City of Angels II

We then walked along the outer edge of Chinatown, stopping off to admire all the gold and red ornamentation of a small Chinese temple.

A row of typical shop houses i.e. shops on the ground floor with living accommodation above

It was very, very hot as we walked, endeavouring to keep to the shade where possible. We visited one of the temples within the Wat Suthat) complex with wonderfully decorated wall murals inside and peaceful gardens. Note the beautiful street lamp (top right in the photo)

devout worshippers stick bits of gold leaf on to the Buddha statues

The decoration on this panel is done with a stencil. One single stencil is used for each panel. Once the extraordinarily-complex stencil has been cut it is attached to the edges of the black painted panel. Gold paint is then used to fill in the design. C told me she has seen this being done in northern Thailand.

Unfortunately we were not able to go into the main temple as it was closed due to it being a holiday.

At a small shrine with figures cast in concrete we caught sight of a cat sleeping peacefully on the altar.

We passed another somewhat dilapidated wat (sorry, couldn’t resist the pun) (Wat Thep Daram)

- and then slipped into the shade behind the walls of the Mahakan Fort, one of two surviving citadels that defended the old walled city.

Another world was revealed here of 55 simple wooden houses where naked toddlers played with their siblings along the edge of the klong (small canal). It was better not to look too closely as all rubbish is thrown into the klong whose surface rippled with the activity of the catfish. Caged birds sang. Cats dozed in the heat as did their owners.

On the other side of the road was the magnificent Wat Rachanada with its giant swing (like a Japanese Tori gate). No energy to visit it today, that will have wait for another time.

We emerged into the heat again, passing in front of a rent-a-Buddha shop, where wealthy patrons can rent a Buddha statue and then passed in front of a huge picture of the current Thai King. The Thais are very proud of their king and images of him and the Queen abound.

We then found our way to a confluence of two klongs where we could catch a klong taxi which would take us half way across in the city in half an hour. The locals use these to commute. They are very fast which is why there are plastic tarpaulins which are hauled up to protect travellers from the spray thrown up by passing water taxis. As you look between the gap between the top of the tarpaulin and the roof of the boat you catch sight of a Bangkok in the process of disappearing and one where few tourists venture, of dilapidated buildings huddled cheek by jowl with the new high-rise, package-tourist hotels. It has taken us several visits to Bangkok to discover this mode of transport and now we use it whenever possible.

The water taxis only pause for a few seconds at each stop so you have to be quick getting on or off. Because of this we missed our last stop and ended up having to get off at the next one and then walked back along the edge of the klong.

It was now midday and we were wiped out by heat, in spite of frequent stops for cold drinks and so we retired to the air-conditioned comfort of the hotel to recover.

We did not emerge again until after dark – 7 0’clock or thereabouts – and it was marginally cooler. By then the street food vendors had set up their stalls and were doing brisk business. Most Thai homes do not have a kitchen as westerners know it – they tend to buy ready-prepared food that they take home and eat with some rice or they eat out so these food vendors play a very important role. Some of them will ply their trade until the early hours of the morning. (Note the baby sleeping on the table of this stall under the Miss Kitty cushions) which was still in situ at 1am.

08.05 Another bakingly hot day so we took the air-conditioned sky train two stops further down the line to visit the famous Erawan shrine, one of the most frequented and venerated in modern Bangkok. It is situated on the corner outside the Erawan Hotel. Classical dancers perform here. As far as I could gather you can pay for a dance to accompany your prayers.

On the street outside were ranged a number of stalls selling garlands of flowers and miniature statues of people and elephants. A guardian regularly clears away spent incense sticks, garlands and the little statues otherwise the shrine would disappear under a mound of them.

A couple of hundred metres away there is another much-frequented shrine, honouring Ganesh – judging by the numbers of elephant figurines that had been left here by devout worshippers.

Another street vendor was taking advantage of the presence of worshippers to sell his wares.

Pavement cafés abound in the daytime and provide food for the local office workers, tourists and anyone else who fancies a snack – and very good the food was too!

This sign indicates at what times of the day the food vendors may set up their stalls (just next to our hotel).

