Tag Archive | Tower of London

A Sunday in the Parks with Ivana

Oct12

Sunday, October 12, 2008
London

I awoke at 6 this morning (despite going to bed after midnight) and could not fall asleep again so I sat in bed reading Amitav Ghosh’s Sea of Poppies. When I stuck my head outside the window, there was not a soul in sight on either side of High Holborn even at 8 am. It is amazing how quiet this area gets at the weekend when the law firms have shut down.

Then, Surprise! Surprise! My next door neighbor Barbara was in church this morning at the 9 am Mass at St. Ethelreda’s Parish on Ely Place. It was nice to be able to wave to one known face in the congregation in the midst of that sea of strangers. Our priest was a Frenchman, Fr. Dennis Labarette (he goes as Fr. “Denny”, said Barbara) who stood outside to greet us as we left the church. Barbara did me the favor of picking up a copy of The Mail for me from Holborn. I would have accompanied her but I was expecting a call from Ivana which came right on cue as soon as I entered the house. Now that I am buying the Sunday papers, I guess you can say I am getting acculturated to London. I am beginning to recognize the local celebrities that are almost unknown in the States: Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen, Agnes Deyn, Charles Saatchi, Stephen Fry, Sienna Miller.

Ivana (“you can call me Ivvy”) did call to set a time and a place–Sloan Square Tube Station at a quarter past eleven. Getting there took longer than I thought and Ivvy had beaten me there despite having arrived there on her bicycle. We found a bike stand on which to fasten it and were away on one of the self-guided walks in my DK Eye Witness Guide to London: A Two to Three Hour Walk in Chelsea and Battersea. I’m not quite sure that Ivana knew what she was in for when she agreed to set out with me but she declared at several intervals during our walk that she was having a great time. And I believed her…for what was not to love about our rambles?

Leaving the excited Sloan Rangers behind us, we turned into Holbein Place, named, of course, for Hans Holbein, the Dutch portrait painter whom Henry VIII befriended (his work graces the National Portrait Gallery with its wide array of Tudor and Elizabethan mugs shots in oils). Out on Pimlico Road, one of my favorite streets in London, I could not resist peeking into the showrooms of interior decorating doyens Linley (yes, that is Viscount Linley, the Queen’s nephew, son of her late sister Margaret) and Joanna Wood whose signature English County look has inspired me for years.

Then, we were walking past the Royal Hospital’s magnificent buildings (designed by none other than Sir Christopher Wren) where I was delighted to catch a glimpse of a Chelsea Pensioner complete with long red coat and dapper black hat. In the Ranelagh Gardens, I saw the site of the famous annual Spring Chelsea Flower Show and resolved anew to try to obtain tickets for next year.

We crossed the swirling waters of the Thames at Chelsea Bridge with its four golden galleons guarding the gateposts and were over on the other bank in Battersea. In the extensive park that borders the banks we stopped for a light lunch before passing by the Buddhist Pagoda and crossing the river again–this time on the elegant Albert Bridge with its white painted ironwork. Over on the Chelsea side, we strolled along the delightful Embankment unable to get over the grandeur of the day or how fortunate we were to be able to enjoy it so thoroughly.

I couldn’t resist taking pictures by the sculpture of Thomas Carlyle whose home on Cheyne Row I had visited only a couple of days ago and of St. Thomas More who also lived on Cheyne Walk. A few steps later, his very dignified statue came into view–in gilding and black stone against the charming backdrop of the old red brick Chelsea Church. Naturally, we had to step inside and were unexpectedly treated to the rehearsal of a German operatic duo which we paused to enjoy for a while. Then, we were inspecting the remotest corners of the church, taking in the private chapel and the memorial to Sir Thomas More, the poor ill-fated Chancellor to Henry VIII who refused to accept his supreme authority as Head of the Church of England, was beheaded in the Tower of London, only to be canonized a saint by the Catholic Church. Wonderful stone memorials, most of which were destroyed through German bombing in World War II and were loving restored, grace the dim interiors of this venerable church. Ivana was as enchanted as I was as we stopped frequently to read tomb stones and memorials dating from the 1400s.

