Glastonbury 2013 – the shop fronts

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Most years, at the end of June, 200,000 people are steered to pass by or/and encouraged not to go into the town of Glastonbury (logistics I assume) to instead  revel at the makeshift Glastonbury Festival, which, in reality, is 7 miles away from the town. In fact the festival is only 3 miles from the larger town of Shepton Mallet,  but a very clever someone, sometime, somewhere decided that ‘Shepton Mallet Festival’ simply wouldn’t have the same mystical ring to it and therefore wouldn’t be anywhere near as marketable – so Glastonbury Festival it became.
If you visit the town during what is said to be the world’s largest festival of performing arts, you would find it at its quietest.
Glastonbury the town is celebrated for many things – the legends surrounding the mystical Tor, the belief that the cup of the last supper also known as ‘the holy grail’  by Arthurians is buried at chalice Well and that King Arthur and his bride Guinevere are buried in the ruined Abbey – indeed Glastonbury is the Ancient Isle of Avalon -but in the end a town is judged primarily and possibly quite sadly by its shops,  and millions of people over the decades truly miss the Diagon alleyesque of the town itself – something the Tourist Board has seemingly and quite ignorantly never fathomed – so without further ado I attach a portfolio of some, but by no means all, of the shop fronts and maybe the red pill that awaits you.
Most speak for themselves of what’s inside…
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Natural Earthling is mostly a yoga shop

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Nicholas Cage, who has a home in Glastonbury, is a regular visitor to Little Imps but is yet to buy the phenomenal wooden castle in the window.

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the former Woolworth building put to a very non-paraben use!

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and if you have a shop front in mind – buildings for sale can be had at

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not a shop front per se, but great art on a Glastonbury mall/arcade wall.

So don’t pass by, spend a weekend in Glastonbury proper. There are many more shops than those posted here but very few ‘normal’ ones, I’m happy to say 🙂

see also ‘Drugs on the West Highland Way’
https://kevollier.com/2012/09/21/west-highland-way/

and the first post of 25 about the author’s experience in North India on the ‘spiritual trip’
https://kevollier.com/2014/04/12/north-india-in-23-days-day-1-glastonbury-to-delhi/

plus much more at
https://kevollier.com/

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The British Buddhist Holy Isle.

On the 18th April 1992 Buddhist Lama Yeshe Rinpoche bought a whole island off the coast from the Island of Arran which in turn is off the coast of Scotland. It is called Holy Isle and must not be visited, indeed given the widest possible birth, if you can’t cope with peace, beauty, tranquility and serenity.
The island came into Buddhist hands via a devout catholic no less, Mrs Kay Morris, who owned Holy Isle and had been ‘instructed by Mother Mary in a dream’ to pass Holy Isle to Lama Yeshe to be used for peace and meditation. See –  http://www.holyisland.org/

We went there this year as the second part of the annual ‘lads walk’.  We’d spent the first part, a couple of days, walking the wilds of Arran getting sunburned and heat stroke as we’d managed to marry our trip with the hottest weather Scotland has had since Dodo’s were a menace to outdoor chip eaters.

Arrival on Arran


There was only four of us this year and one of us, a freelance writer, was writing an article on our visit for Kindred Spirit magazine. It was the third day of our trip that we caught the small ferry over to this car free paradise. The plus with Holy Isle is that nobody is playing at being Buddhist. There was some disappointment by one of our group as he’d genuinely expected that our boat, on landing, would be met by a line of purple cloaked, bald blokes ringing bells and welcoming us on to their island. I wondered if he also thought they would be saying Aloha and passing garlands of thistles around our necks.
The resident Buddhists are simply average people of all ages who are trying to follow a peaceful existence via the teachings of Buddha. This, in other words, is not a pretentious new age centre.

The main building

The island consists of a main building which houses the dormitories, library, kitchen and dining room. There is no TV room, no amusement arcade or gym because like the world over they’re not really necessary. Behind this there is another building where the courses are held and at the far end of the island, about half a mile away, was a not for visitors retreat centre where twelve women are currently on a three year, three month, three day retreat. They were 18 months in to it at the time of our visit in May 2012.  The disappointed friend drew looks, accompanied by frowning eyebrows, when he inquired if this was voluntary on their part, obviously having decided to himself that we were on some sort of unwelcoming Zen Alcatraz.
In the hillside above the retreat centre there was a couple of eco-lodges for people on a lifetime retreat and once the resident has passed on the lodge also gets passed on to the next person on the waiting list.

The retreat building

The lifetime retreat lodges and the home of Lama Yeshe when he visits.

There is a also a wonderful cafe/shop on the grass beach which caters for visitors and helps fund the island and sells lots of mediation bowls which everyone seemed to try out and I imagine were there as some special meditative training test for the shop assistant.
Above the cafe was a meditation room which I visited at several ungodly hours to spend time, cross legged, cutting off the blood flow to my feet. I didn’t take my reading glasses into these meditations and was put on the spot when given a 2 inch thick set of cards to be able to recite the Chenrezig prayer, which was written in writing so small that I had no choice but to mumble along in a low Buddhisty sounding, throaty tone so as not to be exposed and glared at.

