Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Two Relatively Uneventful Days

Monday and Tuesday, September 29 and 30, 2008
London

Spent almost every minute of the last two days at home, save for this evening (Tuesday) when I stepped out to our NYU campus to see This is England, Shane Meadows' brilliant film about Thacherite England during the Falklands War.

Yesterday was beautifully sunny. Tempting though it was to get outdoors, I had too much catching up to do after my weekend in Liverpool. Checked my Barcelona itinerary for this coming weekend, making my easybus booking to Stanstead airport and back, wrote my Liverpool travelogue (which I put on this blog), downloaded, edited and captioned all my photographs, made a few pending calls, etc. and before I knew it, my day was done.

Another interesting aspect about yesterday was watching a crew of city maintenance guys at work. Sometime during the weekend, in my absence, someone mowed down two adjoining telephone booths across the street on which I live. When I poked my head out in the morning, I saw them still standing but dangerously tilted backwards, a pile of shattered glass lying all around them. By about 10 am, two sweepers had the glass neatly swept into a pile. About noon, the maintenance crew arrived with two trucks, one of which they pulled up on the pavement, the other they left on the road. They erected a protective barrier around the booths and set to work.

I had no idea what they intended to do. Did they propose to repair the booths? Little did I expect them to do what they ended up doing. As the afternoon wore on, the irritating sounds of drilling wafted up to my windows and I shut them to be able to continue working in peace. From time to time, I stuck my head out to see how far they had progressed. By 5 pm, they had achieved nothing very substantial. At 5. 30pm, they stopped to eat their meal from styrofoam containers, not having done very much at all.

Then, after 6 pm, work began in earnest. One of the trucks contained a crane and to my astonishment, they hauled up each booth and got it to lie horizontally on the truck. When both booths were on their backs on the floor of the truck, they began to work on the pavement. This continued until about 9 pm. by which time darkness had fallen and the human traffic on the pavement dwindled down to almost nothing. Since the truck covered the spot, I could not see what they doing. At any rate, by 10pm, I retired for the night, leaving them still at work.

When I awoke this morning, it was as if the telephone booths had never been there at all. The only tell-tale signs on the pavement were five flagstones that had been neatly placed in the spot where the booths used to be. They were new and whiter than the dark brown flagstones surrounding them. It had taken the crew one whole day to get the work done, but at the end of the day, they had done a great job, even if they lingered through normal working hours in order to push the clock after 6 pm allowing themselves, undoubtedly, to claim overtime allowances. I realized that maintenance crews are the same all over the world. Working without supervision, they make a packet swindling the municipal administrations everywhere in their attempts to squeeze as much money out of the system as possible. Sigh!

This morning dawned wet and overcast and I was glad I stayed home to prepare my classes for Thursday. In the evening, I walked to campus and saw Meadows' movie that can boast some masterful performance particularly from Thomas Trusgood, the 10 year old kid who had never acted in his life until he appeared at the audition and told the casting director that he would do the film for five pounds. It was exactly that brand of cockiness and braggadocio that the director wanted his character Sean to portray and the rest is history. The film is so superbly directed that at no point do you believe that the characters are acting--they are naturalness personified and I was riveted throughout. But for the difficulty I had following those Nottingham accents--which, incidentally, lent terrific authenticity to the script--I loved every second of it and would heartily recommend it to anyone interested in seeing quality contemporary British cinema.

I am also pleased to have found out that the weekly TV program is available with the Sunday Mail which I purchased on Sunday in Liverpool in order to get my hands on the free CD that came with the paper--Ten Tenors singing some of the most famous arias of all time. The bonus in the magazine inside was ten pages of recipes from Nigella Lawson's new book and some mouthwatering pictures of the domestic diva who was also on the cover. I seem to be slowly entering into the spirit of my new life in London what with discovering its Sunday papers and learning to recognize its celebrities--Jamie Oliver, Kylie Minogue, Lawrence, Llewellyn-Bowen, Charles Saatchi and Sienna Miller. I am afraid I might suffer reverse cultural ignorance by the time I return to the USA.

Another warming thought is that my next door neighbor Tim, a software designer, knocked on my door this evening to invite me to lunch on Sunday in his flat that he shares with his wife Barbara Cookson, an attorney. I had to sadly decline as I will be in Barcelona for the weekend, but I promised him that I would get in touch upon my return. I also found a message awaiting me on my machine (or 'answer phone' as they say in the UK) from my friend Michelle wanting to know if I was getting on OK. How thoughtful of her!

Who said the English are reserved? I don't seem to be doing too badly myself in making and keeping friends here.

Monday, September 29, 2008

Liverpool at Leisure (Continued)

Sunday, September 28, 2008
Liverpool

Another glorious day! The Liverpudlians were pleased. They informed us that we had brought the good weather with us.

Breakfast at the Holiday Inn was a Continental affair--Carb Central with Caffeine thrown in for good measure. I had slept like a baby and jumped up on discovering that it was 8 am. I knew that if I snoozed for another ten minute, I'd miss our ferry ride.

An hour later, showered and having repacked, I was at the YHA in Liverpool, stashing my backpack into the bus and walking across the main road towards the ferry dock. We boarded the 11 am ferry across the Mersey that the commentary informed us was "one of the most famous ferry rides in the world". Indeed, there has been a ferry across this river since the 12th century.

From the get go, it is easy to see why this city became the second most prosperous after London, Indeed, there is every sign of commercial activity on its waterfront, culminating in the Three Graces, the name for the trio of buildings that give the city its most recognizable waterscape.
We had heard the story of the famous Liver Birds (I had always wondered where that TV show from the 70s got its name!) atop the Royal Liver (pronounced Lie-ver) Building. They were made by a sculptor who meant to create a pair of eagles since those formed the seal of King John who have the city trading rights. Only he had never seen an eagle himself, so ended up creating a bird he had frequently come upon--a cormorant! The two birds, fixed on top like giant weather wanes (one staring upon the horizon for incoming sailors), the other turned towards the city and representing the sailor's search for the pubs, so the joke goes!) is an instant landmark. Right besides it, is the Cunard Building built in imitation of a Venetian pallazzo and next to it is the domed expanse of the Liverpool Port Headquarters. Just behind it is the red and white striped "streaky bacon" building that houses the offices of the White Star Lines, the ones that managed the Titanic. It was from the balconies overlooking the main street that the announcements about the sinking of the Titanic were made to the hundreds who had congregated below to find out the fate of their loved ones, many of whom had been aboard as part of the ship's crew.

Along the Mersey are the huge warehouses through which the country's merchandise once passed and cargoes from all over the world were unloaded. A running commentary gave us peaks into the history of the Mersey and the role it played in the development of Liverpool. I was able to catch only occasional snatches of this as an unruly group of pensioners who seriously believed they were at their own private party made boisterous jokes and dissolved into loud and annoying laughter at frequent intervals right in front of me. Despite changing my seat and moving closer to the speakers, I only caught an occasional passing gem. As Billy Bryson says in his book Notes from a Small Island, you do have to listen to Gerry and the Pacemakers sing Ferry Cross the Mersey (at least I think that's the name of the song, but it could possibly have another title) as the boat sails along, but I thought it added to the charm rather than proved annoying. I half expected to see Bryson standing somewhere on board and grinning cheerfully at me. The ferry made two stops on the opposite side of the river allowing passengers to disembark to see the historic heritage trail on the other side in Bootle and Birkenhead before it returned us to the Dock in fifty minutes.

With three hours to spare before we boarded the coaches to take us back to London, I rushed off along Victoria Street to the massive Neo-Classical buildings amassed around the Empire Theater. The Beatles Story on Albert Dock was an incessant attraction and I wondered whether or not I should fork out the 12 .50 pounds to see it. Then, I decided to go to the Walker Art Gallery instead where I spent the next hour taking in its small but very significant collection of paintings and sculpture dating from the Medieval period to the present. It certainly does have some arresting work in the form of Reubens, Rembrandt self-portraits and a very interesting clutch of Pre-Raphaelite Paintings including several by Frederick, Lord Leighton. It also carries special exhibitions and while I was there, it featured the prize winners of the John Moores Art Prize, some of which were revolutionary but memorable.

