Part 1: Sour Cherries Tour – Budapest

December 2022

Fun, pure fun for several days in a row, was something I thought I would never experience again. The plague had taken away any idea that there could be any fun to be had. Living on prison island, I had almost forgotten how liberating fun can be until I joined the Sour Cherries Tour of Budapest.

A very dear friend from another life who now lives in London, invited me to join the Sour Cherries Tour of Budapest during my first escape from prison island in the Antipodes after covid. I had not previously visited Budapest, and I had never attended a Christmas market in Europe, so I jumped at the opportunity.

Three sour cherries assembled at Heathrow, where much toasting to the success of the tour occurred. More toasting on the flight to Budapest ensured a very happy relaxed arrival in Budapest, where the fourth sour cherry was awaiting our arrival.

Having grown up with the Blue Danube Waltz – even performing as a skater in a school version, I had been somewhat disappointed to discover that the Danube in Vienna was far from blue. I was so hoping that the Danube in Budapest would be blue. Well, it was and it wasn’t. I got my Blue Danube at night. During the day it was many shades of grey.

The four Sour Cherries were a diverse group, all very different, in age and nationality, and not one of them lives in the country of their birth. Chief Sour Cherry is an Australian who lives in London. Deputy Chief Sour Cherries are variously a New Zealander living in Sydney, but whose heart is in London (the elder of the tribe), an Irishwoman, living in Oxford and a New Zealander, living temporarily in Germany, but based in London. By way of explanation, the Chief Sour Cherry is the “Chief” as he was the organiser. The Deputy Sour Cherries are “Deputies” as we were very enthusiastic participants.

The elder of the tribe and the Irish Sour Cherry were staying in the same hotel in Pest, in an obviously touristy street

The Central Market Hall, the main produce market in Budapest, was located at the end of the street close to our hotel, so was an obvious first destination. The ground floor was the foodhall – I never knew that there were so many varieties of paprika. The fruit and vegetables all looked superb. The first floor is more touristy, and the contained a vast array of stuff that only tourists would buy, such as the I (heart) Budapest mugs, caps and T shirts. There were numerous leather goods stalls, some of which stocked items of a reasonable style and design. Some of the glassware was lovely, and there was a great variety of ceramics. I acquired a beautiful blue crystal champagne glass to replace a broken glass. I could have sworn it was identical to the set it was joining. It was not, but it didn’t matter. As the Chief Sour Cherry remarked, far more interesting than a matching set. One stall contained “Herend” porcelain. If I was planning to acquire Herend, I would have visited the Palais Herend, and undoubtedly would have paid a great deal more, but I would actually have acquired Herend.

I was looking forward to my first experience of Christmas Markets in Europe. Whether or not the markets in Budapest are up there with the best, they were certainly magical for me. A smorgasbord of of food, Gluhwein, Hungarian arts and crafts, and some of the loveliest festive lighting I have seen. I indulged in Gluhwein – nothing better to bring on the fuzzy, warm and happy experience of enjoying Christmas markets with friends.

The festive lighting, was quite innovative in some areas – cars and shoes in one area. Shop fronts were decorated, some with changing coloured lights, and there were so many Christmas trees of all shapes and sizes.

Just a few of the many Christmas trees.

Wandering around the Christmas markets, the wild cherries came across a ferris wheel. No, not me, I don’t do ferris wheels. So pleased that the majority ruled, and we boarded the ferris wheel. Budapest by night from the ferris wheel was magical.

Budapest has a lot more to offer than Christmas Markets. Walking around Buda and Pest is easy, give or take a couple of rather steep Hills in Buda, and walk we did, generally only occasionally resorting to a bus or taxi when running short of time.

I have read a lot about the Holocaust and visited many Holocaust museums and memorials over the years, but I had little specific knowledge of the fate Jewish people in Budapest. A visit to the Dohany Street Synagogue, with its memorial gardens and Holocaust Museum in the basement, and to a memorial on the banks of the Danube, sent me on a journey of discovery. I found that prior to World War II approximately 200,000 Jewish people lived in Budapest. In the early years of World War II around 5,000 Jewish refugees from Germany and Austria arrived in Budapest, and from 1942, approximately 8,000 Slovak refugees sought haven in Budapest. Until the German occupation in March 1944, they remained relatively secure. A ghetto was established in November, 1944. From December 1944 to the end of January 1945 it is estimated that up to 20,000 Jewish people from the ghetto were executed on the bank of the Danube, and thrown into the river.

Budapest was liberated in February 1945 by Soviet forces.

There are numerous memorials in the garden. The one I found very moving was a sculpture of a life sized weeping willow, designed by Imre Varga. Each leaf has the name of a person murdered during the holocaust. Descending into the basement of the synagogue felt a little like descending into hell. The graphic photographs and commentaries accompanying them of Jewish people murdered in the streets was extremely confronting.

“To the memory of Victims shot into the Danube by Arrow Cross militiamen in 1944-45” is the sign on an an extremely evocative memorial on the banks of the Danube. Around 60 pairs of women, men and children’s shoes, made of iron, were scattered along the promenade. I felt the despair of wearer’s of those shoes. I felt the evil of the militiamen – murdering men, women and children because they were Jewish. I felt despair that there are people today who deny the holocaust ever happened. To read more about this memorial go to yadvashem.org/articles/general/shoes-on-the-Danube-promenade.html

A day in Buda, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, commenced with a walk over the Liberty Bridge, constructed in the art nouveau style and a visit to the Castle Hill District. Catching the Castle Hill Funicular to the Royal Palace saved us a walk up the hill. First things first. The large cauldron’s full of hot aromatic Gluhwein, accompanied by a very large sausage could not be resisted.

Fortified and feeling fuzzy, warm and happy it was time to explore the medieval Castle District with its narrow winding streets, The Royal Palace is comprised of several buildings. The first castle was built on the site in the thirteenth century. The Baroque Palace, which now covers most of the site was built in the 16th century. I know little of the history of Hungary and its Kings and Queens. I am not generally interested in the interiors of places once occupied by royalty – I don’t wish to see the opulent manner in which these people lived. I do enjoy viewing the architecture, and love to see the monumental sculptures commissioned by the various occupants of these places. The Castle Grounds contained a satisfactorily large number of sculptures.

Matthias Fountain a Neo Baroque sculpture, with Art Noveau decoration. Hunting Scene.

The Hungarian National Gallery is situated in the Royal Palace. We did not have time to explore the gallery properly, but we managed to see the exhibition of Janos Vaszary (1869-1939) (Vaszary re-discovered), which included 24 previously unknown paintings. None of the Sour Cherries had heard of Vaszary so the entire exhibition was a discovery. The artist utilised a variety of styles including early impressionistic work to art deco style and proved to be well worth viewing.

Walking from Buda Castle along the banks of the Danube towards the Fishermen’s Bastion, the Wild Cherries were proposing various theories as to what fishing had to to with a Bastion high on a hill. Maybe it was a fish market in earlier times, although that did not seem logical – why would people lug quantities of fish from the river up to the top of the hill.

The Bastion of today was built between 1895 and 1902, and is in reality a viewing platform, although the architecture is in the style of early medieval times. The original Bastion was part of the defence of the Castle, and was named after the fishermen’s village below.

Entering Holy Trinity Square after climbing what felt like several hundred stairs, we found ourselves surrounded by the Bastion with its fairytale towers to our right, and St. Matthias Church slightly to our left. The Square also contains a large statue of St. Stephen astride a well dressed horse. Refreshments were required before any further exploration could possibly be undertaken. Hooray for the Gluhwein stall.

Above Left: The final staircase to the Bastion. Top Right: St Stephen on his well dressed horse. Below Left: Gluhwein stall.

The panoramic views across the Danube to Pest are magnificent – The Hungarian Parliament looking beautiful by day and night is a standout. As the evening got darker, the little lights draped over all of the Bastion Towers and walls started twinkling and glowing, completing the fairytale look.

St Matthias (Matyas) Church was erected on the site of an earlier church, and was rebuilt in 1470. Over the centuries the church was the site of coronations of Hungarian Kings. It was converted into a mosque by the Ottoman Turks and utilised as such for around 150 years until reverting to a catholic Church. Architecturally St Matthias is a traditional gothic church. The interior is rather more exotic. Stunning frescoes, in tones of orange/brown decorate the walls from floor to ceiling.

After all that splendour it was time for cocktails.

Wherever I travel, I seek out images of St George killing the dragon. Budapest did not let me down. I found two, a tiled one being in the street I looked along, from my hotel room, on the wall of Saint George Martyr Serbian Orthodox Church. The other was a statue by the stairs to the Fishermen’s Bastion – a replica, the original is in Prague. To read about my obsession with St George images, and the places I have found them go to Myths and Legends – in search of St George and the Dragon. What has fascinated me has been the way in which artists from many countries over many centuries have depicted the dragon.

The sour cherries had some memorable meals due to the research efforts of the Chief Sour Cherry. We also found ourselves in fabulous cocktail bars, and sampling local wines. In order to repay this meticulous effort, the two kiwis’ became the entertainment one evening by performing a very creditable Haka.

