Out and About with Loreen and Dinner Next Door

Apr25

Saturday, April 25, 2009
London

When the day dawned all grey and dreary, I thought, Oh no….that’s it, the end of the glorious week we had. But then, just an hour later, the sky cleared up miraculously, those clouds parted and the sun shone full upon our curve of the globe.

Not that I intended to get anywhere during the morning. I was too tied up transcribing the interview I did with Susan Lynn last week. Needless to say, it took hours and went into 11 pages! My friend Loreen called to find out when I could hook up with her as it is her last day in London (she returns tomorrow to Connecticut). I excused myself pleading work and told her to carry on to the Shakespeare Globe Theater with her daughter Alicia to see Romeo and Juliet as I intended to see it when Chriselle arrived here. I did tell her to come over to my flat for a cup of tea after the show. This left me time to complete my work, proofread it and email it to my office to be printed out.

But less than an hour later, they called again to tell me that the Globe was House Full and they could not so much as get their small toes in! Well, we had no option but to alter our plans. I grabbed myself a light lunch and ran in for a shower and, a half hour later, I was opening my door to them.

It was while we were enjoying a cup of tea that my doorbell rang–it was Tim, my next-door neighbor, whom I invited to join us for a cuppa. He did just that and we spent almost an hour chatting together. Tim had come in bearing an invitation to his place for dinner in the evening as he was fixing Spaghetti Bolognese. Well, I told him that while I would be there in a heartbeat, I was on a low-carb diet and would have to skip the spaghetti and eat only the bolognese sauce. Or, he suggested, as an alternative, I could eat a very small portion of spaghetti–which I agreed I would do.

Then, Loreen, Alicia and I left for a long ramble in Holborn intending to visit the Inns of Court at Chancery. Only most of them were closed (because it was a Saturday?). We were glad we were able to see Gray’s Inn. We did arrive at Fleet Street where we decided to visit the Church of St. Clement Danes on The Strand. The bells of the church seemed to have crazy–the famous bells from the poem, that is: “Oranges and Lemons, Say the Bells of St. Clement’s”. The reason for the carillon was that a wedding had just ended and being the romantics we are, we stood on the sidewalk and watched as the bridal couple received warm wishes and hugs and kisses from their guests.

Interestingly, all of the ladies were wearing Phillip Treacy hats–I wonder if the bride had stipulated this–“You can only attend my wedding if you wear a Phillip Treacy hat!” She herself, dressed in a lovely cream lace gown, was a vision in the midst of so many gentlemen in top hats and tail coats–this is one aspect of English culture that I do wish had crossed the pond–the wearing of hats for ladies and top hats and tail coats for men at formal weddings, I mean. No matter how beautifully American women dress for weddings, none of them ever wears a hat. Pity, methinks!

The wedding party soon left the church ‘yard’ or what little is left of it in the middle of The Strand and filed into the two old Routemaster red buses hired for the occasion from London Transport to take them, presumably, to the next venue for the party! I watched all this, delighted to note that I had experienced an English wedding too while in London. Surely these folks could not have prayed for a better day. I mean there was not a cloud in the sky and the temperature was just perfect!

When the bridal party left, we trooped into the church so Loreen could check it out and take some pictures (I had seen this church previously on one of my self-guided walks) and then, because Alicia informed me that her mother had not yet seen Covent Garden, we walked there and spent the next hour watching buskers perform, listening to a string orchestra and taking in the tourist energy all around us. Yes, with the weather having changed, London is fast filling with tourists and I can’t help but feel pleased that I explored so many parts of the country and indeed Europe at a time when I had most of these sites entirely to myself.

Then, we were piling into a bus with the intention of getting to Holland Park so I could photograph some of the tulips I saw there before they have quite disappeared. But we were tempted on two occasion to alight: once by the crowds at Trafalgar Square where Mayor Boris Johnson was holding a free concert to celebrate St. George’s Day (though the temptation was strong, we resisted alighting from the bus at that point and elected to stay on board) and once at Piccadilly where we did get off to explore Fortnum and Mason as we were all starving by this point.

In the food court, we bought ourselves Scotch Eggs and quiche (for Alicia), then settled down on a bench at St. James’ Church Square and munched on our extempore snack as the craft vendors closed shop for the day. By then it was almost 6. 45 pm and time for me to return for my dinner with Tim and Barbara next door.

And what a delightful evening that was! Tim, of course, not only produced one of the superb meals I have grown to expect from him, but ever so thoughtfully had changed the menu completely in keeping with the dictates of my low-carb diet! To my enormous surprise, he eliminated the spaghetti and while he retained the Bolognese Sauce, he served it with sauteed mushrooms, glazed carrots and steamed beans–all of which combined to make a truly delicious meal and a most colorful plate! For dessert, I had taken along a Belgian Chocolate Cheesecake from “our larder” (as they like to call the M&S Simply Foods across our building) and together with coffee, it made another wonderful course which we enjoyed as we watched golf on TV, listened to extracts from a revue from the 1960s by Flanders and Swann, watched a portion of Top Gear, a BBC TV show of which I had never heard and generally talked about a lot of things! Time always flies when I am in their company and before I knew it was it was past 10. 30 pm and time for me to thank them and return home–all the way next-door!

I told Llew all about my day before I fell asleep but not before I wrote this blog.

Tomorrow I am off to Stratford-on-Avon with Stephanie to celebrate Shakespeare’s birthday in his own hometown!

Classes En Plein-Air and Seeing James McAvoy on Stage

Apr25

Friday, April 24, 2009
London

It is unusual for my students to have classes on a Friday…so their faces were as long as a month of Sundays today. NYU-London had scheduled Make-Up classes today for the ones we will miss on Bank Holiday May 4 (Don’t know what the Bank Holiday’s for…but I will find out soon–my British cultural ignorance surfacing again).

With The Order of the Phoenix coming along nicely, I showered, breakfasted (yes, I am losing weight but slower than I had hoped) and made my way to campus by bus–I have purchased a 2-week bus pass again. Another fabulous day meant that the sun was shining brightly, the temperature was so comfortable I actually walked out of my building without a coat and it felt good to be alive.

While sorting out the many student essays (drafts and final papers) that I had graded this past week, I discovered that I had left a few graded ones at home. I groaned to myself. It meant that I would have to return home during my lunch break to pick them up. Still, I didn’t feel too badly about it as the weather was bracing and it would be great to take a walk at lunch-time.

Classes held in plein-air, i.e. in the Gardens of Bedford Square to which we, the NYU Community, have a personal key, meant that I marched my students across Bloomsbury Street, sat them down on the grass and taught in the full glorious sunshine of a golden spring morning. Can there be more unexpected pleasure than this sort of treat affords?

At lunchtime, I zoomed off home, picked up the papers I had left behind and returned to teach my second class whose faces grew even longer after they received grades on their essays and my comments. A few of them gave oral presentations using Powerpoint on Irish London, South Asian London, Vietnamese London and African London–all of which were fascinating and made me want to hop on a bus to go out and discover these quarters (Kilburn, the East End, Old Street, etc.) When we did not require the use of audio-visual equipment any more, I marched them out into the gardens as well–at least that seemed to raise their spirits–where a lovely graduation party was under way with scores of people sipping wine and nibbling on finger food and “things on sticks” as Hyacinth Bucket would say (Keeping Up Appearances). It did not deter us from finding a quiet corner and carrying on with class. I have to say that I have already begun to feel withdrawal symptoms at the thought that my teaching year at NYU-London is coming to a quick close. God alone knows how I will get through the actual departure–not, I am sure, without loads of Kleenex!

