Finland: Nature is Second Nature

Temppeliaukio Church: Remarkable in its near invisibility
Our first visit to Helsinki happened to be on a rainy day. We had a good friend pick us up in her car and drive around the city while she pointed out the sites before taking us to her home. But we did get to see the Old Market Hall (the unique fish market does not smell of fish at all) and most significantly the Temppleliaukio Church. The almost flat copper domed Church barely rising above the surrounding landscape is hewn out of a huge bedrock. From the outside you see only two granite rock walls flanking it and so it's easy to miss as we did the second time we visited Helsinki. (Apparently, a steeple was vehemently voted out.) An unassuming entrance, flanked by concrete walls, leads visitors through a dark hallway, and into the grotto, a light-filled sanctuary carved directly into the bedrock. The walls inside the minimalistic church are unfinished rock and hence the epithet “The Church of the Rock.”  Skylights surrounding the dome send in rays of light dappling the interior as though the structure was open to the skies underneath a canopy of foliage.The accoustics is excellent. Altogether it has a very peaceful ambiance. The first time we went entry was free. Now there's is a charge of €5.

Kampi Chapel: An capsule of silence in a sea of activity
On our second visit to Helsinki we take in the busy railway station and a very modern library. As we walk across from the beautifully functional and inclusive library out onto the busy square criss crossed with the purposeful steps of a multitude of busy people, a curious 12 m high minimalist oval structure confronts us. It is made up of curved wooden panels. 
Keen to explore the interior we step in through the glass doors into an absolute awe inspiring silence. We notice that we are tiptoeing and are acutely aware of the quietness as though everything had come to a standstill. The space has a few minimalist wooden benches and an unassuming altar. It is lit by a skylight around the edge of the ceiling. There are no windows and yet we do not feeled trapped. In here, in deep emotion and rapt attention, it is easy to forget we are in the heart of one of the world's busiest cities. 

Uncanny traces of Tamil
Incidentally we noticed that street names in Finland generally end with -katu. Upon inquiry we find that it is the Finnish word for street. It certainly sounded very Tamilian for katu can mean point as a verb or forest as an adjective. We were certainly directed towards peace in an urban forest.

A paradox: Srinagar, Kashmir, March 2015

Warm welcome on a slushy day
We fly into Srinagar from Delhi. As we approach the city we fly over the awe inspiring Himalayan range and land on a snow covered tarmac. We are dressed in warm clothes and so walking down the flight of steps and into the tiny airport is not uncomfortable. A friend has arranged for a 4 wheel drive vehicle to take us to safe accommodation. The driver has with him a thermos of hot tea and some stuffed chapati rolls that warms us in more ways than one.
Our accommodation comes furnished with a kerosene room heater (to be used only for short periods to reduce air contamination from kerosene fumes) and a copious amount of warm bedding. The coffee table is laid out with freshly baked cookies and momos (steamed dumplings). And there's more hot tea in a thermos. This was just the beginning of our being plied with heaps of speciality food over the next few days. We had to literally beg the kitchen to stop sending us snacks throughout the day. I hope the Chef par excellence, whom we never got to see, was not offended.

On the remains of an arterial road
Our drives in Srinagar seem to take forever for progress is slow. 
Traffic? 
Guess again. 
Check points? 
Wrong again. 
Unreliable vehicle?
No! 
Give up? 
Caroming and bumping over ragged rocks! The floods of a few years ago had damaged the roads exposing the large rocks that made up the sub base. Why had it not been repaired? Insurgencies, lack of supplies, lack of funds or just callousness: its anybody's guess.
It's no wonder that most of the vehicles on the road leading out of town were heavy duty. The troops that were supposed to arrive from Jammu a few days before had been held up by avalanches en route and the first army trucks are just arriving. We are in opposite traffic and so we get to see how big the troop movement is.
Driving in the city and along the Esplanade is comparatively a breeze hindered only by a few potholes and huge puddles of slush. The men folk going about their daily chores are clad in thick long overcoats.

A fragile peace 
At junctions and at frequent intervals on the arterial roads stand watch towers and sandbanks protecting the armed soldiers who are posted only as a threat. We are told they are not allowed to shoot. They have been trained to remain calm under provocation until they get orders otherwise.

