My Typical ‘Commute’ to Work

Nov18

Tuesday, November 18, 2008
London

Returning to teach last Thursday, not on a double decker bus but on my own two feet, I realized that I had missed my ‘commute’ to work. I had used the entire month of September to experiment in an attempt to find the shortest, fastest, most interesting ways to get to work and back. Each time I had taken a different route. I had felt singularly fortunate to be able to do this as the Chancery Lane Tube station lies literally just 24 steps away from the entrance to my building, rather picturesquely named Bishop House–yes, Llew actually counted!

Having lived in the Connecticut countryside for twelve years, it takes us a minimum hour and a half to get anywhere in New York City! I still have to pinch myself to believe that here, in London, I am anywhere I want to be in under a quarter of an hour. Occasionally, I’ve checked my watch to make sure it hasn’t stopped as I simply cannot believe that I can get from Marble Arch to Holborn in 16 minutes flat!

High Holborn is busy during the week but deadly quiet at the weekend. Because Bishop House shares a common wall with Gray’s Inn, one of the Inns of Court of Chancery, solicitors, barristers and their support staff pour out of their chambers all day dressed in stylish business attire, carrying bulky briefcases, their lattes smoking in their firm grasp.

At Holburn Tube Station, I make a right on to Southampton Row, then a quick left into a lovely pathway called Sicilian Avenue, which is really a passage between two beautiful old buildings. The lane is bordered by charming restaurants and boutiques whose window displays change periodically and offer endless interest to me. The mouth watering aroma of smoky bacon wafts towards my nostrils from the plates of hungry patrons fuelling up for the day on full English breakfasts. At the next-door florist, I recall Mrs. Dalloway who stopped to smell the roses, as I admire the chartreuse shade of the early chrysanthemums.

Then, I make a left, cross the street and enter the garden at Bloomsbury Square immortalized by the Modernist scribes of the early 20th century who took their collective name from the neighborhood they loved so well. Across the rather tired green lawn sprinkled with a few fatigued benches sit idlers with no particular agenda for the day and I have often felt the urge to join them.

I cross over into Great Russel Street where the imposing presence of the British Museum always overwhelms me, speaking as it does of hoary antiquity. I pass by its wrought-iron railings on the side of Montague Street where a gaggle of Edwardian hotels provide, I am certain, lovely accommodation for the many visitors as eager to explore London as I am. They are welcomed by cheerful striped awnings and windows whose boxes spill over with a profusion of gay blooms. At the very end of the road, I see the grand lettering SOAS and I find msyelf delighted that I can use the vast library resources of this world famous institution of higher learning–the School of Oriental and African Studies.

I cut into Montague Place, the other end of the British Museum, where at the Edward VII entrance, foreign students giggle as they take pictures with one of the famous stone lions. The Senate House is on my right–its severe lines having provided inspiration for the forbidding ministries of public control in George Orwell’s 1984. I am not surprised that Hitler supposedly did not bomb this part of Bloomsbury as he wished to convert the building into his SS Headquarters after he had invaded Great Britain. That was some wishful thinking!

At the end of the road, I turn left sharply into Bedford Square, pass the Georgian houses surrounding the green patch of mature oaks and elms and hasten towards the comfort of my basement office in the building whose porch proclaims ” NYU in London” on the marble pavings. This is, as Virginia Woolf would have said, a room of my own –though I do share it with my colleague Karen.

And I am so proud to be one of its occupants.

My Ideal London Day

Nov18

Tuesday, November 18, 2008
London

Now that my feet are capable of carrying me once again wherever my heart desires, my thoughts turn to my idea of an ideal London Day.

I’d saunter down High Holborn, turn left at Kingsway, dodging the frenzied commuters at the Tube station . I’d make my way to Covent Garden and spend a goodly hour browsing in the antiques shops of the Jubilee Market. Pausing to examine a Bakelite bracelet in ivory from the 1930s, I’d strain my ears to listen, then decipher the Cockney twang on the tongues of the dealers hustling in old watches, chipped china mugs, rusted medals and vintage necklaces. Then, because I know better than to part easily with hard-earned pounds, I’d beat a hasty retreat and walk along the cobbled by lanes in which Victorian horses once pranced towards the imposing columns of the Neo-Classical National Gallery.

I’d spend the better part of the next two hours studying Old Masters’ works in their carved and gilded frames forcing myself to decide whether I prefer the Medieval landscapes to the waterscapes of Monet. I’d take a break on the benches by the stone lions of Trafalgar Square to eat my homemade sandwiches stuffed with such proper British ingredients as Stilton Cheese and watercress or better yet Scottish Smoked Salmon.

Then, I’d pull out my book 24 Great Walks in London and pick out a particularly hidden corner of the city in which to lose myself in a labyrinth of narrow streets, smoky pubs, Anglican churches and square gardens whose flower-beds incredibly bloom with giant David Austin roses though seemingly neglected by all. I’d take pictures spontaneously of flowers spilling out of wrought-iron window boxes and fat pigeons foraging for crumbs in deserted alleys. Reading every blue plaque I pass by, I’d thrill in the knowledge that Dickens once strolled these streets or that Virginia Woolf dallied with her literary pals in a fragrant tea room.

At sundown, I’d get to the West End to pick out a drama by an easily recognizable name–perhaps Shaw or Shakespeare or David Mamet. When the curtain rises, I’d gasp because I can recognize each of the actors from the PBS TV series I watch in the States and I’d play a little game with myself to see how quickly I can recall which shows they were in and which roles they played.

Then, I would emerge on a darkened London evening under starry skies and disappear again into a historic old pub to down a swift half of their best draft beer while watching drunken lawyers in loosened ties play at darts against the backdrop of varnished mahogany bars.

Too exhausted to do much else, I’d lollop around my living room while catching the BBC’s last newscast for the night.

Come to think of it, before my feet protested, this was often my kind of London day.

Reading, Blogging, Grading, Viewing, Listening…

Nov17

November 17, 2008
London

On a day that began with rather dismal weather, I awoke to the eerie quietness of a flat that seemed to sorely miss Llew’s presence. It was still only 6 am, but I decided to get back to routine, which meant spending an hour reading in bed. I have begun The Mature Mind: The Positive Power of the Aging Brain by Gene D. Cohen, a recent birthday present from my friends Shahnaz and Mukaram Bhagat of Bombay who handed it to me personally on their recent visit to London. It is rather technical going at the moment as the author explains the workings of the brain and those parts of it that sharpen with time when the ability to make connections far from slowing the brain allows it to come up with rather creative problem-solving techniques.

