Posted in Anecdotes

A Rooftop Green and Brown

​”Kasha ki Asha is the perfect place to laze away your time, read a few books and write a blog post or two as you wait out that mid day heat”

I was roaming aimlessly in White Town at noon. I was running an errand and then had ample time on my hands to while away before my night shift. Having come all the way to this area of Puducherry, known for French restaurants and exotic cafés and what nots, I didn’t feel like going back without checking out the streets a little. Exploration has been topping my list of essential life events ever since I got a means of easy transportation on my own (more on that later; that post is long due and still incomplete)

Armed with Google Maps I managed to traverse the very confusing lanes of WT and soon found myself in front of the apparently charming Café Dés Arts that I had been meaning to visit for some time now. But alas, I found it closed for renovation and due to open only in a month or also. 

That was when I whipped out my phone again and searched for Best Cafes in Pondicherry, and Kasha ki Asha came into focus via the aforementioned write up from the website Polka Cafe that Google pointed out to me. More than anything else, I believe it is the words “..and write a blog post or two..” that caught my attention. I have been lagging behind on the same for a long time now, and any incentive to finish off the many half written posts is always welcome. So off I went.

Luckily this cafe was just a few feet away from Cafe Des Arts, on Surcouf street. I manoeuvred the scooty gingerly, checking out either side of the quiet street for the cafe.Even then I missed it the first time; the quaint maroon building nestled quietly at the corner of the street, and as I stood on the threshold I wondered if it was closed too, there was hardly anyone about! A renovated house, it still felt like more of a home than a cafe.

A lady saw me peeking in and reassured me that they were open. The gallery is downstairs, she said, and the cafe on the terrace. I walked around a bit, looking at the various items kept on sale – books, shawls, printed tee shirts, kurtis, bangles.. the typical overpriced ‘ethnic’ paraphernilia aimed at visiting folks from the West – before climbing the corner stairs leading to the terrace.

To say I found the place pleasant is an understatement. Heavenly would better describe it. Anyone who has endured the horrid summer heat of Puducherry would know why. A thatched roof, comfortable chairs, cool breeze and solitude – what else can one ask for?! 

Eateries in India seldom offer you quietness (unless the food is so bad that no one is there except you). All the good places bustle with people and waiters keep breathing down your neck every second to make sure you leave as soon as you’re done and make room for the newcomers. In contrast, here I was, shown on to the roof top terrace and made at ease by a lady in a worn out saree, who handed me the wifi password, smiled and left immediately.

Left alone, I walked around in delight, clicking pictures. I loved everything about the place, the roof, bamboo shoots, cane chairs, creepers and the occasional sparrow.. A rooftop green and brown and pleasant, like home.

I settled down onto a comfy cane chair, next to the magazine rack and checked out the menu, wondering when anyone would show up for the order. Apparently they don’t. The description on the menu card invites you laze around as long as you want and then call from the stairs in any case you want anything!

So here I am, munching on my toast and sipping lemonade, posting what I expect is the first of many posts to be written in Kasha ki Asha.

Posted in Anecdotes

Remember

I feel like a stranger in the white coat. A little fresh, a little raw, a less confident version of myself. A little unprepared for the routine of the Emergency Department. A month of posting in ED is mandatory for residents from other departments to ease the workload of the regulars and I walk in to do my share.

I start documenting the cases alloted to me. 

26 year old unmarried male, driver by occupation, with a history of accidental fall from a height of 15 feet presents with complaints of severe back pain. Power 0/5 in both limbs. Sensation absent below the umbilicus. No external injuries. Adv: Xray DL and LS spine. Provisional: Traumatic paraplegia.

My age! Damn it, he’s my age.. And he may never walk again, let alone drive..

3 year old girl brought by parents with history of drowsiness and headache since morning. Known case of pinealoblastoma with hydrocephalus; VP shunt in place. Adv: Non contrast CT Brain. Provisional: ?Shunt Block. 

Neurosurgery is full. They will never be able to take up the case for surgery at such short notice. Yes, I understand you don’t have the money to go anywhere else.. Yes, Bangalore is far and you don’t speak the language, but the institute there is the best option for her.. Please don’t cry, we are as helpless as you are.. There is only so much we can do right now..

64 year old lady with end stage renal disease brought with high blood sugar. Pulse not palpable. Cardiopulmonary resuscitation initiated. Injection atropine and adrenaline stat.

