Tag Archive | National Gallery

Back in Blighty! Yes, Again!

Jun19

Back in Blighty! Yes! Again!

Monday, June 18, 2017

It was a painless departure from home—practically speaking, I mean—not emotionally. I dearly wish I could have had Llew accompanying me…but it was painless in the sense that the Prime Time shuttle driver picked me up very easily at 1. 30 pm on Sunday afternoon (Father’s Day) on schedule and by 3. 30 pm (also on schedule) we were at the American Airlines Terminal at Kennedy airport.  Flight was on time, check in and security were a breeze with my Pre TSA status and I was at the gate in good time to board. I had a window seat, but taxi-ing for takeoff took forever as we were twenty in line. Although our flight left the gate on time at 6.15, it was 7.30 pm before we got off the ground—and this time I mean literally! This brought us about 15 minutes late into Heathrow, but Immigration took only 20 minutes—by far the fastest it has ever gone.

The worst part of my journey was getting to my hotel.  I got into line at the airport for London’s traditional black cabs, entered one within seconds, but from there on, it was all downhill. The journey into Central London took us about two hours. I boarded the cab at 8.15 am and I reached my hotel in Holborn at 9.50 am! We took the most convoluted journey I have known—from Heathrow to Chiswick to Hammersmith and Fulham and then to Kensington and then to Paddington! Why we did not take the Westway Highway to get us to Edgeware and from there to Marylebon Road, I have no idea. But from Paddington, we eventually reached Edgeware. I was dozing through most of the ride as I had slept fitfully on the flight. I think the cab driver took me for a royal ride just to enhance his fare. It was only when I questioned him at Paddington that he realized I know my way around London really well. And from the time I questioned him, we took a straight enough route and finally, I was there.

In the Hotel at Holborn:

This is not so much a hotel as a building converted into serviced apartments—it is right on High Holborn, just a few steps from Holborn Tube Station and, if you can believe it, just a few meters from the building in which I had lived for a year, not too long ago. So, in other words, I am back in my former stomping ground and I feel as happy as a pig in a….well, you get the idea! This neighborhood is like my second home and after I unpacked, had a quick coffee from the complimentary machine down in the lobby, I was off.

London is sweltering and Londoners are melting in the heat as they are so unaccustomed to these temps and have no air-conditioning except in their offices. I changed from shoes to sandals, put on my sunglasses and baseball cap and was out the door at 11.30 am. And I did not get back to my room until 6.30 pm—already having walked a little too much today!

Exploring Seven Dials and Beyond:

I began my gadabout today with a walk along High Holborn towards Shaftesbury Avenue as I followed some interesting locations in my Key London Red Book. First spot was Monmouth Coffee Co. which, apparently, has the best coffee in London. I did not put this claim to the test as I had just finished a coffee in the hotel. Not too far away was the Donmar Warehouse which does really off-beat theater. I have never attended a performance here, but I decided to check out the premises. Right now Lenny Henry (of Chef fame) is in a show here, but I did not feel any desire to see it. I passed by the theater showing the world’s longest-running play—Agatha Christie’s The Mouse Trap, and walked ahead past Cambridge Theater (showing Mathila) to a theater right near Leicester Square where the big attraction is Audra McDonald, one of Broadway’s biggest stars, in a show called ‘Lady Day at Emerson Bar and Grill’. I found out that 20 pound day tickets are available at 10.00 am daily from Tuesday-Saturday. I shall try to get my friend Shahnaz to arrive at the theater by 9. 45 am to pick up tickets for the two of us on Wednesday when I will be at my seminar at NYU. Tomorrow is out as I have dinner with my NYU colleagues at Hubbard and Bell near Holborn.

Still walking and using my Red Key Book Map, I arrived at the Church of Our Lady of Notre Dame of France on Leicester Place. It turned out that Mass was just about to begin and, naturally, I stayed for it. It is a very small, rather hidden church with a sculpture of Our Lady at the entrance and a lovely mosaic on the main altar of Our Lady amidst a garden of flowers. There were about two dozen people inside and as a French priest said the Mass, there was a lot of Parisian charm to the entire service. It was over by 12. 45 pm which left me just enough time to make it to the next item on my agenda—a free musical recital at the Church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields at Trafalgar Square. By this time, I was feeling rather peckish as a very light brekkie and coffee in the hotel were all I had consumed; but there was no time to waste.

Recital by Students of the Purcell School of Music:

One of my favorite things to do in London is attending the free concerts at the gorgeous Anglican churches that hold them several times a week at 1.00pm. St. Martin’s is beautifully located and attracts loads of visitors as they carve the time for the event in-between nipping in and out of the National Gallery or the National Portrait Gallery or before catching a matinee somewhere in the theater district.

So, there I was—in a seat right at the front and sitting parallel to the piano keyboard. It was a delightful concert with students who astonished with their virtuosity. About 18 years old, they have the potential to be stars—no doubt. What was wonderful was the variety they offered: Gayatri Nair was a vocalist of Indian parentage who was marvelous. The cellist who played ‘The Flight of the Bumblebee’ was awesome and the piano sonata by Chopin was outstanding. Not that the saxophonist and the violinist were any less. They were all simply astounding. Only in London can one breeze into an 18th century church filled with attractive stained glass and rococo plastered gilding and be stunned by a musical performance for which you would pay a handsome price in a concert hall. Little wonder that such a show is always on the cards for my visits to London.

Highlights Tour at the National Gallery:

Of course, I cannot be close to the National Gallery and not pop in for a Highlights Tour. These are given at 11.30 am and 2. 30 pm daily and I never fail to catch one—this too is entirely free! I used the 40 minute break to sit in the Sainsbury Wing to eat a granola bar and an apple and to take a look at the special 12th century tempera paintings on wood by the Italian artist Giovanni de Rimini which is the featured painting of the moment. Then I raced back for the start of the tour that was given by a guide named Lauren Bauman.

It was a very good tour but for me the most disappointing part is that too much time is spent on each painting—as much as 25 minutes in one case—so that, the viewers see no more than 4 canvasses—we ended up seeing the following and getting a mini-dissertation on each of them:

  1. The Arnolfini Marriage by Jan Van Eyck.
  2. Allegory of Venus and Cupid by Bronzino.
  3. The Toilette of Venus (or the Rokeby Venus) by Diego Velasquez.

And that was it!!! I seriously wish we could have seen at least six of them. But there was a lot we learned and I enjoyed the tour (except for the fact that occasionally I dozed off as I seriously needed to catch up on my sleep). However, I wasn’t about to take a break.

The tour ended in exactly an hour. At 2. 30 pm, I hurried out to a city that had become blistering. If you stood on the verandah of the National Gallery and looked towards Whitehall past the sculpture of Nelson on his pedestal, you would be amazed at how empty it looked! Everyone was indoors. People had wimped out. There was no way they were braving that dreadful heat. This meant that the streets were almost deserted as I made my way to the bus stop opposite Trafalgar Studios with the intention of taking the No. 11 bus for a joy ride through the main tourist venues.

A Bus Ride to Chelsea:   

This is yet another favorite thing to do in London—for me, that is. I board the No. 11 bus which is the cheapest tour you can get of the city of London. Of course, I go upstairs and take a seat up front and center and allow my inner kid to kick in as I settle down to watch London go by. I sailed down the military sculptures of Whitehall and the guards at the Parade Grounds, I passed by 10 Downing Street (poor beleaguered Teresa—you cannot help but feel sorry for her right now!), viewed Charles Barry’s beautiful Houses of Parliament from a height, saw Westminster Abbey and Cathedral along Victoria Road and arrived at Victoria. These roads too were almost entirely empty as people stayed put in their air-conditioned offices.

Scouring the Thrift Stores (read Charity Shops) for Bargains:

I jumped off my bus on the King’s Road at Chelsea and got into the next item on my agenda: scouring the charity shops for DVDs (as I have steadily been building a collection of British films and TV shows) and the thrift shops are the best places to find these. I have my favorite places in Chelsea, Fulham, Kensington and Richmond and I delved to them with a plan! Little wonder that after looking at 5 such shops, I found 4 DVDs—a far bigger haul than I expected. I also nipped into Marks and Sparks to buy some of the goodies to which I have become addicted—eg. chocolate eclairs filled with real whipped cream (not the custard you find in the US).

When I reached the end of the King’s Road, I took a bus to Sloan Street with the idea of picking up my London phone from my friends Michael and Cynthia who are on a cruise right now. They made arrangements for their porter to hand it over to me but when I got there, he was out.

Having walked already for what seemed like miles, I made it briskly to Knightsbridge Tube station and suffered through the sauna that was the Tube! Twenty minutes later, I was in my air-conditioned room and awaiting the arrival of my friend Shahnaz as she was due to land at Heathrow from Bombay at 6.00 pm local time.

Awaiting Shahnaz’s Arrival:

While awaiting Shahnaz’s arrival, I sorted through my shopping, put things away, had a cup of coffee, took a lovely refreshing shower and sat to write this blog. Shahnaz arrived at 8.45 pm. And after spending about an hour just gabbing away (we were meeting after six months), we decided to get a bite to eat.

A Drink and Dinner on our First Night:

By the time we left our hotel to get a bite, it was about 9.30 pm.  We were headed to My Old Dutch, a pancake house in Holborn that I have wanted to try forever.  Never having company, I never ended up eating there. To make things really enticing today, the chain has an offer they call Monday Madness—where a variety of pancakes—crepes really—with the most delicious fillings are half price. We were headed there with enthusiasm, when we spied the Princess Louise pub right across the road and decided to head there for a drink. Two swift half pints later, we were in great spirits and ready to attack a Dutch dinner. And what a fab dinner it was too! We chose the Smoked Salmon Pancake stuffed with a mushroom sauce for our savory course and a pear and cinnamon pancake for dessert.  The place closed at 10. 30 pm and we walked in at 10.25pm—but the staff were kind enough to seat us and serve us at top speed. An hour later, we had tucked into an enormous meal and had taken pictures to mark the ticking of another item from my To-Do List.

And so it was that my first day in London came to a close. I had to pinch myself a couple of times while on the bus to believe that I was back again so soon—in fact, it seems as if I have never left. It is now 12.30 pm and I am now still full of beans. Hopefully, I will fall asleep just as soon as I hit the pillow.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Caravaggio at the National Gallery and Indian Lunch in Southall

Oct27

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

London

Having gone to bed at 9. 30 pm, I suppose it wasn’t surprising that I awoke at 3. 30 am. However, I did force myself to get back to sleep and when I opened my eyes again, it was a little before 5.00am–which made it the most sleep I have had in months! Not a bad thing at all. I awoke refreshed, relaxed and ready to start what turned out to be a rather bizarre day.

So, as usual, I did a blog post, caught up with email, planned my list of things to do for the day and had my brekkie–two toasted croissants with spreads and coffee. All these carbs, by the way, are doing a number on my weighing scale. It will be Low Carbs/No Carbs for sure when I get back home. But for the moment, it is simply easier (and much cheaper) for me to load up on bread and pasta. I watched some inane TV while munching my breakfast and decided to dress and leave the house without a shower as I wanted to shampoo my hair in the evening. I was meeting Raquel at the National Gallery at 10.00 am–so at 9. 15am, I left my flat to get into the Tube.

Caravaggio at the National Gallery:

I do not, as a rule, pay to see exhibitions at the National Gallery–as I prefer to wait for them to simply come to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York (which they almost invariably do). This one was an exception to my rule–as it was Caravaggio, who is simply my favorite artist of all time. I have tracked down his work in many parts of the world and spent a while in contemplation before each one of them. Thus, it was that I made plans to meet my friend Raquel at the National Gallery so that we could see it together. There was actually a line to get in at the Sainsbury Wing where you purchase tickets, but it moved quickly and in no time at all, we were presented with our tickets (15 pounds each) and an audio guide (another 2. 50 pounds). Armed with our tickets, we went downstairs to the basement for the show.

