Tag Archive | Paris

Verona–City of Lovers

Mar22

Friday, March 20, 2009
Verona, Italy

Annalisa was tied up all day today in meetings at the University of Padua. Left to my own resources, I decided to take the train to Verona to see yet another beautiful medieval Italian city. After we checked the train schedule, I found that the 9.30 train would work for me. Breakfast followed (Lavazza coffee, Greek yoghurt with cereal and blood orange juice–fiery red and with quite a different delicious flavor) as did a shower and we were off at 9.00, Annalisa dropping me to Vicenza railway station before we said goodbye for the day.

Because it was a Eurostar City express train, I was in Verona within a half hour (day return was 23 euros). Once at Verona (about 10 am), I found the Tourist Information Office at the railway station and, armed with a map and some literature, I made my way out into the city. Verona is a very walkable city (as most Roman cities are), the main monuments clustered around the banks of the River Adige that flows through it in an elaborate S shape–similar to that of the Thames in London.

I walked briskly down Corso Porta Nuova, so-called because it stands at the corner of an old gatehouse wall–the New Door, in other words. Sunshine streamed generously upon the city and warmed me up as temperatures were still low enough to leave a distinct nip in the air. I walked straight towards the massive Roman Arena, stopping to browse at a local street market at Piazza Bra where organically grown fruits and vegetables, farm house cheeses and home-smoked hams and salami gave the area a mouth watering aroma. I resolved to take some of Italy’s gastronomic goodies home to London with me to enjoy them in the comfort of my home.

Last night, the Inspector Morse episode we saw together, Death of the Self, had been set partly in Vicenza and partly in Verona. Annalisa had been exclaiming throughout the screening as she recognized so many of the locations and had personal contacts with some–much to the exasperation of Giacomma whose limited (though very good) English required him to concentrate on every word if he was to follow the plot! The final scenes were set in the Arena in Verona where the main character, an opera singer, performed to a packed crowd. This made me all the more eager to visit the Arena–to walk, as it were, in the footsteps of John Thaw and Kevin Whatley.

The Roman Arena:
But the TV episode had not prepared me for the enormous size of the Arena. I paid the 6 euros entry fee and walked into the world of the Romans for it was built in the 1st century (about 61 AD) and yet exhibited marvelous engineering and construction techniques. How did these Romans manage to do the kind of building they did, I wondered. Then, I remembered slave labor and I ceased to be impressed. The arena was under refurbishment (as so many of Italy’s monuments constantly are) and the main ‘stage’ upon which the opera singer had belted out her arias was hidden behind screened scaffolding.

Nevertheless, the place was atmospheric in the extreme and as I requested fellow travelers to take my pictures against its pink stone stands (most of which are intact). I received a call from Llew (for it was about 11 am at the time). I told him where I was and described the arena and wished we were together. I also did tell him that Annalisa suggested we do a house swap, i.e. she takes over our Connecticut home next summer and we move into her Vicenza apartment at the same time. I thought it was a brilliant idea as Llew has not seen much of Italy at all and but for the few days we will be spending in Rome next month, he hasn’t toured the country. Such an arrangement will allow us to see Italy at leisure, especially the Veneto which Annalisa say offers wonderful walking opportunities in the Lower Alps, the glamor of Lake Garda and all these walled medieval towns, not to mention the proximity to Venice.

A Walk Along the River Adige:
Back outside the Arena, I walked along Via Roma towards Castelvecchio, an impressive 14th century castle built by the Scaligeri dynasty that had once ruled Verona in its medieval heyday. It has been converted into an art gallery and museum but I was more keen to explore the city than remain cloistered indoors. As I walked across the Ponte Scaligero that was packed with school groups out on a field trip (as was the Arena), I took many pictures as the huge ramparts of the castle just begged to be photographed.

Once on the opposite bank of the River Adige, I walked eastwards towards the Duomo or Cathedralwith its grand Romanesque portal. Inside, I made it a point to see Titian’s Assumption. Every one of these Italian churches in the tourist belt charges an admission fee but, I have discovered, that if you wish to enter to say a prayer, you are exempt from paying the fee. This allows the local Italians to continue to use their churches even during tourist visiting hours.

The walk along the river banks was easily one of the best I took on this trip. Not only was the weather perfect for walking but the streets on both sides are lined by grand pallazos, churches whose spires and domes give the skyline a look that is reminiscent of Salzburg in Austria (one of my favorite cities in the world) and a river that glistened softly under romantic bridges that reminded me of Paris. I crossed the Ponte Garibaldi to buy myself some gelato at a gelateria, quite impressed, if I say so myself, by my rapidly growing facility with Italian: “Buon Giorgno, Signora. Gelato per favore. Una pralline, coppa. Cioccolatto”. As Giacommo told me later, it was “Perfect!” I sat outside in the sunshine studying my map and savoring my ice-cream and decided to rest my legs for a while before I set out again, this time towards the Teatro Romano which, Annalisa told me, I must not miss.

The Teatro Romano:
Verona’s Theater Romano is reached across one of the oldest Roman Bridges in the city–the Ponte Pietra or Stone Bridge which reveals its age in the exposed stones with which it is constructed. It is a curving bridge that spans the river quite theatrically indeed and leads you across to the heights of the Roman remains of the old theatre, most of whose stands are still intact–thoug the rest of it is in ruins. I paid the 5 euros entry fee and using the map and the directions climbed the many high steps up into the hidden corners of the complex which, in addition to the remains of a monastery (including really evocative cloisters), houses an archeological museum today.

The highlight of a visit to the Roman Theater, however, is the view of the city from the Grand Terrase–an almost 360 degree vista that offers stunning scenes of the city with its uniformly tiled red roofs, its spires and domes, its lazy river and its scenic bridges. It was a perfect day for photographs and snap away I did. Meanwhile, a quick walk through the rooms of the museum revealed marble sculpture, bronze figurines, bits and pieces of ancient frescoes–nothing very special anywhere but all contributing towards the age and antiquity of the space.

Lunch in the Piazza of the Church of St. Anastasia:
It was time next to cross the Ponte Pietra again and go out in search of the Church of Saint Anastasia which I could see clearly across the banks of the Adige. Its tall spire was very prominent indeed and as I walked along quiet, almost deserted cobbled streets and squares towards the Piazza, I believed that it was these walks that I enjoyed almost as much as the sights I had come to Verona to see.

Unfortunately, almost the entire interior of the church is under heavy renovation which makes tourist visits pointless, but it did offer me an opportunity to marvel at the two holy water stoups that sit upon the carved stone shoulders of two I. Gobbi (or hunchbacks), one being a hundred years older than the other. They made a wonderful pair indeed and after I took pictures, I decided to find myself a small ristorante somewhere for a pasta lunch as it was 2 pm by this time and I was hungry.

I could not have been luckier in my choice of restaurant for right there in the piazza overlooking the grand exterior of the church was a tiny place that offered a variety of pasta preparations for just 5 euros. As I settled myself down, a basket of Italian rolls was placed at the table and with the accompanying olive oil and balsamic vinegar that accompnaied it, I found myself enjoying one of my favorite treats in the world–bread dipped in balsamic vinaigrette. When the waitress arrived at my table, I ordered Fettucine con Fungi (fettucini with mushrooms) and a few minutes later, I was presented with a dish that was superb–I sprinkled on the fresh parmesan-regiano that was available and with some freshly ground pepper cracked all over it, it was one of the most memorable dishes I ate on this trip–not to mention startlingly good value for money.

The Attractions of the Piazza dei Signori:
After a 45 minute rest, it was time for me to leave the quiet and serenity of these untrodden paths behind and venture into the main tourist areas of Verona which I did find out to be around the Piazza dei Signori. This area was buzzing with student groups (I heard many high school American accents). The statue of the poet Dante dominates the square which is surrounded by imposing medieval buildings, almost all of which are official buildings today. Just around the corner in the adjoining square, a great deal of renovation work was going on at the Tombs of the Scaligeri family (mainly by way of stripping these monuments of centuries of accumulated dirt and grime) but I did enter the tiny Santa Maria Antica Church which proclaimed its age boldly in its hushed interior.

It was time, then, to go out in search of the Casa di Romeo, yes, the home of Romeo–the Romeo of Shakeapeare’s play, for Verona, of course, is the great city of the feuding Capulets and Montagues. I found it on a deserted side street, far from the prying eyes of tourists or noisy student groups, its walls, therefore, free of the ugly graffiti that I saw on all the moinuments associated with Juliet!

I passed next through the Piazza del Herbe (which probably got its name from the early produce markets that were held there each week). In modern times, these piazzas serve the needs of tourists looking for cheap trinkets and souvenirs of their visits. The Plalazo dei Raggioni has an imrpessive frontage and the Lion of St. Mark stands sentinel on a tall column (as it does in almost all these medieval cities in the Veneto). I strolled around at leisure, taking in the atmosphere which has remained unchanged in centuries.

Juliet’s House:
Then, since it was not too far away, I decided to pop into the Casa de Guiletta, perhaps Verona’s most popular attraction. No one is certain whether this quiet courtyard that houses the famous balcony is, in fact, the house of the Capulets. But the folks who run the visits to the house as a commercial venture swear that there are enough signs inside to prove that the Capulets did own this home. I refused to pay the steep admission charge (10 euros) to stand on the balcony and have my picture taken, but I did compromise in that I posed below the balcony near the contemporary sculpture of Juliet that adorns the courtyard. Graffiti covers the walls of the entrance and the hundreds of students who move through the space made it clear where it came from. Inside, near the ticket kiosk, is a bronze sculpture of Shakespeare and at every venue associated with the play are appropriate lines from Romeo and Juliet for it was this drama that immortalized the couple and keeps the name of the Montagues and the Capulets still alive in Verona today.

San Fermo Maggiore:
It was time then to leave these crowded tourist attractions behind and move into more interesting architectural monuments such as the Church of San Fermo Maggiore which I found by following my map and asking occasionally for directions. This very interesting church is unique because it is actually two churches–a large Romanesque one that has a fantastic ship’s keel ceiling and beneath it, an older medieval one which sits on top of more excavated ruins. The interiors of these Italian churches are quite unlike any you can see in the rest of Europe and their architectural details always hold tremendous interest for me.

Juliet’s Tomb:
I was left then with just enough time and energy to go in search of Juliet’s Tomb, another popular tourist attraction especially among teenaged students. I paid the 4. 50 euros that allowed me to enter an old pallazo at the base of which is a tomb that is supposed to contain the remains of the young girl who gave her life for her beloved. The space includes a museum which houses an exhibit of rather tattered frescoes and marble sculpture but none of it was worth spending too much time over.

I headed instead to area where the crypt is located. You enter the area through a wrought iron staircase which does proclaim its age loudly and enter into a brick hewn space where the single tomb in rather a battered shape can be seen. I had expected it to be surrounded by other tomb stones as I was always led to believe, from reading Shakespeare’s play, that Juliet was buried in the family tombs. Well, this is a solitary grave with absolutely no marking around it to suggest definitively that it is Juliet’s last resting place. At any rate, the mythology that has developed around the lovers allows such commerically run venues to thrive and though there is no documentary evidence to suggest that it is her grave site, it was certainly atmospheric enough to lead anyone to believe this.