She’s back from the dead! Can’t say I expected that.. 

35 year old male, known case of Rheumatic Heart Disease/Double valve replacement done admitted with sudden onset breathlessness. History of chronic alcoholism present. On examination, patient comatose, pulse not palpable, pupils dilated, not reacting to light. Stuck valve suspected. ECG gives flat line. Death declared to parents.

Hesitation cuts all over his left forearm.. linear scars that once bled frustration and pain. Maybe he was already tired of this tormented life? Bouts of chest pain, dyspnoea, medications and surgeries. Maybe he willed his heart to stop just like he willed the blade to cut into his wrist??

Hope and helplessness intertwine as the minutes inch forward. And at the end of 7 hours, as I walk away a mess of nerves and relief, I remember how lucky I am to not be in pain, to not be connected to half a dozen machines, to not be just alive, but healthy too. Not just surviving.

It’s funny how often we forget that.

Posted in Anecdotes

Pink And Proud

It has been so long since I last posted something that I have actually been framing and editing the opening sentence for a full ten minutes now, till it finally transformed into this. Nothing spectacular, I know. These fingertips are badly in need of inspiration.

It has been exactly a month since I wrote something other than research proposals or official letters. Being back at college is proving to rain on my literary parade. But I can’t quite blame the curriculum for it; it’s me of course. Old habits die hard and laziness is immortal. It’s just so easy and convenient to sit back against a cushion, whip out one’s phone and text the people you -wait for it! – spent the entire day with. So unnecessary, but such an integral part of one’s life these days..

Today.. umm wait. I realise I effectively procrastinated the post so well that it’s actually yesterday. So yesterday, the 19th of April, I came to know through a WhatsApp forward, is the World Cycling Day. Yoo-hoo!! Here is to eco friendly and healthy transportation! Bikers unite!!! 

I was a late bloomer in the cycling scenario and learned to bike quite late. I am reminded of the first time I attempted the antic of riding without side wheels. I was in my 5th grade and it was my friend’s cycle and the road leading up to her house used to be a precarious fall. It either levelled out as I grew or my visual capabilities recovered from imaginative hyperbolic perceptions. Either way, it doesn’t seem as notorious now as it did then. Anyway, I clearly remember screaming in horror as a coconut tree came rushing toward me. Thanks to the impact, the bike was broken and I stayed away from the similar adventures till I got a cycle of my own for the first time in 8th grade. 

My dreams of riding with abandon were soon put to rest as a local toddy shop opened right across my designated cycling route. Mother felt it inappropriate and unsafe for a young girl to bike in the area where drunken hooligans aka potential molesters loitered. The other route was all uphill – not exactly the average weakling’s cuppa tea. So that too came to a premature end.

Childhood whims are like one’s first love, you never quite get over them. Which is probably why, the moment I stepped inside the sprawling campus with its wide shady lanes, I knew I had my opportunity at long last!

Now, 12 years down the line, I am the proud owner of another bike. It did take a couple of weeks for my atrophied thigh muscles to get used to the climb, but they don’t complain as much now. 

The colour does make me cringe, but apparently ladies’ cycles only come in pink and lavendar in this town. Oh well. At least it stands out among the fleet of sober scooters and motorcycles!

Posted in Anecdotes

Mangroves For Two

Everything gets a little better with a good friend by your side. 

My last day of monitoring was around the region of Chidambaram in Cuddalore. Amigo SR, a monitor himself, happened to be free that day, so I decided to take him along with me. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the work progressed easier with his help; we went about in buses where I normally would have relied on taxis, and he proved to be more street smart that I had given him credit for.

The official work was done by noon. The last school I visited was in the village of Killai, a few kilometres way from the Pichavaram Ecotourism Centre. To have come all the way there and to return without checking it out would be rather dumb, so we made our way there.

An auto rickshaw dropped us off at the site. Pichavaram is known for its mangrove forests, one of the three prominent ones in India. The other two are in West Bengal and the Andaman Islands. 

Row boats and motor boats can be hired by the hour, and according to the number of people visiting, and are rated at fair prices accordingly. It ranged from a one hour row boat ride for two that cost you 185 rupees (~3 dollars) to a 6 hour motor boat ride which included a trip to the Pichavaram Beach thrown in, rated at around 2500 rupees. We settled for the former being pressed for time, and proceeded to find a place to lunch first.

