Archive | April 2009

Nose to the Grind Again–and Meeting a High School Classmate

Apr20

Monday, April 20, 2009
London

Not having my Monday morning class, I took it fairly easy and did not experience the beginning- of-week morning stress. Awaking at 6. 00 am today, I began reading the next Harry Potter book in the series–The Order of the Phoenix. Had a bit of a set back on discovering a mix up in the date for the lecture I was scheduled to give at Oxford this summer. This made me feel a bit low for a while, but hopefully something will still work out favorably–fingers crossed.

After breakfast, I sat to edit and caption a bunch of photographs I took a while back as I am still trying to catch up with that. Before I knew it, it was 10. 30 am and I had to leave my flat to get to Kensington High Street to meet Reverend Trevor Hubble who showed me around the Lee Abbey International Students’ Club–a really nice place.

Then, I was on my cell phone with my high school classmate Charmaine Rodriguez who has arrived from Australia to spend a few weeks in London with her sister and her parents. She happened to be based at Kensington, literally a few steps from where I happened to be. We had spoken on the phone this morning (after she had emailed mea few days ago) and had made tentative plans to meet.

It was a treat to see Charmaine after almost 35 years. I also met her sister Shirley who did not remember me at all. Unfortunately, I had to leave almost as soon as I arrived at their place as I had a 2.00 pm class for which I did not want to be late. Hopping into the Tube at Kensington, I alighted at Tottenham Court Road and walked the ten minutes to our Bedford Square campus where I picked up my files and headed straight to my class in Birkbeck College.

It was great to see my students again. Almost every one of them had traveled to some exotic European destination (Berlin, Greece, Istanbul) and were full of stories about their adventures. We then got down to the serious business of setting dates for future assignments (drafts and final essays) before class began.

My South Asian Studies Seminar was next at 5 pm in my office. This small group meets in a tutorial. Today, we covered Indian economic and foreign policies after Independence and the political history of Pakistan since its creation. It has been a very interesting few sessions we’ve had, with the students asking many questions based on independent study.

At 7 pm, after they left, I dealt with Aetna Global Medical Insurance in the States, photocopied some material and made a packet to be mailed to Llew. Then, off I went at 8. 00, arriving home at 8. 20, feeling suddenly quite exhausted. I read some more Harry Potter before getting my dinner ready (two kinds of Chicken Salads with olives and feta cheese). At 9 pm, I watched New Tricks on the Alibi channel and, quite predictably, nodded off on the couch for about 10 minutes but did not miss anything by way of the plot.

At 10 15, I brushed and flossed my teeth and went straight to bed as I badly needed some shut eye!

An Unusually Busy Sunday in London!

Apr19

Sunday, April 19, 2009
London

I awoke at 5.oo am again! What’s it about this flat that wakes me up before the crack of dawn? When I am traveling, I never open my eyes before 7.00!!! There has to be some reason but I have yet to figure it out.

Anyway, I did not mind as there was so much to catch up with–not the least of which was keeping this blog up to date. I spent a good part of the morning writing a travelogue on my impressions of Belgium and captioning my pictures (because I need to stay on top of that project as well).

Barbara had told me about a church at Soho Square when I had asked her for recommendations. I wanted to attend Mass at a new church each Sunday that I stayed put in London. She did not know the name of the church but had pointed it out to me on the London A-to -Z. When I went online, I found out the name: St. Patrick’s Church at Soho Square, and the Mass was at 11am. I walked briskly down High Holborn and arrived there about 20 minutes later–it was a part of the city I had never explored, so I was pleased to arrive finally in the heart of Soho.

The Church was very plain indeed, compared to all the ornate affairs I have been visiting over the past few months. In fact, it looks badly in need of refurbishment (or at least a new lick of paint). Flakes were peeling off the walls and the kneelers at each pew have definitely seen better days. I discovered, soon enough, that there was to be a Christening ceremony taking place during our mass–another first for me! Who knew I’d get to attend a Baptism while in London? The christening party had occupied all the front seats on one side of the church. The rest of the congregation comprised a motley lot–mainly immigrants, it would appear–Filipinos and Indians and South Americans. Where were all the native Catholic Britons, I wondered?

My brother Russel had informed me on the phone in the morning that it was Divine Mercy Sunday–he keeps close track of the Church Calendar! Right enough, the priest preached a sermon about it. Rather frightening it was in its tone too! We must seek Divine Mercy in confession, he said, each time we committed serious sin (which, he said, included, skipping Mass on a Sunday). Uh-oh. With all the travelling I’ve been doing this past year, that has happened once too often, I thought. I’d better haul myself into that confessional pronto!

The High Mass included sung bits in Latin (the Gloria, for instance)–which, surprisingly, so many members of the congregation knew and joined in. I realized that these English churches have Latin masses much more frequently than we do in India or the States–indeed there is one sung Latin Mass on the schedule each Sunday at most parish churches here–which explains why most people can participate.

Communion was distributed the old-fashioned way too–you kneel along the Communion rails to receive. You do not stand (as we do in India and the States) in a double file. This takes longer but is more solemn. I spied a sign at the foot of the altar that said: “Do not proceed beyond this point. If you do, the alarm will ring and the police will come”. Oh my! This was probably intended for the drug-addicts and alcoholics who supposedly hang about the square.

After the Baptism and Communion, two ladies came forward to sing Panus Angelicus. As always happens when I hear this hymn sung well, my eyes welled up with tears and next thing I knew, I was wiping them away. Truly the voices of angels must keep the folks in heaven well supplied with Kleenex! Listening to them sing it so beautifully made my Sunday indeed.

Outside in Soho Square (Barbara was right–a bunch of alcoholics and drug addicts had gathered by the door for the free coffee that followed mass), the sun shone brightly. I entered Soho Park to read the board that gives an account of its history and discovered that Soho Square was laid out in 1680 and soon became one of the most fashionable addresses in London–the Duke of Monmouth owned a house here (in which he kept his mistress). Glittering parties and balls were very much the order of the day in this area as celebrities flocked to Soho in its heyday–well into the late-19th century. It was only in the 20th, that the arrival of Crosse and Blackwell heralded the end of the square as a residential hamlet and its beginning as a commercial one. The park is currently undergoing renovations (its bandstand is all scafollded right now).

It was a little after 12 .15 pm when I walked to Bedford Square to pick up some of my students’ papers for grading. Yes, NYU does stay open from 12 noon to 12 midnight on Sundays and Mohammed, our security man, was at his desk when I arrived there. I did pick up a big packet of mail that had been redirected to me from my New York office. Just when you think you’ve caught up with backlog, more work comes your way, doesn’t it? There was an envelope from Aetna Global (my international medical insurance company) reimbursing me by check for the amounts I had incurred on private physiotherapy in London from October until March. Only trouble was I had made my claim in British Pound Sterling–and they sent me a check for the same amount in Dollars! Which means that I have to now contact them by phone to sort out the issue of currency exchange rates!!!

On my way back home (I have finally found a way to get back home from campus that takes me less than 12 minutes!), I stopped at Sainsbury to do some food shopping. Standing on the scale this morning and seeing the figures jump sky high had told me it was time to take drastic measures–so I am back on a low-carb diet again. No more sugar, no more honey in my tea, no more fabulous artisinal bread. This meant that I had to cook, so there I was at my stove making mashed cauliflower with parmesan cheese, sausages with onions and yellow peppers, two types of chicken salad (Asian–the dressing has peanut butter and soy, chilli and sesame oils– with Cucumbers and Indian–this dressing has curry powder in it–with Apricots). I also made a huge frittata with onions and bacon and sun-dried tomatoes and olives. All this food should keep me going for the next couple of weeks as I froze a whole lot of it. What with cooking and cleaning and trying to take the many phone calls that came through, it was almost 5 pm when I was done and I hadn’t yet responded to my email.

