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…

Meeting American friends in London for Highlights Tours of The National Gallery and the British Museum and then...Off to Oxford

Tuesday, August 13, 2019

London

Meeting American friends in London for Highlights Tours of The National Gallery and the British Museum and then...Off to Oxford

     Hiya from London!

     Today was a red-letter day for me as I was meeting my friends Bonnie and Art from Connecticut in London.  Not only was I going to see them after a whole year but we had always talked about being in London together, and suddenly, by coincidence and without planning it, it happened! How exiting was that??

So I did wake up at about 6.00 am and did some reading of Twitter and looking at my day’s plans when I heard Roz pottering about below me. She was off to work and I would likely not see her before I left London as I would be leaving for Oxford this evening and then leaving London on Friday while she was still at work.

     I said Bye and Thanks to her before she left and then I had a leisurely breakfast in front of the telly as I watched the BBC Breakfast show. It was Sainsbury muesli with Onken Mango, Papaya and Passionfruiit Yogurt (which I love) and coffee.  A quick shower later, I spent a good deal of time finalizing my packing and carefully weighing my three bags to ensure I would not have any problems at the airport. This took me a good deal of juggling and redistribution of weight before I was ready to leave the house. I was supposed to meet my friends at 11.15 at the National Gallery and I chose the front porch above the stairs to ensure that we would not get wet in case of rain.

   So I took a bus to Victoria and the Tube to Charing Cross and found out that the National Gallery has changed its entrance—visitors were being shepherded towards the Sainsbury Wing where we went through security. That would throw off my plans with my friends who had texted me to say that they had just landed. In a little while, they would be at the Museum. I placed my bag in the Cloak Room (paid 2 pounds for a bag!) The bag policy has also changed since I lived inLondon ten years ago. At that time, you could leave your belongings in the cloak room for free (and you can still do so in the Met in New York). It seems to me that the National is trying to make money any which way they can while still keeping entry to the Museum free—the Met, on the other hand, has started charging entry fees to the museum.

     Bonnie and Art did get to the Museum about half an hour later during which time I familiarized myself with the layout of the major works that I did not want them to miss—the map to the Museum also costs money now!

     We met on Trafalgar Square on a gorgeous day—the square was bathed in golden sunshine and it was comfortably warm. The square also swarmed with tourists (it is, after all, August in England—the best time of year!) and the city is simply heaving. After an affectionate reunion (they looked none the worse for their red eye flight across the pond!), we decided to get started. We all went through security again and we started on the second floor of the Sainsbury Wing where the Medieval and Renaissance works are located. 

     We saw the ‘Battle of San Roman’ by Pablo Uccelo, ‘the Wilton Diptych’, my favorite woks by Carlo Crivelli, a couple of unfinished Michelangelo’s, Leonardo da Vinci’s ‘The Virgin of the Rocks’, Botticelli’s ‘Venus and Mars’, Piero Della Francesca’s ‘Baptism of Christ’ and Jan Van Eyck’s The Arnolfini Marriage’. We also saw the Tintoretto, the Bronzino and the El Greco that are masterpieces in the collection. We then went into the Main (Older) part of the Museum where I showed them the following paintings: Turner’s ‘The Fighting Temeraire’, Constable’s ‘The Haywain’, George Stubbs’ ‘Whistlejacket’, Gainsborough’s ‘Mr and Mrs. Thomas Andrews’, Hogart’s ‘Marriage a la Mode’, Joseph Wright of Derby’s ‘Experiment with a Bird’, Paolo Veronese’s ‘Darius and his Family with Alexander’, the two Vermeers featuring women at the virginal and my favorite painting in the National—maybe in the whole world: Pieter de Hooch’s ‘Courtyard of a House in Delft’. Finally, we moved towards the modernists: Cezanne’s ‘Bathers’, Van Gogh’s ‘Chair’ and ‘Wheat Fields with Cypress’, Monet’s ‘Bridge over Water Lily Pond at Giverny’, a few Degas dancers and a few Renoirs. We did not miss Seurat’s ‘On the Banks of the Seine at Asnieres’. Sadly, the gallery containing ‘The Ambassadors’ by Hans Holbein was closed—no one knew why. It is perhaps the most famous of the National’s collection—so I was sorry they missed it. Well, they will just have to come back.