When we did get out into the bright sunshine, we made our way to the King’s Road past the beautiful terraced houses that carry multi-million dollar price tags today. The shoppers were still hard at it as we walked through the Chelsea Arts and Crafts Market and picked up fresh walnut bread in Waitrose before heading towards Sloan Square where Ivana picked up her bike and left me to sample scents at Jo Malone’s showroom on Walton Street.

Half an hour later, half drooping with fatigue, I returned home on the Tube and treated myself to a cream tea–fruit scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream that I had picked up from M&S Simply Food. That and some rich fruit cake provided sustenance enough to allow me to sit and grade my first lot of essays from my Writing class. Except that the darn phone did not stop ringing and after a while I just left the machine to pick up.

An Inspector Lynley Mystery and watching Steven Fry’s new series on the BBC based on his exploration of the fifty US states got me ready for dinner and I fixed myself my Cheddar-Broccoli Soup with the aforementioned Walnut Bread. With some Chocolate Fudge Pudding for dessert, I was ready to call it a night.

And I hope I will sleep longer tonight.

A Morning in Wapping and an Evening with Chinua Achebe

Oct11

Saturday, October 11, 2008
London

The weather gods must feel particularly benevolent for they’ve graced us with a whole weekend of bliss! On another amazingly lovely day, I set out at 11 am with my next door neighbors Barbara and Tim “for a walk past the Tower of London and into Wapping for a Chinese lunch by the riverside”, they said.

Never one to pass up a chance to explore another part of London, I was more than happy to accompany them. Only it turned out that we walked for a whole hour and a half at a stretch past some of the most marvelous parts of London along the Thames Path. With the weather cooperating so beautifully, every step of the way was sheer pleasure. They knew every hidden nook and cranny of the Path, darting into a cobbled courtyard here, zipping into an alleyway there, past the Old and New Stairs that flank the banks of the Thames and pointing out to me as we passed so many sights of interest–the famous former offices of newspaper barons on Fleet Street; the alcoves tucked away behind St. Paul’s Cathedral; Dickens Inn where the novelist often downed a swift half with his buddies; Canary Wharf where the financial establishment now lies shrouded under a pall of gloom. I saw the Tower of London and Tower Bridge from angles I had never seen before and, of course, my camera worked overtime trying to capture the essence of it all. All the while, we followed the course of the river in the wake of so many other walkers all out to enjoy the glorious day.

We finally reached the River View Chinese Restaurant in Wapping, a small area of London that was once a self-contained village. We chose a table by the window where the river glimmered only a few yards in front of us. Opposite us, we could see the golden sands that turn the river bank into a beach. There were ‘locks’ galore, those curious contraptions that regulate the ebb and flow of the river’s waters, that make a fascinating study in themselves.

Barbara and I left food decisions to Tim who made a fine selection with an emphasis on seafood. We had squid and prawns and monkfish in sweet and sour sauce (delicious!), crispy noodles with chicken and stir fried vegetables. Everything was washed down by beer–cold and refreshing after our long walk. They told me about restaurants close to home that are worth sampling and I hope to try them out when Llew is here at the end of the month.

During our walk and over lunch, I got to know my neighbors a little better. Tim, a former West End chef, who studied at St. Andrew’s in Scotland, now runs a software business from out of his flat. Barbara is a Cambridge-educated attorney who water skis for fun. The couple have traveled widely around the world and shared with me some wonderful stories of their global adventures. I found them deeply interesting to talk to. They have traveled widely in the States as well and know a great deal of American history.

On the way back, we took a cab–one of those lovely London cabs with the drop-down seats that allow passengers to face each other. Have you ever seen anything more civilized? I realized on the way back what a long way we had walked. No wonder I was ready for a nap when I got home, except that I had to get ready for my evening’s appointment with Annalisa at the Brunei Gallery of the School of Oriental and African Studies.