With my feet quite killing me by this point, I decided it to was time to return to Vicenza. I called Annalisa and informed her that I would be taking the earlier train and wondered whether she could pick me up from Vicenza. I did not bargain for the fact that not all trains are express ones. The one I did board was a local and while it did allow me to appreciate the rural parts of the Veneto, it took over an hur to arrive in Vicenza by which time it had turned dark.

Annalisa was awaiting me upon my arrival. On the drive home, she told me that she had had an awful day at work and needed to kick back and relax at home. She decided to take orders from her family for pizza. She called a local pizzeria and ordered a margherita (for Giaccomo), a vegetable one with peppers, aubergine and tomatoes (for Giovanni), a radicchio and Brie one for herself and as we divided the pizzas, I had a chance to taste Italy’s great contribution to international gastronomy and loved every morsel. Over a fruit tart for dessert, we ended our meal and a very full and fascinating day indeed.

I was just as tired as Annalisa was as the sight seeing had taken the steam out of me and it was with great anticipation that I went to bed.

Padua–In The Footsteps of Galileo

Mar22

Thursday, March 19, 2009
Padua, Italy

The sun rose over another beautiful day in Northern Italy as I prepared myself for the lecture I had to give that afternoon at the University of Padua. Annalisa introduced me to Grancereale biscuits studded with dried fruit that she dipped into her coffee and ate for breakfast. I have always loved Annalisa’s coffee and I sat on the armchair designed by Le Corbusier but made by her late father as I sipped it and enjoyed the sunlight that streamed almost blindingly into her living room. Corbusier, of course, is the famous French architect/designer (and creator of the city of Chandigarh in India which, I remember my mother was so keen to see that she took us all on a family summer trip one year to this modern Punjabi city.

At 9.00am, we were ready to leave the house for Padua (Padova in Italian) and with Annalisa behind the wheel, we took the country roads that led us to the ancient city. It was exactly a year since Amy and I had spent a day in Padua on our Italian travels. I had included Padua on the itinerary at that time mainly for two reasons: to see Giotto’s marvelous frescoes in the Capella Arena or the Capella degli Scrovegni as it is also known and to visit the pilgrimage site of the Basilica of St. Antony of Padua. We had ‘done’ both sites last year but had not found the entrance to Pallazo Bo which is the main and oldest building of the University of Padua, the second oldest university in Italy after Bologna. So, this year I was keen to see it.

A Guided Tour of the University of Padua:
Annalisa had arranged for me to take a guided tour of the University with her graduate assistant, a lovely young lady named Francesca whose wonderfully fluent English made her an efficient interpreter during the tour. My own Italian was growing by the day and I was able to add to the few vocabulary items I had picked up last year. However, there was no way I could have understood anything the guide said, were it not for Francesca.

As Annalisa’s department of Modern Languages was a ten minute walk from Pallazo Bo which is in the heart of the center of Padua, we walked briskly there to make the 10. 15 tour. It happened to be graduation day in Padua and the university area was crowded to capacity with parents and well-wishers who had participated in the formal events. By the time we arrived there, the informal part of the day’s celebration had begun. I have never seen anything like it anywhere in the world. Young grads were covered in eggs and flour, their hands and legs taped with bands of thick cello tape and each one was made to stand in the midst of the mess and read out the poems that their friends had composed for the occasion (most poking fun of them). It was a wonderful lesson in Padovan Cultural Studies and I enjoyed the crazy spectacle. Many of them were posing for pictures with their family members with large laurel wreaths hung around their necks while others were placed up on a stand and were being feted. I stood to watch this for a while after the tour, of course.

The tour itself took us into the oldest part of the university which was founded in the 1200s. It’s most illustrious professor is Galileo Galilei who taught here for 18 years and did most of his own research here (leading, of course, to his discovery of the telescope which led, in turn, to his discovery of the motion of the earth around the sun, which led, in turn, to his feud with the Vatican and his imprisonment and later recantation). I recalled both Bertolt Brecht’s play entitled Galileo as well as the fabulous film of the same name that was made by Joseph Losey and which I had watched at least thirty years ago in Bombay (Sir John Gielgud had unforgettably played the Pope in that film). The guide took us to some of the most beautiful rooms within the Pallazo whose walls are covered with family crests made of plaster of Paris (hence very heavy) that celebrate the presence of very prominent alumni in the University).

In particular, the tour of Pallazo Bo took us to the Anatomy Theater which was used in the Middle Ages for the dissection of cadavers to allow medical students to increase their understanding of the body’s systems. This tiny room which is built like a Roman arena in concentric circles allowed students to stand in tiers and look down into the crevice at the base where the body would be placed for dissection. It is a most unusual room and certainly I had never seen anything like it. Famed for its medical and law faculties, the University of Padua made pioneer attempts to further the cause of medicine and I felt privileged to see this medieval space which is no longer in use.

Next, we went to the Aula Magna, where the university officials met regularly to discuss matters of policy and, for a while, to award degrees. Today, the university’s students number in the thousand which makes it necessary for them to find new spaces for the commencement ceremony. However, this was a room in which Galileo sat and discussed matters of policy and the walls and ceilings are covered with frescoes that feature the celebrated astronomer as well as Petrarch, the Italian poet who was also a professor in Padua.

The highlight of the tour was the visit to the lecture hall in which Galileo used to address his students together with the podium on which he stood while delivering his words of wisdom. It had a great deal of age to it–that was easy to see–and a carved marble bust of the renowned teacher in placed on it out of respect for his prodigious contribution to Modern Science . It was 11 am by that time and Llew had taken to calling me at that hour. His call came as I was perusing the podium and I did speak with him for a few minutes before calling off.

Meeting Anja at Cafe Pedrocchi:
Once the tour ended, Francesca and I made our way to Cafe Pedrocchi, a famous Paduan institution, where I had made plans to meet my German friend Anja who is currently on a Fellowship at a university in Venice and would be arriving on the train from there to spend the day with me. I had last met Anja a few weeks ago in Berlin which is her native city. She was the friend who had arranged accommodation for me with her friend Anneke in her wonderfully bohemian flat in the West end of Berlin. Anja’s train was late and she text-messaged me to convey this, but she did arrive by 11. 45 am. We had a lovely affectionate reunion and then decided to walk to the Basilica of St. Anthony of Padua as I wanted to get there to make a special petition for my complete cure from plantar fascittis.

A Visit to the Basilica of St. Anthony of Padua:
Francesca and Anja were more than happy to accompany me to the spot and we arrived there about 15 minutes later while strolling along the medieval cobbled streets of Padua’s historic quarter in which no traffic is allowed. It was nice to see the grand basilica again with its many domes that give it almost an Eastern mosque-like air. We did not have too much time to linger but I did visit the Chapel of the Relics which contains many parts of the saint’s body including his tongue and I did see again the remnants of his brown cassock which is in rather a tattered state at the base of the altar that is decorated in Renaissance style with a profusion of carved marble angels and a multitude of paintings. It makes for a very ornate space indeed and a fitting setting for the gold containers that house the relics of the saint. I also had a chance to pray at the Tomb of St. Antony while Anja studied the frescoes in St. James Chapel which were very recently restored. Anja is an art historian who is working on her Ph.D. on a Renaissance Venetian artist–hence her interest in the chapel’s frescoes (which I had seen last year).

Out on the main square, we posed for pictures by the striking sculpture of Guatamelatta, an equestrian statue by Donatello which looks down upon the bus loads of visitors who make the pilgrimage to the shrine. By this time, it was past 12. 30 and we needed to stop somewhere for lunch before returning to the university’s Department of Modern Languages for my 2 pm lecture. We did find a very nice restaurant in a square near the Pallazo dei Raggioni and over a lovely pasta with zuchhini and prawns in a light and delicious tomato sauce, we sat on the pavement in the warming sunshine as I caught up with Anja and all her news. It was marvelous of her to come from Venice for my lecture and when she informed me that her partner Andrea would be joining us for dinner later that evening, I was even more pleased.

My Lecture at the University of Padua:
Then, we walked briskly back to the building where Annalisa was awaiting our return past the lovely old stone bridges and the cobbled streets with their oodles of medieval atmosphere. Padua is indeed a beautiful city and I was pleased to have the chance to visit it again. However, it was time for me to turn my attention to the official part of my visit and with the computer set up to screen the film 1947 Earth, I began my lecture on Bapsi Sidhwa’s Cracking India and its migration from page to screen through the hands of film maker Deepa Mehta. The classroom was crowded with Italian graduate students (over a hundred of them) who are taking Annalisa’s course on ‘Post Colonial Literature, Film and Culture’. They are fortunate indeed that Annalisa’s contacts with eminent faculty members of Post-Colonial Literature around their world allow them to have many guest lecturers who bring their own brand of teaching and scholarship to these students’ curriculum. For most of them, English is a foreign language and I was instructed to speak slowly.

The lecture took about an hour and went well with the students listening attentively. It was followed by the screening of the film and we decided that after the movie, we would break out into a discussion. All went well with the session and after the screening, Annalisa suggested a five minute break. The Q&A session that followed was interesting as Annalisa joined me at the podium and brought her own insights into the points I had raised about the impact on the Partition of the Indian sub-continent on the weakest and poorest sections of the population, most of all its women. By using fiction–albeit based greatly on her own life and memories of the violence that arose in Lahore–Sidhwa was able to articulate the idiocy of the political decisions that caused so much upheaval in the lives of ordinary people and destroyed forever the communal harmony that had existed on the sub-continent before the British policies of Divide and Rule brought distrust and hatred to the masses.

Spritz and Italian Dinner at Day’s End:
Right after the session finished at 6 pm, Annalisa, Anja and I headed off for a drink–or a spritz as they call it in Northern Italy. At a small cafe, we sat down with very refreshing and energizing Camparis and Aperols that were mixed with club soda and served with small hors d’oeuvres which we nibbled. It was a very relaxed start to our evening and at 7. 30 pm, we made our way to the restaurant where Annalisa had made a reservation for us. It had started to rain by this time and under Annalisa’s huge umbrella we found our way to the spot where Andrea was waiting for us.

I had a really wonderful Italian meal in their stimulating company. We started with a small glass of white wine but ordered a carafe of house red wine with our meal. Annalisa suggested I go for a crespelle which was a large crepe filled with a pumpkin mousse that was scrumptious and served on a small bed of cheese sauce. Andrea opted for spinach filled ravioli while Annalisa chose a rather unusual dish of local grilled cheese with bacon and a creamy polenta.

Conversation flowed easily as Anja told us about being stopped at Padua station and being interviewed by a television crew on her views about the current Pope. It turned out that all of them (who have been following the news about the Pope’s visits to African nations) are riled about his conservative comments everywhere and his interference in Italian politics and affairs of state. Since I had no idea what they were talking about (as I have been traveling so much that I am out of touch with global news), I merely listened but as I have not warmed to this Pope, I could understand where their outrage was coming from for this Pontiff seems to have Foot in Mouth Disease and makes outrageous comments wherever he goes.