Shikari: gliding on Dal lake
As we drive along the Esplanade we are bowled over by the panorama. Snow clad mountains reflected on a calm mirror-like lake lends an ethereal aura. We itch to touch the water and cause ripples on an otherwise unruffled surface. Of course, since the lake is not so deep and at points contaminated with effluent, it is not a wise thing to do.
We get on a Shikari (akin to the Venetian gondola but propelled with two oars), a tourist flat-bottomed row boat with a canopy and cushioned seats. The boatman takes us along the ubiquitous houseboats with intricately carved wooden railings and embellishments popularised during the British Colonial period, for Srinagar was the summer capital, and the then Maharaja had forbidden building any British style home on the shores. So these house boats, made up of two decks, with ornate trims were built with the British life style in mind. They are mostly anchored in groups forming floating communities.

A 10 minute Kashmiri 
Stealthily a boat creeps up alongside ours and the boatman offers to take a photograph of us in traditional Kashmiri costume. Drink likes the idea and so I manoeuvre myself onto the other boat, don the one piece costume, demurely cover my head with a shawl, add the accessories provided, and there I am all transformed. The boatman also has some beaded jewelery to sell. It was easier to move away from him only after a purchase (an insignificant amount).

Boat in distress
We are then rowed towards the many 'boat' stores, some selling souvenirs, others grocery etc. There was even a restaurant. There is much ado around one of the floating stores with water spouting out at great pressure at one end. It is then that we realise the store is tilting. It has been taking in water through a leak. It doesn't seem as though the textile store was emptied, and so probably eas not really in danger of sinking. A flotilla of small boats is a hub of activity trying to keep the store afloat by helping to pump the water out. Other boats carry curious and amused onlookers.  But that was the only excitement on the lake then. 

Floating Gardens
Even though we saw only a small floating market, since it is still too cold for produce to grow, we did see floating vegetable gardens (farmers grow carrots, greens, radishes, turnips and other vegetables in plots built on embankments in the water or in soil that floats on beds of flora) from a distance.  
Hinduism
Srinagar has, to my surprise, a South Indian Temple set up by soldiers from Southern India who served in Kashmir. We are honoured in that we are invited to perform some of the pujas (prayer rituals), all in the cold, under the direction of the residing pandit. 

Multiple Faiths, barefoot on the snow
Then we are driven up a hill that offers fantastic birds eye views of the city below. On top of the rock hill, at an altitude of 300 metres, and a climb of about 300 steps, sits a square building on an octagonal base. There are shades of Buddhist architectural influence.This is a Shiva Temple.  The temple grounds are covered in snow, and we do our perambulations with our socks on.  It is said that the temple was visited by Adi Shankaracharya, a Hindu seer, in the 18th century, and hence is a significant pilgrim centre. He is said to have attained enlightenment in the very spot. An underground cave-like low celinged  room marks the spot. Historically the site has been connected with multiple faiths which include Zoarastrianism and Islam.

Related to the Ramayana
Then we drive quite a ways from the city to yet another significant temple, Kheer Bhavani for the goddess  Bhavani. Why 'Kheer',which means sweet rice pudding? Because it is the traditional offering to the Goddess.This temple is built over a spring which is known to change into various hues --red, pink, orange, green, blue, white, etc. The phenomenon caught the eye of Swami Vivekananda. We should be happy not to have seen it black for it would have been considered ominous.
Plane trees, like those in Europe, abound in the temple grounds.  So you can imagine how  the leaves take on glorious shades of yellow, brown and red in autumn. 

Guarded Divinity  
Military presence was clearly evident in all these temples, either through a checkpoint or being beside a military base.
In fact, we found out later,  there had been intensive reconnaissance and some other clandestine operations during our visit.

Crop of gold: saffron
Throughout our drives we passed by numerous stores selling saffron. We also passed by snow covered fields that showed the furrows along which the expensive crocus is cultivated. It is said that all a small family needs is a small plot of land to grow these plants the flavourful stamens of whose flowers will fetch high prices and guarantee a comfortable source of income.


Calm, tranquil, peaceful, serene, paradisical, mirror-like lake, crops of gold -- we hope Srinagar remains so forever. 


New York, New York: The city so nice, they named it twice.

 The city so nice, they named it twice.  We'll have to see about that!


Crossing two state borders on a bus line
Completing our visit to friends in Springfield, Massachusetts( in November 2018), we took a Peter Pan Bus Lines coach to our next destination, NYC.  Our luggage safely stowed in the hold, we find comfortable seats on the bus. On board we have our backpacks and the large bag with sandwiches and snacks. At the start the driver tells us confidently, in his sonorous voice, we should be in NYC by about 11:45 am after a three and a half hour drive. Our connecting bus is at 12:30. We were starting at 8 am. That should give us a comfortable tranfer period and so we settle down unperturbed.  

