Bonjour Bruxelle! Arrival in Brussels.

Apr18

Wednesday, April 15, 2009
London-Brussles

I’ve wanted to visit Belgium forever—ever since my brother’s friend, when a little boy of nine, once informed us that he was going for a holiday to Belgium. He had meant Belgaum in South India! We’d all had a guffaw but I was never able to get Belgium off my mind. I had once passed through the country by bus en route from Paris to Amsterdam many years ago; but, of course, had seen nothing of the country then. In the years that have since relapsed, I’ve made friends with some Belgians in the States and some of my American friends spent lengths of time when their husbands were posted in Brussels for work. It was time, I decided, to actually get to Belgium myself, so it was with some excitement that I was off—though I had not quite recovered from my travels with Llew into the Ancient Worlds of Rome and Istanbul.

I was excited for yet another reason—this was going to be another first time for me–first time that I was going to travel on the Eurostar line, aka the Chunnel train between England and the Continent that actually travels below the English Channel! It is a feat of engineering that my mind still cannot quite wrap itself over. I intended to savor the experience.

I set my alarm for 5.15 am, was out of my flat at 5.45 am, in King’s Cross Station at St. Pancras which is the hub for Eurostar in London at 6 00 am, “checked in” (i.e. went through security and immigration—just as in an airport), was boarding the train at 6. 35 am and at 6. 59 am, on the dot, we were pulling out of the station and on our way to Belgium. The ride was very comfortable and in the two odd hours it took I did my ‘homework’, i.e. began to read the travel guides I had borrowed from the library with the idea of planning my next few days. It took me a few minutes to get accustomed to the enormous speed of the train as we sped through the Kentish countryside, crossed the River Medway and barreled our way into Europe. I had taken one really fast train, similar to this one, many years earlier—the French TGV (Tres Grande Vitesse) train from Paris to Aix-les-Bains and I do remember feeling slightly disconcerted by its speed at the time.

I have to say that I was a little disappointed as I expected some kind of indication when we launched into the Channel Tunnel, but there was nothing. Also since the train weaves in and out of tunnels all the way out of London, you don’t really know when you hit the Tunnel. (you have a better idea of this when traveling from the Continent to England as you travel over ground all the way until you come to the Tunnel at which point, you remain in darkness for about 25 minutes before emerging into daylight again—that’s how long it takes to cross the English Channel).

We made one stop in Ellsfleet and then in Lille in France before the train changed tracks, left the Paris bound track behind, and headed towards Brussels. Spring had arrived in these parts for the fresh green grass of the cow-studded fields easily indicated that the seasons had changed. It was just a half hour later that we pulled into Brussels Midi station on an exceptionally warm day. As I hauled my backpack/strolley along cobbled streets towards the Youth Hostel where I had made a reservation, I had to peel off my denim jacket because it was so uncomfortable. I was glad I had bought myself an enormous bottle of water from a supermarket at the station, as, for some odd reason, I felt hugely thirsty. Using my map, I found myself at the hostel some twenty minutes later and since check in was not until 2pm, I stashed my bag in the rather high-tech storage room (for 1. 50 euros) and left. Again, armed with my map, I headed out at 11 am for the Grande Place, which was only a fifteen-minute walk away from the hostel.

Discovering Manneken Pis:
Along the route, I was delighted to come upon the famous sculpture of the peeing little boy called the Manneken Pis, which has become an icon of the city. And I was startled to discover how tiny he is! Not more than a foot tall, this little sculpture was the center of so much attention as tourists posed for pictures besides the stone pedestal on which he is propped way up. I have to admit that I joined the throngs and had my pictures taken against the copious jet. And then, a few feet down the street towards the Grande Place—a street lined with lace and chocolate shops galore, I also rubbed for good luck, the right arm on the brass-covered statue of Everard t’Serclaes (I heard a young teenage girl look at it and squeal, “Oh look, Jesus Christ!) who was murdered while defending Brussels in the 14th century. In fact, the brass on his right arm has so worn out that the stone beneath it peeks through, so often has it been rubbed by avid visitors and the city’s own dwellers each time they pass by it.

In the Grande Place:
And then, there it was—the Grande Place of which I had seen so many pictures over the years. It is really a huge cobbled medieval market square, one of Europe’s largest. Surrounded by the most ornate historic buildings, most of which were built during the Middle Ages and then rebuilt after destruction by the French, during the 17th century Flemish Renaissance, they were the headquarters of the various medieval guilds that controlled all artisanal trade in the country during those Dark Ages. As such, they are each crowned by the various symbols of these trades (the Boatman’s Guild House, for instance, is topped by a huge 17th century frigate’s bow). The square also serves today as a daily flower market which brings wonderful color to the center, especially now that spring is here.

It was at about this time that I started to feel deeply exhausted. Occasionally, only occasionally, in the course of my travels, I am assailed by the kind of inexplicable malaise that finds me suddenly dragging my feet. Whether this was because Llew had left only a day previously and I missed him sorely, whether it was because I had spent the previous two weeks with him traipsing through castles, cathedrals and museums and was so worn out that I could not really ‘see’ anything any more or whether it was simply exertion that was taking its toll on me was hard to say. But all I wanted to do was sit somewhere quiet and watch the world go by. And for a while that was exactly what I did in the Grande Place.

The Area Around the Grande Place:
A little later I used my DK Eye Witness Guide to Brussels to follow a road that led towards the Neo-Classical edifice called the Bourse—the country’s Stock Market. Very different from the ornate gables of the Flemish Renaissance upon which I had feasted my eyes in the Grand Place, this building features Corinthian columns, Greek pediments with carved friezes and sculpture by some leading lights including August Rodin. At the Bourse, I joined other tourists and sank down on its grand steps overlooking the main traffic-filled boulevard, and found it impossible to get up. That malaise was still haunting me. En route, I had also visited the Church of St. Nicholas and then I arrived at the Halles St. Gery, which is considered the birthplace of the city as a chapel to St. Gery has stood on this site since the 6th century.

Lunch at the Grande Place:
Then, still lacking enthusiasm, I traced my steps back to the Grande Place, stopping en route at a convenience store to buy myself a bottle of chilled Belgian Duvel beer. I ate my homemade sandwich and chugged my beer while watching tourists take pictures of the guildhalls as I sat on the stone steps of one of the buildings (noting, with dismay, that Belgium seems to be singularly lacking in seating along its sightseeing trails). It was almost 2 pm by this stage and as I ate and drank, I began to feel seriously buzzed. It was only later, reading in my guidebook, that I discovered that Belgian beer packs a heavy punch. Since I wasn’t sharing the bottle with Llew but had drunk it all myself, it packed a wallop and it was with the greatest difficulty that I launched myself up to my feet to continue my exploration of the city.

Window-shopping in the Galeries St. Hubert:
Using my map, I went in search of the Galeries St. Hubert, which comprises a grand shopping arcade that was inaugurated by Belgium’s first king, Leopold I, in 1847. Today, dominated by luxury merchandise shops selling designer clothing, leather goods, lace shops and expensive chocolatiers such as Leonidas, the shops are still fun to peek into and I had a good time though only window shopping. By this stage, I had eaten a great amount of chocolate as the attendants were eager to pass out samples. Easter eggs and chocolate bunnies, however, hadn’t yet dropped to half price in Belgium even though Easter was long past!

Just past the Galeries St. Hubert is one of the city’s most interesting streets—the Rue des Bouchers. This is a Foodie’s Paradise as it is lined on both sides by a variety of restaurants, most of which entice the visitor with a stunning array of appetizing arrangements of fresh seafood, fruit and vegetables. I walked its length, passing by the famous Leon and promised myself that I would not leave Brussels without feasting on its most famous culinary offering—moules-frites (mussels with fries).

It wasn’t long before I found myself at the Places des Herbes where I occupied a seat on a bench and promptly plonked down! It was a good hour before I stirred again, by which time I had myself a wonderful hour-long nap (or a drunken sleep, if you prefer!). But it proved to be incredibly refreshing because it spurred me on to get back on my feet and look for Brussels’ best-known church—the Cathedral of Saints Michael and Gudule. This twin-spired church is somewhat reminiscent of Paris’ Notre-Dame and is truly gorgeous inside. Despite the fact that I had just returned from Rome where I was made to feel “all churched-out”, I was still taken by its grandeur. The Last Judgment stained glass window with its vivid shades of red, yellow and blue was truly lovely. An extraordinary Baroque carved wooden pulpit by Antwerp-born Henri-Francois Verbruggen matches this visual treat, the likes of which I have never seen before. Over the next few days, I visited many churches with Baroque pulpits, but none of them matched the splendor of this one. It was designed in 1699 and installed in the church in 1776. Two staggering beautiful gilded statues of Saint Michael and Saint Gudule also stunned me as did the larger-than-life sized statues of the twelve Apostles that stand high on stone plinths above the congregation’s heads throughout the length of the nave. It was these interesting and very unusual features that made this cathedral stand out for me.