I got on to the bus then and hopped off at Shaftesbury Avenue (after I had done some printing at my desk and tweaked our proposed itinerary for Chriselle’s visit to London) and arrived at the Apollo Theater to see Three Days of Rain, a play by Richard Greenberg starring James McAvoy, Nigel Harman and Lynsey Marshal. Needless to say, I booked tickets for this one to see McAvoy–not that I particularly like him. I saw him in Becoming Jane (and did not like him at all but then I did not like the movie either) and then in Atonement (where I think he was terrific) and in The Last King of Scotland (where I thought he did equally well), but because I know in my bones that he will shape into one of the great actors of our time.

The play is a finely written, tension-filled family drama. Three young folks (a brother and sister duo and a friend, Walker, Nan and Pip) meet to hear the reading of a will upon the death of their architect fathers who happened to be business partners (Ned and Theo). Tension mounts when Walker makes the discovery that Nan was once intimate with Pip whom he had always thought of as his best friend. The scene them swings back forty years to the 1960s when the three actors on stage play their own parents. That’s when several parallel discoveries (including one of sexual intimacy) are revealed echoing those of the previous half of the play. This sort of clever crafting of plot through flashback makes for first-class drama and requires actors of the highest calibre. The selected three, in my opinion, did not disappoint. The two German ladies sitting besides me with whom I entered into conversation (0ne happened to be a Professor of Art History in Munich) informed me that they had seen the same play at the Donmar Warehouse, ten years ago, with Colin Firth playing McAvoy’s role.

What fired the production for me was the fine acting. The play is set in Manhattan which meant that they used New York accents–McAvoy’s was particularly impressive considering that in real life he has a broad Glaswegian one having been raised in Scotland. Lynsey Marshal was just as good though there were shades of Vivienne Liegh’s Blanche Dubois in her portrayal of the giddy Southern belle Lina. The sets were sparse and the effects, particularly the rain which one critic described as “pure theatrical Niagara”, were very good indeed. The theater is one of the smallest in the West End and though I had the very last seat in the house on the ground floor, it made very good viewing indeed.

My student Meg who is currently taking a course on Contemporary British Drama had seen the play last week. She told me, during our morning class, that the actors emerge at the end of the show to meet fans. Armed with my Playbill, I hastened to the back of the theater to the Apollo Theater Stage Door and waited– feeling for all the world like a groupie!–until the actors showed their faces. I thought that Nigel Harman has all the makings of a future star and I was delighted when he signed my program. Ditto for Marshal who impersonally and indifferently scribbled her name in several programs (including mine) while showing more interest in some people, presumably of importance, who chose to enter the theater through the stage door at precisely that point. When, eventually McAvoy emerged–there must be a strategy here…save the best for last kind of thing–there was a bit of a frenzy, but McAvoy was gracious and smiled warmly for the cameras as he autographed programmes (mine included). I have to say that this too was a first time experience for me. I mean imagine me standing there alone at a stage door to get my Playbill autographed by the actors I have just seen on stage. I have never done this before–not after any of the scores of plays I have seen in my lifetime in Bombay, Broadway or the West End. Still, I have to say that it was an exciting experience and one more thing to write home about. I actually saw something interesting–a number of what looked like ‘dealers’–guys whose trade lies in haunting stage doors with Playbills in their hands to obtain the signatures of the cast. The Playbills, I imagine, will appear on e-bay tomorrow!!!

Back on the bus, I braved the awful traffic of the West End at the end of show time and returned to my flat a little after 11 pm when I chatted with Llew and went to bed.

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Celebrating St. George’s Day and the Bard’s Birthday with Loreen.

Apr23

Thursday, April 23, 2009
London

London awoke to another spectacular National Day–for April 23, St George’s Day, is the closest the British come to having a National Day–St. George, who killed the dragon, is the patron saint of England!

My day began with a hefty installment of Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix that I am finding rather absorbing. In-between grading more student papers (when they rain in on me, they pour!) and working on an itinerary for Chriselle’s stay with me in early May, I managed to make a call to my parents in Bombay and rushed in for a shower.

For I had an 11.30 am appointment with my friend Loreen at St. James’ Park Tube Station and it is always a production connecting at Bank station where not only is there a name change (Bank becomes Monument), but you are required to get out of the Underground, walk overground for a couple of blocks and go back underground again. This delayed me by 15 minutes but we made contact at 11. 45 and started our walk–yes, another one from my Frommer’s book 24 Great Walks in London. This one is entitled “A Brush with Royalty”.

Loreen could not have lucked out more with the weather for she has had an unbelievable week. I can only hope that Chrissie will have half as decent a week when she gets here. Our walk took us through Royal London–past Buckingham Palace and St. James Palace (which I had never seen before). It was at the Queen’s Chapel (attached to the Court of St. James–don’t you just love the sound of that phrase?) that we realized it was St. George’s Day. There was a Holy Communion service on in the private chapel that is designed by Inigo Jones. Both Loreen and I wanted to get in for a peek but the bobby who stood at the door told us that it had been locked from the inside. We asked if the Queen was in, by any chance. “Can’t be, can she?” he responded. “She’s in Scotland, she is”. A few more affable words were exchanged before we said bye to him and made our way into Marlborough House, Headquarters of the Commonwealth, and approached by a private courtyard one wall of which was covered with fragrant flowering lavender wisteria that just took our breath away. Both Loreen and I are avid gardeners in Connecticut and we exclaimed long and longingly at all the spring flower beds we saw at St. James’ Park where the tulips are currently crying out for attention with their marvelous colors.

Then we were at the chapel in which Princess Diana’s body lay in state–we only caught exterior glimpses of its stained glass windows before we found our way into St. James Square Gardens, a delightful place whose lawns were simply strewn with seated human beings munching on their lunch-time sandwiches. Soft pink petals had carpetted the flower beds from the cherry trees that encircle the focal point of the garden–a sculpture of King William III who died after falling from his horse who reared suddenly when he tripped over a molehill. This brought us to Waterloo Place and the tall column of the Duke of York who gazes benignly over Pall Mall (all festive with dozens of Union Jacks lining it–another sign that St. George was being remember) just across from the entrance to St. James’ Park where we ate our picnic lunch while seated on a bench. We had earlier in the day savored the pleasure of occupying one of the striped green lawn chairs in the same park.

Lunch consumed, we walked across the Horse Guards Parade, wandered through Admiralty Arch and arrived at Whitehall just opposite Inigo Jones’ famous Banqueting House which I suggested to Loreen she should seen. Always game to see something interesting, Loreen agreed. Inside, we watched a film together on the history of the building and its special association with the execution of Charles I while Loreen nipped upstairs to study Peter Paul Reubens’ ceiling painting, I sat and graded a few more papers.

When she reappeared, we looked at the sculpture of poor Charles I on horseback at the end of Whitehall and the beginning of Trafalgar Square, then walked down Northumberland Road to the Embankment Tube Station. We crossed the criss-crossing Hungerford Bridge on foot (a first time for me) to arrive at the South Bank where at the Royal Festival Hall, Loreen’s daughter, Alicia hooked up with us. A short rest later, we walked the length of the South Bank past the Tate Modern and the Globe with the intention of visiting Borough Market which is open on Thursdays. En route, we stopped at the OXO Building (another first time for me), took the elevator to its rooftop restaurant and got some stirring glimpses of the city on a remarkably clear day before we resumed our walk.

We soon arrived at Southwark passing by the Clink Prison, the replica of Sir Francis Drake’s Golden Hinde and Southwark Cathedral before we entered the market only to find it closing for the day. There were none of the crowds or the variety of foods to be found when business is in full swing. Still, they got a taste (literally!) of the place, for the vendors were still dishing out a few samplers.