Talking of phone calls, I received one from my friend Loreen from Westport, Connecticut, who is visiting her daughter in London for a week. She was hoping to get together with me but I bowed out as I had too much to do and decided that later in the week would work better for me. As it turned out, we both discovered that, quite by coincidence, we had tickets for the same evening to see Judi Dench in Yukio Mishima’s Madame de Sade at the Donmar Wyndham Theater–this coming Wednesday! So, we will probably meet for dinner before or after the show. Now what are the odds of that happening??!!

Llew and I also talked several times during the day as we had quite a number of things to sort out. Earlier in the morning, I had talked to my parents and to my cousin Blossom in Madras who informed me that she will be in London for 2 weeks at the end of July–but we might just miss each another as it is very likely that I will have left by then. My friend Amy from New York emailed me to find out when she should plan to visit. Everyone wants to come to London now that the weather has turned nicer…only my travel schedule in booked solid and I will only be staying here in this flat till the end of May.

I spent the evening captioning more pictures, then talking on the phone to all the Anglo-Indian respondents who made interview appointments with me, several weeks ago, for next week. This week, I will be traveling to Southall and then visiting someone in Notting Hill as I continue to interview the kind folks who’ve agreed to meet with me and tell me their stories. In the midst of all of these calls, I forgot that I was supposed to call my high school classmate Charmaine who emailed me to say that she had arrived from Australia to spend two weeks with her parents in London and hoped to get together with me. By the time I remembered, it was almost 10 pm–too late, I thought. I MUST call her tomorrow morning. Fortunately, I do not have my morning class and will only start teaching at 2pm.

Llew called me at 9 pm to tell me that while doing spring clean up in our back garden, he found a dead possum under a pile of leaves. It broke me heart as I had grown fond of the little fellow. He used to live under the deck in our garden and came out rather shyly on occasion to eat the seed that the birds dropped around our feeder. He was a harmless tubby little chap and it was our brutal Connecticut winter this year that probably did him in. Llew called Animal Control who will be sending someone to pick him up.

I tried to call Chriselle for our regular Sunday telephonic catch up session, but I only got her voice mail. Then, it was time to eat my dinner, take a nice hot shower and get ready for bed.

Where had the day gone???

In Bruges–On a Day for Ducks!

Apr18

Friday, April 17, 2009
Bruges, Belgium

What a dreadful day! Truly, one for ducks! This wasn’t the kind of day that tourists can take in their stride—when sudden downpours wet the streets but pass quickly away. This was a steady continuous drizzle that went on all morning and turned the temperature way down low. It made us feel generally miserable especially after we had stayed out for a while and our fingers started to freeze. “We”, was my pal Taraney and myself. She decided to join me on the third walking tour and proved to be great company. Travel writers/travel lovers/bloggers probably just gravitate towards each other. I discovered, before long, that she is also blogging and maintaining a journal based on her travels in Northern Europe. To reach her blog, do click on: http://itinerantaraneh.blogspot.com/

I had awoken at 7. 30 am after a very restful night. For the first time ever since I began slumming it in youth hostels around Europe, I actually slept in a 6-bedded female dorm that did not contain a snorner! You have no idea how merciful that luxury can be! Little wonder that I dressed, packed and got right down to breakfast where Taraneh joined me for muesli with milk, and a bread roll that I filled with salami, cheese and good European butter—indeed a very filling breakfast for a youth hostel. But then, the Benelux (like the Scandinavian) countries do awesome breakfasts—yes, even in the youth hostels.

The Burg and Beyond:
The weather did not stop us from taking George McDonald’s last suggested walk in Bruges entitled “The Burg and Beyond”. With these three walks, I pretty much had all of Bruges covered—minus, that is, the museums. But then I had decided that I would go to the Fine Arts Museum in Brussels and would skip the ones in Bruges (which, by the way, did not recognize my Metropolitan Museum ID card and would not give me a free ticket to enter—which the Musee Royaux des Beaux-Arts in Brussels did!).

We left our hostel at 9 am (after I had checked out and stashed my bag in the unlocked storage area and hoped it would still be there when I returned to pick it up). Within 10 minutes, we were in the Market Square where Taraney went out in urgent search of an ATM machine. When she drew a blank, we began our walk hoping to find something subsequently. I found a flexi-magnet of Brussels in a small souvenir store where I also picked up a postcard. With that search out of the way, we started to read up about the Burg—another large cobbled square ringed by important buildings. As in Brussels’ Grande Place, these were built mainly during the Middle Ages, destroyed by the French, and then rebuilt during the Flemish Renaissance.

The Basilica of the Holy Blood and the Liberty Hall:
Our first port of call was the ornate blackened church with gilded figures adorning its façade—the Basilica of the Holy Blood. This is really two churches in one: on the bottom floor is the Romanesque St. Basil’s Chapel built in 1137-57 and wearing its age on its sleeve—it was small with low fan-vaulted ceilings and some very striking statues inside. I particularly loved the Pieta , a medieval Madonna and Child and a version of Ecce Homo, each of which occupied its own atmospheric niche.

The upper floor, reached by a spiral stone staircase had a really spectacular painted altar. In the beautiful Baroque chapel on the right side in a silver receptacle is kept a Relic of the Holy Blood in a rock crystal phial. This is occasionally brought out and displayed in the hands of one of the church’s officials who sits up on an altar where the congregation can go forward and venerate it. I had a chance to climb the stairs and kiss the relic. In the phial is a small scrap of cloth stained with the blood of Christ obtained after the Cruxificion by Joseph of Arimathea. Count Thierry of Alcase who received it as a reward for acts of bravery during the second Crusade brought it to Bruges from Jerusalem in 1149—says McDonald in his explanatory notes in his book. For me, both, seeing the relic and being able to kiss it, were uniquely blessed experiences and I was very happy indeed to have had such an unexpected opportunity.

Then we stepped inside the adjacent Town Hall (also in the Burg) where we entered the Renaissance Hall of the Liberty of Bruges. There was an entry fee that allowed visitors to walk through the well restored rooms, one of which included the main hall filled with elaborate sculpture and carvings. Since we had decided not to spend time indoors, we walked out of the Parliament Hall but not before we had a quick and quite stunning glimpse of the splendid black marble Dinant mantelpiece and fireplace with a superb carved oak-chimneypiece from 1528-9 by Lanceloot Blondeel celebrating Emperor Charles V’s victory in 1525 at Pavia over Francis I of France. This wooden sculptural group, featuring among others European monarchs Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, is so grand and so elaborate that it is said to be one of the finest in Europe.

Canal-side Bruges:
After enjoying these highlights of the Burg, we continued on our walk, which took us through Blind Donkey’s Alley and over a bridge across a canal to the Tanner’s Guildhall. A few short steps away was Rosary Quai, which affords one of Bruges’ loveliest sights—canals, waterside houses, and the Belfry. Despite the fact that it was still coming down in sheets, we enjoyed the ambience and soaked it all in.

When we traced our steps back to the colonnaded fish market where a few fishmongers were hard at their trade, we decided to walk alongside the canal, past two of the prettiest old stone bridges in the town—Meebrug and Peerdenbrug. This brought us to the almshouses named after the Pelican that adorns its front façade. I had begun to recognize these almshouses quite easily by this point: they are small, cute and have low gabled roofs.

