We get in Bamburgh on a double-decker bus - which, as far as I am concerned, is one of the peculiarities about travelling in the UK which mostly enthralls me.
Ginger Cat & me have an almost childish taste about travelling on double-deckers - obviously upstairs, where it feels like flying.
Just like kids.
And in fact in the seat next to ours there are Batman & Superman - or, better, two young boys wearing the caps of their fave superheroes.
And we fly with them.
Somehow.
After all, as it's known, also Batman doesn't fly, if not with the aid of some technological Bat-gadget. Or with a double-decker bus, come to that.
Anyway the landscape we are crossing is amazing: fields are enlighted by the golden kiss of the sun, and everything is so beautiful that we are able to enjoy it, ignoring for once that tiny voice that keeps on complaining about how you cannot take pictures of this beauty, because of the army of kamikaze mosquitos committing their last sacrifice on the bus's windshield.
Showing posts with label castles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label castles. Show all posts
Tuesday, 14 October 2014
Wednesday, 17 September 2014
The Holy Island of Lindisfarne
What makes an "holy place" holy?
Is it only the sheer fact of being chosen, more or less casually, to erect a temple, a church, a worshipping building?
Or maybe it gets chosen exactly because it actually emanates sacrality, because it's a place where man, for some reason, for some esotherical requirement of its topography, or simply for its beauty, is able to feel closer to god?
I like to think that, once upon a time, there must have been an era when human beings used to be more aware and deep in living their own presence on this Earth - and that, therefore, also their spirituality wasn't made only of concentration and isolation, but mostly of communion with what surround them, in an holistic exchange with the harmony of nature all around, in order to reach that wonderful sensation of feeling part of the Whole.
And that, so, holy places weren't chosen randomly.
Is it only the sheer fact of being chosen, more or less casually, to erect a temple, a church, a worshipping building?
Or maybe it gets chosen exactly because it actually emanates sacrality, because it's a place where man, for some reason, for some esotherical requirement of its topography, or simply for its beauty, is able to feel closer to god?
I like to think that, once upon a time, there must have been an era when human beings used to be more aware and deep in living their own presence on this Earth - and that, therefore, also their spirituality wasn't made only of concentration and isolation, but mostly of communion with what surround them, in an holistic exchange with the harmony of nature all around, in order to reach that wonderful sensation of feeling part of the Whole.
And that, so, holy places weren't chosen randomly.
Monday, 11 August 2014
Alnwick Castle, or how the Duke of Northumberland is very skilled in tourism marketing
I must confess, I didn't
even know that Alnwick Castle existed.
It's been Ginger Cat who,
when we were organizing our trip in North-East England this year, has
discovered that not only it's been the castle that has been used for the
external shootings of Hogwarts, but that, among the many attractions that it
offers to its visitors, there are also broomstick flying lessons, just like you
do during the first year of the Magic & Wizardy School.
Broomstick flying
lessons?? Shoot me.
Since the nerd inside of
me doesn't do the slighter effort not to show up (and actually I'm not even
sure that I do have a not-nerd part, to be honest), we have immediately put it
in our itinerary.
Saturday, 14 June 2014
Urquhart - because Scotland knows what ruins stand for!
I've always had a soft spot for ruins.
Well, actually it's more than a soft spot. They attract me like magnets, they bewitch me, they charme me.
I'm a black cat, after all, and I do have a gothic soul: decadence draws me away; it has the melancholic charme of what has been and no longer is, and that is therefore bared from all the mean things and the troubles of everyday, revealing its most intimate essence, that goes beyond any labels of good or evil, of positive or negative. Things' most intimate essence is their truth, and truth is not good nor bad, not pretty nor ugly: truth simply is true, is what we often don't want to see, but that, in the end, is what we are being left with.
And that's the way ruins are.
They've been rich and powerful, they have dominated the world of men or their spirituality - and now they are sitting in a corner, as lonesome as decayed nobleman, lost in contemplating with their misty sight what no longer belong to them.
But sadness of the decadence has also a sort of reflection in it, wounds that cripple their walls have an intense and rich history - and their essence gets being distilled in all of this: power's boasts no longer exist, they get milded by defeat, which makes them more noble, which gives back to us not a controversial symbol of domine anymore, but a trascendental story, made of both lights and shadows, of injustices and heroism, and that, because of this, it gets its own sort of beauty, it becomes worth of respect and it makes you willing to get to know it, and to write about it.
Well, actually it's more than a soft spot. They attract me like magnets, they bewitch me, they charme me.
