Archive | May 2009

Lyon At Leisure

May23

Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Lyon, France

On Wednesday morning, I woke up feeling sleep-deprived. My body clock wakes me up by 7 am, no matter how much or how little sleep it has awarded me. Still, I felt confident about finding my way into the city independently and after a shower in their beautiful old-fashioned bathroom up on the third floor of the chateau-like Ducote home, I descended to the stillness of the kitchen in search of breakfast. Genevieve and sons had started their day long before me; Frederic was out by the pool working on the landscaping. I found myself a bit of baguette and with Frederic making a magical appearance to fix my café au lait, I was all set to start my adventures for the day.

On the Metro to Lyon:
I went out in search of a completely different part of Lyon today taking the metro to Saxe-Gambetta to look for the French couturiers who apparently sell their wares for a fraction of the prices in the big stores on this shop-lined street. I could not have been more disappointed. There was absolutely nothing to be found and using the same metro ticket (that is valid for one hour in the same direction), I took a bus to the northern part of the city called Croix-Rousse where the canuts (silk-weavers) once used to live in a labyrinth of narrow streets that today house a multitude of small shops and street markets that sell fresh produce and artisinal cheeses. Though I was pleased to be in the midst of a completely ignored part of the city, a particular store I sought called Braderie de Chariot d’Or (on Rue du Chariot d’Or) turned out to be another damp squib and with little choice, I took the metro once again to arrive at the Hotel de Ville stop so that I could explore the Musee de Beaux-Arts.

The Musee de Beaux-Arts:
Perhaps the best part of Lyon’s Musee de Beaux-Arts is its spectacular building. Once a monastery, it has been reconfigured to display a collection of wonderful paintings that are considered to be among the best outside of Paris. However, to anyone who has visited and knows the work of such marvelous places as the Louvre in Paris, the National Gallery in London or the Metropolitan Museum in New York, the really stunning part of this museum is its building. In fact, the best part of the building is a long room called the Refectory where the monks once used to dine. This has been recently restored and the end result is a receptacle of astounding bas relief sculptures in Plaster of Paris that are so detailed and so deep as to be almost three-dimensional. They portray the lives of a number of saints and do so with such lavish detail in a purely Renaissance style that they stun the viewer.

I was rather hungry by this point and decided to find sustenance, first and foremost, in the very cool interior of the museum’s restaurant. There I ordered the Chef’s Tea Time Special which was a combination of four tiny desserts and a drink of my choice—I chose a tall glass of freshly squeezed grapefruit juice as the day had been warm and I had started to feel parched. The desserts were fresh fruit served with Chantilly cream, a cinnamon mousse, a sweet yogurt served with a raspberry coulis and a tiny rum baba—all of which were perfect little morsels that made me feel very sophisticated and very French indeed as I sat and nibbled at them.

They also provided the pep-up I badly needed after my rather disappointing morning, so it was with renewed enthusiasm that I went in search of the Highlights of the museum’s collection, very helpfully detailed on its map. The ground floor housed a number of marble and bronze sculptures, many of which were outside in the Sculpture Gardens. Works by August Rodin are the star attractions as is a large painting of the Ascension of Christ by the Italian Perugino. The first floor is notable for its antiquities which include an Egyptian sarcophagus, the Gates of Medamud from the reign of Ptolemy, a fifth century bas relief sculpture from Persia and a Greek female Kouros. The Italian section had some wonderful wooden sculptures from Tuscany while the French section had a Renaissance bust of a 15th century Frenchwoman that was very lovely indeed. Of special note was the Art Nouveau bedroom designed by Hector Guimard for his wife that belongs to the 1909-1912 phase of his work.

The second floor of the museum was notable for paintings by rather well-known names such as Lucius Cranach and Veronese (indeed these works were superb) as well as a number of really great ones by Rubens and Rembrandt. It could easily take a whole day to see the entire collection at leisure and I am pleased to say that most of the galleries were completely empty when I was there (which would have made their contemplation even more pleasurable); but I decided to focus only on the highlights in the leaflet, though I did often stop to inspect a painting and the curator’s note if another one caught my eye.

It was the Modern Art in the extension that was also very interesting such as the works by Picasso and Fernand Leger and a number of really enchanting works by the Impressionists especially Renoir who was very well represented in the museum.

Almost three hours later, I made my way out of the museum and crossed the Pont de Lafayette to arrive in the third section of the city—the most modern part where the roads are wide and lined with beautiful buildings in a warm color palette—ochre and sand and yellow and pink. It was from a metro station in this area that I took the underground back to Gare de Vaise but not before I purchased a cranberry and almond tart. It was also at this time that I realized that the stores were closing up for the long Ascension Day Weekend which is a bank holiday in Catholic France. I made sure then that I bought a magnet and a post card of the city and then hopped into a train that took me to Garde de Vaise from where I caught the bus that took me back to Genevieve’s home.

Another Companionable Evening:
Later that evening, I sat down to dinner with the Ducotes. It was a lovely Rice Salad that Genevieve fixed us with Chicken Cordon Blue (which is one of my favorite French dishes—gruyere cheese and a thin slice of ham sandwiched in a chicken breast that is then shallow fried). These meal times with the family were always great fun and I fully enjoyed interacting with them at the end of the day and telling them about my adventures.

I went to bed, sans coffee, hoping to catch up on my sleep, but I had no such luck. Sleep continued to elude me and again it was only in the early hours of the morning that I finally fell asleep.

Lyon, Here I Come!

May23

Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Lyon, France

My first full day in Lyon began with a typical French breakfast in the Ducote’s kitchen—praline baguette with confiture (jam) and cafe au lait—light and very good. Perhaps one of the things we Americans can learn from the French (the famous book French Women Do Not Get Fat comes to mind) is that it is possible to eat well but lightly by just making one choice per meal and toning down portion size).

Frederic dropped me to the metro station (Gare de Vaise) and showed me where I could wait for a bus in the evening that would bring me back just a few meters away from the gate of their home. I was astonished that less than 15 minutes later, I was in Bellecour, the largest square in Lyon where the Office de Tourisme stared me in the face.

Naturally, that became my first point of contact with the city. Armed with ideas for things to do and places to go (the lady at the counter was very helpful and spoke in French but slowly and clearly so that I understood everything) and with a large map in my hand, I set out first for the funicular train to climb the mountain to Fourviere to see the Church of Notre Dame.

The Church of Notre Dame de Fourviere:
I do remember this church very well from my visit to Lyon, 23 years ago, when I had toured the city in Genevieve’s company. The ride up the steep face of the mountain in the funicular train had been a novel experience for me then and I had written in my journal how impressed I was by the entire arrangement.

On this occasion, I was a little more disappointed. The funicular route to Fourviere was closed due to repair works, but I was able to take the funicular on a neighboring line to St. Just. I got off one stop later at Minimes and then climbed the mountain for fifteen minutes taking a route through the Rosary Garden (Jardin de Rosaires) where I was absolutely charmed by the irises blooming in great big purple clumps everywhere. The sprawling city of Lyon lay at my feet and with each step I took the view got more spectacular.

I was at the summit in less than 15 minutes and like the other tourists that had assembled there, I gaped at the marvelous views on this glorious morning. Summer seemed to have arrived already in this part of France. Not only was the weather warm but also the flowers that scented the air so gloriously were summer ones: irises and roses. It was with difficulty that I tore myself away to make my entrance into the church whose interiors I did not remember at all.

Good job I did not because they were truly stunning. Notre Dame de Fourviere is a confection of Byzantine, Gothic and Renaissance features—there are a marvelous clutch of mosaics all over the walls and the ceiling in the most unusual shades of blue. The materials used are Renaissance ones—lavish pillars clothed in marble and faced with gilding beg to be admired. It is absolutely breath taking. The stained glass windows added to the atmosphere and the silence with which pilgrims prayed at the front only deepened it. I took many pictures after pausing in prayer myself

My next stop was the Crypt, which lay underground, and turned out to be a second, smaller church in itself. Here too, the mosaics gave the interior a Venetian look that was very arresting indeed. Groups of school children out on field trips milled all over the place and guides gave commentaries in many languages.

I chose to make my way down the mountain along the Rose Garden which buzzed with the sound of bees feasting on the nectar to be found in the multitude of rose bushes that climbed the arched trellises and gave off the most inviting perfume. It was certainly one of the high points of my visit to Lyon—this unexpected stroll in a rose garden. Though roses are not my favorite flower (orchids are), I always love to ramble in rose gardens to admire their complicated structure and drink in the pleasures of their fragrance.

Exploring Vieux Lyon:
At the bottom of the mountain that I reached by descending a steep stone staircase, I found myself in Vieux Lyon—the ancient Quarter of Lyon—with its atmospheric cobbled streets, typically rustic bouchons (small eateries), salons de the (tea rooms) and one-of-a-kind boutiques. I can easily ramble through such neighborhoods all day and but for the fact that my feet feel tired and my legs start to ache much more easily than they once did, I could easily have stayed there exploring each winding lane and hidden alley.

Instead, I took pictures of the old medieval houses that have been converted into museums (such as the Museum of Miniatures) where people were assembled in groups to take in the architectural delights of the exterior even if they chose not to enter. It was, after all, a beautiful day, and I too felt that I did not wish to waste it by staying indoors. I, therefore, put off a visit to the Musee de Beaux Arts and decided to explore it later.

Meanwhile, since I had arrived at Place St. Jean where the Gothic cathedral that overlooks the banks of the River Saone stands, I went in for a quick visit. I passed many squares as I took in the glories of the old quarter. Hanging baskets of perennial flowers spoke of a colorful summer and I felt as if I were on holiday (which perhaps I was since I had officially finished with teaching for the year, had handed in grades and begun my summer travels in Lyon).

In Search of the Silk Weavers of Lyon:
I then crossed the Pont de La Fueillee and found myself on the opposite bank of the River Saone. Lyon, by the way, is punctuated by a vast number of bridges (far more than Paris) each of which has its own distinct architectural design and atmosphere. I was on a mission to find the ateliers (workshops) of the canuts (silk weavers) who had put Lyon on the world map in the weaving of silk using ancient methods and traditional techniques.

Indeed, ever since Francois I had granted Lyon the silk import, the city developed a monopoly in the creation of silk garments in the most luxurious textile that money can buy. By 1848, the city boasted 60,000 ateliers, all of which produced ingenious designers who created a huge demand for foulards that graced the necks of many a celebrity. In fact, the famed and much sought-after Hermes silk square with its hand rolled hem is produced in one of these little ateliers, indeed in the atelier of designer Andre Claude Canova whose wares I was also keen to sample.

It was only much later that I discovered that Frederic’s ancestors were silk weavers themselves! It was at the beginning of the 20th century that the silk industry in Lyon died, what with the arrival of synthetic fibers that lured buyers away from these industrious ateliers. In recent years, the uberchic houses of Hermes and Valentino and Cartier had revived a dying industry by having traditional designers (such as Canova) design scarves for them that are made by hand using ancient methods that involve the careful addition of color across wooden dowels that are pushed back and forth between two skilled workers.