So on that note, Part 1 of the Sour Cherries Budapest tour ends.

Marrakech, Morocco.

Marrakech – what a joyous, interesting, dynamic and exciting place to visit. It is a vibrant city, full of colour, activity, beautiful architecture, palaces and wonderful gardens. Its history is fascinating.

The Medina quarter in Marrakech is a UNESCO World Heritage site. What better place to stay than in a Riad in the Medina. The Riad Le Clos des Arts was my choice of accommodation. I arrived in Marrakech very late at night, and as motor vehicles (other than motorcycles) cannot enter the Medina, I was very grateful to find that the Riad management had arranged to have someone waiting at the car park to escort me through the narrow winding lanes to the Riad.

Door on the right is entry to the Riad Les Clos des Arts

The Riad Le Clos des Arts was a perfect choice. My room was on the ground floor, and felt exotic. Meals were served on the rooftop, near the pool. Sitting there on my first morning listening to the call to prayer from several nearby mosques, contemplating a breakfast of fruit and home made yoghurt, home made bread, savoury and sweet pastries, raw honey, butter and olive oil, cheese and eggs, I was in a very happy place. Where did we ever get the idea that cornflakes or even worse, porridge, was a suitable breakfast.

Left: My bedroom in the Riad (photo credit Riad Le Clos des Arts). Right: Rooftop pool Riad Le Clos des Arts

The Riad, on one of the narrow laneways in the Medina led, via other little laneways, to the Rue Riad Zitoun el Khedim, which in turn led into the Place Djemaa el Fna which is a large square and marketplace in the Medina quarter. After breakfast on my first day in Marrakech, I ventured forth to the Square, which was once a destination along the Sahara Caravan route. The camel trains carried cargoes of spice, ivory and slaves from Timbuktu.

The Square was proclaimed by UNESCO as a Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity in 2001. Juan Goytisolo in a speech defending threatened cultures, delivered on 15 May 2001 said:

“The spectacle of Djemma el Fna is repeated daily and each day is different. Everything changes – voices, sounds, gestures, the public which sees, listens, smells, tastes and touches. The oral tradition is framed by one much vaster – that which we call intangible. The Square, as a physical space, shelters a rich oral and intangible tradition.”

A spectacle it was. Entering the square was an almost surrealist experience. The noise, the kaleidoscope of colour, the activities and the sheer number of people, locals and tourists, required a couple of minutes of contemplation before exploring further. There were numerous market stalls, musicians, henna artists, acrobats, young men with chained performing barbary macaques, snake charmers, fortune tellers and storytellers. The macaques and snakes are protected species in Morocco, but clearly not very well protected.

Performers in the Square (photo credit Jane Wright).

Although snake charming is a tradition which dates back hundred of years, it is not a tradition that I embrace. Snakes feature in the worst of my nightmares. I am terrified of them and I did not wish to go anywhere near the snake charmers – particularly after an experience in India when I inadvertently stood beside a basket containing a cobra. Seeing that cobra raising itself out of the basket a few inches from my leg was among the most terrifying experiences of my life, and I didn’t want a repeat performance.

The snake charmers were everywhere and impossible to avoid. Even worse, the snakes were not in baskets. I gave them all a wide berth, did not watch and certainly did not take photographs. Unfortunately that did not stop one of the snake charmers from approaching me to demand money for watching their show. I was fortunate that he did not have a snake with him. I was horrified to see snake charmers chasing after people and throwing a hapless snake around their shoulders – apparently because they had been watching a show close up, and had moved on without making a donation.

Djemma el Fna by day. (Snake charmers above left, and right – photo credit Melchior Burin des Roziers: Snake charmer centre top photo credit Emily Kratzmann)

By night, tables, chairs and food stalls transform Djemma el Fna into a huge outdoor eating area. The smell of the food cooking was very enticing, the aroma of spice filled the air and the noise was greater than it had been during the day.

Place Djemaa El Fnaa by night (Photo Credits Emily Katzmann).

Marrakech has the largest traditional market (Souk) in Morroco. I had a guide accompany me when I visited the souk, for which I was grateful. I saw a great deal more of areas that I may never have found on my own – or if I had, would never have found my way out.

Whilst in the Souk, I noticed a sign to Le Jardin Secret – the Secret Garden. I had to see this garden, so memorised where it was and returned later to visit it. The garden dates back to the Saadian Dynasty, more than 400 years ago. It had fallen into disrepair by the 1930’s, and abandoned. It was restored, and opened in 2016. Stepping into this garden from the teeming masses in the Souk was like ascending into paradise – calm and peace in the middle of chaos. There are two parts to this garden. A Paradise garden which is a classic Islamic garden, and an exotic garden, the latter representing the Christian garden of Eden.

My first day in Marrakech had been filled with activity, and as evening fell, I was very tempted to stop at one of the stalls which had appeared in the Place Djemaa to try some of the food on offer. There was obviously no wine being served, and since I felt that wine with dinner was called for, to celebrate a most exhilarating day I decided to dine at the Riad. I had just assumed that the Riad would serve wine. It didn’t, but I was served the best Tagine I have ever tasted. Perfectly cooked lamb with a glorious mix of spices. Eating on the rooftop terrace, with the lights of the Medina spread out below and the sounds of the night filtering up was heady enough. Wine was not required. I knew that wine was available at the big hotels, but had seen nowhere during that day where alcohol could be obtained. Research was required for the next evening. In the event, no research was required. At the end of the meal, a waiter approached to tell me that there was a bar, not far from the Riad, where I could get a glass of wine. He marked my map with the location of the bar. My pre-dinner destination for the rest of my stay.

Rooftop Terrace by day and night and selection of accompaniments to the Tagine.

In a laneway, branching off a laneway, which in turn branched off the laneway in which the Riad was situated, I came across the Musee Tiskiwan. This museum contains a collection of North African objects and artefacts of everyday life of the Berber, Sahara and North African people. I only came across this museum because I had got lost on my way to visit the El Badi Palace. I had the museum to myself, and apart from a nagging worry that I may never find my way out of the laneways, I was very happy to have found it. The exhibits were excellent.

Fortunately I found my way out of the laneways and found the El Badi Palace.

Construction of the Palace by Sultan Ahmed al Mansour began in 1578. By the time it was completed it contained over 300 beautifully decorated rooms (gold, turquoise and crystal) a vast courtyard with sunken gardens and reflecting pools. When the Sultan Ismail Ibn Sharif moved the capital from Marrakech to Meknes at the end of the 17th century, he stripped the El Badi Palace of its treasures. Today, the palace is in ruins, but the scale of the grandeur can be imagined when contemplating the size of the courtyard, and sunken gardens. Climbing up onto the ramparts provides extensive views over Marrakech, and to the Atlas Mountains beyond. Storks have claimed the top of the palace walls for their nests – which are huge untidy affairs.

I love Minbars, so was very pleased to find the Koutoubia Minbar, the work of 12th century Cordoban artists, on display at the El Badi Palace. The Minbar was removed from the Koutoubia Mosque in 1962. Like most Minbars I have seen, the Koutoubia Minbar an exquisitely decorated work of Islamic art.

Koutoubia Minbar – photo credit Wikipedia

The Saadian Tombs are a short walk from the El Badi Palace – or would have been had my sense of direction not failed me woefully. In my defence, it is difficult to navigate areas where streets are unmarked, the red earth walls surrounding buildings all look the same, and I did try to take a short cut through a pleasant looking alleyway, which became rather grim and felt sinister, the further I got into it. My stroll became a power walking experience.

The alleyway at the point where the power walking began

The entry to the tombs is through a rather nondescript laneway, which emerges into a lovely courtyard garden, which contains two mausoleums, which externally give no hint of the beauty of the rooms. The tombs in the mausoleums house the remains of seven Sultans and around 62 family members. The Saadian’s ruled Morocco from 1549 to 1659. The tombs were sealed off and hidden after the fall of the dynasty, and were only rediscovered in 1917.

Although the queue to see the tombs in the mausoleums was long and slow moving, there was plenty to enjoy in the gardens, including tombs of less important people. A workman was repairing patterned stone mosaic tiles in the courtyard – I acquired a small tile for a reasonable price – one which was being discarded – or so the workman said. That tile is now affixed to one of my art poles – bit of a comedown for the tile, from Marrakech to suburban Sydney.

I am not a patient person in queues. I have been known to walk away from something I really wished to see – the cut off the nose to spite the face syndrome. Thank goodness I did not walk away from the Saadian Tombs. The beauty of their decoration was a little like the decoration in the Alhambra in Granada, Spain. Carrara marble, ornamental vaulting decorated with gold, zellij tiles – geometrically patterned stone mosaics. The first of the two mausoleums contains three rooms. The hall of Twelve Columns is the most ornate of the rooms, and contains the tomb of Sultan Ahmed al-Mansur. The Mihrab Room contains a prayer niche facing Mecca, and the Room of 3 Niches. The smaller mausoleum is much more simply decorated, although its lower walls were decorated with beautiful faience mosaics.

