Images through a Traveller's Lense - Taj Mahal

The first time I saw the Taj Mahal it was raining. A cold heavy rain was falling when my group scurried from the tour coach through the entrance gate and peered disappointingly at the large white edifice at the far end of what was anything but a reflecting pool on this day. We had all heard so much about the famous Taj Mahal, it was to be a highlight of our trip, but as I looked through the rain, at some hardy umbrella-toting souls as they splashed  their way towards the Taj, I was not disappointed. It would be another nine & a half years and under much better conditions before I saw the Taj, that supreme token of one man's love for his wife, again. It was truly magnificent. A sight that has inspired poets & writers for centuries: "The eye of the sun overflows with tears from looking at it; its shadow is like moonlight to the earth." And to the Indian writer Rabindranath Tagore it was "a teardrop on the cheek of time."

                          Sheltering beneath umbrellas, hardy souls make their was in the cold rain
                           towards the magnificent structure of the Taj Mahal.
   

                         The second time I saw the Taj was under much better conditions - the sun
                          was shining, the sky was blue, there was no wind,school children in their
                           red uniforms were excitedly making the most of this perfect day.
                     

                           Resplendent against a blue sky, the beauty of the Taj Mahal lies in the
                            exquisite marble work. Delicately sculpted panels, many inlaid with
                            semi-precious stone are a tribute to the artisans of so long ago.

          

                            The workmanship on a small mosque beside the Taj is also
                            impressive, even though it is constructed essentially from the local
                            red sandstone.

                            The reflecting pools are designed to duplicate this magnificent
                             building.
 

                             Also in Agra, & a few years older than the Taj, is the Tomb of the

                             Itmad-ud Daulah, a Persian official whose daughter married the 

                             Moghul Emperor Jahangir. He was also the grandfather of Mumtaz, 

                             the lady of the Taj.

                             Like the Taj Mahal, the Tomb of Itmad-ud Daulah is decorated with
                             delicate & interesting marble work, as this panel shows.

                               In the tradition of the Taj marble work, other palaces in Moghul
                               India have equally delicate inlay, as this marble insect attests.

                                  In the early 1980s I met master craftsman Naqi Uddin, a descendant
                                  of the craftsman who worked on the inlay work on the Taj. Then in
                                  his late 80s, Naqi Uddin was often called in the replace or repair
                                  inlay work in the Taj that had been damaged by thoughtless visitors.
                                  Naqi's own work was exquisite, be it a table or marble plate.

                                 A marble inlay plate by Naqi Uddin is richly decorated with 

                                lapis lazuli, malachite, carnelian, jasper, & mother-of-pearl.

                                Hopefully Naqi has been able to pass on his skills to a new generation.

© Neil Rawlins  text & photography

Travel books by the author available on Amazon

Images through a Traveller's Lense - Kathmandu, 1970

My first impression on arriving in Kathmandu in February 1970, was that I was stepping back several centuries - even though I had arrived by air, & had been transported to my hotel by bus. But in the centre of Kathmandu there was little in the way of modern transport to indicate that it was the second half of the 20th century, At first nervously, then with more confidence, I wandered around the city, rubbing shoulders with Newaris, Gurungs, Tibetans, Indians. I was fascinated with this polyglot mixture of races and religions. It was here that I first came upon Hinduism & Buddhism, although I couldn't then differentiate between the two. I was approached by beggars, hashish salesmen  and a flute saleman. Money changers offered good rates for foreign cash - even travellers cheques.  In those days there were still officially sanctioned hashish shops, especially in hippy haven of Freak Street. The sights, sounds and smells were all alien to me and I loved it. Even then I knew that I would be back.

                           On my first afternoon, as I walked around the bustling streets of Thamel
                          with some fellow travellers, a porter carrying a bundle of half-cured hides
                           pushed passed us.

                            In 1970 Rickshaws were the main form of transport around town.

