Tag Archive | National Gallery

Culture-Vulture Me! Twelfth Night with Derek Jacobi.

Feb3

Tuesday, February 3, 2009
London

After the worst snowstorm in two decades, London limped slowly back to normal today. Red buses were plying again and the ice on the sidewalks had started to melt. There actually were signs of life on the streets as I had my breakfast and finished captioning our Scotland album. Actually, it was rather an odd sort of day because Carol, the weather forecaster on BBC’s Breakfast show, kept saying that temperatures were be below the minus mark (which is a big deal here in London) but that the sun would shine all day!

I spent a while doing some preliminary research on my proposed Spring Trip with Llew and since Easyjet has a sale that ends at midnight tonight, I figured I would look at some possibilities. We have finally decided to go to Italy and Turkey for 9 days–essentially Rome (where Llew has never been) and Istanbul which so many of my friends have raved about and which I did want to see before I returned to the States. I also wanted to go to Egypt; but I find that airfares are really high right now and it might be best to go to Egypt and Jordan at the same time that Llew and I go to the Holy Land as that trip is very definitely on the cards for us sometime.

After I found us good fares, I dashed off an email to Llew telling him to get back to me and let me know if the dates I had in mind would work. Given the time difference between New York and London, I knew it would be a few hours before I heard from him, so I showered and set off to get myself a bunch of theater and opera tickets for the next few months as some marvelous shows have opened up in London for the winter season and I did not want to miss them.

It WAS a beautiful day–it is so rare to see the sun in these parts in winter that though it was very cold indeed, I did not feel the bleakness of winter surrounding me. I took the bus first to Shaftestury Avenue to the Apollo Theater where I got myself a single ticket to see Three Days of Rain starring James McEvoy (who played Robert in Ian McEwan’s Atonement). The show is filling up fast (McEvoy’s name is a huge draw) and I only managed to get a seat in my price range in April. Next, I took a bus to Trafalgar Square to the Trafalgar Studios to book a ticket to see Imelda Staunton (who played Vera Drake in the film Vera Drake) in Entertaining Mr. Sloan. This show has a very limited four week run and since I think Staunton is one of the finest female actresses working in the UK today, I simply did not want to miss it. How thrilled I was when I found a ticket for next Monday evening. Then, I simply walked across Trafalgar Square to the Coliseum where the English National Opera has two superb shows on in the next few months. I got myself a single ticket to see Puccini’s La Boheme in March and then bought two tickets for this Saturday evening’s show to see Mozart’s The Magic Flute. Stephanie will be spending the weekend with me in my flat and we decided to go to the opera and dinner on Saturday evening. Finally, I crossed the street (St. Martin’s Lane) and entered The Duke of York Theater to buy a ticket for Arthur Miller’s View from the Bridge which counts in its cast Hayley Atwell (I saw her recently in The Duchess and she also played the major role of Julia Flythe in the new version of Brideshead Revisited–which I have yet to see). She is one of the UK’s most up-and-coming actresses and I am delighted to be able to see her in person. So, with all these tickets in the bag, Culture-vulture Me then hopped next door into the National Gallery to complete the last six galleries I needed to study as part of my project to become closely acquainted with its collection.

I sat on a bench in the lobby and ate my quiche Lorraine and then began my perusal of galleries 41 to 46 which are the most popular rooms at the National since they contain works by the Impressionists. They were, therefore, far more crowded than the the other galleries I’ve studied. All the big names were here and all the most famous canvases in this genre (Monet’s Water Lilies, Van Gogh’s Armchair and Sunflowers, Degas’ Ballet Dancers, Renoir’s Umbrellas —I loved that work–Cezanne’s still lives, Seurat’s Bathers at Asnieres, etc. etc.) but for me, as always, the works that caught my attention were the least known–I particularly warmed to a view of Badminton by Corot and a wintry scene in Norwood by Camille Pissarro. So many of these Impressionists ‘escaped’ to London to avoid the (Crimean?) War that they ended up painting English landscapes in styles that pre-empted the Impressionist rage that would shortly sweep over France. And it was these works that I found most intriguing. I also loved the scenes of the Siene at Argenteuille and Pointoise that Monet, Manet and even Morissot painted. Somehow, it is these rural river scapes that are most charm my eye and take me into imaginary realms that make me feel me serene and contented.

Then, I took the bus back home, glad that Llew had contacted me via cell phone while I was in the gallery and had greenlighted the dates I had picked for our travels. This meant that I could go ahead and book our Easyjet tickets online which I did immediately. So, Italy and Turkey…here we come! I now have to find us good fares from Rome to Istanbul but I do know that Swissair is doing some good offers at the moment. I organized all my theater tickets at home, changed a few plans to fit in with an invitation to drinks tomorrow that my friend Rosemary Massouras left me by email and tried to take a short nap before I left the house again.
You see, yesterday, just by chance, when we were standing outside NYU waiting for the campus doors to be opened, Ruth Smith Tucker, one of our administrative aides, had offered me a free ticket to see Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night at the Donmar Wyndham Theater on Charing Cross Road. I had jumped at the opportunity, of course, as I was aware that the role of Malvolio is being played by none other than Derek Jacobi, veteran Shakespearean actor (also star of Cadfael and I, Claudius). So, I pulled on warm clothes, took the bus to Charing Cross at 6. 30 pm, (after a small bite of more quiche Lorraine) and arrived at the theater to find David Hillel-Reuben, Director of NYU-London, in the lobby awaiting the arrival of his family. A little later, his wife and son joined us and still later, James Weygood arrived with my ticket.

Upstairs, in the Grand Circle, in one of the most beautiful theater interiors I have been so far, we settled down to watch a show that I have seen several times before and in several versions (the very first time being at the Royal Shakespeare Theater at Stratford-on-Avon twenty-two years ago when I was at Oxford). Yet, it never ever palls, this lovely amusing confusing heartwarming comedy that Shakespeare wrote so many centuries ago. I have seen so many Malvolios over the years and each of them has brought his own brand of humor and individuality to the interpretation of the role–but I know I will never forget Jacobi, who was simply masterful.

I was also thrilled to discover that Olivia was played by an Indian actress (Indira Varma who was in Bride and Prejudice among other shows). She is tall, slim, statuesque and very elegant indeed and when I saw her olive skin, so beautifully set off in the grand black mourning outfit she wore in the first scene, I knew she was an ‘ethnic’ actress. Yet another actor whose origin is undoubtedly the Indian sub-continent was Zubin Varla who played Feste, the Fool–he is not only from South Asia but a Parsi as well, as I can tell from his name. All of the cast were just superb and at the end of the show when I ran into Mick Hattaway who teaches Shakespeare at NYU and is considered one of the UK’s finest Shakespearean scholars, he said to me, “This is as good as it can get”. Indeed, it was brilliant, and I realized as I left the theater that I can see Twelfth Night again and again and never ever tire of it.

The show ended at 10 pm, I changed three buses to reach home and yet I was in the lobby of my building at 10. 25–this is the beauty of living in the Heart of London and of London’s buses–when they do run, they are reliable and convenient and, best of all, so cheap!!!

Back on my couch, I helped myself to some Carrot and Ginger Soup and the Strawberry Compote Trifle (courtesy of Marks and Spenser) and went straight to bed. It had been a day of art museums and quality theater and I was a happy camper as I fell asleep.

London’s Worst Snow Fall in 18 years!

Feb2

Monday, February 2, 2009
London

When I fell asleep last night, snowflakes were falling steadily down on High Holborn. It probably continued all night long because when I awoke this morning there was about a six inch accumulation and the landscape outside my window was transformed. I was enchanted and, sticking my camera out of the window, took a few pictures of the beautiful medieval Staple Inn building covered with a frosting of snow and of the tree outside my neighbor Barbara’s flat.

And then, of course, because we are New Englanders, I did not think anything of it as I showered and got dressed for my day in class. While eating breakfast, I watched BBC’s Breakfast Show and discovered, to my huge astonishment, that the city had been brought to its knees. All buses were off the roads, only one Tube Line (the Victoria) was working, all commuter trains had come to a grinding halt. With six inches of snow??? How was that possible? The weather forecaster talked about the snowfall being the worst London has seen in 18 years. All schools were closed and, I guess, I should have taken my cue from that. But we aren’t a school. We are an international university and we just pull up our (snow) boots and get off to work, don’t we?