At this stage on our route, we were tired and cold as the rain had continued incessantly. We came to the Coupure Bridge and saw the Marieke sculpture based on a song by famous Belgian signer Jacques Brel called “Ai Marieke”. A longish and then rather uninteresting walk took us past the vast Astrid Park with its gold and blue bandstand behind the Blessed Magdalen Church. Taraneh still needed an ATM that was proving to be rather elusive and it was at the Market Square that she finally found one. It was then that we decided to warm ourselves up with a bite at a cozy tea room where we shared a pot of Darjeeling.

Boat Cruise along the Canals:
A very tired Taraneh bid me goodbye at this stage to return for a nap to the hostel. It had, miraculously, stopped raining while we were at our impromptu meal and I began to think again of taking a canal cruise to receive a different perspective of the town. Making my way to the public library, I found a dry spot and ate my lunch there, then went out in search of the one of the jetties from which the boats are launched. Tourists had begun to resurface as if from under the downpour and when I did find a jetty and boarded a boat for just 6. 70 euros for the ride, it was almost 2. 30 pm.

The canal cruise was short (just a half hour long) but was one of the most delightful experiences I had in the town and one I would heartily recommend. Indeed, we passed through the same buildings, quays, islands, that we had seen during the past couple of days, but you see them from a very unique angle. I took so many pictures as I just couldn’t get enough of the charm of it all. In fact, I felt slightly at odds with the passing scenes and thought it might have been more appropriate to be dressed not in jeans and a hoodie but in a flowing black cape with hand made lace at my collar in the manner of the women in the 17th century Flemish paintings of Jan van Eyck, Van Vermeer and Pieter de Hooch! I made the discovery that in the course of my three walks, I had indeed covered every significant nook and cranny of the city and could have given a far more effective commentary than the boat driver did—he did a multi-lingual job (Flemish, French and English) but the information was far too sketchy for my liking. Indeed I had grown to love the medieval town so dearly that I began to feel rather possessive about it!

The cruise was over in half an hour and I alighted and started my walk back to the youth hostel to pick up my bags for my intended early evening return to Brussels—mainly because it was really too cold to linger outdoors for much longer. I found the consignment store again and bought myself a Burberry umbrella and then returned to the hostel where I picked up my bag and made my way to the bus stop headed to the train station—but not before I dressed more warmly and in layers—cashmere cardigan, silk scarf and warm denim jacket.

I was at Bruges station in about 20 minutes from where I boarded a train for Brussels, a ride that took an hour and wended its way deep into the heart of the Flemish countryside as seen in the landscape paintings of the Flanders School. Because it was too cold to venture out again, I opted for the 10 euro dinner being offered at the youth hostel, which consisted of a thick and very delicious vegetable soup, marinated sheesh kebabs served over wild rice and cauliflower au gratin with crème caramel for dessert. Very good value for money indeed. Well fuelled, I returned to my room to write this blog and since I was tired, all at once, I decided to do a bit of reading before falling asleep.

Belgium’s Art Treasure Trove.

Apr18

Saturday, April 18, 2009
Brussels-London

I had a really harrowing last night at the youth hostel in Brussels as the place was taken over by a pre-teen French group of school children who created such a racket you’d think the house was on fire. Despite my attempts to quieten them down, they resisted and, having left my ear-plugs at home, I stayed awake half the night. What’s worse, one of my suitemates came in at 1 am and left the room at 6am–disturbing me at every juncture and making me feel quite harrassed indeed.

I ate well at breakfast and checked out, left my bags in the storage unit and went out in search of parts of the city that I hadn’t covered on my first day. In fact, I headed straight for the grand Palais de Justice, a massive Neo-Classical building with an impressive dome that occupies several city blocks and is visible from most of the city. Much of it was behind scaffolding, however, which made the taking of pictures impossible.

On I pressed down Rue du Regence towards the Musee des Beaux-Arts which opened at 10 am, stopping en route to visit the Church of Notre-Dame au Sablon, a magnificent piece of architecture with a white Gothic exterior but a rather plain interior. The gardens right outside called the Place du Petit Sablon were superb, however. Though rather small, they are beautifully manicured with formal severity in the curving boxwood edgings in whose midst hundreds of tulips were about to burst into bloom. The most striking feature about it were the dozens of sculpted figures that march around the gates, each one representing a different medieval guild. There is a great sculptural group in the center that is accentuated by a flowing fountain and the whole confection is set right below the Palais d’Egmont which is not open to the public but whose solid quadrangular building are admirable indeed.

The Musee des Beaux-Arts:
A few mintues before 10 am, I was at the entrance of the Museum of Fine Arts which stands adjacent to another one of Brussel’s more impressive buildings–its Royal Palace. Again, tours are available only during the summer, but the Neo-Classical exterior set in a cobbled square and emphasized by a statue are all so noteworthy as to make a very fulfilling walk indeed.

My main aim, however, was to tour the major works of Flemish art to be found in the museum which actually combines two separate collections: Ancient Art and Modern Art. Armed with an audio guide, I began my discovery of this museum and was delighted by its fine collection. Though the paintings I loved are too numerous to note, I especially enjoyed seeing so many works by Rogier van der Weyden who is one of my favorite painters of all time–ever after I saw his Deposition in the Prado in Madrid, I have been a die hard fan. The Brussels’ museum contains many significant works of his, some small, others larger in scale and conception.

Of course, one cannot leave Brussels without feasting upon the works of art of the Breugels–the Elder and the Younger, father and son, who produced so many unforgettable scenes from Belgian rural life in a style that is truly distinctive. It is to see these works alone that it is worth making a trip across the Channel to Brussels; but pride of place in the collection goes to Jacques-Louis David’s The Death of Marat which occupies a wall all its own and draws the most curious visitors. An extraordinarily realistic canvas, this scene captures the moments soon after the death of the Marquis de Sade (from whom we obtain the word ‘sadism’ by the way), who is said to have masterminded the guillotine as a method of killing France’s aristocracy during the Revolution. He was murdered in revenge in his bath by a woman whose husband had been killed leaving her to look after their five children. Finding some pretext to enter Marat’s home, she stabbed him while he was in his bathtub where he did a great deal of official work as he suffered from a condition called plurisy which was relieved by hydrotherapy. David’s work is so powerful that he draws the viewer right into the scene and forces him to imagine the horror of Marat’s end. His arm hangs over the bath tub still holding on to a note that he was in the process of writing. Simon Schama in his History of Art series has covered this painting in detail and I was thrilled to have been able to see it in one of the least-visited museums of Europe.

In the Modern section, which you reach by diving deep into the bowels of the earth, are a number of interesting paintings by the Pre-Raphaelites such as Edward Coley Burne-Jones and his imitators. The collection is known for the works of Belgian modernist Rene Magritte, but most of them were off the walls as they are to be installed into a new museum that is under construction to exclusively feature his work. Still, I enjoyed seeing some of the work of the Belgian Symbolists such as Rik Wouters before I made my way back to the surface.

A Typically Belgian Lunch:
I next went out in search of the meal I had promised myself before leaving Belgium–moules-frites. En route, I passed by the Old England department store with its interesting Art Nouveau facade and arrived at the Place des Herbes where I expertly found my way to the Rue des Bouchers and to Leon’s which is reputed to serve the best mussels in the city. Though more pricey than the rest, Leon de Bruxselles has established a name and a faithful clientele and I decided to partake of his bounty. Ordering the “traditionelle”, i. e. a large bowl of moules (mussels) made with butter, celery, parsley and white wine and served with bread for dunking into the jucies and a bowl of fries with a blonde Belgian beer, I had a truly memorable meal and was glad that I bravely entered the restaurant and ate alone-something I don’t usually do when I am traveling solo.

