Milling around Manchester's Quarry Bank Mill

Waiting for a bus, at the best of times, is pretty grim; waiting outside a countryside mill, with no main road in sight, and the bones of my fingers beginning to freeze and burn, is dire! (oh so I felt). Bounding from tree branches to the bus stop roof, the squirrels seemed to be winning at a game of cat and mouse with the watchful black crows above. While I, kicking stones in the pebbly carpark, continued with the waiting game.

Everyone I had asked about the Quarry Bank Mill, (the attraction in Mancheser I was here to see), had visited it whilst at school. I was expecting then to see neat lines of school children filing through the Mill. When I arrived at about 2:45pm however, I was surprised to find hardly anyone there and the ticket office locked.

As early as the sun recedes here in winter so too it appears does the Quarry Bank Milll; the last tour is at 2:30pm.

Despite the obviously bolted door, I made a show to try open it, and succeeded in coaxing 'Brian' over to assist me. After telling him I'd travelled from Dubai that morning he graciously let me into the Mill for a mini-private tour and then allowed me to walk the rest of the historical National Trust site.

Brian showed me the office of the Mill and the little worker's wage cups; they would've recieved these each week through a hole in the office wall. He also enlightened me on the phrase "being carpeted". Being called to the office, the only arena with a fine red rug, was typically akin to being called in for a reprimand. I can just imagine the workers lingering in the dark hallways of the 1784 Mill saying, "that Jones' fellla - he's been carpeted again!" 

An ousted family member

A wall-to-wall portrait painting of the founding Greg family is the feature of the adjoining ' information'  room which also serves to mark the beginning of the Mill walk. Missing in the family line-up is one of the Greg daughters. Brian alludes to the mysterious absence with the possibility of a family secret or family shame. I wish I'd had more time to find out!

Working at the Mill

Walking through the Mill I am struck by all types of awe-inspiring aparatus. The magnificent machinery clutters all corners of the Mill and I 'm pleased to see one chugging, cotton-making machine in action. Further along I see the cantankerous spinner with so many strings and spikes it looks like the inside of a gigantic grand piano. I proudly leave with my own bobbin from Saleem and some historical food for thought.

Photos here show mill workers with no shoes on; there's a placard outlining the wages for childern under 13; and many pictures depict the overall harsh working conditions they had to contend with.

Back outside where it is 2 degrees, I'm still waiting for bus number 200. The trees around are stark and scraggly - I wonder if the brambles too, twist and contort relentlessly over winter, trying to edge closer to the sun. But with the sun now settling over the Cheshire countryside and Monet-toned tints high-lighting the landscape, the trees look warm in yellow ochre and violet.
The bus arrives and I leave the Mill to its dusk tranquility, (eager to return again for a longer tour).

Next up for Machester, Lyme House  - where maybe I'll meet my own Mr Darcy... 

(Trip from Jan 2010)

http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/main/w-quarrybankmillandstyalestate

One Night in Moscow

The flight to Moscow from Dubai was short but busy – those Russians can drink! When we arrived at the hotel, I got my first introduction to Russia's rather abrasive take on customer service. The unsmiling woman in the windowless ' Bureau de Change' office seemed almost angry as she coverted our US dollars to Russian ruples. I read recently somewhere, that smiling in Russia is seen as insincere if its not a genuine smile for a genuine cause. I wonder what they must think of us cabin crew whose job it is to smile all the time!

Without then knowing this cultural quirk, I assumed the sour blonde woman must just really hate her job, or us foreigners, or both.



Dinner in Moscow
To the restaurant across the road, we headed out for dinner. There, as the captain began ordering his dish, the waitress abruptly cut him off with a loud ‘I No English’, and continued to hurriedly prepare the table with cutlery and glasses for the eight of us dining. Stunned into silence and then erupting into laughter, we tried not to take offense. Fortunately the menu did have both Russian and English descriptions and even a comical picture of Homer Simpson drinking beer.





I had a delicious dish of pan-fried sliced potatoes topped with onion and cheese. Everyone else at the table had sausages. Two daring guys in our group took up the challenge of sharing - the largest on the menu - 72 centimetre sausage! The longest sausage I’ve ever seen inevitably became the butt of many jokes and comical photos. Most of the jugs of beer that were dotted around the restaurant looked like large black espressos' with foam on top. The featured beers on our table were considerably lighter. 