With Chapter One done, I turned to my Blog and relived the joys of our Greek Odyssey in the pages I filled for the many days we spent on the mainland and while cruising through the Cyclades. I will now turn to my website and create a few pages there while adding pictures that will bring our holiday to life. Documenting in detail the great time we had together, made me miss Llew very much and I do so wish we could have spent the year together in London. I know he would have loved it as much as I am doing; but on his first day back at work in New Jersey and his undertaking of a new assignment in a new department, I did wish him the best of luck and much success. Of course, he did call as soon as he arrived at work at the start of a new day and I heard all about his return flight and the odds and ends he has left behind in my flat.

Then, I sat to grade a few of my student’s essays. The sun made a brave attempt to break through the clouds while I was at it and I wondered whether I should venture outdoors. When I saw the weather forecast and realized how cold it was, however, I decided to stay put and continue with the grading. I went through half a pile before I returned to my own travel writing with the intention of finishing the lot tomorrow.

With the calls I made to my parents in Bombay and to Llew in the States and the online dialogue I had with Chriselle, it was 4pm before I quite knew it and with darkness having fallen outside, I decided to go out for some air. Walking through Chancery Lane and on to Fleet Street, I took a bus to the National Portrait Gallery. One month ago, I would have walked there and would have scoffed at the idea of taking the bus…but now that my feet are slowly healing, I am determined to lavish them with some TLC. Anyway, I love riding the buses and I do look forward to the day when I will hop, a la Bombay buses, on to the back of a Routemaster and sail down Fleet Street feeling for all the world as if I am in the Fort or Colaba area again!

I spent almost two hours at the National Portrait Gallery. No matter how often I visit, there is always something new to see. And this time, there were the infamous portraits of the Queen taken on her Golden Jubilee by Annie Lebowitz that caught my eye as I walked to the cloakroom to hand in my coat. I was struck by how aged the Queen looks. When did she grow so old? When did she put on so much weight? How did that elegant lady in her hats and pearls become so forbidding? There wasn’t so much as a glimmer of a smile on her face in those portraits and I realized that she was either very bored, very cross or very unhappy the day she posed for the celebrated photographer. Shot in stark black and white, the pictures only emphasize the Queen’s distance from her people and I did not care for them at all. Was it the regalia in which she had chosen to be attired that made her seem so disconnected with the viewer? Was it the setting–Buckingham Palace–with its splendour reflected in the background that disengaged her so totally from the camera? I have no clue. What I do know is that I found those portraits too solemn, too grim, too lacking in any kind of human warmth or compassion and whether this is the fault of the sitter or the photographer is hard to fathom.

I began on the second floor and went chronologically through the collection starting with the Tudors. Almost all of these people are now instantly recognizable to me through the many movies and TV shows I have watched that have documented this epoch. The rarer portraits of Dudley and Devereux, Queen Elizabeth I’s alleged lovers, were interesting for the amazing similarity they showed with the actors who have played them in recent TV series. A girl passing with her boyfriend through the gallery saw the portrait of Dudley and said, “This was her boyfriend. She had his head chopped off”. Whew! Imagine that! She pronounced those words so casually, almost triumphantly, and with so much relish–as if she had something to do with the Virgin Queen’s decrees!

I progressed then to the more literary portraits that showcase Shakespeare and his contemporaries and called to mind the excellent lectures on the History of Renaissance Literature that I had attended in the classes of the late Dr. Mehroo Jussawala at Elphinstone College, Bombay. Portraits of Beaumont and Fletcher, Sackville and Norton, Wyatt and Sidney took me back to those undergrad classes and I thought it lamentable that other stalwart writers of the period were absent–such as Spenser and Marlowe, either because they never had their portraits painted or because none exist to be acquired by the Gallery.

In the Civil War section, I put faces to the names of those monarchs whose history I recently reviewed at the Banqueting Hall–James and Charles I, James and Charles II and their wives. I learned, for instance, that Catherine of Braganza brought to Charles II as part of her dowry not just the islands of Bombay, but Tangier in Morocco as well. I saw why King Charles spaniels are so called. It was because Charles I loved them and popularized them in his court. He is seen in his portrait posing with one such puppy in his lap. I read interesting extracts from the diary of Samuel Pepys in which he records his experiences, including the crick in his neck that he received from having to pose endlessly for his portrait. I was only able to complete seven rooms, however, when I was politely requested to return tomorrow as the Gallery was closing. I have resolved to return on a Thursday or Friday night when the gallery remains open till 9 pm. I intend to go through each of the rooms at leisure but because the space is small, I can see myself accomplishing this goal within a week.

Then, I walked briskly down Monmouth Street, stopping at Starbucks to purchase a Black Forest Cupcake that is special to the Christmas season, and arriving at the School of Oriental and African Studies where, in the Brunei Gallery, Dr. Gary Day of De Montford University in Leicestershire, was scheduled to give a lecture at 6. 30 pm on “Class in the UK”. The audience consisted mainly of NYU students taking courses on British Politics and Government, but because I learn so much from these varied points of view, I try to make it a point to attend. Day’s views–he calls himself a Marxist Socialist–so riled up the capitalists in the American student audience that the Q&A that followed the lecture was indignant and aggressive. In proposing a classless society in Great Britain, created through the payment of equal wages to every single person irrespective of the kind of job he did (a somewhat Platonic concept if I remember The Republic correctly) , Day met with much opposition from my students who boldly refuted his perspectives. It made for a lively evening and one I much enjoyed.

On the way back, I stopped to pick up a few essentials at Tesco and Sainsburys, then ate my dinner while watching a few old Britcoms on GOLD, the channel that has resurrected the most beloved ones. In these days of reality TV, for those of us who are allergic to such programs, this channel is a savior and I am so glad that I discovered it.

Goodbye Llew…and a Treat at Carluccio’s

Nov16

November 16, 2008
London

Hard to believe that Llew’s two-week vacation has come to an end. But neither one of us is complaining. We had a fabulous time together and made the most of every minute. Greece was splendid and our days in London were packed with wonderful activity. Llew left for the States this afternoon taking with him many happy memories of our autumn break together…and, not surprisingly, in the midst of our parting, he left his scarf behind in my closet–a small reminder of his presence, therefore, still lingers in my space.