     We spent about an hour and a half in the National when Art started to feel fatigued. They needed food and badly. It made sense to get out of the museum. I picked up my bag and met them back on Trafalgar Square which they had a chance to enjoy for a few minutes before I joined them again. Then, we set off to find lunch. I took them past the National Portrait Gallery and on to the Coliseum, home of the English National Opera and then on to the Theater District. 

Lunch at a Pub called The Chandos :

    This is probably the pub at which I have eaten most frequently in London—not because it is special but simply because its location right in the heart of the Theater District makes it perfect for a meal before or after a show. Art and Bonnie were relieved to find a place so conveniently located and when we realized that we had to go upstairs for a meal, we climbed to the Opera Bar and sat ourselves down at a table. All of us had Fish and Chips (Bonnie and I chose to split a platter) and we all had a taste of the huge slab of Sticky Toffee Pudding served with ice-cream with a small jug of custard for me that served as our dessert.

     They felt human again after eating and were ready to move on.

Exploring Charing Cross Road:

Our rambles took us into Charing Cross Road and straight to Leicester Square where I pointed out the sculptures to Shakespeare and to Charlie Chaplin and the Odeon Theater where all the film premiers take place. They strolled around it on a day that was simply crawling with humanity as these are some of the most popular tourist sites in London and are always packed to capacity.

We went past all the antiquarian and second-hand book stores including Foyle’s and then on Denmark Street past the stores selling music and music-related items. This is also the street on which the detective protagonist Cormoran Strike and his assistant Robin have their office in the new series of novels that J.K. Rowling has written under the pen name Robert Galbraith—and since I am currently enjoying the novels, I took particular note of this street.

We then crossed Tottenham Court Road (where the road works have almost been complete) and crossed towards Great Russel Street. I took them towards the road leading to the British Museum. They had the start of their lives when they saw how huge the museum is and how much real estate it occupies in the center of London. Needless to say, they were awestruck by the Neo-Classical building and its Greek Temple-like design.

Exploring the British Museum:

     Despite the fact that they were really getting exhausted by this time, Art and Bonnie were real troopers as we went through security and entered the Museum. I told them a little bit about the history of the Museum and its origins through the collecting efforts of Sir Hans Sloane who bequeathed his collection to the museum which then launched on a spirit of expansion. This was way back in the18th century; and in keeping with the spirit of the new millennium, a new architectural feature was added to it in the year 2000: the Millennium Great Court by Sir Norman Foster. They were completely floored by it as we entered it, past the ancient facade. The contrast was so great and so unexpected that they were stunned.

Then began our look at the Highlights—since they were tiring quickly, I told them that I would show them only three of the most important highlights but before we got there, we just had to make a detour to see the ichytausaur which had been discovered by the amateur paleontologist Mary Anning from Lyme Regis on the Dorset coast as this is kept in The Enlightenment Gallery on the ground floor. Both Bonnie and I had read the novel Remarkable Creatures by Tracy Chevalier through our Book Club and we had found out all about Mary Anning and her discoveries in the late Victorian Age. Hence, I led them straight to the fossil whose location I had found out myself on a previous visit to London.

That seen, we moved towards perhaps the most crowded part of the museum—the Ancient Greek and Roman galleries. There, we came face to face with the Rosetta Stone and spent a while talking about it, reading the accompanying curatorial notes and taking special note of its size and design. This case is always crawling with visitors—so we were glad to get a glimpse of it. This stone is historically significant because it has the same edict carved on it in formal Greek, in a vernacular variety of Greek called demotic and in Egyptian hieroglyphics. Until the discovery of this stone in the late 1800s, hieroglyphics had remained undeciphered. While scholars knew that it was a pictorial script, they did not know its phonetic associations. The knowledge that the same message gad ben printed in Greek and demotic helped them understand that the same message was also engraved in hieroglyphics. Since they knew what the edit said in Greek, it was then possible for them to translate the same message into hieroglyphics--and so the mystery of the ancient Egyptian script was solved. This linguistic facility opened up the entire body of ancient Egyptian texts to the world and vastly facilitated our understanding of an ancient civilization.   

