Archive | July 2013

Yaay! In Oxford Again! Kelmscott Manor & Fairford Church

Jul31

Wednesday, July 31, 2013
The Cotswolds and Oxford


          Today, I made a 30 year old dream come true—again, a small one, but a dream nonetheless. I finally visited Kelmscott Manor, home of the Arts and Crafts Movement and Pre-Raphaelite artist, William Morris. But let me get back to the beginning.
            I arrived in Oxford on the X-90 coach—the first time I was using this service, but it was the most economical. I had left Battersea at 7.00 am, then taken the 7. 15 bus, arrived in Victoria at 7. 35 and got on the 8.00 am coach. Wifi on the coach allowed me to catch up with some work for an hour and a half. It was drizzling and mist made visibility poor on the M40 to Oxford. But before I knew it, we were on Magdalen Bridge and, as always, I recalled my first arrival in this glorious city almost 30 years ago—and how excitedly that tight knot of happiness had sat in my tummy—for then too, I had been experiencing a dream come true—that of studying at Oxford!
             My friends Sue and Tony live in South Oxford (in Grandpont) and in about 10 minutes, Tony arrived in a spiffy red car to pick me up. He took me over to his place where I had a nide reunion with Sue. We had a glass of elderflower water (which I really like) and then we were off—there was no time to lose as we were headed for Kelmscott Manor which is a good half hour’s drive away.
On the Road to Kelmscott Manor:
            When I was a student at Exeter College in Oxford, almost 30 years ago, an excursion had been organized to Kelmscott Manor, home of William Morris and then on to the Cotswold Village of Burford. Ignorant Me had never heard of him then and I had opted not to take the excursion. It is a decision I regretted through all that time because, as the years rolled by, I grew familiar with Morris and his great contribution to Art History as a founder/practitioner of the Arts and Crafts Movement and of the Pre-Raphaelite Movement with his Exeter College, Oxford, buddies Dante Gabriel Rossetti and Edward Burne-Jones (of whose work I am a dedicated fan).
            Well, like most such historic homes in the UK, Kelmscott Manor sits in the middle of nowhere—literally in the heart of the country in Lechlade in Gloucestershire, which is on the edge of the gorgeous Cotswolds. So every time I have attempted to get to it (on repeated visits to Oxford, over the years), I have never been able to as there is no public transport to get there and they keep the house open only for a few days a week. Well, long story short, this time, with Sue and Tony having a car, we could get there easily. So I was very excited, once again, and I could not wait to see the inside of the house.     
Finally Inside Kelmscott Manor:
            Entry to Kelmscott is 9 pounds for adults. You get a self-guided tour and the services of volunteer guides in each room as well as a printed guide leaflet that takes you through the rooms and points out its features.  I will try to keep the history of this house brief—so that I can remember it myself. It is a Tudor home, originally built in the mid-1500s, and belonged for generations to a Turner family (they made the turning rings for corn mills—hence their family name!). There are several members of the Turner family buried in the near-by church. The original home (so-called because it is in the village of Kelmscott) is small and dark with tiny rooms and low ceilings. In the mid-1600s, the Turner family came into some money and put an extension on to the house—this part is clearly different with higher ceilings, bigger rooms, larger fireplaces (one bears the family’s coat of arms that features mill-turners) and much more light.
           In the mid-1900s, when William Morris was looking for a country retreat away from his Red Lion Square home in London—a place where he could paint undisturbed—he got to know that the Turner family wished to rent their place near Oxford. Morris took a look at it—it was love at first sight. He co-rented the place with his best friend, the artist Dante Gabriel Rosetti, and moved into Kelmscott Manor with his family—wife Jane and their two daughters, Jenny (an epileptic) and May (who became an artist in her own right). It proved to be an extremely creative and productive phase in his life although it was marred by the romantic relationship that developed between Jane and Rosetti of which he was aware. The Morrises stayed married but every single painting you see featuring a beautiful young woman in it by either Rosetti or Burne-Jones or Morris himself is Jane.
            Kelmscott Manor retains the look of a simple domestic Tudor interior combined with decoration by an Arts and Crafts artist. There are wall-hangings that were designed by Morris and either embroidered by him (yes, indeed, he did embroidery!) or Jane, curtains made from fabrics whose patterns he designed, loads of wall-paper, lots of paintings—either by him or May. His style is distinctive in the close (some might say ‘busy’) patterns featuring flowers, fruit, vines, leaves, branches—all inspired by Nature and the profusion of plants in the neighborhood. There is a grand old bed in Morris’ bedroom that he loved so much that he wrote a poem on it. His wife Jane then embroidered the lines around the valance of the bed and his daughter May embroidered a counterpane for it. It is simply splendid. There is also a very unusual stairway—the only one of its kind I have ever seen—a sort of dual staircase. You put one foot on one side of it and the other on the other side. Unfortunately, no pictures could be taken in the house so I will have to try to commit it to memory. The décor is purely minimalist—remember those famous words of Morris: Do not have anything in your home that you do not consider both beautiful and useful. Words that we could all live by, aren’t they? Especially in these days when all you hear about is de-cluttering.
            At Kelmscott, Morris who adored books, founded the Kelmscott Press which brought out The Complete Works of Chaucer, among others. It had illustrations by the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. It kept Morris busy for years as well as financially successful.
            The gardens at Kelmscott are also famous and quite beautiful for Morris was a passionate gardener. They completely surround the house and although small are impressive in their order and their beauty. It is a lovely place and I was so glad I finally had the chance to visit.
            Morris loved the house and passed away in it. He is buried in the neighboring village churchyard besides a bay bush. His wife and children were subsequently buried in the same plot. You can visit the old Tudor church which is in itself fascinating in its antiquity and then wander out into the churchyard to see the gravestone that is withering rapidly with age. After Morris’ death, his widow and daughters continued to live in Kelmscott Manor until Jane passed away. May became guardian to her sister Jenny and moved to their London home in Hammersmith where she lived until Jenny died. May ultimately returned to Kelmscott Manor and, watching it fade away, willed it to the Rector of Exeter College who held on to it for sometime. When it was found that maintenance was too expensive, the college passed it on to a London company of Antiquarians who restored it and have run it as a museum. Indeed it is thanks to May that her father’s memory lives on so vividly. The Pre-Raphaelite Movement was a brief moment in time but it left us a wonderful modern vision for the future that was both practical and beautiful.
Seeing Morris’ Grave:
            We walked down the lane outside Kelmscott Manor to the village parish church to see the graves of the Morris family besides a bay bush. The church itself is old and plain but memorial plaques to the Turners are all over the wall. Most visitors come in now because of the association with Morris. It is a rather plain grave and the lettering is fast fading through wind erosion—but it is worth seeing especially if one has read the account of his burial by his friend Murray and seen the portrait of Morris on his death bed by the same artist.             
Heading on to Fairford:
             Sue and Tony were keen for me to see the Parish Church of Fairford which is about a 15 minute drive away because it contains the only completely intact set of medieval stained glass in the UK. Indeed, the drive through the Cotswolds on the edge of Gloucestershire and Wiltshire was simply delightful and brought back to my mind memories of the lovely drives Llew, Chriselle and I had taken through the Cotswolds, several years ago—one of our loveliest family holidays. There were the narrowest pathways through the fields which made it difficult for two vehicles to pass together—but thoughtful bypass areas made it possible for cars to pass back and forth. Fields lying fallow lay on either side of the road and with the sun shining golden upon the earth, it was a delightful drive past the village of Lechlade and into Fairford.
The Stained Glass of Fairford Church:
            The church at Fairford dates back to Tudor times—the times of Henry Tudor who is also known as Henry VII, father of the infamous Henry VIII.   As a patron of the church, the stained glass panels that were designed and fitted in his time feature his daughter Margaret (in disguise and in Tudor dress) in two panels. They are full of the most exquisite detail because all stained glass windows were used for ecclesiastical teaching—as catechism tools at a time when few people could read.
            We encircled the church with the useful book that the lady at the entrance handed us and we were able to interpret the depictions from the Bible on glass. Of course, a large number of the windows have been restored through the centuries but it was still pretty remarkable to be in that space. Other Tudor features of the church are also noteworthy—a Baptismal font that dates back centuries, a carved wooden choir screen, pews and choir stalls. Indeed it was atmospheric and I am so glad my friends suggested we see this church to which people from all over the world come to catch a glimpse.
Drive Back to Oxford:
            The drive back to Oxford was wonderful—again, the Cotswolds are special and I feel thrilled to return each time I do. But while Tony and Sue relaxed, I headed to my next appointment.
Drinks with my Former Oxford Landlords:
            Five years ago, when I had a Fellowship of sorts at St. Antony’s College, Oxford, I had stayed with retired dons, Elizabeth and David Longrigg in their grand old North Oxford English Gothic mansion at 23 Norham Road right off Norham Gardens about which the English novelist Penelope Lively wrote a novel called The House at Norham Gardens. I had occupied the sun room just above the car port and I have the happiest memories of my time there.
            When I informed Mrs. Longrigg (which whom I have stayed in email contact) that I would be visiting Oxford, she invited me over for drinks. The long walk from South Oxford to North Oxford took me 45 minutes but I passed through some of my most beloved parts of the city—St. Aldates, Carfax, Cornmarket, The Martyrs Memorial, the two pubs that the Inklings popularized: The Lamb and Flagand The Eagle and Child, the War Memorial at St. Giles—and then I was at Parks Road and admiring the architecture of the North Oxford homes. How lucky I have been to have lived in such places and what warm and happy memories that have left in my heart!      
            The Longriggs were just lovely and I had the nicest time with them. They had drinks all set out—wine, elderflower water (which I had), and nibbles: taramasalata on crackers, chips with guacamole, pickled olives. It was so very nice of them. We stayed and chatted—there was so much to catch up on. I find them intensely interesting and their stories of family successes and their travels kept me enthralled. I discovered that their grandson Arthur Bowen, their daughter’s son, played Harry Potter’s son Albus Potter in the last Harry Potter movie and was interviewed in various magazines that they proudly display on their piano! How marvelous! Indeed, it was a fabulous evening and after spending over an hour with them, I left for the 45 minute walk back to Sue and Tony’s where I arrived just in time for dinner.
Dinner at Home with Sue and Tony:
            Sue had cooked salmon quite expertly indeed with chilli and fresh ginger—delicious! There were a variety of vegetables grown in their ‘allotment’—a patch of land not too far away where they grow their own veg. There were beetroots, broad beans (what Americans call Lima beans), boiled potatoes with mint. It was a very colorful plate indeed and everything was delicious. For dessert, there were fresh raspberries with Greek yoghurt—so healthy, so fresh. We chatted a whole lot and tried to plan our days together.
            And soon it was time to say goodbye and go to bed after what had been a tremendously productive day and one I will long remember.    
              Until tomorrow, cheerio!

