Borders Tour

 

It was my great pleasure, last week, to join the PPG group for an organised wander around the Scottish Borders.

Armed with our instruments of choice (I was packing my trusty old Canon 5D Mk iv) we set off from West Lothian to make the journey South at 7am on a Sunday morning.

The weather wasn’t looking great: the BBC weather app suggested a slight threat of rain for much of the day, though, in the end, we were only troubled with keeping the equipment dry on a couple of occasions as rain clouds drifted quickly through the places we’d stopped; on one of those occasions – at Scotts view - we could plainly see the clouds casting their burden over the Eildon Hills.

Our first port of call was Kelso. There we stopped for breakfast before taking a stroll through the quiet, cobbled streets before walking on to the magnificent Abbey.

Next town on our tour was Jedburgh, along with its own Abbey.

With our cards filling up, we journeyed on to the spectacular Leaderfoot Viaduct. This is a remarkable piece of Victorian engineering and offers ample forage for the myopic eyes of our cameras.

It was then on to Scott’s View. This is where I earlier mentioned watching the rain clouds unburden themselves as they passed through the valleys of the Eildon Hills.

From thence, we tucked away our gear until we reached the busy streets of Melrose. While there, we visited the Harmony Garden, with many of its cultivated gardens in full bloom. Again, wonderful images to capture – and we captured plenty.

Leaving Melrose behind, we sped off to The Haining Estate in Selkirk in order to peruse the 18^th Century Palladian Mansion House which stands in glory before Loch Haining. We also enjoyed a short woodland walk which took us down to the Lochside itself.

We ended our day at St. Mary’s Loch, settling just beside the Glen Café – though we’d arrived too late in the evening to find it still open.

Corolla’s fish and chip shop in Galashiels was still open though, and a few of the group partook of their wares before we finally packed the gear away and headed back to Livingston.

All in all though, it was a great trip, and I have since processed just a few of the near 200 images I took on the day.

I hope you enjoy them.

Boston's Chinatown.

 

Here, June is standing below the Paifang at the entrance to Boston’s Chinatown district; cultural heart of the Chinese community.

Positioned at each side of June, resting Lions guard the entrance; these are placed at the base of the Paifang and signify protection. Internationally, key elements of these constructions such as red pillars (symbolising good fortune, but not employed on this one) and tiled roofs (often green or gold – representing prosperity) are found in many of the Paifang we’ve seen on our travels and, while they may seem fairly similar, they are all uniquely decorated with artworks deeply symbolic to the Chinese diaspora around the world. The four gold inscriptions on the arch above this entrance on Boston’s Beach Street read: Propriety, Justice, Integrity and Honour.

Hanging above the Paifang are the ‘Stars & Stripes’ of America and, alongside ‘Old Glory’, hangs the National Flag of the Republic of China (Taiwan), not to be confused with the Peoples Republic of China (Beijing). This version of the flag also has an element of the American Flag added – the short ‘Stars and Stripes’ at the foot. It’s hung in honour of the Taiwanese Government who gifted the gate to Boston in 1982.

Forfar Loch in Gold.

A few photo’s I captured during a very enjoyable walk around Forfar’s beautiful Loch.

It was later in the evening when we passed by a few lads enjoying their paddle-boards on the very calm waters f the Loch. By the time we got to the most distant part of our walk and then started on the path back to the caravan site, the Sun was very low and we were bathed in a perfectly warm, Golden Hour hue.

These are a few of the shots I managed to snap as an aide-memoire of a beautiful evening.

An ancient coast.

 

The Sun is sinking behind me; its gaunt light fading away to the West; a little earlier, I think, than it probably should for late Spring. But it’s not unexpected; from a murky dawn, the Sun has struggled to pierce the low canopy of brooding nimbostratus clouds which have, all day, been dragging their way across Northumbria’s leaden skies.

I’m stood just a few hundred yards from our campsite on the outskirts of Beadnell Village, facing East over the North Sea. And I find it amazing to consider that the only thing that lies between me and the unseen shores of Denmark’s West Jutland coast, are 460 miles of heaving, iron black waters. It’s a truly awesome sight and leaves me feeling very insignificant; very small.

The silence is almost deafening; save, that is, from the belligerent howls from an affray of vagrant squalls which pirouette along the shoreline and - seemingly vexed by my presence – tug at my collar and cuffs while pitching thin veils of rain my way.

But I’m not minded to leave, not yet.

This is an infamously rugged and austere region of Britains coastline; and my own inconsequence within it only seems to be exaggerated as I stand before its broad (almost eerie) expanse of craggy, slab-like rock formations; formations laid down millions of years ago as layers of foundational sandstone blocks which have subsequently - over countless millennia - been fractured and fragmented by the dynamic forces of powerful tectonic drifts, and further mutilated by the merciless grinding of relentless glacial migrations, leaving this tortured vista as we see it today: desolate, fractured and broken; a coldly picturesque prehistoric panorama rendered in a bleak palette of blacks and greys.

