So near, yet, so far!

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