Rochelle's Roost in London

Chaotic Last Day in London!

2012-01-23T16:30:00.003-05:00

Thursday, January 19, 2010
London

Up, Up and Away--Not:
Afraid I would miss my wake-up call, I also set my I-Phone alarm; but I needn't have worried. I tossed and turned all night and was up long before 5.00 pm, having kept my bags packed and ready. When I went down to the lobby at 5. 30 am, I found more than half of the group there already. Before long, we were piling into our coach under the watchful eye of a tour escort named Robert, and making our way to Heathrow along quiet, pre-dawn streets.

And then, at Heathrow, pandemonium ensued. Our 10.25 am Continental Airlines flights to New York City had been cancelled "for mechanical reasons" with not so much as an apology from the airline. My students who had connecting flights to Boston from NY were panic-stricken. They airline dispersed our lot of 20 students through three different flights. There were a couple of harried hours during which our fate hung in the balance. I don't want to bore with details, but suffice it to say that we were given vouchers for a meal (with a limit of five pounds--five pounds, I tell you! In which world do the folks on Continental Airlines live--in the 1970s? I mean, what can you possibly get to eat at Heathrow for five pounds!?!?!?!?)

View of Windsor Castle:
Anyway, I was placed on a flight that left at 12. 30 pm, i.e. two hours behind scheduled departure. I suppose it could have been worse. Nine students were placed on my flight and after a meal at Pret a Manger, we made a despondent lot as we boarded the flight and left the city. The redeeming factor for me was a nice view of the country as we became airborne with a truly splendid perspective on Windsor Castle for we flew directly above it. It was thrilling to see the Round Tower, St. George's Chapel and the formal gardens from the air all snuggling up to the banks of the Thames--and then, of course, just a few feet away (at least form the air) was Eton College with its beautiful red brick Tudor buildings that I so adore. Soon we were up in the clouds and I settled down to watch a few movies and do some writing on my computer. In fact, I actually finished writing one of my syllabi for the coming spring semester as well as one installment of my blog! Very productive time indeed. As for movies, I saw Contagion with Matt Damon and a really hysterically funny one called The Hangover Part I--so comic I think I shall rent Part II and see that too.

Back in the USA:
My car service was waiting for me at Newark airport in New Jersey when I arrived--Nabeel was keeping vigil over incoming flights and he drove me back to Connecticut, keeping a lively chatter along the way. Alas, I was tired and sleepy and a couple of times actually dozed off and then awoke as I was talking in my sleep. Really embarrassing! By the time I reached Southport, it was 7.00 pm local time. I made one call to let Llew know I had reached home then threw myself on my bed and went right off to sleep.

Highlights of my Travels--January 2012:
So I guess if I were to enumerate some of the best parts of my trip this time, they would be (not necessarily in any order):

1. Meeting my former student Elise after 10 years in her Kensington flat.
2. Laying eyes upon the portrait of the Kirkpatrick Children by George Chinnery at the Asia House in London.
3. The Beatles Tour in Liverpool which was superbly accompanied by a Blue Badge guide named Paul.
4. Dinner with my friend Bande Hassan at the Michelin-starred Locanda Locatelli in London.
5. Lunch with my friends Loulou and Jack at Ottolenghi's in Islington
6. Seeing Lenny Henry in Shakespeare's The Comedy of Errors at the National Theater.
7. Seeing Robert Lindsey and Joanna Lumley in The Lion in Winter at the Theater Royal Haymarket.
8. Visiting Westminster Abbey as a tourist after about 25 years.
9. Incredible home-cooked dinner at the home of my former neighbors Tim and Barbara and a chance to see friends Elizabeth and Andrew.
10. Buying my darling sterling silver teaset from the Silver Vaults.

Until I am in London next...thanks very much for following me on my travels. I hope you have had as much fun as I have had writing my accounts of my trip. Au Revoir!

Meeting Old Friends, Perusing Chinnery’s Work, Thames Dinner Cruise

2012-01-20T04:23:00.002-05:00

Wednesday, January 18, 2012:
London

Regular readers of this blog know that every day I spend in London is an adventure. But, occasionally, there come days when I truly believe as if my being in the city at a particular point in time is fated. That was exactly what I felt today.

A Sudden Significant Phone Call:
And yet, my day had begun like most others—a leisurely lie-in with Bill and Sian of BBC’s Breakfast Show for company. Then, my mobile rang—and with it, my entire sense of the day’s purpose was altered. It was my friend, Murali, a London banker and good friend, who had made contact with me, three years ago, through my blog. Quickly discovering a common passion for poetry, art, travel, London and blogging, we developed ties that have survived time and distance. Murali knew, from the resumption of my blog posts, that I was in London, and, as casually as you imagine, drew my attention to an art exhibition at a smallish institution known as the Asia House on New Cavendish Street, right off Oxford Circus. Now I must admit that I had never heard of the place, but I did indeed know George Chinnery, although I had never had the privilege of viewing his work because it goes on display so rarely. The reason I knew of Chinnery was because he created the earliest surviving portraits of Anglo-Indians way back in the 17th century and his name had cropped up frequently in the process of my research on contemporary Anglo-Indians in Great Britain. In fact, the Scottish historian, William Dalrymple, not only goes into detail when describing Chinnery’s importance to early Anglo-India in his book White Mughals, but actually provides a reproduction of his most famous portrait: that of the Kirkpatrick Children, completed in Hyderabad, India, in 1805, just before they sailed away for England, never to return. I had sent Murali an email to ascertain whether or not this particular portrait was on display—for if it was, I intended to make the viewing of it a priority—and it was in response to my query that Murali had called. The Portrait, he said, was there—indeed, it was the very centerpiece of the exhibition! That clinched it for me. Come hell or high water, I would be at Asia House and would clear my schedule, if necessary, to gaze upon this wonder. But first things first: I had a meeting with someone I would be seeing after more than ten years and I was beyond excited. So without loitering around too much in my room, I got dressed and went downstairs to The Brasserie Restaurant in the hotel’s lobby for my last full English breakfast of this stay.

A Reunion after a Decade:
A short Tube ride from Victoria saw me at Kensington High Street walking briskly towards Kensington Palace and adjoining Hyde Park. My 9.30 am appointment was with Elise, a former NYU student, who had taken two courses and had traveled to India and Nepal with me on an NYU study tour, many moons ago. When I had last heard of her, she had won the Mountbatten Scholarship (happily, I might add, on my recommendation) and had taken off for London on a kind of year-long Anglo-American cultural exchange program. That was a whole decade ago. Elise who is 32 years old today, had married an English barrister, had become the new mother was a baby boy called Thomas and had temporarily given up working to be a full-time Mum. We had recently renewed contact through mutual friends in, of all places, Jordan, following my Middle Eastern travels, last April. Elise had invited me for coffee and a catch-up to her Kensington flat, right opposite the palace gates, and it was there that I found myself ringing the doorbell only to be allowed in by her. Needless to say, we had an affectionate reunion for our admiration and affection is mutual. I met the adorable Thomas, took a few pictures with Elise and him until he disappeared for a walk in the park with Elise’s sister who was visiting from the States. With coffee brewing, we started to fill each other in on the intervening years since we had last parted and I can only say how proud and happy I am for the way things have both worked out and fallen into place for this extraordinarily brilliant and quite beautiful young woman. Indeed she seems to be leading a charmed life! Promising to stay closely in touch, I took my leave of her as our tete-a-tete came to a reluctant end when Thomas returned from his walk and needed attention. I will be seeing Elise again, I know, for having resumed contact with her, I do not intend to lose touch with her for another decade.

The Flamboyant Mr. Chinnery:
I hopped into a bus right outside Elise’s building and rode all the way to Oxford Circus where, with mounting excitement, I went in search of George Chinnery’s portrait. It was a grey day, the sky heavily overcast for the first time since our week-long visit, but at least it wasn’t raining and it was incredibly mild. I walked briskly past All Soul’s Church, Lapham, and arrived at Asia House where I made my way into the basement to feast my eyes on the sketches, water colors and oil paintings of George Chinnery in a retrospective entitled, The Flamboyant Mr. Chinnery: Paintings from India and China. The small rooms were surprisingly crowded and instantly my eye was caught by the arresting portrait of the Kirkpatricks. I experienced several surreal moments as I simply could not believe that I was looking at the real thing--the painting that I had spent so much time examining through pictures.

http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6143/5967410915_ed6488e632.jpg
I suppose I ought to say something about the significance of this painting to scholars of Anglo-India. The little boy and girl in the portrait, dressed in traditional royal Hyderabadi costume, are the children of James Achilles Kirkpatrick, one-time Resident of Hyderabad, and his Mughal (Persian) princess bride, Khari-u-nissa. Their love-story, one of the saddest and most beautiful of 17th century Indian couplings, was publicized by Dalrymple in his book. Having met at a time when the British in India were unabashed Indophiles who eagerly embraced Indian culture and proudly made it their own, Kirkpatrick fell in love with the lovely princess, asked her father for her hand in marriage, was given it (provided he converted to Islam—which he did), had two children with her--a son followed by a daughter—and knew true happiness, until his fortunes took a tumble, when he became deeply maligned by his fellow-East India Company officials, who ostracized him, ridiculed his passion for Persian Islamic culture and demoted him. A broken man, Kirkpatrick returned to England with his children (leaving his wife Khair-u-nissa behind in Hyderabad) and died soon after. In England, the children (who had been raised in royal Islamic traditions in India) were baptized as Christians, renamed William and Catherine (Kitty) Aurora Kirkpatrick and placed in the care of their uncle (who had sired a large number of Anglo-Indian progeny himself following his own stint in India) and grew up with their Anglo-Indian cousins in England. If I remember correctly, William went on to have a tragic accident in childhood which led to the amputation of his arm and Kitty (who became a dear friend of the writer Thomas Carlyle and a source of much friction between Carlyle and his wife Jane) married a cavalier officer. The painting, which was in the possession of the son of a Mr. Simon Russel, one-time Chief Justice of Calcutta, had reached his estate in Swallowfields in Berkshire to which the grown-up Kitty was once invited (with her husband) for dinner. She recognized the painting and identified the subjects in them as being herself and her brother. After Russel’s death, the painting entered Kitty’s possession and probably remained in her family for generations. Today it is owned by HSBC who are partial sponsors of the exhibition. After they left Hyderabad, Khair-u-nissa never saw her children again, although it is said that she traveled a thousand miles, later in life, to England, to pay homage by her husband’s grave. There is also the information that she carried the painting on elephant back to India (but I am not sure how she came to own it).

Given the colorful history of the painting and the subjects in it, it wasn’t surprising that I spent a great deal of time studying it as well as the rest of the work on display. Although the paintings speak beautifully for themselves (Chinnery captured the architectural impact of early British colonialism on Calcutta, Dacca, Macao and Canton in his work, evoking an age that saw a fantastic fusion of cultures in positive and negative ways), the best part of the exhibition, to my mind, was a short 4-minute DVD that juxtaposed his paintings against those of modern-day locations and personages in India and China. They showed the vast impact of change quite stunningly. This device of creating a visual contrast in viewers’ minds between the old and the new was seen also at the Dickens and London exhibit at the Museum of London which I had also enjoyed earlier during my stay. Indeed if I must name the main highlight of my stay in London this time round, it would have to be the chance opportunity to see the Kirkpatrick Children as represented by the flamboyant George Chinnery.

Off for Lunch to Ottolenghi’s with Friends:
Then it was time for me to run to my next appointment—lunch at Ottolenghi’s in Islington—to meet my English friend Loulou and her son Jack. I was keen to try out this gourmet restaurant as I had heard about it through a TV show called Barefoot in London that had featured a visit to London by the Barefoot Contessa (Ina Garten) and her husband Jeffrey. She had raved about the fresh ingredients and novel combination of ingredients at Ottolenghi which specializes in Israeli-Lebanese cuisine. Because I am not too familiar with Islington and had not spent too much time there, I braved the endless walk along Upper Street from Angel Tube station to find the restaurant. One of the funny things about London is that one never really knows after one gets off the Tube train just how far away one’s final destination really is—and in this case, the place was miles away from the Tube station and I seemed to walk forever.

Although I was mortified that I was almost half an hour late, Loulou and Jack were waiting patiently for me and before long, we’d decided to have Ottolenghi’s platter that offered a choice of two salads (from a long list) and a main (from another long list). I chose a wild rice and basmati salad with cranberries, pistachios, fresh parsley and dill, another made of roasted eggplant, roasted tomatoes, feta cheese and pine nuts, and a main that featured English fillet of beef with a dill-mustard sauce. I have to say that the food was delicious but dessert was, for me at least, the best part of the menu: I chose a lemon and mascarpone tart (from those displayed in the window) which was just the right size and satisfyingly rich and creamy. Throughout our meal, we chatted about respective family members and mutual friends and caught up on the goings-on in our lives. Jack left first and then Loulou and I sauntered for a bit along Upper Street before she nipped off to do some shopping and I hopped into the Tube again.

Finally, Shopping:
Using the bus, I arrived at Brunswick Square (with daylight fast fading) and made it straight towards Waitrose from where I intended to buy my favorite packaged soups: Ainsley Herriot’s Aromatic Thai Chicken Soup with Lemon Grass. I can eat this by the bowlful and often add rice noodles to it at home. With my bag bulging, I hopped into the Tube at Russel Square and headed to Marks and Sparks at Marble Arch to buy Llew some of his favorite underwear and a few other bits and bobs. To his good luck, they were not only available but indeed found in his size and, grabbing a couple of packs, I quickly paid my bill and headed out. By the time I emerged out on to Oxford Street, might had fallen (although it was not quite 5 pm). I hopped into the first bus headed for Victoria intending to get started with my packing and organized for our big night out on the town. But as I climbed the stairs to get to my room, I passed the Reunion Bar where I spied some of my colleagues and Ifeona, another NYU colleague and friend, who is currently posted in London. I joined them for a drink as we talked about our stay and our day and then it was time to take a shower and leave for the last official item on our agenda—the Thames Dinner Cruise.

Cruising the Thames by Moonlight:
A company called Bateaux London offer exciting upscale Thames river cruises by moonlight that are formal affairs with a strict dress code. Our students had turned themselves out beautifully and occupying most of the lower deck of the ship that originated at The Embankment Pier, we made ourselves comfortable. We could not have wished for a more beautiful night. The mildness of the temperature allowed us to step out on deck to take pictures in our formal glad rags against the stunningly illuminated river-bank buildings. A jazz band provided music as our meal was served in several courses. It was classy and it was deelish! Glasses of champagne did the rounds, starters featuring a Carpaccio of venison, mandarin oranges and watercress were consumed followed by a most memorable apple sorbet to cleanse the palate. Mains in the form of chicken with truffled potatoes and sautéed mushrooms in a superb red wine sauce then appeared before us and, finally, we moved towards ‘pudding’—marinated pears in chocolate sauce with whiskey ice-cream. It was a tremendous feast indeed.

When the band changed tempo and introduced dance music, the students stepped forward to ask the faculty members for a dance and soon we were on the floor. It was difficult to persuade more students to continue to dance as they seemed more focused on taking group pictures on the upper deck to memorialize their adventures. At 10. 30, after sailing all the way to Greenwich, the boat dropped us back to The Embankment. Because it was such a spectacular evening, my colleague Robin suggested I join him and his partner Paolo for a walk along Hungerford Bridge—and how lovely that was! But then all too soon, it was time to hop on to the Tube again and return to our hotel to finalize our packing and put ourselves into return mode as we had a very early wake-up call and a 10. 30 am flight to catch. As always, I left part of my heart in my favorite city, knowing now that I need never think that it will be my last time. For I have returned enough times to know that opportunities to visit it keep popping up for me and since I adore it so much, I never sneeze at the chance to explore it all over again.

On to tomorrow now—our final morning in the city before we are, in the words of Simon and Garfunkel, homeward bound. More tomorrow...

Lovely Lovely Liverpool!

2012-01-17T18:46:00.002-05:00

Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Liverpool

Off to the North by coach:
We do not use the word 'coach' in America except in the Wells Fargo context--so I had to make a conscious effort not to say 'bus' when trying to shepherd my students on to the vehicle that arrived outside our hotel long before dawn broke. Leaving for Liverpool at 5. 30 am meant totting along a bagged brekkie (thoughtfully provided by The Grosvenor Hotel) and attempting to make up for lost zzzzs by dozing on it. It was well after 8 am when dawn did finally break over a cold and frosty landscape; but by then we were well and truly on our way.

We made one pit stop for a much-needed coffee at a Road Chef and then were on the highway again, arriving in Liverpool a little before noon. Skies had been overcast throughout our journey. At Albert Dock, we met Paul, our Blue Badge guide, who turned out to be the best I have ever known in all the conducted tours I have taken in the United Kingdom. He speedily divided our group into two lots, recommended that one follow him on a walking tour around the waterfront while the other head into the Merseyside Maritime Museum to view the Titanic exhibition on the first floor. Being in the first group, I was treated to his tour first and must say that it set the tone beautifully for the rest of the day which was prominently Titanic-oriented. Indeed, I commend Paul for the ease with which he launched, at short notice, into a 'Titanic Tour' aimed primarily at the course which I am teaching--The 100th Anniversary of the Sinking of the Titanic and the First Era of Globalization.

Our walk took in the main buildings on the waterfront--The Three Graces, as they are known: The Liverpool Port Building, the Cunard Building and the Royal Liver Building which is crowned by the distinctive 'Liver Birds' which have given the city its logo. After listening to Paul's detailed lecture on Liverpool's rich maritime history, we walked across the main road to the Albion House Building, international headquarters of the White Star Line which had owned the ill-fated vessel. Nicknamed the 'streaky bacon' building for its horizontal red and white stripes (comprising red brick and white Portland stone), it remained locked in the days following the ship's disappearance as harried relatives attempted to find out the fate of their loved ones--the news was delivered by the company's personnel from the third floor balconies of the building. It gave me goosebumps to recall these facts as we stood gazing at the building. Our group then wound its way to a Victorian building at 14 Castle Street which had held the offices of C.W and F. N. Black who had acted as agents for the musicians who had comprised the ship's band, every single one of whom was killed. Listening to Paul's story of the band's heroism as opposed to the shabbiness with which their relatives were treated after their deaths made my eyes swim. It was shocking and it was inhumane. We posed for a group picture against the background of Albion House and then returned to Albert Dock.

Exploring the Merseyside Maritime Museum:
On a past visit, I had managed to spend far more time in the Merseyside Maritime Museum and had taken in the excellent Slavery exhibition on its second floor. This time, however, with our focus on shipping disasters, it was the first floor that demanded our attention. Here we found deeply poignant accounts of the loss of three ships--the Lusitania, the Empress of Ireland and the Titanic. A superb working model of the ship made by Harland and Wolf in Belfast, Ireland, is on display as are various other pieces that comprise Titanic memorabilia. I watched my students take several notes and many photographs of the display cases as well as listen to audio recordings of Second Officer Litholler recall the sinking of the ship and film clips from the British Film Institute. Once again, I found my eyes swimming in the proximity of so many tangible mementos of the world's most famous shipping catastrophe.

While some of my students grabbed a sandwich, I browsed around the shop to find some posters that I can display during our colloquium on the Titanic on March 30, 2012. Indeed I was quite pleased with what I managed to unearth.

A Tour of Liverpool and Beatles' Land:
Then, it was time to pile on to the coach again and, under Paul's expert guidance, to receive insights into the commercial and cultural history of Liverpool which has seen a huge resurrection in recent times. He pointed out a number of beautiful Victorian buildings in the City Center including the splendid Neo-Classical edifice of St. George's Hall (on an earlier visit, I had occasion to see the spectacular interior with its superb Minton-tiled walls and flooring). We passed by the city's two landmark places of worship: the contemporary Roman Catholic Cathedral (handiwork of Sir Edwin Luytens, designer of New Delhi) and the Gothic Anglican one (designed by George Gilbert Scott) which is poised on a hill and dominates the skyline. On my very first visit to Liverpool, I had visited both places and wished my students could have had the same privilege--but time was of the essence and we had a lot of ground to cover.

Leaving the precincts of the city behind us, we wound our way "beneath the blue suburban skies" to Penny Lane which the Beatles have made the most popular lane in the whole wide world--a lane that lived on in their childhood memories and the lyrics of the song they penned. After we paused to take pictures besides the street sign, Paul took us to the roundabout at the end of the lane which features in the song. We saw the bank (now a Lloyd's bank) and the barber shop (Tony Slavin's) at which John Lennon and Paul McCartney got their hair cut as youngsters. Once again, I found myself breaking out in goosebumps for every bit of the tour was evocative of an era of rock and roll innocence that seems to have gone with the wind. Throughout the tour, when he wasn't playing Beatles' hits on the PA system, Paul was filling us in on the details of the lives of the two main musicians (John and Paul) who made history. Their family lives were absorbing and made more graphic by the fact that we stopped at 'Mendips', home of John Lennon and 20 Forthlin Road (it has no name), childhood home of Paul. Indeed it was in this modest terraced home that the most recognizable of the Beatles' songs were composed. Both homes are owned and managed today by the National Trust and are opened to visitors by appointment in the summer--alas, they are not manned in the winter.

Still, for me, it was a tremendous experience--and the pleasure continued at Strawberry Fields, which used to be the site of a school in whose grounds John Lennon was often brought for summer tea parties by his aunt when he was a child. The site is marked by elaborate wrought-iron scarlet gates through which we peered into the strawberry fields that lay just beyond. And a few minutes later, we were at LIPA (the Liverpool Institute for the Performing Arts) where John and Paul were once in high school together. It is nanaged by McCartney today and we were informed that the Beatle himself attends graduation commencement exercises every year and personally hands out diplomas to the school's graduates!

Afternoon Tea at the Adelphi Hotel:
Then, it was 4. 30 pm-- time for a pukka cuppa--and what more significant place than the Adelphi Hotel where I received lovely compliments from Paul. Not once, but twice did he say in his commentary how "inspired" and "creative" and "appropriate" it was that the organizers of the NYU tour had chosen to end the day in Liverpool with Afternoon Tea, Britain's quintessential meal, at the Sefton Suite which is an exact replica of the first-class smoking room on the Titanic. I, however, knew that I could not take all the credit for I had been informed by my friend Bishop Michael Colclough of London that it was in this hotel that Edwardian passengers, boarding the ocean liners from Liverpool's Docks, had spent the first couple of nights to accustom themselves gradually to their new accommodations. It was upon getting to know this that I had resolved to arrange Afternoon Tea for my students in its precincts.

The hotel, which had fallen--like many such establishments--into disuse, has been beautifully refurbished and it was in the Grand Main Lounge (rather than in the Sefton Suite) that tables were formally laid for our tea service. Under glittering chandeliers, we were seated to enjoy finger sandwiches, scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam and platters of mouthwatering cakes served with large pots of tea. While most of us from the Indian sub-continent take tea in the afternoon (a colonial hangover), this was a novel experience for most of my American students who plunged right in and enjoyed themselves immensely. When we had eaten our fill, we wandered around the hotel's public spaces, took pictures of the Sefton Suite (I have to say that I was quite disappointed by it, after all, for it was much less ostentatious than the Main Lounge) and then awaited the return of our coach to take us home.

I nipped out into the main shopping center to find myself a souvenir postcard and magnet and was able to return to the coach well in time for its departure. After one more pit stop en route, we arrived in T'Smoke at 10 pm and dove into the hotel in haste after what had been an eventful, if exhausting, day.

I spent a good couple of hours organizing and packing my suitcases for I cannot believe that our travels have almost come to an end. We have one more day and night before we return Stateside--and I am determined to make the most of every last second.

Touring the Tower,the Silver Vaults, Dickens' London & National Theater

2012-01-16T18:48:00.005-05:00

Monday, January 16, 2012
London

An Early Start for the Tower of London:
Our NYU group was initially supposed to take a ride on the London Eye--but, to our bad luck, it remains closed this week for renovation. In lieu of that treat, our local travel agents--Anglo-America--suggested the Ceremony of the Keys at the Tower of London. Never having witnessed the spectacle, I was eager to attend and persuaded my students to get a quick start, an early breakfast and to make a beeline for the Tubes. Although we tried to race ahead, it is not easy getting a group of 45 odd people into the Underground trains at peak hour. We managed to get to the Tower by the skin of our teeth to watch the pomp and pageantry associated with the ceremony.

For the uninitiated, the Tower of London, which once housed the monarch (but merely the treasures of the Crown today in the form of the famed jewels), is locked up each evening (in yet another small spectacle) and opened each morning before the public is allowed inside. The locking-up ensures that no strangers or intruders linger on the premises to endanger the collection . Today, the holder of the keys is escorted by four armed guards because some time in the hoary past, one of the traders who used to fill the Tower, was annoyed at having to close down trade at the end of the day and cuffed the Key-bearer a whack. Every since then, he is protected in this important duty. The march down the main pathway inside the Tower and back takes only a few minutes--after which we were shooed off and told to return with the rest of the public at 10 am.

A Stroll Along Tower Bridge:
With an hour to kill, my colleague Robin and I decided to climb the stairs leading to Tower Bridge and to stroll along its length. It was a gorgeous morning, if a little nippy, and we kept thinking how much we've lucked out with the weather. Glorious sunshine has been following us around all week long and I am afraid to comment on the weather lest I might jinx it. The stroll was just delightful and when we returned to the guard box near the moat, we were right in time to begin our tour. Again, unfortunately, there is a whole lot of construction going on inside the Tower--which has meant that the Yeoman Warders (also known as Beefeaters) are not able to do their normal rounds of guided tours.

Left to my own resources, I made my way first to Bloody Tower, renowned as the prison of Sir Walter Raleigh who spent nine years inside with his family and wrote his History of the World in a room while under captivity. I had not seen this room in 25 years--so it was a refreshing addition to the bits of the Tower that I usually do not miss. A first edition of Raleigh's book was proudly on display in a glass case as were the desk and chair at which he produced his masterpiece. Bloody Tower was also the site of the murder of the two young sons of Edward IV and although it has never been proven who was responsible for their deaths, fingers of blame have pointed variously at Richard III and Henry VII. A very dramatic rendition of the circumstances surrounding their deaths is available in the room in which they were allegedly smothered in their beds as they slept.

Then it was time for me to join the guided tour at 10. 30 am and in the company of a Yeoman Warder with a particularly strong Welsh accent, I was led to the Church of St. Peter Ad Vincula (St. Peter in Chains). There, the assembled throng was treated to a history of the church together with many apologies from the guide about the reasons for the abbreviated tour. I was delighted to find a memorial plaque on the wall of the chapel to Field-Marshal Chetwode who had served in India and whose daughter, Lady Penelope Chetwode (married to Poet Laureate Sir John Betjeman), I had met and made friends with long years ago while I was a teenager in Simla, in North India. I asked the guide if he would make an exception and permit me to take a picture of the plaque and he did so "with pleasure" (or so he said).

My next stop was the White Tower, the oldest part of the Tower and once London's highest structure (at four storeys) and visible for a good five miles as one approached the city. Today it is used as a receptacle for royal arms and armour and presents a wonderful opportunity to study such implements (if one is so inclined). I then made my way to yet another building that houses an exhibition on the Royal Fusiliers and then, because I know that I ought to save the best for last, I went into the building holding the famous Crown Jewels. No matter how often one gazes at them, they are still fascinating and devoid of the summer crowds that make a visit to the Tower rather challenging, it was great to have the hall to ourselves. As always, the Koh-i-noor Diamond and the Cullinan (Star of Africa) Diamond coax the loudest gasps but it is the darling 60th Diamond Jubilee crown designed and made for Queen Victoria that always steals my heart away.

A quick nip into the Crown Jewels shop saw me emerge from it with a lovely pearl necklace based on Tudor designs--at a heavily discounted price, it was indeed a bargain and made a nice souvenir of my visit.

Lunch with Barbara near Chancery Lane:
Then, I was on the 15 bus (hoping to hop into one of the old Routemasters but not succeeding) and getting off at Chancery Lane down which I walked past all the smart shops selling expensive clothing that only the lawyers that frequent the area can afford. My destination was 25 Southampton Building, where my friend and former next-door neighbor Barbara, has her office--as a patent lawyer it is only fitting that her office is located in the basement of the former London Patent Office. After I went through stringent security, Barbara gave me a tour of the building and grand it was too--the ground floor retains the look of a library (though this is only decorative today), the towering ceiling was decorated with plaster motifs, a huge clock is embedded in the center and galleries resembling the various decks of a ship surround the interior. It was just fabulous. Barbara then took me down to her little office over which her Office Bear keeps guard (for she is a collector of teddy bears).

When our tour was completed, Barbara and I made our way to High Holborn to look for a light meal and it was at a pub called The Melton Mowbray which I had passed by a gazillion times as it was in my former 'hood, that we settled down in a corner close to a fireplace to chat over beer and cider and soup for Barbara and a delicious Mushroom and Mustard Tart for me. All too soon, however, our cozy tete-a-tete had to end as Barbara had to return to work--but not before she led me into the London Silver Vaults that are concealed in the basement of the building about which few visitors know. In fact, it seems that I had to return to America to find the place!

Exploring London's Silver Vaults:
London's Silver Vaults are just that: well-secured vaults for the storage of sterling silver items that are prized for their provenance, antiquity and artistic accomplishment. I had intended to survey the merchandise only--revelling in the knowledge that such museum quality pieces were actually available for sale--at a handsome price, of course, but available nonetheless. Barbara left me to my own devices in a few moments to return to work; and less than half an hour later, I made a purchase that thrills me so much that I have absolutely no buyer's remorse although it was a rather impulsive buy. I look forward now to my solitary tea-time at home in Southport when I shall have the pleasure of serving my own tea in an antique Victorian silver teapot with matching sugar and creamer.

Off to see Dickens' London at the Museum of London:
Then, I was hopping buses again and heading to the London Wall to get to the Museum of London to see the special exhibition entitled 'Dickens' London' that celebrates the 200th anniversary of the novelist's birth. Barbara had advised me to see the 20 minute film (that is usually seen at the end of the exhibition) at the outset and I was glad I did. The museum which is free to the public, charged eight pounds for the ticket--but for my money, being able to see the original unfinished painting by Bucks (entitled Dickens' Dream), the desk and chair that he used while writing his novels at his house in Gad's Hill near Rochester, Kent (and which feature in the painting) were worth every penny of my entry fee. Several manuscripts, proofreading copies and first editions of his novels were on display as were large numbers of paintings and engravings of the various parts of London that he had frequented and loved--most of them are found within a compact two mile radius of the City and comprise places that I myself known so well and love. So, overall, I enjoyed perusing the display.

I did not want to leave the Museum of London without spending some time at the new exhibit entitled The Victorian Walk (I had seen it briefly on my last visit four months ago in August and had felt compelled then to return to spend more time in it at a later date). Needless to say, it tied in perfectly with the Dickens' exhibition I had just seen--and I loved every moment of the time I spent there as I browsed from one store front to the next created to replicate the busy streets of London in Victoria's reign--from the barber and the banker to the pharmacist and the grocer. There was even a public urinal dating from those times for the use of which people paid a penny: hence the expression "to spend a penny!"

Joining my Colleagues for Dinner at Wagamama:
With an hour to spare before I met my colleagues (Wilnelia, Robin, and Paolo and Louis) for dinner on the South Bank, I took the 100 bus to St. Paul's from where I changed to the 15 to ride along Fleet Street. I alighted at Somerset House, crossed Waterloo Bridge on foot and arrived at Wagamama which is a favorite Japanese chain of restaurants in London (alas, not yet present in the US). It was an especially pleasant walk along the river bank with the beautifully illuminated buildings throwing multi-colored reflections into the water. Before long, my colleagues joined me and we sat down to enjoy big bowlfuls of soup that swam with noodles and seafood and all manner of delicious morsels. When we had eaten our fill, we made our way to our next appointment--a theater date at the National.

Seeing Lenny Henry in The Comedy of Manners:
Having seen The Comedy of Manners at the Regent's Park Open Air Theater with my friend Cynthia less than two years ago, I would ordinarily have been reluctant to see the play again. But when I had discovered that comedian Lenny Henry would be taking the lead role, it became a no-brainer for me and I looked a ticket online without losing any time at all. I had adored Henry in Chef, a BBC TV series that I had first seen on PBS in the States. So you can imagine what a great time we had at the theater for Henry was in top form, the production was superb, the sets and set changes were simply marvelous and the audience was amazingly interactive. Shakespeare's words were articulated with humor and brilliance. It made for a fun-filled evening at the theater and I felt deeply gladdened that I had managed to get a ticket.

A Stroll over Hungerford Bridge Back Home:
Not wanting to stay up too late, we walked across Hungerford Bridge stopping frequently to take pictures of the beautifully illuminated city buildings until we reached the Embankment from where we took the Tube to get back home. It did not fail to occur to me that I had started the day strolling over an antique brigde (Tower Bridge) and was ending it by strolling over another--the far more conemporary Hungerford.

Without wasting too much time, we reached our rooms and decided to make an early night of it as we have to start before dawn tomorrow for our coach ride to Liverpool.

Braving Illness, Cruising to Greenwich, Checking out London's Food

2012-01-15T17:15:00.004-05:00

Sunday, January 15, 2012
London

For the third time in a row, my stays in London have been disrupted by a bout of illness that comes from left field and brings me to my knees--literally. After spending a sleepless night during which my body temperature waxed and waned, I awoke at dawn with a splitting headache, nausea, weakness--the works. I disregarded two hotel wake-up calls and when it felt as if I simply couldn't drag myself from my bed, I called my colleague to tell her I had no choice but to opt out of our excursion to Greenwich. Popping a pill into my mouth, I pulled the comforter around me and hoped to get back to sleep feeling even sicker with disappointment.

It was about 10. 45 when I awoke feeling much better. I jumped into the shower in the hope that water's rejuvenating effects would work their magic--and they did! I nipped down quickly to the restaurant for brekkie, then got out of the hotel and jumped on to the Tube and the DLR (Docklands Light Railway) with the idea of getting to Greenwich and linking up with my students. As it turned out, public transport worked wonders and within 40 minutes I was at in the quaint heart of Greenwich.

Exploring Greenwich:
My students, who had left the hotel at 9 am, had taken the ferry from the Embankment and in the company of Warren, our Blue Badge Guide, had a wonderfully enlightening morning. By the time I arrived in Greenwich at 12 noon, they had climbed the hill to the Royal Observatory at which point they had dispersed. My energy levels were much too low to carry me up the hill. I entered the National Maritime Museum instead (where I hooked up with my colleague Wil and her partner Louis) and made a beeline for Nelson's blood-stained coat in the dimly-lit gallery where it is proudly displayed. Because I had explored the museum before at length and in detail, I walked briskly to Christopher Wren's masterpiece--the Royal Naval College--and entered two of my favorite rooms in the entire country: The Chapel (with masterworks on the ceiling by James Stewart and on the altarpiece by Benjamin West) and the magnificent Painted Hall (considered to be the second most beautiful painted room in Europe (after Rome's Sistine Chapel)--the handiwork of James Thornhill who also painted the interior of the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral. I spent an enormous amount of time in these rooms in order to study their decorative details at length. Outside, with the sun pouring down upon Greenwich's green expansive lawns and statuary, I took dozens of pictures.

I next went to The Museum attached to the Tourist Information Hall to ponder over exhibits that comprise 'Discover Greenwich'. And indeed I did. What I love most about being a perpetual student of history is that there is always yet another new fact I learn no matter how often I revisit historic haunts. I did not know, for instance, that a royal palace called Placentia had once stood on Wren's site: Henry VIII loved it, his daughters Mary and Elizabeth were born in it. When Inigo Jones built the Queen's Palace for Queen Charlotte, he was only adding to a number of buildings that had already seen royal occupation. Overall, I had a great time and was delighted that I had overcome my early joust with illness and had made the decision to save the day.

However, I discovered soon that I was not the only one feeling out-of-sorts. It seems that jetlag and their incessant partying has caught up with my students who were dropping with fatigue on the boat ride. A decision was, therefore, taken to terminate our visit early and instead of taking the 5 pm ferry back to the city, we boarded one at 3 pm. I made the most of my abbreviated cruise and upon disembarking at Tower Gate, we hopped into the Tube to return to Victoria.

Off to F&M for some Foodie Fun:
My next port of call was Fortnum and Mason at Piccadilly: indeed I never leave London without doing the mandatory rounds about its enticing merchandise and feeling deeply tempted to buy it all. I contented myself this time round, however, with jars of goose fat (impossible to find in the USA and perfect for roasting potatoes) and jars of Jubilee Majestic Marmalade: F&M's unique blend made especially for the Queen's Diamond Jubilee and studded with flakes of gold! Sheer decadence in a jam jar! I bought a few more bits and bobs before I decided to seek refreshment in The Parlor on the first floor. Although I was dying for a cuppa, I decided to have a sundae instead. The Parlor is famed for his Knickerbocker Glory--a sundae that comprises raspberry puree, fresh raspberries, vanilla ice-cream and whipped cream. I chose instead to eat a 'Dusty Road' Sundae composed of Chocolate, Praline and Coffee ice-cream, amaretti biscuits and caramel sauce. It just hit the spot in that it ended my hunger pangs but did not fill me up to capacity. I had a dinner engagement later in the evening and needed to save some room.
When I had finished surveying F&M's lovely selection of china, silver and crystal on the top floors and section after section of gastronomic temptation on the lower floor, I hopped several buses to get to Seymour Street near Marble Arch for my next appointment at 7 pm.

Dinner at Locanda Locatelli:
In recent months, chef Giorgio Locatelli's restaurant Locanda Locatelli, located in the Churchill Hotel on Portman Square, has been very much in the news for the acquisition of the gold standard in the restaurant business--a Michelin star. Locatelli, a Sicilian, has also written a book entitled Tastes of Sicily and is renowned for his use of the best ingredients superbly, if simply, prepared. So when Llew's former colleague and our family friend Mr. Hassan, suggested that I meet him there for dinner, I did a double take. Indeed I was well in time for our 7 pm seating and was amazed to find out that he is a regular at the place and is greeted personally by the wait staff who know him well.

For the next couple of hours, we had a leisurely 'catch up' over some of Locatelli's specialities: both of us chose Tagliatelli with Lobster, chilli and garlic oil for our Primary source. For my Secondi, I chose medium-rare venison steaks served with radichhio de Treviso and mushrooms while my friend chose the sea bass. Both dishes were very satisfying indeed and we could well see why Locatelli has built up such a sterling reputation. Unfortunately, having snacked on the excellent bread basket while sipping a glass of Prosecco, I had not saved room for dessert and coffee. Sweet somethings in the form of chocolate truffles, marzipan-filled choux puffs and marshmallows were presented with the compliments of the chef and it was with difficulty that I managed to stand up and walk off. My friend dropped me back to the Hotel Grosvenor where I decided to make a very early night of it in view of my very recent recovery.

Our travels are going swimmingly and I can only hope that they will continue to be as fulfilling as the days go by.

Shopping in the Morning, Culture at the End of Day

2012-01-14T19:47:00.004-05:00

Saturday, January 14, 2012
London

I suppose I should add a couple more items to my London To-Do List--the sort of tems that make me feel as if I've never ever left: braving the Middle Eastern throngs at Harrod's post-Christmas sales, haggling for reproductions of hotel silver at Portobello Road, tucking into a steak and ale pie at a historic pub (like The George, London's oldest galleried inn, now managed by The National Trust in Southwark) and, last, but certainly not the least, sitting on the edge of one's seat during a drama at the West End. We did all this and more today!

The Pleasures of a Full English Breakfast:
So, with sleep still fixing my eyelids tightly together, I managed to awake at 8 am, showered, got dressed and descended into The Brasserie which is the restaurant in our hotel, The Grosvenor, for a full English breakfast--my American students understood why it was so named when they could scarcely get out of their seats at the end of the meal. They described it as "awesome" but stuck to the known and familiar: it was only at my insistence that they tried some of the black pudding on the menu and pronounced it to be an acquired taste!

Braving Harrods' throngs:
Since they had the morning to themselves, they disappeared in order to go their separate ways after brekkie...but I took the Tube to Harrods where I'd made plans to hook up with my friend Bashir who arrived from Wembley to spend the morning with me. The crowds at Harrods were insane especially since this weekend they're offering a ten per cent discount over and above their unbelievably low prices. I made a beeline for the cosmetics and toiletries section and was pleased to walk away with Woods of Windsor lavender soaps for a song--not to mention tea cozies that were priced at a pound each! I mean how could I possibly go wrong?

On Portobello Road:
Then Bash and I took a bus to Portobello Road because it was a Saturday morning and, although a Londoner for his entire life, he had never been! I had warned him that the place offers nothing remarkable these days-those days are long gone when I had bought a superb Imari umbrella stand and a porcelain Shelley jelly mould . There was some hotel silver, but I have to say that hallmarks are so easily faked that I was reluctant to believe anything was genuine, leave alone antique! Still, we enjoyed the Notting Hill neighborhood on a really lovely morning. I was afraid we'd get nothing but grey skies throughout our stay; but although temperatures are bracing, there is golden sunshine following us persistently everywhere.

