A Crazee Sorta Day!

Mar16

Monday, March 16, 2009
London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spring Has Sprung!

Mar15

Sunday, March 15, 2009
London

Oh, to be in England
Now that spring is here!
Oh, to be in England
Drinking English beer!

When I was a little girl, back home in Bombay, India, this senseless ditty was often sung at parties. I had no idea then what spring felt like or what English beer tasted like–the Yanks always describe it satirically as “warm”–the beer that is, not the season! At any rate, spring was definitely in the air this morning when I left my flat at 8. 40 after a delicious breakfast of Poilane’s walnut toast and Stilton cheese and coffee and walked briskly to the Church of St. Bartholomew The Great at Smithfield for the 9 am Eucharist Service. There was no one on the streets at that early hour and when I sauntered around the church gardens and ran into the priest making his way to the church for the service, he greeted me cheerfully though he lamented the fact that despite the bright sunshine, it was “a little chilly”.

If I thought yesterday that the outside of St. Bartholomew’s was noteworthy, the inside was something else. I mean this church wears its hoary age with pride and dignity. It dates from 1123–yes, that is 1123–almost a thousand years ago in the age of the Normans, the English were worshipping at this church! It cannot get any older than this! You can tell this from the grey surface of the great uneven stones that form the walls and the columns and the memorials to eminent prelates. There is a wonderful memorial to the monk Rapere who founded the priory that became a flourishing monastery until the Dissolution of 1538 when large portions of it were wantonly destroyed. But, much of it remains, including one of the original cloisters. I had a look around the main monuments until the service began at 9 am.

The sermon was just wonderful. I love the way these Anglican priests make a point of preparing the most thought-provoking sermons. It seems to me that a very important part of their ministry is public speaking at their services and I have found that they do this far better than the Catholic priests, most of whom, in my humble opinion, usually preach sermons that are boring and long and rambling and pointless. Anyway, I was spellbound by the sermon and the intelligent way in which it was constructed, the depth of meaning it contained and the powers of articulation of the speaker. I received Communion and after taking another look around the church, I walked back home past the Smithfield Meat Market and Holborn Circus where a few people had started stirring… and then I was home.

I spent the next couple of hours preparing for my forthcoming lecture in Padua and transcribing one of the interviews I did with Claire Jansen, one of the respondents in my research survey on Anglo-Indians. I was only able to get through half of it, however, before I had to shower and prepare for my lunch time appointment with my next door neighbors Tim Freeman and Barbara Cookson. We had decided to go to the Italian restaurant Carluccio’s at 1 pm, but since it tends to get choked at that hour, we thought it best to take a walk on “Wobbly Bridge “(as they have re-christened the Millennium Bridge or the “Blade of Light Bridge” as Tim told me it was first called).

The day was simply glorious and people were out in droves. Indeed, a day such as this one makes every grey, rainy, dreary, drizzly day you have gone through in London all winter long seem so worthwhile! My heart felt light as a whisper as we crossed the Thames which was in full spate, thanks to the tide’s coming in. We paused and looked downriver at the buildings towards the Tower of London. It is always a joy to walk with Tim and Barbara in London as they adore their city as much as I do and are eager to share its lesser-known corners (though Barbara, who reads my blog regularly was telling me that it is getting difficult for them to find places to show me that I have not discovered already!). Tim’s whacky sense of humor and his huge knowledge of history always make our conversations sparkle and today was no exception.

It was simply a perfect afternoon and when we did get ourselves down to Carluccio’s, Barbara and I decided to share the Antipasto platter for two which included a number of really yummy Italian eats to graze on. Cold beer and wonderful focaccia made it a good meal and so filling that we decided not to have any mains at all. Instead of ordering dessert and coffee, I invited them over to my flat to have a go at the Black Forest Gateau that I had bought from Waitrose yesterday and my sultana scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam made it a great afternoon tea indeed! It was fantastic to catch up with them as we hadn’t met in ages–what with all the traveling I’ve been doing.

I barely had time to clear away and wash up before I had to get ready for my dinner appointment–and I was still so full!! I made my way on the Tube to Willesden Green (Jubilee Line which I caught at Bond Street) from where I walked six minutes to Teighnmouth Road to the lovely home of Phillipe and Marilyn Rixhon. Their neighborhood is just delightful–a number of stately homes, each completely different in design and style, caught my eye as I walked the four blocks to their front door. I met the Rixhons in early December when we were invited as guests of Robert and Caroline Cummings to a musical concert performed by the Music majors of Boston University in London. Marilyn and I had hit it off immediately and, next thing I know, they were inviting me to their place for dinner.

The evening was simply marvelous. Their lovely teenaged daughter was present as well and over wine and some nibbles, we started off a memorable evening. The Rixhons bought this house a couple of years ago and gutted it completely to build this incredibly beautiful home with its superbly landscaped garden. I was charmed to notice a pear tree and an apple tree in their back garden, both of which, apparently, give an abundance of fruit in late summer! How perfectly charming! While Phillipe busied himself selecting a bottle of wine from his very cool temperature-controlled cooler, Marilyn began fixing us our salads composed of watercress and mandarin oranges and candied almonds with a citrus vinaigrette. The main course was sea bass that was grilled lightly and flavored very simply with salt, pepper and lemon juice–it was incredibly succulent and melted in my mouth. With a side of baby zucchini stuffed with roasted tomatoes, it made a very colorful plate indeed. I crunched salt and pepper on my dinner from Alessi’s beautiful wooden salt and pepper shakers–their really striking design caught my eye on Marilyn’s beautifully laid table with its spring-time colors and motifs of wild flowers.

Conversation was stimulating as we talked about everything–Phillipe’s business in Music Promotion, the bane of TV reality shows (which none of us can stand), the impact of the Holocaust on Europe’s Jews (the Rixhons are Jewish diaspora living as expatriates in England), their former life in Dubai and its inevitable crumbling that they had long ago predicted, etc. I was glad Marilyn gave us a break before she brought out dessert–Chocolate Fondant Cakes served with fresh oranges, chopped pecans and figs. I have noticed that Europeans never attempt to make dessert themselves–they do the sensible thing and purchase it from patisseries where master pastry chefs do an incredible job turning out irresistible treats. Before I knew it, it was past 9 pm and by then the Rixhons had already extended another invitation to me to join them for dinner when Llew is in town as they say that they would love to meet him too.

I was so touched by their generosity and hospitality and even as I mentally noted all the things I had to do as soon as I got home (such as packing for my trip to Italy on Tuesday and checking and responding to email), I could not help thinking how fortunate I am that I have made so many fabulous friends here in London. Indeed I have been singularly lucky in that I seem to have made friends from many varying professions and backgrounds and in getting to know them I have become enlightened and educated about the English way of life.

Marilyn dropped me to the Tube station and I was home by 10 pm after which I had a long chat with Llew and found myself undertaking a couple more tasks that need to be get done in the next day or two–sigh!!!

Then, having drunk a glass of white wine too many, I was pleasantly sleepy and after hammering out this blog, decided to call it a day! Indeed, it was a day to remember–probably the first really great one of the spring season and I couldn’t help thinking of that mindless song that I recalled from my childhood and I understood, for the first time, what prompted the composer of that ditty to write: “Oh, to be in England/Now that Spring is here”.

To have an entire spring to enjoy in merrie ‘ole England is more than any Yank can ask for and I am anticipating every moment with the deepest excitement!

A Self-Indulgent Saturday in London

Mar14

Saturday, March 14, 2009
London

Sometimes staying around in London on a Saturday can be an adventure in itself. When Stephanie called me early this morning to say that she needed to keep her weekend travel-free to sort out her stuff after her move last weekend to Richmond, I understood right away. I tend to be rather anal about settling down and feeling organized after a move, so I figured, she needed the time and space. I could use a weekend in London anyway to catch up with my own chores and do bit of independent sightseeing.

So over a high-carb breakfast (Waitrose’s cranberry loaf with pumpkin seeds and a variety of spreads–praline from Le Pain Quotidien, Nutella, grapefruit marmalade from Harrods and Lurpak butter), I stretched out on the couch with loads of coffee and had a leisurely and very late meal.

