Banished from heaven

When I first decided to move out of the city to live in the northeast coast eight years ago, my friends were first alarmed and puzzled by my radical decision, which they inclined to admit was “another folly” of mine. They thought that I would not last more than three weeks and I would whimper and whine after three weeks in some heaven-forsaken spot where never a soul would come near me for being an outsider, and never anything exciting happened except dawn, noon and dusk.   

Every single day in the country is a poetry.

Well, I am glad to say that they were wrong about all accounts and their views of rural life in the coast were wobbled and unfounded. During the last eight years, every moment of country life filled me with radiant happiness. Everything to do with the coastal living fascinated me, from the topographical details to the local festivals, rituals and superstitions, and the leisurely walks. The only causes for sadness were those occasions when I could not travel to see friends who were visiting the city briefly. Nonetheless, I am pleased that I have allowed myself to be lured by the beauty and tranquility of life in the coast where the sunshine soothes me and the rain rejuvenates me.

Hugues Cuénod is one of my favourite singers. I love listening to his French lieder albums, Debussy, Ravel and Poulenc. My favourite song by him is Nuit d'etoiles – “Starry Night” (Debussy composed it at the age of 14). You can listen to this song on here

I moved into the village in the month of May in 2012 when the tulips, bluebells and the last of the daffodils were still blooming. The gardens were looking at their best and I cannot think of a better month to move to a new life as the spring brings a new hope, a new chapter and a rebirth.

I must admit that I was naïve in a sense that I did not know the surrounding area very well. I did not do any research about what’s on offer in the area. When it comes to getting to know a place, I follow the advice of my favourite writer, Jan Morris who said: “There are only two rules. One is E. M. Forster’s guide to Alexandria; the best way to know Alexandria is to wander aimlessly. The second is from the Psalm; grin like a dog and run about through the city.”

During the confinement and waiting for coronavirus to pass, I am rediscovering places where I initially stumbled, as it happened, by chance. As the eighth anniversary of my life in the country approaches, I remember so many cherished memories and happier moments to fill up the empty hours.  A reviewer recently wrote about the new collection of essays entitled Funny Weather: Art in an Emergency by the writer, Olivia Laing who alluded to art as “a hospitable lacuna for slow and generous thought.”

Hugues Cuénod is singing romantic French songs in the background and I am baking in the kitchen. Apart from that, all is well and I can pretend that I am far away in the Grand Hotel of Balbec, the seasonal destination for the narrator in Proust's In Search of Lost Time a century ago. 

I have been thinking of a place that is in such a close proximity to where I live, and it also has a quality of “a hospitable lacuna for slow and generous thought”. Cullen, in the northeast coast of Scotland, might be more well-known for its delicious and nutritious soup, made of smoked haddock, potatoes and onion, a local speciality called Cullen skink than a bookshop which has an atmosphere of a Borgesian library. 

Cullen, a village not far from where I live, is more well-known for its delicious and nutritious soup, made of smoked haddock, potatoes and onion, called Cullen skink than a bookshop. But it is the bookshop I love for its eclectic collection. I hope and pray that the bookshop and other local businesses will survive during the prolonged period of closure as a result of nationwide lockdown restrictions.  

I miss going to this bookshop for my weekly browsing during the period of confinement. I cannot think of a pleasure more affecting than to have a rummage around the old bookshop. 

I love it so much that I usually go there once a week in the last 8 years. Even then, I am not sure if I have seen everything on the book shelves. It really is a booklover’s heaven. But it has to be said that if you would prefer the books to be neatly classified and categorised, then this bookshop is not for you. But if you want to wander aimlessly and resign to the fact that the book you are looking for is possibly hidden somewhere but goodness knows where, then this is the place for you.

I love antique maps.

The bookshop has an aura of a Borgesian library with maps and infinite numbers of books for those who are perpetually searching for answers to life's questions. 

What an evocative title! I love it. 

I'm going to take this one back home with me.

The proprietor, an elderly gentleman always in his tweed jacket, lives on the third floor of the shop. He is an interesting Borgesian metaphysical character as you can imagine him spending most of his lifetime in his study charting out a world map so detailed and expansive that our present existence can no longer fit within his contours. In the winter months, you will find him taking a nap in front of the stove on the ground floor, and in the summer months, you will find him at the pub across the street. There are no gadgetries in the shop, apart from a wireless playing Scriabin’s Piano Concerto in F-sharp minor in a low volume.

All the customers are required to write down in a notebook which book they purchase from the shop before they make a payment. Gordon and I would often look at the signed-out book out of curiosity what people have been buying throughout the week. Once we saw a spidery handwriting that filled the entire page, of a customer who bought Lives of the Most Eminent Painters, Sculptors, and Architects by Giorgio Vasari, and he listed all the names on the page!

Majority of the hardback books are priced at £5 but the first editions and the antiquarian books on the ground floor are priced slightly higher. The last time when I went to the bookshop before the end of last year, I came home with two books – Ada by Nabokov and Nabokov’s Garden: A Guide to Ada by Bobbie Ann Mason. Once Gordon and I are tired of browsing in the bookshop, we would stop for our lunch on our way back at Cullen Bay Hotel, an old-fashioned establishment that has the best seaview and the food is delicious.

If you like a diversion after you browse in the bookshop, you can stop by for a delicious lunch at the old-fashioned Cullen Bay Hotel. The lunches during the week are very quiet and the view from the hotel’s conservatory is spectacular. 

The view from the hotel and the setting are absolutely spectacular and very Proustian. Cullen is probably the driest place to live in the northeast coast. 

Rich and creamy Cullen skink - Gordon's favourite soup. 

The two books that I purchased from Cullen bookshop when I visited the last time are 'Ada' by Nabokov and 'Nabokov's Garden: A Guide to Ada' by Bobbie Ann Mason.

In Emily Bronte’s novel, Wuthering Heights, there is a beautiful passage where Catherine Earnshaw said about her dream in which she was thrown out of the heaven by the angels because she was frightfully unhappy. She explains:

“Heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for joy.”

After eight years of my peaceful life in this windswept corner of the northeast coast, I think I might find myself, like Catherine Earnshaw, flung down and dumped on the patch of purple heather for being very gloomy in the heaven.

 

Amazing Grace.