Polish pretties

Another autumn, and another visit to Poland. This time exploring new parts of it, and being pleasantly surprised by the contents every time. Beneath the at-times crumbling Soviet union blocks and stern comebacks from strangers lies emotive responses to difficult transitions, a visit to any art gallery shows how artists are tackling issues of its dark and difficult past. Wandering through a forest park dedicated to Communist miners in hometown Katowice, having my fill of old family photographs again, and visiting a nearby turn of the century mining residence of Nikiszowiec was rich in history and meaning.

Visiting Wrocław was a colourful stroll past renovated buildings, beautiful town squares, fresh food markets (oh the forest mushrooms!), museums and riversides. One is reminded through street photographs that much of the city was destroyed during WWII, but its colour, charm, and scattered tiny gnome sculptures are a treat to explore. There too my mum and I came across the first vegan restaurant I was to see in Poland (the most delicious one at that and always busy), and shows the slow and steady changes that are arising. All for the better.

Glastonbury - England's Jerusalem

When I say I visited Glastonbury, most people asked why I didn't just visit during the festival, which is a shame as this wonderful little town has so much more to offer. We stayed just outside the main town at Bliss cottage run by Trish, where delicious vegetarian food was served in mismatched bowls, pancakes were topped with Somerset bee pollen and roasted walnuts, and walks were guided by a big and confident shaggy dog. A short walk away in between hedgerows and grazing fields we met Gog and Magog, two revered ancient oak trees steeped in Druidic significance, two ancient giants that gave into old age, or a fire, or a lighting bolt. Who knows, but seeing old beautiful trees is never lost on me and the hearsay added to their mystery.

We climbed up to the Tor, the highest point of Glastonbury, drum beats from Druids echoed across the countryside and called us upward. On a clear day you can see South Wales apparently. You can visit the Chalice Well (wells are said to be gateways to the spirit world), the red of the water is said to represent the rusty iron nails used at the Crucifixion, the water did taste quite iron-oxidey to spur imagination on. If you are lucky enough, you can stumble upon a medieval festival close the the Glastonbury Abbey, drink mead, meet soldiers ready for battle, and get serenaded to by a man with long silvery hair.

The town's ancient treasures are well hidden, without knowing you could drive past the town in a  few minutes without knowing that some of its sites are on "the holiest ground in England." In the husk of the Abbey is the supposed resting place of King Arthur, and where St. Joseph returned to England from the Holy Land as a Christian missionary, and he planted his staff – which burst into leaf and became the sacred Glastonbury thorn tree.

A place of magic and legend, pagan gods, soft souls and and holy thorn trees, secluded spots with streams, and hills haunted by the memories of ancient saints and heroes, an island of the blessed dead, and a gateway to the spirit realm.

Canals, cheese and cycles

And a kak load of that I got with the Christmas visit to Amsterdam and the surrounds recently. Such much of cheese. And canals. And bicycles. Every. Where. You. Look. My lovely friend Little Miss Gerbil was sweet enough to loan out her flat in the lovely Spaarndammer area of the dam, with yummy Moroccan bakeries and veggie/vegan restaurants in the area (one being Zaal 100). She left us 2 trusty bicycles to explore with (this is usual apparently for Hollanders to have more than one bike..!), and off we went. The dam pretty much looks as it was since my last visit many moons ago, with streetart, millions of bicycles, Rembrandt masterpieces still as breathtaking as ever, with a few new additions of romantic couples dancing to street buskers, pesto cheese, even more design studios, and a lovely light show across the city added to it over Christmas.

Cycling away from the city is super easy (once you manage to find your way out of Amsterdam that is). The Dutch are amazing that way, they have clearly marked out cycle routes linking their cities together, so really, you could explore the whole country on a bicycle. So off we went towards Marken, a little island to the north east of Amsterdam, as well as Monnickendam,Volendam and Edam (because I have an obsession with cheese and it felt fitting to go there). Like so many of Holland's lovely towns, Edam has authentic 17th century architecture, gables, squares, bridges and monuments, old streets and quiet canals, one can easily imagine what it was like centuries ago. Big on shipbuilding there too. I'd recommend stopping off at the local pubs and having a chat with locals. Dutch people are nice that way.We met a man warming up on gluwein, who just caught a fish for his supper.

A 15 minute train ride to the left of Amsterdam is Haarlem, tulip bulb-growing district for centuries bearing the nickname Bloemenstad (flower city) and owner of De Adriaan, one of the many windmills we were to see! Yes we even went to Zaanse Schans, the somewhat Disneyland of windmills. Some of them are still in working order too, the ultimate environmentally-friendly factory, some still saw wood and press oil. We met one of the workers of the mill at a little granny's place along the windmill stretch, selling gluwein for €1, the best bargain we had found to date. He mentioned that the moment the mills 'retire' they rot, so it's best to keep them working.

And to top it all off, we were invited to a Christmas lunch by a pair of little Miss Gerbil's friends, where I met the prettiest snow leopard named Lux. Yes, total strangers invited us over for Christmas. That's how awesome Dutch people are.

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.