Spirit houses in all shapes and forms and in all states of age varying between decrepit and brand-spanking new are visible wherever you go. Indeed each building should have its own spirit house. The larger the building the larger and more decorative the spirit house should be. This first one is outside the J.M. Marriott Hotel.

This one is in the car park opposite our hotel.

This rather stark and sophisticated one belongs to the hotel where we were staying.

That evening we caught a taxi to Bangkok’s new international airport and took this photo of the entrance doors with these images etched on them.

And so back to Europe.

City of Angels I

Bangkok’s real name, in Thai, is Krung Thep which, roughly translated means City of Angles. “Bangkok” translates as “village of wild plums”.

07.05 After spending a few days cooped up in the hotel in Bangkok, Thailand, following the death of Milly, it was decided that we should go out and go visiting while we were here.

We left the hotel at 9am and travelled first on the Sky Train

view from one of the sky train stations

(a sort of above-ground metro) to its terminus, Saphan Taksin, on the Chao Praya river. From there we took a river taxi up to Memorial Bridge.

The river is much frequented by all sorts of traffic, from the shuttle boats taking tourists between various luxury hotels and some of the tourist sites, to longtail boats transporting Thais up and down the river to minute boats towing massive 4-section barges.

We disembarked at Memorial bridge and headed for the largest fruit and vegetable market in Bangkok.

This is a labyrinth of narrow walkways between stalls where produce is transported by porters wheeling huge baskets.

The prink fruit are dragon fruit. They have white flesh inside dotted with tiny black seeds and are good to eat. The spiky brown fruit in front of the limes are tamarinds. As raw fruit they are quite disgusting but once cooked and pulped and incorporated into food they are fine. These are durian fruit and it is forbidden to carry them in aircraft or take them into hotel rooms because of their smell once cut open.

We saw fruit and vegetables we have never seen before as well as mobile food vendors who trundle their stalls along the lanes.

From there we walked towards the 24hour wholesale cut-flower market. Here we found stalls selling the night-smelling jasmine used for making garlands of the buds which are then sold at shrines throughout the city or on stalls along the street.

Bunches and bunches of roses were wrapped up in damp newspaper to preserve their freshness.

We saw bunches of tightly furled lotus buds wrapped in lotus leaves

and bunches of lotus flowers with their outer petals folded back resembling origami decorations.

On another stall mounds of orchid flowers were piled up.

There were florists both traditional

and non-traditional, the latter made their flowers out of polystyrene wrapping

or plastic

These decorations are made from dried, dyed flower heads and are used in the shrines.

We paused to inspect the contents of this food stall and another vendor, outside in the street, pointed at the lady behind and the stall and then at me, grinned and said “same, same”. Personally I couldn’t see what was so funny …..

Priscilla visits North Devon V

Thurs 24.04 Sadly this was our last full day, so C took me for a walk up to the gorge on the Glen Lyn estate. A steep path leads up to the top of the gorge through deciduous woodland. Delicate purple-veined white flowered wood sorrel grows in profusion as do harts tongue ferns, bracken, and the pale green spathes of the wild arum pushed up through the leaf mould. How do you tell the difference between bracken and ferns? Bracken has branches and ferns have fronds.

view from the gorge looking down towards Lynmouth and the sea

We then drove to the village of Brendon where we lunched at the Stag Hunters Inn. We then drove into Oare Valley to see Robbers Bridge.

This area is known locally as Doone country – made famous by the novel Lorna Doone by R. Blackmore. We did a circular walk here along the edge of the Oare stream. Although it was quite a windy day we were protected from the worst of the wind by the valley sides.

On our way back to the cottage C’s husband dropped us off at the top of Countisbury Hill and we walked down from the edge of the moor, through hanging woods whose silence was only disturbed by the squawks of a couple of pheasants, along a footpath which brought us out at the edge of the East Lyn river and back into Lynmouth.

We were so impressed with our lunch at the Stag Hunters Inn that we went back there for dinner that night!

Fri 25.04 we cleared our things out of the cottage and sadly waved goodbye. We stopped at Tarr Steps so that C could show me this fine example of a “clapper bridge” (a stone bridge made by supporting stones on top of each other). This one dates back to mediaeval times. It had been partially washed away in recent floods but had been repaired.

