Moving Images

I keep getting the image of the moving fields in my head. Those fields that kept passing by when I used to be in a train escaping to some new cathedral town close to London.

I also keep dreaming of walking in the woods of Hampstead Heath and every time I hear, 'Woods' by Bon Iver, I imagine the tall towering trees singing to me. I fantasize sitting on those fields, watching the church spires, hearing the couple in the distant, giggle as they sip their wine. I keep dreaming of walking towards the pond where the duck swim.

But the only dreadful thing about the dream is dreaming all this alone. Who knows a day will come when I will crave for this loneliness again. But as of now, I wish I had someone to share all this with. Blogs to the rescue!

I still recall the silence of the lanes while I wait for my bus to come. The emptying streets of Oxford Circus on a Monday evening at 9:00 pm.

I still miss the smiling faces at Shoreditch High Street.

How strange it was then, when my mind was always dazed and dreaming. Now it seems like I never went there. And I hate how that feels. I can't let the memory die. Then the only thing that will remain in my head are those images, that have lost their names.

Re-live

I just can't stop going there. I love to be a child, jumping through the long grass and running every now and then downhill, aiming for I-don't-know-what. But I must say it was by far the best moment I had in a long time. Well, after Tintagel of course! Somehow Hampstead is gorgeous when the sky is grey. It was a thunderstorm but the breeze was bewitching (apologies for the try-hard poetic lines, but it's true!) with the drops of rain. As I ran through that grass I felt the breeze in tune with the rythm of my i-Pod as I took every step.

I spent more time at the pond today, mostly because there was absolutely no one save a couple trying hard to get lucky at fishing. I sat on my favourite spot, the bark of the tree lying on the bank. Thanks to the isolation, everything seemed bigger and bolder, the meadows opposite and even the church spire; and most obviously it all seemed so dramatic. I kept staring at the wrinkles on the water for a long time and the patterns that the ducks made on it everytime they swam. Speaking of ducks, I was so dissappointed when I spotted 2 ducks stuck in a net in a corner of the pond, they were trying so hard to get out! Even their folks came from their side of the pond trying to get them out but they couldnt! I didnt know what I could have done and I wondered how they even got there in the first place. I tried to bend a little of the metal net with my foot but I was scared to fall inside the pond that seemed so deep. There was no difference between me and those fellow ducks. I stood there helplessly for a bit and walked off, trying not to think about it.

So the leafless tree ruling the hilltop on the other side took my attention instead. I took a picture of it and compared it with the same I had taken a few weeks ago when it was a strong silhouette against the sun. This time it was wet and it's colours seemed more pure. I walked towards Parliament Hill and this time I took a different pathway that lead to a circle of trees, I stood beneath them and wondered if lightening struck me at this time with the trees above and around me, I wouldn't have minded it.

Ever wondered why you might get so sentimental when you see something so beautiful? Felt it, rather? Ironically the purple flowers looked bright and the wind blew the daisies over the grass. I kept looking behind, as usual, to the path behind me that I just walked, and the London skyline on the other side of me. If I could die here, what a fantastic life I would have lead! This is me. I'd live to be here all my dying days. I took a deep breath and walked towards the exit.

Getting lost

Sometimes I want to get away only to enjoy that train journey. Also, I love my habit of deciding to visit a new place, the very last minute. If only I had a dart board and a map, I would rack my brains less. But, never mind, so far racking my brains has been worth it.

The train to Winchester, only an hour long but still enjoyable. I love how those fields keeping passing me by from the window and everytime I look out I am awaiting a new sight in front of me. Ever fancied running on those fields? Probably having your bicycle parked somewhere below a tree, while you take the deep breath of fulfilling a fantasy when you run those fields through the grass and chasing the air?

I finally reached the cathedral city, and without a map, this time I only depended on signs. Thank God for those signs which saved me today or else I would be facing another "Cornish-like adventure". Today was a Sunday, still the town was surprising lazy. I walked through the small street from the station, heading towards the city centre, where apparently I would get a map to reach the cathedral.

I reached a cobble stoned market place with small shops and pubs. I used to adore those wall lamps hung on the wall on such streets. But this time I was fascinated to see huge clocks hung like wall hangings with curved carvings on their circumference. Through those streets I followed signs that directed the location of the cathedral. I reached a small gateway which seemed to open through a garden. To my surprise it lead to the cathedral. It had trees at the entrance that blocked the view of the building and how dramatically they opened up as I went nearer. Winchester Cathedral, not having a enourmous spire like the other ones I had visited, but quite a large building. It was supposed to be one the largest in the country and the fact that it is one of the oldest ones, got me curious about this town; a reason for my visit.

