Hello Istanbul! Arrival in Turkey.

Apr9

Sunday, April 5, 2009
Istanbul, Turkey

Arrival in Istanbul:
Our Easyjet flight left Gatwick airport at 6. 40 am and deposited us at Istanbul’s Sabiha Gokcen airport at 12. 30 pm local time. It had been a very pleasant flight indeed during which time I read my DK Eye-Witness Guide to Turkey with the idea of trying to figure out how to plan our three days in the city. The descent into Istanbul was particularly lovely and as we skirted the banks of the Bosphorus, I was grateful for my window seat and the glimpses it offered of the landscape that lay bathed in strong sunshine. The city was punctuated by the domes and minarets of countless mosques and the colors of the buildings were very similar to the palate of yellows and orche that we had seen in Italy.

To our horror, we discovered that we were required to stand in a long line at the airport to obtain visas for which we paid $20 a piece. I found this surprising as no one had prepared us for this occurrence. About an hour later, we cleared Immigration and found ourselves in a small and rather quiet airport. The journey to the city was rather complicated as Easyjet (like most budget airlines) flies to an airport very far from the city proper. We entered the Havas bus that took us as far as Taksim Square from where we took a public bus to the terminal in Sultanahmet where our hotel, the Sultan’s Inn, was located.

Only there was a mess up with our booking and there was no room for us at this hotel. However, the kindly receptionist placed us for one night in a neighboring hotel called Tashkonak and for the next two nights we were placed in Deniz Konark Hotel, which was also near by. Everyone was helpful and good natured and when we alighted from the car that took us and our belongings to Tashkonak Hotel, we were very pleased with the top floor and the sight from our window which provided a lovely view of the Sea of Marmara and the Princess Islands floating in their midst. We discovered that the hotel had a flower-filled terrace right above our room and we did climb upstairs only to notice the domes and many minarets of the Blue Mosque staring back at us only a stone’s throw away. What a brilliant location the hotel had!

Exploring the area around the Famous Blue Mosque:
Since it was still only about 4 pm, we decided to spend the evening discovering our vicinity and found to our delight that we were very conveniently located with regards to the main tourist attractions. Indeed, the Blue Mosque was so close to us that we could hear the muezzin’s call as azan began and, deciding to stroll through the nearby Arasta Bazaar, we stepped into the mosque later in the evening.

Arasta Bazaar offered a variety of wonderfully enticing merchandise from Turkish carpets and kilims to vibrantly colored ceramic items, from desserts like baklava and Turkish delight to skillfully carved bone pipes and cushion covers. Truly, Turkey is a shopper’s dream but neither Llew nor I were in the market for any goods to take back home.

Instead, we toured the area around the Hippodrome, so-called because cycling events as well as athletic contests were once held in this area. Once in the region, our attention was drawn to two towering obelisks, one with very distinct Egyptian hieroglyphs carved upon it, the other a plainer tower—both dated from centuries long gone. There was also a rather ornate fountain that was named after Kaiser Wilhem II. The Hipppodrome lies at the very heart of Sultanahmet which is Istanbul’s busiest neighborhood and for the next three days, we were, quite literally, in the thick of everything (including President Obama’s visit to Turkey!).

By this point, we discovered that the namaaz period had ended and we were able to enter the Blue Mosque. As in most places of worship, we were asked to take off our shoes and place them in a bag, which we were allowed to carry into the mosque. The space is huge and quite overwhelming indeed. Inside, we were introduced to the intricacy and artistry of what are called Iznik tiles—ceramic tiles in distinctive shades and patterns of blue that are used liberally to decorate the surfaces of walls on all Turkish structures.

Though community prayer time was over, there were still many worshippers in the front of the mosque, their faces turned towards the decorative mihrab that faces Mecca. We also saw the ornate minber or platform from which the priest leads prayers. The entire floor of the mosque was covered with rich Turkish carpets and aside from the tiles, there was calligraphy from the Koran painted all over the mosque. It made a very interesting beginning to our sightseeing in Istanbul but we soon realized that if being in Rome had meant traipsing from one church to the next, being in Istanbul means traipsing from one mosque to the other. As in the churches, while most architectural elements were basically the same, there were minor differences that made each one worthy of a visit.

Our first Turkish Meal:
We were ready for dinner at this point and since the very helpful young man called Ramazan at the hotel had recommended a restaurant nearby called the Ayasofya, we made our way there and sat down in a quiet alcove upstairs where we were very warmly greeted by the owner called Hassan and the wait staff. We decided that for our first Turkish meal, we would order a mixed plate of appetizers (mezze) and a mixed grill…and how pleased we were by the quality of the meal and its very reasonable price.

The mezze platter contains a variety of dips and pastes that are eaten with the most marvelous large flatbread. The mixed grill platter was equally hearty and easily shared by two. It contained a variety of kebabs from grilled lamb botis (chunks) and chicken wings to shish kebab and marinated chicken breast, all served with that delicous charcoal grilled flavor. Served with tzaziki (cucumber garlic dip) and pickled red cabbage, it was a truly wonderful meal and one we decided to return for again before our departure.

Then, we were picking our way back to our hotel again after warmly thanking the staff for taking such good care of us and presenting us with such memorable food. A short walk later, we were in Hotel Tashkonak amazed by how much we had already seen and done in Istabul.

Arrivederci Roma! Last Day in Italy.

Apr9

Saturday, April 4, 2009
Rome-London

The Church of Santa Maria Maggiore:
We chose to spend our last day in Rome in a very leisurely fashion. Having ‘been there, done that’, we had a day to enjoy without the pressures of a Must See schedule. There were still two churches I really badly wanted to see, though they are not usually on anyone’s priority list: one was the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore which is distinctive for the fact that it took over a century to build and, therefore, displays several different architectural styles; the other was the Church of St. Peter in Vincoli. Since it was very far from our hotel, we took the metro from the Spanish Steps—which gave us a chance to experience Rome’s underground system—to Termini, the main train station, from where the church was a short hop away. Indeed, we found the interior quite stunning and as we encircled the huge nave and paused at the many chapels, each of which is more ornate than the next, we were able to get a glimpse into the diverse styles of which it is composed.

The Church of San Pietro in Vincoli:
Then, we were out on the street and making our way to the next church I wanted to see: The Church of Saint Peter in Vincoli (which literally means St. Peter in Chains). This church is remarkable for two reasons: it contains one of Michelangelo’s most stunning works—his Moses which is considered to be on par with his far more celebrated David in terms of artistic virtuosity—and to see the chains (‘vincoli’ in Italian) that bound St. Peter during his imprisonment. Raphael’s depiction of Peter’s liberation from these chains through the miraculous power of an angel that visited his prison at night is considered one of the most notable frescoes in the Vatican Museums (we had seen it on our tour).

We were surprised by the large number of tour groups that trooped into this church to see Moses, though few paid any heed to the chains that are placed just below the main altar in a special glass receptacle designed specifically to hold them. They are said to have arrived in Rome through the Emperor Constantine who received them from his mother Helena. Indeed, the sculpture of Moses is as stunning as it is reputed to be. It is amazing how obsessed Michelangelo was with the muscularity of the human physique. For though Moses is portrayed as an old man with flowing beard that forms lavish curls, there is no mistaking the bulging biceps that would be impossible in a man of so advanced an age! This idealistic portrayal of human males is seen also on the walls of the Sistine Chapel where the muscularity of Jesus in the Last Judgment created a new watermark for the portrayal of His human form. Moses sits on the base of what was intended to be a lavish monument to a Pope (I forget which one) but before Michelangelo could quite finish the tomb, he was summoned to work on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, leaving this job half-done.