                             Street vendors fascinated me. This man, along with his daughter, was
                             selling skeins of brightly-coloured wool.

                             The uninhibitedness of life in the streets amazed me. I had not
                              experienced this before. Here passers-by nonchalantly walk by
                              women washing their hair, & cooking utensils. Children play while
                              pi-dogs & their puppies scavenge for tidbits,

                               In a back street I came across this husband and wife, she wielding a
                               large sledge-hammer while he, presumably the technical brain,
                                slowly turned  a red-hot piece of iron on an anvil.
 

                              In a quiet town square a man shuffled past with two water containers
                              hooked up to a yoke across his shoulders.

                             Naked & semi-naked children play in the dust by some large clay
                              water jars.

                             My perambulations took me to iconic Durbar Square in the centre
                             of  Kathmandu. Unfortunately many of these temples were badly
                             damaged in the powerful earthquake of April 2015.

Text & photography © Neil Rawlins

Full accounts of my travels can be found in my two Kindle ebooks:

                     see my books:   One Foot in Front of the Other: First Steps   

                           and:              One Foot in Front of the Other: Full Stride

      'First Steps' tells the story of my early travels on the Overland routes in Asia & Africa. 

       'Full Stride' recounts my experiences as a tour leader on the Asian Overland routes and elsewhere

              in Rajasthan, Kashmir, Turkey & Tunisia.

Images through a Traveller's Lense - Singapore 1970

Singapore was the first truly foreign city I visited.  I arrived to a cacophony of sound - fireworks, bands, lion dancers, on the eve of the Chinese New Year in February 1970. I was a little bit taken aback and somewhat nervous. In 1970 none of the modernisation that has characterised this maritime crossroads had taken place. Atmospheric Chinatown, with its fascinating street life, still existed. I was staying in the iconic New Seventh Storey Hotel in Rochor Rd, the tallest building in that part of the city which afforded great views over Singapore. 

                          From the restaurant in the upper floor of the New 7th Storey Hotel I
                          able able to view the Dragon dances & fireworks in the Rochor Rd below.

                   

                            In 1970 Singapore was much different from the Singapore of today.
                            From the top floor of the New 7th Storey Hotel there was a clear
                            view of the Sultan Mosque above the old shops of Chinatown.

Next morning, armed with my camera, a Ricoh SLR I set out into the teeming streets of Singapore, at first tentatively, but as time rolled on, with much more confidence. All was new and my biggest regret was only having a limited amount of slide film as I was continuing on, Overland to London over the next couple of months. Although I never saw the result until I reached London, I was generally happy with my photos considering the only film I used was the very slow Kodakchrome ASA25.
                             
                           

                        One of the first sights I saw in the Singapore streets was this late model MG                                       impaled on lamppost in Beach Rd. Perhaps the result of the previous night's binge!

                           

                           The street life in Singapore fascinated me, and I was especially surprised
                            to see well-made fancy coffins being made in a back street.

                             Hawkers stalls & food shops were an eye-opener. The shop, with 

                              smoked chickens hanging for sale did not disappoint. 

         

                           Outside spiral-staircases were a common feature on many appartments

                           in Singapore in the early 1970s. Modern high-rise apartments have now

                           replaced these precarious constructions.

By the time I returned to Singapore 18 years later most of this had disappeared and although I have not been back since, I have be told that all this, including the New 7th-Story Hotel in Rochor Rd has now gone forever.

© Neil Rawlins  text & photography

                      see my books:   One Foot in Front of the Other: First Steps   

                           and:              One Foot in Front of the Other: Full Stride

      These books tell the story of my early travels on the Overland routes in Asia & Africa & also my experiences as a tour leader on the Asian Overland and elsewhere.