     Next we moved to the rooms in the Ancient Near East section where we saw the Assyrian bas-reliefs from the Palace of Nimrud in modern-day Iraq, some of which represented the Lion Hunt. That too they found fascinating.

Finally, I took then to the piece de resistance of the Museum—the notorious Elgin Marbles. Of course, they had a close look at them all as well as discussed the manner in which they were brought from the Parthenon in Athens to London by Lord Elgin and why Britain is not interested in returning them to Greece. There too they were quite taken by the immensity of the display and the size of it.

     That was it! They simply did not have the energy for anything more—so we decided to stop at this. They needed a soft drink and we found something at the cafe in the courtyard. 

     Then because I too had my eye on the clock as I was headed to my friends in Oxford, I started to take my leave of them. I led them to The Museum Tavern, another good watering hole right opposite the Museum where Art and Bonnie had beers while I declined a drink.  I did not want to miss my 6.00 pm coach from Victoria.  So I said Bye to them and hoped to see them again in Oxford. Then I hurried off.  It had been a fabulous experience to have time with them in London, although brief, and I am glad that they have already decided that they ought to return and give the city more time.

On the Coach to Oxford:

     I took the Tube from Tottenham Court Road to Victoria and then made my way to the coach stop. I saw one waiting at the stop and although it was the 5.30pm coach, the driver allowed me to board it. I thought I was lucky to be saving half an hour and I well believed I would reach Oxford half an hour earlier.

     But to my bad luck, the coach met with much traffic on the M40 as there was a bad accident.  Our driver had the good sense to get off the highway and take an exit that led us through country roads for a good 45 minutes before we were able to return to the highway again.  We lost an enormous amount of time but somehow managed to make it into Oxford at about 7.45 pm. I texted Sue to let her know that I was running late.

     From St. Aldates where I alighted, I then found my way on foot to Sue and Tony’s place at Grandpont. The bustle of Oxford had calmed down considerably by this point and in the setting rays of the sun, Tom Tower was gilded splendidly as I passed by. I could not resist stopping to take pictures outside the Perennial Gardens attached to the Meadows at Christ Church College. I also chose to walk along the banks of the Thames where I found that the wild blackberry bushes were yielding jewel-like fruit and I stopped to pick some and stain my fingers and mouth with their ripe sweetness.

Dinner at Sue and Tony’s Place:

I was just in time for dinner for Tony had just taken his lasagne out of the oven and was ready to serve it when I rang the bell at their door. It felt great to be back in the familiar location on Marlborough Road which I know well from previous stays in this cozy and very charming little English cottage. The food was delicious and served with beans, it made a great dinner. For dessert, there was an apricot tart from Marks and Spencer. Everything was wonderful and, best of all, I got to catch up with my friends for a couple of hours as they will be driving early tomorrow morning for Bristol, leaving their home to me, which is incredibly generous of them. 

  They then put me through the paces, showing me where electric switches were, how the shower worked, giving me keys to the back and front door and telling me to finish up all the food in the fridge!

     By then, I too was rather tired and was ready to call it a day.  Saying goodnight to my friends, I went into the spare room which I always use when I stay with them in Oxford. 

     What an incredible day I’d had! I looked forward very much to the next two days in Oxford and all the fun I would have in one of my favorite places in the world.  Returning to Oxford (because nothing changes very much in this medieval city) is always like wearing an old and comfortable pair of slippers--slipping into them immediately makes you feel at home!

     Until tomorrow...    

                   

Brekkie at The Wolseley, Shopping, Seeing Buried Child at the West End

London Diary—Jan 2017

Saturday, January 21, 2017

Accomplishing London To-Do List! And Packing (Yet Again!) Plus Ed Harris at the West End.

