I made three mistakes in Ranthambore. The first one was in booking just two nights there. I could have happily stayed there for the rest of the holiday, going on the morning and evening safaris and resting by the pool the rest of the time. I think I may even have come to that stage of my life where I prefer a rural setting to an urban setting when exploring the world. Maybe. But anyway. The other mistakes? I’ll come to those later. Continue reading “Hunting Tigers”
Leaving Agra turned into our Great Indian Trauma. The fifteen minute taxi ride from our hotel to the airport took an hour. A political conference was taking place, and a small army of party devotees had descended on the city bringing the roads to gridlock. Not to worry, we’d left in ample time to allow for even a major delay. Athough that proved unnecessary, as upon arriving at Agra train station, we discovered that our train was running three hours late. Half an hour later, Continue reading “Hotel Brexit in Kipling Land”
We departed Delhi early in the morning, catching an Ola taxi to the train station. Or as close to the train station as our driver could get. The crush of people, tuk tuks, roaming animals and other vehicles became more dense the closer we got, and we gradually ground to a complete halt. The final couple of hundred metres were on foot, pushing squeezing and banging past the many obstructions on our way to the station entrance. Once there, we queued up to go through security. Continue reading “Less Agro, More Agra”
Imagine London 50 years from now, baking in a sweltering, climate-change-induced 40 degrees centigrade. With a population exceeding 40 million, social order has largely broken down. The people have been granted their wish and largely govern themselves. It hasn’t worked out terribly well and chaos reigns across this once great metropolis. Icons of it’s illustrious past – Westminster, St Pauls Cathedral, Continue reading “Destiny Delhi”
Are you planning for your next family vacation but not sure where to go? How about exploring a whole new world that is popular for its clear waters, white sandy beaches, amazing water sports and 5-star resorts? If you’re convinced, start packing your bags to head towards a paradise in the Indian Ocean, Maldives, a tropical nation, composed of 26 ring-shaped atolls, made up of more than 1,000 coral islands and renowned for its natural beauty. Continue reading “Planning for Your Next Family Vacation? How About Maldives?”
The legendary Ferrari F40 is, and has been for decades, my favourite Ferrari. Nay, my favourite car, full stop. I owned one once. A Burago scale replica, of course. Not the real thing. A few cars have pushed it close at the top of my automotive rankings. Jaguar’s XJ220 is a beaut. Ferrari’s Testarossa is the most classic Pininfarina design of my lifetime. I also had a real soft spot for Alfa Romeo’ SZ. Continue reading “The Definition of Jealousy”
We picked up a punt from Scudamore’s that we’d pre-booked online for 90 mins the day before. You save a little money that way. About a fiver. And 90 minutes is plenty enough time. Or so says I, the punter in chief. The puntees might have liked a little longer to quaff a bit more prosecco and binge on a few more strawberries. Continue reading “Punting in Cambridge”
London is a huge metropolis, not the sort of city that can be seen in a day. Indeed, you could live there your entire life and not see the half of it. But in lieu of residency, I’d recommend a hotel stay. Perhaps Hotels In Acton like Holiday Inn London West would suit you, or maybe a Hyde Park Boutique Hotel Like The Westbourne London is more up your street. Alternatively, you could Book Hotels in Paddington London and see if you can track down the area’s most famous bear. Flying in or out of London? Check out Holiday Inn Luton South for Luton airport accommodation. Contact SCL Wills And Probate, for experience probate lawyers in London, dealing with all aspects of Wills and Probate law.