For the concluding session of the conference on “Things Fall Apart at Fifty” was its highlight–a conversation between the great Nigerian novelist himself, Chinua Achebe and Simon Akandi of Princeton University. The auditorium of full of his admirers and, undoubtedly, most of the members of the audience have either written on or have taught Things Fall Apart. It was a very interesting exchange indeed and though we were disappointed that Achebe declined the signing of books, he did permit photographs to be taken with him. He spoke thoughtfully and quietly and rather slowly, weighing, as it were, every word before it left his mouth. A motor accident, many years ago, confined him to a wheelchair added to which he is now almost 80 years old. Despite all these factors, his aura was so powerful that he received a standing ovation at the end of the presentation and left everyone in the audience feeling so pleased to have attended what was surely a unique public appearance by a very special writer.

Then it was time to say goodbye to the many people who had met over the past two days. I singled out Russel McDougal, the Australian novelist whom I had last met in Venice in March this year. Annalisa had many more people to say goodbye to but we managed to get away finally with the hope of finding tickets to a play at the West End. However, we made up our minds too late and a walk through the crowds of Leicester Square made it clear to me that we would get no tickets at that late hour.

Instead, we adjourned to my flat at Holborn, where we sat down to a lovely leisurely evening of chatter. As I pottered around in the kitchen getting our meal ready, we sipped red wine and nibbled at some cheese then got down to a typically English dinner of bangers and mash and salad with profiteroles for dessert. We had so much to discuss that before we knew it, it was 11. 30 and after sipping some herb tea, Annalisa and her friend Claudia who had joined us for the evening, had to leave to return to their hotel.

I was sorry to see them go but I hold on to the thought of the invitation that Annalisa has extended to me to come to the University of Padua, Italy, to give a lecture while I am still in London. All I have to do now is find a weekend when I can fit it in. It doesn’t look as if this might happen until early next year…but you never can tell.

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.

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!

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.

Liverpool at Leisure

Sep29

September 27, 2008
Liverpool, UK

The last time I had been to Liverpool was four years ago to present a paper at a Conference at Liverpool John Moores University. My exploration of the city had been a slapdash affair with the two churches covered–the towering, stupendous Anglican Cathedral that dominates the city’s skyline and the Metropolitan Catholic Cathedral, at the other end of the same street (Hope Street).

This time round, I took in the city at leisure and had an opportunity to explore its magnificent buildings, sample its world-class art and delve into its varied history. Of course, I also did the ‘touristy’ things such as taking the ferry across the Mersey (which never fails to bring to my lips that inane song from Gerry and the Pacemakers) and peaking into the men’s loo at the Philharmonic Pub, one of the UK’s most opulent and containing the only listed toilets in the entire country.

So, let’s start at the very beginning–which as Rogers and Hammerstein remind us in The Sound of Music is “A very good place to start”. We boarded our coaches at the NIDO student dorms and were outward bound at the crack of dawn (6. 30 am to be exact). Needless to say, the coach was like a graveyard with every passenger dead asleep as it inched through fog that was truly as thick as pea soup for miles and miles out of London and into the heart of the Midlands. It brought to mind the opening chapters of Dickens’ Bleak House and I wondered if all we would see in Liverpool was the Fog! We made a pit stop about three hours later for some welcome hot beverages and breakfast pastries and pressed on again, arriving in Liverpool in record time at about 12 noon. Since we were ‘free’ until 2 .15 pm when we were required to re-board the coach for our guided City Tour, I raced off to the waterfront at Albert Dock to visit the Merseyside Maritime Museum which Lonely Planet says “should not be missed”. (I must add that I spent some of the time in the coach reading up on what to see and do in Liverpool and am I glad I did!)

The day was gorgeous with golden sunshine pouring down upon me–such a relief from the overcast skies and the frequent drizzles we’ve dealt with for days on end. Walking towards the Museum through the portals of the wonderful Albert Dock with its quadrangular design and its solid rust-colored columns that form alleys now filled with shops and restaurants, I arrived at the Museum where free admission allowed me to spend two amazing hours.

On the third floor was a good deal of “Liverpool Pottery”, a collection of Delftware, porcelain and plainer china that passed through the docks in the city’s heyday. This took only a few minutes to survey before I descended to the second floor to see the Slavery Museum. This superb exhibit details the enormous role played by Liverpool in the “triangular trade” during the 17th and 18th centuries before England finally abolished the hideous practice. While my knowledge of American History has informed me about slavery in the USA, there was so little I knew about the role played by Great Britain in this regard and I was fully enlightened by the time I left the exhibit. Tracing the earliest origin of Blacks in the UK through the many slaves who were transported across the Atlantic on slaving ships that plied in West Africa and forcibly took the natives captive to the role played by Africans in contemporary life, this exhibit attempts to do two things: tell the horror stories so that history will never forget them and restore to this injured race some of the pride and dignity that has eluded them for centuries. I found it deeply absorbing and thought-provoking.

