Schloss Linderhof

Linderhof I liked. It carries the same burden of Neuschwanstein — it is new. It is so very recent indeed. But, nevertheless, it has spirit (and it has a fountain which could have been the deciding factor). Therefore, visit this place in the summer as the careful Bavarians cover up the fountains in the winter so that the water would not freeze and cause damage to the masonry.

In any case, back to the schloss. I find Linderhof beautiful. It is delicate and it is so very precise in what it wants to be — an exquisite retreat for an introverted person. I cannot fault Ludwig for wanting a place like this, and I guess on of the things to lament is how little time the King was finally able to spend in places like this which would have probably satiated his wanderlust for quite some time.

Yet, even as I say this, I am not the best of friends with the Alps, and Linderhof lies under this mountain range. One can see the mountains visible in every direction from here, and there is no sea, no lake, no river. I so prefer places with water of any kind — one of my regrets that I have not made it to Herrenchiemsee yet. But, that’s what the future is for…

Back to our wonderful palace. I of course also appreciate the name though it does not come from my favourite tree, but an eponymous family. Nevertheless, I find it a pleasant name and a joyful one, as indeed this palace is. I can imagine André Rieu’s Johann Strauss Orchestra playing the very best of waltzes in this courtyard, for this is what it was meant for.

What else to say? The grounds are good to walk around in, with small gems litterred around the area. The Moroccan/Moorish house is one such place, but there are many others. The fountain at the back of the palace is something I quite like, and it is worth climbing all of the nearby hills to see what the view is like from there.

I think this option of appreciating the palace from so many different view-points is a very good thing to have here, as one can replace the missing historical depth with one’s own emotional sense. The mountains here, the castle there, the castle here, a pond there (as there actually is, despite my above lamentation, a small swan pond near the castle though not near-near)…

Having not been to Herrenchiemsee, this is my favourite of Ludwig’s palaces — and probably also my favourite palace I have visited in Bayern (Bavaria) though I have only had a very limited reach into there thus far.

Although, as a last note, I’d definitely try to miss the tourists if I was to visit…

Schloss Neuschwanstein

As one of King Ludwig’s palaces, Neuschwanstein has the sense of grandeur one might expect. Other than also having developed into the archetypal Disney-castle model, this schloss is a beautiful example of the Bavarian mountain-building style and the elegance which they could put into these difficult projects (though one should probably steer clear of discussing the fiscal arrangements projects like this demanded).

Fortunately — or perhaps unfortunately, to add a point of conversation — Neuschwantstein can be a contentious name. As it stands, the castle presently known as Hohenschwangau approximately a mile from the Disneyesque citadel used to be called Neuschwantstein until being renamed in the late 19th century. This castle replaced two earlier (Mediaeval) castles when Ludwig started its construction, and presently the Neuschwantstein citadel is definitely the one to leave a mark on the landscape.

However, on a closer investigation, though the castle looks magnificent from far away, it is less so on a personal level. Or, rather, it’s perhaps more impressive, especially when viewed from the Marienbrücke where the low-lying Bavarian countryside is visible behind the castle.

What I meant is that this place is so recent — and, yes, plenty of country houses, even my much-beloved Anglesey, have been built or rebuilt considerably later — that I was not particularly moved when I walked in this place. Naturally, the mediaeval feel is more of the make-believe kind, with the 19th century people trying to put their own touch into what they thought the ‘rugged 13th century’ must have looked like, and in this they obviously exagerrated.

But it is not just this… This recent construction, the enhancement of the picturesque instead of the graceful, has led to places which I would recommend one visit, but perhaps without expectations. The beauty in these places lies in what the viewer’s eye — your eye — can make of the place for yourself. There is not sense that for more than a thousand (or, for some especially long-standing places, two to four thousand) years this has been a culturally important site. It is new, and you know it when you look at it.

Nevertheless, go and take a look. It is inspiring, though of course Ludwig had it easier than many of us today (though, his personal life is one of the greatest tragedies amongst the 19th century royalty). But what would the castle of your dreams look like?.. Would it be as sleek, as delicate, as excquisite as Neuschwanstein?

Memories of Tōkyō

One of my most favourite moments of 2016 took place on September 7th. Why? What? Where?

This was in Tōkyō, the capital of the State of Japan. More precisely, it was in the Imperial district and by the entrance to the Imperial Palace. The sun was setting with its last rays still casting a faint light, bringing the park to life in an unique way. There were not many people present, the tourists had come and gone though it was not yet late (twenty to six) — but the Sun was setting and people move with it, so for that day, they had passed on.

The setting was beautiful in every mentionable way. It is still in my mind, the Sun’s quiet descent as daylight slowly receded, as it left the Imperial District, and as its last rays illuminated the former heart of the Shogunate.

Overall, I did not see much of Tōkyō as I had barely 24h there, but I am incredibly happy that one of the places I decided to go to was the Palace. Having the limited time to explore, I had started out without much of a plan and with a very limited grasp on which options were plausible. Chance ruled. The providential decisions which made me exit the underground in that station and walk down the street to arrive in the nick of time to see the day pass away are worth pondering about on their own. How much of what happens to us is chance, and chance alone? How much of this was indeterminable by anything I did?