V&A Museum Treasures, British Library & Battersea Dinner Party

Jul31


Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Battersea, London
V&A Museum, British Library and a Dinner Party in Battersea
            I am slowly getting accustomed to the trains passing outside my window—although a particularly long goods train in the middle of the night woke me up with a start. Still, brekkie done (muesli and Greek honey yogurt), I was ready to start my day. Rain all night and a drizzle in the morning fell in quite well with my plans to spend most of the day indoors.
            I also quickly mastered the bus routes at Battersea and found that not having a Tube station nearby was not a disadvantage at all as I could be in Victoria or at South Kensington in about 15 minutes on the frequent buses and the many routes that ply Battersea High Street.
            So off I went on the 345 bus to South Kensington directly to the Victoria and Albert Museum to start my self-guided tour of its highlights by using its very useful leaflet entitled “Twenty Treasures of the V&A”. I have to admit that it was a daunting task finding them all as the Cast Court was closed and access to the rest of the galleries that led from it kept me going around in circles. I have also forgotten a lot of what I saw as I am writing this installment of my blog a full week after seeing them. But here is what I remember:
1. Samson Killing the Phillistine by Giambologna—Sculpture in the new Renaissance Court
2. The Luck of Edenhall Medieval Glass Beaker—British.
3. Gloucestershire Candlestick
4. The Heneage Jewel—gold bauble with image of Elizabeth I engraved on it
5. The Bed of Melville
6. Marble Sculpture of Handel
7. Ardabil Carpet
8. Painting of a Paris Theatrical Sceneby Degas
9. Tipu’s Tiger
10. The Raphael Cartoons
Well, I can’t recall the rest but they were all quite fascinating. In my attempt to find them, I traversed some of my favorite parts of the museum—especially the Jewelry Galleries that I never miss and where I could spend an hour simply gazing upon the 18th century silver chatelaine.
            I was also delighted to come upon the three huge silver lions that are copies of the ones in the Throne Room of the Rosenborg Palace in Copenhagen where Llew and I had seen the original not even three weeks ago.
            I grabbed a bite to eat in the incredibly beautiful Morris Room—a scone with cream and jam and a pot of tea and then I was off.
Work at the British Library:
            I took the bus then to the British Library and spent the entire afternoon working at the British Library in the Asian Reading Room on the third floor. As always happens when I am at work, time simply gallops by and before I knew it, I had to leave and rush off to Battersea again. However, I managed to get a great deal of work in the several hours I spent there, so it was truly grateful for the opportunity to gain access to the India House Records that I needed to examine in connection with my book.
A Dinner Party with New Friends:
            My friend Roz decided to throw a dinner party at her place and to invite the new American friends I had made at the opening of her son Alex’s solo art exhibition.  They were Ginny (short for Virginia) and Richard. Roz also invited an old friend of her’s that I have met before and whom I really liked—Lizzie Rodgers. So we were a very merry group as we gathered for drinks in her lovely garden with its loads of colorful flowers and the regular whoosh of trains on the tracks behind us. We sipped our drinks and nibbled our nibbles and then we went inside to enjoy one of Roz’s great meals for she is an amazing chef. Roz’s Chicken Fingers with mixed roasted veggies were great as was her salad and her cherry and blueberry crumble that I helped her make. Conversation was fun and there was a great deal of laughter around the table.
            But because the best dinner parties must eventually end, her guests were off about 11.00pm. I had, fortunately, packed my backpack ready for my early morning departure on the coach to Oxford, so I excused myself and went straight up to bed.
         Until tomorrow, Cheerio!

Ambling in Albertopolis

Jul30


Monday, July 29, 2013
Battersea, London
            Waking up to the sound of trains is a novel experience but a nice romantic one. There is a railroad line that runs just outside my window here in Battersea and planes on the Heathrow Path, not to mention helicopters ascending and descending over the helipad poised over the Thames where river boats ply all day long—all these journeys, these to-ings and fro-ings are deeply romantic to me.
            I worked for three steady hours after a muesli brekkie. Waking early provides me with the opportunity to do focussed editing work and to redraft my proposal to the publishers. I also had a request letter for a transcript to draft and sundry other email correspondence items to complete. Before I knew it, it was 11.30 am—where does the time go? It was great to have Alexander, Roz’s son, for company as he pottered around on the lower level having come in after 2.00 am last night. He leaves for Oxford (where he lives) later today. As I worked on my laptop, I watched birds—a variety and a great multitude of them in Roz’s garden—Alexander informed me that the small yellow ones are probably blue tits—go figure! There were also large strange ones I’d never seen before—wood pigeons, he said. Llew would have loved it.
            At 11. 30 am, I was at the bus stop intending to get to Vauxhall to take the Tube to start my ambles around Albertopolis as the area around the Victoria and Albert (V&A) Museum is called. But I have become strangely proficient in the use of the red buses and when one came along proclaiming “South Kensington” as its destination, I was on it like a bonnet! It was a lovely ride—through Chelsea (I love the King’s Road and Fulham Road and could dally on them forever) and the Bluebird Cafe where I have been intending to eat for ages and into “South Ken” which is Little Paris, really, what with the plethora of French shops that have cluttered the area.
           
Revisiting the V&A:    
           It wasn’t long before I entered the V&A that looked very different from what I remembered. It didn’t take me long to realize that a whole new wing had been added to it on the right—a wing that was under renovation while I had lived in London—it turned out to be the new Medieval and Renaissance Wing that was opened soon in late 2009, soon after I left. Naturally, I had to take a tour of it and to my good luck, there was one beginning in just two minutes: a special tour of the Medieval and Renaissance Wing. It wound around the Museum’s treasures—from the court on the ground floor where the guide pointed out the Italian medieval stone wells, the stema (signature stone) of Pope Leo X and Giamdebologna’s Samson Wrestling the Philistine—which is one of the museum’s treasures. (Indeed, it did not take me long to discover a wonderful leaflet entitled ”Twenty Treasures of the V&A” that points visitors in the direction of its most notable items in a collections whose number is staggering. And naturally, I resolved that I would return tomorrow to do a self-guided tour of them as instructions and directions are very clearly marked on the leaflet. However, one does now have to pay one pound for the Floor Plan (as also in the National Gallery)—so it is now worth holding on to these after one’s visit instead of consigning them to the trash bins.  
            Upstairs, our tour took us to a stone Gothic Altar, to the Gloucester Candlestick (made of gilded base metal using the lost wax technique), to the stained glass window panels from La Chapelle in Paris (not clear how they got to the V&A), to completely different stained glass panels from the Church of the Stained Blood in Bruges in Belgium (also not clear how they got to the V&A), to the massive tapestry entitled The Boar Hunt—one of a series of four that details all kinds of medieval hunting (bear, boar, deer) among lords and ladies dressed to kill (pun intended), a most unusual marble bas relief of the Ascension of Christ by Donatello in a space devoted exclusively to his work (as the V&A has the most works by him outside of Italy) and finally a studiola with very interesting ceramic ceiling rondels by Lucca della Robbia that portrays the 12 months of the agricultural year.
            By then, it was nearly 12. 30 pm and I rushed downstairs to the Information Desk to join the Introductory Tour which is what the Museum’s Highlights Tour is called. This docent, named Deborah, was simply amazing—passionate and energetic and so knowledgeable. She started with the Ardabil Carpet which is dimly lit for just 10 minutes on the hour and the half hour—it is indeed the largest carpet of its quality in the world and arrived in the V&A via Persia and Los Angeles (having fallen temporarily in the possession of J. Paul Getty). Upstairs, we paused at the terracotta Bust of Henry Tudor that remained in the possession of his son Henry VIII and stopped at the Hereford Altar Panel—a confection of Victorian design in multi-media: metal, studded semi-precious stones, marble, gilded wood, terracotta (figures of Christ and the angels) meant for the church and designed by the great Sir George Gilbert Scott but never installed there. This vantage point gave us an opportunity to gaze upon one of my favorite works in the Museum—the softly colored Chandelier by Dale Chihuly that cascades over the Main Information Desk echoing the soft colors on the Victorian stained glass window panes from where Chihuly took his inspiration when commissioned the work.
            In the Renaissance and Medieval Galleries (constructed in imitation of the Millennium Dome installed in the British Museum), she pointed out the New Court(with its fountains and its sculpture), we skimmed past the Casts Court that was temporarily closed (the casts are taken from the world’s greatest sculpture so that the V&A has plaster casts of Rome’s Trajan Columnand Florence’s David, both by Michaelangelo and by Donatello and loads of Gothic altars from French cathedrals including the famous entrance to Chartres Cathedral. We saw the side of a timber building from Bishop’s Gate in London that was left untouched by the Great Fire of 1666 and then went on to the Back courtyard where we saw a new bronze sculptural installation named The Three Graces by a contemporary sculptor Georg Baeslitz—a truly ugly installation that the guide said was “like Marmite—you either love it or hate it”. And I hated it!
            From there, we moved on to the Indian Wing where she led us to Tipu’s Tiger (of course!)—maybe the museum’s best-known object: a music box that when wound plays the sounds of a tiger’s roars and the screams of the Englishman who he is mauling to death–really gruesome but a good indication of the hatred with which the English were held in Mysore where Tipu Sultan fought hard to keep them at bay. The large wooden music box is entirely Indian made and very impressive indeed. She also pointed out Shah Jehan’s nephrite Jade drinking cup exquisitely carved with a lotus base and the detailed head of a ram on the handle. And finally our tour ended at the Raphael Cartoons on long-term loan from the Queen to whom they belong. Commissioned by the same Leo X who built the Sistine Chapel, they are colored drawings in tempura by Raphael for the tapestry weavers who ultimately wove the masterpieces that hang in the Vatican. The V&A has one of the tapestries and it is hung right opposite its Cartoon illustrating the manner in which the finished tapestry was a mirror image of its cartoon.
            I cannot leave the V&A without visiting its splendid cafeteria which is probably the best in the world. It is composed of what is known as the Morris, Poynter and Gamble Rooms, each of which has been designed and decorated by one of the great Arts and Crafts practitioners of the day. I particularly loved the ceramic walls and the stained glass windows and I settled down with a cheddar, celery and apple scone served with butter and a lovely pot of Darjeeling—which served as my lunch, to enable me to take in the grandeur of my surroundings. How much I love the V&A, I realized, and what a treat it is to return to this place, time after time.
           
Off to Pick up my Suitcase:
            Leaving the museum unwillingly behind me, I arrived at South Ken Tube station (using the useful underground passage way that links the V&A with the station) in order to get to Abbey Road to pick up my suitcase from Raquel’s place. I was there in 20 minutes and was disappointed not to find anyone at home. I cleared out my case and the fridge that had a few of my food items in it and was on my way walking towards the Tube station in order to get my case to my new digs in Battersea when along Grove End Road came Raquel with son Jonas and a huge shopping trolley in tow—she had just gone to the supermarket. We had a long and affectionate reunion on the street but because my case was heavy, I did not return to her place. Instead, I carried on to Battersea and was amazed to reach there in about half an hour.
            A rest and a nap was called for after hauling my 20 kg case across London (although I have to say, given the lifts and escalator everywhere, I did not have a hard time of it at all) and curled up on my bed on the top level of the house for my 20 minutes shut-eye.
           
A Walking Tour of  Alberotopolis:
At 5. 15pm, I left the house with camera, map and Oyster card in my pocket and on the bus I went back to South Ken to start my Walking Tour of Albertopolis—as the area is known. It was the brain child of Prince Albert (Victoria’s beloved husband), a German who brought with him all the culture and polish of the German court to an England that was in the midst of the Industrial Revolution. Marrying England’s manufacturing genius with Europe’s artistry seemed like a no-brainer for Albert who came up with the idea of the Great Exhibition (of 1851) to showcase the amazing wonders that man was capable of creating. He was also a dedicated lover of architecture and in founding the Royal Academies of Music and Art and Geography and Organists and Science, what he created was a miniature town—full of wondrous red brick buildings with elaborate black wrought-iron balconies (slightly imitating the French windows of neighbors across the Channel), fancy stucco embellishments and often exuberant carvings. And that is Albertopolis. I thought so much of Chriselle, because on her last trip to London when she had visited the area with me, she had simply fallen in love with it and with its architecture and couldn’t get enough of it.  
Everyone knows the story of how heart-broken Victoria was when she lost Albert to typhoid when he was merely 41 and how determined she was to create a memorial to him that would stun the viewer. Well, my walk wound me around the spherical Royal Albert Hall where there was a serpentine queue waiting for Standing Room to see the BBC Prom concerts that occur throughout the month of July and into August. I was sorely tempted to stand in it myself because for a mere five pounds, I could have listened to a world-class orchestra—but I had told my friend Roz I would be home with her for dinner.
So instead I took pictures of the wonderful sculpture of Albert at the back of the Hall and made my way to Kensington Gore—the road in front which is dominated by George Gilbert Scott’s brilliant Albert Memorial designed to look like a medieval market cross—but lavishly gilded. Albert who has recentlty been re-gilded sits there in larger-than-life mode with the catalogue of the great Exhibition on his knee (brilliant idea!) on a dais surrounded by at least 200 personages from the past that represent art and science and learning and flanked on four sides by marble sculpture that represents Asia (elephant), Africa (camel), Europe (bull) and America (bison). It is a truly an extraordinary piece of work and I felt the same kind of awe that I feel at the Taj Mahal as I circumnavigated its splendor. Many many pictures later, I was finally ready to leave and take the bus back to Battersea where I reached at almost 7.00 pm.
Roz helped me throw in a load of laundry and then I was ready to go on a long walk again, at her suggestion, along the Thames Path. What a great suggestion it was! We strolled, on a perfect summer’s evening with only the slightest hint of rain in the air, to the waterfront, past the helipad to arrive at the lovely Georgian church of St. Mary where William Blake had married and on to her ‘local’, The Woodman of Battersea, where I had “a swift half” pint of Guinness and she sipped a Sauvignon Blanc and we gabbed non-stop as we tried to catch up on all that has happened in our respective lives since the last time we chatted. It was a simply fabulous evening with a dear friend of whom I am really fond.