However, to my mind, the highlight of this museum is the City Scapes exhibition by contemporary artist Ben Johnson whose portrayal of Liverpool was quite the most stunning thing I saw on my entire trip. Using a complicated technological process that involved the taking of hundreds of photographs and the creation of countless graphic images, Johnson and a team of artists have re-created Liverpool with its landmark buildings and its singular skyline in the same way that he has done images of Hongkong, Jerusalem and Zurich--all of which were also on display. I truly wish I had more time to linger and understand the process that went into his creation of this wonder, but I needed to see the interior of the George Concert Hall and I also contemplated entering the World Museum to see a special exhibit called The Beat Goes On.

Well, the George Concert Hall, the imposing Neo-Classical building in yellow sandstone with its towering Greek pillars, was closed to the public because a special event on Brides 2008 was on. Well, I am no bride but I was determined to sneak a peak at the floor that is set with Minton tiles and I was going to make that happen no matter what. As it turned out, I found an entrance that was less secure than the rest and in I nipped and what a sight awaited me there! If you think the outside is imposing, try taking in the interior. It was one of the most ornate things I have ever seen with chandeliers, intricate plasterwork, classical Greek paintings, a bunch of sculptural figures, the famous Minton tiled floor and an abundance of other decorative details, too numerous to describe. I also managed to get a few cake samples being distributed by the wedding cake makers who had stalls inside the show case and were eager to distribute them.

My next stop was the World Museum where I headed straight up to the second floor to see the exhibit on the musicians who since the 1950s put Liverpool on the music map. While most of the world is aware that the Beatles were born, first made music and were discovered in Liverpool, few know that Gerry and the Pacemakers and Cilla Black also hailed from Liverpool and contributed to the "Merseybeat" for which the city has been known over the past fifty years. In fact, it was GIs from America arriving in Liverpool during the war who brought rock and roll with them to the city and infused it with the beat to which it kept swinging for the next half century. This was made known to me through all kinds of musical memorabilia from the period and what's more, it was all free. Now I could have seen The Beatles Story and paid good money for it, but instead here I was looking at Beatles memorabilia (the medals worn by the group on the Sergeant Pepper Lonely Hearts Club Album, the grey suits that manager Brian Epstein had designed for them to give them a wider, more sedate appeal, etc.) and soaking it all in while also looking at dresses worn by Cilla Black and a whole host of other musicians of that era. It was truly wonderful and I loved every minute of it.

Out on the street, I dashed into Subway past busy Queen Street full of Sunday shoppers and their bulging bags to pass by the famous Cavern Club where the Beatles had their start. Though long closed, this is another stop on the Beatles Tour and I was glad I caught a glimpse of it. Then I bought myself a hero to eat in the coach and just managed to make the long walk back to the YHA.

The coach journey back to London was uneventful (I slept through most of it anyway) and gratefully used the facilities at the Warwick motorstop before we arrived in the city about 9 pm.

Liverpool is undergoing the kind of resurgence of which most cities can only dream. My visit to it was fruitful and exciting and left me with the fullest satisfaction of having seen a city through its ups and downs and of having experienced its fluctuating fortunes. I can only hope that the students whom I accompanied on this trip enjoyed it as much as I did.

Liverpool at Leisure

September 27, 2008
Liverpool, UK

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friday, September 26, 2008

Hello Dr. G!

Friday, September 26, 2008
London

My friend, Dr. G, alias Firdaus Gandavia from Bombay, is here in London! I am so thrilled to see him! But for the fact that he was traveling from Brighton this morning and arrived at my place only at 12. 45, we could have taken the Oxford Tube and hotfoooted it to Oxford where we first spent a memorable summer 22 years ago.

Still, I had to be content with the one day he could spare with me in London in-between his travels in Portugal, Brighton and Hampstead. Felcy, my new maid, arrived this morning to clean my flat so it was quite spotless by the time Firdaus appeared. I had rustled up a salad in an attempt to finish up all the vegetables in my fridge since I am away for the weekend in Liverpool. So in went the lettuce and broccoli, blue cheese and walnuts in a mustard vinaigrette. I pulled out a Beef Lasagne from the freezer and two pots of stickey toffee pudding which I served with Sainsbury's custard.

We caught up over appetisers--Waitrose fruit bread served with Gorgonzola cheese and hummus and Praline Spread from Le Pain Quotidien and glasses of red wine. Our meal was delicious and before long, we were off, intending to walk up to Hyde Park and to spend an afternoon on the Serpentine. Alas, that did not happen as our rambles were rather slow. I took Firdaus to campus to show him our NYU premises and my basement office and as we dodged the shoppers on Oxford Street and found the odd items he was seeking in Marks and Sparks, we realized that it was time time for him to return to his friends in Hampstead.

So we turned back and I said a goodbye to Firdaus, hoping to see him again in Bombay this coming January. After his departure, I sat on the phone with the helpdesk at Optimum Online and think that I have managed to synchronize my Outlook and webmail and, hopefully, now my online correspondence will go more smoothly. This took over an hour, after which I packed my backpack for my trip to Liverpool.

Rosemary called this morning to invite me to join her and a few friends for dinner at Malabar Junction this evening and I gladly accepted. And because I do not fancy the idea of waking up at 5 .15 am tomorrow to board the Liverpool coach at NIDO at 6 am, I requested my student Sarah Walsh to permit me to spend the night in her room as she has no roommate. She gladly agreed and Rosemary will drop me off to NIDO tonight. So glad that everything has been sorted out.

I am looking forward to a good time in Liverppool though my back pain is rather disabling and I am taking Crocin and applying Iodex to find relief. The weather promises to be fabulous all weekend long, so we should have a good time in Beatles Country!

Browsing around the British Museum

Thursday, September 25, 2008
London

Another perfect day, weather-wise. I couldn't resist the thought of conducting another class in the gardens at Bedford Square, so I marched my students out into the cheerful sunshine and settled down on the grass with them, Vince Libasci lending me his hoodie, a la Sir Walter Raleigh, to spread beneath me! Who said chivalry is dead?

The class went off so well. Earlier that day, Vince had made a presentation on my essay on "Piano and Other Lessons" from The Way We Were and he did a really competent job of it, not to mention the sensitive reading that the students brought to it in the form of interpreting symbols like the piano. I covered the Sepoy Mutiny and together with the information I am gleaning from Dalrymple's White Moghuls, this course is proving to be so interesting to teach and, I hope, to take.

My Writing Class at Birkbeck in the afternoon plodded along a little bit and for the first time I felt that the three hour stretch was a bit much to fill. Still, I think I managed to keep it interesting till the end. The students seem to enjoy the workshopping session best of all as it gives them a chance to review each other's work and comment on it as well as seek ways to improve their own writing through their peers.

I spent an hour in my office (Office Hours) during which time I did internet research on Barcelona where I will be going next weekend. I miss having my local Westport Library at hand from which I used to borrow travel books each time I planned a trip. I haven't even done anything yet with planning our trip in November to Greece, so next week, I will need to get cracking on that.

At 6 pm, on my way home, I decided that since the British Museum had late-evening hours on Thursday and Friday, I would nip in there to spend an hour browsing through some of the rooms. After all, I have been here in the UK for almost a month and I haven't yet visited the British though I pass it regularly on my way to and from campus.

