Tag Archive | Liverpool

Morse-ing Around Oxford

Jun27

Saturday, June 29, 2009
Oxford

I wasn’t making too much progress with Harry Potter, so I was pleased to wake up at 7.00 and be able to read the novel for an hour. I thought breakfast would be at 8 am as usual but when I went downstairs to wash and dress, I found everything so quiet and there wasn’t the delicious aroma of toast that has woken me up on recent mornings. Because no one seemed to be stirring, I thought it was a great time to have a shower and that I did—and how much I enjoyed it!

Back in my room (which I just realized is right above the car port in a sort of addition to this rambling stone house), I checked the Breakfast Timings as printed in my room and realized that on Saturdays, breakfast is served at 8. 30 am. That left me ample time to get dressed and start working on my lecture on ‘Post-Colonial South Asian Literature from Great Britain’, which I have been invited to deliver at Exeter College, Oxford, on July 22. I worked very steadily and when I heard voices coming from the dining room, which is not too far from my room, I joined my three fellow-lodgers who were already at the table and spent the next 45 minutes eating a large breakfast—cereal with milk, toast with butter, orange juice and coffee. I knew I would not have much time for a big lunch as I had the ‘Inspector Morse Tour’ to take at 1. 30, so I decided to have a breakfast large enough to keep me going until at least teatime.

I spent the next couple of hours working steadily on my lecture and made good headway though I was rather disappointed that my inability to connect to the wireless internet in this house in North Oxford makes it impossible for me to back check facts when I need to footnote my lecture. However, I also enjoyed sitting in my room in this house in North Oxford and working. I thought our home in Southport, Connecticut, was quiet on weekend mornings and then I started to stay in the loft in Farringdon in London—and boy, is that quiet! And now here I am on Norham Road off Banbury Road in Oxford where the silence is so complete. There was not even a bird twittering in the trees and it wasn’t until noon that the cobalt blue door of the house on the opposite side of the street opened and the family went out for a spin in their silver grey car. I am finally staying in a place in which I can actually feel a sense of community with my surroundings—and I am really enjoying it!

Off to Discover Morse’s Oxford:
When I had mentioned to my fellow lodgers that I was out today to see ‘Inspector Morse’s Oxford’, the Japanese chap had remarked, rather cleverly, that perhaps this would mean a pub crawl because all Morse does is drink in Oxford’s various pubs! Well, he was not far from the truth!

At 12 noon, I set out first to St. Antony’s College to find out if by any chance I had dropped my credit card there when I was over yesterday—as I am missing it! No such luck! So I walked briskly towards St. Giles, all the time praying that it would have been found in Blackwell’s coffee shop (Café Nero) where I had met Philip Imray for a coffee and a chat yesterday. En route, I saw a number of books on Morse and Oxford and thought that I should buy one of them as I need to find out more about the Oxford backdrop of the series.

Upstairs, I could have kissed the waitress who served me yesterday. Yes, she had found my credit card, which had fallen out of the pocket of my jeans as I was leaving and had shrugged into my hoodie. What luck someone had found it and just put it back on the table and hadn’t made off with it, as I am pretty sure would have happened in the States. That weight off my mind, I called Llew to inform him that my card had been found as he was very upset yesterday on the phone when I told him that I had misplaced it.

Crossing the street, I arrived at the Oxford Information Center where I saw a large crowd gathered for the start of the tour. I was shocked at the large numbers of people who wished to follow in the footsteps of dear Inspector Morse. Amazing how many people love the series and have made it their business to find out more about it. The crowd, comprising mainly English people, though there was a fair sprinkling of Americans, was then divided into three smaller groups and I chose to attach myself to a rather nice-looking older man with a booming voice and a twinkle in his eye called Alistair Lack dressed in a rather dapper beige linen suit. The other two group leaders were women. I hoped and I prayed that he would be better than the one who gave the ‘Harry Potter Tour’ yesterday which had been a huge disaster for me.

Well, I sure lucked out today! Let me tell you that Alistair Lack was just wonderful and the tour was splendid. There was so much I learned about the series—both the book series and the TV series. In addition, I learned a great deal about the creator of the character of Inspector Morse, Colin Dexter (who also lives in North Oxford, not too far from where I currently live), about the late John Thaw (who lovably played Inspector Morse in the TV series), about Kevin Whatley who played his side kick Sergeant Lewis, about Julian Mitchell who wrote the screenplays, about the late Academy-award winning Anthony Mingella who produced the earlier shows (until Kenny McBain took over) and about Barrington Phelong (whose music composition, I have always thought, simply makes the series). I learned that the crew filmed 33 episodes that were filmed and viewed over 13 years–an average of 3 shows a year. The show attracted 30 million viewers at its first screening and, 13 years later, had the exact same number watch the final episode–this meant that one in five people in Great Britain watched the episodes as they aired!

Not only had Lack read all the books, he had watched all the episodes and he had actually met Colin Dexter several times as well as Kevin Whatley. He brought all these anecdotes into his commentary which was extremely interesting and very succinctly delivered, interspersed as it was with jokes and that typical wry brand of British humor (which I know I will sorely miss when I return to the States). Because Lack is an Oxonian himself (he graduated from University College where he had read History eventually becoming a History teacher at the Scindia School in Gwalior, India, for a short while before joining the BBC in Delhi), he also told us a great deal about the history of the colleges and the university and about the educational system that prevails in this hallowed institution. But everywhere he stopped he brought his comments back to Inspector Morse. He led us through the Town versus Gown conflicts that have persisted for centuries and showed how they were worked into the plots and the scripts. He took us to hardware stores and clothiers from The High and Turl Street to the Broad and everywhere he brought Morse and his romantic interests into his own script.

And yes, he did talk about all the pubs that Morse frequents in the series—from The Bear on tiny medieval Magpie Lane to the rather touristy Trout Inn in Wolvercote from The Booksbinder’s Arms in Jericho (which he recommended highly) and which he said is one of his own favorite Oxford pubs to the White Horse right next door to Blackwell’s. He also talked about the cinematic role played by Morse’s pub-crawling, which I thought was rather interesting. Every time the director wanted a quiet bit in the plot, he took Morse to a pub. Thus, scenes of murder and mayhem are followed by a swift pint of finest ale. Having had a Pimm’s myself at The Trout with my friend Annalisa, a few years ago, I can say that there is nothing more enjoyable than a drink overlooking the river as the sun sinks low in the west on a summer’s evening and the muffled roar of the weir reaches one’s ears. I am hoping I will have a chance to do the walk along the banks of the Isis again to Godstow Lock and on to Wolvercote to The Trout before I leave from here.

Throughout the tour, we were kept enthralled and engaged. The only downside (and that is not something for which we can blame either the guide or the Oxford Information Center), was that we were unable to enter any of the colleges as they were all closed as it is the very last day of the academic year. Students are leaving, their bag and baggage littered all over the quads as they move out. The last few remaining ones who were still taking the last final exams today could be seen walking or cycling along in their examination gear (as Oxford has a strict dress code for exam days—black gowns and mortar board caps with a red carnation pierced into the button holes of both males and females alike). He particularly wanted to take us to the quad of Exeter College where Morse actually has a heart attack and dies in the last episode, The Remorseless Day. Since I know the quad of Exeter College well (having spent endless hours sprawled on its green lawn in my youth), I was sorry that we were unable to enter it or indeed to see the beautiful chapel with its Edward Burne-Jones tapestry on The Adoration of the Magi and the lovely medieval mosaics that glint and shine in candlelight. Still (once I get my ID card, hopefully on Monday morning), I can enter any of the colleges and their libraries—which I hope I will still find the time to do.

I was also pleased to see that the rooftop of the Margary Quadrangle where my own room was located and which faces The Broad has been adorned by one of Anthony Gormley’s nude males—these look very similar to the casts of his own body that I had seen on Crosby Beach near Liverpool and the three male nude figures that adorn the lawn in my friend Loulou’s farmhouse home in Suffolk—only she had told me that though they looked like Gormley’s work, they were not.

The Tour ended in two hours, i.e. at 3. 30 pm. It is certainly one of the highlights of my year here in the UK and I do so wish that Llew was with me as I am sure he would have loved it as much as I did as we have watched all the Morse TV episodes together over the years and he remembers the plots much more than I do. I guess I am so focused on the locations, the music and the interaction between Morse and Lewis, not to mention the brilliant acting and directing, that the plots are of the least interest to me, really. But, I guess I can convey to Llew a great deal of what I learned this afternoon. Though it was a very warm afternoon, I did not mind the heat or the endless standing (we did not get a chance to sit anywhere) because the material was so absorbing.

The Rest of my Evening:
I then took a bus to Headington from Carfax as I wanted to check out some of the thrift shops there; but this took me less than an hour. I did not find anything except for some cold cuts (roast beef) at Waitrose, which I brought home to make myself a sandwich dinner with a croissant (which I had put aside at breakfast).

Once I got off the bus on The High, I walked quickly towards Blackwell’s to buy myself a copy of The Oxford of Inspector Morse by Bill Leonard, a hardbound book that was being offered at a 50% discount. I intend to use it as a companion piece when I watch the series again—as I had bought the whole lot at Christmastime and had sent them back with Llew. I look forward very much to the pleasure of seeing them all again on the new large screen TV that we intend to buy as soon as I reach Connecticut

Evensong at Christ Church Cathedral:
Left with just enough time to walk briskly to Christ Church College, I was let in easily when I said I wanted to attend Evensong in the Cathedral. I found myself a seat right near the choir and looked forward to a lovely one-hour long service. The Evensong I had attended at King’s College in Cambridge is another one of the highlights of my year—funny how I am now enumerating all the highlights as my year is coming to a close.

The service was as solemn and uplifting as I had imagined, though I have to say that the Cambridge one was more atmospheric because it was conducted in candle light which lent a golden glow to the plain gray granite walls of the towering nave of the chapel.
Just as the service ended and we made our way out of the Cathedral, it started to rain—great large drops filtered through the bright sunshine! It was so odd! We sheltered in the porch near the Porter’s Lodge for a good long time until the worst of the shower had passed; but all the way back home to Norham Road, I was dogged by spells of intermittently heavy and light rain that soaked me pretty thoroughly before I reached my front door.