We started our day with the 9 am mass at St. Etheldreda’s Parish at Ely Place where, after the service, we visited with our next-door neighbor Barbara Cookson. Llew packed his suitcases over coffee and within a hour, we set out to see the Elgin Marbles at the British Museum since Llew wanted to examine them again after having visited the Parthenon in Athens. Maybe because I was so sorry to see him go away, my mind refused to work and we ended up walking to Fleet Street to catch a bus to Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery and it was literally when I was on the steps of the National that it occurred to me that we were in the wrong place. We ought to have been in the British Museum to which we could have walked from my Holborn flat. Talk about the mind shutting down!!! Mine seems to be doing this much too often these days. Or maybe it’s just the fact that London has too many museums!!!

So, we walked to the British Museum in a very fine mist–not a drizzle, not a spritz–the teasing sort of spray that reminds you that it is raining! Within ten minutes, we were inside, looking at the sculpture that was taken away by Lord Elgin from the exterior of the Parthenon and brought to England. Somehow, neither one of us was impressed. In fact, we were left colder than the marble from which they were sculpted and I did turn to Llew and say, “Doesn’t have much of an impact, does it?” He seemed to agree for he really didn’t have a major reaction to the sculpture at all. I guess we’d have preferred by far to have seen the work on the walls of the Parthenon themselves. I did want to take a look at the Karyatid that is supposed to be in the British Museum. This is one of the six female sculptures that is on the Erechtheion, another building on the Acropolis. But it was nowhere in sight and Llew was running late and didn’t want to linger–so I decided to seek it out on another occasion. Walking home quickly, we stopped at Sainsburys for a few groceries, before we ate a hasty Indian meal (Chicken Do Piaza, Bombay Aloo and Mushroom Pilaf–our last meal together for a while) and he left at 1 pm in time to make his 4.30 pm flight from Heathrow. He did not even have the time to eat dessert. Instead, he carried Sokolatina (a chocolate mouse pastry from Athens) with him and said he would eat it at leisure later–perhaps while waiting at Heathrow to board his flight!

I had barely turned away from the window from where I had waved goodbye to him, when my next-door neighbor Tim Freeman rang my doorbell to invite me to join him and his wife Barbara for lunch at Carluccio’s, the chain of Italian restaurants that is very highly reputed in London. I told him that I had just eaten lunch but would be happy to join them for coffee and dessert. I was so grateful to get away for a bit as I am sure I would have spent a dismal afternoon without Llew.

Instead of which I had such a great time in the superb company of these folks and made the acquaintance of Barbara’s niece, Hannah, who was visiting them for the afternoon. Hannah is in the process of buying her first flat near Milton Keynes. She is a lovely bubbly young lady, very smart and supremely poised. A marketing specialist, she works for a company that supplies maintenance personnel to large corporate firms–a company that employs over 20,000 people all over the UK. Spending the afternoon with them really took my mind off Llew’s departure and I was able to return home in very good spirits indeed. How very kind and thoughtful of them to have included me in their lunch plans! I feel so deeply grateful.

As for the famous Carluccio’s, it truly lived up to its reputation. Tim very cleverly ordered the sort of large appetizer platters that allow for casual ‘grazing’. Though I had no real intentions of eating, I found myself drawn towards the salami and the grilled peppers smeared with pesto, the bruschetta and the prawns and the most delicious caponata I have ever eaten. I was even more thrilled to discover that one can purchase portions of it to take home. Except for the fact that my fridge is full of food, I’d have taken home a tub; but it is a treat I will postpone for another day–besides, it is so great to know that Carluccio’s is so close to our place that I can nip in there at any time and get myself a tubful!

The best part of our meal, however, was dessert. The three of them ordered the Lemon Tarts (and I can see why because the piece Tim passed me so I could taste a bit was just fantastic). I went for a Sponge Cake soaked in rum, studded with toasted almonds and chocolate shavings. Tim also ordered two glasses of Limoncello, one for him and one for me and boy did that go down smoothly! It took me right back to Naples and Capri where my friend Amy Tobin and I had sampled this sunniest of liqueurs and truly enjoyed it–unbelievably only this past March. Somehow with all the travel I have done this year, Italy already seems years away.

So I guess I will return to routine now as I catch up on my travel writing, my grading of student essays and the transcribing of my interviews. With Llew having returned to Southport, my own holiday has come to a close and it is back to the salt mines for me, come tomorrow!

Entertaining The Cranes and A Slap-Up Dinner at The River Cafe

Nov16

November 15, 2008
London

Llew decided to enjoy a lazy late-morning lie-in as his cough had kept him awake almost all night. I nipped out to Paul’s Patisserie to pick up an almond croissant for Llew and then to Marks to purchase a few ingredients for the luncheon meal we were putting together for my cousin Cheryl and her husband David Crane who, bless their hearts, traveled from their home in Sheerness on the Isle of Sheppey in Kent to see Llew one more time before his return to the States.

David enjoys a very limited repertoire of foods and since minced meat in any form is something he will eat, I purchased Moussaka from Sainsburys for our meal. Neither Llew nor I feel enthusaistic about cooking for parties here in London as I have very limited kitchen equipment–enough for a couple, perhpas, but certainly not for a party. In keeping with our recent return from Greece, I planned the menu around Mediterranean Island cuisine and decided to serve Greek salted pistachios, mini scotch eggs (something David will eat) and Wensleydale Cheese with ginger together with walnut and apricot bread for appetisers. I threw together a Greek Salad with tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers and onions and topped the lot with thick wedges of feta cheese. Then I dressed the whole salad with extra-virgin olive oil, vinegar and dried oregano. For dessert, I had planned on Greek style yogurt with honey topped with roasted chopped nuts and figs.

When Llew did awake, he helped me with the cleaning of the flat and the bathroom as my maid Felcy has deserted me completely. There is simply no sign of her and I feel like one of the housewives in India who always complain to me about their maids every time I visit them. Now that I do have one, here in London, I finally understand their anxiety! After I lay the table and rustled up the meal, we actually found the time to relax for Cherry and David did not come in until a little after 1 pm.

We had such a lovely afternoon with them as we told them about our holiday in Greece and heard about their visit to the Channel Islands–they had recently returned from Guernsey. I really do enjoy their company and feel sorry that they live so far away–Cherry is my Dad’s late sister Alice’s daughter and when we were growing up together in Bombay, our families were so close and met frequently. Still, I feel pleased that I am still in contact with so many of the members of my extended family and that I see them wherever in the world I travel.