            Terribly jetlagged, I awake in a 6-bedded dorm in the London youth hostel on Bolsover Street at 3. 30 am. I manage some more shut eye, then awake at 5. 30 am. It is eventually 7.00 am when I drag myself out of bed quietly so as not to awake my sleeping roomies. It is time for a wash, a shower and a tick of another item off my To-Do List—Brekkie at the Wolseley Hotel.

Posh Full English Brekkie in a London Institution:

            I find my way to the bus stop on New Cavendish Street, realizing that I could not have chosen a better location for 2 nights’ accommodation in London. My office at NYU, where my cases are stacked, is only a hop, skip and jump away. The YHA is homely, clean, relatively quiet, safe and central—oh and very reasonably priced. In the dead of winter, it is still packed solid. Fifty percent of my roomies are women my age or over! I feel right at home. It is the perfect solution for the solo traveler. I contemplate the sagacity of my decision to stay here as I await my bus in the dead quiet of a Saturday morning while it is still semi-dark. There are a couple of other people waiting with me—I feel the sense of safety in numbers. In five minutes, a 453 trundles along and on the top deck, front and center, as is my wont, I am transported along the still gorgeously illuminated shopping strips of Regent and Oxford Streets, to be put down at Piccadilly Circus.

            Walking along this iconic road, I am struck by the fact that I have it all to myself. I pass many familiar landmarks—Waterstones, the bookstore. Fortnum and Mason, purveyors of fine foods. Across the Road, Burlington House, home of the Royal Academy of Art. Fancy shops selling fancier goods—Maria Novella perfumes from Florence, fine cashmere from Scotland, Maille mustards in posh packaging. I get to the Wolseley Hotel, which every guidebook has extolled as the best value in the city for a full English breakfast or Afternoon Tea. The latter I have tried already—a few years ago with my friend Shahnaz and her daughter Azra. It is time to find out what the fuss is about re. Brekkie. But first, I peruse the menu pinned to glass cases outside. It is value for money at 18 pounds for the works: eggs any which way, bacon, sausage, black pudding, tomatoes, mushrooms, baked beans. But just to be sure I am making the right choice, I pop into the Ritz next door. I would like to find out what they offer for brekkie and at what price. I walk through the ritzy pink and green lobby, past Reception and the utterly grand Palm Court (where Llew and I once were treated to Afternoon Tea by a family friend) and get to the back Dining Hall where I am handed a menu. Price for the Full English is an eye-popping 39 pounds. No contest. I will return to the Wolseley and pig out.

            I am seated courteously by a lovely hostess. I do not have a reservation, but I am early enough in the day to snag a table for two which I might keep for an hour and a half. It is enough for me (as I have a full day ahead and much to accomplish). The waitress wants to know if I would like a newspaper. Yes please, I say. Which one? she asks. How about The Times? I respond. A copy is promptly placed before me and, had I already eaten, I’d have had instant indigestion. There is a full frontal photograph of La Famille Trummmmmphhh! I sit down, place my order and take in the full printed show. As a mark of protest (on a day when millions of women would be marching in protest against the new President’s declared policies), I decide not to read a word about his inauguration (just as I had refused to watch any of it on TV, the previous day, as I wished to hit him where it hurts—in the ratings!). I move towards the Op Ed columns and read what British journos have to say about the tamasha!

Soon enough, my brekkie arrives and I give myself wholly to the delights of the English table. My only disappointment is to find streaky (American-style) bacon on my plate where I adore the English back bacon which is made from Pork Tenderloin. Still, I have no choice—so gobble it all up, I do, with gusto. I have a decaff cappuccino to sip in-between mouthfuls and I am a happy camper, for I have fueled myself up well for a day in which I will probably eat very little else. The black pudding, by the way, is creamy and delicious. I was asked if I’d like toast and I had said yes—I got a slice of brown and a slice of white (I did not realize that I had to pay more for it—I thought it was part of my brekkie platter). No matter. I decided to pack it up and take it home for a very late lunch or early supper. In the Wolseley Hotel, I am surrounded by beautiful people. When a very ostentatiously dressed woman sits beside me, peroxided to the nines, wearing dangling sparkly jewelry at 8.00 am, I wonder if she is a cross-dresser. All eyes turn to her as she makes her dramatic entry and waiters pause in homage to kiss her on both cheeks and call her ‘Darling’. I am enthralled. It turns out she is not Ru Paul—just another ‘regular’ apparently at the hotel.