Then, because we all craved a cup of tea, I led them to The George Inn, London’s only “galleried” inn where Pandemonium reigned. Indeed, we saw young men dressed as knights, sporting the red and white colors of the flag of St. George and downing pints faster than you could say “By George”. Celebrations had begun in earnest and the ale was flowing. We ordered ourselves three pots of tea and a platter of cheese and nibbled and sipped as we watched the antics of the crowd that got rowdier with every passing half hour!

It was not long before we decided to move towards “Wobbly” Bridge where I had planned to part company with them. It was then that we realized that April 23 is also supposedly the Brithday of the Bard, a day that heralded the opening of a new Season at the Globe Theater. A quartet of Elizabethan musicians guarding the gates stuck up their instruments as a couple of girls went around making balloon animals for the kids. Yes, Romeo and Juliet will see its first performance tonight–a play I hope to see soon.

We stood around and took in the fun for a while before I bid Loreen and Alicia goodbye–they were headed to a program of Mendelsohn at the Royal Festival Hall. Wobbly Bridge teemed with tourists as I arrived at St. Paul’s Cathedral from where I walked back home. It was time for me to finish up the last bits of grading and while I ate a few scotch eggs, I continued with that task.

Then, it was time to look at my email, write this blog and transcribe some of the interviews that I have taped over the past week.

Seeing Judi Dench on Stage, Another Interview and Springtime In London’s Parks

Apr22

Wednesday, April 22, 2009
London

Another glorious day in the city made me understand why the English tolerate their notoriously dull and dreary winters–it’s for days like this, that appear like the light at the end of a seemingly endless tunnel. Being outdoors in Spring makes all those ghastly weeks worthwhile. I heard a giddy teenager, this morning, say, “Summer’s here, isn’t it?” Well, it certainly seemed like summer had arrived with a vengeance. I wore a T-shirt for the first time this year, if that can be any indication of a season’s change.

My day began in Notting Hill where I had an appointment to interview Susan Lynn, an Englishwoman who preceded me in having spent a great deal of time interviewing Anglo-Indians in Great Britain about fifteen years ago. While her focus was on the lives of the Anglo-Indians in India before World War II, mine, of course, is on the lives of Anglo-Indians in Great Britain since the War. Still, I felt as if she would be able to offer me a fund of information and anecdotes and, indeed, she did not disappoint.

First of all, her home which is in the basement of a terraced building in Kensington, one of London’s poshest residential neighborhoods, is the kind of English home I have inhabited in my fondest fantasies. You reach her front door by descending down a spiral wrought iron staircase and arrive at a landing filled with potted plants. Inside, there are all the props of the typical English home: countless photographs, loads of delicate china and porcelain ornaments, furniture that looks as if it has seen a happy lifetime in the service of image-unconscious owners, books–hardbound, old, well-thumbed.

Susan settled me down with a mug of coffee and biscuits (which I declined, tempting though they were) and we began our conversation. Though she was not “country-born”, her father was a member of the old Indian Civil Service and she spent long periods intermittently in India, a country she remembers with the sweetest nostalgia and to which she returned recently with the deepest affection. Her own research, documented on audio tapes, has been donated to the Empire and Commonwealth Museum and I know that they will make fascinating listening.

We spent almost two hours together, at the end of which we discovered that we had one more thing in common–we are both avid gardeners and when she gave me a tour of the lovely gardens that she helps maintain in the high-class neighborhood in which she lives, I was charmed. We realized that our mutual love of gardens and gardening ought to have led us outdoors to do the interview. Pity neither of us had thought about it. Still, I enjoyed sitting in her very ‘homey’ living room talking to this wonderfully articulate woman who is one of the Last Children of the Raj.

Then, because it was such a gorgeous day, I decided to do something I have been waiting for a long while to do: explore London’s Parks. Since Holland Park was so close to Susan’s place, that’s where I headed. I had carried a pile of student essays to mark and I decided to make real another one of the fantasies I have long entertained: sitting in the parks and grading them. In less than ten minutes, I was entering Holland Park, a place that became known to me through the TV series As Time Goes By, for Lionel Hardcastle and Jean Pargiter (played by Geoffrey Palmer and Judi Dench), the show’s protagonists, own one of these sought-after terraced houses in Holland Park. I haven’t yet been able to find the exact location of the street on which their house stands, but before I leave London perhaps I shall. The garrulous Web makes all such trivia so easily accessible now, doesn’t it?

And then I saw signs pointing me towards The Kyoto Garden. One of my students had made a presentation in class on ‘Japanese London’ and had mentioned the existence of this Japanese Garden in the heart of London. Well, here it was. I began to follow the signposts directing me to the garden when, lo and behold, a magnificent peacock strutted right past me! I couldn’t believe my eyes! Peacocks in a London garden!!! It walked right by me, tame as ever, crossed a pathway and went over to join its buddies on the other side–a half dozen of them! You could have struck me down with a feather. I was so annoyed with myself for not having recharged my camera last night. Here I was in the midst of a glorious London spring garden in which peacocks paraded nonchalantly by and I wasn’t able to capture the images! It frustrated me no end.

And then I found it–the lovely Zen calmness and serenity of the Kyoto Garden. Landscaped around a pond in which huge golden koi swam lazily and a short waterfall tumbled in a swirl of soapy foam, the garden curved around sweeping lawns, vivid magenta azaleas and coppery maples. It was a miniature Paradise and I was pleased as Punch when I found a vacant bench. It was not long before I whipped out my students’ papers and began marking them. Soon I started to feel hunger pangs tugging at my insides and I pulled out my packet lunch (containing my chicken salads) which I ate contentedly as squirrels scrambled around and birds chirped in the bushes. Truly, spring is good for the soul and I am so blessed to be able to enjoy this season so early in the year in this country.

At 1. 20 pm, I reluctantly left this idyllic spot to go out in search of the nearest Tube station. Passing by the cafe, my heart leapt with joy for there in front of me was the brick red structure that is featured in As Time Goes By as the spot where Lionel and Jean first met as a young soldier and trainee nurse respectively. He had asked her the way to Curzon Street and the rest became their personal history! Again, I rued the fact that I could not take pictures and decided that I simply would return again before all the scarlet tulips have disappeared. I know I shall never look upon that scene in the TV show again without seeing myself walking through the same boxwood pathways of that formal garden.

Then, I was in the Tube headed to Leicester Square to arrive at the Donmar Wyndam Theater where I had matinees show tickets to see Judi Dench (yes, what a coincidence that I had been to Holland Park in the morning where her huge TV hit show had been shot) in Yukio Mishima’s play Madame de Sade. I had been to this theater just a month ago to see Derek Jacobi play Malvolio in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, but I was still taken by its fabulous interior. I had fairly good seats and gave myself entirely to the beauty of the production. For that’s exactly what it was–beautiful, no exquisite, in terms of set design and costumes which were the best parts of the shows. Christopher Outram outdid himself in creating a color palate that was monochromatic from one scene to the next and blended perfectly with the set design. Set during the years preceding the French Revolution, the recreation of the period must be a costume designer’s dream–what with those enormous silk skirts, towering hair-dos and fluttering fans. All the satorial grandeur of the period was spread out before our eyes in the most delectable colors that matched those of the walls. How ingenious a set design was that???