We didn't stay on Portebello Road for long: throngs were rather daunting there too. It is hard to believe that it is not really tourist season in the UK for every second voice is speaking a foreign language. We got back on the Tube to Victoria so that I could drop off my buys and pick up my opera glasses from my room: I never go to the theater in London without carrying them along.

"In Southwark at the Tabard as I lay...":
A large number of my students met us in the hotel lobby at the appointed hour of 3.00 pm to make our way on the Tube to Southwark to The George Inn for a very early supper. I was rather hungry by this point--my very filling English breakfast having been long digested through the energy required for my manic walking tour of the city. At London Bridge Tube Station, I paused to give my students a short literary history of Southwark and its associations with Chaucer, Shakespeare and Gower before we trooped into the pub to be directed to a private room with a whole lot of ambiance--thanks to exposed beams on the ceiling and stucco walls. Our three-course menu kicked off with a Tomato Soup and was followed by a Steak and Ale Pie with Roast Potatoes, really delectable Taro Root chips and Green Beans. For dessert (or more correctly, pudding), we had a choice of Chocolate Bavarois (no marks for guessing that it was what I opted for) or Apple Crumble that swam in a piping hot custard. Indeed our meal could not have been more English and we did enjoy it.

On Foot to the Monument:
Then, we were crossing Southwark Bridge on foot to get across the Thames and at Christopher Wren's Monument, I paused to give my students yet another mini account of the Great Fire of London of 1666 and Wren's role in its reconstruction. Needless to say, several felt tempted to climb the 350 odd steps to the gilded urn of flames at the top and probably will do so soon. Unfortunately, I lacked the time to take them to neighboring Pudding Lane to show them the spot where the fire is alleged to have started--but they did get the idea.

The Lion in Winter at the West End:
At Monument Underground station, we took trains to Piccadilly and then spent the rest of the evening marveling at thespians like Robert Lindsey and Joanna Lumley who took the roles of Henry II and Eleanor of Acquitaine in The Lion in Winter at the Theater Royal Haymarket. A truly witty script kept us chuckling throughout and the sets, music ( mostly Gregorian chants) and performances kept us absorbed.

I said goodbye to Bash (who had joined us for dinner and the play) right before the majority of us got back on the Tube to the hotel. Because we are still on New York time, none of us felt ready for bed--so it was not surprising that the 'chaperones' congregated at the Reunion Bar for cocktails. I had a chance to say goodbye to my colleague Mahnaz's friend Tessa who was visiting her from Florence (as she returns to Italy tomorrow) before I decided to call it a day.

Tomorrow will mean an early start as we head for a day out on the river to Greenwich. I am energized by the vivacity of this city and still rarin' to go...

Back on Terra Britannica--January 2012

2012-01-13T19:18:00.007-05:00

Friday, January 13, 2012
London

So Good To Be Back on Terra Britannica!

I guess you can say I am in London each time I transit through Heathrow airport to and from India. But to really feel as if I've returned to London, I must:

1. Ride the Tube
2. Ride the Red Buses (preferably on the upper deck)
3. Sashay down Oxford Street in the thick of tourist-shoppers
4. Tour an ancient monument
5. Return to the tearooms of one of the department stores and have a genuine English pot of tea.
6. Peruse some of my favorite canvasses at the National Gallery

So guess what? I feel I have truly returned to London because today I did all this and more--in the less than twelve hours since I landed on Terra Britannica.

But let me take you back to Southport, Connecticut, that I was almost relieved to leave behind on a wet windy afternoon. A chatty chauffeur named Nabeel from Damascus, Syria, representing the Prime Time Shuttle Limo service to the airport, arrived on the dot and dropped me to Newark airport in New Jersey in record time despite having stopped at a highway rest stop to buy me a hazelnut coffee! I was the second person from my batch of NYU students to arrive and I checked in immediately, thrilled to have been allotted a window seat. Before long, the majority of my troupe of 15 students (plus 2 faculty members) arrived. Excitement was palpable as we cleared security, boarded our aircraft and were airborne on a very light flight indeed. It didn't take me long to figure out that I could easily spread out to the three-seaters at the back of the aircraft where I could stretch out and fall asleep, post-dinner. Sarah Jessica Parker, Greg Kinnear and Pierce Brosnan kept me chuckling for a while in I Don't Know How She Does It before I popped a sleeping pill (as is my wont on overseas flights) and slipped off into oblivion for the next four hours.

Needless to say, I awoke bright-eyed and bushy-tailed just before we landed at Heathrow. Unfortunately, it was still too dark at 6. 20 am for me to pick out the landmarks of the city although we flew directly above it on our descent. Still, the O2 Millennium Dome was clear as were Tower Bridge and the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf.

I also discovered, on this flight, for the first time, that using twin styrofoam cups packed with paper towels wrung out in hot water really do work for blocked and painful ears (that I have inherited from my Dad) when dealing with aircraft landings. The Continental Airlines flight attendant was very helpful in acceding to my request (which, apparently, is frequent) and promised me that the method works. And indeed it did! Just when I thought my pain would grow unbearable, I turned a corner, as it were, and the discomfort gradually subsided until it disappeared altogether in just a few minutes. Live and Learn!

Visiting Westminster Abbey:
After we cleared immigration and claimed our baggage, we waited only 15 minutes in the lobby before the second NYU troupe arrived; and after meeting our airport rep Adam, we were on our way to the city in a double decker Westway coach with a very nice driver named John. Although we had just made a long trans-Atlantic crossing, we had to launch straight into our program of sight-seeing as check-in time at our hotel was 3 pm.

So on we went to Westminster Abbey where we were met by two Blue Badge guides, Abigail and Warren. We stuck to our two groups as we launched into a fascinating discovery of British history from the time of Edward the Confessor to the present day--guides never fail to inform visitors that the site was the venue of the internationally-televised wedding of Prince William to Kate Middleton . With an hour and a half at our disposal to take it all in, the guides did a splendid, if concise, job of pointing out the highlights of the vast space: the Coronation Chair (now minus the Stone of Scone which has been returned to Scotland where I saw it three years ago) , the heights of the nave (the highest in the land), the poppy-encircled gravestone of the Unknown Soldier, the monuments to Issac Newton and other important personalities including a host of monarchs of England and indeed Scotland (Mary, Queen of Scots, is prominent). Since I was returning to the Abbey as a tourist after almost 25 years (I have attended services in the abbey very frequently through the years), I found the entire visit most enlightening. In particular, my interest was piqued by the tombs of Elizabeth I and her half-sister Bloody Mary, the Tomb of Edward the Confessor and Henry VII and, of course, the plethora of writers in Poet's Corner.

Other interesting bits of the Abbey are the mosaic altarpiece, the beautifully carved wooden choir stalls, the octagonal Chapter House with its superb ceramic tiles (once used for meetings of Parliament), the oldest door in Britain, the oldest room in Britain (now housing a small chapel), the Abbey Museum (holding Britain's oldest altarpiece)--all dating from way back when! Being from America, we were, of course, taken to the Anglo-American chapel with its exquisite stained glass windows (where Oliver Cromwell lies buried) and a hole in the wall (now covered with a piece of glass) where a bomb came through during World War I.

Apart from the amazing interior, the abbey boasts superb cloisters and high Gothic architecture on the exterior that can hold one enthralled for hours. Group entry is from the lovely adjoining Dean's Yard. What I loved most about our visit was that we had the place almost entirely to ourselves with none of the crowds that jostle for elbow room during the busy summer months. I have to say that I was simply delighted to have had the opportunity to see this historic monument with the eyes of a studied tourist and to have done so in the company of expert guides who truly know their city was indeed a privilege.

Double Decker Bus Tour of London:
No sooner did we finish touring the Abbey than we were on the coach again winding our way around the city's main sights. In the able hands of Warren who informed me that he is a journalist and published writer of local London history, we were shown the standard sights and treated to an informative and entertaining commentary from which even I learned volumes. We alighted only once to take pictures outside St. Paul's Cathedral and then we were on our way to our hotel as jetlag had begun to catch up with several of my students, some of whom had traveled to New York from various parts of the USA to board their flights.

On to Hotel Grosvenor, Victoria:
You could not find a more centrally located hotel in London if you tried! The Grosvenor, on 'Buck's Palace' Road, is one of the Victorian 'railway hotels' that were created to house passengers for a night or two before they boarded trains from major termini in the 19th century. Most of these fell into disarray and The Grosvenor, which is one such, was completely refurbished and renovated very recently and now stands proudly, reclaiming its past glory with none of its aura faded in the slightest. If anything, it shines anew, its lobby making a striking first impression as you troop in under the light of a gigantic crystal chandelier.

We waited a while for our rooms to be ready; but throughout we had impeccable service and superb attention to detail from the staff and the representative of our tour company. Before long, we were all provided with room keys and as I made my way along the first (American second!) floor corridors (which did seem interminable), I was deeply taken by the tasteful manner in which the renovation has been conducted. My room is modern, immaculate and spacious. I was just delighted at what I saw. I unpacked swiftly and made myself at home. I imagine that most of my co-travelers made a beeline for their bed--not yours truly. No sirree, Bob. I swiftly freshened up and armed with gifts for my hosts set out for Holborn for my dinner appointment with my former next-door neighbors in my building near Chancery Lane.

A Pukka Cuppa at Marks & Sparks:
But, of course, I was much too early for dinner, so I hopped off at Oxford Street to join the usual throngs of determined shoppers. I headed first to Marks and Sparks' Food section to buy some of my particular favorites--all housed in the Frozen desserts section! Then, weighted down with my buys, I found the tearoom where I pepped myself up on a pot of Gold Blend tea and felt as if I was truly in England again! Miracles are wrought on the strength of a pukka cuppa alone!

Leonardo da Vinci at The National Gallery:
Fortified, I hopped red buses and Tube trains like a pro feeling truly as if London is my second home. Because Fridays mean late evening closing at the National Gallery, I had to take advantage...so I hopped off at Trafalgar Square (all beautifully lit for the evening) and walked to the Museum which happens to be one of my favorite places in the whole wide world. I always think that I will spend just a hour or so among my best-loved pieces but, invariably, I lose control of time and before I know it, I have spent hours, my back starts aching and my feet start protesting...but still I soldier on...so reluctant do I always feel to part company with the Old Masters.

I have to admit that I looked with envy upon those lucky ticket-holders emerging out of the special exhibiton on Leonardo da Vinci which is the most talked-about European art event this winter. Tickets are sold out with only a few given out each day for which queues form before dawn! I reached the entrance of the special exhibition and read up on the main items to be seen inside. Then, disappointed, I walked away.

Dinner Par Excellence with Old Friends in Holborn:
When I felt as if I lingering any longer would make me unfashionably late for my dinner appointment, I left the museum and found my way by bus to Holborn--passing, along the way, my former stomping grounds and revelling in the sense that I have never really left London for part of my heart continues to inhabit its compelling corners. When I jumped off the bus and made my way to my former building, my mounting nostalgic for an incredible time in my life was simply too much to take. With trembling fingers, I punched in the code number for Tim and Barbara's flat and was let into the familiar lobby that I love so well.

Then it was reunion time as, warm hugs and kisses later, I was catching up with my dear friends whose generosity is marched only by their amazing culinary prowess. Tim creates meals that beggar description but tonight's outdid all the rest. His Steak with a Brandy Cream Sauce was truly to die for--matched only by perfectly roasted potatoes and delicate grilled asparagus. Dessert was Tim's signature Brown Bread Ice-Cream--this time made more special (if indeed such a thing is possible) by the addition of ground hazelnuts and a heart of strawberry sorbet! Exquisite is simply not the word. It is not great to start one's first meal in London so stupendously, I thought, because it can only go downhill from here!

Still, apart from a gastronomic feast, the evening was remarkable for the fun company of our mutual friends, Elizabeth Miles and her husband Andrew, who had journeyed from Bristol and a lovely couple I was meeting for the first time, James and Netta. Just when I thought the meal could not possibly get any better, out came the cheese and crackers--and a nicer selection would be hard to find. And then there was more...Belgian chocolates served with coffee (or, as in my case, ginger tea). And I haven't yet mentioned our libations of which there were many: we started with glasses of champagne, moved on to wine (I drank beer), then had an outstanding glass of Australian Sauternes with dessert and enjoyed a glass of Madeira with coffee! What could possibly be more decadent? I even decided to overlook the fact that I have an allergy to wine!

It was almost 11 pm before we got up to leave. With Elizabeth and Andrew staying on for the night, I took my leave of my warm and generous friends and found my way to Chancery Lane Tube station--all of fifteen steps away! And then, before you could say Hotel Grosvenor, I was entering its doors, sorting out formalities associated with getting a wifi connection in my room ...and was on my way to writing this blog.

If today is any indication of the week that lies ahead, I am one happy camper. Londinium, here I come!

Au Revoir England!

2011-09-06T21:16:00.004-04:00

Sunday, September 4, 2011
London

Last days in a city are meant to be frenetic but I was seized by uncontrollable nervousness as the day wore on--partly because I realized that my hosts did not own a weighing scale and I was afraid I'd have overweight baggage. Cathedral bells woke me up on a weepy morning in time for a quick wash before I left for the 8 am Mass at St. Etheldreda's Church at Holborn Circus--my 'parish' whilst I had lived in London.

Regular readers of this blog will know how delighted I'd been to discover that my parish is considered the UK's oldest Catholic Church. Built in the 1200s as part of the London headquarters of the Bishop of Ely (near Cambridge), it grew into an important ecclesiastical center in the Tudor and Elizabethan periods (Henry VIII and Elizabeth I are both known to have worshipped in it). After the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1536, the church fell into disuse and the vast land surrounding it, bordering Hatton Garden, fell into the hands of the Crown. Only the chapel remained with its exquisite stained glass windows. After the Reformation, it became the first church to be restored to the Church of Rome and is, therefore, considered the country's oldest Catholic Church. Although I love attending Sunday service at Anglican churches when I am in England, it is always a pleasure for me to return to St. Etheldreda's, for old times' sake, and to revel in its marvelous history.

Today, that pleasure was enhanced by the fact that I got to meet my friend Barbara once again. I recall Sunday mornings in my Holborn flat when at precisely 8. 45 am, I'd hear the door next to mine shut gently as Barbara made her way, unfailingly, to St. Etheldreda's for the 9 am Mass. And sure enough, there she was, like clockwork, in the church at 8. 55 am. It was heartwarming to see her as well as to discover that not much has changed in two years. There was still only a sprinkling of people, Fr. Tom Deidun is still around (and said the mass), the Lector is the same lovely white lawyer with the impeccable British accent and beautiful voice and the man who sits besides her (partner? husband?) still wears his cardigan around his shoulders!

This Sunday happened to be one on which the mass liturgy has changed in the UK so a laminated leaflet was available to illuminate the way. Changes are subtle but took me back to the responses of decades ago for many phrases were familiar to me from yore. After listening to a very interesting sermon by Fr. Tom, I was glad I'd opted to attend Mass at St. E's. When Mass ended and we trooped out into Ely Place, Holborn was still asleep, having a lazy Sunday morning lie-in. Barbara invited me back home to her place for coffee and since Cynthia and Michael were headed to a later service at the Cathedral, I accepted. "But we need to get the paper first", she said, revealing her fondness for routine--for indeed, walking to Holborn Tube Station for the Sunday Times has also been an unfailing part of her Sunday morning. We stopped at Paul's Patisserie for croissants upon our return.

By the time we arrived at her flat, Tim had put out all the fixin's for a very nice Continental breakfast--our croissants, butter, preserves and honey, fruit, coffee. An exquisite bowl of plump red cherries (the only ones I ate all season) were irresistible. We chatted, we munched, we chatted some more and then it was time for me to leave--but not without discovering that they owned a weighing scale that they were willing to lend me. Deeply grateful, I put it in a bag and hauled it home to Amen Corner.

I spent the next hour and a half attempting to distribute my stuff in two bags and a carry-on. The scale proved to be very useful and soothed my troubled nerves. Aidan was very helpful in converting stone into pounds with the calculator on his I-Pad. After a quick shower and lunch of chipolata sausages and spicy tortellini that I ate with Aidan, my mini-cab (nicknamed The Afghan Hound by the Colcloughs!) arrived at my door and in the pouring rain, I bid goodbye to my kindly and very generous hosts and left.

Rain streamed down the windshield all the way to Heathrow, as Barbara put it, as if London was weeping to see me leave. My driver, a very chatty young chap called Mo, did not go along Cromwell Road as I requested because traffic, he assured me, would be bad as a result of a bike race. Instead we took the more boring Euston Road and then the West Highway. We arrived at Heathrow where I discovered that my carry-on was overweight. Good job I'd arrived early for the traffic assistant permitted me to redistribute weight in my larger bags and once that was accomplished, I sailed through to security.

Of course, I could not leave London without browsing in the duty free area--I have my favorite shops at Terminal 3 (Jo Malone, Cartier, Harrods) where I ended up buying a Plum Pudding as I usually do. That's it, I thought. Christmas well in advance sorted!

The skies over London were overcast as we took off and climbed higher. Although I had a window seat, my view was obscured by clouds and haze. I realized that I was eager to get back home to Southport and although my UK stay had been, as always, much to write home about, I was ready to leave.

Kennedy airport was chaotic, as it usually is, upon my return. In a few minutes, I reunited with Llew after three whole months and as he took the wheel upon our long drive homewards, I thought to myself, it is so good to come home again!

Until the next time when I return to my London Roost, I say Au Revoir--and thanks again for following me.

Cheers!

My Second-Last Day in London

2011-09-04T03:07:00.005-04:00

Saturday, September 4, 2011
London

With less than 48 hours left before I departed from London, I was eager to fill them in with all sorts of pleasurable solo loitering. But, having made the discovery that I had left my credit card behind at Rymans stationery in Holborn last evening, I had no choice but to hop on a bus to get there and pick it up.

Cynthia made us a typical English Fry-Up for breakfast--scrambled eggs with chipolata sausages and bacon and toast--artery-clogging and heart-attack-inducing, but oh so yummy! Then, I was at the bus-stop chatting on my mobile with Rahul, one of Chriselle's friends, when I lost my concentration and took the wrong bus. Realizing my mistake immediately, I resolved to get off at the next stop, only to find myself staring directly at the walls of the Museum of London.

Of course, then my error seemed fated because seeing the newly-installed basement of the museum had been on my To-Do List (I had just wondered when to fit it all in). The museum had just opened for the day, so I raced downstairs and spent the next half hour viewing its newest highlights--of course, the piece de resistance is the spectacular stage coach of the Lord Mayor of London. I also saw Ann Fanshaw's 18th century dress that never allowed her to go through doorways (she had to be pushed through my her footmen!), Selfridges' amazingly decorative Art Deco elevator from the 1930s, a simply superbly evoked 'Victorian Walk' that included shop front windows from the era (they most certainly deserve more time to be done justice), a pashmina from Alexander McQueen, a Vespa scooter, and several other items. But then I heard an announcement stating that a guided Highlights tour would shortly be starting and I signed up for that with a guide named Kristy who took us on a walk through the museum through which the stirring history of this city was recounted. I know that I will return again to the Museum of London when I am here in January for it definitely deserves a much more leisurely browsing.

Then on the bus I went again to Rymans, where, thankfully, my credit card was waiting for me and after producing ID, it was handed back. With the sun pouring down and warming the city (maybe a little too much), I decided to take bus rides (as I have a weekly pass that allows me to take unlimited rides all week) through the city to enjoy its weekend buzz. However, I did make a detour at Foyle's bookstore because I really cannot leave London ever without browsing through its collection.

At Cambridge Circus, I took a bus again--this time headed to Chelsea and Sloan Square for the King's Road is one of my favorite streets in which to window-shop. I always alight at the Duke of York's Square where at the weekend, vendors put up stalls to showcase and sell their artisinal foods. I made a small meal on the cheeses, spreads, deli cured meats, drinks, breads and cookies that were handed out, then continued my window-shopping. It was all great fun and I had a quiet blast. In one of the shops, I actually found a vintage pleated skirt and quickly bought it so my shopping expedition wasn't entirely in vain.

Loathe to leave Chelsea's chic precincts, I hopped on a bus and a Tube train to make my way to Holborn to have tea with my friend Sushil Velu at his flat on Theobald's Road. I was seeing Sushil after two years and we had much to talk about and catch up on. Over lovely hot tea and a very spicy Punjabi samosa, we renewed our friendship and then I was bidding him goodbye and walking quickly to Holborn Tube station for my next appointment--this one with my Elphinstone College (Bombay) classmate Michelle. After an affectionate reunion, we walked along Kingsway together, took a bus up Fleet Street to St. Paul's, settled down at Paul's Patisserie for hot chocolate and a chocolate eclair and caught up. We have known each other since we joined college as undergraduates at 16. This past year has been a particularly challenging one for both of us so we were a little tearful at the end of our chat as we talked about so much that has happened. Michelle is a lawyer who works for British Parliament and I find her company endlessly fascinating as well as unfailingly amusing. But too soon, it was time for us to move on to our next appointments--she to the Southbank for dinner with friends and I, back home to Amen Court for my last dinner with my affectionate hosts, Michael and Cynthia.

Llew got online in Southport just before we sat for dinner and was able to Skype with me and the Colclough family. The event was so fascinating to the Colcloughs that I promised to try to hook them on to Skype so that we could have video conversations when I return to Southport. I found that Cynthia had cooked a Lamb Curry with Spinach in my honor and together we sat and ate a lovely meal. Though the knowledge that I would be leaving them tomorrow tugged at my heart strings, I know that I will see them and their lovely sons, Edward and Aidan, again in January--God willing, so I cheered up. After dinner, over Black Forest Gateau, I attempted to hook them on to Skype and was glad to have met with success! What a lovely evening we had! Indeed, what a superbly productive day I'd had--a museum visit, a leisurely ramble in a favorite London quarter, a bit of retail therapy, happy reunions with friends old and new and bus rides in the city of which I never tire.

Indeed, London has been, as always, a happy interlude for me en route home from India and I am happy to have had this unexpected opportunity to enjoy my favorite city at my leisure. Thanks for following my blog once more and for accompanying me on this sojourn. I will sign off now and say goodbye and will inform you the next time I resume my rumination from my Roost in London.

Cheers for now!

A Little Bit of This and That

2011-09-02T18:45:00.002-04:00

Friday, September 2, 2011
London

When its not jetlag, it is the tolling bells of St. Paul's Cathedral right outside my window that wake me up at the crack of dawn. Not that I'm complaining. I actually quite love the sound of those bells and the centuries of history they evoke as soon as I open my eyes. It's hard to stop myself from drawing back the curtains on my heavy sash windows to feast my eyes on the dome of Old Bailey and the gilded blind-folded Goddess with her sword in my one and scales of justice in the other that tops the edifice. Ah, I think, this is London! And I sigh with pleasure all over again. It is nice to be passionate about something in life and for me London is an enduring passion.

Mass at St. Paul's:
And when I awake so early, I think a great way to start the day is with Mass at the Cathedral especially when it lies only a few steps away and Cynthia and Michael, my friends, are attending. So into one of the side chapels we trooped to listen to a small, intimate mass and to receive Communion before the celebration of the Eucharist ended. Then, before we knew it, we were trooping out again into another golden morning. Yes, the sun was out and the city was flooded not just with light but with warmth as well--warmth that continued to grow as the day progressed and then became rather oppressive in the afternoon.

Brunch in Whitechapel:
But there wasn't time to be wasted. I had a date in Whitechapel with Jack, one of my favorite young people in London. Jack is the intelligent, creative, sensitive, affectionate, adventurous son of my friends Loulou and Paul. He and I have always hit it off well and during my life in London, he was quite frequently my theater companion. Jack was keen to show off his 'place' in the East End and had invited me to partake of breakfast with him.

At about 9. 15, I got off the bus at Whitechapel Tube Station, crossed the street into the lane that houses the London Royal Hospital and found Turner Street tucked in the back. I used the heavy old knocker on the door and then, there was Jack, opening the door for me and leading me into the 1814 Georgian house. And how charming was the home! How adorable! Light streams in through the windows, all the fireplaces are working ones, nooks and niches hide tiny bathrooms, there is a steep flight of wooden stairs that leads into an attic bedroom and in the basement, exposed brick walls contrast with the spiffiness of stainless steel appliances. Outside, in the tiny garden, are herbs and perennial flowering bushes (the handiwork of his gardener mother) in beds that lead to a double-storied shed which Jack, ever the creative spirit, intends to convert into a studio someday. And somehow I know he will!

Breakfast turned out to be a feast for the eyes and the palate: Fruit and Nut Granola with Yogurt and Fresh Berries, a selection of croissants with butter, fig preserves and the most delicious honey from the wilds of the Scottish Highlands (for Jack spent a part of the summer on the Isle of Collonsay refurbishing an old family homestead with his girl-friend Jennifer--I told you he is both adventurous and creative). We munched, we sipped really good coffee, we chatted about everything under the sun including the novel Jack is currently writing. He showed me pictures of the Old Man, a finger of rock that juts out into the sky on a tiny island off the coast of Scotland which he climbed to the summit with his friend Henry. In-between, I got the Grand Tour of the house and an insight into his many pastimes and pursuits. Jack has recently started distilling fragrances from the herbs he grows in his garden and has started producing perfumes. He has promised to concoct a scent exclusively for me and to present it to me for Christmas. I cannot wait! Meanwhile, he promised to email me an account of his walkathon from London to his family home in Suffolk past some of the Home Counties' unknown old churches, flat pasture land and fields. Is it any wonder that I am enchanted by his company?

Alas, too soon it was time for me to leave him with all the luck in the world for his Masters degree in Asian Studies that he is completing from London University's School of Oriental and African Studies after which he hopes to find "a proper job". Meanwhile, I warmly wished him all the luck in the world and whispered a prayer that he might stay as sweet as he is and that all his dreams will come true.

A Muddle with Buses:
Jack escorted me back on the bus heading towards St. Paul's where Cynthia was supposed to meet me at the bus-stop so that we could proceed with our plans for the rest of the day. But as I alighted from my bus, I watched as Cynthia boarded one behind me! Just as I tried to flag her bus down, it moved away. There was nothing else to do but board the one right after it (which turned out to be a vintage Routemaster). I climbed to the top deck hoping to catch up with her at the bus stop at Trafalgar Square. But, a few yards ahead, I saw that she had alighted from her bus and was walking back! There was nothing to do for it but race downstairs, get off my bus and race behind her along Fleet Street! Well, long story short, we caught up and then boarded a bus together and rode towards Buckingham Palace which we intended to tour together. All was well that ended well!

We got off at Trafalgar, walked at leisurely pace down Mall Pall, passed Clarence House and caught the last bits of the pomp and ceremony of the Changing of the Guards before we arrived at Buckingham Palace. Sunshine poured down warmly over the city and people had peeled off their jackets. I was much too warm in my own layers.

Disappointment at the Palace:
Alas, we had arrived too late in the day. It was almost noon and all the tickets to tour the palace had been issued for the day. Although Llew and I have toured Bucks Palace, fifteen years ago, when it had first opened up to the public, I was keen to see the Sara Burton-designed wedding dress for Kate, Duchess of Cambridge and, apparently, a layer of her wedding cake, both of which are on display this year. But it was not to be, I suppose, and walking towards Grosvenor Place, we caught a bus to Hyde Park to arrive at our next destination.

A Garden in the Serpentine Gallery:
The famous Serpentine Gallery was our next port of call. My NYU colleague Ifeona with whom I'd had breakfast two days ago, had urged me to try to make it to the Hortus Conclusus, a dream garden completely enclosed by the gallery walls but open to the sky--the concept of artist Peter Zumthor who has created a living piece of art in collaboration with landscape artist and designer Piet Oudulf. The perennial garden, a long narrow strip of flower bed, provided a calming oasis in which to rest our feet after our long stroll across Hyde Park and the Albert Memorial to the venue. We took a few pictures and then set out again--Cynthia for home and me to the next item on my agenda.

A Bus Ride to Tottenham Court Road:
Tottenham Court Road that was so much in the news in connection with the looting riots looks none the worse for its recent notoriety. In fact, life is back to such normality that it is hard to believe anything so lethal happened only a few weeks earlier. As always, I enjoyed watching London lurch and falter below me as I surveyed the city and its people from my perch on the upper deck's picture windows (quite my favorite place in the world from which to people-watch). At Goodge Street in Bloomsbury, I connected with my friend Rosemary who nipped out of work to spend a hour with me over a cappuccino. It was much too hot and I opted for a long cool lemonade instead and while we sat and shot the breeze, she left me with a vintage silver-plated teapot, circus 1920s from Harrods--the perfect little London souvenir. I have visions of sipping my daily afternoon cuppa from it and thinking of my lovely English friend.

Off to Meet Former Colleagues at NYU:
Since Bedford Square was only a hop away, it was a no-brainer to look up my lovely English colleagues there and to survey our expanded new premises in the Georgian block of buildings that surround the private gardens. To my delight, several were around--Yvonne, Ruth, David, Robert, James--and were delighted to see me. Many bear hugs later, they gave me a tour of the new buildings and floors, showed me their new offices, chatted with me about new developments, plans and projects. I was pleased to meet Matt, a professor and London theater-critic, with whom I had attended opening night performances for the press and who had been such good company to me while I had lived in London. Memories of an amazing professional year came flooding back to me as I wandered through the premises and soaked in the nostalgia of those days. Although change is guaranteed to alter the layout of our London campus, I know there will always be a special welcome for me every time I pass through the city; and for that I am very grateful.

A Tour of St. Pancras Old Churchyard:
Then, at Jack's behest, I set out on my next solo adventure. He had urged me, during breakfast, to take a bus ride towards King's Cross to the churchyard of Old St. Pancras Church where gravestones proclaiming the last resting place of prominent Londoners are in evidence in the bustling heart of the city. So back on a bus I went towards King's Cross and the International Terminal for the Chunnel trains to the Continent and with some difficulty, I found the church, on a short hill, with its ornate gates and steps leading up to the main entrance. Peace and quiet prevailed over the premises until I opened the door and entered to find a film crew hard at work at the altar. Lovely funerary monuments and memorial dot the walls of the church which is striking in a rather unfussy sort of way.

Outside, my tour of the churchyard led me to the family burial vault of Sir John Soane, one of my favorite London architects and owner of one of the city's most fascinating museums, the Soane House at Holborn. Being very familiar with Soane's work (he designed the Bank of England, the Dulwich Picture Gallery, the stable blocks at Chelsea Royal Hospital and a church on Marylebon Road among other striking works), I was curious to see his own design for his family burial vault. And how simple and unostentatious it was! Yes, Neo-Classical design was plainly in evidence but with a distinctive Soane twist--a curved roof that his disciple George Gilbert Scott borrowed when designing the red telephone booths that have become iconic.

Other interesting gravestones in the cemetery belonged to William Godwin and his first wife, Mary Wollstonecraft (who was one of England earliest and best-known feminists and author of Vindication of the Rights of Women). Her daughter, who married the English poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, went on to become a renowned novelist herself and author of Frankenstein. Lovely Victorian memorials lay sprinkled around the churchyard evoking a time when life in London was calmer and quieter and although red buses trundled alongside, it was hard to believe I was in the 21st century.

The Hardy Tree:
Jack had told me to make sure I did not miss The Hardy Tree named after one of my favorite novelists, Thomas Hardy. Long before he became the celebrated author of Tess of the D'Urbervilles, Jude the Obscure, Far from the Madding Crowd, etc. Hardy was a mason and an apprentice architect. When the East Midlands Railway line was expected to pass through Old St. Pancras Church (that dates from the mid-1700s), the architectural firm for which Hardy worked was assigned the task of digging up the graves, exhuming the bodies and repositioning the gravestones elsewhere. The enviable task was delegated to Hardy who assembled the old gravestones in a circle, planted an ash tree sapling in their midst and left. Today, over a century later, the roots of the ash tree have pushed the gravestones upwards and have spread themselves among the stones that form a frilly 'skirt' all around. It is a very curious sight indeed and one worthy of a dozen photographs.

Off to Run Errands:
Leaving the old world precincts of the churchyard behind, I hopped on to a bus again and joined the throngs outside King's Cross as I headed to Holborn to buy a supply of some of my favorite pens from Rymans located in my former building. Then, I hopped on to another bus and finally headed home. Surprisingly, despite a day spent almost entirely on my feet, I wasn't the least bit tired. Instead, I showered and readied myself for my next appointment, dinner with my former neighbors Tim and Barbara. They had suggested Madison, the new rooftop restaurant on London's newest mall, One New Change.

Off for Dinner to Madison:
Tim and Barbara arrived at Amen Corner at 7. 30 pm (Barbara looking very fetching indeed in the pink kurta from India that I had presented her) and off we walked, just a few meters to One New Change. Londoners who work hard all week long seem to wait for Friday evening when they play equally hard. The restaurant was crowded, buzzing and very noisy indeed. We had 8. 00 pm reservations and knew as soon as we entered that it would severely discourage conversation. Still, we found our table, placed our order and settled down to enjoy a bottle of chilled Chablis, an excellent starter called Potted Parfait--a creamy concoction of foie gras and chicken liver served with Melba toast and redcurrant jelly and, in my case, a nice hunk of sea bass. None of us wanted pudding or coffee, so after a companionable evening spent overlooking the rooftops of London (my hosts had generously offered me a seat with a view that extended as far out as the blue-lit London Eye) and the dome of St. Paul's that seemed so close you could touch it, we made our way back home on what was an exceptionally warm English evening--clearly Summer's Last Hurrah.

It had been another lovely day for me in London punctuated by so many of the things I enjoy best in life--art, gardens, churchyards, history--but above all, the company of dearly-loved and well-cherished friends.

A Day Out in Bury St. Edmunds

2011-09-01T19:15:00.004-04:00

Thursday, September 1, 2011
Bury St. Edmunds

Having awoken at 6. 30 again, I joined Cynthia for the 8 am Mass at St. Paul's Cathedral. Michael said the Mass in one of the small chapels where a clutch of folks formed an intimate congregation. When I emerged in the full-blown light of a gorgeous sunny day, my heart sang--it was the perfect day for a day trip. Hurrying through breakfast, I took the Tube to Wembley North where I met my friend Bash who had volunteered to drive me out of town on an excursion to any venue of my choice. After much debate, Michael had suggested Bury St. Edmunds and that was where we zipped off by 10. 30 am.

Bury St. Edmunds lies in the county of Suffolk not too far from Cambridge. Although the drive took almost two hours, the time flew as we chitchatted and caught up. Entering the delightfully large market square that is dominated by a medieval tower gate on one side and an ivy-clad stone hotel on the other, we parked our car and set out to explore the beautiful town.

Mentioned frequently in the novels of Charles Dickens (especially The Pickwick Papers), 'Bury' as it is known for short, is associated with the medieval English king Saint Edmund who was martyred in 869 AD and whose remains were buried in the town --from where it derives its name. We entered the Tourist Information Office first for maps and recommendations for places to see and armed with the necessary information, crossed the street to enter the Tower Gateway into the lovely Abbey Gardens.

Strolling Through the Abbey Gardens:
It was hard to believe that it was the first of September as the gardens were in full glorious summer bloom with begonia and fuchsia providing vivid color in geometrically laid-out flower beds sprinkled among manicured lawns. Punctuated by the grey flint stone ruins of the Abbey that was destroyed during Henry VIIIs Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1534, the gardens made a popular picnic spot and scores of people enjoyed sprawling on the lawns on a day that invited one to do just that. Crossing into the churchyard with its spectacular rose gardens and perennial flower beds, we arrived at the entrance of the Cathedral and spent almost an hour exploring the interior.

Exploring the Cathedral:
Although the Cathedral dates from medieval times, the last structure that completed it--a square Gothic tower--was erected only in 2005 and is stunning for its interior paint work. The colors used to paint the ceiling are vivid and wonderful and blend superbly with the much older hammered beam ceiling that features the busts of saints. The altar of this cathedral is notable for the fact that was the assembly point for the barons who had decided to draw up a Charter of Liberties to present to King John--which became the famous Magna Carta of 1215. We encircled the Cathedral and knowing that there was much to see, then made our way into the cloisters that surround another very private garden that was used exclusively by the monks. We munched on the sandwiches I had carried on picnic benches thoughtfully provided and continued to enjoy the sun.

The Church of St. Mary:
Later, we explored the adjoining Church of St. Mary that is of similar vintage and also sports a superb hammered beam ceiling--this one ending in the busts of fabulously carved angels. This church is renowned for being the burial place of Henry VIII's favorite sister (and his youngest sibling), Mary (after whom he named the Tudor ship The Mary Rose). I read the history of her life on the plaque and the episode in HBO's The Tudors came startlingly back to me as I recalled that, at 18, she was bethrowed by Henry to the 54 year old Louis, King of France, although Henry well knew that she was in love with one of his courtiers, Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. Mary agreed to marry Louis provided that Henry would permit her to marry Charles after Louis passed away (I suppose, in that day and age, 54 was a grand old age and she did not expect him to live long). HBO's version has Mary murder Louis by suffocation (although the plaque did not say so). Henry sent Charles to bring the widowed queen back to England but en route, Charles secretly married Mary, much to Henry's anger. Both Charles and Mary were banished from the court and lived in disgrace for years (as it was unthinkable for a member of the royal family to marry without the king's consent). A few years later, Henry forgave them both, restored his relationship with them and they returned to court. However, a few years later, when Mary died, neither her brother Henry (who was busy with the coronation revelry for one of his six wives) nor her husband Charles (who was already wooing his next wife!) attended her funeral and burial in the Abbey Church. She was buried very simply under a stone slab with no mortuary sculpture or decoration of any kind--certainly as the plaque puts it, a most unseemly burial for the daughter of a king, a sister of a king, a wife of a king and a grandmother of queen (her grand-daughter was the poor ill-fated Lady Jane Grey who ruled England for exactly nine days before being beheaded together with her two young sons for no other reason than she was a threat).

Knowing how much I adore Tudor and Elizabethan history, one would not be surprized that I was particularly taken by this church and spent a long while at Mary's tomb (which occupies a nondescript corner of the altar). There is also a stained glass window that was installed by Queen Victoria who was fascinated by Mary's life--she is not to be confused with Mary Tudor, first-born daughter of Henry VIII by Katherine of Aragon (known as Bloody Mary) nor her cousin Mary, Queen of Scots.Nor was she ever cannonized and the Church of St. Mary in which she lies buried is not named after her. Overall, I found this church simply lovely for its rich associations with a particularly fascinating period in British History.

Sampling Suffolk's Oldest Brewery:
Walking further down the quaint narrow streets of the town, we arrived at the Green King brewery, one of the country's oldest. In the gift shop, we sampled two of the beers produced by the brewery--Old Country Hen and Old Golden Hen, both rather good especially on a warm day. We toured the museum displays and, although we had not arrived in time for a tour of the brewery, received a neat introduction to its working.

A Tour of the Theater Royal:
Right across the street was the Theater Royal, the oldest Regency theater (circa 1810-1820, this was built in 1819 and therefore just escapes the Georgian era) in the country. Today it is maintained by The National Trust and although it is a working theater whose new season actually begins today (September 1), we were given a tour of the exquisite interior by an assistant who proved to be a superb tour guide and had all his facts at his finger tips. The theater was recently restored at a cost of 6 million pounds and the refurbishment is evident. Seats in bright pink match the walls while a Classical painted frieze on the stage front and sides of the boxes form the only decoration. This theater has none of the Victorian grandeur of the London ones but it was charming and one of the nicest things we saw all day.

Back at the market square (where a street market is held every Wednesday and Saturday), we wended our way through the maze of narrow lanes that always comprise medieval market towns to browse in a few stores before we nipped inside The Nutshell, the country's tiniest pub. Indeed, no more than five men can occupy the place at a time and when Bash stood with his arms outstretched, he touched both sides of the pub. It is aptly named and is a tourist curiosity.Other places of note in Bury are the Mosye Hall where a Norman crypt that we entered forms a modern day gift store for a small museum that is located further inside the building.

We had done Bury justice and having spent almost five hours in the town decided to stop at the Scandinavian Tea Shop for a pot of tea and coffee walnut cake. Then, it was time to get back into the car for the long drive back to London. We got caught up for an hour in awful accident-related traffic near Wembley but we did arrive at Red Sky, a newly-opened shisha lounge at which Bash wanted me to meet two of his friends, a scholarly Bangladeshi named Mohammed and an Indian student who is college-bound soon to the University of Birmingham named Urvi. I spent a good hour with them over a chocolate milk shake and chicken kebab rolls before we got in the car again, stopping off only at Kensington to pick up tickets for an excursion to what Bash called "Bucks Palace" and then we were driving to Amen Court through Central London's theater district that was garishly illuminated.