Off to Trafalgar Square for Theater Ticket:

     It is about 9.40 when I pay my bill and leave. Piccadilly is slowly coming to life but F&M is still closed (so I have no opportunity to find out if there are any leftovers from their post-Xmas sale). I walk towards Haymarket and find my way to Trafalgar Square. London is so different when it is stripped off humanity. Only the architecture grabs your eye at this time of day—undisguised, as it were. Landseer’s Lions at the Nelson Column are slowly roaring to life as traffic joins them in a slow crescendo. I get to the Trafalgar Studios at 9.55 and chat with a couple of Americans from Minnesota who have come to see their compatriots (Ed Harris and Amy Madigan in Pulitzer-Prize winning Sam Shephard’s masterpiece). I have heard a lot of good things about this play (Buried Child) and decide to see if I can get a single ticket for the evening show. Five minutes later, I am the proud possessor of one such gem (for 35 pounds). I have a brilliant seat, three rows from the front. No doubt I shall see some spit fly!

            I walk along Whitehall, past the Horse Guards, who have emerged to begin their duty for the day—those must be the most photographed horses in the world. My bus comes along and I take it to Tottenham Court Road and at exactly 10.45, I enter NYU and get straight to work.

Packing—Again--and Weighing Suitcases—Again! (And Hopefully for the Last Time!):

            The premises are closed today except for workmen and decorators who are busy in the lobby. Dave, the Porter, who was expecting me, lets me in. I drag my cases from the Porter’s Room to the Ground Floor Student Lounge, pull out my weighing scale, and begin the process of getting everything out (the better to decide what to discard and what to take back home). I have given myself two hours to accomplish this daunting task. I throw away a pair of black patent leather shoes that have seen better days and that were replaced by a new pair I’d bought just before Christmas from Next on Oxford Street. I put aside items I can give away as gifts. I wade through masses of sheets of paper and discard about 60% of them. I give away two books. I have simply no weight allowance for them. After I rearrange my stuff, I weigh each case carefully. I can put a pound more in one of them and five pounds more in the other before I reach full permitted capacity. There will be room for some food goodies—favorite biscuits, cakes, and my stock of underwear for the year from M&S. I will have to forego bottles of marmalade and chocolates for American Airlines is stringent and I have no desire to pay excess baggage charges. Oh well! At least I had enjoyed them fully while I lived in the country.

Time to Go Shopping:

            I find out that Dave will remain at his post till 4.00 pm. This leaves me about 3 hours to get to Oxford Street to the M&S to tackle my To-Buy List. I take the Tube from Tottenham Court Road to Marble Arch, walk to the department store, pluck the items off the shelve in the Food Hall (there is an offer on the bikkies—oh joy!—wish I could take 6 packets). In the Ladies Lingerie section, I find exactly what I need quite easily. Armed with my buys, I march to the cashier. Outside, on the street, I made a quick dash into Selfridges for samples of Byredo Pulp perfume—but they have run out. They direct me instead to Liberty’s which is a 15 minute walk away. I have the time—but only just! I hussle past determined shoppers, get to Oxford Circus and take the back street towards Carnaby Street and enter the lovely Tudor structure that is Liberty’s of London.  It is, thankfully, not a wild good chase. I am smilingly handed my samples. I want to see if I will like the fragrance enough after a few weeks before I splurge on a whole bottle myself. Silk scarves and classic perfume—they are my long-enduring weaknesses!

            There is little time to linger. I have no intention of lugging my purchases with me to Oxford and Essex—I simply must pack them in my suitcases and then lock them safely away until I am ready to leave London this coming Friday for home. Off to the Tube station I race for one stop and a brisk walk back to campus. I have a few minutes of uncertainty as Dave does not immediately respond when I buzz—he is somewhere in the building locking up for the weekend. I call Reception but I get the machine. I am about to leave, having waited for a full ten minutes with growing dejection, when he appears and opens the door to me!!! I stash my buys, rearrange and lock my cases up and say goodbye to him. I will be back or the last time in a few days to retrieve them and leave.

