Friday, January 30, 2009
Berlin
A Jewish History of Berlin:
I devoted this final day in Berlin to retracing the history of the European Jew and leaving the apartment at 9 am (after a breakfast of coffee and purchased chocolate croissants), I took a bus down Ku-Damm to Checkpoint Charlie as I wanted to get some pictures there. Since it was still rather early, there were few tourists about and I was able to get the kind of angles I wanted without too much traffic tearing down the streets.
In fact, one of the things that occurred to me about Berlin was how little traffic there was—I was never caught in a jam anywhere—and how smoothly it moved. Of course, everyone seemed to be driving a spiffy German car—there were Mercedes Benz-es and Audis coming out of my ears! And the roads were smooth as silk so that even the double decker buses glided over them effortlessly. I later found out that not many Berliners own cars as their public transport is so fabulous—as indeed I discovered for myself. It is easy to feel as if you are transported to the mid-50s in the lack of cars on the roads.
At Checkpoint Charlie:
I paid one euro to the German guy who is licensed to masquerade as an American GI so I could pose with him at Checkpoint Charlie! There is also another kiosk where for another euro you can get your passport stamped with any of the visas of the pre-1989 era that were required if passengers were crossing the border from one part of divided Germany into the other. Much as I felt tempted to have my passport stamped with one of those visa stamps, I found it hard to accept that the man is ‘licensed’ to perform this operation in a real passport! I did not have the time to visit the Checkpoint Charlie Museum nearby which details the stories of the many escapees who crossed the border using the most ingenious of means.
The Jewish Historic Museum:
Then began my long walk to the Jewish Historic Museum. This quite recent addition to the Berlin skyline is the design of American Jewish architect Daniel Libeskind who has designed a structure that is supposed to look like the Star of David turned inside-out. To call it sheer genius would be an understatement. It is so superbly conceived and so amazingly implemented—here again my engagement and connection with the Modernist architecture took me by surprise, but I marveled with each step I took further and further into the building which is something of a maze. It’s a good thing that a lot of young volunteer guides are around to help you find your way to a particular exhibit. In the basement, for instance, I visited the Holocaust Tower—a structure which represents various things to various people. It is a tall column that you enter underground. You will find yourself in an unlit and unheated space (and believe me, the contrast in temperatures is striking at any time of year). The only light is natural—coming from a small slit in the walls. It represented for me the entrapment of the prisoners in the various concentration camps around Europe and their inability to escape.
I then stepped into the Garden of Exile, a series of granite columns with olive trees growing at the top—olives, of course, symbolizing the Promised Land. Of course, since this was the wrong time of year to be visiting a garden, I merely took a peek at it, but again the concepts behind these creations were just staggering.
Taking the elevator to the top floor, I got off in the Medieval section which details the persecutions that Jews encountered throughout history. In this section, I was able, through a computer, to see my name written in Hebrew and to get a print out of it which really tickled me—what an unusual souvenir! If time had permitted, I would have gone minutely through every one of the mementoes on display from various epochs in history, but I had a great deal to cover and my next port of call was the underground Holocaust Memorial. By this time, I had become so familiar with the layout of the city through my maps and taking the buses, that I felt very much at ease and did not need to ask anyone for directions to get anywhere.
The Underground Holocaust Memorial:
The Holocaust Memorial is also rather ingeniously planned. You take a stair well that leads into a darkened space underground which details the losses suffered by about six European Jewish families during the insanity of the Holocaust. Of course, having been to Dachau (about 22 years ago) and more recently to Auschwitz-Birkenau on a trip to Eastern Europe, I had decided not to visit the Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp which lies a few miles outside of Berlin. And I was familiar with the ruthlessness of the Nazi machinery that rounded up Jews from all over Europe and herded them off to the camps where they were forced to labor under atrocious conditions and eventually gassed to death. But to see this part of history presented so vividly through photographs and diary jottings and postcards is always so heart breaking that I was often in tears.
In Chocolate Heaven:
Taking the bus again, I went out in search of a cheering cup of hot chocolate at Fassbender and Rausch near the Gendarmenmarkt and I settled myself by a window that overlooked the imposing dome of the Cathedral and ordered myself a Black Forest Chocolate pastry (I love the name in German—Schwartzwalden Torte!) and a cup of Ecuadorian dark hot chocolate which was laced with Chilli! It was quite the most unusual and delicious hot chocolate I’ve had (the best one still remains the hot chocolate Chriselle and I had at Cukracavalimonada, a restaurant in Prague!). The pastry was amazing—the cherries, soaked in kirsche—cherry liqueur—were frozen into the pastry and they burst into my mouth in what seemed like small shots!
Coffee at KaDeWe:
Then, I was hurrying off to KaDeWe where I had made 3 pm coffee plans with my English friend and colleague Catherine Robson who is on a year long Fellowship at a university in Berlin finishing up her next book. Catherine was awaiting me when I got there and we made our way to the Food Halls again settling down with peppermint tea by the picture windows to gaze upon the rooftops of Berlin—not a very pretty sight!
Catherine and I caught up for an hour before she hurried off to do some shopping while I went back down to the entrance to await the arrival of Anja who returned from Munich that morning and had made plans to spend the evening with me. She arrived there within five minutes and we were off after she had secured her bicycle to a tree stump (that’s another thing—bicycles are ubiquitous in Berlin even in the winter!).
Exploring Berlin’s Lesser-Known Parts with Anja:
Anja got on to the bus with me and took me to the furthest point of the city, way in the East, which she told me was a bit like Greenwich Village in New York. This area was left untouched by the war and the buildings that line the street are pre-War—the entire area retains its early-20th century ambience and it was marvelous to stroll through a part of Germany that is being preserved almost like a memorial to those years before colossal personal ambition changed the world for the worse. The area is lined with cafes, restaurants, boutique shops and cultural centers, art galleries and the like. We found ourselves a cute café (Café de Paris) to have another cup of coffee and then we were on the S-Bahn making our way back to Charlottenburg as I wanted to take Anja out for dinner and she recommended a place called Engelbecken that served Bavarian food as Anja is from Munich!
A Bavarian Dinner in Charlottenberg:
Needless to say, I was exhausted by this point as finding the restaurant involved a long walk from the S-Bahnhof (railway station) and I had spent the entire day on my feet! I was grateful when the waiter found us a table and we settled down with the equivalent of a Shandy and ordered wild boar casserole with knoddel (potato casserole) and a salad of mixed greens. Anja opted for a veal roast with spaztel (a German thick pasta, somewhat similar to gnocchi). The food was absolutely delicious and since I do not go to restaurants when I am traveling alone, I always welcome the company and the opportunity to eat good local food with someone who can guide me on what to order and how to eat it. We had a fabulous evening together and were able to catch up and make plans to meet again, next in Padua in Italy where I have been invited to give a lecture in March—Anja will be in Venice at the same time!
Anja decided to spend the night with me in Anneke’s apartment—which was a huge relief to me as I had to leave the apartment really early the next morning to take the S-Bahn to Schonefeld airport and I was grateful for her company. She, poor thing, was exhausted after her own return from Munich and the hectic week she had spent there (she is an art historian doing a rather late Ph.D. on an Italian Renaissance Venetian artist) and would have rather been in her own bed, no doubt. We continued chatting late into the night and finally nodded off to sleep.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Berlin's Cathedrals and Museums
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Berlin
Three Churches and Two Museums:
I decided to devote the day to church visiting and museum hopping. Berlin is a sprawling city and there is a wealth of places to go to and things to do—so unless you have a definite plan of action, you could end up short changing yourself. Of the many beautiful churches that dot the city—from the Baroque to the Modernist—I chose to see, first of all the Kaiser Wilhelm Gestadtkirsche. This was primarily because its profile is so striking. It clearly has a bombed steeple—that much is evident from a distance, long before one gets into its vicinity. And yet that bombed profile was allowed to remain. It was so intriguing that it warranted investigation. Besides, it is very conveniently located--right next door to the Zoo where the main bus terminal happens to be.
Exploring the Remains of a Bombed Church:
I arrived there at 10 am and made my way first to the Memorial Hall—this used to be the main entrance to the original church that has stood on this site since 1904 when the church was inaugurated by the Kaiser. During World War II, the church was bombed to smithereens and only the tower remained (with a large part of its steeple destroyed). The church, however, boasted some unimaginably intricate mosaics in the Byzantine style and, miraculously, many of them survived the bombing. When the war ended and the reconstruction of Germany began, it was decided that the tower should be retained though the rest of the ruins were demolished. These surviving mosaics were carefully moved and relocated to the main tower together with several that had originally stood there through the decades. Today, these mosaics are the main attraction of the tower which has been converted into a Memorial Hall.
A newer, far more modern church (that some think looks like a compactor and, therefore, has so nicknamed it), was fashioned out of thousands of pieces of sapphire blue glass that glow as the sunlight streams through them. It makes a quiet place of contemplation and I would certainly recommend this unique space for a visit.
The Gemaldegalerie—An Art Lover’s Paradise:
I then took the bus and made my way to the Kulturforum, a part of Berlin in which the arts and culture are omnipresent through the Philharmonie Building, the National Library and the Gemaldegalerie—the latter being my main interest. Now everybody who has any knowledge of Art History knows that the Nazis were culture-vultures and patronized their artists enthusiastically—remember Hitler’s love for Wagner? And in the movie The Pianist, the only reason the Polish Jewish pianist is saved from the concentration camp was because the Nazi commandant who found him at the end of the movie was a passionate lover of classical music. Hence, they amassed a vast treasure trove of fine art by the Old Masters—much of which they reportedly looted from the other European collections. After the War ended, this collection was divided between East and West Germany and it is only after the Fall of the Wall that the collection has come together again.
The building chosen to house this treasure is the new Gemaldegalerie, a Modernist space that was custom designed and built for the purpose—and it is truly one of the finest museum buildings I have ever seen. I loved the light filled spaces, the interesting layout, the manner in which the paintings are hung against light-absorbing damask walls and the fact that daylight makes its subdued presence felt on the canvases so that no artificial light hits the surfaces at all.
As for the collection? Well, what can I say? I gave myself two to three hours to see the Highlights (the museum has a fine handout with about 20 Highlights outlined together with a route) and my DK Eyewitness Guide recommended that I do not miss a few more. But I have to say that I could easily have spent the entire day there—it was so astonishing. The collection of Botticellis is astounding, there is a fine array of Rembrandts, some really superb works from the Dutch and Flemish Schools, a totally wacky Pieter Breughel entitled A Hundred Proverbs and easily my favorite of all Caravaggio’s Cupid Victorius. In fact, I think I came away from there loving it even more than the Uffizi Bacchus which has always been my favorite one of Carravaggio’s works. Cupid’s playfulness, indeed his impishness—as caught by his pose and his expression—is so entrancing that I simply couldn’t tear myself away from that work. And a Vermeer entitled A Glass of Wine was also so memorable that it brought to mind the novel Girl with a Pearl Ear Ring. I was disappointed that Pieter dse Hooch’s work entitled Die Mutter was in Rome as I adore the work of this Flemish artist. I found the guards in each gallery extremely knowledgeable and much more helpful than any of the Italian ones I encountered anywhere in Florence. I had a very fine lunch at the Museum Café which gave me a chance to rest my feet as well as sample a variety of delicious German salads.
A Gothic Church—Marienkirsche and a Baroque One—Berliner Dom:
Then, I was in the bus again and on my way to Marienkirsche, a Gothic Church with an ancient fresco that wraps itself around the entrance walls. This, however, was so faint that it is was barely discernible. Inside the church, the stained glass windows on the altar were striking as were some very old sculptured effigies. The starkness of this church contrasted strongly with the Berliner Dom which was the next church I visited—this one spelt Baroque grandeur and opulence as was evident from the exterior itself. The interior was a confection of superb stained glass windows, an elaborate marble pulpit, a magnificent brass organ with an intricately carved case and the grand sarcogphagi of Freidreich I anhis wife. I was repeatedly reminded of the spectacular cathedrals we saw in Vienna and Salzburg in Austria—and indeed, in many ways, I was reminded of Vienna in general while in Berlin. It may have had to do with the German culture and language which the two cities have in common, but I think it was also the greatness of the architecture and the scale and layout of the city which is huge in its dimensions which reminded me of the Hapsburg excesses.
Finally---the Pergammonmuseum:
Having seen these three churches, I decided finally to get to the piece de resistance—the Pergammonmuseum, located on what is called Museum Island—one of the greatest museums in the world. Luckily, most major museums in Berlin stay open until 6 pm and since it was so cold, they were the best places to escape into in the winter months. I couldn’t wait to see for myself the wealth of unique treasures contained within. There was a likelihood that I would be missing the most monumental of its collection as renovations are being carried out; but since the website did not give any information to discourage a visit, I decided to see for myself.
While my Metropolitan Museum ID card had, thus far, taken me into all the museums for free, I had to pay the full fee of 10 euros to see the Pergammon—this included an audio guide in English which outlined a few highlights that would take roughly an hour to cover. I bought my ticket, obtained my audio guide and was off.
To see all the museums of Berlin one would need at least a month and to appreciate them from the outside would take another! Each building is stunning and forms a very fitting receptacle for the collection that lies concealed within. The exterior of the Pergammon is completely marred by the ugly scaffolding that is part of their renovation plan
The very first ‘room’ in the Pergammon is breathtaking because as soon as you walk in you find yourself standing right in front of the altar from the Greek Temple at Pergammon in modern-day Turkey—it is from this Temple that the Museum gets its name. Now, though the history of the museum is long and fascinating, suffice it to note that in the early part of the 19th century, German archeologists were very active in sites all over the Middle East and a great deal of their excavations and discoveries led to the uncovering of ancient civilizations whose mementoes would have been lost to the world. As a reward for their endeavors, they were permitted to bring these ‘structures’ to Germany where these specially constructed museums served to house them safe from the destruction that could be wrought by the elements.
The Pergammon Altar has sculpture that, in my humble opinion, is in a far better state of preservation that the Elgin Marbles (although those are far more famous—perhaps because they are so controversial!). Apart from the marble altar which is intact, freizes from the Pergammon Temple decorate the walls of this main first room and they are truly breathtaking. You can actually climb up the steps of the Pergammon Altar (a truly unique experience) and spend as much time as you like contemplating the wealth of ancient mythological sculpture that engulfs you wherever your eye rests. To me, this was so magical, that it is worth going to Berlin just to see this.
The next stop on my tour was the Temple to Athena in the next room which is just as dazzling. What is mind blowing is the sheer size of these works and the scale of the rooms that allows these towering temples, columns, altars and all to be accommodated indoors! And I hadn’t yet arrived at the Ishtar Gate!
Next door to the Athena Temple are the Gates of Miletus, colossal Classical columns holding a decorative gateway that once existed at the entrance to the Market in Miletus in Asia Minor. Though badly damaged and undergoing restoration, these gates are truly splendid and also breathtaking. Here, too, visitors walk right through the gates, so that you feel as if you are actually walking in their ancient worlds.
And then I arrived at what I think is the most impressive exhibit of all at the Pergammon—the Babylonian Ishtar Gates. These stunning gates composed almost entirely of sapphire ceramic glazed bricks were built during the reign of Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar (604-542 BC). To arrive at them, one needed to pass through what was known as the ‘Processional Way’—originally 590 feet long. In the Pergammon, the Inner Gates and a large part of the Processional Way allow the viewer to gasp at the quality of the artistry that went into the design and construction of so exquisite a work. Although many of the upper parts of the structure have been restored (it is very easy to see where the original tiles end and the modern ones begin), the animals that adorn the walls (horses, ibex, and lions—loads of lions) are original. These are not merely embedded into the walls but jut out like bas relief—all of which makes them not just impossible to describe but impossible to stop raving over.
Other more significant parts of the Pergammon’s collection are the Façade of the Mshatta Palace which once stood in Jordan—the parts in the museum once concealed the entrance to a palace and a small mosque. The Allepo Zimmer, a spectacular paneled room that came from a merchant in the Syrian city of Aleppo was also fascinating. (I finally understood where the name of the town of Allepy in Kerala came—from the Syrian Christians, of course, who first brought Christianity into Kerala, India, through the Apostle ‘Doubting’ Thomas—of the Mar Thomite Church of South India).
Apart from its obvious treasures, for me, one of the most exquisite objects in this collection was a Roman Sarcophagus of the 2nd century AD upon which is carved the entire chilling story of Medea—truly Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned! The second story of the Pergammon stocks treasures of the Islamic world (including a few fantastic Moghul works), but easily the most striking was the glazed ceramic tiled Mihrab from a mosque in Kashan (in modern-day Iran) built in 1226. The quality of the glaze is so superior that the gates glittered as if covered in gold—again, impossible to describe!
A Foodie’s Paradise:
Just when I thought I could not take another step because I had literally walked for miles, I decided to call it a day and get back home. But because one of the great joys of travel for me is peeking into the local supermarkets, I did that for about 15 minutes and enjoyed walking through the aisles of ‘foreign’ food—very sorry that I could not buy the Black Forest Wild cherry jams and jellies because hand baggage restrictions no longer permit such items to be carried and with budget airlines, one has only hand baggage! On impulse, I decided to take a bus to Kaufhaus Des Westens (known as KaDeWe), Berlin’s answer to London’s Harrods. My guide book had informed me that the Food Court on the 6th floor was a Foodies Delight and I decided to check it out for myself. Indeed, I was overwhelmed by the variety and quality of the offerings—a true paradise for any gourmand. I poked around a bit and bought myself some take out dinner.
I was brave enough to return to the apartment in Hallensee about 8 pm and spent a long while reading up the first Harry Potter paperback—most of which I had forgotten and which I found myself enjoying very much.
Berlin
Three Churches and Two Museums:
I decided to devote the day to church visiting and museum hopping. Berlin is a sprawling city and there is a wealth of places to go to and things to do—so unless you have a definite plan of action, you could end up short changing yourself. Of the many beautiful churches that dot the city—from the Baroque to the Modernist—I chose to see, first of all the Kaiser Wilhelm Gestadtkirsche. This was primarily because its profile is so striking. It clearly has a bombed steeple—that much is evident from a distance, long before one gets into its vicinity. And yet that bombed profile was allowed to remain. It was so intriguing that it warranted investigation. Besides, it is very conveniently located--right next door to the Zoo where the main bus terminal happens to be.
Exploring the Remains of a Bombed Church:
I arrived there at 10 am and made my way first to the Memorial Hall—this used to be the main entrance to the original church that has stood on this site since 1904 when the church was inaugurated by the Kaiser. During World War II, the church was bombed to smithereens and only the tower remained (with a large part of its steeple destroyed). The church, however, boasted some unimaginably intricate mosaics in the Byzantine style and, miraculously, many of them survived the bombing. When the war ended and the reconstruction of Germany began, it was decided that the tower should be retained though the rest of the ruins were demolished. These surviving mosaics were carefully moved and relocated to the main tower together with several that had originally stood there through the decades. Today, these mosaics are the main attraction of the tower which has been converted into a Memorial Hall.
A newer, far more modern church (that some think looks like a compactor and, therefore, has so nicknamed it), was fashioned out of thousands of pieces of sapphire blue glass that glow as the sunlight streams through them. It makes a quiet place of contemplation and I would certainly recommend this unique space for a visit.