Unfortunately, I could not linger as long as I’d have liked to–first off, it was crowded and there were heads of varied size vying for space in front of me. Getting the audio guide was a good idea as it would have been impossible to inch up to the curatorial notes and to read them in the rather dim lighting of the place. Secondly, I had a luncheon appointment all the way in Southall which would take me at least an hour to get to. Hence, the consciousness of time…

The show is powerful, I will tell you that. However, do not expect to see an assembly of Caravaggio’s works from around the globe. There are no more than five of his works and two are on permanent exhibit at the National–Boy Bitten by Lizard and Supper at Emmaus. What I found really fabulous was John the Baptist which features the prophet in his youth (I do not think any other artist has presented him in this guise)–not just young but muscular (contrary to the emaciated ‘voice in the wilderness’ portrayal to which we are accustomed). And, of course, the big ‘discovery” of the exhibition is the mesmerizing ‘Taking of Christ’, painted in 1602 that was unearthed for the very first time a couple of years ago as a genuine Caravaggio. Jesuit priests in Dublin who own it, ate their meals in their refectory below its deeply moving presence. On discovery that it was a real Caravaggio, it was moved to the National Gallery of Ireland. At the National, it is justifiably the highlight of the show–not just because it portrays a Biblical moment with such vivid immediacy and ominous intent but because it contains–surprise, surprise!–a self-portrait of the artist, clearly discernible at extreme right, keeping company with Judas who has identified the Messiah with a kiss, but actually holding up a lantern to light up His face. Is  the artist implying that we are all complicit in the act of betrayal? Striking in this depiction is the dull gleam of silvered armor worn by the Roman guards and the calm expression on Christ’s face as he faces the inevitable.

But this painting apart, the aim of this exhibition is to emphasize the huge influence that Caravaggio had on artists who followed for the next couple of centuries–he was indeed the Old Masters’ Master! From the Frenchman George de la Tour (whose depictions of genre scenes such as the telling of fortunes on the streets and the cheating at card tables are reminiscent of the larger-than-life portraits that fill Caravaggio’s canvasses) to the Father-Daughter team of Orazio and Artimisia Gentileschi whose paintings exude drama whether it is the Slaying of Goliath (Orazio) or the Abduction of Susanna (Artimisia). As I said, this is a powerful exhibition and you will be repeatedly struck by the play of light and darkness (chiaroscuro that Caravaggio perfected), the capturing of the impact of a single candle upon the faces of the subjects, the manner in which a stray ray of light from a lone window can illuminate raw expressions on the faces of commoners. Caravaggio mastered all the techniques: he knew how to portray people, the minutia of objects crowding a table (as in a still life) and expressions on animated and quiet faces while sparing no detail in providing a narrative. This exhibition was profoundly moving and will stay with me for a long time to come.

Outside at Trafalgar Square, there were children everywhere–I realized it is half term holiday which means that English children have the week off. Working parents take the week off with them and, as was obvious, many were having a staycation in the city!

Off to Southall:

Raquel and I had a quick post-mortem natter about the exhibition (which we both loved) before she went back into the gallery and I scooted off to Southall for my luncheon appointment.

I took the Bakerloo line from Charing Cross to Paddington and the Great Western Railway to Southall–it was the second stop after Paddington, the first being Ealing Broadway–so if I had gone to Southall from home, I would have been there in ten minutes! Who knew? Well anyway…From the station, I had to make my way to The Broadway where the restaurant called The Punjabee is located. I had looked it up on Google maps and it was at least a 20 minute walk from the station. So I hopped into a bus sailing down the street for a while and cut off about half of the walk. I did reach on time at 12. 45 pm and there they were–my old friends, the Anglo-Indians of the North London Anglo-Indian Association–Henry, Terry and Malcolm, with whom I had associated a few years ago when I was doing field research for my book.

It was at Henry’s invitation that I was joining the informal group of retired RAF chaps who meet once a month at this restaurant to shoot the breeze and tuck into some curry–which they adore. At Henry’s suggestion, I ordered the Lamb Curry (which turned out to be delicious if a bit too fiery for my palate) and the Aloo Gobhi (Potatoes with Cauliflower) which turned out to be too dry for me. Unlike everyone else at the table, I did not order rice–I had a naan instead. It was a very satisfying meal in an authentic Indian setting.  The restaurant was also full of families with children–the school holidays had brought them all swarming out “for a curry”. I am not sure when the British will realize and accept the fact that not all Indian food is curried!

Conversation was fun and non-stop around our table. Henry shared with me the lovely dinky album of his daughter Karen’s wedding. It was lovely! Terry told me about his challenges with ill health, Malcolm talked about his grand-kids. The years melted as we caught up. On the other end of the table, the other RAF chaps were playing their own catch-up games. What a wonderful idea–that they meet like this, in person, and do what email and the telephone fail to accomplish: provide the personal, human touch. I thought it was a great idea. Two of my hosts have been coming to this restaurant since 1989 and the monthly reunion has been going on for about five years. It works–so it continues. We talked about people who have passed away since the time I spoke to the community in the UK–too many, some too soon. We spoke about my book coming out and about them purchasing copies to send off to their family members and friends. Not long to wait now, my friends….not long at all.

Henry treated me to the meal–he did not allow me to pay. Ever the gallant Anglo-Indian gentleman is our Henry. All of them ordered food packets to take away–they love their Indian food too much, these Anglo-Indians, to not take a ton home with them, once a month. Into the freezer it goes and slowly is it savored before the next RAF Reunion fills up the freezer again. It is another idea that works!

Before we parted, they took me to Ambala, a Punjabi Sweet Mart where they took more Indian food home–dessert this time. In a few days it will be Diwali, the Hindu Festival of Lights and a time to stuff one’s face with highly sweetened milky delights. The place was crowded, the queue moved at snail’s pace. I decided to get into the festive Diwali spirit and ordered a few sweets myself–a selection of one each, just to taste. Unbelievably, it cost me just a little more than 2 pounds! I could not believe it…

Henry took me via the long route home as Southtall was simply jammed with traffic. You could be in one of the smaller towns in the Punjab–Amritsar or Patiala or Jullunder or Ambala–any one of the towns that links India’s Grand Trunk Road–it was that authentic. Curry Houses and sweet shops sat cheek by jowl with sari and salwar-khameez displays, gold jewelry that glittered enticingly, video parlors that carried Bollywood hits and Pakistani TV sitcoms, supermarkets filled with Indian vegetables and spices. What a place to be! Anyone nostalgic for their India Fix could find fulfillment in this enclave. But time brings slow, imperceptible change. And my friends informed me that with the infiltration of the Somalians into the area, the Punjabis are moving out. And on the edges of this Little India, I did see many black men hanging out and gossiping.

I got the train back to the City and since I had Indian food with me (I purchased 10 Lamb Samosas) and my sweets, and since I was passing right by Ealing Broadway, I hopped off and went home to leave my food behind. I had a chance to take a look at my email and then took a 20-minute nap as I had yet another appointment to keep in the city. But first, after I awoke, I had a really big job to do: I had to book my ticket for my Winter Break in Bombay.

Booking a Ticket for India:

I have to say that it was difficult to find a reasonably priced ticket to Bombay and back to London without having to deal with no less than a 15 hour layover in some Arab country. Even Jet Air flights had 15 hour layovers in Abu Dhabi as Ethihad takes their passengers over for part of the journey. I did not fancy spending any more time in the Middle East than I needed to–I could not wait to board the flight and step down on Indian soil. So, it was with much difficulty and with the forking out of a hundred pounds more (that I thought was fully worthwhile) that I found a Jet Air non-stop flight to Bombay and back to London on the dates I desired. It was a feat and I felt pleased to get this big job out of the way.

As soon as I put payment through on my credit card, I jumped up and raced out of the house. I was meeting Natalie, another Tweep that I follow, for the first time in London and I did not want to be late. Since she works near Whitehall and I thought I would be making my way there from my office at Bloomsbury, I told her to meet me at 6 pm at Foyle’s on Charing Cross Road. My daughter Chriselle’s London-based friend Rahul had taken her to Café Vergnano that he said was the best coffee shop in the city and I thought it would be great to check it out with Natalie.

A Disappointment with Natalie:

Well… having taken the Great Western Railway for the first time in the afternoon, I discovered that there was only one stop between Ealing Broadway and Paddington–I decided to try it out and voila, I was at Padding in under five minutes!!! I could not believe it. From there, I took the Bakerloo Line and made a change for one stop to get off at Leicester Square where I fought fighting tourist hordes all the way to Foyle’s–only to find that Natalie was not there! It seems she had sent me a text (which I did not get!) to inform me that she was struck in a meeting at work and needed to reschedule. Oh well…for the second night in a row, I have had plans changed on me at the last-minute. Let’s hope it will not happen tomorrow when I am to meet Rahul…

I also discovered via a text from Llew that my credit card payment for my air ticket had been declined for security reasons.  I was deeply annoyed as this is not the first time it has happened. Despite having informed my credit card company that I am traveling all over the world and will be using my card for large and small transactions, they keep stopping my payments. It is frustrating especially when purchasing air tickets as one does not know if one will get the same fare again–they disappear like magic from our screens, these fares. What’s even worse is that to sort the matter out, I need to make these overseas calls which I am not even able to do with the skinny phone plan I have in the UK! Llew had to make the call for me, get the payment through and, of course, I would need to return home to make the transaction again. I was just deeply dejected all around as I turned back.

Back Home for Dinner and Cold Feet:

I took the Tube home and by 7. 30, I was getting my dinner organized. I ate my leftover Indian meal from lunch time with Black Forest Trifle for dessert and watched the season finale of Cold Feet. I have to say that it all ended very lamely. Eddie and David actually duking it out physically on the dance floor was simply implausible and I think the writers have truly lost the plot. Suffice it to say that it will be a long wait before the next season steps around…but I am hardly going to hold my breath.

Again, it was by 10.00 pm, that I decided to go to bed but after checking Twitter and getting some important email responses done, it was about 11.00 pm when I turned out my light.

Tomorrow will be a very busy day–my last one in London before I leave for the country as I have been invited by my friend Loulou to spend the next couple of days with her in Suffolk on her sprawling real working farm of hundreds of acres. It should be fun and a lovely change of scene…but I have miles to go before I sleep–figuratively (and poetically speaking), I mean.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

More Research at British Library, Lunch Time Piano Recital, National Gallery Highlights and Walk in East End

Aug9

London

Today offered another mixed bag. I started it off with the best of intentions–I was going to spend most of it at the British Library reviewing the vast amounts of material I have requested. But I am not waking up at 6.00 am–which always gives me a head start on the day. Instead, I am awaking at 7.15 or thereabouts and then trying to catch up on email and other travel inquiries while still in bed.

 Breakfast, Shower and Out the Door:
In that order–breakfast (muesli with yogurt and coffee) while I reviewed some of the accommodation options Chriselle had sent me for Eastern Europe–then a shower, I was on my way, earlier than yesterday (10.00 am to be exact) and at 10. 45, I was entering the British Library to get deep into my reading.
It was good to arrive at the library before most of the other readers. I am getting fond of the Asian and African Reading Room on the third floor with the august oil portraits of erstwhile Indian maharajas staring down, dour-faced, at me. This morning, I was delighted to find a reference and an account of the Ayah’s Home in Hackney that sheltered many a female domestic servant of Indian/Asian origin. There was even a picture! Lots of information about the lodging-houses that were a plenty all over London in the late 19th and early 20th centuries filled in many gaps for me of the kind of habitation available to the very first Anglo-Indians who arrived in the UK. Finally, I poured over the Letters from India of a certain Mrs. Eliza Fay whose missives were edited by none other than E.M. Forster and published by Virginia and Leonard Woolf’s Hogarth Press. My interest in the book centered on a Eurasian female maid Mrs. Fay took along with her to England on one of her return voyages only to treat her rather shabbily by abandoning her at St. Helena.  It is Forster who provides interesting details of this encounter in his End Notes. I was about to make my own notes on this discovery when I found that it was nearly 12. 30 pm. I hoped to catch the Lunch time concert at St. Martin’s-in-the-Field church and thought I’d given myself enough time to get there from King;s Cross.

Lunch Time Piano Recital at St. Martin’s-in-The-Field Church:
Needless to say, I did not allocate time for the Tube connection I had to make an Euston where one walks for miles in the tunnels below before one finds the right platform. I was so disheartened.  Still, not willing to give up, I made the effort to race on.  This, despite the fact that I have been plagued ever since my arrival here, with a persistent back pain–sometimes so severe that I have started using a pain-killing ointment for it. Tomorrow, I intend to call a doctor to make an appointment as it is severe and often debilitating.
I arrived at the venue–the Church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields–five minutes after the concert by Chiyan Wong had begun–this meant we had to decorate the porch of the church with our presence for another five minutes as he finished the first movement of the Beethoven Sonata he was playing. Bummer!  Still, I was not entirely disappointed for, in due course, we, late-comers, were invited in and I caught the entire second Beethoven sonata as well as the one by Chopin that followed.
Chiyan Wong, originally from Hongkong but now a Londoner, was a sheer delight. His talent and his virtuosity were mind-blowing. In the rich confines of the church (where I had once attended an Indo-Western fusion music concert with my cousin’s son, Sudarshan, many years ago), the sound effects were just stunning. I seriously wish I had the time to attend every single one of these concerts–but because they occur in the middle of the day (when I am usually engaged doing other things), it is so difficult to fit them in. The church was packed with tourists–most of them American–and though the concerts are free, I found most people dipped into their pockets to make voluntary contributions when the red buckets were held out at the exit at the very end. What a brilliant mid-day treat!