Lunch done, I had just enough time to wander at will through the Grande Place one last time. It was taken over by tourists. Indeed, the sun was shining warmly down upon the city after two freezing days and the passers-by had taken to the streets with delight. I bought myself some bars of Belgian chocolate and returned to the youth hostel to pick up my bag and begin my return journey home.

Back on the Chunnel Train:
I arrived at the train station after a 20 minute walk, went through check in, security and immigration procedures before boarding my 6.00 pm train back to London. It was far more crowded than the one I had taken into Brussels, but the jouney was very comfortabe eindeed and after my big meal, I felt a trifle sleepy and very tired. This time, it was obvious when we entered the Tunnel as it turned dark suddenly and we emerged into the sunlight a good half hour later. Soon the train was eating up the miles in Kent, past the Medway once again and arriving at St. Pancras where I caught a bus and was home within a half hour.

I rang the doorbell of my neighbors Tim and Barbara to give them some Belgian chocolate when they invited me to join them for dinner at Cafe Pasta right down our road. I was very grateful for the invitation though I wanted something light to eat and after I had showered, we strolled downstairs. Over a very delicious pizza and beer, I caught up with them and then we were home again. I unpacked and downloaded my pictures and after doing a batch of laundry, I went straight off to bed at the end of what had been a very interesting if rather tiring trip for me.

Beguiling, Bewitching Bruges!

Apr18

Thursday, April 16, 2009
Bruges, Belgium

I had a restless night being awoken about 1 am by an unruly crowd on the street outside the hostel window, that kept me awake for a good hour. Still, I awoke at 7. 30 am, very refreshed, dressed quickly, packed and went downstairs with my backpack for my breakfast with my suite mate from Hongkong whose name I did not get. Over muesli, two slices of bread with preserves and cheese and caffe lattes (provided in the 19. 50 euros per night that it costs to stay at the YHA), I chatted with her and then checked out at 9 am. The walk to Brussels’ Central station took me ten minutes. I bought myself a return ticket to Bruges (25 euros) and took the 9. 27 am train to Bruges with one stop at Ghent.

Arrival in Bruges:
I arrived in Bruges exactly an hour later, at 10. 30 am, and followed the instructions (obtained on the website) to St. Christopher’s Inn. I took Bus Number 16 from the station (1. 20 euros for a ticket) to the Bauhaus and then walked for five minutes to the door of the hostel. Again, because check in was at 1 pm, I stashed my bags away and went out to explore the city armed with my guide book borrowed from the Holborn Public Library.

En route, I passed by several consignment stores and ending up buying a bunch of designer scarves to add to my collection (YSL, Gucci, Burberry, Christian Dior, Furla and Louis Vuitton). Only the salesgirl wouldn’t take credit cards, so I ended up giving her most of my Euros, which left me quite cash strapped for the rest of my trip.

The Heart of Bruges:
It wasn’t long before I found myself in a significant cobbled square called the Burg. From there, passing by more chocolate and lace shops, I arrived at the Market Square. Fortunately, the malaise of the day before had left me and the beauty of the city of Bruges so lifted my spirits that I felt like my old self again! Using my Insight Pocket Guide to Bruges by George McDonald, I set out on one of his three main walking tours of the city entitled “The Heart of Bruges”.

This six mile walking tour began at the huge and rather crowded market place through which tourist groups from the East were herded like cattle from one corner to the next. The square was completely taken over by an amusement arcade featuring games of skill. How crass, I thought, as I took in the ugliness of it!

After discovering, from my book, the history of the market place and the buildings that surround the square, I sat on a bench to do some people-watching (and people-overhearing!) and to take in the grandeur of the medieval buildings. Each side of the square is different in style and design. Right in front of me was the Town Hall topped by a slightly crooked flat Belfry with a clock face. On another side, is a row of vivid gabbled houses, now each featuring a fancy restaurant at the base. There is a Provincial House on the third side and the house of the Fisherman’s Guild on the fourth. These give the Market Place a look similar to that of the Grande Place in Brussels, though on a smaller scale. Horse-drawn carriages gave visitors rides around the square and the network of little lanes that radiate from it. But another, more unique, way to see the city is on a canal cruise or boat tour that at 6. 70 euros makes it one of the most affordable to be found in a European city.

It wasn’t long before I realized that Bruges must be one of the world’s most beautiful cities—and among these I count my own favorites, Oxford, Salzburg and Florence. There is not a corner of Old Bruges that does not delight the eye and my camera worked overtime as it tried to record everything: gabled houses, red brick walls, curving bridges over mirror-like canals and swan-filled lakes, cobbled squares ringed by pretty shops selling lace, chocolates and porcelain and pavement-restaurants. Official buildings are richly carved in stone, church spires rise up steeply to meet the sky, streets are completely paved with stone blocks (I finally understood why they are called Belgian blocks in the States!). I walked everywhere, pausing frequently to admire the details on the buildings and soon fell completely in love with this enchanting city. I often sat on the banks of a canal (similar to Amsterdam) or in a quaint and empty square or in an atmospheric church filled with stone sculpture and stirring paintings. It was not a sunny day but at least it wasn’t raining. Though I am something of a glutton for museums, I decided early that this medieval city was too unique and I did not want to waste my two days there being cloistered in a museum (though the city does boast at least two really good ones). I preferred to soak in every sight, every bewitching corner and but for two churches that were on my route, I did not stop indoors anywhere. One of then, the Church of Our Lady contains an exquisite Carrara marble sculpture of the Madonna and Child by Michelangelo (the only one of his major works to be found outside Italy) which was really quite lovely to gaze at.

Soon, I found myself on the ancient brick Bridge of St. Boniface, which spans a narrow canal filled with shaded timber-faced buildings and a flowering cherry tree. It was one of my favorite parts of the city and I took many pictures here.

By 2 pm, I was tired and needed a rest and a good meal. I chose a restaurant recommended by McDonald in his book—Maria von Boergondie) where I chose a typical Belgian dish called a Waterzooi (explained to me by the Belgian couple seated next to me). This was a delicious chicken stew with cream and vegetables served with boiled fingerling potatoes. A two-course meal with boring vanilla ice-cream for dessert cost me 16 euros and since the restaurant does not serve tap water, I ordered a Perrier, which upped the bill to almost 20 euros! Bruges is not an inexpensive city, I discovered rapidly.

Artistic Heritage and Lake of Love:
A good hour later, I was ready to launch on my the second installment of my explorations and chose to do McDonald’s second walking tour entitled “Artistic Heritage and Lake of Love”. This tour took me to the Memling Museum, which I skipped in favor of outdoor scenes. I took in the quiet environs of St. John’s Hospital (of which the Memling Collection is one part) then proceeded towards the Spanoghe Almshouse built in 1680 which took me to another delightful square called the Walplein. This square contained one of Belgium’s best-known breweries: makers of Henri Maes beer. I decided not to take the tour which included a sample to taste and proceeded instead to the Godhuis de Vos, another almshouse that dates from 1713—so tiny, charming and picturesque are these almshouse (how mainly pensioner’s homes) that I felt as if I had strayed into Disney world!

At this point, the tour took me to the Princely Beguinage of the Vineyard that is reached in a very unique way—across a bridge over a canal and through a Renaissance gateway. As if this were not enough, the most uplifting sight awaited me as I entered the Beguinhof—I saw a vast green covered with daffodils in every shade of yellow, a virtual filed filled with them! Visitors were so charmed by what they saw that they sank down on their knees to be photographs among the frilly flowers against a backdrop of white faced Belgian houses that are now home to the Benedictine nuns as the Beguines (a monastic female religious order) no longer exists. The order of the Beguines were founded in 1245 by Margaret of Constantinople and attracted many fervent women through the centuries.

