Sunday in London: Mass and Lunch with Student’s Family, Ribeiro Talk and Exhibition

Sunday, November 6, 2016

London

I survived today on four hours sleep–turned off light last night at 12. 45 pm and awoke at 5.00 am (wretched body clock!)–which explains why I was dozing off each time I sat on a Tube train. Still, undaunted by the early hour and lack of sleep, I hammered out two blog posts and revised itinerary for Llew and my coming travels in France. It seems that Llew is reluctant to drive long distances and buying French Rail Passes might be a better alternative. Checking websites and scouring the map took up a good lot of my time.

Not to mention packing! Yes, I am in Moving Mode again as I leave for Italy early on Thursday morning and will need to vacate my Ealing flat on Wednesday evening–I shall spend that night with my friend Roz in Battersea. So, I find myself once again juggling logistics in my mind and on paper as well as preparing for my talks–two of them: one at NYU here in London on Tuesday and another at the University of Padua later next week. In-between I have travels in Sicily to prepare for and more logistics to sort out–such as getting boarding passes for my Ryanair flights.

It was my goal to get out of the house by 10.00 am for the 11.00 Mass in Kensington. Breakfast done (toast with Nutella, Peanut butter–both almost over–butter and lemon curd with coffee), I showered super quickly and left my flat on scheduled.

On the Tube and off to Mass:

In keeping with my goal of attending Mass at a different church each Sunday, this week I was at Kensington. I had made plans to spend the morning with my former student Elise and her lovely family–husband James and children Thomas and Elektra. Since they attend the 11.00 Mass at Christchurch, Kensington, it was there that we planned to meet. A pub lunch would follow.

Yes, I did get a few zzzzs on the Central Line train–I got off on time, though, at Bond Street and then changed to the District Line going south and got off at Kensington High Street. From the Tube station, it was a pleasant walk to the church which is on Victoria Street on a dead end. I walked past really posh terraced housing under sunny skies on a very chilly morning. It is winter in London already and I am very grateful for my warm layered clothing. It was a joy to pass under a fig tree that had ripe fruit scattered under it. Never in London have I seen such a sight–a fig tree laden with dark plumb figs is something I associate with the Mediterranean–Greece or Italy. This was a cheering sight.

Mass at Christchurch, Kensington:

It was lovely to see Elise just as I was entering the church which is tucked away in a secret corner of Kensington that no one except for faithful parishioners have heard about. It is a Victorian Gothic church, built about 160 years ago–very young by the standard of most London churches, but still deeply atmospheric. It is undergoing refurbishment and extension (as most churches seem to be), but it was still a beautiful space in which to pray.

I met Elise right at the entrance as she walked down the road with daughter Elektra. We hugged and kissed and went inside to find James and Thomas and a number of other people bustling around and getting ready for the service.

One of the things about going to a different church each Sunday–mostly Anglican, sometimes Catholic–is that I have had the chance to see how much church services can differ even within the same church system. In the Catholic church, there are no variations: all over the world, the Mass is exactly the same in terms of the order of the liturgy and emphasis in terms of doctrinal teachings. Of course, there are some variations depending on the circumstances of each church. Some have large impressive choirs, some don’t. Some have family masses when children are permitted to come up to the altar during the homily while some don’t allow anyone at the altar.

This Mass, however, was what is called a service in a ‘High’ church. They had a very good choir (many from the local colleges of music as the Royal College of Music and the Imperial College of Music are close by and singers are recruited from those institutions) but their music was Modern–no Gregorian chants for them. This music was almost atonal–not my cup of tea, to be frank. There was also a great deal of emphasis on the Word–Readings were lengthy and from unfamiliar books of the Bible (I have never heard of Habakuk, for instance, and the Word was from him this morning).

As it turned out, Elise did the Reading today–it was her first time, but she did a grand job. The regular pastor Mark was on vacation–the priest who stood in for him then based his entire sermon on the Word with frequent references to specific verses of it. Also, the order of the Mass was very different to what I am accustomed: the Lord’s Prayer was said not just before Communion, but right at the end of the Mass. Little things like this made the service extremely different for me. It was a very nice way to begin my Sunday, however, and I am beginning to realize more than ever what a good idea it was to go to different churches and worship in them.

Lunch at The Builder’s Arms:

Elise’s ‘local’ is called The Builder’s Arms–it is a lovely pub. Again, being tucked away as if in secret, I am certain that its traffic is mainly local residents. Elise’s family descends upon it every Sunday after Mass for lunch. The children seem to know the menu well and go directly for the Fish and Chips. Since I am an adult and Britain is known for its traditional Sunday Roast, I decided to go for the platter than had both Roast Beef and Roast Loin of Pork served up with Yorkshire Pudding, Roasted Potatoes and Carrots and what looked like Bubble and Sqeak–a semi-mush of cabbage and onions–came with it. Gravy poured over the Yorkshire Pudding was flavorful and glossy and a rich deep dark brown–oh and very delicious. It was a feast fit for a king.

Wolfing down pub grub gave us the opportunity to catch up and we chatted non-stop. In almost 25 years of teaching at NYU, Elise still remains my star student. It is a huge joy to be in touch with her after all these years. Today, fully occupied with a lawyer husband and two lively children, she is coping with full-time motherhood as best she can–albeit with more help than most British mothers can enjoy. We talked about the kid’s schooling, about the US elections, about the saga of my accommodation situation here in London and the reasons why I moved from the East End to Ealing. Every second with Elise was precious as I get to see her rarely and never leave without feeling awed by everything she has accomplished. James too has become a dear friend through the years–so it is always fun to hook up with him too. As for the kids? Well, they seem to grow by leaps and bounds and their energy never fails to amaze me.

After lunch, Elise suggested we go over to their new home for coffee. It turned out to be one of those lovely terraced houses in Kensington. They now occupy two floors of a three storey home that belongs to James’ family. It was delightful to be inside one of these Victorian homes that have broad staircases, ornamental plaster moldings on the ceiling and so much character. Coffee was lovely and although I would have loved to have stayed longer, I had to leave for my next appointment. But not before the children insisted on showing me their playroom and their bedroom. So I ended up getting the Grand Tour of the house which was simply wonderful. Overall, I could not have spent a better morning or been in better company.

Off to the British Museum for Ribeiro Lecture:

I had to rush off after saying my goodbyes to this beautiful family–as I needed to get to the British Museum for my next appointment: a talk on the artist Lancelot Ribeiro with whose work I had become acquainted at Burgh House last weekend in Hampstead.

James gave me directions to the Tube station at Gloucester Road from where I took the Piccadilly Line to Holborn and walked to the British Museum from there. The lecture was in the basement and was given by Nicholas Treadwell who had arrived from Austria where he currently lives. He initiated the first ever Mobile art gallery in the UK and way back in the 1960s began taking art to varied neighborhoods to get common people to buy. He represented the work of South Asian artists such as Sadanand Bakhre, F.N. Souza (Ribeiro’s half-brother) and, of course, Ribeiro himself. His talk was very informal–more a matter of memoir rather than an academic or scholarly assessment of Ribeiro’s work or the need to re-examine in again after all this time. It was held in an auditorium and had about 150 people in attendance. The session ended with a short film on the current retrospective exhibition at Burgh House and a few thank you words from Marsha, Ribeiro’s daughter. She invited everyone to then travel to Grosvenor Gallery at Mayfair for a Reception and a viewing of works by Bakhre, Souza and Ribeiro.

Off to the Grosvenor Gallery to see Ribeiro’s Work:

On my way out, I began a conversation with a lady who seemed headed off to the same place–she was also at the lecture. Her name is Devika and we decided to travel together to Mayfair. I spend the next couple of hours with her as we arrived at the art gallery and perused the work on display. There was not a lot of it–a single room had about 35 works on display from all three artists. There were a few Ribeiro Town Scapes on display but there were also several original Rajasthani miniatures on sale.

I had a glass of sparkling wine and a few nibbles as I examined the works on display. Then, I said goodbye to Devika, thanked her for her company and left at about 5. 45pm.

I took the Tube back home (needless to say, I dozed off again!) and reached home at 6.30 pm. I thought I would pick up some chocolates to take to India from Morrison’s, but it closes at 5 pm on Sunday. I have to get used to the fact that supermarkets are not open 24/7 in the UK as they are in America

Early Dinner and Bed:

Feeling quite drained from lack of sleep, I decided to make an early night of it. I surveyed the items remaining in my fridge, fashioned a salad for myself as well as a plate of ravioli with cheese sauce and watched a bit of Only Fools and Horses as I ate. As I was falling asleep by the end of my meal, I merely texted Llew to say goodnight and fell into bed at 9.00 pm.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Lunch with Menons at Wimbledon, Consultation at Jo Malone, Evening with Chelsea Friends

Nov6

Saturday, November 5, 2016

London

I awoke on Guy Fawkes Day, also known as Bonfire Night, pretty excited. It is a significant day in Britain as the country commemorates the foiled Gunpowder Plot that almost blew up Parliament. Celebrations take the form of the lighting of fireworks and bonfires–communal ones as well as individual and family ones in back gardens. By the end of the day, it felt like Diwali in India–fireworks were everywhere and although I did not see any, I could definitely hear them all around me.

My day began fairly routinely–I spent at least three hours in bed on my laptop blogging, planning travel itineraries, preparing for upcoming lectures, finalizing Powerpoint presentations that are part of my talks, chatting with family members all over the world. Breakfast and a shower then consume my time as well. This morning, I also did a couple of household chores–having done a batch of laundry night last and having put my clothes up on the rack to dry, I folded them and put them away this morning. As I also laundered my bed linen, there was the bed to be made up again. I also did some darning–pockets on my down overcoat have split and part of one of my pillowcases needed repair.

It was 11.30 am when I left home to take the Tube to Wimbledon where I was meeting my friend Murali, his wife Nina and son Angad for lunch.