When I emerged from the Cathedral after a brief but very heavy shower had suddenly wetted the streets, I picked my way along Rue Neuve for some retail therapy for this street is filled with every conceivable European high street store and was busy with shoppers. Recession, what recession? I thought as I watched them hurry by.

Since I lacked energy to do anything more interesting, I decided to postpone my visits to the fine arts museums for my return from Bruges when I intended to spend one more day in Brussels. For the moment, I’d had my fair share of urban exploration and decided to take another route back to the youth hostel. Along the way, I passed by the Hotel Metropole, which, my guide book informed me, had one of the grandest Art Nouveau lobbies and bar-cafes to be found in the city. Indeed when I did walk inside to see for myself, I was quite taken by the degree of opulence with which the ground floor was designed. Lavish use of gilding along walls and columns and the brilliant pools of light cast by glittering chandeliers made the place look like a ball room.

Then I was buying myself a gaufre—a Belgian waffle—topped liberally with whipped cream, chocolate sauce and walnuts. This made a very filling dinner indeed as I returned to the youth hostel, checked into my 4-bedded dorm room, took a very relaxing hot shower in the attached bathroom and then, still feeling quite drained of energy, climbed into my bunk to call it a very early night.

It had been lovely to hear the sound of French all around me and before long, I was eager to try some of my own rusty French on the locals. But everytime I spoke to someone in French, they responded to me in English! And I realized how multi-lingual the Belgians are as they switch with ease from French to English to Dutch in a single minute.

Playing Catch Up!

Apr14

Tuesday, April 14, 2009
London

All day today, I played catch up. It’s amazing how much one puts on hold while traveling. And since I am off again tomorrow (to Belgium), I had a laundry list of items to be accomplished. I did manage to finish writing my ‘Ancient Worlds’ travelogue (i.e. my account of our recent travels in Rome and Istanbul) and loaded them on to my blog.

I also managed to alter my accommodation reservations in Belgium as I have decided to spend two days in Bruges which has a great deal to offer and two days in Brussels. I was lucky to find accommodation at the St. Christopher Inn in Bruges at the very last minute.

Then, I rushed off to the Holborn Public Library to return some books and look for some on Belgium. I found two rather slim ones and borrowed them and then I set off to find a battery for my watch which stopped working yesterday. This turned out to be a massive production as none of the shops were willing to open my watch being prohibited from doing so. It seems that customers requested them to open their watches and then demanded they be compensated for the damage that the salesmen caused to the cases! I returned home in frustration and, using a slim knife, prized the back open. Back to the store I went with the open watch to find a suitably sized battery. And then the one that Maplin gave me did not work! I have no time to continue to pursue this matter and shall take care of it upon my return from Belgium at the weekend.

I also graded my students’ essays, downloaded the pictures from my camera, charged it and got it ready for my trip tomorrow. I am excited about my trip as I am taking the Eurostar, aka the Chunnel train, for the first time and I know it will be a fun thing to do. I haven’t read up anything about Belgium, so haven’t the faintest idea what I will see…but I shall do my reading on the train tomorrow morning and, no doubt, by the time I arrive at Brussels’ Midi station, I shall have a good idea of the shape my next four days will take.

Then, after a shower and a cup of tea in the evening, I set out for my appointment with my friend Loulou Cook at her flat in Farringdon. It took me ten minutes to walk there, past Farringdon Tube station. She let me into the enormous living-cum-dining room space and as we sat down to enjoy a cup of tea, we caught up on the past few days. I was at her place primarily to take a look at her spare room that does not get much use at all as the Cooks have a country home in Suffolk and spend just one day in their London flat. When I had taken a look at it and realized that it would work rather well for me in the summer months of June and July, I sat for a chat with Paul whom I was meeting for the first time. It was an interesting conversation indeed. I do hope that all will now fall into place so that I can have use of their place…so let’s see.

Back home, I finished my packing for Belgium and put together all the papers I need for my travel. I have an early morning start with my train leaving St. Pancras Station at King’s Cross at a minute before seven. I guess I shall be up before 6.00, so I can take a bus and arrive at the station by 6. 30 am! I guess I shall now just grab a bite of dinner, set the alarm on my cell phone and go straight to bed.

It’s Goodbye Again…Llew’s Last day in London.

Apr13

Easter Monday, April 13, 2009
London

Llew’s last day in London sped swiftly by. We awoke to the discovery that my wrist watch had stopped during the night. This means that I shall have to find a store that sells replacement batteries and I have not a clue where to go. What is the equivalent of Radio Shack in the UK?? Hmmm, I guess I will soon find out.

We had our last breakfast together and while Llew packed his few things away, I took a hold of his larger suitcase and filled it with my winter clothes that I will no longer need. Despite the fact that the English think they had a particularly brutal winter, I did not wear the fur coat I had carried along (it was always a bit too warm for that). I also sent off the thick down coat that I had found on sale at Gap in Westport, Connecticut, in December (which did serve me rather well on those freaky snow holidays!). Packing away all my woolen worsted jackets, I realize that I have no more than three classes to teach before the semester (and the academic year!) ends. Unbelievable!!!

I sent off most of my cashmere cardigans, holding on to just four of them in neutral colors. I also sent off the vintage weighing scale with the bell weights that I had bought from the antiques shop in Rochester, Kent. With much of my winter wardrobe already on its way to the States, I realize that, in a way, I have already begun my return ‘home’ and I have to admit that it broke my heart. The gesture brought to my mind, in one swift instant, the sight of my Dad (then so much younger) huddling behind the refrigerator in the kitchen and sobbing his heart out while I, at 21 years, was oblivious to his heartbreak, as I sent off the first of many suitcases of clothing to my marital home as I prepared for my wedding, so many years ago. It is one of the most poignant moments in my life and, when it does come back to haunt me, it never fails to stir in me the most powerful feelings of love for my beloved Dad.

Then, we were walking in a slight drizzle on a dreadfully dull day to the Sainsburys at Holborn as Llew wanted to buy some last-minute packets of Roses chocolates (to which he is rather partial). When we had picked those up, we returned home. I had bought some tiramisu with the idea of getting him to try some of it (a favorite dessert) and then as he continued to make space in his suitcases for his 11th hour buys, I fixed us some sandwiches for our lunch.

By 12 .15 pm, we left my flat together and walked down to Holborn from where we took the Piccadilly Tube to Heathrow airport. Within no time at all, Llew had checked in and after we found a quiet spot to eat our sandwich lunch together, I bid him goodbye to allow him to enter Security. It had been an amazing two weeks and when I look back on them, I am pleased at how much we packed into them together:

1. Highlights Tour at the V&A including the Booker Prize Exhibit and the Raphael Rooms
2. Cornelia Parker’s work at the V&A and the Tate Modern
3. A Day trip to Rye with Stephanie
4. Tea with my friends Rosa and Matt Fradley
5. Dinner at Ours with neighbors Tim and Barbara, my friend Rosemary and Llew’s friend Bande Hasan.
6. A Papal Audience in Rome
7. An Opportunity to attend a Papal Mass at St. Peter’s Basilica, Rome
8. Visiting the Vatican Museum
9. Taking in the incredible attractions of Istanbul
10. Seeing a play by an award-winning playwright at the National Theater.
11. Dinner at the Rixhons’ at Willesden Green
13. Dinner at the Ullals’ at Harrow
13. A Chance to see how the NHS works during my Orthotics Fitting
14. A Day out in Windsor
15. A chance to watch me at work during my interview with the Holleys in Windsor
16. Attending Holy Week services together at St. Paul’s Cathedral
17. Taking one of Frommer’s Walks together in Covent Garden
18. Attending Easter Sung High Latin Mass at the Brompton Oratory
19. A Royal Sighting (of Prince and Princess Michael of Kent) and their daughter, Gabriella
20. Visiting Dennis Sever’s House
21. Memorable Easter dinner at Rules
22. Dinner with Bande Hasan at Zizzi.

Indeed, it had been a packed two weeks and, most of all, it had been such a joy to have Llew with me. I thought about all the things we did together in London, Rome and Istanbul. It was Llew who had remarked to me as our bus passed over Waterloo Bridge on our return from the play at the National Theater that he could not believe that in just 8 days he had seen three of the world’s greatest cities–London, Rome and Istanbul. People wait a whole lifetime, he said, to see just one! It was then that I reminded him that, having started his travels in New York, he had, in fact, seen four! It must be something of a record even for us, intrepid travelers though we are!

Then, I was home, and for the next hour and a half, I ‘straightened’ up my flat. I first sorted out my fridge and my freezer as I had done a bit of cooking and needed to put away the food I had cooked as I am leaving for Belgium on Wednesday and don’t want anything going bad. Next, I tided up the living room, the bathroom and the kitchen. I moved into the bedroom next to put away/throw away the stack of papers that had accumulated during our travels and to generally tidy up. I realize what an anal neat freak I am and how important it is for me to have everything in its place, close at hand, organized. When all this was accomplished and my flat returned as it were, to normal, I went in for a relaxing shower. Then, I brewed myself a nice pot of Darjeeling and settled down to enjoy it with chocolate biscuits as I returned to my PC and began catching up on my email, my travel writing and my blog.