The Gemaldegalerie—An Art Lover’s Paradise:
I then took the bus and made my way to the Kulturforum, a part of Berlin in which the arts and culture are omnipresent through the Philharmonie Building, the National Library and the Gemaldegalerie—the latter being my main interest. Now everybody who has any knowledge of Art History knows that the Nazis were culture-vultures and patronized their artists enthusiastically—remember Hitler’s love for Wagner? And in the movie The Pianist, the only reason the Polish Jewish pianist is saved from the concentration camp was because the Nazi commandant who found him at the end of the movie was a passionate lover of classical music. Hence, they amassed a vast treasure trove of fine art by the Old Masters—much of which they reportedly looted from the other European collections. After the War ended, this collection was divided between East and West Germany and it is only after the Fall of the Wall that the collection has come together again.
The building chosen to house this treasure is the new Gemaldegalerie, a Modernist space that was custom designed and built for the purpose—and it is truly one of the finest museum buildings I have ever seen. I loved the light filled spaces, the interesting layout, the manner in which the paintings are hung against light-absorbing damask walls and the fact that daylight makes its subdued presence felt on the canvases so that no artificial light hits the surfaces at all.
As for the collection? Well, what can I say? I gave myself two to three hours to see the Highlights (the museum has a fine handout with about 20 Highlights outlined together with a route) and my DK Eyewitness Guide recommended that I do not miss a few more. But I have to say that I could easily have spent the entire day there—it was so astonishing. The collection of Botticellis is astounding, there is a fine array of Rembrandts, some really superb works from the Dutch and Flemish Schools, a totally wacky Pieter Breughel entitled A Hundred Proverbs and easily my favorite of all Caravaggio’s Cupid Victorius. In fact, I think I came away from there loving it even more than the Uffizi Bacchus which has always been my favorite one of Carravaggio’s works. Cupid’s playfulness, indeed his impishness—as caught by his pose and his expression—is so entrancing that I simply couldn’t tear myself away from that work. And a Vermeer entitled A Glass of Wine was also so memorable that it brought to mind the novel Girl with a Pearl Ear Ring. I was disappointed that Pieter dse Hooch’s work entitled Die Mutter was in Rome as I adore the work of this Flemish artist. I found the guards in each gallery extremely knowledgeable and much more helpful than any of the Italian ones I encountered anywhere in Florence. I had a very fine lunch at the Museum Café which gave me a chance to rest my feet as well as sample a variety of delicious German salads.
A Gothic Church—Marienkirsche and a Baroque One—Berliner Dom:
Then, I was in the bus again and on my way to Marienkirsche, a Gothic Church with an ancient fresco that wraps itself around the entrance walls. This, however, was so faint that it is was barely discernible. Inside the church, the stained glass windows on the altar were striking as were some very old sculptured effigies. The starkness of this church contrasted strongly with the Berliner Dom which was the next church I visited—this one spelt Baroque grandeur and opulence as was evident from the exterior itself. The interior was a confection of superb stained glass windows, an elaborate marble pulpit, a magnificent brass organ with an intricately carved case and the grand sarcogphagi of Freidreich I anhis wife. I was repeatedly reminded of the spectacular cathedrals we saw in Vienna and Salzburg in Austria—and indeed, in many ways, I was reminded of Vienna in general while in Berlin. It may have had to do with the German culture and language which the two cities have in common, but I think it was also the greatness of the architecture and the scale and layout of the city which is huge in its dimensions which reminded me of the Hapsburg excesses.
Finally---the Pergammonmuseum:
Having seen these three churches, I decided finally to get to the piece de resistance—the Pergammonmuseum, located on what is called Museum Island—one of the greatest museums in the world. Luckily, most major museums in Berlin stay open until 6 pm and since it was so cold, they were the best places to escape into in the winter months. I couldn’t wait to see for myself the wealth of unique treasures contained within. There was a likelihood that I would be missing the most monumental of its collection as renovations are being carried out; but since the website did not give any information to discourage a visit, I decided to see for myself.
While my Metropolitan Museum ID card had, thus far, taken me into all the museums for free, I had to pay the full fee of 10 euros to see the Pergammon—this included an audio guide in English which outlined a few highlights that would take roughly an hour to cover. I bought my ticket, obtained my audio guide and was off.
To see all the museums of Berlin one would need at least a month and to appreciate them from the outside would take another! Each building is stunning and forms a very fitting receptacle for the collection that lies concealed within. The exterior of the Pergammon is completely marred by the ugly scaffolding that is part of their renovation plan
The very first ‘room’ in the Pergammon is breathtaking because as soon as you walk in you find yourself standing right in front of the altar from the Greek Temple at Pergammon in modern-day Turkey—it is from this Temple that the Museum gets its name. Now, though the history of the museum is long and fascinating, suffice it to note that in the early part of the 19th century, German archeologists were very active in sites all over the Middle East and a great deal of their excavations and discoveries led to the uncovering of ancient civilizations whose mementoes would have been lost to the world. As a reward for their endeavors, they were permitted to bring these ‘structures’ to Germany where these specially constructed museums served to house them safe from the destruction that could be wrought by the elements.
The Pergammon Altar has sculpture that, in my humble opinion, is in a far better state of preservation that the Elgin Marbles (although those are far more famous—perhaps because they are so controversial!). Apart from the marble altar which is intact, freizes from the Pergammon Temple decorate the walls of this main first room and they are truly breathtaking. You can actually climb up the steps of the Pergammon Altar (a truly unique experience) and spend as much time as you like contemplating the wealth of ancient mythological sculpture that engulfs you wherever your eye rests. To me, this was so magical, that it is worth going to Berlin just to see this.
The next stop on my tour was the Temple to Athena in the next room which is just as dazzling. What is mind blowing is the sheer size of these works and the scale of the rooms that allows these towering temples, columns, altars and all to be accommodated indoors! And I hadn’t yet arrived at the Ishtar Gate!
Next door to the Athena Temple are the Gates of Miletus, colossal Classical columns holding a decorative gateway that once existed at the entrance to the Market in Miletus in Asia Minor. Though badly damaged and undergoing restoration, these gates are truly splendid and also breathtaking. Here, too, visitors walk right through the gates, so that you feel as if you are actually walking in their ancient worlds.
And then I arrived at what I think is the most impressive exhibit of all at the Pergammon—the Babylonian Ishtar Gates. These stunning gates composed almost entirely of sapphire ceramic glazed bricks were built during the reign of Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar (604-542 BC). To arrive at them, one needed to pass through what was known as the ‘Processional Way’—originally 590 feet long. In the Pergammon, the Inner Gates and a large part of the Processional Way allow the viewer to gasp at the quality of the artistry that went into the design and construction of so exquisite a work. Although many of the upper parts of the structure have been restored (it is very easy to see where the original tiles end and the modern ones begin), the animals that adorn the walls (horses, ibex, and lions—loads of lions) are original. These are not merely embedded into the walls but jut out like bas relief—all of which makes them not just impossible to describe but impossible to stop raving over.
Other more significant parts of the Pergammon’s collection are the Façade of the Mshatta Palace which once stood in Jordan—the parts in the museum once concealed the entrance to a palace and a small mosque. The Allepo Zimmer, a spectacular paneled room that came from a merchant in the Syrian city of Aleppo was also fascinating. (I finally understood where the name of the town of Allepy in Kerala came—from the Syrian Christians, of course, who first brought Christianity into Kerala, India, through the Apostle ‘Doubting’ Thomas—of the Mar Thomite Church of South India).
Apart from its obvious treasures, for me, one of the most exquisite objects in this collection was a Roman Sarcophagus of the 2nd century AD upon which is carved the entire chilling story of Medea—truly Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned! The second story of the Pergammon stocks treasures of the Islamic world (including a few fantastic Moghul works), but easily the most striking was the glazed ceramic tiled Mihrab from a mosque in Kashan (in modern-day Iran) built in 1226. The quality of the glaze is so superior that the gates glittered as if covered in gold—again, impossible to describe!
A Foodie’s Paradise:
Just when I thought I could not take another step because I had literally walked for miles, I decided to call it a day and get back home. But because one of the great joys of travel for me is peeking into the local supermarkets, I did that for about 15 minutes and enjoyed walking through the aisles of ‘foreign’ food—very sorry that I could not buy the Black Forest Wild cherry jams and jellies because hand baggage restrictions no longer permit such items to be carried and with budget airlines, one has only hand baggage! On impulse, I decided to take a bus to Kaufhaus Des Westens (known as KaDeWe), Berlin’s answer to London’s Harrods. My guide book had informed me that the Food Court on the 6th floor was a Foodies Delight and I decided to check it out for myself. Indeed, I was overwhelmed by the variety and quality of the offerings—a true paradise for any gourmand. I poked around a bit and bought myself some take out dinner.
I was brave enough to return to the apartment in Hallensee about 8 pm and spent a long while reading up the first Harry Potter paperback—most of which I had forgotten and which I found myself enjoying very much.
Berlin on Foot
Wednesday, January 29, 2009
Berlin
Finding my Bearings in Berlin:
At Schonefeld airport, I had requested a map at the Tourist Information Counter and on perusing it during breakfast (Andrea had thoughtfully provided me with a quarter loaf of raisin bread, milk and coffee powder), I discovered that there was such a thing as a Free Walking Tour of Berlin that met at the Dunkin Donuts shop near the Zoo.
I purchased a three-day Berlin Welcome Card (about which I had heard from a magazine before leaving London) that allowed unlimited travel on all forms of public transport—the S-Bahn, the U-Bahn (Underground), Trams and Buses. Now I know from experiences in London that the bus is the best way to really see a city and Berlin has double decker buses (just like London’s but yellow, not red) with big picture windows. The lady who sold me the ticket at Hallensee S-Bahn station told me to take Bus Number X10 to the Zoo. It trundled along in about ten minutes—ten freezing minutes during which time my toes turned to ice at the bus stop despite two pairs of socks—and when I climbed upstairs and followed its route on my map, I discovered that it ran along Kurfunstendamm (known as Ku-damm), one of West Berlin’s major arteries before it arrived at the Zoo.
Joining a Walking Tour of Berlin:
I found the Dunkin Donuts easily enough and saw that a crowd had already gathered there for the tour that left at 10. 30 am. There, I met Maria, our guide, who informed me that the Walking Tour would last three and a half hours and would take us through most of the historical sights in the East. I wondered whether my recovering feet would be able to deal with such a long tour; but I realized that the best way to find out was to join it. If I felt unable to go right through to the end, I could always drop out and do the rest on my own. With that caveat, I joined the group. Maria took us by S-Bahn to the Eastern side where we emerged on Unter der Linden, one of the main arteries in the East.
And just as we emerged from the Underground to street level, I gasped, because there right in front of me, in all its magnificent glory was the famous Brandenburg Gate. This is the most distinctive landmark of Berlin that I had seen in countless pictures and movies and to find it suddenly loom up in front of me was so startling that I had a reaction similar to the kind I had when I had first seen the Taj Mahal in Agra and the Grand Canyon in Colorado. It really did take my breath away!
After a good half hour and much organization by the leaders of this Free Walking City Tour (they had gathered a couple of hundred tourists from all over the city to converge on this spot), our tour with Maria began. In Paritzer Platz, she gave us a very detailed history of the Brandenburg Gate in the open air in rather freezing temperature and I realized that this tour is certainly not for the faint of heart—indeed, there was no one older than 40 on these tours! Thank goodness I had dressed warmly and in very comfortable shoes! She also pointed out the Hotel Adlon Kempinski, one of the world's most luxurious buildings, but one that gained notoriety when Michael Jackson dangled his baby out of the third floor balcony of that very same hotel!
Our next stop was the Reischstag—the country’s Parliament Building, a 19th century structure with a very recent crowning glass dome, the work of British architect Sir Norman Foster. We saw this building from the outside only (the walking tour does not take you inside any of the buildings) and I resolved to visit it again on my own, if only to see the handiwork of Sir Norman up close and personal.
Our route then took us over Hitler’s Bunker. I was very excited about this as I imagined that we would actually be able to visit the underground headquarters in which the Fuhrer remained holed up with his girl friend Eva Braun as the war came to an end and he committed suicide. I believe that there is a movie about this last phase in his life, but I could not remember the name of it. As it turned out, the bunker was completely destroyed by the Soviets after they seized control of the city at the war’s end. This was done deliberately as they did not want Hitler’s grave to become a place of pilgrimage for the world’s Neo-Nazis. Today, nothing but soil stands over the tunnel of rooms once occupied by the most powerful SS officers, but they are surrounded by the kind of solid, squat, institutional residential buildings that characterize all Communist countries. Residents of these building use the land under which the bunker once lay to walk their dogs who defecate all over the premises—a fitting fate, perhaps, for the former home of a man whose ideas brought so much terror to the world.
A few feet ahead is the Holocaust Memorial and I was so struck by the stark simplicity of the area that is made up of hundreds of granite blocks of varying height that form a uniform grid comprising narrow lanes that run throughout the space. In the midst of these, there are steps that lead underground to a free Holocaust Museum--which I also resolved to visit at my leisure when I had more time to ponder the unspeakable fate of the Jews and so many other minorities under the Nazi regime.
The Tour then took us past a huge grey granite building on the intersection of two of East Berlin’s busiest roads—Wilhelmstrasse and Fredreichstrasse. This building had the appearance of the kind you see in old Nazi movies—dour, forbidding, depressing. This is the only one of the old Nazi buildings that the Soviets did not destroy. It used to be the Ministry of Ministries under the SS but today is the Ministry of Finance and Taxation—just as frightful! Those who have seen the current Tom Cruise movie Valkyrie will find it familiar as the entire movie was shot in the premises of this building.
At the intersection of the street where this building ends are the remains of the Old Berlin Wall that once encircled the city and separated the GDR (German Democratic Republic, the West) from the DDR (the Communist East). Tourists pause here today to take pictures and Maria used the opportunity to describe the creation of the Wall and its impact on the people of Berlin. I found all of this rather heart breaking. The Wall today is a grey granite structure devoid of graffiti and enclosed by a fence as tourists still attempt to break pieces of it to sell on E-Bay!
Our walk then took us towards Checkpoint Charlie which was the name for the Border Crossing between East and West Germany. The name comes from the Code used in the NATO phonetic alphabet at the time—A for Alpha, the check-point at Helmstedt, B for Bravo at Dreilinden and C for Charlie, here in Berlin—and refers to a small white shed which was manned by Allied guards during the Cold War. To leave the American sector behind was to enter into the Communist Bloc in East Berlin, a place as different before the Fall of the Wall as Heaven from Hell! There is a Checkpoint Charlie Museum set up a mere block away as well as a Soviet Museum that carries the last Soviet flag that was flown on the Russian side before the wall fell in November 1989.
The tour moved on but, once again, I decided that I would return to take in the atmosphere in a more thoughtful manner. At this point, we stopped for lunch—a real hot chocolate and apfel streudel for me in Café Aroma—and then we were on our way again. On this leg of the walking tour, we left 20th century Berlin behind us and made our way into Berlin of 2 centuries previous—when it was under the Kaisers, all of whom rather confusingly were named either Wilhelm or Freidrich or when they were being more creative, Wilhelm Freidrich!
We arrived at Gendarmenmarkt (literally, in French, the Policeman’s Square) which is dominated by three stunningly beautiful buildings—the Concert Hall in the center with a marble sculpture of German playwright Schiller surrounded by the Muses; the Hugenot Memorial Museum and a Cathedral (Protestant). The grandeur of the architecture in this square makes it one of the prettiest in Europe and just before we arrived there, we passed by one of the country’s most famous chocolatiers, Fassbender and Rausch, where, in the picture windows, we saw chocolate replicas of the Brandenburg Gate, the Kaiser Wilheim Gedatschkirsch and somewhat inexplicably the Titanic! Here, too, I decided I would come and poke around as my great love for chocolate makes me a slave to these treats!
Our walk then wound on towards the Unter der Linden (an avenue named for the hundreds of linden or lime tress that are planted all along it) and on to Bebelplatz which is also dominated by the colossal dome of a church—this time the Catholic Cathedral of St. Helwig decorated with striking sculpture in bas relief on its main pediment. This space overlooks the campus of Humboldt University whose alumni list reads like a Who’s Who of German intellectuals from Albert Einstein and Franz Kafka to Sigmund Freud and Bismarck, Karl Marx and Fredreich Engels! In fact, in the early-19th century, a book burning ritual was carried out by a dictatorial regime which led alumnus Heinrich Heinne to write in the 1820s that when they start to burn books, it will not be long before they burn people. Of course, his words proved to be strangely prophetic considering what the Nazis did a century later. Because the university is supposedly ashamed of its role in the book burning scandal, today books are sold by the main gate and the proceeds go to charity. When we walked through Bebelplatz, the city was gearing up for Berlin’s Fashion Week which was supposed to draw some hot names from its contemporary couture scene.
By this point in the tour, I began to feel seriously fatigued and was contemplating dropping out when Maria informed us that it would be ending soon. We headed towards Museum Island and stopped short at the sight of the superb Berliner Dom or main Cathedral which reminds one of London’s St. Paul’s Cathedral and for good reason—the Kaiser wanted a cathedral similar to St. Paul’s, only more ornate--and so the architect gave him his heart’s desire. The cathedral shares space at the Lustgarten with the Altes Museum, a splendid Neo-Classical structure that houses Greek and Roman Antiquities and is considered one of the finest such buildings in Europe.
I was dead tired by this time and decided that I needed to sit somewhere for a long time. I was grateful that Maria sat us down on the steps of the Museum and went into a very dramatic rendition of the Fall of the Wall and the manner in which the country and the city that was torn apart for decades came together under Gorbachov’s news vision of glasnost and perestroika. I had goose bumps pretty frequently as her narrative continued for who among us has not the most vivid memories of those heady days when the winds of freedom swept across Europe and took it out of the darkness and into the light? It was a fine finale to a highly enlightening day but one that took much longer than three and a half hours and had me walk countless miles!
Inside the Glass Dome of the Reischstag:
I then hopped into the Bus Number 100 which is a big tourist attraction as it loops around most of Berlin’s monumental buildings. Well, before I knew it, I was back in front of the Reichstag and I could not resist jumping right off and joining the queue to get to the top in the elevator. Luckily, I asked if there was a handicap entrance and they led me to one—talk about German precision and engineering, they think of everything! Well, then I got priority in the line to get to Sir Norman Foster’s newest creation, a rather superb mirrored dome that reflects multiple images of the people who troop inside on a ramp that gets you to the very top for some stunning views of the city. And being one who doesn’t usually engage with modernist architecture, I was half prepared not to like the concept too much; but I have to say that having walked through the dome, I was converted. It is rather ingenious, in an I.M. Pei kind of way, and I was so glad I did seek this architectural gem out to wander through on my own.
Riding the Buses at Dusk:
I spent the next hour seeing dusk fall over Berlin as the lights came on and bathed the city with fluorescence. From one modern square after the other, in the comfort of my bus, I was struck by the architectural innovations that have flourished in the past few years as the rebuilding that began after the Wall fell has continued unabated over the years.
But because I felt hesitant about getting to Charlottenburg too late, I took a bus back home and by 7 pm, I was in my flat, safe and exhausted and reading up my guide book to supplement all the information that Maria had crammed into my head that day.