One floor below was the exhibit on the many famous ships that were made in Liverpool, a famous center for shipbuilding, including the Lusitania and the Titanic. In fact, these exhibits were so stirring that I walked through them in a blur, my tears filled with tears which spilled down several times, much to my embarrassment. I guess the movie Titanic has made so graphic so many of the concepts we only knew in the abstract, about the ship’s history, its famous passengers, its lifestyle, etc. Seeing mementos of the ship and its ill-fated voyage, reading the letters of its passengers, seeing pictures of the few survivors, filled me with such a deep sense of sadness that I cannot quite explain my despondency in words. Hearing also the hymn “Abide With Me” which the ship’s musicians played until the ship went down (taking every single one of them with it) was just too much for me to bear and I was crying rather copiously by this point.

On my way back, I toured the Piermaster’s House, a small two-storey bungalow that has been restored to reflect the interior of the home in the 1930s. Since I always love to poke around homes and since the 1930s are of particular interest to me, I was so glad I nipped in out of curiosity for the space was quite enchanting indeed and transported me back to the life of a man who spent his life clearing ships on their entry and exit from the Liverpool Docks at the time when business was brisk and global commerce was the city’s mainstay.

Of course, I could not possibly pass by the Liverpool Tate without taking a quick round of its three floors and browsing through its permanent collection. The Tate Liverpool contains a great deal of interesting works, including several Picassos and a whole room devoted to Andy Warhol especially his varied portraits of Marilyn Monroe and Chairman Mao. Upstairs, there were many significant pieces of sculptures by Giacometti, Henry Moore and Brancussi among others. If you are a fan of Abstract Art, the Liverpool Tate will not disappoint. The galleries were not too packed which allowed the art-lover to truly take in the work in a very unhurried, very relaxed environment.

Then, I was back at Albert Dock, and with Margaret, our superb English Guide in tow, we wound all around the city, taking in the various aspects of it from the astounding grandeur of such buildings as the George Concert Hall and the Central Library to the campus of its famous universities, from the main roads on which are located the well-known churches to the homes of John Lennon and Paul McCartney, Liverpool’s most famous sons who grew up on the outskirts in very pretty houses called Mendips and on Forthlin Road (both now owned and managed by the National Trust). There is so much to see in this place and with everything spruced up to support its selection as the Cultural Capital of Europe for the year 2008, every attraction is open to the public for free. What an amazing opportunity to browse into its wealth of cultural attractions!

We got off at Penny Lane to take pictures of the quiet road that The Beatles immortalized in their song. I was amazed at how empty and nondescript it was at the edge of Liverpool University and Sefton Place until Margaret had the coach drive around the junction of Penny Lane with Smithdown Road and explained that the song is all about the shops scattered at the roundabout. It was at this junction that Lennon and McCartney used to meet as kids to catch the bus into town. There are references to the barber at the roundabout who knew the names then displayed pictures of all the clients who passed through his doors (including Lennon, McCartney and George Harrison when they were kids), the circular bus shelter where people took refuge in the rain (this is in rather poor shape today), the bank and the fire station. “There”, as the song’s lyrics put it ” beneath the blue suburban skies”, I tried to imagine what it must have been like for these talented youngsters to go about their business little knowing how enormously they would change the world with their homespun lyrics and their childhood memories. Indeed, if you are a Beatles fan as I am or if you grew up to the sound of their lyrics ringing in your ears as I did, you will love Liverpool and will spend a great deal of your time on the tour recreating, if only in your imagination, a world filled with youngsters who swung to the Mersey Beat of the Swinging Sixties.