          Back home, where Oscar, Roz’s beautiful Burmese cat is making himself very much at home on my lap, at nearly 10.00 pm, we had a very light but very delicious dinner: smoked salmon with buttered bread and salad with ice-cream for dessert. What a great day! At close to midnight, I reviewed and responded to email and fell asleep.             

Third Time Lucky—At Chiswick House Finally!

Jul29


Sunday, July 28, 2013
London
Third Time Lucky—At Chiswick House Finally!
            Today’s excursion occurred quite by chance. In fact, when the day dawned, all that struck me was that it was Moving Day again—this past week seemed to have flown! But my friends Chris and Raquel were returning from the States late in the evening and I intended to move out by 7. 30 pm. With most of my packing done yesterday, I awoke at about 6. 30 am today, blogged for a bit, then finished up the last odds and ends of my packing before planning out my day.
Sunday Service at St. George’s, Bloomsbury:
            Regular readers of this blog will know that on Sundays in London, I usually seek out a historic church in which to attend Service as I love the variety of services that the various churches offer and because it permits me to peruse the gorgeous ecclesiastical architecture of this city. Having seen St. George’s Church at Bloomsbury merely from the outside on my walk around Bloomsbury, the other day, I decided to attend the 10. 30 am service there (I discovered the timing of the service from the church’s website).
I left my place on Abbey Road at 10.00 am and by 10. 25am, I was at Bloomsbury. The church gates were open and I found myself inside a space that exemplified English Baroque to the T. This church is the work of Nicholas Hawksmoor, a pupil of Christopher Wren, who had learned everything he knew from Inigo Jones. Well, there it was—plainly visible to the eye: the classical discipline of Inigo Jones and the Baroque exuberance of Wren brilliantly combined in a space that was imposing yet austere. Anyone familiar with Hawkmoor’s work will recognize his style: I have seen his work at St. Alfrege’s Church in Greenwich and at Christ Church, Spitalfields—so it was easy for me to recognize his signature touches: broad Greek columns (his were Corinthian), classical proportions and 18th century symmetry, marquetry around the altar in woods of many colors, simplicity without too much color. The church was recently refurbished and it is a grand space indeed. The service was equally interesting. It didn’t have the full choral grandeur of the services I have attended these past two Sundays (at St. Paul’s Cathedral and the Queen’s Chapel at St. James Palace respectively) but it was still absorbing. The Rev. David Peebles preached a very stirring sermon, the Lectors were wonderful—clear and full of expression. As always, the pastor made it a point to introduce himself to me at the end of the service and say “Welcome”. I was invited to stay for coffee after the service but I had been on an empty stomach and it was 11. 45am. I needed something more than coffee—much more than coffee!
A Full English Breakfast at the Bloomsbury Café:
            It was time to go out in search of sustenance—big time sustenance! A Full English Breakfast, I thought, would be in order. It would be my Brunch since I was unlikely to eat anything again until dinner time. Bloomsbury—being the home of the British Museum and always crawling with visitors—has no dearth of places offering this most nourishing of meals. So it was not surprising that I found my way to the Bloomsbury Café on Bloomsbury Street to partake of the Full English Breakfast that was advertised on the blackboard on the sidewalk. That and an Americano coffee, I told the proprietor, would be my order.
            A few minutes later, it arrived—my Full-Blown Heart Attack on a Plate! Two scrambled eggs, 2 sausages, 4 rashers of bacon, baked beans, 2 slices of white buttered toast (yes, yes, I know the grilled tomatoes and mushrooms were missing, but this was still pretty humongous!) It took me a good half an hour to savor all of it and by 12. 30 pm (as Bloomsbury slowly came to tourist life), I paid my bill (8.25 pounds), thanked the owner for his excellent meal and made my way to my office at NYU to get some material printed—only to realize that it is no longer open on Sundays. Oh well!
Off To Victoria for a Ticket to Oxford:
            When I spied a 74 bus coming along with the sign stating that it would terminate at Victoria, I jumped into it to run my next errand: the purchasing of my return ticket to Oxford (as I will be heading there on Wednesday). I thoroughly enjoyed the bus ride along Oxford Street and into Mayfair and Belgravia before we arrived at Victoria Bus Station where I changed into another bus to get to the Coach Station. Thankfully, the queue was short and I ended up getting a return ticket at a cheaper fare than was being offered on the website; plus I did not need to pay the delivery charges that I simply could not get rid of on the site—I ended up saving nearly four pounds on my ticket and this pleased me absurdly!
Finally Getting to Chiswick House:
            It was about 1. 30 by then and quite suddenly, I decided that this would be the time to make a trip to Chiswick (pronounced ‘Chizzik’) to get inside Chiswick House, a grand 18th century mansion on the outskirts of the city. On two occasions in the past when I have made the trip there, my intentions of visiting the house were thwarted. Maintained by the English Heritage, a not-for-profit organization that preserves heritage properties in the UK, it is only open three days a week. When I had visited with my friend Amy, five years ago, we had arrived on a day when it was closed. Three months ago, when I arrived there with another friend Raquel, there was a Camellia Festival on that had closed down the house temporarily for a week. I crossed my fingers and hoped it would be third time lucky. And indeed it was!
            By the time I got to Chiswick High Street on the Tube (getting off at Tunham Green), it was about 3. 30 pm but I could not resist poking around the thrift shops that are plentiful in the area. I did find a lovely shiny bracelet and I was delighted with it. Then, fairly racing along Devonshire Road to the venue (which I remembered well from my last visit), I reached Chiswick House at 4. 00 pm. This left me one hour to see the house (I did not wish to spend time in the gardens which are free to the public). I paid the entry fee of 5. 40 pounds and began my tour of the house. But first, I think, a little historical information might be in order.
            Chiswick House was the brain child of Richard Boyle, 3rd Earl of Burlington (known as Lord Burlington), who was born with a golden spoon in his mouth, the son of landed gentry. His parents already owned vast property in Piccadilly including Burlington House (which became the Royal Academy of Arts). At the age of 21, as was the custom at the time, Lord B undertook the Grand Tour—a long journey through Europe which was felt to complete the education of any young aristocrat of the time (this was the early-18th century). This experience was life-changing for him as, in Italy, he became introduced to the work of Andrea Palladio whose showpiece city of Vicenza took his breath away. He resolved to build himself a villa similar in form and substance to the great work of Palladio and was fortunate to come upon the English architect Inigo Jones who had just returned from Italy himself and been completely swept away by Palladio’s genius.   
            Teaming up with Jones, Lord B created Chiswick House, a mansion that is plainly inspired by Villa la Rotunda in Vicenza: anyone who had visited the latter in Italy will easily spot the similarities at Chiswick House. Indeed as someone who was completely taken by Palladio’s work at Villa La Rotunda in Vicenza, I was profoundly interested in Chiswick House. There was a short audio-visual presentation that introduced Burlington’s vision and led one into the secrets of this amazing home.
An audio guide ably led us on a self-guided tour that I found intensely fascinating. The ground floor is a series of rooms that once accommodated Lord B’s library and his smoking room and led into the original home that his parents had owned (destroyed by the fifth Earl in the 19th century). We were also led into the basement cellar with its numerous kegs of wine.         But the true glories of the house are on the top story where room after room simply dazzles the eye—for Lord B was an avid collector who returned from the Grand Tour with 870 wooden crates containing Italian art including two priceless porphyry (rare purple marble quarried in Egypt) vases and two gilded wooden table bases with Florentine pietra dura (inlaid) marble tops. There are a multitude of paintings in the rooms—of which the Red Velvet Room and the Green Velvet Room are the most sumptuous. There is also a Blue Velvet Room which is much smaller and which served as Lord B’s private study. The paintings include contemporary portraits by Van Dyke and Stephano Ricci, landscapes and scenes depicting classical mythology. An abundance of gilding, grand brass chandeliers, innumerable marble busts of Greek and Roman personages punctuate the home. It is simply glorious and I am delighted, just delighted, that I was finally able to feast my eyes upon this home. Considering that it is so easily accessible from London (the No. 190 bus from Hammersmith stops right outside the main gate of the property from where the house is only a few steps away—so much simpler to get to it this way than walking all the way from Tunham Green Tube statin as I had done), I simply can’t believe that it has taken me so long to see Chiswick House. 
I did stop to buy a drink (Elderflower and Grape Juice) at the famous café attached to the house as I badly needed a cool drink. Then I felt ready for the journey back home.
Indeed, I found the bus stop (190) right outside the main gate and when I reached Chiswick High Street, I realized that bus No. 27 went all the way to Chalk Farm past Baker Street. Well, it was a grand evening for a long drive and on it I hopped. It took me about an hour to reach Gloucester Place from where I hopped into the 189 bus to get to Abbey Road. I was dropped just opposite my building, Neville Court.
Moving To and Settling In Battersea:
            By 6.45 pm, I was home. It took me about half an hour to settle the last of my stuff and to clean and tidy up behind me as I did want to leave the place looking welcoming for my friends upon their return (I did leave them a bunch of gifts with a Thank-you card). I also left my suitcase behind with the intention of picking it up tomorrow. By 7. 15 pm, I took my backpack with me and left the house on the Tube to Vauxhall headed to my friend Roz’s place at Battersea.
            In under an hour (at 8. 10 pm to be precise), I was ringing Roz’s doorbell. We sat in her garden and ate a lovely meal of chicken fingers with couscous and a salad of lettuce and tomatoes with the last of the delicious Elderflower water that I really enjoy here in the UK. She showed me up to my room and I settled down with a nice hot shower and made myself comfortable in her darling three-level home that is filled with paintings, sculpture and other wonderful art work. Although I will only be here for two days before I leave for Oxford, I am looking forward to some great times with her. My room overlooks her garden and the train tracks and occasionally I hear a train steaming into the night as I type this. It is wonderfully comforting to be in the company of a good friend and I know I will have a very happy time here.
            Until tomorrow, Cheerio!            

Hurray for Hampstead–and its Heath!

