Touring Private Spaces on Day One of London’s Open House Festival Week: Battersea Arts Center, Kelmscott House, Lincoln's Inn, HMS Wellington, 'Born with Teeth' at the West End

Saturday, September 13, 2025

London

Touring Private Spaces on Day One of London’s Open House Festival Week

This year, I have the good luck of arriving and staying in London, purely by coincidence on Open House Festival Week—a week during which private spaces, usually closed to the public are opened, free of charge, for walking tours, lectures, demonstrations, etc. I had registered for many of the items before leaving Bombay and spent today, racing from one venue to the next, to take them all in. Some were more fascinating that others, but in general, I think I chose well.

Leaving Chelsea to See Battersea Arts Center:

I did not sleep at all last night—not one teensy-weensy wink! Blame the caffeine in the free coffee I picked up from Waitrose. No freebies for the wicked, it seems! Tossed and turned all night, then gave up at 5.00 am when I began blogging and sent a few photos to friends.

At 6.am, after trying again, I gave up finding sleep and, in frustration, got out of bed, showered, changed, had a make-shift breakfast in my room (finished my profiteroles—one craving out of the way—and brewed myself a cup of decaff coffee—yes, I carry my own supplies). I then left the house at 9.00am to start my journey to Battersea for the first item of the day on my London Open House Festival Week agenda.

I took the 14 bus and got off at Beaufort Street off Fulhan Road, then hopped into the 345 going crosstown across Battersea Bridge to Battersea. It’s on Lavender Hill and with the Transport for London website making it easy for me to find my way to any place I wish to go using public transport, from Point A to Point B, I did all my homework while lying sleepless and charted out my routes for the day. It took me about an hour and changing of two buses on a gloriously sun-drenched morning, to get to my destination.

Touring Battersea Arts Center:

This is a gorgeous red and white concrete and red brick Victorian structure, built in the heyday of gorgeous public buildings, in the mid-19th century when the national ethos (thanks to Prince Albert, Queen Victoria’s consort) was to encourage simple living and high thinking among the masses and the provision of community centers, free libraries, etc. became all the rage.

En route, just before I arrived at the building, I nipped into a charity shop and picked up the Season Three DVD of ‘Gavin and Stacey’ for 50 p. Unbelievable. I already own Seasons 1 and 2 and it is a favorite show.

This building is associated with the Suffragette Movement (its leader Emmeline Pankhurst did her research and held organizing meetings here); with fashion doyen Vivienne Westwood, a local Battersea girl, who sketched her vision for wearable fashion here; with Joanna Lumley who, as a rising star, in the 1970s, was in stage productions in its Main Hall; with Fleetwood Mac, who in the 1960s, performed on this stage, etc. It has a beautiful stained glass octagonal rotunda which carries a line from one of Shakespeare’s plays (Richard II)—Lord Bolingbroke and his family were aristocrats from Battersea. The Main Hall was badly burned in a 2015 fire and refurbishment is still going on although a wedding was to be held in it in the evening.

Architecturally, it follows the lines of most medieval Town Hals (the one in Oxford in simply magnificent), encrusted with plaster of Paris sculptures, stucco decorative skeins of flowers, etc. that are then painted over. This building is badly in need of refurbishment and it leaves the visitor aware of how difficult and expensive it is to maintain these heritage structures which would simply fall to seed, were it not for local fund-raising. I was the only visitor at that early hour of the morning and had the place entirely to myself. I did not spend long as, apart from the gigantic and very impressive ‘bridal descending’ kind of ballustraded staircase, it has nothing much to commend it.

Back on the Bus to Hammersmith:

My next port of call was Hammersmith on the banks of the Thames.—this is not an easy place to reach, at the best of times, as it is fully isolated and private and involves a long 15-20 minute walk from the closest bus stop or Tube station. I retraced my bus route from Lavender Hill in Battersea to the Fulham Road; from there, I boarded a 14 bus going towards Putney, then got off just a little ahead to take the 319 going to Hammersmith. It was another long-drawn out journey, but I love these bus rides as they show me London—not just the touristy bits but the real outlying city filled with real people, their homes, their places of work, pubs, shops, etc.

It was actually quite a good thing I was leaving the city center and heading to the periphery as a massive rally is to occur today at Parliament Square. It promises to be over 100,000 strong and has brought in right-wing conservatives, followers of Tommy Robinson, who are on a “United in Britain” campaign protesting corruption in government and, above all, current immigration policies. Had I stayed in Central London today, I would, no doubt, have been badly hampered by disrupted traffic and unprecedented hordes descending upon the city.

Hammersmith is a major commuting hub between the city and the suburbs. It has a famous bridge that spans the Thames in a most decorative way, a Tube station, a bus depot and several malls that always keep it heaving. I used my data package on my Iphone to find my way to my destination across a major street before finding Furnival Gardens and the tiny Dove Pub besides which the venue lies.

Visiting Kelmscott House, Hammersmith Home of William Morris:

My destination was Kelmscott House, home of William Morris. I have always been an enduring fan of William Morris—one of the most active members of the Pre-Raphaelite Group of artists that originated when they were undergrads at Exeter College, Oxford (my alma mater). I have visited, over the years, Morris’ homes all over the place: in Walthamstow where he was born and raised till age 12, then in the Red House in Bexleyheath which was a collaborative work of design and decoration with other members of the Group (Edward Burne-Jones, Dante Gabriel Rosseti, William Steath, etc), Kemlscott Manor (in Oxfordshire where he lived with his wife Jane and daughters, Jenny, May and Jane, a model of domestic bliss conceived in the highest traditions of the Aesthetic Movement--which the Group founded). Every time I have tried to visit this house, Kelmscott House in Hammersmith, it has been impossible (very limited visiting hours, out of-the-way location, etc.). So when I found that it was open, free of charge to visitors today, I wasted no time signing up.

Kelmscott House was packed—Morris has generations of fans, mainly women, who adore his designs in wallpaper, fabrics, tapestries, cushion covers, rugs, wall-hangings etc. Indeed. his designs have stood the test of time and because they are so distinctive, everyone can recognize them easily, once they know Morris’ style. Almost 200 years after he created them and marketed them through his Morris And Co. (which he co-founded with his friends), they continue to be produced and are highly in demand by interior decorators. I try to live myself by one of his famous adages: ‘Have nothing in your home that you do not believe to be beautiful or useful’. What a terrific law to live by (in our age of clutter and mindless acquisition)—a clear reaction, in his own time, to the Victorian tendency towards excess.

Once I reached the house, on a bracing day in late-summer, with joggers, walkers, dog trainers etc. milling along the Thames Path, with verdigris green Hammersmith Bridge nearby, I was ready to drop my heavy bag down and start drinking in the delights of the home Morris had occupied with his family overlooking his beloved Thames on what was then the outskirts of the city.

The home is entered through what is now the Reception Room cum museum cum shop. I was sorely tempted to buy two cushion covers for 23 pounds each, but I fought the urge and resisted. They featured his ‘Bird in Strawberry Bush’ design which is so quintessentially English that I adore it. The history of Morris’ highly checkered life is legion: his work as a designer, decorative artist, entrepreneur, businessman, printer, bookmaker (he founded the Kelmscott Press here and personally typecast and printed so many significant works of literature from this venue--including the Kelmscott Chaucer). All these milestones are painted on the walls, together with swathes of his wallpaper designs, his sayings and adages that record his highly instinctive and very distinctive principles of interior design and decorating, gardening, landscape layouts, etc. He was truly a Renaissance Man and he worked tirelessly. The legacy he has left behind is still fondly embraced as his designs have never fallen out of fashion. He debunked the Victorian ideal of decorating that focused on unlimited acquisition resulting in clutter. Instead he espoused a form of minimalism based on uniformity of vision and design. He embraced Nature fully and found endless inspiration in fruits and flowers, birds, insects, trees, leaves, etc. These are artistically rendered by him through his own cutting of wood cuts that because his printing blocks. It was just fascinating to have a refresher course, as it were, in the Pre-Raphaelite philosophy that I so love.

There is one tiny room behind the house that leads to the small garden outside (given for event hiring) and then one descends one short flight into the heart of the home. There is a main room with a beautiful fireplace, decorated with ceramic tiles of his own design, and snatches of information about his life and work on the walls. Moving further on, one enters the tiny room that was used as the Printing Press for the Kelmscott Press publications. Here, there was a printing demonstration in progress and I was able to see a small (by industry standards) press that is still very much in use. I understood, for the first time, why it is called a printing “press’—there is a massive lever one has to manually press down so that ink that is applied on the manually set typefaces with a roller creates the imprinted impression on paper inserted inside. I am actually not so young that I have not seen this form of manual printing done in India even in the 1970s when typesetting was a craft and imprints needed to be carefully proof-read so that any mistakes in the typesetting could be corrected. It is a fascinating bygone art form that has been replaced by mechanical and now digital forms of printing and publication. I chatted a bit with the printer who carried out a demonstration just for me alone before a large group of visitors followed.

I was simply delighted by my visit to this place and really happy that I finally made it inside and on such a significant day. I used the rest room before leaving, delighted to find Morris’ wallpaper all over the walls—indeed a lot of people use his wallpaper designs in small, contained spaces such as their powder rooms where they are seen at their best advantage as they could easily overwhelm larger rooms. My powder room in my Southport, Connecticut home, sports Morris wallpaper too.

Then, it was time for me to pick up my bag from the Reception Counter and move on. I was headed to Bloomsbury for lunch at the Brunswick Center and I knew I would be late (as I had not bargained for such a long, time-consuming walk to and from the Tube station when planning this day). I texted my friend and told him I would be late but he should go ahead and order.

On the Tube to Russel Square for Lunch at the Brunswick Center:

My Tube journey took more than half an hour, but I finally reached. My young friend, Vir, now an undergrad at the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) in Bloomsbury, is studying International Relations there. He had been my student for four years of his final IB course (from Grades 9-12) in Bombay and we have grown into close family friends. His parents Monisha and Vivek are not close friends of Llew and me. When I discovered on a recent visit with Vir in Bombay (on his summer vacation) that Brunswick Center and the ‘Hare and Tortoise’ restaurant is one of his favorite places, I realized, we were kindred spirits and we made plans to meet. I love the fact that yesterday I lunched with one of my former NYU students (now a close friend, Elise) and today I was at lunch with another fairly-new and much younger student, Vir, who has become a good friend too.

Vir was waiting for me when I entered and had ordered sushi and a Penang Chicken Curry over steamed rice for himself. I never leave London without at least one meal at the H&T (as Vir told me it is known among his friends) and I always order the Curried Laksa which is one of my favorite things in the world to eat. I was slowly but surely ticking off all the To Eat Items on my London agenda.