Soon, too soon, darkness had descended upon Holborn and the Cranes made a move. This left Llew and me about an hour to clear up and put away leftovers before we got ready to leave for our big meal out. I have been looking forward to this evening for ages as I had made reservations at The River Cafe months in advance of Llew’s arrival in London. It is difficult to get a table at this very popular and very well-reviewed London eatery that set new standards when it was first opened in 1987 by Rose Gray and Ruth Rogers whose husband is Lord Richard Rogers, one of England’s most famous architects. The duo work hard to source only the finest ingredients and have created an Italian menu that changes frequently in its emphasis on seasonal ingredients served with flair and expertise. I was eager to share this dining experience with Llew and was so glad that I could get seats while he was visiting London.

Getting to the restaurant in Hammersmith proved to be a Herculean task indeed. It involved a long Tube ride to Hammersmith and then a cab ride into what seemed like the middle of nowhere. It seems that the restaurant which is located on the Thames Path East is based in the former Dickhams oil storage facility that was converted into a restaurant by Lord Rogers. It featured an open kitchen (something rather revolutionary for England at the time) and recently went through another renovation. Llew and I were fascinated by a huge wall clock that is projected by a camera on a wall and that somehow keeps time. We were unable to fathom how it worked. Is the clock in the camera? Is the mechanism of the clock behind the wall? It was quite uncanny.

When we did get seated and were taken care of with immense finesse–our coats stashed away in a cupboard, the loo pointed to–the wine waitress appeared with the wine list. Llew went for a Cabernet Sauvignon, I chose a drier white, a Verdeca Farone. Bread was passed around with olive oil for dipping in true Tuscan style. The menu is not extensive, but every item sounded delicious and we spent a long time debating possible choices. Finally, we chose to split as a ‘primi’ a Linguine con Granachi with Devon crab, fennel seeds, chilli flakes, parsley and lemon, a dish so subtly flavorful that it is hard to describe. But for the fact that we still had separate ‘secondi’ to savor and I wanted to save room for dessert (or ‘pudding’ as they say here), I could quite easily have eaten a serving alone. Keeping with the seafood theme, I opted for Cap Santa Alla Griglia, a platter of chargrilled Scottish scallops with roasted squash and sweet potatoes on a bed of lentils. Llew, on the recommendation of the waitress, went for the Coscia D’Agnello, chargrilled marinated leg of lamb with Bagnet sauce, artichokes romana and Swiss chard leaves and stalks.

Both of us thought our meal was superlative. The scallops and the lamb were grilled to perfection and the accompaniments were paired brilliantly with the key ingredient. What’s more, portions were quite substantial indeed and though we were rather too full, we decided to split a dessert and forgo coffee. So, out came the dessert list and instead of choosing the Chocolate Nemesis which would probably have been our first choice, we went for the Amaretto Walnut Cake that was out of this world–the cake was chocful of roasted chopped walnuts and the amaretto liqueur had soaked so well into the cake as to flavor it entirely. A light chocolate sauce formed a fitting topping to the very inventive pudding. Llew and I sighed when it was over. We had spent a lovely evening together, watching the beautiful people around us, all dressed to kill for a night that was clearly special to each of them. There were older couples with their younger children and women diners who looked like models from a fashion magazine. I tried to do some celebrity spotting but have to admit that I do not really recognize any of the local celebs, so though there might have been a few around, they made no impact on me. Despite the fact that his cough had made Llew feel out of sorts all day, his spirits were lifted immensely by the meal. I was glad that this was our parting dinner, the last one we would enjoy together until we meet again in the States when I return to Connecticut for Christmas.

We obtained directions to the bus stop and outside, in the mild night air, we walked the five minutes to it. A bus showed up within five minutes and we were soon at Hammersmith Station. For the first time since my arrival in London, I fell asleep on the Tube–blame the wine, I guess–and was glad that Llew was with me to wake me up at Holborn.

It had been a fulfilling day and as we fell asleep, we savored our last night together. I tried hard to forget that Llew will be leaving tomorrow.

House of Lords, Banqueting House and “Wicked” at the West End

Nov14

Friday, November 14, 2008
London

Prince Charles turned 60 today and in his official birthday portrait, I realized with a start how much he has aged. Another Charles was very much in our thoughts as Llew and I toured the Banqueting Hall this morning…but let’s begin at the beginning.

BBC’s Breakfast Show reminded us repeatedly that it was “an unseasonably mild day for this time of year” and not intending to waste a minute of it, we set out on a self-guided walk entitled “Wanderings In Westminster”–what would we do without Frommer’s 24 Great Walks in London? We fuelled up well on a carb-heavy breakfast (Waitrose’s Muesli, Walnut Bread and Sainsbury’s Three Fruits Marmalade) and set out, somewhat lightly clad, much to our regret, for the day turned progressively cooler and we were freezing by the time we got home at 4 pm.

Still, the day started out beautifully and on the Route 11 bus from Fleet Street, we enjoyed inching our way slowly to Westminster Underground Station from where we launched into our rambles. First stop, The Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. We have, of course, admired those buildings often and from many angles–even on memorable landings into Heathrow airport at the crack of dawn. But never had we visited the interiors–simply because we always thought it involved a huge song and dance. Permission had to be obtained from local MPs, appointments had to be made, etc. etc. Well, we couldn’t have been more wrong. A jolly policeman at one of the security posts informed me quite simply that all I needed to do was walk a few meters ahead to a gate where entry to the House of Lords could easily be obtained.

Llew and I stared at each other in astonishment. Though a visit to Parliament was very much in my plans before I returned to the USA, neither one of us expected to tour the hallowed premises this morning. So, we couldn’t get over our good fortune when we were marched in through innumerable doors and heavy security gates that involved the taking of our pictures and the presentation of visitors passes, not to mention personal frisking and a surrender of our personal property, before we were permitted to enter. Since only the House of Lords was in session today, we were admitted into the ornate chamber that contained the even more ornate throne on which the monarch sits during her rare visits to the House. Immediately, we were struck by the similarity of these interiors with those of the Houses of Parliament in Budapest, Hungary, which had been modelled entirely on those of the UK and sits serenely upon the Danube. The elaborate decoration on walls and ceilings, floors and pillars that included gilding and sculpture and paintings left us unable to decide exactly on what we should focus. Best part of all was the long and somewhat forbidding Westminster Hall with its timbered ceiling and stone walls–the only part of the buildings that remained intact despite a catastrophic fire in the mid-1800s. It was here that we walked through the pages of funereal history, here that Thomas More appeared before the tribunals to plead his case before being sentenced to death, here where kings and queens have lain in state upon departing this life. It is hard to fathom how closely the stories of British Parliament are connected with the stories of royalty until one enters such august interiors and breathes the very air of solemnity that prevails.