Winchester is a medieval town and was apparently the country's 1st capital, when the Romans came in. Thus there had to be a castle. Wolveys Castle was right behind the cathedral. On one side of the cathedral was the city centre while the other side of the cathedral were meadows and hills and moor lands. The castle was right behind the cathedral. The castle, though ruined, still looked gorgeous in the middle of meadows, surrounded by hills, and when the rain clouds run over you with a bit of the sun, it adds to the drama. This time I felt like a child, walking through a ruined castle, making my plot for fairy tales and imagining what this place could have been like over a thousand years ago. I walked over the stones peeping through windows that overlooked meadows and kept jumping from one step to another. I looked forward to this, I knew that.

What surprised me was the walk through the meadows from the other side of the castle. It was a 'waterside' walk like they said as the meadows were cut through by two little streams. I loved it how the green weed-like grass would swim underneath these extremly shallow streams where you find one or two birds swimming along with them. The path on which we were meant to walk was quite slim and only two people could walk alongside each other. On one side of me was a thick stream flowing through meadows of knee-high grass and a bridge or two breaking the continuity of the sight. On the other side was another meadow but covered witha thick line of trees. The hero of the day was the fantastic weather that made every grass look either silver or golden according to its moods.

I headed back to the cathedral to buy my postcards and I took a last look at it before I walked towards through the city centre towards the station. This was somewhat like Canterbury; a small cathedral town with a market place, a stream, Georgian houses and a charm of its own.

There is something in visiting such places unlike the typical tourist-y kind of places all crowds get attracted to. I love the idea of having the place to myself and yet having a few people around me. It is the greed to making discovery not everyone has made. This is an indulgence that can make me alive all over again. I have realised one thing; getting lost is the only way I can find myself.

diamond in a mine

I wanted to be here all my life and I thought I knew this place as well as though I lived here in my previous birth. I thought I knew it well, until I reached Hampstead Heath. Of course I felt like I'm not in London.

To start with, Hampstead held the grave of my favourite John Constable in a cosy little graveyard. I entered the graveyard in the evening hearing the church bells, my eyes wandering for the grave. Finally they reached the corner of the yard covered with carpets of dead leaves (how typical, yes!) and as I walked towards his grave the feeling of peace was so deep that it fulfilled some longing in me. I loved him; that's why.

As I walked out of the grave and towards the heath I climbed a hill leading me to it. It is such a small town suddenly from all the posh Westminster air. So simple and so me. The best part of getting to this large piece of moor land, was that its entrance was a tiny path with rocky steps covered with trees. It lead to a huge meadow, a little hilly, grass well mowed and trees surrounded it from all sides, making it look like a small planet ruled by the lumps of clouds above living in the sky.

On the right end of the meadow was a pathway that lead to a court of trees. Some were in circles while some stood anywhere; a typical forest. I got back to the meadow and walked towards the right side. There was a cycle track that lead downhill to another place. This path was too, surrounded by trees and while you would walk you find that through them there were other meadows. I reached a marshy pond surrounded by moss. I walked on the bridge than ran over it. It was a little broken and a little rusty, nevertheless it only added to the character of the creepy pond where branches fell on it and leaves floated.

I followed my path that lead to two lines of trees running parallel to each other, but perpendicular to my path, running on either side of me. Beyond this line of trees my path continued with another meadow on my left. As I continued walking the forest started feeling thicker, there were creepers and twigs forming weird gateways and leaves making mysterious carpets. The path turned again and again. I felt like I was getting lost and I turned back but instead I took one of the branching pathways where cycles were not allowed.

I walked through leaves and climbed on mudded stones. Then again I reached another meadow. This one was even bigger. I was on the top of it this time so my horizon has the meadow and the trees, distant but on the side of it. I continued discovering it. There were fields of dry grass knee high some were topped with small yellow daisies. There were small cycle tracks cutting the meadow from each sides. I reached the centre of this meadow. A dry, broken tree behind me looking at me like a silhouette backed by the sun. I front of my was a small valley, where the meadow just went downhill to more and more grass. At the bottom was a huge pond where a few children sailed their toy motor boats. On the other side of the pond was another hill valleyed by families of trees. Finally my horizon was taken over by another green meadowed hill which was ruled by a church spire.