Before I knew it, it was 9. 30 pm and I decided to stop and have some dinner–leftover Italian dinner that I had frozen a couple of weeks ago and then thawed, salad and fresh strawberries and apricots for dessert–while watching Rhodes Cross the Caribbean and Market Kitchen. My London life suddenly felt as it if had returned to normal again! At this point, I heard Tim and Barbara at their door and realized that they had returned from their long Easter weekend out. It was time for me to call it a day and, using my cell phone as a watch, I made my way to bed.

An Easter Sunday with a Difference–including a Royal Sighting!

Apr12

Easter Sunday, April 12, 2009
London

It was an Easter with a difference for both of us! How delighted I was to have my dear Llew here with me in London during this Holy Week and to have him share Easter Sunday with me was a treat indeed. Of course, we both missed Chrissie as well as my family in Bombay whom we called first thing in the morning where they were all assembled at my brother Roger’s house in Bandra for Easter lunch. Because Llew wanted to attend a Catholic mass on Easter Sunday, I went online to look for mass timings at Westminster Cathedral and at the Brompton Oratory–two truly magnificent London churches as our closest Catholic church, St. Etheldreda’s, tends to be rather empty since Holborn is not so much a residential area as it is a commercial one.

Latin High Mass at the Brompton Oratory:
After breakfasting on cereal and croissants and showering, we left our flat and took the Tube to South Kensington and caught the 11 am mass at the Brompton Oratory which was packed to the rafters with people dressed to kill in expensive Hermes scarves and cultured pearl jewelry. It was with the greatest difficulty that Llew and I managed to shove ourselves into the church where we found a seat each in two different rows one behind the other! Still, we were grateful as so many people stood throughout the long traditional Latin Mass that went on for a whole hour and a half. The singing was superb and the responses from the congregation–all in sung Latin, mind you–truly impressed us. The priest made the announcement that refreshments and coffee would be available in the church hall and we deicded to go there for a slice of cake as our big meal of the day was not until 5 pm.

A Royal Sighting!
It was while we were making our way to the Hall for coffee that we had an unexpected royal sighting. A beautiful black Bentley had drawn up and two priests suddenly seemed very keen on going forward to meet its occupants who were leaving the church and making their way to the car. It took me only a second to recognize Prince Michael of Kent who happens to be the first cousin of both Queen Elizabeth and the Duke of Edinburgh–his beard makes him pretty distinctive. I have grown up seeing his photographs for years at every single royal do and I nudged Llew hard and whispered to him, “This is Prince Michael of Kent. He is the first cousin of the Queen”. I did not recognize his wife, but I recalled somewhere from deep in the recesses of my memory that the Princess is a Catholic which explained their presence at our Catholic service. Later I discovered from the Web that she is a Viennese aristocrat from a Catholic family in Austria.

She was very elegantly dressed indeed in a sand colored suit with a splendid hat which sported two pheasant feathers. Standing right by her was a very attractive young lady who looked slightly embarassed by all the fuss–undoubtedly their daughter, Lady Gabriella–whom I later discovered, also from the Net, is a graduate of Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island. At any rate, there was much bowing and scraping in front of this royal family and I actually saw a lady from the congregation courtesy in front of the Princess and then go forward to plant a peck on her cheek. Prince Michael of Kent nodded smilingly at Llew and me just before he entered the Bentley and Llew noticed the royal crest on the license plate of the car. Indeed, it was quite an interesting if very unexpected encounter for us and quite made our Easter Sunday.

Llew told me later over coffee that he thoroughly enjoyed the Latin High Mass and was very pleased that we had decided to come as far away as the Brompton Oratory on this special Sunday. He was especially impressed by the fact that so many members of the congregation were able to join heartily in the singing, young and old alike, and that they carried the old-fashioned Missals that he remembered from his old growing years in Sunday school.

Stepping back into history at Dennis Severs House:
Then, we were on the Tube again heading for the East End where I had decided that we would visit one of London’s most unusual museums–Dennis Severs House at 18 Folgate Street in Spitalfields. We arrived there about 2 pm. and paid the 8 pounds (a piece) entry fee that took us inside. We were instructed to keep perfectly silent in the house, not to touch anything and not to take any pictures. We were explained the fact that the house is set up in such a way as to suggest that we are entering the domain of a Mr. Issac Jervis, a wealthy Hugenot silk weaver around the year 1724. As we climbed higher up the four storeys, the time period got closer to our age until at the very top floor, we were in the early 1800s at the time of the sudden accession to the throne of Queen Victoria.

It is not merely the fact that the house is crammed with the most marvelous antiques that caught our imagination but the fact that we are part of a drama in which it appears as if the family that lived in the rooms vacated them as soon as we entered. Thus, a half eaten slice of buttered bread, a bitten pear, a nearly empty cup of tea are some of the props that make up the unusual ambience of this home. The experience is not merely a visual delight but a completely sensual one as sounds, and even smells, permeate the environment from the clanging of the nearby bells of Christ Church, Spitalfields, to the booming of the cannons that announced the arrival of Queen Victoria to the throne. In the bedrooms, we smelled cinnamon potpourii, in the kitchen, the fire in the grate warmed the entire room as well as our fingers and in the upper floors where cobwebs hung about the poverty-stricken hovels of the tenants who were barely able to keep body and soul together, there was a dank mustiness that was most unpleasant. At one stage, we became part of an 18th century painting by Hogarth as we encircled a table that had just witnessed a drunken brawl.

Dennis Severs was an American artist who was so fascinated by the history of the East End and the determined efforts made by London to retain the dated atmosphere of the area through the protection of the exterior of its buildings that he decided to buy one of the silk weaver’s homes and decorate it so authentically that a visitor might be able to have the sort of out-of-body experience that is only possible when one transports oneself compeletely into a long ago world and blends into it. Hence, his concept of the wholistic antiquated experience which has resulted in this unusual phenomenon. What was incredible was the fact that he lived in this manner in this very house during his own life in London and wanted to perpetuate the experience long after he passed away.

Needless to say, both Llew and I were utterly transfixed by this visit and it was easily the best 8 pounds we have spent in a long while. I was so glad that I had Llew with whom to share this experience. I fully appreciated the insistence upon silence in the house because I have found through my solitary travels in so many countries that the best, most meaningful, experiences for me have been the ones that I have enjoyed alone and without the interruption of conversation with a companion, as, often, the act of talking causes the mind to lose focus and become distracted by extraneous details that have no direct bearings upon the item or scene being investigated. Still, I was pleased to have had Llew to talk with after we had both gone through this completely unique house.

Foray into Brick Lane:
Then, since we were so close to it and Llew was keen to visit it, we walked to Brick Lane, made famous by Monica Ali’s novel of the same name which both Llew and I had read a long time ago. Of course, we found it to be unfamiliar to us in many ways for it neither reminded me of India (in which I grew up) nor of Pakistan (in which Llew grew up) but being a part of London that has been colonized by Bangladeshi immigrants, it has a distinctly Bengali ambience to it. After we had perused some of the sweetmeat shops, we walked back to Liverpool Street station for the next part of our rather adventurous day–our Easter dinner.

Dinner at Rules Restaurant–London’s Oldest:
I had tried to make a reservtion at Rules restaurant only this morning and discovered that a 5 pm sitting was all that was available. I decided to go for it as it would be the sort of late lunch early dinner that we usually have when we celebrate Christmas or Easter at home. We arrived at Maiden Lane just behind Covent Garden exactly at 5pm and were very warmly and cordially welcomed by the maitre d’ hote who led us to a cozy table for two in a corner.

I had first heard about Rules on one of the London walks that I took several weeks ago and had decided right away that this was the sort of restaurant I wanted to eat a dinner in when Llew got to London. it helped that the restaurant is London’s oldest, having been established in 1798. It has had its fair share of celebrity clientele from Edward VII who often frequented the place with his mistress Lillie Langtrey, Charles Dickens, Graham Greene and Sir John Betjeman, among several prominent others. The decor is so unique that you can spend an entire evening just gazing upon its walls that are covered with antlers of varing shape and size, playbills from a vast number of Covent Garden shows over the centuries, cartoons from contemporary magazines and newspapers and illustrations of theater personalities and journalists. The lighting is soft and very flattering indeed and the lampshades and dark wood-panelled walls made the entire place appear like the interior of a library on an English country estate. Needless to say, I adored every aspect of the place and Llew shared my enthusiasm for it as well.