Then it was time for dessert and Anja and I stared a bowl of tiramisu while Andrea chose a panna cotta. Dinner was an extremely enlightening meal for me as I understood how my Italian intellectual friends perceive this Pope (very badly, I might add) and how averse they are to his stance on crucial issues.

By 9pm, it was time to say goodbye to Andrea and Anja who were taking the train back to Venice and to thank them to making the journey to Padua to meet me. I settled the bill (having decided to treat all my friends to dinner at the end of a very successful day) and we left the restaurant in a light drizzle and made our way back to Annalisa’s car. We arrived at her flat within a half hour and since both of us were rather tired by that point, we were straight to bed.

A Self-Indulgent Saturday in London

Mar14

Saturday, March 14, 2009
London

Sometimes staying around in London on a Saturday can be an adventure in itself. When Stephanie called me early this morning to say that she needed to keep her weekend travel-free to sort out her stuff after her move last weekend to Richmond, I understood right away. I tend to be rather anal about settling down and feeling organized after a move, so I figured, she needed the time and space. I could use a weekend in London anyway to catch up with my own chores and do bit of independent sightseeing.

So over a high-carb breakfast (Waitrose’s cranberry loaf with pumpkin seeds and a variety of spreads–praline from Le Pain Quotidien, Nutella, grapefruit marmalade from Harrods and Lurpak butter), I stretched out on the couch with loads of coffee and had a leisurely and very late meal.

Then, it was Chore-Time! I pulled out the vacuum cleaner from my broom cupboard in the hall, got out my Bounty and started sweeping and scrubbing and polishing and dusting and generally having a great time while up to my elbows in warm suds. Within an hour, my kitchen was polished, my bathroom was spic and span, my toilet was sparkling, and my bedroom was dust-free. I felt fabulous.

Then, I set out for Holborn Library as I finished Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire early this morning and was ready to start the next one. I had to return it though to the library from where I had borrowed it and I also wanted to pick up some travel books on Italy so I can photocopy the pages I need to carry with me on my trip on Tuesday. I usually photocopy just the pages I need on each of my trips as these books are so heavy and with the budget airlines severely restricting baggage allowance, this is the only way to go. I found the DK Eyewitness Travel Guide to Italy and another on Northern Italy and over the weekend, I shall read up and flag the pages I need to photocopy at NYU on Monday.

Then I went on a food shopping spree to Waitrose which is a ten minute walk away from the library at the Brunswick Center. I was amazed at the number of people out in the courtyard where food was being sold by vendors–it was a sort of Borough Market with everything being sold–from chorizos in rolls, cheesecake, nuts and dried fruit, cupcakes, roast pork sandwiches, falafel. You name it, you could buy it–and there were many generous samples (or ‘tasters’ as they call them here) being dished out too.

I, however, went into Waitrose for some scones and clotted cream. After having returned from Cornwall, I have developed a taste for cream teas and thought I would have one instead of my lunch today–I know, I know, I am being wicked and dreadfully self-indulgent, but I promise I will return to sensible eating soon. I am going to Italy next week and I know what the food is like out there. So perhaps I can pig out for the next few days and return from Italy with a new resolution to watch my weight again!

But for the moment, it is time to feast…so I bought some good Stilton with Ginger (my favorite cheese), a walnut loaf from Paris’ Poilane (sold in select stores here in London), some fresh ravioli (as I have a sudden craving for pasta) and an absolutely fabulous-looking Black Forest Gateau! I also bought a number of packaged soups as I had run out of those–I do enjoy a hot cup of soup with my dinner and over the winter I have tried Waitrose’s packeted soups–this time, however, I thought I would try Knorr.

Back home, I had my cream tea (Oh, Happy Day!) and my gateau with a lovely pot of Darjeeling tea. Imagine!!! England has made a tea drinker of me, I have to say, except that I have it very light with lemon and honey. I can’t even express how much of a pick-me-up this is proving to be. In my even lovelier Tea for Two Paragon China Tea Set, I sat and sipped slowly and decided that today would be a day for big time pampering and lots of little luxuries.

Then, when I had cleared up and put everything away, I had a long chat with Llew. I am also in the process of finding accommodation for us in B&Bs in Rome and Istanbul and I remembered that his cousin, a nun named Sr. Rosie, had spent many years in a convent in Rome. I wondered if she knew a convent that gave out pensione accommodation and if she would be able to organize an audience for us with the Pope! I told Llew to try to organize that with her and he agreed. It will indeed make our visit to Rome very special if we can meet the Holy Father.

And then, it was time for me to go out and do another one of my walks. It was such a mild and pleasant afternoon and the weather beckoned insistently. I took the pages I had photocopied from the DK Eye Witness Guide to London that outlined a walk around Smithfield Market (which is right behind my street in Holborn) and by 4. 45 pm I was off.

It turned out to be such a great walk. I had actually explored most of this area about three years ago with my friend Bina Ullal when she had come from her place in Harrow to meet me in London and spend a day with me. The walk took me to the famous Victorian Smithfield meat market which at one time sold live cattle and poultry; but today, thankfully, sells only cuts of meat. It is busiest early in the morning when the city’s butchers get there to select their stock for the day. Right around the lanes radiating from this gigantic building which occupies three city blocks are a number of taverns and pubs and eateries that serve enormous breakfasts with ale to the butchers who are ravenous by mid-morning. I was amazed how many restaurants are to be found in these little lanes–apart from the pubs offering good old-fashioned British food, there were very fancy French restaurants with haute cuisine on their menus and extensive wine lists.

Then, I found myself in lovely Charterhouse Square, a very old part of the city–once a monastery, it is a hospital today. Its cloisters and quiet courtyard still stand but I wasn’t able to go in and explore as guided tours are given only between April and August. I will have to wait for another month, I guess. Meanwhile, the walls of the building are deeply evocative of its history and the entire square reeks of age.

Turning around a corner, I arrived at Cloth Street, which derived its name from a medieval Cloth Fair that was held here annually right up to the Jacobean Age. In fact, it was this noisy fair that inspired Ben Jonson to pen his famous play about this event. This entire area is just fabulous–it contained narrow lanes, some of which have their original medieval buildings just oozing charm and character and medieval architectural details. Numbers 41 and 42 are two of those old preserved buildings and at Number 43, the Poet Laureate John Betjeman lived for many years (in what looks like a very tiny flat indeed).

I am a bit surprised how many references I have recently come across to Betjeman–first it was Padstow in Cornwall where he lies buried; then it was Rules Restaurant at Covent Garden which he frequented and which he endorsed and now it was his home at Number 43 Cloth Street. There is a blue plaque to mark this location as well as a restaurant called, appropriately enough, Betjamans where he is well remembered. I can just imagine how thrilled Betjeman would have been to live in such a historic part of London knowing his great passion for old architectural gems. He is responsible for saving St. Pancras Station from the demolisher’s hammer and has written many books on the old Norman churches of England. I often wish I had the chance to meet him. I think we would have had such an interesting conversation for we seem to share such a love for the same things–Nature, old churches, poetry, Oxford. Well, I guess, I have to be content that I did meet his wife, Lady Penelope Chetwode, once, a long time ago.

Next I was skirting the area around the wonderful ancient church of St. Bartholomew (which gave Jonson’s play its name) with its unique black and white checked design, its round tower and its quiet courtyard garden. I noticed that Sunday services are held at 9 am with Communion and I have decided that in keeping with my resolution to visit a new historic church every Sunday when I am in London, I will go to the service at this one tomorrow. I am so excited to be in a church that Ben Jonson and Shakespeare and the other Elizabethan and Jacobean dramatists, no doubt, knew well. It has one of the best preserved medieval church interiors in the country and I can’t wait to see the inside of it. I also remember vaguely that one of the wedding scenes in the movie Four Weddings and a Funeral was shot in here, but that I cannot confirm.

Then, I was out on the street again making my way towards Newgate where I saw the Old Bailey up close and personal and took pictures of the gilded statue of the Goddess of Justice atop the dome holding her scales forward. I cannot believe how close I live to all these masterpieces of architecture and all these landmarks of the city. I am truly blessed to be within a stone’s throw of all these renowned monuments. I had always dreamed of living in London and the fact that I have been posted here for a year and have access to all these marvels proves to me that the works of the Lord are unique and complete and that, as the Bible says, He “gives not in a measure but in its fullness”. Indeed, when the Lord gives, he gives in bountiful abundance and I often feel as if His blessings upon me this year have been beyond generous; and for that I feel truly humbled and profoundly grateful. And it is amazing how this truth comes home to me in the strangest of ways–like when I am gazing at a church that Ben Jonson might have prayed in or glancing at a monument that crowns the Old Bailey!

Next, I was entering the garden of St. Sepulcre-without-Newgate–I have noted before that these ancient churches have the oddest names–most incorporating their geographical location in them! This one –the Church of the Sepulcre–was outside the New Gate–hence its name!!! This is the church that is referred to in the rhyme Oranges and Lemons in the lines:

“Oranges and lemons” say the Bells of St. Clement’s
“You owe me five farthings” say the Bells of St. Martin’s
“When will you pay me?” say the Bells of Old Bailey
“When I grow rich” say the Bells of Shoreditch
“When will that be?” say the Bells of Stepney
“I do not know” say the Great Bells of Bow“
Here comes a Candle to light you to Bed
Here comes a Chopper to Chop off your Head
Chip chop chip chop – the Last Man’s Dead.”

I have reproduced the rhyme here so I can read up the sinister references to all the public beheadings that took place in London in days gone by. It seems that the rhyme refers to these killings and they were often recited by children who seemed to take delight in the fact that so many heads rolled in those ruthless days!

At any rate, I walked a little bit further down Holborn Viaduct up to the tower of Christ Church which is the only intact thing that remains of Wren’s masterpiece–the nave of the church that was destroyed in a fire has been converted into a pretty garden that will, no doubt, come into its own in the next few months as spring advances into summer.

I came home to check email and catch up with more chores–I had to make backup CDs for all my pictures. And then I decided to spend the evening cooking myself some fresh ravioli and having a nice dinner and a glass of cider while watching a movie–Where Angels Fear to Tread based on the novel by E.M. Forster (which I had not read) and which featured Helen Mirren, Helena Bonham-Carter and Rupert Graves. Shot entirely on location in Italy (which made it significant since I will be there on Tuesday) and England, it was such a sad story that had me completely absorbed. Lovely Victorian costumes and sets (in the vein of the films of Merchant-Ivory) and marvelous cinematography had me enthralled. That’s what I love about Love Films.com–it is a matter of serendipity for you have no idea what they will mail you. To have ended my lazy day with a Forster film was bliss indeed!

It did turn out to be a perfectly indulgent Saturday for me but one I know I will remember for a long time. I have no regrets that I did not do a day trip today. I have done enough traveling in the last few weeks and it felt good to stay at home and have an unforgettable day–a staycation of sorts!