Then, it was Chore-Time! I pulled out the vacuum cleaner from my broom cupboard in the hall, got out my Bounty and started sweeping and scrubbing and polishing and dusting and generally having a great time while up to my elbows in warm suds. Within an hour, my kitchen was polished, my bathroom was spic and span, my toilet was sparkling, and my bedroom was dust-free. I felt fabulous.

Then, I set out for Holborn Library as I finished Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire early this morning and was ready to start the next one. I had to return it though to the library from where I had borrowed it and I also wanted to pick up some travel books on Italy so I can photocopy the pages I need to carry with me on my trip on Tuesday. I usually photocopy just the pages I need on each of my trips as these books are so heavy and with the budget airlines severely restricting baggage allowance, this is the only way to go. I found the DK Eyewitness Travel Guide to Italy and another on Northern Italy and over the weekend, I shall read up and flag the pages I need to photocopy at NYU on Monday.

Then I went on a food shopping spree to Waitrose which is a ten minute walk away from the library at the Brunswick Center. I was amazed at the number of people out in the courtyard where food was being sold by vendors–it was a sort of Borough Market with everything being sold–from chorizos in rolls, cheesecake, nuts and dried fruit, cupcakes, roast pork sandwiches, falafel. You name it, you could buy it–and there were many generous samples (or ‘tasters’ as they call them here) being dished out too.

I, however, went into Waitrose for some scones and clotted cream. After having returned from Cornwall, I have developed a taste for cream teas and thought I would have one instead of my lunch today–I know, I know, I am being wicked and dreadfully self-indulgent, but I promise I will return to sensible eating soon. I am going to Italy next week and I know what the food is like out there. So perhaps I can pig out for the next few days and return from Italy with a new resolution to watch my weight again!

But for the moment, it is time to feast…so I bought some good Stilton with Ginger (my favorite cheese), a walnut loaf from Paris’ Poilane (sold in select stores here in London), some fresh ravioli (as I have a sudden craving for pasta) and an absolutely fabulous-looking Black Forest Gateau! I also bought a number of packaged soups as I had run out of those–I do enjoy a hot cup of soup with my dinner and over the winter I have tried Waitrose’s packeted soups–this time, however, I thought I would try Knorr.

Back home, I had my cream tea (Oh, Happy Day!) and my gateau with a lovely pot of Darjeeling tea. Imagine!!! England has made a tea drinker of me, I have to say, except that I have it very light with lemon and honey. I can’t even express how much of a pick-me-up this is proving to be. In my even lovelier Tea for Two Paragon China Tea Set, I sat and sipped slowly and decided that today would be a day for big time pampering and lots of little luxuries.

Then, when I had cleared up and put everything away, I had a long chat with Llew. I am also in the process of finding accommodation for us in B&Bs in Rome and Istanbul and I remembered that his cousin, a nun named Sr. Rosie, had spent many years in a convent in Rome. I wondered if she knew a convent that gave out pensione accommodation and if she would be able to organize an audience for us with the Pope! I told Llew to try to organize that with her and he agreed. It will indeed make our visit to Rome very special if we can meet the Holy Father.

And then, it was time for me to go out and do another one of my walks. It was such a mild and pleasant afternoon and the weather beckoned insistently. I took the pages I had photocopied from the DK Eye Witness Guide to London that outlined a walk around Smithfield Market (which is right behind my street in Holborn) and by 4. 45 pm I was off.

It turned out to be such a great walk. I had actually explored most of this area about three years ago with my friend Bina Ullal when she had come from her place in Harrow to meet me in London and spend a day with me. The walk took me to the famous Victorian Smithfield meat market which at one time sold live cattle and poultry; but today, thankfully, sells only cuts of meat. It is busiest early in the morning when the city’s butchers get there to select their stock for the day. Right around the lanes radiating from this gigantic building which occupies three city blocks are a number of taverns and pubs and eateries that serve enormous breakfasts with ale to the butchers who are ravenous by mid-morning. I was amazed how many restaurants are to be found in these little lanes–apart from the pubs offering good old-fashioned British food, there were very fancy French restaurants with haute cuisine on their menus and extensive wine lists.

Then, I found myself in lovely Charterhouse Square, a very old part of the city–once a monastery, it is a hospital today. Its cloisters and quiet courtyard still stand but I wasn’t able to go in and explore as guided tours are given only between April and August. I will have to wait for another month, I guess. Meanwhile, the walls of the building are deeply evocative of its history and the entire square reeks of age.

Turning around a corner, I arrived at Cloth Street, which derived its name from a medieval Cloth Fair that was held here annually right up to the Jacobean Age. In fact, it was this noisy fair that inspired Ben Jonson to pen his famous play about this event. This entire area is just fabulous–it contained narrow lanes, some of which have their original medieval buildings just oozing charm and character and medieval architectural details. Numbers 41 and 42 are two of those old preserved buildings and at Number 43, the Poet Laureate John Betjeman lived for many years (in what looks like a very tiny flat indeed).

I am a bit surprised how many references I have recently come across to Betjeman–first it was Padstow in Cornwall where he lies buried; then it was Rules Restaurant at Covent Garden which he frequented and which he endorsed and now it was his home at Number 43 Cloth Street. There is a blue plaque to mark this location as well as a restaurant called, appropriately enough, Betjamans where he is well remembered. I can just imagine how thrilled Betjeman would have been to live in such a historic part of London knowing his great passion for old architectural gems. He is responsible for saving St. Pancras Station from the demolisher’s hammer and has written many books on the old Norman churches of England. I often wish I had the chance to meet him. I think we would have had such an interesting conversation for we seem to share such a love for the same things–Nature, old churches, poetry, Oxford. Well, I guess, I have to be content that I did meet his wife, Lady Penelope Chetwode, once, a long time ago.

Next I was skirting the area around the wonderful ancient church of St. Bartholomew (which gave Jonson’s play its name) with its unique black and white checked design, its round tower and its quiet courtyard garden. I noticed that Sunday services are held at 9 am with Communion and I have decided that in keeping with my resolution to visit a new historic church every Sunday when I am in London, I will go to the service at this one tomorrow. I am so excited to be in a church that Ben Jonson and Shakespeare and the other Elizabethan and Jacobean dramatists, no doubt, knew well. It has one of the best preserved medieval church interiors in the country and I can’t wait to see the inside of it. I also remember vaguely that one of the wedding scenes in the movie Four Weddings and a Funeral was shot in here, but that I cannot confirm.

Then, I was out on the street again making my way towards Newgate where I saw the Old Bailey up close and personal and took pictures of the gilded statue of the Goddess of Justice atop the dome holding her scales forward. I cannot believe how close I live to all these masterpieces of architecture and all these landmarks of the city. I am truly blessed to be within a stone’s throw of all these renowned monuments. I had always dreamed of living in London and the fact that I have been posted here for a year and have access to all these marvels proves to me that the works of the Lord are unique and complete and that, as the Bible says, He “gives not in a measure but in its fullness”. Indeed, when the Lord gives, he gives in bountiful abundance and I often feel as if His blessings upon me this year have been beyond generous; and for that I feel truly humbled and profoundly grateful. And it is amazing how this truth comes home to me in the strangest of ways–like when I am gazing at a church that Ben Jonson might have prayed in or glancing at a monument that crowns the Old Bailey!

Next, I was entering the garden of St. Sepulcre-without-Newgate–I have noted before that these ancient churches have the oddest names–most incorporating their geographical location in them! This one –the Church of the Sepulcre–was outside the New Gate–hence its name!!! This is the church that is referred to in the rhyme Oranges and Lemons in the lines:

“Oranges and lemons” say the Bells of St. Clement’s
“You owe me five farthings” say the Bells of St. Martin’s
“When will you pay me?” say the Bells of Old Bailey
“When I grow rich” say the Bells of Shoreditch
“When will that be?” say the Bells of Stepney
“I do not know” say the Great Bells of Bow“
Here comes a Candle to light you to Bed
Here comes a Chopper to Chop off your Head
Chip chop chip chop – the Last Man’s Dead.”