As for the performances, it was a pleasure I have waited long to experience: the opportunity to see Judi Dench, one of my favorite actors or all time, in the flesh, on the stage, emoting live, projecting her lines. Only, oh dear, because this legendary actress is also human, she did forget a line and for a very noticeable ten seconds at least, paused then got right back in her stride without so much as batting an eyelid. Still, the performances were exceptional, Dench’s stage presence alone giving her tons of marks. And then there was Madame de Sade (Rosamunde Pike) who was extraordinary and Frances Barber who, in my opinion, just stole the show getting better and better with each scene that she completely whisked away from right beneath Dame Judi’s nose! Mishima is verbose at the best of times and this play was no exception (many many moons ago I had actually acted in a play by Yukio Mishima called TheLady Aawee under the direction of Hima Devi in Bombay); but at least his lines are more poetic than prosaic and make magical listening especially when enunciated as expertly as these actors have been trained to do.
The play was only an hour and 45 minutes long which actually left me enough time to get back home to catch up with email and compose two quizzes for a gathering that my Dad is organizing in Bombay. Then, I was off again, headed to the same venue at Charing Cross to meet my friend Loreen and her daughter Alicia who were going to the 7.30 performance of the same play. We met in Chinatown at a restaurant on Little Newport Street where I nibbled on some greens and sipped green tea and caught up with them. Loreen has arrived in London for a week from Westport, Connecticut, to spend time with Alicia who is also posted in London for work. I took my leave of them about an hour later and headed back on the Tube to explore yet another park: Regent’s Park.

It was a long hike from the Regent’s Park Tube station to the Queen’s Garden where the roses in the summer are supposedly spectacular. While it was too early in the year for roses, tulips were everywhere in brilliant colors and the trees were in full bloom–pink, mauve, white. I saw a rhododendron so tall it was like a full-grown tree with the most startling magenta blossoms. Babies enjoyed their evening out in their prams, dogs appeared wild as they darted about energetically, Muslim women in headscarves and long skirts played badminton and kids rolled with abandon in the grass. It felt so good to be alive.

I did some more grading on a park bench before I took the Tube back home. It was almost 9 pm and darkness had fallen by the time I reached home to eat my dinner, watch a bit of TV, write this blog and get to bed on what had been a very productive yet very relaxing day for me.

An Anglo-Indian Interview in Southall and Dinner with Friends

Apr21

Tuesday, April 21, 2009
London

My day began at 6 am when I awoke and continued reading The Order of the Phoenix. Then the emailing began and I was kept busy attending to that while also juggling the grading of a batch of draft essays I received from my students. Breakfast followed–a high protein affair (as I am trying to lose some weight) with my frittata and bacon and sausages with decaff coffee. A quick shower and I was out of the house by 12 noon taking the Tube to Northolt and a bus to Southall to arrive at the home of Johnny Bartels who had agreed to become part of my inquiry into Anglo-Indians in the UK.

It turned out to be a very interesting afternoon as Johnny was full of marvelous stories that made me laugh out loud on occasion. It is amazing but having interviewed close to thirty members of the community, I find that no two stories are alike and each person provides me with life stories that are startlingly different. I am having such a great time doing these interviews that while I will be relieved, I will also be sorry when they are completed.

As in the case of most of the Anglo-Indians I have met in the UK, Johnny was warm and outgoing and hospitable. His wife was away but she had made sure there were enough ‘snacks’ for me–samosas and pakoras with chutney, cheese and ham sandwiches and cake all served with coffee! How very kind and generous! Unfortunately, I had to tell Johnny that I had started a low-carb diet and could not eat many of the things he spread out before me. He told me that had I given him more notice (I had made the appointment with him more than two months ago and had confirmed a few days ago!), his wife would have cooked me “a proper Anglo-Indian lunch which you do not get in any of the restaurants”, he said. Well, I appreciated the thought, but it is obvious to me that these folks make appointments with me and promptly forget about them!!!

Back home on the Tube, I got off at Holborn–one station earlier than my stop at Chancery Lane–so I could get a Lebara Top-Up for my cell phone and walk to Lincoln Inn’s Field where I sat for an hour and graded papers as the day was just gorgeous. The cherry trees were in full bloom and their soft petals had already begun to paint the lawns a soft pink. While I was at it, my cell phone rang. It was my high school classmate Charmaine, visiting London for a few weeks, inviting me to join her at a friend’s place for dinner. It was all very informal she said and her friend said that I was most welcome.

Well, I accepted the impromptu invitation and walked home to freshen up. Charmaine arrived at my door about a half hour later and we continued chatting nineteen to the dozen as we were meeting after 35 years and had so much distance to bridge. But then it was time for us to walk to Theobald’s Road, just 5 minutes away, where we arrived at Sushil’s home. Within no time at all, we were deep in conversation. Sushil served us some wine, then attended to the dinner that he had fixed himself–meat curry and rice with dal and raita. I declined the rice but ate everything else and enjoyed the home-cooked Indian meal.

Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, Sushil invited me to join Charmaine and him in Paris for four days this coming weekend. He was driving there, he said, and all I had to do was pack an overnight bag and be at his place by 9 am on Thursday. We would drive to Folkeston from where the car would board the ferry that would take us to Calais from where we’d drive to Paris where he owns an apartment at Montmartre! Now how on earth would it be possible for me to turn down such an invitation? I told them that they did not need to twist my arm too tightly–I would be there in a heartbeat provided I had nothing on my calendar that demanded my presence here. They simply would not take No for an answer. I did remember vaguely that I have tickets to see Three Days of Rain with James McEvoy on Friday…but I figured I could easily sell that ticket…

Dinner done, Charmaine showed me some video of her home and family members in Australia where she has lived for several years. Then, at 11 pm, she got up to leave and we thanked Sushil for his hospitality. His friend Gareth had joined us at the very end and we bade him goodbye too.

As soon as I got home, I took a look at my calendar and discovered that in addition to the play, I actually do have to teach 2 classes this coming Friday. These are make-up classes for the Bank Holiday classes we will be missing on Monday, May 4. I was devastated. I guess it was simply not meant to be.

But soon I did not feel too badly about it. I am scheduled to go to Paris next month anyway, so I will just postpone the pleasure for a little while. I emailed Charmaine and Sushil immediately and bowed out.

I am ready now for bed…pleased also that the mix-up with the Oxford Lecture dates have been resolved and I am now scheduled to give a lecture on Post-Colonial Literature from the Indian Sub-Continent at Exeter College on Wednesday, July 22. I have now to start working on this assignment. I am very excited indeed but very nervous as well.

Nose to the Grind Again–and Meeting a High School Classmate

Apr20

Monday, April 20, 2009
London

Not having my Monday morning class, I took it fairly easy and did not experience the beginning- of-week morning stress. Awaking at 6. 00 am today, I began reading the next Harry Potter book in the series–The Order of the Phoenix. Had a bit of a set back on discovering a mix up in the date for the lecture I was scheduled to give at Oxford this summer. This made me feel a bit low for a while, but hopefully something will still work out favorably–fingers crossed.

After breakfast, I sat to edit and caption a bunch of photographs I took a while back as I am still trying to catch up with that. Before I knew it, it was 10. 30 am and I had to leave my flat to get to Kensington High Street to meet Reverend Trevor Hubble who showed me around the Lee Abbey International Students’ Club–a really nice place.

Then, I was on my cell phone with my high school classmate Charmaine Rodriguez who has arrived from Australia to spend a few weeks in London with her sister and her parents. She happened to be based at Kensington, literally a few steps from where I happened to be. We had spoken on the phone this morning (after she had emailed mea few days ago) and had made tentative plans to meet.

It was a treat to see Charmaine after almost 35 years. I also met her sister Shirley who did not remember me at all. Unfortunately, I had to leave almost as soon as I arrived at their place as I had a 2.00 pm class for which I did not want to be late. Hopping into the Tube at Kensington, I alighted at Tottenham Court Road and walked the ten minutes to our Bedford Square campus where I picked up my files and headed straight to my class in Birkbeck College.