             

Images through a Traveller's Lense - In the Beginning

I was given my first camera the year I left school. This was a little Agfa ISO-Rapid IF - one of the first point-and-shoot instamatics that revolutionised picture-taking. Until then the only camera my family had had was the ubiquitous Kodak Box Brownie which took fuzzy black and white snaps. With the relatively high development costs this camera was only used sparingly, at holiday time and on special occasions. My new little Agfa opened a new world for me and after the first tentative, and mainly blurry black and white photos, I soon began to take an interest in colour slide photography which seemed to provide better results and although these little square photos were basic, they did have a sharpness not seen in the printed black & white images.

                     In late 1966 I was fortunate enough to be sent out to  Little Barrier Island,
                     a wildlife sanctuary in the Hauraki Gulf off Auckland, New Zealand and I
                     took this black & white photo of the rocky South Landing with my little Agfa.

 After about 18 months I purchased my first 35mm camera, a Minolta Hi-Matic F, and although I was happy with these early results, I had my heart set on purchasing a single lense reflex camera.

                       The cliffs of Fisherman's Rock, Whangaparaoa, New Zealand taken with
                        the Minolta Hi-Matic 7 in mid-1967

I used the Minolta for about 6 months until my cousin and I travelled by ship to Fiji and when we arrived in Suva I purchased my first SLR, a Ricoh Singlex TLS which was to give me good service through my early travels in Asia, Europe and Africa. The basic lense was 55mm - no zoom in those days - and I bought a 300mm lense a couple of years later. The most common slide film I used in these early days was Kodachrome ASA25, by today's standard a very slow film, but results were good, although camera-shake was not uncommon. This slide film included pre-paid development & mounting by Kodak so I never saw the results until a couple of weeks later - even longer when I was on a long trip.

                      A tropical pool near Apia, Samoa in January 1968. This was one of the
                      first photos taken with the Ricoh SLR. that I purchased in Suva.

I saw  the camera as a means of recording not just events in my life, but also places as I saw them. I had set my heart on travelling and have been fortunate to have visited many parts of the world which have changed considerably due to political upheavals, war and the forces of nature. But these photos are indicative of how I saw the world over the years.

                 The 'banana-boat' Tofua off the island of Niue in January 1968. Passengers
                  & goods had to be transferred ashore on small barges.

                    Formula One drivers of yesteryear, Graham Hill, killed in a plane crash
                    in 1975 & Piers Courage killed during the Dutch Grand Prix in 1970, at
                    the New Zealand Grand Prix, January 1969. Incidentally I have the
                    programme for this race & the first prize money for an overseas-based
                   driver was just NZ$400 - won in 1969 by Chris Amon. The prize for 1st
                   local NZ driver home was NZ$1200!!

I have owned several good  film cameras over the years  but I have always had a soft spot for the hardy little Ricoh which I still have - looking a little bit the worse for wear!
The digital age has. of course, dramatically transformed  the way photographs are taken. No longer do we have to wait and see if photos are blurred or out of focus or if the lense-cap was left on. No longer is the cost of development a consideration and we can now experiment with impunity. 'Film' speeds are now above ASA6400, a far cry from the extremely slow ASA25 transparency film I used to use. Camera shake is now no longer such a big issue and photos can be taken successfully in low light.
 In successive articles I will be highlight photos I have taken over the years & relate some of the stories attached to them.    See my photographic website - www.antipodeanneil.com

© Neil Rawlins  text & photography

Travel books by the author available on Amazon

A Hike Up Mt Marum, on the Island of Ambrym, Vanuatu

The fuggy tropical heat was becoming increasingly oppressive as we jumped ashore, onto the rugged lava coast. It was a humid sultry day typical of this area of the tropics. We had journeyed by small boat about half an hour from the northern Ambrym village of Ranon to the even smaller village of Ranvetlam, passing a small local steamer loading a bags of the locally produced copra.