Lebanese Lunch in Wimbledon Village:

It was about 12. 30 pm when I arrived at Wimbledon station on the Tube from Ealing and had a nice reunion with the lovely Menon family whom I have now known for almost ten years. They suggested we eat at a Mexican restaurant called Oxaca–but when we got there, we found its kitchen closed for renovation. Plan B involved walking for about ten minutes uphill to Wimbledon Village to eat a Lebanese meal at a strangely named restaurant called Maison St. Caisellet. It was right opposite the Fox and Dog Pub where I had once met friends, years ago, for dinner during the week of the famous Tennis matches.

Our meal was absolutely delicious–we had a variety of mezzes: Beiruty Hummus (more fiery than usual), Lamb Kibbe (meatballs), Marinated breast of chicken, stuffed vine leaves, moussaka–all served with traditional flatbread. It was all quite wonderfully delicious and I enjoyed every mouthful. More enjoyable was catching up with my friends and chatting with their very intelligent young son who is always a delight to interact with. Time flew up–I never know where it goes when I am having a good time. And at 2. 45, we got up to leave as I had to keep an appointment at Sloan Square with a consultant named Jane at Jo Malone.

Consultancy Session at Jo Malone:

My consultancy session with Jane at Jo Malone went off really well as she introduced me to some fragrances that came about as a result of combining two or three scents with which I am already familiar. I was poured a glass of sparkling wine (how special!) while Jane walked me through a number of possibilities that might work for me. She also did a hand massage and packed a small pouch of fragrance samples for me–which I thought was simply delightful. I was sorry, however, that the one product I did wish to buy–the Nectarine and Honey Face Mask that I have used for years–is discontinued and no longer available. Oh well…

Since I had about an hour to kill before I met my friends Cynthia and Michael in their home in Chelsea, I hopped into a bus and went off to Waitrose to pick up their new monthly magazine–sadly, it was not yet out. However, I did buy some prawn crackers and got a coffee and their weekend magazine before I took a bus back to my friends’ home.

An Evening with Friends:

It was good to spend the evening with Michael and Cynthia who wanted to hear all about my trip up north. It was simply great to be with them and after yakking together for about an hour and a half, I left their place.

Back home on the Tube, I had dinner by 8.00–leftovers in my fridge are being consumed daily: samosas, sandwiches, lamb meatballs, a cup of soup and chocolate ice-cream for dessert–I need to finish another whole tub in the next three days!!!

I went to bed after a long chat with Llew as we talked about our upcoming travels in Israel and France.

As I said, these days are filled with reunions with fond friends…and I could not find my time better spent!

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Coffee with Jack, Senate House Library and Visiting Sybil in Surrey

Nov6

Friday, November 4, 2016

London

There is nothing like spending two nights in the top bunk of a bed in a dorm to make you feel blessed about a good night’s sleep in your own bed with your own duvet and your own pillows. I slept well back in my Ealing flat and awoke to draft a blog post, catch up with email, make a call to my Dad, review coming travel logistics and make plans for the day.

According to my calendar, I had to meet my friend Jack today–but neither one of us had confirmed time or place. I sent him a private message on Twitter and as I ate my breakfast (toasted bread with spreads that I am trying to consume before departing for Italy later next week) and showered, I awaited his response. It arrived soon enough. We would be meeting at 11.00 am at the London Library where he is conducting research and editing the paperback version of his book.

A Long-Awaited Meeting with Jack:

The trouble with becoming a best-selling author is that you have a heavy schedule of readings., signings and book festivals to attend as part of your publication contract. So although I had contacted my friend Jack as soon as I had arrived three months ago in London, he could only really commit to a date in November! So, it was a great joy to finally see my young friend and be able to congratulate him in person for the many happy happenings in his life–the selling of his manuscript entitled, The Tree-Climber’s Guide to London: Adventures in the Urban Canopy caused a bidding war and something on a publication sensation, a few months ago. It has sold well and I have seen it in most book shops that I have visited.

Jack is a lovely modest young man with an unusual vision and a thirst for adventure. I feel like he is something of a kindred spirit for I understand his desire to leave the trodden path and pursue roads not taken. However, he is far more adventurous than I am and his forays into trees that he has climbed since he was five and his idea of making a book out of it is unique and original and completely commendable. His unexpected success could not have come to a nicer man. Plus, almost a year ago, after a fairy-tale wedding to the girl of his dreams, they saw the birth of their little boy, Bodie (named for a town in California that he remembered fondly from a very young visit with his parents, my friends Loulou and Paul). So, if there is a case where someone has had one joyous happening piled upon another in life, it was right here in front of me.

Coffee at Waterstone’s:

I made it to the London Library–one of the sweetest institutions in the hidden heart of Mayfair at St. James’ Park–where Jack spends most of his time researching, editing, writing. Yes, he is now able to enjoy the full-time writer’s dream life! At his suggestion, after an affectionate reunion (I was probably seeing him in person after 3-4 years), he suggested we get coffee in the basement café of Waterstone’s on Piccadilly. It was a lovely idea and that was where we continued a free-wheeling conversation on all of the aspects of life and productivity that we share in common. I had a coffee, courtesy of Jack, and he had a coffee and a Croque Monsieur–and we talked and talked. About his future projects. About his family life. About his impending move from the East End of London to the farms and fields of Suffolk where he prefers to raise his little boy with access to the storied childhood he’d enjoyed. About seeking and finding an agent. About the process of writing. About the difference between writing and publishing scholarly academic books (such as the ones I write) and non-fiction that combines travelogues with reflection (such as the one he prefers to write). It was such a happy conversation–so stimulating, so funny, so enlightening.

But soon, Jack had to get back to work and I had to get on with my day. At nearly 2.00 pm, we said goodbye and hugged and went our separate ways. For me most of this week will be about reunions as I try to meet, for the first time in many cases, friends I have not yet seen or met because our work and travel schedules have clashed. Jack started me off and by the end of the day, I would have seen my Dad’s cousin, Sybil, who comes under the same category.

Off to the Senate House Library:

But first, I needed to get to the Senate House Library to sort out my membership there. NYU had given me a letter of introduction, several days ago, but somehow in-between juggling lecture assignments and preparing for them, I have barely had the time to get any more reading done. Today, I thought would be the perfect time to accomplish it. Sadly, the person in-charge of visitor passes was not in and I was advised to return ton Monday–which I shall do.

It is always great to enter this building in Bloomsbury–right by NYU at Bedford Square. It is a fine example of Brutalist architecture that I can see from the window of my own office. Rumor has it that Hitler gave orders not to have it bombed as he wanted it to become his Nazi HQ in London! Striding through its marble lobby, I often feel an absurd sense of empowerment. The Building, like the city, never fell into Nazi hands and I feel something of the bullish spirit of Churchill himself when I walk through its corridors.

Off to Guildford, Surrey:

My plan for the rest of the day was to meet my Dad’s cousin’s ex-husband Joel at Guildford Station–he was to meet me there and drive me to the care home close to Guildford in Surrey where he lives, to see Sybil, my relative. Since I finished with the library far earlier than I thought, I called to ask Joel if he could meet me at 3.00 instead of 4.00 and since he was cool with that, I hopped into a Tube that took me to Waterloo, bought a one-way ticket to Guildford and met him there on schedule.

Driving through the lovely town of Guildford, Joel pointed out its ruined Castle to me and its high street. A few minutes later, I was at his home called Wheelspin, which I remember from my first long-ago visit when he had recently divorced Sybil and she had hosted me with kindness and generosity for a week as I toured London for the first time. Much has changed in their home (as indeed places do in thirty years) and we chatted companionably over a cup of tea and bakhlava before we began our drive to the care home.

Meeting Sybil:

A half hour later, we were at Sybil’s bed side in the care home where she has spent the last four years and where I last saw her about two years ago. Illness has caused her to be bed ridden but she was in a great mood for the length of my visit and I left feeling deeply heartened. Age and dementia have also taken their toll on her–so while a sensible conversation was not really possible, one does what one can with an invalid who has seen better days and with whom one has created happy memories.

We left about an hour later and Joel made a detour to Weybridge so that I could meet his daughter Yolanda and her partner Mitch for the first time. We spent another hour getting there and in their new apartment where we had a glass of wine and shot the breeze.

Just before he dropped me off to Kingston from where I intended to take the bus back to Ealing, Joel and I stopped off at the town of Esher for dinner. It was in Orient, a fusion Asian restaurant that we ate–I chose a Singaporean Laksa (I have definitely had better at The Hare and Tortoise) and Joel had Crispy Noodles with Mixed Meat, Seafood and Vegetables.

An hour later, I was on the bus heading home where I reached at about 11.00 pm really tired after what had been an unexpectedly full day.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Galloping Around the Midlands: Leeds, Sheffield, Chatsworth House and Bakewell

Nov6

Thursday, November 3, 2016

Leeds, Sheffield, Chatsworth House, Bakewell

Morning Rush to Depart:

I awoke early on the top bunk of my bed in my dorm at the hostel in Leeds, got my stuff and myself organized and left with Shilpa for company (she was off to work) at 7.00 am to board a public bus to get me to Leeds Coach Station. I then got into a National Express coach leaving Leeds for Sheffield at 8.30. As I had loads of time to spare, I bought myself a croissant and a mocha latte from a café at the coach station and waited. My coach came soon enough and I was off. An hour later, I was in Sheffield where I found the Left Luggage Locker really easily. For just a pound a day, one can stash luggage in very secure lockers. I was relieved to find one as soon as I alighted from the coach. My entry into Sheffield was interesting as we got to the ‘Interchange’ coach station for we passed through the smithys that made Sheffield famous. When I was a little girl in India, we owned a set of stainless steel cutlery that my parents had received as a wedding present–it said Made in Sheffield on them. I never did dream that I would one day be in the city in which they were made!

By doing research on the Internet, I had discovered that a public bus No. 218 runs from Sheffield to Chatsworth House every half hour from the Interchange station. I found the gate from which it leaves and entered into conversation with two little old ladies who advised me to buy food from a kiosk at the station if I was headed to Chatsworth. Everything at Chatsworth costs an arm and a leg, they said. Accordingly, I bought a chicken and mushroom pasty and a scone oozing Yorkshire cream and strawberry jam–with a bottle of water. They would see me through most of the day.