Lunching with MPs and Of Ghosts and Greasepaint

Mar10

Tuesday, March 10, 2009
London

Awaking at 6 am is late for me these days!!! I had always imagined that when I came to live alone in London, I would have daily lazy lie-ins, never dreaming that I’d awake long before the first rays of light reached my window blinds. Still, I’m not complaining. I do not feel sleep deprived and I have been enormously productive. When I do occasionally feel fatigued as I did last night, I respond to my body’s signals by switching off the light (sometimes as early as 9. 30 pm) and going off to bed (though midnight is pretty standard for me).

I am sure now that my short nightly sleep spells have to do with the warmth of my bedroom. Under the down comforter, it is deliciously cozy, but it also can get oppressively hot as the night wears on. Arben, my concierge, had told me way back in September that 7 High Holborn does not get any cross ventilation unless one has a corner flat–which mine is not. This explains why air-conditioning is so essential in this building and comes as a standard built-in ammenity.

On the upside, this has meant that I have not had my heating on at all all winter long! I know…it is hard, if not impossible to believe, given the kind of winter London had this year, i.e. worse than usual. The double glazing in this flat is apparently so superbly effective that while it does shut out all the traffic noises along High Holborn that are pretty loud, let me assure you, it also conserves heat and keeps this flat toasty all day and all night. I have not had to spend anything on heating…I mean nadda, zilch. That alone has made this flat extremely economical to live in; but it does mean that come summer, I will be sweating it out rather copiously.

After reading The Goblet of Fire for an hour, I began to grade student essays–first drafts (most of which require a colossal amount of work!). At 7. 30 am, I finally got out of bed to brew a cup of coffee and eat my breakfast (yogurt and muesli with honey). I made a call to my nephew Arav (and spoke as well to my brother Roger) and then to my parents in Bombay. Then, I realized that I was running out of phone credit and needed a top up. Llew called me about 10 am and we had a chat as we updated each other on everything going on in our lives.

Then, after doing my stretching exercises (I need to get back to my exercise routines again that have been severely disrupted by all my travel) , I began work on the lecture I shall be giving in Italy next week. It is a comparison of the manner in which Pakistani novelist Bapsi Sidhwa’s work Cracking India evolved from page to screen through the film 1947 Earth made by Canadian-Indian filmmaker Deepa Mehta. The first draft kept me busy until
11. 45 am when I took a shower and left for my lunch appointment with Michelle Misquita Rafferty at 1 Victoria Street, in the office of the Dept for Business Enterprise and Regulatory Reform (BERR) where she practices Constitutional Law.

Michelle and I were undergrad classmates at Bombay’s Elphinstone College… so our friendship goes back a long long way. Both she and I majored in English Literature and though she does not know it, she was a source of great inspiration to me. I was so impressed by her dedication to her studies that I emulated it and, without intending to do so, constantly ran in competition with her for the highest marks. I have always believed that were it not for Michelle and Marie-Lou Menezes and ‘The Two Sharmilas’ (Mukerjee and Chatterjee) who were in my batch with Shoma Sen and so many other truly brilliant classmates that I had the good fortune of knowing, I would never have been spurred on to give of my best efforts in college or produce the kind of results that propelled me towards a career as an academic.

Michelle, surprisingly, did not go the academic way. She did not register for her Masters in English as Marie-Lou and I did. Instead, she became a journalist in East Asia, first spending many years working with a travel magazine in Hongkong before she emigrated to London and read Law. For the past few years, she has been a government solicitor working with British Parliament. I am extremely proud of her and the shape her life has taken and I continue to be inspired by her achievements–not to mention how deeply privileged I feel to be able to call her my friend.

We’ve met only occasionally since I arrived in London as she is grappling with a whole load of personal matters. Still, when she suggested we meet for lunch to catch up, I decided to carve out the time, despite my pressing schedule this week as I do not know when she will next be free to spend time with me. She had once mentioned that her cafeteria is considered the best among those run by government offices and it was something I had to prove myself.

A Far from Institutional Lunch:
So off I went on the Tube on a rather mild morning to her building which I have passed a million times on foot and in buses, little knowing that she worked in it. Michelle came down to greet me and after I had gone through security routines and been presented with a Visitors Badge, we made our way down to the cafeteria. It was buzzing as it was close to 1.00 pm.

Michelle was right–if the food was as good as it looked, I was in for a treat. Indeed, it appeared far from institutional and when I saw the fillet of tuna resting on a square white china plate (as in the posh restaurants) in a balsamic-olive oil dressing surrounded by healthy vegetables, I knew at once what I would eat. For dessert, I picked a Chocolate Nut Torte and when I went to pay for this lovely meal, it cost me less than five quid! Ah, the joys of the subsidized lunch!

We caught up all right over each mouthful and, as Michelle had informed me, I found myself in the company of some sitting Members of Parliament who were either enjoying their lunches or relaxing with the newspaper. I have to say that my cultural ignorance of the UK does not allow me to recognize these folks, so Michelle introduced them to me in guarded whispers. “That is Pat Mcfadden”, she hissed, and then a little later, “and there is Gareth Thomas”. I have to say that these names meant nothing to me but it was fun to look at these British politicians anyway!

A Self-Guided Walk around the Theater District:
In about an hour, I bid Michelle goodbye and decided I would take one of the walks in my Frommer’s Book as the weather induced me to stay outdoors. I chose one entitled “Ghosts and Greasepaint” that commenced at Piccadilly Tube Station. I reached there after changing two buses and found myself at the Statue of Eros which had attracted a number of French student groups.

Among the more interesting things I saw today on this walk was the interior of the Criterion Restaurant which has a most stunning ceiling made entirely of gold mosaics and polished full-length mirrors which must create, I am sure, a truly superb eating experience. The Victorian restaurant also has a literary connection as it was in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s work “A Study in Scarlet” that Dr. Watson met, for the first time, an eccentric character by the name of Sherlock Holmes. Of course, I enjoy this kind of literary trivia that these walks provide.

The title of this walk derives from the many theaters through which it passes and the stories of the many ghosts who dwell within their interiors. I learned about ghosts who haunt the Theater Royal Haymarket, for instance, where a production of On The Waterfront is currently on and in which two of the UK’s finest Shakespearean actors Ian Mckellan and Patrick Stewart will shortly be playing the roles of Vladimir and Estragon in Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. I feel strongly tempted to book a ticket to see this version, just because these actors are the best in the land. But I have seen this play on more than one occasion and it is not really one of my favorites. I have a problem with all Theater of the Absurd but this one particularly bores me. In the earliest version I saw in Bombay, many years ago, Nasserudin Shah and Benjamin Gilani had played the key roles and yet I did not connect with the lines. I doubt that Mckellan and Stewart will make me do so.

I continued through Trafalgar Square and entered the Church of St. Martin’s-in-the-Field and was reminded of my cousin’s son Sudarshan Rodriguez as I had seen a concert with him about five years ago in the interior of this church featuring fusion musician Tavleen Singh. I did not remember what a beautiful plaster ceiling this church has.

Then on I went, past the Garrick Theater which also has a resident ghost and where I had once seen Patricia Routlege (Hyacinth Bucket in Keeping Up Appearances) play an American shareholder quite superbly in a comedy called Solid Gold Cadillac! This took me to a lovely street called Cecil Court that was full of antiquarian book stores (I think Llew will love this place and I must take him to it on his next visit) where I saw a real live tarot card reader dressed in Victorian clothing sitting in a window and reading the palm of a client! How very weird!

I also browsed through perhaps the neatest antiques store I have ever seen in my life–a place called Mark Sullivan’s which specializes in Victorian literary pieces such as the busts of writers and royal commemorative keepsakes. Everything was so perfectly displayed on neat dust-free uniform shelves that marched around the entire store and when I told the store owner how unique his store was, he was delighted by the compliment and promptly gave me his very unusual business card!

At the Lamb and Flag Pub, one of London’s oldest, I heard about John Dryden’s brush with a bunch of thugs who almost killed him. At this point, I was told to go right past the gates of St. Paul’s Church, Covent Garden, but because it looked so unusual and so inviting, I simply had to enter it.

On doing so, I was surprised that the walk hadn’t insisted on a visit because the church, designed by Inigo Jones, no less, is an absolute gem both inside and out. It is entirely brick-clad, very symmetrical (there are two bells embedded in the sides flanking the main entrance) and set in an adorable garden in which spring had plainly arrived, for there were hosts of golden daffodils and crocuses that brought wonderful gaiety to a rather drizzly afternoon. Inside, the walls were covered with memorial plaques to so many actors, playwrights and producers who had made their fortunes at Covent Garden– some names that were familiar to me were Sir Charles Chaplin, Vivienne Leigh, Sir Terence Rattigan. I still can’t understand why the church is not a part of the walk. Had my innate curiosity not got the better of me, I would have missed this delight in the heart of Covent Garden. The entire hidden square within which St. Paul’s Church is set has facades of buildings that could easily belong to the 18th century. Indeed, it seems that if you want to see some of the oldest architecture in London, you need look no further than the tucked-away recesses of Covent Garden.

The walk ended on Maiden Lane at the stage door of the Adelphi Theater where another ghost story kept me enthralled. However, my attention was drawn to a very unique restaurant on the opposite side of the street called Rules which turned out to be London’s oldest, established in 1798. Again, a host of theater and literary personalities have frequented this place over the centuries including Charles Dickens and Sir John Betjeman who described the interior on the ground floor as “unique and irreplaceable and part of literary and theatrical London…
Its paintings, prints, busts, bronze figurines, red plush seats, stained glass as well as the playbills and theatrical relics some of which often go back to earlier than 1873, make it a restaurant very much as it was when it was first newly furnished in 1873. It is the gradual accumulation of the last and previous centuries”. Interestingly, on it’s website, I found an endorsement for this restaurant from Candida Lycett-Greene, the daughter of Betjeman and Lady Penelope Chetwode (whom I had the opportunity of meeting many years ago in Simla in North India). It would seem as if Rules was very much a Betjeman family hangout!

Indeed, when I peeked into the restaurant, I was completely charmed by its collection of animal heads, stag’s antlers and the like, not to mention photographs, playbills and all such theatrical memorabilia that grant a place the sort of ambiance that makes it distinctive and individualistic–a sort of older version of New York’s famous Lindy’s (renowned for its cheesecake)! It was beautifully lit with brass chandeliers and tiny lampshades (old world mood lighting!). I glanced at its menu and found it to offer a selection of typically British dishes, with an emphasis on game (there was woodcock and rabbit, for heaven’s sake), most of which is sourced from its ownership of the Lartington Estate in the High Pennines. I would love to eat at this place someday…God willing….and perhaps even catch a glimpse of some theatrical legend of the future (maybe when Llew next gets here).

I took the bus home and spent the evening continuing work on my Sidhwa lecture, grading more papers and then organizing myself some dinner–pasta and mixed vegetables that I pulled out of my freezer–pleased that I had combined work and leisure in a rather novel sort of way today.