When I spoke to Llew in the evening, I told him how awed I felt by Berlin, its history, its sweep, its scale—for truly to walk the streets of Berlin is to walk in the shadow of the history of the 20th century. I wish he were sharing the city with me but I decided to be his eyes and ears and convey to him all that I was seeing and hearing and feeling through my blog. As the hours passed and sleep washed over me, I felt that I could not have spent my day more productively.
Berlin
Finding my Bearings in Berlin:
At Schonefeld airport, I had requested a map at the Tourist Information Counter and on perusing it during breakfast (Andrea had thoughtfully provided me with a quarter loaf of raisin bread, milk and coffee powder), I discovered that there was such a thing as a Free Walking Tour of Berlin that met at the Dunkin Donuts shop near the Zoo.
I purchased a three-day Berlin Welcome Card (about which I had heard from a magazine before leaving London) that allowed unlimited travel on all forms of public transport—the S-Bahn, the U-Bahn (Underground), Trams and Buses. Now I know from experiences in London that the bus is the best way to really see a city and Berlin has double decker buses (just like London’s but yellow, not red) with big picture windows. The lady who sold me the ticket at Hallensee S-Bahn station told me to take Bus Number X10 to the Zoo. It trundled along in about ten minutes—ten freezing minutes during which time my toes turned to ice at the bus stop despite two pairs of socks—and when I climbed upstairs and followed its route on my map, I discovered that it ran along Kurfunstendamm (known as Ku-damm), one of West Berlin’s major arteries before it arrived at the Zoo.
Joining a Walking Tour of Berlin:
I found the Dunkin Donuts easily enough and saw that a crowd had already gathered there for the tour that left at 10. 30 am. There, I met Maria, our guide, who informed me that the Walking Tour would last three and a half hours and would take us through most of the historical sights in the East. I wondered whether my recovering feet would be able to deal with such a long tour; but I realized that the best way to find out was to join it. If I felt unable to go right through to the end, I could always drop out and do the rest on my own. With that caveat, I joined the group. Maria took us by S-Bahn to the Eastern side where we emerged on Unter der Linden, one of the main arteries in the East.
And just as we emerged from the Underground to street level, I gasped, because there right in front of me, in all its magnificent glory was the famous Brandenburg Gate. This is the most distinctive landmark of Berlin that I had seen in countless pictures and movies and to find it suddenly loom up in front of me was so startling that I had a reaction similar to the kind I had when I had first seen the Taj Mahal in Agra and the Grand Canyon in Colorado. It really did take my breath away!
After a good half hour and much organization by the leaders of this Free Walking City Tour (they had gathered a couple of hundred tourists from all over the city to converge on this spot), our tour with Maria began. In Paritzer Platz, she gave us a very detailed history of the Brandenburg Gate in the open air in rather freezing temperature and I realized that this tour is certainly not for the faint of heart—indeed, there was no one older than 40 on these tours! Thank goodness I had dressed warmly and in very comfortable shoes! She also pointed out the Hotel Adlon Kempinski, one of the world's most luxurious buildings, but one that gained notoriety when Michael Jackson dangled his baby out of the third floor balcony of that very same hotel!
Our next stop was the Reischstag—the country’s Parliament Building, a 19th century structure with a very recent crowning glass dome, the work of British architect Sir Norman Foster. We saw this building from the outside only (the walking tour does not take you inside any of the buildings) and I resolved to visit it again on my own, if only to see the handiwork of Sir Norman up close and personal.
Our route then took us over Hitler’s Bunker. I was very excited about this as I imagined that we would actually be able to visit the underground headquarters in which the Fuhrer remained holed up with his girl friend Eva Braun as the war came to an end and he committed suicide. I believe that there is a movie about this last phase in his life, but I could not remember the name of it. As it turned out, the bunker was completely destroyed by the Soviets after they seized control of the city at the war’s end. This was done deliberately as they did not want Hitler’s grave to become a place of pilgrimage for the world’s Neo-Nazis. Today, nothing but soil stands over the tunnel of rooms once occupied by the most powerful SS officers, but they are surrounded by the kind of solid, squat, institutional residential buildings that characterize all Communist countries. Residents of these building use the land under which the bunker once lay to walk their dogs who defecate all over the premises—a fitting fate, perhaps, for the former home of a man whose ideas brought so much terror to the world.
A few feet ahead is the Holocaust Memorial and I was so struck by the stark simplicity of the area that is made up of hundreds of granite blocks of varying height that form a uniform grid comprising narrow lanes that run throughout the space. In the midst of these, there are steps that lead underground to a free Holocaust Museum--which I also resolved to visit at my leisure when I had more time to ponder the unspeakable fate of the Jews and so many other minorities under the Nazi regime.
The Tour then took us past a huge grey granite building on the intersection of two of East Berlin’s busiest roads—Wilhelmstrasse and Fredreichstrasse. This building had the appearance of the kind you see in old Nazi movies—dour, forbidding, depressing. This is the only one of the old Nazi buildings that the Soviets did not destroy. It used to be the Ministry of Ministries under the SS but today is the Ministry of Finance and Taxation—just as frightful! Those who have seen the current Tom Cruise movie Valkyrie will find it familiar as the entire movie was shot in the premises of this building.
At the intersection of the street where this building ends are the remains of the Old Berlin Wall that once encircled the city and separated the GDR (German Democratic Republic, the West) from the DDR (the Communist East). Tourists pause here today to take pictures and Maria used the opportunity to describe the creation of the Wall and its impact on the people of Berlin. I found all of this rather heart breaking. The Wall today is a grey granite structure devoid of graffiti and enclosed by a fence as tourists still attempt to break pieces of it to sell on E-Bay!
Our walk then took us towards Checkpoint Charlie which was the name for the Border Crossing between East and West Germany. The name comes from the Code used in the NATO phonetic alphabet at the time—A for Alpha, the check-point at Helmstedt, B for Bravo at Dreilinden and C for Charlie, here in Berlin—and refers to a small white shed which was manned by Allied guards during the Cold War. To leave the American sector behind was to enter into the Communist Bloc in East Berlin, a place as different before the Fall of the Wall as Heaven from Hell! There is a Checkpoint Charlie Museum set up a mere block away as well as a Soviet Museum that carries the last Soviet flag that was flown on the Russian side before the wall fell in November 1989.
The tour moved on but, once again, I decided that I would return to take in the atmosphere in a more thoughtful manner. At this point, we stopped for lunch—a real hot chocolate and apfel streudel for me in Café Aroma—and then we were on our way again. On this leg of the walking tour, we left 20th century Berlin behind us and made our way into Berlin of 2 centuries previous—when it was under the Kaisers, all of whom rather confusingly were named either Wilhelm or Freidrich or when they were being more creative, Wilhelm Freidrich!
We arrived at Gendarmenmarkt (literally, in French, the Policeman’s Square) which is dominated by three stunningly beautiful buildings—the Concert Hall in the center with a marble sculpture of German playwright Schiller surrounded by the Muses; the Hugenot Memorial Museum and a Cathedral (Protestant). The grandeur of the architecture in this square makes it one of the prettiest in Europe and just before we arrived there, we passed by one of the country’s most famous chocolatiers, Fassbender and Rausch, where, in the picture windows, we saw chocolate replicas of the Brandenburg Gate, the Kaiser Wilheim Gedatschkirsch and somewhat inexplicably the Titanic! Here, too, I decided I would come and poke around as my great love for chocolate makes me a slave to these treats!
Our walk then wound on towards the Unter der Linden (an avenue named for the hundreds of linden or lime tress that are planted all along it) and on to Bebelplatz which is also dominated by the colossal dome of a church—this time the Catholic Cathedral of St. Helwig decorated with striking sculpture in bas relief on its main pediment. This space overlooks the campus of Humboldt University whose alumni list reads like a Who’s Who of German intellectuals from Albert Einstein and Franz Kafka to Sigmund Freud and Bismarck, Karl Marx and Fredreich Engels! In fact, in the early-19th century, a book burning ritual was carried out by a dictatorial regime which led alumnus Heinrich Heinne to write in the 1820s that when they start to burn books, it will not be long before they burn people. Of course, his words proved to be strangely prophetic considering what the Nazis did a century later. Because the university is supposedly ashamed of its role in the book burning scandal, today books are sold by the main gate and the proceeds go to charity. When we walked through Bebelplatz, the city was gearing up for Berlin’s Fashion Week which was supposed to draw some hot names from its contemporary couture scene.
By this point in the tour, I began to feel seriously fatigued and was contemplating dropping out when Maria informed us that it would be ending soon. We headed towards Museum Island and stopped short at the sight of the superb Berliner Dom or main Cathedral which reminds one of London’s St. Paul’s Cathedral and for good reason—the Kaiser wanted a cathedral similar to St. Paul’s, only more ornate--and so the architect gave him his heart’s desire. The cathedral shares space at the Lustgarten with the Altes Museum, a splendid Neo-Classical structure that houses Greek and Roman Antiquities and is considered one of the finest such buildings in Europe.
I was dead tired by this time and decided that I needed to sit somewhere for a long time. I was grateful that Maria sat us down on the steps of the Museum and went into a very dramatic rendition of the Fall of the Wall and the manner in which the country and the city that was torn apart for decades came together under Gorbachov’s news vision of glasnost and perestroika. I had goose bumps pretty frequently as her narrative continued for who among us has not the most vivid memories of those heady days when the winds of freedom swept across Europe and took it out of the darkness and into the light? It was a fine finale to a highly enlightening day but one that took much longer than three and a half hours and had me walk countless miles!
Inside the Glass Dome of the Reischstag:
I then hopped into the Bus Number 100 which is a big tourist attraction as it loops around most of Berlin’s monumental buildings. Well, before I knew it, I was back in front of the Reichstag and I could not resist jumping right off and joining the queue to get to the top in the elevator. Luckily, I asked if there was a handicap entrance and they led me to one—talk about German precision and engineering, they think of everything! Well, then I got priority in the line to get to Sir Norman Foster’s newest creation, a rather superb mirrored dome that reflects multiple images of the people who troop inside on a ramp that gets you to the very top for some stunning views of the city. And being one who doesn’t usually engage with modernist architecture, I was half prepared not to like the concept too much; but I have to say that having walked through the dome, I was converted. It is rather ingenious, in an I.M. Pei kind of way, and I was so glad I did seek this architectural gem out to wander through on my own.
Riding the Buses at Dusk:
I spent the next hour seeing dusk fall over Berlin as the lights came on and bathed the city with fluorescence. From one modern square after the other, in the comfort of my bus, I was struck by the architectural innovations that have flourished in the past few years as the rebuilding that began after the Wall fell has continued unabated over the years.
But because I felt hesitant about getting to Charlottenburg too late, I took a bus back home and by 7 pm, I was in my flat, safe and exhausted and reading up my guide book to supplement all the information that Maria had crammed into my head that day.
When I spoke to Llew in the evening, I told him how awed I felt by Berlin, its history, its sweep, its scale—for truly to walk the streets of Berlin is to walk in the shadow of the history of the 20th century. I wish he were sharing the city with me but I decided to be his eyes and ears and convey to him all that I was seeing and hearing and feeling through my blog. As the hours passed and sleep washed over me, I felt that I could not have spent my day more productively.
Berlin...Here I Come--Finally!!!
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
London-Berlin
When I had last been to Germany, more than two decades ago, as a back-packing grad student in England, the country had been divided in two and parts of it still lay concealed behind the Iron Curtain. Berlin was one of those parts and ever since the Reunification of the country, I have wanted to visit this place and walk in the footsteps of the history of the 20th century. When I knew that I would be posted in London for a year, my first thought was, “Ah, now I shall finally be able to make a trip to Berlin”; but then in November, when I had booked my air tickets to get there, I had to cancel my plans as Plantar Fascittis took over my life. At the next available opportunity, I booked tickets again and this time too, I almost did not board the flight—indeed, I felt pretty certain that I was not destined to see Berlin in my lifetime.
I thought I would spend the morning at the National Gallery finishing up the last 6 galleries that I still need to study. But when I awoke, I felt guilty that I hadn’t yet transcribed the two interviews I had done with my Anglo-Indians subjects Vivian and Dorothy Lawless—so I decided to get cracking on those and, boy, did they take ages! I spent hours working on getting their views and words in order and before I knew it, it was well past lunchtime. I spent an hour packing and getting organized for my departure to Berlin and at exactly 1 pm, I left my flat to take the bus to Victoria to catch the Easybus van to Stanstead airport. So…don’t even ask me where the day went. I was glued to my PC but, in the end, I did finish the interviews and did email them off to my office at NYU to be printed out on Monday. Having accomplished this great task, I felt that I could leave for Berlin without feeling guilty about devoting so much time to the sheer pleasure of travel.
Almost Missing my Flight…
The Easybus van left Victoria on schedule. My Ryanair flight was scheduled to depart from Stanstead at 6. 45 pm. I was scheduled to arrive there at 4. 45 pm. Except that from the Get Go, we were held up in awful traffic—indeed all the way out of London and on to the motorway, we dodged traffic and then just when we were 20 miles away from Stanstead, we came to a dead halt—and did not move again for another hour! You can just imagine the despair of every single passenger in the van as, one after the other, they gave up hopes of making their flights. I called Llew to tell him that I was certain to miss my flight as there was a massive pile-up on the motorway. Still, refusing to give up hope, I began praying and I knew that if I arrived at the airport even at 6 pm, there was still a chance I might make it. Well, somewhat miraculously, the roads opened out and I spied a tow van taking a black vehicle off the road—it probably was a bad accident that led to so many passengers missing their flights.
As for me, it was exactly 6 pm, when I dashed out of the van and down the ramp to the Ryanair Check-in machines, obtained my boarding card, saw the instructions that told me to Proceed to the Gate and ran through the security lines. I had learned from my mistakes of the past for I carried only a very tiny transparent plastic bag with a few travel sized toiletries which I placed separately in a tray and, miracle of miracles, I cleared security within five minutes and was racing off to my gate where Boarding had not yet begun. I called Llew to tell him that I had made the flight after all and then I was off.
Arrival in Berlin:
I arrived, just 90 minutes later, at Berlin’s Schonefeld airport at 9.15 pm local time because Berlin is one hour ahead of London. My friend Anja Brug had arranged for me to spend my days in the apartment of her close friend Anneke who lives near Hamburg and uses the Berlin apartment so rarely that she is glad to have travelers use it occasionally. Anja herself had to dash out of Berlin to travel to Munich during the time I was there and felt awful to leave me on my own in the city. However, she had left me detailed instructions on how to get to the apartment from the airport where her Italian boyfriend Andrea was scheduled to meet me.
Now, despite being a very experienced solo world traveler, I have to say that I am always nervous about arriving in a strange country after dark especially when I cannot speak the language. My German is non-existent and using the S-Bahn to get to Hallensee, where the apartment was located, involved making a change that left me rather ill-at-ease. I was pleased, therefore, to find myself sharing a seat on the aircraft with an English student named Rosy who knew Berlin well and was a very able guide as she helped me buy a ticket from the ticket machine and rode part of the journey along the S-Bahn with me. At the point where I need to make a change, I made friends with another German woman named Ingeborg, who was also able to speak English and, hallelujah, she was taking the same train I needed to get off at the same stop—Hallensee! God works His miracles in the most wonderful ways and I was grateful for these blessings!
However, by the time we arrived at Hallensee, it was well past 11 pm and I was terrified about walking alone along Sessenerstrasse to get to the apartment. For one thing, it was dreadfully cold—far colder than it had been in London—and for another, well, the streets were deserted. There was not another soul in sight and as I pulled my backpack along, it seemed to echo eerily on the silent streets. I must admit that I felt very uneasy indeed. I am very glad that I had checked Google Earth before I left the house to find my bearings and get a sense of exactly where I was required to go once I got off the train. This proved very useful in boosting my self-confidence as I passed the cross streets and finally arrived at Number 6 Halberstädter Straße.
There, to my enormous relief, Andrea was awaiting my arrival (I had been in telephonic contact with him from the time I touched down at the airport) and he showed me the ropes. I had last met Andrea in Athens when Llew and I had been traveling in Greece in November.
A Most Unusual Apartment:
Anneke’s apartment is unusual to say the very least—it is an extremely bohemian space in a very old Pre-War part of Hallensee called Charlottenberg which is at the extreme West End of Berlin. The building is in a neighborhood that is made up of very similar ones that stand on cobbled streets. You enter through an imposing old heavy door into a vast hallway with a great big marble fireplace (yes, in the hall) and an elevator that looks as if it has come out of an old Alfred Hitchcock movie like Charade with Audrey Hepburn! At close to midnight, it all appeared a bit discomforting to me, though Andrea showed me my way around very competently.
You enter a large room filled with books and bookshelves and old armoires filled with bed linen and down comforters (which he failed to show me, so that I was cold for three out of the four nights that I was there). This is a ground floor apartment (that once belonged to the concierge of the building) and to access the kitchen, you descend down a winding spiral, wrought-iron staircase. This great space contains a very functional, very well-stocked kitchen and a bathroom space that includes an old-world claw-footed bath tub and a wash basin. The trouble is that there is a window right above the bath tub and though Andrea assured me that no one could look into the apartment, I could see the building on the opposite side of the street through the basement windows and I felt odd about taking a shower in such a space. I felt glad suddenly that my friend Liz Kaplan had cancelled her plans to join me in Berlin from New York as I am sure she would never have coped with such hippie arrangements!
As if this were not adequate, Andrea told me that the WC was located right outside the apartment, on the other end of the corridor! He led the way to a small unheated cubicle where there was a commode well-concealed and locked behind two closed doors. He gave me a key to the toilet and told me that no one else was able to use it except me—but I have to say that I resolved that I would use the loo last thing at night and then pray that I had no reason to have to visit the facilities during the night because, seriously, wild horses would not drive me to get there in the middle of the night along those dark corridors that were lit by light switches that appeared at intervals and glowed red to guide you to them! It’s ironic that I mentioned that the entire space reminded me of 50’s Hollywood movies because Anneke is a Hollywood film buff and her kitchen is decorated with black and white movie posters of Sophia Loren and Shirley MacLaine, John Wayne and Cary Grant!
Andrea left in a few minutes and, dead tired, I settled down for the night, hoping that I would not awake in the middle of it.
London-Berlin
When I had last been to Germany, more than two decades ago, as a back-packing grad student in England, the country had been divided in two and parts of it still lay concealed behind the Iron Curtain. Berlin was one of those parts and ever since the Reunification of the country, I have wanted to visit this place and walk in the footsteps of the history of the 20th century. When I knew that I would be posted in London for a year, my first thought was, “Ah, now I shall finally be able to make a trip to Berlin”; but then in November, when I had booked my air tickets to get there, I had to cancel my plans as Plantar Fascittis took over my life. At the next available opportunity, I booked tickets again and this time too, I almost did not board the flight—indeed, I felt pretty certain that I was not destined to see Berlin in my lifetime.