And, amplifying my sense of detachment, now, from the modern world, is the fact that I’m completely alone out here; there’s not another soul in sight; not one solitary human being with whom I might share the awesome spectacle of this broad and ruggedly beautiful shoreline.

The tide is out just now, and as the decline of the land is very shallow here, so the sea has receded a fair distance from the shore. But even while the growing stain of night’s gloom continues to congeal around me, I can still just about make out the foaming tops of distant waves and hear them crash against the shore.

And there I am, standing – still quite alone - before this austere, unwelcoming landscape; quietly surveying the consequence of eons of passing time. And, despite the dark; despite the chilly chagrin of squalling wind devils, I can’t help but be in awe of this ancient, tortured, but wonderfully alluring landscape.

“The Orchid Show: Mr. Flower Fantastic’s Concrete Jungle”

 

We took the time – while in New York – to visit the City’s Botanic Gardens.

And, like everything in New York, this is a massive place: beautifully manicured grounds and very tastefully set out park areas.

We were especially there, though, to take in “The Orchid Show: Mr. Flower Fantastic’s Concrete Jungle” show.

What a fantastically creative and colourful event it turned out to be. Essentially, they recreated iconic New York City sites such as an apartment stoop, a large bucket, a garage, a taxi, a pizza joint, a laundry and many other scenes – and all sculpted with living orchids. It was an incredible experience.

I took dozens of pictures, and here are a few of them:

Gun Free.

Generally speakin', there is much about being - State-Side - which makes you feel you're not ALL that far away from the good old UK. There are some quite subtle differences; little nuances, that remind you you're not perambulatin' around the streets of Edinburgh or London.

And then there's the big 'IN YER FACE' ones!

You just have to read the signs 😐

Canal Street, Manhattan, NYC

 

Canal Street was a great experience 😊

Geographically speaking, it sits at the sort of ‘hinge point’ of Lower Manhattan; cutting through the heart of Chinatown it forms the Southern Edge of SoHo and the Northern boundary of Tribeca. It also marks the lower border of what is left of the famous (and occasionally infamous) streets of Little Italy.

We were there Midweek – having stayed a few days in the Hyatt Place Hotel on West 24^th Street, in the Chelsea District – and it was just SO busy. I really didn’t expect to find it so incredibly populated. Street corners were packed with throngs of people, many of whom were either offering, or purchasing goods.

My first impression had been that there was something going on: a march; a demonstration, maybe street theatre of some kind. But, NO, it was just how Canal Street is: the hustle and bustle of hustlers and, I guess, bustlers. But when you begin to take in the activities of groups of predominantly African & Chinese Americans, you realise that Canal Street is basically the stage of a lively, open air market. And from what I could see, there was lots of goods for sale, the majority of these items being ‘knock-off’ designer ware: handbags, shoulder bags, clothing, perfumes.

There were shops, and lots of them, but the real trade was done on the street. I saw traders dragging large canvas bags from cars – big old bags, similar in size to those you might keep bedding in – and just unzip them right there on any available space on the sidewalk (just me slipping in a little Americanism). The bag would unzip almost all the way around and would fold out and flatten, acting like a canvas floormat for all the goods to be separated for display. And there was all sorts: the aforementioned clothes, perfumes and bags, along with Apple gear: buds, Iphones & Ipads, as well as headphones, watches and much, much more.

As well as the ‘bag’ men and women, there were also lots of Chinese Ladies armed with catalogues folded concertina style, so what looked initially like a long take-away food menu would unfold to A3 poster size. I watched them ply their trade or, more particularly, their bosses trade. These ladies would approach female tourists and invite them to peruse their catalogues; the one I watched showed dozens of little pictures of handbags. If the tourist then took the bait, they would be escorted around a corner from the main street and led to an apartment door. There, they would meet a guy – again, usually African or Chines American – who would bring you your preferred choice of fashion accessory and then haggle the price with you. I spoke to one of the customers afterwards: she said they started off at $400, but that she haggled him down to $70. And she was really pleased with the quality of her new Yves Saint Laurent bag.

Of course, all this trade is very surreptitious. The NYPD will often undertake a raid on the traders, but that is why they display their wares so clandestinely; there is likely look-outs at either side of the main thoroughfare who call in any police activity, hence the reason the traders work from quick-zip bags and off street doorways.

I couldn’t fathom, though, how there was SO much Apple gear on show. So far as I could see these were not knock-offs; they were presented in real boxes still sealed in cellophane? And speaking to people who know how the game works, they said that these items were genuine, though for them, too, how they were amassed was a mystery of Big Apple proportions.

The Glasgow Necropolis

 As a confirmed - and quite active - Taphophile, there is nothing in the world quite so satisfying, peace-promoting and brain cleansing to me than a quiet walk among the dead.

Glasgow Necropolis offered more promissory balm than a prospective visit to the biblical Gilead: a voluminous Victorian cemetery of some 3sq.km which opened in 1832 and now boasts approx 3,500 monuments, it sits on a hill and offers some great vista's over Glasgow - including the Glasgow Cathedral - and is well worth a visit.

It also boasts some famous (permanent) residents; a list of which can be found at Wikipedia

I hope you enjoy the pics.