Arriving at Trastevere:
It was at this point that our journey became rather convoluted. We got on to the metro at Cavour and intended to arrive in Trastavere, a very colorful part of Rome, far from the madding tourist crowd but filled with urban energy. It lies on the opposite bank of the River Tiber but is not easily reached by metro. It was my aim to get off the metro and take a bus to Trastavere, but some disturbance on the line caused by a huge football match made it impossible for us to arrive there without a great deal of waiting. Eventually, we hopped into a bus that took us close to Isola, an island that sits in the midst of the Tiber and can be reached by pedestrian bridges on both its sides. Sometimes, such unexpected detours can lead one to the most interesting quarters of a city and this certainly was the case here. We really did enjoy our lazy stroll down the riverbanks and the lovely views across the city as we crossed the bridges leading to and from Isola.

The Church of Santa Maria in Trastavere:
Once on the opposite side, we began our walk towards Ponte Garibaldi with the intention of exploring Trastavere on foot. This area is a maze of narrow cobbled streets, almost deserted, but with a great deal of character. Our purpose was to get to the Church of Santa Maria in Trastavere (yes, yet another church!) where the piazza is usually bussing with visitors. As we approached the church square, we paused to look at the menus in the many trattorias that lined the streets. Once in the church, we visited its interior and noticed the extravagance of its decoration. By this point, however, one church had begun to resemble the one before it and we became almost immune to its interior charms.

Upon leaving the church, we rambled at random through the labyrinth of streets each filled with homely eateries and were delighted to come upon a pizzeria called La Boccaccia Pizza e Focaccia on Via Santa Dorothea 2 where we ordered a variety of pizzas cut by the wedge and weighed before being priced. The pizzas were very unusual indeed—such as a goat cheese and basil one, another with zucchini and tomato and a third with sausage and peppers. Washed down with a cold beer, they made a very nice shared meal which we ate while seated outside on a bench on what was a particularly lovely afternoon in which people walked or drove by the narrow streets with happy smiles upon their faces. Just next-door was a wonderful gelateria on Piazza G. La Malva where we ate two gigantic ice creams—our last in Italy—and felt very pleased with our street side meal indeed.

Before long, we were crossing the Tiber along the Ponte Sisto and arriving at the opposite side from where we hopped into a bus that took us back to our hotel past most of the famous monuments that we had examined in the previous few days.

We collected our bags from the lobby of our hotel (we had checked out in the morning) and caught a bus to the Termini from where we hopped into the Leonardo da Vinci Express that took us directly to Fiumicino airport for our 9 pm departure to Gatwick airport where we arrived at half past ten at night. Since we had another early morning departure from Gatwick to Istanbul, we had made reservations to spend the night at the Ibis hotel located very close to the airport and hopping into the hotels’ shuttle mini-bus, we were deposited at the hotel a little after 11.30 pm. This gave us several good hours of sleep and with a request for a wake up call at 4. 30 am, we fell asleep.

Footloose in Roma!

Apr9

Friday, April 3, 2009
Rome

There is simply too much to see in Rome and if you are addicted to churches or museums, as I am, you have to make certain choices. So, after another big breakfast in our hotel, we set out to view some of the sights that literature has made famous through the centuries, starting with the Spanish Steps.

Picking our way down the Via de Condotti:
On checking my map, I discovered that the Piazza de Spagna stands at the end of one of Rome’s most famous streets—the fashionable Via de Condotti which is the equivalent of New York’s Fifth Avenue in that it houses the showrooms of the country’s best-known couturiers. I picked our way across the map to the famous street and made the discovery that the shops get more expensive and the designer names more famous the closer you get to the steps. We stopped en route to see some of the goodies being offered by Furla and Valentino and Salvatore Ferragamo and marveled all the while at the fact that Italy seemed recession-proof as most of the locals were walking jauntily along the street, their hands laden with bags that announced their pricey buys.

The Spanish Steps and the Church of Trinita del Monti:
We spied the Spanish Steps long before we arrived there as the spires of the Church of Trinita del Monti, being located high on a hill, are easily visible all along the Condotti. As always, the Steps were filled with student groups and morning strollers with their dogs in tow soaking in the sun (for it had turned out to be a beautiful day). Unlike most of his ornate fountain sculpture that adorns the city of Rome and gives it a distinctive character, the little boat-like sculpture in front of the steps are Bernini’s most modest. It does, in fact, portray a sunken boat and lacks the opulent characters that decorate the rest of his work. After Llew and I had posed for pictures, we began our climb up the steps to see the church and receive stirring glimpses of the city of Rome lying in ochre splendor at our feet. The church contains several paintings and sculptural works but this was one place in Rome that was not soundly mobbed and I have to say that for a moment, at least, I enjoyed the seclusion.

Then, when we had descended the steps, we began our perusal of the Piazza de Spagna taking in the Babbington Tea Rooms which were set up in the 19th century for visiting Englishmen and women who, on their Grand Tour of Europe had passed through Rome and felt homesick for the English tea and clotted cream-filled scones of the Home Counties. The atmosphere inside (yes, we did peek in briefly) was warm and cozy like the cups of tea being sipped delicately by the well-heeled patrons.

The Keats-Shelley Memorial House:
Next, we walked to the opposite side of the Steps (still teeming with joyous humanity) to the Keats-Shelley Memorial House, which, for me at least, was like making a pilgrimage. Ever since I was first introduced to his work as an undergraduate in Bombay, John Keats has remained my very favorite poet of all time and on every occasion I try to trace the footsteps of his life. I have, for instance, been to his famous house in Hampstead where he wrote Ode to a Nightingale. And anyone who knows anything about the sad end of Keats’ life knows that because he was afflicted with tuberculosis, he made his way to Italy to escape the cold damp of the English winter, to arrive in Rome with which he fell fully in love. His diary jotting records his rapturous response to the city as seen from the windows of this house that overlooks the Spanish Steps and the piazza beyond. However, despite his sojourn in warmer climes, he barely outlasted that winter. By the following spring, he was too weak to even sit at the window and it was in a bedroom in this house that he breathed his last—at the tender age of 26—perhaps English Poetry’s greatest loss of all time.

Llew and I climbed the marble winding steps with its beautiful wrought iron curving handrail to the top, passing all the time, a number of framed portraits of famous literary men and women who have either made Rome their home for a while or have visited this house upon being inspired by the spirit of Keats and Shelley. When we arrived at the reception desk, a lovely young lady named Josie introduced the home to us and sold us a ticket for 6 euros each. Then began our thoughtful and very quiet perusal of the rooms that make us Keats’ last home—a home crammed with all sorts of memorabilia including bits and pieces of manuscripts of his famous odes, a multitude of sepia-toned photographs, any amount of fragments of letters he wrote and received (for Keats was a prolific letter writer) as well as the poet’s hair and other relics from a short but profoundly productive life.

One can see the bedroom that Keats occupied and in which he breathed his last. Though fully created to replicate the way in which he lived and died, every item in the room is a replacement as the entire contents of the bedroom were burned after his death in accordance with Italian law which decreed that since tuberculosis was spread by contact with the patient (a fallacy, of course), everything that had come in contact with him was destroyed by fire. In vain did Keats’ friends try to salvage some of the personal items associated with his last days. To read the notes was to be deeply moved and I was close to tears as I took in the room, peered out into the sun-soaked piazza to survey the view he once so enjoyed and contemplated the legacy he left behind—a wealth of some of my favorite poems.