We were seated in a queue until enough space was found in the galleries to accommodate us. When our turn finally arrived, we were ushered up a spiral staircase into the “Stranger’s Gallery” where antiquated notices on the wall informed that any form of participation would be considered “out of order”. Ha ha ha. As for the proceedings, there was a rather tedious presentation of an EU Committee Report on the increase of organ supply in the EU. A couple of people responded to the report, others shook their heads in a learned fashion and others looked plain bored as they sprawled in their seats in rather undignified a manner. I thought I recognized the Goan MP Keith Vaz who is somewhat unmistakable with his bald pate, glasses and cheerful smile–but I could be mistaken. He could well have been Swraj Paul for all I knew! Still, it was fascinating for us to watch the UK government at work and to see for ourselves the sort of scenes one has seen endlessly on TV over the years. What amused us was the sale of “House of Lords Apple and Raisin Chutney” in the gift shop together with more appropriate items such as 2009 pocket diaries and Christmas ornaments featuring the portcullis of the building.

Delighted at the unexpected opportunity to take in the experience of touring the Parliament Buildings together, Llew and I continued our walk. We passed by old and practically unknown parts of London tucked away behind the Parliament Buildings such as the home of T.E. Lawrence of Arabia and St. James’ Church on Smith Square before we arrived in Dean’s Yard and the school in which Ben Jonson, Christopher Wren and Sir John Gielgud was once pupils and from then on to the Churchill Museum and Cabinet War Rooms. We’d have liked to have toured those too but time and my feet did not permit us to wander around at leisure. I decided to save that treat for another day.

Instead we crossed Birdcage Walk to enter St. James’ Park which looks totally different in its autumn avatar. Though most of the leaves have fallen already, there was a golden glow reflected in the duck pond where we saw magnificent black swans with vivid red beaks and grey mallards with orange beaks fight for crumbs. Then, we were crossing the Horse Guards Parade to arrive at the Banqueting Hall where we spent the most fascinating hour with audio wands that took us in detail through the history of the building, its spectacular Hall decorated with the ceiling paintings by Peter Paul Reubens that reminded us of England’s troubled Civil War years, the victories of Oliver Cromwell and the tragic execution of Charles I.

Needless to say, we found Reubens’ work compelling and were able to study the panels carefully through mirrored tables on casters that allowed them to be wheeled across the vast room so that the tiniest details could be scrutinized. Depicting the glorious reign of James VI of Scotland who became James I of England (father of Charles I), and the union of two great nations through the crown that sat upon his uneasy head (he was fiercely Catholic in a nation that had become staunchly Protestant), Reubens used classical mythology to glorify the king–the Goddess of Learning Minerva features prominently in the design as do fat and cheeky putti–cheeky because they had bulging cheeks and rotund bottoms! I marveled at the thought that it was within this room that the elaborate masques of Ben Jonson of which I had learned so much during my History of Literature classes, were once performed with even the King and the Queen taking part. The audio guides gave us such a wealth of insight and perspective on the many ways in which this single room affected the annals of history. No wonder Llew and I were absorbed for over an hour as we listened intently and gazed in awe.

The building is no less renowned for the architectural genius of Inigo Jones who was deeply influenced by the grandeur of Italy following a visit to the country and upon returning to England was determined to include, for the first time ever, Doric, Ionic and Corinthian columns in his work–forever leaving his mark on London’s landscape. Prior to his time, only the half-timbered buildings of Elizabethan and Tudor architecture had prevailed. Jones’ desire to introduce the classical lines of Andrea Palladio to England paved the way for the magic of Christopher Wren who was to follow a century later. I was thrilled that we visited this grand mansion–something I have long been meaning to do–and that we indulged in the opportunity to see a part of the city that few tourists visit.

We left feeling deeply moved by the poignant fate of Charles I on a day when another Charles, the man who will be king, celebrated his diamond birthday while waiting to ascend the throne. I have been told that when he does become King, he plans to change his name as the Charleses who preceded him to the throne have met with such morbid fates.

We were out on the street then in a day that seemed to have turned suddenly frigid and as Llew spent the afternoon resting at home, I caught up with telephone calls and made some more bookings for theater tickets in the spring. I am thrilled to have found practically the last available tickets to see Judi Dench in Madame de Sade and Jude Law as Hamlet, both at the Wyndham Theater. While Llew took a nap, I also managed to get tickets for a traditional British Christmas pantomime, Peter Pan, which stars Simon Callow (one of my favorite British actors) as Captain Hook in a version that will be performed in Richmond. My friend Jenny-Lou Sequeira from New Jersey will be here to spend a few days with me just before Christmas with her daughter Kristen and we thought she would especially enjoy this children’s show.

It wasn’t long before Llew and I were on the bus again headed for the Apollo Victoria Theater to see the musical Wicked–finally! Chriselle had seen this show on Broadway years ago when it first opened and had not stopped raving about it. The title refers to The Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz and the story of this play precedes Dorothy’s arrival in Kansas and her meeting with her co-travelers on the yellow brick road in the famous ruby slippers. Those, Wicked inform us, happens to belong to the Wicked Witch’s crippled sister, Nessa.

Chriselle, of course, knows The Wizard of Oz rather well having acted in it as a Munchkin years ago while still in high school. Llew and I enjoyed it but were not unduly impressed. While the sets and costume were spectacular, the music did not appeal to either one of us. Amazingly, the theater was full with not a single seat available and though we were perched high up in the Stalls, the opera glasses for which we paid a very reasonable 50 p allowed us to see the actors up close and personal. Though poor Llew has been afflicted by a horrendous cough that has kept him awake at night and made the viewing of the show rather dismal for him, I did cheer him up at the interval with that most British of theater traditions–a cup of double chocolate ice-cream that comes in a cup with its own spoon cleverly attached to the cap! Far from annoying his throat even more, the ice-cream seemed to soothe it and he was spared a coughing fit for a good half hour after he enjoyed this treat.