Then, our coach was taking us towards Crosby Beach where another treat lay in store-a look at the unique life-size sculptures by Antony Gormley, one of the UK’s best-known contemporary sculptors and creator of the colossal Angel of the North sculpture that I had seen on the motorway while leaving Newcastle three weeks ago in Llew’s company. Gormley’s “Another Place” sculptures consist of 150 figures, apparently cast from his own body, staring out at the tide and watching the waves come in. At high tide, the waves swirl all around his toes and as I watched the sun set over the Atlantic, I was so moved by this sight–the sight of so many rusted statues of full-grown men looking across the horizon towards Another Place.

Back at Albert Dock, I had enough time to check into the Holiday Inn Hotel at the waterside and was delighted with the view from my window that overlooked the Dock and the outlines of the city’s three most famous buildings about which we would learn the next day on our ferry cruise across the Mersey.

After a quick shower and a much needed stretch on my bed, I was ready to go to dinner at the Youth Hostel where I enjoyed the chicken curry served over couscous and the first decent Chocolate Cake I have eaten in the UK–it was rich and creamy and chocolatey the way Chocolate Cake is meant to be.

While the night was still young, I was determined to return to the Philharmonic Pub, the best-known of Liverpool’s many watering-holes, to see the ornate male loos that are filled with dazzling ceramic tile, marble wash basins, stained glass detail on the walls, etc. As it turned out, our attempt to find a table in the “Gentleman’s Lounge” was successful and as I sat with James Weygood and David Crout, the administrative staff at NYU, I admired and took many pictures of the bas-relief on the walls, the beaten copperplate engravings, the solid mahogany fireplaces, etc. This elaborate pub stuns at every turn and in its Victoria excess it is certainly worth seeing.

I feel asleep that evening tired and very satisfied with what had been an extraordinary day and I looked forward to awaking on the morrow to another full and enlightening day.

Udon At Wagamama…Finally! And some London-based Free-Writes…

Sep19

So, I finally got to Wagamama and had myself a dinner there. When my friend Amy and I had arrived in London in March, we’d wanted to check it out. Didn’t happen. Then when Llew was here, two weeks ago, I wanted to eat there. Other happenings cancelled out those plans.

So when my old Elphinstone College buddy Michelle from back home in Bombay decided to meet up with me for dinner today, I suggested Wagamama and was amazed to find that she had never eaten there. So there we were strolling along the South Bank after a lovely bus ride along Waterloo Bridge. The entire area had a mela-like atmosphere about it. People were out in droves, crowding the South Bank, and allowing me to glimpse the vital cultural life of this city. There was the British Film Institute with its catalogue as thick as a phone book announcing its forthcoming Film Festival titles. Just next door was the National Theater with its enticements. And then we were at the South Bank Center where Music and Dance performances were announced through their handouts. Just to go through those offerings will take ages and I plan to scan them on the Tube tomorrow as I head out to Hounslow to spend the day with my Dad’s cousin Sybil and her ex-husband Joel. I must get down to seeing some serious shows and if I get down there early enough I might even get tickets to some of them.

Wagamama was not as great as I had expected. I had a great big bowl of thick rice noodles with a variety of meats–chicken and prawns and something called a ‘fishroll’. Michelle was in a hurry to return home to Islington to her elderly parents, so we did leave at 8pm, but it was great to see her again and to catch up with her. So much has happened in her life in recent times and it was good to have the evening together.

Thus ended a rather busy day for me. After a 9 am meeting, I was still unable to fix the Address Book on my Optonline webmail which has crashed. The technician has promised to fix it as soon as possible. I spent the morning getting a lot of work accomplished at my computer in my office at Bedford Square as well as obtain membership at the Senate House Library at the University of London with a brand new ID card. The place reminded me very much of the bureaucratic offices at the University of Bombay. Karen hates the look of the building which she finds “depressing”, but I guess I just felt at home there! She informed me that the building was George Orwell’s model for the Ministry buildings in 1984! Creeppieee! She also informed me that the only reason the Senate House was saved during the blitzkreig was that Hitler intended to use it as British SS Headquarters after he had conquered Great Britain! It is these aspects of London that fascinate me–the fact that so much history and literature is cemented into the very bricks of each building.