The room on the other side of the house is devoted to Shelley and the other Romantics as Shelley and Keats were close friends and the former did provide Keats with companionship in his last weeks. It was not long before Shelley followed Keats to his death, drowning as he did in a shipwreck off the coast of Italy. The two are buried side by side in Rome’s Protestant cemetery, which, unfortunately, we did not have the time to visit. However, a visit to this house should be on the must-see agenda of every lover of English Literature and I was so grateful that I had the opportunity to visit it.

The Piazza Barberini:
 Then, it was time to tear ourselves away from the Spanish Steps and pick our way towards the Piazza Barberini. Our excellent map of Rome made such sightseeing very easy and by the time we arrived at the Piazza made famous by Bernini’s wonderful sculptural fountain of Triton who blows a conch-shell from which water flows abundantly, we were ready for lunch. After we took in the frenzy of the traffic as it sped around the piazza and spied the endless grand windows of the Villa Barberini (so-called because it was built by a member of the Barberini family who eventually became the Pope and thought it prudent to use his position to build a grand mansion for his family-members—a bit like Pakistan’s politicians, what?) we settled down in a street-side trattoria called Pepy’s Bar whose cocktails are well-known and ordered (no, not a cocktail) but a couple of paninis and a cold beer. There is no better spot from which to do some serious people watching than this eatery that spills out on to the pavement and offers wonderful views of the passing city. Our feet felt well rested by the time we stood up to continue our exploration of the sprawling city of Rome.

Along the Via Veneto:
Using the lovely DK Eye-Witness Guide to Rome, I decided that we would walk along the Via Veneto taking one of the marvelous walking tours that loops around the area. But not before we climbed up a short hill to see Bernini’s Fountains of the Four Seasons that stand at the four corners of a busy intersection, each one representing a different season by the portrayals of an appropriate Roman god or goddess.

Then, we began our tour of the area taking in the streets made famous by Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck in Roman Holiday, for it was along these streets that they had whizzed by in that famous Vespa. An exploration of the area requires a slow climb up a winding hill that allowed us to view the grand buildings and the grander shops that made the area so fashionable and so photographed—as in the films of Frederico Fellini, for instance. The US Consulate is in this area but though we tried to spy the star-spangled banner, we were unable to find it.

The Church of Santa Maria della Vittoria:
 But coursing through the network of streets, all beautifully laid out and maintained and giving Rome its unique character, we arrived at the Church of Santa Maria della Vittoria that I was particularly keen to see as it contains the somewhat infamous sculpture by Bernini that depicts The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa. Llew and I had watched Simon Schama’s series on the History of Art on TV, a couple of years ago, and had remembered his commentary upon this sculpture which is Bernini’s most controversial and it was for this reason that I decided that we should not leave Rome without discovering it for ourselves.

Upon arrival at the church steps, we discovered that it was closed in the siesta hours that commonly shut down Italian churches. This gave us the opportunity to rest our legs as we sank down on the steps and waited. In about 20 minutes, we joined the large number of fellow art-lovers who made their way inside the church for precisely the same reason.

And there was the little chapel on the left side of the altar, Bernini’s most controversial work. It is spell-bindingly beautiful. The angel who stands on her left with an arrow in his hand ready to plunge it again into her breast matches the depiction of Saint Teresa as an idealistically gorgeous young woman. Teresa’s expression is what causes all the controversy as generations of scholars have commented upon the sexual nature of the expression—far from being bathed in mystical ecstasy, she seems to appear to be in the throes of sexual passion. What is even more provocative (at least to my imagination) is the fact that her experience is being viewed from two balconies on either side of the chapel in which a bunch of men look upon the scene as if at a play or an opera! I do not recall Schama talking about this aspect of the scene but it is the one I found most note-worthy. After taking pictures (the entire chapel is very well-lit), we left the church and found our way to the Piazza della Republica which is a large circle dominated by a rather ugly fountain whose sculptural figures are badly in need of a cleaning. The fountain parapet afforded an opportunity for more rest and people watching and we did just that.

The Church of Santa Maria degli Angeli:
Then because the doors to the Church of Santa Maria degli Angeli stood temptingly in front of us, we thought of exploring it—only to discover that it was designed by Michelangelo himself but has been largely reconstructed since his time. As we have often found, Italian churches are hugely deceptive because their entrances belie the majesty and greatness that lie within. Upon entering this church, we walked into an impressive rotunda and a spacious nave whose walls, floors and altars were filled with sculpture, pietra dura (marble inlay) everywhere and an abundance of frescoes.

And then because we were just a hop away from the huge central railway terminus called Termini, we decided to take a look at it tool. This was the station through which I had made my entry into Rome during my graduate school days while traveling on a Eurail pass, 22 years ago, and I recall eating one of the most delicious minestrone soups in its cafeteria! (Some things are hard for a foodie to forget!) This time, we found the station full of touts and hangers-on and after a quick stroll through its lobby, we hopped into the bus that would take us back to our hotel—but not before we stopped at a supermercati to buy some Lavazza coffee to carry back to London (as I have grown addicted to it) and some large packets of Baci chocolate!

Dinner at La Francescana:
That evening, we had our meal at La Francescana, a very family-friendly trattoria that lay very close to our hotel and which was recommended by the receptionist. We enjoyed a pitcher of Chianti and then Veal and a plate of pasta both of which were superb. Since we always fill up on the lovely Italian bread that is brought to the table (lovely dipped in olive oil and balsamic vinegar), we were too full for dessert and on a rather stuffed note, we returned to our hotel for the night—so pleased that we had traversed some of Rome’s lesser-known parts and had fully enjoyed our travels.

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

Apr9

Thursday, April 2, 2009
Rome

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ciao Italia! Arrrival in Rome.

Apr9

Tuesday, March 31, 2009
London-Rome

Because, as the Chinese saying goes, a journey of a thousand miles begins with the first footstep, Llew and I left our Holborn apartment at 2. 20 am to catch the 2. 25 bus to Victoria—thank Goodness for London’s all-night red bus service that takes over when the Tube shuts down at midnight. We arrived at the Coach Station to board our 3. 30 am coach to Gatwick and were at the airport at 4. 30 am ready to check-in for our 6. 40 am Easyjet flight to Rome. With hot caffe lattes obtained from McDonald’s, we boarded our flight and as Llew snoozed across the Channel, I began to read the DK Eye Witness Guide to Rome to find out all about the ‘must-see, must-do’ items I needed to put on our list while touring this ancient city. I was excited to be returning to Rome after 22 years and to see it again with Llew for company.

All went well on board and when we touched down at Leonardo da Vinci airport at Fuimicino, I could scarcely believe that less than three hours after leaving London, we were in a completely different world. A quick hop across Immigration took us to a mini shuttle bus stand that for 15 Euros each promised to drop us off at our hotel near the Vatican called the Hotel Sant’ Angelo. It was a very sunny spring morning in Rome as we caught our first glimpses of this sprawling city from the window of our shuttle bus which dropped us off at our destination by 1 pm. After we were checked in by a very friendly receptionist called Sylvia, we stashed our bags in our room with its little French window and set off to discover the city.

