The Franciscan Way

I've been meaning for ages to put these photo's up from a stroll I took along the Franciscan Way.

Where I grew up, there were loads of Green Chain Walks - pathways linking the fields and woodlands together in the heart of South East London.

It was perfectly possible to walk from Bromley to Downham and back via Beckenham without hitting a single road, as long as you followed the signs.  My sister and I, along with Jan (whose internal sat nav would somehow mean we would never get lost for too long), would get home from school in the summer, have dinner at our respective houses then jump on our bikes and head off into the fields and woods for a couple of hours until it got too dark and we had to come home to go to bed.  Every so often we would go further than normal and reach the mansion in the centre of the parkland. 

Other times we would borrow Becky, the Boxer dog who lived next to Jan and run to the park at the bottom of the hill and then go walking along the River Ravensbourne until we got to the tire swing.  Most of the time we made it across in one piece; not always though!  We would spend hours outdoors, just walking, playing and chatting and not once did it occur to us that we were exercising or being healthy - it was just fun.  It sounds so Enid-Blyton-twee looking back on it, but it really was a fabulous way to spend an evening.

Canterbury is a bit different.  The walks are everywhere - essentially you step out of the City and you are in the middle of the countryside until you reach the next town or village so the walks don't need to be signposted as they were in my childhood.  In the city center though there are a few (small) signposted walks that revolve around the ancient gardens and the River Stour, which, in the spring and summer, are wonderfully peaceful places to relax.

They are all located incredibly close to the High Street, and when you are sat relaxing in one of the parks, it is sometimes surprising just how close you really are to the bustling heart of Canterbury.  Only the Cathedral spires soaring over the top of you give you any real indication of exactly where you are.

One of my friends swears by the Franciscan Chapel Gardens as one of the best picnic spots in Canterbury; you work your way up the high street, purchasing various sumptuous delights from each of the street vendors, then head to the gardens with your bag of treats to sit with your feet dangling over the river, basking in the early afternoon sunlight.

The gardens and walk here are a lot tamer than the ones I remember from my childhood - those were uncared for, overgrown and the river was frequently full of litter, shopping trolleys, children's shoes and occasionally the odd door off a car.  In a strange way, that was part of the beauty of it though and I have extremely fond memories of climbing over and through twisted steel gates and fallen trees.  Here, everything appears immaculate in comparison, clean and well loved.

It has a very different beauty; an archaic one that speaks of a bygone era when monks would have tended the river and the grounds to provide sustenance for their brothers.  It still has that air of tranquility about it; a haven in the midst of a busy, bustling city.

They are a sanctuary away from the pressures and stresses of modern life, taking me right back to when I was a child playing games by the river with my sister and my friend.

 

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Messing In Boats

"Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing—absolutely nothing—half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats"

Or, in this particular instance, homemade rafts propelled by grit, determination and a fair amount of hope and blind luck down the River Stour one gloriously sunny Saturday morning that looked as though it had been lifted straight out of The Wind In The Willows.

Ages ago, when it was still getting dark at 6pm, I blogged about a gorgeous pub in Fordwitch called The George and Dragon?  At that time do you remember me telling you about the plethora of events that were coming up that we wanted to go to?  One of them was the Raft Race.

This annual charity event takes place on the beautiful River Stour just outside the pub.  Ellie reminded me that the event was on when we were out one Friday, and I made arrangements to meet her and John at the pub for some lunch and to enjoy the race.

I arrived slightly early, worried that there wouldn't be anywhere to park (not a concern in the end), grabbed a drink and settled down in the sun soaked beer garden.  Kids were running everywhere, bobbing for apples in the buckets near the boules and playing catch with tennis balls and velcro covered paddles (does anyone else remember those from their childhood?)  The marquee was being set up, the BBQ had been turned on and people were pulling on wet suits and swimming trunks.  The party atmosphere was starting to take hold!

We relaxed in the blazing hot sunshine, chatting about John and Ellie's new house, work and rehearsals for the latest Players production that Ellie is in.

There was no formal sign that we could see, but all at once people gathered up their drinks, fetched children's heads out of buckets of water, hitched up long summer skirts and crossed the road to pick a spot on the river to watch the race from.

The river was crystal clear all the way to the bottom and simply beautiful in the late morning sunshine with huge dappled trout flashing between the reeds, sunlight sending sparks of glitter up from their scales.  As we stood waiting, the raft parade came up behind us in less than formal procession and absolutely no solemnity to speak of.  First up was the Pirate Ship

A sturdy looking contraption topped by a proud mast and the Jolly Roger, manned by a crew of salty blaggards in full costume.  There was even a wooden plank to either side (useful for carrying).  These guys looked professional, as though they meant business and they had done this before!