Crunch caused by a clogged artery
We drive by Hartford, Newhaven, Milford, Stratford, etc. But we cross the border into NY state only at 12:15. We thought we had good time, but get worried when the heavy traffic prevents our progress. We have no idea if this is unusual. Passengers are already beginning to worry about transfers. They consult the driver and he updates them after calling the station. By the time we query him about our transfer he says we have already missed the bus and he has no idea when the next connecting bus is. 
On the bright side
We crawl past Harlem, the Bronx, Lincoln Centre, Central Park etc. It was like sitting on a tour bus without a guide. We get to see parts of New York city which we might never have otherwise, before we arrive at Port Authority station at 1:45. 

Unsettling and ghoulish
It is a huge station and a maze, to say the least. Parts of it are so old, dimly lit and littered, it feels like we are walking in a musty dungeon or crypt. But there are no ghosts to walk through: just people, milling about as though invisible hands were pulling them away this way and that, to be walked around. It is all very flustering. 

Lucking it out
DRink and grandson find their way to the business office and explain our situation. Our next connecting bus is not till 6pm. They request a refund. We had bought the tickets at a throwaway price, and so, instead of a refund, what was provided in lieu was the amount for the fare to take the Metro to Brooklyn, where we were headed.  

Good luck buying a ticket, asking for help
Now we have to get our seven-day Metro passes. Grandson and I go to a counter manned by a clerk of definitely East Indian orgin who callously says we are at the wrong place and recommends the information desk we don't know where. The dark lady there says she knows nothing and she cannot help while all the while she is looking down at a bunch of papers she is shuffling. We are dumstruck by the rude response. We ask again politely, pretending not to be offended. Dismissively she simply repeats, "wrong counter". This will not do. No official designate seems to be helpful. Determinedly we go in search of a ticket counter looking for and reading the signs with peeled eyes and (before our eye brows become permanetly stuck in an expression of incredulity)we find one with a long queue. The customer at the ticket counter takes nearly 10 mins to get his problem resolved. It takes another exasperating 10 mins ( or did it seem like 10 mins?) before my turn. But then the lady who was helping the male ticketing officer now takes over and a few precious minutes are lost in the takeover process. I prepare to pay by credit card but the ticketing lady (also coloured) says only cash will be accepted. We decide to try the machines but I do not want to use my credit card in a crowded place. I will need change to use the cash option on the machine. There's another machine that will give you change for a $100, and we wonderd why. Then I remember what I had read earlier: the ticket vending machines only accept smaller denominations. So we walk back to DRink for a $100 note. Jeepers creepers! The machine will only accept 50s and 20s. 

Caution kicks in. We do not want to use the change machines in a crowded area. So we go back to the counter where there is now a queue of about 20 people. Another long wait; another 'officer' who just clocked in claims attention from the ticketing lady. At long last it is our turn. Its $32 plus $1 for each one of us. I ask for route maps, and my words probably got lost in the melee. 

We go back to the rest who have got hold of some NYC maps, distribute the tickets, and when the queue has subsided a little, go back to the lady and ask for maps. This time we not only get immediate attention but also not one but two maps. Things are certainly getting better. We work out our route, walk to the right platform and off we go to Brooklyn. The train is crowded but we manage quite well with the luggage. We were all so pooped with the adventure on our first day in a city whose metro was  notorious, the hustle and the unexpected rudeness and nonchalance, that none of us thought to take pictures amid the flurry, except for one while waiting for the train.

Smooth sailing
We have such seasoned travellers (and DRink has printed google map directions to our destination) among us that we get off at the right station, climb up a flight of stairs with all our luggage, take the right bus, get off at the bus stop that grandson thinks is the right one and then roll, push and pull our suitcases, turning into one short street after another until we reach our destination. 
We have to carry the luggage up a flight of steps (the stoop) for this is a brownstone house with lots history. We get the keys from the lock box having been sent the code in an earlier email. Then getting the right keys in the right holes and learning whether both had to be turned at the same time seemed to take ages but it would have been only around 10 mins, I guess. It's already after 5pm and getting dark.What a relief to walk into a well furnished apartment with the house rules clearly laid out. The grandchildren, having had previous Air BnB experience with us know exactly what to do, especially connecting to Wi-Fi! When we are just about warm enough we hear a knock on the door. It was our host with a  buoyant  huge bright smile to welcome us. 
With our spirits uplifted and after a good night's  sleep we would be ready the next day to take on the city that never sleeps . 

All keyed up for the highway that goes to the sea: Florida Keys

Trust our luck: when GPS fails We drive from Fort Lauderdale, Florida, to Key West through the everglades, the largest tropical wilderness i...

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