The bus arrived on schedule and cost me five pounds for a return ticket. I took my favorite seat–top deck, front and center–and enjoyed the joy ride through little villages outside of Sheffield before we left urban environs behind to enter into the more rural parts of southern Yorkshire. In a few minutes, we were entering Derbyshire and the Peak District National Park where Chatsworth House is located. Sheep started to punctuate the landscape as did cows and horses. I started to feel my excitement mount.

Exploring Chatsworth House:

So where was I headed? And what is Chatsworth House? And why is it on a tourist map? Well, among Britain’s grand houses and country estates, Chatsworth ranks way up there with such extravagant properties as Blenheim Palace and Castle Howard. It has a long and complicated history that dates back to the 1500s when the original house was built in Tudor style by an Earl called William Cavendish and his wife who was known as Bess of Hardwicke. This original house was almost entirely destroyed (by a fire, I believe) but upon its foundations, the current house was built in the 18th century by a descendant. One of these descendant Earls (I forget which one) was a Royalist and fought hard to put William and Mary on the throne of England after the ouster of James II. For his pains, he was made a Duke and was given the title Duke of Devonshire. It is a title that all his descendants continue to use to this day. This Duke also built a palatial set of State Apartments with the idea of hosting and housing the new King and Queen who had arrived from Orange. However, they never did make it to Chatsworth House–and so the most gorgeous rooms in the house) the ones that are the grandest show pieces of the house tour) were never used by royalty.

It was hard for me to keep track of which Duke did what to the house–there are too many of them and each one added bits and bobs to it to make it the place it is today. In modern times, the most famous Duchess was Deborah–one of the Mitford sisters who was beautiful (photographed extensively by Cecil Beaton), talented and clever. She and her husband Andrew Cavendish gained the title quite suddenly when Andrew’s older brother was killed in World War II. Not only did they inherit a title and the ancient pile but also a massive debt which led them to form a Trust in whose care the place was entrusted. The Trust continues to run it today. Deborah and Andrew Cavendish’s oldest son Peregrine is the 12th and current Duke of Devonshire and he is married to a woman called Amanda Lonsdale.

From the minute you enter this grand manor, you are confronted by opulence with a capital OH!!! Every aspect of the interior is Over The Top. The outside looks rather plain–a square structure with little to commend it–but the moment, you enter the main door, boy, are you overwhelmed! The interior beggars description, but I will say this: most striking are the ceilings that are entirely painted by the Italian artist, AntonioVerrio. They are modeled after Fontainblue and other grand chateaux of the Loire Valley in France and have every decorative detail that is to be found there. In the Main Entrance, the tableau celebrating Ceasar and placing King William in that guise is quite ingenious. It sets the tone for the rest of the rooms. Thus, painting, sculpture, decorative objects and furniture combine to impress at every level.

Meanwhile, the current Duke and Duchess, who still live on the premises in a part of the House, are avid collectors and you will find contemporary artists very well represented such as Henry Moore and Martin Flannagan and Emily Young. There is a fully carved Oak Room with barley-twist wooden pillars and carved busts on the walls. There is a stupendous Library that the family still uses–it has about 30,000 titles from the old to the new. There are staircases with more paintings and sculpture than you can possibly take in. There is a massive Dining Room which has held state banquets through the centuries. There are also rooms crammed with Old Master paintings and corridors also filled with them. There is a whole section devoted to the most famous Duchess of Devonshire, Georgian Spencer, an ancestor of Diana Spencer–who had an unhappy a marriage as did Diana (the movie The Duchess starring Kiera Knightley is based on her tragic life). She lived famously in a ménage a trois with her best friend Katherine Foster and husband the Duke. There is a grand painting of her in a special wing as well as the semi-precious stones she collected in their uncut state.

As for the State Apartments, well, what can I say? They are simply spectacular. Some have leather tooled walls, others have trompe l’oeil paintings on them. Some are filled with paintings by Veronese and Canaletto. There are bedrooms and closets chockful of porcelain and china that is artfully arranged on the walls. In one room, there are water colors by Michaelangelo and Rafael as well as a painting by Rembrandt. Truly, I was overwhelmed by what I saw and at the end of two whole hours of reading the room cards and inspecting most of the major art works, I was seriously exhausted. My senses felt saturated by what I had seen and I could not take in another stick of furniture! It was with relief that I entered the Sculpture Gallery and found it filled with works by Antonio Canova (his Sleeping Endymion is exquisite and his twin lions are simply stunning). Thankfully, this is the last room and I reached it with supreme relief.

I almost lost a glove by the time I reached the huge shop–I noticed that it had slipped out of my pocket…but thankfully, retracing my steps through just two rooms led me to it–draped on a sign post. I could have cried with relief.

I must add that armies of staff were in the process of decorating Chatsworth for Christmas. It would be closing the next day and then re-opening a week later with a larger ticket price (I had already paid 20 pounds) for the festive season. I felt pleased that I got a glimpse into most of the Christmas decorations–albeit unofficially–without having to fork out an extra 5 pounds.

So what did I think of Chatsworth? I think it is absolutely worth traveling half way across the country to see. However, my visit was not over–not yet. For a major attraction of Chatsworth are its gardens and since I had been advised to buy a ticket for 4 pounds that would take me around most of the estate on a 45 minute buggy ride with a running commentary by a guided staff member, it was a no brainer. That was precisely what I did. And a fiver was never more profitably spent!

The Gardens at Chatsworth:

The garden tour introduced me and two other visitors to the work of Lancelot ‘Capability’ Brown who created the rolling hills and sprawling lawns and to the additions of Joseph Paxton who built the rockery, the rock garden and planted the stone arches. There is an incredible Grotto with a smallish pond in which every tree planted on the banks is reflected as if in a mirror.

Autumn has brought burnished hints and hues to the gardens and with sugar maples and copper beeches, Japanese dwarf maples and ash trees shedding their foliage, there were multi-colored carpets and what appeared to be yellow brick roads leading to infinity. Sculpture dotted the gardens profusely together with steps, fountains, cascades, even a maze. There were formal (Elizabeth Knot gardens) and informal bits (herb gardens).

Chatsworth also has a huge Farm Stand where locally grown produce is sold. In the shop, there is honey made by estate bees and a number of plain and fancy preserves–all made from fruit and veg that is organically grown. There are also green houses and vines that produce Muscat grapes from which wine is made–bottles of it are also sold in the shop. It appears that being laden with debt, Deborah found that turning the estate to profit would be the best way to stay afloat. There is no way any human being could see the extensive acreage of this place on foot–taking the buggy was the best tip I could have received and I was very grateful. Yes, the gardens are part and parcel of the House and I do believe they ought to receive just as much attention as do the interiors.

Rest and Retail Therapy:

Feeling quite drained by the experience of touring the house and viewing the gardens, I went in search of the café and got myself a coffee. I ate my pasty in the spacious environs of a café that was almost as large as a restaurant and offered multiple choices. These bits of the estate are located in what used to be the stables–they are stone-clad and sturdy and look posh and rustic at the same time.

After about half an hour, I went in search of the goodies in the shops. Christmas décor was everywhere and all merchandise is displayed at their attractive best. I poked around but not being in the market for anything, did not dip into my wallet.

Off to Bakewell:

After wandering around for a bit, I realized that I still had about two hours before I needed to reach Sheffield to get my evening’s coach to London. That was when it hit me that I could take the same bus for a further fifteen minutes to the village of Bakewell–famous for its Tart and its pudding. Feeling a little nervous to make the onward journey because the last thing I wanted was to miss my coach, I decided to hope for the best and take my chances.

Ten minutes later, a bus came along and another fifteen minutes later, we were entering the little village of Bakewell. It was already about 4.30 and light was fast fading. Still, I have to say that I was determined to see what I could and to taste the dessert for which the village has become internationally known.

The bus dropped me off at the town center just past the picturesque bridge over the burbling brook that leads one into the village. I raced to a shop to buy a postcard and a magnet and discovered that the shop in which the pudding originated and which is most famous (although ever second café serves us the treat) was just around the corner.

Tasting Bakewell’s Famous Pudding:

Known as the Original Bakewell Pudding Co., it really was just a few steps away. It is a charming and very quaint spot with blackened timbers and a very low entrance. The café is upstairs and after I was seated, I ordered a pot of tea and a serving of the pudding (as someone in the shop had told me that the pudding is preferable to the tart). And how fabulous it was! It has a crisp filo-like pastry shell, a creamy almond filling and a layer of raspberry jam. It was served with a small pitcher of custard and I have to say it was unexpectedly delectable. A single serving cost 5 pounds and with the pot of tea costing me 2. 50 pounds, I had a very early dinner right there!

I wandered then around the little village with its uniformly grey stone walls and its cobbled streets. There were a lot of lovely shop windows and eye-catching displays everywhere as well as the Rutland Arms Hotel right in the middle of the cross roads. I would have enjoyed browsing through the narrow lanes lined with enticing shops–but light was fading quickly. Plus at exactly 5.00 pm, all the shops closed as if in harmony together.

My bus that would take me back to Sheffield was due at 5. 07 pm–it would arrive in Sheffield at 6.00 pm to leave me enough time to retrieve my backpack from the Left Luggage Locker and find my gate for my return coach to London at 6. 30 pm.

And indeed, despite my nervousness (what if the bus broke down somewhere???), we made it to Sheffield with time to spare. I got my bag out and found the gate for National Express departure. I had a lovely companion en route named Ellie Stevens–a student at Sheffield University and in her company, the miles were eaten away. I did get a nap for a good one hour and ate my creamy scone en route and by the time I was waking up, we were arriving in Milton Keynes and Ellie was saying goodbye.