Room of twelve Columns (Photo Credit Wikipedia)

The Saadian Tombs are historically significant and so exquisite, that I wanted time to contemplate what I had learnt and what I had seen. It was time to find the bar, rather improbably called the Kozybar. It was nearby, and its balcony provided great views across the El Badi Palace, the storks nests on top of the walls and across rooftops to the Koutoubia Mosque. It was a perfect place to relax The wine was excellent.

Strolling back to the Riad, I missed the laneway turnoff, and ended up in the Djemaa El Fnaa, which had become one giant outdoor restaurant. I blame the wine for my navigation fail.

I visited an extraordinary botanical garden, Le Jardin Majorelle which was created by Jacques Majorelle over a period of 40 years, from the early 1920’s. Majorelle was an avid plant collector, and the garden contains 300 species of plants from 5 continents, and include banana trees, coconut palms, bougainvilleas and groves of bamboo, along with many varieties of cacti and succulents. The plantings are enhanced by fountains, marble pools of water lilies, and channels of running water.

Le Jardin Majorelle is the most colourful garden I have ever visited – not just the plants and flowers but also from the bright berber blue, orange, purple and yellow plant pots lining walkways, and the Moorish Art Deco Villa in the gardens, also painted berber blue and yellow.

I felt as if I was a detail in a magnificent painting (like the donor in the corner), and indeed Majorelle was an artist – it is said the garden composition is that of the composition of a major painting.

The Villa and Gardens had been abandoned after the death of Majorelle. They were acquired by Yves Saint Laurent and Pierre Berge in 1981, which saved them from demolition and re-development.

I spent my final day in Marrakech visiting the Bahia Palace, then wandering around the Medina.

The Bahia Palace was built between 1866 and 1867, and sits on 2 acres of garden. The Palace contains 150 rooms, all beautifully decorated. Some of the rooms contain zellig tiled fireplaces and floors. There are carved cedarwood and stucco lintels, and highly decorative ceilings. Stained glass was used in some rooms, said to be the first time it had been used in Islamic Moroccan style buildings. Visualising the plain light coloured walls and ceilings any house I have lived in, I felt deprived.

From the Bahia Palace, my wanderings took me to the Kasbah Mosque, built in 1190, the Koutoubia Mosque, built in 1158, (and the main landmark in Marrakech with a Minaret of 77 metres) the Koutoubia Gardens and along many laneways, alleyways and streets.

A glass or two of wine at the Kozybar, enjoying watching the storks coming back to their nests and the sun setting over the High Atlas Mountains was a very fitting conclusion to a trip which stimulated all the senses.

If you enjoyed reading this, you may wish to read about my day trip from Marrakech over the High Atlas Mountains to Ait Ben Haddou at travelwithgma.wordpress.com/2018/09/04

Tivoli – Italy

Gardens of Villa D’Este and Villa Adriana Archaeological Site

Gardens of all kinds attract me like a moth to flame. Grand, monumental, historical, famous, botanical, natural or pruned to within an inch of its life, or beautifully designed small domestic gardens – each of these types of garden are places in which I find peace, joy and happiness.

Happiness is an Archaeological site to explore.

Tivoli, a small town about 30km from Rome, contains two UNESCO World Heritage sites – Villa D’Este, which has a very grand monumental garden, containing more fountains than I have ever seen in one garden and Villa Adriana (Hadrians Villa) which is an archaeological site.

Gardens of Villa D’Este

Visiting the gardens of the Villa D’Este was a most joyful and happy experience. I felt as if I had gone down a rabbit hole and entered an architectural wonderland. The garden is on several levels, covering around 4ha, with tree and hedge lined avenues, gardens with around 51 fountains, with hundreds of jets, water spouts and over 60 waterfalls (numbers not verified, but I can verify that there were more fountains, waterfalls and water features than I have ever seen in one garden.) Sculptures and cherubs abound, all making this garden feel like a giant fantasyland. Iris and roses were flowering profusely adding splashes of colour.

Villa d’Este was designed and laid out for Cardinal Ippolito II d’Este by Pirro Ligorio. Work on the Villa and its gardens commenced in 1550 and took 20 years to complete, and is a splendid example of a High Renaissance garden.

Fountain of Neptune with top of Fountain of the organ (top centre)

Wandering along avenues, and down stairs and paths, my exploration of the garden felt like a never ending journey through paradise. One of the more fantastical fountains is the Rometta Fountain which is meant to represent ancient Rome.

I loved the tree lined Avenue of 100 fountains, so called because there are around 100 carved fountain heads, through which water falls into a long canal.

The garden covers an area known as Valle Gaudente – the Valley of Pleasure. What an apt place to create a garden – my visit was a pleasure – although pleasure is only a small part of the experience. Emerging from the rabbit hole, back to my reality was a less than optimum experience.

Villa Adriana – Hadrian’s Villa

Hadrian was born in 76CE and was the Roman Emperor 117CE to 138CE, when he died. He is buried in the Castel Saint’Angelo in Rome.

He was responsible for building projects throughout the Roman Empire, with the Pantheon in Rome being his most substantial achievement. He was also responsible for the building a defensive wall, (Hadrians Wall) marking the northern limit of Roman Britain.

I have visited the Pantheon on numerous occasions and seen a few of the remains of Hadrians Wall. During the dark days of the plague, to assist motivating myself to get out of bed, I completed a virtual walk alongside Hadrians Wall, which during the course of the walk, provided extensive views of the wall.

How could I resist a visit to the ruins and archaeological site of one of the places Hadrian called home.

The Villa complex was built between 118CE and 121CE over 120 hectares. As befitting a Roman Emperor, it was opulent – clearly no humble abode – as the plan indicates.

Plan Hadrian’s Villa – Photo Credit Alamy.

The Villa was Hadrian’s retreat from Rome. Wandering around the site I could imagine the grandeur, despite the ruins. Reflecting Hadrians scholarship and extensive travels, the complex of seven classical buildings were based on Greek and Roman classical architecture. The pools, canal, baths and sculptures complete the “international” style of architecture.

The remains of the various water features and sculptures give a better idea of how grand this country retreat was. Makes my family’s country retreat, a bach at the beach on the Coromandel Peninsula in New Zealand, seem like a squalid hut.

The Serapeon of Canopus was supposedly an Egyptian style canal. There was a Theatre with a round colonnaded pool, baths and Hadrians swimming pool – the Poercile.

Above: Serapeon Canopus

In Hadrians day, there were extensive gardens – landscaped, wilderness areas and farmland. Today very little of the area contains gardens. There are large expanses of grass, numerous varieties of trees and shrubs, and some large areas of wildflowers, which on the day I visited were a glorious mass of colour.

Stone Pines and Conifers along the embankment above the Canopus

My visits to archaeological sites have always proved to be a great learning experience. I research before I visit, and research and learn in more depth after a visit. The visit to Villa Adriana was no exception.

When I came to the end of my day in Tivoli, I was happy to be returning to Rome and its glories – if I had been returning home, the black dog would have not have only been breathing down my neck, it would have been perched on my shoulder.

Gujarat, India. Part 2

Dasada, Little Rann of Kutch, Patan, Modhera and Ahmedabad

Dasada and the Little Rann of Kutch

Dasada is a small rural town, and a gateway to the little Rann of Kutch. The Little Rann is a salt desert, and part of the Great Rann. Despite its name, it is a very large salt desert of approximately 30,000 square metres.

I love camels. I was very happy to see camels, camels and more camels around Dasada. Camels alone, camels pulling carts, camels with beads around their necks, all looking as haughty and superior as only camels can.

The Rann Riders Resort, near Dasada is a perfect place to stay to explore the area, for many reasons. The resort is eco friendly. The owners very actively assist the local communities. They care about conservation and sustainable tourism.

My accommodation at Rann Riders was a Kooba house of the Bajania, which I loved. There were also Bhunga structures of the Rabari shepherds. There are other options, but I loved my little house.

A jeep safari, run by Rann Riders into the the Little Rann, proved to be a magical and inspirational experience. The people from Rann Riders have a superior level of care for the environment, and knowledge of the geology and of the wildlife which inhabits the area. I felt so privileged to see Asiatic wild ass – an endangered species. The birdlife would make the most experienced birdwatchers feel that they had died and gone to their heaven. My visit was not during the optimum bird watching time, but I still experienced the joy of viewing the few remaining flamingo’s in what was left of the wet season water.

Among the local people Rann Riders were assisting were the Mir, a nomadic people, who were living in temporary “homes” nearby. The Mir women created artwork with beads, and sold their creations by the roadside of their temporary dwellings. Rann Riders, on their website, acknowledge that, with the design intervention of some of their guests, (see below*) the Mir women were able to create jewellery, using their beads, which people would buy.

I shall never forget these beautiful women and children, and shall always feel so privileged to have met such resilient women.

Patan and Modhera

The drive from Dasada to Ahmedabad takes about 2.5 hours – or it would were it not for the need to stop and explore stepwells and temples along the way.