So off I went. I knew I had to walk, so I gave myself a half hour to reach campus (I usually take 15 minutes). At the door to my building, my concierge Arben asked if I really had to get to work. Can’t you just stay at home? he asked. I still couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about!

On the streets, Londoners walked as if shell shocked. It was clear they have never seen anything like this. They stepped gingerly over the sidewalks that were an icy mess–these folks do not even own shovels and not a single person had shoveled the sidewalk outside their stores! Kids were delighted and were throwing snowballs at the adult accompanying them. So many folks had cameras in their hands and were taking pictures of the buildings–and these were not tourists! It was all very amusing to me.

When I did arrive at Bedford Square, a small group of students were standing outside, as surprised as I was, to find that the main doors were firmly shut. It seems that the security staff who come in early to unlock the doors were unable to get to work. Within a few minutes, Ruth Smith, an administrative aide, arrived and she called a few people on her cell phone and announced to us that the campus would be closed for the day and all classes cancelled. Oh darn! It would probably mean that we will have to make up these classes on a Friday–an idea I am not too crazy about! Some of my students got into a snowfall fight, forming two teams, each of which stood on opposite sides of the main road (Bloomsbury Street). The snowball fight was picking up steam when a cop car arrived and they were told off as they were endangering traffic. The Bedford Square Gardens that had made a backdrop to the snowball fight were such a pretty sight and I did wish I had my camera with me.

Well, there was nothing else I could do–I couldn’t even get to the National Gallery as there was no transport available–so I just turned around and walked back home, stopping off briefly at Sainsburys to buy some groceries. I figured I would go home and make myself two steaming cauldrons of soup as I suddenly felt a great desire for a hearty bowl of soup!

At home, I got to work in the kitchen and before long, I had conjured up Broccoli Cheddar Soup and Carrot Ginger Soup. I spent the rest of the day catching up with pending chores including captioning my Scotland photograph album and sorting through the memorabilia I brought home from Berlin.

My cold is still bothering me and my legs are no better–though I have to say that I abuse them no end with all the walking I do even when I am not supposed to. My exploration of Berlin is a case in point. In fact, before I left the house this morning, the University of London Hospital had already called me to cancel my physiotherapy appointment for tomorrow! It seems that more snow is expected through the night and the situation does not look as if it will be any better tomorrow. I now need to call to reschedule this appointment and God knows when I shall be able to see someone again considering the manner in which the NHS functions.

Just before 8 pm, whilst I was in the midst of a long and lovely chinwag with Chriselle on the phone, my doorbell rang. I half expected it to be my next-door neighbor Tim, and how delighted I was when he offered an invitation to their place for supper. Tim had cooked kedgeree, a dish he had promised to serve me on two occasions earlier, but for some reason, I hadn’t been able to take him up on his offers then.

I was out of my flat like a shot taking with me a starter of Carrot Ginger Soup. Unfortunately, Tim had his dinner planned to the second as kedgeree must be served straight off the pan! He is off to Leiden in Holland tomorrow, so hopefully, Barbara will enjoy the soup on what promises to be another frigid day. When I walked into their living room, I discovered that Barbara’s niece Hannah was present (I have met her before). She was spending the night with Aunt Barbara as she was unable to find transport home. We settled down with drinks while Tim organized our dinner and before long I was tucking into his wonderfully warming kedgeree.

This Anglo-Indian dish that evolved during the British Raj had the humblest of beginnings as a melange of boiled rice and lentils. The British jazzed it up, adding fish (traditionally smoked haddock) to it and serving it Italian risotto style with the ‘sauce’ all around it, usually for breakfast. Tim’s version was studded with peas and it was simply British Comfort Food at its best. For dessert (or ‘pudding’ as they say here), there was a store-bought Strawberry Cheesecake (from Marks and Spencer–I preferred the Lemon Ricotta Cheesecake) and the mintiest after dinner mints I have ever tasted–Bendick’s Bittermints. Barbara and Tim are true gourmets and they offer their guests nothing but the finest goodies. So, it is always a pleasure to be invited to their home for a meal.

Delighted to find that a cold and snowy day had turned into such a treat for me, I went to bed, pleased to be a part of another unique London experience!

Berlin’s Cathedrals and Museums

Jan31

Thursday, January 29, 2009
Berlin

Three Churches and Two Museums:
I decided to devote the day to church visiting and museum hopping. Berlin is a sprawling city and there is a wealth of places to go to and things to do—so unless you have a definite plan of action, you could end up short changing yourself. Of the many beautiful churches that dot the city—from the Baroque to the Modernist—I chose to see, first of all the Kaiser Wilhelm Gestadtkirsche. This was primarily because its profile is so striking. It clearly has a bombed steeple—that much is evident from a distance, long before one gets into its vicinity. And yet that bombed profile was allowed to remain. It was so intriguing that it warranted investigation. Besides, it is very conveniently located–right next door to the Zoo where the main bus terminal happens to be.

Exploring the Remains of a Bombed Church:
I arrived there at 10 am and made my way first to the Memorial Hall—this used to be the main entrance to the original church that has stood on this site since 1904 when the church was inaugurated by the Kaiser. During World War II, the church was bombed to smithereens and only the tower remained (with a large part of its steeple destroyed). The church, however, boasted some unimaginably intricate mosaics in the Byzantine style and, miraculously, many of them survived the bombing. When the war ended and the reconstruction of Germany began, it was decided that the tower should be retained though the rest of the ruins were demolished. These surviving mosaics were carefully moved and relocated to the main tower together with several that had originally stood there through the decades. Today, these mosaics are the main attraction of the tower which has been converted into a Memorial Hall.

A newer, far more modern church (that some think looks like a compactor and, therefore, has so nicknamed it), was fashioned out of thousands of pieces of sapphire blue glass that glow as the sunlight streams through them. It makes a quiet place of contemplation and I would certainly recommend this unique space for a visit.

The Gemaldegalerie—An Art Lover’s Paradise:
I then took the bus and made my way to the Kulturforum, a part of Berlin in which the arts and culture are omnipresent through the Philharmonie Building, the National Library and the Gemaldegalerie—the latter being my main interest. Now everybody who has any knowledge of Art History knows that the Nazis were culture-vultures and patronized their artists enthusiastically—remember Hitler’s love for Wagner? And in the movie The Pianist, the only reason the Polish Jewish pianist is saved from the concentration camp was because the Nazi commandant who found him at the end of the movie was a passionate lover of classical music. Hence, they amassed a vast treasure trove of fine art by the Old Masters—much of which they reportedly looted from the other European collections. After the War ended, this collection was divided between East and West Germany and it is only after the Fall of the Wall that the collection has come together again.

The building chosen to house this treasure is the new Gemaldegalerie, a Modernist space that was custom designed and built for the purpose—and it is truly one of the finest museum buildings I have ever seen. I loved the light filled spaces, the interesting layout, the manner in which the paintings are hung against light-absorbing damask walls and the fact that daylight makes its subdued presence felt on the canvases so that no artificial light hits the surfaces at all.

As for the collection? Well, what can I say? I gave myself two to three hours to see the Highlights (the museum has a fine handout with about 20 Highlights outlined together with a route) and my DK Eyewitness Guide recommended that I do not miss a few more. But I have to say that I could easily have spent the entire day there—it was so astonishing. The collection of Botticellis is astounding, there is a fine array of Rembrandts, some really superb works from the Dutch and Flemish Schools, a totally wacky Pieter Breughel entitled A Hundred Proverbs and easily my favorite of all Caravaggio’s Cupid Victorius. In fact, I think I came away from there loving it even more than the Uffizi Bacchus which has always been my favorite one of Carravaggio’s works. Cupid’s playfulness, indeed his impishness—as caught by his pose and his expression—is so entrancing that I simply couldn’t tear myself away from that work. And a Vermeer entitled A Glass of Wine was also so memorable that it brought to mind the novel Girl with a Pearl Ear Ring. I was disappointed that Pieter dse Hooch’s work entitled Die Mutter was in Rome as I adore the work of this Flemish artist. I found the guards in each gallery extremely knowledgeable and much more helpful than any of the Italian ones I encountered anywhere in Florence. I had a very fine lunch at the Museum Café which gave me a chance to rest my feet as well as sample a variety of delicious German salads.