After strolling through the cloistered garden, I visited the museum at Number One that is furnished in the simple manner of the 17th century women of the order. I also visited their small Church of Our Lady of Consolation in Spermalie. Indeed, Bruges was so beguiling that my flagging spirits of the previous day lifted completely and I was filled with so much renewed energy that I wanted to cover every corner of it on foot.

Leaving the serene environs of the Beguinhof behind me, I found myself facing a red brick gabbled building—the Sashuis or Lockkeeper’s House on a long rectangular lake called Minnewater or Lake of Love. Swans and ducks sailed majestically by as I walked along the lake’s banks towards one of the Powder Towers (so-called because it was once used to store gunpowder). I then crossed the bridge over the lake and arrived at lovely waterside Minnewater Park where tulips would very shortly bloom profusely. I rested there for a while with my umbrella held open against a slight drizzle that made pretty circles in the water. The very end of the walk took me past another lovely gated courtyard square that now houses the Municipal Fine Arts Academy.

At this point, having walked for miles around the town, I was seriously tired and started to pick my way home, stopping only occasionally when something caught my attention. Then, at 7pm, I checked into my hostel, found my room and bunk bed and started to write my blog when I was introduced to my room mate—a Seattle student who has taken a Gap Year off to discover the world. I joined her to eat a light supper down in the restaurant attached to the hostel—delicious hot leek and pea soup with bread. For dessert, we ate some of the Belgian chocolate that I had bought in the morning. Then, I showered, brushed and flossed my teeth and went to bed at about 10. 30 pm after what had been an exhausting but enchanting day.

Bonjour Bruxelle! Arrival in Brussels.

Apr18

Wednesday, April 15, 2009
London-Brussles

I’ve wanted to visit Belgium forever—ever since my brother’s friend, when a little boy of nine, once informed us that he was going for a holiday to Belgium. He had meant Belgaum in South India! We’d all had a guffaw but I was never able to get Belgium off my mind. I had once passed through the country by bus en route from Paris to Amsterdam many years ago; but, of course, had seen nothing of the country then. In the years that have since relapsed, I’ve made friends with some Belgians in the States and some of my American friends spent lengths of time when their husbands were posted in Brussels for work. It was time, I decided, to actually get to Belgium myself, so it was with some excitement that I was off—though I had not quite recovered from my travels with Llew into the Ancient Worlds of Rome and Istanbul.

I was excited for yet another reason—this was going to be another first time for me–first time that I was going to travel on the Eurostar line, aka the Chunnel train between England and the Continent that actually travels below the English Channel! It is a feat of engineering that my mind still cannot quite wrap itself over. I intended to savor the experience.

I set my alarm for 5.15 am, was out of my flat at 5.45 am, in King’s Cross Station at St. Pancras which is the hub for Eurostar in London at 6 00 am, “checked in” (i.e. went through security and immigration—just as in an airport), was boarding the train at 6. 35 am and at 6. 59 am, on the dot, we were pulling out of the station and on our way to Belgium. The ride was very comfortable and in the two odd hours it took I did my ‘homework’, i.e. began to read the travel guides I had borrowed from the library with the idea of planning my next few days. It took me a few minutes to get accustomed to the enormous speed of the train as we sped through the Kentish countryside, crossed the River Medway and barreled our way into Europe. I had taken one really fast train, similar to this one, many years earlier—the French TGV (Tres Grande Vitesse) train from Paris to Aix-les-Bains and I do remember feeling slightly disconcerted by its speed at the time.

I have to say that I was a little disappointed as I expected some kind of indication when we launched into the Channel Tunnel, but there was nothing. Also since the train weaves in and out of tunnels all the way out of London, you don’t really know when you hit the Tunnel. (you have a better idea of this when traveling from the Continent to England as you travel over ground all the way until you come to the Tunnel at which point, you remain in darkness for about 25 minutes before emerging into daylight again—that’s how long it takes to cross the English Channel).

We made one stop in Ellsfleet and then in Lille in France before the train changed tracks, left the Paris bound track behind, and headed towards Brussels. Spring had arrived in these parts for the fresh green grass of the cow-studded fields easily indicated that the seasons had changed. It was just a half hour later that we pulled into Brussels Midi station on an exceptionally warm day. As I hauled my backpack/strolley along cobbled streets towards the Youth Hostel where I had made a reservation, I had to peel off my denim jacket because it was so uncomfortable. I was glad I had bought myself an enormous bottle of water from a supermarket at the station, as, for some odd reason, I felt hugely thirsty. Using my map, I found myself at the hostel some twenty minutes later and since check in was not until 2pm, I stashed my bag in the rather high-tech storage room (for 1. 50 euros) and left. Again, armed with my map, I headed out at 11 am for the Grande Place, which was only a fifteen-minute walk away from the hostel.

Discovering Manneken Pis:
Along the route, I was delighted to come upon the famous sculpture of the peeing little boy called the Manneken Pis, which has become an icon of the city. And I was startled to discover how tiny he is! Not more than a foot tall, this little sculpture was the center of so much attention as tourists posed for pictures besides the stone pedestal on which he is propped way up. I have to admit that I joined the throngs and had my pictures taken against the copious jet. And then, a few feet down the street towards the Grande Place—a street lined with lace and chocolate shops galore, I also rubbed for good luck, the right arm on the brass-covered statue of Everard t’Serclaes (I heard a young teenage girl look at it and squeal, “Oh look, Jesus Christ!) who was murdered while defending Brussels in the 14th century. In fact, the brass on his right arm has so worn out that the stone beneath it peeks through, so often has it been rubbed by avid visitors and the city’s own dwellers each time they pass by it.

In the Grande Place:
And then, there it was—the Grande Place of which I had seen so many pictures over the years. It is really a huge cobbled medieval market square, one of Europe’s largest. Surrounded by the most ornate historic buildings, most of which were built during the Middle Ages and then rebuilt after destruction by the French, during the 17th century Flemish Renaissance, they were the headquarters of the various medieval guilds that controlled all artisanal trade in the country during those Dark Ages. As such, they are each crowned by the various symbols of these trades (the Boatman’s Guild House, for instance, is topped by a huge 17th century frigate’s bow). The square also serves today as a daily flower market which brings wonderful color to the center, especially now that spring is here.

It was at about this time that I started to feel deeply exhausted. Occasionally, only occasionally, in the course of my travels, I am assailed by the kind of inexplicable malaise that finds me suddenly dragging my feet. Whether this was because Llew had left only a day previously and I missed him sorely, whether it was because I had spent the previous two weeks with him traipsing through castles, cathedrals and museums and was so worn out that I could not really ‘see’ anything any more or whether it was simply exertion that was taking its toll on me was hard to say. But all I wanted to do was sit somewhere quiet and watch the world go by. And for a while that was exactly what I did in the Grande Place.

The Area Around the Grande Place:
A little later I used my DK Eye Witness Guide to Brussels to follow a road that led towards the Neo-Classical edifice called the Bourse—the country’s Stock Market. Very different from the ornate gables of the Flemish Renaissance upon which I had feasted my eyes in the Grand Place, this building features Corinthian columns, Greek pediments with carved friezes and sculpture by some leading lights including August Rodin. At the Bourse, I joined other tourists and sank down on its grand steps overlooking the main traffic-filled boulevard, and found it impossible to get up. That malaise was still haunting me. En route, I had also visited the Church of St. Nicholas and then I arrived at the Halles St. Gery, which is considered the birthplace of the city as a chapel to St. Gery has stood on this site since the 6th century.

