Worth Remembering

             The World is a book and those who do not travel read only one page: Saint Augustine

The mystical Stonehenge

As a kid, I have often been mesmerized by this structure, staring at me from the  computer screen. So, it was only natural that I visit this mystical site which is just an hour from my home in Hampshire. This prehistoric monument, located between the countryside of Wiltshire and plains of Salisbury is one of the most iconic structures of present times. Believed to be the centre of Neolithic and Bronze Age monuments; it is certainly a destination for the curious wanderer and history lovers. From the rubbles of the plains, you will notice a circular structure where bluish rocks stand rather tall breaking the harmony of the green plains but lending it more charm. Welcome, to the enigmatic Stonehenge. 

 

As you go closer, the site draws some serious awe. True history aficionados would love this place. The first stones were erected way back between 3000BC to 2000BC. Completed and restored in many phases from then on; today the structure is listed among the World Heritage Sites. The rocks are said to be Bluestone and Sarsen. Folklore and legend abound this place. Some called it the one of the most ancient burial grounds; for some it was the place of worship while some termed it as healing rocks. The rocks were once called Giant’s Dance and were believed to be brought from Africa and Ireland for its healing properties. It is also believed to be a site where followers of Neopaganism practiced religious rituals in the twentieth century. Whatever be the belief, no one really can tell how the rocks appeared here in the first place. There are also rumours of UFO sightings here!

 

Just outside the main entrance to the Stonehenge is the Heel Stone or Friar’s heel; a rough, giant stone which leans towards the ground. An interesting folk take around this stone is that the devil brought many stones from a woman in Ireland. While he was a carrying around the place, he stated that no one will find how these rocks came. A Friar then audaciously challenged him and said only he thinks so. The devil in his fury threw one of the stones which struck the friar in his heel giving birth to the Heel stone.  

 

Despite these interesting stories, many feel the entire place to a bit of a dampener. Why? Because there is nothing else here but an explanation would be that it is a sensitive area, an area which is still researched time and again for Neolithic and Bronze Age cultures. Hence, it should stay away from “development” as much as possible. While some call the place rocks randomly scattered I cannot help but wonder if we ever made a similar structure in today’s modern age will it able to stand the test of time?

Food for thought

                                             Not all those who wander are lost. J.R.R Tolkien

Southsea, Portsmouth. Another trip to the sea side

The skies are bright again but the mind knows no relief. I am bleary eyed, ridden with insomnia and a doubtful mind; I look for a quick out from the mundaneness. Sometimes, escapism brings a great joy, calmness and clarity of mind. Introspection, I call it.  As I have said many times in this blog, ocean and beaches is my favourite spot when riddled with the various obscurities of life. The beauty of the ocean, its greatness, the sound of waves lashing against the rocks calms me, uplifts me, inspires me, awes me and definitely humbles me. 

With the rays of sun slowly teasing my senses and my heart fluttering at the prospect of yet another new discovery I step out hopeful and head towards Southsea beach in the water front city of Portsmouth.  The sea comes in many tantalizing forms as I discovered. Here there is no sand but the beach is made of many  different types of stones, scattered and littered. I gingerly walk on them collecting some which catch my attention. They are pink, jade, sea green and some with a bit of sea weed on them. Aaah…the joys of finding something new out! Life would be so much more interesting if each day was different than the last. 

 In the horizon, somewhere where the sky meets the sea line, I see piers. There are two piers, I am told. The south parade pier and the Clarence Pier; the sites are now amusement centers. But to me from this distance the sight looks like a picture perfect postcard evoking great wonderment. 

People come and go. Some are running, some are cycling, and many are flying kites. It lends an added charm to this already wonderful tapestry. As for me, I am once again lost in my bubble. I am at the safe place where the sea and its waves is my biggest comfort. Once again, the sea has succeeded in wrapping me around its safe arms. I feel uplifted, a tiny smile plays on my lips and the former frown lines are disappearing. The sea whispers to me to march on with head held high and that everything will be alright. 

 

The dark clouds which were hovering around me are long gone and I am at a beautiful, happy place. 

Just me, my thoughts and of course the ever calming sea.

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