In Search of Eden and Camelot: The Eden Project and Tintagel

Mar8

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Cornwall

I slept well last night despite being a little chilly. The double comforter helped—I folded it in half since I was using only one side of my double bed. Waking at 6. 40 am, I was able to write my blog for a bit, then shower and dress and get ready for breakfast, which was served at 8. 30 am. We were antsy as our coach was scheduled to leave at 9 am and there was no way we could eat a full English breakfast in fifteen minutes. Still, after muesli and orange juice, we found space (and time) for scrambled eggs and bacon, sausage and tomato, hash browns and beans and warm buttered toast with coffee—basically, a heart attack on a platter. Why is it that full English breakfasts taste so much better when someone else has cooked and served them up to you? And why is it that we had to hurry through so scrumptious a meal?

Off to Eden:

Well, we did reach the Inn at 9 am and made our way to the coach with our students to start the long ride towards St. Austell to the Eden Project. This is one of the UK’s Millennium projects, the brainchild of Tim Smith who still remains its CEO. It was his plan to demonstrate man’s ability to live in harmony with nature and it took the form of a series of biodomes constructed out of recycled material to look like giant igloos. My view of it from the air as my plane was landing at Newquay will always remain unforgettable especially as you do not spy the domes until you are a mere two minutes away from them.

The biodomes are constructed in a former china clay pit that had long remained disused, demonstrating the fact that waste lands can also be put to practical use. Our coach parked and dropped us off and we were met by Eden Project staff who directed us to the Reception Center where we received stickers to indicate that we were ticket holders.

At this point, we were met by a botanist named Kathryn who conducted a tour for us through the Humid and Tropical Garden which is the largest and most spectacular of the biodomes. She took us around the world in a an hour as each part of the dome grows plants native to specific tropical parts of the world such as Malaysia, Africa, South America (the Rain Forest). The temperature in this part of the biodomes is considerably warmer and within seconds we were peeling off our jackets. Kathryn started with a very comprehensive introduction to the aims and objectives of the Project and once on the tour, stopped by select plants to point out their native requirements and to demonstrate their typical characteristics. A waterfall cascaded through the entire project and as we moved from one part of the world to the next, we climbed ever higher. The incredible design of the region inside the dome which maximizes the use of space was ingenious indeed and spoke very well of the thought and planning and effort that went into its making

One of the more interesting things I saw was a real cacao pod from a cacao tree that was freshly plucked off and then split open by one of the guides who showed us the cocoa butter and the seeds inside. We had a chance to hold it in our hands, smell it and find that it did not smell even remotely of chocolate. A great deal of processing has to be carried out before chocoholics like myself can find cocoa nirvana! We learned that it was in South America that the Incas drank chocolate after mixing it with pounded chilli. Chocolate as solidified in bars are a British invention, however, and for that we are all very grateful indeed! I also saw a Passion Flower for the first time and I have to say that it was strikingly vivid and rare.

For me, of course, taking a tour of the Tropical Forest felt a little bit like visiting India for I saw banana, papaya, cashew and mango trees and a host of herbs and spices that I use in my daily cooking—such as coriander and curry leaf, cardamom, cinnamon and turmeric.

Our tour ended in an hour and we were free to make our way into the Temperate and Mediterranean biodome where the emphasis was on the kind of plants and fruits that are grown in sunny but less intensely humid climes such as in Greece, Italy or Southern California. I saw a giant citrus fruit called a citron which hung from the branches but is not too heavy as it has very little pulp and juice. It is the peel that is mainly used today in cakes when candied peel is called for in a recipe. Lavender, olives, geraniums, etc. were in this area but, having seen the superb quality and variety of the tropical fruits and flowers in the first biodome, I was somewhat disappointed by the second which paled in comparison.

What was also marvelous was the large number of birds that I saw inside the domes though they are almost airtight. They seem to come in when people unwittingly leave doors open or, as Kathryn explained, often through the louvers in the domes that are occasionally opened for ventilation. They were incredibly tame and a robin came and almost ate out of my hand when I was seated in the café. The birdsong, the rushing downpour of the waterfall and the fragrance that surrounds the interior was so authentic as to make me feel as if I was on a cruise along the Amazon in Costa Rica. Truly, the achievement of the Eden Project is little short of brilliant and though I am neither a botanist nor a biologist but merely a humble gardener myself, I know I took back lessons on planting and harvesting techniques that I could easily use in my own cottage garden at home in Connecticut.

Then, it was time to sink into one of the squashy leather sofas in the café and to decide about getting a bite. Despite the fact that I had eaten a huge breakfast, I did not know how long it would be before I had my next meal and not willing to start feeling hungry, I ordered a pork and apple pasty and homemade chips. Just as I sat to eat those, along came Alice and I joined her and David at their table. The lunch was enormously filling though not very tasty and with a slight spray having started to fall, we left the Eden Project, boarded the coach again and set off for our next port of call—Tintagel.

In Search of Camelot—King Arthur’s Castle at Tintagel:

It was understandable that almost everyone in the coach was asleep as it made its way across Cornwall to take us to Tintagel Head and the ruined Castle that is supposed to be the legendary birthplace of King Arthur. I too closed my eyes and within minutes, I was deeply asleep as mist swirling over the fields had reduced visibility considerably.

When I awoke about a half hour later, we were negotiating our way through the narrowest lanes imaginable and we had several hair-raising moments as smaller vehicles had to back all the way out of the roads to make room for us. Indeed, at one point, we were told by a passer-by that our long coach would never make it through a narrow passage ahead. He suggested we turn back and take a wider road even if that meant a longer route. At another point, we almost slammed into a van that stopped suddenly ahead of us as a car in front of him came to a stop in order to make a sharp right turn. I swear that it was only a hair’s breath that separated us from this van as the coach came to a halt several seconds after our driver slammed on the brakes! It was certainly not the most enjoyable of rides and a colleague even commented, “This castle had better be the best one in the world”.

Well, no one could have been disappointed. Though we did arrive at the charming village of Tintagel a little behind schedule and with a light spray still playing over the region, it was quite the most spectacular natural sight I have seen in my yearlong travels. For Tintagel Head juts out into the Atlantic Ocean over a steep promontory that is composed almost entirely of slate. The English Heritage maintains and manages the site and, thanks to some ingenious engineering, a pathway has been cut through the rock escarpment to allow visitors to access the ruins of the castle, the mansion and the little houses that belong to Arthurian Legend.

This site is not for the faint hearted as we needed to make our way down into a very low ravine first to get to the bottom where the Visitors Center in located. At this lowest point itself, the swirling waters of the ocean crash into rocks creating large caves that remain battered by the sea’s fury. The steps are repeatedly lashed by these jade green waves and scaling them takes courage and grit. At one point, you actually cross a bridge that connects the mainland with the tiny rocky island on which the majority of the ruins are to be found. All these locations make superb settings for photography and it is difficult to know where to stop in selecting sights for celluloid. To add to the mystery and the aura of the Arthurian legends, mist swirled softly around the peaks and a light spray from the churning waves cooled us off after the long climb.

Our students bounded along the steps, the setting making them light hearted as they were struck by the remoteness of the crags and the complete isolation of the pathway leading to the peaks. The steps were very high indeed and I had a hard time trying to climb them as strong winds whipped around us. Fortunately, it was not too cold and the climb to the top had served to warm me well. I did reach as far as the mansion of Earl Richard who was supposed to be the brother of King Arthur. I also saw the Great Hall of what would have been his mansion, the gateway leading to it–much of which was reconstructed in the 19th century when the pre-Raphaelites began to paint scenes from the stories of Thomas Malory’s 16th century work Morte D’Arthur which, in turn, led to Tennyson’s collection of Arthur poems called The Idylls of the King.



Of course, even as I surveyed the ruins in their fairy-tale setting, I was conscious of the fact that there is very little we know with historical certainty about King Arthur. Did he really exist? Is he a creation based on several different ancient Cornish kings of England? Very little archaeological evidence exists to answer these questions in any definitive way. What has been found at the site are Mediterranean pottery pieces that suggest strong trading links between England the Middle East in ancient times.



There was a great deal more I could have seen including the ruins of a walled garden and a little church at the very top, but somehow I did not trust my feet to carry me all the way to the peak. In fact, I was more afraid of making my way downhill and since we had a deadline for returning to the coach and I did not want to keep anyone waiting, I began the slow descent to the base reminded constantly, by the remoteness of the venue and the heights we had scaled, of Ireland’s Cliffs of Moher.

At the base, I had the pleasure of watching a film in the Visitors Center that gave some more information about the combination of myth and historical account that has led to the creation of the Arthurian Legends and the industry that they have spawned—if one went by the end-of-daybusiness being carried out in the little shops that comprise the village of Tintagel. I did visit a couple of them to purchase a magnet and some postcards, then poked my head into a bakery selling pasties and a tea room where a few of our students had settled themselves down with Cornish cream teas. I was too full to face the thought of another morsel for a while and looked forward to a good dinner instead, later in the day.

The bus ride back took us on the ‘Atlantic Highway’, a dual carriageway that ran through the length of Central Cornwall passing fairly close to Padstow en route. Back at the coach station at close to 6pm, I parted company with my colleagues and decided that it would be a good idea to stretch out and try to even get a short nap in my room at Sunnyside Hotel before we met in the lobby at 7. 30 pm for dinner.

When 7.30 pm approached, I prepared for dinner and meeting my colleagues in the hotel’s lobby, we decided to eat dinner at The New Harbor Restaurant where we had eaten last night. David and Alice bowed out, having consumed a light dinner earlier in the evening, leaving Valerie and me to find our way to the harbor and to settle ourselves at a table overlooking the boats on the dark and dimly lit waterfront.

A Seafood Dinner to Die For:

I ordered a scrumpy (apple cider) but the restaurant did not carry it. They suggested a pear cider instead made by a Cornish farm named Heany and never having tasted pear cider before, I was up for it. It was absolutely delicious and very refreshing indeed. Valerie had a glass of house white wine and ordered the Crab Trio that she had enjoyed yesterday (salad, bisque and timbale). I went for the Lobster and Prawn Cocktail which was very fresh and very good, crammed full of small prawns and lobster tail in a light mayonnaise dressing. For mains, both of us had the grilled cod with saffron mash and baby spinach in a saffron cream sauce—very fresh, very tasty and very hearty indeed. David joined us just when we were finishing our mains and ordered pudding. Since the sticky toffee pudding that Alice had ordered was so good yesterday, I decided to go with it and indeed it was great—with a generous dollop of Cornish clotted cream served alongside. This melted against the warmth of the pudding and formed a gooey mass in the toffee base. Ah, heavenly!

I was seriously worried that I would be too stuffed to make the long uphill trek to our hotel, but climb it I did and had only enough energy to complete this blog and throw myself on the bed for a good night’s rest.

Lecturing at the V&A, Visiting the Royal Academy of Art and a Posh Private Club

Mar8

Tuesday, March 3, 2009
London

Today was a day for museum hopping. Awaking, as usual, at 5 am, I did a lot of writing in bed, then called my nephew Arav in Bombay and spoke at the same time to his mother, my sister-in-law Lalita whose birthday it was. I also caught up with my brother Roger and told both him and Lalita that I had a new understanding of the kind of life they have led for over 20 years as cabin crew members with Air-India, for I have often felt like a stewardess myself this year as I have lived out of suitcases on my many jaunts and awoken in strange beds wondering, for a few seconds, in which part of the world I was.

