Off to Slough to Interview Anglo-Indians

Oct10

Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Slough, London

Hard to believe how much catching up one has to do after only a few days away from home. I pottered around all morning, then got down to the serious business committments ahead of me–namely, a trip to Slough to interview the first Anglo-Indian couple for my next book.

But first, I headed off to the National Gallery to plan the route for my Writing class which I will be teaching in the museum. With room locations of all the paintings I intend to present sorted out, I took the Tube to Paddington and from there I was on a mainline train headed for Redding with a first stop at Slough. Hard to believe how expensive commuting is in England! And where was Paddington Bear when you actually want to find him? Just when I began to despair, there he was. Many little clones of him in many different sizes being sold from a push cart on one of the platforms!

The ride to Slough was 22 minutes long in an express train. Lovely suburban countryside passed by my window within five mintues of leaving the platform at Paddington. I thought about those tired urban landscapes I pass on the Metro-North train into Connecticut from Grand Central. It takes a good one hour before you can see the greenery of Greenwich zip past.

Randolf Evans was awaiting me in his little silver car at Slough station right outside an outsize Tesco Extra supermarket which, he informed me, is the second largest supermarket in all of Europe. If you wander through all its aisles from Entrance to Exit, you’ve walked a mile and a half. Phew! That’s shopping as exercise for you!

The Evanes live in a little cottage at Langley, its front garden trimmed, its interior neat as a pin. They have an Anglo-Indian dinner waiting for me, proudly cooked by Randolf “because Genny works full time, you see”. The lovely Genny led me to the dining room laid out with kitchdi (that’s a mush of rice and lentils), a ground meat and potato concoction that Randolf calls “jalfrezi mince” and the best pepper water I have ever tasted. There is also a bowl of papad or as they say in the UK “poppadams”–lascar slang that? (I am reading Amitav Ghosh’s Sea of Poppies at the moment and am getting familiar with that twisted tongue.) It is the first full Indian meal I have eaten in a long time and I am suddenly ravenously hungry.

I have a very fruitful evening with my hosts. They are extraordinarily generous with their resources and their time, their views (though radically different rom one another and in Randolf’s case, even uncovnentional) and I am making copious notes while running my tape recorder. I love their stories of their early years in the UK and examples of their endless adaptability.

It is almost 10 pm when I get up to leave. I have hurried through the last few questions. I resovle to meet my other respondents in the day time, preferably over lunch, if they are kind enough to include a meal–and most are inordinately hospitable (as most Indians are). I am happy to see that they have not lost those warming Indian ways.

I board the 10 pm train from Slough, arrive at Paddington at 10.30, board the Tube to Chancery Lane and am in my bedroom at 11 pm, deeply satisfied about a day well spent.

My research (and hopefully, another book) is on its way.

Introduction to Ken Loach

Oct10

Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Barcelona-London

My return flight was all right, I suppose. Lovely views from my window seat of the plane of the Mediterranean glowing turquoise below me before it nosed northwards across the Iberian Peninsula past jagged-edged mountains, a snaking ribbon of a river (the Guadalquivir?) before completely losing itself in the clouds which did not part until we arrived at Stanstead airport.

Made the late discovery that I can alight from the easybus at Baker Street and hop straight on to the Tube instead of gritting my teeth through London traffic all the way to Victoria. Fact to file for the Next Time. Back at my flat, I unpacked, checked email and voice mail and realized I could just catch the 6 pm screening of Sweet Sixteen, Ken Loach’s masterpiece, at Phillip Drummond’s class. So there I was, seated in the British Film Institute Screening Room on Tottenham Court Road, still unable to believe that only a few hours previously I was still in sunny Spain!

Then, Loach had me reeling. Ah, those Scots accents! Characters who referred to a “dishwasher” as a “dashwasher” so reminded me of our border crossing a month ago when the woman at the till in a gas station near Carlisle told an Eastern European woman “we don’t take euros. Only Bratish money please. Only Bratish money here”. Thank goodness for those subtitles which Phil had the good counsel to keep on. Moira Ferguson, another one of my British colleagues, was also present at the screening. Phil invited her because she was raised in Glasgow–“in the tenements such as the ones they showed”, she informed me later.

At the end of the movie, the two of us sat staring transfixed at the credits, needing a few minutes to get over the grimness of what we had just seen. In a nutshell, the impact of broken homes, drug peddling and ruthless step parents on two young Glaswegians, a sixteen-year old brother and (younger?) sister already a mother, struggling to find their place in the world and make peace with their own abused mother. Shockingly raw performances made it impossible to believe that we were watching a movie. How on earth do these directors extract performances like these from their cast? Almost as stunning as This is England (Shane Warne), Sweet Sixteen had me reeling. Later, Moira and I discussed the movie at length in the midst of the din on Tottenham Court Road, then decided we’d best “go and get a curry somewhere” sometime to talk some more. At the end of the evening, she promised to take me back to Glasgow (which I barely saw, what with the rain and the Council strike when we were there a month ago) when next she goes there.

Blown Away by the Modernistas

Oct9

Monday, October 6, 2008
Barcelona

Though I did not intend to, it turned out that I saved the best for last. Indeed, on my last day in Barcelona, I decided to take another self-guided walking tour (as outlined in Lonely Planet) of the area called L’Eixample. This region, consisting of about 12 street blocks in the heart of the city, showcases the work of the Modernist architects that flourished in Barcelona in the last quarter of the 19th century and the first quarter of the 20th. Apart from the gigantic figure of Antoni Gaudi, they include Domeneck i Montaner and Josef Puig i Cadafalch. The best place at which to start such an exploration of this burst of architectural creativity is the lovely Parc Guell and when I found out over breakfast that one of my Youth Hostel fellow-residents, a German woman named Gisella, decided to visit it too, we made plans to travel there together.