Needless to say, the food was absolutely scrumps. I rarely eat sushi and when I do, I realize how much I love it. My laksa, of course, is every bit as delicious as I know it to be. Filled with chicken and seafood, noodles, dumplings, etc, in an incredibly flavorful spiced broth, it is my dream of comfort food. Vir and I chatted non-stop, like a pair of old pals, before he had to leave early to see the play, ‘The Devil Wears Prada’, with his parents who are vacationing with him in London at the moment. Sadly, I could not meet them, but we had just spent a whole evening together in Bombay last week. Vir left at 2.00 pm, leaving me to savor the last of my laksa before I too had to clear the bill and move on. The day was moving swiftly because I was trying to fit in as much as I could see on this Open House Day. Hence, I did not have a chance to browse around Brunswick Center, a place I love and used to frequent while I lived close by in Holborn—it has restaurants, shops, a supermarket (Waitrose) and a bunch of places that could allow one to easily pass an entire morning here.

Off to Lincoln’s Inn at Holborn:

I hopped back on to the Tube and a half hour later, I was at Holborn—this area is known to me like the back of my hand as I used to live here and it was very much my former stomping ground. I crossed Lincoln’s Inn Field on foot (supposedly haunted) and arrived at the ornate brick and concrete, tower-like gateway to Lincoln’s Inn (supposedly partly built by the Elizabethan playwright Ben Jonson who was a mason in his day job) which was simply packed with visitors. These places are out of bounds to the public—so everyone was snatching the opportunity to venture inside these exclusive spaces during this Week.

So for the Uninitiated: Lincoln’s Inn is one of the four Inns of Courts at Chancery (the other three are Middle Temple, Inner Temple and Gray’s Inn—my flat was just next door to Gray’s Inn when I lived in London). Dating from Medieval Times, when the study of the Law was in the hands of men who had taken Holy Orders), they were required to remain ‘in residence’ for four years in one of the Inns where they slept, ate, worshipped, did research, studied under senior lawyers, attended court as interns, kept chambers, etc. in order to be, eventually, ‘called to the Bar’. Lincoln’s Inn is the largest of the four Inns of Court and sports a series of stunning buildings designed in red and white materials that sport high towers, cupolas, domes, winding staircases, sprawling gardens, the whole works. It is a small settlement unto itself and carries its own unique culture. Hence, each of the Inns has a Main Dining Hall (students have to still eat a minimum of four meals in Hall during each semester—this is mandatory), a Chapel, a Library, a Crypt (or Undercroft). All of these buildings were open to us today and we had the chance to take a self-guided tour. There were beautiful flyers presented to each of us and using that as a guide, we surveyed the buildings, entered them, watched short films, listened to contemporary, multi-racial lawyers speak about their time as students in this venue, etc. It was all completely absorbing.

Touring Lincoln’s Inn:

Inside, most visitors are completely taken by the Main Hall. The medieval Hall had been destroyed in a fire and was rebuilt and redecorated in the 1880s when Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, had inaugurated it and declared it open. It sports beautiful murals and is stacked with oil portraits of many eminent lawyers who have passed through its doors—among them Prime Ministers Tony Blair and Margaret Thatcher and Pakistan’s Mohammed Ali Jinnah. (Gandhi was a resident in nearby, adjoining Middle Temple, and was called to the Bar from that Inn). It always fascinates me, when I walk through these corridors, that they were once inhabited by some of history’s most notable figures and to be in the same air that they breathed is a great joy to me. The Hall has a magnificent hanging pendant timbered ceiling and too many decorative elements to enumerate.

From there, I followed the walking tour route and arrived at the Library—a beautiful, two tiered room with another towering, timbered ceiling, dominated by the larger-than-life size sculpture of Lord Iskine in marble. Students use the library for reference and to pass their Bar Exams. I took in its many features before moving on.

To get to the Chapel, you need to pass through the Crypt, a beautiful structure with fan vaulting that dates from the Middle Ages. These buildings were first constructed in the 1400s—so they are many centuries old and have continued to maintain their functions and purpose while the modern city of London has completely enveloped them.

We climbed one flight of stairs to get to the Chapel upstairs. I have to say that I had been in this chapel before, many years ago, when I was wandering outside on the streets and a lawyer associated with the Inn, had offered to take me on tour and had showed me the chapel. I remember how privileged I had felt to have access to this building at that time.

Today, I joined scores of others as we took in the amazing stained glass windows on both sides of the chapel and the main window that is completely covered in glass with the coats of arms of all the worthies who served England well as they practiced and enforced the Law. These Victorian stained glass panels, of saints and holy Biblical men, were removed to preserve them during World War II when London was being mercilessly shelled during the Nazi Blitzkreig. They were saved and later replaced. Yes, services are held here every Sunday and there is always a resident preacher in attendance. In the 17th century, one of them was the Metaphysical poet, John Donne, who had preached here before taking on the position of Dean at nearby St. Paul’s Cathedral. His name is on the wall as one of the Preachers of this Chapel. The chapel also has a stunning pipe organ on which regular recitals are given. There are also beautiful old lights that produce a magically soft effect, very conducive to prayer. People were clicking pictures all over the place (as was I).

The final building to be seen was the Old Hall (a much smaller building) where meals are still taken and which sports more stained glass. I rested a bit on one of the dining chairs (all well carved and upholstered) before moving on. I needed to get to Temple—but I took the Tube, it would take me at least 45 minutes to get there. On my own two feet, I would reach in ten minutes—so walk I did.

Off to See the HMS Wellington:

The HMS Wellington, a white, small war frigate, is docked on the River Thames, close to the Temple Tube Station. It is now a restaurant but it had, at one time, played a massive role, in the winning for Britain, of World War II. It was already late in the day, so all we got was a quick look at the exterior. For a real tour that will cover the deck, the rooms below deck, etc., one can return tomorrow. I might not have the time as I have another packed agenda of Open Houses to see (these being in Hampstead).

By this point in time, it was 4. 00pm. I had a ticket to see a play at the West End—at Wyndham’s Theater near Leicester Square for the 7.30 pm show. Not having slept a wink last night, jet lag and fatigue had finally caught up with me and I felt ready to drop. I tried to think of where I could go to rest until the play began—my flat involves a four-floor walk-up that I am unwilling to undertake more than once a day. Hence, I called my friend Bande Hasan who lives at Paddington and asked if I could come and crash at his place for an hour’s nap as I badly needed it. He gladly agreed and told me that I did not even need to ask.

So off I went on the Tube’s Circle Line from Temple, got off at Paddington and walked seven minutes to his building. There, I just collapsed and was out for the count for a good one hour. When I awoke, after setting my alarm, he offered me a cup of tea, but I was still full from lunch and declined. Then, I collected my stuff and headed off.

Back on the Tube to Leicester Square:

I arrived at Leicester Square and found, to my utter delight, that my theater was literally adjoining the Tube exit. I was about half an hour early, so I collected my ticket from the box office and took a further rest on one of the sofas in the lobby. Eventually, fifteen minutes before the play began, I took my seat. I had a ticket to see ‘Born with Teeth’, a brand new play that opened only today and has yet to be reviewed. It caught my eye when I was looking at tickets, to buy from Bombay, because of its unusual theme.

So here’s the rub: the play is a two-man show featuring the playwright Christopher Marlowe (played by the Rwandan-Scottish actor, Ncuti Gatwa) and Shakespeare (played by Edward Bluemel). The premise is that, as two good friends and sometimes frenemies, they decide to collaborate on the writing of a play. It is 1551, they have great plays behind them already but still have to pay their bills. Believing that two heads will be more productive than one, they sit down to co-write a play. The result is fireworks between them, as personal history, egos, etc., get in the way. The play is stacked full of allusions to contemporary historical, religious and social going-on and includes frequent lines from the plays of both poet-writers. Yes, it was scintillating and the chemistry between the two of them was fantastic. Gatwa is a commanding stage presence and I can see that after a really successful stage and film career so far (he played the first non-white Dr. Who on TV and was most recently in ‘Barbie’), he is all set for a charmed career ahead of him. He has the looks, the build and the talent and he has already taken off. In fact, two days ago, I saw that his portrait is already hanging in the National Portrait Gallery—a sure sign that one has arrived.

I was dead tired and I have to admit that I actually nodded off during part of the play—but it was easy to pick up the threads again. It was all very unexpected. I had though that it would be constructed around the fictional concept of the two having actually written a play together that got lost to time. But this does not happen as the verbal sparring between them precludes any real productivity and the play remains unfinished. They received a standing ovation and I have to say that while I admire the premise behind it, it did not really grip me.

Back Home on the Bus to Chelsea/Fulham:

It was almost 9.00 pm when the play ended—it was a straight 90 minute run with no intermission. I took the Tube from Leicester Square station next door, got off one stop later at Piccadilly and then hopped into the 14 from there, going all the way to my stop. I had a short three minute walk to my building before I let myself in and was ready to collapse. I ate a sandwich on the bus which formed a makeshift dinner.

Back I my room, I got ready for the next day, brushed and flossed my teeth, spent a few minutes chatting with Helen and then simply crashed. I hoped very much that I would catch up with sleep and before I even finished sending off some pictures to friends, I faded off.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Today All About Doing My Favorite London Things! Being a Sloane Ranger, Taking a (Free) Red Bus Tour, Re-Exploring Covent Garden, Lunch at Bill’s, Seeing the Poppies at the Tower of London, Late Evening Openings at the National Portrait Gallery and the National Gallery and Viewing London By Night.

Friday, September 12, 2025

London, UK

Today All About Doing My Favorite London Things!

Being a Sloane Ranger, Taking a (Free) Red Bus Tour, Re-Exploring Covent Garden, Lunch at Bill’s, Seeing the Poppies at the Tower of London, Late Evening Openings at the National Portrait Gallery and the National Gallery and Viewing London By Night.

Being jetlagged meant I woke up at odd hours throughout the night and eventually was wide awake by 5.30 am. It was time to get out of bed, shower, eat a makeshift light breakfast of airline marble cake and pot of strawberry yogurt, then make sure I’d taken everything I needed for the day (as I had no intention of climbing those four flights of stairs more than once a day) and leaving to begin my day.

Buying a 7-Day Oyster Travel Card:

Thankfully, the Tube Strike that had so hampered my arrival into the city yesterday, was already history, by the time I awoke. I was able to walk about ten minutes to Fulham Broadway Underground Station from where I topped up my Oster Card with a 7-day Travel card for zones 1 and 2 at a cost of 44 pounds (which now gives me unlimited use of the Tubes and buses). This done, I left the station and took a bus going along the Fulham Road…but I alighted after just two stops to walk along Gunter Close to get to the King’s Road.

