Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Another Catch-up Morning, Lunch with Relative, British Library and Evening with Chelsea Friends

Tuesday, August 30, 2016
London

Early Awakening:
     My early get-ups continue--somewhat annoyingly, because I would prefer to sleep longer. The weather is much cooler now, so it isn't a too-hot bedroom that is causing short spells of sleep. Still, I am using time productively and have started reading in bed. Currently, it is John Banville's Booker Prize-winning novel The Sea--whose setting, since it is ambiguous, is reminding me much about my recent travels in Dorset as it is set in a nameless coastal town.
     I also drafted a blog post and continued work on my Powerpoint presentation which is coming along nicely. Orientation Week has begun at NYU and work email is now appearing on my laptop. I guess our Summer Hiatus is over! Now that I keep getting email from both NYU-New York and NYU-London, there is much correspondence to which I must respond. I am excited as my Fellowship officially begins next week. My own month of getting re-oriented to London and my new life here is ending and I feel pleased and happy about the next phrase. Later this week, I have meetings on our campus and the tenor of my life here will change from a mixture of research, academic writing and leisure to a much more regimented program. I also received an invitation to another appearance at a Nineteenth Century Seminar held at UCL--which I accepted. I drafted an abstract and sent it to the organizers and am awaiting the setting of a definite date sometime in October.
    
Off for Lunch with a Relative:
     And so the morning flew past as I dealt with so many impromptu happenings. At 12 noon, after a shower, I left the house to get to Euston Station as my relative Joel had made plans to meet me on Drummond Street after his hospital appointment at UCL. Llew and I had once had a meal on Drummond Street with our friend Ian at a place called Diwana. I was keen to return there as the small street has developed into Little India--there are a string of restaurants there, mostly vegetarian, all modestly-priced and catering to local office-goers mainly.
      Because  Joel texted me to say that he was running late just as I emerged from the Underground, I nipped into the Wellcome Collection next door to see a very unusual sculpture called Bleigiessen, commissioned by the Wellcome Trust for their Headquarters on Euston Road. Once there, I discovered that while you can catch a passing glimpse of it from one corner of the side street, to see it at close quarters you need to register for a once-a-month guided tour given on the last Friday each month. Alas, I had just missed it...perhaps sometime in the future I shall see it. However, I did catch a glimpse of it--it is a floor to ceiling affair that has used modern technology to create a flowing sculpture that was quite interesting even from the outside.
     Ten minutes later, I was reunited with Joel. We chose the Taste of India restaurant for their non-veg buffet which is great value for money at just under 7 pounds. It gave me an opportunity to veg out--literally, for there was a huge selection of salads and I simply feel as if I have not been eating enough vegetables. These were fresh and delicious but it was the Lamb Curry that was really excellent over pilaf. Otherwise, the place was nothing to shout about. It might be okay for Indians who desperately need fix of Indian cooking--but for the more discerning, I would say keep trying to find one you really like.
     More importantly, Joel and I had a chance to gab non-stop as he filled me in on family news. He was once married to my Dad's cousin but although they divorced many years ago, we have kept in touch. Joel looked back on his fifty-odd years in the UK and the ways in which life and Britain have treated him. It was a real treat to listen to his stories of voyaging to the UK via the Suez Canal and on another occasion via Marseilles. He also, it turns out, is badly affected by Plantar Fasciitis but had no idea his painful soles even had a name! I showed him some exercises he could do to alleviate his misery.
    A little later, Joel dropped me off in his car to the British Library so that I could put in requests for some more books as I had spent much of the morning creating a Bibliography for further reading in my new area of inquiry.

At the British Library:
     I then spent much time at the Library putting in requests for new desired material. It is still a challenge to get the hang of their computerized systems but help is always at hand. In about an hour, I headed home. Llew and I chatted at the Library using Facetime on the Library's wifi system and, after a little while, I took the Tube back home for a cup of tea. I love how the weather has changed and become so much more pleasant. It is perfect weather for walking, but of course, I have resolved to give up my walking tours for the moment or keep it to the minimum.

With Friends in Chelsea:
     In the evening, I left the house again to spend the evening with my friend Cynthia on Sloan Street. Summer is clearly waning as the days are getting shorter. Even though it was about 6. 45 when I arrived at her place for a long natter, twilight was around the corner. It was a pleasure to hear about their long weekend pilgrimage to Walsingham to the Shrine of Our Lady where I had once accompanied them on a previous visit to the UK. Over a nice cup of decaff tea (which Cynthia had especially kept for me!), we chattered on and about 8.00 pm (although she invited me to stay for dinner), I left as I did not want to get home late.
     Back home about 40 minutes later, I got my own dinner organized: chicken piri with broccoli and a cup of soup. I also watched the next episode of Making a Murderer which is leaving me dazed at the travesty of justice in a country that prides itself on being lawful. What a shame that the whole world is seeing this series through Netflix! Recently, my friend Edward told me that there was a ruling as the case is still on-going. Stunning! I only wish I had watched this with Llew as viewing it causes me to long for a companion for discussion.  Llew, too, had watched it while I was traveling and now I am watching it also while quite solitary.
    By 11.00 pm, I switched off my light and feel asleep.
     Until tomorrow, cheerio...        

Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Catch-Up Morning, London Buddhist Center, Chinese Dinner with Bombay Friends

Monday,  August 29, 2016
London
It is Bank Holiday Monday and while the rest of the country (certainly the city) seems to be in Party Mood (it is also the weekend of the city's biggest party, the Notting Hill Carnival), I stayed home determined to give my feet some rest. Ordinarily, I would have been rejoicing that I was in London for the Carnival as it was an experience I had always wanted; but when, a few years ago, I did have a chance to get there, I couldn't wait to get out. The crowds, the heat and the noise--so many deafening steel drums--had made me want to turn and run right back. I can see that it would be a fun activity in company or if you were a youngster. Alone and at my stage in life...I don't know.
     Tomorrow will make exactly a month since I arrived in this city and I have never really stopped. Little wonder my feet are giving out warning signals--ones I am religiously heeding as I do not intend to replay my miseries of all those years ago.
A Home-Bound Morning:
So, true to form, I awake stretching--both in bed itself, by hanging down stairs and against a wall. I recall every exercise I was taught to do then and I am doing them now because the US has taught me about preventative care. So far so good. I am no longer walking for pleasure. I take public transport as much as I can (Tube and buses) and I sit at every opportunity--even in museums on a stool. It seems to be working...fingers crossed.
     Up at 6.00 am, I decided to make productive use of every minute I intended to spend at home. So I did laundry, I put my clothes to dry (old-fashioned  'airers'), wrote a blog post, made myself some breakfast (coffee with muesli and yoghurt) and showered and shampooed my hair as well as attended to a few personal grooming tasks. While my hair dried, I began work on my Powerpoint presentation for my appearance in Scotland soon. I got stuck trying to transfer some pictures but my friend Murali came to my rescue. Staying with me on the phone, he walked me through the basic process and voila! I solved my problem and am now well into getting the presentation done. Thanks pal!
       Most of the morning passed in this fashion. I chatted with my Dad, I was contacted by my friend Bina who wanted to know if I was free to join herself and her husband for dinner that evening (was I just???) and I went through a lot of my accumulated paper to get rid of that which I did not want to keep. And when it rains, it pours. One of my relatives Joel called to tell me he had a doctor's appointment at Euston and wondered if I would be free to have lunch with him tomorrow in one of the Indian eateries on Drummond Street. Of course I was! Now that I have a handle on my movements for the next couple of days and as I prepare myself for Orientation at NYU where I shall make an appearance as well as take possession of my office keys, I feel much at ease. Llew's lovely roses are still blooming on my desk right opposite my bed and viewing them makes me feel close to home and to him.

Lunch at the London Buddhist Center:
     By lunch-time, I had cabin fever and had to get out. The weather has cooled considerably and my bedroom is now comfortable again, temperature-wise, during the day. I threw the curtains and window open, tried to ignore the street sounds--mainly occasional passing buses or trucks and juvenile drivers blasting 'house' music in their cars to show off and draw attention. It was time to get out and since I had not yet explored the London Buddhist Center that is literally at the end of the road on which I live, I decided to check it out. Accordingly, I made myself a tongue sandwich, packed up a couple of cookies and carried my lunch with me. I thought that if I found a quiet spot in the center, I could eat my lunch with company around rather than alone in my garden--it is pleasant enough now during the day to sit outside in the garden although I am not a fan of sitting in the sun and would definitely prefer some shade. I did hop on a bus for two stops , got off at the corner and walked to the deceptively hidden entrance to the Center.
      Inside, I was in an oasis of peace, quiet and calm--exactly what you would expect from a Buddhist Center. I was welcomed warmly--my brown skin always leads people to believe I am either a Hindu or, in this case, a Buddhist. There is a red lotus on the gate, a prayer wheel, several prayer flags fluttering in the breeze in a courtyard garden filled with potted flowers and a soothing fountain. I was told to leave my shoes at the door and then allowed to wander around. I browsed through the small book shop that sells prayer beads and other tiny items in addition to books, picked up a couple of their programs for the upcoming months as well as a copy of their magazine, drifted out into their meditation room (the lunch time meditation session was just over) where walk-ins are welcome to join. I asked where the café was and was told about The Cherry Tree Café that is adjoining the Center but you need to leave it and turn left. Although it is not run by the Center, it is a vegetarian eatery with quite reasonable prices. But since I did have my own lunch with me, I returned to the Center and in the courtyard with the fountain lilting softly besides me, I read the Buddhist magazine I picked up and munched my lunch. It was a quiet, peaceful, very solitary experience that was deeply gratifying, for some odd reason.