My guide book (Lonely Planet) had informed me that a visit to Lyon would be incomplete without a look at some of these ancient ateliers that have been in constant production for centuries. Besides, loving silk scarves as much as I do and having created quite a collection of them—my favorite accessory apart from costume jewelry–I was keen to buy myself one of these treasures to add to my growing collection of European scarves. My quest for one of these began at the atelier of A.C. Canova at 26 Quai St. Vincent, which I reached on foot past some of the prettiest sights in the city such as the buildings whose facades are completely painted to tell the story of the city.

Canova’s atelier is situated in a very old and very lovely courtyard. There is an air-conditioned showroom with a very inviting perfume that draws you inside to admire the wide range of scarves and shawls, pocket sized handkerchiefs (pochettes) and wraps that he produces using extremely classic designs. Each of Canova’s scarves tells a story (as do the scarves he regularly designs for Hermes) and I was at a loss as to which design I should choose. Eventually, given my literature background and the fact that I had spent the entire year traveling as extensively as I have done, I chose one based on the Jules Verne’s novel Around the World in 80 Days which divided the scarf into four sections each of which presented tableaux based on different parts of the world: India, Japan, Europe and America. I found the perfect color combination (peach with shades of blue and green) as well as a stole based on a design for Kenzo that I picked up for Chriselle (in her favorite color—mauve) and then I was out on the street again, thrilled with my buy and so pleased to take away a bit of traditional Lyonnais silk-weaving techniques home with me.

My next stop was the Atelier de Soierie which happened to be just behind the famous Place des Terreaux which is the location of Lyon’s Hotel del Ville or Town Hall, an extremely striking and very ornate building that was embellished in this classic fashion in the 17th century. A Mom and Pop duo who also hand apply their color to wooden frames to painstakingly create scarves that are then embossed with their signature logo run this atelier. Here too, I was very pleased to find a lovely classic scarf on sale that depicted a happening in 1868 in Germany called the Berline Gala. I found it significant since I had also visited Berlin this year. With its blue border and its shades of yellow and green, it made an enchanting addition to my wardrobe and I was pleased as Punch when I walked out of the store.

The Place des Terreaux:
The Place de Terreaux, my next destination, is dominated by a gigantic fountain (that I remembered well from my last visit to Lyon) made by Frederic August Bartholdi who also designed and made the famous Statue of Liberty in New York that France presented to the United States. Bartholdi won a competition run by the City of Lyon for the design of a monument that would decorate their most famous square. He designed four horses (said to represent the world’s four greatest rivers making their way to the sea) pulling a chariot that is driven by a woman. It is a sculpture of great passion, speed and energy made of lead on an iron frame and forms a splendid backdrop for the grand classical buildings that surround this square, such as the Hotel de Ville and the Musee des Beaux Arts.

This museum was my next item of interest and it was with much anticipation that I made my way into its shaded courtyard that was liberally dotted with benches on which so many people quietly dozed. However, I was in for a disappointment as the museum is closed on Tuesdays and I had no choice but to join the rest of the dozers outside for a long rest that allowed me to admire the exterior of this beautiful building that was once a monastery.

When I felt rested enough, I walked towards the Opera House, another Lyonnais landmark, to admire the distinct architecture and the number of sculptures that are dotted around the region. Then, feeling the need to explore the streets that were filled with shoppers, I walked the length of the Rue de la Republique with a large ice-cream in my hand arriving at the Place des Jacobins with its interesting fountain sculpture in the center. In my mind Lyon had always been associated with fountains and I now understood why. Another rest for my feet by its cooling spray and I was on my way again, arriving at the Place Bellecour where I did not stop long as I was keen to see the antiques district which Frederic told me was right behind this area. Alas, I did not find many shops open by the time I arrived there (after 6 pm). I was very tired by this time with all the walking I had done throughout the day and I felt it would be prudent to return home if I wanted to have the stamina to spend exploring more of the city on the morrow.

An Evening with the Ducotes:
So, off I went, homeward bound, taking the metro from Bellecour to Gare de Vaise from where I easily found the bus stop for the Number 22 bus that took me to La Fouchaniere on Monte St. Didier where I then climbed up the hill to the Ducote’s residence. It was almost 7 pm by this time and the boys were winding down for the day at their favorite place—in front of the television set! A little later, Genevieve reached home. Frederic had spent the day cutting the grass in the meadow and pruning the hedges that had started to cover the four stone sculptures representing the four seasons that grace the front lawns of his property.

About an hour later, we sat down to dinner—a Spanish omelet also made by Virginie, that included pancetta, potatoes and, of course, eggs. It was very hearty indeed and was followed by fresh strawberries with chantilly cream. A cup of coffee followed and I wondered if it was that indulgence for which I paid for the next few hours as I lay awake in my bed simply unable to fall asleep! It gave me the opportunity to think of all the delights of the city to which I had introduced myself that day and on that happy note, sometime in the early hours of the morning, I finally fell asleep.

Bonjour France! Arrival in Lyon

May23

Monday, May 18, 2009
London-Lyon

My travels in France this year were a long time happening. As soon as I heard that I would be spending a year in London, I had made up my mind that I would not leave Europe without attempting to see Genevieve Tougne and her family. Genevieve and I have been pen-friends since the age of 13 (exactly the present age of her older son, Louis). It was she who had delighted me by writing me a letter from the beautiful region of the Haute Savoie (once a part of Italy) requesting me to be her pen-pal. For a 13 year old in Bombay, such as myself, this was a rare privilege and I responded warmly and immediately. Thus, our correspondence began.

We met for the first time in 1985 when she arrived in India as a tourist together with her sister Chantal. As a professor at that time, at the University of Bombay, I had organized a tour of Northern India for my undergraduate students which the Tougne sisters joined. We spent the next two weeks in Rajasthan during International Youth Year and returned to Bombay with a huge fund of happy memories and hilarious stories (including meeting Mick Jagger in Jaisalmer).

Two years later, in 1987, we met again, this time in Europe where I traveled extensively with Genevieve and Chantal and spent wonderful weeks in Rumilly, a little village tucked in the folds of French Alps with her mother Lisette and her father Raymond. My French improved rapidly in the company of this hospitable family whose extended members I also grew to know and love (siblings Brigette and Henri and sister-in-law Carole), all of whom played their roles as tour guides leaving me more wonderful memories of Europe.

Genevieve and I met for the last time in 1989 in Paris, exactly 20 years ago, when I was en route to the United States as an immigrant. She had made a journey to the capital with her friend Milene just to spend a few days with me and we’d had a great time together. Neither one of us had realized then that it would be exactly twenty years before we would meet again. During that time, Genevieve had met and married antiques dealer Frederic Ducote, had two sons, Louis (13) and Amaury (11) and had moved from the Haute Savoie where she had spent her childhood and teenage years to Lyon where Frederic had been raised. She continued to work as a civil engineer and in the Lyon to which she introduced me, during the next few days, she pointed out several important buildings for whose construction she was responsible (as Directrice), including a grand terminal building at Lyon’s international airport that resembles a huge and very exotic bird about to rise up and fly. So you can imagine how thrilled I was to meet Genevieve after such a long time and with what a sense of exhilaration and excitement I set out on my visit to France.

Arrival in Lyon:
My Easyjet flight was at a decent hour for once. I awoke at 6 am, took a shower and left my Holborn flat at 7 am, hopped into the Tube to Victoria, jumped into the National Express coach to Stanstead at 8 am, was at the airport at 9. 20, checked in and was on aboard at 11. 20. The flight across the Channel was lovely indeed—no matter how many times I see the receding white cliffs of Dover from the air, I never tire of the sight. A little later, the captain was kind enough to point out that we were flying right over Paris, and through a few scattered clouds, I could clearly see the Seine flowing placidly along and then the very distinct star formed by the confluence of so many of the principal streets around the Place de L’Etoile with the Arc de Triomphe in the center of it. Indeed, I have to say that I felt a pull on my heartstrings and I thought to myself that it has been too long since I have visited Paris—time to return and renew my acquaintance with their unique city.

Then, we were landing in Lyon airport at 2.00 pm (local time) where Frederic (whom I had never met) was awaiting my arrival with a huge card that announced my name. Later, we realized that both of us had been in a state of panic wondering how we would communicate—my French was very rusty indeed and Frederic, it turns out, knows barely any English at all. I need not have worried. He did most of the talking in the car en route to their home and my attentive ears picked up the phrases and hung on to them for dear life. By the end of the day, indeed, by the time Genevieve returned home at 6. 30 that evening, not only had my French come rushing back to me, but I was speaking very easily. Indeed, I was astonished how quickly the language came back (it helped that I had spent the previous few days boning up on my French vocabulary by reading an illustrated Beginner’s French Dictionary) and by the end of the five days I spent with the Tougnes and the Ducotes, I was actually thinking in French (which was heaps of fun).

Making Acquaintance with the Home and Family:
As we drove through the city, Frederic caught me up on the family news as well as gave me a little tour of Lyon. He spoke slowly and clearly for my benefit and I understood almost everything. He also explained the geography of the city (which sits astride two rivers—the Rhone and the Saone) which made it very easy for me to find my way around during the next two days.

When we arrived at St. Didier sur Monte d’Or (a real mouthful for the name of a town), I discovered that it is a really privileged neighborhood in which to live (sort of the Hollywood Hills of Los Angeles, if you like). Indeed, the Ducotes live in what we, in the States, call a ‘gated community’. There are 8 sprawling houses and gardens in the property called Les Saisons where the Ducotes live in one of the oldest houses—it dates from the early 1900s and is built in the style of a French chateau complete with wide balustraded terraces, a sloping slate roof and a load of interesting architectural plaster details on the façade which include a skein of flowers above each window. As an antiques dealer, this was Frederic’s dream home, and he spent the first few years in it embellishing it with the touches of which only a rare visionary and a true aesthete is capable—such as ornate wrought iron grilles at each window in the style of Renaissance Italy and landscaping the garden to include several gorgeous rose bushes (just beginning to bloom during my visit) around the inviting swimming pool and building a grotto or rock folly at the back for the children. Indeed, it is such a delightful property that I fell in love with it right away and was very pleased indeed to be able to spend a few days in such a beautiful place. What’s more, since St. Didier is perched on a mountain, the terraces look out over the city of Lyon in the distance and at night, the twinkling lights make one feel as if one is on a ship slowly approaching an exciting new port.

I spent most of the afternoon relaxing (and falling asleep!) in a chaise-longue by the pool and making friends with the Ducote boys (Louis and Amaury) as they each returned from school. Though they learn English as part of their school curriculum, it is almost non-existent, and it was in their company that my confidence in speaking French grew. They are beautifully behaved (and very handsome) boys and but for the occasions on which they sit together in the back of the car (which for some odd reason brings out the beast in them!), they were totally a pleasure to be with and I loved every second of their charming company. In fact, we bonded so well that on the eve of my departure, Amaury was crying all over his hamburger dinner because he could not bear the thought that I would be leaving the next morning! It was heartbreaking!