By the time the bill arrived, we were all in a cherry mood and even the sharp waitress had warmed to us. We tipped her and made our way back to the hotel. 

A Night on the Town

On the way back I bought a ridiculously cheap bottle of vodka, which was then mixed with Pespi and shared with the two party-keen guys back at the hotel. The young Russian concierge helped us pick out a club, gave us map and directed us to the subway. With no English on the subway, we tried to match the Russian stations and counted the number of stops circled on our map. On the subway, as appeared the norm, people were openly drinking, so we did too. We chatted to some girls, who were studying English in Moscow who were also on their way to hit the clubs.

Leaving the subway we proceeded to get lost, and at one point stumbled into a dark alleyway. Groups of drinking locals looked at us and I, remembering back to the warnings I’d heard about muggings, and needing to carry extra US dollars to ‘pay your way out of sticky situations’, was rather uneasy. 

This however was the precise place where the guys decided we should buy some drinks. A little kiosk, which was glassed, barred up, and covered in out-dated advertisements presented itself alongside the wall of the covered walkway, or as I found it - cave. I couldn't see through the small opening of the kiosk, but was relieved when I saw three large energy beers appear and we could walk out to the open street.

Young people seem universal in their quest to have a good time, and when we asked for directions from a group of clubbers, we only had to show them our ‘dancing’ moves for them to understand us. Making sense of their directions though proved a little difficult, so they escorted us to the club. We were pleased to have had made some Russian friends for the night.

The club ‘Propaganda’ that our concierge had recommended was all shut up, so our new friends took us with them to ‘Hungry Duck.’ The face ID (the ID check where the bouncers look at you and decide whether to let you in or not) was okay and we were soon dancing in the packed Russian club. The music was a bit different but it was loads of fun.

Red Square in Moscow

The next day, after only four hours sleep, I met the others to go sightseeing. As it happened, it was a national holiday in Russia, and Red Square was disappointingly closed off to the public. Guards in green uniforms, donning the famous green hats surrounded Red Square - with barriers, metal detectors, dogs and stern looks. The roads in the area were closed off too, so Moscow’s busy city streets were free from traffic. This gave us the exciting feeling of being in ghost town. We strolled through the empty streets and took numerous photos. We did get a good look at some of the buildings in Red Square from the oustside, and even the KGB building. 

As the morning neared lunchtime, the eerie quietude gave way to a festive spirit on the streets. But as the people carrying balloons and drinking beer made their way towards Red Square, we had to make our way back, get ready for work and head back to Dubai. 

(Trip from 2009)

Soul Searching in India

View from the roof of the Institute

In November of 2010 a small ad in an email newsletter caught my attention;
"Louise Hay 'You Can Heal Your Life' First Course in Meditation and Tibetan Buddhism." 

Having read Louise Hay's book, about how positive affirmations can change your life, and having casually attended a few meditation classes in Dubai, I was curious and clicked through.
The eight day retreat was to take place in the Sherabling Monastery Palpung, Himachal Province, India. I didn't know much about Buddhism or even India, but I felt this was a retreat I had to attend. Without thinking too much, I signed up.
When people asked about my impending trip I focused on the yoga, meditation, feel-good aspects, and kept the Tibetan Buddhism quietly to myself. What did I know about Buddhism? Not a lot.
The retreat did reveal itself as a feel-good, meditation break, but in the very aspect I was unsure about, the retreat became so much more. Through the teaching sessions with the Tibetan master my curiosity about life and the universe strengthened in strides, and I finished the week feeling a seismic shift in my perceptions had transpired. While I hadn't set out to seek a spiritual experience, I feel lucky that in a way, one found me.