Taking the Number 24 bus from the Plaza de la Catalunya (fare was 1. 30 euros one way), we drove through the wide boulevards of this fascinating city and arrived, about 20 minutes later, at one of the many entrances to the Park. We were glad we had opted for the bus because the journey was long and involved a steep climb up a mountain which afforded lovely views of the city sleeping quietly in the autumnal sunshine.

Our exploration into Parc Guell took us first to the Museu Gaudi, a pink confection of a house in which the artist had once lived. Now converted into a musuem, visitors are free to wander inside for 5 euros, but Gisella and I decided to pass as we had a great deal to cover that day. Instead we walked towards the wide open ceramic tile encrusted terraces, Gaudi’s handiwork, which offered views towards the park’s main entrance where the famous iconic figure of the ceramic lizard is to be found. Of course, we took pictures by the spouting fountain and the sunflower tiled terrace and the towering columns punctuated with the octopus-like tentacles of the ceiling decoration. With each vignette that presented itself, I understood more about Gaudi’s creative passion. Walking around the terraced tiers of the garden, I had the chance to appreciate Gaudi’s work as a landscape architect and I understood again the organic nature of his creations.

Then, Gisella and I were in the bus, making our way towards the center of town to begin our walking tour of the work of the Modernists or Modernistas as they are known in Spain. One after the other, we paused to admire the buildings created with the principles of Art Nouveau in mind–the curlicues, the fussy flourishes, the total femininity of the aesthetic vision. We saw La Prendrera, the famous apartment building designed by Gaudi on Passeig de Garcia. Just a few steps away was Casa Batllo which my guide book suggested we tour if there was just one building we could afford to see. And so Gisella and I purchased a ticket (16. 50 Euros each), which seemed like a princely sum until we entered the space and were swept off our feet.

Casa Batllo is a private mansion for which Gaudi received a commission from the Batllos. He conceived the entire building as deriving from the Sea and chose blue as the dominate color on his rather subdued palate. Inside, motifs from the sea–shells, conches, sea horses, whales, star fish, etc. envelope the space so fully and so ingeniously that words can do it no justice at all. As you wander from one space to the next, you don’t quite know what to take in–so detailed are the touches, so imaginative is the execution. In his signature material–ceramic tile, carved and polished wood, blown glass–Gaudi had created a home that is not just one-of-a-kind but state-of-the-art as well for its time. The aesthetic features are so perfectly balanced by the scientific and engineering rationale that prompted them that what you see is a perfect marriage of the Arts and the Sciences in that one space. What’s more, every single little feature from the brass door handles to the crystal chandeliers, from the wrought-iron window boxes to the cutest little elevator you ever did see, are entirely conceived and fashioned by his stupendous imagination. This home is certainly one of the most splendid things I have ever seen in my entire life and I emerged out of the place totally overwhelmed.

By this time, I had lost Gisella. Using the audio guides that came with our entry ticket, we had viewed the building at our own pace and, in the process, had drifted apart. Deciding to complete the walking tour on my own, I pressed bravely onwards taking in the Casa Amatler, the Fondacion Antoni Tapie, the Casa Lleo Morera, the Casa Pia Batllo–all of which define the work of the Modernists. Some of the building facades carried elaborate carvings, others had astounding wrought-iron scrollwork, yet others had fancy balconies…every single one of these features falls under the umbrella of Modernism, but I guess the tour reached it zenith at the Palau de la Musica Catalana, designed by Montaner for the performances of Catalonian Music.

This building is striking in the extreme for the facade that sports the busts of famous composers such as Verdi and Beethoven, Mozart and Wagner, ceramic pillars that hold up the structure, ceramic tiles that freely decorate the floors and the ceilings and a wealth of stained glass windows. I decided to grab a bite to eat in the cafeteria inside–a wonderful selection of Spanish tapas presented itself and in choosing to nibble on serrano ham and fish paste with shrimp, I found myself a tasty little lunch, before I picked up the pace once again and arrived at the Mercat de la Boqueria, a famous street market right of Las Ramblas. There, I bought myself neat packages of serrano ham and manchego cheese and with a baguette was able to fashion some truly delicious sandwiches for my dinner later that day.

And then, when the sun was close to setting, I realized that I had been in Barcelona for three whole days and had not yet visited its beaches! As you can tell, beach combing is rather a low priority for me, but since I could not possibly leave without setting eyes on the Mediterranean, off I went on another long ramble in the direction of the beach. Within a half hour, I was at the waterfront, enjoying the promenade on a particularly pleasant evening as I watched families have a fun time together. In the far distance, the land mass curved around towards the French fishing port of Marseilles and on the other side, the sea stretched towards the Costa Brava. Ahead of me, the brilliant azure-blue of the Mediterranean made a spectacular backdrop and I was so glad I did find the motivation and the energy to see the sea!

On my rambles back, I took a different route past the ancient Roman quarter once again and, quite by chance, came upon a leather shop from which I bought my one big purchase of the trip–a Spanish leather backpack.

Barcelona was everything I had expected it to me and more, but by the end of three days, I was ready to back my backpack and move on and, the next day, I left the hostel early to catch a bus to the airport for my return to London.

Dazzled by Picasso and Gaudi

Oct9

Sunday, October 5, 2008
Barcelona

Early on Sunday morning, while the rest of the Youth Hostel residents were sleeping off their weekend carousing, I walked quickly along the Bari Gottic and arrived at the Museu Picasso only to be stunned at the endless line that had formed before the museum even opened its doors. With at least 500 folks on line, I decided to explore the Museu Barbier-Mueller D’Art Pre-Colombi which translates from the Catalonian into the Barbier-Mueller Museum of Pre-Colombian Art. This collection is also located in a beautiful old palau (mansion) on the Carrer de Montecada, right opposite the Museu Picasso, but so gigantic is the reputation of Pablo that no one seemed interested in inspecting the treasure concealed inside–and frankly I did not expect anything too impressive either.