When Genevieve returned from work that evening, we had a very affectionate reunion. We were so pleased to see each other again and noted that neither of us had changed very much since we had last met in Paris. As usual, Genevieve wanted to know what I intended to do during the next few days and her mind began to work at once to think of all the places to which she could accompany me. Over a spaghetti dinner that evening (cooked by her housekeeper Virginie), we discussed our plans for the next few days. It turned out that, by coincidence, Thursday and Friday were days off in France (the feast of the Ascension) and the Ducotes had a long weekend which they were very pleased to be able to spend with me. As we sat and ate around their old-fashioned kitchen with its dining peninsula, we spoke companionably and decided that I would spend the next two days on my own exploring the city of Lyon. Genevieve was thoughtful enough to purchase and present me with a booklet of ten tickets that I could use on the metro for the next two days. Then, the Ducotes would take over and escort me around the region by car.

That evening, I made my way up to the bedroom on the third floor of the house (which was exclusively mine with a spacious old bathroom, also exclusively mine) and fell asleep rather quickly that night—something that would not happen for the next few nights. I also decided that I would explore the house more fully the next day for indeed the Ducote residence is like a museum, so full of antiques that it would take an entire morning just to appreciate them all.

Sunday Service at All Hallows by The Tower and NYU Farewell Luncheon

May17

Sunday, May 17, 2009
London

For almost two weeks now, I have been waking up at a decent hour–which is to say, after 7 am. I am delighted that I am finally sleeping enough but sorry as it is robbing me of precious and very productive time. I have hardly made any headway with The Order of the Phoenix and I had hoped to finish it before I left for France–which is tomorrow. Still, I suppose I can’t have everything.

Today, I awoke at 7. 30, proofread my blog, checked my email and discovered that it was 8. 30 before I knew it. I had half a mind to get dressed quickly and go to St. Etheldreda’s for the 9 am Mass, but then I remembered my resolution–to discover a new London church every Sunday. So, off I went to my bookshelf from where I plucked out The Churches of London by Sir John Betjeman and browsing through the ones that I thought sounded most interesting, I finally zeroed on the Church of All Hallows By the Tower. A quick check on their website informed me that they had Communion Service at 11 am on Sundays and after eating a cereal breakfast (I tried a new Waitrose cereal full of berries that I do not care for at all) and taking a shower, I left my flat at 10. 30, walked over to Fleet Street from where I hopped into a Number 15 bus and made my way towards the Tower of London.

Sunday Service in London’s Oldest Church:
All Hallows By The Tower is simply the oldest church in the City of London. Indeed, there has been a church on this site since the year 675 AD when it was founded by the Saxon Abbey of Barking. An original arch from that church still survives and is embedded with Roman tiles. A very helpful usher pointed these out to me at the end of the 11 am. service which I attended.

Being so close in proximity to the Tower of London, the church dealt with numerous beheaded bodies such as those of Sir Thomas More, John Fisher and Archbishop Laud. Thomas More is known to have preached from its pulpit.

The church survived the Great Fire of London in 1588 which started in Pudding Lane just a few hundred yards from the church. In fact, it was from its tower that Samuel Pepys viewed the extensive catastrophe wrought upon the city together with his friend Admiral Penn (the father of William Penn, founder of the American state of Pennsylvania) . William Penn was baptised in this church in the magnificent marble font that is crowned with a stunning wooden carving of two cherubs clinging to corn sheaves and branches of hops–which Betjeman describes as the most exquisite church carving in the city–no marks for guessing that it is the work of Grindling Gibbons which I am now able to recognize as easily as the back of my hand and which I have grown to love deeply.

John Quincy Adams, sixth President of the United States, was married in this church and the museum in the undercroft holds the original church register turned to the page on which the sacrament is recorded. He married Louisa Catherine Johnson on July 26, 1797. This museum is superbly maintained and just as I have been struck repeatedly in the past by the manner in which the British have preserved every last artifact that they have unearthed over the years, so too in this space, I marveled at their gigantic love for history and their determination to pass on their legacy to the coming generations.

Also rather remarkable about this church is the uncovering of a Roman floor distinguished by a mosaic that is fainty visible. Restoration work is due to start shortly on this section of floor that is approached through the museum entrance.

As with all the churches of London, this one too suffered extensive damage during the blitz which left only the outer walls intact. These are easily evident as they bear all the scars of age–they are grime ridden and blackened with time, but, as Chriselle pointed out, they are deeply moving because they proclaim their history so effortlessly. This cannot be said of the pillars that support the nave of the church that are far newer. In fact, it was through the efforts of Vicar “Tubby” Clayton who managed to bring American support and money to the reconstruction of the church, that it was rebuilt and declared open by the late Queen Mother in 1948. The lamp of the Toc H movement that he founded can be seen in the Lady Chapel together with his effigy and body that rest in the church. This church is also notable for the grand organ upon which the famous Bach recordings by Albert Schweitzer were made–a fact that might thrill lovers of classical music.

With all this history behind me you can imagine how delighted I was to take my seat in one of the front pews this morning only to find that the pad on which I would cushion by knees was embroidered with a great big yellow crown and with the words “ER II–Golden Jubilee 2002”! I wondered if this was the very kneeler that Her Majesty might have used during one of her visits to the church–but probably not. It was just embroidered by a parishioner to commemorate the occasion. Still, I was thrilled to be accidentally assigned such a hallowed kneeler.

Imagine my surprise when the preacher turned out to be a fellow-American, one Jim Rosenthal, whose sermon had all the ingredients that make these Anglican sermons a sheer pleasure to listen to. It was amusing, thought-provoking and, as always, superbly delivered, filled with topical cultural allusions such a references to the lyrics of John Lennon (“All You Need is Love”) and Andrew Lloyd-Webber( “Love Changes Everything”). The entire service was almost word for word identical to the Catholic masses which I usually attend except that it was far more absorbing and interesting.

After the service, there was coffee and biscuits and time to socialize and I am very pleased to say that the Vicar , a Frenchman named Bertrand Olivier and the Associate Priest, one Jennie Hogan, both sought me out, recognizing that I was a stranger, welcomed me warmly into their midst and invited me to come back again. It is these personal touches that are totally lacking in the Catholic churches and that have endeared me very much to Anglican practices in this country.

I left the church at 12. 45 and caught one of the old Routemaster buses to make my way back home. I switched to a 17 that then brought me right up to Fetter Lane. It is amazing how at this stage too, I am learning about bus connections and changes that can bring me closer and closer to my ultimate destination. Indeed I have become so adept at making my way around London that Chriselle was deeply impressed by the ease with which I hopped in and out of buses as I combed the city with her.

Off to NYU’s Farewell Faculty Luncheon:
Then, I changed into something more summery–a dress after a very long time indeed–and thrilled that the morning’s rain had become history and that the sun was out and warm and cheering, I caught a bus and left for Bedford Square Gardens where our NYU Faculty Farewell Luncheon started at 1 pm. I arrived there about 1. 45 to find a sprinkling of familiar faces and some whose names I actually know. As always, I gravitate towards folks I have met at past faculty meetings and with a glass of white wine in my hand, I started to circulate.

It was not long before Yvonne announced that lunch was served–a nice variety of finger foods and “things on sticks” as Hyacinth Bucket of Keeping Up Appearances would describe them and and I spent the rest of the afternoon nibbling away in the company of some of my new faculty friends. I simply could not believe that the year has passed so quickly–it seems only yesterday that the Director was welcoming us to a new academic year at an orientation dinner at the Radisson Edwardian Hotel on Great Russel Street! It is just madness, the way time seems to pass faster as we grow older and the more fun we allow ourselves!

At 5 pm, after we had plied ourselves with one more last glass of champagne, we did disperse and I made my way home, only to have to return again to hand deliver my grades as I had forgotten to carry them with me. Since I am leaving for Lyon, France, tomorrow morning and will not be back till next Saturday, I did need to hand in my grades before my departure for my trip. I felt awfully sorry to say goodbye to so many of my colleagues, but I take consolation in the fact that I will see some of them (especially the administrative staff) during the months of June and July when I shall continue to use my basement office as my research continues.

Finally, I have to say that I am so enjoying my new oak desk and am pleased to be able to watch the world go by outside my living room window where I have placed it. It is the perfect height for my laptop computer and allows me to catch glimpses of the passing of life outside. I see people disappearing down the stairwell leading to Chancery Lane Tube Station and emerging from it; I see red buses (both the bendy and the tall ones) pass me by; I see a camera right outside my window (one of those thousands now sprinkled all over the city–Big Brother is watching our every movement in this city and it is rather unnerving); I see the coffee shop (Cafe Nero) and the Salad Bar (Chop’d); and, of course, I see the black and white exposed beams of the Tudor Staple Inn Building with its red roof and its tall chimneys and I think to myself, “Ah, This is England!” No doubt, tomorrow, when weekday life returns to High Holborn, I will see much more of the daily frenzy that characterizes life among London’s busy legal community, even in these rather depressed days. And I am glad I went with my gut feeling or impulse or whatever you want to call it and bought his darling desk in a cobbled street in Hampstead that I have grown so quickly to love.

One light dinner later (Stilton and Broccoli Soup, Pasta with Tomatoes and Sainsbury Tiramisu), I was ready to call it a night–but not before I set my alarm for 6 am for my 7 am departure for Victoria Bus Station for my National Express ride to Stanstead airport.

National Trust Houses in Hampstead–and Buying a Vintage Bureau/Desk

May16

Saturday, May 16, 2009
Hampstead, London

When I awoke this morning at 7 am, I thought it would be a weekend day like any other–I did not think I would end the day with a really valuable purchase. Of course, I had heaps of things to deal with, not the least of which was completing my grading and entering my grades into the sheets as I would like to hand them in tomorrow. I brewed myself a cafetiere of good Lavazza coffee and climbed back into bed which has become my favorite place to work in partly because this flat came without a desk of any kind. I had considered buying one in the very beginning when I first moved in here in August, but I always wondered how I would carry it home to the States and the item of furniture just simply never was purchased.

I also booked my tickets to get me to Stanstead airport on Monday for my flight to Lyon and then my return ticket for the trip from Gatwick next Saturday. I ended up buying one ticket on National Express, the other on Easybus as that was most economical!

More morning tasks involved downloading, editing and captioning the 145 pictures I took while Chriselle was here–all of which ate into my time and made me miss her terribly. My flat seemed curiously empty without her lively presence and I know I will always cherish the extraordinary week we spent together.

The sun peeped out, then disappeared, then peeped out again–all morning long. Every time it shone full upon the earth, I considered going outdoors to enjoy it and then the raindrops would fall and I would reconsider!

Finally, at about 1 pm, I finished most of the tasks on my To-Do List and decided to shower and step out. The day seemed too good to waste, so what the heck…there were a few walks left in my book that I wished to complete. My idea was to get to Hampstead Heath to see the properties run by the National Trust as I do have an annual Royal Oaks Foundation Membership (the American equivalent). But God, what a time I had getting there! There was some march on; so no buses were running along High Holborn. I walked to Holborn only to find that there were no buses plying along Kingsway either. I had no choice but to take the Tube–I had preferred not to as I have a bus pass and it is, by far, the most economical way to travel around London. Well, I reached Bond Street and was all set to transfer to the Jubilee line when I heard announcements stating that the Jubilee Line was not in service this weekend. Darn! Well, then I started to think of the most creative ways to get there, and long story short, I reached Hampstead Heath at 3. 15 pm after making at least 3 bus changes!