The Hadrian Special Exhibit is on: Conflict and Conquest, but it carries an expensive ticket and I haven't yet purchased mine. I decided to start in Room 1, i.e. at the very beginning since the British is such an overwhelming space and I have seen its highlights many times--the Elgin Marbles, the Rosetta Stone, the Sutton Hoo Treasures, the Portland Vase, etc. This time, I crossed Rm 1 and went straight ahead to Rm. 2 which houses some of the most important treasures of the Museum that are being held downstairs until moved to a new location. I ended up seeing the oldest item in the museum--a handaxe dating back to 1.8 million years--can you imagine that? 1.8 million years!!! I also saw a carillon clock that tolled the hour with the ringing of musical bells and the movement of characters around it. European Medieval treasures included reliquaries, ivory carvings, and jewelry while Peruvian, Indonesian and New Zealand antiquities were also on display.

In Rm.,1 entitled The Enlightenment, I only had the chance to cover half of the displays as they were too numerous and too fascinating to see in haste. Sculpture from Pompeii (including a Farnese Apollo), a gigantic Hercules and a Venus were some of the items that caught my eye. I was also taken by the fossils, the shells, the lavers and urns all of which represented the personal collections of the museum's earliest patrons who helped start the vast holding with their generous donations. I was sorry to see that many of the items were very dimly lit and I had a hard time reading the labels.

By 7. 30, I was headed out, a bit tired after what had been a long day. Got home to vegetate over dinner and a movie: What we Lost in the Fire with Halle Berry and Benicio del Toro. It was OK, I thought, not wonderful.

By 10.30, I hammered a bit of my blog and fell asleep irritated to find that my back has started aching on the left side--a sort of muscular strain that has me perplexed.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Feminism at the Strand's Vaudeville

Wednesday, September 24, 2008
London

My friend Margaret Loose, a Victorianist at UC San Diego, is here to examine Victorian periodicals at the British Library. What a joy to see her again after the great time we had in UC Santa Cruz last month at the Dickens Universe! We made plans to meet in the evening at the Vaudeville Theater at the Strand where I have been dying to see Dame Aileen Atkins in The Female of the Species.

I ran a couple of errands in the morning (post office, purchase of a small table-fan), then walked to the Half-Price Theater Ticket Booth at Leicester Square (my first time since I arrived here a month ago) with fingers crossed, hoping I would get two good seats to the show. And hallelujah! There they were. Mission Accomplished! Two Dress Circle seats in the bag and even at half-price, I paid the princely sum of 26. 50 pounds each, which at our awful exchange rate, makes it close to $50 per ticket.

The drizzle began around that time. I tried to find the shortest route to the National Gallery, little realizing that Leicester Square was right behind the National Portrait Gallery. I was so grateful to escape into the warm confines of the museum where my studies of the collection continued in the Renaissance section as I scrutinized the religious art and became introduced, for the first time in my life, to an Italian artist called Carlo Crivelli. I cannot recall seeing the work of this artist anywhere; not even in Italy. Yet, the National has a whole gallery devoted exclusively to his work--and was I struck! The minute detail that he captures in his compositions, the overall grandeur of the scale of his work, the lavish use of gilding and the finely-wrought faces of his human figures were so striking as to leave me contemplating each picture with rapt attention. Homan Patterson's book is proving to be invaluable in achieving an in-depth understanding and appreciation of the works.

Because it was still raining, I did not turn to the steps of Trafalgar Square to find a spot to eat my homemade sandwiches--I sneaked into the cafe at the National instead and in its cheerful interior close to the self-service section munched on my lunch while giving my feet a well-deserved rest.

Then, it was time to walk through St. Matin's Lane, past a lovely old rotary called Seven Dials, so-called because the rotary has at its center a tall obelisk around which are the dials of seven watches. I pressed on through the spritz before arriving at Bloomsbury Square and ensconcing myself in my office to get on with some paper work and make phone calls that were pending.

Before I knew it, it was almost 6 pm, and I was amazed and very pleased at the amount of work I managed to accomplish. I made so many phone calls and appointments to meet the respondents of my proposed survey on Anglo-Indians. Most of the folks I spoke to were the epitome of graciousness and hospitality and spontaneously invited me over to their homes "for a meal". Most live on the outskirts of London, outside the Underground network. Getting to their homes to conduct interviews will involve taking commuter trains; but I would rather meet them in their own milieu. A few have gladly volunteered to meet me in London and I have gratefully taken them up on their offers. For the most part, they seem pleased to talk to me about their lives as immigrants in the UK. I thoroughly enjoyed listening to their cultured Indian accents on the phone, the clear intonation, the polished diction and the kindliness of their modulation. It reminded me very much of the many Anglo-Indian mothers of the many friends I had in school who spoke in such a polished manner. I know I will enjoy meeting these folks in the coming weeks. I also sent out email requesting more interviews and in the hope of connecting with other scholars working in the same general area of academic endeavor.

Then, I was home, freshening up and getting all dressed up for my night out with Margaret at the Strand after fixing myself a quick bite. I had intended to walk to the theater, but having left home late, I jumped into the Tube and within 15 minutes, I was at the Vaudeville. Margaret arrived just a minute later and we spent the rest of the evening catching up.

The show was everything I expected it to be--first of all, it was hugely funny.Secondly, it was brilliantly written, being a fine spoof on feminism. The reviews I had read on the Internet alleged that the plot was based on a real-life incident that had occurred in the life of feminist Germaine Greer who was accosted in her own home by a frustrated conformist whose mother had grown up with Greer's writing and had rejected feminism and her own daughter! While Atkins played feminist writer Margot Mason with a naturalness that is expected of her, it was Sophie Thomson who plays her daughter Tess who was the star of the show. What I loved most about the play, apart from the witty dialogue and superb acting was the fact that each time a new character appeared on stage, I was jumping in my seat because I had seen him/her on the many British TV shows I have watched for years on PBS. There was Sam Kelly, for instance, in a small cameo at the very end, playing Theo, Margot's publisher. I did not recognize his name but his face was unmistakable as the German soldier on the show 'Allo, 'Allo and as the husband Ted on the TV series Barbara. He was also one of the chief writers on the long-playing show Are You Being Served. As for Molly Rivers, she was played by Anna Maxwell-Martin and I knew the moment she stepped on stage that I had seen her somewhere--only it drove me crazy as I simply couldn't place her. It was only when the play ended that I sneaked a peak at the Playbill (or Program as they call it in the UK) for which one has to pay as they are not handed out upon presentation of a ticket, that she played Esther Summerson in the recent Masterpiece Theater version of Dickens' Bleak House. Then, of course, I remembered how much I had admired her acting in that show.

Well, since the night was still young and Margaret and I hadn't finished catching up, we went off to a pub called The Chandos on Chandos Street behind the National Gallery where I had a pint of stout. Margaret told me about her research and I told her about my new life in London and before we knew it, it was 11 pm and we had to call it a day!

I was delighted to see Aileen Atkins on stage after being completely taken by the role she plays in Robert Altman's Gosford Park and after having seen her in the flesh for the first time 22 years ago when I first arrived in London and had gone to see a play called Let us Go Then, You and I..." based, of course, on T.S. Eliot's poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock in which she had co-starred with none other than Edward Fox.

Did I say before that the reason I so love the theater in London is that you always get to see stars perform in the medium they themselves love best--the theater--when audience reaction is immediate and encouraging and eggs the artistes on to give of their very best?

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Another Walk, Another Movie

Tuesday, September 23, 2008
London

I decided to start my day off by preparing for my Thursday classes instead of keeping it all for Wednesday. After all, tomorrow I would like to get to the half-price ticket booth at Leicester square for tickets to see Dame Eileen Atkins in The Female of the Species. My course on Anglo-Indians is going well and with the prep that is involved in using Gloria Jean Moore's book (The Anglo-Indian Vision) as text, reading the 500 page tome called White Moghuls by William Dalrymple and connecting with real-life Anglo-Indians through the email and interviewing them, I feel steeped in the culture and the ethos. Which is perfect--as I intend to start my research at the British Library soon.