Talking of London’s Buildings, I set my Writing Class a five minute free-write assignment which I then set to tackling myself. Complete the sentence: London Is…with one word, then write a paragraph about it. Here’s what I came up with:

LONDON IS…
Historic. Centuries of happenings condensed into a few hundred square miles. Rogues and Royalty, paupers and the pompous, natives and novices—the human detritus of all ages crowd its streets, clog its river and scale its towers and turrets. What the world doesn’t know about London’s doings, it doesn’t need to find out. But carved in stone on its imposing facades, embedded in walls clad in ivy and concealed within the secure receptacles of its many museums and libraries is a wealth of secrets only manuscripts can reveal, only books can divulge. Trust me, London is historic.

Then, I set them the task of writing their impressions of the area “Around the British Library” (taking their cue from Donald Goddard’s book Blimey! Another Book About London. And these were my impressions:

AROUND THE BRITISH
The solid Neo-Classical façade of the British Museum stands like a sentinel guarding a cohort of minor structures. In the warren of streets that radiate from its antique nucleus are shops to satisfy every whim, filled with things no one needs—a lambswool beret at the Scotch Shop, pencil ornaments shaped like London bobbies and beefeaters, a bunch of coriander and a bottle of kimchi at the Korean grocery. The local color conjured by these cheap commodities contrasts effectively with the priceless antiquities mirroring the same cultures in the museum’s hallowed cases: an artifact from the Scottish Highlands, medieval treasures from Sutton Hoo, a Tang dynasty horse in gaudy ceramic.

When you leave the precincts of the Museum behind, you are in the many squares that characterize London’s layout: neat parcels of grass that sit like green handkerchiefs in the pockets of Georgian suits of brick and mortar—those uniform three-storey townhouses whose windows, curiously, grow smaller as one’s eyes travel ever higher to the attics, roofs and terracotta-topper chimney pots.–indicating that glass was expensive rendering windows a luxury to be affixed only in the show-off sections of a home.

Punctuated by the embracing branches of mature oaks and elms, these imposing buildings strike, their basement gardens spilling over with hanging annuals and plastered with coppery ivy that provide the sort of eye-candy that makes me ache with longing for a similar garret of my own.

But when you leave the serenity of these private enclaves and join the throngs of shoppers on busy Tottenham Court Road whose daily errands involve topping up their mobile accounts, selecting bangers to go with that evening’s mash or picking up laundry that’s been commercially scrubbed and spun, you enter commonplace London–the London of common folk, the hoi polloi, who beyond the pockets of privilege, keep the city operating. They never glimpse Hadrian’s grim profile at the British or seek the blue plaque that announces the residence of Ms. Woolf who made near-by Bloomsbury legendary as they go about the performance of just one more mundane chore far from the gawking eyes of visitors for whom every square inch of the city is endlessly fascinating.

A Day Out in St. Albans

Sep16

Tuesday, September 16, 2008
St. Albans, Hertfordshire

I had heard a great deal about the lovely little town of St. Albans. When my friend Shahnaz Bhagat arrived in London last night with her husband Mukarram and suggested we spend the day together, I thought immediately of getting away from the city and catching up with them in a charming medieval town that Time forgot. They were sporting enough to place themselves in my hands and we were off, meeting at King’s Cross and taking the Capital Connect train to the hamlet. To our enormous surprise, we got there in under fifteen minutes on an express train that took us past miles of bright green fields into the country.

Because they hadn’t eaten breakfast, we made a bee-line for the Tourist Information Center in the middle of the Town Square to inquire about the location of the nearest restaurants. The little research I had done last night, by consulting my guide books, had pointed to a pub lunch at Ye Olde Fighting Cocks, reputed to be one of the oldest pubs in England and dating from the 1200s. So off we went, past the handsome Clock Tower whose vivid blue face and golden figures proudly proclaimed the hour. A delightful walk past St. Alban’s School for Boys took us towards the ancient stone walls of the city and the handsome facade of St. Albans Cathedral all of which breathed history through its aged stone.