Thus ended our visit to North Devon.

Priscilla visits North Devon IV

Monday 21.4 Another day of awful weather so we decided to limit our expedition to another pub lunch, this time in a former railway station. C went for another dose of beach-combing before supper.

Tuesday 22.4 we awoke to glorious weather and decided to make an early start so that we could walk to Heddons Mouth and then have lunch at the Hunters Inn. This was the first time that I had had the chance to tuck into a typical English pub lunch – a ploughmans lunch. The name is derived from the sort of lunches that farmworkers enjoyed in days gone by – usually bread and cheese. C decided to sample a cheese she had not come across before but pronounced herself somewhat disappointed as the cheese lacked flavour and texture. After that we drove to the tiny village of Trentishoe to visit the local church which is famous for its choir screen with a hole in it to allow the bass viol to be played and for its pedal organ which came from the ship The Mauretania which was broken up in 1965. The church is small – only seating a congregation of some two dozen souls – with whitewashed walls and plain glass windows through which you can see the yellow gorse bushes on the other side of the valley or the primroses currently flowering amongst the grave stones. A place of peace indeed. Then we drove back to the cottage and C went off beachcombing again, returning later with over a hundred pieces of beach glass ranging in size from an inch or so across to barely an eighth of an inch across. The colours range from white through pale bluish green, three different shades of green, an occasional piece of blue, and a rare find – a piece of red glass. C says she wants to make a mosaic of a mermaid using the glass as well as necklace which she would make by twisting wire around the pieces of glass.

As she passed the tea rooms she caught sight of this cheeky jackdaw checking to see if the coast was clear before it helped itself from the milk jug on the tray which had been left out on the table.

Wed 23.04 C took me for a ride on the Victorian water-operated cliff railway up to the village of Lynton. Two carriages, one starting from the top and one from the bottom of the track make the trip regularly throughout the day and the views along the coastline are stunning. We walked back down a very steep path to Lynmouth.

Our day trip out took us first for lunch at the Black Venus Inn. On enquiring about the origin on the name we were told that there used to be 7 pubs called the Ring of Bells in the area. 5 of the pubs had decided to change their names and this was one of them. It took its name from the Black Venus hill on the over side of the valley. Black Venus was a breed of sheep. Lunch was excellent and we went for a woodland walk afterwards. There were masses of primroses everywhere and the bluebells are just starting to appear in more sheltered spots. There are many walks in this area of outstanding natural beauty and we did another short walk in Holcombe woods before returning to the cottage. When we got back to the cottage C went beachcombing again for more sea glass.

Priscilla visits North Devon III

Monday 21.4 Another day of awful weather so we decided to limit our expedition to another pub lunch, this time in a former railway station. C went for another dose of beach-combing before supper.

Tuesday 22.4 we awoke to glorious weather and decided to make an early start so that we could walk to Heddons Mouth and then have lunch at the Hunters Inn. The walk took us along a valley floor with wild gorse and stony scree on one side and old woodland on the other. There were masses of primroses everywhere. The stream exits on to a stony beach and on the headland is the remains of an old lime kiln.

This was the first time that I had had the chance to tuck into a typical English pub lunch – a ploughmans lunch. The name is derived from the sort of lunches that farmworkers enjoyed in days gone by – usually bread and cheese.

C decided to sample a cheese she had not come across before but pronounced herself somewhat disappointed as the cheese lacked flavour and texture.

After lunch we drove up to the top of the cliffs and walked a short distance on the coastal path, which follows the coast line for a considerable distance. These are some of the highest cliffs in England and we met several weary walkers.

From there we drove to the tiny village of Trentishoe to visit the local church which is famous for its choir screen with a hole in it to allow the bass viol to be played and for its pedal organ which came from the ship, The Mauretania, which was broken up in 1965. The church is small – only seating a congregation of some two dozen souls – with whitewashed walls and plain glass windows through which you can see the yellow gorse bushes on the other side of the valley or the primroses currently flowering amongst the grave stones. A place of peace indeed.

