BRIGHTON, BY THE SEA

It was the gulls.

Sounds of gulls, swooping and squawking, greeting us in flocks outside Brighton train station, and leading us to the sea.

Between the rows of quaint Georgian establishments that line Queens Road, and much of the town, was the ocean. In the distance, the end of land and the beginning of the big blue - a welcome sight for us coastal dwellers, months stranded in the foul London metropolis.

Brighton. Follow the smell of the sea, and get lost in 'The Lanes'.

'The Lanes', once part of the original settlement in Brighton, are an intricate flurry of narrow alleyways, full of antique shops.

Escape the maze of 'The Lanes', and you arrive at Marine Parade.

Volks Electric Railway runs under your feet below, along the inland edge of Brighton Beach, all the way to Black Rock. But who wants to ride a train, when you can swim?

Or at least walk along the shingle beach. The dull grey and brown pebbles aren't all that inspiring - but there is something quaint about southern England's attempt at a beach, which compliments the old world charm of the rest of the town.

At the eastern end of the beach, stretches Brighton Pier, which opened in 1899. An overpriced fun fair and arcade hall, full of ice cream parlors and roller coasters, it is considerably tacky... still, what did we expect...?

At the opposite end of the beach, stands West Pier, dilapidated and rather melancholy, having been closed since 1975 and awaiting renovation ever since. There is something rather beautiful and desolate about the remains here; perhaps it is simply the stark contrast against the garishness of its sister pier a mile east...

For all its gaudiness, Brighton does offer some interesting art. Wandering backwards through 'The Lanes', and exploring the small streets slightly off the beaten track, we found some cute galleries, many with sea-inspired paintings and sculpture, and all finished with a touch of the Bohemian.

But if all its tawdry entertainments fail, and you've spent all you tuppence playing games on Brigton Pier, eaten too much ice cream and fish and chips, there's still the sea.

Doctors have prescribed patients with sea water from Brighton since the 1750's. And as  we sat there, at sunset, and felt that briny blast of air, fresh against our faces, and smelt the salt of the ocean, we did, just for a day, feel cured.

THE ROYAL PAVILION

It stands in the centre of Brighton, its oriental domes and minerets spied amid the tree tops and the other Georgian edifices, all the way from the beach.

The Royal Pavilion at Brighton.

The evolution of the Pavilion from a modest, neoclassical structure originally designed by Henry Holland, to the grand orientalism created by John Nash is an interesting reflection of the changing status of George, Prince of Wales, from Prince Regent to King George IV.

The Pavilion survives today as a museum, and probably Brighton's biggest attraction, other than the beach.

Through the foyer, or Octagonal Room, into the Long Corridor, the Banqueting Room, the Great Kitchen, the Music Room... each quarter is recreated with accurate detail, some set amidst pieces of original furniture and wallpaper.

The Great Kitchen is particularly impressive, first erected in 1816. Its high ceilings and sash windows, providing light and aiding ventilation, are supported by four cast iron columns with painted copper palm leaves.

A kitchen fire with a smoke jack, a device for mechanically turning a spit, and a table in the centre of the room set adjacent to a steam room, and connected to pipes, meant that food could be kept hot while waiting to be served. All these features were well ahead of their time.

There are over 500 pieces of copper in the kitchen, too, still on show today. And it is interesting to know that famous French Chef Careme cooked here for King George in the 1820's.

All in all, the rooms are quite amazing - though as we walk through the corridors, up staircases and between passages,we can't help but notice all the places we can't go - the secret servants quarters, hidden behind inlaid doors in each room; the King's bathrooms, which we can only assume lay in ruin, also behind closed doors; narrow stairways that lead to the attics...? It all seems a bit of a mystery. But then perhaps that is part of the appeal.

And sometimes its good to leave it to the imagination... 

apologies for something...

Apologies,  I  realized  so  late...

discovered  I  was  keeping  a  secret 

that  maybe  I'd  like  to  kiss  you

and  hold  you  for  awhile

on  a  bed  near  a  window

while  its  raining

and  wake  up  when  the  sun

comes  out

Apologies  for  not  speaking  -

for  playing  a  game  I  shouldn't

and  not  talking  to  you  when  I  should

instead  of  waiting  for  you

on  the  stairs  near  the  door

by  the  lane

while  you  smoked  a  cigarette

and  wait  to  say  goodnight...

Apologies  for  running  away,

flying  absent  to  some  foreign  place

listening  to  sounds  of  curious  patois

instead  of  staying  with  you

on  a  beach

resting  on  wet  rocks

hearing  your  voice

I've  almost  forgotten

Apologies  for  loving  another

for  confusion,  discombobulation,

perplexity,  mess,

wonderment  of  your  piercing  blue  eyes...

like  the  sea,  the  beach  we  left  behind  - 

but  my  true  love's  eyes  are  dark,  beautiful...

and  he  is  the  one  - 

so  apologies...   for  something...

cellar door

Between  the  clanking  of  empty  bottles,

and  the  shuffle  of  unknown  footsteps

upstairs,

flights  of  stairs  above,

he  followed  the  maze  of  the  darkened  labyrinth

and  found  escape  - 

he  opened  the  cellar  door  and  saw  the  light...

night night, baby

Maybe  he'll  be  waiting

on  a  street  corner

or  near  a  bus  stop

on  a  mission  for  milk  and  cigarettes

and  we'll  brush  shoulders  -

somewhere  we  least  expect  - 

and  turn

and  look  

and  see

those  eyes  we  missed...

we'll  say  hello

like  not  so  many  years  ago  - 

all  uncomfortable  and  timid,

full  of  anticipation  of  the  kisses

we  might  not  give...