This is a public service announcement by the Mexile in association with an awful lost of frustration and angst. Roughly 24 hours before Mrs P and I were due to fly to Mexico for our two week holiday, there was what I shall refer to as an ‘incident’. I won’t bore you with the details of the ‘incident’. Just one of the consequences. The most pressing consequence. Mrs P was no longer in possession of her Biometric Residence Permit. This Continue reading “Travelling On A Lost/Stolen BRP”
What to say about our short break in the Scottish Highlands? I could write a short essay on the quality of the guest house we stayed at. But I won’t. Suffice it to say that Lochview was wonderful, one of the finest (possibly the finest) guesthouse we have ever had the pleasure of spending a night in. Clean, fabulously comfortable beds, welcoming and helpful hosts and a cracking breakfast for a very reasonable price. Oh, it has terrific Continue reading “The Highland Review”
Got mountains. Got camera. Got Adobe Lightroom to turn it all black and white. Well, aren’t I just the new Ansel Adams? Obviously I’m not, for a whole bunch of reasons that don’t really need to be explained. But it’s nice to pretend for a moment. Ansel Adams arguably had a slightly more dramatic mountain range to shoot. Just don’t argue the point with a Highlander. He will kill you, turn your skin into a smart new jacket and Continue reading “Just Like Ansel”
There’s a good set of benefits for those of us lucky enough to work on the railways. As is to be expected in a unionised industry that is very proactive when it comes to collective bargaining. As things should be in most industries if you ask me, but that’s another story. Pay, pensions, holidays and more all have generous terms. But there’s one benefit I really do like making the most of. The travel perks. Continue reading “The Caledonian Sleeper”
Spring is in the air. In a metaphorical sense more than a literal sense. The days have gotten longer and sunset has been deferred an hour thanks to the switch to British Summer Time. Crocuses and cherry blossom are in bloom. The sun shines brightly on good days, giving us deep blue skies with pillow white clouds. Early morning are greeted with a chorus of birdsong. But if you closed your eyes over the last week, you mightd be Continue reading “Mapperton House”
It was hard to put my finger on it. Initially, it was just a sense of absence. But I couldn’t quite work out what it was. As our holiday drew on, the sensation became more profound. I started looking around me to see if I couldn’t spot the problem. But how to see something that isn’t there? That’s a tough one. But it gnawed on me. An itch that wouldn’t go away. I kept pondering this mysterious shortcoming. Of course, I eventually, I found the answer to my question. There was something missing in Istanbul. And I wanted to know what it was. But first, let’s look at what wasn’t missing….
How can the meeting point between east and west be anything other than a blend of intoxicating culture, music, art, noise and food? Nothing is at it seems, and new tastes and experiences are around every corner. But most of all, nothing beats waking up to the call of prayer in Asia, and an hour later you are washed, dressed and a 20 minute boat ride from Europe. At no stage are you ever under the illusion that you are close to home.
The ferries are fantastic, with regular services whisking you to a selection of well placed ports for just a few pence. There’s also a decent bus services, again at just a few pence a trip. There’s a pretty expansive metro system too. How much? You guessed it. Just a few pence. Taxis are just for emergencies. They are not just a couple of pence. The unwary may find a short trip takes longer than expected and costs not just a couple of pounds. Get a plastic travel card which can be topped up. It makes life easy. And it’s safe to say Istanbul is not missing a good transport network.
Shop Till You Drop
You can’t have a big city without a big selection of shops to go spend your hard earned money. Istanbul doesn’t disappoint. There are plenty of bazaars, markets and corner shops aimed at the tourists. And there’s an even healthier selection of everyday shops to get essentials. I like walking around the everyday shops, wherever I am. Just to see what Jaffa Cakes are called in foreign lands. I didn’t buy any Jaffa Cakes though. Mrs P and I did come home with 1/2 a kilo of freshly groun Turkish coffee, a box of mixed Turkish Delight, a steel pepper grinder, assorted bags of pepper and spices and a bag full of fridge magnets.
The streets of Istanbul bustle with life. What sort of life and what sort of activities depend on where you might be. In Taksim, the people are young and hip. On the European side, they are a bit wealthier. In our part of town, on the Asian side, they were friendly, down to earth people, working hard to make a living. By the river we found them playing dominos in street cafes. On every side they were friendly. Istanbul is, by any definition, a pretty safe city with a dozen vibes to choose from depending on your mood.
The Easy Life
Every big city needs it’s nearby happy place to escape to. Istanbul has a series of pleasant, green and hilly little islands, all within an hour by ferry of the city centre. The water is clear and refreshingly cool. Too refreshingly cool for my taste. I’m a Pacific Ocean kind of guy. I need warm water with waves to jump around in. But I liked our trip to the islands nonetheless. The bike ride to the church at the top of the mountain was nice. Coasting back to the town was nicer. The delicious ice cream was the nicest. But if the ferry ride isn’t for you, you can always jump on a bus to the Black Sea. We did that too. The water was still too refreshingly cool for me. But I dipped my toes, just to check another body of water off of my To Do list.