 Highlights Tour at the National Gallery:
Since it was such a beautiful afternoon, there was simply no way I could take myself back to the Library in a hurry. I have to try to balance work with the sheer pleasure of enjoying the day. Summer days in England are fleeting–soon autumn with its shorter days and its bracing breezes will be upon us. There is no time like the present to enjoy the feel of the warm sun on our faces. So, I decided to eat my lunch on the plaza in Trafalgar Square (in the midst of the thousands of tourists that had congregated there). As the clock hands crept to 2. 30, I entered the Sainsbury Wing to join one of the Highlights Tours given in the Museum.
I have to say that it was one of the most disappointing ones I have ever taken–not just in the National Gallery but anywhere in the world. I don’t believe our guide was a museum curator or indeed even a trained docent. He told us he was an artist (not sure what kind–painter? sculptor? ceramist?–who knows?) I don’t know whether it is the policy now of the National Gallery to “dumb down” the commentary offered and to restrict items shown to just a few. But the fact was that we were only shown three paintings–yes, just three in a whole hour!–and there was nothing even vaguely intelligent about what was said. We saw Jacomo di Chioco’s Adoration of Mary by the Saints, Titian’s Bachus and Ariadne and Joseph Wright of Derby’s Experiment with a Bird. Basically, there was no introduction to the artist or to the genre or to the topic. What we got was a description of the scene in front of us–and that was it. “What is the woman looking at?” he asked “And what color is her robe?” he inquired. He might have been talking to five-year olds. No historical background about artist or era, no attempt to unravel symbols, no interpretation whatsoever. I have never been more disappointed by a highlights tour. I will have to take one more just to see if the entire concept of giving tours has changed (as I recall taking some really superb guided tours over the years at the National) or if it was simply our bad luck in getting a guide that, in my humble opinion–needs a lot more training giving tours.

Back to the Library:
It was time to get back to the library and since I had such a hard time with the Tube, I decided to take the bus instead (believing it would be faster and more direct). There too I was mistaken for the 73 bus was on a diversion route and did not go back to King’s Cross–it was headed to Victoria. I let three buses go before I discovered what was going on! But the time I reached the Library, it was about 4. 30 pm and I then remembered that, given the time difference, it was a good time to call my Dad in Bombay and speak to my brother Russel too.
Dad had a great deal to share with me, not least of which was his take on India’s fate at the Olympics. I gave him all the time in the world he desired because I know just how much these chats mean to him and by the time I got back to my carrel in the library, it was almost 5.00 pm–and guess what? The Reading Room was closing!!! I was under the impression that they were open till 8.00 pm as the Locker Room is open till then!

 A Walk in the East End:
Well, there was nothing I could do except get back home, drop off my laptop and then use the evening to discover bits of the East End I have yet to know. I had a quick cup of tea and a cheese scone at home and then I grabbed my Frommer’s Memorable Walks in London and set off.
The East End has always been the poorest part of London and an area that was always swarming with immigrants through the ages. From the Jews to the Huguenots to the Bangladeshis to the Eastern Europeans,  this area has spread its hospitable arms to them all like Lady Liberty in New York. The end result is a hodgepodge of neighborhoods that bear the distinct stamp of varied ethnicities and the aromas of the regional cuisine they brought with them. My walk was supposed to take 2 hours, but I figured I would do it in two parts since it was already 6.00 pm as I was leaving the house and I did want to get back by 8.00 at the latest.
I took Bus 205 heading to the City and got off at Aldgate Tube Station. From there, it was a quick right to the Church of St. Botolphs which is undergoing a major landscaping renovation. The church dates from before the Great Fire of London (1666) and this is evident in its sharp single steeple design and the ancient black and white stones of its wall. Just past it is the Cass Foundation, set up for the education of poor boys and girls. It has a blue-coated figure in a niche at the entrance to denote that it was a Free School. This area was once fully populated by Jews and so the Bevis Marks Synagogue was the next item on the trail. This is the oldest synagogue in England (dating back to Elizabethan times) and it still conducts full services for the local Jewish population–of whom not many remain as there was a massive exodus towards Northwest London (the area of Kilburn and Golder’s Green) in the 1950s. At some point, I do hope to enter the synagogue that was closed by the time I reached it. In the same area, I passed by Frying Pan Alley and Petticoat Lane (so-called because this was once the heart of the Garment Industry and cheaper clothing was sold at street markets each Saturday in this lane. Today, it is on Sunday morning that the clothing car boot sales are held). I had always thought that, like Portobello Road, there were antiques sold on Petticoat Lane. It is only very recently that I have come to realize that it more of a Cloth Fair than anything else (similar to the one held in Medieval Times outside St. Bartholomew Church in Farringdon that gave Ben Jonson’s play its name).
The walk then took me into maze-like lanes to the south of Liverpool Street Station that were once busy with the efforts of trained and skilled craftsmen such as cutlers and clothiers–I know this because the names of the streets bear evidence of the kind of craftsmanship that was carried out here. This area is also the hub of the space that was devoted to gun makers and creators of artillery and many of the street names bear evidence of this (Artillery Lane, Gun Street, etc). Artillery Passage is extremely picturesque and quaint and today filled with bars and fancy restaurants (Ottolenghi, the famed Jewish chef) has a restaurant here that bears his name.
When I crossed the street, I passed by the Providence Row Night Refuge and Convent that was run by the Sisters of Mercy. For when you have poverty, can Christian works of mercy be far behind? The good nuns ran a tight ship with separate entrances for homeless men and women that still say so–Men and Women is written in massive letters above those doors. A block away, on Tenter Ground, you understand the origin of the term “to be on tenterhooks”. Tenters were wooden frames used to stretch fabric to make it taut and straight. And on this wide street, tenters were spread out as the trade of weaving was practiced. A block later, you realize that works of mercy were not restricted to Christians alone. You will pass by the Jewish Soup Kitchen on Brune Street that proclaims its usage in equally huge (and rather ornate) letters. Here, in the 19th century, poor Jews found refuge and a hot meal. These are certainly parts of the East side I had never seen before and they enthralled me deeply.
A few steps later, I was on Commercial Street with the great steeple of Christ Church Spitalfields gazing down on me. It is the masterwork of Nicholas Hawksmoor who was a pupil of Christopher Wren. I believe it is Ian Nairn who comments that with this church, Hawksmoor seems to have tried too hard! I have to say I rather like this strange-looking portico that is perched high on tall pillars  with the steeple looming on top. Right behind are very modest terraced houses– an almost incongruous sight when compared with the exterior grandeur of the church.
And right opposite the church is the famous Spitalfields Market that dates from medieval times when everything from livestock to livery were sold here. Its later heyday was the Victorian Age when fruits and vegetables were traded under a towering iron canopy. Today, it is more of a flea and crafts market than anything else–but as a place that is being gentrified rapidly (as so many derelict spaces in London now are) it is filled with upscale eateries at which the corporate types from nearby Liverpool Street’s glass and concrete towers have their daily fill of fancy food and pricey drinks.  In the lanes surrounding this market, shop fronts from the Georgian and Victorian Ages still continue to sport painted signage of the goods once sold within. I am very pleased to say that modern-day owners have not wiped out all vestiges of the commercial life of these charming spaces.

End of the Day Rituals:
It was time to call the walk to a halt and Spitalfields Market was a good place to do so. Walking towards Bishopsgate, I caught  the 205 bus to Bow Church that brought me almost to my doorstep. It was about 8. 30 pm when I got home just in time for dinner–chicken risotto, sausage and soup–its a good thing I do not get fed up eating the same meal daily! I Facetimed with Llew and got ready for bed but just before I called it a night, I did a spot of blogging.
It was a very fruitful day and one that makes me feel gratified to be back in this brilliant city again.
Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Buzzing Around Bloomsbury and Soaking in Art at the National Gallery

Aug5

London

I had the nicest day! It was the sort of day on which the weather dictates what you will do. And although I had decided to spend the entire day in one of my favorite places in London–The National Gallery at Trafalgar Square–when I found the sun smiling down on me in all its glory, there was simply no way I could deny the urge to get out there and enjoy it.

At Work at Dawn:
But first things first. I actually awoke at 6.00 am today, but decided against going to church as I needed to do some urgent research for the trip that Chriselle and I intend to take soon in Eastern Europe. Having picked up books yesterday on Croatia and Slovenia, I got cracking on planning and plotting while most of London was still asleep. And before I knew it, it was 8. 30 and I had the basic outline of a trip that we can flesh out in due course. With flights identified on budget airlines, all I had to do was run them by her, get the green light and I could go ahead with bookings.
It was time to shower and eat breakfast (muesli with yoghurt and coffee). The sunshine beckoned and I carried my tray out to the garden and sat on a bench overlooked by a fat black bird with a vivid yellow beak (that I could not identify) and munched contentedly as I enjoyed the warmth of the sun’s rays on my shoulders. Then I made a sandwich for myself and raced out of the house. At that point I made my decision: I would spend the morning completing my walk in Bloomsbury (that I had started yesterday), get to NYU campus to pick up my water bottle that I had left behind yesterday and then get to the National Gallery where I would spend the afternoon. The National has late evening closing on Fridays–at 9.00 pm–so it makes sound sense to spend Friday afternoons and evenings in that hallowed space.

Buzzing Around Bloomsbury:
I took the Central Line train to Holborn and began my rambles there. At Sicilian Avenue, I turned to Southampton Place where I found the home of Cardinal Newman. Just across, past The Cordon Bleu School of Culinary Art at Bloomsbury Square, was the home of Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli’s father, Issac–and right opposite it was the home occupied by Gertrude Stein for a year before she moved to Paris and became a legend. Along Bedford Square I went toward Russel Square (which was the site yesterday of the deadly knifing of 7 people including an American female professor). There I spied the sculpture of Francis, Duke of Bedford, who was responsible for laying out the area in the Georgian Age in the way it currently stands. In fact, in this part of London, the Bedford family are still the largest property owners though much of their land is used today by hospitals and universities.
I paused by Senate House which was spared by Hitler during the blitz as he had intended to make the building his London HQ when he had conquered it–thankfully, that did not happen! Still, the building was also the model for Orwell’s Ministry of Truth in his novel 1984. It is a rather plain building, stretching one tier upon the other like a gigantic wedding cake (funnily enough, we have a very similar building near the NYU campus in New York–right opposite the Washington Arch at Washington Square!) Just a few feet away is the Faber Building (now used by SOAS–The School of Oriental and African Studies–of the University of London, where I will be giving a lecture later in the semester). It once housed the offices of the famous publishing firm of Faber and Faber where the poet T.S.Eliot (who used to live nearby) once used to work. My guide book says that in addition to being a fine poet, he was also an astute businessman and a great part of his early working life was spent working in banks and in publishing.
I crossed the square then towards the Russel Hotel (one of my favorite buildings in London) only to discover that it was completely shrouded in scaffolding as it is undergoing a major refurbishment. More’s the pity as the building is truly a stunner with its brick red color and lavish carving. From that point, I was directed to Queen’s Square at the back–which was the first time I had been there and from there to Queen’s Tavern and then on to the Church of St. George the Martyr that is known as the Sweep’s Church as  Capt. James South established a charity here for the little boys who served in this capacity–often meeting a premature death. Right opposite the church is a Victorian water pump which cannot be used for drinking water any longer.

Lunch courtesy of the Hare Krishna Movement:
By the time I returned to Russel Square, I found a  queue of people had lined up for free lunch distributed by the devotees of the Hare Krishna Movement. It was a simple rice and chick pea curry and since I am always up for a new experience, I joined the line and partook of the lunch. Then it was time to get a latte from Waitrose before returning to NYU to pick up my bottle. There, I checked email on wifi, used facilities, had a long videochat with my brother and his kids and then made my way to the National Gallery on the 29 bus from outside our campus that took me straight to Trafalgar Square. It had been a fabulous jaunt on a day when the temperature was perfect and humidity non-existent. I was very glad indeed that I had enjoyed it while it lasted.