Only a snack bar existed within the complex, so we were directed to a restaurant on the way we came. One side of the lonely road was lined by small houses and tamarind trees; on the other ran a rivulet filled with boats – fishing boats presumably. Two aged women sat some feet apart selling karuvaadu, fish salted and dried in the sun.

We walked a short distance before spotting the sign Neithal Seafood Resto, which was less of a hotel and more of an extension of a small house, with a makeshift shed modified to be the serving area. When we arrived, the single table was occupied by 5 other guests, so we were quickly shown into the next room, a small hall alongside the kitchen. A woven mat on the floor proved to be our designated seating area. The wall behind us alone was painted an enthusiastic orange with blue waves crashing, and the dull wall opposite was covered with old family photographs. The smell of frying fish wafted in from the kitchen and made us hungrier.

The home made food was a delight, adding to the raw ambiance of the place. We had a hearty meal of cooked rice, lentils, pickle, fish curry and a piece of fried fish each.

After the meal, we headed back to the Ecotourism Centre and were soon fitted with life jackets, ready to go. We made our way to the series of numbered boats tied to the shore awaiting riders.

Neither of us had been to mangrove forests before. It was a lovely ride, taking in the beautiful view, with a running commentary from the the rowing personnel.

He filled us in with trivia about mangroves, regarding their locations in India, and their importance in the ecosystem. He has been working here for the past 20 years and the words flowed easily with a practised precision, and at times when we interrupted him with our queries, he would repeat himself over and over, like a disfunctioning record playing, unaware that he was doing it.

It was a delightful ride. As we were taken deeper into the forest area, the place grew quieter. We spotted herons and parrots flying overhead and were charmed by the other worldly nature of the place.

The route rapidly turned into a maze as the trees split into little islands. Apparently there were around 3000 of these, and you could easily get lost if you were not careful.

The hour passed pleasantly. We were quiet as we came out into the sun again, revelling in the serenity we had just experienced, the sheen of the surreal alcove still shimmering at the back of our minds like the water glitter that surrounded us.

Note : Photo credit goes to SR. In spite of me blatantly claiming expertise in photography, it was soon evident that my skills ranged between nil and zero. I proceeded to blame my phone and he was gracious enough to pretend to believe me and subtly take over the job. 😀 None of the pictures are edited.

Posted in Anecdotes

A Happy Meal

I love to travel. 

It sounds like such a cliche in today’s world where almost everyone claims to be struck by wanderlust. But one thing that I guess sets my craze apart is that I am more into exploring places than sightseeing. Again, that came out as another cliche. Let me elaborate further.

I don’t care for destinations. I don’t care about whether the places I visit are sites worthy of exploration, or whether they feature in magazines and websites. I care not for public approval or appraisal. Everyone talks about Goa and Kashmir and Paris and Switzerland.. I don’t deny that I would love to go to all those places too, but I love equally to explore tiny niches that hold little value in the eyes of the average traveller. I don’t care if the place is amenable to be tagged on Facebook or to be bragged about to friends, I just adore being somewhere new; no matter what awaits me, if it’s someplace I’ve never been to, if it has something unseen in store for me, I fall in love with it. 

I also love getting to know places.. living somewhere for months and slowly making my acquaintance, knowing where the supermarket is, where the best eateries are, solving the puzzling traces of the little roads and by lanes till I can trace them on my palm, and if I were to pass by years later, it would feel like a glimpse of home.

This could be why travelling to the various regions in Cuddalore excited me so. The other day in Neyveli, it was past 1 in the afternoon when my work was done, and I asked the driver, a local, to find me a good place to eat. He stopped the taxi in front of a dilapilated building just off the main road. Mudaliar Mess. I raised an eyebrow but decided to go in with him. It had originally been a larger hotel, but the whole of the front part had been recently destroyed to facilitate road expansion. It remained as such, a crumbling ruin with a small opening that showed you some old benches laden with fresh green banana leaves in place, ready to be served lunch on. A couple of ladies waited on rusty chairs waiting for a parcel. The food was really good, but I could only eat so much, even after being compelled to take a second helping by those who served. They joked about how skinny I am, in the way only friendly small town folks do.It was a happy meal, not just filling or sumptuous, but truly happy. And that’s pretty lucky, don’t you think?

