Tag Archive | National Gallery

Good Friday Observed and Dinner with the Ullals

Apr11

Good Friday, April 10, 2009
London

Good Friday dawned cloudy in London as we decided to start our day of fast and abstinence from meat with hot cross buns for breakfast–a tradition that both Llew and I had observed when growing up in Bombay and Karachi respectively. While I showered, I sent Llew on a mission to “our larder” (which is how my next-door neighbors Barbara and Tim describe the Marks and Spencer Simply Foods shop that’s right opposite our building). He returned, disappointed that the store opened only at 10 am on Good Friday. With Jordan’s Crunchy Muesli to egg us on as a substitute, our rather hectic day began.

As Llew turned to the sorting out of his baggage in preparation for his return to the States on Easter Monday, I made a quick pasta with all the bits and bobs that were in my fridge. I froze a whole load of it in small Tupperware containers (Thanks, Sylvia, they’re coming in soooo handy here), then cleaned my kitchen and decided to take Llew off on one of my self-guided Frommer walks in London entitled “Ghosts in Covent Garden”. Only Holborn was like a ghost-town itself what with the closure of all shops along the street and the absence of people–it felt like a Saturday or Sunday usually does in these parts. Being accustomed to the concept of ‘separation of Church and State’ in the United States, Llew and I are astonished at the fact that both Good Friday and Easter Monday are Bank Holidays (what we call Federal holidays) out here in Anglican England. We realize how many wonderful religious holidays we miss out on in the USA where not only do we get, on an average, just two weeks of paid privilege leave but a total of no more than six holidays during the year–no wonder the country is plagued by coronary thrombosis and other stress-related illnesses!

Our walk began at Holborn Tube station, so across Kingsway we went to Great Queen Street and into Drury Lane where we visited two old theaters–the Royal Theater (London’s oldest and one I have visited at least thrice, most recently to see Rowan Atkinson as Fagin in Oliver which is currently on) and the Lyceum Theater (currently staging The Lion King and which I have never seen except in passing). Both have their fair share of resident ghosts. In the former, I posed by a sculpture of a very dapper Noel Coward in the lobby. The streets all around Covent Garden were empty and it was a rare pleasure to feel as if we had the city entirely to ourselves. We also paused in a children’s playground that was once the burial ground of the Church of St. Martin-in-the-Field.

On to Somerset House in Aldwych we went, across the spurting fountains in the courtyard to the Stamp Office and down the spiral staircase into the basement that took us to the Victoria Embankment and into Temple Place and Strand Lane where we saw the remains of what were once Roman Baths, now maintained by the National Trust. A great sunken bath is all that is left of what was once a spring-fed bath that passed into the possession of the Earls of Arundel who once owned a house where a network of streets now stands.

Along the Embankment, we posed in the paws of the Sphinx at Cleopatra’s Needle, the hieroglyphic-clad obelisk, which allowed us to learn a bit of its rather checkered history. Then the drizzles began and we were grateful for our Umbrella for Two (a Nautica gift from our English friends in Connecticut, Jonathan and Diana Thomson) as we crossed the street and entered the Embankment Gardens. We marveled anew at the genius of Victorian engineering that pushed the Thames so far back from its original course–its waters once lapped the York Gateway in the garden –by creating the Embankment. In the Gardens a treat awaited us as thousands of tulips are on the verge of bursting into glorious bloom and my camera worked overtime as it tried to capture some of the awesome color on the parrot tulips whose petals have already unfurled themselves. Give it another few days and this little gem will be a riot of color as spring flings itself victorious over the city. I cannot wait to return from Belgium next week and throw myself into the joys of Spring madness.

Our walk ended at this point–so Llew and I crossed the Strand and walked towards the National Gallery where I wanted to introduce him to a Renaissance painter whose acquaintance I have only recently made–Carlo Crivelli, who has a whole room devoted to his work at the National. Yet, I had never heard of or seen any of his work in all my travels in Italy and all of my reading into Renaissance Art History. Where had this totally brilliant artist been hiding? He has become one of my favorites and I simply had to share his astounding work with Llew.

The National was mobbed on this holiday weekend as so many Easter travelers have descended upon the city. I realized afresh how fortunate I was to have had the galleries almost entirely to myself during those cold winter weeks when I did the bulk of my study of its peerless collection. As we jostled our way inside, we realized that in keeping with the solemnity of the day, the Gallery had organized a special talk on Eugene Delacroix’s painting Christ on the Cross and we headed towards Gallery 41 for this lecture. A group of about sixty people had already set up their chairs at the painting and in a few minutes, the rather small but deeply stirring canvas was introduced to us by one of the curators. This was followed by a talk by one of the members of the Education Department. He, unfortunately, was so soft that though we were seated only in the third row, we barely heard a word he said and, in disappointment, we left and headed towards the Sainsbury Wing to see the Crivelli Gallery.

As I expected, Llew was as blown away as I was by Crivelli’s work, most of which are altar pieces that he was commissioned to create for churches in Italy. The detail, the compositions, the expressions on the faces of his saints are all so exquisite that it is impossible to hurry away from any of his works. It was Llew, who on reading the curatorial notes in the gallery, pointed out to me that the reason this Venetian is so little-known is probably because he was banished from Venice by the Church “for adultery”. This probably finished his painting career and prevented his altar pieces from actually being placed in the churches that commissioned them. It was baffling to us how powerful the Church was during the Renaissance and how much of an artist’s career rode upon the patronage of the Popes. This had certainly come home to us during our recent travels in Rome and we were struck anew by this phenomenon while studying Crivelli’s work.

Then, we were out on the streets left slick by all the rain and walking along Charing Cross Road to Foyle’s, London’s most famous bookshop, where Llew wanted to browse through some of the recent fiction titles. I left him to his perusal while I went in search of a rest room as the one at the National had a queue a mile long! After we had spent a while looking through books–a pass time we mutually enjoy–we picked our steps towards New Oxford Street from where we took the bus home.

Simply Food had opened and we were able to get our hands on some hot cross buns (one a penny, two a penny..if you have no daughters, give them to your sons!) and had ourselves a light lunch with a bun each and some asparagus soup. Then, it was time to inform Cynthia and Michael that we would be at the 5 pm service at St. Paul’s Cathedral and off we went for a short and well-deserved siesta.

Awaking in an hour, we readied ourselves for Church, taking the bus to the Cathedral where Cynthia had reserved seats for us right in the very front. As usual, the choir and the clergy made it memorable indeed and I heard, for the very first time, a sung account of the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was rather wonderful indeed. The Veneration of the Cross was done in a rather novel way with a large cross set up in the center of the church and a circle of kneelers placed around it. The congregation was invited to go up to the kneelers and worship individually at the cross for a few minutes. This was possible, I suppose, since the congregation was rather thin. I don’t think it would be possible in the Catholic churches we have attended over the years on Good Friday where the churches are filled to capacity and such individual worship would be impossible.

Within an hour, we were out on the pavement saying Hullo to Bishop Michael Colclough, Canon-Pastor of St.Paul’s, who was pleased to see Llew again, even if briefly. After bidding the Colcloughs goodbye, we got on to the Tube for the next part of our agenda–a ride to Harrow to the home of our friends Bina and Navin Ullal who had invited us to dinner. I had called Bina and left a message with her daughter Alisha to let her know that we would not be eating meat. Llew and I carried Easter eggs from Thornton’s for Alisha and Dhiren (their kids) and after about an hour and a half, we were seated in their living room enjoying Bina’s appetisers–hot potato croquettes with mint chutney and a variety of nibbles–olives, cheddar cheese, cashew nuts, potato crisps (all well chosen for our day of vegetarianism). Bina is a very good cook indeed as I know from all the times I have stayed with them while traveling up and down from the States to India. We were high school friends and neighbors in the Reserve Bank Colony in Byculla in Bombay where our fathers were once bankers, and our growing years are filled with the most marvelous memories that we still recall and giggle over.

Over Bina’s generous spread of hot chapatis (which I was eating after ages) and mushroom curry, potato bhaji, pea curry and a huge salad with hot gulab jamuns for dessert, we spent a truly fun evening. The Ullals other guests included Amulya Barooah and his family–wife Lily and son Jasper and their adorable golden cocker spaniel named Daisy. The evening was spent in peals of laughter as we recalled, as we often do, the wonderful food we grew up with in Bombay’s long-gone Irani restaurants. It is a pity that the dhansak and vindaloo that passes as authentic Indian food in Indian restaurants today all over the world is not a patch on the true specimens produced in Parsi and Goan kitchens in India and, being foodies all, we lamented this fact in unison! Amulya is off to Madras but had suggested we get back together again at their place in Crickelwood upon his return.

The Barooahs dropped us off to Baker Street Tube station at the end of a really great evening and Llew and I were home after midnight, when quite exhausted by the events of Good Friday, we tumbled into bed.

Treaures of the Vatican Museum and Attending the Pope’s Mass at the Vatican.

Apr9

Thursday, April 2, 2009
Rome

The Vatican Museum:
I had been looking forward to this day in Rome for a very long while. This was the day I had devoted to a perusal of the Vatican Museums and after fortifying ourselves with a good breakfast at our hotel, we set out to the entrance of the museum on what turned out to be a fabulous day, weather-wise. As we drew closer to the museum, the crowds thickened until all roads led to the main entrance. Once there, we saw a serpentine line and our hearts sank. Were all these folks waiting for tickets? Well, they were, but we weren’t required to join the queue as I had the good sense to make online reservations and all we had to do was waltz up to the counter and pick up our tickets with the appropriate identification.

And so by 10. 15 am, we began our marvelous forays into the treasures of the Renaissance. To our enormous good fortune, we were able to join a tour in English and in the company of an extraordinarily competent docent, we were led to the highlights of the collection where we received some deeply perceptive and very informative insights into the works. The crowds were thicker than flies on rotting meat and I have to admit that I often felt overwhelmed by them. However, I tried hard to focus on the works of art and to blot out the annoyance of jostling high school kids and the mutterings of a plethora of foreign languages all around me.