Back at Amen Court, Bash stayed for a quick cup of coffee with Cynthia and Micahel before disappearing into the night. Cynthia and I enjoyed some herbal tea before we too called it a day. My unexpected excursion to Bury St. Edmunds turned out to be a really interesting one and I was so glad that Bash did the driving and allowed me a chance to take in its long and varied history.

Visiting My Favorite London Haunts

2011-08-31T18:04:00.008-04:00

Wednesday, August 31, 2001
London

Visiting a Colleague in Islington:
I spent a really restless night and had difficulty falling asleep until well beyond 2. 30 am. I could hear the bells of St. Paul's tolling every quarter hour throughout the night and wondered why sleep kept eluding me.

My day began at 6. 30 am when I awoke and started blogging. Then, because I'd made 9. 30 am breakfast plans to meet my NYU colleague Ifeona at her digs for the year, off I went on Bus 25 to Bus 46 to Bus 38 to Roseberry Avenue and the Metropolitan Water Board Building. The entrance and the long wide atrium leading up to the apartments has immense heft and character and makes visiting the building a repeated pleasure. When I was posted in London, my colleague Karen had occupied this apartment. The doorman let me through and, before long, Ifeona and I were munching on the croissants I had carried along and the good coffee she provided. We caught up on our individual summers and plans for the new academic year and then we set off together--she to run an errand and me along Islington High Street and Upper Street to explore a part of London which which I am not too familiar.

Antiquing at Camden Passage:
Before long, I found myself right opposite the famous Camden Passage Antiques Market and, of course, unable to resist a good rummage, off I went to browse through the bric-a-brac scattered throughout the area on make-shift carts or in little stalls. I realize that I have developed a far more discerning eye than I had once possessed for, most of the time, I find my forays into such street markets yielding no desire to buy anything. Most items are in deplorable condition or atrociously over-priced. There were loads of vintage jewelry but I find that I am now able to acquire far better desirable pieces in Connecticut than in England's antiques stalls.

On the Bus to my GP:
Then, I was leaving Islington behind me and riding the bus to Holborn to go and see my GP at the Holborn Medical Center. Not having expected to stay this extra week in London, I have run out of my medication for the replacement of my thyroid hormone. Since it is imperative that I take it daily, I had no other option than to try to get my British GP to fill in my prescription. I am delighted to say that my doctor recognized me immediately and after some companionable banter, filled himself in on my medical history since last we parted and then gladly refilled my prescription with a British equivalent. Mission Quite Easily Accomplished! It was also fun to walk along the streets that I had often frequented back in the day. Increasingly I feel that I am more at home in Central London now than I am in Bandra which seems to have changed enormously each time I visit Bombay.

Browsing in a Favorite Shop--Persephone Books:
While waiting for my prescription to be filled, I nipped across Lamb's Conduit Street to one of my favorite shops--Persephone Books. Entering this lovely little place is like taking a trip back in time to the 1930s which, in fact, is the era from which books, only by women, are published in this establishment in beautifully designed paperback editions for 10 pounds each. With their blue grey binding and distinctive end papers (based largely on vintage wallpaper and fabric designs) and accompanied by a matching bookmark, these books are as thrilling to touch and feel as they are to read and I always derive oodles of joy from browsing through the titles and the volumes.

Lunching in a Favorite Restaurant--Hare and Tortoise:
Then, after my consultation with my doctor, I popped into the dispensing pharmacy to pick up my medication and was told to return after ten minutes. It gave me the opportunity to dawdle past the Coram Fields and the Foundling Museum to Brunswick Center, another favorite old haunt of mine, where I went into Waitrose to buy my stock of Ainsley Harriot powdered soups and a Black Forest Gateau (to celebrate the return home of my hosts Cynthia and Michael). Laden with my purchases, I could not resist entering one of my favorite London Oriental restaurants, Hare and Tortoise, where I ordered one of my favorite dishes--the Curry Laksa. This Singaporean speciality comes in a gigantic lacquer bowl and is a meal in itself. Glass noodles and bean sprouts form a base in a fragrant curry-like soup made with coconut milk and turmeric. Chicken, prawns, calamari and squid float around the soup and give it a distinctly fishy flavor that is delectable. Although it is a very substantial soup, I managed to do it justice and filled to bursting, I set out to pick up my medicine, realising to my delight that I am completely over my inhibitions about dining alone in a restaurant. Indeed I was able to do so without batting an eyelid and a jolly good time I had too!

Back Home for Tea with my Hosts:
I was on the bus back home to Amen Court when I got a call from Michael to inform me that he and Cynthia had just reached home. It was 3. oo pm, perfect time for a cuppa, and although I was stuffed, we did cut the Gateau and did enjoy a slice each of what the Germans calls 'schwartwaldentorte'. And how yummy it was! With lovely lemony tea, I felt fortified enough to go on to my next errand--a bus ride to the East End to say goodbye to my friend Shahnaz who was leaving later in the evening for her return to India.

Off to the East End:
But I overshot my stop, went too far on the bus, had to cross the street to catch a bus in the opposite direction, ended up too late at Shahnaz's and carried on to Russel Square to meet her daughter Azra outside the British Museum. It took us some effort to connect given that Azra was at Great Russel Street Station and I was at Tottenham Court Road, but connect we did--eventually! The stop gave me a chance to enter another one of my favorite stores--Bury Food and Wine on Bury Street where the salesman is well known to me as I used to buy my tea and biscuits exclusively from him. Of course, I simply had to buy my supplies of Border's Dark Chocolate Gingers and my Darjeeling Tea and after visiting with him for a few minutes and catching up, off I went on the bus homeward to spend the rest of the evening chatting with my friends.

Cynthia prepared a simple barbecue chicken dinner with boiled potatoes, squash and beans and with more gateau for dessert, it was a very fine, very casual meal, eaten with companionable conversation and the company of Aidan who joined us. We spent the evening watching Britcom re-runs and getting ready for my day trip tomorrow to Bury St. Edmunds which was a place that Michael recommended and where I shall be heading with my friend Bash who has volunteered to do the driving.

Today was a restful, relaxed day and an opportunity to tread in the footsteps of some of my best-loved London haunts and to relive some of the happiest memories of my life in this beloved city.

City Hall Tour, National Gallery, Ralph Fiennes in The Tempest

2011-08-30T18:34:00.005-04:00

Tuesday, August 30, 2011
London

Brunch at the East End on Eid:
My day began slowly but then it picked up rapid momentum. As Shahnaz was keen that I see Azra's place before she moves, I hopped on the No. 15 bus and rode all the way through the East End to Limehouse. No sooner did I reach Commercial Street than it became very evident to me that Muslim immigrant London had something to celebrate. Men (I did not see a single woman) were dressed in their Sunday best--beautiful knee length embroidered anchkans with spotless white skull caps. And then it hit me! Of course, it had to be Eid! When I arrived at the Arbor Square bus-stop, past Aldgate and Mansel Street, Azra came out to meet me and lead me to her home--one of those long alleys full of row housing--what the English called 'terraced housing' and what the American call 'town houses'. Inside, narrow staircases open to multi-purpose rooms with the kitchen usually below ground in the what Americans would call the basement. Shahnaz, who was eagerly awaiting my arrival, fed me a breakfast of eggs and a selection of her superb kebabs which she had made in India and brought along to London with her. They were just scrumptious. With toast, I had myself a truly substantial brunch. It was appropriate, I thought, that I had, unwittingly, tucked into Muslim kebabs on Eid!

Off to City Hall:
Then, we were on a bus again headed to City Hall where we intended to take a tour, if one was available. Two years ago, while on a flight to Norway from London, I had shared aircraft space with a certain Simon Reece who worked in City Hall very closely with Mayor Boris on London's Olympic Planning Committee. Her had told me that City Hall was open to the public--and ever since then, I had hoped to visit it to inspect the visionary work of one of Britain's best-known contemporary architects, Sir Norman Foster, up close and personal.

Arriving at the Monument:

We alighted from the bus at Monument and walked down short Pudding Lane where the Great Fire of London had started in 1666. Right enough, we found a plaque on the wall of a modern-day building announcing the site of the Baker's establishment, run by one Thomas Faryner, where the fire had originated. While taking a picture of the plaque, I took one step behind and realized that I was only a few feet from the Monument itself--an obelisk designed and erected by Sir Christopher Wren to commemorate the great fire. I recalled a nugget of trivia: that the height of the Monument is exactly as tall as the structure is from the spot where the fire began, i.e. some 30o odd feet away. A couple of years ago, when my friend Amy Tobin had visited London from New York, we had climbed the Monument, clicked spectacular views of the city from beneath the great pot of flames at the top and been rewarded for our pains with a certificate to state that we had climbed it! It had been one of our little exciting adventures.

On to London Bridge:

Without spending too much time on pictures, we crossed London Bridge (a newer one as the original bridge from the famous song 'London Bridge is Falling Down' had burned down in the fire) to the Southbank, took a flight of stairs leading to the Embankment past a very spiffy contemporary glass sheathed building and arrived at City Hall--its unmistakable rounded profile reminds one of a collapsed pudding bowl. Foster's work is increasingly evident around London. His most notorious work to date is probably 'Wobbly Bridge"--the Millennium Bridge that connects St. Paul's Cathedral with the Tate Modern--which actually wobbled dangerously the day it was inaugurated and needed to be closed down for a couple of years until the glitch was sorted!

Well, City Hall was just amazing. The security guard just inside the revolving door put us through the inspection paces and told us that the building could be visited on a self-guided tour. He suggested we walk up the spiral ramp to the second floor,then take the elevator down to the basement. Following his instructions, we almost gave ourselves a crick in the neck as we read. line by line, Nigerian Booker Prize winning poet Ben Okri's poem "Lines in Potentis" that were seen along the left wall--the right sports glass panes that offer changing views of the city to which Okri offers a memorable tribute in his lines. Foster's visionary genius is plainly evident--both in the conception that gave the building birth and its execution. Strategically located on the bank of the Thames, it offers stirring views with every turn--one minute you are gazing at HMS Belfast moored on the river, the next you are taken by imposing Tower Bridge and then again, you see the newest addition to the city's skyline, The Shard, only a few meters away. The idea reminded me very much of the dome atop the Parliament Building in Berlin, also Foster's handiwork. You climb up a similar spiral ramp there and see yourself in endless recurring mirrors on the opposite side.

When we got to the second floor of City Hall, we were at the Council Chamber used by Boris and his boys and I could imagine all the planning for the coming Olympics that is continuing to take place here. Unfortunately, it was being redecorated as great blue tarpaulin sheets covered most of the seats and the floor. In accordance with instructions, we then took the elevator to the ground floor and alighted on foot one more floor down the ramp which continued to the basement to offer a close view of a satellite image of the city of London reproduced upon a 'carpet' on which you can actually walk. It was just fantastic. We identified the O2 first--as the Millennium Dome is called--perched precariously on a sharp bend in the river, the Thames Barrier and then, on the other side, the London Eye and all the other landmarks of this incredible city: Buckingham Palace, the British Museum, St. Paul's Cathedral--and, of course, the places in which I have lived at different times. For a geography buff such as I am, it is the kind of item that could keep one enthralled all day. We took any number of pictures from different angles and in various corners of the city before hightailing it off to our next adventure. City Hall was truly a revelation and made for a superb morning. We were so glad we went.

Across Tower Bridge to the National Gallery:

Leaving the Embankment via the opposite bank, we walked along beautiful Tower Bridge with its twin Victorian towers and its vistas of the many buildings comprising the Tower of London. Since it was a beautifully clear day, we were able to take several pictures of what I call London's layered architecture--from the medieval Tower to the 18th century memorial on Tower Hill just beyond it to Sir Norman Foster's Swiss Re building just beyond that--a building known affectionate as the Gherkin although I have heard Americans refer to it as the Cigar Building!

Riding a Routemaster Bus:

A No 15 bus was conveniently waiting for us at Tower Hill--and get this...it happened to be one of the few vintage Routemaster buses that are still plying on London's streets. We sprinted for it, made it to the top deck and were reminded of the double decker buses we used to ride in Bombay as kids--alas, they have disappeared, I am told, into the annals of British colonial history in the city of my birth. So, it was lovely to be able to ride a bus that was designed in 1954 long before I was born!

Touring the National Gallery:

We alighted at the last stop--Charing Cross--the monument all spiffed up in time for the Olympics and rid of centuries-worth of dirt, soot and grime. Across the street to the National Gallery we went because, of course, it would be unthinkable for me to come to London and not go to one of my favorite places in the city. A special lecture tour on 'Food and Feasting' had just begun and we joined the tour guide Steven Brent as he shepherded us along to a few paintings with food as its main theme. It was inevitable perhaps that he should lead us to Carravaggio's stirring Supper at Emmaus with its basket of fruit perched precariously on the edge of the table! We went on to the final work in William Hogarth's series Marriage a la Mode and then on to Gaugain's still lives to inspect his rendition of exotic fruit in Tahiti. There were a couple of other paintings he showed us, but they now slip my mind.

We took a break at the Cafe downstairs for tea and sustenance--I opted for Coffee and Walnut Cake--and then we were off again, ready to take the next Highlights Tour which was also given by Brent. Assembling in the Sainsbury Wing, we followed the troop through his commentary on a handful of paintings. The ones I can remember now are: The Wilton Dyptych, Sandro Botticelli's Venus and Mars, Veronese's Meeting of Alexander the Great with the Family of Darius, A portrait by Hogarth of Three Royal Children, and Renoir's beautiful canvas entitled The Umbrellas. Brent's commentary was enlightening and as a tour guide myself, I always look for tips I can glean from others who do work similar to mine.

We spent the next hour as I led Shahnaz and Azra on a tour of some of the museum's highlights starting from my favorite gallery that presents the work of almost-unknown Renaissance artist Carlo Crivelli and from there to my favorite work in the museum, Pieter de Hooch's Courtyard of a House in Delft. I showed them Hans Holbein's The Ambassadors, The Arnolfini Marriage by Jan Van Eyck, the Vermeers in the National's collection, Rogier van der Weyden's Magdalen Reading, Seurat's Bathers at Asnieres, Paolo Uccello's Battle of San Romano, Hans Hemling's Tritypch on The Adoration of the Magi, the room featuring works by Peter Paul Reubens, George Stubb's horse Whistlejacket, Turner's The Fighting Temeraire and Constable's The Haywain. I could easily spend the entire day at the National but having arrived at 1. 00 pm, we thought it was time to leave at 5. 45 pm as the Museum would soon be closing for the day. We'd had a fabulous afternoon and I shall try to return to the museum one more time before I leave.

At the Theater Royal Haymarket:

Then, because we were only steps away from the Theater Royal Haymarket, I decided to nip into the Box Office to find out if tickets were available for the evening's performance of Shakespeare's The Tempest which stars none other than one of Britain's greatest living actors Ralph Fiennes as Prospero. I had few hopes as I know it is a sell out, but I also know from experience that there is no harm in trying for a seat! When we were informed that there were either 60 pound seats or 15 pound seats offering "restricted views that obliterated half the stage", Shahnaz opted out saying that she did not want to spend 60 pounds and did not intend to pass the evening unable to see half the action on stage. I agreed with her and decided to forgo the thrill. Instead, we hopped on to another bus to head homeward.

Food Shopping:

Except that I hopped off at Aldwych, took another bus along Kingsway to Holborn and went food shopping to Sainsbury for my supply of goodies to take back to the States--HP brown sauce, Marmite, Three Fruits marmalade, Frank Cooper's Oxford Marmalade and loads of Ainsley Harriot's powdered soups! I also picked up sandwich ingredients for my own meals out here--Gorgonzola cheese, cold cuts, piri-piri flavored hummous, walnut bread, hazelnut yogurt. Yummy! Back home at Amen Court, I made myself a hearty sandwich for dinner, packed it up and decided then and there to return to Piccadilly to buy a restricted view ticket for the show. The opportunity of seeing Fiennes in the flesh was just too hard to miss and so off I went to Haymarket.

Seeing Ralph Fiennes in the Flesh:

How delighted I was when the clerk at the Box Office recognized me from my visit earlier in the evening and discovering that I wanted a single ticket decided to sell me a 60 pound Royal Circle ticket for just 20! Needless to say, I grabbed it, thanked him profusely and then spent a stirring evening in the theater making delightful discoveries. For not just was Fiennes at his thespian best but I recognized so many other well-known British stage and screen stars: Nicholas Lyndhurst (Only Fools and Horses) played Trinculo and Julian Wadham played Antonio, usurping Duke of Milan. It was a lovely evening made more marvelous by beautifully executed set design and costuming--Ariel's final song "Where the Bee sucks..." was lyrical perfection and the Epithalamion scene featuring Juno and the other goddesses was brilliant.

I took the bus back at 10. 30, was home at 10. 45 and was thrilled to bits with myself that I had, on impulse, decided to take the plunge and acqueise to buy not-so-good seats for, in the end, I had an excellent spot and a superb theatrical experience for practically no money at all!

Out of Sorts, Walk along Southbank & Globe Theater Show

2011-08-29T18:43:00.003-04:00

Monday, August 30, 2011
London

It was bound to catch up with me, I suppose. Jetlag, late (very late!) nights and the excitement of being in London again. Never did an adage feel truer to mine ears--The Spirit is Willing, but the Flesh is Weak". So when I awoke at 7. 15 am (really late for me!) with a pounding head and the sort of weakness washing over my body that makes me feel hot and cold in quick succession, I groaned. I was well and truly ill. Although I did want to join my hosts for breakfast before their departure for the Pottery Towns, I simply could not drag myself out of bed. It was best to be sensible about it and not fight nature. So I dozed myself with an aspirin for the headache, slid under the covers and went right back to sleep thinking I would nap for another hour.

But I did not awake till after noon! Shocked but happy to discover that my headache was history, I showered and washed my hair and ate a pizza lunch. With a bit of food in me, I felt much better. Of course, it had to be a gorgeous day, the sun pouring down in warm profusion over London. Text messages from Shahnaz and Azra urged me to get out and enjoy it. I did not need much arm-twisting. They came over to Amen Court, Edward (still enjoying a lazy Bank Holiday weekend) decided to join us and we went for a walk, determined take it very easy.

A Walk in Southwark:
Of course, that's easier said that done. Thebest laid plans of mice and men and all that...London is too walkable a city to encourage sitting around--unless, I suppose, you are lounging on a green striped chair in a park with a book. So past St. Paul's and on to Wobbly Bridge we went, joining vast throngs on tourists taking the air. No sooner was I striding across the Thames than I noticed a new building on the Southbank skyline towering like a modern-day Eiffel Tower into the clouds. It is the Shard, explained Edward, a new structure comprising office buildings. Hmm...it is still incomplete and I'm not really sure I like it...but I shall withhold judgement until it is ready.

Past the Tate Modern Gallery we went and into the precincts of the Globe Theater where we discovered the Groundling tickets for standing in the Pit were available for five pounds for tonight's performance of The Globe Mysteries written by Tony Harrison and directed by Deborah Bruce. Naturally, we had to go, especially since we had wasted the morning doing nothing. Within minutes, we had our tickets in our excited hands. Having studied 'The History of Drama' way back when as an undergraduate in Bombay, I was well aware that the Mystery and Morality Plays had preceded the Elizabethan drama cycles that had produced the likes of Shakespeare and Marlowe. I was also aware that Mysteries were used to educate the illiterate theater goer and were a very popular form of cheap entertainment. But I had never seen Mystery plays in performance. To be able to see them at th Globe was special and I couldn't wait.

Our walk continued, under Southwark Bridge and into the territories of open-air wine bars until we arrived at the site of the infamous Clink Prison which is a museum today. It reproduces the torture chambers of old and not having a stomach for that sort of thing, we declined the impulse to enter. Next, we were gazing upon the ruins of the Bishop of Winchester's Palace--only one wall of his private chapel remains. This notorious prelate was so corrupt hat he owned every single brothel that existed in the area. It was individuals like him who made the Reformation necessary, I strongly believe.

Just past the Palace stood Sir Francis Drake's The Golden Hind (although the golden hind figurehead on the prow from which it derives its name has silvered from exposure to the elements) with which he circumnavigated the globe. A theatrical skit was in full spate on the deck and various costumed characters from Elizabethan days strode up and down the ramp leading to it.

After lingering a little for pictures, we soldiered on until we arrived at the flint walls of Southwark Cathedral, the area's oldest structure. Indeed there has been a church on this site since 900 AD and every poet and playwright of the Golden Age of Drama worshipped here from Gower to Shakespeare to Marlowe. Inside, the holiday had suspended the collection of payment to tour the church and we were able to take in its attractions: the mortuary statue of Gower, the sculpture of the reclining Shakespeare just below the stained glass window that depicts his plays, the superbly carved stone altar with the gilded wooden statues below it, the carved wooden choir stalls. Yes, Southwark Cathedral offers a great deal to fascinate the visitor and I always enjoy my forays inside, no matter how often I enter.

Further on, we arrived at the famous Borough Market where, over the years, I have enjoyed several free lunches in the generous 'tasters' handed out by artisinal food retailers selling unique sausages, cheeses, chocolates, bread, spreads, preserves and the like. Alas, it was all shut down for the holiday although the strong aroma of meat surrounded the space.

Then, we were crossing London Bridge Road and making our way to The George, London's only remaining 16th century 'galleried' coaching inn, now maintained by the National Trust. It continues to run business, though, in "victuals" and since it was almost 5 pm and we were rather peckish, it made sense to chow down over good British pub grub. Edward had a pint, I had cider, Shahnaz and Azra chose to eat a full meal--fish and chips and a tuna salad, both of which were so huge that we all tucked in. Replete with our meal and having enjoyed the aged ambiance of a space that has featured in the novels of Dickens, we set out again noticing a marked drop in the temperature. I hoped it would not get too chilly during our open-air evening at The Globe.

Since we were still early, we strolled to the Tate hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the ground floor installations only to realize that it was past 7 pm and the museum had long shut down. The clear light of English summer evenings can be so deceptive--it is impossible to believe it is so late when there it is still so bright.

A Performance at The Globe Theater:
Into the Globe we went to join the short queue of Groundlings eager to get the best 'seats'--although you really do not have any. The doors open half a hour in advance. We sat on the ground (as the groundlings undoubtedly did in Shakespeare's day) and arose when the curtain did. For the next two and half hours, we were enthralled by every theatrical element you can imagine--from slapstick, rough and tumble, crude puns, sophisticated double entendre, tragedy, comedy, tragi-comedy, comi-tragedy, farce, singing, dancing, instrumental virtuosity--you name it, The Globe Mysteries contained it. Part One (before the Intermission) dealt with the Old Testament and was beautifully done, while Part Two dealt with the New and was less absorbing. The spectacle of the Crucifiction was a set design marvel. I was curious to see how the Ressurection would be treated and handled but the playwright conveniently left it right out! I found the use of the heavy accents annoying because it made much of the dialogue unintelligible to me, but overall the production was highly entertaining. Our position, at center front, could not have been more strategic--we were so close, the actors actually spit all over us! Blood from Jesus' torture flew towards us and when, as in classic Elizabethan style, we were made part of the action, by dividing ourselves into two halves, we were pleased to discover that, unwittingly, we had taken sides with The Saved (rather than The Damned) on Judgement Day.

Having decided to stand for just a half hour to 45 minutes, I was shocked that I had managed to survive the entire performance while on my feet after having begun the day feeling distinctly out of sorts, Still, I felt a bit wobbly while crossing Wobbly Bridge once again to get home to Amen Court where I reached on foot ten minutes later.

I had salvaged the day rather superbly, I thought, and it was with a song in my heart giving thanks for the restoration of my health and spirits that I went to bed.

Chelsea Pensioners, Chutney Mary Lunch, Notting Hill Carnival

2011-08-28T18:20:00.005-04:00

Sunday, August 28, 2011
London

Who'd've thunk it? When I awoke this morning, all set to attend Sunday service in a historic Christopher Wren chapel in Chelsea, how could I have known that I would be occupying a seat right opposite Baroness Margaret Thatcher, former Prime Minister of Great Britain? And yet, that was exactly what happened! I'm still beside myself with awe! At 86, she still carries that imperious air that would have been more appropriate half a century ago in the colonies than it was in the small, intimate friendly space of a chapel. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Virgin Atlantic Offers a Gift:
My day began with the bleak news from Virgin Atlantic that the earliest confirmed seat available to me was a week away--next Sunday. When I recovered from the shock of being stuck in London for another week, I put my Positive Thinking Hat on and figured that if the weather gods had conspired to gift me a bonus week in my favorite city, well...who was I to complain? So on I marched towards what turned out to be a glorious day, weather-wise. After breakfast, I hopped on the bus to Chelsea while most of London was having a lazy lie-in on August Bank Holiday Weekend.

Browsing Through Chelsea:
Because I had arrived too early for morning service at the Chapel of Chelsea Royal Hospital, I browsed through my favorite interior design stores on Pimlico Road (Linley was closed for renovation but Joanna Wood is having a sale!). I thought of the newly-wed Clintons, Bill and Hilary, who many moons ago, on their honeymoon, while browsing in similar fashion through Chelsea, on a similar deserted morning, had so fallen in love with the hamlet that they'd decided then and there that if they ever had a daughter, they would name her after one of London's poshest areas. Well...the rest is history.

The Chelsea Pensioners' Parade:
By and by, I did make my way to the grand green precincts of the Royal Hospital whose grounds boast the work of some of Britain's best-known architects (Christopher Wren designed the main buildings and chapel and John Soane designed the stable blocks). I was headed for the 11 am service but before it begins, there is the ceremonial Sunday Morning Parade that starts at 10.30 (another one of London's most closely-guarded secrets, unknown to the run-of-the-mill tourist). I positioned myself on the lawn to get the best pictures. Not a lot of people were present to watch an old British custom that involves the Inspection of the Pensioners (retired army personnel) by their Sergeant Major. At 10.30, the many pensioners who were dotted around the premises smartly attired in their red jackets, black tricorn hats, white gloves and medals tinkling on their lapels, rose to attention and took their positions on the main lawns as a drummer kept up a marching tattoo. The sergeant major in black uniform with an elaborately white feathered helmet barked orders at the troops who then were inspected individually. Each one gave him their names and rank. The ritual lasted about 15 minutes and had all the pomp and ceremony at which the British usually excel. When a whistle blew to end it, the pensioners trooped back under Wren's giant columns and all but disappeared. Only the few female pensioners (who raised many an eyebrow when they joined the retirement community a couple of years ago) entered the chapel and stayed for the entire service.

That's when Lady Thatcher walked--or rather limped--in. With the assistance of a walking stick and the company of an equally imperious companion (slim, straight-backed, poker-faced--think Diana Rigg playing Miss Danvers in Rebecca), she slid slowly into her seat wearing a vivid green coat-dress, a string of pearls, matching button ear-rings and a pearl brooch. I noticed that although she participated in the service, she did not respond verbally at all until it came time to sing God Save the Queen--and then she was active! Although she is now visibly only a shadow of the Iron Lady we well remember, there is no mistaking her sharp profile and the sweetness of her smile--which I saw when she placed her offering in the circulating bag. I gathered later that it is four weeks since she has felt well enough to attend service. She is a regular worshipper in this chapel and, in recognition of her patronage, has the Margaret Thatcher Infirmary in the grounds named after her.

The service was superb. As always, you cannot touch Anglican clergy for the quality of their homilies and this one, by Chaplain Dick Whittington (yes, that is really his name!) who as seen active combat himself, was inspiring--the sort of homily that makes me wonder if the preacher has me in mind when he is delivering it. Great singing from a wonderful choir, great playing from a wonderful organist, great reading from a wonderful Lector--I mean everything was just perfect. The Wren mahogany altar was richly carved with a splendid ceiling fresco by a father-son team of Italian artists (one did bodies well, the other did good faces!) but their names eluded me as the tour guide pensioner called Tom (who had befriended me before the parade) could not remember it!

As soon as I'd entered the chapel, I spied Jane, the lawyer from Yorkshire who had combined a meeting in London (or T'Smoke, as she calls it), to meet me. We've been Twitter friends for about a year. Her mother is an Anglo-Indian and given our common background and my current research, she was keen to meet me. Well, there she was, as she had hoped, in the chapel in time for service. We instantly recognized each other and sat together through the service.

A Private Tour of Chelsea Royal Hospital Grounds:
When it was done, we trooped out and there was Tom Mullaney, a pensioner who had offered to give me a private tour of the premises. I introduced him to Jane and off we went from one lovely quadrangle to the next and to Soane's stable block--each brilliantly gilded in the sunshine. At the mess, Tom offered to buy us both a drink because "he was dying for a pint". Jane, who was driving opted for OJ, I had a coffee and in the company of a hearty lot of pensioners and their family members or friends (the premises are not open to the public), we found out a bit about Tom. After the parade, pensioners are expected to change out of their red jackets and into pale blue shorts with navy blue pants--a more casual form of dress and that was how Tom was garbed. At the end of our time together, he gave me his very stylish buisness card and urged me to give him a call to schedule another complete tour later inthe week (which I shall probably do with Shanaz and Ara).

Lunch at Chutney Mary:
Then, it was time for Jane and me to enter her spiffy nautical blue Prius and off we went to lunch--her choice was the very classy and very appropriate Anglo-Indian restaurant called Chutney Mary in Chelsea. It had been years since Llew and I had dinner there once and it brought back sharp memories for me of a very companionable time we had spent there with Llew's brother and his wife at the tail end of one of our superb London summer holidays. The food was just fantastic especially the starter we both chose--grilled scallops with a tomato chutney on a delicately saffron-flavored bed of sauce that was so good it deserved to be sopped up with naan (which we requested). Jane chose a terrifically fragrant Chicken Biryani done in a green masala and I went for the Calcutta Prawn Curry with Naan which offered about six plump prawns in a delicious sauce. With garlic naan, the meal was made memorable. For 'pudding', we both chose Srikhand Eton Mess--an Anglo-Indian take on Britain's famous Eton Mess that usually features whipped cream, meringues and strawberries. This one had saffron srikhand with fresh mangoes and meringues. So creative and so yummy! I am happy to see that Chutney Mary has lost none of its excellence although Jane was adamant that far better Indian restaurants exist in Bradford where she lives. I found her compoany fascinating. She is a warm, witty, highly intelligent and very polite person indeed--really lovely. I was so glad we met and that I was able to get to know her a little better.

The Noisy Notting Hill Carnival:
It was time for Jane to move on to her business meeting and for me to re-connect with Shahnaz and Azra who had arrived at the Chapel too late to find the great doors closed. They had strolled through the lawns and moved on and when I did call them, discovered that they were already at the Notting Hill Carnival which was the next item on my agenda. Jane obligingly dropped me at Notting Hill Tube station which was already swarming with crowds. For the Notting Hill Carnival is one of Europe's biggest street fairs and attracts massive crowds. Since this was the first time I actually happened to be in London during the carnival and since it happens only once a year on August Bank Holiday Weekend, attending it was a no-brainer.

Police were thicker than flies (what with the fears that had arisen from the recent riots) through the Notting Hill area and as I made my way through the maze of streets with their beautiful terraced houses and gardens, I followed the sound of the Caribbean steel drums to the actual parade where floats and hundreds of carnival revellers went slowly by to the sound of soca and reggae music. The carnival has a Caribbean flavor and jerk chicken was being offered from food stands all along the route. Liquor was being openly consumed on the streets and young folks were clearly having a blast. I had been warned repeatedly by friends to watch my belongings carefully and the police on the streets also advised me to do the same each time I approached them for directions. Today happened to be the Children's Parade and loads of little ones, gaudily costumed, were in the parade (with several full-grown people that I would hardly label children!). It was noisy, tiring (all that walking), a bit crazy. But at the end of the day, I'm glad I went and discovered what all the hype surrounding the Notting Hill Carnival is about.

On my way back, I veered far away from the crowds and noise and was fortunate enough to chance upon the Prince Edward Pub at Prince Square where I was able to use a loo because wild pachyderms could not induce me to use one of the Portapotties dotted around the place. Knowing that I was London-centered for the next week, I walked to Queensway Tube station (Notting Hill Station was closed) and bought myself a seven-day bus pass for 17 pounds--which regular readers of this blog know is my favorite form of London transportation (and so cheap too!)

Then, of course, I changed three buses, sat on the top deck at the picture window each time and made my way home. I spent the evening resting and catching up on email and discovering that Southport had lost TV, internet and phone connections--so Llew and I would remain incommunicado until further notice. His cell phone and electricity are still functioning, however, so we will be in touch no matter how long power restoration might take. With my hosts out for the day, their son Edward proved to be the perfect host, offering me dinner (Domino's pizza) and his company as I sat back and chilled.

It had turned out to be a glorious day in more ways than one and I am thrilled that I was positive enough to make lemonade out of the lemon that had been handed me by Virgin Atlantic in the morning.

Tracy Emin, Fulham Palace, ATGB Locations

2011-08-27T17:24:00.008-04:00

Saturday, August 27, 2011
London

As phenomenal as yesterday was in London, today was lousy. I mean, first of all, the weather stank. Intermittent spells of sunshine fought for supremacy over annoyingly brief showers. And when it rained, it poured. After starting my day losing an entire blog post, I rewrote the whole account and delayed myself by a whole hour. The upside was that I was able to enjoy one of mine host Michael's legendary oatmeal breakfasts with the rest of his family--wife Cynthia, sons Edward and Aidan.

Hurricane Irene Barges in:
There was much concern expressed over the possible cancellation of my Virgin Atlantic flight tomorrow as Hurricane Irene brings the entire US east coast to a stand still. I discovered that at NYU, Orientation, for which I was racing back home, has been cancelled. Somewhat relieved at the thought of enjoying an extra day in London, I completely forgot that today is my wedding anniversary, until my husband called from across the pond to wish me!

Discovering Britain's Best-Known Female Artist:
Breakfast consumed, I took a bus to Waterloo Bridge to the Hayward Gallery in hopes of catching the exciting Tracy Emin retrospective that is ending in two days' time. To my astonishment and delight, walk-in tickets were available and I could enter although reciprocal arrangements between the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and the Hayward have been suspended for the last three days. I ended up paying 12 pounds--but it was so worth it. I intended to spend no longer than an hour on the exhibition; but to my surprise, three hours later, I was still inside the Hayward.

Although Emin's name was known to me (together with Damien Hirst, she is the UK's best-known contemporary artist), I was totally unfamiliar with her work and was shocked, disturbed and deeply saddened by her oeuvre and the life experiences that gave them birth. Hopelessly raw, alarmingly pessimistic, movingly stark, her world is one of loss and regret and her work is a desperate attempt to regain some of it. Using multi media in the most extraordinary ways, she has woven together the fabric of her life in a fashion that is personal, candid, stark and startling. There are line drawings, oils on canvas, quilts, embroidery, wooden sculpture and other installations, photographs, films, video conversations and props of every conceivable kind, including hospital wrist ID tags and used tampons, to bring to the foreground of her memory those events and circumstances that have dominated and scarred her life. Memorabilia figures emphatically in her work and at the end of the day, it is startling how closely and with what frank scrutiny she has documented every aspect of her life so as to create a composite whole. By the end of the exhibition, I felt I knew this woman intimately and my heart ached for her and the painful loneliness of her world. Never having been to the Hayward which is a part of the Southbank Center, I had planned to visit it on this trip...but I never expected that it was Emin's work that would draw me there and have such a powerful effect on my own psyche.

Lunching at the Festival of Britain:
Despite being deeply overwrought by Emin's work, I managed to make my way after a heavy downpour towards the Royal Festival Hall where the Festival of Britain was in full swing. By 1.00 pm, I reconnected with my friend Shahnaz and her daughter Azra who had also joined me at the Hayward (Azra is a student of Applied Art at the moment at a London School of Design and Shahnaz is a prolific porcelain artist). They too were reeling from the impact of Emin's work and as we went out in search of sustenance, we tasted a few of the samplers being handed out before deciding on a Moroccan concoction: Chicken Harisa served with Tsaziki and a chili sauce over pitta. It was delicious but fiery and with tears streaming down our respective cheeks, we went our separate ways with plans to meet later in the afternoon at Fulham Palace. Shahnaz and Azra went off to run an errand while I hopped into a bus to get to Holland Park where my mission was to identify, explore and photograph the many locations associated with the TV show As Times Goes By. I am a die-hard fan of the series and I had waited one whole year to accomplish this!

A Decision to Detour to Fulham Palace:
But alas, with the Strand under "road works", bus services were disrupted and I found myself walking from Aldwych to Charing Cross where I took the Tube. From Oxford Circus, I took buses again towards Holland Park, but halfway through my adventure, I realized that I would need to abandon my mission. You see, having decided to reconnect with my friends at Fulham Palace near Putney, I realized that I would need to abandon my ATGB mission. Seething with frustration, I found that a big game at the Chelsea Football Club (Chelsea Versus Norwich) had closed down the King's Road and caused a major route diversion. I completely lost my bearings as the bus veered far outside the boundaries of my map! I stayed on the bus that was headed to Putney Bridge and after what seemed like forever, I was in Putney and striding towards the Palace where my friends had reached long before I did. A good fifteen minute walk finally brought me to the Tudor gatehouse of the Palace and into its grounds.

Fulham Palace: Another Huge Disappointment:
If Lambeth Palace awed me, Fulham was a major letdown. Traditionally used as the residence of the Bishops of London (although the current one, Richard Chartres, lives at Dean's Yard near Amen Court, next door to my present home near St. Paul's Cathedral), it was built in the time of the Tudors and added on in the 18th century and Victorian periods. Sitting strategically on the banks of the Thames, it saw occupation by royalty in Tudor and Elizabethan times (both Katherine of Aragon and Elizabeth I lived here at various times). Yet, it has clearly fallen into disuse and been allowed to go to seed. The grounds are unkempt, the gardens are merely a backyard full of ungainly weeds, a few desultory apple, pear and quince trees had thrown a few indifferent windfall fruit to the ground and although I was pleased to spy a perfect apple spared by the birds, there was nothing to impress about this space. Inside, most of the building, including the chapel, was closed for a wedding. We were allowed to peruse three rooms of which none was even remotely interesting. Overall, I was angry that I'd spent such a chunk of the afternoon trying to get there. It is certainly not something I will ever recommend to any visitor.

Operation Judi Dench:
With showers punctuating the evening, I hopped into a bus determined to get to Holland Park to pick up the threads of my ATGB mission while there still was light left to take a few pictures. Luckily, by the time I alighted from the bus (filled with rowdy Chelsea FC supporters--Chelsea had won!), the rain had stopped and the Holland Park area appeared freshly washed and subtly fragranced. I followed the contours of my map and after a slow and seemingly endless trudge north along Addison Road, I found the homesof Jean Pargiter played by Dame Judi Dench and Lionel Hardcastle played by Geoffrey Palmer in the TV show. The terraced home at 21 St. James' Gardens (still sporting its navy blue front door and famous house number) and a few alongside it are clearly used only for location shootings for they seemed inhabited, the blinds in the front rooms pulled firmly down.

Across the street, in pretty St. James' Gardens, stands the picturesque stone church of St. James Norland but, alas, the gates to the private park are open only to residents of the square. I posed for pictures on the famous stoop having pulled in an obliging passer-by to take them! I also found Julie's Bar, the small neighborhood eatery around the corner which features prominently in the series. Having clicked several pictures, I made my exhausted way back to the bus stop and headed for Holborn.

Food Supplies:
I still had food shopping to do for my annual provision supplies and when the bus arrived at Holborn, I nipped into the new Waitrose to pick up a few goodies. By the time I got out and headed to the Sainsbury at Holborn Junction (which used to be a Sainsbury Central but is now a Local), the doors were well and truly shut and a curt notice said, "This store will open at 7 am on Tuesday". Good job I had picked up at least a few items from Waitrose! If Hurricane Irene is shutting down the US northeast Atlantic coast, "August Bank Holiday Weekend" is clearly shutting down the UK.

Back on another bus, I reached Amen Court only to be greeted by Edward who confirmed that my flight had been cancelled. He told me that he had spent most of the evening trying to get me reinstated on a flight to Kennedy departing on Monday for Llew had called me several times during the day to tell me to try to place myself on the manifest. But no such luck. Meanwhile, Cynthia rustled up a dinner of fish cakes for me and over hazelnut yogurt (another one of my favorite treats in the UK) that I could not resist buying, I had myself a good meal. Alas, as a result of all the gum-chewing I have been doing (under medical orders), the sides of my tongue feel sore (while my mouth is still dry!) because a series of abscesses now lines the sides. I could barely eat my dinner so it was just as well that Shahnaz and Azra, feeling too exhausted after our Fulham expedition, had urged me to cancel our reservation at Locanda Locatelli. Oh well, perhaps another time.