Back Home and Off to the London Eye:
     Back home, I took a very short nap and apped my brother Roger who needed some advice from me on buying someone a gift. When I felt ready to leave (I gave myself an hour), I decided to use public transport to go on a sight-seeing tour of London--mainly of bits of it that I have not yet explored. So consulting my bus map, I found a way to get to the London Eye Booking Office (our appointed spot) and left the house. I hopped into the Tube, got off at Tower Hill, found the RV1 bus-stop tucked in a little side street and was off. I thought it would take no longer than 10 minutes to get there. On the contrary, the bus ride was one of the longest I ever took--but, as desired, it passed through areas, south of the river, that I had never seen. And boy, was I amazed by the gentrification of areas like Southwark and Bermondsey that just ten years ago were really deprived neighborhoods filled with dark antiques shops. Today, everything is hipness at its most conspicuous. There are construction site cranes at every corner filling that part of London with glass and concrete skyscrapers to rival Dubai's. There are coffee sops and wine bars replacing the traditional pub, there are blocks and blocks of spiffy new boutique apartments for yuppies who are eager to live within spitting distance of all the action --and I can understand why! I was fully amazed and quite delighted by my impromptu sightseeing expedition.

Meeting Friends at the London Eye:
     About half an hour later, the bus dropped me at the back of the National Theater--stop for those wanting to get to the London Eye. My friend Bina and her husband Navin were set to meet me there at 6.00 pm. I climbed up the steps that took me to the Embankment on the South Bank and in a few minutes, I found the Booking Office. The crowds were simply unbelievable, but I reveled in them--living the solitary life here in London makes me crave the company of people--any people, even strangers. And the Bank Holiday spirit was everywhere. Not just was this area flooded with tourists, but here were local Londoners as well enjoying the evening (it was delightfully cool and devoid of the clammy humidity that made the past few days so uncomfortable). Pavement restaurants were buzzing, cold drinks were consumed liberally, the London Eye was humming as throngs queued up to experience the thrill of seeing London several hundred feet below them.
     Soon Bina and I connected, hugged, kissed, shrieked with pleasure and walked towards Navin who was waiting a few feet away. Bina and I go back ages having been childhood friends and classmates in Bombay. They live near Harrow and thought of spending the day with a relative in London before hooking up with me for dinner. We spent one hour gabbing away on the Embankment on a bench slightly away from the milling crowds and caught up. It was such a pleasure to talk about my month in London, to tell them about my plans going forward, to hear about their own doings and the happenings in their family. Indeed, there was a lot to talk about.

Dinner at Zen China Restaurant on the Embankment:
     An hour later, when it was close to the time of our 7.00 pm reservation, we walked a few meters forward to our restaurant--Zen China, a Chinese place with an enviable location. From the table at which we were seated, I had a brilliant view of Westminster Bridge, The Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. And, as the evening darkened, the lights came on and shimmered in multiple hues upon the Thames. It could not have been a more beautiful location. As someone who never goes into restaurants when I live alone, I do miss eating out--there are only so many sandwiches you can relish alone!So, when I ordered a G&T and we ate prawn shumai and sesame toast for starters, I felt blissful. Here I was in the fond company of folks I have known for almost as long as I can remember, talking about people who are dear to all our hearts, pausing to read and select from an enticing menu and giving ourselves up to the leisure that only a long weekend can provide. In the end, we ordered Hot and Sour Soup followed by Noodles with Chicken and Sizzling Chicken with Black Bean Sauce. Everything was delicious but made more fun by the rarity of the occasions on which I meet these beloved friends.

Pictures by the Embankment and Ride Home:
     It was dark by the time we left the restaurant for we had ourselves a very unhurried meal. I started to get concerned about getting home late--I still have fears about walking alone in the dark in my neighborhood which is a good five minutes away from the Tube station. Still, we made time to take a few pictures as the London Eye was lit up a vivid red and Big Ben was superbly lit too. London By Night is a sheer delight to the senses--not just the eye but the ear as well. Traffic noises have ceased by this hour and sounds of human excitement take over. It is all about the Selfie here and dozens of people pose themselves against the iconic landmarks of an ancient and deeply historic city. On Westminster Bridge, Bina and I recalled taking a picture almost thirty years ago! Where have the years gone? We still feel as young and light-hearted as we were then.
    At Westminster Tube station, we parted: they took the Jubilee Line to Harrow and I took the District Line going eastwards. It was about 9. 45 pm when I got into the train and within seconds became aware of a delay as a person took ill on the train. We were held up for about 15 minutes while the paramedics got to the scene and lifted the patient bodily out of the compartment.  The train then went through and by the time I arrived home in was 10.30 pm--not my favorite hour to be returning from anywhere. I  hurried home, prepared for bed, brushed and flossed my teeth and went straight to bed. And so ended another nice day in London.
     Until tomorrow, cheerio...    

Monday, August 29, 2016

Mass at Brompton Oratory, Museum-Hopping and Drink with a Colleague

Sunday, August 28, 2016
London
     Unbelievable that tomorrow will make a month since I arrived in this city! But then I think of how much I have covered, how much has been accomplished and I feel as if I have been here forever. Awaking at 6.30 am, I had the time to write a blog post before having a full English brekkie, making myself a blue cheese sandwich and heading out the door.

Off to the Brompton Oratory for Mass:
    Having checked the website last night, I found out that Mass at the Catholic Brompton Oratory in Kensington was at 10.00 am. So at 9.15 am, I stepped out. Bethnal Green had stirred by this time and there were a few people going about their business on the road. I hopped into a District Line train (which has to be the slowest line on the entire Tube system as the train makes its way sluggishly through the tunnels no matter what time of day unlike the other Lines that hurtle through them). At 9. 50, I arrived at South Kensington Station and a few minutes later, after a brisk five minute walk towards Cromwell Road, I arrived at the church.

Mass at the Brompton Oratory:
     The Brompton Oratory is Catholic London's response to the Anglican St. Paul's Cathedral.  I love this church. It is a grand affair, both inside and out. Multi-domed, it has commanding Neo-Classical pillars that draw you inside to a wide, high porch and then into a gorgeous church built in the grand Italian high Baroque style with more cupolas, domes and gilded pillars, a wealth of sculptural saints, numerous side chapels and a High Altar that remains in the pre-Vatican II position, i.e. up against a wall so that a priest turns his back to the congregation as he celebrates Mass. One Easter, a few years ago, Llew and I had attended the 11.00 am service which is still in High Latin with a full choir, incense, the whole shebang! This time, there were about 200 people in the church many of whom were French Catholics  (as I could tell from their conversation at the end of Mass)--which is understandable as 'South Ken' is Little Paris (for some reason, French expatriates in London have congregated in this vicinity). Hence, their patronage of this church.
      The priest was rather uptight, I thought, for being so young. But then it is probably the solemnity of his surroundings that affect his demeanor. His sermon was very good though, I have to say. You kneel at the rails to receive Communion, so it is all very old-fashioned. Sadly, there was no music as the full choir makes an appearance at the following Mass.
    When I emerged from the church about an hour later, it was drizzling--typical English weather--fair one minute, foul the other. Luckily, the porch provided wide shelter and encouraged socializing--which was when I heard all the French around me. But in five minutes, the shower passed and I pushed on ahead with my plan for the day--which was to attend the special exhibition entitled 'Curtains Up' that will be closing shortly, at the next-door Victoria and Albert Museum--so five minutes later, in I was.

'Curtains Up' at the V and A Museum:
     As its name suggests, 'Curtains Up' is a special exhibition on show biz created to celebrate the entertainment traditions of London's West End and New York's Broadway. It is on the second floor of the museum, past one of my favorite sections in the museum--the Jewelry collection. Inside, the space is transformed into a dark theater--you are supposed to imagine that you are inside it throughout the exhibition. And it was wonderful! Through costumes, playbills, real awards (Oscar, Emmy, Tony and BAFTA), posters, photographs, letters and recordings, we were taken through the glitz and glitter of that dramatic world. I saw original costumes worn by the likes of Michael Crawford (in the original Phantom of the Opera both at the West End and on Broadway), by Elton John, by Judi Dench, Maggie Smith and Laurence Olivier. There were video snippets from some plays that you could watch, recordings to which you could listen with accompanying ear-phones, a whole cubical section reproducing the set of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, loads of props from varied shows, operas, musicals-- including The Lion King. For any aficionado of the stage or screen, this is heaven.
     I spent about an hour and a half at this special exhibit, then at 12. 30 pm, I made my way back downstairs to the lobby to await the guide for the Introductory Tour. There, since I was a few minutes early, I began chatting with an Indian couple from Northampton--he, Sachin, turned out to be a museum aficionado with memberships at many London museums, and she, Rukmini, turned out to have Plantar Fasciitis when she was visiting New York, a few years ago. She fully understood my need to find a stool that would accompany me on the tour.

