Entering Hell

 It’s such a difficult topic to write about; so difficult to express – in words – the awful feelings, the twisted aesthetic, the smouldering evil … (sighs) … you actually question your own veracity: were there really such evil people? Can I believe that they actually … ? Was there really a plausible reason why … ?

It’s now 13 years since I walked through the gates of Auschwitz Birkenau and, I have to admit, the questions – as above, and many more – still, for the most part, remain unanswered.

But I don’t want to be trite: of course the Holocaust happened; estimates suggest around 6,000,000 Jews were exterminated during the Shoah – and that is an estimate: the Einsatzgruppen undertook mass shootings which were largely undocumented; small children, some elderly, or people added ‘ad hoc’ to the transports were often omitted from deportation lists.

I think one of the problems we have in truly coming to terms with the evil inflicted – mankind upon mankind – during the Holocaust, is the shear scope of it! The numbers are truly unfathomable. Who can actually imagine what a group of 6,000,000 people looks like? What do you equate it too? I mean, it’s akin to the entire population of Scotland; or twice the population of Wales. It’s like trying to count the stars in the sky, its practically inconceivable.

Yet, while anyone of us would consider attempting to count up to 6,000,000 a hopeless task, the Nazi’s did not: they recorded the incremental ‘gains’ achieved by their almost mechanistic process of killing and disposing of all those they gathered to their death camps from all over Europe; recording their owns crimes for the benefit of posterity. While the lists of those human beings culled by the Nazis are incomplete, records are still held in various international archives. The Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum holds many of the surviving records of those transported too – and subsequently murdered by - the Nazi regime.

However, as I said, I don’t want to be trite. It’s a difficult subject to write about, and I worry that my own uninstructed presentations might belittle, undermine or otherwise disparage or downplay  – as I said before - the almost inconceivable enormity of the Holocaust.

Suffice to say that, as I walked through the camp gate - beneath the steel scrollwork which informed “Arbeit Macht Frei (work sets you free) -my mood sank. I knew I was entering Hell. It’s one of those experiences which are almost impossible to express. You have to be there. You have to see it for yourself.

I’ll let some of my pictures speak for me. But, remember, the Auschwitz I visited has been sanitised from the Death Camp which British, American and Russian troops came upon as they tried to clear Europe of the foul, Nazi sickness. Even now though, the pall of those atrocities seems still to cling to the fabric of the place. And it can’t be denied. Not ever.

Remains of the Sea Monster

 I have a penchant for trolling along sea fronts; it's amazing the stuff that Neptune refuses to harbour within his watery domain and chucks back onto the land.

But even I was surprised when I came upon this carcass (which I duly named: "Remains of the Sea Monster") lying - seemingly hugging a rock - quite far up the beach at Blackness in West Lothian.

It looked to me like some kind of sea monster. But, after further research, it seems it might just be the skeleton of a flatfish: Flounder, Plaice or Dab - though I've never heard of a 'Dab' fish. They're apparently common in the forth estuary.

The anglers who read this piece will doubtless know.

Anyway, I thought I'd share.

Out in the garden.

 Spring is almost (officially) upon us 👍

But, while we wait for February's page to fall of the calendar, nature is already making its moves: the snowdrops are out, the daffodils are pushing through the earth and the smallest buds are beginning to swell on the twigs of trees too long denuded of foliage by the cold and dismal winter.

Looking for any excuse to get out with the camera, I held out for a while - camera in hand - until yet another rain shower had passed overhead, then made my way among these tiny new additions to our garden.

I converted a few to monochrome as well. I hope you enjoy them.

Bit of a walk???

 St. Tropez? Bit of a walk, right enough, but would be well worth it in the end, No?

Joking aside, this is what I believe the guid folks of Blackness call the ‘Whimsy Stone’, and it’s a legend around those parts.

No one seems to know when or why it was carved. It sits against the road as you enter the village and it seems to have been so placed as a joke.