I thought I would spend the morning at the National Gallery finishing up the last 6 galleries that I still need to study. But when I awoke, I felt guilty that I hadn’t yet transcribed the two interviews I had done with my Anglo-Indians subjects Vivian and Dorothy Lawless—so I decided to get cracking on those and, boy, did they take ages! I spent hours working on getting their views and words in order and before I knew it, it was well past lunchtime. I spent an hour packing and getting organized for my departure to Berlin and at exactly 1 pm, I left my flat to take the bus to Victoria to catch the Easybus van to Stanstead airport. So…don’t even ask me where the day went. I was glued to my PC but, in the end, I did finish the interviews and did email them off to my office at NYU to be printed out on Monday. Having accomplished this great task, I felt that I could leave for Berlin without feeling guilty about devoting so much time to the sheer pleasure of travel.
Almost Missing my Flight…
The Easybus van left Victoria on schedule. My Ryanair flight was scheduled to depart from Stanstead at 6. 45 pm. I was scheduled to arrive there at 4. 45 pm. Except that from the Get Go, we were held up in awful traffic—indeed all the way out of London and on to the motorway, we dodged traffic and then just when we were 20 miles away from Stanstead, we came to a dead halt—and did not move again for another hour! You can just imagine the despair of every single passenger in the van as, one after the other, they gave up hopes of making their flights. I called Llew to tell him that I was certain to miss my flight as there was a massive pile-up on the motorway. Still, refusing to give up hope, I began praying and I knew that if I arrived at the airport even at 6 pm, there was still a chance I might make it. Well, somewhat miraculously, the roads opened out and I spied a tow van taking a black vehicle off the road—it probably was a bad accident that led to so many passengers missing their flights.
As for me, it was exactly 6 pm, when I dashed out of the van and down the ramp to the Ryanair Check-in machines, obtained my boarding card, saw the instructions that told me to Proceed to the Gate and ran through the security lines. I had learned from my mistakes of the past for I carried only a very tiny transparent plastic bag with a few travel sized toiletries which I placed separately in a tray and, miracle of miracles, I cleared security within five minutes and was racing off to my gate where Boarding had not yet begun. I called Llew to tell him that I had made the flight after all and then I was off.
Arrival in Berlin:
I arrived, just 90 minutes later, at Berlin’s Schonefeld airport at 9.15 pm local time because Berlin is one hour ahead of London. My friend Anja Brug had arranged for me to spend my days in the apartment of her close friend Anneke who lives near Hamburg and uses the Berlin apartment so rarely that she is glad to have travelers use it occasionally. Anja herself had to dash out of Berlin to travel to Munich during the time I was there and felt awful to leave me on my own in the city. However, she had left me detailed instructions on how to get to the apartment from the airport where her Italian boyfriend Andrea was scheduled to meet me.
Now, despite being a very experienced solo world traveler, I have to say that I am always nervous about arriving in a strange country after dark especially when I cannot speak the language. My German is non-existent and using the S-Bahn to get to Hallensee, where the apartment was located, involved making a change that left me rather ill-at-ease. I was pleased, therefore, to find myself sharing a seat on the aircraft with an English student named Rosy who knew Berlin well and was a very able guide as she helped me buy a ticket from the ticket machine and rode part of the journey along the S-Bahn with me. At the point where I need to make a change, I made friends with another German woman named Ingeborg, who was also able to speak English and, hallelujah, she was taking the same train I needed to get off at the same stop—Hallensee! God works His miracles in the most wonderful ways and I was grateful for these blessings!
However, by the time we arrived at Hallensee, it was well past 11 pm and I was terrified about walking alone along Sessenerstrasse to get to the apartment. For one thing, it was dreadfully cold—far colder than it had been in London—and for another, well, the streets were deserted. There was not another soul in sight and as I pulled my backpack along, it seemed to echo eerily on the silent streets. I must admit that I felt very uneasy indeed. I am very glad that I had checked Google Earth before I left the house to find my bearings and get a sense of exactly where I was required to go once I got off the train. This proved very useful in boosting my self-confidence as I passed the cross streets and finally arrived at Number 6 Halberstädter Straße.
There, to my enormous relief, Andrea was awaiting my arrival (I had been in telephonic contact with him from the time I touched down at the airport) and he showed me the ropes. I had last met Andrea in Athens when Llew and I had been traveling in Greece in November.
A Most Unusual Apartment:
Anneke’s apartment is unusual to say the very least—it is an extremely bohemian space in a very old Pre-War part of Hallensee called Charlottenberg which is at the extreme West End of Berlin. The building is in a neighborhood that is made up of very similar ones that stand on cobbled streets. You enter through an imposing old heavy door into a vast hallway with a great big marble fireplace (yes, in the hall) and an elevator that looks as if it has come out of an old Alfred Hitchcock movie like Charade with Audrey Hepburn! At close to midnight, it all appeared a bit discomforting to me, though Andrea showed me my way around very competently.
You enter a large room filled with books and bookshelves and old armoires filled with bed linen and down comforters (which he failed to show me, so that I was cold for three out of the four nights that I was there). This is a ground floor apartment (that once belonged to the concierge of the building) and to access the kitchen, you descend down a winding spiral, wrought-iron staircase. This great space contains a very functional, very well-stocked kitchen and a bathroom space that includes an old-world claw-footed bath tub and a wash basin. The trouble is that there is a window right above the bath tub and though Andrea assured me that no one could look into the apartment, I could see the building on the opposite side of the street through the basement windows and I felt odd about taking a shower in such a space. I felt glad suddenly that my friend Liz Kaplan had cancelled her plans to join me in Berlin from New York as I am sure she would never have coped with such hippie arrangements!
As if this were not adequate, Andrea told me that the WC was located right outside the apartment, on the other end of the corridor! He led the way to a small unheated cubicle where there was a commode well-concealed and locked behind two closed doors. He gave me a key to the toilet and told me that no one else was able to use it except me—but I have to say that I resolved that I would use the loo last thing at night and then pray that I had no reason to have to visit the facilities during the night because, seriously, wild horses would not drive me to get there in the middle of the night along those dark corridors that were lit by light switches that appeared at intervals and glowed red to guide you to them! It’s ironic that I mentioned that the entire space reminded me of 50’s Hollywood movies because Anneke is a Hollywood film buff and her kitchen is decorated with black and white movie posters of Sophia Loren and Shirley MacLaine, John Wayne and Cary Grant!
Andrea left in a few minutes and, dead tired, I settled down for the night, hoping that I would not awake in the middle of it.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Nursing a Cold and Haunting the British Museum
Monday, January 26, 2009
London
Having a cold that has left my head weighty, my nose runny and my throat raspy is hardly the way I'd have wanted to start my week. But in addition to all the typical symptoms of a persistent cold, I also have a general sense of weakness that has made me lethargic. I decided not to cancel classes but because I could scarcely speak, I moved my classes to the British Museum--thank goodness for the fact that it is located just behind our campus building.
My students were delighted--as it turned out it was a spectacular day. Where was this kind of day yesterday when Stephanie and I would have been so grateful for great weather in Rochester?? Though I was rather shaky on my feet, I joined my class at the Museum but set them free to explore as they wished with the instruction that they should provide me with a two-page report when we next meet on their visit--on the galleries they covered and the items they sought.
I myself went to the Main Information Desk (the Museum was almost empty a little after 10 am when it first opened) and on the Map asked for the locations to the Museum's Highlights--in a horrid whisper. The girl at the desk was extraordinarily helpful and guided me to the Treasures of Sutton Hoo (a medieval ship that had been buried with a king in a mound in Suffolk and was excavated to reveal a massive treasure), the Portland Vase (that inspired Keats' Ode on a Grecian Urn, reportedly), The Treasures of Ur (in Babylon) and A Sri Lankan Buddha in the South Asian Gallery. I also passed through galleries that housed the most brilliant collection of clocks with their complicated mechanical workings that I found quite fascinating. Clearly, I need to turn my attention to the British Museum now that my study of the National Gallery is almost accomplished.
Then, I returned to my office to print out all the documents I need for my trip to Berlin and back. I am a little nervous as I am reaching the city at about 9 pm--I hate arriving in a new country after dark. And not speaking any German whatsoever, I am afraid of not finding my way to the apartment that has been arranged for me by Anja Brug, whom Llew and I met and got to know only very recently on our travels in Greece. At 2 pm, I made my way to Birkbeck College for my next class where I handed out the same assignment--a self-guided tour and report on the British Museum--to be brought in to our next class.
I myself decided to take a bus to the National Gallery to finish the last 6 galleries there but I hopped into the wrong bus and landed up at Piccadilly instead. A short walk took me to the British Tourism Information Center where I picked up a vast number of brochures, flyers and leaflets on the different regions of the UK that Stephanie and I are now planning to cover by road. Then, in the process of trying to find my way to Trafalgar Square, I got hopelessly lost and walked along Pall Mall and arrived at St. James' Street and then hit Piccadilly which meant that I had merely walked around a block--or several blocks! And that with a heavy load in my hand. My doctors will not be too pleased at all! Clearly, my mind was not working today and you could tell that I was sick. Needless to say, I did not reach the National Gallery at all and shall try to finish the last 6 galleries tomorrow morning.
I did finally manage to get into a bus and got home rather early--by 5. 30 pm by which time I felt quite wiped out. I sat and drafted one of my monthly newsletters and began to study the maps of Berlin so that I could find my bearings once I arrived there. I used Google Earth to find the location of the apartment at which I will be staying and then dozing myself with loads of paracetemol, I curled up with dinner to watch Part 2 of Nicholas Nickleby which I had begun watching yesterday.
I had called my parents in the morning and found out about funeral arrangements for my Uncle Alex in Bombay (which I then conveyed to Chriselle and Llew) but they did the speaking and I listened. I will now call my cousins in Bombay to condole with them when my voice feels better. Meanwhile, I have heard that there will be a quiet private funeral for my friend, Prof. Sally Ledger in her family home in Herefortshire and a memorial service will be planned for a later date in London--which I shall be sure to attend if I am in town.
London
Having a cold that has left my head weighty, my nose runny and my throat raspy is hardly the way I'd have wanted to start my week. But in addition to all the typical symptoms of a persistent cold, I also have a general sense of weakness that has made me lethargic. I decided not to cancel classes but because I could scarcely speak, I moved my classes to the British Museum--thank goodness for the fact that it is located just behind our campus building.
My students were delighted--as it turned out it was a spectacular day. Where was this kind of day yesterday when Stephanie and I would have been so grateful for great weather in Rochester?? Though I was rather shaky on my feet, I joined my class at the Museum but set them free to explore as they wished with the instruction that they should provide me with a two-page report when we next meet on their visit--on the galleries they covered and the items they sought.
I myself went to the Main Information Desk (the Museum was almost empty a little after 10 am when it first opened) and on the Map asked for the locations to the Museum's Highlights--in a horrid whisper. The girl at the desk was extraordinarily helpful and guided me to the Treasures of Sutton Hoo (a medieval ship that had been buried with a king in a mound in Suffolk and was excavated to reveal a massive treasure), the Portland Vase (that inspired Keats' Ode on a Grecian Urn, reportedly), The Treasures of Ur (in Babylon) and A Sri Lankan Buddha in the South Asian Gallery. I also passed through galleries that housed the most brilliant collection of clocks with their complicated mechanical workings that I found quite fascinating. Clearly, I need to turn my attention to the British Museum now that my study of the National Gallery is almost accomplished.
Then, I returned to my office to print out all the documents I need for my trip to Berlin and back. I am a little nervous as I am reaching the city at about 9 pm--I hate arriving in a new country after dark. And not speaking any German whatsoever, I am afraid of not finding my way to the apartment that has been arranged for me by Anja Brug, whom Llew and I met and got to know only very recently on our travels in Greece. At 2 pm, I made my way to Birkbeck College for my next class where I handed out the same assignment--a self-guided tour and report on the British Museum--to be brought in to our next class.
I myself decided to take a bus to the National Gallery to finish the last 6 galleries there but I hopped into the wrong bus and landed up at Piccadilly instead. A short walk took me to the British Tourism Information Center where I picked up a vast number of brochures, flyers and leaflets on the different regions of the UK that Stephanie and I are now planning to cover by road. Then, in the process of trying to find my way to Trafalgar Square, I got hopelessly lost and walked along Pall Mall and arrived at St. James' Street and then hit Piccadilly which meant that I had merely walked around a block--or several blocks! And that with a heavy load in my hand. My doctors will not be too pleased at all! Clearly, my mind was not working today and you could tell that I was sick. Needless to say, I did not reach the National Gallery at all and shall try to finish the last 6 galleries tomorrow morning.
I did finally manage to get into a bus and got home rather early--by 5. 30 pm by which time I felt quite wiped out. I sat and drafted one of my monthly newsletters and began to study the maps of Berlin so that I could find my bearings once I arrived there. I used Google Earth to find the location of the apartment at which I will be staying and then dozing myself with loads of paracetemol, I curled up with dinner to watch Part 2 of Nicholas Nickleby which I had begun watching yesterday.
I had called my parents in the morning and found out about funeral arrangements for my Uncle Alex in Bombay (which I then conveyed to Chriselle and Llew) but they did the speaking and I listened. I will now call my cousins in Bombay to condole with them when my voice feels better. Meanwhile, I have heard that there will be a quiet private funeral for my friend, Prof. Sally Ledger in her family home in Herefortshire and a memorial service will be planned for a later date in London--which I shall be sure to attend if I am in town.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
A Day Trip to Rochester in Kent
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Rochester
Rochester, in my mind, has always been associated with Charles Dickens who spent a good part of his adult life and based the locations and scenes of many of his novels on this city on the River Medway. When Stephanie told me of her interest in exploring various parts of England, I thought of going to Rochester as neither one of us had been there before.
I managed to get quite a bit of work done before I left my flat this morning--laundry, ticket reservation for easybus online for my trip to Berlin and back on Tuesday, email correspondence, etc. By the time I finished a substantial breakfast and did my exercises, I left at 8. 50 am when I had meant to leave at 8. 30 am. I decided to take the Tube as the bus would take forever to get to Wimbledon where Stephanie's flat is located. I reached there in 45 minutes, so that Stephanie was only waiting about 10 minutes in her spiffy navy blue Lexus when I arrived there. It was great to meet her and, as fate would have it, we clicked immediately. She made a quick stop at her flat to pick up her Blackberry which gave me the opportunity to check it out and to discover that it is very similar to my own. We both have one-bedroom flats that are sparsely but very comfortably furnished with state-of-the-art appliances, brand-new kitchens and bathrooms. However, as Stephanie has a very long commute to work, she has decided to move very soon.
We were off within five minutes and, horror of horrors, watched at the street corner before we got into our car as a huge Tesco truck backed right into a liquor store called Nicholas and tore off one of the spot lights that highlighted the name of the establishment. This made me more admiring that ever of Stephanie's driving skills in this country and her ability to handle a stick shift car on the wrong side of the very narrow streets. She admitted that she was nervous for the first couple of weeks but now has the hang of the British road system and is coping as best she can, though she does have some hairy moments behind the wheel herself.
Using Stehanie's GPS system, we arrived in Rochester a good hour and a half later passing by some of the southern suburbs of London such as Croyden and Selhurst before we got on to the highway and entered Kent, the Garden of England. Unfortunately, it was a totally miserable day with rain pouring down, not in sheets but in a persistent drizzle. This kept the temperatures very cold indeed and we were both grateful for the warm coats we had pulled on as well as our hats and gloves. The GPS mistakenly brought us to Wouldham, a small village close to Rochester, but we asked for directions and within ten minutes, we found a public car park where we tucked our car away and started our exploration of the town on foot.
Stephanie, who had only eaten fruit and yogurt for breakfast, was starving by the time we arrived in Rochester at noon and wanted to head straight for a meal. We decided to partake heartily of a traditional English Sunday Roast at a lovely pub called The King's Head on the High Street. To get there, we had passed by the picturesque exterior of the Cathedral and decided to visit it for Evensong at 3. 15 later in the afternoon. We also found our way to the Visitors Center where we received a map of Rochester and some directions on what to see in a day.
The lunch was the highlight of our day! It was hearty to a fault and allowed us to pig out on roast lamb and roast pork served with Yorkshire puddings (that are like American popovers and nothing like the mousse-like creamy desserts we call 'puddings' in the States), roasted potatoes, delicious gravy and a variety of vegetables--boiled peas and corn, carrots, broccoli and cauliflower. We could not believe that we got a huge platter of food for under 6 pounds! The same meal would have cost us nothing less than 12 pounds in London. Stephanie and I dined well and with the mint sauce and horseradish sauce that accompanied the meats, the meal was fit for a king. The pub had a great deal of old world ambiance which we both found very charming.
Throughout our drive into Kent, I found that Stephanie and I have lots of interests in common, not the least of which is a great love for the English countryside and the delights to be found in such simple pleasures as visiting the local pubs. But while Stephanie has ventured alone into her 'local', I have yet to pluck up the courage to do that.
Lunch done, we walked to the ramparts of Rochester Castle, one of the best preserved Norman castles in England, dating from 1088. Stephanie also loves English history and was glad to learn from me about the Battle of Hastings in 1066 that brought William of Normandy (the Conqueror) to England and brought French rule and language to these Anglo-Saxon lands. We also walked to the edge of the castle's ramparts that overlook the River Medway which was an unsightly shade of yellow! In fact, as a commercial waterway, it has been used since medieval times and it seems to be extremely sluggish at this point.
Then, we were walking along the High Street to Eastgate House, a lovely Tudor building built by Robert Puck in the 1500s and used by Dickens as the setting of scenes both in The Mystery of Edwin Drood and The Pickwick Papers. All the shops along the High Street bear names that are connected with Dickens' world and it is clear that Rochester is indebted to Dickens for fans of the novelist, no doubt, come eagerly to walk in his footsteps--in better weather, of course.
We decided, then to drive off to nearly Chatham to see the historic High Street in that adjoining town as well as to take a look at the Historic Dockyards. The cold and the rain did not motivate either of us to get out of the car but we were grateful for the opportunity to see this little town though most of the shops were closed on this Sunday evening. Stephanie and I have now decided to do most of our day trips on a Saturday when there is more life on the streets and the shops are full of patrons.
Then, it was time for us to return to Rochester Cathedral (the Church of St. Andrew's) for the Evensong service at 3. 15 pm. Inside, the cathedral is impressive though rather stark. Its ceiling towered above us but there wasn't much decoration inside upon its gray walls. We made our way to the altar where the choir was rehearsing in preparation for the service and a little while later, there we were, taking our seats for the evening. We stayed for about half the service and enjoyed the singing of the choir very much.
Then, we were headed back to our car, but not before I managed to stop at a restaurant to request a cup of hot water so I could take my cold medication. My throat feels very sore indeed and my nose has been running continually. I am hoping that I will get over it soon. On the way back, Stephanie and I shared many interesting aspects of our lives so that we could get to know each other better and, before long, we were at Tower Hill and I was hopping into a bus that brought me back home within 20 minutes. Stephanie got home an hour later and called to inform me when she arrived safely.
I am so grateful to my friend Amy Tobin who has brought the two of us together. Stephanie is a marketing whiz. Despite her professional success, she has the time to enjoy her leisure to the utmost. Stephanie is such a fun person and is game to do anything interesting and new. She is a committed world traveler and has been to many exotic parts of the globe--which has given her exposure to many different cultures and she has absorbed them all while still wishing to reach out and discover some more. I know that she will make the ideal travel companion for me and we have made plans to spread our wings far and wide as the weather improves and spring arrives.