I have reproduced the rhyme here so I can read up the sinister references to all the public beheadings that took place in London in days gone by. It seems that the rhyme refers to these killings and they were often recited by children who seemed to take delight in the fact that so many heads rolled in those ruthless days!

At any rate, I walked a little bit further down Holborn Viaduct up to the tower of Christ Church which is the only intact thing that remains of Wren’s masterpiece–the nave of the church that was destroyed in a fire has been converted into a pretty garden that will, no doubt, come into its own in the next few months as spring advances into summer.

I came home to check email and catch up with more chores–I had to make backup CDs for all my pictures. And then I decided to spend the evening cooking myself some fresh ravioli and having a nice dinner and a glass of cider while watching a movie–Where Angels Fear to Tread based on the novel by E.M. Forster (which I had not read) and which featured Helen Mirren, Helena Bonham-Carter and Rupert Graves. Shot entirely on location in Italy (which made it significant since I will be there on Tuesday) and England, it was such a sad story that had me completely absorbed. Lovely Victorian costumes and sets (in the vein of the films of Merchant-Ivory) and marvelous cinematography had me enthralled. That’s what I love about Love Films.com–it is a matter of serendipity for you have no idea what they will mail you. To have ended my lazy day with a Forster film was bliss indeed!

It did turn out to be a perfectly indulgent Saturday for me but one I know I will remember for a long time. I have no regrets that I did not do a day trip today. I have done enough traveling in the last few weeks and it felt good to stay at home and have an unforgettable day–a staycation of sorts!

Sauntering in Suffolk

Mar13

Friday, March 13, 2009
Suffolk

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Preparing for Padua

Mar13

Thursday, March 11, 2009
London

I spent most of the morning working on my lecture entitled “Separating Nations: The Migration of Cracking India from Page to Screen”. By 2 pm, I was all done and ready to have some lunch. I then showered and went outdoors (on a beautiful spring afternoon) to Kings of Sheffield at All Soul’s Lapham Church at the end of Regent’s Street to look at buying some silverware (as the dollar exchange rates now finally make it possible for me to buy the eight dessert forks I have been wanting to add to our set for a long time). I was sorry to hear that the lady we have dealt with for years retired a year ago. She knew Llew and me well as we have purchased regularly from her over the years. However, the salesman who has taken her place, Andreas, was equally nice. He told me that silver and gold prices have soared over the years and that the discounts that were available a few years ago are now a thing of the past. In fact, he suggested I order the sterling dessert forks now as prices are expected to go up again 10 to 15% in the next few weeks. On his advice, I left the store, deciding to mull over the purchase and talk to Llew first.

Then, I was out on the busy sidewalks of Oxford Street joining shoppers everywhere as they bought treasures for Mother’s Day. I went to HMV to buy a present for my friend Annalisa and her lovely boys Giovanni and Giacomo with whom I shall be staying in Italy next week. I know exactly what they will love! The salesman told me that if I wanted to play the DVDs in the States that I bought at Christmas , I will need a Multi-regional DVD player which, he said, is probably much cheaper in the States. He suggested I buy it there. I browsed through the store wondering whether or not to buy the Black Adder collection as I do not know that show at all and Alice, my colleague, told me it was simply the best British TV show ever made!!!

A browse in Selfridges where I tried on some new fragrances from Dipytheque and in Waterstones where I looked for a book that Annalisa wanted (but could not find as–being an American scholarly publication, it is nowhere to be found in the UK, the salesgirl said) and I hopped on to the bus, crawled my way through Oxford Street and got home a little after 7 pm.

After looking on the internet for hotels in Rome and Istanbul for Llew and me to stay in at the beginning of next month, I sat to eat my dinner (Salmon Pie) and watch The Crying Game, a really good movie, co-incidentally also about the IRA (I watched Bloody Sunday just before this one). It featured an excellent performance by Forest Whittaker (who went on to win the Oscar for The Last King of Scotland) and a very young Miranda Richardson. The movie definitely had a shock element to it but it was really well made (by Neil Jordan) and superbly thrilling.

I decided to go to bed early after setting my alarm for 6. 30 as I have an early start tomorrow as I am leading my students on a tour of Constable Country in Suffolk. Wish me luck!

Ghosts By Gaslight–Another Walk

Mar12

Wednesday, March 11, 2009
London

I can tell by the quality of light peeking through my window blinds first thing in the morning how the day will shape–when tinged with gold, I know it will be a glorious sunshinny day. When blueish-grey, I can prepare for rain or at best, an overcast sky. I am becoming rather an expert at forecasting weather behind drawn blinds!

Phone calls to India took up a bit of my morning though I did try to catch up with email, proof read my blog entry and began to watch Bloody Sunday which came to me in the mail through Love-Films. Com. I remembered that I had requested this movie a while back, soon after I returned from my trip to Northern Ireland as the guide on the walking tour of Derry had recommended it to us. It was spellbinding–a recreation of the events that took place in Derry at the culmination of what was supposed a Peace March to protest against the interment of several members of the IRA who were being held in British jails. The film starred James Nesbit (with whom I am familiar through Ballykissangel, the BBC TV series that was set in Ireland) and Tim Pigott-Smith (who played Ronald Merrick in The Jewel in the Crown). Using a documentary technique (which does, of course, well work with historical films), the filmmaker took us through the streets of Derry on that fateful day when protesters were mowed down by the police in the names of Law and Order. I thought it ironic that I watched this movie just a few days after fresh violence has erupted in Northern Ireland with the killing of a police officer, putting in jeopardy, once again, the Peace Process which has held on rather tenuously for the past few years.

After a chat with Llew (who has taken to calling me about 10 am which is 6 am his time as they have sprung their clocks forward leaving only a four hour difference between the UK and the USA), I continued drafting my lecture for the grad students at the University of Padua. While in the course of my prep, I realized how much I take for granted when I live in Connecticut. With access here to only one library that permits me to take books home (Senate House Library at the University of London), I feel handicapped when accessing source material to substantiate my comments. I never realized how easy it was for me to borrow scholarly books, throw them in my car and drive them home–tons of them. Fairfield U Library, NYU Library, the public library systems of Connecticut State (second to none) and New York State–all these made my life so simple. And yet, it never occurred to me how fortunate I was.

When I did go to to the Senate House library this afternoon to borrow a couple of books, they were either unavailable or already out and not due back until the end of this month. Surprisingly, Cracking India, Bapsi Sidhwa’s classic novel about the Partition of India, was not available in the Senate House Library catalogue, other than in DVD format. The British Library, an outstanding receptacle of information, is only a reference library. At the SOAS Library, I do not have borrowing privileges and since I work best at home, I have had to change my working patterns completely. Still, I’m not complaining…overall, living and working and carrying out research in London has been a rewarding experience and, of course, I do understand that part of the challenge of living in a foreign country is learning to cope with the new systems that govern it. But I know that I will never again take for granted the ease with which I can carry out my scholarly investigations in the States.

About mid-morning, Emma Sweeney, my Writing colleague at NYU-London, called me at home to prepone our lunch meeting as she was free of students. I showered and made my way to Bloomsbury and since the weather was so delightful, we decided to buy ourselves a sandwich lunch and eat it in the Bedford Square Gardens–something Emma said she has never done before even though we have private access to it through a key! I learned so much about Emma’s life and work through this one hour together. It was important to me to return to the States having made some friends among my London colleagues and Emma has been saying for a long time, that we should get together for a coffee. I am glad we finally made it happen.

Then, I returned to my office across the street to print out some material and to keep my 3.30 pm meeting with Alice, one of our administrators, who has arranged my student trip to Constable Country, Suffolk, this coming Friday. Alice is super-organized and had a whole folder ready for me to take on the trip. I have to say that I am a little nervous about handling this trip entirely on my own as no administrators will be accompanying me. I have my fingers crossed and hope all will go well. The plan of action is that we get to Dedham in Suffolk on a coach, have coffee there, then drive to East Bergholt where we will walk along the River Stour to Flatford Mill where John Constable was based and from where he drew inspiration for his landscapes. After lunch, we will drive to Lavenham, a village that Time forgot, further north, to see the medieval half-timbered buildings that have remained untouched for centuries. I hope my own students will draw inspiration from these countryside venues to find topics for their own research papers.