About 90 minutes later, we were skirting London. I got off at Marble Arch and took the Central Line Tube home. I was opening my door at about 11.00 pm. and given the miles I had covered, all I could do was throw myself on my bed and pass out.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Leaping Around Leeds: Royal Armory, Retail Therapy and Giving a Talk at Leeds University

Nov5

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Leeds

A Morning With A Difference:

After what started as a harrowing night, peace and quiet did reign over the crummy hostel in which I awoke on a beautifully sunny day. The fog and drizzle and dreariness of yesterday gave way to blue skies. It was a day tailor-made for sight-seeing and I decided to look on the positive side and get on with my day. Accordingly, I washed and dressed and got the heck out as soon as I could. Although free breakfast was provided (all day long) at the hostel–a number of half-opened boxes of cereal, a range of jams and white bread with a toaster were provided–I was having none of it. My aim was to find a decent breakfast in some place nice in which I could pass time until the museums opened for the day.

My other aim was to see two or three of the city’s major attractions before meeting Paul, a professor of Portuguese, in the coffee shop opposite the main university library building at 4.00 pm. These were: the Royal Armories, Leeds City Gallery (closed until next year for renovation), the Henry Moore Institute, the Victorian Quarter and a few of the superb Victorian civic buildings. Fortunately, most of these attractions are within the City Center–all accessible on foot.

But first I needed brekkie…

Full English Breakfast in a Pub:

I did eventually find something I had been craving for days–a reasonably-priced Full English Brekkie. As I walked down towards Leeds Station (from where I would find a bus to take me to the Royal Armories–which is the only attraction quite out of the way of the main sights), I found a pub that was actually open at 8.00 am. It was the refuge I was seeking on a terribly chilly day–for Leeds (being so much higher than London) is already really cold. I was grateful for my cap, gloves, scarf, warm socks and full-length down coat as I battled the wind.

Full English Brekkie did cheer me up inside and out. There is truly nothing quite as appealing as the kind of heavy-duty oval ceramic platters that publicans place before you containing eggs and bacon, sausages and mushrooms, tomatoes, hash browns, baked beans and toast to make you feel as if you can conquer the world. Over unlimited hot coffee (yes, the concept of unlimited does exist in some hidden pockets of the UK), I sat myself under a TV screen, sole mistress of all I surveyed, and ate. And ate. And ate. It was simply divine. About a half hour into my enormous meal, elderly patrons arrived and before nine o clock tolled, were deep into their buckets of ale and stout and lager! No wonder pub culture is alive and kicking in Britain and publicans are not completely out of business. Yet.

Off to the Royal Armories:

At about 9. 30 am, I left the pub and made my way towards the station past one street after the other that was completely lined with shops. It would not be long before I would discover that Leeds is the Shopping Capital of the World! But for the moment, I resisted the urge to get into some of them–okay, I did wander into one that sold the most amazingly shaped and fashioned soap (like wedges of fancy cake), bath bombs (like cupcakes), etc. before I found my way to the station and into a No. 70 bus that took me across the river and to the Royal Armories.

Inside the Royal Armories:

Prima facie, the Royal Armories is not my kind of place at all. It is why I whizzed through the small armory collection in the Tower of London, a few days ago. However, every guide book extolls the virtues of this place and urges the visitor to make the pilgrimage to the collection that was once housed in the Tower of London but moved to their present venue when this building was built.

The building is new and very modern–not at all what one expects to find in a place that houses historic weapons, arms and armor. It reminded me much of the Albert Dock in Liverpool as it is built around a boat basin with boats still anchored in it. This is a very modern part of the city–glass and concrete towers all around you. The entrance had a giant poppy attached to it–an emblem of what everyone in the country is wearing on their lapels at the moment: red poppies to commemorate Remembrance Day which is on November 11 and which is still marked with much reverence in this country–unlike the US where it is called Veterans Day and given no importance at all. And yes, as someone who has studied the Battle of the Somme in detail in France and has walked the Poppy Trail on the fields of Picardie, I did make my contribution in the many boxes that have sprouted up everywhere and I am wearing my own poppy lapel pin proudly.

Once inside, I did what I usually do: I asked one of the guides to point out a few highlights that I ought not to miss. I had thought I would spend no more than an hour in this place…but by the time the guide told me what to look for, I knew it would take longer than an hour. As it turned out, I was there when the museum opened at 10.00am and left only after 1.00 pm. It was quite fascinating really.

So what did I see? First off, the display on the walls of a tower-like structure was quite wonderful. It consisted of spears, shields, cannons, cannon balls, pistols, guns…all very well arranged and reflected in an arrangements of mirrors on the floor that made the collage above appear endless.

Next, I took the elevator to the second floor to look at armor from the Elizabethan Age. Here I saw the armor of luminaries of the period: Henry VIII, Earl of Deveruex Robert Dudley (the only man Elizabeth I is rumored to have really loved), armor of women who marched into war, armor of little boys. This is all very well arranged as is the complex manufacture of them. This floor is devoted to jousting and hunting and there is accompanying heraldry and the paraphenalia associated with pageantry right here.

Sections merge one into the other and before long, I found myself in the Civil War section with a young man dressed in costume giving a performance. He talked about why the Civil War occurred and demonstrated the use of rifles that were used in it. So what is nice about this museum is that you often come upon a section where you are then treated to a short demonstration or an act of some sort.

In another section, for instance, another young actor clad as a pub-owner in Canterbury in the 1100s, told the story of how and why Thomas Beckett was killed. It was entertaining because he punctuated his narrative with jokes and wise cracks. I found myself attracted to the section on the Indian Uprising of 1857 that is known as the Sepoy Mutiny. I spent a while there looking at the notorious Enfield Rifle that led to the loss of thousands of lives on both sides. There is no attempt at white-washing the death and destruction that early British rule in India under the East India Company caused.

And so it went on–as the sections merged, I found myself attracted by exhibits that did not stick to the highlights to which I had been directed. I saw sections on the Great War and on trench warfare–there was to be a demonstration here too but I did not stay for it. I eventually got to the fifth floor to see the armored elephant–it was quite a stunner, I have to admit. Set within the context of Moghul India, it offered insights into the kind of warfare that was carried out on the Indian sub-continent before the arrival of the British. But before you get there, you see a huge tableau of a tiger hunt conducted from the back of an elephant in India. Short films on hunting for food and for sport interspersed these sections.

This is a museum that would be child’s paradise. I can imagine children spending hours here fully enthralled by what they see. In spite of myself and my tendency not to particularly like such things, I was drawn in. And I definitely could see why this would be a place to which all guide books direct visitors. I was not unhappy at all that I had ventured into it.

Retail Therapy Capital:

I took the bus back to the City Center and got off at the station. From there, I wandered around, using my map, towards the Victorian Quarter which is a series of lovely sturdy buildings–all stone and ornate curlicues and carvings–that were built in the Age of Victoria as indoor markets. Inside, you are struck by soaring iron ceilings that are wonderfully decorated with ornamental animal heads to support a structure that in turn forms a canopy above individual kiosks or stalls. While I spotted everything from bric a brac to ribbons and trimmings, from fruit and veg to sausage rolls, nothing really caught my eye. In the Leeds City Market, the buying and selling is old-fashioned.

However, once you leave this section behind, you enter modern-day Leeds with arcades and malls galore–built on the same principal of each one being a complete structure unto itself–it is filled with lovely glass fronted, bow-windowed shops carrying luxury goods–from designer showrooms such as Louis Vuitton and Mulberry to perfumers, from cashmere cardigans and leather gloves to high-end artisan chocolates and cheese. The architecture is stunning and as soon as I arrived in Leeds, I discovered that Christmas had arrived. Every shop is decorated already with all sorts of glitter and a variety of items that Americans call ‘ornaments’ and the British call ‘baubles’. Every place is brightly lit, each store oozes offers and there is much to catch the eye and empty the wallet. I browsed but did not pause too long anywhere.

In Search of the Major Art Galleries and Civil Buildings:

Leaving retail therapy behind me, I went in search of Phase Three of my sight-seeing–a look at the Art Galleries. I could not have been more disappointed. The Leeds City Gallery is closed (although its café is very pretty and quite ornate–I stepped in for a few minutes to take in its grandeur) and the adjoining Henry Moore Institute (which usually houses interesting sculpture) was also closed for a new installation. Left with two major art venues closed to me, I wandered off to see the Central Library Building with its lovely clock tower and its façade blackened with age and soot from decades of Industrial waste (for Leeds sits right in the heart of the Midlands that saw unbelievable manufacturing zeal during the Industrial Revolution) and the Town Hall–a rather unusual building with its rust colored façade. A few streets up, I passed by the Civic Building and then the Leeds City Museum (into which I popped for a just a few minutes).

I would have liked to have lingered everywhere, by this time, I was running out of steam and felt that I ought to get to the appointed meeting spot–a coffee shop called Opposite right opposite the Parkinson Library Building of Leeds University. I meandered slowly through streets that began to show evidence of student foot traffic and within twenty minutes, I was seated in Opposite with a steaming bowl of bean soup with bread and butter and an iced mocha latte–which was my lunch. I people-gazed as students and faculty members trooped in and out, I eavesdropped unashamedly on conversations around me (it is the sort of thing you do when you are alone) and I tucked into my second meal for the day well past 3. 30 pm as my breakfast had fueled all my forays up to this point.

Off to Give my Talk at Leeds University:

At 4.00 pm, as planned, Paul, my host arrived with Sophia, his colleague in the Departure of Portuguese Studies. It was a pleasure to meet them both and as they escorted me across the road and into the university campus, I got a chance to see a portion of the university before dusk fell and it got too dark.

About a half hour later, I was all set up on my seat and speaking to a far bigger audience than I had supposed would turn up at the end of the day. Paul introduced me to students and faculty and I began my talk on the Indo-Portuguese Influence on Diasporic Goan writers. I have to say that it went off really well and was followed by a very lively discussion in which a large number of questions were asked and comments made. I was very satisfied indeed with the way things went and felt happy that my journey up north into England had been completely worthwhile.