It is impossible for me to recount the wealth of information I received on this tour but here are some gems that resonate in my memory:

–the most precious marble in the world is a deep purple color. It is called porphyry and is quarried in the heart of the Egyptian desert in an area so inaccessible and inhospitable that the marble was more precious than gold in ancient times. 90% of the world’s porphyry is in the Vatican. In fact, so liberally was it used during the Renaissance that it became extinct and there is no more porphyry available anywhere in the world today! Who knew???

–the two most important pieces of marble sculpture in the Vatican Museum are the Apollo Belvedere and the Laocoon. Both were stolen by Napoleon from Italy and stayed in France until the disgraced emperor was made to return the treasures to the various museums he had looted after his military campaigns. Part of the Laocoon’s arm had remained missing for centuries and was only found early in the 20th when its exact position was ascertained–a position that had been predicted by the genius that was Michelangelo as early as the 1500’s–a prediction that had been disregarded until the finding of the arm proved it (and him) correct.

–the Raphael Tapestries, commissioned by Pope Leo X, cartoons of which are in the V&A Museum in London, are no longer in the Sistine Chapel where they were intended to be placed. They are in the long Tapestry Gallery through which visitors pass en route to the Sistine.

–so many of the characters depicted in the nude in The Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel by Michelangelo later had clothing painted on them by his students as the nudity offended the sensibilities of contemporary visitors to the chapel.

–my very favorite character on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel is called the Delphic Sibyl. She has the most angelic face and expression and seeing the Sistine Chapel ceiling again after 22 years during which time it has been so brilliantly refurbished made me fall in love with her all over again.

–Raphael originally painted The School of Athens as a fresco in a neighboring room while Michelangelo was hard at word on his back on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. When, seven years later, his work was ready to be revealed to the public, Raphael was feverish with excitement as he could not wait to see what the master had produced. When he saw the Sistine ceiling, he was so overwhelmed that he ordered a part of The School of Athens to be plastered afresh. He then painted in the character of Michelangelo seated at the base on the steps–his small tribute to the ingenuity of the Master.

–the Swiss Guards who form the security corps for the Papal community must be: Swiss, born legitimately to two Catholic parents, under 25 and unmarried at time of recruitment, celibate for the rest of their lives.

Llew and I were so completely exhausted visually by the glories of the Renaissance as spelled out on the walls of the Vatican Museum that we were speechless for a long while after we had studied its most famous works. We were also starving and were delighted to come upon Dino and Tony’s Hosteria in the vicinity of the Vatican where we ordered pizzas and beer and chatted over all we had seen that morning.

It was about 3. 30 pm when we were done and we were sorely tempted to return to our hotel for another siesta but I was afraid to do that as the crowds of the previous day had hinted to me that it would be difficult to get seats to the Pope’s mass later than evening despite the fact that we had tickets. I suggested to Llew that we should walk to St. Peter’s Piazza to get a grip over the situation. And what a good thing we did just that!

St. Peter’s Square had a long line of people winding all around it and it was only then that we realized that the 6 pm Mass was not going to be said in the open air but inside the Basilica! And if we wanted to get anywhere inside we’d have to join the line though it was not even 4 pm. I have to admit that I almost chickened out at the prospect of having to stand in line for over two hours–not after having been on our feet for four hours already in the Vatican Museum! Well, here too, we were lucky, for somehow Llew made friends with an American man who invited us to join him in the queue rather close to its beginning and at about 4 pm when the security gates opened, we found ourselves at the very top. Within no time at all, we were seated inside the Basilica in choice seats about twelve rows from the front in the midst of an international congregation that was jabbering in every language under the sun.

A Papal Mass at the Vatican:
It was with deep excitement, then, that we took in the spectacle of St. Peter’s interior. Bernini’s genius was evident at every turn in the mortuary sculpture, the bronze baldachino or altar canopy and in the grandeur of the marble columns and inlay wherever your eye would rest. It was very comfortable indeed on the chairs in the company of the serene Swiss Guards who swarmed all around us.

At exactly 6 pm, the priestly entourage walked down the aisle with Pope Benedict XVI at the very end of the troupe. He is a stately figure, tall and very elegant and has a very pleasant and rather benevolent smile. He was roundly cheered by the congregation and I even heard a few “Viva Il Papas” around me as the Italians in the congregation greeted his arrival. Llew and I were really pleased to be part and parcel of such a unique and privileged moment when our beloved Pope JPII was remembered and prayed for by his flock who, four years after his death, have grown in affection towards him. Most enthusiastic of all were the Polish contingents who had traveled across the continent to be present on this occasion. They made their presence felt with banners and their voices raised in song.

For Llew and me, the greatest joy was to be able to listen to Holy Mass celebrated by none other than the Holy Father in the very seat of Roman Catholicism, St. Peter’s Basilica. Never in our wildest dreams did we ever think we would be in such a fortunate position on our travels and we thanked God for granting us this unique opportunity. Of all the many wonderful memories we have accumulated in our travels together around the globe, this one will remain right at the very top forever.

Then, the Mass was over and the Pope was filing out and giving us more opportunities for good photographs. Llew and I left St. Peter’s and returned to the streets of Rome where so many enthusiastic throngs were setting out in search of dinner. I was exhausted to the point of keeling over and, deciding to forgo dinner to return to our hotel where I badly needed to stretch out, we made our way home on what had been a red letter day for us.

Verona–City of Lovers

Mar22

Friday, March 20, 2009
Verona, Italy

Annalisa was tied up all day today in meetings at the University of Padua. Left to my own resources, I decided to take the train to Verona to see yet another beautiful medieval Italian city. After we checked the train schedule, I found that the 9.30 train would work for me. Breakfast followed (Lavazza coffee, Greek yoghurt with cereal and blood orange juice–fiery red and with quite a different delicious flavor) as did a shower and we were off at 9.00, Annalisa dropping me to Vicenza railway station before we said goodbye for the day.

Because it was a Eurostar City express train, I was in Verona within a half hour (day return was 23 euros). Once at Verona (about 10 am), I found the Tourist Information Office at the railway station and, armed with a map and some literature, I made my way out into the city. Verona is a very walkable city (as most Roman cities are), the main monuments clustered around the banks of the River Adige that flows through it in an elaborate S shape–similar to that of the Thames in London.

I walked briskly down Corso Porta Nuova, so-called because it stands at the corner of an old gatehouse wall–the New Door, in other words. Sunshine streamed generously upon the city and warmed me up as temperatures were still low enough to leave a distinct nip in the air. I walked straight towards the massive Roman Arena, stopping to browse at a local street market at Piazza Bra where organically grown fruits and vegetables, farm house cheeses and home-smoked hams and salami gave the area a mouth watering aroma. I resolved to take some of Italy’s gastronomic goodies home to London with me to enjoy them in the comfort of my home.

Last night, the Inspector Morse episode we saw together, Death of the Self, had been set partly in Vicenza and partly in Verona. Annalisa had been exclaiming throughout the screening as she recognized so many of the locations and had personal contacts with some–much to the exasperation of Giacomma whose limited (though very good) English required him to concentrate on every word if he was to follow the plot! The final scenes were set in the Arena in Verona where the main character, an opera singer, performed to a packed crowd. This made me all the more eager to visit the Arena–to walk, as it were, in the footsteps of John Thaw and Kevin Whatley.

The Roman Arena:
But the TV episode had not prepared me for the enormous size of the Arena. I paid the 6 euros entry fee and walked into the world of the Romans for it was built in the 1st century (about 61 AD) and yet exhibited marvelous engineering and construction techniques. How did these Romans manage to do the kind of building they did, I wondered. Then, I remembered slave labor and I ceased to be impressed. The arena was under refurbishment (as so many of Italy’s monuments constantly are) and the main ‘stage’ upon which the opera singer had belted out her arias was hidden behind screened scaffolding.

Nevertheless, the place was atmospheric in the extreme and as I requested fellow travelers to take my pictures against its pink stone stands (most of which are intact). I received a call from Llew (for it was about 11 am at the time). I told him where I was and described the arena and wished we were together. I also did tell him that Annalisa suggested we do a house swap, i.e. she takes over our Connecticut home next summer and we move into her Vicenza apartment at the same time. I thought it was a brilliant idea as Llew has not seen much of Italy at all and but for the few days we will be spending in Rome next month, he hasn’t toured the country. Such an arrangement will allow us to see Italy at leisure, especially the Veneto which Annalisa say offers wonderful walking opportunities in the Lower Alps, the glamor of Lake Garda and all these walled medieval towns, not to mention the proximity to Venice.

A Walk Along the River Adige:
Back outside the Arena, I walked along Via Roma towards Castelvecchio, an impressive 14th century castle built by the Scaligeri dynasty that had once ruled Verona in its medieval heyday. It has been converted into an art gallery and museum but I was more keen to explore the city than remain cloistered indoors. As I walked across the Ponte Scaligero that was packed with school groups out on a field trip (as was the Arena), I took many pictures as the huge ramparts of the castle just begged to be photographed.

Once on the opposite bank of the River Adige, I walked eastwards towards the Duomo or Cathedralwith its grand Romanesque portal. Inside, I made it a point to see Titian’s Assumption. Every one of these Italian churches in the tourist belt charges an admission fee but, I have discovered, that if you wish to enter to say a prayer, you are exempt from paying the fee. This allows the local Italians to continue to use their churches even during tourist visiting hours.

The walk along the river banks was easily one of the best I took on this trip. Not only was the weather perfect for walking but the streets on both sides are lined by grand pallazos, churches whose spires and domes give the skyline a look that is reminiscent of Salzburg in Austria (one of my favorite cities in the world) and a river that glistened softly under romantic bridges that reminded me of Paris. I crossed the Ponte Garibaldi to buy myself some gelato at a gelateria, quite impressed, if I say so myself, by my rapidly growing facility with Italian: “Buon Giorgno, Signora. Gelato per favore. Una pralline, coppa. Cioccolatto”. As Giacommo told me later, it was “Perfect!” I sat outside in the sunshine studying my map and savoring my ice-cream and decided to rest my legs for a while before I set out again, this time towards the Teatro Romano which, Annalisa told me, I must not miss.