A Gothic Church—Marienkirsche and a Baroque One—Berliner Dom:
Then, I was in the bus again and on my way to Marienkirsche, a Gothic Church with an ancient fresco that wraps itself around the entrance walls. This, however, was so faint that it is was barely discernible. Inside the church, the stained glass windows on the altar were striking as were some very old sculptured effigies. The starkness of this church contrasted strongly with the Berliner Dom which was the next church I visited—this one spelt Baroque grandeur and opulence as was evident from the exterior itself. The interior was a confection of superb stained glass windows, an elaborate marble pulpit, a magnificent brass organ with an intricately carved case and the grand sarcogphagi of Freidreich I anhis wife. I was repeatedly reminded of the spectacular cathedrals we saw in Vienna and Salzburg in Austria—and indeed, in many ways, I was reminded of Vienna in general while in Berlin. It may have had to do with the German culture and language which the two cities have in common, but I think it was also the greatness of the architecture and the scale and layout of the city which is huge in its dimensions which reminded me of the Hapsburg excesses.

Finally—the Pergammonmuseum:
Having seen these three churches, I decided finally to get to the piece de resistance—the Pergammonmuseum, located on what is called Museum Island—one of the greatest museums in the world. Luckily, most major museums in Berlin stay open until 6 pm and since it was so cold, they were the best places to escape into in the winter months. I couldn’t wait to see for myself the wealth of unique treasures contained within. There was a likelihood that I would be missing the most monumental of its collection as renovations are being carried out; but since the website did not give any information to discourage a visit, I decided to see for myself.

While my Metropolitan Museum ID card had, thus far, taken me into all the museums for free, I had to pay the full fee of 10 euros to see the Pergammon—this included an audio guide in English which outlined a few highlights that would take roughly an hour to cover. I bought my ticket, obtained my audio guide and was off.

To see all the museums of Berlin one would need at least a month and to appreciate them from the outside would take another! Each building is stunning and forms a very fitting receptacle for the collection that lies concealed within. The exterior of the Pergammon is completely marred by the ugly scaffolding that is part of their renovation plan

The very first ‘room’ in the Pergammon is breathtaking because as soon as you walk in you find yourself standing right in front of the altar from the Greek Temple at Pergammon in modern-day Turkey—it is from this Temple that the Museum gets its name. Now, though the history of the museum is long and fascinating, suffice it to note that in the early part of the 19th century, German archeologists were very active in sites all over the Middle East and a great deal of their excavations and discoveries led to the uncovering of ancient civilizations whose mementoes would have been lost to the world. As a reward for their endeavors, they were permitted to bring these ‘structures’ to Germany where these specially constructed museums served to house them safe from the destruction that could be wrought by the elements.

The Pergammon Altar has sculpture that, in my humble opinion, is in a far better state of preservation that the Elgin Marbles (although those are far more famous—perhaps because they are so controversial!). Apart from the marble altar which is intact, freizes from the Pergammon Temple decorate the walls of this main first room and they are truly breathtaking. You can actually climb up the steps of the Pergammon Altar (a truly unique experience) and spend as much time as you like contemplating the wealth of ancient mythological sculpture that engulfs you wherever your eye rests. To me, this was so magical, that it is worth going to Berlin just to see this.

The next stop on my tour was the Temple to Athena in the next room which is just as dazzling. What is mind blowing is the sheer size of these works and the scale of the rooms that allows these towering temples, columns, altars and all to be accommodated indoors! And I hadn’t yet arrived at the Ishtar Gate!

Next door to the Athena Temple are the Gates of Miletus, colossal Classical columns holding a decorative gateway that once existed at the entrance to the Market in Miletus in Asia Minor. Though badly damaged and undergoing restoration, these gates are truly splendid and also breathtaking. Here, too, visitors walk right through the gates, so that you feel as if you are actually walking in their ancient worlds.

And then I arrived at what I think is the most impressive exhibit of all at the Pergammon—the Babylonian Ishtar Gates. These stunning gates composed almost entirely of sapphire ceramic glazed bricks were built during the reign of Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar (604-542 BC). To arrive at them, one needed to pass through what was known as the ‘Processional Way’—originally 590 feet long. In the Pergammon, the Inner Gates and a large part of the Processional Way allow the viewer to gasp at the quality of the artistry that went into the design and construction of so exquisite a work. Although many of the upper parts of the structure have been restored (it is very easy to see where the original tiles end and the modern ones begin), the animals that adorn the walls (horses, ibex, and lions—loads of lions) are original. These are not merely embedded into the walls but jut out like bas relief—all of which makes them not just impossible to describe but impossible to stop raving over.

Other more significant parts of the Pergammon’s collection are the Façade of the Mshatta Palace which once stood in Jordan—the parts in the museum once concealed the entrance to a palace and a small mosque. The Allepo Zimmer, a spectacular paneled room that came from a merchant in the Syrian city of Aleppo was also fascinating. (I finally understood where the name of the town of Allepy in Kerala came—from the Syrian Christians, of course, who first brought Christianity into Kerala, India, through the Apostle ‘Doubting’ Thomas—of the Mar Thomite Church of South India).

Apart from its obvious treasures, for me, one of the most exquisite objects in this collection was a Roman Sarcophagus of the 2nd century AD upon which is carved the entire chilling story of Medea—truly Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned! The second story of the Pergammon stocks treasures of the Islamic world (including a few fantastic Moghul works), but easily the most striking was the glazed ceramic tiled Mihrab from a mosque in Kashan (in modern-day Iran) built in 1226. The quality of the glaze is so superior that the gates glittered as if covered in gold—again, impossible to describe!

A Foodie’s Paradise:
Just when I thought I could not take another step because I had literally walked for miles, I decided to call it a day and get back home. But because one of the great joys of travel for me is peeking into the local supermarkets, I did that for about 15 minutes and enjoyed walking through the aisles of ‘foreign’ food—very sorry that I could not buy the Black Forest Wild cherry jams and jellies because hand baggage restrictions no longer permit such items to be carried and with budget airlines, one has only hand baggage! On impulse, I decided to take a bus to Kaufhaus Des Westens (known as KaDeWe), Berlin’s answer to London’s Harrods. My guide book had informed me that the Food Court on the 6th floor was a Foodies Delight and I decided to check it out for myself. Indeed, I was overwhelmed by the variety and quality of the offerings—a true paradise for any gourmand. I poked around a bit and bought myself some take out dinner.

I was brave enough to return to the apartment in Hallensee about 8 pm and spent a long while reading up the first Harry Potter paperback—most of which I had forgotten and which I found myself enjoying very much.

Berlin…Here I Come–Finally!!!

Jan31

Tuesday, January 27, 2009
London-Berlin

When I had last been to Germany, more than two decades ago, as a back-packing grad student in England, the country had been divided in two and parts of it still lay concealed behind the Iron Curtain. Berlin was one of those parts and ever since the Reunification of the country, I have wanted to visit this place and walk in the footsteps of the history of the 20th century. When I knew that I would be posted in London for a year, my first thought was, “Ah, now I shall finally be able to make a trip to Berlin”; but then in November, when I had booked my air tickets to get there, I had to cancel my plans as Plantar Fascittis took over my life. At the next available opportunity, I booked tickets again and this time too, I almost did not board the flight—indeed, I felt pretty certain that I was not destined to see Berlin in my lifetime.

I thought I would spend the morning at the National Gallery finishing up the last 6 galleries that I still need to study. But when I awoke, I felt guilty that I hadn’t yet transcribed the two interviews I had done with my Anglo-Indians subjects Vivian and Dorothy Lawless—so I decided to get cracking on those and, boy, did they take ages! I spent hours working on getting their views and words in order and before I knew it, it was well past lunchtime. I spent an hour packing and getting organized for my departure to Berlin and at exactly 1 pm, I left my flat to take the bus to Victoria to catch the Easybus van to Stanstead airport. So…don’t even ask me where the day went. I was glued to my PC but, in the end, I did finish the interviews and did email them off to my office at NYU to be printed out on Monday. Having accomplished this great task, I felt that I could leave for Berlin without feeling guilty about devoting so much time to the sheer pleasure of travel.