Being a Sloane Ranger:

While the rest of the city got on with the boring tasks of commuting to work, I planned to explore the King’s Road which runs parallel to Fulham Road and is a short cross-town walk away along Gunter Close. Here, I passed by the home of Arthur Ransome, author of ‘Swallows and Amazons’, one of the best-selling novels for young adults. In a short time, I arrived at World’s End and began walking east to get to my favorite charity shops. Over the years, I have picked up real treasures in their shops at throwaway prices. It was still a little before 10 am by the time I reached the corner where three shops sit snugly in a little bend: Royal Trinity, Cancer Research and Oxfam. From the last, I got two beautiful pairs of very classy gold tone ear-rings for almost no money at all. It was so worth it making these places my first ports of call.

Waitrose--For a Real Brekkie and a Free Coffee:

I hopped into the first bus that would sail along the King’s Road while ardent shoppers had yet to hit the street. Of course, I felt like a Sloane Ranger as I nipped into ‘M and S Food’ and bought myself a little case of chocolate profiteroles which (with chocolate eclairs) are one of my favorite things to buy and eat in the UK—what’s more, I snagged them at a discount. Armed with this booty, I strode west to Shawfield Street to check out yet another Oxfam store. Again, no luck (but then thrift shopping is always pick of the draw—and I had already done well—so no regrets).

Across the street, I entered Waitrose and headed straight for their baked goods. I picked up a nut-flake studded almond croissant and my free coffee (I remembered to carry my reusable cup in my bag!). Was also thrilled to see that the Food magazine is still being published—for some reason, I can no longer access it on the Waitrose app (this had led me to believe that its publication had been discontinued). I picked up my copy and found a quiet corner to eat my real breakfast and could not resist popping a few profiteroles into my mouth too. Then, it was time to leave the supermarket and move on (by which time it was already 11.30 am).

On to Bus 11 for a Free ‘See London’ Tour:

It’s no secret that Bus 11 that goes from Fulham Broadway to Tower Hill gives riders one of the cheapest ways to explore the city as its route covers all the main attractions. And so I settled down, front and center (my favorite seat on the red double deckers) to enjoy the scene. Past Sloane Square we went toward Pimlico (I absolutely love looking at the interior decorators’ shops here and their splendidly classy displays when I have the time and am on foot—Viscount Linley. Joanna Wood, etc.). Then on toward Victoria we went, passing by the Coach Station, the taking Buckingham Palace Road to the Train Station. Along Victoria Road we went, as I prepared my camera to shoot the famous Westminster Abbey, Parliament Square and Big Ben that lay ahead. I was all set to see the bus turn towards Trafalgar Square when, guess what? It made one of those infuriating diversion and headed along Westminster Bridge where it was terminating at Waterloo. Oh well…the tour had been fun while it had lasted!

Making my Way to Covent Garden:

By then, it was about 12. 15 pm. I had a 1.00 pm lunch appointment in Covent Garden and had to figure out how to jump off the bus and head back in the opposite direction towards Big Ben and Trafalgar Square. When a bus came along, I hopped into it and, as decided, got off at Trafalgar Square. From there, I crossed the street to get into another bus headed to Covent Garden. It was just a little before 1.00 pm when I reached the famous landmark only to get hopelessly lost at this point. I simply could not find St. Martin’s Courtyard although I was right on St. Martin’s Lane. I called my friend Elise (who had already reached the restaurant) and informed her that I was very close but despite using a map and my internet data I wasn’t able to reach the place as my server could not be reached. Eventually, she told me to wait where I was and she came out to get me! Once we reached the venue, I realized I would never have found it on my own. It is in a sheltered courtyard, completely hidden away from sight from any of the maze of streets that make up Covent Garden (the entrance is right by the New Dishoom--the popular Indian street food restaurant where I have eaten before and whose very interesting cookbook I own).

Lunch with a Favorite Student at Bill’s:

Elise is simply the best NYU student I have ever taught in almost three decades of being a professor of Liberal Studies. For multiple reasons, our relationship went way beyond the classroom and, through the decades, we have continued to stay closely in touch. As she married an Englishman and settled down in London, Llew and I have grown to know her family well and have watched her lovely children grow. She has had us over for dinner at her home (first in Hyde Park, now in Kensington) several times, over the years. But this time, we decided to meet at ‘Bill’s’ in Covent Garden.

I was introduced to Bill’s by another English friend, Rosa, about ten years ago—and ever since then, it is a favorite UK eatery that offers one of my favorite things to eat in this country—their superlative Fish Pie. It is a creamy concoction, based on cheesy mashed potato that hides a succulent white sauce laden with cod, salmon and shrimp and a load of sweet peas. It is a massive meal, to be sure, and one I relish greatly. Elise chose the Set Lunch which offered a Main and a Dessert—she had the Grilled Mackerel that came on a bed of salad with a yogurt dressing and as she decided to pass on dessert, I had just a bit of it myself—a Chocolate and Salted Caramel Tart. It was wonderfully smooth but since my Pie was so filling, all I managed were a few forkfuls. And when it came time to pay the bill, Elise insisted on treating me. I was overwhelmed by her generosity but she told me that when she comes to Bombay, I can reciprocate—she and her husband James do have plans to visit, she says. After taking several pictures and having a non-stop chinwag that covered everything family-related—a catch-up that lasted about two hours, we hugged and parted company. I am always impressed by Elise—her intelligence, her maturity, her exposure to the world, her affection. As if raising two teenagers is inadequate, she is in training to run the London half-marathon. Honestly, she never ceases to amaze and inspire me.

On the Bus to the Tower of London:

Saying goodbye to Elise is always hard as there is a special place in my heart for her. But part we had to…and I explored Covent Garden with its Jubilee Market (selling just a bunch of tourist tack today), watched the buskers perform, took a few pictures of the glorious architecture of the area which is always reminiscent to me of the film, ‘My Fair Lady’. I can always see Eliza Doolittle selling her bunches of flowers to Prof. Higgins when I walk along these cobbled streets and pass by the pillars of St. Paul’s Church.

The No. 15 bus, on the Strand, took absolutely ages to come. After I’d waited about 15 minutes, I realized something was wrong. And I was right—there was a diversion somewhere up the route and it was not passing by the Savoy (opposite of which I was standing). In despair, I took the 26 going towards Ludgate Hill intending to alight at St. Paul’s Cathedral from where I would take another bus to Tower Hill. It had rained while we were lunching and the roads were wet. Thankfully, I always have my little umbrella in my bag and I fought the drizzle.

Past St. Paul’s, the bus sailed along. I eventually got off at Mansion House where, hey presto, I saw a No. 15 heading towards me. Somewhere up ahead, it had resumed its regular route…and on it, I arrived at Tower Hill.

Seeing the Ceramic Poppies at the Tower of London:

My next mission was to see the famous red ceramic poppies that are displayed at the Tower of London. Now I have been inside the Tower innumerable times over the years and had no intention of getting there again. But I did want to see the poppies that were created a few years ago by ceramicist, Paul Cummins. Here is the reason they first came into being: “The red ceramic poppies were first displayed at the Tower of London in 2014 as part of the art installation ‘Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red’ to mark the centenary of the First World War. The installation featured 888,246 handmade poppies, with each one representing a British or Colonial military life lost in the conflict. The display filled the Tower's moat from July to November 2014, serving as a poignant visual commemoration of the staggering scale of loss during the war.”

Cummins had set each poppy up on a tall wire to stand erect. No two poppies are the same—each had petals that are shaped differently making each piece unique. They filled the moat in 2014 and were an unforgettable sight that had attracted hordes of visitors. Many of them spilled out of the windows of the Tower. They had left an indelible mark upon me as I had also visited Picardie in France, where, on the banks of the Somme, the maximum loss of life had occurred on a single day. In fact, I had done a whole summer’s course in Paris on France’s memory of The Great War and had actually visited the fields in which the poppies had sprung up—making them an emblem of pain, grief and sorrow. Every year, from the first to the eleventh of November (Armistice Day), the British still wear red poppies in their lapels to commemorate the dead. As I had missed the 2014 exhibition, I was delighted to be able to see some of them (this time marking the 80th anniversary of the end of World War II). Most of the poppies had been sold to the public, but some are on permanent exhibition at the Imperial War Museum in London. It is from there that they have been brought to the Tower of London to remain until Armistice Day this year (November 11). Some of the poppies can be seen free of charge by the public (without purchase of a ticket to the Tower) and it was those that I had trekked out East to see.

And yes, the poppies are striking. Most of them are at Traitor’s Gate on the Tower of London Wharf, while others can be seen spilling out of a high tower window. As I love ceramics and British history and know a great deal about the origin of the poppies as a sad symbol of war, I was really thrilled to be there and I took many pictures. I also enjoyed views of the Thames under Tower Bridge (enduring emblem of London) as the sun had peeped out again and was lighting up the water.

Back on the Bus to Trafalgar Square:

By this time, it was gone 5 pm and I had two more missions to accomplish on my To-Do List for the Day. Friday is late evening opening at both the National Portrait Gallery and the National Gallery (both located at Trafalgar Square)—they stay open until 9.00 pm. And so, I made my way to the Bus stop, hoping to take the Bus 15 to the venue. A Routemaster 15 came just a couple of minutes later—but the conductor told me that the Oyster Card was not valid on the bus. Since it is now considered “a Heritage Bus Route”, passengers are required to use contactless cards and are charged 50p more per journey. Well! Thankfully, I have had my fair share of riding the Routemaster buses through the years and I decided to wait for the next regular No. 15 bus instead. I just cannot believe how commercial and touristy all these little, quaint London practices have become. Time was when you could ride a Routemaster just like you could the regular, modern, more swanky ones.

And so a regular No. 15 came along, about ten minutes later. Yes, it did make a diversion but got back on track again and I did reach Trafalgar Square at about 6.15 pm (my goal had been 6.00 pm). Off I went, at a brisk pace, after getting off at Charing Cross station, to take a short cut to the National Portrait Gallery—passing along the way the interesting sculpture of Oscar Wilde entitled, “Having a Conversation with Oscar Wilde”.

Newbies and Others At the National Portrait Gallery:

I had done some research before leaving Bombay to find out which were the newest portraits at the Gallery and had discovered one of Oprah Winfrey and two other women. When I arrived at the Information Counter, I discovered, to my amusement, that those had been installed in the National Portrait Gallery in Washington DC—not in London! Of course, I had been in the wrong website! Instead, I looked at the newest additions in the Ondatje Gallery on the ground floor. Some of the items that caught my eye on this trip, based on individuals with whom I am familiar: a color photograph of King Charles and Queen Camilla; a black and white portrait of Catherine, Princess of Wales (to mark her 40th birthday); portraits of Andy Murray (by Maggie Hambling), Peter Taschel (I had once attended a lecture he had given at NYU-London while I was teaching there on LGBTQ rights and their development in the UK); Anna Wintour (of Vogue), Harry Styles (of One Direction) and Jane Goodall (of chimpanzee conservation).