A small copra boat off  the island of Ambrym

The day before we had travelled in the same small boat, across the Strait between Ambrym and the neighbouring island of Pentecost. Here, on a remote beach, we had been met by a lone young man, proudly sporting a T-shirt with the inscription of ‘Ponwaha Assoc. Tour Guide’. Shyly he announced that his name was Arthur (Ata) and he was to lead us to the village of Wanur and he would be our guide for the day. Chief Paul, wearing just his ‘namba’ or penis sheath, greeted us on behalf of the people of Ponwaha District and we were then led to the ‘naghol’ site. This ceremony, precursor of the modern bungy-jumping craze, has been enacted on Pentecost since time immemorial. A structure, an intricate scaffold of branches and saplings, lashed tightly together by strips of hibiscus bark, is erected, probably 20-30 metres (up to 100 feet) high.

The 'naghol' tower from which the Pentecost Island 'land-divers' will jump

There are platforms of varying height on this structure culminating in a single platform right at the very top. Here young men of varying ages, out to prove their manhood, tie flexible vines around their ankles and leap off, plummeting head-first towards the well-dug earth at the base of the tower, trusting that the vines will soften the impact with terra firma.

Village women, enthusiastically cheering and singing, provide the encouragement. No stigma is attached to any young man who is unable to jump – we saw one youth abort that morning. Only one man can leap from the highest platform, and after the successful completion of his jump, he is carried triumphantly, shoulder-high, around the gathering. We felt privileged being the only outsiders at this particular ceremony and after a meal with Chief Paul, of chicken, laplap (the local specialty of grated manioc or taro, wrapped in a banana leaf and cooked with chicken, vegetables, coconut milk etc. – ingredients do vary) and rice (no fresh fruit was available at the time of our visit as a recent hurricane had devastated the island's fruit trees), we embarked on our return journey, across a ‘lumpier’ sea to Ambrym.

Landing on the soft ground after the jump

Today our experience was to be quite different. We were to climb up the 1334 metre active volcano of Mt Marum. As our boat arrived off Ranvetlam, the landing on the rocky coast, by way of a small surge pool, was the first obstacle. The last big eruption on Ambrym which had affected the coastal villages was in 1913, although there had been several smaller eruptions involving lava extrusions since then. The striations and swirls of classic pahoehoe lava flows are still very apparent in the coastal rock. The two volcanoes, Marum and Benbow, rest, brooding upon the skyline, fumes and ash often spilling down to the coast and out to sea. The rising and falling of the oceanic swell assisted our disembarkation, although great care still had to be taken, but was overcome without mishap. The village of Ranvetlam is about a hundred metres from the coast and we soon found our guides. After a short delay we were led out of the village by our guides accompanied by their dogs. The path wove its leisurely way through the village taro gardens, and small banana and pawpaw groves. In the largest coconut grove was the village’s copra-drying oven. Although copra is not as much in demand as it was in the past, a small amount is still produced, hence the small ship waiting offshore. After crossing a small stream the path became steeper and we began the climb up to the caldera rim and the ash plain of the interior of the island. As we struggled upwards the day become hotter and the intense humidity did not help. Very soon we were strung out, the fitter members of the group keeping pace with the guides, the rest of us strung out, huffing and puffing, behind. After an hour or so a halt was called at the site of an old village. The clearing, now being reclaimed by the rainforest, showed little evidence that it had once been a vibrant village. All that was now left were a couple of deteriorating tam-tam (slit drums) lying in the undergrowth. Refreshments were by way of green coconuts cut from nearby palms – even the dogs were treated to coconut flesh which they ate with gusto. We pressed on and every so often, through gaps in the forest we could see the coastline of Ambrym opening out before us, but we also couldn’t help noticing the heavy clouds gathering around the summits of both Marum and Benbow – and soon the rain came, a heavy, warm tropical rain which, although making the track greasy and slippery, did bring a welcome respite from the high humidity. Eventually, after several further stops to catch our breath, we crossed the ancient caldera rim and descended onto the black ash field which covers the inner crater of Ambrym. We passed isolated islands of vegetation, scattered over this mainly desolate black stony plain, as we walked on.