Settling down for the evening, I changed out of my clothes, and then fixed myself a roast beef sandwich dinner and a pot of lovely tea with lemon—I drank two steaming cups. I ate my dinner while watching a British TV channel that offered old reruns of game shows—I saw something called Mr. and Mrs. followed by Who Wants to Be a Millionaire (British version) before a new TV comedy called Mumbai Calling starring Sanjeev Bhaskar (husband of Meera Syall) came on. I was keen to see it because of my own Bombay connections and because I had heard about it a few weeks ago on BBC’s Breakfast Show when the stars of the show were interviewed. As it turned out, I found it terribly lame and not even remotely funny.

I have to say that I am rather enjoying my summer days here in Oxford and am very glad that I have returned to this most beloved of cities. As a student I had stayed in Exeter College, which at that stage in my life was such a novel experience. Now that I am in, let us say my mature years, it feels great to be based in North Oxford where most of Oxford’s dons have homes. These are solid Victorian stone affairs with beautiful high steps leading to wooden front doors. The driveways are pebbly paths with pale pink roses spilling over stone walls and lavender borders fragrant with blooms that lend a purple tinge to the pavements. The occasional car drives lazily past and often I see couples stroll by, hand in had, dressed in formal evening clothing. This being the last week of classes, there have been parties and formal dos galore, followed by fireworks at night that I can hear in the distance. Students are out in their formal best creating the sort of memories that will stay with them for the rest of their lives even if they never see each other again.

Though I am a mere observer of the life I see around me, I feel like something of an intruder in the lives of these young folks. I walk along these honey toned streets thinking constantly of the scenes from Brideshead Revisited, that great great Oxford novel that so epitomized and romanticized for me the undergraduate life of this university town and I wonder how many of the beautiful students I see around me will carry forever in their hearts and minds the indelible scenes that Evelyn Waugh’s novel and Colin Dexter’s stories created in my own mind and heart to dwell there forever.

A Day With Friends in the Suffolk Countryside

Jun18

Thursday, June 18, 2009
Iken, Suffolk

I set my alarm for 7.00 this morning as I couldn’t risk waking up too late. I had a 9. 38 am train to catch from Liverpool Street Station and not being familiar with this station, I wanted to give myself ample time to get there by bus and pick up my train ticket that I had booked on the phone two days ago (20 pounds round trip). I was excited as I had been invited to spend the day in the countryside with my friends Paul and Loulou (in whose London loft I am currently residing) who farm a vast land holding near the Alde River on the East Anglian coast.

The train journey was lovely. I read a copy en route of The English Home magazine (the Christmas 2008 issue, if you can believe it!) but once the city landmarks disappeared behind us, I abandoned it and enjoyed the sight of the countryside spread out under a Constable sky. Big fluffy clouds smeared the bluest skies but the sun shone full and golden upon the passing fields. Loulou was awaiting my arrival at Wickham Market station (a journey of exactly 2 hours) in her spiffy grey Mercedes sport car and off we went.

The Church of St. Botolph’s:
Our first stop was at the Norman church of St. Botolph’s where Loulou happens to play the voluntary role of Warden. She had a minute’s errand to run there which left me enough time to survey this place of pilgrimage. Not only is the church picture-perfect (it combines a thatched roof, a square Norman tower and a more modern portion in the same building–the first time ever I have seen a church with a thatched roof!) and has some interesting interior features such as a timbered roof and a medieval marble font. It also has part of a Saxon cross preserved inside. Services are still held here regularly and the place reminded me very much of an episode in Midsomer Murders entitled The Bell Ringers. Up in the loft, I could see the ropes from which the bell-ringers actually hang as they ring the bells–the ones in this church are very valuable as they pre-date the Reformation.

Back in the car with Loulou behind the wheel, I took in the simple rural pleasures of the Suffolk countryside. Mile after mile of cultivated farmland passed us by along the narrowest ribbons of road–most untarred and mostly sandy. Having farmed in these pastoral environs for over twenty years, Loulou is familiar with the crops grown on this soil–barley and rye and potatoes–and she identified them individually. Tiny villages tucked away in the golden waving fields enchanted me, some sporting the famous Suffolk pink on their walls (which Loulou informed me were once created by diluting paint pigment with pig’s blood!)–Ah the strange old ways of rural folk!

Stanny House Farm:
In a short while, we arrived at Stanny House Farm, the country estate owned by my friends, a sprawling parcel of Suffolk countryside that left me gasping. Loulou did the wise thing and gave me the grand tour in stages–starting with her gardens (which I was most keen to see for she is a keen gardener). Our first stop was her vegetable garden, a neatly designed space enclosed within red brick walls and featuring a variety of lettuces, broad beans, tomatoes, herbs, Swiss chard, etc. all of which she snipped quite handily and threw into her trug as she went along in order to concoct a salad for our lunch. For it was nearly lunch time and Paul had left his office (all of twenty steps away!) to come and join us in the lovely conservatory where we sat down to eat.

The meal was simple but so delicious–I mean how can you go wrong with home grown produce picked fresh off their stalks, right? The addition of tuna and some hard boiled eggs and crisp asparagus and a balsamic vinaigrette that I whisked up, meant that we had ourselves a Salade Nicoise served with multi-grain bread and butter and a selection of cheeses for afters. Dipper, their ageing bitch, joined us at the table and gratefully received the tidbits that Paul passed her. It was the very essence of English country life and I felt as if I had strayed into one of the features in the Homes and Garden magazines I read. How delighted I was to be a guest at this charming table.

Lunch done, Loulou took me for another walk–this time around her flower gardens. I climbed the picturesque red brick Millennium Wall along the stairs and over the Rockery that she has created from old salvagaed stone and filled with rare succulents. Indeed her perennial beds delighted me and before long, we were taking a longer tour to the outhouses and thatched-roof barns that comprise the property, converted into office space, entertainment space, etc. I met Denny, the gardener, who works hard with Loulou and Paul to keep this massive property in shape just as earlier I had met Linda, the housekeeper who has worked on the farm for over twenty years. During our tour, Loulou provided so much information about their collection of art works centered around medieval alabasters, sculpture and paintings and it was fascinating in every respect. In-between, we paused to admire and talk about their Polynesian sculptures and their modern British oil paintings.

The Unlikely Reunion of A Portrait and a Sword:
We spent a great deal of time in the hallway of their home where a striking portrait of a British colonial officer on horseback being eyed by his three red-clad infantrymen caught my eye. It turned out to be a painting of Paul’s great-great-great grandfather, a Lt. Gen. Littler, Deputy Governor-General of Bengal, depicting him on the Battlefields of Ferozepur in 1845–i.e. just before the Great Mutiny of 1857!

Knowing my deep interest in Indo-British history, Loulou took the time and trouble to tell me the story about the manner in which this painting came into their possession–and indeed it made my hair rise! The painting, depicting an ancestor on Paul’s maternal side, had been passed down to members of his family and was taken for lost (though Paul and Loulou had seen pictures of it and were aware of its existence). One day, purely by happenstance, the two of them were in Sotheby’s in London when Loulou spotted the painting and knew that it was the one depicting Paul’s ancestor. In excitement, she pointed it out to Paul who then bid on it and brought the painting home. So that was Part One of this exciting story.

But it does not end there! It was when they were hanging it upon the wall in the entrance hall of their Suffolk home that Loulou (she of the eagle eye!!!) noticed once again that the good general was carrying a sword in his hand that most uncannily resembled the one that had been passed down to Paul by his family members and which she had gifted to her own son Jack! In fact, the sword was somewhere in Jack’s room upstairs!

Needless to say, Loulou sprinted upstairs, found the sword, held it against the one in General Littler’s hand in the portrait and was convinced that she was holding the exact same sword in her own hand!!! Of course, they then framed the painting in such a way as to have the sword, sheathed well in its own scabbard, hanging from the bottom of the painting. This story was so mind blowing that my knees felt weak on listening to it and I really felt as if I had to sit down right there on the stairs leading up their bedrooms!

What I loved, most of all, was the completely understated manner in which this treasure trove was presented to me. Loulou’s completely unassuming and very modest ways were totally disarming and I marveled at them even as I was deeply touched by them. She and Paul were nothing if not casual. While there are extremely rare pieces sprinkled about the house, it is fully and completely lived-in and nowhere did it appear to me like a museum at all. This, I think, is the home’s biggest triumph–that it exuded the down-to-earth spirit of its occupants with the most genuine sincerity and not the slightest iota of boastfulness. How goes the old saying? Old money whispers, it does not shout! That was what I most loved about Stanny House and its inhabitants. I felt deeply endeared to it and to them even though I was visiting it for the very first time.

Helmingham House and Gardens:
Then, we got into the car again and Loulou took me on another delightful drive–more farms, more fields, more villages–to Helmingham House and Gardens, a place that she simply knew I would love. About a half hour away from her place, the property comprises a grand Elizabethan mansion (a private house which cannot be visited) surrounded by the most beautiful gardens that are kept open to the public for a fee of 5 pounds each. Loulou has been to this place several times and knew exactly where to take me. Indeed, these gardens were amazing and I took so many pictures.

The star attraction for me was an incredible clump of salmon pink poppies, the size of which I have never seen in my life. They were as large as peonies (of which there were many in different colors), as tall as my waist and in my absolute favorite color. I could not stop exclaiming over them. The herbaceous borders are so well tended and so superbly coordinated in terms of color and texture that I could tell that an expert had conceived of them and created them. It turns out that most of these gardens are fairly new as the current owner is a passionate gardener who has done a great deal to develop the gardens and very generously opens them up to the public.

The property also comprised a rose garden and an Elizabethan Knot Garden (in keeping with the design of the house which is itself a beauty what with its typically interesting Tudor brick designs on the wall, its multiple chimneys and its moat that encircles the property at two levels). As if this sense of space and grandeur were inadequate, the estate has its own herd of white spotted fallow deer and there were several of them not far from the house at all. In fact, a few fawns were rather close to the gardens (though safely fenced far away!).

After pausing to examine the rarer specimens of the collection, Loulou and I needed a tea break and we took one in the Garden Tea Room where we enjoyed a really good cup of tea and a slice of Coffee and Walnut Cake–the third day in a row that I have indulged in this newly-discovered English treat (at Sissinghurst, Polesdon Lacey and now here at Helmingham!). Then, because it was almost 5 pm and I had a train to catch and Loulou and Paul had a dinner date to keep, we left the premises.