Exploring the National Gallery–All Over Again!
I can never tire of the National Gallery–it is quite simply a place in which I feel transformed in the presence of some of the greatest paintings produced by the Western world. I arrived at exactly 4.00 pm, got myself a map,a stool and an audio guide and began my study of the highlights that are beautifully spelled out in the black and white leaflet that goes with the guide. In the process, I took pictures of most of the masterpieces on display plus my own favorite ones. In particular, I was drawn to the paintings that were featured in the film, Framed, that I recently watched with my niece and nephew. They were the usual highlights that we see whenever one names the National Gallery–and then some.
I had the most wonderful time for four whole hours during which time I took in about 60 masterpieces. Occasionally I diverted from the museum’s suggestions to see those canvasses that I especially adore–as in the case of the work of Carlo Crivelli that I have only seen in this collection. He is an awesome artist with the most awesome attention to detail and I can stare at his paintings forever and still find something new in each one to mesmerize me. I stopped for a sandwich halfway through and then I was at it again–I simply could not get enough of the brilliant paintings surrounding me. And, of course, the audio guide meant that although I have seen these works so many times before, I still learned something new at each stop. It was just sheer undiluted bliss!

Return Home for Dinner:
At exactly 8.00 pm, I left the Gallery having left just one section–the 19th century–uncovered. Hopefully, I shall get there tomorrow and be able to complete my mission! I took the Tube back from Charing Cross to my place and got home in 20 minutes. A quick stop at the Co-op supermarket to pick up some groceries for dinner tomorrow and I was all set.
Back home, I noticed that the weekly cleaner had been for the place was sparkling and well tidied. I got dinner organized (sausages with cauliflower mash and a mango for dessert) before I went online to make the Easyjet bookings as I did get the green light from Chriselle during the day. That done, I spent a while chatting on Facetime with Llew before I began to blog even as I watched the opening ceremony of the Rio Olympics which are at 12 midnight, my time.
It was just one more wonderful day in this wonderful city. Having spent one week here already, I have to ask myself where the time has gone. But then I think of all the things I have done in just one week and I realize that I have utilized every second creatively and could not possibly have asked for a more brilliant week. Last week at this time I was flying across the Atlantic to get here–and already I feel as if I have been here forever.
Until tomorrow, cheerio…

A Divine Day of Diverse Delights–Dickens’ House, Lunch with Loulou,National Gallery, Pub Dinner with Dean’s Circle with

Jan22

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

London

The cold still rages on–much to my annoyance, these mid-30 degree (Fahrenheit) temperatures are creeping up to mid-40s next week –after I have left London! Just my ill-founded luck! Still, I am dressing in warm cashmere layers to be comfortable outside only to boil when I am in the stores!

Jetlag seems a thing of the past and I was up at 7. 15 am this morning with enough leisurely time to shower, dress, have a muesli and yoghurt breakfast plus coffee and get on the Tube headed for Holborn to keep a doctor’s appointment. For my cold also still rages on. I decided I had better get my throat seen by someone as the pain is intense and this cold won’t quit. From Russel Square Station, I passed by some of London’s most fascinating attractions that I have had the pleasure, on previous occasions, of perusing: The Foundling Museum, Coram Fields (a lovely park into which adults can enter only if they have a child/children with them), the back streets of Holborn that so inspired Dickens. And indeed, that was where I was first headed. To say Hello to Charlie in his own parlour!

Visiting Dickens’ House:

I had first visited Dickens’ House in 1987, i.e. 28 years ago, as a young graduate student who had spent a great part of her life devouring his novels. In intervening years, I have stopped in the gift shop to buy gifts for various lovers of Dickens. But it was time, I decided to return to the rooms that he had inhabited with his wife Catherine and where she had borne two children–their first two daughters Kate and Alice, at a time when they were still happily married. Later, post-partum depression took its toll on her and their marriage crumbled. Dickens got involved with another woman and the couple divorced. It is easy to find the house in a long lane of modest terraced housing at 48 Doughty Street–it used to be literally in my own backyard when I had lived in Holborn; but I had not visited then.

A self-guided tour book is a handy tool as you go through the rooms. How the Victorians lived in such perpetual darkness is always a mystery to me. Still, there were flickering artificial candles in some of the rooms and they added to the authenticity of atmosphere that one seeks in such abodes. Having become prosperous through his writing, Dickens acquired a great many personal treasures and loads of them are exhibited in this house–sets of dining porcelain, a lovely Wedgwood tall cheese tray with lid in blue Jasperware, a silver samovar, a carved marble sculpture of a Turk. But the most significant items are his writing desk and chair that feature in the famous painting, Dickens’ Dream in which he is is seen snoozing in the chair as all the characters from his novels come to life. It is available in the form of a postcard in the shop. There are also letters, first editions of his novels (Nicholas Nickleby was written entirely in this house), much evidence of his great love for Shakespeare (whom he revered and who continually offered  him inspiration), the theater (he saw a play in the West End almost every night and even turned his hand to acting to prove to be rather good at it), long walks (he is reputed to have walked an average of 20 miles a day all over the city).

The visitor goes through the Main Hall of the House, into the Drawing Room and Dining Room, then upstairs into the bedrooms (the one Dickens’ shared with Catherine, the other one in which his beloved sister-in-law Mary died unexpectedly at 21), then up another flight of stairs to the nursery and the servants rooms where a grill from Marshalsea Prison in a grim reminder of the earliest trauma he suffered. His father was imprisoned for debt and Dickens recalls the humiliation he felt on having to go to prison to visit him. This resulted in his earliest employment at age 12 in a shoe-blackening factory where passers-by could peep in and watch the children at work and giggle in amusement–not realizing how horrible it felt to the children hard at work. It was great to re-visit these well-known episodes in his life through the aid of such memorabilia and I lingered in room after room, taking pictures (without a flash), pausing to read a note here, to inspect a Victorian map of London there, to wonder at the prodigious talent and industry of this most British of writers.

Off to the Doctor and Persephone Books:

Thankfully, my doctor did not think anything was seriously wrong with me. Although I might have picked up the chest infection from air pollution in Bombay, he thinks I made it worse by picking up a virus in London where colds and sniffles are raging. All I was recommended was salt water gargles for my aching throat (slightly inflamed, he agreed) and more paracetymol. Relieved, I walked to one of my favorite places in London and my favorite bookstore in the whole wide world–Persephone Books on Lamb’s Conduit Street. The cozy warmth of this interior is hard to describe, the unique collections that they reprint (classics for women from the 1930s), the design of their productions (plain grey covered paperbacks with gorgeous end papers featuring contemporary fabric prints that come with matching bookmarks) and the gracious service you receive whenever you are there, make it worthwhile to hunt down this shop and buy something. I came away with a collection of book marks featuring floral prints in bright colors for 50 p each. I intend to give them away as gifts to my Book Club buddies.

An Unexpecdted Souvenir Find:

Then, I was hurrying out to keep my lunch date; but not before I got sidetracked by a foray into a design store–for somewhat inexplicably, Lamb’s Conduit Street has become increasingly gentrified. Rents are now going through this roof in this convenient part of Holborn and the huge thrift store (known as charity shop in Britain) that I used to frequent has, sadly, closed down. It’s been taken over by another upscale interior design establishment, so that it appears it won’t be long before Holborn becomes another Chelsea. In Penthreat and Hall, I chanced upon a huge wooden bowl filled with Christmas baubles being offered as a fraction of their regular price: I picked up two beautiful glass globes engraved and painted with gold and I can just see them catching the light in a corner of our home in Southport all year round.  For under 10 pounds, it made a unique souvenir of my stay in London.

Lunch with Loulou:

When I finally did get on the Central Line Tube from Holborn, I got off at Holland Park within 12 minutes and easily found the new home of my friends Loulou and Paul–in whose palatial loft in Farringdon I had once passed a few months. They have downsized and, in a two bedroom flat, that overlooks Holland Hill Avenue, we had a lovely reunion. I said a quick hullo to Paul who then disappeared for his own luncheon business meeting, leaving Loulou to give me the grand tour of their charming little home which makes up in location what it has lost in size. Indeed, here I thought is another fine example of the wisdom of downsizing.

Loulou chose a fine Italian restaurant called Edeza on Holland Hill Avenue to treat me to lunch; and it was there, over gnocchi with rabbit ragout for me and breaded lemon sole for her, that we caught up. I realize, thanks to invitations and meetings with fond old friends, that I am eating at far better establishments on this trip than I had envisioned. Three days in a row it has been Italian and this meal did not disappoint. Most importantly, we had the chance to catch up on our lives in a far more meaningful way than email can allow. We made the discovery that, at this stage in our lives, it is our aging parents that are huge concerns and that there are no easy solutions for the provision of care for their well-being.

Haunting Holland Park Locations of As Time Goes By:

Regular readers of this blog will know that one of the great loves of my life is the British TV series As Time Goes By starring Judi Dench and Geoffrey Palmer and set in Holland Park. The series ran for about 12 years from the late 1980s to the early 2000s and featured the daily lives of an upper middle class couple that had once been engaged to be married, were parted by the war in Korea, go their separate ways, marry, have children, become widowed/divorced and meet up again 35 years later only to fall in love again, get married and live happily ever after. If this sounds corny to you, keep in mind that I am a hopeless romantic and am devoted to the show and have spent hours trying to find the real-life locations in which  the shooting occurred.

So, imagine my delight, when I discovered that Loulou now lives about 2 seconds from the site of the filming of the show–the back gardens of Holland Park. I simply had to revisit them again–to see Lionel and Jean’s House, the church across the street in the park, the store front that had served as location of their office called Type For You–it was once the Clarendon Cross Post Office but became a discount convenience store that was actually closing down (I went in and bought Custard Powder for 50 p!) and the street across Holland Hill Avenue in Addison Street that had served as the location for Lionel’s flat. After having lingered long enough and feeling extremely nostalgic for the show that folded up, several years ago, I took a bus and rode on the top deck all the way along Hyde Park wit the idea of spending a few hours at another favorite place in the world–the National Gallery.

Saying Hello to Maggi Hambling and Other Old Friends at the National:

My bus deposited me at the last stop–Piccadilly Circus–and so off I strode past the Haymarket Theater and into Trafalgar Square. Revisiting the National Gallery is always a bit like coming home and saying Hello to my favorite friends. Only this time, I decided to see the special exhibition on at the moment: Maggi Hambling’s Walls of Water. I had first become introduced to the work of this extremely eccentric lady through my friends Loulou and Paul who know her through their connections in Suffolk. For the months that I had lived in their Farringdon loft, her self-portrait had hung right above my bed. It made me feel as if I knew her well. So it made complete sense to look at the work for which she had gained fame: her depictions of waves crashing on the Suffolk beaches around where she lives.

Indeed her canvasses are quite extraordinary–they are quite Pollock-like in some respects as thick wads of oil paint seem to be stuck randomly on the canvas. There is the sense of the definite movement of waves that burst into random patterns on shore. Black and white is relieved by slashes of occasional color. Interestingly, one of the works is entitled Amy Winehouse–it is Hambling’s tribute to another extraordinary artist–there is the definite depiction of Winehouse’s eccentric bouffants, her vivid red lipstick. Curatorial notes informed me that Hambling was inspired by the Norwegian artist Peter Balke who painted the sea in the 19th century. In many respects, her work is a response to Balke’s. And intriguingly, the National has presented a special exhibition on the work of Balke in the Sunley Room next door. I was thrilled. It was a wonderful opportunity to study the impact of one artist upon another. In Balke’s work, light played a prominent role and the vividness of detail that he is able to capture in his highly realistic canvasses–the very opposite of Hambling’s abstracts–are worth examining. I was enchanted.

It was time to go out in search of my old friends–beloved paintings that I get to see only occasionally but which I most love about re-visiting London. I began with the Carravaggios–Boy Bitten By A Lizard, Christ at Emmaus, then moved on to the classics that Marina Vaisey numbers among her 100 Masterpieces of Art: Canaletto’s scenes of Venice (more realistic than any photograph), Lucus Cranach’s Cupid Complaining to Venus, Holbien’s The Ambassadors, Pieter de Hooch’s Courtyard of a House in Delft (my very favorite painting in the whole world and one I could sit and gaze upon for hours), George Stubb’s Whistlejacket (was ever a horse depicted in more animated a guise?), Constable’s Haywain and Stafford Mill, Turner’s The Fighting Temeraire, Mr and Mrs. Thomas Hallet by Gainsborough and poor Lady Jane Grey. There are the lovely studies by Joaquim Buechler that have a whole corridor-gallery devoted to them–I could also gaze on these forever. So many treasures, so little time. I did not get the chance to enter the Sainsbury Wing, for instance, to look at the work of Carlo Crivelli (whom I discovered at the National many years ago and whose work I have seen no where else); but I hope to return for another peep again before I leave.

