Sunday, September 4, 2011
London
Last days in a city are meant to be frenetic but I was seized by uncontrollable nervousness as the day wore on--partly because I realized that my hosts did not own a weighing scale and I was afraid I'd have overweight baggage. Cathedral bells woke me up on a weepy morning in time for a quick wash before I left for the 8 am Mass at St. Etheldreda's Church at Holborn Circus--my 'parish' whilst I had lived in London.
Regular readers of this blog will know how delighted I'd been to discover that my parish is considered the UK's oldest Catholic Church. Built in the 1200s as part of the London headquarters of the Bishop of Ely (near Cambridge), it grew into an important ecclesiastical center in the Tudor and Elizabethan periods (Henry VIII and Elizabeth I are both known to have worshipped in it). After the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1536, the church fell into disuse and the vast land surrounding it, bordering Hatton Garden, fell into the hands of the Crown. Only the chapel remained with its exquisite stained glass windows. After the Reformation, it became the first church to be restored to the Church of Rome and is, therefore, considered the country's oldest Catholic Church. Although I love attending Sunday service at Anglican churches when I am in England, it is always a pleasure for me to return to St. Etheldreda's, for old times' sake, and to revel in its marvelous history.
Today, that pleasure was enhanced by the fact that I got to meet my friend Barbara once again. I recall Sunday mornings in my Holborn flat when at precisely 8. 45 am, I'd hear the door next to mine shut gently as Barbara made her way, unfailingly, to St. Etheldreda's for the 9 am Mass. And sure enough, there she was, like clockwork, in the church at 8. 55 am. It was heartwarming to see her as well as to discover that not much has changed in two years. There was still only a sprinkling of people, Fr. Tom Deidun is still around (and said the mass), the Lector is the same lovely white lawyer with the impeccable British accent and beautiful voice and the man who sits besides her (partner? husband?) still wears his cardigan around his shoulders!
This Sunday happened to be one on which the mass liturgy has changed in the UK so a laminated leaflet was available to illuminate the way. Changes are subtle but took me back to the responses of decades ago for many phrases were familiar to me from yore. After listening to a very interesting sermon by Fr. Tom, I was glad I'd opted to attend Mass at St. E's. When Mass ended and we trooped out into Ely Place, Holborn was still asleep, having a lazy Sunday morning lie-in. Barbara invited me back home to her place for coffee and since Cynthia and Michael were headed to a later service at the Cathedral, I accepted. "But we need to get the paper first", she said, revealing her fondness for routine--for indeed, walking to Holborn Tube Station for the Sunday Times has also been an unfailing part of her Sunday morning. We stopped at Paul's Patisserie for croissants upon our return.
By the time we arrived at her flat, Tim had put out all the fixin's for a very nice Continental breakfast--our croissants, butter, preserves and honey, fruit, coffee. An exquisite bowl of plump red cherries (the only ones I ate all season) were irresistible. We chatted, we munched, we chatted some more and then it was time for me to leave--but not without discovering that they owned a weighing scale that they were willing to lend me. Deeply grateful, I put it in a bag and hauled it home to Amen Corner.
I spent the next hour and a half attempting to distribute my stuff in two bags and a carry-on. The scale proved to be very useful and soothed my troubled nerves. Aidan was very helpful in converting stone into pounds with the calculator on his I-Pad. After a quick shower and lunch of chipolata sausages and spicy tortellini that I ate with Aidan, my mini-cab (nicknamed The Afghan Hound by the Colcloughs!) arrived at my door and in the pouring rain, I bid goodbye to my kindly and very generous hosts and left.
Rain streamed down the windshield all the way to Heathrow, as Barbara put it, as if London was weeping to see me leave. My driver, a very chatty young chap called Mo, did not go along Cromwell Road as I requested because traffic, he assured me, would be bad as a result of a bike race. Instead we took the more boring Euston Road and then the West Highway. We arrived at Heathrow where I discovered that my carry-on was overweight. Good job I'd arrived early for the traffic assistant permitted me to redistribute weight in my larger bags and once that was accomplished, I sailed through to security.
Of course, I could not leave London without browsing in the duty free area--I have my favorite shops at Terminal 3 (Jo Malone, Cartier, Harrods) where I ended up buying a Plum Pudding as I usually do. That's it, I thought. Christmas well in advance sorted!
The skies over London were overcast as we took off and climbed higher. Although I had a window seat, my view was obscured by clouds and haze. I realized that I was eager to get back home to Southport and although my UK stay had been, as always, much to write home about, I was ready to leave.
Kennedy airport was chaotic, as it usually is, upon my return. In a few minutes, I reunited with Llew after three whole months and as he took the wheel upon our long drive homewards, I thought to myself, it is so good to come home again!
Until the next time when I return to my London Roost, I say Au Revoir--and thanks again for following me.
Cheers!
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Sunday, September 4, 2011
My Second-Last Day in London
Saturday, September 4, 2011
London
With less than 48 hours left before I departed from London, I was eager to fill them in with all sorts of pleasurable solo loitering. But, having made the discovery that I had left my credit card behind at Rymans stationery in Holborn last evening, I had no choice but to hop on a bus to get there and pick it up.
Cynthia made us a typical English Fry-Up for breakfast--scrambled eggs with chipolata sausages and bacon and toast--artery-clogging and heart-attack-inducing, but oh so yummy! Then, I was at the bus-stop chatting on my mobile with Rahul, one of Chriselle's friends, when I lost my concentration and took the wrong bus. Realizing my mistake immediately, I resolved to get off at the next stop, only to find myself staring directly at the walls of the Museum of London.
Of course, then my error seemed fated because seeing the newly-installed basement of the museum had been on my To-Do List (I had just wondered when to fit it all in). The museum had just opened for the day, so I raced downstairs and spent the next half hour viewing its newest highlights--of course, the piece de resistance is the spectacular stage coach of the Lord Mayor of London. I also saw Ann Fanshaw's 18th century dress that never allowed her to go through doorways (she had to be pushed through my her footmen!), Selfridges' amazingly decorative Art Deco elevator from the 1930s, a simply superbly evoked 'Victorian Walk' that included shop front windows from the era (they most certainly deserve more time to be done justice), a pashmina from Alexander McQueen, a Vespa scooter, and several other items. But then I heard an announcement stating that a guided Highlights tour would shortly be starting and I signed up for that with a guide named Kristy who took us on a walk through the museum through which the stirring history of this city was recounted. I know that I will return again to the Museum of London when I am here in January for it definitely deserves a much more leisurely browsing.
Then on the bus I went again to Rymans, where, thankfully, my credit card was waiting for me and after producing ID, it was handed back. With the sun pouring down and warming the city (maybe a little too much), I decided to take bus rides (as I have a weekly pass that allows me to take unlimited rides all week) through the city to enjoy its weekend buzz. However, I did make a detour at Foyle's bookstore because I really cannot leave London ever without browsing through its collection.
At Cambridge Circus, I took a bus again--this time headed to Chelsea and Sloan Square for the King's Road is one of my favorite streets in which to window-shop. I always alight at the Duke of York's Square where at the weekend, vendors put up stalls to showcase and sell their artisinal foods. I made a small meal on the cheeses, spreads, deli cured meats, drinks, breads and cookies that were handed out, then continued my window-shopping. It was all great fun and I had a quiet blast. In one of the shops, I actually found a vintage pleated skirt and quickly bought it so my shopping expedition wasn't entirely in vain.
Loathe to leave Chelsea's chic precincts, I hopped on a bus and a Tube train to make my way to Holborn to have tea with my friend Sushil Velu at his flat on Theobald's Road. I was seeing Sushil after two years and we had much to talk about and catch up on. Over lovely hot tea and a very spicy Punjabi samosa, we renewed our friendship and then I was bidding him goodbye and walking quickly to Holborn Tube station for my next appointment--this one with my Elphinstone College (Bombay) classmate Michelle. After an affectionate reunion, we walked along Kingsway together, took a bus up Fleet Street to St. Paul's, settled down at Paul's Patisserie for hot chocolate and a chocolate eclair and caught up. We have known each other since we joined college as undergraduates at 16. This past year has been a particularly challenging one for both of us so we were a little tearful at the end of our chat as we talked about so much that has happened. Michelle is a lawyer who works for British Parliament and I find her company endlessly fascinating as well as unfailingly amusing. But too soon, it was time for us to move on to our next appointments--she to the Southbank for dinner with friends and I, back home to Amen Court for my last dinner with my affectionate hosts, Michael and Cynthia.
Llew got online in Southport just before we sat for dinner and was able to Skype with me and the Colclough family. The event was so fascinating to the Colcloughs that I promised to try to hook them on to Skype so that we could have video conversations when I return to Southport. I found that Cynthia had cooked a Lamb Curry with Spinach in my honor and together we sat and ate a lovely meal. Though the knowledge that I would be leaving them tomorrow tugged at my heart strings, I know that I will see them and their lovely sons, Edward and Aidan, again in January--God willing, so I cheered up. After dinner, over Black Forest Gateau, I attempted to hook them on to Skype and was glad to have met with success! What a lovely evening we had! Indeed, what a superbly productive day I'd had--a museum visit, a leisurely ramble in a favorite London quarter, a bit of retail therapy, happy reunions with friends old and new and bus rides in the city of which I never tire.
Indeed, London has been, as always, a happy interlude for me en route home from India and I am happy to have had this unexpected opportunity to enjoy my favorite city at my leisure. Thanks for following my blog once more and for accompanying me on this sojourn. I will sign off now and say goodbye and will inform you the next time I resume my rumination from my Roost in London.
Cheers for now!
London
With less than 48 hours left before I departed from London, I was eager to fill them in with all sorts of pleasurable solo loitering. But, having made the discovery that I had left my credit card behind at Rymans stationery in Holborn last evening, I had no choice but to hop on a bus to get there and pick it up.
Cynthia made us a typical English Fry-Up for breakfast--scrambled eggs with chipolata sausages and bacon and toast--artery-clogging and heart-attack-inducing, but oh so yummy! Then, I was at the bus-stop chatting on my mobile with Rahul, one of Chriselle's friends, when I lost my concentration and took the wrong bus. Realizing my mistake immediately, I resolved to get off at the next stop, only to find myself staring directly at the walls of the Museum of London.
Of course, then my error seemed fated because seeing the newly-installed basement of the museum had been on my To-Do List (I had just wondered when to fit it all in). The museum had just opened for the day, so I raced downstairs and spent the next half hour viewing its newest highlights--of course, the piece de resistance is the spectacular stage coach of the Lord Mayor of London. I also saw Ann Fanshaw's 18th century dress that never allowed her to go through doorways (she had to be pushed through my her footmen!), Selfridges' amazingly decorative Art Deco elevator from the 1930s, a simply superbly evoked 'Victorian Walk' that included shop front windows from the era (they most certainly deserve more time to be done justice), a pashmina from Alexander McQueen, a Vespa scooter, and several other items. But then I heard an announcement stating that a guided Highlights tour would shortly be starting and I signed up for that with a guide named Kristy who took us on a walk through the museum through which the stirring history of this city was recounted. I know that I will return again to the Museum of London when I am here in January for it definitely deserves a much more leisurely browsing.
Then on the bus I went again to Rymans, where, thankfully, my credit card was waiting for me and after producing ID, it was handed back. With the sun pouring down and warming the city (maybe a little too much), I decided to take bus rides (as I have a weekly pass that allows me to take unlimited rides all week) through the city to enjoy its weekend buzz. However, I did make a detour at Foyle's bookstore because I really cannot leave London ever without browsing through its collection.
At Cambridge Circus, I took a bus again--this time headed to Chelsea and Sloan Square for the King's Road is one of my favorite streets in which to window-shop. I always alight at the Duke of York's Square where at the weekend, vendors put up stalls to showcase and sell their artisinal foods. I made a small meal on the cheeses, spreads, deli cured meats, drinks, breads and cookies that were handed out, then continued my window-shopping. It was all great fun and I had a quiet blast. In one of the shops, I actually found a vintage pleated skirt and quickly bought it so my shopping expedition wasn't entirely in vain.
Loathe to leave Chelsea's chic precincts, I hopped on a bus and a Tube train to make my way to Holborn to have tea with my friend Sushil Velu at his flat on Theobald's Road. I was seeing Sushil after two years and we had much to talk about and catch up on. Over lovely hot tea and a very spicy Punjabi samosa, we renewed our friendship and then I was bidding him goodbye and walking quickly to Holborn Tube station for my next appointment--this one with my Elphinstone College (Bombay) classmate Michelle. After an affectionate reunion, we walked along Kingsway together, took a bus up Fleet Street to St. Paul's, settled down at Paul's Patisserie for hot chocolate and a chocolate eclair and caught up. We have known each other since we joined college as undergraduates at 16. This past year has been a particularly challenging one for both of us so we were a little tearful at the end of our chat as we talked about so much that has happened. Michelle is a lawyer who works for British Parliament and I find her company endlessly fascinating as well as unfailingly amusing. But too soon, it was time for us to move on to our next appointments--she to the Southbank for dinner with friends and I, back home to Amen Court for my last dinner with my affectionate hosts, Michael and Cynthia.
Llew got online in Southport just before we sat for dinner and was able to Skype with me and the Colclough family. The event was so fascinating to the Colcloughs that I promised to try to hook them on to Skype so that we could have video conversations when I return to Southport. I found that Cynthia had cooked a Lamb Curry with Spinach in my honor and together we sat and ate a lovely meal. Though the knowledge that I would be leaving them tomorrow tugged at my heart strings, I know that I will see them and their lovely sons, Edward and Aidan, again in January--God willing, so I cheered up. After dinner, over Black Forest Gateau, I attempted to hook them on to Skype and was glad to have met with success! What a lovely evening we had! Indeed, what a superbly productive day I'd had--a museum visit, a leisurely ramble in a favorite London quarter, a bit of retail therapy, happy reunions with friends old and new and bus rides in the city of which I never tire.
Indeed, London has been, as always, a happy interlude for me en route home from India and I am happy to have had this unexpected opportunity to enjoy my favorite city at my leisure. Thanks for following my blog once more and for accompanying me on this sojourn. I will sign off now and say goodbye and will inform you the next time I resume my rumination from my Roost in London.
Cheers for now!
Friday, September 2, 2011
A Little Bit of This and That
Friday, September 2, 2011
London
When its not jetlag, it is the tolling bells of St. Paul's Cathedral right outside my window that wake me up at the crack of dawn. Not that I'm complaining. I actually quite love the sound of those bells and the centuries of history they evoke as soon as I open my eyes. It's hard to stop myself from drawing back the curtains on my heavy sash windows to feast my eyes on the dome of Old Bailey and the gilded blind-folded Goddess with her sword in my one and scales of justice in the other that tops the edifice. Ah, I think, this is London! And I sigh with pleasure all over again. It is nice to be passionate about something in life and for me London is an enduring passion.
Mass at St. Paul's:
And when I awake so early, I think a great way to start the day is with Mass at the Cathedral especially when it lies only a few steps away and Cynthia and Michael, my friends, are attending. So into one of the side chapels we trooped to listen to a small, intimate mass and to receive Communion before the celebration of the Eucharist ended. Then, before we knew it, we were trooping out again into another golden morning. Yes, the sun was out and the city was flooded not just with light but with warmth as well--warmth that continued to grow as the day progressed and then became rather oppressive in the afternoon.
Brunch in Whitechapel:
But there wasn't time to be wasted. I had a date in Whitechapel with Jack, one of my favorite young people in London. Jack is the intelligent, creative, sensitive, affectionate, adventurous son of my friends Loulou and Paul. He and I have always hit it off well and during my life in London, he was quite frequently my theater companion. Jack was keen to show off his 'place' in the East End and had invited me to partake of breakfast with him.
At about 9. 15, I got off the bus at Whitechapel Tube Station, crossed the street into the lane that houses the London Royal Hospital and found Turner Street tucked in the back. I used the heavy old knocker on the door and then, there was Jack, opening the door for me and leading me into the 1814 Georgian house. And how charming was the home! How adorable! Light streams in through the windows, all the fireplaces are working ones, nooks and niches hide tiny bathrooms, there is a steep flight of wooden stairs that leads into an attic bedroom and in the basement, exposed brick walls contrast with the spiffiness of stainless steel appliances. Outside, in the tiny garden, are herbs and perennial flowering bushes (the handiwork of his gardener mother) in beds that lead to a double-storied shed which Jack, ever the creative spirit, intends to convert into a studio someday. And somehow I know he will!
Breakfast turned out to be a feast for the eyes and the palate: Fruit and Nut Granola with Yogurt and Fresh Berries, a selection of croissants with butter, fig preserves and the most delicious honey from the wilds of the Scottish Highlands (for Jack spent a part of the summer on the Isle of Collonsay refurbishing an old family homestead with his girl-friend Jennifer--I told you he is both adventurous and creative). We munched, we sipped really good coffee, we chatted about everything under the sun including the novel Jack is currently writing. He showed me pictures of the Old Man, a finger of rock that juts out into the sky on a tiny island off the coast of Scotland which he climbed to the summit with his friend Henry. In-between, I got the Grand Tour of the house and an insight into his many pastimes and pursuits. Jack has recently started distilling fragrances from the herbs he grows in his garden and has started producing perfumes. He has promised to concoct a scent exclusively for me and to present it to me for Christmas. I cannot wait! Meanwhile, he promised to email me an account of his walkathon from London to his family home in Suffolk past some of the Home Counties' unknown old churches, flat pasture land and fields. Is it any wonder that I am enchanted by his company?
Alas, too soon it was time for me to leave him with all the luck in the world for his Masters degree in Asian Studies that he is completing from London University's School of Oriental and African Studies after which he hopes to find "a proper job". Meanwhile, I warmly wished him all the luck in the world and whispered a prayer that he might stay as sweet as he is and that all his dreams will come true.
A Muddle with Buses:
Jack escorted me back on the bus heading towards St. Paul's where Cynthia was supposed to meet me at the bus-stop so that we could proceed with our plans for the rest of the day. But as I alighted from my bus, I watched as Cynthia boarded one behind me! Just as I tried to flag her bus down, it moved away. There was nothing else to do but board the one right after it (which turned out to be a vintage Routemaster). I climbed to the top deck hoping to catch up with her at the bus stop at Trafalgar Square. But, a few yards ahead, I saw that she had alighted from her bus and was walking back! There was nothing to do for it but race downstairs, get off my bus and race behind her along Fleet Street! Well, long story short, we caught up and then boarded a bus together and rode towards Buckingham Palace which we intended to tour together. All was well that ended well!
We got off at Trafalgar, walked at leisurely pace down Mall Pall, passed Clarence House and caught the last bits of the pomp and ceremony of the Changing of the Guards before we arrived at Buckingham Palace. Sunshine poured down warmly over the city and people had peeled off their jackets. I was much too warm in my own layers.
Disappointment at the Palace:
Alas, we had arrived too late in the day. It was almost noon and all the tickets to tour the palace had been issued for the day. Although Llew and I have toured Bucks Palace, fifteen years ago, when it had first opened up to the public, I was keen to see the Sara Burton-designed wedding dress for Kate, Duchess of Cambridge and, apparently, a layer of her wedding cake, both of which are on display this year. But it was not to be, I suppose, and walking towards Grosvenor Place, we caught a bus to Hyde Park to arrive at our next destination.
