Brooklyn bridge New York

When I got down from the hop on hop off Bus in New York City at Brooklyn bridge stop I planned to spend an hour at the most and later on go to other places by the next bus.

But the cold hit me like a sledge hammer and I literally was thrown back by the chilly wind ,I wound my scarf tighter around my shoulders 
 my hands were getting number because I had removed my gloves in the heated bus .

With gloves monkey cap muffler multiple layers of dresses starting from inner thermals to a couple of shorts and padded windcheater I had bought from Taipei a couple of woollen socks and a high Clark boots but my face was still exposed to the elements and the wind took its revenge .

I would have preferred to be in the top storey of the bus and seen the sights from its heated insides but Brooklyn Bridge was too iconic for me to miss.

There was a small booth of hot dogs and the Indian vendor was enclosed in its cocoon of warmth, I bought one and bit it through standing on a sheltered doorway and later walked towards the bridge.

I tried to fix my mobile on my selfie stick for the photos but my hands were literally frozen and I heard a snap of the sticks hold breaking that's it ,no more selfie stick for now !There was a big crowd of tourists thronging the bridge.

 

.

the construction of the Brooklyn bridge was started in 1869 and completed in 1883 
 the bridge was started to connect Manhattan with Brooklyn across the East side river


A hybrid cable stayed suspension bridge it was 469.3 meters long

During construction the spaces under bridge was rented out for storing wine to make some income for the construction as the temperature below was steady it was called Blue Grotto as there was a shrine for Virgin Mary near the opening .

Bridge was designed by German immigrant Engineer John Augustus Roebling .

He had a unfortunate start as when on surveys his foot was pinned between the ferry to a piling and he  had his toes amputated  but later tetanus set in and he expired leaving the job to his son Washington Roebling !!

During the construction several workers suffered from Caissons disease or the Bends due to high pressure under the water,
Washington Roebelling  the son too was left with a paralysis due to Caissons disease and later had to work from his apartment overlooking the bridge, his wife Emily Roebeling for the next eleven years was his assistant not only for communication to the engineers on site, she learnt higher mathematics, calculation of catenary curves strength of materials, bridge specifications and the intricacies of cable constructions .

A book was written on this bridge construction called the Great Bridge by David Mc collough its shown in a couple of documentaries too

On its opening day with great fanfare Emily Roebling was the first to cross the bridge more than 1800 vehicles and more than 150000 people crossed the bridge on that day while Washington Roebling had to celebrate it from his apartment

It cost around US 15.5 million $ in 1883 and was the longest suspension bridge at that time

A 507 million US $ project for renovating the bridge and making it stronger and safer was done in 2010 and completed in 2015
All sort of weird happenings dot the bridge ,
a plane flew under it once by a dare devil pilot
several jumpers  jumped from it some were never heard of some died too .

 

I walked along the pedestrian and bicycle walkway in the centre of the bridge and on two sides at a lower level one could see the speeding traffic

if the weather was better I would most surely have spent more time here and walked right across to Brooklyn and back

maybe next time but Brooklyn Bridge wasn't to be missed

no way

Kalamandalam Geethanandan

True Artiste...kalamandalam Geethanandan 58 expired while performing his art like a true artiste he performed till his last breath .

Great exponent of kerala temple art Ottamthullal  .
Otamthulaal of kerala  is more of a mono act dance with dancer singing himself with chorus and mridangam and cymbals to accompany in genre of satire .
The otamthullaal dancer has the  right to make cynical caricatures of anyone in the  audience big or low  and is usually very adept and with great presence of mind
Once he wears his head gear for the dance he is supreme on stage if anyone in the  audience gets offended and gets aggresive he would remove headgear and walk off never to dance there again which is a great insult to that place .

It shows the tradition of tolerance and acceptance of satire and sense of humour that prevailed in ancient kerala .

The art is alive even today as it brings out the talent of one artiste who needs to be a good dancer conversationist debater thinker satirist singer  and creative person all together .

Some are laugh riots and make a wreck of local politics .

I always enjoy a good ottamthullal and since in malayalam its more understood by all unlike kathakali or krishnattamkali where the slogas are in sanskrit .

 This great dancer  has performed in thousands of temples and stages and has thousands of disciples .

Our condolences to his family

A real loss to the field of art .

The spirit of travelling

The spirit of travelling 

"The world is a book and those who dont travel read only a page   said Agustine of Hippo .
To that extent i have read a small part of the book with much more to read 
Memories of travel to me are like those wisps of snow that fell on face like  feathers in cold Cleveland during Christmas ,the snow took me back to the huddled cottage of warmth in the icy stillness of Patnitop peak in a CRPF quarters in Kashmir  or the stillness of the Dal lake in Srinagar not to forget the the disappeared road in our ride to Madhuri lake off Tawang in Arunachal pradesh where a lovely Madhuri Dixit frolicked with a handsome Shah Rukh in koyla and hence its name ,
Snow reminds me of the Rohtang pass where i tried my skiing only to land up doubled in the jeep with a splitting headache and nausea due to altitude sickness or when we traversed in our hired four wheel drive on the highest motor able pass in Arunachal Pradesh where there was still reach of BSNL mobility and a tea shop with army officers huddled over a hot tea to warm  insides or the icy winds that blew over us in the 17000 feet Kedarnath temple ,the frigid  stream where we dipped into the downsteram yamuna and its hot springs at its mouth at Yamunotri
 cold and snow followed us into Bhadrinath temple where we saw the mystical Saraswati river giving a shiny glimmer before she disappeared deep into the bowels of my country to appear thousands of mile later at the Allahabad Triveni 
The very Triveni we went to have a dip amongst hundreds of lakhs of pilgrims in the maha kumbh mela itself or into the hallowed Ganga in Haridwar or the the oldest city in the world the Kasi or varanasi where burning embers of human flesh could waft its way to merge into the flowing river of life 

Cold and snow reminded me of a clean but empty Norway or a Stockholm and its metro not to forget the city that straddled two continents Istanbul of Turkey where the Asia melded into Europe over the Bosporus ,the cold of the Syrian mountain tops its qauint cave monasteries where men still talked ancient Aramic as Jesus christ did 2018 years back .