Jul28


Saturday, July 27, 2013
London
            Although I went to bed at 1.00 am, I was up before 6.00 am—what is it about my body that allows it to make do with so little sleep? There wasn’t a moment to waste, however, as I am still fighting a submission deadline for a chapter in an Anglo-Indian anthology that has been returned to me by the editors. So after brekkie (foraged from whatever I could find in the fridge as my food supplies have run low and since I am moving again tomorrow, I don’t want to buy anything more)—which ended up being cereal flakes with raspberry yoghurt—I began working. Must admit I could not resist switching on Saturday Kitchen on the BBC for a glimpse of the very dishy James Martin. Bonus was the BBC Weather Woman Carol Kirkwood with her pretty smiling face and lovely demeanor. I worked swiftly and was all done in three hours. I am happy to say that my essay is ready to be emailed to the editors after I have read it through one more time tomorrow.
            Since tomorrow is Moving Day again (I go off to Battersea to my friend Roz as my friends Raquel and Chris return from the States), I began packing and put away the bulk of my clothes. As always, only last-minute things will go into my backpack tomorrow. I showered and changed and before I knew it, it was 2. 30 pm and time to leave for my appointment with my friend Murali outside Hampstead Underground Station. A quick look at the Tube map told me it would take almost an hour and three changes to get there by Tube, Another quick look at the Journey Planner website told me that I could take a single bus there (No. 46) from Finchley Road and get there in 22 minutes! Go Figure!
            So off I went to the bus stop and in three minutes, along rolled the bus. The journey took me through parts of London with which I am unfamiliar—Finchley, Swiss Cottage and then we arrived in Hampstead. Murali was there on cue and we began a Walking Tour of Hampstead from the DK Eyewitness Guides.
Rediscovering Hampstead:
            Hampstead is a delightful part of London. Far from the madding crowd, in a sense, it is removed from the bustle of the city. It has always been a rather exclusive neighborhood—ever since curing spa waters were found in its vicinity. For lovers of Britain’s domestic Victorian architecture such as Moi, it is a dream venue with its red brick façade houses, elaborately designed gables and rich stucco decoration. I never tire of simply running my eyes over the structures that line its leafy streets as I wander aimlessly through this unspoiled village. Hampstead is also home to some beautiful and historic stately houses—all of which I have visited over the years (Fenton House full of Chelsea porcelain and a collection of musical instruments; Kenwood which is one of Robert Adams’ first creations filled with its Wedgwood-style plasterwork and an amazing collection of art including a Vermeer; Burgh House which houses a Hampstead Museum; “2 Willow Road”,the home of architect Erno Goldfinger whose Modernist vision revolutionized British architecture in the 1960s; Keats’ Housein which the poet composed his best-known poem and my favorite, “Ode to a Nightingale”, etc. ). I was there to simply amble around at will enjoying the ambience of a lovely summer weekend afternoon.
            So off we went, down Flash Walk (so-called because soothing spa waters were once sold in flasks along this lane) and Well Walk (so-called because it was the location of the well that was the source of the soothing waters) and passing by the 1888 Public Baths and Wash House. Few people know that when many of the Anglo-Indian immigrants that I interviewed for my forthcoming book first arrived in the UK, they had no bathrooms in their homes. They used Public Baths where for one penny, they were handed a towel and a sliver of hard carbolic soap and allowed to bathe! Naturally, the advent of indoor bathrooms made these public baths redundant. Many have been converted into community swimming pools but some (such as the building at Hampstead) have remained disused because many councils do not have the resources to refurbish them for other uses (this is probably not the case in affluent Hampstead, of course, and it is possible that it has been simply retained as is to preserve its vintage feel). I was charmed to come upon it so suddenly and took a picture.
            We pressed on towards the New End Theater where, five years ago, I had escorted my students to a play. I discovered that two years ago it was converted into a mosque—how things change! We climbed up Christ Church Passageway and arrived at the quaint stone church called Christ Church with its leafy yard, its fairy-tale wooden doors sporting big iron door knockers and hardware and its lovely steeple reaching out towards blue skies. This is the true essence of Hampstead—a church here, a corner pub there, a garden café in a Georgian museum from which the sounds of classical music faintly emerged in another bend). Around a corner, we arrived at Jack Straw’s Castle which was once a pub but is now converted to a block of flats. Not very appealing in its attempts to imitate the crennellated towers of a castle, it was nevertheless a fine landmark at a corner where an ancient white milestone stood not too far away to mark the distance from Hampstead to Holborn—4 and a half miles! A pretty pond filled with bulrushes and green algea punctuates this part of Hampstead and along Spaniard Lane (known for its old Spaniard Inn where highwayman Dick Turpin once waylaid innocent travelers and robbed them), we found a narrow set of steps leading down to the famous Hampstead Heath (a Heath is a wide open parkland and London has a few).
           
A Walk on Hampstead Heath:
          It was a lovely day for a picnic on the Heath and there were many people enjoying the outdoors—sunbathing, walking dogs, pushing babies in strollers or jogging. We strolled along hoping to get to Parliament Hill which offers lovely views of London from St. Paul’s dome (which was once the most prominent landmark in the city) to the Shard whose skinny contours now dominate the skyline. It took us some looking to find the spot as the Heath is not marked at all and maps are conspicuous by their absence (I believe it has something to do with keeping the outdoors unspoiled). Eventually, we did find the trail leading to the hill and when we were fairly close to it, the skies opened, gently, and the drizzle began. We took shelter under a tree studded with tiny pine cones for at least 20 minutes as we waited out the shower.
            In a few minutes, we were at the top of the hill joining other walkers in identifying the rooftops (St. Paul’s, St. Pancras Station, Anish Kapoor’s sculpture at the Olympics site—which had revived for the weekend to mark the first anniversary of Britain’s most glorious recent weeks, the Gherkin, the Shard).  Seen in a lot of movies (the last scene from Notes on a Scandal with Judi Dench sitting on a bench at this spot overlooking the city is memorable), this part of London is special. Parliament Hill was supposedly given its name from Guy Fawkes and his cronies who climbed up this hill to view the Houses of Parliament blow up through their Gunpowder Plot. Happily, they never did, the plot was exposed and the conspirators hanged. But Parliament Hill retains a name that brings back regular memories of the historical event (just as much as the traditional fireworks do on Guy Fawkes Night).
            It was time to try to find Kenwood House but without maps on the Heath to guide us, we were at a complete loss. That’s when we ran into Sophia, a lovely young girl who walked hand in hand with her husband Jasmeet and who guided us vaguely towards its location. Ten minutes later,  after we had walked through a meadow with knee-high grass, we asked directions from another Indian man who informed us that Kenwood House was closed for renovation for a couple of years. With our mission aborted, we attempted to find an exit from the park and realized that we had reached Highgate by this point and were far away from Hampstead—for the Heath stretches over two major London hamlets.
            That’s when we spotted Sophia and Jasmeet again—they offered us a ride in their car back to Hampstead because they saw how clueless we were about how to proceed! It was a very welcome lift indeed and off we went. In ten minutes, we were at Hampstead again and after thanking them, we proceeded with our walk by continuing where we had left off before entering the Heath.
            So one we went but as the walk was not too well marked, we did our own thing and arrived finally at Church Row which has one of London’s best-preserved Georgian streets with perfectly intact Georgian terraced houses lining it. At its end is St. John’s Parish Church where the artist John Constable lies buried in the adjoining church yard. It was lovely to take in this very pretty part of the village.
            In a few moments, we rounded a bend that brought us back on the High Street. In search of sustenance (a cup of tea would have been welcome at this point), we eventually found the place I was seeking: an American burger and milk shakes place that I remembered well from having taken my students there, five years ago. We did find it, right off the High Street on a slope leading up a hill—Tinsel Town reportedly serves 50 kinds of burgers and shakes. We settled down and had lovely milks shakes filled with rich chocolate sauce and Ferrerro Rocher chocolate. They were so delicious, satisfying and comforting after we had walked for nearly 6 miles!
            It was then time to get back home and Murali and I jumped back on the 46 bus heading back to St. John’s Wood. A thunderstorm had begun and as Murali walked to the Tube station, I (who hate getting wet in the rain, especially the cold rain of the West) took shelter under a bus stop and waited it out.
            About 15 minutes later, I was home and hunkering down for the night by 10.00 pm as I suddenly felt very fatigued indeed.
             Until tomorrow, cheerio!            
                        
                              

Making Dreams Come True–Thames Barrier & Greenwich

Jul27


     
Friday, July 26, 2013
London-Greenwich-London
            Today I went to one of my favorite parts of London—Greenwich. It is an opportunity to cruise on the River Thames, to take in the grand architecture of Sir Christopher Wren (which, in the case of Greenwich, was actually inspired by India’s Taj Mahal) and to stroll through antiques’ stalls to pick up bricabrac. This time, I made a few more dreams come true—small ones, but dreams, nonetheless.
            I worked for about three hours in the morning—awaking early really does help me accomplish substantial work and leaves me guiltless about goofing off for the rest of the day in this distracting city. Brekkie done (walnut bread toast with peanut butter and goat cheese, tea) I showered, got myself organized and set off for Westminster Pier to pick up the ferry to Greenwich. Being a bit early for the 12. 30 ferry, however, I got off one stop later—at Waterloo—and began the South Bank Walk, according to DK Eyewitness Guides.
Strolling on the South Bank:
           Scores of shots of this part of London (from watching too many BBC TV shows—MI5, Sherlock Holmes—made me feel as if I were in a movie. Alighting from the Tube at Waterloo, I had the good sense to jump into a bus that was crossing Waterloo Bridge (as I knew I needed to conserve energy for all the walking I would do during the rest of the day), and alighted at the National Theater—that poor controversial building that Prince Charles described as “a carbuncle on the face of London”.  Others described it as a “war bunker”, yet others as a “power station”. So, no, visually appealing it is not. But it is practical and functional and I have quite grown to like it.
           I crossed the busy dual carriageway street (whoa, careful there!) and reached the other side: the Hayward Gallery has a huge topiary display depicting two people gardening. In the forecourt, I saw a multitude of potted plants and flowers and in the gallery itself it a special exhibition on Nek Chand, an Indian sculptor based in Chandigarh, Punjab, who designed the famous Rock Garden there to blend in with the brilliant architecture of the city by Le Corbusier. Years ago, I had visited Chandigarh with my late mother Edith who was a great admirer of the work of Le Corbusier and had motivated my Dad to arrange a family holiday of North India that would include Chandigarh. Looking at Nek Chand’s work took me back to amazing holidays with my parents during which my Mum had communicated and passed on her zeal for discovering new parts of the world. She was, when I look back now, indeed a ‘studied’ traveler—although, at that time, I was too young to realize it. It is exactly what I have become.
       Resolving to visit the Nek Chand exhibition on another day, I walked towards the BFI (British Film Institute) and browsed in the second-hand book stalls set up under the bridge by makeshift salesmen. Heading forward, I walked past the skate boarding rink that is heavily graffitied and which usually sports a bunch of young chaps flaunting their skills. This morning, it was empty. On I pressed towards Hungerford Bridge past the many riverside restaurants—I have eaten twice at the Wagamama there—before I received a call from Llew that I took sitting quayside. I also spoke to our friend Ira who is visiting Southport from Maine for the annual Pequot Library Sale which is going on this weekend.
Booking a Thames River Cruise:
           It was time for me to get on if I wished to board the 12. 30 pm ferry, so I crossed Hungerford Bridge on foot and arrived at the Embankment Tube station from where I took the train for one stop to Westminster. I easily found my way to the booking offices where there were about 8 people ahead of me buying tickets to board the ferries. Most folks go only as far as Greenwich which is a popular spot for a daytrip. But, as I said, this time round, I was making long-held dreams come true.
             Years ago, I had read a series of books on traveling in the UK and in London by Susan Allen Tott—books that were such pleasurable reading and that rang so many bells in my mind that I actually prescribed them for a Writing course I had taught while living and teaching in London. It was from Tott’s books that I had become aware of the Thames Flood Barrier and ever since then I was determined to go there and see it for myself. Unfortunately, it is only open to visitors for a limited time in the year—three months of summer—and since I have visited the UK usually in the winter, in recent years, I have been deprived of the opportunity to see it. Meanwhile, on more than one landing into Heathrow airport, I have seen the Barrier from the air, and it has only whetted my appetite to be present in person on the ground.
This was my big opportunity. Thames River Services (TRS) operates ferry trips all the way to the Thames Barrier (which is half an hour by boat beyond Greenwich). The return trip is pricey—18 pounds, but I was astute enough to go online and I found a 50% discount coupon which I printed out, presented at the counter and was given a return ticket for just 8. 75 pounds! A true bargain considering that I had paid 8 pounds for just one way on the Regent’s Canal Cruise from Camden Lock to Little Venice which was a much shorter trip!
Cruising the River Thames:
            No matter how often I do this, a cruise on the River Thames is an exciting adventure for me. It offers views of the city of the London from a unique perspective and you get to see bits of it that you could never see from any other angle. I have cruised to Greenwich on innumerable occasions and each time, I have discovered something more about this fabulous city.
            The cruise leaves from Westminster Pier which offers incomparable views of St. Steven’s Tower which is commonly known as “Big Ben” (which is really the name of the bell that is concealed in the uppermost compartment—not the clock, as many believe). The ferry turns around to bring the London Eye and the Aquariuminto focus. And then we were off: the sights from the river that stay with me are Shakespeare’s Globe Theater—this is exactly the perspective Queen Elizabeth I would have received when she came theater-visiting by boat from Hampton Court Palace or Richmond Palace. The Tate Modern, St. Paul’s Cathedralwith its imposing dome and twin spires, colorful Blackfriars Bridge, The Gerkin and now the Shard and further on, the magnificent Tower Bridge flanked on one side by the historic Tower of London (you can see the ominous entrance to Traitor’s Gate from the water) and on the other by Sir Norman Foster’s “collapsed pudding” of a building that is City Hall. St. Katherine’s Dock comes next with Dickens’ Pub close by. More pubs dot the bank: The Mayflower (denoting the spot from which the Pilgrims set out in a boat of the same name to colonize the New World), The Prospect of Whitbywhich has a noose hanging over the river (from which gangsters/pirates were once hung) and closer to Greenwich, the Trafalgar Tavern (about which more later). The shabby warehouses of Wapping and the wharfs (West India Wharf, Butler’s Wharf, etc.) that once lined the riverfront (and did brisk trade at a time, for centuries really, when the Thames was the commercial lifeblood of the country)  have all been converted into luxury flats whose prices present sticker shock or into fancy malls (gallerias) before the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf come into view—the major newspaper/press offices and all the big banks moved here from The City to create a small financial township on what is called The Isle of Dogs. The domes of Wren’s National Maritime College then come into view as do the dome-like structures that mark the entrance to the amazing Greenwich Foot Tunnel that offers a footpath under the river in another brilliant feat of Victorian engineering—and which I had once crossed—to denote that most people had reached their destination. They disembarked and our boat sailed on.
Approaching the Thames Flood Barrier:
            Once the bulk of the boat’s human cargo was released at Greenwich, the boat rounded the prominent hairpin bend in the river that is marked by the great white dome of the O2, known as the Millennium Dome. It resembles a gigantic white tent with gold prongs sticking out of it. Used for concerts and being full of restaurants and amusement arcades, there is a lot to keep one occupied inside. I had once attended an exhibition there on the Treasures of Tutankhamunthat had traveled from Cairo to London. A new contraption in a walkway along the circumference which, for a hefty price, allows visitors to climb over the outside of the dome—the bottom is very steep and most challenging.
            Once we left the Millemmium Dome behind, I knew it would not be long before I could catch my first glimpse of the Thames Flood Barrier. And indeed, in a few minutes, there it was. Now I am no engineer so I am afraid I cannot comprehend the complicated design and the operation of this incredible device. But this much I know: From time to time, the Thames has flooded her banks so badly that water has rushed into the Houses of Parliament and destroyed significant parts of the city. When this last happened (in the mid-1960s, I believe), it was decided to do something permanent to effectively prevent any such disaster from occurring, The result is the Thames Flood Barrier which consists of about 8 or 9 structures that were constructed across the width of the river. They look like giant stainless steel domes but they open out and close like the petals of a flower. Underneath each of them are massive flood gates. These are opened or closed to regulate the amount of water in the river. If there are heavy rains or too much melting snow entering the river to threaten floods, the gates are closed. If there is too little (which can threaten to stall river craft at the banks), they are opened. As a result of this manipulation of the volume of water, London has never been flooded and the device has been hailed as revolutionary.
            Visitors to the Thames Barrier by boat can merely encircle it in their craft. I do not believe there is a landing pier for if there was, we’d have disembarked to visit the Information Center. I believe that one can get to the center by land through Woolwich—but I am not certain.
At any rate, by boat, you get really up close and personal to the barrier and you are dwarfed by it. I was thrilled, absolutely thrilled, to be there and you had to pinch me to get me to believe that, after all these years, I was actually at the spot. The boat made a slow loop around one of the pillar-posts and started its return journey towards London. As for me, one of my dreams came true and I was simply beside myself.
Getting to Know Greenwich Again:
            Half an hour later, we were at Greenwich. I disembarked and began my walk using the DK Eyewitness Guide. It was 2. 30 pm and I had until 6.00 pm to catch the last ferry back to London. I had no intention of entering any of the historic buildings or museums for which the city is known as I had seen all the major ones. Still, it is a joy to wander around Wren’s great creations and I never miss the opportunity to do so.
            I fist passed by the Cutty Sark—this was a Victorian tea clipper (sailing ship) that was commissioned in 1868. For almost the next 100 years, during the golden years of the Raj, it had carried tea back from China and India to England to make it the world’s greatest nation of tea drinkers. It fell out of commission after World War II and lay in dry dock at Greenwich for decades until a recent fire on board destroyed most of it. It was closed for years while refurbishment and reconstruction went on and was only very recently reopened to the public (sometime after January 2012 which is when I was last in Greenwich).
            I had visited the Cutty Sark (after which the famous Scotch Whiskey is named) in 1989 on my first visit to the UK and had been fascinated by everything I had seen in the museum down below: the tea chests that held the merchandise, the smaller tea caddies, the collection of wonderful figureheads from various ships, etc. Hence, I did not visit it again this time round. It looks spanking new and gorgeous and if you are a kid, I would imagine, it would be a great thing to do.                 
            I should add, as an aside, that when I was in Greenwich in 1989, I had also seen the Gypsy Moth II which has been moved to Cowes on the Isle of Wight.
            My walk took me quite suddenly into Greenwich Market which offers a combination of things: arts and crafts, clothing, food and bricabrac. And here’s where my next dream came true. In these stalls set up in a giant indoor market, I came upon something I have been hunting for years—a ceramic Dundee Marmalade jar from the 1900s. These have become ever so rare and so sell for very heavy prices. The last one I saw was in a small antiques’ shop in Windsor, a few years ago, but when I had inquired, I was informed by the salesman that it was not for sale—he used it to stash his pens (which is what I plan to do with it). The grumpy old saleswoman had priced it at 8 pounds—a real steal, believe me—but embarrassingly, I had forgotten to replenish my stock of British cash and since I rely mainly on my credit card, I am often caught short. When this happened, I asked the lady if she could do better on the price. She firmly refused and informed me that such objects are now really hard to come by (as if I did not know this!). I literally counted out the last pennies in my purse and found that I was short of 10p! I asked her if she would give me a 10p discount and she said, “Well, I suppose so”. I was just thrilled (small pleasures, right?).
           