A Garden in the Serpentine Gallery:
The famous Serpentine Gallery was our next port of call. My NYU colleague Ifeona with whom I'd had breakfast two days ago, had urged me to try to make it to the Hortus Conclusus, a dream garden completely enclosed by the gallery walls but open to the sky--the concept of artist Peter Zumthor who has created a living piece of art in collaboration with landscape artist and designer Piet Oudulf. The perennial garden, a long narrow strip of flower bed, provided a calming oasis in which to rest our feet after our long stroll across Hyde Park and the Albert Memorial to the venue. We took a few pictures and then set out again--Cynthia for home and me to the next item on my agenda.
A Bus Ride to Tottenham Court Road:
Tottenham Court Road that was so much in the news in connection with the looting riots looks none the worse for its recent notoriety. In fact, life is back to such normality that it is hard to believe anything so lethal happened only a few weeks earlier. As always, I enjoyed watching London lurch and falter below me as I surveyed the city and its people from my perch on the upper deck's picture windows (quite my favorite place in the world from which to people-watch). At Goodge Street in Bloomsbury, I connected with my friend Rosemary who nipped out of work to spend a hour with me over a cappuccino. It was much too hot and I opted for a long cool lemonade instead and while we sat and shot the breeze, she left me with a vintage silver-plated teapot, circus 1920s from Harrods--the perfect little London souvenir. I have visions of sipping my daily afternoon cuppa from it and thinking of my lovely English friend.
Off to Meet Former Colleagues at NYU:
Since Bedford Square was only a hop away, it was a no-brainer to look up my lovely English colleagues there and to survey our expanded new premises in the Georgian block of buildings that surround the private gardens. To my delight, several were around--Yvonne, Ruth, David, Robert, James--and were delighted to see me. Many bear hugs later, they gave me a tour of the new buildings and floors, showed me their new offices, chatted with me about new developments, plans and projects. I was pleased to meet Matt, a professor and London theater-critic, with whom I had attended opening night performances for the press and who had been such good company to me while I had lived in London. Memories of an amazing professional year came flooding back to me as I wandered through the premises and soaked in the nostalgia of those days. Although change is guaranteed to alter the layout of our London campus, I know there will always be a special welcome for me every time I pass through the city; and for that I am very grateful.
A Tour of St. Pancras Old Churchyard:
Then, at Jack's behest, I set out on my next solo adventure. He had urged me, during breakfast, to take a bus ride towards King's Cross to the churchyard of Old St. Pancras Church where gravestones proclaiming the last resting place of prominent Londoners are in evidence in the bustling heart of the city. So back on a bus I went towards King's Cross and the International Terminal for the Chunnel trains to the Continent and with some difficulty, I found the church, on a short hill, with its ornate gates and steps leading up to the main entrance. Peace and quiet prevailed over the premises until I opened the door and entered to find a film crew hard at work at the altar. Lovely funerary monuments and memorial dot the walls of the church which is striking in a rather unfussy sort of way.
Outside, my tour of the churchyard led me to the family burial vault of Sir John Soane, one of my favorite London architects and owner of one of the city's most fascinating museums, the Soane House at Holborn. Being very familiar with Soane's work (he designed the Bank of England, the Dulwich Picture Gallery, the stable blocks at Chelsea Royal Hospital and a church on Marylebon Road among other striking works), I was curious to see his own design for his family burial vault. And how simple and unostentatious it was! Yes, Neo-Classical design was plainly in evidence but with a distinctive Soane twist--a curved roof that his disciple George Gilbert Scott borrowed when designing the red telephone booths that have become iconic.
Other interesting gravestones in the cemetery belonged to William Godwin and his first wife, Mary Wollstonecraft (who was one of England earliest and best-known feminists and author of Vindication of the Rights of Women). Her daughter, who married the English poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, went on to become a renowned novelist herself and author of Frankenstein. Lovely Victorian memorials lay sprinkled around the churchyard evoking a time when life in London was calmer and quieter and although red buses trundled alongside, it was hard to believe I was in the 21st century.
The Hardy Tree:
Jack had told me to make sure I did not miss The Hardy Tree named after one of my favorite novelists, Thomas Hardy. Long before he became the celebrated author of Tess of the D'Urbervilles, Jude the Obscure, Far from the Madding Crowd, etc. Hardy was a mason and an apprentice architect. When the East Midlands Railway line was expected to pass through Old St. Pancras Church (that dates from the mid-1700s), the architectural firm for which Hardy worked was assigned the task of digging up the graves, exhuming the bodies and repositioning the gravestones elsewhere. The enviable task was delegated to Hardy who assembled the old gravestones in a circle, planted an ash tree sapling in their midst and left. Today, over a century later, the roots of the ash tree have pushed the gravestones upwards and have spread themselves among the stones that form a frilly 'skirt' all around. It is a very curious sight indeed and one worthy of a dozen photographs.
Off to Run Errands:
Leaving the old world precincts of the churchyard behind, I hopped on to a bus again and joined the throngs outside King's Cross as I headed to Holborn to buy a supply of some of my favorite pens from Rymans located in my former building. Then, I hopped on to another bus and finally headed home. Surprisingly, despite a day spent almost entirely on my feet, I wasn't the least bit tired. Instead, I showered and readied myself for my next appointment, dinner with my former neighbors Tim and Barbara. They had suggested Madison, the new rooftop restaurant on London's newest mall, One New Change.
Off for Dinner to Madison:
Tim and Barbara arrived at Amen Corner at 7. 30 pm (Barbara looking very fetching indeed in the pink kurta from India that I had presented her) and off we walked, just a few meters to One New Change. Londoners who work hard all week long seem to wait for Friday evening when they play equally hard. The restaurant was crowded, buzzing and very noisy indeed. We had 8. 00 pm reservations and knew as soon as we entered that it would severely discourage conversation. Still, we found our table, placed our order and settled down to enjoy a bottle of chilled Chablis, an excellent starter called Potted Parfait--a creamy concoction of foie gras and chicken liver served with Melba toast and redcurrant jelly and, in my case, a nice hunk of sea bass. None of us wanted pudding or coffee, so after a companionable evening spent overlooking the rooftops of London (my hosts had generously offered me a seat with a view that extended as far out as the blue-lit London Eye) and the dome of St. Paul's that seemed so close you could touch it, we made our way back home on what was an exceptionally warm English evening--clearly Summer's Last Hurrah.
It had been another lovely day for me in London punctuated by so many of the things I enjoy best in life--art, gardens, churchyards, history--but above all, the company of dearly-loved and well-cherished friends.
London
When its not jetlag, it is the tolling bells of St. Paul's Cathedral right outside my window that wake me up at the crack of dawn. Not that I'm complaining. I actually quite love the sound of those bells and the centuries of history they evoke as soon as I open my eyes. It's hard to stop myself from drawing back the curtains on my heavy sash windows to feast my eyes on the dome of Old Bailey and the gilded blind-folded Goddess with her sword in my one and scales of justice in the other that tops the edifice. Ah, I think, this is London! And I sigh with pleasure all over again. It is nice to be passionate about something in life and for me London is an enduring passion.
Mass at St. Paul's:
And when I awake so early, I think a great way to start the day is with Mass at the Cathedral especially when it lies only a few steps away and Cynthia and Michael, my friends, are attending. So into one of the side chapels we trooped to listen to a small, intimate mass and to receive Communion before the celebration of the Eucharist ended. Then, before we knew it, we were trooping out again into another golden morning. Yes, the sun was out and the city was flooded not just with light but with warmth as well--warmth that continued to grow as the day progressed and then became rather oppressive in the afternoon.
Brunch in Whitechapel:
But there wasn't time to be wasted. I had a date in Whitechapel with Jack, one of my favorite young people in London. Jack is the intelligent, creative, sensitive, affectionate, adventurous son of my friends Loulou and Paul. He and I have always hit it off well and during my life in London, he was quite frequently my theater companion. Jack was keen to show off his 'place' in the East End and had invited me to partake of breakfast with him.
At about 9. 15, I got off the bus at Whitechapel Tube Station, crossed the street into the lane that houses the London Royal Hospital and found Turner Street tucked in the back. I used the heavy old knocker on the door and then, there was Jack, opening the door for me and leading me into the 1814 Georgian house. And how charming was the home! How adorable! Light streams in through the windows, all the fireplaces are working ones, nooks and niches hide tiny bathrooms, there is a steep flight of wooden stairs that leads into an attic bedroom and in the basement, exposed brick walls contrast with the spiffiness of stainless steel appliances. Outside, in the tiny garden, are herbs and perennial flowering bushes (the handiwork of his gardener mother) in beds that lead to a double-storied shed which Jack, ever the creative spirit, intends to convert into a studio someday. And somehow I know he will!
Breakfast turned out to be a feast for the eyes and the palate: Fruit and Nut Granola with Yogurt and Fresh Berries, a selection of croissants with butter, fig preserves and the most delicious honey from the wilds of the Scottish Highlands (for Jack spent a part of the summer on the Isle of Collonsay refurbishing an old family homestead with his girl-friend Jennifer--I told you he is both adventurous and creative). We munched, we sipped really good coffee, we chatted about everything under the sun including the novel Jack is currently writing. He showed me pictures of the Old Man, a finger of rock that juts out into the sky on a tiny island off the coast of Scotland which he climbed to the summit with his friend Henry. In-between, I got the Grand Tour of the house and an insight into his many pastimes and pursuits. Jack has recently started distilling fragrances from the herbs he grows in his garden and has started producing perfumes. He has promised to concoct a scent exclusively for me and to present it to me for Christmas. I cannot wait! Meanwhile, he promised to email me an account of his walkathon from London to his family home in Suffolk past some of the Home Counties' unknown old churches, flat pasture land and fields. Is it any wonder that I am enchanted by his company?
Alas, too soon it was time for me to leave him with all the luck in the world for his Masters degree in Asian Studies that he is completing from London University's School of Oriental and African Studies after which he hopes to find "a proper job". Meanwhile, I warmly wished him all the luck in the world and whispered a prayer that he might stay as sweet as he is and that all his dreams will come true.
A Muddle with Buses:
Jack escorted me back on the bus heading towards St. Paul's where Cynthia was supposed to meet me at the bus-stop so that we could proceed with our plans for the rest of the day. But as I alighted from my bus, I watched as Cynthia boarded one behind me! Just as I tried to flag her bus down, it moved away. There was nothing else to do but board the one right after it (which turned out to be a vintage Routemaster). I climbed to the top deck hoping to catch up with her at the bus stop at Trafalgar Square. But, a few yards ahead, I saw that she had alighted from her bus and was walking back! There was nothing to do for it but race downstairs, get off my bus and race behind her along Fleet Street! Well, long story short, we caught up and then boarded a bus together and rode towards Buckingham Palace which we intended to tour together. All was well that ended well!
We got off at Trafalgar, walked at leisurely pace down Mall Pall, passed Clarence House and caught the last bits of the pomp and ceremony of the Changing of the Guards before we arrived at Buckingham Palace. Sunshine poured down warmly over the city and people had peeled off their jackets. I was much too warm in my own layers.
Disappointment at the Palace:
Alas, we had arrived too late in the day. It was almost noon and all the tickets to tour the palace had been issued for the day. Although Llew and I have toured Bucks Palace, fifteen years ago, when it had first opened up to the public, I was keen to see the Sara Burton-designed wedding dress for Kate, Duchess of Cambridge and, apparently, a layer of her wedding cake, both of which are on display this year. But it was not to be, I suppose, and walking towards Grosvenor Place, we caught a bus to Hyde Park to arrive at our next destination.
A Garden in the Serpentine Gallery:
The famous Serpentine Gallery was our next port of call. My NYU colleague Ifeona with whom I'd had breakfast two days ago, had urged me to try to make it to the Hortus Conclusus, a dream garden completely enclosed by the gallery walls but open to the sky--the concept of artist Peter Zumthor who has created a living piece of art in collaboration with landscape artist and designer Piet Oudulf. The perennial garden, a long narrow strip of flower bed, provided a calming oasis in which to rest our feet after our long stroll across Hyde Park and the Albert Memorial to the venue. We took a few pictures and then set out again--Cynthia for home and me to the next item on my agenda.
A Bus Ride to Tottenham Court Road:
Tottenham Court Road that was so much in the news in connection with the looting riots looks none the worse for its recent notoriety. In fact, life is back to such normality that it is hard to believe anything so lethal happened only a few weeks earlier. As always, I enjoyed watching London lurch and falter below me as I surveyed the city and its people from my perch on the upper deck's picture windows (quite my favorite place in the world from which to people-watch). At Goodge Street in Bloomsbury, I connected with my friend Rosemary who nipped out of work to spend a hour with me over a cappuccino. It was much too hot and I opted for a long cool lemonade instead and while we sat and shot the breeze, she left me with a vintage silver-plated teapot, circus 1920s from Harrods--the perfect little London souvenir. I have visions of sipping my daily afternoon cuppa from it and thinking of my lovely English friend.
Off to Meet Former Colleagues at NYU:
Since Bedford Square was only a hop away, it was a no-brainer to look up my lovely English colleagues there and to survey our expanded new premises in the Georgian block of buildings that surround the private gardens. To my delight, several were around--Yvonne, Ruth, David, Robert, James--and were delighted to see me. Many bear hugs later, they gave me a tour of the new buildings and floors, showed me their new offices, chatted with me about new developments, plans and projects. I was pleased to meet Matt, a professor and London theater-critic, with whom I had attended opening night performances for the press and who had been such good company to me while I had lived in London. Memories of an amazing professional year came flooding back to me as I wandered through the premises and soaked in the nostalgia of those days. Although change is guaranteed to alter the layout of our London campus, I know there will always be a special welcome for me every time I pass through the city; and for that I am very grateful.
A Tour of St. Pancras Old Churchyard:
Then, at Jack's behest, I set out on my next solo adventure. He had urged me, during breakfast, to take a bus ride towards King's Cross to the churchyard of Old St. Pancras Church where gravestones proclaiming the last resting place of prominent Londoners are in evidence in the bustling heart of the city. So back on a bus I went towards King's Cross and the International Terminal for the Chunnel trains to the Continent and with some difficulty, I found the church, on a short hill, with its ornate gates and steps leading up to the main entrance. Peace and quiet prevailed over the premises until I opened the door and entered to find a film crew hard at work at the altar. Lovely funerary monuments and memorial dot the walls of the church which is striking in a rather unfussy sort of way.
Outside, my tour of the churchyard led me to the family burial vault of Sir John Soane, one of my favorite London architects and owner of one of the city's most fascinating museums, the Soane House at Holborn. Being very familiar with Soane's work (he designed the Bank of England, the Dulwich Picture Gallery, the stable blocks at Chelsea Royal Hospital and a church on Marylebon Road among other striking works), I was curious to see his own design for his family burial vault. And how simple and unostentatious it was! Yes, Neo-Classical design was plainly in evidence but with a distinctive Soane twist--a curved roof that his disciple George Gilbert Scott borrowed when designing the red telephone booths that have become iconic.
Other interesting gravestones in the cemetery belonged to William Godwin and his first wife, Mary Wollstonecraft (who was one of England earliest and best-known feminists and author of Vindication of the Rights of Women). Her daughter, who married the English poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, went on to become a renowned novelist herself and author of Frankenstein. Lovely Victorian memorials lay sprinkled around the churchyard evoking a time when life in London was calmer and quieter and although red buses trundled alongside, it was hard to believe I was in the 21st century.
The Hardy Tree:
Jack had told me to make sure I did not miss The Hardy Tree named after one of my favorite novelists, Thomas Hardy. Long before he became the celebrated author of Tess of the D'Urbervilles, Jude the Obscure, Far from the Madding Crowd, etc. Hardy was a mason and an apprentice architect. When the East Midlands Railway line was expected to pass through Old St. Pancras Church (that dates from the mid-1700s), the architectural firm for which Hardy worked was assigned the task of digging up the graves, exhuming the bodies and repositioning the gravestones elsewhere. The enviable task was delegated to Hardy who assembled the old gravestones in a circle, planted an ash tree sapling in their midst and left. Today, over a century later, the roots of the ash tree have pushed the gravestones upwards and have spread themselves among the stones that form a frilly 'skirt' all around. It is a very curious sight indeed and one worthy of a dozen photographs.
Off to Run Errands:
Leaving the old world precincts of the churchyard behind, I hopped on to a bus again and joined the throngs outside King's Cross as I headed to Holborn to buy a supply of some of my favorite pens from Rymans located in my former building. Then, I hopped on to another bus and finally headed home. Surprisingly, despite a day spent almost entirely on my feet, I wasn't the least bit tired. Instead, I showered and readied myself for my next appointment, dinner with my former neighbors Tim and Barbara. They had suggested Madison, the new rooftop restaurant on London's newest mall, One New Change.
Off for Dinner to Madison:
Tim and Barbara arrived at Amen Corner at 7. 30 pm (Barbara looking very fetching indeed in the pink kurta from India that I had presented her) and off we walked, just a few meters to One New Change. Londoners who work hard all week long seem to wait for Friday evening when they play equally hard. The restaurant was crowded, buzzing and very noisy indeed. We had 8. 00 pm reservations and knew as soon as we entered that it would severely discourage conversation. Still, we found our table, placed our order and settled down to enjoy a bottle of chilled Chablis, an excellent starter called Potted Parfait--a creamy concoction of foie gras and chicken liver served with Melba toast and redcurrant jelly and, in my case, a nice hunk of sea bass. None of us wanted pudding or coffee, so after a companionable evening spent overlooking the rooftops of London (my hosts had generously offered me a seat with a view that extended as far out as the blue-lit London Eye) and the dome of St. Paul's that seemed so close you could touch it, we made our way back home on what was an exceptionally warm English evening--clearly Summer's Last Hurrah.
It had been another lovely day for me in London punctuated by so many of the things I enjoy best in life--art, gardens, churchyards, history--but above all, the company of dearly-loved and well-cherished friends.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
A Day Out in Bury St. Edmunds
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Bury St. Edmunds
Having awoken at 6. 30 again, I joined Cynthia for the 8 am Mass at St. Paul's Cathedral. Michael said the Mass in one of the small chapels where a clutch of folks formed an intimate congregation. When I emerged in the full-blown light of a gorgeous sunny day, my heart sang--it was the perfect day for a day trip. Hurrying through breakfast, I took the Tube to Wembley North where I met my friend Bash who had volunteered to drive me out of town on an excursion to any venue of my choice. After much debate, Michael had suggested Bury St. Edmunds and that was where we zipped off by 10. 30 am.
Bury St. Edmunds lies in the county of Suffolk not too far from Cambridge. Although the drive took almost two hours, the time flew as we chitchatted and caught up. Entering the delightfully large market square that is dominated by a medieval tower gate on one side and an ivy-clad stone hotel on the other, we parked our car and set out to explore the beautiful town.
Mentioned frequently in the novels of Charles Dickens (especially The Pickwick Papers), 'Bury' as it is known for short, is associated with the medieval English king Saint Edmund who was martyred in 869 AD and whose remains were buried in the town --from where it derives its name. We entered the Tourist Information Office first for maps and recommendations for places to see and armed with the necessary information, crossed the street to enter the Tower Gateway into the lovely Abbey Gardens.