Outside, in Trafalgar Square, darkness had fallen and there was a lively lights show that was projecting rainbows over the fountains and Edward Landseer’s lions. It made for wonderful photo ops and all the world was taking selfies. It was at this time that I received a call from another friend: Murali, a banker who was just getting off work in Liverpool Street and wondered if I could meet him for a drink.

I could, actually, as I had nixed my plans to return to St. John’s Wood to change before dinner. I was exhausted and could not face the thought of making double journeys. Thankfully, I had not worn jeans or sneakers; so my clothing would pass as ‘semi-formal’, I figured. I was tired and flagging by this time and badly needed a sit down. Yes, I told Murali, I would meet him at Bank, presuming that my dinner appointment was there as the address I had been given said Old Bank of England.

About 45 minutes later, I found Murali awaiting my arrival by the Jubilee Monument just behind the equestrian statue of the Duke of York. It was fabulous to see him again and although I would have preferred a hot chocolate at that point, it seemed that most coffee shops close by 6 pm in London! So we settled for a pint instead at the Pavillion’s End pub somewhere in the labyrinth of little lanes that comprise The City in the area of Wren’s St. Stephen Woolnoth Church. Luckily, we did find seats and with half-pints of cider in our possession, we were off and away discussing all the things we talk about when we get together: travels in India, books, poetry, paintings and art history (my friend has a passion for Russian Abstract artists), discovering and re-discovering London…the list is endless. Murali is great company for his mind is vital, current, art-humanities-commerce-science wired (if that is possible)–indeed a true Renaissance Man who became known to me through his reading of my blog, when I lived in London. We have remained friends ever since and it is always a pleasure to catch up with him.

Making a Big Gaff Over a Dinner Venue:

Then, I was ready for the next item on my agenda: A Farewell Dinner for the Dean’s Circle of NYU at what I presumed was the actual Bank of England on Threadneedle Street. I am sure Murali had his doubts when I told him where I was headed for dinner–but then, I had presumed that august banks as as this one, rent out space for corporate dos as so many historic buildings seem to survive on such stunts.

Well, I was mighty mistaken. The dinner was not in the bank at all as the amused security assistant informed me…but, get this, in a pub named Bank of England on Fleet Street! I felt both mortified at my gaff and terribly anxious–I would be terribly late. Still, some quick thinking on Murali’s part sent me in the direction of the Chancery Lane Tube Station. I walked through the lane and onto Fleet Street and found myself facing Number 17. Well, since my address said 194 Fleet Street, I expected it to be in the direction of Ludgate Hill and, instinctively, I hailed a passing cab and jumped in. He sailed up and down the street a couple of times and then told me that the pub was probably exactly where I had hopped on! I was made to feel stupid for the second time in half an hour–this was simply not working! He U-turned and dropped me back exactly where I had hopped in, relieved me of 5 pounds and left me feeling sheepish as I entered the vast hall. I recognized it immediately as the venue that became notorious for the demon Barber of Fleet Street who apparently slit the throats of his customers and had his mistress then cut them up and bake them into pies in the sale of which she did roaring business! Well, who knows how much truth there is in this story, but I sure as hell wasn’t ordering pie!

We had the special room and thankfully too–for 30 Americans can get very noisy indeed. A three-course meal was served consisting of Tomato Soup, Fish and Chips (delightfully crisp cod fillets) with cheesecake for dessert. A slash of raspberry coulis appeared like a smear of blood on the plate and brought conversation inevitable around to the barber!

It was fun. It was lively. It was noisy. I was pleased to have been invited to bid goodbye to our students whose grand London adventure will end tomorrow morning when they board that flight back Stateside. I was seriously exhausted and could not wait to get public transport to reach home. I walked all the way up Kingsway to Holborn Tube station, got off at Marble Arch from where I took a bus home to St. John’s Wood getting there in under half an hour.

And while our students are dreaming of their return home, I fell asleep thinking of dreaming spires, for I will be in Oxford tomorrow with friends on a day trip that promises to be a blast.

Until tomorrow, cheerio!

 

 

 

A Spontaneous Saturday–Bastille Day, National Gallery, Hog Roast

Jul15


Saturday, July 13, 2013:
London
           
Saturday Sans Plan:
            Things seemed to go particularly badly for me today. Pre-dawn wake-ups (today at 4. 50 am after which I forced myself to go back to sleep and then wake at 6. 10 am) means that I feel extremely drowsy mid-afternoon and can barely stand, forget about trying to force my eyes open.
I did a bit of work on my PC, then washed, dressed, had a muesli breakfast while watching BBC’s Breakfast show and began to look forward to Saturday Kitchen with James Martin which begins at 10 am. Meanwhile, when I pulled the battery out of my camera to charge it, I discovered that it would not fit into my US adaptor. Fortunately, Currys,the digital people, have a store at Holborn Circus—a trip downstairs would be in order. But wouldn’t you just know it? Since lawyer-centric Holborn comes to a virtual commercial standstill at the weekends, Currys was closed—even on a Saturday. I crossed the street to Blacks who stock travel supplies—they had no adaptor, but the sales assistant suggested I “try Argos, Miss” (It has been a long time since I have been addressed as “Miss”, so I felt flattered). So Argos came to the rescue and with the nice Indian assistant helping me out there, I was well equipped to re-charge my camera battery and add to my photo collection.
            Back home, I watched Saturday Kitchen with astonishment at the amount of weight James Martin has put on in four years—he used to be cute and sexy and slim when I used to watch his show while I lived in London. Accompanying him was Rick Stein showing viewers how to make a Bhaji, if you please—an Indian breakfast dish he claims he learned in India. He served it with chappatis topped with a fried egg for breakfast! Other than the chappatis, I could find nothing Indian in that Indian breakfast. Needless to say, I was disappointed—more so because the promised Coffee-Walnut Cake (my favorite) was never demonstrated step-by step although the completed cake was tantalizingly shown several times. 
            At 11. 30 am, I decided to investigate, by means of Journey Planner, how I could get to the Horniman Museum by bus. Once I had figured it out, I realized it would take one and a half hour each way. It was already too late in the day to set out and decided to postpone the trip to Monday. First things First, I thought: Let’s get some work done at my office at NYU. So I stepped out into the sun and the startling heat (thankfully it was not humid) when I discovered that I had misplaced my clip-on sunglasses at the Royal Academy of Arts yesterday for that was where I distinctly remember last having them on. I went back upstairs, did a thorough search of my bag and my trousers’ pockets and drew a blank. I could call the RA and find out if someone had turned them in to the Lost and Found (they hadn’t) or I could simply go to a pharmacy and find another pair. I was deeply despondent by this time for nothing seemed to be going right.
            The bus to Bloomsbury trundled up soon enough. I walked briskly to Bedford Square but Vincent, the Weekend Porter on duty, did not know me and needed to confirm my credentials before permitting me to use office facilities. A quick call to one of my former London colleagues and that hiccup was sorted. I descended into the basement computer lab and spent the next one hour working: printing and editing some text and trying to print out a chapter that has been reviewed by the editors and that needs to be reworked by the end of this month for it has a strict publication deadline. The printer worked well initially then something happened, and as so often occurs with these machines that have minds all of their own, it simply stopped functioning. Still, I had managed to get a sheaf of material printed out—which means I will be intensely busy in the next few days getting some solid work accomplished.
            By 1.30, I had completed my work and stepped into the Spec Savers on Tottenham Court Road to buy myself a replacement clip on-pair of sunglasses. I was informed by the sales assistant that such things are not manufactured in the UK and can only be custom-made by a private optometrist/optician (for a bomb, no doubt). Disappointed, I stepped into Boots pharmacy next door—and hey presto, there they were and on sale too for ten pounds!  I snatched a pair eagerly and stepped out on to the street vastly relieved at being shaded from the mounting glare.
Reading Festival at Trafalgar Square:      
Then, I was on the Tube to Charing Cross intending to poke around the Reading Festival at Trafalgar Square which was crawling with students. Unfortunately, the demographic focus was adult literacy and although the place was stuffed with school kids and some events were scheduled on the stage, there was nothing to hold my interest.
An Afternoon at the National Gallery:
After picking up a few book marks, I stepped into the café at the National Gallery which seemed like the most sensible place to be on an afternoon in which the mercury climbed to a steady 90 plus degrees! There I ate my ox tongue sandwich and took a bit of foot rest before joining folks for the start of the 2.30 pm guided tour given by someone named Carly. The National Gallery is one of my favorite places in the whole wide world and something of a second home to me as I know my way around it almost as well as I do the Metropolitan Museum in New York. This is what Carly showed in her hour-long tour:
1. The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian by the brothers Antonio del Pollaiuolo and Piero del Pollaiuolo
2. Diana in her Lair by Titian
3. The Ambassadors by Hans Holbein
4. Queen Charlotte by Thomas Lawrence
5. The Bathers at Asniers by Georges Seurat.
It was a good tour—but the galleries were noisy and crowded. Everyone wanted to beat the heat by finding refuge in its air-conditioned interiors. It finished at 3. 30 pm and since the next tour was at 4.00, I had half an hour in which to investigate the special exhibition entitled “Saints Alive” by Michael Landy. It was a truly bizarre show in which iconic Old Master works on the portrayal of saints from the National Gallery’s permanent collection are taken by the artist and given a new twist. Landy chose portraits of martyred saints and using the concept of the mechanical wheel as in kinetic art of the 1970s, mangled the originals so completely as to create moving sculpture and mechanical installations.  For example, he took Lucas Cranach’s Saints Genevieve and Appollina and created a sculpture in which the figure pulls out her teeth as the tortured saint had hers forcibly removed. Similarly, St. Jerome, Saint Catherine of Alexandria, St. Francis of Assissi and others were subjected to the same weird treatment. Thanks to the film that accompanies the show, I was able to make a great deal of sense of the artist’s vision and objective but I must admit that I did not find it even remotely appealing.
At 4.00 pm, I joined Carly’s Highlights Tour again. This is what she showed to a much smaller group on her second round:
1. The Wilton Diptych
2. The Origin of the Milky Way by Jacomo Tintoretto
3. Mr and Mrs William Hallet by Thomas Gainsborough
4. Autumnal View of Het Steen by Peter Paul Reubens
5. Bridge over Water Lily Pond at Givernyby Claude Monet
            The tour concluded at 5. 00 pm and Carly was kind enough to introduce me to Tania at the Audio Guide Desk who said that since I was a docent at the Met, she would gladly permit me to use the audio guide, free of charge, if I showed up while she was on duty. I was thrilled as I hurried to the bus stop to get back to Holborn, shower, dress and leave for the Hog Roast to which I was invited at St. Paul’s
Hog Roast at St. Paul’s Cathedral:
            Every year, Year Eight students of St. Paul’s School (attached to St. Paul’s Cathedral), have a Send-Off Barbecue at attached Amen Court (designed by the great Sir Christopher Wren in 1672). These young lads are choristers—they form the boys’ choir that sings at all the great events that the Cathedral organizes. Over the years, I have had my favorites—but by the next year when I return, they have disappeared. Their voices crack and they must leave for more grown-up pastures. This year, since I was in town, I was invited by my friends Bishop Michael and his wife Cynthia to attend. I arrived at their place at 6. 15 pm and found the Court already alive with happy families—parents, siblings and the proud young graduates themselves were present around the marquees set up on the lawn. There was even a dog called Jacob, clearly in Doggy Heaven from all the scraps the kids were feeding him.  
It was great to see my friends Michael and Cynthia and their son Aidan again and to gab non-stop as we always do. Since I stayed at their place less than three months ago, I felt as if I had never left. When we stepped outside, into a still warm evening, Cynthia introduced me to a number of interesting parents including Saro from Kerala whose Year Eight chorister son Kevin had done the Reading in church on Friday and, as I could see then, had been bristling with nerves. Eventually, we got down to some sipping (orange juice for me—no lager in sight) and eating: pulled pork (it was, after all, a Hog Roast), red cabbage coleslaw, a green salad, quiche. I avoided the bun (am trying to eliminate carbs in an attempt to lose ‘cruise weight’) and then returned to Cynthia’s table with our plates—so much easier to eat roasted meat with a real fork and knife.
Back outside, we circulated some more. I met the Music Director Andrew Carwood and the Deputy Head of the School, Clive Marriot—before the speeches began. And what lovely speeches they were too–funny and moving at the same time! They boys were given a really warm send-off with so many sincere Thank-yous mentioned all around. Their mentors were thanked and their parents and their siblings—and all those responsible for having provided them with the unique opportunity of serving as choir boys in one of the world’s greatest houses of worship. Most go off now to prestigious boarding schools around the country already having achieved more than most boys their age have done. I had a lump in my throat at the farewell speeches, I have to say, although I did not know any of them personally. It is always touching to perceive the innocent promise of youth untouched by the trials that the world presents. That’s why I have always loved graduation ceremonies.
“Choc Ices” followed for dessert after the speechifying. I stayed long enough to meet Kitty, the Colcloughs’ present house guest whose dad John I happen to have met on an earlier visit to London. She is a vivacious New Yorker ready to start grad school in London in the fall. We chatted for a long while and then I left and came ‘home’ to High Holborn ready to drop into bed after what had started off as a lousy day but improved considerably as it progressed.        