The Holy Isle passenger terminal looking towards Arran


Before meditation one morning as the sun was just up, around 5am as it happens, I decided to practice some yoga outdoors. There was a time when 5am was when I’d think of getting off home from a party and not heading for seclusion to do a yoga practice. I found a lovely spot by the sea edge looking across to Arran. I stripped down to my underpants because 1/ it was already hot and more importantly, 2/ I was alone – and so I began Surya Namaskara A (Sun Salutation A) and by the time I’d reached my first downward facing dog I realised I was not at all alone. I was joined by an ever expanding cloud of wee midges and these midges were not at all Buddhist and brought on what I can only describe as yoga turrets and a quick desertion of my practice as I ran back to the meditation hall with my new friends in hot, biting pursuit.

In the main building one could help oneself to free teas and coffees 24/7 and the food, three meals a day that are included in your £28 a night stay, was gorgeous vegan fayre. We all occasionally chipped in washing and wiping dishes and very quickly became part of the community  and after only three days it was as if we’d never lived anywhere else.

On Holy Isle, you are not expected to go to meditation or to do anything particularly. You are simply free to be. It is relaxation personified and still quite a secret.

Peaced out. Last night on the island. Arran in the background

On returning to Arran the next day with it’s one bus every two hours, seemed akin to being dropped into Manhattan on Christmas Eve. It took a while for the peace to dissolve back into distraction which suffice to say most of it eventually did – except for a small part that now sits there still – I guess, waiting for me.

There are currently plans to put a power plant on Arran which the Buddhist community fear will spoil the tranquility of Holy Isle causing noise, pollution and smoke.
see – http://tinyurl.com/9a387jd

Yeehaws and Alligators

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We’ve never really been the package tour types, though we have done a few and they’ve mostly been good delivering exactly what one would expect. But even when the kids were small we did some wonderful travelling and when you do things independently, things occur that glossy brochures never prepare you for and I have to admit we’ve been lucky or blessed to have got through quite a few close calls.
The list that springs to mind –
We once drove from New York to the Florida Keys and whilst on the back roads of South Carolina we managed to gain the attention of some drunken, toothless, brace wearing and no doubt armed yeehaas in a pick up truck who followed us for over 20 miles on a desolate road and they had made it quite clear by their drawling gestures that they’d like to have their way with the wife and daughter and possibly me too. All the time I was driving, with, I might add, the petrol gauge pointing at E, I was designing a plan of action that my mind kept insisting would involve banjos and shoving. And the rest of the family were not too comfortable and giving me constant advice on how I should drive. I was already doing 90 and the boys were keeping right up just 6 feet shy of the back seat.
They did pull off. I think it was me giving them by best Burt Reynolds scowl in the rear view.  Either that or they were reaching the boundary of their electronic tag.

Then there was the alligator incident.
We’d hired a canoe in a wilderness in Florida ( a different year) where one paddles along a spring fed river until you come to the first spot where you can be picked up (a road bridge over the river) which was four hours downstream. The river was crystal clear, only approx 20 feet wide at its widest and only 4 feet deep, very winding and strewn with overhanging trees that have to be navigated around. I used the word ‘navigate’ as if we were respected in the canoeist community for our daring do. We are not. A better and more honest sentence would be, overhanging trees that will be smashed into, get jammed stuck on that tear your skin as you continue to wing it. This was the first time we’d ever canoed by the way but we weren’t worried about being humiliated because we were the only ones doing it.  We were totally on our own.  Alone.


However, after a good hour, none of us were talking to each other and we’d got into a nice rhythm with only the occasional straight on into the bank when the river took a bend, which luckily for us novices was only about every 10 yards. Ali was in the front, me at the back all Apache like and the kids in the middle, one behind the other, but we were trundling along nicely and hadn’t crashed for a good 15 minutes.  It was then that I spotted, about 30 yards ahead, a rather large alligator, about the same length as the canoe, slip off the bank into the water. I thought ‘Oh My God’ – (had it been recently I would have probably just thought OMG) – but quickly decided that I wouldn’t say anything to the others, I’ll just keep paddling whilst keeping an eye on it, at which point Ali did a full 180 degree turn in her seat showing a face that would scare a ghost and said, ‘did you see that massive crocodile just go into the river?’. This was the moment that the kids made loud noises and the boat rocked and we careered into a sand bank – approximately exactly where the Gator had gone in. And we were stuck rigid. No amount of paddles pushing into the bank would release us. By this time the kids were hysterical and I don’t mean they were doing their best comedy routines. So a decision was taken that somebody would have to jump out of the canoe and pull it off. Yes of course it was me. I gave my daughter Emma my paddle and said, ‘if the alligator comes you have to hit it on the head as hard as you can or daddy will die’.

At this moment I became totally alive. I even recalled the Zen story of the man being chased by a vicious tiger (are there other sorts?)  – He ran but soon came to the edge of a high cliff. Desperate to save himself, he climbed down a vine and dangled over the fatal precipice. As he hung there, two mice appeared from a hole in the cliff and began gnawing on the vine. Suddenly, he noticed on the vine a plump wild strawberry. He plucked it and popped it in his mouth. It was incredibly delicious. I jumped out of that canoe as if in a dream, wrenched it clear and jumped back in like a gymnast all the time assuming that I was about to go the way of Captain Hook.  Suffice to say, he must have eaten and thought the English underfed as that one glimpse was all we had.

Then there’s the family being held up by four cops at gun point and at point blank range in the US incident –  and there’s the hashish incident in Morocco and the Wild Boar encounter and the Amsterdam incident – but they’re other future blogs.