Istanbul is an Islamic city. It’s not, however, the sort of city that throws gay people from towers, stones adulterous women for their indiscretions or decapitates infidels. If that has cleared anything up for you, you’ve been watching too much of the wrong sort of TV. Islam is not a religion of peace. No religion is. It does have a problem with extremists, as do all other religions. But in Istanbul, you’ll just get to enjoy the fruits of President Ataturk’s secularist policy that saw the country look forward toward the west, not backward to the south east of Arabia. The Blue Mosque is a sight to behold, as is the Hagia Sofia. I also really enjoyed the Museum of Turkish and Islamic Art, which boasted a treasure trove of literature, pots and pans, fabrics, and paintings from down the centuries.
The Hagia Sofia is the epitome of the blend of east and west. Once a church, then a mosque and now a museum. But there are better places to learn Turkish history and their place in the world over the years. We went to both the Dolmabahce and the Topkapi palaces, which were as magnificent in their splendour as many a western European palace. They both told the story of Turkey. From their role in the Roman Empire, which culminated in the Byzantine Empire. The Ottoman Empire through to the Republic. With plenty more told about the before and afters of all those eras. I enjoyed seeing the 4.5 ton chandelier gifted to the Turks by Queen Victoria, hanging in pride of place in the grand hall at the Topkapi. And pleased by this too. Normally, you read about absent artefacts with a note that they can currently be seen in the British Museum in London. Needless to say though, I didn’t have to wait too long to find a sign saying just those words. We Brits are such a crafty bunch of collectors of world history. Or thieves. Depending upon your point of view. But anyway. Suffice it to say. Istanbul does not lack for a sense of history.
The Missing Piece Of The Jigsaw
So what was it that was gnawing at me? I’ll tell you. It’s the architecture. The palaces are grand. There are interesting buildings here and there. One of two areas have some nice stone structures and cobbled streets. There are the many mosques. There are also smatterings of wooden buildings with windows shutters that wouldn’t look out of place in the deep south or eastern parts of the United States. But truth be told, there was an awful lot of brutalist concrete and glass blocks and buildings that remind you of London in the 1950s and 1960s, as the country rebuilt in the bomb craters of World War 2. These were, for the large part , the dominant architectural style of the city. What was missing was a sense of grand, identifiably Turkish architecture with long avenues and boulevards of stylish mansions.
El Gringo Suelto recently took us on a tour of his ‘hood, Boston MA. It was a fascinating guide around the local attractions in the place he calls home. Even if he wished home were somewhere else sometimes. Say, Mexico City. I guess many people think of the US as being a young country. In many respects it is. From a British perspective, the history of the States began with the pilgrims, with only a vague acknowledgement that native peoples had been doing something or other (mostly other, nothing worth mentioning) for some undetermined period before we arrived. Gee, if it weren’t for John Wayne and his movies, we might not even know anything of them at all.
Anyway, young as the US is, it’s still been a going concern for a while, and the old things seem, from a foreign eye, to be better preserved than in Blighty. The US hasn’t suffered from the pressures of dwindling free space, nor German bombs, in the same way the UK has. He found a graveyard dating back to 1634 and a house dating back to 1661. They are old. And it had me wondering, what hidden history is in the town I live in? Could I find anything boasting a greater age than that graveyard in Ringwood, Hampshire? So let’s have a stroll round my home town.
In theory, finding something to best that Boston graveyard shouldn’t be difficult. Ringwood is an ancient town. Seriously ancient. There’s a limited number of towns which can trace themselves back to William the Conqueror’s Domesday Book. Fewer still that can find traces of their history, albeit with unusual spellings, in documents further back that that. Ringwood, or should I say Runcwuda is one such place with records going back to Saxon times. This isn’t surprising, as you can see from the photo above – a river. The River Avon, to be precise. One of many River Avon’s in England. If you’ve ever wondered why there are so many River Avons, there is a simple answer. The Roman invaders would ask the local inhabitants the name of the river. The Saxon word for river is avon – the Romans were told what is was, not what is was called. The results of those misunderstandings survive today.