How mistaken I was! One room in particular so seized my imagination that I was glad I gave Picasso a miss until the queues thinned out. The manuscript room was filled with photocopies of the correspondence that ensued between Columbus and the monarchs Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain who had sponsored his voyages of discovery. Columbus writes in his own hand about the things he encounters in the Caribbean Islands and his disappointment at not finding any gold. The diary jottings of a number of his crew were also on display and I was transported to 1492 as I scrutinized those priceless documents. Seeing these words in black and white (or sepia and white, to be more precise) somehow made history come alive for me and gave it a soul.

Then, I was out on the street ready to join the line for the Picasso Museum. To my astonishment, I entered in less than ten minutes and though the place was filled, it was still possible to enjoy the contents of the many rooms at leisure and study every single one of the exhibits. I found the museum totally fascinating though most visitors are rather disappointed to find that his best-known works are not on display–they happen to be in Paris, of course, at the Musee Picasso (where I had seen them 22 years ago and been profoundly moved).

This time round, I was moved again, but for altogether another reason. This collection showcases Picasso’s earliest work, most of which was done when he was still barely out of his teens and while he lived and studied Art in Barcelona’s Llotja Art School. It allowed the viewer to see exactly how he progressed from an imitative artist to one who blazed new trails and changed the direction of 20th century Art completely. His earliest self-portraits show an uncanny resemblance to his last photographs taken just before his death. His portraits of his father and his mother are touchingly realistic–such a far cry from the iconoclast into which he evolved. The canvases he submitted to Art competitions while he was still in art school are extraordinarily realistic and show no signs at all of the abstract artist he would become. I found all of this extraordinarily moving. There were a few canvases from his Blue Period and his Rose Period and then the tempo quickened as we moved into his Cubist phase with his take on the work of the Old Masters such as Manet’s Dejeuner Sur L’Herbe and, of course, the famous series he did on Velasquez’s Las Meninas. This superb collection is an opportunity for any lover of Modern Art to understand Picasso’s complex journey and to marvel as its exhaustive invention.

It took me an hour and a half to see it all and then I was on the street enjoying the warmth of the Iberian sunshine pouring down upon me as I decided to spend an hour in the Parc de la Citadella, a green lung of the city that contains some interesting early landscape designs by Gaudi, primarily in the huge Cascade or Waterfall that he created which contains, among other things, statuary, spouting jets of water and terraced basins. The park also is also the location of the Catalonian Parliament but since tours were stopped for the day, I had to content myself with a look-see around the exterior. It reminded me a bit of the Parc de Bieno Retiro in Madrid which included topiary and a lake in which boating was a pleasant weekend past-time. Indeed, the park was empty of tourists and it was great to see the ‘locals’ taking the air, strolling along with their toddlers and to watch the elderly enjoy a sit-down on the many benches.

Then, began my long walk towards Barcelona’s piece de resistance, La Sagrada Familia (the Church of the Holy Family). This iconic image of the city is now familiar to most people but to see it in person is truly a staggering experience. A conception of Gaudi’s imagination, work on this Gothic cathedral began over a hundred years ago but came to a standstill during the Communist era of the Spanish Civil War. When construction was resumed, Gaudi make it his personal ambition to get it finished but, as luck would have it, he was mowed down by a tram right in front of the church. Undaunted by his demise, the engineers and architects continued with his vision and the church is described today as a “work-in-progress”. Most of the exterior has been completed but the inside is still basically a shell with completion expected only in 2030.

Encrusted with sculpture depicting the Nativity on the back facade and the Passion on the front, Gaudi took his inspiration from nature, his constant companion as a child. This was brought home to me through the small exhibit in the crypt of the church and for that reason alone, I was so glad I splurged on the 10 euros that it cost to enter it. I understood completely the rationale of this genius after seeing that exhibit and perceiving the link between the various images from nature (wheat stalks, lavender, sunflowers, pine cones, etc.) on the artistic and architectural motifs to be found on his buildings and their interiors. Everything that had seemed weird suddenly made complete sense to me and I felt as if I had a revelation, an epiphany of sorts.

I took so many pictures but cameras cannot quite capture the intensity of his vision or the creative zeal that has allowed it to be implemented. The giant columns inside the church, for instance, are multi-limbed trees whose branches form a canopy above–Gaudi’s take on Gothic fan-vaulting. The choir stalls at the back of the church are so wide and expansive that, when complete, will hold 1,500 singers. I encircled the building several times both inside and out because suddenly I could not get enough of this revolutionary architect and since I was exhausted by this point, I took the Metro back to Las Ramblas, very proud of the fact that I found my way despite needing to make two changes on two different lines and without speaking or reading a word of Spanish!

Though the evening was still young, I was much too pooped to possibly consider covering any more ground that day. I returned gratefully to the hostel and plopped into my bed where I stayed for the rest of the evening!

Rambling through Las Ramblas and the Bari Gottic

Oct8

Saturday, October 4, 2008
Barcelona

The youngsters sharing my dorm went clubbing and didn’t return till day break. They were sound asleep when I awoke at 9 am, used the Ladies Only bathroom at the far end of my corridor and went down to breakfast in the hotel dining room. This was Carboholics Paradise with cornflakes and muffins and toast and coffee presiding.

Reading up on the plane as to how to spend my three days in Barcelona, I was advised by the gurus at Lonely Planet to start with the Bari Gottic (that’s the Gothic Bario or Quarter). Knowing that the best way to get a feel of a place is on foot, I fuelled up on those carbs, tied the shoe laces on my walking shoes firmly and was off for the day. And I honestly did not stop walking until night fell!