After a visit to the Senate House Library where I created a bibliography from the catalog, I left Bloomsbury. Then, because it was so pleasant outside, with not a raindrop in sight, I decided to undertake another one of my self-guided walks from Frommer’s 24 Great Walks in London. I chose a shorter one (two and a half miles, said to take no more than an hour and 45 minutes) entitled “Ghosts by Gaslight” and set out on bus 24 to Trafalgar Square from where I changed to bus 11 to Aldwych. From there, I walked down to the Embankment to start my walk outside Temple Tube station. It was a fascinating afternoon indeed as I saw some things I would never have noticed and learned a great deal of stomach-churning facts in the process.

Just before I entered Middle Temple (usually through small hidden wrought iron gates), I spied the Astor Estate Office, a lovely 19th century building constructed in Tudor style with a gold weather wane in the shape of a Columbus caravel. Yes, this has reference to the same John Astor who built the Astor empire in the United States and was drowned on board the Titantic. Gazing upon the building put me in mind of the unexpected meeting I once had with the late Mrs. Brooke Astor in the elevator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art on a Monday when the museum in closed to the public. Walking rather feebly on her walking stick, she was in the company of none other than former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger. Both of them greeted me warmly as I entered the elevator and had a few words with me as we rode in it. Kissinger, of course, asked if I was from India and I informed Mrs. Astor that one of my favorite places to take visitors to at the Met on my guided tours is the Astor Court–the Chinese Ming Scholar’s Garden that is named after her. All these memories gushed through my mind as I took in the beauty of this building, realizing once again that Elizabethan and Tudor vernacular architecture is by far my favorite.

Then, I was in Middle Temple, enjoying its garden that is slowly reviving with dozens of yellow primroses filling its beds. I must remember to return here in the summer to take in the beauty of the roses as they promise to be quite stunning indeed. Then past the lovely fountain in the quiet court and the lovelier ornate Elizabethan Dining Room (closed to the public, alas), I was in one of the loveliest courtyards in all the Inns of Court–the Pump Court. Once destroyed by a fire, it was rebuilt by Sir Christopher Wren. Everywhere attorneys, in the process of closing up shop for the day, were hurrying past me. I reached the round Temple Church, associated with Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code, but it was closed and I could not take another peak at the effigies around which his plot is based.

Just around this church is the tombstone of Oliver Goldsmith (which explained why the adjoining buildings are named after him). It is a very nondescript tombstone indeed, green with moss and slime and but for a plaque set into the ground, one would never know that this wonderful playwright of the Comedy of Manners lies buried here. I will never forget an absolutely fabulous production of She Stoops to Conquer that Llew and I saw at the renowned Abbey Theater in Dublin a few years ago. It was certainly one of the funniest, most rambunctious plays we have seen together and we had thoroughly enjoyed Goldsmith’s great work.

On to Fleet Street next, I was instructed to leave the old City of London behind past Temple Bar and enter the City of Westminster! How interesting! This reminded me of the excellent brief History of London by Ian Wilson (a present from my English friends in Connecticut, William and Caroline Symington) that I had started to read on the flight from the States in August. It is quite easily one of the best books on London I have read and it explained the presence of the sculptures that adorn the city streets marking the boundaries of the old medieval ‘cities’ that lie within the modern-day City of London. There is one such monument right outside my window on High Holborn that indicates the limits of the City of London–my building falling within the City!

The facade of the George Pub was next pointed out as one that often fools visitors into believing that it is much older than it is. Actually a Victorian pub, it is constructed in Tudor style. However, it was a favorite watering-hole of many famous hacks of Fleet Street and some literary giants such as Dr. Johnson, Boswell, Thackeray and Dickens. Just a few steps ahead, right opposite what the book describes as the “grandiose” buildings of the Royal Courts of Justice (where high profile cases are fought, such as the McCartney-Mills divorce proceedings!) on a little island is the Church of St. Clement Danes–so-called because it was built by a Danish regiment based in the city many centuries ago. A plaque outside, right besides a sculpture of Dr. Samuel Johnson, gives important details of the many renovations carried out upon it, not least being its reconstruction after battering by bombs during the Nazi blitzkreig of World War II. Inside, I found a choir at practise, their voices rising up to the exquisite plastered ceilings. This is a truly beautiful church, now dedicated to the Royal Air Force. It completely fifty years as an RAF church last year. What I loved best about the church was that it is the place referred to in the ancient London rhyme that goes: “Oranges and Lemons, says the Bells of St. Clements”. However, when I looked up the internet to read more about this church and its literary associations, I discovered that the lines refer to the Church of St. Clements in Cheapside and that most of the churches mentioned in the poem were destroyed during the Great Fire of London in 1666. So, I remain confused…

Out on Fleet Street, once again, I was told to proceed to the Bell Yard. There I found myself attracted by a sign that indicated ‘Afternoon Teas available in the Old England Pub’. I had to see this place for myself as it had a very interesting exterior–up a few stone steps. Inside, I was stunned. This is one of the most beautiful pubs I have seen, its huge brass chandeliers lighting up an extraordinary number of paintings all over the walls and ceiling. It was about 5. 30 when I got there–the end of tea-time or I might have been tempted to order a cream tea! However, there was already an assortment of patrons sipping their first pints of the evening and after taking a quick picture, I stepped out only to make an astounding discovery.

Sweeney Todd, known as the Demon Barber of Fleet Street, ran his sinister business from this venue. In the process of grooming his male clients, he slit their unsuspecting throats. He would then drag their bodies down through an underground passage to his mistress, a Mrs. Lovett, who ran a pie shop next door to him. Business boomed as everyone flocked to buy her delicious pies, little knowing that they had become cannibals! I was absolutely stunned by this but then I remembered that I had heard the name ‘Sweeney Todd’ before. I remembered vaguely that it was a play on Broadway and that my friend Amy Tobin had mentioned to me on our visit to London last year that she had recently seen a movie (that was set and shot on Fleet Street) about a murderous barber.

Well, this was it! This was the spot where the gruesome murders took place and where the bodies were disposed of! The Bank of England Pub has a plaque that tells the story but ends the account, jocularly, with this line: “We are very proud of our pies”. Reading up the story online, I have also made the discovery that scholars have found no historical evidence to suggest that such a character ever did exist–it might simply be one of those gruesome elements of oral folklore that originated in Victorian times and have survived into the present.

Shuddering somewhat, I turned right towards the Church of St. Dunstans-in-the-West. I love the peculiar names of these old London churches–they often have their location built into the their names! The church was closed but the book drew my attention to an old gold faced clock on the wall and to the two characters that stand “making half-hearted attempts to strike the bells” (according to the book) alongside them every time the clock strikes the hour! I have decided that I must try to see this spectacle for myself…but on another occasion.

I was tired and hungry and walking almost three miles had taken its toll on me and I needed to get home to eat something and relax. I bought a Lebara top up voucher for my cell phone at Sainsburys and got home to unwind over cold cider, some Stilton and a bag of chips (or ‘crisps’ as they say here) and while I was at it I did something I haven’t done at all since I arrived in London–I sat on my bed nibbling and sipping and reading The English Home magazine, to which I have a subscription in the States. It was an old issue that I had brought with me from home in August and hadn’t yet opened! This took me back to my favorite form of relaxation–kicking back with a lifestyle and decorating magazine. I was so full after snacking that I had just a bit of bread with balsamic-olive oil dip and at 9. 30 found myself feeling so sleepy that I went straight to bed!

Lunching with MPs and Of Ghosts and Greasepaint

Mar10

Tuesday, March 10, 2009
London

Awaking at 6 am is late for me these days!!! I had always imagined that when I came to live alone in London, I would have daily lazy lie-ins, never dreaming that I’d awake long before the first rays of light reached my window blinds. Still, I’m not complaining. I do not feel sleep deprived and I have been enormously productive. When I do occasionally feel fatigued as I did last night, I respond to my body’s signals by switching off the light (sometimes as early as 9. 30 pm) and going off to bed (though midnight is pretty standard for me).