I spent my evening getting ready for my trip to Berlin, making a few phone calls to the US and watching Nicolas Nickelby through Love film.com (coincidentally, a film based on a Dicken's novel).
I have had an amazing week and I have to put myself back into the work mindset as I return to teaching tomorrow after a whole week.
Rochester
Rochester, in my mind, has always been associated with Charles Dickens who spent a good part of his adult life and based the locations and scenes of many of his novels on this city on the River Medway. When Stephanie told me of her interest in exploring various parts of England, I thought of going to Rochester as neither one of us had been there before.
I managed to get quite a bit of work done before I left my flat this morning--laundry, ticket reservation for easybus online for my trip to Berlin and back on Tuesday, email correspondence, etc. By the time I finished a substantial breakfast and did my exercises, I left at 8. 50 am when I had meant to leave at 8. 30 am. I decided to take the Tube as the bus would take forever to get to Wimbledon where Stephanie's flat is located. I reached there in 45 minutes, so that Stephanie was only waiting about 10 minutes in her spiffy navy blue Lexus when I arrived there. It was great to meet her and, as fate would have it, we clicked immediately. She made a quick stop at her flat to pick up her Blackberry which gave me the opportunity to check it out and to discover that it is very similar to my own. We both have one-bedroom flats that are sparsely but very comfortably furnished with state-of-the-art appliances, brand-new kitchens and bathrooms. However, as Stephanie has a very long commute to work, she has decided to move very soon.
We were off within five minutes and, horror of horrors, watched at the street corner before we got into our car as a huge Tesco truck backed right into a liquor store called Nicholas and tore off one of the spot lights that highlighted the name of the establishment. This made me more admiring that ever of Stephanie's driving skills in this country and her ability to handle a stick shift car on the wrong side of the very narrow streets. She admitted that she was nervous for the first couple of weeks but now has the hang of the British road system and is coping as best she can, though she does have some hairy moments behind the wheel herself.
Using Stehanie's GPS system, we arrived in Rochester a good hour and a half later passing by some of the southern suburbs of London such as Croyden and Selhurst before we got on to the highway and entered Kent, the Garden of England. Unfortunately, it was a totally miserable day with rain pouring down, not in sheets but in a persistent drizzle. This kept the temperatures very cold indeed and we were both grateful for the warm coats we had pulled on as well as our hats and gloves. The GPS mistakenly brought us to Wouldham, a small village close to Rochester, but we asked for directions and within ten minutes, we found a public car park where we tucked our car away and started our exploration of the town on foot.
Stephanie, who had only eaten fruit and yogurt for breakfast, was starving by the time we arrived in Rochester at noon and wanted to head straight for a meal. We decided to partake heartily of a traditional English Sunday Roast at a lovely pub called The King's Head on the High Street. To get there, we had passed by the picturesque exterior of the Cathedral and decided to visit it for Evensong at 3. 15 later in the afternoon. We also found our way to the Visitors Center where we received a map of Rochester and some directions on what to see in a day.
The lunch was the highlight of our day! It was hearty to a fault and allowed us to pig out on roast lamb and roast pork served with Yorkshire puddings (that are like American popovers and nothing like the mousse-like creamy desserts we call 'puddings' in the States), roasted potatoes, delicious gravy and a variety of vegetables--boiled peas and corn, carrots, broccoli and cauliflower. We could not believe that we got a huge platter of food for under 6 pounds! The same meal would have cost us nothing less than 12 pounds in London. Stephanie and I dined well and with the mint sauce and horseradish sauce that accompanied the meats, the meal was fit for a king. The pub had a great deal of old world ambiance which we both found very charming.
Throughout our drive into Kent, I found that Stephanie and I have lots of interests in common, not the least of which is a great love for the English countryside and the delights to be found in such simple pleasures as visiting the local pubs. But while Stephanie has ventured alone into her 'local', I have yet to pluck up the courage to do that.
Lunch done, we walked to the ramparts of Rochester Castle, one of the best preserved Norman castles in England, dating from 1088. Stephanie also loves English history and was glad to learn from me about the Battle of Hastings in 1066 that brought William of Normandy (the Conqueror) to England and brought French rule and language to these Anglo-Saxon lands. We also walked to the edge of the castle's ramparts that overlook the River Medway which was an unsightly shade of yellow! In fact, as a commercial waterway, it has been used since medieval times and it seems to be extremely sluggish at this point.
Then, we were walking along the High Street to Eastgate House, a lovely Tudor building built by Robert Puck in the 1500s and used by Dickens as the setting of scenes both in The Mystery of Edwin Drood and The Pickwick Papers. All the shops along the High Street bear names that are connected with Dickens' world and it is clear that Rochester is indebted to Dickens for fans of the novelist, no doubt, come eagerly to walk in his footsteps--in better weather, of course.
We decided, then to drive off to nearly Chatham to see the historic High Street in that adjoining town as well as to take a look at the Historic Dockyards. The cold and the rain did not motivate either of us to get out of the car but we were grateful for the opportunity to see this little town though most of the shops were closed on this Sunday evening. Stephanie and I have now decided to do most of our day trips on a Saturday when there is more life on the streets and the shops are full of patrons.
Then, it was time for us to return to Rochester Cathedral (the Church of St. Andrew's) for the Evensong service at 3. 15 pm. Inside, the cathedral is impressive though rather stark. Its ceiling towered above us but there wasn't much decoration inside upon its gray walls. We made our way to the altar where the choir was rehearsing in preparation for the service and a little while later, there we were, taking our seats for the evening. We stayed for about half the service and enjoyed the singing of the choir very much.
Then, we were headed back to our car, but not before I managed to stop at a restaurant to request a cup of hot water so I could take my cold medication. My throat feels very sore indeed and my nose has been running continually. I am hoping that I will get over it soon. On the way back, Stephanie and I shared many interesting aspects of our lives so that we could get to know each other better and, before long, we were at Tower Hill and I was hopping into a bus that brought me back home within 20 minutes. Stephanie got home an hour later and called to inform me when she arrived safely.
I am so grateful to my friend Amy Tobin who has brought the two of us together. Stephanie is a marketing whiz. Despite her professional success, she has the time to enjoy her leisure to the utmost. Stephanie is such a fun person and is game to do anything interesting and new. She is a committed world traveler and has been to many exotic parts of the globe--which has given her exposure to many different cultures and she has absorbed them all while still wishing to reach out and discover some more. I know that she will make the ideal travel companion for me and we have made plans to spread our wings far and wide as the weather improves and spring arrives.
I spent my evening getting ready for my trip to Berlin, making a few phone calls to the US and watching Nicolas Nickelby through Love film.com (coincidentally, a film based on a Dicken's novel).
I have had an amazing week and I have to put myself back into the work mindset as I return to teaching tomorrow after a whole week.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Another Death, Lunch with Rosa and Matt and Camden Lock Market
Saturday, January 24, 2009
London
I love Saturdays--the very word conjures up for me the promise of long and lovely lazy hours of leisure. And Holborn takes its Saturdays seriously--in that it remains in a state of slumber until almost mid-day. The quietness of these weekend mornings gives me the chance to catch up on all sorts of pending chores and today I cleaned my bathroom and transcribed the interview I did with Frank Bradbury before I breakfasted, took a shower and left the house.
I had made noon plans with Matt and Rosa Fradley whom, if you can believe it, I had met in New York when they took my Highlights Tour at the Met. Because they liked my morning tour so much, they took my afternoon tour as well...and before we knew it, we were exchanging email information. Over the past year, we have been in touch in cyberspace and since my arrival in London, they have been very helpful indeed.
When Rosa informed me that they would be in London to see a show and wondered if I was free to join them for lunch,I jumped at the opportunity to see them again. We decided to meet at a pub called Ye Grapes in Shepherd's Market, which is a tiny hidden square at Green Park. I bussed it there, arriving at my destination ten minutes later than I expected. Over sweet Strongbow cider, we hugged and kissed and exchanged news--not the least of which is their move to Singapore in August where Rosa has been posted for work (she is involved with a Japanese firm of pharmaceutical researchers in Cambridge) and Matt has actually found a job as a Physics High School teacher in the British school there. They are just delighted at the prospect of moving to Singapore which they both love and are eager to explore. I enjoyed their company very much and time flew as we chatted nineteen to the dozen,.
An hour later, we adjourned to a small sandwich bar nearby to have lunch-their treat--which was very kind and thoughtful of them indeed. Rosa and I chose the House Salad which was a very hearty platter combining roasted vegetables, roasted chicken, bacon, lettuce and a spicy dressing served with ciabata bread. Matt went for a chicken breast sandwich that also looked substantial. Because I am a slow eater, they said their goodbyes to me an hour later to make it in time for their 3 pm show of Cirque de Soleil at the Royal Albert Hall.
I lingered a little while longer at the eatery, then because it was such a gorgeous day, I decided to take the bus to go and see the Camden Lock Market. I figured that when you get a great day in London, you've got to grab it with both hands--and who knows when I will be in London again at the weekend, considering all the European travel I am doing.
The No. 24 bus took me straight there from Trafalgar Square but by the time I got to Camden Town, about 20 minutes later, I actually regretted the impulse that drove me there. The place was just teeming with visitors. From the upper deck of the bus, they looked like giant black ants all swarming together towards the same coveted prize. I had half a mind not to alight at all at the Market, but then I thought better of it. Having come that far, I decided to stay the course, take a look around the stalls and beat a hasty retreat. This place would then figure on my "Been There Done That" List!
The Camden Lock Market used to actually be located along the Camden Lock as the name implies. However, a few months ago, a devastating fire destroyed the area and the stall owners moved their kiosks to the current premises. I found all of the merchandise terribly unappealing--there was bohemian clothing and jewelry and tons of food stalls with Chinese, Mexican, Thai and Indian food...but after the delightful lunch I had just eaten, nothing took my fancy. In fact, I couldn't wait to get out of there and as soon as I spied a Number 24 bus heading in the direction of home, I ran to the bus stop and jumped into it, so glad to put as much distance as I could between this market and myself.
When I was on the bus heading home, I got the sudden news from Llew of the death of my godfather in Bombay, my Uncle Alex, who had been ailing for a very long time and was in very poor shape when I last saw him two weeks ago. In fact, I had been praying hard that God would grant him a merciful release from his suffering and when I received the news, it was not without a substantial measure of relief. I called my parents in Bombay immediately and received more details about his passing. As the bus wound its way home, I recalled many incidents of our lives together from my childhood to the very last meeting I had with him.
I called my cousin Cheryl Crane in Kent as soon as I reached home and gave her the sad news and then made my way by bus to St. Anselm's and St. Cecelia's Church at Holborn for the 6 pm mass as I have made plans to visit Rochester tomorrow with my friend Stephanie and I know that I will, therefore, miss Sunday mass. The mass was short and quick--the shortest I can recall in this country--just 40 minutes long, and then I was out buying myself some cold medication from Boots across the road and some mint and lemon so I could fix myself some herb tea and comfort my hoarse throat and runny nose.
Back home, I curled up on the couch, after a long conversation with Llew, to watch The Break-Up with Jennifer Anniston and Vince Vaughn as Love Film.com has resumed the delivery of my films again. It was a rather cute date-night chick flick and was good for a lark! I ate up the leftovers sitting in my refrigerator as I need to clear it all off before I leave for Berlin on Tuesday. I sipped my lemon medication slowly, then took all my other pills and went straight to bed.
Tomorrow I have a day trip to Rochester to anticipate and I need to awake early so that I can get to Wimbledon in time to meet Stephanie who will drive us there in her brand new Lexus. I just can't wait...
London
I love Saturdays--the very word conjures up for me the promise of long and lovely lazy hours of leisure. And Holborn takes its Saturdays seriously--in that it remains in a state of slumber until almost mid-day. The quietness of these weekend mornings gives me the chance to catch up on all sorts of pending chores and today I cleaned my bathroom and transcribed the interview I did with Frank Bradbury before I breakfasted, took a shower and left the house.
I had made noon plans with Matt and Rosa Fradley whom, if you can believe it, I had met in New York when they took my Highlights Tour at the Met. Because they liked my morning tour so much, they took my afternoon tour as well...and before we knew it, we were exchanging email information. Over the past year, we have been in touch in cyberspace and since my arrival in London, they have been very helpful indeed.
When Rosa informed me that they would be in London to see a show and wondered if I was free to join them for lunch,I jumped at the opportunity to see them again. We decided to meet at a pub called Ye Grapes in Shepherd's Market, which is a tiny hidden square at Green Park. I bussed it there, arriving at my destination ten minutes later than I expected. Over sweet Strongbow cider, we hugged and kissed and exchanged news--not the least of which is their move to Singapore in August where Rosa has been posted for work (she is involved with a Japanese firm of pharmaceutical researchers in Cambridge) and Matt has actually found a job as a Physics High School teacher in the British school there. They are just delighted at the prospect of moving to Singapore which they both love and are eager to explore. I enjoyed their company very much and time flew as we chatted nineteen to the dozen,.
An hour later, we adjourned to a small sandwich bar nearby to have lunch-their treat--which was very kind and thoughtful of them indeed. Rosa and I chose the House Salad which was a very hearty platter combining roasted vegetables, roasted chicken, bacon, lettuce and a spicy dressing served with ciabata bread. Matt went for a chicken breast sandwich that also looked substantial. Because I am a slow eater, they said their goodbyes to me an hour later to make it in time for their 3 pm show of Cirque de Soleil at the Royal Albert Hall.
I lingered a little while longer at the eatery, then because it was such a gorgeous day, I decided to take the bus to go and see the Camden Lock Market. I figured that when you get a great day in London, you've got to grab it with both hands--and who knows when I will be in London again at the weekend, considering all the European travel I am doing.
The No. 24 bus took me straight there from Trafalgar Square but by the time I got to Camden Town, about 20 minutes later, I actually regretted the impulse that drove me there. The place was just teeming with visitors. From the upper deck of the bus, they looked like giant black ants all swarming together towards the same coveted prize. I had half a mind not to alight at all at the Market, but then I thought better of it. Having come that far, I decided to stay the course, take a look around the stalls and beat a hasty retreat. This place would then figure on my "Been There Done That" List!
The Camden Lock Market used to actually be located along the Camden Lock as the name implies. However, a few months ago, a devastating fire destroyed the area and the stall owners moved their kiosks to the current premises. I found all of the merchandise terribly unappealing--there was bohemian clothing and jewelry and tons of food stalls with Chinese, Mexican, Thai and Indian food...but after the delightful lunch I had just eaten, nothing took my fancy. In fact, I couldn't wait to get out of there and as soon as I spied a Number 24 bus heading in the direction of home, I ran to the bus stop and jumped into it, so glad to put as much distance as I could between this market and myself.
When I was on the bus heading home, I got the sudden news from Llew of the death of my godfather in Bombay, my Uncle Alex, who had been ailing for a very long time and was in very poor shape when I last saw him two weeks ago. In fact, I had been praying hard that God would grant him a merciful release from his suffering and when I received the news, it was not without a substantial measure of relief. I called my parents in Bombay immediately and received more details about his passing. As the bus wound its way home, I recalled many incidents of our lives together from my childhood to the very last meeting I had with him.
I called my cousin Cheryl Crane in Kent as soon as I reached home and gave her the sad news and then made my way by bus to St. Anselm's and St. Cecelia's Church at Holborn for the 6 pm mass as I have made plans to visit Rochester tomorrow with my friend Stephanie and I know that I will, therefore, miss Sunday mass. The mass was short and quick--the shortest I can recall in this country--just 40 minutes long, and then I was out buying myself some cold medication from Boots across the road and some mint and lemon so I could fix myself some herb tea and comfort my hoarse throat and runny nose.
Back home, I curled up on the couch, after a long conversation with Llew, to watch The Break-Up with Jennifer Anniston and Vince Vaughn as Love Film.com has resumed the delivery of my films again. It was a rather cute date-night chick flick and was good for a lark! I ate up the leftovers sitting in my refrigerator as I need to clear it all off before I leave for Berlin on Tuesday. I sipped my lemon medication slowly, then took all my other pills and went straight to bed.
Tomorrow I have a day trip to Rochester to anticipate and I need to awake early so that I can get to Wimbledon in time to meet Stephanie who will drive us there in her brand new Lexus. I just can't wait...
Friday, January 23, 2009
A Shocking Loss, An Interview in Wimbledon, More National Gallery and Dinner with Gauri
Friday, January 23, 2009
London
I awoke this morning to the most shocking news in the world. It was 6.10 am, I switched my laptop on and froze. I had just received an email message from my friend Margaret Loose, Professor of English at the University of California at San Diego, informing me that a very dear mutual friend of ours, Professor Sally Ledger, had died on Wednesday. I looked at the words on my screen but they failed to make any sense. How could that be possible? That very morning, I had received an email from Sally, who is the Director of Victorian Studies at London's Royal Holloway College, inviting me to attend a seminar there. I had emailed her back suggesting that we get together for lunch and had been awaiting a response from her. Sally is usually very prompt in responding to her email, so when Thursday passed, I have to admit I actually wondered at her silence.
It turns out that she was at her stove cooking dinner on Wednesday night when she had a sudden brain hemorrhage and dropped dead instantly. Just like that! Can you even believe it? Sally is my age--may even be younger--and a renowned Victorian scholar and a Dickensian whom I got to know at the Dickens Project at the University of California at Santa Cruz which I have attended for the past two summers. Though we have had regular email contact since I arrived here in London, we met only briefly and just by happenstance, at an Italian restaurant called Paradiso in Bloomsbury in October where we had hugged and kissed and promised to make plans to meet at the British Library over coffee or lunch. Alas! It was not to be and now poor dear Sally is gone and I will miss her warmth and her concern for me and the inspiration she provided as a scholar and as a teacher. I have been checking the website at Royal Holloway College because I do wish to attend her funeral since I am right here in London and, if it is scheduled before my departure for Berlin, I shall be there.
When I was over my shock and sadness, I got on with my work for the day. I actually put in a whole three hours of effective work on my laptop before I stirred and got out of bed. Ryanair's offer of one-way five pounds fares meant that I was finally able to book my tickets to Venice and back for the March trip I was will be undertaking to Italy as my friend Annalisa Oboe, Professor in the English Department, has invited me to give a lecture at the University of Padua. I also needed to finalize accommodation arrangements in Berlin where I will be flying on Tuesday and, I have to say, I am a little concerned as my friend Anya Brug seems to be traveling again and hasn't been checking her email. This means that I am not sure how to get from Schoenfeld airport to the flat in the city that she has arranged for me to occupy. If I do not hear from her over the weekend, I guess I will have to stay in the Youth Hostel where I've made alternative arrangements. I also emailed my friend Catherine Robson, Professor of English at the University of California at Davis, currently on a one-year research assignment in Berlin, to inform her about my arrival there and to make plans to meet. All of this took a good chunk of my early morning work hours and I was finally able to turn my thoughts to the interview I was scheduled to do in distant Wimbledon.