Stepwells are unique to India, and are subterranean water storeage and resource systems. These wells were constructed in Gujurat from around 600AD, and later spread to other parts of India. Stepwells evolved from pits in the ground to multi levels of elaborately carved sculptures – artistic and architectural masterpieces.

The Rani-ki-vav is a UNESCO World Heritage site at Patan, on the banks of the Saraswati River. It is constructed in the form of an inverted temple, and has seven levels of stairs, each level containing beautiful sculptures – said to be about 500 principal sculptures and many more minor sculptures. It was not difficult to descend down the levels and although the climb up was more onerous, I spent time on each level examining the sculptures, so really only ascended one level at a time.

Detail of a very small number of the sculptures.

The Modhera Sun Temple is a shrine dedicated to the Hindu sun god, Surya, and was constructed in the early 11th century on the banks of the Pushpavati River. The Temple is made up of three parts, Gudhamandapa – shrine hall, Sabhamandapa – assembly hall and Surya Kund – stepwell.

The temple is an excellent example of Solanaki style architecture, magnificently carved inside and out with gods, goddesses, birds and beasts and flowers. I could easily have spent more time examining these carvings in order to learn more about the gods and goddesses.

The Surya Kund contains several platforms and terraces, which include numerous small shrines. This stepwell was much easier to descend into, and particularly to ascend than was the Rani-ki-Vav. The Surya Kund would not provide relief from the heat as the Rani-ki-Vav does since the platforms and terraces are more open to the sun.

Modhera Sun Temple. Rear Shrine hall: Front Assembly hall.

Ahmedabad

Ahmedabad, situated on the banks of the Subarmati River is the largest city in Gujurat, is named after Sultan Ahmed Shah, who founded the city in 1411. Ahmedabad was an important business centre during the Mughal period, and was home to Mahatma Ghandi for several years. His home is now a museum, the Subarmati Ashram. Ghandi arrived in Ahmedabad in May, 1915. He started spinning at the Ashram in 1918. “The spinning wheel and hand-woven cloth or khadi gradually became emblematic of Ghandi’s economic, social and political ideals. He believed that the demise of handicrafts and cottage industries, in particular the art of spinning, had led to the decline of village life..” (Ghandi, Peter Ruhe, Phaidon – page 68).

The Ashram was far from serene, with large number of people viewing the interior and many more relaxing in the grounds on the river bank. Not a place for quiet contemplation

Ahmedabad is India’s first World Heritage City. A heritage walk through the old quarter of Ahmedabad showcases the various architectural styles, which blends Hindu and Islamic influences including Islamic monuments, and Hindu and Jain Temples. The carved wooden houses are unique, and athough one should not covet thy neighbour’s ox (or whatever), I certainly coveted these houses.

The streets in the old quarter provided the opportunity to observe day to day life in that area. People in temples and at shrines, women making bread, a woman ironing and cows and goats milling about.

I was a little startled to observe a palanquin, covered by fabric to ensure the occupant was not able to be observed, passing by. It reminded me that Ahmedabad has a large culturally significant muslim population. It occurred to me that if I had a palanquin when I was a teenager in a gossipy New Zealand village it would have saved me from those lace curtain twitchers in that village.

The Sidi Saiyyed Mosque is a beautiful building, built in 1573. It has an exquisite Tree of Life stone latticework covered window, the beauty of which adds to the architectural splendour of the mosque.

Having “collected” photographs of doors in many places I have visited over the years, I managed to add to my collection in Ahmedabad.

The Calico Museum of Textiles in Ahmedabad contains superb textiles dating back to the 15th century. It was founded in 1949, and contains a magnificent collection of antique and modern Indian textiles. Even a most unpleasant bossy attendant did not totally diminish the experience, but she certainly did not make a wise career choice.

The creativity and imagination which is invested in the making of Kathputti puppets and the narratives the puppet shows tell results in a visually exotic experience, even though not a word of the story was understood by me. The actions of the puppets occasionally gave some vague idea of the story, such as a snake being pursued, or retribution of sorts for a recalcitrant.

Kathputti puppets are made of wood and are very brightly coloured. They have sharp features, and “speak” in a high pitched squeak.

Attending the performance outdoors with a background of large trees, watching puppets and humans perform, was a fitting finale for my visit to Gujurat.

I hope that visiting Gujurat was not a once in a lifetime experience. There are a lot more stepwells to explore.

(**Note: One of the Rann Riders guests who provided the Mir women with design assistance and materials, and assisted with marketing, is Carole Douglas of Desert Traditions in Australia. Carole is a textile and arts expert who has been visiting Gujurat for many years. Her company organises small tours to Gujurat, (and other places) and can take textile and embroidery lovers to visit many artisans homes and businesses which tourists do not generally get to see. Desert Traditions believes in and practises sustainable tourism. Carole can be contacted at http://www.desert-traditions.com

Desert Traditions can also be found at face.book.com/deserttraditions and on instagram.)

Photo Credit – Carole Douglas of Desert Traditions.

The Oxford Experience – A Summer School

Christ Church College, Oxford, England.

I enjoyed my work as a lawyer. I loved the law. Retirement had never been high on my list of desirable lifetime experiences. I was quite shocked when it became apparent that at some point I should consider a life after law.

In part, my horror at the thought of retirement, came from my observations of life after retirement. Admittedly, I did not have a very large group to observe, but it seemed to me that retirement was akin to entering “god’s” waiting room. Apparent relevance deprivation seemed to be a very real concern.

So, how to deal with this inevitable progression of my life? I spent a couple of years before retirement researching possible life after retirement activities which would provide intellectual stimulation, adventure, excitement and fun.

I love travel, and had travelled a lot. I was always interested in ancient history. I enjoyed photography – on an extremely amateur level. Archaeology, also on an extremely amateur level, sounded like a good fit, as I had over the years visited many archaeological sites in Europe and Asia, and enjoyed learning about ancient civilisations.

My research yielded several interesting possibilities to take my interest in archaeology further, one of which was “The Oxford Experience” consisting of a week long summer class in numerous topics at Oxford University in England. Advertised as offering “authentic experiences of life at world famous universities” it sounded like fun, with a little learning thrown in for good measure.

I enrolled in “Archaeology of Medieval Palaces” at Christ Church College, Oxford, and booked a single student room in the Meadows residential building at Christ Church.

Having completed the pre-reading, I arrived at Christ College on the appointed day, ready to learn and more than ready to enjoy the Oxford experience.

Entering the college through the main entrance, off St Algates into the Tom Quad, I felt as if I had fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole into a whole new world. Tom Quad is flanked by the Tom Tower (a bell tower) at one end, and the entrances to Christ Church Cathedral and the dining hall opposite and to the right. A beautifully mowed splendid green lawn with a huge waterlily pond in the centre set off the buildings around the quad perfectly.

A porter took me to my room in the Meadows, despite my request to just provide directions, and I could find my own way. I loved the building, my room, and the view over the meadows.

The medieval palaces tutor was very engaging, interesting, knowledgable and fun. Each morning’s lectures provided the opportunity to learn a little, and to hear about the tutor’s experiences on various sites. He had been involved in excavations of the moat around the Tower of London. The findings were fascinating.

He had also been involved in the Windsor Castle restoration after the fire there in 1992. He related an incident, after the fire. He and his team were working on restoration projects, Elizabeth and Philip were strolling by – Philip was heard to say “oh, I say, what are those chaps doing” – as if “those chaps” were deaf.

Field trips to various archaeological sites bought the lectures to life. The first field trip was to Wolvesey Castle (old Bishops Palace, Winchester). The Bishops of Winchester were powerful and wealthy. They had several palaces, including one in London – a great advantage of wealth is to have one’s own abode in the places visited.

The ruins of the old Bishops Palace in Winchester date from around the 12th century. The history of the palace, its brief period of fortification as a castle, and the events which occurred at the old Bishops Palace, Winchester are worthy of a great deal more time and study – alas, an afternoon only scratched the surface.

Remains of the Bishop’s of Winchester Palace at Southwark, London

We visited the most impressive Winchester Cathedral after exploring the old Bishops Palace. The cathedral is of Norman construction and was built from 1079 to 1532. It has an early Norman crypt, renaissance chapels and one of the longest gothic naves in Europe. I felt that I had some connection with Winchester cathedral – tenuous, but a connection nevertheless. My “sister” cousins were Winchesters. Quite obviously a connection!

A field trip to Bishops Waltham Palace, a medieval palace used by the Bishops and senior clergy of Winchester, as they travelled through their diocese, continued our practical studies.

Bishop’s Waltham Palace as built around 1135, and was a grand medieval palace and one of the finest residences of the Bishops of Winchester. It was destroyed in 1644. The ruins are impressive.

Academic, lite but interesting, was only a part of the Oxford experience. The fun parts provided a very small glimpse of the life of a privileged person attending Oxford.

Strawberries and champagne in the Cathedral Garden on a beautiful July evening, chatting to people from around the world, was a perfect way to end an afternoon.