There is no official record of any ‘twinning’ with St. Tropez on the French Cote d’Azure and, in any case, the mileage is wrong.

It is a popular local attraction though, and much photographed by visitors. Those visitors might also note that there is a sign of the Old Hotel (now the excellent ‘Lobster Pot’ restaurant) that confirms the villages twinning with St. Tropez.

More from Moffat ...

Some more captures from my recent trip to Moffat in the new motorhome.

Jupiter Artlands

 

Jupiter Artland is a sculpture park found just outside East Calder in West Lothian

I’ve had the pleasure of visiting on a few occasions: enjoying not only the art, but the quietude. The landscape offers a haven from the madness of modern life – one of those places where I believe that taking out your phone, even just to look at the time, is a desecration of the habitat.

Add to that personal ‘deep breath out’ feeling I always gain when visiting, are the artworks themselves. They are found positioned at points along the meandering paths which snake easily through the park. Some of them have been there for years, but a few are changed each year – one reason why I look forward to returning each time.

www.jupiterartland.org

Strathbrock Parish Church

 It's almost two years, now, since I took the camera for a walk around this little church which lies nestled in the heart of Broxburn, West Lothian.

I've passed the church entrance way loads of times over the years; always noting it with a quick glance as I drove by. Then, having newly retired from work, and with a little time on my hands, I decided to visit.

It's a small Church: robust and staunch looking in its square frame stonework. The doors were locked and there was no one around - there were a couple of cars in the car park, but they may have been dog walkers who had journeyed further on.

The graveyard is very extensive for a small church. One of the graves is marked for a David Hamilton who was laid to rest in 1773. The church building has, I believe, gone through a few constructions - possibly having its beginnings in a wooden building in the 7th Century. The first stone church in the parish dates back to the 12th Century.

Its well worth a visit.

She made me wear my racing colours!

Honestly :-)  Some of the characters you come across while travelling!

Having stopped for a cold beer on a particularly hot afternoon, June and I spotted this lady wending her way through the busy streets of Cadiz's Cathedral District.

I had to snap her; her little dog looked as though it had been forced to wear some sort of racing colours, and wasn't best pleased.

Another odd thing: why would you want to dress a dog up in that heat in the first place?

You do have to laugh :-)

The beautiful coastal enclave of Melilla.

 

I snapped the very arresting monument captured in these two photos within the Historic Old Town of Melilla la Vieja; an autonomous Spanish city bordering Morocco on the North Coast of Africa, and one of just two Spanish enclaves sited on the African mainland; the other is Ceuta.

As you would expect, Melilla has a huge history: a Spanish enclave, freeport and military base, it has stood at the crossroads of mainly European and African and Middle East cultures for thousands of years. Of 7^th Century Phoenician origin, it later became a Roman colony and achieved a golden age of prosperity as a fortified port under Arabian rule. Its strategic geography cemented its position as a key military and commercial outpost. It was captured by Spain in 1497 and has remained under Spanish rule ever since.

With a population, today, of some 86,000 souls it has become popular as a beautiful and very dynamic travel destination. Not only does it benefit from its warm climate and its proximity to the coast, but it also harbours some of the finest modern architecture to be found outside of Barcelona – the legacy of feted Spanish architect, Enrique Nieto, who learned his craft under the tutelage of the Grand Master, Guadi, himself famous throughout the world for his inspirational, modernist works, which so beautifully blend architecture and art.

I digress, though; back to the pictures:

This grand monument – the work of sculptor Vincent Cayuela – was installed in The Heroes Plaza on Jaun Carlos Avenue in 1941. It’s themes of soldier and attendant Lion suggest National Power with a large nod to the Spanish Civil War and the Nationalist uprising of 1936.

Like most historical statuary, context is a required tool in understanding why they were commissioned. There is much controversy over Cayuela’s rendition: some criticise it – saying it glorifies the violence associated with Franco’s brutal Nationalist rise to power - while others interpret the piece kindlier, ascribing it as a fitting monument to those who fell for Spain. I prefer the latter interpretation.