The Suburb of Chiswick and its Historic Houses

Mar29

Tuesday, March 19, 2013: On the Outskirts of London


A Daytrip Ahead:
I had devoted this day entirely to my new friend Raquel, a fairly-new American expatriate in London, and our plans to see some spots in Chiswick on the outskirts of the city. We have a mutual friend named Amy based in New York who brought up together in cyberspace. After my oatmeal breakfast and a shower at Amen Court, I intended to join up with Raquel but she called to inform me that she had an urgent doctor’s appointment and would be delayed.

Food Shopping and A Brief Visit to the National Gallery:
No problem, I thought. This lull in my unceasing activity would give me pause to get to the National Gallery which is one of my favorite places in London and where I always go, on every single visit, to say hello to my favorite canvasses. I would also be able to do some of my food shopping for I hadn’t accomplished much in that department thus far.

After 8 am, Mass, I took the bus and went directly to Sainsbury at Holborn to pick up masses of Bourbon Chocolate Biscuits and to Marks and Sparks for my Fruity Flapjack Biscuits. A quick nip into Waitrose at Holborn to buy Ainsley Herriot’s powdered packaged soups drew a blank—I realized I would need to get to a larger Waitrose for those. Back at Amen Court, I deposited my shopping and sped off by bus to the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square where I spent the next couple of hours visiting my favorite works (Zurbaran’s haunting Portrait of St. Francis, Constable’s rustic Haywain, Stubbs’ Whistlejacket, Gainsborough’s Mr and Mrs, Andrews, Caravaggio’s Christ at Emmaus, Turner’s The Fighting Temeraire, the Execution of Lady Jane Grey by Paul DelaRoche, The Graham Children by William Hogarth, the room devoted entirely to works by Renaissance Italian artist Carlo Crivelli and finally my favorite work in the entire museum, Pieter de Hooch’s Courtyard of a House in Delft). I also spent a while in the museum shop looking for a particular bookmark—Rogier van der Weyden’s Magdalen Reading. What a bummer to discover that it is now out of stock! Oh well! At least I did see much-loved works and although I would have loved to stay longer, Raquel did call to tell me she was ready to keep our date.

Off to Chiswick House and Gardens:
I hopped on to the Tube at Charing Cross to get to Turnham Green Tube Station where Raquel and I planned to connect. What a coincidence to discover that we were on the same train! The plan of action was to get to Chiswick House, a grand Palladian manor in the town of the same name and to explore its fabulous gardens.

Only we discovered as we got out of the Tube station that there were snazzy shops galore to tempt us on Chiswick High Street and, before we knew it, we were dallying in and out of our favorite places—mainly the charity shops which I find endlessly fascinating. Raquel kept exclaiming at the opportunity to survey these shops for although she lives in Central London, she is nowhere close to the main shopping arcades.

Fifteen minutes of a brief walk later, we were skirting the vast acreage of Chiswick House and Gardens. Its dome and Palladian rotunda came into sight as we passed by smartly-attired suburbanites walking their dogs in the garden. Inspired by Andrea Palladio’s Villa La Capra near Vicenza in Italy, the house was built by Lord Burlington, an avid traveler and collector of Neo-Classical art. Sadly, when we got to the main entrance, we discovered that a Camellia Festival was on throughout the month of March which would leave the house open only at the weekends. I was frustrated and annoyed as this is the second time I have made the pricey journey to Chiswick House only to find entry prohibited—three years ago, I was there with my friend Amy and we had drawn a similar blank.

However, since Raquel and I were starving and the Chiswick Café is well reputed, we sat down to have lunch: Spinach Quiche with a Salad, a Fruit Scone with Butter and Strawberry Jam (how can you visit England and not eat a scone, right?) and a lovely Mixed Nut Tart washed down with Elderflower cordial—all of which were simply scrumptious. Over lunch, we got to know each other and discovered that we have so much in common. Don’t you just love it when you hit it off instantly with a new friend?

Lunch done, we strolled at leisure through Chiswick Gardens taking in the follies dotted all over it from ornate gateways designed by Inigo Jones to stone bridges over lilting streams filled with mallard life. While we explored, the sun actually came out to play peekaboo for just a few minutes—a sight that so lifted poor sun-deprived Raquel’s heart that she wished to sit put on a bench and simply bask in it! More photo ops were provided by obelisks and sculpture in the park and although the flowering bushes were still dormant, we had little doubt that summer would soon bring lush color to the space.

Hogarth’s House:
Knowing that the 18th century painter, William Hogarth, lived only a hop, skip and jump from Chiswick House, we asked for directions and used Raquel’s I-phone to find our way to the home of Hogarth along quiet suburban streets with the occasional passing car and giddy uniformed school girl getting home for tea. About fifteen minutes later, we found the spot and entered the brick-walled enclosed garden with its legendary 300 year old mulberry tree.

William Hogarth, one of the most merciless satirists of his time, lived in this late 17th century house from 1749 until his death in 1764. Entry to the house is free and we were also free to wander at will through the rooms that were filled with prints of his many series of engravings such as Marriage a la Mode, Gin Lake, The Rake’s Progress and Beer Street (the originals are in Sir John Soanes House in Holborn) and some items of 18th century domestic life.

A visit to Hogarth’s House would not be complete without a short walk to the church yard of St. Nicholas on the banks of the Thames where his grave might be visited. But Raquel was already exhausted and I had been there before (with Amy). We, therefore, elected to stroll back to the Tube station but not before dallying one more time in the enticing shops and stopping for a cuppa at Starbucks.

More Food Shopping at Waitrose:
Raquel and I parted company on the Tube at Earl’s Court where we needed to make our respective connections. I intended to get to Knightsbridge to pause for a bit at Harrods’s but when I alighted at Gloucester Road, I found myself outside a gigantic Waitrose that carried the Ainsley Herriot soups I’d coveted. So with many of those packets in my bags, I jumped on a bus headed to Ludgate Hill and reached home by 8.00 pm.

Dinner at Has Turkish Restaurant:

As it turned out, I was just in time to accept an invitation from Mark, a mutual friend, to join him and the Colcloughs for dinner. I was delighted as I had no other plans. With the Colclough sons, Aidan and Edward, we made our way towards Cheapside where we found the lovely Turkish restaurant called Has. At the recommendation of Cynthia and the boys, I opted for the Mixed Grill platter which contained grilled chicken, lamb and beef steak—all served with a piquant yoghurt sauce and flat bread. Cynthia’s decision to go for the Mixed Mezze platter was brilliant for she had a variety of offerings from which to nibble. However, my dessert, Kadefi, a sweet treat to which I had become introduced during my Middle Eastern travels in Jordan and Egypt was very good indeed. It was a great way to catch up with all the doings in the lives of my dear friends as well as to find out about Mark’s work in London (he was visiting from New York). By 10.00 pm, we were all back home and I could collect my thoughts and decide how I would spend my last few days in the city.

Back on Terra Britannica–January 2012

Jan14

Friday, January 13, 2012
London

So Good To Be Back on Terra Britannica!

I guess you can say I am in London each time I transit through Heathrow airport to and from India. But to really feel as if I’ve returned to London, I must:

1. Ride the Tube
2. Ride the Red Buses (preferably on the upper deck)
3. Sashay down Oxford Street in the thick of tourist-shoppers
4. Tour an ancient monument
5. Return to the tearooms of one of the department stores and have a genuine English pot of tea.
6. Peruse some of my favorite canvasses at the National Gallery

So guess what? I feel I have truly returned to London because today I did all this and more–in the less than twelve hours since I landed on Terra Britannica.

But let me take you back to Southport, Connecticut, that I was almost relieved to leave behind on a wet windy afternoon. A chatty chauffeur named Nabeel from Damascus, Syria, representing the Prime Time Shuttle Limo service to the airport, arrived on the dot and dropped me to Newark airport in New Jersey in record time despite having stopped at a highway rest stop to buy me a hazelnut coffee! I was the second person from my batch of NYU students to arrive and I checked in immediately, thrilled to have been allotted a window seat. Before long, the majority of my troupe of 15 students (plus 2 faculty members) arrived. Excitement was palpable as we cleared security, boarded our aircraft and were airborne on a very light flight indeed. It didn’t take me long to figure out that I could easily spread out to the three-seaters at the back of the aircraft where I could stretch out and fall asleep, post-dinner. Sarah Jessica Parker, Greg Kinnear and Pierce Brosnan kept me chuckling for a while in I Don’t Know How She Does It before I popped a sleeping pill (as is my wont on overseas flights) and slipped off into oblivion for the next four hours.

Needless to say, I awoke bright-eyed and bushy-tailed just before we landed at Heathrow. Unfortunately, it was still too dark at 6. 20 am for me to pick out the landmarks of the city although we flew directly above it on our descent. Still, the O2 Millennium Dome was clear as were Tower Bridge and the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf.

I also discovered, on this flight, for the first time, that using twin styrofoam cups packed with paper towels wrung out in hot water really do work for blocked and painful ears (that I have inherited from my Dad) when dealing with aircraft landings. The Continental Airlines flight attendant was very helpful in acceding to my request (which, apparently, is frequent) and promised me that the method works. And indeed it did! Just when I thought my pain would grow unbearable, I turned a corner, as it were, and the discomfort gradually subsided until it disappeared altogether in just a few minutes. Live and Learn!

Visiting Westminster Abbey:
After we cleared immigration and claimed our baggage, we waited only 15 minutes in the lobby before the second NYU troupe arrived; and after meeting our airport rep Adam, we were on our way to the city in a double decker Westway coach with a very nice driver named John. Although we had just made a long trans-Atlantic crossing, we had to launch straight into our program of sight-seeing as check-in time at our hotel was 3 pm.

So on we went to Westminster Abbey where we were met by two Blue Badge guides, Abigail and Warren. We stuck to our two groups as we launched into a fascinating discovery of British history from the time of Edward the Confessor to the present day–guides never fail to inform visitors that the site was the venue of the internationally-televised wedding of Prince William to Kate Middleton . With an hour and a half at our disposal to take it all in, the guides did a splendid, if concise, job of pointing out the highlights of the vast space: the Coronation Chair (now minus the Stone of Scone which has been returned to Scotland where I saw it three years ago) , the heights of the nave (the highest in the land), the poppy-encircled gravestone of the Unknown Soldier, the monuments to Issac Newton and other important personalities including a host of monarchs of England and indeed Scotland (Mary, Queen of Scots, is prominent). Since I was returning to the Abbey as a tourist after almost 25 years (I have attended services in the abbey very frequently through the years), I found the entire visit most enlightening. In particular, my interest was piqued by the tombs of Elizabeth I and her half-sister Bloody Mary, the Tomb of Edward the Confessor and Henry VII and, of course, the plethora of writers in Poet’s Corner.

Other interesting bits of the Abbey are the mosaic altarpiece, the beautifully carved wooden choir stalls, the octagonal Chapter House with its superb ceramic tiles (once used for meetings of Parliament), the oldest door in Britain, the oldest room in Britain (now housing a small chapel), the Abbey Museum (holding Britain’s oldest altarpiece)–all dating from way back when! Being from America, we were, of course, taken to the Anglo-American chapel with its exquisite stained glass windows (where Oliver Cromwell lies buried) and a hole in the wall (now covered with a piece of glass) where a bomb came through during World War I.

Apart from the amazing interior, the abbey boasts superb cloisters and high Gothic architecture on the exterior that can hold one enthralled for hours. Group entry is from the lovely adjoining Dean’s Yard. What I loved most about our visit was that we had the place almost entirely to ourselves with none of the crowds that jostle for elbow room during the busy summer months. I have to say that I was simply delighted to have had the opportunity to see this historic monument with the eyes of a studied tourist and to have done so in the company of expert guides who truly know their city was indeed a privilege.