Then, I had my yogurt and muesli breakfast at 7. 30am, showered, and left my flat by 9.15. Instead of bussing it, I took the Tube to South Kensington and arrived a little too early to start my 10 am gallery lecture at the Victoria and Albert Museum for my South Asian Studies students. I decided to explore the area that is fashionably known as “South Ken”, a stronghold of London’s French community, according to my Parisienne student, Julia Anderson.

And she was quite right. I passed by Jolie Fleur, a tres chic florist whose window displays were as beguiling as the ones you see all over France. There were any amount of cafés trottoirs (pavement cafes—yes even in the chill of late winter) selling filled baguettes and cafes au laits and even a delicatessen with a stock of typiquement French ingredients such as pate and saumon fume and cornichons, not to mention Proust’s famous madelienes! It was fun indeed to wander around this little corner of Gaul and I did wish I had more time especially to browse in the vintage stores—another time, perhaps.

I arrived at the V&A a few minutes after ten, but my students were nowhere to be seen. I settled down in the lobby (as that was our meeting spot) and awaited their arrival while admiring the stunning Dale Chihuly chandelier, which is one of my favorite pieces in the museum. It is funny but after having spent only a few days in this place, it feels like home to me—in the same way that the National Gallery and the Metropolitan Museum in New York do!

When at 10. 15, there was no sign of my students, I began to worry. Did I not make myself clear that we were to meet in the lobby? Had I make a mistake with the time? We were meeting at 10 and not at 11, right? With all these worries floating through my brain, I took a deep breath, decided to stay calm and wait patiently. It was possible that they were stuck in the Tube, wasn’t it? A few minutes later, they burst upon me, laughing and apologizing and sighing with relief, all at the same time. It seems that they had been waiting for me at a side entrance, not the main one. When we failed to connect, they had begun to panic!

Well, all was well, fortunately, that ended well, and we made our way to the Nehru Gallery of South Asian Art which I had studied a few weeks ago and where I took them through a brief history of Modern India as manifested by its art and craftsmanship. We examined Mogul and Rajasthani miniatures, Indian calico cottons, marble and wooden (jali) carvings, gold (jari) embroidered sarees and sheraras as worn by Muslim nobility, gold and bejeweled ornaments including turban pieces worn by men that were studded with emeralds, rubies and sapphires, wooden furniture inlaid with ivory (gifts from Indian royalty to East India Company officials), bidriware, enamelware, ivory furniture, a golden throne, Tipu’s famous Tiger, the jade drinking cup of Shah Jehan, and a host of other marvelous items that had them exclaiming and asking all kinds of very relevant questions. I also took them up to the museum’s jewelry galleries where they did some more exclaiming and finally, I led them to the café where the restaurant rooms featuring the work of William Morris, Poynter and Gamble are showpieces in themselves.

We parted company as they returned to campus for their next class while I took the bus home. While eating my lunch (Pizza Paradiso’s pizza), I finished watching 1947 Earth as I do want to start work on the lecture I am giving in Italy later this month based on this movie. Despite the fact that I have seen it so many times before, it never fails to brings tears to my eyes and I was deeply saddened, once again, by the end of the film in which the author Bapsi Sidhwa herself makes a cameo appearance.

Meanwhile, in the midst of all these things, I was also trying desperately to reach the Podiatry Clinic as I had finally received my letter in the mail informing me that a referral had been received on my behalf and that I was required to call and make an appointment. Except that though I tried more than 50 times (I know because the number of tries I made are recorded on my cell phone), I always got the message “User Busy” back! All day—I mean from 9. 30 am (when they opened) until 3.00 pm—it said “User Busy”. I am convinced that something was wrong with that line. But, get this, at 1. 10pm, when I finally did get through, I got Voice Mail, informing me that they were closed between 1.00 and 1.3 0 for lunch! At 1. 45, I got “User Busy” once again. It was enough to make me want to tear out my hair by the handful in frustration! I was keen to make the appointment as I would be in Cornwall for the next few days and wanted to get the business of fixing an appointment over with!!! In the end, I simply gave up. I guess I shall try again tomorrow.

Next, I turned to packing—or rather re-packing. Having decided to take my laptop with me, my backpack was inadequate and I had to move all my stuff into my duffel bag. This was swift work and by 3. 45 pm, I was heading out the door again, this time to the Royal Academy of Art to meet Rosemary who is a member there. She is privileged to use the museum for free and to take companions along as well. We had planned to meet there at 4. 15 and since I did not want to be late, I took the Tube again—as buses are very unreliable and do not work if one has an appointment to keep.

Though I have passed by the Royal Academy dozens of time in the bus, I had never been to this gallery and I have to say that I was floored by the splendor of the building. Its Neo-Classical quadrangle is grand in every sense of the term and the rather contemporary fountain in the center is the only element that clashes, I thought, with the dignity of the place. Like Rosemary, my taste is much too traditional and both of us would have preferred a cascading fountain in the center rather than the kind that spouts water sporadically from the ground (as also seen at Somerset House). A wonderful bronze sculpture of Sir Joshua Reynolds at the entrance is a very appropriate touch for, undoubtedly, he had much to do with the setting up of this venerable institution.

Rosemary and I were there to see the special exhibition on ‘Byzantium’. It is funny how I have learned to pronounce the word “Byzantine” the American way—I now say “Biz-en-teen’. It sounded odd to hear the very English Rosemary pronounce it as “By-zin-tyne”. Yet before I moved to American that was exactly how I would have pronounced it myself! While we were in the midst of the exhibition, I realized that I had seen quite a few of these pieces before in the Treasures of Saint Mark’s Basilica in Venice last March. In fact, the signature piece that is used on all the publicity posters–a very ornate censer in three different metals—silver, brass and copper—I do remember seeing with my friends Amy and Mahnaz when we were in Venice last year. Some of the pieces reminded me so much of the staggering beauty of the Pala D’Oro especially in the precious stones that were studded in the gold settings that formed the frames of some of the work.

The last rooms contained some magnificent icons that had arrived in London from the Benaki Museum in Athens, Greece, and from the Hermitage in St. Petersburg, Russia. They were superb and very exciting to examine as I have never really had the chance to study icons so closed and in such a large number. For me, this was certainly the highlight of the exhibition. I told Rosemary that I would like her to take me to the special exhibition that has just opened on Andrea Palladio, as coincidentally, I am, later this month, going to be staying in Vicenza, Italy, the city of Palladio, with my friend Annalisa Oboe, who lives there. While Llew, Chriselle and I have visited Annalisa in Vicenza before, this time I really do want to take careful notice of his ‘Palladian’ architecture that is showcased all over this city.

The museum closed at 6 pm and Rosemary suggested we go out for a drink as the evening was still young. It had started to drizzle by this time and since I had no umbrella, we shared her’s. Instead of hunting around for a pub in the rain, at her suggestion, we made our way down St. James’ Street towards her Club—The Royal Overseas League Club–where she has been a member for a while and her partner Christie Cherian is on the Board of Directors.

Indeed, the building was another one of those posh London residences that have been converted into private clubs or into hotels and in the lovely interior with its ornamental staircase, its portrait of the Queen and its beautiful flower arrangements, we ordered our drinks (a white wine for her, a Guinness for me) and settled down to one of our cozy chats. Rosemary ran into a friend called John Edwards to whom she introduced me as “her friend from New York” and John suggested that I take a look at a special exhibition in the foyer of oil paintings by an artist from New York.

Soon, it was time for us to leave as I had to wake up at 2. 15 am for my flight to Cornwall and at about 7. 30, we parted company and went our separate ways. Back home, I finalized the packing of my duffel bag, ate my dinner of Thai Green Curry (Chicken) with Tiramisu for dessert before I got ready for bed at 9 pm.

I called Llew and told him to call me at 9. 15 pm which would be 2. 15 am (my time), just in case my cell phone alarm did not go off, and on that note, I hit the sack.

British Library, Discovering Clerkenwell and Exploring the Tate Modern

Feb21

Saturday, Fenruary 21, 2009
London

Despite going to bed at 11. 30 pm last night, I awoke at 5 am, then forced myself to get back to sleep again as I am afraid that this lack of sleep might not be too good for my health! Luckily, I did doze off and woke up again at 6.45 am at which point my day’s work began.

I started off by drafting a longish response to the collaborative preparation online workshop in which all overseas NYU faculty are currently involved. Responses have been trickling in from Paris and Florence and with Karen having sent in her contribution from London, I thought it was about time I put in my ha’penny’s worth. It took longer than I expected, but it was finally done and I emailed it to my colleagues scattered around our satellite sites in Europe. A call to my parents in Bombay (to whom, for various reasons, I haven’t spoken for a few days) followed, after which I made a Eurostar booking for my trip to Belgium (I shall be visiting Brussels and Bruges) and a Youth Hostel booking for accommodation there. I followed this by another accommodation booking at St. Chrisgtopher’s Inn in Newquay, Cornwall, and finally got down to eating my breakfast while doing my Alternate Soaking–by which point it was a little after 9 am.

A shower followed soon after and then I was leaving my flat to catch the bus to the British Library where the Frank Anthony book that I am seeking is stocked. Only problem is that when I reached the Asian and African section where I have been carrying out the bulk of my reading, I discovered that the book is “off site” in Boston Spa, Yorkshire. Of course, I requested that it be sent to me here in London and since I expect it to arrive on Tuesday, I have earmarked that entire day for research and reading at the library itself–as I might only refer to the book for three days at the library itself.

When I walked out of the Library, the sun was shining gloriously and the world suddenly seemed spring-like. There was still a decided nip in the air but it did nothing to chill the spirits of the vast numbers of people that had taken to the streets to bask in its cheer. What a perfect morning for a walk, I thought, as I rode the bus back home (during which time Llew called me and we had a chat), dropped off my bag and other non-essentials, pulled on a baseball cap and my sunglasses, grabbed my book (24 Great Walks in London) and set off to discover nearby Clerkenwell.

And what a lovely morning I had! The walk is entitled “Monks, Murder and Masons” and it took me into what the book calls “London’s secret village”. Indeed, I would never have ventured into this part of the city were it not for the book and yet the area is in my own backyard! Starting right outside Farringdon Tube Station, it brought me to The Castle, a pub that has the unique distinction of owning two licenses–as a public house and as a pawnbroker! There are three gold balls outside the pub to proclaim this fact. The pawnbroking license was granted to The Castle by the Prince Regent (later George IV) who ran up a huge debt at a near-by cockfighting ring. In despair, he turned to the pub next door and asked the owner if he would accept his gold watch for a loan. Not recognizing his royal patron, the pub owner agreed and money changed hands. The next day, an envoy appeared at the pub with enough money to retrieve the watch and a pawnbroking license which the pub has proudly displayed ever since. I entered the pub to see a painting on the wall that depicts this fascinating story.