Then, I made my way up to the first floor to see the more contemporary portraits (form 2000 to the Present) as I have seen the Tudor Room several times. Here I was struck by representations in various media of Francis Bacon, Lucien Freud, Andrea Levy, Jawaharlal Nehru, his sister Vijaylaxmi Pandit, the erstwhile Royal Family at Tea at the Palace (King George VI or Bertie as he was known, his wife Queen Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, and the princesses Elizabeth--who would become Queen Elizabeth II--and her sister, Princess Margaret); Mick Jagger (by Andy Warhol); Paul McCartney; a self-portrait by Maggie Hambling (who, therefore, has two of her works in the museum); menswear designer Paul Smith (holding on to a bolt of green silk fabric that is brilliantly painted); Virginia Woolf (by her sister Vanessa Bell); Vanessa Bell (by her husband Duncan Grant) and David Hockney with his two dogs.

I loved every second of this browsing—having seen many of these memorable items before. Then, I made my way one floor up to see the Portrait Awards 2025. Unfortunately, I was not familiar with most of the subjects of these works and lost interest. Besides, I had already spent more than an hour at the Gallery and I was keen to push on towards the National Gallery next-door as it was already 7.00 pm.

Saying Hello to my Special ‘Friends’ at the National Gallery:

Trafalgar Square was bathed in that exquisite late-summer golden evening light when I emerged from the National Portrait Gallery and made my way to the National Gallery by its side entrance. Things were pretty lively on the Square, but I had little time to take it in. Fatigue and jetlag had also set in and I did not think I would last all the way to 9.00 pm when the Gallery would close. Still, as they say…the way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time!

So, off I went in the lift to the second floor and then, at random, I walked through the galleries stopping of frequently en route to pause and say hullo to my special ‘friends’—the canvases for which I have special affection. I knew I could not see them all as my back had begun to feel sore and my legs were giving way. Still…I managed to make a beeline first for the Flemish galleries to see my very favorite canvases: works by Vermeer and Pieter de Hooch. In fact, my favorite painting in the entire gallery is de Hooch’s ‘Courtyard of a House in Delft’ which features a woman and a child facing the viewer with another woman at the back gazing outside. The cobbled courtyard, the brick façade of their modest Dutch home in Delft, Holland, their clothing, the mood of quiet domestic tranquility around a typical half Dutch-door strung with flowering vines and the soft light that envelopes the space, is so evocative to me of a bygone world that I often wish our own fraught lives were as calm and as gracious. I also saw at least four other works by de Hooch and I took pictures of them all as they competed for attention with the works by the more celebrated Vermeer in the same gallery.

From there, at complete random, I saw Titians and Reubens and Rembrants as well as the more famous highlights—The Wilton Diptych, The Arnolfini Marriage by Jan van Eyck, The Ambassadors by Hans Holbein, The Madonna of the Rocks by Leonardo, two incomplete canvasses by Michaelangelo and then three works by my other favorite artist at the National—the Italian Renaissance artist, Carlo Crivelli, whose work is every bit as gorgeous as his more renowned contemporary compatriots. Crivelli was banished from Florence to Venice (for espousing homosexual tendencies) and remains one of the least known members of his tribe of highly gifted artists. He has always been one of my favorites. The other beloved painting in this Gallery for me is by Rogier van der Weyden called ‘The Magdalen Reading’. It is an exquisite study of a medieval Flemish woman, seated on the ground, completely absorbed in a book and oblivious to the world around her. I even own a bookmark from the National Gallery’s gift shop (bought many years ago) that depicts this woman. I simply adore her and the artist’s rendition of her.

I realized, as I feasted my eyes on these Old Masters, that I was visiting the National Gallery for the very first time since I became an oil painter myself! I suppose it not surprising to know that I looked at the same paintings that I have seen countless times before, but for the very first time with a painter’s eye! Suddenly, I wondered how Bronzino had sketched his mythological figures or how Rembrandt had achieved his self-portraits. I was profoundly moved.

But, an hour later, as it had turned 8.00 pm, I decided to get a move on. I was concerned about how safe my neighborhood would be if I got home alone late at night. Besides, I was also really tired by this time and needed to call it a day. I used the facilities and then left the museum through the Sainsbury Wing Exit and walked along Haymarket to Piccadilly Circus, where I knew I could catch the No. 14 bus that would drop me right outside my building.

Viewing London By Night:

And so, ten minutes later, I was at Piccadilly. The lights had come on, of course, and London was illuminated in a dozen dizzying colors as neon signs twinkled by the statue of Eros. A No. 14 bus was just a few feet behind me and into it I hopped, hoping there were no changes of route or diversions.

It took me less than half an hour to get to my stop—a ride that permitted me to see the city by night. We passed Harrods, for instance, all beautifully illuminated and standing out. While on the top deck, I finished half of my almond croissant of the morning, ate a few profiteroles and washed them down with water. They would suffice as a make-shift dinner as I was still too stuffed with my substantial lunch at ‘Bill’s’.

I made a mistake, however, and entered the wrong wing of my building—no, my keys did not work, but a delivery man came through and I entered with him. It was only after I reached the third floor that I realized I was in the wrong wing—damn and blast! Naturally, I then found the right wing and the right entrance and four flights up later, I was safely back in my Air B and B. Helen, my landlady, was still up (it was just gone 9 pm) and we spent at least fifteen minutes chatting as she wanted to know all about my day. Needless to say, she was amazed by how much I had managed to cover and what a long distance I had traveled today! Yes, I was proud of myself too. But I was ready to crash and after brushing and flossing my teeth, I got into bed. As luck would have it, I did not feel sleepy at all. Instead, I edited my photographs and decided to write this blog post.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Cross-Atlantic Adventures--UK-US Here We Go Again!

CROSS ATLANTIC ADVENTURES: UK AND US, SEP-OCT 2025

Wednesday, Sep 10. 2025:

Leaving Bombay…

I left my flat at Rashmi building by Uber which came and picked me up on schedule at 12 midnight. Lack of traffic caused swift delivery to the Bombay International Airport at just 12. 30 pm. To my astonishment, there was already such a long queue, winding itself, around the check-in counters at Virgin Atlantic at three and a half hours before take-off. I waited an hour and 15 minutes to check-in, in great disbelief, as I do not think I have ever waited this long before. While Security went quickly, Immigration was another long wait in a line. This entire journey was all about waiting… Eventually, when I did get to the gate to board my flight, it was just 15 minutes before boarding began. I settled down in my aisle seat in relief, The flight took off exactly on time at 4.00 am and we were off.

Thursday, Sep 11, 2025

Bye-Bye Bombay, Hiya Heathrow:

Wow! What a way to start a cross-Atlantic trip—on 9/11, of all days, and in the midst of a major Tube strike in London. Throughout the (most comfortable) flight, I watched movies. I simply did not feel sleepy at all. I guess I was just too keyed up about the fate that awaited me on the other side and the stress played on my mind. I watched two and half films on the 9 hour flight: Bridget Jones—Mad About The Boy (which was just flighty—no pun intended—nonsense) with a whole range of familiar faces but many new ones. The second was an absolute cracker: Mr. Burton starring Toby Stevens as Phillip Henry Burton, the man who recognized the talent and nurtured his young student in pre-War Wales, Richard Jenkins—the man who eventually became the actor Richard Burton. It is an absolute wonder of a film (Richard Burton was a student at Exeter College, Oxford—I had almost entirely forgotten that fact. It came back to me rather startlingly). There was so much I learned about Richard Burton that I did not know. Amazingly humble Welsh, working class background, son of an alcoholic coal-miner, went on to a brilliant stage career and married Elizabeth Taylor!!! Remarkable! I also began watching A Real Pain, about two Jewish cousins who make a trip to Poland in search of their roots and their recently-dead Grandma. I actually quite liked its quirky humor but I did not get to finish it as we were close to landing. I intend to finish it on the flight to New York. I have to say that Virgin’s Inflight Entertainment is stellar and the time passed in a jiffy!

In London Again! May the Fun Begin!

And that’s when the fun began! Yes, I had landed safe and sound in London, my very favorite city in the whole world, two years after I had last visited it (Last year, we were at Heathrow on a layover for almost a whole day—but that doesn’t really count, does it?). Immigration took just a few seconds as a US passport allowed me to scan it and get out in minutes. That’s when I had another long wait—almost an hour at Baggage Claim. By this time, I had decided not to take the Elizabeth Line Tube as the lady selling tickets for the Heathrow Express told me that it would be really packed. With baggage in tow, I figured it made sense to take the Heathrow Express. So for 13 pounds (one way), I had a ticket in hand and about ten minutes later, I was on the platform. I had another 12 minutes wait (as one train had just left) and then had a mere 12 minute ride to Paddington, by which time I had chatted with a couple newly-arrived from Canada. This detour to Paddington (to leave my suitcase at the home of our friend, Mr. Bande Hassan) was initiated entirely by the strike. Once at Paddington, it was easy to follow signs to the Taxi stand. There I had another 45 minute wait in the line—the saving grace was that it was orderly, organized and very impressive. However, as a result of the strike (so my cabbie claimed), all roads were jammed and he took a round-about route to get me to Southwick Street at the cost of 13 pounds (a journey that usually takes 5 pounds)! This strike has dug a huge hole in everyone’s pocket by way of cab fares, it seems. However, at my destination, the cabbie did help me unload my baggage and within minutes, I was in the lift (his doorman suggesting I take the ramp) and I was having a nice reunion with my friend Bande.

A long catch-up chat later, we had figured out how to take buses to get to my destination—Fulham Broadway (I had booked a B&B there for 4 nights). He also insisted I join him in a bit of lunch and we ate a delicious mutton biryani and a Gujarati Khadi (yoghurt curry). With my belly full, it was time to say goodbye. He offered to walk me to the bus stop to take the 27 bus to Hammersmith from where I would change to the 211. But, luck was not mine today. The bus terminated halfway on its route at Notting Hill Gate and using data on my phone (thank goodness for it, my data roaming package from Airtel!), I found the 28 bus to take me onward. The bus conductor told me where to find the bus and, of course, by this time, what had been a beautiful sunny day became a grey and rainy one. I had to shelter under a bus-stop until the shower passed. I was carrying a really heavy pack back and my strolley. Still, I managed to find the bus stop (after walking in a suddenly very wet London for abut ten minutes). The buses (all super packed, as a result of the strike) took about 10 minutes to come and inside I hopped. I did not have to worry about topping up my Oyster card and my friend Bande told me that all I needed to do was tap my credit card on the Reader near the driver’s cabin and I was good to go. And that was a fact! Every time I return to London, the technology has updated itself! Awesome!