Lunch at the Grande Place:
Then, still lacking enthusiasm, I traced my steps back to the Grande Place, stopping en route at a convenience store to buy myself a bottle of chilled Belgian Duvel beer. I ate my homemade sandwich and chugged my beer while watching tourists take pictures of the guildhalls as I sat on the stone steps of one of the buildings (noting, with dismay, that Belgium seems to be singularly lacking in seating along its sightseeing trails). It was almost 2 pm by this stage and as I ate and drank, I began to feel seriously buzzed. It was only later, reading in my guidebook, that I discovered that Belgian beer packs a heavy punch. Since I wasn’t sharing the bottle with Llew but had drunk it all myself, it packed a wallop and it was with the greatest difficulty that I launched myself up to my feet to continue my exploration of the city.

Window-shopping in the Galeries St. Hubert:
Using my map, I went in search of the Galeries St. Hubert, which comprises a grand shopping arcade that was inaugurated by Belgium’s first king, Leopold I, in 1847. Today, dominated by luxury merchandise shops selling designer clothing, leather goods, lace shops and expensive chocolatiers such as Leonidas, the shops are still fun to peek into and I had a good time though only window shopping. By this stage, I had eaten a great amount of chocolate as the attendants were eager to pass out samples. Easter eggs and chocolate bunnies, however, hadn’t yet dropped to half price in Belgium even though Easter was long past!

Just past the Galeries St. Hubert is one of the city’s most interesting streets—the Rue des Bouchers. This is a Foodie’s Paradise as it is lined on both sides by a variety of restaurants, most of which entice the visitor with a stunning array of appetizing arrangements of fresh seafood, fruit and vegetables. I walked its length, passing by the famous Leon and promised myself that I would not leave Brussels without feasting on its most famous culinary offering—moules-frites (mussels with fries).

It wasn’t long before I found myself at the Places des Herbes where I occupied a seat on a bench and promptly plonked down! It was a good hour before I stirred again, by which time I had myself a wonderful hour-long nap (or a drunken sleep, if you prefer!). But it proved to be incredibly refreshing because it spurred me on to get back on my feet and look for Brussels’ best-known church—the Cathedral of Saints Michael and Gudule. This twin-spired church is somewhat reminiscent of Paris’ Notre-Dame and is truly gorgeous inside. Despite the fact that I had just returned from Rome where I was made to feel “all churched-out”, I was still taken by its grandeur. The Last Judgment stained glass window with its vivid shades of red, yellow and blue was truly lovely. An extraordinary Baroque carved wooden pulpit by Antwerp-born Henri-Francois Verbruggen matches this visual treat, the likes of which I have never seen before. Over the next few days, I visited many churches with Baroque pulpits, but none of them matched the splendor of this one. It was designed in 1699 and installed in the church in 1776. Two staggering beautiful gilded statues of Saint Michael and Saint Gudule also stunned me as did the larger-than-life sized statues of the twelve Apostles that stand high on stone plinths above the congregation’s heads throughout the length of the nave. It was these interesting and very unusual features that made this cathedral stand out for me.

When I emerged from the Cathedral after a brief but very heavy shower had suddenly wetted the streets, I picked my way along Rue Neuve for some retail therapy for this street is filled with every conceivable European high street store and was busy with shoppers. Recession, what recession? I thought as I watched them hurry by.

Since I lacked energy to do anything more interesting, I decided to postpone my visits to the fine arts museums for my return from Bruges when I intended to spend one more day in Brussels. For the moment, I’d had my fair share of urban exploration and decided to take another route back to the youth hostel. Along the way, I passed by the Hotel Metropole, which, my guide book informed me, had one of the grandest Art Nouveau lobbies and bar-cafes to be found in the city. Indeed when I did walk inside to see for myself, I was quite taken by the degree of opulence with which the ground floor was designed. Lavish use of gilding along walls and columns and the brilliant pools of light cast by glittering chandeliers made the place look like a ball room.

Then I was buying myself a gaufre—a Belgian waffle—topped liberally with whipped cream, chocolate sauce and walnuts. This made a very filling dinner indeed as I returned to the youth hostel, checked into my 4-bedded dorm room, took a very relaxing hot shower in the attached bathroom and then, still feeling quite drained of energy, climbed into my bunk to call it a very early night.

It had been lovely to hear the sound of French all around me and before long, I was eager to try some of my own rusty French on the locals. But everytime I spoke to someone in French, they responded to me in English! And I realized how multi-lingual the Belgians are as they switch with ease from French to English to Dutch in a single minute.

Playing Catch Up!

Apr14

Tuesday, April 14, 2009
London

All day today, I played catch up. It’s amazing how much one puts on hold while traveling. And since I am off again tomorrow (to Belgium), I had a laundry list of items to be accomplished. I did manage to finish writing my ‘Ancient Worlds’ travelogue (i.e. my account of our recent travels in Rome and Istanbul) and loaded them on to my blog.

I also managed to alter my accommodation reservations in Belgium as I have decided to spend two days in Bruges which has a great deal to offer and two days in Brussels. I was lucky to find accommodation at the St. Christopher Inn in Bruges at the very last minute.

Then, I rushed off to the Holborn Public Library to return some books and look for some on Belgium. I found two rather slim ones and borrowed them and then I set off to find a battery for my watch which stopped working yesterday. This turned out to be a massive production as none of the shops were willing to open my watch being prohibited from doing so. It seems that customers requested them to open their watches and then demanded they be compensated for the damage that the salesmen caused to the cases! I returned home in frustration and, using a slim knife, prized the back open. Back to the store I went with the open watch to find a suitably sized battery. And then the one that Maplin gave me did not work! I have no time to continue to pursue this matter and shall take care of it upon my return from Belgium at the weekend.

I also graded my students’ essays, downloaded the pictures from my camera, charged it and got it ready for my trip tomorrow. I am excited about my trip as I am taking the Eurostar, aka the Chunnel train, for the first time and I know it will be a fun thing to do. I haven’t read up anything about Belgium, so haven’t the faintest idea what I will see…but I shall do my reading on the train tomorrow morning and, no doubt, by the time I arrive at Brussels’ Midi station, I shall have a good idea of the shape my next four days will take.

Then, after a shower and a cup of tea in the evening, I set out for my appointment with my friend Loulou Cook at her flat in Farringdon. It took me ten minutes to walk there, past Farringdon Tube station. She let me into the enormous living-cum-dining room space and as we sat down to enjoy a cup of tea, we caught up on the past few days. I was at her place primarily to take a look at her spare room that does not get much use at all as the Cooks have a country home in Suffolk and spend just one day in their London flat. When I had taken a look at it and realized that it would work rather well for me in the summer months of June and July, I sat for a chat with Paul whom I was meeting for the first time. It was an interesting conversation indeed. I do hope that all will now fall into place so that I can have use of their place…so let’s see.

Back home, I finished my packing for Belgium and put together all the papers I need for my travel. I have an early morning start with my train leaving St. Pancras Station at King’s Cross at a minute before seven. I guess I shall be up before 6.00, so I can take a bus and arrive at the station by 6. 30 am! I guess I shall now just grab a bite of dinner, set the alarm on my cell phone and go straight to bed.

It’s Goodbye Again…Llew’s Last day in London.

Apr13

Easter Monday, April 13, 2009
London

Llew’s last day in London sped swiftly by. We awoke to the discovery that my wrist watch had stopped during the night. This means that I shall have to find a store that sells replacement batteries and I have not a clue where to go. What is the equivalent of Radio Shack in the UK?? Hmmm, I guess I will soon find out.

We had our last breakfast together and while Llew packed his few things away, I took a hold of his larger suitcase and filled it with my winter clothes that I will no longer need. Despite the fact that the English think they had a particularly brutal winter, I did not wear the fur coat I had carried along (it was always a bit too warm for that). I also sent off the thick down coat that I had found on sale at Gap in Westport, Connecticut, in December (which did serve me rather well on those freaky snow holidays!). Packing away all my woolen worsted jackets, I realize that I have no more than three classes to teach before the semester (and the academic year!) ends. Unbelievable!!!