Going through a really narrow alleyway that was reminiscent of the novels of Dickens, I arrived at St. John’s Square under a stone gateway that Shakespeare would have known. This lovely gateway that dates from 1504 was once the main entrance to the Priory of the Knights Hospitallers of St. John. Following their dissolution, it became the Office of the Revels. Contemporary dramatists like Shakespeare and Marlowe would have brought their plays here to be licensed for public performance. By 1877, the space was acquired by the organization that evolved into the St. John’s Ambulance Brigade which has branches world-wide. I was able to take a quick look at the small but very interesting museum inside on the ground level though I could not mount the stairs leading to the opulent rooms upstairs, Those could only be visited through a guided tour that began at 2 .15 pm.

The walk continued towards St. James’ Church, Clerkenwell, but since it was closed, I could not visit it. It has been on this site since the Middle Ages but was rebuilt in the 18th century. Just past Clerkenwell Close, I arrived at the Middlesex Sessions Court, a beautiful and very impressive building that, by the middle of the 19th century, had become the busiest courthouse in England. When the courts moved elsewhere, the premises were occupied by the London Masonic Center. As if on cue, just as I arrived there, a stream of suited, booted and tied Freemasons poured out of the building, crossed the street and made their way to a pub at the corner for a noon day tipple.

I, on the other hand, crossed into Farringdon Lane and arrived at the most fascinating part of the walk–the Clerk’s Well–from where the entire area derived its name in the Middle Ages. You can actually see the well or spring which became known as Fons Clericorum. It once gushed forth abundantly and was popular among the locals clerks. Lost for centuries, the well was rediscovered in 1924. It lies below ground level and can be glimpsed through glass windows.

Once in the street called Hatton Garden, the center of London’s diamond district, I found myself gazing at the Police Court that provided the inspiration for a scene in Dickens’ Oliver Twist–though the modern offices on the ground floor belie any of its Victorian antecedents. From there, it was on to The Bleeding Heart Tavern where we once had dinner with Karen and Douglas when Llew was visiting London. The gruesome story that gives the pub its name is probably more a result of legend than reality.

In another five minutes, I was back home for lunch (soup and noodles from Wagamama) and taking a much-needed nap. I wasn’t so much drowsy as tired and decided that a few mintues shut-eye would do me a world of good. I woke up about a half hour later, got dressed and set out again–this time to see the Tate’s Modern collection on the South Bank as the museum stays open until 10 pm on Fridays and Saturdays.

I caught the bus to St. Pau’s, then crossed the Millennium Bridge on foot, astonished at the huge crowds that appeared like black ants ahead of me on the bridge. Clearly, the excellent weather had contributed to the presence of spring fever for people were prancing around light-heartedly and taking pictures galore of the urban scenes on both banks. Within a couple of minutes, by 5.00pm, I was in the gallery gazing upon the gigantic spider in the Main Turbine Hall. This recreation based on the original by Louise Bourgeois made every visitor who entered the gallery stop dead in his tracks and gaze upon the humongous creation.

I decided to spend my time taking in the museum’s permanent collection most of which is on the 3rd and 5th floors. But before I began, I took the lift up to the seventh floors for some of the most gorgeous city views. In fact, on the seventh floor, the viewer is at a height that is almost parallel to the dome of St. Paul’s whose impact is just stunning. I got some really lovely pictures from this angle of the glistening Thames and the large number of sailing craft that plied its waters.

Really pleased with my pictures (because every other time I have been to the Tate the weather has been gloomy and my pictures have appeared suitably grey), I started my exploration of the collection. Among the many famous works that dot the galleries, the one that most struck me was entitled ‘Thirty Pieces of Silver” by Cornelia Parker to whose work I became introduced just a couple of weeks ago at the V&A Museum when I saw her suspended work entitled ‘Breathless’. That one was composed of a collection of trombones, clarinets, trumpets and other wind instruments that she had flattened and then strung from the ceiling where they swung gently like one of Alexander Calder’s mobiles. This one, composed of thousands of pieces of silver that she acquired from junk shops was flattened out by a steam roller. She then composed thirty vignettes comprising trophy cups, cutlery, platters, etc. and has strung them from the ceiling where they simply mesmerized me as they seemed to do some many other visitors. Indeed, a whole large gallery has been devoted to this breathtaking piece of Modern Art with which I found myself connecting instantly. I was also pleased to find Roy Lichtenstein’s “Wham” on display–this is one of Marina Versey’s 100 Masterpieces of Art. I have been trying to see every single one of them in the various musuems around the world where they are on display.

It was 8 pm when I finally finished seeing the permanent collection. I was tired but not exhausted as I had the good sense to use one of the compact folding stools available for the museum’s aged visitors. It proved to be very helpful to me and as I crossed the Millennium Bridge and took the bus back home, I could not help but think how wonderful a day I had spent.

If the weather holds out like this, Stephanie and I will have a lovely time tomorrow–but given the lousy weather we’ve been having for the past three Sundays, I am not holding my breath, and I am sure, neither is she.

Pausing in Portsmouth

Feb20

Friday, February 21, 2009
Winchester and Portsmouth

The Hampshire landscape still looked rather autumnal–a blanket woven of beige and sandy hues–as we made the half hour drive from Winchester to Portsmouth. I was a little surprised at how large Portsmouth is–I guess I expected another little dinky town like Winchester! But, of course, I was aware that Portsmouth has been the head quarters of the Royal British Navy for a long while. In fact, Llew and I had visited Portsmouth many years ago though we did not really get as far as the historic dockyard. This probably had to do with the fact that neither one of us is a seafarer and navy history has not been our cup of tea.

So it wasn’t with huge excitement that I alighted from the coach with my students and received the tickets (priced at 18.50 pounds for all attractions) that gave us free run of the area. Unlike Winchester, where there weren’t many kids to be seen, this place had attracted a large number of families out at Half-Term Week to see a bit of their historic landmarks. And possibly because my expectations were so low, I was completely bowled over by everything I saw and the guided tours we took. Robert Pinkerton had handed me tickets that allowed us to board the H.M.S. Victory at 3. 30 pm for a guided tour–this allowed us an hour to see the rest of the complex which includes a number of museums and special exhibits and the hull of the Mary Rose, a Tudor ship that was Henry VIII’s favorite war ship.

The harbor is dominated by a modernist structure that, for a moment, made me believe I was in Dubai for it resembles the facade of the Al-Burj Hotel. This one at Portsmouth is the Spinnacre Tower, its newest attraction. I saw people on the two highest floors and I can imagine how stunning a view they must receive, on a clear day, of the sea, the Isle of Wight and the southern English countryside. Alas, I had no time to find out for myself, as I did want to see the Mary Rose.

Again, I have to say that I wasn’t sure what to expect. The ship had been built in 1534 and by 1550, it had sunk on one of its skirmishes with the French. It was only a few years ago that sonar technology made the location of the wreck definite and elaborate arrangements were made to bring it to the surface. The ship had broken in two along its cross section and a portion was rescued from the sea bed with everything it contained (including the skeleton of a dog who had been trapped in a door as the ship went down). These items are displayed in the Mary Rose Museum (which I found fascinating and in which I would have loved to have spent more time).

However, just gazing at the wreck itself (now in dry dock and undergoing conservation) was enough to raise the hairs on my neck. I recalled all the lines from the sea faring novels and comic books I have read (“Shiver my timbers, boy…who told you to come out of the crow’s nest?”) and I was enthralled. The audio guides that were provided upon arrival gave great detail about Tudor life at sea, about sea warfare and about the raising of the ship. It was indeed quite brilliant and time flew so quickly that before I knew it, I had to join my class for the tour of the H.M.S. Victory.

This ship, quite splendidly refurbished and impeccably maintained in rust and black paint, was the vessel upon which Lord Nelson breathed his last during the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805–one of England’s most decisive sea victories. I joined a group of about thirty students and was placed in the charge of a guide who was poker faced and had the most dead pan expressions as he mouthed his monologues. But then, later, I realized, that he was probably trained to remain detached as the information he disclosed was so astonishing as to make me feel squeamish on more than one occasion.

A tour of the ship taught us a great deal about naval life in the 18th and 19th centuries and most of it was shocking. Examples: the sailors caught rats in the galleys below deck, sold them among themselves and used them to supplement their frugal shipboard diets; the ship’s doctor (known very appropriately as the surgeon-barber) had a range of instruments that looked as if they belonged in a carpenter’s chest–and this surgery was performed without any anaesthesia at all and while the patient was stone sober; after being flogged repeatedly, even for minor misdemeanors, with a cat ‘o nine tails (I finally discovered after I saw one why this whip is so-called), the miscreant was sent down to a doctor who, in an attempt to keep infection off his torn and skinned back, rubbed salt and vinegar into his wounds–you can see why I was squeamish and thought my knees would buckle. The sado-masochism of the captains and bosons of the time was touched on and I felt truly glad that I did not live in those often inhuman times!

A large part of the tour involved Nelson. We saw the spot on the deck at which he was hit by a bullet that went through his shoulder, punctured a lung, shattered a couple of his ribs and tore through his spine. His blood-stained clothing was striped off (and is now the chief exhibit of the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich where I had seen it last Setpember). He was then taken below deck and attended by the ship’s surgeon and its captain, the famous Hardy, all of whom knew, of course, that there was nothing that could be done for him. As he lay dying, he received the news of victory and said, “Thank God, I have done my duty”. Earlier he had motivated his crew by declaring, “England expects that each man will do his duty”. About three hours later, he died requesting Hardy to kiss him, a line into which much more than was intended has been read. There is a very good painting that depicts his final moments (but without much historic accuracy as most of these romanticized versions of such occasions are) and which made a fine backdrop for the telling of the tale. I have to say that from the first word the guide uttered to the last, I was completely engaged.

The tour also included a visit to the very bottom of the ship were gunpowder was stored in huge barrels in a copper lined chamber and to the ballast area where the ship’s stores were maintained. I learned more about naval warfare and the seafaring life on this single hour-long tour than I think I have ever learned anywhere else and I was hugely grateful that I took it.

On my way out, I rushed through the Mary Rose Museum once more to see the original canons and guns that had been brought ashore and to hold in my hands an original cannon ball from the wreck–which gave me a massive kick! I can see why the venue is so popular with kids (especially boys) whose excitement was palpable and infectious and made me think of my young days in the company of my own parents as a little girl visiting places of educational interest in Bombay.

On my way back in the bus, I read the final chapters of The Prisoner of Azkaban which became extraordinarily complicated as the story reached its denouement. The miles flew past as outside my window a salmon and acquamarine sky indicated sundown and the end of another active, fascinating and hugely educational day of my life in the United Kingdom.

I arrived home at 7. 30 after seeing my students safely in their dorms, then spent about four hours on my PC catching up with email and planning some future trips to Paris and Belgium.

I then went to bed at 11. 30 pm. on a very happy note having received news by email that Chriselle was granted leave from work, has booked her tickets on American Airlines and will be here in London with me during the first week of May! The weather will be so much nicer at that time and I would like to make some plans for what will probably be our very last mother-daughter trip before she gets married. I am almost besides myself with joy at the prospect.

