Forbidden Pleasures

My most recent summer adventure began at 3pm on August 2nd in the middle of the Yorkshire Dales.

We had driven up from London that morning on a mission to visit one of the strangest places in the world -- The Forbidden Corner, an award-winning children's park populated with mazes, tunnels, secret chambers and fanciful oddities. Built 20 years ago by eccentric millionaire Colin Armstrong and architect Malcolm Tempest, it has recently been voted the best European folly of the 20th century by the Folly Fellowship. (And, by the way, how fantastic is it that there is a Folly Fellowship?)

The friends we were travelling with were newbies, but I had visited The Forbidden Corner in 2007 and, for three years, its gothic strangeness had haunted my thoughts until I wondered if I was a character in a Daphne du Maurier novel: "Last night I dreamt I went to The Forbidden Corner again."

I knew I would return.

And guess what?

This time, you're coming too.

We enter by Diabolical Gate. Go ahead, you first.

Which took you more by surprise -- the waving epiglottis or the ogre-like belches emanating from the lingual cavern?

Okay, now look around. A forest of narrow yew-lined footpaths rises up before you and stretches deeper and deeper into the heart of a mysterious world. Your quest has officially begun.

Armed only with a checklist of clues and your natural-born instincts, your challenge is to find the 30-odd sites of interest within the labyrinth-like grounds. (Don't bother asking for a map -- none exists.) At every turn, there are decisions to make and tricks to avoid, but if you persevere, you will discover secret grottoes, talking statues, even a revolving room...and that's all I'm going to reveal.

Note to Parents: Wear appropriate footwear so you can keep pace with your children who will turn into squealing blurs of delight. Seriously, don't lose sight of them -- they are your only hope of getting out.

Take two rights, a left and a right and you might wind up in an underground grotto with a path of stepping stones...

...that leads to a trick fountain...

...that leads to an underground temple manned by Roman sentinels.

Conversely, take two lefts, a right and a left and you could find yourself on a mysterious staircase to nowhere.

There are so many meandering twists and turns that sometimes just when you're convinced you're getting close to something, the path you're on suddenly veers away from it. Hang on -- haven't we passed that cupid before?

"Those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it."

~George Santayana

Me: Avery and Luca, you can have unlimited candy for the rest of the trip if you will just tell me how you got to the other side of this maze. (beat) Yes, I pinky swear.

There are stone towers guarded by watchful gargoyles...

...thatch-roofed hobbit houses...

...and an exuberant herb garden anchored by a turreted dovecote.

Eventually, thanks to the unerring instincts of my youthful companion, I discovered the pathway back to civilization again. (Thank goodness for spongy 8-year old brains that have room after room of available storage. My mental file cabinets are full to bursting. I am becoming increasingly convinced that in order to remember something new, I have to toss something old out.)

From The Forbidden Corner, it was a quick hop to our resting place for the night, the charming Black Bull Inn in the village of Middleham.

The next morning, we were greeted by the clippety-clop of hundreds of sleek, shiny thoroughbreds passing beneath our bedroom window on their way to morning training. Apparently, Middleham is world-famous for its racehorses. Yawn. Just another day in Yorkshire.

After a quick romp on the mist-laden moors, it was back to the car to settle in for an all-day drive to catch a 5pm ferry to the Shetland Islands.

Up next: Drama in Aberdeen ( also known as "What Do You Mean, You Can't Find Our Reservation?!")

Home Again, Home Again

We flew in yesterday.

Give me a day or so to get my head on straight and I'll be back with a full report, I promise.

Scotland was dreamlike.

(On a hike, Gargunnock, Scotland, August 2010.)

And the Shetland Islands...?

Surreal, endearing and completely unforgettable.

(Baltasound Hotel, Island of Unst -- the most northerly hotel in the United Kingdom. August 2010.)

Bring on the Rain

Another summer adventure beckons. No bathing suits and sarongs this time. Today I'm packing woolens and weather-resistant jackets.

The destinations are London (briefly), Yorkshire, Scotland and the Shetland Islands.

All are familiar and beloved destinations, except for the last one.

You: Why the Shetland Islands?

Me: I don't know. I guess because it's there.

(Ruined croft, Yell, Shetland Islands, via here)

Some friends and I have booked berths on a ferryboat (it's a 14 hour trip) from the Scottish town of Aberdeen to a teeny island called Yell. It's been inhabited since Neolithic times and it has a population of 957. Ever since I found out the name, I have been slightly obsessed with a particular vision. I want us all to climb a grassy hill, face the North Sea, and as the wind whips through our hair, I want us to...well, yell. Kind of a pagan shout-out to life, to the life-affirming spirit of the universe and to the awareness of living in the moment. Luca is insistent we roll down the hill afterwards, which sounds like an excellent idea. Other than that, the game plan is open.

Back soon.