With Chapter Four (The Sepoy Mutiny of 1857) in the bag, I took advantage of the mild weather and set out on one of my walks. I called Cynthia Colclough for company but she was off to the hairdressers today and took a rain check. So off I went with my book and my map and my sturdy walking shoes (or 'trainers' as they call them here) and headed for Fleet Street and the Blackfriars Underground Station where the walk commenced.

I was thrust immediately into the little bylanes behind bustling Blackfriars. In Blackfriars Yard is visible the last remains of the Blackfriars Theater with which Shakespeare was associated. Just a few feet ahead was one of London's oldest cemeteries, now a garden attached to a monastery but bearing evidence of its use as a cemetery in the ancient gravestones dating from the 1700s. A few feet ahead was the Cockpit Pub, so-called because it was actually used in the Elizabethan Age as a cock-fighting den. The gallleries that encircle the pub "upstairs" bear evidence of this use. Just across the road is the picturesquely named Church of St. Andrews in the Wardrobe, so called because the church was right next door to the grand building that once contained the royal wardrobe. Alas, this burned down in the Great Fire of London of 1666 though the church remains. I am repeatedly struck by the serenity of these London churches and the suddenness with which they creep up on you in spaces where you least expect to see them! Soon I was passing by the Old Bailey, the famous Court House with the gilded statue crowning it that portrays the Goddess of Justice with the scales in her outstretched hands. Next door, is the church of St. Sebastian whose bells are a part of the 'Oranges and Lemons' poem of old--the Bells of Old Bailey!

Then, I was out on Carter Lane where the Youth Hostel in which I had stayed in
March with my friend Amy Tobin stands. I passed right by it and went through Dean's Court on to Sir Christopher Wren's masterpiece, St. Paul's Cathedral, with its dominating dome and the statue of Queen Anne in the forecourt. A quick visit into the interior, though not a full tour, and I was out again, walking through the Wren-designed gateway of Temple Bar which once stood on Fleet Street but was moved carefully, brick by brick, to its present location. Once past Paternoster Square, I walked out towards Amen Court (where, I believe, Cynthia lives in the quarters assigned to the Canon-Pastor) and saw the remains of what was once Newgate prison, one of London's most notorious jails.

Then, I was out on Newgate Street heading towards the ruined church of Christchurch Greyfriars, which interestingly sits right next door to the ruined Merril Lynch! In the churchyard, I saw some more antiquated gravestones, admired some late-blooming roses (it is another mystery to me how these urban gardens flourish with seemingly no care at all producing the most abundant David Austin roses), then turned towards Postman Park where I admired the wall covered with ceramic tiles to commemorate those who gave their lives trying to save others--what a heart-warming and unique idea. Even their stories, fired forever on those ceramic tiles, made such interesting reading.

On the other side of Postman Park, I found myself on Aldgate Street where once the ancient Roman walls and gates of London stood. Indeed, the word Aldgate derives from the fact that a gate was actually at that spot and Samuel Pepys, the 18th century diarist, writes of the day he walked out and saw at least 5 heads impaled upon the walls--of prisoners who had been sentenced to be hung, drawn and quartered! Yikkkes! At the Old Raglan Pub named for the Duke who was given to wearing a peculiar kind of sleeve that bears his name, I turned and arrived at the old Saddler's Hall where the medieval guild of saddlers had their headquarters.

Now who would have guessed that all these interesting tidbits of information were to be gleaned around the precincts of St. Paul's? Most visitors only see the cathedral and move on to the next site. How fortunate I felt that my year-long stay allows me to browse at leisure through these hidden niches of the city and to encounter first-hand the history that has soaked into these streets.

Home for lunch and some more work (I needed to transcribe my first interview before I forget the nuances of our conversation) and then I was headed out to NYU's campus at Bedford Square where I had made plans to have coffee with Prof. Mick Hattaway who teaches British Writers. He took me to the coffee shop attached to the London Review of Books in a lane right in front of the British Museum. We had a very interesting conversation in which Mick shared with me his recent discoveries surrounding his family genealogy. Then, I rushed off to the 6 pm screening of Stephen Frears The Queen starring Helen Mirren on campus as part of Phillip Drummond's course on Contemporary British Cinema which I am auditing. I had seen and enjoyed the film before but, of course, it was so special to see the Royal Family on screen in light of our recent encounter with all of them outside Balmoral in Scotland.

Come to think of it, this too was my kind of day--I accomplished a good amount of work, took a self-guided enlightening tour and saw a good movie. What better way to spend a fine day in London?

Monday, September 22, 2008

My Kind of Day

Monday, September 22, 2008
London

I had the kind of day that can only be described as perfect. Did a batch of laundry and cleaned my flat--still can't believe how quickly I can finish that. Have finally mastered the brain behind the washer-cum-dryer concept and now my smalls are no longer getting fried and my clothes are emerging bone dry and do not need to get to an ironing board before they can be placed back in the closet.Yyeess!

Spent a few hours of the morning networking with my Anglo-Indian contacts and organizing the many names and addresses, telephone numbers and email addresses that are now pouring into my possession from all over the UK as people are helping me make connections. I will be spending at least one morning at my office this week sitting on the phone and making follow-up calls to set up interview appointments. I'm so glad that I had a breakthrough with Marina Stubbs in Brighton yesterday as that seems to have set the ball rolling.

Then, I made myself a sandwich lunch with everything that was in my fridge--multi-grain bread, hummus, olives, tomatoes, Stilton Cheese and Gorgonzola Cheese--and walked out into a very sunny afternoon. I headed straight for one of my favorite places in London, the National Gallery. Of course, I decided to take the scenic path there, past Covent Garden which had attracted only a few visitors until I arrived at the Jubilee Market which I discovered to be a covered antiques market. Of course, I could not resist spending a half hour browsing among the vintage jewelry and china bric-a-brac before I pressed on towards the Museum.

Part of my museum musing was also work as I need to identify the ten or fifteen paintings I will place on my own tour when I teach my Writing class at the Gallery on October 9. So heading straight for the research computers down in the basement, I spent the next half hour identifying the exact locations of a bunch of them based on the book I am using to study the works--The Guide to the National Gallery by Homan Potterton. It is my aim to go over every single one of the paintings in the Gallery in the next one year and I intended to study two or three rooms at a time. Well, I started at the Medieval and Renaissance Galleries and finished five of them, feasting my eyes upon the fabulous Piero della Francescas, the Giovanni Bellinis and the Andrea Mategnas in the Gallery's collection while also studying some of the Albrect Durers.

Then, I sat on a bench and watched a few fat pigeons forage for food among the tourists as I munched my sandwich and took the shortest route I could to Green Park Tube station to embark upon one of the guided walks entitled "Spies and Spooks in Mayfair" from my book entitled 24 Great Walks in London. I discovered a place called Shepherd Market, the heart of the 'village' of Mayfair, Crewe House, one of Mayfair's last existing mansions (today the Embassy of Saudi Arabia), two beautiful churches (Grosvenor Chapel where "coffee and cakes are served in the garden on the first Tuesday of each month") and the Jesuit-run Church of the Immaculate Conception with its ornate Gothic interior and magnificent statuary, a wonderfully tucked-away park called the Mount Street Gardens where, during the Cold War, KGB spies are said to have congregated and left notes for each other on the park benches, the Claremont Club in Berkeley Square which sits cheek by jowl to the homes once occupied by writer Somerset Maugham, soldier and administrator Clive of India and Prime Minister Anthony Eden.

The terraced house occupied today by Maggs Bros Antiquarian Booksellers at Berkeley Square is reputed to be the most haunted house in London. There are many stories about the many apparitions that have been sighted here and the awful fate that has befallen those who did sight them. I also passed the Red Lion at 1 Waverton Mews, which, the book says, is singer Tom Jones' favorite pub. At South Audley Raod, I passed by my very favorite shop in all of London--Thomas Goode and Co. that stocks the most fabulous china, porcelain and silverware that I have ever seen. The store is like a museum and every time I am in London, I love to spend an afternoon just feasting my eyes on the works of art represented by the painted porcelain on display for those with heavy wallets to purchase. I feel so indebted to this book for taking me into the secret niches of London that I would never have encountered on my own and, as always, these walks leave me with renewed appreciation and affection for this city.