We then got down to the serious business of ordering our dinner. We chose a jug of claret but decided to forego the starters as I really did want to have a dessert. A quick glance at the puddings told me that I would not be disappointed and right away I decided to go for the sticky toffee pudding with butterscotch sauce. But that would have to wait. For our main course, I decided to eat the daily special–farm duck served with garlic spinach, crispy bacon and a sauce of chestnuts and red wine. Llew chose rabbit with a wild mushroom casserole. Since we shared our dishes, I can say that each one was better than the other, the meat succulent and juicy and the sides quite superbly done and very tasty indeed. Service was impeccable and attentive and the entire set up was simply special. When it came time for dessert, Llew chose the chocolate souffle with chocolate ice cream and when our puddings arrived, there was a rather unexpected treat included–a tiny pastry nest filled with chocolate mousse in which two candy coated chocolate eggs were hiding. There was also a little wafer that said Easter on it–a very cute touch indeed. Overall, we had one of the most memorable meals we have eaten in London and I was very pleased that Llew enjoyed the meal as much as I did and that I had made the right choice in selecting Rules (so-called because it was founded by a man named Thomas Rule). At the end of the evening, a waiter very kindly escorted me to the top floor where I peeked into the Sir John Betjeman Room that seats 8 and the Graham Greene room that seats 18 as both these literary gentlemen loved this restaurant and ate here frequently.

Then, it was time to walk home–we were so full that we did not have coffee but elected to get some exercise instead. Covent Garden was abuzz with visitors and buskers and a singer who presented a plaintive version of JT’s Fire and Rain. In less than 15 mintues, we were home, making a few calls to the friends we have recently made in this city and to Chriselle and Chris who were just about beginning to start their own Easter lunches in the States. We did miss being together for Easter but we were glad that Chriselle was having a good time with Chris’s friends.

Llew then began the serious task of getting his suitcases packed up. I took over his large one and filled it with the stack of formal and winter clothes that I no longer need in London since the weather is now much milder. I have retained only a few cashmere cardigans in neutral colors and since I have only three more classes to teach before the semester ends, I sent back my formal woolen suit jackets. From now on, I shall be living mainly in casual clothes and I am looking forward to warmer days.

The evening passed swiftly as Llew prepared to make his exit from London and return to Connecticut. I will be sorry to see him go tomorrow, but I feel blessed that God allowed us to spend Easter together–an Easter with a difference, but one I know we were always remember as long as we live.

Waltzing through Windsor, Meeting the Holleys and Dinner with Bande Hassan

Apr11

Holy Saturday, April 11, 2009
Windsor

On another very quiet holiday morning in Holborn, Llew and I decided to leave for Windsor. We had awoken about 7 am but by the time we showered and had breakfast (muesli and hot cross buns), it was about 9 am that we hopped on to the Tube to get to Paddington for our connection on London mainline trains to Windsor. We purchased our tickets (off-peak day return was 8. 50 pounds each) and caught the 9. 51 to Windsor which required a change at Slough–this reminded me, of course, of David Brent in the BBC’s version of the TV show The Office, where Slough is the constant butt of bad jokes (being out there in the boonies!).

At about 10. 20, we found ourselves at the imposing walls of Windsor Castle at the end of an extremely long line that completely ruined my high spirits. I was tempted to suggest to Llew that we abandon our plans to visit the Castle as I had made a 1.00 pm appointment to meet with Marion and Henry Holley, an Anglo-Indian couple who live in nearby Maidenhead, with the idea of interviewing them for my study. I thought that it would take us no less than an hour to get into the Castle and if we arrived there at 11. 30, we’d have only an hour and a half to see everything. While I was mulling over these thoughts, the line moved along briskly and, to my enormous surprise, we were able to actually get inside within 15 minutes–not too bad at all!

In fact, we were just in time for the Changing of the Guard ceremony that took place at 11 am and as we stood on the hill in front of St. George’s Chapel, we took in the pomp and pageantry from a fairly good vantage point that offered fine photo opportunities. I noticed that the guards are back in their red coats and busbees and I was pleased that I had caught them in their grey Kremlin-like winter overcoats in the midst of winter when I had stood outside Buckingham Cathedral to watch the ceremony in February.

Llew and I did not not wait for it to end as there was so much to see in the Castle. Equipped with our audio guides, we entered the ancient Chapel, one of the most important Anglican places of worship in the land. The towering nave propped up by its impressive fan vaulting is one of my favorite elements of high Gothic architecture and I was enthralled. The magnificent stained glass window that features a plethora of medieval characters was also quite stirring indeed. I loved the beautiful marble sculpture of Princess Christina who had died at 21 after giving birth to a still born child. It was her death that changed the line of British succession to the throne and made Queen Victoria one of England’s most celebrated monarchs. The sculpture is plaintively moving and I wished so much I could have taken its picture.

The rest of the chapel was equally interesting, filled as it is by monuments honoring so many of England’s best-known kings and queens. I particularly paused by the tombstones of King George VI and the late Queen Mother (parents of the current Queen Elizabeth II) and the one to Henry VIII in the choir of the church where the beautiful wood carvings of the stalls and the banners of the Knights of the Order of the Garter of St. George were all rather fascinating. Unfortunately, we had to hurry through everything as we did not have much time and I began to feel as if it was essential to give the castle a whole day of reflective perusal. Crowds jostling around everywhere and the endless queues made the experiences rather disturbing for me, even unpleasant, and I guess I have become accustomed to having places of tourist interest deserted as I visited so many of them during the quieter off-season winter months when I could really take in every facet thoughtfully. Besides, since I was visiting Windsor Castle after 22 years, I had forgotten almost everything I saw and Llew cannot even remember when he last visited Windsor!

Exploring the State Apartments:
Next, we were hurrying out of the Chapel and towards the State Apartments where a long line had formed to see the Queen’s Doll’s House. We decided to pass on that treat and moved instead into the line that took us straight into the fabulous state apartments, many of which have been completely refurbished since 1992 when Windsor Castle was engulfed by the most horrific flames following a fire that had caused the Queen to remark on the fact that 1992 was the “annus horribilus” of her reign–it was also the year during which the divorce of Prince Andrew and Fergie, Duchess of York, had been finalized and when Charles and Diana had announced their final split.

Among the many memorable gems we saw inside the apartments were some of my favorite porcelain services–such as the Danish Flora Danica pattern. But it was the Rockingham china that most took my fancy–the work is so exquisite, portraying, as it does, so much flora from the colonies that then formed part of the British empire–such as sugar canes and pineapples. The work was so costly that the factory finally went bankrupt and closed down–a great loss indeed to British porcelain manufacture!

Next, we were climbing the stately staircase lined with arms and armor and arriving at all the booty that was looted by British officials following the defeat of so many global sovereign heads of state–such as the gilded tiger of Tipu Sultan of Mysore with its crystal teeth. I have to wonder how the British public does not feel a wee bit troubled about the fact that its finest treasures have been obtained arbitrarily from other parts of the world and I have to wonder whether or not they feel slight twinges of guilt that might motivate them to urge their present-day politicians to return these pieces to the countries from whence they came. After all, when you come to think of it, when we were in Rome, we had discovered that Napoleon who had looted many of Europe’s best museums (including the treasures of the Vatican collection) was made to return them after his defeat at the hands of Wellesley at the Battle of Waterloo. But then, I guess, we’d be stirring up the Elgin Marbles hornet’s nest all over again.

Our tour through the apartments took us to rooms that were impeccably decorated and fabulously furnished with the most beautiful masterpieces of world art. In particular, however, I enjoyed examining the many royal portraits commissioned by aristocracy from the Dutch painter Hans Holbein who made his home in the English court for decades and left us some of the most recognizable faces of the era. I found his portrayal of Easter morning entitled Noli Me Tangere deeply moving indeed, especially since we will be celebrating Easter tomorrow–somehow it seemed significant that we would have the chance to peruse this unusual Holbein so closely. It portrays Mary Magdalen on the third morning of Christ’s death arriving at the tomb to find the tombstone rolled away and filled with angels. Upon turning around, she sees a man whom she mistakes for a gardener; but on looking at him more closely, it occurs to her that he might be the risen Jesus. She attempts to go forward to touch him when he says to her, “Noli Me Tangere” which in Hebrew means, “Do not Touch me”.

I was extremely moved by this painting and it has remained crystallized in my memory. Also very significant for the art lover and historian in me were the self-portraits by Rembrandt made during various stages in his life (two of them are placed almost side by side on one wall in the gallery). By the time we arrived at the ceremonial Banqueting Hall, I realized that I would need at least another two visits to Windsor Castle to do the place justice and it was then that I suggested to Llew that we get our tickets registered at the exit upon departure. It was close to 1.00 pm by that stage and we needed to leave to meet the Holleys.

Upon relinquishing our audio guides, we did register our tickets and have decided that we will return again when Llew comes back to England in late July or early August to take me back to the States at the end of my stint here in London.

Lunch with the Holleys–finally!
Then, we were out on the main street by the benches where the Holleys–Henry and Marian–had suggested we meet. The softness of an English drizzle was ever present as we arrived at Fifty One, a bistro off the High Street where we settled down for a meal and a natter. Henry Holley is an Anglo-Indian who has been extremely helpful to me ever since I arrived in the UK at the start of my research project. Not only has he been in regular correspondence with me, but he has helped some of my students create their ethnographic profiles last semester while they were taking my sophomore seminar on Anglo-Indians. He is a regular reader of my blog and sends me helpful hints of what to see and do in the course of my travels in the British Isles and I have always found him to be eager to help. So, it was with great pleasure that we finally met and I was so pleased that Llewellyn also had the opportunity to meet them.