Las Ramblas was already frenetic with activity when I got there at 9. 45 am. I crossed it and entered the Call (or former Jewish Quarter) and was confronted with a tangle of confusing streets, some so narrow that only two people would walk through them abreast. But what character is preserved in this maze! I got a crick that stayed in my neck for the next four days as my head was titled at an angle to allow me to take in the overhanging balconies (very similar to those in Naples, Italy) as I walked gingerly along cobbled streets–the last thing I wanted was a twisted ankle! One old plaza opened out into the other and soon I was taking in the sights of the Plaza de la Jaume, one of the oldest parts of the city that traces its origin to the Roman occupation of Spain. My camera worked overtime as I tried to capture it all.

Lonely Planet’s Walk through Ramblas and Bari Gottic takes the stroller through plazas and medieval cloisters of Romanesque and Gothic churches, through crusted Roman walls and tombs, through churches with enormous Rose windows and geese-filled courtyards, through ancient monuments, hoary with history. I even saw a wedding take place at the charming 12th century church of St. Anne and am sure to be in some of those wedding pictures–I’m sure the bride is going to wonder at the Indian tourist gawking at her off-white mantilla!

I spent a long while in the Gothic Cathedral with its many chapels, its superbly carved wooden choir stalls and pulpit, the crypt with the sarcophagus of St. Eulalia and the Monstrance of Barcelona, not to mention the quiet chapel of Santa Lucia.

Out on the main Plaza Nova, there was scribbles on a building which turned out to be Picasso drawings on the walls of the College of Architecture. That’s what’s so wonderful about these Spanish cities–you see the work of the Modern Masters embedded on the walls and on the streets (Gaudi tiles–I mean tiles by Antoni Gaudi–decorate the Passeig de Garcia and there is a Miro mosaic that you can walk all over on Las Ramblas!)

Leaving the Cathedral environs behind me, I stopped in a tiny old taverna for chocolate and churros (the Spanish snack I remembered so well from my visit with Llew to Madrid a few years ago). The chocolate is so thick, your churros (dried dough sticks) can stand upright in it. Yuumm! I didn’t worry about the calories because I knew I was burning them up faster that I could digest those churros! Then, I was heading for the waterfront, where I saw another sculpture (Roy Lichtenstein’s odd piece entitled Barcelona’s Head). I found myself a bench and since my feet were fairly killing me by this time, I stretched put and closed my eyes (ah, how heavenly that felt!) and contemplated the canopy of trees above me.

Then, I set out for the Llotja (or medieval Stock Exchange building) whose front contains an Art School that both Picasso and Miro attended as teenagers. In a while, I was at the most famous church in the city–the Church of our Lady of the Sea–another Gothic wonder (though I preferred the Cathedral for atmosphere and art works). After a swift visit (there was another wedding scheduled there), I headed off for the Carrera de Montecada, a narrow medieval Bond Street of sorts which once boasted the most fashionable designer stores in the country. Today, its string of old palaus (mansions) have been converted into museums and when I discovered that almost all of them open their doors for free on the first Sunday of each month, I resolved to return the next morning to get to the Museu Picasso first.

However, I did also pass by the Museu de l’Historia de Catalunya and was I glad I popped in there! For this place was free on the first Saturday of each month, so if I could find the motivation and the energy to explore it, I could get in right then and there. And who could pass up such a good offer, right? So there I was, nine metres underground (a lift got me down there) doing a walk through Barsino, which was the Roman name for the city. Recent archaeological excavations have unearthed a city lying intact underground and I felt as if I was back again in Pompeii exploring the bakery and the wine cellars and the homes and palaces of the rich and well-constructed city as it thrived under the Romans!

My exploration done, I emerged on the Plaza del Rei (which I finally managed to find after almost a whole day’s search) and made my way back to La Ramblas and then the sea front where the tall column with Christopher Columbus allegedly pointing to his beloved Genoa, graces the landscape. Antique and junk jewelery stalls kept me browsing for a while before I decided that if I didn’t get back to my hostel room soon, I would quite pass out with fatigue!

Back in my room, my suite mates were partying (I don’t believe they had stopped since the previous evening!) and offered me a Spanish beer (Estrella, which was cold and very good) and as I ate my sandwich dinner and socialized with them, I wound down and got ready for bed.

Adios England, Hola Espana!

Oct8

Friday, October 3, 2008
London-Barcelona

Most of my morning was spent getting ready to leave for Spain. Packing, tidying my flat, responding to all calls and email messages, cleaning out my fridge and stuffing things into the freezer, running down to Marks and Sparks Simply Food for a baguette, cold cuts and cheese to make myself sandwiches for the flight and then for dinner tonight in Barcelona and before I knew it, it was 1.40 pm and I was in the Tube getting to Victoria to take the Easybus to Stanstead airport.

That must have been one of the longest airport rides in the world as we dodged horrendous traffic. Got to the airport at 4.15 pm for my flight that departed at 6.00 pm. The check in took precisely one minute and then with an hour and a half to browse through the airport, I kept wishing they had better duty free (window) shopping.

Cloud cover over the UK (so what else is new, right?) made my window seat redundant but within an hour and 40 minutes, we touched down in Barcelona. Couldn’t enjoy the landing as it was too dark. Immigration clearance took another ten minutes (was the officer really leering at me, or was that my imagination?) and then I was outside the airport into the balmy night and looking confusedly for the aeroport bus to take me to the city.