Strolling Through the Abbey Gardens:
It was hard to believe that it was the first of September as the gardens were in full glorious summer bloom with begonia and fuchsia providing vivid color in geometrically laid-out flower beds sprinkled among manicured lawns. Punctuated by the grey flint stone ruins of the Abbey that was destroyed during Henry VIIIs Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1534, the gardens made a popular picnic spot and scores of people enjoyed sprawling on the lawns on a day that invited one to do just that. Crossing into the churchyard with its spectacular rose gardens and perennial flower beds, we arrived at the entrance of the Cathedral and spent almost an hour exploring the interior.
Exploring the Cathedral:
Although the Cathedral dates from medieval times, the last structure that completed it--a square Gothic tower--was erected only in 2005 and is stunning for its interior paint work. The colors used to paint the ceiling are vivid and wonderful and blend superbly with the much older hammered beam ceiling that features the busts of saints. The altar of this cathedral is notable for the fact that was the assembly point for the barons who had decided to draw up a Charter of Liberties to present to King John--which became the famous Magna Carta of 1215. We encircled the Cathedral and knowing that there was much to see, then made our way into the cloisters that surround another very private garden that was used exclusively by the monks. We munched on the sandwiches I had carried on picnic benches thoughtfully provided and continued to enjoy the sun.
The Church of St. Mary:
Later, we explored the adjoining Church of St. Mary that is of similar vintage and also sports a superb hammered beam ceiling--this one ending in the busts of fabulously carved angels. This church is renowned for being the burial place of Henry VIII's favorite sister (and his youngest sibling), Mary (after whom he named the Tudor ship The Mary Rose). I read the history of her life on the plaque and the episode in HBO's The Tudors came startlingly back to me as I recalled that, at 18, she was bethrowed by Henry to the 54 year old Louis, King of France, although Henry well knew that she was in love with one of his courtiers, Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. Mary agreed to marry Louis provided that Henry would permit her to marry Charles after Louis passed away (I suppose, in that day and age, 54 was a grand old age and she did not expect him to live long). HBO's version has Mary murder Louis by suffocation (although the plaque did not say so). Henry sent Charles to bring the widowed queen back to England but en route, Charles secretly married Mary, much to Henry's anger. Both Charles and Mary were banished from the court and lived in disgrace for years (as it was unthinkable for a member of the royal family to marry without the king's consent). A few years later, Henry forgave them both, restored his relationship with them and they returned to court. However, a few years later, when Mary died, neither her brother Henry (who was busy with the coronation revelry for one of his six wives) nor her husband Charles (who was already wooing his next wife!) attended her funeral and burial in the Abbey Church. She was buried very simply under a stone slab with no mortuary sculpture or decoration of any kind--certainly as the plaque puts it, a most unseemly burial for the daughter of a king, a sister of a king, a wife of a king and a grandmother of queen (her grand-daughter was the poor ill-fated Lady Jane Grey who ruled England for exactly nine days before being beheaded together with her two young sons for no other reason than she was a threat).
Knowing how much I adore Tudor and Elizabethan history, one would not be surprized that I was particularly taken by this church and spent a long while at Mary's tomb (which occupies a nondescript corner of the altar). There is also a stained glass window that was installed by Queen Victoria who was fascinated by Mary's life--she is not to be confused with Mary Tudor, first-born daughter of Henry VIII by Katherine of Aragon (known as Bloody Mary) nor her cousin Mary, Queen of Scots.Nor was she ever cannonized and the Church of St. Mary in which she lies buried is not named after her. Overall, I found this church simply lovely for its rich associations with a particularly fascinating period in British History.
Sampling Suffolk's Oldest Brewery:
Walking further down the quaint narrow streets of the town, we arrived at the Green King brewery, one of the country's oldest. In the gift shop, we sampled two of the beers produced by the brewery--Old Country Hen and Old Golden Hen, both rather good especially on a warm day. We toured the museum displays and, although we had not arrived in time for a tour of the brewery, received a neat introduction to its working.
A Tour of the Theater Royal:
Right across the street was the Theater Royal, the oldest Regency theater (circa 1810-1820, this was built in 1819 and therefore just escapes the Georgian era) in the country. Today it is maintained by The National Trust and although it is a working theater whose new season actually begins today (September 1), we were given a tour of the exquisite interior by an assistant who proved to be a superb tour guide and had all his facts at his finger tips. The theater was recently restored at a cost of 6 million pounds and the refurbishment is evident. Seats in bright pink match the walls while a Classical painted frieze on the stage front and sides of the boxes form the only decoration. This theater has none of the Victorian grandeur of the London ones but it was charming and one of the nicest things we saw all day.
Back at the market square (where a street market is held every Wednesday and Saturday), we wended our way through the maze of narrow lanes that always comprise medieval market towns to browse in a few stores before we nipped inside The Nutshell, the country's tiniest pub. Indeed, no more than five men can occupy the place at a time and when Bash stood with his arms outstretched, he touched both sides of the pub. It is aptly named and is a tourist curiosity.Other places of note in Bury are the Mosye Hall where a Norman crypt that we entered forms a modern day gift store for a small museum that is located further inside the building.
We had done Bury justice and having spent almost five hours in the town decided to stop at the Scandinavian Tea Shop for a pot of tea and coffee walnut cake. Then, it was time to get back into the car for the long drive back to London. We got caught up for an hour in awful accident-related traffic near Wembley but we did arrive at Red Sky, a newly-opened shisha lounge at which Bash wanted me to meet two of his friends, a scholarly Bangladeshi named Mohammed and an Indian student who is college-bound soon to the University of Birmingham named Urvi. I spent a good hour with them over a chocolate milk shake and chicken kebab rolls before we got in the car again, stopping off only at Kensington to pick up tickets for an excursion to what Bash called "Bucks Palace" and then we were driving to Amen Court through Central London's theater district that was garishly illuminated.
Back at Amen Court, Bash stayed for a quick cup of coffee with Cynthia and Micahel before disappearing into the night. Cynthia and I enjoyed some herbal tea before we too called it a day. My unexpected excursion to Bury St. Edmunds turned out to be a really interesting one and I was so glad that Bash did the driving and allowed me a chance to take in its long and varied history.
Bury St. Edmunds
Having awoken at 6. 30 again, I joined Cynthia for the 8 am Mass at St. Paul's Cathedral. Michael said the Mass in one of the small chapels where a clutch of folks formed an intimate congregation. When I emerged in the full-blown light of a gorgeous sunny day, my heart sang--it was the perfect day for a day trip. Hurrying through breakfast, I took the Tube to Wembley North where I met my friend Bash who had volunteered to drive me out of town on an excursion to any venue of my choice. After much debate, Michael had suggested Bury St. Edmunds and that was where we zipped off by 10. 30 am.
Bury St. Edmunds lies in the county of Suffolk not too far from Cambridge. Although the drive took almost two hours, the time flew as we chitchatted and caught up. Entering the delightfully large market square that is dominated by a medieval tower gate on one side and an ivy-clad stone hotel on the other, we parked our car and set out to explore the beautiful town.
Mentioned frequently in the novels of Charles Dickens (especially The Pickwick Papers), 'Bury' as it is known for short, is associated with the medieval English king Saint Edmund who was martyred in 869 AD and whose remains were buried in the town --from where it derives its name. We entered the Tourist Information Office first for maps and recommendations for places to see and armed with the necessary information, crossed the street to enter the Tower Gateway into the lovely Abbey Gardens.
Strolling Through the Abbey Gardens:
It was hard to believe that it was the first of September as the gardens were in full glorious summer bloom with begonia and fuchsia providing vivid color in geometrically laid-out flower beds sprinkled among manicured lawns. Punctuated by the grey flint stone ruins of the Abbey that was destroyed during Henry VIIIs Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1534, the gardens made a popular picnic spot and scores of people enjoyed sprawling on the lawns on a day that invited one to do just that. Crossing into the churchyard with its spectacular rose gardens and perennial flower beds, we arrived at the entrance of the Cathedral and spent almost an hour exploring the interior.
Exploring the Cathedral:
Although the Cathedral dates from medieval times, the last structure that completed it--a square Gothic tower--was erected only in 2005 and is stunning for its interior paint work. The colors used to paint the ceiling are vivid and wonderful and blend superbly with the much older hammered beam ceiling that features the busts of saints. The altar of this cathedral is notable for the fact that was the assembly point for the barons who had decided to draw up a Charter of Liberties to present to King John--which became the famous Magna Carta of 1215. We encircled the Cathedral and knowing that there was much to see, then made our way into the cloisters that surround another very private garden that was used exclusively by the monks. We munched on the sandwiches I had carried on picnic benches thoughtfully provided and continued to enjoy the sun.
The Church of St. Mary:
Later, we explored the adjoining Church of St. Mary that is of similar vintage and also sports a superb hammered beam ceiling--this one ending in the busts of fabulously carved angels. This church is renowned for being the burial place of Henry VIII's favorite sister (and his youngest sibling), Mary (after whom he named the Tudor ship The Mary Rose). I read the history of her life on the plaque and the episode in HBO's The Tudors came startlingly back to me as I recalled that, at 18, she was bethrowed by Henry to the 54 year old Louis, King of France, although Henry well knew that she was in love with one of his courtiers, Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. Mary agreed to marry Louis provided that Henry would permit her to marry Charles after Louis passed away (I suppose, in that day and age, 54 was a grand old age and she did not expect him to live long). HBO's version has Mary murder Louis by suffocation (although the plaque did not say so). Henry sent Charles to bring the widowed queen back to England but en route, Charles secretly married Mary, much to Henry's anger. Both Charles and Mary were banished from the court and lived in disgrace for years (as it was unthinkable for a member of the royal family to marry without the king's consent). A few years later, Henry forgave them both, restored his relationship with them and they returned to court. However, a few years later, when Mary died, neither her brother Henry (who was busy with the coronation revelry for one of his six wives) nor her husband Charles (who was already wooing his next wife!) attended her funeral and burial in the Abbey Church. She was buried very simply under a stone slab with no mortuary sculpture or decoration of any kind--certainly as the plaque puts it, a most unseemly burial for the daughter of a king, a sister of a king, a wife of a king and a grandmother of queen (her grand-daughter was the poor ill-fated Lady Jane Grey who ruled England for exactly nine days before being beheaded together with her two young sons for no other reason than she was a threat).
Knowing how much I adore Tudor and Elizabethan history, one would not be surprized that I was particularly taken by this church and spent a long while at Mary's tomb (which occupies a nondescript corner of the altar). There is also a stained glass window that was installed by Queen Victoria who was fascinated by Mary's life--she is not to be confused with Mary Tudor, first-born daughter of Henry VIII by Katherine of Aragon (known as Bloody Mary) nor her cousin Mary, Queen of Scots.Nor was she ever cannonized and the Church of St. Mary in which she lies buried is not named after her. Overall, I found this church simply lovely for its rich associations with a particularly fascinating period in British History.
Sampling Suffolk's Oldest Brewery:
Walking further down the quaint narrow streets of the town, we arrived at the Green King brewery, one of the country's oldest. In the gift shop, we sampled two of the beers produced by the brewery--Old Country Hen and Old Golden Hen, both rather good especially on a warm day. We toured the museum displays and, although we had not arrived in time for a tour of the brewery, received a neat introduction to its working.
A Tour of the Theater Royal:
Right across the street was the Theater Royal, the oldest Regency theater (circa 1810-1820, this was built in 1819 and therefore just escapes the Georgian era) in the country. Today it is maintained by The National Trust and although it is a working theater whose new season actually begins today (September 1), we were given a tour of the exquisite interior by an assistant who proved to be a superb tour guide and had all his facts at his finger tips. The theater was recently restored at a cost of 6 million pounds and the refurbishment is evident. Seats in bright pink match the walls while a Classical painted frieze on the stage front and sides of the boxes form the only decoration. This theater has none of the Victorian grandeur of the London ones but it was charming and one of the nicest things we saw all day.
Back at the market square (where a street market is held every Wednesday and Saturday), we wended our way through the maze of narrow lanes that always comprise medieval market towns to browse in a few stores before we nipped inside The Nutshell, the country's tiniest pub. Indeed, no more than five men can occupy the place at a time and when Bash stood with his arms outstretched, he touched both sides of the pub. It is aptly named and is a tourist curiosity.Other places of note in Bury are the Mosye Hall where a Norman crypt that we entered forms a modern day gift store for a small museum that is located further inside the building.
We had done Bury justice and having spent almost five hours in the town decided to stop at the Scandinavian Tea Shop for a pot of tea and coffee walnut cake. Then, it was time to get back into the car for the long drive back to London. We got caught up for an hour in awful accident-related traffic near Wembley but we did arrive at Red Sky, a newly-opened shisha lounge at which Bash wanted me to meet two of his friends, a scholarly Bangladeshi named Mohammed and an Indian student who is college-bound soon to the University of Birmingham named Urvi. I spent a good hour with them over a chocolate milk shake and chicken kebab rolls before we got in the car again, stopping off only at Kensington to pick up tickets for an excursion to what Bash called "Bucks Palace" and then we were driving to Amen Court through Central London's theater district that was garishly illuminated.
Back at Amen Court, Bash stayed for a quick cup of coffee with Cynthia and Micahel before disappearing into the night. Cynthia and I enjoyed some herbal tea before we too called it a day. My unexpected excursion to Bury St. Edmunds turned out to be a really interesting one and I was so glad that Bash did the driving and allowed me a chance to take in its long and varied history.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Visiting My Favorite London Haunts
Wednesday, August 31, 2001
London
Visiting a Colleague in Islington:
I spent a really restless night and had difficulty falling asleep until well beyond 2. 30 am. I could hear the bells of St. Paul's tolling every quarter hour throughout the night and wondered why sleep kept eluding me.
My day began at 6. 30 am when I awoke and started blogging. Then, because I'd made 9. 30 am breakfast plans to meet my NYU colleague Ifeona at her digs for the year, off I went on Bus 25 to Bus 46 to Bus 38 to Roseberry Avenue and the Metropolitan Water Board Building. The entrance and the long wide atrium leading up to the apartments has immense heft and character and makes visiting the building a repeated pleasure. When I was posted in London, my colleague Karen had occupied this apartment. The doorman let me through and, before long, Ifeona and I were munching on the croissants I had carried along and the good coffee she provided. We caught up on our individual summers and plans for the new academic year and then we set off together--she to run an errand and me along Islington High Street and Upper Street to explore a part of London which which I am not too familiar.
Antiquing at Camden Passage:
Before long, I found myself right opposite the famous Camden Passage Antiques Market and, of course, unable to resist a good rummage, off I went to browse through the bric-a-brac scattered throughout the area on make-shift carts or in little stalls. I realize that I have developed a far more discerning eye than I had once possessed for, most of the time, I find my forays into such street markets yielding no desire to buy anything. Most items are in deplorable condition or atrociously over-priced. There were loads of vintage jewelry but I find that I am now able to acquire far better desirable pieces in Connecticut than in England's antiques stalls.
On the Bus to my GP:
Then, I was leaving Islington behind me and riding the bus to Holborn to go and see my GP at the Holborn Medical Center. Not having expected to stay this extra week in London, I have run out of my medication for the replacement of my thyroid hormone. Since it is imperative that I take it daily, I had no other option than to try to get my British GP to fill in my prescription. I am delighted to say that my doctor recognized me immediately and after some companionable banter, filled himself in on my medical history since last we parted and then gladly refilled my prescription with a British equivalent. Mission Quite Easily Accomplished! It was also fun to walk along the streets that I had often frequented back in the day. Increasingly I feel that I am more at home in Central London now than I am in Bandra which seems to have changed enormously each time I visit Bombay.
Browsing in a Favorite Shop--Persephone Books:
While waiting for my prescription to be filled, I nipped across Lamb's Conduit Street to one of my favorite shops--Persephone Books. Entering this lovely little place is like taking a trip back in time to the 1930s which, in fact, is the era from which books, only by women, are published in this establishment in beautifully designed paperback editions for 10 pounds each. With their blue grey binding and distinctive end papers (based largely on vintage wallpaper and fabric designs) and accompanied by a matching bookmark, these books are as thrilling to touch and feel as they are to read and I always derive oodles of joy from browsing through the titles and the volumes.
Lunching in a Favorite Restaurant--Hare and Tortoise:
Then, after my consultation with my doctor, I popped into the dispensing pharmacy to pick up my medication and was told to return after ten minutes. It gave me the opportunity to dawdle past the Coram Fields and the Foundling Museum to Brunswick Center, another favorite old haunt of mine, where I went into Waitrose to buy my stock of Ainsley Harriot powdered soups and a Black Forest Gateau (to celebrate the return home of my hosts Cynthia and Michael). Laden with my purchases, I could not resist entering one of my favorite London Oriental restaurants, Hare and Tortoise, where I ordered one of my favorite dishes--the Curry Laksa. This Singaporean speciality comes in a gigantic lacquer bowl and is a meal in itself. Glass noodles and bean sprouts form a base in a fragrant curry-like soup made with coconut milk and turmeric. Chicken, prawns, calamari and squid float around the soup and give it a distinctly fishy flavor that is delectable. Although it is a very substantial soup, I managed to do it justice and filled to bursting, I set out to pick up my medicine, realising to my delight that I am completely over my inhibitions about dining alone in a restaurant. Indeed I was able to do so without batting an eyelid and a jolly good time I had too!
Back Home for Tea with my Hosts:
I was on the bus back home to Amen Court when I got a call from Michael to inform me that he and Cynthia had just reached home. It was 3. oo pm, perfect time for a cuppa, and although I was stuffed, we did cut the Gateau and did enjoy a slice each of what the Germans calls 'schwartwaldentorte'. And how yummy it was! With lovely lemony tea, I felt fortified enough to go on to my next errand--a bus ride to the East End to say goodbye to my friend Shahnaz who was leaving later in the evening for her return to India.
Off to the East End:
But I overshot my stop, went too far on the bus, had to cross the street to catch a bus in the opposite direction, ended up too late at Shahnaz's and carried on to Russel Square to meet her daughter Azra outside the British Museum. It took us some effort to connect given that Azra was at Great Russel Street Station and I was at Tottenham Court Road, but connect we did--eventually! The stop gave me a chance to enter another one of my favorite stores--Bury Food and Wine on Bury Street where the salesman is well known to me as I used to buy my tea and biscuits exclusively from him. Of course, I simply had to buy my supplies of Border's Dark Chocolate Gingers and my Darjeeling Tea and after visiting with him for a few minutes and catching up, off I went on the bus homeward to spend the rest of the evening chatting with my friends.
Cynthia prepared a simple barbecue chicken dinner with boiled potatoes, squash and beans and with more gateau for dessert, it was a very fine, very casual meal, eaten with companionable conversation and the company of Aidan who joined us. We spent the evening watching Britcom re-runs and getting ready for my day trip tomorrow to Bury St. Edmunds which was a place that Michael recommended and where I shall be heading with my friend Bash who has volunteered to do the driving.