But Loulou was still keen to show me other parts of the area and took me for a long drive towards the coast through entirely different terrain that compromised forests known for their bird and wild life. We arrived at the coastal village of Orford which reminded me so much of Southport and its marina that I lost no time at all taking pictures of the sailing vessels in the estuary. It was all quite delightful indeed!

Back at Stanny House, the three of us and Dipper set out on a lovely walk through the farmland to spot bee orchids that have recently sprung up in their grasslands–but the property is so vast that we had to drive to get to this particular field. I made the discovery that both my friends are keen naturalists and have an abiding love for birds and other creatures, not to mention flora. They are so excited that orchids have naturally taken seed on their property! As we walked, Paul, binoculars slung around his neck, looked for and spotted a number of birds incuding a white barn owl that soared in the distance. Indeed, their excitement was infectious and I had a truly marvelous afternoon in their company for I learned so very much on a subject about which I am truly an ignoramus–Natural History. I missed Llew sorely as I know that his own interests as a naturalist and his great love for birds would have thrilled him so much in these wide open spaces. If we are ever in England together, I would love to bring him back to this unspoiled curve of the East Anglian coast. As we walked through waist-deep grass dotted with spiky thistle (much to Dipper’s annoyance), I simply had to pause to take more pictures for I have never had this superbly bucolic experience before.

Then, it was time for them to hurry home and get dressed for their dinner appointment. They dropped me off along the way at Wickham Market train station and whizzed off. I boarded my train, five minutes later, and spent the two hour long journey (with a change at Ipswich) recalling the incredible day I had enjoyed in their lovely company. I have to say that Loulou did not send me back empty handed–there was Bibb Lettuce and Arugula (what the English call ‘Rocket’) in my bag and a charming bunch of the most fragrant sweet peas from her garden.

Regular readers of this blog will know that I have felt deeply blessed all year–ever since I arrived in London. But, on my way back to Denmark House, I could not help thinking that my biggest blessing this year has been the amazing range of English friends I have made and the manner in which they have taken me to their hearts and shared the uniqueness of their lives with me. Paul and Loulou are two of those great blessings and for that I feel truly grateful.

Back at Liverpool Street Station at 9. 45 pm, I hopped into a bus that brought me home in less than twenty minutes. I put my sweet peas in cool water and prepared for bed, deeply happy about the unusual and very interesting day I had spent in Suffolk.

Two More Walks and ‘As You Like It’ at The Globe

Jun8

Monday, June 7, 2009
London

My day began with Harry Potter and then the transcribing of an interview with Coreen. Frustratingly, another interview that was scheduled for the morning with an Anglo-Indian was cancelled with no desire on the part of the lady to reschedule it. So, there it went! Another contact bites the dust! Still, I suppose I must be grateful for the many Anglo-Indians who have cooperated with me in my research, made the time for me and extended their legendary hospitality to me.

When I finished the transcribing and the proofreading, I decided to get out and finish two more self-guided walks from my Frommer’s Book. Perhaps it was for a reason that I had saved these for last–they are both based on the eastern side of the city and easily accessible by foot from where I live.

Ghosts of the Old City–Dick Wittington’s Influence:
This walk, though entitled “Ghosts of the Old City” took me to a number of Christopher Wren designed churches, each of which was filled with marvelous legends and folklore, not to mention ghosts! This walk began at the Church of St. Mary Le Bow whose bells are supposed to have rung out the ditty: “Turn again Wittington, Lord Mayor of London” to prevent the orphan Richard (Dick) Wittington from running away from his life of cruelty in London.

The legend of Whittington is all over this part of the city in the many churches with their lovely ornate Wren steeples. I stepped into this one right off Cheapside (so-called because a daily market was held on this street for the common man in the Middle Ages) into Bow Churchyard. Like all Anglican churches built by Wren, there is a quiet austerity about these interior spaces made more ornate by stained glass windows through which jewelled light streams on sunny days and the odd touches of gilding on plaster decorated ceilings. There is a crypt in this church (which is probably Roman) where a Healing Session was taking place when I visited briefly.

Out of Bow Churchyard, I stepped into Bow Lane in search of the Williamson’s Tavern and found it in a little alleyway. This building used to house London’s Lord Mayors (until Mansion House was built) and the pub that is on the ground floor proudly reveals this fact. I also discovered that this pub serves traditional English ales and is on The Ale Trail–a series of well-marked walks that allows the ale-lover to sample the ancient brew in rather quaint surroundings. If you order a pint of ale at any one of the pubs on these routes, you get a stamp on a card. Five stamps and you are entitled to an Ale Trail T-Shirt! Now had I known about this earlier, I might have tried to do this as well and perhaps there might still be time for me to do one of them–let’s see.

A Haul of Roman Coins and Pottery:
It was while I was getting out of this pub and heading towards another one called Ye Olde Watling Pub that stands on the crossroads where the old Londinium Roman Road intersected those going off to Canterbury and Winchester, that I spied another church. This one was not mentioned in my walk (I wonder why???) but my eye was attracted to a notice outside the church that said: “New stock of Roman coins on sale. Inquire within”. I entered the Guild Church of St Mary and was stunned. You have to see the fan-vaulted plasterwork ceiling to believe it. I mean, it is gorgeous!!! And yet, this church was not on my walk! How is such a thing possible? I spent a long while inspecting the interior and taking pictures and then ran into the Verger who took me into the sacristy to show me the haul of Roman coins.

Now I have to say that, in my ignorance, I thought he would produce some museum-shop style reproductions. But, get this, he had a haul of real, genuine Roman coins that have been found in digs all over the London area. It turns out that the Vicar of this Church, one Rev. John Mothersole, has been a dedicated antiquarian since the age of seven. He spends his free time traveling to sites associated with the ancient world and brings back genuine souvenirs of his visits that he is able to gain access to, thanks to his clerical collar!

Well, not only did I find each Roman coin (which he has collected from the many people who have found them in the basements of their London houses or wherever there is a dig of some sort going on in the city) but he categorizes them, gives you detailed provenance of each of them, dates them, etc. and sells then to raise funds for the church. I saw a beauty–a silver coin from the reign of Antonious Pius (first to second century AD) that I wanted to buy right away because I was so excited that I was actually holding a genuine Roman coin that had been working currency in the ancient world!!! However, the Verger did not take credit cards and I did not have enough cash on me, so I will have to return to pick it up.

When he saw how interested I was in the coins, the Verger took me to his safe and showed me fragments of pottery from archaeological sites that his Vicar had collected and labelled and which he was willing to sell me for any donation I wished to give. I parted with a few sous and ended up with two fragments–one from the Bhir Mound in Taxila (the ancient Indo-Gangetic university town), now in Pakistan and another large fragment from the handle of a Roman amphora from Monte Tess…. in Italy! Can you imagine how excited I was? Now, I know for a fact that these things have no monetary value at all–but for me, history buff that I am, this is a part of the ancient world that is actually in my possession–a tangible reminder of the glorious past that I can hold in my hand and marvel at. That was all I cared about as I safely bundled my goodies in my bag and left the church. Just see where happenstance led me???

Well, the walk continued then to the Temple of Mithras, an underground Roman Temple which has been recreated at ground level and is nothing more inspiring right now than a heap of cemented brick. The actual marble statues of Mithras (that were part of this haul) I have seen in the Guildhall Gallery and in the Museum of London. The Church of St. James Garlickhythe, my next stop, was closed though it is located in a very picturesque square, so on I pressed towards College Hill to the church of St. Michael Paternoster Royal (mind you, these are all Wren churches) where there is a stained glass window depicting Dick Wittington and his cat! Wittington did indeed become Lord Mayor of London four times and donated large amounts of the money he made to this church. Just a short walk uphill, you come across a blue plaque that announces the actual site of his mansion, now long gone.

The London Stone:
The last really interesting item to discover on this walk is the London Stone. This is now ensconced in an ornate wrought-iron grilled receptacle near 111 Cannon Street. While no one knows exactly what this is, it is conjectured that it was placed at the very heart of the old city of London during the Middle Ages though it is also possible that it was a Roman Milestone used to measure all distances from Londinium to other parts of the Roman empire in the province of Britannia. Not a single soul stopped to look at it (probably because no one really knows anything about its existence), but to me this was a remarkable find.

Meeting a Fellow-Blogger:
Then, I went out on foot towards Liverpool Street Station where I’d made plans to meet a regular reader of my blog. He chanced upon it a few weeks ago and has been giving me wonderful suggestions on places to see in the city. Murali is a mathematician in a bank who shares my passion for poetry, travel, London, theater, history, art, old houses, etc. and it was decided that we should put faces to each other’s writings as I have been frequently browsing through his blog and gaining valuable information from it.

He bought me a peppermint tea and settled down with a hot chocolate himself as we talked about our backgrounds and the circumstances that brought us, both Indian-born, to London. After a good hour during which we got to know each other better, he left me with some more suggestions for things to see and do in this city, before we said goodbye.

I had a couple of hours before I would make my way to the Globe Theater to see Shakespeare’s As You Like It, so I decided to do a second walk as its origin at the Museum of London was not too far at all from where I was.

Remnants of Rome:
This walk entitled “Remnants of Rome” has been done by me in little dribs and drabs over the past few weeks (without my really meaning to do this). It started at the London Wall near the Museum of London and took me into a little Herb Garden attached to the Worshipful Company of Barbers (can you even believe there is such a thing???!!-only in England, kids, only in England). From there, I could see the tall steeple of St. Giles Cripplegate Church where the poet Milton is buried. But it was closed and all I could do was admire it from the outside.

Reading about the London Wall taught me that the Romans had built a wall to surround the city of Londinium (in the same way that they did in York–which still stands quite superbly enclosing the old city). While much of it was destroyed by the Middle Ages, successive kings did fortify it so that the walls of the city of London stood until it was no longer necessary to use it as a form of defence. The various parts of the city today whose names end in ‘Gate’, as in Aldergate, Bishopsgate, Ludgate, Cripplegate (probably because crippled people congregated outside this gate begging for alms) etc. were actually gates into the city through the old walls!!! At any rate, I shall try to visit this church sometime in the future. Its antiquity is doubly curious since it stands today right in the midst of the huge township-like community that has developed around the Barbican including St. Giles Terrace, a number of very modern apartment buildings built around artificial lakes and fountains whose balconies spill over with colorful geraniums. Dotted around the area are old gardens, all of which are still so beautifully maintained.