Almost Missing my Flight…
The Easybus van left Victoria on schedule. My Ryanair flight was scheduled to depart from Stanstead at 6. 45 pm. I was scheduled to arrive there at 4. 45 pm. Except that from the Get Go, we were held up in awful traffic—indeed all the way out of London and on to the motorway, we dodged traffic and then just when we were 20 miles away from Stanstead, we came to a dead halt—and did not move again for another hour! You can just imagine the despair of every single passenger in the van as, one after the other, they gave up hopes of making their flights. I called Llew to tell him that I was certain to miss my flight as there was a massive pile-up on the motorway. Still, refusing to give up hope, I began praying and I knew that if I arrived at the airport even at 6 pm, there was still a chance I might make it. Well, somewhat miraculously, the roads opened out and I spied a tow van taking a black vehicle off the road—it probably was a bad accident that led to so many passengers missing their flights.

As for me, it was exactly 6 pm, when I dashed out of the van and down the ramp to the Ryanair Check-in machines, obtained my boarding card, saw the instructions that told me to Proceed to the Gate and ran through the security lines. I had learned from my mistakes of the past for I carried only a very tiny transparent plastic bag with a few travel sized toiletries which I placed separately in a tray and, miracle of miracles, I cleared security within five minutes and was racing off to my gate where Boarding had not yet begun. I called Llew to tell him that I had made the flight after all and then I was off.

Arrival in Berlin:
I arrived, just 90 minutes later, at Berlin’s Schonefeld airport at 9.15 pm local time because Berlin is one hour ahead of London. My friend Anja Brug had arranged for me to spend my days in the apartment of her close friend Anneke who lives near Hamburg and uses the Berlin apartment so rarely that she is glad to have travelers use it occasionally. Anja herself had to dash out of Berlin to travel to Munich during the time I was there and felt awful to leave me on my own in the city. However, she had left me detailed instructions on how to get to the apartment from the airport where her Italian boyfriend Andrea was scheduled to meet me.

Now, despite being a very experienced solo world traveler, I have to say that I am always nervous about arriving in a strange country after dark especially when I cannot speak the language. My German is non-existent and using the S-Bahn to get to Hallensee, where the apartment was located, involved making a change that left me rather ill-at-ease. I was pleased, therefore, to find myself sharing a seat on the aircraft with an English student named Rosy who knew Berlin well and was a very able guide as she helped me buy a ticket from the ticket machine and rode part of the journey along the S-Bahn with me. At the point where I need to make a change, I made friends with another German woman named Ingeborg, who was also able to speak English and, hallelujah, she was taking the same train I needed to get off at the same stop—Hallensee! God works His miracles in the most wonderful ways and I was grateful for these blessings!

However, by the time we arrived at Hallensee, it was well past 11 pm and I was terrified about walking alone along Sessenerstrasse to get to the apartment. For one thing, it was dreadfully cold—far colder than it had been in London—and for another, well, the streets were deserted. There was not another soul in sight and as I pulled my backpack along, it seemed to echo eerily on the silent streets. I must admit that I felt very uneasy indeed. I am very glad that I had checked Google Earth before I left the house to find my bearings and get a sense of exactly where I was required to go once I got off the train. This proved very useful in boosting my self-confidence as I passed the cross streets and finally arrived at Number 6 Halberstädter Straße.
There, to my enormous relief, Andrea was awaiting my arrival (I had been in telephonic contact with him from the time I touched down at the airport) and he showed me the ropes. I had last met Andrea in Athens when Llew and I had been traveling in Greece in November.

A Most Unusual Apartment:
Anneke’s apartment is unusual to say the very least—it is an extremely bohemian space in a very old Pre-War part of Hallensee called Charlottenberg which is at the extreme West End of Berlin. The building is in a neighborhood that is made up of very similar ones that stand on cobbled streets. You enter through an imposing old heavy door into a vast hallway with a great big marble fireplace (yes, in the hall) and an elevator that looks as if it has come out of an old Alfred Hitchcock movie like Charade with Audrey Hepburn! At close to midnight, it all appeared a bit discomforting to me, though Andrea showed me my way around very competently.

You enter a large room filled with books and bookshelves and old armoires filled with bed linen and down comforters (which he failed to show me, so that I was cold for three out of the four nights that I was there). This is a ground floor apartment (that once belonged to the concierge of the building) and to access the kitchen, you descend down a winding spiral, wrought-iron staircase. This great space contains a very functional, very well-stocked kitchen and a bathroom space that includes an old-world claw-footed bath tub and a wash basin. The trouble is that there is a window right above the bath tub and though Andrea assured me that no one could look into the apartment, I could see the building on the opposite side of the street through the basement windows and I felt odd about taking a shower in such a space. I felt glad suddenly that my friend Liz Kaplan had cancelled her plans to join me in Berlin from New York as I am sure she would never have coped with such hippie arrangements!

As if this were not adequate, Andrea told me that the WC was located right outside the apartment, on the other end of the corridor! He led the way to a small unheated cubicle where there was a commode well-concealed and locked behind two closed doors. He gave me a key to the toilet and told me that no one else was able to use it except me—but I have to say that I resolved that I would use the loo last thing at night and then pray that I had no reason to have to visit the facilities during the night because, seriously, wild horses would not drive me to get there in the middle of the night along those dark corridors that were lit by light switches that appeared at intervals and glowed red to guide you to them! It’s ironic that I mentioned that the entire space reminded me of 50’s Hollywood movies because Anneke is a Hollywood film buff and her kitchen is decorated with black and white movie posters of Sophia Loren and Shirley MacLaine, John Wayne and Cary Grant!

Andrea left in a few minutes and, dead tired, I settled down for the night, hoping that I would not awake in the middle of it.

Nursing a Cold and Haunting the British Museum

Jan26

Monday, January 26, 2009
London

Having a cold that has left my head weighty, my nose runny and my throat raspy is hardly the way I’d have wanted to start my week. But in addition to all the typical symptoms of a persistent cold, I also have a general sense of weakness that has made me lethargic. I decided not to cancel classes but because I could scarcely speak, I moved my classes to the British Museum–thank goodness for the fact that it is located just behind our campus building.

My students were delighted–as it turned out it was a spectacular day. Where was this kind of day yesterday when Stephanie and I would have been so grateful for great weather in Rochester?? Though I was rather shaky on my feet, I joined my class at the Museum but set them free to explore as they wished with the instruction that they should provide me with a two-page report when we next meet on their visit–on the galleries they covered and the items they sought.

I myself went to the Main Information Desk (the Museum was almost empty a little after 10 am when it first opened) and on the Map asked for the locations to the Museum’s Highlights–in a horrid whisper. The girl at the desk was extraordinarily helpful and guided me to the Treasures of Sutton Hoo (a medieval ship that had been buried with a king in a mound in Suffolk and was excavated to reveal a massive treasure), the Portland Vase (that inspired Keats’ Ode on a Grecian Urn, reportedly), The Treasures of Ur (in Babylon) and A Sri Lankan Buddha in the South Asian Gallery. I also passed through galleries that housed the most brilliant collection of clocks with their complicated mechanical workings that I found quite fascinating. Clearly, I need to turn my attention to the British Museum now that my study of the National Gallery is almost accomplished.

Then, I returned to my office to print out all the documents I need for my trip to Berlin and back. I am a little nervous as I am reaching the city at about 9 pm–I hate arriving in a new country after dark. And not speaking any German whatsoever, I am afraid of not finding my way to the apartment that has been arranged for me by Anja Brug, whom Llew and I met and got to know only very recently on our travels in Greece. At 2 pm, I made my way to Birkbeck College for my next class where I handed out the same assignment–a self-guided tour and report on the British Museum–to be brought in to our next class.

I myself decided to take a bus to the National Gallery to finish the last 6 galleries there but I hopped into the wrong bus and landed up at Piccadilly instead. A short walk took me to the British Tourism Information Center where I picked up a vast number of brochures, flyers and leaflets on the different regions of the UK that Stephanie and I are now planning to cover by road. Then, in the process of trying to find my way to Trafalgar Square, I got hopelessly lost and walked along Pall Mall and arrived at St. James’ Street and then hit Piccadilly which meant that I had merely walked around a block–or several blocks! And that with a heavy load in my hand. My doctors will not be too pleased at all! Clearly, my mind was not working today and you could tell that I was sick. Needless to say, I did not reach the National Gallery at all and shall try to finish the last 6 galleries tomorrow morning.