Then, I hopped onto the Tube at Green Park and headed for the School of Oriental and African Studies where, in the Brunei Gallery, public intellectual, critic and journalist Clive Bloom who teaches Political Science and Culture at New York University was giving a public lecture on "The Idea of Britishness". The auditorium was packed with NYU students taking the seminar on contemporary British culture and I was pleased to join them as part of the audience. Bloom's lecture was jocular and serious in turn as he spelled out the uncertainties of identity that have plagued Britons in recent years as the influx of immigrants have increased and cultural polarities have grown. He did make jokes about the British penchant of pin-up girls in their tabloids, their obsession with Victoria 'Posh Spice' Beckham, their new vocabulary (chavs --a working class person with Burberry togs and bling, gingas--red-heads), and their idiosyncrasies--the English see the wearing of baseballs caps indoors as terribly disrespectful and consider curry their national dish. He was intensely proud of the fact that Chicken Tikka Masala was created in the British Isles and is unheard of in India.

So as I walked home briskly at 7. 15, I told myself that this was the kind of day I visualized when I was first told that I would be spending a year in London. It had all the ingredients that for me, at least, spell bliss--antiquing, studying Masterpieces in oil, discovering the hidden corners of a city on foot, and feeling intellectually stimulated at a public lecture given by an extraordinary speaker.

Brighton Beach Memoirs

Sunday, September 21, 2008
Brighton

I would imagine that no matter how often one has seen the Royal Pavilion at Brighton, the experience till astounds. It certainly awed me all over again. Driving with my students in a huge "coach" (British for 'bus') across Surrey and Sussex to the "coast", I revelled in the English spirit of "going to the sea-side". We were blessed by a gorgeous day, certainly one of the best I've seen since my arrival in the UK. It started with a crisp bite in the air that warmed comfortably as the sun climbed higher in the cloudless blue skies.

On Brighton's pebbly beach-front, spades and pails were conspicuously absent as the beach is devoid of sand. Fat pebbles in shades of yellow and orange cover the beach punctuated by those ubiquitous appendages of British beaches--the striped deck chair in pink and blue! Early morning joggers and dog-walkers were still about when we arrived there to be met by Wilf, one of the blue badge guides who then took us on a walking tour of the city.

A very proper, very dapper "Grandad" (as he described himself), Wilf (short for Wilfred?)explained the history of the famous Brighton Pier whose amusements have grown more high-tech with every passing year. Today, the entrance is crowded with food stalls ("slush puppies", ice-cream, fish and chips and as a concession to multi-culturalism, hot dogs from the States and crepes from their "neighbors across the Channel"). Once on the pier,there is every kind of arcade game to keep kids and teenagers amused, in case the beach fails to appeal.

We crossed the street with Wilf and walked towards The Lanes, a maze of charming narrow streets lined with one-of-a-kind boutiques and shops. The sidewalks were completely taken over by craft stalls as Brighton celebrated "Streets for People Day" that kept all traffic off and made the maze a pedestrian plaza. Freebies galore delighted passers-by (bike light, the Body Shop's Soothing Mint Foot Cream (did you know that Anita Roddick who founded The Body Shop was a Brighton gal whose experiments were carried out in her home kitchen?), pens, pencils, recyclable water bottles. Wilf continued with our troupe in an untidy crocodile across North Road to the North Lanes where we saw edgier shops ('Vegetarian Shoes' carried footwear made sans leather or other animal products) and more creative eateries before arriving at Jubilee Square. The festive fair-like atmosphere gripped us all when we arrived at the modern Library building, surprisingly open on a Sunday, and arrived finally at the Brighton Dome, the enclosure that once coralled King George IV stables of horses. Finally, we arrived in the Pavilion Gardens with their many elephant topiary to which so many fascinated children clung.

The elephants were, of course, appropriate, as the onion domes, minarets and finials that decorate the confection that is the Royal Pavilion came into view. Everyone knows the history of Brighton but it bears repeating because it is so fanciful. When George IV was the Prince Regent (because his father George III was still alive but had been pronounced "insane"), he escaped the prying court of London to buy himself a small farmhouse in which he could dally with his mistress Maria Fitzherbert as he loved the tang of Brighton's salt-air. Eventually, when his father died and he became king, he was able to hire the services of London's best known architect John Nash who was instructed to turn the modest farmhouse into an Oriental zenana. Taking his cue from pictures he had seen of the Taj Mahal and other Islamic buildings, Nash obliged creating a completely incongruous building in the midst of the sedate beach settlement that under the King's patronage became one of the most fashionable beach resorts of the day (robbing Bath of its former glory and clientele!)

As if the exterior is inadequately exotic, the visitor is struck dumb by the interior design and decoration that is indescribably OTT (Over The Top) in every respect. Because his love for the exotic did not stop with the Middle East and India but extended to China, the inside has been conceived in the design of the Far East. Bamboo is everywhere--on the banister up the stairs, edging the pictures moldings, etc. But, mind you, none of this is real. For this is a Palace of Illusion and all the bamboo you see is wrought iron painted to look like bamboo, all the marble you see is wood faux-painted to look like marble. It becomes a game, after the while, to figure out how much is real and how much is an affectation.

When we passed into the Banqueting Hall, the Saloon, the Music Room, The Long Gallery, the interiors were so lavish and so overwhelmingly gorgeous in the paintings, chandeliers hung over with ferocious dragons and coiled around with fierce snakes, in the candelabra, in the gilded dishes and the porcelain and the silverware and finally arrived in the kitchen from which 100 dishes emanated each day, we were well and truly speechless. We had a very good guide who lovingly explained every detail and made our tour special.

By this point, I was starving and went out in search of a bite, but looking at my watch, I realized that I had just enough time to look for the meeting place called Bills on North Street where I had made plans to meet with Marina Stubbs who would become the first Anglo-Indian I would interview for my proposed study on immigrants in the UK. I had such a hard time trying to find Bills and her that I was ready for a beer in the nearest bar by the time we did touch base. My interview went off really well and we ended up walking to her home where I was able to take her picture and meet her young son Samuel. Away from all the tourist traps, Brighton is an unpretentious little city with very modest homes. The interior of Marina's home, very tiny by American standards, featured a very narrow hallway that led to a living-cum-family room. Up a narrow stairway were the bedrooms, but, of course, these I did not see. I was happy to get a glimpse into her domestic life which added an extra dimension to the impressions of growing of Anglo-Indian in the UK which she shared with me during our interview. She is also a writer and I was pleased to meet someone else who shares my love for writing. Best of all, I was happy that
my research has finally taken off and that I was able to combine work with a day of pleasure.

Then, I was galloping off to meet our coach at the water front and spent the next three hours stuck in traffic so that we arrived in London all worn out. Back home, it was all I could do to vegetate in front of the "telly" watching the second part of Thomas Hardy's "Tess of the D'Urberbilles" that is on BBC One. As always, watching Tess' plight in those horrible Victorian times is heart-breaking. I spent the next fifteen minutes chatting with Llew before calling it a night.