A Tribute to Hemminge and Condell:
This walk continued towards the Guildhall which I have covered on other trails, so I decided to skip it this time and take a rest in a small garden on Aldermanbury Square where I made another charming discovery! This was not in my book either, so it was another one of those happy spots to which only serendipity led me. I found myself in a small garden with a bronze bust of Shakespeare in the center. Now I was going to see As You Like It later in the evening, so I wanted to find out what Shakespeare was doing in the middle of London’s Financial District.

Well, it turned out to be a monument to John Hemminge and Henry Condell, two of Shakespeare’s earliest editors. It was they, Shakespeare’s friends and fellow-actors in the theatrical world, who after his death in 1616 decided to put together a volume of all his plays–his Collected Works as it were, to be made available to the public. Now you must realize that none of these plays were in any one place. They were scattered all over, in Shakespeare’s own handwriting, with theater notes made on them, any amount of corrections and changes made to the script as Shakespeare or his collaborators thought suitable. Hemminge and Condell painstakingly brought all Shakespeare’s Tragedies, Comedies and Histories together in one volume–what we call the First Folio of 1623 (the Second Folio came out in 1632) and were it not for their labors, the works of the world’s greatest playwright might well have been lost (since play writing was not considered a respectable profession or a high art form and these working manuscripts were usually destroyed right after a play had finished its run).

Can you imagine a greater catastrophe than that!!!??? I had, of course, studied all this during my undergraduate years from the late Dr. Mehroo Jussawala, a Shakespeare scholar par excellence at the University of Bombay so many years ago. But to actually see a monument that acknowledges their efforts was deeply moving to me and as I sat there and gazed upon the bust of Shakespeare, I felt a tear well up in my eye.

And then when I considered how unassuming and modest about their achievements Hemminge and Condell had been, I was even more moved. For this is what they write in their Preface:

“We have but collected them, and done an office to the dead,–without ambition either of self-profit or fame; only to keep the memory of so worthy a Friend and Fellow alive as was our Shakespeare”.

Awwww!

Yet, despite their huge contribution to the History of Dramatic Art, nowhere have I ever seen them publicly acknowledged in this form. It was not until 1896 that someone called Charles Clement Walker of Lilleshall Old Hall, Shropshire, thought it fitting to reward their endeavors by creating and funding this monument that he placed in their memory in a part of the old City that they might have frequented. Bees buzzed around a great big patch of yellow flowers and another great big patch of lamb’s ears that grew tall and stately and were full of purple flower heads as I contemplated the long journey of the Bard from the Globe Theater to the hearts and minds of people around the world.

Off to the Globe Theater:
So it seemed only appropriate that my next port of call was Sam Wannamaker’s new Globe Theater on the opposite bank of the Thames which I crossed by strolling over Southwark Bridge. I pulled my suede jacket a bit more warmly around me and wondered if I had done the right thing going directly to the play without stopping at home to pick up a warmer coat. Still, I imagined it wouldn’t be too bad.

It was the opening night of Shakespeare’s As You Like It, a play which I know really well from having studied it as a student of Eng. Lit. years ago. I have also seen it in performance on at least two occasions and both times I remember that the character of Celia had been far more memorable than Rosalind.

Anyway, I was meeting my NYU colleague Matt who teaches Drama at NYU-London and is also the Theater Critic for the International Herald Tribune. He had invited me to use his free press pass on press night, an occasion that included a lovely buffet with a bar and an opportunity to pick up freebies–like a programme and a free cushion! Matt arrived at 6. 45 pm as we had planned and we spent a lovely evening together filling up on quiches and pork pies and sandwiches at the buffet and sipping elderflower juice (which I have developed a great fondness for here in London) and white wine for him.

As for the play, gosh, it was good! We loved every second of this charming production to which all of the characters lent their histrionic expertise. This Rosalind was far better than Celia, I have to say, and by far the two most interesting characters were Touchstone the Fool and Jacques who in their supporting roles provided refreshing comedic nuances. We also loved Peter Gayle who plays Amiens and lent his very pleasing voice indeed to the songs that are so intrinsic to this play. I told Matt that years ago, during my life in India, I had served as Theater Critic for The Free Press Journal–I had done this for almost ten years and had seen every significant dramatic production (both international and indigenous) that had ever come to Bombay. This explains why Chriselle gravitated towards a career in Acting–it was because she had accompanied me for years on end as a child, from one play production to the next, as I took notes and then churned out my reviews.

At the interval, we were downstairs nibbling again (on some really outstanding olives) and socializing and then we were back in the ‘galleries” (and how very grateful I was for my seat for I felt really sorry for the poor groundling sods standing in the pit!).

Darkness had fallen when I returned to Wobbly Bridge to cross it and walk home. Matt who lives in beautiful Hampstead was envious of the fact that I could just walk back. He turned towards London Bridge and left. Though I had expected a chilly night, it really wasn’t bad at all. The lights illuminated the many striking buildings, their reflections dipping into the river and in less than ten minutes after I passed by St. Paul’s Cathedral, I was home.

An Easter Sunday with a Difference–including a Royal Sighting!

Apr12

Easter Sunday, April 12, 2009
London

It was an Easter with a difference for both of us! How delighted I was to have my dear Llew here with me in London during this Holy Week and to have him share Easter Sunday with me was a treat indeed. Of course, we both missed Chrissie as well as my family in Bombay whom we called first thing in the morning where they were all assembled at my brother Roger’s house in Bandra for Easter lunch. Because Llew wanted to attend a Catholic mass on Easter Sunday, I went online to look for mass timings at Westminster Cathedral and at the Brompton Oratory–two truly magnificent London churches as our closest Catholic church, St. Etheldreda’s, tends to be rather empty since Holborn is not so much a residential area as it is a commercial one.

Latin High Mass at the Brompton Oratory:
After breakfasting on cereal and croissants and showering, we left our flat and took the Tube to South Kensington and caught the 11 am mass at the Brompton Oratory which was packed to the rafters with people dressed to kill in expensive Hermes scarves and cultured pearl jewelry. It was with the greatest difficulty that Llew and I managed to shove ourselves into the church where we found a seat each in two different rows one behind the other! Still, we were grateful as so many people stood throughout the long traditional Latin Mass that went on for a whole hour and a half. The singing was superb and the responses from the congregation–all in sung Latin, mind you–truly impressed us. The priest made the announcement that refreshments and coffee would be available in the church hall and we deicded to go there for a slice of cake as our big meal of the day was not until 5 pm.

A Royal Sighting!
It was while we were making our way to the Hall for coffee that we had an unexpected royal sighting. A beautiful black Bentley had drawn up and two priests suddenly seemed very keen on going forward to meet its occupants who were leaving the church and making their way to the car. It took me only a second to recognize Prince Michael of Kent who happens to be the first cousin of both Queen Elizabeth and the Duke of Edinburgh–his beard makes him pretty distinctive. I have grown up seeing his photographs for years at every single royal do and I nudged Llew hard and whispered to him, “This is Prince Michael of Kent. He is the first cousin of the Queen”. I did not recognize his wife, but I recalled somewhere from deep in the recesses of my memory that the Princess is a Catholic which explained their presence at our Catholic service. Later I discovered from the Web that she is a Viennese aristocrat from a Catholic family in Austria.

She was very elegantly dressed indeed in a sand colored suit with a splendid hat which sported two pheasant feathers. Standing right by her was a very attractive young lady who looked slightly embarassed by all the fuss–undoubtedly their daughter, Lady Gabriella–whom I later discovered, also from the Net, is a graduate of Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island. At any rate, there was much bowing and scraping in front of this royal family and I actually saw a lady from the congregation courtesy in front of the Princess and then go forward to plant a peck on her cheek. Prince Michael of Kent nodded smilingly at Llew and me just before he entered the Bentley and Llew noticed the royal crest on the license plate of the car. Indeed, it was quite an interesting if very unexpected encounter for us and quite made our Easter Sunday.

Llew told me later over coffee that he thoroughly enjoyed the Latin High Mass and was very pleased that we had decided to come as far away as the Brompton Oratory on this special Sunday. He was especially impressed by the fact that so many members of the congregation were able to join heartily in the singing, young and old alike, and that they carried the old-fashioned Missals that he remembered from his old growing years in Sunday school.

Stepping back into history at Dennis Severs House:
Then, we were on the Tube again heading for the East End where I had decided that we would visit one of London’s most unusual museums–Dennis Severs House at 18 Folgate Street in Spitalfields. We arrived there about 2 pm. and paid the 8 pounds (a piece) entry fee that took us inside. We were instructed to keep perfectly silent in the house, not to touch anything and not to take any pictures. We were explained the fact that the house is set up in such a way as to suggest that we are entering the domain of a Mr. Issac Jervis, a wealthy Hugenot silk weaver around the year 1724. As we climbed higher up the four storeys, the time period got closer to our age until at the very top floor, we were in the early 1800s at the time of the sudden accession to the throne of Queen Victoria.

It is not merely the fact that the house is crammed with the most marvelous antiques that caught our imagination but the fact that we are part of a drama in which it appears as if the family that lived in the rooms vacated them as soon as we entered. Thus, a half eaten slice of buttered bread, a bitten pear, a nearly empty cup of tea are some of the props that make up the unusual ambience of this home. The experience is not merely a visual delight but a completely sensual one as sounds, and even smells, permeate the environment from the clanging of the nearby bells of Christ Church, Spitalfields, to the booming of the cannons that announced the arrival of Queen Victoria to the throne. In the bedrooms, we smelled cinnamon potpourii, in the kitchen, the fire in the grate warmed the entire room as well as our fingers and in the upper floors where cobwebs hung about the poverty-stricken hovels of the tenants who were barely able to keep body and soul together, there was a dank mustiness that was most unpleasant. At one stage, we became part of an 18th century painting by Hogarth as we encircled a table that had just witnessed a drunken brawl.

Dennis Severs was an American artist who was so fascinated by the history of the East End and the determined efforts made by London to retain the dated atmosphere of the area through the protection of the exterior of its buildings that he decided to buy one of the silk weaver’s homes and decorate it so authentically that a visitor might be able to have the sort of out-of-body experience that is only possible when one transports oneself compeletely into a long ago world and blends into it. Hence, his concept of the wholistic antiquated experience which has resulted in this unusual phenomenon. What was incredible was the fact that he lived in this manner in this very house during his own life in London and wanted to perpetuate the experience long after he passed away.