Dining in the Great Hall, occasionally seated at the High table, provided a Henry VIII Tudor atmosphere. The Great Hall was completed in the 1520’s – a magnificent renaissance hall. The walls are lined with portraits of illustrious persons, predominantly white males. Wider diversification of portraiture would render the walls more interesting. A start was made in 2017. A portrait of Professor Judith Pallot has joined the boys on the walls – the first female Fellow to have her portrait hung in the Great Hall.

The Buttery, one of the student bars, was a nice spot to enjoy pre-dinner drinks. Rather an odd name for a bar I thought, given that there was no butter in sight. A Buttery had never featured in my Antipodean life. I discovered a Buttery has a significant history – store room in cellar, second storeroom to store and decant wine and ale (as opposed to a pantry storeroom, in which food was stored.)

The Master’s garden was a lovely place to stroll around, or to sit and read – one of those beautiful gardens which England excels in. The Cloister Garden was another beautiful space – a medieval style garden, containing medicinal plants, and a lavender lined lawn. There is a fountain, and a planter, containing an olive tree.

Having walked and cycled along many parts of the Thames Path over the years, through London from Greenwich to Richmond, and a little beyond, I could not leave Oxford without exploring the Thames Path at Oxford. I decided to walk from Oxford to Iffley. Come join me on a that walk.

I have travelled far and wide, several times a year, visiting archaeological sites in many countries and learning about the people, history and cultures past and present of the places visited.

I return from each adventure invigorated, and spend a lot of time reading and learning more about the places visited, and the history of those places, and writing about them.

I have to admit to a little soul searching early in retirement, to stave off the relevance deprivation feelings, but a reality check of my relevance bought the realisation that no one is particularly relevant in the big scheme of things, and everyone is relevant in one way or another.

Covid has been trying to nudge me into “God’s waiting room”, and has occasionally had me on the threshhold. It has been nearly three years since I have had an adventure, but god’s waiting room will have to wait. An adventure beckons.

Alexandria – Egypt

Driving into Alexandria from Cairo, we became entangled in a traffic jam of immense proportions. A 20 minute drive became a 2 hour odyssey due to a tram coming up a one way street in the wrong direction. It was excellent – a walking pace tour of parts of Alexandria which would not be normally undertaken, which provided an interesting view of the daily lives of the people in that part of Alexandria.

We were staying at the old Cecil Hotel on the Corniche, with sweeping views of the Mediterranean Sea. The Cecil Hotel was built in 1929 in the old Colonial style, and its guests included writers such as Somerset Maugham and Agatha Christie. Winston Churchill had been a guest, as had Al Capone. (I draw no comparisons.) The Cecil was the residence and headquarters of Field Marshall Montgomery, the Commander of the Allied Forces in Egypt during WW2.

My Uncle Bill (Winchester) had been in Egypt during WW2, with the Second New Zealand Expeditionary Force, and I recall his complimentary views of Montgomery. So much so, that my cousin Kay had a guinea pig called Monty, named after the Field Marshall. This called for a drink in Monty’s Bar.

Uncle Bill was responsible, I am sure, for my early interest in exotic places. Not that I heard him talk about Egypt much, but a photograph of him with the Pyramids at Giza in the background made me determined to visit Egypt one day. It took a long time, but Egypt was worth waiting for.

The Cecil Hotel had featured in several books I had read. Lawrence Durrell’s books, “The Alexandria Quartet,” set in the 1930’s, made frequent references to the hotel.

I wanted to see what Justine had seen while waiting in the Cecil:

“gloved hands folded on her handbag, staring out through the windows upon which the sea crawled and sprawled, climbing and subsiding across the screen of palms in the little municipal square, which flapped and creaked like old sails.”

William Dalrymple first came to Alexandria, he said, through the pages of the Alexandria Quartet. He visited Alexandria in 1994, and in his book “From the Holy Mountain” he makes reference to the Cecil Hotel, and Justine (p376):

“I can see across Saad Zagoul Square to the Hotel Cecil, where Justine first makes her appearance ‘amid the dusty palms, dressed in a sheath of silver drops, softly fanning her cheeks with a little reed fan'”

The glamour, sophistication and intrigue, so well described by Durrell had long since disappeared. No Rolls Royces, no apparent assignations and definitely no Justine. The old birdcage lift was still there, the marble staircase still looked very grand, but overall the Cecil had the feeling of fading grandeur, with rather sad looking red velvet curtains and rather outdated decor, but that did not diminish my romantic view of the hotel, nor the pleasure of staying there. I could visualise myself, as Justine (in my dreams!)

My room did not have sweeping views of the Corniche or the Mediterranean. Rather, the view resembled that described in “Miramar” by Naguib Mahfouz (1967)

“From my balcony I cannot see the Corniche unless I lean over the railing. It’s like being on a ship. The sea sprawls below… the Sea. Its guts churn with flotsam and secret death.”

Cecil Hotel 1930’s – Photo credit Michael Haag

The New Zealand Soldiers apparently had quite generous leave entitlements, and they travelled a lot. I like to think that Uncle Bill visited Alexandria, and perhaps walking along the Corniche, strolled past the Cecil – maybe had a drink in the bar.

An evening stroll disclosed some interesting looking street food – including shavings of palm trunks. The starchy pith of the trunks are set up like a large kebab, with pieces shaved off as required. There were numerous fairy floss vendors, but the highlight of the stroll was sharing a shisha in a side street – apple flavour. Once I got over the initial coughing fit, it was a most pleasant experience, and with the call to prayer echoing around us, it was very atmospheric.

Alexandria, founded by Alexander the Great (on the site of an earlier Egyptian settlement called Raqote), has been described as a melting pot of people from all over the ancient world. In addition to Egyptian sites, the city contains Graeco-Roman archaeological sites and monuments, as well as modern sites commemorating ancient sites such as the Bibliotheca Alexandrina and the Qaitbey Fort – the latter, it is said, built in part with the stones of the Pharos Lighthouse.

The Catacombs of Kom el Shuqqafa.

Young males in Cairo and Giza were constantly trying to sell postcards and little souvenirs. I had my first experience with the female version at The Catacombs of Kom el-Shuqqafa in Alexandria. The girls were a lot more ferocious than the boys, and they had streamlined the process by not trying to sell anything. They wanted money. Just as I thought I had shaken them off, they would pop up in another part of the Catacombs. The Catacombs were eerie enough, without half a dozen young girls surrounding me in a corner, pulling at my clothes and demanding money.

The Catacombs are apparently the largest Graeco-Roman necropolis in Egypt and date from the 2nd century AD. They are considered one of the Seven Wonders of the Middle Ages. The three levels of the underground tunnels were cut through solid rock and contain rooms and burial chambers. I found the combination of different cultures on the figures carved into the walls – ancient Egyptian gods for example, with Roman and Greek dress – fascinating.

Principal Tomb Chamber – photo credit Justina Atlasito

Pompeys Pillar and Serapeum

Pompeys pillar has nothing whatsoever to do with Pompey. Well really, why would it? The pillar, 30m tall, was erected in honour of Diocletian in 297AD, and is the only ancient monument left standing in Alexandria. The Serapeum is located near Pompey’s Pillar, and Pompey’s Pillar came from the Temple of Serapis. After the temple was razed to the ground, on the order of Theodosius in 391AD, only the subterranean part of the Temple survived. The subterranean part of the Temple contained the temple library, which included religious texts.

The Great Library of Alexandria and Bibliotheca Alexandrina

The Great Library of Alexandria was among the most famous libraries in the ancient world. It supposedly contained works of many great writers, including Homer, Plato and Socrates. The library was established in around 295BCE, probably by Ptolemy I. The library was destroyed by fire – allegedly started by Julius Caesar in 48BCE, although he was not actually intending to destroy the library. Rather, he was trapped by Egyptian ships in Alexandria, and he ordered his men to set fire to the ships. The fire got out of hand and destroyed the magnificent library. Well, that is one story, among many.

No archaeological evidence of a great library has been discovered, and its location is unknown. Was there such a library, or is it a myth? “Even though the papyri themselves have not survived, the legacy of the libraries is attested through the scholarship of such writers as Apollonius of Rhodes and Aristophanes of Byzantium, who both served as directors of the Great Library.” (Thank you Dr Melanie Pitkin.) There are numerous imaginary images of what the Great Library may have looked like. Looking at the first image below, I wonder how the scholars found anything. Perhaps there was a Dewey decimal equivalent for the papyri.

A couple of versions of what the Great Library may have looked like.

The Bibliotheca Alexandrina, a modern library, was opened in Alexandria in 2002 – a very beautiful building, circular and tilted and built alongside the circular harbour. The reading room, stepped over seven terraces can accommodate 2000 readers. The library’s focus is on storing and and preserving digital information, although it can house up to 4 million books.

I could have happily settled myself on one of the terraces in the reading room, reading, thinking and dreaming.

7 stepped reading room from the outside.