But because our tummies beckoned, we pressed on, strolling along serene country lanes past old homes whose cottage gardens were still full of late summer blooms. The Pub was picture-perfect and before long, we were seated in its darkened interior being waited on by a cute and very obliging bar tender named Nick who took our orders for his best draft lagers. As we nursed our drinks in the shadow of a giant Ingelnook fireplace, we took in the low-hung beams on the ceilings and the aged furniture. The place had a venerable dignity and we were so glad we chose to have a meal there. Though it took frightfully long for our food to arrive at our table, we gladly excused the long wait as everything was superlative. We ordered the Chicken Breast which came with a basil mash and baby carrots, the Rib Eye Steak with a balsamic vinegar gravy and perfectly done chips and the grilled hake with a crab mash, the most succulent aubergines and caramelized red peppers and a dressing make with garlic-flavored spring onions. Every single item we tasted was exquisite and though we were stuffed, we could not resist ordering a dessert that we decided to split–a wonderful Sticky Toffee Pudding that swam in warm caramel and was served with custard. I am convinced that pub food in England is not what it used to be–leather-like meat and overcooked vegetables. With so many of them having become gastropubs, the pressure is on to produce mouthwatering menus and the end result is satisfied customers who can look forward to excellent meals as part of their tourist experiences.

Replete with our repast, we went out to embrace the city striding across the Verulamium Park (the Roman name for the city) towards the Cathedral which, of course, we had to visit. Indeed, the stone carved altar was breathtaking as was the Rose Window and other stained glass. Today, the Cathedral also houses an Abbey Church among whose treasures are a copy of the Magna Carta (though this is not for public display). Amazingly, the roses were still aboom in the gardens outside and their fragrance quite beguiled us as we walked by.

Then, we followed Fishpool Road towards the quaint Village of St. Michael where the raised footpaths spoke of times past when the villagers’ only form of transport was horse-drawn carriages. The raised footpaths, almost like platforms that lined one side of the street, enabled ladies and gentlemen to alight easily from theor carriages and enter their homes whose doors were brightly colored and adorned with interesting knockers.

Then, on we pressed arriving at the Kingsway Watermill, an ancient building that ground corn in the Middle Ages and continued to do so until very recently. In fact, it is still a working mill and today grinds feed for cows, horses and pigs. A really heartwarming restaurant called The Waffle House has sprung up on the old premises and after we had toured the fascinating museum and seen the great big wheel that turned the mill as well as the equipment and instruments used by the millers of a past era, we could not resist ordering one of their dessert waffles for tea. It arrived at our table–a pecan studded waffle, swimming in a creamy butterscotch sauce and served with a dollop of vanilla ice-cream. It is difficult to express in words exactly how marvelous this concoction was and had we but space, we would easily have consumed one each–good job we ordered just one and split it.

Then, fortified enough to tackle some more walking, we strode past a busy road that carried traffic towards nearby Luton airport and arrived at the ruins of the Roman Theater. The Romans had made the town their base and named it after the River Ver that flowed by its banks–the same river that allowed the watermill to function. Having seen the area being grazed over by flocks of placid sheep, we backtracked, arriving at the Roman Museum, which being past five ‘o clock was closed. This left us enough daylight to cross the Verulamium Park past a lake filled with ducks and geese and the remains of an old Roman Wall and brought us back to the pub and then the town center. School boys wearing their jackets and ties poured out of their school at the end of another day and brought much vibrancy to the main square which was lined with trendy stores and restaurants.

St. Albans is named for an early Christian martyr, for after the fall of the Roman Empire, the town was taken over by the Saxons who brought Christianity with them and ended up converting it into a pleasant rural hamlet. The combination of Roman and Saxon history, the charm and antiquity of its outlying villages with their sagging roof lines and tottering beams, brings to the area today a rare opportunity to experience life as it might have been lived in England in past centuries without venturing too far away from the heart of London.

We truly had an unexpectedly memorable day and I am so glad that I was able to explore this town in the company of some of my dearest friends who also happen to appreciate these outdoor spaces as much as I do.

Explorations Around King’s Cross

Sep8

Monday, September 8, 2008
London

The best part about exploring London is that you never know what you will come across every time you venture outdoors. There I was, at the start of the day, believing that all I was doing was registering at my local public library (Holborn Library) so I could gain access to some fun reading and viewing (fiction, magazines, DVDs) and at the British Library (for access to some serious manuscripts, documents, letters) when I made so many interesting discoveries.