Needless to say, both Llew and I were utterly transfixed by this visit and it was easily the best 8 pounds we have spent in a long while. I was so glad that I had Llew with whom to share this experience. I fully appreciated the insistence upon silence in the house because I have found through my solitary travels in so many countries that the best, most meaningful, experiences for me have been the ones that I have enjoyed alone and without the interruption of conversation with a companion, as, often, the act of talking causes the mind to lose focus and become distracted by extraneous details that have no direct bearings upon the item or scene being investigated. Still, I was pleased to have had Llew to talk with after we had both gone through this completely unique house.

Foray into Brick Lane:
Then, since we were so close to it and Llew was keen to visit it, we walked to Brick Lane, made famous by Monica Ali’s novel of the same name which both Llew and I had read a long time ago. Of course, we found it to be unfamiliar to us in many ways for it neither reminded me of India (in which I grew up) nor of Pakistan (in which Llew grew up) but being a part of London that has been colonized by Bangladeshi immigrants, it has a distinctly Bengali ambience to it. After we had perused some of the sweetmeat shops, we walked back to Liverpool Street station for the next part of our rather adventurous day–our Easter dinner.

Dinner at Rules Restaurant–London’s Oldest:
I had tried to make a reservtion at Rules restaurant only this morning and discovered that a 5 pm sitting was all that was available. I decided to go for it as it would be the sort of late lunch early dinner that we usually have when we celebrate Christmas or Easter at home. We arrived at Maiden Lane just behind Covent Garden exactly at 5pm and were very warmly and cordially welcomed by the maitre d’ hote who led us to a cozy table for two in a corner.

I had first heard about Rules on one of the London walks that I took several weeks ago and had decided right away that this was the sort of restaurant I wanted to eat a dinner in when Llew got to London. it helped that the restaurant is London’s oldest, having been established in 1798. It has had its fair share of celebrity clientele from Edward VII who often frequented the place with his mistress Lillie Langtrey, Charles Dickens, Graham Greene and Sir John Betjeman, among several prominent others. The decor is so unique that you can spend an entire evening just gazing upon its walls that are covered with antlers of varing shape and size, playbills from a vast number of Covent Garden shows over the centuries, cartoons from contemporary magazines and newspapers and illustrations of theater personalities and journalists. The lighting is soft and very flattering indeed and the lampshades and dark wood-panelled walls made the entire place appear like the interior of a library on an English country estate. Needless to say, I adored every aspect of the place and Llew shared my enthusiasm for it as well.

We then got down to the serious business of ordering our dinner. We chose a jug of claret but decided to forego the starters as I really did want to have a dessert. A quick glance at the puddings told me that I would not be disappointed and right away I decided to go for the sticky toffee pudding with butterscotch sauce. But that would have to wait. For our main course, I decided to eat the daily special–farm duck served with garlic spinach, crispy bacon and a sauce of chestnuts and red wine. Llew chose rabbit with a wild mushroom casserole. Since we shared our dishes, I can say that each one was better than the other, the meat succulent and juicy and the sides quite superbly done and very tasty indeed. Service was impeccable and attentive and the entire set up was simply special. When it came time for dessert, Llew chose the chocolate souffle with chocolate ice cream and when our puddings arrived, there was a rather unexpected treat included–a tiny pastry nest filled with chocolate mousse in which two candy coated chocolate eggs were hiding. There was also a little wafer that said Easter on it–a very cute touch indeed. Overall, we had one of the most memorable meals we have eaten in London and I was very pleased that Llew enjoyed the meal as much as I did and that I had made the right choice in selecting Rules (so-called because it was founded by a man named Thomas Rule). At the end of the evening, a waiter very kindly escorted me to the top floor where I peeked into the Sir John Betjeman Room that seats 8 and the Graham Greene room that seats 18 as both these literary gentlemen loved this restaurant and ate here frequently.

Then, it was time to walk home–we were so full that we did not have coffee but elected to get some exercise instead. Covent Garden was abuzz with visitors and buskers and a singer who presented a plaintive version of JT’s Fire and Rain. In less than 15 mintues, we were home, making a few calls to the friends we have recently made in this city and to Chriselle and Chris who were just about beginning to start their own Easter lunches in the States. We did miss being together for Easter but we were glad that Chriselle was having a good time with Chris’s friends.

Llew then began the serious task of getting his suitcases packed up. I took over his large one and filled it with the stack of formal and winter clothes that I no longer need in London since the weather is now much milder. I have retained only a few cashmere cardigans in neutral colors and since I have only three more classes to teach before the semester ends, I sent back my formal woolen suit jackets. From now on, I shall be living mainly in casual clothes and I am looking forward to warmer days.

The evening passed swiftly as Llew prepared to make his exit from London and return to Connecticut. I will be sorry to see him go tomorrow, but I feel blessed that God allowed us to spend Easter together–an Easter with a difference, but one I know we were always remember as long as we live.

Orthotics at Last! And Dinner at the Rixhons.

Apr9

Maundy Thursday, April 9, 2009
London

After weeks…no months, of waiting, I finally had my Orthotics appointment today. It took no less than 120 attempts to call the central appointment agency to obtain a date for this meeting with the person who would fit me for Orthotics that are supposed to help patients afflicted with plantar fascittis. It was thanks to one of NYU’s staff members, Yvonne Hunkin, who suggested that I fax the place, that I finally was given an appointment. Not surprisingly, despite the fact that Llew and I went to bed at well past 11. 30 pm last night, I awoke at 5. 30 am so as not to be late for my 8. 30 appointment this morning at Belsize Road. Only I was mistaken–my appointment wasn’t at 8. 30 am, it was at 9. 30! This meant a good hour’s wait in the surgery, but we’d taken material to read and Llew got a chance to see how the NHS operates in the UK.

Rory Nottingdale was the man who fitted me with a pair of medically-designed insoles that fit into my walking shoes. They have the advantage of being interchangeable, i.e. I can insert them into any pair of shoes. Rory suggested I wear them for the next three months and if there is no improvement by mid-July, he suggests I make a follow-up appointment. I will, of course, fax him at that stage as I have no intention of trying to get him on the phone! But, hopefully, I will not need to call him at all and the Orthotics will make a difference to my posture and change the way my feet feel.

Since we were only a block away from Abbey Road, of course, Llew and I had to walk to the Abbey Studios and the crossing made famous by the Beatles’ album that featured the Fab Four striding across the street in single file. We found other Beatles’ fans taking pictures at the cross road and we, gigglingly, did likewise. There were walls outside the Abbey Road Studios that were filled with scribbles left by generations of fans which we read as we posed for pictures by the road sign that said ‘Abbey Road’. I remembered that I had also posed besides the Penny Lane sign post not too long ago while in Liverpool.

We took the Tube back from St. John’s Wood and I finally had the chance to unpack my backpack after our return from Rome and Istanbul, sort out laundry items, get our bedroom in order and then go out shopping to the Leather Lane street market to buy some fresh fruit and veg for salad as I felt as if I badly needed to eat some greens! Back home, Llew and I had our lunch and found our neighbors Tim and Barbara ringing our doorbell to say goodbye to us as they were leaving to spend the holiday weekend in Eastbourne and would not see Llew (who departs for the States on Easter Monday) again until July. After a short nap, I returned to my email (as I had loads of it to trawl through and several urgent messages to return–mainly from my former students in New York, most of whom want recommendations of one sort or the other).

Marilyn Rixhon had called me in the morning to confirm our dinner plans at her place for this evening, so Llew and I decided to get some rest before we left for the 5 pm service at St. Paul’s Cathedral where the Washing of the Feet and the Eucharist will be celebrated. I had called our friends Cynthia and Bishop Michael Colclough and told them that we hoped to see them at the service. About an hour later, Michael called to invite us to their place and to take on seats at the very front with their family. This gave Llew the chance to visit their place briefly at Amen Court and to meet Cynthia’s lovely boys, Edward and Aidan,again as also Michael’s step-mother Alma who had driven down from Stoke-on-Trent for the Easter weekend. We made our way together to the Cathedral where loads of visitors thronged the steps on what was a perfectly delightful spring evening. Inside, it occurred to me again, how similar St. Paul’s Cathedral is to St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome, though, undoubtedly, the latter is far more ornate. It’s not easy to compete with Bernini, is it???

It also occurred to me how similar the Catholic and Protestant doctrine and services are–indeed, the Washing of the Feet of the Apostles is the central focus of this service and, in addition, we had the sublime acoustic sounds of the choir echoing mightily around the columns and domes of this grand structure. We had prime seats at the very front center and in an hour and a quarter, we were all done, having received Holy Communion and trooped out.

Because it was still too early to get on the Tube and head to Willesden Green for our dinner appointment with the Rixhons, we sat at Paul’s and whiled away some time over an almond croissant and their excellent hot chocolate. You know that a new location is starting to feel like home when you begin to have a favorite coffee shop, a favorite book store, a favorite library, etc. and I do know that Paul’s is my favorite coffee shop. Being that it is a chain in London, I do not have a particular favorite location. (In New York, Le Pain Quotidien is my favorite coffee shop chain and I wonder if there is a pattern to be discovered in the fact that both my favorites have French origins!)

We were ringing the doorbell at the Rixhons’ beautiful home at exactly 7.30 pm and then had a fabulous evening with them. Llew, who was meeting Marilyn and Phillipe for the very first time, got along famously with them and found that they had much in common, the least of which was the fact that they had all spent a considerable amount of time working and living in Dubai. Their garden was at its spring loveliest with the pear tree in bloom and as Phillipe opened a bottle of champagne and we strolled through it, the evening assumed a magical flavor. Inside, Marilyn busied herself in her magazine-quality kitchen with her matzoh ball soup as it also, coincidentally, happened to be Passover. There is a wonderfully warm and welcoming side to their personalities that instantly makes their guests feel at home and as we returned to the comfort of the dining table, I sat down to look forward to one of Marilyn’s simple but truly memorable meals. As it turned out, we had superbly baked cod with a zucchini puree served with matzoh, but the piece de resistance was the flourless cake with ground almonds and the tropical fruit salad with its hints of lime juice and zest made by their daughter that was so good I simply had to have the recipe. Indeed, it was a fine evening, characterized by friendship, fun and superb food. As we left, Marilyn actually presented us with a goodie bag–mangoes (“f0r your breakfast”, she said) that she obtained from the Indian store and a very unusual fruit called a grenadiller that I have never seen or heard of before and which I am very much looking forward to tasting.