We were out into the cool night air soon enough, looking for a bus that would take us back home to Holborn. Passing down Oxford Street, we realized that Yuletide has arrived in London as strings of lights hang in chandelier-fashion above the roofs as the buses pass under them and the department stores seem to be vying with each other in the dazzling spectacle of holiday lights that adorn their premises. It is a great time to be in London and we are soaking it all in.

Back in the Saddle Again

Nov13

Thursday, November 13, 2008
London

It was difficult, this morning, to snap out of holiday mode and resume the tenor of working life. But get back into the saddle I did this morning as I set off, on foot, for Bedford Square to teach my two classes. My students regaled me with stories of their respective vacations in exciting European venues–Athens and Amsterdam, Brussels and Berlin, Madrid and Rome and Venice and Bruges. It seemed they had been everywhere. But with midterms cleared and the end of the semester staring them in the face, they are cranking up the pressure upon themselves to produce the best work they can in the remaining weeks before we close shop for our winter break.

Classes done, I kept office hours during which I had a meeting with David Crout to plan our field trips for next semester. I am hoping to take my students to Cornwall and to Portsmouth and Winchester. Then, I left work to return home to Llew. He had spent the day taking a self-guided walk in Belgravia based on my book 24 Great Walks in London and had traipsed through the homes of Beatles’ manager, Brian Epstein, novelist Ian Fleming, author Arthur Conan Doyle and had seen some tiny pubs in out of the way places that made his wanderings rather wondrous, he said.

Our plans to walk along the Thames Embankment in the evening after night had fallen to take in the illuminated monuments had to be nixed as a steady drizzle throughout the afternoon made it unpleasant. Instead, we sat at home and watched the opening scenes of Todd Haynes’ film I’m Not There based on the life and music of Bob Dylan. Because we were so cozy together on the couch in our living room, Llew actually commented that it felt as if we were back home again in Connecticut–I actually dozed off in the midst of the movie–just as I do at home!

A half hour later, we dressed and left our flat to join my colleague Karen Karbeiner and her husband Douglas at The Bleeding Heart Tavern, a recommendation of my next-door neighbor Tim Freeman who together with wife Barbara has tried out most of the eateries in our area. This old establishment is hidden away in a secret cobbled courtyard in Holborn and boasts a colorful history. Associated with Lord Christopher Hatton (after which the adjoining street, Hatton Garden is named), consort of Elizabeth I, and his wife Elizabeth Hatton, the watering hole was frequented by many an Elizabethan rake at a time when the street was known as Charles Street and the public house also went by another name. Then, it is said that Elizabeth Hatton was dragged dramatically out of the tavern by a jealous jilted lover who spirited her away. The next day, her body was found torn to pieces, her heart still bleeding hideously over the cobbled stones of the courtyard which from that time onwards bore its arresting name.

On that ghastly note, we ordered our drinks and dinner from a small but very impressive menu. Karen and Llew went for the lamb burgers, Douglas chose the whole roasted baby chicken and I opted for the Traditional Fish Pie. The fact that we polished our plates so thoroughly makes no other comment about the food necessary. Though the noise in the tavern was rather loud and we had to strain our voices over the din, our conversation was scintillating throughout as Karen and Douglas told us all about their recent travels in Turkey–they went to Istanbul, Anatolia and Troy–and wanted to know all about our holiday in Athens and the Greek Islands. We had so much to tell each other about the culture, the people, the history, the food and the traditions we encountered. Then, because it had been a long day for Karen and me, we called it a night and Llew and I were delighted to be back home in exactly five minutes.

As Scarlett O’Hara said, “Tomorrow is a another day”…

The Saatchi Gallery and a Farce in Hampstead

Nov12

November 12, 2008
London

Just this morning, I said that I ought to go out and seek the Cenotaph that becomes the focus of Remembrance Day ceremonies in London. Well, guess what? Today, Llew and I were riding the Route Number 11 bus (upper deck, front seats), when we passed by the monument at Whitehall. Just past the Horse Guards, we saw an obelisk covered with scarlet poppies and I said, “Oh my God! There it is”. And sure enough. A group of people were examining the many poppy wreaths scattered around the base of the monument and as our bus sailed by, we resolved to stop there later in the day.

And that was exactly what we did on our random rambles in London today. We had breakfast at Paul’s Patisserie on High Holborn which has the best almond croissants and the best hot chocolate in the city. But because their confections are pricey and calorie rich, I save the treat for times when Llew is with me in London.

Then, crossing Chancery Lane towards Fleet Street, we found the great medieval door open–the one that leads into Middle Temple, where Gandhi was once a barrister. It was inevitable that I led Llew into the quiet dignity of those leaf-strewn pathways, past ancient buildings whose stone and brickwork never fail to entrance me. There, in the empty late-autumn gardens, we came upon the round Temple Church created in 1185 by the Knights Templar who were entrusted with the task of guarding pilgrims on their way to the Holy Land during the Middle Ages. The only round church in the country and built in imitation of the Temple in Jerusalem, Temple Church featured dominantly during the bloody Crusades and, more recently, in Dan Brown’s fascinating novel The Da Vinci Code where the secrets of the Holy Grail are concealed in the faces of the many gargoyles and effigies of knights that encircle the old stone walls. The church was closed but we discovered that there was a free organ recital later than afternoon and we decided to return to enjoy it and to allow Llew to survey the historic place of worship which I had examined on a previous visit to London a few years ago.

So we got on the bus and reached Chelsea instead in order to see the Saatchi Gallery of which I had heard so much but had never visited. It was a particularly glorious day. Though winter has arrived in London, we were warm as toast in the layers that we had thoughtfully piled on to combat the cold. The bus stopped on the King’s Road right in front of the gallery and we were pleased to have it almost entirely to ourselves but for a rather enthusiastic group of high school art students.

I discovered that the gallery has no permanent collection–its exhibits change periodically so that there is almost always something interesting to see. Today, we walked through six galleries devoted to New Art from China–exhibits that took us through paintings, sculpture, collage, models in resin and silica gel. Most of them were deeply disturbing and stark in their presentation of life in modern-day China though there were a couple of black and white oil paintings of Chairman Mao that brought a smile to my face–such as the one of Mao on the terrace of Peggy Guggenheim’s pallazzo in Venice that I had visited with my friend Amy Tobin earlier this year in March. There was Peggy Guggenheim sprawled on one of her deck chairs with her signature pekingese on her lap with a smiling Mao looking on indulgently. Another one featured Mao in the Royal Coach with the late Queen Mother–sometime in the 60s, perhaps. But for these occasional canvases, however, the show was uniformly depressing and we gladly left the precincts to emerge into the bright sunlit morning as we went out in search of edible goodies at Waitrose.