First of all, the British Library sits right next door to St. Pancras, the venerable old Victorian railway station, near King’s Cross, that is vaguely reminiscent of Victoria Terminus in Bombay–all red brick and towering grey granite. Contrasting completely in architectural style, the British Library is modern, even futuristic, on the outside. Inside, it reminds one of a cineplex, all glass and silent escalators and balconies in tiers like the decks of a ship. There are even some sail-like objects that float near the mezzanine. I couldn’t quite decide whether I liked the design or not.

Readers and researchers were all over the place–seated on the many chairs outside the reading rooms, working silently on their laptops or taking a breather on the benches on the landing. After my registration was complete and I was the bearer or a proud new ID card with my picture on it, I visited the Humanities Reading Room that was filled almost to capacity with scholars. There was a hushed silence about the place as everyone seemed to be deeply absorbed in their projects. In a couple of days, I shall call for some material myself, then hope to start my research by the end of the week.

Since there was a special exhibit on The Ramayana at the British Library, I could not resist visiting it. And how enchanted I was by what I saw. The entire manuscript of the Sanskrit epic, known as The Mewar Manuscript and commissioned in the 16th century by Maharana Jagat Singh of Udaipur was on display. Done in the style of the Rajasthani miniature painting, it spelled out in minute detail the various trials and tribulations of Ram and Sita. A story that is long familiar to every Indian child, the epic has become known internationally, thanks to a recent television series that was a mega hit in India. I intend to send my students to see this amazing exhibition in order to introduce them to the colorful characters that populate India’s ancient epics and to see the connection between similar western epics in which good triumphs, ultimately, over evil.

Unable to resist the temptation to see St. Pancras Station from within, I hopped over next door and entered the international section from where the Eurostar trains bound across the Chunnel to Paris, Lisle and Brussels depart. I was amazed by the manner in which the old Victorian structure has been reconfigured to fit in these ultra-modern trains. The ceiling is a grid created by glass and concrete and the station has been divided into tiers quite superbly. I simply cannot wait to cross the Chunnel by this supremely modern mode of transport. Shops and restaurants line the main concourse and I was delighted to see Le Pain Quotidien which is my favorite chain of coffee shops in New York. Naturally, I felt compelled to nip in to buy myself a large jar of their Belgian Praline Spread–absolutely yummy on raisin bread. If they have other London outlets, I have yet to discover them.

I then took the escalator to the mezzanine to study and indeed to touch the wonderful bronze sculpture of Sir John Betjeman, the poet whose love for England’s ancient architectural monuments led him to campaign for the preservation of so many of them including St. Pancras Station which, incredibly, someone wished to demolish. Thanks to his efforts, the Eurostar Terminal came into being and the rest of the massive building is in the process of being converted into a five-star hotel whose opening is scheduled for 2009. Sculptor Martin Jennings has created a portly depiction of Betjeman, coat tails flapping in the wind, one hand clutching a battered attache case, another used to shade himself from the glare as he squints into the sun. Engraved around the sculpture are these lines from one of Betjeman’s poems:

And in the shadowless unclouded glare
Deep blue above us fades to whiteness where
A misty sea-line meets the wash of air

His name is also engraved around the circle on which he stands, not thankfully on a pedestal, but at eye level to the viewer, with the words, “John Betjeman, 1906-1984 , Poet who saved this glorious station”.

I also discovered the Waitrose at Brunswick Square, a very hip mall in Bloomsbury, not too far from where I live. I did pick up some more mouthwatering goodies from there and carted them back on the 12 minute walk to my flat.

Coincidentally, I was watching a murder mystery entitled “Death at Nine” starring Emilia Fox on TV in the evening when I realized that the concluding scene was set at St. Pancras Station to which the murderer goes, buys a ticket, boards a train and attempts to escape to Brussels. How bizarre I thought, that just this morning, I was actually there in the flesh exploring that very stretch of London space and remembering the encounter I had in Simla, India, when I was thirteen, with Lady Penelope Chetwode, wife of none other than Sir John Betjeman. Indeed, I had first heard about him from her and so many decades later, there I had been, perusing the sculpture that has been created in his beloved London as a permanent memorial to his passion for beautiful buildings.

I felt as if I had come full circle.