I could not have chosen a more miserable day to go out to interview Vivian Lawless and his wife Dorothy. Journey Planner instructed me on how to get there by bus, so I gritted my teeth against the awful weather and set out--wishing I had done the interview yesterday when I met him at the Norwood meeting. Anyway, a long journey and many bus changes later, there was Vivian waiting for me at the pub as promised and we walked the short distance to his home where I gratefully accepted a cup of coffee and a plate of biscuits.
The Lawlesses live in a old Edwardian House that has a lot of external charm and character. Like the typical terraced houses of that era, all the houses are identical on a street. They have handkerchief-sized front patches that open up to the main door. Inside, the rooms are very tiny (by American standards) and since most of the people I am interviewing for my study purchased these homes in the late 60s and early 70s and never moved out, most of them are in a decorating time warp with dark carpets, busy wallpaper and tons and tons of pictures of children, grand children ( and amazingly, in this case, even great grandchildren, for the Lawlesses too do not look their age at all). It must be the fact that these Anglo-Indians live in the cold, damp climate of England that has allowed them to preserve their youthfulness because their counterparts in India look old and haggard and have none of the vitality of body and spirit that these folks proclaim so heartily.
The interview went off well and I even had the chance to meet their only son, Gary, who popped in for a little while. I think it would have been nice to interview Gary as well but he did not say a word to me the entire time I was in his parents' home, which led me to believe that he might not be interested in my project. At any rate, the Lawlesses were very nice to me and responded to my questions candidly and truthfully. I asked them if the famous tennis courts were anywhere near their place and they informed me that they were about two miles away but that they were probably closed at this time of year. By the time my interview wad done, the sun had started to shine down and dry up Mother Earth and the entire journey back was so much better. I was fascinated by the Little India that had developed along Tooting Broadway where sari shops and Indian sweetmeat stores, sub-Continental groceries and jewelry showrooms spoke of a vital ethnic community in the area.
Since the day was still young, I got off the bus at Trafalgar Square and returned to one of my favorite places in London--the National Gallery--where I decided to cover six more galleries. I have finally reached the oldest and most ornate part of the museum--the rooms surrounding the main dome that gives the building its solemn profile. These galleries are decorated to the hilt with lavish gilding on columns, elaborate plasterwork on the ceiling, thick moldings and damask covered walls that give the entire design a grand Baroque feel. These galleries house works by the French, Italian and British artists of the 19th centuries, some of whom happen to be my favorites--such as Jean-Baptiste Simeon Chardin (who is well represented here with many small canvases), Gainsborough, Turner, Constable and Canaletto whose Venetian landscapes with their minute detail leave me spellbound for hours. I was deeply taken by the series of river scapes of the Stour that Constable painted and I would like very much to get to Suffolk before I leave England so that I can see for myself the rural scenes he loved so well and look upon Willie Lott's house which Constable has presented in scene after scene (and which still stands today). If this is true of Suffolk, the same is true of Canaletto's Venice. As I looked upon the details of the Piazza San Marco and the views along the Grand Canal, I was struck by the fact that nothing seems to have changed at all since Canaletto made the depictions of the city his obsession in the late 19th century.
Realizing that I now have only six more galleries to study in detail before my perusal of the National Gallery is done, I took the bus home and had only a little while to check email and watch some TV before my friend Gauri Kasbekar-Shah was buzzing me downstairs. As in the case of Sally, I have been in email contact with Gauri since I arrived here in August to make plans to meet some evening, but it just did not happen. Eventually, we did settle on dinner and when I invited Gauri to have a drink at my place before we set out to eat, she agreed. Having come straight from work (she works at the Royal Bank of Scotland), she was starving and devoured the Stilton Cheese and Crackers that I laid out for her with our wine. I checked my book Cheap Eats in London and found a small seafood place, just behind my street on Farringdon, called Little Bay. We walked there and found the place located in a building in which Gauri says she almost bought a flat. The only thing that had prevented her from doing so was the presence of this restaurant on the ground floor! How coincidental was that??!!
We spent the next hour catching up over a really fabulous meal, which, was truly as the book said--cheap. We chose two different starters and split them: Garlic Mushrooms which were divine and Crab in Choux Buns--also very good. For a main dish, both Gauri and I opted for the Cod on a hot potato salad with a tomato coulis. It was melt-in-the-mouth good, but because I have a really tiny capacity, I carried half of it home in a doggy bag and I look forward to eating my leftovers soon. Unbelievably, it was past 11 pm when we finished our meal (we both decided against dessert as we were too full) and looked for buses to get us back to our respective homes--Gauri owns a flat in Islington where I have stayed twice on my previous visits to London. This place is not too far from mine at all and we have now made plans to get together again soon after I return from Berlin.
I was merely able to chat with Llew for a few minutes before I felt really tired and decided to call it a day.
London
I awoke this morning to the most shocking news in the world. It was 6.10 am, I switched my laptop on and froze. I had just received an email message from my friend Margaret Loose, Professor of English at the University of California at San Diego, informing me that a very dear mutual friend of ours, Professor Sally Ledger, had died on Wednesday. I looked at the words on my screen but they failed to make any sense. How could that be possible? That very morning, I had received an email from Sally, who is the Director of Victorian Studies at London's Royal Holloway College, inviting me to attend a seminar there. I had emailed her back suggesting that we get together for lunch and had been awaiting a response from her. Sally is usually very prompt in responding to her email, so when Thursday passed, I have to admit I actually wondered at her silence.
It turns out that she was at her stove cooking dinner on Wednesday night when she had a sudden brain hemorrhage and dropped dead instantly. Just like that! Can you even believe it? Sally is my age--may even be younger--and a renowned Victorian scholar and a Dickensian whom I got to know at the Dickens Project at the University of California at Santa Cruz which I have attended for the past two summers. Though we have had regular email contact since I arrived here in London, we met only briefly and just by happenstance, at an Italian restaurant called Paradiso in Bloomsbury in October where we had hugged and kissed and promised to make plans to meet at the British Library over coffee or lunch. Alas! It was not to be and now poor dear Sally is gone and I will miss her warmth and her concern for me and the inspiration she provided as a scholar and as a teacher. I have been checking the website at Royal Holloway College because I do wish to attend her funeral since I am right here in London and, if it is scheduled before my departure for Berlin, I shall be there.
When I was over my shock and sadness, I got on with my work for the day. I actually put in a whole three hours of effective work on my laptop before I stirred and got out of bed. Ryanair's offer of one-way five pounds fares meant that I was finally able to book my tickets to Venice and back for the March trip I was will be undertaking to Italy as my friend Annalisa Oboe, Professor in the English Department, has invited me to give a lecture at the University of Padua. I also needed to finalize accommodation arrangements in Berlin where I will be flying on Tuesday and, I have to say, I am a little concerned as my friend Anya Brug seems to be traveling again and hasn't been checking her email. This means that I am not sure how to get from Schoenfeld airport to the flat in the city that she has arranged for me to occupy. If I do not hear from her over the weekend, I guess I will have to stay in the Youth Hostel where I've made alternative arrangements. I also emailed my friend Catherine Robson, Professor of English at the University of California at Davis, currently on a one-year research assignment in Berlin, to inform her about my arrival there and to make plans to meet. All of this took a good chunk of my early morning work hours and I was finally able to turn my thoughts to the interview I was scheduled to do in distant Wimbledon.
I could not have chosen a more miserable day to go out to interview Vivian Lawless and his wife Dorothy. Journey Planner instructed me on how to get there by bus, so I gritted my teeth against the awful weather and set out--wishing I had done the interview yesterday when I met him at the Norwood meeting. Anyway, a long journey and many bus changes later, there was Vivian waiting for me at the pub as promised and we walked the short distance to his home where I gratefully accepted a cup of coffee and a plate of biscuits.
The Lawlesses live in a old Edwardian House that has a lot of external charm and character. Like the typical terraced houses of that era, all the houses are identical on a street. They have handkerchief-sized front patches that open up to the main door. Inside, the rooms are very tiny (by American standards) and since most of the people I am interviewing for my study purchased these homes in the late 60s and early 70s and never moved out, most of them are in a decorating time warp with dark carpets, busy wallpaper and tons and tons of pictures of children, grand children ( and amazingly, in this case, even great grandchildren, for the Lawlesses too do not look their age at all). It must be the fact that these Anglo-Indians live in the cold, damp climate of England that has allowed them to preserve their youthfulness because their counterparts in India look old and haggard and have none of the vitality of body and spirit that these folks proclaim so heartily.
The interview went off well and I even had the chance to meet their only son, Gary, who popped in for a little while. I think it would have been nice to interview Gary as well but he did not say a word to me the entire time I was in his parents' home, which led me to believe that he might not be interested in my project. At any rate, the Lawlesses were very nice to me and responded to my questions candidly and truthfully. I asked them if the famous tennis courts were anywhere near their place and they informed me that they were about two miles away but that they were probably closed at this time of year. By the time my interview wad done, the sun had started to shine down and dry up Mother Earth and the entire journey back was so much better. I was fascinated by the Little India that had developed along Tooting Broadway where sari shops and Indian sweetmeat stores, sub-Continental groceries and jewelry showrooms spoke of a vital ethnic community in the area.
Since the day was still young, I got off the bus at Trafalgar Square and returned to one of my favorite places in London--the National Gallery--where I decided to cover six more galleries. I have finally reached the oldest and most ornate part of the museum--the rooms surrounding the main dome that gives the building its solemn profile. These galleries are decorated to the hilt with lavish gilding on columns, elaborate plasterwork on the ceiling, thick moldings and damask covered walls that give the entire design a grand Baroque feel. These galleries house works by the French, Italian and British artists of the 19th centuries, some of whom happen to be my favorites--such as Jean-Baptiste Simeon Chardin (who is well represented here with many small canvases), Gainsborough, Turner, Constable and Canaletto whose Venetian landscapes with their minute detail leave me spellbound for hours. I was deeply taken by the series of river scapes of the Stour that Constable painted and I would like very much to get to Suffolk before I leave England so that I can see for myself the rural scenes he loved so well and look upon Willie Lott's house which Constable has presented in scene after scene (and which still stands today). If this is true of Suffolk, the same is true of Canaletto's Venice. As I looked upon the details of the Piazza San Marco and the views along the Grand Canal, I was struck by the fact that nothing seems to have changed at all since Canaletto made the depictions of the city his obsession in the late 19th century.
Realizing that I now have only six more galleries to study in detail before my perusal of the National Gallery is done, I took the bus home and had only a little while to check email and watch some TV before my friend Gauri Kasbekar-Shah was buzzing me downstairs. As in the case of Sally, I have been in email contact with Gauri since I arrived here in August to make plans to meet some evening, but it just did not happen. Eventually, we did settle on dinner and when I invited Gauri to have a drink at my place before we set out to eat, she agreed. Having come straight from work (she works at the Royal Bank of Scotland), she was starving and devoured the Stilton Cheese and Crackers that I laid out for her with our wine. I checked my book Cheap Eats in London and found a small seafood place, just behind my street on Farringdon, called Little Bay. We walked there and found the place located in a building in which Gauri says she almost bought a flat. The only thing that had prevented her from doing so was the presence of this restaurant on the ground floor! How coincidental was that??!!
We spent the next hour catching up over a really fabulous meal, which, was truly as the book said--cheap. We chose two different starters and split them: Garlic Mushrooms which were divine and Crab in Choux Buns--also very good. For a main dish, both Gauri and I opted for the Cod on a hot potato salad with a tomato coulis. It was melt-in-the-mouth good, but because I have a really tiny capacity, I carried half of it home in a doggy bag and I look forward to eating my leftovers soon. Unbelievably, it was past 11 pm when we finished our meal (we both decided against dessert as we were too full) and looked for buses to get us back to our respective homes--Gauri owns a flat in Islington where I have stayed twice on my previous visits to London. This place is not too far from mine at all and we have now made plans to get together again soon after I return from Berlin.
I was merely able to chat with Llew for a few minutes before I felt really tired and decided to call it a day.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Meeting Anglo-Indians in Norwood and my First Film in the UK
Thursday, January 22, 2009
London
I left my flat early this morning to make my way by bus to Selhurst where I intended to interview Frank Bradbury for my Anglo-Indian study. When we had chatted on the phone several weeks ago, he had invited me to a meeting of the 'South London Anglo-Indian Association' which takes place in Norwood every Thursday. I was pleased to accept the invitation as I had hoped that this meeting would allow me to network with other Anglo-Indians whose life histories I might also examine as part of my research.
While I can use Britrail lines to these distant outposts of London, I prefer to use my monthly bus pass which allows me to travel anywhere within the bus network, in a sense, for free. Naturally, it proves to be much more economical for me to do my research this way--though it means an extraordinary amount of time has to be allotted to get to and from these places.
Those dreaded road works everywhere (starting with High Holborn itself) made me reach my destination a half hour later than I expected. Still, Frank took my tardiness in his stride, meeting me at the nearest bus stop in Selhurst and leading me to his place. Over a welcome cup of coffee, we spent a good hour talking about his personal history which I found fascinating and so different from that of most of the Anglo-Indians I have been interviewing. His attitudes, his views, his opinions, were also very thoughtfully expressed and it was easy to see that I was in the company of a rather different individual. This made for a very refreshing encounter indeed. I still stagger when I think that he is 72 years old, for he does not look a day over 60. It is not merely the matter of his looks which belie his age--it is his vigour and his zest for life (which can lead one to believe that he is 50) which really had me spell bound.
After we had spoken for about an hour, Frank drove me about five minutes away to St. Chad's Catholic Church in Norwood where the South London Anglo-Indian Association rents space for a weekly meeting. I was astounded to find over a hundred people (if not more) in the large hall that includes a kitchen at the far end and a small stage at the other. The space was filled with what we would call 'seniors' in the States (I believe the word used in the UK is 'pensioners'). They sat at long tables with their snacks and drinks spread out before them. Behind the kitchen counter, I spotted my friend Joy Riberio who told me she was in-charge of getting together the "tea"--which actually turned out to be what we, in the States, would call "lunch"! Frank did the disappearing act at this time but Joy was kind enough to introduce me to Gloria St. Romaine (don't you just love her last name?) who, in turn, introduced me to Rita Lobo at whose table I found a seat.
In my role as observer, I took in the goings-on at the meeting but I did participate vigorously as well. There was a round of Bingo (6 tickets cost a pound). I have never played with more than one ticket at a time, so I had a hard time keeping track of the numbers I had scratched out on my tickets! Still, it was fun. The prize money was based on the number of tickets sold and they were rather handsome.
Lunch followed for 3. 50 pounds a piece. Not only did Frank not treat me to lunch (after having invited me to the meeting) but he had forgotten to inform the organizers that he was bringing a guest along. Joy again very kindly took me under her wing, but she too had to confess that she was afraid there would be no food left for me as the estimated amounts cooked were based on the number of individuals who signed up for the meal at the previous meeting. I felt like Oliver Twist as I hungrily awaited leftovers and the green signal that would enable me to obtain a meal as I was starving by this point. When I got the OK nod from Joy, I went up to the counter, paid my money and returned to my seat with a heaping plate of yellow rice and a Meatball Curry with a few bits of salad which was almost over by the time my turn arrived!
The rice and curry was delicious and every one seemed to enjoy it immensely. The announcement was made that Chicken Biryani would be on the menu next week and on hearing this, the participants decided whether or not to sign up for a meal. Lunch was followed by dessert which is part of the package--this afternoon, there was a fruit cocktail topped with whipped cream--but by the time I went to the counter to claim my dessert, it was all gone!!! Can you believe it? I was very disappointed as I had found the curry spicy and would have been grateful to end my meal with a sweet.
The calling of raffle prize numbers followed. Most of the participants had purchased these tickets when they entered. I believe the tickets cost a pound each. They donate all sorts of items as prizes--bottles of wine, packets of biscuits, boxes of chocolates...and these are distributed as prizes. The money collected from these raffle items are used to support Anglo-Indian charities in India--a lovely idea. While the privileged elderly Anglo-Indians in the UK enjoy a good time during their twilight years (Blair, are you reading this???), they spare a thought for so many of their less fortunate counterparts in India who are struggling through a harrowing old age.
Another round of Bingo followed (another pound a piece) and though I tried my luck again, I was not rewarded with Beginner's Luck! Between the lunch, raffle and bingo, the members circulated amongst themselves, caught up on the joys and trials of each other's Christmases and trips to India and generally cemented age-old friendships, many of which go back decades to their days in India. I found it very interesting to observe the customs and traditions of this community and I was heartened to see how happy their appear as first-generation immigrants in the UK.
Then, I was on the bus again headed home for a swift rest and to check my email. After a very short nap, I left my flat again, this time to take the Tube to Green Park to keep my appointment with my friend Rosemary Massouras to see Slumdog Millionnaire, the movie that has received so many Oscar nominations. We met at the Curzon cinema on Curzon Road right behind the quaint Shepherd Market off Piccadilly. I realized as I entered the gigantic theater that this was my first ever movie in the UK and the reason I have never seen movies in a theater here is because the tickets are so prohibitively high. I mean at 12 pounds which is 2o dollars, I have always rather paid double and seen a quality show at the West End instead. In the States, a movie costs me no more than 6 dollars, so I was astounded at the prices here. Still, for this movie I was willing to make an exception.
A few minutes later, we were joined by Rosemary's friend Lizzie Rodgers who lives in Whitchurch, near Oxford. She turned out to be a truly delightful person--warm and thoughtful. She was also the most struck by the movie and throughout our dinner that followed at Sofra, a Turkish restaurant close by, she could not get the movie off her mind. Indeed, it was, for me at least, a deeply disturbing film. It is being advertised as a "feel-good film" and for the life of me I cannot see what a Bombayite can feel good about after watching this film. It is brilliantly made, no doubt, and Danny Boyle has captured with marvelous authenticity the vigour, color, energy and vibrance of Bombay which is a relentless assault on all one' s senses. Indeed, the sights and sounds of Bombay have been so superbly captured and transferred to screen that I often winced at the naked realism of the shots. In that respect, the music by A.R. Rahman, which exhibited the complicity of many different traditions, including Middle Eastern, Islamic and Bollywood, ingeniously added to the mix.
However, I found the first half of the movie unbearably dark and intense and there were points at which I thought I would throw up because the stark inhumanity of the city has been portrayed so brutally that it made me feel physically ill. There is no way that anyone who lives in India can feel proud of the manner in which the country and its ethos has been depicted. The utter lack of human rights or dignity, the brutality of the police force that includes interrogation under torture, the filth and degradation of slum life, the ruthlessness of the villains and their treatment of women was so abjectly lacking in any kind of hope that I felt deeply ashamed of being an Indian which watching the movie. As other movies and literary works have done before this (Mira Nair's Salaam Bombay, for instance, Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance, Suketu Mehta's Forbidden City), this movie lays bare the hidden underbelly of Bombay. Yet, it always saddens me that while such creative works bring international awareness to the conditions prevailing in Bombay, they never seem to achieve anything concrete or constructive. There is no reform, I mean, that emerges from these works, in the same way that, say, the novels of Charles Dickens actually led to the Reform Bills in Victorian England that eventually changed the face of Western society completed and led to the eradication of human rights' abuses. The people of India do not seem to achieve anything from this repeated merciless exposure of their country's ills other than the ability to cringe under such glaring spotlights. This is why watching such movies leaves me feeling far from good and instead deeply saddened and this was how I felt as I left the theater last night.