The Piazza Venezia, the Roman Forum and the Coliseum:
It was thrilling to make the discovery that almost every important tourist location was just a fifteen minute walk away from our hotel that was located on the banks of the River Tiber that glowed rather greenly below the stone parapets that lined it. Using the superb graphic map that was given to us by the hotel, we wound our way along Via del Corso taking in the interesting shops and the piazzas that were thronging with tourists. Indeed, in all my travels this past year, I have never come upon so many visitors in one place and I have to say that I was frequently overwhelmed by the crowds.

It was not long before we saw the white marble opulence of the Vittorio Emmanuel Monument looming ahead of us and we spent the next few minutes studying the expansive piazza from which Mussolini made his victorious war-time speeches even as we paid our respects at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier with its eternal flame and its changing of the guard. When we had rested a bit, we started to skirt the area around this piazza and found our way to the Piazza de Campidoglio, designed by Michelangelo with its twin marble sentries on horseback and its geometric marble inlaid floor.

Onward we pressed, past vast groups of high school kids accompanied by their harassed teachers until we arrived at Theater Marcello which forms the border into the Roman Forum. It was our intention to tour the Forum and the Coliseum today and indeed there was much to see and admire. The weather was perfect for outdoor exploration and we took in the vastness and the majesty of this most ancient of European cities with a mounting sense of excitement.

As we walked along the Via de Cerchi, we found ourselves sandwiched between the Roman Forum on one side and the Circus Maximus on the other. There were loads of photo opportunities as the various ruined buildings of the Forum came into view including the splendid Arch of Septimus Severus which inspired the design of Paris’ Arc de Carousel. The uniformly planned streets of Rome with its four or five storey buildings all painted in shades of ochre also fascinated me and I could not stop taking pictures. We rested frequently along the way as the distances are massive and my feet are still rather too delicate to undertake long spurts of walking without adequate rest.

It wasn’t long before we arrived at the Arc of Constantine at the end of lovely Via de San Gregorio which must be one of the prettiest tree-lined streets in Rome. Crowds grew thicker each time we approached a famous landmark and as we caught our first glimpse of the mammoth Coliseum, we posed for pictures ourselves. The ingenuity of Roman engineering never fails to take my breath way and walking through the corridors of the Coliseum had the same effect upon me as we bought our tickets (12 Euros provides entry to the Forum, the Palatino and the Coliseum) and entered one of the ancient wonders of the world. Needless to say, we took many photographs of this magnificent structure that has withstood the test of time and despite being systematically destroyed and recast in various guises (its marble was used for the facing of many other Roman buildings), we could still discern the differences between the Doric, Ionic and Corinthian columns that make up its three tiers. Despite that fact that one has seen it often in pictures, its towering height in still stunning in reality and we felt suitably chastened by its grandeur.

We continued our walking tour along the Via del Fiori Imperiali stopping frequently to read the material and explanatory notes to be found in our guide book and marveling at the antiquity of the ruins in front of us. I remembered various locations from my last travels in Rome more than two decades ago, where we stopped again to take pictures until we arrived at Trajan’s Column, a copy of which we had seen in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. This wonderful monument sits right by the ruined remains of Trajan’s Markets and I tried to think of how amazingly bustling this place might have been more than two millennia ago when Rome was the center of the ancient world. Across the street we went, once again, to the Piazza de Campidoglio to admire Michelangelo’s handiwork from another vantage point—the piazza itself where we saw the sculpture featuring the she-wolf who nursed Romulus and Remus, the legendary founders of the city on the Seven Hills. The museums around us were tempting but we did not enter any of them as we were already rather exhausted by our travels and needed to find some sustenance in the form of our first Italian meal.

It was in one of the by lanes near Piazza de Trevi that we ate the first of many delicious bistro meals—Llew chose the Veal with Potatoes while I went for the Tagliatelle with Bolognese Sauce in a very humble street side trattoria which offered great people-observing opportunities. It was not long before we found our way to the Gelateria San Crispino which is written up in Lonely Planet as one of Rome’s best (on Via della Paneterria) and there we ate the first of many frozen treats that seemed to get better each time! Not too far away was the elaborate Fountain of Trevi beautifully lit and superbly highlighted. It is a breathtaking sight especially at night and though we might have succumbed to tradition and thrown three coins in the fountain to ensure our return to the Eternal City, the milling crowds made such an intention rather challenging.

By this point, we were both ready to call it a day delighted to note that our first day in Rome had proven to be so fascinating. As we crossed the Ponte Cavour, close to our hotel, we began to get our bearings and found that we were very well located indeed for all the sight seeing we wished to accomplish in the next few days.

Viva IL Papa! Audience with the Pope.

Apr9

Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Rome

Our very first full day in Rome began with a carb-hearty breakfast and a cup of marvelous Italian caffe latte–make that two!–in Hotel Sant Angelo. We had a long lazy lie-in and only finished with breakfast at about 10 am which gave us a good half hour for our walk to the Vatican for our Papal Audience. When we reached St. Peter’s Piazza we were shocked at the vast crowds that had assembled and already taken their seats. I had expected our audience to be a private meeting with the Holy Father in a small private chamber–which, I am told, is how these audiences usually take place.

To our good or bad luck, however, our visit to Rome happened to coincide with the fourth death anniversary of former Pope John Paul II–and thousands of youth and pilgrims had descended upon the city to participate in the events associated with the milestone. The Piazza was filled to capacity with groups that carried flags, banners and placards to announce their origins and we were really very lucky to find seats for ourselves right by the pathways through which the Popemobile would be passing.

It was not long before the frenzy began as Pope Benedict XVI made his way into the congregation. From our seats, we received a clear view of his passing vehicle, his smiling face, his hands held out in blessings. I realized that it would be impossible to get good pictures and so I relinquished our camera into Llew’s charge deciding instead to get good views of him instead of bothering with pictures. When he passed just a few feet in front of us it was just too good to be true and though we followed the rest of the rather long multi-lingual service on the huge screens that are set up to offer gigantic views of the proceedings, we did cherish those few seconds when we had our own personal glimpse of him.

With this visit to Rome, I have now seen three of the Popes who have served during my lifetime–Pope Paul VI (whom I saw as a child during the Eucharistic Congress in Bombay in 1966), Pope John Paul II whom I saw during his visit to Bombay, India just before I emigrated to the States (I still remember the thousands of people that gathered at Shivaji Park to mark the occasion) and now my papal audience with Pope Benedict XVI in Rome. I was also delighted to discover, while the announcements were being made that somewhere in the mammoth audience was a delegation from St. John’s University in Queens, New York, my alma mater, and the institution in which I earned my doctorate. It felt as if I was singled out too when the roster was read and the name of St. John’s University’s delegation came up.

Exploring St. Peter’s Basilica:
Then, we were out on the streets of Rome in what remained a day-long drizzle. Unfortunately, we had not carried along our umbrellas. Instead of getting soaked, we decided to walk back to our hotels for a siesta after picking up take-away paninis from a bar right by our hotel. It was at 3 pm that we set out again along the picturesque banks of the River Tiber for our tour of St. Peter’s Basilica (which had remained closed to visitors during the morning’s Papal Audience and for a good two hours later).

Entry into the Basilica is now a high security affair with metal detectors and airport style frisking! However, once we were inside, we were free to roam as the fancy took us and we made a bee-line as did all visitors to the little chapel of the right on the main door where Michelangelo’s Pieta sits in all its gleaming marble glory. Though it is now so far away from the excited spectators who can’t seem to get enough of this, perhaps the world’s most famous sculpture, the impact is still so sublime that the statue seems to breathe. I made sure I spent time taking in the folds of fabric that made up Mary’s voluminous skirts and the pointed toe of her shoe—items that echo the Burgundy Madonna that I show visitors on the tours I give at the Met.