Today was a restful, relaxed day and an opportunity to tread in the footsteps of some of my best-loved London haunts and to relive some of the happiest memories of my life in this beloved city.
London
Visiting a Colleague in Islington:
I spent a really restless night and had difficulty falling asleep until well beyond 2. 30 am. I could hear the bells of St. Paul's tolling every quarter hour throughout the night and wondered why sleep kept eluding me.
My day began at 6. 30 am when I awoke and started blogging. Then, because I'd made 9. 30 am breakfast plans to meet my NYU colleague Ifeona at her digs for the year, off I went on Bus 25 to Bus 46 to Bus 38 to Roseberry Avenue and the Metropolitan Water Board Building. The entrance and the long wide atrium leading up to the apartments has immense heft and character and makes visiting the building a repeated pleasure. When I was posted in London, my colleague Karen had occupied this apartment. The doorman let me through and, before long, Ifeona and I were munching on the croissants I had carried along and the good coffee she provided. We caught up on our individual summers and plans for the new academic year and then we set off together--she to run an errand and me along Islington High Street and Upper Street to explore a part of London which which I am not too familiar.
Antiquing at Camden Passage:
Before long, I found myself right opposite the famous Camden Passage Antiques Market and, of course, unable to resist a good rummage, off I went to browse through the bric-a-brac scattered throughout the area on make-shift carts or in little stalls. I realize that I have developed a far more discerning eye than I had once possessed for, most of the time, I find my forays into such street markets yielding no desire to buy anything. Most items are in deplorable condition or atrociously over-priced. There were loads of vintage jewelry but I find that I am now able to acquire far better desirable pieces in Connecticut than in England's antiques stalls.
On the Bus to my GP:
Then, I was leaving Islington behind me and riding the bus to Holborn to go and see my GP at the Holborn Medical Center. Not having expected to stay this extra week in London, I have run out of my medication for the replacement of my thyroid hormone. Since it is imperative that I take it daily, I had no other option than to try to get my British GP to fill in my prescription. I am delighted to say that my doctor recognized me immediately and after some companionable banter, filled himself in on my medical history since last we parted and then gladly refilled my prescription with a British equivalent. Mission Quite Easily Accomplished! It was also fun to walk along the streets that I had often frequented back in the day. Increasingly I feel that I am more at home in Central London now than I am in Bandra which seems to have changed enormously each time I visit Bombay.
Browsing in a Favorite Shop--Persephone Books:
While waiting for my prescription to be filled, I nipped across Lamb's Conduit Street to one of my favorite shops--Persephone Books. Entering this lovely little place is like taking a trip back in time to the 1930s which, in fact, is the era from which books, only by women, are published in this establishment in beautifully designed paperback editions for 10 pounds each. With their blue grey binding and distinctive end papers (based largely on vintage wallpaper and fabric designs) and accompanied by a matching bookmark, these books are as thrilling to touch and feel as they are to read and I always derive oodles of joy from browsing through the titles and the volumes.
Lunching in a Favorite Restaurant--Hare and Tortoise:
Then, after my consultation with my doctor, I popped into the dispensing pharmacy to pick up my medication and was told to return after ten minutes. It gave me the opportunity to dawdle past the Coram Fields and the Foundling Museum to Brunswick Center, another favorite old haunt of mine, where I went into Waitrose to buy my stock of Ainsley Harriot powdered soups and a Black Forest Gateau (to celebrate the return home of my hosts Cynthia and Michael). Laden with my purchases, I could not resist entering one of my favorite London Oriental restaurants, Hare and Tortoise, where I ordered one of my favorite dishes--the Curry Laksa. This Singaporean speciality comes in a gigantic lacquer bowl and is a meal in itself. Glass noodles and bean sprouts form a base in a fragrant curry-like soup made with coconut milk and turmeric. Chicken, prawns, calamari and squid float around the soup and give it a distinctly fishy flavor that is delectable. Although it is a very substantial soup, I managed to do it justice and filled to bursting, I set out to pick up my medicine, realising to my delight that I am completely over my inhibitions about dining alone in a restaurant. Indeed I was able to do so without batting an eyelid and a jolly good time I had too!
Back Home for Tea with my Hosts:
I was on the bus back home to Amen Court when I got a call from Michael to inform me that he and Cynthia had just reached home. It was 3. oo pm, perfect time for a cuppa, and although I was stuffed, we did cut the Gateau and did enjoy a slice each of what the Germans calls 'schwartwaldentorte'. And how yummy it was! With lovely lemony tea, I felt fortified enough to go on to my next errand--a bus ride to the East End to say goodbye to my friend Shahnaz who was leaving later in the evening for her return to India.
Off to the East End:
But I overshot my stop, went too far on the bus, had to cross the street to catch a bus in the opposite direction, ended up too late at Shahnaz's and carried on to Russel Square to meet her daughter Azra outside the British Museum. It took us some effort to connect given that Azra was at Great Russel Street Station and I was at Tottenham Court Road, but connect we did--eventually! The stop gave me a chance to enter another one of my favorite stores--Bury Food and Wine on Bury Street where the salesman is well known to me as I used to buy my tea and biscuits exclusively from him. Of course, I simply had to buy my supplies of Border's Dark Chocolate Gingers and my Darjeeling Tea and after visiting with him for a few minutes and catching up, off I went on the bus homeward to spend the rest of the evening chatting with my friends.
Cynthia prepared a simple barbecue chicken dinner with boiled potatoes, squash and beans and with more gateau for dessert, it was a very fine, very casual meal, eaten with companionable conversation and the company of Aidan who joined us. We spent the evening watching Britcom re-runs and getting ready for my day trip tomorrow to Bury St. Edmunds which was a place that Michael recommended and where I shall be heading with my friend Bash who has volunteered to do the driving.
Today was a restful, relaxed day and an opportunity to tread in the footsteps of some of my best-loved London haunts and to relive some of the happiest memories of my life in this beloved city.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
City Hall Tour, National Gallery, Ralph Fiennes in The Tempest
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
London
Brunch at the East End on Eid:
My day began slowly but then it picked up rapid momentum. As Shahnaz was keen that I see Azra's place before she moves, I hopped on the No. 15 bus and rode all the way through the East End to Limehouse. No sooner did I reach Commercial Street than it became very evident to me that Muslim immigrant London had something to celebrate. Men (I did not see a single woman) were dressed in their Sunday best--beautiful knee length embroidered anchkans with spotless white skull caps. And then it hit me! Of course, it had to be Eid! When I arrived at the Arbor Square bus-stop, past Aldgate and Mansel Street, Azra came out to meet me and lead me to her home--one of those long alleys full of row housing--what the English called 'terraced housing' and what the American call 'town houses'. Inside, narrow staircases open to multi-purpose rooms with the kitchen usually below ground in the what Americans would call the basement. Shahnaz, who was eagerly awaiting my arrival, fed me a breakfast of eggs and a selection of her superb kebabs which she had made in India and brought along to London with her. They were just scrumptious. With toast, I had myself a truly substantial brunch. It was appropriate, I thought, that I had, unwittingly, tucked into Muslim kebabs on Eid!
Off to City Hall:
Then, we were on a bus again headed to City Hall where we intended to take a tour, if one was available. Two years ago, while on a flight to Norway from London, I had shared aircraft space with a certain Simon Reece who worked in City Hall very closely with Mayor Boris on London's Olympic Planning Committee. Her had told me that City Hall was open to the public--and ever since then, I had hoped to visit it to inspect the visionary work of one of Britain's best-known contemporary architects, Sir Norman Foster, up close and personal.
London
Brunch at the East End on Eid:
My day began slowly but then it picked up rapid momentum. As Shahnaz was keen that I see Azra's place before she moves, I hopped on the No. 15 bus and rode all the way through the East End to Limehouse. No sooner did I reach Commercial Street than it became very evident to me that Muslim immigrant London had something to celebrate. Men (I did not see a single woman) were dressed in their Sunday best--beautiful knee length embroidered anchkans with spotless white skull caps. And then it hit me! Of course, it had to be Eid! When I arrived at the Arbor Square bus-stop, past Aldgate and Mansel Street, Azra came out to meet me and lead me to her home--one of those long alleys full of row housing--what the English called 'terraced housing' and what the American call 'town houses'. Inside, narrow staircases open to multi-purpose rooms with the kitchen usually below ground in the what Americans would call the basement. Shahnaz, who was eagerly awaiting my arrival, fed me a breakfast of eggs and a selection of her superb kebabs which she had made in India and brought along to London with her. They were just scrumptious. With toast, I had myself a truly substantial brunch. It was appropriate, I thought, that I had, unwittingly, tucked into Muslim kebabs on Eid!
Off to City Hall:
Then, we were on a bus again headed to City Hall where we intended to take a tour, if one was available. Two years ago, while on a flight to Norway from London, I had shared aircraft space with a certain Simon Reece who worked in City Hall very closely with Mayor Boris on London's Olympic Planning Committee. Her had told me that City Hall was open to the public--and ever since then, I had hoped to visit it to inspect the visionary work of one of Britain's best-known contemporary architects, Sir Norman Foster, up close and personal.
Arriving at the Monument:
We alighted from the bus at Monument and walked down short Pudding Lane where the Great Fire of London had started in 1666. Right enough, we found a plaque on the wall of a modern-day building announcing the site of the Baker's establishment, run by one Thomas Faryner, where the fire had originated. While taking a picture of the plaque, I took one step behind and realized that I was only a few feet from the Monument itself--an obelisk designed and erected by Sir Christopher Wren to commemorate the great fire. I recalled a nugget of trivia: that the height of the Monument is exactly as tall as the structure is from the spot where the fire began, i.e. some 30o odd feet away. A couple of years ago, when my friend Amy Tobin had visited London from New York, we had climbed the Monument, clicked spectacular views of the city from beneath the great pot of flames at the top and been rewarded for our pains with a certificate to state that we had climbed it! It had been one of our little exciting adventures.
On to London Bridge:
Without spending too much time on pictures, we crossed London Bridge (a newer one as the original bridge from the famous song 'London Bridge is Falling Down' had burned down in the fire) to the Southbank, took a flight of stairs leading to the Embankment past a very spiffy contemporary glass sheathed building and arrived at City Hall--its unmistakable rounded profile reminds one of a collapsed pudding bowl. Foster's work is increasingly evident around London. His most notorious work to date is probably 'Wobbly Bridge"--the Millennium Bridge that connects St. Paul's Cathedral with the Tate Modern--which actually wobbled dangerously the day it was inaugurated and needed to be closed down for a couple of years until the glitch was sorted!
Well, City Hall was just amazing. The security guard just inside the revolving door put us through the inspection paces and told us that the building could be visited on a self-guided tour. He suggested we walk up the spiral ramp to the second floor,then take the elevator down to the basement. Following his instructions, we almost gave ourselves a crick in the neck as we read. line by line, Nigerian Booker Prize winning poet Ben Okri's poem "Lines in Potentis" that were seen along the left wall--the right sports glass panes that offer changing views of the city to which Okri offers a memorable tribute in his lines. Foster's visionary genius is plainly evident--both in the conception that gave the building birth and its execution. Strategically located on the bank of the Thames, it offers stirring views with every turn--one minute you are gazing at HMS Belfast moored on the river, the next you are taken by imposing Tower Bridge and then again, you see the newest addition to the city's skyline, The Shard, only a few meters away. The idea reminded me very much of the dome atop the Parliament Building in Berlin, also Foster's handiwork. You climb up a similar spiral ramp there and see yourself in endless recurring mirrors on the opposite side.
When we got to the second floor of City Hall, we were at the Council Chamber used by Boris and his boys and I could imagine all the planning for the coming Olympics that is continuing to take place here. Unfortunately, it was being redecorated as great blue tarpaulin sheets covered most of the seats and the floor. In accordance with instructions, we then took the elevator to the ground floor and alighted on foot one more floor down the ramp which continued to the basement to offer a close view of a satellite image of the city of London reproduced upon a 'carpet' on which you can actually walk. It was just fantastic. We identified the O2 first--as the Millennium Dome is called--perched precariously on a sharp bend in the river, the Thames Barrier and then, on the other side, the London Eye and all the other landmarks of this incredible city: Buckingham Palace, the British Museum, St. Paul's Cathedral--and, of course, the places in which I have lived at different times. For a geography buff such as I am, it is the kind of item that could keep one enthralled all day. We took any number of pictures from different angles and in various corners of the city before hightailing it off to our next adventure. City Hall was truly a revelation and made for a superb morning. We were so glad we went.
Across Tower Bridge to the National Gallery:
Leaving the Embankment via the opposite bank, we walked along beautiful Tower Bridge with its twin Victorian towers and its vistas of the many buildings comprising the Tower of London. Since it was a beautifully clear day, we were able to take several pictures of what I call London's layered architecture--from the medieval Tower to the 18th century memorial on Tower Hill just beyond it to Sir Norman Foster's Swiss Re building just beyond that--a building known affectionate as the Gherkin although I have heard Americans refer to it as the Cigar Building!
Riding a Routemaster Bus:
A No 15 bus was conveniently waiting for us at Tower Hill--and get this...it happened to be one of the few vintage Routemaster buses that are still plying on London's streets. We sprinted for it, made it to the top deck and were reminded of the double decker buses we used to ride in Bombay as kids--alas, they have disappeared, I am told, into the annals of British colonial history in the city of my birth. So, it was lovely to be able to ride a bus that was designed in 1954 long before I was born!
Touring the National Gallery:
We alighted at the last stop--Charing Cross--the monument all spiffed up in time for the Olympics and rid of centuries-worth of dirt, soot and grime. Across the street to the National Gallery we went because, of course, it would be unthinkable for me to come to London and not go to one of my favorite places in the city. A special lecture tour on 'Food and Feasting' had just begun and we joined the tour guide Steven Brent as he shepherded us along to a few paintings with food as its main theme. It was inevitable perhaps that he should lead us to Carravaggio's stirring Supper at Emmaus with its basket of fruit perched precariously on the edge of the table! We went on to the final work in William Hogarth's series Marriage a la Mode and then on to Gaugain's still lives to inspect his rendition of exotic fruit in Tahiti. There were a couple of other paintings he showed us, but they now slip my mind.
We took a break at the Cafe downstairs for tea and sustenance--I opted for Coffee and Walnut Cake--and then we were off again, ready to take the next Highlights Tour which was also given by Brent. Assembling in the Sainsbury Wing, we followed the troop through his commentary on a handful of paintings. The ones I can remember now are: The Wilton Dyptych, Sandro Botticelli's Venus and Mars, Veronese's Meeting of Alexander the Great with the Family of Darius, A portrait by Hogarth of Three Royal Children, and Renoir's beautiful canvas entitled The Umbrellas. Brent's commentary was enlightening and as a tour guide myself, I always look for tips I can glean from others who do work similar to mine.
We spent the next hour as I led Shahnaz and Azra on a tour of some of the museum's highlights starting from my favorite gallery that presents the work of almost-unknown Renaissance artist Carlo Crivelli and from there to my favorite work in the museum, Pieter de Hooch's Courtyard of a House in Delft. I showed them Hans Holbein's The Ambassadors, The Arnolfini Marriage by Jan Van Eyck, the Vermeers in the National's collection, Rogier van der Weyden's Magdalen Reading, Seurat's Bathers at Asnieres, Paolo Uccello's Battle of San Romano, Hans Hemling's Tritypch on The Adoration of the Magi, the room featuring works by Peter Paul Reubens, George Stubb's horse Whistlejacket, Turner's The Fighting Temeraire and Constable's The Haywain. I could easily spend the entire day at the National but having arrived at 1. 00 pm, we thought it was time to leave at 5. 45 pm as the Museum would soon be closing for the day. We'd had a fabulous afternoon and I shall try to return to the museum one more time before I leave.
At the Theater Royal Haymarket:
Then, because we were only steps away from the Theater Royal Haymarket, I decided to nip into the Box Office to find out if tickets were available for the evening's performance of Shakespeare's The Tempest which stars none other than one of Britain's greatest living actors Ralph Fiennes as Prospero. I had few hopes as I know it is a sell out, but I also know from experience that there is no harm in trying for a seat! When we were informed that there were either 60 pound seats or 15 pound seats offering "restricted views that obliterated half the stage", Shahnaz opted out saying that she did not want to spend 60 pounds and did not intend to pass the evening unable to see half the action on stage. I agreed with her and decided to forgo the thrill. Instead, we hopped on to another bus to head homeward.
Food Shopping:
Except that I hopped off at Aldwych, took another bus along Kingsway to Holborn and went food shopping to Sainsbury for my supply of goodies to take back to the States--HP brown sauce, Marmite, Three Fruits marmalade, Frank Cooper's Oxford Marmalade and loads of Ainsley Harriot's powdered soups! I also picked up sandwich ingredients for my own meals out here--Gorgonzola cheese, cold cuts, piri-piri flavored hummous, walnut bread, hazelnut yogurt. Yummy! Back home at Amen Court, I made myself a hearty sandwich for dinner, packed it up and decided then and there to return to Piccadilly to buy a restricted view ticket for the show. The opportunity of seeing Fiennes in the flesh was just too hard to miss and so off I went to Haymarket.
Seeing Ralph Fiennes in the Flesh:
How delighted I was when the clerk at the Box Office recognized me from my visit earlier in the evening and discovering that I wanted a single ticket decided to sell me a 60 pound Royal Circle ticket for just 20! Needless to say, I grabbed it, thanked him profusely and then spent a stirring evening in the theater making delightful discoveries. For not just was Fiennes at his thespian best but I recognized so many other well-known British stage and screen stars: Nicholas Lyndhurst (Only Fools and Horses) played Trinculo and Julian Wadham played Antonio, usurping Duke of Milan. It was a lovely evening made more marvelous by beautifully executed set design and costuming--Ariel's final song "Where the Bee sucks..." was lyrical perfection and the Epithalamion scene featuring Juno and the other goddesses was brilliant.
I took the bus back at 10. 30, was home at 10. 45 and was thrilled to bits with myself that I had, on impulse, decided to take the plunge and acqueise to buy not-so-good seats for, in the end, I had an excellent spot and a superb theatrical experience for practically no money at all!
Monday, August 29, 2011
Out of Sorts, Walk along Southbank & Globe Theater Show
Monday, August 30, 2011
London
It was bound to catch up with me, I suppose. Jetlag, late (very late!) nights and the excitement of being in London again. Never did an adage feel truer to mine ears--The Spirit is Willing, but the Flesh is Weak". So when I awoke at 7. 15 am (really late for me!) with a pounding head and the sort of weakness washing over my body that makes me feel hot and cold in quick succession, I groaned. I was well and truly ill. Although I did want to join my hosts for breakfast before their departure for the Pottery Towns, I simply could not drag myself out of bed. It was best to be sensible about it and not fight nature. So I dozed myself with an aspirin for the headache, slid under the covers and went right back to sleep thinking I would nap for another hour.
But I did not awake till after noon! Shocked but happy to discover that my headache was history, I showered and washed my hair and ate a pizza lunch. With a bit of food in me, I felt much better. Of course, it had to be a gorgeous day, the sun pouring down in warm profusion over London. Text messages from Shahnaz and Azra urged me to get out and enjoy it. I did not need much arm-twisting. They came over to Amen Court, Edward (still enjoying a lazy Bank Holiday weekend) decided to join us and we went for a walk, determined take it very easy.