At this point, I latched on to two English girls who had been to Barcelona before and knew the ropes. They directed me to the bus stop where they were heading themselves and presto, within five minutes, a bus materialized (the fare to be paid to the driver on the bus was 4. 05 euros–thank goodness I had some change with me) and we were off. Through the well-lit roads we sped, many of them reminding me of Madrid, and arrived at Plaza de la Catalunya (Catalonian Square) from where Las Ramblas, the main artery originated. A five minute walk through the crowded street (yes, it was buzzing even at 10 pm) took me to the Youth Hostel where I checked in to find myself placed in an 8-bedded mixed dorm with a bunch of youngsters from Switzerland, Germany and Brazil. They gave me a very hearty welcome indeed and though I was tired, out of politeness, I did spend some time socializing with them while munching on my baguette dinner.

At 10. 30 pm, I was in my bunk, only to be awoken frequently during the night by my young suite mates for whom Friday night can only mean one thing–Party Time!

First impressions of Barcelona? It doesn’t have it’s Fun City reputation for nothing!

Hiya Hadrian!

Oct3

Thursday, October 2, 2008
London

Just when I was contemplating whether or not to splurge on the special exhibit at the British Museum titled “Hadrian: Empire and Conflict”, Robert Pinkerton from NYU’s Programing Department emailed to let me know that they had extra tickets and could join them. Could I indeed!

We assembled outside the Bedford Square Gardens–about 10 students and Prof. Jane Beckett who teaches Art History and whom I got to know rather well on our recent trip to Liverpool. I was excited because Llew and I had just visited Hadrian’s Wall , a month ago, on the border between Scotland and England. We had also visited the Milecastle at Birdoswold where a Roman Fort once stood and where ruined remains can still be seen. Despite having scaled the Wall, there was little I knew about Hadrian and this exhibit certainly filled that void.

Of course, for me, one of the greatest joys of visiting the special exhibits at the British is the opportunity to gaze upon the Reading Room in which Karl Marx once sat for weeks on end and scribbled his tour de force, Das Kapital. Now that the Reading Rooms have moved to the new British Library at St. Pancras, we’ve lost this historic gem of a room, But the ceiling has been beautifully refurbished and renovated so that it sparkles in the dim light, its gilded ribbing standing out against the soft egg-shell blue of the background. Its dome towers above like that of the Parthenon or the Duomo in Florence and it did not surprize me to see a mention of the similarities between these world-famous domes at the exhibition as Hadrian was a great lover of architecture and added many magnificent buildings to the Rome of his time.

Born in AD 76 and reigning between AD 117-138, Hadrian is easily recognizable (among all Roman emperiors) by his beard and the crease in his ear-lobe, which detail is found in all depictions of the emperor in stone as well as in metal. There are two splendid busts in the exhibit, one a collossal one of Hadrian himself, found in huge fragments rather recently in Turkey, the other of Antinous, his male lover and one for whom he had a deep and abiding love though married to Sabina. The couple had no children and after his death, Hadrian who was himself the adopted son of the Emperor Trajan, went on to adopt Marcus Aurelius who also reigned over the Roman Empire.

Lots of sculpture, some portions of his famous Wall, fragments of the autobiography he wrote towards the end of his life, olive oil amphorea and a really superb recreation of his villa in Tivoli outside Rome, made up the bulk of the exhibit. It wasn’t particularly wonderful but it was very enlightening and I am glad I went.

As I was walking home after a long day (I had taught two classes during the day), I passed by the London Review of Books Bookshop and Cafe and noticed that there was a reading in progress. I poked by head in and discovered that John Banville (Booker Prize-winning author of The Sea) had just finished a reading from his new book, a mystery entitled The Lemur. Thanks to my new cell phone, I called Llew immediately to find out if I should purchase a signed copy for him as Banville sat down to sign books for his fans–most of whom had come with a pile of his earlier publications.

Then, I got home and over dinner I watched Marion Cottilard present her Oscar-winning performance as Edith Piaf in La Vie En Rose. I did not enjoy the movie at all as I think it needs to be seen on the big screen. However, I adored every single song, especially the title Song La Vie En Rose, one of the classics among modern French melodies, as well as several others that I recognized and can hum but whose names I do not know. However, her performance was very impressive indeed and I am sure if one saw it on the big screen, the effect would be numbing.

Tomorrow afternoon, I leave for sunny Spain (“Say Viva Espana”!) and am looking forward to nice weather as I go out and discover Antonio Gaudi’s remarkable work in Barcelona.

I’ll be back in London on Tuesday. Until then, Adios!

Spectacular Syon House

Oct1

Wednesday, October 1, 2008
London

The month of October has started quite spectacularly for me. Having heard about Syon House during my training as a docent at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York almost ten years ago (one of the ‘period’ rooms at the Museum is a recreation of the Dining Room at Syon House), I had long wanted to visit this stately country estate. Only the last time I was in the area, it was closed to visitors and I had detoured and visited Kew Gardens instead. A visit to its website informed me that it would close to visitors in November. There was no time to waste. I managed to rope in my friend Janie Yang to undertake the excursion with me and with her Dad Ken accompanying us, we spent a truly breathtaking day in one of the UK’s most splendid homes.

It is a blessing to have for a friend a Londoner with a car. Not only does it make travel so much more pleasant, but Janie was able to get us there through the cutest villages along the banks of the River Thames. Though the day started off cloudy, the sun peeked out by the afternoon. It remained chilly though as a cold wind blew all day. I was glad I had bundled up as the forecaster on TV had suggested.

For 8 pounds apiece, we had the run of the house and the gardens with the splendid conservatory thrown in as well. Syon House takes its name from Zion, the Hebraic name for Jerusalem. Even before the house was built, it was the site of a convent that was subsequently seized by Henry VIII at the Dissolution of the Churches. The property was given to the Duke of Somerset. Thereafter a grizzly series of killings followed prominent owners of the home for several were beheaded in those turbulent political times. Eventually, the house fell into the hands of the Dukes of Northumberland and it is to the 12th Duke of Northumberland that it currently belongs though he and his family spend most of their time in Alynwich (pronounced ‘An-wick’) Castle near Yorkshire and keep “a set of apartments” at Syon House for use during the summer months. We could see why. The house has no heating apart from the occasional fireplace and it was freezing!