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As an aside, I would like to mention how grateful I am to all of you who read this blog and also those of you who leave comments. I have a connection with all of you. Your tales, insights, tips, and witty observations never fail to inspire me, make me laugh and move me deeply. It is a joy to wake up and see what messages the night has ferried in from around the world.

Blogs are two-way streets and you are the heart and soul of this site as much as I am. If not for you, the pleasures would be greatly, greatly lessened.

xx/lisa

Island Time

Last week, Luca and I went to Kauai, and for five glorious days time slowed to a crawl. It's amazing how quickly one can go from being a dedicated planner and appointment-keeper to not knowing (or caring) what day it is.

(View from the house, Kauai, July 2010)

We stayed with some good friends who own an estate called Namahana Plantation just south of Princeville on the north shore. Five acres of lush vegetation surround the property, and the resplendent privacy made me feel like a Hawaiian Isak Dinesen -- instead of "I had a farm in Africa," I would intone in my best Meryl Streep voice, "I had a plantation in Kauai."

Days were deliciously lazy. In the morning, my friend Gabrielle and I would stroll the grounds...

...and fill a pail with ripe offerings from the macadamia nut, lychee, banana, avocado, grapefruit, lemon, lime and starfruit trees that grow so abundantly everywhere.

In a clever horticultural move, there was an awapuhi bush right next to the outdoor shower so that you could palm a little of its sudsy juice for an instant conditioning treatment.

Luca and I had our own guest house tucked away underneath an arbor of tropical vegetation, complete with our own waterfall pond.

The views from the main house extended across lush pastures toward Mount Namahana in the distance.

One day, we gathered up the troops and went on a hike to a secret garden Gabrielle and her husband discovered that isn't located on any map or accessible from any road.

(Gabrielle and children)

After about a mile, we spotted a bamboo hut half-hidden in a clump of trees that signalled to us we were almost there.

Just beyond it was a dirt track leading down to a hidden valley and veritable private wonderland.

We crossed a wooden bridge surrounded by Jurassic-sized blossoms...

...tiptoed respectfully past a Buddha in a blue shawl...

...stepped nimbly along a rock ledge up to a waterfall...

...and over a lush wooden footpath...

...to our own private lagoon. The stillness was spiritual.

The boys found a bamboo fishing pole and immediately set to work.

Turns were taken dragging the pole back and forth to see whose angling style was most effective.

Turns out that pretzel innards are irresistible bait to locals.

And so the days continued....

In the afternoons, there were beaches to explore, each one with its own soothing charms. Even an avowed non-tanner like me couldn't help but succumb to the spell of sun, sand and sea.

(Hanalei Beach, July 2010)

For lunch, there was the Kilauea Fish Market, an unpreposessing shack just off the main highway...

...renowned among locals for the freshness of its just-caught fish and healthy, delicious meals. If you ever go there, order the cajun ahi sashimi salad. You can thank me later.

No night was complete without a local trip to the nearest shave ice stand, Hawaii's gourmet answer to a snow cone. Pineapple, lychee, coconut, li hing mui (plum), dark cherry -- as you can see, the flavors were always thoroughly slurp-worthy.

Therein lies the essential ingredients of our brief Kauaian idyll. Add some shopping, some napping, some reading, and shuffle and repeat.

On our last night, we had dinner on the terrace of the St. Regis Princeville and watched the sun sink slowly over Hanalei Bay. Really, words fail.

(St. Regis Princeville)

For information on renting Namahana Plantation, click here.

Sustainable Graffiti for the Soul

This is one of those brilliant ideas that looks so absolutely right that you wonder why no one ever thought of it until now.

(All photos via here)

Guerilla gardener Anna Garforth emblazons walls with mossy graffiti in her quest to meld intrigue into the transitory landscape of urban spaces.

My work needs to make an immediate impact given its ephemeral nature. There is a lot of wild in the city. My eye has become attuned to the plant life that pushes and grows its way through all the cracks in the concrete. Once you have noticed it, it's everywhere....

~Anna Garforth

Garforth uses nourishing ingredients to affix the moss to surfaces. "I collect a common moss that grows well on brick walls and glue it to the wall using a mixture of natural (bio active) yoghurt and sugar."

I've spent the last year watching my ivy delightedly clamber over my own brick wall and now I want to pull it all off in favor of an inspiring quote. There's something so elementally profound about it, don't you think?

It's Arcadian poetry transported to the urban jungle.

Listen to the way Anna describes herself on her website...I think you'll agree she lives with passion and purpose:

I am the crazed woman with mud on her face, bristling with moss and screaming against the wind on a bike laden down with foraged materials.

And now for the question of the day: Given the chance to emblazon your own wall, what quote would you put up?

My personal top three picks would be:

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.

(Robert Herrick)

There is strong shadow where there is much light.

(Goethe)

Thus, though we cannot make our sun

Stand still, yet we will make him run.

(Andrew Marvell)

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Editors Note: I'm off to Kauai for a brief spell. Back soon. Be good.