We  found  our  true  loves...

elsewhere...

But  once  upon  a  time...

we  still  remember,

vague  and  cloudy,

lying  on  the  grass  under  a  magnolia  tree

hand  in  hand

at  3AM

one  summer  morning

until  he  walked  me  home  at  some  early  hour

under  blue  light

and  fading  stars,

when,

with  a  mischievous  grin

and  a  sweet  kiss

he  whispered,

'night,  baby...' 

HONG KONG

Hong Kong. A wonderful place to be a tourist.

 

It seems so long ago, our first stop on our way to see the world. 

Nine hours in the air. A small patch of blue fills the porthole of the plane, reminding us of the sunny skies we were leaving behind. We sat tight in our cramped economy seats, wishing that we had been able to turn left instead of right when we boarded the aircraft. Still, we couldn't help but feel excited - it was our first adventure together, the first time we had visited a foreign place, lodged in a hotel, walked unfamiliar streets. Home was suddenly far away.

It was a different view from the train window, riding into Kowloon that night. A blaze of red and shady lights, bright amid the thick night sky.

The floor of the glass elevator at the W Hotel screamed "Good Evening" to us in colored lights under our feet.

A room of our own

Our room. Up 38 floors. The last time we were up 38 floors was at the dentist...

We opened our door, and stared in awe at our room, while desperately searching for way to turn on the lights. (Why didn't anyone tell us you have to use the swipe key...?)

A window fills one wall; the view, slightly distorted by the night and the haze, overlooks Hong Kong Harbor, the uneven suspension bridge and a cluster of cargo ships randomly anchored below, on the docks, glimmering red, yellow, blue and green.

The bath lays under a plasma TV, the shower jets water from the ceiling. And the bed is out of this world. King-size, and like sleeping on the clouds.

We slept like angels amid the fog.

It was 6:30AM when we woke. Wide awake, admiring our view horizontally, in the polluted daylight. The weather was humid and sticky. Still, somewhere, well smothered by murk and fume, was a warm, pale yellow sun.

76 floors up, a pool and a sauna. And no one around. Careful, don't swim off the edge...

Swim, sauna, shower. Coffee. The lift says "Good Morning" under our feet.

Adventures in Mong Kok...

The Goldfish Markets. Streets lined with bubbles of shiny, clear plastic bags, knotted tight at their tip, full of water, and little golden fish swimming in circles, inside.

A few streets north, the Flower Markets. Its best and brightest in the morning, the beautiful, vibrant colors of the roses, orchids and other exotic blossoms which line the length of Flower Market Road.

Around another corner, the Bird Garden. An elegant courtyard full of old Chinese men in white singlets, and all manner of songbirds chirping incessantly from behind the bars of their beautiful, hand-carved, wooden cages.

A u-turn, and we disappear into the chaos that is the "ladies markets" - the name seems unbecoming, as the markets offer more than just women's clothing. Knick knacks galore, shoes, clothes, toys, paintings, watches, jewelry, fruit, sugar cane juice, junk... We bought some apples.

And the best custard tarts in the world, hot, straight out of the oven...

People everywhere. We escaped onto Nathan Road.

Soon, we found shoes. Shop after shop of Nikes, Adidas, Puma... in every color, shape and size, so many in every passing window that you don't know where to stop. Then, another street, another mall, the same again, only watches, and cameras and electrical goods. Endless. Some hustling, some bargains. And some things, not so different.

We stumbled along a few more gems...

The small, covered Jade Market was slightly disappointing. Full of cheap trinkets.

But not far away, we happened upon a street of shops all selling kitchenware; pots, pans, knives, baking trays, cutlery...

A chef's dream...

Luckily, our suitcases were already too full, mostly of shoes. So, we pushed on...

As we reached Jordan Road, the rain came. The sun followed, shortly after. Evening was approaching.

And a Symphony of Light.

We boarded a Star Ferry, to sail across Victoria Harbor. Star Ferries have plied between Kowloon and Hong Kong Island since 1888, and the portly green and white relics from the 1950's are still used by commuters, despite the faster trains and road tunnels which run under the harbor.

Dinner on Hong Kong Island. And suddenly it was late. Time to say goodbye. Soon, we would be somewhere else.

Hong Kong is a strange mix of frenetic financial capital and cultural fusion, all ablaze of lights and color. A place where everybody stops for a day, passes through, and moves on.