Thought of the day

                                             My name is Bond. Vagabond.

London

London. 

A city always on the move. 

A bustling, bubbling cauldron of many cultures, much to the chagrin of certain tram ladies. 

A city characterised by the spiffy hum of several relentless minds. 

The time is morning rush hour. Between sips of strong coffee and stretching; I stand waiting patiently to get my daily tube ticket. The sun was certainly out but the mist in the air was audaciously challenging it to shine brighter. Suddenly, there is a chorus of deafening booms. Westminster, the Houses of Parliament and the Big Ben lets out a screeching alarm reminding us to rise and shine, to shake off the last signs of snooze. I take the ticket; the helpful ticket-teller gives me necessary directions about which line to take. I am alert…at least for the moment. There are so many lines—Victoria, Jubilee, Metropolitan etc, so many changes and so less time to process it all. 

I somnambulate and find myself amidst busy silhouettes jostling their way in a mélange of stylish suits, polished shoes and boots. With newspaper tucked on one side, a suitcase in one hand and the-all-important coffee on the other, they are an epitome of style. As the tube chugs in, everyone experiences a collective sense of alertness. Ready, steady and go. From somewhere a sharp voice reminds us to--MIND THE GAP. 

Minding the gap, in less than ten seconds, I am in. Hurray. In the closed somewhat intimate space of the tube, everyone seems to be in some unconscious synchronized choreography, darting the headlines on their I-phones, rhythmically moving their head to the I-pod, reading the free newspaper Metro, skimming through their Kindle. I take out my own, try to get lost in the pages of my e-book. I think I look nonchalant; I hope I have blended in. Soon it is time to step out. Step out I did; only to get enveloped in a streak of grey. Grey skies were at it again! The streets were getting wet with the slow pitter-patter of raindrops. But thank God, I had the accessory dearest to every Londoner—the quintessential umbrella. Snooty yet a savior.  I unwrap it, smoothen my skirt, tighten the jacket and march forward. I look London, I feel London. 

Walking down the Queen’s memorial walk near Green Park, crisp autumn air kisses my face. The park is full of men and women dressed in stylish leggings and the shortest shorts running despite the nip in the air. Welcome to another slice of London life.  I reach the famous Buckingham Palace after crossing the War memorial and find myself surrounded by ebullient tourists hopping around feverishly, snapping pictures, hoping to get a glimpse of the Queen or Kate Middleton. Suddenly, it all goes silent. It’s time to change the guards; I am told.  The air is filled with guards’ bands and military music; new set of guards come out to take over the duties from old ones. With their red jackets and huge bearskins; they are an eye-catching sight. All of us look around, laugh and smile at each other; the differences of race, colour, and language are kept aside.

Time to move on; I walk along the St. James’ Palace catching in the local sights. On the streets, I can hear a myriad of faces of different races lending the city a beautiful, vibrant charm. Perhaps, it’s this variety which makes London a global hotspot. I find myself near St. Paul’s Cathedral, an ornate structure built between 1675 and 1710, a centre for arts, spiritualism, learning and public debate. The cathedral which was in news in 2011 for the anti-capitalism protests is said to attract people of all faith. Its legacy cannot be contained in the narrow borders of religion and perhaps is another testimony of the city’s multicultural fabric . 

I still don’t know who is a true Londoner, but I am mesmerized by the variety the city offers, where each different culture comes together, integrate and become something greater.

As I step into the tube; I feel my cheeks flushed. 

I think I am in love and hope it’s an affair to remember.

Thought for the day

Travelers, there is no path, paths are made by walking. Spanish Poet, Antonio Machado

A walk to remember--Bakewell

Ever fancy about getting out of the hustle-bustle of London on a weekend, get acquainted with nature and connected with yourself? Then head towards Bakewell in Derbyshire, a quaint little town known for its tantalizing walks, cycling lanes and mouth watering pudding. Nestled on the River Wye it is a small market town in the Dale district of Derbyshire meant equally for adrenalin junkies like bikers and cyclists as well as poets, lovers, painters, bird-watchers, artists and of course the true vagabonds.

As the sun rose on a lazy Saturday morning we headed towards Sheffield on an early London-Sheffield cross country train. There are no direct buses or trains from London towards Bakewell so it is advisable to start early. Two hours later we reached Sheffield interchange and from here took a bus towards this popular weekend destination. It takes about an hour to reach Bakewell from Sheffield and the rapidly changing skyline is welcoming enough—undulating valleys, beautiful foliage, old houses turned into little delis, shops and pubs, eye-catching meadows and greenery in various hues teasing your eyes and senses. The bus stopped near River Wye and as soon as you step out, you get a feeling of walking into a picturesque postcard.

The town is steeped in history; legend has it that town was probably founded in the Anglo Saxon times. The Bakewell Parish Church, a popular attraction and Grade 1 listed building is said to be found in 920 with a cross which goes back to 9th century, a proof for its heritage status. The popular Bakewell market was established in 1254 while five-arched bridge over the River Wye was constructed in the 13th century. With so history around, it is hard not to fall in love with this town.

Bakewell is known as one of the best walking destination in Northern England and it’s an honor not wasted. Walk on the banks of river Wye dotted with russet autumn leaves and aquatic birds happily crackling away on its water or through its many delis and shops selling vintage goods. Don’t forget the melancholy church; the all saint’s parish church; sitting atop a hillside is a breath taking site. The church is a treasure trove of many little wonders; two crosses which goes back to the Anglo Saxon time, wooden shields, pre-Raphaelite windows, sanctuary and altar. The beauty of the church is such that even the biggest atheist will feel a little connected to the creator after venturing inside.

It’s but natural that your stomach starts growling after giving your limbs so much of exercise; and this is the place for all food lovers’ especially sweet connoisseurs. Bakewell is the birthplace of the famous Bakewell pudding. There are many little bakeries all claiming to be the origin of the Bakewell pudding; ditch the need to find out the truth because all of them are equally good bringing happiness to your taste buds. While you are here don’t forget to sneak inside the famous Rutland arms hotel where Jane Austen penned her legendary work Pride and Prejudice. Maybe the writer inside you can come alive.

Bakewell is meant for everyone, walk, cycle, or simply do nothing. It is an ideal place to get re-charged and connect with yourself.