Fabulous headgear of men in the Thar desert. Bulbous brilliantly coloured affairs. A rainbow, dotted, flecked ‘who’s who’ guide, to area of origin. A map of home, cloth of belonging. And beautiful to boot. Continue reading Men In Turbans.
Every October in the 8th month of Kartika, business and religion come together and the quiet town of Pushkar is transformed into the circus that is the Pushkar camel festival. Thousands of livestock owners stir in the Thar desert, pack family and belongings onto wooden carts, trailing camels, horses, and cows behind them, to trade on the Mela ground – a huge, dry, expanse of … Continue reading Pulsating Pushkar.
We noticed the barber shop, the size of a postage stamp, squeezed in between the internet cafe and our guesthouse. “Shave sir”, asked the barber appearing out of nowhere, nodding at Jim. “Can I have a haircut”, I asked hopefully. Normally the only customers in these shops are men. “Yes, yes, five minutes waiting”. All three chairs were occupied so I sat on a bench … Continue reading The 80 Cent Haircut.
Our very first trip, after becoming nomadic? We jumped in at the deep end – and in 2009 spent seven months in India. Delhi, with a population of 12.8 million, everyone of them, it seems, on the make, was down right hard work. Tenacious touts pretending to be our best friend, wanting to direct us to places where they would receive commission. Auto rickshaw drivers … Continue reading Delhi. Frantic, frustrating, frenetic.
We’re approaching the ten-year anniversary of our nomadic lives. Time to reflect, to stop and take stock. Maybe that’s why I came across Mitch Glass’s interview with Nora Dunn (The Professional Hobo). It’s certainly why I answered his questions myself. The photos? Random pics from ten years of travel. How long have you been travelling? Forever, in my head. When I was 26, I went … Continue reading Taking Stock. Ten Years of Travel.
It seemed only fitting that we should go for afternoon tea at the Pera Palace Hotel; the hotel at the end of the line of the famous Orient Express. Train passengers were ferried here in a sedan chair from Sirkeci station. We climbed up the steep hill from Karakoy. A doorman welcomed us. Up the white marble steps of the foyer we went, to the … Continue reading Mr. Inspiration.
‘The name’s Bond. Dennis Bond’. Mr Bond provided our rather grand lunch stop today. He constructed Grange Arch – a bizarre, Disneyfied ediface, to ‘close off the distant view’ at his country home, Creech Grange. Shame it wasn’t called Skyfall. That aside it was a perfect walk on a perfect day. We skirted around crumbling Corfe Castle, leaving it almost immediately behind and below as … Continue reading Perfect, Quintessential England.
The weather forecast promised a heatwave. Blinding sunshine, blue skies and temperatures soaring beyond the twenties to the low thirties. We got mist. A white-out. And a few spots of rain. I wanted to find an ichthyosaurus, a plesiosaurus, or a scelidosaurus. We’d got bad weather under the circumstances, but what we needed was really big, bad weather. Rain coming down by the bucketful, wind, … Continue reading In The Footsteps of Mary Anning.
There’s a great thing about walking in the English countryside. The tea-room. All good walks should begin or end at one. At Worth Matravers, deep in Dorset, next to the duck pond on the miniscule green is the quintessential, quaint English tea-shop. Full of antiques and mismatched china, embroidered knick-knacks, sugar basins with cubed sugar and tongs, old advertising posters, – and people. We could … Continue reading Dorset. Sea and Scones.
It was a complete gift. We knew nothing about it; on a whim decided to chance it, and then just fell head-over-heels in love with it. Poetry in stone. A beech-hedged drive. A sixteenth-century dovecote. A bridge over the river Wye. Turrets and battlements playing hide-and-seek with tree tops and the hall sitting on it’s limestone bluff above us. Past the Elizabethan stables, through the … Continue reading Haddon – a hall and a home.