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Taking Tours–Royal Courts of Justice and Highgate Cemetery

Jan21

Tuesday, January 20, 2015
London

     I am kicking jetlag on its butt–slowly but surely. Awake today at 5.00 am, I used an hour or so to blog about my doings in the company of my young friend Jonas who has since then been forbidden to leave his bed to join me! Knowing how obedient he is, I feel half sorry that I will not have to contend with Scooby-doo upon awakening. Still, I had a chance to shower, eat my muesli and yoghurt breakfast and rush off to St. John’s Wood Tube station to hotfoot it to 8.00 am Mass at Westminster Cathedral where I was meeting my friend Reshma. She wanted to find out what a Catholic Mass was like and in the suitably awesome interior (recently refurbished to allow the Byzantine mosaics to glow softly), she had her first taste of daily ritual Mass although she felt slightly affronted that she could not receive “the offering”  (Communion). This, somewhat unexpectedly, called for my best explanation for her exclusion. She loved the unique Byzantine design of the Catholic Cathedral (not to be confused with the far more famous Anglican Westminster Abbey down the same road).

     Eager to catch up together, we fought the crowds flowing out in reverse direction from Victoria Station where, in Cafe Rouge, we had their 2.50 pound breakfast special: a beverage and a pastry (hot chocolate and a pain au chocolat for me; a latte and a plain croissant for her). As the mother of one of my favorite former students and someone I have discovered a little via email, there was so much more to learn about her–and we chattered non-stop. One hour and one selfie later, we were at the bus-stop heading for Fleet Street to cover the next item on our agenda: A Tour of the Royal Courts of Justice. It was only as we waited on a cruelly freezing morning for the Number 11 bus that took all of 12 minutes to arrive, that she informed me that she had a Law degree from India–although she had never practiced Law and had ended up in banking.

     Sunshine flooded the city and Parliament Square glowed as we turned the corner into Whitehall. Alas, we did not have the front seat but we were content to spy some of London’s best-known landmarks: Big Ben, Nelson’s Column at Trafalgar (later in the day,  I would see the grave at Highgate of the man who sculpted him, William Railton), Charing Cross, etc. We were early for our 11.00 am guided tour of the Royal Courts of Justice (given on Tuesdays, must be booked online) so popped into the Twinnings shop on the Strand that has been around since the 1700s. Alas, the tea tasting I had promised Reshma was not to happen as there was a corporate tasting event in session until 1.00 pm. Peeved, we were presented with sample sachets of tea by an apologetic assistance as we left.

Tour of the Royal Courts of Justice:
      I might have passed the Royal Courts of Justice hundreds of times and have never known that they are open to the public. But, come to think of if it, in a democracy, courts are indeed open (except, ironically, when held “in camera”). This marvelous confection of turrets, towers, spires, crenallated rooflines and stained glass windows might well lead the viewer to believe that he/she is looking at a fancy palace or medieval court. In fact, it is a Victorian addition to Fleet Street, the architectural work of one George Street, pupil of the famous Gilbert Scott (whose marvelous work I had admired yesterday at St. Pancras Station).

     Reshma and I went through Security screening, entered the august Main Hall with its brilliant tiled mosaic floor and grabbed a hold of one of the self-guided tour leaflets. For the next hour or so, we wove our way in and out of impressive chambers and court rooms along spotless marble clad corridors adorned with Gothic arches, casement windows,  winding stone staircases, wooden carvings and panelling, etc.  It was great fun to say hello to some of the greatest icons of the Law such as the “Fire Judges” who had listened to all cases pertaining to the destruction wrought by the Great Fire of London of 1666.  Upstairs, we spent time in the court rooms where judges were actually hearing cases–it is fun to see the regalia that she prevails in British courts: the horsehair wigs, the flowing black robes, the stiff elongated collars. In fact, the reason I finally chose to tour the Royal Courts of Justice that Queen Victoria had inaugurated, was because they are featured in some of the most compelling TV law shows I have recently been watching. The exteriors are also featured frequently in high-profile law cases (such as the Madonna-Guy Ritchie Divorce). It is a wonderful thing for a foreign tourist to do: to get a real glimpse into the working of British jurisprudence for it is like live drama. The judges ask pointed questions, the advocates respond. A clerk is seen recording the proceedings. The court rooms are ornate. There is decoration everywhere. Some have high square tower-like ceilings. We enjoyed it all.