I'm a black cat, after all, and I do have a gothic soul: decadence draws me away; it has the melancholic charme of what has been and no longer is, and that is therefore bared from all the mean things and the troubles of everyday, revealing its most intimate essence, that goes beyond any labels of good or evil, of positive or negative. Things' most intimate essence is their truth, and truth is not good nor bad, not pretty nor ugly: truth simply is true, is what we often don't want to see, but that, in the end, is what we are being left with.
And that's the way ruins are.
They've been rich and powerful, they have dominated the world of men or their spirituality - and now they are sitting in a corner, as lonesome as decayed nobleman, lost in contemplating with their misty sight what no longer belong to them.
But sadness of the decadence has also a sort of reflection in it, wounds that cripple their walls have an intense and rich history - and their essence gets being distilled in all of this: power's boasts no longer exist, they get milded by defeat, which makes them more noble, which gives back to us not a controversial symbol of domine anymore, but a trascendental story, made of both lights and shadows, of injustices and heroism, and that, because of this, it gets its own sort of beauty, it becomes worth of respect and it makes you willing to get to know it, and to write about it.
Thursday, 15 May 2014
Conwy - the smallest house and a castle
Bus journey from Llandudno to Conwy is short, but the 20' route that connects the two towns is already a sort of small tasting of the best of Wales.
Meadows, gorses, sheeps, rocks, beaches, sea... and then, all of sudden, Conwy appears on the horizon: the small borough with its trellis houses perched on the bay, closed, almost hugged, by the imposing medieval walls which are still intact, and the castle on their side, dominating them, strong and reassuring, almost like a sort of father trying to shelter his beautiful daughter shielding them with his imposing figure.
Meadows, gorses, sheeps, rocks, beaches, sea... and then, all of sudden, Conwy appears on the horizon: the small borough with its trellis houses perched on the bay, closed, almost hugged, by the imposing medieval walls which are still intact, and the castle on their side, dominating them, strong and reassuring, almost like a sort of father trying to shelter his beautiful daughter shielding them with his imposing figure.
Sunday, 23 February 2014
Down from the Rabbit's hole in Valentino Park
I wasn't planning to visit this place yesterday.
And actually I wasn't even planning to write a post about it.
But sometimes unplanned things turn out to be beautiful surprises: just like Alice, you get curious and follow the Rabbit down in the hole, finding out a new realm of wonderland... even when the "wonderland" is actually a place you know already pretty well.
But sometimes there are days, special days, when you simply get able to see things with new eyes, under a new light, with their beauty suddenly exploding, like a firework that turns the everyday sky into a feast.
And actually I wasn't even planning to write a post about it.
But sometimes unplanned things turn out to be beautiful surprises: just like Alice, you get curious and follow the Rabbit down in the hole, finding out a new realm of wonderland... even when the "wonderland" is actually a place you know already pretty well.
But sometimes there are days, special days, when you simply get able to see things with new eyes, under a new light, with their beauty suddenly exploding, like a firework that turns the everyday sky into a feast.
Sunday, 26 January 2014
Arran - a.k.a. Scotland in miniature
When Ginger Cat & me were planning our trip to Scotland in summer 2011, my main wish was to include in the itinerary at least one island, because I stil haven't visited any, not even the Island of Skye.
I was actually thinking of the Hebrides, but when Ginger came up with the unusual idea of going to this almost unknown Isle of Arran I've immediately got enthralled by the idea.
Mostly because, in fact, it is unknown - I have to admit it: I've always had a soft spot for the underdogs, more or less in any fields, and I'm all for discovering small hidden treasures far away from the main path. Moreover, we were doing our trip in August, and in August choosing less touristic places can actually make a difference with being able to enjoy your destination to the fullest, instead of just fighting in the crowd to do and see things.
And indeed, it's really been a little jem this one we've discovered.
I'd say the 3 days spent on Arran have probably been the past part of the trip - altough it's been a very interesting trip with so many other memorable destinations.
This place includes all the sort of natural environment which I find most beautiful and which fulfills my heart with peace and serenity: wild rough beaches, enchanting woods, moorlands, cliffs - my soul just fits this kind of landscape, it makes it vibrate, both with emotions and peace, like a sort of homecoming.
I'm glad we chose this place.
When telling about it, most of people was mistaking it for the more popular Aran Islands in Ireland - but no, this ARRAN, with double "R" and it's in Scotland, more precisely in the Firth of Clyde. Not too far away from my original plan concerning Hebrides, actually, and it's even quite similar, both physycally and culturally, to them - but they are separated from a peninsula, so it doesn't count as one of them.
It also has a different ethimology from its Irish almost homonymous: Aran means "kidney", as that's the shape they have; while Arran is probably a Brythonic derivation which means "high place" (the Goat Fell hill overcomes the 800 mt - which is a pretty considerable high for the Scottish standards).