I did finally manage to get into a bus and got home rather early–by 5. 30 pm by which time I felt quite wiped out. I sat and drafted one of my monthly newsletters and began to study the maps of Berlin so that I could find my bearings once I arrived there. I used Google Earth to find the location of the apartment at which I will be staying and then dozing myself with loads of paracetemol, I curled up with dinner to watch Part 2 of Nicholas Nickleby which I had begun watching yesterday.

I had called my parents in the morning and found out about funeral arrangements for my Uncle Alex in Bombay (which I then conveyed to Chriselle and Llew) but they did the speaking and I listened. I will now call my cousins in Bombay to condole with them when my voice feels better. Meanwhile, I have heard that there will be a quiet private funeral for my friend, Prof. Sally Ledger in her family home in Herefortshire and a memorial service will be planned for a later date in London–which I shall be sure to attend if I am in town.

A Shocking Loss, An Interview in Wimbledon, More National Gallery and Dinner with Gauri

Jan23

Friday, January 23, 2009
London

I awoke this morning to the most shocking news in the world. It was 6.10 am, I switched my laptop on and froze. I had just received an email message from my friend Margaret Loose, Professor of English at the University of California at San Diego, informing me that a very dear mutual friend of ours, Professor Sally Ledger, had died on Wednesday. I looked at the words on my screen but they failed to make any sense. How could that be possible? That very morning, I had received an email from Sally, who is the Director of Victorian Studies at London’s Royal Holloway College, inviting me to attend a seminar there. I had emailed her back suggesting that we get together for lunch and had been awaiting a response from her. Sally is usually very prompt in responding to her email, so when Thursday passed, I have to admit I actually wondered at her silence.

It turns out that she was at her stove cooking dinner on Wednesday night when she had a sudden brain hemorrhage and dropped dead instantly. Just like that! Can you even believe it? Sally is my age–may even be younger–and a renowned Victorian scholar and a Dickensian whom I got to know at the Dickens Project at the University of California at Santa Cruz which I have attended for the past two summers. Though we have had regular email contact since I arrived here in London, we met only briefly and just by happenstance, at an Italian restaurant called Paradiso in Bloomsbury in October where we had hugged and kissed and promised to make plans to meet at the British Library over coffee or lunch. Alas! It was not to be and now poor dear Sally is gone and I will miss her warmth and her concern for me and the inspiration she provided as a scholar and as a teacher. I have been checking the website at Royal Holloway College because I do wish to attend her funeral since I am right here in London and, if it is scheduled before my departure for Berlin, I shall be there.

When I was over my shock and sadness, I got on with my work for the day. I actually put in a whole three hours of effective work on my laptop before I stirred and got out of bed. Ryanair’s offer of one-way five pounds fares meant that I was finally able to book my tickets to Venice and back for the March trip I was will be undertaking to Italy as my friend Annalisa Oboe, Professor in the English Department, has invited me to give a lecture at the University of Padua. I also needed to finalize accommodation arrangements in Berlin where I will be flying on Tuesday and, I have to say, I am a little concerned as my friend Anya Brug seems to be traveling again and hasn’t been checking her email. This means that I am not sure how to get from Schoenfeld airport to the flat in the city that she has arranged for me to occupy. If I do not hear from her over the weekend, I guess I will have to stay in the Youth Hostel where I’ve made alternative arrangements. I also emailed my friend Catherine Robson, Professor of English at the University of California at Davis, currently on a one-year research assignment in Berlin, to inform her about my arrival there and to make plans to meet. All of this took a good chunk of my early morning work hours and I was finally able to turn my thoughts to the interview I was scheduled to do in distant Wimbledon.

I could not have chosen a more miserable day to go out to interview Vivian Lawless and his wife Dorothy. Journey Planner instructed me on how to get there by bus, so I gritted my teeth against the awful weather and set out–wishing I had done the interview yesterday when I met him at the Norwood meeting. Anyway, a long journey and many bus changes later, there was Vivian waiting for me at the pub as promised and we walked the short distance to his home where I gratefully accepted a cup of coffee and a plate of biscuits.

The Lawlesses live in a old Edwardian House that has a lot of external charm and character. Like the typical terraced houses of that era, all the houses are identical on a street. They have handkerchief-sized front patches that open up to the main door. Inside, the rooms are very tiny (by American standards) and since most of the people I am interviewing for my study purchased these homes in the late 60s and early 70s and never moved out, most of them are in a decorating time warp with dark carpets, busy wallpaper and tons and tons of pictures of children, grand children ( and amazingly, in this case, even great grandchildren, for the Lawlesses too do not look their age at all). It must be the fact that these Anglo-Indians live in the cold, damp climate of England that has allowed them to preserve their youthfulness because their counterparts in India look old and haggard and have none of the vitality of body and spirit that these folks proclaim so heartily.

The interview went off well and I even had the chance to meet their only son, Gary, who popped in for a little while. I think it would have been nice to interview Gary as well but he did not say a word to me the entire time I was in his parents’ home, which led me to believe that he might not be interested in my project. At any rate, the Lawlesses were very nice to me and responded to my questions candidly and truthfully. I asked them if the famous tennis courts were anywhere near their place and they informed me that they were about two miles away but that they were probably closed at this time of year. By the time my interview wad done, the sun had started to shine down and dry up Mother Earth and the entire journey back was so much better. I was fascinated by the Little India that had developed along Tooting Broadway where sari shops and Indian sweetmeat stores, sub-Continental groceries and jewelry showrooms spoke of a vital ethnic community in the area.

Since the day was still young, I got off the bus at Trafalgar Square and returned to one of my favorite places in London–the National Gallery–where I decided to cover six more galleries. I have finally reached the oldest and most ornate part of the museum–the rooms surrounding the main dome that gives the building its solemn profile. These galleries are decorated to the hilt with lavish gilding on columns, elaborate plasterwork on the ceiling, thick moldings and damask covered walls that give the entire design a grand Baroque feel. These galleries house works by the French, Italian and British artists of the 19th centuries, some of whom happen to be my favorites–such as Jean-Baptiste Simeon Chardin (who is well represented here with many small canvases), Gainsborough, Turner, Constable and Canaletto whose Venetian landscapes with their minute detail leave me spellbound for hours. I was deeply taken by the series of river scapes of the Stour that Constable painted and I would like very much to get to Suffolk before I leave England so that I can see for myself the rural scenes he loved so well and look upon Willie Lott’s house which Constable has presented in scene after scene (and which still stands today). If this is true of Suffolk, the same is true of Canaletto’s Venice. As I looked upon the details of the Piazza San Marco and the views along the Grand Canal, I was struck by the fact that nothing seems to have changed at all since Canaletto made the depictions of the city his obsession in the late 19th century.

Realizing that I now have only six more galleries to study in detail before my perusal of the National Gallery is done, I took the bus home and had only a little while to check email and watch some TV before my friend Gauri Kasbekar-Shah was buzzing me downstairs. As in the case of Sally, I have been in email contact with Gauri since I arrived here in August to make plans to meet some evening, but it just did not happen. Eventually, we did settle on dinner and when I invited Gauri to have a drink at my place before we set out to eat, she agreed. Having come straight from work (she works at the Royal Bank of Scotland), she was starving and devoured the Stilton Cheese and Crackers that I laid out for her with our wine. I checked my book Cheap Eats in London and found a small seafood place, just behind my street on Farringdon, called Little Bay. We walked there and found the place located in a building in which Gauri says she almost bought a flat. The only thing that had prevented her from doing so was the presence of this restaurant on the ground floor! How coincidental was that??!!

We spent the next hour catching up over a really fabulous meal, which, was truly as the book said–cheap. We chose two different starters and split them: Garlic Mushrooms which were divine and Crab in Choux Buns–also very good. For a main dish, both Gauri and I opted for the Cod on a hot potato salad with a tomato coulis. It was melt-in-the-mouth good, but because I have a really tiny capacity, I carried half of it home in a doggy bag and I look forward to eating my leftovers soon. Unbelievably, it was past 11 pm when we finished our meal (we both decided against dessert as we were too full) and looked for buses to get us back to our respective homes–Gauri owns a flat in Islington where I have stayed twice on my previous visits to London. This place is not too far from mine at all and we have now made plans to get together again soon after I return from Berlin.

I was merely able to chat with Llew for a few minutes before I felt really tired and decided to call it a day.