Then, Llew and I were looking at all the highlights of the Basilica—in particular Bernini’s magnificent sculptural works that celebrate the lives and works of so many illustrious Popes, each of whom built more and more ostentatious monuments to honor their own memory! Talk about megalomania! It is only when you get to Rome that you understand why there was a Protestant Reformation in the history of the church!

Of course, as practicing Catholics, there was no way that Llew and I could only look upon St. Peter’s as a work of art—it is, of course, a house of worship and Holy Mass is celebrated there every single day. So it was only natural that we made our way to the private chapel where the Blessed Sacrament is exposed for 24 hours of the day—an area that is reserved for private prayer. Here too, the splendor of the chapel is so ostentatious that there is no real focal point upon which the eye can rest. I tried hard to shut out my evaluation of the art for a while and get into a more prayerful spirit. About fifteen minutes later, we were out of the chapel and encircling the vastness of the basilica.

A visit to the basilica includes a descent into the basement to see the tombs of the Popes and it was here that we spent the next half hour taking in the grandeur of the various monuments that the popes constructed during their own lives with the hope of being remembered favorably. As we arrived in the midst of the 20th century, the monuments grew simpler and less ostentatious. Needless to say, the tomb of John Paul II was surrounded by visitors who prayed fervently for him. His tomb had single red roses strewn around it and, rather touchingly, several little folded petitions that were placed around its edges.

The Piazza de Navonna and the Pantheon:
Having seen St. Peter’s Basilica, we crossed the Pont Castel Sant Angelo (after which our hotel is named) towards the Piazza de Navonna to marvel at Bernini’s immense contributions to the city. This time we were armed with our umbrellas but the rain had turned the temperature down considerably and it was no longer pleasant to stroll through the streets.

We had the Piazza de Navonna almost entirely to ourselves as we entered the Church of St. Agnes in Agones, a particularly significant place for me, as I had graduated from St. Agnes’ High School in Bombay, India. This gorgeous church is special for the number of marble bas reliefs that encircle its interior, each more exquisite than the next. There is a lovely marble sculpture of St. Agnes shown at the stake where the flames miraculously divert themselves at her feet leaving her body untouched. In the crypt, there is another sculpture that depicts her with her long tresses covering her nakedness when she was paraded through the streets in Rome on refusing to give herself to the Roman official who desired her. That part of the church, however, was under construction and we were unable to see it. However, the church remained very special indeed and I took pictures to email to my batch mates who are connected now online.

Then, we were out in the piazza again, enjoying the four rivers personified by Bernini, in one of his many magnificent fountains, as aged giants. It was only a short walk from the Piazza de Navonna to the Pantheon and were arrived there in less than ten minutes. I do not remember seeing the interior of the Pantheon before and was surprised to discover that it is a church that houses the mortal remains of Raphael, one of the Renaissance’s most prolific artists. Of course, it was by this classical design–a cube topped by a dome–that Andrea Palladio was deeply inspired in his own creation of the Rotunda in Vicenza, a building design that has gone on to inspire some other well known international monuments, such as Thomas Jefferson’s home in Monticello, Virginia, the Jefferson Memorial in Washington DC and the British Museum in London. Llew and I paused not just to pray in each of these churches but to take in their multi-facetted delights and it was always that we were bowled over by what we saw.

Darkness had fallen over Rome by the time we made our way back to our hotel after a very nice dinner at Hostaria Costanza in the Piazza del Paradiso which is very close to the Campo dei Fioro. Over a bread basket with balsamic vinegar and olive oil and some red wine, we had ourselves a good starter and then on we went to the main courses–Llew ordered Veal in a Lemon Sauce which was very good while I had a Tagliatelle Carbonara. Italian meals never disappoint and we badly needed that walk back across the Ponte Cavour to our hotel at the end of our deeply stirring day.

Hosting Dinner for Friends at Ours

Apr9

Monday, March 30, 2009
London

Monday saw me return to NYU to teach my last two Writing classes before we split up for our spring break. My students were already antsy and I could tell that they are excited about their coming vacation as most of them will be traveling to different parts of Europe–some following in Llew and my November footsteps in Greece. Indeed, we have started exchanging travel tips as they are staying in the same pensiones in Mykonnos and Santorini that we used while some of my students have given me suggestions for a B&B in Rome that Llew and I will be using. Time flew along as it usually does as we continued to discuss Anthony Appiah’s ideas of Cosmopolitanism. At lunch break, I found myself working like a machine as I photocopied the material I would need for our own travels in the ancient world.

Later in the day, Llew and I went last-minute shopping for the items I needed for the dinner party we were throwing in the evening for some of our friends. While Llew laid the table and organized a list of some of the items I would need to borrow from our neighbors Tim and Barbara next door (including a coffee table and two chairs!), I put together the salad I would be serving as a first course (Pear, Walnut and Cranberry Salad with a Balsamic Vinaigrette) and the Chicken with Olives that I had learned to cook in Vicenza while watching my friend Annalisa at work in her kitchen at home. Served with polenta, it made a very nice meal indeed with strawberry cheesecake (courtesy of Marks and Sparks) and blueberry vanilla tart bought by Rosemary to finish the meal.

Tim and Barbara had walked in with a bottle of champagne from Harrods which we opened immediately (though Tim had to go over next door and bring us six champagne flutes as my meagre supplies to do not extend to such sophisticated requirements!) Our friend Bande Hasan who made up the final member of the six-some brought us two Lindt rabbits in keeping with the coming Easter theme and as we sat a table, conversation and the white wine flowed! The evening was a success and I was so glad that Llew got to meet my dear friend Rosemary with whom I have spent so many lovely evenings here in London.

We had to finish washing up and returning all the utensils and dishes (and furniture) we had borrowed from next door and though it was almost midnight, we stayed up and finished up all chores and set our alarm from 2 am. This would leave us about two hours of sleep before we took the bus from across the street to Victoria to leave for Gatwick airport at the start of our spring travels in the ancient world–Rome and Istanbul. Good thing I had done all my packing yesterday and after making sure we had all necessities, we went to bed for our rather brief nap.

Rambling in Rye (and Winchelsea) with Stephanie

Apr9

Sunday, March 29, 2009
Rye, Sussex

Stephanie had agreed that Rye in East Sussex would be a good place to spend a day out. Because poor Llew was jetlagged, we did not leave our flat until 10. 30 am, arriving at Stephanie’s new place in Richmond only at 11. 30am. It was the day of the famous University Boat Race–the Oxford Versus Cambridge Race, that is, on the River Thames that brings annual hordes to the banks to cheer their favorite team to victory. Masses of folks wearing their Oxford and Cambridge ‘Blues’ were on the Tube headed for Putney Bridge and while I would have loved to have made an event of this exciting race, it only started after 2 pm and it seemed a waste to spend the day waiting for the afternoon hour when the twenty minute race began as the event is largely determined by the Tide. Instead, we proceeded to Richmond where Stephanie awaited our arrival.

She chatted non-stop on our drive to Rye as she told us about cancelling her plans to visit South America and about her efforts to settle into her new home in Richmond which she loves. Before we knew it, we were entering the medieval city that is one of the Cinque Ports, associated with the smuggling and piracy of contraband goods throughout the Middle Ages. Today, Rye is a quaint town, perched on the Sussex Downs and overlooking the rolling Romney Marshes. A river runs through it and provides rather attractive photo opportunities. But it is essentially its cobbled streets lined with Tudor structures with their thick exposed beams and stuccoed walls that delight visitors who flock to experience a bit of bygone England.

