A weekend in ruins

Sukhothai National Park

Following my trip to Bali and Gili Trewangan the rest of 2014 filtered away gracefully.  I bid it farewell with a pot luck Christmas dinner on the porch with the rest of the teachers.  We donned our Santa hats, sang Christmas songs and served roast turkey in the 25 degree heat, and that was cold season.  I’m already nervous of the Irish weather, which I’m due to return to.  I had just enough time to digest the banquet before embarking on a short jaunt to Koh Tao for some much needed rest in the sunshine.  I was beginning to feel the urgency of my looming departure and decided a long weekend was better spent on the beach, despite the back breaking long journey.  A new year was once again rung in by the ocean, whilst floating a lantern that held my hopes for another incredible year ahead.  

Back in Nakhon Sawan the end of term was just around the corner and so was my big goodbye.  I soaked up as much time with the munchkins as I could, and could finally see the fruits of my labour as they excitedly formed sentences.  There were days when my lesson plan went out the window in favour of the conversations that organically flowed through the classroom.  Mind you, these are 5 and 6 year olds so the convos were frequently about Elsa, robots, and sharks.  One of my younger students once told me that he goes to school on a big brown dinosaur with red eyes.  I’m not sure where he parks it, but it might explain the delirious expression on the security guard’s face.

Yet again there was a long weekend to celebrate a Buddhist holiday, so I packed a bag and headed for Sukhothai, north of Thailand.  I’d been wanting to visit for a few months, but typically I keep the closest places til last as they’re “only up the road and I can go anytime”, but this blasé attitude usually results in my missing out on what’s on my doorstep.  Not this time, I headed for the bus station the evening before to check the bus times and returned bright and early the next day only to be told that the next bus was in 90 minutes.  This is a regular occurrence.  With the language barrier it’s difficult to explain the intricacies of any situation so a foreigner simply gets told “mai mee” (don’t have).  This can be frustrating when you’ve heard conflicting information or you can see what it is you want right there.  There may be some valid reason why it isn’t available, but when the person you’re speaking with has limited or no English you simply hear ‘don’t have’.  My advice in this case is to take a seat and wait.  This is one of those situations where the mantra I’ve adopted from Thailand comes in handy, “mai bpen rai”*.  Anyway, I got there and some hours later I was alighting and being shouted at by Tuk Tuk drivers.  I found a Sorngthaew that doesn’t rip off tourists and pretty soon I was bound for my guesthouse.  I chose the new city as I thought it would have the better choices of guesthouse and eateries, being “new”.  The new part of the city seemed quite large and with only two days and a scrambled brain I did not bother venturing further than my street, except to catch the bus to the old city.  The bus between the old and new Sukhothai is a painted wooden trailer containing long benches, like in a Sorngthaew, with a truck front, pretty cool and very cheap.  It stops just outside the park, where you purchase a ticket.  

The last bus back is 5pm and, as I was budgeting, a Tuk Tuk at tourist prices was out of the question so I was already too late to see any of the ruins.  I sauntered around, taking in bike hire prices and breakfast spots and jumped back on my wooden chariot for some dinner.  I found a cosy little restaurant on my street where I ordered steak and red wine and nestled in to read my book.  I was at a pretty riveting plot twist which just kept getting more and more exciting, so I ordered a second glass, and a third glass, until the words blurred and I had to take myself off to bed.  Goodnight Nana…

I woke with a thumping headache, a queasy feeling, and the guilt of threatening to ruin my short trip.  I wasn’t having any of this bad behaviour, I was going to get up and do what I had planned and I was going to learn my bloody lesson (I was using my ‘teacher voice’ on myself here).  I caught the bus to the old city and forced down some toast and coffee, before hiring a bicycle, so pink it looked like it was coughed up by My Little Pony, and headed for the park.  This was where the magic is, the Sukhothai National Park is filled with ancient ruins of temples and pagodas, and for the life of me I can’t differentiate between the two no matter how many people I’ve asked.  I had read on travelfish.org that there are many routes in and out of the park where beautiful views and pagodas can be found.  My crappy sense of direction ensured I only found one outside the park, however not even shite navigation can deter one from happening upon the beautiful ruins inside.  It’s an amateur photographer’s dream.  In fact most of Thailand is, one can photograph all around and appear to be super talented while the landscape and street life scenes do all the work just by being perfectly photogenic.  But I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.  The wind wisping through my hair as I glided along the pathways was a terrific hangover cure and I was myself in no time.