The Teatro Romano:
Verona’s Theater Romano is reached across one of the oldest Roman Bridges in the city–the Ponte Pietra or Stone Bridge which reveals its age in the exposed stones with which it is constructed. It is a curving bridge that spans the river quite theatrically indeed and leads you across to the heights of the Roman remains of the old theatre, most of whose stands are still intact–thoug the rest of it is in ruins. I paid the 5 euros entry fee and using the map and the directions climbed the many high steps up into the hidden corners of the complex which, in addition to the remains of a monastery (including really evocative cloisters), houses an archeological museum today.

The highlight of a visit to the Roman Theater, however, is the view of the city from the Grand Terrase–an almost 360 degree vista that offers stunning scenes of the city with its uniformly tiled red roofs, its spires and domes, its lazy river and its scenic bridges. It was a perfect day for photographs and snap away I did. Meanwhile, a quick walk through the rooms of the museum revealed marble sculpture, bronze figurines, bits and pieces of ancient frescoes–nothing very special anywhere but all contributing towards the age and antiquity of the space.

Lunch in the Piazza of the Church of St. Anastasia:
It was time next to cross the Ponte Pietra again and go out in search of the Church of Saint Anastasia which I could see clearly across the banks of the Adige. Its tall spire was very prominent indeed and as I walked along quiet, almost deserted cobbled streets and squares towards the Piazza, I believed that it was these walks that I enjoyed almost as much as the sights I had come to Verona to see.

Unfortunately, almost the entire interior of the church is under heavy renovation which makes tourist visits pointless, but it did offer me an opportunity to marvel at the two holy water stoups that sit upon the carved stone shoulders of two I. Gobbi (or hunchbacks), one being a hundred years older than the other. They made a wonderful pair indeed and after I took pictures, I decided to find myself a small ristorante somewhere for a pasta lunch as it was 2 pm by this time and I was hungry.

I could not have been luckier in my choice of restaurant for right there in the piazza overlooking the grand exterior of the church was a tiny place that offered a variety of pasta preparations for just 5 euros. As I settled myself down, a basket of Italian rolls was placed at the table and with the accompanying olive oil and balsamic vinegar that accompnaied it, I found myself enjoying one of my favorite treats in the world–bread dipped in balsamic vinaigrette. When the waitress arrived at my table, I ordered Fettucine con Fungi (fettucini with mushrooms) and a few minutes later, I was presented with a dish that was superb–I sprinkled on the fresh parmesan-regiano that was available and with some freshly ground pepper cracked all over it, it was one of the most memorable dishes I ate on this trip–not to mention startlingly good value for money.

The Attractions of the Piazza dei Signori:
After a 45 minute rest, it was time for me to leave the quiet and serenity of these untrodden paths behind and venture into the main tourist areas of Verona which I did find out to be around the Piazza dei Signori. This area was buzzing with student groups (I heard many high school American accents). The statue of the poet Dante dominates the square which is surrounded by imposing medieval buildings, almost all of which are official buildings today. Just around the corner in the adjoining square, a great deal of renovation work was going on at the Tombs of the Scaligeri family (mainly by way of stripping these monuments of centuries of accumulated dirt and grime) but I did enter the tiny Santa Maria Antica Church which proclaimed its age boldly in its hushed interior.

It was time, then, to go out in search of the Casa di Romeo, yes, the home of Romeo–the Romeo of Shakeapeare’s play, for Verona, of course, is the great city of the feuding Capulets and Montagues. I found it on a deserted side street, far from the prying eyes of tourists or noisy student groups, its walls, therefore, free of the ugly graffiti that I saw on all the moinuments associated with Juliet!

I passed next through the Piazza del Herbe (which probably got its name from the early produce markets that were held there each week). In modern times, these piazzas serve the needs of tourists looking for cheap trinkets and souvenirs of their visits. The Plalazo dei Raggioni has an imrpessive frontage and the Lion of St. Mark stands sentinel on a tall column (as it does in almost all these medieval cities in the Veneto). I strolled around at leisure, taking in the atmosphere which has remained unchanged in centuries.

Juliet’s House:
Then, since it was not too far away, I decided to pop into the Casa de Guiletta, perhaps Verona’s most popular attraction. No one is certain whether this quiet courtyard that houses the famous balcony is, in fact, the house of the Capulets. But the folks who run the visits to the house as a commercial venture swear that there are enough signs inside to prove that the Capulets did own this home. I refused to pay the steep admission charge (10 euros) to stand on the balcony and have my picture taken, but I did compromise in that I posed below the balcony near the contemporary sculpture of Juliet that adorns the courtyard. Graffiti covers the walls of the entrance and the hundreds of students who move through the space made it clear where it came from. Inside, near the ticket kiosk, is a bronze sculpture of Shakespeare and at every venue associated with the play are appropriate lines from Romeo and Juliet for it was this drama that immortalized the couple and keeps the name of the Montagues and the Capulets still alive in Verona today.

San Fermo Maggiore:
It was time then to leave these crowded tourist attractions behind and move into more interesting architectural monuments such as the Church of San Fermo Maggiore which I found by following my map and asking occasionally for directions. This very interesting church is unique because it is actually two churches–a large Romanesque one that has a fantastic ship’s keel ceiling and beneath it, an older medieval one which sits on top of more excavated ruins. The interiors of these Italian churches are quite unlike any you can see in the rest of Europe and their architectural details always hold tremendous interest for me.

Juliet’s Tomb:
I was left then with just enough time and energy to go in search of Juliet’s Tomb, another popular tourist attraction especially among teenaged students. I paid the 4. 50 euros that allowed me to enter an old pallazo at the base of which is a tomb that is supposed to contain the remains of the young girl who gave her life for her beloved. The space includes a museum which houses an exhibit of rather tattered frescoes and marble sculpture but none of it was worth spending too much time over.

I headed instead to area where the crypt is located. You enter the area through a wrought iron staircase which does proclaim its age loudly and enter into a brick hewn space where the single tomb in rather a battered shape can be seen. I had expected it to be surrounded by other tomb stones as I was always led to believe, from reading Shakespeare’s play, that Juliet was buried in the family tombs. Well, this is a solitary grave with absolutely no marking around it to suggest definitively that it is Juliet’s last resting place. At any rate, the mythology that has developed around the lovers allows such commerically run venues to thrive and though there is no documentary evidence to suggest that it is her grave site, it was certainly atmospheric enough to lead anyone to believe this.

With my feet quite killing me by this point, I decided it to was time to return to Vicenza. I called Annalisa and informed her that I would be taking the earlier train and wondered whether she could pick me up from Vicenza. I did not bargain for the fact that not all trains are express ones. The one I did board was a local and while it did allow me to appreciate the rural parts of the Veneto, it took over an hur to arrive in Vicenza by which time it had turned dark.

Annalisa was awaiting me upon my arrival. On the drive home, she told me that she had had an awful day at work and needed to kick back and relax at home. She decided to take orders from her family for pizza. She called a local pizzeria and ordered a margherita (for Giaccomo), a vegetable one with peppers, aubergine and tomatoes (for Giovanni), a radicchio and Brie one for herself and as we divided the pizzas, I had a chance to taste Italy’s great contribution to international gastronomy and loved every morsel. Over a fruit tart for dessert, we ended our meal and a very full and fascinating day indeed.

I was just as tired as Annalisa was as the sight seeing had taken the steam out of me and it was with great anticipation that I went to bed.

A Crazee Sorta Day!

Mar16

Monday, March 16, 2009
London

I knew it would be a hectic day when I awoke this morning, but not even I was prepared for the way it turned out.

I ate a hasty breakfast after spending about two hours in bed responding to the B&Bs in Rome that have been sending information my way. It is astonishing how much time it takes to check their websites and their locations in Rome and to zero in on the ones that might actually work for us.

Anyway, I spoke to my parents in Bombay and told them I would next talk to them only on Sunday when I return from Italy. Then, I was showering and leaving for NYU as I had to teach today. Except that since my monthly bus pass has expired and I am going to spend the next week in Italy, it didn’t make sense to buy another. I decided to walk it out today and in 15 minutes I was at the door of the British Museum attempting to buy the catalog of the special exhibit on the Shah of Iran that my colleague Mahnaz requested me to bring her. She is currently teaching at NYU in Florence and will be coming to Padua for my lecture. Except that when I saw the catalog, my heart sank. Not only was it priced at 25 pounds which I thought was awfully pricey but it weighed a ton–over a kilo. Now since I am flying Ryanair which has strict baggage restrictions of just 10 kilos per person, I simply could not afford to carry such a heavy catalog for her. And yet I felt sorry to refuse her request as Mahnaz is a dear friend and I would have loved to oblige.

I walked quickly towards our Academic Center and would have easily had a few minutes to check my email. Except that I ran into one of my colleagues whom I hadn’t seen for ages. I inquired after his classes and discovered that he had just lost his mother-in-law. While he told me the story of her illness and death, the minutes ticked past. I barely had the time to enter my office and retrieve my folders and text book when it was time to go to class at 10 am.

I let my students off a half hour earlier (i.e. I did not give them their half hour break) and rushed off to my office to photocopy and print out a number of documents (including the lecture I’m giving) for my Italy trip. I also photocopied a number of pages from the Guide Books on Italy that I would like to read on he flight. On logging on to my email, I discovered that there were so many messages awaiting me from Italy to which I had to attend immediately.

My last-minute idea of spending a night in Venice did not work out, so I shall be going straight from Venice Trevizo airport to the Central Station from where I shall catch a train to Vicenza. Then, suddenly, my other NYU colleague who is currently teaching in Florence, Tim Tomlinson, emailed me to say that he and his wife will be coming to Padua for my lecture and will meet me there. He wanted to know where and how we could meet. All these folks had to be responded to and I was in such a hurry as I had to make my 2 pm appointment at the Victoria and Albert Museum where my students were awaiting my arrival.

It was a gorgeous day but I could barely stop long enough to appreciate it as I got on to Bus Number 14 and reached the Museum at 1. 45 pm. We spent about an hour in the galleries housing the sketchbooks and studies of John Constable which my students are studying in detail for their next research paper and then we parted company and decided to meet in an hour, i.e. at 4pm at the National Gallery so that we could see his final versions of the works best known to art lovers everywhere.