Lunch in a Traditional Eel House:
Yes, you read right—eel house! My walk led me to Godard’s of Greenwich, an old-fashioned eel house dating from the late 1880s where traditional British food has been served for well over a hundred years. Jellied eels were sold mainly to the Cockney population for whom it was a staple food. Today, few shops sell this delicacy and Godard’sis still one of them. I have to admit that I did not have the courage to try them but the shop does sell other traditional food such as Pie and Mash which is what I ordered: the counter is equally ancient as was the saleswoman (who refused to give me a taste of the eels as she said they are very expensive!) My Beef Pie was tasty but it needed a lot of salt and pepper sprinkled on it. The Mash was served with what she called “liquor”—she told me it is traditional—it was a whiteish gravy flecked with parsley (and it needed a lot of more salt too). It was a good meal, very filling and very welcome as I was starving by 3. 00 pm, when I was eating it and I felt well fuelled to continue my exploration of the area.

Greenwich Walk Continued:

My next stop was St. Alfrege’s Churchwhich was built by Nicholas Hawksmoor, Wren’s pupil, in the late 18thcentury but a church has stood on this spot for nearly a thousand years and is very historic. Henry VIII who was born at Greenwich Palace (no longer standing) was baptized here and poor Thomas Tallis, a musician and composer in Henry VIII’s reign who was falsely accused of adultery with Henry’s second wife, Anne Boleyn, was executed and buried in this churchyard. Unfortunately, it was closed but I managed to walk around the burial stones before I emerged out on the street again.
            I crossed Stockwell Road and at the corner of Nevada Road, I spied the Spread Eagle Pub which was once the watering post for tage coach horses of a past era. Opposite is the Tudor Rose Pubthat was established in the reign of Elizabeth I. I walked towards King William Road which is full of enticing shops offering souvenirs and historical memorabilia. And then I was at the gates of the National Maritime Museum which I have visited on a past occasion. I then walked towards the exquisite Queen’s House designed by Inigo Jones— which I have also visited before–a simple cube of a building in front of the famous Royal Observatory where one can stand astride the prime Meridian—it involves climbing up a steep hill which was not part of my walk but which I have straddled on a past visit as well. Across the Queen’s House are the gates of the National Maritime College and I could see that a graduation ceremony was in progress as varied cloaked young folks were walking all over the place. Right enough, it turned but to be Graduation Day at the University of Greenwich which now occupies these majestic buildings. This meant that, irritatingly, I was not able to go beyond the entrance of the amazing Chapel with its glorious altarpiece by Benjamin West and its elaborate Neo-Classical plasterwork ceiling, walls and balcony (location of one of the most memorable scenes in MI5). I crossed the yard to get to the Painted Hall, one of the masterpieces of British architecture, painted by James Thornhill, who also painted the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral. It shows George III in great glory, but here too, I was unable to get too far inside as it was closed except for graduation ticket holders. However, having seen it in years gone by, on many occasions, I was not too disappointed.           
            Getting out of the area of Wren’s handiwork, I walked to the riverfront to the Trafalgar Tavern which has stood on this site since the time of Nelson who was a frequent visitor—as were Wren and Charles Dickens. Inside, it is a collection of lovely rooms filled with painting, photographs, engravings, etc. that depict Greenwich in various guises. There is a great deal of history in this area and I am constantly fascinated by the allusions to the great names from the past.
I walked along the Thames Path then by the river and took in the sights of a number of water fowl—including a family of ducks swimming all in a row! It was only 4. 30 pm and I felt I had the time to go out and see one place that I had never seen before—the Fan Museum on Croom’s Hill.   
A Fan of the Fan Museum:
            By the time I climbed Croom’s Hill and arrived at the unusual Fan Museum, it was already 4. 45 pm. Although it costs 4 pounds to get into the museum, they let me get in for free since it was closing in 15 minutes. I made a beeline for the top floor to see the collection of fans of Helene Alexander that numbered 2,000. Over the years, the museum has added to its collection and today there are really unusual fans in the cases. There are traditional ladies hand held fans that are painted elaborately. I saw the use of ivory, tortoiseshell and wood in the creation of fan frames and all of it was wonderful. There was a short film that features the museum’s highlights—from fans that concealed pistols and hearing aids and mirrors to touch up make up. Everything was amazing and I loved it.
            On the walk back, I spied the home of Cecil Day-Lewis, Britain’s Poet Laureate at one time and the father of the famous actor Daniel Day-Lewis. This was where Daniel grew up and it tickled me to think that the riches of Greenwich were in his backyard. Croom’s Hill is filled with very well maintained old homes that are much sought-after real estate today.   
            It was time to get back to the Landing Pier and at 5. 30pm, I was on a boat, really fatigued, as I sailed back to London.
Dining a Deux with Michelle:
            At Westminster Pier, I took the Tube to get to the next place—Regent’s Street to the Ten Café at Café Royal, a very snazzy, very upscale space, where I had been invited to have dinner with my Bombay college classmate Michelle who is a lawyer specializing in European Law with the British government. We have remained close friends over the years and I always make sure I meet her when I am in London. Seeing her again was a real pleasure and, as always, we spent the next two hours just talking nineteen to the dozen as we caught up.
            As for the meal, it was wondrous. We both started with a cocktail—a Picador—that was reminiscent of a margarita. For starters, we had a Tomato Salad full of heirloom tomatoes, a marinara sauce and a garnish of parmesan flakes. For a main, Michelle chose the Salmon while I went with a Rump of Veal with a Bordelaise Sauce served with parmesan crisp on a bed of spinach. It was really very good and we enjoyed it thoroughly before we perused the desserts menu and decided to share the Cherry and Chocolate (a deconstructed Black Forest Cake) and a composition of puddings with Apricot—sorbet, soufflés, cream, candied. They were all fab. We had excellent service from our French waiter named Emericque and were just charmed by the lovely flower arrangements everywhere in the hotel which was truly gracious. He even took us to the Caviar and Champagne Tasting Bar which was a revelation—a room more reminiscent of the Palace of Versailles or Fontainbleu rather than a room on Regent’s.
            It was about 10.15 pm when we decided to leave after what had been an excellent dining experience. As someone who lives mainly on sandwiches when I am occupying the homes of other folks, to have both the company and the opportunity to enjoy a meal with a good friend was a special treat and I felt deeply grateful for it.
            I got back home at 11.00 pm and skyped with Chriselle for half an hour. It was great to see her again and to catch up on everything that has happened to us since our Baltic Sea cruise—so I had a lot of news to share with her.
About midnight, I fell asleep ready to take on the weekend.
Until tomorrow, cheerio!                   

Tate and Theater

Jul26

Thursday, July 25, 2013

London

Tate and Theater:

Since a lot of exciting things have been happening in my London life, but not too much by way of work, I decided to knuckle down and get some done. Awaking at 7.00 am, I had a quick brekkie (toast w/peanut butter and apricot jam and tea) and started to work right away—I am editing one of the chapters of my book for inclusion in an anthology on Anglo-Indians in the World Today that is being edited by Robyn Andrews of New Zealand and Fr. Brent Otto (S.J.) of Boston. They had returned the chapter to me with some recommendations for change. Once I got working on it, time just flew and before I knew it, it was 2.00 pm! I jumped up because I was hungry again: more toast for lunch with Stilton Cheese and a Salad (I am loving Pizza Express’ Balsamic Vinaigrette with its mustard overdose—nice and spicy!) and then I was off to greet the city.