Off for a Nap:

            The good thing about staying so close to campus is that I can nip back into bed for a nap.  It is 4.00 pm which is 9.30 pm in Bombay and jetlag is making me sluggish. If I am to stay awake through the play, I need a nap. I walk back to my empty room, get into bed, place my alarm for 6. 15 pm and try to get a few zzzzs. But, annoyingly, sleep eludes me completely. After an hour, just before the alarms goes off, I get out of bed and make myself a sandwich with the Wolseley’s toast and some Waitrose onion jam that I love. Fifteen minutes later, I am on the bus and off to Trafalgar Studios where I reach in about 20 minutes, well in time for the play.

Buried Child at the West End:

            Ed Harris, one of America’s iconic actors, is sitting on stage smoking when I take my seat. He coughs occasionally as he gets into characters long before the curtain rises. For the next three hours, we learn about the misgivings of a dysfunctional family in middle America—the kind they say voted for Trump! It is a dark comedy with a seriously stark denouement that leave the audience staggering. Excellent performances, a brilliant script, perfect timing make it memorable. It is a brilliant night at the theater. It is worth every penny of my money.

 

Back home on the Bus:

            It is about 10. 30pm when I stand at the bus stop at Trafalgar Square which is still buzzing with Saturday night revelers. In five minutes, I am in my bus and ten minutes later, I am walking through the streets to get to my dorm. I am sleepy and can barely keep my eyes open. It is with difficulty that I stay awake as I brush my teeth and then get straight into bed.

            It has been a marvelous return to my favorite city—a homecoming in every sense of the term. I am happy that I am making the most of every second and still ticking items off that disappearing Bucket List.

            Until tomorrow, cheerio… 

Revisiting Trafalgar Square and The Wallace Collection

Friday, July 19, 2013

London

Today turned out to be a not-so-exciting one. I woke early, did substantial work at my computer before eating my muesli breakfast. But by the time I managed to get out of the house it was about 9. 45 am—perhaps already a tad too late to try to snag a 10 pound “Day Ticket”.

I took the Tube to Leicester Square and then walked to Shaftesbury Lane to the theater playing The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time. No such luck today! The clerk told me that all tickets were gone in ten minutes as the play is proving very popular (possibly a result of the popularity of the novel). He said people had queued up since 6. 45 am!!! If I want a Day Ticket, it seems I must get there by at least 8.00 am. Oh well! Perhaps I shall try on another day.  

Since I was in the West End area, I figured I would try to get Day Tickets for another play on my Must-See List: it turned out that One Man, Two Gov’nors was on at the Theater Royal Haymarket, not too far away. I walked there and got one ticket for 12 pounds—but it turned out to be high up in the Gallery. I took it anyway figuring that my field glasses would prove helpful. Then off I went to start my rambles in Soho and Trafalgar Square.

Traipsing around Trafalgar:

            There was not much I saw for the first time today, save for Chinatown. I have walked through Gerard Street before (which is the heart of London’s Chinatown) but rarely have I observed the place minutely. This morning, I was right in the midst of the unloading going on at every supermarket and restaurant that lines Gerard Street—and it was both unpleasant and dangerous as there were mechanized dollies doing their thing—with me in the middle.

            I quickly scuttled off and entered Leicester Square (going past the interesting Exchange and Bullion Center building on the right that dates from the late 1800s). As always, Leicester Square was alive with tourists looking for discounted theater tickets. I realized that the TKTS booth that used to be the hub of the area is now almost forlorn—very few discounted seats were available and although they were half price, they were still expensive. It seems that people now prefer to queue up outside individual theaters for the Day Tickets which are a real bargain, if you can get them.

            The sculpture of Shakespeare is shrouded by scaffolding as it is under refurbishment and Charlie Chaplin in no longer there either. Looping around Orange Street, I arrived at the Sainsbury Wing of the National Theater and looping around the grand old fountains there, I took a few pictures before going up close and personal to peruse Edwin Landseer’s magnificent quartet of bronze lions. There was actually a queue of people waiting patiently to climb atop them to have their pictures taken.