I spent most of the evening trying to contact Virgin Atlantic, following the fortunes of Hurricane Irene and getting nowhere (literally). Much as I am delighted to be detained in my favorite city in the world and in a home full of people who love and care for me, I can only imagine how difficult it is for Llew who was so looking forward to my return after three whole months, only to have to wait for an indefinite period!

What a challenging day it had been! As I burrow under the covers, totally knackered, it feels chilly--more autumnal than August. I can only hope that my bonus day tomorrow will be less inconsistent.

Lambeth Palace, Wolsley Tea, Savoy Drinks, Love Never Dies

2011-08-26T18:43:00.007-04:00

Friday, August 26, 2011
London

If I could combine every wonderful ingredient to create a perfect day in London, it would turn out like the one I had today. Despite the day-long drizzle, I refused to allow my enthusiasm to be dampened and onwards I pushed towards one of my favorite kinds of London days. Awaking at 6 am on an adrenaline high to the tolling bells of St. Paul's Cathedral in my Christopher Wren bedroom complete with twelve foot high ceiling and a marble fireplace, I arose to embrace a weepy morning. Ever the thoughtful hostess, Cynthia woke with me and over a shared Weetabix breakfast, she chattered with me after I'd showered and changed. Then, I was off within the hour on a bus to Waterloo Bridge to tick off the first item on my agenda.

Breakfasting with a Friend:
At the appointed hour, I met Murali, a friend, who had chanced upon my blog while I had lived in London two years ago and had become a faithful Follower. A mathematician by training and a financial whiz by profession, Murali and I settled down at Paul Patisserie over an almond croissant and a hot chocolate (two of my favorite London treats) and caught up on our common passions: poetry, travel, the art world, writing. Crumbly marzipan and liquid cocoa fuelled our peregrinations as the hour flew, we took photographs and said Au Revoir.

In Archbishops' Territory:
Up on the grand concourse of Waterloo Station, I reconnected with Shahnaz and Azra and off we went to our next appointment at Lambeth Palace on a bus along the south bank of the Thames. Lambeth Palace, one of London's most closely-guarded secrets, is not open to the public and visits are made strictly by appointment. There is currently a year-long wait list to get inside. Thanks to high connections in the Anglican Church, I was able to snag us a seat (or three) for an insider's private tour of the premises at merely a few weeks' notice. Past the Tudor Morton Gate, we were met and greeted by Gill, an administrative assistant, who also served as tour guide.

Not really equipped to handle my questions, Gil declared apologetic ignorance. Who built this place? When? Is that a Van Dyck? What building lies across the Thames in that 18th century painting? She tried really hard and what we did gather was this--Lambeth Palace is and has served as the London residence of the Archbishop of Canterbury (currently The Most Reverend Rowan Williams) since the 12th century. Its initial Tudor architecture was added to over the centuries to incorporate a few modern bits. It vast grounds and gardens are beautifully maintained. They include 500 year fig trees that continue to remain fruitful.

Inside, Gill showed us the pink Drawing Room (where my friend Cynthia attends monthly Bishops' wives' meetings), the formal Dining Room in which the Archbishop dines with the Queen, the grand Reception Room, the crypt and the Archbishop's private chapel where the choir stalls contain enamel plaques to represent varied parts of the globalized Anglican world including a Bengal tiger for India. Having suffered massive damage during World War II, the roof was completely rebuilt and painted with garish contemporary figures which clash awfully (in my humble opinion) with the reverential ambience of the space.The spacious rooms and massive stone corridors are filled with historic artifacts, displays of gifts collected by the Archbishop on his international visits, loads of oil portraits of the most significant prelates and sculpted busts of the most eminent of them. Overall, the space--a working series of offices and several private residences--was hushed and reverent and we almost felt like intruders as we strode the wide corridors of ecclesiastical power.

Inside Lambeth Library:
The piece de resistance of our visit was the Library with its splendid hammered timber oak ceiling. Here we were met by librarian Mary who proved to be an excellent tour guide and answered all my questions: Where is the King James Bible stored? (In one of two strong rooms on the premises). Can one handle the leather-bound volumes in this library? (No, they are much too fragile). Are there archivists on the premises? (Yes). She gave us a ton of material--literature, postcards, posters--to carry off with us and armed with these goodies, we made our delighted way out of the imposing walls of this fortress of religiosity and returned to 21st century London with its red buses plying along the Thames Embankment. All three of us agreed that it was an awesome experience and we were very grateful to my connections with Bishop Michael that made such an extraordinary privilege possible. Outside Lambeth's Tudor Gatehouse, we parted company having made plans to regroup at 4 pm at Fortnum and Mason.

Serious Retail Therapy:
It was time for shopping and, climbing into a bus, I headed off to Oxford Street where I spent the next couple of hours acquiring a new fall wardrobe for the new academic year. When my Mastercard was declined at Marks and Sparks, I seethed in frustration and resentment (having taken the trouble to inform them that I would be traveling for three whole months). Refusing to let that hiccup shatter my soaring spirits, I consulted the helpful folks in Customer Service and within an hour, I had it sorted.

Laden with bags, I walked out into the drizzle, tried to find Inspector Lewis DVDs in the HMV store, had an another disappointment when I discovered that the store does not carry them, then clambered into another bus to deposit my belongings at home. Barely did I dump my bags down than I was out the door again, heading to my next appointment--at Fortnum's.

Shopping at F&Ms and Tea for Three at Hotel Wolsley:
However, seriously seduced by retail therapy, we were all running late. Regrouping via mobile phones, we decided to press on towards our next appointment--Afternoon Tea for Three at the Hotel Wolsley. However, I managed to buy an oak tea caddy filled with F&Ms assorted teas and a top hat-shaped tea strainer which, after I grabbed the last one, went right out of stock! Armed with my newest tea accoutrements, I popped in next door to the Wolsley where Shahnaz had already reached.

For the next two hours, we gave ourselves up to the very propah English delights of Afternoon Tea served to us on a private balcony overlooking the grand but very noisy dining hall. On a sugar high, we nibbled at fluffy sultana scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam, a selection of yummy finger sandwiches and an array of pastries: chocolate mousse petit fours, Battenburg squares, coffee eclairs, fresh strawberry tartlets, pistachio and chocolate macaroons--the treats kept popping themselves as if by magic into our mouths in between bracing sips of the Wolsley's Afternoon Tea House blend with lemon and honey. And just when we thought we could not partake of another morsel, no matter how seductive, I went on to my next appointment.

Drinks at the Savoy:
Rosemary, an English friend whom I know affectionately as Roz, was awaiting me in the lobby of the Adelphi Theater. As we hugged and kissed, a perfect rainbow formed high above the steeples of St. Mary in The Strand. There was nothing for it but to hop across the street to one of the city's classiest watering holes for a drink--the newly refurbished Savoy Hotel. Having been shrouded under scaffolding for the entire term of my London tenure, I was keen to see what the 600 million pound refurbishment had acomplished. And we were not disappointed. As we swanned through the lobby, we passed the exquisite cuppolla-ed Palm Court and entered the swanky Beaufort Bar where we settled down with drinks--chilled Sauvignon Blanc for Roz, cider for me and a selection of nibbles comprising Marcona almonds, candied cashewnuts and miniature olives--as we caught up on our lives. Time, as you know, flies when you're having fun. We had soooo much to talk about...but the hour flew. We made plans to meet again at her place in Battersea for dinner when I am in London in January of next year and then we parted company to go our separate ways--she to dinner with friends in Kensington, I to a musical across the street at the Adelphi.

We Saved the Best for Last--Love Never Dies:
Just when I was convinced that my day could not possibly get any better, we were joining the ranks to enter the theater to see the sequel to The Phantom of the Opera called Love Never Dies. For the next couple of hours, we gave ourselves up to the magic of Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber as the composer simply swept us away. There was everything one expects of stupendous West End theatrics--stirring musical virtuosity, incredibly lush sets and costume design, magical performances, superb choreography and a plot line that tugged repeatedly at the heart strings. As someone who has long believed that no musical will outshine the perfection of The Phantom, I have to say that this one comes pretty darn close. No, it does not have the hummable arias of the original, but this was vintage Lloyd Webber and showed convincing evidence of his musical genius. Combined with the lyrics of Glenn Slater, it made for the most scintillating hours in the theater and we were thrilled to pieces that we had managed to get seats--even if they were nose-bleed ones way up in the rafters, just on the eve of the show's closing. If there were just two elements missing, they were Llew and Chriselle. How I wish I could have shared this amazing experience with them.

On the way back in the bus as we headed home, we giggled helplessly over nothing and kissed goodnight promising to try to make tomorrow surpass the brilliance of what had been a Phenomenal Day.

Doing Dover

2011-08-26T01:15:00.006-04:00

Thursday, August 25, 2011
Dover

As long as I can remember, my imagination has been stirred by the phrase "the white cliffs of Dover". And when I had gazed upon them for the first time, during a ferry crossing between Dover and Calais in France, many moons ago, I remember how awed I'd felt.

So you can imagine how thrilling it was not just to look at Dover's chalk cliffs but to walk through them, like a rabbit through a hole, to touch them, both on the outside and within, to scratch at them and find remnants of them in my nails and to see fallen chunks of them everywhere.

All this was possible today when my friend Shahnaz and her daughter Azra joined me at 7 am at Victoria Coach Station to journey to the east coast of Kent to explore Dover. Shahnaz was doubtful about the sagacity of the expedition. As long as she can remember, she has passed through Dover Ferry Port and dreaded it. Not knowing that the seaport is vulgarly rich in British military history, she was dubious about enjoying our day trip. But as she said at the end of the day, it was fantastic and her faith in my excursion decision-making was restored.

Scaling Dover Castle's Towering Walls:
We arrived in Dover at 10.00, waited for a half hour for a local bus to take us up the famous white cliffs to the entrance of Dover Castle, a great hulking mass of stone that sits high above the English Channel providing a strategic lookout for invading ships. Indeed, it was used for precisely that reason from Roman days. It was they who built a pharos or lighthouse--actually two of them--to shine like beacons across the waters and guide ships safely home. Today, the ruined remains of one of them continues to be battered by winds out on the water and sits cheek-by-jowl with a beautiful Anglo-Saxon church that dates from the days before William the Conqueror led his mighty fleet across the waves to bring England under Norman sway. The lighthouse and church are the oldest structures within the vast walled complex of Dover Castle, the town's chief attraction, and are also two of England's oldest buildings. From an exploration of these structures, the visitor is swept upon a rapid tour of British military history that brings us all the ways to World War II when Vera Lynn penned her famous song, "There'll be bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover..."

The Medieval Keep:
The gods smiled upon us for sure, providing blue skies and bracing sunshine as we scaled the hillside and began surveying Dover Castle. We followed the Highlights tour as suggested by my guide book and entered the Keep, built by Henry II, a wonderful medieval part of the Castle where young men and women in courtly garb (including His Majesty and his sister Marie de France) greeted visitors in courteous manner. Rooms filled with real and reproduced medieval furniture gave us a glimpse of English life under the Plantagenets. Of the many artifacts on display, the one that caught my eye was a gigantic leather bag (that looked like half of a saddlebag) that was filled with the silver pennies (the only coin minted in Henry II's day) by the taxes of peasants who swarmed upon the land. The Keep is in remarkably good condition, inside and out, and is the tallest structure in the complex. For some amusing reason, I kept recalling scenes from Blackadder as I walked through the darkened rooms.

Up the Ramparts:
Cannons dot the environs of the castle and gaze upon the waters of the Channel. Having been blessed with a clear day, we could easily see across to the infamous beaches of Normandy on the shores of France where the seaport of Calais glinted in the sunshine. I recalled many a flight across the Channel when I have seen both ports and the waters between them, punctuated by sea craft, from the air. The cannons provided perches for photo ops and to rest, because striding across from one building to the next, is exhausting.

The War-Time Tunnels of Dover:
By the time we realized that we needed to join a queue to enter the famed Wartime Tunnels, we were fatigued. It took us half an hour to join a tour guide who gave us a fascinating one hour tour of the chalky maze built in the mid-17oos as a military hideout. They were dug through with hand tools (no dynamite was used) and when we scratched the walls, we realized how easily that feat might have been accomplished. The walls are soft and moist and, not surprisingly, the tunnels were extended during World War II in order to create a useful labyrinth for the master-minding of Operation Dynamo that, under the command of Ramsay, brought English troops back home from Dunkirk. The entire historic achievement is re-created underground through a good short documentary film that is projected on the inside walls of the cliffs themselves. It was probably the best part of our visit.

Exploring the Medieval Tunnels:
Another exciting thing to do in the Castle complex is explore the medieval tunnels (but they pale in comparison to the War-time ones) and the army barracks which provide exhibits on British military history through the ages. Refreshment was sorely lacking within the complex that is administered by English Heritage, although we were pleased to taste spirits from the Middle Ages (mead and elderberry wine and sloe gin) in the gift shop where they are sold in pretty bottles together with more contemporary preserves such as Raspberry Curd and Strawberry Jam.

Walking Along the White Cliffs:
It took us five hours to explore the castle and we were grateful for the 'train' that takes visitors around because the walking was killing. By 4 pm after surviving only on a scone and date and walnut cake, we took a lovely winding wooded path to the ferry port from where we followed the National Trust-maintained White Cliffs Walk to the great East Cliff at the feet of which sits a row of pretty houses. We took our lives in our hands, as dodging huge trucks making their way across the Channel, we crossed the road to the beach-side Promenade to dip our toes into the waters of Matthew Arnold's famous Dover Beach. The 'sand' here is non-existent for, like Brighton, Dover's beach is pebbly, made up mainly of fat flint stones. They provided a superb natural foot massage for me while Shahnaz and Azra dunked their feet in the English Channel.

The Town of Dover:
A few minutes later, we returned to the town of Dover which is a completely post-war creation as the city was bombed repeatedly by the Germans during World War II and all but flattened. (Surprisingly, the Castle was left untouched, probably because Hitler intended to use it as a look-out point, in the same way that it had been used through the ages, when he, ultimately, got his ambitious hands upon Great Britain. Happily the Jerries were stalled in that endeavor by Churchill's masterminds, who operating from another series of burrows and bunkers at London's Whitehall--the Cabinet War Rooms--had brought the Fuhrer's plans to nought). Since every business establishment in the land downs its shutters at 5 pm sharp, we had no option but to enter MickeeDee's for filet of fish burgers which we wolfed down before we entered the 6. 15 coach back. Not one of us could keep our eyes open as we stopped at Canterbury and, like Chaucer's pilgrims, returned to London.

Dinner at One New Change:
A quick switch to the Tube brought us to St. Paul's Cathedral where we decided to explore London's newest shopping attraction, One New Change, right opposite Wren's stunning dome. With only a few stragglers around, we were grateful to find Zizzi Restaurant still open for business. Since a glass of Prosecco was urgently called for, I sipped deeplyof its revivifying bubbles before delving into a plate of Penne Alla Vodka (which, alas, was much too al dente for my liking) and half asleep over our bill, we made our fatigued way back home--me across the street to Amen Court, my companions on Bus 15 to Limehouse.

The expedition had provided the perfect English History Fix. We were glad we 'Did Dover'. One more item can be ticked off my To-Do List. Tomorrow, our appreciation of English History will continue in London--but I have promised myself to leave time for the more mundane aspects of a holiday--shopping!

Sauntering Through Somerset

2011-08-24T18:49:00.006-04:00

Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Somerset--Cheddar, Wells and Longleat

I awoke before the sun gilded the rooftops of Bristol. Gazing upon the panorama spread out before me from the picture window in my bedroom, I checked email, made a few calls and got carried away on my computer. By the time I washed, dressed, packed and descended several floors to the kitchen, the rest of the Tweet-Up party were half way through a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, crisp toasted croissants, preserves, OJ and coffee--thanks to the generosity of our hosts Elizabeth and Andrew.

Driving Through Cheddar Gorge:
We had to make a quick start of it but I could not resist a wander through the tiered garden all the way to the Mediterranean section designed and executed by Andrew. The sun was bright and glorious in the skies as we said fond goodbyes and thank-yous and drove out of Bristol, through the Mendip Hills and into Cheddar--the town which gave the world Cheddar cheese from the bottom of a spectacular ravine known as the Cheddar Gorge. It was Barbara's idea that we drive through this picturesque part of Somerset--and what a great idea it was too.

Not half an hour later, we were negotiating the hairpin curves of the gorge whose granite rocks tower on both sides of a narrow roadway. There were caves, caverns and cows--all the requisites for the production of fine cheese. We stopped to take a few pictures and were off along our route, headed this time to the medieval city of Wells.

Wandering Through Wells:
Wells is best known for its magnificent Gothic cathedral that occupies a sizable parcel of real estate right in the heart of the medieval city. A warren of narrow lanes leads to the vast Cathedral Close past crenellated turrets that form attractive gateways. A weekly street market was in progress which allowed us to browse through a few stalls, pick up postcards from the National Trust shop and walk through the Bishop's Gate to their private gardens approached across a narrow moat. Ordinarily ducks feed hungrily from the hands of charmed visitors, but for some reason today they were scarce. The bread, thoughtfully provided by Elizabeth, went uneaten as we proceeded towards the front facade of the Cathedral.

The exterior of Wells Cathedral is closely carved. It sports twin towers and a single spire at the back. Saints are seated all over the entrance. We took one of the side doors into the cathedral. This brought us to a small private garden dotted with a few old gravestones and thence to the cloisters. Inside the cathedral, there are the usual distinctive Gothic elements that make such architecture distinctive--the octagonal Chapter House was special as were the Quire and the Crypt. An astrological clock dating from the 1100s and supposedly the second oldest clock in England was interesting for the fact that knights on horseback joust and knock each other down every quarter hour! Tour guides pointed out interesting carved details that provide a great deal of sociological insight into the lives of the medieval carvers who created this masterpiece.

Longleat House and Gardens:
It was almost 1.oo pm by the time we left Wells to drive along the lovely country lanes of Somerset past pubs and stone villages and what Barbara called "bosky places"--bits of road through which dappled sunshine poked between low trees on both sides. By 2.oo pm, hungry and excited, we arrived at Longleat House near the town of Warminster. The approach to the estate is down a winding road and into a valley where the house, an ancient country pile, awaits the perusal of visitors.

Regular readers of this blog know that nothing thrills me more than the exploration of English country estates--so I was in my element as we made our way through the Cellar for lunch. We were ready for an enormous meal of lasagna with mashed potatoes and baked beans. In ordinary circumstances, I'd have wanted a nap after so gargantuan a lunch; but I couldn't resist exploring the mansion right away.

As in most English country estates, the house and gardens have a long and colorful history. Suffice it to say that it originated in the 1100s through the Viscount of Thynne whose descendants--all 13 of them--added considerably to the family wealth and land holdings and were rewarded with more impressive titles. The current owner and resident is the Marquess of Bath who is in his 80s. His portraits adorn the walls of the house which is so grand that it beggars description.

We went on a self-guided tour through sumptuous rooms decorated in the Italianate style mainly by Crace who imitated the look of Italian pallazos and even the Vatican galleries. Ceilings, walls and floors were ostentatiously adorned in close detail. Paintings--mainly portraits of various family members through the ages--crammed the walls and after a while the eye could take in no more. Cararra marble fireplaces, gorgeous chandeliers, embossed leather wall coverings, Sevres porcelain dining services and superb examples of period furniture lent stature to the rooms. Ironically, despite the presence of many lofty portraits dotting the walls, the one that caught most attention was the worthless "The Fallen Madonna with the Big Boobies" that had featured in the Britcom 'Allo 'Allo, a few years ago, in a series of episodes involving the discovery and hiding of a priceless painting by a certain Van Clomp. The current Marquess was a dedicated fan of the show and when it ended, the producers presented him with the notorious work. It was on display at Longleat to coincide with a special anniversary of the show and a planned revival.

By the time we reached the gardens and made our way to the Orangery, we were already a bit jaded. The rose gardens were quite lovely but obviously past their prime. A few bits and bobs of statuary--some rather odd--caught the eye. At the end of the day, Longleat (often used as the location for period films) was fascinating for the varied styles and eras of decoration and architecture that it reflected--from Elizabethan to contemporary with most of the decor dating from the 18th century.

By 4 pm, we left the vast environs of the estate and hit the motorway for the return drive to London along the Salisbury Plain over which the sun was slowly setting. To my enormous surprise and delight, we passed right by the stones of Stonehenge and then we were close to the M25. That was when we became caught up in serious traffic snarls and inched our way slowly into the city. A quick stop at the Art Deco Hoover Building (now a Tesco) and we were on the road again, arriving in Holborn at about 7. 30 pm. It had been a long day and I was knackered.

On to a Dinner Rendez-Vous:
Tim and Barbara were kind enough to help me load my luggage into their car and drove me to my friends, Bishop Michael and Cynthia, at Amen Court on Ludgate Hill, so close to St. Paul's Cathedral that its tolling bells enchant me every quarter hour. I merely hugged Cynthia, stashed my stuff inside and then Tim was driving me again to Farringdon where I'd made 8 pm dinner plans with yet another friend, Loulou.

I arrived at her loft--one I had occupied for two memorable summer months two years ago--had another fond reunion with her, explored its vast dimensions for old times' sake and then we set off for Carluccio's, my favorite chain of Italian restaurants in London. Over caponata and prosciutto and Peroni beer, we caught up by chatting nineteen to the dozen. Suddenly the months that have gone by since we last saw each other melted to nothingness. After dinner, Loulou hailed a cab to get to Suffolk from Liverpool Station and dropped me off at Amen Court where another lovely reunion awaited me--this time with the rest of the Colcloughs included sons Edward and Aidan.

Of course, we spent the next hour chatting. There was ever so much to talk about. But I was tired and badly needed to unpack and take a shower. Cynthia took me up the Christopher Wren-designed stairway to the room I love so much and it was there that I unpacked, unwound and set my alarm for an early start tomorrow.

White Cliffs of Dover, here I come...

A Tweet-Up in Bristol

2011-08-24T01:07:00.008-04:00

Tuesday, August 23, 2011
London-Bristol

Surveying High Holborn from her living room window, Barbara wondered if I had brought the Bombay monsoon along with me to the UK. It was coming down in sheets when we awoke, as, umbrellas held high, commuters poured out of the Tube tunnels of Chancery Lane station. After a quick bowl of Jordan's cereal and coffee, I braved the downpour to dash into Barclays to change dollars into pound sterling and buy myself a new Lebara SIM card for my UK mobile phone. But not before I was bear-hugged by both the janitor, Martha, and the concierge Arben of my building--the latter looked like he'd seen a ghost and was convinced I had sneaked back into my flat in the middle of the night. Believe me, I wish I had!

A Drizzly Drive Westwards:
Having connected to the internet, checked my email and Twitterfeeds, we set out in the rented car that Tim drove expertly out of London and on to the M4 headed towards Bristol. Carol Kirkwood on the BBC Weather had forecast clearing skies as we drove westward and she was on the money. By the time we reached a rest stop at Membury (about 1.oo pm), I was starving and treated myself to what I thought was a little snack (Waitrose smoked salmon sandwich, toasted hazelnut yogurt--my favorite kind, not available in the US--a packet of potato chips in sea salt and malt vinegar flavor that was vaguely reminiscent of a plateful of fish and chips and a pack of dark chocolate ginger biscuits, all from Waitrose. Tim and Barbara thought would see me through my entire stay in the UK!

Tweeting Up:
England gives me an appetite and I was still peckish enough to eat a starter of toasted multi-grain bread and smoked mackerel pate when we reached the River Station Cafe on the River Avon in Bristol, an hour later, having made superb time to our destination. This was the planned rendez-vous for a bunch of "Tweeps" that I've met over the last couple of years on Twitter! Little did I think that one day I'd be sitting in Bristol and getting acquainted with them over drinks. Elizabeth, our hostess and chief organizer of the "Tweet-Up", joined us first. Hugs and kisses followed all around each time one more Tweep joined in. By 3. 30, we were all well and truly acquainted and a jolly group we made too as we set out on a Harborside walk of the city.

A Walk Along the Avon's Banks:
Bristol is criss-crossed by a network of waterways--canals and a river, the Avon--and a number of bridges, cute and impressive such as the famous Clifton Suspension Bridge that I was keen to span. But that would require a bit of driving to and from the city--for the moment, we crossed foot bridges besides waterfront accommodation that took us in a large and very neat loop around the city. For the most part, our saunter was quiet. We headed towards the S.S. Great Britain which Isambad Brunel had sailed--a rather spectacular vessel with newly-refurbished prow and figurehead. Not too far away was the Matthew, a much smaller vessel that explorer John Cabot had sailed around Nova Scotia. I recalled that one of the world's most picturesque drives is called Cabot's Trail (Llew and I almost drove it when planning a holiday in Eastern Canada not too long ago). Elizabeth confirmed it was the same Cabot.

On we went, along the river banks to take in the twee one, two and three bedroom boutique apartments that have mushroomed in recent years to provide accommodation to the city's yuppies, many of whom are apparently fine gardeners. Tiny balconies spilled over with bright container gardens. Swans dodged every manner of watercraft that plied the river. The city, easily the most colorful I have seen in the UK, presented itself in varied hues--building fronts were painted in ice-cream pastels rather like the rows of houses that comprise every Irish village.

Bristol is built on a series of hills. It has its own rather distinctive character, but being so closely situated to Bath, is also reminiscent of the Nashes' Georgian city. Certainly the wide open square that sports an equestrian statue of King William III of Orange also bears the same name--Queen Square--as the striking one in Bath where Jane Austen's family had once rented a house. Seeing Bristol on foot with as expert a guide as Elizabeth was really fortunate and I was grateful for the introduction. As we trotted along, companionable chatter flowed as Tweeps--strangers only an hour previously--got to know each other better. It was difficult to shake off our Twitter names and I had to work hard not to address someone as doclorraine (she had driven in from Southampton) and mikejulietbravo (who had made his way from South Wales' Gower Peninsula via Hereford) even as they occasionally addressed me as southportgal! As always happens, we discovered that it is only six degrees that separate it, no matter which curve of the globe we call Home.

Spanning the Clifton Suspension Bridge:
Back at our starting point near the River Station Cafe, we piled back into our cars and followed Elizabeth's to the Clifton Suspension Bridge, built by Isambad Brunel in the great age of engineering, the late Victorian. We parked our car just before we reached it and walked across the narrow Avon George at a height guaranteed to give my Dad vertigo. Striding over it, I was reminded faintly of two bridges: the Brooklyn Bridge in New York and the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. Panoramic views of the city of Bristol meant frequent camera stops, but span it we did--twice, on both sides. The experience was thrilling and contributed to the huge appetite we'd worked up on our three-mile walk.

In An 18th Century Hilltop Home:
Mindful of the fact that I have been sagely instructed by Chriselle "not to overdo the walking", I was concerned about my protesting feet as we got back into the car to drive to Elizabeth's hill-top perch on Kingsdown Way on very narrow cobbled Somerset Street that overlooks the city as if from the vantage point of an eagle's nest. She and husband Andrew (who opened the front door to us) own the house that dates back to the mid-1700s ("Not quite Christopher Wren", as Barbara put it--"but close enough" as I added!). Inside, the kind of architectural details that make me drool over period houses (marble fireplaces, hollowed out stairwells and striking wooden banisters) kept me enthralled as we received the sobering news about the earthquake in Virginia. It seems I have stayed away from American accents too long as I was convinced the reporter on CNN said that Obama was on "the Gulf coast" when the earthquake occurred, although every other listener in the room knew he had said "golf course"!

A Feast Fit for Caliphs:
Nibbles and drinks consumed, we trooped a table to the basement kitchen where Elizabeth and Andrew had laid out many bottles of wine and a Moroccan feast fit for the Caliphs--Lamb Tagine with Couscous fragrant with North African spices like cinnamon and cumin and the sweetness of stewed apricots and prunes. It was simply delicious. Dessert was am embarrassment of riches as we tucked into French Apple Tart and Pear and Lemon Roulade with its crispy edged folds of fluffy meringue. Cheese, what was termed an "ostentatious" box of Godiva chocolates (courtesy of Tim and Barbara) and coffee followed before Mike decided to call it a day and broke up a memorable dinner party. Jetlag had long caught up with me and it was with difficulty that I kept myself from nodding off all over my pudding. But then the feeling passed away and I felt revived on a sugar high.

It was time for Elizabeth to show us to our rooms, each one more charming than the next, as we climbed the tiers of one of the UK's typical "terraced" houses--each room sits on a different floor. Mine was perched at the very top and offered a stunning view of the city and, closer to home, tantalizing glimpses of Elizabeth's tiered garden stretching down to a red-tiled shed. I cannot wait to explore it tomorrow.

Who'd have believed that only a year ago, I had not known Elizabeth?...and yet over a year filled with so few ups and so many downs, she had stood by me in prayer across the Atlantic to cement a cyber friendship that has flourished over only two meetings. I am so grateful to Barbara who, sharing a room next-door with husband Tim, had brought us together in the nicest possible way.

Tomorrow, when jetlag wakes me up at the crack of dawn, I shall take some fabulous pictures of Bristol and frequently recall my brief encounter with an ancient sea-faring city that strikes a very chic contemporary avatar.

A demain...

It's Deja-Vu All Over Again!

2011-08-23T05:17:00.003-04:00

Monday, August 22, 2011
Bombay-London

1.oopm is a great time to fly out of Bombay and, fortunately, it wasn't pouring as I made my way by car to Sahar airport past pot-breaking Govinda revellers out to make a killing on Krishna's big day.

Good flight on Jet Airways--really helpful, very pleasant cabin crew, edible food although the best part was the Baskin Robbin's Honey Nut Crunch ice-cream! And I saw two movies: The Adjustment Bureau with Matt Damon and Emily Blunt and Just Go With It--with Jennifer Anniston and Adam Sandler.

Good touchdown at Heathrow under dry skies. Spied the Thames Barrier, Millennium Dome, Canary Wharf and London Eye although I was in an aisle seat! The Immigration queue snaked along for a whole boring hour although my time at the counter took precisely 10 seconds!

What's it about me, cabbies and Heathrow arrivals? We never seem to connect at first shot. Finding my driver always takes a call...which means borrowing someone's cell phone...and a few minutes later spying an equally confused driver with a placard in his hand that bears my name.

Lovely drive through Central London. Always love it when they take Cromwell Road because then I get to pass through some of my favorite London architecture--The Natural History Museum, The Victoria and Albert Museum, Harrod's. Around the statue of Eros at Piccadilly Circus and then we were in the Theater District and on High Holborn. Such a strong sense of deja-vu made me forget I had single-handedly raised the stock value of Kleenex by the time I said goodbye to my Mum and Dad in Bombay.

And then, I was ringing the buzzer on my former building and entering the lobby and riding the elevator (with all the rocks of India weighing down my baggage) and walking right past my flat. And then, what a homecoming from my former neighbors Tim and Barbara! A real, old-fashioned dinner party was in progress in their flat, much to my astonishment. Well, there was nothing else I could do but go in for a swift shower and come out looking halfway decent to face a bunch of female mathematicians--Barbara's classmates from her college days in Cambridge. And what a brilliant bunch they were too--a mechanical engineer, an actuary, a lawyer and a fourth bright person who described herself modestly as "nothing really".

And when Tim cooks, a feast follows. This time it was an authentic English roast dinner--a splendid cut of beef brought in resplendently under an old-fashioned silver dome (I don't even know the word for the sort of flourish you would expect at Simpson's-in-the-Strand or some such legendary place). Needless to say, there were all the trimmings--Yorkshire pudding and roast potatoes and sides of carrots and cabbage with just a hint of panceta. And as if this evidence of culinary genius were inadequate, along came the puddings (dessert to us Yanks)--Tim's Brown Bread Ice-Cream hiding a delicious secret inside--Strawberry Sorbet! And if one pudding is good, two can only be better...so along came the Lemon Tart and very elegant Champagne Raspberries. And then the cheese board and the chocolates with "Crunchies" (chocolate-covered honeycomb) and coffee. The goodies just kept on coming! After spending a whole day eating airline meals, you can quite understand that I was in Seventh Heaven!

I fell asleep thinking (as I have done countless times before), how lucky I was to have been situated near such great guys when NYU decided to post me to London two years ago.

I am so excited to be back in London...and now may the good times roll.

Last Day in London

2010-08-03T07:57:00.003-04:00

Monday, August 2, 2010
London

Excitement of getting home to Southport after 6 weeks kept me awake half the night. I awoke at 6. oo am with the intention of getting my bags ready for the cab which was supposed to arrive at 7. 30 to get me to Heathrow at 9 am--traffic is awful in the morning, the cabbie said. We'd best be off early. Last-minute stuff was thrown into my backpack, more edibles I'd stored in the freezer were stashed in my bags and just as I sat down to a bowl of cereal at 7. 15 am along came the overly-enthusiastic cabbie, 15 minutes too soon!

Goodbye and Thank-yous all said, I was on my way, not along Cromwell Road (my favorite way out of the city) where the cabbie assured me there'd been a accident, but along Euston Road (less interesting). Of course, because we were early, there was no traffic at all and I arrived at Heathrow at 8. 30 am for my 12 noon flight! Once I'd checked in and re-distributed weight (my bag was three and a half kilos too heavy), I had all the time in the world to shop duty-free--so off to Harrods I went for mementos for Chriselle (found her the cutest Ferris key chain) and a Christmas pudding for our family and off to Jo Malone I went (for Pomegranate Noir perfume for me--saved almost $20 on a bottle) and off to the cosmetics counters I went for more sample spritzes and off to the Bacardi counter I went for a complimentary mojito (which after all the tension over my baggage I sorely needed) and then I was ready to make my way to the gate and sink down in my seat.

There was time after I'd whispered a prayer for a safe flight to reflect on my two weeks in London and to realize how singularly fortunate I'd been that I hadn't seen a drop of rain in 2 whole weeks! I'd covered almost all the items on my To-Do List including visits to the National Trust's out-of-the-way Hidcote Manor Gardens in Oxfordshire and Hever Castle in Kent, had eaten in a few of the restaurants I'd wanted to visit (St. John's Bar & Restaurant where I went specially for the Roasted Bone Marrow and Parsley Salad) and Cafe Spice Namaste where I had the chance to hobnob with the chef Cyrus Todiwala and his wife Pervin and Patisserie Valerie where the Tarte de Citron is not half as good as Carluccio's. I'd visited 4 of the 6 new museums on my list (the London Transport Museum, the Science Museum, the Foundling Museum and the Serpentine Art Gallery (the only one I didn't get to was the newly-reopened Florence Nightingale Museum but I shall keep that for a later visit and the Brahma Museum of Tea and Coffee has closed down). I saw two good plays (the outstanding All My Sons with David Suchet and Zoe Wannamaker and Shakespeare's Comedy of Errors at the Regent's Park Open Air Theater. I reconnected with so many close friends over pub grub and longer meals or shorter drinks. But perhaps the Highlight of my visit this time was the tour of Lord Leighton's House in Holland Park. And another highlight was that despite being ill and fighting a terrible flu-like lethargy, I managed to make it to the Anglo-Indian Mela in Croydon which was really the main purpose of my visit to London during this time of year.

On the flight back, the UK slumbered brownly under partly cloudy skies. We flew westwards along the northern coast of Devon before skimming over the Atlantic. As soon as we broke land again over the Northern coast of Canada, I spied the jagged edge of Newfoundland and the region around Halifax (how pretty it all looked) before we flew over the Gulf of Maine, the Massachusetts coastline and along the vertebra of Long Island (did not realize how many swimming pools there are on the island--almost every house seems to have one the further east one goes) before we made a smooth touch down at Kennedy airport under cloudless skies.

American Airlines made me wait a whole hour at the conveyor belt for my baggage and as I sweated bullets wondering how Chriselle was faring on the other side (and hoping she wasn't despairing of ever hooking up with me), I finally did sail through Customs and made contact with her. Apart from our affectionate reunion after 2 weeks, I received the most uproarious welcome from Ferris--indeed it is worth being away from home for 6 long weeks when one has this sort of welcome to anticipate. Chriselle drove on the way home which gave us a chance to catch up on all the happenings of the past couple of weeks since we'd parted in Bombay and then it was time for us to pull into the driveway of Holly Berry House as my travels came to an end and I surveyed all that I had left behind.

We had a cuppa in the garden which is badly weed-ridden--what with all the rain--and I realize I have exactly five days to bring it up to snuff before Llew and I leave on our trip to Canada at the end of the week.

As I bring this blog to yet another close, I say Au Revoir and Many Thanks to my followers. If only you (apart from faithful Feanor) would write me a line back sometimes to reassure me of your presence!

As they say in the UK, Cheers!

Anglo-Indian Mela in Croydon

2010-08-03T06:32:00.004-04:00

Sunday, August 1, 2010
London

The cough I'd been fighting with medication all week developed into a full-blown cold during the night. I awoke with stuffed nasal passages, a scratchy throat, a headache and bodyache to boot. Felt really disappointed as I wanted so much to make it to St. Etheldreda's Church at Holborn Circus for the 9.00 am mass. Especially after learning the history of the church through the DVD that Michael had presented me in May, I was keener than ever to get there. It was my former 'parish' while I lived in Hoblorn and for old times' sake, I was keen to worship there again.

But when I made my way down the stairs like a zombie, Cynthia took one look at me and packed me straight off to bed. "You are not going anywhere this morning,' she said, "except back to bed." It was advice I gratefully heeded as I had some cereal, dozed myself with paracetemol and climbed back into bed expecting to have an hour's nap. I had an important assignement to cover--the World Anglo-Indian Day celebrations in Croydon and had made arrangments to spend the day with my friends Gerry and Corinne Gilbert and be picked up at Croydon mainline station by Bash.

But to my enormous shock, I did not awake until 1.00 pm. Feeling terribly dopey and drugged, I made the effort to get out of bed and into the shower which cleared my head and made me feel far better. Cynthia and Michael had set a semi-formal table, expecting the morning's preacher, one Felicity, and her husband Justin from Wembley at lunch. They suggested I join them before I made further plans for the afternoon and that was just what I did. Over Cynthia's excellent chicken in mushroom sauce with vegetables and steamed potatoes, I felt my energy return and half an hour later, I took my leave of the party as I boarded the bus to London Bridge from where I took a train to East Croydon, as instructed by Bash. He, unfortunately, being from Harrow, was totally unfamiliar with East Croydon and on asking for directions to the station, ended up at South Croydon station--miles away from where I was waiting! It was going to be a long and difficult afternoon!

Long story short, Bash found his way to East Croydon but not before inadvertently driving on tram lines which earned him a fat fine and ruined his mood--though I have to say that he recovered it quickly enough! In a few minutes, we were at the Bishop Lanfrancs School in Croydon where I had expected the Anglo-Indian Festival to be winding down--it was almost 4.00 pm by the time we arrived. Reluctant to waste any more time, I got on with my reporting, took the pictures I wanted and circulated around the stalls where I met a bunch of the interviewees I had talked to throughout my year in the UK. There were stalls selling Anglo-Indian specialties such as Karthi Rolls as well as pickles galore--I am particularly fond of Prawn Balchow and Brinjal Pickle but being afraid of spillage in my baggage (I have runied enough clothing trying to carry pickles back to the States from India!), I resisted the temptation to buy them. You can't have an AI Do without the jiving, so there it was--the old-time rock and roll favorites and there they were, the aunties and uncles, having themselves a ball! My friend Owen Thorpe who has a new book out (The Lion and The Chakra, his first work of fiction after his excellent autobiography Paper Boats in the Monsoon) sold me a copy and introduced me to his wife, Patty, who appears on the cover. I was particularly pleased to hook up with Henry Holley and his wife Marion who have been extraordinarily supportive of my research. He brought me up to speed on his various charities in India--which never fail to inpress me. Right now, he is working hard to save St. George's School, his alma mater in Madras and the oldest AI school in India, from the demolition squad which is out to sell the valuable teak wood that comprises the building's structure! It was a wonderful reunion all round and since my nose and throat were still all stuffed up, I was grateful when the Gilberts made a move about 2 hours later. Bash drove me back to Central London and by half past seven, I was back with the Colcloughs.

They suggested a light TV dinner for which I was grateful--we had fish cakes and corned beef sandwiches as the newest version of Sherlock Holmes with Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin (The Office) Freeman as Dr. Watson appeared on the telly. I sat around with the family on my last evening in London before I retreated to my room to complete my packing. Earlier in the evening, I'd contacted Farringdon Cars for a cab to take me to Heathrow, the next morning, as I simply couldn't face the thought of fighting peak hour crowds on the Piccadilly Tube Line.