Traipsing Among the Tate’s Collection:
The trouble with going to a museum to see one set of works (the Turners) is that you realize what a wealth of art exists in the rest of the museum—and you simply must see it all! So I took the Tube to Pimlico, walked to the Tate Britain and began at the beginning—literally! I progressed chronologically from the 1500s to the present. It was a treat to go from the Tudor portraits to the work of the Bloomsbury Group. I was especially delighted to see David Hockney’s portrait of Mr and Mrs. Clark and Percy which is one of Marina Vaizey’s 100 Masterpieces of Art—and which I had never seen before. I was under the impression that it was at the Tate Modern where I have often looked for it. So coming upon it was not just a surprise but a delight.

I spent about two hours at the Tate, then hopped into the 88 bus and rode to Trafalgar Square—I caught a quick glimpse of Katherina Fritsch’s newest sculpture on the Fourth Plinth that Mayor Boris Johnson unveiled yesterday—it is called Hahn/Cock and is a bright blue cockerel in what looks like plaster of Paris. Already a great deal of humor is being generated about it in the press and on the internet, not the least having to do with the double entendre of its title.

I did want to get to a printer at NYU to print out some revisions of my chapter but there wasn’t enough time. Instead I took a bus from Trafalgar Square that was heading towards Covent Garden as my next appointment was for dinner with my friend Rosemary.

Dinner at Dishoom:
         I have mentioned Dishoom earlier in the week—the new(er) Indian restaurant on Upper St. Martins Lane in Covent Garden with a twist: this one serves Bombay street food which is really derived from several different cultures (Chaat and chicken tikka from North Indian, pau bhaji from Maharashtra). I was curious to see how good it was and Roz was game. We met at 6.00 pm, found a table inside (it was already packed) and ordered black daal, pau bhaji and chicken tikka with chai for her and a rose and cardamom lassi for me. I have to say that although the menu has been beautifully designed and is made very enticing by its unusual descriptions of very humble food, I was not impressed at all by the taste. Nothing really was exceptional. With a roomali roti that we split, we just about managed to finish everything (and were glad we did not take the advice of our waiter to order 6 dishes to be shared by two people—even at 3 dishes, our order was a tad too much). Not a place to which I will go again—that’s for sure. I will stick to Carluccio’s and Hare and Tortoise (where I can eat repeatedly and never get fed-up—pun intended!).

To The Duchess Theater:
      Our next port of call was the Duchess Theater on Catherine Street to see August Wilson’s Fences. Roz’s brother-in-law Colin McFarlane has a major role in it (Bono) and she suggested we go to see it. I did not realize that she had seen it twice previously—she gave nothing away by way of the plot, thank goodness. I had never seen or read the play, so all was a revelation to me.

Fences is set in the American South in the 1950s and consists of a bunch of African-Americans in a domestic environment tussling with their ‘issues’—most of which have to do with difficult childhoods through tough parents. The adage” The Abused becomes the Abuser” came home to me again in the main character of Troy Maxson, played by the comedian Lenny Henry (of Chef fame). As Roz said, it was startling to see him in a serious role (although last year, I had seen him play a double role in Much Ado About Nothing at the National Theater—in one role, he was rather serious, in the other, he was a joker).Needless to say, he did a great job but Colin as Bono was just amazing—in fact, I think he was a much better actor in a terrific role. The production was directed by Paulette Randall and has been on a nation-wide tour. I understand that on Broadway, the role of Troy was played by Denzel Washington and Gabe was played by James Earl Jones. Well, these West End actors might not have been stars (well, Lenny Henry is, I suppose), but they did a sterling job and the play was very well received.

Meeting Theater Royalty:
      Roz had told me that there would be an opportunity to meet the show’s actors at the Stage Door after the play—and sure enough, when we did congregate there after the curtain came down, it was only a 10 minute wait before the cast emerged to the warm congratulations of those of us who were privileged enough to meet them. I exchanged a quick few sentences with Lenny Henry and with the actress who played Rose (Tanya Moodie) and then Colin emerged and suggested we get a drink at PJ’s, a pub around the corner which is a common West End hangout. So if you want to spot stars, go there!

We spent the next hour gabbing. Colin has a beautiful voice and I was not surprised to hear that he makes the bulk of his income from voiceovers—tomorrow he has a gig with Disney. The unexpected surprise was the appearance of Costanza, playwright August Wilson’s widow, who happened to be in London (from Seattle where she lives) and came to see the show. She joined us at our table and we ended up having a very interesting discussion on the play’s rather strange and baffling end. Other cast members also popped by and soon I had exchanged a few words with most of them. They are pleased with the good reviews and reception the play has received but were clearly exhausted—mainly from the heat in the theater.

While I am reveling in all this great London theater, it is pure torture to sit in these ancient theaters that have no air-conditioning, indeed no circulation of air through any means whatsoever. I was afraid I would pass out—it was so uncomfortably hot and I was fanning myself like a lunatic throughout. During the intermission, I had to get a beer as I felt deeply dehydrated inside. It is simply my bad fortune that I am in London during its most brutal summer in years and although I am used to the harsh heat of New York and the humidity of Bombay, I no longer have the ability to withstand them.

It was about 11. 40 when Roz and I got up to leave. We walked to the Leicester Square Tube station together where we parted to take different trains. I got off at Marble Arch, switched to a bus and was at home by 12. 20–not bad at all. A few minutes later, I was in bed after what had been another productive day in London Town.

Until tomorrow, Cheerio!

A Day of Lovely Reunions with Friends:

Jul25
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
London
 
A Day of Lovely Reunions with Friends:
            These later get-ups are great for making me feel rested but they are not good for getting work done. I am a Morning Person and at my most productive between 5.00 am and 9.00 am. And I hate the thought of having to wake up to an alarm—so I shall just hope I will be rising at an earlier hour soon.
            My day began with brekkie—multi-seeded bread with peanut butter and Wensleydale cheese—with tea. It is delicious but carb heavy and although all the walking I have been doing (an average of 5 miles a day—going up to 8 plus miles on some days) has already led to the loss of my “cruise weight”, it will be a while before I can come down to my desired weight again—it will mean losing about 8 pounds. Not something I am going to worry about while traveling…
           
Off to the Tate Britain to see the Turners:
            Over the last few times when I have been in London, I have not had the chance to peruse the marvelous collection of works by Turner for which the Tate Britain is famed as the bulk of the collection has been traveling to various parts of the world. Now that they are all back to their home at the Tate, I figured I should lose no time going out to see them. I took the Tube to Pimlico and walked the six minutes to the museum—if you recall I had met my friend Murali there last week but our viewing of the Turners had been cut short by his kind offer to take a look at my laptop—he is an IT Man and he fixed it in a jiffy! But he is now very busy and I figure that if I wait to go with him, it will never happen—so I set out on my own and what a lovely morning I had.
            The Turner Bequest, as it is known, put thousands (and I mean, thousands) of works by Turner (the Tate owns 37,000 works on paper alone) into the hands of the Tate Britain. To best exhibit them, the Tate specially constructed the Clore Gallery which houses the collection and allows the viewer to see the progression of Turner’s craftsmanship. From largely realistic canvasses, his work became progressively impressionistic; from representations of mythical scenes, he delved into nature and experimented freely with attempts to capture light—for which he became best known in his later life. I had a lovely morning examining his works which are spread out over 10 galleries and grouped quite beautifully. The bonus was that I also saw a few canvasses by John Constable, his contemporary, who painted scenes from the Stour Valley, Dedham, East Bergholt and other places where I had once taken my students on a day-long field-trip. Constable’s View of Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows—a spot I had actually stood upon to peruse the scene when I was in Salisbury–is now in the Tate. It has been moved recently from the National Gallery where it was on loan for years.
            Once I finished seeing the Turners, I drifted into other parts of the museum and ended up perusing grand sculpture by Jacob Epstein (his alabaster sculpture Jacob and the Angel is outstanding) and massive works by Henry Moore.  I also saw a lot of interesting paintings by Lowry and by Lucien Freud and I realized that to see the older works, I will need to come on another day.
            Llew called while I was in the galleries and I had a long chat with him. It was then time for me to leave the museum for my next appointment at the National Gallery with a very dear and very old friend.
Meeting Firdaus at the National:
            Dr. Firdaus Gandavia is one of my dearest and oldest friends. We met for the first time about 30 years ago when we were both on British Council Scholarships at Oxford where we became inseparable. Over the years, we have stayed close friends. He is a true Renaissance man: a financial whiz (he is a qualified Chartered Accountant and now the Chief Financial Executive of a huge firm in Bombay) with a Ph.D. in English Literature—his dissertation was on Graham Greene. Extremely well-read and a wonderful conversationalist, I enjoy the best times with him and when he suggested that we meet at the National at 1.00 pm, I jumped at it as he is in London on a short visit and returns to Bombay tomorrow. Naturally we had an affectionate reunion and then decided to go far away from the tourist mele of Trafalgar Square to have something to eat. I recommended Blackfriar’s Pub—so off we went.
Light Lunch at Blackfriar’s Pub:
            Blackfriar’s Pub near Blackfriar’s Bridge is one of London’s most unusual pubs—the exterior sports a fat black friar at the entrance and inside there are wonderful friezes on the walls and on the ceiling that portray friars dressed in black robes also marching around the walls that are plastered with axioms. It is a truly fun place. The wall sconces and the andirons at the fireplace also feature hooded friars—so there is a lot of visual interest to keep the eye riveted as you enjoy a draught ale. Ihis part of London.  believe that Blackfriars is so-called because in the distant pre-Reformation past, an order of monastic friars who wore black robes were based in the area 
          Firdaus was having a later big meal with another friend so opted for apple crumble and a coffee. Since it was a hot morning, I chose Eton Mess (a combination of vanilla ice-cream, strawberry sauce, fresh strawberries and meringue) and a pint of ale. This pub is one that participates in The Ale Trail—a plan which marks your card for every pint of ale you consume and gives you the fifth one for free. You can then also purchase the “I Walked The Ale Trail” T-shirt. The pubs are in The City—that part of London that is mainly financial and during the last week of my stay in The City, I shall try to walk it—it is one of the items on my London To-Do List.
            “Dr. G” (as I affectionately call my friend) and I had a lovely hour together and then it was time for me to go on to the next item on my agenda for the day—a Cruise upon Regent’s Canal in a Narrow Boat. Four years ago, when Chriselle had visited London during my stay here, we had tried to do the canal cruise but had missed it by just a few minutes. This time, I was determined to do it. Unfortunately, Dr. G had done it years ago and had to keep his next appointment at Hampstead, so he escorted me as far as Camden Town where we said goodbye before he proceeded to his next appointment and I went into the madness of the market.
Combing Camden Town:
            Camden Town has grown into this incredibly colorful area with loads of shops catering to a very specific demographic—young, hip, edgy. I saw tons of heavy boots, leather studded garments, steel jewelry—you name it, they had it. The market has developed around what is known as Camden Lock—a Lock upon the Regent’s Canal which was once the industrial life-blood of the city. The locks regulate the amount of water in the canal; they prevent flooding and stalling of the narrow boats that ply it. Today, these boats have been turned into cruisers for the pleasure of tourists. The usual route goes from Little Venice to Camden Town, but I chose to do the journey in the opposite direction from Camden Town to Little Venice.
            I chose Jason’s Boats because the cruise is done in a boat that is 107 years old—so it really did see the Industrial Revolution. The return journey cost 9 pounds but I had time for only a one-way cruise—which costs a hefty 8 pounds. Doesn’t make much sense to me, but there you have it. The return journey is a better financial bargain; but I simply did not have the time as I had a packed evening ahead of me.
Cruising Down Regent’s Canal:
            Fortunately, I had picked the perfect afternoon to go cruising down Regent’s Canal. The temperature was perfect, there was low humidity and a lovely gentle breeze blew throughout. We left the craziness of Camden Lock and cruised quietly down the narrow canal lined on the right hand side by the paved tow path—this was the path that the horse walked on as the barge was pulled by horses in the days before engines and automobiles. All commercial traffic used the canals—London had the Regent’s Canal and across the country, there was the Grand Union Canal that joined it. Goods and passengers were transported on these canals through hard-working horses and their human caretakers right through the 1900s and into the 20th.
            We passed by London Zoo and caught a glimpse of the birds in their large cages. It brought to my mind the trip that Chriselle and I had made to the zoo and the way in which we had bent laughing at the antics of the chimpanzees. Around Regent’s Park, we saw grand mansions whose rears look out on to the canal with their impeccable private gardens. Further on, at St. John’s Woods, we were at the back of the famous Lord’s Cricket Ground and in front of a power station which was once a coal-loading station in the days of steam power. The canals were used for commercial purposes right until the 1950s and the narrow boats on which entire families once lived in cramped quarters, were converted to pleasure craft. Occasionally we passed by long stretches of greenery with willow trees trailing their foliage into the water. It was very calming to be in such an environment and hard to believe one was still in Central London.
Eventually we reached Little Venice which has developed into a very upscale neighborhood with celebrities such as Judi Dench having purchased houses there. They are beautiful terraces structures and are very pleasing to the eye. We disembarked at Little Venice after what had been a truly lovely afternoon’s excursion and one I would gladly recommend to anyone wishing to get away from the tourist bustle but still wanting to enjoy the pleasures that London can offer.
  I walked briskly up to Paddington Underground Station and rode the Tube home to St. John’s Wood. This left me enough time for a short nap before I showered and got dressed for my next appointment—dinner with a former student.
Dinner at Hyde Park with Elise and James:
            Yes, today turned out to be a day of happy reunions and at 7. 30 pm, I was ringing the doorbell of my former NYU student, Elise, who lives in a lovely flat right opposite Hyde Park on Kensington High Street. Elise is unforgettable as she was a star student who took two of my courses as an undergrad at NYU and then travelled with me to India and Nepal on a Summer Trip that I had led. She is married to an English barrister named James and is the mother of two kids (Thomas, almost two and 8 month old Elektra). It is a little strange for me to look upon these students as mothers with children and domestic responsibilities when I once knew them as mere kids. While I had met Thomas on a past visit, I was looking forward to the pleasure of meeting the gorgeous Elektra and, of course, James.
            Elise’s cousin Greer was at her place when I reached but she left soon after. James arrived in due course from his chambers at Pump Court (which, coincidentally, happens to be one of my favorite parts of legal London). Elise offered champagne which I had to refuse (too afraid of my suphite allergy). I opted instead for a beer (perfect on a muggy day) and enjoyed her marvelous steak dinner—the steak done just right, medium rare as I like it. Served with boiled potatoes and green beans, it was the simplest food but perfectly seasoned with just salt and pepper to allow the flavor of the meat and the vegetables to come through without being drowned by spice. I loved it.
            We had a wonderful conversation and a great opportunity to catch up once the kids were asleep. I learned a great deal about James’ impressive background (Eton, Cambridge) and his work in Commercial Law which seems closely related to what Llew is now doing in his own relationship with the SEC. James was a Classics major so we had much to discuss and overall, it turned out to be a scintillating evening in the company of young people of whom I am intensely fond. Their abundance of blessings is easily evident in their setting and their interaction with each other and I couldn’t help feel deeply grateful for them.
            It was 10. 00 pm when I jumped up to go back home by taking the bus from across the street to Marble Arch and then changing to the 139 bus from there which dropped me right opposite my building on Abbey Road. I did nothing more than brush and floss my teeth and change for bed before I was out like a light.    
           Until tomorrow, Cheerio!                    