Llew and I got home at a quarter to midnight and while Llew hit the bed after watching a spot of TV, I sat up writing this blog and fell asleep much later. Though I had felt at mid-day that we had done nothing really interesting, our evening out with the Rixhons definitely ‘saved’ our day and made it feel less wasted.

Mother’s Day in Essex

Mar22

Sunday, March 22, 2009
Bishop Stortford, Essex

I awoke to another glorious day–this time in Essex. It is Mother’s Day here in the UK and Rosa’s mother Margaret from Manchester was with her at her place. We sat down to breakfast that included toasted Hot Cross Buns from the poem (usually seen around Lent) and then the Fradleys told me they would drive me around some interesting towns in their part of the world.

We drove first to Thaxted, a very old and very quaint town that sits right in the midst of the rolling Essex countryside. It was a good thing that Matt lost his way as we had the opportunity to see the little villages that dot the landscape in the simplest and yet most appealing of ways. At Thaxted, no one seemed to have awoken, except the folks who had found their way to the Norman Cathedral whose spire dominated the landscape. Thaxted also has a windmill, a rather unusual structure in the Essex countryside.

We discovered that the Parish Church of Thaxted dates from Norman times but is in a terrible state of disrepair attacked by woodworm and other deadlier sounding pests. It takes an enormous amount of money to keep such buildings standing in England and everywhere I go, I find on-going fund-raising activity to help support these churches. We arrived in the church at the end of the service and were invited repeatedly to join the congregation for coffee and chocolate biscuits. It is amazing to me how warm and hospitable these places are to strangers and how privileged they feel when you arrive to poke around their ageing monuments. Each woman who had ‘mothered’ anyone in her life had been presented with a little posy of daffodils and they walked out of the church with vivid yellow flowers in their hands.

Since it was only an easy walk towards the windmill, we passed by the church graveyard and made our way to the rather short structure that probably once ground corn for the area’s farmers. The rural idyll was perfect at this point–horses grazing near by in pasture, the red roofs of the village lying almost submerged in a hollow in the terrain, the church spire rising up behind us and a thatched cottage around the bend.

Walking through the village streets with its tiny shops, we returned to our car, at which point the Fradleys decided to drive to Saffron Walden–a market town that dates from the medieval period. The drive continued to be picture-perfect and I have to say I enjoyed this part of our outing as much as I loved the little towns we visited.

Once again, after we parked out car, we went for a walk in the town which seemed far more upscale than Thaxted. This town has many listed buildings and many of them are unique for the ‘pargetting’ or decorative stucco work on their walls–which I had seen and learned about in Lavenham on my visit last week to Suffolk. I found a great deal of similarity between the landscape of Suffolk and Essex which, I suppose, is not surprising, as the counties kiss each other. When we passed by the beautiful Sun Inn, we also discovered that it was used as Oliver Cromwell’s headquarters once upon a time. This was also the spot where I saw my first multiple frilled daffodils in the cathedral yard (yes, there is another Norman cathedral in this town). Indeed, daffodils were everywhere, many abundant banks of them glowing softly in the spring sunshine. People have already started planting their window boxes with primroses and the entire area seemed to be basking in Spring’s early abundance.

On the way back, it was Rosa who suggested to Matt that we drive by Audley End House, a grand Tudor manor in the heart of the Essex countryside–a home once associated with the ill-fated Howards who had played such an important political role in the era of Henry VIII. Though the manor does not open to visitors until the end of March, we were able to stroll around the grounds landscaped by the legendary Lancelot “Capability” Brown and see the bridges that he constructed to look like a natural part of the garden. Geese, ducks and mallards paddled busily in the stream that encircles the house and with the sun shining abundantly upon it, it was a perfect spot to stop for pictures. I am very tempted to visit Audley End House, an English Heritage property, and I understand that there is a train from the station of the same name and then a mile walk, if one wishes to get there by public transport.

Mother’s Day Lunch at the Fradley’s:
Then, it was time for us to return to Bishop Stortford to the Fradley’s home where Rosa got busy preparing the herb dumplings to place on the top of her lovely Beouf Bourgignon that was her special offering for Mother’s Day lunch. The kitchen filled with the most appetizing aromas as the casserole cooked away merrily and bubbled forth. A little later, we sat down at the kitchen table to a delicious lunch with red broccoli served on the side. Rosa had made olive bread at home to accompany the meal and we used it to sop up the gravy which was amazingly flavorful–what with its combination of beef stock and red wine.

Not too long after our lovely meal, it was time for me to leave. Matt dropped me off at the local British Rail station and off I went towards Liverpool Street Station where I stopped off at Tesco to buy myself some groceries for the week. I was opening my door at exactly 5. 30 pm after what had been a truly exciting week for me–what with my travels in Italy initially and then the bonus day in Essex.

Needless to say, I spent the next five hours unpacking, catching up with my email and voice messages, sorting out items for laundry (which I did before going to bed) and getting ready for my classes at NYU tomorrow as I will be teaching all day. Tomorrow evening, I have a play at the West End to look forward to–Arthur Miller’s A View from the Bridge–and since the reviews have been uniformly dazzling, I know it will be a long but very eventful day indeed.

Wessex and Winchester Cathedral

Feb20

Friday, February 20, 2009
Winchester and Portsmouth

Holborn was stirring slowly when I took the bus along Gray’s Inn Road to King’s Cross and found my way to NIDO, our student dorms on Pennington Road. Despite being told several times that our departure was scheduled for 7. 45, six of my students thought it was 8. 15 am and did not show up. The coach left at 8 am sharp with six students missing. They took the train from Waterloo and arrived at Winchester where they joined us later in the day.

Moira Ferguson and Alice Coltenfeanu were in the coach with me as we swung out of London (past the suburbs of Chiswick and Putney) and drove through Hampshire. I realized that this was the route Stephanie takes to work each day as the signs for Andover/Salisbury began to show up on the motorway. We made one pit stop about ten minutes before we arrived in the charming but very tiny town of Winchester where we parked by the towering bronze sculpture of Alfred the Great, King of the ancient Anglo-Saxon kingdom of Wessex. He was he who united the warring factions of the neighboring counties. Though the Romans had made Wessex their base long before Alfred’s reign (having been in Wessex between 40 and 400 AD), it is he who is credited with making the town that eventually became Winchester a seat of power by creating mints all over so that the people would have monetary security as well as encouraging commercial activity on what is now the High Street. As I walked along the High Street, noticing its older (mainly Tudor) structures, I realized how many millions of feet had trodden these streets over the centuries and I felt awed.

There has been a Mayor of Winchester for almost as long as there has been one in London and it
was at his ‘house’–called the Mayor’s Abbey–that our walking tour of the town began with a trained guide. It was the Romans who redirected the flow of the River Itchen towards the outskirts of the town and the result is a number of fast flowing canals that wind around pretty gardens that were just starting to bloom. I saw more clumps of snowdrops and loads of primroses. The sun was out and a more welcome sight I haven’t seen for days as it poured its golden rays upon the cathedral walls.

It wasn’t long before we were entering the precincts of the grand Cathedral for which the town is famous (remember the song “Winchester Cathedral” of the 1950s?). No matter how many cathedrals I visit in the UK, they always come upon me with a mixture of surprise and awe–surprise that in the so-called Dark Ages (what an insult to the achievements of that era!) such a level of architectural expertise existed that could allow the construction of crypts that went way down into the soil bed and upon which the weight of so many thousands of tons could be supported; and awe at the craftsmanship of the carvers who then went on to embellish these structures with their talent. No doubt, it was these structures, speaking so eloquently of the religious ardor of the time, that kept so many of them employed for a lifetime.

The guide explained so many aspects of the exterior of the Cathedral and pointed out the importance of the Bishops of Winchester in their role as ecclesiastical prelates. We passed by the Bishops Quarters, lovely Tudor structures with their exposed beams and stucco walls, then went beneath the walls of the town above which is one of the smallest churches in the UK and the only one left in the country that is actually built upon city walls–the Church of St. Swithun-at-Kingsgate. Just past it is the home where Jane Austen spent the last six weeks of her life with her sister Cassandra. She came to Winchester as her doctor was based in the town to seek treatment for her illness that could have been Hodgkinsons or Addisons Disease (no one is sure). Her brother was Archdeacon at Winchester Cathedral–a fact that granted permission for her to be buried in the nave, one of the last burials to be conducted in the precincts of the Cathedral. There is a brass memorial to the author on the wall nearby. In the Fisherman’s Chapel, where 17th century Issac Walton has been buried, there is beautiful stained glass window referred to as the Compleat Angler window. Later, we went down to the crypt that was actually flooded (as water still seeps into the crypt from the water bed below) and saw the sculpture by Anthony Gormley of a solitary man brooding–these sculptures, of course, are cast from his own body after he wraps himself in cling film! My students and I had seen a bunch of his sculptures at Crosby Beach in Liverpool, a few months ago, when we had made a trip to that lively city.

Unfortunately, we did not have a chance to see the famous Winchester Bible as the library that contains it was closed, but we did marvel at two things: the choir stalls carved of oak which are the oldest in the country and were just exquisite in their details and the main stained glass windows which seem like a modernist design but are a result of the piecing together of the original stained glass windows that were blown out during the Civil War. The long nave of the Cathedral is equally imposing and since all the chairs were removed, the interior did not seem as much like a church as it did a museum! The best part about doing these class visits at this time of year is that the crowds are nowhere to be seen and you very often have the place to yourself for quiet contemplation.

Then, when we had said goodbye to the guide, I took directions from her and climbed the steep incline along the High Street to arrive at what are the only surviving remains of Winchester Castle built during Norman times–the Winchester Great Hall. The exterior is lovely (exposed black stone set within creamy mortar) as is the main portal and when we entered it, it was even lovelier. The mood was sombre and quiet which befit, I believe, its most famous exhibit–the Round Table of King Arthur. This is set high on the wall and must be quite immense in size for it looks huge though placed so far above us. It resembles a giant dart board and looks as if it were made yesterday. Recent studies have proved that it is not the actual Round Table though this one is at least 700 years old. A portrait of King Arthur adorns one part of it while the names of all the other knights are imprinted in a lovely Gothic script all around the circumference. The rest of the Hall is notable for the names of the knights who served the church through the centuries and for a magnificent bronze sculpture of Queen Victoria seated under a gilded canopy that was placed there to celebrate her Diamond Jubilee.