The main attractions of the property today are the 18th century interior design of the famed Robert Adam and the gardens designed by Lancelot “Capability” Brown. It is the vast grounds that strike the visitor first when one drives through the main gates. Though it is possible to get to Syon House and Park using public transport (Tube to Gunnersbury, then bus 237 or 267 to Syon Lane from where one can walk to the main gates), it was such a luxury to have Janie drive us right to the Visitor Center. The lawns look ‘au natural’ though carefully landscaped for Capability Brown’s scheme was to deliberately create a pastoral environment in which sheep and cattle were strategically placed to seem as if they were in the wilderness. The River Thames that winds nearby was also incorporated into this design and the effect, I have to say, was utterly bucolic.

From the outside, Syon House could not look plainer. Indeed, it appears like a rather squat sandstone castle with very little exterior appeal. But appearances are so deceptive. Pass through the portico and wham! The effect is so unexpectedly charming as to leave one wanting to know more. Fortunately, it is at this point that helpful guides hand over audio guides that provide such a wealth of architectural and decorative detail as to leave every question answered. The Main Salon, a Robert Adam masterpiece, is subdued in shades of buff and off white but entirely proportioned and designed in Classical terms–a result of Adams’ stay in Italy for a long period of time.

The antechamber adjoining the Main Salon is a true stunner. Lavish use of pure gilding on a large number of plaster statues as well as minute plaster details on the walls and ceiling leave the visitor breathless. The more one inspects the littlest detail, the more is one impressed by the overall conception of design and the mastery of execution. In this room, it is the floor that is most unusual for the pietra dura inlay common on smaller surfaces is rarely seen in so large a space. This room also showcases the visual tricks that Adam played with the human eye in making a rectangular room seem like a perfect square.

From there we passed into the dining room, devoid of a table and chairs but filled with the most arresting paintings depicting personages associated with the house over the centuries. It is this room that has been reproduced in New York. Its most striking feature is the six niches in the wall that hold the sculptures of Roman god and goddesses. Light from the outside fills this room. Here the carpet is the most significant item but, unfortunately, it had been removed for cleaning during our visit.

The next room is the Long Gallery so-called because in centuries past, residents of the property used it as a space in which to take their exercise on days when the weather did not permit outdoor activity. Though oil paintings line both sides of the walls in this room, it is the ceiling that is the most spectacular aspect featuring rondels painted to depict Classical figures from Greek and Roman mythology. The entire room is covered with gilded plasterwork in the Greek honeysuckle pattern, a rather feathery depiction of a flower.

Just next door to the Long Gallery was the most charming room of all–a tiny round very feminine room whose walls and ceiling were covered with exquisite off white plasterwork on a background of pastel pink and mint green. In the center hung a bird’s cage, with a mechanical canary who whistled softly and musically. The effect was purely enchanting

A peep into the study occupied by the 10th and 11th Dukes brought us into the 20th century with a black Bakelite telephone and other contemporary touches. There was another corridor that contained portraits of England’s kings and queens done in rather stylized fashion. What struck me was that none of the many accoutrements that filled these rooms was in the slightest state of disrepair. Everything is in pristine condition hinting at careful conservation and meticulous care.

Upstairs, we saw the rooms once occupied by a young Princess Victoria and the bedroom next door that had been her mother’s. For me, one of the highlights of this visit was an opportunity to see one of the bedrooms that had been used in Robert Altman’s Gosford Park, my favorite movie of all time! This was the scene in which Kristin Scott-Thomas gets cozy with Ryan Phillipe, a rather sensual scene. Though the drapes at the windows and the bed hangings on the four poster bed were supplied by the Sets Manager of the film, the rest of the furniture in the room was kept exactly as it was in the film and I cannot wait to see the movie again to inspect the room as it appears in the frames.

The most interesting part of the outside of the house was the Grand Conservatory, built between 1800 and 1820 by Charles Fowler and providing the model for what would ultimately become the Crystal Palace. The iron work on this building has to be seen to be appreciated. The dome towers above the viewer on stately iron columns whose masculinity is softened by the abundance of clear white glass in the panes.

Seeing the house and being spellbound by its interiors made me feel as if it was truly worth the long wait. Looking across the vast acreage that forms part of the estate, it is impossible to believe that the city of London is only a few miles away, so tucked away in the countryside does the house appear. But then this was precisely what Capability Brown wanted to achieve. And it is clear from a visit to this estate that he succeeded brilliantly!

On the way back, we passed along the banks of the Thames through the charming little village of Old Isleworth (pronounced “I-zil-worth”). It was filled with listed homes and pubs and its avenues were lined with established trees. On this crisp autumn afternoon, the effect was thoroughly pleasing and I have little doubt I will remember this excursion for a long time to come.

Back in London, I went out in search of Lonely Planet Greece in order to start planning the preparing for our proposed holiday in Greece during my fall break in November. Janie suggested I visit Stanford, a bookstore on Long Acre Road near Covent Garden that is devoted entirely to travel books. I found it very easily indeed and cannot even begin to tell you how delighted I was by this new discovery. This is easily going to become one of my favorite places in London. Imagine an entire bookstore devoted to the sales of travel tomes! What a paradise for anyone bitten by the travel bug! I found books galore, but also antique maps, journals, globes and other associated travel merchandise that would gladden the heart of any travel buff.

London is lovely and after a day like this,I feel blessed to be here. Despite having done a fair amount of work in the one month since I arrived here , I still feel as if I am on vacation. And what a priceless feeling that is indeed!