For real context, you should read George Orwell’s, “Homage to Catalonia” – an excellent read from a man who fought in that conflict against the forces of National Socialism.

Balmaha Road Trip.

Tuesday, 25^th November. 5.17pm. Gartfairn Farm, Balmaha, nr. Loch Lomond.

It’s not quite 5.30pm and, already, it’s ‘countryside black’ outside Valhalla (our new motorhome). I think I’ve pretty much forgotten just how extraordinarily dark it gets out here beyond the towns and cities; no streets; no street-lights; no cars to speak off, though one will very occasionally pass, its headlights shafting through the pitch black.

I kitted up a few minutes ago (it’s currently minus 1 degrees) to go outside and see if there’s a star-field above. There are a few points of light but, with the promise of rain tomorrow, I guess the clouds are already beginning to gather. Also, while it’s very dark looking West towards Balmaha, it’s a lot lighter to the East, which is probably down to the light pollution emitting skyward from Drymen and surrounding villages such as Milton of Buchanan. This particular site is situated next to a working farm, and there are a couple of floodlights stabbing into the void, but I don’t suppose they will make much of a difference to the darkness. The last time I saw a proper starfield was years ago: June and I were camping in Cobleland Camp Site with Robert and Dave. I’d pitched a tent for the boys while June and I slept in the old blue van. Well after midnight, I stepped out to go for a piss … and then looked up; the heavens were ablaze with stars. As I said, I’ve never seen anything like that either before or since. It was a phenomenal sight: Mother Nature decorating the sky for our enjoyment.

Back to the start of the day, though: June took me up to the caravan/motorhome storage park at Westwood. She helped me get Valhalla into shape: sorting out the fridge, clothes and towels, while I checked out the motor. We parted ways around 11.30: I, heading off to the Trossachs, while June planned to go and spend some of her birthday vouchers in M&S.

I got to the site at around 1.30pm and busied myself getting the electrics connected, getting the heating on, and filling up the fresh water tank. When I was pretty much sorted, as promised, I called June to let her know I’d arrived safe and sound. Turns out her own plans had changed: she went to M&S but didn’t see anything she liked so she’d gone home – doubtless enjoying the fact that I wasn’t under her feet.

I then got the bike sorted. I’d stored it in the bedroom for this trip and it was as much a pain in the arse getting it out of Valhalla as it was getting it in. June has ordered a bike rack for my birthday, but it hasn’t arrived yet. Anyway, I got it out, blew up the tyres and put a bit of oil on the front axle. Then I sorted out the camera: I brought a 40-70mm and a 70-200mm lens with me, and I got them secured in the panniers.

All done, I set off for Balmaha, a short 1.5m journey.

There’s not much to this little village – if indeed it is a village, it feels more like a very small hamlet. In all the Main Street is probably ¼ mile long, so it’s a classic case of ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ if you were passing in a car. Mounted on a bike saddle, it took a little longer to pass through. But it was worth it: a number of good visuals looking over the Loch; a couple of boats at anchor and a trio of paddle boarders navigating between them. Typical of my poor preparation though, I’d forgotten to take my polarising filter with me, so I couldn’t compensate for the light hitting the water at a very oblique angle, caused by the position of the Sun as it began to set low in the distance. On top of that, the sky was almost perfectly clear, so I was getting a lot of burn-out above the horizon; the polariser would have helped a little with that as well.

So, I returned to Valhalla with a pretty thin haul of pics; I’m not sure any will survive the cull when I get home.

It’s now just gone 6.30 pm. I should have something to eat, but I ‘m not sure I want much; I have tins of soup and lots of cold meats. I also have a Pot Noodle, but those things will kill you in the end. I’ll sort something out later … maybe.

11.08pm

Oh, such excitement! The electrickery went off a couple of hours ago.

