Górki Wielkie

As I have some time on my hands in the New Year, I can post some more pics from my Poland trip from last year. I got to meet up with the mama, where she reunited with friends she had not seen in 30 years. They live in Górki Wielkie, in the province of Silesia, Poland, where I was born, and staying there in their home filled with trinkets from their Indian travels and beyond, I came across beautiful painterly portraits done by their one daughter, saw quiet photos of the pope, met a boy who loves to walk with his owner every morning through the woods to get fresh milk from the diary nearby, stumbled upon tucked away tree alters, picked blueberries fresh off an obliging hill,and ate wonderful home-cooked meals including first, second and third śniadanko (breakfast) every day, cycled through quiets forests and towns, visited a snow slope waiting for winter, and watched the seasons slowly change. As Thoreau always eloquently puts it, we can never have enough of nature.

The Great Dorset Steam Fair

Oh my satchel, England has some interesting festivals. This one in Dorset is dedicated to the glory of coal, steam, horse power and diesel. Wandering around you come across rows of beautifully maintained steam engines, some big, some small, the largest collection of musical organs, can-can girls, vintage cars, stalls to test your strength, merry-go-rounds, women on tractors, lots of cider and lots of steam. Steam that takes me back to some distant collective memory I can't quite recall, a living part of history, right there and working hard and honestly in front of me. People come in their hundreds of thousands to this festival, in their comfie camper vans with their family pets, Mr Handsome and I met some folks that knew how combine harvesters work and what time the sun sets, who make things with their hands still, and smile when they greet you, we drank cider with them made onsite, pressed by a harnessed donkey close by. I can't recall the name of the cider, and forgot to take a picture of the donkey, but I can recall that who we met along the way were salt of the earth, who bring their own metallic cups to festivals, drink without their shirts on, don't care that pink hot pants don't go with hiking boots, and understand and treasure the beauty and simplicity of way back when.

Ode to South London

Upon arriving in London over 8 months ago, Mr Handsome and I were lucky enough to stay with a friend in Crystal Palace (which I will go into in another post about the significance of the area). There is a not-so-gentle rivalry between North and South Londoners (similar to Capetonians and Joburgers I guess), but from the offset I really enjoyed staying south of the Thames purely from the greenery aspect and I came across some wonderful gems during my time there. A lovely quiet cafe to work from in Forest Hill; an overgrown Victorian cemetery in Nunhead, with saddeningly beautiful gravestone tributes to those who have "fallen asleep"; the Horniman Museum with a free natural history gallery, a shimmering white hothouse and eco cafe; a bowling club revamped into a restaurant with oh-so romantic lighting in Balham; some artisan tea at the Great Exhibit stall in East Dulwich; and the most delicious of all, Brockley Market. Something about Victorian typography, candle light and fresh food that makes me excitable. That and spying super cute doggie twins.

Wha, a month went where?

Oh my waterproof hat. I have been a dismal blogger. London has sucked me into its quick-commuter pace and shitty weather, and I have no idea where a month of my life has gone. So instead of focusing on the grey and glum, here's a quick recap of some happy moments scattered across this last month: a new pencil set with a companion cat on my lap; the Queen's Diamond Jubilee (more pics to come) and seeing the Lord Mayor's 255 year old carriage that cost £860 to make; finding a museum just for clocks and inspiring street art; seeing not one but two shows with my fellow London Instagrammers (one that made me want to go to Cuba immediately and the other a Secret Cinema production of Prometheus ~ with 2 vehicles from the movie!), eating lunch outside Guildhall in Central on a sunny day; wandering around Buckingham Palace to find some summer flowers and a crown; and learning that William Hogarth was a pug lover. Fun, fun, fun.

"A year of snow, a year of plenty"

Dalmation spotting in the snow, a park full of dinosaurs, rows of sleeping trees, ice-skating coots, morning dog outings, hazy streets, blankets of light in black and white, suspended snow in the sky. What magic I have seen in such a short space of time here in London.

Some ceramics

Been tinkering with a new medium recently, handpainted and sandblasted ceramics. The latter my man helped me with. You can see my parents' grandchildren were the main inspiration.