After an hour or so walking across the black lava we reached a spot that our guides had decided would be our overnight campsite. Fortunately the rain had now stopped and tents were erected. After a welcome rest for an hour or so, we set off again at about 4.30pm, this time carrying just a small day bag and a camera, now heading towards the summit of Mt Marum. Every so often fumes and smoke would drift in our direction, but on the whole a gentle breeze kept the fumes away. After half an hour we began more serious climbing, or perhaps clambering would be the operative word. Vegetation became sparser and the crumbly lava rock steeper and sharper. This was not helped by the fading daylight, but as the light faded, up ahead we could see the ethereal glow cast by the fires within Marum. The last few hundred metres seemed to take forever and a final encouragement before finally we all stood atop the crater rim. The view before us was hard to describe. A brilliant red glow lit the night. As we inched closer to the crater rim, the red intensified, becoming bright, turning to orange and yellow with touches of purple until right at our feet, some 500 metres below, we could see a seething mass of molten magma, surging, bubbling, boiling, roaring, a sight somewhat reminiscent of the final scene with Gollum in the Lord of the Rings when he falls, clutching the 'One Ring', into the fires of Mt Doom. The site was both terrifying and fascinating - there appeared to be nothing between us and these subterranean fires, not even a ledge or outcrop to break a fall. Every so often, pungent chest-tightening fumes would drift towards us. Instinctively I moved back, but still felt drawn to look over the edge once again, to peer deep down into the vent known as Mbwelesu. Perhaps this was the entrance to Hades!

After 30 minutes on the crater rim we felt it was time to head back to camp – a slow process, scrambling carefully down the steep lava escarpments, scoured out by the recent heavy rains. The night sky behind us was lit, more brightly now, by the angry red fires of Marum. No other light split this dark night, few stars could be seen through Marum’s smoke, but it was a welcome camp that we finally reached. Tomorrow was another day and we would retrace our path back to Ranvetlam on the coast.

© Neil Rawlins  text & photography
From my ebook A Stone from Anzac Cove & Other Travellers Tales, available from Amazon ebooks

Islands in a Turquoise Sea

Islands in a Turquoise Sea Picture a great trireme, three banks of glistening oars slapping gently in an oily sea while a great square mainsail decorated with the stylised head of the supreme god Zeus or the sea-god Poseidon, flaps gently in the evening breeze. On the port-side lies a rocky island, perhaps it is Ogygia the home of fair Calypso, or Aeaea, island of the enchantress Circe, waiting to waylay, in a Cycladic paradise, the wily – and often gullible – Odysseus. Ever since I read Homer’s Odyssey many years ago, and listened to the lyrics of Tales of Brave Ulysses by the rock group Cream:

"And the colours of the sea blind your eyes with trembling mermaids And you touch the distant beaches with tales of brave Ulysses How his naked ears were tortured by the sirens sweetly singing For the sparkling waves are calling you to kiss their white laced lips"

my mind has tended to conjure up this image whenever I think of the Greek Islands. One can dream of splashing along a pristine foam-fringed beach where "… you see a girls brown body dancing through the turquoise" or to dive into the crystal-clear waters where "tiny purple fishes run laughing through your fingers". Of course today the reality is quite different with many of these fascinating islands now overflowing with tourists and the modern trappings that come with them, although traces of these islands’ classical heritage do, of course, still remain.

hat in ancient times invoked images of treacherous Scylla and Charybdis, or the ‘Clashing Rocks’ that so impeded both Odysseus and Aeneas, as well as Jason and his Argonauts during their quest for the Golden Fleece. There are about a 100 islands, excluding the large island of Crete, grouped geographically over 1000 kilometres into six archipelagos in the Aegean, Ionian and Myrtoan Seas. The easternmost island, Kastellorizo, lies just a couple of kilometres or so off the small Turkish Mediterranean port of Kaş with which there is little contact. The westernmost island is Corfu in the Ionian Sea off the Albanian coast and for 50 years in the 19th century was in the British Empire, even producing its own postage stamps with an image of Queen Victoria. For a student of classical mythology many of the islands feature prominently in the Greek myths. Delos was the birth place of Apollo; the inhabitants of Aegina were created from ants by Zeus at the request of King Aeacus who had seen his original people destroyed by Hera; Euboea was the island of Posiedon, God of the Sea and Ithaka was the home of Odysseus and his wife Penelope. For the student of classical poetry Lesbos was the island of the romantic poetess Sappho; "