            I lopped around and entered the Church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, so named because it once stood in the fields and pastures in which sheep grazed. The inside is known for its superb ornamental plaster ceiling although its altar is rather plain. Once upon a time, I had attended a brilliant fusion concert inside with my nephew Sudarshan. I will never forget the acoustics of that lovely venue. This morning, I was present for the rehearsal of another lunch time concert: clarinet and piano—and I cannot tell you how awful it sounded. The program centered around the kind of atonal music I detest—it was all sound and fury signifying nothing. I scuttled out again as quickly as I could and made my way down into the Crypt which has perhaps the nicest gift store in London. It carries the most unusual merchandise and I always wish I had a bigger baggage allowance when I am in a place like this. As it turned out, all I could do was some window shopping before I left and resurfaced at the top.

An Errand and a Viewing at the National Portrait Gallery:

            I crossed the street and entered the National Portrait Gallery where I had an errand associated with identifying an image that I intend to use as the cover of my book. Since the image does not belong to the Museum but is in a private collection, I need the help of an archivist and the staff of the Exhibitions Department to assist me. I did get the names, telephone numbers and email addresses of the persons to contact and then I went out to see the portrait that everyone was talking about a few months ago: the Portrait of Catherine Middleton, Duchess of Cambridge by Paul Emsley that critics either like or hate. No one seems to have loved it so far, so I was prepared not to be impressed. As it turned out, I thought it was an admirable likeness of the sitter (done with just two sittings granted to the artist whom Catherine chose personally) without any attempt made to glamorize her. Yes, the overall effect is grey, dull and somber but perhaps that was how the artist saw his subject. Nothing wrong with it, I thought. The eyes are magnetic—beautifully done in shades of hazel with a strange light shining out of them—so hard to achieve in a portrait.

            I spent a while looking at some of the other newer, more contemporary portraits that have been added since I was last there (actor Timothy Spall, actress Maggie Smith) and then I made my way out and walked towards Charing Cross Road. It hadn’t turned out to be much of a morning, so I decided to take the Tube to Oxford Street for a peep into the Wallace Collection, another wonderful private collection of art.

Lunch in Starbucks at Selfridges:

            Thanks to the current soap opera I have been watching in the States, Mr. Selfridge, I simply couldn’t resist the impulse to go to Selfridges and browse around. My first stop was the Jo Malone counter where, as a regular buyer, I was presented with a sample pot of Nectarine and Honey Body Cream. Then up I went to the café as I was hungry and wanted to eat my Stilton Cheese sandwich and to buy a drink to wash it down. It turned out that Starbucks has a location on the fourth floor which is the Food Hall. Unfortunately, it did not have wifi—standard in all Starbucks’ around the world—but I did buy a Strawberry and Cream Milkshake—and so good it was too on a morning that was muggy and sticky. Lunch break gave me a chance to regroup and decide what to do next and to rest my feet. I am walking an average of 6 miles a day and it is taking its toll on my feet though not apparently doing anything to bring down my weight! Well, it’s the milkshakes that have a lot to answer for, I guess!

           

Window Shopping on Marylebone High Street:

            Lunch done, I walked along St. James’ Street towards Marylebone High Street to get to the Wallace Collection which is sandwiched in Mansfield Square between Oxford Street and Marylebone High Street—while the former is known for its chain stores (M&S, Selfridges, Zara, Monsoon, H&M, etc), the latter has the boutique stores (The White Company, Daunt Books) and many charity shops—a particular fancy of mine. I was thrilled to find a loaf of Walnut Bread at Waitrose (I do not often find it and when I do, I always buy one) and then it was in the many charity shops that I browsed (Oxfam, St. Bernard’s, Cancer Care, etc.). Alas, I found nothing to grab my fancy so I walked towards the Wallace Collection.              