I sat on the grass below that and looked up at the sun. I closed my eyes to let that one tear fall down. I put off the music from my i-Pod only to hear the breeze teasing the grass and pampering my ears. I spoke to my mum, told her I missed her. I went back into my time and I started walking the cycle track leading to the pond. Ducks swam through those water wrinkles, always hard to capture in sketches. A gravel track outlined the pond and a huge tree trunk fell dead on it. I took my throne when I climbed on it and sat down to see the world slightly below me. As usual, I tilted my head to the lowest it could get so that I could get to see the world upside down. I pulled it back up as I felt the sun setting on my back and giving it's reflection to the clouds in front and above me.

I jumped down and started walking uphill through the same meadow. I reached the top and kept looking back, seeing what I left behind me. I started walking further and found and empty bench waiting for me. As I sat down the sound of the rustling grass got louder and somewhere near me I think I heard a running stream. I headed towards the other side of the meadow where there were trees.

Another pathway lead me through those trees and then again I reached a circle of trees as though in a midieval court. They surrounded me trying to take me over. I walked passed a tree and then again I reached another hill. This one was steeper. One one side were bushes with violet flowers and of course white daisies. This hill seemed steep enough to make me feel like I am walking towards the sky. The grass below me accompanied me in my venture and the sky welcomed me with the warm sun setting for the day. I continued walking upwards till I reached the top and I realised I am standing on Parliament Hill where I saw the skyline of London in a distant with its iconic buildings, but all ruled by the dome of St Paul's.

I looked back at the setting sun and saw the silhouette of another spire piercing through the sky. I saw the whole world at its contrast where on one side of me was my home and on the other side of me were mysterious pathways leading from forests to meadows; drying in grass; meadows outlined by other meadows ruled by church spires, all living through the shining sun and sleeping through the smoky dusk. Such is Hampstead Heath.

breakaway

Nothing was better than cycling through the middle of a forest where you are the only soul and you probably rule that world. Since the time I heard about New Forest, I was so keen on going. I kept postponing my trip but finally one Friday morning I took off for Brockenhurst, to get off for a cycling trip to New Forest.

The station was quant for sure for a small village. I hired a cycle right outside the station. After the owner instructed me on how to use a cycle and maintain the speed, I took off crossing the rail tracks and into the village. I kept following signs leading to the forest and at the same time I follwed the instructions written on the route guide the instructor gave me.

I passed through the village, reached a small highway, nervous for cycling after ages and that too on the main road with the cars speeding next to me. Finally I followed a small gravel track towards my right from the road. Surrounded by trees this track finally lead to huge moor lands and meadow with one or two small farmhouses ruling them. The main highlight was the galloping horses on one side through fields. The wind could'nt be better. I felt like I was flying. Huge empty acres of land with fields, small tracks, galloping horses, the cloudy skies the warm sun, the end of the spring, and me being the only soul to enjoy this.

I entered another forest of tall tress which reminded me of the Nilgiris, though not blue and with no fragrance. There were streams running below small bridges. It was so quite; just the sound of the wind, the rustling leaves and my breath. My i-pod; my soulmate gave me the best music to enjoy. I couldnt have done this without it.

While on my way back I took refuge for a while on the bank of the pebbled stream, just to listen to the sound of life near me and the vastness of the sky above. I wish I had carried my sketching book.

This was New Forest for me. I got a chance to fly through reality. It felt perfect this time and it was real

narrow escape (2)

Now the sun was setting slowly on the west side. The sky was still yellow but in a sleepy mood. All the tourists had gone; the places shut; I was the only soul in that small street surrounded by small houses or villas, with a small shop closed for good, the green hills in the distant, near the horizon, looking darker than before, and finally a car would speed once in 2 mintues. They were mainly travel vans named "Plymouth" or "Bodmin" or "Newquay". I was very close to hitchhiking as I had still a long long way to go. I was scared; for the the first time. I could still get stranded somewhere or the other as even I knew that I still have the hope to get the last bus to Wadebridge, I did'nt know when was the last bus from Wadebridge to Bodmin. Finally at 10 past 5 a middle aged lady walked towards me to catch the last bus. I asked her the timing when she told me it's due in the next 5 mins. Phew!