‘Tons of Money’ in Richmond, A Piano Recital at the National Gallery and ‘Oliver’ at the West End

Jan21

Wednesday, January 22, 2009
London

White I adore London for its long and colorful history, there is a downside to this aspect of its charm. Road works! Ever since I can remember taking possession of this flat at High Holborn, there have been ‘road works’ at some point or the other along its length from Chancery Lane Tube Station to High Holborn Tube station. This plays havoc with the smooth flow of traffic along one of London’s main arterial roads. This also means that you can never really time a journey by bus as it all depends on the vagaries of the road workers and their whims–they hold up buses while their construction vehicles are given priority and when one sits on the upper deck as I always do and have a view of all proceedings beneath me, it is often frustrating and infuriating. But then I have to remember that when you live in a city that has been a work-in-progress since the Medieval Age, you cannot complain.

I don’t know whether this is purely psychological, but after my visit to Paul, the specialist physiotherapist, at Euston Hospital (my name for the University of London’s Hospital at Euston), my legs feel much better. His exercises are more challenging and one of then requires me to lie down on a bed when performing it–which means that I cannot do it three times a day as I am invariably out and about in the afternoon–but they seem to be working already although he told me that I would not feel their effects for weeks. I have also resolved to be good and not walk for leisure anymore. If I take foot rest, the homeopathic treatment, perform the exercises and pray, I should hope to see a complete cure by May–when I hope to start walking the Jubilee Walkway in little spurts.

Awaking at 5 am, I spent an hour reading Bombay Tiger which has a completely different style from the rest of Kamala Markandaya’s novels–though the content bears similarity to The Coffer Dams. After doing my exercises, spending a while blogging, having breakfast and taking a shower, I headed out the door for a long bus ride to Richmond that involved changing three buses.

It was a most unusual winter’s days in London for it was bathed in golden sunlight under clear blue skies. I actually left the house today without an umbrella and just a small bag (though I did carry my camera) so as to avoid the load on my back. Changing buses wasn’t a problem at all and I was actually able to ride in one of the historic Number 9 buses from Piccadilly to the Royal Albert Hall. I now have the hang of changing buses at Hammersmith Broadway Bus Station (at which point you walk through a shopping mall which always makes me feel as if I am back in Connecticut!). I arrived in Richmond at 12. 15 pm, recognized the shops on The Quadrant just past the main railway station and hopped off.

I walked quickly to the Tesco Metro to buy what has become a favorite sandwich (The Cheddar Cheese and Onion) and though it costs a mere pound, it is truly delicious. I also found a pack of four chocolate eclairs for a pound and with this lunch in the bag, I started on a short self-guided walk in Richmond from my book 24 Great Walks in London with the promise to myself that I would take long and frequent breaks and stop as soon as my feet felt strained.

It was such a perfect days for walking. In fact it was a perfect day, period. This is the very first time that I saw Barnes Bridge on a sunlit day and while I recognized it immediately from the bus, I wish I could have gotten off and taken a few pictures of it as the ones I have taken before on rainy days make it look so dour and forbidding. Once in Richmond, I found myself walking along short Duke Street towards The Green which was once a sheep pasture but is used today for a variety of sporting activities including cricket. I could not believe that just a few yards ahead of me were the remains of Old Richmond Palace from which the Tudor King Henry VII had reigned, where his son Henry VIII had been born and where his grand-daughter Elizabeth I had died. Destroyed, but for a small portion of it, by Oliver Cromwell, the seal of Henry VII is still embedded in one of the Palace Gates that marks the entry into a lovely evocative old Tudor Yard that contains the Royal Wardrobe Building.

Enchanted by this hidden treasure and moved by the fact that the remaining shreds of this building have seen so much bloody history (before Henry moved his court to Hampton Court Palace which he seized from Cardinal Wolsey–I can understand now why the egotistical Henry would never tolerate the fact that his lowly prelate owned a dwelling that was so much more magnificent than his own!) I walked along a delightful street with old attached ‘cottages’ that took me to the Thames riverfront where twin bridges stood right in front of me. The promenade along the river was just delightful and many people were out walking despite the wind and the rather chilly temperatures. I read up on the history of the Old Deer Park (which has no deer in it), then ate a sandwich and an eclair on a bench overlooking the water.

A little later, I found myself walking under the beautiful Richmond Bridge which is made of Portland stone and climbing the steps into O’Higgins Square to start a short climb along Hill Rise towards what my book describes as the only protected view in the UK–protected by a 1906 Act of Parliament. Personalities from Turner to Reynolds to Walter Scott have described it as ‘the most unrivalled view in the country’ and William Byrd, the founder of Richmond, Virginia, is said to have named the new colony in the New World because the view of his territory across the Potomac reminded him of just this view of London across the Thames at this site. Be that as it may, one of the ‘owners’ of this unsullied view today is none other than rock idol, Mick Jagger, who owns a house in The Ashburton, a block of grand terraced housing that overlooks the bend in the Thames at this vantage point.

I decided to cut short my rambles at this point as my pedometer (that I am now wearing constantly) reminded me that I had already walked more than a mile. I took a bus back to the center of town and from there found my way to the famous Richmond Theater for my 2. 30 show–but not before I popped into the Cancer Research Charity shop and found myself a lovely English bone china cup and saucer to add to my collection at home. It caught my eye because it was so unusual–a matt black background suddenly opens up to a white glazed border on both cup and saucer that sports the Greek key design. It was these differences in texture that so fascinated me and at 3. 50 pounds, I could not go wrong.

The reason I was at Richmond Theater was to see Alan Ackybourne’s Tons of Money which stars Christopher Timothy whom I have grown to love so much in the TV series from the 70s and 80s called All Creatures Great and Small in which Timothy plays the role of Yorkshire vet James Herriott. I have to say that I was sorely disappointed, first of all, to discover that he had rather a small role (he played the Butler Spruze) and, second, that age has taken its toll on him so that he looks most unlike his younger self. He has filled out considerably, his hair has long abandoned him and his features too have changed. But for his voice (one can never change one’s voice), there is little resemblance to the actor of old who so stole my heart away.

One of the many surprises of this afternoon was the presence in the cast of Janet Henfrey (who plays Mrs. Bale in the BBC TV series As Time Goes By). This is the second time I have seen her on stage–she was present in The Importance of Being Ernest starring Penelope Keith that I saw at the Vaudeville Theater at the Strand last March with my friend Amy Tobin). The play was entertaining but not worth the long hike to Richmond unless one combines it with a walk as I did. At any rate, the theater was only half full, but I swear I was the youngest person in the audience! Everyone around me was silver haired and was no doubt there out of nostalgia for the good old days of the telly when Christopher Timothy made evening viewing special.

Then, I was on the bus again headed back to the city because, unwittingly, I had booked tickets for two plays on the same day (not having my calendar with me when I had booked a ticket for Tons of Money in December when I had gone to see Peter Pan, the Christmas pantomime at Richmond Theater). I knew that I would arrive in the city rather early–my next show (Oliver starring Rowan Atkinson in the role of Fagin) was not until 7. 30 pm at the Royal Theater on Drury Lane (this is the third show I am seeing there after French and Saunders Live and another one whose name I cannot now recall).

Having about an hour to kill, I hopped off at Trafalgar Square hoping that the National Gallery would have a late evening closing–and how right I was. A quick look at “Today’s Program” at the Sainsbury Entrance informed me that there was a free piano recital starting at 6 pm in Gallery 18. So off I went to take my place on a chair right in front of the baby grand piano that graced the gallery on a lovely Oriental carpet. The two performers of the evening were Kentaro Nagai and David Malusa, both from the Royal College of Music who kept me enthralled with an hour long program that included a fantastia and fugue by Bach, an unbelievable Ballad by Chopin, Iberian music from Spanish composes Mompou and Albeniz and a stunning work by Schumann. I could not have asked for a better way to spend an hour. This is what I most love about living in London. I come upon these cultural surprises in the most unexpected of ways and because I have so few commitments here, I can seize the opportunity to enjoy them as and when they present themselves.

Then, I was off on the bus again heading towards Aldwych where at Drury Lane, I hopped off to get to the Theater Royal. I keep forgetting how gorgeous the interior of these theaters are. This one is splendid–with fat putti adorning its walls in the lavish plasterwork along the ceiling and outside the boxes. The only horrid thing about this theater is that the balcony is about seven floors high–you feel as if you have scaled Mount Everest by the time you get to your seat–and being a ‘graded’ building, they cannot install elevators inside.