Heavenly Hampstead:
Deciding not to waste any more time, I headed straight for Fenton House which is run by the National Trust. It is reached by a very easy uphill climb from Hampstead Tube Station. By the afternoon, the weather which seemed not to be able to make up its mind had cleared completely and the sun shone beautifully upon one of the prettiest parts of London. I do not know any other capital city (well, maybe Paris) where you need travel no more than ten miles to find yourself in the midst of bucolic rustic lanes and carefully cultivated gardens–so that the urban landscape seems far away in the distance.

Hampstead hasn’t changed at all since the 1700s when it first attracted the elite, thanks mainly to its views. During the Victorian Age, the grand red brick buildings proliferated, bringing a stately elegance to the maze of narrow cobbled streets that fringe the vast expanses of the Heath–an open park-like space that offers arresting views of the city including, far away in the hazy blue yonder, the outlines of the London Eye.

Fenton House and Garden:
Fenton House is a 17the century brick home with classic lines set in a stunning formal garden.
I left my rather heavy bag at the door and began my exploration through one of the most heartwarming properties of the National Trust that I have seen so far. The house has a complicated history but it derives its name from James Fenton who owned it in the late 1700s. His portrait hangs at the entrance as if sizing up every visitor–and I heard from one of the guides that there are 15,000 per year that come through that impressive porch. They have been doing so since 1952 when the Trust took over the House–which has resulted in frequent changes of the carpeting!

The home is very tastefully furnished in the style of the 18th century. Minimalism is the order of the day and despite the fact that the house is a receptacle for some of the most beautiful collections I have seen in recent times–mainly keyboard instruments and porcelain–they are so skillfully corralled in a variety of vitrines, wall units and cabinets that there is not the slightest sense of ‘clutter’ to mar the visitor’s enjoyment of the domestic space. I have learned a great deal from these visits to old English country homes and I am determined now to take some of these lessons in interior decoration home with me to Southport, Connecticut, and to incorporate them into my own domestic decor. I have always loved the English country style, of course, and our Southport home is decorated very much in that vernacular…but I feel I have miles to go.

Here, dark furniture, large occasional porcelain pieces and china accessories, oil paintings and subtle watercolors lend their charm to the rooms. John Fowler (of the English interior decorating firm of Colefax and Fowler) is responsible for the decoration of one of the rooms–his signature yellow is evident on the walls as are the floral drapes and sofa upholstery. There is also a John Fowler wallpaper design that climbs the main stairwell that goes by the name of Prickly Pear! Now, how very English is that!!!

Of course, for a lover of porcelain like myself, there can be no more breathtaking space than a home that includes the work of every prominent European factory including Chelsea and Meissen. There were human figurines, animals, cottages, tableaux–each of which told a story–birds, flowers, fruit. You name it, George Salting collected it, then bequeathed his collection to his niece, Lady Katherine Binning, who added to the collection. The end result is a marvelous treasure trove of painted and fired delights that stirred my imagination and thrilled me no end. The depth of color and the quality of the glazes were superior and proclaimed their price–and at the lower end were the Staffordshire animals that were once mass produced and given away as prizes at country fairs then used to garnish the mantelpieces of humble rustic cottages. These too found a way into Lady Binnings’ heart and were accumulated with pleasure.

For the musician and historian, the gaggle of keyboard and stringed instruments would be equally enthralling for there was a spinet, a virginal, a harpsichord, a lute, a hurdy-gurdy and other old world pieces that are valuable not merely for their historic significance but for the decorative touches that distinguish them.

The rooms are superbly laid out and seem almost lived-in–yes, that’s what I most loved about this house. I did not feel as if I was in a museum but in a real home that had once been inhabited and loved by real people. Everything about this house is worthy of a visit–indeed a second visit and perhaps I might return as I do love Hampstead dearly and I fall in love with it a little more each time I visit. I have the happiest memories of solitary walks taken along its serene streets and of sitting on benches on Parliament Hill as lights fell softly over the city at dusk.

After I had explored the three lovely floors of Fenton House, I stepped out into the garden that includes a beautiful apple orchard, rows of gently waving catmint in full blue bloom and, in the heart of summer, fragrant lavender bushes. There are neat topiaries shaped into curvaceous orbs and fanciful pyramids…and benches everywhere, coaxing the visitor to sit awhile and take in the quiet splendour of these surroundings. I was completely enchanted and it was with difficulty that I tore myself away to go on and explore the second property that is close at hand and also owned by the National Trust.

The Goldfingers’ Domain–Modernism at 2 Willow Road:
But much as I wanted to linger, I did want to get to 2 Willow Road, another National Trust property that is located just a ten minute walk from Fenton House. It pays to remember that though the closing time at these homes is listed as 5 pm, last entry is 4. 30–so I had to tear off in a massive hurry to make the deadline!

I knew nothing about these homes before I set foot in them, which is what made my rambles in them even more adventurous. Willow Road could not have been more different from Fenton House. This is an example of a Modernist home–one that went on to influence a great deal of the homes that were subsequently built in London. Owned by Budapest-born architect Erno Goldfinger who made London his home following his marriage to artist Ursula Blackwell (an heiress of the famous Crosse and Blackwell English pickle company). They had met in Paris early in the 20th century, fallen madly in love, and spent the next fifty odd years together in this interesting home overlooking the Heath. And yes, Ian Fleming (who was known to Erno) did name one of his James Bond novels after this extraordinary man.

Of course, for a traditionalist such as myself, this home was fascinating only in the most academic sense as I simply do not identify with this aesthetic. It is basically a glass and concrete block with little exterior embellishment to catch the eye. Indeed, it sits rather incongruously in a block of pretty homes and appeared from the outside like a primary school building.

However, it was interesting to learn (through a film) about the vision and life of this couple who shared artistic inclinations and created a synergistic relationship that was manifested in the company they kept in Hampstead among other artists and writers and in the unique home they created together.

Here too, three storeys take the visitor on an engaging journey into the heart of a marriage. The Goldfingers raised three lovely children in this home and garden–they are interviewed in the film and they speak candidly of their lives as children with their visionary parents for company. The house is also filled with contemporary paintings as Ursula had trained in Paris and knew a few of the artists who became big names as the century marched on–such as Max Ernst and Frank Leger. There are Henry Moores in the house as Moore was a good friend of the couple as were Barbara Hepworth and Ben Nicholson who also started their careers in Hampstead before they moved to St. Ives in Cornwall. Much as I took in everything I saw, I found it difficult to connect with the space–though I have to say that having lived for almost a year in this small, minimalist London flat with its stark white walls and Ikea style furniture, I do see the virtue in living with little. Even Chriselle who lives in a crowded one-bedroom apartment commented on how serene my flat made her feel mentally. Yes, there is a great deal to be said about fighting the urge to accumulate–a virtue that my sister-in-law Lalita has mastered. There is certainly much of my Connecticut clutter that will disappear when I get back home at the end of the summer. When I am not writing, perhaps I shall spend the coming fall de-cluttering!

‘Mystery in Hampstead’ Walk:
After 5 pm when the house closed, I turned to the ‘Mystery in Hampstead’ Walk in my book 24 Great Walks in London and followed it through some of the most delightful lanes such as Flask Walk and Downshire Hill, all of which skirted the Heath. I passed by a home that was once lived in by John Constable who, when he left his beloved Stour Valley in Suffolk behind to earn a livelihood as a portraitist in London, made his home in Hampstead.

Everywhere I walked, the air was fragrant with the scents of a million wisteria petals that hung in copious bunches from grey vines. Rhododendrons are beginning to bloom in a variety of hot, torrid shades from magenta to purple. The lavish fronds of the chestnut plumes are beginning to fade away but I have had my fill of them over the past several weeks and am ready now for the coming attractions of summer–such as deep red roses that I have started to see climbing stone walls and waving at me from gate posts. I cannot wait for the full-blown flowers of the summer.

I passed the homes of more rich and famous people who over the centuries have added to the varied landscape of Hampstead’s intellectual life from Daphne du Maurier’s theater manager father Gerald to John Galsworthy to Admiral Barton who, on the roof of his three storyed home, built a quarter master’s deck and fired a canon to celebrate royal birthdays–an occurrence that led author P. L.Travers to base Admiral Boom’s home in Mary Poppins on this fanciful property.
Of course, Hampstead is synonymous with the name of my favorite poet John Keats but since I have visited his home before–the one in which he composed my favorite poem of all time (Ode to a Nightingale) and fell in love with his next-door neighbor, the lovely Fanny Brawne, to whom he became engaged but could not marry as tuberculosis claimed him prematurely in Rome. Through all these quiet country lanes, as you pass by the grave-filled yard of a stone church or peek into the flower-filled front garden of a rectory, you will fancy yourself a Victorian or Edwardian maiden who picks up her parasol and lifts her skirts gingerly as she traverses the pathways of her home turf. It is only when you venture a little outside London and explore these country lanes that you realize why walking was such a favored activity in the old days. It is my great love for walking (among a host of other things–not the least of which is my fondness for keeping a diary!) that convinces me that in a past life I must have lived in England at the turn of the 20th century!

Spying a Vintage Desk in Flask Walk:
Then, just when I was homeward bound, at the end of the long walk, I happened upon a narrow cobbled lane and decided on impulse to explore it–Flask Walk is peculiarly named but is quite charming indeed. It was then that I spied it–the most beautiful oak bureau-desk with a pull-down lid, a warren of cubby-holes within and three narrow drawers in the base. I stopped dead in my tracks thinking, “This is exactly the kind of desk I have been looking for all year long!” Just as my mind was racing ahead wondering how I could possibly transport it home, I noticed that the dealer, a brusque woman named Jackie who was smoking like a chimney, was packing up for the day.

The desk stood rather forlornly all my itself and I simply could not pass it by. I did not dare to ask for the price as I expected it to be in the hundreds of pounds. When I did pluck up the courage to approach the dealer for the price after gazing at it longingly for a few minutes, I thought I had misheard her. I asked her again and when she told me the price, you could have knocked me down with a feather. She was almost giving it away as a gift!!! I wasted no time at all in telling her that I would have it. I was so afraid that she would change her mind. It was then that I asked if she could hold it for me until I made arrangements to have it picked up.

“Where do you live?” she asked.
“Holborn”, I said.
“Oh, just put in a black cab, darlin”, she said.

I began contemplating my choices, when a man stepped forward and said he would take it home for me. Mind you, it was only later when we were chatting in his car on the way to my flat that I discovered that Matt did this for me purely as a favor as the ride had taken him right out of his way since he lived in Hampstead and not in the city as I had assumed. This was surely my lucky day, I thought, as we agreed on a price for delivery, the bureau changed hands and was placed in the trunk of his van. He took me home and helped me to load it into the elevator in my building and brought it inside my flat for me. All the way home, we talked about places that would be able to ship it home for me to the States. I guess I have my work cut out for me in the next few days as I figure out the best (and least pricey!) way to get this marvelous piece home.