Dinner at Hansa’s:

My host Paul and another one of his colleagues called Aleric then invited me to join them for dinner–they chose a place called Hansa’s–run by a Gujarati from Tanzania called Hansa who made her home in Leeds. Had I more time, I would have taken a bus to Bradford which is the Curry Capital of the UK–but Hansa’s seemed like a very happy compromise.

Like most Gujaratis, Hansa is a vegetarian and the fare she offers remains strictly within the confines of her dietary limitations. I ordered the Paneer and Vegetable Sizzler Platter as I felt a trifle full after my very late lunch but my companion chose the Thali Meal which was very substantial indeed. With a Kingfisher beer, the sizzler was quite wonderfully delicious if a tad too spicy even for my Indian palate! Our discussion continued over dinner when we had a truly stimulating conversation and many laughs. Overall, it had been a very good academic experience and I was invited by Paul to contribute an essay on a new collection of Goan literature that he is intended to produce.

Paul escorted me back to the hostel where I arrived at about 10.00 pm to find that Shilpa, my roomie, had already made herself ready for bed. I did not stay up much longer myself. I’d had a long and very fulfilling day and was ready to call it a night. I also had an early start to look forward to as I had major plans for the following day–I intended to visit Chatsworth House in fulfillment of a dream I have cherished for ages.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Journey to the North of England

Nov4

Tuesday, November 1, 2016

London-Leeds

I left London for Leeds at the crack of dawn in a true pea-souper. Yes, it brought to mind the lines of a old nursery rime I had learned as a child in India–“One misty-moisty morning/ When cloudy was the weather/I met a little old man/Dressed up all in leather…”

I left my home at 6.45 am for the 8.00 am departure by coach from Victoria Coach Station. On other occasions, when I have left the house this far in advance, I have reached with ample time to spare. Who would know that there would be signal failure issues on the District Line that held up the entire lot of trains and affected me so badly that an hour later, we were only at Earl’s Court???? In despair, I jumped off the train there and looked high and low for a cab to take me to Victoria. When I did eventually get one after a harrowing wait on the main road, the sweet cabbie worked hard with me to get me to the place on time–with 11 minutes to spare!

No such luck! Despite his valiant attempts, I saw my coach just moving out of its bay as I arrived panting at the gate and begging the guard to let me through. Alas! Regulations do not permit them to open it…so I missed my coach by a hair’s breath!

Deeply afraid of how this would affect the rest of my journey up north to Leeds, I approached the clerk at the Megabus Ticket Counter. She was sweetness and light! She told me the next one would leave at 9. 30 am! She also told me I had simply to pay the driver 5 pounds’ penalty fee upon boarding. She gave me a ticket to hand over to him.

Brekkie Fit for a King:

So the downside was that I would reach Leeds about two hours later than planned–no biggee! I had nothing other than sightseeing planned for the afternoon anyway!

The upside was that I left the coach station to try to find brekkie on Elizabeth Street–and lo and behold! What do I find, but a Dominique Ansel Bakery–right here in London! Brand new and still waiting to be mobbed as the New York flagship store has been ever since its opening and the announcing of the Birth of the Cronut–Ansel’s creation that combines (as its name suggest) a croissant with a donut–this tasty wonder has taken the Big Apple by storm. Crowds line up at 6 am to enter the bakery that opens at 8.00 am and, I am told, that by 9.00 am, all the cronuts are gone!!!! The saga continues again the next morning. I have only ever had it once in my life and it was good. At $6 a pop, it had better be!!!

Well, here in London, there were about 6 people ahead of me in the line. If I was looking for a silver lining in the cloud of having missed my coach, I could not have found a better consolation. I stood in the line and even bought one for a lady who had a dog with her, could not enter the patisserie and so begged me to buy her one!!! Unlike New York, where they have a Cronut of the Month (a different creative flavor each month depending on the season), here there was just one kind. And boy oh boy oh boy!!!! Was it terrific! It was simply delectable. The texture outside is crisp and that sugary sprinkling offers crunch and sweetness. Inside, there is a sweet cream filling and a layer of strawberry jam. The two in combination are just gooey enough. On top, there is a thick coating of runny royal icing (just the right touch of added sweetness) and it is finished with two mini prunes that make it look like a Christmas wreath. This concoction costs 4 pounds! I could not have been more delighted with my find–right outside the coach station, no less! And comfort just when I badly needed it You know where I shall be getting brekkie from now on every time I have a coach to board!

Off to Leeds:

An hour later, I was on the coach to Leeds–I sat front and center on the upper deck. And guess what? The sweet driver looked at the ticket I gave him and said, “Oh, you missed the previous coach. You suffered enough. Just go through!” So, I did not have to pay the additional fiver. So…you know what this meant? I actually did travel to Leeds from London for one pound! Yes, one skinny pound. It is true what they say on their buses–you can travel on Megabus for a pound! I could and I did as I had bought my ticket online for a pound!

We had almost zero visibility for a good part of the journey. It was only after we entered the Midlands that the fog cleared. And once it did, sunshine did actually struggle to come through so that when we entered Leeds at about 2.00 pm (after a stop in Sheffield), the weather was all right. I mean, it was very cold–far colder than London. But as I was expecting that, I was warmly clad.

From Leeds Coach Station, I found the No. 6 bus that took me to the University Steps–and it was all downhill from there!

Trying to find my Accommodation:

I had made a reservation through Hostels.com in a hostel called Russel Scott Backpackers (as I wanted to be close to the university) where I will be giving a lecture tomorrow. No one knew how to direct me to it. The librarian at the Parkinson Library tried hard–but he was not from the area and had no clue. Eventually, when I called the place, they directed me and I discovered that it was in a very dodgy area called Little London. The folks at the hostel were kind enough to send someone to the corner of the road to accompany me to the place. And believe me, there was no way I’d have found it on my own.

The hostel is actually an unmarked house–and a very poorly constructed house at that. Its walls and ceiling are so thin that with the slightest movement even two floors up, the entire house reverberates loudly! The receptionist called Omar is a nice enough fellow, an Algerian, who tried hard to please. But he can do nothing about the location or the people who register.

He showed me my room: it was a four-bedded female dorm–nice enough except that it was tiny. There were no lockers, no room for me to even stash my little backpack as every inch on the floor was taken by other residents. The toilet and basin were close enough but showers (not gender-segregated) were located two floors above!!!! I was besides myself. Only the fact that I was really tired and badly needed a nap prevented me from walking right out and looking for another place. I could not bear it. Believe me, my tolerance threshold for discomfort is pretty high and I have stayed in some pretty crummy places in my time–but nothing was as awful as this.

Feeling deeply dejected, I climbed up into my top bunk and curled up for a nap. Things had not started well at all and I was loathe to discover what other nasty surprises the rest of my trip would bring. I woke up at around 4. 30 pm and decided to go out and find some dinner as I did not fancy being out in the dark–and it now gets dark by 5.30pm.

So off I went, taking my life in my hands–or so it seemed–on to the main road. On the way, I asked a woman if the place was safe and she demurred to respond. She advised me to use another lane to get to the Main Road (via a block of university student accommodation where there were CCTVs in operation). This made me feel a tad safer–but I was still on tenterhooks. I found a Subway, sat down and ate a Chicken Tikka sandwich (which was quite tasteless) and hurried back along the way the lady had shown me and got back to my dorm.

Inside, I found another one of the residents–an Indian woman from Bangalore on a short-term IT project in Leeds. We got chatting but my entire mood was so low, that I crept back into my bunk, pulled out a book and read for another hour before I prepared myself for a very early night.

Until midnight, I was kept wide awake by ‘regulars’ who actually live long-term in this place–which seems to be a half-way house for new immigrants into the city looking to save enough of a down payment for a place to which they will then move on–or so I hope. They were a bunch of big burly loud black men who spoke in a foreign tongue that I could not identify. They were one floor above and they laughed and shouted until well past midnight. I made two calls to the Management to complain as there is no assistant on the premises after 8.00 pm. A lady called Andrea was helpful but she actually had to come personally to the place to quiet them down as they did not respond to her phone calls to stop the noise. It was one of the most miserable experiences I have ever had and I fell asleep sizing up my options: should I stay for one more night (I had paid already) or should I leave and try to find someplace else.

It was not a pleasant entry into Leeds…and I hoped the next morning would bring better experiences my way.

Until tomorrow, cheerio

Work (Mostly) with a Nip into the British Museum

Nov1

Monday, October 31, 2016

London

On Halloween Morning:

Halloween dawned appropriately fog-ridden. Britain has only recently got into the act as the holiday frenzy has crossed the pond. I wondered if I should stock some candy for eager-beaver trick or treaters…but at the end of the day, literally, no one came ringing my door bell!

Still, I awoke at 5.30 am and began tackling my To-Do List for the day while still in bed–which is my wont. Between drafting two blog posts (for the past two days), revising and finalizing my October newsletter and reviewing my travel arrangements for the next couple of days (when I will be in Leeds), time galloped. Next thing I knew, it was about 10.00 am and I had not yet had my breakfast!

So brekkie followed swiftly–a croissant and a bagel with spreads that I am fast trying to finish. I made myself a sandwich (cheese and pickle) for lunch and thought I would carry it to NYU and eat it there. But after a shower and a chat with my Dad in Bombay, it was already about 11.00 am and I thought I would simply stay on at home and continue my itinerary prep for my upcoming travels in Italy and then in the Holy Land and France later in November. It was about 12. 30 when I stopped, decided to have my lunch right here at home (I toasted my sandwich and had it with a cup of soup) and it was only at 1. 30 that I left the house for my office.

At Work at NYU:

I had two major items to be accomplished today before I boarded the coach for Leeds early tomorrow morning: I had to send off my entire manuscript of my book to Eric at Lexington Books–my deadline was today, October 31. And I had to contact the travel agency that handles my ticketing for return to the US as I need to extend my stay in the UK for one more week as I have been invited to give a lecture at Oxford at the end of January. (I can hear my friend Ian chuckling–anything, he will say, to extend your time in the UK. Anything!)