Royal Excitement, Bloomsbury and a Barbecue

Jul24


                               
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
London
            I have finally been awaking at a decent hour—that is to say, about 7.45 am (as I did this morning). The upside is that I feel well rested; the down side is that I am not really getting much work done. Today, certainly, with the royal excitement over the birth of an heir, I did none. But even I can be permitted to take a day off to participate in the general international jubilation, right?
Participating in a Historic Happening at Bucks House:
            So when I switched on the telly and discovered that people had already begun congregating outside Bucks House, aka Buckingham Palace, to catch a personal glimpse of the official announcement of the birth of the Prince of Cambridge on the easel set in the front yard, I decided that, being in London at such a time, I needed to mark the event in some way myself. Juvenile? Of course. But, like I said, this is one of those times when you throw all sorts of post-colonial reservations about decorous behavior to the wind and adopt the mob mentality. I am an unashamed Anglophile and I am a tourist in London—I combined the worst of what those labels imply and set out, after brekkie (Walnut Bread with Peanut Butter and Wensleydale Cheese with Ginger with Tea) and off I went on the Tube to St. James’ Park to join the dizzy throngs.
            There was a very orderly queue when I got there—but within three minutes, something crazy happened. The police removed the barriers that were keeping the frenzied crowds at bay behind the Palace gates where a golden easel had been sent up with the birth announcement. And because I happened to be right at the barrier actually questioning a bobby to find out how long the wait in the line would be (to take a close-up picture of the easel), I was right in the front—standing right at the gates, really really close to the easel. It enabled me to take clear pictures of it both with my camera and my Iphone and to compose my shots so well that I was able to get the front façade of the Palace as well as the guards wearing their traditional bearskin hats and a bobby walking officiously up and down past the gates. It was a right royal crush trying to get out of there once I had finished taking my pictures, but it was so worthwhile. The crowds at the gate were at least eight deep by the time I managed to worm (literally) my way out.
            Not content with my pictures and wondering if there were people congregated around the statue of Queen Victoria for a reason, I asked a bobby for more information. He replied, “Sorry Madam, but your guess is as good as mine. We are never given any information”. I took a few more fun pictures at the statue of the crowds at the gates as well as of The Mall sporting colorful Union Jacks from every flagpole and I soon realized that they had massed there for the Ceremony of the Changing of the Guard. I had had my share of royal excitement for the day as well as personal participation in a historic moment. I had something worthwhile to tell my grand kids someday—so off I went.
A Walking Tour of Bloomsbury and Fitzrovia:
            I walked about 6 minutes to Green Park, took the Tube from there to Russel Square and began my walking tour of Bloomsbury and Fitzrovia (from DK Eyewitness Guides). These tours are simply amazing. Although I am pretty much stomping familiar ground, they are introducing me to elements of the city that I had not previously known and forcing me to take note of the littlest details that tickle the history and literary buff in me. For example, I soon realized that Russel Square is probably named after Bertrand Russel who lived in Bloomsbury and whose residence is marked with a blue plaque. Well, I could be mistaken, but I think not.
            Anyway…I arrived at Russel Square which is one of the largest London squares and is dominated by the red terracotta façade of the Russel Hotel which was designed and built by Charles Doll. It is a stunning confection of pillars, wrought-iron and collonaded balconies and friezes that represent cherubs prancing around. Inside, I was assured the magnificence continued—so, of course, in I went to the lobby with its lavish marble décor and trim, its chandeliered staircase—so wide it could easily accommodate a grand piano—and its lovely wall sconces. Needless to say, I used the loo there and continued on my exploration.
            Across the gardens of Russel Square I went, past the statue of Francis, Duke of Bedford, to whom this vast acreage once belonged (and after whom neighboring Bedford Square is named). He is depicted with a plow and sheep at his feet as he was a country fellow who reveled in such pursuits. I walked down Bedford Street and arrived at Bloomsbury Square that gave its name to the literary club of sorts that was formed in the early 20th century known as the Bloomsbury Group and numbering among its members such luminaries as Virginia Woolf and her sundry relatives—(siblings and in-laws) and philosophers such as Russel, biographers such as Lytton Strachey and artists such as Dora Carrington—although none of them lived around this square (most lived around neighboring Gordon Square). .     
            I sat on a garden bench for a while, then spied the flag and the sign of Le Cordon Bleu along one of the streets—in I went as I have been familiar with this name for decades (as a child I used to read my Mum’s issues of Woman and Home magazine that often mentioned the Cordon Bleu School of Cookery). I went inside and found it to be a cooking school indeed. Unfortunately, I will not be long enough in London to take one of their courses which go on for a few weeks (although I would dearly love to do so). Instead I contented myself buying some of the very reasonably priced goodies in their show cases and then walking out.
            The rain had begun—never thought I would be grateful for rain, but it immediately brought down the temperature in sizzling, humid London and made it much more bearable. I took shelter in a newsagents shop and ended up buying a copy of The Times in order to preserve its front page with the historic royal news. A few minutes later, I was at the entrance of the Church of St. George, Bloomsbury, which is one of the masterpieces of Nicholas Hawksmore who was a pupil of Christopher Wren. The church, alas, was closed, so I could not explore the inside—but I paused long enough to note the mausoleum-like tower and the gigantic sculpture of the lion and the unicorn at the very top. Visiting this church was on the top of my list and I was sorry I was unable to get inside.
            By this point, I was close to the British Museum—so I walked one road down and reached its impressive gates and railing. There were huge crowds in its forecourt but I could not linger as I had a meeting at New York University just next door with the Director there.
A Meeting at NYU:
            Since the leadership at NYU has changed since I taught there and since I am doing so much of my research and editing work on our campus where I am being ably assisted by the staff (especially Ruth), I thought it would be a good idea to meet the current Director Gary and thank him in person for enabling me to use the campus facilities. My meeting was at 12. 30 pm and on the dot, he came downstairs to the lobby to meet me and to graciously escort me into his office where he offered me a glass of sparkling cold water. I was very touched by his chivalry and his thoughtfulness.
            I had expected our meeting to me short—just a courtesy visit, really—so I was surprised and thrilled that it went on for over an hour because Gary was so interested in my research project about Britain’s Anglo-Indians and wanted to discuss it at length with me. I discovered that his background in British Law (he is a lawyer) made him familiar with the British Nationality Act of 1948 around which a great deal of my work in the UK is based. Our discussion was wonderfully productive—Gary is well-versed in Linguistics as well as we spent a great deal of time talking about the recent evolution of the English language through the influx of immigrants in the UK. We also talked about Global Migration (I teach a course on the subject at NYU) and the changing face of the UK since it joined the EU. Overall, I was simply delighted to have met a man who seemed genuinely interested in my areas of field research and contributed richly with his views and ideas.
Off to the British Museum:
     Of course, once our meeting was over, I simply had to spend a while at the British Museum re-visiting some of my favorite objects there. I headed straight to the Rosetta Stone, then to the Bust of Rameses II and on to the Lely Aphrodite which has only recently been loaned to the Museum’s collection through the Queen to whom it belongs.
       A few steps ahead, I entered the vast custom-built hall that was constructed to accommodate the Elgin Marbles—so-called because they came into the possession of Great Britain through Lord Elgin. They had once decorated the top of the Acropolis on the Parthenon mountain in Greece but after being struck down by an earthquake, they were found strewn around the base by Elgin. He arranged for their sale through the Turks who had then temporarily held Greece. There has been a long raging controversy between Greece and the UK—Greece wants the Marbles back, the UK has refused to part with them on grounds that the country does not possess the right space in which to keep them protected. Greece has responded by building the new Acropolis Museum in Athens especially designed to house the carvings. The UK continues to turn a blind eye and deaf eye to their pleas and has ignored Greece’s good faith attempts to preserve the Marbles for posterity. And so it goes on: the international impasse. 
          My own particular favorites are those of the pediment of which only a few fragments remain—but what amazing fragments they are! I swear that horse breathes out of those flared nostrils! Having actually been to Greece and stood on the Acropolis, I love imagining what these works might have looked like in situ.
          Downstairs, I visited the giant carving from Easter Island and then I made my way outside to the café of the Senate House Libraryof the University of London which was just across the road. I settled down with a mocha latte and a scone with butter (alas, they had no jam—and a scone without jam is like a day without sunshine, as far as I am concerned—in other words, pretty dull). Still, it filled me up and got me fuelled for the next lap of my rambles—a visit to two museums.
The Petrie Museum of Egyptology:
         I have heard a great deal about this museum for years—it is a part of the University of London (known as UCL), but somehow although I taught classes for a year in a building pretty close to it, I had never entered it. I spent more than an hour there focusing only on the Top Ten items that were pointed out to me by the friendly assistant. The museum is free and attempts are being made to give it more exposure and publicity and some guides asked me to participate in a survey after my visit—which I gladly did.
            The items that caught my eye were: The world’s oldest garment (a child’s blouse, made of linen, about 5,000 years old). Needless to say, it very fragile. I also saw two full-length tunics, also made of linen, not as old as the child’s blouse, but about 3,000 years old, all the same); a Nubian ebony wood carving (that happened to be the favorite item in the entire collection of Petrie who was an archeologist and Egyptologist and who brought back all the items in this collection from his various ‘digs’); a bead dress, designed for a pre-pubescent child that has acquired erotic innunendos; beads from a necklace made of semi-precious stones that might once have been worn by a pharaoh; a large bowl with an intact human skeleton in it (used for a ‘bowl burial’) and a few painted funerary masks. The great novelty aspect of these objects lies in their age and their manner of near-perfect preservation. To see all the thousands of items on display would take weeks—to see only the highlights is really the best way to make use of short stretches of time.
The Grant Museum of Zoology:
            I left the Petrie and looked for the Grant Museum of Zoology which is in the same general area and also belongs to UCL. Here too, in this wonderful place filled with natural history specimens most of which are preserved in formaldehyde in glass jars, I asked for a brochure giving Highlights. I was given a useful leaflet containing the Top Ten items and here is some of what I saw: a collection of preserved brains of a number of animals; a jar full of preserved moles (I had no idea moles were so small); glass creatures created in Czechoslovakia since real ones could not be preserved—they are truly exquisite and real works of art and craftsmanship; giant deer antlers, the entire skeleton of a real anaconda—the world’s largest snake that kills its victims by choking them to death. I found this place fascinating although science and zoology are not really my particular areas of interest. There were skeletons of every conceivable creature—the whole skeleton of a hippopotamus, for instance.
           