Not only is this a library. It contains museums, a planetarium, a manuscript laboratory and showcases contemporary Egyptian art. A truly exceptional place. The images below are some of the items of contemporary art on display when I visited.

Contemporary Art in Bibliotheca Alexandrina

Qaitbey Fort and Pharos Lighthouse.

The Fort is a 15th century defensive fortress, built by Sultan Qaitbey to defend Alexandria from the advances of the Ottoman Empire. The Ottoman Turks still managed to invade Egypt, and they used the fort. It was severely damaged during the British bombardment of Alexandria in 1882, and has undergone many repairs and renovations. Today, from a distance, it looks rather like the kind of sandcastle that very clever sandcastle builders erect or a toy lego castle. It is however impressive, contains a mosque and offers splendid views.

I have never managed to build a sandcastle which remotely resembles Quaitbey Fort, but clearly it is possible.

Two versions of what the lighthouse may have looked like.

Kom al-Dikka

In the centre of modern Alexandria, a semi circular Roman amphitheatre was discovered under Kom al-Dikka (Mound of Rubble), when the site was being prepared for a housing development in 1965. Luckily for humankind, the Alexandrian authorities and developers are not the same species as are found in the city in which I reside. The amphitheatre would not have survived in my city, and consequently the rest of the site of what was once a busy Roman city would not have been uncovered.

The Roman amphitheatre at Kom al-Dikka is the only such theatre in Egypt and dates from the 2nd century AD. There are 13 tiered rows of seats, and some mosaics can still be seen on the floor. Great imagination was required to imagine the concerts, lectures and plays which would have taken place in the theatre, due to the proximity of modern blocks of apartments surrounding the site. It was necessary to find a spot where the modern buildings were not so visible to ignite a little imagination. Maybe it would have been easier if it was possible to sit on the seats – alas, forbidden.

There are remains of imperial baths and cisterns on the site, and houses in the domestic quarter, with the remains of mosaic floors. The villa of the birds, as its name suggests, had mosaic floors featuring birds. There is also a mosaic floor featuring geometric designs and floral motifs with a panther at the centre.

Alexandria is elusive. The modern city is Egyptian, yet its past, the melting pot of many civilisations from the ancient world, seemed to permeate the city I visited. C.P. Cavafy’s poem, “The City” encapsulated my feelings about Alexandria perfectly.

“You said: “I’ll go to another country, go to another shore,

find another city better than this one.

Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong

and my heart lies buried like something dead.

How long can I let my mind moulder in this place?

Wherever I turn, wherever look,

I see the black ruins of my life here,

where I’ve spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally.

You won’t find a new country, won’t find another shore.

This city will always pursue you.

You’ll walk the same streets, grow old

in the same neighbourhoods, turn gray in these same houses.

You’ll always end up in this city. Don’t hope for things elsewhere:

there’s no ship for you, there’s no road.

Now that you’ve wasted your life here, in this small corner,

you’ve destroyed it everywhere in the world.” – C.P. Cavafy – Translated by Edmund Keeley.

Hastings New Zealand – early settlers

James and Mary O’Neill (Tyne)

Many people of European descent who were born in New Zealand after it became a Colony of Great Britain in 1840, have ancestors who made the long voyage by sailing ship to start new lives. I published the story of my search for Irish ancestors, among whom were James and Mary O’Neill, on this site on 7 December, 2019. travelwithgma.wordpress.com/category/ireland

This then is the story of their life in New Zealand.

The family embarked at Plymouth for transshipment to New Zealand on 29 September,1877, on an assisted passage, at a cost of forty nine pounds sixteen shillings. James and Mary accompanied by two daughters Mary aged 5 and Bridget (Delia)aged 3, arrived in Napier on 4 January 1878 on the Renfrewshire, after a voyage of 97 days. Their son Edmond, aged 17 months, died of diarrhoea on the voyage on 31 October 1877, and was buried at sea, in the vicinity of the Canary Islands. Five other children died on the voyage.

Renfrewshire (Picture held at State Library of Queensland 49708)

It is hard to imagine what daily life on the ship was like. The Renfrewshire does not look big enough to have carried 204 passengers plus crew and cargo – 300 tons of cargo were unloaded in Napier.

After such a long voyage, the family must have been looking forward to disembarking. According to the ship’s master, “when the Renfrewshire arrived at the Port of Napier, everyone was in complete health, and … all on board were up, dressed, and ready to go on shore.” It would have been very disappointing to find that the ship had been placed in quarantine because of an earlier outbreak of scarlet fever on board, and that they would not be disembarking for up to another 21 days. The ship was provided with fresh provisions, and arrangements were made for friends and family on shore to communicate with the ship.

Prior to disembarkation, all of the passengers clothes and possessions were fumigated. Mary would have been very busy, as “all the women then had to wash all their clothes and bedding after fumigation”.

A petition was drawn up by the Renfrewshire immigrants, complaining of being wrongfully detained in quarantine in Napier and was presented to the Minister for Immigration at Wellington. James and Mary must have signed the petition, as it was reported that all of the passengers had done so.

I imagine that the family was somewhat overwhelmed, still no doubt mourning the loss of their son, finally being disembarked to the Park Island quarantine station on 17 January, 1878, after 13 days in quarantine. The Barracks Masters book records show their arrival at Park Island, and fortunately for the family, their departure later the same day. The immigrant’s luggage was loaded onto drays to be taken to the Depot, and immigrants “were marched all into town to the Depot.”

The records stated that they were to go to a “friend’s residence in Napier.”

The Napier James and Mary would have seen on arrival. (Images – Alexander Turnbull Library Wellington)

Several of Mary’s siblings had already arrived Napier. It is possible that, on leaving the barracks, James and Mary stayed with one of them.

James was initially employed by Thomas Purvis Russell, a land owner at Woburn, Waipukurau. Woburn Station comprised 25,737 acres in 1851 – much larger than any farm James had worked on in Ireland. The Station ran sheep and cattle, and had 5 horses. The first sheep were merinos, imported from New South Wales.

In around 1878 Woburn was being cleared from a wilderness in which Maori hunted pigs, snared birds, fished Lake Hatuma and planted scattered patches of kumera and taro. A very alien landscape for James and Mary, who had been living around the Ballingarry area in Ireland.

Ballingarry – the area in Ireland where James and Mary lived before immigrating. Mary’s father and grandfather had farmed in the area.

Buildings at Woburn, Purvis Russell’s Station 1860 to 1880

The photographs from Woburn Station are held by the Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington.

James worked as a labourer and had the responsibility for the transport of timber to outlying areas and goods and supplies from Napier. James work involved ploughing and it is recorded in the Hawkes Bay Herald (24 June 1880) that James O,Neill was placed third in a single furrow ploughing competition for which he received a prize of a guinea (one pound one shilling). There is a small cottage near the woolshed which was formerly used for accommodating workers which dates from the 19th century. It would be similar to the house James and Mary and their children lived in.

It is not clear how long James and Mary lived at Woburn. Their son Martin was born at Woburn in January 1880. They had at least four more children, all born in Hastings – William 1882, Margaret (Maggie) 1884, Catherine (Katie) 1887 and Johanna 1889. Johanna died in 1890.

James attended a land auction for the lots in a plan of subdivision of the Township of East Hastings, held at the Criterion Hotel, Napier on 4 September, 1879. The owner of the land being auctioned was Thomas Tanner. James purchased Lot numbers 69 and 70 for 34 pounds. Lots 69 and 70 were in Karamu Road, on the corner of Avenue Road East. The address was 301 Karamu Road, Hastings.

Above: Early views of Hastings.

James built a house, stables and depot for his carrying business on the land. Initially water supplies were difficult, with daily supplies carried from Heretaunga Street. James is said to have transported timber for his new home in the goods he carted from Woburn to Napier/Hastings. The home remained in the family until 1940 when it was sold to NZ Railways for development into a bus depot. When the house was demolished in the 1940’s it was found to have been built with wooden pegs and had roof trusses which were screwed together.

James and Mary O’Neill’s house – 301 Karamu Road, Hastings.

James established a successful horse and cart carrying business in Hastings. He held the lucrative Royal Mail contract, for which he used an express cart. When he was joined in the business by his son William, a further low cart was was used for general cartage. James and William were well known for their contribution to the operation of the Hastings Volunteer fire brigade. Their horses were available to pull the appliances, and when not required were left to graze at leisure in the streets. It was a well known joke that firemen not only had to put out the fire, but also had to find the O’Neill horses afterwards.

James was prominent in the Hibernian Club in Hastings, which held its preliminary meeting at Kelly’s Hotel, Hastings in 1884. He occupied all of the offices in the Hastings Lodge. He was active in the Hastings Volunteer fire brigade and supported his sons in their involvement with the Rover Rugby Football Club.

The Hastings Parish of the Catholic Church began in 1882, and James and Mary would have been parishioners. A new Church was opened in 1895 which James would have attended, as did his children and great grandchildren. I took my first communion in that Church, and spent many unhappy hours there. The only part I understood was the sermon, as the mass was said in Latin. I did love the building though. Many family weddings and funerals were held in this Church. Sadly the Church was destroyed by fire in 1992, 100 years after the foundation stone was laid.

