Кромерские tutti quanti: before the departure (En; photos)

 ...and the images that will forever be embossed in your heart:

Кромерские tutti quanti: before the departure (En)

The main issue with visiting Cromer is simple yet unbeatable: once you get used to your new (not new, of course: quite opposite) routine, it’s already over and has become a memory in your messy mind trinket box.

—Early breakfast, a first walk on the Promenade, lunch at one of the numerous lovely places— always crab (platter or sandwich), followed by coffee with a scone or a pair of freshly made (literally, in front of you) doughnuts covered with sugar, then a long stroll either to the east (Overstrand) or to the west (Sheringham), and watching the sunset at low tide on the beach. No glimpse of exhaustion, only bliss from knowing that everything will repeat next day. Cromer is a perfect place for your ability to be a creature of habit.

Кромерские tutti quanti: when it’s cosy inside (En; photos)

My most beloved Cromer indoor spaces:

- the lobby of our hotel; usually we’re sitting here by the fireplace (it’s decorated with little lights instead of fire, as it’s still a relatively warm season) in late evenings, after a lengthy stroll around the Promenade;

- the restaurant at the nearby Grove hotel—a Regency building, an opulent interior and an enchanting window to their garden that I’ve mentioned quite a few times already (and I simply can’t stop mentioning it, as it’s too splendid).

Кромерские tutti quanti: RNLI Museum/Lifeboat Station on the Pier (En; photos)

The Museum’s story is as interesting as the history of the Pier itself: it’s been closed for a long time, then reopened, then closed again, and now it’s open, and we decided to view it.

Not the station, however: it’s always been there. The main thing which is really impressive—the lifeboat you can see on display, is fully equipped and ready to go whenever needed. I missed this absent-mindedly, while reading the long chronicles of rescues around the Norfolk coast, starting from the early 1830s, but then I detected the whiff of diesel in the air: a man wearing protective gear exited the lifeboat door.

The next thought that came to my mind was as absurd as it was tempting: new RNLI volunteers are needed, the wall poster said, join us. Shall I? Do I need to continue my academic stuff or? Honestly, for a second I almost convinced myself that I should go on this lifeboat into the cold grey waters.

Кромерские tutti quanti: Cormorants (En; photos and videos)

We spotted them when walking to the west and the east—relatively large birds with long necks and shiny black feathers were sitting on the tide markers on top of the dilapidated groynes. We approached them slowly, thinking that they might fly away, but they didn’t. They nonchalantly groomed their backs, looking at us with regal indifference.

“Are they herons? Or small storks perhaps?” I asked L., as their look reminded me of both types of birds. L. didn’t know either.

They weren’t: sometimes my ignorance about wildlife feels almost painful. They were cormorants, natives to the North Sea, and their necks are similar to those of prehistoric creatures—at least, what biologists would tell you, I guess.

Кромерские tutti quanti: Overstrand again (En), photos and a video

Against all odds, the weather today turned out to be splendid, and we made not one, but two walks—the first to the Lighthouse that I’ve featured earlier and then, to Overstrand again.

This time we went further than our standard path (a walk by the sea to the Cliff Top and back)—we decided to visit Overstrand itself. Surprisingly, it is bigger than we both had imagined—a pristine very old town (the first village was built in the mid-11th century, during the reign of William I) with flint terraced houses and glass conservatories, lovely gardens full of opulent hydrangeas and late blooming roses.

We entered a small flint church—St Martin’s, that is—and it was cool and shady inside: the list of rectors’ names started in 1300s and is continuing to our time.

Кромерские tutti quanti: coming back (En)

It’s nice and cosy at home (the last part of our return trip, from Ely to Cambridge, was a bit grim, as the rain was pouring), but I can’t help feeling lots of sorrow that another Cromer holiday is over and belongs to the past.

Кромерские tutti quanti: To the Lighthouse! (En)

O Light Invisible, we praise Thee!
Too bright for mortal vision.

O Greater Light, we praise Thee for the less;
The eastern light our spires touch at morning,
The light that slants upon our western doors at evening,
The twilight over stagnant pools at batflight,
Moon light and star light, owl and moth light,
Glow-worm glowlight on a grassblade.
O Light Invisible, we worship Thee!