I sent off most of my cashmere cardigans, holding on to just four of them in neutral colors. I also sent off the vintage weighing scale with the bell weights that I had bought from the antiques shop in Rochester, Kent. With much of my winter wardrobe already on its way to the States, I realize that, in a way, I have already begun my return ‘home’ and I have to admit that it broke my heart. The gesture brought to my mind, in one swift instant, the sight of my Dad (then so much younger) huddling behind the refrigerator in the kitchen and sobbing his heart out while I, at 21 years, was oblivious to his heartbreak, as I sent off the first of many suitcases of clothing to my marital home as I prepared for my wedding, so many years ago. It is one of the most poignant moments in my life and, when it does come back to haunt me, it never fails to stir in me the most powerful feelings of love for my beloved Dad.

Then, we were walking in a slight drizzle on a dreadfully dull day to the Sainsburys at Holborn as Llew wanted to buy some last-minute packets of Roses chocolates (to which he is rather partial). When we had picked those up, we returned home. I had bought some tiramisu with the idea of getting him to try some of it (a favorite dessert) and then as he continued to make space in his suitcases for his 11th hour buys, I fixed us some sandwiches for our lunch.

By 12 .15 pm, we left my flat together and walked down to Holborn from where we took the Piccadilly Tube to Heathrow airport. Within no time at all, Llew had checked in and after we found a quiet spot to eat our sandwich lunch together, I bid him goodbye to allow him to enter Security. It had been an amazing two weeks and when I look back on them, I am pleased at how much we packed into them together:

1. Highlights Tour at the V&A including the Booker Prize Exhibit and the Raphael Rooms
2. Cornelia Parker’s work at the V&A and the Tate Modern
3. A Day trip to Rye with Stephanie
4. Tea with my friends Rosa and Matt Fradley
5. Dinner at Ours with neighbors Tim and Barbara, my friend Rosemary and Llew’s friend Bande Hasan.
6. A Papal Audience in Rome
7. An Opportunity to attend a Papal Mass at St. Peter’s Basilica, Rome
8. Visiting the Vatican Museum
9. Taking in the incredible attractions of Istanbul
10. Seeing a play by an award-winning playwright at the National Theater.
11. Dinner at the Rixhons’ at Willesden Green
13. Dinner at the Ullals’ at Harrow
13. A Chance to see how the NHS works during my Orthotics Fitting
14. A Day out in Windsor
15. A chance to watch me at work during my interview with the Holleys in Windsor
16. Attending Holy Week services together at St. Paul’s Cathedral
17. Taking one of Frommer’s Walks together in Covent Garden
18. Attending Easter Sung High Latin Mass at the Brompton Oratory
19. A Royal Sighting (of Prince and Princess Michael of Kent) and their daughter, Gabriella
20. Visiting Dennis Sever’s House
21. Memorable Easter dinner at Rules
22. Dinner with Bande Hasan at Zizzi.

Indeed, it had been a packed two weeks and, most of all, it had been such a joy to have Llew with me. I thought about all the things we did together in London, Rome and Istanbul. It was Llew who had remarked to me as our bus passed over Waterloo Bridge on our return from the play at the National Theater that he could not believe that in just 8 days he had seen three of the world’s greatest cities–London, Rome and Istanbul. People wait a whole lifetime, he said, to see just one! It was then that I reminded him that, having started his travels in New York, he had, in fact, seen four! It must be something of a record even for us, intrepid travelers though we are!

Then, I was home, and for the next hour and a half, I ‘straightened’ up my flat. I first sorted out my fridge and my freezer as I had done a bit of cooking and needed to put away the food I had cooked as I am leaving for Belgium on Wednesday and don’t want anything going bad. Next, I tided up the living room, the bathroom and the kitchen. I moved into the bedroom next to put away/throw away the stack of papers that had accumulated during our travels and to generally tidy up. I realize what an anal neat freak I am and how important it is for me to have everything in its place, close at hand, organized. When all this was accomplished and my flat returned as it were, to normal, I went in for a relaxing shower. Then, I brewed myself a nice pot of Darjeeling and settled down to enjoy it with chocolate biscuits as I returned to my PC and began catching up on my email, my travel writing and my blog.

Before I knew it, it was 9. 30 pm and I decided to stop and have some dinner–leftover Italian dinner that I had frozen a couple of weeks ago and then thawed, salad and fresh strawberries and apricots for dessert–while watching Rhodes Cross the Caribbean and Market Kitchen. My London life suddenly felt as it if had returned to normal again! At this point, I heard Tim and Barbara at their door and realized that they had returned from their long Easter weekend out. It was time for me to call it a day and, using my cell phone as a watch, I made my way to bed.

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

Apr12

Easter Sunday, April 12, 2009
London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Waltzing through Windsor, Meeting the Holleys and Dinner with Bande Hassan

Apr11

Holy Saturday, April 11, 2009
Windsor

On another very quiet holiday morning in Holborn, Llew and I decided to leave for Windsor. We had awoken about 7 am but by the time we showered and had breakfast (muesli and hot cross buns), it was about 9 am that we hopped on to the Tube to get to Paddington for our connection on London mainline trains to Windsor. We purchased our tickets (off-peak day return was 8. 50 pounds each) and caught the 9. 51 to Windsor which required a change at Slough–this reminded me, of course, of David Brent in the BBC’s version of the TV show The Office, where Slough is the constant butt of bad jokes (being out there in the boonies!).

At about 10. 20, we found ourselves at the imposing walls of Windsor Castle at the end of an extremely long line that completely ruined my high spirits. I was tempted to suggest to Llew that we abandon our plans to visit the Castle as I had made a 1.00 pm appointment to meet with Marion and Henry Holley, an Anglo-Indian couple who live in nearby Maidenhead, with the idea of interviewing them for my study. I thought that it would take us no less than an hour to get into the Castle and if we arrived there at 11. 30, we’d have only an hour and a half to see everything. While I was mulling over these thoughts, the line moved along briskly and, to my enormous surprise, we were able to actually get inside within 15 minutes–not too bad at all!

In fact, we were just in time for the Changing of the Guard ceremony that took place at 11 am and as we stood on the hill in front of St. George’s Chapel, we took in the pomp and pageantry from a fairly good vantage point that offered fine photo opportunities. I noticed that the guards are back in their red coats and busbees and I was pleased that I had caught them in their grey Kremlin-like winter overcoats in the midst of winter when I had stood outside Buckingham Cathedral to watch the ceremony in February.

Llew and I did not not wait for it to end as there was so much to see in the Castle. Equipped with our audio guides, we entered the ancient Chapel, one of the most important Anglican places of worship in the land. The towering nave propped up by its impressive fan vaulting is one of my favorite elements of high Gothic architecture and I was enthralled. The magnificent stained glass window that features a plethora of medieval characters was also quite stirring indeed. I loved the beautiful marble sculpture of Princess Christina who had died at 21 after giving birth to a still born child. It was her death that changed the line of British succession to the throne and made Queen Victoria one of England’s most celebrated monarchs. The sculpture is plaintively moving and I wished so much I could have taken its picture.