I am sure now that my short nightly sleep spells have to do with the warmth of my bedroom. Under the down comforter, it is deliciously cozy, but it also can get oppressively hot as the night wears on. Arben, my concierge, had told me way back in September that 7 High Holborn does not get any cross ventilation unless one has a corner flat–which mine is not. This explains why air-conditioning is so essential in this building and comes as a standard built-in ammenity.

On the upside, this has meant that I have not had my heating on at all all winter long! I know…it is hard, if not impossible to believe, given the kind of winter London had this year, i.e. worse than usual. The double glazing in this flat is apparently so superbly effective that while it does shut out all the traffic noises along High Holborn that are pretty loud, let me assure you, it also conserves heat and keeps this flat toasty all day and all night. I have not had to spend anything on heating…I mean nadda, zilch. That alone has made this flat extremely economical to live in; but it does mean that come summer, I will be sweating it out rather copiously.

After reading The Goblet of Fire for an hour, I began to grade student essays–first drafts (most of which require a colossal amount of work!). At 7. 30 am, I finally got out of bed to brew a cup of coffee and eat my breakfast (yogurt and muesli with honey). I made a call to my nephew Arav (and spoke as well to my brother Roger) and then to my parents in Bombay. Then, I realized that I was running out of phone credit and needed a top up. Llew called me about 10 am and we had a chat as we updated each other on everything going on in our lives.

Then, after doing my stretching exercises (I need to get back to my exercise routines again that have been severely disrupted by all my travel) , I began work on the lecture I shall be giving in Italy next week. It is a comparison of the manner in which Pakistani novelist Bapsi Sidhwa’s work Cracking India evolved from page to screen through the film 1947 Earth made by Canadian-Indian filmmaker Deepa Mehta. The first draft kept me busy until
11. 45 am when I took a shower and left for my lunch appointment with Michelle Misquita Rafferty at 1 Victoria Street, in the office of the Dept for Business Enterprise and Regulatory Reform (BERR) where she practices Constitutional Law.

Michelle and I were undergrad classmates at Bombay’s Elphinstone College… so our friendship goes back a long long way. Both she and I majored in English Literature and though she does not know it, she was a source of great inspiration to me. I was so impressed by her dedication to her studies that I emulated it and, without intending to do so, constantly ran in competition with her for the highest marks. I have always believed that were it not for Michelle and Marie-Lou Menezes and ‘The Two Sharmilas’ (Mukerjee and Chatterjee) who were in my batch with Shoma Sen and so many other truly brilliant classmates that I had the good fortune of knowing, I would never have been spurred on to give of my best efforts in college or produce the kind of results that propelled me towards a career as an academic.

Michelle, surprisingly, did not go the academic way. She did not register for her Masters in English as Marie-Lou and I did. Instead, she became a journalist in East Asia, first spending many years working with a travel magazine in Hongkong before she emigrated to London and read Law. For the past few years, she has been a government solicitor working with British Parliament. I am extremely proud of her and the shape her life has taken and I continue to be inspired by her achievements–not to mention how deeply privileged I feel to be able to call her my friend.

We’ve met only occasionally since I arrived in London as she is grappling with a whole load of personal matters. Still, when she suggested we meet for lunch to catch up, I decided to carve out the time, despite my pressing schedule this week as I do not know when she will next be free to spend time with me. She had once mentioned that her cafeteria is considered the best among those run by government offices and it was something I had to prove myself.

A Far from Institutional Lunch:
So off I went on the Tube on a rather mild morning to her building which I have passed a million times on foot and in buses, little knowing that she worked in it. Michelle came down to greet me and after I had gone through security routines and been presented with a Visitors Badge, we made our way down to the cafeteria. It was buzzing as it was close to 1.00 pm.

Michelle was right–if the food was as good as it looked, I was in for a treat. Indeed, it appeared far from institutional and when I saw the fillet of tuna resting on a square white china plate (as in the posh restaurants) in a balsamic-olive oil dressing surrounded by healthy vegetables, I knew at once what I would eat. For dessert, I picked a Chocolate Nut Torte and when I went to pay for this lovely meal, it cost me less than five quid! Ah, the joys of the subsidized lunch!

We caught up all right over each mouthful and, as Michelle had informed me, I found myself in the company of some sitting Members of Parliament who were either enjoying their lunches or relaxing with the newspaper. I have to say that my cultural ignorance of the UK does not allow me to recognize these folks, so Michelle introduced them to me in guarded whispers. “That is Pat Mcfadden”, she hissed, and then a little later, “and there is Gareth Thomas”. I have to say that these names meant nothing to me but it was fun to look at these British politicians anyway!

A Self-Guided Walk around the Theater District:
In about an hour, I bid Michelle goodbye and decided I would take one of the walks in my Frommer’s Book as the weather induced me to stay outdoors. I chose one entitled “Ghosts and Greasepaint” that commenced at Piccadilly Tube Station. I reached there after changing two buses and found myself at the Statue of Eros which had attracted a number of French student groups.

Among the more interesting things I saw today on this walk was the interior of the Criterion Restaurant which has a most stunning ceiling made entirely of gold mosaics and polished full-length mirrors which must create, I am sure, a truly superb eating experience. The Victorian restaurant also has a literary connection as it was in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s work “A Study in Scarlet” that Dr. Watson met, for the first time, an eccentric character by the name of Sherlock Holmes. Of course, I enjoy this kind of literary trivia that these walks provide.

The title of this walk derives from the many theaters through which it passes and the stories of the many ghosts who dwell within their interiors. I learned about ghosts who haunt the Theater Royal Haymarket, for instance, where a production of On The Waterfront is currently on and in which two of the UK’s finest Shakespearean actors Ian Mckellan and Patrick Stewart will shortly be playing the roles of Vladimir and Estragon in Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. I feel strongly tempted to book a ticket to see this version, just because these actors are the best in the land. But I have seen this play on more than one occasion and it is not really one of my favorites. I have a problem with all Theater of the Absurd but this one particularly bores me. In the earliest version I saw in Bombay, many years ago, Nasserudin Shah and Benjamin Gilani had played the key roles and yet I did not connect with the lines. I doubt that Mckellan and Stewart will make me do so.

I continued through Trafalgar Square and entered the Church of St. Martin’s-in-the-Field and was reminded of my cousin’s son Sudarshan Rodriguez as I had seen a concert with him about five years ago in the interior of this church featuring fusion musician Tavleen Singh. I did not remember what a beautiful plaster ceiling this church has.

Then on I went, past the Garrick Theater which also has a resident ghost and where I had once seen Patricia Routlege (Hyacinth Bucket in Keeping Up Appearances) play an American shareholder quite superbly in a comedy called Solid Gold Cadillac! This took me to a lovely street called Cecil Court that was full of antiquarian book stores (I think Llew will love this place and I must take him to it on his next visit) where I saw a real live tarot card reader dressed in Victorian clothing sitting in a window and reading the palm of a client! How very weird!

I also browsed through perhaps the neatest antiques store I have ever seen in my life–a place called Mark Sullivan’s which specializes in Victorian literary pieces such as the busts of writers and royal commemorative keepsakes. Everything was so perfectly displayed on neat dust-free uniform shelves that marched around the entire store and when I told the store owner how unique his store was, he was delighted by the compliment and promptly gave me his very unusual business card!

At the Lamb and Flag Pub, one of London’s oldest, I heard about John Dryden’s brush with a bunch of thugs who almost killed him. At this point, I was told to go right past the gates of St. Paul’s Church, Covent Garden, but because it looked so unusual and so inviting, I simply had to enter it.

On doing so, I was surprised that the walk hadn’t insisted on a visit because the church, designed by Inigo Jones, no less, is an absolute gem both inside and out. It is entirely brick-clad, very symmetrical (there are two bells embedded in the sides flanking the main entrance) and set in an adorable garden in which spring had plainly arrived, for there were hosts of golden daffodils and crocuses that brought wonderful gaiety to a rather drizzly afternoon. Inside, the walls were covered with memorial plaques to so many actors, playwrights and producers who had made their fortunes at Covent Garden– some names that were familiar to me were Sir Charles Chaplin, Vivienne Leigh, Sir Terence Rattigan. I still can’t understand why the church is not a part of the walk. Had my innate curiosity not got the better of me, I would have missed this delight in the heart of Covent Garden. The entire hidden square within which St. Paul’s Church is set has facades of buildings that could easily belong to the 18th century. Indeed, it seems that if you want to see some of the oldest architecture in London, you need look no further than the tucked-away recesses of Covent Garden.