We hopped on to the Tube, got off at Leicester Square and I discovered that I was not too far from Foyle’s, the bookstore in which I hoped to find a copy of Bapsi Sidhwa’s Cracking India because Annalisa emailed me this morning to tell me that she was unable to find an English version in Italy. I drew a blank at Foyle’s and tried a number of other new and second hand bookstores all along Charing Cross Road, but could find the book nowhere. It was out of print even in the States where it had been published, they said.

Not wanting to be late for my 4 pm appointment, I met my students in the lobby of the National Gallery as planned and went straight to the Gallery containing some of Constable and Turner’s most beloved work. After we had studied The Haywain in detail as well as Turner’s work, I dismissed my class and hopped on the Tube again. This time I headed to St. Pancras Station and the Town Hall Library that is located right across to pick up a copy of the book as the folks at Holb0rn Public Library had informed me that St. Pancras did have it. In five minutes, I had the book issued out and I left.

One more bus later, I was at Bloomsbury, making my way to the Bury Food Store near the British Museum to buy some caddies full of English tea for some of my Italian friends. I figured that the lightest gifts I could carry for them would be English Tea and Biscuits and that was what I was laden with as I left the shop. Then, back at my office, I had to fill and fax out reservation forms for our hotel in Istanbul as well as respond to more email. I thought I was ready to explode by that point. Luckily, my friend Gauri at whose flat in Islington I was supposed to have dinner tonight, decided that it would be best for us to reschedule as she was held up at work. I was so relieved…

But I still had one more place to go–the Brunei Gallery of the School of Oriental and African Studies where there was a talk at 6. 30 pm. by Sir Christpher Frayling on ‘Museums and Films’. As the Rector of the Royal Academy of Art and someone whose interest in films has led him to publish widely on the subject, I was keen to listen to Frayling and I joined my students in the auditorium. Except that just five minutes before his lecture was scheduled to begin, the fire alarm went off and every single one of us had to troop back up from the basement, two storeys below, to vacate the building.

A good ten minutes later, the alarm was investigated and found to be a false alarm and we were trooping back into the auditorium. The lecture began at 6. 45 and finished at 7. 45. It was interesting but I realized that I was already too fatigued to really enjoy it though it was interspersed with interesting film clips.

I walked back home, was at my flat in 15 minutes and did my last minute packing. This took over an hour but then I was ready for dinner which I was much too tired to eat! Right after my meal (ravioli with bread and soup), I washed dishes, cleaned the kitchen, fixed myself some sandwiches for my lunch on the flight tomorrow, brushed and flossed my teeth and got ready for bed for I was ready to drop.

I have set my cell phone alarm for 6. 3o am as I intend to get out of my flat my 7. 30 to catch my 8. 3 am Easybus shuttle to Stanstead airport.

What a relief that this crazy day has ended! I am looking forward now to a calm and successful stay in Italy. I shall resume the writing of this blog next Sunday when I return from Italia!

Sauntering in Suffolk

Mar13

Friday, March 13, 2009
Suffolk

Leaving my window open and using ear plugs to drown out traffic noises worked like magic! I awoke at 6. 30 am after a very restful sleep just a couple of minutes before the alarm on my cell phone went off. It seems as if a cooler temperature in my bedroom will keep me asleep longer! Within 45 minutes, I was on the bus headed to King’s Cross to the NYU hostel at NIDO where the coach arrived very shortly to drive us to Suffolk.

Spring was in the air though it was a tad chilly and I felt underclad in my denim jacket–should have worn something warmer. Once we left the city limits behind, the landscape changed. The fields were flat but fresh new green grass is emerging everywhere and though the trees are still free of foliage, it is very pretty out there in the countryside and I am glad we’re entering into a new season of renewal. It is still a wonder to me how quickly spring comes to Europe. What a blessing indeed!

Delving into Dedham:
Two hours later, we were in Dedham, a tiny little town that Time forgot. Peter, our driver, parked in the main street and we were set free to poke around for 45 minutes. I had read about this lovely place in The English Home magazine a few years ago and I had saved the clipping and brought it with me to London. Using that as a rough guide, I wandered first into St. Mary’s Church which appears in some of the paintings of John Constable whose world we had arrived to explore. The church is notable for a window which sports the initials E.S. referring to Edward Sherman. Three notable Shermans are associated with American history including the famous General Sherman who led the troops during the Civil War. As in all Norman churches of the region, it has a square tower with a clock face and the stone cladding gives it a very picturesque look.

Down the High Street, I delved into a few of the stores (The Shakespeare Art Gallery was particularly enticing) which held the kind of decorative domestic items tourists find attractive–pendulum clocks, pottery, framed art–that sort of thing. Most of my students had made a bee line for the Essex Rose Tea House where they sat down to cream teas. I went into the Dedham Arts and Crafts Center where a variety of stalls offered all sorts of hand crafted items from baskets and quilts to jewelry and soft toys. Then, I walked towards the Stour River and took a look at a few ducks bobbing in a pond.

Architect and art historian Sir Nikolaus Pevsner wrote, “There is nothing to hurt the eye in Dedham” and he was so right. Indeed, the town is a lovely collection of narrow meandering streets that radiate from the one main road that runs through it past the church. The exteriors of these houses have exposed beams and quiet pastel shades with the color pink dominating. It soon became obvious to me that pink is the preferred color in these Suffolk towns and villages. It is referred to as ‘Suffolk Pink’ and is visible in varying shades from the softest baby pink to deep, almost magenta, tones. We saw a lot of it in East Bergholt and then in Lavenham which were some of the other towns we visited.

I simply could not stop taking pictures of the charming nooks and crannies that make up this attractive town. The Sun, a well-known hostelry had a distinctive sign but did not open until later in the day for lunch. When we’d had a look around the village, we did one of the things that the English most love–took a long walk along the banks of a river.

Messin’ Around On the River Stour:
One of the most memorable walks I have ever taken was along Port Meadow in Oxford along the River Thames in the company of my friend Annalisa Oboe, about two summers ago. We had walked all the way from Oxford to the Lock and then rewarded ourselves with drinks at the famous Trout Inn at Wolvercote, a 17th century free house that was used as one of the settings for an episode of Inspector Morse mysteries. Well, I have to say that this walk today, taken in the company of 16 of my students, will also stay in my memory for a long time.

To begin the walk, you start along Bridge Street in Dedham and walk towards Flatford Mill. This means crossing the beautiful little wooden bridges and stiles that span the river and the surrounding meadows. The pathway is narrow and follows the natural curves of the River Stour, which is much smaller and narrower than I imagined. It cannot be more than a mile and a half before you see the rooftops of Flatford Mill. Were I walking alone, I know I would have covered it in about a half hour. But with a group and with the pictures I stopped to take, of swans and then of mallards in the water–it took over an hour. The fresh green of the fields and the total quiet and serenity of the rural landscape was very appealing indeed. Occasionally, we saw a flock of ducks fly into the air. It is obvious that the migrant birds are returning for the spring season and it was lovely to be a part of it. These were the very tracks along which John Constable walked in the early 1800s and to have traversed over lands that have proven to be so inspirational to him was very special for me.

Arrival at Flatford Mill:
At Flatford Mill, where we arrived a whole half hour behind schedule, we were met by Edward Jackson who is Head of the Constable Arts Center there. He was to be our guide for the next hour and he started us off by taking us inside the lovely red brick interior of Flatford Mill where Constable spent the early years of his life with his parents and younger brother. Mr. Jackson illustrated his introduction to Constable with a slide show in the library that explained the evolution of his most famous paintings including the iconic Haywain, the setting of which can easily be seen on the shallow bank of the river outside.

We then walked to the spots themselves that Constable sketched and used as the backdrop of some of his most celebrated works. I was so excited to be in the very spot in which he created these canvasses–his little studio was right in his home. Later, when his parents died and he came into a little money, Constable moved with his wife and family to London where he accepted commissions for portraits that were his bread and butter. But, clearly, it was the rural scenes he most remembered from his boyhood while messing around his father’s mill that inspired his most enchanting works. And it is these venues that art-loving visitors come to see today.

Off for lunch to East Bergholt:
Then, after I had bought a few postcards from the National Trust shop in the premises, we boarded the coach again and arrived at the tiny village of East Bergholt where, for a short while, the Constables also had a small home. This little place was the perfect venue for a meal and at the Red Lion Inn–really the only little place at which one could get a bite apart from the Fountain Tea Room which offered only teas and scones–we sat down for a proper meal. I ate a ‘huffa’, a rather odd sort of name for a hearty sandwich that contained steak and mushrooms and onions and was made tasty by my addition of some brown sauce.

East Bergholt is an equally delightful place to get lost in. It has a church that lacks a tower. Apparently someone had a dream in which the devil appeared and said that he never wanted to see a tower on the church. Each time a tower was constructed, lives were lost in the process and a point arrived at which the villagers decided to abandon the idea of constructing a tower and left it unfinished. And that it how is stands today.

The Post office and a couple of other small stores are the only other shops to be found in the entire little place. Small pink homes and a few red brick ones grant the village the air of a quiet rustic hamlet, the sort that visitors to Suffolk love to see.

On to Lavenham:
We had barely an hour to finish our meal, however, before we had to get back on the coach again for our ride to Lavenham. We thought it would take about half a hour but we had a diversion in the road and having to change routes, we took more than an hour and almost missed the guide who was waiting for us there, Jim Robinson. However, after we had parked our coach, Jim began his tour and showed us some of the most interesting and unusual buildings in this medieval town.
Like Dedham, Lavenham is exceedingly picturesque. Almost all of the buildings here are ‘listed’, that is to say, they are protected by strict conservation laws, some of which make it impossible for current owners to make any changes at all, inside or out. The town is, therefore, frozen in time, standing as a silent sentinel of the past when homes were constructed with thick timber beams and filled in with stucco plastered brick.