Posted in Anecdotes

Random Sights Of Cuddalore

I felt a follow up post was necessary to showcase the stuff I wrote about yesterday. I would like to apologize for the poor quality of images. Almost all of them were taken from a moving car as I did not have the time to stop for pictures. Still I felt some snapshots were warranted, and here they are. 

You may not even be aware of the rural district of Cuddalore that nestles in a corner of the state of Tamil Nadu in India. Even I was not. Like almost the rest of TN it has the occasional bustling town separated by miles of empty fields. But I was unprepared for the raw life that existed there, the sort that is the heart of villages in India, man and nature interspersed, unwilling to separate into distant entities as in the urban landscape. 

Agriculture plays a major role and tractors laden with hay were a regular sight on the roads. In some of the more wealthier houses, you even spotted one resting by makeshift gates. I passed many a bullock cart too.

Hay on wheels! Clicked just as we were passing the truck..

The crops grown in the regions I visited were mostly paddy and sugarcane. I couldn’t help craving a bite as I passed lush fields of the latter.

Sugarcane fields
Harvested sugarcane being bundled for transport
Green and golden fields of paddy

Most of the houses in the villages were made from scratch using clay and hay. Occasionally some would have brick walls but these too were usually thatched with hay. An agricultural refuse, the left over paddy husk becomes a sustainable source for building houses!

Hut made of woven palm leaves

The post cannot be complete without a picture of the kind of schools I visited. The children were lovely, enthusiastic and welcoming and obviously shy. I did not want to distract them from their classes but managed to get a covert click of the primary school students as they sat on the veranda for their classes.

This is of course just a glimpse of the places that I visited. Many a lovely sight had to be forgone and many potential clicks abandoned, being pressed for time and due to the circumstances. I find every place has a charm of its own, and Cuddalore certainly won my heart.

Posted in Anecdotes

Alcoves Of Life

When I took up Community Medicine, I was not quite sure what I was getting into, whether I am truly cut out for the work it entitled. It heartens me that things certainly do look that way. I love the things I am getting to learn.

Less than two weeks into joining the course I have been lucky enough to receive an opportunity to work with the World Health Organisation; as an External Monitor on behalf of WHO for the Measles -Rubella vaccination campaign happening in the state throughout the month of February. I travelled solo to remote parts of the largely rural district of Cuddalore in Tamil Nadu, monitoring certain assigned sites each day and the experience has been amazing. 

Barren landscapes dotted with cattle and ancient bullock carts stacked with hay met my widened eyes –  I had never seen the likes of these except perhaps in Tamil movies of old. Schools were part of the more populated areas, a couple of concrete buildings where children in red uniforms peeked out of the windows of their classrooms or from under shady trees where some had their lessons. My visits drew excitement; some boys saluted me as they would a teacher, and certain girls threw shy glances at my attire and accessories; one shook my hand and hid behind her friends giggling while all the others waved me goodbye.

As the driver took me from one remote village to the other, I watched in awe the alcoves of life emerging from the corners of my country – naked children playing in puddles and old folks squatting in front of caricatured huts made of dark mud walls and low lying roofs of hay, where nights brought darkness and light came up with the sun, where one walked miles altogether to reach the main road and the few necessities were met by a single grocery store.. 

I could not help feeling a little ashamed of how I complained about slow wifi networks, the occasional loss of power and late Amazon deliveries. The presence of supermarkets and designer stores at a walkable distance suddenly seemed an overindulgence. But funnily enough, in spite of lack of all these facilities, I caught myself feeling jealous of them. They were content in their way of life, and that’s what matters in the end.

Posted in Anecdotes

Five Floors Down Memory Lane

I stood in the hostel elevator, descending to the earth from my abode on the fifth floor. Although the steel box and I came across each other regularly, we never felt the need to communicate in the two weeks I spent here. For some unknown reason, perhaps to break the ice, it started humming.

Ting-tung ta ting-tung ta ta ting taaa.. the familiar tune rang within closed doors. 

I looked to my side and saw another me, dishevelled, in dire need of a long shower. Her hair in utter disarray, the buckle of one shoe undone. The white coat was grimy by the buttons and its pockets bulged with extra needles, syringes, pens, bits of cotton, an IV cannula, even a couple of plastic test tubes – the routine paraphernalia that accompanies compulsory residential internship in a government hospital. You never knew when the meagre stores might run out, so we got into the habit of hoarding essentials, turning into innocent kleptomaniacs.