At dinner, at Sofra, we were joined by Lizzie's young son, Dominic, a publisher, who turned out to be a very bright and articulate young man. We chose the 'Healthy Dinner' from the vast menu which consisted of eleven small nibbles--a sort of meze sampler--and a bottle of red Tuscan wine. It was a good meal but by the time the really delicious non-vegetarian kebabs made their appearance (the lamb and the chicken kebabs were really good), I was too full and could not do them justice.
A very interesting and unexpected encounter occurred while I was dining. A lovely blond girl standing near the door reached across our table and said to me, "Excuse me, but aren't you Professor Almeida"? I replied that I was indeed and, in a few minutes, I discovered that Sophia was one of my students at NYU who had taken my South Asian Civilisation class many years ago during her freshman year in New York. I was delighted that she recognized me in the dimly lit restaurant and she was delighted to renew acquaintance with me in London, of all places. It seems that she is now in London on business. I gave her my card and she promised to get in touch with me so that we can have lunch together sometime. My dinner companions were very impressed indeed that I ran into a former student so suddenly. I remember Sophia well. Her family hails from Greece and she had been fascinated by my course on South Asia. I still remember the lovely 'Thank you' note she had written me at the end of the course and the box of Godiva chocolates that she had gifted me at the time.
At the end of our meal and lively conversation, I took the bus home from Piccadilly and by 11.30, I was in bed and dropping off to sleep after what had been a very productive day indeed.
London
I left my flat early this morning to make my way by bus to Selhurst where I intended to interview Frank Bradbury for my Anglo-Indian study. When we had chatted on the phone several weeks ago, he had invited me to a meeting of the 'South London Anglo-Indian Association' which takes place in Norwood every Thursday. I was pleased to accept the invitation as I had hoped that this meeting would allow me to network with other Anglo-Indians whose life histories I might also examine as part of my research.
While I can use Britrail lines to these distant outposts of London, I prefer to use my monthly bus pass which allows me to travel anywhere within the bus network, in a sense, for free. Naturally, it proves to be much more economical for me to do my research this way--though it means an extraordinary amount of time has to be allotted to get to and from these places.
Those dreaded road works everywhere (starting with High Holborn itself) made me reach my destination a half hour later than I expected. Still, Frank took my tardiness in his stride, meeting me at the nearest bus stop in Selhurst and leading me to his place. Over a welcome cup of coffee, we spent a good hour talking about his personal history which I found fascinating and so different from that of most of the Anglo-Indians I have been interviewing. His attitudes, his views, his opinions, were also very thoughtfully expressed and it was easy to see that I was in the company of a rather different individual. This made for a very refreshing encounter indeed. I still stagger when I think that he is 72 years old, for he does not look a day over 60. It is not merely the matter of his looks which belie his age--it is his vigour and his zest for life (which can lead one to believe that he is 50) which really had me spell bound.
After we had spoken for about an hour, Frank drove me about five minutes away to St. Chad's Catholic Church in Norwood where the South London Anglo-Indian Association rents space for a weekly meeting. I was astounded to find over a hundred people (if not more) in the large hall that includes a kitchen at the far end and a small stage at the other. The space was filled with what we would call 'seniors' in the States (I believe the word used in the UK is 'pensioners'). They sat at long tables with their snacks and drinks spread out before them. Behind the kitchen counter, I spotted my friend Joy Riberio who told me she was in-charge of getting together the "tea"--which actually turned out to be what we, in the States, would call "lunch"! Frank did the disappearing act at this time but Joy was kind enough to introduce me to Gloria St. Romaine (don't you just love her last name?) who, in turn, introduced me to Rita Lobo at whose table I found a seat.
In my role as observer, I took in the goings-on at the meeting but I did participate vigorously as well. There was a round of Bingo (6 tickets cost a pound). I have never played with more than one ticket at a time, so I had a hard time keeping track of the numbers I had scratched out on my tickets! Still, it was fun. The prize money was based on the number of tickets sold and they were rather handsome.
Lunch followed for 3. 50 pounds a piece. Not only did Frank not treat me to lunch (after having invited me to the meeting) but he had forgotten to inform the organizers that he was bringing a guest along. Joy again very kindly took me under her wing, but she too had to confess that she was afraid there would be no food left for me as the estimated amounts cooked were based on the number of individuals who signed up for the meal at the previous meeting. I felt like Oliver Twist as I hungrily awaited leftovers and the green signal that would enable me to obtain a meal as I was starving by this point. When I got the OK nod from Joy, I went up to the counter, paid my money and returned to my seat with a heaping plate of yellow rice and a Meatball Curry with a few bits of salad which was almost over by the time my turn arrived!
The rice and curry was delicious and every one seemed to enjoy it immensely. The announcement was made that Chicken Biryani would be on the menu next week and on hearing this, the participants decided whether or not to sign up for a meal. Lunch was followed by dessert which is part of the package--this afternoon, there was a fruit cocktail topped with whipped cream--but by the time I went to the counter to claim my dessert, it was all gone!!! Can you believe it? I was very disappointed as I had found the curry spicy and would have been grateful to end my meal with a sweet.
The calling of raffle prize numbers followed. Most of the participants had purchased these tickets when they entered. I believe the tickets cost a pound each. They donate all sorts of items as prizes--bottles of wine, packets of biscuits, boxes of chocolates...and these are distributed as prizes. The money collected from these raffle items are used to support Anglo-Indian charities in India--a lovely idea. While the privileged elderly Anglo-Indians in the UK enjoy a good time during their twilight years (Blair, are you reading this???), they spare a thought for so many of their less fortunate counterparts in India who are struggling through a harrowing old age.
Another round of Bingo followed (another pound a piece) and though I tried my luck again, I was not rewarded with Beginner's Luck! Between the lunch, raffle and bingo, the members circulated amongst themselves, caught up on the joys and trials of each other's Christmases and trips to India and generally cemented age-old friendships, many of which go back decades to their days in India. I found it very interesting to observe the customs and traditions of this community and I was heartened to see how happy their appear as first-generation immigrants in the UK.
Then, I was on the bus again headed home for a swift rest and to check my email. After a very short nap, I left my flat again, this time to take the Tube to Green Park to keep my appointment with my friend Rosemary Massouras to see Slumdog Millionnaire, the movie that has received so many Oscar nominations. We met at the Curzon cinema on Curzon Road right behind the quaint Shepherd Market off Piccadilly. I realized as I entered the gigantic theater that this was my first ever movie in the UK and the reason I have never seen movies in a theater here is because the tickets are so prohibitively high. I mean at 12 pounds which is 2o dollars, I have always rather paid double and seen a quality show at the West End instead. In the States, a movie costs me no more than 6 dollars, so I was astounded at the prices here. Still, for this movie I was willing to make an exception.
A few minutes later, we were joined by Rosemary's friend Lizzie Rodgers who lives in Whitchurch, near Oxford. She turned out to be a truly delightful person--warm and thoughtful. She was also the most struck by the movie and throughout our dinner that followed at Sofra, a Turkish restaurant close by, she could not get the movie off her mind. Indeed, it was, for me at least, a deeply disturbing film. It is being advertised as a "feel-good film" and for the life of me I cannot see what a Bombayite can feel good about after watching this film. It is brilliantly made, no doubt, and Danny Boyle has captured with marvelous authenticity the vigour, color, energy and vibrance of Bombay which is a relentless assault on all one' s senses. Indeed, the sights and sounds of Bombay have been so superbly captured and transferred to screen that I often winced at the naked realism of the shots. In that respect, the music by A.R. Rahman, which exhibited the complicity of many different traditions, including Middle Eastern, Islamic and Bollywood, ingeniously added to the mix.
However, I found the first half of the movie unbearably dark and intense and there were points at which I thought I would throw up because the stark inhumanity of the city has been portrayed so brutally that it made me feel physically ill. There is no way that anyone who lives in India can feel proud of the manner in which the country and its ethos has been depicted. The utter lack of human rights or dignity, the brutality of the police force that includes interrogation under torture, the filth and degradation of slum life, the ruthlessness of the villains and their treatment of women was so abjectly lacking in any kind of hope that I felt deeply ashamed of being an Indian which watching the movie. As other movies and literary works have done before this (Mira Nair's Salaam Bombay, for instance, Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance, Suketu Mehta's Forbidden City), this movie lays bare the hidden underbelly of Bombay. Yet, it always saddens me that while such creative works bring international awareness to the conditions prevailing in Bombay, they never seem to achieve anything concrete or constructive. There is no reform, I mean, that emerges from these works, in the same way that, say, the novels of Charles Dickens actually led to the Reform Bills in Victorian England that eventually changed the face of Western society completed and led to the eradication of human rights' abuses. The people of India do not seem to achieve anything from this repeated merciless exposure of their country's ills other than the ability to cringe under such glaring spotlights. This is why watching such movies leaves me feeling far from good and instead deeply saddened and this was how I felt as I left the theater last night.
At dinner, at Sofra, we were joined by Lizzie's young son, Dominic, a publisher, who turned out to be a very bright and articulate young man. We chose the 'Healthy Dinner' from the vast menu which consisted of eleven small nibbles--a sort of meze sampler--and a bottle of red Tuscan wine. It was a good meal but by the time the really delicious non-vegetarian kebabs made their appearance (the lamb and the chicken kebabs were really good), I was too full and could not do them justice.
A very interesting and unexpected encounter occurred while I was dining. A lovely blond girl standing near the door reached across our table and said to me, "Excuse me, but aren't you Professor Almeida"? I replied that I was indeed and, in a few minutes, I discovered that Sophia was one of my students at NYU who had taken my South Asian Civilisation class many years ago during her freshman year in New York. I was delighted that she recognized me in the dimly lit restaurant and she was delighted to renew acquaintance with me in London, of all places. It seems that she is now in London on business. I gave her my card and she promised to get in touch with me so that we can have lunch together sometime. My dinner companions were very impressed indeed that I ran into a former student so suddenly. I remember Sophia well. Her family hails from Greece and she had been fascinated by my course on South Asia. I still remember the lovely 'Thank you' note she had written me at the end of the course and the box of Godiva chocolates that she had gifted me at the time.
At the end of our meal and lively conversation, I took the bus home from Piccadilly and by 11.30, I was in bed and dropping off to sleep after what had been a very productive day indeed.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
'Tons of Money' in Richmond, A Piano Recital at the National Gallery and 'Oliver' at the West End
Wednesday, January 22, 2009
London
White I adore London for its long and colorful history, there is a downside to this aspect of its charm. Road works! Ever since I can remember taking possession of this flat at High Holborn, there have been 'road works' at some point or the other along its length from Chancery Lane Tube Station to High Holborn Tube station. This plays havoc with the smooth flow of traffic along one of London's main arterial roads. This also means that you can never really time a journey by bus as it all depends on the vagaries of the road workers and their whims--they hold up buses while their construction vehicles are given priority and when one sits on the upper deck as I always do and have a view of all proceedings beneath me, it is often frustrating and infuriating. But then I have to remember that when you live in a city that has been a work-in-progress since the Medieval Age, you cannot complain.
I don't know whether this is purely psychological, but after my visit to Paul, the specialist physiotherapist, at Euston Hospital (my name for the University of London's Hospital at Euston), my legs feel much better. His exercises are more challenging and one of then requires me to lie down on a bed when performing it--which means that I cannot do it three times a day as I am invariably out and about in the afternoon--but they seem to be working already although he told me that I would not feel their effects for weeks. I have also resolved to be good and not walk for leisure anymore. If I take foot rest, the homeopathic treatment, perform the exercises and pray, I should hope to see a complete cure by May--when I hope to start walking the Jubilee Walkway in little spurts.
Awaking at 5 am, I spent an hour reading Bombay Tiger which has a completely different style from the rest of Kamala Markandaya's novels--though the content bears similarity to The Coffer Dams. After doing my exercises, spending a while blogging, having breakfast and taking a shower, I headed out the door for a long bus ride to Richmond that involved changing three buses.
It was a most unusual winter's days in London for it was bathed in golden sunlight under clear blue skies. I actually left the house today without an umbrella and just a small bag (though I did carry my camera) so as to avoid the load on my back. Changing buses wasn't a problem at all and I was actually able to ride in one of the historic Number 9 buses from Piccadilly to the Royal Albert Hall. I now have the hang of changing buses at Hammersmith Broadway Bus Station (at which point you walk through a shopping mall which always makes me feel as if I am back in Connecticut!). I arrived in Richmond at 12. 15 pm, recognized the shops on The Quadrant just past the main railway station and hopped off.
I walked quickly to the Tesco Metro to buy what has become a favorite sandwich (The Cheddar Cheese and Onion) and though it costs a mere pound, it is truly delicious. I also found a pack of four chocolate eclairs for a pound and with this lunch in the bag, I started on a short self-guided walk in Richmond from my book 24 Great Walks in London with the promise to myself that I would take long and frequent breaks and stop as soon as my feet felt strained.
It was such a perfect days for walking. In fact it was a perfect day, period. This is the very first time that I saw Barnes Bridge on a sunlit day and while I recognized it immediately from the bus, I wish I could have gotten off and taken a few pictures of it as the ones I have taken before on rainy days make it look so dour and forbidding. Once in Richmond, I found myself walking along short Duke Street towards The Green which was once a sheep pasture but is used today for a variety of sporting activities including cricket. I could not believe that just a few yards ahead of me were the remains of Old Richmond Palace from which the Tudor King Henry VII had reigned, where his son Henry VIII had been born and where his grand-daughter Elizabeth I had died. Destroyed, but for a small portion of it, by Oliver Cromwell, the seal of Henry VII is still embedded in one of the Palace Gates that marks the entry into a lovely evocative old Tudor Yard that contains the Royal Wardrobe Building.
Enchanted by this hidden treasure and moved by the fact that the remaining shreds of this building have seen so much bloody history (before Henry moved his court to Hampton Court Palace which he seized from Cardinal Wolsey--I can understand now why the egotistical Henry would never tolerate the fact that his lowly prelate owned a dwelling that was so much more magnificent than his own!) I walked along a delightful street with old attached 'cottages' that took me to the Thames riverfront where twin bridges stood right in front of me. The promenade along the river was just delightful and many people were out walking despite the wind and the rather chilly temperatures. I read up on the history of the Old Deer Park (which has no deer in it), then ate a sandwich and an eclair on a bench overlooking the water.
A little later, I found myself walking under the beautiful Richmond Bridge which is made of Portland stone and climbing the steps into O'Higgins Square to start a short climb along Hill Rise towards what my book describes as the only protected view in the UK--protected by a 1906 Act of Parliament. Personalities from Turner to Reynolds to Walter Scott have described it as 'the most unrivalled view in the country' and William Byrd, the founder of Richmond, Virginia, is said to have named the new colony in the New World because the view of his territory across the Potomac reminded him of just this view of London across the Thames at this site. Be that as it may, one of the 'owners' of this unsullied view today is none other than rock idol, Mick Jagger, who owns a house in The Ashburton, a block of grand terraced housing that overlooks the bend in the Thames at this vantage point.
I decided to cut short my rambles at this point as my pedometer (that I am now wearing constantly) reminded me that I had already walked more than a mile. I took a bus back to the center of town and from there found my way to the famous Richmond Theater for my 2. 30 show--but not before I popped into the Cancer Research Charity shop and found myself a lovely English bone china cup and saucer to add to my collection at home. It caught my eye because it was so unusual--a matt black background suddenly opens up to a white glazed border on both cup and saucer that sports the Greek key design. It was these differences in texture that so fascinated me and at 3. 50 pounds, I could not go wrong.
The reason I was at Richmond Theater was to see Alan Ackybourne's Tons of Money which stars Christopher Timothy whom I have grown to love so much in the TV series from the 70s and 80s called All Creatures Great and Small in which Timothy plays the role of Yorkshire vet James Herriott. I have to say that I was sorely disappointed, first of all, to discover that he had rather a small role (he played the Butler Spruze) and, second, that age has taken its toll on him so that he looks most unlike his younger self. He has filled out considerably, his hair has long abandoned him and his features too have changed. But for his voice (one can never change one's voice), there is little resemblance to the actor of old who so stole my heart away.
One of the many surprises of this afternoon was the presence in the cast of Janet Henfrey (who plays Mrs. Bale in the BBC TV series As Time Goes By). This is the second time I have seen her on stage--she was present in The Importance of Being Ernest starring Penelope Keith that I saw at the Vaudeville Theater at the Strand last March with my friend Amy Tobin). The play was entertaining but not worth the long hike to Richmond unless one combines it with a walk as I did. At any rate, the theater was only half full, but I swear I was the youngest person in the audience! Everyone around me was silver haired and was no doubt there out of nostalgia for the good old days of the telly when Christopher Timothy made evening viewing special.
Then, I was on the bus again headed back to the city because, unwittingly, I had booked tickets for two plays on the same day (not having my calendar with me when I had booked a ticket for Tons of Money in December when I had gone to see Peter Pan, the Christmas pantomime at Richmond Theater). I knew that I would arrive in the city rather early--my next show (Oliver starring Rowan Atkinson in the role of Fagin) was not until 7. 30 pm at the Royal Theater on Drury Lane (this is the third show I am seeing there after French and Saunders Live and another one whose name I cannot now recall).
Having about an hour to kill, I hopped off at Trafalgar Square hoping that the National Gallery would have a late evening closing--and how right I was. A quick look at "Today's Program" at the Sainsbury Entrance informed me that there was a free piano recital starting at 6 pm in Gallery 18. So off I went to take my place on a chair right in front of the baby grand piano that graced the gallery on a lovely Oriental carpet. The two performers of the evening were Kentaro Nagai and David Malusa, both from the Royal College of Music who kept me enthralled with an hour long program that included a fantastia and fugue by Bach, an unbelievable Ballad by Chopin, Iberian music from Spanish composes Mompou and Albeniz and a stunning work by Schumann. I could not have asked for a better way to spend an hour. This is what I most love about living in London. I come upon these cultural surprises in the most unexpected of ways and because I have so few commitments here, I can seize the opportunity to enjoy them as and when they present themselves.
Then, I was off on the bus again heading towards Aldwych where at Drury Lane, I hopped off to get to the Theater Royal. I keep forgetting how gorgeous the interior of these theaters are. This one is splendid--with fat putti adorning its walls in the lavish plasterwork along the ceiling and outside the boxes. The only horrid thing about this theater is that the balcony is about seven floors high--you feel as if you have scaled Mount Everest by the time you get to your seat--and being a 'graded' building, they cannot install elevators inside.
The auditorium was packed to capacity (as the play won some terrific reviews when it opened a couple of weeks ago). All around me were American college students, one of whom informed me that they were from Long Island's Hofstra University studying British Drama for a month during their winter break. They were fidgety and noisy (as American students usually are), made inane comments during the interval ("That scene with Bumble was so sexual. She wasn't supposed to hit on him like that" and "We were sitting at the worst possible angle for that scene"--it happened to be one in which Beadle's wife bared her cleavage in a seduction scene!). I enjoyed these comments but the very proper English lady sitting besides me was besides herself with outrage at the behavior of the sprightly Americans and at the fact that she had to "get up and down and up and down" to accommodate their frequent passage to and from their seats!