Double Decker Bus Tour of London:
No sooner did we finish touring the Abbey than we were on the coach again winding our way around the city’s main sights. In the able hands of Warren who informed me that he is a journalist and published writer of local London history, we were shown the standard sights and treated to an informative and entertaining commentary from which even I learned volumes. We alighted only once to take pictures outside St. Paul’s Cathedral and then we were on our way to our hotel as jetlag had begun to catch up with several of my students, some of whom had traveled to New York from various parts of the USA to board their flights.

On to Hotel Grosvenor, Victoria:
You could not find a more centrally located hotel in London if you tried! The Grosvenor, on ‘Buck’s Palace’ Road, is one of the Victorian ‘railway hotels’ that were created to house passengers for a night or two before they boarded trains from major termini in the 19th century. Most of these fell into disarray and The Grosvenor, which is one such, was completely refurbished and renovated very recently and now stands proudly, reclaiming its past glory with none of its aura faded in the slightest. If anything, it shines anew, its lobby making a striking first impression as you troop in under the light of a gigantic crystal chandelier.

We waited a while for our rooms to be ready; but throughout we had impeccable service and superb attention to detail from the staff and the representative of our tour company. Before long, we were all provided with room keys and as I made my way along the first (American second!) floor corridors (which did seem interminable), I was deeply taken by the tasteful manner in which the renovation has been conducted. My room is modern, immaculate and spacious. I was just delighted at what I saw. I unpacked swiftly and made myself at home. I imagine that most of my co-travelers made a beeline for their bed–not yours truly. No sirree, Bob. I swiftly freshened up and armed with gifts for my hosts set out for Holborn for my dinner appointment with my former next-door neighbors in my building near Chancery Lane.

A Pukka Cuppa at Marks & Sparks:
But, of course, I was much too early for dinner, so I hopped off at Oxford Street to join the usual throngs of determined shoppers. I headed first to Marks and Sparks’ Food section to buy some of my particular favorites–all housed in the Frozen desserts section! Then, weighted down with my buys, I found the tearoom where I pepped myself up on a pot of Gold Blend tea and felt as if I was truly in England again! Miracles are wrought on the strength of a pukka cuppa alone!

Leonardo da Vinci at The National Gallery:
Fortified, I hopped red buses and Tube trains like a pro feeling truly as if London is my second home. Because Fridays mean late evening closing at the National Gallery, I had to take advantage…so I hopped off at Trafalgar Square (all beautifully lit for the evening) and walked to the Museum which happens to be one of my favorite places in the whole wide world. I always think that I will spend just a hour or so among my best-loved pieces but, invariably, I lose control of time and before I know it, I have spent hours, my back starts aching and my feet start protesting…but still I soldier on…so reluctant do I always feel to part company with the Old Masters.

I have to admit that I looked with envy upon those lucky ticket-holders emerging out of the special exhibiton on Leonardo da Vinci which is the most talked-about European art event this winter. Tickets are sold out with only a few given out each day for which queues form before dawn! I reached the entrance of the special exhibition and read up on the main items to be seen inside. Then, disappointed, I walked away.

Dinner Par Excellence with Old Friends in Holborn:
When I felt as if I lingering any longer would make me unfashionably late for my dinner appointment, I left the museum and found my way by bus to Holborn–passing, along the way, my former stomping grounds and revelling in the sense that I have never really left London for part of my heart continues to inhabit its compelling corners. When I jumped off the bus and made my way to my former building, my mounting nostalgic for an incredible time in my life was simply too much to take. With trembling fingers, I punched in the code number for Tim and Barbara’s flat and was let into the familiar lobby that I love so well.

Then it was reunion time as, warm hugs and kisses later, I was catching up with my dear friends whose generosity is marched only by their amazing culinary prowess. Tim creates meals that beggar description but tonight’s outdid all the rest. His Steak with a Brandy Cream Sauce was truly to die for–matched only by perfectly roasted potatoes and delicate grilled asparagus. Dessert was Tim’s signature Brown Bread Ice-Cream–this time made more special (if indeed such a thing is possible) by the addition of ground hazelnuts and a heart of strawberry sorbet! Exquisite is simply not the word. It is not great to start one’s first meal in London so stupendously, I thought, because it can only go downhill from here!

Still, apart from a gastronomic feast, the evening was remarkable for the fun company of our mutual friends, Elizabeth Miles and her husband Andrew, who had journeyed from Bristol and a lovely couple I was meeting for the first time, James and Netta. Just when I thought the meal could not possibly get any better, out came the cheese and crackers–and a nicer selection would be hard to find. And then there was more…Belgian chocolates served with coffee (or, as in my case, ginger tea). And I haven’t yet mentioned our libations of which there were many: we started with glasses of champagne, moved on to wine (I drank beer), then had an outstanding glass of Australian Sauternes with dessert and enjoyed a glass of Madeira with coffee! What could possibly be more decadent? I even decided to overlook the fact that I have an allergy to wine!

It was almost 11 pm before we got up to leave. With Elizabeth and Andrew staying on for the night, I took my leave of my warm and generous friends and found my way to Chancery Lane Tube station–all of fifteen steps away! And then, before you could say Hotel Grosvenor, I was entering its doors, sorting out formalities associated with getting a wifi connection in my room …and was on my way to writing this blog.

If today is any indication of the week that lies ahead, I am one happy camper. Londinium, here I come!

City Hall Tour, National Gallery, Ralph Fiennes in The Tempest

Aug30

Tuesday, August 30, 2011
London

Brunch at the East End on Eid:
My day began slowly but then it picked up rapid momentum. As Shahnaz was keen that I see Azra’s place before she moves, I hopped on the No. 15 bus and rode all the way through the East End to Limehouse. No sooner did I reach Commercial Street than it became very evident to me that Muslim immigrant London had something to celebrate. Men (I did not see a single woman) were dressed in their Sunday best–beautiful knee length embroidered anchkans with spotless white skull caps. And then it hit me! Of course, it had to be Eid! When I arrived at the Arbor Square bus-stop, past Aldgate and Mansel Street, Azra came out to meet me and lead me to her home–one of those long alleys full of row housing–what the English called ‘terraced housing’ and what the American call ‘town houses’. Inside, narrow staircases open to multi-purpose rooms with the kitchen usually below ground in the what Americans would call the basement. Shahnaz, who was eagerly awaiting my arrival, fed me a breakfast of eggs and a selection of her superb kebabs which she had made in India and brought along to London with her. They were just scrumptious. With toast, I had myself a truly substantial brunch. It was appropriate, I thought, that I had, unwittingly, tucked into Muslim kebabs on Eid!

Off to City Hall:
Then, we were on a bus again headed to City Hall where we intended to take a tour, if one was available. Two years ago, while on a flight to Norway from London, I had shared aircraft space with a certain Simon Reece who worked in City Hall very closely with Mayor Boris on London’s Olympic Planning Committee. Her had told me that City Hall was open to the public–and ever since then, I had hoped to visit it to inspect the visionary work of one of Britain’s best-known contemporary architects, Sir Norman Foster, up close and personal.

Arriving at the Monument:

We alighted from the bus at Monument and walked down short Pudding Lane where the Great Fire of London had started in 1666. Right enough, we found a plaque on the wall of a modern-day building announcing the site of the Baker’s establishment, run by one Thomas Faryner, where the fire had originated. While taking a picture of the plaque, I took one step behind and realized that I was only a few feet from the Monument itself–an obelisk designed and erected by Sir Christopher Wren to commemorate the great fire. I recalled a nugget of trivia: that the height of the Monument is exactly as tall as the structure is from the spot where the fire began, i.e. some 30o odd feet away. A couple of years ago, when my friend Amy Tobin had visited London from New York, we had climbed the Monument, clicked spectacular views of the city from beneath the great pot of flames at the top and been rewarded for our pains with a certificate to state that we had climbed it! It had been one of our little exciting adventures.

On to London Bridge:

Without spending too much time on pictures, we crossed London Bridge (a newer one as the original bridge from the famous song ‘London Bridge is Falling Down’ had burned down in the fire) to the Southbank, took a flight of stairs leading to the Embankment past a very spiffy contemporary glass sheathed building and arrived at City Hall–its unmistakable rounded profile reminds one of a collapsed pudding bowl. Foster’s work is increasingly evident around London. His most notorious work to date is probably ‘Wobbly Bridge”–the Millennium Bridge that connects St. Paul’s Cathedral with the Tate Modern–which actually wobbled dangerously the day it was inaugurated and needed to be closed down for a couple of years until the glitch was sorted!

Well, City Hall was just amazing. The security guard just inside the revolving door put us through the inspection paces and told us that the building could be visited on a self-guided tour. He suggested we walk up the spiral ramp to the second floor,then take the elevator down to the basement. Following his instructions, we almost gave ourselves a crick in the neck as we read. line by line, Nigerian Booker Prize winning poet Ben Okri’s poem “Lines in Potentis” that were seen along the left wall–the right sports glass panes that offer changing views of the city to which Okri offers a memorable tribute in his lines. Foster’s visionary genius is plainly evident–both in the conception that gave the building birth and its execution. Strategically located on the bank of the Thames, it offers stirring views with every turn–one minute you are gazing at HMS Belfast moored on the river, the next you are taken by imposing Tower Bridge and then again, you see the newest addition to the city’s skyline, The Shard, only a few meters away. The idea reminded me very much of the dome atop the Parliament Building in Berlin, also Foster’s handiwork. You climb up a similar spiral ramp there and see yourself in endless recurring mirrors on the opposite side.

When we got to the second floor of City Hall, we were at the Council Chamber used by Boris and his boys and I could imagine all the planning for the coming Olympics that is continuing to take place here. Unfortunately, it was being redecorated as great blue tarpaulin sheets covered most of the seats and the floor. In accordance with instructions, we then took the elevator to the ground floor and alighted on foot one more floor down the ramp which continued to the basement to offer a close view of a satellite image of the city of London reproduced upon a ‘carpet’ on which you can actually walk. It was just fantastic. We identified the O2 first–as the Millennium Dome is called–perched precariously on a sharp bend in the river, the Thames Barrier and then, on the other side, the London Eye and all the other landmarks of this incredible city: Buckingham Palace, the British Museum, St. Paul’s Cathedral–and, of course, the places in which I have lived at different times. For a geography buff such as I am, it is the kind of item that could keep one enthralled all day. We took any number of pictures from different angles and in various corners of the city before hightailing it off to our next adventure. City Hall was truly a revelation and made for a superb morning. We were so glad we went.

Across Tower Bridge to the National Gallery:

Leaving the Embankment via the opposite bank, we walked along beautiful Tower Bridge with its twin Victorian towers and its vistas of the many buildings comprising the Tower of London. Since it was a beautifully clear day, we were able to take several pictures of what I call London’s layered architecture–from the medieval Tower to the 18th century memorial on Tower Hill just beyond it to Sir Norman Foster’s Swiss Re building just beyond that–a building known affectionate as the Gherkin although I have heard Americans refer to it as the Cigar Building!

Riding a Routemaster Bus:

A No 15 bus was conveniently waiting for us at Tower Hill–and get this…it happened to be one of the few vintage Routemaster buses that are still plying on London’s streets. We sprinted for it, made it to the top deck and were reminded of the double decker buses we used to ride in Bombay as kids–alas, they have disappeared, I am told, into the annals of British colonial history in the city of my birth. So, it was lovely to be able to ride a bus that was designed in 1954 long before I was born!

Touring the National Gallery:

We alighted at the last stop–Charing Cross–the monument all spiffed up in time for the Olympics and rid of centuries-worth of dirt, soot and grime. Across the street to the National Gallery we went because, of course, it would be unthinkable for me to come to London and not go to one of my favorite places in the city. A special lecture tour on ‘Food and Feasting’ had just begun and we joined the tour guide Steven Brent as he shepherded us along to a few paintings with food as its main theme. It was inevitable perhaps that he should lead us to Carravaggio’s stirring Supper at Emmaus with its basket of fruit perched precariously on the edge of the table! We went on to the final work in William Hogarth’s series Marriage a la Mode and then on to Gaugain’s still lives to inspect his rendition of exotic fruit in Tahiti. There were a couple of other paintings he showed us, but they now slip my mind.

We took a break at the Cafe downstairs for tea and sustenance–I opted for Coffee and Walnut Cake–and then we were off again, ready to take the next Highlights Tour which was also given by Brent. Assembling in the Sainsbury Wing, we followed the troop through his commentary on a handful of paintings. The ones I can remember now are: The Wilton Dyptych, Sandro Botticelli’s Venus and Mars, Veronese’s Meeting of Alexander the Great with the Family of Darius, A portrait by Hogarth of Three Royal Children, and Renoir’s beautiful canvas entitled The Umbrellas. Brent’s commentary was enlightening and as a tour guide myself, I always look for tips I can glean from others who do work similar to mine.