The most important building of all in Lavenham is the Corpus Christi Guildhall–this is not a trading or crafter’s guildhall but a religious one. Mr. Robinson explained that in the Middle Ages, people paid money to a priest in a guildhall such as this one, whose sole job was to pray for all the poor souls in Purgatory! This guildhall, clad in exposed timbers and thin whitewash and sporting the original leaded windows passed into disuse after the Reformation. It is only in recent years that it has been refurbished to appear the way it once did when it was the most important building in the town.

From this point, Mr. Robinson took us to so many different structures, each of which had some interesting architectural details to which he pointed. We learned that Lavenham was once a leading producer of a thick hard-wearing fabric called serge. The cloth weavers’ guild was powerful and wealthy and it made Lavenham the sixth richest town in the country. Traders vied with each other in building homes to show off their new prosperity and it is these structures that have been preserved, most dating from the 16th and 18th centuries.

We also learned about pargetting, for instance, the decorating of the sides of the houses with all sorts of designs that were set into the stucco while it was still wet. We learned about the fashion that led to the scraping away of the plaster that exposed the timbers that give so many of the medieval structures their individual look–this was not how they were originally constructed. The plaster was stripped away when it became fashionable for the owner to expose the number of timber beams that made up his house. We also learned about the Mullet–the five pointed star that is associated with the court of Henry VIII and which is evident on the steeply sloping sides of the roofs. So many of the Lavenham homes seemed to be falling under their own weight. There were so many of the higgedly-piggedly cottages of fairy tale illustrations and the striking colors of ochre, pink and white that stood in uniform height along the streets making the entire town seem so very quaint and old-fashioned.

I certainly wished I could have browsed in more stores but I only had the time to buy a post card really quickly before it was past four and we found that we had to return to London. I did walk towards the Church of St. Peter and St. Paul to get a picture and then off we went. We said goodbye to Mr. Robinson and boarded the bus back, hitting awful traffic en route so that it took us almost three hours to reach King’s Cross.

Suffolk was striking beautiful and I am so glad that my first venture into this territory was so pleasant. I found the village people very friendly and very eager to interact with my students. They were so pleased that their quiet unspoiled villages are the center of so much scholarly attention. They recommended other villages that we should see and Kersey was suggested as a rural favorite. When Peter drove through it, I did find it very appealing indeed and I can see why so many people settle down in B&Bs for a few nights in this area.

Suffolk might best be described as a patch of green fields closely knit together by a serene river that flows through it and story book villages and medieval towns that remain distinctive for their old-world architecture and narrow rippling streets. It is easy to see why these natural backdrops inspired the work of some of England’s best-known artists such as Gainsborough and Constable and why they have been preserved, as if in aspic, to continue to delight each successive generation.

For if you enjoy walking or even just sitting by a river and watching it flow gently past and if you enjoy doing nothing more strenuous than whiling away time in the warm embrace of Nature, then this is indeed the place for you. I know that if I get the chance to return to Suffolk, I will not refuse the opportunity to walk by these delightful byways again.

At the end of the day, when I was in the midst of writing this blog, my door bell rang. It was my neighbor Tim whom I haven’t seen in ages–as I have been traveling so much. He stopped by to invite me to supper at their place on Tuesday–an invitation I would ordinarily have leapt at as Tim in a chef par excellence. But, alas, I am leaving that morning for Italy, so will have to take a rain check. Instead, we have decided to go out for an Italian meal on Sunday–probably to Carluccios which is a favorite of Tim and Barbara (and has become one of mine as well). Tim stepped inside for a chat and over a glass of wine, he entertained me with his inimitable wit and humor. I am very much looking forward to Sunday when we will catch up together.

Lecturing at the V&A, Visiting the Royal Academy of Art and a Posh Private Club

Mar8

Tuesday, March 3, 2009
London

Today was a day for museum hopping. Awaking, as usual, at 5 am, I did a lot of writing in bed, then called my nephew Arav in Bombay and spoke at the same time to his mother, my sister-in-law Lalita whose birthday it was. I also caught up with my brother Roger and told both him and Lalita that I had a new understanding of the kind of life they have led for over 20 years as cabin crew members with Air-India, for I have often felt like a stewardess myself this year as I have lived out of suitcases on my many jaunts and awoken in strange beds wondering, for a few seconds, in which part of the world I was.

Then, I had my yogurt and muesli breakfast at 7. 30am, showered, and left my flat by 9.15. Instead of bussing it, I took the Tube to South Kensington and arrived a little too early to start my 10 am gallery lecture at the Victoria and Albert Museum for my South Asian Studies students. I decided to explore the area that is fashionably known as “South Ken”, a stronghold of London’s French community, according to my Parisienne student, Julia Anderson.

And she was quite right. I passed by Jolie Fleur, a tres chic florist whose window displays were as beguiling as the ones you see all over France. There were any amount of cafés trottoirs (pavement cafes—yes even in the chill of late winter) selling filled baguettes and cafes au laits and even a delicatessen with a stock of typiquement French ingredients such as pate and saumon fume and cornichons, not to mention Proust’s famous madelienes! It was fun indeed to wander around this little corner of Gaul and I did wish I had more time especially to browse in the vintage stores—another time, perhaps.

I arrived at the V&A a few minutes after ten, but my students were nowhere to be seen. I settled down in the lobby (as that was our meeting spot) and awaited their arrival while admiring the stunning Dale Chihuly chandelier, which is one of my favorite pieces in the museum. It is funny but after having spent only a few days in this place, it feels like home to me—in the same way that the National Gallery and the Metropolitan Museum in New York do!

When at 10. 15, there was no sign of my students, I began to worry. Did I not make myself clear that we were to meet in the lobby? Had I make a mistake with the time? We were meeting at 10 and not at 11, right? With all these worries floating through my brain, I took a deep breath, decided to stay calm and wait patiently. It was possible that they were stuck in the Tube, wasn’t it? A few minutes later, they burst upon me, laughing and apologizing and sighing with relief, all at the same time. It seems that they had been waiting for me at a side entrance, not the main one. When we failed to connect, they had begun to panic!

Well, all was well, fortunately, that ended well, and we made our way to the Nehru Gallery of South Asian Art which I had studied a few weeks ago and where I took them through a brief history of Modern India as manifested by its art and craftsmanship. We examined Mogul and Rajasthani miniatures, Indian calico cottons, marble and wooden (jali) carvings, gold (jari) embroidered sarees and sheraras as worn by Muslim nobility, gold and bejeweled ornaments including turban pieces worn by men that were studded with emeralds, rubies and sapphires, wooden furniture inlaid with ivory (gifts from Indian royalty to East India Company officials), bidriware, enamelware, ivory furniture, a golden throne, Tipu’s famous Tiger, the jade drinking cup of Shah Jehan, and a host of other marvelous items that had them exclaiming and asking all kinds of very relevant questions. I also took them up to the museum’s jewelry galleries where they did some more exclaiming and finally, I led them to the café where the restaurant rooms featuring the work of William Morris, Poynter and Gamble are showpieces in themselves.

We parted company as they returned to campus for their next class while I took the bus home. While eating my lunch (Pizza Paradiso’s pizza), I finished watching 1947 Earth as I do want to start work on the lecture I am giving in Italy later this month based on this movie. Despite the fact that I have seen it so many times before, it never fails to brings tears to my eyes and I was deeply saddened, once again, by the end of the film in which the author Bapsi Sidhwa herself makes a cameo appearance.

Meanwhile, in the midst of all these things, I was also trying desperately to reach the Podiatry Clinic as I had finally received my letter in the mail informing me that a referral had been received on my behalf and that I was required to call and make an appointment. Except that though I tried more than 50 times (I know because the number of tries I made are recorded on my cell phone), I always got the message “User Busy” back! All day—I mean from 9. 30 am (when they opened) until 3.00 pm—it said “User Busy”. I am convinced that something was wrong with that line. But, get this, at 1. 10pm, when I finally did get through, I got Voice Mail, informing me that they were closed between 1.00 and 1.3 0 for lunch! At 1. 45, I got “User Busy” once again. It was enough to make me want to tear out my hair by the handful in frustration! I was keen to make the appointment as I would be in Cornwall for the next few days and wanted to get the business of fixing an appointment over with!!! In the end, I simply gave up. I guess I shall try again tomorrow.

Next, I turned to packing—or rather re-packing. Having decided to take my laptop with me, my backpack was inadequate and I had to move all my stuff into my duffel bag. This was swift work and by 3. 45 pm, I was heading out the door again, this time to the Royal Academy of Art to meet Rosemary who is a member there. She is privileged to use the museum for free and to take companions along as well. We had planned to meet there at 4. 15 and since I did not want to be late, I took the Tube again—as buses are very unreliable and do not work if one has an appointment to keep.

Though I have passed by the Royal Academy dozens of time in the bus, I had never been to this gallery and I have to say that I was floored by the splendor of the building. Its Neo-Classical quadrangle is grand in every sense of the term and the rather contemporary fountain in the center is the only element that clashes, I thought, with the dignity of the place. Like Rosemary, my taste is much too traditional and both of us would have preferred a cascading fountain in the center rather than the kind that spouts water sporadically from the ground (as also seen at Somerset House). A wonderful bronze sculpture of Sir Joshua Reynolds at the entrance is a very appropriate touch for, undoubtedly, he had much to do with the setting up of this venerable institution.

Rosemary and I were there to see the special exhibition on ‘Byzantium’. It is funny how I have learned to pronounce the word “Byzantine” the American way—I now say “Biz-en-teen’. It sounded odd to hear the very English Rosemary pronounce it as “By-zin-tyne”. Yet before I moved to American that was exactly how I would have pronounced it myself! While we were in the midst of the exhibition, I realized that I had seen quite a few of these pieces before in the Treasures of Saint Mark’s Basilica in Venice last March. In fact, the signature piece that is used on all the publicity posters–a very ornate censer in three different metals—silver, brass and copper—I do remember seeing with my friends Amy and Mahnaz when we were in Venice last year. Some of the pieces reminded me so much of the staggering beauty of the Pala D’Oro especially in the precious stones that were studded in the gold settings that formed the frames of some of the work.