An Introductory Tour of the V and A Museum:
     I have taken this tour so often over the years that I am now pretty sure I can give it myself! Still, there are always new things to see because new objects are always added to the collection--so I hoped to be introduced to something quite spectacular on this tour. About twenty people had gathered for it and we made a jolly lot as we took off. During the course of her tour, the guide Marilyn Larsen, took us to the following objects:
  1. The Raphael Cartoon Room: Every HL Tour covers this room as it is truly a treasure. Seven full-length paintings or 'cartoons' (two of which are done entirely by Raphael and five by his assistants) cover the walls of a large dimly-lit gallery. They were meant to be the models from which tapestry-weavers would create tapestries of the same size--based on the lives of St. Peter and St. Paul.  Six tapestries  are in the Vatican Museum (Llew and I had seen them when we were there, a few years ago), one is actually on the wall in this gallery, exactly opposite its mirror image in the painting. Marilyn informed us that a few years ago when Pope John Paul II had visited the Museum, the tapestries were moved from the Vatican to the V&A temporarily--it was the only time the entire set of cartoons  and tapestries were ever united and she is sure it will never happen again.
  2. Chinese Vase: This is neither old nor perfect--so visitors are encouraged to touch it to feel the imperfections.
  3. Porcelain Tea Cups by Philip Lin: I am not sure I got his name right but this is a modern Chinese-British ceramist whose tea cups feature tiny hands creating a mudra or gesture that stands for good luck. The work is so fine and so delicate that Queen Elizabeth is reputed to have given entire tea sets as diplomatic gifts to visiting dignitaries.
  4. Bodhisatva Guanyin: A massive wooden seated figure from China, once fully gilded.
  5. The Garden: She took us out into the garden at precisely the point where it started drizzling again--so in we came! There is a large sculptural pavilion in the garden right now--an installation from engineers in Stuttgart in Germany. Called the Elythra Pavillion Installation, it is reminiscent of beetles and is made entirely by robots. However, we merely looked at it and had to leave as a result of the rain--which was gone five minutes later. Like I said, typical English weather today!
  6. 'Scandal' Sculpture by Charles Sargent Jagger:  Commissioned by Henry Mond for his London home . It is meant to be placed above a fireplace in Art Nouveau style. It features a nude man and woman and supposedly caused a  scandal when it was revealed. It is accompanied by a fire basket--all made of pewter.
  7. Sculptures by Rodin and Painting of the Sculptor: We walked through the Sculpture Gallery where she pointed out two pieces by Rodin--John the Baptist Preaching and One of the male characters on the Gates of Hell. Accompanying  that section is a painting of Rodin by the English portraitist, John Lavery. Since Rodin gave many of this works to the museum, this painting represents Anglo-French artistic collaboration.
  8. Central Chandelier by Dale Chihuly: The tour ended in the main lobby with an examination of the lovely chameuse and lemon chandelier by Chihuly, my favorite glass artist of all time and a fellow-American based in Takoma, Washington, outside of Seattle. What she didn't tell us is that Chihuly chose the colors based on the Victorian window panes that were made in the same pastel colors (I had learned this from another guide on another tour). She did tell us that the dome is inspected regularly to make sure it can still bear the weight, that it is cleaned once a year when the entire lobby is kept out of bounds for a couple of days and that it is on long-term loan from Chihuly. She also said that his work is so valuable that if one of the prongs should ever fall off, the museum will manually break it to pieces to ensure that no one person can make a lot of money from it!
  9. Victorian Wedding Dress: In the Costume section (which I really do want to go back to see in detail), Marilyn took us to see a Victorian wedding dress. I learned that it was not until the wedding of Queen Victoria that brides wore white. She, being short, decided to wear a white dress at her wedding to Prince Albert--and ever since then she set the trend for bridal white. So it has nothing to do with purity or chastity or virginity. White dresses are worn just because Victoria was too small-made and thought that she would stand out better in a white dress when surrounded by all those male courtiers. Because she also worn an orange blossom wreath, brides have worn wreaths and veils since then!
  10. Tipu's Tiger: No HL tour at the V&A is ever complete without this item. It is a wooden music box in the form of a tiger leaning over a British soldier and mauling him to death. When the handle on the box is turned (now much too fragile to be used), the tiger roars and the soldier shrieks. It was said to be made for Mysore's Tipu Sultan in the last years of the 1700s just before Tipu was vanquished by the British in the Battle of Seringapatnam.  It is the most popular item in the museum--for obvious reasons.
And that, as I can remember the tour, was it. Did I see anything new? Yes, the tea cups and the wedding dress. But it is always fun to take a guided tour in a museum as I like to see if I can get any tips on how to make my tours at the Metropolitan Museum of Art any better. And, of course, there is always something new to learn and appreciate on a tour with a new guide.
     When the tour was done, I took my stool with me and went off to the Gamble Dining Room to eat my sandwich and have a cup of coffee.  While there, I was joined at my table by another single female museum visitor called Suzanne which whom I had a lovely chat. We talked about our fondness for museums, for visiting them alone (so that we can see what we like and stay as long or as little as we want) and about some venues that I can explore (and of which I have never heard) such as the William Morris Gallery on the East Side where I live.
   While I was chatting with Suzanne, I received a call from my NYU colleague Brendan wondering if we could meet for a drink. He was headed to the National Gallery to see the Painter's Paintings exhibition and I wanted to continue my tour of the National Portrait Gallery. I told him we could meet for a drink at 6.00 pm. which would work perfectly for me as I could run one more errand in Hammersmith.

On the Bus to Hammersmith for Bus Route Maps:
     So, ten minutes later, I was on a bus to Hammersmith Bus Depot because I needed to pick up bus maps for Central, East and West London. The ones I have are so well used that they are breaking apart and I need to keep some for my London file. After I obtained them from the Information Kiosk, I sat on a return bus only hopping off for half an hour at Kensington High Street to browse through the thrift stores there. And I found the DVDs of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, both Parts 1 and 2 in an Octavia shop! I was thrilled. Now my Harry Potter series of DVDs is complete and I am learning that if it is British films I want to add to my collection at home, London's thrift stores is what I should be scouring. Across the street was Geranium, a place with wonderful vintage jewelry in the window...but as it was near closing time, I did not have much of a chance to browse.
     On the Bus again to the National Portrait Gallery, I got off at Trafalgar Square and walked along. I got myself a stool and returned to Gallery 18 and for the next hour, I completed my tour of the second floor. When next I get there, I shall start the Twentieth Century. I believe it will take me roughly two sessions to go over that museum and then turn to the Tates--London and Modern.

 A Drink with an NYU Colleague:
     Meanwhile, as the hands on the clock at St. Martin's In the Field Church crept to 6.00 pm, I made my way to the entrance of the National Gallery to meet Brendan.  It was so great to see him again. He will be spending this coming academic year teaching at London--a position I once held a few years ago. We decided to go and get a beer and as we walked towards Leicester Square on an evening that was teeming with tourists enjoying the lovely coolness of a summer's evening after intermittent spells of rain, we found a pub called The Porcupine on Shaftesbury Road. In no time at all, I was nursing my Guinness and exchanging news and views with m'coll--and about 7. 30 pm, we thought it was time to depart. We walked to the Tube station together and made plans to meet next week during Orientation at NYU.

Dinner and TV and Bed:
     I reached home at 8.00 pm, had a shower, put my dinner together and sat down to watch Making a Murderer--next episode.  Thankfully, I still have some entertainment at my finger tips, due to my laptop computer. And by 10.30 pm, with a very brief conversation with Llew (as I was both sleepy and tired), I fell asleep.
     Until tomorrow, cheerio... 

Sunday, August 28, 2016

A Lonely Wedding Anniversary--Saved by Roses, Friend and Trans-Atlantic Communication

Saturday, August 27, 2016
London
     As I have already expressed, I am feeling far more lonely this time round in London than I ever did before on the many occasions I have lived alone here. It must have to do with the fact that I live in a house (not a flat) with no known neighbors in a vicinity to which I have never really warmed. This is adding to my sense of isolation. So preoccupied have I been with my general sense of unease about the neighborhood that I completely forgot it was my wedding anniversary today. Not even the fact that my Dad asked for my address and phone number two days ago, in order to call to wish me,  helped jog my memory.
     So I awoke at 6.00 am after a restless night as I am really really hot without a fan. I cannot open the windows as the street sounds keep me awake. So my bedroom is like a mini oven. The heat is making me wake up too early---but with little to do, I began blogging, followed by a bit of reading. I felt the urgent need to get away from London on a day trip--then remembered that I also want to curtail my walking. I thought about the Barnes Wetlands Center which I have never visited, but it would involve walking over vast acreage on a day when the mercury was expected to climb high. (I cannot wait for this heat wave to break.) There was perhaps Bletchley Park to which I could go--I loved the movie The Imitation Game about Alan Turing who broke the Enigma Code there plus I had watched a TV series entitled Bletchley Park about the role played by the women who were hired to write/decipher Code. But that too would involve a vast amount of trekking. It is better for me to give my feet as much rest as possible during the next few days to avoid the onset of plantar fasciitis again.

Rustling Up a Full English Brekkie At Home:
     The BnB at Dorset has given me a taste for full English brekkies and the prices at Morrisons' for sausages and bacon clinched the deal for me. I had bought eggs and the fixin's and decided to rustle one up. So into the kitchen I went and for the next half hour, I fried bacon and sausages and scrambled eggs and with the baked beans I had bought earlier, I had  myself one of them heart attacks on a plate! No tomatoes or mushrooms to soften the impact of all that protein. I debated for a second: should I/shouldn't I have some toast with it? Might as well cut the carbs, I thought. So that was it--with my decaff coffee, of course. I watched Saturday Kitchen on my laptop computer while I ate (as there is no TV here).
     Back upstairs in my room, I began working in earnest on the Powerpoint presentation that I would like to accompany my paper in Scotland. I transferred all the pictures I had taken on my I-phone at the British Library on to my email and then tried to save them on my desktop so that I could download them on to the presentation. No dice! I would need some advice on how to achieve that and my brother Roger would be the best person to help me. I was about to send him an SOS message. So you can imagine how shocked I was to get a whatsapp from my brother (at exactly that moment--mental telepathy?) wishing me for my anniversary. OMG, I thought! It is my wedding anniversary today! I completely forgot. That's what happens when you are so far away from a beloved spouse! By then clearly the US was awaking up. Within minutes, I found a response from Llew to Roger and then from Llew to me. I was, at that very minute, planning to call my Dad when Llew app-ed me to inform me that my Dad had been trying to call me but was not succeeding. He asked me to call Dad first and then we would talk.