Oh, and I forgot to say that what sold me on the piece was the linen fold carving in the front panels–the same linen-fold panelling that is all over the walls of Hampton Court Palace and Sutton House in the East End (which I have talked about in an earlier entry). That and the acorn-shaped pulls on the drawers did it. I simply had to have the piece–it would be my big England purchase and one that I will always remember as I sit and write the rest of my life away.

I spent the evening pruning through my books and files. There are several I am going to leave behind in London and tons of paper I will need to toss as I start to pack for my end of month move. Since the bulk of these items will go as Printed Material by Royal Mail at a special rate and the majority of my clothes will be carried in my suitcases on the flight back, I am hoping I will have enough shipping allowance left to transport my vintage bureau home. It may not be a hundred years old (and, therefore, not technically an antique) but it is certainly antiquated (probably dating from the early 1930s) and at the price I paid for it, I could not have gone wrong.

I was tired when I sat to eat my dinner (alone, after a long while) as I watched the Eurovision contest on BBC 1–a huge European cultural event and one about which we hear practically nothing in the States. By the time I wrote this blog, it was a little after midnight and I was ready to hit the sack very pleased with myself indeed about where serendipity had led me this afternoon.

Chriselle’s Last Day in London–Smithfield and the British Museum

May15

Friday, May 15, 2009
London

The day dawned all too quickly when Chriselle had to leave London and return Stateside. Cliches come to mind in such situations: All good things must come to an end; Every parting is such sweet sorrow, It’s not Good Bye but Au Revoir, etc.

For some reason, despite having gone to bed rather late, Chrissie awoke by 6. 30 and could not sleep any more. For another inexplicable reason, she feels horribly lethargic about 11. 3o am when she has this uncontrollable desire to curl up somewhere and go straight to sleep. Jetlag does funny things to people…

My next-door neighbors Tim and Barbara are leaving for Seattle this morning and we wanted to say Goodbye to them. Ringing their door bell produced Tim on his way out somewhere. A little later, Barbara rang our doorbell and we had a chance to wish her Bon Voyage and all the best on their Stateside rambles.

We ate our breakfast quickly–lovely Walnut Bread from Waitrose with Boursin cheese and Sainsbury Three Fruits Marmalade with English Breakfast Tea–I am so going to miss these British treats when I leave. And then we dressed to start our last bout of sightseeing. There was some parts of London I simply wanted Chrissie to see before she left.

The Smithfield Meat Market:
Top of the list were the new digs into which I will be moving on May 31–the penthouse is on Cowcross Street right outside the Farringdon Road Tube Station. We walked along there via Hatton Garden, the London equivalent of Manhattan’s Diamond District with its shop windows that winked and glinted at us as we passed by. Then, a quick right into Greville Street brought us to the building which, I noticed, was recently painted and refurbished. I had no real idea exactly where it was located the last time I saw it, but today, I noticed that it is right off a cute square called St. John’s Square which sits right across from the ornate and very beautiful Victorian Meat Market called Smithfield.

Chriselle who is a vegetarian did not fancy walking through it but she tolerated the short excursion on which we saw white-coated butchers and health inspectors in their white helmets still bustling around though most of the day’s activity had ended. Helmets? Why on earth would you need a helmet when working in a meat market??? At any rate, I have been promising myself an early morning visit to this place to see the butchers at work, the restaurateurs selecting their favored cuts of meat and the restaurants around (that specialize in big meaty breakfasts with large pints of ale–yes, at 8 am!). I must put that on my list of places to go and things to do…

The Church of St. Bartholomew the Great:
Across Smithfield Circle we went through the medieval gabled doorway that leads to the beautiful black and white checkered Church of St. Bartholomew the Great where we entered to find that we were meant to pay a fee for a visit or enter for free if we wished to pray. I have attended Sunday Communion Service at this Norman church and while its age (dating from the 12th century) is deeply impressive, and it does contain a sprinkling of memorials to a few famous Elizabethans, it is the black interior that is most interesting. Centuries of dirt and grime and dust seem to have seeped into the stone pillars that support the ceiling. This is how the interior of St. Paul’s Cathedral might have looked before its 11 million pound refurbishment. It was the best indication we could have had of what time can do to an architectural masterpiece and an ancient Gothic interior. After saying a few prayers, we left.

Checking out London’s Public Toilets:
OK, the next thing wasn’t really on my List of Things To Do, but I have to say that I have been curious and never really had the courage to check one of them out–the Public ‘lavatories’ of London! With Chrissie by my side, I finally plucked up enough courage to venture underground and check out the one in Smithfield Circle. We expected it to be stinky and water-logged and falling apart and Chriselle even turned up her nose at my suggestion that we explore it.

Imagine our shock when we found it spotless, odor-free, spanking new and clean and free to boot! How startled we were! Indeed both of us exclaimed that it was the kind of toilet we could use without hesitation and, next thing you know, we did! There was actually an attendant downstairs who sat in a small cabin watching TV. There were four stalls with brand new toilets, doors with latches and hooks all in order, small sinks (or ‘wash basins’ as the English call them) with running water and toilet paper and paper napkins were in abundant supply. How marvelous! The Victorian exterior with its turquoise painted iron grill work belied the modernity of what lay beneath and we were completely bowled over by something as simple as public toilets! What a great deal we can learn from the English!

A Bus Ride to King’s Cross for a Trip to Hogwarts:
Then, we were sitting in a bus that took us past the great old buildings of one of London’s oldest quarters to arrive at the red brick expanse of King’s Cross. One of my goals was to finish reading all seven Harry Potter novels before I left London and I have to say that this has prevented me from reading anything else since the end of January! I am now in the middle of the fifth one (The Order of the Phoenix) and Chrissie’s visit has halted my progress through its labyrinthine paths. It does not help that the books get more voluminous as the series marches on so that reading one of them is like reading three! Chrissie, on the other hand, read every one of the novels as they were published and saw each of the movies as they were released. Having such an ardent Potter fan on my hands, I simply had to take her to King’s Cross to see St. Pancras Station from where the Hogwart’s Express carries the students from Platform Number 9 3/4 to their School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Chriselle was excited but not overly enthusiastic. I could see that the non-stop sightseeing of the past 5 days had started to take their toll on her–that, I suppose, combined with the late nights and lack of sleep had served to take the wind out of her sails. But when we arrived at the station, she brightened up considerably. I discovered that due to construction activity, Platform Number 9 3/4 has been moved to another location to which Harry Potter fans are being redirected. Yes, we did find it, a few minutes later–the stone wall into which the luggage cart disappears and we did take our share of pictures as we attempted to evaporate into the wall! This is such a fun excursion for kids and we marveled at the sense of indulgence that allows the English to create a spot like this just to appease young readers.

Off to the British Museum:
Then, we were aboard another bus headed to Russell Square to see the Highlights of the British Museum. Though the approach with its Neo-Classical facade is really the best way by which to enter this hallowed institution, we took a side entrance along Montague Place which brought us directly into the Asian Galleries.

Now as anyone who has visited the British Museum knows, you can spend a month of Sundays in the place and not finish seeing everything. My list of Highlights was short and the items that I did want Chriselle to see are the most talked-about ones in the Museum as well as the most unusual. Oh and I made sure she saw the rather lovely Great Hall with its new Millennium structural additions.

Here is what I showed her during our visit:
1. The Easter Island Sculpture
2. The Rosetta Stone
3. The Parthenon Marbles
4. The Caryatid from the Erectheum on the Acropolis
5. The Temple of Nereid
6. The Sculpture Bust of Rameses II that inspired Shelley’s ‘Ozymandias’
7. The Assyrian Temple Carvings and Bas-Reliefs from Nimrud
8. Ginger–the Mummified Woman in the Egyptian Section
9. A Number of Mummies
10. The Portland Vase.

By the time we finished seeing these, it was 11.30 and the drowsiness that Chrissie has been fighting washed over her and she was ready to collapse. It was time to head home, so she could get started on her work with Fusion and start packing for her evening departure.

Getting Ready to Leave London (And the Kindness of Strangers):
With all the things that Chriselle is taking back to the States for me, she had two large suitcases and a carry-on strolley that made our journey to Heathrow pretty excruciating. We hailed a cab to take us as far as Holborn Tube station from where we intended to board the Piccadilly Line to Heathrow.

Everywhere we have traveled in London in the past week, Chriselle and I have been deeply impressed by the general sense of politeness that prevails here (especially among service personnel of any kind) among the general public. Numerous times people have stopped on the street while we were consulting our maps, to find out if we needed help. So I was not surprised when so many of them came forward to give us a hand with our baggage as we struggled to get it on the escalators and into the trains during peak hour rush! Poor Chriselle was battling huge butterflies in her tummy as she tried to think about the ordeal of carrying such heavy baggage back to the States. I owe her big time for the great big favor she has done me in taking so many of my belongings back home for me. At any rate, once we did get our baggage into the train (with a lot of willing help from other passengers), the worst of it was over.

Once at Heathrow, we found carts that allowed us to load our bags on them and push them to the Terminal for her American Airlines flight to New York. No, she was not overweight as we had weighed each bag before we left the house to make sure we stayed within the limits. Once she checked her bags in, she was left with a very light and easily malleable strolley and off she went. I have to say that it was my turn to go all emotional and I was teary as I said my goodbyes to her as we had one of the best weeks of our lives together, enjoying and exploring and sharing London like nobody’s business. Chriselle left with a great love for the city and I was so pleased that I was able to communicate this great passion that I have for London to her as well as get her to share in some of it herself. As we hugged, I quite forgot that in less than three months,I will be back in the States myself. So those cliches came back to mind again–about parting being such sweet sorrow, etc. as I saw her off at the Security gates.

I turned to leave and pulled out my cell phone to call her fiancee Chris who will be picking her up from Kennedy airport. We had a chat and I left and all the way in the Tube getting back home to Holborn, I kept thinking about how much we had covered in such a short space of time and how joyful was Chrissie’s reception of everything I had recommended she see. I know that she learned her way about the city and as she put it, “received a crash course in British history, culture, art and society” in the short time she spent with me. Considering that there were so many glitches and so many things that had to be sorted out in the process of planning this trip, I felt that it had been completely successful and I was very glad about the outcome.

Back home, I felt suddenly and deeply fatigued. I called Llew for our daily late-evening chat, then downloaded my pictures and began to edit them. When sleep washed firmly over me and I could shake it off no longer, I switched off my bedside lamp but not before I made a list of all the things I have to do tomorrow.

As the days slide by and the date of my departure from this flat approaches, I want to make sure that I stay on track with all the things I have to do and not feel overwhelmed at the very last minute.