The last rooms contained some magnificent icons that had arrived in London from the Benaki Museum in Athens, Greece, and from the Hermitage in St. Petersburg, Russia. They were superb and very exciting to examine as I have never really had the chance to study icons so closed and in such a large number. For me, this was certainly the highlight of the exhibition. I told Rosemary that I would like her to take me to the special exhibition that has just opened on Andrea Palladio, as coincidentally, I am, later this month, going to be staying in Vicenza, Italy, the city of Palladio, with my friend Annalisa Oboe, who lives there. While Llew, Chriselle and I have visited Annalisa in Vicenza before, this time I really do want to take careful notice of his ‘Palladian’ architecture that is showcased all over this city.

The museum closed at 6 pm and Rosemary suggested we go out for a drink as the evening was still young. It had started to drizzle by this time and since I had no umbrella, we shared her’s. Instead of hunting around for a pub in the rain, at her suggestion, we made our way down St. James’ Street towards her Club—The Royal Overseas League Club–where she has been a member for a while and her partner Christie Cherian is on the Board of Directors.

Indeed, the building was another one of those posh London residences that have been converted into private clubs or into hotels and in the lovely interior with its ornamental staircase, its portrait of the Queen and its beautiful flower arrangements, we ordered our drinks (a white wine for her, a Guinness for me) and settled down to one of our cozy chats. Rosemary ran into a friend called John Edwards to whom she introduced me as “her friend from New York” and John suggested that I take a look at a special exhibition in the foyer of oil paintings by an artist from New York.

Soon, it was time for us to leave as I had to wake up at 2. 15 am for my flight to Cornwall and at about 7. 30, we parted company and went our separate ways. Back home, I finalized the packing of my duffel bag, ate my dinner of Thai Green Curry (Chicken) with Tiramisu for dessert before I got ready for bed at 9 pm.

I called Llew and told him to call me at 9. 15 pm which would be 2. 15 am (my time), just in case my cell phone alarm did not go off, and on that note, I hit the sack.

Exploring Downtown Oslo

Mar1

Thursday, February 26, 2009
Oslo, Norway

Day One in Oslo–Breakfast at the Youth Hostel:
Because I had managed to get some reading done from my Norway DK Eye Eyewitness Guide en route to Stanstead airport, I decided that I would spend my first day in the City Center getting oriented. It seemed that the city was rather small and could easily be explored on foot. Attempting to avoid what I imagined would be the early-morning rush for the bathrooms down the hall, I decided to shower in the evening.

Dressing warmly, I went downstairs to the dining room for breakfast (included in the price of 22 Euros per night) and thought I was in a hotel. Truly, after the breakfasts I have consumed in other European youth hostels, this one appeared princely. There was a variety of cereals with milk or yogurt, a buffet bar with rolls, various types of sliced bread and the famous Scandinavian crisp bread and all sorts of jams and marmalades as well as a rather chunky and very delicious apple sauce. In the deli bar, there was cheese (Jarlsberg, of course, Norway’s gift to the world) ham, salami, liverwurst, coleslaw, fresh sliced tomatoes and cucumbers and a variety of fish dishes—in mustard sauce, tomato sauce and pickled with onions. There was also a variety of juices, tea and coffee—like I said, fit for a king. There was even a traditional brown cheese called geitost, served in a round block with a cheese knife. This is eaten at breakfast, very thinly sliced, and when I tasted some, I found this goat’s cheese sweet, sharply flavored and very delicious, especially when placed on the crisp bread and eaten with the tomatoes. I found myself crafting very creative open sandwiches each day for breakfast! Well, when in Oslo…..

Exploring Downtown Oslo:
Well fortified to face my day and having joined a group of women my age at their table—they were international academics from Brazil and Norway attending a conference in the hostel premises—I left to explore the city. Katya from Brazil joined me on the downhill trek to the tram stop which I boarded ten minutes later. It promised to be a beautiful day for the sun was just beginning to gild the snow draped hills and being warmly clad myself, I wasn’t in the least uncomfortable. One great thing about New England winters is that they teach you now to dress in layers and feel snug.

Oslo’s National Gallery:
Fifteen minutes later, I was at Karl Johans Gate which is the main artery that runs through the City Center. I headed first off to the National Gallery mainly to see The Scream by Edvard Munch, Norway’s best-known artist. Not only has this painting being stolen from this museum twice, but it has been, miraculously, recovered twice as well! One of the things that visiting the world’s museums has taught me is that no pictures in the world can prepare the viewer for the actual size of famous paintings and, time after time, I have been surprised at how small the real thing is when all I have seen were pictures. The Scream is small indeed but rather riveting. In the Munch Gallery, there was also his other famous work, Madonna—these two were held behind plexiglass shields.

A few rooms away, there was a special exhibition on his very personal work The Sick Child, based on his memories of his sister who lay dying of tuberculosis. There were various versions of this subject, painted over twenty years, the work getting more and more Expressionistic as he progressed. I was so fortunate to be able to see about eight version of it all gathered together in one room, as well as the definitive one which was the center piece of the exhibition. In addition to works by Munch, there were some wonderful Norwegian artists represented such as J.C. Dahl, Tilemund and Dude and some other canvases by Old Masters—After the Bath by Renoir was particularly lovely as was St. Peter by El Greco. Tilemund and Dude’s Norwegian Bridal Party on display in their museum has achieved iconic stature in the country as it comprises all the elements that best portray Norway—mountains, lakes and traditional rural people dressed in their colorful bunads. Best part of all was that this museum was free to the public and though there was almost no one when I first entered, a few tour groups did arrive later in the day.

The National History Museum:
Right next door to the National Gallery is the National History Museum—also free of charge. I entered it to find myself lost for the next hour as I took in some marvelous medieval art. There was the front portal of a traditional Stave Church—richly carved and in a fantastic state of preservation though dating to the 1100s. I did not appreciate it right away but, a few days later, after I saw and entered a real stave church on Bygdoy, I realized where exactly at the church door it would fit and I was then so taken by this piece.

A special exhibition on the Vikings taught me a great deal about these people who originated in Scandinavia. All I had known about the Vikings was that they were violent marauders who destroyed abbeys in Ireland. So I was pleasantly surprised to see the artistic streak they also possessed as evidenced in the silver-studded sword handles and the vast amount of metal jewelry (mainly brooches to hold their flowing garments in place) that they produced. In the Sami section, I saw a great deal of material on the ethnic people who thrive in the northernmost reaches of Norway and, as my school geography lessons had taught me, live in igloos, wear reindeer fur and travel on dog sleds. It was thoroughly enjoyable. Everywhere I went, I saw the museums filled with school groups on field trips, their teachers actually teaching them lessons in the galleries.

Karl Johans Gate:
Then I was out on the sunshine-washed streets of Oslo walking towards the Royal Palace called Slottet that sits on a hill overlooking the city’s main thoroughfare called Karl Johans Gate. The word ‘gate’ in Norwegian does not mean ‘gate’; it means ‘road’ and this one named after one of Norway’s most illustrious kings, Karl Johans, is its busiest. Groups of tourists were out by this time, slip sliding on the ice and throwing snowballs at each other. There were no guided tours of the interior in the winter but I did enjoy the exterior environs of the palace that are set in sprawling lawns open to the public—all thickly covered with crisp and spotlessly white blankets. The current monarchs were resident in the palace as was evident by the flag which flew from the flag mast.

I walked downhill towards the National Theater and paused to take pictures of the sculpture of Henrik Ibsen of whom Norway is so proud. The National Theater was actually putting on a production of his most famous play A Doll’s House together with Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Kazamarov. A few steps away, the grand Neo-Classical building of Oslo University lay ahead of me in its own square. The Aula is its most interesting feature—a room that is covered with murals by Munch–but since it was under renovation, it was closed to the public.

The Wonders of Radhuset:
Using my map, I found my way, a few blocks away, to Radhuset, the City Hall, and scene, each year, of the distribution of the Nobel Peace Prize. This extremely modern building built by Arnstein Arneberg and Magnus Poulsson, who won a competition to design it, dominates the cityscape by its unusual shape and conception. The exterior is only the beginning, however, as the inside of the building, covered with murals, sculptures in bas relief and almost floor-to-ceiling size paintings is breathtaking. The public can move freely from room to room including the Chamber where the Council meet to debate state affairs. Norway’s leading artists have painted each one with murals. Filled with traditional carved furniture, they are truly a delight to explore while the brilliance of the architecture is never very far from one’s mind.

Right outside the Radhusett is the Nobel Peace Center (which is open to visitors) but for lack of time, I decided to forego visiting it and proceeded towards Akker Brygge where I found a cozy corner in a McDonald’s overlooking Oslofjordden, for Oslo is indeed situated at the head of a fjord and the sun gleaming on the ice-filled waters was a lovely sight indeed. I spent almost an hour there watching the ferries come in and take off for the many islands that dot the fjord and admiring the sight of the turrets of nearby Akershus Slott (also closed in the winter), a castle and fortress that also contains the remains of some of Norway’s most prominent monarchs.

Christiana Torv and Oslo Domkirk:
Using my Guide Book, I then walked towards Christiana Torv (or Christiana Square) which is one of the oldest and best preserved of Oslo’s medieval squares. Indeed, I was so taken by the beautiful old structures that comprise the square that I braved traffic moving in slow circles around the ice and took many pictures.

Then, since most European capitals have at least one spectacular cathedral, I went in the direction of the Domkirk, only to find it completely shrouded in ugly scaffolding and completely closed. My book is rather old and doesn’t have up-to-the-minute information and had, therefore, failed to warn me of this. But I was glad to have seen the busy square around Kirkstein and since, by that point, I had walked a great deal and was tired, I hopped aboard the tram and returned to my room as I did not want to get back too late.

How delighted I was to find the hill leading to the hostel covered with tiny tots sledding and tobogganing on the slopes in the noisy company of their parents. Indeed, the Norwegians really do know how to enjoy the winter and make the most of its pleasures. As the sun was about to disappear behind the hills that surround the city, I decided to sit outside myself and watch it wave its magic wand upon the ice making the countryside seem as if asleep under a diamond encrusted comforter. It was pure magic and I was glad that I had not missed the beauty of winter completely this year but had caught some of its glory in Scandinavia.