International Anniversary Calls and VideoChats:
     So, of course, I called Dad. There was a lump in my throat at the end of our conversation for Dad, being my Dad, says things that always make me emotional. He said he had been trying to phone me by 6.30 am my time so that his call would be the first I would receive because he realized how low I would feel about being so far away from Llew on my anniversary!  And that did it! The general loneliness I have been feeling for  at least the past two weeks increased and I felt a terrible dread about being alone today. I needed to make plans with a friend for I had to do something with someone.
      A swift call to my friend Sushil clinched it. He invited me to his place for a cuppa followed by a saunter down to the National Portrait Gallery to see the winners of the BP Portrait Contest--as he had made plans to see them anyway. I had begun my own survey of the NPG the previous day--so his suggestion could not have been more apropos. There! That would do it. I would have a quick light lunch and leave in about an hour for Holborn where he lives.
      A few minutes later, Llew and I were on videochat together and he informed me that there was a delivery for me. Awww! He asked what time I would be leaving the house and when I said in  one hour, he said, OK, I must get off the call now. He had to call the place in London to ensure I was present to take delivery. I did not want him to leave the box on the porch. They had a very busy day ahead in Connecticut as Fr. Austin, the priest who married us in India, was expected at our place to spend the day as he was on a year-long Sabbatical himself in the US and Canada from Bombay. Llew needed to drive to Westchester in New York to pick him up and needed to make headway with the day--not to mention putting together a meal for our beloved guest.

 A Delivery and a Friend Save The Day:
     I descended into the kitchen again to eat lunch, then went up to get dressed and was just closing the window of my bedroom when the delivery man appeared at my gate below and said 'Hello'!  The box had arrived from Llew. Inside were two dozen red roses and a beautiful card! He had remembered and I had forgotten! Ssshhh. Don't tell him! Anyway, never have I been happier to see red roses delivered to my door. The last time this had happened was when I lived in London and received a similar delivery on Valentine's Day--my neighbor Barbara had commented on Twitter about how loved her next-door neighbor was! Or something like that! Anyway, I filled a tall beer glass with water to create a make-shift vase and took my roses and card up to my room so I would see them first thing when I awoke for the next few days.
     Five minutes later, I took the 25 bus to Holborn and arrived at Sushil's flat. There, after a fun reunion and a lovely natter, we sipped our tea (I am now carrying my own decaff tea bags and my own sweetener in my bag for no one in London has decaff tea except me) and assuaged any fear of being up at all hours of the night from the unnecessary shot of caffeine. About an hour later, Sushil and I left and took the 38 bus to Leicester Square from where we walked it out for a few minutes to the NPG.

Visiting the National Portrait Gallery with Sushil:
     Probably because it is still too hot outside, most London tourists are seeking refuge in museums and galleries. Or maybe friends and relatives of those contestants shortlisted for the prize had all descended on London to view their entries. At any rate, the gallery was packed. We were both most impressed by several of the entries although neither one of us thought the First Prize winner was any great shakes--but what do we know? After spending about 45 minutes surveying the high quality of work by amateur painters around the world, Sushil said goodbye and moved on, He had much of his plate and could not stay longer.
     I left the gallery and then got side tracked by some of the most recent work on the ground floor--portraits of Charles and Camilla and of Maggie Smith, Zaha Hadid and J.K. Rowling (an interesting three-dimensional cut-out creation) and when I had finished the entire ground floor, I went back up to the second floor to Room 11 and continued my chronological survey of the permanent collection. I went through the Stuarts and the Hanoverians and had completed Room 17 when the PA system announced the closure of the gallery at 5. 50 pm. Using a stool helped enormously in ensuring that I was not on my feet throughout.

Enjoying Trafalgar Square and a Visit to St. Martin-in-the-Fields Church:
      The sun had cooled down considerably by the time I re-emerged from the Gallery. There was a pleasant cool breeze playing and I was attracted to a busker right opposite the Gallery--a very beautiful young diminutive blonde with a lovely soulful voice who what do we know? After spending about 45 minutes surveying the high quality of work by amateur painters around the world, Sushil said goodbye and moved on, He had much of his plate and could not stay longer.
     I left the gallery and then got side tracked by some of the most recent work on the ground floor--portraits of Charles and Camilla and of Maggie Smith, Zaha Hadid and J.K. Rowling (an interesting three-dimensional cut-out creation) and when I had finished the entire ground floor, I went back up to the second floor to Room 11 and continued my chronological survey of the permanent collection. I went through the Stuarts and the Hanoverians and had completed Room 17 when the PA system announced the closure of the gallery at 5. 50 pm. Using a stool helped enormously in ensuring that I was not on my feet throughout.

Enjoying Trafalgar Square and a Visit to St. Martin-in-the-Fields Church:
      The sun had cooled down considerably by the time I re-emerged from the Gallery. There was a pleasant cool breeze playing and I was attracted to a busker right opposite the Gallery--a very beautiful young diminutive blonde with a lovely soulful voice who was singing with an accompanying guitar and a  was singing with an accompanying guitar and a then drummer (on a plain box). I found a seat and listened to two of her songs (both really lovely). Her mother who is quite obviously her manager was distributing her picture, collecting money, etc. After the performance, many folks walked up to ask her questions--I have never seen this sort of thing happen before. Clearly, she had an impact on many.
     As her performance ended and the crowd walked away, I headed into the Church of St. Martin-in-The-Fields next door. Had I remember my anniversary, I would have gone to Mass in the morning. But since it slipped my mind, I would have to do with a visit to a church. And it was in the cool interior of a very quiet and peaceful place that I gave thanks.
     Twenty minutes later, I walked out of the church and sat on the steps for a while taking in the sights of milling crowds all around the Square. It was cool by this time and since it was still so bright, I decided to take a bus and to enjoy sights of the city as I headed home instead of disappearing underground in a Tube. When a 23 arrived to take me to Liverpool Street Station from opposite Charing Cross,  I hopped in and in my favorite seat (upper deck, front and center), I was mistress of all I surveyed. At Bank, I changed into a drummer (on a plain box). I found a seat and listened to two of her songs (both really lovely). Her mother who is quite obviously her manager was distributing her picture, collecting money, etc. After the performance, many folks walked up to ask her questions--I have never seen this sort of thing happen before. Clearly, she had an impact on many.
     As her performance ended and the crowd walked away, I headed into the Church of St. Martin-in-The-Fields next door. Had I remember my anniversary, I would have gone to Mass in the morning. But since it slipped my mind, I would have to do with a visit to a church. And it was in the cool interior of a very quiet and peaceful place that I gave thanks.
     Twenty minutes later, I walked out of the church and sat on the steps for a while taking in the sights of milling crowds all around the Square. It was cool by this time and since it was still so bright, I decided to take a bus and to enjoy sights of the city as I headed home instead of disappearing underground in a Tube. When a 23 arrived to take me to Liverpool Street Station from opposite Charing Cross,  I hopped in and in my favorite seat (upper deck, front and center), I was mistress of all I surveyed. At Bank, I changed into a drummer (on a plain box). I found a seat and listened to two of her songs (both really lovely). Her mother who is quite obviously her manager was distributing her picture, collecting money, etc. After the performance, many folks walked up to ask her questions--I have never seen this sort of thing happen before. Clearly, she had an impact on many.
     As her performance ended and the crowd walked away, I headed into the Church of St. Martin-in-The-Fields next door. Had I remember my anniversary, I would have gone to Mass in the morning. But since it slipped my mind, I would have to do with a visit to a church. And it was in the cool interior of a very quiet and peaceful place that I gave thanks.
     Twenty minutes later, I walked out of the church and sat on the steps for a while taking in the sights of milling crowds all around the Square. It was cool by this time and since it was still so bright, I decided to take a bus and to enjoy sights of the city as I headed home instead of disappearing underground in a Tube. When a 23 arrived to take me to Liverpool Street Station from opposite Charing Cross,  I hopped in and in my favorite seat (upper deck, front and center), I was mistress of all I surveyed. At Bank, I changed into a drummer (on a plain box). I found a seat and listened to two of her songs (both really lovely). Her mother who is quite obviously her manager was distributing her picture, collecting money, etc. After the performance, many folks walked up to ask her questions--I have never seen this sort of thing happen before. Clearly, she had an impact on many.
     As her performance ended and the crowd walked away, I headed into the Church of St. Martin-in-The-Fields next door. Had I remember my anniversary, I would have gone to Mass in the morning. But since it slipped my mind, I would have to do with a visit to a church. And it was in the cool interior of a very quiet and peaceful place that I gave thanks.
     Twenty minutes later, I walked out of the church and sat on the steps for a while taking in the sights of milling crowds all around the Square. It was cool by this time and since it was still so bright, I decided to take a bus and to enjoy sights of the city as I headed home instead of disappearing underground in a Tube. When a 23 arrived to take me to Liverpool Street Station from opposite Charing Cross,  I hopped in and in my favorite seat (upper deck, front and center), I was mistress of all I surveyed. At Bank, I changed into a No. 8, got off at Bethnal Green, jumped into a 309 and was home by 7. 30 pm.

Celebrating an Anniversary from Afar:
     I had  a shower and had just made myself a dinner plate and was getting ready to watch Making a Murderer on Netflix when a Facetime call came from Roger. It was about tea-time in Connecticut and Fr. Austin had arrived at our place and Roger had returned from work and they were just about to get Llew to cut a cake for our wedding anniversary and wanted me to be a part of the ritual as well. So with Lalita sitting down at our piano and playing 'Congratulations' and the rest of the crowd including Fr. Austin and the children singing, and a lovely view of the cake and Llew grinning madly and me waving away from here in London, we had a trans-Atlantic  wedding anniversary celebration that warmed the cockles of my forlorn heart and made me feel so highly lifted. It was fantastic! What a lovely way to end the day of my wedding anniversary! Although so far away from Llew, we felt so connected.
    All that was left was for me to watch another episode of Making A Murderer (which is really compelling) and to go to bed at about 10. 30 pm. after checking out the Mass timings in a Catholic Church as I would like to offer up an anniversary Mass when tomorrow dawns.
     Until tomorrow, cheerio...