Then we drove back to the cottage and C went off beachcombing again, returning later with over a hundred pieces of beach glass ranging in size from an inch or so across to barely an eighth of an inch across. The colours range from white through pale bluish green, three different shades of green, an occasional piece of blue, and a rare find – a piece of red glass. C says she wants to make a mosaic of a mermaid using the glass as well as necklace which she would make by twisting wire around the pieces of glass.

Wed 23.04 C took me for a ride on the Victorian water-operated cliff railway up to the village of Lynton. Two carriages, one starting from the top and one from the bottom of the track make the trip regularly throughout the day and the views along the coastline are stunning. We walked back down a very steep path to Lynmouth.

Our day trip out took us first for lunch at the Black Venus Inn. On enquiring about the origin on the name we were told that there used to be 7 pubs called the Ring of Bells in the area. 5 of the pubs had decided to change their names and this was one of them. It took its name from the Black Venus hill on the other side of the valley. Black Venus was a breed of sheep.

Lunch was excellent and we went for a woodland walk afterwards. There were masses of primroses everywhere and the bluebells are just starting to appear in more sheltered spots. The young needles on the larch trees were just starting to sprout in their brilliant pale green. There are many walks in this area of outstanding natural beauty and we did another short walk in Holcombe woods before returning to the cottage.

In a garden we spotted this stone gazebo. This looks just the sort of place that would make a perfect writer’s retreat!

When we got back to the cottage C went beachcombing again for more sea glass.

Priscilla visits North Devon II

19.04 The weather was so awful that we only emerged from the cottage to run to the car and drive up to the top of the hill to the nearest pub, where we tucked into a welcome lunch and watched intrepid walkers arrive, take off their wet clothes which they left to dry in front of the log fire, and silently say a prayer of thanks that it wasn’t us walking in this atrocious weather. Visibility was pretty limited and we could hardly see down into the bay below us. We decided that discretion was the better part of valour and returned to the warmth and comfort of the cottage in the company of a good book.

Sunday 20.4 at least it wasn’t raining by the time we left the cottage and drove a short way up the valley to where we were planning on walking. Suitably fortified by a pub lunch we set off to walk from the Rockford Inn at Rockford to Watersmeet, a mile or so down the valley.

The trees are still very bare here and we could see much more of the river’s course than in previous years. The path led uphill for much of the way through ancient woodland followed by a steep descent to Watersmeet where the East and West Lyn rivers meet.

C nobly volunteered to walk back to the car alone and to drive it back to Watersmeet allowing everyone else a welcome rest in the tea rooms where another walker who was having tea at Watersmeet remarked that visibility was non-existent up on top of the moors although it was quite clear down in the valley and on the beach.

It was a steep uphill walk – warm work when the sun decided to come out – but 40 minutes later she was waiting at the top of the river path for the rest of us. She even managed to go and spend an hour or so down on the stony beach in search of sea glass (pieces of glass that have been tumbled by the waves) before returning home for a well-earned dinner.

Priscilla visits North Devon I

17.04 we set off for the UK yet again, this time for a week in Lynmouth (http://www.britainexpress.com/villages/lynton.htm) in North Devon with C’s parents. We had glorious weather for our drive over but I have to say that the cross-channel trip left a lot to be desired. I think I would have done better flying although I might well have got blown off course and that sea really did not look very inviting. We drove along the south coast of England, and a very green and pleasant land it is at the moment with masses of cowslips and bluebells in flower.

Our home for the next week is a small cottage, called Many Waters, on the Glen Lyn estate.

A notice at the entrance warns motorists that the cats are deaf. They might have been deaf but there was absolutely nothing wrong with their noses for they arrived every morning just as bacon and eggs were served!

C’s family have been staying here, usually the last week in April, for the last 40 years and it has become a home from home. The living room is wood-panelled with a number of antique ceramic plates balanced precariously on the ledge at the top of the panelling. It looks out into the manor building, garden (with statue) and birds land on the window ledge to feed (and be admired!).

Woodland walks on the hillside above the cottage lead up through the gorge to a waterfall at the top. Depending on the amount of recent rainfall this waterfall can be quite spectacular. The water now powers a hydro-electric pump which provides enough power for the estate. Excess water is used to fuel the water cannon which provides much enjoyment to youngsters visiting the estate.