I finished up and handed back my girly pink bike in time to catch the last bus back to the new city.  Regretfully I looked back on the old city with the sun fading down into the horizon and dreamed of what it would be like to see it sink down behind the majestic pagodas.  I wished I had booked a place to stay here, it was closer to the beauty and the cafes had a better choice of fresh juices and ground coffee.  I guess I was being a typical tourist here, wanting western standards but as I’ve mentioned before, when you are eating Thai food all day every day it makes a nice change to have eggs and toast for brekkie whilst on vacation.  Anyway, first world problems.  All in all it was a much needed break after the craziness of Christmas, and ahead of the busy and emotional final term.  So, so, final.

*http://baanajarn.com/living-in-thailand/understanding-mai-bpen-rai/

http://www.travelfish.org/location/thailand/northern_thailand/sukhothai/sukhothai]

Photos: Sinéad Millea.

Where there’s a Will…

Wills Memorial Building Tour 

I walk past this majestic tower every day and guilty, as we all are, of never looking up in my daily meander I never really SEE it.  So when I spotted a sign advertising a tour I thought, “today’s the day!”

I booked for a Saturday afternoon and begged the sungod to smile on me having heard that on a clear day you can see all the way to Wales (or maybe it was Wells, I’m still finding my way through the strongest of Bristol accents).  Sure enough the sun shone brightly and the view was splendid.  But first there’s a challenge, you don’t just get fantastic panoramic views handed to you on a silver platter you know.  No, you have to climb for them 215 feet above street level.  But fear not, for modern man has invented a magical soaring machine which transcends you to the 5^th floor where a mere 205 steps await you.  Easy peasy.

But first we’ll begin on the ground.  On arriving at the tower, where the students gather to plot their Jägerbomb foraging excursions, I was met with a chap called Dave who runs the tours.  Standing on the original stone slabs and looking up at a spectacular sight of gothic architecture, he summarised the history of the tower in an interesting monologue taking us from it’s commissioning in 1912, through it’s opening in 1925, it’s survival of two world wars and right up to it’s present day status as the third highest structure in Bristol. 

We scaled one of the two grand staircases leading to the first floor, which holds the Great Hall with it’s intricately carved panelled walls, arched gothic ceiling and coloured lighting used to set the mood for the formal events that take place there including graduation ceremonies and exams.  I don’t think I’d have passed a single test sitting there, far too much to gaze at.  Dave handed us over to his son, Jim, who brought a quirky fun aspect to the tour, certainly the best tour guide I've ever encountered.  Never before have I been told if I fell on the stairs I was going over the top, that’s a successful health and safety warning if ever I heard one.  Needless to say, the visitors were too afraid to break that rule.

The next stop was a visit to Great George, the 9.5 tonne bell housed in the tower.  Georgy boy was so excited to see some visitors that he chimed for us.  I’m glad he didn’t ring however, apparently he can be quite loud.  He can be heard as far away as twelve miles I believe, ouch.  In the absence of modern construction equipment during the homing of George, horses were used to hoist him up into the tower in a pulley system that took up all of Park Street - the horses pulled ropes tied to the bell and basically went up and down the hill until the bell was in place.  On the arrival of George to his new home, a spelling mistake in his inscription was pointed out by an observant professor and George had to be lowered slightly to amend it, poor horses.  I’ll let you find out where it is for yourselves!

   
We said goodbye to George and ascended the winding staircase further to the very top of the tower, where a dizzying view opened up before us and, I’m relieved to say, the sungod answered my plea.  A stunning sunny 360 degree view of Bristol certainly brought the wow factor to my Saturday afternoon and made the ascension of the tower so worth it. 

 

The tour costs just £4 per person (£3 for seniors and students, free to children aged 8 – 11) and part of the fee goes towards funding Wallace & Gromit’s Grand Appeal.  A bit of exercise, a history lesson and funding a good cause – that's a Saturday avo well spent!

http://www.bris.ac.uk/university/visit/tower-tours/

http://www.grandappeal.org.uk/

Images: Sinead Millea & http://www.flickr.com/photos/17251154@N00/

Clifton Rocks

Clifton Rocks Railway

I’ve been slacking off, sorry about that.  But you see I had no idea anyone was even reading this stuff.  Well it seems you are so Sinead Nua has decided to get cracking on another set of adventures, starting with a visit to Clifton Rocks Railway. 