Saturday, August 27, 2016

An Errand in Ealing and Late Evening at National Portrait Gallery

Friday, August 26, 2016
London

     Today is the Friday of a long 'Bank Holiday' Weekend in the UK--not sure what the Bank Holiday is for...but everyone is in a jolly mood with three days ahead to veg out.
As for me, I have to admit that loneliness is beginning to hit me gradually coupled with the fact that my feet are issuing serious warning signals. I know the signs of plantar fasciitis and I dread them with all my heart. It is time to slow down and give my feet a rest. But that means, basically, staying put and at home. Not a very exciting prospect for me, to be honest, as finding things to keep me busy when I am home-bound is tough!
     Still, I awoke at 5.30 am today (for some unearthly reason) and could not get back to sleep. I decided to work on my paper and edit it as it is much too lengthy. After more than a hour, I stopped to have breakfast (muesli with yogurt and coffee) and continued working some more. I also wrote a blog post and started to think of a query letter I need to write for a potential publisher that a friend in New York has recommended to me.

Getting to Ealing:
     At 9.40 am, I stopped to get dressed as I had an errand to run in Ealing and some friends to meet. I left the house, on schedule, at 10.00 am for my 11.00 am appointment but as I was locking the door, a bus to Bethnal Green sailed past. Grrr! Since I am avoiding walking now, there was no choice but to wait for the next one which came in about 12 minutes. I took the Central Line train to Ealing and was there almost on time. I had a bit of a challenge trying to find their place but soon I was reunited with them--Greg and Cecil. I was meeting my friend Cecil after a few years, so it was great to see him again and to meet his son, Greg. They were lovely and we had a wonderful time before I left to explore Ealing Broadway.

Exploring Ealing Broadway:
      Yes, just half a block (in New York terms) from their place is Ealing 'High Street' called Broadway here--filled with every conceivable kind of restaurant, shop, fast food place, bar, etc. Around the corner, there is Marks and Sparks plus the famed Westfield Mall and hundreds of people to-in and fro-ing, making it vibrant and truly 'happening'. I entered Morrisons for the first time to see what the prices were like and got the shock of my life. Six butter croissants for 1. 20 pounds! That is 20p a croissant--how is that even possible? Soon I found that everything, simply everything is less than half of what I have been paying in Sainsburys or the Co-op--which, by the way, is the biggest rip-off. Everything is more pricey there! See? After a month, I am becoming proficient in comparison-shopping in the UK!
     As I left the store, a vendor placed a coupon for McD's in my hand--because the place is also fully surrounded by every American fast food outlet you can imagine (McDonalds, Subway, Burger King, even Five Guys!) I felt fully at home! By the way, there is also Tinseltown--my favorite burger and shake place in the UK on The Mall. I usually get a Ferroro Rocher Shake at the Tinseltown in Hampstead--so it was great to spot one here too. Naturally, I could not resist getting a Big Mac for 1.99 pounds with fries! So in I went! Yes, Into McDs!!! A place I never enter unless Llew and I are on the road, travelling by car in the US! I guess after about a month in the UK, I needed my American Fix! So I also ordered a mocha frappe to go with it--perfect on another sweltering day--and discovered that McD's in the UK does not accept credit cards that require a signature!!! Good Job I had some cash on me (I usually do not!) Anyway, I sat and wolfed down my caloric American meal and called my Dad for a chat. By the time I finished my meal and walked about with my food shopping from Morrison's, I decided to scrap the thought of wandering about M&S (anywhere where I could find air-conditioning would have been fine!) and go home instead.

An Afternoon Chez Moi:
     I was in the train in 10 minutes and home about 40 minutes later. After I put away my shopping, I went up to my boiler of a bedroom, threw the window open because I though I would suffocate--it was so hot and airless--and left it open as I thought I would continue to work. But I simply cannot manage without a fan. The heat is getting to me so vilely that I cannot sit upstairs in this house during the day. Instead, after trying to work on my paper for about an hour, I had a video chat with Chriselle in California and then I made myself a pot of tea and had it with Coffee Walnut Cake. I then went for in a badly needed shower.

An Evening at the National Portrait Gallery:
     I had to think of some place to which I could go that was air-conditioned and did not involve too much walking. And I came up with the National Portrait Gallery at Trafalgar Square--one of my favorite places in London and one that I had yet to re-visit. Fridays is also late-evening closure at the museum whose doors are kept open till 9.00 pm. Not that I wanted to stay out late or after dark as I am still hesitant to come back to this neighborhood after nightfall.
 
An Unexpected Recital in the Elizabethan Gallery:
     As soon as I entered the Gallery, I looked for their 'Events for Today' and found that a duo were performing upstairs in the Elizabethan Portrait Gallery. Without wasting any time, I took the escalator to the second floor to find that a recital between a lutanist and a tenor had just begun. I had to wait for a few minutes for the first set to end before I was able to take a seat right in front and give myself up to the music.
     It was just lovely! I realized that this sort of music would have been the 'radio' of the Tudor and Elizabethan periods--the sort of background music that would have been a constant feature at court. In so many movies and TV series, I have seen a pair of musicians seated in a corner in the antechamber of the queen and her ladies or in Banquet Halls where the king supped. The music is quiet, lilting and softly pleasing. The composers were Thomas Morley, John Dowland, Francis Pilkington and Thomas Campion mainly and they wrote music for lute and harp--again, the kind of instruments that provide a pleasing sound without being intrusive. The concert, entitled 'From Dawn to Dusk: Musicke in the Ayre' featured the Australian singer Daniel Thomson who has made London his home and lutanist Din Ghani who is not only a musician but a musicologist and a maker of lutes! Seated in the Gallery, just below the Coronation Portrait of Elizabeth I, I kept wishing they had dressed in period costume--for that would have enhanced the entire experience a thousand-fold. Still, it was simply enchanting and after an hour, when they were done, I began my exploration of the gallery.
 
Viewing Works at the National Portrait Gallery:
     I love the National portrait Gallery for many reasons: the portraits themselves, of course, first of all, are among the best in the world. Secondly, for the significance of the portraits: The Portrait of Shakespeare, for instance, is the first one that the Gallery ever acquired for its permanent collection and the curatorial notes state that it is probably the only one painted from life--now this dispels the belief that the recently-unearthed Cobbe Portrait is the only one painted from life! Go figure! Thirdly, for the amount that I learn about the sitters with every visit I make. Fourthly, because viewing these works always provides a crash refresher course for me on British history and politics. The chronological arrangement of the rooms allows me to traverse centuries of British notables and to learn about them and the artists who painted them. Finally, I love the mood lighting in the Tudor and Elizabethan Galleries--it is kept soft in order to preserve the integrity of the pigments, but it adds to the atmosphere of the era. This was a very dark time in British History and as I gaze upon the faces of women like Anne Boleyn and Mary Tudor and contrast their portraits with those of bigger worthies such as Henry VIII or Sir Thomas More or Archbishop Cranmer and even lesser ones such as Salisbury and Cecil, I keep thinking how dangerous those times were for women, how they were 'played' politically by the men, how powerless they were in battling court intrigues that dispensed with them at the drop of a hat. These portraits truly transport me into another era and fill me with a deep sense of dread.
     Even as one leaves the 1500s behind and enters more recent epochs, there is hardly a portrait of a woman. But for an occasional queen, the dominant faces are masculine: writers, musicians, politicians, architects, you name it...they were men. I got all the way to Room 10 and reached the 18th century--all those portraits of male members of the Kit Kat Club with curled wigs tumbling about their shoulders as was the fashion of the time. I looked aghast at the kings (Charles II, for instance) who fathered 14 children with different mistresses, brought his wife Catherine of Braganza untold misery and then claimed he truly cared for her!!! For far less transgressions, thankfully, today, royal marriages have broken up.
      The Gallery is also experimenting with the concept of mixing a contemporary painting of current notables with those from the past--for some contrast and to allow the viewer to compare fashion, poses, etc. For instance, in the Elizabethan Gallery, there is a huge portrait of the two current princes--William and Harry--in casual conversation with each other. It is a lovely piece of work by Nicky Phillips. Although set in Clarence House (which I visited a couple of weeks ago), their home during their growing years and dressed in formal military garb (William wears the Order of the Garter), they are laughing as they converse and both look away from the artist--so casual, so unposed, so different from the stiff portraits of their own ancestors in the same room. Overall, I had a lovely time and so absorbed was I in my own contemplation of past history and past society, that I completely lost track of the time and was startled by the announcement that the Gallery would be closing in 15 minutes!
   
Trafalgar Square by Night:
 Yikes! It was already 8.45--already dark! I finished Room 10 and then hurried out into the evening splendor of Trafalgar Square. I realized how beautiful it was as I was seeing the city at night for the first time since my arrival here. With the blue lights in the fountains of Trafalgar Square and the dome of the Colisseum where the English National Opera performs, the city was transformed into a magical place. There were crowds, simply milling crowds, all over as the warm night and the darkness contributed to keeping people where they were: tumbling down the stairs leading from the National Gallery to the Square, seated all around Edward Landseer's lions, perched on the parapets that surround the periphery of the Square, etc. This is what I love about London--the sheer love that I have for this city is reflected in the eyes and movements of all the people who have come here because they so love it too. I also love the fact that I can wander into a museum and stumble upon a truly atmospheric concert that I can enjoy for free! Where else on earth could such things happen?
     But I had no time to lose. I hurried off to Charing Cross station to take the Northern line south for one station and when I arrived at the Embankment, I hopped off, made my connection into a waiting train and got completely lost in The Evening Standard--the free paper distributed to commuters each evening (the free paper concept has never caught on in New York--probably because people there prefer to gaze at their phones!)
     It was only when I reached the Barbican that I realized I was on the wrong train! Crumbs! I jumped off, raced to the platform on the opposite side, rode it one stop further to Liverpool Street and then took the Central Line from there for one stop to Bethnal Green. In a way, it was good I had made a mistake as this allowed me to take the 309 bus home for 2 stops instead of walking alone in the dark and taxing my feet. Luckily, my bus came along in 3 minutes and I was home by 10.00 pm--the latest I have ever come home (but this time all I had to do was cross the street from the bus-top and enter my house). Since I had eaten a big lunch and a substantial tea, I decided not to eat any dinner at all and I simply prepared to go to bed.
     I do not think I punished my feet too much today but I did manage to accomplish a lot--despite the heat which I hope will abate soon.
     Until tomorrow, cheerio...   
      