The two of us decided to share a large pizza that was rather delicious indeed and soon I had my tape recorder on to make sure I received the correct information from this lovely couple who emigrated to the UK in the 1960s when they were both teenagers. As an former RAF man, Henry Holley was posted in various parts of the world and I found that both he and his wife exhibited the kind of cultural open mindedness that is characteristic of people whose global travels have exposed them to a wide variety of human experience. Certainly my chat with them was interesting and enlightening and not without frequent moments of humor. Llew and I were very grateful for their hospitality for when the bill arrived, Henry insisted on treating us to lunch.

Later that afternoon, we sauntered around the interesting shops of Windsor High Street in their company (they had already started to feel like old buddies!) entering Lakeland, a wonderful kitchen equipment store (my kind of store!) where they made a few purchases and we were able to leave with tiny samples of very strong espresso made in a fancy hi-tech coffee machine whose abilities were demonstrated within. Then, we bade them goodbye, promising to keep in touch, and Llew and I were left to our own resources to tour the town.

Exploring Windsor:
Windsor is a delightful English village complete with towering castle ramparts, a Thames-side location, picturesque bridges and multitudes of graceful white swans. As we walked towards the river, we saw another giant Ferris wheel on its banks (similar to the London Eye) and a bridge that transported us to the opposite bank where Eton College, one of England’s oldest and most prestigious public (which in England means private!) schools is located. We paused at several enticing antiques stores en route but prices were so inflated that I could buy nothing that took my fancy. Instead, we pressed on towards the lovely Tudor architecture that forms the main buildings of the school. Though the place had closed for the day to visitors (it was just after 5 pm when we arrived there), I was able to get some marvelous pictures of the architecture I adore in the red brick lined buildings, the theater with its dome (so reminiscent of the Radcliff Camera in Oxford) and the quads. Cherry trees were everywhere bursting into bloom making the most enchanting backdrops for the pictures in which I frequently posed poor Llew in order to bring human interest to my compositions!

Italian Dinner with Bande Hassan:
Then, after a quick visit to Waitrose to buy the Stilton cheese with ginger that Llew also has taken fondly to, we made our way to the train station for our return journey to London. We arrived there at exactly 7 pm and connected to the Tube to meet with our friend Bande Hasan outside his bank–Habibsons where he is the CEO–at Portman Square just off Oxford Street. Once there, we threw our things into the trunk of his grey Mercedes and drove off to Zizzi, an Italian restaurant nearby where we spent a wonderful evening chatting companionably over bruschetta starters and pasta dishes that were both delicious and substantial. We ended our meal with desserts that were outstanding–Torta Zizzi was filled with almond paste and fruit–like plums and figs (superb) and Torta Ciocolato that had a crisp hazelnut base and a chocolate mousse filing. Served with vanilla ice-cream drizzled over with chocolate sauce, it was truly a chocoholic’s dream and Llew and I who shared one of them were in Chocolate Heaven!

Soon, we were being dropped back to the Tube and were home in less than fifteen minutes, ready to call a halt to a day that had been superbly filled with several forms of fascinating art and marvelous human contacts.

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.

Orthotics at Last! And Dinner at the Rixhons.

Apr9

Maundy Thursday, April 9, 2009
London

After weeks…no months, of waiting, I finally had my Orthotics appointment today. It took no less than 120 attempts to call the central appointment agency to obtain a date for this meeting with the person who would fit me for Orthotics that are supposed to help patients afflicted with plantar fascittis. It was thanks to one of NYU’s staff members, Yvonne Hunkin, who suggested that I fax the place, that I finally was given an appointment. Not surprisingly, despite the fact that Llew and I went to bed at well past 11. 30 pm last night, I awoke at 5. 30 am so as not to be late for my 8. 30 appointment this morning at Belsize Road. Only I was mistaken–my appointment wasn’t at 8. 30 am, it was at 9. 30! This meant a good hour’s wait in the surgery, but we’d taken material to read and Llew got a chance to see how the NHS operates in the UK.

Rory Nottingdale was the man who fitted me with a pair of medically-designed insoles that fit into my walking shoes. They have the advantage of being interchangeable, i.e. I can insert them into any pair of shoes. Rory suggested I wear them for the next three months and if there is no improvement by mid-July, he suggests I make a follow-up appointment. I will, of course, fax him at that stage as I have no intention of trying to get him on the phone! But, hopefully, I will not need to call him at all and the Orthotics will make a difference to my posture and change the way my feet feel.

Since we were only a block away from Abbey Road, of course, Llew and I had to walk to the Abbey Studios and the crossing made famous by the Beatles’ album that featured the Fab Four striding across the street in single file. We found other Beatles’ fans taking pictures at the cross road and we, gigglingly, did likewise. There were walls outside the Abbey Road Studios that were filled with scribbles left by generations of fans which we read as we posed for pictures by the road sign that said ‘Abbey Road’. I remembered that I had also posed besides the Penny Lane sign post not too long ago while in Liverpool.

We took the Tube back from St. John’s Wood and I finally had the chance to unpack my backpack after our return from Rome and Istanbul, sort out laundry items, get our bedroom in order and then go out shopping to the Leather Lane street market to buy some fresh fruit and veg for salad as I felt as if I badly needed to eat some greens! Back home, Llew and I had our lunch and found our neighbors Tim and Barbara ringing our doorbell to say goodbye to us as they were leaving to spend the holiday weekend in Eastbourne and would not see Llew (who departs for the States on Easter Monday) again until July. After a short nap, I returned to my email (as I had loads of it to trawl through and several urgent messages to return–mainly from my former students in New York, most of whom want recommendations of one sort or the other).

Marilyn Rixhon had called me in the morning to confirm our dinner plans at her place for this evening, so Llew and I decided to get some rest before we left for the 5 pm service at St. Paul’s Cathedral where the Washing of the Feet and the Eucharist will be celebrated. I had called our friends Cynthia and Bishop Michael Colclough and told them that we hoped to see them at the service. About an hour later, Michael called to invite us to their place and to take on seats at the very front with their family. This gave Llew the chance to visit their place briefly at Amen Court and to meet Cynthia’s lovely boys, Edward and Aidan,again as also Michael’s step-mother Alma who had driven down from Stoke-on-Trent for the Easter weekend. We made our way together to the Cathedral where loads of visitors thronged the steps on what was a perfectly delightful spring evening. Inside, it occurred to me again, how similar St. Paul’s Cathedral is to St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome, though, undoubtedly, the latter is far more ornate. It’s not easy to compete with Bernini, is it???

It also occurred to me how similar the Catholic and Protestant doctrine and services are–indeed, the Washing of the Feet of the Apostles is the central focus of this service and, in addition, we had the sublime acoustic sounds of the choir echoing mightily around the columns and domes of this grand structure. We had prime seats at the very front center and in an hour and a quarter, we were all done, having received Holy Communion and trooped out.

Because it was still too early to get on the Tube and head to Willesden Green for our dinner appointment with the Rixhons, we sat at Paul’s and whiled away some time over an almond croissant and their excellent hot chocolate. You know that a new location is starting to feel like home when you begin to have a favorite coffee shop, a favorite book store, a favorite library, etc. and I do know that Paul’s is my favorite coffee shop. Being that it is a chain in London, I do not have a particular favorite location. (In New York, Le Pain Quotidien is my favorite coffee shop chain and I wonder if there is a pattern to be discovered in the fact that both my favorites have French origins!)

We were ringing the doorbell at the Rixhons’ beautiful home at exactly 7.30 pm and then had a fabulous evening with them. Llew, who was meeting Marilyn and Phillipe for the very first time, got along famously with them and found that they had much in common, the least of which was the fact that they had all spent a considerable amount of time working and living in Dubai. Their garden was at its spring loveliest with the pear tree in bloom and as Phillipe opened a bottle of champagne and we strolled through it, the evening assumed a magical flavor. Inside, Marilyn busied herself in her magazine-quality kitchen with her matzoh ball soup as it also, coincidentally, happened to be Passover. There is a wonderfully warm and welcoming side to their personalities that instantly makes their guests feel at home and as we returned to the comfort of the dining table, I sat down to look forward to one of Marilyn’s simple but truly memorable meals. As it turned out, we had superbly baked cod with a zucchini puree served with matzoh, but the piece de resistance was the flourless cake with ground almonds and the tropical fruit salad with its hints of lime juice and zest made by their daughter that was so good I simply had to have the recipe. Indeed, it was a fine evening, characterized by friendship, fun and superb food. As we left, Marilyn actually presented us with a goodie bag–mangoes (“f0r your breakfast”, she said) that she obtained from the Indian store and a very unusual fruit called a grenadiller that I have never seen or heard of before and which I am very much looking forward to tasting.

Llew and I got home at a quarter to midnight and while Llew hit the bed after watching a spot of TV, I sat up writing this blog and fell asleep much later. Though I had felt at mid-day that we had done nothing really interesting, our evening out with the Rixhons definitely ‘saved’ our day and made it feel less wasted.