For the next hour, I worked steadily, managing to fit all the edibles I'd purchased over the next few days in the single bag that American Airlines permits me to carry "as free allowance." Edward carried my suitcase downstairs as I fell asleep hoping my cough which has developed into a cold would not ruin my air travel in the morning. I had been so dreading getting sick in the UK and despite the best precautions I took, what did I end up with...but a cough and cold! Oh well...at least it did not compltely ruin my stay in London.

My Kind of Last Day in London

2010-08-01T01:52:00.005-04:00

Saturday, July 31, 2010
London

Because I will be tied up with a work-related assignment on Sunday (World Anglo-Indian Day will see me at the mela in Croydon), I considered Saturday my last day in London and decided to do all the things I most love to do when I am in the city.

One leisurely breakfast of Michael's oatmeal later, I was on the bus headed to the National Portrait Gallery where I hoped to meet the Copyright Officer to discuss the possibility of using a particular Cliff Richard photograph that I'd seen at the 'Beatles to Bowie' exhibition in Norwich in my proposed book. Only I ought to have realized that the person concerned would not be around on a Saturday. I used their museum's data base to try to identify the photograph by John Pratt and find its 'call number'--only to find out (as I had suspected) that being owned by a private collector, it is not in the museum's possession. I raced to the book shop in the basement hoping to get my hands on a catalogue of the exhibition that might have provided more details of provenance but they were all sold out--again, as I had expected, as the catalogue was extremely popular and just flew off the shelves. Disappointed, I left the premises, intending to initiate email correspondence with the copyright officer.

It was time to get next-door to the National Gallery, another one of my favorite places in London, where I discovered that a Highlights Tour was about to begin in the Sainsbury Wing in two minutes. I flew off across Trafalgar Square and with just minutes to spare to drop off my bag joined a Michael Williams, Free Lance Lecturer, on his tour. We started off with the 12th century Coronation of Mary by Lorenzo Monaco in the Medieval section where I learned about the use of beaten gold sheets and stamping techniques to produce uniform 'patterns', then made our way through paintings by Rubens' (Minerva Protects Pax from Mars--Peace and War)--the only one that we can be sure was done entirely by his hands and not his vast workshop of assistants; Canaletto's Venice: The Feast Day of St. Roch (in which he takes liberties with scale and geography (and I had always thought his work was most remarkable for its accuracy); Velasquez's Portrait of King Philip IV of Spain and one more painting, but I am blanking out right now. As usual, I came away from the tour marveling at how much I had learned but also a trifle impatient that the guides at the National Gallery spent so much time at a single painting (sometimes as long as 20 minutes). We, at the Metropolitan in New York, have a strict rule--no more than 5 minutes at each work and a total of 10 works on every tour.

Of course, I could not leave the National without visiting some of my favorite works--Pieter de Hooch's Courtyard of a House in Delft, for instance, a clutch of Vermeers and Constable's Hay Wain--and I did manage to see a good special exhibit on 'Fakes' which featured some extraordinary works including a couple by Sandro Botticelli. I was tempted to stay on for Michael's next tour at 2. 30 pm, but I had too much to accomplish, so off I went to the bus stop, across Trafalgar Square again, this time to Whitehall to ride the No. 11 (which I always think is the cheapest bus tour of London) to get to Chelsea.

The King's Road is one of my favorite parts of the city and one I know well from former visits to London. I was tempted again to alight at Pimlico to poke around in the upscale interior design stores of the Queen's nephew,Viscount Linley (called 'Linley') and Joanna Wood but made the decision to stay the course and get off at Sloan Square where my exploration on foot began at the Saturday food market. The King's Road has some of my favorite shops (India Jane, for instance)--though the Antiques Center seems to have closed down. But I did get into M&S and Waitrose to pick up some more food (Fruity Flapjack Biscuits and Darjeeling Tea) and then I scoured the thrift shops in the area looking for treasures. Really tired, I rode the bus back to Paul's Patisserie for my favorite treats--Almond Croissants and Hot Chocolate--before I took the bus home to Amen Corner.

I had time for just a 10 minute lie-down before I had to get dressed to leave for the dinner party at my former neighbors' Tim and Barbara's, who'd asked us to arrive at 7. 00pm. We were fashionably late but as the rest of our guests hadn't yet arrived, had the chance to catch up. Tim in a trained chef and it is always a treat to partake of one of his meals--Bolinger Champagne and nibbles for starters was followed by Chicken Consomme, Roast Lamb with Roast Potatoes, a Green Bean and Mushroom Casserole (was that the Martha Stewart recipe I'd sent him at Thanksgiving?)and Carrots followed by a superb Prune Parfait for dessert. There were cheese and biscuits and coffee and chocolates to follow and I felt very stuffed indeed.

Apart from the meal, the best part of the evening was the chance to meet Elizabeth (with whom I've been corresponding through Twitter) and her husband Andrew. What a joy to see her finally! They'd traveled all the way from Bristol and made delightful dinner guests. Together with Cynthia and Michael, we made a merry lot and after some photographs, it was time to say Au Revoir!

I walked back home with the Colcloughs laughing over the silliest things before I sank into bed unable to believe that my days in London are coming to a swift end.

Covering More Bits and Bobs of London

2010-07-31T02:25:00.002-04:00

Friday, July 30, 2010
London

The tolling bells of St. Paul's Cathedral roused me at 7.oo am. After a shower and muesli breakfast (so thoughtfully fixed by Cynthia), I set off with two handsome escorts--Bishop Michael and his son Edward--for an insider's tour of St. Paul's Cathedral. The Bishop's presence opened magical doors for me as I was taken on a guided tour of the library in a hidden recess of Wren's magnificent building. We also had the chance to walk up and down the winding spiral staircase in one of the steeples. Its minimalist design was revolutionary for its time. Michael then requested Simon, an assistant in the library, to take me into the room housing The Great Model of 1763. It was a thrilling experience indeed to gaze upon an item not seen by the public. Christopher Wren created it at a cost of 300 pounds (the price of a house in his day) in walnut wood to give the selection committee a glimpse of the church he intended to erect after The Great Fire of London burned down the original timber building in 1666. The Model was designed in such a way as to enable the monarch to enter it and gaze upwards when standing directly below its stupendous dome. Inside details included the proposed coffering on the ceiling. Unfortunately, the design was rejected on grounds that it looked too much like the Catholic churches of Italy! Modifications to Wren's original design included the addition of twin steeples which, in my opinion, improves upon it and adds tremendous character to the edifice. In the same room as the Great Model is also exhibited Wren's Death Mask--he looked nothing like his portraits because "his teeth were missing, you see", as the good Bishop informed me!

I spent the next half hour up on the dome photographing London on what was a particularly splendid day. The city lay bathed in golden sunshine and I could easily pick out its landmarks, not the least of which were the many steeples of Wren's many post-Fire churches (including neighboring Saint Vetas' which Michael and Edward had taken me to see prior to our visit to St. Paul's and where Michael had once been Rector). I was especially pleased to be able to pick out my former home, the apartment building on the corner of High Holborn and Gray's Inn Road.

Later in the morning, I made my way down to the Crypt to see the newest Occulus exhibit which features four short films projected on to walls to create 360 degrees of viewing space. I recognized many of the people I have begun to know through the Colcloughs, including, of course, Michael himself. The film of the Great Model was of particular interest to me as I had just come back from viewing it and felt deeply privileged indeed.

In the book store, I spied a book I'd been wanting to purchase since last year--London Sketchbook: A City Observed which contains water colors and paintings by Graham Byfield and text by Marcus Binnery. Having visited most of the nooks and crannies of the city that the artist has portrayed in it, I had intended to buy it last year before I left the city but simply did not have the weight allowance in my bulging suitcases. Cynthia and Michael very kindly presented it to me as a gift, much to my delight. I know I shall spend many wonderful hours perusing its pages and thinking of the generous spirit of my lovely friends.

It was time to check out a museum in the East End of which I had read so much. Confusing information on their website made it necessary for me to take a bus there to find it--The Brahma Museum of Tea and Coffee. It was supposed to be located alongside the famed Borough Market which is open to retail customers on Friday. I spent the next hour browsing through the stalls and practically eating my lunch there based on the vast number of 'tasters' thrust at me. Unfortunately, the Brahma Museum seems to have closed down completely--I do wish its website would update the information.

It was time for me to take a bus to Liverpool Street Station where at the Tesco Metro, I picked up a vast stock of its Finest Fruit and Nut Muesli to take back home. I do feel like a glutton as the only souvenirs I now carry back from holidays overseas consist of food items that I cannot find or get in the States. I have finished buying my stock of English biscuits and English tea and I can only hope they will all fit in the single bag that American Airlines permits me to carry across the Atlantic.

With my shopping done, I took a bus back to Amen Corner to deposit it in my room and after a ten minute power nap I set off for the City Thameslink station to meet Rahul, a close friend of Chriselle's and a young man who became my close friend after he'd helped me move from Holborn to Smithfield last year. Over a coffee in a nearby Starbucks, we caught up with so much and I was pleased to discover that like my young friend, Jack, he is contemplating a visit to New York soon--when I hope to continue our conversation.

I walked briskly then to Bloomsbury to buy my stock of tea from Bury Stores on Bury Street just near the British Museum where I have been buying tea and biscuits for ages before walking again, past the flower-filled windows of the many hotels on Montague Street, to get to Russel Square Tube station where I met Gordon Beale, an old London acquaintance. Gordon runs a cultural activities group for international expatriates in London. Membership in his group is strictly by invitation only (I was vetted by someone two years ago). One you appear on his mailing list, you are kept informed of all sorts of cultural goings-on in the city--from classical music recitals in really special venues to lectures to walking tours to parties at the various consulates and embassies. I chose to meet my friend Murali who'd signed up as one of my followers of my blog posts and whose eclectic tastes in music would, I knew, encompass this one. Murali met me at SOAS (The School of Oriental and African Studies) in whose library I'd done so much of my research last year and which I know very well. There, in one of the basement auditoriums, we were treated to a very unusual combination of musical instruments led by an Iranian musicologist called Peyman Heydarian on the santur who with accompanist Emad Rajabalipour on the daf ( a large tambourine) presented Kurdish and Turkish music that was eminently likeable. They were joined by a lovely young student named Vicky Anastasiou whose vocal accompaniment added immensely to the trio. After the interval, the Middle Eastern musicians were joined by two white musicians, one playing the banjo, the other a tiny stringed instrument whose name I can't remember. Together, they presented Irish jigs and Scottish reels using the santur and the daf! Having attended a santur recital, many years ago, in India by the one and only Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma, I would never have thought that it was capable of jamming with Western instruments or could possibly produce the sounds of Gaellic music. But indeed it did and how! We loved every minute of the session and enjoyed chatting during the interval with the young musicians.

It was time for dinner as I was starving and I took Murali to Pizzeria Paradiso just off Gower Street where he had ravioli and I had a pizza--Quatro Stagioni --with ham and mushrooms, olives and artichokes. It was the sort of thin-crust pizza I love and often make from scratch at home--very good indeed. At just past 11.oo pm, Murali and I said goodbye as he returned to his home in Wimbledon and I took the bus back to St. Paul's.

Cynthia and Michael had just returned from a formal evening out and were still togged out in their glad rags when we sat down for a chitchat until midnight! Hard to believe that my week in London is coming to a close and I haven't yet visited the National Gallery. It will be top of my agenda tomorrow!

Cheerful Chinwags, Shakespeare in the Park & A Celebrity Chef

2010-07-30T02:29:00.003-04:00

Thursday, July 29, 2010
London

Today was a day for reunions--with some of my closest London friends and my former NYU colleagues. I had the best time, sometimes tearful, as they (my friends, not my former colleagues) went over the sad recent events in the Almeida family and gave me warm hugs and much friendly advice. I adore them and was so thrilled to have had those uplifting chinwags.

First stop was Queen's Park, on the Tube. There, on Salusbury Road at a coffee shop called Gail's, I met my Swiss friend Marilyn who, together with her Belgian husband Phillipe, had provided me with ever so many gourmet meals at their fabulous home in Willesden Green. The unexpected bonus was a chance to meet their lovely daughter Emma-Louise who in her chic bob looked ultra glamorous. She stayed long enough to take some pictures with me before scooting off.

It was a lovely reunion indeed. I was struck by Marilyn's insights, clairvoyance and compassion. She shared so many nuggets of wisdom with me that I came out of our meeting genuinely edified with lessons I know I can actually use in my life going forward. On the way back to the Tube, she drove me past the home I loved so well and in which our friendship had been ignited and grew to a roaring blaze. Swollen by the power of friendship, I said goodbye to her and popped into a pharmacy to ask the well-trained pharmacists (both of Indian sub-continent origin) what I should take for the beginnings of a cough and scratchy throat. Their over-the-counter prescriptions turned out to be very effective indeed (as I found out as the day wore on).

On to NYU:
I took the Tube next to Tottenhan Court Road from where I walked to Bedford Square and our NYU campus. It felt wonderful to retread the pavements upon which I had left so many footprints a year ago. I got a warm and very special welcome from the security guard Mo who was joined by Mark, both of whom were delighted to see me again. I walked down the winding stair to my well-remembered basement office before I went upstairs to see the administrative staff, Anna and David and Yvonne and Ruth, who had made my life so easy while I'd taught in London for a year. What a great joy it was to reconnect with all of them and catch up on every change that has occured in the past year! I met new recruits and spent a while at the window of Yvonne's office overlooking the huge archaeological 'dig' at the British Museum where intentions of adding a new wing have led to the unearthing of the bones of a large herd of cattle--there is one intact skeleton, horns and all, that lies in a grave--all so clearly visible from Yvonne's window. Hard to understand how these remains could be found in a house that once belonged to Lord Montague (which became the British Museum).

Shakespeare in the Park:
More chinwags later, I changed two buses to get to Baker Street Station where at the Sherlock Holmes statue, I met the person who was supposed to give me two complimentary tickets to see The Comedy of Errors at Regent's Park Open Air Theater. This arrangement is open only to a select group of expatriates in London whose cultural interests run to theater. Admission to the group is strictly by invitation only and I was delighted to have been signed up when I first came to live in London.

I invited my friend Cynthia to go with me ( as I had received two tickets) and she was delighted. She actually rescheduled her Pilates class to join me at the same venue. We walked past the serpentine queues outside Madame Tussaud's and entered the Queen Mary Rose Garden at Regent's Park on our way to the venue. Having seen Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest last year at the same venue with my young friend Jack, I knew the place well. We found our seats after another chinwag in the garden outside the Open Air Theater.

Both Cynthia and I were glad that Michael had printed out the plot of the play for us as it is hugely complicated. Mistaken identity, the separation of twins as children, the reunion of long-lost spouses--all the stock features of Shakespearean comedy--made this a play that was difficult to follow unless one was forewarned what to expect. The production was very original indeed--set in Turkey of the 1930s and involving elements of musical theater. There was song and dance and a trio of jazz musicians who heightened interest in the plot and gave substance to Shakespeare's poetry. Lots of rough and tumble and physical comedy were part of the show and both Cynthia and I enjoyed it immensely. We'd lucked out with the weather which was just right--cool with overcast skies that eliminated glare and made for a very pleasant experience. I couldn't think of a better way to enjoy an afternoon in a London park than by listening to the cadences of The Bard.

It was time for us to part company as Cynthia and I took the Tube. I got off at Charing Cross, hoping to catch a glimpse of at least a couple of my favorite paintings at the National Gallery but all I had the time to do was use the restrooms inside before the museum closed for the day. I lazed around the steps of Trafalgar Square that were filled to bursting with fellow-tourists as I admired Edward Landseer's lions. I realize that while I have pictures of Chriselle astride them at age nine, I have never straddled those lions myself--and perhaps someday I should!

A Celebrated Restaurant:
At 6. 30 pm, I walked to the steps of the Church of St. Martin-in-the Field where I'd made plans to meet yet another dear English friend--Rosemary, whom I know as Roz. She arrived on schedule and we looked for a pub in which to have a drink before we kept our dinner reservation. Unfortunately, the one picked by the barman at the Jerusalem Tavern, the previous day, as his favorite pub in the city, The Harp at Charing Cross was so tightly-packed, that we forewent the pleasure and headed on the Tube to Tower Hill intending to get a drink at the restaurant itself.

I had made reservations for two at Cafe Spice Namaste, the restaurant owned by Cyrus Todiwala, a Parsi chef from Bombay, with whom I had become familiar on the UK TV Food Network when I lived in London. When I returned to the States, I had purchased his cook book and made his superb Bread and Butter Pudding (Parsi-style) from it. It was my intention to eat in his restaurant upon my next visit to London, so I was as pleased as Punch when Roz was free to join me.

We sat at the bar for a while nursing our drinks before moving into a vast hall for the restaurant is located in an old red brick building on Prescott Street (which took some finding) near the Tower of London. Of course, I had hyped up Todiwalla's Parsi cuisine so much that I hoped Roz would not be disappointed--and indeed she was not. She left the ordering to me and I started with that Parsi classic--Prawn Patia--for starters. It was superb--just the right touches of sweet, sour and spicy notes. We went on to order Aunt Leeli's Coriander Coated Salmon which was served with a Bombay-style Potato Bhaji studded with carrots and peas and the piece de resistance of any Parsi wedding banquet--the Dhansak which is a Mutton and Lentil Stew served over brown rice with a kachumber of onions and minced coriander leaves with a light squeeze of lemon and dash of lime juice. Everything was great--just as your Parsi neighbor in Bombay used to make it!

Roz and I talked non-stop and like Marilyn, she too sent warm verbal hugs my way as we caught up. She was keen to lay eyes on chef Cyrus whose wife Perin had taken good care of us all evening long. So, you can imagine how delighted we were when Cyrus, presuming I was a Parsi myself, came up to our table to shake hands and chat with us. He was not disappointed when he discovered that though I am not a Parsi, I am almost a Goan (Mangloreans once having been Goans themselves!), for he had spent many years in training at the Taj in Goa where he picked up fluent Konkani in which he began to speak to me! He was also raised in Bandra in Bombay, so we had so many elements in common. We told him how much we'd enjoyed our meal and he was thrilled when I said I owned his book and had actually tried out his pudding! Needless to say, I requested him and his wife to pose for a picture with us (which he willingly did) before we ordered the Lagan Nu Custer (the traditional Parsi wedding style custard dessert). Indeed, we had a wonderful evening that was made more meaningful by the presence of the chef who actually graced our table!

Neither Roz nor I could believe that it was almost 11.oo pm when we rose to leave after coffee. Our talking had been continuous as we spoke about our beloved kids (and grand kids in her case), our beloved ageing parents, our Significant Others and our common friends as well as our common interests as Roz had often been my companion to the theater, cinema and art galleries when I had lived in London.

Before we knew it, it was time to go our separate ways--I took a bus back to St. Paul's, she took the Tube to her lovely home in Battersea.

Friends! What would one ever do without them?

A Museum, Tavern, Court, Church, Store, Restaurant, Theater...

2010-07-29T02:10:00.002-04:00

Wednesday, July 28, 2010
London

The Foundling Museum:
With the sun shining down upon London today, I thought it a shame to be spending time in a museum, but after a delicious muesli breakfast, my friend Cynthia joined me on the bus to the Foundling Museum, one of London's best-kept secrets. Tucked away in a recess of Brunswick Square is a place that has its origins in the 18th century when no less than 1000 babies were abandoned on doorsteps by unwed mothers to fend for themselves. Most died in infancy or early childhood on the streets of the city. It was time, thought the merchant seaman Thomas Coram, to create a safe haven for these unwanted mites. He sought the financial aid of the king (George II) in his philantropic scheme but met with little cooperation. It was not until the Duchess of Salisbury granted his venture her patronage that others lent their support. In course of time, he managed to garner the assistance of two leading artistic lights of the period--the composer Frederic Handel and the painter William Hogart. The trio eventually raised the 'hospital' that stood in what came to be called Coram Fields--a 'foundling' home for society's littlest rejects. By the Victorian Age, it was a thriving resource for miserable young women who brought no less than 60 babies in per week (of which, by a cruel lottery system, no more than 20 were admitted). The Foundling Home was moved from its city location to Berkhamstead and continued to function until the 1930s where it was finally closed.

To walk through this museum is to suppress tears and deal with a constant lump in the throat. The most poignant exhibits are the 'tokens' left by the poor mothers--a medal, a small coin, a necklace of cheap glass beads, a cross--items that would identify their babies whom they hoped would be restored to them if and when they saw better days. Some were happily reunited with their children (whose names were changed as they went through a baptism upon entry into the home), most found that their babies had died already (the infant mortality rate was high) by the time they had the means to retrieve their little ones.

The museum also has a clutch of wonderful paintings that filled The Picture Gallery, which was used as the Dining Room when the foundlings lived in the building. Rich Victorians made a Sunday afternoon outing of visiting the Gallery while the children were at lunch--a bit like visiting the zoo today, I suppose. The Court Room is a splendid place decorated with intricate plasterwork by William Wooton and sporting an unusual olive green color. It contains some fine paintings by Hogart themed around the finding of children--as in the case of Moses from the Bible.

There was a particularly intriguing painting by William Stuart depicting the Battle of Trafalgar which caught my eye because, apart from the HMS Victory (upon whose deck Nelson died), it featured the Temeraire, the ship that features in Turner's famous painting The Fighting Temeraire, which hangs in the National Gallery in London and which the British pick repeatedly as their most beloved painting of all time.

Upstairs, in the Handel Room, is the composer's own copy of The Messiah which was performed as a fund-raiser in the Foundling Home. Coram was far-sighted enough to realise that he could use the space for cultural activities that would raise the money to fund his enterprise. Sadly, much as I would like to believe that the children were treated kindly, I discovered that Charles Dickens based his Oliver Twist on this place--so it could not have been a haven at all. In fact, children were raised to do hard physical labor since most of the boys were farmed out to the army at the age of 13 (if there was a war at the time, they were expected to go out and fight in it) while the girls were 'picked' out to be domestic servants and subjected to a life of further hardship. You can tell why, while it was a fantastic experience to be in the museum, it was by no means an uplifting one. Still. The Museum was on my To-Do List, so I was glad I 'did' it.

Cynthia and I then nipped into the Waitrose at Brunswick Center so I could buy my supply of English powdered soup. She had no idea there was a Waitrose in this location and wondered at my knowledge of the city. She told me that she and Michael think I ought to become a London tour guide! Well, that's one job I think I would gladly accept if anyone offered it to me. Except that in London, I'd have to go through six years of grueling study to be certified as a Blue Badge Guide--unless I'd want to be a free lancer!

The Jerusalem Tavern:
It was time for me to part company with Cynthia and hop on to a bus to Britten Street which I overlooked from my room from the loft I had stayed in for the last 2 months of my year in London. I had plans to meet Jack Cooke, son of my friends Paul and Loulou (who happen to be in Italy) and there he was, awaiting my arrival at a little past 1.00 pm. Jack used to be my occasional theater companion. A strikingly intelligent young man in his 20s, I enjoy his company and have always been struck by his degree of general knowledge and humor--both of which were in evidence at the Jerusalem Tavern that I wanted to visit as it is listed in one of my books as one of London's most interesting pubs. Dating from 1710, it is a quaint, crammed space (which explains why there were always hordes of lawyers crowding the pavement in the evening, pints in hand, when I passed it on the way back to my digs from the bus stop). Jack bought me a drink (my choice was a very good grapefruit beer), his was a glass of red wine. We caught up on everything that has happened in the past year before he told me that he would be in New York in September where we promised to continue our conversation as he had to rush off back to work.

A Session at the Old Bailey:
There are some London guide book writers who say that if there is only one thing you can possibly find the time to do in London, it should be attending a session at the Old Bailey. Since I can actually see the dome right outside my bedroom window and have never been there before, this visit seemed as good as any to accomplish that goal. So off I went, on foot, down Warwick Passage to the imposing building on Newgate Street (where the notorious Newgate Prison once stood), to find the entrance to the sessions court. I was admitted into Court 6 on the Second floor where I spent a half hour listening to the reading of a transcript of a case that has been going on for months. The accused, two women--one white, one black--were in the dock awaiting the verdict in their role in aiding and abetting a robbery. It was interesting to see that the judge and the barristers still sport the white powdered wigs of the 18th century--a custom that has died out in every other part of the English-speaking world. I do wish I had seen the proceedings in an actual case, but my appetite was whetted enough to consider making another trip to this venerable old building on another trip to the city.

St. James' Church, Piccadilly:
It was time to hop on a bus again--this time to Piccadilly--with the hope of getting inside the Church of St. James which Christopher Wren considered his own personal favorite among the many post-Fire churches he built. En route, I passed by the Apollo Theater on Shaftesbury Avenue, and on impulse I hopped off the bus to try and see if I could get a single ticket for the evening's show of Arthur Miller's All My Sons which has received fantastic reviews and for which half-price tickets are not available at the theater booth at Leicester Square. Can you imagine how my heart sang when I snagged the last ticket in the balcony for the show? Boy, I thought, this could easily become the highlight of my visit.

Set in a lovely courtyard which has special personal memories for me (it was here that the late Indo-British author Kamala Markandaya upon whom my doctoral dissertation is based, had posed with me after treating me to afternoon tea at next-door's Fortnum and Mason, 23 years ago). St. James' was open, thankfully, which allowed me to enter a hushed space and after a few moment's of prayer and reflection, treat my eyes to the sight of the wooden carvings on the altar which I recognized instantly as the work of the one and only Grindling Gibbons, the most skilled wood carver of the 18th century and one of my own favorite decorative artists. Apart from his skill in wood, I saw, for perhaps the first time, a marble carving by him at the Baptismal Font where none other than the poet William Blake had been baptised. The church is full of artistic interest and I can see why Wren loved it so much--its ceiling with its gilded plasterwork is particularly interesting. I was delighted that I finally managed to see the inside of a church that Wren had so loved.

Fortnum and Mason:
It was time to enter another temple--this one a temple to Mammon. It is one of my all-time favorite London stores--the 18th century F&M where I make at least one pilgrimage on every visit to London. I always find some little trinket to tickle my fancy and this time I found an unusual musical biscuit box for Chriselle and a reversible tea cozy for me that sports the logo of the store. I saw a lovely exhibit of artistic ceramics on the first floor, took a glance at the famous picnic hampers for which the store is renowned and paused around the tea counter wondering if or not I ought to buy one of their assorted tea caddies. I decided against it--perhaps on another trip.

St. John's Bar and Restaurant:
On the bus again, I fought against the clock to make my 6.oo pm appointment with my friend John at the St. John's Bar and Restaurant where it was my aim to have an early dinner of Roasted Bone Marrow and Parsley Salad on Toast, apparently the signature dish of its acclaimed chef Fergus Henderson whose philosophy of Nose to Tail Eating has put the restaurant on the city's gastronomic map. John arrived at the appointed hour to join me in a glass of wine while I finally had the pear cider I'd been craving since I arrived in London. The salad was every bit as good as it sounds though the presentation was odd. I was served four large marrow bones (thankfully with a long picking fork), and the well-dressed parsley salad on the side with a teaspoon of salt. The combination of flavors was very good indeed and this is easily something I could reproduce in my Southport kitchen. The last time, Stephanie and I had eaten in this restaurant, the salad had gone and I had promised myself I would return to taste it.

All My Sons at the Apollo Theater:
It was great catching up with John, who was one of the respondents in my Anglo-Indian immigrant survey before I scooted off, this time by Tube, to Piccadilly Circus to make the 7. 30 pm show of All My Sons. Starring David Suchet (best known to me for his role as Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot--though I can't stand him in that avatar) and Zoe Wannamaker (whom I had become acquainted with through her role as the mother in the long-running Britcom My Family which I used to watch religiously during my year in London), it is considered Arthur Miller's best play and among the handful of best plays of the 20th century. Though I have seen many stage versions of Death of a Salesman and A View from the Bridge, I had never seen All My Sons on stage, so I was thrilled to have the opportunity to do so in London in a production that has earned rave reviews.

And I could easily see why. Even my nose-bleed seats (my opera glasses helped tremendously) did not stop me from fully immersing myself in a play that tore at my heart strings and left me a snivelling mess at the very end. I had no tissues with me (I travel light) and as I fought back tears provoked by the crushing denouement, I had a very hard time indeed. If you live in London, run--don't walk--to the Apollo and book yourself a ticket. As I had imagined, it is easily the highlight of my stay, so far. Talk about drama...this was theater at its finest and I felt truly privileged to have been allowed to partake of it.

It was about 10. 30 when I sat on the bus and was home at Amen Court about 20 minutes later. Cynthia and Michael had just returned from a black tie dinner appointment at Mansion House with the Lord Mayor of London and presented me with the printed menu from their formal evening out. We sat chatting for the next half hour as we caught up on our day before we thought we could close shop for the night.

Hovering around Hever Castle in Kent

2010-07-28T02:44:00.008-04:00

Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Kent

Hever Castle was the childhood home of Anne Boleyn, second wife of Henry VIII, mother of Queen Elizabeth I and the woman whose face launched the Anglican Church of England. It is tucked away in the emerald folds of the Kentish countryside, just a stone's throw away from Penshurst Place whose most famous resident was Anne's contemporary, the courtier-poet Sir Phillip Sidney who wrote a beautiful poem immortalizing the ancient pile ("To Penshurst"). When, over a year ago, my friend Stephanie and I had taken one of our frequent detours on our Sunday sightseeing routine in the UK, we had strayed onto a path that led to Hever, only to arrive at its lovely Tudor gatehouse and find it closed for the winter. So I was particularly happy to actually get within its gates.

By medieval standards, Hever is tiny. I have toured castles far more impressive in size and grandeur (Glamis Castle in Scotland comes to mind, as, of course, closer to London, is Windsor). but then this wasn't owned by royalty. It was the family home of one of the most ambitious of the monarch's underlings, Thomas Bullen, whose father Geoffrey had purchased the property and surrounding acreage as a family home. It passed into the hands of the conniving Thomas who would not draw the line at pimping his daughters Anne and Mary to the King just so he could swell his wealth and rise in royal stature. A really sinister portrayal of him is played superbly by Nick Dunning in the HBO series The Tudors which Llew and I have been watching on DVD. He lies buried in adjoining St. Peter's Church, Hever, which a lot of visitors also enter.

His spirit was more than evident at Hever, a pretty ivy-covered, double-moated castle with the cutest Tudor entry courtyard I have ever seen just past the drawbridge--all exposed black gables and stone turreted tower. Inside, there is some of the most ornate linen-fold wooden panelling I have ever seen--not for the Bullens the ordinary kind as found at Hampton Court or Sutton House in London's East End--this is embellished superbly with aristocratic symbols. There are paintings on the wall that depict the pomp and splendour that was lavished upon King Henry each time he came along for a sleepover. Indeed his bedroom is the coziest and the brightest--large windows (unusual for Tudor homes) threw light upon his 'tester' bed--I bet there was no pun intended there!

Every attempt has been made to revive the spirit of the ill-fated Anne Boleyn through portraiture, wax models (as at Madame Tussaud's), her own personal Book of Hours which poignantly has the words "Le Temps Viendra, je Anne Boleyn" inscribed on its first page--did she have a premonition that her time would come? Anne was especially fluent in French which she considered her first language having spent her formative years at the French court where her father dispatched her so she could acquire sophisticated European ways and eventually wow an English monarch who was best known for his roving eye. Elaborate family trees trace the origin of some of the times' key players and I always come away from such exhibits learning just one more tidbit. For instance, I could never remember what made Elizabeth I and Mary Queen of Scots 'cousins'--the family tree allowed me to see that Mary was the daughter of Henry's sister Margaret--hence Mary was Elizabeth's father's sister's daughter. Still, despite all the memorabilia from Tudor and Elizabethan times, I came away thinking I'd learned more about the Astors.

That is because in the early 20th century, Hever passed into the hands of the American William Astor who made his fortune in fur trading. For some reason, at that time, Americans seemed to think that getting their hands on England's real estate would increase their own stature and vied to make property investments across the pond (consider this: William Randolph Hurst, the Californian publisher-millionnaire bought nearby Leeds Castle; the Vanderbilts went one step further and arranged their daughter Consuelo's marriage to the then Duke of Marlborough so they could get their hands on Blenheim Palace--poor thing had a miserable time until the couple divorced, but not before the Vanderbilts poured their ample funds into restoring what was then a crumbling pile. These bits of Anglo-American trivia have, somehow, stuck in my mind from past travels in the UK). The top floors of Hever are devoted to an exhibition about the Astors and there are a bunch of paintings and pictures depicting the clan way into the 20th century smiling for the cameras against the Castle's ivy-clinging backdrop.

Hever's Gardens are just as special as the House itself--there is a beautiful Rose Garden, an ornately laid-out Italianate Garden, a Half Moon Fountain and sweeping lawns that dip into a lake that boaters made idyllic. Children giggled in the Water Maze and in the other old-fashioned amusement area for there is a great deal to keep them occupied.

Close by is the pretty and very tiny village of Chiddingston which my guide book described as the kind of place from which you expect Agatha Christie's Miss Marple to emerge from behind a hedge. It is a one-horse village with just three large structures--a stone church, a gabled guildhall and a Castle Inn that adjoins Chiddingston Castle, but taken together, the three present a chocolate box image of the quintessential English country village and are well worth a visit.
I saw a determined group of walkers, led by an equally focussed guide, disappear behind a corpse--no doubt, they were in search of the Chidding Stone that gives the village its name.

In the evening, when the day came to a close, my cousin Cheryl and her husband David who live on the Isle of Sheppey provided a snack supper. It was great to see them and their ageing cats, Morgy and Buttons, again and to catch up on their lives. As we ate in their living room, I enjoyed a view of the North Sea along the Minster Lees waterfront.

My travels outside London have come to an end. I am hoping I will have good weather as I spend the next few days dipping into lesser-known bits and pieces of my favorite city.

Coursing Around the Cotswolds...

2010-07-27T02:05:00.004-04:00

Monday. July 26, 2010
The Cotswolds and Oxford

It apparently came down in buckets in London today...but I wouldn't know. I was far away in the Cotswolds, one of the prettiest parts of England and one of my particular favorites, where it remained dry though overcast--perfect conditions for a drive into the country and for gentle strolling. And indeed there is so much to absorb--from honey-toned villages composed entirely of the famous Cotswolds stone to 'wool' churches created by wealthy wool merchants in the Middle Ages when the area was the center of English trading; from cute shops stocked with trinkets and edible goodies (I almost bought out the entire stock of Border's Dark Chocolate Gingers--my favorite English biscuit--in Stow-on-the-Wold) to stately homes (Kelmscott Manor, home of William Morris, for instance) to spectacular gardens (such as Hidcote Manor, which is world-famous). Unfortunately, though Kelmscott was one of my targets, I realized before my friend Bash and I left London by car with him behind the wheel, that it is only open on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Faulty scheduling on my part meant that we had to keep this treat on hold for another day--but then I will take any excuse to re-visit the Cotswolds.

I met Bash outside Northhold Tube station which allowed us to zip on to the M40 Motorway to Oxford at a leisurely pace. Hard to believe it was just another manic Monday--there was no traffic at all, at least none leaving London. While the rest of the poor sods were making their way into the city to start their work week, we drove under overcast skies into the countryside. Good job I'd borrowed my friend Barbara's UK Road Atlas which was very useful indeed as Bash has no GSP and relied on my navigational skills. Thankfully, I adore maps and map-reading and was fully in my element as I negotiated a way for the spunky silver Suzuki Swift to make its way around a network of leafy country lanes.

Stow-on-the-Wold:
Our first stop was the Cotswold village of Stow-on-the-Wold, renowned for its weekly market held on the square since medieval times. Since Bash had driven for almost 2 hours, it was time for a coffee break and we found a quaint tea room overlooking the square. Just next door, in a shop that stocked local Cotswold honey, home-cured cold meats, artisinal cheeses and pots of homemade jam, I spied my Border's dark chocolate ginger biscuits and bought the lot--seven packages, one of which I promptly opened and bit into right after paying for them. So that's one item off my 'To Purchase List' that I could tick off. We had a bit of a hairy time trying to find our parked car--all lanes look the same and we couldn't find it but with a bit of asking around, voila, there it was--exactly where we'd left it!

I thought so much about Llew and Chriselle and ached for their presence as we'd first toured the Cotswolds as a family (with Llew behind the wheel), at least twelve years ago, on a driving trip around the UK when Stow-on-the-Wold (which simply means 'hill' in Old English) had been one of our stops.

Moreton-in-Marsh:
Next stop: the village of Moreton-on-Marsh which is the only Cotswold village that has a direct rail link to London and is a popular tourist destination. I exchanged dollars for pound sterling at a quaint bank where wood panelling probably goes back centuries (I was asked for my passport which I'd left at home but my Connecticut driver's license provided adequate picture ID) before we took a "quick chuckkar" around yet another Cotswold town square. For me, one of the pleasures of visiting old villages steeped in history of this sort is the chance to nip into its thrift stores to look for vintage jewelery. Though I don't always find a treasure, I love poking around other people's cast-offs...plus serendipity has often led me to unique finds. Bash, who'd never been into such a shop in his life, found himself leaving with a big bag of finds after marvelling at the prices!

Meanwhile, I took a call from my London-based friend, Rosemary (Roz), who said, "I'm so sorry the weather is so bad today", as if she were personally responsible for the rain in the city!

"No worries", I responded, "I'm far away in the Cotswolds where it's dry as bone".

"Hahaha. Are you still cramming as much as you possibly can into each day?" she went, her voice muffled with laughter.

"You know me too well", I responded. We made plans to meet for dinner shortly before I hung up.

Hidcote Manor Gardens:
It was only a short drive to the Hidcote Manor Gardens which, like Wisley and a great deal of National Trust treasures, seem to be squirreled away in hidden corners of the country and remain totally inaccessible if you don't own wheels. That's why I was so grateful for Bash's chauffeuring skills. I always seem to find like-minded explorers who are content behind the wheel and willing to follow where I lead--the spirit of my friend Stephanie (now posted in Bangkok), for instance, was very much with me as I enjoyed the country vistas and I am ever grateful to my dear Llew (whom I miss dearly) for his own steering skills and his willingness to take me to tucked-away corners in the middle of nowhere.

The Hidcote Manor Gardens were the dream creation of an American horticulturist named Lawrence Johnstone who, in the early 20th century, fashioned gardens surrounding his Cotswold stone manor with a truly unique vision--he envisaged his garden as a series of 'outdoor rooms', each area superbly demarcated through the use of towering hedges. This concept was so creative that it inspired other passionate gardeners such as Vita Sackville-West and her husband Harold Nicholson, who at their home in Sissinghurst in Kent, replicated the idea in a garden that was one of the highlights of my stay in the UK last year. Though not as immaculate as the gardens at Wisley, Hidcote Manor is lush though smaller-scaled and, therefore, more intimate. Again, unlike Wisley which provides the visitor with glimpses into a sheer variety of botanical species, Johnston had a fondness for certain flowers that he planted profusely in a repeated pattern--he seemed particularly partial to phlox, for instance, and day lilies, cannas, hydrangeas and roses. In fact, his garden could belong to any one of us--there is nothing fancy to be found in it and I was easily able to identify most of the plantings.

Like Wisley, Hidcote Manor offered plenty of wrought-iron benches and bowers in which to sit and absorb the vistas. We ate a picnic lunch on one such bench before twirling around the circular pool (such a pity its fountain was not playing), entering a Mediterranean-style patio complete with tiles set into the walls, admiring a typical Elizabethan Knot Garden filled with fuchsia and plucked some of the leaves from more unusual herbs (lemon verbena, for instance) in the Vegetable Garden. The water-lily pond was in full bloom (Monet would gleefully have reached for his tubes of paint) and on the outskirts of the garden, we watched enchanted as recently-sheared Cotswolds sheep jumped awkwardly to grab a mouthful of low-growing branches from spreading oak trees.

It was idyllic, it was bucolic, it was paradisaical. I was thrilled I had finally reached a place I had long dreamed of visiting.

Oxford, City of Dreaming Spires:
It was with reluctance that we left Hidcote but I did want to have some time in Oxford where I offered to give Bash a walking tour. We coursed through more picturesque Cotswold villages such as Chipping Campden and Broadway, revelling in the uniform structure and color of each of these settlements before we arrived, an hour later, into Matthew Arnold's City of Dreaming Spires where I have only ever arrived by coach and found out that parking was a nightmare. We circled the city before we gave up finding a parking spot and since it was time for a drink and dinner, I recommended we drive to Wolvercote to park ourselves at the famed Trout Inn, one of Inspector Morse's favorite watering holes.