All three of us were starving by the time our feet hit those first cobbles…so it was not surprising that we headed straight for the nearest pub to treat ourselves to a substantial meal–Steph went for the fish and chips, Llew dug into a Chicken Breast served in a white mushroom sauce while I could not resist the Broccoli and Stilton Soup that was served with a hunk of bread. It helped to know that we were seated in Rye’s oldest pub–a very atmospheric place with low slung ceilings and wood panelled walls.

Well fulled for our discovery of the town, we started along the streets indicated in a visitors’ map with graphic brown cobbles. At every turn, we were charmed by the abundance of old-world buildings to which England clings tenaciously by ‘listing’ and thus preserving them. I actually came across a house named La Rochelle–and, of course, I had to take a picture at its door–only to discover that it was the home of artist Paul Nash who had made his home in Rye for several years. In like manner, we passed by Lamb House in which Anglo-American novelist Henry James wrote The Wings of a Dove. Alas, we could not roam through the interiors as the house, run by the National Trust, only opened to visitors after April 1. (I am beginning to feel increasingly that my National Trust annual membership has been a true rip off as most of their properties remained closed over the winter making it impossible for me to extract full advantage from the membership fee I paid last August).

Roving rather aimlessly around the town, we arrived at the East Cliff where author E.F. Benson, once mayor of the town and creator of Mapp and Lucia has installed a plaque on a parapet that overlooks the vast green expanses of countryside that embrace the little hamlet. This look out point is very close to the Land Gate which is, in turn, very close to a clutch of smart but very charming old hotels whose tea rooms offered elegant afternoon teas.

A ramble took us towards the Church of St. Mary (right near the home of John Fletcher of the Beaumont and Fletcher duo of the Jacobean plays fame) whose clock face and mechanism is one of the oldest in the country. It is possible to climb up to the top of the square tower that provides wonderful views over the Downs, but we passed…deciding instead to take a self-guided tour of the ancient church that dates from Norman times and offers a wealth of interesting architectural details inside that are sure to intrigue the most jaded visitor.

We saved the best for last, arriving at Mermaid Lane at the very end of our walking tour and making our way towards the famed Mermaid Inn, a marvelously well preserved Tudor structure whose thick dark beams lend it a very authentic air of antiquity. We took pictures in its cobbled courtyard–in the very spot where I had taken pictures with my cousin Cheryl and her husband David on my last visit to Rye, a few years ago. Then, because the wind had picked up and was playing nasty games with our scarves and my rather thin jacket, we decided it was time to leave one of the Cinque Ports behind us and head home.

However, en route, I did suggest that Stephanie stop at Winchelsea, a lovely little village only two miles away whose white wooden sidings are rather reminiscent of New England and of Connecticut’s seaside villages (such as my own Southport), in particular. Though light was fading fast and the evening had turned chilly, both Steph and Llew were so taken by the churchyard with its half-ruined church facade that they decided to pay a visit inside (only to find it locked) and to stroll through the daffodil-filled front yard.

Ten minutes later, we were racing back towards Richmond, but not before remarking upon the huge masses of daffodils we saw everywhere. Indeed, England’s soil just seems to pop up in the spring in the warmest of yellows as these lovely frilly-headed flowers make their presence felt all over the country.

Back in Richmond, Steph invited us to tour her new flat and was pleased to know that we loved every aspect of it–from its convenient location to the station, to the fireplace in her living room, to the lovely spacious bathroom and the ample closet space that I liked most of all. Because it had already grown dark, we did not linger long in the town, though I was eager for Llew to catch a glimpse of Richmond Green and the famous theater where I have been seeing so many shows lately.

Then, we were kissing Stephanie goodbye and hopping on the Tube to get back home to Holborn. It had been a long and rather tiring day and we were quite fatigued. I needed to prepare for my Monday classes while Llew relaxed at home with the news on TV and after a very light sandwich dinner, the two of us called it a day. I was very pleased that both Llew and Stephanie liked Rye so much and I was glad that despite his rather short stay in England, Llew had managed to see one of my favorite parts of the country.

Welcome Llew…and Hiya Mates!

Mar29

Saturday, March 28, 2009
London

Llew’s American Airlines’ red eye flight from Kennedy airport touched down at Heathrow sooner than he expected. He cleared Immigration in a jiffy, was on the Tube and at my doorstep faster than I could say “Welcome Back”! I was , in fact, in the shower, expecting his arrival no earlier than 10 am. When he buzzed my flat from the door of the building, I did not even hear him. Fortunately, our janitor Martha was around, doing her Saturday morning chores and she let him in. After we spent time laughing over the odd turn his entry had taken, we sat down to breakfast. It was SOOOOO Good to see him again after almost 3 months and he was absolutely delighted to be back with me in London! Then, after he had shaved and showered, I suggested he take a nap for a couple of hours. During this time, I made my way with my strolley backpack to the Sainsbury Central (while the rest of Holborn was slowly stirring to a weekend morning) to do a large amount of food shopping for the tea we were hosting in the evening for our friends, the Fradleys, and for the dinner party we are hosting on Monday evening for a few friends. With Llew back in town, I can finally have friends over and can entertain them–something I tend not to do when I am alone in the city.

Llew who was dead asleep had to be awoken about noon as I did want him to enjoy some part , at least, of what was a lovely Saturday morning. In less than a half hour, we were out of the house and on the Tube heading to the Victoria and Albert Museum as I did want us to see the special exhibit entitled ‘Forty Years of the Booker Prize’–an exhibit I had been waiting for Llew to come to London to see with him. London was buzzing with activity as scores of people were out on the town and Kensington was particularly active. We entered the museum through the South Kensington Underground station and the ‘subway’ or underground passage that connects the station with the museum.

Of course, once in the museum, I could not resist showing Llew the highlights of the collection as well as my own particular favorites. It was his first time in the V&A and he was deeply impressed by the size and variety of the collection and the splendour of the building. In fact, I did take him out on to the main road, Cromwell Road, to give him a sense of the architecture of the facade. We spent the next hour looking at the Highlights. In particular, I wanted him to see three things: The Raphael Cartoons in the Raphael Room, Raphael’s painting The School of Athens and Trajan’s Column in the Cast Court. This was because we will be in Rome next week looking at the real Column and the original painting and the tapestries in the Sistine Chapel that are based on the water colors that Raphael created for Pope Leo X who commissioned them.

Needless to say, Llew was delighted that I showed him these works and he was as taken by the Highlights as I was. When we did arrive at the Booker Prize Exhibit, we discovered that it was tiny indeed but immensely absorbing. Collected by Peter Straus who is a literary agent and book collector, Llew who is a book collector himself (he does collect autographed hard bound first editions of the Booker Prize, Pulitzer Prize and National Book Critics Award Winners) was fully immersed in the collection and was deepy grateful that I had saved the viewing of this special exhibit for his perusal.