Two Relatively Uneventful Days

Sep30

Monday and Tuesday, September 29 and 30, 2008
London

Spent almost every minute of the last two days at home, save for this evening (Tuesday) when I stepped out to our NYU campus to see This is England, Shane Meadows’ brilliant film about Thacherite England during the Falklands War.

Yesterday was beautifully sunny. Tempting though it was to get outdoors, I had too much catching up to do after my weekend in Liverpool. Checked my Barcelona itinerary for this coming weekend, making my easybus booking to Stanstead airport and back, wrote my Liverpool travelogue (which I put on this blog), downloaded, edited and captioned all my photographs, made a few pending calls, etc. and before I knew it, my day was done.

Another interesting aspect about yesterday was watching a crew of city maintenance guys at work. Sometime during the weekend, in my absence, someone mowed down two adjoining telephone booths across the street on which I live. When I poked my head out in the morning, I saw them still standing but dangerously tilted backwards, a pile of shattered glass lying all around them. By about 10 am, two sweepers had the glass neatly swept into a pile. About noon, the maintenance crew arrived with two trucks, one of which they pulled up on the pavement, the other they left on the road. They erected a protective barrier around the booths and set to work.

I had no idea what they intended to do. Did they propose to repair the booths? Little did I expect them to do what they ended up doing. As the afternoon wore on, the irritating sounds of drilling wafted up to my windows and I shut them to be able to continue working in peace. From time to time, I stuck my head out to see how far they had progressed. By 5 pm, they had achieved nothing very substantial. At 5. 30pm, they stopped to eat their meal from styrofoam containers, not having done very much at all.

Then, after 6 pm, work began in earnest. One of the trucks contained a crane and to my astonishment, they hauled up each booth and got it to lie horizontally on the truck. When both booths were on their backs on the floor of the truck, they began to work on the pavement. This continued until about 9 pm. by which time darkness had fallen and the human traffic on the pavement dwindled down to almost nothing. Since the truck covered the spot, I could not see what they doing. At any rate, by 10pm, I retired for the night, leaving them still at work.

When I awoke this morning, it was as if the telephone booths had never been there at all. The only tell-tale signs on the pavement were five flagstones that had been neatly placed in the spot where the booths used to be. They were new and whiter than the dark brown flagstones surrounding them. It had taken the crew one whole day to get the work done, but at the end of the day, they had done a great job, even if they lingered through normal working hours in order to push the clock after 6 pm allowing themselves, undoubtedly, to claim overtime allowances. I realized that maintenance crews are the same all over the world. Working without supervision, they make a packet swindling the municipal administrations everywhere in their attempts to squeeze as much money out of the system as possible. Sigh!

This morning dawned wet and overcast and I was glad I stayed home to prepare my classes for Thursday. In the evening, I walked to campus and saw Meadows’ movie that can boast some masterful performance particularly from Thomas Trusgood, the 10 year old kid who had never acted in his life until he appeared at the audition and told the casting director that he would do the film for five pounds. It was exactly that brand of cockiness and braggadocio that the director wanted his character Sean to portray and the rest is history. The film is so superbly directed that at no point do you believe that the characters are acting–they are naturalness personified and I was riveted throughout. But for the difficulty I had following those Nottingham accents–which, incidentally, lent terrific authenticity to the script–I loved every second of it and would heartily recommend it to anyone interested in seeing quality contemporary British cinema.

I am also pleased to have found out that the weekly TV program is available with the Sunday Mail which I purchased on Sunday in Liverpool in order to get my hands on the free CD that came with the paper–Ten Tenors singing some of the most famous arias of all time. The bonus in the magazine inside was ten pages of recipes from Nigella Lawson’s new book and some mouthwatering pictures of the domestic diva who was also on the cover. I seem to be slowly entering into the spirit of my new life in London what with discovering its Sunday papers and learning to recognize its celebrities–Jamie Oliver, Kylie Minogue, Lawrence, Llewellyn-Bowen, Charles Saatchi and Sienna Miller. I am afraid I might suffer reverse cultural ignorance by the time I return to the USA.

Another warming thought is that my next door neighbor Tim, a software designer, knocked on my door this evening to invite me to lunch on Sunday in his flat that he shares with his wife Barbara Cookson, an attorney. I had to sadly decline as I will be in Barcelona for the weekend, but I promised him that I would get in touch upon my return. I also found a message awaiting me on my machine (or ‘answer phone’ as they say in the UK) from my friend Michelle wanting to know if I was getting on OK. How thoughtful of her!

Who said the English are reserved? I don’t seem to be doing too badly myself in making and keeping friends here.

Liverpool at Leisure (Continued)

Sep29

Sunday, September 28, 2008
Liverpool

Another glorious day! The Liverpudlians were pleased. They informed us that we had brought the good weather with us.

Breakfast at the Holiday Inn was a Continental affair–Carb Central with Caffeine thrown in for good measure. I had slept like a baby and jumped up on discovering that it was 8 am. I knew that if I snoozed for another ten minute, I’d miss our ferry ride.

An hour later, showered and having repacked, I was at the YHA in Liverpool, stashing my backpack into the bus and walking across the main road towards the ferry dock. We boarded the 11 am ferry across the Mersey that the commentary informed us was “one of the most famous ferry rides in the world”. Indeed, there has been a ferry across this river since the 12th century.