An Uneventful Day…Except for Travel Planning

Feb16

Monday, February 16, 2009
London

Today was a fairly uneventful day. But for the fact that I taught two Writing classes, met with one student during my lunch break during which time I also squeezed in a meeting to sort out the details of our proposed trip to Suffolk, nothing much happened.

I did visit the large Jessops Camera store on Oxford Street to find out if they could help me fix my camera. Not only would they take 4-6 weeks to do this, but they said the charge would be 120 pounds! Given that our camera is about 9 years old, the salesman told me it was not worth it at all. At any rate, I have managed to find a way to keep it working even though it will not be most convenient. This has taken the worry out of the problem for me and I have now laid it to rest.

My meeting with Alice at NYU led to the finalizing of our plans for our student trip into Constable Country. We’ve now decided to include the medieval town of Lavenham in our itinerary. We will be headed to Dedham, East Bergholt, Flatford Mill on the River Stour and then on to Lavenham in Suffolk. It promises to be a fun-filled day.

I also had a chance to talk with Robert about our forthcoming trip to Cornwall and have a better idea now about our itinerary there. We will be making our base at Newquay, visiting the Eden Project and Tintagel, legendary castle-home of King Arthur, and Boscastle. I have decided that since a whole day will be spent by my students on the bus getting to Cornwall, I will go two days earlier and see some more of the region on my own. I am keen to visit St. Ives, for instance, where the Tate St. Ives and the Barbara Hepworth Museum are worth a visit as well as the town of Penzance (made famous by Gilbert and Sullivan in their opera The Pirates of Penzance). I will then head to Newquay and meet the bus when it arrives with the students late on Friday evening.

In an attempt to find transport to Cornwall, I went online and through Ryanair found a free (yes, Free) ticket to Newquay. Inclusive of taxes, my ticket cost one penny but because I made the booking online with my credit card, I had to pay 5 pounds! I will now get on the phone tomorrow and make accommodation arrangements for myself for two nights at the same hotel where NYU will be putting me up for the two nights that I will be spending there with my students.

I also managed to find myself accommodation in Paris through a French student of mine and since I am keen to experience the Chunnel, I went online to the Eurostar website and found some incredible fares. I am looking at spending a week in Paris somewhere during the first or second week in June when the weather will be much nicer and the responsibilities of teaching will be behind me. Now all I have to do is find another week somewhere on my calendar to be spent in Belgium–and with that I would have achieved almost all my international travel goals for the year.

I spent a good part of the evening photocopying material from my travel books for the trip I am taking this coming Friday with my students to Winchester and Portsmouth and to all the other spots that Stephanie and I intend to visit at the weekends. That and a bunch of other things that needed to be photocopied kept me busy for another hour, long past my office hours.

It was a very mild day and everyone looked cheerful even though the sun was in hiding all day today. I am amazed to see daffodil stalks sticking their heads out of the ground already–a sight that would be unthinkable in the States in the middle of February. I know that spring comes early to England (“Oh to be in England/ Now that Spring is here!”) but now that I am already spying the little signs that herald its arrival, I am fairly bristling with excitement.

I got back home to sort out all that material that I had copied and to organize it and watch a bit of TV and eat my dinner before I settled down for the night.

I am excited about waking tomorrow to the inauguration of a new channel on TV called ‘Blighty’ which promises to present programs about the quirkiest aspects of British life and culture. It should be, as they would say here, not just brilliant, but loads of fun.

Tomorrow I am also planning to go and do something I have never done before in London–Viewing the Changing of the Guards. I am particularly keen to view this spectacle while the guards are in their winter togs of knee-length grey coats and if I want to get some pictures featuring this garb, I will have to hurry as there doesn’t seem to be much of winter left, is there?

A Day Devoted to Berlin’s Jews

Jan31

Friday, January 30, 2009
Berlin

A Jewish History of Berlin:
I devoted this final day in Berlin to retracing the history of the European Jew and leaving the apartment at 9 am (after a breakfast of coffee and purchased chocolate croissants), I took a bus down Ku-Damm to Checkpoint Charlie as I wanted to get some pictures there. Since it was still rather early, there were few tourists about and I was able to get the kind of angles I wanted without too much traffic tearing down the streets.

In fact, one of the things that occurred to me about Berlin was how little traffic there was—I was never caught in a jam anywhere—and how smoothly it moved. Of course, everyone seemed to be driving a spiffy German car—there were Mercedes Benz-es and Audis coming out of my ears! And the roads were smooth as silk so that even the double decker buses glided over them effortlessly. I later found out that not many Berliners own cars as their public transport is so fabulous—as indeed I discovered for myself. It is easy to feel as if you are transported to the mid-50s in the lack of cars on the roads.

At Checkpoint Charlie:
I paid one euro to the German guy who is licensed to masquerade as an American GI so I could pose with him at Checkpoint Charlie! There is also another kiosk where for another euro you can get your passport stamped with any of the visas of the pre-1989 era that were required if passengers were crossing the border from one part of divided Germany into the other. Much as I felt tempted to have my passport stamped with one of those visa stamps, I found it hard to accept that the man is ‘licensed’ to perform this operation in a real passport! I did not have the time to visit the Checkpoint Charlie Museum nearby which details the stories of the many escapees who crossed the border using the most ingenious of means.

The Jewish Historic Museum:
Then began my long walk to the Jewish Historic Museum. This quite recent addition to the Berlin skyline is the design of American Jewish architect Daniel Libeskind who has designed a structure that is supposed to look like the Star of David turned inside-out. To call it sheer genius would be an understatement. It is so superbly conceived and so amazingly implemented—here again my engagement and connection with the Modernist architecture took me by surprise, but I marveled with each step I took further and further into the building which is something of a maze. It’s a good thing that a lot of young volunteer guides are around to help you find your way to a particular exhibit. In the basement, for instance, I visited the Holocaust Tower—a structure which represents various things to various people. It is a tall column that you enter underground. You will find yourself in an unlit and unheated space (and believe me, the contrast in temperatures is striking at any time of year). The only light is natural—coming from a small slit in the walls. It represented for me the entrapment of the prisoners in the various concentration camps around Europe and their inability to escape.

I then stepped into the Garden of Exile, a series of granite columns with olive trees growing at the top—olives, of course, symbolizing the Promised Land. Of course, since this was the wrong time of year to be visiting a garden, I merely took a peek at it, but again the concepts behind these creations were just staggering.

Taking the elevator to the top floor, I got off in the Medieval section which details the persecutions that Jews encountered throughout history. In this section, I was able, through a computer, to see my name written in Hebrew and to get a print out of it which really tickled me—what an unusual souvenir! If time had permitted, I would have gone minutely through every one of the mementoes on display from various epochs in history, but I had a great deal to cover and my next port of call was the underground Holocaust Memorial. By this time, I had become so familiar with the layout of the city through my maps and taking the buses, that I felt very much at ease and did not need to ask anyone for directions to get anywhere.

The Underground Holocaust Memorial:
The Holocaust Memorial is also rather ingeniously planned. You take a stair well that leads into a darkened space underground which details the losses suffered by about six European Jewish families during the insanity of the Holocaust. Of course, having been to Dachau (about 22 years ago) and more recently to Auschwitz-Birkenau on a trip to Eastern Europe, I had decided not to visit the Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp which lies a few miles outside of Berlin. And I was familiar with the ruthlessness of the Nazi machinery that rounded up Jews from all over Europe and herded them off to the camps where they were forced to labor under atrocious conditions and eventually gassed to death. But to see this part of history presented so vividly through photographs and diary jottings and postcards is always so heart breaking that I was often in tears.

In Chocolate Heaven:
Taking the bus again, I went out in search of a cheering cup of hot chocolate at Fassbender and Rausch near the Gendarmenmarkt and I settled myself by a window that overlooked the imposing dome of the Cathedral and ordered myself a Black Forest Chocolate pastry (I love the name in German—Schwartzwalden Torte!) and a cup of Ecuadorian dark hot chocolate which was laced with Chilli! It was quite the most unusual and delicious hot chocolate I’ve had (the best one still remains the hot chocolate Chriselle and I had at Cukracavalimonada, a restaurant in Prague!). The pastry was amazing—the cherries, soaked in kirsche—cherry liqueur—were frozen into the pastry and they burst into my mouth in what seemed like small shots!

Coffee at KaDeWe:
Then, I was hurrying off to KaDeWe where I had made 3 pm coffee plans with my English friend and colleague Catherine Robson who is on a year long Fellowship at a university in Berlin finishing up her next book. Catherine was awaiting me when I got there and we made our way to the Food Halls again settling down with peppermint tea by the picture windows to gaze upon the rooftops of Berlin—not a very pretty sight!

Catherine and I caught up for an hour before she hurried off to do some shopping while I went back down to the entrance to await the arrival of Anja who returned from Munich that morning and had made plans to spend the evening with me. She arrived there within five minutes and we were off after she had secured her bicycle to a tree stump (that’s another thing—bicycles are ubiquitous in Berlin even in the winter!).

Exploring Berlin’s Lesser-Known Parts with Anja:
Anja got on to the bus with me and took me to the furthest point of the city, way in the East, which she told me was a bit like Greenwich Village in New York. This area was left untouched by the war and the buildings that line the street are pre-War—the entire area retains its early-20th century ambience and it was marvelous to stroll through a part of Germany that is being preserved almost like a memorial to those years before colossal personal ambition changed the world for the worse. The area is lined with cafes, restaurants, boutique shops and cultural centers, art galleries and the like. We found ourselves a cute café (Café de Paris) to have another cup of coffee and then we were on the S-Bahn making our way back to Charlottenburg as I wanted to take Anja out for dinner and she recommended a place called Engelbecken that served Bavarian food as Anja is from Munich!

A Bavarian Dinner in Charlottenberg:
Needless to say, I was exhausted by this point as finding the restaurant involved a long walk from the S-Bahnhof (railway station) and I had spent the entire day on my feet! I was grateful when the waiter found us a table and we settled down with the equivalent of a Shandy and ordered wild boar casserole with knoddel (potato casserole) and a salad of mixed greens. Anja opted for a veal roast with spaztel (a German thick pasta, somewhat similar to gnocchi). The food was absolutely delicious and since I do not go to restaurants when I am traveling alone, I always welcome the company and the opportunity to eat good local food with someone who can guide me on what to order and how to eat it. We had a fabulous evening together and were able to catch up and make plans to meet again, next in Padua in Italy where I have been invited to give a lecture in March—Anja will be in Venice at the same time!

Anja decided to spend the night with me in Anneke’s apartment—which was a huge relief to me as I had to leave the apartment really early the next morning to take the S-Bahn to Schonefeld airport and I was grateful for her company. She, poor thing, was exhausted after her own return from Munich and the hectic week she had spent there (she is an art historian doing a rather late Ph.D. on an Italian Renaissance Venetian artist) and would have rather been in her own bed, no doubt. We continued chatting late into the night and finally nodded off to sleep.