     Also part and parcel of this tour is a visit to the Painted Room that adjoins a “Bear Garden”–a misnomer for no bear baiting actually went on there ever. The reference is to Queen Victoria who once visited the place, was shocked by the loud audible discussions of the lawyers and likened the din to a “bear garden”. The Painted Room is spectacular, its paint fresh and crisp as the day it was done. There are cells–holding cells where prisoners are kept, pending sentence but, of course, they are out of bounds of the general public. I loved the idea of being able to wander around at will, watching lawyers in consultation in the corridors (just as in the TV shows), anxious relatives milling around and whispering quietly. This is real-life drama–something we do not see in the flesh daily unless we are part of the legal system of a country. Tours end in the Costume Gallery where we saw legal robes and regalia through the ages in the British Isles. Costume is so intrinsic to the practice of Law globally that it was huge fun to see how much importance it was given as we viewed the most ornate robes ever. A tour of the Royal Courts of Justice is most heartily recommended. It is the perfect thing to do if one has Been There, Done Everything in London. In fact, if one has not done so already, one can wander towards the Inns of Court in neighboring Chancery where more architectural delights await and one can see where the plotting and planning goes on that is then played out among the lawyers and their clients in the Royal Courts. It was a morning truly well-spent. And the tours are free of charge.

Off to Highgate Cemetery for Another Tour:
     It was time to bid Reshma goodbye. She had things to do and I had my tour to take, based on the one I had booked online.  I hopped on to a bus going down the Strand, hopped off at Charing Cross from where I bought a Brunch threesome sandwich from M&S Food for my picnic lunch in the park and off I went on the Northern Line train to  get off at Archway. It took me about 20 minutes and deposited me at Archway Station from where I got Bus 210 to Lauderdale Park/Waterlow (as instructed by the Highgate Cemetery website).  It was a very pleasant walk through the park amidst dog walkers and robust dogs, past duck ponds that had the glaze of thin layers of ice on them–truly, the day was freezing. I could not have picked a worse one for my outdoor tour of the cemetery and, by the time it was over, my toes felt frostbitten.

     It was time to eat my solitary lunch on a park bench and to take a breather before I proceeded to the gates of the Cemetery. I was early for my tour and able to to wander on to the East Side of the cemetery (where I had been before). Although here you do see high-profile graves such as those of Karl Marx (the most popular) and George Eliot, this is all you see–plus row upon row of Victorian mortuary sculpture featuring angels, urns, crosses. On the West Side (for which you need to book and pay), there is a guided tour given by a member of the Friends of Highgate Cemetery. This happened to be a very elderly woman who moved at snail’s pace, spoke in the softest voice that I had difficulty hearing and seemed out of breath rather frequently as she negotiated the hills of the property. All the time,  she provided information on the  space and its inhabitants. About 194,000 people are buried here in about 78,000 graves. Many graves contain only ashes but even buried ashes are placed in purchased plots that are carefully numbered. As long as one could pay for a burial and was from the Church of England, one had access to this site. Later, the C of E rules were relaxed and as long as you were Christian, you were allowed final resting in this spot.

     The most famous recent burial was that of so-called Russian spy Alexander Litvinenko known as Sacha  whose grave is fresh and nondescript but has a small early picture adorning it. As the family had requested that the public not take pictures, we refrained. There was a lot to learn as we trudged up a hill about mortuary emblems, the fact that symbols of one’s profession were sculpted facing downwards (because they will never be used again) and about burial conventions. But the true charm of taking and paying for a tour of the West side (although there are no really prominent names buried here–a clerk had once told me, years ago, “We do not do fame!”), is that you get to enter the Lebanon Circle where you see family vaults and finally get into the catacombs where lead-lined coffins that have worn with age can be seen very easily in the eerie darkness on shelves only a foot away. These, to my mind, are the best part of a visit here. You enter in pitch darkness and with the aid of a flashlight you see these shelves of coffins, some concealed behind a grave stone bearing a name, others exposed for all to see. There is evidence of grave robbing everywhere–not even in death were folks allowed to rest. We could not access some of the more famous graves–such as that of the Rossettis and Elizabeth Siddal who had moddelled for some of the most famous Pre-Raphelite paintings, as the path was too icy and closed off. The tour included tour graves that were crowned with extraordinary sculpture–one of a lion, another of a dog–the stories that accompanied them were just as fascinating. The lion belonged to a menagerist called George Someone, the dog to a bare fist fighter called Thomas Sawyer. They allowed us to pause and take in the eccentricities of the Victorians but, on such a freezing day, I would have restricted the tour to half its length. 