We thank Thee for the light that we have kindled,
The light of altar and of sanctuary;
Small lights of those who meditate at midnight
And lights directed through the coloured panes of windows
And light reflected from the polished stone,
The gilded carven wood, the coloured fresco.
Our gaze is submarine, our eyes look upward
And see the light that fractures through unquiet water.
We see the light but see not whence it comes.
O Light Invisible, we glorify Thee! ©

Кромерские tutti quanti: weather and chippies (En: photos)

I really love this bunch of pics—to the point I decided to make a separate post with them:

Кромерские tutti quanti: weather and chippies (En)

You know next to nothing about weather volatility if you’ve never visited the eastern seaside (North Norfolk and such): only yesterday we were climbing the cliffs to the Lighthouse under the beaming sun, and today it feels like the sunny days are forever gone: it’s blustery, and greyish, and everything smells with sea or seaweed.

That’s why our initial plan to get fish’ n’ chips at the oldest local chippie, Mary Jane’s (after all these years of visiting Cromer I *still* haven’t managed to get a thing from them) in order to eat it on a bench out of the paper, like everyone else, failed: even the gulls wouldn’t be fast enough to fetch them out of your hands, as the wind got stronger with each minute. I also felt a touch of disappointment, as we were left with our second—“safe”— option, which was Number 1, the chippy-rival of Mary Janes’s, absolutely despised by the locals (you can see the humbling leaflets all over the benches on the Promenade, saying that “Number 1 visitors are NOT welcome to sit here!”—a tad emotional, but quite understandable). It’s regarded as “posh” and “silly”.

Yet Number 1’s cod with chips was divine: they simply can’t help it, alas!

Кромерские tutti quanti: The dusky Pier (En)

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown. ©

Кромерские tutti quanti: The Wedding (En), photos and a video

Make a wish when seeing a wedding, they said, and all the luck of the earth will be yours. It was our turn this time: when exiting one of the endless antique shops (with cursed—or enchanted?—jewellery), we suddenly heard a slightly faltering chime: those were the church bells from Peter and Paul’s.

We were a bit surprised as it was too late for a service, but it turned out, there was a wedding going on. An old (vintage! The word I was searching for was vintage) car arrived to the church gates, already decorated with florals: the crowd in front of the church and surroundings murmured “Where’s the bride?”, “what about the dress?” “Is it her bridesmaid or Mum?” until one old lady whispered annoyingly, “oh for god’s sake, remove this casket! WE NEED TO SEE THE BRIDE!”

And the bride came out of the car in her full glory, with flaming red hair and in a gorgeous gown, and her Dad (who was the driver of the vehicle) took her to the aisle.

Кромерские tutti quanti: Sheringham yet again (En), photos and a video

And a few visuals to the previous post about Sheringham: 

Сегодня исполнилось 85 лет со дня смерти Л.Д. Менделеевой-Блок.

Я много писала о ней раньше — в основном, в дни рождения, — и хочу повторить главное: никаким «приложением к гениальному мужу», основная функция которого (приложения) «жить для его таланта» она, конечно же, никогда не была. Теперь уже трудно судить, таким ли уж сомнительным был ее актерский дар (Мейехрольд все же абы кого играть не приглашал), однако ж и ее сценическая судьба, и физически-тяжелая работа медсестрой на линии фронта в начале Первой мировой, и случившаяся позднее карьера балетного историка (блестящая, заметим) были вехами абсолютно самостоятельного жизненного выбора и пути.

Ну и не стоит также забывать, что она сделала все возможное и невозможное, чтобы спасти умирающего Блока и вывезти его на лечение за границу (об этом можно прочесть в моей старой публикации ргалийского документа — записки Горького к ЛДМ об организации выезда Блока на лечение в Финляндию), и не ее вина, что поездка эта так и не состоялась.

Благодаря ЛДМ, сохранившей блоковский архив (из которого она изъяла только самые интимные письма: имела полное право), мы все теперь можем читать и исследовать блоковское наследие во всей его полноте.

Л.Д. Менделеева-Блок умерла в 57 лет — ничтожно мало по современным меркам, — прожив за это время сразу несколько ярких жизней. Светлая ей память и Царствие Небесное.

Кромерские tutti quanti: Sheringham yet again (En)

Of course, we did it again: how could we not?

We were quite precise with the date of the walk: by all means, coastal walking can be done in any conditions, rainy or not, but it’s nicer and easier to walk when the weather is mild, breezy and sunny.

And so it was today: we checked our tidal clock, which showed us the lowest tide around 4 p.m., and it also meant that we might start around noon (as per usual ), and we did. One peculiar detail: at the end of the West Cliff beach we spotted the excavators that dug the sand for the new rocks only a few hours prior, and they looked mildly menacing in the hazy background.