The walk ended on Maiden Lane at the stage door of the Adelphi Theater where another ghost story kept me enthralled. However, my attention was drawn to a very unique restaurant on the opposite side of the street called Rules which turned out to be London’s oldest, established in 1798. Again, a host of theater and literary personalities have frequented this place over the centuries including Charles Dickens and Sir John Betjeman who described the interior on the ground floor as “unique and irreplaceable and part of literary and theatrical London…
Its paintings, prints, busts, bronze figurines, red plush seats, stained glass as well as the playbills and theatrical relics some of which often go back to earlier than 1873, make it a restaurant very much as it was when it was first newly furnished in 1873. It is the gradual accumulation of the last and previous centuries”. Interestingly, on it’s website, I found an endorsement for this restaurant from Candida Lycett-Greene, the daughter of Betjeman and Lady Penelope Chetwode (whom I had the opportunity of meeting many years ago in Simla in North India). It would seem as if Rules was very much a Betjeman family hangout!

Indeed, when I peeked into the restaurant, I was completely charmed by its collection of animal heads, stag’s antlers and the like, not to mention photographs, playbills and all such theatrical memorabilia that grant a place the sort of ambiance that makes it distinctive and individualistic–a sort of older version of New York’s famous Lindy’s (renowned for its cheesecake)! It was beautifully lit with brass chandeliers and tiny lampshades (old world mood lighting!). I glanced at its menu and found it to offer a selection of typically British dishes, with an emphasis on game (there was woodcock and rabbit, for heaven’s sake), most of which is sourced from its ownership of the Lartington Estate in the High Pennines. I would love to eat at this place someday…God willing….and perhaps even catch a glimpse of some theatrical legend of the future (maybe when Llew next gets here).

I took the bus home and spent the evening continuing work on my Sidhwa lecture, grading more papers and then organizing myself some dinner–pasta and mixed vegetables that I pulled out of my freezer–pleased that I had combined work and leisure in a rather novel sort of way today.

Back to the Salt Mines!

Mar9

Monday, March 9, 2009
London

Spring seemed decidedly in the air today and in keeping with the bright sunshine that flooded my bedroom, I chose a lighter outfit–a cotton shirt and unlined jacket. So, soon it will be goodbye cashmere, hullo cotton! Can’t imagine being so light hearted about the arrival of spring in the beginning of March. Connecticut is still snow-ridden and spring is still a long way off.

I walked to class today on discovering that road works on High Holborn have caused traffic delays. I also started my first class an hour later to allow my students a chance to get their work organized and the first drafts of their essay printed out for me–most of them were on the trip to Cornwall with me, so they needed a little elbow room this morning. Class went off well and most of my lunch break was spent in Yvonne’s office sorting out some payment issues.

I also discovered that I had left my sandwich lunch at home on my kitchen counter, so I ate a few flapjack cookies for lunch and the two pieces of baklava that Sarah Walsh brought in as part of her presentation on Greek London. I hoped that would sustain me through my next class at 2 pm at Birkbeck.

I let those students leave a half hour earlier (meaning that I did not give them their half hour break) as I had a 5 pm physiotherapy appointment at UCL. I have not yet managed to make telephonic contact with the Podiatry clinic despite about 80 tries! Either their phone is engaged or I get a recorded message informing me that they are out to lunch! It’s become something of a joke trying to fix up an appointment for Orthotics!

Claire Curtin at UCL is of the opinion that I do not need to see her any longer. She thinks that there is no more that physiotherapy can do for me and that I have improved considerably since she first saw me. I have been told to continue the strengthening and stretching exercises, do the alternate soaking if it gives me relief and ‘manage’ the condition as best I can. She did make a tentative appointment to see me a month from now, but if I think I do not need it, I can call to cancel. When she discovered that I have been unable to make the Orthotics appointment, she told me to keep trying but not to worry too much about it as it is not imperative at all and is not likely to make much of a difference.

I stopped by at the Senate House Library at the University of London to pick up some books in preparation for the lecture I will be giving in Padua later this month–but neither of the books I wanted was available. I will need to try to get them from some other source. Meanwhile, I did some food shopping (yogurt, coffee, bread, Stilton) at Sainsburys and walked home on a lovely crisp evening.

Perhaps it was my late night last night, but I felt quite worn out and decided to vegetate on the couch with a movie. I chose Cassandra’s Dream, a Woody Allen film, with Colin Farrel, Ewan McGregor, Tom Wilkinson and Haley Atwell in one of her earlier roles. The very interesting drama about greed and guilt actually made me stay awake right through it!

I had intended to do some grading of my students’ first drafts before going to bed, but I think I will leave it for tomorrow as I am well and truly fatigued. Instead, I put a load of laundry into the machine and went to bed.

Boscastle—A Cornwall Village, Resurrected

Mar9

Sunday, March 8, 2009
Cornwall

I am certain that my sleep patterns are affected by room temperature. I slept till almost 7. 30 am today—the hotel room being much cooler than my bedroom at home– finding only enough time to jump in the shower and repack before I met my colleagues in the lobby of the Sunnyside Hotel downstairs. The sun was shining upon Newquay and Sunday morning surfers were already hitting the waves by the time we sat down in Pistachio Restaurant for our full English breakfast.

Muesli and OJ started off our day as the waitress took orders for our fry-ups. Since we were not leaving for Boscastle until 10 am, I had the leisure to linger over coffee as I gazed out over the ocean and listened to the shrill calls of the gulls. A group of weekenders had descended on the hotel and as they piled in for breakfast, the place grew livelier. Hauling my strolley uphill, I made my way to the coach and at 10 sharp, we pulled out of Newquay, Surfer’s Paradise, and drove along sleepy country lanes on the journey to Boscastle.

Then, as happens to often in these parts, the sun disappeared behind menacing clouds and a light drizzle began. Raindrops splattered the windshield as our driver maneuvered his vehicle towards the little Cornish village. No one seemed to be stirring for villagers take their Sunday lie-ins seriously, it would seem.

Arrival at Boscastle:
The village of Boscastle sits in a river valley straddling both banks. We arrived and parked in the parking lot with instructions to get some lunch and return to the coach by 1 pm. Walking out into a playful breeze, I found the village still asleep or stirring very slowly and reluctantly. Most shops were clustered around the car park and none seemed in a hurry to open. At last, not right then.

Recovering from An Ecological Disaster:
It was only as I walked towards the riverbanks that it vividly came to me that I had seen the destruction that had been wrought upon this village in 2004 when a flash flood and a huge landslide had destroyed most of it. Thanks to BBC World News, I remember gasping at the scenes, so expertly shot, of houses tumbling into a gushing river. I had wondered then where in Cornwall this place was located for I had always thought of it as flat pastureland.

Well, it turns out that the flash flood had left a trail of destruction in its wake and Boscastle’s attempts to resurrect itself out of the mess are little short of miraculous. But for the occasional scaffolding that drapes itself across a stuccoed cottage, there isn’t much to remind the visitor of the disaster. This speaks so well for federal funding and the use to which it is put in the UK. Hailing from a country like India, where government assistance almost always ends up in the pockets of some slimy official, I was heartened to see the results of the valiant and determined efforts to rebuild that have overtaken this quiet Cornish outpost. Well done, Boscastle!

And then suddenly it came down again. The playful breeze became a vicious gust that wrapped itself around me as rain pelted down and drove me to the nearest tearoom. There, I found that a few of my students had treated themselves to a meal. Since I had eaten a massive breakfast, I could not face the thought of food and I waited until the rain stopped and sunshine flooded the streets again before I set out to explore.