Indeed, Lynmouth suffered heavily in the floods of August 1952 when many of the buildings were completely destroyed and many people lost their lives (http://news.bbc.co.uk/onthisday/hi/dates/stories/august/16/newsid_2960000/2960180.stm) and (http://www.scribd.com/doc/2025579/Lynmouth-Floods-1952) – a storytelling exercise.

In this photograph the stone fireplace on the far side of the river indicates the level of the floodwaters in 1952.

Views of the village and harbour of Lynmouth

Provence

Would you believe it, but when we returned to Brussels we caught up with snow again!! This is what our garden looked like when we got up the next morning.

Week of 08.04 when we set off for Provence we hoped we had left all the cold weather behind but alas this was not to be the case. We had rain for most of the week and it was very cold. However, this did produce some fantastic skies.

We finally got the sort of weather normally associated with Provence on our last day. We were lucky enough to see the last of the cherry trees in flower as well as the beautiful dark purple irises on old stone walls – the quintessence of Provence.

One afternoon our walk took us over the top of the hill passing an old cottage, now sadly fallen into a very bad state of disrepair. The mushroom shaped construction is an old bread oven.

In the woods close by we found this old stone building – known as a borie in this part of the world – with wild orchids growing close by.

Wild green euphorbia and these beautiful white star flowers grew in abundance here too.

We were staying just outside Apt

which has its own cathedral, dedicated to St Anne, and this confers upon it the status of city.

It is situated within the national park of the Luberon and is some 50km from Avignon, home for many years to successions of popes and now famous for its cultural activities. We managed a visit to the local Saturday market – a riot of colour and smells.

These bedspreads are typical of the area. They are known as “boutis” or double stitched quilts and are typical of this area. There was also a corner for those interested in junk/antiques.

It has some pretty colourful characters too. This guy was selling some sort of “animal” – I assume it was static that made the creatures climb all over your hand ….

The market takes over the whole pedestrianised area of the old city.. Stalls crowd the narrow road in front of the main entrance to the cathedral and you can’t possibly hurry through the streets here. If you take the time to look upwards you can see that the buildings have been painted in bright provencal colours echoing the colours of the earth and the sky.

There are remnants of a dim and distant past in the names of the streets – prison street, street of the jews and indeed there was a jewish ghetto here at one time. Needless to say any visit to the market will result in the imbibing of refreshment at some stage …

At the end of the week we cleared up the place. I did sterling work wielding this (for me) outsize bucket and broom.

But who could blame me if I wanted to go flying?

Of course the sun was shining when we left on Sunday morning but the weather got increasingly greyer as we headed north. C says that this time last year they got their summer with temperatures of 27°C – the only warm weather they saw all year!

in which we visit a carpet farm

Today we went to visit a carpet farm – strange name for a carpet factory but that is how they are known. We met up with Engin, who was to be our guide for the day and off we set, admiring the view of the Green Valley en route.

He drove us to his village, Etrim,

where we stopped for a coffee in a traditional coffee house normally only frequented by the men of the village, who spend hours playing a game called 101 or OK. It is played with tiles but is in fact a variation of the card game called Rummy.

After coffee Engin took us to see the oldest buildings in the village which belong to his grandparents. One of them was used for the animals – note the roof has been covered over with turf for insulation. The other was a one roomed house in which up to 10 people would have slept at night.

P was keen to be photographed astride an old butter churn and then lent a hand collecting eggs.

Across the courtyard was another, more modern two-room house where his grandparents live. It is customary to remove your shoes before entering the house as people eat and sleep on the floor and it helps to keep the house clean. First he showed us the room where his grandmother weaves carpets. His grandfather is 84 and his grandmother, aged 74, is still weaving carpets by hand although she only works 4 or 5 hours a day now.

Local sheep provide the wool which is spun to make both the warp and the weft of the carpets. Only the weft, which is the thread which is woven horizontally and which is also knotted, is coloured and is traditionally dyed using vegetable dyes. Etrim used to produce first quality tobacco which produces both brown and yellow dyes. Various roots produce red coloured dyes and onion skins produce orange shades. Colour variations result from the fact that sometimes a weaver will run out of particular coloured wool and it is impossible to reproduce exactly the same shade using vegetable dyes. Engin’s grandmother makes knots every two warp threads with the weft thread which makes the carpet much stronger and which gives the carpets the name “double knotted”. After each row of knots she passes the thread through twice to reinforce the knots. Every couple of rows she cuts off the excess wool using a pair of scissors as ancient as the hills.