We did not have very much time to linger in the museum and at 3 pm, we left in order to reach home by 4 pm as we were expecting guests for afternoon tea. A few minutes after 4 pm, Matt and Rosa Fradley with whom I had spent Mother’s Day on Sunday at their home in Essex, were ringing our doorbell and meeting Llew for the first time. On entering my flat, Rosa exclaimed, “Now this is the kind of flat that one could only live in when in London on secondment!” We ended up having a wonderful couple of hours over warm sultana scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam and an apricot sponge roll cake with steaming cups of English tea. I was so pleased that Llew was able to meet my dear friends who have been so warm and generous to me even since my arrival in London. It is hard for me to believe that I got to know them when they arrived in New York almost two years ago and took not just one but two of my Highlights Tours at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. it was then that we exchanged email addresses and have kept in touch. They were very helpful when I was preparing myself for my arrival in London and have been equally helpful ever since I moved here.

Unfortunately, they could not linger too long as they had reservations for dinner with some friends at Gordon Ramsay’s Maze restarant. Llew and I warned them not to be surprized if they felt they needed to get to McDonald’s afterwards as our own experiecne at Maze in New York (where we had celebrated Llew’s birthday last year) was that while the food was superb and very pricey indeed, portion sizes were tiny and though we had three full courses, we came away feeling as if we had barely eaten anything at all.

After the Fradleys left, Llew and I decided to take a walk along “Wobbly Bridge” (the Millenniun Bridge) to the Tate Modern as I was keen to show him the special installation entitled Thirty Pieces of Silver by Cornelia Parker. He had seen her work entitled “Breathless” in the morning at the V&A and had found it fascinating and I was certain he would find the one at the Tate just as intriguing. And indeed I was right. He loved the concept behind her work. When night fell over the city, we took the elevator to the 7th floor to see some of the most stunning views of the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral from that unique vantage point. Then, we walked across Wobbly Bridge once more and took the bus home from the opposite bank. It had turned very cold indeed and both of us felt as if a bus ride home would be preferable to shivering all the way down Fleet Street to Holborn.

Back home, we rang the doorbell of my next-foor neighbor Milan Thacker to invite him to our place for a drink. Milan has also been very helpful to me ever since I came to live here and we had never really spent quality time with him. With Llew in town, I thought it best to hang out with Milan and over a beer and some red wine, tortilla crisps and cheese and crackers, we had a very talkative evening discussing everything from the impact of the global meltdown in the States to racism in the UK. As the evening sped on, we asked Milan to stay for a pizza dinner and as we moved to the dining table, our conversation got more animated. Indeed, it was a spontaneous evening full of scintillating conversation and laughter and we had a great time.

It was hard to believe that it had been less than 24 hours since Llew had arrived in London for he had packed so much into the day. The rest of his stay here promises to be just as eventful, though he does want to relax and take it easy and spend as much time as possible getting to know all the lovely people that have befriended me and have proven to be such marvelous company in his absence.

Becoming Jane Austen at Chawton

Mar27

Friday, March 27, 2009
Chawton, Hampshire

Rolling emerald meadows alive with trundling sheep. Masses of daffodils ablaze in the cool March sunshine. Thatched roofed cottages slumbering along hushed country roads. Serene churchyards filled with mossy gravestones whispering secrets about famous congregations. …

The only images missing in this Hampshire idyll were swift phaetons drawn by sturdy horses, elegant ladies in elaborate bonnets and empire-line waists and gentlemen sporting ivory canes holding doors open for them.

Yes, this was the world of Jane Austen into which I ventured today together with my colleague Prof. Karen Karbeiner who took her students on a field trip in search of the author of Pride and Prejudice which they are reading for her course. Over the crowded streets of London we went by coach on a temperamental morning that was by turn cloudy, drizzly and sunny. Because we hadn’t met for a long while (we have classes on different days this semester), we chatted nineteen to the dozen and caught up on all our individual projects since the semester began in January.

Since it took us a whole hour to get out of London and arrive in the Surrey town of Guildford, it took us another hour to finally arrive in Alton, Hampshire, where the many homes in which Jane Austen lived during her short life are scattered. To read the biography of Austen is to delve into the plots of all of her novels for she drew liberally from her own experiences when creating the characters and incidents that keep us spell bound and entirely charmed by her work. As the coach entered the little village, we saw the first thatched roof cottages that are characteristic of this area and my heart skipped a beat.

Once we tumbled out of the coach and made our way in a sudden drizzle to the ‘Jane Austen Cottage’–the little home she shared with her mother and sister Cassandra after her father’s death–we knew we had an exciting day ahead. As fans of Jane Austen, we have all read her novels and seen numerous TV and film versions of them. For almost all of us, the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice with Jennifer Erle and Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy is probably the favorite.

To enter Austen’s modest cottage is to enter into her Regency world of class divisions and gender inequality–for poor Jane’s mother and her children were left at the mercy of the male members of their family as they were forbidden from inheriting property under English Law of the time. We understood why Mrs. Bennet was so obsessed with getting her brood of five well-married to rich men and why this embarrased the senstive Elizabeth. It might so have pained Jane to know that she was beholden to her brother all her life as she never married herself. This came home to us in the lectures we received from the personnel who run the properties which were once associated with Austen’s life and owned by her brother Edward Austen who, upon being adopted by their relatives, the Knights, changed his name to Edward Knight. It was Edward who permitted his mother and sisters to live in the cottage he inherited (by a sheer stroke of luck, akin to winning a modern-day lottery) rent-free for the rest of their lives.

The Cottage is notable for the little table (really tiny) and the chair in the parlor that are placed strategically by a window overlooking the street where, it is reported, Jane sat every morning and wrote. This home was incredibly fertile to her imagination for she wrote three of her novels in it. I understand this phenomenon, in a way, because ever since I came to live in this Holborn flat, I have been incredibly productive, churning out these blog entries night after night and doing other forms of academic writing as well. I really do believe that ‘place’ or ‘space’ if you like, has a good deal to do with creativity.

At any rate, our tour of the house took us to the upstairs rooms–all so cramped they often seemed like rooms in a doll’s house. We saw the poignant letter that her beloved sister Cassandra wrote to their niece to inform her of her aunt’s passing. We saw locks of Jane’s hair as well as of her father upon whom she doted, many intricate brooches containing locks of hair of her loved ones skillfully plaited and set into the brooch frames–I have not seen this sort of ‘jewelry’ anywhere else and I found it remarkable indeed–both the sentiment behind the keeping of these trinkets as well as the craftsmanship required to fashion them. We saw the elegant silver teapot that belonged to Cassandra (I loved its unusual shape), the set of Wedgwood china purchased for the house by her brother (imprinted later with the family crest), a silk shawl Jane owned, the patchwork quilt on which she worked with her mother and sister for the bed, a bracelet she owned as well as two exquisite topaz crosses that her sailor brother Charles brought back for his sisters. The family closeness between parents and children and between the siblings was so strongly articulated by these museum pieces that they left me deeply moved. Unfortunately, Jane’s bedroom was closed to the public and is scheduled to open up soon for the new tourist season.

As I roamed through these rooms in a world that seemed so far removed from my own present-day reality, I tried to put myself in Jane’s shoes and imagine the tenor of her daily life. Outside, in the quiet lane leading to her brother’s grand Chawton House, a lone car occasionally left the sounds of its passing wheels but it would have been on foot that Jane would often have strolled to see Edward and his family.

Right across Jane’s cottage is one of the most beautiful ‘tea rooms’ to which I have been in England. Called Cassandra’s Cup it was filled with porcelain tea cups that hung from hooks in the exposed beams of the ceiling (most of them gifted to the shop by passing patrons, I was told). As someone who has collected porcelain cups and saucers for almost twenty years and has a collection today that numbers in the hundreds, I was delighted by this space and took many pictures. The eatery had reserved one section only for our NYU group which overlooked the red brick facade and the dancing daffodils in the garden of Jane’s Cottage. We sat there eating steaming bowls of soul and bread, toasted sandwiches, jacket potatoes and marmalade bread and butter pudding with vanilla ice-cream (which I was eating for the first time and really enjoyed) and tried to imagine the atmosphere of Alton when Jane lived there. Indeed little can have changed since the time Jane wrote about long summer walks in the sprawling countryside for so tucked-away is Alton that it seems hidden from the rest of Hampshire.