The auditorium was packed to capacity (as the play won some terrific reviews when it opened a couple of weeks ago). All around me were American college students, one of whom informed me that they were from Long Island’s Hofstra University studying British Drama for a month during their winter break. They were fidgety and noisy (as American students usually are), made inane comments during the interval (“That scene with Bumble was so sexual. She wasn’t supposed to hit on him like that” and “We were sitting at the worst possible angle for that scene”–it happened to be one in which Beadle’s wife bared her cleavage in a seduction scene!). I enjoyed these comments but the very proper English lady sitting besides me was besides herself with outrage at the behavior of the sprightly Americans and at the fact that she had to “get up and down and up and down” to accommodate their frequent passage to and from their seats!

Oliver was superb. I did not realize that some of the songs I have known since my childhood (Oom-Pah-Pah, I’d Do Anything) are from this musical. Apart from the stars (Rowan Atkinson whom I first got to know as Mr. Bean is unforgettable as Fagin and he can sing!–as is Jodi Prenger as Nancy), the little guy who played the Artful Dodger was amazing. Sets were truly stunning and the recreation of Victorian England so appealing visually that for a while I seemed to have transported myself to a different world altogether. It was truly one of the finest shows I have seen since arriving in London in September and I could understand why the critics have been raving about it.

Two plays in the same day, a musical concert, a sunny walk in Richmond…truly it was a day packed with pleasurable activity and by the time I was riding the bus back home, I felt culturally saturated. I could only talk to Llew for a few minutes before I called it a night.

Westminster Cathedral, National Gallery and Lunch at Carlucci’s

Jan18

Sunday, January 18, 2009
London

Since I had resolved when I first arrived here, that I would go for service to a different historic church every Sunday, I did some research last night and discovered that Westminster Cathedral (not to be confused with Westminster Abbey which is Anglican) is the largest as well as principal Catholic Church in the UK and, therefore, well worth a visit. I awoke again at 5 am and continued reading Bombay Tiger in bed before I stirred, took a shower, had my breakfast sandwich (purchased from Waitrose yesterday) and set off.

There wasn’t a soul on Fleet Street as I awaited the bus at 8. 30 am. London is lazy on a Sunday morning and but for the fact that it was bright and sunny, I might have felt a little uneasy waiting at the bus stop while entirely alone on “Grub Street”. Bus Number 11 arrived about ten minutes later and deposited me at the Cathedral within 15 minutes while the 8 am mass was concluding. This allowed me to admire the vast exterior of the cathedral which resembles streaky bacon and is matched by the other streaky bacon buildings in the vicinity which is to say that they are all striped horizontally in red and white! The cathedral is a fanciful Byzantine structure complete with massive dome and towering campanile or spire. It has a grand semi-circular mosaic panel at the entrance which is echoed by a similar one behind the main altar.

Inside, I spent a few moments in prayer at the Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament before I was able to admire the grandeur of the main sanctuary that has an impressive baldachino or altar canopy made of eight columns of yellow Veronese marble. The domes are darkened and the cathedral is in the process of being refurbished as was evident from the metal scaffolding that mars the back of it. It is the sheer size of the structure that is most striking but I have to say that it was freezing cold as there was no heating in evidence at all. I shivered throughout the service and wondered why anyone would attend mass in such a cold and uninviting space. The mass itself was short and sweet. There was no choir and no hymns at all (something I sorely missed and which would have added a great deal to the ambiance). Three new altar servers were inducted into the Guild of St. Steven and they received an ovation from the congregation.

I left the church and walked right into a freezing winter wind that whipped all around me as I stood at the bus stop to wait for the bus to take me back to Trafalgar Square. I intended to return to the National Gallery to finish the last 7 rooms comprising the 17th century painters and when I got there at 10.15, I found the Gallery quite empty. As I was saying, Londoners start slowly on a Sunday!

The rooms I saw this time round comprised the work of the Flemish Masters especially Peter Paul Reubens whose canvasses are most awesome in their size and scale and variety of subject matter. I also saw wonderful work by Zurbaran, Velasquez and Anthony Van Dyke including the famous equestrian portrait of Charles I. I will now begin my examination and study of the paintings from the 18th to the early 20th century before I turn my attention to the Tate Modern where the collection continues. What a marvelous journey this is turning out to be! I feel so fortunate that I have the time to study these works in such detail. I am also indebted to the policy that keeps the museums in London free of charge because I know I would not be able to afford to pay a fee each time I entered to view the collection.

Then, it was time to take a bus again and get to Sainsburys to do some grocery shopping for the week. With some cold cuts and cheese, I have ingredients to fix myself a few sandwiches as classes begin tomorrow and I will need to carry lunch. I also bought a couple of quiches as I find it so much easier to eat simple dinners of this kind rather than to cook myself.

Back home, I had time to start writing a letter to my parents before I rang the doorbell of my next door neighbors Tim and Barbara to see if they were ready for our 1 pm lunch appointment at Carlucci’s. This wonderful Italian chain to which they introduced me is extremely popular in London and has a location just a ten minute walk from our place close to the Smithfield Meat Market. We have been here before and it is now starting to feel rather homey! All three of us went for the Lunch Special which included either a Mixed Salad or a Bread Basket, a Pasta of our choice and a coffee for 8.50 pounds. Tim chose the Ravioli, Barbara had the Tortellini and I had a Linguine with Seafood. With beers to go around and coffee and ‘pudding’ (Tim had a Key Lime Tart while Barbara had a Crepe stuffed with Vanilla Ice Cream and a Raspberry Sauce) which I passed on as they ran out of the Tuscan Sponge Cake soaked in rum and served with toasted almonds and chocolate shavings which I had absolutely adored the last time I was there, we had ourselves a really great meal.

Best of all, we caught up on so many things that have happened since Christmas which they spent at Eastbourne. It is always fun in their company and by now they have grown to feel like old friends. I was sorry that I had to turn down Tim’s invitation to join them for a kedgeree dinner on Thursday evening when his nephew will be visiting as I have made plans to see Slumdog Millionnaire with my friend Rosemary Massouras.

The evening passed by as I caught up on some grooming chores, made my sandwiches and a TV dinner. I finished the letter to my parents and emailed it to my brother Roger in Bombay, then made myself comfy on the couch watching an Inspector Lynley Mystery. One long conversation with Llew later, my day came to an end.

Tomorrow starts a new semester. I can hardly wait to meet my students and get back into the swing of an academic routine.

Brompton Cemetery, First Snowdrops and Yet More National Gallery

Jan16

Friday, January 16, 2009
London

A cemetery is not a place in which you want to get lost–and certainly not on a dull sunless day! So I did feel quite edgy at Brompton Cemetery this morning as I examined the grave stones and admired the sculpted statuary. I had first heard about Brompton Cemetery from Bill Bryson’s video version of his famous travel book called Notes From a Small Island and when I passed by its gates while in a bus, a few weeks ago, I decided that I would explore it when I could.

As it turned out, the cemetery was deserted. But for a few dog-walkers and cyclists who studiously ignored the signs posted everywhere that said “No Cyclists”, there was no one around. The sun was conspicuous by its absence and while I was in the cemetery between the two gates that flank Brompton and Old Brompton Roads, it actually started to spritz–thankfully this spray lasted only a few minutes.

Brompton Cemetery, designed by Benjamin Baud, is one of the finest Victorian cemeteries in the UK. Several well-known Londoners are buried here such as the suffragette Emmeline Pankhurst and there are walking tours given by “The Friends of Brompton Cemetery”, twice a month on Saturdays. The grounds are laid out in a formal style and there is a chapel, built in Neo-Classical design, in the center that is surrounded by private family tombs. Though it is still a working cemetery, most of the burials were carried out from the mid-1800s to the mid-1900s.

What I found most interesting is the fact that Beatrix Potter is said to have taken the names of many of her animal characters from tombstones in the cemetery as she lived in a nearby complex called The Boltons. Without a map it was impossible for me to find the prominent Victorians buried here, so you can imagine how delighted I was to discover that when I paused to take a picture of a particularly well designed gravestone of an artillery officer who died in World War I, I found myself bang in front of a tombstone of a certain Mr. Nutkins! Other characters in Potter’s work, such as Mr. McGregor, Tod and Jeremiah Fisher also have namesakes in these burial grounds. Though this is hardly the kind of venue that might be considered a tourist site, I found myself enjoying the peacefulness of my surroundings and it was hard to believe that I was in the midst of Earl’s Court in the bustling village of Kensington.

