Lost in fascination

ledzzgo — Thu, 21 May 2015 16:25:00 GMT

Northern Copenhagen environs, Denmark

Botched my gear change while manoeuvering an urban intersection, unhinging the chain. This is a first!

Contemplate panicking, bigtime - Instead, opt for ZEN and minutes later - fingers greased, I re-mount "Sid" - assume control of direction and velocity, while resuming invincibility. Not embarrassed at all.

Later, I turn right, leading to the lakes of Utterslev Mose sprawl, resounding virgin spring from winged creatures and not least easy, bike-friendly paths. These lakes echo a natural version of the five artificial lakes close to the city's heart, which incidentally draw their water from here. No real surprises in store, but I relish unleashing "Sid" - this urban gulag, you know.

We arrived at the footbridge spanning ten feet of active water, leading into an eyebrow-shaped wooded area, a crow's mile from my flat and I was all for doing the "comfort zone thing" which would ultimately land me on my singles couch, facing a rather modest TV.

But "Sid" had ideas, all of a sudden. They do sometimes you know. It's their nature. You can't keep it down all the time. And they can't help it either. You just have to let them get it out of their system.

First he bypassed more potential exits, then turned left instead of right, down a narrow path hugging a rippling brook, which led into a tunnel leading to...?

So close to home - and yet lost in this naughty spring fling. I was intrigued. "Sid" could be onto something. Come on, I couldn't really get lost. All I had to do was follow the brook going back, if things got out of hand. Not like breadcrumbs, right?

Part of the city's impeccable, extensive biking facilities, designed, groomed and tailored, catering for pedestrians and cyclists, this stretch was new to me. Patches of wood, ball parks, playgrounds, benches for reclining, tables for whatever, solid grill stands, overview maps and further excess. Unchartered turf and barring "Sid"'s initiative, "black matter" for sure.

Spring had just taken a turn for the better. Like stepping out of a tomb and showered in resurrection sunlight.

Eventually, the brook met an asphalt river with cars coming thick and fast. Yonder more trees and a lake of sorts. It looked swell and I craved more. "Sid" carried me across in one piece, elevated within. Then, recognition struck.

My "great escape" was cruelly foiled. I was here just yesterday! This lake was but a shout from my Copenhagen flat.

Next day I ventured a rerun. But I couldn't unhinge the chain on purpose and now I knew where the brook would lead us.

Older than time itself

ledzzgo — Wed, 20 May 2015 00:47:05 GMT

Pups dangle from mangy teats. She, "mother of all dogs", exhausted. Her hungry eyes seem to be saying, "why me?" An open sewer reeks lavishly toward the river, while low dense dawn tears a solar bridge across the Ganges, leading to what seems afterlife itself. Varanasi, mon amour.

"Let's go" - my friend implores. He reckons his ancestors were local gypsy. Sure.

Our last day, alas. Below, vigilant kids stare up unabashed, separated from us by a forbidden stairway leading to the "Alka Hotel". Day one I slid 'em fifty rupees, each. Now, they tag us methodically, unkempt yet nourished. Their wily charm confounds me.

A monkey, perched on the rail of Alka's balcony scares of my brash approach, undulating heavenward cursing, just as the cook emerges on a ledge wearing only a towel.

"Where's our breakfast" we all cry, while laughing.

Slender vessels, bursting with pilgrims, head out into murky mystery, monotonous chant whispers over water. My friend is braving massage from a pro, not far from the local Ghat's entrance.

"This is my father", he says of my friend.

Another masseur latches on to me, smiling somewhat nervously. Meanwhile, the kids head our way in formation.

Enter the ubiquitous chai-man, waving his pompous iron kettle, hot coal tray affixed. Drags a few rupees out of us. His cups are frail and made of clay. Disposable, they fly. They have come so far, it is over.

A teenager is negotiating rocky surface often teaming with cricket youth now remarkably absent. The trash he gathers so impeccably with his simple broom is swept unceremoniously into the river and out of sight, yards from my friend, now having his forehead adorned by a wise man, who just happens to pass by.

Neath colorful laundry an orange-clad Sadhu grooms himself meticulously, rolls out tired blankets and wraps himself into sleep - obviously a night creature. No one cares, they're used to this sort of thing.

My friend is smoking with the one-eyed rickshaw man who had stalked us extensively, before moving in for kill disguised as service. I forget myself, that I am here - and even why I am here, as a boat, fat with souls, seems to struggle ominously mid-river, oars flapping like helpless fins. Sadhu eyes approach beeline, so I dig into my beggar pocket and he lands ten. A holy man, he has to make do with less than your mainstream beggar.

Further, I lose the next note to a charmer, grinding an infernal instrument, while his bendy sidekick slithers too close for comfort, hissing.....

LedzzGo World

Lost in fascination

Older than time itself