Oliver was superb. I did not realize that some of the songs I have known since my childhood (Oom-Pah-Pah, I'd Do Anything) are from this musical. Apart from the stars (Rowan Atkinson whom I first got to know as Mr. Bean is unforgettable as Fagin and he can sing!--as is Jodi Prenger as Nancy), the little guy who played the Artful Dodger was amazing. Sets were truly stunning and the recreation of Victorian England so appealing visually that for a while I seemed to have transported myself to a different world altogether. It was truly one of the finest shows I have seen since arriving in London in September and I could understand why the critics have been raving about it.
Two plays in the same day, a musical concert, a sunny walk in Richmond...truly it was a day packed with pleasurable activity and by the time I was riding the bus back home, I felt culturally saturated. I could only talk to Llew for a few minutes before I called it a night.
London
White I adore London for its long and colorful history, there is a downside to this aspect of its charm. Road works! Ever since I can remember taking possession of this flat at High Holborn, there have been 'road works' at some point or the other along its length from Chancery Lane Tube Station to High Holborn Tube station. This plays havoc with the smooth flow of traffic along one of London's main arterial roads. This also means that you can never really time a journey by bus as it all depends on the vagaries of the road workers and their whims--they hold up buses while their construction vehicles are given priority and when one sits on the upper deck as I always do and have a view of all proceedings beneath me, it is often frustrating and infuriating. But then I have to remember that when you live in a city that has been a work-in-progress since the Medieval Age, you cannot complain.
I don't know whether this is purely psychological, but after my visit to Paul, the specialist physiotherapist, at Euston Hospital (my name for the University of London's Hospital at Euston), my legs feel much better. His exercises are more challenging and one of then requires me to lie down on a bed when performing it--which means that I cannot do it three times a day as I am invariably out and about in the afternoon--but they seem to be working already although he told me that I would not feel their effects for weeks. I have also resolved to be good and not walk for leisure anymore. If I take foot rest, the homeopathic treatment, perform the exercises and pray, I should hope to see a complete cure by May--when I hope to start walking the Jubilee Walkway in little spurts.
Awaking at 5 am, I spent an hour reading Bombay Tiger which has a completely different style from the rest of Kamala Markandaya's novels--though the content bears similarity to The Coffer Dams. After doing my exercises, spending a while blogging, having breakfast and taking a shower, I headed out the door for a long bus ride to Richmond that involved changing three buses.
It was a most unusual winter's days in London for it was bathed in golden sunlight under clear blue skies. I actually left the house today without an umbrella and just a small bag (though I did carry my camera) so as to avoid the load on my back. Changing buses wasn't a problem at all and I was actually able to ride in one of the historic Number 9 buses from Piccadilly to the Royal Albert Hall. I now have the hang of changing buses at Hammersmith Broadway Bus Station (at which point you walk through a shopping mall which always makes me feel as if I am back in Connecticut!). I arrived in Richmond at 12. 15 pm, recognized the shops on The Quadrant just past the main railway station and hopped off.
I walked quickly to the Tesco Metro to buy what has become a favorite sandwich (The Cheddar Cheese and Onion) and though it costs a mere pound, it is truly delicious. I also found a pack of four chocolate eclairs for a pound and with this lunch in the bag, I started on a short self-guided walk in Richmond from my book 24 Great Walks in London with the promise to myself that I would take long and frequent breaks and stop as soon as my feet felt strained.
It was such a perfect days for walking. In fact it was a perfect day, period. This is the very first time that I saw Barnes Bridge on a sunlit day and while I recognized it immediately from the bus, I wish I could have gotten off and taken a few pictures of it as the ones I have taken before on rainy days make it look so dour and forbidding. Once in Richmond, I found myself walking along short Duke Street towards The Green which was once a sheep pasture but is used today for a variety of sporting activities including cricket. I could not believe that just a few yards ahead of me were the remains of Old Richmond Palace from which the Tudor King Henry VII had reigned, where his son Henry VIII had been born and where his grand-daughter Elizabeth I had died. Destroyed, but for a small portion of it, by Oliver Cromwell, the seal of Henry VII is still embedded in one of the Palace Gates that marks the entry into a lovely evocative old Tudor Yard that contains the Royal Wardrobe Building.
Enchanted by this hidden treasure and moved by the fact that the remaining shreds of this building have seen so much bloody history (before Henry moved his court to Hampton Court Palace which he seized from Cardinal Wolsey--I can understand now why the egotistical Henry would never tolerate the fact that his lowly prelate owned a dwelling that was so much more magnificent than his own!) I walked along a delightful street with old attached 'cottages' that took me to the Thames riverfront where twin bridges stood right in front of me. The promenade along the river was just delightful and many people were out walking despite the wind and the rather chilly temperatures. I read up on the history of the Old Deer Park (which has no deer in it), then ate a sandwich and an eclair on a bench overlooking the water.
A little later, I found myself walking under the beautiful Richmond Bridge which is made of Portland stone and climbing the steps into O'Higgins Square to start a short climb along Hill Rise towards what my book describes as the only protected view in the UK--protected by a 1906 Act of Parliament. Personalities from Turner to Reynolds to Walter Scott have described it as 'the most unrivalled view in the country' and William Byrd, the founder of Richmond, Virginia, is said to have named the new colony in the New World because the view of his territory across the Potomac reminded him of just this view of London across the Thames at this site. Be that as it may, one of the 'owners' of this unsullied view today is none other than rock idol, Mick Jagger, who owns a house in The Ashburton, a block of grand terraced housing that overlooks the bend in the Thames at this vantage point.
I decided to cut short my rambles at this point as my pedometer (that I am now wearing constantly) reminded me that I had already walked more than a mile. I took a bus back to the center of town and from there found my way to the famous Richmond Theater for my 2. 30 show--but not before I popped into the Cancer Research Charity shop and found myself a lovely English bone china cup and saucer to add to my collection at home. It caught my eye because it was so unusual--a matt black background suddenly opens up to a white glazed border on both cup and saucer that sports the Greek key design. It was these differences in texture that so fascinated me and at 3. 50 pounds, I could not go wrong.
The reason I was at Richmond Theater was to see Alan Ackybourne's Tons of Money which stars Christopher Timothy whom I have grown to love so much in the TV series from the 70s and 80s called All Creatures Great and Small in which Timothy plays the role of Yorkshire vet James Herriott. I have to say that I was sorely disappointed, first of all, to discover that he had rather a small role (he played the Butler Spruze) and, second, that age has taken its toll on him so that he looks most unlike his younger self. He has filled out considerably, his hair has long abandoned him and his features too have changed. But for his voice (one can never change one's voice), there is little resemblance to the actor of old who so stole my heart away.
One of the many surprises of this afternoon was the presence in the cast of Janet Henfrey (who plays Mrs. Bale in the BBC TV series As Time Goes By). This is the second time I have seen her on stage--she was present in The Importance of Being Ernest starring Penelope Keith that I saw at the Vaudeville Theater at the Strand last March with my friend Amy Tobin). The play was entertaining but not worth the long hike to Richmond unless one combines it with a walk as I did. At any rate, the theater was only half full, but I swear I was the youngest person in the audience! Everyone around me was silver haired and was no doubt there out of nostalgia for the good old days of the telly when Christopher Timothy made evening viewing special.
Then, I was on the bus again headed back to the city because, unwittingly, I had booked tickets for two plays on the same day (not having my calendar with me when I had booked a ticket for Tons of Money in December when I had gone to see Peter Pan, the Christmas pantomime at Richmond Theater). I knew that I would arrive in the city rather early--my next show (Oliver starring Rowan Atkinson in the role of Fagin) was not until 7. 30 pm at the Royal Theater on Drury Lane (this is the third show I am seeing there after French and Saunders Live and another one whose name I cannot now recall).
Having about an hour to kill, I hopped off at Trafalgar Square hoping that the National Gallery would have a late evening closing--and how right I was. A quick look at "Today's Program" at the Sainsbury Entrance informed me that there was a free piano recital starting at 6 pm in Gallery 18. So off I went to take my place on a chair right in front of the baby grand piano that graced the gallery on a lovely Oriental carpet. The two performers of the evening were Kentaro Nagai and David Malusa, both from the Royal College of Music who kept me enthralled with an hour long program that included a fantastia and fugue by Bach, an unbelievable Ballad by Chopin, Iberian music from Spanish composes Mompou and Albeniz and a stunning work by Schumann. I could not have asked for a better way to spend an hour. This is what I most love about living in London. I come upon these cultural surprises in the most unexpected of ways and because I have so few commitments here, I can seize the opportunity to enjoy them as and when they present themselves.
Then, I was off on the bus again heading towards Aldwych where at Drury Lane, I hopped off to get to the Theater Royal. I keep forgetting how gorgeous the interior of these theaters are. This one is splendid--with fat putti adorning its walls in the lavish plasterwork along the ceiling and outside the boxes. The only horrid thing about this theater is that the balcony is about seven floors high--you feel as if you have scaled Mount Everest by the time you get to your seat--and being a 'graded' building, they cannot install elevators inside.
The auditorium was packed to capacity (as the play won some terrific reviews when it opened a couple of weeks ago). All around me were American college students, one of whom informed me that they were from Long Island's Hofstra University studying British Drama for a month during their winter break. They were fidgety and noisy (as American students usually are), made inane comments during the interval ("That scene with Bumble was so sexual. She wasn't supposed to hit on him like that" and "We were sitting at the worst possible angle for that scene"--it happened to be one in which Beadle's wife bared her cleavage in a seduction scene!). I enjoyed these comments but the very proper English lady sitting besides me was besides herself with outrage at the behavior of the sprightly Americans and at the fact that she had to "get up and down and up and down" to accommodate their frequent passage to and from their seats!
Oliver was superb. I did not realize that some of the songs I have known since my childhood (Oom-Pah-Pah, I'd Do Anything) are from this musical. Apart from the stars (Rowan Atkinson whom I first got to know as Mr. Bean is unforgettable as Fagin and he can sing!--as is Jodi Prenger as Nancy), the little guy who played the Artful Dodger was amazing. Sets were truly stunning and the recreation of Victorian England so appealing visually that for a while I seemed to have transported myself to a different world altogether. It was truly one of the finest shows I have seen since arriving in London in September and I could understand why the critics have been raving about it.
Two plays in the same day, a musical concert, a sunny walk in Richmond...truly it was a day packed with pleasurable activity and by the time I was riding the bus back home, I felt culturally saturated. I could only talk to Llew for a few minutes before I called it a night.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Historic Presidential Day Across the Pond and Lunch with Loulou!
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
London
A new era has dawned! Change is here!!! Finally! There is a Black President in the White House. And not just any man! What a Man! Someone to look up to. At last there is someone of whom I can feel proud and supportive. It's been a Loooonnnnng eight years and we have waited a Loooooonnng time for this moment. I awoke this morning to the awareness that this was going to be a day like no other. It is said that one will always remember where one was when Barack Obama was sworn in as the 44th President of the United States and for me the response will be "all alone at home in my flat at High Holborn". In a way, it is great that my stay in London will be immortalized through this historic event and I could not have felt more proud to be an American in London as my eyes teared up frequently while watching the goings-on at Pennsylvania Avenue. Never in my lifetime did I ever imagine that I would see a Black President in America.
This is the culmination of a long journey--one that began on those infamous ships that traced the Middle Passage carrying human cargo. One that continued on those bloody plantations of Virginia and South Carolina. One that revolted on the non-violent streets of Alabama in the 1960s. One whose struggle was given voice in those stirring words, "I have a Dream"--a dream that became reality today as Black people can now claim their place in American History not as African-Americans but as Americans.
This is a man I can look up to because he does not come with an impressive pedigree preceded by a dynasty that allowed him to be raised in the lap of luxury. This is a man with whose background, in so many ways, I can truly identify: a man born of an immigrant father whose struggle in his early days in America led him to bus tables in a restaurant. A man whose very father abandoned him when he was six so that he grew up without the influence of this male role model. This is a man who did not allow that absence in his life to hold him down or tear him apart. This is a man who used no family connnections, no Godfathers...nothing but his determination to succeed--his audacity--to take him to Harvard and then on to Congress. This is a man who was rasied by a single parent--a mother who wished him to have nothing but the finest education (which led her to send him to live with his grandmother in Hawai'i to study at the fabulous Punahou High School in Honolulu) and by a grandmother for whom he was not a grandson but a son itself. As someone whose daughter was co-raised by a grandmother, my eyes swim when I think of how cruel fate was in not allowing the gracious Madeline to watch as her beloved grandson assumed the oath of Office of President of the United States of America.
Given the time lag, I began watching BBC coverage at 4 pm local London time which was 11 am in Washington DC. Of course, being the BBC they pulled no punches when commenting on America's outgoing President and took a few good jabs at a man whom I will always remember with loathing. I could not wait to see the last of him and to know that he is being replaced by a man of such sterling quality is beyond heartening. I had considered joining my American students and even getting together with my American colleague Karen to watch the historic coverage. But Karen was busy and I figured that I'd really be most comfortable in my sweats and my slippers lounging around on my couch in my living room and taking it all in with total ease.
My day began with my 10 am Global Cultures Class which has a total enrollment of 2 students. They were delighted when I informed them that the course would be taught as an Independent Study Module and through Tutorials in true British style. I packed them off with a long reading list, tons of photocopied material to get them started on their research and a list of films to watch. I spent a while photocopying more material, then an hour later, I left for the British Museum where I had lunch plans with Loulou Cooke, a lovely English lady with whom I had made friends a few weeks ago. Since I was early, I spent an hour in Room I completing the exhibit on 'The Enlightenment' that I had started watching several months ago but had to abandon when plantar fasicitis hit me.
At 1.00 pm, I arrived at the main gate of the British Museum and was joined a few minutes later by Loulou. We adjourned to the Museum Tavern, a lovely historic pub that is located bang opposite the museum, a pub which Karl Marx once frequented. Over fish and chips and a half pint of Strongbow cider, Loulou and I got to know a little more about each other and discovered that we have a lot in common including daughters who both love acting and who are working in New York City.
Loulou and I walked back home after lunch. We parted company at the Holborn Library where I stopped to pick up paperback copies of Harry Potter as I am determined to read all the novels in the next few months. Fortunately for me, both the first and the second titles in the series were available and I was able to bring them home. Though I had read the first one a long time ago, I figured I would start at the beginning and go right through the series. Tim and Barabra have lent me three more of the books--all hardbound--so I have my reading cut out for me. Back at home, I decided to take a bit of rest as I still don't feel too well. Crocin is suppressing my flu-like symptoms and after months--and probably for the first time since I arrived in London--I actually took a short afternoon nap.
Then, it was 4 pm and I became glued to the telly as I watched history being made. I sent an email to Llew, Chriselle and Chris in order to feel part of the jubilant spirit of the nation and of the American people on this day--and all three of them communicated back with me so that, across the pond, we were truly united on this red-letter day in America.
London
A new era has dawned! Change is here!!! Finally! There is a Black President in the White House. And not just any man! What a Man! Someone to look up to. At last there is someone of whom I can feel proud and supportive. It's been a Loooonnnnng eight years and we have waited a Loooooonnng time for this moment. I awoke this morning to the awareness that this was going to be a day like no other. It is said that one will always remember where one was when Barack Obama was sworn in as the 44th President of the United States and for me the response will be "all alone at home in my flat at High Holborn". In a way, it is great that my stay in London will be immortalized through this historic event and I could not have felt more proud to be an American in London as my eyes teared up frequently while watching the goings-on at Pennsylvania Avenue. Never in my lifetime did I ever imagine that I would see a Black President in America.
This is the culmination of a long journey--one that began on those infamous ships that traced the Middle Passage carrying human cargo. One that continued on those bloody plantations of Virginia and South Carolina. One that revolted on the non-violent streets of Alabama in the 1960s. One whose struggle was given voice in those stirring words, "I have a Dream"--a dream that became reality today as Black people can now claim their place in American History not as African-Americans but as Americans.
This is a man I can look up to because he does not come with an impressive pedigree preceded by a dynasty that allowed him to be raised in the lap of luxury. This is a man with whose background, in so many ways, I can truly identify: a man born of an immigrant father whose struggle in his early days in America led him to bus tables in a restaurant. A man whose very father abandoned him when he was six so that he grew up without the influence of this male role model. This is a man who did not allow that absence in his life to hold him down or tear him apart. This is a man who used no family connnections, no Godfathers...nothing but his determination to succeed--his audacity--to take him to Harvard and then on to Congress. This is a man who was rasied by a single parent--a mother who wished him to have nothing but the finest education (which led her to send him to live with his grandmother in Hawai'i to study at the fabulous Punahou High School in Honolulu) and by a grandmother for whom he was not a grandson but a son itself. As someone whose daughter was co-raised by a grandmother, my eyes swim when I think of how cruel fate was in not allowing the gracious Madeline to watch as her beloved grandson assumed the oath of Office of President of the United States of America.
Given the time lag, I began watching BBC coverage at 4 pm local London time which was 11 am in Washington DC. Of course, being the BBC they pulled no punches when commenting on America's outgoing President and took a few good jabs at a man whom I will always remember with loathing. I could not wait to see the last of him and to know that he is being replaced by a man of such sterling quality is beyond heartening. I had considered joining my American students and even getting together with my American colleague Karen to watch the historic coverage. But Karen was busy and I figured that I'd really be most comfortable in my sweats and my slippers lounging around on my couch in my living room and taking it all in with total ease.
My day began with my 10 am Global Cultures Class which has a total enrollment of 2 students. They were delighted when I informed them that the course would be taught as an Independent Study Module and through Tutorials in true British style. I packed them off with a long reading list, tons of photocopied material to get them started on their research and a list of films to watch. I spent a while photocopying more material, then an hour later, I left for the British Museum where I had lunch plans with Loulou Cooke, a lovely English lady with whom I had made friends a few weeks ago. Since I was early, I spent an hour in Room I completing the exhibit on 'The Enlightenment' that I had started watching several months ago but had to abandon when plantar fasicitis hit me.
At 1.00 pm, I arrived at the main gate of the British Museum and was joined a few minutes later by Loulou. We adjourned to the Museum Tavern, a lovely historic pub that is located bang opposite the museum, a pub which Karl Marx once frequented. Over fish and chips and a half pint of Strongbow cider, Loulou and I got to know a little more about each other and discovered that we have a lot in common including daughters who both love acting and who are working in New York City.
Loulou and I walked back home after lunch. We parted company at the Holborn Library where I stopped to pick up paperback copies of Harry Potter as I am determined to read all the novels in the next few months. Fortunately for me, both the first and the second titles in the series were available and I was able to bring them home. Though I had read the first one a long time ago, I figured I would start at the beginning and go right through the series. Tim and Barabra have lent me three more of the books--all hardbound--so I have my reading cut out for me. Back at home, I decided to take a bit of rest as I still don't feel too well. Crocin is suppressing my flu-like symptoms and after months--and probably for the first time since I arrived in London--I actually took a short afternoon nap.
Then, it was 4 pm and I became glued to the telly as I watched history being made. I sent an email to Llew, Chriselle and Chris in order to feel part of the jubilant spirit of the nation and of the American people on this day--and all three of them communicated back with me so that, across the pond, we were truly united on this red-letter day in America.
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