Sunsets and satsangs

Rishikesh is tucked into a quiet crevice of my heart. Living in an ashram on the banks of the Ganges did more good for me than I initially realised, it offered a quiet refuge from the busy vikram-packed streets that is typical of India. I was told of a beggar who also lived on her banks, who could barely feed himself, but always somehow found food to feed a troop of stray dogs living with him. His shack is nexto a tree-shaded chai stall by Ramjhula (best ginger lemon tea ever), and there I gave him bags of dog food and money that he put to his forehead in appreciation. Hearing of individuals like that gives me hope in the goodess of human beings. Other moments of beauty and stillness cropped up here and there and I documented where I could. Holy Ganga worship, sunset contemplations, handpainted adverts, bathing pilgrims, lessons from a Swami, morning mantras and offerings, ashram living, incense alleys, bindi blessings, pans of spices, ayurvedic massages, Shiva's grace, yoga postures, strong currents for one's sins, Himalayan bliss.

Mcleod Ganj

More of India, since it fills my head everyday. Mcleod Ganj, His Holiness the Dalai Lama's place of residence. Prayer flags on every tree, mouth-watering momos (ie dumplings), delicate butter sculptures (to highlight our impermanence), lessons in selflessness, smiling monks (both adult and mini ones), Himalayan views, friendly dogs, eternal flames of hope, singing meditation bowls, monk-run hotels, exiled souls, quiet forests, inspiring volunteers. So much to learn from this tiny town with so many displaced Tibetans.

I learnt that their Panchen Lama (the second most important Lama in the after HH) was abducted by the Chinese when he was 6 years old, he hasn't been seen since 14 May 1995. Oh, and the Chinese installed their own approved Lama in his place. How China's 'liberation' over 60 years ago has led to the exploitation of Tibet's natural resources (an estimated 14 billion tons of oil, 1500 billion cubic m of natural gas, and one of the world's largest deposits of uranium and chromite), massive deforestation of the 'roof of the world', the killing of over 1 million Tibetans, the destruction of over 6000 monasteries, religious freedom is not allowed and portraits of the Dalai Lama are banned, their native language is being phased out of schools, women are forcibly sterilised, the entire country is militarized with 1 soldier per 20 Tibetans, as opposed to 1 per 2000 Chinese, movement of Tibetans is strictly controlled thus dissolving their nomadic way of life as they are forced to stay in concentration-type housing, how so many brave the harsh month-long trek across the Himalayas to India, while they leave their home that is used as a toxic dumping ground. Something to consider when we read about the latest monk who has self-immolated himself out of pure desperation, or when we blindly purchase 'Made in China' items, which could be made by politically detained monks (some adhesives are toxic to humans, so Tibetans are used for this). This one learns from coming here, LHA is a wonderful volunteer initiative where one can help, even if its coming in for an hour and speaking with the monks to improve their english. And hear all their stories firsthand. So much good is being done and so many good people congregate here, like that tattooed teddy bear who runs an eco-educational art initiative for children, but so much more needs to be done. Even if it involves a small action of checking the label to see where it was made, and reconsider. Besides, local is always more lekker.

The Versailles of horses

Normandy, not just about cheese and cider I have found out. It also houses France's oldest royal stud farm, a 17th Century one created by Louis XIV, designed by Robert de Cotte (who designed Versailles' chateau). A region that hosts 1700 equestrian events a year (just one province!), birthplace of the Percheron and Norman cob, the bulky  work cart horse, a dying breed unfortunately with the industrialised preference for farm trucks. Each eating 10kg of hay a day, weighing on average 1 ton. The Trotteur Français  peeking out his stall has semen worth over 2000€, and can impregnate up to 100 mares a month. Playa playa play play.

La Maison du Vert

Time has flown at the vegetarian hotel I have been staying at, tucked away in the gentle folds of Normandy's hills. Home-grown produce, wonderful food, berry picking, vocal roosters, a chiming church, and a cute cat that looks like he harbours peanuts in his cheeks, and of course the wonderful hosts Debbie and Daniel, have been just a few of the highlights I have experienced in this lovely home. What a treat it has been, I know I will miss Debbie's potent punch, and all the lovely monkeys that helped me enjoy it :-)