Next there was the Dream Boat.  I must admit, I raised my eyebrows at this one! It was basically a stripped down bed frame with some ballast duct-taped underneath.  I wasn't convinced on the aerodynamics and its speed potential, let alone its ability to actually float!  It also didn't look all that comfortable to sit on and would have been quite heavy to manoevour I would imagine.  Those PJ's were a nice touch though! 

The final entry was basically a floating square.  I didn't think it looked sturdy enough to support anyone's weight, let alone actually float down the river!   Just goes to show you should never judge a book by its cover, or in this case a raft by its apparent lack of lifesaving ability.

Three boats, three of us, we all selected our flagship and settled down on the bank to cheer them on.  Each raft was crewed by a mixture of adults and children, and the kids looked like they were having an absolute whale of a time.  This is such a brilliant day out for kids - they get to have fun making the rafts, playing in the river and race with other rafts as well.  I was a bit surprised that more rafts weren't involved, although apparently in previous years they have been.

Now I have no idea what the rules are, but I'm guessing you need at least 4 people on a boat, it must float, must be made by hand and can't be motorised, and of course you have to pay the entrance fee which goes to charity.  Beyond that, I really think that the sky and your own imagination is the limit!

All three boats got settled into the river a bit further up, everyone took their positions and they were away, speeding gracefully down the river like a flock of giant swans.

Well.

Kind of.

It was more like a doggy paddle by a golden retriever with a stick in its mouth that is bigger than its body.

The Pirate Ship got stuck and went in circles for a bit before eventually straightening up and joining the race again whilst the Dream Boat had a complete and utter disaster when its crew managed to break an oar and punted itself into the river bank.  The floating sheet was steaming ahead though!

I'm telling you, it was tense.  It was exciting.  It was frantic.  Bets were going back and forth, thousands of spectators were screaming themselves hoarse.   Just look at those crowds, can't you feel the pressure, the stress of it all?  You could have cut the air with a plastic BBQ knife

Not one ship capsized, a fact I was heartily disappointed by.  I mean, what fun is a raft race where at least one of the rafts doesn't end up like duck with its bottom in the air?

Hot on the sails of the Giant Rice Krispie Square (as it shall forever now be known) came the Pirate Ship.

They didn't look like they were sitting quite as high, or as comfortably in the water as the Giant Rice Krispy Squre was!  In fact, the guys at the back looked decidedly soggy.  A lot of style, maybe not quite so much substance?   The kids were squealing with laughter and there were big grins on the faces of the men as well, and that is what the Raft Race is all about. 

Finally, bringing up the rear, was the Dream Boat.  They made the best of a bad situation with a broken oar, but punting is clearly not the fastest way to get down a river.  Especially when you are trying to punt in between the slats of a bed.

They made it though, eventually, and crossed the finish line under the bridge to riotous applause (after getting stuck in the bank again just before the bridge and hitting one of the small children over the head with the punting stick by accident as they tried to get free.  The next time I saw him, said small child had a bag of ice on his forehead, poor mite!)
After all the teams had made it safely across the finish line and all the participants had stripped off their life jackets and dried off in the toilets, dripping water all over the stone slabs of the ancient pub floor, we made our way into the garden for some lunch and to listen to the singer. 

Against a backdrop of chilled out summer classics, virgin Bloody Mary's, the smell of the BBQ and steak sandwiches, our conversation revolved around the Raft Race, and what our entry will look like.

Oh yes, this wasn't just a random excursion.  This was an advance scouting party, an information gathering expedition.  This time next year, The Canterbury Players will be partaking in the Fordwitch Charity Raft Race.  Things will get very, very soggy!



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Brown's Coffee House and Julian Baggini; The Virtues of the Table

Sunday at the Wise Words Festival was a very different experience for me.  It was thoughtful, introspective and more suited to internal musings.  I attended two events, the first of which was Julian Baggini's Virtues of the Table at Brown's Coffee House.

Now coffee house philosophy is hardly an innovative or new idea; there is an entire French movement founded by Marc Sautet called Café Philosophique dedicated to it, and as a movement it is growing all over the world.  Before Sautet it was common place in Vienna in the 16th Century, influenced by the expansion of the Ottoman Empire to gather over cups of thick, Turkish coffee and discuss politics with like-minded individuals.  Going further back the Agora's of ancient Greece were places for people to come and share ideas with other people, arguing and debating for the pure pleasure of broadening the mind.  