Goodbye Turkey, Return to London

Apr9

Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Istanbul-London

Last Minute Rambles in Istanbul:
We had made booking for a mini bus to pick us up at our hotel and take us to the Sabiha Gokcen airport at 10. 20 am—for 10 euros apiece. This journey would be so much easier than the one that had brought us from the airport to central Istanbul. This left us enough time to have a wonderful last breakfast in Turkey and head out to the Hippodrome and Sultanahmet Square for some last-minute strolling. Indeed, tour groups were already out in the square admiring the two obelisks that adorn it. We walked towards the shops and bought a few more sweetmeats before we returned to our hotel and boarded our mini bus.

It was interesting to go through the narrow winding streets of Sultanahmet with a skilled driver who managed to negotiate his way very effectively through them reversing expertly when necessary.

It was a lovely drive back to the airport on what was a lovely sunny day—we passed en route so many of the monuments we could recognize and had grown to admire—including the Dolmabahce Palace on the Asian side. In fact, I was quite tickled to see a signpost on the highway that said “Welcome to Asia”! Before long, we were at the airport where we checked in within minutes and waited patiently for our flight while sampling baklava and Turkish delight in the one and only duty free shop.

Arrival in London:
Our flight arrived in London on time and by 4 pm, we had boarded a National Express coach at Gatwick airport that took us directly to Victoria on a beautiful spring day in London. We had enough time to take the Tube home to Holborn, stash away our things and head straight for the National Theater where I had booked tickets to see Wole Soyinka’s award-winning play entitled Death and the King’s Horseman in the Olivier Theater. We had grabbed soups at the EAT eatery on the South Bank of the Thames as soon as we got there (having taken a Waterloo-bound bus from across our building).

I was excited as this was the first time I was visiting the National Theater—I have never managed to get tickets to any of the plays before this. The play was packed with well-dressed theater-lovers as Llew and I made our way upstairs and found our seats. For the next couple of hours, we were transported to Nigeria where we watched Yoruba rituals unfold even as they were being suppressed by the colonial British government. It was a drama that included music, song and dance as well as the wonderful poetic prose of Soyinka. Needless to say, it had a stirring unexpected end and I was very glad that we had chosen to see this play despite the fact that we had just returned from a long global holiday!

Back on the bus, we found our way to Holborn where we slept the sleep of the dead as we were world-weary from all our travels.

Obama Fever in Istanbul–Dolmache Palace and Hagia Sofia

Apr9

Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Istanbul, Turkey

A Presidential Visit Disrupts our Sightseeing Plans:
After another huge breakfast on the sea-facing terrace of Deniz Konark Hotel in which we slept very well last night, we set out to discover the Ayasofya—once a Byzantine church, then a mosque and now a museum. Only, we discovered, to our utter disappointment, that the entire area surrounding Sultanahmet Square had been shut down as President Barrack Obama was touring the area that morning in his intention to meet with senior leaders of Turkey’s Islamic community and students at the university. While proud of the fact that our new President was remaining true to his agenda of making peace with the Islamic world after the horrid chasms that had engulfed our world during the Bush years, I was disappointed that he chose the very week we were in Istanbul to plan his visit as we had only limited time at our disposal and wanted to cover the city’s main sights.

Since the tram station at Sultanahmet was shut, we began walking around the Ayasofya hoping to reach the Archaeological Museum which we had learned yesterday would remain open. However, on arriving at the access point to the museum, we found the entire area barricaded by armed foot police. Unable to reach the museum, we had to made sudden changes in plan and decided to visit the Dolmabahce Palace which was far away from all the political action of Sultanahmet Square. Since we were told that Ayasofya would remain closed all day, we had no choice but to plan to see it tomorrow early in the morning just before our departure for the airport. We knew we would be cutting it fine but there was no way we could leave Istanbul without seeing the famous Ayasofya Museum!

It was with some difficulty, mainly linguistic ones, that we understood that we could take a local train that ran along the waterfront past the old stone walls of the city that was then called Byzantium to the last stop called Sirkeci. However, when we arrived there, we found that the Sirkeci tram station was closed too. We were instructed to walk through busy streets lined with shops to the Eminonu waterfront and take a metro from there to Kalabas from where the Palace was only a short ten minute walk away! All along the route, both Llew and I felt as if we were back home on the Indian sub-continent. Indeed so many parts of the city were so reminsicent of Bombay to me and Karachi to Llew that we thought we were transported back in tome to our childhood years! It was all rather uncanny and we wondered what it is about the environment of the East that so blots out national borders and makes locations merge in our memories.

Needless to say, we took a lemon and made lemonade for these rather unexpected detours took us into nooks and crannies of Istanbul that were never on our agenda. Indeed, upon arriving at the Eminonu waterfront, I realized that we were very close to the Rustam Pasa Mosque which a British fellow-traveler at our hotel that told us that morning was his wife’s favorite mosque in Istanbul. It was irresistible to me and I suggested to Llew that we should try to see it. This meant walking very close by the Spice Bazaar with its gunny sacks full of ground and whole spices that presented marvelously indigenous sights.

Inside the Rustam Pasa Mosque:
The Rustam Pasa Mosque is approached by a rather novel entry—past a courtyard filled with friendly vendors. You climb a staircase and find yourself at the entrance where you take your shoes off and enter one of the most exquisite Islamic interiors with amazingly beautiful Iznik tile work and evocative mood lighting. Indeed, we found the space quite enchanting and were very glad we made the effort to see it. Best of all, we had a chance to see the local Turks go about their daily routines—praying, shopping, sipping tea in the bazaars, bustling about as they went from one location to the next.

On to the Asian Side of Istanbul:
It was with some difficulty that we found the metro station that allowed us to cross the Golden Horn and take us to the Asian part of Istanbul. For truly, Istanbul is the bridge between the Western and Eastern hemispheres, between Europe on the one hand and Asia on the other. The Dolmabahce Place lies in the Asian side of the city and in the metro we were carried deep into its heart until we arrived at the last stop called Kalabas where we hopped out. On asking for directions, we started our short walk to the palace passing the Dolmabahce Mosque en route.

Llew kept hoping that after all the time, trouble and expense we had undertaken to get to the Palace it was not closed as well. So, it was with some relief that we discovered visitors hurrying to and from it—a clear indication that it was, in fact, open. On arriving at the Palace Gates, we paid our entry fee of 16 lira (I chose not to pay extra to take my camera inside as I was running short of memory card space anyway) and joined a guided tour in English that was scheduled to begin in just a few minutes.

Exploring the Dolmabahce Palace:
The walk to the main doors of the palace took us past the most beautifully landscaped gardens that were a rainbow of early spring colors in the multitude of primroses and tulips that were everywhere. A beautiful swan fountain was the centerpiece of these formal gardens and it created a lovely setting that reminded both Llew and me of the Saheliyon Ki Bari Gardens in Jaipur, India, that we had seen last year.

Then, we were joining a vast throng of people who awaited the introduction to the Palace by a very pretty Turkish guide who took us through the paces and informed us that the palace was built in 1856 by Sultan Abdul Mecit when the Ottoman Empire was in its declining years—a fact belied by the grandeur and opulence of the palace and its décor. Three successive sultans lived in the palace which also served as a place in which Mustapha Kemal Pasha known as Attaturk, founder of the moder nRepublic of Turkey, breathed his last. In fact, all the clocks in the place are stopped at 9.05 am, the exact moment of his death.

Nothing I could say to describe the palace would ever possibly do it justice for the interior truly beggars description. It is one of the most ostentatious royal spaces I have ever seen and some might, cynically, even describe it as OTT (Over The Top). All I can say is that Buckingham Palace which Llew and I had visited many years ago when it was first opened to visitors quite pales into insignificance besides the lavish accoutrements of this place which actually contains a winding dual crystal staircase made of sparkling Baccarat crystal. The palace has a stupendous collection of English and Czechoslovakian crystal chandeliers that throw wonderful pools of light over the entire collections of art works and antiques with which each room is filled. These state room not only housed the private apartments of the rulers (who certainly knew a thing or two about living in luxury) but served as banqueting halls and reception rooms for visiting heads of state.

Among the highlights of the Palace were the Red Room where the sultan met his guests, the private reception rooms that form a part of the harem (in which, the guide informed me when I asked, that there were about 150 girls), the Rose colored Salon , the spectacular alabaster bathroom fully carved and superbly fitted. It was very difficult for my eye to find a single focal point in any of these rooms that were decorated in purely Western Victorian style with its emphasis on excess. In fact, far from believing that Less is More, these decorators believed that More was never ever Enough! Ever so frequently, from the many little windows that were sprinkled around the rooms to let in light and air, we caught marvelous glimpses of the glittering Bosphorus and the many boats that plied its waters carrying people and cargo from the European to the Asian worlds! This was all very evocative indeed and I realized that a vast part of the appeal of this royal palace is its unique location for which other palace in the world can boast the fact that it bridges two continents?