Friday, August 26, 2016

Catching Up at Home--And a Bit of Overseas Banking, Food Shopping and Cooking

 

Thursday, August 25, 2016
London

We have all become so accustomed to being cyber-connected that when traveling overseas, the biggest handicap is not having access to the internet. If I leave my London home for five minutes, I come back to a string of email that needs responding. Imagine being away for three days--the backlog is overwhelming. So, punishment for the pleasure of being in Dorset, was that most of today I was chained to my laptop.
Indeed much of my day was spent writing. I had abstracts to write for the talks I will be giving in the UK at various universities. My speaking appearance at the University of Padua in Italy was confirmed today--which meant more abstracts to write for their website and more travel arrangements to consider. I caught up with my Dorset blog--three days of recording of sightseeing and English seaside cultural lifestyle (before I forget everything I did and saw). Then there was my paper to edit and a Powerpoint presentation to plan and write for my conference appearance in Edinburgh, Scotland.
Don't get me wrong: I am enjoying all of this work--it is, in fact, what I thrive on. But the heat!!! It is so stifling and so humid at the moment that I feel terribly uncomfortable as my laptop also gives off heat. I can understand that Brits have no air-conditioning in their homes--their temperate climate and (much milder) summers that our extreme ones in the USA do not necessitate it. But no fans???? I mean why ever not? Not only do they not have ceiling fans anywhere in their homes, but they do not even have upright pedestal fans either. I remember the first time I came to live in London in Holborn, my apartment was centrally air-conditioned. I rarely used it as I did not feel the need to live in an artificially created micro-climate. However, the first thing I did was go out and buy a little table fan from Argos for my bedside table--I had two of them and I used one bedside table to prop up the fan so that I could sleep at night. At the end of my life here in London, I had left the fan at the London home of my friend Loulou as I could not use it in the States (different voltage, different plug system).
Here too, in this Bethnal Green home, there is no AC and no fans. I feel as if I am in a boiler all day. And this time I am not going to buy one for just one month only to leave it behind when I return home. When I tried to open the windows in my bedroom (where I do most of my work), the sounds of the traffic below are so deafening and so distracting that I promptly closed them again. Not just traffic--I can hear everything any passer-by says! End result? I had to get out of the house in the afternoon for relief from the heat and although I was trying to give myself a full day at home to rest my over-worked feet and catch up on work, I did make two short trips outside. Both gave me the intense small pleasure of an air-conditioned atmosphere.
Would you believe I was so relieved from the heat in the Co-op (supermarket) that I wanted to linger in there? But I did! Having almost cleaned out my fridge before leaving for Dorset, I needed staples: bread, milk, cream, yoghurt, etc. I bought some chicken breast too, broccoli and onions and a bottle of Piri-Piri sauce: this is unknown to most people in America, but it is a result of Anglo-Portuguese fusion cuisine. Piri-piri, I believe, is chilli pepper in Portuguese, and Nando's, a local chain of chicken restaurants, popularized a dish called Chicken Piri-Piri. Well, having had much success with my M&S bottled tikka masala paste, I figured I'd try piri-piri this time.
Back home, I got down to the basement kitchen (surprisingly cooler than my overheated bedroom two flights above) and cooked Chicken Piri-Piri and a Broccoli side dish with cumin, fennel and chilli flakes in Balsamic vinegar. That was my food sorted for the next few days. Back upstairs, I chatted with Llew for a while, then because I simply had to get out of the heat again, I took a ride in a passing bus to Bethnal Green to do a bit of overseas banking.
Not having used the ATM machine before, it was a learning experience. The machine is programmed to give only a limited amount of money and since I am trying to limit my transactions (because Chase Bank in the US charges me a fee for each one), I was annoyed at the limit. When I consulted a banking assistant, she told me that for larger sums, I could go to the teller upstairs. But would not the teller charge me a service fee? Would I not be paying double? On this side of the Atlantic and across the pond? No, she assured me. The teller's service here were free and I would be charged the same fee in the US  regardless of the amount of my withdrawal.  Well...live and learn. I know for next time how to handle it. Needless to say, despite the irritation, the AC in the bank was a pleasure and I lingered as long as I could before I took the bus back home.

 More telephonic chatter home followed--with my Dad in Bombay and folks in Connecticut. More work on my paper which I am trying to edit down to size to fit the 20 minute time limit of the conference. I have already found too much very valuable material in the British Library and feel a compulsion to reveal it all--must try to rein myself in. Work on my paper went on for the rest of the evening. I only wound up at 7.00 pm in time for a shower that I badly needed, a very late tea break (a pot of tea and a slice of coffee-walnut cake), washing and drying my dishes below, putting my food away. Then, back upstairs, I began watching 'Making a Murderer' on Netflix (which Llew had recommended to me very highly). I was not happy to have to watch it on my tiny laptop screen, but because there is no TV here, I have no choice. But Thank God for my Netflix account. I'd be bereft of entertainment without it.
I watched the entire first episode, then broke for dinner--my Chicken Piri is delicious (no credit to me--its all in the bottled sauce!) and the broccoli was just as tasty. Rum and Raisin Ice-cream for dessert--because the weather demanded it, and then I got ready for bed.

Nothing exciting to report today. I will still be playing catch up with email tomorrow as I still have some urgent ones that need responding.
Until tomorrow, cheerio....
 

Thursday, August 25, 2016

More Dorset Discoveries--Portland and Chesil Beach


Wednesday, August 24, 2016.
Dorset:
More Dorset Discoveries--Portland and Chesil Beach
            My coach back to London was not until 2.00 pm. This left me with the entire morning to spend as fruitfully as possible. With a more relaxing rise and after packing up my backpack which I would carry with me on the bus to the next place I chose to explore, I went downstairs for brekkie—this time I was determined to have a full English one! Carol materialized and produced a large plate with soft scrambled eggs (as I like them), two rashers of bacon, a fat sausage, grilled tomatoes, grilled mushrooms and some baked beans. There was also cereal (I had muesli) and toast with butter and preserves. It was a breakfast fit for a king and since I would be eating no lunch, I made the most of it. By 8. 45, the other residents of my B and B came down to eat and the dining room got full.
     I had spent a few minutes before falling asleep last night trying to figure out where I could go in the morning and still return in time for my 2.00 pm coach departure. I found Portland Bill was best to explore in the space of time available to me. So after brekkie, I took off with my back pack and waited at the bus stop for the bus to take me to the King’s Statue.
But before I boarded any buses, I needed to find out where my National Express Coach pick-up point was. I entered a shop to ask and discovered exactly where it was—opposite the Marks and Spencer shop on the seafront. The owner there asked me where I was from and was delighted when I said I was originally from Bombay. Turns out she, Pat, owns a home in Goa and spends six months of the year there—near Mapusa in Monte de Girim (a town I know like a ghost from the past as a Goan friend of mine had studied in the famous school there). Well, she was delighted to get into conversation with me and when I requested her to hold on to my back pack as I was going sightseeing, she gladly did so. I told her I would return to pick it up at about 1.30 pm.  Now how lucky was that?
      Leaving her shop, I found the Jurrasic Coaster (open top bus this time—No. 501) waiting for me to board it at 9. 40 am with a lot of other passengers who had the same idea.
Exploring Portland and Viewing Chesil Beach:                
     Portland is a peninsular (most people call it an island) but it is joined to Weymouth by the wide expanse of Chesil Beach. Although I would not actually get the chance to walk on Chesil Beach myself, I felt like I had made a pilgrimage in honor of my favorite writer by viewing the beach that he put on the tourist map. Overall, between Hardy, Austen, Fowles, Chevalier, McEwan and Erin Kelly (who wrote Broadchurch), the area has been put firmly on the tourist map by a set of brilliant writers whose work one can read and re-read and never get bored
     The famous Portland stone of which most of London’s famous buildings are made, is quarried here in Portland which is really a small settlement made up of four or five villages each of which has its corner shop, church and ‘local’. There is also Portland Castle that we passed and Portland Museum (that details its history of sea-faring). Before it arrives at the point at which most passengers get off, it climbs to what is known as The Heights—the highest point that offers grand slam views of Portland, of Weymouth and of the long and broad sweep of Chesil Beach, one of the world’s best barrier beaches that goes on for at least 10 miles with sand at one end and large pebbles on the other.  The bus driver very obligingly stopped the bus here for five minutes and allowed us to hop off to take pictures at a point that is also dominated by a sculpture of the five Olympic rings—as Weymouth and Portland had been selected as the venues for the sailing races at the 2012 London Olympics.  
     However, Portland’s biggest attraction is Portland Bill—the furthest point on the Island that is dominated by a pretty red and white lighthouse built high on a cluster of rocks. The bus dropped us off and told us it would be back our way in an hour. Most of the passengers got off to explore the lighthouse. Guided tours are offered that last 25 minutes and cost 7 pounds. I refrained from taking one although it goes up to the very top of the building. Many moons ago, I had explored a lighthouse in Cape Comorin (or Kanyakumari, the southernmost point of the Indian peninsula). The bottom of the Portland lighthouse also contains a museum and I was quite happy to explore it—much of the history of Portland’s connection to the sea is spelled out here.
            The souvenir shop for magnets and postcards was my next port of all and there I used the facilities and, ten minutes later, I was back on the bus to Weymouth. On the top deck was a lovely couple from Perpignan, France. She was English, he was a pied noir from Algeria who settled down in France at the end of colonialism. It was great to speak French again and to chat with them about their travels. It is wonderful how solo travelers get into conversation with strangers and expand their own horizons in the process. I have been teaching the Algerian War for Independence from France but I had never met a real-life pied noir—little did I think I would meet and chat with one in Dorset!     
Arrival in Weymouth:
     Back in Weymouth, I looked for the spot where the coach to London was supposed to pick me up. Then, I nipped into M and S for a sandwich and a drink and an ice-cream to have on the coach. Ten minutes later, I picked up my backpack from Pat and took a seat to await the coach. It was very late—at least a half hour late and we were afraid we’d miss our connection in Bournemouth. Several other passengers waiting with me were also concerned—but eventually it did show up and made up time beautifully.
Journey to London:
     We (my fellow passengers to London and myself)  made our connection—but only just—and were on the coach to London when I had my 20-minute power nap before we arrived at 6. 30 pm at London’s Victoria Coach station. I took a bus for one stop to Victoria Tube station and rode the Tube home. I was really too tired to do more than take a tepid shower (as it was so hot). I wondered how I would fall asleep in the heat—there is no AC in most homes in the UK (which is understandable) but how on earth do they manage without even fans? I had cereal with yogurt for dinner and some rum and raisin ice-cream as it is hot, hot, hot. And at 10.00 pm, I fell asleep.
     Discovering Dorset had been everything I had hoped for and more. I explored so many parts of it on public transport that but for a shaky start (with Hardy’s Cottage), I did not feel handicapped without my own transport at all. It is a gentle land, punctuated by postcard villages, old stone churches, a wonderful coastline built for leisure (and of which English folk make full use) with loads of literary and cinematic connections. It is not surprising that so many tourists are now coming in search of these fictional landscapes and are eager to walk in the footsteps of so many of the people who feel like their friends.
     Having said all that, it was great to be back home, to give my feet some much-needed rest and to get down to some serious work again. Thanks for following me as an armchair traveler. It is always a pleasure having you for company on my travels.
     Until tomorrow, cheerio