BT Tower Goes Festive:
        Outside, I got a great view of the British Telecom Tower. All day it has been beaming a message that went around the circumference of it saying “It’s a Boy”. There are also images of storms flying around it that bring a touch of whimsy to the royal birth. Because I was far from the Tower of London, I did not hear the Gun Salute but I have seen the fountains in front of the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square turn blue. It is a truly festive time to be in London and all the conversation on the Tube and in the buses has to do with this long-awaited baby. Long may he reign!
            I sat myself down then for half an hour in the front court of the main Neo-Classical Building of UCL with its imposing dome and its Greek columns and its vast plinth. I needed to rest my feet and while away some time before I moved on to my next appointment at St. Paul’s Cathedral.    
A Barbecue at St. Paul Cathedral:
            My friends Bishop Michael and his wife Cynthia had invited me to a barbecue for the staff of three major London churches: St. Paul’s, Westminster Abbey and Southwark Cathedral. I had attended this event about two years ago and had enjoyed it immensely. I arrived at their place at 6.00 pm and in a few minutes, we made our way to the grounds of the Cathedral. This time too I made some lovely friends and had some absorbing conversations. I met British lawyers, a Classics teacher, an HR specialist, the cross bearer at the services, a French chanteuse (singer) from Paris. The food was plentiful and delicious—the British have completely embraced the concept of the barbecue which, I know, about 30 years ago, was not on. Globalization and Global Warming have contributed to the popularity of the Cook-Out and now it is not unusual to be invited to such an event.
            I started off with a cold beer because the weather is still pretty muggy and then moved towards the lines snaking around the food tables: burgers, goat cheese and leek patties (delicious), Cumberland sausages served with brown sauce, remoulade, green salad with balsamic vinaigrette and grilled corn on the cob. Everything was made more tasty by the fact that we were eating it outdoors under the great dome of Christopher Wren. Dessert was ice-cream doled out in many flavors by ice-cream men who manned ice-cream carts. It was cute and very old-fashioned. Of course, everyone ate too much and as the evening wore on, it was time for me to say goodbye to my friends and take the Tube back home to St. John’s where I reached about 9. 30 pm.
            I spent the rest of the evening taking a shower, writing this blog and planning out my work and sightseeing program for the next few days. It was a lovely day and all the excitement of the birth of the heir kept me wide awake long into the night. It was about 3. 45 am when I finally was able to get to sleep.     

Moving to Abbey Road On A Truly Historic Day!

Jul23


Monday July 22, 2013
London:
A Truly Historic Day!
What a historic day in London! And another dream-come-true for me! I always wanted to be in London during a historic occurrence—and I have always missed it.  But this time round, I was right on target: the birth of the heir to the Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland is no small potatoes—and I am thrilled and absurdly happy to share in the joy of the British as they welcome the first born male child of William and Kate.   
            I wondered for days on end where I would be when I received the news—and through what medium I would hear it, considering that we are all now so wired. I expected it would be through Twitter—and indeed it was. I happened to be on the steps of Abbey Road Studios (which the Beatles immortalized) at 7.45 pm when the news was announced. Four hours previously, when the baby was actually born, I was sitting in my new digs—an unbelievably sprawling 3-bedroom, 3-bathroom Victorian flat which is 2,000 square feet if it is an inch—so huge, so complex that I am still getting lost in it. It belongs to my American friends Raquel and Chris who are currently on holiday in New York and who kindly offered me their place for my use in their absence. I have never been so lucky in my life! First the amazingly comfortable place in Holborn that belonged to my friends Tim and Barbara where I slowly broke into my London lifestyle again in an environment that was known and familiar and comforting as an old shoe and now this place here in St. John’s Wood. My balcony overlooks the zebra crossing that the Beatles immortalized on their Abbey Road album cover and every single day at any given hour, there are scores of tourists—young and old—crossing the street and taking pictures. Who would ever have thought that I would be living in this gracious old London building at such a historic location? I tell you…it boggles the mind. There is simply no end to the surprises that life can hurl at you—of that I am sure, and I am simply reveling in them.
            But I am getting ahead of myself—so I should begin at the start of my day. I awoke at 6 15, forced myself to sleep for another hour and then finally stirred at 7. 15 with the realization that today was Moving Day for me as Tim and Barbara were returning from their short stay away.  I had done most of my packing last night, so it was only last-minute things that needed to be completed. I ate the last of my scrambled eggs and chipolata sausages (as I did want to clear my food stuff from the fridge) and continued putting my belongings together. I then spend about half an hour cleaning the flat and making sure it looked welcoming enough for my friends. I also left them a Thank-you card and a few gifts and then I was all set to leave.
             By 11.00 am, I got out of the flat with one suitcase as it seemed best for me to make two trips—the idea was to take my back pack with my computer in it on a second trip. Fortunately, St. John’s Wood is only a half hour way—Lord’s Cricket Ground is only a block away and with the Ashes matches going on between the UK and Australia, it is very much the focus of sports lovers at the moment. I was at my new building called Neville Court at 11.05 am. I unpacked and took the empty suitcase back with me to Holborn again at 11. 45am. I reached Holborn at 12. 15 and by 12. 30, I was out for the last time. I left their keys for my friends and was gone. I have enjoyed the best first week there and in a week that was hideously hot during the day and even at nights and in a country in which people do not even possess fans, I was blessed with air-conditioning which did wonders for my comfort. I will ever be indebted to my friends for so generously leaving their place for my use. I said goodbye to the concierge Arben for the last time and was off. He too is a special friend who always greets me with the warmest welcome and offers his help constantly. It is amazing to me that I have created these connections in London—connections so warm and strong that they now make London feel to me like my second home.
Getting Acquainted with my New Digs:    
      The hottest, most humid day in the UK in decades (temperatures soared to 34 degrees Celsius which is almost 94 degrees Fahrenheit) would just happen to be my Moving Day! Go Figure! I was hot and exhausted and very grateful to find a portable fan in my bedroom. It is very easy for me to carry it around from room to room and make the place comfortable. I got connected with wifi, set up my computer so I can get some work done and caught up with email.
          The news that Kate had entered St. Mary’s Hospital in Paddington meant that everyone was on tenterhooks waiting for the arrival of the royal heir to the throne.  At 5.00 pm, after which I had accomplished a lot, unpacked and found places for all my things and made myself at home, I took a short 15 minute nap, woke up to make myself a cup of tea (when frankly a cold beer was what I craved). I ate it with cake and then at 6.00 pm by which time the worst of the day’s heat had passed, I decided to go out and explore Regent’s Park and Marylebone using the walking tour in DK Eyewitness Guides.
Exploring Regent’s Park and Marylebone:
           This was one of the shortest and quickest walks I have taken so far. I took the Tube to Regent’s Park Tube station (I love the old emerald green tiles and the embossed ones that form trimmings in these old stations that have seen no modernization) and arrived at John Nash’s magnificent Park Crescent. Those who have been to Bath will recognize the name of Nash as well as the word ‘Crescent’ for the two Nashes—Elder and Younger (Father and Son)–created the Georgian city of Bath and the Elder Nash is responsible for this portion of London around Regent’s Park at Marylebone.
          Park Crescentwas conceived along classical lines—it has double columns and is a series of private mansions (today mainly offices) constructed as an arc—beautiful hanging flower baskets accentuate its loveliness. Today’s walk was an opportunity for me to skim Regent’s Park (It did not take me inside although I have enjoyed this park on many previous occasions) but into the little lanes and roads that surround it. They are all part of Nash’s plan and they are marvelous. Old classical constructed mansions surround the park—some of them are prominent buildings such as the Royal Academy of Music founded in the 1700s but most of them are Victorian buildings and are suitably flamboyant with red brick and stucco and fanciful gables in the Dutch idiom. Had London nothing to offer but its architecture, it would still be my favorite city in the world. 
          This area is also the home of two beautiful old buildings with marvelous ornamental sculpture decorating their faces:  Wigmore Hall, a wonderful concert hall which still holds a great program of performances (there was a piano recital just about to begin when I popped my head in and had a look) and, right across the street, the original building constructed for Debenham’s, the department store that subsequently moved to Oxford Street. The building currently lies vacant–more’s the pity.
           This walk also took me to parts of London that are vaguely familiar to me but which I haven’t visited in a long time: for example, with regards to the familiar, I walked down Harley Street known for its physicians’ offices. Many moons ago, I had accompanied Llew to a Harley Street optometrist who had performed surgery on his eyes. As for the unknown, the walk took me to Wimpole Street—made famous by Elizabeth Barret who had lived there as a spinster when she had fallen in love with the poet Robert Browning. The couple eloped and were secretly married in St. Marylebone Parish Church which I also visited on my walk. It has a splendid cupola that is crowned with gilded figures holding hands. The inside of the church was closed but services are still held there regularly.
          Just next door is Ferguson House, where Charles Dickens had once lived and where he wrote several novels. There is a bas-relief sculpture on the wall of this building that portrays Dickens as well as several of the characters he created. The area was also home to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who has a blue plaque to mark the place where he lived and wrote. Indeed, there are several blue and green plaques dotting the area as several significant pioneers of British science and medicine once lived in this neighborhood where the country’s most successful doctors still have their clinics. 
          Finally, past Portland Place which is filled with wonderful sculpture. I arrived at All Souls Lapham Church, also the handiwork of Nash. It has a thin spindly spire and a circular base and was derided when first built. This church was also closed but is is open during services to which all are invited.
           Directly behind it is the BBC’s Broadcasting House from where all their radio programs are beamed out to the world (the TV programs are made in their studios in White City). I was quite taken by the sculptures by Samuel Gill on its faced featuring Prospero and Ariel from The Tempest. Inside the 1930s Art Deco interior has been very well refurbished.
           The third significant building in this corner of London is The Lapham, once London’s grandest hotel. The likes of Mark Twain once stayed in this hotel which boasts a fabulous marble lobby. I popped inside to have a look and was charmed by its décor although this is decidedly new.   
News of the Royal Baby—Finally!
            It was time to call it a day and since I spied a 189 bus, I followed it to its starting point just off Oxford Street and was home in half an hour. It was then about 8. 45 pm at which point the staff at the Abbey Road Studios permitted me to pose on the steps to take pictures—this was the exact moment when the world was getting to know that the royal birth had taken place four hours previously. I got home, switched on Twitter and got the news—about 20 minutes after it had occurred. As I said, I felt absurdly pleased for the young couple and the entire nation that had become so involved in this birth. Just imagine what it must be like to gaze at this infant child and know that one day he will be king! Must be an awesome feeling for its parents—of course, one of the parents (William) will be king himself and since this child is not likely to rule within my lifetime, I guess I should not be that excited! But for some reason, I am and I am sure it has more to do with the fact that I am actually here in London when this royal birth has occurred.
    It was 11. 30 pm when I finally went to bed after drinking a beer, eating a sandwich for dinner and watching Burton and Taylor on TV.
          Until tomorrow, Cheerio!