As for its shape, the isle is actually nicknamed Sleeping Warrior - as its coast seen from the mainland actually looks like a sleeping human figure, and I find this so charming. I wonder if there are any legends concerning this sleeping warrior transformed into an island - and if there are not any, maybe I should try to invent one :D
I was actually thinking of the Hebrides, but when Ginger came up with the unusual idea of going to this almost unknown Isle of Arran I've immediately got enthralled by the idea.
Mostly because, in fact, it is unknown - I have to admit it: I've always had a soft spot for the underdogs, more or less in any fields, and I'm all for discovering small hidden treasures far away from the main path. Moreover, we were doing our trip in August, and in August choosing less touristic places can actually make a difference with being able to enjoy your destination to the fullest, instead of just fighting in the crowd to do and see things.
And indeed, it's really been a little jem this one we've discovered.
I'd say the 3 days spent on Arran have probably been the past part of the trip - altough it's been a very interesting trip with so many other memorable destinations.
This place includes all the sort of natural environment which I find most beautiful and which fulfills my heart with peace and serenity: wild rough beaches, enchanting woods, moorlands, cliffs - my soul just fits this kind of landscape, it makes it vibrate, both with emotions and peace, like a sort of homecoming.
I'm glad we chose this place.
When telling about it, most of people was mistaking it for the more popular Aran Islands in Ireland - but no, this ARRAN, with double "R" and it's in Scotland, more precisely in the Firth of Clyde. Not too far away from my original plan concerning Hebrides, actually, and it's even quite similar, both physycally and culturally, to them - but they are separated from a peninsula, so it doesn't count as one of them.
It also has a different ethimology from its Irish almost homonymous: Aran means "kidney", as that's the shape they have; while Arran is probably a Brythonic derivation which means "high place" (the Goat Fell hill overcomes the 800 mt - which is a pretty considerable high for the Scottish standards).
As for its shape, the isle is actually nicknamed Sleeping Warrior - as its coast seen from the mainland actually looks like a sleeping human figure, and I find this so charming. I wonder if there are any legends concerning this sleeping warrior transformed into an island - and if there are not any, maybe I should try to invent one :D
Wednesday, 22 January 2014
10 things I've loved about Copenaghen
I've been in Copenaghen at the end of October last year: the air was chilly, obviously chillier than what it was in Italy - but it was still possible to enjoy staying out, not only strolling but even sitting on the bench for a while, with the proper equipment in term of warm clothes and with some sun shining.
I've like the city. It didn't beat Stockholm in my personal classification of the Nordic capitals, but it's an honourable second place, very close to the first one. And, while they have similarities in architecture and structure, Copenaghen assumes a very different declination from the Swedish capital - just like two cooks preparing the same recipes with (almost) the same ingredients, but adding a very relevant touch of their own personalities that make the final result undeniably different.
When you walk around Copenaghen, you just can't help thinking about Hamlet: there is something intense and tragic in this city, but I mean it in a positive, emotional way. Just like a very quiet and silent surface that hides strong and wild emotions.
You are compelled to seek these emotions, to explore hidden corners, to slip into courtyards, to follow secondary alleys. It's less tidy than its Swedish cousin - the surface lets shine through some hints of the turmoil: architecture has some extra curvy lines, here and there appear some strong colours.
Maybe, just like Hamlet, also Copenaghen questions itself about being or not being: but the contrast between the neat Scandinavian appearance and the more flamboyant flashes doesn't provide indecision, but a richer, variegated personality.
And now let me tell you which ones of these facets I've enjoyed the most...
I've like the city. It didn't beat Stockholm in my personal classification of the Nordic capitals, but it's an honourable second place, very close to the first one. And, while they have similarities in architecture and structure, Copenaghen assumes a very different declination from the Swedish capital - just like two cooks preparing the same recipes with (almost) the same ingredients, but adding a very relevant touch of their own personalities that make the final result undeniably different.
When you walk around Copenaghen, you just can't help thinking about Hamlet: there is something intense and tragic in this city, but I mean it in a positive, emotional way. Just like a very quiet and silent surface that hides strong and wild emotions.
You are compelled to seek these emotions, to explore hidden corners, to slip into courtyards, to follow secondary alleys. It's less tidy than its Swedish cousin - the surface lets shine through some hints of the turmoil: architecture has some extra curvy lines, here and there appear some strong colours.
Maybe, just like Hamlet, also Copenaghen questions itself about being or not being: but the contrast between the neat Scandinavian appearance and the more flamboyant flashes doesn't provide indecision, but a richer, variegated personality.
And now let me tell you which ones of these facets I've enjoyed the most...
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