I sent the manuscript off and received an acknowledgement very quickly. What a relief it was to see about ten years of work go off to be printed! When next I see my words, I hope they will be in print.

As for the ticket, it was easy to get a representative on the phone but she needed to do some research and promised to get back to me within the hour.

I took care of other pending email responses, then since I was waiting for Heidi from Egencia to get back to me with an email which would then involve my next call to the US, I decided to spend the time fruitfully by nipping off next-door to the British Museum. An hour would be all I’d need to see the Elgin Marbles again.

At the British Museum:

I reached the Museum at 4.l5 pm–which left me about an hour until closing time at 5. 30 pm. This time I headed straight to the Greek galleries and thought I would go straight to the Parthenon Marbles….but, as always, I got sidetracked! I spent a while at the Rosetta Stone (I did peruse it carefully and read all the curatorial notes…what an amazing find that was, really!)

Then, I thought I would see some of the more arresting pieces–like the colossal head of Ramesses and a couple of the sarcophagi. I darted in and out of rooms and saw many bits of the Museums I had never seen before: friezes from other tombs, for instance. The Payava Tomb that has a whole gallery to itself, the huge figures of Mosollus and Artemisia surrounded by fragments of friezes from their tombs, a really stunning sculpted dog that is larger than life-size, so many small busts of poets like Sophocles and Socrates, the famous Nereid Altar and one of my favorite pieces in the museum–the Caryatid from the Erectheion on the Acropolis–the only original in the UK (the rest are now in the New Acropolis Museum in Athens where I had seen them) with copies now adorning the actual site. There is something wonderfully regal about her–but also something sad (I have a feeling always that she is lonely and misses her friends).

Finally, I did get to the Elgin Marbles and I did have the time to read all the information available in the adjoining room before I went in there. This time, the more I thought about it, the more I felt that these pieces are best retained by the British Museum in London–there is so much controversy about their return to Greece, but I realized that there are a great many in Athens today and that the ones in the British Museum are only a small fraction of the great treasure that once adorned the Acropolis. I also always forget how ‘dirty’ they are–how soiled in a way. Somehow I always expect to find almost translucent marble sculpture staring at me–but they have dulled with time and the effects of the explosion in 1687 that shook the structure and destroyed much of it.

On my way out, I stopped at the adjoining gallery to see the Near Eastern treasures of the Persians indicated by the massive bull-man sculptures. The Assyrians bas-reliefs of the Lion Hunt were vivid (but oh so cruel)–so detailed, so carefully wrought, so impressive.

I left the British Museum at 5.25 just a few minutes before closing time. I got a shock when I stepped outside as night had fallen and it was so dark! Five minutes later, I was in my office. My email from Egencia had arrived and they asked me to confirm my new booking. I sat there and provided my credit card information and left my office at about 6.30 pm–amazed that it took so long to do one last task.

Home for Dinner:

Back home at about 7. 30 pm on a really mild evening–perfect for lucky trick or treaters–I discovered that my credit card information could not be accepted online. I had to call Egencia to finalize the sale–Arrgghh! One call to the US later, it was all done. Big weight off my mind!

It was time for dinner–I was starving. I heated samosas and had them with soup with Black Forest Cake for dessert while watching New Tricks on TV. I was really lethargic, for some odd reason, lacking my normal fund of energy–in fact, I had fallen asleep on the train home! I finished my packing for Leeds, downloaded about 1,700 photographs from my camera so that I could start the month of November afresh with an empty digital card on my camera, put together the travel print outs I had made at work–there is no way I can juggle in my mind and in reality the many trips I have coming up unless I stay organized–and setting my alarm for 6. 15 am, I fell into bed exhausted.

I am not carrying my laptop to Leeds–so there will be no blog posts for the next three days. I will try to catch up when I get back as I am sure I will have a lot to record about my lecturing experience at the University there, about the city itself (that I am visiting for the very first time) and about Chatsworth, the extravagant mansion of the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire that I shall be visiting on Thursday–I cannot wait!

Until then, cheerio…

Traipsing Through The Tower of London and Haunting Hampstead on Halloween Eve

Oct31

Sunday, October 30, 2016

London

Morning Rush:

Since clocks went back an hour in the middle of the night, I had re-set my own wrist-watch before I dropped off last night. Still, despite getting an extra hour to blog, review my upcoming travel plans and make my To-Do List for the coming week, plus preparing for the talk I will give at the University of Leeds on Wednesday, time flew and before I knew it, I was jumping up to have my breakfast, take a shower and still make it for the 9. 15 am Mass.

I was off on the Tube to the Church of St. Peter in Chains (St. Peter Ad Viculum) which is one of the Royal Chapels as it is attached to the Tower of London. Not only did this excursion represent my desire to attend Mass at a different church each Sunday but it would be a good way to spend a Saturday morning–reviewing, once again, the bloodiest aspects of British History in the place in which all the drama has unfolded over the centuries.

The journey took longer than I thought as I had to get all the way to the East and Tube trains are less frequent on weekends. The morning was extremely foggy and as I walked–no, almost ran–from Tower Hill Tube station into the Tower of London (past the guards who let you in without a ticket if you are going to Mass in the church), I noticed that the bridge posts of Tower Bridge had become invisible and that the tops of the Gherkin and the Shard were lost–it was almost as if they had never been built. For a little while, pre-Modern London was all that could be seen and it was eerie.

Mass, as always, was a lovely service with a priest who seems to be a born raconteur. He preached a very thought-provoking sermon on the ‘Lesson’ as Anglicans call it: Render Unto Ceasar what is Ceasar’s, etc…There were about 25 people in attendance, mostly regulars although there were a few visitors such as myself. The priest greeted us warmly at the church door at the end of Mass. A Yeoman Warder (Beefeater) stood guard at the door throughout the service and escorted the Lector to the podium and escorted him back to his seat when he finished–I would love to have a Yeoman Warder escort me back and forth when I am a Lector in my church–talk about pomp and ceremony. Well!!!

After Mass, I waited in the Tower yard for about fifteen minutes as I listened to the harsh cawing of the Tower Ravens–a protected lot who eat 170 gms of meat each day! Digest that fact, y’all! These are the only ‘wild animals’ still in the Tower–at an exhibit that I looked at later, I discovered that the Tower used to be something of a zoo until the end of the 19th century when it was closed forever. It seems that English kings were fond of having exotic animals from around the world brought to them as gifts which they kept in the Tower. They often indulged in the spectacle of animal fights and visitors to the Tower often brought little cats and dogs with them to feed to lions, tigers, etc. when these animals were kept in captivity here! I do not believe that I have been to this section of the Tower before and I found it quite difficult to view. However, in this same section, a display of some of the ceramic poppies that had filled the moat in 2014 in commemoration of a centenary of the Great War, did bring me to tears. It was a brilliant way to recognize the fallen.

I also went into the Torture Chamber for the first time–or at least I do not recall being there before–where I saw notorious instruments of torture such as the Rack and the Scavenger’s Daughter (also known as the Skeffington’s Irons). While the rack stretched the body, the latter compressed it and was, we were told, far more painful that the former. There were also Manacles used to hang prisoners by their wrists for long periods of time. Seriously—I now know why I cannot remember being here before. Such awful atrocities are best forgotten.

In the White Tower, I saw the famed Line of Kings exhibit with its assortment of armory and model horses–again, not quite my cup of tea although this section, understandably, is always crawling with kids.

The piece de resistance, of course, of a visit to the Tower of London, is the building containing the Crown Jewels and since I went there, first thing, I was able to appreciate them without the milling crowds that came later–because, believe me, this place is mobbed. I got a good look again at the Cullinan Diamonds (both I and II) and the Koh-I-noor, of course, which India keep demanding back from time to time. In addition to the crowns–my favorite is the little diamond one that Queen Victoria had specially made for her after Albert’s death to go with her widow’s veils–there is loads of silver plate, gold articles used at the Coronation services, massive plates used on Maundy Thursday to distribute alms in an age-old custom that the Queen still follows as well as Baptismal fonts used at royal christenings. There are scepters and orbs as well and all the regalia that goes with being a real Queen ever so often–as opposed to dressing in the ordinary clothing of mere mortals at various opening ceremonies for most of the year. I enjoyed it all, I have to say, and recalled similar visits with Llew and Chriselle over the years–and I missed them both, in the process.

When I had my fill of the Tower and its many buildings, including the Tudor Wing where the beheadings took place–today represented by a very nice crystal pillow and a dedication to those who lives were cut short by the brutality and excesses of past ages–I saw the building in which the two little princes were held and probably murdered as well as the room in which the imprisoned Walter Raleigh wrote his History of the World. It was quite refreshing to get these lessons again in British History and I was glad I went.

I have to say that the day was quite wretched–not only was it sunless but it was fog-ridden and really cold and I felt horribly under-clad. It was worse by the river where the fog seemed to creep right into my bones. A hot chocolate was urgently called for and I found the Armory Café where I ordered one and ate it with the chocolate cupcake I had carried with me–which, by the way, was delicious. It was probably the first gluten-free product I have ever eaten (bought for a guest at my Tea party yesterday).

On to Hampstead:

It was not the best of days to visit Hampstead which is one of my favorite parts of London, but I guess I had little choice. If I wait for perfect days to see all the places I wish to traverse, I will go nowhere in England! I took the Tube from Tower Hill and in about 45 minutes, I was at Hampstead where, being far away from the river, the cold was much less noticeable. The fog had cleared somewhat and although it was grey and dull, it didn’t seem as terrible as it had been at the Tower–where, the weather, seemed really appropriate on the Eve of Halloween.