With Chriselle–A Visit to Parliament and the V&A Museum

May14

Thursday, May 14, 2009
London

Another grey dawn broke over London as Chrissie and I prepared for yet another day of sightseeing. Having broken with my routine and not having found the time to go grocery shopping, I awoke (at 7. 30) to find that I had nothing in the house for breakfast–no cereal, no bread for toast, nothing. I graded a few papers in bed while Chriselle caught a few more zzzzs, then at 8 am, I woke her up and we got on with coffee. Thank goodness for Paul’s Patisserie just down the road that allowed me to introduce Chrissie to my favorite coffee shop and my special treats–an almond croissant and their inimitable hot chocolate.

The House of Commons and the House of Lords:
Having loaded up on the carbs, we were soon boarding the buses that took us to Parliament Square for the first item on our agenda today– a visit to Parliament. The House of Commons opened at 10. 30 am with a short ceremony that included a procession in which the Speaker of the House, Michael Martin, was led into the House by a Sergeant of the Arms who bore an impressive mace in her hand. His coat tails and short train were held by a pair of footmen. As they entered the Peers’ Lobby, a steward shouted, “Hat Off, Strangers!” and the bobbies sprinkled around the room took off their helmets and held them in their hands as the little procession passed us by with a loud and resounding tick-tock tick-tock that the heels of their shoes made as they stomped along the tiled floor! Ah, the pomp and ceremony of British traditions! The visitors lapped it all up especially the loud-voiced American woman who had a gazillion questions to ask.

When all formalities were duly completed, including the taking of our pictures and the frisking of our bodies, we were led into the chamber way up on the top floor into the “Strangers Gallery”. The proceedings had already begun by the time we were permitted to take our seats. The topic of debate today was the issues of cyclists on London’s streets–a matter of deep annoyance to me, most of the time–with apologies to all you cyclists out there. They are allowed to use the bus lanes which means that the buses, that cannot overtake them, have to cool their heels (tyres?)while the slowest cyclists pedal away, clearly out of breath and stamina. The more important issues of the day such as the problem of the Sri Lankan Tamils (who were shouting themselves hoarse on the square outside the ornate building) and of swine flu were scheduled for later in the day–but neither of us had the patience or the intention to sit it out that long. Chriselle, however, enjoyed the proceedings as this was an opportunity, she said, for her to hear educated British accents, more of which she had hoped to hear in London–but was disappointed as the city has become so cosmopolitan that most visitors now hear pigdin English most of the time. I loved the easy repartee that was exchanged by the members on opposite sides of the floor–much of which was delivered with the dry sarcasm for which the English are so famed. When we had listened to the debates for about 15 minutes, we decided to move on–this time to the far more ornate House of Lords.

The approach to the House of Lords is also far fancier than the staircase we had used to get to the House of Commons. This one was richly carpeted in scarlet, the wallpaper in a loud striking print. At the top of the staircase, in another “Strangers Gallery” we were asked to sign an undertaking that we would not disturb the proceedings in any way. The seat of the monarch–a very impressive affair in gilt–was at the far end of the hall. I saw a couple of people on the floor wearing the powdered wigs of the British law courts—they were probably lawyers. Others lounged around the benches looking rather bored. I was not too certain what matter was being discussed as Chriselle decided that she’d had enough and thought it was time to leave.

So off we went down towards Westminster Hall, the only part of the Building that was not destroyed in the fire that ravaged them in the mid-1800s when the present building was constructed in Gothic Revival style. The Peers’ Hall is the most spectacular of the interior rooms with its rich carvings, ornate wall hanging, gigantic paintings, glittering chandelier, etc. Outside, in Westminster Hall with its impressive timbered roof, visitors can pause to examine the markings on the floor which point out the spots in which British royalty were laid in state at the time of their deaths. This room is the most historical with its references to convictions and acquittals (Thomas More convicted, Warren Hastings acquitted).

The Kyoto Garden in Holland Park:
Not too long after our interesting visit to Parliament, we hopped into another bus headed down Kensington High Street as I wanted to show Chriselle one of my favorite parts of London–the Japanese Kyoto Garden in Holland Park. I have discovered that not too many people know about this part of London–what I prefer to think of as my secret garden. Getting off the bus, we walked across Holland Park’s Main Lawn, entered the Brick Orangery where early spring flowers have faded already and summer beds are in the process of being planted and into the Japanese Gardens. We were starving by that point and found the perfect spot to sit and have our picnic lunch–tuna and sweetcorn bagels–on the stone steps that spanned the pool formed by the short waterfall that left a soapy swirl all around us. To our delight, gorgeous peacocks and peahens kept us company, strutting their exotic plumage around for our pleasure. We took many pictures of the fabulous wildlife that included a grey heron and many pigeons.

The Victoria and Albert Museum:
It was not long before we headed towards a bus stop to get to the Victoria and Albert Museum but not before we made a slight detour to Waitrose where I stepped in to buy muesli to send off to Llew with Chriselle who flies to New York tomorrow. I also found some Walnut Bread which I quickly snapped up (as I find it around so rarely). Our bus arrived soon after and we found ourselves seats, changing at Cromwell Road to another bus that took us towards the V&A.

In-between taking in the Highlights, I made a call to bid goodbye and Bon Voyage to my brother Roger who was leaving Bombay for the States with his son on a 2 week holiday. Chriselle and I spoke to the two of them and to my parents who happened to be at Roger’s flat. Then, I took Chriselle on a tour of the most significant pieces in the museum (which has also started to feel like home). These were the items we examined (not necessarily in this order):

1. Dale Chihuly’s Chandelier in the main lobby.
2. Zaba Haidi’s glass sculpture at the main entrance.
3. The Tudor Bed of Ware
4. The Tudor Armor
5. The Rococo Room
6.The Nicholas Hilliard Miniatures
7. The Rafael Rooms with the Sistine Chapel Cartoons
8. The Arbadil Carpet
9. Tipu’s Tiger
10. The Jade Drinking Cup of Shah Jehan
11. The Gold Throne of Maharana Ranjit Singh
12. The ivory furniture in the South Asian Gallery.
13. The Vivienne Westwood Watteau Gown.
14. The Catherine Walker designed Hongkong Gown for Diana
15. The Terracotta Sculpture entitled ‘Innocence’ by Drury
16. Rodin’s ‘John the Baptist Preaching’
17. The Cast Court with Trajan’s Column, Michelangelo’s ‘David’ and ‘Moses’.
18. Raphael’s ‘The School of Athens’
19. The Jewelry Galleries
20. The Jeringham Silver Wine Cooler
21. Constable’s studies for ‘The Haywain’
22. ‘Breathless’ by Cornelia Parker
23. The Poynter, Gamble and Morris Cafe Rooms where we treated ourselves to Afternoon Tea.

We made our way out of the V&A Museum through the central quadrangle with its serene pool and lovely balconies and galleries that emphasized the elegance of Victorian design. Chriselle told me that she loved the museum and could see why some visitors might consider it even better than the National Gallery. In its wealth of decorative arts, it outshines the National which focuses exclusively on paintings and sculpture.

Then, we were on the bus again headed home and catching up with our respective work assignments. Chriselle logged on and did some work, I continued grading my papers after I brewed us a pot of tea which we sat sipping slowly as we completed our work. I also packed up two small cases with my things that I wanted Chriselle to carry back to New York with me and all of this took a lot of time and focus. I now feel confident about moving my own things quite easily to my new digs at Farringdon at the end of the month for I have pruned my possessions down considerably and am left only with the clothing I will need for the next two months. The bulk of my books and files will be mailed back to America in the next couple of days. I have already started to feel curiously light and as soon a Chriselle leaves, I shall turn my attention to packing up my things and putting myself into Moving Mode.

A Night on the Town:
Chriselle had also made plans for us to go out with a few friends of hers and after she and I had both showered, we welcomed Ivana and her friend Rosa to our apartment. After we had taken a few pictures, we set out for the evening, walking first to Great Queen Street where we had a few drinks and appetizers in the Great Queen Street Bar where a friend named Emma extended her warmth and hospitality to us. The basement bar was awfully noisy with a group of four young women who shrieked their way through the evening until we could take it no longer and decided to move on–this time deciding to eat at an Indian restaurant called Masala Zone where we were joined by Chriselle’s friend Rahul. Over traditional Indian chaat and thalis, we chatted some more and after midnight, with the more energetic among us electing to go clubbing, I caught the bus and returned home after what had been a very interesting but rather tiring night.

Supertour at St. Paul’s Cathedral and Exploring Southwark

May13

Wednesday, May 15, 2009
London

London slumbered under leaden skies this morning, though, thankfully, the rain stayed at bay. Wearing warm cardigans to ward off the chill, Chriselle and I set off after a cereal and yogurt breakfast to explore St. Paul’s Cathedral. Though I have been there for several services throughout the past 8 months, I hadn’t taken a formal guided tour and was waiting to share that experience either with Llew or Chriselle. So I was very pleased indeed when my new English friend Bishop Michael Colclough, Canon-Pastor at St. Paul’s and his wife Cynthia, offered me a complimentary guided tour anytime I wanted one. With Chriselle currently visiting me, it seemed like the perfect time to take them up on it and we had one fixed for us for 10. 45 am.

We arrived at the Cathedral to find it swarming with visitors–both inside and out. Tour groups, several of whom comprised students from around London and across the Channel, filled the vast nave of the church. At the Visitor’s Desk, I was ushered to the one run by the Friends of St. Paul’s, an organization of Volunteers (mainly women), who are trained to give guided tours. This Supertour took us to parts of the Cathedral not usually open to the public and we felt privileged indeed to take it at our leisure in so special a fashion.

We were told by our guide, Fiona Walker, that it would last an hour and a half and were ushered right away to a side Chapel–dedicated to one of the many formal ‘Orders’ that comprise aristocratic English life. I do not believe that even a lifetime would be adequate in helping me acquire enough knowledge to decipher the complex system that prevails in military and royal circles int this country. What I did admired in this chapel was the royal seat that only the monarch can occupy, the marvelous wooden carvings by the Tudor carver Grindling Gibbons (whose work I can now easily recognize), the many colorful banners and standards and crests and coat of arms that symbolize one’s family history.

We then moved to the massive oak doors in the very front of the church and learned a bit of history at that point including the part played by Sir Christopher Wren in the design and construction of this, perhaps London’s most distinctive landmark. At the door, we also saw how dark the interior looked until the massive cleaning and renovation was carried out through a vast endowment (11 million pounds) granted to the cathedral by the Fleming family, the same one from which was born the James Bond author Ian!

Next we were led into one of the twin towers that looks down Fleet Street and we were quite taken by the beautiful staircase with its small and very low steps and the ironwork that climbs all the way to the very top. These steeples house the bells that toll each hour and produce the marvelous music on important days. I once heard them chime a heart stirring tune on Palm Sunday–was it last year? The entire city seemed to reverberate to the melody produced by those tolling bells. Yes, they do bring to mind John Donne’s stirring lines:

“No man is an island, entire of itself…any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” (Meditation XVII)

Interestingly, there is a rather strange looking sculpture of John Donne in the Cathedral–strange because the poet appears all shrouded in a linen sheet and standing on an urn. It was the only object in the entire Cathedral to escape the Great Fire of London in 1566 because it was hit by a falling object and fell straight down into the crypt from where it was rescued when the embers and ashes were being cleared. And he appears in this shroud because Donne had actually worn the garment in which he wished to be buried while he was still alive–perhaps to get the feeling of how he might appear before his Creator at his Resurrection!