But, with regards to this post, I mostly wanted to share this image:

Kōkyo

I can still remember the serenity. Can you sense it?

Kellie Castle

I have to begin by saying I did not like Kellie much. Kellie has a very good garden, but it is severely disadvantaged by some aspects of the house as it seems to me. There is a section which supposedly remains directly from the Medieval period — or, rather, two sections of the house are from the Medieval period with the inter-connection having been built later.

Or maybe I actually did like it?… Difficult to say now. I had some good discussions about the Covenanters and the Jacobites with whom the family in this house was involved (/not involved). Some of this family history was absolutely phenomenal and the people working here know it to a very good level for all four of the families to live here.

However, the stuff I did not appreciate as much — and this is strongly personal as I just don’t have that much of an interest in certain modern arts — is the reconstructions organised by the Lorimers. They also turned the original Medieval guard tower into an art salon, which is probably the worst offense to my conscience.

Nevertheless, the garden at Kellie is absolutely wonderful and definitely deserves a wander around. Better yet, even if the castle itself is closed, you can go for a walk in the gardens…

The walled garden at Kellie Castle

Ravenscraig Castle

I am not quite sure what I expected when I went to Ravenscraig. I knew it wasn’t going to be the biggest place in the world, but I think I was hoping for something more than about 100 square feet. Although that’s a bit disparaging… Ravenscraig actually was fun. It was permeated with a strength of some kind which I would associate with its imposing position.

Indeed, though the castle was more ruin than structure (also worth noting: no walls to climb on!) there was something there. Take a look:

Ravenscraig Castle

So, this is what is left. There is a drawbridge still and the façade is still intact. The north-eastern tower is mostly in ruins, but that provides probably the best place to climb on if someone was daring. However, I’d not recommend it and I did not try this myself as it was quite rainy.

The wall one can see on the picture forms what seems to have been the main westward defense though a considerably cliff-face also falls off to that side. The sea is behind the view point in that photo, and also to both east and west (or, at least, the beach is). The main original keep is the grand structure on the left of the picture.

Overall, the feeling I get looking at all of this, and remembering the stormy Atlantic behind me is that the lairds who lived here must have not been very bored. I am sure they had plenty to do even if philosophy was not on their mind, but they could have easily been very philosophical on a short winter’s day with a North Sea storm buffeting their masonry.

Dunfermline Palace

I happened to Dunfermline by accident, heading further into Fife. Being close enough, I figured I should take a look, as I’d heard that the place was an ancient capital.

Be that as it is, Dunfermline itself is not the focus of my post. The former abbey and palace structure, however, is. Naturally, it wasn’t open as it should have been as there was a problem with water and the Historic Environment Scotland person had had to reduce the opening hours.

In any case, I got to go around the place and take a look at most of it. The view to the outer wall was pretty good, and indeed the main attraction in my mind. The rest of the structures were quite crumbled and not particularly interesting, though of course the new cathedral is worthy of taking a look at.

Dunfermline Palace

This image hopefully gives an idea of the former strength of the place. An odd thing I noted was that the ground outside seems to vary considerably in topography, with this area where the building used to exist nearly the only level area. The forest outside, or rather the park, was actually quite impressive. It obviously did not stretch to the walls of the palace in the olden days, but has got to it now.

This palace and the abbey were the work of David I, the son of Margaret of England, a princess devoted to piety. This original royal beginning also ensured that later kings would be patrons of this site, up to Charles I who was born here. I am not certain I got the sense of this royal history here, but it is interesting to ponder.

I think a walk in the park would be most worthwhile in Dunfermline, especially with the occasional hope of catching a glimpse of the palace through the woodland. Nevertheless, as my destinations were further into Fife, I did not opt for that walk. Maybe I should have.

Caerlaverock Castle

Mighty as Caerlaverock Castle,
Siege it feared not, scorned surrender…

I saw Caerlaverock in the rain. I think she should be seen in the rain. The ruins, impressive as they were, were granted a pensive atmosphere by the drizzle.

Admittedly, the massive rain also meant that I more ran than walked through the place, but I did manage to get to everywhere on the main site. I was quite impressed by the several levels of the halls as well as all of the remnants of the buildings. The structure of this castle is not particularly complex, but I found it wonderful nonetheless.

In shape it was like a shield…

The central plaza had the mystic sense one might expect, with an added improvement the presence of the slightly faded (six centuries of open rain can have an impact on the ornamentation even if Protestant looters don’t) carvings on all walls. The rear wall and the structures there looked most interesting, but they are also the most ruined. It’s good of me to wish it to be more intact, but at the same time there’s a lot to be said to the character of it just now.

Yet, the Caerlaverock we see today is the second instalment of the structure. The first one lies abandoned slightly away from the one. I have to say, I passed on the old one as understand there is very little there, but thinking back now, I wish I had gone to investigate, rain or no rain.