A Walk in Southwark:
Of course, that's easier said that done. Thebest laid plans of mice and men and all that...London is too walkable a city to encourage sitting around--unless, I suppose, you are lounging on a green striped chair in a park with a book. So past St. Paul's and on to Wobbly Bridge we went, joining vast throngs on tourists taking the air. No sooner was I striding across the Thames than I noticed a new building on the Southbank skyline towering like a modern-day Eiffel Tower into the clouds. It is the Shard, explained Edward, a new structure comprising office buildings. Hmm...it is still incomplete and I'm not really sure I like it...but I shall withhold judgement until it is ready.
Past the Tate Modern Gallery we went and into the precincts of the Globe Theater where we discovered the Groundling tickets for standing in the Pit were available for five pounds for tonight's performance of The Globe Mysteries written by Tony Harrison and directed by Deborah Bruce. Naturally, we had to go, especially since we had wasted the morning doing nothing. Within minutes, we had our tickets in our excited hands. Having studied 'The History of Drama' way back when as an undergraduate in Bombay, I was well aware that the Mystery and Morality Plays had preceded the Elizabethan drama cycles that had produced the likes of Shakespeare and Marlowe. I was also aware that Mysteries were used to educate the illiterate theater goer and were a very popular form of cheap entertainment. But I had never seen Mystery plays in performance. To be able to see them at th Globe was special and I couldn't wait.
Our walk continued, under Southwark Bridge and into the territories of open-air wine bars until we arrived at the site of the infamous Clink Prison which is a museum today. It reproduces the torture chambers of old and not having a stomach for that sort of thing, we declined the impulse to enter. Next, we were gazing upon the ruins of the Bishop of Winchester's Palace--only one wall of his private chapel remains. This notorious prelate was so corrupt hat he owned every single brothel that existed in the area. It was individuals like him who made the Reformation necessary, I strongly believe.
Just past the Palace stood Sir Francis Drake's The Golden Hind (although the golden hind figurehead on the prow from which it derives its name has silvered from exposure to the elements) with which he circumnavigated the globe. A theatrical skit was in full spate on the deck and various costumed characters from Elizabethan days strode up and down the ramp leading to it.
After lingering a little for pictures, we soldiered on until we arrived at the flint walls of Southwark Cathedral, the area's oldest structure. Indeed there has been a church on this site since 900 AD and every poet and playwright of the Golden Age of Drama worshipped here from Gower to Shakespeare to Marlowe. Inside, the holiday had suspended the collection of payment to tour the church and we were able to take in its attractions: the mortuary statue of Gower, the sculpture of the reclining Shakespeare just below the stained glass window that depicts his plays, the superbly carved stone altar with the gilded wooden statues below it, the carved wooden choir stalls. Yes, Southwark Cathedral offers a great deal to fascinate the visitor and I always enjoy my forays inside, no matter how often I enter.
Further on, we arrived at the famous Borough Market where, over the years, I have enjoyed several free lunches in the generous 'tasters' handed out by artisinal food retailers selling unique sausages, cheeses, chocolates, bread, spreads, preserves and the like. Alas, it was all shut down for the holiday although the strong aroma of meat surrounded the space.
Then, we were crossing London Bridge Road and making our way to The George, London's only remaining 16th century 'galleried' coaching inn, now maintained by the National Trust. It continues to run business, though, in "victuals" and since it was almost 5 pm and we were rather peckish, it made sense to chow down over good British pub grub. Edward had a pint, I had cider, Shahnaz and Azra chose to eat a full meal--fish and chips and a tuna salad, both of which were so huge that we all tucked in. Replete with our meal and having enjoyed the aged ambiance of a space that has featured in the novels of Dickens, we set out again noticing a marked drop in the temperature. I hoped it would not get too chilly during our open-air evening at The Globe.
Since we were still early, we strolled to the Tate hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the ground floor installations only to realize that it was past 7 pm and the museum had long shut down. The clear light of English summer evenings can be so deceptive--it is impossible to believe it is so late when there it is still so bright.
A Performance at The Globe Theater:
Into the Globe we went to join the short queue of Groundlings eager to get the best 'seats'--although you really do not have any. The doors open half a hour in advance. We sat on the ground (as the groundlings undoubtedly did in Shakespeare's day) and arose when the curtain did. For the next two and half hours, we were enthralled by every theatrical element you can imagine--from slapstick, rough and tumble, crude puns, sophisticated double entendre, tragedy, comedy, tragi-comedy, comi-tragedy, farce, singing, dancing, instrumental virtuosity--you name it, The Globe Mysteries contained it. Part One (before the Intermission) dealt with the Old Testament and was beautifully done, while Part Two dealt with the New and was less absorbing. The spectacle of the Crucifiction was a set design marvel. I was curious to see how the Ressurection would be treated and handled but the playwright conveniently left it right out! I found the use of the heavy accents annoying because it made much of the dialogue unintelligible to me, but overall the production was highly entertaining. Our position, at center front, could not have been more strategic--we were so close, the actors actually spit all over us! Blood from Jesus' torture flew towards us and when, as in classic Elizabethan style, we were made part of the action, by dividing ourselves into two halves, we were pleased to discover that, unwittingly, we had taken sides with The Saved (rather than The Damned) on Judgement Day.
Having decided to stand for just a half hour to 45 minutes, I was shocked that I had managed to survive the entire performance while on my feet after having begun the day feeling distinctly out of sorts, Still, I felt a bit wobbly while crossing Wobbly Bridge once again to get home to Amen Court where I reached on foot ten minutes later.
I had salvaged the day rather superbly, I thought, and it was with a song in my heart giving thanks for the restoration of my health and spirits that I went to bed.
London
It was bound to catch up with me, I suppose. Jetlag, late (very late!) nights and the excitement of being in London again. Never did an adage feel truer to mine ears--The Spirit is Willing, but the Flesh is Weak". So when I awoke at 7. 15 am (really late for me!) with a pounding head and the sort of weakness washing over my body that makes me feel hot and cold in quick succession, I groaned. I was well and truly ill. Although I did want to join my hosts for breakfast before their departure for the Pottery Towns, I simply could not drag myself out of bed. It was best to be sensible about it and not fight nature. So I dozed myself with an aspirin for the headache, slid under the covers and went right back to sleep thinking I would nap for another hour.
But I did not awake till after noon! Shocked but happy to discover that my headache was history, I showered and washed my hair and ate a pizza lunch. With a bit of food in me, I felt much better. Of course, it had to be a gorgeous day, the sun pouring down in warm profusion over London. Text messages from Shahnaz and Azra urged me to get out and enjoy it. I did not need much arm-twisting. They came over to Amen Court, Edward (still enjoying a lazy Bank Holiday weekend) decided to join us and we went for a walk, determined take it very easy.
A Walk in Southwark:
Of course, that's easier said that done. Thebest laid plans of mice and men and all that...London is too walkable a city to encourage sitting around--unless, I suppose, you are lounging on a green striped chair in a park with a book. So past St. Paul's and on to Wobbly Bridge we went, joining vast throngs on tourists taking the air. No sooner was I striding across the Thames than I noticed a new building on the Southbank skyline towering like a modern-day Eiffel Tower into the clouds. It is the Shard, explained Edward, a new structure comprising office buildings. Hmm...it is still incomplete and I'm not really sure I like it...but I shall withhold judgement until it is ready.
Past the Tate Modern Gallery we went and into the precincts of the Globe Theater where we discovered the Groundling tickets for standing in the Pit were available for five pounds for tonight's performance of The Globe Mysteries written by Tony Harrison and directed by Deborah Bruce. Naturally, we had to go, especially since we had wasted the morning doing nothing. Within minutes, we had our tickets in our excited hands. Having studied 'The History of Drama' way back when as an undergraduate in Bombay, I was well aware that the Mystery and Morality Plays had preceded the Elizabethan drama cycles that had produced the likes of Shakespeare and Marlowe. I was also aware that Mysteries were used to educate the illiterate theater goer and were a very popular form of cheap entertainment. But I had never seen Mystery plays in performance. To be able to see them at th Globe was special and I couldn't wait.
Our walk continued, under Southwark Bridge and into the territories of open-air wine bars until we arrived at the site of the infamous Clink Prison which is a museum today. It reproduces the torture chambers of old and not having a stomach for that sort of thing, we declined the impulse to enter. Next, we were gazing upon the ruins of the Bishop of Winchester's Palace--only one wall of his private chapel remains. This notorious prelate was so corrupt hat he owned every single brothel that existed in the area. It was individuals like him who made the Reformation necessary, I strongly believe.
Just past the Palace stood Sir Francis Drake's The Golden Hind (although the golden hind figurehead on the prow from which it derives its name has silvered from exposure to the elements) with which he circumnavigated the globe. A theatrical skit was in full spate on the deck and various costumed characters from Elizabethan days strode up and down the ramp leading to it.
After lingering a little for pictures, we soldiered on until we arrived at the flint walls of Southwark Cathedral, the area's oldest structure. Indeed there has been a church on this site since 900 AD and every poet and playwright of the Golden Age of Drama worshipped here from Gower to Shakespeare to Marlowe. Inside, the holiday had suspended the collection of payment to tour the church and we were able to take in its attractions: the mortuary statue of Gower, the sculpture of the reclining Shakespeare just below the stained glass window that depicts his plays, the superbly carved stone altar with the gilded wooden statues below it, the carved wooden choir stalls. Yes, Southwark Cathedral offers a great deal to fascinate the visitor and I always enjoy my forays inside, no matter how often I enter.
Further on, we arrived at the famous Borough Market where, over the years, I have enjoyed several free lunches in the generous 'tasters' handed out by artisinal food retailers selling unique sausages, cheeses, chocolates, bread, spreads, preserves and the like. Alas, it was all shut down for the holiday although the strong aroma of meat surrounded the space.
Then, we were crossing London Bridge Road and making our way to The George, London's only remaining 16th century 'galleried' coaching inn, now maintained by the National Trust. It continues to run business, though, in "victuals" and since it was almost 5 pm and we were rather peckish, it made sense to chow down over good British pub grub. Edward had a pint, I had cider, Shahnaz and Azra chose to eat a full meal--fish and chips and a tuna salad, both of which were so huge that we all tucked in. Replete with our meal and having enjoyed the aged ambiance of a space that has featured in the novels of Dickens, we set out again noticing a marked drop in the temperature. I hoped it would not get too chilly during our open-air evening at The Globe.
Since we were still early, we strolled to the Tate hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the ground floor installations only to realize that it was past 7 pm and the museum had long shut down. The clear light of English summer evenings can be so deceptive--it is impossible to believe it is so late when there it is still so bright.
A Performance at The Globe Theater:
Into the Globe we went to join the short queue of Groundlings eager to get the best 'seats'--although you really do not have any. The doors open half a hour in advance. We sat on the ground (as the groundlings undoubtedly did in Shakespeare's day) and arose when the curtain did. For the next two and half hours, we were enthralled by every theatrical element you can imagine--from slapstick, rough and tumble, crude puns, sophisticated double entendre, tragedy, comedy, tragi-comedy, comi-tragedy, farce, singing, dancing, instrumental virtuosity--you name it, The Globe Mysteries contained it. Part One (before the Intermission) dealt with the Old Testament and was beautifully done, while Part Two dealt with the New and was less absorbing. The spectacle of the Crucifiction was a set design marvel. I was curious to see how the Ressurection would be treated and handled but the playwright conveniently left it right out! I found the use of the heavy accents annoying because it made much of the dialogue unintelligible to me, but overall the production was highly entertaining. Our position, at center front, could not have been more strategic--we were so close, the actors actually spit all over us! Blood from Jesus' torture flew towards us and when, as in classic Elizabethan style, we were made part of the action, by dividing ourselves into two halves, we were pleased to discover that, unwittingly, we had taken sides with The Saved (rather than The Damned) on Judgement Day.
Having decided to stand for just a half hour to 45 minutes, I was shocked that I had managed to survive the entire performance while on my feet after having begun the day feeling distinctly out of sorts, Still, I felt a bit wobbly while crossing Wobbly Bridge once again to get home to Amen Court where I reached on foot ten minutes later.
I had salvaged the day rather superbly, I thought, and it was with a song in my heart giving thanks for the restoration of my health and spirits that I went to bed.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Chelsea Pensioners, Chutney Mary Lunch, Notting Hill Carnival
Sunday, August 28, 2011
London
Who'd've thunk it? When I awoke this morning, all set to attend Sunday service in a historic Christopher Wren chapel in Chelsea, how could I have known that I would be occupying a seat right opposite Baroness Margaret Thatcher, former Prime Minister of Great Britain? And yet, that was exactly what happened! I'm still beside myself with awe! At 86, she still carries that imperious air that would have been more appropriate half a century ago in the colonies than it was in the small, intimate friendly space of a chapel. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Virgin Atlantic Offers a Gift:
My day began with the bleak news from Virgin Atlantic that the earliest confirmed seat available to me was a week away--next Sunday. When I recovered from the shock of being stuck in London for another week, I put my Positive Thinking Hat on and figured that if the weather gods had conspired to gift me a bonus week in my favorite city, well...who was I to complain? So on I marched towards what turned out to be a glorious day, weather-wise. After breakfast, I hopped on the bus to Chelsea while most of London was having a lazy lie-in on August Bank Holiday Weekend.
Browsing Through Chelsea:
Because I had arrived too early for morning service at the Chapel of Chelsea Royal Hospital, I browsed through my favorite interior design stores on Pimlico Road (Linley was closed for renovation but Joanna Wood is having a sale!). I thought of the newly-wed Clintons, Bill and Hilary, who many moons ago, on their honeymoon, while browsing in similar fashion through Chelsea, on a similar deserted morning, had so fallen in love with the hamlet that they'd decided then and there that if they ever had a daughter, they would name her after one of London's poshest areas. Well...the rest is history.
The Chelsea Pensioners' Parade:
By and by, I did make my way to the grand green precincts of the Royal Hospital whose grounds boast the work of some of Britain's best-known architects (Christopher Wren designed the main buildings and chapel and John Soane designed the stable blocks). I was headed for the 11 am service but before it begins, there is the ceremonial Sunday Morning Parade that starts at 10.30 (another one of London's most closely-guarded secrets, unknown to the run-of-the-mill tourist). I positioned myself on the lawn to get the best pictures. Not a lot of people were present to watch an old British custom that involves the Inspection of the Pensioners (retired army personnel) by their Sergeant Major. At 10.30, the many pensioners who were dotted around the premises smartly attired in their red jackets, black tricorn hats, white gloves and medals tinkling on their lapels, rose to attention and took their positions on the main lawns as a drummer kept up a marching tattoo. The sergeant major in black uniform with an elaborately white feathered helmet barked orders at the troops who then were inspected individually. Each one gave him their names and rank. The ritual lasted about 15 minutes and had all the pomp and ceremony at which the British usually excel. When a whistle blew to end it, the pensioners trooped back under Wren's giant columns and all but disappeared. Only the few female pensioners (who raised many an eyebrow when they joined the retirement community a couple of years ago) entered the chapel and stayed for the entire service.
That's when Lady Thatcher walked--or rather limped--in. With the assistance of a walking stick and the company of an equally imperious companion (slim, straight-backed, poker-faced--think Diana Rigg playing Miss Danvers in Rebecca), she slid slowly into her seat wearing a vivid green coat-dress, a string of pearls, matching button ear-rings and a pearl brooch. I noticed that although she participated in the service, she did not respond verbally at all until it came time to sing God Save the Queen--and then she was active! Although she is now visibly only a shadow of the Iron Lady we well remember, there is no mistaking her sharp profile and the sweetness of her smile--which I saw when she placed her offering in the circulating bag. I gathered later that it is four weeks since she has felt well enough to attend service. She is a regular worshipper in this chapel and, in recognition of her patronage, has the Margaret Thatcher Infirmary in the grounds named after her.
The service was superb. As always, you cannot touch Anglican clergy for the quality of their homilies and this one, by Chaplain Dick Whittington (yes, that is really his name!) who as seen active combat himself, was inspiring--the sort of homily that makes me wonder if the preacher has me in mind when he is delivering it. Great singing from a wonderful choir, great playing from a wonderful organist, great reading from a wonderful Lector--I mean everything was just perfect. The Wren mahogany altar was richly carved with a splendid ceiling fresco by a father-son team of Italian artists (one did bodies well, the other did good faces!) but their names eluded me as the tour guide pensioner called Tom (who had befriended me before the parade) could not remember it!
As soon as I'd entered the chapel, I spied Jane, the lawyer from Yorkshire who had combined a meeting in London (or T'Smoke, as she calls it), to meet me. We've been Twitter friends for about a year. Her mother is an Anglo-Indian and given our common background and my current research, she was keen to meet me. Well, there she was, as she had hoped, in the chapel in time for service. We instantly recognized each other and sat together through the service.
A Private Tour of Chelsea Royal Hospital Grounds:
When it was done, we trooped out and there was Tom Mullaney, a pensioner who had offered to give me a private tour of the premises. I introduced him to Jane and off we went from one lovely quadrangle to the next and to Soane's stable block--each brilliantly gilded in the sunshine. At the mess, Tom offered to buy us both a drink because "he was dying for a pint". Jane, who was driving opted for OJ, I had a coffee and in the company of a hearty lot of pensioners and their family members or friends (the premises are not open to the public), we found out a bit about Tom. After the parade, pensioners are expected to change out of their red jackets and into pale blue shorts with navy blue pants--a more casual form of dress and that was how Tom was garbed. At the end of our time together, he gave me his very stylish buisness card and urged me to give him a call to schedule another complete tour later inthe week (which I shall probably do with Shanaz and Ara).
Lunch at Chutney Mary:
Then, it was time for Jane and me to enter her spiffy nautical blue Prius and off we went to lunch--her choice was the very classy and very appropriate Anglo-Indian restaurant called Chutney Mary in Chelsea. It had been years since Llew and I had dinner there once and it brought back sharp memories for me of a very companionable time we had spent there with Llew's brother and his wife at the tail end of one of our superb London summer holidays. The food was just fantastic especially the starter we both chose--grilled scallops with a tomato chutney on a delicately saffron-flavored bed of sauce that was so good it deserved to be sopped up with naan (which we requested). Jane chose a terrifically fragrant Chicken Biryani done in a green masala and I went for the Calcutta Prawn Curry with Naan which offered about six plump prawns in a delicious sauce. With garlic naan, the meal was made memorable. For 'pudding', we both chose Srikhand Eton Mess--an Anglo-Indian take on Britain's famous Eton Mess that usually features whipped cream, meringues and strawberries. This one had saffron srikhand with fresh mangoes and meringues. So creative and so yummy! I am happy to see that Chutney Mary has lost none of its excellence although Jane was adamant that far better Indian restaurants exist in Bradford where she lives. I found her compoany fascinating. She is a warm, witty, highly intelligent and very polite person indeed--really lovely. I was so glad we met and that I was able to get to know her a little better.