Onward we went deeper into the Cathedral, passing by the grand monument to Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, and there we learned a bit more British history. Chriselle is beginning to “connect the dots” as she puts it, in that she is making connections between the guy who inhabited Apsley House and the hero of the Battle of Waterloo! It wasn’t long before we paused under the central dome to admire the Byzantine style mosaics done by Salviati, an Italian, whose work was inspired by the Italian churches. The dome also contains the magnificent paintings done by James Thornhill–yes, the same artist who painted the famous Painted Hall in Greenwich. Chriselle loved the trompe l’oeil quality of the paintings in the dome which appeared as if the inside was covered with columns and pillars. We saw primary school kids lying flat on the floor right under the dome and staring at it–I bet this is something they will always remember. Years from now, when they bring their own kids to the Cathedral they will say, “You know, when I was a little boy, I came to this church on a school field trip and lay down right there on my back and stared up at the dome!”

More detail and more history followed at the memorial to Lord Nelson, considered by many to be England’s greatest hero. The guide went into detail in talking about his relationship with Lady Emma Hamilton and the product of that alliance, a female child, “named”, she said, then paused for effect, “poor thing, Horatia!” Right opposite the Nelson monument is one to Cornwallis and I paused to tell Chriselle that he was the same one who met with a stunning defeat under General George Washington in York when trying to vanquish the rebel colonists in North America. It was probably as a punishment that he was sent off to India where he masterminded the defeat of Tipu Sultan of Mysore at Seringapatnam and, in doing so, somewhat redeemed his fallen image!

Then, we were at the altar, admiring more Grindling Gibbons’ caved choir stalls (each more breathtaking that the next, in oak and beech) and gazing upon the baldachino or altar canopy which looked to me curiously like the Bernini one in St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. We saw also the ‘Cathedra’ or Seat which the Bishop occupies and which turns a church into a cathedral–it must contain a seat for a Bishop which means that a Bishop must be attached to the permanent clergy at the church.

And then we climbed down into the crypt where we saw more memorials, the most striking being the ones to Wren, Wellesley and Nelson in their striking sarcophagi. Nelson’s, in grand black granite, is particularly striking and I was not surprised to learn that it was, in fact, designed and created to hold the mortal remains of Cardinal Wolsley (pronounced ‘Wool-zy’) who was Henry VIII’s right hand man until he fell out of favor with the King for not bringing him the Papal annulment of his marriage to Katherine of Aragon. He was sentenced to death but, mercifully for him, died a natural death before he could be killed. He certainly was not permitted such a grand coffin and, in any case, the possessions of all state prisoners went directly to the Crown–which explains how Henry got his greedy hands on Wolsley’s finest buildings including Hampton Court and Whitehall Palace (of which now only the Banqueting House survives). The sarcophagus lay forgotten somewhere until the body of Nelson arrived from weeks of preservation in brandy–for Nelson really ought to have been given a burial at sea. However, since he was such an extraordinary hero, an exception was made in order to grant him a state burial. His body was preserved in alcohol, brought to London, this sarcophagus was resurrected for the occasion and the nation had a chance to mourn collectively for the death of a great hero who fell on the HMS Victory (now docked in Portsmouth) and whose blood-stained clothes are in the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich.

Climbing up to the Dome of St. Paul’s:
When the tour ended, we were told that we should not leave the cathedral without venturing up into the dome. I was doubtful about my ability to undertake such strenuous physical exercise since I am still recovering from plantar fascitis; but with encouragement from Chriselle, I rose to the challenge and off we went. 117 steps later, we were in the Whispering Gallery looking down on to the black and white checkered floors of the vast cavern below us. It was just stupendous! Of course, Chriselle and I had to try out the whispering capabilities of the acoustics of the space and discovered that we could, in fact, hear each other clearly though we stood on opposite sides of the dome. I was reminded very much of the interior of Brunelleschi’s dome in Florence and the magnificent painting on the inside of the dome by Vasari which one can see at very close quarters if you have the energy and stamina to climb the 500 odd steps to that height.

Then, another 115 steps took up to the Stone Gallery which encircles the outside of the dome and provides views of the rooftops of London. Yes, we saw the river (rather murky on this grey day) and the London Eye and the gilded statue of the Goddess of Justice atop Old Bailey and a host of other landmarks as well as the red brick of the Prudential Assurance Building that is just a block away from my building on High Holborn.

We circumnavigated our way around the dome then made the descent with Chrissie holding on to me all the way down as she felt a little dizzy. Then, because we were right in the area, I suggested a walking tour of the Southwark area instead of trying to get into a bus to Knightsbridge. Chrissie had made drinks and dinner plans with two friends of hers and wanted to get home for a bit of a rest as she has a severe backache when she exerts herself too much physically. I have to be grateful that my own stamina has remained untouched by plantar fascittis and but for the fact that I have to rest more than I used to, I can continue my daily walking routine without interruption.

Exploring Southwark:
So over Wobbly Bridge we went, the breeze feeling very unpleasant around us given the lack of sunshine. Past Shakespeare’s Globe we strolled, arriving under Southwark Bridge where we hastened to the Borough Market as I wanted Chriselle to get a sense of its delicious activity. Alas, it is not open fully on a Wednesday though a few stalls cater to the luncheon needs of the local working populace. We walked quickly on to The George, the city’s only galleried pub, where we took in the quaintness of the Elizabethan space. Then, we returned to Borough Market for a late lunch: a large helping of Thai Green Chicken and Seafood Curry served over steamed rice. It was dished up piping hot and was deliciously spicy and just what the doctor ordered on this rather chilly day.

Inside Southwark Cathedral:
On our way back to the Embankment, we paid a short visit to Southwark Cathedral that dates from 909 AD–in particular to visit the sculpture of Shakespeare and the lovely stained glass window right above it that provides glimpses into his most famous plays. This allowed us to play a little guessing game together before Chriselle made her three wishes–you are permitted three wishes every time you visit a church for the first time (at least that is what my mother told us, many years ago).

We also took in the brightly painted medieval memorial to John Gower and saw the lovely stone carved altar with some gilding on a couple of its statues. This had been under scaffolding when I had visited last March with my friend Amy, so it is great to see the impact that all this refurbishment has on the space. While we were taking pictures at the Shakespeare memorial, a lady came up and told us that there is a charge for taking pictures!!!Can you imagine that? We told her that we were unaware of the policy and she said that we’d have to pay if we took another. Of course, we had finished our visit by that point and were on our way out–but I have to say that I find these rather materialistic policies of these churches not just irritating but rather offensive.

Off to the Tate Modern:
Then, we were walking along the Thames Embankment again, making our way to the Tate Modern where I wanted to show Chrissie two things: the extraordinarily concept that converted the Hydroelectric Power plant into a Modern Art Gallery and the silver installation by Cornelia Parker entitled Thirty Pieces of Silver. She was already far more tired than I was and since modern art is not something that either one of us can truly engage with (though I understand it intellectually), we went directly to the Parker gallery to admire her work. It involved the flattening of about 1000 pieces of silverware under a steam roller. These were then arranged in thirty lots that are suspended from the ceiling on steel wire. The idea is so remarkable that it is worthy of examination for just this reason. Needless to say, Chriselle was quite speechless and didn’t quite know how to react to this…but then that is exactly what Modern Art does to me. I find myself quite lost for words!

We decided to get on the bus and head home as Chriselle badly wanted to rest. I, however, continued on towards Oxford Circus as Marks and Spencer is having a sale on lingerie and I needed to buy my stock before I return to the States. I discovered that my size was not available but if I carried on to their Marble Arch branch, they could take an order from me there. I pressed on, and another bus ride later, I was at the bigger branch placing my order and told to return after May 22 to pick it up. I will be in France at that time but on the day I get back, I can rush off back to Marble Arch to get the discounted price. Along the way, I discovered that Selfridges has been renovated and is now devoid of the scaffolding under which it was shrouded for so many months while it received a deep cleansing in time for its centenary celebrations. There are lights and yellow decorations all over it and I believe the store is worthy of a visit–so I shall try to get there when I find myself under less pressure.

Another bus took me to my office at NYU where I had to do a bit of photocopying before I send off some receipts to New York for reimbursement.

Back home, I found that Chriselle had left the house to meet her friends. This left me time to attend to my email, have my dinner and sit down to write this blog before I got down to grading a few papers and taking a shower before bed.

Museum Hopping, Pub Crawling, Seeing Felicity Kendall at the West End

May12

Tuesday, May 12, 2009
London

Chrissie is slowly getting into the swing of London life–and loving it! I an thrilled at her reactions for I am certain she will now leave part of her heart in this, my beloved city!

I awoke at 7. 30 am–possibly the latest I’ve woken up in a year! Sat grading a few papers while allowing her the luxury of a long lie-in. When she did awake after 9 am, we hurried through breakfast (pain au chocolate with tea for her, cereal with yogurt and then coffee for me) and then we were off.

The Wonders of the NHS:
It was while we were at the bus stop that my cell phone rang. It was my GP calling from his clinic (or ‘surgery” as they say here) on Red Lion Street to find out why I had called earlier that morning. I told him that I needed a prescription filled for my thyroid deficiency and that my American medical insurance company was unable to help as they do not ship medications outside the USA. I wondered if he could write me a prescription which I could get filled locally. I could not believe how willingly and promptly he responded. A few questions later, the job was done. All I had to do was go by the clinic, pick up the prescription, have it filled out at a local pharmacy and then apply to Aetna Global (my American medical insurance company) for a reimbursement. The doctor was courtesy personified and I stood amazed by the ease with which he catered to my request.

Right enough, ten mintues later, after Chriselle and I had walked down to the clinic, I had my prescription in hand. Later in the day, at Boots, the pharmacist took a look at it and informed me that I was entitled to an exemption–this meant that I did not have to pay for it at all! I told her that I needed the medication desperately as my supply would soon run out. She gave me more forms and told me to take them to the clinic, have the doctor sign them and return them to her for a reimbursment! The thing about British bureaucracy is that though it is infuriatingly long-winded, it really does work! Don’t you just love that about the British? For me, the wonders of the NHS will never cease and I truly believe that the American President who manages to create a national health service in the US will truly leave his mark on history. Mr. Obama, are you listening???

Browsing Through Persephone Books:
I just had to take five mintues to introduce Chriselle to one of my favorite places in London–the Persephone Book Shop on Red Lion Street. I told her the story of its founding, a tale she loved. How amazing, she said, that the movie Brief Encounter would inspire a viewer to obtain reprinting rights for the kind of feminine fiction that was produced in that era (the 1920s to 1950s). The paperbacks are beautifully produced in a uniform grey with end papers that are based on contemporary wall paper and fabric designs. And each one comes with a matching bookmark! If you wish to have the book gift wrapped, the wrapping is always a fushia pink tissue paper and the raffia binding includes the book mark which can then double as a gift tag! How very clever! Someday I shall write a blog about my favorite London things and Persephone Books will be right at the top of it!