British Library, Accommodation Hunting and Another Interview

Feb24

Wednesday, February 25, 2009
London

Through the miracle of modern technology and flawless logistics, my Frank Anthony book was awaiting my arrival at the British Library when I reached there this morning at 10. 30. In the lovely Asia and Africa Reading Room, while being gazed upon by the oil-painted portraits of India’ s erstwhile rajas and maharajas, I devoured the contents of several chapters trying to find clues to justify the Anglo-Indian exodus from India and the reasons why so many of my Anglo-Indians subjects are so staunchly anti-Anthony. I came away with some rather interesting conclusions as I tried to read between the lines. I become conscious of a rumble in my tummy and when I glanced at my watch, you could have struck me down with a feather. It was 1 .30 pm already! No wonder I was starving!

Since I wasn’t too far away from Euston, I decided to go and pay a visit to the Physiotherapy ward at UCL to find out why my referral to the Podiatrist had not yet reached them. At least that was what I discovered before I set out this morning when, in accordance, with the directive of my physiotherapist, Claire Curtin, I had called to ascertain my appointment date for my Orthotics. Well, surprise! UCL hadn’t sent Podiatry a referral at all!!! And here I was waiting patiently, day after day, for the mailman to deliver a letter giving me an appointment. And, another surprise! Claire Curtin was off-duty, so I could not speak with her to find out where the impasse lay. Luckily, the receptionist suggested I talk to a manager, a lovely lady named Nuss Devon, who took me into her office and tried to help me by emailing Claire. I left feeling very disappointed indeed at the way things had turned out.

On the bus, as I made my way to Kilburn, I couldn’t help feeling that I haven’t had the best week. I was headed to Kilburn to meet a man who runs a budget accommodation service as I need to find a place to stay for the months of June and July. The proprietor who runs the hostel was doubtful that it would be the most suitable place for me as his lodgings are used mainly, he said, short term, by backpackers. He offered to show me the place and suggested I book for a week. If I am happy through that week, I can decide to prolong my stay for the rest of the summer, he said. It seemed like a reasonable enough suggestion…so off I went to check it out with, I must admit, a great deal of trepidation. This lovely flat I currently occupy at High Holborn has so spoiled me for anything else that I am actually loath to go and inspect other prospective digs as I know that nothing else will quite measure up.

I was pleased about the location–it is on a quiet residential street about a five minute walk from the Tube station, has free internet facilities, spotless toilets and showers, fully-stocked community kitchens and a separate female dorm that just might work for me. Of course, I would much rather have my own studio or an ensuite room in a house; but given London’s exorbitant rents, I might have to settle for something much less luxurious. Still, having a look at the hostel and knowing that, at a pinch, I can opt for this space means that I will not be homeless come June. This is a big comfort to me and I am determined now not to worry too much though I shall continue to keep looking for something better.

On the bus back, I found out that it takes about 25 minutes to get to Baker Street (not too bad at all). I did not try to make a bus connection, however, preferring to take the the Tube as I had a 4.oo pm appointment at Charing Cross station with another Anglo-Indian, Claire Jansen, who, bless her heart, had agreed to meet me despite the fact that she was feeling decidedly under the weather today.

We decided to find a quiet corner in the National Gallery where Claire generously treated me to a hot chocolate as we seated ourselves down for our chat. Unlike most of the respondents in my survey, Claire is close to my own age. She arrived as an immigrant to the UK rather recently but because she has also lived in Australia and the United States, she was able to make very intelligent comparative statements about the Anglo-Indian lifestyle in these different countries. I found her a pleasure to talk to as she combined humor with her acute insights and candid perceptions. The two of us were amazed to discover that a whole two hours had passed in the course of our conversation. If it weren’t for the fact that the security staff at the museum was ready to shoo us off at closing time, we’d have sat there for another two hours! I told Claire that I would love to stay in touch with her and she warmly invited me over to her place for a meal–an invitation I’d be grateful to accept as her reputation as a fine chef has preceded her.

I had so many little chores to do when I got back home. My laundry (that I did last night) had to be folded and put away. I had to pack my backpack as I leave early tomorrow morning for my four day stay in Oslo, Norway. I was excited (as I have never been to Scandinavia) but my excitement disappeared when I checked the weather forecast for the next few days and discovered that it is freezing out there and that snow is expected every single day! I crammed my backpack with my warmest cashmere sweaters and threw in extra woolen socks, etc. I guess I will have no option but to live in the museums for the next few days!

With my packing done, I tidied and straightened my rooms–I hate to come home from a trip to a disorderly house. Then, I downloaded my pictures from my camera, charged it and my cell phone and sat down to have a long chat with Llew. When I had told him all about my search for a place for the summer, I rang off and heated my dinner (Sainsbury’s Fisherman’s Pie) and sat to eat it while watching In Bruges. I had no idea what to expect and basically ordered the film on Love Film.com because I thought it would be shot in Bruges and I would enjoy the locations. Well, it turned out to be a thriller but with the most hilarious dialogue and the craziest twists. Starring Colin Farrel and Brendan Gleeson, Ralph Fiennes makes an appearance at the very end. Yes, there was all the cinematography that I had expected (which makes me anticipate my forthcoming April trip to Belgium all the more) but there was this gruesome end that seemed so incongruous with the plot’s setting.

I am all set now to switch on my alarm as I need to leave my flat at 6. 45 am for my 7. 30 Easybus to Stanstead. I can only hope that the weather in Oslo will not make my trip a complete disaster. I will return to this blog on Sunday though I will continue to keep a travel journal–in long hand!

Lunch with Rosemary and Tuning in to Turner at the Tate

Feb13

Thursday, February 12, 2009
London

I had an unusually listless kind of evening, so I’m glad I packed so much into my morning. Awoke and read my Prisoner of Azkaban for a bit, then got on with breakfast, Alternate Soaking, exercises, etc.

I don’t want to jinx anything, but if there is one thing that seems to be working really well for my feet, it is these Alternate Soaks. They are a heck of a messy form of hydrotherapy and have been doing a number on my beautiful hard wood floors. I guess it might be best to do them in the bathroom, but I watch TV as I do them, so it makes sense to do it in the living room.

At any rate, the very first time I plunge my feet into the basin of ice cold water, the shock to my system is so intense that I can feel my chest heave (and there is a medical reason for it–your heart tends to beat suddenly more rapidly to pump more blood down to your feet). The next plunge in the near-boiling water is no less traumatic. But it is these hot-cold, hot-cold contrasts that enhance the heart’s pumping capacity that sends blood rushing to the inflamed tendons and thus repairs the soft tissue and ‘cures’ the condition. I have no idea how long I will need to continue to do this, but my homeopath told me that if I continue with her medication, I shall feel better in another three weeks and I believe that if I continue these Alternate Soaks for the same length of time, I should find myself feeling much better overall. So, I am not giving up–at least not just yet.

I then sat down to transcribe my interview with Roger MacNair and this took me all of two hours. Between email correspondence and proofreading this report, time flew and before I knew it, it was time to go in for a shower and leave my flat. I had made plans to meet Rosemary for lunch close to her place of work. She suggested the Bay Leaf Cafe on Tottenham Street, just off Tottenham Court Road, next door to the Goodge Street Tube Station. In no time, I was there and Rosemary joined me in a few minutes.

The cafe is tiny (though there is more seating downstairs). It does a selection of eclectic fare from rissoles (which Rosemary ate–they are potato cakes) to a Vegetable Lasagne (which I ate–and which was fabulous!). Both our entrees came with a salad and needless to say, we were stuffed at the end of our meal.Rosemary walked back to work at 2. 45 and I took the bus from Gower Street and made my way to the Tate Britain.

My American neighbor in Bombay, Roberta Skaggs Naik, an art historian and artist herself, had mentioned to me when I visited her, a few weeks ago at her cottage in Bombay, that her favorite part of the Tate Britain was the collection of Turners. Now I wondered why I hadn’t seen them when I was there a few weeks ago. Was I blind? How come I missed them? I decided that the first chance I found a couple of hours at my disposal, I would rush there to see them.

And that’s what I did. Though it was a cloudy day, it was dry with not a raindrop on the radar. On the other two nights that I had been to the Tate, it had been coming down in buckets. Well, I found the Clore Center soon enough, but was informed by the Receptionist that most of the Turner Collection is traveling as a fund-raising effort at the moment. They are expected to return to London by April (when, fortunately, I will still be here).

The few canvasses that are on display (about thirty) spanned his life’s work as an artist, showing his full evolution from a painter who presented realistic scenes of the earth and the ocean to an artist who, influenced by French landscape painters like Claude Lorraine, began to experiment with light, brush strokes and background to create more and more abstract representations of reality. Having seen Turner’s major works at the National Gallery, I was pleased to come upon a few of the studies of his more famous paintings in this collection and I really do look forward to the day when the entire collection that was bequeathed by Turner himself to the nation will be available for my perusal.

It was still daylight when I got back on the bus and found my way home. Then, a feeling of inexplicable listlessness came over me and I felt so lazy. I simply did not want to get out of bed. Feeling guilty abut wasting time, I sat in bed and finished grading two batches of Writing assignments and then decided to get up and find myself some dinner. I also had laundry to do and these chores finally got me going again!

I made myself a dinner plate with pasta and soup with tiramisu for dessert and sat back eagerly to watch Mansfield Park that Love Films had mailed me, only to be bitterly disappointed. The DVDs they sent were not in order and while I received Parts 2, 3, 4, 5, there was no Part 1! How annoying! I decided to put the whole lot back in the mail and watched James Martin on Saturday Kitchen instead featuring Raymond Blanc whose legendary restaurant Le Manoir des Quatres Saisons in Oxfordshire is one place I would dearly love to try!

Still feeling rather listless and after another Alternate Soak, I went to bed at 9. 30 pm after losing myself in some more Prisoner of Azkaban!