The Noisy Notting Hill Carnival:
It was time for Jane to move on to her business meeting and for me to re-connect with Shahnaz and Azra who had arrived at the Chapel too late to find the great doors closed. They had strolled through the lawns and moved on and when I did call them, discovered that they were already at the Notting Hill Carnival which was the next item on my agenda. Jane obligingly dropped me at Notting Hill Tube station which was already swarming with crowds. For the Notting Hill Carnival is one of Europe's biggest street fairs and attracts massive crowds. Since this was the first time I actually happened to be in London during the carnival and since it happens only once a year on August Bank Holiday Weekend, attending it was a no-brainer.
Police were thicker than flies (what with the fears that had arisen from the recent riots) through the Notting Hill area and as I made my way through the maze of streets with their beautiful terraced houses and gardens, I followed the sound of the Caribbean steel drums to the actual parade where floats and hundreds of carnival revellers went slowly by to the sound of soca and reggae music. The carnival has a Caribbean flavor and jerk chicken was being offered from food stands all along the route. Liquor was being openly consumed on the streets and young folks were clearly having a blast. I had been warned repeatedly by friends to watch my belongings carefully and the police on the streets also advised me to do the same each time I approached them for directions. Today happened to be the Children's Parade and loads of little ones, gaudily costumed, were in the parade (with several full-grown people that I would hardly label children!). It was noisy, tiring (all that walking), a bit crazy. But at the end of the day, I'm glad I went and discovered what all the hype surrounding the Notting Hill Carnival is about.
On my way back, I veered far away from the crowds and noise and was fortunate enough to chance upon the Prince Edward Pub at Prince Square where I was able to use a loo because wild pachyderms could not induce me to use one of the Portapotties dotted around the place. Knowing that I was London-centered for the next week, I walked to Queensway Tube station (Notting Hill Station was closed) and bought myself a seven-day bus pass for 17 pounds--which regular readers of this blog know is my favorite form of London transportation (and so cheap too!)
Then, of course, I changed three buses, sat on the top deck at the picture window each time and made my way home. I spent the evening resting and catching up on email and discovering that Southport had lost TV, internet and phone connections--so Llew and I would remain incommunicado until further notice. His cell phone and electricity are still functioning, however, so we will be in touch no matter how long power restoration might take. With my hosts out for the day, their son Edward proved to be the perfect host, offering me dinner (Domino's pizza) and his company as I sat back and chilled.
It had turned out to be a glorious day in more ways than one and I am thrilled that I was positive enough to make lemonade out of the lemon that had been handed me by Virgin Atlantic in the morning.
London
Who'd've thunk it? When I awoke this morning, all set to attend Sunday service in a historic Christopher Wren chapel in Chelsea, how could I have known that I would be occupying a seat right opposite Baroness Margaret Thatcher, former Prime Minister of Great Britain? And yet, that was exactly what happened! I'm still beside myself with awe! At 86, she still carries that imperious air that would have been more appropriate half a century ago in the colonies than it was in the small, intimate friendly space of a chapel. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Virgin Atlantic Offers a Gift:
My day began with the bleak news from Virgin Atlantic that the earliest confirmed seat available to me was a week away--next Sunday. When I recovered from the shock of being stuck in London for another week, I put my Positive Thinking Hat on and figured that if the weather gods had conspired to gift me a bonus week in my favorite city, well...who was I to complain? So on I marched towards what turned out to be a glorious day, weather-wise. After breakfast, I hopped on the bus to Chelsea while most of London was having a lazy lie-in on August Bank Holiday Weekend.
Browsing Through Chelsea:
Because I had arrived too early for morning service at the Chapel of Chelsea Royal Hospital, I browsed through my favorite interior design stores on Pimlico Road (Linley was closed for renovation but Joanna Wood is having a sale!). I thought of the newly-wed Clintons, Bill and Hilary, who many moons ago, on their honeymoon, while browsing in similar fashion through Chelsea, on a similar deserted morning, had so fallen in love with the hamlet that they'd decided then and there that if they ever had a daughter, they would name her after one of London's poshest areas. Well...the rest is history.
The Chelsea Pensioners' Parade:
By and by, I did make my way to the grand green precincts of the Royal Hospital whose grounds boast the work of some of Britain's best-known architects (Christopher Wren designed the main buildings and chapel and John Soane designed the stable blocks). I was headed for the 11 am service but before it begins, there is the ceremonial Sunday Morning Parade that starts at 10.30 (another one of London's most closely-guarded secrets, unknown to the run-of-the-mill tourist). I positioned myself on the lawn to get the best pictures. Not a lot of people were present to watch an old British custom that involves the Inspection of the Pensioners (retired army personnel) by their Sergeant Major. At 10.30, the many pensioners who were dotted around the premises smartly attired in their red jackets, black tricorn hats, white gloves and medals tinkling on their lapels, rose to attention and took their positions on the main lawns as a drummer kept up a marching tattoo. The sergeant major in black uniform with an elaborately white feathered helmet barked orders at the troops who then were inspected individually. Each one gave him their names and rank. The ritual lasted about 15 minutes and had all the pomp and ceremony at which the British usually excel. When a whistle blew to end it, the pensioners trooped back under Wren's giant columns and all but disappeared. Only the few female pensioners (who raised many an eyebrow when they joined the retirement community a couple of years ago) entered the chapel and stayed for the entire service.
That's when Lady Thatcher walked--or rather limped--in. With the assistance of a walking stick and the company of an equally imperious companion (slim, straight-backed, poker-faced--think Diana Rigg playing Miss Danvers in Rebecca), she slid slowly into her seat wearing a vivid green coat-dress, a string of pearls, matching button ear-rings and a pearl brooch. I noticed that although she participated in the service, she did not respond verbally at all until it came time to sing God Save the Queen--and then she was active! Although she is now visibly only a shadow of the Iron Lady we well remember, there is no mistaking her sharp profile and the sweetness of her smile--which I saw when she placed her offering in the circulating bag. I gathered later that it is four weeks since she has felt well enough to attend service. She is a regular worshipper in this chapel and, in recognition of her patronage, has the Margaret Thatcher Infirmary in the grounds named after her.
The service was superb. As always, you cannot touch Anglican clergy for the quality of their homilies and this one, by Chaplain Dick Whittington (yes, that is really his name!) who as seen active combat himself, was inspiring--the sort of homily that makes me wonder if the preacher has me in mind when he is delivering it. Great singing from a wonderful choir, great playing from a wonderful organist, great reading from a wonderful Lector--I mean everything was just perfect. The Wren mahogany altar was richly carved with a splendid ceiling fresco by a father-son team of Italian artists (one did bodies well, the other did good faces!) but their names eluded me as the tour guide pensioner called Tom (who had befriended me before the parade) could not remember it!
As soon as I'd entered the chapel, I spied Jane, the lawyer from Yorkshire who had combined a meeting in London (or T'Smoke, as she calls it), to meet me. We've been Twitter friends for about a year. Her mother is an Anglo-Indian and given our common background and my current research, she was keen to meet me. Well, there she was, as she had hoped, in the chapel in time for service. We instantly recognized each other and sat together through the service.
A Private Tour of Chelsea Royal Hospital Grounds:
When it was done, we trooped out and there was Tom Mullaney, a pensioner who had offered to give me a private tour of the premises. I introduced him to Jane and off we went from one lovely quadrangle to the next and to Soane's stable block--each brilliantly gilded in the sunshine. At the mess, Tom offered to buy us both a drink because "he was dying for a pint". Jane, who was driving opted for OJ, I had a coffee and in the company of a hearty lot of pensioners and their family members or friends (the premises are not open to the public), we found out a bit about Tom. After the parade, pensioners are expected to change out of their red jackets and into pale blue shorts with navy blue pants--a more casual form of dress and that was how Tom was garbed. At the end of our time together, he gave me his very stylish buisness card and urged me to give him a call to schedule another complete tour later inthe week (which I shall probably do with Shanaz and Ara).
Lunch at Chutney Mary:
Then, it was time for Jane and me to enter her spiffy nautical blue Prius and off we went to lunch--her choice was the very classy and very appropriate Anglo-Indian restaurant called Chutney Mary in Chelsea. It had been years since Llew and I had dinner there once and it brought back sharp memories for me of a very companionable time we had spent there with Llew's brother and his wife at the tail end of one of our superb London summer holidays. The food was just fantastic especially the starter we both chose--grilled scallops with a tomato chutney on a delicately saffron-flavored bed of sauce that was so good it deserved to be sopped up with naan (which we requested). Jane chose a terrifically fragrant Chicken Biryani done in a green masala and I went for the Calcutta Prawn Curry with Naan which offered about six plump prawns in a delicious sauce. With garlic naan, the meal was made memorable. For 'pudding', we both chose Srikhand Eton Mess--an Anglo-Indian take on Britain's famous Eton Mess that usually features whipped cream, meringues and strawberries. This one had saffron srikhand with fresh mangoes and meringues. So creative and so yummy! I am happy to see that Chutney Mary has lost none of its excellence although Jane was adamant that far better Indian restaurants exist in Bradford where she lives. I found her compoany fascinating. She is a warm, witty, highly intelligent and very polite person indeed--really lovely. I was so glad we met and that I was able to get to know her a little better.
The Noisy Notting Hill Carnival:
It was time for Jane to move on to her business meeting and for me to re-connect with Shahnaz and Azra who had arrived at the Chapel too late to find the great doors closed. They had strolled through the lawns and moved on and when I did call them, discovered that they were already at the Notting Hill Carnival which was the next item on my agenda. Jane obligingly dropped me at Notting Hill Tube station which was already swarming with crowds. For the Notting Hill Carnival is one of Europe's biggest street fairs and attracts massive crowds. Since this was the first time I actually happened to be in London during the carnival and since it happens only once a year on August Bank Holiday Weekend, attending it was a no-brainer.
Police were thicker than flies (what with the fears that had arisen from the recent riots) through the Notting Hill area and as I made my way through the maze of streets with their beautiful terraced houses and gardens, I followed the sound of the Caribbean steel drums to the actual parade where floats and hundreds of carnival revellers went slowly by to the sound of soca and reggae music. The carnival has a Caribbean flavor and jerk chicken was being offered from food stands all along the route. Liquor was being openly consumed on the streets and young folks were clearly having a blast. I had been warned repeatedly by friends to watch my belongings carefully and the police on the streets also advised me to do the same each time I approached them for directions. Today happened to be the Children's Parade and loads of little ones, gaudily costumed, were in the parade (with several full-grown people that I would hardly label children!). It was noisy, tiring (all that walking), a bit crazy. But at the end of the day, I'm glad I went and discovered what all the hype surrounding the Notting Hill Carnival is about.
On my way back, I veered far away from the crowds and noise and was fortunate enough to chance upon the Prince Edward Pub at Prince Square where I was able to use a loo because wild pachyderms could not induce me to use one of the Portapotties dotted around the place. Knowing that I was London-centered for the next week, I walked to Queensway Tube station (Notting Hill Station was closed) and bought myself a seven-day bus pass for 17 pounds--which regular readers of this blog know is my favorite form of London transportation (and so cheap too!)
Then, of course, I changed three buses, sat on the top deck at the picture window each time and made my way home. I spent the evening resting and catching up on email and discovering that Southport had lost TV, internet and phone connections--so Llew and I would remain incommunicado until further notice. His cell phone and electricity are still functioning, however, so we will be in touch no matter how long power restoration might take. With my hosts out for the day, their son Edward proved to be the perfect host, offering me dinner (Domino's pizza) and his company as I sat back and chilled.
It had turned out to be a glorious day in more ways than one and I am thrilled that I was positive enough to make lemonade out of the lemon that had been handed me by Virgin Atlantic in the morning.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Tracy Emin, Fulham Palace, ATGB Locations
Saturday, August 27, 2011
London
As phenomenal as yesterday was in London, today was lousy. I mean, first of all, the weather stank. Intermittent spells of sunshine fought for supremacy over annoyingly brief showers. And when it rained, it poured. After starting my day losing an entire blog post, I rewrote the whole account and delayed myself by a whole hour. The upside was that I was able to enjoy one of mine host Michael's legendary oatmeal breakfasts with the rest of his family--wife Cynthia, sons Edward and Aidan.
Hurricane Irene Barges in:
There was much concern expressed over the possible cancellation of my Virgin Atlantic flight tomorrow as Hurricane Irene brings the entire US east coast to a stand still. I discovered that at NYU, Orientation, for which I was racing back home, has been cancelled. Somewhat relieved at the thought of enjoying an extra day in London, I completely forgot that today is my wedding anniversary, until my husband called from across the pond to wish me!
Discovering Britain's Best-Known Female Artist:
Breakfast consumed, I took a bus to Waterloo Bridge to the Hayward Gallery in hopes of catching the exciting Tracy Emin retrospective that is ending in two days' time. To my astonishment and delight, walk-in tickets were available and I could enter although reciprocal arrangements between the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and the Hayward have been suspended for the last three days. I ended up paying 12 pounds--but it was so worth it. I intended to spend no longer than an hour on the exhibition; but to my surprise, three hours later, I was still inside the Hayward.
Although Emin's name was known to me (together with Damien Hirst, she is the UK's best-known contemporary artist), I was totally unfamiliar with her work and was shocked, disturbed and deeply saddened by her oeuvre and the life experiences that gave them birth. Hopelessly raw, alarmingly pessimistic, movingly stark, her world is one of loss and regret and her work is a desperate attempt to regain some of it. Using multi media in the most extraordinary ways, she has woven together the fabric of her life in a fashion that is personal, candid, stark and startling. There are line drawings, oils on canvas, quilts, embroidery, wooden sculpture and other installations, photographs, films, video conversations and props of every conceivable kind, including hospital wrist ID tags and used tampons, to bring to the foreground of her memory those events and circumstances that have dominated and scarred her life. Memorabilia figures emphatically in her work and at the end of the day, it is startling how closely and with what frank scrutiny she has documented every aspect of her life so as to create a composite whole. By the end of the exhibition, I felt I knew this woman intimately and my heart ached for her and the painful loneliness of her world. Never having been to the Hayward which is a part of the Southbank Center, I had planned to visit it on this trip...but I never expected that it was Emin's work that would draw me there and have such a powerful effect on my own psyche.
Lunching at the Festival of Britain:
Despite being deeply overwrought by Emin's work, I managed to make my way after a heavy downpour towards the Royal Festival Hall where the Festival of Britain was in full swing. By 1.00 pm, I reconnected with my friend Shahnaz and her daughter Azra who had also joined me at the Hayward (Azra is a student of Applied Art at the moment at a London School of Design and Shahnaz is a prolific porcelain artist). They too were reeling from the impact of Emin's work and as we went out in search of sustenance, we tasted a few of the samplers being handed out before deciding on a Moroccan concoction: Chicken Harisa served with Tsaziki and a chili sauce over pitta. It was delicious but fiery and with tears streaming down our respective cheeks, we went our separate ways with plans to meet later in the afternoon at Fulham Palace. Shahnaz and Azra went off to run an errand while I hopped into a bus to get to Holland Park where my mission was to identify, explore and photograph the many locations associated with the TV show As Times Goes By. I am a die-hard fan of the series and I had waited one whole year to accomplish this!
A Decision to Detour to Fulham Palace:
But alas, with the Strand under "road works", bus services were disrupted and I found myself walking from Aldwych to Charing Cross where I took the Tube. From Oxford Circus, I took buses again towards Holland Park, but halfway through my adventure, I realized that I would need to abandon my mission. You see, having decided to reconnect with my friends at Fulham Palace near Putney, I realized that I would need to abandon my ATGB mission. Seething with frustration, I found that a big game at the Chelsea Football Club (Chelsea Versus Norwich) had closed down the King's Road and caused a major route diversion. I completely lost my bearings as the bus veered far outside the boundaries of my map! I stayed on the bus that was headed to Putney Bridge and after what seemed like forever, I was in Putney and striding towards the Palace where my friends had reached long before I did. A good fifteen minute walk finally brought me to the Tudor gatehouse of the Palace and into its grounds.
Fulham Palace: Another Huge Disappointment:
If Lambeth Palace awed me, Fulham was a major letdown. Traditionally used as the residence of the Bishops of London (although the current one, Richard Chartres, lives at Dean's Yard near Amen Court, next door to my present home near St. Paul's Cathedral), it was built in the time of the Tudors and added on in the 18th century and Victorian periods. Sitting strategically on the banks of the Thames, it saw occupation by royalty in Tudor and Elizabethan times (both Katherine of Aragon and Elizabeth I lived here at various times). Yet, it has clearly fallen into disuse and been allowed to go to seed. The grounds are unkempt, the gardens are merely a backyard full of ungainly weeds, a few desultory apple, pear and quince trees had thrown a few indifferent windfall fruit to the ground and although I was pleased to spy a perfect apple spared by the birds, there was nothing to impress about this space. Inside, most of the building, including the chapel, was closed for a wedding. We were allowed to peruse three rooms of which none was even remotely interesting. Overall, I was angry that I'd spent such a chunk of the afternoon trying to get there. It is certainly not something I will ever recommend to any visitor.
Operation Judi Dench:
With showers punctuating the evening, I hopped into a bus determined to get to Holland Park to pick up the threads of my ATGB mission while there still was light left to take a few pictures. Luckily, by the time I alighted from the bus (filled with rowdy Chelsea FC supporters--Chelsea had won!), the rain had stopped and the Holland Park area appeared freshly washed and subtly fragranced. I followed the contours of my map and after a slow and seemingly endless trudge north along Addison Road, I found the homesof Jean Pargiter played by Dame Judi Dench and Lionel Hardcastle played by Geoffrey Palmer in the TV show. The terraced home at 21 St. James' Gardens (still sporting its navy blue front door and famous house number) and a few alongside it are clearly used only for location shootings for they seemed inhabited, the blinds in the front rooms pulled firmly down.
Across the street, in pretty St. James' Gardens, stands the picturesque stone church of St. James Norland but, alas, the gates to the private park are open only to residents of the square. I posed for pictures on the famous stoop having pulled in an obliging passer-by to take them! I also found Julie's Bar, the small neighborhood eatery around the corner which features prominently in the series. Having clicked several pictures, I made my exhausted way back to the bus stop and headed for Holborn.
Food Supplies:
I still had food shopping to do for my annual provision supplies and when the bus arrived at Holborn, I nipped into the new Waitrose to pick up a few goodies. By the time I got out and headed to the Sainsbury at Holborn Junction (which used to be a Sainsbury Central but is now a Local), the doors were well and truly shut and a curt notice said, "This store will open at 7 am on Tuesday". Good job I had picked up at least a few items from Waitrose! If Hurricane Irene is shutting down the US northeast Atlantic coast, "August Bank Holiday Weekend" is clearly shutting down the UK.
Back on another bus, I reached Amen Court only to be greeted by Edward who confirmed that my flight had been cancelled. He told me that he had spent most of the evening trying to get me reinstated on a flight to Kennedy departing on Monday for Llew had called me several times during the day to tell me to try to place myself on the manifest. But no such luck. Meanwhile, Cynthia rustled up a dinner of fish cakes for me and over hazelnut yogurt (another one of my favorite treats in the UK) that I could not resist buying, I had myself a good meal. Alas, as a result of all the gum-chewing I have been doing (under medical orders), the sides of my tongue feel sore (while my mouth is still dry!) because a series of abscesses now lines the sides. I could barely eat my dinner so it was just as well that Shahnaz and Azra, feeling too exhausted after our Fulham expedition, had urged me to cancel our reservation at Locanda Locatelli. Oh well, perhaps another time.