Ringwood also sits next to the oddly named New Forest. It is anything but new. But its proximity obviously aided the viability of Ringwood as a town. The New Forest has been a favourite haunt of hunting monarchs for centuries. Hunting is thirsty work, I’m sure. I wonder if a dehydrated king ever stopped at the Fish Inn to quench his thirst? Perhaps. Like many of the older cottages in the town, it’s got a thatched roof. The Fish Inn, I understand, has stood there on the banks of the Avon since the 1500s. I can’t tell you any ancient stories from the Inn, but I can tell you that that is where I spent the evening to see in the new millennium. The bridge next to it is undoubtedly old too. It is known simply as the Old Bridge. But I’ve been unable to put a date on it.
The building in the photo above clearly has a story. The plaque says it all. The sign on the side of the house suggests that this historic little plot (pun intended) is currently up for grabs. I dread to think how much it costs to heat an old place like this. More than my salary I suspect. Still, the fuel bill was probably the last thing on the Duke of Monmouth’s mind. And the fuel of those days was no doubt cheap. The New Forest providing plentiful supplies of the stuff.
Let’s go into town. It’s much like any other old town in southern England. Shops closing down. Coffee shops taking their place. We have a new one arriving soon. Thank goodness. I frankly don’t know how I’ve survived these last few years with only seven coffee shops within 60 seconds walking distance of each other. I kid you not. Ok, maybe I kid you a little. They’re within 120 seconds of each other. But still. We do still have both a butcher and a fishmonger in town, despite a proliferation of supermarkets. That’s a bonus that not every town can boast.
Perhaps this shouldn’t be surprising though. Ringwood is a market town. In fact, there was a cattle market here right up until 1989. It has since been replaced by a Waitrose supermarket. There is still a street market. It was once the highlight of the week and an essential part of life. It is now appalling, selling junk that people won’t buy on eBay and meats that supermarkets wouldn’t touch.
But let us journey on, in a quest to find something old. The Fish Inn has already put the nails in the coffin of Kim’s 17th century graveyard. But surely Ringwood has something even older to offer. Let’s move onto the main church, that of St Peter and St Paul. I say main church, because Ringwood had as many churches as it has coffee shops. Gee, if a vicar cottoned on to what I’m thinking, then maybe he’d get some people inside God’s office. I digress, let’s go to church and cheer up Mr Vicar.
The church turned out to be a trove of information. This is the third church to have stood on the site, with the first dating back to the Saxon era. The second, a stone structure, fell into disrepair in the 1800s and was replaced with this beauty. So, it is quite modern, but what surprises does it have in store inside? As it turned out, it had an ancient treasure indeed.
The treasure in question was a memorial brass, dedicated to a former rector by the name of John Prophete. He died in 1416, and this was made shortly after, although I couldn’t find a precise date. Only that it is 15th century. The church does hold older relics though. There are roof bosses in a case up on one wall, but I didn’t photograph them. I saw them, but thought they were comparatively modern. Ooops. I did go looking for a 13th century tomb by the main gate, but couldn’t distinguish it from other elderly tombs.
So, the church turned out well. Same century as the Fish Inn, but probably a few years younger. Was that the oldest thing I could find in Ringwood? Actually, no. Let’s walk back to the river and check out a little cottage. We walked past it earlier, as it sits right next the the Duke of Monmouth’s former abode. The Old Cottage Restaurant. These timbers were planted in the 1300s, and is the oldest thing I have managed to photograph today. I’ve never been inside. To be honest, they do a pretty magnificent job of making it look permanently closed. Or perhaps they just prefer to keep out the riff raff. Invitation only sort of a thing.
So there we have it. A tour of the town of Ringwood, in Hampshire. The English Hampshire. Not the new fangled one near where Kim is. Does the blogger tour of the ‘hood stop here, or has anyone else got a potential career of virtual tour guide in them? More to the point, can anyone best my 14th century relic? You can? I can see see this becoming competitive. Bewarned. If you force me, I shall get on the bus and go for a ride. I have a trump card. Not the 2,000 year old ruins of a Roman villa a couple of stops away. No, my trump card comes at the end of the bus ride, here. But for today let’s leave the tour with one final photo. Something that is a fixture of every British town, village or hamlet. The war memorial. Always embossed with the names of the unfortunate victims. Currently festooned with the bright red poppies for Remembrance Day.