Discovering the V&A

Feb4

Wednesday, February 4, 2009
London

I had a very early start this morning, awaking at 5. 30 am, working on my PC for a while, then showering, eating breakfast and getting out of my flat by 7. 45 am to take the buses to the University College Hospital for my physiotherapy session. I reached there in under a half hour which was something of a surprise to me. Traffic seems to be moving a bit faster now on High Holborn–which is such a relief.

To my disappointment, I found that Paul is no longer working with me (he has been rotated to another division) and I now have a new physiotherapist–Claire Curtin–who says that she will be in this division for at least 4 months, so is likely to work with me long-term. I find this very annoying as I think the patient loses continuity with a health practitioner. This is also what is wrong about this NHS system–the patient has no control over who he is treated by. He just has to lump it and whether the physician is good or not, he has to stick with him. Anyway, I am not that bad now that my condition needs specialist attention, so I guess I shall just stay with Claire and hope for the best.

Nothing much came out of our session. She basically told me to continue with the same exercises that Paul had recommended. She drew them out for me because their computer is still not working (what??? Even after three weeks? How do these folks function?) However, it seems that Paul has made the referral on my behalf for the podiatrist, so I should be getting something in the mail asking me to see a podiatrist who will then recommend the orthotics that Paul thought I needed. So the rigmarole continues…Claire did massage my right ankle and told me how to do it myself and suggested that I see her again in two weeks time! She could not recommend the exercises strongly enough and told me not to stop, come what may!

I then took the Number 14 bus from Euston and rode on it all the way to Kensington. Now that I have finished my study of the National Gallery, I have turned my sights on to the Victoria and Albert Museum, known affectionately as the V&A. I had visited this museum only once, a few years ago, and been completely overwhelmed by its size and scale. I had taken a Highlights Tour then, but do not remember anything that was shown to me except for the Raphael Cartoons and a Cast Room. When I arrived at the Museum, a few minutes before 10 am, there were a couple of dozen people there already but the museum was still closed. At 10 am sharp, the heavy wooden doors were thrown open and I was the first person to enter the museum today!!!

After my bag was physically examined, I went to the Cloak Room to hand in my coat and bag, then went to the Information Desk to find out about Highlights Tours for the day. There were two at 10.30 am and 11. 30 am respectively that I thought I would take. Meanwhile, I got myself a Map and a list of 20 Highlights of the Museum and started to see those for the first half hour.

In the basement, I saw an ivory inlaid wooden cabinet by Fiammingo. Then in the Fashion Gallery (which is highly reputed), I saw a beautiful dress designed by Vivienne Westwood under inspiration from French artist Watteau. It was fashioned in emerald silk and was gorgeous. In the South Asian galleries, I saw Shah Jahan’s exquisite wine cup, carved in white jade, featuring a flower on the bottom and the head of ram in its handle–truly beautiful! In the Islamic section, I saw the Ardabil Carpet, a gigantic carpet woven in Iran and containing over 4,000 knots per square inch. The Far Eastern Galleries held a really charming Bodhisatava called Guanyin and in the Japanese Armor section, I saw a suit of armor that was presented to Queen Victoria by one of the big gun shoguns of the time. These were the highlights I saw on my own.

At 10. 30 am, I went to the spot where the Highlights Tour began and met my guide, Jane Hampson. She was disappointed to find that I was the only one on the tour but she took me, first off, to one of the Museum’s biggest attractions–The Raphael Room–where we were joined by another visitor originally from Egypt but now living in Australia. For the next hour, Jane took us on a very lively and interesting tour of the museum that included the following objects:

1. The Raphael Cartoons. (These water colors were the basis for the tapestries that hang in the Sistine Chapel in Rome. They were made in Mortlake on the outskirts of London. These belong to the Royal Family having been purchased by Charles I).
2. The Gothic Altarpiece featuring St. George and the Dragon.
3. A Chinese Red Lacquer Table and Throne.
4. The Eltenburg Reliquary (made of wood, whale ivory, and superb cloisonne work).
5. The Plaster Cast Room (with special emphasis on Trajan’s Column–the original of which stands in Rome).
6. A Porcelain Pagoda and Export China in the Chinese Gallery.
7. The Thomas Grace Cup–a medieval ivory cup that is associated with Thomas a Beckett of Canterbury and was decorated during the Renaissance.
8. The Dacre Animals (saved from a stately English country estate before it burned down).
9. Sculpture of Neptune and Triton by Gian Lorenzo Bernini (one of his early works, showing similar compositional elements with his Bachannalia that I show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York).
10. The Great Bed of Ware (this was made in the 1100s and there is actually a reference to it in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night–which, coincidentally enough, I saw last night!)
11. The Dale Chihuly Chandelier in the main lobby–this has always been one of my favorite pieces in the V&A and I recall taking a picture of it the last time I was there.

I thought the tour was superb and when Jane mentioned that she gives a special tour of the British Galleries at 12. 30 pm, I told her that I would join that as well. Meanwhile, I rushed off to join the 11. 30 am Highlights Tour, this one being given by a guide called Mina Renton. She took the group to the Raphael Cartoons, then moved on to “Tippoo’s Tiger” in the South Asian Galleries.

The title of the work refers to a music box that is concealed in the body of a tiger that is seen devouring a British soldier. As anyone with any knowledge of Indian History knows, “Tippoo” is Tipu Sultan, who was known as the Tiger of Mysore. He defended his territory against the British onslaught throughout the 18th century (as had his father, Hyder Ali, before him). He was finally vanquished and killed in the Battle of Seringapatnam by Lord Cornwallis (yes, the same Cornwallis who was involved with the British surrender at York during the American Revolution!). Mysore then came under British control. I was surprised how huge this object is–for some reason, I kept thinking it was a small table-top model. When I saw that it was almost life size, I was shocked. It is so fragile now and can no longer be wound up to play the sounds that emanate from the dying young British soldiers who is being mauled by the tiger. This design, incidentally, is based on a real-life incident–a Captain Munroe was out hunting in Mysore when he was attacked and killed by a tiger. Tipu was delighted and amused by this occurrence and requested that an organ be made for him in this design. It happens to be the most popular item at the V&A and one that most visitors wish to see. This tour then wound its way to the Bernini Neptune, but since I was keen on joining Jane’s British Galleries tour, I left it and returned to the lobby.

Jane’s British Galleries tour was just fantastic. In the short space of just one hour, she covered such a great deal and explained things very clearly indeed. She went from the 1500s till the late 1700s and confined herself to the ground level only. The British Galleries continued on the 2nd, 3rd and 4th levels, but those I shall see on future visits.

These are the items I covered with Jane in the British Galleries:

1. A Morstyn Salt Cellar.
2. Henry VIII’s Portable Wooden Writing ‘Desk’.
3. The Bradford Table Carpet.
4. A Funeral Pall for the Brewer’s Company.
5. A Medieval Baby wrapped in swaddling and a slipware cradle.
6. A Virginal used by Queen Elizabeth I.
7. The Drake Jewel (containing a miniature of Queen Elizabeth I and presented to Drake in recognition of his services to the country after the defeat of the Spanish Armada).
8. The Hunsdon Jewels (Presented by Queen Elizabeth I to various courtiers for services rendered to the country).
9. The marble bust of Charles I.
10. Fashionable Men’s Wear in the Court of James I and Charles I.
11. A Mortlake Tapestry.
12. A Marquetry Cabinet.
13. A Sumpter Cloth (used to be thrown across goods in a wagon).
14. A Sculpture by Cornelia Parker entitled “Breathless” featuring real crushed musical instruments and suspended from the ceiling.
15. The Melville Bed from the Melville House in Fife, Scotland.
16. The Stoke Edith Tapestry from a country estate in Herefordshire featuring the estate’s formal gardens.
17. The Badminton Chinoisserie Bed from Badminton.
18. A Marble Sculpture of Handel by Jonathan Tyers originally made for the Vauxhall Gardens.
19. A Selection of Chelsea Porcelain.
20. Four Painted Rococo Panels.
21. An 18th century Mantua or Court Dress of a Lady.
22. A Painting entitled ‘The Duet’ by Arthur Devis
23. The Norfolk Music House Room which originally stood in St. James’ Square, London–later razed to the ground after a fire destroyed it.
24. A Selection of miniature portraits by Nicholas Hilliard.

I found it hard to believe how much I covered in just two and half hours. That’s why I love these tours!

When Jane and I got talking at the end of the tour, I happened to mention my Plantar Fascittis (which had caused me to sit wherever I could find a seat or bench on the tours) and Jane informed me that she had the same thing, a few years ago. Apart from the massages and stretching exercises, she recommended what her physiotherapist called Contrast Bathing! What??? She told me this meant that I needed to sit with two big bowls of water side by side. One should be filled with water as hot as I can take it, the other filled with water as cold as I can stand it. You are supposed to place your feet for a few minutes in the hot water, then in the cold, the hot, then the cold. This apparently would expand and contract the muscles. Jane claims that ultimately this did cure her completely and, occasionally, when she still gets a twinge, she does this for a few minutes and she is right as rain, again! This sounds to me like Chinese torture but what the heck, since I have tried everything else, I am willing to give this a shot as well. She told me to do this while watching TV and I would not feel it at all!!!

I came home for lunch, caught up with email correspondence and tried to take a short nap; and then before I knew it, the time was 5. 45 pm and I left my flat for my appointment with Rosemary Massouras and Christie Cherian, her partner. We had decided to meet at the Sherlock Holmes Bar which is located in the Park Plaza Sherlock Holmes Hotel on Baker Street, just a block from the fictional 221B Baker Street where Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Victorian detective Sherlock Holmes lived.

It was a lovely evening and over cider and white wine and some nibbles (hummus and pita, feta cheese and sauteed peppers), we chatted about a vast variety of subjects from travel and India, films, our children, my trip to Berlin, etc. Rosemary and I have decided to go together to the special exhibition on Byzantium at the Royal Academy of Art where she happens to be a member and she also wants to do a weekend trip with me somewhere–but is afraid she will not have the stamina to keep up with me, she says!

I took two buses back and got home at 10 am when I had a small bite to eat and after writing this blog, fell asleep.