We finally arrived at the piece de resistance of the palace, the Ceremonial Hall which contains the palace’s largest crystal chandelier, a monumental piece that hangs almost to the floor and spreads its radius wide along the ceiling. While we were admiring the interior and taking in the sight of the magnificent domed ceiling, the guide gave us what I am sure she knew would be the most surprisingly piece of information—the ceiling was not domed at all! In fact, it is flat as a pancake and it is only by the brilliant use of trompe l’oeil painting that it appears to be concave! Truly a masterpiece of decorative painting, we simply could not fathom how that effect was created so convincingly to fool the eye. In fact, even the DK Eye Witness Guide to Turkey describes the Ceremonial Hall as having a domed ceiling!

It was about 2pm when we left the palace precincts and walked to the tram stop at Kalabas to return to Sultanahmet Square. We discovered, by this point, that the trams had started running normally and we hoped very much that we would still be able to return to the Archaeological Museum. Our journey took about half an hour and since our big breakfast still kept us going, we decided to forego lunch, nibbling instead on the biscuits I had carried for snacking.

Upon getting off at Sultanahmet, we saw, to our enormous surprise, a line outside the Ayasofya Museum and we were delighted to discover that the museum had been reopened—which probably mean that Obama’s visit had ended. Indeed, by the time we bought ourselves roasted corn cobs that we sat on a bench and ate with enjoyment, Obama was probably already on his surprise flight to meet the American troops in Iraq.

Inside the Ayasofya—finally!
This allowed us to join the line to purchase tickets to the museum (10 liras each) and within no time at all, we were entering the ancient building that has stood on this site for over a millennium! Indeed, the Church of the Holy Wisdom (Hagia Sofia in Greek and Sancta Sofiya in Latin) was inaugurated by Emperor Justinian in 537 AD. The Christian iconography seen inside in the form of glittering golden mosaics portraying Christ, the Madonna and a bevy of saints, all date from these Roman-Byzantine times. They were plastered when the church was taken over by the Islamic Caliphs and turned into a mosque under the Ottomans in the 15th century. Fortunately, they did not destroy these ancient mosaics…they only plastered over them. Recent attempts to scrape off this plaster has resulted in the unearthing of remnants of the mosaics some of which are so beautifully executed that they quite took my breath away.

What is most striking about Ayasofya, however, are the vast dimensions of the space. This strikes the visitor right away upon first entry. The walls and domed ceiling stretch out majestically overhead towering above for what seems eternity. The 15th century additions of giant calligraphic rondels that portray the names of Prophet Mohamed, his two nephews and the various caliphs of the time were fascinating especially as I have never seen anything quite like these anywhere else.

On encircling the interior of the church, we took in the main artistic and architectural features of the place that is now a museum—not used for worship of any kind. In fact, it is a completely secular place of archaeological interest alone. We saw the Loge of the Sultan (a grilled space created by marble jalis or screens that allowed him to pray without being seen), the Mihrab that faces Mecca, the minber from which the priest leads the faithful in prayer, the miraculous healing pillar of St. Gregory that stands behind the giant marble urns used to store water that assisted in the ablutions that were necessary before Muslims entered the mosque, etc. The place was rather dimly lit throughout and was teeming with visitors all of whom paused frequently in deep contemplation of the features of the space—whether Christian or Islamic.

Then we were climbing up the winding pathway (not a staircase) that led to the upper floor. This seemed to go on forever, which is understandable, I suppose, when you consider the great height of the first storey. It was here that we saw the bulk of the Christian mosaics and were also able to marvel at the main floor of the mosque from another higher perspective. The effects were all very stirring indeed and we realized how fortunate we were to have been able to visit this museum today. There was just too much to see and there was no way that we could have seen and done it all on a hurried hour-long visit as we had intended to do just before boarding the mini bus that would take us to the airport tomorrow morning. Indeed the Ayasofya which I had seen in so many architectural drawings and paintings of the 20th century and which still overwhelmed me is one of the greatest buildings in the world and we could easily understand why.

Time for last-minute shopping:
With about an hour or two left before the shops closed for the day, we walked along Sultanahmet Square to buy baklava (one of my favorite Eastern desserts) and boxes of Turkish delight for Llew to take home to his colleagues in the States. They come in a variety of colors and flavors from pomegranate and other tropical fruit to varieties studded with pistachios and almonds and flavored with honey. We also had the chance to taste a few of the sample goodies in the various shops and as we walked along the busy streets, we munched on our sweet snacks.

Last Dinner at Ayasofya Restaurant:
Indeed, we remained faithful to the food offerings at Ayasofya Restaurant returning there once more to enjoy the best of Turkish cooking. This evening, we found it rather packed with tourists as its family-friendly atmosphere attracted many patrons. Over more delicious mezzes and grilled kebabs and Efes pilsner beer, we truly enjoyed our meal as much as we enjoyed gabbing with Hassan who sat with us at our table and talked about his carpet trade. It was fun to chat with a local and to get his perspective on Obama’s visit to Turkey. Overall, the Turks are delighted to host the American president whom Hassan described as a “man with a smiling face from which we can get a lot of positive energy”. He was of the opinion that “Obama will be good not just for America but for the whole world”.

It was time for us to take our leave of our new friend and return to our Deniz Konark Hotel where we spent our last night knowing that the next morning we would board a flight to return to London. Istanbul had been a fabulous experience in every sense of the word and we were so full of exotic multiple images as we fell asleep.

Treasures of Topkapi–Dazed by Ottoman Glamor.

Apr9

Monday, April 6, 2009
Istanbul, Turkey

The Glamor of Topkapi Palace:
Our first breakfast at Tashkonak Hotel was truly fit for a sultan. There was every possible food group and every kind of breakfast item available—from cereals and freshly baked bread of various kinds to a number of salad vegetables such as tomatoes and cucumbers and every conceivable kind of olive. Boiled eggs, jams and marmalades, fresh and stewed fruit were also available and it was difficult to decide what to pick from an overflowing buffet table. I enjoyed trying the various herb teas in which the Turks specialize—the apple tea, the rose hip tea and the sour cherry tea were all good. There was also strong Turkish coffee which Llew was brave enough to try. When we had eaten our fill, we left the hotel and made our way to Sultanahmet Square with the idea of seeing the opulent Topkapi Palace, made famous by the Hollywood film of the 1950’s called Topkapi (which I haven’t seen).

We followed bus loads of tourists all of whom had an early start and were wending their way to the palace gates. Despite the fact that Istanbul is inundated with tourists throughout the year, everything is very well organized and tourists are very well loved. We noticed that though hotel and store touts are everywhere, they are there to entice you to their services and not to rip you off. In fact, throughout our travels in Istanbul, we were impressed by the industriousness of the people who work hard for their money. Nowhere did we see a beggar idly begging for alms outside the mosques or in the crowded bazaars.

Exploring Topkapi Palace and its Harem:
There was a long line for tickets to Topkapi Palace and we realized that we ought to have set out earlier. When we did purchase ours, we entered the Gate of Salutations with its twin turrets and found ourselves in a magnificent garden in which spring had already arrived. Indeed, tulips in a riot of colors were everywhere and we were hard pressed to stop and linger amongst them. It was only the knowledge of the vast environs we had to cover that kept us going forward.

Just inside the courtyard was another line and we realized that we needed to purchase another ticket to get into the celebrated harem (pronounced ‘hurr-aim’ as I discovered). After we obtained those, we followed the tours groups into what was a warren of buildings, each more ornately decorated than the next with blue Iznik tiles and painted Koranic calligraphy. The sultan’s wives and concubines led a privileged if competitive life in this secluded area that was guarded by eunuchs who also had their living quarters within these walls. We learned a great deal about the protocol that governed harem life and the order and decorum that was maintained within its ranks. This tour was rather long and tiring and though the groups moved along briskly, there was always someone ahead who impeded my movement through the labyrinth.

The Pavilion of the Holy Mantle:
The next major attraction in this courtyard is the Pavilion that houses the relics of the Prophet Mohamed. I found another line snaking its way to the entrance while a much longer one could be seen on the other side of the courtyard. I suggested that Llew hold us a place in that line while I joined the one that allowed visitors to see the holy relics.

In about twenty minutes, I entered a rather dimly-lit space that contained a number of glass cases. There was a great deal of literature and historical material printed on plaques on the wall but I was already rather tired by this point and did not have the energy to read all of it. Instead I focused my attention on a handful of rare and very fascinating objects that, unbelievably, lay in close proximity to each other.

First of all, I saw the Sword of David, beautifully encased in glass. Just a few steps away was the Rod of Moses with which, the Bible tells us, he parted the waters of the Red Sea. I was so astonished by this object that I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it. Not far away were the hand and skull of St. John the Baptist encased within gilded jewel-studded reliquaries. They were described as the hand and arm of the Prophet John! Just a few steps away were the two Swords of the Prophet Mohamed. To see these symbols from three different religions (Christianity, Judaism and Islam) sitting so close to each other was deeply astonishing and I realized that it is only in staunchly secular Turkey that such a phenomenon would be possible.