     

Discovering Dorset on a Double Decker Bus--From Ludworth to Lyme Regis


Tuesday, August 23, 2016
Dorset:
Discovering Dorset on a Double Decker Bus--From Ludworth to Lyme Regis
     I really had only one single full day in Dorset and I intended to make the absolute most of it. The bus drivers had assured me, the previous day, that buses would run along the coast on schedule today—I had much to feel grateful for—without the buses I’d be nowhere!
     Being an early riser by habitude, I watched The Breakfast Show on TV (did I mention that I feel lost without a TV set at home in London?), then dressed and prepared myself for a hectic day ahead. I went down exactly at 8.00 am to make myself a Continental breakfast to take away: toast with marmalade, juice, fruit. I would have to forego the Full English breakfast (to which I had been looking forward) because I had an 8.17 bus to catch that would take me for 2 stops to the Esplanade and then an 8. 40 bus to take to Lyme Regis. I bought myself a Full Day Pass for 12 pounds (turned out the driver charged me more—it ought to have been no more than 8 pounds—like I said, I was getting used to rotten luck!). Since I reached The Esplanade early—there weren’t many people around except for dog-walkers—I got myself a lovely cappuccino on the beach and sat to watch the sun throw shimmery zigzags on the water.
     About 10 minutes later, my bus pulled up. I showed my pass to the driver and took my seat up on the top deck, right in front, as is my wont. Five minutes later, a member of the bus company got on board and took a seat next to me. I had my bus time table open and was trying to figure out my connections. I intended to stay on the bus along the Jurrasic Coast all the way to Lyme Regis (about 2 hours away) through sprawling Dorset countryside, stop on my way back at Bridport and West Bay, stay at each place for an hour, then return to Weymouth by 2.00 pm. After a quick sandwich lunch somewhere, I thought I would take another bus going in the opposite direction to Ludworth Cove to see Durdle Door. But looking hard at the time table, I discovered that there were only 2 buses a day from Weymouth to Ludworth Cove and nothing after 12 noon! Wait, what??? On the other hand, the ‘Jurrasic Coaster’ ran all day! Once again, it was only Providence that prevented me from having another rotten disappointing day. It was time to reverse my plans—it would be Ludworth Cove and Durdle Door first, followed by Lyme Regis!
     I literally ran off the bus just as it was preparing to leave! My bus to Ludworth did not leave for another half an hour. This gave me time to people-watch on The Esplanade—to watch life return to the town. Dog-walkers disappeared, early breakfasters appeared. Businesses began to set up for the day. It is a good time to note down a few things about Weymouth.
A Bit About Weymouth:
     Weymouth, a typical coastal Dorset town, was put on the tourist map in the 1700s when King George III (the ‘mad’ one) made a trip there. Ever since then, the English have flocked to this ‘seaside’ town (which is what the Brits call the beach). To commemorate this visit, there is a huge statue on The Esplanade that has given the entire area a name: King George Statue! The King is shown standing in ceremonial gear—all wigged and powdered with a stack of books by his side, wearing an ermine-lined cape and hose. The sculpture is painted in vivid colors—which gave me an idea of how the ancient Greek sculptures might have looked when freshly executed.
     Shops line the beach front—selling souvenirs (postcards, magnets—which I bought) plus every possible kind of beach paraphernalia (spades, pails, even boogie boards and dingies!). There are also tons of restaurants and very predictable ones: for the Brits have a seaside routine. It includes eating fried food (mainly fish and chips although I did also see funnel cakes) for lunch or ‘tea’ and eating a ‘cream tea’ (which, for the longest time, I used to think was tea with cream in it. Turned out the Brits never put cream in their tea—they use milk. The cream in question in a ‘cream tea’ refers to the lashings of clotted cream that are piled on to a split scone together with strawberry jam—which is what they eat with their ‘pot of tea’). They also must eat ice-cream at the beach and thousands of cones are consumed each day at the seaside. They will queue patiently for up to 15 minutes for an ice-cream cone! They find a spot on the sand, cover it with a blanket or a tent (I rarely saw deck chairs) and open their coolers filled with cold drinks and sandwiches. The beach is covered with colorful human beings for everything is brightly colored—from their swimsuits to their umbrellas to their towels. The water was filled with human bodies—because these days are exceedingly warm for them and they seem to prefer swimming to sunbathing. You apparently cannot leave Weymouth without eating fish and chips—I would be the exception. When they have turned beetroot red, they pack up and leave and resolve to return again, the next year. They have been doing this for two centuries! So, a trip to Weymouth was for me a lesson in British Cultural Studies.           
Off to Ludworth Cove:
     My bus arrived in 20 minutes’ time. I sat on the top deck with a middle-aged couple from Barcelona who had the bus time table open and were also trying to figure it out. We got into conversation and discovered that we were carrying the exact same leather bag--that I had purchased in Barcelona! Now what are the odds of that happening? We also discovered that we were both off to Ludworth—they to the Cove, me to Durdle Door. It was their intention to get off the bus at Ludworth Cove and walk along the South Dorset Coast Path for about 25 minutes to Durdle Door. Since Durdle Door was my priority, I decided to do the reverse journey—see the natural rock formation that juts out into the sea and then walk to Ludworth Cove—if I felt up to it. Having lost an hour in the morning, I was reluctant to veer too far off plan.
Getting to Durdle Door:
     It was a gorgeous day—I will say that. Dorset slumbered under perfect blue skies. But it was also a trifle too humid and when I got off the bus at what is called “Durdle Door National Park”, I had no idea what to expect. About four other people got off with me. The driver told us that there would be a return bus in exactly an hour. This would be plenty, I thought, to see the Door, take a few pictures and return to the stop.
     Well…..nothing had warned me about how challenging it is to get from the bus stop to the viewing point. You walk downhill for about 20 minutes and arrive at a kiosk that sells cool drinks and souvenirs and distributes maps of the area (they were out of stock when I asked for one). From there, you walk downhill for another 20 minutes along a well-trodden path passing by people who have seen the sight and are on their return trek. They are panting like dogs and you begin to wonder how on earth you are going to get back up again! At times the path is so steep and the gravel so loose that you risk slipping—I almost did at one time although my shoes have terrific traction.
     Anyway, after what seems like an eternity, you arrive at the coast and are rewarded by stunning seascapes. The water is an incredible blue—never have I seen such a color except in Hawai’i and at the Cote D’Azur. You see an almost perfect cove deep below you and you notice stone steps carved into the side of the hill that would get you down. People are swimming in the sea, there are sunbathers and kayakers—but you wonder where the heck is the Door. And another five minutes later, there it is.
     As I explained, Durdle Door is a natural rock formation in the shape of a door or gate—it is a perfect rock arch that extends into the sea from a rocky promontory on the coast. This entire area is known as the Jurrasic Coast because geological activity caused many shifts that resulted in interesting rock projections, well-formed bays and coves and white-faced chalk cliffs. In fact, Dorset probably has just as many white cliffs as does Dover—which have become legendary. Across the English Channel are the Channel islands—Jersey and Guernsey—but you cannot see them from this part of Dorset. People had paused to take pictures. While I am always the rare being who is usually alone at such sites, on this occasion there were three of us: another man who sounded American and a woman. We requested each other to take our pictures with the Door in the background—and that was how I got talking to the woman.
     Pictures taken, it was Been There, Done That. I saw the entrance to the Dorset Coastal Path and for a while I stood undecided. Should I walk to Ludworth Cove? Or should I pass? It was already about 11. 30 and I was keen to get a move on. It would have been lovely to see the Cove which Hardy had described as “perfect as the Mediterranean”, but there was just as glorious a cove just below me. In fact, the Dorset coast at this point is visually stunning. On a clear day—such as the one we had—you feel you can see forever, past the white cliffs that border the ocean to the distant beaches of Bournemouth.
     My decision was made. I was going back to the bus stop. I had about 20 minutes to do it—to climb that challenging hill and get past the farms and fields to the bus stop. It was easier to do in company and the single other lady with me climbed alongside me. She informed me that her friend was waiting at the top with her 14-year  old dog. She felt sure the dog would not be able to make the climb back up—so she had declined to see the sight. The lady with me had an aunt who had a painting of Durdle Door and decided to see it for herself. Hence, her solo excursion.
     Well, let’s just say, on the climb back up, I realized I could never do the Inca Trail to Machu Pichu. It will have to be the train for me! So that’s one item on my Bucket List that will remain unticked off! We soldiered on and at the top, I requested the lady’s friend (after we were introduced) to give me a ride to the bus-stop. They very graciously did so and I was spared a further climb for another twenty minutes. I shared the back seat with a dog named Yoshi who promptly left his bed to climb on to my lap and look out of the window! Good Job I love dogs so much! Five minutes later, I was dropped off to my bus stop and after receiving grateful thanks from me, they drove off. After ten minutes, my Jurrasic Coaster ambled along and in I jumped. Half an hour later, I was back at the King’s Statue ready to take my connecting bus (No. 53) to Lyme Regis.
Off to Lyme Regis:
     The bus was pretty packed this time with a lot of people getting off either en route or at Lyme Regis. Once again, my seat at the top and in the front gave me spectacular views of the county of Dorset stretching out in emerald-green gentle rolling hills and of charming stone-clad villages with little pubs, ancient red brick village halls and the like. We passed by the wide expanse of Chesil Beach (which goes on forever) and which Ian McEwan, my favorite author, made familiar in his book On Chesil Beach. We also passed the hilltop stone structure called Abbotsbury Abbey which occupies an enviable spot and offers grand coastline views. Or was it Clavel Tower?At Bridport, we drove through the main street and I got a sense of the locations used in the TV series, Broadchurch (which I had loved) although the bulk of the filming was done just another 20 minutes away in the much smaller coastal town of West Bay. I stayed on the bus past West Bay and finally arrived at Lyme Regis at about 1.45
pm. Another lady who had clambered up to the top got off one village earlier at Charmouth. She told me how much she loved sitting on the upper deck (no matter how many loads she is carrying). She also told me that she loves traveling and exploring alone. I had found a kindred spirit!
Exploring Lyme Regis:
     I was excited to be in Lyme Regis—another place that has been on my To Do List for ages. Why Lyme Regis? Well, ever since I read the book by John Fowles and then saw the film, The French Lieutenant’s Woman, where the opening scene presents this endless walk along The Cobb by the Victorian female protagonist, I have wanted to be there myself. Before Fowles, Jane Austen had set a memorable scene at Lyme Regis (a town she knew well as her family often spent their summers there) when Louisa Musgrove in her novel Persuasion tumbles down the steps when trying to be a show-off. Later on, more recently, I read Remarkable Creatures, the novel by Tracy Chevalier which introduced the world to Mary Anning, the amateur paleontologist who discovered the almost perfect skeleton of an ichthyosaur (an extinct cross between a crocodile and a dinosaur) on the beach while collecting fossils. Her original home has been converted into the Lyme Regis Philpot Museum—and I was keen to visit that. So, in many ways, this was a literary pilgrimage: a search for some of the spots in England to which I had become introduced through fiction.
Visiting the Lyme Regis Philpot Museum:
     I gave myself two hours to visit Lyme Regis and to do all the items that I wished to tick off. Rather obliging, the bus dropped me right outside the Museum which made it really easy for me to drop everything and go there first. There is a big cut-out of Mary Anning in Victorian garb welcoming visitors inside. There is a fee of 5. 50 pounds but since their credit card machine wasn’t working, they let me in for free—which was very kind of them indeed. The house has been refurbished a couple of times to make it structurally strong but the interior is exactly as it would have been in Anning’s time. It was from here that she would run to the beach each morning, hope the tide had left fossils behind, search for them with her brother and then sell them outside her house to passing visitors. Remember this is the Jurrasic Coast and there are still plenty of fossils to be had—mainly of ammonites or nautilus shell-creatures.
     The museum has plenty to offer and it is a pretty wonderful place in which you could easily spend half a day if you wished to read all the exhibits. It is beautifully curated (John Fowles was once the curator here—it is what gave rise to his other novel, The Collector and I understand that The Magus also has some connection to Lyme Regis and to this museum). He collected a lot of interesting natural objects (bird’s nests, for instance) that are on display in a special section devoted to him and his work. There is a section devoted, likewise, to Jane Austen and to Persuasion, to Mary Anning and her work and a passing reference to Tracy Chevalier (they really ought to give her more prominence as most of the people in the Museum seemed to come there because they had read her book). Lyme Regis and Dorset’s sea-faring history is also well documented at this place and I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed my visit even though it was very brief. There are walking tours of Anning’s Lyme Regis and fossil hunting tours offered on different days of the week, but since my visit was short, I could not avail of them.
Off to The Cobb and On It:
     My feet have already begun to protest from too much walking—so I am restricting my movements to the minimum and trying to take buses wherever I can. However, I could not resist walking along The Cobb—a 13th century structure that was built to keep the tidal waves from lashing the town. Over the centuries, it has been rebuilt and strengthened, but it is only when you are actually on it and walking over its uneven stones that you realize how unbalanced it is—it seems to be leaning towards the right hand side and bending into the sea. Certainly it was a mighty experience to walk on The Cobb, to wonder how Meryl Streep could possibly have strode so fast upon it with Jeremy Irons’ character following swiftly behind her, to pose and take pictures and gain a sense of what it might have been like to be a Victorian woman. I loved every second of it.
     It is also when you are on The Cobb that you realize where Louisa Musgrove tumbled in Austen’s indelible scene. Along the walk to the Cobb from the Marine Parade, I kept thinking she had fallen from there to the beach. But it was from The Cobb that she had fallen because it is built in tiers. When I tried going down those stairs myself, believe me I was terrified. There is no hand rail to guide you down, the stairs are high and steep and very narrow—so you need to walk down really gingerly. Imagine doing that in your ankle-length Regency dress with your fancy heeled leather shoes and a parasol in your hand! No wonder poor Louisa fell!!!  I had pictures of me taken at the steps and then hurried off to buy my souvenirs for I had a bus to catch in another 45 minutes and I had no idea how long it would take as the pick-up point was different from the drop-off one! 
   Lyme Regis like Weymouth had wall-to-wall human beings on the beach and the rocks and the benches and everywhere! It was simply packed to bursting. On the waterfront, the shops were doing brisk business in sales of fish and chips and ice-cream. Loads of people were frolicking in the waves. It could have been Weymouth all over again—there was so little difference.
     I walked towards Broad Street and, quite by accident, found the house (Pyne House) which is the most likely house that Austen’s family rented on their summer visits to the seaside town. Further up the road, there are more houses and one of them was inhabited by Mary Anning after she moved from her birth home. The streets are narrow and fully festooned with red, white and blue buntings (to celebrate the Olympics?) Traffic moves sluggishly in and out as there is little room for vehicles and human beings. It was so hot that if you were not in the water, you desperately looked for a small bit of shade to plop down in. It was also very humid. I simply had to get an ice-cream myself and I picked it up from a local Co-op shop.
     Ten minutes later, my bus arrived. I hopped in and later discovered I had taken the wrong one. At Bridport, I would need to change to get to West Bay. By this time, I had found out that not a lot of the scenes from Broadchurch were shot in Bridport (although the cast and crew made it their base). West Bay was where I would need to be. So when the bus arrived at Bridport (and because I had already done so much walking for the day), I stayed put at the bus station for half an hour and awaited the right bus. A quarter of an hour later, I was in West Bay and it was here that I hopped off. I gave myself one hour to find the locations and then get back on the bus to Weymouth.
Exploring West Bay:
     The tourist center in Bridport apparently distributes a large poster giving details of exact locations in West Bay where Broadchurch was shot. Since I could not get a hold of one as I could not find it, I had taken a photograph of the poster on my phone that I had found at the bus station and used it as a guide to find the spots.
     West Bay is also a seaside town—but smaller than Weymouth, Lyme Regis or Bridport. It is basically a wide marina with tons of boats and fishing craft moored about and then a wide pebbly beach. Before I crossed the beach, I passed by the tiny Methodist Church at the corner which was dressed up to function as the home of the old newsagent who was accused of the crime and who committed suicide in the show. I took some pictures there too.  Then, I crossed the sands and arrived at the iconic brown cliff that borders the ocean and where Danny Latimer’s body was found in the opening episode of Broadchurch. That was my first goal—to get there and take pictures of myself in front of the massive cliff face. When that was done (and an enormous amount of pebbly sand had lodged itself in my shoes and socklets), I hurried off the beach at the very end and made my way to the jutting pier that is lined with benches—the last scene of the show was set here with David Tennant and Olivia Coleman’s characters discussing their futures.
     Further into the town, I went past little boys fishing for crabs. I could easily recognize the modern glass-fronted building that was the police station in the series—I took a picture on those famous steps. And even further away, just in front of me, I saw the little strip of homes that are built on a lagoon and that functioned as David Tennant’s home. It is strange really to come upon these places and recognize them—as if you had actually been in those spots before. I got into conversation with a couple whom I had requested to take my picture and they told me that they were thrilled to see stars frequently during the filming as they live in the town, year-round.   
       A few minutes later, with my feet aching and my energy fast dissipating, I waited at the bus stop for the bus which was about 20 minutes’ late—when it did come, I rode it back to Weymouth and reached about 6. 30 pm. Because I am reluctant to enter restaurants alone (and simply had no stomach for takeaway), I returned on a bus for two stops to my room at the B and B and had some tea and cookies for dinner! It had been such a full and purposeful day that I was ready to crash. The heat had contributed to my fatigue so I jumped into a shower and felt deeply refreshed. Then, I sank down on my bed to watch some more TV and off I went to bed.
     Until tomorrow, cheerio...