It's been such a long time. I still travel with the camera, but haven't used it for a while. As the day shortens and the light quality worsens, the conditions for photography are not right. And when I was at Stockholm last time, commuting on the metro during rush hours, it became clear that there was no time to compose pictures, no time to stand and stare, let alone time to check out the naive art at the underground stations along the track.
Back on home soil and catching up on the last of the summer sunlight, the trip to Exmoor, North Devon took me to a part of England that I hardly ever see.
One of the enduring sights at Exmoor is the Exmoor pony, roaming on Exmoor as some kind of semi-feral livestock. These creatures must be pretty hardy to withstand the wind and cold in the winter months, but at this time of the year, they have not yet grown their winter coat. You can go up to them and stroke them, a sign that they are habituated to human beings.
Exmoor is a beautiful landscape of moorland, woodland, valleys and farmland. From this vantage point, one can see the high cliffs plunging into the Bristol Channel, and en route there are old fashioned tearooms offering cream teas (scones with clotted cream) that are so popular in the south west.
A unique place to visit is the Broomhill Sculpture Garden near Barnstaple. Established in 1997 by a Dutch couple, it has grown into one of the largest permanent collections of contemporary sculpture in the south west of England. There is something for every taste, and there is a surprise at every corner. Some of the pieces are really abstract, but that's modern art for you.
Broomhill Sculpture Garden is located at the Broomhill Art Hotel "where art and culture meet in magical surroundings". Setting aside all the noble intentions of using fresh, organic, fair trade produce from the neighbourhood, the Terra Madre restaurant did serve up some delicious and pretty looking food. There are lots of raving reviews about this restaurant at TripAdvisor, but the proof of the pudding is in the eating, and the eating is entirely satisfactory.
All along the coast, there are charming towns and Ilfracombe is one of them. The pier is dominated by the Verity statue, a bronze sculpture of a pregnant woman holding a sword by an artist no less than Damien Hirst. It is a powerful image of "truth" and "justice", once seen, never forgotten.
Further along the coast are the pretty villages of Lynton and Lynmouth, connected by a funicular cliff lift. Lynton sits 600 ft above the small harbour of Lynmouth, and the view from the cliff railway was breathtaking.
Having travelled to this part of England, I can now understand why so many people from the city have chosen to move here, for the countryside and a less hectic life style.
From a dear friend, who reminds me of the time that I should give myself - a poem by William Henry Davies:
Back on home soil and catching up on the last of the summer sunlight, the trip to Exmoor, North Devon took me to a part of England that I hardly ever see.
One of the enduring sights at Exmoor is the Exmoor pony, roaming on Exmoor as some kind of semi-feral livestock. These creatures must be pretty hardy to withstand the wind and cold in the winter months, but at this time of the year, they have not yet grown their winter coat. You can go up to them and stroke them, a sign that they are habituated to human beings.
 |
| An Exmoor pony mare with her foal |
 |
| Exmoor National Park |
 |
| A cosy pub lined with bookcases, offering a quiet spot for food and relaxation |
 |
| Dreams |
 |
| Connected |
 |
| Home cured meats at the Broomhill Art Hotel A picture on a plate |
 |
| Ilfracombe Harbour |
 |
| Lynmouth Harbour, where Exmoor meets the sea |
Having travelled to this part of England, I can now understand why so many people from the city have chosen to move here, for the countryside and a less hectic life style.
From a dear friend, who reminds me of the time that I should give myself - a poem by William Henry Davies:
"What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare."
