UK 2.0: Brighton

I was baptized with water on the day the Boxing Day Tsunami that would cost at least 230,000 lives happened. On an unrelated note, 20 Nov, the day I visited Brighton, I was told by locals that if I can survive the wind on the beach, I would be able to behold the sea churning like a washing machine. I am inclined to consider that a hyperbole, but it definitely wasn't the best of days to visit a famed seaside resort town that I've heard so much good things about.

Despite the shower, the more Bohemian aspects of the city did manage to exert its charm over me. The narrow streets with graffiti on the walls, interesting signage with cartoon characters and the many art bookshops and galleries made this a rather ideal place for artists and photographers.

It would be nice for me to get to know more of the alternate scenes here. But my visit was brief. I only manage to spend more time in the Royal Pavilion and a cursory dash through the Brighton Museum & Art Gallery. It is a very good museum of which I enjoyed both the ambiance, presentation and contents. I will look forward to the day I could return and sketch the curiosities in its display cabinets (but that could be in many years to come).

The Royal Pavilion is among the most novel architectures I have seen. Would you believe me if I tell you I have taken these pictures in India?

This chimera building has the exterior of Indian style while the interior was designed with oriental theme. Dragons and phoenixes, paintings of people in oriental robes, lotus and Bunyan trees are among the dominant motives in the palace. Since no photography is allowed inside. I heartily recommend anyone visiting Brighton to pay the entrance free and spend some good hours within these strange yet wonderful halls where cultures meet in days when the builders themselves had visited neither India nor China.

By the time we came out of the Pavilion complex and had our dinner, the sun has set. I have always believed that the sunset would be especially beautiful after the rain. It was certainly true on that day. I loved the colors in the sky and how the warm streetlights complimented them.

We ambled slowly along the rather quiet beach towards the Grand Pier. In the twilight, with waves lapping the shore and winds I would not call strong, the mood felt ethereal. Boats and seats for the merrymakers laid quietly in chains. A few art galleries by the beach, below the main road were still open.

When the pink tint in the sky was fully swallowed by dark winter blue, the pier shone like a spidery finger of light pointing into the vast expanse of darkness.

We ascended the stairs from the sandy shores and walked along the main road to approach the Pier. I got to appreciate again and again what wonders prior-rain can do to the paved roads and walkways of cities.

The Pier is an old thing, standing there for at least a century.

In the chilly winter air, people were few. Walking on the pier felt like walking into the past. The almost empty and ghostly pier so far away from the bustling city as you reach the other end seemed like it was a piece of history desperately clinging on to the relentlessly progressing present. The lack of tourists and the abundance of shops and stalls that was not open that night made it feel nostalgic and sad. But in that sadness, there was also a sense of beauty and comfort, familiarity and a tinge of kinship. Walking here, I know I am not alone and as a person, I am only a link in a chain that stretches far before and ahead into where even my eyes cannot see nor my mind phantom.

The quiet pier, with its wet 'red carpet' and damp wood spoke and sang a tale and song of its time. It can be disquieting. It is also reassuring. Coming back towards the light and colors and crowds of the city, you know there are things you need to leave behind but never forget.

On a lighter note, here is a bin in the shape of a dolphin outside a fish and chip takeaway and a bovine advertisement.

Closer to land, the structures of iron and stone jutted out into the water. I caught a little glimpse of the sea churning like a washing machine.

Here, I must thank Sarah for coming out and meeting us. It was a joy to see you again. And a big thank you to Kate and her Plug-In family. It was great to meet you and to visit the new studio. Thank you for the invitation and opportunity. I will always look forward to the entertaining work produced by you. Even though I walk a separate path for now, I do wish to see you both again at some point.

Where one town ends and London begins,

On the way back from Brighton to London, we embarked on a small side adventure. We took the train from London Victoria to Brighton in the morning, which is the fastest available way by public transport. We decided to take the bus on the way back, little did I know that it was going to go the long way and pass through the suburbs and residential area, even Luton Airport rather than the motorway. It dragged on into a 'grand tour of London south'.

One very notable observation I made in this sluggish ride was how London can be perceptibly different from 'places that are not London'. All along the way, there were houses, shops and more houses. Within London, there were also houses, shops and more house. However, there were indeed something unmistakable about London. Could it be the famous red double-decker buses and the red and blue tube signs or something more? I think there were many other more subtle differences as well. The houses in the suburb were usually one or two story high, seldom exceeding four. Those in London tend to be at least four or above. The skyline was higher.