She started chatting up with me, telling me she is from Sussex and she and her husband have moved to a nearby village and she was at Tintagel looking for a job. I wondered about her life. Taking a bus from one village to another in the middle of the country side, buses that took years to come, and going back home to an almost uncivilised place and doing possibly nothing but counting time. I missed London! I really did. Finally the bus arrived and took me to Wadebridge, which I reached in another hour. Whilst we were approaching the Wadebridge bus station, on the oppopsite side I saw bus #555. DAMN!! My bad luck! So I got off the Wadebridge bus station and again finding myself all alone in this village, looked up at the time table to read that my next bus was after another hour! Now I started wondering about the train timings from Bodmin to London. Nah! Im sure they are running at every hour regularly. So I sighed and sat back on the empty bus stop, removed Castle Dor and started reading again, whilst my ears heard the rustling of the leaves with the head, a distant voice and sleeping houses.

Finally my bus arrived and took me to Bodmin Parkway. We reached Bodmin, a town less rural than the others I saw that day. Yes, finally some civilisation existed. I realised that the train station was actually a good 15 minutes away from the main townside. Anyway, I got off to that same platform in the middle of the forest and went inside the ticket counter. Guess what, I just missed the regular train to Paddington 20 minutes ago! And guess what, the next train was at 11:30 pm! So I had to wait at that station (mind you, in the middle of nowwhere) for another 3 hours! I waited for half an hour calling up my roomates back in London to get numbers for National Rail, UK to find out about other ways to get to London. My mum called me, of course she was mad at me, but she told me to spend the night back down south at Truro and leave for the next morning. No! I missed London. I wanted to head back; to people; to life! Then the ticket master cam out of his shed and told me not to wait in that station. "I am going to leave this station at 9:00 pm. There won't be anyone else here. I suggest you do not stay here. Cos I remember being here on Sundays till 11:00 pm at believe me its quite eerie up here. Why don't you take the next train to Plymouth which is in the next 15 minutes and wait there for the same train. At least there are people on the platforms. And you can find a bed in the train and spend the night there.!"

I could have done that, I was that scared, until I spoke to my mum again and she tempted me to stay back at Truro sleep well and spend the day in the train the next day and enjoying my ride back home with the gorgeous view. Fine! I did that. I called up immediately at Rowan Tree House, apologised for the last minute call and asked the landlady if I could spen another night here. "Of course, you're always welcomed here. I dont have any lodger for that room tonight. You can come as you like". Hmph alright so then again I took the next train to Truro in the next 10 minutes and headed back down south of Cornwall instead of going up north to London.

The sun was setting in the west with the pastures crowned by the shining clouds. All's
dusky and beautiful when the sun sets on my eyes. I passed St Austell again and then Par and finally Truro. I walked out of the station, such a deja vous! I walked towards the supermarket near the cathedral to get some food and water and walked out again on that same, empty cobble stonned square. I walked uphill to reach Rowan Tree House, where Ms Christine, the land lady welcomed me again and replied in narration to my whole story.

I went up to the same cosy room, settled myself on bed with Castle Dor and slept the catherdral shining on me.

The next morning I headed back to Bodmin, which looked so different as it had looked the previous evening. It was happy and beautiful and warm and welcomed more people. I sat down on the train, got the best window seat, saw little streams running parallel to my train covered with bridges once in a few meters, with people's boats floating on them and the sun shining on the yellow pastures. My eyes were open till I reached the Tamar Bridge. As I passed the bridge I looked back where on the opposite side on the metal bars was written, 'Welcome to Cornwall'. I smiled, turned back to the front and fell asleep till I reached Paddington.

narrow escape (1)

I had the soundest sleep in a long time and nothing could be better than waking up early in the morning in a cosy bed, in a tiny room with the smell of the bread in the toaster. After taking a shower I packed my rucksack and walked downstairs while the land lady was making my breakfast. She was so welcoming and sweet that I was lucky to live in her house for the night. She was quite surprised to hear that I had planned to spend the day at Tintagel Castle all by myself as even getting there was said to be quite complicated-given that Tintagel Castle is on the coast away from the tiny village of Tintagel and there is no station there, nor is there any bus going there directly. (I was supposed to get off at Bodmin Parkway station and change to bus #555 to get off at Wadebrigde, then change to bus #594 to finally get off at Tintagel village).

She said. "You know what you're doing, so never mind, I wont worry". So I took off from the Rowan Tree House and headed towards the Truro Cathedral, as I was late to visit it the day before. Since I was the first one to enter the cathdral, this building looked massive from inside and I almost felt that even my breath may have echoed. (so you can imagine the tapping of my feet while I walked inside). As usual, just another cathedral; paintings from the bible, stained glasses, the gothic wooden seating arrangement (don't know what's it called, sure there is a word for it) for the priests. Postcards were filling up my bag as I walked out from the street to take a last look at the cathedral from the canal next to the antique shops. Finally I walked uphill towards the station to catch the 10:00 am train.