But it was a very long ride on the bus—another 45 minutes. Thankfully, I had found a seat, right in front. I got off at Fulham Broadway and then had no idea where to go! I asked for the Tube station and began to walk in its direction and about a fifteen minute walk later, I was at my building on 370 Fulham Road.

Now I faced the challenge of getting inside the building. The landlady Helen had sent me instructions on how to access the keys. I have to say that I am not familiar with using these lock boxes and struggled to even identify the correct one. Eventually, someone called Jess who was passing by, helped me and we managed to open the box, extract the keys and get inside.

Definitely Not the Ritz!

And, as if that was inadequate, the building (a beautiful red and white solid, Victorian apartment structure) had no elevator and the flat was a four-story walk-up. I struggled with my very heavy backpack (who knew that a laptop, I-pad and their chargers can weigh such a ton?), I was inside the flat. Helen was out but was expected back at 6 pm. By this time, I was dropping with fatigue and ready to crash for an hour. It seemed I had used the safety switch on the door latch, inadvertently, once inside. When Helen returned at 6.00 pm, she could not get in. I was, by then, fast asleep. She texted me and when I received her message, I told her I was awake and she could return. So, sooner rather than later, she arrived. We apologized, introduced ourselves to each other and she asked if I’d like a cuppa. I declined as I was carrying my own decaff supplies.

Helen and I chatted for a few more minutes as she showed me where the lights were, how to turn on the kettle and microwave and work the shower. She also gave me that most essentail of things: the network and free wifi details. She is sweet but her home is tiny and dreadfully untidy although clean enough. My own room at the back, a rather private place has its own door, a very comfortable bed with fresh clean linen and pillows and a clean bath towel on it. It has a window that overlooks the courtyard outside and has a blind to shut off light. Inside, there is a large table with a night lamp, table lamp, small closet and a shelf full of paperback best-sellers (no doubt, left behind by the string of other Air B and B lodgers who have used this space). I guess you could say it adequately meets all my needs and while I have nothin gto complain about, there is nothing to be joyful about either, Let's just say, it is Not the Ritz!

It was not long before I had a hot shower, got changed and sat down to eat an aircraft sandwich after brewing myself a cup of decaff coffee. Then I sat down to blog, sent off a few whatsapp messages to family members and was off for the count at about 10.00 pm.

It had been an adventurous first day. I was fed up and exhausted with the physical exertion and the mental fatigue of coping with the strain of arriving in a foreign country with no transport links. However, my long bus ride had offered a See London Tour of sorts and I was so excited to pass through Notting Hill, Kensington High Street with its posh antique shops, Holland Park, etc. before arriving at Fulham Broadway. I passed the famous Chelsea Football Club stadium called Stamford Bridge and paused to take a picture.

It is always a thrill to return to London and with the Tube strike promising to be resolved by tomorrow morning, I hope normal service will resume and I can go ahead with my planned adventures. My own plans to meet my Twitter friend George Allen and his wife Kathy who are in London from up north, had to be scuppered in light of the Strike as we did not know how we'd reach the Tate Britian Museum where we'd hoped to have a cuppa together. Oh well...the best-laid plans of mice and men...

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Day Eight (Final Day) of our East African Safari: Goodbye Lake Naivasha; Long Drive to Nairobi; Game Drive in Nairobi National Park; Visit to the Giraffe Center; Last Lunch at Karen Blixen Garden Restaurant; Visit to Karen Blixen Museum; Homeward Bound—from Nairobi to Bombay

Friday, July 18, 2025

Day Eight (Final Day) of our East African Safari:

Goodbye Lake Naivasha; Long Drive to Nairobi; Game Drive in Nairobi National Park; Visit to the Giraffe Center; Last Lunch at Karen Blixen Garden Restaurant; Visit to Karen Blixen Museum; Homeward Bound—from Nairobi to Bombay

Leaving Enashipai Resort:

We awoke on the very last day of our safari—sorry, in a way, that like all good things, it too had ended However, I must admit that we were all a bit fatigued and the thought of returning to comforting routine wherever our homes were, was quite attractive. Many of our travel companions were headed off to the island of Zanzibar (also a part of Tanzania), but several of us were simply headed home (to the US, UK or India).

I took a few last parting shots of beautiful Enashipai Resort by daylight as we were leaving—sorry, once again, that we did no justice to so glorious a property. After last night’s downpour, it had continued to bucket down and it was just charming to sit on our little balcony in our room to watch rain stream down over the trees and on the emerald lawns of the property.

Breakfast at Enashipai Resort:

Yes, we breakfasted again like royalty at Enashipai Resort—there was a large crowd of Orientals and they forced us to stand in long lines for special orders. I decided to skip the lines and go instead for a helping of the house granola which I ate with a passionfruit yogurt (in an imitation of the kind of breakfast I eat daily at home in Bandra—my own homemade granola with fat-free yogurt and fruit). I also ate the readymade scrambled eggs with pork sausage, pork bacon, baked beans and sauteed mushrooms and I washed it all down with orange juice. Then, we were piling into our safari vans, after I was able to retrieve my baseball cap that I had left behind in my room (thanks to the attentive and ever obliging Reception staff), and off we went.

b>Long Drive to Nairobi:

It was our long last ride together and the six of us (the Sexy Six-some) were back in the saddle again with Steve at the wheel as we inched towards Nairobi—inched because no sooner did we reach the highway than we were caught in the midst of what seemed like hundreds of lorries, fully stocked with cargo, heading in the same direction. They slowed down our progress considerably all along the verdant Rift Valley.

This time round, we did not make any rest room stops. We merely tried to make up for lost time and headed straight to Nairobi National Park. This was actually a sudden addition to our itinerary. We were supposed to go directly to the Elephant Orphanage in the Park; but as we had not spotted any rhinos yet on our many game drives and as we were determined to tick off the last member of the Big Five off our list, we changed course.

A few members of our party decided to go, on schedule, to the David Sheldrake Elephant Orphanage where they would see young baby jumbos that had been abandoned by their mothers or that had been left orphaned as a result of poaching for elephant tusks—still a huge hazard in East Africa. They felt that they’d had enough of the game drives and wanted to do something different. Others felt that if there was even a slim chance of seeing a rhino, they did hope it would happen. Accordingly, our group split in two: one group went to the Elephant Orphanage; the other headed towards the entrance of Nairobi National Park—Llew and I were in the latter group.

At Nairobi National Park:

Nairobi National Park has the distinction of being the only national park in the world that actually borders a capital city. In fact, it is a bit incongruous (once you are in the park) to be able to see animals roaming freely with city skyscrapers in the distance. If you can recall, I had said, in my very first blog post that our Kenya Airways flight from Bombay had flown directly above the Park and that we had a very clear view of it when we were landing. Little did I know that, a week later, we would be in the Park ourselves.

At the entrance, there were rest rooms and each of us made a beeline for them. Some of us found the enticements of the gift shop too hard to resist and we headed there to buy last-minute souvenirs. I got a magnet of Kenya and of Nairobi. When everyone had finished purchasing their goodies, we began our survey of this Park and our last game drive—our last ditch effort to find the elusive rhino.

Rhino Sightings—At Last!

Well, we were not disappointed and we did not have to wait too long. En route to seeing these huge animals, we passed by elegant storks in the trees (around a swamp), many giraffes, ostriches crossing our path (somehow these sights never got old) and a magnificent male lion. I was super intrigued, as we were watching the lions, first walk right past us and then settle down in a clearing, that there was a plane right above him as he sunbathed there. In fact, I got a great shot of the plane in the air and the lion on the ground in the same frame. And then, there they were: a pair of rhinos, not too far away, but with their backs turned to us and their heads bowed down as they grazed. Ok, so Mission Accomplished! That To-Do/To-See List was well and truly ticked. However, we were greedy for a better sighting and our drive around the Park continued.

And then we saw them: a splendid pair—mother and child. There were ever so close to us (merely ten feet from the road) and they were in absolutely no hurry to depart. Our driver, Steve, was able to send out a radio alert to the other vans in our party and, before long, they too had arrived at the spot. For the next fifteen to twenty minutes, we truly had our fill of this extraordinary sight. We had come face to face with the mystical rhino—a grand full-grown specimen with the most awesome pair of horns and her little one—a juvenile—whose defence mechanism had still to grow. Oh, we took a bunch of pictures as they stood, ate, sat down, rolled over, changed positions and finally moved away. What a sight for sore eyes! And how fruitful our safari had been! We were thrilled and ready to move on. Little did we guess what a crazy experience lay in store for us.

Ghastly Adventure—This Time with Baboons!

And then, we had a truly horrific adventure! When Steve, our driver, decided to stop at wayside rest rooms (after two hours of animal-seeking), we noticed that the spot was surrounded by a large family of baboons. John immediately demurred from using the rest rooms, but Doreen insisted. A couple of us also needed to go—and so stop we did!

It was, at this point, that Steve told us he would be happy to take a picture of the six of us in our van while standing in it. So, Steve stepped out and asked all of us to pose while standing along one side of the van. As we smiled happily for his camera, we had no clue what was happening behind us—on the other side of our van! Doreen was the first to spot it and she yelled, “Baboon, Baboon!” Now, we were aware that there were baboons all around us. Little did we know that what she meant was that there was one INSIDE OUR VAN!!!! It was only when she screamed, “Its Here! It’s Inside!” that we understood that we had been invaded by a baboon. Llew and I were at the driver’s end of the van while Doreen and John were right at the back, with Louella and Albin in the center. In a jiffy, the four of them got down on their knees and cowered at the very back of the van while Llew and I were left standing and watching the hideous thing. He looked around and then grabbed the brown paper packet in which the souvenir gifts that Doreen had bought for her kids were stored. And before you could say, “Big Baboon” he was off with his loot with Doreen yelling, “My Stuff! My Gifts! They’re gone!”

Can you even imagine the panic in our van? We were really frightened. Then, Steve told us not to panic—if there was no food in the packet, the baboon would discard it. And that was exactly what he did. He tore open the packet, surveyed the contents, found nothing edible and flung it with disdain near the rest room doors. Llew raced behind him, retrieved the packet and picking up the contents which he had spread all over, returned them to poor Doreen who was, by this point, seriously hyperventilating! As for poor Louella, somewhere in the panic generated by this to-do, one of the members of our van had scratched her right on the face. Her cheek bore three distinct scratch marks—this alone tells you how petrified we all were by the presence of a menacing baboon in our van.