Reaching Palpung

When things start to go wrong I often get superstitious, taking everything as a sign of trouble to come or that something just '
not meant to be. In the lead up to the retreat lots of things did go wrong, but they had worked themselves right; the retreat which was initially full, had a place for me; the flight to Delhi that was overbooked, had a standby seat for me; I missed my pick-up at the airport, but made a new friend, Christian.
Proudly of the Christian faith, my taxi driver introduced himself as 'Christian', showed me a photo of his daughter, 'Christina' and told me goes to church every Sunday. I shared my rice crackers with him, he showed me his house and bought me a banana. For two hours, through broken English and bumps in the road, he told me about his country. 
Despite the difficulties getting there, when Christian pulled up to the Sherabling Monastery my worries were quelled and I knew that this was exactly where I was meant to be.

At the foothills of the Himalayas, the monastery had the most amazing mountainous view as its backdrop and, set high in up hills, all I could see in the valley below was green, thick green jungle. The terrain here was dense with trees and largely unpopulated; we were warned on the first day to watch out for leopards. Leopards are spotted from time to time in Palpung, but it would be uncommon for the shy cats to venture to so close to humans. How exciting though!

Paragliding in Palpung

On that first afternoon, enjoying the sun outdoors and recovering from the two hour bumpy drive, one of the group's members pointed out in the distance colourful para-glides gently gravitating over the neighbouring ranges. It was only a few days later I was there myself, gravitating to earth from a giddy 2400 metres. I had only intended to tag along for the view and said I'd make my mind up about the para-gliding at the top. But after a stomach-churning, hair-raising two hour drive along the mountain's edge, along a winding narrow (apparently two lane!) dirt road, I decided I'd rather jump than risk going back down.

Paragliding in Palpung



This part of my trip was monumental for me, not only because I faced my fear of heights but because I decided then, on that hill to take a literal leap of faith in life, in all that I do, always. And, after that conversation with myself, I jumped. It was terrifying. I was gripping on so tight! We were whisked into the wind and pulled high into the sky. My feet had never felt so electric. But once we had descended a bit, I could really take in the view; the beautiful day, the mountain ranges, I could even see the monastery. It was magical, and since then, still now, I feel a little more alive.

The Hay House Retreat
On the first evening's 'get together' we watched the Louise Hay Movie, 'You Can Heal Your Life'. Having read the book and being a firm believer in the power of positive thought, I watched the movie with zeal. Hay House Publishing India, who organised the seven day retreat had kindly given all of us 50 delegates, our own copy of Louise Hay's book and a pack of her affirmation cards. Those goodies, came together with some Tibetan incense and our own Tibetan thangka (an embroidery scroll usually, and true in my case, depicting a Buddhist deity.
It was not only the goody-basket left for us that impressed me, I was thrilled when I saw my room. I had a large room with wooden floors, high ceilings, two immaculately prepared single beds, a desk, an en-suite bathroom, a lovely large key to lock my room and it was so clean! Another group member humorously re-named the monastery, 'The Palpung Hilton.'

The itinerary of the week consisted of breakfast, a morning meditation, a teaching session, lunch, an afternoon meditation, an afternoon teaching session, free time, dinner and a Tibetan movie. The food was all vegetarian - although there were eggs at breakfast and this sparked some debate. With traditional Indian and Tibetan dishes meal time was both a time for eating and education, and despite being a typically fussy eater, I thoroughly enjoyed all the food.

The Sherabling Monastery Institute

The Sherabling Monastery

The monastery's accommodation was run almost entirely by monks. The boys and men in maroon red robes ran the kitchen, the cafe downstairs, the Internet room (yes there was even an Internet room), the gift shop and the reception. The monastery itself was just a short walk through a gully and across a wooden bridge, where on one morning I saw a family of monkeys preening each other near the path.
On the other side of the gully stood the Sherabling Monestary - grand and colourful and housing hundreds of children. We were privileged to be guests to their 'Environmental Day' and were entertained with performances, songs and skits - depicting how to look after our world.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1ixA8-ZUuk
(quality of filming is not good, sorry!)

My impression of Tibetan traditional music is that much of it is soft, slow and simple; backed by low beats of a drum and often accompanied by chanting or gentle singing. Many of the Tibetan performances lulled me into a reflective trance and the few Indian performances, with the feverish dancing and brassy beats brought me right back. Once their presentation was over, with over-sized green rubber gloves and rubber shoes they took to the hall, clearing up the cups of po cha tea and buckets of biscuits.