It is not surprising, cafe's are small, intimate and casual environments that act as a natural conduit for the art of conversation and debate, the cornerstones of philosophy.  Tolerance, openness and a willingness to listen with both one's ears and mind are the underpinning values and no topic is off limits. 

Brown's was the venue for today's foray into the Virtues of The Table, a small, artsy, intimate coffee house off the beaten track on Stour Street right next to the river.  As I walked in the place was filled with people working in contented silence, laptops and iPad's open and headphones plugged in, all looking slightly bemused at the rush of newcomers grabbing chairs and coffee and perching on every available counter and corner.  There is a real sense here that the freedom to just sit and study, on your own or with friends, is valued.

Great red chesterfields speak of long, lazy days lingering over a coffee and a cake whilst the mismatched wooden tables encourage you to sit next to strangers in a very un-British way, covered with pamphlets extolling the various virtues of Canterbury's creative outlets.  It is a place that welcomes the artisan.  It is an environment that is relaxed and yet somehow lends itself to the pursuit of the intellectual, the broadening of the mind.  The communal bookshelves are there for you to help yourself to, and I see travel guides littering the top of bookcases. 

Punting poles hang from the teal green baroque wallpaper and Brown's proudly declares its links to the Riverboat Tours.  A long wooden counter  with solitary stools lit by the sunlight streaming through the window allow for solitary contemplation reflection overlooking the river.  The colours are cool and calming, with window boxes mimicking the reeds that give the Stour its verdant hues of vibrant malachite.

Ratty would be comfortable here.  More than comfortable.  It has a feel of a sleepy, by-gone era where modern day stresses and speed have no meaning. For the people here, you can believe that, for them as it was for Ratty, the river is their world and they don't know any other.

Suitably for a talk on the Virtues of the Table, the food and drink options are delightful and all sourced from local suppliers.  Fresh baked cakes and bake-well slices, orange and cinnamon buns, rich kids slice, lemon drizzle cake, apple and almond muffins and raspberry and pistachio moelleux sit in colourful synchronicity in the glass counter cabinets and there is a constant stream of people purchasing them. 

There is also Hunda Oli, and Brown's is the only place in Canterbury that I have seen it so far.  Hunda Oli is an Ethiopian coffee, described as sweet and full bodied with apricot notes and also is a new coffee farmer's cooperative, located in the forests of Agaro, Limu in the Oromia region of Western Ethiopia. This is a coffee house that takes its social responsibility and ethical trading code of honour extremely seriously. You can not only buy coffee here to drink in, but purchase bags to take home as well.

The coffee house is filled to the brim with standing room only when Julian Baggini takes up his position from and centre.  He starts with the background of food and philosophy and how even the ancients did not credit food with philosophy.  Humans have to eat and there was no deeper or thoughtful meaning behind it.  Baggini argues that humans have the ability to be reflective as well as physical and intellectual.  He discusses the paradigm of taste, that the human experience of eating and drinking relies on us bringing our previous knowledge and experience to the table.  He comments on how the environment and the service changes our perception of the dining experience.  Does food taste better when we know it has been ethically sourced?  Do two identical meals, one costing £15, one costing £50, taste the same to us?  Eating as a truly human act is more than just the animal experience of food hitting our taste buds; it also involves our emotions, our beliefs and this is appropriate.  Animals feed but humans eat.  There is a small child on the same table as me.  She is ripping fresh herbs, forming the words I Love You and filling the air with the scent of mint and thyme. 

Baggini stands in the centre of the room, relaxed and at ease.  He is holding court with us and people's faced are rapt and curious.   He starts to wind up his discussion after speaking of the ethics of eating as a vegan, especially if you are a lacto-vegetarian and consuming milk, blind to the issues of bull calf slaughter.  He is playing devil's advocate now, prodding us for reactions.   Is there a judgement here?  No, not at all, but that is the nature of philosophy; it is never gentle and rarely subtle.

I have always struggled with philosophy.  I once took a wild module at University and left half way through my first seminar when they told me a table wasn't a table, it was a chair.  I never went back.  Whilst I don't get the emotional reaction to philosophy that I get to other forms of creative stimulation such as poetry or theatre, I do find that this is an incredibly interesting mode of discussion and one that forces you to think in ways that may otherwise be alien to you.   These discussion though don't need to take place in stuffy lecture theatres or classrooms but can and should instead be conducted in the coffee houses.  

After all, humans have been linking food, drink, philosophy and debate since the dawn of civilization. 

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