On the bus back, we hopped off at Westminster Abbey whose lawns were covered with small pine wood crosses and poppies, each inscribed with the name of a relative who had died in the many wars in which Great Britain has been involved. So many people passed reverentially by, pausing to lay a small poppy wreath by a special cross or to whisper a prayer in front of one of the giant poppy wreaths that were adorned with the crests of the regiments to which these brave men and women belonged. It was an extremely moving scene, indeed, and the next best thing to being present yesterday at the ceremonies themselves. At the Cenotaph further down the road on Whitehall, Llew and I joined the few visitors who paused to contemplate the flags and the wreaths that commemorate the fallen dead and to take photographs by which to remember these peculiarly moving British traditions.

By the time we got back on the bus home, we missed the organ recital–in fact, we arrived at the very last minute; but Llew did get a chance to tour the church and read a bit of its thousand year history. Then, we got back home for lunch and a nap.

I had discovered by this point that NYU did have an extra ticket for Llew to a play entitled In The Balance that was to be performed in the evening at the New End Theater in Hampstead. I had signed up to attend this event weeks ago but was not sure that Llew would be able to accompany me. When Alice from NYU got back and told me that Llew was welcome to join us at the play and for dinner at Tinseltown, a neat restaurant near by, we decided to ride the Tube to Hampstead for a very entertaining evening in the midst of many of my students and some of my British colleagues.

Tinseltown served us a typically American meal that included hamburgers and milk shakes–and ooohhh, what delicious shakes those were! Llew chose to have Chocolate Hobnobs, I chose a Ferrero Rocher–yummmm! We sat down in the midst of my loquacious students who were still jubilant about the Obama victory and couldn’t stop talking about it. In fact, Jessy, one of our students from Kentucky, is actually going to be at the Inauguration and at the Inaugural Ball in February and we were just so excited for her!

Then, we were trooping into the theater to watch a hysterically funny farce on the American family, its idiosyncrasies and its follies in the midst of election fever. No production could have been more timely, what with the excitement of the election that we just went through and the anticipation as a new historic President enters the White House. What was marvelous about this play was that the British playwrights had managed to enter into the American psyche so perfectly and that the British actors who played the parts did such a fine job at portraying those characters on stage. I am certain they were nervous about the authenticity of their American accents in the company of a theater full of critical American university students. Luckily for the entire cast and crew, the audience seemed to love the exaggerated antics of the characters and the rough and tumble that accompanied the highly stereotypical characters and situations created by Ray Kilby and John Steinberg. Llew and I laughed non-stop through the evening and on our way back on the Tube thought how fortunate we were to have enjoyed such a lovely day together in London.

Earlier in the day, I had called my parents in Bombay to wish my mother on her birthday and to tell them how much we had enjoyed our travels in Greece. Naturally, they wondered how my feet had survived the endless stomps through classical history and my dad, being the God-fearing man he is, reminded me to thank God for allowing me to enjoy such a demanding trip despite my affliction. I told him that I couldn’t agree more and that I had said my thank-yous many times over on the flight back to England.

And so at the end of our first day together after our return from a marvelous holiday, I am deeply appreciative of the opportunity to have this time to share London with Llew doing some of the things that we most love.

A Word About Poppies

Nov12

November 11, 2008
Athens-London

At the stupendous, breathtaking Olympic Stadium in Athens, as so often happens on vacation, a young man came up and requested us to take his picture against the five world rings that dominate the spectator stands. He happened to be Bolivian, on holiday in Athens from Paris where he is posted for a year on work–talk about globalization! There I was in Athens, originally from India, now based in the USA, on holiday in Athens from London where I am posted for a year on work. The similarities were striking!

He told us he was out and about on a long weekend in France where the nation is celebrating Armistice Day–November 11, 1918 was when the First World War ended. And I am reminded of the ceremonies in London that I have seen year after year on TV during the BBC World News in commemoration of Remembrance Day (as it is in known in the UK). For years I wondered why the BBC reporters and its guests wore a brilliant red favor in their lapels for a couple of weeks in November. Then, at the Cenotaph, a monument in London that I have yet to seek out and find, Tony Blair would lay a red poppy wreath as war veterans hobbled forward or were wheeled in their chairs to the front, all decked out in their military regalia. We have no such ceremonies in the States to mark this date–probably because we were not involved in the intrigues of World War I.

However, a few years ago, when my mother Edith was visiting the USA, I had taken her to the traditional parade to mark Memorial Day (last weekend in May). There, on the cheering streets of our local home town, Southport, Connecticut, she watched fascinated as people waved the star-spangled banner and floats laden with vivid red poppies passed by to the enthusiastic waves of elderly men and women whose clothing was covered with poppies fashioned out of red construction paper. My mother was enthralled, indeed almost teary-eyed, as she watched. “Look at all those poppies”, she said. “That takes me back to my childhood. When we were children in school, we celebrated the end of the War with these poppies that were sold as favors in Bombay. In fact, we used to make these poppies ourselves, out of red crepe paper! Everyone bought a poppy and wore them in their lapels. I haven’t seen anything like this in so many years”, she marvelled.

So it was in my mother’s honor that I bought a poppy, two weeks ago, while I was with Dorothy Dady in Richmond. It was with pride that I wore it in my lapel for a couple of days before Llew arrived and we left for our Greek Odyssey. Karen, my colleague at NYU, saw me walk into our office with the poppy on my coat pocket and asked me, “What’s with this thing? I see so many people wearing it here.” I explained the significance of the Poppy Appeal about which I had heard on BBC TV only two days previously. Every single BBC reporter and guest had worn the poppy and I was so delighted to be a part of this tradition during my year in London.

So many thoughts coalesced as we crossed Western Europe last night–albeit at thirty thousand feet above sea level–en route to the UK. It was Armistice Day in Europe–Poppy Day in London–and my mother Edith, in whose honor I purchased and wore a poppy, turns 77 tomorrow in Bombay. I cannot wait to call her and tell her about my small tribute to the many nameless brave and courageous men and women whose contribution to the War Effort continues to be recalled here in the UK on Remembrance Day. I was only sorry that I missed the ceremonies in London as I would dearly have loved to be a part of the rituals of the day in person on English soil.