We spent the next hour as I led Shahnaz and Azra on a tour of some of the museum’s highlights starting from my favorite gallery that presents the work of almost-unknown Renaissance artist Carlo Crivelli and from there to my favorite work in the museum, Pieter de Hooch’s Courtyard of a House in Delft. I showed them Hans Holbein’s The Ambassadors, The Arnolfini Marriage by Jan Van Eyck, the Vermeers in the National’s collection, Rogier van der Weyden’s Magdalen Reading, Seurat’s Bathers at Asnieres, Paolo Uccello’s Battle of San Romano, Hans Hemling’s Tritypch on The Adoration of the Magi, the room featuring works by Peter Paul Reubens, George Stubb’s horse Whistlejacket, Turner’s The Fighting Temeraire and Constable’s The Haywain. I could easily spend the entire day at the National but having arrived at 1. 00 pm, we thought it was time to leave at 5. 45 pm as the Museum would soon be closing for the day. We’d had a fabulous afternoon and I shall try to return to the museum one more time before I leave.

At the Theater Royal Haymarket:

Then, because we were only steps away from the Theater Royal Haymarket, I decided to nip into the Box Office to find out if tickets were available for the evening’s performance of Shakespeare’s The Tempest which stars none other than one of Britain’s greatest living actors Ralph Fiennes as Prospero. I had few hopes as I know it is a sell out, but I also know from experience that there is no harm in trying for a seat! When we were informed that there were either 60 pound seats or 15 pound seats offering “restricted views that obliterated half the stage”, Shahnaz opted out saying that she did not want to spend 60 pounds and did not intend to pass the evening unable to see half the action on stage. I agreed with her and decided to forgo the thrill. Instead, we hopped on to another bus to head homeward.

Food Shopping:

Except that I hopped off at Aldwych, took another bus along Kingsway to Holborn and went food shopping to Sainsbury for my supply of goodies to take back to the States–HP brown sauce, Marmite, Three Fruits marmalade, Frank Cooper’s Oxford Marmalade and loads of Ainsley Harriot’s powdered soups! I also picked up sandwich ingredients for my own meals out here–Gorgonzola cheese, cold cuts, piri-piri flavored hummous, walnut bread, hazelnut yogurt. Yummy! Back home at Amen Court, I made myself a hearty sandwich for dinner, packed it up and decided then and there to return to Piccadilly to buy a restricted view ticket for the show. The opportunity of seeing Fiennes in the flesh was just too hard to miss and so off I went to Haymarket.

Seeing Ralph Fiennes in the Flesh:

How delighted I was when the clerk at the Box Office recognized me from my visit earlier in the evening and discovering that I wanted a single ticket decided to sell me a 60 pound Royal Circle ticket for just 20! Needless to say, I grabbed it, thanked him profusely and then spent a stirring evening in the theater making delightful discoveries. For not just was Fiennes at his thespian best but I recognized so many other well-known British stage and screen stars: Nicholas Lyndhurst (Only Fools and Horses) played Trinculo and Julian Wadham played Antonio, usurping Duke of Milan. It was a lovely evening made more marvelous by beautifully executed set design and costuming–Ariel’s final song “Where the Bee sucks…” was lyrical perfection and the Epithalamion scene featuring Juno and the other goddesses was brilliant.

I took the bus back at 10. 30, was home at 10. 45 and was thrilled to bits with myself that I had, on impulse, decided to take the plunge and acqueise to buy not-so-good seats for, in the end, I had an excellent spot and a superb theatrical experience for practically no money at all!

Highlights of the Louvre, Notre Dame and the Ile de la Cite

Jul30

Friday, July 24, 2009
Paris

We awoke refreshed from our long slumber in a city that slept, it seemed, quietly with us. Sheltered in the serene cocoon of our airy bedroom, we were clueless to the life that teemed around us just a street away on the Champs Elysses. With everyone else away for the day already, we showered and dressed and decided to spend the day at perhaps the most challenging museum in the world—the legendary Louvre.

We grabbed breakfast to go (croissants and pain au chocolat) from the Monoprix that was so conveniently located just around the corner from our building. Then, we were in the tubes that take commuters around the city in a jiffy and before long found ourselves at the Louvre entering I.M. Pei’s glass Pyramid that has added its distinctive profile to the city’s skyline.

In the metro, both Llew and I noticed separately how much Paris has changed since we were last tourists in this city. The demographics have altered considerably and white people are now most decidedly in the minority in the public transport systems that skirt the city. We were struck by the large numbers of South Asians now in Paris—most obviously Punjabis as was evident from the language they spoke—as also the vast numbers of Maghrebain (North African immigres) who have made the city their home. There is also none of the style and glamor we once associated with the word ‘Parisian’. I can remember, not too long ago, gazing with envy upon women in the metro each of whom seemed to have stepped out of Vogue—each was so impeccably made up and put together (those famous French foulards (scarves) wrapped a dozen different ways around their elegant shoulders. I can recall men with a shock of hair falling stylishly over their broad foreheads as they exuded chic suavity with every carefree stride they took. Where have all these Parisians gone? I lamented their passing and felt sorry that the city, indeed the country, seemed to have lost an essential aspect of its distinguished character. Llew reminded me that this phenomenon is called ‘Globalization’ and he was right. The downside of globalization is that while it has made us far more homogeneous than we ever used to be, it has, alas, robbed us of the distinctive merits that gave each of us a national and cultural identity that was uniquely our own.

As for the B.O. it was just unbearable. Neither London or Paris have yet air conditioned the cars of their underground systems and in summer, the ride is most uncomfortable. While I did not hotice B.O. anywhere in London, the stench in Paris is just awful, not to mention the discomfort of riding in jampacked cars with a motley lot of people, so many of whom seem to have forgotten what a shower is! I think this was one of the most unappealing parts of our visit to Paris. Clearly, there is a huge market for deodorant in France and if there is an entrepreneur out there who is reading this, believe me, this is an opportunity waiting to be grabbed.!

On arriving at the Louvre, I was gratified to see that my Met Museum ID card stood me in good stead and got me free entry. Llew bought his ticket and after grabbing the floor plan, we began our daunting exploration of the museum, skipping the hour-long Highlights tour in English which we had taken the last time we were here and deciding to follow instead the Highlights marked out by the Museum’s curators. Despite the fact that both of us are accustomed to expansive museums, this one certainly astounded even us as we tried to negotiate our way through the Richelieu, Sully and Denton wings. Though we did manage to complete all the highlights detailed by the floor plan, it took us several hours and but for a light café luncheon (roast chicken for Llew, a quiche lorraine for me), we soldiered on moving from one item to the next without needing to spend too much time and energy getting from one to the other. We began our exploration at 10. 45 am and were only done at 4. 45 pm.

Among the Highlights I recall as being especially notable were:
1. The Winged Victory of Samotrace—an ancient Greek carved stone statue that stood on the hull of a ship, a very early sort of figurehead. Excavated sometime in the middle of the last century but with its arms still missing. Marvelous draping of a gauzy fabric around the thighs of the woman that seems to render stone transparent.
2. The Venus de Milo: Another armless and topless marble female sculpture of a woman who stands today in two pieces that are riveted together with marble struts.
3. La Giaconda, better known as the Mona Lisa: The woman with the Mystic Smile upon whom volumes have been written. Always surprises first-time viewers by its small size. The cordoned area around it grows more distant with every visit I make here. Still the museum’s largest attraction.
4. The Wedding Feast at Cana by Paolo Veronese: Perhaps one of the largest paintings in the world, this canvas stuns by its sheer size. It happens to be in the same room as the Mona Lisa and, therefore, gets as many visitors. This room is also full of magnificent works by Titian and Tintoretto among other great Renaissance masters—(the Ghirlandaios are the best I’ve seen outside Florence) but so few of the visitors actually looked at these. Most just did the cursory walk around the Mona Lisa and left.
5. The Seated Scribe: A terracotta cast from ancient Greece that shows a scholar seated in the lotus position. Brilliant use of glass inserts for his eyes that make them look amazingly real.
6. Edouard Manet’s Le Dejeuner Sur L’Herbe (Luncheon Picnic on the Grass): Considered extremely scandalous when it was first exhibited at the Salon des Beaux Arts because it presents a female nude who gazes directly at the viewer while seated in the company of two fully clothed men.
7. Gericault’s Raft of the Medusa: This is a representation of a real event in history in which several survivors of a shipwreck attempted to save themselves by constructing a raft that left them afloat for weeks on end.
8. Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People: This quintessential French image was the inspiration for the French Revolution of 1789 which led to the storming of the Bastille and toppled the monarchy. It presents Liberty in the guise of a determined woman leading gun-totting revolutionaries towards a distant goal. It always reminds me of Victor Hugo’s novel Les Miserables.
9. Leonardo da Vinci’s Virgin of the Rocks. There is a version of this painting in the National Gallery in London and they are both extremely lyrical and, therefore, extremely moving.
10. The Marly Horses in the Cour Carre: These horses once graced the four pillars that support the bridge that leads from the Tour Effiel to the Palais de Chaillot. They present men and horses in varied poses in abundant realistic detail. They have been replaced on the bridge by plaster cast replicas.
11. The Code of Hamurabi: This ancient Babylonian Code of law is perhaps the world’s first known legal system. Despite being harsh and ruthless (“an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth”), it laid down a system of government that prevented anarchy and became the model for every other legal code ever constructed. It is written in cuneiform script on a black basalt column which is carved at the top with the motifs of a judge dispensing his verdict and sentence.
12. The Imprisoned Slave by Michelangelo: So called because these studies in marble show the progress of the master’s technique and creativity. The slaves (there are two of them standing side by side) emerge from the block of Carrara marble with which Michelangelo worked so as to cause them to rise out of them as the sculpture was completed.
13. Odalisque by Ingres: This stylized portrayal of the back of a nude woman became the prototype for so many paintings of this nature—Manet’s Olympia, in the Musee d’Orsay is inspired by this work.
14. Napoleon’s State Apartments: Since I had never been to this part of the Louvre before, it was quite a revelation to come upon this series of magnificent rooms that glowed and glittered under the blaze of colossal crystal chandeliers, gilded candleabra and other objects d’art that fill it. These rooms beggar description and the best way to do them justice would be to say that if one has no time to visit the Palace of Versailles, this is the best alternative, being right in the city of Paris. Having visited Versailles twice, I can say that they come close if indeed they do not surpass the grand chateau in its wealth of decorative detail. Definitely eye candy of the most exotic kind.

Well, needless to say, we were exhausted after our perusal of the Louvre and dropping with fatigue could barely find the energy to make our way out. It was imperative that we sit somewhere for a long time and what nicer place than the banks of the Seine on a really warm and cheerful afternoon? Well, we walked past the many bridges of Paris (I was saddened to see that Samaritaine, that great institution of French conspicuous consumption, has closed indefinitely) and arrived at the Ile de la Cite where we thought we’d visit the Church of Notre Dame on its own little island. The square outside the church was bustling and as we moved through the throngs and as we arrived at the superbly carved portals of the church, I pulled out my DK Eye Witness Guide to Paris. We spent the next half hour examining this church that has become so famous in literature (domain of poor old Quasimodo in Hugo’s great novel) and film. Inside, the church’s vast dimensions, built in classic Gothic style with towering columns in the nave and flying buttresses on the outside, made for some marvelous viewing as did the Rose Window and other stained glass ornamentation within.

Walking along the Ile de la Cite, we passed by the Palais Royal and saw the entrance to the Church of Sainte Chapelle (which is also on my list of things to do in Paris on this trip) but it was close to closing time and visitors were no longer allowed to enter.

It was time to think of returning home to another one of Julia’s excellent dinners—she had used the internet to create another wonderful vegetarian dish using aubergines, mozarella cheese, red peppers and a tomato coulis that was all stacked up like the pastry known as the ‘Napoleon’. I put my own shoulder to the wheel and produced Chicken Parmesan using strips of chicken breast and breading them generously before coating with Parmesan shavings and shallow frying them. Indeed, it was a wonderful dinner, launched upon by glasses of wonderful Bordeaux that we shared with the Andersons. Jack kept converstion both stimulating and entertaining by telling about his day and the folks with whom he liases as part of his work.

Because our rambles had rendered us exhausted, we did go to bed rather early once again and tried to catch up on our lost sleep of the previous couple of days.