I spent most of the evening trying to contact Virgin Atlantic, following the fortunes of Hurricane Irene and getting nowhere (literally). Much as I am delighted to be detained in my favorite city in the world and in a home full of people who love and care for me, I can only imagine how difficult it is for Llew who was so looking forward to my return after three whole months, only to have to wait for an indefinite period!
What a challenging day it had been! As I burrow under the covers, totally knackered, it feels chilly--more autumnal than August. I can only hope that my bonus day tomorrow will be less inconsistent.
London
As phenomenal as yesterday was in London, today was lousy. I mean, first of all, the weather stank. Intermittent spells of sunshine fought for supremacy over annoyingly brief showers. And when it rained, it poured. After starting my day losing an entire blog post, I rewrote the whole account and delayed myself by a whole hour. The upside was that I was able to enjoy one of mine host Michael's legendary oatmeal breakfasts with the rest of his family--wife Cynthia, sons Edward and Aidan.
Hurricane Irene Barges in:
There was much concern expressed over the possible cancellation of my Virgin Atlantic flight tomorrow as Hurricane Irene brings the entire US east coast to a stand still. I discovered that at NYU, Orientation, for which I was racing back home, has been cancelled. Somewhat relieved at the thought of enjoying an extra day in London, I completely forgot that today is my wedding anniversary, until my husband called from across the pond to wish me!
Discovering Britain's Best-Known Female Artist:
Breakfast consumed, I took a bus to Waterloo Bridge to the Hayward Gallery in hopes of catching the exciting Tracy Emin retrospective that is ending in two days' time. To my astonishment and delight, walk-in tickets were available and I could enter although reciprocal arrangements between the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and the Hayward have been suspended for the last three days. I ended up paying 12 pounds--but it was so worth it. I intended to spend no longer than an hour on the exhibition; but to my surprise, three hours later, I was still inside the Hayward.
Although Emin's name was known to me (together with Damien Hirst, she is the UK's best-known contemporary artist), I was totally unfamiliar with her work and was shocked, disturbed and deeply saddened by her oeuvre and the life experiences that gave them birth. Hopelessly raw, alarmingly pessimistic, movingly stark, her world is one of loss and regret and her work is a desperate attempt to regain some of it. Using multi media in the most extraordinary ways, she has woven together the fabric of her life in a fashion that is personal, candid, stark and startling. There are line drawings, oils on canvas, quilts, embroidery, wooden sculpture and other installations, photographs, films, video conversations and props of every conceivable kind, including hospital wrist ID tags and used tampons, to bring to the foreground of her memory those events and circumstances that have dominated and scarred her life. Memorabilia figures emphatically in her work and at the end of the day, it is startling how closely and with what frank scrutiny she has documented every aspect of her life so as to create a composite whole. By the end of the exhibition, I felt I knew this woman intimately and my heart ached for her and the painful loneliness of her world. Never having been to the Hayward which is a part of the Southbank Center, I had planned to visit it on this trip...but I never expected that it was Emin's work that would draw me there and have such a powerful effect on my own psyche.
Lunching at the Festival of Britain:
Despite being deeply overwrought by Emin's work, I managed to make my way after a heavy downpour towards the Royal Festival Hall where the Festival of Britain was in full swing. By 1.00 pm, I reconnected with my friend Shahnaz and her daughter Azra who had also joined me at the Hayward (Azra is a student of Applied Art at the moment at a London School of Design and Shahnaz is a prolific porcelain artist). They too were reeling from the impact of Emin's work and as we went out in search of sustenance, we tasted a few of the samplers being handed out before deciding on a Moroccan concoction: Chicken Harisa served with Tsaziki and a chili sauce over pitta. It was delicious but fiery and with tears streaming down our respective cheeks, we went our separate ways with plans to meet later in the afternoon at Fulham Palace. Shahnaz and Azra went off to run an errand while I hopped into a bus to get to Holland Park where my mission was to identify, explore and photograph the many locations associated with the TV show As Times Goes By. I am a die-hard fan of the series and I had waited one whole year to accomplish this!
A Decision to Detour to Fulham Palace:
But alas, with the Strand under "road works", bus services were disrupted and I found myself walking from Aldwych to Charing Cross where I took the Tube. From Oxford Circus, I took buses again towards Holland Park, but halfway through my adventure, I realized that I would need to abandon my mission. You see, having decided to reconnect with my friends at Fulham Palace near Putney, I realized that I would need to abandon my ATGB mission. Seething with frustration, I found that a big game at the Chelsea Football Club (Chelsea Versus Norwich) had closed down the King's Road and caused a major route diversion. I completely lost my bearings as the bus veered far outside the boundaries of my map! I stayed on the bus that was headed to Putney Bridge and after what seemed like forever, I was in Putney and striding towards the Palace where my friends had reached long before I did. A good fifteen minute walk finally brought me to the Tudor gatehouse of the Palace and into its grounds.
Fulham Palace: Another Huge Disappointment:
If Lambeth Palace awed me, Fulham was a major letdown. Traditionally used as the residence of the Bishops of London (although the current one, Richard Chartres, lives at Dean's Yard near Amen Court, next door to my present home near St. Paul's Cathedral), it was built in the time of the Tudors and added on in the 18th century and Victorian periods. Sitting strategically on the banks of the Thames, it saw occupation by royalty in Tudor and Elizabethan times (both Katherine of Aragon and Elizabeth I lived here at various times). Yet, it has clearly fallen into disuse and been allowed to go to seed. The grounds are unkempt, the gardens are merely a backyard full of ungainly weeds, a few desultory apple, pear and quince trees had thrown a few indifferent windfall fruit to the ground and although I was pleased to spy a perfect apple spared by the birds, there was nothing to impress about this space. Inside, most of the building, including the chapel, was closed for a wedding. We were allowed to peruse three rooms of which none was even remotely interesting. Overall, I was angry that I'd spent such a chunk of the afternoon trying to get there. It is certainly not something I will ever recommend to any visitor.
Operation Judi Dench:
With showers punctuating the evening, I hopped into a bus determined to get to Holland Park to pick up the threads of my ATGB mission while there still was light left to take a few pictures. Luckily, by the time I alighted from the bus (filled with rowdy Chelsea FC supporters--Chelsea had won!), the rain had stopped and the Holland Park area appeared freshly washed and subtly fragranced. I followed the contours of my map and after a slow and seemingly endless trudge north along Addison Road, I found the homesof Jean Pargiter played by Dame Judi Dench and Lionel Hardcastle played by Geoffrey Palmer in the TV show. The terraced home at 21 St. James' Gardens (still sporting its navy blue front door and famous house number) and a few alongside it are clearly used only for location shootings for they seemed inhabited, the blinds in the front rooms pulled firmly down.
Across the street, in pretty St. James' Gardens, stands the picturesque stone church of St. James Norland but, alas, the gates to the private park are open only to residents of the square. I posed for pictures on the famous stoop having pulled in an obliging passer-by to take them! I also found Julie's Bar, the small neighborhood eatery around the corner which features prominently in the series. Having clicked several pictures, I made my exhausted way back to the bus stop and headed for Holborn.
Food Supplies:
I still had food shopping to do for my annual provision supplies and when the bus arrived at Holborn, I nipped into the new Waitrose to pick up a few goodies. By the time I got out and headed to the Sainsbury at Holborn Junction (which used to be a Sainsbury Central but is now a Local), the doors were well and truly shut and a curt notice said, "This store will open at 7 am on Tuesday". Good job I had picked up at least a few items from Waitrose! If Hurricane Irene is shutting down the US northeast Atlantic coast, "August Bank Holiday Weekend" is clearly shutting down the UK.
Back on another bus, I reached Amen Court only to be greeted by Edward who confirmed that my flight had been cancelled. He told me that he had spent most of the evening trying to get me reinstated on a flight to Kennedy departing on Monday for Llew had called me several times during the day to tell me to try to place myself on the manifest. But no such luck. Meanwhile, Cynthia rustled up a dinner of fish cakes for me and over hazelnut yogurt (another one of my favorite treats in the UK) that I could not resist buying, I had myself a good meal. Alas, as a result of all the gum-chewing I have been doing (under medical orders), the sides of my tongue feel sore (while my mouth is still dry!) because a series of abscesses now lines the sides. I could barely eat my dinner so it was just as well that Shahnaz and Azra, feeling too exhausted after our Fulham expedition, had urged me to cancel our reservation at Locanda Locatelli. Oh well, perhaps another time.
I spent most of the evening trying to contact Virgin Atlantic, following the fortunes of Hurricane Irene and getting nowhere (literally). Much as I am delighted to be detained in my favorite city in the world and in a home full of people who love and care for me, I can only imagine how difficult it is for Llew who was so looking forward to my return after three whole months, only to have to wait for an indefinite period!
What a challenging day it had been! As I burrow under the covers, totally knackered, it feels chilly--more autumnal than August. I can only hope that my bonus day tomorrow will be less inconsistent.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Lambeth Palace, Wolsley Tea, Savoy Drinks, Love Never Dies
Friday, August 26, 2011
London
If I could combine every wonderful ingredient to create a perfect day in London, it would turn out like the one I had today. Despite the day-long drizzle, I refused to allow my enthusiasm to be dampened and onwards I pushed towards one of my favorite kinds of London days. Awaking at 6 am on an adrenaline high to the tolling bells of St. Paul's Cathedral in my Christopher Wren bedroom complete with twelve foot high ceiling and a marble fireplace, I arose to embrace a weepy morning. Ever the thoughtful hostess, Cynthia woke with me and over a shared Weetabix breakfast, she chattered with me after I'd showered and changed. Then, I was off within the hour on a bus to Waterloo Bridge to tick off the first item on my agenda.
Breakfasting with a Friend:
At the appointed hour, I met Murali, a friend, who had chanced upon my blog while I had lived in London two years ago and had become a faithful Follower. A mathematician by training and a financial whiz by profession, Murali and I settled down at Paul Patisserie over an almond croissant and a hot chocolate (two of my favorite London treats) and caught up on our common passions: poetry, travel, the art world, writing. Crumbly marzipan and liquid cocoa fuelled our peregrinations as the hour flew, we took photographs and said Au Revoir.
In Archbishops' Territory:
Up on the grand concourse of Waterloo Station, I reconnected with Shahnaz and Azra and off we went to our next appointment at Lambeth Palace on a bus along the south bank of the Thames. Lambeth Palace, one of London's most closely-guarded secrets, is not open to the public and visits are made strictly by appointment. There is currently a year-long wait list to get inside. Thanks to high connections in the Anglican Church, I was able to snag us a seat (or three) for an insider's private tour of the premises at merely a few weeks' notice. Past the Tudor Morton Gate, we were met and greeted by Gill, an administrative assistant, who also served as tour guide.
Not really equipped to handle my questions, Gil declared apologetic ignorance. Who built this place? When? Is that a Van Dyck? What building lies across the Thames in that 18th century painting? She tried really hard and what we did gather was this--Lambeth Palace is and has served as the London residence of the Archbishop of Canterbury (currently The Most Reverend Rowan Williams) since the 12th century. Its initial Tudor architecture was added to over the centuries to incorporate a few modern bits. It vast grounds and gardens are beautifully maintained. They include 500 year fig trees that continue to remain fruitful.
Inside, Gill showed us the pink Drawing Room (where my friend Cynthia attends monthly Bishops' wives' meetings), the formal Dining Room in which the Archbishop dines with the Queen, the grand Reception Room, the crypt and the Archbishop's private chapel where the choir stalls contain enamel plaques to represent varied parts of the globalized Anglican world including a Bengal tiger for India. Having suffered massive damage during World War II, the roof was completely rebuilt and painted with garish contemporary figures which clash awfully (in my humble opinion) with the reverential ambience of the space.The spacious rooms and massive stone corridors are filled with historic artifacts, displays of gifts collected by the Archbishop on his international visits, loads of oil portraits of the most significant prelates and sculpted busts of the most eminent of them. Overall, the space--a working series of offices and several private residences--was hushed and reverent and we almost felt like intruders as we strode the wide corridors of ecclesiastical power.
Inside Lambeth Library:
The piece de resistance of our visit was the Library with its splendid hammered timber oak ceiling. Here we were met by librarian Mary who proved to be an excellent tour guide and answered all my questions: Where is the King James Bible stored? (In one of two strong rooms on the premises). Can one handle the leather-bound volumes in this library? (No, they are much too fragile). Are there archivists on the premises? (Yes). She gave us a ton of material--literature, postcards, posters--to carry off with us and armed with these goodies, we made our delighted way out of the imposing walls of this fortress of religiosity and returned to 21st century London with its red buses plying along the Thames Embankment. All three of us agreed that it was an awesome experience and we were very grateful to my connections with Bishop Michael that made such an extraordinary privilege possible. Outside Lambeth's Tudor Gatehouse, we parted company having made plans to regroup at 4 pm at Fortnum and Mason.
Serious Retail Therapy:
It was time for shopping and, climbing into a bus, I headed off to Oxford Street where I spent the next couple of hours acquiring a new fall wardrobe for the new academic year. When my Mastercard was declined at Marks and Sparks, I seethed in frustration and resentment (having taken the trouble to inform them that I would be traveling for three whole months). Refusing to let that hiccup shatter my soaring spirits, I consulted the helpful folks in Customer Service and within an hour, I had it sorted.
Laden with bags, I walked out into the drizzle, tried to find Inspector Lewis DVDs in the HMV store, had an another disappointment when I discovered that the store does not carry them, then clambered into another bus to deposit my belongings at home. Barely did I dump my bags down than I was out the door again, heading to my next appointment--at Fortnum's.
Shopping at F&Ms and Tea for Three at Hotel Wolsley:
However, seriously seduced by retail therapy, we were all running late. Regrouping via mobile phones, we decided to press on towards our next appointment--Afternoon Tea for Three at the Hotel Wolsley. However, I managed to buy an oak tea caddy filled with F&Ms assorted teas and a top hat-shaped tea strainer which, after I grabbed the last one, went right out of stock! Armed with my newest tea accoutrements, I popped in next door to the Wolsley where Shahnaz had already reached.
For the next two hours, we gave ourselves up to the very propah English delights of Afternoon Tea served to us on a private balcony overlooking the grand but very noisy dining hall. On a sugar high, we nibbled at fluffy sultana scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam, a selection of yummy finger sandwiches and an array of pastries: chocolate mousse petit fours, Battenburg squares, coffee eclairs, fresh strawberry tartlets, pistachio and chocolate macaroons--the treats kept popping themselves as if by magic into our mouths in between bracing sips of the Wolsley's Afternoon Tea House blend with lemon and honey. And just when we thought we could not partake of another morsel, no matter how seductive, I went on to my next appointment.
Drinks at the Savoy:
Rosemary, an English friend whom I know affectionately as Roz, was awaiting me in the lobby of the Adelphi Theater. As we hugged and kissed, a perfect rainbow formed high above the steeples of St. Mary in The Strand. There was nothing for it but to hop across the street to one of the city's classiest watering holes for a drink--the newly refurbished Savoy Hotel. Having been shrouded under scaffolding for the entire term of my London tenure, I was keen to see what the 600 million pound refurbishment had acomplished. And we were not disappointed. As we swanned through the lobby, we passed the exquisite cuppolla-ed Palm Court and entered the swanky Beaufort Bar where we settled down with drinks--chilled Sauvignon Blanc for Roz, cider for me and a selection of nibbles comprising Marcona almonds, candied cashewnuts and miniature olives--as we caught up on our lives. Time, as you know, flies when you're having fun. We had soooo much to talk about...but the hour flew. We made plans to meet again at her place in Battersea for dinner when I am in London in January of next year and then we parted company to go our separate ways--she to dinner with friends in Kensington, I to a musical across the street at the Adelphi.
We Saved the Best for Last--Love Never Dies:
Just when I was convinced that my day could not possibly get any better, we were joining the ranks to enter the theater to see the sequel to The Phantom of the Opera called Love Never Dies. For the next couple of hours, we gave ourselves up to the magic of Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber as the composer simply swept us away. There was everything one expects of stupendous West End theatrics--stirring musical virtuosity, incredibly lush sets and costume design, magical performances, superb choreography and a plot line that tugged repeatedly at the heart strings. As someone who has long believed that no musical will outshine the perfection of The Phantom, I have to say that this one comes pretty darn close. No, it does not have the hummable arias of the original, but this was vintage Lloyd Webber and showed convincing evidence of his musical genius. Combined with the lyrics of Glenn Slater, it made for the most scintillating hours in the theater and we were thrilled to pieces that we had managed to get seats--even if they were nose-bleed ones way up in the rafters, just on the eve of the show's closing. If there were just two elements missing, they were Llew and Chriselle. How I wish I could have shared this amazing experience with them.
On the way back in the bus as we headed home, we giggled helplessly over nothing and kissed goodnight promising to try to make tomorrow surpass the brilliance of what had been a Phenomenal Day.
London
If I could combine every wonderful ingredient to create a perfect day in London, it would turn out like the one I had today. Despite the day-long drizzle, I refused to allow my enthusiasm to be dampened and onwards I pushed towards one of my favorite kinds of London days. Awaking at 6 am on an adrenaline high to the tolling bells of St. Paul's Cathedral in my Christopher Wren bedroom complete with twelve foot high ceiling and a marble fireplace, I arose to embrace a weepy morning. Ever the thoughtful hostess, Cynthia woke with me and over a shared Weetabix breakfast, she chattered with me after I'd showered and changed. Then, I was off within the hour on a bus to Waterloo Bridge to tick off the first item on my agenda.
Breakfasting with a Friend:
At the appointed hour, I met Murali, a friend, who had chanced upon my blog while I had lived in London two years ago and had become a faithful Follower. A mathematician by training and a financial whiz by profession, Murali and I settled down at Paul Patisserie over an almond croissant and a hot chocolate (two of my favorite London treats) and caught up on our common passions: poetry, travel, the art world, writing. Crumbly marzipan and liquid cocoa fuelled our peregrinations as the hour flew, we took photographs and said Au Revoir.
In Archbishops' Territory:
Up on the grand concourse of Waterloo Station, I reconnected with Shahnaz and Azra and off we went to our next appointment at Lambeth Palace on a bus along the south bank of the Thames. Lambeth Palace, one of London's most closely-guarded secrets, is not open to the public and visits are made strictly by appointment. There is currently a year-long wait list to get inside. Thanks to high connections in the Anglican Church, I was able to snag us a seat (or three) for an insider's private tour of the premises at merely a few weeks' notice. Past the Tudor Morton Gate, we were met and greeted by Gill, an administrative assistant, who also served as tour guide.
Not really equipped to handle my questions, Gil declared apologetic ignorance. Who built this place? When? Is that a Van Dyck? What building lies across the Thames in that 18th century painting? She tried really hard and what we did gather was this--Lambeth Palace is and has served as the London residence of the Archbishop of Canterbury (currently The Most Reverend Rowan Williams) since the 12th century. Its initial Tudor architecture was added to over the centuries to incorporate a few modern bits. It vast grounds and gardens are beautifully maintained. They include 500 year fig trees that continue to remain fruitful.