From the get go, it is easy to see why this city became the second most prosperous after London, Indeed, there is every sign of commercial activity on its waterfront, culminating in the Three Graces, the name for the trio of buildings that give the city its most recognizable waterscape.
We had heard the story of the famous Liver Birds (I had always wondered where that TV show from the 70s got its name!) atop the Royal Liver (pronounced Lie-ver) Building. They were made by a sculptor who meant to create a pair of eagles since those formed the seal of King John who have the city trading rights. Only he had never seen an eagle himself, so ended up creating a bird he had frequently come upon–a cormorant! The two birds, fixed on top like giant weather wanes (one staring upon the horizon for incoming sailors), the other turned towards the city and representing the sailor’s search for the pubs, so the joke goes!) is an instant landmark. Right besides it, is the Cunard Building built in imitation of a Venetian pallazzo and next to it is the domed expanse of the Liverpool Port Headquarters. Just behind it is the red and white striped “streaky bacon” building that houses the offices of the White Star Lines, the ones that managed the Titanic. It was from the balconies overlooking the main street that the announcements about the sinking of the Titanic were made to the hundreds who had congregated below to find out the fate of their loved ones, many of whom had been aboard as part of the ship’s crew.

Along the Mersey are the huge warehouses through which the country’s merchandise once passed and cargoes from all over the world were unloaded. A running commentary gave us peaks into the history of the Mersey and the role it played in the development of Liverpool. I was able to catch only occasional snatches of this as an unruly group of pensioners who seriously believed they were at their own private party made boisterous jokes and dissolved into loud and annoying laughter at frequent intervals right in front of me. Despite changing my seat and moving closer to the speakers, I only caught an occasional passing gem. As Billy Bryson says in his book Notes from a Small Island, you do have to listen to Gerry and the Pacemakers sing Ferry Cross the Mersey (at least I think that’s the name of the song, but it could possibly have another title) as the boat sails along, but I thought it added to the charm rather than proved annoying. I half expected to see Bryson standing somewhere on board and grinning cheerfully at me. The ferry made two stops on the opposite side of the river allowing passengers to disembark to see the historic heritage trail on the other side in Bootle and Birkenhead before it returned us to the Dock in fifty minutes.

With three hours to spare before we boarded the coaches to take us back to London, I rushed off along Victoria Street to the massive Neo-Classical buildings amassed around the Empire Theater. The Beatles Story on Albert Dock was an incessant attraction and I wondered whether or not I should fork out the 12 .50 pounds to see it. Then, I decided to go to the Walker Art Gallery instead where I spent the next hour taking in its small but very significant collection of paintings and sculpture dating from the Medieval period to the present. It certainly does have some arresting work in the form of Reubens, Rembrandt self-portraits and a very interesting clutch of Pre-Raphaelite Paintings including several by Frederick, Lord Leighton. It also carries special exhibitions and while I was there, it featured the prize winners of the John Moores Art Prize, some of which were revolutionary but memorable.

However, to my mind, the highlight of this museum is the City Scapes exhibition by contemporary artist Ben Johnson whose portrayal of Liverpool was quite the most stunning thing I saw on my entire trip. Using a complicated technological process that involved the taking of hundreds of photographs and the creation of countless graphic images, Johnson and a team of artists have re-created Liverpool with its landmark buildings and its singular skyline in the same way that he has done images of Hongkong, Jerusalem and Zurich–all of which were also on display. I truly wish I had more time to linger and understand the process that went into his creation of this wonder, but I needed to see the interior of the George Concert Hall and I also contemplated entering the World Museum to see a special exhibit called The Beat Goes On.

Well, the George Concert Hall, the imposing Neo-Classical building in yellow sandstone with its towering Greek pillars, was closed to the public because a special event on Brides 2008 was on. Well, I am no bride but I was determined to sneak a peak at the floor that is set with Minton tiles and I was going to make that happen no matter what. As it turned out, I found an entrance that was less secure than the rest and in I nipped and what a sight awaited me there! If you think the outside is imposing, try taking in the interior. It was one of the most ornate things I have ever seen with chandeliers, intricate plasterwork, classical Greek paintings, a bunch of sculptural figures, the famous Minton tiled floor and an abundance of other decorative details, too numerous to describe. I also managed to get a few cake samples being distributed by the wedding cake makers who had stalls inside the show case and were eager to distribute them.

My next stop was the World Museum where I headed straight up to the second floor to see the exhibit on the musicians who since the 1950s put Liverpool on the music map. While most of the world is aware that the Beatles were born, first made music and were discovered in Liverpool, few know that Gerry and the Pacemakers and Cilla Black also hailed from Liverpool and contributed to the “Merseybeat” for which the city has been known over the past fifty years. In fact, it was GIs from America arriving in Liverpool during the war who brought rock and roll with them to the city and infused it with the beat to which it kept swinging for the next half century. This was made known to me through all kinds of musical memorabilia from the period and what’s more, it was all free. Now I could have seen The Beatles Story and paid good money for it, but instead here I was looking at Beatles memorabilia (the medals worn by the group on the Sergeant Pepper Lonely Hearts Club Album, the grey suits that manager Brian Epstein had designed for them to give them a wider, more sedate appeal, etc.) and soaking it all in while also looking at dresses worn by Cilla Black and a whole host of other musicians of that era. It was truly wonderful and I loved every minute of it.

Out on the street, I dashed into Subway past busy Queen Street full of Sunday shoppers and their bulging bags to pass by the famous Cavern Club where the Beatles had their start. Though long closed, this is another stop on the Beatles Tour and I was glad I caught a glimpse of it. Then I bought myself a hero to eat in the coach and just managed to make the long walk back to the YHA.

The coach journey back to London was uneventful (I slept through most of it anyway) and gratefully used the facilities at the Warwick motorstop before we arrived in the city about 9 pm.

Liverpool is undergoing the kind of resurgence of which most cities can only dream. My visit to it was fruitful and exciting and left me with the fullest satisfaction of having seen a city through its ups and downs and of having experienced its fluctuating fortunes. I can only hope that the students whom I accompanied on this trip enjoyed it as much as I did.