I watch her wiping beads of sweat off the forehead, and fanning herself with the case sheet in her hand. I spy a couple of blood samples and a blood bank requisition form in her right hand. Probably a cross match for the anemic lady in Medical Unit IV, or perhaps for the adolescent boy with polytrauma who is in the post operative ward. 

For a moment, she leaned against the back of the elevator, and hummed along with it.. ting-tung ta ting-tung ta ta ting ta.. Stared at her shoes and rocked to the tune. Read the various proclamations of love scribbled across the old shaft. Arul loves Priya. I love you always. Amudhan hearts Selvi. Jesus loves everyone.

The elevator came to a halt on the ground. She blurred into the awaiting crowd as I came out of my reverie.

Posted in Anecdotes

Mommy’s Day Out

Chennai!

For the upcoming post graduation counselling, I am bound to turn up with certain certificates from the university last attended. Unsurprisingly, I found myself not to be in possession of said documents and am on a detour to Chennai to obtain the same before the big day, accompanied by Mom. (Any event relating to academic accomplishment is generally viewed as ‘the big day’ in the medical community since such trivial things as weddings hold little importance in our lives) 

We reached Chennai at around 6 in the morning and rushed off to Amigo LP’s house to freshen up and reach the university in time to beat any other potential aspirant of certificate acquisition, in accordance with the rules of the rat race. The local trains were not very crowded (I was fooled into thinking this is a normal phenomenon) and once we reached the university gates, we were greeted by a drum-and-horns band committed to blowing the ear drums out of anyone who dared to stay in the vicinity for more than a couple of seconds. I thought this was standard procedure as well. It was only when I saw the banners and floral decorations that I realised the day had been proclaimed a government holiday to commemorate the 100th birthday of the late actor/chief minister of Tamil Nadu, Dr.M.G.R who, ironically, our university happens to be named after.

Our plans thus effectively wasted, we looked to LP to provide us with alternative excitements for the day. After some consideration, we decided to descend upon Thyagaraja Nagar, or T Nagar as it is fondly called, the perennial flea market of the city.

The bustling crowd moving out of Mambalam local rail station on their way to T Nagar

We arrived there in the early hours, just as the shops were being set up. The street undergoes a steady metamorphosis through each day, with the crowd trickling in during the morning and turning into a human high tide by evening that is sure to literally sweep you off your feet to be washed ashore at the feet of whoever happens to be offering the biggest discounts at the moment. On my virginal visit some years ago, two seconds after venturing in I found myself separated from my able friends and being thrust into a textile shop to haggle for a shawl I didnot need or desire. I shuddered at the memory and wondered if Mom needed protection.

T Nagar in the early hours

Those who have been through my previous posts may know that Mom has lived the entirety of her life taking care of two ungrateful souls, Father and me, and has not had many chances of roaming around and exploring the world outside of our residential area. She’s extremely street smart and carries her own in a way I never could, and was delighted at getting an opportunity to explore whatever little bits of Chennai as could be managed. LP and I decided to make sure she got the most out of it.

Shopping was obviously on top of the list. I treated Mom to her choice of bags and footwear and grabbed some for myself too. But more importantly, it was her taste buds I wanted to entice.

No bustling street in Tamil Nadu is complete without the vendors of varied snacks. Stalls routinely sell boiled corn mixed with butter/chilli as per command and are served as instant healthy refreshment in paper cups. I used to love these during my college days and Mom in turn nodded agreement after tasting her first spoonful.

Boiled sweet corn at the vendor’s

Other roadside favours are bhel puri, pani puri, assorted ice cream cones, lime soda and rose milk.

Since we were travelling I decided to forego the diarrhoeal roadside option and have safer versions of the same at the famous Adyar Anand Bhavan aka A2B. I chanced upon a delightful strawberry cake there and had my fill while Mom and L happily munched on pani Puri and sipped Rose Milk. The pomegranate juice that I ordered drew another excited ooh! from Mom. She readily tasted and approved of the same too.

Strawberry cake for me and pani puri for Mom

It was a very happy day indeed. The icing on the cake were of course our spoils from the day that we managed to procure without drilling a huge hole in my wallet. 