It wasn’t long before I grabbed a few post cards as souvenirs and a sandwich, a cheese scone and a chocolate covered flapjack and with this lunch, I joined my students on a bench overlooking the statue of Alfred and awaited the return of our coach.

A half hour later, we were on our way to Portsmouth. See my next blog entry entitled “Pausing in Portsmouth’ for an account of our amazing visit there.

Winchester was truly a lovely town that encompasses a great deal for the history buff and the architecture enthusiast to mull over. The fact that the sun was out on a spring morning made our excursion memorable and I left the place, astonished as its tiny size, but struck by how many elements of interest can be contained within so small a space.

London’s Seedier Side: Two Walking Tours of the East End

Feb13

Friday, February 13, 2009
London

The Prisoner of Azkaban is marching along nicely. One hour long reading sessions at dawn and at bedtime will, I think, get me through the tomes (which grow in size with each volume) before I am gone from here.

Alternate Soaks, phone calls to Bombay, email correspondence, proofreading blog entries–all of that kept me busy through the morning. But the thing that ate most of my time and got me most frustrated was trying to find reasonably priced airfares for our proposed flight from Rome to Istanbul just before Easter. After trying every possibility, I came to the crazy conclusion that it might be best to use the budget airlines to return to London from Rome, then take another flight from London to Istanbul! Llew green lighted the scheme as most financially feasible and tomorrow, I shall try to make our bookings.

In the midst of all the internet research I did to try to find some fun things that Llew and I can do on Easter Sunday (as we will be spending it together here–yyesss!!!), I finally did something I had been meaning to do for weeks–book a ticket to the Royal Horticultural Society’s Chelsea Flower Show, In fact, this was on my list of things to do before I leave London! I have been reading about this legendary flower show–perhaps the world’s best–for so many years in the Home and Garden magazines to which I subscribe in the States. So, I was determined to buy myself a ticket.

When I finally got down to it this morning, I discovered that it is scheduled the very week (May 19-23) I will be in Lyon, France, with my French pen pal of 37 years, Genevieve Tougne-Ducote. Genevieve and I have not seen each other since 1989 and I was so looking forward to meeting her and her family–husband and two sons. Fortunately, the day I return from France is also the last day of the show and since my flight arrives at Stanstead at 10.30 am, I will certainly be able to catch the last three to four hours of the show–which will be ample, I think.

Then, for technical reasons (they need my credit card registered to a UK address)my online purchase would not go through and in desperation, I called my friend Rosemary and asked her to make the purchase for me with her credit card. She readily obliged and I will reimburse her in cash. Delighted, just delighted, that I did get tickets to the show and will actually be able to make it, despite my travel plans, I decided to go outdoors and enjoy what had shaped into a lovely day with robin’s egg blue skies and a cheerful winter sun. I showered, decided to do the Jack the Ripper Walk from my book–24 Great Walks in London–and left my flat.

The reason I chose this macabre walk was because I had scheduled a walking tour of Spitalfields with a Blue Badge Guide for my students of Global Cultures at 5pm. I knew that Brick Lane is located in this general area and since my students are studying Monica Ali’s Brick Lane for my South Asian Studies class, I thought it would make sense to take them there to explore the area and see it for themselves. We were scheduled to meet at Liverpool Street Station at 5 pm, so it made sense to do another walking tour of the same area in the afternoon with a good long break in-between in a coffee shop to rest my legs.

The Jack the Ripper Tour began at Aldgate Underground Station and took me past such interesting sights as the following:

1. The Church of “St. Botolph Without Aldgate” (so-called because it lay beyond, outside, or without, the gates of Aldgate). Also known as the Prostitutes’ Church as most of the street walkers of the area worshipped here.

2. Various locations in which the six women that Jack the Ripper killed were found or were last seen. These included a few pubs in the area around Whitechapel.

3. Petticoat Lane (so-called because 18th century under-jackets called petticoats, worn by men, were sold on this street). Today, it is a thriving street market, mostly frequented on Sundays by tourists. I found it very disappointing and totally lacking in atmosphere.

4. Old Spitalfields Market: A Victorian indoor market (similar to Old Covent Garden Market or Smithfield Market). Both this place and Petticoat Lane were on my list of places to see before I left London–so I guess I can say, Been There, Done That.

5. The Jame Masjid at Fournier Street, just off Brick Lane. Interesting because it was once a Huguenot Chapel, then a synagogue and is now a mosque.

6. Rows and rows of row houses (attached houses), many of which were destroyed during World War II (remember all the TV footage we have seen so often of the late Queen Mother touring the ravaged East End after the London Blitz?). These once housed the Huguenot silk weavers and giant wooden bobbins are now hung outside these homes. This is especially true of Wilkes Street and Puma Court. This was the most atmospheric part of the walk and appealed to me the most.

7. Christ Church, Spitalfields, built by Nicholas Hawksmoor (pupil of Sir Christopher Wren) in the early 1700s. An imposing Baroque structure, its spire rises tall into the sky and its four columns in the front flank a semi-circular pediment that gives it a very distinctive look. Inside, after restoration, it exudes peace and serenity and has fine stained glass windows.

This walk took me to some of the seediest parts of London I have seen so far. There was garbage in the gutters, houses and neighborhoods that looked badly in need of refurbishment or at least a lick of paint, rather ratty looking shops and Mom and Pop businesses. Now I understand why they say the East End is one of the most neglected parts of the city and why they hope the coming Olympics in 2012 will rejuvenate the area.

However, it is also one of the most diverse parts of the city and I saw a variety of races living in harmony together and a number of global cultures coalescesing quite effortlessly. Amazingly, just a few blocks past the rather run down streets were the towering glass and concrete structures around Liverpool Street Station where the large corporations have set up shop–RBS, for instance. Just a few yards ahead is Bank, so-called because the Bank of England (aka the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street) is located here and one day, when the weather gets better, I shall explore these old solid 18th station buildings and the warren of streets that unite them, on foot.

I arrived at Liverpool Street Station at the end of this walk and found myself a quiet spot in a Burger King where I rested for over an hour and read the free local eveninger–“the london paper”! At 5 pm, I made my way to the Upper Concourse to the meeting point outside McDonald’s where my students and I were supposed to meet Rachel Kolsky, our guide. We were all very punctual indeed and our walk began with Rachel pointing out many interesting features of the area, such as:

1. Kindertransport Sculpture: This sculpture by Frederick Meissler depicts the Kindertransport children. She told us the moving story of the 10,000 European children who were brought to England in 1939 just before the outbreak of World War I and were placed in English homes. I had never heard of this aspect of War history before and was fascinated and moved to tears by Rachel’s retelling of the scheme and the impact it had on the children who are scattered, today, all over the world.

2. Dennis Severs House: Built by an American expatriate in the East End who took an old Huguenot house and converted it into a ‘museum’ of sorts to recreate the era of the old silk weavers. It is a must-see, I think, and I will definitely carve out some time to see it though visiting hours are rather erratic.

3. Homes on Hansbury Street, deliberately kept in a decrepit state, because they are used today as movie sets for period films and TV series. The insides were also true to those bygone eras and were fascinating to peer into.

4. The synagogue on Hansbury Street and the many stories associated with it. This taught me about the arrival of the Jews into the East End (they lived on the outskirts of the City as they were not permitted within the City reaches), their persecution and expulsion under Edward I, their return to England under the more hospitable Oliver Cromwell, their persecution again in the Victorian Age and their move out of the East End to the Western suburbs such as Golders Green, Hendon and Edgeware in the 1970s to be replaced by Bangaldeshi immigrants.

5. Brick Lane: This stop told us about the arrival of the Bangla or Bengali immigrants into the UK from the time of the lascars (Muslim ship hands) who, in the late 1800s, jumped ship in England and made their home in the East End to those who arrived at the end of World War II to provide labor during the era of acute labor shortage in England and then the most recent ones who came during the Civil War in 1971. We touched on Monica Ali’s novel as we surveyed the endless chain of Bangladeshi restaurants, sweetmeat shops, sari emporiums, video stores, etc.

The appetizing aromas of spices assailed our nostrils and made me long for a curry stop except that it was freezing by the time we finished our walk about two hours later and all that my students and I could think of was getting back home to our warm dwellings and hunkering down for the evening.

The walk taught me why you can find really excellent bagels in Brick Lane (the Jewish run bakeries still stay open 24 hours of the day and make really authentic, delicious, boiled bagels on the premises). I can’t wait to try one with lox (smoked salmon) and cream cheese, capers, lenon juice and chopped onion. It is one of my favorite things to eat and I frequently fix myself this treat for breakfast at home in the States.

It is true that having done two walks in one day, I was very tired when I got home. I made myself comfortable on the couch while eating my dinner (I picked up canneloni stuffed with spinach and ricotta cheese from M&S, what my neighbor Tim refers to as his “larder”) while doing my Alternate Soaks (if ever I needed them, it was this evening!) then checked my email and got ready for bed.

Belfast’s Queen’s University–and Homeward Bound

Dec10

Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Belfast-London

On another bleak morning, I awoke to potter around my backpack, shower, dress and check out of the Youth Hostel where I had spent four rather interesting and very comfortable nights. If you do not mind your bed sailing each time the occupant of the upper bunk moves, if you can deal with the occasional outbreak of snores, if you do not object to late-night chatter, you will find no better value than that offered by Hosteling International. I feel as if I have come upon the girl I used to be, 25 years younger, reclaiming my grad student days when I backpacked all over Europe and used Youth Hostels for affordable housing as I scoured the Continent.

I ordered a waffle for breakfast–large, warm, sprinkled with powdered sugar and drizzled (make that bathed) with chocolate sauce. It was so yummy to look but so disappointing. It was studded with tiny black bits of plastic and I can only conclude that they were pieces of the non-stick coating on the waffle pan that had detached themselves as the waffle was baking and had stuck to the dough and baked right into it. Yuck!!! There went my breakfast!

In the aftermath of a shower and under an overcast sky, I set out to explore Queens Quarter, that part of the city of Belfast that is dominated by the red-brick Tudor structure (reminiscent of Magdalen College, Oxford) of Queens University whose most famous alumnus is Seamus Heany, the Literature Nobel Laureate. Charles Langford who designed the university building used, as his model, the great medieval colleges of Europe and created a site for learning based on the cloisters situated around a quadrangle. Needless to say, a library and a dining hall would be part of the design.