This funicular railway, built in 1893, served nineteenth century Bristolians with transport between Hotwells and Clifton before being drafted as a war hero to protect the many evacuees during the air raids of the early twentieth century.  It is now sadly in a pretty shabby state, and having been transformed during the war it is difficult to know what to do with this place that houses such different slices of Bristolian history.  Aswell as the railway & the bomb shelter this became a safe base for the BBC during the war and it also contained a dance hall where many a Brizzle couple courted.  With the permission of current owner, the Avon Gorge Hotel, an eager group of volunteers from the Bristol Industrial Archaeological Society visit it to restore and cheer it up.  And a mighty job they’re doing too, they’ve already uncovered some fantastic relics including the turnstiles that passengers would pass through in order to ride the railway and some household items left behind by evacuees once it was safe to venture out again.

The volunteers open the gates of the site for public tours at a small fee which goes towards restoration.  On the top level, where the tour starts, one can see the turnstile that was unearthed by the bare hands of these volunteers and look out onto the railway tracks that stretch down into the side of the Avon Gorge.  Donning a high vis vest and a hard hat, feeling very ‘builder’, I was guided down the concrete stairs, deep into the memories the walls hold.  Shortly into the tour it’s impossible not to feel the passage of time around you, stories of Victorian railway passengers meld into accounts of evacuees piling into the custom built air raid shelters.  I could almost hear the voices of Mums ushering their kids along and sushing them to sleep on the concrete slabs while chaos ensued outside the thick walls.  Some tealights placed along the lower parts of the walls fast forwarded us to the seventies where it was reported that teenagers used to break into the shelters and have parties.  A nostalgic air filled the huge rooms while the mixed ages of the tour group watched and imagined the various stages of history that linger in this dark musty place.

At the bottom of the stairs we were led to a hole in the wall where we climbed through to a secret room, as I shimmied through, I conjured up visions of Alice in Wonderland - although slightly less graceful as I tumbled through the gap in the wall.  On the other side was the now empty haven used by the BBC to broadcast from during WW2 with it’s thick brick walls offering protection from bomb blasts.  Further on, the entrance where Clifton bound railway passengers would arrive echoed reminders of the original railway now hidden and locked in by a metal gate, the other side of which leads back to the hustle and bustle of the twenty-first century.  Talk about time travel!

http://www.cliftonrocksrailway.org.uk/

Images: Sinéad Millea.

Ministry of Funny Walks

Why Don’t We Do It In The Road? — love, sex and violence on the streets of Bedminster

Sinéad Nua posts are like a rural bus service, you wait for ages for one and then two come along at once!  I've been rather busy storing nuts for the winter but did manage to venture out one Sunday afternoon for a rather entertaining presentation of the history of Bedminster.  Why don't we do it in the road? is a weekly event run throughout Summer* by the Show Of Strength Theatre Company.  For a humble £6 (it's the large glass of pinot you'd have had with your sunday roast) this theatrical walk of North Street unveils tales of the most eccentric folk who graced the area over the last few centuries.  Apparently every word is true but I'll leave that up to you to decipher!

We started at the Aldi carpark and I wondered to myself, "What in the name of Caraboo is this location relevant to?"  I pondered whether I was being drafted into a cult however the cheery bunting displayed in the centre of the car park put me at ease.  So I handed over my money and the guides/performers introduced themselves and the tour, emphasising with great pride that this 'ere walk were about Bemmy folk and not those posh Cliftonites...gulp, with a BS8 postcode I started to get nervous, especially when we were encouraged to wave our arms in the air when the word 'Clifton' was mentioned...stay cool, it's all in jest, they'll never know...

We made our way to the Tobacco Factory where we were greeted by the first of many characters who were to enthrall us with their peculiar life stories.  We learned about the workers of Wills Tobacco, the local barber who went over Niagara Falls in a barrel & Britain's biggest gold robbery.  All of these were played by the two guides, subtly changing costume along the way.  The walk was highly entertaining and this approach to educating history is one I would wholeheartedly encourage in schools.  I'd have learned a helluva lot more if I had been taught this way!  However, the afternoon contained my most surreal experience to date - singing happy birthday to a pie shop...bonkers. 

*The last performance of 2011 is September 25th - go, go go!

http://showofstrength.org.uk/productions/wdwdiitr-2011 
Images: Sinéad Millea