Thankfully, the blind man (pun intended!) arrived on Friday and fixed the blinds in my flat, so that I no longer need to fall asleep with an eye mask on! The darkened interior of my flat now make it feel so much more warm and cozy and offers privacy from the office building just across the street.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Pani-Puri and Paan at Southall

Saturday, September 20, 2008
Hounslow and Southall

My day began on the Piccadilly line headed for Hounslow East to see my Dad's cousin, Sybil, whom I remember with great affection as having given me a memorable time when I arrived in London for the very first time 22 years ago. She lived then in a sprawling home called 'Wheelspin' in Guildford, Surrey. Alas, asthma, lack of exercise and dependence on a nebulizer has reduced her to a couch potato who spends her days staring at a TV screen and swallowing the soap operas (though, not necessarily, digesting them) and the competitive reality shows. Some things never change--she still watches Coronation Street and it was deja-vu for me all over again watching her watch the goings-on on the UK's longest-running soap. Craving now for company, she kept worrying me to spend a weekend with her but I had, regretfully, to inform her that my weekends are all spoken for. Tomorrow I head for Brighton, the weekend after for Liverpool, the weekend following that to Barcelona, so I was glad I made the time to see her today.

Her ex-husband Joel picked me up at the Tube station and drove me, first to a gigantic Tesco from where I ended up purchasing some desserts as the prices were so laughably cheap compared to the the arm and leg prices I've been paying for all groceries at Marks and Spenser Simply Food and Sainsburys. And to my astonishment, I discovered that they sell packets of idli-sambar-chutney and masala dosa in the Tesco Freezer section! And at very reasonable prices too for Hounslow is London's Little India! Joel picked up two packets and I feasted that afternoon on lunch in their 3-bedroom flat.

When we had caught up with family news on both sides--Sybil inquired after my family members in Bombay and I learned about all my distant relatives here in the US--she returned to her soaps while Joel followed the horse-racing at Eyre in Scotland, placing long-distance bets on horses that did not bring him any moolah at all. It seems he spends his days playing the horses and his nights at the poker table where he is quite an ace. The many poker trophies he has won at competitions attest to his expertise as a card sharp.

In the evening, after he had served me a mean upkari--studded with dal and mustard seeds and flavored with green chilli--Joel drove me to Southall, the Punjabi stronghold of London since the 1950s and allowed me to soak in the ethnic atmosphere of this colorful quarter. Rhinestone studded salwar-khameez suits, gold bridal jewelery, spices and condiments in the grocery stores, sweetmeats galore (fresh jalebis being fried on the streets were soaked in concentrated sugar syrup and sold straight off the boiling vat to salivating customers) and street food in the form of North Indian chaat was everywhere. I felt as if I was on the streets of Bandra, Bombay, as we stood and relished plates of pani puri made with just the right sweet-sour-spicy-salt combination, then soothed our burning tongues with the jalebis. I nipped into the grocery store (Tutu Cash and Carry) and bought some spices at prices that would put the English grocery stores out of business and some sauces (chilli sauce, soy sauce). Then, just when we were headed back to our car, Joel spied the paanwalla and wanted to treat me to a mouthful of betel nuts wrapped in two betel leaves. Having never acquired a taste for paan, I declined, but he got himself a sweet paan for a pound, then drove me back to Hounslow from where I jumped into a train that was full of new arrivals from Heathrow headed into London--some jetlagged and travel-weary, others chattering nineteen to the dozen obviously excited to be in London.

I recalled the feeling I had one month ago while on the same train and thought to myself--so much has happened since I arrived and yet, it is so hard to believe that a month has passed already! Time has certainly flown and I have done nothing substantial yet.

Got home exactly an hour later to find that my Anglo-Indian contacts are slowly responding to my initial queries. I have begun to set appointments to see them and tomorrow shall be meeting Marina Stubbs in Brighton.

Friday, September 19, 2008

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bloomsbury's Aptly-Named 'Hare and the Tortoise' Restaurant

Karen, her husband Douglas and I discovered that the Asian restaurant called The Hare and the Tortoise in the Brunswick Center in Bloomsbury is very aptly named indeed. We decided to meet there for our weekly Thursday evening rendez-vous. The long line snaking outside the door confirmed our suspicions that this was a very good restaurant indeed. Having eaten out almost every evening this week, I wasn't ready to part with more than a fiver for dinner, so I was glad the menu presented some skinny-wallet options.

The line crept along like a tortoise on a leisurely vacation. Just when our legs were ready to give way beneath us, we were seated. Made to wait for ages while we studied the menu, Karen had to practically drag a waitress to our table to take our order. More examples of the tortoise-like qualities of the place. Karen and Douglas settled on sake and sushi and were a little depressed at the tiny little bottle they were presented. Their sushi platter was attractive enough but, Karen opined that she had "had better". As for me, my Curry Laksa was delicious and reminiscent of all that marvelous street food I had eaten from off the carts in Singapore--seriously spicy, with the thin rice noodles that I love, chunky slices of chicken and prawn and a huge mound of them too--so much that I took two containers home for which I was made to pay an additional 20p!

That's when the hare-like qualities of the restaurant became evident, When it came time for us to pay our bill, not one but three waitresses materialized like magic and hovered officiously around our table as we divvied up our expenses. Oh, they were swift indeed when it came to collecting our cash. Pity they didn't exhibit the same speed and enthusiasm when seating us and serving up our orders.

Still I shouldn't complain, at least not too much. For I ended up paying just 6 pounds for that deliciously warming bowlful. And at London prices, that's a steal!

Today was special for me because I made one of my fondest fantasies come true--I taught my class in the lovely gardens of Bedford Square as it was such a fine day. Ever since I first visited our London campus, three years ago, and had spent some time dozing in the garden on a beautifully sunny day, I had said to myself, "Wouldn't it be just lovely to teach a class here?" The setting is perfect as the private garden is full of mature trees, has a decidedly solid wrought-iron railing that encircles it and is punctuated with occasional wooden benches. It is also unbelieveably quiet and serene considering that we are in the heart of commercial London.

Well, my students were delighted when I suggested we hold class outside. But, as happens so often and unexpectedly in London, it turned chilly and we were grateful for our cardigans and jackets. Then, even more unexpectedly, a din began right behind the bench on which I was seated to lecture to my class, and when I turned around I discovered that a young chap was doing some welding as part of the incessant construction and refurbishment acitivity that is taking place all over the city, probably in preparation or the Olympics. Anyway, I sent to find out how long he would be and when he said, "Five minutes more", I continued teaching my class there until our break when we decided to move back indoors.

It is amazing how much pleasure I take in these little things--the ability to finally find a pleasant enough day to allow me the luxury of teaching a London class in a private London garden in a Georgian Square.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Getting in the (Masala) Zone

Wednesday, September 17, 2008
London

Having heard so much about Masala Zone, I decided to check it out tonight with Chriselle's London-based colleague Ivana. Chriselle had made the cyber introductions between us because she really hit it off with Ivana when she met her in New York a while ago--and I can see why. Ivana is sprightly, bubbly and so cool she rides a bike all over London--even to biz meetings. She rang the doorbell at my Holborn flat at 7 sharp as she had said. (I discovered this evening when both Shanaz and Mukkaram and later Ivana arrived and buzzed me from the main door, that my buzzer does not work. I had to get down to the lobby to let Ivana in.

She loved my place (what's not to love, right?) and envied me royally both for the location and the layout of the flat. Then, we were out the door, walking in the brisk evening air towards Covent Garden. I suggested Masala Zone and she was game, loving Indian food as much as she does. Poor relation to Amaya, Veeraswamy and Chutney Mary, Masala Zone offers "Indian street food" such as chaat but we decided to try the "regular thali". I went for the Karwari Prawn while Ivana chose the Lamb Malai.I realized as I broke the first piece of my chapati that I haven't eaten desi khana for at least a month and I salivated as I sank my fingers into the curry, two sabzis, dal and chutney, and crunched into my papad. Every item was delicious and at under 9 pounds for the lot, I thought it was very good value for money. The chapatis were soft and hot and with the Tiger beers we ordered to wash the meal down, we did very well, I think.

Since the night was young, Ivana suggested we move on to a pub for another drink and in the shadow of the mammoth and very impressive Royal Opera House, we chose the Nag's Head Pub where Ivana suggested I try the Stella lager, a Belgian Beer. Though already stuffed, I managed a bit more beer and conversation without falling asleep for the heavy meal and the drinks had served to lull me into a stupor.