She carries the patterns in her head although she had a sample carpet near the loom just to remind her. The patterns are all traditional and the carpets carry the name of the village in which they are produced. Girls coming from villages further away will bring different patterns with them and these are passed from mother to daughter. A typical carpet from Etrim will contain the traditional patterns of the image of an aubergine, a tobacco plant and a river, which symbolises life. A small carpet – about 1m50 by 1m will take about one month to make. Larger ones obviously take much longer and this is what dictates the price. There are three types of carpet – the ones which are knotted and the ones which are flat-woven (these are the kilims). On both of these the pattern is the same on the reverse side as is it is on the top side. The third type of carpet is embroidered and this is immediately obvious when you look at the back, which is full of knots and loose threads. On the walls of this room hung a number of carpets which had been Engin’s grandmother’s dowry.

In the second room, which was used as a bedroom, was a large fridge, which they had inherited from their children when they bought a newer model, a TV and a cupboard containing all the bedding which is spread on the floor each night. Cooking is done in the fireplace. The red carpet on the floor was woven in 1946 but the colours are as vivid today as they were when it was first made. You can see in this photo the colour variations resulting from different dye batches being used.

We were struck by the simplicity of their life in comparison to ours. Before leaving we purchased a bar of olive oil soap and a bottle of olive oil, which the family produce during the winter months.

From there we went to Engin’s family’s house where all the carpets are collected. They operate as a cooperative which means that carpets come from outlying villages to be sold from a central outlet. There must have been a couple of hundred of carpets there although at any one time there are about three thousand carpets available for sale within the village.

Engin’s mother had prepared a delicious lunch consisting of local bread, a salad of tomato, lettuce and dill, dried beans with a tomato sauce, yoghurt, fried potatoes and a sort of meat patty. DH and I sampled the local red wine. As it was cold they lit a fire for us and sat on the floor to eat our lunch.

Afterwards Engin drove us back and we stopped, en route, to buy some prawns from a local fishmonger which we ate for dinner that night.

Bodrum

04.04 It was our last day today so went for a walk around Bodrum, stopping on the way in to admire the view of the bay with the castle and marina.

The town, winter population of 32,000 and summer population of 470,00, is a beguiling mix of old and new with, for example, ancient cisterns juxtaposed against modern hotel buildings.

In the older parts of the town you can sometimes catch of a glimpse of a garden behind high walls with mandarin and lemon trees.

here is a variety of double jasmine flowering at the moment which I have never seen before whose flowers look like primrose sized pale yellow pompoms which smell divine. Purple wisteria trails around the houses and there are yellow mimosa trees everywhere. Pennywort grows on the trunks of some the palm trees. I had only seen this plant growing on old stone walls before.

In the marina P was hard pushed to decide whether she wanted the bike or one of the boats

so we went into a typical tea shop while she considered the matter

We went into this shop where reproductions of original ceramic pieces are made for some of the world’s museums and were lucky enough to be given a guided tour by one of the artists who, curiously enough, had studied in Australia and who announced that P was a very cute witch after I had explained in my haltering Turkish who she was and what she was doing. After that we continued our conversation with his Australian accented English. When I commented that some pictures that I saw lying in the shop were orientalist pictures he showed us some of the very special pieces in the shop, some of them based on the designs by William Morris and William de Morgan whose own work had been heavily influenced by the Islamic designs. P was photographed in this magnificent stone glazed pot which was for sale at a cool USD3,500 – a very special piece.

He was happy to allow me to take as many photographs as I wanted, explaining that his master’s policy is to be as open as possible. I was quite surprised at this as previous attempts to take photographs in some other shops have met with a blunt refusal – they were afraid that I wanted to copy their designs.

As we left Bodrum we stopped for a quick look at the old amphitheatre where concerts are held in the summer and for a last look at the bay below us.