The last stand of this castle was against the Covernanters in 1640, and it managed to hold out for 13 weeks. More impressive, though are the lists of times it was an object of curiosity in the preceding centuries, with the Edwardian conquests of Scotland often focussing on conquering Caerlaverock. Nevertheless, the Covenanter attack could be considered a particularly unfortunate incident as the Maxwells had only in the preceding decade decided to focus less on security and more on the ornamentation of the place.

Lastly… I have great difficulty actually remembering the name of the place. I don’t know why. That might also be why I have used it slightly more in these posts to try to remember it better.

Caerlaverock Castle

Longitude 180° E/W

It was my pleasure to be able to cross the 180° W to 180° E line last year (more or less this day), crossing the Pacific Ocean. The feeling of separation, of being thousands of miles from the closest bit of land, was spectacular on its own.

I am not entirely certain what more I can say. For me, this memory is so real I don’t need to use any more words. For anyone reading, these words are mere lines on a screen.

Thinking about it, I can describe a few more things.

One of these would be the sunshine Central Pacific experienced. I never thought it would be like that. I never thought it could be so warm, so calm, so tranquil. But, possibly the name of the ocean is not that wrong even though it can experience horrendous storms. Fernão de Magalhães may have been wrong in the entirety when he named the ocean, but he definitely grasped the occasion of the quiet sea.

The other thing to describe would be the sensation by which the aloneness feels. Sure, I wasn’t actually alone. There were probably about ten to fifteen other people on the vessel I was travelling, but, in general and in the modern world, that is secluded. The closest islands of Alaska and Hawaii were both more than two thousand kilometres away and even so, uninhabited. The closest inhabited place may have been a small town in Alaska.

Added to this distance across the globe I would add the distance above and below. The space above us is forever unlimited, and the space below is normally of no concern to us. Central Pacific in where we were was probably between three and four kilometres deep, and its inhabitants we can only imagine — the last frontier open to us on this globe is the depth of the oceans.

Only water, boundless water, in every direction. What an experience.

Falkland Palace

Falkland. The place which gave the name to the eponymous islands — or rather, which gave the name to the Lord of the Admiralty for whom the Falkland Sound was named, which later got transferred to the surrounding islands.

This is a truly beautiful palace with a very Scottish feel, as I guess it should. Supposedly it was here that James VI heard he was now also James I (and then he ennobled the local lord whose descendant the Lord of the Admiralty later on was).

Admittedly, a large part of this palace — the main central hall — has fallen into disrepair and no longer exists. The buildings on the other side from here were converted into bedrooms which they were not during the original occupancy of the palace, and hence a lot of the original lore of the place has been lost.

Nevertheless, these places have been done up nicely by Historic Environment Scotland to represent an idea of what life in the High Medieval Ages could have looked like. But, when I look back at the pictures I took at Falkland, I am not as impressed as when I think back at it.

It was a typically Scottish day, with more rain than sun and most of it not falling directly towards the ground, though I’d still consider parallel rain a more Norfolkian event. In any case, there are things to see, and I’d recommend a visit to Falkland if you are in the area. I would definitely go back, if only to ponder some more about the ruins.

The other thing worth noting, not visible on the picture below, is the amazing front gatehouse. That also serves as an entryway into the building itself and leads into the first bedrooms that a guest can visit. Oh!.. and the first rooms had portraits of both Charles’ which was definitely a nice touch.

Falkland Palace

Hermitage Castle

No, not the one in St Petersburg. Nor the one in Perthshire. The Hermitage in the Borders is what we’re talking about today…

Oh Hermitage, Oh Strength of Liddlesdale…

The keep that is the jewel of the bloodiest vale of Britain is well worth visiting. I will first tell you about what got me to go there… I ended up discussing with a Historic Scotland person in one of their other sites which places were worth recommending. And what the guy said was that he recommends Hermitage as the feeling he got there was something different. I cannot remember the exact words he used, but spooky works. Or eerie.

I knew I had to go there after that conversation… and how happy am I to have gone!

Hermitage is not the largest castle you’ll ever visit. Indeed, it is likely to be one of the smaller ones. It is not one of the mightiest or most imposing. There’s not moat, there’s hardly any buildings to the outside of the keep (there is a chapel which I actually forgot to go to, I realised afterwards).

What does exist is this keep. A mighty stonework that stands proud amidst the moors. The approach to it is fortunately forested, and that helps a bit, adding to the sense of mystery.

What I felt at the place was this eerieness that had been mentioned by my unknowing guide. I cannot put my hand on it, but I imagine it has to do with the history these stones have seen. So many years have passed, and Hermitage has been a visible landmark through many difficult struggles. Or, even when official struggles were not about, the Border Reivers no doubt were.

The state of disrepair inside helped. It was not complete, but rain — for indeed this was a rainy day — soaked through everywhere. There were no dry places even though masonry extended to metres above in every direction.

Absolutely amazing, but I think you need the weather to help you with the visit. The Borders in sunlight is almost unimaginable…

Hermitage