’! I don’t remember a happier moment in the recent past. It was a perfect date with myself.
As Oscar Wilde says, ‘I suppose society is wonderfully delightful. To be in it is merely a bore. But to be out of it is simply a tragedy.’
Climbing the York Minister Tower, I kept thinking why not our education system be redone in such a way that a major part of it involved travelling? After all, that is the best way to combine education with fun. In the past three hours that I had arrived in York, I had perhaps, enjoyed myself more than Columbus had when he first set foot on the American soil. And, I had learnt about stone coffins in the Roman period, box pews in chapels and ‘Shambles’ that was house to 24 butcher shops!
York is a small historical town in the north of Britain. History oozes out of every corner of York. Every street, every building has a story to tell. Like Paul said, the building that now houses a Pizza Hut was where George Cadbury (whose name is synonymous with chocolates all over the world) learnt how to make chocolates!
Paul, a very delightful Englishman of about sixty or so, was the guide of the walking tour we took from the Exhibition Square. He belongs to the Association of Voluntary Guides, a bunch of spirited individuals who conduct walking tours across the town because they are very proud of his history and heritage. Makes me wonder how, we Indians, view our history. Sadly, our pride is more often than not, jingoistic or nonexistent.
The tour begins with a visit to a part of the City Walls where there are reusable stone coffins dating back to the Roman period. A short distance from there is St Mary’s Abbey that was plundered by Henry the VIII. It was a 50 acre Abbey that was unceremoniously brought down.
York has narrow streets that suit commuters by foot or bicycles. Walking on one such narrow street Paul, the group and I reached the 1st house in York to be constructed by brick. The design is very Dutch, said Paul. Houses, before that, were constructed with wood.
The ‘Shambles’ are an intricate set of extremely narrow roads, not very far off from the Minster. These can be a shopaholic’s delight. However, since I am not one, I took some photographs of enthusiastic shoppers and walked away. At this point, the group disbanded and I headed to the Minster.
An overpowering structure, the York Minster can leave you spellbound for a long time. I must have spent a few moments just gaping at the gigantic structure. Once inside, I decided to first climb the 275 steps of the York Minster Tower. I have had this strange fascination for steps, which has been made fun of by many-a-friend. But, I guess, stairs to me mean moving ahead in life, reaching the heights. At the same time, you are reminded that you have to climb them down at some point. Notwithstanding my fascination towards steps, the York Minster Tower is a fascinating climb. Anyone familiar with the Tere Ghar Ke Saamne song ‘Dil ka bhanwar’ cannot miss the obvious resemblance to it. Except, the flight of stairs of the York Tower is so narrow that it can accommodate only one person at a time. So, perhaps, Dev Anand and Nutan would have found it tough to sing a romantic song climbing down this tower hand-in-hand.
At the top of the tower, chilly winds cut through my jacket. But the view of the entire town was worth the climb and the chill. After a view from the top of the Minster, I visited the basement where the crypts and the Treasury House give a detailed view of the Minster’s history.
Talking of detailing history, the Castle Museum in York is one of the most excellent museums ever. It gives a chronological detail of the common man of York through the ages. Right in front of the museum is Clifford’s Tower, beautifully perched on a very small hill.
The one thing I had planned to do in York and was looking forward to, was to walk on the City Walls. Crossing the Ouse bridge, I reached the City Walls. Talk about coincidence, as I began to walk on the City Walls, the song on my iPod changed to, ‘Kya mausam hai, ae deewane dil, chal kahin door nikal jaaye...’! I don’t remember a happier moment in the recent past. It was a perfect date with myself.
As Oscar Wilde says, ‘I suppose society is wonderfully delightful. To be in it is merely a bore. But to be out of it is simply a tragedy.’
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