I spent some time in the thrift shops at Hampstead and indulged myself in a lovely necklace from Zara that I picked up, unbelievably, for 4 pounds! Now you know why I haunt these charity shops. This find resided in a shop run by Mary Portas who has become known as the Queen of Charity Shopping in the UK and who has set up these shops with proceeds that go directly to Save The Children and other charities. So, not only do I get bargains, but I am contributing to alleviating suffering in the world as well! After I had done the rounds of a few on the High Street and in side lanes, I walked through another favorite lane–Flash Walk–where a few consignment and antiques shops called my name. I almost bought a beautiful set of bisque porcelain vases but there were a few chips in them and the thought of transporting them to the US put me off although the price was perfect. So I left them behind and walked on.

Visiting Burgh House and the Ribeiro Exhibition:

There are several houses in Hampstead that are very well-known and that I have visited on past trips: Keats’ House, Kenwood House, Fenton House, Goldfinger’s House, etc. But I had never been to Burgh House (where entry is free) and which is one of the ‘London Shh’ group of historic homes. On doing some research, a few days ago, I found out that there would be an exhibition by an Indian Goan artist named Lancelot Ribeiro on after October 26. That’s why I kept a visit to Burgh House for this weekend.

I was very fortunate to find the house really quickly on a side street. It is only open from a few days a week and is known for its café. Being that it was so cold, I was amazed to see people sitting on garden furniture outside the café. Inside, the house is an 18th century mansion in Queen Anne style. It was one of the first mansions to come up in Hampstead which was then known as a spa town of sorts for tis medicinal wells–hence, the names of roads such as Well Walk, etc. It was built in 1704 for Henry and Hannah Sewell and has now been left to the nation. It retains its beautiful stairway, its ornamented fireplaces and mantels and its crown molding in every room. Today, the house is used for art exhibitions although the top floor is a lovely museum recording Hamsptead life through the centuries.

Viewing the Ribeiro Exhibition:

The Ribeiro exhibition was deeply moving for me as I was able to identify with a lot of the items on display. Lancelot was the half-brother of the far more famous Indian Goan artist, Francis Newton Souza (known as F. N. Souza) who made his home in New York. Ribeiro arrived in the UK in 1953–the same era as the vast numbers of Anglo-Indians whom I have interviewed for my forthcoming book. Letters written by his mother to him from Bombay, his Indian passports, his passage on the Mooltan steamer to the UK, his traveling iron, the wooden toys he fashioned for his daughter Marsha and other memorabilia are lovingly displayed in an exhibition that was curated among other people by her. I had the pleasure of meeting and chatting with Marsha. She informed me that Ribeiro’s fame is now growing and that although in the small space only a few of his smaller works could be shown, there will be on-going exhibitions at the British Museum and the Victoria and Albert Museum plus talks on the artist, etc. in the year to come. She also invited me to a lecture at the British Museum this coming Sunday to be followed by a reception at the Grosvenor Hotel. Since I am in the city next Sunday, I will probably attend.

Ribeiro’s work shows drastic changes in style through the decades. There are very modernist Abstract paintings of Bombay, there are feathered watercolors of Hampstead Heath where he often walked and picnicked with his family, there are geometricals, there are self-portraits and portraits of his family members, there are religious paintings and representations of Christ borne out of his Indo-Portuguese Catholic background–there is really a wealth of material to engage the viewer and to get to know the late artist who died in 2010. Chatting with Marsha, I was offered more insights into his life and work and came away feeling deeply moved by it all.

Back Home for a Quiet Evening:

I was seriously exhausted by the time I left Hampstead. There was still light (as we’d put clocks back, remember?) and I’d have loved to have rambled around some more in some of my favorite little lanes in the area. But I was simply too bushed. My lower back ached and I urgently had to get back home to relax. I also took one wrong train when I made a connection, but retraced my steps soon enough and got home within the hour.

Once home at 6.00 pm, I simply threw myself on my bed and had a half hour’s nap. I awoke to Facetime with Llew for about half an hour and then sat down to have something to eat. I had lasagna (from my freezer), aloo gobhi and some Tandoori Fish (also from my freezer). As you can see, I am trying again to finish up everything in my fridge as ten days from now, I will be moving out of this lovely place.

I watched the third part of Tutankhamun as I ate. I have become hooked to this superb show starring Max Irons (Jeremy’s son) in the role of Howard Carter with Sam Neil as Lord Carnavaron. It is simply spell-binding and although I know the bare bones of the story of the discovery of the tomb, I have to say that I am learning a lot about the official political and personal squabbling that occurred in the process. This is really great TV, in my opinion (all shot on location). As I watched, I could hear the explosion of occasional fireworks as there are a lot of Hindus in Ealing and with Diwali, the Hindu Festival of Lights, being celebrated today, there was general festivity in the air.

It was about 10.00 pm when I fell asleep after what had been a truly tiring day. I seem to have overdone it after a long time and I will definitely need to rest tomorrow.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Perusing Favorite Bits and Bobs at the V&A Museum and Afternoon Tea at Mine for Friends

Oct31

Saturday, October 29, 2016

London

Morning Preparation for the Rest of the Day:

Saturday morning, while the rest of London has a much-deserved lie-in, is a good time to catch up on all things lap-topy: such as writing a blog post, responding to email, reviewing plans for the week, etc. After breakfast (which will be bagels with cream cheese and croissants with peanut butter and Nutella for the next few days as I have run out of muesli and do not wish to buy any more as I will be traveling again soon), I had a quick shower.

I then stepped out to Morrisons to buy some goodies for Afternoon Tea as I have a few friends coming over this evening. I bought a Black Forest Cake, some cheese sandwich biscuits from Tucs (as I needed something savory), croissants and bagels for myself and some single cream for my coffee. I returned home, stashed away my eats and cleaned up my kitchen area in readiness for my guests.

I then decided to go out to the Victoria and Albert Museum and see those bits of it that are my favorites as well as the Costume Department for which I lacked time on the last occasion I was there.

On the Tube to and At the V&A:

The V&A is nicely located for where I am now living in Ealing–a single Tube ride (District) takes me there in about twenty minutes. I love the underground tunnel that links the Tube station directly with the Museums at “South Ken”. This time, however, instead of emerging at the Sculpture Gallery, I made a detour to the right and found myself in a part of the museum that I do not think I have ever seen: the French Gallery with its Baroque Over-The-Top extravagance of decorative objects–quite seimiar to the ones in the Wallace Collection.

A tour was just winding down in the gallery and I was pleased to catch the last bit of it: a woman in a markedly French accent spoke very competently about the last days of Napoleon and his entanglement with Josephine and later with the Hapsburgs through his marriage with Marie Louise. But from what I could see, there was much more about the history than about the art works–for apart from pointing to a small sculpted bust of Josephine, she showed nothing. Oh, she did point out to a fabulous silver dinner service gifted to Arthur, Duke of Wellington, by the Portuguese government, in gratitude for his victory over Napoleon in the Battle of Waterloo. Marvelously displayed, it is really stops you in your tracks. Clearly, the Portuguese used their slave labor thoroughly in their African silver mines for I recalled a magnificent center piece that arrests the visitor at Apsley House at No. 1 London, a mansion that was gifted by a grateful nation to its then favorite son–it runs the length of an extraordinarily long formal table and is stunning for its size and its craftsmanship.

For the rest of my time in the same gallery, I feasted on eye candy available in the form of a German ivory and walnut table top sculpture depicting the Wisdom of Solomon from the Bible, an occasional table made from mother-of-pearl, a marvelous Sevres porcelain dinner service made for royalty and several gorgeous pieces of furniture that vied for attention with tapestries and other decorative objects. This gallery alone deserves a visit to the V&A and I am glad I spent time in it. The ‘discovery’ as it were of this gallery made me convinced that no matter how often one goes to such museums, there is still always something new to savor.

I got the news of the passing away of my Dad’s second cousin Clifford in Arizona while in this gallery. The wooden benches inside a very intriguing sculpted wooden “globe” made by a co-operative of carpenters in South America provided a handy perch as I digested the news by phone delivered by my cousin Cheryl in Kent. It was sad indeed but merciful and I paused for a few minutes to utter a prayer for him as I moved on.

The next gallery that grabbed my attention was the Costume Department which I had specially arrived to see. It is marvelous how well the V&A documents Western fashion from the 18th century to contemporary times–all the way to the 1980s. There are spectacularly large mantuas which make you wonder how women ever moved in them, cage crinolines from the Victorian Age which make it clear how women wore skirts with so much girth and on to the 20th century with fashion icons such as Mary Quant popularizing the decidedly minimalist mini dress–such a contrast to the abundance of fabric used by women in previous centuries.

From there, I went upstairs to one of my favorite sections: Jewelry. There I found that cameras are no longer allowed–I was glad I took pictures of the lovely silver ‘chatelain’ which is my favorite piece in this section, a while ago. After Jewelry, I moved into the Silver section (also a favorite) where I viewed, once again the three Rosenborg silver lions in silver electroplate: the originals are in the Throne Room at Rosenborg Palace in Copenhagen where I had seen them with Llew, a couple of years ago. I also moved further into the gallery to see the Jerningham Wine Cooler: a gigantic one that can accommodate up to 117 bottles of wine.

Down the gorgeous ceramic staircase I went–it is also one of my favorites–to have lunch in the most gorgeous café in the entire world: the Poynter and Gamble Rooms on the ground floor. I ordered a coffee and had it with my sandwiches before I walked through the Courtyard with its fountain and its strange sculpture and returned to the tunnel to go back home.

Preparing for Afternoon Tea Chez Moi:

I was all set and ready by 4. 30 for my guests who arrived at 5. 15 pm–Cynthia and Michael followed by Raquel. I had invited several others but travel and Diwali came in their way and they could not make it. We had a lovely two hours together as we tucked into cake and biscuits and the brownies and bakhlava that Cynthia bought. Raquel brought me a fabulous gift: a book on Caravaggio which would not just immortalize the visit we made to the exhibition at the National Gallery but will give me intense pleasure as he really is my favorite artist of all time.

Time flew as we nattered on. My guests loved my place and told me how lucky I was indeed to have found it–and at the price I am paying too (which is really reasonable for what it offers). Indeed, I do wish I had been staying here right from the very beginning, but I know that I have made the most of my time here.