Our walk to Sheringham was flawless—effortless, light, and joyous. We saw the same bright red poppies on the cliffs between East and West Runton, the late poppies that should not have been there, as their season is over, yet they were blooming on the chalky ground with perseverance.

Old Bois Groynes on the path that went right after West Runton were there as well, but many of them almost completely destroyed: we heard that they will be freshly timbered soon.

Кромерские tutti quanti: on the Pier (En), videos

 ...and around the Pier:

Кромерские tutti quanti: on the Pier (En)

And, of course, the surfers: no matter the weather, they go surfing in the mornings and afternoons, and their predicament (or good fortune?) constantly leaves the viewers (including yours truly) in awe. I don’t think they even feel the cold of the sea water (I highly doubt their neoprene suits are that protective against the temperatures), but adrenaline helps, I guess.

***

There was a print on the Pier made of an early Victorian painting (circa 1837): you can see the East cliffs with a few fishermen’s huts on them, the silhouette of a freshly built Lighthouse (the Cromer Ridge) and the old jetty, which in a few decades would transform into the Pier. The space looked almost empty: the main thing that caught your attention was the fishing boats with light smoke above them: the steam era, the first stage of the Industrial revolution, had just begun. In a decade there would be a railway line going from Norwich to Cromer, Sheringham and Holt, and the landscape will have been changed forever.

Кромерские tutti quanti: “...and then, the fog disappeared” (En)—video

The epitome of serenity.

How would you describe being middle aged in a few words? Feeling mild discomfort every time you leave the house.

Кромерские tutti quanti: “...and then, the fog disappeared” (En)

And then, the fog disappeared and was replaced by the most delicate tints and hues of mauve, periwinkle, copper and gold.

“Everything led to women: Olga Tokarczuk’s subversive homage to The Magic Mountain” by Claire Lowdon (TLS)

I must admit, it does sound interesting, although usually I am not a huge fan of certain contemporary reconsiderations of classics (many of them are tawdrily subversive, which is boring), so let’s see.

The Empusium is also a horror story, tricked out with all the usual ghoulish accoutrements. There is a counting song that Wojnicz keeps hearing – as a clock chime, or hummed by children, or played out of tune by a local trumpeter. There is a graveyard filled with the bodies of young men, all of whom have died in November. There is an undercover policeman among the patients. Wojnicz’s closest friend at the resort, a very sick young man called Thilo, believes that “a landscape is capable of killing a person … And it happens here too, in Görbersdorf, once a year the landscape takes its sacrifice and kills a man”.

Despite the large (if mischievous) debt to The Magic Mountain, Tokarczuk makes this novel all her own with her idiosyncratic blend of registers and genres. She is both a collagist and a doodler, a freewheeling improvisator taking her narrative line for a gloriously erratic walk. In this The Empusium recalls Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead, which yokes a comic murder-mystery to impassioned nature writing and encomia on the work of William Blake. ©

L.’s Birthday: Misc and Moscato

That was a lovely day, full of silliness and fun. Looks like the birthday boy is satisfied with his favourite Moscato.

L.’s Birthday: Cake (of course!)

You simply cannot go without a freshly baked cake for a birthday boy, because traditions!

L.’s Birthday

Only a few days back he asked me (with a straight face), “did you know that Bergman actually filmed *all the seals,* but, sadly, messed up and left us only with the Seventh?” and when I huffed and puffed with the usual “stop it!” he nodded and said that it’s true?

Every day with him is a mixture of a circus, an academic debate, a chapter from domestic chronicles out of a fairy tale and a tour around the loveliest places: he has the most comforting and tender demeanour among all the humans of the Earth. He is also the smartest man: the power of his intellect never ceases to amaze me and always makes me proud to be part of his life.

He’s a prominent scientist, but also a goofball, the kindest Grandpa and the best Larry in the world.

Happy Birthday, darling.

Кромерские tutti quanti: “Perl day in Cromer: mist and murmurs” (En)

The main discovery of the day: there were two beautiful tide clocks at one of art galleries, which are supposed to do exactly that, i.e. to show the time of low/high tides, but what is remarkable is the fact that it’s set on its own cycle (12 hrs 24 min), and you have to adjust it first, like any quartz clock, but preferably at a full moon. How great is that? Buying them was quite tempting, but alas: we live too far from the sea.

Кромерские tutti quanti: “The Fortnight In September” (фотографии)

И несколько фотографий к предыдущему посту — любимый “Bookworms”, волнорез с бакланом и витрина кромерской кофейни с любительскими рисунками.