The cold of the Brooklyn Bridge in the big apple or the frigid Times square in December or that of a warm Manhattan cocktail to bring some warmth ,the  windy Chicago was more than the cool breeze of Bratislava or the cold that hit one as we walked in the cobbled streets of Prague to be cheated by a money changer and become more wise or the gondolas of Venice leaning on their poles with their stylish hats  into the cold waters that surrounded the media veal city  the cold that hit us as we walked around Romes majestic Colosseum or the Vatican itself the holy see with its vast array of ancient art deep in its bowels preserved for posterity along with its secrets unrevealed while the cold of the Grand canyons which had shaped its stones or the cold machinations of money in the glittering casinos of Vegas ,could never beat the chikll of junganfraus top of Europe experience 

The streets of pattayas humidity which espoused from its inherent sexuality akin to the hovels of kamathipoura in distant Mumbai or the yellow battered Ambassador taxis  of kolkata and its rasgullas 
The tropical greenery of Brunei Darussalam with its golden domes shimmering in the sun or the baking white sand dunes off 
Al ain on way to the jebel hafeet mountain .
the humidity of my Cochin and Chennai to beat the hot sands of Thanjavur near the big temple to rival the thousand temples beauty of a Bali or the pixie eyed Vietnamese serving the hot pho a delight and sipping their hot vodka on a cruise down the river The cold of a Taiwan and the heat of a Singapore was different variations that evoked nostalgia while the Victoria peak in Hong kong was shiveringly cold not at all like kota kinabalu in western Malaysia or the Batu caves where i regularly shimmered up behind the huge Muruga statue and wheezed my way to ecstasy reminding me of the five times trek up sabarimala in my state or Palani in tamilnadu 
,the cold of a munnar or kodaikanal or dharam sala or simla or ooty or coorg or the joy of seeing the distant trickle in jog falls or standing in the pouring gallons in kuttalam falls not to beat the sailing to the  Vivekanada rock away from the diamond studded idol of the goddess Kanyakumari  or the magnificence of a temple in Trivandrum or Guruvayoor or Thirupathi or in Puri the hundreds of qauint  temples in te Himalayan foothills or the long trek to  Nachiketa thal to reach an uninhibited pond after hours of trekking in a forest or the solitary climb up thriuvanamalai to experience a bliss which can never be explained and only equal to the walk over a rising tide in the Haji ali mosque of mumbai or the silvery sands of a Goa with its majestic Bom jesus cathedral or the jewish synagogue in the tiny lanes of mattancherry my home turf in cochin or teh hallowed precints of the altar in St Pauls of vatican where we lost ourselves to the sepulchral organ strains the sandy Cherai or a marina beach the casinos of Vegas or Macau or Singapore with their money making chips 
The chugging of a Darjeeling train as it went around the batata loop or the blue toy train up Nilgiris or that of sim la the green lawns of a Viennese palace where we stood to the tunes of the schonbruns palaces ensemble over a glass of the finest wine
 the wafting tune so of a street flutist in the heights of Athens bringing back the ghosts of history itself in the Aghora or the rhythmic cymbals and drums of my own state in theThripunithura temple with garrisoned elephants moving sedately with the God himself on them the dewed green floor of a Manandawadi estate or the shrill catcalls and dung of a lonely elephant up our paths in the Siruvani forests of patiyar gave us the same feel when we sidled up to thte rhinos in Assam's khaziranga reserves or to the simple out of this worldliness in a border town of Bhutan not to combat with the wetness of a chirapunjee or the golf club of Shillong or the Sikkimese Christmas dinner in cold Gangtok 

( Places i have left out please excuse me )

Thunderbird restaurant

We were returning from our stay at Mount Zion national park and in Utah state during our canyon road trip this January .

It was new year day .

It was really cold outside but our SUV was warm with eight of us huddling in it .

It was late afternoon and hunger was knawing our stomachs .

Googling showed a thunderbird restaurant famous for its home made pies .

It had prominent signboards marking it as a western outfit ,there was a restaurant and also a big souvenuir shop ,luckily it was open since it was new year day and we found many such closed .

We walked in to the cosy restaurant adorned by framed sepia photographs of yesteryears.



In 1931 the Zion national park entry tunnel wss being built .

An young couple Jack and Fern morrision built a small service station and as Fern made excellent home made pies used to refresh the workers coming to refuel .

When Jack died suddenly the young widow started a small restaurant known for its pies a rare happening by women those days .

During WW II the business grew as the place became a lumber area and later famed as a national park.

Today her grandchildren run the Thunderbird resort with a restaurant which served good fresh food very hospitable waiters and an overflowing souvenir center .

Unlike the place we had dinner in Zion national park itself which for an obnoxiously prized buffet served tepid potatoes limpid beef and pork and watery tira misu calling its potatoes heirloom with a service bordering on arrogance !!

All kinds everywhere 

Hats off to Thunderbird

Canyons