     Would I recommend such a tour to a visitor? If you do death, yes. If you have run out of things to do in London (almost an impossibility) yes, if you enjoy stories of strange people, yes. But, for Pete’s sake, make sure you choose a warmer day!  

More Retail Therapy and Meeting Michelle:
     Had it been a more pleasant day, I might have lingered in pretty Highgate Village and browsed through its shops. As it was, I could not wait to walk to the bottom of Swain’s Lane (about 8 minutes) from where I hopped into a C2 bus that took me past lovely corners of Northern London: Kentish Town and Camden before bringing me to Oxford Circus where I hopped off and nipped straight into Marks and Sparks for my supply of eats: Battenburg Cake and Fruity Flapjack Biscuits. Meanwhile, on the bus, my friend who conducts Civil Law for the British government, Michelle Misquita, had texted to find out if I had any time free to see her. After shopping, I sure did, because my next appointment was dinner with my NYU colleague and friend, Mahnaz. I finished buying my goodies, jumped back on the Tube to meet Michelle at St. James’ Park’s lovely Art Deco station with its Jacob Epstein sculpture all over the place, and then there I was having a lovely reunion with her and settling down for some hot chocolate at Pret a Manger nearby. Michelle and I were college classmates in Elphinstone College, Bombay, majoring in English, and had a very healthy rivalry for marks raging on between the two of us! It is always a joy to catch up with her and to hear about the goings-on in her life. We parted promising each other a reunion with the third member of our English Honors Threesome, Marie-Lou whome I had just met in Bombay visiting from Chicago, some time soon.

Dinner with Mahnaz:
     And then it was time to make my way back to Mayfair to meet Mahnaz, my NYU colleague now on a sabbatical of sorts in London. She picked  out an Italian eatery called Finos on North End Street behind the Primark store on Oxford Street and there she was, sipping a glass of red Vallipocelli as I walked in. She was starving; I had been nibbling and sipping hot drinks all day, but was ready to sink my teeth into a good salad. And that was what I ordered although she went for a gigantic burger. Goat cheese, pine nuts, assorted peppers and pesto adorned my salad and made it very tasty indeed as it was lightly dressed with balsamic vinegrette. A lovely dinner accompanied by a glass of Peroni, Italy’s very light beer. Despite having just passed a semester as colleagues in New York, Mahnaz and I had barely found the time to connect–we have to travel, it seems to other parts of thew world (Florence, Venice, London) to really sit and connect. We talked about future plans for research and publication and about personal issues and before we knew it, it was almost ten o clock and time to call it a night.

     We went our separate ways–me, making the delightful discovery that she is a lodger for the next 9 months with Kate Buffrey, the actress who played the female lead in Trial and Retribution, the detective and courtroom drama that Llew and I had recently enjoyed! What a tiny world!

     It was another day that was packed to capacity–as indeed all my days in London are. And at 11.00 pm, when I sank into bed, I fell asleep instantly.

Until tomorrow, cheerio!

Today was All About Therapy–Retail Therapy!!!

Jan20

Monday, January 19, 2015
London

Jetlag still has control over my life; but when it paid a 3. 15 am Wake-Up Call, it was decidedly better than the previous night’s–2. 15 am. I used time creatively once again to update my blog and scour the Web for suggestions on What To Do. My trusted guides for Secret London and Key to London’s Secrets were insistent about a visit to the West side of Highgate Cemetery and having Been There but Done Only The East Side, a few years ago, I was happy to comply. Accordingly, I went online, scored a ticket for the guided tour beginning at 1. 45 today and given by Friends of Highgate Cemetery (as the West side, supposedly the far more interesting one) is only open to visitors on guided tours.

Then, my young friend Jonas, all of seven years, made a 6.00 am appearance in my room, climbed into my bed and promptly suggested we watch cartoons on the giant Apple TV in my room. And thus it was that I became introduced to Scooby-Doo and his friends! All fun cam to an end when his mother walked into our room and shook her head at him disapprovingly. I am afraid I might not be asked to stay again if I deprive her son of his beauty sleep. Uh-Oh!!!