Saying Hullo to Masterpieces in the Wallace Collection:

            The Wallace Collection is based in an 18^th century mansion that belonged to the Dukes of Hertford and is filled with their collection of art and objects d’art—mainly from the 18^th century, although there are significant pieces from other eras as well. It is a grand space that is beautifully maintained and, best of all, free to the public. It is also still very much a residence and I think it wonderful that the public is allowed to glimpse these marvels without needing to pay handsomely for them.

            The reception desk provides a floor plan which allows folks to leave footprints around the spacious rooms in which royalty were once entertained. Notice the interior design and decoration as much as the art objects. Notice, for instance, the grand marble staircase with its exquisite metalwork railing. Notice the outdoor café space—under a great glass ceiling amid potted palms, one can sip a soothing cuppa.

            Then notice the masterpieces that, according to the bequest can be moved around the house but never out of it. So if you want to see Fragonard’s The Swing or Franz Hals’ The Laughing Cavalier or Nicolas Poussin’s Dance to the Music of Time or Peter Paul Reuben’s Landscape with Rainbow or Velasquez’s Lady with a Fan—you can only see them here with no expectation whatsoever that they will come to a museum near you. For The Swing alone, it is worth making the pilgrimage to the Wallace. It is a darling painting—oil on wood—that tells a little story. The 18^th century lady, complete with voluminous skirts and powdered wig, is being swung by her father—a white haired man in the background. But unbeknownst to him, her lover is concealed in the hedges waiting for a glimpse of his beloved. She, well knowing of his presence, flirts outrageously with him, even tossing her little pink sandal into the hedge for him to catch! It is twilight—there is little light except what shines on the lady’s face. I love this painting and I was thrilled to see it again.

I also adore another painting in this collection: Miss Bowles and her Dog by Joshua Reynolds. It is so evocative of innocence and of child-like beautiy that it always takes my breath away. Indeed in a collection that has masses of large-scale canvasses by Charles Oudry, Sargent, Reubens, it is the littlest ones that are most striking and I love them dearly.

            I also love the arrogant expression on the face of the Hals’ Laughing Cavalier. There are also any number of Francois Bouchers—with his fat cherubic angels and their skeins and garlands of fruits and flowers. There are loads, simply loads, of Sevres porcelain, so you would be wise to see them here for free (rather than at Buckingham Palace where you will have to pay a bundle to see the Queen’s collection—she is a passionate collector of Sevres).

            Yes, to read the label of every one of the paintings and to admire every item of Boule furniture, it would take all day—but if you want to see just the masterpieces, you can see the collection in a couple of hours—which is what I did.

            I then walked up to Portman Square and jumped into the 139 bus going to St. John’s Wood so that I could water the plants on the balcony of my friend Raquel’s flat. This took me no more than a half hour’s detour. I was back on the bus again and took the Tube from Oxford Circus to get back home for a shower and a nap. Alas, I did not have the time for a cup of tea today.

Off to the Theater to see One Man, Two Gov’nors:

            At 7.00 pm, I left the house to take the Tube to Piccadilly Circus from where I walked to the Theater Royal Haymarket to see  One Man, Two Gov’nors. My seat was awful—way way too high with the gold bar coming right in the center and distorting the view. I realized quickly enough that it would be torture to sit there and I also discovered that the play, while really hilarious, contained too much slapstick for my liking. I got the idea pretty quickly: a series of mix-ups would occur as one man juggled the orders of his two employers (‘governors’ in Cockney slang). By the intermission, I decided that I had had enough and I left—it has been ages since I have left the theater half way through the play, but it was clearly not up my alley.  

      On the bus I arrived at Aldwych, from where I took another bus along Kingsway to Holborn and then I was inside Sainsburys’ buying two Indian ready meals as I had a sudden desire to eat Indian food! I bought Chicken Tikka Masala and Jal Frezi with Pullao and a tub of Carte D’Or Chocolate Explosion ice-cream (as it is still terribly hot) and some profiteroles (which I love) and then I was on the Tube at Holborn getting home for a fairly early night.

            I heated up an Indian meal, ate a big dessert and then went off to sleep thinking that it hadn’t been much of a day after all.