Flea smitten

Is it any wonder that I love Chennai?!

Posted in Anecdotes

A Bit Of Heaven

A trip to Idukki district had long been on the charts. 

Ever since I saw pictures of Calvary Mount posted by my cousins who went there, I kept bugging my friends for a picnic there. Studies and work intervened, and it kept getting postponed. But just before Christmas, we were able to keep a day aside to meet up. All of our exams were over which was cause enough for jubilation, and the results were not out which meant hope still prevailed. The few of us who had jobs were able to get off work due to the warranted Christmas break. All was well with the world.

We met up in the morning at B’s house in Idukki, arriving from various parts of the state in time for breakfast. The mouth watering sight of kappa and meen curry (a combination dish of boiled tapioca seasoned with turmeric, onions, green chillies and curry leaves, eaten with fish gravy or pickle) greeted us. It is part of the indigenous cuisine and a popular food choice for Keralites. We were no exception. My recent stint as a vegetarian received a major blow and I guiltily savoured some gravy.

Traditional kappa and fish curry served on a banana leaf

The first pitstop for us was a cursory one, at the ‘Pavilion’ half way up, a greying building built atop a rock that offered a view of the valley and settlements below and the distant hills and the climb that followed. 

My friends in front of the pavilion

It was warm sunny weather with the hint of a cool breeze, and we stood there for a while taking in the spectacular view.

The next stop was at the Cheruthoni Dam. Idukki is known for its forest cover and the many dams that contribute to the bulk of hydroelectric power generation in the state. The gigantic Idukki Dam is a short distance from Cheruthoni Dam. 

It is a high security area rarely open to the public, except in holiday seasons. As luck could have it, it was open when we visited. But cameras and mobile phones were strictly not allowed inside for security reasons.

It was almost noon by then. We walked atop the dam under the sweltering sun thankful for having the good sense to bring a couple of umbrellas. Once on the other side, we walked along a path cut all the way around a hill to reach the Idukki Dam on the other side. A detour on the way led to a dark cave, allegedly the site where the movie Vaishali, a cult classic, was shot. Bats that hung overhead flew restlessly as our footsteps echoed. It turned out to be not a cave, but a tunnel and opened to a breathtaking view on the other side. I missed my camera terribly.

The Idukki Dam. Google image linked to http://www.godsownidukki.com

The Idukki Dam, one of the biggest arch dams in Asia, is built across Periyar, the largest river in Kerala, in the sweet spot between two granite hills. History has it that the location was pointed out in the early 1900s by Kolumban, a tribal head who knew the wild landscape like the palm of its hand. A statue is erected in his memory in the vicinity. The dam was erected decades later, in conjunction with the Canadian government.

When we arrived at the other end of the dam after a 3 km hike, our car was waiting for us. We drove a short distance down to the sleepy little town of Idukki proper and had lunch at Hotel Everest, a small place with homely food that pleased our taste buds and filled our tummies at extremely cheap rates. I highly recommend it to anyone looking for a non-touristy taste of Kerala. 

Once we had our fill, we set off to Mount Calvary. We opted to go up all the way by car as none of us looked forward to another long walk up the hill. Besides, the sun would probably set by the time we made it up there. 

Mount Calvary is Kerala at its best, a nook, an alcove, untainted by crowds. Autumn had dulled the colours of the valley, but as first time visitors we were in awe. 

We walked across the hillside, taking in the magic of the vast skies above and the glittering river below, punctuated by little green islands. 

Park benches made of bamboo were scattered over the hill. We chose the occasional bare rocks instead, and sat there welcoming the evening breeze. 

The hilltop was a shade of brown, duly awaiting spring to turn green again. A few wildflowers defied the season, glowing yellow amidst the dry grass.

My attempts to capture anything that did not involve human heads met with disapproval from the now boisterous troop, and they tried to foil my endeavours to the best of their ability. I did manage to escape their notice at times and get some covert clicks.

We were a tired happy bunch by sunset. A new year lay ahead, new plans, new prospects and new hopes. We did not know when we would all meet again. Idukki is vast and gorgeous, and we could only see a bit of it that day. But as we sat there watching the sun go down, we had smiles and laughter left over from the day and we had one another, and that made it a little bit of heaven.

P.S. The photos do little justice to the scenery and feel of Calvary Mount. I hear it is even more beautiful in the spring and summer months.