Church of Sacred Heart, Heretaunga Street, Hastings.

We are left to imagine what Mary’s life was like. From the hardships of the voyage to New Zealand, to life that would have been very challenging at Woburn and then to a home in Hastings where initially the water supply was difficult and having babies every couple of years. To add to the burden, Mary, to assist with family income, was kept busy as a midwife and in general nursing duties. In 1892, already suffering from consumption, she developed influenza and died on 20 April, 1892. Pity the older daughters -Mary and Delia, who became responsible for the rearing of the family.

James died on 10 July, 1920 at home in Karamu Road. His obituary can be found at Hawkes Bay Tribune July 10, 1920.

Headstone – Grave of Mary, Johanna and James O’Neill. Hastings Cemetery.

James left an estate of 1100 pounds. Probate of his will dated 5 February 1913 was granted to Denis Murnane, farmer of Meeanee (James brother in law, who married Mary’s sister Johanna in 1880) and his son William O’Neill. (Will and Probate record on Archway Archives New Zealand). Among his bequests was to his son William of “all his horse harnesses, carts and other conveyances, horse food, horse covers and all other plant and implements used for and in connection with my carrying business.”

Acknowledgments:

Garry O’Neill, grandson of James and Mary for information about Woburn Station, and oral family history: M.B. Boyd “City of the Plains – A History of Hastings” published 1984 – page 125: Knowledge Bank – Hawkes Bay Digital Archives Trust – many references: Hastings Library.

Mt Ararat: Noah’s Ark

Myth, Legend or Historical Event.

I grew up with the biblical story of Noah’s Ark, reinforced by the Nursery Rhyme “The Animals Came in Two by Two”. At that time it sounded like rather a nice thing to do to save all the animals. Clearly I had not thought about the very unpleasant notion of killing all the people.

My world was small – life and education in a country village in New Zealand/Aotearoa was limited. For many years, the history and geography of Britain was just about as close as I got to the world beyond our borders. Mt Ararat, and where it was geographically was well beyond my comprehension.

I always enjoyed the picture book illustrations of Noah and his Ark, and the animals. I love the iconography of religious art illustrating the Noah’s Ark biblical story. It is most interesting to follow the evolution of Ark inspired art over the centuries.

Over the years, I had occasionally read of searches for Noah’s Ark on Mt Ararat, and elsewhere. Despite various claims that remains have been found, there is no evidence to support any of the claims. It was not until I travelled to Armenia and Eastern Turkey, and saw Mt Ararat that I became more interested in the story of a great flood.

Armenia

Travelling through the Caucasus, Armenia was the place from which I first set eyes on Mt Ararat. I shall never forget that first view. Very blue sky, not a cloud in sight, with this beautiful snow capped mountain rearing into view. A somewhat embittered Armenian guide made it quite clear that Mt Ararat was Armenian – even though a redrawn border following the Treaty of Moscow and Treaty of Kars in 1921 resulted in Mt Ararat being under Turkish control.

Mt Ararat could be seen from almost everywhere in Yerevan it seemed. Even my hotel room provided a panoramic view of the mountain. The view in the morning was accompanied by coffee and the evening by wine. Sitting on my balcony enjoying some excellent Georgian wine watching the mountain fading away as night fell provided a perfect start to the evening.

Listening to some members of the Yerevan Opera singing at the Zvartnots Temple provided one of those spine tingling moments of sublime beauty – viewing Mt Ararat through the archways of the Temple while enjoying the singing made for an unforgettable morning.

Zvartnots Temple, Yerevan, overlooked by Mt Ararat.

The Armenian guide’s complaints of historical wrongs inflicted on Armenia were never ending. Her bitterness tainted the narrative – she was unable to impart the historical facts in a dispassionate manner – quite understandable, but not for a tour guide.

It became obvious though that Mt Ararat is a revered symbol for Armenians, not just the sour tour guide. The centre of Armenia’s Coat of Arms includes a depiction of Mt Ararat with Noah’s Ark sitting on top. There were Noah’s Arks everywhere, from ornaments to beautiful wooden toys.

Mt Ararat featured in numerous ways commercially, including Mt Ararat Brandy/Cognac. As a cognac lover, I can vouch for the deliciousness of Mt Ararat cognac. A private tasting at the Ararat Brandy Factory provided the opportunity to taste 5, 10 and 20 year old brandy.

Eastern Turkey

To view Mt Ararat in Eastern Turkey I visited Dogubayazit, which is approximately 15km from Mt Ararat and 35km from the Iranian border. Driving south from Kars, as we neared Dogubayazit Mt Ararat appeared in all its glory – again, as in Armenia, not a cloud in sight. We couldn’t stop at the best viewing point – apparently over the previous few months, tourist vehicles had been attacked by young men armed with heavy sticks.

Our hotel in the town had a huge mural of Noah and his Ark on Mt Ararat. Other than that there seemed to be no commercial acknowledgement of the biblical tale. Mt Ararat was visible from many places during both days we were in Dogubayazit. Lunching at a spot with the mountain reaching far up towards the sky in front of us, it was impossible to visualise it being under water.

Dogubayazit is one of the few places I have visited where I was hesitant to go out on my own, especially after the story of young men attacking tourist vehicles, and the delightful Turkish archaeologist’s comments that Ataturk’s reforms had never reached this far eastern part of Turkey. That is, men still had multiple wives, and it was not unknown for women, while cleaning windows, to fall to their deaths. There were also stories about Dogubayazit being a marketplace for drugs coming from Afghanistan.

The hesitancy was brief. I ventured out after dinner. There were very few women out and about, and those who were were pretty much covered up. I felt perfectly safe

Flood Narrative

I began to think about the flood narrative after seeing Mt Ararat. I had not seriously believed that there was a Noah to whom God commanded to build an Ark. It seemed practically quite improbable that all the animals on earth could fit in the Ark along with their food and water. Is the narrative in Genesis literally true, or was it just a mythological story? Could there have been a historical event behind the story contained in Genesis?

Many cultures have a great flood story, but only two are similar to the biblical story. The Epic of Gilgamesh and the Epic of Atrahasis, both of which were passed down orally before being recorded, and both pre-date the biblical story told in Genesis.

Each of the stories have a god who decides to punish humankind by unleashing a flood. The Noah character (Utnapishtim in Gilgamesh and Atrahasis) were warned, and told to build a boat. The dimensions of the boat differ – the Mesopotamian boat was to be round, or maybe square, and to be a reed boat. Noah’s boat proportions, described in Genesis 6.14-16, resulted in either a box shape, or a ship shape, depending of how the dimensions in Genesis are interpreted. No matter what the shape of the Ark was, all have similar characteristics – a door, stalls, several levels and a window among others.

Edward Hicks 1846 (Philadelphia Museum of Art)

Replica Noah’s Ark, Kentucky – The Ark Encounter.

The extent and duration of the flood differs from 7 days, 6 days and 7 nights and 150 days. The reasons for the god’s desire to destroy humankind varied between the sins, noise and overpopulation.

The resting place of the boat also differs. Genesis 6-7 has the Ark coming to rest on the Mountains of Ararat. Gilgamesh favours Mt Nisir (Nimush). Mt Pir Omar Gudrun, in Iraqi Kurdistan, is thought to be the Mt Nisir of Gilgamesh. The description of the end of the flood is missing from Atrahasis, so it is not known where that boat landed.

Mt Ararat is the favoured landing place of Noahs Ark. There is a slight problem however. According to some archaeologists, Mt Ararat was formed after the “great flood”. Biblical scholars have pointed out that God did not refer to Mount Ararat, but to the Mountains of Ararat, in an area called Urartu (Hebrew equivalent of Ararat) which could mean that the Ark came to rest somewhere in the Land of Ararat.

The Abrahamic Religions have similar Noah and the Ark narratives. The Old Testament in the Bible is much the same as the story in the Hebrew Bible, and both have the Ark coming to rest on Mt Ararat. The Quran also has a similar story, although The Quran, Sura 11.44 has the Ark coming to rest in Judi.

I have not provided any references, for a couple of reasons. Firstly, this is a travel blog, not a research paper, and secondly because translations have differed so much over the centuries that for each of these stories there are several different versions. The bible I looked at was the King James version. My copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh is the 210 version published by The Folio Society, and translated by Andrew George.

Atrahasis and Gilgamesh were inscribed on clay tablets with cuneiform script. The Gilgamesh flood tablet, and part of the Atrahasis flood tablet are in the British Museum.

Conclusion

I believe there was, historically, a great flood. Archaeologists have found evidence of such an occurrence. There are numerous theories about the cause of a great flood, many of which do not favour the view that (a) God was the cause. I am more inclined to believe the non god causation.

One thing I am sure of is that travel, for me, provides a great deal more than the pleasure of seeing and experiencing different countries and cultures. It motivates me to research the history of the places I visit, ancient and modern.