So while he showered and breakfasted, I jumped into the shower myself and at 8. a00, we were out the door, escorting him along Abbey Road to the American School London where he is in second grade. As he ran along, I took the bus to Finchley Road to the giant Waitrose there to buy my favorite year’s-worth of favorite groceries (did you know Waitrose Darjeeling teabags–not available in the USA where they have never heard of Darjeeling–and it is doubtful they have heard of tea–are much cheaper than Twinnings’s Darjeeling and just as good?). I bought myself an almond croissant and sipped a latte as I roamed through the aisles (please Waitrose, if you can be in Dubai, why can’t you be in New York?), then took the Tube at Finchely Road back home for two stops.
When my groceries were safely deposited back home, I had my second breakfast: Waitrose’s Fruit and Nut Muesli with Honey-Vanilla Yoghurt and the,n in half an hour, I was out the door myself and ready to hit the sales.

Disappointments Galore at Posh Stores:
Only I had arrived in London too late this year, you see–all so-called post-Christmas sales ended on Saturday evening, it appears. Arriving at Green Park station, I strode past the Ritz and into Fortnum’s hoping to find some of its famed goodies on sale–only to find Nothing. And I mean Nada. As a 14 came sailing down Picaadilly, on I hopped thinking Harrods has never let me down. But when I inquired inside, Madam was icily informed that the sale ended two days ago! Darn and Blast! Still, I bet there was some dregs still to be had. Somewhat inspired, I asked for the Souvenir section–and as I rode the escalators past all the heads of Nefertiti smiling down on me and spying the new sculpture of Diana and Dodi and the soaring seagull in the basement, provocatively entitled “Innocent Victims” , I arrived at the third floor where my eyes alighted on Christmas Pudding–not just any pudding, mind you, but luxury ones sold in the signature Harrod’s ceramic pudding bowls. Yes!!!! They were heavy as sin and would be a pain to haul across the pond, but still. It had not been a worthless journey.

Finally! On Carnaby Street:
Back on the Tube , I headed for Soho and the arching signs of Carnaby Street which I had never seen–because I had never been there! Off at Oxford Circus on a particularly chilly day, I was grateful for my layers of cashmere, when my eyes alighted on Liberty of London–another iconic store famed for its pretty cotton printed fabrics and its Tudor design. Well, although I had intentions to buy nothing, how could I resist? It was worth the thrill alone of riding in those linen-fold wooden pannelled lifts alone. So off I sped to the top floor where the last remnant items of their sale are still on display. Slim pickin’s, everywhere, I thought, disappointedly.

A few minutes later, I was striding out the chocolate shop and right on to Carnaby Street and there they were–those arched signed soaring high above the street and saying Welcome to Carnaby Street. I had a wander all the while becoming increasingly aware of the weight on my shoulders for en route, I had also found a Boots pharmacy from where I cleaned out a sale on Dove Silken Glow Body Wash–perhaps the best buy ever in toiletries and the only hand soap you will ever find in our bathrooms back home. With its sophisticated French perfume you might think you had paid a small fortune each time you squirt a bit on your palm. You would be wrong. One Mission Well Accomplished!

More Disappointments in Store:
The idea was to deposit my loaded sack back home on Abbey Road and find transport to Highgate for my 1. 45 pm tour. But although the spirit was willing, the flesh succumbed to jetlag; and still cold-clogged, sleep-deprived me felt a bit light-headed as I left my flat to try to find my way there. Not being so familiar with North London and the network of Tubes and buses there, I made some terrible mistakes as I followed maps (no GPS on my internet once I step out of the house, remember?) and before I knew it, I was at Swiss Cottage trying to find a cab to get me there on time. No such luck! Not a cab was in sight as I trudged along and bus drivers are nowhere as helpful as they once used to be–they seemed never to have heard of Highgate Cemetery and certainly did not know how to point me in the next direction. I was tired and sleepy and frustrated and knew I could not get there on time. It was time for Plan B.

More Retail Therapy on Elizabeth Street:
I had stopped to fix myself a sandwich when home and it was on a Green Park bench back in the city, watched by crafty pigeons and craftier squirrels, that I ate it and gave myself a bit of a rest. Then, I was on the Tube again and headed to Sloan Square and Elizabeth Street to indulge in a treat for which I had waited a very long time–15 months to be precise: being introduced to Jo Loves, the new avatar of my favorite perfumier, Jo Malone. She opened her one and only store exactly one month after I last left  London the last time and the Number One item on my agenda was a visit to her store for an introduction to her new line.