It was great to see my students again. Almost every one of them had traveled to some exotic European destination (Berlin, Greece, Istanbul) and were full of stories about their adventures. We then got down to the serious business of setting dates for future assignments (drafts and final essays) before class began.

My South Asian Studies Seminar was next at 5 pm in my office. This small group meets in a tutorial. Today, we covered Indian economic and foreign policies after Independence and the political history of Pakistan since its creation. It has been a very interesting few sessions we’ve had, with the students asking many questions based on independent study.

At 7 pm, after they left, I dealt with Aetna Global Medical Insurance in the States, photocopied some material and made a packet to be mailed to Llew. Then, off I went at 8. 00, arriving home at 8. 20, feeling suddenly quite exhausted. I read some more Harry Potter before getting my dinner ready (two kinds of Chicken Salads with olives and feta cheese). At 9 pm, I watched New Tricks on the Alibi channel and, quite predictably, nodded off on the couch for about 10 minutes but did not miss anything by way of the plot.

At 10 15, I brushed and flossed my teeth and went straight to bed as I badly needed some shut eye!

An Unusually Busy Sunday in London!

Apr19

Sunday, April 19, 2009
London

I awoke at 5.oo am again! What’s it about this flat that wakes me up before the crack of dawn? When I am traveling, I never open my eyes before 7.00!!! There has to be some reason but I have yet to figure it out.

Anyway, I did not mind as there was so much to catch up with–not the least of which was keeping this blog up to date. I spent a good part of the morning writing a travelogue on my impressions of Belgium and captioning my pictures (because I need to stay on top of that project as well).

Barbara had told me about a church at Soho Square when I had asked her for recommendations. I wanted to attend Mass at a new church each Sunday that I stayed put in London. She did not know the name of the church but had pointed it out to me on the London A-to -Z. When I went online, I found out the name: St. Patrick’s Church at Soho Square, and the Mass was at 11am. I walked briskly down High Holborn and arrived there about 20 minutes later–it was a part of the city I had never explored, so I was pleased to arrive finally in the heart of Soho.

The Church was very plain indeed, compared to all the ornate affairs I have been visiting over the past few months. In fact, it looks badly in need of refurbishment (or at least a new lick of paint). Flakes were peeling off the walls and the kneelers at each pew have definitely seen better days. I discovered, soon enough, that there was to be a Christening ceremony taking place during our mass–another first for me! Who knew I’d get to attend a Baptism while in London? The christening party had occupied all the front seats on one side of the church. The rest of the congregation comprised a motley lot–mainly immigrants, it would appear–Filipinos and Indians and South Americans. Where were all the native Catholic Britons, I wondered?

My brother Russel had informed me on the phone in the morning that it was Divine Mercy Sunday–he keeps close track of the Church Calendar! Right enough, the priest preached a sermon about it. Rather frightening it was in its tone too! We must seek Divine Mercy in confession, he said, each time we committed serious sin (which, he said, included, skipping Mass on a Sunday). Uh-oh. With all the travelling I’ve been doing this past year, that has happened once too often, I thought. I’d better haul myself into that confessional pronto!

The High Mass included sung bits in Latin (the Gloria, for instance)–which, surprisingly, so many members of the congregation knew and joined in. I realized that these English churches have Latin masses much more frequently than we do in India or the States–indeed there is one sung Latin Mass on the schedule each Sunday at most parish churches here–which explains why most people can participate.

Communion was distributed the old-fashioned way too–you kneel along the Communion rails to receive. You do not stand (as we do in India and the States) in a double file. This takes longer but is more solemn. I spied a sign at the foot of the altar that said: “Do not proceed beyond this point. If you do, the alarm will ring and the police will come”. Oh my! This was probably intended for the drug-addicts and alcoholics who supposedly hang about the square.

After the Baptism and Communion, two ladies came forward to sing Panus Angelicus. As always happens when I hear this hymn sung well, my eyes welled up with tears and next thing I knew, I was wiping them away. Truly the voices of angels must keep the folks in heaven well supplied with Kleenex! Listening to them sing it so beautifully made my Sunday indeed.

Outside in Soho Square (Barbara was right–a bunch of alcoholics and drug addicts had gathered by the door for the free coffee that followed mass), the sun shone brightly. I entered Soho Park to read the board that gives an account of its history and discovered that Soho Square was laid out in 1680 and soon became one of the most fashionable addresses in London–the Duke of Monmouth owned a house here (in which he kept his mistress). Glittering parties and balls were very much the order of the day in this area as celebrities flocked to Soho in its heyday–well into the late-19th century. It was only in the 20th, that the arrival of Crosse and Blackwell heralded the end of the square as a residential hamlet and its beginning as a commercial one. The park is currently undergoing renovations (its bandstand is all scafollded right now).

It was a little after 12 .15 pm when I walked to Bedford Square to pick up some of my students’ papers for grading. Yes, NYU does stay open from 12 noon to 12 midnight on Sundays and Mohammed, our security man, was at his desk when I arrived there. I did pick up a big packet of mail that had been redirected to me from my New York office. Just when you think you’ve caught up with backlog, more work comes your way, doesn’t it? There was an envelope from Aetna Global (my international medical insurance company) reimbursing me by check for the amounts I had incurred on private physiotherapy in London from October until March. Only trouble was I had made my claim in British Pound Sterling–and they sent me a check for the same amount in Dollars! Which means that I have to now contact them by phone to sort out the issue of currency exchange rates!!!

On my way back home (I have finally found a way to get back home from campus that takes me less than 12 minutes!), I stopped at Sainsbury to do some food shopping. Standing on the scale this morning and seeing the figures jump sky high had told me it was time to take drastic measures–so I am back on a low-carb diet again. No more sugar, no more honey in my tea, no more fabulous artisinal bread. This meant that I had to cook, so there I was at my stove making mashed cauliflower with parmesan cheese, sausages with onions and yellow peppers, two types of chicken salad (Asian–the dressing has peanut butter and soy, chilli and sesame oils– with Cucumbers and Indian–this dressing has curry powder in it–with Apricots). I also made a huge frittata with onions and bacon and sun-dried tomatoes and olives. All this food should keep me going for the next couple of weeks as I froze a whole lot of it. What with cooking and cleaning and trying to take the many phone calls that came through, it was almost 5 pm when I was done and I hadn’t yet responded to my email.

Talking of phone calls, I received one from my friend Loreen from Westport, Connecticut, who is visiting her daughter in London for a week. She was hoping to get together with me but I bowed out as I had too much to do and decided that later in the week would work better for me. As it turned out, we both discovered that, quite by coincidence, we had tickets for the same evening to see Judi Dench in Yukio Mishima’s Madame de Sade at the Donmar Wyndham Theater–this coming Wednesday! So, we will probably meet for dinner before or after the show. Now what are the odds of that happening??!!

Llew and I also talked several times during the day as we had quite a number of things to sort out. Earlier in the morning, I had talked to my parents and to my cousin Blossom in Madras who informed me that she will be in London for 2 weeks at the end of July–but we might just miss each another as it is very likely that I will have left by then. My friend Amy from New York emailed me to find out when she should plan to visit. Everyone wants to come to London now that the weather has turned nicer…only my travel schedule in booked solid and I will only be staying here in this flat till the end of May.

I spent the evening captioning more pictures, then talking on the phone to all the Anglo-Indian respondents who made interview appointments with me, several weeks ago, for next week. This week, I will be traveling to Southall and then visiting someone in Notting Hill as I continue to interview the kind folks who’ve agreed to meet with me and tell me their stories. In the midst of all of these calls, I forgot that I was supposed to call my high school classmate Charmaine who emailed me to say that she had arrived from Australia to spend two weeks with her parents in London and hoped to get together with me. By the time I remembered, it was almost 10 pm–too late, I thought. I MUST call her tomorrow morning. Fortunately, I do not have my morning class and will only start teaching at 2pm.