After my guests left at about 7. 30 pm, I cleared and cleaned up and then had a long Face time conversation with Chriselle which allowed us to catch up on so much. The evening arrived and because I had eaten so much for Tea, I skipped dinner. All I had was a cup of soup. It was when I opened my fridge again that I made the late discovery that I had completely forgotten to serve my guests the Lamb Samosas that I had bought specially for them from Southall! That was a very serious Senior Moment for me!

After a bit of TV, I switched the light off and went to bed.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Savoring the Country Pleasures of Suffolk

Oct30

Friday, October 28, 2016

Iken, Suffolk

Morning Surprise:

Having gone to bed last night assuring Loulou that although I wake up usually at 5. 30am, I would find ways to amuse myself until breakfast at 8.00 am, I was stunned when I opened my eyes and discovered that it was already 8.00am This was the longest sleep I have ever had since my arrival in the UK this time–and it has to be the extreme silence of my surroundings that accounted for my undisturbed slumber. There was no time for a longer lie-in. I had to wash and dress and go downstairs to meet her for I could already hear her pottering around in the kitchen.

But before I went anywhere, I headed for my window for I could not wait to take in the view that she had promised was the finest in the house. And there it was in all its splendor for me to feast my eyes upon–wheat fields stretching down to the River Alde at the far end and closer to home, three metal sculptures by Lawrence Edwards in the style of Anthony Gormley. And just as I reached for my camera to immortalize this scene, a flock of black-faced white English sheep moved obligingly into my frame! I was completely enchanted.

For the rest of the day, I surrendered myself to the delights of the Suffolk countryside. I could not have had an abler guide for Loulou has lived in these parts and has owned this vast estate of 700 acres for over thirty years. Her Stanny House Farm is a working farm on which sheep are reared for meat and grain is grown–corn and rye–and crops like onions and potatoes. In addition to being passionate farmers, Loulou is a keen gardener and, over the years, she and her husband Paul have created tour-worthy gardens. Sadly, Paul was on a business trip in Australia–so I lacked the pleasure of his company. But I shall see him, hopefully, before I return to the US.

Loulou had breakfast already laid out for us–it was to be her regular dish of oatmeal made from scratch with milk, yogurt and fresh blueberries sweetened with honey made by bees in hives on her estate. It was delicious and we ate companionably as we sipped really good coffee. Not too long after, her cleaning woman Linda arrived. I had met her many years ago when I had last visited Stanny House Farm and, surprisingly, Linda remembered me, albeit vaguely.

While Loulou attended to urgent email and sorted out her day, I returned upstairs to my room to take a shower and get ready for a long morning’s sightseeing. For Loulou had in mind a few places she wanted me to see. Also, since she knew about my scholarship on Anglo-Indians, she had thoughtfully arranged for us to meet with Diana Quick, the British TV actress, best-known for her role as Lady Julia Flythe in the BBC TV version of Brideshead Revisited–which is one of my favorite TV series and indeed one of my favorite novels of all time. Diana has written a memoir called A Tug on the Thread about her attempts at finding the Indian side of her family in modern-day Pakistan. I was aware of this book and was thrilled that Loulou had arranged for Diana to meet us for lunch in Aldeburgh where she lives.

Sightseeing in Suffolk–Blythburg and Wenhaston:

Loulou’s expert driving along rural country lanes took us to hamlets that Time seems to have forgotten. We passed by Snape Maltings where the famed Summer Music Festival in held in memory of British composer Benjamin Britten who lived in these parts his whole life. Lovely red brick cottages flew past as did the occasional village pub. It was all delightfully bucolic. Finally, we arrived at the cute village of Blythburg which has a very interesting Gothic church dating from the 1300s. It is a fine piece of architecture and Loulou thought it would be particularly interesting to me. We arrived there to find the car park full–it happened to be the day for the monthly mini-mart which gets retired villagers together over a cup of coffee and cake to sell some of their hand crafted wares.

Loulou and I did our sightseeing first. We walked up to the altar, past the Rood Screen, to take a closer look at the very interesting crucifix which is fashioned out of metal by Lawrence Edwards–the same sculptor who is responsible for the male figures in her garden. Modern and ancient are juxtaposed against each other in this lovely old church for the collection box called Peter’s Pence dates from the 1200s. We saw a Chantry Chapel with a lovely tomb–closely and beautifully carved. And as in Ely Cathedral, the timbered ceiling was held up by angels with a wide wing span and arms outstretched. Also noteworthy were the figures of the saints carved under the choir stalls and on the pew ends–each representing the seven deadly sins or the seasons.

After I said a prayer, Loulou thought it would be nice for us to patronize their coffee morning–so she bought us coffee and hazelnut cake as we sat down and had a natter. I noticed that one of the ladies was selling her home made pies–I decided to buy us one perhaps for dinner which we could eat at home instead of going out to a restaurant which is what we had said we’d do. We left with a Chicken, Ham and Leek Pie. But before we left the car park, we took a little walk through the village to admire some of the thatched roof, half-timbered houses and the pargetting (stucco designs) on the walls–a common feature in Suffolk villages.

Since we still had time on our hands, Loulou then drove me to another village where a much smaller and far more humble church contains a very significant Medieval painting. The village is Wenhaston and the work is called a Doom Painting. Of course, we do not know who painted it–it might well have been a joint effort of a number of villagers in the Middle Ages. It is a very primitive painting on wood that was intended to teach illiterate people about the rewards of Heaven and the tortures of Hell–hence, there is St. Peter welcoming souls at the Gates of Heaven and on the other side, many devils and demons assembling the wicked and throwing them into the flames. It is a very powerful painting indeed and, thankfully, is still in situ. There is nothing special about the rest of the church…but what always strikes me when I visit these churches and cathedrals in Britain is that every single one of them seems to have one unusual feature that separates it from the rest and makes it worthy of a visit.

Off to Aldeburgh for Lunch:

We arrived at Aldeburgh with time to spare and Loulou suggested that we park the car in the church parking lot and stroll through the village. I loved the idea. We arrived at the beach front where, because it is half-term holiday, the sands were filled with children and their parents. Further down the beach is the famous shell sculpture by the Suffolk artist Maggi Hambling but we could not see it from this vantage point. We did, however, see the old Medieval Town Hall right on the beach with its red brick façade.

It was not long before we were throwing open the door of The Lighthouse, a lovely village eatery that was far more sophisticated inside than I expected. On the beach, we had seen fishermen take hold of their catch–much of which was lobster. Loulou also informed me that Aldeburgh is famous for its seafood–and so that was what I had for lunch (which was Loulou’s very generous treat). I had a starter of grilled scallops with bacon in a light vinaigrette with a few greens and a main of crab salad which was served in its shell with boiled new potatoes. Indeed, it was a very delicious meal but the best part of all was the conversation I had with Diana. She was friendly and articulate and deeply willing to share stories about her personal quest for her ancestors in India–not with much success. Much of her evidence is based on anecdotal accounts of people with whom she has managed to connect. Our interaction was very stimulating indeed as we have a mutual interest in the research we are carrying out. At the end of the luncheon, I took pictures with Diana and Loulou and then we were calling it a day and saying goodbye.

Loulou had to get back home as the painters had already arrived. We paused briefly so that I could get some chocolate ice-cream and then we were off along the peaceful country lanes to Stanny House Farm where Loulou took care of the painters and I was left with another crisis concerning my credit card. Calls to Llew and his calls to my bank in the States resolved the issue.

A Long Walk Around Stanny House Farm:

With these items attended to, Loulou went on to the computer to try to find out the timings of the train that I could take back to London tomorrow. She discovered that there was going to be major track work on the railway line and my commute would be convoluted and probably stressful. I made the decision then to return to London later in the evening on the 7.09 train.

With about two hours left on our hands, Loulou suggested a walk on the estate. Sunset would be about half an hour ahead of us and we caught that lovely late evening light when the birds are making their way homewards and the waning sun streaks the western sky with salmon pink and gold. We walked very slowly through the fields past many stiles and blackberry bushes with some late fruit still on them. Loulou suggested that we stroll all the way to the river–which we did. The tide was out, however, so that the water line was far away. We did hear bird song and pheasants getting ready for nightfall. She spied a few stray sheep that Loulou thought were part of her flock–but when she tried to bring them towards the rest of her flock, she realized that they belonged to her neighbor.

Back home after our walk and with nightfall well and truly upon us, Loulou cut me a slice of the pie to take home for my dinner as I was much too full to eat anything at that hour. She then drive me to Wickham Market station from where I jumped into a train that took me to Ipswich from where I connected into another train to Liverpool Street Station. I arrived there at 9. 25 and took the Tube and the Overground train to Ealing Broadway to arrive home at about 10. 15 pm. I was hungry by that time–so I did enjoy my pie for dinner with a salad and some ice-cream for dessert.

I’d had an incredibly good time in Suffolk. It is always a pleasure to spend time with Loulou but to do so on her own turf while living close to the land is not an experience I have on a regular basis. So it was with many happy memories that I returned home to watch some TV, finished up my dinner and go straight to bed.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Rochelle's Roost

Welcome to Holly Berry House!

Archives

Sunday in London: Mass and Lunch with Student’s Family, Ribeiro Talk and Exhibition

Lunch with Menons at Wimbledon, Consultation at Jo Malone, Evening with Chelsea Friends

Coffee with Jack, Senate House Library and Visiting Sybil in Surrey

Galloping Around the Midlands: Leeds, Sheffield, Chatsworth House and Bakewell

Leaping Around Leeds: Royal Armory, Retail Therapy and Giving a Talk at Leeds University

Journey to the North of England

Work (Mostly) with a Nip into the British Museum

Traipsing Through The Tower of London and Haunting Hampstead on Halloween Eve

Perusing Favorite Bits and Bobs at the V&A Museum and Afternoon Tea at Mine for Friends

Savoring the Country Pleasures of Suffolk