The weir was not in operation--it usually creates a striking aural backdrop for one of the riverside meals the ancient pub offers--so we were not too disappointed to find a table indoors (the wait for outdoor seating was 45 minutes). Hearing of my fondness for perry (pear cider), Bash introduced me to an alcoholic ginger beer called Crabbies (which I found to be very nice indeed) and over a shared starter of superb Devilled Mushrooms on Toast and then Pasta Carbonara for me and Ribeye Steak and Chips for him, we had ourselves a very delicious meal. Once again, the spirit of my other fond friends washed over me in this space, especially my dear Italian buddy Annalisa and her sons Giovanni and Giacommo with whom I'd once shared a drink at this venue after traipsing for miles through adjoining Port Meadow and Godstow Lock along the banks of the Thames.

On our way back to London, we did find parking at St. Giles (just as I'd expected) and I could not resist living up to my promise and playing walking tour guide as I took Bash around the most significant buildings such as the Christopher Wren-designed Sheldonian Theater, the Bridge of Sighs, the Clarendon Building, the Radcliff Camera and the Church of St. Mary the Virgin. Back on the High Street, I pointed out several colleges (though we couldn't enter any of the quadrangles) and the Examination Hall before I ducked into the tiny Wheatsheaf Alley to take him to Gill and Co, Ironmongers, that have been in the same family since before the birth of Shakespeare. It was while I was in Bombay, last week, that my Mum pointed out an article to me in The Times of India, saying, "Here, take a look at this item. Do you know this hardware store? It is older than Shakespeare himself and is closing down at the end of August." Gill and Co. was one of the favorite stores of author Colin Dexter who lives in North Oxford and is the creator of the beloved Inspector Morse. He would often pop in to hang out with the owner and decided, therefore, to write the place into one of his murder mysteries. The producers of the TV series actually used it as a location for one of their highly-rated episodes. So much history, so much folklore has developed around an ironmonger's shop. What a crying shame it will be to see it disappear. "We simply can't compete with the B&O warehouses," says the owner, who will close it down next month after five centuries! Now in Southport, I am sure the local residents would have clubbed together to find a way to 'save' it, if not as an ironmongers, then as a local landmark!

Anyway, dusk had fallen over one of my most beloved cities in the world (together with Florence, Paris, Prague, Jaisalmer and Bruges) so it was time to get back to London. I was dropped outside Amen Corner a little after 11.00 pm after what had proven to be another very tiring but truly productive day.

Whizzing Off to Wisley Royal Gardens!

2010-07-25T18:46:00.008-04:00

Sunday, July 25, 2010
London

On a day that was tailor-made for exploring gardens, I set off for Wisley Royal Gardens...but not before I attended 8.00 am Holy Communion service at St. Paul's Cathedral with Aidan Colclough, son of mine host, Michael, Bishop of Kensington and his wife Cynthia. Another feeling of deja-vu gripped me again as it was at precisely this service, two years ago, that I had first met Michael and Cynthia who have grown to become such close family friends. The ways of the Lord are mysterious--especially in the manner in which He brought such fabulous people into my life while I lived in London.

After a hearty oatmeal breakfast, I caught the Central Line Tube from St. Paul's Station to Northholt (the compartments were packed--where was everyone going so early on a Sunday morning?). I'd made plans to hook up with my friend Bash. His funky little silver Suzuki was parked near at hand and off we whizzed to Wisley Royal Gardens which are tucked away in a corner of Surrey close to Woking in a place called Ripley. How great it was to see him again! I'd met him at the tail-end of my year in London but had hit it off with him immediately and not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, I'd gladly taken him up on his offer to drive me around to places I wanted to see on my present visit. Besides, he'd never been to Wisley himself (not a very macho thing for a single man to do, he informed me) which made it worth his while.

At 9. 50 pounds entry fee for perusing a garden that goes on for what seems like miles, it was the best bang for its buck, he opined. At the very full parking lot, we realized that loads of people had beaten us to it and intended to spend, what shaped into a gorgeous day, literally smelling the roses. Wisley is well beloved of the local Surrey country folks who seem to spend every summer weekend in its verdant midst.

Bash and I spent the next few hours surveying the vast property which has been brilliantly landscaped to feature a variety of gardens--a Rock Garden, a Rose Garden, an Italianate Garden with a Loggia, an Islamic-style Genaralife garden as seen in Granada, a Cottage Garden, a Cactus and Succulent Garden, a Zen Garden, extensive glass houses or conservatories, a Tropical garden reminiscent of the ones found inside the bio domes of the Eden Project that I'd visited in Cornwall, dozens of herbaceous borders punctuated with striking statuary, sculpture, sun dials and other ornamentation that one finds sprinkled liberally around the gardens of England.

We stopped frequently--to partake of a picnic lunch I'd fixed of smoked ham, Wensleydale Cheese with ginger and apple sandwiches using Waitrose's excellent walnut bread and fresh apples. We paused for a tea break when we sipped excellent cuppas served in metal teapots as only the English can do and slices of Coffee and Walnut Cake, or simply to rest our feet in shrouded bowers and on shady benches. Even someone like Bash who describes himself as having "brown fingers" enjoyed the romps so very much that he has threatened to bring his sister Zack to the garden the next time she visits London from Lancaster. For those who have never been to this place, it is the last word in serenity and I honestly couldn't think of a better way to pass a Sunday in summer if I'd put on my thinking cap and wracked my brain for hours! So get you to its website, pronto! And start eating your heart out.

When we'd had our fill of gardens, we drive to Southall, London's Little India, where we had a nice stroll together along its main artery past shops selling Punjabi 'suits', 22 carat Indian gold jewelry, sticky sweetmeats, halal meat, every condiment that the Indian sub-continent produces and packages, mangoes galore ( I bought a box of Indian 'dusseries' for Cynthia who adores them), restaurants up the wazoo...it was like walking in Delhi's Chandni Chowk, only cleaner! I could easily have settled for a meal in Gifto's Lahori Karahi, but Bash suggested a place called Barrish in Harrow, close to Wembley. So off we went and in a few minutes, we were in another part of London frequented by folks from the Indian sub-continent (desis).

Our dinner was very delicious indeed if rather a noisy experience as the place was taken over by a large post-wedding party of boisterous middle-aged males who'd gathered in London from the US, Canada and India. I ate some really interesting Indian dishes such as Chilli Paneer, Virgin (yes, you read that right!) Chicken and King Prawn Masala which we washed down with Bulmer's Cider. I haven't yet managed to find Perry (pear cider--which few bars seem to stock) but I will come upon it before I leave.

It was a little before 11.oo pm when Bash dropped me home to Amen Corner and I realized as he departed that I'd left my box of mangoes in his car...shall pick them up from him tomorrow as we are off for the day to Oxfordshire.

I felt exhausted by the time I hit the bed but had to download my pictures from my camera or I will have no room for any more pictures of the Hidcote Manor Gardens near Oxford that I plan to see.

I am so glad that Bash is in cahoots with me in getting "every box ticked," as he puts it, on my To-Do List. So nice to have a partner in crime!

Tackling my London To-Do List

2010-07-24T18:06:00.005-04:00

Friday, July 24, 2010
London

I had showered, changed and was ready to hit the road to Litchfield when Michael descended the stairs to inform me that he had pulled a nerve in his back and felt uncertain about sitting behind a wheel for so many hours. Our trip to the Midlands was cancelled and I was left with the equally exciting prospect of spending a truly spectacular day in London on my own.

The thing about London is that no matter how often you've been and how long you've stayed, there is still always something 'new' to see. On a glorious day like today, I was torn between staying outdoors and ticking items off my To-Do List--many of which involved museums. In the end, I chose to walk the tight rope between outdoor and indoor activity and didn't do too bad a job at it.

So, I left Amen Corner at 10 am after a delicious oatmeal porridge breakfast fixed by Cynthia and Michael in tandem--he provided the bits and bobs (oatmeal, oat bran, milk, water, sultanas, chopped nuts), she stirred and served.

Kensington Gardens:
I hopped into a bus at St. Paul's, then changed to another on Oxford Street and hopped off at Bayswater, near Lancaster Gate. My aim was to stroll through Kensington Gardens which I'd never seen before (though I have been to Kensington Palace and the Orangery when Chriselle had visited me). I admired the Italianate Gardens though they weren't in bloom, then walked on towards the lovely sculpture of Peter Pan by George Frampton which featured the boy who never grew up among the fairies and animals he adored. Right opposite is the thinnest thread of the Serpentine and the approximate spot where the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley's wife drowned herself--heart-breaking.

On I walked towards the Serpentine Gallery which I'd never visited. Hard to believe that I spent a whole year devouring London's art offerings and had never been to one of its most famous galleries. I seemed to have just arrived in time to enjoy the brand new lipstick red pavilion, the work of Jean Nouvel, that sits near the Serpentine Gallery which was once a tea room. Inside, I caught a striking exhibition of photographs by Wolfgang Tillmans before I spent a while resting my feet in Nouvel's new creation.

A Triathlon was on in the Park and I walked past groups of sprinters on the Serpentine Bridge before I went in search of the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain where I was delighted to discover that I could kick my clogs off and paddle. What cool relief for my aching feet! Ten minutes later, I was near the Lido Swimming Club admiring the hanging baskets of flowers that filled the pavilion.

It was time to hop on a bus again and as it grew warmer towards mid-morning, it made sense to escape indoors for a bit, so off I went to Leighton House.

Leighton House:
Leighton House had remained closed for renovation, much to my disappointment, during the length of my stay in London. Since it reopened only a few months ago, it made perfect sense for me to make a bee-line to the London home of one of the late-19th century's best-known artists-Frederick, Lord Leighton, at 12 Holland Park Road. And boy, was it worth the wait! The house, which is absolutely nothing to look at from the outside, was a true stunner within. I was completely floored. My five pound entry fee was waived, thanks to my Metropolitan Museum connection, so in I went after I had lingered in the garden for a bit and enjoyed a brief conversation with a lady who had curated a special exhibit inside entitled 'Flaming July.'

Lord Leighton had a passion for everything Middle Eastern and entering this home is a bit like making a lightning visit to Damascus or Istanbul. His fondness for blue Iznik tiles is evident everywhere--on the walls, the ceiling and the floors--exactly as Llew and I had seen in the harems in Turkey. He was equally enthralled by Roman decorative design, especially the mosaics of Pompeii and I saw a great deal of the motifs I had seen during my visit to Southern Italy. Dozens of his own paintings line the walls as do a huge number of paintings, drawings and sculpture that formed his own personal collection. They range in style from the classical work of Michelangelo to the Impressionist work of Corot. The visitor walks through the rooms which have been recreated to reflect the manner in which Leighton lived in them, down to the finest detail as he was obsessive about getting every element right. Indeed, though the house was designed for him by the architect George Aitchison, Leighton was personally involved in every single aspect of it and his attention to detail is evident everywhere. So smitten was I by the man, his vision and his work that I believe this visit will be one of the highlights of my current travels in the UK.

The Science Museum:
Because the day was shaping up so beautifully, I spent a while lingering on Kensington High Street--I popped into Waitrose to buy some of my favorite goodies--their Walnut Bread, their Wensleydale Cheese with Ginger, their smoked ham--good for the sandwiches I shall prepare for our picnic in Wisley Royal Gardens tomorrow. With a triple chicken sandwich in the bag, I hopped into another bus, this time headed towards the Science Museum which I had never entered before.

You can tell that Science is not one of my passions, though children seemed to be having a whale of a time. I headed straight for the basement to see exhibits on the Home which detailed the history of such familiar household appliances and gadgets as refrigerators and toasters and irons, not to mention the cistern in toilets! I guess a science buff could spend the entire day (or several) in this space, but by then it was almost 5.00 pm and I was dying for a cuppa. The cafe seemed rather too bland for my liking and knowing full well that the superb Gamble Cafe was only a stone's throw away in the Victoria & Albert Museum, that was where I sped. One large cup of Darjeeling (and a sandwich later) later, I was wading into water again--this time in the circular pool in the museum's courtyard which was full of fellow paddlers. How delightful to be able to do this sort of thing! I had such a grand time and, of course, my poor abused feet enjoyed the treat as well.

Harvey Nichols and Fortnums:
On the bus again, we rolled in the direction of Piccadilly. When we passed by Harvey Nichols, I realized that I had never been inside this fancy department store--so off I hopped and in I went into another London institution. But, of course, once I was inside, I saw that there isn't really very much to distinguish one department store from the other, so I took the elevator to the fifth floor and walked around the Food Hall for a while before I rode the escalators down so that I could walk around each floor and admire the Jimmy Choos or the Vivienne Westwoods. On the bus again, I proceeded towards Piccadilly, this time hoping I'd make it there by 7 o' clock so that I could see Mr. Fortnum and Mr. Mason do their thing when the hour tolled--a tradition about which I had read only after I'd left London.

At exactly 7 o'clock, the two boxes on either side of the clock on the second floor of the store opened and out popped two life-sized figures dressed in the ostentatious garb (wigs included) of the 18th century gentleman. One carried a tray with tea things, the other held a candelabra. They moved smoothly towards each other, bowed graciously, raised and lowered their heads and twirled while the clock played a tune.And when they were done, they turned their backs on us and walked into their wooden boxes as the doors shut behind them. It was a the cutest sight and I was enchanted! To think that I have never left London without visiting this store (it really is one of my favorites) and did not know about this clock!

I'd have loved to have shopped for a few goodies, but I was in a hurry to get to St. James' Church, Piccadilly, in the hope of seeing the interior, but alas, it was closed for the day. I do so hope I shall have the time to see it before I leave. If and when I do, I shall make sure I go into Fortnum's as well.

It was time to get on the bus and head back to Ludgate Hill. I felt very proud of myself because I remembered the bus routes so well and barely needed to consult my map. Still, some things have changed for the worse--the construction ('road works')outside Tottenham Court Road has diverted the 6, 25 and 251 buses. I reached Amen Corner at about 8 pm really tired and ready to relax though I was simply too stuffed with all the food I'd eaten and decided to skip dinner.

I fixed some sandwiches for a picnic tomorrow and can only hope that the weather will hold up for my day outdoors with my friend Bash!

London is all A-Buzz!

2010-07-24T02:04:00.004-04:00

Friday, July 23, 2010
London

Amy and I raced off to Thetford where our friends Cynthia and Michael were meeting us. We arrived almost on time and I continued with the Colcloughs on their onward journey by car to London. The time just flew as we caught up on our lives.

By the time we reached London it was 1. 00 pm (time for a quickly rustled up lunch of toast and scrambled eggs). I was shown up to my room in a--get this--Christopher Wren home. The master architect designed this new block of terraced housing in 1670 right after the Great Fire of London in 1666. The rooms are huge and the interiors, beautifully detailed--marble fireplaces, ornamental plasterwork on the ceiling, tall sash windows, wide sweeping staircases, grand landings, a full apartment on the third floor reached by a separate servants' staircase--in other words, a home after my own heart! Who would ever have thought that one day I'd be living in a Christopher Wren home? How's that for having a dream come true? How do I know the history of this home? Because last year when I was in the Geffrye Museum, this block of housing was featured in it as one of London's earliest examples of post-fire grandeur. Gone was the timber that had gone up in flames. Brick and stone would be the new idiom of the New London. And Wren got it right--after all these years...no centuries, it is holding up splendidly, though Cynthia apologized to me about the aged plumbing and the need to have the bathrooms modernized--which should happen right after my departure. I, on the other hand, found everything fascinatingly old-world.

I drew the curtains in my room and guess what? I discovered that my windows overlook the great big dome of the Old Bailey. The Goddess of Justice holds her weighing scales in her hands in superb gilded splendour! And every hour and half hour, I hear the tolling bells of St. Paul's Cathedral reminding me that Tempus Fugit! Dreams, dreams, dreams, do come true....

The Colcoughs have made me very comfortable indeed. They are gracious hosts and are including me in everything though I have assured them that I am an old London hand and know it like the back of my...well.,.hand. After I settled in, I set off alone to cover the remaining items on my To-Do List and it was at Covent Garden that I began. It was a gorgeous afternoon--perfect English summer weather--dry and cool unlike the oppressive heat we have on the North Atlantic coast and in Canada at this time of year. Covent Garden was simply crawling with tourists and the buskers (street entertainers) were attracting large crowds (I felt such a strong sense of deja-vu as this was exactly the London Llew and I had encountered when I first came to live here, two years ago).

I headed straight for the London Transport Museum (which is one of those I hadn't covered earlier) and spent the next 2 hours there. I have to say that I was disappointed. I have certainly seen better museums. It failed to evoke in me the sense of bygone London no matter how hard I tried to capture it. Not worth the 8 pound entry fee, but that is just my personal opinion. No doubt, if you are a kid, this is paradise.

I walked around Covent Garden and wished I had more time to visit my favorite old haunts (Carluccio's for its superlative citron tarts and Hope and Greenwood for artisinal chocolates)--but I had to press on as the Colcloughs had invited me to a barbecue party in St. Paul's Gardens. I did mange to buy a citron tart from Patisserie Valerie, however, and I munched it on the bus back to Ludgate Hill.

Spent a really glorious evening meeting a variety of lovely people as Cynthia introduced me around. By far, the most interesting was a jolly white-haired man who was a personal friend of author Vikram Seth--we had so much to talk about as he was very up on Indian Post-Colonial Literature. During our very absorbing discussion, I discovered that he was once Governor of Hongkong and Master of a Cambridge college and was on back-slapping terms with the Nobel Prize winning economist Amartya Sen--you can imagine what a fascinating conversation that was! We exchanged business cards before departing when I discovered that I had been speaking to Sir David, Lord Wilson of Tillyorn. I also enjoyed meeting his wife Lady Nicola--a really pretty, very gracious lady. I am sorry that I will be missing the Sunday lunch at the Chaplain's house to which I have also been invited...but then my friend Bash has offered to drive me to Wisley Royal Gardens that are spectacular at this time of year--and it is an offer I cannot refuse.
The barbecue meal was just superb--not the usual hamburgers and hot dogs that we usually feature at a cook out in the States. This one featured juicy pesto chicken, really perfectly done burgers (yes, they were there), tasty sausages (chipolatas?), coleslaw and potato salad and glass noodles and lovely grilled radicchi0 with pine nuts. The 'puddings', Cynthia told me, would be the best part, so we waited though she became chilly as the evening wore on, for little individual cups of Pimms jelly with fruit, strawberries and cream and raspberry mousse with chocolate--all quite delicious and so very classy!

Our evening ended when Cynthia drove me to my former building at High Holborn so I could pick up my suitcase from the flat of my friends, Tim and Barbara, where I had left it on the morning I vamoosed to Norfolk. It was great to see them again briefly and off we went (Edward, Cynthia's son) and me to the waiting car.

I caught up on my email and blogging because...yes! I am finally online again in my room through wifi and how fabulous it feels to be able to reach out to the world again. Calls to Llew and Chriselle have kept me abreast of the fact that she will soon be home bound to the States and that Llew is enjoying having a houseful of friends who have descended down upon him from Canada and Maine to partake of the offerings of our local Pequot Library Book Sale in Southport.

Tomorrow, I join the Colcloughs on a day trip to the Midlands where I have never been before--just north of Birmingham in a small town called Litchfield. Hope the weather holds out...

Messin' About on the Norfolk Broads

2010-07-23T17:58:00.004-04:00

Thursday, July 22, 2010
Wroxham, Norfolk Broads

I was excited when I awoke this morning as I've wanted to visit the Norfolk Broads for years. Trouble is, they're located in the midst of nowhere--which makes it impossible to get to by public transport. So I was grateful when my friend Amy offered to spend the day with me, which included chauffeuring me to the network of rivers and lakes that make up the famous waterways.

We arrived at Wroxham along animal-studded country roads from Gorleston-in-Sea in about 40 minutes. Wroxham is considered the entry to the Broads and it was strange to suddenly see a congregation of folks when for miles on end no one was in sight. The River Bure passes through the picturesque village that features a clutch of bridges, some old-fashioned and made of stone, others designed in the manner of the Hudson River's Verrazano Bridge with slim metal cables. Swans dotted the waters and came close to the shore for tidbits. We parked at Roy's, a famous department store that touts itself as "the world's largest village store."

Because the best way to see the Broads is by boat, I suggested to Amy that we rent one. Believing that we'd be required to pilot our own boat for the entire day, she understandably balked at the notion. When I reassured her that I had no more than a couple of hours in mind, she banished all thoughts of possible sea-sickness from her mind and fell in stride with my designs. So, off we headed to Broads Tours to book the 2.00 pm tour on the Vintage Broadlands, a steamship-like ferry--similar to the ones that huffed and puffed on the Mississippi in Huck Finn's days--and headed off for lunch.

Though I'd breakfasted fairly well, the drive through open fields and pasture had whetted my appetite for some hearty country 'fayre' and we found sustenance in Hotel Wroxham's Carvery that was a real steal at 5.95 pounds. We spent the next hour on a table by the water watching watercraft zip in and out of the Broads as we feasted on roast turkey and roast beef with all the fixin's--read Yorkshire puds, roasted spuds and a number of crisply cooked veggies--parsnips, carrots, cauliflower--oh and loads of gravy and horseradish sauce. It wasn't really very tasty but it was substantial and with the sun shining down on a gorgeous day, there really wasn't anything major to complain about.

Well satiated, we headed for the Broads Tours' parking lot where we boarded our ferry and set off to the welcome cheers of our skipper who doubled up as a guide. For the next hour and a half, he kept us enthralled with his monologue on the history of the Broads and how they came to be created--they are, in fact, the UK's largest man-made attraction. The Broads National Park is a network of waterways that were cut into the earth by thousands of local inhabitants for about two hundred years in the Middle Ages. Their objective was to draw out peat, a cheap and very reliable fuel. So plentifully was peat to be found in the area that it was exported to Europe where it was well-renowned. However, two centuries of hacking into the earth finally took its toll on the land and when the shallow water table began seeping upwards, it flooded the channels carved out in the peat 'fields'. The end result is the collection of canal-like waterways that abound today in bird life. It was mainly to go 'birding' (bird-watching in American) that I was in the Broads.

And I wasn't disappointed. Bird life is abundant and our feathered friends seemed well accustomed to the dozens of craft that skim the waters. They swim exceptionally close to the boats allowing ornithologists abundant opportunities to pursue their hobby. Amy and I exclaimed over the cute thatched roof cottages that were perched along the banks and at the families of coots we saw everywhere. I now understand the expression "as bald as a coot"--coots are black birds with white patches in the middle of their foreheads which make them seem as if they are bald. In addition to coots, we saw ducks, mallards, teals, white and the very rare black swans, herons, geese and a bunch of other unusual birds with whose names I am not familiar. The waters were calm and so clean that water-lilies grew in the vast expanses of Wroxham and Salford Broads over which our boat skimmed. We could not have asked for a nicer day or more pleasant temperatures.

All too soon, we had to stop messin' about on the river and into the car we scrambled just as fat raindrops pelted us. We drove at top speed towards Norwich and the University of East Anglia where Amy wanted to take me so that I could see the permanent collection of the Sainsbury Center for Visual Arts, one of the smallest but most significant private collections in this part of the UK. What was even more significant to me than the art works themsevles was the fact that the building was designed by Sir Norman Foster with whose work I am familiar (he designed Wobbly Bridge as well as the City Hall Building in London--which Prince Charles infamously described as being "a carbuncle on the face of the city!") Be that as it may, this building, with its exposed metal work on its two sides, set a Modernist trend that has been endlessly imitated by other contemporary architects.

Inside, the permanent collection is a small and very eclectic one. The works on display belong to Lord Sainsbury who bequeathed his collection to the university. He had a marked fondness for certain modern abstract artists as was evident by the many works of Picasso, Francis Bacon and Modigliani that were recurrent. In addition, the collection comprises small to medium sized pieces (mainly sculptural) from exotic corners of the world such as Papua, New Guinea, Hawaii, Peru and Benin. They are superbly curated and very interestingly showcased. It doesn't take more than a hour to see these works which are free to visitors. I kept wishing that more people would take advantage of viewing this fascinating collection.

Back en route home, we stopped at Tesco's for groceries for our evening meal and settled for spinach and ricotta cheese ravioli with Jamie Oliver's Pasta Sauce with Chilli which had a nice bite to it. I made up a salad with rocket using lemon vinaigrette as a dressing and by the time I had eaten my last morsel, I was stuffed and ready to hit the sack.

Tomorrow will be a long day as I journey to London to start the next segment of my English holiday.

In Norwich, Norfolk's Cultural Capital

2010-07-22T01:45:00.003-04:00

Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Norwich

Those who own cars know nothing about long-distance public transport. Amy blanked out on how I could get to Norwich from Gorleston by bus. Me? Having lived in the UK for so long without a car, I had become something of an expert on figuring it out. Drive me to the High Street, I said, and I'll find the way.

Inquiries from a sweet girl at the bus-stop revealed all the answers. Yes, the X1 gets directly from Gorleston to Norwich. No, no need to change at Great Yarmouth. Yes, the buses come every half hour. Yes, I can pay the driver cash on the bus. And yes, the driver does give back change. Yesssss!!!

Fifteen minutes later, I was on the bus passing through North Norfolk. We drove through Great Yarmouth (a bustling town) and then through miles of flat country punctuated by windmills (influence of the Dutch across the North Sea, perhaps?) and flocks of sheep, black and white cows and beautiful sturdy brown horses. I even saw a family of swans--Mum, Dad and about a handful of grey chicks! Awwwww!

Once in Norwich where we arrived in 55 minutes, I asked at the Information place for a schedule so I could get back home peacefully (lone travelers never want to have just missed the last bus!) when I discovered that I could buy a ticket there for the Hop On Hop Off sight-seeing bus (just £8 and such a boon to the single traveler--especially one afflicted with plantar fascittis). Buy a ticket I did and in exactly five minutes, along it came. It is a good suggestion to stay on the bus for one entire loop to get the marvelous commentary which provides the history of the place and orients one to the location of the main attractions. It also allows you to decide what your order of priorities should be in terms of hopping off and hopping on again. Norwich is compact and very walkable but the advantage of buses like these is that they take you to vantage points, sometimes way out of the city for wonderful views--as this bus did. It climbed a steep hill to Mousehold Heath which offered a stunning overview of the city and its magnificent church spires--there is a church for every Sunday of the year and a pub for each day of the year in Norwich--go figure!

During Saxon times, Norwich was a bigger 'city' than London--both in acreage as well as population. It made it's wealth through the wool trade (not surprising, really, as sheep farming still thrives as I saw in the miles of open countryside). It is a city of impressive structures (castles, cathedrals, churches, gabled houses, guildhalls, etc.) and a popular tourist attraction. Unfortunately, it was a tad too hot for me and I found myself tiring much too easily because the heat sapped my energy levels.

I decided to Hop Off at Elm Hill (because I am a fan of all things Tudor) and walked straight into the Church of St. George at Tombland. They probably don't get enough visitors because one of the volunteers latched onto me and then gave me a walking tour of the church pointing out pieces of masonry that were significant as well as the oldest piece in the church--a lovely Norman font.

Through Elm Hill I walked, utterly charmed by its cobbles and the Britton Arms Cafe which Lonely Planet touts as a delightful place--and it is, except that it was that funny time of day when you're not really ready for a cup of tea or a snack. I kept going, nipping in and out of antiques shops and admiring the gabled buildings and the exposed timber facades (did not see any pargetting, though, as one finds on the medieval structures in Suffolk).

Across the street, I entered the Anglican Cathedral through the Erpingham Gate right by the statue of Edith Cavell and found myself in an enormous Cathedral Close. Admission is by donation only and the cathedral's highlights are a fan-vaulted ceiling with 'bosses' (wooden discs set in the ceiling that depict stories from the Bible). They are really much too high up for one to appreciate them fully. Also wonderful is the Depenser Reredos, a medieval alter-piece divided into five sections showing Christ's Passion, Resurrection and Ascension that was hidden for years during the post-Reformation turmoil to keep it from being stolen or ruined. I saw the newly-refurbished library before eating a sandwich in the Refectory. Surprisingly, there weren't many visitors to the Cathedral at all which made it a perfect time for quiet prayer and reflection. Then, a kindly old lady, a Norwich resident, told me about the Herb Garden and how I could reach it and within seconds, I found myself in a lavender-scented bower with hollyhocks taller than me elbowing their way through the paths for attention. Norfolk is famous for its lavender which seems to grow wild everywhere--England's Provence?

Next stop was the Castle, but I got waylaid en route by the seductions of an Edwardian closed shopping arcade called the Royal Arcade (lovely Art Nouveau tiles all over its walls and similar motifs on its floors). Inside was the Colman's Mustard Shop and Museum as Jeremiah Colman who made his fortune with all the yellow dots of paste that people left on their plates initiated and 'grew' (as they say) his business in Norwich. Tasted a variety of mustards before I left without being tempted to buy anything. Saw more posh shops in the Royal Arcade before I wandered out on the streets to entwine my steps through Norwich Market--a colorful warren of stalls selling everything from food (bacon baps and fish n chips were some very British choices) to souvenirs.

Enough distraction, I chided myself, time for some serious sightseeing again. So I entered the Castle and spent the next hour viewing it's excellent exhibition rooms on the ground floor--there was a wonderful collection of water colors and oils by John Croom who is considered one of England's best landscape artists (a close rival of Constable), a superb collection of tea pots (the world's largest) bequeathed to the museum by a private collector and quite significantly placed in the Twinings Tea Pot Gallery and a special exhibition entitled 'From the Beatles to Bowie' which featured a collection of black and white photographs of the pop icons of the 60s. I was thrilled to find one by John Pratt taken in 1963 featuring Cliff Richard at home with his mother Dorothy and sisters Jacqui and Joan in the new home in Nazeing, Essex, that he bought them after he struck it popular and rich. If all things come to pass as I hope they will and my book on Anglo-Indians in the UK is finally written and finds a publisher, I shall recommend this photograph for my book's cover--provided I recieve permission, of course. I can dream, can't it?

The Castle's Keep is humongous--the largest in the UK and one of the best-preserved examples of a Norman castle. It has been recently refurbished (and rather well at that). The castle stands like a solid cube of Caen (French port) stone dominating the city and is visible from most points.
There is a lot to see and do in the inter-active exhibits inside the Keep but I had loads to see...and so I moved on.

I did find the time to nip into The Assembly House (one of the finest examples of Georgian architecture outside) with stunning plasterwork on its walls and ceiling inside (in the manner of Robert Adam), winking crystal chandeliers and lots of statuary. Most of the rooms have been converted into posh bars and tea rooms, but again, I had to move on to the nearby Forum (a recent glass structure that brings modern panache to an ancient city) and The Church of St. Peter Mancroft opposite that has a magnificent timber ceiling. As I wound my way through the city, I was simply amazed at how many churches there are--all made of the black flint stone so plentifully quarried in this region.

Time to hop on to the bus again and go to the Shrine of St. Julian of Norwich that my friend Bishop Michael told me I must not miss. I found it up a small hill and was stunned when I discovered how tiny it is. St. Julian (also known as Juliana) was a medieval mystic who saw visions of the Lord. She cloistered herself in a tiny cell adjoining the church and spent the rest of her life meditating upon those visions and writing down 'The Revelations of Divine Love' which is considered the first book written by a woman in English in England. Michael told me that she had two windows in her cell from which she looked out at the sick and the forlorn who came flocking to meet her. Her cell became a famous center of medieval pilgrimage. Even today, the quiet serenity of the spot is striking. I got in stride with a very pretty nun as fat raindrops suddenly fell from out of deep blue skies--'Where are they coming from?' asked the nun, perplexed.

By then it was almost 5.00 pm and I badly needed a pick me up I found a cuppa in the cafe at M&S where I settled down with a slice of White Chocolate, Raspberry and Coconut Cake which sounds far better than it was! I was amazed at how much I'd managed to cover and was disappointed that I could not find the time to squeeze in the Roman Catholic Church and the Plantation Garden behind it as well as the Sainsbury Center for Visual Art...but Amy has promised to take me there tomorrow after we tour the Broads.

Back home, we fixed a vegetable frittata and ate some good English bacon and baked beans for dinner before we gabbed about our respective day and went to bed.

Along the Pilgrim's Way in Walsingham.

2010-07-21T01:05:00.004-04:00

Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Walsingham, Norfolk

One of my primary objectives in returning to the UK was to make a pilgrimage to the Shrine of Our Lady in Walsingham, one of the most fervent Catholic pockets in England. After a muesli breakfast (how great to feast again on Tesco's Finest Fruit and Nut Muesli with Total Greek yogurt and a touch of honey), we set out with Amy behind the wheel across Norfolk to arrive at Walsingham where the famous Shrine is located.

What a charming little village it turned out to be! And what a swell backdrop for a reunion with my dear friends, Bishop Michael and wife Cynthia Colclough who drove from Hunstanton to meet me. One really cheery cuppa later, in a cute local tea room, where we caught up on everything that's happened in our lives in the past 2 months since I last saw them in Southport, and we were ready to launch upon our pilgrimage. Michael was an able guide (he's been leading pilgrims to Walsingham for years--it was, in fact, how he met Cynthia eons ago--she was a Catholic pilgrim on one of his Anglican retreats) as he led us to the Russian Orthodox Church dedicated to St. Seraphim and then to the Roman Catholic Church of the Assumption which is the local Catholic parish. He led us in prayer at the first venue and in the Angelus when the bells rang, mid-morning, at the second.

The next stop was the Anglican Church at Walsingham, set in beautiful perennial gardens with an olive tree allee before we entered the Lady Chapel where at 12. 30 pm, he said a special private mass just for us--I have never felt more privileged! Just imagine the joy of being in this ancient place where medieval Lady Richeldis had a vision telling her to build a shrine dedicated to the Holy Family in the year 1042. She obeyed and the spot became a place of Christian pilgrimage. known as 'England's Nazareth'. Imagine again...this happened before the Norman Conquest of England (1066)! How many pilgrim feet have trod these grounds, I wondered, over the centuries--from one millennium to the next! Six kings of England had made the pilgrimage to this spot including Henry VIII whose faith was so enormous that the Vatican gave him the title of the Defender of the Faith--until he razed the church and the adjoining abbey to the ground in 1538 during the Dissolution of the Monasteries. The church remained in ruins until the early 20th century when it was rebuilt to function again as a center for pilgrimage. Michael himself has been coming to this spot since the age of ten!

Michael had asked us to write down our own special intentions which he brought up to the altar and read during Mass--it was deeply moving. I thanked him, of course, as Amy dissolved into tears. She was so touched by the Holy Spirit and so grateful that she had dedicated the day to spiritual renewal with me.

Lunch was a buffet affair at the Refectory which was filled with almost 200 Welsh pilgrims who had taken over the place. We ate Chicken in a White Sauce with Leeks and Potatoes and Red Cabbage and Corn with a small Bakewell Tart for dessert. And I thought pilgrims were only fed bread and water! Just kidding! After lunch, we lingered for a while in the gardens where I returned Llew's call--my phone had actually rung during Mass but I quickly silenced it! He caught up with the Colcloughs on the phone before we continued our pilgrimage.

Next stop was the Sprinkling at 2. 30pm where a wonderful aged priest led us in prayer, explained the significance of the Holy Well that had been found during the modern renovations of the church in the early 20th century. Many miracles and much healing has been known to take place, explained Cynthia, through the power of the holy water. The priest gave each one of us a ladle from which we drank of the water before he placed the rest in our fists so we could anoint ourselves and parts of our bodies that needed healing. Cynthia and Michael also filled bottles of water for Amy and me and sent us home with them.

Into the car we went, to the next stop on the Mile Long Pilgrim's Way to the Slipper Chapel. This was the spot at which pilgrims left their slippers so that they could walk the last mile to Richeldis' shrine barefooted. Modern-day pilgrims (mainly from Wales) were on their own feet (but with footwear on) as our cars followed the narrow winding pathway to the ancient church. This spot too, deeply active during the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, fell into disuse after the Reformation. However, in 1934, it was re-dedicated as the National Catholic Shrine of the UK and once again, became an active center of Catholic pilgrimage. We prayed and lit candles at the old shrine--beautifully refurbished--before we entered the modern church (which reminded me very much of the churches in Canada in terms of architectural design) where we arrived just in time for Benediction and Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament at the special service being conducted for the Welsh pilgrims. So there we were, Amy and I, and the Colcloughs, joining in a special prayer for Wales!

By then, it was almost 4 pm. Our entire day of Christian worship had passed by in a jiffy but it was easily one of the most fulfilling days of my life. The serenity and calm of the space, the setting (in the midst of the North Norfolk countryside) where wild flowers (Queen Anne's Lace and vivid red poppies) lined the narrow roads was rejuvenating. I imagined medieval pilgrims (a la Chaucer's motley lot) making their way on foot and on horseback through those winding lanes. My Dad would be delighted to know that I found a leaflet in The Shrine Shop that taught me how to say the Rosary--in Bombay, he always leads and we follow...but I have never learned the Mysteries of the Rosary or on which days you recite them. Hopefully, I will now walk along Southport Beach and recite my rosary.

It was time to get into Amy's car and follow the Colcloughs to Wells-Next-The-Sea, a seaside village on a North Norfolk inlet that leads to the North Sea. We were there in less than 12 minutes past lovely calming countryside and fallow fields. England seems not to have had enough rain--everything looks brown and dry unlike the lush green fields I remember from many summer country holidays. Past the busy street we went to get to the waterfront where we enjoyed watching little boys crabbing--they had loads of crabs squirming in their pails--the bait they used, they informed me, was smoky bacon (yummy!) and bits of live whelk! Past the ice-cream and fish n chip shops we walked before I nipped into one for a magnet to add to our collection! It was a slice of English summer life that I observed while seated on the quay--colorful boats bobbed on the waters, people walked with bulging picnic bags towards their waiting vessels. To simply people-watch was a delight on a day that had been gifted to us from heaven--it was simply gorgeous.

Our return south to Gorleston took us along the coast to Cromer where we passed by village after village whose walls and houses were constructed of the typical Norfolk flint stone--each had a truly distinctive appearance. Flowers spilled out of hanging baskets and containers in village front gardens where the gravel was also composed of flint stone. Fred and Wilma would have felt very much at home in North Norfolk!

I told Amy I would treat her to dinner in Norwich and Lonely Planet recommended St. Benedict's Restaurant on St. Benedict's Road. We took a month of Sundays to find the street (as Amy is unfamiliar with Norwich) and the one-way system in England's larger cities and towns would be the death of any driver! Still, when we finally got there, we settled down to drinks (pear juice for Amy, Bulmer's cider for me) before we decided to have the 3-course prix fixe menu. In a very modern, very chic space, we feasted on Crab, Avocado and Beetroot Salad (divine...plus I couldn't leave Norfolk without tasting some of it's famed seafood), Grilled Swordfish with Potato Gnocchi and Balsamic Onions and an even more divine Gooseberry Fool. I simply had to taste English gooseberries (they are tart and had almost disappeared from English supermarkets as I was told picking them had proven to be too time-consuming and laborious, but they seem to be making a come back). The fool was layered in a small glass jar with stewed whole gooseberries and crumbled ginger nut biscuits--lovely combination of tart and spice made the dessert (sorry, pudding) unforgettable! We were stuffed when we left about 9. 30 pm and returned home to Gorleston close to 11. oo pm. I fell asleep in the car on the way back as jet lag got the better of me.

Tomorrow I hope to explore Norwich...and its many churches, castle and cathedral...and, of course, I hope, its thrift stores!

In Norfolk Now!

2010-07-20T01:25:00.003-04:00

Monday, July 19, 2010,
London-Norfolk

Though much remains the same, much has changed. My cell phone number, for instance. Though phone was fully charged and voucher was purchased first thing this morning at the corner Sainsbury that I remembered so well, I could not top up. Turns out your SIM card expires if not used for 3 months. Had to purchase new SIM card but could only do that once I arrived in Norfolk...Bummer!

One more thing has changed--the No 8 bus from right outside my building on High Holborn, no longer plies to Victoria. I let a few of them pass right by me each going only as far as Oxford Circus before it occurred to me to ask the driver if the route had changed--it had! Double Bummer!

Then discovered I hadn't enough money left on my Oystercard. I usually top that up at the Tube station at Heathrow...but since I enjoyed the luxury of a cab ride this time, I hadn't the chance to do that..Triple Bummer! So off I went to the Chancery Lane Tube ticket window to top up my Oystercard before hauling my backpack and my butt into a Tube that was bursting at the seams with early morning commuters--it was hellish! Made the change at Oxford Street and took the Victoria Line to arrive at the coach station by the very skin of my teeth...though I'd left an hour earlier from Holborn!!! Good job I'd purchased a breakfast sandwich and a drink from Sainsbury while getting the Lebara top up voucher..or else I'd have been sitting and starving on the coach all the way to Norfolk! Phew!

Lovely ride again through Central London and the East End before we finally hit the motorway--it took a good hour to get out of London's precincts! Atlas was very useful in helping me track my route. Was pleased to pass right by Epping Forest (had heard so much about it).