As the sun played hide and seek behind the clouds, we strolled along companionably to the Church of St. Nicholas–the sort of stone country church that we see in British films every time they want to shoot a wedding scene. It had all the ingredients of a film set–lovely flint stone walls, a wooden gate with peaked V-roof opening up to the path that leads to the church door, moss covered gravestones a-plenty and the kind of ambiance that immediately puts you into a past century. Aside from the interior of the church that had a fabulous timber ceiling and some great wood work, superb stained glass windows and hand embroidered needlepoint kneelers, we walked to the back towards the sanctuary where we saw the gravestones of Jane’s mother and her sister who died within 18 years of each other. We realized how short were the lives of most people in that day and age and how much we take for granted the ease with which we live well into our 80s today.

From the church, it was only a short hop towards Chawton House whose beautiful flint stone exterior rose up to greet us like an old friend. I had learned at Lavenham about the scraping away of the stucco and plaster to expose these flint ‘bones’ of grand medieval baronial homes–and Chawton was no exception. But I was more enchanted by the sheer beauty of the landscape that surrounded us–the brilliant green expanses of meadow in which placid sheep roamed freely, the ‘haha’ or encircling ditch preventing them from venturing too close to the house but keeping them near enough as to appear appealing when viewed from the windows. In this typically “English Style” landscape, I was repeatedly reminded of the vision and handiwork of Lancelot ‘Capability’ Brown who made this gardening aesthetic fashionable in England. Later, as I roamed through the tiers and terraces of the garden landscaped in the style of Edwin Lutyens and Gertrude Jekyll with their abundance of English perennials in herbaceous borders–lavender was profuse as were roses and rosemary–I tried to imagine how splendid the place would be in the summer and how much I would love to linger in it. I am looking forward indeed to my week-long tour of England’s most famous country homes, estates and gardens that I will be taking with my friend Delyse from Connecticut who joins me here in mid-May.

A scholar named Sally greeted us in the interior of the home and took us on a tour of Edward’s unexpected goldmine–Chawton House. To enter Chawton House was to enter the more genteel world of glamorous dances, shopping sprees in Bath and seaside holidays in Lyme Regis. As Jane would have been a guest in her brother’s grand mansion, she would probably not have ventured into the private parts of the home–the kitchen, for instance, where the multitude of servants would have served the family’s every need with clockwork precision. She would have had audience with her brother and his family in one of the beautiful ground floor rooms with their lavish wood panelling, floor-length drapes, comfortable cushions and impressive mantelpieces. Sally gave us a short lecture on the history of Chawton House that has stood on its expansive lawns from the time of the Domesday Book in the Norman era, long long before it fell, quite by luck, into the possession of the Austen family.

I loved the broad sweeping wooden staircases that presented opportunity to function as a gallery for the display of oil portraits of all the Knights who have owned the house, each bringing their particular stamp to the interiors, none more forbidding than a Mrs. Knight who actually had the church bells of Saint Nicholas ring to announce her entry and exit from the home! We saw the covered Long Gallery in which the ladies took their exercise on rainy days and the opulent dinging room with its carved wooden mantelpiece and table at which Jane Austen most certainly would have sat and consumed meals that would have been presented by a bevy of wait staff. In a tiny alcove that I found particularly evocative of her talent and temperament was a chair in which, it is rumored, she often sat and wrote, and as I took my seat in it, I could imagine her benign presence looking indulgently over my shoulder.

In the huge kitchen, we saw a 200 year old farm house table, so well used that the iron framework in its skeleton is exposed today. Gleaming cooper pots and pans and an antique Flavel stove top (the Aga of a previous generation) greeted us warmly as we took our seats and listened with rapt attention to Sally’s wonderful commentary. The best part of Chawton House is that it is not a museum and every single room may be used by visitors today, every chair and sofa might be sat on and every accessory touched and examined. How bemused Jane would have been to know what a literary celebrity she has become and that the homes, even distantly associated with her persona, have become places of pilgrimage for her adoring fans.

It was the library, however, that was the piece de resistance of our trip for it took us into the heart of Chawton and is today a working library in which scholars actually examine the leather-bound first editions of women’s writing from 1300 till 1830 that were collected by an American named Sandy Lerner. When she got to know about Chawton House through the Jane Austen Society of North America, she bequeathed her entire invaluable collection to the house. Placed on the shelves of the library today, they are not only a time capsule of the kind of writing to which Jane Austen would have had access and by which she might have been inspired, but they allow the present-day scholar to delve deeply into the hidden recesses of knowledge by personally handling novels that the Victorians might have touched. In a superbly controlled micro-climate that regulates UV rays, room temperature and humidity levels, the books are held in veneration for the coming generations. Both Karen and I thought that we ought to create a project that will bring us to this library to do some research really soon!

The walk that followed in the garden is one I know I will not easily forget. It is superbly maintained and when we reached the potager and vegetable garden behind its high brick walls–how I love these garden ‘rooms’ created by the addition of walls and wrought-iron gates on these meandering estates, I was reminded of my own garden at home in Southport which will slowly be returning to life now that Spring is around the corner in New England. Later, Karen and I strolled in the ‘wilderness’–the deliberately planted area of the estate in which trees and flowering shrubs formed an alle that allowed the residents of such grand homes to pretend as if they were walking in the wilds of Nature–all of which was still very carefully controlled.

Indeed to tour Chawton House today is to glean lessons not only on the life of Jame Austen or the roles played by such baronial manors in country life (I was repeatedly reminded of Audrey Forbes-Hamilton in To The Manor Born) but to understand the workings of an English garden, the role it played in the daily lives of people, the privilege and responsibilities of land owners as they lorded it over their estates and servants (nobless oblige)and the manner in which gardening and landscaping techniques are passed from one generation to the next as such charming aspects of English culture are preserved.

Having visited the Jane Austen Center in Bath when I first arrived here in September and having walked through the many locations in which she walked in that grand Georgian city (the Royal Theater, the Assembly Rooms, the Royal Crescent, etc.) I feel fully steeped in the world of Austen. What’s more, just a couple of weeks ago, I had traveled to Winchester where I had seen the last house in which she lived for just six weeks before she died and her grave stone and memorial in Winchester Cathedral in which she lies buried. Every single one of these tours have allowed me to follow Jane Austen through the most significant phases of her life and to gain insights into the world she inhabited with all its ups and downs, all its triumphs and disasters, all its color and flavor.

When I got back home and before I fell asleep, I kept thinking of the world into which I had strayed today, the opportunity I was provided to lose myself in an era that is most appealing to me and in which I had always thought I would feel very much at-home (provided, I know, I had the comfort of upper class position and prestige) and the lessons I learned about the private life of one of English Literature’s most revered writers.

I hugged to myself the knowledge that in less than 24 hours Llew will be here with me and that together we will share the two coming weeks. That happy thought put me to bed after I had eaten a pizza dinner and made the disappointing disovery that my DVD player is no longer working. Ah, it will be good to have a man around tomorrow to take a look at this and, hopefully, set it right.