With the Ladies rest room door just a step away from us, Doreen disappeared into one stall, Louella into the other, leaving yours truly outside waiting for my turn. And then, guess what? A large baboon followed me into the toilet area leaving me in pure panic. “Open the door! Open the Door”, I screamed. “ One of them has come here”. Hearing me, Louella said, “One second. I’m almost done.” A second later, she opened the door and I tore into the stall with her and locked the door. My heart was palpitating and I was terrified.

Then, just when we thought we had escaped an Assault By Baboon, another huge baboon entered—yes! He entered our very stall—the one in which Louella and I were huddling together! As our stall was adjoining Doreen’s, I was certain he was in her stall to begin with and had made his way to ours! But as Doreen had not seen him at all (you can bet she’d have yelled blue murder if she was in there with him), it is possible that he came directly into our stall from a high window in the back wall of our stall.

Now serious panic ensued. We had to get away from the monster right there, in a tiny stall with us! In enclosed space! Of course, we were caught between the devil and the deep sea! Stay in the stall and risk being attacked by the lone baboon or get outside and face a whole dozen of them! Of course, since human instinct is to get away from clear and present danger, we moved to leave the stall. Except that our hands were shaking and I simply could not get the latch opened! I tried turning it one—no luck! I tried the other—it was struck! I tried the first way again…and this time, it opened! Louella and I just tore out of the stall and got into open ground panting at our efforts. Meanwhile, Doreen walked out of her stall, oblivious to the experience we had just had! She was grateful we did not tell her that the baboon had very likely been in her stall behind her. Outside, the gentlemen waited and, as we told them the story of our Close Encounter of the Simian Kind, they exploded with laughter! Of course, by this stage, we were all panic-laughing, but I can assure you we’d all had a turn and it caused massive hilarity in our van in the aftermath.

A Visit to the Giraffe Center:

With enough excitement than we could take for one morning, we joined the rest of our group at the Giraffe Center—which was also on our itinerary. The Center is one of the most visited parts of a tour of Nairobi and we were pleased to be able to see these graceful, elegant animals up close and personal. The Center was founded in 1979 by Josk Leslie-Melville, a Kenyan citizen of British descent and his American-born wife, Betty. Their objective was to save the Rothschild Giraffe of which only 130 were left in East Africa. Their program saved calves and by a project, based on breeding giraffe in captivity, they were able to save the species.

At the Center, we were asked to wash our hands and presented with a small coconut shell containing giraffe food pellets. We were permitted to walk along a high walkway with a viewing platform that overlooks a huge pen in which several giraffes roamed. They came up to the barrier and we were able to feed them the food pellets. This was truly a novel experience for all of us and the source of a large number of pictures. When we were done feeding these stately animals, we were taken into a room where we listened to a short talk on the origin of this Center, its aims and objectives. That part of the visit done, we were asked to wash our hands again and then return to our waiting vehicles.

Lunch at the Karen Blixen Garden Restaurant:

By this time, what with our long drive to Nairobi, our long morning’s game drive, our baboon adventures, etc. we were ready to sit down calmly in some place lovely and enjoy our last meal together. This turned out to be in a really special place called the Karen Blixen Garden Restaurant.

But long before we actually got to the spot, I have to tell you that my attention was rivetted to the locality in which we were driving. This whole area was completely different to the other parts of Nairobi with which we had become familiar—parts engulfed in urban chaos as in most Third World capital cities. However, here, in this area named Karen (after the Danish writer, Karen Blixen—more about her later),we were in another world. This is Colonial Kenya. This is where the British colonial officials had congregated when they were the rulers of this land. This was where, as in the case of most of the colonies that they had conquered, they tried to create a little bit of the British Home Counties by imitating their own domestic outlook and lifestyle. And so, there were neatly-parceled portions of land, each of which had an English-style cottage or bungalow at its center, surrounded by the most beautiful English Country gardens.We could have been in Hampshire or Richmond in England. In this anaesthetized part of the city, they lived insular lives, far from the madding crowd, away from the confusion of native Kenyan life for which they had nothing but disdain. I was gawking at these beautiful architectural accomplishments and drew the attention of my van-companions to Karen so that they would not miss the study in lifestyle contrasts that colonialism had created in all the colonies. I should also add that the entire area is named Karen after the writer who put Nairobi on the global literary map by her best-selling books and the romantic notion of life on the Bush that she peddled for the consumption of the world.

Eventually, we did arrive at the restaurant where we were immediately charmed by its location, setting and décor. The property is devoted to stunning landscaped gardens in which low-slung structures support a kitchen, dining nooks, a bar, a lobby, etc. We were led to our tables where we sat down and very casually ordered drinks (not included in our package). It was decided to order a bottle of white wine for the table (Llew had red) and together we sipped, for the last time, at the refreshing elixir on a warm but humidity-free afternoon.

Lunch took the form of a grand buffet that offered everything one could possibly desire—yes, there was soup (I had some—Carrot-Ginger Soup) and a plate of delightfully fresh greens: arugula with fresh strawberries and a sprinkling of golden raisins and seeds. Others gravitated towards the Indian selection picking dal, curries, etc. I requested fresh penne pasta be made for me with alfredo sauce and with some cold cuts (ham, salami), it made a very handsome lunch indeed. Yes, there was also a laden desserts bar that was simply swarming with yellow jacket bees—which scared me! However, I managed to get at some of the chocolate mousse and enjoyed it immensely.

this point in time, several of our group members had already begun to say their last goodbyes to us as they were headed to Zanzibar and needed to be dropped off to the airport for their flight. Others had late-afternoon flights to board back to the US as they too said their long and sad farewells to us. At our table, Frances and Ayaz would be spending two more days in Nairobi. They were already worn out and preferred to take the rest of the afternoon very easy. Marilyn and Brian chose to hang out with them.

Llew and I, however, had other plans. I could not imagine leaving Nairobi without visiting the Karen Blixen Museum as we were literally just a five-minute ride away from it. We requested our driver Peter (who would also be driving us to the airport, later in the evening) to take us there. He readily agreed. Doreen, who is also deeply interested in authors and literature and who had seen both movies, ‘Out of Africa’ and ‘Babette’s Feast’—both of which are based on literary works by Blixen—decided to come along with us. And so, we had the last memorable excursion of our trip.

A Visit to the Karen Blixen Museum:

The writer in me was deeply excited. I love visiting the homes of fellow-writers: Shakespeare at Stratford-on-Avon; Charles Dickens and Thomas Carlyle in London; Jane Austen in Hampshire; the Brontes in Haworth, Yorkshire; Virginia Woolf’s Home in Lewes in Sussex, England; Thomas Hardy in Dorchester in Dorset, England; Victor Hugo in Paris, France; William Faulkner in Oxford, Mississippi; R.K. Narayan in Mysore; R. L. Stevenson in Edinburgh, Scotland; Hemingway in Key Werst, Florida—the list goes on, of the author homes I have visited. If a city that I am visiting has the home/museum of a writer to visit, you can bet I will be inside. So to have the opportunity to visit the home of Karen Blixen (aka Issac Dinesen) was not to be sneezed at. I was thrilled that we had two hours in which to become better acquainted with the writer before the museum closed for the day at 6.00 pm. Arriving at the museum, we paid $10 each to enter and were presented with a sweet female Docent who would take us on a guided tour of the house.

A Word About Karen Blixen:

Karen Blixen was born in 1885 in Rungsted, Denmark, where she grew up. After meeting and marrying the Swedish Baron Bror von Blixen-Finecke, she became known as Baroness Blixen. Her husband’s family invested $500,000 in creating coffee plantations in Kenya. This brought the newly-weds to Nairobi, where in the shadow of the Ngong Hills, they set up the Mbopani Coffee Estate.

As a bored colonial wife with not much to do in the early 20th century, Blixen turned to writing. She wrote originally in Danish, then translated her own books to English. Her husband was famously unfaithful to her and it was not long before she contracted syphilis from him (in 1915). All sorts of medical remedies were tried out on her and she soon showed symptoms of heavy metal poisoning. Struggling with ill health and a crumbling marriage, she was shocked that her books, when selected for Books of the Month Club, became best sellers and made an internationally famous writer of her. She was repeatedly nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature, but she never won it.

A few years later, she and the Baron were divorced and Karen was free to pursue her relationship with the British big game hunter, Denys Finch-Hatton. This love affair is detailed in her autobiographical book, ‘Out of Africa’ which became an Academy Award film starring Meryl Streep and Robert Redford. He began to lead safaris in Africa for wealthy clients and eventually died in the crash of his Gypsy Moth in 1931. Plagued with poor health and with her coffee plantation in the financial doldrums, Blixen returned to Denmark where she lived for many decades until her own death in 1962, by which time she had become a celebrated writer.

Visiting the Inside of Blixen’s Home:

To visit Karen Blixen’s Home in Nairobi is to enter a colonial time-capsule. Indeed, time stands still on this homestead which features a low, one-story structure surrounded by sprawling gardens in vast property. Inside, we were walked along a long corridor where we saw large blow-up photographic portraits of Karen as she looked while she lived in this home. She was always a slim and elegant woman and her portraits present her in this manner, surrounded by gardens or dogs—all the trappings of European colonial life.

Next, we walked into her Dining room which carried the original furniture of her years, several of her paintings (she was also an artist who, in her younger years, had studied at the Royal Academy of Art in Copenhagen, Denmark). Portraits of two native Africans who had served on her staff are in this room. There is also the original china that she used while entertaining and the table is set for guests.

In the next room, the living room-cum-study, we saw her in her favorite room which features a cozy fireplace, bookcases and a large desk at which she wrote most of her books. I am always enchanted by these settings as I do believe that in an earlier life, I was actually an Edwardian lady myself! I loved the pictures on the wall, the knick-knacks with which she surrounded herself, her own set of clothing in one of the closets, the elephant leg bedside table in her bedroom and other little elements that are too numerous to enlist. We were also taken into the kitchen which still sports some of the rudimentary implements and utensils that were used in her day. The toilets were outside the home as there was no running water and no electricity in her time. Sadly, we were not allowed to take any pictures inside the house—so I had to commit all of it to memory.

Exploring the Garden:

Once our tour of the Home was completed, we were led out into the gardens where we examined a pair of granite grinding stones that had been shipped to Nairobi from India and which were fashioned into coffee tables for the garden. We then walked to the far end of the garden where we were able to look upon a huge original coffee grinding machine that was used by the family in their coffee business—the one that, eventually, went bust. It was in one of the nooks of this machine that we spotted a hirrack—a small rodent-like creature with great beady eyes that is found all over the African Bush.