There’s More to Athens Than The Acropolis

Nov12

Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Athens, Greece

To read this text with accompanying pictures, please click on the following link in my website: http://rochellesroost.googlepages.com/greece_athens

And so we finally arrived at our last day in Greece. It had been such a blissful ten days that Llew and are were loath to return to routine, even though, comfortingly, that routine would be for me at least, in London.

Though friends had told us that Athens can be covered in a day and a half, we so loved the city and its many varied quarters, some of which we had yet to explore, that we had several places lined up to see before we returned home. However, I woke up feeling awful and for some inexplicable reason, had no appetite or energy to tackle anything. Llew breakfasted alone while I took a rest and it was only after he had checked out, an hour later, that I stirred and found the enthusiasm to go ahead with our plans.

Our first stop was Hadrian’s Arch and the Temple of Olympian Zeus in “Roman Athens”. These remnants of Rome’s occupation of Greece take the form of large monuments in rather dismal shape. While the Arch is quite impressive, it is the few standing columns of the Temple that catch the eye–mainly because they are so tall. This temple was once the largest in Greece and though today only 17 columns remain, they do give an idea of how stupendous a sight it might have presented to contemporary Athenians.

Then, we found ourselves skirting the Temple’s precincts and making our way towards the National Gardens to see the Zappeion, at the suggestion of Ted Francis, a corporate attorney in the States, who was once Llew’s colleague and is now a good friend. Ted has Greek heritage and Llew had made sure to ask him for his travel tips before he left the States. One of the places that Ted thought we should see was the Zappeion and I am very grateful he suggested this, not just because it allowed us to explore the interior of a very unique and very imposing Neo-Classical Building in the middle of the city, but because we also had the opportunity to explore the ‘lungs’ of Athens in the huge and very well-maintained garden. Inside the building–which is odd because it appears like a rectangular structure on the outside but is really circular within–that was used as the press center for the Athens Olympics in 2004, there was a publicity event on for the forthcoming Special Olympics and the press was busy setting up cameras and lights.

Having viewed the Zappaeion, we went in search of the Athens Olympic Stadium of 2004 and though finding it on foot following a map was something of a challenge, we were quite overwhelmed when we did see it. For the stadium is massive and entirely constructed of marble. The five international Olympic rings dominate the structure and make a marvelous backdrop for the pictures that visitors feel compelled to take. This was the stadium into which the finalists of the marathon entered at the end of their long run and we could just imagine what it might have been like–thousands of cheering fans greeting the winners and screaming during their victory lap.

Walking through the lovely flower-beds of the garden, we arrived at the main thoroughfare, in time to take in the rituals of the 12 noon “Changing of the Guards” ceremony at Syntagma Square. This is very similar to the ceremony in London except that instead of wearing funny bear-skin hats, these Greek guards wear funny frilly skirts and large pom-pom shoes and march in the fashion that is distinctly reminiscent of John Cleese in Fawlty Towers in the episode in which he attempts to be a Nazi soldier. Needless to say, the moves of these guards brought a great deal of laughter–some of it suppressed, much of it not–and photo opportunities for the assembled tourists who arrive at the tolling of each hour. The handsome Parliament Building makes a very fitting backdrop to this ceremony which is performed on a platform that contains the Tomb of an Unknown Soldier. It is meant to be a solemn and dignified ritual and I was sorry that so many young tourists found it amusing.

After resting for a bit, we walked along the main avenue towards the three Neo-Classical Buildings that one cannot fail to notice as one rides in the city’s trolley buses. These comprise the Athens Academy, the University of Athens and the Central Library. Each building is more beautiful than the other, the Academy fronted by the statues of Socrates and Aristotle and crowned by those of Apollo and Artemis. At the University, we were delighted to have strayed into the midst of a graduation ceremony where lovely young ladies all decked out in summer floral dresses and chiffony frills with either improbably high heeled boots or delicate stilettos, bore large bouquets of flowers in their hands and posed for pictures with their loving relatives. It was a lovely sight to see and we were so glad to receive this spontaneous glimpse into contemporary Athenian culture.

A few moments later, having covered Roman Athens and Neo-Classical Athens, we crossed the street and went in search of Byzantine Athens represented by the ancient churches that dot its oldest quarters. Llew was especially keen that I visit the 11th century Church of Kapnikarea that stands smack in the middle of Ermou, one of the city’s busiest shopping areas and which he had seen earlier on one of his solo rambles. This tiny church is so old that when you enter it, you almost expect its walls to crumble in your hands.

It was time for lunch and we hurried again to Thannasis which was doing roaring business at midday. It was our last chance to enjoy a really good meal and we opted for a Greek Salad and the moussaka, which was served in the terracotta pot in which it had been baked and was easily one of the best we have ever tasted. Over Mythos beer, this meal went down like a dream and we were so glad that we would take back superb memories of Greek food through the many varied restaurants we had visited on the recommendation of Lonely Planet.

On the way back to our hotel to pick up our bags, we did have a chance to see one more old church, the large Cathedral which stands right next to the smaller 12th century Church of Agios Eleftherios. All Byzantine churches have a similar design inside and exude an air of religious formality through the use of swinging incense-burners and glass chandeliers.

It was, sadly, time for us to think of returning to our hotel as our flight left at 8pm. We wanted to arrive at the airport by 6 pm, which meant that we needed to get on the metro by 5 pm. A last stroll through Monastriki allowed us to pick up some inexpensive souvenirs trinkets for relatives and a scarf for me depicting the glory of classical Greek architecture, before we arrived at Acropolis House and picked up our baggage. En route to the metro stop, we could not resist stopping at Syntagma Square to pick up some edible goodies to carry back home–Greek pistachios, mixed nut brittle studded with sesame seeds, and some more sokolatina (chocolate mousse pastry) from our favorite confectionery at the corner.

On the metro back to the airport, we ran into the group of four Asians–two couples from Hongkong–whom we had seen repeatedly on our travels. Together, we entered the train that spirited us away to the airport and on to our Easyjet flight which landed at Luton airport at about 11 am. Because there wasn’t much traffic on the motorways at that time of night, we did manage to get to the Baker Street Tube stop before the last train left and the system closed for the night. We were home twenty minutes later, holding close to our hearts, some indelible memories of the ten blissful days we had spent in Greece–the cradle of Western civilization.