Llew called me at 9 pm to tell me that while doing spring clean up in our back garden, he found a dead possum under a pile of leaves. It broke me heart as I had grown fond of the little fellow. He used to live under the deck in our garden and came out rather shyly on occasion to eat the seed that the birds dropped around our feeder. He was a harmless tubby little chap and it was our brutal Connecticut winter this year that probably did him in. Llew called Animal Control who will be sending someone to pick him up.

I tried to call Chriselle for our regular Sunday telephonic catch up session, but I only got her voice mail. Then, it was time to eat my dinner, take a nice hot shower and get ready for bed.

Where had the day gone???

In Bruges–On a Day for Ducks!

Apr18

Friday, April 17, 2009
Bruges, Belgium

What a dreadful day! Truly, one for ducks! This wasn’t the kind of day that tourists can take in their stride—when sudden downpours wet the streets but pass quickly away. This was a steady continuous drizzle that went on all morning and turned the temperature way down low. It made us feel generally miserable especially after we had stayed out for a while and our fingers started to freeze. “We”, was my pal Taraney and myself. She decided to join me on the third walking tour and proved to be great company. Travel writers/travel lovers/bloggers probably just gravitate towards each other. I discovered, before long, that she is also blogging and maintaining a journal based on her travels in Northern Europe. To reach her blog, do click on: http://itinerantaraneh.blogspot.com/

I had awoken at 7. 30 am after a very restful night. For the first time ever since I began slumming it in youth hostels around Europe, I actually slept in a 6-bedded female dorm that did not contain a snorner! You have no idea how merciful that luxury can be! Little wonder that I dressed, packed and got right down to breakfast where Taraneh joined me for muesli with milk, and a bread roll that I filled with salami, cheese and good European butter—indeed a very filling breakfast for a youth hostel. But then, the Benelux (like the Scandinavian) countries do awesome breakfasts—yes, even in the youth hostels.

The Burg and Beyond:
The weather did not stop us from taking George McDonald’s last suggested walk in Bruges entitled “The Burg and Beyond”. With these three walks, I pretty much had all of Bruges covered—minus, that is, the museums. But then I had decided that I would go to the Fine Arts Museum in Brussels and would skip the ones in Bruges (which, by the way, did not recognize my Metropolitan Museum ID card and would not give me a free ticket to enter—which the Musee Royaux des Beaux-Arts in Brussels did!).

We left our hostel at 9 am (after I had checked out and stashed my bag in the unlocked storage area and hoped it would still be there when I returned to pick it up). Within 10 minutes, we were in the Market Square where Taraney went out in urgent search of an ATM machine. When she drew a blank, we began our walk hoping to find something subsequently. I found a flexi-magnet of Brussels in a small souvenir store where I also picked up a postcard. With that search out of the way, we started to read up about the Burg—another large cobbled square ringed by important buildings. As in Brussels’ Grande Place, these were built mainly during the Middle Ages, destroyed by the French, and then rebuilt during the Flemish Renaissance.

The Basilica of the Holy Blood and the Liberty Hall:
Our first port of call was the ornate blackened church with gilded figures adorning its façade—the Basilica of the Holy Blood. This is really two churches in one: on the bottom floor is the Romanesque St. Basil’s Chapel built in 1137-57 and wearing its age on its sleeve—it was small with low fan-vaulted ceilings and some very striking statues inside. I particularly loved the Pieta , a medieval Madonna and Child and a version of Ecce Homo, each of which occupied its own atmospheric niche.

The upper floor, reached by a spiral stone staircase had a really spectacular painted altar. In the beautiful Baroque chapel on the right side in a silver receptacle is kept a Relic of the Holy Blood in a rock crystal phial. This is occasionally brought out and displayed in the hands of one of the church’s officials who sits up on an altar where the congregation can go forward and venerate it. I had a chance to climb the stairs and kiss the relic. In the phial is a small scrap of cloth stained with the blood of Christ obtained after the Cruxificion by Joseph of Arimathea. Count Thierry of Alcase who received it as a reward for acts of bravery during the second Crusade brought it to Bruges from Jerusalem in 1149—says McDonald in his explanatory notes in his book. For me, both, seeing the relic and being able to kiss it, were uniquely blessed experiences and I was very happy indeed to have had such an unexpected opportunity.

Then we stepped inside the adjacent Town Hall (also in the Burg) where we entered the Renaissance Hall of the Liberty of Bruges. There was an entry fee that allowed visitors to walk through the well restored rooms, one of which included the main hall filled with elaborate sculpture and carvings. Since we had decided not to spend time indoors, we walked out of the Parliament Hall but not before we had a quick and quite stunning glimpse of the splendid black marble Dinant mantelpiece and fireplace with a superb carved oak-chimneypiece from 1528-9 by Lanceloot Blondeel celebrating Emperor Charles V’s victory in 1525 at Pavia over Francis I of France. This wooden sculptural group, featuring among others European monarchs Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, is so grand and so elaborate that it is said to be one of the finest in Europe.

Canal-side Bruges:
After enjoying these highlights of the Burg, we continued on our walk, which took us through Blind Donkey’s Alley and over a bridge across a canal to the Tanner’s Guildhall. A few short steps away was Rosary Quai, which affords one of Bruges’ loveliest sights—canals, waterside houses, and the Belfry. Despite the fact that it was still coming down in sheets, we enjoyed the ambience and soaked it all in.

When we traced our steps back to the colonnaded fish market where a few fishmongers were hard at their trade, we decided to walk alongside the canal, past two of the prettiest old stone bridges in the town—Meebrug and Peerdenbrug. This brought us to the almshouses named after the Pelican that adorns its front façade. I had begun to recognize these almshouses quite easily by this point: they are small, cute and have low gabled roofs.

At this stage on our route, we were tired and cold as the rain had continued incessantly. We came to the Coupure Bridge and saw the Marieke sculpture based on a song by famous Belgian signer Jacques Brel called “Ai Marieke”. A longish and then rather uninteresting walk took us past the vast Astrid Park with its gold and blue bandstand behind the Blessed Magdalen Church. Taraneh still needed an ATM that was proving to be rather elusive and it was at the Market Square that she finally found one. It was then that we decided to warm ourselves up with a bite at a cozy tea room where we shared a pot of Darjeeling.

Boat Cruise along the Canals:
A very tired Taraneh bid me goodbye at this stage to return for a nap to the hostel. It had, miraculously, stopped raining while we were at our impromptu meal and I began to think again of taking a canal cruise to receive a different perspective of the town. Making my way to the public library, I found a dry spot and ate my lunch there, then went out in search of the one of the jetties from which the boats are launched. Tourists had begun to resurface as if from under the downpour and when I did find a jetty and boarded a boat for just 6. 70 euros for the ride, it was almost 2. 30 pm.

The canal cruise was short (just a half hour long) but was one of the most delightful experiences I had in the town and one I would heartily recommend. Indeed, we passed through the same buildings, quays, islands, that we had seen during the past couple of days, but you see them from a very unique angle. I took so many pictures as I just couldn’t get enough of the charm of it all. In fact, I felt slightly at odds with the passing scenes and thought it might have been more appropriate to be dressed not in jeans and a hoodie but in a flowing black cape with hand made lace at my collar in the manner of the women in the 17th century Flemish paintings of Jan van Eyck, Van Vermeer and Pieter de Hooch! I made the discovery that in the course of my three walks, I had indeed covered every significant nook and cranny of the city and could have given a far more effective commentary than the boat driver did—he did a multi-lingual job (Flemish, French and English) but the information was far too sketchy for my liking. Indeed I had grown to love the medieval town so dearly that I began to feel rather possessive about it!