It is lovely to visit educational institutions when they are still in session. The place buzzes with intellectual energy as students mill around–backpacks thrown carelessly across their backs, books in hand–making their way from one class to the next, one lecture hall to the other. I joined the throngs and arrived at the Black and White Hall with its dominant sculpture of Galileo by Pio Fredi. In the quadrangle a large canopied tent was being cleared and dismantled–remnants of a formal party held last night perhaps. I wandered into the Great Hall whose walls were covered with oil-painted portraits of the many eminent men and women who have called the university their alma mater. There was a High Table and a stone fireplace right behind it and a rather eye catching ceiling but it had none of the aura of the medieval halls of Oxford or Cambridge–perhaps because it lacked their venerable age. On exploring the library, I found that I had strayed into a ‘Coffee Morning’ at which several faculty and administrative staff had gathered for a mid-morning chinwag. There were mince pies and shortbread and coffee at hand and people were nibbling while purchasing tickets for a dozen food hampers that would be raffled later that day. English hampers come into their own twice a year–at summer picnics and at Christmas when they are filled with the most exotic eats like cornichons and candied stem ginger.

Across the street, I visited the book store and spent an idle quarter hour browsing through its offerings. I almost bought a signed copy of an autobiography by Cheri Blair for Llew but thought better of it. I was certain it would be badly misshapen by the time it made its way home in my backpack and I know how anal Llew is about the condition of a book–it must remain pristine if he is to value it! So there went that idea!

Then, I was back at the Hostel, retrieving my backpack from storage, taking the Bus 600 to George Best Airport (the only airport in which Ryanair lands that is within the very heart of the city as opposed to the other airports that are always several godforsaken miles away). I was there in 15 minutes, and with my boarding pass and security formalities all done (after the ordeal I went through at Stanstead airport, I was taking no chances with time), I had loads of it to kill in an airport that was singularly lacking in enticements such as duty-free shopping–but then I wasn’t really leaving the country, so I could not expect to travel duty-free. It just felt as if I had visited another country because I had crossed the Sea!!!

On the flight, once I had settled down again in the bulk head seat, who should I see climbing up the stairs but Marina! Of course, she sat right by me and we kept each other company throughout. I was delighted to fly right over the Isle of Man and then to see Liverpool clearly reveal itself itself below me, the Mersey snaking its sluggish way, a hefty river indeed, and the Three Graces standing solidly on its banks. I still thrill to the view of the world from so many thousands of feet above sea level–it is about as unique a perspective on our world as one could ever have!

We reached before schedule, much to Ryanair’s pride, and I caught the early Easybus back home to Baker Street. Nothing much to report expect that I had dozens of email messages to trawl through and a camera full of 120 pictures to download before I was able to unwind and call it a night after eating a sandwich and a mince pie and washing it all down with cider.

Tomorrow I give a final exam and have a stack of papers to grade before I can focus on my next trip–home to Southport and the ones I most love!

Belfast–Northern Ireland’s Capital

Dec10

Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Belfast

I awoke to another dismal day. It was wet and it was cold–hardly the kind of weather in which one could go out joyfully to explore a city. Thanks to the Hop On Hop Off Bus, my day was saved in that I was actually able to salvage it. I purchased a ticket for 12 pounds from the Belfast Tourist Center and caught the 11 am bus–upper deck, front seat, of course! I enjoyed the tour so much, I took it twice for the same price, each time in a different bus with a different tour guide and I wasn’t bored!

It was cold and my fingers ached. As the bus wound its way through the City Center towards the Alfred Clock Tower (named for Victoria’s beloved husband), I tried every way I could think of to warm them, but to no avail. Finally,I just sat on them and that did the trick!

Commentary was provided by those Irish tour guides known for their wicked sense of humor. His name was Ivan and our driver was Ciaran. About six other people shared the bus with me. You could tell it was decidedly off-season. In fact, a few days previously,I had heard an Irishman comment upon a tourist who was lugging a suitcase through St. George Market: “Imagine a tourist coming to Belfast in the winter!” He clearly thought the lady was nuts. As I tried to get warm, I thought I was nuts too!

Soon we were crossing the Lagan Weir and heading towards the ship-building yards of the renowned company known as Harland and Woolf that once ruled the world–or at least Ireland. Responsible for building some of the most famous ships in history–the Titanic, the Olympic, the Lusitania–they once employed 34,000 people. Their giant cranes, affectionately nicknamed Samson and Goliath, tower above the city’s skyline, a silent reminder of the glory that once was navigation. Today, they linger idly waiting to be restored to, as some have suggested, a five star restaurant! At the deserted dry docks, we saw the Pump Room close to where the Titanic was once docked as she went through the final stages of construction and decoration. Though many cities host Titanic exhibitions today (Liverpool, for one), Belfast claims that this honor should go to her alone as the ship was fine when she left Irish shores!

On to Stormont, a massive mansion made of Portland Stone that sits on a hill approached by a mile-long alley lined with lime trees–one for each of the workers who built it. This is Northern Ireland’s Parliament Building where affairs of state are still debated and laws passed. The area around it is elite, with lovely terraced housing and the campus of Campbell College not too far away.

Then, it was time to enter the most notorious parts of Belfast, known for the infamous strife between Protestants and Catholics that kept the country in a state of high tension through most of the 70s and well into contemporary times. The bus took us through Shanklin Road, Protestant stronghold, where all the fallen sons of the Loyalists are remembered in large size murals painted on the sides of the houses and stores that line the narrow streets. We passed through the Court House where the scales of Justice are missing from the hands of the Goddess perched on the pediment. They turned up recently on ebay! Right across the street is the Crumblin Jail, a tunnel linking the two buildings underground. Some of the most notorious political prisoners were held in this jail which today is used only as a memorial to the country’s troubled history.

In the distance, the guide pointed out a Linen Factory, another remnant of Irish history that has gone with the wind. Once the mainstay of the economy, the creation of linen from flax is a long and laborious process and involves a great deal of manual work. No wonder the industry fell by the wayside as synthetics flooded the market. Today, it serves only the luxury market and a few consumers able to pay the vast sums it costs to make the fabric wearable. I know that I will never look at linen again without appreciating the time and trouble that went into its creation.

On Falls Road, we saw the other ugly side of religious warfare–this is the Catholic side, home of the IRA or the Irish Republican Army manifested in the offices of Sinn Fein that sits on a rather nondescript street in a modest brick red building. This was the place that Bill Clinton visited in his attempts to broker a peace agreement with Gerry Adams. The Peace Agreement is holding tenuously (so far, so good, everyone says, but they’re clearly not holding their breath!) as seen in the ease with which one can now travel from the Protestant to the Catholic side. The Peace Wall still stands, though, dividing the town and the people. It snakes around the residential streets in brick red decorated with a few black details. The murals here remember the Catholic martyrs such as Bobby Sands who starved himself to death in the Thatcherite era to gain dignity for political prisoners held in British jails. There are other murals–loads of them–featuring Bush sucking away all the oil from Iraq and reproductions of Picasso’s Guernica. The people of Northern Ireland are passionate about their politics–I will say that much. No wonder so many of them came to America where they entered politics. No less than 23 American presidents can trace their roots to Ireland including, of course, the most famous of them all, the Kennedy clan!

We passed through Queens University next, the educational institution that produced Literature Nobel Laureate Seamus Heany whose portrait, together with several others, adorns the walls of the Great Hall inside. Built by Charles Langdon in imitation of Magdalen College, Oxford, this red brick Tudor building brings tremendous dignity to Queens Quarter with its funky clubs, lively restaurants and smoky taverns. Indeed, Belfast is known for its historic pubs and I downed a swift half in two of them: Magner’s Irish cider in Robinson’s and Guinness in the Crown Tavern, that sit cheek by jowl on Great Victoria Street. The latter is a confection of Victorian embossed tiles and a plasterwork ceiling, mirrors and carved counters and booths–the most ornate of the country’s pubs. No wonder it is managed today by the National Trust–one of only two pubs that the Trust runs.

Of course, we passed the bastion of the City Hall, built in the manner of St. Paul’s Cathedral, with a towering dome and the statue of the Queen looking glumly over her city. Near at hand is Belfast’s newest attraction–the Wheel–a huge ferris wheel that provides good views of the city. Not that it would work on a foggy day and there are many of those in Ireland!

In the City Center, there are churches and cathedrals and shopping malls of which the city is very proud indeed. In these days of credit crunches, the streets were still thick with shoppers who found relief in the Continental Market being held in the grounds of the City Hall where shoppers could feast on everything European from French crepes and baguettes to Spanish paella, from Greek mezes to German marzipan. There was also a carousel and games of skill to add to the festive revelry.

I took the bus tour twice. It was the only way to escape the cold and receive a bird’s eye view of the city at the same time while being entertained by the tour guides whose humor never faltered. I spent an hour browsing through books on Ireland at W.H. Smith and sipped Ginger and Ginseng tea in the tea rooms of Marks and Spencer where I also indulged in a warm mince pie! I stopped to appreciate the attempts to instill holiday cheer through music as a lone accordionist from Romania named Fernando played Jingle Bells outside Clarks from where I purchased two pairs of shoes at bargain prices! Alas, people were too frenzied filling their stockings to support his attempts to make an honest living in the midst of his poverty.

Visiting Belfast at Christmas might have been idiotic in terms of the weather, but it offered me a glimpse into the holiday spirit of a city that is slowly recovering from its decades, if not centuries, of religious war mongering and trying to extend a hand of friendship towards diversity. Harmony, the Ring of Thanksgiving, a sculpture that towers above the weir, is a testimony to the possibilities of friendship.

Belfast has none of the gaiety of Dublin. I realized that almost immediately. It still seems to be covered under the dark shroud of doubt and religious fanaticism and though it is making frantic attempts to be respectful of religious difference, I found that it lacked the kind of happy and joyous spirit that the Republic of Ireland seems to possess so effortlessly. Of the two major cities, I found Dublin infinitely ‘happier’ but I am glad I visited Belfast. I achieved an understanding of the kind of harm that radical religious politics can do as well as saw for myself how difficult it is to recover from such dogmatism when one has made it a way of life.