Sunday Shopping:
Boscastle has a series of charming shops that are all interconnected—you enter one of them and find yourself walking through a whole string! As always, it is the antiques shops that first attract me and when I spied a sign for Pickwick Antiques, I just had to fish around inside. What a perfect little antiques shop I found! As the salesman later explained, the shop carries what he calls “small treasures”—the sort of antiques that tourists can carry easily with them in their pockets. I saw loads of silver cutlery including a bunch of odd pieces—butter knives and soupspoons, saltcellars and peppershakers, cut-crystal cruet sets and bits of jewelry. There was also a good variety of very pretty china—Trios, i.e. cups, saucers and cake plates. Lovely porcelain cake serving platters and many Limoges and Royal Albert sets graced the collection—all shown off strikingly in spotless glass vitrines.

My eye was drawn then to a little teapot that would be perfect for brewing one or two cups of tea. It was not an antique—in fact, it was a Victorian reproduction that featured purple violets against a pure white background. What made it special was its lid—it featured three bone china violets in a three-dimensional design that was as finely crafted as a brooch. It called my name urgently and though I took three or four rounds of the shop, I could not get it off my mind. Furthermore, the price was right—at ten pounds, I could not go wrong, not for so exquisite a piece of china.

“Right”, I said, to the salesman, “I think I will have that darling teapot”.
“Do you collect them?” he asked. (What is it that makes antiques’ dealers sniff out collectors so unmistakably?)
“I collect cups and saucers”, I responded, “but for want of space to display them, I now only buy sets that are very rare, very beautiful and very inexpensively priced”.
He laughed. “That is very wise indeed. But, collecting teapots is a natural progression from there, wouldn’t you say?”
“Maybe…but unless I am sure I will use it…”

All the while, he busied himself lovingly wrapping my little precious find in bubble wrap and tissue paper, and feeling as if I had bought a very appropriate souvenir from Cornwall—once the capital of china clay in the country—I walked out of the shop.

In Search of Boscastle Harbor along a Coastal Path:
The rain remained at bay and seeing the coastal path entwine itself along the riverbank, I decided to follow it uphill and see where it led me. My camera worked overtime in trying to capture the bucolic idyll that lay before me. As I wandered on, I passed by a National Trust gift shop and paused to buy a postcard for my travel scrapbook. That’s when I realized that so many of them featured “Boscastle Harbor”. Yet, I could see no evident signs of it. I then went up to the counter, asked one of the little old ladies whom one always finds in National Trust shops where I could find it and she simply said, “Just keep going, dear. You will not be able to miss it”.

At that point, I ran into some of my students and persuaded them to join me on the costal path. They were game, and braving the wind that had stepped up quite strongly, we began our climb to the promontory that, like Tintagel, jutted out into the sea. Pools of rain had accumulated along the narrow pathway that is maintained by the National Trust and I was pleased to see that my membership pounds did go towards these worthy causes. As we climbed higher, the wind became fiercer and by the time the harbor came into view, the scene was simply spectacular.

Gigantic waves dashed the rocks below and we saw a manmade ‘harbor’, probably newly constructed, way below us. It was clearly evident why smuggling had been such a lucrative pursuit in Cornwall for with high taxes levied on such things as tobacco and wine during the late 18th and 19th centuries, smugglers found ways to evade the tax man by bringing in contraband on small boats. In doing so, they risked their lives for such boats had only a fighting chance at reaching the small sandy strip of beach that we could see way below us.

Not content with taking in this scene, we pressed on along the pathway, determined to glimpse the other side of the rocky escarpment. By this point, the wind was almost lifting us off our feet. With many whoops and screams, we clung on to each other and posed for pictures, hoping to capture a scene that somehow seemed exclusively ours for there was no other human being in sight. In many ways, it was reminiscent of Tintagel in its remoteness and in the fury of Nature as wind and wave combined to create the sort of mystifying aura of which legend is made.

Then, it was time for us to return to the coach and when I boarded it, I could not quite believe what I had just seen. Little did I expect that I would have such an unforgettable adventure in Boscastle. I was delighted that I had asked where the harbor was located for, in doing so, I had the chance to indulge in something I had sorely wanted to do ever since I set foot in Cornwall—walk upon a coastal path towards the sea and allow myself to taste the salt spray on my lips. This walk, undertaken so spontaneously, had satisfied that desire and as I settled down in the coach for the long drive homewards, I felt as if I had enjoyed the county in every possible guise and created memories that would live with me forever.

Harry Potter came into his own as the coach ate up the miles along the highways of Devon and alongside the southeast coast as we brushed past Bristol. I could see the lovely white bridge that spanned the bay and led into Wales as we glided on. The landscape changed every few miles, the undulating waves of Cornwall and Devon giving way to the flat fields of Wiltshire. Then, we were stopping at a wayside restaurant for a quick bite (sandwiches and coffee for me as it was close to 4 pm and my breakfast had been long digested). Most of my students had dozed off by this point but I kept on reading The Goblet of Fire until we were skirting the periphery of London.

We arrived at the Nido hostel at 7. 15 pm though caught in Sunday evening traffic for a bit of the way. It took me only a few minutes to climb aboard the Number 17 bus and, fifteen minutes later, I was home, unpacking. A long call to Llew and a shorter one to Chriselle followed as I also tried to download my email and attend to the more urgent work-related messages that awaited my attention.

I worked steadily for almost five hours and it was long past midnight, when still feeling full of beans, I put out my bedside light and tried to fall asleep. I had finally visited Cornwall and toured this fabled holiday destination and I had returned home with memories that I knew I would cherish forever.

In Search of Eden and Camelot: The Eden Project and Tintagel

Mar8

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Cornwall

I slept well last night despite being a little chilly. The double comforter helped—I folded it in half since I was using only one side of my double bed. Waking at 6. 40 am, I was able to write my blog for a bit, then shower and dress and get ready for breakfast, which was served at 8. 30 am. We were antsy as our coach was scheduled to leave at 9 am and there was no way we could eat a full English breakfast in fifteen minutes. Still, after muesli and orange juice, we found space (and time) for scrambled eggs and bacon, sausage and tomato, hash browns and beans and warm buttered toast with coffee—basically, a heart attack on a platter. Why is it that full English breakfasts taste so much better when someone else has cooked and served them up to you? And why is it that we had to hurry through so scrumptious a meal?

Off to Eden:

Well, we did reach the Inn at 9 am and made our way to the coach with our students to start the long ride towards St. Austell to the Eden Project. This is one of the UK’s Millennium projects, the brainchild of Tim Smith who still remains its CEO. It was his plan to demonstrate man’s ability to live in harmony with nature and it took the form of a series of biodomes constructed out of recycled material to look like giant igloos. My view of it from the air as my plane was landing at Newquay will always remain unforgettable especially as you do not spy the domes until you are a mere two minutes away from them.

The biodomes are constructed in a former china clay pit that had long remained disused, demonstrating the fact that waste lands can also be put to practical use. Our coach parked and dropped us off and we were met by Eden Project staff who directed us to the Reception Center where we received stickers to indicate that we were ticket holders.

At this point, we were met by a botanist named Kathryn who conducted a tour for us through the Humid and Tropical Garden which is the largest and most spectacular of the biodomes. She took us around the world in a an hour as each part of the dome grows plants native to specific tropical parts of the world such as Malaysia, Africa, South America (the Rain Forest). The temperature in this part of the biodomes is considerably warmer and within seconds we were peeling off our jackets. Kathryn started with a very comprehensive introduction to the aims and objectives of the Project and once on the tour, stopped by select plants to point out their native requirements and to demonstrate their typical characteristics. A waterfall cascaded through the entire project and as we moved from one part of the world to the next, we climbed ever higher. The incredible design of the region inside the dome which maximizes the use of space was ingenious indeed and spoke very well of the thought and planning and effort that went into its making

One of the more interesting things I saw was a real cacao pod from a cacao tree that was freshly plucked off and then split open by one of the guides who showed us the cocoa butter and the seeds inside. We had a chance to hold it in our hands, smell it and find that it did not smell even remotely of chocolate. A great deal of processing has to be carried out before chocoholics like myself can find cocoa nirvana! We learned that it was in South America that the Incas drank chocolate after mixing it with pounded chilli. Chocolate as solidified in bars are a British invention, however, and for that we are all very grateful indeed! I also saw a Passion Flower for the first time and I have to say that it was strikingly vivid and rare.