The cruise was over in half an hour and I alighted and started my walk back to the youth hostel to pick up my bags for my intended early evening return to Brussels—mainly because it was really too cold to linger outdoors for much longer. I found the consignment store again and bought myself a Burberry umbrella and then returned to the hostel where I picked up my bag and made my way to the bus stop headed to the train station—but not before I dressed more warmly and in layers—cashmere cardigan, silk scarf and warm denim jacket.

I was at Bruges station in about 20 minutes from where I boarded a train for Brussels, a ride that took an hour and wended its way deep into the heart of the Flemish countryside as seen in the landscape paintings of the Flanders School. Because it was too cold to venture out again, I opted for the 10 euro dinner being offered at the youth hostel, which consisted of a thick and very delicious vegetable soup, marinated sheesh kebabs served over wild rice and cauliflower au gratin with crème caramel for dessert. Very good value for money indeed. Well fuelled, I returned to my room to write this blog and since I was tired, all at once, I decided to do a bit of reading before falling asleep.

Belgium’s Art Treasure Trove.

Apr18

Saturday, April 18, 2009
Brussels-London

I had a really harrowing last night at the youth hostel in Brussels as the place was taken over by a pre-teen French group of school children who created such a racket you’d think the house was on fire. Despite my attempts to quieten them down, they resisted and, having left my ear-plugs at home, I stayed awake half the night. What’s worse, one of my suitemates came in at 1 am and left the room at 6am–disturbing me at every juncture and making me feel quite harrassed indeed.

I ate well at breakfast and checked out, left my bags in the storage unit and went out in search of parts of the city that I hadn’t covered on my first day. In fact, I headed straight for the grand Palais de Justice, a massive Neo-Classical building with an impressive dome that occupies several city blocks and is visible from most of the city. Much of it was behind scaffolding, however, which made the taking of pictures impossible.

On I pressed down Rue du Regence towards the Musee des Beaux-Arts which opened at 10 am, stopping en route to visit the Church of Notre-Dame au Sablon, a magnificent piece of architecture with a white Gothic exterior but a rather plain interior. The gardens right outside called the Place du Petit Sablon were superb, however. Though rather small, they are beautifully manicured with formal severity in the curving boxwood edgings in whose midst hundreds of tulips were about to burst into bloom. The most striking feature about it were the dozens of sculpted figures that march around the gates, each one representing a different medieval guild. There is a great sculptural group in the center that is accentuated by a flowing fountain and the whole confection is set right below the Palais d’Egmont which is not open to the public but whose solid quadrangular building are admirable indeed.

The Musee des Beaux-Arts:
A few mintues before 10 am, I was at the entrance of the Museum of Fine Arts which stands adjacent to another one of Brussel’s more impressive buildings–its Royal Palace. Again, tours are available only during the summer, but the Neo-Classical exterior set in a cobbled square and emphasized by a statue are all so noteworthy as to make a very fulfilling walk indeed.

My main aim, however, was to tour the major works of Flemish art to be found in the museum which actually combines two separate collections: Ancient Art and Modern Art. Armed with an audio guide, I began my discovery of this museum and was delighted by its fine collection. Though the paintings I loved are too numerous to note, I especially enjoyed seeing so many works by Rogier van der Weyden who is one of my favorite painters of all time–ever after I saw his Deposition in the Prado in Madrid, I have been a die hard fan. The Brussels’ museum contains many significant works of his, some small, others larger in scale and conception.

Of course, one cannot leave Brussels without feasting upon the works of art of the Breugels–the Elder and the Younger, father and son, who produced so many unforgettable scenes from Belgian rural life in a style that is truly distinctive. It is to see these works alone that it is worth making a trip across the Channel to Brussels; but pride of place in the collection goes to Jacques-Louis David’s The Death of Marat which occupies a wall all its own and draws the most curious visitors. An extraordinarily realistic canvas, this scene captures the moments soon after the death of the Marquis de Sade (from whom we obtain the word ‘sadism’ by the way), who is said to have masterminded the guillotine as a method of killing France’s aristocracy during the Revolution. He was murdered in revenge in his bath by a woman whose husband had been killed leaving her to look after their five children. Finding some pretext to enter Marat’s home, she stabbed him while he was in his bathtub where he did a great deal of official work as he suffered from a condition called plurisy which was relieved by hydrotherapy. David’s work is so powerful that he draws the viewer right into the scene and forces him to imagine the horror of Marat’s end. His arm hangs over the bath tub still holding on to a note that he was in the process of writing. Simon Schama in his History of Art series has covered this painting in detail and I was thrilled to have been able to see it in one of the least-visited museums of Europe.

In the Modern section, which you reach by diving deep into the bowels of the earth, are a number of interesting paintings by the Pre-Raphaelites such as Edward Coley Burne-Jones and his imitators. The collection is known for the works of Belgian modernist Rene Magritte, but most of them were off the walls as they are to be installed into a new museum that is under construction to exclusively feature his work. Still, I enjoyed seeing some of the work of the Belgian Symbolists such as Rik Wouters before I made my way back to the surface.

A Typically Belgian Lunch:
I next went out in search of the meal I had promised myself before leaving Belgium–moules-frites. En route, I passed by the Old England department store with its interesting Art Nouveau facade and arrived at the Place des Herbes where I expertly found my way to the Rue des Bouchers and to Leon’s which is reputed to serve the best mussels in the city. Though more pricey than the rest, Leon de Bruxselles has established a name and a faithful clientele and I decided to partake of his bounty. Ordering the “traditionelle”, i. e. a large bowl of moules (mussels) made with butter, celery, parsley and white wine and served with bread for dunking into the jucies and a bowl of fries with a blonde Belgian beer, I had a truly memorable meal and was glad that I bravely entered the restaurant and ate alone-something I don’t usually do when I am traveling solo.

Lunch done, I had just enough time to wander at will through the Grande Place one last time. It was taken over by tourists. Indeed, the sun was shining warmly down upon the city after two freezing days and the passers-by had taken to the streets with delight. I bought myself some bars of Belgian chocolate and returned to the youth hostel to pick up my bag and begin my return journey home.

Back on the Chunnel Train:
I arrived at the train station after a 20 minute walk, went through check in, security and immigration procedures before boarding my 6.00 pm train back to London. It was far more crowded than the one I had taken into Brussels, but the jouney was very comfortabe eindeed and after my big meal, I felt a trifle sleepy and very tired. This time, it was obvious when we entered the Tunnel as it turned dark suddenly and we emerged into the sunlight a good half hour later. Soon the train was eating up the miles in Kent, past the Medway once again and arriving at St. Pancras where I caught a bus and was home within a half hour.

I rang the doorbell of my neighbors Tim and Barbara to give them some Belgian chocolate when they invited me to join them for dinner at Cafe Pasta right down our road. I was very grateful for the invitation though I wanted something light to eat and after I had showered, we strolled downstairs. Over a very delicious pizza and beer, I caught up with them and then we were home again. I unpacked and downloaded my pictures and after doing a batch of laundry, I went straight off to bed at the end of what had been a very interesting if rather tiring trip for me.

Beguiling, Bewitching Bruges!