With our tour of the garden done—we could take pictures of the exterior of the house and the gardens but not the interior—we looked at some paintings and sculptural art in the grounds that were for sale before we stepped into the gift shop. Here I was fortunate enough to find a magnet of Kilimanjaro (as I had not bought one while we were in the vicinity and could not find another one anywhere else—this was sheer luck indeed). I also bought a set of spoon, fork and knife—the handles were made of horn, the rest were made from bone. I thought it was a fitting souvenir of our travels in Africa and I was delighted to have them be my final buy in this country and at a museum that I really did want to remember.

Journey to Nairobi Airport…and then Back Home (to India):

And with that marvelous, memorable visit to Blixen’s Home and Museum, our travels in East Africa came to an end. All that was left was for Peter, our driver, to take us back to the restaurant to pick up John, Brian and Marilyn so that we could all be dropped off at the airport. The drive took about 45 minutes and once there, we went through Security and other formalities before being given our boarding passes. We said Bye to our friends for the last time—thinking we would not se them again—and were off. Llew and I did some duty free shopping for alcohol and chocolates to take back to India and could then relax fully.

That done, we made our way up to the Pride of Africa Lounge on the upper floor and having about two hours to kill before boarding time, we ordered drinks. I had a gin and tonic while Llew had a glass of South African Stellenbosch red wine as we helped ourselves to some of the bar snacks. And then, when it came time to board our flight, we made our way downstairs.

Unbelievably, we ran into Doreen, John, Brian and Marilyn too as they were at their gate, not far from ours, waiting for their own flight to New York. We found out that our flight was delayed by about an hour and so we had some more time to shoot the breeze with them before the last and final call for our flight was announced and we said our goodbyes to them and left.

A Most Comfortable Flight to India:

And so, we took the red eye flight to Bombay. This time round, we were awake and enjoyed the comfortable Business Class seats and Service including drinks and dinner—both of us had a glass of champagne followed by a lovely new cocktail that I had discovered in Africa—a mixture of Bailey Irish Cream and Cognac. Llew declined to have dinner (he was not hungry) but I had the Fish Curry with Pilaf as the Lamb Chops I had ordered were gone—they had only received one order of it and it was taken by a passenger just before me—drat! Still, my Fish Curry was not half bad and I enjoyed it before I made myself comfortable for the night on the reclining seat that became almost as flat as a bed.

By the time dawn was breaking in the Eastern sky, six hours later, it was time for us to land. It would be about 7.00 am in Bombay, a perfect time to arrive on a Saturday morning when the city had not yet stirred. We cleared Immigration and Customs and arrived at the Pre-Paid Taxi counter from where we made our way home to Bandra in under two hours. It was about 9.00 am when we entered our flat and I have to say that despite having had the best, most memorable time in the world, it was terrific to enter our Home Sweet Home. I feel like this after ever single trip we take—this intense feeling of pleasure when you get back home, sink into your own sofa, shower in your own bath tub and sleep in your own bed. It gives truth to the adage: Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like Home.

Conclusion:

Thank you so much for following me on this wild (pun intended) voyage to the middle of nowhere on Planet Earth. Safaris are truly trips like no other as they take you into the natural habitat of creatures other than human ones. We had enjoyed close contact with some of the earth’s most fascinating creatures, we had learned so much about them and made friends with the people who share their space with them on a daily basis.

We’d seen one of our party members go through a medical emergency (John) and come through it unscathed; we’d seen another member of our group suffer a life-threatening crisis (Amani) and we’d been instrumental in saving his life; we’d changed a tire on the Mara in the midst of roaring lions; we’d had frights in close quarters with terrifying animals; we’d seen the Big Five, the Ugly Five and what I like to call the Small Thousands! Most important of all, our purpose in coming on this safari had been vindicated: We were part and parcel of the Great Migration, having walked in the vicinity of thousands of animals on their annual journey across the African plains. It was a sight we would never forget—and we had photographs and video to remind us, when our memories blurred. We made wonderful new friends among our tour party and renewed friendship with others whom we’ve known for years. We now share experiences in common that bind us forever.

We have a lot of folks to thank for making these travel experiences and memories possible—and I had done so, at the appropriate times on our journey. All that is left now is for me to thank you all for being my armchair-companions over the past ten days and for the encouraging comments you have sent my way as you have read each installment. Please feel free to tag my blog post links to your Facebook and Instagram accounts. Also, please note that my blog, Rochelle’s Roost in London, contains hundreds of blog posts on the dozens of countries in which I have lived or traveled through the decades. Please feel free to browse through any or all of the entries, when time permits or the travel bug bites you.

I now take your leave. Until the road rises up to greet us—whether we travel in the same direction or indeed go our separate ways—God Speed!

Until next time, Hakuna Matata (No Troubles, No Worries).

Day Seven of Our East African Safari: Breakfast at Mara Maisha Tented Camp; Long Drive from the Mara to Lake Naivasha; Boat Ride on the Lake; Make-shift Shelter from Freezing Rainstorm in Tin Shack; Guided Visit at Maasai Museum; Last Drinks and Dinner at Enashipai Resort

Thursday, July 17, 2025

Day Seven of Our East African Safari

Breakfast at Mara Maisha Tented Camp; Long Drive from the Mara to Lake Naivasha; Boat Ride on the Lake; Make-shift Shelter from Freezing Rainstorm in Tin Shack; Guided Visit at Maasai Museum; Last Drinks and Dinner at Enashipai Resort

I awoke today with a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. After the trauma of yesterday, my very first thoughts upon awaking were for Amani’s condition. I started my day praying wordlessly that Heaven would be kind to him and bring him back to swift and complete recovery. I thought about his poor family—apparently, he had a young wife, four children and a fifth on the way. What would happen to them, I thought? What about Faith Holidays, I wondered. Since he collapsed in the line of duty, would they reimburse his medical expenses? What sort of healthcare system did Kenya offer? Since he was a Tanzania citizen receiving medical treatment in Kenya (a foreign country), how would his medical insurance work—if indeed he did have insurance? Was there anything we could do as a group to help him or his family members? All these thoughts assailed me and I decided to ask our driver, Steve, for an update on Amani’s condition. Above all, I hoped fervently that we would not have any more such crises to handle.

When I did get out of bed, I turned my thoughts to breakfast and to fueling up well as we had another long day ahead of us—most of it on the road.

A Breakfast for Kings:

In the vast tented Dining Hall, I had another Anglo-Afro Breakfast: Mushroom, Ham and Cheese Omelet, grilled tomato, sauteed mushrooms, a pork sausage, regular British-style baked beans and a small bowl of African red kidney beans in a coconut sauce with Ugali—an African-style, steamed, grey-colored, multi-grain cake similar to idlis. Fortified with this repast, we saw our baggage into our safari van and we were off with Steve who informed me that Amani’s condition was no different from yesterday although he was getting the best available medical attention in Nairobi. I felt comforted as I knew that people do take a long time to recover from strokes— but if he had received timely attention and TLC, he could well thrive. I whispered another prayer for him.

It's a Long Way to Lake Naivasha:

This time, when we set off, the staff of the Mara Maisha Tented Camp waving us off in the time-tested traditions of British colonial hospitality, we had Doreen and John, Albin and Louella, Llew and myself in the van with Steve at the wheel. Yes, it was going to be another long and tedious ride—it took us about 4 hours to reach. Initially, as we were making our way out of the Mara, we passed by herds of topi, gazelle and zebras.

b>All About a Maasai Cattle Fair:

But then we were on a highway of sorts. At this point, while still in the center of Maasai Country, we passed by a very interesting sight: a massive Cattle Fair. We saw droves of Maasai cattle-rearers, all clad in traditional red blankets, hurry towards a vast field in which we also saw thousands of heads of cattle—mainly cows but also goats and sheep. Steve explained that this was a periodic cattle fair at which livestock are bought and sold by local cattle-farmers. He explained that a Maasai man’s wealth is gauged by the number of heads of cattle that he owns and dowry (which exists in the community) takes the form of cattle that a prospective bride’s father gifts to her prospective groom (not much different from the traditional dowry laws that prevail in many parts of the Third World). This, for me, was a fascinating aspect of African Cultural Studies that we learned and understood while on the road.

We also stopped after two hours to use the rest room and to make the mandatory, cursory visit in a local, wayside crafts stall. But, by this point, most of us had purchased the gifts we needed for others or ourselves from the gift shops at the various hotels in which we had stayed.

Arrival and Lunch at Enashipai Resort and Spa:

Eventually, a good four hours later, we caught our first glimpses of Lake Naivasha. The Lake is set in a small little town filled with hotels and resorts and, in no time at all, we were pulling into the spacious driveway of the Enashipai Resort and Spa—a luxury establishment at Lake Naivasha. As soon as we entered the beautifully-appointed, very modern lobby, decorated in a contemporary aesthetic in earth colors, we were informed about the facilities that the Resort offered: a bar, a dining hall, a spa, a pool, a sauna—and even, get this, a Museum! A Museum? Yes, indeed. This hotel could boast the only museum of its kind—one that documents the history and culture of the Maasai. As soon as we heard this, Frances (who has a degree in Art History and has worked at the British Museum in London—one of my favorite museums in the world and one I know like the back of my hand) looked at me, meaningfully, as if to say, “Wouldn’t you like to visit it?” You see, Frances knows that I am a certified, trained Emeritus Docent at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York where I gave Highlights Tours to the public for 27 years! So…you bet, I would like to go—the question was when? The museum was only open till 6 pm—so it was very unlikely we’d be able to fit it within our schedule.

We were also told that our baggage would be brought in from our vans and placed in the lobby to be transferred to our rooms once we obtained keys. But, as most of were starving, by this point, we were quite pleased to wend our way along the picturesquely laid-out property towards the Dining Hall which overlooks the turquoise waters of a most inviting pool. (Sadly, we would not have the time to dive into this one either—essentially, our hotels were simply dining and sleeping quarters for the night before we raced off at the crack of dawn once again for another tiring day of traveling or animal-stalking. I would have killed for the opportunity to have simply spent a whole day taking long walks in the beautifully-landscaped gardens, a dip in the pool or an indulgent massage in their spas. But time was never allocated for such frivolous pursuits!)

Enashipai’s lunch was another tempting and very delicious meal. There was a most creamy and warming Cream of Mushroom Soup for starters and an extensive salad bar. There was a vast Indian section (the influence of at least a century and a half of Indian presence in Kenya, thanks to British-imported Indian indentured laborers into the colony—mainly from Gujarat where vegetarianism prevails—during the late-19th and early 20th century). I bypassed that section altogether and, as always, made a beeline for the Continental section. There, I helped myself to Beef Stew, a Mixed Bean Casserole and (from the Indian section), a papad. I also picked up a small glass of chaas (buttermilk that is seasoned with cumin, curry leaves and pepper and is quite lovely). When we had all eaten well, we were handed over our room keys and told to make sure our baggage had reached our rooms before returning swiftly to the vans for our next excursion. We were off to skim upon the lively waters of Lake Naivasha.