Inside, Gill showed us the pink Drawing Room (where my friend Cynthia attends monthly Bishops' wives' meetings), the formal Dining Room in which the Archbishop dines with the Queen, the grand Reception Room, the crypt and the Archbishop's private chapel where the choir stalls contain enamel plaques to represent varied parts of the globalized Anglican world including a Bengal tiger for India. Having suffered massive damage during World War II, the roof was completely rebuilt and painted with garish contemporary figures which clash awfully (in my humble opinion) with the reverential ambience of the space.The spacious rooms and massive stone corridors are filled with historic artifacts, displays of gifts collected by the Archbishop on his international visits, loads of oil portraits of the most significant prelates and sculpted busts of the most eminent of them. Overall, the space--a working series of offices and several private residences--was hushed and reverent and we almost felt like intruders as we strode the wide corridors of ecclesiastical power.
Inside Lambeth Library:
The piece de resistance of our visit was the Library with its splendid hammered timber oak ceiling. Here we were met by librarian Mary who proved to be an excellent tour guide and answered all my questions: Where is the King James Bible stored? (In one of two strong rooms on the premises). Can one handle the leather-bound volumes in this library? (No, they are much too fragile). Are there archivists on the premises? (Yes). She gave us a ton of material--literature, postcards, posters--to carry off with us and armed with these goodies, we made our delighted way out of the imposing walls of this fortress of religiosity and returned to 21st century London with its red buses plying along the Thames Embankment. All three of us agreed that it was an awesome experience and we were very grateful to my connections with Bishop Michael that made such an extraordinary privilege possible. Outside Lambeth's Tudor Gatehouse, we parted company having made plans to regroup at 4 pm at Fortnum and Mason.
Serious Retail Therapy:
It was time for shopping and, climbing into a bus, I headed off to Oxford Street where I spent the next couple of hours acquiring a new fall wardrobe for the new academic year. When my Mastercard was declined at Marks and Sparks, I seethed in frustration and resentment (having taken the trouble to inform them that I would be traveling for three whole months). Refusing to let that hiccup shatter my soaring spirits, I consulted the helpful folks in Customer Service and within an hour, I had it sorted.
Laden with bags, I walked out into the drizzle, tried to find Inspector Lewis DVDs in the HMV store, had an another disappointment when I discovered that the store does not carry them, then clambered into another bus to deposit my belongings at home. Barely did I dump my bags down than I was out the door again, heading to my next appointment--at Fortnum's.
Shopping at F&Ms and Tea for Three at Hotel Wolsley:
However, seriously seduced by retail therapy, we were all running late. Regrouping via mobile phones, we decided to press on towards our next appointment--Afternoon Tea for Three at the Hotel Wolsley. However, I managed to buy an oak tea caddy filled with F&Ms assorted teas and a top hat-shaped tea strainer which, after I grabbed the last one, went right out of stock! Armed with my newest tea accoutrements, I popped in next door to the Wolsley where Shahnaz had already reached.
For the next two hours, we gave ourselves up to the very propah English delights of Afternoon Tea served to us on a private balcony overlooking the grand but very noisy dining hall. On a sugar high, we nibbled at fluffy sultana scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam, a selection of yummy finger sandwiches and an array of pastries: chocolate mousse petit fours, Battenburg squares, coffee eclairs, fresh strawberry tartlets, pistachio and chocolate macaroons--the treats kept popping themselves as if by magic into our mouths in between bracing sips of the Wolsley's Afternoon Tea House blend with lemon and honey. And just when we thought we could not partake of another morsel, no matter how seductive, I went on to my next appointment.
Drinks at the Savoy:
Rosemary, an English friend whom I know affectionately as Roz, was awaiting me in the lobby of the Adelphi Theater. As we hugged and kissed, a perfect rainbow formed high above the steeples of St. Mary in The Strand. There was nothing for it but to hop across the street to one of the city's classiest watering holes for a drink--the newly refurbished Savoy Hotel. Having been shrouded under scaffolding for the entire term of my London tenure, I was keen to see what the 600 million pound refurbishment had acomplished. And we were not disappointed. As we swanned through the lobby, we passed the exquisite cuppolla-ed Palm Court and entered the swanky Beaufort Bar where we settled down with drinks--chilled Sauvignon Blanc for Roz, cider for me and a selection of nibbles comprising Marcona almonds, candied cashewnuts and miniature olives--as we caught up on our lives. Time, as you know, flies when you're having fun. We had soooo much to talk about...but the hour flew. We made plans to meet again at her place in Battersea for dinner when I am in London in January of next year and then we parted company to go our separate ways--she to dinner with friends in Kensington, I to a musical across the street at the Adelphi.
We Saved the Best for Last--Love Never Dies:
Just when I was convinced that my day could not possibly get any better, we were joining the ranks to enter the theater to see the sequel to The Phantom of the Opera called Love Never Dies. For the next couple of hours, we gave ourselves up to the magic of Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber as the composer simply swept us away. There was everything one expects of stupendous West End theatrics--stirring musical virtuosity, incredibly lush sets and costume design, magical performances, superb choreography and a plot line that tugged repeatedly at the heart strings. As someone who has long believed that no musical will outshine the perfection of The Phantom, I have to say that this one comes pretty darn close. No, it does not have the hummable arias of the original, but this was vintage Lloyd Webber and showed convincing evidence of his musical genius. Combined with the lyrics of Glenn Slater, it made for the most scintillating hours in the theater and we were thrilled to pieces that we had managed to get seats--even if they were nose-bleed ones way up in the rafters, just on the eve of the show's closing. If there were just two elements missing, they were Llew and Chriselle. How I wish I could have shared this amazing experience with them.
On the way back in the bus as we headed home, we giggled helplessly over nothing and kissed goodnight promising to try to make tomorrow surpass the brilliance of what had been a Phenomenal Day.
Doing Dover
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Dover
As long as I can remember, my imagination has been stirred by the phrase "the white cliffs of Dover". And when I had gazed upon them for the first time, during a ferry crossing between Dover and Calais in France, many moons ago, I remember how awed I'd felt.
So you can imagine how thrilling it was not just to look at Dover's chalk cliffs but to walk through them, like a rabbit through a hole, to touch them, both on the outside and within, to scratch at them and find remnants of them in my nails and to see fallen chunks of them everywhere.
All this was possible today when my friend Shahnaz and her daughter Azra joined me at 7 am at Victoria Coach Station to journey to the east coast of Kent to explore Dover. Shahnaz was doubtful about the sagacity of the expedition. As long as she can remember, she has passed through Dover Ferry Port and dreaded it. Not knowing that the seaport is vulgarly rich in British military history, she was dubious about enjoying our day trip. But as she said at the end of the day, it was fantastic and her faith in my excursion decision-making was restored.
Scaling Dover Castle's Towering Walls:
We arrived in Dover at 10.00, waited for a half hour for a local bus to take us up the famous white cliffs to the entrance of Dover Castle, a great hulking mass of stone that sits high above the English Channel providing a strategic lookout for invading ships. Indeed, it was used for precisely that reason from Roman days. It was they who built a pharos or lighthouse--actually two of them--to shine like beacons across the waters and guide ships safely home. Today, the ruined remains of one of them continues to be battered by winds out on the water and sits cheek-by-jowl with a beautiful Anglo-Saxon church that dates from the days before William the Conqueror led his mighty fleet across the waves to bring England under Norman sway. The lighthouse and church are the oldest structures within the vast walled complex of Dover Castle, the town's chief attraction, and are also two of England's oldest buildings. From an exploration of these structures, the visitor is swept upon a rapid tour of British military history that brings us all the ways to World War II when Vera Lynn penned her famous song, "There'll be bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover..."
The Medieval Keep:
The gods smiled upon us for sure, providing blue skies and bracing sunshine as we scaled the hillside and began surveying Dover Castle. We followed the Highlights tour as suggested by my guide book and entered the Keep, built by Henry II, a wonderful medieval part of the Castle where young men and women in courtly garb (including His Majesty and his sister Marie de France) greeted visitors in courteous manner. Rooms filled with real and reproduced medieval furniture gave us a glimpse of English life under the Plantagenets. Of the many artifacts on display, the one that caught my eye was a gigantic leather bag (that looked like half of a saddlebag) that was filled with the silver pennies (the only coin minted in Henry II's day) by the taxes of peasants who swarmed upon the land. The Keep is in remarkably good condition, inside and out, and is the tallest structure in the complex. For some amusing reason, I kept recalling scenes from Blackadder as I walked through the darkened rooms.
Up the Ramparts:
Cannons dot the environs of the castle and gaze upon the waters of the Channel. Having been blessed with a clear day, we could easily see across to the infamous beaches of Normandy on the shores of France where the seaport of Calais glinted in the sunshine. I recalled many a flight across the Channel when I have seen both ports and the waters between them, punctuated by sea craft, from the air. The cannons provided perches for photo ops and to rest, because striding across from one building to the next, is exhausting.
The War-Time Tunnels of Dover:
By the time we realized that we needed to join a queue to enter the famed Wartime Tunnels, we were fatigued. It took us half an hour to join a tour guide who gave us a fascinating one hour tour of the chalky maze built in the mid-17oos as a military hideout. They were dug through with hand tools (no dynamite was used) and when we scratched the walls, we realized how easily that feat might have been accomplished. The walls are soft and moist and, not surprisingly, the tunnels were extended during World War II in order to create a useful labyrinth for the master-minding of Operation Dynamo that, under the command of Ramsay, brought English troops back home from Dunkirk. The entire historic achievement is re-created underground through a good short documentary film that is projected on the inside walls of the cliffs themselves. It was probably the best part of our visit.
Exploring the Medieval Tunnels:
Another exciting thing to do in the Castle complex is explore the medieval tunnels (but they pale in comparison to the War-time ones) and the army barracks which provide exhibits on British military history through the ages. Refreshment was sorely lacking within the complex that is administered by English Heritage, although we were pleased to taste spirits from the Middle Ages (mead and elderberry wine and sloe gin) in the gift shop where they are sold in pretty bottles together with more contemporary preserves such as Raspberry Curd and Strawberry Jam.
Walking Along the White Cliffs:
It took us five hours to explore the castle and we were grateful for the 'train' that takes visitors around because the walking was killing. By 4 pm after surviving only on a scone and date and walnut cake, we took a lovely winding wooded path to the ferry port from where we followed the National Trust-maintained White Cliffs Walk to the great East Cliff at the feet of which sits a row of pretty houses. We took our lives in our hands, as dodging huge trucks making their way across the Channel, we crossed the road to the beach-side Promenade to dip our toes into the waters of Matthew Arnold's famous Dover Beach. The 'sand' here is non-existent for, like Brighton, Dover's beach is pebbly, made up mainly of fat flint stones. They provided a superb natural foot massage for me while Shahnaz and Azra dunked their feet in the English Channel.
The Town of Dover:
A few minutes later, we returned to the town of Dover which is a completely post-war creation as the city was bombed repeatedly by the Germans during World War II and all but flattened. (Surprisingly, the Castle was left untouched, probably because Hitler intended to use it as a look-out point, in the same way that it had been used through the ages, when he, ultimately, got his ambitious hands upon Great Britain. Happily the Jerries were stalled in that endeavor by Churchill's masterminds, who operating from another series of burrows and bunkers at London's Whitehall--the Cabinet War Rooms--had brought the Fuhrer's plans to nought). Since every business establishment in the land downs its shutters at 5 pm sharp, we had no option but to enter MickeeDee's for filet of fish burgers which we wolfed down before we entered the 6. 15 coach back. Not one of us could keep our eyes open as we stopped at Canterbury and, like Chaucer's pilgrims, returned to London.
Dinner at One New Change:
A quick switch to the Tube brought us to St. Paul's Cathedral where we decided to explore London's newest shopping attraction, One New Change, right opposite Wren's stunning dome. With only a few stragglers around, we were grateful to find Zizzi Restaurant still open for business. Since a glass of Prosecco was urgently called for, I sipped deeplyof its revivifying bubbles before delving into a plate of Penne Alla Vodka (which, alas, was much too al dente for my liking) and half asleep over our bill, we made our fatigued way back home--me across the street to Amen Court, my companions on Bus 15 to Limehouse.
The expedition had provided the perfect English History Fix. We were glad we 'Did Dover'. One more item can be ticked off my To-Do List. Tomorrow, our appreciation of English History will continue in London--but I have promised myself to leave time for the more mundane aspects of a holiday--shopping!
Dover
As long as I can remember, my imagination has been stirred by the phrase "the white cliffs of Dover". And when I had gazed upon them for the first time, during a ferry crossing between Dover and Calais in France, many moons ago, I remember how awed I'd felt.
So you can imagine how thrilling it was not just to look at Dover's chalk cliffs but to walk through them, like a rabbit through a hole, to touch them, both on the outside and within, to scratch at them and find remnants of them in my nails and to see fallen chunks of them everywhere.
All this was possible today when my friend Shahnaz and her daughter Azra joined me at 7 am at Victoria Coach Station to journey to the east coast of Kent to explore Dover. Shahnaz was doubtful about the sagacity of the expedition. As long as she can remember, she has passed through Dover Ferry Port and dreaded it. Not knowing that the seaport is vulgarly rich in British military history, she was dubious about enjoying our day trip. But as she said at the end of the day, it was fantastic and her faith in my excursion decision-making was restored.
Scaling Dover Castle's Towering Walls:
We arrived in Dover at 10.00, waited for a half hour for a local bus to take us up the famous white cliffs to the entrance of Dover Castle, a great hulking mass of stone that sits high above the English Channel providing a strategic lookout for invading ships. Indeed, it was used for precisely that reason from Roman days. It was they who built a pharos or lighthouse--actually two of them--to shine like beacons across the waters and guide ships safely home. Today, the ruined remains of one of them continues to be battered by winds out on the water and sits cheek-by-jowl with a beautiful Anglo-Saxon church that dates from the days before William the Conqueror led his mighty fleet across the waves to bring England under Norman sway. The lighthouse and church are the oldest structures within the vast walled complex of Dover Castle, the town's chief attraction, and are also two of England's oldest buildings. From an exploration of these structures, the visitor is swept upon a rapid tour of British military history that brings us all the ways to World War II when Vera Lynn penned her famous song, "There'll be bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover..."
The Medieval Keep:
The gods smiled upon us for sure, providing blue skies and bracing sunshine as we scaled the hillside and began surveying Dover Castle. We followed the Highlights tour as suggested by my guide book and entered the Keep, built by Henry II, a wonderful medieval part of the Castle where young men and women in courtly garb (including His Majesty and his sister Marie de France) greeted visitors in courteous manner. Rooms filled with real and reproduced medieval furniture gave us a glimpse of English life under the Plantagenets. Of the many artifacts on display, the one that caught my eye was a gigantic leather bag (that looked like half of a saddlebag) that was filled with the silver pennies (the only coin minted in Henry II's day) by the taxes of peasants who swarmed upon the land. The Keep is in remarkably good condition, inside and out, and is the tallest structure in the complex. For some amusing reason, I kept recalling scenes from Blackadder as I walked through the darkened rooms.
Up the Ramparts:
Cannons dot the environs of the castle and gaze upon the waters of the Channel. Having been blessed with a clear day, we could easily see across to the infamous beaches of Normandy on the shores of France where the seaport of Calais glinted in the sunshine. I recalled many a flight across the Channel when I have seen both ports and the waters between them, punctuated by sea craft, from the air. The cannons provided perches for photo ops and to rest, because striding across from one building to the next, is exhausting.
The War-Time Tunnels of Dover:
By the time we realized that we needed to join a queue to enter the famed Wartime Tunnels, we were fatigued. It took us half an hour to join a tour guide who gave us a fascinating one hour tour of the chalky maze built in the mid-17oos as a military hideout. They were dug through with hand tools (no dynamite was used) and when we scratched the walls, we realized how easily that feat might have been accomplished. The walls are soft and moist and, not surprisingly, the tunnels were extended during World War II in order to create a useful labyrinth for the master-minding of Operation Dynamo that, under the command of Ramsay, brought English troops back home from Dunkirk. The entire historic achievement is re-created underground through a good short documentary film that is projected on the inside walls of the cliffs themselves. It was probably the best part of our visit.
Exploring the Medieval Tunnels:
Another exciting thing to do in the Castle complex is explore the medieval tunnels (but they pale in comparison to the War-time ones) and the army barracks which provide exhibits on British military history through the ages. Refreshment was sorely lacking within the complex that is administered by English Heritage, although we were pleased to taste spirits from the Middle Ages (mead and elderberry wine and sloe gin) in the gift shop where they are sold in pretty bottles together with more contemporary preserves such as Raspberry Curd and Strawberry Jam.
Walking Along the White Cliffs:
It took us five hours to explore the castle and we were grateful for the 'train' that takes visitors around because the walking was killing. By 4 pm after surviving only on a scone and date and walnut cake, we took a lovely winding wooded path to the ferry port from where we followed the National Trust-maintained White Cliffs Walk to the great East Cliff at the feet of which sits a row of pretty houses. We took our lives in our hands, as dodging huge trucks making their way across the Channel, we crossed the road to the beach-side Promenade to dip our toes into the waters of Matthew Arnold's famous Dover Beach. The 'sand' here is non-existent for, like Brighton, Dover's beach is pebbly, made up mainly of fat flint stones. They provided a superb natural foot massage for me while Shahnaz and Azra dunked their feet in the English Channel.
The Town of Dover:
A few minutes later, we returned to the town of Dover which is a completely post-war creation as the city was bombed repeatedly by the Germans during World War II and all but flattened. (Surprisingly, the Castle was left untouched, probably because Hitler intended to use it as a look-out point, in the same way that it had been used through the ages, when he, ultimately, got his ambitious hands upon Great Britain. Happily the Jerries were stalled in that endeavor by Churchill's masterminds, who operating from another series of burrows and bunkers at London's Whitehall--the Cabinet War Rooms--had brought the Fuhrer's plans to nought). Since every business establishment in the land downs its shutters at 5 pm sharp, we had no option but to enter MickeeDee's for filet of fish burgers which we wolfed down before we entered the 6. 15 coach back. Not one of us could keep our eyes open as we stopped at Canterbury and, like Chaucer's pilgrims, returned to London.
Dinner at One New Change:
A quick switch to the Tube brought us to St. Paul's Cathedral where we decided to explore London's newest shopping attraction, One New Change, right opposite Wren's stunning dome. With only a few stragglers around, we were grateful to find Zizzi Restaurant still open for business. Since a glass of Prosecco was urgently called for, I sipped deeplyof its revivifying bubbles before delving into a plate of Penne Alla Vodka (which, alas, was much too al dente for my liking) and half asleep over our bill, we made our fatigued way back home--me across the street to Amen Court, my companions on Bus 15 to Limehouse.
The expedition had provided the perfect English History Fix. We were glad we 'Did Dover'. One more item can be ticked off my To-Do List. Tomorrow, our appreciation of English History will continue in London--but I have promised myself to leave time for the more mundane aspects of a holiday--shopping!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)