For me, of course, taking a tour of the Tropical Forest felt a little bit like visiting India for I saw banana, papaya, cashew and mango trees and a host of herbs and spices that I use in my daily cooking—such as coriander and curry leaf, cardamom, cinnamon and turmeric.

Our tour ended in an hour and we were free to make our way into the Temperate and Mediterranean biodome where the emphasis was on the kind of plants and fruits that are grown in sunny but less intensely humid climes such as in Greece, Italy or Southern California. I saw a giant citrus fruit called a citron which hung from the branches but is not too heavy as it has very little pulp and juice. It is the peel that is mainly used today in cakes when candied peel is called for in a recipe. Lavender, olives, geraniums, etc. were in this area but, having seen the superb quality and variety of the tropical fruits and flowers in the first biodome, I was somewhat disappointed by the second which paled in comparison.

What was also marvelous was the large number of birds that I saw inside the domes though they are almost airtight. They seem to come in when people unwittingly leave doors open or, as Kathryn explained, often through the louvers in the domes that are occasionally opened for ventilation. They were incredibly tame and a robin came and almost ate out of my hand when I was seated in the café. The birdsong, the rushing downpour of the waterfall and the fragrance that surrounds the interior was so authentic as to make me feel as if I was on a cruise along the Amazon in Costa Rica. Truly, the achievement of the Eden Project is little short of brilliant and though I am neither a botanist nor a biologist but merely a humble gardener myself, I know I took back lessons on planting and harvesting techniques that I could easily use in my own cottage garden at home in Connecticut.

Then, it was time to sink into one of the squashy leather sofas in the café and to decide about getting a bite. Despite the fact that I had eaten a huge breakfast, I did not know how long it would be before I had my next meal and not willing to start feeling hungry, I ordered a pork and apple pasty and homemade chips. Just as I sat to eat those, along came Alice and I joined her and David at their table. The lunch was enormously filling though not very tasty and with a slight spray having started to fall, we left the Eden Project, boarded the coach again and set off for our next port of call—Tintagel.

In Search of Camelot—King Arthur’s Castle at Tintagel:

It was understandable that almost everyone in the coach was asleep as it made its way across Cornwall to take us to Tintagel Head and the ruined Castle that is supposed to be the legendary birthplace of King Arthur. I too closed my eyes and within minutes, I was deeply asleep as mist swirling over the fields had reduced visibility considerably.

When I awoke about a half hour later, we were negotiating our way through the narrowest lanes imaginable and we had several hair-raising moments as smaller vehicles had to back all the way out of the roads to make room for us. Indeed, at one point, we were told by a passer-by that our long coach would never make it through a narrow passage ahead. He suggested we turn back and take a wider road even if that meant a longer route. At another point, we almost slammed into a van that stopped suddenly ahead of us as a car in front of him came to a stop in order to make a sharp right turn. I swear that it was only a hair’s breath that separated us from this van as the coach came to a halt several seconds after our driver slammed on the brakes! It was certainly not the most enjoyable of rides and a colleague even commented, “This castle had better be the best one in the world”.

Well, no one could have been disappointed. Though we did arrive at the charming village of Tintagel a little behind schedule and with a light spray still playing over the region, it was quite the most spectacular natural sight I have seen in my yearlong travels. For Tintagel Head juts out into the Atlantic Ocean over a steep promontory that is composed almost entirely of slate. The English Heritage maintains and manages the site and, thanks to some ingenious engineering, a pathway has been cut through the rock escarpment to allow visitors to access the ruins of the castle, the mansion and the little houses that belong to Arthurian Legend.

This site is not for the faint hearted as we needed to make our way down into a very low ravine first to get to the bottom where the Visitors Center in located. At this lowest point itself, the swirling waters of the ocean crash into rocks creating large caves that remain battered by the sea’s fury. The steps are repeatedly lashed by these jade green waves and scaling them takes courage and grit. At one point, you actually cross a bridge that connects the mainland with the tiny rocky island on which the majority of the ruins are to be found. All these locations make superb settings for photography and it is difficult to know where to stop in selecting sights for celluloid. To add to the mystery and the aura of the Arthurian legends, mist swirled softly around the peaks and a light spray from the churning waves cooled us off after the long climb.

Our students bounded along the steps, the setting making them light hearted as they were struck by the remoteness of the crags and the complete isolation of the pathway leading to the peaks. The steps were very high indeed and I had a hard time trying to climb them as strong winds whipped around us. Fortunately, it was not too cold and the climb to the top had served to warm me well. I did reach as far as the mansion of Earl Richard who was supposed to be the brother of King Arthur. I also saw the Great Hall of what would have been his mansion, the gateway leading to it–much of which was reconstructed in the 19th century when the pre-Raphaelites began to paint scenes from the stories of Thomas Malory’s 16th century work Morte D’Arthur which, in turn, led to Tennyson’s collection of Arthur poems called The Idylls of the King.



Of course, even as I surveyed the ruins in their fairy-tale setting, I was conscious of the fact that there is very little we know with historical certainty about King Arthur. Did he really exist? Is he a creation based on several different ancient Cornish kings of England? Very little archaeological evidence exists to answer these questions in any definitive way. What has been found at the site are Mediterranean pottery pieces that suggest strong trading links between England the Middle East in ancient times.



There was a great deal more I could have seen including the ruins of a walled garden and a little church at the very top, but somehow I did not trust my feet to carry me all the way to the peak. In fact, I was more afraid of making my way downhill and since we had a deadline for returning to the coach and I did not want to keep anyone waiting, I began the slow descent to the base reminded constantly, by the remoteness of the venue and the heights we had scaled, of Ireland’s Cliffs of Moher.

At the base, I had the pleasure of watching a film in the Visitors Center that gave some more information about the combination of myth and historical account that has led to the creation of the Arthurian Legends and the industry that they have spawned—if one went by the end-of-daybusiness being carried out in the little shops that comprise the village of Tintagel. I did visit a couple of them to purchase a magnet and some postcards, then poked my head into a bakery selling pasties and a tea room where a few of our students had settled themselves down with Cornish cream teas. I was too full to face the thought of another morsel for a while and looked forward to a good dinner instead, later in the day.

The bus ride back took us on the ‘Atlantic Highway’, a dual carriageway that ran through the length of Central Cornwall passing fairly close to Padstow en route. Back at the coach station at close to 6pm, I parted company with my colleagues and decided that it would be a good idea to stretch out and try to even get a short nap in my room at Sunnyside Hotel before we met in the lobby at 7. 30 pm for dinner.

When 7.30 pm approached, I prepared for dinner and meeting my colleagues in the hotel’s lobby, we decided to eat dinner at The New Harbor Restaurant where we had eaten last night. David and Alice bowed out, having consumed a light dinner earlier in the evening, leaving Valerie and me to find our way to the harbor and to settle ourselves at a table overlooking the boats on the dark and dimly lit waterfront.

A Seafood Dinner to Die For:

I ordered a scrumpy (apple cider) but the restaurant did not carry it. They suggested a pear cider instead made by a Cornish farm named Heany and never having tasted pear cider before, I was up for it. It was absolutely delicious and very refreshing indeed. Valerie had a glass of house white wine and ordered the Crab Trio that she had enjoyed yesterday (salad, bisque and timbale). I went for the Lobster and Prawn Cocktail which was very fresh and very good, crammed full of small prawns and lobster tail in a light mayonnaise dressing. For mains, both of us had the grilled cod with saffron mash and baby spinach in a saffron cream sauce—very fresh, very tasty and very hearty indeed. David joined us just when we were finishing our mains and ordered pudding. Since the sticky toffee pudding that Alice had ordered was so good yesterday, I decided to go with it and indeed it was great—with a generous dollop of Cornish clotted cream served alongside. This melted against the warmth of the pudding and formed a gooey mass in the toffee base. Ah, heavenly!

I was seriously worried that I would be too stuffed to make the long uphill trek to our hotel, but climb it I did and had only enough energy to complete this blog and throw myself on the bed for a good night’s rest.