Apr18

Thursday, April 16, 2009
Bruges, Belgium

I had a restless night being awoken about 1 am by an unruly crowd on the street outside the hostel window, that kept me awake for a good hour. Still, I awoke at 7. 30 am, very refreshed, dressed quickly, packed and went downstairs with my backpack for my breakfast with my suite mate from Hongkong whose name I did not get. Over muesli, two slices of bread with preserves and cheese and caffe lattes (provided in the 19. 50 euros per night that it costs to stay at the YHA), I chatted with her and then checked out at 9 am. The walk to Brussels’ Central station took me ten minutes. I bought myself a return ticket to Bruges (25 euros) and took the 9. 27 am train to Bruges with one stop at Ghent.

Arrival in Bruges:
I arrived in Bruges exactly an hour later, at 10. 30 am, and followed the instructions (obtained on the website) to St. Christopher’s Inn. I took Bus Number 16 from the station (1. 20 euros for a ticket) to the Bauhaus and then walked for five minutes to the door of the hostel. Again, because check in was at 1 pm, I stashed my bags away and went out to explore the city armed with my guide book borrowed from the Holborn Public Library.

En route, I passed by several consignment stores and ending up buying a bunch of designer scarves to add to my collection (YSL, Gucci, Burberry, Christian Dior, Furla and Louis Vuitton). Only the salesgirl wouldn’t take credit cards, so I ended up giving her most of my Euros, which left me quite cash strapped for the rest of my trip.

The Heart of Bruges:
It wasn’t long before I found myself in a significant cobbled square called the Burg. From there, passing by more chocolate and lace shops, I arrived at the Market Square. Fortunately, the malaise of the day before had left me and the beauty of the city of Bruges so lifted my spirits that I felt like my old self again! Using my Insight Pocket Guide to Bruges by George McDonald, I set out on one of his three main walking tours of the city entitled “The Heart of Bruges”.

This six mile walking tour began at the huge and rather crowded market place through which tourist groups from the East were herded like cattle from one corner to the next. The square was completely taken over by an amusement arcade featuring games of skill. How crass, I thought, as I took in the ugliness of it!

After discovering, from my book, the history of the market place and the buildings that surround the square, I sat on a bench to do some people-watching (and people-overhearing!) and to take in the grandeur of the medieval buildings. Each side of the square is different in style and design. Right in front of me was the Town Hall topped by a slightly crooked flat Belfry with a clock face. On another side, is a row of vivid gabbled houses, now each featuring a fancy restaurant at the base. There is a Provincial House on the third side and the house of the Fisherman’s Guild on the fourth. These give the Market Place a look similar to that of the Grande Place in Brussels, though on a smaller scale. Horse-drawn carriages gave visitors rides around the square and the network of little lanes that radiate from it. But another, more unique, way to see the city is on a canal cruise or boat tour that at 6. 70 euros makes it one of the most affordable to be found in a European city.

It wasn’t long before I realized that Bruges must be one of the world’s most beautiful cities—and among these I count my own favorites, Oxford, Salzburg and Florence. There is not a corner of Old Bruges that does not delight the eye and my camera worked overtime as it tried to record everything: gabled houses, red brick walls, curving bridges over mirror-like canals and swan-filled lakes, cobbled squares ringed by pretty shops selling lace, chocolates and porcelain and pavement-restaurants. Official buildings are richly carved in stone, church spires rise up steeply to meet the sky, streets are completely paved with stone blocks (I finally understood why they are called Belgian blocks in the States!). I walked everywhere, pausing frequently to admire the details on the buildings and soon fell completely in love with this enchanting city. I often sat on the banks of a canal (similar to Amsterdam) or in a quaint and empty square or in an atmospheric church filled with stone sculpture and stirring paintings. It was not a sunny day but at least it wasn’t raining. Though I am something of a glutton for museums, I decided early that this medieval city was too unique and I did not want to waste my two days there being cloistered in a museum (though the city does boast at least two really good ones). I preferred to soak in every sight, every bewitching corner and but for two churches that were on my route, I did not stop indoors anywhere. One of then, the Church of Our Lady contains an exquisite Carrara marble sculpture of the Madonna and Child by Michelangelo (the only one of his major works to be found outside Italy) which was really quite lovely to gaze at.

Soon, I found myself on the ancient brick Bridge of St. Boniface, which spans a narrow canal filled with shaded timber-faced buildings and a flowering cherry tree. It was one of my favorite parts of the city and I took many pictures here.

By 2 pm, I was tired and needed a rest and a good meal. I chose a restaurant recommended by McDonald in his book—Maria von Boergondie) where I chose a typical Belgian dish called a Waterzooi (explained to me by the Belgian couple seated next to me). This was a delicious chicken stew with cream and vegetables served with boiled fingerling potatoes. A two-course meal with boring vanilla ice-cream for dessert cost me 16 euros and since the restaurant does not serve tap water, I ordered a Perrier, which upped the bill to almost 20 euros! Bruges is not an inexpensive city, I discovered rapidly.

Artistic Heritage and Lake of Love:
A good hour later, I was ready to launch on my the second installment of my explorations and chose to do McDonald’s second walking tour entitled “Artistic Heritage and Lake of Love”. This tour took me to the Memling Museum, which I skipped in favor of outdoor scenes. I took in the quiet environs of St. John’s Hospital (of which the Memling Collection is one part) then proceeded towards the Spanoghe Almshouse built in 1680 which took me to another delightful square called the Walplein. This square contained one of Belgium’s best-known breweries: makers of Henri Maes beer. I decided not to take the tour which included a sample to taste and proceeded instead to the Godhuis de Vos, another almshouse that dates from 1713—so tiny, charming and picturesque are these almshouse (how mainly pensioner’s homes) that I felt as if I had strayed into Disney world!

At this point, the tour took me to the Princely Beguinage of the Vineyard that is reached in a very unique way—across a bridge over a canal and through a Renaissance gateway. As if this were not enough, the most uplifting sight awaited me as I entered the Beguinhof—I saw a vast green covered with daffodils in every shade of yellow, a virtual filed filled with them! Visitors were so charmed by what they saw that they sank down on their knees to be photographs among the frilly flowers against a backdrop of white faced Belgian houses that are now home to the Benedictine nuns as the Beguines (a monastic female religious order) no longer exists. The order of the Beguines were founded in 1245 by Margaret of Constantinople and attracted many fervent women through the centuries.

After strolling through the cloistered garden, I visited the museum at Number One that is furnished in the simple manner of the 17th century women of the order. I also visited their small Church of Our Lady of Consolation in Spermalie. Indeed, Bruges was so beguiling that my flagging spirits of the previous day lifted completely and I was filled with so much renewed energy that I wanted to cover every corner of it on foot.

Leaving the serene environs of the Beguinhof behind me, I found myself facing a red brick gabbled building—the Sashuis or Lockkeeper’s House on a long rectangular lake called Minnewater or Lake of Love. Swans and ducks sailed majestically by as I walked along the lake’s banks towards one of the Powder Towers (so-called because it was once used to store gunpowder). I then crossed the bridge over the lake and arrived at lovely waterside Minnewater Park where tulips would very shortly bloom profusely. I rested there for a while with my umbrella held open against a slight drizzle that made pretty circles in the water. The very end of the walk took me past another lovely gated courtyard square that now houses the Municipal Fine Arts Academy.

At this point, having walked for miles around the town, I was seriously tired and started to pick my way home, stopping only occasionally when something caught my attention. Then, at 7pm, I checked into my hostel, found my room and bunk bed and started to write my blog when I was introduced to my room mate—a Seattle student who has taken a Gap Year off to discover the world. I joined her to eat a light supper down in the restaurant attached to the hostel—delicious hot leek and pea soup with bread. For dessert, we ate some of the Belgian chocolate that I had bought in the morning. Then, I showered, brushed and flossed my teeth and went to bed at about 10. 30 pm after what had been an exhausting but enchanting day.