Made it to Norfolk with five minutes to spare. Amy, my friend from our childhood days in Bombay, was waiting to pick me up very far from the coach station as her car wasn't allowed in. And with my old cell phone number dead, she couldn't reach me--such moments of tension for both of us! After waiting for 10 minutes, I became pro-active and asked questions: where would someone wait if she were coming by car to pick me up, etc? We finally connected...Phew!

Drove briefly through Norwich before we headed straight for Great Yarmouth on the East Norfolk coast where she lives in a tiny beach-side hamlet called Gorleston-on-Sea (it's pronounced Gaul-ston). Chatted nineteen to the dozen in her car before we arrived at her home--lovely view of the sea from her house (she is a real estate agent, so bagged the prize house on the block). One grand tour of house (very tiny but very English in decor) and garden (fresh strawberries ripening on the bushes!) later, we set out to sort out the issue of my phone.

I finally found a new Lebara SIM card on the waterfront at Great Yarmouth which is your typical English beach-side holiday hot spot with the works--horse buggies lined up to give rides, fish n chips, ice-cream, evening teas, amusement arcades (some really gigantic ugly tacky ones), a nice beach promenade though I did not see any donkeys on the beach--wondered if they'd been banned by animal activists...or maybe I simply couldn't see them from the car as we zipped by.

Could not spend too much time there as we had priorities--like reassuring my parents and Chriselle in Bombay that I'd arrived safely in the UK. What relief when my phone was working again and I could reach out to the world. Sent my new phone number via email (after we got back home to Amy's) to Llew (who promptly called me!) and Chriselle who was out having dinner with friends in Bombay.

Amy is one of those people who goes to a butcher for her meat, a fishmonger for her fish, a greengrocer for her produce, etc. She is known here by name as Mrs. Darby and everywhere we went she was recognized and hugged. And I thought Southport was a small place! She is also a health freak--we bought whole wheat pita pockets which we stuffed with ham for lunch. Dinner was pork vindaloo (recipe from a Sainsbury cookbook) was like no vindaloo I'd ever eaten. The fresh veggies stir fry Amy made for dinner was good with fresh strawberries for dessert and a huge helping of M&S Toffee and Pecan Meringue Roulade--a rather scrumptious dessert that I discovered late into my London stay and made certain I bought while we were still in Norwich in the morning! I'm really looking forward to eating all my best-remembered foods...

In the evening, we took a walk along Gorleston Beach which is a nice combination of pebbles and sand. I realized that I'd seen the entire Norfolk coast from our aircraft during descent into Heathrow as we'd crossed the North Sea from Holland. I also saw the Mouth of the Thames and the distinct Lowestoft Wind Turbine which was unmistakeable from the air and is only a few miles from where Amy lives. She informs me that it is called Gulliver.

It was a good quiet start to my UK stay. Tomorrow we will drive up to the North Norfolk coast where my Anglican bishop friend is saying the noon mass at the famous shrine of our Lady at Walsingham. I am going there on pilgrimage. After many years, I have some asking to do--and not just the thanking I have done for so long! So many people asked me to pray for them while I was in India (ageing parents, ageing aunts, sick cousins, troubled friends), I hope I will remember them all...

Jet lag hit me at 8 pm when it was well past midnight in India. I fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow...

Here I Go Again!

2010-07-20T01:10:00.002-04:00

Sunday, July 18, 2010, London

Talk about feeling that sense of deja-vu all over again! With a slight twist...in that I arrived into Heathrow's 'new' Terminal Five for the first time. The cabbie sent to pick me up by thoughtful friends was nowhere in sight nor was there a placard with my name on it. Turns out he was running late and left the card in his car. Thankfully, we connected without too much stress.

Nice ride through Central London took me through well-loved old landmarks (UCL Hospital in Euston where I'd had physiotherapy for PF...). Lovely reunion with my former next-door neighbors Tim and Barbara--felt funny to walk right past my flat to ring their door bell instead. So many happy memories...

One year after my departure from London, Holborn was still slumbering (it being a weekend evening!) Huge serving of very spicy and very delicious pasta for dinner at Pizza Express before I went to bed...absolutely delighted to be back in London where I become a different person (nicer, somehow, I think--must have to do with the English penchant for politeness).

Went to bed about 10. 30 pm local time after making sure I charged my cell phone and set Barbara's alarm clock for my dawn departure by coach to Norfolk. Browsing for reading material in bedside bookcase, I found UK and Ireland Road Atlas (I LOVE maps) so had a sense of where I'll be spending the next few days. Borrowed atlas so I could chart my coach route through the countryside.

Surprisingly, though it was the wee hours of the morning in Bombay, I was still full of beans and did not fall asleep right away!

So good to be back in England again--somehow it feels as if I never left at all!

Au Revoir France! Last Day in London...and Arrival Home in the USA

2009-07-30T18:36:00.012-04:00

Thursday, July 30, 2009
Paris and London

Our very last day in Paris had arrived—where had our holiday gone? Awaking to a continental breakfast (cereal and French roast coffee), Llew and I set out to cover the last bits and pieces of Paris that we had not yet seen.

The Dome Church of Les Invalides:
Our first stop was the domed Church of Les Invalides where, Jack informed us, his daughter Julia had been baptized. This church is part of the much larger complex called the Musee de L’Armee and its extremely decorative dome is easily visible from many parts of the city to whose skyline it adds a definite glow. This is also the church in which Napoleon’s remains were interred after his death under exile on the island of Elba. The tomb is grand but can only be viewed with a hefty ticket which includes entrance to the vast museum complex (16 euros). Since we did not have the time for such an extensive visit, we contented ourselves with a peak into the highly ornate Baroque altar of the church, encircled the beautiful gardens outside that offered peeks of the tip of the Effiel Tower and then walked a very long walk to what Lonely Planet describes as the best chocolatier in Paris.

At Cacao et Chocolat:
The walk was just perfect and I realized afresh (as I did in London so often) that for me one of the greatest pleasures of traveling is walking through random streets of a city to absorb the daily life of the people far from the tourist hordes. As we passed by small neighborhood parks, enticing antiques shops and then the huge department store called Le Bon Marche (into which we stepped to take in its unique architecture that reminded us very much of the old Taj Mahal Hotel in Bombay), we finally arrived in the area just past St. Germaine de Pres and the Latin Quarter and found Cacao et Chocolat, a very small and very exclusive artisinal boutique whose aroma was deeply appetizing.

Now Llew and I are both chocoholics; so for us arriving at this destination was a bit like arriving at the Gates of Paradise. After our long and very stimulating walk, our appetites had been whetted for some good European chocolate. I informed the very cheerful and friendly salesman that we had come in search of his shop from the recommendation in Lonely Planet. I asked him what he would recommend for seasoned chocolate lovers and he suggested a cup of their signature Hot Chocolate which we could enjoy at their tasting ‘bar’.

Yessss! This was Paradise indeed. The menu was handed over to us to peruse and I, having drunk the exquisite hot chocolate with chilli at Fassbinder and Rausch in Berlin (another great international chocolatier), decided to try the Hot Chocolate Epicee--with mixed spices (cinnamon, star anise, nutmeg, among others) while Llew decided to play it safe and go for the plain version (apparently the most popular of the lot). All the while, as we sipped this elixir of the gods, the salesman kept plying us with chocolate to taste from their flavors of the past and present months to the truffles for which they are known to the tiny dark and milk chocolate Florentines that we kept popping in our mouths to attain chocolate nirvana! We walked away from the shop, a good hour later, fully fortified for some more sight seeing and with a bag of dark chocolate studded with toasted hazelnuts in our firm grip. I have discovered that in my year-long travels I have stock piled chocolate from every capital city in Europe and a large part of our baggage back home to the US will consist of these irresistible gourmet treasures that I have purchased from master chocolatiers.

Off to see the Pantheon:
Then, we were off in the metro once again, to see the Pantheon, another one of Paris’s landmarks, also characterized by a gigantic dome. We arrived at the splendid Neo-Classical structure, the great handiwork of Jacques-Germaine Sufflot, who wished to recreate the grandeur of ancient Greece and Rome through this structure that was intended originally as a shrine to Paris’ patron saint, Genevieve.

It was King Louis XV who had vowed that if he ever recovered from a debilitating illness, he would build a magnificent church to Saint Genevieve but the church soon morphed into a place of honored burial for some of France’s most revered thinkers, writers and philosophers, architects of the French Revolution and of the intellectual thought and ideas for which the city became renowned. The monuments, down in the Crypt, tell the story of the vast influence that these figures have had on the history of the city—they include such names as those of Voltaire, Rousseau, Victor Hugo, Émile Zola, Jean Moulin, Marie Skłodowska-Curie, Louis Braille, Jean Jaurès and Soufflot, its architect.

Llew and I were really lucky to discover (after he bought his ticket for 6 euros as my Met ID card let me in for free) that there was a guided tour that would be starting soon. This would take us up the 268 steps to the very Dome for 360 degree views of Paris on what was a spectacular day. So, you see how we lucked out? Though I did not get up to the Tour Effiel (which would only have taken me to the first level anyway), here we were at the Pantheon able to avail of the exact same thrills—only from a different vantage point.

Of course, we joined the tour right away and began our steep ascent to the top. We stopped en route at two different levels to take in the extraordinary mosaics and the staggering dimensions of the interior—the lofty nave, the Corinthian columns, the many beautiful frescoes depicting the life of St. Genevieve that covered the walls and ceiling. It was really astounding.

And then there we were—on the roof—easily able to spot the many Parisian landmarks that we had visited ourselves over the past few days. There was Notre-Dame dominating the Ile de la Cite with the spire of Sainte Chappelle very close to it. There was the towering mountain on which stood the Church of Sacre Coeur at Montmartre. There was part of the great arch that defines the new area known as La Defense. There was the great expanse of green that singled out Pere Lachaise Cemetery which was to be the next stop on our sight seeing tour of the day. And there, of course was the Dome of Les Invalides Church and the Tour Effiel. What a fabulous time we had taking in the uniform construction of the city that grew and grew over the centuries under the loving hands of some of the world’s most talented architects. It was such a thrilling experience to see these vistas spread out before us and though we were running short of memory space in our camera, we managed to make room for a few stunning shots.

Once we got down again to base level, we began our exploration of the interior with its monumental memorials to such French sons as Diderot and then we descended into the Crypt, quite taken by the architectural elements that lay beneath holding up this colossal structure.

At Pere Lachaise Cemetery:
Then, we were off again…this time taking the metro to faraway Pere Lachaise Cemetery where so many well-known persons associated with the city lie buried. I was quite amazed by the vast size of this cemetery which continues to be used as a place of burial. Though there are detailed maps available at the entrance that lead visitors to the tomb stones of those legendary figures whose final resting places they might most wish to see, we did not have one with us and used the rather sketchy version available in my DK Eye Witness Guide Book. We also realized quickly enough that we could not afford the time to linger too long in the cemetery and would have to be choosy about which graves we would visit.

For the next hours, we climbed the many stairs that took us further and further up the hill upon which the cemetery is spread out, seeing along the way, the monuments that remember such famous French writers as Balzac and such controversial English writers as Oscar Wilde (whose tomb carries a beautiful piece of sculpture by Jacob Epstein—alas, so badly defaced by the anti-gay visitors to his grave) and the more contemporary Jim Morrison of The Doors fame whose tombstone records his full name as being James Douglas Morrison. The funerary sculpture that dates from the 1700s to the present date made very interesting viewing for it taught us a tremendous amount about changing trends in mortuary design. We did have a very interesting couple of hours in this space and were very tired when we finally decided to leave so as not to miss our Eurostar train later that evening.

Return Home to London:
We found a nice boulangerie along the way that allowed us to grab sandwiches which we then ate on the metro on our return to the Champs Elysses. There, we said our goodbyes and many Thank-yous to Julia and grabbed our bags and left for the last ride in the metro to the Gare du Nord where we were scheduled to board the 7. 19 pm train back to London.

Everything went smoothly as we passed through Customs and Immigration and boarded our train. We watched the French countryside whoosh past us as we sipped a glass of red wine and nibbled at crisps and then we were under the English Channel and emerging in Kent in England. Before we could say Eurostar, our train was pulling into St. Pancras International while there was still ample daylight left in London.

On the 63 bus heading home to Farringdon, we found it hard to believe that our dream vacation in London and France had come to an end. It would be memorable for several reasons and we were astonished when we thought about how much we had packed into it—from seeing Helen Mirren on stage to watching the birth of a new calf, from becoming acquainted with computer technology in modern dairy farming to making an emergency visit to a French hospital, from admiring the medieval ingenuity of female embroiderers at Bayeux to walking in the footsteps of unnamed American heroes on the battle-ravaged beaches of Normandy, from being dazzled by the spectacle of the Lido to sipping tea and nibbling pastries at Laduree, we had done so much on this trip.

At Sainsbury, I finally managed to top up cell phone minutes, bought milk for our last breakfast in London and then turned the key into the Farringdon loft where we ate a dinner based on leftovers in the fridge. We then turned our attention to the pressing task of concluding our packing for the USA to which, unbelievably, we would be headed the next afternoon.

Friday, July 31, 2009
London

Where our morning slipped to I have not a clue! All I knew was that I awoke by 6. 30 am being too keyed up to sleep any longer. It was the last time I would be awaking in London (for a very long time) and I savored the sensation for a bit before deciding I needed to get going.

Anyone seeing the state of our room that morning would never have dreamed that just a few hours later we could possibly have packed everything away and left our room and en suite bathroom in pristine condition. But bit by bit, suitcase by suitcase, weighing each item carefully as we added it to our bags and managing somehow to pack well the many breakable china and glass items I had purchased from the many charity shops and antiques stores I had scoured in the UK, we worked together to get everything in.

About half way through the morning, I realized that there was no way all my 'stuff' would fit into our four suitcase allowance. "That's it", I said to Llew. "We're going to the Post Office and mailing all this off". Thankfully, I had retained a few good boxes and I piled them with the last-minute things we had used such as our bed linen and down pillows as well as a number of books as Llew helped me tape them down. I also had the foresight to save a few of the address labels I had printed out weeks ago when I had mailed off my other stuff.

So there we were, on our hands and knees, assembling these boxes together. Meanwhile, I was juggling phone calls to the shippers to get shipping estimates, to the cab driver to order us a cab at 12. 30 and a host of other things that needed to be all tied up. We did manage to find the time to eat breakfast (toast with peanut butter and coffee). I cleaned the fridge and freezer and left notes for Loulou and Paul and then at 12. 25 pm, Llew began to stack all our baggage in the elevator to take it downstairs. What a huge help he was to me and how grateful I was to have him there to get me through the scramble at the eleventh hour to make everything fall into place. And we managed to do all this without a single impatient word to each other!!! Now that was an achievement!

In fact, what saved the day for me was that I had forgotten to put my writst watch back one hour after returning from Paris late last night. So at one point, when I thought it was 10.00 am, it was actually 9.00 am--omigawd! How thrilled I was to have that extra hour and how smoothly everything went from that point on. What an extra hour can do in a stress-fraught life, I thought!

We had a bit of a rucous with the cab, however, for the large-sized vehicle we had ordered to get all our baggage to Heathrow did not show up and when we called the cab company, it appears that there was a screw-up at the station. However, magically, another mini-cab happened to be cruising down our street (yes, just like that!)) and John, the driver, sensing our distress, stopped to inquire if he could assist. Next thing you know, he was piling our baggage into his shiny grey BMW and taking us to Heathrow by a most unusual route past Pall Mall and Buckingham Palace and then on to Kensington past the V&A and the Museum of Natural History. I cannot even begin to tell you how badly I wanted to weep for I had major withdrawal symptoms from this city that I have always loved but which, during this one unforgettable year in my life, had actually been my HOME!

Then, we were at Heathrow and being dropped off at Terminal 4 where we made the discovery that my Delta Airlines flight left from there while Llew's American Airlines flight left from Terminal 3! We said our goodbyes knowing we would next hook up at Kennedy airport and he left to take the Airtrain to his terminal.

I went through security in five mintues and then was left with three whole hours to do some duty free shopping--except that Terminal 4 has a pathetic duty free area and within ten minutes I had seen all there was to see and, feeling deeply frustrated, found a free port that allowed me to use my laptop which was in my hand baggage. So I settled myself down and began hammering away at my keyboard and got a whole lot of writing done until my gate was announced and I took off!

London was bathed in golden sunlight as I took my last airborne looks at it. Then, we were soaring higher and higher into the clouds and land became invisible. I began chatting with my companion, a student of Art History at London's Goldsmith College named Leigh, who was so excited that he was going to New York for the first time in his life. He proved to be good company through most of the flight during which I watched four movies! Yes, can you believe it?
Having watched just one movie (Slumdog Millionnaire) for the entire year that I spent in London, I saw four movies on my way out--as if making up for my long film famine--Second Chance Harvey (with Emma Thompson and Dustin Hoffman), Duplicity (with Clive Owen and Julia Roberts), New Girl in Town (with Rene Zellweiger and Harry Connick Jr.) and He's Just Not That Into You (with everyone in Hollywood under the age of thirty--make that forty as I heard that Jennifer Anniston just turned 40).

Well, at JFK, darkness had fallen already at 8. 30 pm (9. 30 by the time I cleared Immigration, picked up my baggage and reconnected with Llew. And yes, the Immigration Officer did actually say to me "Welcome Back!"). Llew arrived about ten minutes later to the Passenger Pick-Up area in the rented car that he had picked up a half hour earlier (as his flight had landed before mine),

And then we were on the Van Wyck Expressway headed for the Whitestone Bridge and for Connecticut--and everything looked so familiar and yet so strange. All the highways seemed to have expanded during my absence and I thought to myself, "Welcome Back to Reality, Rochelle!" So I forced myself to burst out of my British bubble and using Llew's cell phone made my first call in the USA to Chrissie--unfortunately, I only got her answer phone.

It was 10. 30 pm (exactly an hour after we set out from JFK) that we pulled into our driveway at Holly Berry House while Southport slumbered. Because we were tired and sleepy, we entered our home with only our carry-on bags, leaving the rest of the suitcases in the car to be hauled indoors in the morning.

It was about 11.00 pm when we fell off to sleep...

...and with that I had left Rochelle's Roost in London behind me and was well and truly back in Rochelle's Roost in Connecticut!

PS: A Million Thanks to all those who followed my blog faithfully through the past year. When I surface again from under all my unpacked suitcases and boxes, I shall put in a few more entries about the Highlights of my Year in the UK...

---until then, I shall say to you, in the finest traditions of the UK, CHEERS Mate!

Return to Paris and an Evening at the Lido on the Champs-Elysses

2009-07-30T18:35:00.003-04:00

Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Normandy and Paris, France

Our final morning in Normandy was spent in a most relaxed kind of fashion. Poor Jean had enjoyed the tandoori chicken so much at the barbecue that he had set up that he had overeaten, awoke feeling unwell and needed a visit to the doctor. This kept Jacques busy and left us to spend the morning as we wished. As for me, well, I awoke with a splendid black eye (just as the doctor had predicted) but, thankfully, felt none the worse for my toss of the previous evening. I did not even have a headache so avoided the need for painkillers after all.

After a continental breakfast, Llew and I decided to explore the lovely homestead on foot upon which our friends live. But while Llew got ready, I got back on a bicycle and pedalled around the property just to remove any fears of biking. I asked Marius who was also on his bicycle or “velo” as it is called here, if he wanted to join us on a promenade around the fields and he jumped at the idea.

Like the Pied Piper, Llew and I were then followed not only by Marius but by little 2-year old Julia (who came with her couverture or security blanket and Dodo, her rag doll) and Misti, the resident kitten! So it was a strange group that walked through the knee-high grass and, seriously, were it not for the fact that I did not have a meringue (as Coco Chanel described the elaborate Victorian hats that were fashionable in her time) on my head or a frill-fringed parasol in my hand, you could easily have mistaken us for the folks in Monet’s paintings featuring the red poppies in the fields of Argenteuil. It was just perfect, just delightful, this mid-morning ramble in the meadows with the children and the kitten for company. We walked on for at least an hour in the most appealing temperature. When the shrubs became too thorny, Julia begged to be carried and Llew lifted her tenderly in his arms and took her over the worst of the nettles. Marius was a most caring and attentive older brother as he comforted her for she suddenly expressed a need to get back to the house and to her older cousin Florine who was babysitting her.

By the time we returned from our walk, having encircled a good part of the property, Jacques had returned from the doctor. We sat reading for a bit while Florine prepared a very simple lunch for us--mackerels in mustard sauce, a fresh lettuce salad, cheese and baguettes and with this meal consumed, it was time for us to take our leave of our guests. Florence had returned home too to bid us goodbye, Jean had been pronounced okay by the doctor and Jacques drove us to the railway station at Lison with a great weight lifted off his mind.

Our train turned out to be a half hour late which left us time to sit on the platform and people watch. Jacques was good company as we waited, but then soon enough, along came the train and off to Paris we went arriving at 5. 45 pm at Gare Saint Lazare.

We had promised the Andersons that we would cook them an entire Indian dinner as they are great big fans of Indian cuisine. Llew and I stopped at the apartment to stash our bags and discovered that Jack had purchased all the ingredients we needed. I decided to make a Chicken in Green Coconut Milk Curry and those ingredients which were not at home were easily obtained on a quick shopping spree at Monoprix.

Julia and Llew were wonderful sous-chefs as I got cracking on our meal, cooking, in addition to the chicken, a pilau and my mother’s Cucumber Coconut Salad. Julia also assisted us in finding the bits of equipment we needed and the variety of condiments that are called for in Indian cuisine. By the time Jack walked in, about an hour later, dinner was almost ready. We sipped a glass of Bordeaux each and nibbled on a few nuts. But then dinner was plated and served by me and Llew and I sat back and enjoyed the steady steam of compliments that came our way. It had been a team effort that had paid off very well indeed. Everyone enjoyed the chicken curry and for dessert, we ate one of the very healthy fruit salads which are Jack’s specialty.

An Evening at the Lido:
By 9.00 pm, Llew and I changed and were ready to leave for our evening out at the Lido, one of Paris’ most famous night clubs. I had booked tickets online for the 9. 30 pm revue or show and we were very pleased to discover that the Lido was only a ten minute walk from our apartment. Night had fallen over Paris and the night owls were out in great numbers taking the air on the Champs Elysses, chomping away at dinner or sipping after-dinner coffee on the pavement cafes and posing for pictures by the massive billboards that line the boulevarde.

It wasn’t long before we were at the Lido and being led to our seats by a smartly attired waiter who also brought us the drinks menu. We were seated in an exclusive little banquette from where we had a very good view of the stage. It was only a few minutes later that the show began with all the pomp, splendor and pageantry that have come to characterize such entertainment. Indeed the costumes and sets were simply sumptuous and the quality of the singing and dancing rather good. We were taken around the world in an hour and a half, as the dancers made frequent costume changes transporting us to Thailand and India and to the cabaret nightclubs of Berlin as seen in the film and stage version of Cabaret. It was all very classy and very elegant indeed and as folks sipped their Dom Perignon champagne from crystal flutes and nibbled at their cheese platters, the lights dipped and dimmed and we lost ourselves in the spectacle which was magnificent.

But then it was all over and since the night was still young and the light clear and beckoning, we decided to take a walk in the moonlight to the Arc de Triomphe which was only five minutes away. There we enjoyed the superbly illuminated monument that looks so different by day and so magical by night. Of course, we took more pictures, then strolled along the Champs Elysses and soon made our way home.

It was well past midnight when we got back to our apartment and slept soundly as we anticipated our very last full day in Paris.

Knocking Around Normandy with Jacques--and a Minor Accident!

2009-07-30T18:34:00.005-04:00

Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Normandy, France

Today was a day for relaxation—or so we thought! Since we had no particular agenda, Jacques thought we ought to take it easy and see some aspects of his French country lifestyle that we might find both curious and fascinating. We were game, and placing ourselves in his hands, set out to enjoy a day of his making.

We started off with the kids, of course, who joined us at breakfast—a very casual affair with baguettes and jam and good Normandy butter and cups of rich French roasted coffee. The country air had enhanced our appetites and we decided to indulge fully. I loved chatting in French with little Marius who could only say one word in English (“Yes”) and ending up responding to all my questions with that monosyllable!

After showering and dressing, Llew and I joined Jacques in his car to travel to our first stop—Florence’s office in Marigny, merely five minutes away, where she runs her architectural business with an all-female team. It was great to see her in her professional milieu with the various maquettes of her current projects spread out all around her. We spent a while examining the work in which she is currently engaged, then set off to visit Place Westport in Marigny which is named for the town that is just next door to our own in Connecticut. Westport played a major role after World War II in the rehabilitation of Marigny by raising funds to rebuild it. In recognition of its effort, the square has been named after Westport and there is a plaque in the center that recalls this extraordinary trans-continental bonding.

Next, we headed towards the German military cemetery not too far away as Jacques wanted to show us that despite the fact that the French and the Germans were bitter enemies during the War, post-War efforts of cooperation and friendship have resulted in the care and maintenance of this German cemetery on French soil. The cemetery is beautifully designed and, rather like its American counterpart, a place of serenity and comfort. About 3,000 German soldiers lie buried in this part of Normandy, their names marked in the ground with small grey stone plaques. The remarkable design of this place is enhanced by the three stone crosses that punctuate the vast grounds at regular intervals. What was also remarkable about this place is that, unlike the American cemetery, there was not a soul in sight. Indeed, it was entirely empty though when I had spoken to Valerie, Florence’s sister, who works in the office attached to the cemetery, she had informed me that hundreds of Germans visit it, especially those on vacation in France.

Our next point of interest was Saint Lo, the small French town that was once liberated by American military man Howie who is well remembered in the Mairie (Mayor’s Office) with a special exhibit on his contribution to the war effort.

Jacques had some work at the Mairie after which we went to a small restaurant to grab a bite. With large baguette sandwiches and wonderful cider, we enjoyed our meal and set out for yet another excursion—this time to the home of Jacques’ sister Helene which happened to be designed and constructed by Florence and her creative office team. Helene herself was at her beach side home and we were, therefore, unable to enter Florence’s creation—but we did admire it from the outside. It was wonderful to see how proud Jacques is of his wife’s handiwork and how supportive he is of her endeavors.

It was at Jacques’ suggestion that we arrived home by car only to set out again, this time on bicycles to see Jacques’ brother Henri’s farm that was about a half hour’s bike ride away. Llew, Jacques, Jean, Marius and I set out and what a lovely ride it was—we went past miles of golden fields that lay slumbering in the late evening sunshine. Cows watched us warily from the meadows as we pedaled past and Llew had a fright, at one stage, when a dog bounded out of a farmhouse and nipped at his ankles nearly knocking him off his bicycle. As Llew put it, “The last thing I wanted was to be bitten by a dog in France!” Again, little did Llew know what awaited me at the end of the evening!

Well, it was great to see Henri and to meet his wife Marie-Laurent who invited us into her lovely ivy-draped farmhouse which had been built by Jacques’ father and was the home in which he was born. We sat down to cool glasses of orange juice and cheesy nibbles and later watched the cows being milked by machine (though not computerized) under the supervision of Henri’s oldest son Paul. Marius and Jean were thrilled to be a part of the operation and we saw them ushering the cows into their stalls together with Paul. Truly, it was an enlightening experience for us city folk—to see the rural lifestyle of these French dairy farmers. They are marvelous sons of the soil who by no means lack poise or sophistication for all their country ways—indeed they use modern means of marketing to get their wares to the consumer and are always considering means by which their output and their income can be increased. So they are, in the final analysis, savvy businessmen who run rustic operations with the assistance of every one of their children.

It was on our ride back to Jacques’ place for which Jean had left earlier to set up the fire for a barbecue that Jacques and Florence had planned for us for the evening that I had my little mishap. While cycling downhill, with the wind whipping at my ears, I found it tugging at my baseball cap that was on my head. Since my cap threatened to fly off, I tried to keep it on my head and apply my brakes at the same time. Being that I was on a slope, I ought to have applied my brakes slowly…but the flying cap caused me to lose control of my bike and, next thing you know, there I was falling flat on the ground and knocking my head against the ground. My glasses flew off, my trunk twisted and it was all I could do to scramble up while Llew (who was right behind me on his own bike) rushed to help me out. Well, there was I, an untidy heap, certain that I had hurt my dignity more than any part of my body! I told them that I was quite okay, but Jacques insisted on biking back home, bringing his car to take me back as well as one of the boys to take my bike home.

It was not long before I had an ice pack applied to my head (brought to me by Jacques) and Llew’s hand pressing down to keep the swelling at bay. Seated around the barbecue table, the aroma of grilled meats wafted to my nostrils and I ate hungrily—there were merguez and other sausages and the wonderful Tandoori chicken that Llew had marinaded with the ingredients that we had purchased earlier in the afternoon from local supermarkets. The meal was delicious and preceded by Pommeau, the French liqueur that is a combination of calvados (apple brandy) and cider. It was great. I had taken a pill to keep down the pain in my head and so decided to stay away from alcohol. However, it was towards the end of our meal, that I felt uneasy and decided it would be best to get to a hospital and have a doctor assure me that the bruise on my head was no cause for concern and that there was no internal bleeding.

Well, after the cheese course, off we went to the hospital at Saint Lo, that was founded by an American called Paul Nelson just after the War when attempts were made to rebuild the SainteLo community. There was no one in the Emergency Room when we arrived but within minutes the place sprang to life as the nurses and paramedical staff got to work obtaining details and insurance information from me. It was not long before Doctor Patrick Minville came to my assistance and there I was, having to explain what had happened in French. I have to say that I was most embarrassed but when I informed him that my French friend Jacques was waiting outside and would be able to explain more about my accident in better French, he assured me that he had understood every word I said and that I had done just fine. I have to say that I was very proud of my linguistic abilities indeed.

Not long after carrying out preliminary examinations, Dr. Minville told me that everything looked good prima facie, but that he wished me to have some X-rays done to make sure there was no internal damage. About 10 minutes later, I was in the Radiography Department and X-rays were conducted by another paramedical man who directed me most politely, in broken English, to do his bidding. About another half hour later, after my pictures had been obtained and studied, Dr. Minville returned to tell me that all was well and that there was no cause for concern. He told me to expect a bad bruise upon awakening—a bruise that would change color with each passing day. He prescribed paracetemol for the pain and told me to return home and get a good night’s rest for all was well.

It was a great relief for me and for everyone else to know that there would be no serious repercussions from my fall. Jacaques, Llew and I returned to the farmhouse just after midnight and hoped that this would be the last of the many adventures that this trip seemed determined to offer us.

The Bayeux Tapestry and D-Day Remembered on Normandy's Beaches

2009-07-30T18:33:00.003-04:00

Monday, July 27, 2009
Normandy, France

We awoke to the complete silence of the French countryside. Indeed, it was so quiet that, as Llew remarked, not even the sound of the chirping of birds could be heard. From our bed, as we opened our eyes, to a glorious day, we saw the vast expanse of green stretching ahead of us to the fields and meadows that our friends, the Lesrouxelles, call home.

Hotel Cocagne, their homestead, comprises eight acres, most of which are farmed out for the growing of corn while much is covered by grass to make haystacks that form winter fodder for Normandy cattle. (The word 'Hotel' in the name of their house, by the way, does not mean that it is a hotel in the English sense of the word. 'Hotel' in this part of France, refers to a warm, harmonious and conmfortable homestead and all the houses in their region have names that are preceded by the word 'hotel'). There is a main house in which the family currently dwells and two other buildings (one large barn and another storage area). These ancient buildings will, no doubt, be modernized and utilized in creative ways by Florence who is an architect by profession and has already worked her magic on the main house by building a vast extension to it that ties perfectly well with the ancient stone work of the original structure.

While Florence had left for the day to start work at her own architectural firm in nearby Marigny, Jacques took care of our breakfast needs and we ate the first of many delicious morning meals with them: crusty baguettes with thick Normandy butter and home made apricot jam from Florence’s own kitchen—just super!

Seeing the Famous Bayeux Tapestry At Last:
In my correspondence with Jacques over the past few days, I had informed him that I dearly wished to see the Bayeux Tapestry which reposes in not too far away Bayeux—a small medieval town that we had passed by on the train. Jacques told us that it was a half hour drive from Quibou and Hotel Cocagne. We used the drive past fields and farms and grazing cattle (those easily recognizable black and white Normandy cows were everywhere), to catch up with Jacques whom we were seeing after ten years. He had last visited us in Southport, Connecticut, with Florence just before they got married and long before the birth of their kids. We had so much to talk about and there was so much Jacques wanted to show us. He was particularly keen to introduce us to other members of his family—both he and Florence have a large number of siblings and their kids have cousins galore so that they never lack for company.

The town of Bayeaux lay shrouded under rain clouds when we arrived there. Indeed, there was a steady drizzle that also played on the old stone homes as we parked our car and walked towards the grand and very impressive Cathedral. I had heard of the famous Tapestry, about 15 years ago, when Llew and I had spent a week in Normandy with our French friends, the Leclercs, who have since moved to live permanently in Goa. In fact, it was while Jacques was driving us from Normandy to Paris, fifteen years ago, that we had passed by the town of Bayeaux where another mutual friend called Celine had pointed out to us that the town was famed for a “tapis”. I knew the French word “tapis” as meaning “carpet” in English and I had no idea that what she meant to say was “tapisserie” which means “tapestry” in English. In the years that have passed since then, I have learned much about this famous Tapestry—the first fact being that the word ‘Tapestry’ is a misnomer for it as it was not woven, as tapestries are, on a loom, but actually embroidered using a needle and woolen thread.

The Bayeux Tapestry is widely believed to have been embroidered by contemporary Normandy Queen Mathilde and her ladies-in-waiting around the year 1070 to commemorate the historic and very significant event of the victory of Duke William of Normandy over the Anglo-Saxon King Harold of England at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Now, I had, with my friend Stephanie, visited both Battle (where the actual battle took place in 1066) and Hastings, the seaside town in Kent where Harold was based—so I was keen to see the Bayeaux Tapestry for that reason as well. Also, I remember that when I was an undergraduate student of English Literature at Bombay’s Elphinstone College, at my very first class on the History of Literature, our professor, the late Dr. Homai Shroff, had told us that if there was only one date in English History that we could possibly commit to memory, it ought to be 1066 as that was when English History as we know it first began. So, I have never forgotten that date.

How thrilled I was then to arrive in Bayeux, despite the rain and chilly weather, to see the former seminary building in which the tapestry is displayed. My Met ID card got me in for free but Llew and Jacques paid the 6 euros each to enter the space. A room had to be constructed especially to display this 70 meter long work which comprises 58 panels, each one of which tells the story of the bloody battle that brought England under the rule of the French and forever changed the culture, language and administrative systems of the country.

With a most useful audio guide in English that gave us the entire story, panel by panel, we were able to appreciate both the historic events that led to the cataclysmic upheaval as well as the artistic details and superb craftsmanship for which the tapestry is famed. Indeed, all the key characters (Edward the Confessor, then King of England, Harold his cousin, William his French cousin, and his brother the Bishop) are clearly delineated on the tapestry as are a vast number of cavalry and infantrymen that formed the rank and file of this battle. William came to be known as The Conqueror and the peculiar love-hate relationship that has existed through the centuries between the English and the French began.

Viewing the tapestry took us over an hour; by which time, we were ready for lunch that we grabbed at a nearly café with its lovely tree-shaded al fresco tables. Both Llew and I had the Croque Monsieur (France’s famous toasted cheese sandwich) which we washed down with some really good Normandy cider.

On to the D-Day Beaches of Normandy:
We were not able to linger too long over our meal, however, as we were headed towards the Bayeux cathedral to see the inside of it as well as the Bayeux War Cemetery for Bayeux was the first French city to be liberated by the Allied troops after they arrived on Normandy soil. In fact, Jacques felt that we should hurry on for the half hour drive towards Coleville-Sur-Mer, as I had told him that the next item on my agenda while in Normandy was a visit to the D-Day Beaches and American Cemetery of Normandy which I had last seen portrayed on TV during the recent 65th anniversary celebrations of the famous landings that liberated Europe from the Nazi scourge.

Though these war cemeteries are dotted all along the sea coast of Normandy, the one at Coleville-sur-Mer is the largest and most frequently visited and was the scene of the solemn commemorative ceremonies that took place here when Barack Obama arrived to represent America, a few weeks ago. Once again, we found the drive very soothing, almost therapeutic, and as Jacques pointed out places of interest, we realized how little rural France has been touched by modernity.

Then, we were at Coleville where we parked our car and found ourselves surrounded by people who had traveled across the Pond and the English Channel to pay their respects to the departed dead many of whom were their own late family members. Once we went through the security that led into the Visitors Center, we became fully wrapped up by the emotion that the venue unleashes. Just past the Center, we entered a museum where we saw so many items from those war-torn years as well as letters, photographs and other such memorabilia that belonged to another era. In these war-ravaged times, when America is still fighting for the righteous causes to which it is so seriously committed, it was poignant to remember how much was sacrificed on this soil and how much was achieved by these brave actions. Indeed, images of the film Saving Private Ryan—those devastating opening scenes when so many thousands of soldiers became cannon fodder--lingered in my mind as I entered the cemetery and saw the thousands of white marble crosses and stars of David that mark the spots upon which their remains lie buried.

A total of 10,000 odd soldiers died during the D-Day Landings on June 6, 1944 and another 1,500 remained missing. They are commemorated on an adjoining wall where their names are recorded in alphabetical order. Beautiful pink roses bloomed all over the cemetery and the American stars and stripes flew at halfmast in the salty sea air. The sound of the waves were never very far from our ears as they still thundered in across from England where the ships that brought the soldiers to these shores had embarked. The setting was perfectly serene and wonderfully evocative of those turbulent times, now, thankfully, only a memory in the minds of both those who served in the call of duty and those who benefited from their sacrifice. We watched a group of American high school children who laid a wreath on the sculpture that recalls the fallen dead and missing and as the last post and the American national anthem was played, we felt privileged to be included in the very moving service.

On Omaha Beach:
A short drive later, we arrived at Omaha Beach where the offensive had been launched following the landings on D-Day. Today, it looks like just any other beach. A few kids frolicked in the waves while sunbathers enjoyed the warmth of the day and walked their dogs along the wet sands of the shore. The temporary ports that were set up within weeks to facilitate the landings can still be seen though only fragments of them remain jutting out like a pier into the waves. The landings are remembered by a memorial stone on the sands.

Just next door is Utah Beach where more landings took place. Jacques drove us to Pointe du Hoc where the land forms a point that juts out into the English Channel. This point was well protected by the Germans who set up look out posts and guns on this promontory in order to diminish the fury of the Allied attack. The ground was pockmarked with fallen bombs and even today we could see the remains of the bunkers in which the Germans hid and concealed their guns. There is a poignant memorial at Pointe du Hoc that takes the shape of a single granite tower over a bunker that once surveyed the waves.

Indeed, our morning was deeply moving and I felt so privileged that we had the opportunity to visit these very touching memorials of awful times past. Five years ago, during the 60th anniversary of its liberation, Llew, Chriselle and I were at Auschwitz-Birkenau Concentration Camp in modern-day Poland and, five years later, here we were in Normandy on the 65th anniversary of the landings at the very spot where the conquest of Europe by the Allies began.

We were rather subdued as we returned to the car and began the long drive homewards. Jacques was keen to take us to the farm of his brother Jean-Luc who has a most modern and very novel way of milking his 80 sheep on his dairy farm. As the mayor of his town, Jean-Luc serves two functions—mayor and farmer—and it was a pleasure to meet him and his wife Natalie and their sons Francois and Benoit. I must say that my French stood me in good stead everywhere I visited as these folks were most impressed by the fact that I could carry out perfectly good conversations with them in their own language and could thus steep myself, at least temporarily, into their culture.

Jean-Luc’s farmyard was indeed an extraordinary place. Not only did we thoroughly enjoy getting acquainted with the ingenious computer system, recently installed, that allows his cows to be milked automatically, without any human intervention at all, but Llew and I had yet another superlative experience awaiting us.

A Calf is Born:
Jean-Luc had casually asked us if we wished to see his new born calves. Well, how could we resist? So, off we went, following him to another barn, where we saw the most darling calves, about ten in all, gambol around playfully in the hay filled barns. And then, imagine our shock when we discovered that one of the cows had gone into labor and was just about to give birth! Since calves are born with their forelegs emerging first, followed by their heads and hind legs, we were stunned to see the forelegs already jutting out. Jean-Luc then jumped into the fray and began to help the cow by tying a rope around the calf’s forelegs and pulling.

Now I have to say, at this point, that a year ago, when Llew and I had visited Yorkshire to see the home of veterinary author James Herriot, I had been motivated to do so by the TV series All Creatures Great and Small that I had watched in which the birth of cattle was a frequent feature. In fact, Herriot and his vet colleagues were often required to push their hands deep inside the uterus of these cattle to find out the state of health of the animals and had often assisted in exactly this fashion. And now, a year later, here I was in Normandy, the home of European cattle farming, watching the actual birth of a calf. I mean this was no longer TV drama I was watching! This was reality and the real world birth was every bit as exciting and moving as those TV shows had portrayed. I was so deeply affected by these sights that I was speechless and could only watch mutely as creation occurred before my very eyes.