More Highlights at the National Gallery:
Then, we were hurrying to another bus stop to catch a bus to the National Gallery to finish seeing the remaining Highlights on the curator’s list. I provided background information on such iconic paintings as Constable’s The Haywain (readers of my blog will recall that I had actually visited Suffolk and stood on the very spot on the banks of the River Stour which forms the backdrop of this enchanting painting).

The Haywain at the National Gallery

Placing myself in Constable’s Landscape

She loved Turner too–though she professed less of a fondness for the Impressionists whose hazy depictions of reality she finds rather trying. We recalled and laughed over a line from Seinfeld in which Jerry’s father, on viewing a work by Monet, states that he believes the artist painted without wearing his glasses! Through the Gainsboroughs and the Stubbs and the Gaugins and the Seurats we traveled, taking in the magnificence of the Baroque interiors of the Gallery as well as the superb mosaics on the floor at the grand main entrance with its twin urns filled with arresting spring flowers.

The National Portrait Gallery:
Then, because the National Portrait Gallery was just next door, I suggested we take in the Highlights there as well and we headed straight to the top floor to get a peek at the Tudor portraits many of which were by Hans Holbein. This is certainly my favorite part of this museum for the paintings never fail to bring alive for me the intrigues of the era about which we chatted as we took in the serious faces depicted in oil on canvas. We walked quickly then through the rest of the galleries, pausing occasionally to take a look at more contemporary canvases such as those of Charles and Diana by Bryan Organ soon after their engagement, Judi Dench by Alessandro Raho and Salman Rushdie by the late Bhupen Khakar. No, we did not give the Gallery the length of time it deserves. We merely hurtled through the rooms to get an idea of the variety of personages portrayed within as well as the multi media forms in which they are depicted. It was at this point that I began to feel sorry that my stint in London is drawing to a close (though I still have nearly 3 months to go). I feel a certain comfort in knowing that these institutions are just down the road from where I live. Once I cross the Pond and return home to Connecticut, I know I shall miss dreadfully their nearness, their sheer accessibility.

In and Out of Harrods:
Out on the sidewalk, we sat and people-watched as we ate our cheese and cucumber rolls, then walked quickly to Piccadilly to catch a bus to Knightsbridge as I wanted to return to Harrods to buy some more gifts and claim another free London Pass holders gift–this one based on a purchase that Chriselle would make. She, poor dear, wanted to get home and take a nap before logging on to begin work. I managed to twist her arm to accompany me, she easily agreed and off we went. We were literally in and out of Harrods and back on the bus home in the next hour–though the traffic can get frustrating when you have deadlines to meet and the bus just lumbers sluggishly along!

While Chriselle worked at her laptop communicating with New York and the rest of the world, I sat grading student papers. It was peaceful and quiet in the flat as we each worked separately but still together-an atmosphere that made Chriselle remark: “What a nice life you have created for yourself here in London, Mum. I feel so envious!” She wished she could stay longer and soak in some more of it, but we are doing rather well in terms of how much we have managed to pack into her visit so far.

The Last Cigarette at the West End:
At 6. 15, the two of us closed shop and left for St. Martin’s Lane where we were meant to pick up free tickets that had suddenly landed in our lap to see The Last Cigarette at Trafalgar Studios, a play by Simon Gray that stars Felicity Kendal. Now apart from the fact that American TV viewing audience know her well through the many re-runs on American PBS TV stations (Good Neighbors, known as The Good Life in the UK and, more recently, Rosemary and Thyme), I know Felicity Kendall through my Bombay connections for her late sister Jennifer was married to Bollywood actor Shashi Kapoor and their children, Kunal, Karan and Sanjana are active in the Bombay theater scene through their family-owned Prithvi Theater at Juhu which I used to haunt during my college days in Bombay and in my later life as a Theater Critic for The Free Press Journal. So I was doubly pleased to see her on stage in real life.

The play was deeply absorbing and ingeniously staged. Three individuals (Kendall, Jasper Britton and Nicholas Le Provost) play a single individual, a writer, who is deeply addicted to nicotine and has received the news that he has malignant tumors on his lung. With just 18 months to live, the play is constructed around a monologue in which he talks about the influences that drew him to tobacco even though it killed both his father and his mother. In quite a brilliantly conceived production that demanded the utmost split-second timing in terms of delivery of lines, the three persons on stage blended into one being echoing each other’s movements and mannerisms rather wonderfully–though as Chriselle pointed out (with her astute and trained histrionic eye), that Kendall’s fussing with her hair detracted from the masculinity she was meant to portray and struck a rather odd note.

A Late Night Drink at our ‘Local’:
It was about 9. 30 when we left the theater, took a bus towards Ludgate Circus and decided to go to my ‘local’–Ye Old Mitre Pub at Hatton Garden–which dates from 1532 as I really did want Chriselle to see it. We ordered our drinks (a light beer for her and a Guinness for me) and sat ourselves in what we believed was a quiet corner of the quaint little pub. All went well for the next ten minutes until we were joined by a old man called Charles who was nice to talk to and rather friendly and interesting. It was when his anonymous friend joined us that things got more hairy and I have to say that I did not fancy being forced to make conversation with a stranger who had already had one too many!!! Chriselle later told me that my face spoke volumes of my irritation at his unwelcome company and it was not long before we bid them goodnight and beat a hasty retreat!

Back home, Chriselle wanted me to watch an episode of Arrested Development, an American TV series that she has been watching and having brought the DVD over, we did watch an episode before we both fell asleep about 11. 30 pm.

Harrods, National Gallery Highlights, In Fusion’s London Office

May11

Monday, May 11, 2009
London

Since both Chriselle and I were reeling with exhaustion (she worse than I), she had a long lazy lie-in this morning leaving me to start grading my students’ final papers while sipping my lovely Lavazza coffee. I was glad we had decided to take it easy after three whole days of go, go, go.

Buying Gifts at Harrods:
When we did leave to add a weekly bus pass each to our Oystercards, it was about 10. 15 am. Changing three buses and fighting horrendous traffic all the way to Knightsbridge, we arrived at Harrods which I was keen that Chriselle should see and because I needed to buy some gifts for my French friends in Lyon whom I shall be seeing next week on my trip to France. I was delighted to discover that the free gift available to London Pass holders (with purchase of items 25 pounds and over) was a very pretty bone china mug with the Harrods logo all over it! Chriselle also bought her New York colleagues some Harrods mementos and with our purchases all packed, we set out to discover the store. I led her to the Diana and Dodi Memorial in the basement and then on to the stupendous Food Halls which are among the best in the world (the only other store that comes close is KadeWe in Berlin whose Food Halls on the topmost floor left me salivating helplessly). Chriselle was suitably impressed (just as I thought she would be) and because it was almost 1 pm by then, we used the lovely loos downstairs and hastened out.

The Highlights of the National Gallery:
A short bus ride later, during wich we ate our tuna and sweetcorn bagel sandwiches, we were at Piccadilly and headed on foot towards Trafalgar Square to see the Highlights of the National Gallery. Using Marina Vaizey’s 100 Masterpieces of World Art, I led her through the modern Sainsbury Wing and the older, more ornate part of this marvelous receptacle of art works stopping to comment on Vaizey’s text as she examined the work and de-touring occasionally so I could show her my own favorites such as the gallery containing the work of Venetian Renaissance artist Carlo Crivelli (which left her speechless, just as I thought it would) and The Four Elements by Joaquim Beuckelaer. Despite spending almost two hours in the Gallery, we did not finish examining the 12-odd works that I hoped to introduced her to–but by then she had seen several significant ones and was bowled over by them–such as Jan van Eyck’s Arnolfini Marriage, Hans Holbein’s The Ambassadors, Piero della Francesca’s The Baptism and Bronzino’s Allegory. She also loved the El Greco (Christ Driving the Traders out of the Temple). I was disappointed that owing to renovations Paolo Ucello’s The Battle of San Romano is currently not on view, while most disappointing of all was the removal of my very favorite work in the entire museum–Pieter de Hooch’s Courtyard of a House in Delft (which is probably on loan to another museum at the moment). Tomorrow, we shall return and I shall show her a Constable, a Turner, a Gainsborough and a couple of French Impressionists that are particularly noteworthy. As for me, that National feels like my second home (in the same way that the ‘Met’ in New York has done for years). I walk around its galleries as if they were my own domain and no matter how many times I pass by the treasures hanging upon those walls, they never fail to stir the deepest excitement within me.

Off to Elephant and Castle:
But Chriselle had to return home so that she could pick up her laptop from my flat and head off to Elephant and Castle to the office of Fusion Telecommunications, the London branch of the company for which she works in New York as she needed to get into a conference call with her colleagues. We took a bus there that wound us past Waterloo station. Her colleague Ivana picked us up from the bus stop and led us to the premises.

While they busied themselves at work, I attempted to contact my American medical insurance company (Aetna Global) to find out how best to fill my prescription medication and have it shipped to me here in London. It was several phone calls and a good half hour later that I discovered that drugs cannot be shipped outside the USA. I will now need to call my local London GP, obtain a prescription from him, get it filled in a local London pharmacy, save the receipt, mail it off to Aetna Global and wait to be reimbursed. I am hoping I will have my pills in the next couple of days as I do not have extensive supplies left!

I took the bus back home (making the sudden discovery that the 45 runs all the way from Elephant and Castle to High Holborn over Blackfriars Bridge and the back of St. Paul’s Cathedral) and then set to work. I first made a call to my colleague at NYU-Paris to find out details about my bit of a global assignment on which we are currently working as a team. Then, I sat to fill out an Excel spreadsheet that Llew had prepared and emailed to me that details my travel and commuting expenses for NYU reimbursement. These need to reach my New York office by the end of this month. I cannot believe that I have to attend to this sort of administrative ‘stuff’ whilst I am in the midst of grading term papers! Time flew and when next I glanced at my wristwatch, it was almost 7.30 pm as I should have guessed from the rumble in my tummy. Chriselle had returned home unexpectedly early and continued working in my living room as I worked on my PC in my bedroom–stretched out out on my bed which is my preferred working position!

A Very Productive Evening:
By 8.00pm, I served myself a plate of dinner (penne pasta with grilled vegetables and a salad) as Chriselle had made dinner plans with Ivana who would be arriving to pick her up later on. With my hunger satisfied, I began to pack up my books. Now that teaching is all done for the academic year, I will be shipping my books and files back to the USA in the next couple of days. Chriselle will also be taking a suitcase and a half back home for me and in the midst of everything else with which I am dealing, I’m also making decisions about what to send back! Hopefully, in the next couple of days, I will feel more clear-headed. With four boxes packed and many books and files already boxed, I felt as if I had done a substantial evening’s work.

Ivana arrived soon enough, Chriselle left with her, I did a bit of cleaning and tidying of my flat, then escaped into the bathroom for a lovely invigorating shower, after which I sat to write this blog. I would like to grade some more papers before I fall asleep but that will depend on whether or not I have any energy left after I have done the proof reading of this installment.