In the able hands of Michael, I had my skin painted with brushes laden with body creme. Strips of card were sprayed with her new works of sensual art: Pomelo, Green Orange and Coriander, A Shot of Sweet Peas, Pink Vetiver (my favorite), A Shot of Thai Lime over Mango. Ceramic Tagines gave me the experience of stepping into a fragrant steaming bath–Jo calls it caviar for the bath tube. Being the expert marketer she is, she would. They went on and on. Inspired by her travels (in Thailand, in New York and by the store next-door, a florist, where she had begun her working life in retail), Michael did a competent job enticing me. I had thought, knowing “Jo” as if she were my best friend or sister, I would absolutely adore them all. But nothing of the sort happened and but for two, I was left not too enthused. Perhaps it will take my nose and my psyche a while to make the transition. We shall see. I was presented with sample strips although no real sample phials were given, and off I went down Elizabeth Street which on a less freezing day would, no doubt, offer more enticements.

Off to King’s Cross:
It was time to touch base with my friend Rosemary whom I know as Roz who was meeting me at King’s Cross for our evening together. The Victoria Line took me directly to the spot she suggested: the Square in front of the station near the Henry Moore sculpture (added recently). I was early, I needed the loo, I decided to wander into the  newly-refurbished Renaissance  Hotel to see the spectacular stairway that a fond long-time Londoner claimed was his favorite place in the entire city (I can’t remember who). Thank you dear Sir John Betjeman for saving this gorgeous building from destruction. It has, despite all restrictions, been artfully converted into a modern hotel. Today, its corridors gleam, its Gothic windows offer views of a busy street that sees hordes spilling out by the minute and bars galore, named suitably The Gilbert Scott (the original Victorian architect) and The Betjeman Arms (after the 20th century poet who saved it) allow the passer-by to enjoy a drink and a sit-down. I used the lovely loo, as intended, before making my way to the square where, five minutes later, I had a lovely reunion with Roz just off work.

Laser Lights Festival at Canary Wharf–Not!!!
It was time for a warming cup of tea in the station concourse and before long, we were catching up at Leon over steaming paper glasses–why has London succumbed to such trashy New York ways? Where are the civilized ceramic pots of tea that you could only find in the UK when you ordered tea please? So many changes and some not quite appealing enough!

Then, we were on the Tube headed to Canary Wharf. Roz had been justifiably doubtful about the Lights Show that the Visit Britain tweet had recommended throughout the month of January. But I was the foreigner and she was indulgent. Canary Wharf was not her favorite place, but there were lights and  there was a Carluccio’s, so why not, she said???

Only there really wasn’t very much to impress. Trees still sport their ice-blue strings of lights but I suspect those have been left over since Christmas. That said, if there were lights were wanted, there were thousands–from the soaring skyscrapers that formed a concrete well-illuminated city. In the park nearby, whose ingeniously-designed gushing fountains sported a few floating discs of light that changed color cutely by the minute, there were some lights.  But the laser projections on the building walls and on the river that I had expected were nowhere in sight.

Dinner Time at Carluccio’s:
It was time for some serious eating to compensate for our disappointment and Carluccio’s never disappoints (why Mr. Carluccio, do you not leap over the Atlantic and come to America?). We chose the Primi and Secondi specials for 10.99 pounds each–the kind of deal you can never dream of finding in America. And how well we chose too! We had two starters of caponata that were served bruschetta-style over warmed goat’s cheese and toast points to be laden with chicken pate and the most divine caramelized oinions. Over glasses of red wine, we had ourselves a most decadent first course and being the conscious, careful eaters we are (we talked mostly about food after we had discussed family and work doings!), we seriously wondered whether we could do justice to our mains: polenta with slow-cooked beef ragu poured all over it (delicioso!) and al dente served penne pasta with spicy Italian sausage. Predictably, we enjoyed both courses immensely but could only pick. Needless to say, we skipped on the dolci (my favorite course, always foregone, sadly) and then we were out of the maze that is the malls and the corporate offices and on the Jubilee Line headed home.

I was exhausted and 10.00 pm when I put key through door (I had hopped off at Baker Street and switched to a bus that dropped me right opposite my building instead of having to walk from the Tube station down Grove End Road), it was all I could do to greet my hosts (little Jonas was already in bed) and crash.

Retail Therapy had provided little solace but meeting my friend and catching up with her is always a pleasure and it somewhat made up for the cold, the lack of goodies to take back home and the fact of getting hopelessly lost in trying to find Highgate. The only silver lining was that the clerk at the cemetery had sympathized with my situation and, through a phone call, offered me the tour tomorrow.

     Until then, cheerio!