I was on time. I reached Bodmin Parkway in the next 45 minutes and I was lucky to find my bus at 11:15. I bought the ticket inside the bus and headed towards Wadebridge. Little did I know that this bus journey would be even more fascinating than the train ride I had while coming to Cornwall; a small highway swaying through green hills and mountains, and this bus taking me from one village to another. We were the only ones on the highway except for the few cars passing by once in every 2 minutes. (Green pastures, yellow daisies, grazing cattle, clear horizon and yes! a yellow sky). Suddenly out of the blue, trees would outline the highway and gradually you will find a farm or two and then a house, indicating the approach of a village. One tiny bus stop in every village. Finally I reached Wadebridge. A village with more than just houses. It had at least one of the traditional English pub with many bakeries and card shops and one or two department stores. No buildings and no houses more than 20 feet tall. Everything was small. I had to change here to take bus #595 to Tintagel. Realising that I had another hour to wait for the next bus because I had just missed the last one, I thought I'd walk up and down the street and grab something to eat. In 5 minutes I felt depressed, only because I barely saw a young face anywhere around me. If you'd go to Wadebridge you will barely see a youth walk by once in 20 minutes or so. The average age of people around me must have been at least 50. Everyone around was wrinkled, walked slowly like no tomorrow, or were dressed like the 50s. I wad depressed. I couldnt wait any longer for the bus which finally arrived in the next 45 minutes.

There again started another hour-long journey through small highways and green pastures and every stop at every village. I reached Tintagel at 2:15 pm. I knew I had to leave in the next 2 hours. So finally he dropped me off at a small slopy street. I looked at the route that I had written down on a piece of paper before leaving London and followed the directions. There were definaltely more tourists around me but more tours in coaches or cars. I followed signs on the corner of streets surrounded by tourist souvenir shops, antique shops, cafes and one or two pubs. I started walking downhill where the direction was wriiten on a board, "Tintagel Castle". It was like a pathway surrounded by trees, you might for mintue think you're entering a park. This pathway was quite steep and I knew I would have a good time climbing uphill while coming back. Slowly the trees reduced in number while the path turned towards my right. The trees opned up with the yellow sky bursting on my head and in front of me was a valley going downhill with 2 cliffs on either side of me. These two cliffs formed a 'V' shape in front me behind which was the bright blue Atlantic Ocean. What a welcome!

The entrance to the castle was from the left cliff through the thin pathway twining into the other side. I started walking towards it, clicking my camera all the way, to reach the edge of the hill. The castle was on another hill and there was a loose bridge connecting the two hills for us to pass by. I can't tell how many feet high was I but looking down took me to another world. There is something about the Atlantic Ocean, unlike the other seas England is surrounded by; so blue and pure and stark. It felt like a painting. Blue underneath, green around me with a hint of white and yellow for the daisies, and bright sky blue above, until I saw the rocky ruins of the Tintagel Castle in front. There were small rocky archs leading to halls which may have been a meeting point or a court in the Medieval Era. There were stories of King Arthur in every corner of the rocky ruins. From every arched window of the castle you would see the sea.

The courtyard was full of grass and daisies and I took my moment every now and then to sit back and look what's around me. Chirpy tourists and the strong sea, the wind blowing once in a while and the sun warming me. I continued walking through all the pathways. This Castle was built not just on one hill but on 3. So you would have climb up and down to explore the whole castle. I walked towards the other side of the side where there was another courtyard. Before crossing one hill I reached at the edge of the cliff and peeped forward to feel what's beyond me. I turned back to the other side to reach another courtyard and I kept on clicking photographs through the tiny rocky windows of the view it overlooked. I started walking back and downhill and I looked at my watch that said 3:45 pm. I started walking back towards the village through the valley between 2 cliffs, kept looking back; my usual habit of doing that everytime I have seen a breath-taking place or even when I have walked too much. I hated to leave. I could have been there another hour. I wanted to sit back again in the courtyard and sketch all afternoon. Only I was responsible enough to carry my pencils and my blank postcard sketchbook.

I started walking uphill, which I knew would be a challenge and headed back to the village. I reached the bus stop at 4:20 and waited for the bus. I thought I must make a quick call to the Western Greyhound Customer Service (the bus company) to find out about the next bus. I was told that I just missed the second last bus to Wadebridge and that if I dont take the last bus at 5:15 I would get stranded at Tintagel!