It was a difficult and rather lengthy first birth. When Jean-Luc’s efforts proved to be inadequate, Jacques jumped in to lend his brother support. Soon his young son Francois joined in providing a warm bucket of water and with their black lab Aurianne nosing around the cow, it was a strange sight to behold indeed. Before long, the calf’s legs emerged and then with one massive effort, out slid the head and the rest of the calf. I watched enthralled as the calf was taken to its exhausted mother who had dropped down on the ground for rest. As she made acquaintance with her new baby, she licked it tenderly and bonded with it. Truly, it was one of the most unusual things I have ever seen and both Llew and I were profoundly moved by this experience.

We said goodbye to Jean-Luc, returned to Jacques’ lovely farm, met up with Florence and this kids again and then sat down to a delicious dinner of salad (fresh from Florence’s garden) and roast chicken with a really yummy stuffing made tasty by the addition of raisins. French cheese followed in the next course, then pots of yogurt. All this was accompanied by delicious glasses of cider and an aperitif called Ricard which had an anise flavor.

It was much later that we finally ended our day having undergone so many massive adventures.

In the Midst of the Tour de France and Paris' Famed Sights

2009-07-30T18:32:00.004-04:00

Sunday, July 26, 2009
Paris and Normandy

By the time we set out to explore Paris, Jack had ensured that we ate a really great huge homemade breakfast. There was oatmeal made from scratch in milk, jazzed up with giant raisins and loads of cinnamon which made it really yummy. Large quarters of cantaloupe, plums and white peaches were placed at our seats and there was yogurt all washed down with excellent Harrods tea. Indeed, it was a meal that would keep us going for hours, we knew, as we left our apartment for a day of sight seeing.

And when we reached the Champs Elysses, well, guess what? There we were right in the midst of the Tour de France, the famous French cross-country bicycle race that ends at the Champs Elysses with the riders making nine rounds of the famous boulevarde to the wild cheering of the fans. Such an opportunity to take in such a famed sporting event could not, of course, on any account, be missed. And so we resolved to return at 4.00 pm when it was expected that the first “sprinters’ would reach the area. Oh how exciting and how unexpected I thought that we should have the chance to stand and cheer in the midst of folks whom we usually see on TV at the tail end of this great event!

Seeing the Tour Effiel Up Close and Personal:
Well, I guess you cannot leave Paris without seeing the Tour Effiel and even though we have seen it from many angles and in many parts of Paris, this was really the first time I went and stood right beneath it. Llew has actually been up the tower but in the years gone by (first while a grad student back packing around Europe when I could not afford the excursion to the top and later when I could not afford the time as there were so many other things I wanted to see in Paris), I never did get down to riding those elevators that take visitors to the top for stunning 360 degree views of Paris.

However, it was fabulous just to be able to stand by the very foundations of the tower and to receive the marvelous first view of it as our metro train took us on a bridge over the river Seine.The long lines (an hour's wait) deterred me once again, so I never did get to the top. We took the mandatory photographs instead and then made our way across the Pont d’Ilena towards the Palais de Chaillot for some more pictures of the Tower. Now this was a first time excursion for Llew who had never been to the Palais de Chaillot or seen the tower from this really great vantage point.

It was while we joined the throngs of first time tourists eager to have their picture taken that we were approached by a young couple from Texas who asked us to take their picture. They so loved the picture I took that they asked if I could take another—this time of the two of them kissing in front of the Effiel! Of curse, I said, and posed them in such a way that their faces were placed just at the bottom rung of the tower. And, as so often happens, they then turned to ask if we’d like to have our picture taken by them and of course, we said yes, and so they asked Llew, if he’d like to have a picture “kissing”! And, of course, Llew said, “Sure”! So, next thing I knew, there was I being posed against the tower locking lips with my darling husband and thinking how lucky I was to be in this city with the one I love!

Then, it was time to walk towards Rue de Passy towards the campus of New York University in Paris that I so wanted to visit before I left the city. It was quite a steep uphill climb towards the location but in about fifteen minutes, we got there and standing outside Number 56 wondered why there was no signboard or indication of any kind that the campus of NYU was located at that spot. Did I have the wrong address, I wondered, as I looked about me. Being a Sunday, however, the place was deserted. It appears (as Jack informed us later) that there was a bell that, if rung, would have admitted us into the quadrangle inside where the office and classrooms are located. Well, it was a pity we did not know this but at least I did get to see the exact location at which this campus is based—good to know in case I ever get posted to teach in Paris!

Lunch at Montmartre:
Our next stop was the lovely mountain top called La Butte Montmartre on which stands the white marble edifice with the many domes of the Church of the Sacre Coeur (Sacred Heart). Once can arrive here through the metro stops of Abbess or Anvers and then take the funicular train to the summit. We chose, instead, to scale its heights on foot and, in doing so, treat ourselves to the joys of watching the city of Paris unfold itself at our feet.

At various points on our ascent, we stopped to catch our breath and take pictures of the rooftops of the city. The day was lovely with bright sunshine illuminating the various attractions of the area including the white domes of the church that gleamed. People were sprinkled all over the green lawns and gardens that surround the church. Since it was a Sunday, we had hoped to catch Mass at Sacre Coeur, but all we could manage was a visit as the masses had finished for the day. Still, it was wonderful to encircle this very beautiful church with its Byzantine like mosaics (including the large central one of Christ).

When we had accomplished this intention, we walked behind the church towards one of the most famous squares in Paris, the Place du Tertre which is usually filled with amateur artists who provide sketches of the visitors for a few sou.

The Place du Tertre was also packed as it happened to be lunch time and the many bistros and brasseries that line the four sides of the square were doing roaring business. We decided to stop and have lunch here ourselves and selected Chez Mere Catherine which is the oldest of the bistros. Seated beneath a red, white and blue umbrella (for Paris is still celebrating Bastille Day), we decided to have the Formule, i.e. the prix fixe menu that included one appetizer, an entrée and a dessert. Llew chose the Mixed Salad while I went for the Quiche Lorraine. For his main, Llew chose the Roast Chicken, while I went for the Moules Frites (mussels with fries) and for dessert, Llew had the ice-cream while I had the Crème Caramel. At 16 euros per head for the package, I have to say the quality was rather disappointing. My quiche was burned at the bottom and I had to send it back. The replacement slice was half the size of the original (were they trying to get rid of the burnt one by serving double the size of the normal portions?). I have eaten far better Moules at Leon de Bruxelles and the crème caramel, well, I am pretty certain that I can make a better version myself! So our Parisian lunch was a bummer and I have to wonder why we chose such a touristy part in which to eat our meal. Had we chosen a small bistro in an unfrequented area, no doubt we’d have had a better repast.

Witnessing the Tour de France:
It was time to return to the Champs Elysses to take in the last of the Tour de France and, when we arrived there just past 4.00pm, we found that the first riders had already arrived and taken their preliminary round of the boulevarde to the mad cheering of the crowd. Jack had suggested we take a ladder or at least a step stool down to the boulevarde and that was exactly what we did! So with the stool positioned in the midst of the crowd and with Jack joining us, both Llew and I were able to get great views of the finalists as they pedaled away around the route (as well as a few good pictures). Of course, we were thrilled to see the legendary American Lance Armstrong among the finalists and though he did not win the race, he made it in quite a respectable third place. This was another high point of our travels and we are so glad we managed to get this treat in as well.

Off to Normandy:
There was enough time for us to get back home, pick up our backpacks and head off to the Gare St. Lazare where we had made train bookings for our journey to Normandy where we would spend the next few days. Our train was scheduled to leave at 7. 10 pm and taking the metro there, we arrived on time for the two and a half hour run into Normandy.

At the station at Lison in Normandy, our friend Jacques awaited us with his 7-year old adorable son Marius whom we were meeting for the first time. Though we reached there at about 10. 00 pm, there was still enough light left for us to see the passing fields and farms and the small town of Saint Lo before we arrived at Quibou, the little village in which our friends live on a sprawling 8 acre farm. We arrived there at about 10. 45 pm, hooked up with Jacques’ wife Florence and their other kids, son Jean and baby daughter Julia and as we enjoyed an affectionate reunion and a glass of wine, our hosts busied themselves getting our dinner organized.

We partook of good French baguettes served with jambon fumee (for our friend Jacques runs a business in traditional Normandy smoked hams called Jambons d’Antan). With deli meats and a salad, and a platter of French cheese, we had a very homely meal and then, without more ado, made our way up to our room eager to explore our surroundings the next morning in stronger light.

Marche de Puces, Saint Suplice and Saint Chapelle

2009-07-30T18:31:00.003-04:00

Saturday, July 25, 2009
Paris

For lovers, like myself, of antiques and brochante (the French word for bric a brac), I guess no visit to Paris would be complete without a forage through one of the many marches de puces (flea markets) for which the city is renowned. So, awaking on a Saturday morning, I decided that we should go to the one at Clignancourt, perhaps the best-known flea market in the world. Again, I have heard and read about this wonderful place for years and had always wanted to go to it “on my next visit to Paris”. So, since we were here, hell why not, I thought. The best part of having Llew as a travel companion is that he is generally game to do such half-brained things like this with me and so off we went after Jack insisted we eat breakfast at home: toast with fruit and tea (I had taken them a variety of teas in Harrods’ signature wooden box and we enjoyed one of these).

How very mistaken I was! When we arrived at Clignancourt, after a ride in the Tube that involves two changes, I found it to be very different from what I had imagined. In fact, I had thought it would be something along the lines of the Bermondsey Antiques Market in London: a number of dealers setting up their wares on make-shift carts—all very casual, very friendly. Well, this Paris place was nothing like that at all.

This market is made up of several separate marches (each specializing in a different category of item—such as antiques, vintage clothing, etc.). I headed for the Marche Biron and then to the Marche Serpette, both of which were located at the very end of the road from which we had approached via the metro station. These were a series of upscale shops, I mean regular shops—there was nothing make-shift about these. The wares inside were equally upscale and I could see nothing that I could wrap up in a bag and take home in a suitcase! The furniture varying from Louis Quinze to Beidemeir and Art Deco were the sort of solid buys that could only go overseas in a container! While there were some shops with silver and art glass and French porcelain, these were rare, in the most perfect condition and, therefore, very expensive. Still, I have to say despite the fact that I could tell within fifteen minutes that I was unlikely to go home with a souvenir of my visit to the marche de puces, it was a very interesting visit and I am glad I went.

Both en route to the Metro and leading away from these permanent markets, are loads of stalls run by black African immigrants from countries like Senegal and Cote d’Ivoire selling all manner of clothing imaginable from cheap T-shirts to American military uniforms! Being ravenous and with the sun stating that it was almost noon, Llew and I found a lovely Creperie that sold the most marvelous jambon and fromage stuffed crepes which we ordered and then watched fascinated as the expert chef swirled his little baton around his flat pan to make the delicious meal. This was swaddled in a paper cone and handed to us and filled us up very well indeed for the next few hours.

We returned home to the Champs Elysses as Llew had promised Jack that he would cook him his magret de canard in a typically Indian way, using a variety of Indian spices. The Andersons love Indian food and Llew found the recipe he usually uses for his Thanksgiving turkey from my website. So we bought ourselves a few ingredients from Monoprix (as Jack has a well-stocked spice pantry) and went back home to make the yogurt-based marinade in which to bathe the breasts of duck for a few hours for our dinner later than evening. Julia had left to spend the weekend in Normandy which left just Jack and us for dinner.

Two Famous Parisian Churches-- Sainte Suplice and Sainte Chapelle:
Having accomplished that task, it was time for us to take in the sights of the city and we headed to the center of town to see the Church of Saint Suplice that was made famous by Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code. Again, I have to say that in my ignorance, I expected it to be a church in which the Pink Rose Line actually could be discerned, even if faintly, on its flagstones! Well, call me crazy, but there was nothing to distinguish the Church of Sainte Suplice from any of the other many European churches I have seen in the past one year.

Well, perhaps the Rose Line does exist in the church but there was no one to point it out, or explain anything about it nor was there any literature available at the entrance of the church in English that might have led us to it. At the end of the day what I got out of our visit to this church was an opportunity to see two marvelous frescoes at the entrance in the Chapel of the Angels done by Eugene Delacroix. The rest of the church is notable for its beautiful sculptural statues of saints that are to be found in the chapels and the May Day paintings that were gifted to the church on May 1st each year.

Well, it was only a short walk along the lovely streets of Paris towards the Church of Sainte Chapelle and we made that our next destination. En route, we passed by the BGV Home Store at the Hotel de Ville where we bought one of the very unique can openers we saw Jack use at home. Not only does it open cans easily and effectively without leaving a jagged edge but it opens them in such a way that the top becomes a lid that can be re-used so as to almost hermetically seal the can again. I marveled at the ingenuity of this design and decided to go out and buy one for our home too.

At the Church of Sainte Chapelle, we were put through a thorough security search as this building stands within the precincts of the Palais Royale, part of the administrative heart of the modern city. It’s spire can be seen reaching out towards the clouds, not too far from the Church of Notre Dame as Sainte Chapelle also stands on the Ile de la Cite. It was a private chapel constructed by Louis IX to house the sacred relics that he acquired from Constantinople such as the thorns from Christ’s Crown and a piece of the True Cross. This acquisition placed Paris on par with Constantinople as one of the most important centers of Christian pilgrimage in the medieval world and the high altar that was created to house the relics included a grant old chest that can still be seen on it though the relics themselves have been moved to the Treasury in the Church of Notre Dame. It is a very tiny but most exquisite space and there is nothing in it that I had seen in any other church anywhere else. There is a hefty entrance fee (8 euros) to see this place but believe me, it is worth ever cent.

You enter the church through a lower level that is itself quite beautiful. This portion was meant only for the worship of the servants of the palace and the common people. Constructed in a form of Gothic style that is highly decorative (called royannte), the fan vaulting is the most distinctive part of this church, but it is the vivid decoration that most singles it out. The left sidewall is decorated with a fresco of the Annunciation that is reputedly the oldest wall painting in Paris. A marble statue of Louis IX graces the far end of the church that is surrounded by columns each separated by a pictorial depiction of a saint whose halo is studded with glass and semi-precious stones.

And this is only the bottom half. Climb the rather plain and very narrow spiral staircase at the back of the church and you ascend, it would seem, to Heaven, Indeed, it was not for nothing that the common folk called this church a Stairway to Heaven. When new, it must have quite dazzled the beholder for at this point in time its effect is still quite mesmerizing indeed. The entire church is surrounded by stained glass windows each depicting a separate book of the Old Testament, each panel separated by columns upon whose plinths stand depictions of the twelve apostles, all executed in elaborate style with vivid paint and lavish gilding. The high point in this from of decoration is reached at the altar where the wooden carved angels, again painted vividly and finished in gold leaf, form an arch to lead the eye towards the chest that once contained the relics. It is difficult for the eye to decide where exactly it should rest in this amazing receptacle of Gothic design and I have to say that Llew and I felt quite overwhelmed by what we saw. Never having seen the Church of Sainte Chappelle before, we felt fortunate that we had included it on our itinerary during this visit for it was certainly one of the high points of our visit to Paris.

Once out of the church and while walking past the bridges that line the Seine, we found a Hagen Daz ice-cream parlor. Quite exhausted by our sightseeing, we settled down to a massive sundae each and gosh, were we glad for our sugar high! It gave us the energy to continue on our rambles for truly Paris can best be seen on one’s own two feet. When one has seen the churches and the palaces and the museums, there is still plenty of street side enticement to draw one ever further into the heart of this architecturally perfect city whether it be a design store featuring the newest trend in faucets or yet another bistro whose menu boasts the country’s best known culinary delights such as steak hache or Coquilles St. Jacques.

We returned to our digs at the Champs Elysses, surprised again to find that it is only tourists today who seem to inhabit the area. In the many café trottoirs that line the street and the power house megastores that proclaimed the recent death of Michael Jackson by announcing new albums and books, there was a great deal to take in. But we were tired and though the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak, and we had to return to the Andersons so that Llew could cook his Duck Dinner. Indeed, our duck breasts had marinaded beautifully and with the oven pre-heating, Llew set to work. It was just scrumptious and the three of us enjoyed it very much indeed as we ate a salad for starters and finished off with one of Jack’s signature fruit salads with raspberry sorbet that received a huge kick by the generous addition of a cup of Bordeaux which made a lovely sauce as it melded with the melting sorbet! Jack even sprinkled some coconut over the concoction to make it more tropical.

And on that lovely gastronomic note, we called it a day, having enjoyed another evening of food and conversation with our compelling and very generous host.

Highlights of the Louvre, Notre Dame and the Ile de la Cite

2009-07-30T18:30:00.003-04:00

Friday, July 24, 2009
Paris

We awoke refreshed from our long slumber in a city that slept, it seemed, quietly with us. Sheltered in the serene cocoon of our airy bedroom, we were clueless to the life that teemed around us just a street away on the Champs Elysses. With everyone else away for the day already, we showered and dressed and decided to spend the day at perhaps the most challenging museum in the world—the legendary Louvre.

We grabbed breakfast to go (croissants and pain au chocolat) from the Monoprix that was so conveniently located just around the corner from our building. Then, we were in the tubes that take commuters around the city in a jiffy and before long found ourselves at the Louvre entering I.M. Pei’s glass Pyramid that has added its distinctive profile to the city’s skyline.

In the metro, both Llew and I noticed separately how much Paris has changed since we were last tourists in this city. The demographics have altered considerably and white people are now most decidedly in the minority in the public transport systems that skirt the city. We were struck by the large numbers of South Asians now in Paris—most obviously Punjabis as was evident from the language they spoke—as also the vast numbers of Maghrebain (North African immigres) who have made the city their home. There is also none of the style and glamor we once associated with the word ‘Parisian’. I can remember, not too long ago, gazing with envy upon women in the metro each of whom seemed to have stepped out of Vogue—each was so impeccably made up and put together (those famous French foulards (scarves) wrapped a dozen different ways around their elegant shoulders. I can recall men with a shock of hair falling stylishly over their broad foreheads as they exuded chic suavity with every carefree stride they took. Where have all these Parisians gone? I lamented their passing and felt sorry that the city, indeed the country, seemed to have lost an essential aspect of its distinguished character. Llew reminded me that this phenomenon is called ‘Globalization’ and he was right. The downside of globalization is that while it has made us far more homogeneous than we ever used to be, it has, alas, robbed us of the distinctive merits that gave each of us a national and cultural identity that was uniquely our own.

As for the B.O. it was just unbearable. Neither London or Paris have yet air conditioned the cars of their underground systems and in summer, the ride is most uncomfortable. While I did not hotice B.O. anywhere in London, the stench in Paris is just awful, not to mention the discomfort of riding in jampacked cars with a motley lot of people, so many of whom seem to have forgotten what a shower is! I think this was one of the most unappealing parts of our visit to Paris. Clearly, there is a huge market for deodorant in France and if there is an entrepreneur out there who is reading this, believe me, this is an opportunity waiting to be grabbed.!

On arriving at the Louvre, I was gratified to see that my Met Museum ID card stood me in good stead and got me free entry. Llew bought his ticket and after grabbing the floor plan, we began our daunting exploration of the museum, skipping the hour-long Highlights tour in English which we had taken the last time we were here and deciding to follow instead the Highlights marked out by the Museum’s curators. Despite the fact that both of us are accustomed to expansive museums, this one certainly astounded even us as we tried to negotiate our way through the Richelieu, Sully and Denton wings. Though we did manage to complete all the highlights detailed by the floor plan, it took us several hours and but for a light café luncheon (roast chicken for Llew, a quiche lorraine for me), we soldiered on moving from one item to the next without needing to spend too much time and energy getting from one to the other. We began our exploration at 10. 45 am and were only done at 4. 45 pm.

Among the Highlights I recall as being especially notable were:
1. The Winged Victory of Samotrace—an ancient Greek carved stone statue that stood on the hull of a ship, a very early sort of figurehead. Excavated sometime in the middle of the last century but with its arms still missing. Marvelous draping of a gauzy fabric around the thighs of the woman that seems to render stone transparent.
2. The Venus de Milo: Another armless and topless marble female sculpture of a woman who stands today in two pieces that are riveted together with marble struts.
3. La Giaconda, better known as the Mona Lisa: The woman with the Mystic Smile upon whom volumes have been written. Always surprises first-time viewers by its small size. The cordoned area around it grows more distant with every visit I make here. Still the museum’s largest attraction.
4. The Wedding Feast at Cana by Paolo Veronese: Perhaps one of the largest paintings in the world, this canvas stuns by its sheer size. It happens to be in the same room as the Mona Lisa and, therefore, gets as many visitors. This room is also full of magnificent works by Titian and Tintoretto among other great Renaissance masters—(the Ghirlandaios are the best I’ve seen outside Florence) but so few of the visitors actually looked at these. Most just did the cursory walk around the Mona Lisa and left.
5. The Seated Scribe: A terracotta cast from ancient Greece that shows a scholar seated in the lotus position. Brilliant use of glass inserts for his eyes that make them look amazingly real.
6. Edouard Manet’s Le Dejeuner Sur L’Herbe (Luncheon Picnic on the Grass): Considered extremely scandalous when it was first exhibited at the Salon des Beaux Arts because it presents a female nude who gazes directly at the viewer while seated in the company of two fully clothed men.
7. Gericault’s Raft of the Medusa: This is a representation of a real event in history in which several survivors of a shipwreck attempted to save themselves by constructing a raft that left them afloat for weeks on end.
8. Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People: This quintessential French image was the inspiration for the French Revolution of 1789 which led to the storming of the Bastille and toppled the monarchy. It presents Liberty in the guise of a determined woman leading gun-totting revolutionaries towards a distant goal. It always reminds me of Victor Hugo’s novel Les Miserables.
9. Leonardo da Vinci’s Virgin of the Rocks. There is a version of this painting in the National Gallery in London and they are both extremely lyrical and, therefore, extremely moving.
10. The Marly Horses in the Cour Carre: These horses once graced the four pillars that support the bridge that leads from the Tour Effiel to the Palais de Chaillot. They present men and horses in varied poses in abundant realistic detail. They have been replaced on the bridge by plaster cast replicas.
11. The Code of Hamurabi: This ancient Babylonian Code of law is perhaps the world’s first known legal system. Despite being harsh and ruthless (“an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth”), it laid down a system of government that prevented anarchy and became the model for every other legal code ever constructed. It is written in cuneiform script on a black basalt column which is carved at the top with the motifs of a judge dispensing his verdict and sentence.
12. The Imprisoned Slave by Michelangelo: So called because these studies in marble show the progress of the master’s technique and creativity. The slaves (there are two of them standing side by side) emerge from the block of Carrara marble with which Michelangelo worked so as to cause them to rise out of them as the sculpture was completed.
13. Odalisque by Ingres: This stylized portrayal of the back of a nude woman became the prototype for so many paintings of this nature—Manet’s Olympia, in the Musee d’Orsay is inspired by this work.
14. Napoleon’s State Apartments: Since I had never been to this part of the Louvre before, it was quite a revelation to come upon this series of magnificent rooms that glowed and glittered under the blaze of colossal crystal chandeliers, gilded candleabra and other objects d’art that fill it. These rooms beggar description and the best way to do them justice would be to say that if one has no time to visit the Palace of Versailles, this is the best alternative, being right in the city of Paris. Having visited Versailles twice, I can say that they come close if indeed they do not surpass the grand chateau in its wealth of decorative detail. Definitely eye candy of the most exotic kind.

Well, needless to say, we were exhausted after our perusal of the Louvre and dropping with fatigue could barely find the energy to make our way out. It was imperative that we sit somewhere for a long time and what nicer place than the banks of the Seine on a really warm and cheerful afternoon? Well, we walked past the many bridges of Paris (I was saddened to see that Samaritaine, that great institution of French conspicuous consumption, has closed indefinitely) and arrived at the Ile de la Cite where we thought we’d visit the Church of Notre Dame on its own little island. The square outside the church was bustling and as we moved through the throngs and as we arrived at the superbly carved portals of the church, I pulled out my DK Eye Witness Guide to Paris. We spent the next half hour examining this church that has become so famous in literature (domain of poor old Quasimodo in Hugo’s great novel) and film. Inside, the church’s vast dimensions, built in classic Gothic style with towering columns in the nave and flying buttresses on the outside, made for some marvelous viewing as did the Rose Window and other stained glass ornamentation within.

Walking along the Ile de la Cite, we passed by the Palais Royal and saw the entrance to the Church of Sainte Chapelle (which is also on my list of things to do in Paris on this trip) but it was close to closing time and visitors were no longer allowed to enter.

It was time to think of returning home to another one of Julia’s excellent dinners—she had used the internet to create another wonderful vegetarian dish using aubergines, mozarella cheese, red peppers and a tomato coulis that was all stacked up like the pastry known as the ‘Napoleon’. I put my own shoulder to the wheel and produced Chicken Parmesan using strips of chicken breast and breading them generously before coating with Parmesan shavings and shallow frying them. Indeed, it was a wonderful dinner, launched upon by glasses of wonderful Bordeaux that we shared with the Andersons. Jack kept converstion both stimulating and entertaining by telling about his day and the folks with whom he liases as part of his work.

Because our rambles had rendered us exhausted, we did go to bed rather early once again and tried to catch up on our lost sleep of the previous couple of days.

Bonjour Paris! The Musee d'Orsay and Tea at Laduree

2009-07-30T18:29:00.005-04:00

Thursday, July 23, 2o09
Paris

The Eurostar ate the miles in a jiffy and bridged the gap across the English Channel before we could quite say Bonjour! But for the fact that our ears popped as we descended beneath the water several hundreds of miles beneath the surface, there was no way to record the speed and the depth at which we traveled through this Chunnel—a first-time experience for Llew and a second for me—the trip to Brussels in Belgium, a few months ago, had been my first time aboard this unique vehicle.

Again, the early hour of the morning made us want to doze off but despite our light breakfasts of almond croissants and pain du chocolat with coffee, courtesy of Paul’s Patisserie at St. Pancras International, we could not really snatch any sleep at all. Next thing we knew, we were pulling into the Gare du Nord in Paris and watching the capital of France whoosh past us.

Though it was a trifle overwhelming, what with the crowds and the noise, we did find our way towards the metro easily enough where we bought a carnet de billets (10 tickets in all) and headed towards the Number 4 line towards Chatelet where we needed to change to the Number 1 line for the Champs Elysses where we would be staying for the next few days. Yes, as hard as it might be to believe, Llew and I would be parked just off one of the world’s best-known boulevards right in the heart of one of the world’s most exciting cities. I have to say that the trains looked extremely crummy after London’s posher underground versions and I also have to say that I realized what a long time had elapsed since the two of us had seen Paris at such close quarters. Indeed, it was fifteen years ago that we had last been to Paris (at which time, too, we had made a detour to spend a few days with friends in Normandy).

Once on the surface again, we were jostled about by the hurrying hordes on the Champs-Elysses as we tried to find our way towards Monoprix and the Rue de la Boetie where our friends, the Andersons, lived in a grand fin de siecle building complete with massive iron grilled gates, spacious internal quadrangles and marble floors and walls that gleamed as we entered the miniscule lift that took us towards the top. It was all very olde-worlde and very gracious and my heart skipped a beat when I realized that I would be spending a few days here, in this most romantic of European cities. It wasn’t long before we were ringing the bell and having the massive wooden doors opened to us by my friend Julia who welcomed us warmly and ushered us into our new digs and showed us to our room.

We did not spend too long chatting, though we did succumb to the charm of the moment and enjoyed a cup of French roast coffee and toast with confiture d’abricots in the lovely white kitchen whose picture window overlooked the slate rooftops directly ahead of us. Then, we were consulting maps and making plans to spend the day in one of our favorite places in the world, the Musee d’Orsay whose collection of French Impressionist Paintings makes it one of the world’s most beloved repositories of artwork.

Back at the Musee d’Orsay:
Julia, who would be leaving for a few days in Normandy, decided to accompany us to the Musee d’Orsay, never having been there before. We took the metro again, glad to be in her capable hands. As a veteran Parisienne herself, she knows the city intimately and took us adroitly through its crowded streets heaped with the enticements of shops selling alluring merchandise and restaurants whose menus had me salivating. We chatted non-stop along the way and soon found ourselves in the quadrangle where we joined the lines that snaked into the museum. I did attempt to use my Met ID card to be allowed free entry but found that it was not honored here, much to my amazement. However, I was able to circumvent the long line and purchase tickets for the three of us without having to wait in the unending line.

For the next few hours, Llew and I lost ourselves in an appreciation of one of our favorite epochs and areas of art history—France during the fifty years that spanned the last quarter of the 19th century and the first quarter of the 20th. The exhibition goes chronologically from the Pre-Impressionists whose works followed the dictates of the Neo-Classical age that preceded it with its emphasis on balance, symmetry, photographic realism and an attempt to reproduce life through art to the iconoclasts who dared to break the mold and produce mere representations of reality. Indeed as the word ‘Impressionism’ became a matter of standard usage for the experiments with light and color and line that characterized the works of Monet, Manet, Degas, Gaugin, Pisarro, Sisley, Morrisot and, of course, that greatest of Modernists Cezanne himself, the movement gained ground and revolutionized Art History. In the subjects and themes that this group selected (based largely on their lived experience in Paris and its suburbs such as Argenteuil and Pointoise), they presented an era with a grace and charm that is synonymous with such paintings as Renoir’s Le Moulin de la Galette, Monet’s water-lilies at his garden in Giverny, Cezanne’s still lives in which apples and oranges surpass their ability to egg the viewer into tasting them and admiring their artful contours instead. It was these and so many such works over which we lingered as we took in the deft brush stokes laden with paint and creativity as seen in canvasses produced by artists as varied as Seurat and Corot, Courbet to Van Gogh. From floor to floor we went, pausing only to purchase a much-needed sandwich lunch in the cafeteria that overlooked the wonderful sculpture terrace where works by Rodin sat cheek by jowl with those by Bartholdi and Daumier.

Julia said goodbye to us about two hours later leaving Llew and me with more time to take in the museum’s highlights at our leisure. But by about 4 pm, we were all cultured out, as it were and ready to pause for a very long time to enjoy the gourmet treats of France in the many salons du the that dot the city. In fact, since I had promised Julia that I would treat her to tea in Laduree, one of the city’s best-reputed tea rooms, we made plans to meet there again at 5 pm. This left Llew and me time to discover a bit of Paris on foot before we took the metro back to the Champs Elysses.

Tea for Three at Laduree:
It was in the green and gold interior of Laduree that we finally took a breather. For it was here that we reconnected with Julia as we perused the extensive menu and took in the stylishness of the space we occupied and the companions with whom we rubbed shoulders. I had heard about Laduree at least ten years ago when I first began to read about its traditions and its history in the many home magazines to which I have subscriptions (such as Victoria and The English Home). Laduree is renowned for its macarons, those light as air sandwich cookies in varied flavors that burst upon the tongue. Since we could not leave Laduree without tasting them in the very place in which they were created, we ordered a mixed plates of macarons with our Special Laduree Melange Blend of tea and the mouth watering pastries that have earned it a place on every notable patisserie list in the world.

At Julia’s suggestion, we ordered the house specialty, the Isphahan, a concoction of rose petals and raspberries but, alas, the confection is so popular that they were out of them by the time we ordered our treats. Instead, at the suggestion of the waitress, we ordered the Gateau Honore St. Jacques which turned out to be a very close relative of the Isphahan and as we savored our tea time delights, I realized why this place is so popular and so pricey! My Laduree Melange tea blend was quite outstanding indeed, the tea flavored subtly with hints of almond and cinnamon. Enjoyed with honey and lemon, it was quite the most wonderful part of my evening. Indeed, it was so good that I bought a tin of it to take home to Connecticut where I shall, no doubt, reproduce the charm of the evening as I sit and sip its delights.

Dinner Chez Anderson:
But little did we know that another treat awaited us at dinner when we connected with Julia’s dad Jack, a tax lawyer, who returned from his busy day at work to keep us entertained over a meal that was painstakingly created by Julia from recipes derived from the internet. She served us a courgette bake that was served with a sauce of sweet red peppers and tomatoes and with really tasty smoked ham and some bread, we had ourselves a truly memorable French meal. Sitting companionably in the kitchen with these Franco-Americans, we felt as if we had spent an entire lifetime in Paris. With the box of Laduree macarons that we brought home for dessert, we wound up our meal at home very nicely and looked forward to a very long night’s rest in our room with its own French windows that opened up to a little balcony that overlooked a charming courtyard and the abundant branches of old oak trees.

Indeed, Llew and I did turn in early and slept the sleep of the dead as we looked forward to our next day in this most romantic of cities.

In Oxford Again! Giving A Lecture at Exeter College

2009-07-30T18:28:00.008-04:00

Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Oxford

Made it! Despite getting to bed about 2 am, we boarded our Megabus coach to Oxford at 6. 30 right on schedule. Llew tried to snatch some ZZZZs but I was so keyed up about my 9. 00 am lecture at Exeter College and spent most of the ride into Wiltshire reviewing my draft and editing it as I went along! As the coach skimmed the outskirts of Oxford and arrived on The High, I took a deep breath and decided that this was it—I had to just hope that all my weeks of thought and ideas would achieve success and go down well with the students.

It was still only 8. 15 am when we arrived at Exeter College. The High and Turl Street were empty and eerily quiet as we checked in at the Porter’s Lodge, introduced ourselves and made our way to the Saskatchewan Lecture Hall where I met Jacqueline Darville who has been corresponding with me for weeks as I have prepared for this very prestigious but very daunting assignment.

It wasn’t long before I met up with Sandie Bryne who had invited me to speak to the International Graduate students who are here for the summer. They were already assembled in huge numbers when I arrived in the hall and made my way up to the stage. Miraculously, the butterflies in my tummy had stopped playing catch and I was able to focus entirely on the hour that lay ahead. I decided to speak slowly as I was not sure how many of my listeners would be familiar with the authors and the works I would be discussing. Post-Colonial Literature is not necessarily their area of specialization though it might be of interest to them. Sandie Bryne introduced me and the subject of my lecture (“India Ink: Themes and Techniques in Post-Colonial Literature from the Sub-Continent”)…and then I was off.

I spoke for a full hour and fifteen minutes covering as comprehensively as possible the main movements in literature in English from the Indian sub-continent that have been inspired by Great Britain. Yes, there was a great deal for the students to take in and I was asked for a reading list at the end of the lecture. Even though I judged only by the faces of my listeners, I could tell that my words were going down well and that they were taking in a whole lot. Sandie said a few words at the end of my lecture and then told me that she thought my lecture was great. And then, before I knew it, she was inviting me to come back again next year to address the students once again. I was so thrilled, I told her right away that it would be my pleasure and privilege indeed. So I now can look forward to another visit to the UK and Oxford if not sooner then at least next summer!

As soon as the lecture was done, I had students come up and tell me how much they enjoyed it and on the way out, a couple of the members of my audience, professors of English themselves, one from Australia and another from Miami, Florida (oh, and there was a third from South Carolina), told me that they thought I was "outstanding" and wanted to know more about my background. Well, I was deeply deeply pleased and as I walked out of Exeter College with Llew, I told him that I felt as if a massive weight had been lifted off my mind and that I could now really put my work for the year behind me and start to enjoy our forthcoming travels in France.

Back to Norham Road:
Llew and I took a circuitous route around Oxford towards the North as I was headed to Mrs. Longrigg’s home on Norham Road, the place in which I had stayed a few weeks ago, as I had left my electric adaptor plug there and hoped to pick it up. This gave Llew a chance to take in the charm and serenity of North Oxford and to see the lovely gracious Victorian mansion in which I had stayed.

Taking in the Pitt Rivers Museum:
Our next stop was at the Oxford Museum of Natural History and the Pitt Rivers Museum where I wanted Llew to see the famed but very eerie shrunken heads. We did not stay there too long as the heads take not more than ten minutes to examine and the rest of the museum is much too large to be seen in detail. Llew did say that the architecture of the Museum of Natural History reminded him of Empress Market in Karachi and I informed him that both these buildings were built during the heyday of Victorian architecture informed by staid facades, rising turrets and an alternation in brick and granite blocks to create decorative walls. Indeed, this style of architecture is also to be found at Crawford Market in Bombay which is distinctive for its tower or turret too. Llew also loved the architecture of Keble College (again, a great example of Victorian construction) with its vast sunken Quad.

Our rambles then took us back to The High where we visited Blackwell’s, one of the world’s most famous bookstores where we browsed for a bit and then carried on along the walk that I have placed on my website (in virtual form) as this stroll takes in the main sights of the town such as the Sheldonian Theater, the Radcliff Camera, the Church of Saint Mary the Virgin on the High Street, etc. I also took Llew into a few of the pubs frequented by the Morse crew during the making of the series (as Llew too is a big fan of the TV series).

By the time lunch hour was reached, we were both ravenous having made do with a very light breakfast. I suggested we eat at Jamie’s Italian Restaurant on George Street which I had passed a few weeks ago and decided I would check out when Llew joined me. But before that, I thought it would be great to get a real ale at one of Oxford’s more historic pubs—and though there are a bunch of them, each frequented by famous writers and politicians over the years, I chose The Bear on the corner of Alfred and Merton Streets because I did want Llew to have a look at the collection of ties that line its walls and ceilings in beautifully designed glass cases. Indeed, it was once a possibility to pay for one’s drink at this tavern with a tie (alas, not any more!). Each tie is carefully labeled with the name of the wearer and his Oxford affiliation and as we sipped our Perry (pear cider, for that was what we decided upon, ultimately, as the afternoon was warm and just begged for a lighter drink), we studied the cases and their fascinating histories. And so on to Jamie’s…

Jamie, of course, is Jamie Oliver, the UK’s most famous TV chef, author of a slew of books and owner of renowned restaurants such as Fifteen (in London and in Cornwall). He is also single handedly responsible for changing school menus in the UK by critiquing the heavy fat and sugar content in them and begging for alternative healthy choices for the kids who eat lunches in school.

Well, the lunch time offerings were quite delicious indeed. I had the Tagliatelle Truffle (8. 50 pounds for a main size serving though this also comes as an appetizer for 5.95) which was finely shaved wild black truffles folded with butter, parmesan and nutmeg, and described on the menu as “a real luxury”—and indeed it was silky and very subtly flavored, the truffle adding a powerful earthiness to the concoction. Llew chose the Spiedini Sicilian Pork Skewer which was free-range British pork fillet stuffed with Italian cured meats, breadcrumbs and parmesan served with lemon, garlic and oregano dressing (11.95 pounds). Believe me, it was scrumptious and I am glad that Llew and I always tend to share our choices as he is invariably the one who seems to make the better ones! Having said that, I must emphasize that my pasta was really superb and I was so glad that I did finally get to sample one of Jamie’s concoctions as I have watched him work his magic on TV for years and have always been intrigued by his extraordinary flair.

Lunch done, we decided to go for a long walk along the Meadows to the banks of the River Thames. The afternoon was warm and very typical of summer days in this delightful town. Having eaten too much of an excellent meal, we had to practically pull ourselves along to the banks of the Cherwell near Christ Church College where we watched punters glide lazily by stalked by two saucy swans who stuck their long beaks at them! A few people enjoyed the bucolic quality of the light and the breeze in the best way that they can be experienced—with a long lie-down on the grass--and it was not long before Llew and I succumbed to the temptation and did likewise.

Dinner at Exeter College Dining Hall:
We had dinner plans with Sandie again at the 16th century Dining Hall of Exeter Collegee where I had enjoyed many a delicious meal as a student and I was keen that Llew should have that singular experience himself. So I have to say that I was disappointed to discover that students are no longer invited to sit in rotation with the dons at High Table and enjoy meals within the formality of one of the most hallowed spaces in town. Instead, they sit casuallyto a meal that is served without the recitation of a Grace (ours used to be recited either in Latin or in Welsh by the excellent Geoffrey Thomas who, hailing from Wales, proudly spoke in the tongue of his native land).

We had reservations on the Megabus Coach back to London at 8. 40 pm and at the end of what had turned out to be a really good day (but for the disastrous meal), we boarded our coach and arrived at Notting Hill Gate where we switched to the Tube to arrive at Denmark House and get ready…no not for bed but for our next trip!

It wasn’t as if we could make up for our short night, for we had to awake early again—this time to get the 5. 30 am Eurostar train from St. Pancras International Station and it was a good thing that our bags for France were packed and ready. We set our alarm clock once again and prepared to sleep well as our French adventures lay ahead of us and we were ready for another meaningful week together in one of my favorite parts of the world.