On mire and slush


It was a pleasant day. The sun shone bright. The sky hung cloudless above us. But as we walked along the Brandywine Creek State Park, Delaware, the black tarred roads disappeared under a layer of cracked ice. With walking sticks, we found our balance, moved thorny shrubs, and poked on frozen mire that lay like lumps of dark chocolate. The creek followed us, often changing its appearance from a crease-less sheet of glass to a colony of ice blocks. Shoes muddy, foreheads sweaty and jackets unzipped, we wrapped up our little three-mile adventure and called it a (pleasant) day!

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Notes from Niagara


We braved the crowd to sail on the Maid of the mist.


June 16, 2018

It’s been close to two hours. Our shirts are drenched in sweat, and eyelids heavy with exhaustion. The queue extends to as far as the eyes can see. And beyond that, we catch a glimpse of a white boat full of people clothed in blue ponchos. We want to be on that boat. We want to be the people in blue plastic ponchos. So we wait. And use up all the resilience, patience and the last ounce of energy. Around us, families break the line, and walk out. We refuse to be demotivated. And after what feels like eternity, the queue leads us to two elevators. We descend, our eyes now wide open with a gush of excitement. We become the people in blue plastic ponchos, and walk up to the boat that’s called the Maid of the Mist. Slowly, now un-anchored, it sails. Like it has, faithfully, since 1846. It passes the American Falls, where sheets of water crack on top of a cluster of giant rocks, get reduced to a spray of cool mist and land on our hair and face. Just a little ahead, a little intimidated by the wide and overpowering American Falls is the Bridal Veil falls. Alongside which, rows of people in yellow ponchos, submit to it, and get willingly drenched. The boat then makes a turn, along a curve marked by tall curtains of water. The Horseshoe, as it’s called, unveils itself in quite a dramatic way. A cloud of smoke rises at its feet, and beams of light run along its body. As we distance from it, it’s overbearing appearance reduces into a postcard-perfect beauty that we capture, preserve, and re-live.

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Back from Poconos


Relaxed and refreshed.


It’s summertime wanderlust. We have been travelling every weekend ever since the sun got brighter and days got longer. This also explains the brief dry spells before every new post. We just got back from Poconos last evening after spending a couple of days pampering ourselves in a house nestled in the deep lush woods of the scenic town. In the mornings, we let our bodies float in the hot bath tub for hours, and in the evenings, we sat by the fireplace having good old campfire s’mores. Sometime during the day we walked by the different shades of green outside, and caught sight of adorable bunnies, squirrels and deer. Ludovico Einaudi’s tune complimented the sound of the crackling of wood, as we warmed our feet, and drained our wine glasses, by the fire. In the patio, under the warm sunshine, we delved into the question of existence, the purpose of life, and dreams. The conversation was washed down with swigs of cold grapefruit shandy. A little over a two-hour drive back home later, we unpacked, and continued to savor the beauty of Poconos that lingered in our head. It still does.

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Our little place of stay at Poconos