The day had been productive. I went to our Bedford Square campus for a meeting with our IT specialist Lucy Appert who was visiting from our New York campus and who trained me as an administrator for the running of our newly created Economics blog. I got back home to do a fair amount of work on my research project and get ready for my classes tomorrow.

Shahnaz called to say that their move from the Holiday Inn to the hostel at Brunel University where her son Hassan has been admitted was delayed. Our intended walk in Chelsea was cancelled and when Shahnaz and Mukkaram got to my flat with only 20 minutes to spare before the curtain went up on their show (Mamma Mia) at the West End, they literally used the washroom and galloped right out. It was a day of many disasters for them and they were not happy campers.

It's back to class for me tomorrow as I tackle a work load that is embarrassingly light--but I'm not complaining.

Oh, I forgot to mention that my friend and Professor of Victorian Literature Margaret Loose of the University of California at San Diego will be here tomorrow to get some research done at the Rare Books Section of the British Library--so naturally, she got in touch with me via email to tell me of her plans and now I will need to spend some time with her.

I really have to stop meeting all my friends this way!!!

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

A Day Out in St. Albans

Tuesday, September 16, 2008
St. Albans, Hertfordshire

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monday, September 15, 2008

Feeding the Homeless at Lincoln Inn Fields

Monday, September 15, 2008
London

I woke up to the realization that I have spent exactly one month in the United Kingdom--certainly one of the happiest and most exciting months I have ever spent. My entire life at this point seems like an endless vacation and I am reveling in it.

It still feels strange to wake up alone in the eerie silence of my flat and not have Llew's quiet presence surrounding me. But most days we speak on the phone just when his day is beginning in New York and mine has reached its middle and then it seems as if he is right here besides me. He too seems to be going from one vacation to the next--we're already talking about a possible trip to Greece in November when he comes back here.

Today I got down to planning logistics for my Anglo-Indian research project. Worked on the PC all morning, drafting introductory letters and making arrangements for my research position at St. Antony's College, Oxford, next summer. Before I knew it, it was time for lunch, then more email correspondence.

At 4pm, I left for my excursion to Marble Arch to get my cell phone fitted with a new Lebara SIM card which is far more economical than the one I am currently using . But the sweet Indian girl Pooja who attempted to fit the card in, found that my phone was 'locked'. Her attempt to unlock it failed and the guys to whom she sent me told me that it would take them 2 hours to reformat and reprogram my phone. I did not have that kind of time so declined their offer and left.

Pooja then suggested that I go to T-Mobile and have them unlock it for me. The trek to Oxford Street from where I had purchased the phone drew a blank as the sales assistant told me that they do not have the authority to unlock phones. However, she sent me across the street to a really smart guy called Sajjid who was able to do it in exactly five minutes! He was also able to give me a Lebara SIM card for free except that he did not have one that would allow me to fill it with any money as he had run out of them. He has called me back tomorrow but the earliest I can get there is Friday and I shall make sure I return to him and have this Lebara SIM card fitted.

Then I was at Bedford Square for our first faculty meeting of the year. Had a chance to meet a few of my London colleagues and over a few tea sandwiches and delicious cake, the meeting got under way, chaired by David Hillel-Ruben. Things moved along swiftly indeed and in less than an hour and a half, we were out.

I walked as quickly as I could to Lincoln Inn Fields to meet Subita Mahtani to whom I had a phone introduction a few months ago through a mutual acquaintance named Leslie Mahtani in Connecticut. Subita, an NYU alumnus who has lived as an American ex-pat in London for several years, is involved with a social service operation that provides food to the homeless three times a week. Because she takes charge of the Monday operation at a location close to my flat, she told me to meet her there. In-between doling out ladles of dal and rice, she hugged me, welcomed me to London and exchanged phone numbers with me, assuring me that we would meet again at length to get acquainted.

I was stunned at how many homeless men turned up for a free meal. One of the guys even complimented Nitu, one of the volunteers, telling her that "the curry is very nice". There was tea and coffee and soda at another station and Mars bars, donated every week by a man who gave up smoking and spends the same money on Mars bars that he would have spent on cigarettes which he then distributes to the poor and needy. Subita informed me that this operation has gone on for years and word of mouth has brought over a hundred homeless people to the corner of Lincoln Inn Fields where, in the shadow of the courts and legal chambers, some of London's poorest people are fed by immigrant Indians whose generosity and compassion knows no bounds.

Thanks to Subita, I saw a side of London that would otherwise have passed me by. I am grateful to her and inspired by her dedication as well as that of my fellow-Indians in this city. Each time she handed out a plate of food or answered a question, Subita said, "God Bless You". This caused one of the recipients of her caring to remark, "You speak like an American". Perceptive guy, that one!

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Chores, Chores and More Chores

Sunday, September 14, 2008
London

Today was a day to get down and dirty--with chores, I mean. Started the day catching up on email that had accumulated over my two day weekend trip to Stonehenge and Bath.

Caught Mass at 10 am at St. Anselm and St. Cecilia's at Lincoln Inn Fields and made friends with a parishioner called Karen Harris who happens to be from Los Angeles and is married to an Englishman! She walked me to the church when I was unable to find the entrance and before I knew it, we were chatting and exchanging phone numbers. Only an American would give you her number so readily and be so willing to make a new friend! I look forward to many happy times with her.

Then, the chores began. First, groceries: off to Tesco, then to Sainsbury Central (which was closed--only opens at noon on Sundays), then to Sainsbury Local which did not have half the things I wanted, so off to Marks and Spencer Simply Food. Luckily, all these places are only a stone's throw away from my flat but I was weighed down by the time I got home and began cooking.

And did I cook up a storm! Salmon Provencal with Olives and Herbes de Provence; Salmon with a Mustard Sauce and Spinach-Pistachio Crust; Chicken Pepperonata with red, yellow and green peppers and lots of oregano; Broccoli Cheddar Soup; Thai Green Chicken Curry; Sweet and Sour Vegetables; Spinach with Lemon and Garlic and a batch of Pork Sausages! By the time I froze half of everything I cooked and cleaned the kitchen, I was so tired...but then I had laundry to fold after the big batch I put into the washer-dryer last night.

Spoke to Llew twice today, to Chriselle once and had a long chinwag with my parents in India. Also spoke with Gauri whom I finally got on the phone and with my relative, Cissy, who is just back from Canada. Caught up with everyone's news, realized that despite making new friends and being so busy, I am spending a great deal of time alone. But I am living fully in the moment and soaking in the experience in its entirety.

I spent the evening creating new web pages on our Travels in Yorkshire...after which I was ready for a long bath, some dinner and an evening in front of the telly which I felt I fully deserved. And with the first part (of three) of the new BBC One remake of Thomas Hardy's Tess of the D'Ubervilles, I vegetated with a big bowl of ice-cream and fresh strawberries, blackberries and figs and enjoyed the evening away.

Just when I thought I would call it a night, the sky exploded with a gazillion showers of golden stars as fireworks lit up the ink-black sky. It was like July 4 celebrations from my window and I marvelled at the sight and the sound as for the next 20 minutes, the mood was joyous!

Stonehenge and The Golden Georgian City of Bath

Friday and Saturday, September 12 and 13, 2008
Stonehenge and Bath



In all my travels in the UK, I have never been to Stonehenge. Avebury many years ago, yes, Stonehenge never. So, it was with anticipation that I arrived at this ancient site of mammoth sarcen and blue stone hoping to grasp at some of the mysteries of its creation and its significance. I left disappointed--in that I was able to understand neither. However, the aura of the place, the fact that so many centuries after it was created, so many tourists stopped there to encircle the wide grassy path and make something of the structure intrigued me and by the time I was halfway through the circle, I was awed too.