Just a room away was the holiest items in this space—the cases that house the mantle once worn by the Prophet Mohamed. Though this is not on display (as, for example, the cassock of St. Anthony can be seen in Padua, Italy), it was stirring to discover that it lay inside this very ornate container. Not too far away were the Prophet’s beard, his tooth, a letter written by him and an impression of his footprint. These were gazed at rather reverentially by most of the visitors. In the room next door, a priest sat chanting verses from Islamic scripture. We also saw several locks from the Kaaba, the holy stone in Mecca around which the Haj pilgrims walk. These objects reached Istanbul as a result of the conquest of Egypt and Arabia in 1517 by Turkey’s Sultan Selim the Grim which led to his assumption of the role of Caliph (Leader of Islam).

The Imperial Treasury:
Indeed, I was deeply moved by the sight of all these objects and I hurried off to the queue which Llew had joined, only to discover that he had almost reached the front of it. I joined him there and together we began our perusal of the most eagerly viewed items in Topkapi Palace—the Imperial Treasury. All the jostling and pushing began at this point as visitors craned their necks to look ahead at the showcases that contained everything fabulous that you can ever imagine—from gold plated thrones and diamond-studded daggers to plumed turban jewelry (aigrettes) and precious stones larger than hen’s eggs! Many of these items were acquired by the Ottoman Sultans as gifts from respectful rulers all over the Islamic world but several of them were also collected by these aesthetically-inclined chieftains. Following the collapse of the Ottoman empire, they passed into the hands of the national exchequer and are now considered a part of the country’s wealth. They are all very elegantly displayed under special lighting in the spotlessly clean showcases and as the public gawked at them, the harassed guards went around forbidding photographs. The highlight—the Topkapi dagger, which, I am told, is the subject of the film Topkapi—was very well displayed in the last room that contains the Treasury.

The Public Rooms:
The Treasures of Topkapi cannot be visited in a single day—they would take much longer if one wished to linger everywhere and read all the curatorial notes contained in the many rooms that make up the palace. But we were tired and wanted a rest. As Llew went across to see the Pavilion of the Holy Mantle, I saw down on a cushioned ottoman for a rest. We did not see the pavilions housing the collection of clocks and arms and armor as we really did want to see other parts of the city.

But having seen the main highlights, we began to make our way outside the palace, passing en route the ornate Reception Rooms that formed yet another pavilion as well as the exquisite Library of Ahmed III which though now devoid of books is so superbly decorated within with blue Iznik tiles and a gilded calligraphic domed ceiling.

We also saw the ornate Circumcision Pavilion and the Fountain of Ahmed III, all of which were studded with incredibly well-carved marble basins and fountains and jalis or screens—many of which were reminiscent to me of Moghul splendour and the Islamic decorative architecture of North India. Often it was difficult for us to decide exactly where our eyes should rest—we saw domes so extravagantly painted and gilded and walls entirely covered with tiles, not to mention floors with colored pietra dura and thick Turkish area rugs. There were also a variety of lighting fixtures that gave the palace a very rich and ostentatious look that left us quite overwhelmed at every turn.

The Basilica Cistern:
It was late afternoon by this point and both Llew and I were tired and wanted to go on to see the Ayasofya Museum. But we were informed by this point that it was closed (being a Monday) and would not even be open the next day as Obama’s visit to Istanbul and his desire to see these ancient monuments meant that they would remain shut to the public for the length of his travels in Istanbul.

This left us the afternoon free to fill with doings of our desire and it was while we were weighing our alternatives that we passed by a large hoarding that announced the location of the Basilica Cistern. Now I had read about this very unique feature in our guidebook and I told Llew that we ought to see it. We followed the signs to the very unassuming entrance to the cistern where we paid the 10 Turkish lira that allowed us to enter the place via the stairs that led us deep underground.

Once inside, we could only gasp in astonishment. For there, before us, stood a vast cavern that was completely filled with towering Roman columns in Ionic and Corinthian styles. We learned that this was indeed built by the Roman Emperor Justinian in 532 AD in order to supply water to the great palace. When the Roman Empire was dissolved, all knowledge of the underground cistern seems to have dissolved with it, for the Ottoman sultans did not know anything about its existence. It was only in recent years when the Turkish government became aware that people were able to get water and even fish in their own homes by letting buckets down through holes in their basement that investigations were carried out and the marvelous cistern was re-discovered! It makes a most unusual tourist attraction indeed and one that we could not stop exclaiming over.

Visitors tread their way to the extreme end of the cistern along specially constructed walkways in a very dimly lit space. All around the flooded cistern are fish of varying size swimming close to the visitors which made for a rather unique sight. At the very end, arrived at by following signs that say ‘Medusa’, you reach two columns that stand out from the rest—they feature the head of the Roman mythological figure called the Medusa who had snakes for hair. They seem to suggest evidence of plundering by the earliest Byzantines. At any rate, they are a very strange sight indeed in this very strange space.

A Street side Lunch of Doner Kebab—Turkey’s Gift to the World:
Of course, we could not leave Turkey without eating a genuine doner kebab in Istanbul and when we found small street-side eateries serving them right off the hook with wonderfully mouthwatering fruit juices as well, we had to try one. These casual eateries are very reasonably priced and offer great value for money. Perfect for a light lunch, they are usually crowded with tourists and locals alike. Llew ordered a lamb kebab and I chose a chicken one—which allowed us to share them and get a taste of both. With the fresh pomegranate juice I ordered and saw extracted right before my eyes and the grapefruit juice that Llew ordered, it made a meal fit for a sultan and we truly did it justice. Thus fortified, we were able to continue on our sightseeing way along the streets that led to the famous bazzars.

A Visit to the Grand Bazaar:
Our next stop was the Grand Bazaar, one of the world’s oldest indoor markets dating back 1400 years and holding over 4500 shops in its vast environs. Indeed time seems to have stood still in this cavernous space where shops selling every variety of human need and want can be found. Perfectly organized into four sections, one can purchase, Turkish carpets, antiques, souvenirs and other fashion needs in its four sections. It was not long before Llew and I were accosted by a tout wishing to sell us a carpet. It was difficult but amusing to try to brush him off. We finally gave up and walked with him to his shop where we took his business card and promised to return if we were in the market for carpets—which we were not!

I was in the market primarily to buy something I have wanted to travel to Turkey to buy for a very long time—an authentic brass coffee grinder. I have watched The Frugal Gourmet on TV in America for many years using this giant pepper grinder and on hearing him say that he had bought it in Turkey, I decided that if ever I was in Turkey I would buy myself one. However, its weight made Llew ask me to reconsider the purchase and buy a real brass pepper grinder instead. This I did buy for 10 lira, but I could not get the coffee grinder out of my mind. A few shops went by before I spied just the one I wanted. Though the antique grinders go for upwards of 250 lira, I found one for 15 lira not in the Grand Bazaar but later, in a household store, where the brass sparkled and the coffee grinder did look as if it would actually work.
I did also buy a few trinkets from the market—navy blue ‘evil eye’ bracelets for Chriselle and myself in glass for just five euros each (Turkey trades in both euros and lira) and then, having trudged through so many miles that day, I was ready for a nice glass of Turkish tea served with a little porcelain saucer in its base and a lump of sugar alongside—how very civilized! Even if one is not actually looking to make major purchases, strolling through the Grand Bazaar is an exotic experience in itself.

Visit to the Sulaimanye Mosque:
Then, with a steady rain falling upon us and not having an umbrella, we walked under the awnings of the various shops to try to find our way to Sulaimanye Mosque, one of the city’s largest. This was built by Sultan Sulaiman’s favorite architect Sinan who has left his mark on many of the most important monuments in Istanbul.

I was very sorry to discover that our long and rather wet trek up a hill was a bit of a wild goose chase as most of the mosque is closed to visitors being under renovation. What we were able to enter to see was a tiny portion of one of the side corridors and we did take in the blue tile work on the walls and the calligraphy that marched up to the towering ceiling. When we did walk outside to see the tombs of Suleiman and his favorite Russian wife Roxelana, we discovered that they had just closed to visitors as well. Still, the outside of these structures is quite unbelievably beguiling and we realized that Turkish mosques have a very distinctive design, somewhat different from the Moghul mosques in India and the Moorish ones in Spain. The grey stone on the outer walls gives them a uniquely ‘Arabian Nights’ kind of quality and the minarets add to the grandeur of the structure.

Another dinner at Ayasofya Restaurant:
Being quite exhausted by this point, we got into a rather crowded tram (Llew having figured out how the ticketing worked) and reached Sultanahmet where we picked our way to the Ayasofya Restaurant for another dinner. There, we got talking to the proprietor named Hassan who also moonlights as a carpet trader on E-Bay! He ended up recruiting me as a proofreader to correct the grammar and spelling on a letter he had just drafted to one of his clients in England (on his laptop) after Llew announced to him that I was a professor of English! By the end of our short visit to Istanbul, we became friends with Hassan and with the other wait staff at the restaurant who always greeted us warmly and made certain they met our every need.