It is easy to understand why Potter was inspired by this space for in the absence of human beings, there were a large number of furred and feathered friends keeping me company. Fat squirrels with bushy tails followed me everywhere, pink (yes, pink) pigeons were perched on angelic gravestones and I even saw a raven right besides a grave that had been freshly decorated with a bouquet of very brightly colored flowers.

And talking about flowers, I was so delighted to come upon my first ever snowdrops, the tiny little white flowers whose drooping heads are so-called because they bloom even in the midst of blankets of snow. In the United States, these flowers are rarely seen (I have certainly never seen them except in pictures). When I found them ringing the periphery of a gravestone, I gasped, then bent down closely to examine them before I took pictures to immortalize this moment. Snowdrops are also said to be Nature’s first sign of the arrival of spring and if that be true, then it won’t be long before other more colorful flowers will bloom everywhere.

It wasn’t long before I caught a bus that brought me to Trafalgar Square where I spent the afternoon examining the work of Dutch painters of the 17th century including Rembrandt. I took a much-needed rest at the computers where I have been trying to find the locations of the paintings cataloged and explained by Homan Potterton in his Guide to the National Gallery. When I finished this task, I started my exploration through the galleries and was especially struck by the work of Franz Hals and Vermeer. And, of course, I paused for a very long time to admire my favorite painting in the entire gallery–Pieter de Hooch’s Courtyard of a House in Deflt. Though this is only a small painting, I find it exquisite in its portayal of detail. The ordinary life of middle-class Dutchwomen during the 19th century is so evocative that it never fails to hold me spellbound every time I feast my eyes on it.

By 5 pm, London was draped in a dark shroud and it was time to get back on the bus home. I paused at Foyle’s, perhaps London’s most famous bookshop, on Shaftesbury Avenue and browsed through some of their current titles, then stopped off at Sainsburys to buy a few groceries, before I made my way home to write this blog.

I am still waking in the wee hours of the morning (4. 10 am today) but I forced myself to return to sleep and then awoke at 5. 45 am only to discover that I still did not have Internet connectivity. I was on the phone with an Indian call center assistant who called himself ‘John’, who informed me that my connection was rather weak and that I should call again after 8 am. This time, I spoke to an assistant with an Afro-French accent who apologized and told me that the technicians at Virgin Media are aware of my problems and will try to fix them as soon as possible. Since it was still early in the day I sat down to tackle my Scotland scrapbook and by 9.30 am, all my pictures were mounted in my album. Now all that’s left is captioning of the photos and I will be done.

I then turned to the designing of my South Asian Civilization course as an independent study module and had a great deal of fun working out challenging assignments for the 2 students who will take my class through occasional tutorials and a monthly ‘lecture’ style meeting. This took me over an hour to accomplish, so that by the time I went in for my shower it was past noon. I only got out of the house today about 12. 45 pm which left me with only four hours of daylight to play with. That’s when it occurred to me that a visit to Brompton Cemetery might be the best thing to do–and off I went!

It was a rather unusual way to spend an afternoon but I have no regrets. Now all I have to do is visit the other famous London cemetery, Highgate, and that I shall do when it gets a little warmer.

Still More National Gallery, NYU Orientation Lunch and a Bus Ride to Hampstead

Jan16

Thursday, January 15, 2009
London

I do not have Internet connectivity at home, which is the most frustrating thing in the world! As a result, I could not check my email as soon as I awoke this morning (at the slightly less unearthly hour of 4. 50 am now, not 3. 30 am!). I used the time to finish reading Scattered Seeds, an anthology of photographs and short essays edited by Dorothy Dady, containing profiles on diasporic Anglo-Indians in various parts of the English-speaking world. I had the pleasure of meeting Dorothy in Richmond in November when she gifted a copy of her book to me. Reading the material it contains carefully has been a deeply enriching experience and I hope that she will now assist me in networking with the many Anglo-Indians of all ages based in the UK whom she had the occasion to meet through her work.

At 8.45 am, when I finished reading the book, I finally got out of bed to eat my breakfast frittata (with a sausage and coffee—I am trying to avoid carbs) and take a shower. By 10 am, I was heading out the door and walking to Fleet Street to take the bus to Trafalgar Square as I wanted to see a bit more of the 17th century European paintings. Trying to locate them through the basement online catalog took me a good half hour and left me with another half hour to browse through a couple of the galleries before I hurried to the Reception desk in the Sainsbury Wing to catch the 11. 30 am “taster” tour of the collection, which was given by a docent named Elizabeth Allen. I was rather disappointed by the tour because it covered only 5 paintings and dwelt on them in so much detail as to become rather uninteresting after the first five minutes. She chose to present The Battle of San Romano by Paolo Uccello, an Altarpiece of the Madonna and Saints by Andrea Mantegna, The Finding of Moses by Nicolas Poussin and a version of the same subject by …. And Turner’s Hercules Deriding Polyphemus, which is considered the Number One item in the entire collection. A great deal of time was spent on the history of the museum and the manner in which the collection came to be accumulated and I often feel that viewers can always read this up on their own. It seems a pity to waste time while they are in the galleries on such extraneous information.

Then, I was hopping into a bus to get to Bloomsbury for the NYU Orientation Lunch for sophomores who have arrived in London for their spring semester. The luncheon that was held in The Venue in the ULU (University of London Union) building did not, thankfully, comprise the small tea sandwiches that I have grown to expect on every such luncheon menu. Instead, there was a decent hot lunch with Chinese Noodles with Mixed Vegetables, a Vegetable Lasagna and really good Chicken with Cashews in a Mushroom and Wine Sauce. Dessert was Lemon Cake and Chocolate Cake but having fuelled up on lunch, ( I was starving by the time I filled my plate), I merely tasted the cake and decided to forego the pleasure. The luncheon was a chance to meet my colleagues again and catch up with them and to force myself to think about the return to the grindstone next week.

After lunch, I spent about an hour in my basement office catching up on my email, which I finally managed to retrieve. I discovered that there are only 2 students registered to take my South Asian Civilization course. However, since one of them needs it to fulfill a degree requirement, it cannot be dropped. Dean Schwarzbach has suggested that I run it as an independent study course rather than a formal course, which means that it is now left to me to restructure it entirely as I see fit. I will probably meet with the students informally in my office in tutorial setting and I shall assign readings and movies to be watched by them in their own time. I am excited to have the opportunity to teach a course in this way—apart from the fact that this will now free up my Tuesdays leaving me with a regular teaching assignment just once a week.

Since there was still daylight outside my basement window, I decided to take a bus ride to Hampstead Heath in order to be able to view London by night from Parliament Hill (so-called because Guy Fawkes and his fellow-conspirators met here to plot the overthrow of Parliament in the Gunpowder Plot and intended to watch the building blow up from this high vantage point!).

The Number 24 bus from Bloomsbury took me to Camden Town, which allowed me also to discover where the famous Camden Lock Market is located—perhaps something I shall explore tomorrow as I hear that it is mobbed on weekends. In less than half an hour, I was at Hampstead Heath and on asking for directions, found my way up Parliament Hill to a fine peak studded with wooden benches from which the sparkling lights of London’s landmark buildings made an appealing sight. Despite the fact that darkness had fallen, there were still enough people on the Heath walking their dogs and the setting reminded me very much of Salman Rushdie’s novel Fury as the male protagonist lives in Hampstead, as also of a number of movies I have seen in which scenes were shot on Hampstead Heath. I really did enjoy my twilight foray into this lovely park and I intend to return to it again when the weather turns warmer and the days are longer.

Back on the Number 24 bus, I arrived in Bloomsbury where I caught another bus home. To my disappointment, I discovered that while I am able to receive messages, I cannot send any. I also cannot access the Web from home. Deciding to make the most of the rest of the evening, I began scrap booking—putting into an album the pictures and other memorabilia that I collected on our August trip to Yorkshire and Scotland. Since I arrange all my photos in albums of uniform design—all with burgundy covers–I managed to bring one back with me from the States during my Christmas trip and it is this one that I can now fill with my clippings. I spent a good hour and a half doing this before I decided to get myself some dinner.

Jetlag is still dogging me and I find myself nodding off by 8 pm and awaking at 5am. Hopefully, I will be able to return to a more stable routine soon.