The Lama Dance
The last couple of days timed in with the Lama Dance. We were allowed to walk over to the monastery and watch the monks practising the dances without masks in the days prior, and on the day of the Lama dance we spent most of the day in the monastic hall watching the Tibetan Buddhist festivities unravel.


The Lama Dance day performances



The monks here were costumed in fine silk dresses and donned ornate, and somewhat frightening masks. Tibetans from all over attended the event. Families with children brought blankets and pillows to sit on and some of the elderly had walked in with little seats tied to their bags. The older Tibetan women wore conservative wrap dresses with colourful striped aprons and all that entered the arena paid their respects with prostrations before finding a seat.

Young monks and nuns, locals, the 50 of us on the retreat, the resident foreigners at the monastery and quite a number who were visiting just for the event filled up the hall.



The day-long dancing gave us all the chance to hear the traditional Tibetan instruments at play, see the decorative costumes and masks, and experience the alternating lively and meditative chants that accompanied the ceremony and offerings to Buddha. For someone like me, who feels so far removed from history, religion and culture in my everyday life, it was both humbling and invigorating to see that there are still pockets on our planet where traditional culture is still going strong.

Meditating with the 12th Kenting Tai Situpa



I had only been to a few guided meditations in Dubai and, after reading 'Eat Pray Love' and the difficulties Elizabeth Gilbert faced, I was apprehensive about the meditation sessions of the retreat. My trepidation was unfounded though as I soon discovered. Our meditation sessions were held in the teaching room of the monastery's institute. At the front of the large room, on a stage and then on a raised platform with steps, was the seat of the 12th Kenting Tai Situpa. Below, cross-legged on the wooden floor sat the 50 of us.

The Tai Situpa told us there were many rituals in Tibetan culture, and our teaching and meditations sessions weren't spared any ceremony. Five minutes before His Holiness was due to arrive each day we stood up and waited. Two young monks stood by the doorway and waited too. When they could spot his procession they sounded their horns continuously until His Holiness had reached his podium and looked at them. There were opening and closing prayers for all our sessions and also items that needed to be blessed by His Holiness before the sessions could start.

"The 12th Kenting Tai Situpa...was born in the male wood-horse year (1954)...to a family of farmers. On the day of his birth, the entire region witnessed two solar orbs illuminating the sky. The details of his birth were completely in accordance with the prediction of the 16th Gyalwa Karmapa. He was taken to Palpung monastery and at eighteen months was enthroned there by the 16th Gyalwa Karmapa...At that time it was acknowledged that he clearly recognized his old attendants and disciples." (Extract from http://www.palpung.org/english/taisitupa/biography.asp)

Tibetan Buddhist Teachings

The Tai Situpa taught us basic breathing meditations and during the teaching sessions gave us, as he said, a brief understanding of Buddhism and what it means to be a Buddhist. This was fascinating! Starting with Prince Dak, moving to dreams, incarnations, the prophesied future, karma, our own primordial wisdom, how to live the Buddha way and, at the end of the week, our own private meeting with His Holiness, was a literal life-changing experience. I sat in amazement everyday and could feel almost immediately, the stirrings of spirituality shift within me. The principles of Buddhism made complete sense to me; the idea of calming one's mind, living simply, and respecting 'all sentient beings', for me - the passive vegetarian, resonated deeply.

Saying Goodbye to Sherabling

I felt such a sense of respect developing for the Tibetan people, their religion and customs, that it was profoundly disturbing watching some of the nightly movies. The 'cultural revolution' atrocities and the state of the Lhasa now - the once revered religious capital, were saddening to accept. Knowing more about their lost country and painful plight though has only strengthened my admiration for the Tibetan people.

Sunset over Himachal Province

My immersion into Tibetan culture, albeit in India, was a week I will never forget and one that in subtle and still unseen ways I know has steered me in new directions.

It was definitely a retreat I was meant to take and one I feel I will still be learning from in many years to come.

Links:

Here is the link to some amazing articles about India:
http://soulofindia.com/pages/writing.html

The link to the official Palpung Sherabling Monastic Seat website:
http://www.palpung.org/english/news/brief.asp

The Hay House India event facebook page:
http://www.facebook.com/hayhouseindia#!/event.php?eid=138714349489512&index=1



(Trip from Nov 2010)