A Possible Home Town – A third possibility – Heart and Soul

London

Having concluded that I don’t really have a home town (in) travelwithgma.wordpress.com/2022/02/15 – it was suggested to me, by Dr Jody Thompson, that there could be a third possibility for claiming a place as a home town. Dr Thompson suggested that maybe a home town could be where your heart and soul I had previously concluded that a connection to a place where I had not lived was not sufficient for that place to be my home town. Nor could I claim the place where I grew up, because I hated that place with a passion.

Being a “head” person, not a “heart and soul” person, I had not considered the possibility of a home town being where my heart and soul was, although I had referred to London as my soul city on occasion.

I knew London well, long before I visited it. Growing up in a country colonized by the British, the school curriculum was very anglo-centric. Kings and Queens of England and the history of Britain were taught, rather than the history of New Zealand-Aotearoa. It was as if the history of Aotearoa only commenced with the British invasion. Geographic features of of Britain were familiar. Our reading books were generally set in England, written by British writers. Enid Blyton made Cornwall pretty familiar, Peter Pan bought Kensington Gardens to life.

My Nursery Rhymes were set in London and other areas in the UK. I was very happy to finally hear the bells of St Clemens (of oranges and Lemons fame), London Bridge (is falling down), York (The Grand Old Duke of York), and many many more.

Virginia Woolf and the Bloomsbury writers made Hyde Park Gate and Bloomsbury familiar. My first visit to the British Museum did not feel like a first visit. I had read about and seen images of a lot of the items held there.

The British Royal Family were revered in New Zealand – possibly because of the percentage of immigrants from the UK. Buckingham Palace, Windsor Castle, Westminster Abbey and the Tower of London were constantly pictured in newspapers and magazines as were Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament and of course members of the British Royal Family.

My ancestors mostly came from the UK, (Ireland, Scotland and England, with one outlier from Portugal.) A lot of my English ancestors were born and lived in Southwark, London after their migration from Suffolk a couple of hundred years ago. I have previously written about my search for Uk ancestors – see travelwithgma.word.press.com/2020/02/09

I was an adult when I first visited London. The red double decker buses, with destinations such as, for example, High Street Kensington, Trafalgar Square, Oxford Street and Regent Street felt familiar, as did all the major landmarks. I was quite at home in London. I have visited London on numerous occasions, with new discoveries on each visit. Threadneedle Street, Poultry Lane, the various Royal Parks, Dulwich Gallery, Frederick Leighton’s House and the Wallace Collection.

I lived and worked in London for a couple of years. In some respects it felt like coming home. I lived in several different areas in London, so got to know those areas very well.

Mayfair

My first residence was a little apartment in Bruton Lane, Mayfair – joy. Bruton Lane was off Bruton Street, a few steps from Bond Street. Berkeley Square was at the other end of Bruton Street.

There was a mock tudor pub on the corner of Bruton Street and Bruton Lane, the Coach and Horses, which is apparently the oldest building on Bruton Street. The food served in that pub was excellent. A picturesque pub, serving good food and only a minute walk from home was a delight.

Coach and Horses, Barlow Place on the left and Bruton Lane on the right.

I have very happy memories of a visit from NZ cousins while living in Bruton Lane. We decided to go to dinner one night at a “restaurant” in Berkeley Square (A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square). We did not realise that the second floor restaurant which we had noticed was the dining room of a private club. The receptionist looked a touch startled to be confronted by 3 people, one on crutches, not dressed in accordance with the dress code, asking for a table. To her credit, she let us in, and didn’t tell us it was a private club. Pretty cool for Mayfair. I don’t recall what we ate, but I do recall cousin Ken asking the waitress if she had heard many nightingales singing. She looked blank. You know Ken said, “A Nightingale sang in Berkeley Square”. She was too young to remember a song written in 1939.

We were actually at Morton’s Club, which had a magnificent view overlooking the length of Berkeley Square, from north to south.

Middlesex Street

I then lived in Middlesex Street (Petticoat Lane) for a few months. Hearing the Cockney accents as the traders set up their stalls was quite surreal. I had not previously spent any time in this part of London. My explorations were an adventure. Spitafields market and Brick Lane with its Indian Restaurants were a quite different experience.

The spire of Christ Church Spitafields from my apartment

Putney Bridge

My longest time in an area was at Putney Bridge, in a beautiful Mews House in Church Gate alongside All Saints Church, Fulham, beside the River Thames. The tower of the church dates back to 1440. The Bishops Park and Palace in Southwark was over the back fence. I frequently walked or rode a bike along the Thames Path, sometimes cycling as far as Richmond.

The graveyard at All Saints came alive in spring. A host of golden daffodils appeared. Wordsworth’s Wandering Lonely as a Cloud came to mind every time I saw them. Although the graveyard did not contain ten thousand daffodils, those in the graveyard “tossed their heads in sprightly dance” and although “my heart with pleasure filled” I did not actually dance with the daffodils.

Mews Houses, Putney Bridge with Alms Houses on the left.

The second and third floor windows of my Mews House looked out over All Saints and Putney Bridge. The view over Putney Bridge was ever changing and I never tired of looking at it. Morning mists in winter and at night, when it was lit up with red London buses travelling across it provided the loveliest of visions.

I could have climbed over the back fence into the gardens of the Bishops Palace in Fulham, but I resisted the temptation, and walked to the entrance. The gardens are the second oldest botanical gardens in London, and contain riverside gardens and a walled garden. I spent a lot of time in those gardens.

Sloane Gardens, Sloane Square

My final residence in London was an apartment in Sloane Gardens. Sloane Square and the Kings Road provided much entertainment and interest.

How good was it to be able to walk to the Chelsea Flower Show. This was the year Mary Reynolds became the youngest person to win a medal. She created the Celtic Sanctuary.

It was from this location that I was dragged kicking and screaming back to the Antipodes, bound for Botany Bay.

Fortunately for me – it was not “farewell to England forever”. I visit London at least annually, sometimes for up to 3 months. During these visits, I have become familiar with Islington, Primrose Hill and Richmond. When my flight arrives at Heathrow, I feel as if I am home. I don’t feel like that when my flight touches down at Sydney on my return. It takes me weeks to recover from my my return.

What is it about London which makes it a contender for my home town of the heart and soul? Is it possible to claim a town as a home town on the basis of heart and soul?

Growing up in London would have provided a totally different life than the life I experienced in London. Post war London looks pretty grim. Rationing was still in place. Post war, a little village in New Zealand showed no signs of the destruction London experienced. There was no rationing. The air was fresh and clean, and the rivers were not polluted.

What did London have that I would have found far more to my taste than what was offered by life in a village in New Zealand?

I have always loved cities. I was always in my happy place in a city, be it a small city like Hastings (which I attempted to appropriate as my home town), or better still, Auckland – when we arrived in Auckland in summer, I used to wind the car windows down (yes, wind) to smell the melting bitumen. Very evocative for a kid from the country where the roads were not sealed.

Visiting the Auckland Museum was one of the pleasures to be had in that city. There were shops, a lot of shops. The Farmers Trading Company, with a rooftop playground was a little paradise. There were lots of people. The anonymity of living in a city would have been so much more to my taste than the curtain twitchers reporting on my every move to my parents.

Living in a small village provided little exposure to culture. The first ever live performance I experienced was attending a performance by the World Famous Hogarth Puppets at the Municipal Theatre in Hastings. I was entranced – not just with the puppets, but with the whole experience. The Art Noveau interior felt very fancy.

Municipal Theatre, Hastings 1937: Spanish Mission style with Art Noveau interier.

The New Zealand Ballet Company came to Putaruru once. I can’t remember what they performed, but I do recall the thrill of “going to the ballet.” Attending a performance of Lay Bayadere at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden a lifetime later, bought back the memories of my very first ballet attendance in Putaruru.

The only musical I ever attended in Aotearoa was a performance of My Fair Lady in Auckland, in about 1961. I have never forgotten the magic of that night. Travelling to Auckland, dressing up and attending a plush theatre (well plush after the corrugated iron picture theatre I attended), and savouring every moment of the performance.

Live music performances were almost non existent, unless you can count one of the West boys playing a guitar and mouth organ simultaneously at the local hall.

Compare these cultural experiences with those available in London. I had a friend who had grown up in London at the time I was living it a little village. Coincidentally, she had lived around the corner from my house in Putney Bridge, so the Fulham Bishops Palace, park and garden were in her back garden. She went to the theatre and attended concerts. She visited the British Museum. The movie theatre she attended was not made of corrugated iron. She frequented the wonderful royal parks and gardens. London was always her home town, despite not having lived there for a long time.

If I had grown up in London, I would very happily claim it as my home town, but I didn’t grow up in London. I am sorry Dr Thompson, the head has overruled the heart and soul – I could not in all honesty claim London as my home town, but I rejoice in the fact that Charlie, the newest member of the family can claim London as her home town.

A comment on My Home Town blog (published 2002/02/15) has provided me with a home town. “Allover” is my home town. Thank you mitchteemly.

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Category: History