The rest of the chapel was equally interesting, filled as it is by monuments honoring so many of England’s best-known kings and queens. I particularly paused by the tombstones of King George VI and the late Queen Mother (parents of the current Queen Elizabeth II) and the one to Henry VIII in the choir of the church where the beautiful wood carvings of the stalls and the banners of the Knights of the Order of the Garter of St. George were all rather fascinating. Unfortunately, we had to hurry through everything as we did not have much time and I began to feel as if it was essential to give the castle a whole day of reflective perusal. Crowds jostling around everywhere and the endless queues made the experiences rather disturbing for me, even unpleasant, and I guess I have become accustomed to having places of tourist interest deserted as I visited so many of them during the quieter off-season winter months when I could really take in every facet thoughtfully. Besides, since I was visiting Windsor Castle after 22 years, I had forgotten almost everything I saw and Llew cannot even remember when he last visited Windsor!

Exploring the State Apartments:
Next, we were hurrying out of the Chapel and towards the State Apartments where a long line had formed to see the Queen’s Doll’s House. We decided to pass on that treat and moved instead into the line that took us straight into the fabulous state apartments, many of which have been completely refurbished since 1992 when Windsor Castle was engulfed by the most horrific flames following a fire that had caused the Queen to remark on the fact that 1992 was the “annus horribilus” of her reign–it was also the year during which the divorce of Prince Andrew and Fergie, Duchess of York, had been finalized and when Charles and Diana had announced their final split.

Among the many memorable gems we saw inside the apartments were some of my favorite porcelain services–such as the Danish Flora Danica pattern. But it was the Rockingham china that most took my fancy–the work is so exquisite, portraying, as it does, so much flora from the colonies that then formed part of the British empire–such as sugar canes and pineapples. The work was so costly that the factory finally went bankrupt and closed down–a great loss indeed to British porcelain manufacture!

Next, we were climbing the stately staircase lined with arms and armor and arriving at all the booty that was looted by British officials following the defeat of so many global sovereign heads of state–such as the gilded tiger of Tipu Sultan of Mysore with its crystal teeth. I have to wonder how the British public does not feel a wee bit troubled about the fact that its finest treasures have been obtained arbitrarily from other parts of the world and I have to wonder whether or not they feel slight twinges of guilt that might motivate them to urge their present-day politicians to return these pieces to the countries from whence they came. After all, when you come to think of it, when we were in Rome, we had discovered that Napoleon who had looted many of Europe’s best museums (including the treasures of the Vatican collection) was made to return them after his defeat at the hands of Wellesley at the Battle of Waterloo. But then, I guess, we’d be stirring up the Elgin Marbles hornet’s nest all over again.

Our tour through the apartments took us to rooms that were impeccably decorated and fabulously furnished with the most beautiful masterpieces of world art. In particular, however, I enjoyed examining the many royal portraits commissioned by aristocracy from the Dutch painter Hans Holbein who made his home in the English court for decades and left us some of the most recognizable faces of the era. I found his portrayal of Easter morning entitled Noli Me Tangere deeply moving indeed, especially since we will be celebrating Easter tomorrow–somehow it seemed significant that we would have the chance to peruse this unusual Holbein so closely. It portrays Mary Magdalen on the third morning of Christ’s death arriving at the tomb to find the tombstone rolled away and filled with angels. Upon turning around, she sees a man whom she mistakes for a gardener; but on looking at him more closely, it occurs to her that he might be the risen Jesus. She attempts to go forward to touch him when he says to her, “Noli Me Tangere” which in Hebrew means, “Do not Touch me”.

I was extremely moved by this painting and it has remained crystallized in my memory. Also very significant for the art lover and historian in me were the self-portraits by Rembrandt made during various stages in his life (two of them are placed almost side by side on one wall in the gallery). By the time we arrived at the ceremonial Banqueting Hall, I realized that I would need at least another two visits to Windsor Castle to do the place justice and it was then that I suggested to Llew that we get our tickets registered at the exit upon departure. It was close to 1.00 pm by that stage and we needed to leave to meet the Holleys.

Upon relinquishing our audio guides, we did register our tickets and have decided that we will return again when Llew comes back to England in late July or early August to take me back to the States at the end of my stint here in London.

Lunch with the Holleys–finally!
Then, we were out on the main street by the benches where the Holleys–Henry and Marian–had suggested we meet. The softness of an English drizzle was ever present as we arrived at Fifty One, a bistro off the High Street where we settled down for a meal and a natter. Henry Holley is an Anglo-Indian who has been extremely helpful to me ever since I arrived in the UK at the start of my research project. Not only has he been in regular correspondence with me, but he has helped some of my students create their ethnographic profiles last semester while they were taking my sophomore seminar on Anglo-Indians. He is a regular reader of my blog and sends me helpful hints of what to see and do in the course of my travels in the British Isles and I have always found him to be eager to help. So, it was with great pleasure that we finally met and I was so pleased that Llewellyn also had the opportunity to meet them.

The two of us decided to share a large pizza that was rather delicious indeed and soon I had my tape recorder on to make sure I received the correct information from this lovely couple who emigrated to the UK in the 1960s when they were both teenagers. As an former RAF man, Henry Holley was posted in various parts of the world and I found that both he and his wife exhibited the kind of cultural open mindedness that is characteristic of people whose global travels have exposed them to a wide variety of human experience. Certainly my chat with them was interesting and enlightening and not without frequent moments of humor. Llew and I were very grateful for their hospitality for when the bill arrived, Henry insisted on treating us to lunch.

Later that afternoon, we sauntered around the interesting shops of Windsor High Street in their company (they had already started to feel like old buddies!) entering Lakeland, a wonderful kitchen equipment store (my kind of store!) where they made a few purchases and we were able to leave with tiny samples of very strong espresso made in a fancy hi-tech coffee machine whose abilities were demonstrated within. Then, we bade them goodbye, promising to keep in touch, and Llew and I were left to our own resources to tour the town.

Exploring Windsor:
Windsor is a delightful English village complete with towering castle ramparts, a Thames-side location, picturesque bridges and multitudes of graceful white swans. As we walked towards the river, we saw another giant Ferris wheel on its banks (similar to the London Eye) and a bridge that transported us to the opposite bank where Eton College, one of England’s oldest and most prestigious public (which in England means private!) schools is located. We paused at several enticing antiques stores en route but prices were so inflated that I could buy nothing that took my fancy. Instead, we pressed on towards the lovely Tudor architecture that forms the main buildings of the school. Though the place had closed for the day to visitors (it was just after 5 pm when we arrived there), I was able to get some marvelous pictures of the architecture I adore in the red brick lined buildings, the theater with its dome (so reminiscent of the Radcliff Camera in Oxford) and the quads. Cherry trees were everywhere bursting into bloom making the most enchanting backdrops for the pictures in which I frequently posed poor Llew in order to bring human interest to my compositions!

Italian Dinner with Bande Hassan:
Then, after a quick visit to Waitrose to buy the Stilton cheese with ginger that Llew also has taken fondly to, we made our way to the train station for our return journey to London. We arrived there at exactly 7 pm and connected to the Tube to meet with our friend Bande Hasan outside his bank–Habibsons where he is the CEO–at Portman Square just off Oxford Street. Once there, we threw our things into the trunk of his grey Mercedes and drove off to Zizzi, an Italian restaurant nearby where we spent a wonderful evening chatting companionably over bruschetta starters and pasta dishes that were both delicious and substantial. We ended our meal with desserts that were outstanding–Torta Zizzi was filled with almond paste and fruit–like plums and figs (superb) and Torta Ciocolato that had a crisp hazelnut base and a chocolate mousse filing. Served with vanilla ice-cream drizzled over with chocolate sauce, it was truly a chocoholic’s dream and Llew and I who shared one of them were in Chocolate Heaven!

Soon, we were being dropped back to the Tube and were home in less than fifteen minutes, ready to call a halt to a day that had been superbly filled with several forms of fascinating art and marvelous human contacts.