Ah, what art thou but a fern-frond Wet with blown spray from the river                              Diffident, lovely, sequestered,                                                                                                Frail on the rock-ledge?                                                                                                   Yet, are we not for one brief day,                                                                                 While the sun sleeps on the mountain,                                                                           Wild-hearted lover and loved one,                                                                                   Safe in Pan’s keeping?

Hippocrates, the father of modern medicine, was born and practiced on Cos; Rhodes had its Colossus, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World; Santorini was, perhaps, the site of Atlantis and Salamis saw the greatest sea battle of ancient times which guaranteed the Greeks freedom from Persian suzerainty. In recent times

Hydra was where the modern Greek navy had its beginnings during the Greek War of Independence in the 1820s; Corfu still has a cricket pitch, a relic of the 19th century British occupation and on Skyros the British poet Rupert Brooke was buried on the eve of the Gallipoli campaign in 1915 in:

"some corner of a foreign field That is forever England."

One of the most interesting islands is Santorini in the Cyclades. Sometime around 1500BC a massive volcanic eruption blew out the centre of what, until then, had been, more or less, a circular island. Today the result of that eruption has left a fascinating multi-coloured rim around a turquoise bay. Small, whitewashed villages cling precariously to the volcanic breccia overlooking Nea Kameni, a newly forming scoria cone in the centre of the bay, evidence that the fires of Hephaestus have not yet gone out. That Santorini was the site of ancient Atlantis is a theory first advanced by the Greek archaeologist Professor Spyridon Marinatos who excavated, and met his untimely end, at Akrotiri, a pre-eruption Minoan settlement on the island. Professor Marinatos suggested that the legend of Atlantis quite possibly stemmed from the eruption which, along with the succeeding tsunami, completely devastated not only Santorini, but the surrounding islands and parts of coastal Crete. The devastation of the eruption was such that the early Minoan civilisation on Crete suffered an irrecoverable decline and soon after was assimilated by the Mycenaeans from the Mainland. A apocryphal story relating to the founding of the ancient city of Troy could be related to this tsunami. It is said that a prince named Dardanus escaped from a great flood which swept over his home island of Samothrace by clinging to a raft of wood which carried him to the Kingdom of Teucer, Dardanus married Teucer’s daughter, founded a city on the slopes of Mount Ida which he named Dardania from which was derived the name Dardanelles, the strait of water separating Europe from Asia. Dardanos had a grandson named Tros from which the city of Troy took its name.

Santorini, with its two main villages of Thira and Ia is justmade for walking. Typical whitewashed Cycladic houses grace the narrow, steep lanes. At each corner something new springs into view. Ia, particularly, is most interesting and a photographers’ paradise. Part of the old village was destroyed in an earthquake early in the 20th century and the ruined buildings still remain, giving the village an air of mystery. Panoramas across the bay, particularly at sunset, are among the best in the Mediterranean and to sit in a tavern in the fading. rosy light of the setting sun with a plate of kalamari, a Greek salad and a glass of retsina, contemplating the words of Lord Byron, epitomises all that is appealing in these classical Mediterranean isles:

"Where burning Sappho loved and sung,                                                                               Where grew the arts of war and peace,                                                                       Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!                                                                   Eternal summer gilds them yet,                                                                                       But all, except their sun, is set."

© Neil Rawlins  text & photography

Travel books written by the author available on Amazon