Boating and Watching Wild Life on Lake Naivasha:

It was not long before we were in our vans and at Lake Naivasha—merely a ten minute ride away. There, we were met by sweet boatmen—ours was named Darius—who introduced themselves and told the six of us (from the van) to get into the same boat. We were outfitted with the mandatory orange life suits/floats and then into the pretty turquoise blue boats we piled.

First off, we were treated to really close views of a family of hippos that lived in the Lake. Darius pointed them out to us and rowed really close to enable us to achieve good shots. However, they were mainly motionless. But this stage in the game, we’d seen many hippos—almost always wallowing in shallow water but remaining immobile. Hence, much as we gazed at them in wonder, the novelty of looking at them had certainly worn off.

I have to say that there were already ominous signs looming ahead in the distant skies to indicate that our boating excursion was doomed. As we raised our heads to look at bald eagles and then dropped them to watch the antics of hungry pelicans who swam really close to our boats seeking fresh fish that was thrown to them by the oarsmen, we realized that the sky was definitely fifty shades of grey—maybe more. We took a lot of pictures of each other and of our boating companions in neighboring boats even as our boatmen started off the

motors on our vessels and raced forward.

It was such an exhilarating feeling—to be out on the lake in those boats heading towards a grey and very cloudy horizon. Indeed great big fluffy clouds billowed low in the distant skies—a sure harbinger of the dreadful downpour that was certainly coming our way. And just when we spied Crescent Island and the first giraffe family on it, we felt them: great big drops that fell out of the sky—the rainstorm had arrived! That it could possibly be a passing shower was simply out of the question as we were enveloped in rain clouds, heavy with moisture. There was no doubt a heavy shower was coming and we’d be drenched.

Sheltering in a Tin Shack:

That’s when Darius told us that we’d be headed to a ‘safe island’ and to a ‘safe house’ to weather the storm. Our boats skimmed the waters in unison at a tearing pace, all headed to the same destination. It was like the famous Annual Sailing Regatta at Cowes on the Isle of Wight in England—except that we were not in sail boats! A few minutes later, we were being helped out of the boats on the sand banks that were simply squelching with moisture. All of us were told to make our way into the tin shack that stood ahead of us—and into it we raced.

By the time the members of our boat entered, it was already packed, almost to capacity. Not merely were our party’s passengers inside, but there were several other tourists we did not know who’d been presented with the same shelter. This was simply a tin shack, about ten feet by ten feet with a tin roof upon which the driving rain clattered noisily. It was another surreal experience that we had not expected.

Ralph, our resident songster, began singing a few rain-themed songs: Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head; Singing In the Rain, etc. We joined in to keep our spirits up. It was very dark in the shack and we were standing shoulder to shoulder with only enough room for each of our bodies—there was not even in inch available to move. Some folks took pictures—anything to lighten the atmosphere and keep up the humor while it continued to bucket down.

When the novelty of being in so uncomfortable a position had worn off, it seemed as if our misery would never end. We were cold and damp and did not relish the prospect of returning to those wet boats to be ferried back to our hotel, But, as there was a short respite in the thunderstorm, our boatmen decided to take advantage of it and get us racing back to the boats. I found it super hilarious when Darius informed me (while we were really wet and freezing) that we still had 20 minutes of a boat ride left and that he was willing to complete it for us! The option he offered was that we return directly to our hotel. No marks for guessing that we chose the latter. Yes, our excursion was aborted, due to the weather, and we never would take that guided walk on Crescent Island that our itinerary had promised us—but frankly, no one cared. All we wanted to do was get back into the vans and into our warm, dry hotel lobby.

That’s when we discovered that we would not be getting into our vans at all. Our boatmen dropped us at a pier really close to our hotel when meant that we had only a ten minute sprint to the lobby directly. Well, while that sounded good in theory, I have to say that it was the longest ten minutes ever. We were really freezing, it was still raining and none of us were clothed sensibly enough for such temperatures. Naturally, we dashed to the lobby and once there, wasted no time in getting directly to our rooms. The thought of hot cuppas in our room with hot showers was most comforting and that was exactly what Llew and I did.

An Unexpected Visit to the Maasai Museum:

Llew had finished his shower and I was just about to go in for mine when I received a call in my room. It was Frances—the ever resourceful, ever organizing Frances! She had spoken to the Reception and expressed our interest in visiting the Museum. So, even though it was long past 6.00 pm, the hotel staff informed her that since the Docent was still on the premises, they would be happy to open the Museum and enable us to take a tour of it. My Word! Can you imagine how delighted Frances and I were! Of course, I was certain that Llew would join me too—as neither one of us has never met a museum we did not love. And I was also aware that Doreen shared our great love for art and culture. So I called Doreen’s room and asked if she’d be interested in joining Frances, Llew and me for a museum tour—and, of course, she was not just game, she ws enthusiastic.

And, so the four of us met at the Hotel Lobby at 7.00pm. It was at this point that we decided to put out a message on the Whatsapp group to inform everyone that a docent-led guided tour of the museum was just about to begin and that if they were interested all they had to do was join us there. We heard back immediately from Em and Jude, Lynne and Sacha, who said they would join us. And indeed they did. About fifteen minutes later, we were assembled in the very tiny space and being introduced to our docent, the tall and very unassuming Leparan, a Maasai man, who informed us that he lived two hours away but was happy to take us on this tour.

The Maasai Museum at Enashipai is located in a small Maasai dwelling that was once used as the Reception Tent of this Resort. But, as the Resort grew in size and success, the larger Lobby Structure was built and this modest one was turned into a museum. Artifacts and heirlooms were obtained from the local Maasai tribes and a small, but most impressive collection, was superbly curated. Leparan began by pointing out his two missing bottom front teeth—a signature sign of a genuine Maasai tribesperson—male and female. Secondly, he led us to a board where he explained the origin of the tribe and its relation to creatures from the animal kingdom. These connections also explained the origin of the names of the members of the tribe. On another board, he explained the movement of the Maasai southwards—from the Sudan into Kenya and Tanzania (as they are a nomadic farming and cattle-rearing community who go where the climate and water availability take them). Next, using the larger than life-size model of the Maasai warrior in the center of a gallery, he explained the uses of the various appendages of the warrior: his staff, his stick, his jewelry, his cowhide sandals. In this gallery, there were many examples of the implements used in the daily lives of the tribesmen including weapons and shields that are made indigenously—for both attack and defense. There were bows, arrows, quivers, etc. In another gallery, we learned about Maasai jewelry—both beaded and metallic. In a community in which color and size play a huge role, every piece of jewelry has its significance. We were particularly taken by the intricacy of the bead work of the community—originally made with horn, bone or glass—but now increasingy made with plastic beads. The Maasai also make and wear belts, anklets and armlets in addition to the common use of necklaces, bangles and ear-rings—both male and female.

While we were looking at these objects, we were also learning a great deal about Maasai customs and culture, the position of women in their society, courtship (there is none as all marriages are strictly arranged within the community and village itself) and marriage (the role of the woman is always subordinate to the man). We also learned about hereditary roles and ancestral practices—male circumcision and female mutilation, for instance, are routinely practiced (despite their being banned by the government) as the community is famously insular and does not encourage genetic inter-mixing. This accounts for its DNA purity and the manner in which the physical characteristics (such as towering height) are not compromised. It soon became clear to us that their society is deeply chauvinistic and that women are treated as property by the men in a profoundly patriarchal model. Their lives seemed hard and cruel. Punishments are gruesome and, by the end of the tour, I had to admit that most of us were squeamish although it was highly enlightening and informative. Leparan was a most patient and knowledgeable guide who answered all our questions intelligently and unpassionately.

In the final phase of the tour, we were taken outside the Museum to a little outhouse of sorts which was described to us as a traditional Maasai dwelling. In this little hut, built of stilts and sod, we saw a central fire pit which provided warmth and light to the household. There was a bed on the side which was reserved exclusively for the males of the home. Females slept in another room and were beckoned by the male only for sexual relations—polygamy is freely practiced in the community (a man can have as many wives as he pleases so long as the father of a bride can give him as many cattle head as he desires). Adjoining the main room was another small room which served as a sort of stable—here, the warrior kept his cow…each household owned at least one cow that was used for milk and to generate warmth in the winter months. Needless to say, it was all rather primitive and we were full of questions. But, an hour later, after I had been introduced to the lifestyle and culture of a little-known community and taken one of the most memorable tours of my entire life—and believe me, I have taken dozens of tours of this kind in various parts of the world--I was ready to process and digest everything we’d heard.

Round of Drinks with Friends…and then Last Dinner of our Trip:

It was time for me to return to our room to shower and dress for dinner. We were all aware that this would be our last dinner together as a group and were swept by strong sentiment as we had grown close to and fond of each other. We gathered together in the Bar where we ordered drinks (all alcoholic drinks needed to be paid extra for—and we had to clear our bills each time we left a hotel) for beer, wine and cocktails. I had a mai tai (which took me back to endless evenings on the patio of the Royal Hawaiian Hotel on Waikiki Beach in Hawai’i, when I had been first introduced to the drink). We sat and shot the breeze and took many pictures in couples, singles and cozy groups before we left to grab some dinner. For my last night in a grand hotel of this kind on this trip, I chose a bowl of Beetroot Soup, a plate of mixed salads for starters and lamb chops, beef steak in mustard sauce and potatoes for my Main. For dessert, Em persuaded the staff to bring us a plate of sliced mango (as this fruit was not on the buffet table). I am happy to say that they obliged and we finished our last dinner the healthy way—although we were fully spoiled for choice in a Desserts Bar that was filled with the most elegant creations in tiny shot glasses including parfaits and trifles. Wow! What a wild ride it had been, food-wise, but seriously after ten days of unmitigated indulgence, we were all ready to return to normality again

Before we called it a night, we realized that the gift shop at the hotel was still open. It had some really interesting items and before we knew it, I bought a mug for my brother, several pairs of horn ear-rings for friends and a lovely chunky Maasai bracelet. I also found a set of little tea or coffee spoons with cheetah and giraffe heads and I bought those too. What a lovely end it was to a terrific day.

We bid many of our friends goodnight before we boarded the little golf cart that ferried us between the Reception Counter and our room. There, we snuggled down for the night but did remember to set our alarms for an early wake-up call, breakfast and our last and final day in Africa.

Until tomorrow, Hakuna Matata (No Troubles, No Worries).