In and of itself, the ring of Stonehenge can seem like nothing more than just that--a ring of stones. But when you consider the massive effort it took to get those stones there from faraway Wales, the end-product is breathtaking in the same way that the Pyramids of Egypt are. By the way, the story about Druids creating the ring and coming there each year for ritualistic worship of the elements has been disproved. However, there is enough astronomical precision in the way the stones have been placed and the way the shadows of the earth and the sun lengthen and criss cross one again at strategic points for us to know that this was not a spot chosen at random nor was the placement of the stones a mere whim. There is enough scientific evidence to suggest that ancient man had a method to his madness and this is what makes the site enthralling.

On a humorous note, it was fun to see more teenagers take pictures of the sheep that went about their business, i.e. grazing on the pasture that surrounds the spot, than of the monument itself! But, as they say, there is no accounting for taste... or interest!

Then, we were driving on the wide and picturesque Salisbury Plains past the Weston Horse, a great engraving on a white chalk cliff, to arrive in the golden Georgian city of Bath that is, like Rome, perched on seven hills. No wonder the Romans embraced it and built a splendid city here over 2000 years ago. As if the location were inadequate, the Romans who came from a balmy and sunny clime to invade this cold and rainy little island, felt rewarded by the warm and abundant waters gushing from the earth and promptly named their new settlement Acqua Sulis dedicating the resort to the goddess Minerva. Given their penchant for communal bathing, the town became a spa especially as its muddy waters were said to have cured King Bladud (father of Shakespeare's King Lear) of leprosy. Well, the rest, as they say, is history, and Bath has a fair share of that stuff.

On the many occasions that I have been to Bath, I have always gone on horseback--well, not literally, but what I mean is, in a hurry. I've combed the main sights--the spectacular fan vaulting of the Abbey, the romance of the Roman Baths, the elegance of the Pump Room with its Jane Austen and Beau Brummel associations and have posed by Pulteney Bridge...and then I was off.

This was the first time, I stayed in the city long enough to be able to embrace it as the Romans did. And I left with an affection for the city that I had never felt before. Walking through its golden streets--golden because the entire city is constructed of the famous warm honey-colored Cotswold stone with which the city of Oxford is also built--I felt a rare delight in the sheer uniformity of the color and the style of the buildings.

The entire city was designed and constructed by the father-son duo of John Nash--since they both had the same name, they are distinguished as The Elder and The Younger. Their love of classical architecture and clean Roman lines is evident everywhere you turn, from the Royal Theater which Jane Austen frequented (where I felt so fortunate to get a seat unexpectedly to watch Vanessa Redgrave play Joan Didion in The Year of Magical Thinking, an account of Didion's grief-management when her husband John died while her daughter Quintana lay in a coma), to the Crescent (a semi-circle of plush mansions) to the Circle, a perfect circle of colonnaded homes built around a park, to the Assembly Rooms where the rich and famous gathered to dance, discuss community affairs, gossip and make matches, to the fashionable Pump Room where they basically did the same thing while sipping the medicinal waters of the hot spring--which I did too and found to be foul-tasting but warm.

On a past occasion when we had arrived as a family in Bath, Llew and I had attended a cocktail party in the Roman Baths, lit by giant fire torches at night, and had supped to the accompaniment of a classical quartet in the candlelit Pump Room--this was part of the recreation provided by the organizers of a conference at the famous University of Bath where I had presented a paper. This time, I was a tourist, with map and camera in hand, clicking away at the many centuries of history and architecture that lay ensconced in that one space--the Baths--and at the many lovely arches, crescents, bylanes, towers, steeples, bridges (I actually walked on Pulteney Bridge, this time, only one of two bridges that is lined with shops--the other being Florence's Ponte Vecchio).

I also visited the Jane Austen Center (I mean how can you escape from old Janie when you are in Bath?) and saw costumes from a range of films in which her novels and her own uncomplicated life have been portrayed. I went to the Assembly Rooms and saw the Costume Museum, a wonderful receptacle of clothing through the ages. I also visited No. 1 Royal Crescent, a home that has been turned into a museum created to look exactly the way an interior of a privileged home night have looked when Bath was at the height of its popularity and appeal.

I strolled in the same gardens that Jane Austen and her family loved, saw her homes on Gay Street and Queen Square, window shopped in Milsum Street (reportedly the favorite shopping venue of Princess Diana) and in the covered Guildhall Market whose heyday had been the time of the Regency. I had looked forward to browsing through Bath's many antiques shops but alas, the recession in America and the fallen dollar has affected the UK's antiques market so badly that dozens of the shops along Antiques Row have closed down. However, I did my share of poking around a few multi-dealer locations and saw nothing to catch my fancy.

I could not leave Bath without doing two things: tasting the famous Bath Bun, a roll studded with raisins and stuffed with sugar cubes and visiting Sally Lunn's establishment which also happens to be the oldest house in Bath, dating from Roman Times--or so they say. Inside, you listen to the story of a French Huguenot woman, escaping from persecution in the 1600s who arrived in Bath and set up her bakery. She began to bake a bun that was unlike anything the English had ever eaten--brioche-like, this soft confection stole their hearts away and the Sally Lunn Bun was born. Today, you can eat in or take out--a bun costs a pound and a half--and was the best little souvenir I took out of the city. Oh, but I forgot...my favorite souvenirs of the city were the genuine old coins I bought at the shop run at the Roman Baths. These coins from a bygone Britain included florins and half-crowns, farthings and shillings and a whole set of genuine copper pennies, one each from the reigns of all the monarchs that have ruled England in the 20th century, i.e.Victoria, Edward VII, George V, George VI and Elizabeth II. I intend to set these in silver and create an exquisite bracelet and necklace for myself.

I could not leave Bath without attending a rugby match, for Bath's team is famous and superior to most, and I was able to catch a match in progress while standing on the lovely Pulteney Bridge and watching the teams as they moved in and out of my line of vision.

At night today, especially on weekend nights, Bath buzzes with a plethora of young people from all over the world who frequent its many pubs, clubs and restaurants, then get home sozzled and swaying along its uneven cobbled streets. The low lighting reminds me of the gaslit days when equally sozzled young dandies returned home from the gaming tables and fell drunk in their beds, attended, the next morning by their long-suffering servants. I caught a glimpse of this side of modern-day Bath as well on the late night stroll I took through the city and I was grateful to return to the comfort of my bed at the Travelodge just off Broad Street, where I awoke the next morning to streaming sunlight and the start of one of the first truly sunny days I have had in England since my arrival here.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Pho in Clerkenwell with Karen

Thursday, September 11, 2008
London

When I called out the roster this morning in class, I did realize it was September 11--that dreadful date that, were I teaching in Manhattan, would have caused me to pause and recall events of seven years ago.

Here, in faraway London, however, we spared a passing thought to the tragedy that changed all our lives, then got down to the business of our class on Anglo-India in the 17th and 18th centuries.

In the evening, in-keeping with a ritual that Karen Karbeiner (my colleague from New York who is also going to spend a year teaching in London with me) and I have decided to initiate, we met at a Vietnamese restaurant in Clerkenwell called Pho. Karen informed me that the correct pronunciation of the word is 'pha' with a very short 'ah' sound!

I was tempted to order pho, which I love--a great big bowl of steaming broth with rice noodles and a variety of meats, served with crisp raw bean sprouts, springs of mint, lemon juice and roasted peanuts. Instead, because I am still on a low carb diet, we ordered a variation of it with a very small quantity of noodles and a lot of greens--healthy, hearty and very delicious indeed.

Karen and I spent the evening catching up with our respective research interests and our plans for the weekend. She, a very respected Whitman scholar, is off with her husband Douglas, A Renaissance Drama scholar, to a Whitman gathering in Bolton in Yorkshire followed by a weekend's jaunt in the Dales. I told her that a visit to Castle Howard is a must.

As for me, I am off for a weekend jaunt myself--to Stonehenge and Bath and, no doubt, will have some interesting episodes with which to update this blog when I return.

Until then...here's to memorable travels!