To be fair though, the heating has been on the highest of three levels since I first parked and got the electrics hooked up. Seems the internal power supply couldn’t take anymore and tripped and, in so doing, tripped the exterior supply as well. Since, I’ve kept the heating at mark two and opted to compensate by wearing my jacket.

While I was outside, I noted that the ground – quite slushy when I arrived – is now frozen solid, and the hap I’ve placed over the bike is shimmering with a diamond like glistening of hard frost.

I’ve called June (I face timed her and was aghast at just how beautifully warm is her smile) and now it is time for me to check out my new sleeping bag. I’ll turn the heating down to ‘frost protect’ in the hope that it won’t trip again; though I may have to suffer a sharp cold in the morning 😟

Wednesday, 26^th November.  4.50pm. Gartfairn Farm.

Learning to be a ‘Motorhomer’ is definitely a work in progress!

Last night, I dialled the temperature setting down to just above its lowest mark, then crawled into my new sleeping bag expecting to have a decent nights sleep. I was way off the mark though. The cold woke me at about 1.30am; I was shivering crazily. Also, the sleeping bag is a tight fit, and therefore – for me – really uncomfortable. I tried to cozy myself in but quickly realised I wasn’t getting back to sleep. So, I got up, turned up the heating, and took out two blankets we had in storage and nested myself within them. It all worked well until 3.30am, when I was awakened by cramps in both my lower legs. It was really excruciating. So, again, I was out of bed and hobbling around the MH trying to loosen them off. 20 ins later I was back in bed and managed to doze through until almost 7am.

I get up, got dressed, made the bed and went through to the kitchen lounge to have a look at the world and, as the BBC weather app predicted, it was pissing down. The skies were leaden and, despite the fact that I’m parked on hard standing, pools of water were beginning to form around Valhalla.

I had a breakfast of tea and toast, then marshalled my courage and went out to prep the bike. The frost that had glittered over it last night had since thawed. I shook heavy beads of water off the hap, attached the battery and headed off for Balmaha. On the passing, I said goodbye to my neighbour, David; he was packing up for a planned trip to Penrith. I don’t know if I mentioned, before, that he and his wife have been on the road since February. They were gone when I eventually returned.

Again, the main feature of today has been the rain: I rode into Balmaha with only the G7x; there’s no way I could have managed the D5 in that sort of weather. Even so, I had to be careful getting it out: the rain was even heavier than it was when I first ventured out and, of course, tech is very adverse to water ingress. (I later discovered that some of my captures have little blotches of water droplets on them, spoiling them. But, as I said, it’s all a learning experience.)

The end of the lower road out of Balmaha terminates in a view point and pontoon. I found a couple of guys fishing there and managed a few clandestine shots of them at their sport. While there, I also discovered some old trees overhanging a very slate-grey and murky Loch Lomond and captured a few shots of them; with luck they won’t have suffered the water droplets.

I had been cycling / shooting in the rain for around an hour when my enthusiasm failed and I decided to make my way back to Balmaha. There, I called into the Oak Tree Inn, hoping for a little respite from the cold and wet; I was now soaked through; leather gloves, large raincoat, lower legs and even my polo shirt all sodden.

I wasn’t disappointed. A guy met me at the door and showed me where I should tie up the bike. They weren’t due to open for another half hour, but he asked me if I wanted something to eat and, 10 minutes later, returned with my order of bacon and egg rolls. During that 10 minutes hiatus, I had a wee wander around the bar: what a place, a real gem; the walls are hung with old pictures of locals and other artifacts. I could have spent the day examining them, but I was called back to the table when my rolls arrived.

My first cooked food of the expedition now warming my stomach, I got back on my bike and travelled the 1.5 miles back to Gartfairn Farm. There, I happed up the bike then got into Valhalla and divested myself of my sodden … everything! I then had a cup of tea before taking to bed for a half hour nap (it had been a tortured sleep the night before, and I was feeling the need for a little catch-up below the sheets).

The teeming rain put paid to any thoughts I might have had to take a further excursion. But, I really enjoyed my first photographically emphasised road trip.